The Sass Awakens

Valarr was sitting by the heart tree, watching the other children play come-into-my-castle from afar. The little prince, at the green age of five, was fidgeting with the hem of his cloak with his little fingers, wishing but not daring to join the game. In the middle of the makeshift castle's borders made out of tree branches, Aelor, his cousin, only one year his elder, was holding his court with a young courtier's son. Around them were at least five to six other children of the Keep, shouting out their suggestions for the identity of the lord of the keep. 

"By your weirwood tree you can only be the bannerman of Lord Tully, Lord Bracken, and so I name you" the courtier's little son declared at the entrance of the tree branch castle, his chest puffed out in certainty. 

"Wrong! You're all wrong! I'm Lord Blackwood, you've got my sigil all wrong!" Aelor shouted out in joy, pumping his small fist in the air. "Nobody made it into my castle, so I win!"

Valarr got up from his observation post, and timidly made his way to the group of boys. "Aelor, I want to play too! Maester Archibald said that I am good at learning the sigils of the houses! I could.." 

"No! we don't have any more space for you, cousin. We're already too many, and we have to wait so long for our turns", Aelor cut him off. The older princeling had never liked his cousin very much, his mismatched blue and brown eyes and dark brown hair with only a thin streak of white drawing a stark contrast to the rest of his family. Everybody else had beautiful, pure Valyrian features, even Daeron, with his dirty blond hair, had lilac eyes to show for it. But Valarr looked half Dornish in coloring, just like his father Baelor.

Rejection stung Valarr's eyes, especially after he had been so brave to get up and ask the boys to play. As he nodded and made his way back to the heart tree, a small hand reached out and tapped on his shoulder. 

When he turned around, he came face to face with you, a child of five as well. You had a big grin on your face, eyes twinkling and hair done up in a braided bun. He knew you from sight; your mother had come to court recently with her household to be a companion to his own mother. 

"Our mothers are friends, so we should be friends too!" You exclaimed, "we're going to play monsters and maidens, you should come play with us!" You waved at the little group of boys and girls a few yards away. 

Valarr blushed at the invitation. Though children were careless beings, they weren't careless enough to disregard the obvious hierarchy between their parents. Other children were taught to be weary of accidentally injuring him; leading to most other children's hesitation to let him into their games. He felt addressed to as an ordinary child for the first time in his short life, and grasped his first chance at a friendship with his small hands. 

When he nodded, you took his hand in yours, shouted out to your little group of friends that he "absolutely had to join" your game of chase, and hurriedly dragged him to them. 

That was the first time he felt the warm, fluttering happiness of making a new, genuine friend. 

-

The two of you were fast friends, soon inseparable apart from the hours spent at your lessons. When Valarr would curl up with a fairytale book under a tree, his little head already adept with his letters, — maesters called him a prodigy, already reading deftly and starting to write at only five years of age —  you'd sprawl out next to him and listen to him read aloud stories of knights, dragons, and princesses, begging him to read you another story before supper time. 

"If we were the princess and the knight from the story, we could befriend the dragon instead of killing it", you mumbled, staring into the leaves rustling in the wind and the bright blue sky. "We could fly away on the dragon, and build a castle on a beautiful unknown island. Then we'd only eat cake, and go on adventures all the time, just the three of us. We'd declare the island ours, and nobody else would be allowed in!"

Valarr's cheeks flushed pink. You liked it when he blushed, you liked pink and you liked Valarr's squishy cheeks. It was a great combination. 

"But what about our families?" He lightly furrowed his brows. Valarr, the little prince, so dutiful even at his age. 

"They could still visit us whenever they want, they're family!" You exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing.

"That'd be nice", he smiled lightly, already envisioning your castle on an island far away, living with you, the dragon, and flying into the sunset for adventures. He'd be your knight, and you'd be his princess. He'd protect you from any harm and get you all the lemon cakes you wanted. 

-

198AC

When Valarr's sixth nameday came, you'd already been six for three whole moon cycles. By then, you'd been inseparable for almost a year, and your families were completely endeared by your friendship.

You woke up on the morrow buzzing from excitement for your closest companion's nameday, almost vibrating in your chair while breaking your fast with your parents. They suggested visiting prince Baelor's family in his solar to bring his son's nameday present, a richly ornamented saddle for his pony.

"Val's six too now, Papa!" you cried out, elated by the thought of being allowed to visit your friend so early in the morning. 

"That he is, my darling." His eyes crinkled in amusement. 

You were practically bouncing at the door when your household set out from your quarters, running laps around your parents and the servants holding the big boxes meant for Valarr. 

When your little procession arrived at the door to Baelor's solar, you sprinted off and nimbly sidestepped the poor startled guards at the door, slamming the doors open and running into the room to see your dearest friend. 

"Happy nameday Val!" You shouted, running straight at him and hugging him tightly. The impact of the hug was great enough that he let out a huff of breath, and only croaked out a quiet "thank you". 

Behind you, your parents were apologizing to the guards, but entered nevertheless, and greeted the heir's household. The servants placed the present boxes on the floor next to the gift pile, then bowed before they took their leave.

"My prince, dear Jena, we wish you the jolliest and the most blessed nameday for Prince Valarr. Apologies for our daughter's.. overflowing enthusiasm to congratulate his little grace." 

Your mother dipped into a curtsy, your father bowing his head next to her. 

Lady Jena was having none of the formalities, and crossed the room in quick steps to greet your mother in a hug, followed by two quick kisses on the cheeks. "Thank you dearly to you both for the lovely wishes, that is most kind. And Baelor and I are simply delighted that our children are so close. It endears me greatly that their friendship blooms so wonderfully just as ours did."

As the adults sat on the high-backed lounge chairs while discussing their mysterious adult topics, Valarr and you padded to his little brother's crib, Valarr wishing to introduce you to his mere 3-weeks old baby brother. 

"He's so little", you wondered at his impossibly tiny hands and feet. 

"His name is Matarys", Valarr introduced him. "Matarys, this here is my closest friend", he then solemnly introduced you to the little newborn, stating your given and family name to the babe as if the little one was to remember it. You giggled at that, and played with his tiny hands. 

"Do you want to open the gifts with me?" Valarr suggested, pointing at the high-piled boxes of gifts from the entire realm. 

You nodded, excited at unboxing the undoubtedly beautiful gifts sent to the crown prince. You both sat at the foot of the pile cross-legged, delightedly tearing through the delicate packaging and revealing the gifts one by one. There was a bejeweled dagger, the pommel a golden dragon's head with a ruby in its open maw. The next was a beautifully stitched doublet, made of shining black and red velvet. Your parents had gifted him a gilded saddle and bridle for his pony, with jeweled ornaments running through the straps. As you looked through the gifts, your face suddenly saddened. 

"What's the matter?" Valarr asked, his brows scrunching up in concern. 

"I have nothing to gift you", you murmured, fidgeting with your necklace. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, commissioned by Baelor at Valarr's insistent demand for your last nameday. The fine golden chain held a delicate pendant, a huge blue topaz placed between winding golden vines. Baelor and Jena had gifted you a matching diadem, a masterpiece done by the castle's goldsmith with blue topaz ornaments and swirling ivy vines. 

You regretted not insisting on getting Valarr a present of your own, especially as he had asked his father to commission something so beautiful just for you three moons ago. 

Valarr's eyebrows furrowed further in confusion. "Your parents have already gifted me the saddle and bridle. You have no need to get me anything else."

You shook your head, and looked down to the floor in consideration. Then, you took your ring off your pointer finger, a small signet ring with your family's sigil on it. 

"I can't take that, that's yours." Valarr shook his head.

"Yes you can, I have many other rings just like this", you insisted as you took his left hand and slid it onto his index finger. "Also, now you have a gift from just me, which is good because best friends should always gift each other things for their namedays."

Valarr flushed while looking down at the signet ring on his finger. He didn't protest any longer, and smiled shyly at you. "Thank you. I'll always cherish it." He nodded solemnly with his promise. 

-

The idea came to you on a sunny day, when you were both lying in the grass, out of breath from the last game of monster and maiden. The two of you hadn't found any other children to join you, already tied up in other games or off to lessons. But playing only with Valarr was just as fun as with the whole group, his company always beat everybody else's. You were looking up at the clouds, thinking that they looked like a herd of sheep traversing a light blue lake.

Suddenly, the idea struck you. 

“Val,” you called, and he hummed in response. “We should get married when we’re older.”

Valarr craned his neck around to look at you, confusion evident in his eyes.

“If we get married, we could be best friends like this forever. Just the two of us. Septa Marya says that one day, my parents will choose a Lord for me to marry, but I don’t want to do that. We could get married like the princess and the knight, and go on adventures and see all the wonders of the world, just like in the books.” You continued, still gazing up at the clouds, imagining the scenes from the fairytales.

He smiled at that. “Yes, we should get married when we’re grownups. I’d like that. Maybe we could go sailing across the Jade Sea, I read that dragons still live there.”

You sat up, looking at him with a smile blooming on your face. "Do you promise?"

"I promise. On my honor." He sat up to face you, and nodded with all the solemness a six-year-old could muster. 

"We need a more serious promise, though. In case we grow up and forget", you added. 

Valarr hummed in agreement. "We could make a vow on the parchment. My father says that a promise made with words on a parchment and then sealed with the houses' sigils are binding." 

"If you want to promise to marry me", he quickly added, a soft blush creeping onto his cheeks. "You don't have to if you don't want to." But your excitement took momentum, and now you were consumed by the idea of being being friends with Valarr forever, without having to marry someone you did not know yet like Septa Marya said. 

"I want to! We have to get married Val, it would be the best thing! But," you hesitated. "How would we make the vow? I don't know how that works."

"I saw a parchment at my father's desk once, I can do it. We just need the big signet rings from our fathers so we can stamp the seals." Val's so smart, you marveled. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent with barely muffled giggles and whispers, as Valarr fleshed out the plan for you. Your little conspiracy meeting only ended when your mothers each sent their maidservants to collect you for supper; even then, you parted ways reluctantly.

-

The two of you chose to execute your plan while the royal party was on a hunting trip. Your parents would be absent from the Keep, with only the servants and the maester or septa to keep watch over you. It would almost be too easy to sneak off to the Hand's Tower and draft an unofficial official document. 

After your parents left the Keep, you sneaked to the solar, where your father's velvet doublet hung over the backrest of a chaise longue. When you patted the breast pocket, where you had observed your father tucking his ring into before riding off to the kingswood, you felt the distinct shape of a ring under your fingers. You pocketed it, evading the eyes of the maidservants. Your heart was beating wildly, and your hands were visibly shaking, never having taken something without leave before like this. But as you left the quarters and headed to the Hand's Tower, the anxiety soon turned into giddiness, with your giggles barely contained as you skipped the rest of the way. 

This felt like an adventure, a mischief, something that the characters from your fairytale did. Like a princess outwitting a cruel witch to reverse her spells, or a young knight valiantly stealing the keys to the cage of his one true love from the pockets of the sleeping giant. If you did this, you and Valarr could live out your dreams, never separated from each other's closest friend. 

Valarr was waiting at the door to his father's office, grinning widely from excitement. The door was not locked by some wonder, and the two of you padded in to the chamber, giggling and whispering from the excitement. 

Valarr sat himself in his father's chair, sitting at the edge of the seat so he'd be able to reach over the desk, while you sprawled across the armchair, facing him. "So what now?" You asked. Valarr was the mastermind of this plan, after all. 

"Now, we write our promises", Valarr stated, pulling out a blank parchment from a drawer after searching for a moment. He dipped the quill into the inkpot, and his hand hovered over the empty page. "Are you sure?" He raised his eyebrows, seeking your confirmation with a hint of insecurity in his expression. 

"Yes! It's going to be amazing when we're married, Val. We're going to go see the God's Eye, the Free Cities, and have a baker make us treats for all meals!" You giggled. Your priorities clearly stood with confectioneries tied to the royal sugar bakers.

"I am going to need to see how to write just like father does", Valarr mumbled as he pulled a parchment with a filled out contract — something about orchards and taxes — and a seal stamped upon it, "it needs to look official."

Valarr was now leaning over the parchment, occasionally looking over to his reference material, brows furrowed in concentration so the letters would be as orderly as possible. While he painstakingly wrote down the short terms of your contract, you were busy lying across the armchair and listing off all the things you wanted to do once you were grown up. Valarr, ever the polite, dutiful child, made sure to answer with "yes, sure" or a hum every once in a while. 

Once done, he pushed the parchment filled with his over to you, his eyes shining with pride. On top of the parchment, both of your names were listed with the proper titles. 

This contract made on the fifth day of the seventh moon of year 198 AC between the two persons parties above binds them in a pact of marriage. When Prince Valarr Targaryen comes of age, the two parties will be joined in marriage in a sacred ceremony. 

This agreement is valid in every corcom circumstance without conditions.

Signed,

Valarr Targaryen 

Your lips moved quietly as you sounded the words out, stumbling over the unfamiliar words. Next to his signature at the bottom of the page, the three-headed dragon of his house was drawn clumsily. 

"What is a pact?" You lifted your eyes, curious over the new word.

"I think it means an agreement or promise in official words, I found it on this sheet." Valarr waved the other parchment in his hand. 

You nodded, quietly marveling at Valarr's adeptness with his letters. The words sounded so grown-up; and the penmanship was slightly wonky, but to you, it looked as perfect as any. 

"Now what?" You asked again. 

"Now you sign your name, and we stamp it. Then, it's official." Valarr said solemnly. 

You took the quill from his hand, and dipped it into the ink. Septa Marya had shown you how to write your name, stating that it was the foremost essential thing a lady should be able to spell. You pressed the tip of the quill into the page, your effort evident in your furrowed brows and tongue sticking out of the side of your mouth. The signature was a little shaky, but it was written in your best cursive, and you reckoned Septa Marya would be proud. Then, you scribbled the sigil of your house next to it, just as Valarr had. 

"Now, we stamp", Valarr put the stick of black wax on the desk, a slight look of hesitation on his face. He was afraid of burning his fingers on it, but he tried his best not to show it as he heated it against the candlelight and dripped the wax onto the parchment. He then rummaged through the drawers and produced a big signet ring, which he then pressed into the wax. You watched, fascinated by the process. Elated, you took the wax from his hand and copied his actions, stamping your father's signet ring into the little pool of wax. 

"Is it done? Is it official now?" You bounced in your seat, clapping your hands from excitement while Valarr blew on the seals to dry them. 

"It is", he confirmed once he was done, a big grin splitting his face. You squealed, then pulled him down from his father's chair to hug him tightly. You were going to marry Valarr, and now you were going to be best friends with him until the end of days. 

-

The news of your departure from King's Landing came abruptly on a cloudy afternoon. Your parents had summoned you to the solar after your lessons, and sat you down on the armchair across from them with a serious look on their face. 

Your initial confusion faded and a feeling of despair and sadness descended upon you as they explained that you'd all have to return home. As they went on about the inheritance conflicts between the minor houses of your region and how they, as their liege, would have to be present to manage the quarrels, your mind wandered to everything you’d be leaving behind. What of your friends here? What of the delicious cakes and beautiful gardens? And most importantly, what of Valarr, your best friend? 

Their faces blurred as your eyes welled up with tears. Although you pressed your lips together to appear brave, a helpless sob wrenched itself from your mouth. 

Your mother noticed your distressed state, leaving her seat to kneel before your armchair and hug you tightly until you'd calmed. Your mother's hand drew slow circles on your back, whispering words of consolation. 

"When do we leave?" You asked as your mother loosed her hug, teardrops clinging to your lashes. 

"In four days, at daybreak." Your father had a look of sadness as well, knowing that his daughter had found true, close friends at court. His guilt at having to tear you away from them due to his and your mother's duties as lord and lady paramount apparent in his expression. He’d always been exceptionally lenient to his only daughter’s wishes, but now he was faced with a wish he could not possibly fulfill.

But the promise. What of the promise with Valarr? You were going to get married. Panic washed over you. 

"But what about Valarr? We were going to get married. I promised him," the truth spilled out of you with a new wave of tears. You let out a poorly contained sob, and your mother held you again in her arms as you buried your face in her shoulders. 

"I'm sorry, sweetling. We both are. But sadly, it cannot be helped." She patted your back, assuming the talk of marriage was simply a talk of a child's whimsy, a play-pretend between two children. Children could be quite imaginative when playing, after all. 

You sniffled, but nodded. No more fairytale readings with Valarr, no more playing lord of the crossing or monsters and maidens with the children of the court — and Valarr, of course —, and no more pony rides with your parents and Prince Baelor's household. Your little heart ached from the farewell, but you knew you could not stay when your parents were returning to your ancestral home.

When you took your leave to go to the godswood, your eyes were still red and swollen from the tears. Valarr spotted you from afar, and got up from his seat under the heart tree — our seat, you thought — to greet you, but his face fell when he saw your expression. He placed the fairytale tome on the ground, and walked up to you to meet you halfway. 

"What's the matter?" His eyes searched your face, seemingly trying to guess the source of your distress from your look alone. 

"We're leaving, Val. Mama and Papa just told me", you choked out, the lump in your throat from suppressing another sob growing almost painful. 

His eyes widened at first, then fell into a sad frown. "But you're coming back, right?" he asked hopefully. 

"I don't know", the corners of your mouth tilted down even further, "could be months, years 'till  we get back.”

His gaze fell to the ground, his lips pulled into a taught, downward frown mirroring yours. He started fidgeting with the ring on his index finger, your signet ring on his index finger. 

"It's going to be okay", he tried to be reassuring, though his voice shook slightly. "We took a vow, remember? When we're grown up, we'll get married, and we'll see each other again then. I will make sure of it."

"Promise?" Your voice trembled. 

"Promise." Valarr nodded. Your Valarr. Your dearest, closest friend in the world. You nodded back, and you walked together to the heart tree, settling into your usual seats, and Valarr opened the book to read out your favorite story anew for the umpteenth time, the one about the princess, the knight, and the fearsome dragon. 

-

208 AC

You sat on the terrace of your ancestral home, overlooking the gardens. The warm, early spring breeze threaded through your hair, the sun shining gently over your skin. The gardeners were working tirelessly, planting saplings and flower seeds for them to bloom once summer came. The watered wine on the side table had grown lukewarm under the sun’s rays, the open book in your lap laid forgotten as you watched the gardeners work their magic.

“My lady,” your maidservant called gently from behind you. “Your lord father wishes for you to join for afternoon tea in his solar now.”

You simply nodded, closing the book shut and placing it on the side table to stand up from your comfortable seat. Your mind was still firmly with the gardens, and what it would look like once the fruit tree saplings and the flowers bloomed. You hoped that there were peach trees among those planted today, peach tarts were truly one of the most delicious creations in the whole realm.

When you reached the double doors to your father’s solar, you waved off the guard’s question to whether he should announce your arrival, and swung the doors open yourself. Your parents were already seated at the tea table, lounging comfortably while leading a hushed discussion with smiles on their faces. You chose a chaise longue to sprawl on, and picked up a lime biscuit to nibble on.

“Father, mother, what might be the joyous matter you are discussing?” You raised an eyebrow, ignoring all the crumbs that were spilling all over your gown.

