𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

Attention was a word Jack had gotten used to in the last two decades of his life. There were inevitables when he was out in public and decided to wear shorts, or when he was in scrubs picking up milk from the gas station on his way home. The awkward, less frequent words of “thanks for your service” he’d get from older men and the very frequent, immensely awkward stares he’d get from the women.

Those were things he didn’t ask for.

When women ogled him, it hadn’t been an inevitability all of his life—even if you told him, time and again, that he was attractive and handsome.

He believed you. You and only you for the longest time. Jack had a hard time believing that many other people shared your same opinion. That was until he met the 6 ladies of the Allegheny YMCA’s 8:00 AM Water Aerobics class.

It had all been harmless at first.

Initially, he sought out the practice of swimming at the suggestion of his physical therapist three years after his amputation. The water helped him say afloat without many supports and as his muscles grew stronger and his confidence of being a BKA increased, the number of laps he did after a shift were a testament to his determination.

The repetitiveness of laps helped ease Jack’s mind before he went home too. The consistent back and forth of the strokes leveled him out from a difficult night. It functioned as an additional therapy to one he did four times a month and you let him have his space.

Most days the pool was relatively empty. Modern exercise eliminated most water activities from a daily routine and early morning runs to the gym often excluded getting one’s hair wet. Chlorine and its drying effects came second to the avoidance of swim time. It wasn’t feasible for everyone, but on Wednesday’s there were 6 others who simply didn’t mind.

And he could hear it through the door as he reached for the handle.

Paula Abdul’s voice rang loudly against the brick interior of the pool room. It bounced off the walls, cannonballing into the deep end to keep the women on beat as they did their buoyant repetitions.

With their weights in hand, the fifteen minutes since they began felt like seconds.

“Alright ladies,” their instructor, Susan, called out to them in an echo. “Now we are gonna take those weights and put them high above our heads.”

Susan mimicked the movement to which all the ladies copied to the best of their abilities. However, as people got older, the arthritis that plagued wrists and elbows and shoulders kept them from reaching as high as her. It didn’t kill their motivation, nor did it distract them from the men’s locker room door creaking open just like it did every Wednesday at the same time.

8:15. Susan glanced at the clock across the pool.

Like a well-oiled machine, the women began to drop their arms and their heads turned toward the door.

Mary-Ann was the first to pipe up today.

“Hi Dr. Abbot,” she called out immediately in a sweet tone. Jack’s face blossomed into a smile. With one hello, a plethora of them followed.

“Ladies,” he greeted back just as nicely. “Looking lovely as always.”

“You too, Jack!” Cheryl swooned. “You’re as handsome as always.”

“Are you tryin’ to make me blush, Cheryl?”

“I can make you feel a lot of things!” She laughed, loudly and only egged on the other women.

Jack’s eyes pinned themselves on the pool deck in case of splashes or puddles as he knew the risk of walking out on his prosthesis. In another world, his insurance, or the VA, would kindly provide him an Össur-pro so he could save himself time.

But it also gave him an escape from the redness working its way up his neck. Without a shirt on, he was bare to show off just how much flattery worked on him. He kept an eye on his leg to distract himself.

The women never made a deal out of him taking off his prosthetic. They didn’t stare, they didn’t jeer, and for that, Jack was more welcoming to Wednesdays. As he rounded the corner, he picked up a chair with his free hand and carried it with him to the end of the pool. Sharon whistled at him.

“We’re working on our biceps too, Jack. You should feel mine—they’re like steel!”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head at the floor. “Maybe another day, Sharon. But good for you. That’s a really important thing to work on.”

“Did you have a good shift today?” Mary-Ann asked. She was the only one to really care about his job.

No. He didn’t. But he didn’t want to ruin their mornings with tales of a two victim MVA, a meth overdose, or a GSW to the head.

“Oh,” he shrugged. “Same as it always is.”

“Deflection,” one of the ladies said as he passed. “Must’ve been bad.”

Their heads followed him comically to the lane closest to them. Jack settled his stuff onto the ground and used the chair to help him slip his prosthetic off before doing a couple hops to sit on side of the pool. As he fumbled with his goggles, Lisa waded over to him.

“So, Jack, I was wondering if maybe after our session today you could take a look at—”

“Lisa!” Susan called from the deck. “Stop propositioning Dr. Abbot during the session.”

“I’m not!” She defended. “I’m just asking him to look at my—”

“Yeah,” Cheryl nagged. “That sounds a lot like a proposition to me.”

“Don’t you think if he was the slightest bit interested in you he would have said something by now?” Sharon backed up Cheryl. “Jack’s not interested!”

“Hey,” Jack scolded Sharon jokingly. “I never said that…”

“Didn’t you just ask him to feel your arms?” Lisa accused and Jack slipped fully into the pool.

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s really not.”

“Ladies!” Susan yelled out and Jack gave her a thumbs up as if to say, “it’s alright.”

“You know,” Trudy paddled up beside Lisa. “My daughter is in town for the holiday and she’s single looking to mingle.”

“Is she?” Jack laughed. “I think I have some friends that might be interested. She can have her pick: doctors, nurses, police officers, vets… a few firefighters.”

Trudy shook her head with a smile. It was the same wide, pearly grin he got from all of the women of the class except for Susan who just wanted to teach.

“You’re too humble, sweetheart,” she replied. “I’m talking about you. What do you say? Can I give her your number?”

“I’m flattered, Trudy.”

Jack turned around, reaching for his bag to grab his hand paddles when he paused. Where the hell was his bag? Shit. He must have left in the car.

“She’s a nice girl. She just turned 37—is that too young? I know you just had a birthday.”

“Tru—” Jack started but she kept going. Persistent was Trudy Davis’ middle name.

“But she lives in Reading with her son. He’s 10. Do you have a problem with kids? Oh!” She laughed at herself. “Of course not. You’re a doctor.”

“The ones that are good with kids are called pediatricians, Trudy,” Lisa clarified. Trudy shook her off.

“I wouldn’t mind having a little eye candy for a son-in-law. I’d bet you would make a mother-in-law very happy.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jack murmured. “I think mine sees me a little differently.”

While Jack thought back on his bag, the ladies paused. Their eyes caught one another in a wide revelation that opened a new door of knowledge about their weekly friend. Lisa put her hand on Trudy’s forearm, aghast at the news that their silver fox doctor was married.

Somewhere in the distance between the water lapping and the music changing over, Francis, the oldest woman of the group at 92, held a hand by her ear and asked:

“What did he say?” She couldn’t wear her hearing aids in the water.

“He’s married,” Sharon informed her.

“Yeah,” Francis smiled. “To me.”

“Jack?” Sharon called out to him. He pulled his goggles onto his head but still looked over at the woman.

“Are you married to Francis here?” She asked.

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“We didn’t know you were married.” Trudy was slightly offended that no one did.

This was their Jack. The same one who, every class, made sure to say hello and goodbye and let them make their silly jokes about him and took it with a brave face. Jack never wore a ring—or at least none of them had ever noticed. Many of the women themselves were married to partners for decades and thought they had a grasp in knowing when someone else was.

“You never asked.” Was Jack’s simple answer.

“Does she get mad you don’t wear a ring?” Lisa followed up and felt suddenly like she didn’t understand his generation at all.

“I do.” He rose his left hand and the smallest, tiniest, tan line reflected a thick band. “I don’t want to lose it in the pool.”

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?” Mary-Ann spoke up after having been uncharacteristically quiet. She had a glimmer in her eye, mischievous one that sent an invisible string glowing between herself and Jack.

Jack shrugged, his leg bending as he got ready to set off the wall.

“Like I said, you’ve never asked about her.”

Twenty minutes from the YMCA, you scrambled in the kitchen trying to butter toast and rush out the door.

The middle of the week always felt a little chaotic—especially when Jack wasn’t there to help in the morning. You’d gotten used to it, no choice but not to be, but it didn’t help ease the stress of trying to make sure the house was in order before you left.

You stuck the piece of toast between your teeth, shouldered your bag, and rushed to the door when your feet caught a bag at the bottom of the steps and tumbled.

Your hands fumbled for the banister as your feet twisted. The piece of toast you were excited for fell onto the floor, butter side down, and your eyes landed on Jack’s work out bag as the culprit.

“Oh, come on,” you whined to no one. “Just one fuckin’ day, I swear to God.”

You hated Wednesdays. They were the bane of your existence.

There wasn’t a day longer than it. It dragged, unceremoniously, to the two days that always gave you better hope that the weekend would be relaxing and with Jack off the next few days, it would be. You just had to get through Wednesday first.

You bent down to pick up the toast only to notice that Jack’s gear was still in the bag. He hadn’t simply just left the bag, he didn’t take any of his supports with him. His paddles, the buoys, his goddamn kickboard.

But like Wednesdays were bad for you, sometimes his night shifts were too.

Jack forgot. It happens.

Digging out your phone, the last exchange you had with Jack was an hour ago where he replied “K” to a “don’t get hit by a car” from you. It was fruitless trying to call him because he was bound to already be inside and he wouldn’t answer if he was in the pool. But you peered back at the paddles and knew Jack needed those supports. Your peace of mind would depend on him having them, even if he never ended up using them.

You swiped both the bag and toast off the floor and sighed.

“What would he do without me?”

For fifteen laps, the women of water aerobics minded their business and listened to Susan’s instructions.

They still talked, however.

“What do you think she’s like?” Trudy asked.

“A nurse,” Francis said shakily as her exertion was starting to show. “Like one of those old war movies. A soldier and a nurse… how cute!”

“He’s not a hundred, Francis.” Cheryl shook her head. “I don’t think she works in healthcare. Probably in an office, maybe a teacher, or a manager of some kind.”

“Do you think she bosses him around?”

All the ladies looked back as Jack swam past the last 15 meter marking down on the opposite end. They thought on it, imagining what a domestic Jack looked like but the man they knew and created an image for wasn’t domestic. He was just a charmer. A kind hearted night shift doctor who listened to their problems.

“No,” Mary-Ann said. “I think they probably have a really nice relationship.”

“Women can be bossy too,” Cheryl defended.

“Yeah it’s kind of… what’s that thing they say? Kinky.” Francis laughed. Her face lit up in red as a result.

They turned back to Susan who changed out the weights for foam tubes. The sea of colors changed the space as they held them in arches above their heads.

Lisa sighed disappointedly. “Is it bad that I’m kind of sad he’s married?”

“Yes,” Sharon deadpanned. “He’s young enough to be your kid.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a cougar, Sharon. I can provide a really nice life and hey! I’m a really good cook too!”

“Keep telling yourself that, honey.”

Susan cleared her throat and demonstrated an exercise with the tube. She counted them down like dancers as they began another set to round out their session.

“He’s just such a nice man,” Lisa continued on.

“Then we should be happy that someone found him,” Mary-Ann concluded. “Not everyone gets to find their special someone and we know he deserves one.”

The women agreed in staggered murmurs.

As they let the music carry their repetitions away, the women’s locker room door opened with a sharp squeak. The music was almost deafening as you entered the room but a lifeguard perched on their towers blew a whistle in your direction.

You looked up, the old women in the pool stopped, and Jack paused halfway down the lane thinking the stoppage was his fault.

“Ma’am,” the lifeguard spoke. “You can’t be in here.”

You chuckled nervously. “I’m just dropping something off—I am not staying.”

The lifeguard pointed to the sign beside the doors you barely moved away from. “You must be wearing swimwear and appropriate footwear while being on the pool deck.”

“Can I just take off my shoes?” You asked. “I’m just dropping off his bag.” You pointed to Jack who clung to the lane divider.

“Go ahead.” The lifeguard returned their attention to the pool and so did you.

But no one was looking at him. They were all looking at you.

Jack treaded water in the middle of the lane with a small smile fighting its way onto his face. With his bag in your hand, he was happy to have a few unexpected minutes with you before you were whisked away for the day. His chest was rising and falling rapidly but he lifted his hand in a single wave, pointing to the chair at the end of the lane.

You slipped off your shoes and followed along the edge of the pool.

“Ladies!” The aerobics instructor called out to them. “Why don’t we take a break, huh? You’ve earned it, great job.”

Like a thousand eyes piercing your body, all the old women in the pool stared at you as if you were a vision. You gave them a polite nod in return and kept going out slight embarrassment for getting called out by the lifeguard.

“Hey,” Jack reached the edge and tugged off his goggles. “I thought I left that in the car.”

“It almost killed me this morning, actually.”

“Well I’m glad you’re still here.” Jack swiped a hand over his hair before shaking it out. The water made the color go darker and it reminded you of what he looked like before he went gray.

“Thanks me too,” you said slyly and put the bag down at the base of the chair. “How was work?”

“Pretty bad,” Jack sighed, folding his arms in front of him and leveraging himself on them.

“I can tell.”

There was a gaze Jack fell into when the days turned sour. A light that never caught his eye, devoid of true amusement you could feel across a room. He looked drained.

“I’m only gonna do a few more and then I’m heading out. Can you text me what you want for dinner? I’ll go to the store after I sleep.”

“Sure,” you nodded and bent down in front of him. “Are you okay?”

Jack’s mouth got smaller, pinching onto one side of his face in thought. “I will be.”

“I can stay until you’re done,” you told him. “I can be late.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Mmm…” You titled your head. “I think I can.”

“Honey.”

“Jack.”

Your audience grew every second you stayed. Holding out your hand to Jack, he accepted it and held your hand over the end of the pool.

“You know, I was goi—”

“Excuse me?”

The interruption made Jack’s shoulders tense. Trudy led the women to the divider that started Jack’s lane and they hovered like animals preparing to be fed.

“Hi,” you replied. “Yes?”

“Are you his wife?”

Your eyes flicked between Jack and the women and your husband’s bashful avoidance peeked your interest immediately.

“I am. Jack didn’t tell me he made friends here.”

You swung his hand gently in yours.

“Have you known him long?” You asked them and a couple of the ladies nodded.

“He’s our Wednesday snack,” the oldest one said. “Jack the Snack.”

“Jack the Snack?” You beamed with hilarity.

“Oh yeah,” she continued. “He’s the only reason we keep coming to this class so early in the morning.”

“That’s pretty good motivation if you ask me.”

“Please don’t encourage them,” Jack said lowly and the women immediately complained. Their words muddled together in one giant, half-hearted complaint that was ignored. You winked, squeezing his hand in yours.

“He is a snack, isn’t he?” You agreed. “He’s tolerable, though, right? Sometimes he’s a real pain in my ass.”

“I knew I would like her,” one of them said to another.

“He’s a wonderful man. You sure got lucky, sweetheart. Jack’s a keeper.”

“Good.” You said definitively.

And then, the comments just went flying.

“Did you know he answers all of our questions about our ailments?”

