#on this full moon...open hands...she calls to me..

She understood. She could adapt. She was your best friend, your closest confidant, the one you’d attached yourself to within a couple days of being at the PTMC. She was what you missed most about days. And you were what she loved most about nights. 

So when Ellis needed someone to cover for her one night she jumped at the chance. 

It started immediately. 

You’d left yours and Jack’s place early. Kissing him slowly on your way out the door as you shoved your scrubs in a tote bag larger than the one you usually carried, telling him you’d see him at work. He tried not to be offended when you told him Samira was waiting for you outside, you guys had an early dinner reservation before your shift. 

It was fine. That was perfectly normal. The world wasn’t going to crash and burn just because he had to skip his usual routine with you. He wouldn’t spontaneously combust because you weren't there, he wasn’t that addicted to you. 

But then you walk in with Samira and barely look at him. You continue your conversation with her even as you walk up to him and hand him his drink. You flash him a smile and kiss his cheek quickly before walking around the desk to set your drink in your usual corner. 

“Seriously I don’t know how you do it,” Samira waits for you. She lingers on the opposite side of central and takes a sip from a large drink in her hands. “I didn’t even know I could want this. What is it again?” 

Any other time this would be fine. Jack was not addicted or clingy or, god forbid, possessive. He liked to think he wasn’t like that. But you smile at her in that gentle way he craves constantly. And then Jack recognizes the logo on the pastry bag in Samira’s hand. 

It’s from the bakery you’d told him you heard about online. One you’d tried only once before and became obsessed with. You’d been talking about the memory of their donuts since he’d taken you to try it. It was out of your way so you rarely had it, usually saving the experience for special occasions. It’d been a while since the two of you had stopped by.

But now Samira was handing you the bag from that exact bakery. She’d driven you all the way there. And she was holding a drink from your favorite cafe. You’d bought her one too when you bought him his. You were beaming when you looked up at her and started walking towards her. You’d barely even glanced at him.

There’s a feeling that settles deep in his gut. This burning that feels like it’s poisoning him from the inside out that not even the drink you brought him can make go away. He feels the urge to make you look at him. Remind you that he was right there, that you didn’t need anyone else. 

Jack stabs his straw into his drink a little too harshly and takes a sip, swallowing back the jealousy he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t feel. 

“A cherry limeade sweet tea,” You wind your arm through Samira’s and start walking towards the locker room with her. “It’s got some added guarana extract for -”

“Extra natural caffeine. Slower absorption so you don’t feel the crash as badly.” 

“Exactly,” You face her as you walk, excitement taking over your features in response to the fact that she understands your choice exactly. Your head falls on her shoulder. “I missed you, I’m so glad you’re here.”

Samira rests hers on top of yours, she really needed this after… well, everything. “I missed you too.”

And it only gets worse from there. 

“This is torture,” Shen drops his head on the counter at central. “It’s like I’m not even here, Sweets hasn’t noticed me at all.”

“Tell me about it,” Jack mutters from where he’s standing a few feet over. His head is resting on one hand as he slowly clicks buttons on a keyboard one by one. 

“Aren’t you two needy today.” Lena says without looking up at either of them.

“We have a routine, okay?” Shen frowns as he finally looks up. “The two of us are supposed to be out in triage together right now. Who else am I supposed to tell every detail of my day off to?” 

Lena shakes her head, barely glancing up over the rim of her glasses. “You’re allowed to not be attached at the hip 24/7, you know that right?”

“I know that,” Shen rolls his eyes at that and points in the direction of where you and Samira are walking out of South 18. “Do they know that? I mean did they even get anything done on days?” 

Jack is staring at the corner where your drink always sits. His own is turning room temperature right next to it. He’d left it there soon after you had handed it to him, a silent hope that maybe he’d get to steal a moment with you later. He doesn’t realize Shen and Lena are looking at him until he looks up again. He sighs. 

“I actually think days was the most productive when they worked together,” The stolen moment with you he needed for his mental wellbeing was disappearing right before his eyes. “Unfortunately.”  

His attention shoots across the ED at the sound of your laugh. It wasn’t even 10:00 PM yet and he already felt like he was going through withdrawal. 

And to make it worse Mateo had apparently found a way to slot himself right beside the two of you flawlessly. He finds you guys and then suddenly the three of you are in the middle of laughing about something together. He swears he’s never seen any of you look so alive. 

Shen seems to notice the same thing. “Okay, that’s just not fair.”

“You know, either one of you could easily go and make conversation.” Lena shakes her head at them. 

“That’s crazy,” Jack shakes his head as if it was obvious. “I’m not gonna go interrupt their time.” 

Lena rolls her eyes and she’s already mentally preparing for it. It was gonna be a long night for all of them. Most of them anyway.

****

Emery Walsh was having the absolute time of her life. 

“Why so sad?” She leans on the counter next to Jack where he’s entering orders for an echo for one of his patients. She gives him a mock pout as she tips her head to the side. “Girlfriend ignoring you?” 

“She’s not ignoring me,” Jack immediately shoots her a glare. “We’re just busy tonight.”

Walsh looks around the ED. There’s not a single person in the hall and three whole empty beds. She even thinks there might be a couple empty chairs in the waiting room. “Are we in the same ED right now?”

Jack rolls his eyes. It’s an instinct that comes naturally whenever Emery’s around. He respects her, he does. She just has also mastered pushing his buttons like nobody else does. It’s a talent, really. “Is there a reason you’re down here?” 

“To see Samira, obviously.”

“You don’t have a surgery to perform or something?” Jack picks up the tablet with his patient information and turns away from her. Maybe she won’t see the irritation in his eyes.

“No? Your doctors don’t spend time moping around like you do. They’re actually good at their jobs which makes mine easier,” She falls into step next to him as he starts walking away from her without another word. “And I’m taking advantage of it to finally make my move.” 

“I repeat, don’t you have a job to go do?” 

“I’ll do it after I talk to Samira,” Emery sighs when Jack doesn’t even give her some smartass quip back at that. So she grabs his arm and stops him from walking away from her. “Look, I’m in a good mood -”

“Congratulations.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore your tone,” She also ignores the glare Jack shoots at her. Again. “Why don’t you let me help us both out?” 

Jack’s willing to try anything at this point. “I’m listening.” 

She gives him one of those smiles he hates. One that means she’s clearly plotting something in her head. He’s convinced she could be a criminal mastermind if she wanted to.

“Hey,” Walsh grabs Shen as he walks past them. “Sweets and Lover Boy over here are gonna make a run to the good vending machines at L&D, can you grab Mateo and cover her and Mohan’s patient in North 4?” 

“Deal,” Shen lights up immediately and looks at Jack. “Bring me back some of the good gummy bears.” 

“Ooh, I want some of those too,” Walsh starts walking backwards towards where she’d last seen Samira. “And a pack of those cookies, the really soft ones.”

Another eye roll. “Anything else? Maybe a steak dinner while we’re at it.”

“Hey, cut the attitude,” Walsh points at him, a silent warning. “I’m getting you your fix, aren’t I?” 

He knows he can’t argue with her there. He watches as she walks into one of the patient rooms. Seconds later she’s sending you out. Alone. For the first time all night. 

Jack is making his way towards you without a second thought, rushing before someone can pull either of you away again. 

Your eyes light up when you see him and he thinks he could melt at the look you give him and the way you say his name. “Hi.” 

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts pulling you in the direction of the elevator. 

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t say anything else until the elevator doors close behind you. That’s when he grabs you by your waist and gently pushes you back into the corner. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You giggle a little bit as you bring him in close. He only shakes his head, silently taking a second to just look at you. To memorize everything, your smile and how you feel against him and the glimmer in your eyes when he finally forces himself to look back at them instead of at how plush and soft your lips look right now. 

“Nothing,” His voice goes low, dropping in the silence of the elevator. You’re the one who leans forward to kiss him and he has to try really hard to bite back the moan he can feel building inside him. He forces himself to pull away, letting his forehead rest against yours. “Just missed you.”

“You’re cute,” The elevator doors slide open and Jack’s never hated a machine more. You push yourself off the wall, pressing yourself closer to him as you do. You squeeze past him and start walking out the elevator, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “You coming?” 

Jack makes it through the rest of the shift just fine. Until he goes to try and find you after rounds. He finds you and Samira together again. Walsh’s solution wasn’t viable long term, as it turns out.

“Hey, I have tomorrow off. Do you wanna go to that place we’ve been wanting to try?”

“Only if you’re up for it. God, you have to be exhausted.”

“I actually think this might be the most alive I’ve felt in months.”

At least he has time to practice his perfectly neutral response by the time you find him to let him know you’ll meet him back at home. 

“Have fun,” He kisses you in the safety of the locker room, sneaking his credit card in your bag as he does. “I’ll wait up for you.” 

You don’t bother arguing with him, knowing he wouldn’t listen to you either way. Jack is left watching you walk away, sighing deeply as he does and screwing his eyes shut to make an attempt to ground himself.

At least this was a one time thing. Everything after this would be perfectly fine.

2 & 3. Cucumber Mint Lemonade & Brown Sugar Shaken Espresso w/ a quad shot, extra hot

So maybe Jack had turned to the dark side. He’d taken a page straight out of Emery Walsh’s playbook. Not that he’d ever admit that to her.

He was scheming. Just a little bit. Not enough to be diabolical but enough for Mateo to definitely catch on and bribe Perlah to stay a bit later to linger so she could watch it play out and update him. 

This would work. It had to. It was going to. If there was one thing he could do right it was plan and he’d thought this through. Briefly. In the few seconds it took him to walk from the locker room to where all the day shift residents were hovering by the computers finishing their charting. It was good enough.

He had to do it now while you were distracted. Emma had pulled you away to get a second opinion on a patient, this was his best chance. 

“Shen needs a few of his shifts covered. I have four of them and need some takers,” He announces himself, making most of them look up. Samira’s about to say something and he puts a hand up. “Someone who isn’t Mohan.”

Jack doesn’t know if Whitaker does it subconsciously or on purpose but he watches it play out in slow motion. For just a moment Whitaker looks at him. Then his eyes find you across the ED and flick to Samira quickly after. Finally they flicker back to him and maybe it’s the guilt but he swears there’s a ghost of a smirk that Whitaker flashes him. He’s perceptive, Jack will give him that.

He looks a little smug when he asks, “Why not?”

“You all need to cover a night shift eventually,” The answer comes out quickly as Jack crosses his arms in front of him.  “You can’t keep sticking them all on her.”

“I don’t mind.” Samira is quick to respond. If she wasn’t in her last couple months of her residency she’d have asked to move to night shift the second you had transferred.

“I know. And we appreciate you,” Jack definitely feels just a little bit guilty. “But it’s also good for their experience as doctors.”

It was technically true. On top of that, he also couldn’t afford to be down an attending. If day shift didn’t have enough coverage half the time then the night shift definitely didn’t. Most of the residents were reserved for the day shift and his new one had only just started. And as much confidence as he had in Ellis and Crus to pick up the extra work, he didn’t want to put it all on them. Maybe he’d even get lucky and one of the newer residents would like it enough to stick around long term.

“I say we go top to bottom,” Santos leans back in her chair, gladly giving her eyes a break from her charting. She stretches in her seat before motioning beside her. “Langdon’s the only one besides Samira who’s got seniority here. Which means he gets to be our sacrifice to the night shift gods.”

“Oh, no,” Langdon’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head quickly. It’s comical watching him make an attempt at disappearing behind the screen he’s charting at considering how much he towers over it. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

That statement paired with the horrified look that flashes on Jack’s face is enough to intrigue every single one of them. They have to know everything immediately. 

“How come?” Santos looks more amused than she’s ever been, suddenly much more awake than she had been.

“I can’t do nights, I've tried,” A visible shudder runs through Langdon at the memory. “It did not go well.”

Jack figures he should disagree. He figures that as an attending, a chief attending, he should use it as a teaching moment. Tell them that they could never underestimate their jobs or whatever. But the memory of the absolute week from hell set off by Langdon’s presence in the ED past 9pm was something he didn’t think would ever stop haunting him. 

They still pretend it didn’t happen and calmly start ushering him out the second it starts getting just a little bit too late. So maybe they were a little bit superstitious. It came naturally when working nights.

“You weren’t,” Jack refuses to look at Langdon when he says it. “You weren’t that bad.” 

Langdon frowns, “You hesitated when you said that.” 

There’s silence for a second while Jack just looks slightly haunted. He can’t relive that week. Not right now. Or maybe ever again. So to change the topic he tells them, “If you guys can’t decide, I'm picking for you.” 

“Sorry, dad,” Javadi gives him a look that perfectly resembles a bratty teenager at the statement and Jack only rolls his eyes at her. He thinks that look alone might’ve aged him a bit. "Where's Shen off to that he needs four days off anyway?” 

“Back home,” Jack looks around for any sign of Shen and relaxes a little when he doesn’t see him, not wanting to set off another passionate ramble just yet. “He leaves on Thursday. His sister got last minute tickets to a concert he wanted to go to. Some pop star he hasn’t stopped talking about.” 

“I can cover a night for him,” Mel barely takes a break from her charting to look up at Jack. “My day off is on Friday and Becca has plans all weekend anyway. I don’t mind staying and pulling a double.” 

“Perfect,” And it really is. Mel had covered a couple nights before and she was good at it. There was definitely no possible way this could go wrong for him. He turns his attention to Whitaker, Santos, and Javadi. “I’ve got three more to cover.”

“I’ll take one,” Santos offers herself up next. “If only to prove that I’m better at nights than Golden Boy.”

“Okay,” Langdon spins in his chair to look at her and Santos copies the motion. “It wasn’t all my fault.” 

“You sure about that?” 

Jack doesn’t quite like the phrasing of that. He could already feel it backfiring on all of them. He stops their bickering before they can really fully start. He’s talking mostly to Santos when he says, “Night’s aren’t easy, you know.” 

“Please,” Santos crosses her arms, already pushing for a challenge. “How much harder than days could it be? Most people are sleeping already, what could possibly be different about it?” 

“Oh my god, wait!” Javadi sits up then, cutting off the comment Jack had been about to make. 

She’d spent the last few moments recalling every single bit of information she knew about both John Shen and also every major pop star. She knows exactly who he’s talking about immediately. 

“I’ll take the last two but tell him he has to bring me back some merch,” She’s typing something on her phone as she says it and Jack swears he hears Shen’s ringtone go off from somewhere. “I want the pink t-shirt, he’ll know which one I’m talking about. I just sent him the money for it so he can’t say no.” 

And that covers it. 

Sure, you’d worked days with all of them before. And okay, maybe Jack hadn’t actually realized how close you were to the residents until they’d started showing up at his place one by one on your nights off. 

But this was different. This was work. And not all of them were Samira Mohan, the one person you trusted as much as him, maybe even a little more. 

It’d be fine. It was only four days. How hard could it possibly be?

****

At first it really isn’t that bad. 

Mel is perfect. She’d done a week on nights a few months back and fit in seamlessly. Every now and then she’d pick up another night shift. And even now, in the middle of a double, she’s doing great. 

You bring her a drink at the start of your shift, a Cucumber Mint Lemonade, and at first nothing is different to how the night usually runs.

And then Jack notices that you are not letting him cling to you the way he tends to. 

It isn’t even on purpose most of the time. You’re just always there. You take whichever cases need you most, sometimes extras on top of them, and it’s the same way Jack picks up his. He’s used to maneuvering around you, a hand on the small of your back as he moves past you or feeling your hand on his bicep as you do the same. It just happens. He never notices how much he needs that until it isn’t happening. 

You spend almost every second of downtime during Mel’s shift at her side. The two of you spend all night talking about one of the shows you both watch, theorizing and debating and admiring. It keeps her mind awake and it keeps you busy, it’s a win win.

For everyone except Jack.

Every time he’s about to get his hands on you, you wriggle away from him and flash him a smile before you step just too far out of reach. You gravitate towards Mel and get really excited when you talk and it’s fine.

Jack just watches you talk and it’s okay. Honestly. 

But then you don’t even risk lingering in empty spaces with him and he finally acknowledges that he might be going crazy, actually. He nearly bites Mateo’s head off when he points it out and has to quickly apologize. And then begrudgingly admits that maybe he does have a problem. 

When the sun starts coming up somewhere off in the distance he overhears it.

“Hey,” Mel stops you before you can go check on a patient the two of you had taken on together. “Thank you.”

You tip your head at her, smiling but a little curious. “For what?”

“For talking to me all night long. I really like working with you. It was fun,” Mel shrugs a little bit and then goes silent as she debates whether or not to finish her thought. Ultimately she does, knowing you’d want to hear it. “And for listening.”

Your smile softens then and you nod your head. You hold your hand out in a silent question and wait until she nods a bit. You set it on her arm, a brief, present hold that tells her you’re there. You see her. It only lasts for a second but your point is made. “Of course. Always.”

Mel’s smiling as she walks away. She’s never minded night shifts but she thinks briefly that they’re significantly better now that you’re a part of them. Although that might just be a you thing, she realizes.

Jack keeps to himself for the rest of the shift. Without any more complaining. But when the clock finally hits 7:00 AM he puts Ellis in charge of hand-offs and drags you out of the ED, not even bothering with the mountain of paperwork he was leaving behind. 

****

The next night Jack finds out very quickly that he was completely right about Santos.

She’s the one that convinces him that there might actually be something out there that can sense when someone walks into the night shift with too much overconfidence and chooses to make their lives miserable as punishment. 

Jack had gone in early to finish his charting from the night before and the very first thing he sees when Trinity Santos walks in is her stumbling right into a gurney. The exact same way Frank Langdon had. She laughs it off. Just like he had. She even cracks the exact same bad joke that he had.

“Since when has that thing been there?”

He and Ellis share a look, wide eyed and absolutely terrified. They already know it’s going to be a very long night.

As hard as they try, they can’t pinpoint what it is that’s throwing Santos off her game. She chugs through the drink you bring her, a Brown Sugar Shaken Espresso with a quad shot, despite the fact that she’d specifically requested it extra hot. She just isn’t able to get a grip on anything. She feels like it’s her first day of med school all over again and it’s killing her. 

Jack tries sending Ellis to talk to her but she refuses to get within ten feet of her. 

“Abbot, I love my girl, I think she’s great on days,” Ellis is standing very safely on the opposite side of the ED as Santos. “But her and Langdon are like our version of the twins from the shining. I can’t go through that again.”

Jack sends Crus to talk to her next, figuring that maybe confiding in her senior resident for the night would help. It does. Briefly anyway. 

Just as she’s starting to get the hang of things in triage a teenager with alcohol poisoning ruins her scrubs and her brand new pair of shoes. She loses all control she’d regained in a fraction of a second. 

When she comes back wearing new scrubs and a pair of shoes she’d borrowed from you she pinches the bridge of her nose, “This is Langdon’s fault. I don’t know how but it is.”

And it somehow only gets worse from there. He sends Lena next but it’s no use. Nothing works. So finally, begrudgingly, Jack pulls you into the breakroom. He tells you to hang tight for a second and moments later he walks back in with Trinity. 

“Sit down,” Jack walks past her and plants himself in the chair next to yours. 

Slowly, Trinity walks closer. She looks between the two of you and then very carefully pulls the chair in front of the two of you out and sinks down. “Is this what it feels like when your parents ground you?” 

“Why do you think we’re gonna ground you?” Jack doesn’t even acknowledge the wording of the question. 

He’d gotten used to those comments almost as soon as the residents, your friends, had started spending time at his place. Mom and dad. Parents. You need to promise to never break up, I’m too old to be a child of divorce. Most of them were from Santos and Javadi and they were jokes almost all the time. But it also meant they were comfortable around him. They trusted him. There was probably some sort of HR rule against this dynamic but none of them really cared. They looked up to him and valued his opinion and the last thing he wanted was to make them feel afraid of having a bad day. He didn’t want them to carry the same guilt he did. 

You watch as the frown twists its way onto Jack’s face. His entire face scrunches in confusion as he tries to decode Trinity Santos. You know what he’s thinking. What he’s feeling. You know he’s putting a little bit of blame, no matter how unfounded, on himself. You’ve seen the effort he puts in to make everyone feel comfortable and confident here on the night shift, the support he tries to give every one of them. There were already enough unpredictable factors that went into their nights, he didn’t have to be another one of them. 

“Because I messed up,” Trinity says it like it should be obvious. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong but I must be doing something wrong for this to keep happening. Once, fine. After that? And I don’t even know how to fix it and it sucks.”

“Hang on,” Jack leans forward on the table and you silently let him take control of the conversation. “You’re not doing anything wrong. It just happens to be a shitty night.”

That doesn’t seem to help her much. “Yeah but this doesn’t happen to me. I know what I’m doing so the fact that it keeps going wrong means it has to be…user error or whatever.”

“Listen to me,” Jack taps the table in front of her to force her to look at him. She huffs but looks at him anyway. “You can’t control everything that happens here, no matter how hard you try. Some nights, or days, are just gonna be bad ones and there’s nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can do is try to make it through the day. With our help. That’s what we’re here for.” 

Trinity, for once, doesn’t know what to say. There's a sharpness behind her eyes and the back of her throat tightens. She looks away, afraid that if either of you look at her a second longer she’ll break completely. 

Finally, after a few seconds, you stand up. You hold a hand out to her and she looks up at you. “Come on.”

She looks at you for a moment, swallows down her emotion, and then finally says, “Sure you wanna do that, Sweets?” 

“Trin, you know better. You can’t get rid of me,” You tell her, flashing her a smile, still holding out your hand. 

“You better hope bad luck isn’t contagious,” She says when she finally takes your hand, letting you drag her up. 

“Well, a captain goes down with the ship right?” You shrug, already starting to pull her out of the room. 

“And who made you captain?” 

“You really think anyone’s gonna argue with me?” 

Even in just the few moments it takes for you to walk out of the breakroom with her, Trinity already feels lighter on her feet. 

And it works. Jack’s words combined with you at her side do wonders. She graduates from an easy patient to a medium one with no problem. Then a slightly more complicated one and it’s okay. But then one of your other patients needs you and the second you leave her side though she reverts back to attracting every bad luck charm on the planet.

After that she rivals Jack in terms of clinginess. Trinity will not leave your side. She even follows you to the bathroom at one point, afraid that the metaphorical baby grand piano will fall on her head the moment you leave. You are single handedly helping her keep her head on straight and her sanity intact, she refuses to let you out of her sight.

Jack does not get a single moment alone with you the entire shift. The only reason he makes it through the night is because he figures it could be worse. He also figures maybe Santos needs this. He’s willing to make the sacrifice. Just this once. 

Ellis is the one that points it out. Santos does not like the observation. You were singlehandedly the one who saved her shift from being almost as bad as one of Langdon’s. So maybe night shift wasn’t for either of them but at least she knew you and Jack had her back. As long as she had that she could push through.

4. Cookie Butter Iced Latte

The third night Shen was gone is maybe the hardest. 

You get a text from Jack at exactly 7:02 PM. How do I fix her? it says. Nothing else. No elaboration. 

Before you could ask him what exactly he meant your phone had dinged with another incoming message. From Ellis this time. A video. It was pointed at the fluorescent lights above her head but you could hear the voices loud and clear. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I-I mean what do I even know right? I, like, barely slept last night cause I was so worried about today. Or this morning technically I guess? I mean if Santos couldn’t do it what hope do I have, you know what I mean? All I keep hearing from the other residents is how different the night shift is and I don’t do good with different. Like seriously, it’s a problem. Langdon is still here and I know you think he’s cursed or something but he can’t possibly be any worse than I would be. I’m not prepared. I think if you let me have like a crash course or something or some training maybe, maybe, I could work my way here for a shift but at this present moment I feel like -” 

“Javadi!” Jack had cut her off in the middle of her rambling. “Hold that thought.”

I think she might’ve actually broken him. was Ellis’ comment. I think I can actually see him buffering.

Thirty minutes later you’re walking into the PTMC, four hours before you were scheduled to be there, happily sipping on your drink despite the change in schedule. 

“Oh, thank god,” Jack might’ve actually developed a sixth sense with how fast he’s able to tell you’ve walked through the ambulance bay doors. An arm around your waist, a kiss to the side of your head, and a moment to finally breathe. It’d been the longest thirty minutes of his life. 

He takes your drink out of your hands and takes a sip. He doesn’t even flinch at the obscene amount of sugar and syrups in it like usual. “I talked to her and she listened but I don’t think she actually heard me. I don’t know what else to say. You’re better at this.”

You smile at him and let him keep it, clearly needing the extra caffeine for once. “I think she just needs a familiar face. Give me five minutes.” 

You find Javadi in an empty room pacing behind a curtain. Her face lights up the moment she lays eyes on you. “I thought you weren’t supposed to come in until later, aren’t you covering part of Donnie’s shift in the morning?” 

“I came to bring you something,” You hold out the fresh coffee in your hand. “Iced Cookie Butter Latte with extra vanilla and cinnamon on top, just like you like it.” 

It’s like a weight is lifted off of her shoulders immediately. “I hope you know I worship the ground you walk on.” 

You let her chug her way through about a quarter of her drink, watching her for a second before you ask, “You wanna tell me what made you doubt yourself?”

“What,” She can’t help herself. She takes another sip before looking away from you, avoiding eye contact. “What are you talking about?” 

You sit on the edge of the hospital bed and let out a soft sigh. “What makes you think you can’t make it through nights? You were excited about it a few days ago.” 

She lets out a small noise of discontent and still refuses to look at you, “Did Abbot tell you I freaked out?” 

You shake your head softly, “He was just worried about you.”

“He wouldn’t have to be if he just let me go home.”

“Vic,” You turn to her and your voice goes soft. Gentle as you try to get your point across. “He made you stay in our guest room that night we stayed up too late finishing our Twilight marathon. You really think he would just let you walk out of this ED knowing how good and capable you are?” 