“We have royal invitations to the Red Keep, we leave in a sennight’s time,” your mother turned to you, a smile spreading on her face at the thought of visiting her dear friend, Lady Jena. “It will be marvelous to return there, do you remember when we spent a year at the Keep? You used to have quite a few friends there as a girl.”

You vaguely recalled the hazy memories, already a decade past now. Running through the godswood, learning to ride a pony, the games played with the other children, and the stories read under the heart tree.

“I remember,” you smiled, “I was devastated when we left. I think I had quite a nice time there.”

“You did,” your father smiled fondly. “And we think it would be nice for us to visit again. Your mother has missed Lady Jena’s company dearly, and you could reunite with your childhood companions. We would like for you to accompany us to the Red Keep.”

Your mind then jogged a deep-seated memory, Valarr. Your Valarr, who had been one of your dearest childhood companions. You remembered his plump cheeks, the curious white streak through his hair, and his mismatched eyes. For a few months after your departure, you had exchanged ravens - you had help from Septa Marya to write your letters - but, as children go, the contact had dwindled slowly. But he had always held a fond, nostalgic space in your heart. 

The idea of seeing your childhood friend was not entirely unpleasant, you decided. You pouted in consideration, then asked: “What is the occasion, anyway?”

“The King has declared a royal tournament in honor of Prince Valarr’s sixteenth nameday. There will be plenty of our bannermen participating, and some of your cousins. You will not lack in company whilst we reside there.” Your father explained.

“And it would be a marvelous opportunity to find you a match! You’re a woman grown, love, and perhaps a handsome Lord or knight would catch your fancy,” your mother added joyfully.

You weighed the pros and cons on your mental scale, your pout persisting as you looked down at your tea cup. The long carriage ride to the Red Keep sounded dreadfull, but the occasion did seem quite merry. Plus, if you were lucky enough, you could secure a match of your preference as to avoid marrying an old, wrinkly Lord as some of your lady acquaintances had. Finally, you gave a nod in agreement.

“Wonderful! Remember darling, we leave in a sennight. Make sure to instruct your maids to pack your prettiest gowns! Oh, what a beautiful feast it will be,” your mother clapped her hands in elation, then sighed with a dreamy look. Your mother did always regard these occasions with her typical sense of whimsy, and her excitement to revisit her old friend, Lady Jena, only fanned her joy.

You nodded and smiled, perhaps it would indeed be nice to visit the place from your childhood again.

-

As the guests to his nameday tournament continued to stream in through the Red Keep’s gate, his eyes searched through the processions, his ears perking up at every announcement of the stewards. Most guests were arriving many days in advance to the festivities, but the presence he was most looking forward to was nowhere to be seen yet, despite the letter of acceptance sent by a raven days ago. He fidgeted nervously with the little signet ring on his right little finger, the child's ring now being too small for any other digit. 

As he mechanically greeted the arriving Lords and Ladies, his mind kept wandering off to the neatly folded piece of parchment in his desk drawer. Only three more days, he reminded himself. Only three more days before his nameday, and there would be no more proposals of marriage pacts from houses he cared little for, no more dutifully reviewing the portraits sent from every corner of the realm, and he could finally declare his intentions before his family and the council.

As the sun started hanging low, his hopes for the day were starting to dwindle as well, before he spotted a procession in the distance, the unmistakable flag whipping in the wind with your sigil proudly stitched upon it. His heart leapt up in anticipation, but he commanded himself to remain steady at his father’s side.

It seemed to take an eternity for the carriage to finally pass through the gates and spill out its inhabitants. As he duly noted your father and your mother stepping out of the carriage, his eyes were tirelessly searching for your familiar face. When he finally spotted you, it felt as if the gods had slowed time before his eyes. 

It had been almost a decade since you last saw each other. He had been besotted with you then, a simple playground child’s fancy, but now, the woman grown walking towards him, carelessly exchanging jests with your parents, snatched his breath away from his lungs and left him gasping for air. Time had changed you, but at the same time, it hadn’t changed you at all. The childish features had left your face, leaving behind a delicate, lovely visage, seemingly carved by the Maiden herself. The curvature of your nose, dropping into a philtrum and smoothing into the arch of your lips had stayed exactly the same as he remembered, as had the playful glint in your eyes. 

As the rounds of greeting went by and you came to stand in front of him, he felt as if the gods had grasped him from the present and placed him back in time, standing dejected by Aelor in the godswood, as you tapped on his shoulder for the first time and invited him to join your group to play. He had fallen back then — as hard as a six-year-old with no real understanding of love could fall — but now he was helplessly spiraling again as you dipped into a curtsy before him. 

"Prince Valarr," you greeted, his name falling from your lips sounded like the sermon bells of the Great Sept themselves to his ears. 

"My lady," he collected himself and steadied his voice, "it is good to see you again after all this time." With all the grace himself, he carefully took your hand — a beautiful hand, he remarked — and kissed the back of it lightly. He could only hope that the slight nervous tremor would go unnoticed by you. When his gaze lifted to your face again, his eyes trailed down to your neck, where the blue topaz was glinting in the notch between your collarbones. The embers in his heart were fanned into a full-blown flame as he recognized the pendant, his pendant, a sign of his childish affection for you from a decade ago. You had kept it. What's more, you were wearing it even after all this time. 

"As it is to see you," you smiled at his recognition, "I still hold our memories of childhood quite dearly." To anyone else, it might have come across as simple courtesy, but to Valarr, the fact that you held fond memories of him felt like salvation granted by the Seven themselves. 

Valarr would have been content to stand there for the rest of eternity, holding your hand loosely in his grasp, looking at your face as the setting sun graced your skin with a golden glow. But as the round of greeting went by, he was forced to let you go, and greet the rest of your household in tow. 

Then, he heard his mother speak words to your mother that sounded as though angels were descending from the heavens and blowing horns: "Dearest, it has been way too long! Oh, how I have missed you so. We must meet for a family afternoon tea, just our two households." She held your mother's hands in her own two hands, both giddy at the long-awaited reunion. 

"Of course, Jena. Whenever you'd like. I'm sure my husband and my daughter would greatly enjoy it as well." Your mother beamed, and it was decided. Your two households would take afternoon tea in two days' time, in the privacy of the royal gardens. Valarr stole a glance at you, and his heart stuttered at your soft smile. 

-

On the day after your arrival, you sat in the gardens under the white marble pergola with the other young ladies of court, as would be expected of you. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the upcoming tourney, which was no grand wonder as the castle seemed to be buzzing in preparations for it. The first day was set to be on the prince's nameday, with all the champions' jousts taking place on that day. The next few days would consist of melées and lower ranked jousts. You sat next to an old acquaintance of yours, a daughter of a bannerman of your father, only a year your senior, making her seventeen years of age. 

"Oh, I hope Ser Devin will ask for my favor! How dreamy that would be," she looked into the distance with her eyes glazed over. Currently, she was swooning over your eldest cousin, who was part of a junior branch of your house and stood first in line to inherit his father's lands and castles. Personally, you did not understand the appeal, but politely smiled and nodded as to not spoil her fun.

"And are you looking forward to seeing any specific knights in the tilts, my lady?" A girl your age sitting on your other side inquired. If your memory serves you right, she was the daughter of a Stormlord. 

"Oh, well I suppose I will cheer for my cousins, of course," you said, as it was common courtesy, "but otherwise, I must say that I am not quite sure yet. Perhaps the knights of the Kingsguard, they are famed to be the most magnificent knights of the realm, after all."

Some ladies sitting in your vicinity nodded at that. A girl you did not recognize started with a faint flush on her cheeks: "I most certainly am excited to see Prince Valarr in the lists, he is the very picture of chivalry, not to mention how handsome he is!" Murmurs rose in agreement. 

Well, you could not deny her on that front. Valarr had definitely grown into his features; soft, pudgy cheeks had long been replaced by sharp, carved lines. His mismatched eyes he used to be insecure about only added to his handsome face. But frankly, you had a hard time imagining the sweet, timid boy from your childhood being so gallant in the lists. 

"The Prince comes of age upon the first day of the tourney, I wonder what sorts of arrangements will be made in regards to choosing a match for him. How dreamy it would be to marry such a handsome prince! He is even the heir's heir, as if his gallantry and handsome face were not enough." Another lady spoke out wistfully. 

"Well, if it is his affection you are seeking, I am afraid we'd all be out of luck on that front," lamented a slim, brunette girl, surely a few years your senior. "He's already been presented with hundreds of potential matches and it's said that he turned down every single one of them, one of them from my own family."

"So do you suppose he simply has no intention to marry?" Your lady acquaintance's eyes widened. 

"Aye, or I reckon he has a paramour, every man has desires, after all," snickered the brunette girl. 

You frowned, as that sounded highly unlikely for Valarr, but held your tongue. As if the sweet, gentlest boy you used to know would ever dishonor himself and a woman that way. 

"Whoever that woman is, I do greatly envy her," another girl you did not recognize sighed deeply, "What wouldn't I give to be in her place."

-

The afternoon tea on the day before the beginning of the tourney took place in the more private areas of the godswood, the little clearing in the woods had been transformed into a small gathering space, with chaise longues and cushions placed on the grounds beneath ornamented parasols. The only other presences aside from your two families were the servants, and the occasional small children running by, playing their games in the godswood just as you and Valarr had as children. 

Lady Jena chatted happily away with your mother, lounging comfortably on the cushions. Prince Baelor sat on a chaise longue, facing your father, discussing lordly matters with him. You were sprawled out across the feather cushions and half-heartedly following the conversations when you heard someone clear their throat from behind you. 

When you tilted your head back to face the person, the upside-down face of Prince Valarr greeted you. He was holding a hand out and lightly smiling, as far as you could tell from your position. 

"Would you take a walk with me?" He asked, an almost unnoticeable hint of pink gracing the tip of his ears. 

You have an affirmative hum, then got up to your feet to turn and face him. He was offering you his left arm to hold, which you gingerly accepted. 

"Are you looking forward to the tourney, my prince?" you asked as to make polite small talk. He had grown into a quite tall young man, and you had to crane your neck to see his face at a close distance. As you did, you admired the beautifully carved lines of his cheekbones and jaw, he really had turned into an exceptionally handsome prince.

Valarr frowned slightly at that. "There is no need to be so formal, we did use to be quite close, after all." 

"Well then Valarr," you corrected yourself, "are you excited for the tourney?"

Valarr's pink flush extended to his cheeks at the sound of his name falling from your lips. "Yes, among other things, I suppose."

"One's sixteenth nameday is always an occasion to look forward to," You agreed casually. "I am sure it will be a day to remember."

Valarr's steps slowed, which meant that you came to a halt with him in tow. "Speaking of sixteenth namedays," his cheeks were really quite pink now. You wondered if he was feeling warm under the sun's rays. "I believe yours has to come to pass three moons ago, if my memory serves me right." He smiled shyly. 

You were slightly taken by surprise. Had he really remembered that detail? 

"Yes, it has. Although, I denied my parents the pleasure of throwing a tourney or any form of extravagant celebration for the occasion." You mused. 

"I had something commissioned for you," he reached into the pocket of his doublet with his free hand, and produced a small, square box. "You did tell me back then that best friends should always gift things to each other for their namedays."

You pulled your hand away from Valarr's arm to examine the box. When you opened it, small, ornate earrings made of twisting golden vines holding a blue topaz in the middle came to sight. Your breath caught at the goldsmith's intricate handiwork. 

"Valarr, this is.." You searched for words. "Beautiful, thank you. It is really most thoughtful of you." It indeed was, as you noticed that it matched your necklace gifted from him all these years ago perfectly. 

"You must forgive me," you scrunched your eyebrows, a slight pang of guilt going over you, "I did not bring any personal gift for your nameday. My parent have brought a-“

Valarr's smile did not falter as he interrupted your panicked words. "No matter, I had something in mind as to what you could gift me for my nameday, anyways."

You looked at him in confusion. 

"I would like to ask for your favor to wear at the tilt tomorrow," his mismatched eyes searched your face. For what, though, you could not tell. "For old times' sake," he added hastily. 

It made sense, you supposed. It was not unusual for knights to wear their sister’s, cousin’s, or a close companion’s favor, so Valarr simply must have continued to value your childhood friendship more than you expected. Still, it confused you as to why he would not wear the favor of a lady he wished to court.

“Of course,” you agreed, to his relief. “It would be an honor to have you wear my favor.”

He offered you his arm again to keep on walking, which you gladly accepted. As you walked further around the godswood, the sounds of children playing grew closer.

“Hai-yah!” a boyish voice cried out. When you turned your head in the direction of its source, you spotted two young boys, one with a shock of silver hair, another one with a tuft of auburn hair. They were wielding tree branches as if they were swords, clashing them against another and running wildly through the woods.

As you watched them, a strange sense of nostalgia bloomed in your chest. You distinctly remembered these woods, the familiarity growing stronger with every step. The two of you used to run through these very woods a long time ago, laughing wildly and jumping over the twisting roots.

“Little brother! Cousin! I must ask you to compose yourselves before our distinguished guest,” Valarr called out to the two boys. They slowly halted their wild chase, and padded over to you.

“My lady, may I introduce you to my brother, this is -“ 

“Matarys,” you interrupted Valarr’s introduction when you recognized the soft, auburn curls. He had been only a newborn when you last saw him, but Lady Jena’s auburn locks and Prince Baelor’s stern jaw was evident in the young princeling. “My Prince, it is an honor to meet you. Last I had seen you, you were still only a babe.” You dipped in a shallow curtsy and introduced yourself.

Valarr smiled fondly at you recalling the short meeting. 

“The honor is all mine, my lady,” Matarys bowed, albeit a little clumsily. “Are you the lady friend my brother has been talking about?” He studied your face.

“Matarys,” Valarr hissed, the tips of his ears burning. Matarys let out a giggle, but held his tongue.

“And I’m Egg, my lady!” The silver-haired boy cried out, bouncing in excitement. “My name is actually Aegon, but everybody calls me Egg for short.” He grinned.

“It is a true pleasure to meet you, Prince Egg.” You dipped into a curtsy, your use of his nickname earning a giggle out of him. 

“One day, I will be Ser Aegon of the Kingsguard! You see, I’m already training hard to be a strong knight.” He puffed his chest out, which reminded you a little bit of a small bird puffing its feathers to make itself seem bigger. You smiled fondly at his antics.

“Speaking of,” Egg turned to Valarr. “In case your squire cannot come, could I squire for you, cousin? Daeron does not wish to participate, but I would like to be a squire. Ser Donnel has already said I would make a good one! I-“

“Sure, cousin,” Valarr mirrored your fond smile at the little boy. “Gareth is quite healthy as of now, but at the event that he may not be able to partake, I will send for you.”

Egg whooped in joy, thanked Valarr, and took his leave by making an exaggerated bow. He dragged Matarys with him, who politely bid his farewells to you while Egg pulled at his arms. 

“He has grown so fast,” you murmured as you resumed your walk, “sometimes, I cannot believe how time has passed by so quickly.”

Valarr hummed in agreement, and the two of you started back to the clearing.

-

On the bright and early morrow of his nameday, Valarr Targaryen used his privilege as a crown prince of the realm, and ordered his page to summon the Small Council for the first time in his short life. After he dressed himself in a formal doublet and trousers, he opened the small drawer of his writing table, and took the small, folded parchment out. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight of the hide and the wax seal. The passing of time and his frequent touches had frayed the edges, the surface smooth from the oils of his fingers. The creases and wrinkles showed that it had been folded and unfolded many times over the past decade, but the content etched in ink was still very much legible, clear as day. He tucked the parchment safely in his breast pocket before leaving his quarters.

He willed his drumming heart to calm on his walk over to the council chamber. The nervosity made him restless, his hands lightly shaking upon close inspection. As he waited for the council members to arrive, he mindlessly turned the signet ring with your house’s sigil on his right little finger, willing it to give him courage for what was to come. 

The members of the council arrived one by one, some with still bed-tussled hair. His father, Baelor, was perfectly composed as ever, and raised his eyebrows at him in curiosity as to what the summons may be about. The remaining council members sat down groggily, and mumbled a good morrow and merry nameday wishes to Valarr.

“My Lords, father, I thank you greatly for your presence, and your heartfelt nameday wishes. I wished to bring a matter before the Small Council this morrow, ahead of the tourney starting at midday.” He did his best to speak with the quiet authority of his father, and stilled the small tremor in his voice. “As you all know, I have come of age today, and wish to let my intentions for  marriage to be known. After all, it would be my utmost duty to the realm to marry and strengthen the line of succession.”

Many nodded, Baelor merely raised his eyebrows even further at his son’s sudden declaration of his interest for marriage. After all, he had sternly rejected every single courtships and proposals until now, and he had begun to suspect that he had no intention to marry at all.

“That is most wise, my prince,” croaked the old Grand Maester. “The council has a list at ready of all the eligible ladies of the realm, including-“

“Thank you, Grand Maester. However, that will not be necessary”, Valarr interrupted with a raised hand, “for I have been promised to a lady for nigh on a decade already.”

All eyes in the council chamber widened almost comically. Using the stunned silence, he took the parchment out of his breast pocket, unfolded it carefully, and placed it on the table. Baelor reached calmly for it, and read the words carved into it, remarking the childish handwriting. The Grand Maester rose from his seat, and leaned down from behind him to inspect the document as well.

“What is this?” his father asked, eyes lifting from the parchment.

“A marriage contract,” Valarr stated plainly. “It’s been signed by our own hands, and has the official seals of our houses on it.”

“I can see that,” Baelor furrowed his brows. “When-“

“My prince, if you would excuse me,” Grand Maester interrupted. “Marriage contracts usually involve witnesses, and I can’t seem to see any accounts of them.”

“I am a witness to this contract,” Valarr declared firmly. “I was there when it was written, signed, and sealed, obviously.”

“My apologies, your Grace, but a witness is usually-“ the old maester croaked.

“I am a prince of the realm, and a man grown as of today. Do you mean to doubt my abilities to stand witness to such significant matters?” His voice deepened, summoning an air of authority and sternness seldom witnessed in him.

The room fell into silence. Finally, the silence was broken when Baelor spoke. “According to the date, this was agreed upon when you both were but six years of age. Do you mean to stand by this contract nevertheless?” The look on his eyes was illegible. 

“I do not take vows for naught, father,” Valarr stood his ground. “I have given my word upon my honor, and will stand by it. I have loved her since I was a boy, and will not take any other to wife.” He hesitated for a sliver of a moment, then added, “if she will have me.”

Baelor put the parchment down on the table, and pinched his nosebridge. The Grand Maester immediately picked up the document, and inspected it so closely, Valarr was worried he may bury his nose in it.

“My Lord Hand, the seals and signatures are indeed.. genuine. And if the prince and the lady are in fact, both of age, then I fear that there are no grounds upon which this contract can be denied.” He sighed.

Valarr watched his father’s reaction. For what seemed like an eternity, Baelor’s eyes remained closed, with his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he opened his eyes to face his son, and placed his hands on the table.

“And you are certain, my son?” He asked, an exasperated look on his face.

“I have never been more certain, father.” The young prince met his gaze steadfastly.

“Very well,” Baelor huffed out, “I will speak to her father about this after the jousts today. Considering the delicate nature of this.. pact,” he waved his hand at the parchment, “I will need to approach this matter in a careful fashion.”

