The Sass Awakens

─── ⋆ 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

“Alright miss-” She stops mid sentence when she pulls back the curtain of the room looking up from her chart. You can tell she’s disappointed.

“I swear if that chart says GSW- It’s a graze that's not even that bad.” You say sitting on the bed.

“Yeah it says GSW. I was wondering why you wouldn't be in a trauma room,” She puts hand under the hand sanitizer dispenser, “thought it would be more interesting.” She puts on gloves to start looking at your arm. You already have your shirt off leaving you in just a tank top to give the doctor better access to, what you would consider, a very small graze that you would argue doesn’t even warrant a hospital visit.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” You quip back at her. You’re finally able to get a glance at her badge, Dr. Santos. 

“How did you get this?” The bleeding already stopped a while ago before you got to the hospital. She starts to take the dressing you put on it off. You wince a little at the contact. She says sorry under her breath.

“Occupational hazard.” She quirks her eyebrows up, unsatisfied at your response. “I’m a CSI and I was training a new technician, when the idiots thought it would be a good idea to come back to make sure the job was done. They didn’t realize that the cops had already been called and were there. Anyways guess they got nervous and decided the best course of action was a shoot out. Made sure to cover my new tech and got grazed in doing so.” She swabbed the wound to send for testing, being more careful than she was initially. “I didn’t want to even come here but since it’s work related I was forced too.”

“It doesn’t look bad, I’ll send a sample for cultures just to be sure, clean and dress it for you.” She replies.

“Where is she?!?” You can hear your husband’s voice through the thin curtain. You can only assume Dana points him in your direction cause you can hear him stomp towards your bed. You’re bracing for impact cause you already know he’s upset. He tears the curtain open to see you on the bed with Santos sitting at your side.

“What happened? Are you okay?” His body relaxes a little when he can process that you're fine, but you can tell he’s still on edge.

“Dr. Abbot,” Santos stands up stiff as a board.

“What happened.” He repeats himself, still staring at you waiting for an answer.

“It’s nothing, a little graze that’s barely there.” You’re trying to comfort him…it’s not helping a lot. 

“Why did I get a call from the hospital that my wife had a bullet graze and not from you?” You can hear that he’s upset by his voice, his eyes never leaving you. 

“Wait, wife?” Santos asks, “but the last name…”

“It’s hyphenated, I use my maiden name for legal and work.” You explain.

Jack finally moves towards you once he decides that you look well enough. He glances at the wound and can tell that you were right, it’s not bad. He’s at your other side looking down at you, still checking over your face to see if he missed anything.

“She’s stubborn,” he adds, “why didn’t you call me? I freaked out when Dana told me what happened. Broke a few traffic laws getting here.” He’s quieter now and worry still lacing his voice. His hand goes up to touch your face, making sure you’re still here with him. Reassuring himself that you’re okay. You lean into his touch. He’s always so warm.

“I’m fine Jack,” you move your hand to cover his on your face, “I didn’t want to worry you, and they pushed me into a squad car before I even realized it, left my phone in my jacket at the scene.” You take his hand off your face and just hold it in your lap.

“I know how much you hate those cars.” His other hand goes to tuck a piece of your behind your ear. He’s moving like you're made of glass. “But really how did you get shot?”

“I wasn’t shot, I was grazed.” You correct him. “Apperently the cops don’t know how to close a scene correctly. Perp came back, saw cops and started firing.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the stupidity of what should have never happened. 

He finally takes his eyes off of you and looks over at Santos. “Did you send for culture test?” He’s sterner when he talks to her. You feel bad that she was the one that got stuck with you. Having one of your patients being your attending’s wife can’t be easy. 

“Yes. I was just about to start cleaning and dressing it.” You can tell this situation makes her a little nervous.

“Jack, she’s done everything correct, don’t scare her.” His eyes softening when he looks back at you. His stubble is a little longer than usual, and his curls are unruly. He probably jumped out of bed and rushed to his truck as soon as he got the call. He’s wearing a shirt you know was on top of the laundry hamper. 

“Just double checking.” At his words Santos goes to clean and dress the wound, very diligently you note. 

Jack stays at your side the entire time, hand still in your lap. He squeezes your hand anytime you wince, checking in on you to make sure you’re okay. His eyes are tired from lack of sleep but the look on his face is pure adoration for you. You pull him a little closer so you can lean your head on his broad, sturdy chest. You want to suck all his warmth out of him due to the chill in the ED, and knowing him, he’d let you. 

“I was scared.” Jack whispers to you.

“How do you think I feel when you go out with the SWAT team? This is a once in a blue moon for me, it feels like you’re always getting shot at.” You crane your neck so you can look at him while you say that.

“So is date night just dodging bullets for you guys?” Santos says as she’s finishing up.

You and Jack both huff out a laugh. “No, he’s a little more romantic than that.” You reply.

“A little?” Jack pushes away a little to look at you and raises his eyebrows. “If I remember correctly, you bragged to your friends about ‘how romantic’ my proposal was.” He has a smirk on his face at the fact.

“I should have never told you that, it went to your head.” You roll your eyes and pull him back closer to you. 

“Yeah but you did.” He kisses your head as he says it. He is one of the most romantic people you know when he tries. You love that about him, how thoughtful he is and how he really sees you. He knows you inside and out. He makes the most mundane parts of life exciting just by being there with you. He’s made you the happiest woman in the world and he knows it. You never miss an opportunity to let him know.

“Okay I’m going to get discharge notes and instructions but I’m sure you don’t need them.” Santos says and she starts to walk out of the room. 

“I like her.” You say once she’s out of the room and you start to put your other shirt back on. 

Jack steps back a little to give you room to do so. “Santos? She’s one of Robby’s, haven’t been around her too much. He says she’s good though.” 

You start to stand up when Jack puts his hand out for you to use to help you up. Once you’re standing next to him, you give him a quick peck on the lips. You step back a little after, but not for long. Jack is quick to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a hug. You instinctively wrap your arms around him and melt into his warmth. His other hand goes up to cradle your head, as he puts his head right in the crevice of your neck. 

“I love you. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Jack mutters into your neck. 

“No promises.” He pinches your side when you say that. 

“HEY!” You yelp out barely moving due to his grip on you. “I promise to call next time.” You concede.

“I’ll take what I can get.” He replies right before giving you a little kiss on your neck.

…

Trinity walks up to Whitaker at the hub so she can start writing up the discharge notes. “Did you know Dr. Abbot is married?” She asks him.

“Umm, yeah I think so? He wears a wedding ring right?”