a little spark

“sooo, tonight’s date. well, i met him at whole foods. we were on the produce aisle and he approached me to ask which herb i think goes better with fish: cilantro or parsley – obviously, cilantro. anyways, we talked a lot and he was super funny and charming and he asked me out! the only thing is that he’s younger than me for like, a few years. make it like fifteen.” you huffed. “yeah, he’s twenty five. the youngest up until now is this whole… thing we are doing. but he seems nice, so here’s to hoping it goes well!” you downed (without wincing) a shot of tequila for some liquid courage and wrapped the video. “i’ll be back soon with all the after date deets. bye!”

once you turned off the camera, you quickly edited the video and posted it. you grabbed your keys and left, but not after checking yourself out in the mirror one last time. 

if you had told twenty year old you that her forty year old self would be divorced and recording dating content for an app called tiktok, she would have laughed in your face and asked “what the fuck is that?”

it still seems absurd to you now, six months after everything had started, but somehow, you feel more alive than you have felt in years. 

paul, your ex husband, and you met when you were twenty, started dating when you were twenty one and married a couple of weeks before you turned twenty four. the two of you met during college, while you were an undergraduate in molecular biophysics and biochemistry and he was getting his masters in chemical engineering. against all odds, your relationship was perfect for most of the eighteen years it lasted. paul was funny and attentive, did everything he could to give you the best, always pampering you and praising you for your hard work. but things started to go south somewhere around two years ago. all of a sudden, paul started to get distant, arriving late from work and snapping at you for nothing and apologising profusely when he realised what he had done, showering you in gifts as if they would fix things and make anything better, and soon, a vicious cycle was created. 

the end came on a warm summer evening and you remember it perfectly. the day was spent basking in the sun by the pool’s edge, occasionally dipping inside the warm water. paul and you had invited some friends over for a barbecue and that day had actually gone alright. he was the sweetest he had been to you in a while, almost a mirror image of that guy that you had fallen in love with eighteen years before. paul was fun again, had the time of his life grilling and talking everyone’s ears off, you even had made his favourite desert, apricot cheesecake, and made sure the guests’ cups were always full.

to the outsider, you were the picture perfect couple. 

but later that evening, after things calmed down and everyone had left, shit hit the fan.

with a silk robe still draped around your body, fresh out of the shower and with the steam of your en-suite bathroom sneaking into your bedroom, you moisturised your legs with your favourite body oil when paul said “you know, i was reading about polyamory and i think we should open our relationship.” 

“excuse me?” you twisted the lid back on and turned to him. 

“yeah, babe. we open the relationship and i get to go out and meet other women. it would be good for us.”

you shook your head, blinked a couple of times and licked your lips trying to make sense of what he was saying and to not strangle him – he is definitely not worth going to jail. “you want to meet other women…” you spoke and nodded slowly, your head bobbing almost owlish. “and what about me?”

he shrugged. “it’s not like you’re going to find other men to date you.”

you stared at him. 

this had been the first time paul commented negatively about your appearance after all those years together. in fact, paul had always said that what attracted you to him was how you were not the typical stick thin girl he was used to see around the campus; your curves filled out your clothes well, you had softness around your stomach, thick thighs, a pair of breasts to die for and an ass that made heads turn wherever you walked by. 

you had stopped listening to paul after that, only realising he was still speaking when the snort you let out interrupted him. you dropped the leg you had propped on your bed and aggressively gathered your pillows and blanket and started to make your way to the guest room. paul tried to stop you, saying a “baby, i didn’t–“ that you abruptly interrupted again as you yanked your hand back and told him to quit it.

that night, you didn’t cry yourself to sleep. 

no matter how strong the pain on your chest was, how you felt like you were a couple steps away from dying of heartbreak, and how betrayed you felt, you refused to cry over a man. 

you called in sick at work the next morning, texted your best friend grace as soon as paul left for his office, asking her to come help you pack your stuff because you were leaving him, and explained everything to her while you packed your belongings in cardboard boxes and black trash bags. 

it felt surreal, eighteen years of a life built together thrown away because he wasn’t man enough to be honest about his feelings and of how little he thought of you. with your keys left on the kitchen counter, together with a note that said that your lawyers would be contacting his to sort out the divorce papers, you said goodbye to your past life and never looked back.

surprisingly, paul was very cooperative. signed the divorced papers the moment they were served to him, never questioning one period nor a comma on the document. he was the one to initiate the formalities of the pre-nup, selling and sharing everything you acquired together after all those years as a couple – just like the agreement mandated – without budging. as much as you were thankful for him to be acting without a big fuss, the way he gave up so easily on your shared life left you with a sour taste in your mouth. 

what did end up proving to be difficult was navigating life as a newly divorced thirty nine year old. 

it is not like you were one of those women that completely isolated themselves after marriage. truth is that you had a very active life besides the one you shared with paul. you had a prolific career as a professor in the biology course at carnegie mellon university, one you shared your attention with the role of food engineer in a bustling local brewery owned by one of your best friends from college, you went to the gym and did pilates regularly, had your hobbies and went out with friends at least twice a month. but whether you liked it or not, almost twenty years beside someone isn’t something you easily forget over night.

you missed having someone to come back to at the end of the day, missed having someone to share the good and the bad days, missed hearing the shower running from the other room while you read in bed, missed the woody smell his cologne would leave in the sheets and missed the feeling of a warm body by your side when you went to sleep. 

the first two months were rough. you cried whenever you were alone – which, thankfully, wasn’t that many hours of your day and sleep came hard to you at night. some days you felt like a zombie, doing chores on auto pilot because they were already ingrained in your brain.

until one day, where you felt tired of feeling pity for yourself and probably too horny for your vibrator’s sake, a video of a girl in her twenties showed up on your for you page. she was getting ready for a date with a girl she met rock climbing and you gave her page a look, only to find similar videos of her getting ready and others talking about how the dates went. you got so immersed by her content that you scrolled so far back the you found the first video she posted, where she talked about starting an experiment to force herself to put herself out there. after years of bullying and awful experiences in high school that still haunted her in college, she decided she had had enough and wanted to live life like she deserved it.  

her comments were filled with girls around the same age as her, congratulating her and thanking her for normalising the situation and inspiring them to do the same, even some older women saying they wished they had had her strength when they were her age. 

you were never one for social media. yeah, you had some of them, all profiles privated, following and being followed by your close friends and family only, enough to just keep up with their lives. but the idea lingered in your head for days. what if you did the same as an older woman who hasn’t been out there in a while and just left a long term relationship? you figured that there would be other women going through the same and that it would probably be a good bonding experience. so you called grace, your best friend, the same one who helped you get your shit together and leave paul, who also had divorced a few years back, and told her about your plan. she loved the idea, and was the one to download all known dating apps to your phone and set your profile that night over drinks and laughter. 

four months later, you had been to several dates and counting. 

of course, you had your rules too. they were simple: no picking you up, you would meet them where you had agreed on. one date per guy only, maybe a second one if he really did it for you (none did until now). no bringing men back to your place – if sex was on the table, either go back to his or a hotel. and, most importantly, no strings attached. 

thankfully, everything had been working perfectly. 

your date was already at the table when you arrived at the factory. he was a gentleman, got up to greet you and pulled your seat and even ordered for you. but it didn’t take long for things to go south. he was the “me” type. talked about himself all of the time, going on and on about how he made his first million at twenty two with some internet scam that he promised was most definitely legal. when he actually asked about you, he interrupted you every ten seconds to say something about him that, in his mind, related to what you were sharing. 

shit really hit the fan the moment the waiter set you plates on the table. 

“you know, i’ve never gone out with one of you before.” he said mid chew. another ick to the ever growing list of icks you were ticking on your head. 

you stopped cutting your steak and squinted your eyes. “one of me?”

“yeah, fat girls.”

the air left your lungs like a punch. “oh.”

“mhm.” he hummed and barely swallowed before continuing his tirade. “my friends kept telling me how well you guys fuck, especially older ones like you.”

you let out the ugliest indignant laugh of your life, grabbed your purse, fishing your wallet and a couple of hundred dollar bills from it, way more than enough to pay for your meal and his, and threw them on the table.

“okay, i really don’t need this right now. have a nice dinner!” you told him. 

“where are you–“

“don’t!” you interrupted the idiot as you made your way out. 

a surprisingly chilly-for-summer breeze hit your face and you finally let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“oh my god. what the actual fuck.” you muttered to yourself. you laughed, more out of shock and feeling indignant about what just happened than finding it funny, as you went to find your car in the parking lot.

the shaky breath you took helped realisation dawn on you the moment you sat behind the driver’s seat. you just had gone through one of the most fucked up encounters of your life.

yes, you were fully aware your body is one you seldom find in magazine covers and now, in the age of ozempic, it is being more and more demonised. but you were also aware of your beauty, of how it was your body that helped you fight your fights and love the ones you love. so you refused to be seen as an experiment, refused to be seen as a toy for a twenty something dweeb to try his fantasies on.  

this is not how you expected to end your night, and you really didn’t want to waste a good outfit by going home before you had planned. you stared at the people walking around the street, couples, groups of friends and families all making their way somewhere, searching for a fun friday evening. 

the door of the dingy dive bar across the street opened and a couple around your age, holding hands and smiling, walked out. the sound of bruce springsteen coming out of the jukebox followed them out and called you in. it seemed lively enough and exactly what you needed, so with a muttered “fuck it”, you jumped out of your car and made your way across the street.

some good, cheap booze, nice music and a chat with the bartender seemed like the perfect ending for a disastrous night. 

the atmosphere engulfed you the moment you stepped your foot inside the bar. low yellow lights, the smell of beer and laughter followed you as you made your way to the counter. sitting on the only available seat, between a girl talking excitedly to her friend and a lone older gentleman with more salt than pepper hair, you flagged the bartender. 

“what’s your poison, sweetheart?” the charming barkeeper asked. 

“a shot of tequila and some whiskey, please.” you smiled at him. “oh, neat!”

he looked at you surprised, but nodded and went to get your drinks anyway. 

“what is so bad that a pretty girl like you wants to black out on a nice friday evening?” the man that sat next to you asked. he had finally looked your way and the sight you were met with wasn’t one you were expecting; he was extremely handsome.

a few years older than you, thin lips that looked strangely soft, nice hazel eyes that stared at you almost uncomfortably. up close, you could see clearer that his hair was actually sugar and cinnamon, the specks of auburn in the sea of grey told you that he was a ginger at heart, and the same colours could be found on his few days old stubble. oh, and yeah, his arms filled out his black t-shirt a little too well for your liking. 

he seemed to have an attitude to him, just the right amount of cockiness to be hot and not annoying. you could definitely see yourself riding him at the end of the night if he was the one you had gone on a date with. 

before you could answer him, the bartender came back with your drinks, setting both in front of you with a wink. 

you saw your bar top neighbour frown but tried to not think any of it, choosing to down your shot of tequila and wash it with a sip of whiskey first. 

“overall or just tonight?” you turned to him. “by the way, i’m–“ you gave him your name. 

“jack.” he shook the hand you had extended to him. “overall. i’ve got time.”

“okay.” you nodded and, for some reason, you told him everything. from paul’s proposition, to the divorce being finalized a day before your birthday, about the dates (of course you didn’t tell him about the tiktoks or details like your rules), and about tonight.

he was actually interested in what you had to say, looked at you while you spoke, barely interrupted you, only to ask about something he didn’t fully understand and even threw a few mhms to tell you he was paying attention. 

“and that’s why i’m here now and not across the street on my date.” you finished your rant with a sigh. 

jack gave you a slow up down that made you shiver. “he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

“and you would?” you countered, the whiskey making you feel even bolder than usual. 

jack’s answer came in the form of a huff and a smirk, silenced by the sip he took of his own glass of whiskey. 

you studied him for a bit, eyes lingering on his crows feet, trailing down his face, beautiful toned and freckled arm, abruptly stopping on the huge wedding band on his, rather thick, finger. you turned, looked away and drank some more of your whiskey to deflect. 

“the wife isn’t going to be mad you’re out late in a bar?” you tried to go on another route, pretend you just didn’t flirt with a married man. 

“we can pull out the ouija board and ask her, but i think she’d like to know i’m having fun with someone nice.” he said it so naturally one would think he just told you she was waiting for him at home. 

“oh god.” you frowned and jack had the gall to smirk at your expression. but you barely noticed it as something tightened in your chest with his confession. “how long, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“two years.”

you exhaled and squeezed his forearm (in solidarity, obviously) as you said “i’m sorry.”

“so, what’s the idiot’s name?” he asked, changing the subject like an expert. 

you shook your head and looked down at your lap as if you were trying to hide something. jack looked at you with amusement in his eyes when you murmured something he didn’t quite catch. 

“gotta speak louder, sweets, the music is loud and my hearing is not the best.”

“paul.” you winced. “his name is paul.”

jack started laughing, loud enough that other patrons turned to look at you two. you nudged his thigh and told him to stop. 

“he has your ex’s name?!”

“yeah, i know, ok? i really didn’t think this through, maybe it’s a sign of the universe or some entity telling me that pauls are the spawns of satan or something.”

jack snorted. “have you ever had any news of paul number one?”

“last thing i heard was that he had knocked up a random twenty two year old girl he was hooking up with.” you shrugged. 

“ooof. you have any children with him?”

“nope, we never wanted any. just a cat that kind of hates him to be honest.” you giggled. “she’s my baby.” jack smiled at you and you had to hold it together so you wouldn’t melt. “what about you? what brings you here today?”

“i’m doctor.”

“got it. tough shift?”

“make it tough twenty years.”

“wanna share?” you smiled at him and mimicked his words. “i’ve got time.”

surprisingly, jack told you everything. about going to afghanistan and losing his leg, about coming back to the states and becoming a doctor, about his wife falling ill and dying, about how some shifts are harder than the others, everything. 

“today… today was just tiring, you know? had to accompany the SWAT, got grazed by a–“ you didn’t mean to, really, but you have what people call an “expressive face with a life of its own” and without you even noticing, you scrunched your features at the mention of the police force. “what?” jack asked. 

“on top of all that, you’re a cop?”

he shook his head and drank some more of his whiskey before continuing. “not a cop, sweetheart. i’m a tactical medic that accompanies the SWAT team in case they need medical support in the field.”

you snorted into your cup of coke – you had changed drinks some time ago, together with the absurd portion of buffalo wings and french fries that jack insisted on ordering after being aware that you were downing straight whiskey on an empty stomach. also because you were a responsible woman and knew you had to sober up so you could drive back home – and took a large sip before saying “sounds like a cop to me.”

he leaned closer to you and whispered “what happened to ‘fuck the police’, huh?”

you laughed as he pulled back. “ACAB, baby. and is this you admitting you are a cop?”

he shook his head again, that playful smile still present on his face when he told you once again that he wasn’t a cop. “my therapist told me i needed a hobby.”

you gave him a wide-eyed, bewildered look. “cooking is a hobby, knitting is a hobby, skating is a fucking hobby, not doing the same thing you’ve been doing for most of your life, with the added bonus of guns firing for some adrenaline.” 

jack gave you an earnest smile. “is it bad that i’m happy your date failed?”