Valarr felt a great weight lifted from his chest, and breathed out in relief. Through the window, the sky seemed to shine a brighter blue, the trees the most vibrant green, and the sun’s rays graced everything with a golden glow.

“Thank you, father.” He bowed his head slightly.

“Do not thank me yet, son. We will see how the day goes, and whether her family will agree to this arrangement. Until then, nobody is to speak of this matter to those outside of this council.” With that, Baelor rose from his seat, and dismissed the council with a curt nod of his head. As Valarr watched the rest of the council members scurry out, he felt he could’ve hugged his father, so great was his gratitude at this moment.

-

The gates of the Red Keep was buzzing with excitement as carriages and horses carried the spectators of the tourney out of the Keep and towards the tourney grounds right outside of the city gates. As you sneaked a peek out of the carriage window, you could see children running alongside, shouting in glee as they made their way to the tourney as well. 

You held a silk ribbon in your house colors in your hands, fidgeting mindlessly with it as you watched the narrow streets of King’s Landing pass by. The topaz earrings dangled from your ears, swinging along with every bump and pothole in the road. Your parents were chattering about the participating knights, and voicing their concern for your cousins’ safety. You were admittedly not too concerned about the matter, the jousting lances’ tips were made out of soft wood, made to shatter, and your overeager aunt and uncle had commissioned very intricate armors for your cousins to joust in.

When you rode past the city gates, your eyes were greeted by hundreds of colorful pavillions and banners snapping in the wind. The empty meadow outside of the city walls had been transformed into a marvelous tourney ground, bustling with life. 

The carriage stopped, letting your family step out onto the spring grass. Your parents craned their necks as they searched for your cousins’ pavillion, which was spotted rather quickly due to the tall flag with your heraldry stitched upon it. You threaded your arm through your mother’s, walking past the busy squires, merchants shouting out for the nobles to look at their wares, and steelworkers hammering away in their tents. 

Once arrived at your relatives’ pavillion, your parents eagerly entered, wishing to bid your cousins good fortune for their tilts. You were briefly distracted in front of the entrance by a small mouse scuttling about, watching its movements, when a warm touch on your shoulder startled you.

Your body whipped around in surprise, and yelped when you came face-to-face with Valarr standing before you in his armor. His broad frame, with the added breadth of the armor, easily towered over you.

“Hi,” he was already smiling, dimples forming on his chiseled cheeks. His mismatched eyes were glinting with something you could not quite place. When he spotted the jewelry dangling from his ears, his smile widened.  

“Valarr, hi,” you breathed out. 

“I wanted to come see you before the jousts started shortly,” he took a small step towards you. The heat eminating from his body was almost palpable, even through his thick steel armor. “For the favor.”

That made sense, you supposed. You did promise him a favor for the tilts today. 

You were still holding the silk ribbon in your hand, the floral stitchings along with your house sigils had been embroidered by your own hands. 

“May I-“ you gestured at his arm hanging by his side.

“Oh, yes, of course.” He slightly lifted his arm, allowing you sufficient space to wrap the ribbon around his upper arm, and secure it with a bow. 

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” He took your hand, and bent down to plant a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I must get going, the champions must be present when the start of the tourney is announced. I hope I’ll see you in the stands.”

"You will," you smiled back at him, "happy nameday, Valarr. And good fortune in the lists today."

"I have all the fortune I need, but thank you," Valarr mused, holding up the arm with your ribbon tied around it. 

And with that, he took his leave. You blinked, processing whatever just occurred, then collected yourself and entered the pavilion to wish your cousins good fortune. 

-

Your mother's closeness with Lady Jena ensured that your family's seats in the stands were situated right next to the royal box; offering an excellent view over the jousting grounds. As you sat, the herald blew the horn, marking the start of the tourney, and announced the champions as they rode in.

The crowd burst into a roar as the knights in shining armor rode in on their mounts, you quickly spotted Valarr, the white streak in his hair a clear beacon even from a distance. Your ribbon on his arm was snapping in the wind, you could faintly hear the whispers of courtiers speculating whose favor the Young Prince could possibly be wearing. Riding on his pitch black destrier clad in elegant armor, he really did paint a handsome picture, his body moving fluidly with the horse, adeptly commanding it with a squeeze of his legs and a light tug on the rein. His black armor with his house’s sigil enameled on the breastplate glinted in the sun, and you briefly wondered whether that was done intentionally as to blind his opponents in the sunlight.

The champions raised their swords as the crowd cheered, then all bowed their heads to the royal box in a show of respect before riding off to the sidelines where their squires were waiting. The champions’ first opponents rode in as well, searching for their squires in the chaos of it all.

“Helmet!” You heard Valarr shout out to his squire, his voice a couple notes deeper than usual. He was always soft-spoken and gentle, and you had never heard him sound quite so commanding before. Soon, his white streak was hidden under the helm, and he was only recognizable via his armor.

As the knights lined up by the lists, the warhorses were impatiently huffing and stomping on the ground. You squinted to see who Valarr’s first opponent be, and identified a blue enameled fish upon the armor. A Tully, then.

The horn blew, and kicking up a great dust storm, the mounts galloped forward, the riders upon their backs lowering their lances. The first pass was over in a blink, the wooden tips of tourney lances bursting against shields and armors, and you saw that some riders had been unhorsed already.

Your eyes seeked Valarr out, and to your relief, him and his black destrier emerged from the dust cloud victorious; his opponent lay unhorsed on the ground. Valarr dismounted at the sight, and walked over with a hand on the sword’s hilt to his opponent, struggling to get back on his feet.

From a distance, you faintly heard him yell out, “I yield, my prince! I yield!” Only then, Valarr eased the grip on his sword, and held his hand out to help him get off the ground. The crowd burst out in another wave of cheers at the sight; praising the Young Prince for his chivalry. 

In the next tilts, Valarr faced five more challengers, one of them being his own cousin, Aerion Brightflame. He donned a spiky black armor, paired with a helmet showing a monstrous visage upon it. After two titillating matches, Valarr finally rode him down; after which Aerion rose against him, unsheathing his broadsword. The melée that followed was not short-lived, steel met steel in a flash of sparks and wooden shields splintered under heavy blows, until Valarr unarmed him and held him at swordpoint. 

The crowd, highborns and smallfolk alike, were roaring in his support; a glinting hope in their eyes that Baelor Breakspear’s line proved to be just as skilled in arms as he was. An ember of pride was fanned every time he raised his lance arm after unhorsing an opponent, your favor waving in the wind. Maybe it really had brought him good fortune.

Your cousins fared adequately enough, Devin, the eldest, unhorsing two opponents before being unseated himself in the third tilt. The others had not been so lucky, and fell from their horses in their first rides. But they all seemed unharmed, aside from minor scraps and bruises.

The tilts, which started at midday, continued until the sun was nearing the western horizon and a pale moon shone on the opposite side of the sky. There was only one tilt left for the day; Valarr was to ride against Ser Roland of the Kingsguard. After a brief break, Valarr returned to the lists.  He swung onto his black destrier, riding to the sidelines as his squire followed with the helmet and shield in his arms. 

As Valarr held his helm in his hands, his head turned towards the stands. At first, you thought he might be looking at his family in the royal box, but his gaze came to rest upon you. His hair was matted from sweat, dark brown strands plastered across his forehead from the heat and exhaustion, but his face held a determined look. You held eye contact and gave your dear childhood companion an encouraging nod before he slid his helmet on. You could not be sure due to the distance, but it almost seemed as if the corner of his mouth lifted in a soft smile before it was obscured by the enameled helmet.

His squire promptly delivered him the shield and put the lance in his hand, and scurried off to the weapons’ racks as to be ready when Valarr would need his next lance.

Ser Roland looked formidable as well on the opposite side of the lists, he was sitting upon his chestnut warhorse, clad in all-white armor and cloak of the Kingsguard. He was older, and more experienced, which pushed the odds in his favor. However, Valarr rode as if he had been blessed by the Warrior himself that day, the memory of the success in the council chamber that morning filled his tired muscles with strength, and he felt almost battle-high.

Not a moment too soon, the herald announced the start of the final tilt. “May the Crone guide your lance, and the Warrior grant you strength!” He cried out, then blew the start horn. 

The sound of the hooves striking the ground thundered across the meadow, the cheering of the crowds so loud your ears were threatening to ring. In a flash, both lances broke cleanly off the shields, and both riders remained seated. You held your breath as Valarr seemed to sway slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. As he urged his destrier around, you were not sure if the glint of his mismatched eyes gazing in your direction was only imagined or not.

The second pass was more brutal; the riders met in a clash of bursting wood again, but Ser Roland had met Valarr’s pauldron with the tip of his lance, sending the Young Prince reeling from his seat. In contrast, Valarr’s lance had harmlessly broken against the Kingsguard’s shield.

A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Valarr’s body lurched backwards, with only one foot remaining in the stirrups. However, to the delight of the spectators, his hooked his foot firmly around it, and pulled his body upright again, sitting tall upon his mount. 

As the horn urging the third pass blew, Valarr kicked his destrier’s sides firmly with his greaves, riding with his torso lowered against his mount, and his shield raised in defense. In the final moment before impact, Valarr’s lance drifted laterally by a minuscule bit, its tip bursting against Ser Roland’s breastplate in a shower of splinters. Ser Roland was cleanly unhorsed, landing with an uff on his back.

The crowd erupted in a roar, and you felt yourself grin at his victory. He had won his nameday tilt, your sweet, gentle Valarr had truly grown into a most gallant knight.

While the cheers died down and Ser Roland was helped up by his squires, the herald climbed down from the stands and marched towards Valarr holding the wildflower crown. The victorious prince lifted the helmet off, revealing a proud smile upon his face. He nodded to the royal box in a show of respect, to which Baelor and Jena rose their cups in response.

Valarr took the wildflower wreath from the herald, and the grounds fell into silence in anticipation to which lady would be crowned queen of love and beauty by the Young Prince. You looked on in anticipation as well, but your breath caught in your throat when he urged his destrier towards your family.

He softly called out your name, and you felt all eyes turn towards you. “Would you grant me the honor of crowning you as the queen of love and beauty?” You almost choked on your own spit from surprise. “For old times’ sake.” He added in a hushed voice, his eyes glinting under the blueish lights of dusk. Despite the apparent exhaustion, he looked beautiful. In the background, you vaguely perceived an excited squeal from your mother.

You barely registered yourself nodding before you made your way down to the railing and lowered your head to accept the wildflower crown. Valarr gently lowered it on the crown of your head, and brushed a hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. In your daze, the deafening applause and cheers from the crowds sounded almost muffled in your ears. You accepted the crown in a haze of confusion and perplexity. To the onlookers, his eyes held the look of a man utterly enamored when gazing upon you, clear as day. Not that you noticed.

-

The festivities in the Great Hall were as grand as any, if not grander. King Daeron the Good had not been frugal at all when planning his grandson’s sixteenth nameday feast, quite the contrary in fact. There were seven absolutely extravagant courses gracing the tables, not even counting the appetizers and desserts. You dug in as your hunger had grown quite insistent during the day, t’was hard work sitting unmoving in the stands under the sun. Jests aside, the food was marvelous, every course truly a testament to the castle’s cooks.

When the last course had been cleared away by the servants, the guests started to take to the dancefloor. Strangely enough, Prince Baelor had vanished from the dais around the same time. Probably some matters of the realm, you brushed it off as the Hand of the King attending to some royal affairs. You adjusted the flower wreath on your head as it was starting to slide down to your brows, and watched the dancing pairs glide across the floor. As you reached for your goblet of wine, a warm hand reached from behind and tapped on your shoulder.

“Valarr,” your face broke into a smile when you saw the victor of the day’s jousts. “My congratulations for winning in the lists today, you rode splendidly.” 

“Well fought, my prince,” your father, seated next to you, joined in with his own praises.

“Thank you, truly.” Valarr tilted his head in gratitude. “Would the queen of love and beauty grace me with her first dance?”

You looked down at his hand held out in invitation, before nodding and graciously taking his hand in acceptance. As you walked to the middle of the floor, heads turned as they spotted the crown prince and the flower wreath perched atop your head. You both took up the starting pose, with your hand placed on his shoulder, and his arms wrapping around your waist to rest on the small of your back. His hand gently held your free hand, and you drifted into familiar steps of the dance.

“Do not be alarmed,” Valarr whispered, “but I think my father has just summoned yours to his solar. I saw his page speak to your father, and leave the room with him.”

“Oh?” Your head tilted in bemusement. “Whatever might that be about?”

Valarr’s cheeks reddened at the question, and your confusion deepened. Perhaps he did not feel well discussing his father’s more confidential proceedings, so you decided to leave the topic for the sake of the poor boy. Your two families had been close for a decade now, surely they had enough matters to discuss. If it was important enough, your father would disclose it to you later anyways. 

“Your final tilt against Ser Roland was magnificent, by the way,” you teased, “I had feared you might lose your seat during that second pass, but the recovery was quite impressive.”

The poor prince’s cheeks grew impossibly redder. Even as a child, he’d never been adept at handling praise. He could only mumble out a thank you. The contrast between the valiant knight at the lists and the blushing prince in front of you was almost adorable; perhaps Valarr had not yet entirely outgrown the sweet, timid boy he used to be.

As the song came to an end, a Lord you did not recognize stood in front of you, requesting your next dance. Valarr, ever the kind, dutiful prince, took his leave to return to the dais. 

The status as the queen of love and beauty of the day came with a steady stream of dancing partners, you forgot their names almost as soon as they introduced yourself; you were never really adept with names and faces anyways. When your feet began to ache and you excused yourself to take your seat by your mother’s side, a page intercepted you just as you were about to pull out your chair. Your mother raised an eyebrow at that, her husband had been occupied in a meeting with the Hand for a good while, and apparently it now required your presence, as well. 

“M’ady, I apologize for the interruption. The Hand and your father require your presence in the Hand’s solar.” The young boy, twelve years of age at most, stuttered out.

“Of course, would you be so kind as to lead the way?” You smiled as you lowered the crown from your head and placed it on the table, assuming you’d be returning in a short while.

-

The dim, torchlit corridors leading to the Hand’s solar were unfamiliar at first sight, but as you ventured further with the young page, the memories started swarming back. The afternoon teas with the two families, Valarr’s sixth nameday morrow, and sitting idly while your father discussed lordly matters with Prince Baelor surfaced with every step you took.

Soon enough, you stood in front of the familiar double doors leading to Baelor’s solar. This time, you patiently waited as the page announced you before stepping in. You were greeted by the sight of Baelor sitting at his desk, your father sat in the armchair facing him. The candlelights bestowed a rather serious atmosphere in the room. 

“Father, my Lord Hand,” you took a shallow curtsy, “I have heard you sent for me.” You searched their faces for hints as to what this may be about, but failed miserably.

“My lady, thank you for joining us,” Baelor tilted his head. “We have quite important matters to discuss with you, specifically-“ he briefly searched for words, “regarding your marriage pact.”

Your head went blank. “..What?” What is it with a marriage pact now?

Letting the evidence speak for itself, Baelor slid a piece of parchment in your direction. You approached his desk, and lifted the document to your eyes. The parchment was obviously quite old, but not old enough to crumble in your hands. The soft, smooth surface indicated frequent handling, as did the numerous creases. The writing upon it was carved into the hide in a child’s handwriting, and it contained a very briefly written marriage contract between you and Valarr. When your eyes reached the end of the parchment, you identified your own handwriting as a child, crooked and wonky in a way the late Septa Marya used to scold you about. Your thumb traced the wax seals, worn down by time but still obviously genuine.

Oh. You now feintly recalled the day where you produced this document. It came as a surprise that Valarr had kept this all this time, but then all Valarr did the last few days was surprise you. 

“Valarr presented this contract to the Small Council this morrow, he says he will not take anyone else to wife.” Baelor calmly explained, watching your face closely. “The Grand Maester has inspected the document himself, and has declared it genuine. I initially wished to discuss this matter with your father alone, but he has insisted on hearing your opinions on this. Believe me my lady, neither of us will see you married unwillingly on the basis of a pact you signed at the age of six.”

You briefly unpacked your mental balance scale, weighing your options. The benefits included the fact that 1. he was your dearest childhood companion, 2. he had grown into a quite handsome man, and 3. he was considerate, gentle and kind. The only drawback was.. Well, you rummaged through your head, but failed to come up with any. 

“Will you have him?” Baelor asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern at your silence.

“Yes, I will,” the words left your lips without a hint of hesitance as you placed the parchment back on the table.

“Are you sure, daughter?” It was your father’s turn to question you.

“Yes, why not?” You shrugged. “He’s grand.”

“Grand?” The Hand’s eyebrows rose in amusement at you describing his son as grand. You and Valarr’s antics today were certainly providing Baelor’s facial muscles with quite an exercise.

You nodded, as if your statement was to explain anything and you did not understand what the confusion was about. He truly was grand, after all. There wasn’t much else you could wish for in a future husband. The crown prince and your father were staring at you with a look one could only describe as bewilderment.

“Just to confirm, you will accept the terms of this.. contract, and take my son as your lawful husband?” Baelor asked, a slight look of confusion upon his eyes, wondering whether you had heard the question correctly.

“I will, my prince.” You nodded again, your casual tone steadfast.

“Then it is settled,” The Hand looked to your father, who nodded in agreement.

As you and your father took your leaves from the solar and shut the doors behind you, you came face to face with Valarr, who had obviously been pacing. His gaze shifted between you and your father, a look of hopefulness evident in his eyes.

“Val,” you softly called his name. “Guess we truly are getting married now.” You shrugged lightly, and giggled. 

A sigh of relief punched itself out of him, and he looked to your father.

“You have my blessings, my prince. You can consider yourselves.. officially betrothed now.” He offered a slight bow.

“That is most wonderful news,” his face split into a smile as he stepped towards you to clasp your hand within his own two hands. “I swear, I will do the utmost to make you happy, anything you want. Simply tell me, and I will see it done. Even if it is not in my power, I promise I will make it so.”

You blushed, then looked down, suppressing a wide grin. Only then, your eyes trailed down to his right hand, where the small, children’s sized signet ring rested upon his little finger. Your breath caught in surprise as the torchlight glanced off the polished band.

“You kept it,” You murmured.

Valarr looked confused for a moment, but lowered his gaze to follow yours. When he realized what you’d meant, his joyous smile melted into a more calm, fond one.

“Of course I have, it’s from you. And I promised to always cherish it.” 

Oh. You felt as though somebody had smacked you on the back of the head. Every hint, every glance, every word clicked into place in that moment. Valarr had been in love with you all along, since you were all but children. He’d taken care to remember all your childish promises to each other, even keeping the scrap of parchment tucked away safely for nigh on a decade. 

“Have you really? After all this time?” Your voice was hushed, your heart picking up its pace in your ribcage. Your lips parted slightly in awe.

“Yes, love. It’s always been you.” Finally, he confessed, his beautiful, mismatched eyes gazing adoringly at you. 

As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

- Epilogue -

When you returned to your family’s assigned quarters, your motherr was already waiting at the tea table, eagerly waiting to hear what all the fuss had been about. When your father retold the events of the evening, she was practically bouncing in her seat in excitement at your betrothal.