“He helped me connect my phone to the WiFi here!”

“Sometimes, he helps me out of the pool when my knees give out.”

“Jack referred me to an Ortho for my broken finger once!”

“He’s the one who made management increase the pool temperature for us!”

“He changed my tire in the parking lot when I got a flat!”

Every comment they made, Jack had to look away. It’d been months since he started coming on Wednesdays consistently and he never thought to keep track of all the things he’d done for them. It was never a hassle, it was just another part of his day.

“Ladies,” Jack spoke up. “Can I have a minute with my wife alone please?”

“You get her alone all the time. We barely know anything about her. We don’t even know her name!”

“Well you weren’t asking about her just now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lisa brushed him off. “What’s your nam—”

“Lisa,” he said firmly. “If I get just a minute with her, I’ll look at what you wanted to show me.”

“Susan!” Lisa shouted. “We’re ready to continue!”

One by one, the ladies of the aerobics class returned to their spots in front of their instructor and Jack’s shoulders deflated.

“Jack,” you hummed and he knew what was coming next. “Do you have… a fan club?”

“I think so.”

“Did I see Mary-Ann here? From next door?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “She’s the only tolerable one.”

“You love it.”

“They love it—or me, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe they just like my muscles.”

Your laugh made some of the difficult night harbored inside of him chip away. “Oh my. I might need to come here on Wednesdays.”

“No.” Jack shook his head harshly. “I cannot handle any more comments from them. They’re insane. Do you know how sexual those women are?” He said it like it was some dirty secret. “They say the most absurd things.”

“Like the absurd things we did after I got home from work yesterday?” You lifted a brow. “I bet they’d love that hot gos.”

“I think you’re going to be late for work.”

“Maybe.” Your eyes trailed over his tired face again. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah. I’m glad you came.”

“I can’t have you drowning on me, sweetie. How could I live with myself knowing you left kickboard was at home?”

Jack rolled his eyes at your joking tone and dropped your hand. “Okay, goodbye.”

“Jack,” you laughed.

Before he plunged back into the pool completely, he lifted up on his arms and placed a quick, soft kiss on your lips without warning.

The chatter of the women struck up again.

“I’ll see you at home.”

“Could we ask them all to come for dinner?” You whispered and he kissed you again. “I think they’d all really like that. What do you say, Jack the snack?”

“Never.”

Yet when summertime came, those same six women sat in Jack Abbot’s backyard listening to stories of your marriage and knew that the man they had silly, schoolgirl crushes on, was simply perfect.

a/n: i would bet good money that the old ladies in the water aerobics photo never thought they’d be featured on a jack abbot fanfic.

sorry grandmas!

The EKG detected signs of a previous heart attack, one that had occurred with little to no symptoms, which had undoubtedly been adding to the young man’s strengthening chest pain anyway. The discovery bumped up his prioritization and opened up a room in the O.R. for him, before he could have another, potentially more fatal MI.

“I wasn’t trying to go over your head, Dr. Robby, I swear!” you rambled in a single breath, talking anxiously in your hands, certain you were in for a scolding from the older attending. “But I went to school with this girl, Beth Wildfire— We were on the soccer team together, and she had a heart attack at seventeen because she was training too hard and none of the doctors would take her seriously about her chest pain—”

“Breathe, kid… You’re not in trouble here, alright?” Robby had laughed, hiding his smile behind his fist, because Gloria had sent him to scold you, after all. “You just need to work on that savior complex of yours, alright?”

You flinched in offense, chin jerking as your mouth parted to argue.

He continued before you could. 

“You were right this time. I get it. But you’re not gonna be right every time, and we can’t waste resources just because you have a hunch… You can’t save everyone, kid.”

He patted you softly on the back as he walked on by, smelling of a foreign cologne you could feel sparkling in your chest.

“Isn’t that our whole job?” you asked before he could get too far. “Aren’t we supposed to save people?”

“The ones that can be saved, yeah,” he nodded with a heavy huff as he spun in place to face you again, pushing the sleeves of his white undershirt up to his elbows. “But sometimes watering a plant too much— you know, loving it too much— can kill it, right?”

Your brows lowered in confusion. “But… People aren’t plants…”

He exhales hard through his nose. “It was a metaphor.”

“Oh…”

Robby choked back the instinct to smile again.

“In here— you’re their doctor, alright? Not their mother, not their sister, not their friend. Just help the ones you can,” Robby said before turning on the heel of his sneaker and sauntering off in the opposite direction. Over the chaos of the crowded E.R., he called to you over his shoulder, “Don’t over water your plants, kid!”

You realized, then, that that’s probably why you had a tendency to stick around in bad relationships for far longer than you needed to; why you were always so patient even when people didn’t deserve it, especially when they didn’t deserve it; and why you’ve always been so strikingly tender in the face of so much cruelty. Because you were over watering your plants, as it were.

Because you’d suffocate an innocent thing to death just to prove how much you love it. Because you’d strike a match on yourself if it meant keeping everyone else warm.

You figure that’s also why you take the rowdy patient in South 4 that no one else wanted — all bloodied from a fall and far too gone on pills and booze to realize how badly he was hurt. He’s sallow-skinned, glassy-eyed, and smiling lazily despite the blood in his teeth. He spends an hour shifting anxiously on the bed, all twitchy with a pent-up aggression.

He’s like a stray dog in a shelter, with “Don’t touch me, I’ll bite” written outside of the cage.

You reach out to pet him, anyway. 

Connor Stevens was young, just a few years older than you, dressed in a nice suit with a glittering Rolex on his wrist that cracked in the fall. He had a long history of drug use in his chart, and a longer history of reckless behavior that borders on masochistic. A number of falls, car crashes, DUIs, fist fights; each of which had landed him in one E.R. or another.

You create a fiction of his life story inside your head — of a young boy with a nice trust fund, working at his parents’ million-dollar firm, slipping into the same cycle as the father he despised, and using drugs and pain to forget how much he hated his life. 

You can’t help but see a version of yourself in him. You choke on your want to save him accordingly, and work with gentle hands to clean the scrapes on his pretty face. It feels like teaching an aggressive dog what it means to love again.

“You smell nice…” the young boy murmurs distantly, inhaling sharply through his sloped nose while you lean over to wash the dirt from a deep cut on his jaw. “What is that?”

“It’s drugstore perfume,” you confess with a sheepish laugh. “It was barely five dollars— I’m not entirely sure it even has a name.”

The cheap scent is hardly enough to drown out the smell clinging to the man below you, who smells overwhelmingly of whiskey, sweat, and cigarette smoke — a bitter, sour sort of concoction that hit you the moment you walked into the room.

“Let me guess…” he says and shifts on the bed. He doesn’t seem to notice, or otherwise care about, the dark black bruise on his right elbow as he props his weight on both of them. “My friends always say that I have a really good sense of smell—”

You jerk back on instinct when he leans in too close, nostrils stinging at the bitter scent of blood and alcohol clinging to his breath. 

“Jeez…” he scoffs, blonde curls flopping over his forehead as he jerks his chin back. “Didn’t mean to scare you...”

“No, you— you didn’t scare me,” you stammer with an awkward laugh, voice shaking in an unconvincing waver. “I just… Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“No, I did,” the boy insists, with an observant squint in his dark brown eyes. “Look at you, you’re trembling…”

Your breath catches in your throat when he reaches suddenly for your hand, halting your movements over his jaw with five cold, long fingers caging your wrist. 

His thumb digs hard into your pressure point and cuts off the blood flow to your fingers almost instantly. A sharp ache blooms where his fingers press into the bone. You twist your hand to free yourself without escalating, but he only holds you tighter.

“Please, let me go, sir,” you try to plead in an even voice, but clear your throat a second later when the words get stuck there.

“Sir?” he mocks with a gritty laugh, smiling with all of his bloody teeth. His canine is cracked and weeping crimson from the fall he took, not that he seems to notice.

He laughs harder when your head whips over your shoulder, peering anxiously through the glass door on the other side of the room, hoping to find someone looking back at you — hoping to find Robby.

But the emergency department is far too busy. 

You might as well be invisible just now.

“Look at you,” the boy chuckles with amusement. “I am scaring you.”

“I just want you to let me go,” you say, voice cracking, but firmer still.

His dark eyes narrow in a daring squint. The chocolate irises dart over your features like he’s studying them, like he’s enjoying every ounce of fear he’s etched into your face. 

“Say please…” he croons.

You lose your breath when his grip tightens. The pain flares hotter, sharper, and your fingers go numb with a tingling feeling.

“Please,” you spit through gritted teeth.

His smile grows. His hold slips from your wrist. 

You jerk your hand to your chest, curling the fingers of your opposite hand around the ache spreading beneath the skin. Your feet shuffle back on instinct at the sly look he gives you — like he’s debating on how to torture you next. You’re rushing out the door before he can utter another word.

You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, strangling all the sharp breaths you struggle to gulp into your lungs. The chaos of the E.R. muffles to a low droning sound in your ears, drowned out by the sound of your thundering heartbeat. Everything falls too bright, too fast, too much. 

But anywhere is safer than in that room — anywhere is safer than with him.

“You alright, kid?” you hear a familiar voice call from beside you, though it sounds like you’re hearing it from underwater.

Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, and you go dizzy in an instant. You blink away the haze clouding your vision to find Dr. Abbot sauntering towards you, in his black shirt and camo pants, with his brows lowered in a look of visible concern.

“Yeah,” you answer on instinct, through a series of strangled breaths. “I was just— I was just gonna get some air…”

He nods slowly. His attentive eyes dart over your twisted features, and then to where you cradle your wrist to your chest. “Did you hurt your arm?”

“No, but…” You gulp down another breath. “But my chest feels— a little funny… I think— I might be having an MI—”

Your vision goes distant in a flicker, like you’re suddenly watching your reality play out on a cinema screen. You feel Jack’s hand wrap around your shoulder and underneath your arms to keep you steady, then the warm breeze of a summer’s day brushing like honey over your skin.

Robby feels his phone buzz twice in his scrub pocket from where he stands at the back of the room, watching Santos walk the interns through a patient with an ankle fracture. There are only three contacts he keeps notifications on for during the day, and he drags the device from his pocket in hopes of seeing your name on the screen.

He does, just not in the way he had hoped.

It’s Dr. Abbot’s contact info that he sees first, right over the first message, which is short and hastily typed — your name, ambulance bay, asap — Robby makes out through the typos. The second text, in all caps, says: GET HERE NOW!

Robby forgets to dismiss himself as he rushes out halfway through Santos’ presentation. He weaves through the bustling emergency department with a tunnel vision concentrated only on the exit doors ,and the worry of what he might find outside of them. The distant calls of his name turn into muted buzzing in his ears as he rushes out to find you.

He spots Jack first, kneeling on the sidewalk and looking up at something Robby can’t see until he turns the corner. Then he finds him crouching in front of you, from where you sit on the ledge before the older man, cradled by the strong hands he keeps around your shoulders. 

You rub at an ache in your wrist that Robby can’t see from here and try hard to even out your breathing. His footsteps quicken at the sight.

“What the hell’s going on?” he blurts in lieu of a greeting. “What happened— Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen at the sight of Robby when he takes Jack’s place in front of you, kneeling with a quickness and snatching the stethoscope from around his neck. You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe when he presses the cool chestpiece against your burning skin, just above the dip in the V-neck of your scrubs. 

You had been avoiding him all day, in truth — avoiding him and yet hoping to run into him all the same. Because your conversation from the night before hadn’t ended on the best of terms. No conversation the two of you had ever had about his hiatus ended on good terms, actually, but this one felt especially world-ending

“I’m not just gonna wait around for three months and just hope that you’ll still want me when you come back, Robby!” you’d said, while the boiling water on the kitchen stove began to boil over.

“Is that really how low you think of me?” the older man scoffed with a disbelieving look on his smiling face as he leaned over the kitchen counter. “What? Am I not good enough to wait for?”

“Depends— Am I not good enough to stick around for?”

Neither of you could answer.

The silence felt deafening at the time.

But he forgets to be mad about all that now, as his head fills only with thoughts of taking care of you.

“She was having some trouble breathing, and had some pain in her right hand,” Jack explains for you, grimacing slightly as he adjusts his prosthetic to rise to full height again. He towers behind Robby’s crouched figure with his arms crossed over your chest. “She was tachy for a bit, but it’s even now— I think she was having a panic attack.”

Robby brows lower as he concentrates on the sound of your heartbeat in his ears. He hears a faint flutter in your pulse, and his eyes dart from the chest piece he holds between his fingers to your anxious face. 

“A panic attack?” he echoes, plucking out the earpieces and twisting the stethoscope back around his neck.

“I don’t know…” you shrug shyly.

“Well, have you eaten anything today?” 

“Yeah, I had a protein bar in the break room.”

“What about water?” he asks and ducks his head when you try to look away. “You staying hydrated?”

“Mostly.”

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” he hears himself ask, getting lost in the basic questions he would ask any patient, and quickly forgetting that he’s talking to you. 

You, who he’s been seeing for close to a year now — you, who he fucked within an inch of your life in the center of your bed just last night, an hour or so before you fought.

Your eyes widen and dart wildly between the two attendings standing before you.

You swallow hard and shake your head.

“It’s not— It’s not like that, okay?” you assure him, breathing deeper when you feel the oxygen growing thinner once more. “It’s just… been a hard day, you know?”

“What happened?” he presses.

“Nothing!” you lie and struggle to meet his gaze. “I just… I got a text from my ex-boyfriend yesterday— I haven’t heard from him in a year, not since the—” Protection order, you try to say, though Robby’s already arguing before you can.

“Your ex?” the older man scoffs with the same amused smile the kid in South 4 had given you. “That’s what this is about— You’re having a panic attack over some boy trouble? Is that why you picked a fight last night? Seriously?”

“What?” you exclaim, features screwed in offense. “No!”

“Jesus!” Robby chuckles as he rises to full height, blocking the golden sun as he towers over you like a storm cloud. “Do you need to go home? Is this job too much for you?”

Your jaw clenches as your eyes burn. “It’s not like that,” you choke through unshed tears.

“Yeah, I think it is,” the man scoffs, stumbling backwards with his hands splayed before him. “Go home, alright? I don’t need this liability— Not today.”

“Liability?” you echo, though your voice breaks halfway through. You shake your head and turn away, before Robby can see the emotion glinting in your eyes.

“Brother, c’mon…” Jack cautions lowly, boots heavy on the worn sidewalk as he rushes to catch up with the man’s longer strides. His shoulder nudges into Robby’s as he mumbles in his ear, “You guys are fighting or whatever. I get it. But you don’t get to talk to her like that when you were the one breaking down in pedes last year.”

