#thecursivej fics

One

The first time you run into Dr. Jack Abbot is at the Southwestern Veterans' Center.

You made a point of establishing a volunteer routine in every city you moved to, and your heart had always been partial to any kind of Veterans organization. Growing up as a military brat gave you a better perspective when it came to military members and especially veterans. You were no worshiper of the military, frankly you hated it not because of the industrial complex (well, not entirely) but because of how they treated active duty members and veterans. The fact the richest and most funded military in the world had families struggling to pay rent, most filing for bankruptcy at least once in their careers (if not twice, like yours had), everyone getting on EBT or standing in line at the food pantry during government shutdowns… it enraged you. So you funneled that anger and rage into volunteering.

Having moved to Pittsburgh for work in August meant that there was just no way you'd be going back to the midwest for the holiday season. Hence why you were at the SWVC, dressed in an old Air Force themed Christmas sweater, volunteering and making crafts with veterans and their families. You hadn't noticed him at first, too busy helping a group of kids create ornaments for their veterans, but he sure as hell noticed you.

Jack Abbot had not stopped in his tracks at the sight of a person in a very long time; not since he had met his wife (rest her soul) all those years ago. But tonight, as he volunteered at the SWVC, he found himself frozen. In a faded blue sweater, with a B2 Bomber dropping presents stitched across the front, was an angel. He watched as you helped tie ribbons to ornaments, as you smiled gently at the children and snuck them extra candies, before waving them off as they ran to show their presents to their family members. He found himself drawn to you, your smile, the way the light seemed to dance in your eyes. Before he knew it, he was in front of your station.

"Hi, what kind of ornament would you li-" you looked up and felt your breath stutter in your throat. The man in front of you was hot. Hell, to be fully dramatic, he was the most gorgeous speciman you'd ever laid eyes on. "L-like to make?" You hurriedly finished, feeling the tips of your ears burn as you met his eyes. "I'm actually here to help you, ma'am." That's when you noticed the volunteer nametag on his sweater, and prompty told yourself you were going to dive into the local river as soon as you were able. "Oh my god, sorry, I'm just used to running crafts solo." You admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. "No worries, chair force." He winked, and your brain short-circuited for the briefest of second, before the sass your mother gave you came barreling out like a horse at a race. "Better not be any, crayon muncher."

Jack's laugh sent warmth swooping through your body, and a grin broke across your face despite yourself. "Oh, I like you, blue angel. Now what can I do to help?" You stood and explained the different craft stations, discussed which needed the most hands-on help, and promptly saluted him as a group shuffled towards y'all, grinning and saying "Good luck, Captain Crayola."

By the end of the evening, your finger tips were covered in sharpie splotches and hurt slightly from all the paper folding; but best of all you had gotten to spend the night conversing with Captain Crayola, aka, Dr. Jack Abbot. Former combat medic, veteran, doctor, and a very kind man who made your heart skip a beat. The way he handled the children with such kindness, joked with the old gaurd, and showed tenderness to every person that came through the craft processional made your heart melt. That and his beautiful greying curls, his twinkling hazel eyes, his gruff and warm voice… God give you strength, you were always one to fall first and fast.

"Heading out?" Jack asked, watching as you wrapped a scarf around your neck. "Yeah, gotta go warm up the old beast and get home before my bed time." You joked, smiling at him with a warmth that spread down his spine. "I'll walk with you, if you don't mind." He offered, and felt a small smirk cross his lips at the shy look that crossed your expression as you nodded gently. You were adorable, and he liked seeing you blush. The two of you walked into the cold December air, a comfortable silence falling over the both of you like a blanket, as you approached your (hilariously or ironically) parked-right-next-to-each-other cars. "A blue car? I really shouldn't be surprised." He teased, and you rolled your eyes before shooting back a playful "And you with green? Not leaving much to the imagination, army." He smiled, a genuine, beautiful thing, that made your heart flutter. "Well, it's been fun working with you, blue angel, I hope to see you around." You grinned and gave a two-finger salute. "Right back at you, Captain Crayola. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

Two

The second time your paths cross during the holiday season is in the emergency room of what people affectionately (you think/hope) call The Pitt. Not for yourself, thank god, but for your colleague (and roommate) who got a liiiiittle too tipsy at the department holiday function nearby. That tipsiness led to them completely eating shit on some black ice, which led to you taking her to the local hospital, and sitting with her as she sobered up from the pain in her ankle. "Goooood this is not how I wanted to ring in the end of finals, Kansas." You rolled your eyes at the nickname. No matter how many times you corrected her, Josie would continuously call you Kansas, despite you being from Missouri. "Yeah, I know Jo, but life happens. At least we got in here quick, I've been in the ER for almost 12 hours with a friend before getting seen." You shrugged.

The curtain of the room was pulled open and the shocked "Blue angel?" that left Jack Abbot's lips made you want to melt into the floor. "Wait, did you call her- oh my god, Kansas, this is Captain Crayola!?" Your friend’s painful expression turned to delight, which made you want to evaporate into the air. "Oh my god this is a nightmare." You sighed, facepalming. "Did she just call you Kansas?" You looked at Jack, who was entirely too sexy in all black scrubs for his and your own good, as you felt your face grow hot. "Yes, nickname; I'm fine, why don't you focus on Josie, Dr. Abbot." You shoot back, trying to get the attention off of you as quickly as possible.

Nights in the ED close to the holidays had their own insanity to them, one that found Jack growing wearier and wearier the closer the snuck to December 25th. This new case, a twisted ankle from a very drunk partier, was just the cherry on top of that. When Jack opened the curtain, though, he found his heart skipping a beat as a familiar face greeted him from the chair. His blue angel sat there, wearing a very beautiful shimmery blue and purple dress that accentuated her curves, shaking her head at the patient on the bed. Then he heard your nickname for him come out of the patient's mouth, and felt himself preen a little. You talked about him. Just like he had talked about you (even if it was just to Robby, it counted). "Did she just call you Kansas?" The mirth in his voice could not be held back, nor could the mischief in his eyes go away as you deflected. Maybe this shift was getting better thanks to this twisted ankle.

You were staring at the vending machine as if it had personally wronged you. Josie was waiting on an x-ray for her ankle to make sure nothing was broken, and you were waaaay up past your bedtime (semester being over be damned, you had to pack for the flight back to Missouri); hence why you now perused the energy drink/coffee selection in the Pitt. "If you glare at it long enough, you might just break the glass sweetheart." You nearly jumped, swiveling to see Jack Abbot walk up beside you. You could almost feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him, and a shiver ran up your spine unbidden. "Well, if the Pitt had better options, I wouldn't have to glare so hard." You said, yawning towards the end. His gaze softened as he looked at you, and you tried not to read too far into it. "That's fair. Past your bedtime if I remember right."

Your soft smile further uplifted Jack's night. "Yeah, can't say I was expecting to end up in the ER, but there are worst things I suppose." You yawned again toward the end of the sentence and he had to hold back the urge to herd you to a quiet space so you could rest. The two of you had gotten the chance to talk more over the year, paths crossing often at the SWVC, but he rarely saw you this…tired. Vulnerable. And he wanted to protect it, protect you, and make sure you were hale and healthy. "Sorry I can't stop yawning, as soon as Josie is cleared to go, I'm getting an uber to take us home." "Us?" "Yeaaah, she's my roommate. God love her, but she cannot hold her liquor. Tonight being a prime example." He chuckled as you sighed dramatically. "You're a good roommate and friend…Kansas." He laughed at your groan. "I'm from Missouri, she calls me Kansas because all she heard was Kansas City—and everyone forgets it's a city in two states." You grumbled.

You settled on some vanilla coldbrew monstrosity in a can before walking back to the room with Jack. You continued to chat idly, ignoring the whispers from the nurses and the looks from residents as you chatted with their attending. You were friendly acquaintances, maybe even friends, so why were they being so extra about the two of you being close. When the X-Ray came back, you found yourself a little disappointed to be leaving Jack's company. "Alrighty, your ankle is not broken, just sprained; I would encourage using sports tape to help with walking. Otherwise, follow the PRICE method; Protect, rest, ice, compression and elevation." You made a mental note of this, knowing Josie was probably still too tipsy to remember the instructions. "Awesome, thanks Dr. Crayola." Again you wished the floor would open up and swallow you. Jack, good natured and kind, just chuckled and said goodbye. He lingered by you before leaving, leaning over to whisper a quick "Goodnight, blue angel.” before disappearing from the room. The scent of his cologne invaded your nose and followed him like a trail out the room. You nearly stumbled after him, but pulled yourself together as quick as possible. When you looked at Josie, she looked as smug as a cat who caught a canary. "Alright, you; time to get back to the apartment… You menace."

Three

The third time your path crossed Dr. Jack Abbot's during the holidays was at a bar in an airport. Your flight was delayed in Chicago, meaning you would be getting back to Kansas City incredibly late for Christmas Eve… if you made it at all. If you were lucky, you might be able to make it to Midnight Mass with your folks as a surprise, but you weren't feeling too optimistic. Instead, you sat at the bar nursing a hard cider, gazing wistfully out the airport windows. It was going to start snowing soon, and your flight may very well get cancelled, making your eyes burn with unshed tears. It had been four years since you were last home for the holidays (post the Josie incident), and this year you weren't going to be either…at least that's what you'd told your folks. This was meant to be a surprise, a joyful surprise in kahoots with your older siblings for your parents, but it seemed the weather had other fucking plans.

"Goddamn it all." You muttered, sipping the cider. "That's certainly a strong sentiment there, blue angel." Your head whipped to the side and met the warm hazel eyes of Jack Abbot. "Oh my god, Jack!" You laughed, a grin on your lips as you turned on the stool, and hugged the doctor. Jack chuckled and immediately wrapped his arms around you, cheek pressed to the top of your head. You bit back the contented sigh as the scent of Jack's cologne, and tried to ignore the warmth sliding down your spine at the feel of his arms around you. Over the last six years since you first met, you'd grown into easy friends with the doctor. Numbers had been swapped, a couple of outings together outside of volunteering at the SWVC a year were had, and more and more you were growing to like the good doctor as more than a friend. "What are you doing here?" You asked, pulling away somewhat reluctantly.

Jack sat in the stool beside you, flagging the bartender down for a whiskey neat, before turning his attention back to you. "Flying out to visit an old friend. I've got about two hours of a layover before my connection." You nodded, taking a sip of your cider. "What about you, blue angel, what's got you looking so frustrated and cursing the universe?" Jack watched as you sighed, tipping back the cider before answering. "It's a bit of a garbage fire if I'm honest; decided to surprise my parents for Christmas by coming home, planned it to the letter with my older siblings, but now… well. If the delays don't prevent me from getting home, then the incoming snow might." You trailed off at the end, feeling the lump in your throat grow. "I…I just wanted to surprise them, y'know? Haven't been home for Christmas in a few years—and they were practically begging for me to come home this year…"

Jack didn't hesitate to stand and wrap his arms around you as the tears fell. He rubbed your back in soothing circles as you cried into his shoulder. He tightened his hold slightly when you tried to pull away. "Jack, you don't have to, god, I'm sorry you don't have to—" your voice was wobbly, you peered up at him, eyebrows furrowed as he continued to hold you. His expression was one of empathy and . "It's okay, sweetheart, I've got you. You can let it out. I won't let go." He knew what it felt like to crack and break with no one there to catch you, and after the last few years of volunteering together and getting to know each other, he felt a protectiveness over you. He wouldn't let you break alone. He'd catch you. You leaned into his embrace and let yourself break.

"Passengers for flight 457 to Kansas City, your plane will begin boarding in ten minutes. Passengers for flight 457 to Kansas City, your plane will begin boarding in ten minutes."

"Looks like you've got a Christmas miracle, blue angel." Pulling away with a watery laugh, you wiped your eyes and looked up at Jack. "Grazie, Captain Crayola." Jack chuckled, reaching a hand up to brush your hair back from your eyes. His hand lingered, before cupping your cheek. Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him with wide eyes. Jack's eyes shone with tenderness as his thumb brushed across your cheekbone. "Anytime, blue angel. Absolutely anytime." If you could melt, you would have. Instead you mirrored his action, gently cupping his cheek and smiling up at him. "I don't know what I did for our paths to cross, but I'm thankful for it." Jack's lips turned up in a slight smile, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "Ditto, chair force." "Don't push it, crayon muncher."