“In retrospect, I must ask you, daughter,” your father turned his head towards you, “have you been aware of the existence of that document all this time?”

“Frankly, I had forgotten,” you shrugged. “But now that I saw it, I do remember sneaking into Prince Baelor’s office that day.” Your parents tried to look scandalized, but the air of amusement was evident.

“Darling, she did try to tell us that one time, remember? When we told her we were leaving King’s Landing.” Your mother’s eyes lit up, recalling your confession which they both had assumed was simply a child’s fancy. “She said that she was going to marry him, and that they promised.”

“Well, nobody expects their six-year-old daughter to go and sign a marriage contract,” your father snorted. Honestly, that was a fair assessment.

“The most important thing is, it did turn out quite well,” you held up your palms in defence, a smirk on your face. “I am quite satisfied with the match, if I dare say so myself.”

Your parents laughed out at your understatement laced with a jest. Indeed, it had turned out quite alright. 

Taglist: @good-night-starlight @enouche @literallyafallenangel @rakiroad

“Red,” he said, offering one. “The Pentosi varietal the sommelier recommended. Viserys ordered twenty cases for the cellars.”

“Of course he did.”

Daemon’s mouth twitched. “He’s planning a gala for the autumn. Apparently, Alicent has been nagging him about entertaining more. Networking.” He pronounced the word with a particular disdain, the way another man might say vermin.

You took the wine, mostly because you needed something to do with your hands. “Alicent’s networking is called ‘securing her position.’ She’s smart.”

“She’s a social climber with a spreadsheet and a prayer book.”

“Daemon.”

“What? It’s true. You know it’s true. Even Rhaenyra knows it’s true, and Rhaenyra is pathologically incapable of thinking ill of anyone her father deigns to marry.” He took a long drink of his wine, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “I still don’t know what Viserys was thinking. Otto Hightower’s daughter. It’s like bringing a fox into the henhouse and handing it a napkin.”

You wanted to argue, mostly on principle, but you were too tired. Three days of enforced proximity to Alicent’s brittle smiles and Viserys’ oblivious paternalism and Rhaenyra’s increasingly desperate attempts to play peacemaker had worn you down to a nub.

Rhaenyra was the only one of Daemon’s family you genuinely liked, she was fierce and funny and surprisingly self-aware for a woman who’d been raised to believe she was the center of the universe, but even she had been grating on you today. She’d cornered you at breakfast to ask if everything was “okay” between you and Daemon, her violet eyes too knowing, too sympathetic. You’d deflected, but barely.

It was Daemon’s fault. All of it. If he hadn’t insisted on moving the family back into the Targaryen ancestral pile, if he hadn’t dragged you into his obsessive crusade against Alicent’s influence, if he hadn’t treated your unhappiness like a software glitch that could be patched with shopping and sex and those devastating smiles he deployed like weapons...

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Daemon observed.

“I’m thinking about divorce.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “The storm’s getting worse. We should go inside.”

“Daemon.”

“The boys are waiting for dinner. Viserys wants to eat at eight, which means Alicent wants to eat at seven-thirty, which means if we’re not in the dining room by...oh, the look on her face.” He grinned, sharp and wicked. “It might almost be worth being late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Her face goes all pinched, like she’s sucked a lemon. Rhaenyra and I used to have a drinking game around it.”

“Daemon, I want a divorce.”

This time, he did react. A tightening around his jaw, barely perceptible. The way his fingers flexed against his wine glass. But his voice, when he spoke, was perfectly even. “We’re not having this conversation on a balcony in Pentos while our children are inside.”

“We’re not having this conversation anywhere. That’s the problem. You refuse to engage with it. You act like if you ignore it long enough, I’ll forget.”

“Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Forget.” He turned to face you, and there it was again, that flicker of something raw beneath the arrogance, gone so fast you might have imagined it. “Will you forget that you love me? That we have a life together? That we have two sons who adore you and a home and a history and...” He stopped himself, jaw working. “No. You’re right. We’re not doing this here.”

He drained his wine and walked back inside, leaving you alone with the storm.

Dinner was excruciating.

The dining room was all white tablecloths and soft candlelight and sweeping views of the coastline, the storm pressing against the windows. Viserys sat at the head of the table, beaming benevolently at his assembled family as if he’d personally arranged the weather for their entertainment. Alicent was at his right hand, her auburn hair pulled back in an elegant twist, her expression one of careful serenity that you knew from experience masked a constant, low-grade anxiety.

Rhaenyra and her husband Laenor were visiting from their place in Spain, their three boys seated between them in various states of restlessness. And then there was your family: you, Daemon, and the two small boys who were currently attempting to build a fort out of bread rolls.

“Aegon, stop that,” you said quietly, removing the roll from his hand before it could be added to the precarious structure. “We don’t play with food.”

“Uncle Laenor said the Pentosi build forts to keep the sea monsters away,” Aegon protested.

“Did he.”

“It’s true,” Laenor said, his expression perfectly solemn. “Ancient maritime tradition. Very sacred.”

Aegon turned to you with the triumphant expression of a child who had just been validated by an adult, and you made a mental note to have a word with Laenor later. Probably with a heavy object.

“How are you finding the resort?” Alicent asked, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that suggested she was already composing a report for some internal database. “The spa here is supposed to be excellent. I booked a hot stone massage for tomorrow morning, if you’d care to join.”

“That’s kind of you,” you said, “but I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh, you should go,” Rhaenyra said, leaning forward. “I went yesterday. There’s a sauna and everything. Very relaxing.” She caught your eye and added, with just a hint of emphasis, “Good for stress.”

You smiled tightly. “I’m sure it is.”

Daemon, seated beside you, had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. He’d exchanged a few barbed pleasantries with Alicent, agreed with Viserys about the superiority of Westerosi wine, and otherwise devoted his attention to his plate with the air of a man who was planning something. You knew that look. You’d seen it before board meetings, before confrontations with business rivals, before the night he’d decided to move your family into Dragonstone Manor without consulting you. It was the look of Daemon Targaryen marshaling his forces.

It made you nervous.

“I heard the most interesting thing today,” Alicent said, and something in her tone made the entire table go quiet. “About the Ashford deal.”

Viserys looked up from his lamb. “My dear, perhaps business at the dinner table...”

“It’s just that I understood we weren’t pursuing Ashford anymore. The board voted on it, I thought. And yet I received a rather curious email from our legal team this afternoon suggesting that Daemon had reopened negotiations.” Her smile didn’t waver. “On his own authority.”

Daemon set down his fork very carefully. “The board voted to table the discussion, not to abandon the acquisition entirely. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

“There is to anyone who actually understands corporate governance.”

“Daemon,” Viserys said, a warning note in his voice.

But Daemon was already leaning forward, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. “The Ashford portfolio is worth forty million pounds. Their logistics network alone would give us a foothold in three new markets. I wasn’t about to let it slip away because the board is too risk-averse to see past next quarter’s earnings report.”

“The board is risk-averse because we’re still recovering from the Dornish expansion,” Alicent said, her voice cool. “Which you also championed. And which went significantly over budget.”

“It went over budget because we were sabotaged by incompetents you personally recommended for the project.”

“I recommended no one. I suggested a shortlist of candidates, which Viserys approved.”

“After you’d spent three months whispering in his ear about how essential they were.”

“That’s enough,” Viserys said, and for a moment he sounded like the patriarch he was supposed to be, his voice carrying the weight of decades of authority. “We’re not discussing this here. We’re on holiday. There are children present.”

Everyone looked at the children. Aegon had abandoned his bread fort and was now trying to teach Viserys the younger how to balance a spoon on his nose. Neither of them had appeared to notice the adult tension crackling around them.

“I’m just saying,” Alicent said, her tone now one of wounded reasonableness, “that it might be wise to keep the family informed of major business decisions. For the sake of transparency.”

“Transparency,” Daemon repeated. “Rich, coming from someone whose father just happened to acquire a significant stake in the shipping company we use for all our Narrow routes. Purely coincidental, I’m sure.”

Alicent’s face went stone cold. “My father’s investments are his own business.”

“Are they? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks an awful lot like a conflict of interest. Or would, if anyone were looking.”

“Daemon.” This time it was Viserys, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We talked about this. Otto’s investment was vetted by our ethics committee. There’s no conflict.”

“The ethics committee that reports to you. And that you appointed. After Alicent suggested the members.”

The silence that followed was the kind that made you want to crawl under the table. Rhaenyra was studying her wine glass with intense fascination. Laenor had developed a sudden interest in the storm outside. Even the children seemed to sense something was wrong; little Viserys had stopped his spoon-balancing attempts and was looking at his father with wide, uncertain eyes.

You reached for your wine and took a very long drink.

“I think,” you said, into the silence, “that we should perhaps change the subject.”

Alicent’s gaze snapped to you, and for a moment you saw something ugly there: resentment, perhaps, or suspicion. It was no secret that she considered you an extension of Daemon, his ally in whatever Valyrian power struggle was currently consuming the Targaryen family. The fact that you’d spent the last several months trying to extricate yourself from precisely that role was not something you could exactly explain over lamb and roasted vegetables.

“You’re right, of course,” Alicent said, her smile returning like a curtain falling back into place. “I apologize. This was entirely inappropriate dinner conversation.” She touched Viserys’s arm with practiced tenderness. “I’m sorry, darling. I let my concerns get the better of me.”

Viserys patted her hand. “No harm done. Daemon, we’ll discuss the Ashford matter tomorrow. Privately.”

“Can’t wait,” Daemon said, in a tone that suggested he would rather have oral surgery.

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of forced small talk and barely concealed hostility. By the time dessert arrived, some elaborate chocolate confection that you ate without savoring the taste, you had a headache building behind your eyes and a desperate longing to be anywhere else. Alone. Away from Targaryens and their endless, exhausting drama.

You caught Rhaenyra’s eye across the table, and she gave you a small, sympathetic smile. She, at least, understood. She’d grown up in this family. She knew what it was like to be caught in the crossfire.

But even Rhaenyra’s sympathy couldn’t pierce the cold knot of resentment that had settled in your chest. Because this, this dinner, this family, this entire suffocating situation, was exactly why you wanted out. Not because Daemon was a bad man. Not because he didn’t love you, in his way. But because being married to Daemon Targaryen meant being constantly, endlessly embroiled in Targaryen affairs.

The feuds, the power plays, the ancient grudges dressed up as business disagreements. Alicent’s machinations. Viserys’s willful blindness. The way the entire family seemed to orbit around some invisible sun of their own making, pulling everyone else into their gravitational field.

And Daemon, for all his talk of protecting you from it, was the worst of them all. He didn’t just participate in the drama, he was the drama. He generated it, cultivated it, fed on it like some kind of chaos vampire. And now he’d dragged you back to the family estate, back into the heart of the storm, and expected you to just…endure it.

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

After dinner, you put the boys to bed in the adjoining room of the suite. Aegon went down with minimal protest, exhausted from a day of swimming and running and terrorizing his cousins with a water pistol. Viserys was fussier, clinging to you with sticky fingers and demanding a third bedtime story, but eventually even he succumbed to sleep, his small face slackening into that angelic expression that always made your heart clench.

You stood in the doorway between the children’s room and the master bedroom, watching them sleep. Aegon had kicked off his blankets already, sprawling across his bed like a starfish. Viserys was curled around the stuffed dragon he refused to sleep without, the one Daemon had bought him when he was born, its silver wings worn soft from years of clutching.

They were the reason you’d stayed this long. The reason you’d tried so hard. Every time you’d been ready to walk out the door, you’d looked at their faces and thought: I can endure a little longer. For them.

But you were starting to wonder if enduring was actually doing them any favors. If growing up in a house with parents who were slowly, silently falling apart was any better than growing up in two houses with parents who were, at least, honest about what they were.

Behind you, the door to the suite opened and closed. You didn’t turn.

“They’re asleep,” you said.

“Good.” Daemon’s voice was quiet, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. “I’m sorry about dinner. Alicent has a talent for getting under my skin.”

You turned then, leaning against the doorframe. He was standing in the middle of the room, his jacket discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos that snaked up his forearms, dragons, of course, and something in High Valyrian that he’d gotten in his twenties. His silver-gold hair was disheveled from running his hands through it, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break.

“She gets under your skin because you let her,” you said. “You seek her out. You look for fights.”

“Someone has to. Viserys won’t.”

“It’s not your job to protect your brother from his own wife.”

“It’s not about protecting Viserys. It’s about protecting the family. The company. Everything our forefathers built.” He moved closer, and you caught the scent of his cologne, woody and dark and infuriatingly familiar. “Alicent and her father are parasites. They’ve been trying to sink their hooks into Targaryen holdings for years, and Viserys is too besotted to see it.”

“And what does that have to do with us? With our marriage?”

He stopped. “Everything. You’re part of this family. What affects us affects you.”

“I don’t want to be part of this family.” The words came out harder than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. “That’s the point, Daemon. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life watching you wage war against your sister-in-law over business deals. I don’t want to raise our sons in the middle of a battlefield. I want a normal life.”

“Normal.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What does that even mean? A house in the suburbs? A nine-to-five job? Bake sales and PTA meetings? That’s not who we are. It’s never been who we are.”

“Maybe it’s who I want to be.”

“No.” He was close now, close enough to touch, his eyes burning into yours with that intensity that had first drawn you to him all those years ago. “You think you want that, but you’d be bored within a month. You’d miss this. You’d miss me.”

“You arrogant...”

“I’m not being arrogant. I’m being honest. You married me knowing exactly who I was. You knew what my family was like. You knew what you were getting into.” His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “You’re just tired. It’s been a long year. Let me take care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me. I need you to listen to me.”

“I am listening.”

“No, you’re not. You’re waiting for me to stop talking so you can tell me why I’m wrong.” You pulled away from his touch, stepping back into the children’s room and pulling the door partially closed behind you. “I’ve been trying to tell you for months. I’m done, Daemon. I want a divorce.”

His expression shifted. The mask slipped, just for a moment, and you saw what lay beneath. Fear. Then it was gone, and he was the Daemon Targaryen everyone saw, the charming rogue, the untouchable prince.

“We’re not discussing this tonight,” he said. “The boys are right there.”

“They’re asleep.”

“I said, we’re not discussing this.” And then, softer, almost a plea: “Not tonight. Please.”

You had never heard Daemon Targaryen say please before. Not like that. Not as if the word had been dragged out of him against his will.

The storm was directly overhead now. Lightning flashed outside the window, bright enough to cast the room in stark white relief, and you started counting instinctively, one, two, and the thunder cracked so loud and so close that the windows rattled in their frames. Two seconds. Right on top of you.

In the children’s room, Viserys whimpered in his sleep. You slipped back inside to soothe him, stroking his silver-blond hair until he settled, your heart pounding from more than just the thunder.

When you returned to the master bedroom, Daemon was standing by the window, watching the storm with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t turn when you approached.

“Do you remember our honeymoon?” he asked quietly. “The villa in Myr. There was a storm like this on the third night. You said you’d never seen lightning so beautiful.”

You remembered. You remembered everything, the way the rain had hammered against the shutters, the way the candles had flickered every time the thunder rolled, the way Daemon had pulled you onto the bed and made love to you until the storm passed and the sky cleared and the stars came out like scattered diamonds. You’d thought, lying in his arms afterward, that you’d never be happier than you were in that moment.

You’d been right.

“That was a long time ago,” you said.

“It was eight years. That’s not so long.”

“It feels like a lifetime.”

He turned then, and the look on his face made your breath catch. He looked older, suddenly. Tired. The weight of all those years pressing down on him, on both of you.

“I know I’m difficult,” he said. “I know I’m not…easy. To be married to. I know I drive you up the wall.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“Daemon...”

“Let me finish. Please.” He took a breath. “I know I’ve been…distracted. The situation with Alicent, with the company, it’s consumed more of my attention than it should have. More than you deserved. I can see that now.”

“It’s not just the company. It’s everything. The way you handle things. The way you handle me.”

“I know.”

“You throw money at problems and expect them to go away. You treat my concerns like they’re inconveniences to be managed. You make decisions that affect our entire family without consulting me.” The words were pouring out now, a dam finally breaking. “You moved us to Dragonstone Manor without even asking me. You just...announced it. Like it was a done deal. Like my opinion didn’t matter.”

“I was trying to protect you. All of you. Viserys was already changing, Alicent was already getting her hooks in, and I needed to be closer. I needed to be able to watch what was happening.”

“And what about what I needed? What about what our children needed? Aegon had just started at his school. He had friends. I had a life in London. And you ripped it all away because of your paranoia about your brother’s wife.”

“It wasn’t paranoia. Everything I suspected has turned out to be true.”

“That’s not the point!” You were almost shouting now, and you forced yourself to lower your voice, acutely aware of the children sleeping in the next room. “The point is that you didn’t talk to me. You never talk to me. You just…act. You decide what’s best and you do it, and I’m supposed to just fall in line.”

Daemon was silent for a long moment. The storm was moving past, the thunder growing more distant, the lightning flickering further away. Rain drummed steadily against the windows.

“You’re right,” he said finally.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re right. I should have talked to you. About Dragonstone. About everything.” He ran his hand through his hair again, and this time the gesture seemed less nervous than helpless.

“I’m not asking you to stop being who you are. I’m asking you to include me in it. To treat me like an equal instead of an accessory.”

“I know.” He moved toward you, slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. “I know. And I’ll try. I swear to you, I’ll try.” He stopped in front of you, close enough to touch but not reaching out. “You want to leave Dragonstone? Fine. We’ll leave. We’ll move back to London, or anywhere else you want to go. You want me to step back from the family business? I’ll step back. Viserys can handle his own mess. You want me to stop antagonizing Alicent at every family dinner?” A wry smile. “That one might take some practice. But I’ll try.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted it so badly it was a physical ache in your chest.

“I’ve already spoken to a lawyer,” you whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “I know.”

“You...how?”

“The retainer on the new black card. I’m not an idiot. You think I don’t check the statements?” He shook his head. “I’ve known for months. I’ve just been…hoping you’d change your mind.”

“Daemon…”

“I’m not going to make this easy for you.” His voice was steady but hollow. “I’m not going to sign papers and smile and pretend this is what I want. It’s not. I want you. I want our family. I want to grow old with you and watch our sons become men. I want all of it. Every messy, frustrating, complicated part of it.”

“Then why didn’t you say that? Instead of just...ignoring me and hoping I’d give up?”

“Because I’m a coward.” He laughed shortly. “I was terrified. Terrified that if I actually talked about it, if I actually acknowledged what was happening, it would become real. And I couldn’t bear that.”

Another flash of lightning, further away now. This time you didn’t count the seconds.

“I’m not saying I’ll withdraw the petition,” you said. “I’m not saying everything is fixed. There’s too much damage for one conversation to repair.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll…think about it. About whether there’s something left worth saving.”

His eyes lit up. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The storm was dying now, the thunder reduced to a distant grumble, the rain softening to a gentle patter against the glass. The room felt different than it had an hour ago. As if the lightning had cleared something in the air.

Daemon reached for you, and this time you let him. His arms came around you, pulling you against his chest, and you felt the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. He was warm and solid and so familiar it made your eyes sting.

“Come to bed,” he murmured against your hair. “We don’t have to sort out everything tonight. Just…come to bed.”