“no. i really liked meeting you too.”

“good.”

as if on cue, your phone’s screen lit up with a text from grace, asking if everything was ok and if you had already gotten home. it also made you notice that it was almost one thirty in the morning, meaning you had been talking to jack for almost five hours. 

“is everything ok?” he asked. 

“mhm. it’s just my friend checking in on me.” you flagged the bartender. “it’s kinda late, i should probably go home.”

“yeah,” he checked his watch. “you should. are you good to drive?”

you nodded. “could you close my tab, please?” you asked the bartender when he arrived.

jack stopped him, telling him to add your drinks to his tab. “i’m gonna take her to her car and come back.”

“no problem, abbot.” the bartender said, finger gun shooting him. 

jack draped his jacket over you the moment you set foot out of the door. the short walk to your car was made in silence, just appreciating the little time together you had left. 

“thank you. for walking me out and for saving my night.” you offered him a shy smile and gave him his jacket back. 

“thank you for letting me.” he offered back. opening the palm of his hand to you, he said “give me your phone.”

“why?” you asked, but gave him the device anyway. 

jack opened the phone app, created a new contact and added his number on it. “text me when you get home.”

“okay, i will.” he gave you the phone back and you saw that his contact name was “jack from the bar”. it made you snort. 

“good. and, if you are up to it, i’d love to take you out on a real date.”

“i’d love to.” you hopped on your car. “bye, jack.”

“bye, sweetheart.” he closed the door for you. “drive safe.”

the drive back home was fast. given that the city was found to be asleep for long when you finally left the bar, the drive that, on a normal pittsburgh traffic, would have lasted at least forty minutes, was done in ten.

marie, your fluffy, blue-green eyed cat greeted you at the door, loudly complaining about how you left her alone for some subpar man. she went back to the top of her cat tower when she got bored of your pets, which didn’t take long to, and you made your way to your kitchen to grab some water. 

as requested by jack, you shot him a quick “i’m home” text, to which you got a reply seconds later, one that said “sleep well, sweetheart.”

still buzzing with the night’s events, you propped your phone against your pastel blue smeg mixer and pressed record. 

“hey guys…” your voice was tired now, a big contrast from the chirpy one you had on the video you recorded and posted hours before. “ it’s almost two in the morning and the date was… something.” you stopped again, snorted and shook your head, and took another sip of water as if the liquid would make the story you were about to tell less worse. “i’m not going to beat it around the bush. it was awful.” you laughed.

“he was a gentleman until the moment i sat down at the table. greeted me, pulled the seat so i could sit down and even ordered for me. then he went on that well-known “me!” rant about how great he was and how he was a self-made millionaire at such a young age. then, the waiter set our plates down…” you took a deep breath and a mirthless laugh left your lips. “and he, for some reason, thought it would be nice to say that the had never been with a fat woman before, that his friends kept telling him, and i quote ‘they fuck well, especially older ones like you.’ i’ve never gotten up and left a date so fast in my life!”

“but you guys know i don’t like to waste a good outfit.” the easiest smile you had in your whole life came to your lips and the tone of your voice changed to something much sweeter, softer. “and i made my way to a dive bar across the street and ended up meeting someone there. he’s sitting there at the counter, drinking because he’s a doctor and had a shitty day too. he was actually the one to engage in conversation first, and i don’t even know what to tell you guys, but he is the best person i’ve met in a while. i actually spent like, five hours straight talking to him. we just sat there, he ordered this ridiculous amount of buffalo wings and fries because he knew i left the date from hell without dinner, and we just talked. talked and talked and talked about everything. he’s funny and charming and quick witted,” you stopped and let out a low whiny laugh and whispered the first few words like it was a secret.

“and he’s so hot. he’s so fucking hot it’s ridiculous. he’s not that tall, an alright height, grey hair, beautiful hazel eyes that felt like he was staring into my soul, thick arms and thick thighs that is making me lightheaded just thinking about them. anyways, he walked me into my car, gave me his phone number and actually told me to text him telling him when i got home and that he wants to go on a date with me if i’m in the mood.” you looked at the time again, it was ten past two in the morning and your feet were trying to kill you. “well, gotta to to sleep! bye!”

you stopped the recording and posted the video without even editing it, made your way to your bathroom for a much needed shower before falling asleep. 

40andthriving🩵| post date with the twenty something rambles. this is not edited and i’m so sorry about the length. will deal with it when i wake up (or not) imsotired | girl, what the fuck? ew. at least you got a hot doctor in the end. (PLEASE, tell me you are going on a date with him!!!) user802764277193701 | i’d have stabbed his hand before leaving           → 40andthriving🩵| i still have to feed marie, but sure… santos.trin | told you you should join us on the lesbian side, we’d treat you so much better. but i’m happy you found your silver fox doctor or whatever 🙄           → 40andthriving🩵| love you too, trinity. and who said i’ve never been with a woman?                     → santos.trin | are you fucking serious?                               → 40andthriving🩵| 🤫 sophiesoph | thank fuck everything worked out in the end!  theegraceadams | girl, you better call me when you wake up!!!

you woke up around ten that morning to your phone blowing up with texts and missed calls from grace. after hearing an earful from her and reassuring your friend that everything was ok, you agreed to go out for brunch to catch up. 

you were about to head to the shower when your phone pinged again. it made you sigh, thinking it was grace starting her rants once again, but the sight of a new contact name made you smile. 

jack from the bar: Good Morning. How are you feeling this morning? Any hangover? sent: morning, jack. i’m pretty good! surprisingly, no hangovers sent: you? jack from the bar: Better now. Just wanted to check in on you. Have a good weekend, sweetheart.  sent: you too, jack 😊

grace parked beside you the moment you hopped out of your car. as you expected, your “good morning” was barely out when she started questioning what happened the previous night. you told her to calm down and that you were only telling her what happened after you scored a table and ordered your usual. 

“girl, so what?!” grace said after you spilled the happenings of the five hour impromptu encounter you had, and finished the last of her third mimosa. “from what you’ve just told me, he’s hot enough to be on a calvin klein ad and he clearly cares about you. what guy would want to know if a woman he just met got home ok and texts her the next morning asking how she’s doing?” grace flagged the waiter and ordered her fourth mimosa. you made a mental note for it to be her last. “so what if he has a questionable hobby?”

you scrunched your nose at the thought. 

“babe, please! isn’t your rules ‘one date only’ and ‘no strings attached’? just go for it, have the time of your life and go for your next one. maybe you should go out with women too like that trinity girl that comments in all of your videos suggested.”

“yeah, you’re right.” you agreed, but a little voice that you were trying to ignore told you that it would be hard to follow the one date one/no strings attached rule with jack.

today’s shift was one for the books. all trinity wanted was for her to grab her stuff, dennis decide if he was going home with her or meet amy at the farm, order the greasiest take out she could think of and sleep. and not dream of yolanda, if possible. 

once again, yolanda and her had a fight over the status of their relationship, and, to make things better, yolanda flirted with the new ortho resident right in front of her. 

the night shift started to trickle in. ellis stopped by where trinity was charting to check out on her. five minutes later, came in shen with his watered down cup of dunkin’ and, not long after, abbot arrived.

there was something different about him. abbot looked… lighter? well rested? it would make sense knowing it was his day off yesterday, but everyone knows jack abbot doesn’t rest. trinity started at the night shift attending, noticed how his already playful demeanour seemed more light hearted, how easily he countered robby’s old man grunts with even stupider jokes, making the day shift attending sigh exasperatedly. 

an alert went off on trinity’s head, and the video she watched earlier that morning on her way to the PTMC popped in her head. 

“why are you staring at dr. abbot like that?” dennis asked. “oh my god, do you want to sleep with him to get back on garcia?”

“what the hell, fuckleberry? no!” trinity’s face was full of disgust. “it’s just–“

“what’s going on?” victoria questioned. 

“trinity fought with garcia again and now she’s eyeing dr. abbot. i think she wants him.” dennis answered before trinity could say anything. she slapped the back of his head. 

“abbot? ew! go for ellis.” victoria added. 

“i swear to fucking god, you two.” santos pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. she fished her phone in her scrub’s pocket and opened her favourite influencer’s tiktok’s profile, clicked on her latest video and turned the device to her friends. 

“oh, who is this? she’s hot.” vic asked as she paid attention to the video. 

“just it’s this influencer trinity has a crush on.” dennis earned himself another slap in the back of his head. 

“i don’t have a crush on her, i just think she’s cool. now watch the fucking video.”

the video ended and victoria gave her the phone back. “it fucking sucks what happened to her but i don’t get what this has to do with anything.”

trinity looked at her friends like they were missing the most obvious clue. and they were.

“the ‘hot doctor’” trinity added air quotes for effect, “she’s talking about is abbot.” 

dennis looked at her and sighed. “i think that’s a stretch, trin.”

“no, look at him!” trinity nodded in his direction. “he’s more abbot than usual. he even seems happy and well rested.”

it was victoria’s turn to contradict her. “i mean, how many silver fox doctors are there in pittsburgh? and maybe he finally had a good night of sleep.”

“oh my god, fine!”

as if on cue, abbot passed by them, flicking trinity’s ponytail as he said “time for rounds, kids.”

saturday turned into sunday, that turned into monday and monday turned into tuesday. 

wednesday arrived and grace’s words still echoed in your head like they did all weekend; she was right, you should ask jack out. it was just a date, a single one, and you weren’t going to see him again anyway. you already had been bending all of your personal-non-experiment rules with this very important social investigation, what is another one, right?

you promised yourself you would text him, you did, but you got so caught up with life that you simply didn’t have the time nor remembered to. johnny was releasing a new beer this week and you had been spending more time than usual at the brewery. a few setbacks happened along the way, but nothing you, the expert, couldn’t deal with. and, of course, you still had your job at carnegie and everything that came with being a member of the faculty. 

and that is why you spent a perfect wednesday evening in bed grading papers. 

the sound of your phone vibrating next to you was a welcome and much needed distraction after hours spent staring at your laptop’s screen. it was a few minutes past nine when your screen lit up telling you that “jack from the bar” was calling. just the sight of his name across the device was enough to have goosebumps erupt on your skin and have you question all of your rules. 

something flared up in your stomach. it wasn’t butterflies, no, but something more positive than that. to you, butterflies meant anxiety, and what you were feeling was something more akin to excitement and longing. the phone had to shrill a fourth time for you to wake up from your daydream and pick it up. 

“hey, jack from the bar! what do i owe you the pleasure?” you wanted to cringe with the obviously fake nonchalant tone that came out of your mouth. jack laughed on the other side of the phone and that made you feel a bit less self conscious. 

“are you ok? you sound a bit distant.”

you shook your head and brought the phone closer to you, laying it on your chest. “yeah, i’m on speaker. just  doing some late night work.”

“did i get you on a bad time? i can call you back tomorrow.” jack sounded concerned. 

“no! no. i’m grading some papers and if i read the word salmonella once again, i think i might self combust.”

jack laughed and it got a few chuckles out of you too. “that bad, huh?”

“more of a tough week, actually?”

jack groaned on the other side and the sounds of fabric rustling hit your ear, it sounded like he was sitting. “wanna talk about it?”

“oh, it’s just work stuff. friday is launch day at the brewery, so i’ve been working overtime there. had a batch go to waste on monday because of contamination – that, by the way, i have no idea how it happened and i have a feeling people are hiding the reason from me – but thank god it’s already solved. and, of course, the university and everything that comes with being a professor.”

“and salmonella has something to do with it? should i be worried?” he asked playfully. 

“no, no worrying. no salmonella involved. it wasn’t exactly something that could be harmful to humans, the bacteria basically just ate the yeast and killed it, so the beer was a mess and it came out all wrong. we had to clean out all of our tanks, the lab and all the tools we use and start over. that takes us at least a whole working day .”

“ooof, and what about carnegie?”

“oh, i’m teaching foodborne illnesses and how to prevent it. basically making your job a bit easier for you, you know?” you joked. 

“really?” he sounded gleeful and a smile spread across your face. “thank you for your service, professor.”

“no problem, jack from the bar.” you suppressed a yawn and asked him “what about you? slow night?”

“not exactly, but i just had a couple of minutes to spare and wanted to talk to you.”

“oh.” it left your lips before you could think about it. 

“yeah,” jack chuckled. “are you do–“ jack was cut off by a female voice shouting at him. the only words you could make out was “multiple MVC” and “three minutes”. jack asked her to bring him a gown and got back to you with a sigh. “fuck, i’m sorry. i have a golden weekend this week and wanted to know if you are free this saturday. i’d love to take you out for dinner. on a real, proper date.”

“yeah, yeah! i’d love to!”

“great, sweetheart. i’ll text you with the details. hope everything goes well with the beer and the papers. loved talking to you. bye!”

“thanks. bye, jack!”

you turned off the call and, for some reason, the chat gave you enough will power to finish grading the papers. 

jack and you kept in touch throughout thursday and friday. he was just as charming through text as he was that night at the bar. jack texted you good morning, asked what you were supposed to do that day and how it was going and effortlessly made jokes that made your co-workers side-eyed you when a easy laugh left your lips without a warning.

he also asked a lot of questions; jack was clearly making an effort in trying to get to know you and find things in common to plan the date. 

it was around ten in the morning of a very sunny saturday when he finally told you where you were going. jack greeted you like usual, asked how your morning was going and if you had slept well and told you about his shift and one of shen’s shenanigans. 

jack from the bar: The Carnegie is hosting the 59th International. I was thinking we could take a look and visit the Butterjoint for dinner and drinks. What do you think?  sent: perfect! i’m dying to visit the exhibit and butterjoint has the best old fashioned in pittsburgh  jack from the bar: An Old Fashioned drinker? You really are a woman after my heart, huh?

the flirting made you smile and your brain short circuit at the same time. as if he sensed your mild panic, or maybe he just needed to finish his train of thought, jack sent another text.

jack from the bar: Pick you up at six? sent: six is fine, but i’d rather meet you there jack from the bar: Of course, sweetheart. See you there! sent: see ya

“hey, guys!” you sat down by your vanity with a light robe around your body, your AC on and a cup of ice cold tea on your hand. marie jumped on your lap the moment you sat down and you didn’t dare to take her out of her spot. “as you can probably guess, i’ve got another date. and yes, it’s with the hot doctor from the bar.”

you grabbed your favourite concealer, dabbed some on the back of your hand, warmed it with a brush and started applying it on a few specific spots. “not explaining my base routine because it’s the same as usual, same products. we don’t do over consumption here. i’m going for concealer only on a few spots i want to cover because it’s so hot today and i can’t deal with a bunch of sticky stuff on my face.” you made an ugly face when you realised how that sounded.