Jack walked you to the gate, an arm around your waist as you maneuvered through the crowd towards your boarding group. "Well, I guess I cried for nothing." You joked, cheeks still warm from the mortification of crying in public, especially in front of the man you had liked since meeting (and who, it seemed, to like you just as much). "Oh no, no, no sweetheart. You're emotions on the situation are valid, and crying is just a way to purge the excess emotion. It certainly was for something and there is no shame in that." Your lips pulled into a grin as you both stopped at the gate. "I can see why so many of the vets love to sit with you, y'know. You make people feel seen, heard, and validated." Now it was Jack's turn to feel his face warm as a dusting of pink covered the apples of his cheeks. "You're pushing it, Kansas." Your noise of disgust made him laugh, and soon you joined him in his chuckling. "You're incorrigible, Jack Abbot."

"Now welcoming group 5, now welcoming group 5 for flight 457 to Kansas City."

You smiled, a little sadly now, at Jack. "That's my cue. Thank you for everything, Jack. I-I really appreciate it." "Like I said, sweetheart, anytime." Jack, somewhat reluctantly, let go of you and watched as you turned to leave. What he wasn't expecting was for you to turn right back around, march up to him, gently cup his face in your hands, and kiss him. His eyes widened slightly, before a smirk pulled at his lips and his eyes fluttered shut, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close as he returned the kiss. For a long beat all that existed was this moment, with you wrapped in his arms, his lips caressing yours, and the scent of your perfume in the air. Pulling away for breath, you looked up at him through your lashes, and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Happy Holidays, Jack." Jack grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

Four

"Home for the holidays, I believe I've missed each and every face; Come on and play one easy, Let's turn on the love lights in the place…"

The music flowed easily from the Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen island as you pulled out a pan of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. A soft flurry of snow was swirling outside the kitchen window as you iced the rolls, humming along to the dulcet sounds of Kenny Loggins. It was the perfect Christmas Eve morning, and what would make it even better would be the person walking in the door in approximately five minutes; maybe seven if he was driving slow. You put the kettle on to make some decaffenated tea, pulled out the cream and sugar, and began cleaning up the dirty dishes from your baking adventure.

Jack was tired. The kind of tired that sinks into your bones and lingers long after you've gotten an adequate eight hours (well, four to six in his case) of sleep. The only way he got through the grueling Christmas Eve-Eve night shift was the thought of what was waiting for him at home. He smiled fondly at the memory of kissing you for the first time in the Chicago airport before you boarded your flight to Kansas City. It'd been a couple of years since then, and that new year the two of you had decided to give the relationship "the old college try" (you'd said with a wink, a joke at the fact you were a professor at the University of Pittsburgh) which brought you both to this holiday season. Your second as a couple, your first together on the literal holiday, and the first where you would be staying at his home. Robby had ribbed him at hand-off over how quickly he had moved to get out of the Pitt ("Where's the fire, Jack? Or should I say, whose the fire?" before he had softened and clapped Jack on the shoulder affectionately. "I'm happy for you brother, enjoy your holiday together.") but frankly, Jack couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his blue angel was waiting at home.

"Well, I'm finally here but I'm bound to roam, Come on, celebrate me home. Well, I'm finally here but I'm bound to roam, Come on, celebrate me home."

The sound of the front door shutting made butterflies flutter in your stomach. He was officially off from the Pitt until New Year's Day, meaning the kickstart of your holiday with the man you'd quickly fallen in love with. "Sweetheart?" His voice sounded a little rough, like he may have been yelling during the night. "In the kitchen!" You shouted, opening a cupboard and grabbing the bottle of local honey you'd bought at the farmers market before autumn had ended. It'd be soothing for his throat, especially in a cup of tea. Jack's greying curls more wild than usual thanks to the spiraling snow outside, his cheeks a bit pinker from the cold, and his eyes slightly tired. But they lit up when he saw you, and you couldn't help the feeling of lightness that filled you at that. "Happy Christmas Eve, I made my ma's cinnamon rolls, hope you don't mind orange flavored icin—mmmphm!"

Jack swept you up into his arms, lifting you to sit on the counter, and slanted his mouth against yours. You tasted of cinnamon, sugar, and a dash of citrus. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing back before breaking out in a dreamy smile. Jack pulled away with one last peck, leaning his forehead against yours. "Happy Christmas Eve, sweetheart. Missed you." You giggled, a sound that made him feel safe, and pecked his cheek. "Missed you, too. Though I was finally able to redo my syllabus for rhetorical theory without, ahem, anymore distractions." Jack cocked an eyebrow at you, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Oh really? And what had been distracting you, blue angel?" Your breath hitched as he leaned down and began pressing kisses to your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “You know damn well what has been distracting me, Captain Crayola.” You gasped as he sucked on the sensitive spot at the conjunction of your neck and jaw, pushing lightly at Jack’s shoulder with a whine. “Jack, the cinnamon rolls are gonna get cold.” Acquiescing albeit reluctantly, Jack helped you down from the counter, and chuckled as you bumped your hip with his to get him to scoot over. "Now what kind of tea are you feeling this morning? And yes, you need a cup before you get some rest, with honey; you've got that gruffness that comes with yelling most of the night in your tone."

———————

It seemed apt that the sun would not shine down on you today. That, instead, the grey clouds swirled as they sprinkled snow down atop your family and friends. It was cold, a different variation than what you'd grown accustomed to in the northeast, no this kind seemed to turn your bones to ice.

Not for the first time this trip did you wish you were there, in Pittsburgh, rather than here.

You hadn't expected to be home again so soon after the almost-ruined Christmas surprise in December, but life was funny... and a vindictive bitch. You weren't even home. Sure you'd flown into MCI, and gotten a day to rest at home in KC, but then your father had bundled you and the others into his car for the few hours drive to Witchita.

Which found you here. In a cemetery outside of Clearwater, Kansas, standing to the left of your mother. On her right stood your father, and surrounding you were your siblings. The bagpipes were beginning to pick up as tears pricked at your eyes and snowflakes gathering in your hair. Those pipes droned on and on as the casket was lowered into the cold hard dirt of winter. They droned on as your mother's baby brother, your beloved Uncle Stevie, was laid to rest.

And, not for the first time this trip or even this day, did you wish for the calming and steadying presence of Jack Abbot.

---------

Jack was the first person you called when you'd gotten the news. He was the one to catch you when your knees buckled under the weight of finality. The one who listened as you sobbed over the unfairness of it all. Your uncle was 12 years older than you. 12 fucking years. Why hadn’t he told you about his pancreatic cancer diagnosis? Why hadn’t he told you that he was going to stop treatment? Maybe you could have convinced him, hell you would have given him any money you could to help cover the costs that the state wouldn’t… But it was too late.

“Baby girl,” your mom had sniffled over the phone as you sobbed at the news, “he didn’t want your last memory of him to be of him so sick.” You’d swallowed a wail at that. You swallowed the anger and pain. You swallowed the want to bellow “but at least I would’ve gotten to say goodbye.”

You raged, you cried, you wished for a different world where healthcare didn't cost so damn much in this fucking country because maybe he'd still be here then, and Jack… he stayed. He remained steady. He offered comfort, he listened, he cared, he saw you.

He'd offered to come with you, bless him, but you… you didn't want the first time for him to meet your family to be so heartwrenching. You didn't want him to see you more broken than he had already seen.

But oh how you wished he was here now. You could fist fight your past self if given the opportunity for saying no.

————————

After the burial, the family (and friends) moved to your uncle's favorite watering hole. You sat at the far end of the bar, away from your cousins drunkenly singing acapella karaoke as a coping method, gripping a whiskey neat in your free hand.

Drinking wasn't something you tended to do often, your mother's side of the family had a long history of struggling with alcohol abuse, but on rare occassions you indulged. The last drink you'd had was in the airport on Christmas Eve, gripping a bottle of hard apple cider with the same dread you now held your whiskey. You would sip this one drink and then leave, stay only as long was appropriate, then go burrow in the blankets of your hotel room and sob. Losing your uncle was painful, and you had spent enough time crying into your sister and brother's arms in the last 48 hours, you really didn't want to continue to do so in a bar surrounded by both people you knew and didn't know.

Staring down into the whiskey, you scoffed at the distorted reflection of yourself. You looked as exhausted on the outside as you felt on the inside. You didn't want to be here any longer. Not in this bar, not in Witchita, not in fucking Kansas... You wanted to be in Pittsburgh.

You wanted to be in Jack's arms.

You wanted to be home.

You pulled out your phone with your free hand, swiping it open and going to your text messages. I wish you were here was typed up and blinking at you as your thumb hovered over the send button. The last text he'd sent you was from earlier in the morning, asking how you were holding up. You hadn't meant to leave him on read but it happened. Would it be pathetic to respond like this? You grumbled under your breath and let your forehead fall to the bartop with a light thunk.

When you felt a presence come next to you, you straightened up, ready to tell whatever drunk cousin had come to try and coax you into horrible drunk karaoke to buzz off (or, hopefully, agree to leave early with one of your siblings), but instead you were met with an altogether unexpected visage.

"This seat taken?"

Your heart skipped a beat. No, it did a whole fucking irish jig as your phone clattered onto the bar top and you set your glass down with a far harsher thunk than you'd intended. Jack's eyes were full of tenderness, the shoulders of his black coat covered in a dusting of snow, his cheeks red from the wind. His smile toward you was sympathetic and kind, the same one he gave you when he dropped you off at the airport, and you couldn't stop the tears from falling.

Jack caught you easily when you launched into his open arms. He held you tightly, one arm wrapping around your waist while his free hand came to cup the back of your head, tucking you underneath his chin. "You're real. You're here." The crack in your voice damn near broke his heart in two. "And if you aren't real and I am drunkenly lucid dreaming with my cheek to this bar top I will kick whoever's ass tries to wake me up." Jack chuckled and pulled away slightly, hand cupping your cheek. "I'm here. I'm real. You aren't dreaming."

——————

There was a booth empty across from where you had sequestered yourself at the bar, and Jack easily coaxed you into it. He shrugged his coat off and hung it on the corner of the booth before scooting in, opening his arm for you to nestle into his side. You grabbed a napkin from the dispense, sniffling as a few straggling tears escaped the corners of your eyes, and wiped your face. "How?" He smiled softly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles along your shoulder. "I called in a favor from Robby, and Shen was also happy to volunteer once I waved a certain coffee shop gift card at him." You barked out a laugh before covering your mouth, eyes crinkling in delight.

"Oh my god you bribed him with Dunkin'? Way to go, captain crayola." There was a light in your eye, one he hadn't seen since you'd gotten the news about your uncle, and it made him smile. “I wasn’t just going to leave you to carry this alone. Not when you’ve helped so many carry this burden before.” His admission was soft but powerful. You were a literal angel when it came to handling grief and death, especially for those at the SWVC. You’d taken on aspects of a death doula at the veteran’s home; offering the kind of support families were desperate for when loss came knocking at the door. It was something he greatly admired about you. “How’d you even get here, Jack?”

———————

Jack’s sheepish smile and quick look across the bar, a look you followed to see your eldest sister grinning from her stool. Her wife sat beside her, talking to your father as your sister raised her glass to you and Jack.

Your sister had been the first person you talked to about Jack when you first met him at the SWVC (she’d sent you a Blue Angel ornament to both poke fun but also remind you of home that holiday) and then every time you encountered each other thereafter.

When you landed in KC for Christmas after sharing your first kiss, your sister got to hear the story regaled dreamily as you sat in the backseat of her sedan, a dopey smile on your lips.

When you landed in KC two days ago, she’d asked where Jack was. “Kiddo, you deserve to have someone here to help you carry this. You deserve a partner to help shoulder your burden, to see when you’re breaking and hold all the broken pieces.” She’d said, but you’d brushed her off. Jack didn’t need to be thrown into the deep end of your family loss and trauma; especially when you were just beginning to date. You were a big girl, you could handle this yourself.

——————

“That explains why my sister needed to ‘use my phone’ before we left for Witchita.” You shook your head, feeling a mixture of amusement and quiet gratitude. “But, when did you get here?” “This morning.” Your eyes nearly bulged which made Jack snort. “This morning?!?” You hissed, eyebrows practically in your hairline. “Took the first flight out of Pittsburgh to Witchita last night.” You grasped his free hand in yours, squeezing gently, and leaning your head against his shoulder. His arm around your shoulders squeezed you just a tad bit closer before relaxing, his fingers continuing to trail idly up and down your shoulder. “You sure are something, Captain Crayola.”

"Well, you're more than something to me, blue angel." Jack let you pull back and face him directly, eyes soft as they searched his expression. “Yeah?” He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing just along the bone with a gentle smile. “Yeah, sweetheart.” Your smile was the warmest thing he’d felt all day. “You’re more than something to me too, Jack.” Jack leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. To him there was no one else in this bar; just him, you, and your breath mingling together. The two of you stayed like that for a little while, eyes shut, finding peace in each other’s presence. Jack pressed a soft peck to your cheek. “You wanna get out of here, doll?”