You should have said no. You should have slept in the children’s room, or on the sofa, or anywhere that wasn’t wrapped in Daemon’s arms. But you were tired, and you were sad, and despite everything, you still loved him. You had never stopped loving him. That was the problem.

“Fine,” you said. “But I’m still angry with you.”

“I know. You should be.”

“And I’m still thinking about divorce.”

“I know that too.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Let me try to change your mind.”

The hotel bed was vast and soft, dressed in linen that smelled faintly of lavender. Daemon undressed with his usual careless grace, tossing his clothes onto a chair in a way that would have annoyed you if you hadn’t been so tired. You changed into your nightgown in the bathroom, taking longer than necessary, staring at your reflection in the mirror and trying to decide if you were making a terrible mistake.

Your reflection stared back, offering no answers.

When you emerged, the room was lit only by the intermittent flashes of lightning and a single lamp on Daemon’s side of the bed. He was already under the covers, propped against the pillows, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Get in,” he said. “You’re letting the cold in.”

You climbed into bed beside him, keeping a careful distance between you. The sheets were cool against your skin. Outside, the storm was circling back, the thunder growing louder again, the lightning more frequent.

“Remember how we used to count?” Daemon asked quietly. “Between the lightning and the thunder. When we were first married.”

“I still do it,” you admitted. “I can’t help it. It’s automatic.”

“Me too.” He turned onto his side, facing you. “What do you think? How far away is this one?”

As if on cue, lightning split the sky, illuminating the room in stark white. You counted, one, two, three, and the thunder rolled, a low, grumbling bass note that vibrated through the windows.

“Three seconds,” you said. “About more than half a mile.”

“I think it’s closer. Two seconds at most.”

“You’re wrong.”

“We’ll see.” Another flash, brighter this time. One, two, and the crack was immediate, sharp and loud. Daemon smiled. “Two seconds.”

“That one doesn’t count. It was a different bolt.”

“Lightning moves. It’s getting closer.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me anyway.”

You didn’t answer that. You couldn’t. Because he was right, and you both knew it.

The next flash came almost immediately, and this time the thunder followed so fast it was nearly simultaneous, a tremendous crash that made you jump despite yourself. Daemon’s arm came around you, pulling you closer, and you didn’t resist.

“Right on top of us,” he murmured. “The hotel probably has lightning rods.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

His hand was moving on your back now, slow circles that were probably meant to be soothing but were doing something else entirely. You could feel the heat of him through your nightgown, the familiar geography of his body, the way you fit against him.

“Daemon.”

“Hmm?”

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

“I know.” His lips brushed your forehead. “This doesn’t mean anything. We’re just two people in a bed, waiting out a storm.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“For now.”

His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your spine, and you shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. You knew what he was doing. You’d always known. Daemon Targaryen had many weapons in his arsenal, and seduction was one of his favorites.

You should have stopped him. You should have pulled away and reinforced your boundaries and reminded him that nothing was resolved, that you were still furious, that sex wasn’t going to paper over the cracks in your marriage.

But his hand was on your hip now, his thumb pressing into the hollow there with expert precision, and you were tired of fighting. Tired of being angry. Tired of the endless, exhausting distance between what you wanted and what you had.

“Come here,” he said, and it wasn’t a command but a plea, raw and honest in a way Daemon rarely allowed himself to be.

You went.

His mouth found yours in the darkness, and it was like coming home after a long, lonely journey. Familiar and strange all at once, the taste of him, the way his hand cradled the back of your head. You’d kissed him thousands of times, millions, maybe, but this kiss felt different. Desperate. As if he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips.

“I love you,” he breathed against your mouth.

“Daemon...”

“Let me finish. Please.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark in the dim light. “I know I’ve failed you. I know I’ve been selfish and arrogant and dismissive. I know you have every right to walk out that door and never look back. But I’m asking you, begging you, to give me a chance. Not because of the children. Not because of the family. Because of us. Because what we have is worth fighting for.”

Thunder crashed outside, shaking the windows, but neither of you flinched.

“I’m so tired of fighting,” you whispered.

“Then stop. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting this.” His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized you’d shed. “Let me take care of you. Let me love you. Let me prove to you that we can be better than we’ve been.”

“And if we can’t? If we try and it’s still not enough?”

“Then I’ll let you go.” The words seemed to cost him a lot. “If we try, really try, and you’re still unhappy, I won’t fight the divorce. I’ll sign whatever you put in front of me. Just please, let's strike a truce for now.”

Part 2: coming soon...

a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Also, I lowkey hate the title of this fic, so if anyone has a better idea, let me know.

A buzz of electricity shot through your spine at the deep, gravelly voice. You turned around on your heels, a sly grin adorning your face, cheeks bumped up to meet his almost smirk and beautiful hazel eyes.

Dr. Jack Abbot. Your grumpy, sassy, hot attending. Your personal mission.

"So you agree that I'm distracting?"

Javadi made a choked noise that sounded almost like chortle while covering her mouth.

He huffed at you, crossing his arms on his chest. You had to keep your eyes from drifting to the muscles on his big arms taut against his broad chest.

"Bribing my students with baked goods? That's distracting."

"You know, its crazy—all I keep hearing is that you find me a.k.a my cooking is distracting, doc."

"Yeah? Well that's medically compromising—you should get your ears checked."

You rolled your eyes, your grin unwavering by his dry quips. "Well, what's medically compromising is your appetite, Abbot. Say, when was the last time you tried any of my distracting goods?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Why? You want me distracted too, nurse?" His voice dropped a decibel, as if the whisper was a secret meant to only rile you up. Your cheeks immediately turned pink, dusting the tips of your ears as well.

Your grin faltered. His almost came into view.

"Very subtle—" Shen coughed up, very unsubtly as your intimate moment with the attending came crashing. Jack took a quick look at your face; pink cheeks and ears and the confidence of the sunshine he managed to falter. A prideful feeling almost bloomed in his chest—only he could affect you like this. Fluster you like this. A small smile was about to make to his face, but was he about to let you win?

"Okay, back to work everyone! Santos, you still have to finish those charts!"

He moved away from your space, the warmth lingering in your heart. But you saw it—he almost gave in.

"Well, sunshine—you almost made it. take the win, will ya?" Dana's voice rang out in the back. but you shook your head, your lower lip getting caught between your teeth, leaning back onto the counter, watching your grumpy attending order around. "Never giving up on this, Dana. Not until he actually smiles, or even laughs."

"God, when will you both stop?"

—

It all started during a particularly, mercifully uneventful night at the pitt.

You, including almost everyone at the pitt, had their eyes glued on the screen with dollars on stake. Will the stupid teenagers who stole their professor's car, with a brake fail, be caught by the unwitting police? Or will they crash? In who's vicinity? Presby or will they have to save lives in the pitt, yet again?

You had put 40$ on presby and he had snorted. "You're optimistic."

"You should try it sometimes—might just make your grumpy face prettier, old man."

Whittaker's eyes widened, Trinity side eyed Perlah and Princess who were looking like they just found gold, Jesse and Donnie stopped incessantly organising the crash cart in case the car did crash in the pitt's vicinity and Dana and Robby smirked at each other.

Amusement etched onto the attending's face and it was a thrill you never stopped chasing. "C'mon, even the grumpy dwarf in snow white smiled, doc—what's stopping you?"

He just shook his head at you, huffing at the comment and walked off. You watched him walk away with his back towards you and accepted the challenge. "One day or the other, I'm gonna make you smile, Abbot—maybe even laugh—you'll see!"

He raised his eyebrows at you and leaned back onto a wall with his arms crossed on his chest, making something thunder inside your body. "We'll see about that, nurse. But first, you might want to look at the screen."

The police had caught them.

—

After that day, you brought in your best food and your best lines. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about seeing him smile. I mean, obviously you wanted to see him smile, almost concerned it would make your heart stop, but Jack Abbot started to mean something more.

Seeing him everyday, looking into his soulful eyes, his stupid soft voice while talking to patients and the almost smile he gives you during your shenanigans bloomed a deep, warm, ridiculously fuzzy feeling which had set itself somewhere behind your sternum.

Even if it got a huff out of him, a scoff, a smirk that burned its way through the small space in between you both to between your legs or just raised eyebrows.

So, you never stopped flirting. Never stopped baking. Never stopped chasing his smile. It became your dream. Because you knew it would be breathtaking to see it, feel it and know that you were the cause of it.

So, you were here, with a hop in your step, making your way towards the man.

"And I thought these dull hospital lights could never make anyone look good, but here you are, proving me wrong, Mr. Grouch."

He didn't even look up from the chart he was assessing. "Don't you have patients to check up on?"

"Don't you have some smiling to do?"

He turned to look at you and the warm feeling started to spread through your body, unwarranted. He was about to quip back, his mouth opening slightly when—

"19 year old, GSW to the chest, head trauma, pulse is thready—"

Jack's shoulders and jaw set itself tight, as if bracing for whatever was about to come next. he kept the chart back with a thud, going around you, hand brushing on your lower back. "You're with me. Smiling later." He said, lowly, breath fanning your ear.

"Promise?" Your voice had gone heavy.

You gulped as you both walked towards the gurney, his hand still on your lower back, a small comfort before heading into the storm. He glanced back at you, before getting to the boy after you gave him a nod of readiness.

"Trauma 2 is open!" You heard princess yell.

You took a deep breath before going in, hoping this one will turn around. Everyone is here. Jack is here.

It was going to be okay.

—

Your hands trembled.

Your breath was stoic. It didn't dare to move the air between you or the resident still doing cpr.

Jack glanced at his watch. "Stop."

His voice had lost its sharpness but it still held authority. It honeyed through the trauma room, reaching you. But it didn't warm you up like it usually did. His concerned face was focused at the year 2 resident who was starting to hyperventilate. She still kept going.

He glanced at you. You understood what he needed. You moved forward, your body numb. "Sweetheart, you need to let go. Its okay, its going to be alright—"

"No!" She shrieked. You heard Jack calling her name. "He was younger than me—" She whispered.

Jack stepped forward and gripped her shoulders. "Its okay, doctor. Let go. Look at me—I need you to breathe."

Her hands went slack. The machine beeped mercilessly. "Time of death, 5.57 am."

You circled your arms around her as she fell, weeping into your chest.

"shh, I know. C'mon let's get you out." You whispered, your voice sweet as sugar, your soul numbing as the machine beeped.

Jack looked at you but you avoided his gaze. Your hands were trembling, your vision was blurring and your heart was trying to punch its way through your body. Your brain couldn't take it. But you still took care of the people around you. You squeezed donnie's hand on the way out because you knew his kid was also a teenager. You promised princess a treat because you knew she was not going to eat after this. You took care of the resident in your arms because you knew she wont be able to sleep after this.

His gaze burned on your back as it followed your figure through the overbearing walls of the pitt.

After, you got the resident settled, you were about go off to take a breather when Ellis called your name. "Hey! The kid in trauma 2, do you mind calling his parents and informing them?" Your heart ached and flashbacks of another trauma, another death, another set of parents losing their whole world burned in your mind. But you nodded.

"Hello? am I speaking to Mrs Shah?" You introduced yourself, "I'm speaking from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center—"

Immediately the questions started, the panic, the desperation, the devastation. You sighed, your exhaustion and anguish slipping out. You tried to explain the urgency, that they needed to come immediately. Your hands shook as you hung up and closed your eyes.

You tried to busy yourself, checking up on other patients, but your mind still wandered away to the boy. The sorrow of another soul departing, another young life you couldn't save, another injustice was too heavy. The grief set in your bones.

It was a reminder of how this job got harder. These walls sometimes seemed too hollow, too empty, with the losses all of the doctors had faced. This department wrung people out with its cruelty. You were expected to move on with no time to process everything.

That's where Jack came.

Being with him, bantering, flirting, joking—it gave you joy—something that the E.D could never steal. He made working and just being there easier, as if the air got much more breathable around him. You were almost addicted to the giddiness you felt around him. his salt and pepper curls, his teasing voice with you, his dry sarcasm, the way his black tee stretched around the muscles on his back and biceps—

"Excuse me? We were called in urgently? We are looking for our son? Neil Shah?"

The grief crashed down on you. Your eyes turned glassy again and tried to look for any other nurse or even Jack so that you wouldn't be in this position. Not again. Not where you have to inform the parents that their beloved child has passed away. Not where you have to hear the wails of the mother and denial of the father.

You sighed in defeat and led them to an empty room. Slowly, you explained what had happened. How their son had passed away. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs Shah. Truly."

They had started crying, asking you questions, Demanding answers to truths you didn't know. Until one question. "How did he get shot?"

"He—" Your voice broke, but that's when you felt a warm, steady hand on your shoulder. Your beacon of comfort. You immediately recognized it. "I'm Doctor Abbot—I performed the surgery on your son. Nurse, could you please assist Dr. Kwan with a consult in south eight?"

Your heart filled with gratitude. He gave you an out. And you took it. You nodded but not before mouthing a thank you to the man in front of you. He squeezed your shoulder before holding the door open for you and your heart squeezed. Why did he have to be so kind?

You took a quick glance towards him before getting out. You felt you could breathe.

That did not long last.

"Can you believe he did that? I mean, if I was in his place, I would never put my life on the line—for a girl i just met? That was so stupid—"

You took a sharp inhale and jerked your head to the voice. "How dare you? Just because you don't even have an ounce of the bravery, the courage and the empathy that he had, doesn't mean you get to call it stupid, you—"

Before you could go up to him and slap him, strong hands grabbed you, wrapping around your torso, with no harshness but just comfort coursing through.

"Ogilvie, if you don't have even 1% basic empathy or haven't heard the phrase 'dont talk ill of the dead' I suggest you drop out of medical school and go back to 3rd grade."

You shoulders visibly relax at the voice and at his fingers which softly caressed your chubby love handles—this man was not helping you keep cool. Heat travelled up your neck when you felt his chest rumble with some instructions he gave to the resident in front of him.

Jack called your name and his hands travelled to your shoulders. "Come on, let's go—"

"What? what about the consult—"

"That was a lie—"

"You dog—"

"Come on, you nuisance. Let's get you a breather."

—

"The roof?"

"You'll see."

The door busted open and strong gust of wind hit you in the face. And there it was.

You gasped and your hands went to Jack's forearm. "Oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Come on, you wanna see the sunrise?"

"Well, at least ask me for a cup of coffee first, old man. You losing your touch already?" He gave you a deadpan look. "But of course, if you insist."

He took you to the railing. "I've heard you go even beyond the railing..."

Jack gave you a side eye. "Oh come on, you really believe anything really stays in the box at this hole?" He still did not entertain you. "Please, Jack?" You gazed up at him, with your best puppy eyes.

"Alright. But only this time."

He ducked and got across first, holding out his hand for you, fingers gently taking your palm and helping you cross the railing. "Thank you," You softly murmured, the touch growing the warmth in your chest. the sunrise had only taken its footing—the soft blue of the sky was slowly lighting up. "So," You took a deep breath, "why did you bring me to your sacred space?"

"Sacred space? Really?" Jack scoffed.

"Everybody knows its where you and Robby come to make heart eyes at each other—" He grunted and you let out a soft laugh. "Come on, tell me." You whined.

"I saw you." He spoke. "After–after you realized he was gone, after we declared the time of death. your hands were trembling," Your breath hitched. "Your breaths were small, your voice was—" You looked away. His gaze bore deep into your eyes, trying to probe out the vulnerability gently, and his voice was too tender, too warm, almost wrapping you up in their saccharine like blanket. "The point is, you still took care of everyone. Donnie, Princess, the resident—"

"Someone has to. I just choose to. Nobody forces me to, Jack." Your voice gets small.

"And when will you let yourself take care? When will you take a breath?" Your breath hitched. "You're the sunshine of the dark side, sweetheart. We don't want you fading out while you take care of others." He syruped.

You hoped it would stay dark so that he couldn't see the red on your cheeks, the heat crawling up your neck and how you couldn't trust your own voice anymore. But you braved on.

"um, I dont know if you know this, doc, but I shifted to nights for a reason other than one grumpy teddy bear," You let out a giggle when jack let out an annoyed huff, "there was a girl, 19, just like today's kid. She was abducted and tried escaping, but the abductor shot her. She was brought in, I was a part of the surgery and despite everything, despite Robby busting his ass—she–" Your voice broke and you gripped the railing. "She almost escaped it, but...her parents were angry more than heartbroken. Her mother threw things at the father, he yelled back and I tried to calm them down, but h-he pulled me in, threw me in the wall and said I was too incompetent, I couldn’t save his daughter's life."

You inhaled sharply. "He killed himself 2 months later."

"Look at me."

"Jack—"

He pleaded your name. "That was not your fault. It will never get easy, I know that...too well. But you learn to live around it, but I need you to understand that it was not your fault."

You nodded. "How do you live with it?"

"Before returning to Pittsburgh, before my...leg, in Afghanistan—we used to get this street food. It used to be sold at nights and we used to switch routes and trade fucking mattresses and anything just to have a chance to get it. Its called kolcha. It used to be heaven in the hell we were put in.

I used to see my brothers get blown up, losing their lives, civilians losing a sense of humanity after the way everyone treated them. But there are soft joys that help the grief. that helped me live. Stopped me from..." He trailed off, a pensive look forming on his face.

Your hand clasped around his on the railing. He gazed up at you, your eyes already on him, so honeyed, filled with care and admiration, with so much compassion, he didn't know what to do with it.

You both just gaped at each other. Your hearts filled to the brim. Getting lost in time.

Suddenly, a ray of sunlight reflected in Jack's hazel eyes and you broke your contact, a gasp forming on your lips as you tore your eyes away to marvel at the jawdropping sunrise.

The sun was officially peeking up. Its rays bounced off skyscrapers made of glass, lighting up the small alleys of the street. The orange and yellow shades painted the horizon and you almost died right there. "Its so beautiful..."

The sunlight was colouring your skin, your giddiness coming out with the sun.

"Will you take care of yourself, sunny?"

You let out a sweet giggle. "Sunny?"

"The sun clearly loves you." He murmured softly before tucking in a strand of hair fallen haphazardly on your eyes, blocking him from the view.

"Hmm, you're going soft on me, old man. Or are you just manipulating me so that I won't tell anyone that your grumpy attitude is a hoax and you're just a big ol' teddy bear?"

He snorted and let out a soft smile.

Your heart jumped.

"Oh my god!" you gasped and pointed. "Oh my god! You smiled!"

"Come on, sunny. Let's get you inside before you tragically die due to slipping while celebrating something that never happened—"

"Excuse me—" You scoffed but let him lead you onto the safer side of the railing, his hands on your shoulders, sliding down to your hands to steady you as you come over.

"Try convincing Robby that you did it—"

"Oh fuck off, you are just a big, fuzzy, loving teddy bear inside—"

His smile burned through you, in your heart.

And as you predicted, you could never forget it.

—

The next day, there was a new skip to your walk as you entered the pitt. You had spent your day trying to calm down your heart every time you reminisced what happened on the roof. Your skin would jump with goosebumps and your cheeks would immediately redden. So you distracted yourself in the best way.

You walked in with a box in your hand. The aroma of the newly tried recipe made everyone turn their heads. But this time you refrained from giving in to your beloved pittlings' puppy eyes.