“anyway! hot doctor– i’m gonna call him mcsteamy because he’s a hot silver fox and we need an alias for him. mcsteamy called me on wednesday – yes, he called me, and asked me on a date. we’ve been texting back and forth ever since, and guys… he’s sooo nice. just as fun as he was that day at the bar. he’s super attentive and actually took time to get to know me, which i know it’s the bare minimum, but after the last two dates i’ve had? that’s growth.” you set the blush brush down and started rummaging through your drawer for the shimmery eyeshadow that made your eyes pop. 

“so he planned a museum date and drinks after, and you guys know that those are my favourite. hold on, i’ll be back.” you stopped recording and went to get dressed. 

“alright, so dress is vintage bluemarine, i think? got it second hand in NYC,” you said, showing off the midi pink, flowery dress that contrasted beautifully with your skin. “green tabi flats because we are going to walk a lot and green purse to match, no brand, got it at the flea market in florence.”

you sat back down by your vanity, this time a bit closer to your phone. silenced engulfed you for a couple of seconds longer than needed as your feelings towards the date started to make sense. “i’m not nervous, which is a first in these four months. it… i don’t know, it feels right?” you shook your head. “i know how this sounds, there’s no expectations here and the rules still stand, obviously, but it feels like i won’t have any surprises, you know? maybe because we’ve already talked a lot last week at the bar. and i know that that doesn’t mean anything, but i don’t know, there’s something about mcdreamy that feels like i’m going to have a good time. as usual, i’ll be back in a few with the run down. bye!”

40andthriving🩵| pre date with the bar’s silver fox doc rambles. i have a feeling we won’t have a post date horror story this time. 🤞 santos.trin | you got your she/they shooters by your side!!!           → 40andthriving🩵| thank you!!!                     → user802764277193701 | yep, the knife is ready…                               → 40andthriving🩵| girl…  justmyluck91 | sending you good date vibes ✨✨✨ theegraceadams | love you, bestie! hope it goes amazing!!!           → 40andthriving🩵| love you 🩵🩵🩵

jack was already waiting for you by the carnegie’s entrance hall with both of your tickets in hand when you arrived. he was a vision, dark denim pants that hugged his thighs so well that you didn’t have to imagine what was underneath, and the black polo shirt that he insisted on leaving a couple of buttons undone also didn’t disappoint, you could clearly see the outline of his muscular chest and arms and a teasing bit of his chest hair.

the once-over jack gave you when you were finally by his side made goosebumps rise on your skin; the look he gave you made you feel like a prey who met her predator, it made you feel like you were about to be eaten alive in the most delicious way.

or like the hottest person in the building. 

“good to see you, sweetheart.” jack said as he hugged you tight, his left hand squeezed your waist when he kissed your cheek. 

“you too, jack. have you been waiting long?”

“no, but you’re worth any wait.” he said and winked at you, making you shake your head and playfully roll your eyes. 

he lifted the tickets and asked “shall we?”

you nodded yes and jack guided with his hand on the small of your back as you walked the halls of the carnegie museum of art. strangely – or maybe not, but you were unwilling to admit – it really felt right. jack asked how your day had gone, if everything went alright with the launch of the beer (it did). you had to cancel a couple of classes and stay at the brewery past midnight that last thursday, but everything was a success – jack even joked that he would take his friend robby there on a date. apparently, the man was a fan of your work. 

“hi!” you heard a sweet voice call from one of the workshop rooms. it was a young girl in her twenties, with big glasses adorning her face and big, curly hair that looked like a crown on top of her head. her smile was contagious. “i’m amara, one of the museum’s educators. we are hosting ‘imagining home together’, a creative workshop with the center for artistic activism. we still have two slots open, wouldn’t you guys like to join us?”

you looked at jack, searching his face for a sign if it was something he would like to do. 

sensing your unsureness, amara pressed. “it would be great bonding activity for such a lovely couple like you.”

“oh, we–“

“we would love to!” jack answered at the same time, squeezing your waist and smiling at you. 

amara beckoned you inside the room, pointing to an empty table on the far end of the room, telling you and jack to get comfortable. 

“alright, guys!” amara brought the attention of the chatty class back to her. “this is the fourth edition of ‘envisioning a just pittsburgh’ and this year’s theme is ‘home’. we want you to explore what home means to you, is it a place? a community? a language? what can we do to make pittsburgh a better place, for those who have been here from the beginning and for those arriving? we want you to explore it using whatever medium feels more comfortable to you, may it be with a painting or a drawing, poetry or music, we want to see the artistic side of you. you guys have forty five minutes to get your work done and the other forty five minutes will be reserved for the presentation!”

jack turned to you with a sly smile on his face. “this is going to be fun.” he sat down with a small wince, and you remembered his leg. 

“you good?”

“yeah.” he stretched his right leg and exhaled. “long shift last night, barely had time to rest.”

“you sure you want to do this? we can reschedule the date if you want.”

jack playfully kicked your shin, and pulled your chair closer to him in a swift move as he said “of course not. you backing down on me?”

“no!” you slapped his thigh and it felt as muscly as you imagined. “alright, mr. hotshot doctor what is it going to be? what’s your artistic vein? why do i feel like you were in a band in your teens?”

he laughed and confirmed your suspicions. “i was in one, had to leave it when i was deployed.”

“really?” you gave him a fake questioning look. “let me guess, singer?”

“nope, lead guitar. and composer.”

you sneaked a look at his hands and fought back a smile. jack noticed, obviously, but let you slide with just a smirk. 

“makes sense.”

“what about you?”

“oh, i’m more of a photography person. did occasionally write the angst poem as a teen.”

jack and you kept chatting, trying to decide on the theme. he told you about moving in from boston and adapting to the new city and you shared how you went through the same when you left your hometown for college in pittsburgh. it wasn’t an easy adaptation, but bit by bit, every person you met made you feel welcomed and loved. 

the forty five minutes flew by quickly with jack by your side. it was shocking how easy it was to talk to him, something about his tone of voice and how effortlessly flirty he was made you feel like you had known him for ages. 

amara’s voice called for attention again, signaling the time had run out. the first person to present was an old lady who appeared to be in her seventies, she had made a beautiful watercolour work representing the immigrants that helped build pittsburgh. after her, two twin brothers in their early teens, with the aid of their parents, presented a cute collage of what home was to them. their explanation brought tears to your eyes; to them, home was the corners of the city where their late grandma used to take them on the weekends. the park, the ice cream shop and the toy store. 

next, it was you and jack. 

“hi!” you greeted everyone and got a chorus of hi’s back. “jack and i are both outsiders who were welcomed by pittsburgh many, many years ago. so we wrote a little poem about it.” you pointed at the man by your side and said “he’s going to read it.”

“to the stories carried from distant shores, may pittsburgh open its doors. for every language, dream and name, for it deserves a place, deserves the same. to live, to hope and to safely start, to call this city a home with all our hearts. with space for hope in every room, let homes be safe, let futures brightly bloom. and may justice live in the streets, both old and new for pittsburgh is a home that belongs to those who grew here, and those arriving too.”

jack looked at you, easy smile adorning his handsome face while people clapped for your work. 

“ugh, i’m so torn between the pierogi with sausage and the lamb belly.” you told jack while you took a look at the menu for the hundredth time. 

the ten minute walk between the museum and the restaurant had been an educational one. jack told you he had parked between the two points of interest, across the street from the st. paul cathedral. he offered to call an uber, an offer that you countered with a “i’d love to walk, it’s such a beautiful evening.” to which jack quickly agreed to, and you backed down just as quickly when you remembered his leg. he shut you off with a scoff and gently pulling you by your hand down the museum’s stairwell.

jack abbot was a very opinionated man, you learned. and a funny one too. he had something to say about every piece of art you saw at the exhibit, commenting on everything, from the background of the artists to their choice of colour scheme. quickly, you noticed how easy it was to get a rise of him and would ask contradictory questions just to get jack to crack and go on a rant, which you found equal parts entertaining and sexy. it didn’t take long for jack to notice your dirty tactics, and he was quick to playfully – and softly – pinch the plush of your love handles, easing your jolt by kissing your temple and calling you trouble in the most sensuous, stern voice you have ever heard. it made you melt. 

the two of you kept talking after arriving at the butterjoint. between shared bites of the delicious chicken fried pickle that he told you you had to try, and the falafel you wanted to order too, jack told you his favourite work was the one by the peruvian duo, arturo kameya and claudia martínez garay, citing how their choice of colours rewired his brain. you mentioned taking a liking to the works of saloua raouda choucair, represented by a collection of jewellery made by the lebanese painter and sculptor. when asked why by jack, you told him you liked how she worked the metals and the crystals used, and how meticulously well she transferred her abstractionist vein throughout all of her artwork, no matter the medium used, paint, wood or silver. 

“i’ll drink to that.” jack raised his beer bottle and clicked it against your cream soda old fashioned, the same one you had mentioned a few days prior while texting him, the same one that jack insisted on ordering for you the moment you sat down at your table. 

remember your rules. one date. just one date, you had to remind yourself. 

“why don’t we order both and share?” jack countered. 

“you sure?”

“of course, sweetheart.” he said and flagged down the waiter, placing your orders. 

“now tell me, what made you choose the academic world?” jack turned to you the moment the waiter left and asked. 

you exhaled and pursed your lips. “honestly?” jack nodded and you shrugged. “it just happened.”

the frank and genuine tone of your answer made jack laugh. 

“i’m serious.” you playfulled slapped his hand and he caught yours in a barely there grip, and started playing with your fingers when you didn’t pull back. “for a long time i didn’t know what i wanted to do. i knew for sure that i didn’t want to follow my family’s business. for a while i even thought about studying history and maybe get a major in archeology or something like that, then one day, just before the college application period started, i remember watching this one documentary on national geographic about the sea and i thought ‘okay, i can see myself doing this’. and it was like it was set in stone. i got fixated on finding a school i could apply and study biology, then ship myself to california to get a masters in marine biology and go from there.”

“a mix up happened with my admission and i found myself as a molecular biophysics and biochemistry undergrad. i wanted to change it back to biology but they told me it would only be possible on my second semester. but i ended up loving it. i always had, like, really good grades, so around my fourth semester my coordinator asked if i wasn’t interested in tutoring and it was downhill from there. instead of getting a masters in marine biology, i went on to the engineering route, a lot of it influenced by my ex, i must admit. it escalated to a point where i got a PhD and started teaching at the same place i once was a student. it’s equally fun and frightening to see it become a full circle ride.”

jack looked at you with what you later identified as admiration, and of course his starstruck stare did not help with that feeling on the pit of your stomach, the same one you had been harbouring since he followed you to your car that first night. it also felt disconcerting and you tried to hide it with a smile. 

“what about the brewery?” he asked. 

your smile grew bigger when the memories of how the brewery came to be flourished in your head. “the brewery is johnny’s baby – he’s one of my best friends in the whole world. we went to college together. same undergrad, masters, everything. but he went to the corporate world, got a job at a big company, which he ended up hating pretty soon. but it paid him good money, so he kept doing it until he had enough cash to open his own business.”

“cut to 2019 and he invited me to work with him. a passion project that he had no idea if it would work or not, and it did! by some miracle we survived the pandemic and now we are preparing to start importing to a few countries.”

jack’s stare behind his beer intensified, and it made you focus your attention on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed the golden liquid. you mimicked him, downed a couple fingers of your old-fashioned, knowing fully well your lips probably wouldn’t follow your brain if you tried to say something, not with the way he was looking at you. 

you couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel this important and wanted.

“what about you? what made you go from the army to medicine?”

jack took a look around the room, the smile he had on the whole time you were talking diminished a bit and you could see he was carefully choosing what to say. it made you wonder if it was a touchy subject. 

“my family never really had much money, so when highschool was over…” he raised his shoulders to his ears, tipping his head forward as he once again searched for words. he sighed and his shoulders got back to their normal position. “they sell you this world of wonders and promise you a lot, you know? and to a kid that didn’t have much growing up, that seemed heaven sent. i always wanted to be a doctor, so it seemed like a good opportunity. they promise to pay for your college, and you get a roof over your head and three meals a day. seemed like a win-win situation.”

you nodded, silently telling him you were listening. jack looked a bit conflicted and you wondered when was the last time he shared his story with someone, or if he ever talked about it at all. 

“i don’t agree with it, you know? i had a very certain, almost utopic plan in my head that i was going to follow; it was going to be in and out, get my education done and leave as soon as my time was over. but the war happened, my leg happened and that’s it. physical therapy,” he tapped his temple and widened his eyes, “therapy, learn to walk with the prosthesis, that took me almost eight months ‘til i was even able to do anything alone, and a little longer ‘til i could finish my residency.”

you let out a shuddering breath. “i’m so sorry, jack.”

“don’t be.” jack shook his head and squeezed the hand he was previously holding. “that’s life. yes, it was horrible, but maybe i had to go through it to be the jack i am today. if it hadn’t happened, i probably– most definitely wouldn't have left the army when i did, and wouldn’t have finished med school, wouldn’t have come to pittsburgh to do my residency. and probably wouldn’t be here having this date with you.” he finished the sentence with a sly tone of voice that had you grinning. 

“such a flirt, aren’t you?”

he winked at you. “i’ve been told once or twice.”

you shook your head, smiling. as you were about to flirt back, the waiter came back with your dishes.

“thank you!” you told the waiter with a polite smile as he left.

“this smells amazing.” jack said and both of you started eating. 

the rest of the night passed like a blur. jack and you shared your meals like promised, laughed at shared stories of weird night shift patients, even weirder students and an exploding beer tank or two. you also poked jack about the whole SWAT thing, to which he now agreed with you about how it sounded. it had taken him a spat with his best friend and an earful from his therapist for him to see how he was basically running away from one chaos to another. he still didn’t have an answer for what else he could do, but at least he had started to see how dangerous it was. 

somewhere between the last bite of your dinner and the first of your desert, you and jack changed tables, locating yourselves at a more secluded high-top, as per the request of your lovely waiter, chris – the restaurant got more and more crowded by the hour, and chris politely asked if you and jack minded changing seats. obviously, you didn’t. 

the change was very much welcomed as it got the two of you physically closer to each other. 

dessert finished with you and jack side by side. 

another cream soda old fashioned for you and jack’s hand found itself on your lower back. his thumb tracing lazy circles aimlessly, as he talked about the time robby and him got stranded on a road just outside of pittsburgh during a road trip. two hours and a shitty cellphone signal that suddenly decided to work later, his then resident, john appeared to pick them up in the middle of nowhere.

jack’s beer turned into a dr. pepper and the bar got even more crowded. the chorus of voices was so loud that it had you even closer to jack. with a hand on his shoulder and the touch of your breath against his neck, you whispered, almost secretively, the story of how you and grace almost got arrested for public disturbance after a night out with one too many drinks a few days after your divorce had finalised.  

a can of coke took your cocktail’s place, and jack grimaced when the pirates lost a run. his hand was still on your lower back, this time massaging the soft flesh that connected it to your waist and your own hand caressed his opposite shoulder. you stared at jack, counted the freckles that kissed his face very lightly, adored the way the crow’s feet adorned his green-hazel eyes and imagined how his stubble would feel between your legs. 