Robby scoffs in response. A cynical smile curls slowly at his mouth as he shakes his head. “That’s not the same thing—”

They cross the automatic doors and enter the air-conditioned ER. Jack stops the man with a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Yeah, because no one gave you shit for it the way you just did to her.”

Robby softens his hardened edges, but only slightly.

“Look…” Jack sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with the two of you, man— but she’s still your resident. She needs you right now.”

Robby shakes his head again — too proud to admit when he’s wrong, too stubborn to face the fact that anyone would be counting on him these days; least of all you.

“No, she doesn’t, brother. Trust me,” Robby says in the usual sarcastic lilt he does when there’s an emotion he’s trying hard to bottle up. He just smiles and walks on ahead of him. “She made that extremely clear last night…”

Your first mistake is not going home like Robby told you to. Your second one is not telling anyone about the aggressive patient in South 4. Your third is believing the man inside when he tells you he’s sorry, like you’re a kicked puppy that doesn’t know when to stop coming back.

You make the mistake of doing what you always do — the exact thing Robby warned you about the day you met. You convince yourself that you’re the only one who can help him; the only one who could possibly understand the weight of this man’s situation. You’d tell them what he did, and they’d call the cops; they’d restrain him, sedate him. No one would truly listen; not the way you would. 

You convince yourself you’re the only one who could give him the help he needs, and you realize very quickly what Robby meant when he said you had a savior complex. 

“I really didn’t mean to run you off, you know?” the young man mumbles, gaze averted to where he picks at pills of cotton on the white blanket beside him.

He winces slightly while you test the range of motion in his knee. His long, scruffy legs hang off the edge of the bed while you hold his dirtied foot in a gloved hand, bending his bruised knee before straightening it again.

“I know,” you nod with a kind smile, though you hardly believe it yourself. “I’m just glad you’re letting me help you now, Mr. Stevens.”

“Mr. Stevens?” the boy scoffs and adjusts his hospital gown when it slips off his pale shoulder. “That’s what they call my dad.”

“How’s your relationship with him?” you wonder tentatively, twisting gently at his ankle. “Your dad, I mean?”

“Shit,” he answers without missing a beat. “Why?” 

“No reason,” you shake your head. “I just… had a hunch.”

“What? You tellin’ me you’ve got an asshole for an old man, too?”

“My dad…” you trail off with a sigh, trying hard to find the right words. “…Tried his best. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.”

“Yeah, well, my dad’s best made me a fucking lunatic,” the boy confesses with a dry laugh. You notice his pupils are less dilated as his gaze flits everywhere but at you. “I was addicted to cigs when I was twelve, coke when I was sixteen, sex when I was seventeen… My dad thought he was preparing me to take over the firm, but… Really was destroying my whole fucking life, so…”

Another laugh sputters suddenly from his pink mouth.

Your eyes soften around the edges as you set his leg gingerly back into place, tugging your gloves off with two quiet pops. “I can have a social worker come talk to you if you want. Kiara’s the best; she’s been working with people with addictions for years—”

“I don’t want a fucking social worker,” the boy snaps. “I don’t need to be fixed.”

“I-I’m sorry!” you blurt and shake your head at yourself. “I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to say that people are here to help you— that I’m here to help you.”

“Yeah, last time I heard that, I was shipped to a psychiatric hospital for two months,” he confesses, dark eyes hardening a flicker. He jerks his strong chin backward, looking very suddenly skeptical of you. “You’re not… You’re not gonna send me back there, are you?”

“No!” you squeak out. “O-Of course not!”

“You are…” he nods slowly. “You are. That’s why they brought me here. To send me back.”

“Sir, I promise, I’m not here to—”

The words get stuck in your throat, in the very most literal sense. 

The man rises to his feet in a flash, despite the purple-black bruise on his ankle, and closes the brief distance between you before you can blink. 

You feel his cold fingers snap around your neck first, then your feet stumble over themselves second, then your back slamming hard into the nearest wall with a heavy thud third. 

You try to gasp, but the oxygen fails to fill your lungs. You just whimper instead, and attempt to pry the man’s strong hand from around your throat. Your features twist in anguish when he leans in close, grimacing at the scent of blood and whiskey on his breath as his it fans over your chin. 

The tip of his nose brushes the bridge of yours as he mumbles through gritted teeth: “I’m not going back there. I’ll die before I go back there—”

You don’t have the oxygen to tell him that you have no plans to send him back there, wherever there is — or that you’d still fight to get him real psychiatric help, even after all this. Your mouth just parts to gulp down breaths you couldn’t take if you wanted to, while you keep trying to move his fingers from the bruises they dig into your neck. 

Black spots begin to invade your vision. You go from red-hot to ice-cold in a flicker. You lose feeling in your hands first, then your eyesight next. There’s a bright white, a staticky black, and then nothing at all.

You don’t see Dana rush in when she catches sight of the altercation. You don’t see her trying and failing to pull the man off you while she shouts for backup. 

You don’t see Robby pushing through the crowd and over to you. You don’t see him wrench the patient away with a strong hand on his neck; or the way Robby traps the struggling boy in a headlock on the ground to force him into submission. You do think you hear his voice, though, as your mind floats in and out of consciousness from where Samira scoops your crumbled body into her arms.

His shouting filled the suddenly crowded room:

“Stop! Stop now, or I swear to fucking god, I will break every finger you think you can lay on her, do you hear me?” Robby had threatened, voice low and lethal. 

It took both Ahmad and Abbot to pull the man away, and three more security guards to pin down the screaming patient.

You trace your fingers over the dark splotches on your neck — four on the right and one on the left, from where his thumb dug in to cut off your air supply. You can still feel the man’s fingers on your throat with every breath in; colder than ice, stronger than steel. You force yourself to look away from the blooming blotches on your skin, dragging your eyes instead to where Robby looms behind you in the bathroom mirror.

He passes you a fresh icepack to wrap around your neck, and you let your fingers linger against his for a few moments before you take it from him.

“You gonna answer my question now?” he wonders quietly, voice bouncing off the tiles of the empty bathroom, as he meets your gaze in the mirror.

You swallow hard through a prickling throat. Your voice is still raspy from the assault as you tell him, “I have answered every question you’ve asked me… For the last ten minutes, Robinavitch…”

You watch the man fight back the urge to smile, though his dark eyes soften with it anyway. He crosses his arms and tilts his chin to his chest as he repeats, “Why didn’t you tell me that the patient was aggressive? That he hurt you before you went back inside— You said it was your ex that—”

“Because that’s who Mr. Stevens reminded me of,” you answer through a ragged breath. “My stupid ex. That’s why I freaked out.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen,” you rasp. “He’s only aggressive because he’s scared— He needs more than a doctor, Robby, he needs a friend.”

“I know you have this condition where you only see the best in people, and you don’t know when to stop helping them—”

“You used to call it over watering my plants,” you quip with a faux-bitterness.

Robby continues with a smile. “—But you know I wouldn’t have let you handle all that by yourself if you had just told me.”

“It’s not my fault that—”

“I’m not saying that it is.”

“No, I’m saying it’s not—” You cut yourself off with a huff and wince at the ache it puts in your throat. You turn around to face him and tilt your chin to keep his gaze at the proximity between, which makes his musky cologne swaddle you like a shroud. “I’m saying it’s not my fault that you make it impossible to talk to you sometimes.”

Robby’s scruffy features soften with hurt.

“I didn’t want to tell you about the patient because I knew you wouldn’t listen to me about getting him proper psychiatric care,” you say before clearing your scratchy throat. “It’s the same reason I didn’t want to bring up your sabbatical last night, because I knew you’d just fly off the handle without even trying to understand where I was coming from.”

“You’re right,” Robby concedes with a firm nod.

“And I know what you’re gonna say— Oh,” You cut yourself off when his response finally hits you. “I didn’t— I didn’t expect you to agree with me so quickly.”

Robby exhales a quiet laugh despite the stinging in his chest. 

“No, you’re right. You always are,” he tells you and lifts his calloused palms to your neck, cradling the icepack to your skin to give your hands a break. His stomach swirls with warmth when you rest your palms against his chest. “If I wasn’t so goddamn stubborn, this wouldn’t have happened to you—”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you argue firmly, though your voice is still a bit weak.

“I know it’s not. ‘Cause you’re too nice for that,” Robby hums with a solemn shake of his head. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

You swallow hard and struggle to meet his gaze as you wonder meekly, “What’d they do with him? Mr. Stevens, I mean.”

“Well, I took you off the case while you were in North 1 with Dr. Mohan and Dr. King,” Robby tells you, faking an apologetic grimace. “So unfortunately, I can’t give you all the details without Mr. Stevens’ permission.”

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “How long have you been practicing that one?”

“About the entire time I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that question,” Robby grins. “But he’s safe. And we’ve got him on meds to keep him calm— not sedated. I’ll make sure he gets the psychiatric care he needs, I promise.”

Your eyes glaze over with fresh tears. 

“Thank you…” you murmur, voice cracking.

A quiet smile blooms beneath his mustache as the pads of his thumbs smooth over your burning jaw, from where his fingers cradle gently at the sides of your neck. “And I think you’ll be very happy to learn that the rest of the E.D. is now calling me your guard dog, so…”

“That does make me happy, actually,” you say with a giggle, though it comes out a little more raspy than normal. You twist a rogue thread on his scrub top as you go suddenly shy. “Maybe my guard dog should stick around for a little while, then… You know, keep me safe and everything…”

Robby’s dark eyes narrow in a playful squint. 

“You didn’t plan this whole thing just to keep me from leaving, did you?”

“…I really didn’t want you to find out this way,” you quip with a fake grimace.

He smacks his lips against his teeth and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

You jerk your chin back when he ducks down to kiss you.

“Love?” you echo in a fragile voice, wet eyes dancing between his darker ones. 

“I probably would’ve killed that guy for hurting you if they hadn’t pulled me off,” he confesses with a scoff, before tilting his head to his shoulder. “And all the poets say love makes you crazy, don’t they?”

“Yeah…” you nod. “I'm pretty sure that was the acclaimed poet Beyoncé, actually.”

“That’s the one,” Robby laughs before ducking down to kiss you, hard, like he should've been doing this whole time.

HAVING A song or two go viral on tiktok was one thing, but getting nominated a grammy? and for "best new artist"? now that is a whole different level. you used to only upload song covers on youtube when you were still in college, stopping briefly once you graduated to work and support your family. then out of boredom, you decided to write original songs, producing it yourself, and uploading it on your channel. you already had a solid fanbase back then, but more people appreciated you more with your original songs and unique sound.

your songs are written and sung in your native language and the instrumental is played by a traditional instrument that you knew how to play by heart. the song went viral locally at first, with people doing make-up transitions dressed in traditional attire. then it spread all over southeast asia. people were starting to discover more of your music, engrossed not only by your beautiful voice and sound of your country, but also the message that you put in it. people loved how you incorporated social and political issues in your music, you served as the voice for those who cannot speak.

many record labels wanted to sign with you, locally and internationally. as tempting as their offers were, promising you of instant fame, you knew just how much you're going to need to sacrifice for that. and you're not risking it, not your sanity, not your heritage. so you stayed independent. it was hard at first, the next songs you put out wasn't gaining the recognition it deserves. it's as if the rich cursed you for rejecting them. but that didn't stop you.

you continued on releasing new songs until one day, you received an invitation for a collaboration with a famous artist in your country. and that was the start of your stardom. after a year, you became well known in different parts of the world thanks to your people. and somehow, you got lucky enough to get nominated for "best new artist" in the most prestigious music awards in the industry, the grammys.

that's how you ended up in los angeles. in the middle of the crypto.com arena, feeling small in the world of giants. you adorned a beautiful gown that captures the traditional clothing of your country mixed with modern style. and currently, you're trying to squeeze your way to your seat. "excuse me..." you muttered as you maneuvered through the sea of black suits and expensive gowns.

you curse under your breath, frustrated that you're getting nowhere. you accepted defeat and swallowed your pride, turning to a staff member to ask for guidance. "oh, you're..." the staff looked at you up and down, making you a bit conscious. after scrutinizing you for a whole minute, he nodded his head and said, "follow me."

you muttered incoherent 'thank you's to him, in english and in your language. you sigh a breath of relief as he guided you, anticipating where you're seated. you're pretty sure they uploaded the seating arrangement somewhere on social media, but you didn't dare to spoil yourself, for the thrill!

your walk with the staff seemed to go on forever. you expected to sit at the very back, but you both walked past it. okay, maybe the middle then? but no, he walked past it too. you were starting to panic, thinking if he forgot that you were even with him. you were starting to get closer to the stage and it didn't help calm your nerves. "um, he—" "here." you stop, completely speechless. he guided you all the way to the front. you're seating at the front! near the stage! where the cameras can see you!

"um... are you sure?" you ask, voice wavering. "yes, there. you sit over there," he enunciates every word, as if you didn't understand english. "i— i understand you but... should i be sitting at the very front?" you ask again, and you were pretty sure the man was starting to get annoyed. "there," he repeats, pointing at the table in the middle. you look over to where he was pointing and your breath hitched. before you could clarify again, the staff had already left, leaving you and your nerves alone.

no way... no way i'm sitting with bad bunny. you're not sure if you wanted to attend the awarding anymore. especially if you're sitting beside bad bunny. you look back, trying to find a way out but the arena was starting to flood with more artists and guests. you had no choice but to accept your fate. you're here for the grammy, the country, and your family. you chanted in your head, trying to steer away from the thought of sitting beside your biggest celebrity crush.

you sneaked your way to the table. thankfully, he was busy talking to a fellow artist. but as you moved your chair, it was as if the whole arena collectively decided to suddenly shut up for a good ten seconds and embarass you in front of benito antonio martínez ocasio. the creak of the chair made you cringe so hard you swear everyone heard it. you didn't want to look at benito, you really didn't want to, but your eyes just had to betray you. through your peripheral vision, you could see him staring at you with a confused expression.

