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Summary: When you fly to Gotham to see your boyfriend from Metropolis, what was supposed to be a nice quiet evening for you both, gets interrupted by some date crashers.
Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem Kent!Reader
Word Count: 3.0k
Content Warning: FLUFF, slice of life, Clark Kent’s daughter! Reader, secret relationship, they get discovered, suggestive content, cursing, second person, no use of y/n
A/N: This fic went through 3 scraps before I finally found a plot I liked LMAO. This fic is for this request by @h0pelesslydevoted ty for it I had so much fun writing it and sorry it took so long to get too. As always I hope you enjoy my lovelies <333
•───────•°•𝑺•°•───────•
Floating down onto the fire escape, you sigh at the sight of the main light being on. The only flaw in your (secret) relationship with Jason being that he was a big light type of guy.
Every time you came over that changed though. It was a mission you were on, to slowly change that habit of his. So, after you slowly open the window and sneak in, your first course of action is to fly toward the light switch.
After shutting it off, you head over to the lamp next to his bookshelf and turn it on. The environment change was instant. The big light on his roof always made it feel like you were in some sterile hospital, but when the warm light was casted through the beige lampshade, his apartment felt like home.
That’s where the difference in how you both grew up came into play. He grew up in the prison that was called the Batcave, and you grew up in a cozy metropolis apartment with summers in Kansas.
While you didn’t necessarily inherit X-ray vision from your father, you did inherit super hearing. Which is how you knew Jason was in the shower. You could hear the water droplets ricocheting off his skin, and the soft humming coming from him as Billy Joel played from the CD player in his room.
You smiled at the sound. Jason was so much softer than the world gave him credit for. He wasn’t this violent crime lord that he’d tried to convince Gotham he was. Jason Todd was a guy who reads classic literature and left notes for you in between pages. He was the guy who bought your favorite candles so he could have a piece of you when you were cities apart. Jason was a guy who secretly hummed to Billy Joel in the shower because on your first date, “She’s Always a Woman” played in the diner as you laughed, and he took it as a sign that you were his future.
Jason Todd was not the broken boy he thought he was, he was a romantic.
Walking toward the coffee table you pick up the candle to see what he’d moved on too. Vanilla and Cinnamon was the choice for the week and you smiled while reading the label. Setting it back on the counter you squint for a second before lighting it with your heat vision.
You knew tonight had been a particularly rough patrol from when he called you earlier. So, you packed a night bag and flew over. He had most of the products you liked here already, but you couldn’t sleep without your blanket. Dropping the bag on the couch, you head to the small kitchen a few steps away.
While waiting for him to finish his shower, you made some hot chocolate. In the kitchen, you navigate it with a practiced ease of countless nights you both spent here. Times with his arms around your waist or vice versa. The memories spark a smile on your face. When you open both packets, you pour some of the chocolate powder from your packet into his. He tried to hide it, but he had a sweet tooth that rivaled your father’s, and well who was going to stop you from spoiling him.
After topping it with whip cream and marshmallows, you hear the water finally shut off. It’s only another minute before you hear the padding of his feet against the floor and he appears in the doorframe and- wow.
It didn’t matter how many times you had seen Jason shirtless, heat went straight to between your legs every time. His hair was half dry plastered on his forehead, still dripping slightly. He had nothing except a white towel wrapped around his waist. His torso was still damp with some droplets of water tracing every muscle from his shoulders to his chest, down to his v-line. He looked like your favorite desert, a glazed donut.
Tonight’s going to be fun.
His eyes find yours and your stomach does a flip. He was smiling at you so wide that those famous dimples made a show-stopping appearance.
“I thought I heard you come in.”
You scoff with a laugh following. “Your dumbass hasn’t seen me in two weeks and that’s the first thing you have to say to me.”
He snorts while you walk around the kitchen island to meet him halfway. You’re leaning back against it with your hands gripping the edge of the counter and a raised eyebrow, while he’s towering over you.
“You know I missed you pretty girl.” He whispers huskily.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” you sass him and he sighs. Your last name may have been Kent, but you were a Lane through and through.
He leans down and leaves you a feather light kiss. A mere brush of lips as a tempting preview of what was awaiting for you tonight.
He pulls away and finally smells it, glancing past you. With an innocent look in his eyes he turns to you and asks softly, “You made hot cocoa?”
“Yeah," you answer with a shrug. "I thought you could use it. I know you’ve had a rough week.”
He always tried to act like he didn’t need anyone- that he was self-sufficient, and he was. He took care of himself when he should’ve had parents worrying about him. He always made sure everyone was okay before even thinking how he was doing. There was a beauty and a certain type of grief in that. You never wanted to overwhelm him with it, but you always made small efforts to take care of him. You had to ease it in for him with little things, like scratching his back or washing his hair. Then you could move to buying him take out some nights to make sure he’d eat or staying with him despite not wanting to talk. And sometimes, it was something as simple as making cocoa.