“what, sweetheart?” he looked back at you and asked softly. the low timbre of his voice hit you where you had just imagined how his beard would feel. the feeling was strong enough to have you press you legs together and enough to have jack notice it. a small smirk showed up on his lips and it made you bite your own. 

your answer to his question came in the form of a kiss. 

jack didn’t give you time to backtrack – not that you would, anyway – as he pulled your body flush to his. 

your hands went straight to where they had been itching to feel the whole night: his soft curls. you twirled it between your fingers and pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck the more he deepened the kiss. 

jack was devouring you. 

if his stare felt like you were being preyed on, his kiss felt like you had been caught at last. it wasn’t messy or frantic; it was somehow slow and intense, deep and tender. it made you feel revered. it was also nothing like you had experienced before in your entire life, not even with the person you had spent eighteen years of your existence with. 

god knows how long you spent kissing. air wasn’t a necessity anymore, the feel of jack’s chest against yours and his grip on your ass was everything you needed to survive. the rest of the world could perish, you couldn’t care less.

the trance you found yourselves in broke when the bar roared when the pirates’ scored a home run.

“we should go.” jack said after he pressed his forehead against yours. you barely had time to say “we should”, deciding on simply agreeing with a couple of nods and hums as jack kept pecking your lips.

“mine or yours?” he asked with his lips still touching yours. 

“yours.” you answered and kissed him one last time.

jack asked for the check and paid for it, looking at you like you had told him you were the one who killed the virgin mary when you suggested splitting the bill. 

halfway through your walk to jack’s car, when the silence had finally become comfortable again and not anxiety driven, and the buzzing on your skin didn’t feel like electric shock anymore, jack said “i’m really offended that you thought i’d let you pay for your dinner.”

you burst out laughing. 

“i’m serious!” you could hear the outrageousness in his voice, laced with a hint of barely contained laughter. 

“jack, it’s fine! you know people split the bill in dates all the time in this decade, right?” you tried to joke but it didn’t really land. 

he huffed by your side. “yeah, well, i don’t like it.”

jack felt the way you were staring at his profile and turned to you. “what do you want to know, sweetheart?”

as softly as you could, you asked “when was the last time you went on a date?”

a beat or two passed and silence grew for longer than necessary. you were by jack’s car when he finally answered “last one was a few years ago.”

if your memory doesn’t fail you, jack mentioned that day at the bar, very briefly, that it had been two years only of his wife’s passing. 

you nodded and squeezed the hand that held yours one last time, before he closed the door on the passenger’s side and jogged to his. 

the elevator ride from the garage floor to where jack’s apartment was located on the fifth, made you feel like a teenager. he pressed you against the elevator’s wall the moment it opened its door, pressing the button that sent the machine to his floor by muscle memory. 

the kiss was just like the one you shared back at the restaurant’s bar, with a touch more of desperation as an added bonus, shown by jack unconsciously frictioning his very blatant, very large erection against your belly, only getting worse as he trailed down from your lips to your neck. 

it felt all too consuming. 

jack’s presence could be felt not only where his body touched yours, but on your soul. the way he traced his lips down your collarbone to your décolletage set you ablaze. his grunts were exciting, the obvious desire made you feel like the most powerful woman in the world. jack kissed, bit, sucked and licked every part of you he had access to on the 3x4 metal box. 

you had no idea this was even possible, but you were pretty sure an orgasm was approaching and your cunt hadn’t even been touched yet.

you made a mental note of googling if that was actually a thing. 

jack’s right hand fingers tightened their grip on your hair as he left hand one trailed up your arm, stopping by your shoulder to slowly pull at the thick, ruffled strap of your dress. he nosed his way down, carving a trail of wet kisses on your chest. 

down, down, down.

air hitting newly exposed skin. 

the tip of his tongue licking your nip–

ding!

the elevator finally arrived at his floor. jack sighed and the puff of air that left his lips hit your wet, exposed nipple, making goosebumps blossom all over your body. 

“fuck…” he murmured as pulled the pink fabric back up, covering what he had exposed of your chest. 

when the doors opened, you looked up and noticed the very in your face, angled at the both of you security camera. shameful warmth took over when you thought of the doorman watching the show you and jack put on. 

“you always forego on bras on your dates?” jack asked as he unlocked his door. he had tried to go with a casual, relaxed tone, but you could feel the underlying hint of jealousy in his voice. 

you refused to entertain the giddy thought you just had, filed it for some other time or whatever. 

so you giggled and gave him a “only when the dress asks to.”

jack huffed and said “ladies first.” motioning with his head for you to get in. 

his apartment was big, exactly what you would expect of an emergency medicine senior attending. it was also meticulously neat, exactly what you would expect from an army brat, but somehow, it was also lived in.

a big screen sat on top of a beautiful, darkish wood TV unit. there was a very obvious comfortable looking reclining chair, one you could clearly imagine jack sitting down after a rough shift to relax, or with a couple of beers to watch a game on TV with friends. the couch was just as big and fluffy looking, cream with a couple of throw pillows and a terracotta throw blanket. he also had three very well taken care of plants. 

there were a few picture frames scattered around, of him with family and friends. two of them had jack looking very in love with a very gorgeous latina woman, whom you instantly assumed to be his late wife. there was one of him in black scrubs with an asian guy, a beautiful black woman with dreads and a red headed older lady in grey scrubs by his sides. they seemed to be at the emergency room and jack’s folded arms and too-stern-to-be-real face made you smile. that must be shen and ellis, you thought, remembering your conversations.

there were also a couple other ones with a guy closer to his age, taller and a bit fuller than him, with darker hair and a full beard that was starting to get some greys in it. they both wore scrubs in one of the pictures and jack was more relaxed in this one, both men apparently holding back laughter as a blonde woman, also in grey scrubs and around their age, gave up and rolled back in laughter. 

the other picture jack had with him had the other guy dressed in a leather jacket and black t-shirt, very similar to the polo jack had on. they were sitting down on a high top, with two beer flight paddles sitting in front of them.

“you want something to drink?” jack called from the kitchen. you were so entertained being nosy that you didn’t notice he had sat your purse on the entryway table and went to the kitchen to try and be a good host. 

a crass joke popped up in your head, but you shook it away and went for “no, i’m good!”

you turned back to the picture to analyse it further. the colourful wall on the background was awfully familiar, as were the glasses used on the flights and the logo adorning them. 

your brewery.

johnny’s brewery. 

robby.

somewhere in the back of your mind, a conversation you had with grace years and years ago popped back again. 

it was a chilly and lonely weekend, one in which the two of you were still married, but your husbands were away on a work trip. grace texted you a picture of a badly rolled joint, captioned with “read and puff???”

read and puff was a game the two of you created on your dorm sharing days, where you would smoke a joint and read poorly written books just for the sake of it. 

she arrived at yours not even twenty minutes later after you replied with a “YES!!!”

the shitty romance book you had chosen was forgotten a few pages in, after it served the purpose of making you laugh. out of nowhere, grace hit you with a “do you think you walk by your soulmate everyday without noticing it?”

“what?” you whispered, confused.

“think about it! everyday we go to coffee shops, malls, walk around the city and pass by hundreds of people that have the same, or similar, routine as us but we never notice them. then one day… you have a new co-worker, or a new pilates buddy, and you guys talk and find out you’ve been frequenting the same places but never really noticed each other there.”

you nodded, it made sense. “yeah, i think so. but we’ve already found ours, so who knows.”

“yeah…” grace murmured her answer. 

later that evening, after you sobered up, grace told you she and clayton – her then husband – were on a rough patch and she was thinking about getting a divorce. 

you shook away the memory of that read and puff night and repeated your rules like a mantra. 

one date. no strings attached.

one date. no strings attached.

one date. no strings attached.

“here.” jack extended hand pulled you out of you mini spiral and offered you a glass of chill water. you smiled at him. 

“thanks.” you pointed at the picture frame. “i’m guessing that’s robby.”

he nodded. “how did you know?”

“that’s the brewery. back at the bar that night, you mentioned he was, and i quote, a fan of my work. why didn’t you tell me you’ve been there before?”

“i was afraid of looking like a creep, like i had been stalking you.”

you snorted. “makes sense.”

jack took the almost empty glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table before pulling you to him. “come here.”

unlike your previous kisses, this one was slower, but needier somehow. jack had a way of making you feel like pliable putty in his hand almost instantly. his tongue traced yours with casual dominance and his fingers knew exactly where to touch you without you having to tell.

your body reacted to his like magnets attracted themselves; opposite poles that when in touch with each other, couldn’t let go. 

jack guided you to his large sofa and laid you on it. the furniture was as comfortable as it looked. 

he let go of your lips just to attach his back again on that sweet spot of your neck, getting a whiny moan as a reward. 

“you have no idea how many times i thought about this.” he confessed. 

“yeah?”

“yeah. you walked in that bar and sat beside me, talked about that stupid fucker and laughed at my stupid jokes, and all i could think about how beautiful you were, how soft your skin would feel. how i wanted to have you under me, how you would sound and taste.”

“fuck.” his confession made you weak, and you silently thanked him for laying you down before doing it. 

“i know, honey.” jack cooed, rather cockily, as he pulled the straps of your dress down, freeing both of your breasts and popping a nipple between his lips. he teased you, alternated between licking and sucking and kneading your free tit. 

“sh–shit.” you moaned loudly after he lightly grazed his front teeth against your nipple and continued. “i touched myself to the thought of you that night.”

“yeah?” you felt his question against your chest more than actually heard it. jack lifted his head and ordered “tell me about it.” before diving back in, this time giving his attention to your other tit. 

“i was so wet when i got home. went for a shower and– fuck! oh god… my panties were drenched. i usually need a vibrator when i’m alone, but i was so worked up that i came so hard with my fingers.”

sometime during your own confessional rant, jack had bunched the fabric of the skirt of your dress and pooled it around your waist. “yeah? like this?”

he didn’t bother taking your panties off, just pulled it to the side and rubbed his thumb in lazy circles on your puffy clit. 

“yes, jack.” you moaned his name and he gifted you with his index and middle fingers. they filled you up deliciously. 

in true jack fashion, like he had done before as if he had been rewarded with a map of your body, he found your g-spot easily. 

jack massaged the swollen spot softly, studying your every breath, sigh and moan. he loved the way your body welcomed him as he moved his fingers in a come hither motion, got mesmerised by how your pussy got wetter, how your skin prickled and the way your thighs were starting to tremble. 

“jack, please.” you begged, for what you didn’t know, when he attached his lips around your clit. his tongue circled your nub, licking it with the flat muscle.  

jack timed his ministrations, synchronising the roll of this tongue with the pumping of his fingers. you ran your fingers through his curly hair, tightening them when he moaned and relaxed against you. 

“jack, i’m gonna–“ your orgasm washed over you before you could finish your warning. 

the man didn’t stop his attack on you after you came, making sure to extend your orgasm as much as he could as he helped you ride it out, until it became so unbearable that you clenched your thighs around his head and pushed him out with the palm of your hands. 

jack looked like a maniac. hair sticking out in all directions, his stubble wet with your juices, pupils blown out and chest so red one would think he had spent all day in the sun. 

“i think i went deaf on my right ear.” he said while trying to pop it with his finger. 

“sorry.” you said, laughing breathlessly. 

“ten out of ten, hope it happens again, or whatever the kids are saying nowadays.”

you shook your head and got up on wobbly knees to kiss him again. almost instantly, your hand dropped to jack’s painfully hard erection, only to have him stop you the moment you finally undid his fly and started to trace your nimble fingers inside his boxers. 

“not gonna last, baby. and i really want to fuck you right now.”

“and i really wanted to suck you.” you said, tone of voice the same of a spoiled brat. jack let out a shuddering breath and kissed your pouty lips. 

“let’s go to the bedroom, sweetheart.”

jack’s bedroom was as beautiful as the rest of his apartment.

a dark, greyish green accent wall that contrasted against the other three white ones. his king sized bed set there in the middle, just as soft looking as the rest of the furniture you have met so far. he had four big pillows on top of it, a habit he most definitely kept from his wife. 

everything was just as neat. he had art on his walls, another TV, this one smaller than the one in his living room, in the wall right across his bed. a pile of medical books on a night stand and a pile of vinyls on the other. 

“sorry about the mess.” he said when he noticed you were studying the contents beside his bed. 

“what mess? i was trying to figure out what you were listening to.”

“pearl jam, nirvana, rush, some radiohead, semisonic.”

“good taste.” you complimented him and got a smile back. 

“thank you.”

the wall to your left had an almost floor to ceiling window, lined by a doorless buffet cabinet that had more vinyls, books and other trinkets. beside it sat his crutches and a folded wheelchair. 

you were fumbling with the zipper on the side of your dress when jack sat down on his bed with a groan. he had already ditched his jeans and was roaming his hand around his leg and where his prosthesis attached to the limb. 

“you okay?” you asked him. 

jack nodded, said a “yeah” without looking at you. he seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed and you wondered if anyone besides his wife had been intimate with him since he lost part of his leg. 

“we don’t have to do this, jack. not if you are uncomfortable with me or anything.” you told him as you ran your fingers through his hair again, softer this time. he purred. 

“i want to. it’s just… you’re the first person since li–“ jack sighed. “no one besides liz has seen me like this.”

his words echoed in your head. liz. his late wife now had a name. no one had seen him like this besides her. jack hadn’t been intimate with anyone since her passing. 

you don’t give yourself time to think, knowing you would get in your head. so you just dropped to your knees in front of him and asked “alright, how do we take this off?”

jack’s smile grew bigger. “press here.” he said, guiding your hand to the base of the socket of his prosthetic leg. “and pull.”

jack turned to his night stand and pulled a packet of wet wipes, a balm and a single condom. the strap of your dress fell further down your arms, and a sudden wave of self consciousness hit you when you realised how crazy you probably looked, with your messy hair and tits out. you tried to ignore it when you saw jack looking at you with hungry eyes again. 

“i can take it from here, sweetheart.” he said when you tried to help him take the gel liner off his residual limb. 

you nodded, whispered an “okay” and got up to take off your dress while jack cleaned his limb. 

jack knelt on the mattress and rolled his condom on, and you mimicked his position to take him on another needy kiss. 

“is like this more comfortable for you?” you asked in a raspy voice. 

“yeah.”

his confirmation hit your ears and you dropped on all four in front of him, arching your back and wiggling your butt when you looked back at him. jack murmured something that sounded a lot like a “you’re gonna kill me” as he started to run his tip from his entrance to your clit, collecting the mix of your natural lubrication and your first orgasm. 

even after working you out, jack’s cock still felt a bit like a tight fit. it wasn’t one of those monster cocks people talk about in books, the ones you highly doubted ever existed, but he was clearly thicker than most men, and the thickest you had ever had. 