There’s silence for a second. Then she takes another sip of her drink. 

Until finally she tells you, “My…my mom was telling me about some of Walsh’s nightmare cases that she’s had to deal with. She said nights are - are reckless and hard and only the toughest people can handle them. And I know that was supposed to mean she didn’t think I could. And then Trinity had such a hard time and it basically convinced me I couldn't do it either. And I see how you guys walk out of here some mornings completely exhausted and it’s hard enough to make it through some days and I just don’t want to mess up.” 

It takes you a second to figure out what to say. In that time Victoria moves to your side and collapses on the bed next to you. Her head falls on your shoulder and she takes another drink. 

“I think you’re giving all of us way too much credit,” You finally tell her, trying to make her see she wasn’t much different from the rest of you. She was just as capable. “You’re putting us on a pedestal.” 

She scoffs at that. “Uh, yeah, obviously. Have you met you guys?” 

“Hey, I’m serious,” You tilt your head to look at her for a second. “You better hope Shen doesn’t hear you ever say that because that comment will go to his head.”

You successfully pull a laugh out of her and she feels better enough to lift her head again. “Seriously, though. I promise the only real difference between us and day shift is that we’re sleep deprived enough to know how to have fun. You, Dr. J, are practically built to fit right in.” 

She rolls her eyes at your comment but then looks at you for real. “Promise?” 

You only smile at her and nod towards the door. “Go find out.”

She regains her confidence easily after that. She jumps on cases left and right, slotting in beside Crus perfectly. When he asks her questions mid procedure she answers them without hesitation. He looks up, finds you across the room, and smiles, silently telling you she’s doing incredible. 

Jack pulls her along with him on a few cases before she begs him to let her tag along with Ellis instead, who gets a more interesting case. He gives her a lecture about skipping around and picking patients before he sighs and lets her go anyway. 

It’s only a surprise to her when she finds out she thrives here with all of you.

****

Jack was hiding.

He feels comfortable doing so. He has Ellis, Javadi, and Crus running the floor. He could afford to take advantage of the rare moment of downtime and sneak away for ten minutes. And if he pulled you along with him then that was his business. 

He was doing it for you, that’s what he was telling himself. You had a long shift ahead of you and the least you deserved was to take advantage of the brief moment of respite for some peace and quiet. 

Really he was selfish. He felt like he might genuinely spontaneously combust if he didn’t get a moment alone with you and fast. So maybe he was a little bit clingy. 

In his defense though, you were addicting. The ease with which you moved together, completely in sync with one another. The smile you flashed him across the ED when you were split up. The way you just understood him. 

And how you’d let him be a little bit clingy when he just needed a moment to ground himself. When he needed to come back down to earth and remember he was only human. To remember he lived and breathed for you. You’d become his lifeline and his vice wrapped in one perfect little package. 

And he liked the day shift residents, he really did. They might not have been his officially but he’d always jump at the chance to teach them everything he wished he’d known when he was in their place. 

Everything except this. How one day they’d find someone like you who took all the weight off their shoulders and bear it alongside them so it wouldn’t drown them. 

Unfortunately it seemed like they’d already caught on. 

Mel, Santos, and Javadi all knew. Mohan definitely knew which is how he’d gotten himself here in the first place. They’d flocked to you for a reason, one that was so much like his own. And that was fine. 

He didn’t own you. He didn’t have exclusivity of the way you made everything bearable. 

He was, however, madly and deeply in love with you. Beyond his ability to describe.  And he did have a right to be clingy when he wanted to be. Especially when it felt like he'd barely gotten any time alone with you recently despite the fact that you woke up and fell asleep next to each other every single night. 

Jack was already making a mental note to tell Shen just how much he appreciated him when he came back. 

Currently the two of you are practically on top of each other on the tiny twin bed that sits in the center of the on-call room. Any other day you would’ve argued with Jack. You’d have given him that sly little smile and pulled him into the stairwell instead with a teasing look in your eyes. 

But right now you were tired and Jack knew you better than anyone. He could see the exhaustion settling so deep into your bones that not even your second coffee of the night would be able to fix it. And he knew you’d never let anyone else see it. He knew you’d let them need you until the moment you walked through the door of your home with him and shut the world away. 

So you let him pull you out of the chaos before it can run you ragged. Instead, you eagerly curl into his side, half on his lap, as you listen to him talk.

Attempt to listen, anyway. You don’t quite know what he’s saying. The sound of his voice and the warmth coming from his body against yours is putting you in a trance, the extra long shift you’re currently in the middle of already catching up to you.

You can feel your eyes getting heavy with sleep and the way he’s running one of his hands through your hair is definitely not helping either. 

Then the door bursts open and all remnants of sleep leave you completely. Jack glares on instinct and then relaxes when he sees Javadi. He could excuse it this one time.

She does not hesitate before sinking down into the spinny chair that sits in the corner of the room beside a small coffee table. 

“Dr. Abbot, I have this note for you.” Is all she says to announce herself, leaning forward to pass you the note to pass to him. She isn’t phased by this at all. 

You, her, and Samira had gone to the art museum a few weeks ago. She’d gotten to yours and Jack’s place at around 9 and he’d answered the door in pajama bottoms and an old army shirt. Nothing could phase her after witnessing firsthand the easy domesticity oozing out of the two of you in the time you guys waited for Samira to let you know she was there. 

Although she had entered with one eye screwed shut after Ellis told her she was playing a dangerous game bursting into a room where you and Jack were left together unsupervised. Just in case. 

“A note?” Jack’s eyes narrow at her as he unfolds the paper. His eyes scan the piece of paper quickly and then he scoffs before handing it back to you. “Did you really waste an entire prescription sheet to scribble that down?” 

You look at it and sure enough she had. Patient Name: Victoria Javadi. Instructions: Nap Time. Dosage: 20 Minutes. Repeat as needed until symptoms of sleepiness improve. Signed: @ doc.j on all socials

Complete with a heart at the end

“Yes!” Javadi flops backwards on the chair and she kicks off the ground, doing a full spin until she’s looking at the two again. “I’m exhausted. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law.”

“Oh really,” Jack raises a brow at her and pulls you closer to his side. “What law is that?” 

“Don’t I get, like, a union mandated naptime,” She drops her head back and she’s looking at the two of you upside down now. “I’m pretty sure that’s a thing and you’re just not remembering.” 

“Or you’re just being dramatic.”

“That’s rude. I’m the least dramatic person here, actually.” She spins again as she says it. 

You feel Jack sigh against you. You look up at him from where your head is resting on his arm and he waits until Javadi does a third spin in the chair to kiss you. Soft and quick and a promise that he’s going to get you at least a few minutes to just sit down and breathe no matter how much you insist you don’t need it. He gently maneuvers out from under you and stretches as he stands up. 

“Come on, kid,” He moves around the other side of the bed and stops Javadi’s chair mid spin. “Let’s go find you a patient.”

“But that’s the opposite of sleep.”

“Yeah but it’ll keep you awake and alert more than sleep will.” They walk out of the on-call room, Jack flashing you a wink before he closes the door softly. 

You’ve only just laid back on the bed again when a soft knock sounds at the door and you sit up again. 

“Hey, Sweets,” Crus looks apologetic when he opens the door all the way. “Can I get your help with a patient? We got swamped out of nowhere, everyone else is busy.”

“Only cause I like you,” You smile at him and push the exhaustion to the back of your mind. That wasn’t important anymore. “Don’t tell anyone I play favorites though, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He steps back and lets you through the door first before he starts leading you towards the North wing. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

****

It’s exactly 7:43 AM when Eileen Shamsi steps out of the elevator. She’s wearing her perfectly pristine white lab coat and her face is contorted in barely controlled disgust at the sight of the already packed and busy ER. 

Maybe it was your lack of sleep the last few days. Maybe it was the fact that you were nearing hour 13 of a 17 hour shift. Maybe it had just been brewing since Victoria Javadi had first confided in you, telling you all the fears and anxieties that consumed her because of her mother.

You drop the conversation you’re having with Ellis the moment you see her and beeline to Dr. Shamsi herself. Ellis follows, unsure whether she’ll have to hold you back or not.

You step right in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. “Can I help you?” 

Jack hears the tone in your voice from across the room. His head whips around to find you and he knows what’s about to happen. He’d known from the moment you told him what had been wrong with Javadi at the start of her shift. 

When Javadi steps out of the room they’d been in he quickly spins her around so she can’t see the scene. He ushers her to the locker room, telling her she did good and she was good to go whenever she was ready. 

“I’m looking for my daughter.” Dr. Shamsi barely spares you a glance, looking instead towards Ellis. 

You side step to bring her attention back to you. “Is someone dying?” 

She looks taken aback at the question and makes a face when she looks back at you. “Why I am here is none of your concern.”

“I’ll take that as a no then,” You give a small shrug and shake your head. “She’s a little busy right now. She saved a critical patient's life earlier and is running through her proposed treatment plan with Dr. Abbot and Dr. McCay, who will be taking over for her. She’s had a beautifully eventful night.”

“Well I need to see her.”

“And what I need is a nice, cold Raspberry Truffle Iced Macchiato with salted caramel cold foam and a white chocolate drizzle to get me through the rest of my day but we don’t always get what we want do we?” 

You succeed in distracting her long enough for Jack to tell Victoria to get some sleep before she comes back later that night. She’s perfectly unaware of what’s going on as she walks out the door. 

“You are more than welcome to check every single room in the emergency department if you’d like to find her. Although we’re in the middle of finishing rounds so you might have a lot of patients asking a lot of questions.”

Eileen Shamsi actually scoffs at you. Ellis’ eyes go wide and she’s seen you get angry enough times, usually at the more unruly patients, to know your patience has run out. There’s no predicting what you’ll say now. “This is insubordination.” 

You suck a breath in from between your teeth and shrug. You take a step closer to her. She takes a step back. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, doc. I don’t answer to you.” You stand your ground, not an ounce of hesitation in you. 

She crosses her arms in front of her, “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Your head tips to the side and a smile flashes on your face.  “See, I don’t like this little helicopter parent thing you try to play at. It undermines everything Victoria has learned and on top of that, every time you come down here with another pointless lecture it’s distracting to the doctors in my ED. And unlike those of you up in your cozy little offices on the top floor waiting for someone to come to you, we have real jobs to do.” 

You can see the eavesdropping from everyone around you. You feel the tension in the air, thick enough to be sliced through with a dull scalpel. The smile never leaves your face. 

Finally she scoffs again, making an attempt at staring you down. It doesn’t work. “I didn’t realize they gave the nurses free reign to act however they want down here.” 

You don’t flinch at the accusation. 

“They do when they’re capable. And I’m one of the best they’ve got,” You can see Jack now, having moved to your line of sight so he could get a better view. He’s not even making an effort to hide the smirk on his face. “If you excuse me, I’ve got things to do.” 

“You’re insane,” Ellis whispers as she follows you, an amused laugh escaping her. 

You only shrug, smiling back at her. “I said what I needed to.”

Jack reaches for you the moment you’re close enough to. One arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. He doesn’t let you go this time. Instead he just whispers to you as you walk together, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You happily settle into him, “Was that too much?”

“I actually don’t think you went hard enough,” He stops as you guys near a slightly calmer part of the ED. “But I do think you might need that third coffee.” 

You beam at him when he says those words. “I really love you, you know that?” 

He hums a bit as he stares you down, painfully aware of the people moving around you. “You love my car. And the fact that it drives to that cafe you like.”

He knows you so well, “That too.”

He can’t stay on shift, he knows that. But maybe he can linger long enough to distract you just a little bit. “You want some breakfast?”

There’s a new found light in your eyes at the prospect of something other than vending machine snacks. “I might actually propose to you if you bring me back some of those little quiches. And a croissant.”

“Deal.”

5. Caramel Apple Crisp Iced Macchiato

There were a few things Baran Al-Hashimi had learned for certain in the short time she’d been at the PTMC. 

One, everyone here was severely overworked. It wasn’t anything new, she’d known exactly what she was getting herself into. 

Two, the nurses were most definitely the backbone of the emergency department. It’d only taken a couple hours for her to trust every single one of them implicitly. 

And three, no one would ever, ever hear Dr. Abbot ask for help at work. He was very good at helping others, incredible really. There was even a brief moment where she’d wondered why he wasn’t chief of the department. Until she realized he hated unnecessary responsibility as much as he loved spontaneous teaching moments. He didn’t like to think himself above others, hated it actually. And so, he’d never ask for backup. Even when he needed it.

“You’re going to what?”

“I’m going to give you an extra resident,” She simply gives him a calm smile. Her hands are clasped behind her back and she tips her head to the side, wordlessly daring him to argue with her. “Short term, for now. We’ll see how it goes at the end of this trial period and then reassess." 

Jack’s entire face screws into offense. Mateo and Shen watch eagerly, lingering on the other side of the nurses station for much longer than they have to in an attempt to eavesdrop. 

“No thanks,” Jack picks up a tablet and starts unlocking it. He’s not searching for anything in particular, he just wants an excuse to end this conversation. “We’re good. We’ve got a routine. And I don’t underestimate my doctors.” 

“I’m not underestimating any of you,” Al-Hashimi shakes her head slowly, refusing to let him shut her down. “On the contrary. I think you have a lot to teach them.”

“And I will. When I happen to be here during the day,” He starts walking away from her. “Or when they get the misfortune of being stuck with me on nights every now and then.”

“Dr. Abbot,” She says it in a way that stops him in his tracks, in a way that demands his attention. He slowly turns around to face her again and she lets out a gentle sigh. “I don’t know if you know this but I’ve already seen a remarkable difference in how Doctors Santos and Javadi approach their practices and they didn’t even spend that long with you. They grew in just those few hours.” 

“Of course they did,” Jack’s eyes flicker across the room, spotting both of them still maneuvering their way between patients. Santos has called dibs on you already, pulling you in to help her put a cast on her patient. Shen is with Javadi now, running through possible diagnoses with her. Ellis, Crus, and Nazely are following the rest of the residents, walking themselves through the remaining handoffs. “Wasn’t just cause of me though.”

“My point exactly.” Al-Hashimi smiles again, successfully running him in a mental circle and leading him to the same point she was trying to make all along. “You all bring something very valuable to this department.”

Jack can’t argue there. He finally sighs and leans back against the central counter, knowing that once Al-Hashimi made up her mind there was no changing it. “Who are you giving me?”

-Day Three-

“I don’t think he likes me.”

Shen’s statement pulls you out of the conversation you’re having with Mateo while putting in orders for patients. He slides in between the two of you in an attempt to blend in. As if he isn’t a good several inches taller than you both and wearing different colored scrubs. 

“What are you talking about?” You look away from your lab results that had just come in and turn to look at him.  

“Whitaker,” He nods his head to the side, subtly motioning to where Whitaker was clutching a tablet in his hands tightly while running something past Jack. “I don’t think he likes me. I think he might actually hate me.” 

Mateo’s laugh cuts through the otherwise soft buzz that filled the ED. He laughs more when Shen looks at him offended, “You’re insane.”

“It’s true!” Shen looks between the two of you and crosses his arms. “He’s been here for three days and I think we’ve had maybe a single conversation so far. And you’d think I was torturing it out of him.”

“It’s probably not as bad as you think.” You offer and he shakes his head.

“Sweets, the kid runs away from me every time he asks me a question. He always looks like he wants to say something and then his eyes do that big sad thing and he runs away. He isn’t like that with you guys.”

“Shen. John. Sweetheart,” You’re trying your hardest not to also laugh at the idea of what he’s saying. Instead you offer him a smile and shake your head, “I don’t think Dennis could hate anyone if he tried.”

He doesn’t believe you. You can tell. “Well what’s his deal then, huh?” 

You turn to look at him again and this time the conversation Jack is having with him looks different. You recognize it. You’ve seen him do it plenty of times over the last few weeks. He’s good at it, no matter how much he pretends he isn’t. He’s standing a little closer to Whitaker now and his arms have uncrossed, opting instead to stick his hands in his pockets. 

He leans a little closer and tips his head, fighting to get Whitaker to actually look at him and not fold himself away. When he finally does he takes it as a win and nods. He puts a hand on Whitaker’s shoulder and gives a gentle shake, finally satisfied when he returns the smile and moves to go back to his patient. 

Whitaker looks over before he walks back into the room and meets your eye. He waves at you easily and then notices Mateo and Shen. He gives them both a tense smile and that’s when you crack the code like it’s nothing. 

“He’s just nervous,” You tell them, lowering your voice a little bit. “He’s been on day shift since he started with the same handful of people and never anyone else. We’re gonna take some getting used to, we’re kind of a lot.” 

The logic doesn’t do much to ease Shen. “Well he’s fine with you and Jack.” 

“Okay well, I was halfway through my post grad residency when he started as a med student and we bonded over being new to all of this.” 

You feel it then. An arm wraps around your waist and you’d know Jack anywhere. He does the same thing he always does when he just needs you near for a few seconds. He shifts you over a little bit and lets you go, not technically touching you but practically occupying the same little bubble of space you are. He hovers close by, enough so that he could reach over and hold your hand in his without stretching if he really wanted to. 

“And what about him?” Shen crosses his arms when he nods towards Jack. “I’m more easily approachable than he is, aren’t I?” 

Jack looks between the three of you and then takes a step closer to you, trying to figure out if maybe he could piece together the conversation just from standing near you. “What are you talking about, I’m a ray of sunshine.” 

Mateo laughs again and shakes his head, “That’s almost funnier than Whitaker hating him.” 

“Whitaker? Hate?” That catches Jack off guard. “I don’t think that kid even knows what that word means.” 

“I hate when you guys agree on something.” Shen is about to give up and settle for a lifetime of not knowing why Dennis Whitaker runs away from him. 

But then Jack sidesteps to stop him from walking away and says, “Go invite him to breakfast with us.” 

Shen frowns and looks around the ED, checking to see if he was missing something. Maybe there was a fire he hadn’t seen yet. “We’re not going to breakfast?”

It wasn’t something unusual, necessarily. Breakfast trips were just usually reserved for the mornings after a long shift. Ones where none of you got the chance to breathe, let alone stop and have a real conversation. It helped bring you all back down to earth, to make everything feel real and in control again. This felt equally important in this moment. 

“We are now,” Jack shrugs like it’s nothing. “On me. Now go ask him to go with us and ask him what he likes. And make sure you sit next to him when we get there.” 

Shen thinks about it for a second and seems to decide that this is a plan that’ll definitely work. He walks away and you watch as he strategically hovers outside the door until Whitaker walks out. You, Jack, and Mateo watch the conversation play out until Whitaker smiles, nods, and walks away from Shen. And at a perfectly normal pace. Shen, meanwhile, looks ecstatic when he turns and gives you guys a double thumbs up.

“Well would you look at that,” Mateo reaches for his badge as he steps back towards one of the computers, continuing with what he’d been doing before. “Mom and dad are helping the kids play nice.” 

“Forgive me for wanting my ED to run smoothly.” Jack rolls his eyes at the statement but moves closer to you anyway. There’s one of those comments again. The ones that linger in his brain for a lot longer than necessary. 

So maybe this whole dynamic that you all had going on was a little odd. But it was also functional. It made the long days and longer nights easier. And maybe that was enough to excuse it.

-Day Eight-

“I have done you a great disservice. I betrayed you.” You announce yourself as you march right up to Dennis. He glances at you in between shoving his things in his locker. 

“For sure, yeah,” He nods, shuts the locker door, and looks at you, leaning against the cold metal on one shoulder. “What did you do, again?” 

You don’t say anything. You simply hold out a drink to him. He looks at the cup, large and dripping condensation on your hands. He thinks vaguely of the cup he’d seen already half drunk on the desk out in central. 

Your name had been written in bubble letters with a heart after it. Shen had dutifully informed him that he could ask for anything he wanted from the cafe down the street, the baristas there loved you and Jack. It was the reason the two of you were always the ones sent on coffee runs now, they never minded the obscene amount of items you guys would order. The massive tip Jack always left them definitely helped. 

He can see his own name scrawled on the plastic of the one you’re handing him with a smiley face after it along with ‘enjoy!!’. 

“I see,” Dennis takes the cup from you and eyes it before looking up at you. “I’m being hazed.” 

You roll your eyes and hand him the straw. “You’re being a drama queen, I’d hardly call a fun drink hazing.”

He sticks the straw through the lid and the two of you walk out of the locker room. “It is when you have psychic powers and you’re guessing whether or not I'll like it.” 

“I haven’t been wrong yet,” The buzz of the ED floods the space around you. “Just try it. You’ll like it, I swear.”

“Honey, you’ll scare him if you keep it up,” Jack doesn’t even look up from where he’s typing something on one of the computers. 

You grin as you spot him. As if you hadn’t just left his side minutes ago. You wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and kiss the top of his head, pausing to brush a slightly too long curl back into its place. 

Your eyes narrow again as you look at Dennis over the top of Jack’s head. “Well it’s not my fault Whitaker is afraid of trying new things.” 

“Now who’s being dramatic,” He swirls the straw in his drink and wonders if you’ll kill him if he were to lie and tell you he doesn’t like coffee all that much. He was never really good at accepting gifts. “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you after you try it.” 

So he finally does. He can feel you staring at him. He can also feel Jack staring, apparently deciding that whatever important thing he’d been doing wasn’t as interesting as this. And suddenly he understands what everyone’s been talking about. 

He’s experiencing first hand the care you put into unraveling all the small little bits of information that make people up. The ability you have to look at someone, see them for who they are, and act accordingly. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the quiet of your home or the emergency department or picking out a drink you think they’ll like. You make them feel seen either way.

You’d joked about it but he’d seen the brief concern in your eyes when you’d walked up to him and held out the drink, afraid you’d hurt him somehow when you’d accidentally forgotten to read him in this way that was uniquely yours. The same way he’d seen right through Jack when he insisted someone new had to cover Shen’s shifts a while back.

Something warm settles inside him at the fact that you’d pin pointed him so accurately it was truly a little insane. Just like you had everyone else. He wasn’t used to being perceived in this way.

“It’s okay.” He takes another sip. A longer one. 

You can see him smile around the straw and you match the look, knowing you’re right again. Jack goes back to actually working, thoroughly amused. “It’s a Caramel Apple Crisp Iced Macchiato.” 

“Why’d you pick it?” He needs to know what you see in him. What you’re perceiving. Why you’re so right about every single one of them.  “A magician never reveals their secrets,” You kiss the top of Jack’s head again and he reaches up to silently squeeze your hand in acknowledgement. Dennis looks away, afraid he’s intruding on the soft moment. Then you let Jack go and instead reach out to grab him, pulling him away from the computers. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day. Let’s go find a job to do.”

-Day Sixteen-

“You know this is weird right?” Trinity spins in her chair to look at Whitaker. She’d taken a brief pause in her last chart to watch him walk through the ambulance bay doors, settled comfortably on the other side of Jack as the three of you walked in together. 

“What are you talking about?” Dennis frowns, not quite following. 

It’d become part of the routine. Him and Trinity lived on your way into the hospital. That was it. It just made sense for him to carpool with you and Jack. Save gas in this economy or whatever. It was the same reason Samira usually drove Trinity home and dropped Javadi off wherever she was due to avoid her mom that day. 

“You’re third wheeling our attending and his girlfriend,” She crosses her arms in front of her and tries not to laugh at the way his whole face scrunches up in distaste at the wording. 

“Well when you put it like that it sounds bad.”

“No it’s not bad,” One corner of Trinity’s mouth quirks up and she shrugs. “They just saw you from across the pitt and liked your vibe.”

“Okay,” He pushes himself off the side of the table he’d been leaning on. “We’re done.” 

“They just like you that’s all,” Trinity sits up in her chair and does laugh a little bit that time. “Don’t let the patients catch on though. I heard someone wondering if they’d take a third. You might have to fight people off.” 

“You are insufferable sometimes,” Dennis knows his face is going red and it only makes Trinity look even more smug. 

“Don’t be mean to her,” Right on cue. Your voice cuts through the laughing and Trinity very quickly puts an innocent pout on her face when you join them. You wrap an arm around her shoulders and rest your head on top of hers. 

Trinity is wearing a shit eating as she reaches up and hugs you back. “Yeah, don’t be mean to me.” 

Dennis has to bite his tongue to actively hold back his defense. There was no way you could find out what they’d been talking about. 

“Hey,” You look at him as you lift your head, still not letting go of Trinity. “Do you wanna go to the farmers market with me after shift? It’s almost Shen’s one year anniversary of being an attending and one of the booths sells this bourbon infused honey he really likes to put in his coffee. He and Jack have a meeting with Al-Hashimi in the morning and if we go fast we can be back before they’re done.” 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Dennis agrees immediately and you smile, finally letting go of Trinity. 

“Perfect, we’ll sneak out right after rounds?”

“I’ll meet you outside.” The second you’ve turned around and walked away he points an accusing finger at Trinity, who looks incredibly amused. “Don’t say a word.” 

She holds back a laugh, “I’m not gonna.” 

“Yes you are, I can feel it.” 

She tries, she really does, but it comes out anyway. “Should I expect you to move out and into their guest room some time soon?” 

“Goodbye, Trin.”

“So is that a yes?”

And then, as if the universe is out to get him, Abbot calls his name from the ambulance bay doors without even really knowing where he is. He just says it instinctively.

“Whitaker,” He looks around until he finds him and then nods, beckoning him over. “Come jump on this trauma with me.”

He doesn’t even dare looking back at Trinity again. He does, however, hear her burst out laughing as he walks away.

-Day Twenty Three-

Nazely hadn’t been at the PTMC for very long but she was starting to think that maybe she was lied too. Part of her was convinced that Sweets might actually be your real name. She’d rarely heard you called otherwise by anyone. 

“You’re the best, Sweets.” When you hand Mateo his drink.

“Sweets, can I steal you for a sec?” When Shen needs help out in triage. 