These were the times when he was unguarded, when the love you had for each other was about to burst from his chest.
“I love you,” he kisses your forehead. “So much”, he murmurs against it.
Your hands leave where they were propping you up against the countertop to around his neck, holding you against him. “I love you too, Jason.”
Just for a flicker of time, everything fades away while holding each other. No crazy doctors, no war criminals, no army generals from other planets. It was just the two of you holding each other in the kitchen of his apartment. The smell of his shampoo and the feeling of your heart beating against his, quieting every haunted thought of Gotham. Tonight you were just a Super and a Bat learning to love each other.
Who would’ve thought?
When you both pull away, your hands leave his neck and trace his torso, like you’ve done a million times before. He was so warm, and you were so cold- it must’ve been a Kryptonian thing. When your hand lays flat against his abs, a shiver runs down his spine.
You raise an eyebrow in amusement, and he raises his with a challenge.
“Someone’s eager.” He murmurs with a smirk.
You hum back in acknowledgement while your hand slides lower, watching the red spread across his face. “Maybe I am, but you’re not getting any until you drink your hot chocolate.” He snickers. “I don’t know why you’re laughing, it’s called Hot Chocolate- not cold. So, you’re going to drink it while it’s still hot.
He shakes his head, his laugh still echoing in your head. “There come in those Lane genes again,” he pushes your hair behind your ears and then salutes. “Right on boss.”
Your mouth drops in mock betrayal and then you push him off you. There was a valiant effort in making sure not to push him too hard; a mistake you’d made once and accidentally sent him flying into the wall.
He had to come up with some excuse on why he was in an arm sling for a week to the bats.
You don’t make it very far before he grabs your arm.
“Come ‘ere” he laughs and pulls you back into him. “I’m only joking y’know that.”
You refuse to hold him. Keeping your arms at your sides, and looking everywhere but his face.
His hand rests on your jaw and turns it back, so you’ll meet his eyes again. “Baby,” he starts earnestly. “You know I love it when you boss me around, I’d be your minion forever if you asked me too.”
“Oh, you better like it Todd.” He smiles at your use of his last name, realizing he wasn’t actually on the shit list tonight.
“I do.” He drops a kiss to your nose and smirks. “You gonna tell me what to do tonight.”
Your cheeks are dusted with a faint pink at the innuendo but you don’t let it throw you off. “Yeah I am.”
“Really?” He’s amused, but you can see the lust pooling in his green eyes when your hand lands on his shoulder again. “What’re you gonna have me do?’
“Oh, I have a few ideas Boy Wonder.” The smirk on your face grows as your hand falls down his torso and teases where his waist meets the towel.
His eyes darken before four figures burst through Jason’s window.
He jumps in front of you, and you instantly shoot into the air behind him ready to laser them down- when you recognize them.
The Bats.
All color drains from your face instantly.
It’s silent for a beat then they read the situation.
The shouting commences.
“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?”
“The alarm was tripped-”
“You weren’t answering-”
“You’re with KENT?”
Slowly, you lower yourself back to the floor behind Jason and take solace in being blocked by his large frame for a moment. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
All of Jason’s brothers were here, with the Big Bat himself- he was actually the only one who hadn’t said anything besides telling Oracle that they didn’t need back up. You didn’t even want to think or consider who back up was, this audience was mortifying enough.
After bracing yourself for a moment you step around Jason to be next to him in the midst of the yelling.
You can’t see it through the cowl, but you can feel the way Bruce’s eyes are on you through the white slits of his eyes.
Truly being your father’s daughter, you raise your hand awkwardly as they all turn to you and wave with a simple “Heyyyy”
It didn’t help as much as you were hoping for it too, because now they all just stared at you dumbfounded.
Them the questions started.
“How long have you guys been dating?”
“Are you guys actually together?”
“Why’d you keep it a secret?”
You open your mouth to try and answer and then purse your lips. Turning to Jason for any help, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off his brothers. It was then that you remembered that Jason was in fact still in a towel, and they’d caught you in that moment.
If any deity was listening to you, you hoped that they would grant you a Gotham emergency that would pull the Bats away.
Then the worst happens, Bruce starts talking and drops a bomb of a question.
“Do your parents know you’re here?”
Your mouth drops and Jason scoffs. “Are you fucking kidding me, B?”
You swallow before answering. “We’re both legal adults, you know that right?”
“Doesn’t answer my question.” Was all he was willing to offer while insisting.