"sorry," you awkwardly gave him a tightlipped smile as you slowly sit down on your chair. he only nodded, to which you reciprocated. it took you a while to get acquainted with the overwhelming aura of the arena. artists of different ethnicities and nationalities are gathered in one big room, networking like a bunch of businessmen and women for possible future collaborations. it felt like you were the only one not mingling. who would even try? most of these people probably don’t even know who you are. they’d think you’re a fan that got lucky, a plus one bought by someone more famous.

suddenly, you felt your phone buzzing in your purse. you quickly fetched it to see the lockscreen displaying a video call from your mother. you scrambled through the small purse for your airpods, connecting it to your phone. once the call connected, you could see your parents and siblings trying to fit themselves in the small frame of your mother’s phone. they shouted your name excitedly, overlapping each other’s voices. “how are you doing over there?” your mother asks. you smiled softly and spoke in your native language, “i’m doing fine, ma.” “where are you seated? will we see you on the t.v.?” your father asked, smiling wildly at the thought of seeing his daughter on international television. “that’s a secret,” you teased, chuckling softly at their playful whines.

you continued to converse with your family as quiet as possible when someone announced that the broadcast will go live in fifteen minutes. “ah, i have to go. the awarding will start in fifteen,” you informed them. your siblings gave their goodlucks and goodbyes before going to their separate activities. only your mother and father were left in the video call. “dear… look at where you are now,” your father started, teary eyed. you huffed out a laugh, you knew where this is going and it’s going to ruin your make-up. “we want you to remember that this is not about whether you win or not,” your mother added, “it’s about the journey you took to get where you are.” you could feel the tears prickle the corner of your eyes but you try to stop it. as much as you’re touched by their message, you can’t ruin your make-up for when you do win. “just know that… we are very proud of you,” she finished her message and you can already see the tears running down her cheeks. “mom, dad…” you mumbled, your own tears clouding your vision. “oh, god.” your parents let out a laugh and wiped their tears. “save the tears for the stage, dear,” your father said. you chuckled, fanning yourself in hopes to stop the tears from falling, “i will.” and with that, after a few minutes of goodbyes, you finally hang up.

hiding your phone back to your purse, you suddenly realized that you’re at an awarding. talking to your family felt like you were back in your home country. maybe you just missed it so much, your family and your home. you tried to look for a tissue or a handkerchief that might be hiding in your purse. you curse under your breath, you forgot to bring one and your tears are threatening to fall and stain your face. just as you were going to give up, a hand holding a handkerchief appeared in your field of vision. you looked up and saw the bad bunny offering you his handkerchief. you stuttered, completely flustered at his actions, “i— are you— you don’t have to.” you tried to refuse, face heating up in embarrassment. “it looks like you’re crying,” he states, pushing the handkerchief to you. “no, this is— i’m not, i’m not really crying.” you wish you could burry yourself six-feet underground with how much you’re stuttering in front of a global superstar. “te entiendo. take it,” was what he last said before turning to the stage as the lights dimmed.

you stare at the cloth in your hands, absolutely starstruck that bad bunny had given you his handkerchief. you carefully wiped the corner of your eyes, catching a whiff of his perfume. and oh, this is exactly how you imagined him to smell like. you didn't even notice that your hand was still hovering over your eye... but your eyes are closed... and you probably look like a creep secretly sniffing bad bunny's handkerchief. thankfully, everyone was busy paying attention with the event so no one noticed it.

you enjoyed the first half of the awarding, swaying to the music, clapping for the winners. you even got to talk to some artists, surprised that they knew your music. some are even surprised to know you're the artist behind the trending audios on tiktok. you thought you wouldn't fit right in. you didn't grew up in u.s.a., you're not that fluent in english, and yet here you are. mingling among stars that you only admired from afar.

talking about admiring from afar though... you barely talked to bad bunny. well, not that you have the balls to talk to him. being seatmates with him is a once in a lifetime opportunity and you can't gather up the courage to start a conversation. although, at some point during awarding he did ask you something...

"where... did you come from?" he asked, startling you from your starstruck gaze at the stage. "me?" you ask back, pointing at yourself. "sí," he nodded. you turned your chair to face him properly, trying to hide your excitement and answered his question. "you're nominated?" he asked once more. you nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, "yes! for 'best new artist'." benito hummed, "good luck." he then gave you a sly smirk before turning back to the stage. you could feel how hot your face is in contrast to the blaring air-conditioning of the arena and you wish he didn't notice how flustered you are. but that didn't matter because you felt like that short conversation made you closer to benito.

finally, the awards that everyone has been waiting for finally arrived. the big 4. your heart was pounding so hard that you could hear it through your ears. you could feel the anticipation of your family from across the globe, the weight of your country, the hope of your people. it's okay if you don't win, you got nominated and that's what matters, you keep reminding yourself but deep inside, you can't help but hope for the best.

chappell roan walks to the stage and you're already bouncing your feet in excitement. she's going to be announcing the winner for 'best new artist', as if the anticipation wasn't enough to put adrenaline through your veins. she goes ahead and introduces the nominees one by one. when you were mentioned, benito glanced at you with a smile. it calmed you a bit, so you returned his sweet gesture.

the introduction of the nominees made you realize just who you're competing with. you didn't stand a chance. the realization hurt you but at the same time it relieved you. this might be the first and last time you get to join a prestigious event and you just wanted to enjoy it 'till the very last minute.

"as selected by the fifteen-thousand voting members of the recording academy..." chappell roan started. everyone was cheering and you were literally on the edge of your seat. "the grammy goes to..." she opened the envelope. your hands were already in position, ready to clap for whoever the winner is. "olivia dean." you sigh. was it from relief? disappointment? you weren't quite sure.

your shoulder feels lighter now that the anticipation is gone, but somehow your heart feels heavier than before. it's undeniable that a part of you hoped to win. then again, it's never that easy. your body didn't listen to your mind as your eyes started to get blurry. no, you told yourself. you're not going to cry just because you lost.

you quickly grabbed the handkerchief in your purse. but before you could even stop it, you felt the wet tears on your cheeks. "oh no," you mumbled. you dabbed the cloth gently on your cheeks, careful as ever not to ruin your make-up. you then felt a warm hand rest on your back. you didn't need to look up to know who it was. benito's thumb caressed your spine while he looked straight at the stage, sending electric signals through your whole body.

you couldn't help but chuckle. you found your situation laughable. it's like, your whole time at the grammys was nothing but embarrassing yourself in front of big stars. and benito was the last person you expect to comfort you like this. he is the hope of the latin community, and you were just... a tiktok trend. and yet here he is, offering his handkerchief, lending his hand to comfort you. you're just a lucky fan.

once the cheering has settled down and all of you are seated, you scoot your chair closer to benito. “thank you,” you started, capturing the attention of the latino. “for this…” you held the handkerchief up. “… and that.” you gestured at his hand that are now resting on his lap. he stared at you for a while, studying you. then he spoke, “de nada. i’m just helping out a fellow artist.” you nodded in understanding. “i’ll return your handkerchief. don’t worry,” you added. if i’m lucky enough to get back here. benito silently laughed, his shoulders bouncing lightly. “está bien. you can keep it.” you felt your heart flutter at how cool he seemed.

“no please. my conscience wouldn’t let me if i just go home with bad bunny’s handkerchief. i feel like i don’t deserve it,” you awkwardly bit your lip. that must’ve been the longest thing you’ve said to him tonight. he dipped his head slightly back to face you, and you thought that’s the most attractive thing he’s ever done. “it’s fine really. don’t worry about it.” before you could even respond, harry styles had already appeared on stage. it was time for the most anticipated and final award of the night, the album of the year.

nominees are introduced and you could practically feel benito’s nervousness radiate off of him. “i think your album is the best one,” you whisper to him, thinking it’d calm his nerves. he whispered a thank you back and kept his eyes glued on the stage. you let out a huff as you gaze at his back. you listened to bad bunny’s music a lot, you could say you’re a fan, despite it being in a language you don’t understand. but his music alone was enough for you to feel it, regardless of language. “and the grammy goes to…” harry styles’ voice snapped you back to reality. your heart was beating so fast, as if you’re one of the nominees… or maybe it’s because you’re nervous for benito too.

harry styles opened the envelope and wasted no time annoucing it, “bad bunny: DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS.” cheers and claps louder than ever filled the whole arena. you clapped so hard you’re sure it’s gonna sting the next day. benito on the other hand, was still sitting, wiping his tears, and processing the fact that he just won ‘album of the year’ as his song, DtMF, was playing on the background.

you felt bold and decided to lend him a comforting hand, caressing his back like he did for you. you felt some eyes drift towards you, they must’ve been confused as to who you are touching the star of the night like that, but you didn’t care. all you care about was wanting to reciprocate the kindness he gave you. once he stood up, he gave you a slight bow of gratitude before walking up to the stage. you pursed your lips as you watch him, the emotions surging through you and at some point, the camera panned to you dabbing your face with benito’s handkerchief.

benito gave a beautiful speech in spanish, dedicating it to his people and country, thanking God, his family, and the people who believed in him. then, he switched to english, “i wanna dedicate this award… to all the people who had to leave their homeland, their country, to follow their dreams.” you sniffed, his message resonating with you. he continued his speech, sending a beautiful message to every latinos. once he finished, his eyes drifted to you. he lifted his award, his gaze not leaving you.

once he’s back in his seat, many artists near you congratulated benito, leaving you no choice but to set yourself aside. when you saw an opening, you scooted beside him again. “congratulations, um…” you trailed off, unsure of what to call him. “benito,” he said, giving you permission to call him by his first name. “right, benito… uh, that was amazing, by the way. you’re amazing, like, always. i knew you’d win,” you blabbered so much you wish you could just tape your own mouth shut. “congratulations to you too, (y/n).” the way your name rolled off his tongue made you weak in the knees. you were gaping at him in surprise. he chuckles at your expression, holding out a finger to your chin and gently closing your mouth, “be careful. a mosquito might fly inside.” your eyes widen. how many times am i going to embarrass myself in front of him?

“here.” he pushes the trophy over to you. “what?” you look at him, bewildered. “tócalo,” he simply stated. you only stared at him, patiently waiting for a translation which he didn’t give. he only nodded, pointing at the gramophone. you shook your head, completely not understanding what he meant. “you flew all the way here. you could at least touch the trophy, no?” he finally clarified. “oh…” you stared at the award in front of you. you were so close in bringing one home, yet it was out of your reach. benito is right, you drained all your savings just to attend an awarding with no guarantee of winning. the least you could do is touch the trophy that you could only dream of having.

you finally touched the cold metal, sending shivers down your spine. your tears were resurfacing once again. gulping the lump forming in your throat, you look up at through blurry eyes. you wanted to thank him for all the things he’s done tonight. he barely knew you— heck, you’re not even in his level and yet… and yet he took great care of you. a woman with big dreams who just got lucky. you finally opened your quivering mouth, speaking in your own language, “thank you.”

"Thinking about changing your bet?"

A voice to your left breaks you from your concentration on the homemade betting board on the wall, causing you to glance over and find none other than the ED's newest attending, Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi.

Shifting your attention forward again, you rub your fingers together before responding.

"I'm just...weighing my odds."

In your peripheral vision, you see her look back at the board and then to you before claiming, "Don't worry. I'll...buy you a drink with my winnings."

You barely register what she says before she's walking off and sporting a confident smirk, like she's speaking a fact and not a possibility.

Turning around with a look of curiosity, you watch her disappear down the hallway and think to yourself, What the hell just happened?

—

At the end of that shift, Baran does end up winning the pool, much to everyone's surprise. You briefly think back to her promise when she locks eyes with you across the group but you put it out of your mind as you head to your locker to change and gather your things.

On your way out to your car, you're looking down at your phone, trying to figure out what playlist to listen to when she falls into step beside you.

"Told you I'd win."

Her casual tone pulls your attention as the two of you walk in sync towards the parking lot.

Even in casual street clothes, she still has a confident air about her; hands casually tucked in her pants pockets, a light smirk still playing on her lips.

You purse your lips in response, still trying to figure out what she's getting at. "So you said…"

Nodding in realization, you continue, "Congratulations, by the way. First day and coming home with a wad of cash has to feel good."

Baran chuckles, shaking her head slightly. "Money's not why I played."

Glancing at you sideways, her distractingly long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks from the light pole above. "I just like proving people wrong."

She jerks her head across the parking lot, stating, "I have to get home, but I was serious about taking you out for that drink."

With that clarification lingering in the air, she asserts, "Let me know when you want to collect. And don't take too long—I don't like waiting."

She turns to walk toward her car without waiting for your answer, that same confident smile playing on her lips, clearly enjoying this little game.

You're rooted to your spot, dumbfounded at her forwardness but unable to deny your attraction to it. After a moment, you spin on your heel and make your way to your own car, laughing in disbelief at the turn your night took.

The universe seemed like it decided to toy with you after that, for you and Baran didn't have a matching free night for the next couple of months. Last Friday night, you had both arranged to meet up but her son suddenly got sick and she had to cancel, to which you completely understood and told her you'd see at work the next morning.

Now a week later, you're starting to think you might never get that drink, which disappoints you more than you expected.

The day seems to drag on, and by the time the end of your shift slowly approaches, you're ready to just go home and fall into bed. However, as you're sitting in the break room drinking a cup of coffee, a figure walks through the door and leans against the wall beside you.

Looking up, you find Baran standing there, an enigmatic smile on her face.

"Mind if I join you?"

Too curious to decline, you simply nod, sipping from your cup and waiting to see what she has to say.

Baran pulls out the chair beside yours and sits down, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap. She regards you for a moment, seeming to gather her thoughts before speaking.

"I think you're avoiding me."

Caught off guard, you nearly choke on your coffee, quickly setting the cup down and clearing your throat. "I wouldn't say that. Last week didn't work out, and really, our schedules just...haven't lined up."

She shakes her head in return.

"That's not what I meant, I know that's out of both of our hands. But even outside of that, it seems like every time I walk in the room, you suddenly have to be somewhere else."

You don't know what to say.

She isn't wrong necessarily—you have been getting pulled away to cases that aren't hers, but subconsciously, you've also been avoiding any that she's already on, and you can't explain why.

"If I came on too strong by telling you I'd buy you a drink, I apologize. My intention was never to make you uncomfortable."

Baran's expression shifts to a softer one, one you haven't been privy to yet, and it slithers through a crack in your carefully crafted facade.

Feeling a bit guilty, now it's your turn to apologize. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry I made you feel like I've been avoiding you, I've just been...distracted, to say the least."

You see a look of intrigue flash across her gaze, but she doesn't comment further.

Shifting to stand, she pushes her chair in before wrapping both hands around the edge of it and staring directly at you. "If you're still interested, I'm free tonight. My son will be at my sister's for a sleepover, so I'll be free of any...distractions."

With that, she leaves the break room and re-enters the chaos of the ED, leaving you with your mind whirling and a tingling feeling in your stomach.

The rest of your shift passes by in a blur, thoughts stuck on an expressive pair of brown eyes and a knowing smile. You don't see Baran as you make your way out of the hospital and you don't want to ask anyone if they've seen her, afraid of drawing any attention or gossip.

Sliding into the driver's seat of your car, you begin tapping into Spotify's search bar to look for a specific song when you pause. Before you can change your mind, you open up your messages app and type out a text to Baran, telling you're free to meet up tonight.

Picking a song and locking your phone, you turn your engine on and shift into reverse when your phone lights up with a notification from her.

You press your foot on the brake, instantly unlocking your phone and reading her reply.