“Abbot, when are you gonna let me steal Sweets again? You can’t hog her forever.” When Walsh lingers in the ER after bringing a patient back down from surgery.

So, naturally, she uses the name for you too. Just like she uses everyone else’s name.

“Hi, Sweets,” She grins at you when she sees you walk in. On one side of you, “Dennis,” and on the other side, “Jack.”

She really doesn’t think twice about it. 

Jack, however, is jump scared. He wasn’t used to hearing his name come from many people at work. You used it, obviously. Shen also did, he’d weaseled his way into becoming probably one of his closest friends. Every now and then someone else would say it, usually when the line bled from professionalism into exhaustion after long hours.

Hearing it said so casually was…odd. “Was that weird?”

“Was what weird?” You ask, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the slightest.

“My name.” Jack turns to Whitaker next, brows furrowed in complete confusion.

“I call you that?” Whitaker shrugs as the three of you stop at central, waiting for you to drop off whatever you need to leave behind the desk. “Not here but still.”

“Yeah but that’s different,” Jack shakes his head as if that should be obvious. “I know where you live. I’m supposed to be intimidating. I’m intimidating, right?”

He’s looking at you again and you nod quickly, flashing him a smile, “You’re terrifying.”

Jack knows you’re lying. He turns to Whitaker again. “I’m scary.” 

Whitaker looks at you and you give him a small nod. Play along. “Definitely.” 

Except Whitaker then watches Jack for a second. He’s still holding his matcha, a salted maple one today, and leaning against the desk beside you. He watches as Jack pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and you smile at him. Then, wordlessly, he moves behind you. He puts his drink down and instead gathers your hair back. He pulls a hair tie off his own wrist, one of the extras he always has on him, and ties it back for you.

Whitaker looks down quickly, as if he’s intruding on something he isn’t supposed to be again, and smiles. And thinks he could get used to this. Nights. The pointless conversations and gentle moments and calling each other by first names. As much as he loves the day shift, this is something that makes him feel comfortable. Like he belongs.

Maybe that’s why he does it. 

“I disagree.” 

It’s well into the night now and the trauma room they’re in goes quiet. Whitaker is suddenly much too aware of every single person in there. Nazely’s eyes go wide from beside him. Mateo looks back and forth between him and Jack. Even Crus pauses for a second to see how this is going to play out. 

Jack pauses, halfway through pulling off his gloves already. “I’m sorry?” 

“I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,” Whitaker takes a step forward. He doesn’t back down. 

He runs through everything they know. Their patient, their injuries, medical history, prescriptions, what the EMT’s had found out on scene. And he can see why Jack makes the conclusion he does and why everyone else agrees. It was textbook. 

But he puts the logical assumptions they usually make aside, looks at it from the patients point of view instead. And it leads him somewhere else. 

“I know it might not be necessary but I think we should do it just in case,” Whitaker tries his hardest not to shrink under the way Jack is looking at him. “If I'm wrong then that’s fine. But if I’m right it’s better we catch it earlier.” 

It’s quiet for another second. And then the nitrile gloves snap as Jack finishes pulling them off and he nods. “Alright. Order the labs. Central 9 is open last I heard, let’s get him moved in there,” And then to Whitaker. “He’s yours now. Keep me updated.” 

It's only thirty minutes later when the lab work comes back. 

Whitaker is looking at it on the screen and doesn’t even notice Jack standing right behind him, looking at the results over his shoulder until he says, “You were right.” 

Whitaker jumps and quickly backs up against the standing desk he’s at. “Maybe a little warning next time?” 

Jack smirks and shrugs, “My ED, we’ll see.” He looks back at the lab results and doesn’t look back at him when he says, “You did good, kid. It’s about time you argued with me about something.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Whitaker quickly adds, realizing all of a sudden that this is his attending and they are at work. There was supposed to be a clear dynamic. “I just -”

“You don’t have to justify yourself,” Jack cuts him off before he can start. “Disagreeing with me is practically a right of passage here, ask anyone. You’re a good doctor, stop pretending you aren’t just because you don’t feel okay pushing back sometimes. You’re one of us now, we can take it.”

Jack doesn’t say anything else. He claps him on the shoulder before walking to wherever he was off to next. 

The words stick with him. You’re one of us now. He thinks of them the entire rest of his shift. Then the entire way home, as you’re recounting a story from triage they’d missed earlier that night from the front seat. Again when you and Jack pick him up again and when he clocks in for the next night's shift he feels lighter on his feet. Like maybe, finally, he’s settled. He likes it here, he decides. Maybe the night shift wasn’t as bad as people assumed it was.

+1. Toasted Coconut Cold Brew, extra sugar

Jack could admit when he was wrong. Maybe Al-Hashimi had been on to something. Honestly, he was sure that he could get used to this. 

His team was good. He knew they were. He had more confidence in them than anyone else in the ED. Still, that didn’t mean they didn’t appreciate the extra coverage when they were given it. And having Whitaker there consistently over the last month had been a godsend. 

Tonight was his last shift on nights and he knows they’re all wondering the same thing. What would they have to do to get him switched permanently. Whitaker doesn’t seem to mind the idea. They don’t know that he and Javadi are in the process of duking it out to get Al-Hashimi to let one of them switch permanently. 

You know it was a rough morning. Not only because Donnie had been keeping you updated on everything you were missing in the nurses group chat but also because Dana is sitting still, something she never does. She’s hovering at central when you walk in with Whitaker and Jack and staring off into space for a moment. A clear sign it’d been a long day. 

You silently hand her a well needed dose of caffeine the moment you see her, a toasted coconut cold brew with extra extra sugar. She looks at you and you can hear what she wants to say without her having to say it. You’re a life saver, kid. 

She settles into her spot for a second with a soft sigh. You don’t notice when she turns to eavesdropping on the conversation you’re having with Whitaker and watches out of the corner of her eye.

Not a single one of them can deny the effect you seem to have on everyone, the residents especially. They can all see it clearly. 

The ease in Mel’s shoulders when she came back in, more willing to assert herself. The way Santos took a second to listen now, looking at things past her first instinct. The confidence Javadi carried with her, not holding herself back anymore. 

And now Whitaker. An easy smile on his face and for the first time in the entire time he’d been at the PTMC he took up space and stopped making himself easy to handle. He argued and stood firm in what he thought and even bickered sometimes. Over what he thought was the right course of action and for fun. Loudly. For all Dana knew you night shift dwellers could’ve replaced her mousy little resident with a clone of himself and she just wasn’t made aware. 

You’ve maneuvered your way behind the counter and Jack stands close at your side, taking advantage of the fact that it’s not 7:00 PM yet. It’s 6:58 and he has no plans to leave your side until he absolutely has to. 

He was not being clingy that time. He was just tired. That was definitely all. The two of you had been up a lot longer than you should’ve been after the night before for various reasons. This wasn’t even that bad compared to how he could be. He’s got one arm on the counter, leaning on it while his body is faced towards you.

Whitaker is leaning towards you over the other side of the counter, practically invading the other half of your personal space and Dana thinks it’s crazy that you don’t feel smothered by them. They’re both stuck to you like glue.  She decides that is none of her business. 

She watches as night shift starts trickling in. Whitaker nods at Shen in greeting as he walks past, flashing a grin at him while still deep in conversation with you. Then he gives both Mateo and Crus a fist bump when they come in. A few minutes later Ellis follows and she pats him on the shoulder and he smiles back at her and they do a handshake only they seem to know. Dana raises a brow at that one and takes a sip of her coffee.

He doesn’t even look like he’s questioning every word he says as he talks to Jack. Jack Abbot. His attending. He even goes as far as to joke with him the way he only ever has with Santos in moments they think no one is watching. 

And Dana is so sure of the choice she’s already made.

“It’s a gift,” You roll your eyes at Whitaker and he shakes his head, looking away so you don’t see the grin he holds back. “It doesn’t count as one if you pay me back for it.”

He shakes his head and stirs the straw in his drink. “There’s literally no reason for you to get me a gift though.” 

“Oh, I can't get my friend something nice for making it through the last four weeks?” 

“Don’t believe her,” Jack sets one hand on your hip as he leans in closer to look over you so he can see Whitaker past you. His voice lowers like he’s telling him a secret, like you aren’t right there between them. “It’s a bribe to try to get you to stay on nights.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell him,” You turn your head and shake your head at him and he only smiles at you, holding back every instinct of his that’s begging to kiss you in the middle of the ED. “Besides, it was his idea.” 

“It was not.” Jack scoffs at your accusation. One that’s absolutely correct.

“Liar.” 

“I refuse to participate in this,” Whitaker shakes his head and lets out a smile that time. There was something about being on nights that made him feel a sense of camaraderie with everyone that he hadn’t felt before. He hadn’t just worked with new people, he’d made friends. And maybe part of why he felt so comfortable was this exact reason. The way you dragged him into these things so easily. It made him feel included. He was gonna miss it on days. “Not part of my job description anymore.”

“Oh come on,” You give him a pout and Jack rolls his eyes at your antics. “You’re gonna miss us, admit it.” 

“Ellis, Crus, and Shen for sure. Abbot a little bit. Definitely Lena and Mateo,” He tips his head to the side and then flashes you a look that borders on a smirk and shrugs. “I think that’s it.” 

“You’re so mean,” You’re actively fighting the smile from appearing. “You’re uninvited to your goodbye breakfast in the morning.” 

“We’ll see where you stand on that an hour from now.” He only nods, finally standing up straight and taking a sip of his drink to prove his point. The one you’d bought for him. 

He moves to walk away but not before holding his hand out for your second coffee. You hand it to him easily and he takes it along with his drink you’d brought him, heading towards the break room to put them both in the fridge. Whitaker, unlike most of you, had a little bit of self control and didn’t usually chug his way through his drink. 

“Seriously,” You turn to face Jack once he’s gone. “Can we keep him? Do you think they’ll let us?” 

Jack indulges you. He always does. 

“I don’t know, he’s pretty valuable,” His eyes scan your face, bouncing back and forth until they land on your lips, still pouting at him. He debates how badly both Dana and Lena will yell at him if he kisses you right here with patients all around. “We might have to fight for him.” 

There’s a ding on your phone before you can answer. When you pull it out to glance at it quickly in case it’s something important you immediately forget anything you’d been about to say. 

Dennis Whitaker paid you $7 - bc i’ll miss u the most (real)

“Dennis Whitaker!” You shout in the middle of the ED and you turn around to go hunt him down. 

Dana stops you. His only saving grace. 

“Not so fast, kid,” Dana reaches out for you and grabs your arm gently before you can walk past her. She looks at you for a second and then notices the way Jack is listening closely, having zeroed in very quickly on this interaction. She looks at him then and puts on a mask of distaste. “Don’t you have patients to go see?” 

He checks his watch. 7:00 PM on the dot. “Not yet, technically. Board hasn’t changed.”

“So help me god I will -” 

“Alright, alright. Message received,” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m going.”

Jack walks away and strategically hovers in Dana’s blindspot, making it a point to eavesdrop out of curiosity. 

Dana just watches you for a second. She looks you up and down. She thinks of you when you first came into the PTMC. Competent and determined to do the most good you could. You’d been eager and loud and asked questions she hadn’t been able to predict, ones other nurses who had come and gone wouldn’t have even thought of. She loved you immediately. And now here you are. On your own and somehow, someway having solidified yourself as an absolutely integral part of the night shift ecosystem that Jack Abbot had crafted carefully over the years. 

And he’d apparently decided that had to carry over in his own home. She certainly had her opinions on how quickly he’d pulled you in but if the constantly present lovey-dovey look on your face was any indication then the feeling was absolutely mutual. 

You look strangely alive with him and that was really all that mattered. It made her smile as much as she pretended it didn’t.

Finally she asks you, “How you likin’ nights so far?” 

Your eyes narrow at her and she laughs. You could see through her as well as she could you. “Is there a reason you’re asking now and not a few months ago?” 

She shrugs, “Just wonderin’.” 

You don’t believe her for a second but you think about it anyway. You think about the last few months and how it had turned completely upside down from how you’d first envisioned it. You think about how it had been on days. And then you answer without hesitation. “I really love it actually. More than I thought I would.” 

“Really,” Dana raises a brow at you and crosses her arms. “How much of it is cause of Romeo over there?” 

She nods towards where she knows Jack is hovering, doing him the kindness of pretending she doesn’t notice. 

“Please, I’d tell you if any of it was and when have I ever lied to you,” You laugh a little at the look she gives you, a mom look if you ever saw one. Your face softens then and she straightens, silently telling you she was there for whatever you were about to confide in her for. “I am serious, though.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod and you don’t hesitate to tell her the truth. 

“It’s a lot harder than days, definitely. I mean, neither of them are easy, obviously. But there’s more routine with days, you can almost prepare yourself. You don’t get that with nights. All you can do is buckle up and hope for the best and I think I’ve gotten really good at that. Nights are when people are the most vulnerable and scared, when they aren’t afraid of hiding it anymore. They need someone who’s gonna take a little bit of whatever is being thrown at them off their shoulders and I’m good at that. If I can help even a little, then being a bit sleep deprived all the time isn’t really a bad thing.” 

“I think you’re good at it too, kid,” Dana smiles at you, genuinely that time. Then she pauses for another second before asking, “You wanna switch back to days?” 

You freeze, “What?” 

Jack, who’d been about to walk away and mind his business, falters. Suddenly he’s hovering again.

“Temporarily,” Dana adds on quickly. “I have a six week cruise calling my name, gift from my sister-in-law. Gloria already approved you taking over for me while I'm gone.”

You laugh a little bit, filled with nothing but shock. “You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Sweets?”

“Well,” You point behind her at where Princess and Perlah are standing. You’re so caught off guard by the question that you don’t even notice they’re only there because Jack had quickly recruited them to help hide him in the background behind them so he could move closer. “What about them?” 

“Oh absolutely not.”

“Never in a million years.”

“See?” Dana shrugs easily as if that explains everything. “You’re my best bet, kid.” 

“Well,” You struggle to find an argument. “Why me?” 

Because she trusts you. “Cause you’ve done it before. And very well might I add.”

“Yeah, for like five hours,” You cross your arms in front of you and shuffle on your feet. “That hardly counts.”

“Does too, that’s almost half a shift. The place didn’t burn down did it?”

“That’s like the bare minimum.” 

“Sweets,” She finally says as she sets one hand on the counter, the other still holding her drink. She leans forward towards you, lowering herself a bit so she’s eye level with you. “You got this. I know you can run this place the way I do. And so do they.” 

She nods vaguely to her side, in the direction of the rest of the entirety of the ED. Princess gives you a thumbs up from behind her and Perlah nods enthusiastically.

“Please say yes,” Jesse shows up out of nowhere, hands squeezing your shoulders in greeting before he leans on the counter next to you. “She’s gonna make one of us do it if you say no.”

“Oh no,” You turn to him and give a mock frown. “Not more work.” 

He rolls his eyes at you and then looks at Dana. “She takes after you.”

And it's true. She’d taught you everything she knew and you soaked up every bit of it. 

You think for a moment again. You’d gotten used to nights incredibly quickly. It was your home. Where you thrived. But a part of you missed this exact thing sometimes though. The first people you knew here, the ones who’d taught you. The ones you kept close, carrying parts of them with you always. If they trusted you…

“Gloria really said yes already?”

“She took very little convincing.”

“And Lena?”

“I’ve never seen her sign off on something so fast.”

“Okay, that hurts a little bit.”

“She just knows how good you are too. You’re the only one we’re waiting for.”

You bite your bottom lip and drop your head back to look at the fluorescent lit ceiling. Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you weigh the choice to yourself. You sigh as you look at Dana again, “Six weeks?”

“That’s right.” 

There’s another few seconds of suspense and you can feel all of them staring at you. And then finally, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Jack watches the way they cheer and then excitedly crowd around you from afar. And he’s happy for you, he really is. He’s proud of you and he’s absolutely going to tell you so as soon as you tell him later and he pretends to not already know. He’s also devastated. He already doesn’t know what they expect him to do with himself. How could he possibly survive the next six weeks if he didn’t have you by his side. 

Whitaker walks past him in that exact moment, on his way to look at the board that has now officially changed, the names of everyone on the night shift taking place of the day shift. Jack grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back in a single quick move. 

He stumbles back and Jack steadies him before he can fall. 

“You don’t want to switch places do you?” The question escapes Jack on its own and Whitaker looks confused for only a second. “You can stay on nights and I’ll take your place on days.” 

Silence. And then Whitaker notices you still standing with Dana. Perlah, Princess, and Jesse are all hovering now too. Then Donnie and Vivi join you and they know from the ecstatic looks on everyone else’s faces that you said yes. He connects the dots easily enough. He heard about it from Santos who heard from Princess a few days ago. He figured it was none of his business. 

He stands upright again and tries really hard not to laugh a little bit. He returns the gesture and sets a hand on Jack’s shoulder and looks him in the eyes before shaking his head once. 

“Not a chance. Good luck.”

note pt. 2: shen one hundred percent went to see sabrina carpenter i don't make the rules (javadi got the pink camaraderie shirt in case anyone was wondering)

Prince Baelor was hesitant to remarry. In fact, he was perfectly content to be on his own after his wife's passing. He already had an heir, there was no rush. But then your father had offered your hand and when he'd laid eyes on you he couldn't refuse.

Your inital fears had vanished soon after your wedding. He was older, yes, but he was kind. Stories of cruel kings becoming crueler husbands were common to to noble born girls. Hushed lessons taught by worried mothers in an attempt to save their daughters from a shared fate.

Your wedding day was full of nerves, stomach turning as your maid from childhood dressed you for the last time. You were conscious of each footstep down the aisle, desperately trying to make your way to the alter without fumbling on your dress or your own two feet. Everything had occurred exactly how you imagined it.

Your wedding night? That was completely different that you had been told. Your mother had sat you down the night before and told you everything to expect. She also reiterated that it would hurt, but it was important to smile while you performed your wifely duties. You were not to make too much noise, not to move unless he instructed and to be patient until it was over. Your heart hammered in your chest as Baelor undressed you,

But after your down had slipped to the floor, he'd kissed your shoulder and lain you on the bed. Your whole body stiffened as he spread your legs. But instead of the head of his….member stretching you open his fingers gently pressed into the sensitive skin of your thighs, holding you open as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive bud between your legs. You could feel his smirk against your skin as his tongue ravished your body.

When he did finally push into your entrance, you were pleasantly surprised that it actually felt good instead of the searing pain your mother described. You body was pleasantly loose from Baelor's earlier actions, which helped your body accomodate him.

And after you'd gotten a taste of this new activity, it was hard for Baelor to deny you. There was just one problem-

"Lady Dyanna," your sister in law turns to you as you call out for her. The two of you are enjoying your tea on the balcony overlooking Kings Landing, "Because of my union to Baelor we are now sisters, correct."

"Yes, princess."

"May I ask you a question then? One that may be considered too…vulgar for me to ask another," your face warms.

An amused smile unfolds on her face, "Of course, princess. Though it was a while was many moons ago, I remeber what it was like to be newly married to the son of a king. What plagues your mind?"

"When you are finshed with your relations," you look at the foor unable to meet her eye, "How are you meant to deal with the mess afterwards."

Dyanna chuckles, "A simple cloth will suffice. You may ask your maids to warm the water as well. It well help soothe the ache that sometimes occurs. Though you want to be careful not to wipe away too much or you may be preventing the future heir from settling in your womb."

"This I know," you pause, unsure of how to say your true intention, "I mean moreso - when you are walking around afterwards. How do you manage the…leaking."

The older woman tilts her head, confused, "Well I remain in bed for the rest of the night so that is not as much of an issue."

"You've never had morning relations?"

"Not never," she says, a bit nostalgic as she thinks back to her youth, "Though I can't say I recall not being able to solve that issue with a cloth before I left my chambers."

"W-well I do," you sputter, "But sometimes it's quite a lot and it's uncomfortable when I walk. Especially if we've also had relations the evening before as well-"

"Relations in the evening and the morning? I didn't realize Baelor was quite so ravenous."

"It's not always him who initiates," you murmur, stirring your spoon in your tea, "In fact it's usually not him who initiates."

Dyanna laughs, "Oh, how I miss my youth. Though, I do not blame you. They are a handsome set of brothers are they not?"

Baelor has been busy this past week. He doesn't call you into your chambers until early the next morning. He's sitting at the desk in his room when you arrive. He smiles at you when the squeak of the door on its hinges announces your prescence.

"My prince," you say in greeting.

"My love, I am sorry to wake you so early. I missed your presence while I was away," he beckons you over with one hand as he stands, silver rings glinting in the light, "Did you sleep well?"

Your body follows easily, drawn to him. You shake your head as you fall into his embrace, "My chambers are far too cold without the blood of a dragon near."

"My apologies, my princess," he chuckles tipping your head up, and gently pressing his lips to yours, "The hunt lasted longer than inteded, but I am rested now."

His hands grip your waist firmly to pull you closer before reaching back to peel you out of your night clothes. You hesitate, stepping back.

"My lord, perhaps we should wait until this evening for those activities."

"What's wrong, my love?" he frowns, emphasizing the lines between his brows that you adore.

"Nothing," you shake your head, "I may have embarassed myself during my meeting with Dyanna and I need time to heal my pride, my lord."

"What happened?"

Your face warms, "I'm not sure I should discuss these matters with you."

"I am your husband, and the prince of the realms, you can discuss anything with me, my love," he tucks a stray curl behind your ear.

You sigh, "I had a question for her about…relations and now I fear she may believe me to be too enamoured with it."

Baelor chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling you along with him.

"You are aware that Dyanna and Maekar have six children. There is nothing we are doing that they haven't done already."

"I know that," you say with a groan, buried your face in your husbands neck, "You should have seen the way she looked at me when I told her of my problem.

Your husband tilts his head, "Problem? You did not speak to me of any problems. Pray tell, I have not been hurting you have I?"

"No, no," you shake your head, reassuring him, "I have no complaints of our relations itself, husband. It's afterwards that I am sometimes I encounter a nuisance is all."

"I see," he nods, "Care to elaborate on this nuisance?"

You avert your gaze to the wall behind him, "It doesn't concern you, husband."

He smiles, "If it concerns my queen, then it concerns me."

"After we finish," you sigh, "Sometimes when I walk about the castle, I can feel you dripping down my leg. I simply asked Dyanna what she does, but it seems as though she does not have this same issue."

Your husband nods. He's had his suspicions about his condition. He may be king but he has taken part in his share of celebrations after a particularly well won tournament.More than a few of his past acquiantences have brought this very same topic to his attention before.

"My love, I believe I have a solution to your nuisance."

He stands to undo his robes. You lean back on your elbows watching his clothes fall to the floor. You bite your lip in anticipation, pulling his body on top of yours.

Your legs fall open for your husnband, your mouths moving languidly against each other as he his fingers reach the coarse hairs at the apex of your thighs. You sigh when his long fingers skim across your folds, diping into your entrance to spread your slick. He teases your sensitive bud with a light touch.

"Baelor," you whine which makes your husband smile as he kisses your neck, "Do not make me wait."

"I thought you were prepared to wait until nightfall, my love," the heel of his hand stays pushed up against that spot that drives you mad while his fingers slip inside you.

"Changed my mind," you pant, pulling him closer you you, "You would keep your wife waiting, my lord?"

"Never, my love."

Your back arches off the bed as Baelor pushes into you. He grips your leg, hooking it over his shoulder as your hips meet. His nose nuzzles along your jaw making his beard hairs tickle your neck.

"How's that feel, my love?" he murmurs planting a kiss on your collar bone.

"G-gods, Baelor," you groan, "So good."

He moves slowly, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure as he drags his cock inside you. His hand slips between your bodies to slow circles that drive make you moan.

He knows your body well, works it like like an instrument tuntil you're clawing at his back and shouting his name. He manages to stave of his own release but only for a few moments, just enough to drive into you once more filling you to the brim.

Though he tried his best, some of spend starts to leak out of you once more.

"Shh, my love," he coos, as he stands, trying to doge your attempt to keep him close, "I'm not going anywhere."

He sinks to the floor, grateful for the rug cushioning his aging knees. He wraps his arms around your legs, tugging you towards him.

"Baelor!" you gasp out, "What are you-"

"Why do you act as though I have not done this before," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your mound, "This is my favourite place to be while unwind at the end of the day."

"But you've already...finished."

"I am quite aware, darling, worry not about me."

He spreads your legs apart, groaning at the sight of his seed leaking out of you.

"Wish you could see how we look together, my princess," he teases, leaning forward kiss your inner thigh, "Perhaps we should move the mirror to the bedroom."

He doesn't wait for your response, too entranced by the sight of you. He licks broadly, moaning at the taste your joined mess. You squirm in his arms, still sensitive from your release. He chuckles, digging his fingers into your thighs, holding you in place.

"We're divine together my love," he groans, licking at your entrance, "Want a taste?"

He meets your eye, grinning when you nod hesitantly at his words. He uses his tongue to scrape at your walls, collecting your shared juices with an obscene slurp and gently holding your ankle in the air to keep you from kicking his head.

He crawls up the bed to where you await with wide eyes, anticipating his neck move. He holds your head in place and forces your jaw open his thumb.

You don't even flinch when he spits into your mouth. You close your eyes, licking your lips with a moan when you swallow.

You're summoned into the Princes chamber later that night once more. Baelor is already in his bedclothes atop of the covers. You rush over, settling yourself on his lap.

"How was your day, my prince," you greet with a smile, running your fingers through his hair.

He preens, "Much better now that you're here, my love. How was yours?"

"Much better now that you're here," you laugh, repeating his words.

"And tell me, how was my solution to your nuisance today?" he chuckles. His hands start to lift your night dress, exposing more of your tanned skin.

"It worked," you smile, toying with the hem of his shirt, "Though I must admit I missed the reminder of you."

"Oh?" he quirks a brow, "How so?"

"I felt…" you pause, tilting your head trying to think of the right word, "empty today."