A beat of silence with an echo of Billy Joel still playing from the bedroom, and then.
“My mom knows I’m here.”
That answer opened Pandora’s box and Bruce’s eyes widened under the cowl, you were willing to bet hundreds that his eyebrow shot up too.
“And where does Clark think you are?”
You felt sixteen all over again. Here in this interrogation from Batman- who just so happened to be your boyfriend’s pseudo-father figure-, you were debating if the interrogations from your mom were really all that bad.
You cross your arms and your eyes flicker to Tim for a second. You knew where this was about to go. Letting out a deep breath, your eyes go back to Bruce before answering. “He thinks I’m staying with Conner at the farm.”
By the way his posture straightens, you can tell Tim is now a lot more interested in the conversation. Bruce beats him in asking the next question. “Okay, and where do Conner and the Kent’s think you are?”
“B, leave her alone.” Jason says, voice hard taking a small step forward. “Stop interrogating her. She's not some fucking supervillain, she's my girlfriend that you've met and had actual conversations with before.”
At his small outburst, your hand falls on his bicep to try and get his attention. His eyes don't leave Bruce's. You squeeze his arm a tiny bit, so he looks at you and sees the truth in your eyes. “Jason, really- it’s okay.”
He holds your gaze for a minute before huffing out an annoyed breath. You notice he's starting to get antsy and his tongue is pointing at his cheek to avoid another retort at his family. Turn back to Bruce, you swallow before admitting.
“Conner, Ma, and Pa know I’m here.”
“WHAT?!”
Dick Grayson was staring at you in shock, then back at Jason with betrayal on his face. “The Kent’s knew before we did?”
Jason’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise that he’s asking that question. Waving his arm around as if putting each of them and their reactions on display, he answers with his own question. “And why do you think that is genius?”
That shut him up real fast.
Bruce seemed to still be processing the fact that the Kent’s knew, when you chip in.
“If it makes you feel any better,” you’re directing the comfort to Dick, and he turns to you at the sound of your voice. “They’re the only ones that know, Jon and my dad still don’t know anything.”
“Are you sure that Jon is not aware that you two are involved?” Damian asked from his father’s side.
“Yes,” you answered, giving him a pointed look. Besides Jason, he was the one you were the most familiar with. You couldn’t even begin to count how many play dates you had supervised with both of them over the years. “And it’s going to stay that way, because the moment Jon finds out, he’s going to run and tell my dad.”
Jonathan Samuel Kent had many virtues, keeping a secret was not one of them.
Damian huffed at that, not being able to dispute it knowing you were right.
“That doesn’t make sense though.” Tim started. “Kon also sucks at keeping secrets and he hasn’t told me anything.”
“Yeah well Kon sucks at keeping secrets until I got dirt over him.”
Bruce’s interest peeks again. “What possible leverage could you have over Superboy?”
Making sure to pointedly avoid Tim’s gaze to not give them away, you answer. “Well, I’m not the only Kent hiding a relationship.”
As expected, the boy with Red in his vigilante name, flushes almost instantly to the color before it drains from his face. He now remembers what you weren’t blessed to forget. That one time you spent the weekend at the farm in Smallville and unknowingly walked into the barn to the both of them having… relations.
“Who-” Dick tries to ask, and Jason puts his hand up.
“Okay that’s enough from you guys.” You suspected there was only a certain amount of time left before Jason began to get tired of them, and they just hit that mark. “You’re going to leave my apartment, and not speak about this to anyone," then he motions between the both of you. "We’re going to go back to our date, and we can talk about this more another time, okay?”
You bit the inside of your cheeks to hide the laugh. You did notice earlier that he kept retying the towel around his waist to try and hide the arousal from before his family cockblocked him.
Damian and Tim scrunched their faces in disgust, remembering what they walked into. Dick seemed to grow a wickedly mischievous grin as if he’d just been handed a whole book worth of material to tease Jason with. The three boys left before Bruce, who kept a stoic face during the whole interaction. Then right before he climbs out the shattered window he turns back to you both.
“For the record, I am happy for you two.” A breath and then, “I’ll pay for them to fix the window tomorrow.”
Jason mumbles a thanks and you wish them good night.
You two turn to each other and in the ridiculousness of the situation, you laugh. Full on bending over, clutching your stomach while cackling. At the sight, Jason feels like he can breathe again and laughs with you.
He was terrified of you meeting his family, knowing they were going to be crazy and intense about it, but you did it. You finally got it over with, and you both came out relatively unscathed- with the exception of his windows.
When you finally stand at your full height again, you meet his eyes. He’s looking at you like you’re a god he’d worship forever.
“I’m sorry the hot chocolate got cold.” He says while taking a quick peek at the sad mugs before turning back to you.