You felt yourself blush at the endearment. That was something new, and it made butterflies flutter up your ribcage. “I would love nothing more. Let me go check on my mama first, see if she needs anything.” Pecking his cheek, you slid out of the booth and scanned the room until you saw her familiar figure.

———————

She sat with her head bent towards yours aunt’s, her older sister, a soft smile on her lips. You weaved through your cousins, family friends you hadn’t seen since you were in middle school, and friends of your uncle you’d never met, until you finally snagged an empty seat in front of your mom. “Hey mama.” You greeted, hand reaching out to grasp her’s on the table. “Hey baby girl. You gonna head back to the hotel?” Her gaze flicked up and down your body, as if checking for any injuries or signs of exhaustion, which made your heart ache. She was the protector of this family, a true matriarch in every sense of the word, and you wanted nothing more than to reassure her that you were fine.

But you weren’t. The grief was too fresh for you to truly be fine. Smiling, albeit a little sadly, you nodded while squeezing her hand. “Yeah, I think some quiet time for reflection and rest is what the doctor is ordering.” You murmured. She nodded and stood, as did you, and wrapped you in her arms. “Thank you, kiddo.” Your brows furrowed as you wrapped your arms tight around her to return the hug. “What for, mama?” “For being here, for coming home, for loving your mama and her siblings with all your heart.” You pulled back slightly just to see her face, her eyes carbon copies of your own—or your eyes were carbon copies of her’s—and filled with tears. “Oh mama.” Your heart ached, and you simply hugged her more fiercely. “You don’t have to thank me for loving y’all. It’s the least of what I can do to repay all you’ve done for me. For all of us kids… I’m just so sorry ma. I’m so, so sorry.”

Jack observed quietly as you and your mother held onto each other tight. He watched as you laughed, a watery emotional filled sound, and pulled back from your mother. “Jack?” He blinked in shock as you beckoned him over. He strode towards the two of you, and quickly intertwined his hand with yours when you offered it to him. “This is my mama. Mama, this is Dr. Jack Abbot, my,” You paused, looking up at him, not knowing if you should say friend or partner or date. Jack smiled gently down to you before offering his free hand to your mother, “Her boyfriend; it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Your lit up eyes were answer enough that he’d made the right decision.

Your mother shook his hand before letting go with a nod. “It’s good to meet you, Jack, and thank you for coming.” The other words didn’t need to be said, the I wish it were under better circumstances, as he nodded. He understood loss, his own parents gone and no siblings to speak of. His fellow soldiers became his brothers, his sisters; and he knew what losing one of them felt like. “And thank you, for being here for my baby girl.” She added softly. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, ma’am.”

——————

The two of you walked out into the still snowing afternoon of downtown Wichita and then into an Uber. Thanks to your older sister, Jack was staying at the same hotel as you, meaning you could stay with him rather than continuing to share a room with your cousin. You leaned against him as the driver slowly maneuvered his way towards the hotel, hand still clasped in Jack’s, watching as the snow came down in fat flakes. “He would’ve liked you, y’know. Stevie? He would’ve thought you were the bees knees… and a cradle robber, but mainly the bees knees.”

Jack let out a bark of laughter and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling either. “A cradle robber?” He asked incredulously. “Well you and I are, like, what, fifteen or so years apart? Closer in age to Stevie than me.” You teased, grinning as Jack shook his head with a chuckle. “But don’t worry, I’d just tell him you were in the army and he’d call you a crayon muncher instead.” Jack scoffed without any real anger or annoyance behind it.

“Well, you’re the one dating this crayon muncher.” “Mhmm, and he’d give me shit for that, too. Tell me to act my own age and at least go from some other chair-man. But he’d see how happy you make me… and he’d just be happy, too.” You trailed off. You hadn’t had a moment to think of more positive thoughts in regard to your uncle. Somehow Jack made those light thoughts easier to voice.

“Thank you, Jack.” “Whatever for, doll?” You tilted your head up to meet his hazel eyes. “For seeing me; not just today, but every day… Thank you.” Jack brought your clasped hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of your palm. “Thank you, sweetheart, for seeing me, too.” He leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, before nuzzling your cheek with his nose. You giggled and nuzzled him back, pressing one more kiss to his lips before going back to resting your head on his shoulder.

To be so for real, this was NOT how you had wanted to spend the afternoon of New Year's Eve. You had planned to run by the paistesserie, get those cherry danishes you loved so much, maybe go to the corner liquor store for another bottle of moscato, and then binge watch all of Heated Rivalry to ring in 2026.

Instead you had tripped on a patch of black ice walking out of said paistesserie and, in trying to catch yourself, fucked up your left wrist. So here you sat in the lobby of the emergency department at PTMC, cradling the wrist to your chest and gritting your teeth, waiting to get called back. If your aunt wasn't on sabbatical you may have called her to see if she could check you out really quickly, but alas you were shit outta luck. Not that you would have called her; nothing against Aunt Dana, you loved her (she was your favorite, but don't let any of the other aunts hear that), but you respected the ecosystem of the emergency department. You weren't bleeding out and you were fairly certain a fracture could wait, so here you sat.

When a young doctor, god she had to be like 20, called your name you quickly stood and followed her into the ED. "I'm Dr. Javadi, what brings you in today?" You held up your wrist with a pained smile. "I kind of got into a fight with a patch of black ice and lost; think I may have sprained my wrist." You explained as she brought you into one of the rooms. "On a scale from 1-10 what is your pain level?" "Uhhh right now about a five." Javadi nodded, noting it on the tablet she held. "Alright, I'm going to take your blood pressure and heart rate, and get you some pain medicine for your wrist; then we'll get you up for an X-ray as soon as possible." You smiled gratefully and nodded, murmuring a soft thank you and willing yourself to relax (as much as you could with the pain radiating in your wrist) so they could get an accurate blood pressure reading. You let your eyelids shut and focused on deep breaths.

Just as the cuff around your arm began to squeeze tight, a knock on the door startled both you and Dr. Javadi. A familiar head poked in and you felt your heart skip a beat. "How're things in here Java— Broadway?!" Weather gods be damned you were going to fight that patch of ice and win for this humiliation. Why was this humiliating? Because there before you, with the look of someone whose puppy had been punted like a football, was the man you'd desperately been trying to avoid, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. Wincing at a particularly tight squeeze from the blood pressure cuff, you gave a little nod. "Heeeeey, Robby."

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The first time you meet Michael Robinavitch is the morning you're moving into your new apartment. After living in Brooklyn, New York for the better part of a decade, you'd landed a job teaching at the University of Pittsburgh, bringing you back to your hometown. It came at the right time, not a good time, but the right time. Your dad was sick, esophegeal cancer, so being closer to home (aka living in the city again) would help ease the burden on your mom and siblings. It was a time of change, it should be exciting, but as you carry up the first few boxes to your new apartment, you can't help but feel a sense of dread fill your stomach.

You missed New York. Missed the home you made in Brooklyn Heights, missed your colleagues at NYU, hell you even missed the batshit craziness of a times square subway ride. And yet… you could see more trees here. More greenery. The air felt a little clearer, less heavy, and more… welcoming. You wouldn't have to fight so damn hard to belong, to carve a space for yourself and your art, to simply live. But that sense of grief remained, no matter how much you tried to dampen it down. Might as well embrace it than bottle it up.

You were in the back of your U-Haul, manuvering some smaller boxes toward the lip of the truck while trying to decide what could wait until Aunt D and whatever calvary she had called would get there, when a knock on the metal made you nearly jump out of your skin. "JesusMaryJosephandAllHisCarpenterFriends!" You spun around, hand clutching your chest, ready to chew out whoever had jump scared you…only for the words to die on your tongue. The person, the man, at the entrance of your U-Haul was incredibly handsome. He had to be mid to late forties, dark brunette hair with just a touch of salt and pepper beginning in his facial hair, and an easy smile that made your shoulders relax. "So sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya'." His voice was warm and a little rough, but made goosebumps erupt across your arms nevertheless. "Uh, no worries; I was in my own world." You smiled sheepishly, walking to the entrance and hopping down out of the truck, opposite of him. "I get that, moving requires a tactical and focused mind." His tone was serious with just a hint of humor underlying it. You felt a blush crawl up the back of your neck as his eyes remained on you- or at least you assumed that was what you felt from behind his sunglasses. "Yeah, or I'm just putting off the inevitable." You confessed, looking back into the truck. "Moving in or out?" "In, I just got here from Brooklyn." "Brand new to the city, then?" You chuckled and shook your head, looking back at him now. His sunglasses were removed and, again, you nearly lost your breath.

This man had the most beautiful brown eyes you'd ever seen. They were almost doe-ish, wide and warm, as they looked at you. He cocked an eyebrow at you and you cleared your throat. "Uh, no, I'm from Pittsburgh originally, my folks have been pining for me to come back— my aunt especially. She's bringing the calvary to help with the move." You were rambling a little, you knew it, but you couldn't help but do so. His eyes widened slightly, as if in recognition, before a smile broke across his lips. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Dana Evans, would you?" It was your turn to look surprised, then delighted. "Oh my god, yes, that's my aunt! How do you know her?" "She's the best damn charge nurse in the ED." You grinned, because you knew that was true. "So you work at PTMC! She's mentioned so many names but I haven't met anyone before. What's your name?" "Michael Robinavitch, but most people call me Robby." He held out his hand, and you took it giving him a strong shake. "Oh yeah, she's mentioned you! You've made her laugh in hard times, and for that I thank you. Aunt D means the world to me." You gushed before pausing, catching the faint blush on his cheeks from your words. You let his hand go, rubbing the back of your neck a little embarassed. "Uh, anyway, yeah, I'm Dana's niece—" You gave him your name, "—speaking of Aunt D, she should be here shortly with some fol—" Before you could finish your sentence, a car pulled up and the sound of your aunt's voice made both of you turn.

Dana hopped out of her car, looked both ways down the street, before running over and engulfing you in a bear hug. "There she is! My broadway babe! Finally home!" You laughed, hugging her back just as tight as your face flamed hot at the nickname. "Better change it from broadway babe to professor babe." You replied with a wink as you pulled away. "I see you've already met Robby! Jack should be here in a few with John and Parker; Princess and Perlah will be around in about 45 minutes." You nodded, the names familiar but you knew they'd be solidified once you saw faces. "Let me go put my stuff up in my apartment and I'll be back down to help." Robby said and you cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, you also live here?" His smile was warm, and maybe you were reading into it but shy, as he nodded. "Apartment A27, if you ever need anything." He nodded to Dana before strolling away, leaving you utterly shocked. Dana whistled once he was out of range and looked at you knowingly. "Careful there, broadway babe, you're gonna fall in love quickly if you keep looking at him like that." You sputtered, trying to deny what she was saying, before groaning and hopping back into the U-Haul to grab more damn boxes.

Meeting the rest of the PTMC crew went perfectly. John rolled up with Dunkin for everybody, and you gratefully accepted the large sweet monstrosity of caffeine he handed you. Jack Abbot was warm and sarcastic, ribbing your aunt lightly as they roped John into helping move the furniture; Parker and Princess were busy organizing where each of your boxes would go, and Perlah was unloading your kitchen items. Which left you and Robby paired up. Robby had shed his hoodie and had no business looking as fine as he did under the summer heat, carrying a box of your plays and liberettos, up the stairs to the second floor. You followed behind, doing your best not to stare at his very nice ass, as you carried a tote. "So, what brings you back to Pittsburgh?" Robby asked as you both took a break at the top of the stairs. "Oh, Dana didn't brag on that, yet?" You teased with a smile. Robby chuckled and shook his head. "She may have mentioned something about school. Are you a student?" "Nope, but I am surrounded by them." You winked, giggling at his blush. "I'm an Assistant Professor of Theatre at the University of Pittsburgh." You elaborated. "Oh wow. I guess that's why she calls you her broadway babe?"

Robby's eyes softened as you groaned, heat crawling up your neck. "God, she's calling me that other people? In public?" He chuckled, taking a moment to observe you as you stretched your arms and rolled your shoulders back. On first glance, he hadn't seen the similarities between you and Dana, but now they were clear as day. You had the same eyes as her, the kind that caught all of the good and the bad, but still looked at the world with love, understanding, and warmth. And your smile, it lit up the vicinity, it made him want to make you smile more. "Guilty, she's got your photo on the main desk in the ED." Your smile softened. "Let me guess, I'm wearing purple and holding a trombone over my head like a tuskan raider?" Robby laughed, a full belly laugh, at the description. "Uh, I'm not sure? That's one helluva description kid." You grinned. "It's my graduation photo from Northwestern." "Oh wow, what was your degree in?" "Funnily enough, music, originally. Then I switched to Theatre Music. Decided I loved theatre more, got into NYU Tisch for Performance Studies, and then moved forward into my PhD in Educational Theatre." Robby felt himself relaxing more and more around you, enjoying watching your eyes light up as you discussed your journey. "That's… that's really incredible. You should be proud of your journey." You looked away, somewhat bashful, and picked your tote back up. "Thank you Robby, I really appreciate that." You smiled, hitching the tote up with your knee. "Woah, what does that say?" He tilted his head sideways to read the cursive writing on the side of the tote. "Miscelleanous theatre shit?" He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. You cackled as he said it outloud, head thrown back, and he felt his heart skip a beat. "Pfft, yeah, it's exactly what it says. It's my miscelleanous theatre accoutremont; or as the kids would say…shit." He laughed, picking up the box labeled plays & liberettos, and followed you toward the apartment. He was going to like getting to know you.