"Empty,?" Baelor repeats. You giggle, feeling the start of his interest poke you in the thigh.

You nod, "I missed the feel of my prince leaking down my leg during the day. Though I did enjoy what we did this morning-oh!"

Your yelp turns into a moan when Baelor flips you over and your back hits the mattress.

Rengoku Kyojuro

Your heart almost beats out of your chest, the tray you’re carrying slightly trembling in sheer excitement.

You hate acting like a little teenage girl whenever he’s around. But since you were called in by Shinobu a few weeks ago and saw him again, you were stunned.

How is it even possible to fall for a man you barely know, a man who probably doesn’t even know a man? After all, you’re a no one compared to him. A demon slayer too weak to really fight, but skilled with medicine and herbs. If it wasn’t for Shinobu, you’d probably be dead already.

And him? He’s a hashira, the flame pillar, to be exact.

Your worlds couldn’t be any further apart. And yet, you find yourself swaying back and forth, your heart pounding against your ribcage by the prospect of seeing him again.

Shinobu ordered you to change his bandages and check on his wounds for possible infections. When he came in from his fight with the upper moon three, you were almost certain that he won’t make it. Day and night, you cared for his multiple gaping wounds, watched his heartbeat and vital status, stood up every hour of the day for his injection.

And he really made it. Thank heavens, that man was strong enough to really made it.

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be dead by now! I owe you my life!”

His kind words repeat themselves over and over in your head. Even though you know it’s ridiculous, that it’s impossible, that this man will never catch feelings for someone like you.

But you’re allowed to dream a little, right?

You knock on the door timidly.

“It’s me. I’m here for your bandage change and your meal,” you call through the closed door before opening it.

And getting greeted by his beaming eyes all over again.

“What a pleasant surprise! You always brighten my day with your presence!”

You can’t hide the little blush creeping up your face while you smile shyly at him, dropping your gaze as soon as you start to burn alive.

“Oh, (y/n)! I was hoping to meet you here! May I ask you to help me out?”

“Shinobu-san…Of course!” you stumble, swiftly placing your tray on a table nearby.

Why is Shinobu here? After Rengoku’s status was stabilized, she left him in your care exclusively. Is something wrong? Did he show any critical signs?

“Don’t worry, I’m only here because Rengoku-san generously allowed me to test a stimulant I’ve been working on for quite some time now.”

“A new stimulant?” you repeat, interest clearly peaking.

“As you know, Rengoku-san sustained damage to his nervous system, specifically sensory loss, nerve pain and extreme fatigue from time to time. In order to not only treat the symptoms but the cause, I created a   stimulant out of wisteria and rare mountain herbs in hopes to accelerate nerve signal repair, increase his energy for recovery and help bringing back his full mental clarity in days rather than another few weeks,” she explains patiently, preparing the injection with skilled hands.

You can’t help but admire her. The amount of work she puts in creating antidots, stimulants, medicine and so much more is truly inspiring. How glad you are to call yourself her tsugoko.

“That sounds promising,” you reply with glooming eyes.

“It does, but apart from animal testing, I didn’t get the chance to examine it properly yet. I would never ask a patient to function as a test person, of course. But Rengoku-san insisted on trying it himself.”

“I know I can trust you. After all, you are very skilled within the medical field!” Rengoku interjects while watching the first shot entering his arm.

“Don’t flatter me, Rengoku-san! I actually learned a lot from (y/n)!”

“F…From me?” you mumble, face instantly growing hot.

“Of course! Your knowledge within the medical field is truly remarkable! I wish I knew as much as you do about herbs and medicine!”

“Shinobu-san, please! I…I don’t deserve your praise.”

“But you are great, (y/n)!” Rengoku beams directly towards you.

Your heart skips a beat, palms so sweaty that you automatically wipe them off your coat awkwardly. Does he really…Mean that? Rengoku doesn’t seem like a person who lies, especially not straight into your face. To be exact, he has to be the most decent and honest person you’ve ever met. So kind-hearted, so straightforward, so positive. Oh, you truly don’t deserve his praise-

“SHINOBU-SAN!”

It all happens faster than you’re able to comprehend. Aoi storms through the door without knocking, her uniform covered in dirt and fresh blood. Almost instantly, all color drains from your face. Something bad must have happened. Again severely hurt demon slayers?

“Tanjuro, Zenitsu, Inosuke and the sound hashira just came in – barely alive, the sound hashira misses his arm-“

Shinobu listens closely, so closely that she doesn’t realize the injection she put in Rengoku’s arm is already empty by now.

“I’m on my way. (y/n), please stay here with Rengoku-san look after his vital status. Please note any side effects the simulant might have. I’ll call after you if I need your help.”

And with that, the insect pillar is gone, leaving you alone with shaky fingers next to Rengoku.

What happened? You’ve heard that they left for a mission along with the sound hashira, that they actually encountered a high-ranked demon and that the snake pillar was sent after them. Tanjiro…He can’t die, he simply can’t. After all the things he’s been through, all the wounds you tend when he was in your care-

 You shake your head.

No. This is not the time to think about things like this. Shinobu told you to look after Rengoku, this is your job now. You can go and look after Tanjiro and the others when you have the time for it.

“How are you feeling, Rengoku-san?”

“I’m feeling…strange,” he replies with unusual low voice.

You furrow your eyebrows, eyes scanning his skin and then the empty injection on the table.

The.empty.injection.

Your eyes grow wider and wider each passing second. Didn’t Shinobu-san say that she wants to test the injection step-by-step? She must’ve been so focused on Aoi and the others that she forgot to stop and wait.

Out of instinct, you spring up from your chair in sheer horror. Oh no. This might be bad. Really really bad.

“Rengoku-san! Are you…are you feeling strange in terms of bad?” you ask, your hands already on their way to work on your own.

Gently, you feel his forehead, his skin so burning hot that you flinch.

 “Your skin is on fire! Are you in pain? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

“I… feel alive.” His voice is hoarse,  not in pain, not in weakness, but like it’s holding something back. You glance at him. He’s not hunched over or trembling, like a normal side-effect patient. No, Rengoku is sitting tall and straight, his muscles tense beneath the loose yukata, his eyes boring into you like you’re made of gold.

“You feel… alive?” you repeat, carefully noting it in your log.

Elevated body temperature. Confusion? Mood shift?

“I feel like I could lift a mountain. Run through an inferno. Shout your name from the top of Mt. Fuji.”

You blink.

“…Okay, slight delusions,” you whisper to yourself, jotting that down.

He shifts. The fabric of his yukata falls slightly from his shoulder, exposing more skin than it should, and you instantly avert your eyes.

“I’m so warm… but it’s not unpleasant,” he says slowly.

“It’s like… being wrapped in sunlight. Like standing beside you.”

You pause.

“Is it…could it be fever-induced hallucination?” you murmur, genuinely concerned now, hand reaching up to feel his forehead again.

But this time, he suddenly grabs your wrist and pushes you towards him. Firm. Steady. Very real. Very not hallucinating.

“Your hands are divine,” he breathes.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are when you’re focused?”

Your brain stalls.

“I…what?”

“I’ve been trying to be patient. Respectful. But this medicine, this miracle, it’s like it cleared the fog in my mind. I see you now. No…no, I’ve always seen you. I just never had the courage to go any further.”

You stare at him, still frozen. Is this a… symptom? Is he hallucinating you as someone else? No, you don’t allow yourself to even think about the opportunity that these are his real thoughts, that this is how someone like Rengoku Kyojuro feels about you-

“Rengoku-san, can you tell me your name? Just to make sure-”

“Kyojuro. Call me Kyojuro. Please, (y/n). Say it again. Say my name while looking at me.”

You pull your hand back slowly, still kept firmly in his strong arms. It takes all your strength to not let you fall into his tender touch, to not use this state of confusion for your own advantage.

“S-So, euphoria… that’s… interesting,” you whisper, writing it down with trembling fingers. “Cognitive function seems intact but slightly impaired-”

“I would go to war for you,” he mumbles.

You stop writing.

“I’d slay a thousand demons with my bare hands if it meant you’d smile at me for half a second.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Still not accepting the possibly that he really means what he just told you.

“…W-What?”

“Let me court you.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Your brain is buffering.

“W-What did you just-?”

He’s suddenly close. Too close. One moment he’s sitting upright; the next he’s leaned toward you, golden eyes burning with emotion and something else, something more primal, something you’re only read about late at night.

“I want to hold your hand in public. I want to braid your hair - do you like hair braids? I can learn. I’ll fight my way through the seven layers of hell to make you breakfast. I want to share a bed with you, want to wake up to you in the morning and fall asleep next to you at night. Please, just let me.”

“WAIT…STOP!”

You slap your notebook shut and stare at him in horrified realization. You cannot ignore it any longer. Truth is, you know those symptoms even though you’ve never experienced them in connection with yourself before.

“Oh my god. You’re horny.”

He blinks at you. “Yes.”

“Shinobu injected you with a concentrated aphrodisiac stimulant?!”

“It feels like every cell in my body is worshiping the ground you walk on. Is that what love is?” he gasps, clutching his chest.

You scramble to your feet – or at least you try with his hands firmly holding you in place on his lap.

“I-I have to go! I need to tell Shinobu!”

Is that…Something hard underneath you? You take a deep breath, desperately try to keep yourself form drowning in madness.

Wouldn’t it be way easier to just give in? Isn’t this what you dreamed about, to be his, to have his eyes only for yourself? Maybe this is the chance, maybe the only one you’ll ever get to be this close to him-

No. You vehemently shake your head and rip yourself out of his grasp before you go insane as well, stumbling backwards.

“WAIT (y/n)! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH MY FEELINGS-!”

You hear a thud behind you as he tries to get up and immediately collapses from overstimulation. Groaning.

“THE FLOOR IS COLD… BUT YOUR TOUCH WAS WARM…”

You sprint down the hallway like your life depends on it, yelling at the top of your lungs:

“AOI! SHINOBU-SAN! RENGOKU IS TRYING TO PROPOSE TO ME THROUGH FEVER DREAMS AND I THINK HE’S ABOUT TO START WEEPING INTO THE FLOORBOARDS!”

From behind the sliding door, you faintly hear:

“…I would name our children after all the flowers you like!”

Shinazugawa Sanemi

Just one look at him is enough to send you over the edge. That guy with his hot head, chickpea brain and muscles made of steel. What you hate most about Sanemi Shinazugawa?

That you never seem to reach him.

No matter how hard you try, no matter how rough you train. He is always one step ahead, always that inch better that decides the fight. And he doesn’t even try to hide his amusement about it.

“Lost. Again,” he comments dryly, his puffed chest an insult itself.

You drag yourself out of the dirt, huffing loudly. That fucking bastard.

“There was no need to push my face into the mud, you little shit,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Oh, you’re so over this. His constant teasing, his unbelievable behaviour. Who on earth raised this dickhead?

“Please, stop fighting you two! Why can’t we all just get along and laugh a little more?” Mitsuri cries out next to you.

No. You can’t take it anymore, not even for Mitsuri. But…you let out your breath, try to calm down your beating heart. You don’t want to start a fight in her garden either, not when you know how much time she spends trimming the bushes.

“Fuck you, Shinazugawa,” you mumble before turning on your heel and stomping inside.

Honestly, as long as you don’t have to see that shitty grin, you’ll be fine. You slam the door shut behind you, allow your eyes to rest a little. You know he doesn’t deserve your anger, that he would stop teasing you if you’d stop reacting this way. But somehow, you can’t help it. Something about him triggers a part inside you that usually stays put.

There has to be a way to finally beat him, at least once in order to shut his filthy mouth. But how? How on earth are you supposed to surpass him when he trains just as much as you do? How?

Your eyes dart around the room with no real aim. Where are you, exactly? Mitsuri’s katana lays on display on a shelf, next to it a strange pink-colored potion.

You furrow your eyebrows, instantly drawing closer. Is this what she talked about with Shinobu? The powder she’s supposed to smear all over the blade of her katana in order to poison her opponents? No, Shinobu didn’t exactly state “poison”

“It will incapacitate your opponents in your unique way!”

  Incapacitate.

Your eyes grow wider and wider.

Incapacitate…

You don’t waste another second. Maybe this is what you need to beat him. A small potion can’t hurt, right? He’s definitely been through worse. You shake a small amount into your hand and close it before heading back out.

“Huh, look who’s there! Done with your pity party, loser?”

“Fight me.”

He tilts his head ever so slightly, just in the way that almost makes you lose your cool. But you’ll have the upper hand now – even though only with a little bit of help.

Sanemi darts towards you without asking another question, aiming directly for your chest. He’s fast, ridiculously fast, and already halfway to slamming you into the dirt again when you throw your hand up.

POOF.

A pink cloud of shimmering powder bursts right into his face.

“What the fu…What the hell did you just-”

He stumbles back, waving his hand while coughing out loud. And you? You grin like a demon.

“Got you, bastard.”

“(Y/N)!!” Mitsuri’s voice shrieks so high-pitched it almost cracks the air just when you’re about to place your final hit.

You blink at her, smug expression faltering at her suddenly so serious tone.

“What?”

Her hands fly to her mouth.

“YOU DIDN’T JUST USE THAT PINK POWDER ON HIM?!”

You look down at your now-empty palm.

“Um. Yes?”

“That’s the experimental blend Shinobu gave me to test!! It’s not a paralytic - it’s a potent aphrodisiac! In small doses!”

You freeze mid-air.

“…What?”

Your widened eyes dart over to Sanemi, who’s rubbing his eyes, blinking rapidly. His face is already turning red - and this time not from anger. No, you’re immediately able to tell the difference.

Mitsuri is scrambling for her haori, already halfway to the gate.

“I’M GETTING SHINOBU! YOU NEED PROFESSIONAL HELP AND I DON’T WANNA DIE HERE!!!”

“Mitsuri-?!”

Too late. She’s gone, her pink curls disappearing into the wind.

You turn back to Sanemi…who’s standing there, chest heaving, flushed all the way to his neck, and looking at you like you just grew three heads. Or possibly like he wants to eat you.

“What the fuck… did you do to me?”

His voice is a low growl now, thick and rough. You take a few steps back out of instinct. Fuck, this is bad. Really really bad. Why on earth does she have something like this just randomly standing on her nightstand!?

“I…I didn’t know it was an aphro-!”

You don’t even see him move. Suddenly, he’s in front of you, next to you, everywhere you look.  Before you know how to think your back slams against the nearest tree, bark digging into your shoulder blades. His hand lands hard on the trunk beside your head, and he leans in, breath hot against your cheek.

“You trying to mess with me?” he growls.

“You think this is funny?”

You gulp. Shit, this went lengths too far even for your taste.

“N-No! I swear, I thought it was poison…I mean - harmless poison!”

His other hand grabs your jaw - not rough, not painful, but firm. His thumb brushes along your cheek. His pupils are blown wide now, sharp jade eyes nearly swallowed in black.

“Why the hell is it you that I can’t get outta my head right now? Why do you smell so damn good?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing except a silent whimper comes out.

“I’m gonna regret this,” he mutters, and then his lips crash against yours.

It’s messy. Uncoordinated. All teeth and desperation, like he’s trying to burn the fire out of his bloodstream with your mouth. His body cages you in, solid muscle pressing you against the bark, and one of his hands curls into your hair like he needs something to hold on to before he breaks.

And you? Your brain has left the chat. Your hand clutches the front of his uniform. And you fucking kiss him back out of instinct.

“I hate this,” he groans against your lips.

“Hate you. Hate how you make me feel like I’m gonna lose control. Hate that I’m hard and it’s your damn fault-”

“S-Sanemi!”

“Say my name like that again and I’m gonna ruin both of us.”

His rough hands find the back of your knees. He yanks you into the air like you weigh nothing, presses you firmly against the cool tree.

You can’t catch your breath, don’t even want to. Is this…what you felt for him all this time? Not hatred, but desperation? It definitely feels that way, it definitely feels way too god to be true-

“And then she just threw the powder in his face and I literally had NO time to react. Can you imagine!?”

“Mitsuri, stand still and be quiet.”

“BUT SHINOBU-“

The insect pillar stops Mitsuri in her tracks, pointing towards you.

And Sanemi.

Intertwined.

Pressed against each other on a tree.

“Oh my!” Mitsuri shrieks in utter excitement.

“Let’s just get out of here and wait until Sanemi took care of the potion a natural way,” Shinobu chuckles before turning on her heels and literally dragging the love hashira behind her.

Tomioka Giyu

You hear them shouting from afar – again. Instinctively, you pick up your pace, rolling your eyes in sheer frustration. Why is it so hard for both of them to just live peacefully while knowing that the other exists? Aren’t both of them hashiras, working towards the same goal?

Apparently, Sanemi and Giyu didn’t catch that mission yet.

“Can you guys just act like boys your age? Or at least a little grown up?” you shout over the noise of swords clashing.

Your heart skips a beat even though you try to supress your hard feelings. Giyu’s looking well today, his hair a little messy from the fight, face covered in a thin layer of dirt while his eyes hush over you ever so slightly.

“(y/n)-AH!”

A second too long, apparently.

“Ha, that’s what you get for losing your focus, fool!”

Like in slow motion, Giyu collapses onto the floor, his cheek pierced open by Sanemi’s blade. You run towards him immediately, checking on him. He’s unconscious, a small cut now disturbing his otherwise so perfect porcelain face.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” you shriek into Sanemi’s face.

Carefully, your shaky fingers inspect the wound. Not deep enough to leave a scar, but still unnecessary. Aren’t they supposed to fight with wooden swords only after the last incident?

“Oh shit”, Sanemi suddenly mumbles through gritted teeth.

Your narrowed eyes dart towards him, take in the panic that sets in on his features. This means nothing but trouble. Your voice sharpens, hands balling into tight fists.

“What did you do?”

Sanemi drags a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but yours.

“...I, uh…might’ve…kinda forgot-”

“Forgot what?!”

“That my blade was still dipped in poison from earlier,” he mutters, almost too fast to catch.

“Wanted to try out how it works on demons. Didn’t clean it after. My bad.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. Your jaw drops. He put poison on his blade. He forgot to wipe it off before fighting Giyu. At first, you’re too stunned to speak, mind unable to follow his words. Then the volume hits.

“YOUR BAD?! YOU FORGOT YOU HAD A POISONED BLADE AND YOU STABBED A HASHIRA WITH IT?!”

Sanemi flinches like your words hit harder than any sword.

“He’s not dead, calm down-”

“CALL SHINOBU! OR AOI! OR LITERALLY ANYONE WITH MEDICAL TRAINING BEFORE I KILL YOU MYSELF!”

Sanemi swears under his breath, mutters something about “bossy brats,” and sprints off, boots pounding against the courtyard stones.

You turn back to Giyu, bracing for the worst - except…

His lashes flutter and his eyes crack open. His pupils are slightly dilated, his breathing uneven. The sight makes your stomach twist, not entirely out of relief, though.

“Giyu? Can you hear me?” you ask, gently touching his cheek.

His gaze locks on yours immediately, sharp as a hawk. But instead of confusion or anger, there’s… something else there. Something warmer. Something you’ve never seen before in his eyes.

Your fingers freeze on his skin.

“You came,” he replies quietly, almost like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Of course I did, you idiot, you just got poisoned-”

His hand shoots up and catches your wrist, holding you there. You blink, startled, as the faintest flush spreads across his cheeks.

“You’re… close,” he murmurs, voice low and a little unsteady.

“I like it when you’re close.”

Heat floods your face.

“Giyu-”

“I was… dreaming about you.”

His thumb brushes along the inside of your wrist and you swear your pulse skips more than just once.

“It felt real. And now… you’re here. Still feels real.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but the way he’s looking at you makes your brain stall, like you’re the only thing keeping him tied to the ground.

His thumb is still stroking your wrist, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way your pulse jumps under his touch. You try to pull back, but his grip only tightens. No matter how much you longed for his touch, no matter how good this feels, you need to do something. What if he dies because you were too selfish to call for help?

“Giyu… you need to rest-”

“I don’t want to rest.”

His voice is firmer now, almost rough.

“Not when you’re here.”

You swallow hard. This is getting harder each passing second

“You’re poisoned, you’re not thinking straight-”

“I’m thinking perfectly,” he interrupts, his gaze locked to yours.

“Clearer than I have in years.”

Your breath hitches when he sits up suddenly, the movement forcing you back onto your heels. His knee brushes yours, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. He leans forward, so close you can feel his breath fan across your lips, his body occupying yours fully.

“You keep running around… patching everyone up… looking at me like I’m just another patient.”

His eyes darken, sparkle down at you unpromising.

“But I’ve been watching you.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“W-What?”

His free hand lifts, fingers ghosting over your jaw, tracing the curve of it with featherlight precision.

“Your voice. Your hands. The way you smell after you’ve been working with herbs… it’s stuck in my head.”

You open your mouth to tell him to stop, that this is the poison talking, but then his nose brushes yours.

“Tell me to let go,” he murmurs.

“Tell me to stop wanting you right now, and I will. But if you don’t…”

His thumb grazes your lower lip, slow, careful.

“…I’m not sure I can.”

Your pulse is pounding so hard it’s dizzying. His breath is warm, face inches from yours, the low rasp of his voice sending heat curling in your stomach. This is a dream coming true, a scenario you’ve had in your head more than once. Why not enjoying at least a few seconds of finally feeling him this close?

“Giyu…”

And then his forehead rests against yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck like he’s anchoring you in place. His lips almost brush yours, just enough for you to feel the faintest drag of heat before he pulls back a fraction, gaze still locked on yours.

“I need you to stay,” he whispers.

“Even if they say it’s the poison, you’re all I’m able to think of, (y/n). You’re all that I want-”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Sanemi’s heavy steps approaching.

“I FOUND AOI – STOP INTERACTING WITH HIM, YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE! (Y/N)!)”

“Fuck”, you hiss.

“Let’s get out of here”, Giyu suggests, dragging you onto your feet.

Are you really this selfish, so focused on your own needs that you’d ditch his proper medical care for it?

“Fine.”

Hell yes you are.

Tags:

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@chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

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⋆ ꩜ ⋆

“We deal with the weirdest and the wildest.” Jack Abbott's voice rang in your head, over and over again. “Because we’re the weirdest and the wildest of them all.”

That seemed to be proving true tonight more than ever. When you finally made it to resident status a year ago, it seemed like the hospital got kicks out of torturing you. You thought this title bump meant power and freedom, not cleaning up everyone else’s messes. Some nights are easier than others, and the moment you walked through those hospital doors, you had a feeling this wasn’t going to be one of them.

The fluorescent lights buzzed high over head, highlighting the hospital floor. They had a way of turning everyone skin the same sickly pale. It was louder than usual. Every bed seemed to be occupied by someone hurting, dying, or loudly causing problems for every member of the staff. It seems like there are more people than usual tonight, and twice that number are probably waiting tirelessly in triage.

Must be a full moon or something

You swear the room spins around you as all the sounds accumulate in some loud brigade against your ears. Just looking at everyone and everything you're going to face tonight.

Someone in a closed trauma room across from you screams, the very specific sound of a bone snapping back into place following. Apparently the situation isn’t going well based on the next string of words you hear from Dr. Walsh through the wall.

With a sigh, you reach into the bag still slung over your arm, reaching for your can of Red Bull. No way you're making it through this shift without an energy drink. You’re hand finds emptiness in your drink pocket, patting around frantically. Then, you picture it sitting on the messy counter in your crappy apartment, right where you left it this morning. Next to your small lunchbox, which is still sitting there. Fantastic.

-

“What the hell is that?” Ellis asks from behind you. Based on her laugh, it seems she's already seeing what you are. She comes and stands beside you, eyes squinting as she leans in. She knocks her elbow against your arm as she fully makes it out.

You're staring at the X-ray in front of you, the light board behind it illuminating the imaging from a 42-year-old male. Your mouth hangs slightly open as you fully see it now. You both make out the image of a foreign object that seems to be a carrot.

“That's not a stomach.” Shen says, stopping in his tracks at the image.

“No. It’s not.” You sigh, ripping the image down off the screen. Of course, this case is the chart you just happened to pick up. Shen and Eliss’s laughs echo behind you.

“Abbot!” You call after him. You jog down the hallway to catch up, holding your stethoscope against your chest as it bobs along with your footsteps.

He’s always preferred you to call him Abbot or even Jack. Doctor Abbot felt too formal for how close you two have grown over the years. Trips to the bar down the block, coffee after shifts at the little cafe within walking distance. Those excursions would be too weird with you still calling him “Dr Abbot” like some scared med student.

He turns around quickly at the sound of your voice, gesturing for whoever he was talking with to go ahead without him. His full attention is given to you immediately.

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

“Wow.” Is all Abbot says as he holds the X-ray up to the light. “Can't say I’ve ever been that desperate.” His lips turn up into something between a smirk and a grin.

The humor of the situation finally catches up to you as you laugh at the tight-lipped expression he's wearing.

“I don’t need to or want to think about that, Abbot.” You respond.

“And for that… You get to do the honors.” His closed smile turns into an irritating grin as he shoves the X-ray back into your hands, already walking away, leaving you in front of the last room you want to enter.

“Nightcrawlers, baby!” Jack yells to no one and everyone.

-

After half an hour, a surgery consult, and a very volatile man who insists he somehow managed to slip in his kitchen, you leave the trauma room with a final click of the door. Walsh eyes you as she walks beside the man's gurney, taking him up for more imaging. She's not thrilled you made this her problem. But she's not thrilled with much.

Without even meeting her eyes, you wave her goodbye, adding a little finger wiggle to really piss her off. It works.

“Your residents need to learn to problem solve and not push it off on surgery.” Walsh puts her hand out to stop Jack as he attempts to walk by. “This could’ve been a small procedure done down here and you know it.”

”You said it yourself Walsh, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Jack snickers as he looks past her, finding your eyes.