You smile and shake your head. “It’s okay, Jason- your super hot Kryptonian girlfriend has heat vision, remember?”
With that he kisses you again, picking back up where you both left off before getting interrupted.
Both his hands are holding your face, and the kiss is deep enough that you feel it in your stomach. Then his hands move down to your waist and he picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist as if it was a natural reaction while letting out a startled laugh as he starts in the direction of the bedroom.
When he shuts the door behind him and drops you on the bed, your eyes darken. Looking up at him from your spot, you lick your lips when he drops the towel.
summary: you have to go home for a wedding. jack comes to support. you think it's the end of your relationship, he proves it's not.
pairing: jack abbot x fem! doctor! reader, carmen berzatto x fem! sister! reader, sugar berzatto x fem! sister reader, richie jerimovitch x fem! cousin! reader, etc.
warnings: regular themes of the bear, regular themes of the pitt, jack was abused as a kid, reader was lowkey abused as a kid, talks of suicide, talks of death, talks of depression and addiction, talks of jack's PTSD, stevie is annoying, LOTS OF CURSING, fear of abandonment, lots of crying, non-sexual nudity, spoilers for the wedding episode (based on episode 7 'bears'- season 4 of the bear)
a/n: yall, this is 13k words. good luck.
banners from my good friend @no-144444 !
Everything was on fire. His leg, well, his lack of leg had been at him all night. His back was killing him from all the fucking leaning he’d been doing. His eyes were bloodshot from the double he’d unintentionally pulled. Fuck, he just wanted to go home. The last few hours had been a blur. Mass casualty events hit just a bit too close to home, reminding him of his time in the military, which was never really a good idea. He hated it, the screams he couldn’t forget, the wounds he couldn’t treat, and the faces forever etched into his memory. He hated it because he couldn’t watch fireworks, or watch any of those documentaries you so loved, or function properly sometimes. Sometimes the PTSD took over and the nightmares dragged him back, dragged him away from you.
You were always so patient. Always waiting for him, ready to pick up the pieces.
Shit, where were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the shitshow everyone had just endured.
He slid up against the nurse’s station, leaning against the desk as he gained Dana’s attention. “Know where my girl is?” he asked casually. You two had given up keeping it a secret months ago, specifically after Shen had made a powerpoint about how perfect you two are for each other and left it playing in the breakroom for a full night and day before either of you noticed. It had an AI image of you two kissing which looked far too real.
She let out a sigh, leaning in closer. Alarm bells went off in his head, but he kept calm. It’s probably fine, he told himself. She’s alright. “She’s getting some air, apparently,” She raised an eyebrow, putting a hand over his. He stiffened. He hated how often you followed his tradition of going up there for some air. Mostly he contemplated what the fuck he was doing with his life. You went up there to stop him. “Brought her phone, it was ringing. She answered it.” She shrugged and let go of his hand. That terrifying expression on her face, the one that meant she was worried. Not many things can make a charge nurse worried. More alarm bells than he’d enjoy to admit started ringing. You hated phone calls, it was just a thing with you. You texted, you listened to voicenotes, but you didn’t pick up your phone. It used to piss Jack off because calling is so much easier than texting, but he slowly understood it’s just something you didn’t enjoy, and he adapted.
The elevator was never fast enough for him, and neither was how long it took him to get up the stairs. The cold air hit him as he walked out onto the roof, your figure on the safe side of the railing. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Slowly, he approached. He caught words. No. Can’t. Mom. Sugar. Carm. Bear. Sydney. Tiffany. Frank. He didn’t pry. He leaned against the railing, and he waited.
“Rich, I’m not going,” you rolled your eyes as he kept fucking talking. “Yes! Yes, I fucking understand, thank you so fucking much for reminding me of what a terrible child and sister I am, I’m well aware, thank you!” You scoffed and the voice on the other side just got louder. “Is that Neil? Neil’s listening to this? Are your fucking joking me right now Rich?!” You gripped the railing with your free hand, a bruising grip around the cold metal. “Yes, hi sweetheart, I-I’m good… alright thank you sweetheart, bye. Fuck you Rich, no, no, seriously, fuck you. Get fucked, genuinely,” you sighed, eye closing, shoulders tense. Jack didn’t think he’d ever heard you curse so much. You rolled your shoulders and spoke again, brow furrowing. “What? I know she’s your ex-wife, but seriously? Fuck the wedding! I’m not driving for 7 hours to attend a wedding of a woman I literally don’t fucking know! Oh wow! That’s really fucking mature Rich, yes I know I’ve been living in Pittsburgh, thank you so much for fucking reminding me…- oh my god are you seriously still not fucking over that?! I had to leave! Oh, I’m so sorry did Donna try to kill you? Exactly, you fuckin’ jag-off,” you shouted over the phone, and finally made eye contact with Jack, realising he’d been standing there. Your voice evened out. “I have to go- I get it, alright, I fucking get it! Jesus, good-fucking-bye! Yeah fuck you too, alright? Love you Rich, I’ll think about it- alright, bye.” You were both quiet for a moment, just letting the energy of that call dissipate.