[Baran Al-Hashimi] Perfect. See you at 9:30, I'll send you the address.

The typing bubble pops up for a second before the link to a fancy looking bar appears, and you exhale deeply. Glancing at the clock on your dash, you see it reads 7:32 and realize you have less than two hours to go home, get ready, and head over.

Liking both messages, you put your phone back on its mount and back out of your parking spot, nervously drumming your fingers on the steering wheel the entire drive home.

Once there, you strip out of your work clothes and step into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin and immediately helping you unwind. You wash the day—and the nerves—from your body, mentally going through your wardrobe and trying to think of something that will gain her approval.

When you're sufficiently clean, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel. In your room, you stand in front of your closet, contemplating what to wear. You want to look good, of course, but you also don't want to seem like you're trying too hard.

Tossing multiple options on your bed and speed testing all of them, you finally settle on a combination you've somehow never worn before. You check yourself in the mirror, loving the way the fabric settles over your figure and decide that this is the one. Checking the time on your phone, you see that you have just enough time to finish getting ready and take a deep breath before heading to the bathroom.

—

You arrive ten minutes early, your nerves getting the better of you and wanting to ensure Baran wouldn't be left waiting. Taking a moment to look around the room, you don't see her and let out a quiet sigh of relief before heading to the bar.

When you give the bartender your order and he turns away to make your drink, it gives you time to actually look around the bar.

It's a classy joint with warm lighting and expensive looking bottles, and the patrons are all your age or older, wearing clothes that you don't have to see the labels of to know they cost a pretty penny—exactly the kind of place you picture Baran frequenting.

The bartender sliding your glass across the counter breaks you from your reverie and you hand him your card before taking a sip, letting the alcohol slip down your throat and settle your nerves.

Watching the clock on the wall in front of you creep closer to 9:30 has your nerves flaring anew, and at the same time the big hand strikes the 6, the bar door opens. Your head whips around to see the woman you've been waiting for walk into the room, and your jaw clenches at the sight.

Baran's curls are loose around her face and her signature scrubs have been replaced with a sleeveless, low cut top that showcase a tasteful amount of cleavage, paired with flowy yet form fitting slacks—much to your approval. The closer she gets, you also notice her makeup is a bit more dramatic and that it emphasizes how beautiful her eyes are.

Eyes that are locked onto you and giving you an appreciative once over when she reaches your place at the bar.

"This seat taken?"

You blink at the question before looking down at the empty chair beside you and cracking a smile, gaze finding her amused one and answering, "All yours."

She slides onto it in one fluid motion before flashing a smile at the bartender and catching his attention. He comes over immediately and takes her order of an espresso martini before disappearing to make it.

You're too busy watching the effortless way she moves to register that she said something until she laughs and shakes her head, causing heat to lick at the back of your neck.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said you clean up nicely. I thought the scrubs were a good look on you but I think I might like this one even more."

You have to look away at the compliment, her unabashed gaze doing nothing to quell the warmth settling in your stomach. Taking another sip from your drink, you set it down before making eye contact with Baran and mentally telling yourself to relax.

"Thank you, I can't remember the last time I had a reason to get this dressed up. But you look…"

Your eyes dip down to rake over her outfit, taking in all of the little details that showcase how much effort she put into it—for you.

"...Incredible."

Looking back up, you clear your throat when you see the knowing look on her face.

"To say the least."

She smiles at your honesty, crossing her legs as the bartender appears with her drink. She thanks him and swiftly pays before turning to give you her full attention once again.

Raising her glass in your direction, you clink it with yours and you both take a sip, keeping eye contact throughout.

"I'm glad we were finally able to do this," she remarks, and you nod in response.

"Yeah, I think we both deserve a night to just…relax."

She cocks her head just slightly, regarding you with a look she's given you plenty of times in the ED, and you swallow lightly.

I'm so screwed.

—

Less than an hour later, both of your glasses sit empty and Baran flags down the bartender again before turning to you.

"What are you drinking?"

You give the man your order and she adds on another espresso martini, to which you tease her for being basic.

"Excuse you, I was ordering these far before they became popular," she laughs. "It's not my fault my palette is so advanced that everyone else decided to copy it."

Raising your hands in surrender, you reply, "Whatever you say."

When the bartender appears again with your glasses in hand, you reach for your wallet before feeling a hand stop you.

Looking up, you find Baran shaking her head before stating, "I said I'd buy you a drink, remember?"

The action shouldn't affect you as much as it does, but your stomach still flips as she shoots you a smile and pulls out her own card to give to the man. Cheersing again, you continue your previous conversation about hobbies and what you both like to do in your minimal free time.

By now, your knee is fully pressed against hers and you can feel her warmth through the fabric of her slacks. You try not to focus on it too much, even when she shifts forward to move further into your personal space.

Without thinking, you match her movement like you're being physically pulled in, and soon, your foot is settling on the bar of her chair and brushing against her calf. Baran hooks her own foot behind your ankle and keeps it there, rubbing against the back of it as your heart stutters in your chest.

She then stares into your eyes before licking her lips and parting them slightly.

"Can I be honest?"

Nodding gingerly, you shift your weight before sitting up a bit straighter as she continues.

"From my first day in the ED, I thought you were…magnetic."

Your breath catches at her admission, fingers tightening around your glass as her words sink in. Baran maintains eye contact, completely unapologetic about laying all of her cards on the table.

A slow smile spreads across your face despite yourself. "Magnetic?"

She hums in confirmation, swirling the remnants of her drink before taking the final sip. "I don't make a habit of going after coworkers, especially ones that work under me," she adds, placing the empty glass down with a soft clink, "but you've made me reconsider that policy."

The way she says it so matter-of-factly makes your pulse kick up another notch.

Deciding it's now or never, you lean in and lower your voice just slightly. "Well, to be honest...I wouldn't mind you making an exception for me."

Baran's lips curl into that smirk you've becoming addicted to as she shifts forward to match your proximity. "Is that so?"

Before you can answer, her phone vibrates loudly against the bar top, breaking the moment. She exhales sharply through her nose but checks it nonetheless and you watch her expression soften slightly before she locks it again.

"Problem?" you ask, trying to mask your disappointment.

She shakes her head. "Just my sister checking in." Setting the phone aside, she redirects her full attention back to you. "Now, where were we?"

You grin, emboldened by your joint confessions and the undeniable chemistry between you. "Discussing workplace policies, I believe."

Baran laughs, a rich sound that makes your stomach swoop. "Right."

Her hand moves to your knee then, lightly tracing shapes over it as her voice drops again. A few moments pass before she speaks, and her tone is nothing short of arousing.

"I've always been the type of person that goes after what I want."

She catches the way your eyes darken before adding, "And I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

Her admission hits you like a freight train, the heat of her hand on your leg feeling like a brand against your skin. You swallow hard, trying to keep your breathing even as you meet her gaze, the air between you crackling with tension.

Her hand slowly inches higher, dragging lazily along your inner thigh, and your brain nearly shorts out. Your voice comes out huskier than intended when you finally reply, "Is that so?"

She hums in confirmation, fingers stopping just millimeters short of where you really want them.

"Tell me you want this too…"

The demand coupled with the heat in her eyes sends a jolt through your core and whatever resolve you have left crumbles into a million pieces.

You lean in, your breath mingling with hers, and whisper, "I do. I want you."

Gulping, you prepare for the press of her lips against yours and your pulse starts racing.

Something clatters behind the bar then and the both of you are suddenly reminded that you're still in public, Baran dropping her forehead onto your shoulder and giggling softly as your heart pounds in your chest.

When she sits back, her eyes bounce between yours and find whatever it is she's looking for before asking, "Did you drive here?"

Licking your lips distractedly, you reply, "Yeah, I'm parked right outside. Did you?"

She shakes her head. "Would you like to continue this somewhere else?"

You don't even hesitate. Tossing some extra cash onto the bar, you stand and extend your hand to her. She slides hers into your grasp and immediately, your fingers curl around hers with surprising possessiveness.

The walk to your car feels charged, every brush of her hip against yours sending sparks down your spine. When you unlock the doors, Baran wastes no time slipping into the passenger seat and turning toward you. "So, where are you taking me?"

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you start the engine. "My place. Ten minutes away."

She hums in approval, letting her fingers settle over your upper thigh. "Perfect."

You barely register the drive, every red light feeling like torture as her fingertips trace idle patterns higher and higher along your leg.

By the time you pull along the curb in front of your building, your knuckles are gripping the wheel so tight they've probably left dents. Before you can even turn off the engine, Baran leans over the center console, her lips grazing your ear.

"You're sure about this?"

The question is merely a formality—both of you know the answer already. Turning your head, you catch her mouth in a searing kiss, your hand tangling in her hair as she lets out a breathy laugh against your lips.

"Take me inside," she murmurs, and you don’t need to be told twice.

—

Leading her through your front door, you slam it shut before wrapping an arm around the small of her back and pulling her in for another intense kiss. Her hands snake around your neck as you back her up against the nearest wall, pinning her in place as you devour the little moans falling from her parted lips.

For the next several minutes, the two of you get lost in each other, savoring every noise of passion that spills into the space between your bodies.

You then grab each of her hands and intertwine your fingers before planting them on the wall above her. She rolls her hips against yours in protest, a cocky smile stretching across your lips as you dip your head to begin nipping at her jaw.

Deciding not to torture her for too long, your hands soon move to slide under her thighs and lift her off the hardwood floor. Catching on, she hooks her legs around your waist while you carry her towards your bedroom, mouths never separating.

Just before you reach the bed, Baran suddenly drops down from your grip and causes you to stumble as you try to balance yourself. She cups the back of your head with one hand to rejoin your lips as the other begins fiddling with the waistband of your bottoms.

"Ha! Wait, I wanted—"

"Uh-uh," she cuts you off. "Need to taste you. Now."

Your eyes follow as she drops to her knees and begins dragging the fabric covering your legs down to the floor, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.

"Baran…" you exhale shakily, her mouth sending you into a trance and scattering your thoughts.

"Yes?" She teases against your hip before curling her fingers into the edge of your underwear.

Whatever you had planned to say dies on your lips when she pulls one side down and exposes your hip, pressing an open mouthed kiss over the bone before sticking her tongue out and dragging it along your pelvis to end just above your twitching clit. *

"Oh f-fuck," you breath, one of your hands shooting out to hold her head in place as your hips buck upwards.

A chuckle vibrates against your skin as she looks up at you through thick lashes, mouth still planted right above where you need her most and driving you insane.

"Impatient?" she asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Your fingers curl against her scalp in response. "Fuck, can you just—"

Before you can finish your sentence, her tongue is suddenly circling your pulsing clit, sending a shudder through your limbs.

"Oh my god," you gasp, head dropping back as your eyes squeeze shut.

"Keep your eyes on me or I'll stop," she instructs, and you manage to raise your head and look down to meet her gaze. Your lips part as her eyes lock onto yours, the intensity of it all almost too much to bear.

You feel her tongue drag around the perimeter of your now swollen bud a few times before it dips lower to prod at the fluttering entrance of your pussy. Hissing in response, you don't get a chance to say anything else before her wet muscle makes its way inside you and sharply curls upwards.

"Ah!"

Over the next few minutes, she builds up to a steady pace, holding back just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. You reach down to grip the side of her face, needing to feel her even more.

"God, Baran…faster."

Her hands slide up to hold your hips, keeping you firmly in place and announcing that she has no intention of relenting just yet. The tip of her tongue circles gently around your clit again, just enough to tease and leave you aching for more. She begins to lick you in tight, deliberate circles, occasionally flicking over the most sensitive section at the very base.

You can't help the sharp inhale that escapes you, one hand tangled tightly in her hair and the other gripping hers so hard you might break a bone.

"Shit," you breathe, "Just, just—"

"Just what?"

She raises a brow, lips completely detaching from your cunt and hovering just above where you want her.

Your hand leaves hers to press against the top of her head, and she laughs as you try to push her back down, before declaring, "Come on, use your words like a grown up."

"Don't do that," you huff, voice a little strained. "You're being—Ah!"

The feeling of her teeth quickly dragging over your clit sends a jolt of electricity down your legs and you jerk backwards.

"I said, use your words."

Her fingers dig into your hips as she tilts her head back up to meet your gaze, her lopsided grin downright sinful. The flick of her tongue over her bottom lip—now glistening with you—nearly makes you collapse right then and there.

You bite back a groan before exhaling, "Fine. Will you...will you please fuck me?"

She merely raises a brow, clearly enjoying every second of this power play. Then, just when you think she’ll finally give in, she leans forward and presses a single, chaste kiss to your inner thigh before whispering against your skin.

"Beg for it."

Your knees almost buckle as your fingers tighten in her hair, equal parts frustration and desperation coiling in your gut.

"You're fucking killing me," you complain, but the effect is ruined by the way your hips twitch forward, chasing her mouth.

Her laugh is low, taunting. "And yet here you are."

Staring at her as your chest heaves, you decide to swallow whatever pride you have and groan out, "Please, Baran, can you fuck me with your tongue, I'm begging you!"

You catch the way her pupils blow wider before she surges forward and licks a long, filthy stripe up your dripping cunt.

"There," you whine, arching into it.

She moans against you, the vibration wringing a cry from your throat as she finally—finally—starts to fuck you in earnest.

Your hips roll forward to match the thrusts of her tongue as you shakily gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail as she seems to devour you whole.

"Fuck, god, you feel—you feel so good," you groan.

She lets out a guttural hum of agreement that has you clutching at the back of her neck, the sound reverberating through your body in waves.

Her fingers dig harder into your hips as she doubles down; alternating between deep, purposeful thrusts of her tongue and tight, circling motions around your clit.

You swear you see stars when she suddenly slips two fingers inside, curling them just right as her tongue presses flat against your clit.

"Shit, I'm—"

The rest is lost in a strangled cry as you come apart, her name tumbling from your lips in a broken litany while she drinks up every last drop of your orgasm.

When she pulls back after your last aftershock has subsided, lips and chin glistening with your essence, her smirk is downright predatory.

"Now that was worth waiting for."

You blink at her, completely lost for words, but you don't have time to think of a response because she's rising to her feet and her lips are suddenly back on yours, kissing you fiercely and making you taste yourself on her tongue. You respond with everything you have, one hand cupping the back of her neck and pulling her flush against you while the other slips over her ass and squeezes.

It's not long before you're both panting, foreheads pressed together, struggling to catch your breath.

Feeling the cool air hit the wetness smeared across the bottom half of your face, you're struck with another bout of energy and surge forward to reconnect your mouths as you press Baran into your mattress.

She lets you push her onto her back, sinking into the sheets as she drags you down with her, her hands roaming over whatever part of you she can reach while your lips trail across her jaw.