The U-Haul was unloaded, thank fucking god, and you could not be more grateful. So grateful that you ordered a shit ton of take out, doordashed some beers and some wine, and turned the bluetooth speaker on to play your 80s/70s rock playlist. Conversation was flowing, stories from the ED that had you trying not to spew your wine from laughter, and you couldn't help but let your gaze wander to Robby. "So, broadway, what brings you back to the nest?" Jack asked, taking a gulp of his beer. "Oh, I got a job at University of Pitt; you're looking at the new assistant professor of Theatre." You grinned, sipping your wine. "Ahh, so Dana wasn't kidding, you're a performer?" Perlah asked and you looked down, smiling bashfully at the attention. "Uh, kinda semi-retired? I focus more on teaching nowadays than performing." "Ah! But you're so young! You can't put those days behind you so soon." Princess exclaimed and you giggled. "Uh, well, I guess we'll see what happens once I get settled back in. I haven't been in the arts scene locally in almost a decade." You acquisessed with a shrug. "Well, count us in to be front and center whenever you get into a show." John said, raising a beer. "Here, here." Robby agreed, and you all clinked your glasses and cans together. You grinned, maybe moving back to Pittsburgh wouldn't be so bad after all.

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"What's the diagnosis, Javadi?" You were desperately trying to will yourself to fade into nothingness as Robby hovered behind your doctor. "Uh a distal radius fracture, most likely a Colles fracture to the left wrist based on displacement and swelling, will need an x-ray to confirm how bad it is." She sounded slightly nervous, and you couldn't blame her. Robby could be intimidating. And kind, and annoyingly hot. Fuck, why did this have to happen? You were disasociating into the void when a hand on your shoulder brought you back to earth. Your eyes snapped up to meet Robby's concerned gaze, and you hated that the attention made you blush. "Wanna tell me what happened, broadway?" You swallowed harshly and nodded. "I, ahem, slipped on a patch of black ice leaving a bakery, reached back to catch myself and boom, pain of a thousand suns in my wrist." You tried to joke, but gasped in pain when he gently prodded your injured wrist. "Sorry, sorry darling." You bit your lip, feeling tears well up in your eyes not just from the pain, but the term of endearment as well. You hadn't seen him in a few months, not after overhearing him at the bar with Jack the week before PittFest, and you missed him. Really you only had yourself to blame, falling hard and fast for a man who didn't want you. "Radiology is, uh, ready Dr. Robby." Javadi piped up, looking between the two of you with wide eyes. You had to bite back the laugh in your throat, she looked like a deer in headlights. "Well, better go get this microwaved I guess." You joked, smiling at Javadi. Robby let go and nodded. "Come find me when the result is in." He said to Javadi before turning back to you with a look that you could swear was…caring? "I'll see you in a bit, darling."

Robby splashed some water on his face, patting it away with a paper towel, gazing into the mirror with a sigh. He hadn't seen you in months, despite living just downstairs from you, and he wondered what had happened to cause you to pull away from him. Over the past few years since you moved back to Pittsburgh the two of you had grown into close friends. Sometimes you'd stop by the ED to drop off some treats for the staff and end up chatting with him for a solid 10-15 minutes; other times you'd invite him upstairs for dinner after a particularly hard shift so he could vent. He'd gone to a few of the shows you directed at the University of Pittsburgh, always bringing something to congratulate you on your work. Each time you caught his eye in the lobby after a show he'd soak in the way your face would light up and how you'd manuever through the crowd to get to him. When something broke in your apartment, he'd come check it out; when you got the flu your first winter home, he took it upon himself to check up on you, bringing his bubbe's old matza soup to help you feel better. At some point, you'd begun taking care of each other, and he struggled to identify when and why you seemed to stop. All Robby could think about was the day he had moved from admiring (and crushing, though he'd never describe it that way) you to falling in love with you.

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You'd confided in Robby the real reason you'd taken the job at Pitt after a decidedly hard day two years ago, where you showed up on his doorstep with takeout from the local taco truck and tears in your eyes. You sat crissed crossed on his couch, faint narration from the documentary he'd been haphazardly watching in the background, as you discussed your situation. How your father was fighting stage two esophegeal cancer so you'd left the home you made in Brooklyn to help your family take care of your dad; how you took the job for the big pay raise so you could help with the hospital bills, but missed the freedom you had in New York. Some days were harder than others, like when your father had to switch to an all liquid diet while recieving treatment, and other days life felt somewhat easy-going.

Then came that day a few months ago, the day he'd —You had texted him, a simple "Come up if you're able." and he had taken the stairs two at a time, knocking a little frantically on your door. It swung open, and his face softened at the view before him. Your eyes were a little red, obvious tear tracks down your cheeks, hair mussed up. But there was a smile on your lips, and a relief-filled joy in your eyes. "I-it's my father, he's in remission." A hysterical hiccup/giggle escaped you as tears began to well up in your eyes again, your smile wide. "My dad, the treatments worked., he's going to be fine!" Robby didn't hesitate to scoop you in his arms with a cheer, spinning you around as he held you close. Your laugh was watery, but no less genuine, as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, holding on tightly as your feet dangled below you. "I'm so happy for you darling, so, so happy. This is such amazing news" He said, setting you back down and smiling down at you. "Thank you, Robby, I-I'm just in so much shock and awe. I mean, Mom just called with the news." Robby's eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. You'd just found out? "So, I'm… I'm the first one you've told?" He asked, and your shy smile was an answer in of itself. His cheeks will hurt later from all the smiling, but he couldn't help it. "I-I didn't want to tell anyone else, not yet. You… You were the first person I wanted to tell." You confessed, and his heart skipped a beat. He clasped your hands in his, thumb smoothing over your knuckles, and stared into your eyes. "I'm honored, darling. I really am." He caught you with a huff of a laugh as you launched yourself into him, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head on his chest. "Thank you, Robby. For being here. For everything." He held you to him, allowing the scent of your perfume to fill his nose and sink into his clothes, finding that he really would rather spend time holding you in his arms than anything else. You'd embedded yourself in his life, and he in yours, and rather than simply venting and comforting each other you had opened a new avenue. You wanted to share the good news, too; the joy in it's purest unadulterated form.

He loved it, no, he loved you.

The clarity of the fact he'd fallen in love with you scared him, something he, the week before the shift from hell, he'd expressed to Jack over a couple of beers. He'd glimpsed you somewhere in the bar with Dana, Cassie, Samira and Mateo, but hadn't seen you since. So, be spilled his guts as quietly as possible to Jack. "Life's too short to let love slip from your hands, brother. If you're nervous she doesn't feel the same, maybe check with Dana. No harm, no foul. But from everything you've told me—and from observing you two over the years? Man, I say you've got a keeper." Jack said, tilting his beer back. "I don't know, it's just—She deserves someone her own age, Jack. Someone whose going to be around for the long haul, who is mentally stable, who will always be able to show up for her. I'm not sure that's something I'm capable of." He'd taken a sip of his beer, thoughts spiraling. Jack squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to the moment. "I think you're pushing your own insecurities and doubts onto her to avoid getting hurt, Robby. And while I can understand that, believe me, felt that way with my blue angel when we started getting serious; you still need to tell her. Otherwise you're building up a version of her that just isn't real, man." Robby nodded, tipping his beer back, then clearing his throat. "Yeah, you're right. I'll talk to her, tell her the truth, and hope it doesn't all blow up. I just, I don't want her to read things wrong, y'know?" He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't want to hurt her. I-I, I love her."

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And he had intended to, really he had! He was going to ask you to get coffee at the paitesserie you liked, sit down, and tell you how he felt when he saw you next… But he stopped seeing you by the mailbox in the mornings, or trudging up the stairs when he'd get home from his shift. At first he assumed it had to do with work, you were helping direct a fairly big production this semester at Pitt. But then your text responses became short, to the point, no longer filled with emojis and emoticons like they used to be; he planned to knock on your door after his shift, see if you were okay. He remembered you telling him that sometimes when you get overwhelmed your communication falls off, and that he was welcome up to the apartment anytime... And then the anniversary of Adamson's death arrived, the shift from hell that nearly pushed him over the metaphorical and literal edge, and thoughts of you had gone to the back burner of his brain. When he swam up from the depths of his own spiral, after he had processed what happened with Langdon, and Collins; Dana's sabbatical, Gloria's bullshit… All he could think of was you. Had you heard what happened? Were you doing okay? How was your father's recovery going?

Again, your texts were short and to the point; and then you had send him a long text explaining that you were taking on an advisement role at Pitt, so your responses may be shorter and he might not see you around as usual since you had more on your plate. He had congratulated you on taking on the role, and (as nonchalantly as possible) had suggested getting coffee soon. You'd said you would check your schedule and get back to him.

And then you hadn't… And he didn't push. He just… agonized a little, and then threw himself into work as per usual to ignore the pain in his chest.

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"So, you do have a Colles fracture. The good thing is you won't need surgery, just a cast." You sighed with relief. The last thing you wanted was surgery. "Awesome, thanks Dr. Javadi, I appreciate the help." She nodded with a smile and stepped out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts, and your guilt. You had meant to sit down with Robby and talk about what you'd heard at the bar those few months ago… But then PittFest happened, Aunt Dana had been assaulted, and you knew that that kind of conversation would just be the cherry on top of a shitty cake. So you said nothing. You isolated, like you tended to do when hurt, to avoid causing others or yourself any more pain. When he had texted to check on you a couple weeks of PittFest, you almost believed maybe he felt the same… And then you remembered his words to Jack. "I'll talk to her, tell her the truth, and hope it doesn't all blow up. I just, I don't want her to read things wrong, y'know?". The look of remorse on his face as he tilted the beer back, it was an obvious sign that you, once again, had read the signs wrong. What you had thought had been a bit of a slowburn romance over the years since you'd met was for not; and frankly it was all your fault. You should have known better, someone like him wouldn't want some kid who clung to his company like a life raft.

Instead you took on the advisement role for theatre majors at Pitt, knowing full well that it would overlode your schedule and take over the normal times you'd see Robby around the building, but convinced yourself it would be good for you. And it was, you loved helping students, but… you missed him. You told him you'd check your schedule for a time to get coffee, and then you chickened out. You're a coward. No wonder he doesn't want you. Too juvenile, even in your thirties. You swallowed back the tears that threatened to rise up, biting down on your lip to keep from crying. What you would give for your aunt to be working, she'd know what to do to distract you. She seemed to believe Robby was head over heels for you, but you struggled to believe her.

"Kiddo, I have seen that man "fall in love" more than a few times over the years and when I tell you he looks at you the same way I look at your uncle? I mean it. Honey, he's crazy about you." Dana had said one day as you spent the afternoon helping her with things around the house while said uncle and your cousins were away. She looked better, the black eye from that asshat in the ED having long faded, but there was a sharpness in her gaze now. It hurt your heart, but you were grateful she was okay and still with you. "You didn't hear what he said to Jack, Aunt D, and I… I just don't think I can handle having my heart ripped to shreds like that again. Not when my lease won't be up until July. I'd rather just… let sleeping dogs lie and move on." You had sighed, putting away the last of the freshly washed-and-dried dishes. "And I am telling you kiddo that whatever he said was probably just out of context. Seriously, just talk to him. It can't hurt. And if it does, I'll kick his ass like we're in Philly." You had laughed at that, and hugged Dana close, but the doubt continued gnawing at your gut.

And now here you were. Sitting in his ED, waiting to get a cast on your wrist, hoping you could get the fuck out of dodge before he came back. "God I just wanted to watch gay hockey players and binge on cherry danishes." You groaned, head thrown back against the bed, feeling the tears overwhelm you. "I just wanted to forget how much I love him and not let it gnaw at my bones." You whispered to the air, sniffling as the tears ran down the sides of your face.