You pushed yourself off the railing, and turned to him. You let out a breath. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Who’s Donna and why did she try to kill you?” He asked, amusement laced in his tone. It quickly faded when that sad chuckle left your lips. You shook your head and pushed your phone into your pocket, then walked over to him and fell into his chest.
“She’s my mom and she hates me,” you shrugged as he wrapped his arms around you. He had to find out how fucking insane your family was eventually, right? “You alright?” You asked, pulling back to look at him. “Shouldn’t you have gone home already?”
He tucked a bit of hair behind your ear and shook his head. The fact that you’d glossed over the fact that you mom hates you made his heart hurt a little bit. You never talked about family or how you grew up, all he knew was that you were from Chicago, you had a sister and two brothers, and you never wanted to go back. He didn’t push, much like you didn’t push with his upbringing after he’d told you about it. “Waiting on you,” he smiled softly. “You did great today,” he cooed. “I’m proud.”
You nodded and offered him that tired smile he’d grown so used to, and he just had to lean in and kiss you. Soft lips meeting his, a gentle kiss, and a real smile on both your faces as you walked back into the ED. Dana sent you a look that you ignored, and you slipped away from Jack for just a moment to find Gloria.
But you didn’t tell him that.
The drive to Chicago was miserable, it always was. Nearly 7 hours of open road, an empty car, and a playlist that no matter how loud you turned the stereo, you still couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and the thoughts in your head. You had told Jack you were sick and to avoid your apartment lest he felt the need to be consumed by the flu. He seemed to be staying away effectively, so you were going to be homefree for the weekend. The fucking wedding though, that stupid guilt trip Richie had somehow convinced you to attend, just for him. You’d see Sugar, and Carmen, and Richie, and your Mom, and everyone else you wanted to forget. You’d notice the space where Mikey should be. You’d see the empty glass that should be in his hand. You’d see the lack of floppy brown hair and stupid jokes that should entertain you all night long, and act prouder than anyone ever had. Well, maybe Mikey’s pride in you was rivaled by Jack’s, but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself.
A phone call came in, and you rolled your eyes. Still, you answered it.
“Where are you?” Jack’s voice was harsh, annoyed, angry. You fumbled with your phone for a second, debating on whether to crash into another car, or just tell him the truth.
“The highway,” you finally answered, deciding that maybe vehicular manslaughter is a bad idea, and insurance fraud is just stupid to go to jail for. “I’m going home for the weekend.”
He huffed out a sigh, and you heard something thump down on a table. “I’m at your apartment. Was going to take care of you this weekend,” he admitted, and your heart squeezed. That voice in your head that sounded a little bit like your mother’s chimed in. God, you don’t deserve him. You’ll never deserve him. Why would you think he’d ever stay with you? Not when you’re this broken. “How far are you?”
You took in a sharp breath and started. “Jack, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want to rope you into this shit and seriously, you’d thank me if you knew them-”
“How far are you from your apartment?” He asked, enunciating every single word with that terrifyingly calm voice. The one he used with combative patients and med students, the one he’d never used with you.
“45 minutes.” You gulped.
“Turn around, come get me, I’m coming with you.” He said finally, and he hung up. The pit in your stomach only grew. You turned around. Maybe it was the selfishness of not wanting to be alone this weekend, maybe it was the fear that you would lose him if you didn’t, maybe it was just because he’d asked you to.
You were parked up outside your apartment in 35 minutes thanks to quick traffic. Jack was waiting on the curb, a suitcase, crutches, and his waterproof prosthetic beside him. With that hardened look on his face. Determination. You had seen it so many times before. Boyfriends insisted they wanted to meet your family, despite what you’d told them. You would just have to watch as the night went on. They’d go quiet, sorry, not quiet, fucking silent. They’d shrink, become less and less enthused by the idea of a future with you as they watched the past you’d had to deal with play out in front of them. A week later, you’d get some excuse about why it wasn’t working. Sometimes they were brave enough to admit it was the family baggage. Others ghosted, and others just didn’t give a reason. He opened the boot of your car, shoved his things beside yours, and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. You stared at him, and he stared back at you.