When your mouth reaches her ear and you bite down, she lets out a hiss that sends a shiver down your spine.

"You're wearing too many clothes," you breathe.

Her eyes lock on your mouth as she raises one eyebrow in response before grabbing the hem of her top and sitting up just enough to pull it over her head, leaving her chest completely bare aside from the long, gold pendant sitting between her breasts.

There's a pause as you rake your gaze over her pert nipples and toned stomach before she prompts, "Staring now, are we?"

Snapping your attention back up to meet brown eyes that are now heavily lidded with arousal, you answer simply, "Trying to decide where to start first."

She leans back on her elbows, tilting her head to the side as she gives you an amused look.

"Take your time."

Your gaze drops to her navel and the small diamond stud nestled inside it before you murmur, "Beautiful."

Baran's answering laugh is breathy, and you slowly bring a hand up to feel it for yourself. She shudders initially before relaxing as your fingers then ghost over the swell of her breasts, her stomach, and eventually trail down to the closure of her slacks.

"You seem to be wearing a lot of clothes too," she comments breezily, her breathing a little less controlled than usual when your eyes meet again.

She sits up to reach for your shirt, but you stop her hand with your own, causing her to raise an eyebrow in question before you explain with a smirk of your own.

"Not yet."

Baran smiles at the hint of authority in your tone, leaning back onto the bed and letting her arm drop away, hands settling on her own stomach in waiting.

"Patience," you tease, eyes raking over the length of her body as you slowly rise to your knees. "It's a virtue, I've heard."

The doctor's thighs are pressed together but you can still see the subtle movement of her muscles as she clenches them in response to the look on your face. Her breath noticeably hitches when you settle your hands on her knees and begin to nudge them apart, doe eyes watching you intently.

Neither of you speak as you slide her pants down toned legs and toss them somewhere behind you to be dealt with later. You keep your touch feather-light as you drag your palms up the insides of her thighs, pushing her legs open and spreading them wider.

Baran's eyes flutter briefly before they fixate on your face again.

Your gaze then drops to the damp spot staining the front of her cream colored underwear, and a satisfied grin spreads across your face.

"Seems like you're not the only one who's getting impatient."

She merely rolls her eyes in response, but the rise and fall of her chest captures your attention. Glancing up, your eyes lock with Baran and stay there as you lean down and take an erect nipple in your mouth before swirling your tongue around it.

Her sharp inhale echoes in your ears as she arches up into your mouth, hands hooking around the back of your neck.

"Ah..."

Letting it go with a quiet pop, you kiss around it until you find a sensitive area just under it and suckle at the skin there.

Baran whimpers at the feeling, and you suck harder for a few moments before pulling back, leaving a cloud shaped bruise behind.

You hum appreciatively against her skin before moving to the other breast and repeating the action, leaving both of them glistening with saliva and littered with hickeys as you sit back up.

Scooting back a bit, you lean down further and begin kissing along her toned stomach until you reach the waistband of her underwear. Peering up through your lashes, you spot her biting her lip as her chest rises and falls quickly.

"You're gorgeous," you murmur against the soft skin of her hipbone before dragging her underwear down and tossing them aside.

Baran lifts her hips to assist you, letting out a soft sigh when you settle between her legs and grip the back of each thigh firmly. She props herself up on her elbows just as you lean in and press an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, teasingly close to where she wants you.

Her breath catches in her throat, hands fisting the sheets as she watches you intently, waiting for you to put your mouth on her properly. You smirk to yourself before flicking your tongue out to lick a stripe up her dripping slit, and she jolts beneath you with a gasp.

"Oh!"

Grinning, you pull back slightly to admire your handiwork—her wetness glistening against her skin—before diving back in with enthusiasm.

Baran’s fingers immediately tangle in your hair, guiding—not forcing—you exactly where she wants you as your tongue laps at her folds in slow, deliberate strokes. You can feel the tension coiling in her muscles with each pass, her thighs trembling against your palms as you tease her clit with the tip of your tongue before pulling away again, denying her consistent pleasure.

She lets out a frustrated groan, and you glance up at her as you murmur, "Problem?"

Her nail sink into your skin just enough to sting and she glares down at you in irritation before growling, "You know damn well what my problem is."

Eyes widening in faux-innocence, you state, "You'll have to be more specific," and she nearly growls again as she snaps, "Stop teasing me and just—"

You cut her off with a hum before licking into her with renewed resolve. You keep your arms firmly wrapped around her thighs when she whimpers and bucks against you, but you don't hold her as tightly as you would have just to make a point—she's going to get exactly what you want to give her, for as long as you feel like giving it.

"Ugh, you're so—oh shit—"

Your name leaves her mouth on a strangled groan, and you're not sure if she's cursing at you or calling out to the heavens as you suck and lick at her clit with expert precision.

One of her hands scrambles to grip at the pillow above her head before reaching for the one beside it, and you're surprised by how flexible she is when her body arches into you with each motion of your mouth.

Just when she’s about to come undone, you suddenly pull away, ignoring her frustrated whimper, and slide up her body to claim her lips in a bruising kiss. She moans into your mouth at the taste of herself, hips canting up against yours desperately.

"Tell me what you want," you murmur against her lips, fingertips skating down her stomach to hover just above where she’s throbbing.

Her voice is wrecked when she rasps, "You—inside me—"

"Like this?" you whisper, sliding two fingers inside her pussy and feeling the way it clenches around them.

"Oh—"

Her head drops back and you attach your lips to her neck to suck at the hollow of her throat, relishing her whine and the way her body responds instinctively to your touch.

Baran’s breath comes in sharp gasps as you slowly curl your fingers, teasing her inner walls with deliberate strokes. She arches beneath you, nails digging into your shoulders as her hips roll desperately against your hand.

“More,” she demands, voice ragged.

You hum against her pulse point before adding a third finger, stretching her deliciously tight cunt as her thighs tremble against yours. Her gasp is sharp—pleasure bordering on pain—before she melts into the sensation, her body adjusting eagerly.

"Fuck, yes!"

The way she clenches around you is sinful, her slick arousal coating your fingers as you quicken your pace.

You watch as Baran’s back bows off the bed, her moans climbing higher with every thrust of your quick digits. Her thighs clamp around your wrist as her hips jerk erratically, chasing the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” you command, voice rough with want.

Her dark eyes snap open, pupils blown wide as she locks onto your gaze.

“Cum for me,” you husk, pressing your sweaty forehead against hers, curling your fingers just right—

And she shatters.

Baran's cry is raw as her orgasm crashes through her, body seizing around your fingers while you fuck her through it relentlessly. You drink in every twitch, every gasp, until she’s limp beneath you, chest heaving.

Only then do you slow, easing her down with gentle strokes before finally pulling out.

Trying to control her breathing, she watches through hooded eyes as you bring your glistening fingers to your mouth, making a show of sucking them clean one by one. The sight makes her clench around nothing, a shiver running through her oversensitive body.

"Shit," she groans, still catching her breath, "That was..."

You grin down at her, brushing a damp curl from her forehead. "Worth the wait?"

She laughs breathlessly, hands finding your hips as she pulls you down on top of her to bury her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

"That, and then some," she murmurs against your skin.

Her lips begin to trail lazily along your throat, finding a sensitive spot behind your ear that makes you shudder. Suddenly, her knee nudges your thighs apart to slot her own between them so you can feel her wetness against your own.

Breath hitching, you hear her hum against your skin in a pleased tone.

"Still up for more?" you ask, voice more strained than you expect as you rock against her thigh experimentally.

Her lips graze along your jawline as she huffs in agreement, a hand gliding down your side to squeeze your hip.

"I've been anticipating tonight for some time now," she starts, turning your head with a finger under your chin to look directly at her. A shiver runs down your spine at the intent in her eyes, and you can't help but grind against her leg more firmly.

Her smile is hungry as she rolls the two of you over to press you into the mattress, hovering above you teasingly. She pins your wrists above your head with one of her hands, keeping your chin in place with the other as her plush lips move along your collarbone.

"And I intend on taking full advantage."

You tried not to appear too eager as you bound towards him, folding yourself into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, one of his brawny hands slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt, squeezing the softness of your haunch. “I'm sure dinner was delicious, baby. Sorry I missed it.”

“S’okay.” You nestled further into him, resting your head on his broad chest, the heavy thump thump thump of his heart soothing some of your concern. He was Captain America, he would be fine missing a meal.

But you missed him. Like, really missed him.

“It'll get better soon,” he murmured, placing a mollifying kiss to your forehead. “Maybe we’ll take a vacation.”

You huffed a laugh. “A vacation? SHIELD would fall apart without you.”

“Yeah,” he heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Sure seems that way lately.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it seemed he was more stressed than you realized. So you lapsed into silence, savoring his presence and hoping your company could offer him a bit of comfort too.

His hand continued to knead your haunch and thigh, moving absently along the curves of your body, unaware of the heat his touch, his proximity, was stirring in your belly.

You pressed your lips to his neck, trailing your fingers along his chest, feeling the muscles flex and soften with his breath. He smelled divine, masculine and clean from his post-work shower, his skin deliciously warm under your lips.

You couldn't help yourself, kissing him again and again, each press more sugared than the last, working your way up to that sensitive spot by his ear. One you knew made him melt every time.

“Baby,” he said, sensing your intention before you actually made contact. “I need to concentrate.”

“So concentrate,” you replied, laving your tongue where his pulse thrummed under his jaw.

His grip tightened on your thigh, azure eyes fluttering closed. “If I don't get this done, Fury is going to make me work a triple.”

“Better get it done then,” you hummed, nipping at his earlobe.

He chuckled, shaking his head, but didn't tell you to stop—not explicitly, at least. So you persisted, kissing downward until you reached his collarbones, nursing a mark just under his neckline. It would be healed in an hour or two, but the desired effect was all the same, if the throbbing hardness pressing against your hip was any indication.

“Y/n,” he warned, voice rough around the edges. Frustrated. “Have a little mercy.”

“M’not doing anything,” you mumbled, tracing a heart on his chest with your finger.

“Of course not,” he cooed, resting his forehead against yours, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “You’re a perfect angel.”

“I just think maybe you could use a break,” you said, dragging your fingertips lower to toy with the waistband of his sweats.

“That's very considerate of you, doll.” He leaned back in his seat, hips thrusting up to center you on his lap. “But I really need to get this done.”

“Are you telling me Captain America can't multitask?” You teased, sliding your hand beneath his waistband to palm his pulsing length.

A hiss broke through his teeth, head knocking back against his chair. “You’re insatiable.”

You stroked him lightly, long, languid pulls that had his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, velveteen skin feverish to the touch.

“I've been neglecting you, haven't I?” He asked, rolling his head to look at you.

In lieu of an answer, you guided his paw from your hip to the crux of your thighs, pressing his fingers against your sodden, bare pussy.

His eyes darkened, black pupils eclipsing the cornflower blue. “What a grave oversight on my part,” he purred. In a blink, you were straddling his lap, the thick ridge of his cock pressing against your heat.

“Shit, Steve,” you gasped, clutching his shoulders, hips rocking against his on instinct.

He tightened his hold on your thighs, just enough to still you. “Ah, ah,” he clicked his tongue. “You think I'm rewarding this kind of behavior?”

Your heart skipped a beat, pussy fluttering at the dominant edge to his voice. It wasn't often Steve went full dom, but when he did…phew.

“Here's what we're going to do.” He grasped your jaw, forcing you to hold his gaze. “I'm going to finish this report, and you are going to sit on this cock until I'm done.”

“But—”

“And you will not move a goddamn muscle,” he finished.

Holy shit. You were practically a puddle in his lap, helpless under the weight of his authority. Submitting like a rabbit in the maw of a wolf. “Yes, Captain,” you breathed.

He smirked, pulling you in for a brief, but lush kiss. “Lift your hips, baby.”

You obeyed while he freed himself from his sweats. His cock was an angry pink, precum beading from the slit as it throbbed in his hand.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, the fist of his cockhead feeling extra huge after a few days without it, the stretch bright and burning.

“So goddamn tight, doll. Droolin’ all over me,” he panted, gripping your hips to take some of your weight off your trembling thighs.

“Did you get an extra dose of serum? Fuck,” you whined. Felt like you could feel him in your fucking throat, so full you could choke on it.

When your weight fully settled into him, a pleased sort of rumble resounded from his chest. “Bite off a little more than you can chew?” He chuckled, massaging your clenched thighs to help you relax. “What happened to my cock-hungry girl?”

“She's full,” you moaned, already struggling to not grind your hips against him, loving the fullness, but craving the glide.

He laughed again, the movement of his chest giving you momentary relief. “She certainly is. Always take me so well, sweetheart,” he praised, guiding your head to his shoulder and placing a few tender kisses to your temple. “Now be good f’me, and I promise you'll get what you want,” he said, smoothing a hand down your spine.

You nodded, trying to take more regular breaths as you melted into his chest, walls slowly softening around his cock.

“Just like that, doll. Good girl,” he praised. You heard the file slide across his desk, his writing arm starting to move, and just like that, he was working again. Balls deep in your sopping pussy.

You felt yourself flutter around him at the thought of him turning the report in to Fury, knowing what had been happening while he completed it. His cock kicked in response to your internal movements, and you muffled a moan into his neck.

“Shh,” he soothed, free hand coming up to pet your hair.

Minutes ticked by, five, ten, twenty, your mind struggling to think of anything but Steve's length digging into your guts, the steady thump of his heart, the balmy warmth of his skin. Steve seemed entirely unaffected, despite his cock not flagging even an ounce, scribbling away on his stupid little report.

Damn serum.

Your clit was mashed against his pelvic bone, the tiniest movement from either of you would send you reeling, growing more sensitive as time ticked by.

Trying to be sneaky, you took an extra deep breath, hips moving the tiniest bit. But it felt like a bolt of lightening through your lower belly, and your stifled gasp of pleasure gave you away.

Steve jerked his hips up, hitting so deep it bordered on painful, and you yelped, thighs clenching around him. “I know. I know it's hard, baby,” he cooed, the saccharine edge of his voice bordering on mocking. “But you can take it.”

“How much longer?” you whimpered, fists curling in his shirt.

He shuffled some papers. “Five pages.”

You groaned, and he surged inside of you again.

“Can feel that, you know,” he chided. “When you speak, breathe. Every time your heart beats. Every little twitch and flutter—” His words caused your walls to clench around him, and he made a strangled grunt in his throat.

Perhaps he wasn't as unaffected as he let on.

“I knew you liked when I talked to you, but fuck—feeling just how much is driving me crazy,” he huffed. Buried his face in your shoulder to nip at your pulse. “You drive me crazy.”

“Steve, I can't—” you whimpered, shaking with the effort of keeping still.