"You love me?" Your eyes snapped open and you sat upright, hissing in pain as you jostled your wrist, making eye contact with Robby. He was holding yellow cast-materials, the same shade of the yellow-gold for University of Pittsburgh, and staring at you with wide eyes. "R-robby, I-I didn't hear—" He was by your side so quickly, abandoning the casting material at the end of the bed, and taking your right hand in his. "Darling, please tell me I didn't mishear you." There was something like desperation in his brown eyes, and your already cracked heart felt like it was breaking wide apart. Your tears couldn't stop. "You didn't mishear me, Michael. I said what I said." You whispered, closing your eyes and preparing for the rejection. His words from the bar repeating in your brain. "I love you, too, darling." Your eyes widened, squeezing his hand tightly to make sure you were awake. He squeezed back. "Wh-what? B-but I heard you tell Jack that you were going to tell me the truth, that you didn't want me to read things wrong." You pulled your hand from his to wipe the tears from your eyes. He leaned away and snatched a box of tissues from the cart in the corner, offering it to you with a grimace. You took a few and blew your nose as best as you could one-handed, and then used another to dab the tear tracks dry. "Darling, didn't you hear the end of that conversation?" You tilted your head in confusion.

"I told Jack that I didn't want to hurt you, because I love you." You felt like floating and like disappearing into the ground. "Oh my god." You gasped, covering your face with your non-injured hand. "I'm an absolute idiot." You muttered, feeling your face flame with the heat of embarassment. Robby tsked, gently pulling your hand away from your face, and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His warm, steady, soft gaze. "You are not an idiot, darling. A terrible eavesdropper? Potentially." You let out a broken laugh, shaking your head. "God, Michael, I'm so sorry. I-I thought I had misread all of the signs, thought you didn't… feel the same way. I, I didn't want to lose you. But then I self-isolated, god, literally what my therapist told me not to do, and I figured if I just waited long enough these feelings would go away but…" "But?" "They haven't. I don't think they ever will." Your laugh was humorless as you wiped your eyes with a tissue. "I think I've been in love with you since you scared the shit outta me in that U-Haul." Robby laughed, genuine and warm, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "You were the most beautiful woman I ever saw, I didn't think I had a chance." You leaned into his touch, cupping his hand with yours to keep it pressed to your skin. "You always had a chance. I didn't think I had a chance with you—you're a smokeshow, Robinavitch." You smiled at the blush that covered his cheeks. "I mean that, but it was your heart—the way you care for others, your dedication to your work, how you teach others with a gentle yet firm hand— that drew me in deep." You added, your tone sincere and serious.

Robby stroked your cheek with his thumb, the tenderness doing nothing to keep your tears at bay. "Please don't cry, darling, please." His voice sounded so broken, and you sniffled, taking a deep breath. "I can't help it, I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. You deserved better from me, not… not my cowardice. I… I would understand if you didn't want, anything to do with me." Robby shook his head, gently shushing you. He pulled his hand away from your face only to grasp your free hand in his. "I appreciate the apology, darling, but it seems the both of us have been—I think Santos said this once—idiots in love? If you apologize, then so do I. I should have told you sooner. I… I think I've been falling in love with you since you showed up at my apartment with those damn street tacos—" You giggled, shaking your head at the memory. "—but it was only solidified when you told me I was the one you wanted to talk to when your dad went into remission… It just reinforced the fact that I wanted to be the first one to see you in the mornings and the last one to see you at night; I wanted to share the joy with you, not just the venting and friendly banter. But I thought you deserved someone your own age, someone who could support you no matter what." You squeezed his hand, his words trailing off. "Michael, relationships aren't about support no matter what. They're give-and-take, push-and-pull, sometimes they're 50/50, sometimes they're 70/30 and vice versa—sometimes they're 100/100. I'm not looking for a full-time caretaker, I'm looking for a partner. One I can support just as much as they support me. And, may I remind you that, support comes in many forms. Also, I could not give less of a flying fuck about your age, Michael, you are everything I want. I mean, c'mon, that salt-and-pepper you got going on—" you reached out, lightly caressing the white in his beard with a small smirk. "—It's pretty damn hot, smokeshow."

You couldn't say you were expecting the next thing Robby did. But fuck if you didn't love it. Cupping your face in his hands, thumbs stroking across your cheeks, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise for one second, before fluttering shut and melting into the kiss. Your free hand reached up, grasping his shoulder to keep him from pulling away as you kissed him back, the kiss morphing from gentle to hungry fast. It wasn't like the rom-coms where the ingenue feels sparks and their foot pops up; but it was warm, and real, and made your heart beat faster. You pulled away only to breathe, Robby resting his forehead on yours, his lips curled up in a smirk. Your eyeslids felt heavy, your heart pounding, and your pupils blown wide. "You are a vixen, and I love you." Robby said, and it was your turn to smirk as you tilted your head to press a fevered kiss to his lips, nipping at his bottom lip as you pulled away. His answering groan shot down to your core, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together to alleviate the pressure. His eyes caught the motion and he shook his head with a grin, muttering about how you were a menace. "Alright, here's what we're going to do—" He started, standing up and reluctantly letting go of you. He grabbed the cast-materials and moved to the left side of the bed. "—I'm going to put the cast on your wrist, and then, you're going to hang out at the nurse's station and doordash some pastries," You opened your mouth to argue, but Robby held up his hand, so you closed your mouth. "From my phone, which I will give you in a second, and then, when my shift ends in the next hour, I'm going to walk home with you and we are going to order takeout and binge watch the… what did you call it? Gay hockey players?" "Mother Mary of God please smite me now." Robby's laugh made your grin, despite the embarassment. "It's called Heated Rivalry—" "Ahhh, yes, Whitaker and Santos were talking about it in the lounge." "It's pretty fantastic— I mean I loved the books, and most book fans have had nothing but positive things to say about the show." You trailed off as Robby sat down to wrap your wrist. "Well, we'll go back to the apartment, enjoy some food, binge watch your show... And tomorrow, we'll discuss where we want this to go."

"You sure you still want me after the disaster I created?" You asked softly as he began wrapping up your wrist. He paused and looked up into your eyes, nothing but sincerity in his eyes as he nodded. "I'm sure, darling. More than sure." The words felt like a balm on your heart, and you nodded back, letting a comfortable silence fall over the two of you.

Walking into your office suite with both headphones still in, and blasting Florence + The Machine, you noticed some of your colleagues were… fangirling? Over something? Popping out an earbud you cough to catch their attention. “Well hey y’all, where’s the fire?” The joke is lighthearted but also intentional in finding out what was going on. “We were just reading the announcement of the two new professors in the department, and girrrrl, they are FINE!” One of your colleagues, and fellow doctoral cohort member, named Shayna is flushed and giggly. But that’s also how she looked after seeing anything Pedro Pascal related so you weren’t too surprised. “Okaaay? Spill their names!” Walking over to her desktop, you looked at the screen and felt your heart skip a beat. 

“Announcing the appointments of Dr. James Buchanan Barnes and Dr. Steven Grant Rogers to the Communication and Digital Media Department.“

Their headshots were fucking gorgeous. Two gazes of blue, so piercing, it felt as if they were looking directly at you through the screen. It made a shiver crawl up your spine. Their eyes… they were so familiar, and those smiles! Goosebumps erupted across your arms. Shaking yourself from the weird feeling in your stomach, you simply shrugged to your colleagues and went to your own office to unlock and get prepared for the day. You had a 9:30 am Public Speaking course and a 12:30 pm Intro to Oral Interpretation course; leaving you time in between to work on the newest comments on your dissertation draft (aka commenting with your main advisor to help you find some damn definitions for something that seemingly has never been defined before academically). As you set your desk up, slipping your headphones back on, you didn’t hear your cohort greeting the men you’d just seen on the screen. So engrossed in the music and routine, you didn’t hear the knock on your cracked door either. 

It was the electric warmth that shot through you at a butterfly touch on your shoulder that had you twisting in shock at the person, headphones falling off and backward onto your desk, as you saw the intruder in your space. Your throat tightened at the man, creature, in front of you. Tall, handsome, inhuman. Pointed ears, teeth too sharp, eyes with an unnatural glow to them. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. Blinking, thinking you must’ve read too much fae romance in the last few weeks (your escape from revisions and conference planning; and a guilty pleasure after your time in the Wicklow National Forest), you thought the visage would disappear… 

It didn’t. 

Swallowing hard, trying to stay calm, you smiled apprehensively. “Uh, hi, sorry I didn’t hear you knock.” You said, trying to stay as calm as possible as you believed you were surely losing your mind. He blinked at you, too, cocking his head slightly to the side as if a predator glancing confused at the behavior of its prey. He smoothly and quickly recovered, and when you blinked next, his visage nearly melted away into something more normal— but those glowing eyes didn’t disappear, simply dimmed. He smiled softly at you, and offered his hand to shake. “No worries, you were fairly engrossed in your task. I’m Dr. Rogers.” Your heart stuttered a bit. This was Dr. Rogers? Holy fuck. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m sorry I’d shake your hand but I literally just worked out and my hands are so gross.” You weren’t fully lying, your hands were sweating and you were still in your workout gear; your duffle in the corner holding your jumpsuit and the back of your door held your blazer; but the truth is you didn’t want to touch him or accept anything from him. He’s not human. The little voice inside your mind whispered. 

He smoothly placed his hand in his pocket, still smiling, albeit sharper now; and seemed to be staring at you. Waiting. For what? “Well uh, I have to get ready for the day… it’s good to meet you.” You offered a small tight smile. “Of course, I was just hoping I’d learn your name?” He responded. Never give them your name, if you give them your name you give them power over you. You swallowed harshly, trying to find a loophole or escape, and it came in the form of Shayna as she called your name. “Ope, I see you’ve already met our sunshine!” She said, fully opening the door to see Dr. Rogers and you looking at one another. “Sunshine?” Another voice piped up, and looking for Dr. Roger’s shoulder, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. Same pointed ears, same sharp teeth; but those eyes… blue with a ring of gold glowing as they looked at you. And you knew he knew you could see through it… the glamour. It wasn’t working on you. 

Why the fuck wasn’t it working on you?

When you blinked, the visage melted just like Dr. Roger’s had, but the golden shine remained, making your stomach flip. “Yeah, the first time we all met as a cohort, she came bounding in dressed in a gorgeous yellow maxi skirt and,” “My Hadestown T-shirt on, looking like a ray of sunshine.” You both finished together, shaking your head with mirth at the reminder. “And the nickname was cemented. Especially the day I went frolicking in the rain.” You added, grin gracing your features. The two men, fae, stared at you in a moment of awe and hunger. Yes, they’d come here partly to see if they could tempt one of the only humans who had managed to escape their trance back in Wicklow, but they weren’t expecting this. You could see them despite the glamour… 

Bucky and Steve had always known they were meant to be together, but in the last century they had begun to feel an ache. A missing piece. One no other fae could fill, and so they began visiting the human realm, they studied in the universities, worked on and off again, attained high degrees and titles all while searching for the one to ease their ache. Despite it all, they couldn’t find their missing piece… but in Wicklow as they and other fae folk, would try to lure in new toys… there you had stood; denying temptation and fighting that seductive pull so many would succumb to in seconds flat. And now, away from that portal and sacred ground, you stood before them and saw them as they were, and you knew exactly what they were… and the flash of defiance in your eyes told them you were doing just that here, too.

After short pleasantries, with you reiterating your name to them (Because surely just stating your name wouldn’t get you whisked away to fairyland after someone had already said your name), they greeted you properly, by name…And Jesus, your name sounded so good coming from their lips. Fighting back the blush that was surely gracing your cheeks, you smiled kindly at them. “You’ll often hear me referred to as sunshine or sunny, feel free to do so as well.” Before they could respond, your phone buzzed; it was 8:30. You needed to get dressed and get your lesson plan organized for the day. “Well, welcome to the department, as much as I’d love to keep the convo going, I have to prepare for class. Good morning to you both, Dr. Rogers, Dr. Barnes.” You nodded to each as Shayna ushered them out and away, quickly but calmly closing the door after them. You clicked the lock, backing up to your desk and gripping the edge of it as your heart raced in your chest. 

The new fucking professors were Fae. How the fuck was that real? God you felt like you might throw up. Thank goodness for the distraction that was your teaching schedule. 

Bucky and Steve lingered for a moment outside of your office, listening as your breathing quickened and as you began moving around. Smiling, they looked at each other with mischief twinkling in their eyes, before catching up with their tour guide, Shayna, to meet the rest of the faculty.  