“Well you’re not driving,” he said it like it was obvious. It was to him, considering driving had never been a favourite pastime of yours. You rolled your eyes but jumped out of your seat and swung around to the passenger. So, he wasn’t completely livid with you, that was good, right? Well, he had every right to be, you had lied. “I’m not mad,” he explained as he started the car and drove off for Chicago. “I just want to understand why you felt like you couldn’t tell me. Or… bring me.” He cleared his throat after that last part, but his vulnerability had been visible anyway. Your heart sank, he couldn’t really think you didn’t want to bring him because of him, god no.
You turned to him, putting a hand over his. “God no, Jack. Please don’t think I was trying not to bring you because of anything other than the fact that my family is fucking crazy,” you practically begged, squeezing his hand. He didn’t glance in your direction. You let out a sigh and cleared your throat. “Jack, fuck, my mom’s an alcoholic, my dad died, my eldest brother blew his brains out in 2022, my twin brother is like the most mentally unwell but functioning human being, and my sister just had a baby. My cousin who’s not really my cousin-” you tried to explain it as best you could, hoping he didn’t notice the wobble in your voice. “His ex-wife is getting remarried and he’s showing up for her and their daughter, and he asked me to come, and since I haven’t been home in ages, everyone is going to be on my ass, including everyone from the Bear, and all the fucking Faks, and it’s just- it’s going to be a shitshow!” Thankfully, you were stopped at a redlight, and he could finally look at you. Notice the lip-bite that was stopping you from losing it. Notice the quick breathing. Notice the fear in your eyes, the kind that screamed ‘please don’t leave me now’.
“What’s a Fak?” He questioned, and the genuine confusion in his tone made you laugh. He was always good at that, giving you moments of light in your darkest times. Like that time you had to code a little boy who eventually didn’t make it. He’d brought you up to the roof and made some dumb joke about something Robby had done, and you laughed. You laughed until you cried, and he held you. He didn’t complain, just stroked your hair and back, and held you. Like you were precious and worth-it, and not a complete burden. Maybe that’s why you fell in love with him. “And what’s the Bear?”
You huffed, sitting back in your seat, groaning. “The Faks are more cousins, kind of, and the Bear is my brother’s restaurant. It used to be my older brother’s sandwich spot, but he’s turned it into this fine-dining fuckery thing,” you scoffed, and he sent you a look. “I curse when I go home.” You shrugged.
“Noted.” He nodded.
It was past midnight by the time you and Jack pulled into the Berzatto-Kasinsky home. Ringing the doorbell seemed risky, so you just texted Pete that you were outside. The door was open in a matter of seconds, with a very happy looking Pete.
“Hey Doc-! And…?” He searched for his name (which you’d never told anyone back home).
“Jack,” you filled in. “Jack Abbot, Peter Kasinsky,” you introduced them and they shook hands. You skillfully evaded Jack’s eyeline as you both walked in. “Is Sug up?”
Pete smiled, nodding. “She’s just with the baby.” He was glowing with pride for both of them, you could tell. When Natalie first introduced Pete to the family, you’d been so confused. You were just a med student back then, but you had been so shocked that she’d picked someone so outside of the norm for Berzatto women. Now, you could see exactly why, because you had your own Pete, who yeah, maybe was a bit more rough and tumble occasionally, but he was soft. Soft when you needed him to be, kind always, and constantly there. It was nice.
“Fucking finally back in Chicagoland?” God, she sounded too much like your mother sometimes. It gave you chills. “Where have you been, Doc?” She pulled you into a hug before you knew what was going on, and you just accepted it graciously, hoping it would be over soon. “Oh my god, is this the boyfriend? I thought you were never going to bring him home?” She stared at Jack, who just waved, poorly concealing an awkward smirk. “You do know mom is going to be there tomorrow, right? She’s going to have something to say-”
You gently pushed her off. “Yes, Sug, I know. She always has something to fucking say. This is my boyfriend, Jack Abbot, meet my sister, Natalie Berzatto.” You introduced them, and she shook his hand graciously before turning her attention back to you.
“Everyone’s going to be looking for you tomorrow-” “I know.” “Have you heard about what’s been happening?” “No, Sug.” “Have you updated mom or Carm on anything recently? Because you know they think you’re mad or dying, or both-?”
“Obviously fucking not, Sugar,” you scoffed, dropping your bag on the ground (probably far too loud for the current audience). “And as you can see, I’m alive. Jack takes great fucking care of me, and as for Bear and Mom, I plan on avoiding the fuck out of both of them, all fucking weekend. Thank you for the questionnaire, but we’re both completely exhausted, and we’d love to get some sleep before tomorrow’s shitshow begins. Thanks.” You took Jack’s hand and led him downstairs to their basement guest room, and shut the door of the bathroom without a word.