He props himself against a lone gurney in the hallway, facing you with that same grin still on his face. The ER hasn’t calmed down at all in the past few hours. Matter of fact, you’re almost sure it's gotten more chaotic, but Jack always seems to find a way to make small moments for you.

“She might be right. You probably could’ve signed off on something down here.” You laugh along with him, making a guilty “oops” face.

“And put my favorite resident through that? No way”

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

“Coffee?” Shen is already standing sympathetically in front of you. He’s holding his own Dunkin coffee and another iced coffee just for you. You’re starving, and the look of the iced coffee makes you wanna drop to your knees and rejoice.

“Yes. Finally. Thank you.” You say, dropping your head in gratitude, spraying a little hand sanitizer before grabbing for the cup.

“No time.” Jack appears, not slowing down. He grabs your arm as he strolls by, wrapping his fingers around your bicep. He drags you for a second, not letting go until you're matching his speed, and even then he seems hesitant. “Single MVA rolling up. Guy went into a pole.”

“I’ll leave it on your desk,” Shen yells after with a thumbs up. “I got you extra caramel drizzle.”

-

The sliding doors to the ambulance bay open with a woosh. It’s not a luxurious place by any means. One of the fluorescent lights above you is out and emits a strange hum that you usually can’t hear over the sound of the ambulances. Though, the flowers planted around the building make it a little nicer. No telling how much money they spent on that instead of better safety measures.

The cold air hits your face immediately; it's a windy Pittsburgh night. You zip up the athletic jacket that’s been around you all night, tucking your mouth and nose into it for a second. Jack reaches over and barely untucks your hair that's gotten tangled into the jacket. He doesn’t say anything as he does it, just carefully moves the hair from off you and adjusts the jacket. His fingers barely graze the side of your neck as he pulls back.

“How’d it go with Carrot Top anyway?” Jack asks, tightly crossing his arms over his chest. Almost as an animal would for protective measures. As if he didn’t just share an incredibly tender moment with you.

Your mouth falls open at the nickname, an embarrassing snort coming out, clamping a hand over your lips quickly.

“Carrot Top?"

Only Jack would think up a name like that.

“Carrot Bottom?” he questions with the raise of an eyebrow. Very proud of himself.

“I hate you.” You nod reverently, your face betraying you as you grin through every word.

“You could never.”

Jack makes a motion of putting his hand on your crown and ruffling your curls. From anyone else this would be annoying. These curls have a very meticulous routine. But, from Jack it's weirdly endearing. The smile on your face only serves to egg him on as he picks up a coil and stretches it.

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The MVA you’re missing your extra caramel drizzle coffee for turns out to be a drunk man who has nothing nice to say and yet no injuries to explain his grand irritation. The slurred voice and incoherent yelling quickly turn from just annoying to grating.

“We are gonna get you pain meds, but first you need to shut your fucking mouth.” Jack says to the man very sternly. It even draws your attention, making you straighten yourself out. He can be demanding when he wants to.

The drunk gestures wildly with his hands and occasionally with his feet as he yells. The smell of his breath and the alcohol reeking from him would make you wanna gag if you had any food in your stomach. During a long brigade of words that make no sense in the order they're said, the man's fingers catch your hair by accident.

He yanks, pulling your whole head down with his grip. You tug once but can’t break his grip. The sound of instruments clattering against a tray echoes through the room, and Jack's voice booms with a “Hey!”

His hand clamps around the drunk man, physically prying his fingers off of you. The man protests with sharp sounds of pain that Jack ignores.

“You good?” He asks quickly, eyes searching yours. His hand is still clamped around the man. “I’m fine.” You shake your head out physically. Soothing out the clump of curls that are now frizzy from the friction of his grip.

“Push Haldol. He’s combative.” Jack orders one of the nurses in the room with an unusually authoritative yell. His eyes flick to yours every few seconds, surveying you for any sign of discomfort.

How is he even still awake?” You ask, adjusting the man's IV, half-impressed and half-irritated.

“To spite us.”

And the way this night's going, that very well may be true. Some cryptid figure sent from Hell just to irritate you further.

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Two Discharges down and a mountain of charts to fill out, you finally have time to sit at a desk. Being off your feet for the first time in hours. Your energy is almost depleted after having nothing to eat and no caffeine.

Plopping down in your chair is wildly uncomfortable. Your lumbar support must be giving out. Make a note to complain about that.

Although if they're not worried about coughing up money for better safety precautions so doctors and nurses get their hair pulled less, something tells you they won't care about this chair.

Finally reuniting with your beloved coffee, you discover it’s died in your absence. You find the ice completely melted. Now, some off-putting sludge the color of wet cardboard. Even the little streaks of caramel look depressed. Great.

To make matters worse, your computer isn’t turning on. “What the hell is with this thing?” You tap the power button insistently, definitely making the problems worse.

“Oh yeah, Victoria said that one wasn't working. Someone on day shift did something to it,” Mateo says, spinning himself around in his chair. You're a little jealous of how carefree he always is.

“We're calling Dr. Javadi Victoria now, are we?” You ask with a sideways smile and a knowing glare.

“I’ll call IT.” is all the response you get.

“Can’t.” A passing nurse with a name you can’t place says. “They left already.”

”Oh yeah.” Mateo smiles to himself and finally speaks in response to your raised eyebrows. “Apparently Donnie's taking out the IT girl tonight. Must be why she cut early.”

“Fantastic,” You say with a clearly sarcastic smile. “Donny gets a hot date, and I get a busted computer and a night alone.”

“You could get a hot date.” Mateo grins.

“Don’t make me tell Victoria,” You turn in your chair quickly to stare at him. The sound of wheels squeaking.

“Not me. You're too old for me,” he says.

“We’re like almost the same age!” You say back incredulously.

“Yeah, and I like younger women.”

You make a gagging sound before he finishes his thought.

“I mean Dr. Abbot.”

“Again, Mateo. I’m like half his age!”

Jack is well into his 40s, and not to mention your attending. Sure, you've thought about it. Briefly, I mean, you're human; you have eyes. Plus, it's not even your fault. He makes it hard not to. In reality, it's really completely his fault.

“Okay, and maybe he likes younger women too.”

“You're nasty.”

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The sound of an older woman's shaky but familiar voice pulls you out of the small fantasy you were letting yourself have about a world in which maybe you do manage a hot date with Jack. Stupid Mateo. You drop your head onto your desk for a moment, bonking your head against it.

You're close enough to stay in your rolling chair and spin yourself backward to reach the woman. You already knew exactly where she’d be. She tended to wander, the dementia making her restless especially at night. She was a frequent flyer.

“Mrs. Deborah, what is it?” You ask, always finding yourself smiling at the woman even when she pesters you all night.

“I want to see that handsome doctor again. I liked him.”

”Dr Abbot is busy.”

You kick yourself immediately for jumping to Jack when you heard the words, “handsome doctor”. She could've meant anyone. But let’s be honest, she probably meant Jack.

“He’ll make an exception for me.” She says back with all the confidence in the world. It's impressive, honestly. You laugh, not cruelly but with warmth for the woman. She even laughed back with you, no doubt forgetting what she's smiling about.

“I’ll let him know you're interested.” You nod, closing her curtain back.

-

“Mrs Deborah in curtain one for you.” You say, catching Jack's arm as he passes by, basically shoving the iPad into his chest. He's sturdy. You're beyond tempted to keep your hand there for a second when you feel him flex from the impact, but you think better of yourself. “She's very insistent on seeing the handsome doctor again.”

He props himself against your portion of the desk, like he’s planning on staying for a while. He really was handsome, even under the awful fluorescent lights. Where they washed everyone else out, they seemed to highlight his features—the darkest parts of his graying hair and his dark eyes.

“Ah and you came and found me?”

“Lucky guess.” You catch his gaze and drop it back down to the chart you're scribbling on quickly.

“Would you get outta here and just satisfy her, please.”

His eyes widen a little at your words as he pulls his head back, tilting it at you. He starts to scoff before you realize your mistake.

“Not like that!” You give his arm a whack with the manilla folder in front of you. “Go, just get!” You whack him a few more times to shoo him away as you hear his deep laugh getting quieter and quieter.

“Guess that tells us he at least doesn’t like older women,” Mateo pipes up from across the desk.

You're gonna go crazy here.

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“Got a kid for you in 3.” You don’t even bother to look up at who's speaking as you take the iPad that was unceremoniously shoved into your hands. “Can someone else just get the write up started for me? I'm just running to the vending machine for a Red Bull.”

“Nope. Its yours”

Great. It's like these people are out to keep you caffeine-less, starved, and angry.

Leaning against a free wall, you scroll through the papers. 7-year-old girl with fever, cough, and stomachache. It’s routine at least. The papers in her file are sparse. Only one sheet from a primary care physician, and it a couple years old. A single sheet showing she went to urgent care once, no school papers.

System must be on the fritz again.

”Anyone else had their charts wrong tonight?” You ask as you lean against the desk, shifting through some rogue papers. And, of course, seeing as you’re being divinely targeted today, everyone else answers that they haven't had a problem.

“Got somethin’ wrong?” Jack asks, tilting his chin up at you in question.

“I think I’m missing papers.”

“I got time. Let's go check it out.” He says, his hand coming out to pat your arm as he gestures you along with him. He keeps his hand on your arm for a second longer than a casual brush requires and certainly longer than any kind of professional necessity. He finally releases your arm with a small squeeze to your bicep. He seems to be attached to your hip after the brush with the drunk patient.

”Knock knock.” You say in a light voice as you crack the door open, peering your head in to smile at the young girl on the other side. “I hear we’re not feeling so good today!” You say with a frown. Your voice takes on an uncharacteristically light tone that it doesn’t usually have.

Jack fills the space beside you; the peds room is small enough, but as he stands beside you, it feels like it's shrunk. His hands clasped behind his back, the stance he always seems to have as he takes in a scene. He gives you the nod to go ahead. He’ll let you run it.

You are his favorite resident after all.

The mother accompanying the girl has an immediate presence when you enter the room. Hovering and impatient. “Yes. She's been here half the night already, and we’ve seen anyone. She's coughing and hot - but really we were about to leave.”

“Yeah. I apologize.” You nod along sympathetically; your jaw twinges as you find yourself grinding your teeth at the woman's tone. But. you’ve managed to master the art of sympathetic nods and conveniently timed reactive listening.

“Why don’t you tell me what's hurting you, okay?” You squat down beside the young girl's hospital bed, running your hand over her forehead. The poor girl doesn't get a syllable out before the mom is huddled above you, taking over your motion of rubbing her head, nearly colliding your hands together.

“It’s mostly the fever. Her stomach’s started feeling better in the last hour. It seems to be passing; her grandmother was just very insistent on bringing her here. We’d really like to go home soon.”

You pause for a second as to not have your tone be as aggressive as it wants to be as the words start rising in your throat. Jack catches on. Your threshold for any kind of annoyance has been shrinking the whole night, and he can see it.

“Hi ma’am, Dr. Jack Abbot.” He interjects, shaking the woman's hand. Giving you a sideways look of - breathe and cool it

“Usually we let them tell us what's wrong. Makes the kiddos feel better and all.” He winks over at the child, effortlessly charming.

After a few words of babble you don't quite pick up, you get the overall idea that the girl “doesn't feel good, is hot, and her throat's scratchy.”

“And my tummy really hurts.” She mutters, pulling herself into the fetal position.

So, clearly this mother wasn't adept at answering your questions for her daughter.

You glance over at the woman while her daughter's cries of her stomach hurting fill the room. The casual glance might've been more of a glare, you realize as you sense how narrow your eyes are. Oops

“Am I gonna have to get a shot?” The little girl asks, pulling the thin hospital blanket over her face.

“Oh my goodness! I would never let that happen to you!” You say in the certain tone of voice you only reserve for children. The little girl pulls the blanket down just enough to peer her eyes out. You reach over and hook her much smaller pinky with yours. “I promise you.”

“Yeah!” Jack grins from beside you, squatting down to get closer to the girl's height. “We're only doing the easy stuff. We could do it with our eyes closed.” He barely pulls the girl's blanket over her eyes and then pulls it back down teasingly. She giggles from somewhere under the blanket.

You’d forgotten how sweet Jack was with kids. He seemed to have a way of relaxing them. He always makes them feel seen and heard.

Speaking of shots, you scroll back through the papers, going over what information you seem to be missing. “I'm afraid we may have lost some information in transit.” The mom sighs before you even finish. “I'm sorry about that if we did.” You continue; the only smile you can manage now is a tight-lipped one. “When did she receive her vaccines? I’m not seeing that or the six-year boosters.”

“She hasn’t.” The woman says as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Your thumb hovers above whatever you were looking at on screen, your eyes shooting up.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve chosen to keep her unvaccinated. She's very healthy, and we’ve been very safe. She’s homeschooled.”

Across the room, Jack, who was leaning casually against the door, straightens up, hands positioned behind his back once again, as if surveying a battlefield. Not only is he visibly more on edge, but it seems there's a new sense of irritation radiating off of him. Everything he knows medically is being questioned, but morally too. He doesn’t speak yet, though.

“Okay,” You say, the word coming out way too slow. Nodding at the same pace, your lips puckering.

I'm a doctor, a professional. professional. professional

“So, your daughter is 7 years old and has not been properly vaccinated?”

“No, but-“

“And why is that exactly?” You cut the woman off before whatever follows "but".

Okay, maybe THAT wasn’t super professional

Jack's eyes dart to yours. Not threatening, but maybe a vague warning in there.

The mom crosses her arms, a mix of defiance and defensiveness. Whatever nonsense she's about to spew, she clearly believes. The daughter barely shifts from under the blanket, letting her now widening eyes poke out at her mom. She stares like she knows something’s happening but isn't sure what exactly.

“They're full of God knows what! The government's been hiding this stuff for years; only now is there someone that’s being honest and looking into these things. Not to mention there's proof that children are getting sick from these things, even getting autism and -“

Now your face has given up on hiding its feelings. You squeeze your eyes shut so they don't manage to roll out of your head, rubbing them furiously with your thumb and index finger. Her thoughts and opinions are so wrong you can't even seem to find the words to explain how for a moment.

“Ma’am,” Jack speaks up. His voice is level but at a slightly lower register than you normally hear it. He's lacking that charm he usually has, the way his words seem to roll out. “That information is widely spread but not always medically accurate.”

This touches a nerve for him and you can see it. Having been in countries that didn’t have access to these things like we have, having seen so much harm that could’ve been prevented with these same things this woman is withholding from her daughter.

“It's blatant misinformation!” You say, a humorless laugh coming out behind it.

Today has gone too far. Too many people griping in your ear, so loudly and so wrongly that it seems to all have accumulated in your system as this one woman pushes too far.

“Do you know how many diseases you’re letting your daughter be vulnerable to?” Your hands seem to be moving by their own accord, flying around as you speak.

The poor young girl doesn’t understand, and all she seems to piece together from your words and your anger is that she's done wrong, she's in trouble, and she’s gonna get much sicker. You don't even realize the little girl's reaction and hone in on the mother, blinking rabidly as you wait for her answer. Tunnel vision sets in as you grow more frustrated and your body seems to be losing its ability to cope.

”Do you know many children in other countries are dying every day because they don’t have these things?!” You continue, the words flying out rapidly. Your voice is now hitting an octave that’s far too high to be polite or professional.

The girl is now in tears, hiding under her blanket, calling for her mommy. At this, Jack is stepping in. He’s angry, but he hides it better than you. Must be all that therapy and nude yoga he does. Changing gears to defuse this quickly, he puts his hand over the little girl, running it over the blanket soothingly.

His eyes shoot over to you, narrowed and stern. A single glance that he’s seemed to have mastered over the years. It can shut anyone down pretty quickly.

Even though he agrees with every point you’ve made, you’ve just made a scene in his ER. He cannot let you sit here and berate a patient's family members, no matter how noble the cause.

His gaze shifts from angry to disappointed for half a second. You're his best resident, and you’ve just stood here and acted wildly unprofessional while in his presence. You're better than that, and he knows it. You messed up a very important case, and that’s not like you. You’ve probably now just made it completely impossible to get through to this woman if there was even a small chance. Not to mention, you were near screaming in the presence of a child who you’ve just scared half to death.

His gaze registers, but too much adrenaline seems to be pumping through you too much to care. Whatever knot was being wound so tight tonight finally seems to have snapped. Any other time a look like that from Jack would’ve made you want to melt into the floor.

“Doctor!” He calls out, his voice stern, but demanding attention from everyone in this little room. That does manage to put a stop to your brigade of questioning, shaking you back to reality a bit. “I’m gonna take over here.” Without any politeness, Jack tears the iPad from your hand, his back now facing the mother and daughter.

“You find a way to calm yourself down, and you be back here in five.” He opens the door a little wider, signaling it's time for you to leave. Now, finally noticing the girl crying in the corner of the room, you see no place for argument.

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You jab your thumb into the elevator's up button, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet, incredibly antsy to just get some air and get out of here.

“Excuse me, Doctor?” A medical student you’ve only seen twice and therefore haven’t memorized the name of wanders up beside you with a lost puppy look.

“Ask someone else. I'm on a break.”

You thumb the up button at least 10 more times; it can't come soon enough.

“Sorry. I just needed a-“

“Find anyone else, literally any other resident who cares. Not me!”

As the elevator doors shut with you inside, you catch a final glimpse at the wide-eyed student, standing there like you just dumped a bucket of cold water on him.

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The air that hits you on the roof is frigid and harsh. With the sound of the heavy door shutting behind you with a final squeak from its hinges, you can finally breathe. Chills run up your arms as you strip off your thin jacket. Leaving you exposed to the cold air in nothing but your thin black scrubs made of some material that swishes when you walk.

Knowing what you know about the human body from your years of study, you know that cold exposure stimulates your vagus nerve. You can stop this panic attack before it happens. You close your eyes, resting your arms over the railing surrounding the edge of the roof. They put this up years ago to deter jumpers, keeping you back a few feet from the ledge.

You let your head drop, finally relaxing the tense muscles. The wind starts to numb your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you're sure they go red. You go over what should be happening in your body, like a mantra.

“My heart rate is lowering, my sympathetic nervous system is engaging, I'm falling into a state of calm. And, after a while, you start to believe it.

Glancing down at your watch, you see your five-minute allotted break Abbot “allowed,” has passed, but you don’t move yet. Instead, you duck under the tall railing, muttering to yourself as a curl gets caught on an exposed bolt. You jerk it back while gritting your teeth.

Somehow this is the most annoying thing that’s happened to you all day.

Once under, Pittsburgh seems to have grown 10 sizes. Now you can see straight below you. The way the streets and sidewalks blur together with the cars looking smaller than possible. You're contemplating whether this sight calms you or alarms you more as the sound of the door groaning perks your ears up.

“If you're gonna jump, don't do it over anti-vaxxers.” Jack's voice rises from somewhere behind you. He pauses, waiting for any reaction from you. He doesn’t get one as you stay facing the skyline.

“If you do, it might end up with you a number in one of their statistics, and that just wouldn’t be fair.” Your shoulders barely shake with a laugh, the sight giving him a small sigh of relief. Turning to face him, you find yourself not able to stare at him too long.

“Surely making jokes about jumping off the roof is counterproductive to all that therapy speak you use.” You take a step towards him, feeling unnerved by the vast Pittsburgh skyline and the drop-off that's close behind your back.

“It’s a process.” He shrugs from the other side of the rail. “Besides, she says humor is a good coping mechanism. Better than drinking anyway.”

You roll your eyes, letting yourself laugh. You keep your eyes on the ground in front of you for a bit longer, not wanting to be met with the same look you were on the receiving end of in that peds room.

“Yeah. I don’t think I have any place to be talking.”

“No, you don't.”

A few moments of silence pass between the two of you. Your eyes are still focused on the tennis shoes on your feet, yet you can still feel his gaze burning into you.

“I’m not gonna apologize for what I said. I was right.” You barely scuff your shoe against the ground as you speak.

“I expect nothing less.”

You finally bring your eyes up to meet his gaze. To your surprise, it's not a cold stare as you’d expected. It’s the same Jack you've always known. Kind eyes that always seem to manage to stare through you, a smile that’s always just sitting on the corner of his mouth, like he’s always on the brink of making a stupid quip.

“And I’m not gonna apologize for kicking you out.” He says, tilting his head to the right as he stares at your face for a reaction. ”But, I can apologize for how I did it.” Now diverting his own gaze. He may be advancing in his therapy and his healing process, but he’s still not great with apologies from either side.

“No, don’t.” You sigh, brushing him off with a vague waving gesture. You imagine the little girl's face peeking up from under the blanket, scared of your yelling, and feel like you probably deserved worse. “Trust me, I think I earned it.”

“C’mon,” Jack puts his hand out from the other side of the railing. He makes a noise from the corner of his mouth and nods his head back towards the door. “You're makin’ me nervous over there.”

Your feet stay planted for a second, twisting your neck around to see the Pittsburgh skyline one more time. Before you cross that threshold again, you feel like you have to ask about the girl and the vaccines. If Jack was able to work his magic and convince the mom. If the answer you get is no, there's just no point in following him back inside. Maybe you’d live on the roof forever, never enter that hospital that has worn you down so badly tonight again.

But, despite it all, you know you will. You always do

“Is she getting her vaccinated?”

“No,” Jack says with a sigh that racks his own body. He’s as torn up about this as you are, but he's better at internalizing it. “She signed out AMA.”

“Son of a bitch!” You yell, louder than you meant to and way louder than anything Jack was expecting from you.

“Stupid. Fucking. Hospital.”

Jack watches on with what can only be described as shock and horror as you kick at the iron railing in front of you, punctuating every word with another bam of your foot.

“Stupid. Fucking. Parents.”

He’s never seen you so angry before, certainly never angry enough to kick literal iron. Unfortunately, the sight is kind of hilarious. The way your giant curls bob along with every kick and your top lip narrows as you yell.

“Fuck!”

Your anger got the best of you, and your final kick was just a little too hard. Your hand clamps down on your right foot, gripping your toes over your shoe. The pain makes you hop in place on your good foot, your body flooded with that weirdly awful sensation of stubbing a toe.

Jack's laugh echoes along the roof as he ducks under the railing smoothly. “What the hell was that?” He asks, bending down a little to see your face in your hunched-over state.

You grit your teeth. “Just shut up for a minute.” That kind of pain radiating from your foot that makes everyone and everything around you irritating. You pound your fist against the railing in frustration, willing your toe to stop throbbing.

You hear Jack's knee hit the concrete, the distinct clink of his metal prosthetic barely audible. He takes your foot and rests it on his knee, carefully moving his fingers along the front of your shoe. He feels around gently, no feeling of any toes being broken or bent.

“As flattered as I am, I really don't think now’s the time for a proposal.” You half laugh, half still wince from your standing position above him, who’s still on one knee. From afar, this might actually look like a really shitty hospital rooftop proposal.

“You wish.” He quips back at you easily, not even looking up. “My proposal would be much better than this.”

Your stomach does a little flip at his words before you can stop it. His tone is so casual and sure, like he’s actually thought about it before.

He taps his hand against your leg and gives your calf a feather-light squeeze, lowering your leg off his knee and back on the ground. “Nothing's broken. Just don’t kick any more metal tonight.”

Without even thinking about it, he grabs the side of your thigh to give himself better leverage to stand back up. You chide yourself internally for the feeling it gives you.

He’s just an old man with a bad knee!

“We got ten minutes left tonight.” He glances down at the thick black watch on his wrist, the numbers lighting up in military time. “Think you can handle a few more charts?”

Your hellish night can be over in 10 minutes if the world doesn’t throw anything else at you.

You nod, ducking under the railing with him, the same bolt catching another curl. Someone or something HAS to be out to get you today.

You wobble a little as you stand back up straight. You still never had proper time to eat or drink, just the occasional chug of water when the chance presented itself. You hadn’t noticed how exhausted and weak you feel until now.

“Alright, sit down for a second.” Jack sighs, seeing the way you look unsteady on your feet. He's never been one to push people past their limits, especially you. He lightly wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you along with him, keeping you steady with his tight grip.

The rooftop wasn’t meant for lounging like you and Jack seemed to use it. All there was up here was huge air conditioning units, long pipes running along the walls, and concrete that’s been bleached by the sun. Jack dragged you over and sat you down on a thin edge of concrete where the giant HVAC unit was situated. The hum of the machine and the view straight ahead of the skyline actually made it pretty peaceful. This must be his specific spot. The thought brings a small smile to your face. He’s brought you over to his one little slice of peace on this roof. He shifted himself into sitting down beside you, one leg pulled up, and his prosthetic stretched out onto the roof, his black pant leg rolling up just enough to see it.

From the breast pocket of his scrubs, he pulls out a granola bar wrapped in a green wrapper. “Eat something before you go back down.” He passes it over to you, sitting close enough that your shoulders are pressed into each other.

“How often do you sit here?” You ask, a bite of granola bar in your mouth. Part of yourself tells you to act more proper to try and impress Jack a little, but the other part of you has never quite cared what people think, and you're too starving to care.

He reaches over and gently pulls a small crumb of granola from your hair. It’s the gentlest anyone’s touched you tonight.

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.” He says monotoned, narrowing his eyes a little in an attempt to be threatening.

You laugh, coughing into your hand as you inhale a piece of granola wrong.

“That is if you don't beat me to it.” He claps a hand over your back, patting a little as if you were choking. But, he doesn’t move his hand after those few seconds. He stays like that, hand on your back, leaning his head against the humming machine behind you both. He looks at peace here, with you in his favorite spot.

His hand seems to naturally start slipping, finding its way to the small of your back now and just resting there comfortably. You try to stop, telling yourself to focus on the skyline, not him. He means nothing by it; Jack is just naturally affectionate.

Losing your restraint as the seconds tick by, you dart just your eyes over and see him staring, entirely turned towards you on this small piece of concrete. With your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you give in too, turning to have your whole body completely facing him.