You were able to go the rest of the day successfully avoiding both of the new doctors in the department, deciding that instead of working on your dissertation after your 12:30 course, you’d head to your favorite coffee spot instead to put space between yourself and campus; away from them. Sitting in a corner booth, sipping your usual, you gleaned through web page after web page of Celtic mythos. Any mention of Fae or Fairy was control-f-searched and read through. So far you learned the difference between the seelie and unseelie, what gentry fae were, and the conspiracy that Hozier and Florence Welch were unseelie and seelie fae, respectively. Nothing about being able to see past a fae’s glamour— lots ON what glamour was, and on the do-and-do-nots you already knew, but nothing helpful for this situation. You were half tempted to hop on Reddit and be like “hey r/fae what happens if, hypothetically, a human can immediately see through a fae’s glamour?”… but you weren’t that desperate. 

Yet. 

Sighing and finishing your coffee, you shut the laptop and rolled your neck. You’d initially been working on the revision comments on your third chapter of the dissertation, but the thoughts of those two men kept invading your thoughts… It became clear that until you researched what was pulling at the edges of your brain, then you’d get work done. Sighing, you check your phone for texts from the cohort before you leave to get ready, making sure karaoke is still on. Every Friday night since the first year was karaoke night for the cohort at your local haunt, and after a day like today? You were treating yourself to a Jameson Whiskey, Ginger, and Lime. Maybe two. Walking out to your car, an old but reliable blue sedan that used to be your parent’s, your steps faltered. Stuck under one of your windshield wipers was a small bouquet of flowers. But not just any flowers— purple tulips. 

When you were in Ireland, specifically when you were in Cork, your tour guide had explained the battle between the fae folk that had happened; and that wherever you might see tulips or daffodils was where the grave of a fairy was. You remember seeing various patches of such flowers in Wicklow Forest… and those purple tulips, so rich and vibrant it made your head kinda hurt to look at, had only been spotted deep in the Forest. You’d seen them near the fae portal, the one you nearly walk through in every dream since visiting. But you also knew the meaning of purple tulips thanks to a book in the language of flowers you’d picked up at a thrift store during your travels in London; those flowers on your windshield represented nobility and royalty, luxury, new beginnings… and admiration. 

Swallowing hard, you glanced around, searching for the source but finding the street empty. Don’t pick them up, don’t even touch them, it’ll come across as acceptance. Fae folk are tricky like that, just use the wipers to get them off. Your inner voice warned, sounding so much like your departed grandfather…and it hadn’t let you down yet. You knew there were so many loopholes in which a fae could claim their intended target, and you refused to be caught in one. You fought too damn hard to be here, a doctoral candidate, so close to the PhD you could taste it, to let some supernatural bullshit steal it all away now. 

Your wipers sent the flowers flying, and throwing your car into drive, you drove forward and off toward your apartment complex, the wind carrying the rest of the flowers away. 

Bucky picked up the discarded flowers with a sigh, not disappointed but wistful. “She’s smart.” Steve said, twirling a discarded flower between his finger tips. “She’s done her research, that’s for sure.” Bucky agreed, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist as they walked back to the coffee shop. “It’ll make the end of the chase so satisfying, though, won’t it buck?” Steve teased, pressing a kiss to his mate’s cheek. “Oh, absolutely Stevie. And I heard from a little bird that there’s karaoke tonight…” Bucky grinned deviously. They’d have a blast teasing you tonight, testing your knowledge and pushing the bounds. 

“Sunny! You made it!” Quinn, one of the third year doctoral students, shouted with joy as you walked into the bar. “Jesus, Quinn, I think the whole of town knows I made it now!” You teased, winking at him. “We’re getting the set list together, any song requests?” If you hadn’t done Careless Whisper for the fifth time in a row the previous week, you’d go with it, but seeing as things were getting flipped upside down in your life, you decided a little Billy Joel was in order. “Key up Movin’ Out for me, and maybe a Chappell Roan for round two— not Pink Pony Club! I think I almost blew my vocal cords last time I attempted it.” You called, before sauntering over to the bar. 

Laying down your debit card and ID, you pointed to the bottle of Jameson on the top shelf. “I’d like a whiskey ginger lime with Jameson; and go ahead and open a tab for me.” You requested with a smile. The bartender checked your ID, then handed it back and nodded. You waited patiently, leaning your back against the bar to watch the entrance. Slowly your cohort, and the ones under yours (it was the third year; how the hell did y’all become the ‘elders’ of these students already?) trickled in and waved. Shayna, obviously having pre-gamed, waves enthusiastically before skipping to Quinn. “Here you are, enjoy.” You turned and took the drink, thanking the bartender and moving to join your friends. 

Bucky and Steve slipped into the bar while a group of students sang ‘Its My Life’, quickly clocking where you sat sipping on a cocktail and cheering on your friends. As your nickname suggested, you looked as radiant as the sun in a beautiful yellow dress that was the shade of the last rays of light before dusk, golden. Ordering two whiskeys and sitting in a corner booth, they watched as you joked, giggled, and drank while your friends sang on the stage. When you neared the end of your drink, Bucky approached the bartender with a disarming smile. “You see that gal over there? She’s a doll ain’t she? Well we work together, and I saw her drink was running low, go ahead and make her another on me.” He winked, the bartender near swooning as they nodded and got to making the drink on Bucky’s tab. 

Let the new challenge begin. 

“Alrighty sunshine! Are you ready to grace us with some Billy Joel?” Shayna teased, and you groaned before nodding and finishing your drink. You’d need it. Grabbing the mic from her, you watched the screen as the familiar intro played, but felt the hairs on your arms stand up as the weight of someone’s eyes settled on you. It wasn’t until you were halfway through the song that you looked out past your friends and saw those glowing blue eyes from the morning gazing intently at you.

 “You should never argue with a crazy mimimimind; you ought to know by now! You can thank Uncle Sam with the overtime; is that all you get for your money?” 

You sang, shifting your gaze away as quickly as you could, focusing back on your friends. Fae be fucking damned, you told yourself mentally, even as you felt a warmth come over you- obviously just the alcohol hitting your system, right? Not attraction. After wrapping up, you happily handed the mic off to the next person and approached your table, where a new whiskey ginger lime waited for you. “I didn’t order another,” you said looking at Shayna puzzled. “Oh yeah the bartender said that someone bought you a drink!” A cold feeling hit you, and you looked up towards where you saw them, and narrowed your eyes as they raised a glass to you. Fuck their fae trap, you weren’t dumb. 

To Steve there was nothing sexier than the way you came striding over, your hips swaying as you did, a look of determination and annoyance clear in your features. “Well hello, sunshine. How are you this fine evening?” He greeted, mischief in his eyes as he smirked at you. “I’m just dandy, Dr. Rogers, Dr. Barnes.” You greeted curtly. “Oh please, mo ghra, leave the formalities for work! You can just call us Steve and Bucky.” There was a flash of recognition at the pet name, it sounded familiar, but you pushed the thought down and stored it in your mind for later. Right now you need to set these two on track. Placing the drink down before them, you crossed your arms and looked down at them.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, looking at you with faux confusion. “Is the drink not to your liking?” You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Oh I’m sure it is if you had the bartender make exactly what I ordered, but you both surely know I’m not that naive.” “And, pray tell, mo ghra, why would we think you’re naive?” Steve asked, that mocking tone of concern in his voice. Bucky’s lips slightly turned upwards at the way you clenched your fists. “Gentlemen, let’s cut to the chase;” you leant down, hands resting on the table of the booth, as they leaned towards you as well. “I know what you are, you know that I know; and you know that I know the rules. Save your trickery for someone who wants it.” You whispered, before straightening with a smile. “Now, y’all enjoy your evening, I’m sure I’ll see you around on Monday.” And with that you turned on your heel and marched back to your friends. Bucky watched as you retreated, letting out a low whistle. “Goddamn I love a feisty woman.” Steve nodded, plucking the drink up and taking a swig. “Oh god,” he groaned at the taste. “She drinks Jameson. We’re keeping her forever, Buck.” Bucky laughed, deep and melodic, making you turn towards the sound whether you meant to or not. He winked at you, and you quickly looked back to your friends, a warm feeling settling in your stomach. Goddamn hot fae. 

The weekend was blessedly calm, and the next school week started just as calm. The fairy circle from the previous walk was gone, allowing you to relax and simply listen to your music as you disassociated on what you planned to do with the remaining revisions you had left for your dissertation draft. Monday had passed clear of any issues, same for Tuesday and Wednesday. 

Thursday? Well… That was another story. The morning began as usual, you ate breakfast at the bar in your apartment, fed your lizard (Stella, shout out to Tennessee Williams), and made your way to the campus lake walking trail. Headphones in, blasting Kendrick Lamar (squabbling to warm up, amiright?), everything felt just right. The mourning doves were twittering about and the sun was cresting up; it was peaceful—until the sound of jogging and a musical voice broke you out of your thoughts, calling—“On your left, sunshine!” Looking back, your eyes widened at the sight before you. Dr. Rogers, shirtless, jogging up to you. God how did he get that six pack? Did he lift fucking trains instead of traditional weights? 

“Good morning, mo ghra.” You blinked, when did he get right beside you? Oh god you’d been staring off into his fucking abs. God smite you now. Swallowing thickly you looked away, a flush on your cheeks. “G-good morning, Dr. Rogers.” You replied, suddenly finding the lake much more interesting to look at than him. Steve made a tutting sound, and suddenly a warm hand was guiding your chin back to look at him. His touch felt like electricity and it shot all the way down into your toes. “Now, now, Miss Sunshine, what did I ask you to call me?” His eyes were fucking hypnotic and goddamn it all you could drown in them. “Sunshine?” His hand was cupping your chin now, thumb stroking your jaw, waiting patiently for an answer.  “S-Steve. Good morning, Steve.” You stuttered, trying to get your breathing to calm down. His gaze softened at the sound of his name on your lips, his thumb lifting to brush your bottom lip, a soft smile on his face. “Good girl.” Your knees felt shaky, and you quickly pulled away, clearing your throat and looking away, feeling your face turn at least five shades redder. “Well, uh, this was fun for a minute, hehe, but I’ve got to finish my workout.” You said, deciding the best course of action would to be to turn your ass around, power walk back to the beginning of the trail where your car waited, and say fuck it to making the full loop around the lake. 

The blue eyed and blonde fae had other plans for you, as he grasped your wrist in his hand. Instinct made you jerk, refusing to be caught, but instead of letting go he simply spun you back around to face him, then let your wrist drop. “Walk with me, I need to cool down anyways.” He said, and you knew it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ you would but whether you’d try to run off (yeah, fuck that) or just bite the bullet and walk with him. “Fine, let’s walk then.” You huffed, walking past him to continue forward. He fell in step with you, letting you set the pace. The music you’d been playing could faintly be heard from the headphones, your favorite music the only sounds other than the birds, bugs, and your breathing. The silence wasn’t half bad, to be honest, it was kind of nice. Just walking, feeling the sun warm your skin and the breeze cool your still flushed face. As the end of the trail came up, and the view of your car parked by the lake got closer and closer, you felt a sense of relief sag through your shoulders. As you came to a stop at the trailhead, you opened your mouth to say goodbye (so you could run) but before you could, Steve had placed his hands on your shoulders. That warmth from before came shooting through you, causing you to shiver. “Your shoulders sure are tense, sunshine. Let me help with that.” His eyes twinkled, and before you could say no thanks, he was turning you around. 

And holy fuck did he have magic hands. You didn’t mean to, but the audible groan of satisfaction that rolled out of your lips, made you blush as he gently kneaded your shoulders. You swore you could hear his smirk as he continued to massage the tensions from your muscles. Time felt like it slowed, but in all reality, Steve only massaged for around five minutes…maybe 7? Your brain was a little fuzzy.  “Feel better, mo ghra?” You shivered, pulling away from his grasp and turning to face him. Without the glamour, his hair seemed to have a shine of its own; true golden strands mixing with light blonde; and his eyes… The blue seemed to match the color of the sky, but darkened as you gazed at his face. Blinking, you shook your head and took a step back. “Y-yes. Th-uh, you didn’t have to do that.” You responded, glancing away, not being able to bear the weight of his gaze, cursing yourself for almost fucking up and thanking him. You couldn’t say thank you, manners be damned, as it would be too easy for him to twist and whisk you off. He stepped toward you, and in startled stepping backwards, hit a bench you didn’t know was there, resulting in you involuntarily sitting. He smiled, a bright and dazzling smile holding no malice but maybe a twinge of mischief, as his hands rested on either side of the bench’s back beside you. Effectively caging you in.