His thighs flexed beneath you, muscles coiling tight like he was battling the same urges. “God, you sound so pretty,” he groaned, big hands gripping your ass. Report abandoned.

Just another little nudge—”Stevie, please.”

Oh, you sounded so pitiful. All broken and shrill, fucked out before he'd even started.

And he folded.

“Fuck it—I’ll skip my run in the morning.” He dragged your body forward, grinding you on his cock like a toy, and you keened, the relief exhilarating, bone-meltingly sweet. “Always get your goddamn way, huh? Spoiled brat—” He tossed you up onto the desk like you weighed nothing at all, caging you under his Herculean body as he pounded into you. “Got me wrapped around your little finger.”

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes!” You chanted, clinging to him as your orgasm hit you like a train, blasting through you without warning and sending you into orbit. Stars bursting like fireworks behind your eyes as you soared.

“That's it, sweetheart. So good f’me—feels so—fuck!” He tipped over the edge with you, pumping you so full it ached. “Satisfied now, doll?” He huffed when he came down, head dropping into the crook of your neck.

You could only hum, entirely unrepentant.

It did seam like one the day you accepted to cover for a fellow nurse who had to go on maternity leave — and technically, it is.

You will get to live during the day and sleep at night, and maybe you'll fix your sleeping schedule too.

That's what you keep reminding yourself as your shift progresses.

Your morning had been going pretty well, and you had just finished your morning rounds when your floor got a call from downstairs. 

"What do you mean they found a baby in the bathroom?" you ask Clara, a student nurse who's doing her last rotation here in the pediatric department before her graduation. 

"That's what they said," she replies before taking a sip out of her ridiculously large cup. 

The both of you should be working, but the shift has been pretty— no, you're not even going to think about that word. 

"So, why haven't they sent them upstairs yet?" 

"We need them to run some labs first." 

Both you and Clara basically jump off your chairs when you hear the voice of the attending pediatrician behind you. "Actually, would you mind going downstairs to see how baby Jane Doe's doing?" 

Before you can reply, the woman is already walking away, ready to jump on another case. 

As you slump into the squeaky swivel chair, you hear Clara letting out an amused scoff. "Good luck with that! I've heard that Westbridge is shutting down. They must be really busy, on top of the whole 4th of July thing..." 

And boy, she was not wrong. 

Immediately as the elevator doors open, you're thrown into a world that you had realized not so long ago you couldn't keep up with. 

Beds are piling up in the hallways. Nurses and doctors are constantly running around, falling into a dance that looks rehearsed, with the sole end goal of saving lives as quickly as possible. 

After a moment of hesitation, you walk up to the nurses' station. 

Sitting behind the desk, you find none other than nurse Dana Evans, your mentor during your rotation in the ER back when you were still in nursing school. 

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

The woman glances at you from over the glasses sitting low on her nose before breaking into a smile. 

"Oh, hey kid," she greats you, walking up to you to give you a hug. 

"Look at you," she says pointing at your badge that states you're not a "student nurse" anymore, "you're a big girl now." 

"Yeah, I'm a real nurse now." 

"Ah! How's Peds treating you so far?" 

"I mean... We're understaffed and overworked. But we keep going." 

"Amen to that. So, what brings you here today, hon'?" 

You tug the pink stethoscope draped around your neck, rolling your head around slowly, trying to ease the pain.

"Heard you have a baby Jane Doe around here. Boss sent me here to check on her." 

"Be my guest," she replies, before pointing to the room where you could find the baby.

The pediatric room is a familiar space, making you feel immediately at ease in the chaos that the Pitt is. Cartoon animals are plastered on every wall, and there, in a hospital bassinet and guarded by Donnie, a nurse you met back during your rotation, lays baby Jane Doe. 

"Oh, hi! I'm nurse Y/L/N, from Peds," you introduce yourself with a smile, not quite sure he remembers you. "How's she doing?" you ask Donnie, getting closer to the bassinet to have a look at the baby inside.

"Oh, hi Y/N! Long time no see," he replies while giving you a quick hug, "She's doing pretty good. She's been changed and fed. Also, her latest labs just came back." 

"Can I take a look?" you question.

"Of course," he says, handing you the iPad.

You take a moment to read all of the information about the baby, and quickly come to the conclusion that everything seems normal, making the frown of your face deepen.

"Everything looks good. Do you have any theories as of why she ended up in the bathroom of a hospital?" 

Donnie shakes his head, and you let out a sight before shifting your attention to baby Jane Doe, feeling all of your tension melt once she smiles at you.

"So... Are you going to take her upstairs?" 

Your face twists into an apologetic expression, and Donnie immediately understands, even without hearing your next words. 

"I'm so sorry. We're packed up there, but we'll let you know as soon as a place opens up. I was sent down here just to check on her and see at what point you are with the labs."

He nods before your attention moves back to the baby once you hear her shift in her bassinet. 

Without thinking too much about it, you lift her in your arms, gently holding her head in you hand and patting her back. 

"I'd take her home with me if I could," you say mindlessly. 

"I have one at home, and I'm telling you: you don't what to do that," he jokes. 

"Oh my God, Donnie! You became a father? Congratulations!" you say with the biggest grin on your face.

He thanks you with a genuine smile, and you can tell how happy he is by the way he talks about his newborn. 

"Well," you gently lay baby Jane Doe back in her bassinet, "I guess I better head back upstairs. I'll let you know when a place opens up. It was nice seeing you Donnie!" 

"You too, Y/N!" 

After disinfecting your hands, you start walking in the direction of the elevator, but as you pass in front of a room, you hear some weird noises. 

You technically don't work on this floor, but you can't bring yourself to just walk away, reasoning that someone could need help. 

Gently, you move the curtain to take a quick look inside. 

What you are met with is the sight of Dr. Jack Abbot sitting shirtless on a gurney, apparently trying to patch himself up.

He looks up from the tray in front of him, startled by the noise you made while moving the curtain, and for a moment you stare at each other in silence. 

You clearly don't belong to this floor — the pink scrubs prove that much — and you don't really have a valid reason to be in this room. 

In the end, though, you're the first one to break the silence.  "Dr. Abbot? What's going on?" 

He blinks at you, and when he doesn't reply immediately, you feel the need to justify your presence. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm nurse Y/L/N, and I'm from Peds. I was sent here to check on baby Jane Doe, but then I heard some noises in this room and I wanted to make sure everything was fine. You might not remember me, but I did a rotation in this department some years ago. But, of course, you work the night shift — or worked? — so we never actually had a shift together. You probably don't care, it's just that I thought you might think it is weird that I know your name. I mean, probably you still do, but—" 

Thankfully, Dr. Abbot decides to put an end to your humiliating attempt to make the situation any less weird. 

"Of course I remember you," he states as he rips a piece of medical tape, "Y/N, right? Everyone was constantly singing your praises. We were all kinda bummed when you choose Peds."

All you can do to ignore the funny feeling in your lower belly that the words of the handsome — and shirtless — man in front of you originated, is let out a laugh, which ends up sounding more like someone punched you in the stomach.

"So…" you divert after regaining control over your own voice, "What happened to you?"

"Bullet grazed my vest," he replies casually, his attention back on the supplies in front of him.

"Wait, what?" you ask, not sure whether you're more concerned or confused.

"Geniuses thought today was the day to rob a goods warehouse. Didn't think about how long it would take to load the appliances. They panicked. All hell broke loose." 

You cross your arms in front of your chest, shaking your head. "Still doesn't explain why you were in that situation in the first place."

"On top of my work here in the ER, I'm also a SWAT physician" he replies.

The question comes out of your mouth before you can bite your tongue. "Why do you do this?" 

You don't have the right to ask him these type of questions, and he certainly does not owe you an answer, but still, he gives you one. 

"My therapist said I needed a hobby."

This manages to get a real laugh out of you, and you think you may have saw one corner of his mouth lift slightly for a brief second, before settling back into a neutral expression.

"Then I also hope they told you that humor is only a healthy coping mechanism as long as it's not used as a diversion tactic." 

There it is again: the almost smile. 

"I'll keep that in mind, kid," is it's reply before he tries, and fails, to reach the wound on his shoulder with the cotton swab in his hand.

"Do you need any help with that, Dr. Abbot?" 

But it's not really a question since you're already reaching out for a pair of gloves. You can see him pondering his options, but in the end he hands you the swab, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, making his biceps even more prominent.

You give him a heads up before starting to carefully clean the wound, and automatically you rest your free hand of his freckled back, felling the heat radiating from his body through your gloves.

"Did you make a chart?" you mumble, breaking the comfortable silence you two had fallen into.

"No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or the police department."

You hum as you finish your work, feeling slightly intoxicated by his smell, a mix of cologne, sweat and antiseptic.

Once you're done, you take a step back and take off your gloves, throwing them in the bin.

"All done. I hope I did a good job, Dr. Abbot," you say, shifting in place nervously, and causing your shoes to squeak against the linoleum floor.

"I guess I better go back upstairs before they start looking for me," you joke. "It was nice meeting you again. Minus the part where you got shot at."

Your comment manages to get a real smile out of him, and you feel one making an appearance on your face as well. "I'll see you around, Dr. Abbot!"

Just like that, you leave the room, and Jack swears to himself that he'll find a way to make that happen.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Robby had briefly witnessed your interaction, and he'll make sure to bring that up to Jack before leaving for his sabbatical. 

Who knows, maybe before he comes back, Abbot will have found the courage to ask you out.

A/N: This was the fic! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it's criticism (as long as it's constructive). I love talking with you angels, so my dms and inbox are always open!

All the love, Anna ♡

Jacquie does her best to translate her friend’s words since Jackie’s attempts are muffled by the wad of epinephrine soaked gauze pressed firmly against her tongue to control the bleeding.

“Princess, what’s open?” You ask as you reach the Hub.

“South 15’s clean,” she says, her eyes widening as she takes in the blood.

Joy—who, despite her deadpan delivery and monotone voice, is actually a joy to work with—spots Langdon, who’s already noticed the situation.

“Deep tongue laceration,” she tells him.

“Oh, I can jump on this.”

“Sure, join in,” you say with a small smile.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Langdon,” he says, stooping so he’s at eye level with Jackie in the wheelchair. “I’ll be supervising your care.”

Jacquie grins widely, leaning down toward Jackie’s ear. “Jesus, CK, your doctor’s fucking hot.”

The smile on your face falters—just for a second. It’s not like it’s a lie. Langdon is hot. In your completely unbiased opinion, one of the hottest men alive. But no one enjoys watching someone else openly admire their boyfriend. Still, you swallow it down and keep moving, guiding the wheelchair toward South 15.

Jackie manages a muffled noise that sounds vaguely like a “really?”.

Beside you, Joy catches the flicker of irritation on your face and lets out a quiet huff of laughter as she walks along.

When you reach the room, you help Jackie onto the gurney. 

“So, how exactly did this happen?” Langdon asks.

“We were in between pubs taking a selfie.” Jacquie pulls up a photo of the both of them grinning seconds before disaster.

“Until she jerked her head up,” Jackie adds, her voice thick and slurred.

“Oof,” he says, wincing.

“Okay, topical epi did the trick. No more bleeding,” you say, inspecting her tongue with a penlight.

“Sweet,” she replies. “I can go home now?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” you tell her, offering your politest smile while pointedly ignoring the way Jacquie only seems capable of looking up from her phone when Langdon speaks.

“You have a pretty deep wound on your tongue, so we’ll need to put in some stitches.”

Jackie’s expression drops instantly, any relief evaporating.

“I don’t want stitches.”

“Oh, listen to the doctor,” Jacquie says, flashing Langdon another flirtatious smile.

“Don’t tell me what to do. This is all your fault,” Jackie snaps.

“No, it’s not.”

“Uh, yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not!”

The tension spikes fast. You exhale sharply and call out, already done with this dynamic.

“Princess, why don’t you show Jacquie where she can wait while we patch up her friend?”

“Of course,” Princess says, immediately picking up on your tone and also the irritation behind it. So, she quickly ushers Jacquie out of the room.

You grab the syringe and step closer to Jackie. “Okay, this is a numbing shot for the tip.”

“The tip?” Jackie asks. “That’s not where I bit.”

“One step at a time,” Langdon tells her, glancing at you with a flicker of confusion at the shift in your mood once Jacquie leaves the room.

Jackie lets out a small whimper when she sees the syringe nearing her tongue, and a louder one when you actually inject it.

When you’re done, Langdon takes over again.

“So, Jackie, in order to fix your tongue, we need to move it forward to access the laceration. You’re just gonna feel some pulling, okay?”

“I guess so,” she says.

He grips her tongue gently but firmly, pulling it forward. “Go for it.”

You meet his eyes for half a second before inserting the needle.

“What size suture is that?” Joy asks.

“O-silk, the biggest one we got,” Langdon replies.

“As soon as I cut the needle, you’re on traction, Joy.”

She nods, taking over as you finish. “Oh, that is pretty deep.”

“And now we can numb up the cut,” Langdon says.

You work carefully, stitching the laceration with steady hands, blocking out everything else until it’s done.

Once you finish, you try to rouse Jackie, who’s apparently drifted off thanks to the alcohol.

“All done,” Langdon tells her as soon as her eyes flutter open.

“All done with what?” She asks, her words edged with irritation at being woken up,

“Sewing up your tongue,” Joy says flatly.

“What happened to my tongue?”

“You bit it,” Joy replies incredulously.

Jackie lets out a short laugh, like she’s just heard a joke. “No I didn't.”

You roll your eyes. “That is called a blackout.”

“How much did you drink?” Joy asks.

“A couple bloody mary’s,”

“Only a couple?” You echo, tilting your head.

“I don't know… Maybe more. It’s a holiday, a pub crawl.”

Langdon continues asking about her drinking habits, to which Joy casually suggests rehab, since it’s clear this isn’t a one-off situation.

Once everything’s wrapped up, you reluctantly ask Princess to bring Jacquie back in.

You also notice—of course you do—that Jackie seems to have suddenly remembered she has, in fact, a “fucking hot doctor” and is now twirling her hair as Langdon stands beside her.

“You’re gonna want to be on a soft diet,” he tells her. “So things like mashed potatoes, soup, mac and cheese are good.”

She nods, staring at him in what she probably thinks is a seductive manner.

Jacquie lingers by the door, watching as you help Jackie to her feet, now cleared for discharge.

Langdon moves ahead of them, leading the way out, while you follow just behind.

“I was gonna make your favourite three-bean dip tonight,” Jacquie says.

“Bitch, that is so nice,” Jackie replies, still twirling her hair.

“See, I am nice.” Then, lowering her voice into something syrupy, she adds, “Can she have that?”