You put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your sobs as you showered the day off you. God, you hated Chicago. You hated how much Mikey haunted everything. You hated how little everyone talked about him. You hated that Jack was here, getting a front row seat to your slow breakdown, and the insanity of your family. You hated how you already felt like you were losing him.
Knock knock.
The door was unlocked, but of course he would give you that space, give you a chance to refuse. You didn’t. “Come in.”
He was in the shower and holding you before you really knew what was happening. The tears came unexpectedly too, but he held you through them anyway, taking his time as he washed your hair, and washed your body. The words started falling from your lips. Might as well tell him now so when he breaks up with you, he’ll have all the facts. “I did some of my early residency at Rush hospital. It’s a 13 minute drive from State Street Bridge. Mikey shot himself in the head on the State Street Bridge. Someone had reported a body in the water, and when his body was fucking fished out they brought him to our coroner. I was on my second round of placement, and it was my first week of mortuary. He got wheeled in, and I knew right away. I didn’t even have to lift the sheet, I just felt it. He was meant to be picking me up from my shift, but he hadn’t been calling me to come out like he usually did when I was finished my shift, fuck Jack, he used to call me all the time,” you sobbed into his chest as he held you. “Then I had to call my mom, and Nat, and then I called Carmen but he was in New York, and when I told him, he just hung up. He just fucking hung up at me, and he didn’t fucking come to the funeral, and he’s all fucking great now, and that’s awesome. But I’m not great. I’m fucking awful, and I miss my brothers!” Your sobbing had become uncontrollable, and your words unintelligible, so he just let you cry into him, held you up when your body nearly gave out, and helped you into some pyjamas and into bed.
He was quiet. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it without it being a big deal. He was just surprised you’d never told him before, not exactly hurt, but not exactly alright with it. He’d told you everything, his war stories, his wife, his family. He’d unloaded everything of his, and yet you hadn’t so much as skimmed the surface with yours. He wasn’t mad, he just… wanted to be there for you in the way you were for him. It was only fair.
You took his silence as regret, as it had been with every other boyfriend. You lay, staring up at the ceiling, and debating how your life would look without him in it. How you two would work together despite the breakup. It filled you with a sense of rage. Not even at him. Just… at the situation. You’d grown up in a terrible home, and you had to subject him to it, then watch him leave. You lost him in every fucking scenerio. Your brain turned that idea of him leaving (idea without any probable cause) into a certainty. Then turned it into his ‘ploy to break up with you’. Your brain convinced you, in a matter of moments, that Jack had really been using this trip to break up with you. “Fuck, this is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” you let out in a hoarse voice. “A fucking reason to end things.”
He shot up from his spot on the bed, confusion pulling at his features. Even in the dark you could see how offended he was. “What?”
You scoffed, turning over. “Just forget it.” You brushed his hand off your shoulder and tried to just focus on getting some sleep for tomorrow.
“No, I will not just forget it, what are you saying?” He challenged, exasperated. He turned you over forcefully, making you meet his eyes. “I love you. I love you. I don’t give a fuck if your family are crackheads, or fucking murderers. I’m not here for them, I’m here so you don’t have to go through this weekend alone. That’s all I care about. I care about you getting back to Pittsburgh in one piece. I care about you being happy. I don’t care about your sister, or your twin, or your mother. I care about you, because you’re mine to protect, alright?” He affirmed, hands cupping your face like you were the most important thing to him. He brushed away the few stray tears that had slipped out. “Alright?”
You nodded, surging forward and capturing his lips in a ;ess than gentle kiss. You were pouring all your gratitude and apologies into it, as he poured all his affection and care. You pulled back, nodding. “Alright.”
He smiled. You fell asleep against his chest.
You woke up with a bang. A literal bang. Well, a car horn. Richie’s stupid fucking car horn. Beside you, Jack stirred and tightened his grip on you. You groaned into your pillow and wrapped a hand around Jack’s wrist. “I’m sorry about today.” You frowned. He cracked a smile.
“It hasn’t even happened yet.” He chuckled, taking your hand and bringing it to his mouth. He peppered kisses along your skin in that effortlessly romantic way he did everything. Sometimes you wanted to throttle him for it.
“Exactly, have to get it in early,” you gave him a grim smile, and got out of bed, though not without a struggle. The noise of the front door opening filled your ears. “Don’t come upstairs for a while, wait till I call you. Or wait till I start screaming.” You called after yourself as you climbed the stairs.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he nodded sarcastically, rolling back over in bed, pulling on his reading glasses, and turning his phone on. “It’s fucking 9am. Crazy people” He said to no one in particular before opening up the Wordle.