His face is closer to yours than you thought. If either of you leaned forward just an inch, your noses would brush. He doesn’t do anything, just looks. It's like he’s taking in your whole face, every feature as his intense gaze stays trained on you. His eyes drop just for a second. down to your lips. When he meets your eyes again, you nod your head just a little, something that would’ve been imperceptible to anyone but Jack, who notices everything.

At that, he lets his own resolve crumble around him, leaning forward quickly like he can’t stop himself for another second, finally meeting your lips.

He’s careful at first, matching the pace you set. You hadn’t realized exactly how much you wanted this until you finally have it, finally have him. Giving in to him, you bring a hand up to his face, resting your fingers just above his jaw, running your thumb along the patch of dark gray stubble growing in. He feels your hand on his face and leans in further, half forcing you to let yourself fall back against the concrete. The hand still on the small of your back supports you, putting your other hand on the space between his neck and shoulder, using him to stay steady. His strong hands keep a tight grip on you as he deepens the kiss.

Forcing himself to pull back for a moment, he rests his hand on your face, carefully cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours, immediately making sure you’re okay with this.

“Oh shit.” Is all you can get out of your mouth, putting your fingers over your lips like you can’t believe he was just there. The side of his mouth barely pulls up at the weirdly charming sight of your wide, unbelieving eyes looking back up at him.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds gruffer now as he nods along with you and your air of shock.

“Oh shit!!!” You say again, propping yourself up on your elbows. It’s hitting you all at once that Jack is your attending, not to mention twice your age. But you really can't find it in you to care enough.

“You okay?” He asks, working through the same ideas in his head and coming to the same careless conclusion. He’s worried though; he's the older one and your professional senior. He feels it's on him to make sure you're comfortable, and he's taking that seriously. His eyes search yours a little quicker now when you don’t answer right away.

But, as if some switch flipped, you're pouncing back on him in a second. The intensity almost knocks the air out of his lungs.

Both hands on his face now, you deepen the kiss quickly, trailing one hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him in as close as you can. Now, as if the situation has reversed, you're leaning against him, one hand moving to his chest, pushing him down with more force than you intended. He laughs gruffly for the half second that your lips part from each other as you push him flat on his back.

You're like a woman possessed as your lips find his again. The feeling of your palm scratching across the concrete beside his head only encourages you more, the other still firmly pressed on his chest, feeling his chest flex through his thin black shirt. He smiles against your lips as he tangles his hand in your mountain of curls. His hand presses against the back of your head to keep you as close to him as possible, making it impossible to leave his lips for a second. Just as his other hand squeezes onto your hip, that familiar sound of the old door echoes across the roof.

Your head shoots up as you both pause to listen, staying completely still. his hand falls from your hair, craning his neck from his lying-down position to try and see anything. Jack is hidden enough behind the HVAC but you’re not.

Dana's thick accent floats through the air as she calls Abbott's name. “Dana?!” You whisper to him frantically. Day shift must be trickling in now. You two definitely stayed up here longer than you should’ve.

She steps out of the doorway as the door shuts behind her. She moves her head around to look wherever she imagines Abbot might be on this roof. Her eyes skip over you for a second before snapping back.

“The hell are you doing up here?” She asks, now positioning her hands on her hips as she looks at you suspiciously.

This is bad. You've always thought Dana had all-seeing eyes and now she's here.

“Oh, uh - just getting some air.” You feel Jack pinch your side at how unbelievably bad your delivery was, half stumbling through the words. You slap his hand away quietly.

“Why are you laying like that?” She asks, her head tilting like she knows something. You hadn’t quite considered how much of a compromising position you must be in visually. Half sitting up, the bottom half of you she can't see, wide-eyed and nervous like you've been caught doing something wrong. which you kinda have.

“Oh, I um- uh…” Your voice trails off as you try and dig through your head for anything to say. Literally anything. “Lost an earring…” Your voice quirks up at the end like you’re asking her if she even believes you.

She doesn’t answer, just stares. And it's terrifying

Jack just barely raises his head enough to try and see what she’s doing as her silence draws on. What he seems to forget is the cardinal rule of: If you can see them, they can see you.

You put your palm flat over his face, half smothering him for a second and completely not caring. Pushing his head back down slowly as if moving slowly would somehow stop her from seeing what she's already seen. You barely smile at her, the expression more of a wince as the look of guilt overpowers it.

Dana's not shocked by much; she's seen everything a person can see in her career, but this one takes her by surprise. She knew you were up to no good the moment she saw your puppy dog eyes, but quite possibly the last person she imagined was under you was Jack Abbot.

“Please-“

She cuts you off almost immediately as you start speaking.

“I can’t believe what I'm seeing.”

You look away, deciding the stars must be better to look at than the cross-armed, unbelieving stare she's giving you. You think you actually hear her laugh but don't dare check.

“We have an ambulance rolling up in two minutes. Multiple MVA, all hands on deck. That is if you can pull yourself away.” She talks with her hands now, her accent seems to come out stronger as her frustration with you grows.

You nod quickly, choosing carefully not to say another word.

“You got all that, Jack?” She asks, now the unmistakable sound of humor in her voice. You wince when she says his name. You knew she saw him, but the fantasy of pretending she didn’t was nice.

“Got it.” He yells, still hidden and flat on his back. Raising a thumb in the air for her to see.

“Come on then, people.” She claps her hands loudly.

You scramble up quickly, slipping onto your hands for a second. Popping back up and frantically grabbing your jacket off the railing, flailing around with your arms trying to get it on properly over your now extremely wrinkled scrubs.

“Get yourselves together.” She shakes her head in a similar cadence a disappointed mother would. You're pretty sure you hear her muttering something along the lines of, “And they call themselves doctors.” as the door slams.

Jack groans as he stands up, a hand over his back as it aches from the concrete.

“Very nice, old man. Thank you.” You grimace at him for getting you both caught.

“Yeah, blame me, misses “I lost an earring.”

He comes up behind you and fixes your jacket, which you're still fighting against, pulling the left arm right-side out and guiding it through. He walks around and stands in front of you now, looking with that same gaze he's had with you all night. Except this time there seems to be something softer in his eyes, along with the softest, most relaxed smile you think you've ever seen Jack wear. He pulls at a few coils of your curls, flattening them back down from where his hand was tangled a few minutes ago.

“For what it’s worth, I’d like to finish this and not have Dana interrupt us this time.”

And, once again, like he's completely irresistible to you. Your hands are on his face. pulling him into another kiss. Fleeting and short this time.

Just like that, your terrible night seems to have completely turned around.

Chaeri was tiny but mighty: big doe eyes, curly pigtails bouncing, and a voice that could fill the room even at whisper volume. The second she spotted the other members, she let go of Chan's hand and ran straight for them with zero hesitation.

“Uncle Jinnie! Uncle Hannie!” she squealed, arms out.

Hyunjin dropped to his knees instantly, dramatic gasp and all. “Princess Chaeri has arrived to bless us peasants!”

She giggled and launched into him for a hug, then immediately turned storyteller mode on. “Uncle 'Jinnie, I dreamed last night that WolfChan flew me to the moon on his fluffy tail! But moon was made of cheese and we ate it all!”

Jisung, who was crouched next to them, clutched his heart. “Yah… that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Moon cheese date confirmed.”

Felix was next—she climbed right into his lap like it was her throne. “Uncle Lixie sunshinee”

Felix melted into a puddle, burying his face in her hair. “Chaeri-yah… you’re gonna make Uncle cry before the cameras even start properly.”

Changbin flexed dramatically. “Uncle Binnie is the strongest, right? I can lift you to the ceiling!”

Chaeri nodded seriously. “Uncle Bin drop me and i’ll turn into a butterfly and fly away forever!”

The members lost it—Seungmin cooing, Jeongin watching everything with heart eyes, Lee Know pretending to be composed while secretly smiling every time she called him “Uncle Minmin.”

Chan watched from a few steps away, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look cool. “Yah, she’s my daughter, you know. You’re all stealing her.”

Seungmin shot back, “Whatever, hyung. She’s our baby niece.”

Chaeri spent the next half-hour bouncing between them, feeding tiny spoonfuls of jajangmyeon to whoever was closest

“Open wide, Uncle Hannie! This one has magic beans!”

Chaeri started to elaborate tales about dragons who loved kimbap, and declaring that “Appa Chan makes the best cuddles in the whole galaxy.”

Then came the crash.

During a game segment where the kids were supposed to “help” build a block tower, someone accidentally knocked it over.

Chaeri’s tower—her “princess castle with rainbow windows”—tumbled dramatically. Her lower lip wobbled. Big eyes filled with tears. And then the waterworks started.

“Waaah… my castle… it’s broken… the princess has no home now…”

The sound hit like a siren.

Every member froze for half a second before chaos erupted—in the softest, most protective way.

Felix scooped her up first. “Nooo, baby, don’t cry~ Uncle Lixie will build you a bigger castle! With sparkles!”

Hyunjin was right there, wiping her cheeks with his sleeve. “Hey, hey, princess, look—Uncle Hyunjinnie can draw you a new castle right now. What color do you want the towers?”

Jeongin knelt beside her, holding out a stuffed WolfChan. “Chaeri-yah, WolfChan says he’s sorry. He’ll guard the new castle so it never falls again, okay?”

Seungmin started singing a silly made-up lullaby under his breath, voice soft and steady, while Changbin rebuilt the tower at lightning speed, narrating, “See? Super Uncle Bin is fixing everything. Stronger than before!”

Minho—Mr. I’m-Not-Soft—actually crouched down and gently booped her nose. “Yah, don’t cry or Uncle will have to feed you all the jajangmyeon until you’re too full to be sad.”

Chaeri sniffled, tears still rolling, but the sobs were slowing. She reached out blindly.

Chan tried to push through the wall of uncles. “Baby, come here, appa’s got you—”

Minho blocked him with a playful arm. “No way, hyung. Uncles are handling it. You wait your turn.”

Felix turned, still rocking her. “Chan-hyung, you can have her back after we fix this. She needs uncle power right now.”

Chan threw his hands up, laughing despite himself. “You guys are ridiculous. She’s literally my daughter.”

Chaeri peeked through Felix’s shoulder, tear-streaked but smiling a tiny bit now. “Appa… uncles are making it better…”

Chan clutched his chest dramatically. “Betrayed by my own daughter…”

But his eyes were shining—pure, overwhelming fondness. He watched as Chaeri slowly calmed in their arms, the crying turning to hiccups, then giggles as Hyunjin sketched a ridiculous castle with googly-eyed dragons on a piece of paper.

By the end of the episode, Chaeri was perched on Changbin’s shoulders, directing the “grand reopening” of her rebuilt castle, declaring, “Now it has a boat of chocolate milk and a slide made of clouds!”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The members were wrecked—red ears, soft smiles, hearts visibly exploding. Chan finally got his turn when she toddled over, sleepy from all the excitement, and climbed into his lap.

“Appa,” she mumbled against his chest, “today was the best. Can we play with the uncles again tomorrow?”

Chan kissed the top of her head, voice thick. “Anytime you want, baby.”

Off to the side, Jeongin whispered to Minho, “Hyung… I think we all just got baby fever level 1000.”

Jisung nodded, eyes still on Chaeri and Chan. “Yeah. Chan-hyung never getting full custody back. She’s ours too now.”

Chan overheard and just smiled wider, hugging his little girl tighter.

Later, when the director asked who melted the most, all seven members pointed at each other—and then at Chan.

“She’s our little Stay princess,” Seungmin said simply.

A cool breeze bit through the summer heat, nipping at your arms. The sun was relentless. Sweat dripped down your forehead, your neck, arms—anywhere the sun could reach its rays. 

Some of the group had gone out for supplies. Only a few of you were left to guard the camp now, promises of food, water, and medicine kept you hopeful while you drowned in the humidity. Sifting through the heat, you hoped Glenn remembered your request for sunscreen—your shoulders already began to peel and blister—a near hyperthermic sluggishness to your movements.

Even if he didn’t, as long as everyone came back safe, you would’ve been content with whatever they brought home.

Home. 

It was funny you thought of it like that.

With the people you stayed around, there never was just one place to call home. Shane, the group’s self-proclaimed leader, kept the team wandering, always on the move. It was the only way of survival now, but it never stopped feeling like you lost a piece of yourself at each stop. The days blurred together, exhaustion wore thin as supplies dwindled and the trek just kept getting longer.

When the end of the world had struck, your mind went blank. Nothing had ever prepared you for this moment, there was no rulebook to follow. If you couldn’t figure this out on your own, there was only one thing you knew you could do: Find a group.

Stuck in piled up traffic along the highway, you became friends with the nearby drivers, striking up conversation when things started to sound more serious than just a car wreck. Carol and Lori were the first two by your side, idly chatting about what could’ve caused this traffic. Then, when things got more serious—drivers started attacking each other, gunshots in the distance—you all agreed to stick together. 

Shane came along with Lori, practically inseparable with how protective he was of her and Carl. He was possessive, not only when it came to his family, but the group as well. Although no one outright said it, Shane was what you all needed to get through this. It always felt like he knew more than he gave off though—that he had secrets he’d never let go—but he was Lori’s husband and you didn’t want to overstep.

Or at least you thought he was.

A few weeks into forming a real group—one supported by vehicles, supplies, and a real chance at survival—Lori had mentioned her actual husband.

“He was a real good father– husband too.” She turned her head to look around then, “Always looked out for me and Carl. I’m sure he would know what to do right now…”

The confession had taken you by surprise. It was one of the few times you had truly been alone with Lori—no Carl, Shane, or Carol listening in. It was a brief encounter, one entirely by chance, but it stuck with you for a while.

You had gone out in the middle of the night for a breath of fresh air. It was a full moon that night and you hoped the clouds parted just enough to let you catch a glimpse. When you peeked through the opening of your tent though, you saw a figure, hunched over and quivering over the smothered campfire.

Pulling a knife from the back pocket of your jeans, you planted quiet, careful steps towards the logs. Blade held at your side, nervously anticipating your next move, you quickly realized that this wasn’t a walker, nor was it a raider—it was Lori, crying in the dark.

That night you got closer to Lori than you had ever been with anyone since the outbreak. She wept to you about her late husband, how he was in a coma when the world turned to shit. How Shane—her saviour—went back for him, but was too late.

You couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through—the pain she had to mask for the sake of her son. She had clearly leaned heavily on Shane, even before everything, he was her rock. The two were so close that you thought they had been together for far longer than this. They just seemed so in love.

From then on, you watched the dynamic closely. How Carl slowly attached himself to Shane and how Lori lovingly watched from afar. Even in the mess of everything, they still managed to pick back up the pieces of their shattered family. It was something you admired, how she could look past her grief to make a better life for her son—for herself.

That hot, summer day was no different. 

Most of the group idled around, waiting for the results of the supply run as if it were any other day. Carl and Shane were out by the lake, catching fish. Lori and Carol bathed in the shade, hunched over the wash bin. Dale was taking watch up on the RV, looking for the rest of the group who was supposed to be back long before now.

“Merle said he was gon’ be back here before sunset ‘n by the looks of it, the sun is fuckin’ settin’.”

Daryl was growing restless now, driving the rest of the group mad while his brother was out on a run. He was pacing back and forth in front of you, his hand clawing at his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair.

“You know what can happen on these runs,” you said, leaned back against the RV, your arms crossed. “They probably just had to take another way home. Glenn’s good with directions, I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

To be honest, you weren’t sure of anything, but if it got the younger Dixon to stop pestering you, then a little white lie couldn't hurt.

“Y’ain’t sure of shit!” He yelled, throwing a punch at the old, rusted metal of the motorhome.

“Don’t dent my RV!” Dale shouted from above. “I better not see a scratch on her when I get down there!”

Rolling his eyes, Daryl took a few steps back to get a good look at the man posted on the roof. Laid back in his lawn chair, Dale had a gun sprawled in his lap, binoculars pointed right down at you two.

“This old thing? S’got more scratches than I can count.”

“How many is that—ten?” you quipped, a sly smile creeping on your face.

Daryl sneered, his footsteps clouding up dust until he was right in your face. “I ain’t messin’ ‘round right now, little princess.” He spat, so close you could smell his breath. “You’re sittin’ around while my brother s’out there takin’ care of the useless group y’all sent out with him.”

“Useless?” Standing up now, you shoved Daryl’s chest, sending him stumbling back a couple feet. “You should be grateful we even took your-”

“Quit arguing, you two!” Dale hissed. “I see a truck coming up the hill.”

Grumbling, Daryl pulled his bow from around his shoulders, getting himself into a good position. 

“You better hope this s’my brother.”

Shoving him further behind the RV, you pulled out your gun. “Or what, Daryl?”

The soft gnashing of gravel grew closer, a faint scent of gasoline filling your senses. Through the clearing, you could see a box van coming up the mountain. It looked harmless so far, no raiders peeking out the windows with guns, waiting to rob your camp. Pulling to a stop just shy of the RV, you could see through the windshield—it was Glenn in the driver's seat.

A crowd started to form as the other members of the groups noticed the arrival. Everyone was cautious when the stranger tumbled out of the truck, people were almost worse than walkers nowadays.

Shane was quick to make his way to the front, especially when he noticed the familiar face next to Glenn. He looked astonished, pale almost, at the sight of the officer.

“Rick?”

Whipping your head back, Lori clutched onto her son, quivering in fear like she was seeing a ghost. To her, she really was. You had only heard that name once from Lori’s lips—that night you comforted her outside of the camp—it was the name of her supposedly deceased husband. But here he was, alive and breathing, spinning Carl around in his arms.

===

Rick had become an integral part of the group, almost succeeding Shane in his leadership position. Things were taking a turn for the better, having two strong minds working together instead of Shane’s impulsive drive leading the group to disaster.

Although Carl was grateful to have his father back, things between him and Shane didn’t falter. Things with Lori, however, took a drastic turn. Like night and day, her feelings for Shane seemed to fade. 

Following her husband into the tent that first night, she never looked back, but you could tell the pain it caused her—the agony it caused Shane.

Unknowingly, you became trapped in the triangle too.

Never would you have done it on purpose, but the longer Rick weaved his way into the group, the more your feelings grew for him. It started off slight, his looks catching you off guard the moment you saw him. He was attractive, a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind about any man since the world went to shit. 

But the moment you realized he wasn’t yours for the taking—and never would be—you rid that thought from your mind.

Then you saw Lori with Shane again.

They seemed to be arguing at first, Lori’s hands up in the air until they curled into his hair, tugging at the roots. Then, Shane pulled her in by the waist, slamming his lips onto hers. For a moment, she went stiff, debating the consequences of her actions until she went limp, falling into his touch.

You stopped looking after that. Anything more and it would have felt like an obligation to tell Rick though you had barely known him. He just looked so happy to find his family again—god knows how long he was searching, the things he had done to get here.

From that moment on, you began to unknowingly attach yourself to the man. Whether it was pity, some sort of guilt, or a hidden attraction—you’d never know—but something had you and the officer tied to the hip. You tagged behind him on supply runs and perimeter checks, helped out with chores—basically became his second shadow.

He obviously took notice, so did the others in the group, but just like with Shane and Lori, they kept their lips sealed. Everyone knew better than to press, had more important things to focus on than a messy love triangle. It’d all blow over eventually.

You found yourself with Rick and Daryl, doing a perimeter check of the farm. The entire group was still very wary of the new location, but with a working agreement between Hershel and Rick, tensions seemed to be lessening.

“Ya keep walkin’ so close t’tha fence ‘n yer gon’ get zapped.” Daryl said teasingly, his boots dragging in the dirt.

“Maybe I’ll take you down with me,” you quipped.

Things between you and Daryl wouldn’t seem to have changed just listening in, but the way you spoke to each other now was softer—more joking rather than harsh jabs. It took a while, and a lot of convincing from Carol, but you finally came around to him.

Rick chuckled, shaking his head as he marked another weak spot onto his map.

“If Carl ever had a sister,” Rick turned his head to look at you, “I imagine this s’exactly what it’d be like, you two argue like children.”

“Yet you still bring us with you.” Scrunching your nose, you took the map from Rick’s hands. “Maybe if you gave us something interesting to do we wouldn’t have time to argue.”

“Alright then,” Rick took a moment before speaking, like he suddenly regretted saying anything in the first place. “Come with me on a run tomorrow. Goin’ to check out the next town over. S’that interestin’ enough for ya?”

You expected Daryl to chime in, complain about how he wasn’t invited or how he ‘didn’t even wanna come anyway.’ That never came though and the three of you just sat in a passing silence. The two men shared some sort of knowing glance, awaiting your response.

“Yeah.” Shrugging, you looked back at Daryl. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Are you not coming, Daryl?”

He opened his mouth to say something, eyes nervously flicking to Rick before he stuttered out, “N-nah, I’m busy t’morrow.”

“Busy, got it.” You laughed, unconvinced. “Sounds fun.”

The rest of the search fell in a deep silence that you couldn’t seem to wade out of. Drowning in the tension, you waited for it to flood over and find a moment to breathe before you thought too hard about it.

Both men were painfully silent, sharing secret glances like they were having a whole conversation with just their eyes. It made you feel small, suddenly self-conscious around these people you had spent every day around.

When you got back to camp, you were quick to part from them, ready to shed the uncomfortability that grew on your skin. Before you could get back to your tent though, a familiar voice called out your name.

“Tomorrow morning, remember?” Rick called out from across camp. 

A few heads turned at the interaction, including an inquisitive Lori whose eyes flicked between the two of you, and the moment felt unnecessarily vulnerable—like this was something you were caught doing.

Nodding your head, you flashed a thumbs up before dipping into your tent for the rest of the night.

You didn’t know why things felt so tense all of the sudden. You and Rick had never been alone like this before. Daryl or Glenn typically tagged along, keeping you company as you babbled along, allowing Rick to complete the task at hand. It was always through the playful banter of your groupmates that you spoke to Rick—just teasing jokes and mindless chatter about the weather.

Everyone in the camp—except you—noticed the way you looked at Rick. How each time he turned a corner, a smile appeared on your face and your back would straighten just to get that much closer to him. It was all subtle, just your body trying to get your brain to catch up on how badly you had fallen for the man. That idea was strictly forbidden though—not even something that crossed your mind in the slightest. He was Lori's husband.

Though, you had noticed them sleeping in separate tents lately. During the day, they played up the role of a happy couple, but at night they were nowhere near each other, and occasionally, you’d hear Lori slip off with Shane deep into the night.

You liked to think that Rick could see through them. That he was smarter than his heart would let him and realize what was going on between his wife and best friend. If he did know, he did a damn good job at pretending not to care.

Unbeknownst to you, Rick did know—and he didn’t care. 

Blindly enamoured with his wife, Rick did anything in his power to find his family when he first woke up in that hospital. Stumbling upon this group was unknowingly the worst thing to ever happen to him as the weeks unfolded. A prickling feeling that something was just out of reach followed him everywhere. Some deep sense of dread followed him for days until he finally saw it.

Shane and Lori—his best friend and his wife—holding hands beneath a tree, having some sort of serious conversation. He wanted to wait and watch, find some more incriminating evidence than just hand holding, but he felt sick to his stomach at just the thought. Resentment was quick to grow towards the both of them, a rekindling of feelings inadvertently growing towards someone else.

In his time at the camp, Rick found himself gravitating towards you. Unlike the others, you didn’t seem to get caught up in all the fighting, choosing to keep close to Daryl and Carol. You were always a fresh breeze after a long day of putting up a front with Lori, saving face for Carl’s sake, and secretly wishing he was with you the entire time.

A large part of him felt guilty for his feelings. He tried his best to push them away and ignore them until he just couldn’t anymore. That was when he started assigning you to the same tasks as him, but always with another person to accompany you. It just didn’t feel right to him, the way he wanted to look at you, the things he wanted to say—to confess.

It was all too much for him that he’d bring Daryl along almost as a chaperone. He wasn’t too scared to talk to you—like Rick was—and could coax an easy laugh from your lips. The sound was heavenly to him, bathing in your voice as he walked around doing different chores, the time flew by with you chatting behind him.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of your relationship with Daryl. The two of you had gotten close so quickly after being sworn enemies that he wished he could make conversation just as easy.

 Of course he talked to you—always so interested in what he had to say—but that was the problem. You’d look up at him with those eyes, arms across your chest and your head tilted with a soft pout. He just couldn’t keep himself together when you looked at him like that.

And he knew it was wrong. He was married—still had the ring around his finger to prove it. So why did he invite you on a run tomorrow?

When Daryl pulled him aside after he had called out for you at camp, he still couldn’t answer that question.

“The hell y’doin’?” He said roughly, dragging Rick away from the crowd—away from the timorous eyes of Lori. “Thought we weren’t doin’ this?”

“Doin’ what?” Rick said dumbly.

His eyes flicked back over to his wife for a moment and a feeling of guilt panged his chest.

“You know exactly what—you’re married.” Daryl was seething, words barely audible with how he gritted his teeth. 

He was never one to press someone's morals, but this was Rick, the one person he knew to be noble and loyal. Without Rick to stand behind, he would have no one—the group would have no one—it’d only be a matter of time for things to crumble if he didn’t keep his head straight on his shoulders.

“We’re goin’ out for a run.” Rick crossed his arms, ready to walk away from the conversation. “S’not like we’re gettin’ eloped.”

“Bet you’d love that.”

“Well the plan’s already been made, so there’s no goin’ back.” Fumbling out a poor excuse, Rick stalked back towards the camp, catching a brief glimpse of Lori’s face before heading into his tent.

It was hard to gauge what she thought, nothing in her gaze besides a silent, defeated observation. Some part of Rick told himself that she deserved it after lying to him for so long, but another part of him—the part he liked to think was the real him—was disgusted he could brush off his wife’s emotions so easily. 