Langdon turns back to answer, and you catch the brief, unmistakable face he makes before he schools his expression.

“Uh, yeah. If you eat it with a spoon rather than anything crunchy that could work its way through the laceration.”

You’re close enough now to see the exact look Jacquie gives him.

“So, she’ll need to be spoon-fed?”

There it is again. And this time, Langdon definitely notices—both the tone and the way your expression tightens beside him.

“Antibiotics three times a day. Come back here in two days for a wound check.” He curtly says.

He gestures subtly for you to follow him, already moving away from them, but before you can step away, Jackie calls out after him.

“See you then, Doctor.”

Her smile lingers a little too long and for a brief, irrational second, you consider grabbing Langdon and kissing him right there in the hallway, just to make a point.

You shake the thought off, stepping forward to move past him, but before you can, his hand closes gently around your arm, pulling you aside.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He asks with a concerned face.

“Hm?”

“You’ve been acting weird ever since those two girls showed up,” he says. “Did something happen?”

“Apart from the obvious?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“What obvious?”

“That my boyfriend is incredibly hot and I have to deal with girls leering at him like a piece of fresh meat.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “You’re mad at that?”

“It’s not funny!” You scowl, swatting his arm. He brings a hand up to his mouth, trying—and failing—to hide his smile.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, though the grin tugging at his lips doesn’t quite fade. Then, a little smugly, “You’re jealous, arent you?”

You narrow your eyes at him, ready to deny it but you realize you can’t. “I just… I don’t like people perceiving you.”

“Perceiving me?”

“Like, I know you’re hot, but why do other women have to know it too, you know?”

“I’m afraid I don't know, sweetheart.” He says with a wide smile, clearly enjoying your words.

You glance around quickly as a nurse walks past, lowering your voice.

“I wish I could hide your attractiveness,” you whisper.

“Well, that would be a waste of a pretty face, wouldn't it?”

“Frank,” you say, a playful warning threading through your tone.

“Look,” he murmurs, gently taking both your arms and pulling you a step closer, grounding you in place. “I love you and only you.”

“I love you too,” you mumble, softer now.

“Which means,” he continues, his hands sliding lightly over your arms in a soothing motion, “I don’t care if other women look at me. I only care about one woman looking at me… and I only want to look at her, too.”

“I know,” you say with a resigned sigh. “I guess it just annoyed me that she could be so obvious about it, while I have to hold back so we don’t get HR on our case.”

“HR can fuck off,” he mutters under his breath, pulling a surprised laugh out of you.

You shake your head, smiling as you rest your forehead against his chest, letting yourself have the moment for just a second. “We should get back to work.”

“Yeah,” he agrees but doesn’t move.

You tilt your head up and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“You literally say that every time.”

“And I’m right every time.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, giving his chest a gentle push, finally stepping back but not before he brushes his fingers lightly against your wrist, like he’s reluctant to let go completely.

You roll your eyes, though the warmth lingering in your chest betrays you. “Go, Dr. Langdon. You have patients to supervise.”

He starts to turn, then pauses just long enough to glance back at you, something softer—and a little more mischievous—slipping into his expression.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“Next time you get jealous,just tell me” he adds, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. 

You narrow your eyes slightly, suspicious. “Why?”

“So I can loudly inform everyone in a ten-foot radius that I’m taken,” he says, completely serious. “Very taken.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. “Oh my god, you would not.”

“Try me,” he shoots back, already half-turning away. “I’ll make it a whole thing.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. As you watch him for a second longer, warmth settles back into your chest. “Idiot,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to it.

This time, when he walks away, he actually goes and you force yourself to do the same, slipping back into the rhythm of the ED.

Still, the rest of your shift feels noticeably lighter.

“She– she passed out at the park! Please– please just get Mateo.” You plead with the woman at the desk. 

“I’m sorry, but we’ll get to you as fas–”

“It’s his daughter, please… please go get him.” She pauses for a long moment before standing and nodding. Time slows for a while as Mateo bursts through the waiting room door and meets your tearful eyes and Ruby’s limp body in your arms. “We– we– we were at the playground… she just went down!” You sob as he takes her from your arms, and you follow after him.

You watch numbly as doctors flow into the room, taking her temperature and hooking her up to monitors. A taller man pushes Mateo towards you, barking about working on the family. Mateo fights for a moment before his shoulders slump, and he crushes you in a hug. “It’ll be ok…” He whispers, holding your shaking body.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“It wasn’t your fault… Ruby will be ok.” He whispers as the two of you watch everyone work around her small body.

☀︎

Ruby had been a mistake. A long night after a grueling shift that ended with you facing the horrors of morning sickness three weeks late. Mateo distanced himself for a few weeks, grappling with what had happened and his “not dating coworkers” rule, but had shown up at your door with pickles and butterscotch cookies, tearfully asking for you and the baby back.

He’d stuck around since then. Even through your strenuous hours of labor, he never left your side, keeping stable through it all. Rubby Maria Diaz was born on May 8th, happy and healthy, and with a full head of curls (the parts of Mateo’s DNA you wanted her to have the most). 

She was a bundle of energy from the start, first steps being taken early, happy babble, and ‘dada’ being her first word. You loved nothing more than when the three of you cuddled up on the couch after a long day and a large dinner, sometimes falling asleep like that. Like a family.

☀︎

“Good news.” Robby steps out of the trauma room, making both of your heads pop up, Mateo’s grip on your hand tightening. “Seems like it was just some heat exhaustion. Her fever has come down, and we’re going to move her to a cooling room. Mateo, you’re off for the rest of the day.” Both of you sigh with relief.

“Can we see her?” You ask gently.

“She’s asking for you two.” Robby smiles kindly, letting you into the trauma room.

“Mommy! Dada!” Ruby shrieks, the heart monitor spiking as you both move to smother her in hugs and kisses.

“Hi, Rube…” Mateo smiles gently, making the young girl look at him.

“We at Dada’s work?” She asks, making Mateo smile and brush a stray curl from her eyes.

“Yeah, baby…” He smiles, glancing up to read her vitals.

“Feel better place!” She squeals with a giggle.

“That’s right! Do you feel better?” You ask gently, and she nods.

“It was so hot, mommy.” Ruby huffs gently.

“I know, baby…”

“Dada, it was scary… I think I fell asleep running!” She turns and explains to Mateo, making him smile.

“Well, now we’re giving you special medicine to make you not fall asleep while you’re running, ok?”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” He kisses her forehead and reaches to squeeze your hand again. “And we’re gonna move to a smaller room soon, too.”

☀︎

“Mateo has a kid?” Cassie slides up beside Dana and the desk, watching Mateo press a tender kiss to your knuckles.

“From what he’s told me, he likes to keep his work as separate as possible. Likes having his family to go home to and leave work here.”

“He had a kid?” Victoria says, walking past, jaw agape. Cassie and Dana smile epathertically.

“He tries to keep his personal life as far out of work as he can. Sorry, sweetheart.” Dana rubs her shoulder.

“You let me embarrass myself?” Victoria groans, burying her head in her hands.

“You will have plenty of other opportunities for a ‘Mateo’, Javadi. Trust us.” Cassie smiles.

☀︎

Mateo fills out the discharge paper as Ruby's weight is heavy against your chest, soft snores leaving her lips. “You ready to go home?” Mateo asks you gently.

“Please.” He nods, leading you to his car and strapping Ruby gently into her seat as you slide into the car. You let out a long sigh as Mateo starts the car and tenderly grabs your hand. 

“You did everything right, and she’s ok.” You nod softly, glancing at him, meeting a loving smile.

“It scared me.” You whisper, watching him pull out of the parking garage.

“I’d hope it would. You’d be a bad mother if it didn’t, and last I checked, you’re the best mother in the world.” Hear creeps from your neck to your cheeks, and Mateo laughs gently.

“Mommy?” A soft voice murmurs from the backseat.

“Yes, my love?”

“Are we going home?”

“We are going home.” You confirm softly.

“Can I sleep with mommy and dada tonight?” Your heart melts.

“OF course you can, Ruby…”

“Thank you, mommy…” 

☀︎

You sat in the warm water, Mateo between your legs as you slowly massage product into his damp curls. Ruby was at a full day of preschool, and Mateo finally had a day off. He hums happily at the feeling, hands rubbing your legs beneath the water. “How’re you holding up?” He asks you gently.

“I’m alright.”

“You sure?” He looks back at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“A few nightmares about her collapsing.” You say gently, making him nod and kiss you again.

“You’re a good mother, Ruby is thriving, and you did everything right.”

“I let her get too hot. I didn’t give her enough water.”

“What matters is that she’s ok and nowyou hound her about water every two seconds.” You roll your eyes fondly, letting him kiss you again.

“That new med student has the hots for you.” You tease softly.

“Victoria? Yeah. It’s because I wear my ring on my necklace at work.”

“Guess Ruby and I will have to find a time to stop by, hm? Make a scene?”

“I’ll even dip you.” He says, making you giggle loudly as he presses kisses to the collar of your throat.

“I love you.” You smile, making him look back up at you.

“I love you more, but I love Ruby just a little bit more.” He teases.

“I will always love Ruby more than you.” You both laugh happily.

“I can handle that.” He grins, kissing you again.

love you all! happy pitt-day-eve!

“She– she passed out at the park! Please– please just get Mateo.” You plead with the woman at the desk. 

“I’m sorry, but we’ll get to you as fas–”

“It’s his daughter, please… please go get him.” She pauses for a long moment before standing and nodding. Time slows for a while as Mateo bursts through the waiting room door and meets your tearful eyes and Ruby’s limp body in your arms. “We– we– we were at the playground… she just went down!” You sob as he takes her from your arms, and you follow after him.

You watch numbly as doctors flow into the room, taking her temperature and hooking her up to monitors. A taller man pushes Mateo towards you, barking about working on the family. Mateo fights for a moment before his shoulders slump, and he crushes you in a hug. “It’ll be ok…” He whispers, holding your shaking body.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“It wasn’t your fault… Ruby will be ok.” He whispers as the two of you watch everyone work around her small body.

☀︎

Ruby had been a mistake. A long night after a grueling shift that ended with you facing the horrors of morning sickness three weeks late. Mateo distanced himself for a few weeks, grappling with what had happened and his “not dating coworkers” rule, but had shown up at your door with pickles and butterscotch cookies, tearfully asking for you and the baby back.

He’d stuck around since then. Even through your strenuous hours of labor, he never left your side, keeping stable through it all. Rubby Maria Diaz was born on May 8th, happy and healthy, and with a full head of curls (the parts of Mateo’s DNA you wanted her to have the most). 

She was a bundle of energy from the start, first steps being taken early, happy babble, and ‘dada’ being her first word. You loved nothing more than when the three of you cuddled up on the couch after a long day and a large dinner, sometimes falling asleep like that. Like a family.

☀︎

“Good news.” Robby steps out of the trauma room, making both of your heads pop up, Mateo’s grip on your hand tightening. “Seems like it was just some heat exhaustion. Her fever has come down, and we’re going to move her to a cooling room. Mateo, you’re off for the rest of the day.” Both of you sigh with relief.

“Can we see her?” You ask gently.

“She’s asking for you two.” Robby smiles kindly, letting you into the trauma room.

“Mommy! Dada!” Ruby shrieks, the heart monitor spiking as you both move to smother her in hugs and kisses.

“Hi, Rube…” Mateo smiles gently, making the young girl look at him.

“We at Dada’s work?” She asks, making Mateo smile and brush a stray curl from her eyes.

“Yeah, baby…” He smiles, glancing up to read her vitals.

“Feel better place!” She squeals with a giggle.

“That’s right! Do you feel better?” You ask gently, and she nods.

“It was so hot, mommy.” Ruby huffs gently.

“I know, baby…”

“Dada, it was scary… I think I fell asleep running!” She turns and explains to Mateo, making him smile.

“Well, now we’re giving you special medicine to make you not fall asleep while you’re running, ok?”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” He kisses her forehead and reaches to squeeze your hand again. “And we’re gonna move to a smaller room soon, too.”

☀︎

“Mateo has a kid?” Cassie slides up beside Dana and the desk, watching Mateo press a tender kiss to your knuckles.

“From what he’s told me, he likes to keep his work as separate as possible. Likes having his family to go home to and leave work here.”

“He had a kid?” Victoria says, walking past, jaw agape. Cassie and Dana smile epathertically.

“He tries to keep his personal life as far out of work as he can. Sorry, sweetheart.” Dana rubs her shoulder.

“You let me embarrass myself?” Victoria groans, burying her head in her hands.

“You will have plenty of other opportunities for a ‘Mateo’, Javadi. Trust us.” Cassie smiles.

☀︎

Mateo fills out the discharge paper as Ruby's weight is heavy against your chest, soft snores leaving her lips. “You ready to go home?” Mateo asks you gently.

“Please.” He nods, leading you to his car and strapping Ruby gently into her seat as you slide into the car. You let out a long sigh as Mateo starts the car and tenderly grabs your hand. 

“You did everything right, and she’s ok.” You nod softly, glancing at him, meeting a loving smile.

“It scared me.” You whisper, watching him pull out of the parking garage.

“I’d hope it would. You’d be a bad mother if it didn’t, and last I checked, you’re the best mother in the world.” Hear creeps from your neck to your cheeks, and Mateo laughs gently.

“Mommy?” A soft voice murmurs from the backseat.

“Yes, my love?”

“Are we going home?”

“We are going home.” You confirm softly.

“Can I sleep with mommy and dada tonight?” Your heart melts.

“OF course you can, Ruby…”

“Thank you, mommy…” 

☀︎

You sat in the warm water, Mateo between your legs as you slowly massage product into his damp curls. Ruby was at a full day of preschool, and Mateo finally had a day off. He hums happily at the feeling, hands rubbing your legs beneath the water. “How’re you holding up?” He asks you gently.

“I’m alright.”

“You sure?” He looks back at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“A few nightmares about her collapsing.” You say gently, making him nod and kiss you again.

“You’re a good mother, Ruby is thriving, and you did everything right.”

“I let her get too hot. I didn’t give her enough water.”

“What matters is that she’s ok and nowyou hound her about water every two seconds.” You roll your eyes fondly, letting him kiss you again.

“That new med student has the hots for you.” You tease softly.

“Victoria? Yeah. It’s because I wear my ring on my necklace at work.”

“Guess Ruby and I will have to find a time to stop by, hm? Make a scene?”

“I’ll even dip you.” He says, making you giggle loudly as he presses kisses to the collar of your throat.

“I love you.” You smile, making him look back up at you.

“I love you more, but I love Ruby just a little bit more.” He teases.

“I will always love Ruby more than you.” You both laugh happily.

“I can handle that.” He grins, kissing you again.

love you all! happy pitt-day-eve!