Despite working out he smelled good- how the fuck did that work? He smelled of crisp apples and cinnamon; and petrichor, the smell of the rain. It was intoxicating. God help me I think I’m gonna sin. You thought, biting your bottom lip as he leaned in. You swore he was going to kiss you, but instead he rested his forehead against yours. “If you keep looking at me like that, mo ghra, I won’t be responsible for my actions in the future.” Your breath hitched as his eyes became stormy, the blue swirling like a sea churning. What does it mean?” Your voice was soft, as if speaking the words any louder would make him disappear. Pulling back slightly and tilting his head with a furrowed brow, he asked “What does what mean, sunshine?” You closed your eyes, stealing your courage. “That word, the mo ghra, you keep calling me. What does it mean?” He chuckled, shaking his head amused. “For a gal who loves Celtic mythos and Jameson, you don’t know much Gaelic do you?” The question made the hair on your neck stand up and you felt defensive. “I know ‘mo’ means ‘my’, but alas writing a dissertation has resulted in my Gaelic getting rusty.” You sassed, crossing your arms as you stared defiantly at him. Now he laughed, a real genuine laugh that made butterflies erupt in your stomach. It was beautiful, and held such joyful emotion it felt near infectious. But you wanted an answer, so you needed to focus. “Oh darling sunshine,” he finished his laughter, leaning in close again. For a moment you thought he might really kiss you, and you wondered if that’d be such a bad thing as your eyes fluttered closed, but instead you felt his breath on your neck and his lips by your ear. “It means ‘my love’, mo ghra.” Now it was your turn to laugh, shocked, leaning back and away from him. “Haha, very funny, Steve.” You said, expecting to see a mischievous, or hell a cruel smile, waiting for you. 

Instead his face held nothing of the sort. It was open, serious, and genuine. “Why? Why call me that?” You breathed, not quite a demand but also not quite just a question. Certainly not a question you’d be okay not getting the answer to. Steve leant back toward you, and your heart skipped a beat. Swallowing harshly, you stared back at him, refusing to look away, to be weak or scared despite the way your body was trembling. His breath was warm as it fanned across your face, and your heart rate picked up as his face got close to yours. “The real question sunshine is why you don’t think you’d be worthy to be my love, when you’re the only one to see past my glamour on the first glance.” Your breath caught in your throat. The only one? “There’s no way, surely there’s been others?” He laughed without humor now, his eyes closing briefly, before opening them back up to show the glowing hues of blue dancing in his irises. “Oh sweet sunshine, how wrong you are. There is no one that is like you.” His voice deepened, damn near coming out like a growl as his forehead rested against yours. 

Your hands came up to his shoulders, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him close. The tension between the two of you could be cut with a butter knife. The sound of your phone ringing broke you two apart, and you gulped in the air you didn’t know you hadn’t been breathing. It was Shayna. And it was 20 minutes before your colloquium class. “I, I have to go.” Thankfully Steve had stepped back, the glamour firmly put back in place but his eyes no less haunting than before. “Of course,” he nodded, before grasping your free hand in his to help you stand up. Instead of letting go, though, he brought your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. “See you around, mo ghra.” You bit your cheek hard, his lips felt like fire on your skin, and if you didn’t know any better you’d probably throw yourself into his arms and kiss the daylights outta him. But you did know better— and you knew that the fae were tricky. Pulling your hand away, you gave him a nod before walking away. The minute you left his eyesight, you sprinted to your car, threw your buckle on and tore ass out of the parking area. 

The rest of that week had been spent finishing revisions and grading elevator-pitch speeches, and avoiding the new faculty like the plague. Luckily no one had questioned you, thanks to being a freshly made doctoral candidate, so you were able to get work done and push the lingering feeling of warmth from where Steve had kissed your hand. But then, that next weekend, you found a new fairy circle. One made of mushrooms, on the outskirts of the forest line by your apartment. It was an area you liked to go sit in and write when you couldn’t look at screens or take the sounds of your apartment complex anymore. You’d almost stepped into it, but the deep red of the toadstools caught you off guard, making you back up. Inside the circle looked to be a note. Try not to study too hard, solynshka. — B. You looked up and around, startled. How the fuck did they know where you lived? And how did they know you liked to sit there? You, again, side stepped and moved back towards the apartment complex, deciding that maybe the study rooms provided by your apartment would be safest right now. 

Oh how wrong you were. Sure there were no portals to accidentally step into, but then the dreams started up. It started as the other dreams had, with that memory of standing in the Wicklow National Forest. 

You barely felt the chill of the cool spring air on your face as you stared intently into the doorway, familiar blue eyes with a ring of gold around the pupils, glowing like that of a wolf’s, giving you the impression that they were studying you just as intently as you were them. You knew those eyes…You swore you knew those eyes but you couldn’t put your finger on how. The woods around you were alive with the soft sounds of rustling, bugs chirping, and the breeze through the leaves above you. Then you’d feel hands on your arms, and suddenly you weren’t in your layered hiking clothes anymore, but the yellow maxi skirt and tank top you’d worn to the New Faculty Potluck the week after Dr. Barnes and Dr. Rogers had arrived. You blinked in confusion, your head feeling fuzzy at the sudden change. Calloused hands rubbed up and down your bare arms, and the heat of their palms made you feel almost delirious. Their touch, and the gaze in the doorway that seemed to twinkle with delight, created such warmth inside you, you felt tipsy. “Bheith linne, mo ghrian.” Lips caressed the shell of your ear, and you sighed dreamily as the Irish Gaelic washed over you. “Let us take care of you, solynshka..” Another voice, from the doorway, purred. “Please.” You whispered, and felt yourself stumbling, reaching for the portal.

You shot up, heart racing, sweat down your back… and panties wet. Surely this was just a… weird wet dream induced by all the books you’d been reading and the stress of two fae appearing suddenly in your life.

But that wasn’t a one-off dream. And soon those eyes and touches began to drive you slightly batty. Every dream began the same, and ended with you inches closer to stepping through the damn doorway before you would shoot up in bed, or the alarm would sound. 

Four weeks to the day that they arrived, you were finally able to find a spot, sans fairy circle, with a good night's rest thanks to melatonin and the sleepy girl mocktail, to enjoy a little picnic while reading over your first fully-completed draft of your dissertation. You were playing the jazz playlist you made in year two to help with focus, enjoying the trumpet of Moonlight Serenade by Glen Miller floating around you. Chewing on the last of a bunch of green grapes, you closed your eyes and tilted your head up to the sun shining on your cheeks, relishing in it. A rustle of leaves made your eyes snap open and the sight before you had you nearly choking on said grape. James “Bucky” Barnes was walking toward you with a grin on his face, a book tucked under his arm and a thermos in hand. “Fancy to see you here, solynshka.” He greeted, plopping down in front of you and making himself comfortable on your picnic blanket, despite no invitation to join you. His glamour was just as beautiful as his real form, but definitely not as stark as his true form. His eyes still shone with a slight golden glow around his irises, but they made you feel more… safe. At ease. “I could say the same, Dr. Barnes, not many know about this spot.” You trailed off, looking back down at your writing, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t, of course, instead you quickly found your dissertation out of your hands and in those of the man across from you. “Hey!” You said, reaching across the cloth to grab it back, but your other hand, which you’d put out to steady you as you reached, didn’t quite make contact with solid ground, causing you to fall right into him. Somehow you landed with your head in his lap, looking up as he studied what you’d been reading. “Dr. Barnes,” you moved to get up, but his free arm came to rest on your abdomen, hand warm and steadying, keeping you in position. “Shh, shh, solynshka, I’m reading. And you know what to call me, don’t you?” He glanced down at you, the golden ring around those steel blue eyes glowing as he looked at you. Your breath hitched, but just as quick as he looked you in the eyes, he looked back at your paper. You lay there for a few minutes, listening as the jazz music from your phone continued floating around you both, the sounds of him turning the pages… 

Finally, you decided to say fuck it and just give him what he wanted. “...Bucky?” He hummed, looking down at you with a smile that made you feel dazzled. “Yes, solynshka?” “Why did you come out here?” He smiled, putting your dissertation to the side so he could trace your features. His fingertips ghosted over your forehead, the bridge of your nose, the bow of your lips, down to your jawline and back up to your hairline. “Because of you, solynshka… You’ve been avoiding us, doll.” I bit my lip, closing my eyes. “I needed to finish my work.” You mumbled, argument weak even to you. “Mmm, yes I know, doll. You’ve been working so hard, won’t you let us help you relax?” 

Bucky smirked as a blush settled across your cheeks and you shook your head. He allowed you to sit up when you moved his hand from your abdomens and rolled to the side. “You know I can’t let that happen.” You said, scooting back to where you originally sat. The more distance you put between this magnetic motherfucker the better. “Mmm, yes you do see hell bent on not accepting anything we have to offer.” His tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes told a different story. Those baby blues looked like a storm, and the emotions you struggled to decipher except for one; frustration. You clenched your jaw, he had no right to be frustrated at you! If anyone had a right to frustration it was you. “Because I know the rules, Bucky. And I’ve worked too fucking hard to get to the point I’m at to be whisked away by, by…” You looked away, catching yourself before you said something you’d regret. By fae? By two hot men? By chance?

 “By fate?” Your head snapped to look at him. His gaze darkened as he drank in the way your shoulders tensed, your eyes wide, your mouth dropping to say something but stopping before you did. “That’s what this is, solynshka. Fate. Why else would you have seen past all of this,” with a wave of his hand, the glamour dissipated, and all that remained was the raw, beautiful, true form of the fae before you. The gold in his eyes seemed to hold you hostage as he inched closer to you, your stomach doing flips and heart rate picking up. “With nothing but a glance?” You opened your mouth to argue, to, say something! But in a blink, he was kneeling in front of your criss-cross form, hands cradling your face and tilting it upwards to look at him. Your breathing was shallow, heart racing as his thumbs stroked your cheeks, and the heat of his skin settled into your bones. “Oh my little sun; my solynshka…” he leant down, pressing his forehead to yours, a minick of what Steve had done a few weeks back. His eyes remained on yours, and you could not bring yourself to blink. 

His lips were close to yours now, you could feel his breath against them, and you felt that familiar heat sink into you as you thought about what it would be like to press upward just a little, and feel those lips on yours. He seemed to read your thoughts, as his thumbs gently caressed your jaw, his eyes reflecting a longing that nearly took your breath away. “We just want to adore you, doll.” He whispered, face dipping so his lips could brush against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to catch your breath and not let the feeling of his stubble against your skin make you melt. “I can’t, we can’t, I-I have to finish what I started.” You whispered, opening your eyes to look at him. Your hands grasped his wrists, gently squeezing, begging him to let go before you did something irrevocable. 

He let go of your face, but caught your hands in his, stroking the back of them with his thumbs. “I suppose you do… but so do we, solynshka.” Lifting your hands to his lips, he pressed a kiss to each, before letting go, standing, and picking up his book from your picnic blanket, and the thermos. “Until later, sunny.” He winked. And then… he was gone. You quickly gathered your items and made your way back to your apartment, but not before freezing. “What the fuck did he mean but ‘so do we’?!”

From there on you did your best to try and avoid the two fae. 

Key word, try. 

The dreams had somewhat let up, but that seemed to be due to them somehow becoming embedded into your schedule. Bucky took a keen interest in your dissertation, and much to your chagrin, your advisor agreed to let him help you. And, frustratingly so, he was good at helping! Whenever you found yourself in a writer’s block—or thought that your eyes would melt if you stared at a screen trying to define “performative communication” for one more fucking second—he would swoop in and save the day with outside perspective, a fantastic source, or a simple walk to take a break. A walk you made sure was in the building and not anywhere you could accidentally walk into a fucking fae circle.

And then there was Steve, fucking Steve, who was somehow always sliding observations and suggestions for your classroom and lessons, under your office door every other day. You knew he wasn’t going into your office, but somehow the papers ended up on your desk, with new ideas and options to enhance your curricula and teaching. At first you had ignored it, feeling offended that somehow your teaching wasn’t up to his standards… but then it seemed Shayna, Quinn, and even some of the first year PhDs were receiving similar tips and tricks… to wonderful consequences. When you began implementing some of the suggestions in your public speaking class, you found your students more engaged than before… Therefore you begrudgingly left a plate of your famous cookies outside his office door one day; not as a thank you… but a peace offering. 

By the time the end of October rolled around, it was time for your annual semester teaching observation. Somehow, someway, Steve was “assigned” to be your observer to provide feedback on your teaching. You nearly spat your coffee out in front of all the freshmen in your public speaking class when you caught sight of him at the back of the lecture hall. You’d known you were being observed that day, but assumed it’d be the usual colleague, John, to watch as he had the previous fall semesters. 

Fucking wrong. 

You recovered as well as you could, forcing yourself to lock-in on the students and the material, and avoid looking at Steve at all costs. Your students didn’t seem to find anything off, and some of them were distracted by Steve himself (he was incredibly attractive), so with ten minutes left in the class you decided to let the kids go early. A treat for getting all their topics for persuasive speeches approved, and outlines roughly drafted. As you gathered your items, you expected to see a somewhat cocky Dr. Steve Rogers when you looked up, but instead the classroom was empty. You frowned, a little disappointed at missing trading jabs with him, when your phone buzzed. Clicking the notification, your email app popped open, and your inbox lit up with one new message from Dr. Steven Rogers. 