Lena and Dana raised their eyebrows. "What's got our sunshine happier than before?"

"Nothing." You squealed softly.

"Mhm." Lena hummed. But mama nurse knew you too well. She knew all of you too well. "You know, you spent an awful lotta time on the roof yesterday. And what's that in the box you're tryin' so hard to keep away?"

"Its for Jack." You murmured. "He mentioned this food he had when he was in Afghanistan—"

"Didn't Dr. Abbot take you up on the roof yesterday?" Joy chimed in.

"What!?" Trinity yelped.

"Excuse me?" Dana took her glasses off and left them on the counter with a thud.

"Are you serious?" Matteo asked you, with her eyes wide open as Princess squealed to Perlah. "i knew it! may utang ka sa akin ng 50 bucks!"

Donnie gave you a pat on the back, like he was proud of you. "W–wait—guys—"

"What's going on here?"

You closed your eyes and sighed in defeat. The voice, the man, the mchottie who had you in trouble. Ellis leaned up on the counter with a dangerously smug look on her face. "Well, we were just talking about sunshine here and yo—"

Your eyes widened and embarrassment crawled up your veins in your neck, swirling anxiety in your brain with all the ways this could go wrong. "Okay! Everybody go back to work, now! Trinity, go home. Ellis, your labs for the 33 year old lady in north five are here and Matteo—"

She peered at Matteo with her glasses slid down till her nose, staring at his phone dreamily, who straightened up, as if he was caught with a scandal. "—do us all a favour, keep the yearning for Dr. Javadi aside and get. back. to. work!"

Everyone scrambled off. You gaped at her with a grateful look in your eyes. "You are amazing."

You turned around to look at the man you've been—shamefully or shamelessly you didn't know—thinking about the whole night and your jaw almost dropped. The sight was marvelous.

Jack abbot in gear.

Camouflage pants and a tight black tee.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He dryly quipped at you.

Before you could reply, a gurney came bursting through the bay. "55 year old man, cardiac arrest—"

You felt his whole body reset and bracing like it always did. "Sunny, you're with me—"

"Sunny?" Shen asked, a knowing, smug look adorned his face as his eyes jumped from him to you. Your whole body flushed. He was going to be your ruin. Jack ignored Shen's absolutely valid inquiry with the excuse of the patient in front of him. But you're frozen.

He still remembered your conversation.

Did he think about it again and again and again like you did?

Your heart did not stop pumping blood but your brain stopped producing logic it seems.

"Sunny? You still with me?" Hus rough yet gentle voice coaxed you out of your thoughts and reminded you of the situation at hand. You cleared your throat and just nodded wordlessly, hoping no one would notice the red on you face.

How will you survive this man?

After sending him off to surgery, Crus looked between the both of you, as if he could sense the electricity between you, the tension, the undying sense of something happened here and just these two are in denial. "That was smooth."

Jack raised one eyebrow at him, amusement etched onto his face. "What was?"

Crus cleared his throat. You stilled. You knew what was coming. Crus did not stop. "You two make a good team."

You shot him a glare that seemed somewhere between 'i will kill you' and 'please don't make my life hell'. He saw it, noted it, considered it.

And threw it in the trash apparently. "Just saying. Everyone saw it inside. Its like you both were in sync. Unstoppable. Inevitable—"

Don't say it.

"—made for each other."

Shen made a choked sound and Ellis pursed her lips, trying to contain her giggle. Beside you, Jack stilled.

"Sunny makes it easier. Made for the night shift." He grunted out.

"Don't make it sound dramatic." He signed on some discharge papers and handed them to Lena. His hand brushed against yours. "Bye, sunny." he murmured softly against your cheek and left you. All by yourself. To process what just happened.

"So, sunny?"

"Shut up, guys."

You turned around and walked towards the supply closet, nothing but an excuse to ditch the conversation that you are about to face.

They followed you like little ducklings.

"What happened to you guys on the roof?" Crus asked.

"Nothing happened—and how do you know?"

Ellis scoffed as if the notion of anything staying a secret in this hospital was absurdly ridiculous. "Come on! tell us—"

"Nothing happened guys and shush!" You glared at them. They peered on you with curiosity as your body shook with embarrassment? Humiliation? Adrenaline? The mere thought of Jack abbot and you on the roof?

Shen slurped on his stupid watered down coffee. "You should go for it."

"I will stab you—"

"No, he's right! At least then your sexual tension in between emergency traumas will not traumatise us."

"Excuse me?"

"Please—even the unconscious patient can sense it!"

You huffed and crossed your arms as if it could save you from this conversation and put on a mask of denial. "That's not even remotely true. besides—I don't like him!"

The three of them stared at you. "Yes, and Shen doesn't live on caffeine." Ellis deadpanned. "You cant deny something we see literally everyday. You banter, flirt, tease and even cook for him! Didn't you make something specially for him today?"

Crus gasped dramatically. "Whaaaat?"

You rolled your eyes. "Its not that big of a deal."

"Yes, it is." The three of them chimed in unison. Your eyes fell on their faces, their relentless questions and sighed in defeat. You scrunched your face, closing your eyes for just a second and then squinting at them. "Am I that obvious?"

"Yes—"

"No—"

You pursed your lips and raised your eyebrows at them. "Seriously?"

They gave you wordless looks almost meant to serve with pity, empathy, hope. You don't know. "Listen, you just made this afghan food for him which I know you've never even heard of before. You try to make him smile everyday and there is this embarrassingly obvious sexual tension in between you. Don't think that the ED is half blind to miss the looks you give him."

You sharply inhaled.

"Hey, there's no harm in going for it—he will say yes. If he doesn't, that's his loss. some other person will get your perfectly baked goods." Ellis assured you.

That's when your brain imagined it—wildly. Not in the unsaid, shy and restrained ways it has been doing for the past months. The vivid image of you and the attending you made smile, together, in each other's arms, happy. Holding hands, requited secret glances, soft kisses, stolen touches, his eyes with a gentleness and passion just saved for you and a love that's not a secret—its known, its seen and understood—but its just for both of you.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Your cheeks blushed furiously.

The three of them smirked, knowingly.

"I—" You gulped and stammered on your words. "I need to be somewhere." Your hands shook and your brain didn't comprehend what you needed, nor did your body and it all was about to go crashing when—

"What are you all doing there? Don't you have jobs?"

Jack.

You didn't whether to sigh in relief or wring your hair out in frustration. This man was going to end you. "You know, sunny also has patients to attend to, rather than hearing you guys bicker or gossip about whatever it is."

You felt heat and humiliation hiking up your neck as you notice the smug looks they give each other before wandering off. "Yes boss."

But not before Ellis winked at you, Crus gave you a smug salute, and Shen slurped away loudly, obnoxiously, knowingly, looking back and forth between you and Jack.

Speaking of the man, he just leaned against a counter, gazing at you, with an unpredictable and unreadable look on his face. "Well, since you're done organising that supply closet for the 4th time, some patients are getting starved of your sunshine. Unless, of course, the supply room is in dire need of your attention, sunny."

Sudden confidence flared in your chest. "Well, cap'n grumps, you could just say you are in dire need of attention. No need to shame my perfect supply room."

Your mouth spoke before your brain you could stop it. His mouth twitched, just slightly, his amusement not hiding under a curtain and a glimmer in his pretty eyes which made you weak in the knees. "Get back to work, sunny." He murmured, head shaking and his shoulders lighter than before.

You almost giggled. "Of course, boss."

You walked away. every sense in your body was tingling, goosebumps on your skin and a fire somewhere in the pit of your stomach and a familiar fuzzy feeling growing stronger beneath your chest.

You didn't know if you were going to survive this man. You didn't know if you wanted to.

—

The next hours of the shift were determined to drain the soul out of you.

There were 4 traumas at the same time and a statewide insufficiency of nurses. So that meant you had to jump back and forth. Chairs was filled and actually overflowing while you had a scarcity of beds so all the nurses were charged with scheduling, organising and moving beds according to the level of emergency and pain patients were facing. Plus, you had multiple patients and a family who had declared that dr. google was more knowledgeable than a nurse.

Amazing.

And you hadn't gotten a chance to even eat.

When you finally got a chance to eat in the breakroom, that's when you saw it. The kolcha. Untouched. Because you wanted him to have the first bite. First taste. Just to see that Heartwarming smile again.

You bit your lip and took a peek outside. Everything had slowed down. Just for bit, you were sure, before another trauma, another emergency, another goddamn patient too obnoxious and blind to only believe what google says pulls you in.

This was the time, you decided.

So, you picked up the box, an extra hop to your walk, as you looked for him.

Jack abbot.

Ellis' words rang in your ears and your heartbeat sped up. Should I do it?

Take the chance, the risk?

"Hey, Lena, do you know where Jack is?" You asked softly, almost bashfully, as she narrowed her eyes at you but then flashed you a knowing look before pointing at a room.

The buzz in your heart and brain intensified as you walked towards him. You were so giddy, it hurt. Your soft smile had turn into a beam. The anticipation had turned to you nervous and exhilarated. You wanted to see his smile, the one he'll give after you give him a kolcha. Will it be a soft and dedicated one, reserved just for you? Will it be a joyous and unwithdrawn one, not shying away from showing his beautiful wrinkles?

Everything made your heart soar.

Your feet slowed down as you got there and you heard voices. His and... Dr. Al-hashimi. She was laughing before Jack spoke.

"So, you want get that beer we talked about?"

You heard Jack chuckle. A vibration that rumbled through his lungs in his chest to the ground that you apparently walked on. You felt as if it had just been pulled underneath you. It was lighthearted, casual—directed at someone else.

The ringing of elation in your ears stopped. Replaced with a haunting stillness.

"Yeah, of course. I would love to."

Your breath stopped in your lungs.

It was casual without any audible or visible awkwardness. You glanced inside only to see Jack smiling, a sly and playful grin, lighting up his whole face. Directed towards her. Not you.

Never you.

You wondered if she made it easy for him. Like you probably never did. His whole body was turned towards her, a casual openness to him that was never reciprocated with you. Your chest tightened. Throat strained. Something in your temples felt like it was being pulled.

Jack asking Dr. Al Hashimi out for beers. Your breathing felt shallow. Why wouldn't he? She was brilliant, kind almost dazzling with every step she took. She carried herself with maturity that only comes with facing warzones and fighting injustice. She never had to take constant efforts to make someone smile. He did it instantly for her.

Your hold on the box full of kolchas loosened.

Your legs moved before your brain processed everything. Your eyes looked into the distance, your thoughts melding, twisting your heart, a suffocating hurt settling deep in your bones.

You just kept walking.

"Hey, hon—you okay?" You heard someone say, but your mouth didn't move, your voice had gone numb. So, you just gave tight smile and gave a wordless nod and moved ahead.

Get back to work. You have patients.

Your body moved, on instinct, but without any soul in it.

He didn't owe you anything, you realized. He never reciprocated your efforts, nor did he respond. He just grunted, shook his head, raised his eyebrows, scoffed. It was meaningless. Fruitless. It was just amusement to him. You felt your heart hitting the pit of your stomach. He probably never even considered it. You were his nurse. He was your attending. You tried too hard it was almost entertaining. The sunshine of the night shift. Overbearing. aAways shining. Never needed anything back.

You were nothing like her.

She was everything he could want.

You never even understood where you left the box of kolchas meant for him. It was discarded somewhere like it never included unconditional efforts, hope and love. Like you didn't just stay up the hours you were supposed to put in for sleep to make something you had never made from scratch, just for him. It was not like he ever tried anything you made.

You just walked to a patient, and gave them a smile.

But it felt foreign on your face.

You asked them what was wrong, checked their pulse, gave necessary meds and equipment to the resident in front of you. It felt mechanical. Your eyes were vacant. Too preoccupied with trying to see the things your heart missed. the hope that you harboured over time, the anticipation and giddiness on seeing him, the fuzzy feeling inside your sternum.

Now replaced with a sudden anxiety. A hollowness.

"There she is." You almost jumped, startled by the intrusion of the voice you were now dreading to listen to. "I was looking for you."

Flashes of his soft smile, the wonderful sound of his chuckle, the casual openness—never meant for you—shattered you. You stood there still, unresponsive.

"Sunny?" Jack asked, oh-so-gently, but it just pricked your skin like needles. Even his soft words had become a sign of betrayal. Was he just dragging you along?

A shaky exhale escaped you but your face remained stoic. Your movements were calculated.

"Lena wants you to talk to this patient, he doesn't agree with any of the nurses, says he wants a 'real, qualified doctor'."

"Okay—"

"—and ortho has your results ready for north five, just sign on those." You said in a clipped tone. Tou couldn’t even look at him anymore. You had to get out of there.

But you could still feel him. His furrowed eyebrows, tensed shoulders, concerned eyes—searching for answers, searching for you. All confused. But you didn't have answers. Not anymore.

So, you left, wordlessly, with your broken heart.

Him, with confusion etched onto his features.

Because you realized that while you looked for him in every room before even entering it, he probably never did.

So you should stop too.

Shouldn't you?

oh, what a curse it is to be lover girl

—laufey.

thank you for reading!

comment to be tagged in the next part!

tagging ppl who commented on inspo post:

─── ⋆ CHAPTERS ⋆

PART ONE 𖤓♡ — Jack Abbot values his routine and structure. Work, SWAT, gym... and for the past six weeks, spending his Sunday mornings admiring the enigmatic single mom who's apartment balcony sits across from his. [3k]

PART TWO 𖤓 — A scuffle in the hall causes Jack to accidentally take Phoebe’s wallet to work instead of his. He gains himself a new nickname amongst the Pitt and finally learns a thing or two about you and your daughter. — May 24th

PART THREE — May 28th

PART FOUR — June 1st

PART FIVE — June 4th

PART SIX — June 9th

More chapters TBD

If you'd like to be tagged in posts for this series, let me know!

“What the?” she called out for you.

Maybe you were having a self-care night. Charged up a vibrator and such.

Santos chuckled to herself as she made to tiptoe past your room.

There was the unmistakable sound of another.

“Oh fuck.”

Trinity paused.

You and her were close, she could admit that. You were maybe her only friend. So she knew you had been going through a dry patch. Because you were making it everyone's problem.

She listened in.

There was deep groaning from a man and your moans, the soft thudding of a bed against the wall. Trinity thanked the heavens again that the head of your bed was against Denis's wall and not hers.

“Deeper, harder,” she heard you moan.

“Oh, fuck me,” the guy groaned deep. She didn't recognise the voice. Did she?

Curious she tried to listen to the mans voice, wondering what she could tell. He must have been busy as little else was said other than groanings.

Where had you met this guy? Had this been happening longer than she knew? Is this why you hurried out?

Santos thought you weren't one of one night stands. Were you proving her wrong?

She snook into her room and knew she had to tell someone, at least Whitaker.

Robby collapsed next to you on your bed, catching his breath as you pulled the sheets up to cover your slightly sweaty bodies. The bed creaked under his weight as he moved around, getting himself comfortable.

Your bed was a small double, not really built for anyone more than one. Let alone Robby.

“You want some water or something?” you asked.

Robby chuckled, the bed creaking again as he turned on his side to face you. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?”

You lifted your shoulders, tucking your hands under your head to admire him. “Well you're the senior citizen with the... bad back?”

His brows lifted. “Oh that's how you want to play it.”

He grabbed your hip and pulled you close.

You were still trying to recover from the multiple orgasms Robby had ripped through your body as soon as you'd stepped through your apartment door. But that didn't stop his hands from crowding around your body, pulling you into him as all his hardness turned soft.

His lips found yours as easy as one found home, kissing you the way he knew you liked to be kissed. Head tilted to reach deeper, nose moving against your cheek.

There was a sudden shriek in your apartment.

You pushed Robby off, sitting up quick in bed.

“What?” he asked, far less alarmed then you as his arm fell around your waist.

“Trinity.”

Robby hummed. “Thought you said she was at Garcia's tonight?”

“I thought she was,” you uttered as if she was in the room.

The dating with Robby had started maybe three months ago when you'd had a disastrous date at the same bar Robby frequented with his buddy Duke. He'd seen the distress you were in with your date when he wouldn't stop talking about why sports people should actually get paid more than health care workers.

From there you had drinks with Robby.

From there he asked to see you again outside of work.

From there you ended up in his bed and he in yours on the occasions you had the place to yourself, which with two room mates didn't happen often.

You'd thought tonight was one of them.

“You should go,” you said, throwing the cover back to find your clothes in the dark.

“What?” Robby laughed, without moving. Instead he got himself comfortable, throwing an arm around the back of his head and tugging the covers down to his waist.

“Yes, do you want Trinity to know?”

“She doesn't sleep in your room though does she?”

Still, you tried to find some clothes.

The word around the PTMC was that Robby was a seven week itch kind of guy, the sort to never tie himself down. So though you'd been on dates with him and though he'd brought you flowers before and held your hands in bars and took you to a fancy dinner, he still fucked you like a guy that could move on the next day.

And you didn't want to scare him away with talk of serious dating. A bit of Robby was better than none of him.

You just didn't want your friends to judge you for that.

“Hey-hey-” Robby moved over on the bed, arm darting out to wrap around your waist and tug you back in.

You couldn't even protest before he was pulling you into him, hooking one of his large legs over yours and trapping you in. Your quilt was pulled up and his head rested next to yours.

At least when you and Robby were done with the sex you never kicked each other out of bed. But you did go into work separately.

“But-”

“-I'll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

With his arms around you and his calming breath you didn't think you could push him off you if you wanted to.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Robby kissed the blade of your shoulder and for the rest of the night that was how you were and when you woke in the morning with two hours to spare before your shift started, Robby was already gone.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

You chocked on your coffee, peering next to you at Trinity. “What?”

She smirked, leaning on the locker next to yours. “Oh come on, I heard you last night.”

The bitter taste of black coffee turned to ash in your stomach. She'd heard. Or worse, she'd been up to see Robby sneak out in the morning.

“What-what do you mean?” play it cool, you could totally starve of the humiliation. Maybe you could persuade her it was a dream, a nightmare, that she was sleepwalking and actually heard/saw/knew nothing.

“I heard you last night,” she said. “Quite the dicking down from what it sounded like.”

You felt the heat in your cheeks. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, I think its good, you deserve it,” said Santos as you hid yourself in your locker, taking great care in peeling off your jacket and finding your stethoscope inside. “So is it someone I know, or...”

She didn't know. You rejoiced silently before realising she still knew there was someone. “That is none of your business.”

“Oh come on, you know Garcia!”

“Because she works here.”

“Does he work here?”

“No!” you close the locker door, not as amused as Trinity was clearly finding this situation. “Please, he's just... a guy.”

She leaned in closer for the gossip. Few things got her as excited as gossip did. “A boyfriend guy or a sleep around guy?”

Wasn't that the golden question.

“Oh my god, you don't know.”

“Santos!” the call of her name should have saved you. Not when it was Robby calling for her as he stood between the two of you. “Pelvic exam in three.”

She groaned but gave a salute. “You got it boss,” she said to him before aiming a finger at you. “This isn't over.”

Santos had turned, leaving and you hardly waited anytime to turn back to the lockers and bash your head into them. Not enough to hurt but enough to erase the terrible fact that Santos had heard you.

Robby liked hearing you moan and you liked Robby so you always moaned loud.