Rick tossed and turned through the night. When the sun finally rose, he wasted no time unzipping his tent. Though his lids were still heavy, his body exhausted, a rapid, thrumming heartbeat thrashed in his chest.

He really did need to go on this run, but was it too late to just go by himself? Maybe you’d wake up, grateful he had gone and left you the day to relax. 

The longer he stalled, the more he was starting to think Daryl was right.

He was married. So what was he doing going out alone with the only woman who made his heart race and his cheeks flush—a woman who wasn’t his wife.

Biting the skin on his fingers, Rick tore his knuckles raw, the skin puffy and bleeding. He was so caught up in his own mind, that he didn’t notice you had already woken up.

“You ready?” Beaming up at him with a warm mug in your hands, your breath frosted a little in the chill morning air.

It was barely light outside, no sight of the sun peeked above the horizon just yet. The rest of the group were tucked away in their tents, chasing warmth in their sleeping bags. That left just you and Rick alone in the middle of camp.

Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his throat closing in on itself.

Just one offhanded comment about going for a run and you were up bright and early with a smile on your face just for him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—how happy you seemed to be here with him. There were none of those fake eye rolls or witty jokes you threw at Daryl. This was a side of you he rarely saw, a slightly less bubbly, but softer side. He felt special getting to see you like this, wanted to reserve this view for himself and no one else.

A quiet yawn left your lips and curled into a lazy grin. Tiredly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, looking to Rick for the next direction.

His lips parted, tongue jutting out to wet them—anything to get another moment of you like this. “Yeah, truck’s all warmed up. You got everythin’?”

“Mhmm,” Motioning to the bag slung over your shoulder, you nodded sleepily. “Gun, knife, water, and some food. I even brought a surprise in case the ride gets too boring.”

Rick couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face. “A surprise, huh? Might have to drive extra slow then.”

Starting towards the truck, the engine rumbled gently, the lights flicked off to not wake the rest of the camp. It was nice just being able to talk with Rick for once. Your time together always felt sort of disconnected, or maybe it was just the boundary you had put up for yourself to not get too attached.

Rick's arm reached around you, pulling open the passenger door. His fingertips ever so slightly grazed your back, guiding you in the cab, stalling for a moment too long before shutting the door.

While he rounded the truck, the pieces of the puzzle—the one you had been trying to fit together ever since he invited you out here—started to fall into place. 

You couldn’t sit still. Now that he had touched your skin, it felt like you were on fire. Since you met, you had always thought your feelings towards Rick were purely physical. That the presence of a man this attractive was uncommon nowadays and the way your mind wandered was just a product of that.

The guilt seeped in, making you want to hop out of the truck and crawl back in your tent like none of this had ever happened. The way he spoke to you—his words finally meant for just you, his eyes focused on yours—made your body electric, practically buzzing in your seat. 

This was no small crush like you had thought. Over these past few months, you were falling in love with Rick Grimes—the husband of one of your closest friends.

You had thought it was just a coincidence that you and Lori had grown apart when Rick arrived. Figured she was preoccupied with the shock and patching things up with Shane. But maybe, just maybe, she saw what you couldn't see. 

Maybe Lori saw the way you looked at Rick like he hung the moon. The way you followed him around like a dog, obedient to his every word. What really had Lori’s eyes following you two that day though, was the way Rick looked. She knew that look anywhere because it was the same look he used to give to her.

That sappy, lovesick look that used to be solely reserved for her was now directed towards another woman—and Lori couldn't help but feel relieved? She was at a crossroads, having to take her place beside her husband, knowing her heart truly resided with Shane. It was a choice she didn’t want to admit was difficult to make, but seeing that maybe her husband felt the same gave her some hope.

Rick hadn’t lied when he said the ride would be slow. It started out with him telling you to get some rest and to ‘save up some of that energy for the interesting part.’ Little did you know, he just wanted to get a good look at you, up close, without anyone else watching, and not be too nervous to look you in the eye.

When you had finally dozed off, he brushed the loose hair from your face, watching the way your lips pouted out and the soft snores that left them. He drove extra slow as promised, but not for anything other than to make sure you didn’t wake up. Avoiding any potholes or branches in the road, he opted for the smoothest route possible.

He never would’ve admitted it to his face, but Daryl was right. The longer he was alone with you, the more his mind spiraled. Guilt was eating him alive even though he hadn’t done anything. The simple fact that he felt something was enough to crush him. The weight of his feelings were enough to drag him into a pit for the rest of the drive until you woke up.

Groaning, you squinted your eyes to adjust to the sun now peeking in through the glass. The truck seat was more comfortable than any place you had slept in months and the rhythmic rumbling of the tires was enough to lull you to sleep. A yawn escaped your lips, absentmindedly flipping in your spot until your gaze fell on Rick in the driver’s seat.

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” he rasped, eyes focused on the road.

“Shit,” you cursed, sitting up in your seat. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long. We almost there?”

“Told ya to get some rest, y’know I don’t mind.” Rick said, flashing you a smile. “Town should be right up ahead—right on schedule.”

Abandoned cars littered the roads and Rick tried his best to maneuver around them, but when he got to a certain cluster, there was no way out. You didn’t say anything, wanting to let him concentrate. A frustrated grumble left his lips, head peeking over his shoulder as he started to reverse.

“M’leavin’ the car here, there’s no way ‘round.” Slamming his palm onto the wheel, he set the truck into park. “I can see buildings right through the clearing. It should be close enough to bring stuff back.”

Nodding, you followed Rick’s lead. The sun was up now, just barely peeking through the clouds to pick up the morning dew that tickled your ankles. You both walked a few feet from each other, eyes focused on the couple of buildings ahead.

The walk was quieter than you had expected. You wanted to throw in some joke, one of those witty remarks that always came so easy when Daryl was around. Things felt so fragile now that you were alone, like all the things simmering just below the surface were starting to rise and the both of you could feel it bubbling over.

“I’ve been uh.” You stared at the ground, kicking a stone ahead of you and repeating the process all over again a couple feet ahead. “I’ve been talking to the Greenes a little more since we got here. They’re really nice people, especially Maggie—looks like her and Gleen have been hitting it off too.”

That last part made the both of you chuckle, the entire group letting Glenn awkwardly shuffle his way over to Maggie each day, trying to make a good impression. It was a noble attempt and Maggie seemed just as into him to relay the nervousness right back his way.

Rick laughed, running a hand over his jaw. “I remember bein’ like that—makes me miss bein’ young.” He said, his feelings more recent than he was admitting to.

In all honesty, Rick did miss being that young, nostalgic over the freedom he once had. Maybe if he was a little younger he wouldn’t feel the guilt that tore him apart each time he looked at you. If he was younger then maybe he would feel like he had a sliver of a chance with you. 

“You’re not that old,” you giggled.

“Thanks,” he laughed dryly. “Sounded real convincin’.” 

Rick looked over to you, not expecting you to be looking right back. He sucked in a sharp breath. Time felt frozen, like he was stuck here, body paralyzed by the force of you. 

“I mean it,” you said, a little more serious this time. “I know the world has gone to shit, but we have the whole world to make something of ourselves, to do whatever we want.”

He smiled to himself.

‘We’

The way you spoke like you were a unit, two pieces of the same puzzle. He knew you probably didn’t mean it that way, but his heart couldn’t help but hope that somewhere deep down you maybe felt the same.

When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to fill the gap. “The world clearly favors you, Rick.” Your tone started off more lighthearted, but shifted into something more serious, weighing down the air just slightly. “After everything you still made it back to your family, your best friend, still alive. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but you’re handling it a hell of a lot better than the rest of us.”

“You’ve got to,” he words were rushed, intense, with a fierce gaze that locked your eyes. “The only way Carl stays strong is if I’m strong for him.”

You noticed how he only mentioned Carl. Trying not to think too deep into it, you glanced over to the town right ahead of you now. There were a few walkers that roamed the streets and with how rummaged through the entire town looked, the risks seemed to outweigh any possible benefits.

“Just don’t wear yourself out.” Turning back to Rick, you gave him one last small smile before pulling a weapon from your bag. “Let people help you every once in a while.”

“I brought you here with me, didn’t I?” 

That statement felt more charged than he probably meant it. A heat flushed your cheeks and you refocused back on the threat ahead of you.

“Let’s get in there then.”

The crowd ended up being more than you could handle. What just seemed like a few walkers aimlessly roaming in the streets ended up being a whole horde. Even just the sound of your knives and heavy panting drew a flood of undead from out the alleyways. They seemed to be coming from every direction, crawling out of abandoned cars, old buildings and shops. There was no escape, having to result in your guns, you hoped that some nearby group would hear and come to help. As unlikely as that was, it seemed even more unlikely that you both were making it out of here alive.

Pulling the trigger, the empty chamber rang out in the air. Panic filled your body and you reached into your empty pocket as a last resort.

“Rick!” you yelled out into the crowd.

No answer.

Ducking past a few reaching limbs, you weaved through the crowd trying to find Rick. Heartbeat thrumming in your ears, the monotonous groaning was drowned out and your vision blurred at the edges.

Everything was blurry the longer the adrenaline coursed through your veins. It was a strong, heavy, and unwelcoming feeling that made you disoriented and wobbly. You hadn’t realized you lost Rick, let alone where. Now that you were separated, you had no way into the truck, no way home, and no way out of here alive.

There were no more gunshots ringing out and the mass of walkers drowned out any sounds Rick could make to call out for you. It felt hopeless and for a moment you just wanted to accept that you would die here. Your feet couldn’t carry you for much longer and even if you could outrun the crowd, where were you to go after that?

Then, an arm curled around your waist, pulling you away from the store you were about to hide in and carried you back towards the crowd. You didn’t think, just acted as you tried to claw the fingers from around your hips. Thrashing, you fought the body dragging you closer to the danger, thinking you were surely done for.

“Quit it.” A voice, low and rough, hissed out. “It’s jus’ me. I’m gettin’ us the hell outta here.”

Your brain slowly started to catch up, allowing your feet to drop to the ground and run alongside Rick rather than have him drag you along. He blew through the crowd, using a combination of his knife and the barrel of his gun to strike down the crowd. Trying to help out where you could, you took down a few walkers, fishing through the back pocket of Rick’s denim when you saw the truck in the distance.

“Here!” Running up beside him, you made a quick exchange of the keys and his gun, slipping the weapon into your bag.

It felt like your lungs were on fire and your heart would just pop out of your chest if you didn’t stop, but it was too close to give up. Reaching the vehicle, you tossed open the door, throwing yourself inside before locking the door shut.

The two of you sat in a heavy silence, letting the fastest of the walkers bang on the glass while the rest staggered behind. Your chests heaved, slumped in your respective seats, trying to comprehend how this all went so terribly.

Then, as the crowd started to thicken, Rick put the truck in reverse, ignoring all the thumps beneath the tires. Leaving the road, he merged onto the empty highway, biting the skin on his fingers.

Never had a run turn so quickly on him and of course it happened to be the one time you were with him—the time he was supposed to keep you safe. The crowd has just appeared out of nowhere without any shot being fired, there was almost nothing you two could've done differently.

“M’sorry,” Rick whispered finally. “I should’ve never brought you out here. It was dangerous ‘n I shouldn't be puttin’ your life at risk like that.”

His voice was low and even, almost monotonous. He was clearly scolding himself. After everything with Carl, Rick had been a lot more harsh on himself—questioning whether he could lead this group like everyone thought he could—only to drag you straight into danger.

And for what—a moment alone with you?

Shaking your head, you propped your legs up on the dash. “Are you kidding me? I asked for something interesting and you delivered. I haven’t felt this alive in months.”

“Yeah?” Rick quirked a brow in your direction. “M’glad you had fun. I feel like I’m ‘boutta drop dead from a heart attack.”

You laughed. A real, belly laugh. One that Rick had always heard, but never been on the receiving end of—at least not as often as he’d liked to.

“Well,” a sly smirk curled your lips, arms digging in the bottom of your bag, “if that didn’t take too much out of you…” Pulling out a sealed mason jar from the pack, you held it next to your head. “Here’s that surprise I was talking about.”

Rick flicked his attention from the road for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Which would be…?”

“Some moonshine I stole from that bastard Merle after you left his sorry ass up on that roof.”

He cringed at the memory. 

As much as Daryl had claimed to have forgotten about it, the thought of leaving that man—as terrible as he was—up on that roof, haunted Rick almost every night. Though you clearly didn’t seem to mind, almost relieved the older Dixon was gone.

“And what’re we doin’ with that?” Laughing, he couldn’t believe the idea you were proposing—nevertheless with him. 

“Drinking it, duh.”

He had never seen you anything more than tipsily chatting with Daryl over the fire. Now here you were, proposing he get drunk with you. Not only did the idea seem dangerous, out here just a few miles away from a marauding horde of walkers, but he wasn’t sure he could trust himself around you. He was a grown man, could surely control his body, but his mind was different—the things he might blurt out.

“C’mon,” you whined when he only bit his lip, staring out onto the road. “We have nothing but ourselves and this truck to look after. No one is expecting us until later tonight, might as well use up the day to its full potential.”

This was a bad idea. 

The temptation Rick felt told him how much he probably shouldn't have been doing this. If it were anyone else he’d immediately object, probably even confiscate the bottle, but this was you. Looking at him so eagerly, he couldn’t find it within himself to say no. He loved that yearning look in your eyes, the one that told him you really did want to be spending your time with him.

Wordlessly, he pulled the truck onto the side of the road.

“A few sips—but that’s all. I mean it.”

Already unscrewing the lid, you flicked it back at him, letting the metal hit his shoulder. Lifting the glass to your lips, your face soured, the smell immediately filling your senses. It was strong, pungent, and although it had been years since your last hangover, the feeling hit you like a truck.

“God,” you cringed, pulling your head back, “this smells awful. First sip is all yours.”

Shaking his head, Rick ushered the jar back towards you. “Ladies first. This was your idea after all.”

He seemed more relaxed than earlier. His shoulders were more slack, his body leaning into the cushions with the belt unstrapped from his shoulders now. There was a soft mechanic rustling as he pushed the seat further back, stretching his legs, watching you fuss over the drink.

Taking the first sip was brutal. It shocked your senses, bringing you upright in the seat, jolting you awake. It tasted awful, just what you expected from a handcrafted Dixon creation, but you couldn’t deny its effects. It surely did its job, immediately working its magic with the second sip. You could feel that slight tingle deep beneath your skin that was slowly giving you the confidence alcohol always seemed to.

“Here, five sips.” Shoving the glass into his hands, you dramatically scrunched your face, words garbled by the liquid. “Beat that.”

Raising a brow, Rick cautiously lifted the jar to his nose. “M’surprised you didn’t puke on the first sip—this smells like Daryl’s feet.”

Giggling, you curled your legs into the seat, leaning over the center console. “You know what Daryl’s feet smell like?”

Nodding, Rick gulped down a generous sip before handing back the glass. “Can’t miss it. He avoids showerin’ like the damn plague.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t come with us.”

Then, taking another sip from the jar, you could feel your mind numbing. The questions you had always wanted to ask, the things you always wanted to say, didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Why didn’t you invite him?” you asked suddenly.

The question caught Rick off guard, snatching the glass from your hands to stall his answer.

“Needed someone to watch the camp,” he breathed out, the remnants of the moonshine glistening his lips.

“You don’t trust Shane?”

Questions were coming in quick now, not giving him a moment to breathe. The glass kept getting passed between the two of you, mainly ushered by Rick each time he felt too overwhelmed by one of your questions or intense stares—anything to buy him just a moment.

He drew his lips tight, the skin paling slightly. “Shane’s always been…” Taking another sip he took a moment to control himself, or maybe find the courage to say what he truly felt. “Impulsive. Don’t know if I can trust him in an emergency.” Then his last words were hot on his tongue, spitting out fire with every syllable. “Not with my son there.”

Nodding, you curled into yourself, knowing you tugged a thread too loose, letting his emotions unravel. Rick had always been so levelheaded that this was foreign. Sure, he had a lot on his shoulders—the stress was always evident—you had never seen him this unguarded though. He was letting it all out now. Finally bringing you into the space he always bridged so far with his silence. Letting Daryl typically fill the gap, Rick was able to feel close to you for so long without having to actually let you in. Now that the alcohol was talking, his true feelings began to spill over the edge and there was no turning back now.

You kept your mouth shut. Your feelings about Shane had always been the same, and it was hard to gauge if your hatred stemmed from the same place. You knew the things Shane was doing outside of his role as the group’s leader. There was so much you wanted to tell Rick, but it didn’t feel like the time—it never did—just seemed like something that would unnecessarily crush him.

“I agree with you,” Was all you said, letting the cab simmer in whatever this was.

“You see it too, right?”

Your heart stopped, stuttering a few times to catch back up—Could he know?

His words were vague, but deep down you knew what he meant. Feigning ignorance, you pressed your lips thin, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“See what?”

Scoffing, he shook his head, fists rocking against the wheel. “Y’don’t think I notice the way everyone looks at me? Y’think I don’t know my best friend is fuckin’ my wife?”

The words came out so even, so calm, that it frightened you more than any outburst could've. It was like he had rehearsed this. Like the anger bubbled within him for so long he had replayed this conversation in his mind more times than he could count. Instead of confronting them though, he was with you—vulnerable, voice raw and shaking.

“I-’

You didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve convinced myself not to believe it for long enough.” About half the glass was gone now, still switching between the two of you. “I can’t ignore it like it’s not happenin’ right in front of my face.”

Jaw slack, you didn’t know how to react. You and Daryl had spent countless hours on the topic, weighing the options between you, ultimately deciding it was better for Rick—and the group—to keep this a secret. Knowing he was aware the entire time made you wonder how he could keep it together for so long.

“I’m sorry we never said anything- that I never said anything…” Drawing a blank, your mind clouded—fuzzy from the alcohol but also from how broken Rick looked in front of you.

His head was heavy, eyes focused on his lap so intently that you were waiting to see smoke from the hole he had burned through the seat. Never had he been this vulnerable with you. Things with Rick were always surface level, light hearted conversation that left you in a lovesick daze. Now, this was just as real as your feelings for him, and once again you just wanted to tuck it all away and let this hot feeling of awkward shame leave your shoulders.

“That ain’t your job, darlin’.”

The nickname slipped off his tongue smoothly and although he had never used such a term of endearment towards you, it almost felt natural leaving his lips. Still, you felt the heat of it on your cheeks, starting to spread lower as the alcohol took its hold.

Nodding, you bit the skin on your lips, debating how to diffuse this tension. 

You both looked out onto the empty road, letting the silence clear your minds. For the first time tonight, you wished it wasn’t just the two of you here. That Daryl or somebody was here to relieve the tension, chime in and save the day whenever your feelings for Rick had your head too clouded.

“Yeah, but I still mean it, I really am sorry,” you said anyway, deciding speaking what was on your mind was better than nothing at all. “It’s not right. You woke up in the hospital, came all the way back here, just for her to act like she’s the one making the difficult decisions? I don’t get how you’re not furious, how you can just pretend everything is fine-”

The alcohol had you rambling now, a slight slur in your words the faster you spoke, your hands flailing around.

“It’s because I’m not pretendin’, sweetheart.” 

He cut you off politely, a deep, gravelly chuckle leaving his lips. There was a subtle blush on his cheeks, the alcohol affecting him too. Surely not as much as you, but it did guide the truth out easier, letting him get closer to you than he ever thought he could.

“What?” you gawked, dumbfounded.

Shaking his head, he smiled softly. It wasn’t a genuine smile, just one of those placeholders that said something like ‘ya caught me’ or a sarcastic ‘surprise!’ 

“S’not worth stressin’ over.” Raking his hands through his hair, he tried to distract you from just how misty eyed he was getting. “Can’t change what’s happened ‘n I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

“Cheers to that,” you nodded, handing him back the jar, “but you can’t just ignore it forever, Rick. You don’t know what that would do to you.”

Though you desperately wanted to lift the mood, you couldn’t help but express your concerns for the man. You knew first-hand the toll it took looking on from the sidelines. When Rick first got here, you experienced it everyday, watching him go off with Lori while your feelings got stronger and stronger. Even now, with the alcohol coursing through your veins, you don’t think you could ever form the words to tell him. This felt like the perfect opportunity with him so disconnected from his wife—but would that make you just as deceitful at her?

“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout that.” He leaned back in his seat now, seemingly more relaxed. Turning his head to you, he had a lazy smirk splayed on his lips, body caving into the exhaustion you both felt. “Been through a lot of heartbreak in this life. This surely ain’t the worst of ‘em.”

“Really?” Turning to him, fully intrigued, you leaned further over the console. “Thought you would’ve been the one breaking hearts,” you joked playfully.

Scoffing, Rick reminisced for a moment. “Then y’got the wrong image of me, darlin’. Wasn’t no athlete or anythin’ back then. Jus’ barely enough sense to get me outta highschool.”

“Sounds like you’ve changed a lot since then.”

“Glad to know ya think of me that way, doll.”

You both just stared at one another, the remnants of the past half hour swirling around both of your minds. It was strange for Rick to be this vulnerable, but with you it didn’t feel so bad. You wished you could’ve said more, found the words through the haziness of your mind and say something to truly heal the broken man in front of you. You just didn’t expect him to be so open with you. How much he didn’t care. It all caught you so off guard that anything you might’ve rehearsed in your head flew out the window.

His words were sharp talking about the situation, but any time he led back to you he always softened his words. Those nicknames kept tumbling off his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, like now that he got the first one out unquestioned, it was something he was addicted to.

“I really do,” you urged, trying not to let your feelings drive your words too much. “I think what you’ve done for the group is amazing. We never would’ve found somewhere like the farm without you.”

His tongue jetted out to wet his lips before he ran a steady hand over his jaw. "You're awfully sweet, darlin’, but you shouldn’t be thankin’ me after today.”

Scrunching your eyebrows, you lightly shoved his shoulder. “God, you’re such a drunk sap, Rick. You’re really still thinking about that? Shit happens, it could’ve been anybody-”

“But it was you.”

The words tumbled out faster than he could stop them, his eyes widened, heart frozen in place. He had just dug himself a hole, and by the look you gave him, there was no getting out.

Your lips were dry, stomach churning with bad moonshine and an unnerved tension. His words weren’t making sense, all this mindless babbling he’d done tonight, it just wasn’t Rick. That didn’t mean you hadn’t liked it though. His words were the closest thing you’d had to quelling that thought in your mind that maybe your feelings were reciprocated.

Breathlessly, you tried to repress your nervousness. “And I’m fine, Rick– barely even have a scratch on me.” You huffed out a sigh. He had been beating himself up over this all day when he should’ve just been grateful to be alive, and unharmed at that. “Just be in the moment for once. Enjoy being alive.”

The curls tossed atop his head, the back of his arm coming up to wipe the alcohol that dribbled from his lips.

“Can’t do that no more, sweetheart,” he sighed, taking a moment to lean back, really take a look within himself. Whatever he’d seen must’ve been too much because he reached for the lid, tightening the old rusty cap back on tight. “Got a whole group of people relyin’ on me to keep ‘em safe, can’t be wastin’ time livin’ in the moment. Even this…” he gestured to the jar, your empty bags, “I shouldn’t be doin’ this…”

His palms splayed wide, stretching his long fingers, nervously tapping them along the steering wheel. You watched them curl around the leather, the roughness of his hands audibly scratching against the threads. It sent a wave of heat through you, your legs crossed and the cab closed in tighter.

“It’s just one drink.” That was a little bit of an understatement. “It’ll be our secret– even Daryl won’t know.” That was the truth—no matter how difficult it was going to be keeping your mouth shut around the shaggy haired man.

It wasn’t the drinks Rick cared about, or the failed supply run. He was only worried about saying the wrong thing—ruining all of this. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment except you, but that confession was also the one thing that could ruin it all.

He fumbled with the ring on his left hand, the one he found himself wearing less and less now. He didn’t know why he chose to put it on that morning. Maybe he had expected this all along—the temptation he would feel—knew he would need some reminder of why he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, staring into his lap.

He had ruined it.

Rick had finally been able to talk to you alone, make you laugh, and he had gone and squashed the moment while drowning in his own self-reproach.

Then, it was slight, but fingertips crept up his bicep, wrapping around his shoulder. He looked to you to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. You gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. With nothing else to offer him but your presence, you fought through the shakiness of your hands and the haze of your vision.

You were definitely drunk now. It wasn't enough to set off any alarms by the time you got back to camp, but right now, kneading the warm, solid muscle of his arms was enough to tell him your mind was a little cloudy. 

Throughout the conversation, you had migrated closer and closer to Rick until you could almost feel his breath on your skin. He was hot to the touch, the tip of his nose and cheeks a bright shade of pink, and his messy mop of curls stuck to his forehead. Closing the gap, you could even feel it radiating off onto your skin.

Rick swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling your breath that crept up the side of his neck. You were swaying, leaning on your elbows across the center console—no longer interested in what you had been talking about, the weight of it seemingly gone from your mind. 

“I think…” Fingertips trailed his skin and you watched him shudder under your touch. “You should smile more…”

Your tone caught him off guard, more sultry and suggestive than you had been all night—than you had ever been. 

He shifted, not uncomfortably, but stiffly, weighing his options of how to move further. You were obviously drunk and your out-of-character behavior was definitely a product of that. As much as he wanted to convince himself you felt the same, that these were pent up feelings finally coming out within the heat of the moment, he knew it was wrong. 

“Sweetheart,” he shuddered, shutting his eyes as if he’d wake up from a dream. “I think we should get back to camp.”

Frowning, you jutted out your bottom lip, wet and slicked from the last of the moonshine. Your pupils were dilated, no longer flickering away from his gaze but holding it, strong and steady, tempting him closer.