“shit.” both of you whispered when he finally hit your hilt. 

a giggle left your lips and soon turned into a moan when jack gave his hips an experimental thrust. he stopped, maybe getting used to you, maybe assessing how you felt. you truly couldn’t tell, brain fogged by your needy haze. 

it was jack’s turn to laugh when you pushed your ass back at him. “so needy, aren’t you, honey?” he mocked, but took pity on you and started moving his hips again. 

you knew jack was as desperate as you when he didn’t bother to start slow. the tip of his cock repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside of you, turning you into a whimpering mess in seconds. you were so out of it that you didn’t hear a word of what he was saying. 

jack slowed his thrusts and bent down on top of you, fast enough to grab both of your arms, folding them by your sides like handles for him to loop his own through it and bring you flush against his chest. 

once again you felt him everywhere. his thrusts were faster than it had been before, the tip of his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly and the warmth of his skin on your back was starting to make you dizzy. on top of that, jack was kneading the rolls of your stomach in a way you knew you were going to have hand prints all over the next morning. 

jack abbot had reduced you to a whimpering mess. 

you heard chuckling behind your ear and felt his lips press a kiss there. “yeah? it feels that good, baby?”

you nodded like your life depended on it. “so good, j–jack.”

the praise gave him more confidence and jack started pounding into you harder and brought his fingers to your clit. 

“holy fuck, jack. just like this. i’m gonna cum again.”

“cum for me, baby. i’m right behind you.”

you nodded and a few thrusts and a couple of moans later, you and jack came together. 

you fell onto his bed and rolled to your back and jack fell right beside you. the two of you basked in each other’s presence in silence, just listening to your erratic breathings and the feel of your skins. 

“shit.” you were almost dozing off when jack said it several minutes later, making you alert again. 

“what?”

“i gotta take care of this.” he said pointing to his, now limp, dick wrapped in the condom. 

“hold on.” 

you got up from his bed and made your way to his window, bringing his crutches back with you. jack thanked you and you made your way towards his en-suite bathroom. 

jack discarded the condom and cleaned himself while you peed, a scene way too domestic for a one night stand. 

you woke up to the distant sound of red hot chilli peppers playing and the smell of bacon. the bed felt good but strange under you, but soon the memories of the previous night hit you and a pleased smile graced your lips. 

sitting up, you noticed a black t-shirt waiting for you on the night stand. it fit you alright, a bit tight on your chest and did a poor job of covering most of your ass, so you pulled your underwear back on and made your way to find jack in the kitchen. 

“good morning.” you greeted him. 

jack smiled and greeted back, pulling you into a sweet kiss. he tapped on the granite counter and told you to hop on it. “i’m almost done.”

you did as he told and you engaged in an easy conversation about the music that was playing. 

seeing jack work around the kitchen was as arousing as he had been the night before. he moved around effortlessly and the evidences of what you did – the scratches on his back and the bites on his chest – were worn with pride. 

jack turned the cooktop off and set the last dish on the table before he turned back to you. 

“you look so good with my shirt on.” he told you, running his hands up and down your thighs, his thumb getting awfully close to your core every time. 

“yeah?” you whined and fell for his bait, bucking your hips when his right thumb got too close to your clit. 

“yeah, honey.”

jack grazed his thumb against your slit and you whined his name. 

“lay back, sweetheart.” you propped your elbows against the cool counter and did what he asked, but stayed in an angle that still let you see what he was doing. 

“she’s so pretty.” he said as he pulled your panties to the side again, and brought his face close to your pussy. “begging for me.” 

you were about to come up with a smart remark when jack licked a long strip up your cunt and took your clit to his mouth, making your hands go straight to his hair, pulling him closer. 

his tongue was soft against your clit and it made you feel like you were walking on clouds. you wished you could stay like this forever, with his face between your thighs, his tongue inside of your and with his hands roaming your body. 

unlike last night, your orgasm creeped out on you and hit you without a warning. you were still a trembling mess when jack emerged from what was quickly becoming his favourite place on earth. 

“alright, now we can eat!”

as expected, your phone had countless notifications from grace, from phone calls, to all caps texts and worried audio messages. you sent grace an audio message back as soon as you set foot inside jack’s elevator, reassuring her that everything was ok and that the date went incredibly well. as usual, you weren’t able to hold yourself and told her a short version of how the sex went, which earned you a very loud audio of her screaming “yes, bitch! ahahahaha.”

you felt sorry for your poor uber driver. 

you pet marie who, rightfully, was pissed off with your disappearance, and went straight to your bathroom. 

“hey, girlies.” you opened and closed your mouth a few times and brought your hands together in a low effort clap. “i’m alive and well… so well.” you giggled and pointed to your clothes. you caught a glimpse of yourself and part of you couldn’t believe you were recording a video like this; hair in a bun because it was so messy from jack pulling it, that you didn’t have the means to deal with it at his place, a couple of hickeys on your neck and chest and, even with the remnants of the previous night’s make up and two skipped skin care routines, you were glowing. 

“it’s two something in the afternoon and i just got home, as you can probably see. the date was incredible. mcdreamy was everything i was expecting and more, way more. i don’t know what to tell you guys except that i guess we will have a first on this channel.”

“mcdreamy will be the first date number two.” you turned the camera off and posted the tiktok. 

40andthriving🩵| yeah, i really don’t know what to tell you guys.  theegraceadams | bitch, you look fucked out. i love that for you santos.trin | oh my god??? user802764277193701 | can put away the knife ig justmyluck91 | girl, come back!!! tells us how the date went!!! imsotired | dude????? SECOND DATE ALERT! 🚨🚨🚨 sophiesoph | marry him

a/n ii – no, i don’t like grey’s anatomy, i just think eric dane was hot. RIP to the baddie.

next chapter |

They’d gotten together before they presented. Both late bloomers. Very late. Med school. Assumed to be betas because, well, they were twenty-one and that was more than a little late to be anything else. Robby, bitingly sarcastic, rakishly and boyishly handsome, too cocky for his own good as he flirted with anything with a pulse. Jack, a squirrely redhead fresh off a tour in Kuwait with darkness in his eyes and an amputation that needed six more weeks before he could be fitted for his prosthetic. An unlikely pair connected by one thing: Being not quite enough. Not quite at the top of their class. Not quite harsh enough to attract omegas or soft enough to attract alpha. Just enough for each other.

Morning workouts where Robby pretended he wanted to get fit as an excuse to come to Jack’s physical therapy sessions, encouraging him and watching him with barely controlled lust as he fought his way out of the wheelchair and onto his prosthetic, going from wobbly to sure over weeks and weeks of hard work. Midday lunches where they could complain about professors who lived behind the times and other students who just plain sucked. Study sessions where they savored shortbread cookies from the cafe attached to the library, those shared moments of late-night sweetness enough to fuel them through days of harsh salt and sour.

So they bonded – not in the traditional sense of the word with bites and pheromones, but something else. Something that went deep. Deep enough that when they were both hit by their first rut, they collided into each other full force. Lips that broke against teeth, sweat that mingled as they lost themselves, knots that rubbed against each other as they tangled up in Jack’s army-issue sheets. After that first rut together, they locked eyes – hazel and brown, a sunlit creek – and knew. It would be a hard road for them in a society where two alphas together was well outside the norm, but this was it. This was lust and love and laughter and light and everything all merged into one relationship.

They decided to figure it out together.

Wedding bands and attending positions and fifteen years of figuring it out later, there’s only one thing missing: A family of their own. Every alpha has that deep urge at the base of their gut to have pups – to breed, yes, but also to raise children, to grow with them, to be a parent. That was the one thing they couldn’t give each other. There are plenty of options these days for non-A/O couples, of course, but none of them felt like a fit for Jack and Robby.

They could only agree on one option: If the right omega came along, someone they could both spend their lives with, they’d have pups of their own. If it happened, it happened. They could be happy and fulfilled without it, but the option was open.

There’s been a handful of omegas over the years, but never anything serious. Friends they helped out during heats, brief flings, one boyfriend of a couple months. In the last five years, though, it’s just been the two of them. Nowadays, creeping into their forties together, they’re pretty damn sure that dream is no longer possible. Countless friends who understand them most have told them to wait, it’s fate, that biology wants alphas to find omegas. But, really, no matter how much they nod along or laugh it off, they’ve made peace with their simple life together, refusing to admit that there’s still a tiny spark at the backs of their minds every once in a while. That want. That ache.

Jack can smell you from the hub.

Through the clear semi-perforated patch over his nostrils that usually keeps omega pheromones off his mind.

His chin snaps up as you sit down at regular triage. As a nurse does your intake, you cradle a pup who can’t be more than two wailing in your arms. Your eyes are as red-rimmed as his, clearly affected deeply by him being so upset. You soothe the poor baby with gentle bouncing and intentionally flaring that scent of yours. Jack’s body moves before his brain catches up, taking long strides until he’s next to the nurse receptionist, hand on her shoulder, mouth already opening to say, “I’ll take them back and handle everything now. Thank you.”

It takes him by surprise as much as the nurse, who gives him a curious, amused sort of glance. Sure, theoretically, he’s more than welcome to take a patient back in whatever order he wants as an attending. But she can see right through any real reasoning. The stern and sarcastic Dr. Abbot fawning tenderly because of a crying pup and a sniffling omega? It’s…endearing, if strange.

After more than a decade in emergency medicine, he’s very rarely affected by the presence of omegas in distress. He even chuckles when his younger, less experienced coworkers trip over themselves to focus on anything when a sweet, soft thing like you needs immediate help. But now here he is, hand on your lower back as you introduce yourself and the toddler to him, taking sturdy steps across the ED like he’s trying to shield you from any other doctors who might poach your presence.

Guiding you into the closest open room equipped with pediatric supplies, Jack moves like he’s your marionette. As he gets the room and chart ready, his every motion is an unconscious response to you, his body instinctively trying to comfort and assure and take control the way an alpha should. It’s all instinct buried in medicine. While he tries to keep his head on straight, Jack sits on his stool opposite you and the toddler on the hospital bed and gently says, “Tell me all about what’s going on.”

You offer up a small smile and explain as you fuss over the toddler’s messy hair and tear-streaked cheeks and rumpled pajamas, “Benny’s felt yucky all day – really sleepy and fussy, not wanting to eat, running kinda warm – but we had it under control until a few hours ago. Sips of clear fluids, nice cooling bath, resting with some Bluey.” Your eyes go misty again as you look up from Ben and find Jack’s gaze resting tenderly on you. With your lower lip wobbling and your voice thick with tears, you tell him, “But then his fever just kept climbing up starting after dinner. I didn’t feel good about going to sleep not knowing if it would break or not, so we’ve been up for hours. Now he doesn’t want to drink anything and- and he’s never upset and clingy like this; he’s so curious and polite and-” You fall into tears again. “Sorry, I just- I just-”

Jack can’t stand seeing you upset. It hurts as much as any real heartbreak. And he’s never even met you before. He can’t help wondering what it would be like if he took the scent blocking patch off his nose and let himself inhale the fullness of you. Clearly your pheromones are strong enough to be a problem for him without even knowing that.

Swallowing hard, Jack scoots closer and takes your free hand in his. It’s not professional, but you don’t mind. You lean into the touch, clutching his hand close, taking his strength to be your own. Jack squeezes your hand and assures, “It’s alright; you did the right thing bringing him in. We’ll get this figured out in no time. Is it okay if I pick him up and do my exam now?”

With a reluctant nod, you help Jack move Ben onto the exam bed, where he looks so small and so hurt that your tears keep falling despite how often you wipe them away. Ben’s immediately reaching for you, trying to get to your side, and you look to Jack with the most innocent, pained eyes. He touches his stethoscope to Ben’s chest and tells you, “You can stay over here; don’t worry. Are you his mom?”

“Oh, no, not anyone’s mom,” you reply softly, always taken aback by the question no matter how many times it’s asked. Stroking Ben’s wispy hair like he’s your own, you go on, “I’m his nanny. Shoot, his au pair. His mom gets so mad when I forget to call myself that. Anyway, yeah, um, I just take care of him when they’re away, which is a lot of the time.”

He commits that to memory, hating himself for being relieved to know that you don’t already have a mate and pups of your own. It’s a strange swirling feeling in his stomach. Something similar to what he feels when he’s alone with Robby after a fresh batch of students has moved on – a yearning, quiet, needy thing. He swallows hard, swipes a forehead thermometer over Ben’s skin, and tuts, “103.8. That’s no good, little man.” Subtly dropping his hand, he pages for a nurse and tells you, “We’re going to go ahead and start IV fluids since he hasn’t been drinking enough and add some fever reducers to try to get his temperature down so he’s more comfortable. Once he settles some, he’s due for a whole bunch of fun tests. We’re gonna have to admit him tonight to make sure that fever breaks and he can sleep here under observation.”

Ben’s eyes slam up to yours, understanding as much as his tiny brain can as he latches onto ‘sleep here.’ Trying to snuggle closer to you while you fight to keep him on the exam bed, he wriggles and worries fearfully, “Nini stay?”

“He can’t say ‘nanny’ yet,” you tell Jack with the softest smile. You gently run your fingers through Ben’s hair, the gesture clearly to calm you both, and ask Jack, “That’s okay, right? If I stay in the room with him? His parents are in Europe until next week.”

Glancing at your chart to make sure all your paperwork is in order, he replies, “Of course. I’ll have them bring up a cot so you don’t have to deal with the loveseat. They’re awful.”

“That’s sweet; thank you. I know it’s not your job to deal with stuff like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” As a resident pushes an IV and takes cultures, Ben finally starts to quiet and soften as the fluids hit his system, his sleepiness beginning to take over. Jack tells you sternly, his eyes paternal and warm, “I want you to be extra diligent about keeping yourself healthy the next couple days. Can’t have a lovely thing like you coming down with whatever the little guy has.” Your eyes widen in response to the way the compliment slips from his tongue so earnestly and simply. His face blanches and his neck goes blotchy. Quickly, he stammers out, “Oh, god. I’m so sorry; I have no idea why I just said that. I mean, you are lovely, of course, but-”

“It’s alright, Dr. Abbot,” you giggle, happy to smile for the first time since you’ve been at the hospital. You give Jack a playful nudge and add, “I don’t mind being called lovely by a silver fox such as yourself.”

As his cheeks tinge bright pink, Jack nods courteously, grateful that you’ve given him an out. “Thank you. That’s, ah, that’s very nice of you.”

You snicker and shake your head. “Please; I’m sure patients hit on you all the time.”

The junior doctor who’s tending to Ben snorts, “You have no idea.” Her mischievous eyes flick up to yours with a conspiratorial sort of energy. “Usually it doesn’t fluster him so much.”

Abbot releases a harsh breath and bites back, “Ellis, please.”