And she'd caught enough of it.

Usually, you wished for Robby to be a bit louder in bed. You were glad he hadn't been.

The cold metal of the locker was replaced on what might have been your twentieth go at hitting yourself with the back of a rough hand.

“Everything okay?” asked Robby, coming to stand next to you, leaning on the lockers. His eyes creased with concern.

“She knows.”

His brows shot up, which didn't indicate a good reaction. “She knows?”

“Not about you, don't worry,” you said with a light scoff. “She knows that I had a good time with a guy last night, she doesn't know who.”

Robby nodded in consideration. “So we're in the clear?”

You screwed your eyes shut. You hadn't realised just how bad you wanted him to shrug it off, tell you he didn't care if Trinity knew, that of everyone in the ward knew, that he only cared about what it meant between the two of you. You only realised when he didn't give you that option.

He wanted to be sure he wasn't affiliated with it.

“Yeah, you're in the clear.”

You left Robby at the lockers before suspicions could grow. Nothing wrong with a resident talking to their attending and so far you and Robby had done a good job at not having any suspicion- not even from Dana.

The least you could do for the guy was keep it that way.

“You had a hot date last night?” Princess slid up to your side before you were even half way across the ward.

You groaned. “Santos told you already.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“Say anything about what?” Javadi's voice suddenly came from Doctor McKay's side. The older woman tried to act uninterested but her keen eyes were watching you from over the computer.

“She had a date around hers last night,” said Perhlah, coming up to your other side.

“And she won't tell us who it was,” added Princess.

Javadi's smile grew and her jaw hung open. “Who?”

You shook your head and stared at your shoes. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Okay!” Robby's voiced boomed out. He clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention. “We have patients, how about we go ask them some riveting questions?”

Mel frowned from somewhere in the crowd that had formed. “We should go ask them if they know who the guy is?”

She realised quickly that wasn't quite what he meant.

Perlah and Princess walked off together, quietly scheming. “Men just don't get it.”

You gulped down, smoothing your hand over your head and where the growing headache was forming. “Thanks.”

Robby said nothing but there was the brief feel of his hands on your shoulders as he squeezed before moving past you.

It was going on lunch, you'd just gotten a trauma through and up to the OR when you spotted bright post-it notes stuck up on the board in Ahmed's office. The betting board, his mini kingdom had been put back together.

Three titles.

Who?

How long?

Casual or dating?

“Oh my god!” your shriek echoed around the Pitt.

“What? What is it? What?” Robby was at your side in an instant, body almost slamming into you with how quick he slid next to you. He steadied himself, holding on.

“That!”

Ahmed had set up a betting board based on your love life.

The who column was spread with names and the name of those that had bet scribbled underneath. In the middle there was how long had it been going on for, some thought it was only a few weeks, others guessed up to six months.

The last column, wondering if it was a casual thing or serious was filled with almost every post it note saying 'casual'.

“Oh,” Robby chuckled.

“It's not funny,” you argued. “Has every body here bet?”

“Not me, I had no idea. Besides I think that's kind of cheating, right?”

“I see you've found my latest and greatest,” said Ahmed, approaching behind the two of you. “We got this up and running two hours ago, you want me to break it down for you?”

“Holy shit,” you uttered, scanning the board. It was a great and easy way to find out what everyone thought about you.

Robby nodded, leaning on the door next to you. “Holy shit.”

“How much money's in the pot?” you asked.

Ahmed grinned like he was just waiting for you to ask. “Five-hundred and five dollars!”

Robby chocked on a breath next to you as your jaw hung open.

Someone was gonna make money of your guys' sex lives and none of that was going to come to you.

“And I'm guessing I can't get in on it?” you asked.

“No," said Ahmed. “Unless, you know, you wanna tell me who it is and I'll split the money between us.”

“And who do you think it is?” asked Robby. He asked casually, still leaning on the doorframe like he couldn't care less. If he was a girl in a rom-com he might have even checked on his nails or twirled his hair. But you'd studied him close the last couple months, you'd worked all his emotions out into your own little Robby dictionary.

There was a hint of jealousy.

“Well, I've gone with the fan favourite,” he said, plucking off his post it note to show you. “Frank. Three months. And serious.”

“Langdon!” Robby announced.

Uh-oh.

“Yeah, man,” he said. “More than half these notes say it's him.”

On further reading you noticed it did. On yellows and pinks and greens Frank's name was written in quick scribbles or thought out curves.

Frank? Sure the two of you were close. You'd worked close together for a year- nearly two. You worked coordinated well in traumas and with patients you always knew what the other was thinking.

Since his divorce with you'd been helping him as much as you could. You had a friend who was a good lawyer and when he had a chance to see the kids you always covered.

You knew, of course, everything that had happened with the benzos.

You knew Robby still wasn't back to being best-buds with the guy.

You didn't know everyone thought you and Frank were together!

Donnie side stepped past you, coming in with his bets. “I got it, I got it-”

Robby snatched them from his hand, scoffing at whatever was written.

“Langdon. Two weeks and serious.”

“Et-tu, Donnie?” you asked.

“I got fifty in the pool, looking to get a new tv, you know.”

Robby stormed off.

Donnie watched. “He got a bet in?”

“Not yet, sorry, you don't mind?” asked Ahamed.

You scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”

You left them to it, finding Robby sitting at the nurses station at a computer. His jaw clenched and fingers worked furiously over the keypads. You evaluated the area before leaning in. “If you put a pool in we could split the money?”

“Should I put a bet in for Langdon?” He didn't look up to you as he slid on his glasses.

It angered you because he seemed annoyed at something he knew not to be true and because he slid on the glasses that made him even hotter than he already was.

“Is there something wrong, Robby?”

“No.”

“You seem-”

“- I'm not,” he snapped.

He was.

Robby wouldn't admit how much he let his emotions rule, especially anger. He used to be terrible for it but for a while he'd been better, lighter on his feet, patient. Since about.... well, since you started seeing each other.

“Hey.” Langdon joined your side.

You noticed a vein in Robby's neck twitch. “Hey.”

“You seen what everyone's saying?” asked Frank. “Apparently we're seeing each other?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning to him. “I had no idea.”

“You think I should buy a ring next?” he teased.

Robby slammed his hands on the counter, pushing himself up and storming off without so much as a glance.

Frank watched. “What's his problem?”

What was his problem? You'd love to know. “He had a bet on someone else,” you excused.

“Oh bummer,” said Frank. “You think he lost a lot of money?”

You didn't have time to come up with another lie as you spotted Santos and Whitaker walking by. Politely, you ditched Frank, promising you'd catch him for lunch.

“Did you start a betting system on my sex life?” you asked Trinity.

She smirked. “That wasn't me, I had nothing to do with that, seriously!”

“It's true,” said Denis. “But she was the first to put down a bet on Frank.”

You looked at her. You knew the history between her and Frank. Why would she want you to sleep with him? “You hate Frank?”

She shrugged. “So I guessed you were sleeping with him and didn't want to tell me because you know I don't like him.”

You shook your head. “I didn't want to tell you because it's none of your business.” You considered Whitaker. “Who'd you bet for?”

“I-I didn't, I-I wouldn't-”

“He bet on Nick from radiology.”

All of this from Robby sleeping with you in your apartment. Next time- if there was even gong to be a next time- you were doing it at his.

By the end of your shift anyone that hadn't placed a bet had.

Franks name had doubled and the pot was up to one thousand dollars (the highest bet in Pitt history). Frank found it funny, cracking jokes about it all day, throwing arms around you and dragging you onto cases saying 'couples that save lives together, stay together.'

Any other time you'd have laughed.

But when Robby was around every corner, glaring yet refusing to talk to you you couldn't find amusement in it.

The night had come and you were catching a break at the ambulance bay, sitting down on the curb. You were home in an hour, Denis had already gone to Amy's to deliver a lamb or something and Santos was supposed to be at Garcia's tonight.

But you highly doubted you'd have company.

“Hey,” Jack greeted, walking over to you in his midnight scrubs and bag slung over his shoulder. “How's my favourite day shift resident?”

You smiled a tired one at him. “How much money do you have in your wallet?”

Without a beat Jack fetched it and offered you what he had. Because that's the kind of guy Jack was.

“No, no,” you chuckled. “I don't need your cash. There's a betting pool on about who I'm sleeping with. I just- I was gonna ask you to not place a bet.”

Jack laughed, setting next to you on the curb, stretching out his prosthetic leg. “Would be a bit unfair seeing's as I'm best pals with the guy you're dating.”

“Not dating,” you corrected. “Probably not even seeing each other after today.”

Jack listened as you explained the distance, the glares, the snapping that returned to Robby. He didn't jump to defend his friend, he listened to you and took notes mentally. “The guys an emotional wreck. You know that. I know that.”

“But I thought he was doing better?”

“He was- is. Since he started dating you,” he said. “You ask me he's dealing with some emotions he doesn't know how to process. Jealousy. Greed. What's the other deadly sin?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lust?”

“Yeah. That.”

“So I'm supposed to what? Let him be a dick all over again?”

“Oh fuck no,” said Jack firmly. “Put him in his place.”

Admittedly you didn't want to. You wanted to go back to being whatever it was you had with Robby. You wanted to hold hands and share beers in shitty bars at least an hour out of town so it was kept a secret. You wanted the brush of hands between the rush of patients and the discreet meetings at his or yours.

But how far were you willing to bend before you broke?

“So who's everyone putting bets on anyway?” Jack asked.

“Frank.”

Understanding of the situation hit him. “Ah.”

“Yeah. Ah.”

Suddenly the wail of an ambulance cut through the quiet.

The doors burst open, Robby, Santos, King, Jesse all pouring out.

“GSW to the chest, forty-two year old male, weak pulse, un-conscious on the ride over,” said Robby tugging on his gloves as you and Jack jumped up. He spared a glance at the two of you before the ambulance pulled up.

You jumped into it, wheeling the gurney ahead into trauma two. Everyone working around the man.

“Okay we move him on the count of three,” said Jack as you all got a hold of the patient. “One... two... three!”

He was heavier than some, not that it would effect your level of care but it made moving him just that but more difficult. There was a breath of air and struggle from Jack and Robby, the noises you had to drown out.

“Lets get an intubation tray going!” called Robby.

The two of you crossed each other, swapping sides.

“Can we talk later?” he uttered as he paused for only a second.

“Whatever, Robby.”

He sighed heavy.

The rest of you carried on gaging the extent of his injury.

“So do you want me out the apartment tonight so your man friend can come around?” asked Santos at your side.

“I want you out cause I'm annoyed at you.”

“Ouch.”

“Okay we need to turn him to see if it went through, on my say!” yelled Robby.

The team had thinned as orders had been barked, there were two of you on either side of him: Robby and Jack, and you and Santos.

Robby passed a nod. “Okay, roll!”

You and Trinity pulled while the men on the other side pushed but maybe Robby didn't have a good grip or maybe he hadn't expected him to be so heavy.

Robby grunted and groaned. “Ah, urg-”

“Not through,” Jack grunted.

You tried to lower him as slow as you could but it wasn't slow enough as Robby's hand got trapped under.

“Oh! Fuck me!”

You and Jack lifted the body quick and Robby released his hand.

Santos was frozen.

The whole room seemed to pause for a second.

“Oh my god!” Santos cheered, arms thrown wide. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

What was wrong with her?

It took you a second to realise, memory of last night coming to you.

Robby over you, thrusting careful.

Your body moved with his thrusts but you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his pelvis in till you felt the length of him deep. “Deeper, harder,” you'd begged.

Robby had groaned out loud, just the way you liked to hear him. “Oh! Fuck me!”

He'd uttered the words into you as he pressed his weight down, squashing you onto your squeaky bed. He'd wrapped his hands around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your walls fluttering around his cock.

Santos had been home longer than you'd thought.

Now, she was practically jumping up and down, smirking. “Oh my god!”

“Trinity can I talk to you outside please?”

“It's- you- and-” her arms were waving around.

“Outside, please, Trinity!”

Everyone was staring.

“Trinity, outside!” You guided her out and she let you, abandoning the trauma and ripping off her gown. You returned, finding Robby's gaze and Jack's amused grin as he tended to the patient. “Sorry, Doctor Robby, may I talk to Santos outside for a moment?”

Robby must have jumped to the same conclusion as you. “Er yes, yes! Of course, go!”

You rushed out, nudging Trinity into an empty exam room as she laughed. You closed the door and pulled the curtain over the glass.

“It's Doctor Robby!” she said at once. “It's Doctor Robby! You're sleeping with Doctor Robby!”

“Can you keep your voice down?”

Santos laughed again, a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, this whole time I thought it was Frank. Oh, I'm so happy.” She wiped at amused tears.

“Hey!”

“How long have you been sleeping with him?”

You shook your head, tugging off your own hospital gown. “It doesn't matter.”

Finally Trinity considered you. Her laughter died. “What-what do you mean?”

How could you explain that what she'd heard last night was over hardly twenty-four hours later.

The door pushed open and Robby stepped through, gown and gloves already gone.

“Is everything okay in here?” he asked, looking between the two of you.

“You and you?” Trinity confirmed, finger gesturing between the two of you.

Robby ran his hands through the back of his hair.

“I just can't believe it,” she said. “You guys are dating?”

Robby sighed out a “yes” at the same time you shook your head, “no”

Now, Robby looked at you.

Santos folded her arms over her chest, smirking and watching like the two of you were her favourite show. “Oh.”

Robby's hands fell to his hips as he looked at you. “What do you mean, no?”

“What do you mean, yes?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he chuckled.

Your rubbed at your temples. “I'm so confused.”

“You're confused, I'm confused,” Robby scoffed.

“Wait- I'm confused,” said Santos. “You guys don't know if you're dating or not?”

Robby's eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “Doctor Santos, please. Go make yourself useful.”

Trinity didn't move. She looked at you, waiting for what you wanted. Because yes, Robby was her attending but you were her friend. When she was insecure about Garcia you were there telling her how much better she could do.

In the hospital Santos was guided under Robby.

At home, she was guided by friendship and care for you.

You gave her a nod and she dismissed herself.

You didn't know where to look, didn't know where to touch.

Outside the usual routine of the Pitt carried on.

Robby sighed, hands going into his fleece pocket. “You didn't know we were dating?”

No, you really didn't. “Was I supposed to? You never asked.”

He shook his head, looking down with a chuckle. He started to list things off, counting them off on his fingers. “Flowers, dinners, day trips, was that not enough?”

“But you never said!”

“I thought it was obvious!”

“Obvious to who?”

“To us!” His hands fell to your forearms.

“No to you maybe!”

“So the dinners... the flowers, you thought it was all just, just sex?” he asked.

You'd hoped it was more. You'd dreamt about it when his weight kept you down on his bed after you kissed and made love for hours. Love...

“I... yeah.”

How long had you thought him the bad guy? Were you the one that had been distant, pulling away?

You carried yourself away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. You never realised how uncomfortable those things were.

Robby laughed to himself, standing for a moment longer. He checked that nobody was around through the curtain before he settled next to you. He shuffled, his bodies attention focused on you. He laid a hand on your knee, tilting his head to try to look at you. “I should have asked, properly.”

“It would've saved confusion,” you admitted.

Robby's hand came up, cradling your face and drawing your attention to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

You looked at him, finding nothing but warmth in his gaze. The only thing that had been there for three months. “But today, you... you could hardly look at me.”

He took in a deep breath. “I was...” his jaw ticked.

You smirked. “Jealous?”

His eyes flickered back to yours. “Nobody on that board thought I could be dating you.”

“Till about two seconds ago I didn't even know we were dating,” you joked.

Robby shook his head, wetting his lips. “We are.”

“You're not even going to ask me?”

“I don't need to,” he said. “We're dating, that okay with you?” His face inched closer.

“I don't know, I might have to ask Frank that one,” you teased.

Robby leant back, a dark look to him. The hand caressing you fell to your neck, keeping you looking at him. “You think that's funny?”

“Everyone else thinks so-”

He pulled you in by your neck and kissed you, hard, the imprint of his teeth felt through your lips.

You held onto him, kissing him with a new need. Kissing your boyfriend. Your hands wound around his head and you brought him down on top of you.

Robby climbed atop the bed that was not made for heavy make out sessions. He held the edge with one hand and the other fell down your body till it could crawl up your scrub top, un-tucking it and holding onto your hips.

He bit down on your lip and used the opening of your mouth to slide in his tongue.

“This is un-professional,” you said against his lips.

“I've been wanting to be un-professional for months.”

You were so lost in the feel of each other you didn't notice the curtain being yanked back until you heard.

“We got him stable,” said Jack, casually. “Oh and you've got an audience.”

You looked over Robby's shoulder as he looked back to see nosey nurses and night shifters along with half the day staff all looking at you.

You tapped his shoulder and though resigned to, Robby slowly climbed off you.

“Who put down Robby?” Ahmed called. “Did anyone bet Robby?”

The crowd that had watched you both suddenly rushed to the board, scanning the name.

Eventually you and Robby joined, waiting.

“Oh my god.”

“There he is, Robby, one vote!”

Robby's head perked in confusion.

“Who is it? Who?”

Ahmed collected the money and made his way through the people. To the one who had made a bet on Robby. “Doctor Robby, three months, and serious.”

He delivered the money- to everyone's shock- to Frank.

Your jaw hung open as Frank collected the money.

Everyone looked at him, silent.

You couldn't tell if next to you Robby was okay with it or angered.

Frank looked around at everyone. “C'mon, nobody else saw it? He's been happier for three months and can't take his eyes off her.”

Clealry, nobody had.

“I thought you didn't bet?” you asked him.

Frank shrugged, bashful. “Yeah well, couldn't help myself. Here-” Langdon held out the wad of cash to Robby's hand, practically forcing it in. “Take her somewhere nice.”

You wished you had a camera to capture Robby's shock.

“Okay folks! Show's over!” called out Dana. “Day shift let's pass on to night so we can get out of here to have some fun!” she winked your way.

Slowly the crowd dissipated, shaking their heads in disappointment.

Ahmed was already pulling off the notes and rubbing away at the board.

Robby waved the cash in front of you. “What do you say, you gonna let your boyfriend treat you tonight?”

"—Rocker, fuck!"

The scream reached your ears like a distant, ghostly echo, distorted by the relentless, deafening buzzing. You felt his desperate, trembling hands cradling your cheeks gently as he turned you onto your back... Was I on my side? you thought, utterly confused, struggling to piece together how you had ended up in that position.

"Open your eyes, Rocker, come on," Max insisted. His voice sounded fractured, weighted with a volatile mixture of terror and adrenaline that you had never, in all your years serving alongside him in SWAT, heard before. It was precisely that note of raw panic that made you understand the situation was much worse than your numbed senses could feel, while the chemical rush took complete control of your system, mercifully anesthetizing the disaster.

You made the monumental effort for him, for your team... and for Brendon. God, your Brendon. Your eyelids were heavy as lead, but with a desperate fight, you finally managed to open them. Max's image was split in two; his face, covered in ash, blood, and sweat, wavered frantically in front of you. You felt as though you were trapped on a ship, tossing to the rhythm of a dizzying, violent sway.

"That's right... Stay with me, baby, it's going to be alright," he whispered, though his gaze drifted frantically down to your legs. That single gesture struck a chilling chord of terror deeper than you could admit; what the hell was wrong with your legs?