Let's chat about my observations from your class tomorrow morning. Campus lake trailhead, don’t be late. —S.G.R

Your eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t work on campus on Thursdays, and therefore had gotten into the habit of hanging out inside; especially as the weather began to grow cooler. Not only that, you’d taken refuge inside your apartment, barely leaving unless for appointments or to grocery shop. Basically to go to any space where you didn’t have to worry about accidentally stepping in a fucking fae circle! Part of you wanted to tell him to shove it (politely of course, he was still her superior, technically) whereas the other part was curious as to why he couldn’t stick around and chat seeing as how you had the minutes left in the class time slot that y’all could have talked; therefore you wanted to go. 

Stealing your nerves, and expecting for there to be a level of professionalism that should transcend the weird game of cat and mouse y’all had going on, you responded with a simple “Okay, see you then”. 

That night you tossed and turned, trying to (but failing) to fall asleep. Every time you grew close to falling over the edge of sleep, something would wake you up. Sometimes it was a feather light touch, or a whisper of something you couldn’t understand but a voice you knew. Finally, at five a.m, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of your bed, pressing them into the floor while you bent over and cradled your head in your hands. Might as well start the day, you thought ruefully, stumbling to the bathroom and turning on the shower. All you had to do was get dressed, meet with Steve, and then you could come back to the apartment and collapse for a nap. A long, well deserved, fucking nap.

It was around 7:30 a.m. when you arrived at Campus Lake. Dressed in your favorite fall fit (and boots, an emphasis to show you were here to chat not work out) you begrudgingly got out of the warmth of your car, immediately tucking your chin down further into your scarf. It wasn’t alarmingly cold (yet) but the chill of autumn was quickly being chased by the freezing cold of winter. Tucking a small notepad and pen into your jacket pocket, and rubbing your gloved hands together, you made your way toward the trailhead of the lake. The sooner this meeting was done, the better. 

“Good morning, mo ghra.” You’d been staring out at the water, at how a fine mist had begun moving across the surface, reminding you of scenes from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Turning, you bit back a gasp of surprise, as the glamour you had gotten so used to seeing was dropped, and there stood Steve Rogers in all his fae glory. His lips were curled into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat, his stormy gaze full of tenderness. “G-good morning, Steve. I, uh, guess we should get this show on the road.” You murmured, rubbing your hands together, trying to bring warmth to your fingers (damn cheap gloves). Steve held out a hand toward you and, when you paused, tilted his head almost…predatorily as a small smirk replaced his smile. “I won’t bite, sunshine, I promise.” He teased, and taking a breath you slipped your hand into his. 

His hand radiated warmth through the fabric of your glove, and you swallowed the sigh of comfort that threatened to escape. You simply let him lead the way, the effects of not sleeping well (or at all), kept you preoccupied (you really didn’t want to fall asleep while talking to him, so you focused on forcing any yawns down). So lost in your own world, you hadn’t noticed him leading you off the trail and into the woods, not until he came to a stop. “Good morning, solynshka.” Bucky purred, standing up from his position on the blanket. You blinked, hazy, confused, at what was before you. A veritable breakfast feast laid out on a very soft looking green blanket, with fruits shining and the aroma of fresh bread wafting in the air mixing with a variety of breakfast meats. Swallowing hard, you looked to Steve, then Bucky, then Steve again before settling on Bucky with confusion in your eyes. “Uh, good morning, Bucky… I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand what’s going on.” You fought back a yawn at the end of your sentence, using your free hand to gently pinch the bridge of your nose. Steve and Bucky looked at each other and smiled softly before nodding. Steve gently tugged you closer to the blanket, rubbing his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “You’ve been working so hard recently, we wanted to surprise you. Of course I do want to discuss observations from yesterday but… Well, we’d much rather take care of you, mo ghra.” You glanced up at Steve, and inhaled sharply when you felt an arm snake around your waist. Bucky pressed his lips to the crown of your head, the touch warming you from the inside out. Their scents surrounded you—the spice of patchouli and the freshness of crisp apples wrapping around you—made a soft whimper fall from your lips. Your brain felt fuzzy, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up on the soft looking picnic blanket and be taken care of. 

“Come now, solynshka, let's sit down.” Steve let go of your hand to let Bucky guide you onto the blanket. Bucky grinned when you gasped in surprise as he pulled you into his lap, settling you between his legs so you could lean back against him. “B-Bucky I can sit on my own.” You argued, trying to be firm and pull yourself out of the haze you were in. You tried to squirm out of his lap, but an arm around your middle kept you firmly against him. “I know sunny, you’re capable of anything you put your mind to, so let us take care of you.” He whispered in your ear, and you shivered at the feeling of his breath fanning across your neck and shell of your ear. Steve smiled, a bright smile that could make the sun jealous, as he sat across from you with a cup filled with something steaming that smelled delicious. Your throat felt so dry suddenly, and when he offered the cup to you, you took it. Your mouth watered as you raised it to your lips, and you paused, looking at Steve. He smiled encouragingly, his eyes still full of that tenderness you glimpsed earlier, and you thought what the hell. Tipping the cup back, you sipped the warm liquid. Flavors burst across your tastebuds and you groaned, earning a chuckle from both men. Warmth spread down your throat, throughout your chest, and you swore you felt it down to the soles of your feet. 

“What is this?” You asked, passing the now empty cup back to Steve. “It’s cider, made from an old recipe from home.” He replied, in which you hummed in acknowledgment as he refilled your cup before handing it back. Then he gave Bucky one before pouring himself a cup as well. “A toast, to new beginnings.” He grinned, and Bucky grinned at him over your head as you gently clinked the cup with Steve and Bucky’s, the meaning flying over your head. The cider made you hum with delight, your body feeling warm and almost floaty. When you finished your second cup, Bucky suggested trying the fresh bread with homemade jam, which at the indication of your growling stomach you agreed enthusiastically. Then Steve offered you a couple pieces of bacon that looked better than any you’d ever cooked, which you gratefully ate. As the three of you ate quietly, you felt an odd sensation come over you. “Feeling better, mo ghra?” Steve’s voice was like honey, dripping down your spine. “Mhmm.” You hummed, leaning back against Bucky’s chest. “Told you we would finish what we started, solynshka.” Bucky murmured, lips caressing your temple.

A moment of clarity hit you like a freight train, the sound of your grandfather’s voice echoed in your mind as you felt your heart rate speed up. If you eat their food, or drink their drinks, then wave goodbye to the mortal plane- because you’ll be off to a new realm… The lack of sleep combined with the voices (their voices) waking you up on the cusp of slumber, images of their eyes when you closed yours, the feather light touches that sent you shooting up in bed… it was all them. And this had been one big ploy to get you. “You gave me fae food.” You whispered, looking into Steve’s eyes. The glamour had long been dropped, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter than they ever had before. “Yes, we did, mo ghra.” He was closer now, hand caressing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into his touch, his palm warm against your cool skin. 

“Why?” Steve caught the tear that rolled down your cheek, and sighed, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. “I think you know the reason, mo ghra.” You shook your head, pulling from his touch, scrambling out of Bucky’s lap to put distance between yourself and the two. You rubbed a hand down your face, trying desperately to wake yourself up, to bring yourself to your senses as the magic in the food began sinking into your bones. Why would they do this now? Why get so close in the first place? “We just want to take care of you, sunshine.” Your eyes snapped open, eyes glancing to Bucky and his golden and blue eyes, then to Steve who smiled in pride. You had met them before, damn it, and it had taken you so fucking long to realize from where. God, you felt like such an idiot. “Wicklow. It was you two in that portal in Wicklow, last spring when I was visiting Ireland.” Your breaths came out sharper now. “Yes, Wicklow, sunshine.” Steve affirmed. Red hot anger shot through you as your eyes watered, and you stood to your feet as you glared at them. “So this is for what? Because I escaped? Because I didn’t fall for your trap? Why integrate yourselves in my life, why act like you care, especially now?”   

“Because you're ours, solynshka.” Bucky growled, standing up and stepping towards you. You stepped back, partly in shock, partly in fear of his anger. “Only a mate can see past the glamour of another fae.” Steve said, and your eyes snapped toward him, looking into his stormy gaze. “Mate?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes sweet girl, mate, our missing piece.” Bucky was standing before you now, moving faster than you could have thought, and resting his hands on your hips. You inhaled sharply, swallowing harshly as what felt like electricity shot through you. Steve stood up as well, and Bucky spun you around to face him, keeping his arms wrapped around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Everything was moving so fast, and yet the world fell away as Steve spoke.  “We’ve been searching for you for centuries, mo ghra. You have no idea how much you make us feel.” Steve’s voice was husky, his hand cupping your jaw and tilting your chin upward to look into your eyes. “Then show me.” You challenged inhibitions falling away. Steve’s grin was nearly feral as both of his hands cupped your cheeks before capturing your lips, and breath, in a fierce kiss. 

It felt like sparks. 

Bucky let go of you as you wrapped your arms around Steve’s neck, his hands quickly pulling you to his chest, pressing you as close to him as possible, gasping when he nipped your bottom lip and licked into your mouth. You forced yourself to pull back so you could catch your breath, feeling light headed, your body flush and wanting more. “My turn, punk.” Bucky’s voice was light and teasing as you were suddenly spun around, Bucky’s hands cradling your face. The rings of gold around his baby blues held you captivated. “My little sun.” He grinned, before gently pressing his lips to yours. You tilted your chin up to deepen the kiss, gladly opening when he licked the seam of your lips. You held on to the lapels of his jacket as he claimed your mouth, tongue caressing yours and pulling moans from your throat. “I think we better take this home, don’t you, Buck?” Your eyes were dilated, your body feeling both light as a feather but suddenly heavy as lead. “I couldn’t agree more, Stevie. Our little sun needs to rest before tonight’s activities.” Steve grinned and swept you into his arms, bridal style. You squeaked and grabbed onto him so as not to fall. You felt so sleepy all of a sudden, and couldn’t help but yawn as you rested your head against Steve’s shoulder. He hummed in content, nodding to Bucky. In the blink of an eye, the blanket and picnic were gone… All that was left was a careful circular formation of stones. 

“Let’s go home, mo ghra.”

Robby had endured his fair share of tropical storms and hurricanes in his life, especially during his residency at Big Charity Hospital in New Orleans. He knew the warning signs of a thunderstorm, the difference between a cloud that was just scary looking versus a cloud holding the potential to drop feet of water on a city, but most of all he was well aware of the signs of a tornado. Most folks seem to forget that tornados of all varieties, especially water spouts, were a normal part of hurricanes. He'd seen a tornado, in person, once in his life; and once was enough.

Dennis knew tornado weather like the back of his hand. Everyone assumes that tornados happen mainly in Kansas and Oklahoma, but completely forget about Nebraska, which always made him laugh since Nebraska was a core part of Tornado Alley. On average his home state would get 50 tornados every year! That was on par with Oklahoma, Illinois and Missouri. Kansas, though, held the record. They got anywhere between 80 to 90 tornados a year. He genuinely wondered if The Wizard of Oz had somehow cursed the state to be more tornado prone.

So when both of their phones had buzzed with a notification for a tornado warning, they both had wildly different responses.

They'd come to the Shawnee National Forest to take advantage of the beautiful hiking trails, lakes, rivers, and state parks located within. They were visiting some old friends of Robby's in Chicago when they had suggested a train ride down to Southern Illinois to enjoy a few days exploring what nature had to offer. They were staying at Giant City Lodge, enjoying the various wineries in the vicinity (which was surprising to Robby that there were so many, Dennis counted like five, in what was a mainly rural area), exploring the trails, and overall relaxing in each others' presence.

Tornado weather was not at all what either had been expecting.

But it was May, to be fair, so really it wasn't surprising that a twister could occur.

Dennis was vibrating with excitement. When he was a kid, his older brothers used to strap him into the truck and go storm chasing with him; and with how flat most things were around the farm, he could easily watch a tornado dance around from a safe distance. Dennis hadn't hesitated to grab two cans of beer from their mini fridge and practically run to the back porch, yelling to Robby over his shoulder, "C'mon, Michael! We can watch it from the back porch and drink beers!"

Robby, on the other hand, was the opposite of excitement. He was intensely grateful that their room in the lodge was on the ground floor, which meant going to an interior room was easier since they wouldn't have to run down stairs to find a space. He's already moving shit out of the closet when Dennis is grabbing beers, and he just stares, mouth agape, as his boyfriend goes skipping to the back porch when there's a fucking tornado. "Absolutely NOT! That is a hurricane on land, Dennis, I do not fuck with hurricanes!"