“I’m just saying,” she teases lightly, making big amused faces to amuse Ben while drawing his blood and praising him for being brave, “the big bad night shift attending doesn’t usually take care of sweet toddlers with fevers himself.”

Abbot hisses, “Parker.”

She just chuckles to herself and stands up with her collection of swabs and vials. Practically skipping past with amusement, she leans in close to him and teases, “We can smell it on you, gramps.”

You let out a squeak, something like a laugh, and avert your eyes. You hadn’t mentioned it because you’re unendingly polite and would rather die than embarrass a doctor, but, yes, Dr. Abbot is scenting all over you like a teenager with a crush, all raspberry and brunch. It’s not necessarily uncommon for an alpha to stink up a room when they’re with a particularly cute omega, but for an older professional it’s a bit juvenile, maybe. Like laughing a little too loud at every joke or staring at someone’s lips while they talk.

To Jack, though, the realization is like being shoved in the chest. As Dr. Ellis takes a reluctant-but-too-sleepy-to-protest Ben off for some imaging, Jack puts his hand over his face and groans, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. For the compliment and then for this and- God. I haven’t- I’m not even- I’m sorry. That’s the point. Sincerely.”

After biting your lip so adorably it makes Jack’s stomach turn, you sheepishly admit, “It’s really alright, doctor. I’m probably a little too close to my heat to be running around in public; I’m sure it’s affecting you more than it normally would. Don’t worry about it.”

Jack’s brows furrow. You’re affecting him that strongly when he has his nostrils covered and he’s nowhere near being in rut? That’s ridiculous. He must be, like, sick, surely. Or you’re some super omega with magic seduction hormone powers.

Or, worse than it all, you’re something special.

His mind races a bit as he turns away from you, reaches up, and carefully peels off the scent-blocking patch over his nose.

And it’s you.

Shift change can’t come soon enough. Jack’s thrumming his fingers against countertops, clicking his pen enough to make Dana snatch it from his hand, and checking on you and Ben so often it could probably count as an addiction. He tries to be subtle about it but fails miserably, not even realizing how pathetic he’s being until Ellis makes fun of him for it – over and over, at that.

Finally, though, fucking finally, his husband slinks through the doors with his sunglasses on and his earbuds still blasting. He walked to work, which means he woke up early, couldn’t get back to sleep, and stayed antsy until he could justify leaving early. The moment he can smell Jack, his face softens, the morning’s anxiety easing because he knows Jack will have already done everything he can to set the day shift up for success.

This morning, though, Jack walks up to Robby with hurried, serious steps unlike the exhausted, unsteady ones he’s usually met with. He doesn’t skip tilting his chin up to meet Robby’s quick kiss – he never misses that – but he does drop his voice low right away to say, “You need to come with me.”

As he meets Jack’s eager pace, Robby hustles up, catches Jack by his lower back, and chuckles against his ear, “Shit, where’s the fire?”

But Jack doesn’t answer, too possessed with leading Robby up to the pediatric room where you and Ben are still both sleeping. The heavy blinds keep out the early morning light and Jack’s hand hesitates on the door handle. You look so peaceful with your lips gently parted, curled up, totally calm now that Ben’s fever’s come down and the antibiotics are working their magic. During morning rounds, he’s the first doctor to punch the lights on and wake a patient to keep the hospital going and free up beds.

But you?

He hates the idea of waking you.

With a shaky breath, Jack meets his own husband’s eyes, tells him all about last night, that moment really just a few hours ago now, and then says, “It’s time for his morning workup. You’ll understand if- I need you to- I don’t even know how to explain myself right now. Just come in here with me, okay? You’ll know. I’m sure you’ll know.”

Tentative, soft, he nods. “Alright, of course. No problem.” Early in a relationship, this kind of intense behavior would be met with suspicion, concern, confusion. But now, with more than a decade of expertise in the strange field of Jack Abbot, Robby knows better than to do anything but what he asks without question. He tucks one of Jack’s too-grown-in curls behind his ear and prods quietly, “Just give me a quick heads up on what I’m in on, though, would you? Because, from here, it looks like a pedes case getting ready for discharge.”

Jack cracks a stupid sort of smile. “I know I’m being nuts, alright? But just take a deep breath when we’re through the door, okay? Because I think she’s- I think she’s supposed to be ours, Michael. I’ve never felt anything like it – and I need you to feel it too.”

Robby tilts his head to the side, any thoughts rushed away. Ours. Conceptually, he knows what Jack means. They’ve discussed it before. But Jack’s never looked so goddamn serious about it. Like there’s not a single question in his mind. If you’re not theirs, then you must at least be his. That makes Robby’s heart rate spike a bit, but he decides not to entertain the thought. He decides, as he has ten thousand times, to trust Jack with the fragile stitched-up thing of his heart.

As Jack pushes open the door and carefully slides the dimmer lights on, you stir to consciousness and so does Ben. When you realize the two of you have actually managed to sleep soundly after such an awful evening, your scent flares happily.

Robby’s world shifts just like Jack’s had.

His breath catches in his throat when you smile at him.

Shortbread.

Butter and vanilla and sugar.

Flooding from your skin, so thick and delicious it makes their heads spin.

Jack and Robby’s scents have always fought one another. Robby – black coffee, no cream, roasted so dark it’s past bitter. Jack – raspberry, bright, effervescent, tongue-coating sour. They don’t make sense together. Every kiss a clash. But with your scent mingled in, something gentle that matches them each individually and meets in the middle, it all blends into something that clicks into place. It’s not just Robby’s rough winter night and Jack’s bright spring sunrise. It’s a summer evening that lingers on and on, warm, ripe, rich. Fireflies in cupped palms and laughter on whiskey tongues and homemade thumbprint cookies dipped in swirling hazelnut heat until they’re perfectly soft. A complicated mouthful finally balanced.

Immediately after they leave the treatment room, Robby drags Jack down a hall and corners him against a wall with a borderline heaving chest. Voice raspy and needy, he presses his forehead to his husband’s and checks, “You feel this- this crazy? Like nothing makes sense anymore?”

Jack swallows hard and tries to focus on the rough scent from Robby’s neck. Usually it calms him, but his head is still spinning from the way your presence mixed with theirs into something so much more simple and true. He reaches up and twines his fingers in the short hair at the back of Robby’s neck and replies slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do. Fuck. What are we supposed to do? Should we-”

“We shouldn’t,” Robby whispers. Harsh. Lying. “We really shouldn’t.”

“We shouldn’t,” Jack agrees as he nods like he means it. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he sees you in the hall, away from Ben’s inquisitive eyes, questioning a nurse with serious concerned eyes. He melts all over again. Looking back at Robby, he sighs, accepting it, “But what if we did anyway?”

Sitting at the dining room table with pancakes, eggs, and bacon piled on your plates for a 4pm breakfast, both of you still cozy in your pajamas, you’re starting to think it might have all been in your head. 

Your husband of 4 fucking years had no idea that you’d been scheming all this time, trying to surprise him.

Tickets to the AC/DC reunion tour 2 years ago? Nope, he’d seen the confirmation email pop up on your phone, not that you’d known that at the time, when you’d let him borrow it to call his own (he tended to lose his pretty often). He’d then casually remarked a few days later he couldn’t wait to go, leaving you sputtering over a chart, wondering how in the world he knew as he walked away.

Then there’d been the bronco. The old, broken down, sage green bronco, parked a few streets over that he kept casting longing glances at, followed by ‘what I wouldn’t give to fix that up.’

 Jack had never been one to splurge on himself, but you had been itching to find him a hobby that didn’t include being shot at, so you’d bought it, hurrying home to make sure there was space to park it in the driveway. The former owner would be dropping it off in an hour. 

But then, 30 minutes later, Jack walked through the door, dropping a kiss to your cheek, thanking you for the car. You’d wanted to scream. 

What you didn’t know was that Jack had finally given in, dropping by the neighbor’s to see how much he wanted for it, only to find out his darling wife had already gotten it for him.

But the absolute worst, by far, had been right before your wedding. Jack was sweet and rather sentimental, preferring memories and photos to material objects. So, you’d decided to start a scrap book. It was a little girly, and you’d worried he wouldn’t love it as much as you did, but you still went ahead with it. You’d filled it with all the pictures the two of you had taken over the first 3 years of your relationship, with the last decorated page dedicated to your engagement party. The book was barely a quarter full and you’d practiced a sappy speech in the mirror about filling the rest of the pages over the rest of your lives.

And everything had gone according to plan. You worked on it in secret for weeks, and as far as you knew, he was none the wiser. 

But then, as the two of you sat in bed the night before your wedding, just before you were going to show him the damn book, Jack had simply looked up from whatever western novel he was reading and very nonchalantly asked if you were ever going to let him see your scrapbook. When asked how he knew about that, he simply shrugged and said, “I pay attention.”

You still gave your sappy speech, watched his eyes shine with unshed tears, and let him lay you down and fuck you one last time as your fiance.

And as you laid out these examples, explaining the steps you’d gone to to keep the secrets, Jack simply sat there, slowly chewing his bacon while his eyes screamed ‘this woman needs help.’

“-but I finally did it,” you were smug, alternating between cutting your pancakes into smaller bits and gesturing wildly with your cutlery. “I finally managed to actually surprise you!”

Your eyes strayed to the box, still open on the table, your IUD shining in the late afternoon sunlight. You’d done it. He had been totally, 100% caught off guard. It was straight out of left field, he’d never seen it coming.

“I was suspicious.”

That was all he said, eyes still focused on you, lips quirking up as he took a bite of his eggs.  

All you could do was sit in wide eyed silence for a moment.

“Bullshit you knew,” you were starting to spiral, wondering where you’d slipped up. Maybe someone had snitched? But no, only Joan knew about your plan and she’d never have given you up.

The bastard shrugged. “You said you were cramping-”

“That is a totally reasonable comment from a woman in her 30s with a uterus.”

“Yeah,” he laughed under his breath, pointing at you with a strip of bacon. “But you brought up your IUD. You should have just said your stomach hurt, ‘cause then I asked Robby if you were doing ok.”

You hadn’t even told Robby about your plan and he still fucked it up.

You groaned, head dropping into your hands.

“And he said you disappeared for an hour to get a ‘pap smear’,” the grin on his face as he made the air quotes had you wanting to throttle him. “So I asked Tina from Obstetrics if you were ok. She said she had no idea. Apparently, you spent an hour in an exam room with Joan.”

“You called my fucking gynecologist to confirm my alibi?”

“I didn’t know it was an alibi,” Jack’s shoulders were shaking with the laughter he was holding in. It was starting to become infectious. You couldn’t stop the smile slowly creeping onto your face, despite the niggling irritation. “At the time, I was just checking on my wife, being the wonderful husband that I am. So imagine my surprise when there is not a single record of your little visit anywhere.”

“Oh, so you got Tina to break HIPAA for you?”

“Sweetheart,” his eyes rolled ever so slightly. “I am your emergency contact, your boss, your husband, and the only person you put down on your HIPAA release form.”

“Robby’s actually my boss,” was your only counterpoint, and even as you grumbled it out, you knew it was weak.

“Yeah, when he’s not having a nervous breakdown,” Jack snorted, picking up his coffee to take a sip. 

“But that doesn’t mean you knew,” you redirected. Robby’s mental state was the absolute last thing you wanted to discuss during your 4 day long  husband’s birthday/attempted conception weekend.

“Mmm no, I never said I knew,” Jack leaned back, legs spread and posture relaxed as he looked across the table at you.

“Ok, fine you didn’t explicitly say you knew what I was planning. You just heavily implied you did.”

“I did not imply anything. I said I knew you spent an hour alone in an exam room with your best friend who is a gynecologist and that you were keeping something from me,” his eyes darted down to the box, tracing over its contents. “I had some suspicions, some good, some bad, but I didn’t know. Not then.”

“What do you mean ‘not then’?” You sat up straighter in your chair. The oversized, decades old West Point t-shirt that had once been his slipped off your shoulder. You tugged it back into place, choosing to ignore how his eyes immediately snapped to the tiny bit of skin that had been exposed in favor of your interrogation.

Jack shrugged, his eyes avoiding yours. “I didn’t know then.”

Your brow furrowed into a glare. You very rarely had any success trying to intimidate your husband, but now it seemed like he was trying to hide something.

“Jack Abbot tell me what you knew and when you knew it. Now.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head as he grabbed his coffee mug again. You watched him drain the rest of the lukewarm liquid, eyes tracing the movement of his throat as he swallowed. He set the mug down gently, eyeing you like you might start swinging the butter knife still in your hand.

“Alright,” his arms folded over his chest, those obnoxious biceps of his straining against the plain black t-shirt he wore. “I knew you had some sort of-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “Gynecological… something going on.”

You snorted, shaking your head and gesturing for him to go on.

“I knew you were planning something last night because you insisted on making dinner, and we usually go out for birthdays.”

“Ok, but that’s not-” He leveled you with the look that made residents want to wet themselves in fear. After years of living with him, though, all it made you do was sigh in resignation and sit back in your seat, allowing him to continue.

“And then you wouldn’t let me touch you,” you had to agree, that was a little suspicious. The two of you weren’t exactly known for being able to keep your hands off each other for very long. “So I knew something was up.”

“I never would have guessed you were going to quite literally give me your IUD,” once again, his eyes found the box. “You got me there, but I figured whatever you were planning probably had something to do with that.”

“So I did surprise you,” you were immensely satisfied with yourself. After all these years. After all these attempts, both big and small, you'd finally succeeded with probably the biggest surprise.

“You surprised me, yes,” Jack’s smile was twisting into something wicked. “I definitely was not expecting you to hand me your contraception and beg me to knock you.”

Your cheeks flushed at the reminder of exactly how last night had gone. “I did not beg.”

“Oh you most certainly did,” his forearms rested on the table, body shifting forward as he pinned you beneath his hungry gaze. “It was only a matter of time. I’ve known you wanted a kid for a while. You haven’t been exactly subtle, sweetheart.”

“I haven't been subtle?” Your eyes were wide as you looked at him in disbelief. “You haven’t been subtle, Jack.”

“Yes I have,” he was frowning now, that smug smirk melting off his face. “I kept that shit to myself.”

“Ok, yes, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to,” you placed the cutlery down on your forgotten plate, too engrossed in arguing to focus on your pancakes. “It was painfully obvious!”

He was shaking his head, mouth opening to counter, but you pressed on.

“You were practically salivating when we babysat my nephew! You literally have to be dragged away every time we get a peds case at work and you damn near get hearts in your eyes whenever I hold a baby,” there was no way he could deny any of this, and the look on his face was telling you he knew it, too. “When I told you my IUD was starting to act up, you were practically begging me with your eyes to get rid of it!”

“Begging you,” he was shaking his head. “With my eyes?”

“Yes, with your eyes.”

“Ok and what about you?” He was going on the offensive now, gaze sharpening.

“What about me?” You were leaning forward now, too. The both of you face to face across the table, meals completely forgotten.