"—Officer down! I need an ambulance here now! It's Rocker!" he roared into his radio. The fleeing cooks no longer mattered; his entire universe had shrunk down solely to you.

"Max..." you managed to articulate between your gritted teeth, although the name escaped more like a broken sigh than a word. You fixed your eyes on those ice-blue eyes that reminded you so painfully of Brendon's.

You could only think of one thing: not being taken to his hospital. He shouldn't see you like this. He would lose his mind with worry, he would completely unravel... And you loathed the thought of scaring him. You had both been through too much before: too many physical scars earned in the line of duty, and the silent, haunting grief of three miscarriages that still weighed heavily on the souls of both of you. You couldn't bear to see that look of sheer terror on his face again. Not today.

"Rocker, baby, I need you to listen to me carefully, okay? I have to put a tourniquet on your left leg and it's going to hurt like hell, but if I don't do it, you're going to bleed out."

The mention of the tourniquet hit you like a physical blow, slicing clean through the thick fog of shock. You knew what that meant. If Max, who always maintained an iron composure, was resorting to that, it was because your femoral artery was an open faucet right now. Or worse...

"—Max... It's very bad, isn't it?" Your voice was just a fragile thread, a broken whisper seeking a truth that your body already intuitively understood.

"Don't worry about that right now. Just breathe and stay awake for me," Max muttered between his teeth, a tear slipping through the grime on his face. "Now, bite into this."

He wedged a piece of rolled gauze between your teeth, but you didn't even have time to protest. He tightened the tourniquet with brutal, uncompromising force.

The pain was a blinding white explosion that instantly erased the park, the screams, and your partner's face. Your fingernails tore into Max's arm through the fabric of his uniform, and a dull, strangled moan was caught in the gauze as your back arched violently off the ground. Every single beat your heart was straining to produce seemed to belong to a cruel countdown, and the coldness that was beginning to numb your fingers wasn't just from the rapid blood loss—it was the sheer, terrifying fear of leaving Brendon all alone in this world.

"If something happens to me... can you tell my husband that I love him? Please?" Your voice sounded small and utterly terrified, stripped of all the fierce authority you used to carry as an officer.

"You'll tell him yourself, baby, because I'm not going to let anything happen to you," Max replied. His words tried desperately to be firm, but you felt a warm drop fall onto your cheek. It was a tear. He was weeping silently.

But you knew the grim truth. You were part of SWAT; you knew ballistics, you knew the devastating ruin that shrapnel left behind. And if what had happened was a mine, you knew what that did to a human body. You knew it was quite possible that you would never see your husband again. That Brendon, the man who always had a plan for everything, might have to face the one variable he couldn't control with all his medical knowledge or a scalpel: your death.

The agonizing thought of making him a widower pressed down on your chest more heavily than the physical pain itself, which began to hit in relentless waves. You thought about your bedroom, about the comfortable silences shared after grueling shifts—in the operating room or in the barracks—and about the unbearable emptiness you would leave in his bed. Even worse, you thought about the shattering of your future. There would be no more quiet mornings trying to find hope after each heartbreak; you would no longer be able to try for that rainbow baby you had yearned for so deeply after the three miscarriages that had almost sunk you both.

If you left now, you would take with you the very last chance to give him that family you had so desperately longed to build together.

"No... don't let me die, Max," you begged, and this time you didn't hide the raw terror bleeding into your voice. "He can't... not again. He can't lose anything else. He has already lost too much..."

"It's not going to happen, Rocker. Listen to the sirens, they're here." Max squeezed your hand with crushing force, his eyes fixed on the ambulance coming to a screeching halt just a few feet away. "Here! Massive trauma to the lower extremity post-explosion! Uncontrolled bleeding!"

You felt them hoisting you onto the stretcher, the sudden movement causing blinding stars to burst across your eyes. As you were being loaded into the sterile, metallic cubicle of the ambulance, the final thought you managed to hold onto before the darkness began to devour the edges of your vision was entirely for him.

Forgive me, Brendon. Please forgive me for not coming home tonight.

The next time you opened your eyes to the world was to the metallic clanging sound of the ambulance's back doors bursting open. The cold Pittsburgh afternoon air hit your face, but it did nothing to clear the heavy fog suffocating your mind. The world was spinning wildly around you, a dizzying spiral of flashing lights and blurred faces moving with frantic, terrifying urgency.

"—Traumatic amputation of the left leg below the knee, caused by a mine. Tourniquet-controlled bleeding in the field!" a voice shouted over the frantic, rhythmic beep of the monitors. "Regaining partial consciousness!"

Amputation? The word bounced off the walls of your skull like a stray bullet, shattering your reality. Had you lost your leg? No, it couldn't be. Your career, everything you had fought so hard for, your teammates... You were going to lose everything. You tried to sit up in a panic, but a firm, small, gloved hand pressed you gently but unyieldingly back against the gurney.

As you looked up through the thick fog of pain, you recognized Perlah; you were at the PTMC. Your heart skipped a beat that had absolutely nothing to do with medical shock. Brendon was working just a few floors up, probably in the middle of a difficult surgery, completely unsuspecting that his entire world was violently falling apart in the emergency room below.

"Lie down, honey," Perlah whispered, adjusting the flow of the IV, her eyes filled with profound compassion and dread.

"I need Ortho down here now!" Dr. Robby roared, completely ignoring the exchange. "Her blood pressure is through the floor! Bring two units of O-negative, now!"

"I'm on it, boss," Donnie said, speaking hurriedly into the red emergency phone on the wall. "Dr. Brennan just went into surgery ten minutes ago. Shark is finishing an arthroplasty in operating room 4."

Shark. That damn nickname by which your husband was called at the hospital, and which had always made you laugh, now seemed to weigh three times as much. Don't let him come down, don't let him see this, you thought, hot tears flooding your eyes as you struggled not to succumb to utter panic. You preferred any other doctor, any total stranger, over seeing the horror and devastation in the eyes of the man you loved.

"I don't care if they're operating on the Pope himself! Tell them to get the hell down here right now!" Dr. Robby roared, shooting Donnie a look sharp enough to freeze hell itself.

The chaos in the trauma room amplified from that moment on. For you, everything became a blurred nightmare; the harsh sound of metallic instruments crashing against steel trays mixed with the incessant, high-pitched warning beeps of the monitor. Your body felt impossibly heavy, as if you were sinking deep into fresh, suffocating cement, but your mind remained anchored to that single nickname: Shark.

Park "The Shark" to the hospital staff; but just Bren to you. PTMC's star orthopedic surgeon, the man who worked with broken bones every single day—your husband—was only a few floors away. If Donnie managed to locate him, Brendon would come downstairs believing he was coming to save the life of an anonymous police officer, only to find your face, pale, bloodied, and broken.

You should have stayed in bed with your Doberman puppy, Anubis. That bittersweet thought struck you just as the heavy hiss of the automatic doors announced that destiny had been fulfilled.

Brendon entered the room like a predator looking for his next prey, completely ignoring the utter chaos of Trauma 1. He stopped dead at the foot of the stretcher, his eyes scanning the catastrophic wound with his trademark mechanical efficiency as the entire emergency team awaited his verdict in a deathly, suffocating silence. It was then that Ogilvie, completely unable to read the terrifying tension vibrating from the surgeon's body, decided it was time to speak up.

"The patient is just SWAT cannon fodder anyway," Ogilvie muttered dismissively, turning around just as Brendon finished digesting the fact that the bleeding woman in front of him was the exact same one he had left that morning, asleep and warmly snuggled with Anubis. "It's a shame about her leg, she was a very beautiful woman..."

The air in Trauma 1 froze instantly. Donnie stopped checking the monitor and Perlah let go of the gauze, both of them staring at Ogilvie in sheer, unadulterated horror. He had crossed a line from which there was no return. Meanwhile, a shudder of pure revulsion racked your fragile body.

Brendon turned to him. The Shark's silence was infinitely more terrifying than any scream. He approached Ogilvie with a predatory, agonizing slowness until the medical student was forced back against the wall, practically chest-to-chest. The raw fury burning in Brendon's eyes was entirely unprofessional; it was something primal, wild, and murderous.

"Out of my sight," Brendon whispered. His voice was a lethal hiss, so low and venomous that only you and Ogilvie could catch the tremor of pure, unbridled hatred in his tone. "If you make a single sound again, or if you ever look at this patient again, I will personally make sure that the closest you ever get to a hospital for the rest of your life is because you are a permanent ICU patient."

Brendon didn't even wait for him to leave. He spun around and, for a fleeting microsecond, his eyes locked onto yours. The detached star surgeon was nowhere to be found in that look; there was only the husband who had promised to protect you always, completely crumbling inside. And yet, he allowed his hardened expression to soften just for you; I got you, his deep blue eyes seemed to plead in the middle of the storm.

"—Operating room three. GET MOVING!" he roared, and this time the scream was so visceral, so torn from his soul, that it made even Dr. Robby jump instinctively.

That was the last thing you heard as the world began to bleed out at the edges. The sound of stretcher wheels racing across the floor and the hiss of automatic doors became a distant echo, drowned out by the heavy tide of blood loss and shock. Your body, utterly exhausted by the trauma, finally surrendered to the darkness again.

As the overhead lights faded into a single, blinding white blob above you, your last conscious thought wasn't about the excruciating pain in your leg or the roar of the mine that had rewritten your destiny. It was for him. Your Brendon. You hoped with all your might that you would wake up—not only because you didn't want to die, but because of the desperate, aching need to see those blue eyes again, always overflowing with love for you, to feel his massive hand protecting yours, and to hear your secret nickname from his lips as soon as you woke up, his voice beautifully hoarse from sleep.

You wanted to come home, to the peace of your shared mornings, to the warm weight of Anubis at the foot of the bed, and to the absolute shelter of Brendon's arms.

You felt heavy, as if your entire body had been forged of lead and submerged in thick honey. Your mouth was dry and pasty, with a rancid, metallic taste clinging to the roof of it, and there was a rhythmic, monotonous beep piercing through your ears. You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt heavily stitched shut. Yet, even through that dense, suffocating haze of drugs and exhaustion, you heard it. It was a voice you knew in all its facets: that of the brilliant surgeon, that of the man who loved you with all his heart and soul, and now, that of a wounded shark defending his territory with vicious desperation.

Brendon was fighting with someone.

"I fully understand that, under any normal circumstances, I shouldn't have operated on her because she's my wife, Gloria." Brendon's voice reverberated with barely contained, trembling fury, and then you noticed his large hand grasping yours—vulnerably delicate despite his anger. "But I wasn't going to let her suffer a single second longer, nor was I going to let her bleed to death waiting for another attending to deign to come down. I wasn't going to risk wasting the precious time needed to save her life!"

You heard an impatient, clinical sigh, and the sharp snap of a leather folder. It was Gloria Underwood, the hospital's medical director.

"Doctor Park, conflict of interest rules are there for a reason. You know this better than anyone. You have put the accreditation of this entire center at risk."

"The rules?" Brendon let out a dry, humorless, utterly disdainful laugh that sounded entirely broken. "A mine has shattered her life. She has lost her leg and has a agonizing path of rehabilitation ahead of her that most people could not even begin to comprehend. And you come here to lecture me about administrative protocols?"

You desperately wanted to say something, but from your parched throat came only a dry hiss, a harsh, empty exhalation that barely brushed your cracked lips. You tried to squeeze his hand with every ounce of strength you had left, but your fingers refused to respond.

"Doctor Park," Gloria insisted in a stern, cold tone.

"Do you want to suspend me? Go ahead. Take away my surgical privileges, report me to the board, punish me however the hell you prefer." Brendon's voice dropped into a dangerous, terrifying whisper—the tone of a apex predator who has absolutely nothing left to lose. "But this is not the time or the place to talk about it. Not when my wife is lying here, unconscious, trying to survive a traumatic amputation and major surgery. So I'm going to ask you, one last time and in the kindest way I am capable of right now, to get the hell out of this room."

There was an icy, suffocating silence. You heard the sharp sound of heels pulling away and the heavy, definitive sigh of the door closing shut.

"Damn it, baby," he whispered, immediately bringing your hand to his lips, and this time his strong voice broke completely into a thousand agonizing pieces. "Don't do this to me again. Don't you dare."

His rough, calloused fingers traveled gently up your arm until they cradled your face with infinite, trembling delicacy. You could feel his hot tears spilling onto your skin, moistening your cheek as he rested his forehead heavily against yours. In the crushing privacy of the ICU, he was no longer the untouchable star surgeon or the most feared man in the PTMC; he was simply a man utterly terrified, completely broken by the horrific idea of a world where you no longer existed.

"I know you hear me, precious," he insisted, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with extreme tenderness. "Open those beautiful eyes for me. Please, I need you to look at me. I need to know that you're still in there."

You made a Herculean, agonizing effort. The heavy haze of morphine seemed to recede at the sheer urgency and despair in his voice. Your eyelids trembled, fighting the weight, and eventually fluttered open. The very first thing you saw was the deep, endless blue of his eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and heavy crying, staring down at you with a shattering mixture of profound relief and unbearable agony.

You tried to articulate a word, but your gaze fell instinctively toward the end of the bed, where the weight of the heavy blankets felt... completely different. The hollow emptiness on your left side became a physically cruel, devastating reality in that exact instant.

Brendon noticed the sudden panic in your breathing right away. His hands held you tighter, instantly trying to be the heavy anchor that would keep you from drowning in the horrific realization of what you had lost.

"Look at me, baby," he pleaded desperately. His voice, once broken, suddenly regained that fierce firmness he used to command the operating room, but his eyes were filled with a desperate, crying plea. "Only me. Don't look down. You're alive. You're right here with me. That's the only thing that matters now."

But you couldn't help it. Through the heavy numbness of the morphine, you felt a phantom, mocking tingling where your leg should be—a cruel, haunting echo from a part of you that was gone forever. You couldn't hold back the dam of tears, which began to overflow, tracing hot, painful furrows down your cheeks.

You wept bitterly for your career in SWAT that had just been blown to pieces by that mine, and for the suffocating fear of never being the strong, fierce woman he fell in love with. Everything you'd have to learn to do all over again—walking, balancing, relying on a cold, metal-and-carbon prosthetic—felt like an impossible, agonizing mountain to climb.

"It's gone, Bren," you managed to choke out, a raw, heart-rending sob tearing violently from your throat. "Everything is gone."

At your words, Brendon closed his eyes tightly for a moment, gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw tightened visibly. Seeing the strongest, bravest woman he knew completely crumble in his arms was worse than any thirty-six-hour shift, a profound pain no medical textbook had ever taught him how to handle.

He carefully climbed onto the hospital bed, completely ignoring all clinical hygiene and safety protocols. He moved with an agility you would never expect from a man of his massive size, making absolutely sure not to brush against your fresh wounds or the tangled wires attaching you to the monitors, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you. He buried your face deep into his broad, muscular chest, creating a protective shelter of fabric and human warmth so you wouldn't have to look at the terrifying emptiness beneath the blankets.

"Listen to me," he murmured into your hair, his voice vibrating with a fierce, burning determination that soaked straight into your shattered bones. "I'm not going to tell you that the road will be easy, because that would be lying to you, and you deserve better than that. But I make a living rebuilding what others believe is completely unsalvageable. I've made people walk again when they were told it was a miracle. I'm the best at this, baby, and I am not going to let you sink. I'll get you the absolute best prosthesis money can buy, I'll take you to every single rehab session, and if I have to, I will carry you in my arms until you can run again."

He squeezed you a little tighter against his chest, letting his own heavy tears get lost in the strands of your hair, completely allowing himself to be vulnerable just because you were the only one in the world who could see him like this.

"What makes you you wasn't in that leg, nor is it what makes me love you with everything I have," he continued in a thick, choked voice. "Now all I care about is that you're alive. You're here, with me, and I am never going to let you go."

You sank entirely into his chest, clinging to his surgical scrubs with what little strength your trembling hands had left, inhaling that familiar, grounding trace of antiseptic soap mixed with his expensive cologne and that warm, homey scent that had always brought you back to safety. The silence of the room was only interrupted by the constant beep-beep of the heart monitor—which now beat a little quieter, calmed by his presence—and the rhythmic, steady pounding of Brendon's heart under your ear, reminding you that against all odds, you were still here.

In that ICU room, the outside world ceased to exist. It didn't matter how much of your leg was lost, how much of your career was fading away, or what administrative punishment Gloria would throw at him. Brendon cradled you with an almost religious devotion, resting his chin on your head as he tightly closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to let out the air he seemed to have been holding since he first saw you bloodied in Trauma 1.

"Sleep, baby," he whispered, his deep voice vibrating heavily against your chest as he wrapped you in an embrace that promised to rebuild every single broken piece of your soul. "I'm not going to move. I won't let anything else hurt you."

You let yourself be carried away by the heavy fatigue and the painkillers, feeling how the immense heat of his body fully protected you from the coldness of the world. For the first time since the explosion, the crushing fear felt a little lighter, entirely stifled by the presence of the man who, in the eyes of the world, was a relentless, terrifying shark, but who, for you, was the only refuge capable of keeping you whole through any trial fate decided to throw at you.

Secrets Out SMAU by @kisscoabbot

Shared Custody by @cinnxmxngxrl

Balancing your final year as a resident while raising a five-year-old is hard enough. Co-parenting with your ex Michael Robinavitch? That’s a whole different challenge. 🔥

Blurb by @starlord-s

Kinship by @bitchinbarzal

robby finds out his girlfriend is adopting baby jane doe

Mom and Dr Daddy by @paigepie213

if you’re the ER mom does that make Robby…?

Savior Complex by @lovebugism

when you're attacked on the job, you learn the hard way that you can't love the damage out of everyone, and robby learns just how far he'll go to protect you.

Crush by @ofthepitt

Must be lonely out in Paris if you talk like that by @ceriseangels

Robby decides to cut things off ahead of his sabbatical. He makes it a month until the regret is unbearable.

Les Fluers by @somethingeh

you love life and robby loves you

Through the Glass by @relaxdiva

After amputating a patient’s crushed hand in a last effort to save his life, you head down to the ER to deliver the news — and end up assaulted by the patient’s grieving wife. As one of the best plastic surgeons on the East Coast, you know exactly what a poorly closed facial laceration can do. So with blood on your scrubs and half the department watching through the glass, you take matters into your own hands and suture your own cheek.

Erectile Dysfunction by @/cinnxmxngxrl

After a long shift, all Robby wants is to get home and bury himself inside you. The only problem? He has to wait for his little blue pill to kick in first. 🔥

The Stuff of Dreams, Baby by @strangelure

If by @rr-after-dark

Robby’s always kept his five daughters close to his chest, but a serious accident sends them all out of orbit. An exploration of family dynamics, forgiveness, gratitude, and connection

Daddy by @/rr-after-dark

With your daughter learning to speak, you start to call Robby 'daddy.'

Blurb by @science-hoes

Friday I’m in Love by @se7entyrell

A hospital gala is the last place you want to be on your single night off this week. Unfortunately, it’s mandatory. Fortunately, it comes with a free hotel room - and a secret relationship with your attending that no one else in the ER knows about. 🔥

His Wife by @queensinxs