“M’serious, Rick,” your words were more slurred, hands trailing lower. “Don’t like seeing you like this…thought I could cheer you up today.” Crackling in your throat, your voice got less and less confident and tears started to well in your eyes. “And I just made everything worse…”

His jaw went slack, your confession taking him by surprise. This whole time, you had been skating through this conversation just the same as him, treading on thin ice, too scared to make one wrong move. Now as the alcohol boldened your moves and softened your mind, it didn’t take long for the ice to break, dragging you beneath the surface.

“Oh darlin’,” he cooed, pulling you further into his chest, letting you grip onto his shoulders. “Such a sweet little thing…y’don’t have anythin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Your limbs were crumpled in the seat behind you, awkwardly twisted so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the hot, sticky tears that clung to his skin, the vulnerability that sunk in with each dig of your nails. 

“What’s got ya so worked up, doll?”

He was trying to be gentle and soft to not let you see how much his heart broke at the sight of you trembling in his lap. His hands roamed your back, tracing little shapes onto the skin from over your shirt, pinching the fabric between his fingers.

“I-It’s not fair,” you hiccuped.

Your drunken state had flown through all the stages so quickly: A bashful tipsyness that led into more thoughtful conversation, letting you both speak your truth until that unavoidable sappiness bled through the cracks and had you like putty in his hands.

“You work so hard.” Your voice was muffled in his neck, fingers desperately grabbing at the curls on the back of his neck. “Why do you let everyone run over you like that?”

This caught him even more off guard, the way you cared so earnestly. The way you sobbed into his neck like this had kept you up for nights, taking his problems just as personally as you own, had him reeling.

“Shhh…breathe, darlin’, breathe.” He smoothed a hand over your hair, shushing your sobs while you hiccupped into his skin. “Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. S’long as the group’s safe—as long as you’re safe—I don’t mind takin’ a few hits.”

You lifted your head, shaking it frantically, cupping Rick’s face into your hands. Squishing his cheeks in a little, he looked at you, face scrunched and lips pouted. 

“I just wanna see you happy again– like when you first got here.” Your back stiffened, trying to bite back the anger from your voice. “The way she talked about you…I-I don’t know how she could do that.”

Your words held a certain discretion to them, like even after all this you were too nervous to breach this topic. This was meant to be a good time. You had brought the moonshine in hopes of getting closer with Rick, letting the alcohol dull your senses until you were no longer too nervous to talk to him. 

Whenever you and Daryl drank, it was never like this. The two of you would have lighthearted conversation, maybe wander down to the lake and playfully splash water at one another. You didn’t realize with so much hanging on this moment, all the time you had spent stressing over making it perfect, that you’d crumble the second the liquid touched your lips. Alcohol clung to your insecurities, peeling back the layers until that was all you could see.

The apples of his cheeks pinched between your palms. He couldn’t help the laugh that rippled from his lips with the sight of you, so fixated on making everything right. Truly, things couldn’t have been more perfect for him within this moment. This was the closest you’d ever been and though you grabbed him with a force that made his face sore, he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

Hearts pounding in sync, neither of you understood the weight of this moment, both sharing the hot, cavernous shame that buried itself within—wedging its way between you.

The grief Rick felt over his crumbling marriage was complicated. At first it tore him from the seams, pulling each thread until he was left a scrap of fabric on the floor. Then you came along and Rick started to notice the effect your presence had on him. What started with mindless babbling on supply runs or perimeter checks, slowly, unknowingly, let you weave the pieces of him back together.

“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout all that,” he cooed, tucking a sliver of hair behind your ear.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell you that he was that happy again—when you were around. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t care about his wife anymore not only because she had cheated, but because he had feelings for someone else—for you.

Instead, he only let himself say what the silver band on his ring finger allowed.

“Don’t go stressin’ over this old man’s problems, yeah?” Copying your movements, he carefully wiped the edges of your eyes, holding your face in his hands just gently enough he could excuse the action.

Leaning into this touch, you let your lashes flutter against his palm. Nodding against his skin, you breathed in his scent—the remnants of the alcohol on his lips and that deep, musky pull from the crook of his neck. 

Your small hands still held his arms, fingers creeping along his skin—feeling, tracing, memorizing—you felt him shudder beneath your touch. Readjusting his hips, Rick felt the denim on his legs getting more confined and he reached for his belt. Shifting the buckle, he tried to relieve the tension, but you just kept creeping closer.

He felt disgusting. Here you were, confiding in him, pouring your heart out to show you cared, and all he could think about was the blood rushing between his legs. His grip on you had tightened, palms greedily splayed on your waist, resisting every twitch to pull you onto his lap.

You didn’t say anything else, the moment felt busy enough with all the tension coming to a standstill. Though there were no words, the slow, lazy movements fused between each other were enough to speak for itself. Pure want filtered through every action and Rick found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

He saw you glance once, twice, at his lips. Jutting out his tongue, he slipped them beneath his teeth, maybe to dissipate the tension, or maybe to stop himself from giving in.

“Rick…?”

God, you were irresistible right now.

With spit-slicked lips and tear-puffed cheeks, you looked the closest to fucked out Rick had been able to see you outside of his imagination. 

He cleared his throat, grumbling out a soft string of curses. “Yeah, doll?”

Your eyes held a certain seriousness he hadn’t seen from you all night. He gave you his full attention, his heart beating fast with uncertainty. 

“M’sorry I got too drunk,” you slurred out sleepily, a gentle yawn leaving your lips.

Rick chuckled, shaking his head. He squeezed your cheeks between his palms and they almost disappeared with how his hands swallowed your face. 

You were so different now compared to just a few minutes ago. Like a cat, you curled up in his lap, claiming your territory. It was a cramped spot, huddled up between his chest and the steering wheel, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

His breathing shallowed the closer you pressed and he tried to fill his mind with thoughts that would stop the bulge from growing in his jeans. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. If you saw how he truly felt about you, the way his body just couldn't resist, maybe he’d never get to see you again.

He smoothed his hands over the outside of your thighs, putting your legs on either side of him. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, darlin’.” You smiled into his neck. “Been havin’ a real nice time with ya…s’been a while since I spoke my mind. Nice to know someone cares.”

That last part was quietly whispered into your ear. Wriggling your toes excitedly, he felt the vibration of you humming contentedly against his neck.

Pulling back your head from the crook, he saw your cheeks dusted a rosy pink. They matched his and the heat of the cab that painted droplets on his forehead. Both of you were breathing heavier now, stickily clung to one another with desire hot on your tongue.

“I’ve always cared, Rick,” you pouted, almost offended. “You just never let anyone in.”

He hummed in response, lips pressed thin.

Rick knew you were right. Even Daryl, his right-hand-man, was oblivious to most of the things that raced through the man’s mind. There was so much he had lost—so much he felt he could never obtain—that the grief of it all was too much to speak out loud. 

“Want you to talk to me,” you whined, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “S’not fair how they treat you.”

Your head dipped low, stealing a gasp from Rick’s lips when you started to gently nibble at his collarbone. He sat there, frozen, his fingertips pressing further into your skin the more you licked. Your nose nuzzled the fabric of his shirt, breathing him in deep. A trail of kisses were planted from his pulse point to that soft, sensitive notch behind his ear. Your breath ghosted the shell of cartilage, feeling him twitch with every graze of your lips on his skin.

“T-thank you, darlin’.” He was fighting for his life now—one look away from bursting a blood vessel. “Awfully sweet of ya.”

Watching the Adam’s apple bob in his throat enticingly had your tongue flicking out, licking a stripe down the middle of his throat, feeling the groan he fought back. 

With the way he was holding on, you’d definitely have bruises where his hands sat on your hips. He was gripping onto you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drifting away. You weren’t sitting on his lap anymore, but he had it so you were just slightly hovering above him, trying to lessen the temptation he felt. His hips would still twitch upwards with each sloppy kiss you left on his neck though, chasing friction like it was his only will to live.

You didn’t respond to him anymore, just happily sucked along the skin of his neck, feeling the goosebumps rise on his skin. His large hand closed down on the back of your head, sliding up your scalp until he had a firm hold of your hair.

“You’re killin’ me, doll.” His voice was low, guttural, with a breathiness at the end that sounded like he was pleading with you. 

Still, you didn’t look up, didn't even respond, just kept exploring the underside of his jaw, tugging helplessly at his curls. Getting a more hardened grip, he dragged your head to face him. 

“Look at me.” He demanded.

His words weren’t harsh, just firm.

Eyes blown wide and jaw slack, Rick couldn’t help but stare at your kiss swollen lips. He could feel every splotch on his skin where your touch still lingered—how much he had to pretend he didn’t want more.

“We can’t be doin’ this.” Repeating Daryl’s words from earlier, Rick tried to scold himself out of wanting.

“Do what?” you asked, playing dumb.

It was clear you knew what you were doing. It was what you had always wanted to do, but never had the shield of apathy to hide behind. Your embarrassment fizzled away with your sobriety, leaving you an empty husk of pure want—and Rick the target of your desires.

Lacing your fingers with his, you didn’t give Rick a moment to stop you. Didn’t give him the chance to tell you this was a bad idea.

His left hand covered your entire vision, his palm spread wide in front of your face. Cracks and scars littered the skin, hair curling between his knuckles and brushing roughly against the softness of your skin. Hand barely wrapped around his thick wrist, you toyed with the wedding ring on his finger, a cloud of guilt and anger clouding your senses.

You wanted to rip the damn thing off. It felt like some sick joke he was married—if you could even call that facade a marriage. It didn’t feel like she deserved him, but at the same time you wanted to understand the grief she was going through, and somehow process how she could do this to him. She was your friend, and you wanted to believe there was something redeemable under all the mistrust she created.

Rick stared at the band with you, both your eyes lingering on the metal, an unspoken conversation shared within the silence.

Cautiously, your eyes flickered to his, trying to read the mix of emotion in those icy blues. Then, slowly, you pressed a gentle kiss to the tips of his fingers, starting from thumb to pinky. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes not leaving yours as you worked your way across his digits. Lips pressed to his pinky, you trailed back, painfully slow, dragging the tip of your tongue over his ring finger, swirling around the tip.

He stifled a moan as you popped the digit between your lips. The band cooled your lips the further you took him, letting your eyes meet his in a deadly hold.

“Fuck,” Rick sighed, tipping his head back against the seat. “Y’don’t know what you’re doin’ t’me.”

He set you down on his lap, your plush thighs flush against his denim clad legs. You could feel him through his jeans and the way he tried to shy away from you. 

“I told you I had a surprise,” you giggled into his ear, bashfully hiding your face in your hair.

You wanted him bad and Rick could only resist for so long. The more he tried to pull away, the more of yourself you gave to him—it felt like an endless back and forth.

“You’ve been plannin’ this then, huh?” He rasped.

His guilt began to simmer and the realization that you wanted him just as badly—plus the grinding of your hips—dimmed any doubt he had before. A slight cockiness smoothed over his tone with you so desperately pawing at him, crying in his ear for more.

Nodding, you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. “Wanted you for so long.”

You whined, pulling yourself closer to him. His hands smoothed down your back, twisting the hem of your shirt around his fingers until he skated a light, feathery touch along your skin. 

“Yeah?” He laughed a little at your eagerness, the way you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. “Coulda told me sooner, darlin’. Woulda taken care of ya.”

Pressing your hips down even harder, Rick took hold of your waist, stilling your movements. The pads of his fingers tapped gently against your side, beckoning your attention. Eyes blown wide, you looked up at him, lips parted like you were drooling over the sight of him.

“You want that, hmm?” Even with you crawling on top of him, nudging the buckle of his belt, there was a part of him that still needed to hear that yes. A deep, gaping part of him that still didn’t believe you could want him in this capacity, that in his position as a leader he had somehow swayed your thinking. “Wan’ me t’take care of ya?”

Impatiently, you clawed at the collar of his shirt, stretching out the fabric, trying to pull it over his head.

“Mhmm,” you nodded exaggeratively, your tongue poking out to wet your lips. “Please, Rick, that’s all I want.”

Well if you were gonna ask so nicely…

He smiled, washing away that last shred of doubt with that persistent look in your eye.

“Okay, sweet girl.” He glanced over his shoulder, wishing there was somewhere else other than the front seat of this truck he could be having this moment with you. The seat was cramped, your legs tangled in his lap, pressing against the steering wheel with a certain discomfort. “C’mere.” He lifted you onto the center console, guiding his seat back, and widened his stance for you to sit comfortably between his legs.

Happily, you perched yourself in front of him again, roaming your hands over the expanse of his chest. You tugged yourself closer, allowing yourself to get lost in the scent of him, letting your face absentmindedly brush against his skin.

“Wish this coulda been somewhere more special,” he started. Teeth grazed the shell of your ear, biting the lobe and tugging the skin harshly, making you whimper. “Been thinkin’ of this for a while, doll…” His hands slipped up the legs of your shorts, cupping your ass beneath the fabric, toying with the hem of your underwear. “How soft your skin feels in my hands…how good you’d taste. Feels like a dream jus’ gettin’ to touch you.”

You tossed your arms over his shoulders, bucking into his touch. Forehead pressed against his, you whined, wanting more of him. You placed your lips on his, tugging him closer and pushed deeper into the kiss. His lips were warm just like the rest of him, skin cracked and rough on the edges, reminding you that he was really here. Hands firm, he held you like it was something he owned, something he couldn’t live without. 

Brushing your tongue over his bottom lip, he gave you a false sense of control, letting you explore him eagerly, shamelessly circling your hips. You were chasing your own pleasure through the confines of your shorts, moaning into his mouth each time you felt him brush up against you.

If he weren’t so close, Rick could’ve lived in this moment forever, letting your bodies meld into one another. He couldn’t fool himself though—he wasn’t getting any younger. It had been a while since he’d felt like this, been this close to somebody. Though his mind was cherishing this moment, taking it all in one breath at a time, his body was chasing a fast release, his balls tightening with each roll of your hips.

“Slow down, doll” he chuckled, hands resting on your hips, stilling your movements. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

That made your head dip low and cheeks flush in embarrassment. It had been so long since you’d been intimate—spent so much time daydreaming over this man—that the moment you got the opportunity you were rutting up against him like a hormonal teenager.

You softly mumbled out an apology, hips twitching with need as you tried to give him some space.

“Jus’ a little eager, ain’t that right, darlin’?” His fingers held tight on your jaw, cheeks slightly pinched together. Your eyes were glassy, lips pouted with a pent-up frustration that made his cock twitch beneath the denim. “Ain’t nothin’ t’be ashamed of.”

Nodding, you smiled, pawing at the loops of his belt, tugging his hips towards you.

He curled his fingers more sharply around you, cupping your heat, feeling the damp, sticky wetness through the fabric. Your body was a stripped wire, feeling every touch times ten, flashing sparks with each graze of his fingers.

Rick was so gentle with you in his words. You could feel through his touch that he wanted nothing more than to strip you down and claim you as his. His mind was a complicated thing though, always had been, seeking confirmation with every interaction. He didn’t move his lips or wander his fingertips until he had found the spot that made you shudder, moving on to claim the next piece of you, lapping up your sounds like praise.

He turned you in his lap, pressing you back flush to his chest. You could see out onto the street now, fingers curling around the leather of the sterling wheel while you tried to ground yourself. Lifting your hips, he popped the button of your shorts, sliding the fabric down your legs until they pooled at your ankles. 

Sucking in a breath, he groaned out a low string of curses, taking in the view of your soaked undergarments. Looping the waistband over his thick digit, he snapped the elastic back onto your skin, watching you flinch forward.

“Stop teasing.” You pleaded, arching your back, chasing his touch. “Please.”

The sound of your desperation, those salty tears rasping your voice, had his fingers moving even slower. He wanted to hear you beg. Wanted you sobbing in his lap until your tears soaked the denim, just pleading for a taste of his cock. But you were so sweet with your tear stained cheeks and puffy lips, asking for him so nicely. This time he’d let you off easy, figuring he’d savoured the moment long enough.

“Okay, darlin’.” His thick middle finger breached the hem of your underwear, pressing up the seam between your thigh. “Easy now.”

You were thrashing against him, bucking against the empty air. He kept you still though, one arm wrapped over the front of you, pressing down on your hips. His head dipped next to yours that was lulled back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut with an impatient scrunch of the nose. His stubble scratched your skin and you could hear his stuttered breaths while he looked down at your core fluttering around the tip of his finger just barely grazing your entrance.

Collecting your wetness onto his fingers, they glistened in the light, matching your slick coated thighs. Pulling the rest of the fabric from your thighs, he brushed his thumb against your clit in a long, slow stripe. Again, you arched your back up off of him, tipping your head back with an unrestrained moan.

That was the sound he was looking for.

Latching his fingers onto the bud, he pinched, watching you squirm beneath him. Once again, you flooded his ears with that melodic sound, the unspoken praise perking up his ears.

“Rick…” you sighed, reaching down to his wrist, urging him for more.

Pressing down firmly, he traced slow, lazy circles onto your clit, watching the way your face scrunched in pleasure. He took in every subtle nuance, matching his fingers to the pace that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. With full control, he used his leg to guide you along his slick coated fingers, slinking his hand to brush against your entrance. 

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he said in awe. His movements were quick, dipping the tip of his fingers between your walls before retreating with a squelching ‘pop’. “Y’hear that? She’s jus’ beggin’ f’me.”

You babbled incoherently, all thought going to the chase of your hips after his fingers. Rick forced his fingers past your lips, garbling the words on your tongue as he pressed the pads further down your throat. You gagged around him, spit bubbling up through your lips. He experimentally dipped his fingers even further back, testing your limits for just a moment before retreating, letting a string of spit connect him to your gasping lips.

He could do this all day if you’d let him. Looking at the way you twitched in his lap, mind numb, body pliant, you honestly might’ve let him. Watching you writhe in pleasure, chasing after his touch, having you call out for him—it was all too much.

Rick was studying—learning the ins and outs of your body in case you ever gave him the honour of touching you like this again. He could ignore the discomfort in his pants if it meant he got to hear those pretty moans on your lips just a little longer.

Eyelids fluttering open., you cried out his name again. “Need you,” you mewled. 

“Y’got me, doll,” he whispered huskily. “All of me– jus’ gotta tell me what you need.”

“Your cock,” you said shamelessly. 

You were always bold, cracking crude jokes that made the group stifle a laugh, maybe even roll their eyes. This was beyond any of his expectations though. This was pure, blatant desire—all directed at him—tumbling off your lips one confession after another.

“S’all yours,” he rasped coarsely. 

Your little fingers tugged on his belt, haphazardly unlatching the clasp the moment he gave you the go ahead. You were beaming, practically buzzing, to get your hands on him. Palming him through the fabric, you pulled down his jeans. Leaving him in just his boxers, the plaid fabric stared back at you intimidatingly, doing little to conceal the rest of him.

Shy fingers poked through the opening, carefully pulling out his length. He held his breath, watching you in awe, a crazed look in his eye while you lazily stroked his cock. Letting out a shaky groan, he couldn’t stop his hips from twitching up into your palm or they way needy moans filtered through his lips.

Rick was a giver—would’ve let himself go untouched if that’s what you wanted. You seemed to be enjoying his pleasure just the same though, taking in those beautifully parted lips and messily scattered curls. 

As much as he wanted to collect himself—focus on your pleasure—he was content with letting you take, take, take, his cock further and further into your palm, wrapping another hand to compensate for the girth.

He was big. Enough to make you a little nervous through your brazenness. The length of him was average, a perfect six or so inches that curved deliciously to his flushed tip. Wrapping your hand around him though, the base of him was wide, the tips of your fingers barely meeting back together. 

Rick was a mess beneath you, heaving out breathy moans and squirming his hips. He was close, more than he’d like to admit, and although your hands felt like heaven on his dick, he tore away your wrists.

Your eyes flicked up at him with a sharp insecurity, the hastiness of his movements taking you by surprise. He still had your wrists taken in his palm, chest heaving while he tried his best to collect himself. Every movement had him sensitive, on the verge of release, but he couldn’t let himself finish before he got inside you—before he made you finish.

You yelped as Rick lifted your hips, tossing your arms over his shoulders for balance. He was steady in the confined space, lip tucked beneath his teeth as he watched you with precision. Leaning back, he angled his hips towards the wheel, guiding you back so he could watch himself slide into you.

Sliding his tip through your slick, you gasped, tipping your head against the glass. He notched his tip to the brink of your entrance, watching your chest heave. As much as he wanted to watch the way you swallowed him in, he kept his focus on your face, stilling his movements each time he saw you wince.

He only had the tip in and you were already scrunching your nose, squirming away from the sensation. The intrusion burned, his cock bullying its way through your walls, pushing its way in with a brutal stretch.

You hissed, latching onto his arm, your other hand against his chest, trying to push him away. “S’too much, Rick,” you yelped, watching his swelling tip push past your folds. “C-can’t do it.”

Guilt burned his chest hearing you squeal like that, clawing into his chest to relive the ache. Seeing you so fucked out though—eyes rolled back, lips parted with a shiny trail of spit slicking your skin—he couldn’t pull out now.

He cupped your face, callouses scratching against your skin to refocus you, to bring you back to him. Curling his fingers around the back of your neck, he pulled you to his chest, easing in another couple of inches while he smoothed out your hair.

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he shushed your cries into the fabric of his shirt. Tracing shapes into your skin, he waited for your sniffles to subside before taking your hips back into his hold, guiding you down the rest of his length. “You’ve got it…” He picked your limp head off his shoulder, watching it soften as you got used to his size. “See? Ain’t too bad.”

He felt a tight squeeze around his cock and wriggle of your hips telling him he was allowed to move. Still, he needed further reassurance through your frantic nods into the crook of his neck.

“This okay?” Slowly, Rick pulled all the way out until it was just the tip, letting you sink back onto him with a loud squelch. You murmured some sort of praise into his skin, a conglomerate of ‘yesss, please, more’ muffled into his shirt. “Gotta hear ya, doll.”

“Yesss,” you moaned, lifting your head the best you could to look at him through teary eyes. “So good…please.”

Rick let out a satisfied hum, content with himself in how quickly he was able to make your mind go stupid on his cock.

Picking up the pace, you could feel the truck rocking beneath you. His breath was ragged, keeping himself flush against the back of the seat and holding a solid grip on your hips. As he pounded up into you, the edges of your vision blurred out, getting fuzzier the closer your bodies got. Your bodies clung together, sweat dripping off his curls and into your lap, only adding to the soft sloshing between you. 

He had fully stopped talking now, too close to the edge to hear your sweet voice try and respond to him. Just your gasps, stuttering out with thrust, was almost enough to send him over the edge, his eyes squeezing shut with the last of his restraint.

Trailing his hand around your front, he dipped his fingers between your folds, collecting the slick you were so generously pouring out for him. Deft fingers crept to your clit, starting with light, fluttering taps that had you biting your fist, trying to conceal your noises. He built up the pressure, finding a steady rhythm around the bud until he felt you shaking, your walls squeezing him in tight.

“C’mon, doll.” He leaned forward, swallowing back a groan, choosing to sink his teeth deep into your shoulder. “Let it all out.”

You cried out at the sensation, all of too much as you came tumbling over the edge. Little crescents indented the skin on his shoulders the deeper you dug, trying to ground yourself through your release. You were trashing in his arms, feeling the drag of his cock past your walls even through the aftershocks. 

He didn’t let up, kept pounding into you with the same force while you rode out your orgasm, chasing his own release. Just moments behind, you heard a broken moan stutter out from his lips, a rosy pink dusting his cheeks. Lifting your hips, he guided you further back against the wheel. Pulling you off his length, he frantically brought up a shaky hand, imagining it was yours as he tugged along the length of his dick. 

His eyes were focused on the tears bubbling in your eyes, that blissed-out look behind them, and the way your pussy fluttered around nothing, trying to coax his length back in. His hips stuttered once, twice, and he was painting the inside of your thighs with his release, blindly smearing the rest along his tip, leaning his head back with a sigh.

“God.” He looked at you in disbelief, almost reaching down to pinch himself. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Giggling, you felt a hot embarrassment creep up your neck. Sobriety had settled its way through the cracks, your orgasm washing a needed wave of clarity over you. Now, despite being the one to initiate all of this, you felt embarrassed to have been so needy in front of the man you had been crushing on for months.

Rick took notice of your silence, the way you avoided his gaze like the plague. Scrunching his brows, he took hold of your chin, forcing you to look his way.

“Doll?” He blinked, trying to read your expression. “Y’alright?”

Bleakly, you nodded, somewhere far off from yourself.

“Talk t’me,” Rick urged, growing more concerned. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Frantically, you shook your head, palms splayed out in front of you. “No, no, it’s just…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “Was…was that okay? I was pretty drunk and all over you…Are you sure that’s what you wanted?”

A laugh leaked from his lips before he could stop it from happening. 

You thought you’d forced yourself on him? 

He could’ve never thought of something further than the truth—the same exact thought clouding his mind except about himself.

“That’s what got ya so down?” Chuckling, he brought a hand to your face, pinching your cheek with his thumb. “Thas the last thing you need t’be worryin’ ‘bout. Could never stop me from wantin’ ya…was worried that you didn't want me, darlin’.”

“Really?” you giggled, popping your head off his chest. 

“Yes, really,” Rick smiled. “An old man like me would be crazy passin’ up a pretty girl like you. ‘Specially if she wanted me s’bad as you do,” he teased, giving your hip a playful squeeze. “Needy lil thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the blush that crept on your face. “Yeah, yeah, Grimes.” Crossing your arms, you gave him a feigned look of annoyance. “Thought you said we needed to get back to camp?”

Squeezing your thighs, he took one last look over your figure before clearing his throat. “Anythin’ you say, darlin’.” His eyes were unfocused, darting up and down your frame—god, he was pussy whipped. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first, yeah?”

Smirking, you dipped your pointer finger down to the puddles splashed on your thighs. Swiping at the liquid, Rick watched you intently as your lips wrapped around the digit, sucking off the salty fluid.

“Fuck,” he hissed, taking your thighs in a bruising grip. “Gonna be the death of me, doll.”