“What about that one time we had the 6 month old with pertussis and the antivaxxer mom?” 

You vividly remembered that incident from about a year ago. You’d went off on the mom, yelling about how, if this beautiful child was yours, you’d have never put her in danger over something so selfish. Jack had to drag you away, locking you in the on-call room to cool down while Ellis talked the mom down from leaving AMA. 

You’d avoided any more punishment than a stern talking to from Gloria, but you’d been taken off the little girl’s care team. It had been an embarrassing outburst, but you didn’t regret it. Maybe you hadn’t gone about it in the right way, but everything you’d said had been correct and you still stood by that. Hopefully, your very loud attempt at shaming the woman had done the trick.

“I just wanted what was best for my patient,” you looked away. That wasn’t the sole reason for the incident, and you both knew it. The way your voice had broken as you’d yelled, ‘if she was mine’ was telling. And so were the tears in your eyes that night as you’d cried to Jack about the poor little girl, sobbing about how you could never put your own child in danger like that.

“Yeah, ok,” Jack didn’t push anymore, but his smirk was back, albeit softer at the edges. “And what about that time you got down on your knees for me in the on-call room after we had that kid with the broken leg?”

 That you did not have a good excuse for. In your defense, your birth control just meant you couldn’t get pregnant. It did not stop you from ovulating, or suffering through the related side effects, including the irresistible urge to climb your husband like a tree any time he did something remotely attractive.

And in this case, you were in the middle of that particular part of your cycle. Watching him put the cast on the 8 year old girl who’d fallen off her bike hadn’t been what got you going. No, instead, it was the way he talked to her, calming her down and getting her to chatter about her favorite things. He gave her his undivided attention, wholeheartedly and enthusiastically talking about ponies and unicorns and fairies.

All of that had your mind drifting, imagine that it was your little girl he was talking to. In your mind, you were home, watching your husband talking to a little girl with your eyes and his (formerly) ginger curls.

Imagining him, just how incredible of a father he would be, had that fire that had been simmering just beneath your skin all day exploding into an inferno. So, the first chance the two of you had, you’d yanked him away, pulling him into a private room and dropping to your knees.

“Yeah, I remember that,” your blush was back, gaze dropping to the plate still sitting in front of you.

“Do you remember what you said before you sucked the soul out of my body, 15 feet away from our coworkers?”

Your whole body was on fire, embarrassment and desire warring just beneath the surface. Maybe you could tempt him back into your bedroom, distracting him from whatever this conversation and degraded into.

“C’mon, baby,” there it was, that insufferable, cocky tone of voice that told you Jack knew exactly how you were feeling. You refused to look up. “Tell me. What did you say to me right before you begged me to cum down your throat?”

“I said-”

“Look at me.”

You swallowed hard, peaking up through the curtain of your hair to face your husband. He was relaxed, sitting back in his seat, legs spread wide beneath the table. He was smirking, looking every bit the flirtatious bastard you knew him to be.

But his eyes were dark and hungry, chest rising and falling suspiciously faster than simply sitting down to eat breakfast warranted.

“I said,” your eyes were locked on his, entranced by the way his pupils slowly expanded. “‘You’re so good with kids.’”

“What else did you say?” He cocked his head slightly.

“‘It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.’”

His smile grew even more salacious. “That’s how I knew you wanted me to knock you up.”

You shifted in your seat, your sleep shorts feeling much too damp for comfort. Jack knew, his eyes tracking the movement hungrily.

You stood, stepping away from the table and starting down the hallway towards your bedroom as you called over your shoulder, “Yeah, well, you haven’t gotten me pregnant yet.”

Jack was hot on your heels in an instant.

The next 7 months of your life were spent in a seemingly never ending cycle of frustration, pleasure, irritation, and competition.

You hadn’t gotten pregnant after Jack’s birthday weekend which, while expected, had still been a little disappointing. The two of you were doctors, you knew that your body needed time to reset after removing your contraception. 

For 7 months, you’d taken a test every Monday morning when the two of you arrived home, and every Monday morning that test was negative.

Jack, once again living up to his title as World’s Best Husband, gave you the control. When you’d broken down 4 months in without any sign of a baby any time soon, he’d held you close and told you he’d do whatever you wanted. He said it was your choice, if you wanted to go through testing, to give IVF a try, if you wanted to stop trying for a while.

You’d said no to all of them, apologizing for the tears. So many other couples tried for so much longer. It had only been 4 months. It was too early for the interventions or to give up. You were being dramatic.

“We’re not other couples,” Jack had said. “Don’t compare our journey with this to theirs. It’s not one size fits all, and there’s no time limit on this.”

He’d calmed you down and you’d resolved to not let it get to you. You’d agreed to stop taking a test once a week, too. You had time. If things were still stagnant around the 9 month mark, the two of you would do fertility testing and then, if necessary, try IVF. You’d agreed to stop taking a test once a week, too.

Jack had agreed, kissing your head and telling you that now that you had a gameplan, things would go smoothly. He also reminded you just how enjoyable the trying process could be, even if you hadn’t gotten the results you wanted yet.

During the time since his birthday, you’d been busy with more than just work and baby making. You’d made it your mission to try and surprise him again. He’d caught on quickly, and the two of you had entered a little war of sorts. 

There’d been no official rules of engagement established, no conversation about exactly what was going on, but there seemed to be a mutual agreement on what did and didn’t count. The diet coke you were craving that appeared on your station was too small and didn’t count. Neither did the sandwich you’d made in secret before work and left on the break room table with his name on it.

But the new set of woodworking tools you’d left on his workbench in the garage did. Except, he’d shown you the screenshot of the order confirmation email he’d taken days before when you’d gloated that he hadn’t expected that. 

“Shouldn’t have left your email logged in on my laptop, sweetheart.”

The dress you’d been eying last week when the two of you went out definitely counted, given the price tag in the hundreds. You were happy when it appeared in your closet, and even happier when you got to tell him you’d known since he’d bought it 3 days ago.

“Not really a surprise when you buy it from a boutique my friend owns, handsome.”

And so, here you were, 3 months post break down, 7 months post birthday, plotting the biggest surprise of them all.

You hadn’t taken a pregnancy test since, hoping that by ignoring it, you could subconsciously encourage it to happen. Maybe if you stopped putting the pressure of weekly tests on yourself, it’d be a little easier.

And by god, you were a genius.

You’d waited until you were at work, not trusting yourself to keep the fact that you’d taken a test a secret if you had to sit through your ride to work with Jack. No matter the result, you knew he’d be able to tell. And you had a pretty good feeling about this, given the fact that your period was just under 6 weeks late

But Jack still tracked your cycle. When your period hadn’t come, not long after you’d cried in his arms, you decided not to say anything. You felt a little shitty when you had to fake a period, but you had seen how the constant negatives were weighing on him. You wanted to be absolutely sure when you told him. And you’d truly planned to tell him earlier.

And then time had gotten away from you. And your desire to win whatever competition you had with him was too strong to ignore.

So, when you finally found a free minute, you retrieved the small plastic package from your locker, tucking it into your scrub pocket with a lie about it being that time of the month on the tip of your tongue. But no one stopped you or even batted an eye as you scurried from the lockers to the private restroom.

You did your business as fast as humanly possible, praying you’d be able to have the 5 minutes you needed for it to process before the usual ED chaos pulled you back in.

The two pink lines on the test were so dark they were almost black. You could barely contain yourself, fighting to keep the happy tears at bay as you pocketed the evidence.

When you slipped out of the restroom, you made a beeline for Lena.

“Hey, what’s open?”

She looked up at the board. “Uhh, South 7 should be empty by now.”

“Great,” the smile on your face was much too wide for 2am, even among your nocturnal coworkers. “Meet me there in 5 with a phlebotomy kit.”

Before Lena could ask questions, you were off. You’d been gone for a bit, so you needed to pop your head in on your patients before you could disappear again. 

As you made your rounds, quickly checking in on your (thankfully) light caseload, you could see Jack on the other end of the ED. He was surrounded by residents and med students, all of them listening intently. You couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying over the ever present din of beeping and coughing, but it seemed to be some kind of lesson instead of idle chitchat. Robby had been getting on him lately about actually teaching the students at the teaching hospital. 

You wanted to stop and stare, but you had an urgent appointment to attend to.

Lena was already in South 7 when you ducked in, shutting the door and sliding the curtain closed behind you.

“I thought you were putting a patient in here,” Lena’s arms were crossed. She looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“I am,” you stripped off your jacket, hiking up your long sleeved undershirt as you moved around her to take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Me.”

“You?”

“Yes, me,” she was still standing there, staring as you got yourself situated. “I need my blood drawn.”

“Oooookay,” slowly, she started setting up. “And why exactly is that?”

Your smile was still much too wide, perhaps a little manic. “I’m pregnant.”

Lena’s irritation morphed to shock and joy. Her smile matched yours as she picked up the pace, rapidly moving through the motions. 

“Am I correct in assuming we’re keeping this from Dr. Dad?” 

You laughed, nodding as the happy tears you’d held back in the bathroom started to make themselves known. Lena attached the tourniquet, quickly and masterfully finding a vein and beginning the draw. “I want to be absolutely sure before I tell him.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetie,” she detached the vial, scribbling ‘Jane Doe’ along with the date and time on it. “I know this is about the surprises.”

So maybe the rest of the department had started to catch onto the war waging between you and Jack. In your defense, when you decided to vent to Ellis about your latest surprise attempts, how were you supposed to know she would immediately tell Shen, who would then tell everyone who’d give him the time of day?

“Ok yes, fine,” you pressed the bit of cotton she handed you onto the lightly bleeded puncture. “Maybe that’s a very small part of it.”

“Uh-huh,” Lena didn’t believe you, but that wasn’t important. “I’ll let you know when the results come back. I’ll even fast track it since I’m feeling generous.”

“Love you!” You called as she left the room.

Despite the rush, the results still didn’t come back until almost 5 am. Very positive. You were pregnant, about 9 weeks along.

But you were torn. How exactly were you going to tell Jack?

The longer you knew, the more likely he was to find out, either from you slipping up or from one of his many sources, and you couldn’t have that. You needed to do this fast. There was no time to plan out some grand reveal, so you settled on something simple.

After handoff, you pulled him away from the mingling shifts.

“Hey, before we go, can you come look at something with me?”

“Yeah,” Jack looked a little confused, but he followed you. “What’s up?”

“I just want you to take a look at these labs I got for a patient real quick,” you led him back into South 7, the room still open. Quickly, you flicked through tabs on your ipad to your results. “Here.”

Jack looked even more confused as his eyes tracked over the tablet. “Elevated hCG, probably 9-10 weeks.”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your face painfully neutral as you waited, even though you were practically vibrating on the inside. He was smart, you were sure you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him. Any second now he’d realize.

He looked between you and the tablet for a moment, before his lips parted in an ‘O.’

“I see,” you really didn’t think he did, given the lack of emotional response. “Have you told her yet?”

“I think she knows, Jack.”

“Ok…” He still looked perplexed, glancing around the empty room. “Then where is your patient?” 

“Jack…” you buried your face in your hands. This was not how you pictured this going.

“What am I missing, sweetheart?” He set the tablet down, closing the distance between you. “Pregnant patient, 9-10 weeks along, probably t-”

“They're my labs, Jack,” you dropped your hands, looking up to watch as his face froze. Tears started welling in your eyes. “I’m pregnant and I’m trying to surprise you.”

He stayed frozen for a moment, eyes scanning your face, before he was dragging you into a bone crushing hug. His hand slid into your hair as your arms wrapped around his waist and your face was buried in his shoulder.

“Holy fuck, baby.” 

Your laugh was wet. It didn’t go exactly how you imagined, but Jack’s shaky exhales told you he was just as affected as you.

“I can’t believe it,” his face was buried in your hair.

“We’re having a baby,” you couldn’t stop your voice from breaking, emotion too thick to keep it together. “We’re gonna have a kid.”

“Sweetheart, a ba-” Jack pulled back, something you didn’t catch washing over his face. His hands cupped your cheeks as he looked down at you. “Lie down.”

“What? Why?” You were confused about why he was so rudely interrupting your moment.

“I wanna see them.”

You don’t spend almost a decade with Jack Abbot without being able to tell when he’s up to something, and you can clearly tell he’s thinking something he’s not saying out loud. But both of you are emotional, evident by the shimmering of his eyes, so maybe he just really wanted to see the new life you were carrying.

“Ok,” you moved back, settling on your back on the gurney. As you pulled up your top, untying and lowering your pants ever so slightly, Jack pulled a stool and the ultrasound over. He waited until you were comfortable before he squirted a generous helping of the gel over your lower stomach.

“I know you looked at your results,” both of your eyes were glued to the screen as he used the wand to spread the gel around, moving too quickly for you to see anything yet. “But I don’t think you really looked.”

Your attention shifted, focusing on him. “Jack, what-”

“There,” he pointed at the screen.

You looked back, freezing for a moment as you took in the sight before you. 

There, blatantly displayed on the screen was a small shape that could only be described as a white bean, surrounded by black space. You could see what looked like tiny little limbs, branching out from the bean, alongside a clearly defined head.

Being a doctor had prepared you for this sight. You had seen many ultrasounds during your years through school and residency and now your tenure as an attending. You’d even seen this exact situation before, many times, in fact. But seeing it in your own womb was wiping every coherent thought from your mind.

Beside the first bean, tucked in its own protective black space, was a second bean.

“Surprsie, baby,” Jack’s smile was smug, but his eyes were still wet.

“What- how did you-” Your words failed, mind scrambling as you tried to process the reality of your situation.

“Your hCG was too high,” Jack pressed the capture button, moving the wand around to get multiple angles. “Before I realised you were showing me your labs, I thought you were trying to tell me your patient was having twins.”

Reluctantly, he removed the wand, wiping down your stomach as you blinked at him. Jack guided you to sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You felt like you were in shock, the whole world moving around you in slow motion as your mind struggled to process everything that had happened in the last few hours.

And then Jack popped the bubble, snapping you out of the fog that had come over your brain. 

“So, I guess I won your little surprise competition.”

“You absolutely did not,” you slapped weakly at his chest as he stepped between your spread legs to place his palm over your stomach.

“No?” The corners of his mouth were twitching up. “What’s more surprising than being pregnant? Being pregnant with twins.”

“I grew them,” your hand covered his, lacing your fingers together.

“Yeah, you did,” he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. His hips were perfectly placed to brush your core over the slight bulge hidden by his scrubs. It wasn’t fully hard yet, but you could feel the heat of it leaking through the thin material keeping you apart. 

“So I won,” your breathing picked up as he gently ground against you.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the winner here,” his hand not on your stomach tangled in your hair, tilting your face up until your noses brushed. “I fucked you so good, I put two in there.”

“That’s the real surprise here,” Jack’s grip on your hair tightened causing a gasp to slip from your lips

“You saying I don’t usually fuck you good enough?” 

His voice was low and dangerous, almost a growl. His hips pushed forwards, pressing his length against the seat of your pants.

“Woah!”

The two of you jerked apart when the curtain rings and a shout shattered the tense atmosphere. Robby was standing there, half turned away with a hand over his eyes.

“Not in my hospital, please!”

“Robby, I-” You struggled to come up with a good excuse. Jack didn’t share your concern.

“Cockblock.”

You slapped his arm. Thankfully, he had muttered it under his breath and Robby had either not heard him or had chosen not to comment.

“I know you two live in a very nice house,” Robby peaked through his fingers, deeming it safe to remove his hands now that the two of you were a few feet apart. “Please, keep your marital activities there.”

“We were kind of having a moment, here,” Jack was turned away from him, likely hiding his rapidly shrinking hardon. While he was looking away, he printed the photos from the ultrasound machine.

“Have your moment at home, ok?”

“Sorry, Robby,” you stood, trying to fight the blush tinting your cheeks.

“At least your wife has a sense of decorum.”

“Truly my better half,” Jack laid a kiss on your temple after he collected the pictures, turning his attention solely to you. He handed you four strips of photos. “Here, I made one for you, one for me, one for the fridge, and one for the book.”

“Thank you, Jack,” you pulled him down into a kiss that was work safe, the barest brush of yours against his.

“Holy shit,” both of you remembered Robby was in the room when he noticed the photos. “Is that-”

“Yes,” Jack’s hand on your back pushed you forward, moving you around Robby. “Now, excuse us. I’m going to go have a few moments with my wife.”

“Jack!”

“Jesus Christ. Too much information, brother."

The car ride home had been silent. Jack was staring at the road, jaw tense and knuckles white, all while you couldn’t look away from the strip of photos in your hands. You’d probably committed all the details to memory by now, but your eyes were glued to the glossy black and white images.

You were mesmerized, transfixed. All you could do was look at your two little beans.

Aside from the lack of a period, you hadn’t had any of the stereotypical first trimester symptoms. It felt unreal, like there was some sort of disconnect. Logically, you knew that those two beans from the pictures were inside you, growing and developing. But physically, you didn’t feel it. There was no bump yet, no morning sickness, nothing visible or tangible besides these photos in your hands to mark you as pregnant.

So you clung to them, never once looking up at your surroundings until Jack was opening the passenger side door, helping you down and out of the cab of his truck.

“I’m really pregnant.”

You were the first to break the silence that had settled over the both of you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Jack set both of your bags down on the kitchen counter while you stood, eyes flicking between the photos and him. “You really are.”

“We’re fucking having fucking twins.”

“You’ve got to work on that potty mouth before they get here,” he walked towards you, his hands settling on your hips as his chest pressed to your back. His chin hooked over your shoulder as he looked down to gaze at the print outs once again.

“Jack,” your hands fell to your sides as you spun in his grip. “What the fuck are we going to do with twins? I was already nervous about having one kid at a time, but 2? How the hell are we-”

“Hey,” calloused hands found your cheeks, stopping your panicking and squishing your lips shut. “I’ll tell you how we’re gonna do this.”

He was walking you backwards, into the hallway and across the threshold of your bedroom. 

“We’re gonna take it day by day. We’re gonna listen to our guts, follow our instincts,” he guided you to sit on the end of the bed before he was kneeling between your legs. Those big hands of his reached up, peeling your scrub top and undershirt over your head. “We’ll take some time off work, probably 6 months once they’re here, and then we can go part time.”

“But what about money-”

“You know as well as I do that we do not need to worry about money,” his fingers deftly unhooked your bra, sliding it from your shoulders. Those same fingers found the drawstring of your pants, undoing it and slipping them down along with your underwear. You lifted your hips to help him. “Between what we’ve saved so far and my pension and disability, we don’t ever have to go back if we don’t want to, sweetheart.”

“I’m not ready to quit yet,” your fingers ran through his hair as he spread your legs a little wider. Soft kisses were pressed to the skin of your inner thighs. 

“Then you won’t. Like I said, day by day,” he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. “Now, can I eat you out or do you want to keep talking about our finances?”

“Eat me out, please Jack.”

You hadn’t noticed the growing heat between your legs, too focused on your nerves and anxiety. But when his tongue swept through your folds, a jolt of fire shot up your spine, quickly drawing your attention solely to your husband and his mouth.

“Fuck,” his arms wrapped around your thighs, yanking you even closer to him. You fell flat against the mattress. “You taste even better than usual, baby.”

Jack ate you out like a man starved. He was everywhere, dipping his tongue inside your entrance, closing his lips around your clit, his teeth dragging over your outer folds. There was little finesse. He knew the exact right buttons to push to get you right over the finish line. He’d timed it once or twice. The record was 5 minutes and 37 seconds.

But at this moment, it wasn’t about getting you there. He was savoring you, exploring every nook and cranny he could in a desperate attempt to get even more of the sweetness between your thighs on his tongue.

“Gonna have to keep you pregnant 24/7 if you taste this good when you’ve got my kids in there,” one of his hands came up to spread over your abdomen, right above your navel. He pressed down at the same time he slid two of his fingers inside of you, all the way down to the knuckle.

Your back arched, a pathetic whine of his name leaking into the air. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Jack’s voice was low and rough, the vibrations traveling through your body as he refused to lift his head. “I’ll give you what you need.”

The shift from him simply exploring and savoring your taste to a concentrated effort to make you cum is jarring. One moment he was languidly licking over you with the flat of his tongue and the next his lips were sealed over your clit, sucking while his fingers curled upwards to slide back and forwards against your g-spot.

“Jack! Fuck!” 

He didn’t respond, his focus solely on giving you the most pleasure he could, as fast as he could.

It was intense. Like he had poured gasoline onto the heat growing between your legs, turning that fuzzy, warm flame into an inferno. His movements threatened to drag you over into oblivion much faster than you had anticipated.

“Oh fuck, Jack,” your voice was high pitched and breathy while your body writhed, just barely held in place by his hand still flat over your stomach. “Fuck, I’m close!”

And then, right as you were about to tumble over the edge, he stopped. Jack pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“What the fuck?” You were panting, trying to school your desperate and flushed features into a glare.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Jack looked dangerous in the low light of the bedroom. He stood, towering over your almost limp body, the limited light seeping in from the blackout curtains and shining from the dim lamp on the bedside table outlined the sharp edges of him. His jaw dusted with slight silver stubble, the muscles in his chest and arms that tensed and shifted as he crawled over you.

His hand tapped at the outside of your thigh, urging you silently to scoot up until your head lay among the pillows and his body and settled between your legs. You realized he was still fully clothed while you lay beneath him, completely naked.

 “That was looking suspiciously like I was making you feel good.”

Your head dropped back with a groan. “You’re still on that? It was a dumb comment. You know you make me feel better than anyone I’ve ever been with, Jack.”

“I certainly know that,” his fingers spread wide over your breast, squeezing the flesh before shifting and rolling your nipple between two rough fingertips. You let out a high pitched sigh as your back arched, practically presenting your breasts to him. “I just think you might need a reminder.”

“Then take off your clothes and remind me,” your hands tangled in his curls, dragging his face to yours. When your lips met, it was desperate, both of you falling into a fast and needy rhythm. His tongue darted out, tangling with yours while his hands continued to squeeze at and caress your breasts. You could feel the hard length of him grinding against your inner thigh.

And then Jack was pulling back, pushing up to rest on his knees between your spread thighs. You couldn’t help but admire him as he stripped his shirt off, eyes glued to the freckles dusting his shoulders and pecs.

“Enjoying the view?” He cocked one eyebrow at you, throwing the shirt off the edge of the bed as he unfastened his watch. 

“Oh I most definitely am,” something fluttered in your stomach as he leant over you, reaching to place the watch on the nightstand. You knew he was doing it on purpose, but you couldn’t find it in you to complain as you watched his muscles stretch and flex.

“Mmm, me too.”

Jack settled back on his knees, those big hands sliding over your thighs. He looked ravenous, his eyes tracing over every inch of your bare skin, especially lingering on your chest as it rose and fell in time with your heavy breathing.

“I think you should sit on my face.”

Your breath hitched, core clenching at his words. As tempting as it was, you were aching for him. You needed to feel him deep inside of you.

“I think you should fuck me,” you countered. It was playing dirty, but you couldn’t help yourself as you stretched your arms above your head, arching your back and hooking your legs around his hips. “C’mon Jackie.”

As he dropped down over you, one of his hands caught your still outstretched wrists, pinning them to the blankets. With the other hand he dug his fingers into your hair, not pulling, just holding tight to the strands.

“I want,” his lips kissed the corner of your mouth before he was moving down to mouth at where your carotid hammered away. “You to sit on my face. Think of it as my reward for winning the surprise-off.”

“You didn’t win-” your protest ended in a bitten off moan when his hips ground against yours, your clit pressing right against his head through the thin fabric he still wore.

“Yes I did.”

Your world blurred and tilted as Jack flipped the two of you. He landed on his back, leaving you scrambling to catch your balance as he pulled you up his chest. His hands were insistent from where they held your ass, yanking you up and over his face before you could stop him.

And then he was pulling you down. The hands on your ass encouraged you to rock and grind against him while his tongue plunged inside of you.

You cried out his name, hands shooting out to grab the headboard as the heat from before returned full force. Jack didn’t let up, using every dirty little trick he’d learned over the years to get you close. He didn’t delay or try to keep you on edge, his sole focus was on making you cum.

His tongue shifted and he tilted your hips, drawing circles around the bud with his tongue while his fingers slipped back inside you.

“Holy shit!” You were rocking against him, panting with the force of the orgasm rising deep in your pelvis. “Fuck, please. Just like that!”

He groaned into you, and that pushed you over the edge.

Your legs shook and your head dropped back. You didn’t try to hide the moans and whimpers you released as you pulsed around his fingers. The sensation washed over you, sending sparks flashing behind your closed eyelids while you rode it out.

When he finally let you go, it was a miracle you didn’t kick him in the face. You collapsed into the sheets beside him, panting and twitching with aftershocks.

“Does that qualify as ‘good enough?’”

“Fuck you, Abbot.”

Your eyes were still closed but you heard him getting up. There was the rustling of his pants, followed by the telltale snapping of the fastenings on his leg. You listened to his sigh and the thunk as it was leant against the nightstand.

And then he was sliding over you again and your eyes opened.

He was smiling down at you, eyes full of so much love it floored you. To see his devotion to you sparkling in his blown pupils in the comfort of the home you shared was overwhelming.

“I love you,” your fingers carded through his messy curls before your palm settled over his cheekbone.

“I love you, too.”

He kissed you then, slowly and softly, simply letting the two of you get lost in it. As you did, your legs came up to wrap around him and his forearms settled on either side of your head.

It was only when the bare length of him was brushing through your folds that you broke the kiss.

“Wait,” your breathing was labored. “Flip me over.”

“No, I want to see you,” Jack was trying to pull you back into a kiss as his length continued to rut against you, but you dodged it.

“And I want to get fucked laying on my stomach before your kids make it so I can’t.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he sat back up again to give you room to twist around. When you got comfortable he grabbed a pillow.

“Up,” his hand pulled at your hip and you lifted, giving him room to slide the pillow underneath, just enough to prop you up slightly. Your hands folded underneath your chin, waiting for him to get himself situated.

“Your ass looks fucking incredible like this.” Jack straddled your thighs, pinning them together. His hands came up to grab and squeeze at your ass, pulling the cheeks apart to glide his length in between.

The first press of him against your dripping entrance had you biting your lip. He always felt so big in this position, like he was actually rearranging your guts when he bottomed out.

“Ah fuck,” he sounded breathless when he pushed the head in. “You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.”

“Jack please,” you tried to push back against him but his hand landed on your upper back, keeping you pinned.

“Gotta give me a minute,” he was breathing hard, biting back a groan when you squeezed around him. “Gonna cum too fast if you do that.”

You gave him a minute. Well, you tried to. You just needed him, desperately.

“Jack Abbot if you don’t fuck me, I swear to god I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He was finally - finally - sliding the rest of the way inside, pushing until his hips met your ass. “You’ll find someone else to fuck you? You won’t let me touch you for a week?”

You were too distracted by the full length of him sliding home to answer. Your hips were grinding back, as much as you could while he still held you still. The shifting movement had your clit grinding against the pillow as well.

“C’mon, don’t make empty threats.” Jack’s body lowered over yours. His chest pressed into your back, pinning you even more firmly into the mattress and stopping your movements. “Tell me what you’ll do if I don’t fuck you how you need.”

“I-” 

You were interrupted by his first thrust, a deep grinding motion that had his tip pressing against that space just below your cervix. One of his hands was slipping between you and the pillow, palming your mound. His fingers parted around where his length was beginning to slide in and out, never pulling more than halfway out before thrusting back in.

“F-fuck…”

“S’that what you needed, babygirl?”

He pulled back slightly until the pads of his fingers were brushing against your clit, rolling and stroking over the bud with every shift of his cock deep inside you.

“Yes, Jack, yes!”

Jack buried as deep into you as he could with every thrust. Your mind was going fuzzy with pleasure. Fully surrounded by him like you were, it was impossible to focus on anything except how he made you feel. His chest was pressed against your back, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, and his free arm was curled over your other shoulder, holding your breast.

“Shit, please tell me you’re close, baby,” his fingers sped up against your clit and his hips were losing their rhythm.

“Yeah, Jack, please!”

All you could do from where he held you was grind back and forth, alternating between chasing the pleasure from his hand and his cock. Both sensations were yanking you closer to your orgasm. You could feel it welling in your bones and pooling in your stomach.

“Fuck I want you to cum with me,” Jack was grunting as humped into you. “Please sweetheart. Wanna feel you.”

Who were you to deny your husband what he wanted?

The noise Jack made when your walls started to squeeze and pulse around him was obscene. It was long and drawn out, rough around the edges and broken as he thrust in and stayed. You could feel his length twitching, the wet hot heat of him unloading deep inside you.

All the while, your own hips were twitching and jerking, pinned in place by his body as your eyes rolled back. The orgasm ran you over, leaving you gasping and whimpering into the sheets as you fought to catch your breath. It felt electric, zapping up and down your spine in increasingly weaker pulses until you collapsed into the bed.

“Jesus,” Jack pushed himself off you, pulling out slowly. Both of you winced at the separation. 

You let yourself lay there, blissed out and half aware as Jack moved about around you. His crutches squeaked against the floor as he went into the bathroom, but he was back before you knew it with a wet wash cloth. His movements were gentle as he cleaned between your legs.

“That’s good enough. C’mere,” you pushed his hand away, scooting back to make room for him underneath the covers.

“Alright,” he chuckled. There was a rather gross sounding wet splat, presumably the wash cloth landing on the tile of the bathroom floor and then Jack was pulling your back against his chest, spooning you.

You made a mental note to pick that up tomorrow.