Upstairs, you were already being inundated with information from Sugar about what was going on with the wedding, hearing from Neil about how the restaurant is going, watching as Sammy Fak fumbled with the fridge door, staring as Teddy Fak tried to work the kettle, trying to understand the quiet introduction coming out of Sydney's mouth, and holding a baby. Somehow, still more chill than the Pitt. You continued on your journey for coffee as you introduced yourself to Sydney, while Sugar screamed at Neil.
“No, you fuckin’ bitch, I fuckin’ told you not to fuckin’ invite her and me to the same fuckin’ thing, and you fuckin’ invite her!” Sugar groaned as Neil stood there looking far too guilty. “She’s a backstabbing bitch!”
“It’s not my wedding!” He argued, faking innocence like a toddler caught with his hand in a cookie jar. You finally reached the coffee machine. Richie was already trying to talk your ear off about the wedding. Both Sammy and Ted sent you a very enthusiastic hello, swallowing you up in a too-tight hug that you barely peeled away from.
“Look, I’m glad you came, thank you, cousin. Means a lot,” He smiled tentatively. You nodded, acknowledging his gratitude. “I don’t know how I’m goin’ to fuckin’ do this.” You realised you’d mistaken anxiety for tentativeness while you watched him play with his tie. Shit, since when did Rich wear suits?
“You wear suits now?” You questioned, pouring yourself a mug with one hand. You bounced the new baby in your other arm and smiled down at the sack of soft bones, and even softer skin. If you hadn’t been an ER doctor, you would’ve been an ob-gyn. You like kids, but you love taking care of them when they’re newborn and can’t talk back. To your left, Sammy nearly opened a door in his face, but you reached out a hand to stop him, as Sugar called Francine a cunt repeatedly.
You smiled. “I know,” part of you wanted to spill it right then and there. Tell him that the only reason you looked healthy at all was because your attending-turned-boyfriend made sure you took breaks at, and from work. Tell him that days spent at overpriced farmer’s markets and in his apartment were your favourite days. Tell him that a guy you jokingly called grandpa was your favourite person. Tell him that Jack was your first real piece of happiness since Mikey passed. Tell them that while you weren’t over it, you were finally starting to build on top of it, and realise that grief doesn’t go away, it just gets less loud. You shook it off. “Who’s she talking about?” You questioned, taking a sip of your coffee and looking to Pete for an answer. He grimaced. “Don’t tell me it’s Francie-?”
Sugar whipped around faster than lightning. “Do not speak that name in my fuckin’ house!” She pointed a vicious finger at you, and you held up a hand in mock surrender. Pete offered an apologetic smile which you acknowledged, then handed his baby back. Sugar continued on her rant as Richie watched, and Sydney pretended that she cared to be there.
“Hey, I know we haven’t met before, but I’m Sydney,” she held out her hand to be shook and you took it. You quickly told her your name, and turned your attention back to the coffee. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
You grimaced. “Oh yeah? Did Carmen tell you about the time I shaved his head in his sleep or…?” You asked, afraid of the things he’d said about you. Granted, there was much worse, but still, over a decade later, the last time you checked he was still butt-hurt about the fact that you’d shaved his head in his sleep.
She laughed. “No, surprisingly, but I have heard you’re an ER doctor?” You nodded. “Great! Cause’ I’m seriously going to need you to sedate me today or something, considering how bad everyone is making it sound.” She chuckled awkwardly. You smiled. She was sweet. A little awkward, very funny, and calm. You had no idea how she got into business with Carmen, but you hoped she had good mental health resources.
“Whatever you’ve been told about these things, people always get better with age. Some of us are still reeling from the disaster of the seven fishes from a few years ago, so don’t expect anything like that. I seriously doubt Tiffany would take it-” It was pretty hard to have a conversation over the sound of the coffee machine, Sugar’s breakdown, and whatever song Pete was humming to the baby, but you two somehow did it. You watched as Pete blessed himself when you mentioned that seven fishes dinner. Fucking forks man.
“Oh, so now you know Tiff, huh?” Richie scoffed, crossing his arms. “Where was this energy two weeks ago?”
“I don’t know her. I just know she didn’t put up with your shit, so I seriously doubt she’s putting up with the family’s.” You shrugged before picking up another mug to fill it for Jack, when Richie practically barked.
“Two mugs?” He questioned, eyes wide. Everything in the kitchen stopped. Sugar was the only person you’d told about Jack. You knew anyone else would’ve spilled it to your mom, and it would only be a matter of time before she started calling you and begging for you to bring him home. Even the thought alone made you shiver. You sucked in a deep breath.
“Two mugs,” you nodded. “I brought my boyfriend with me.”
You would’ve thought you’d just told the room you had gained the ability to fly. The three Faks dropped their jaws, and Neil started yapping, Teddy started complaining, and Sammy started congratulating. Sugar stopped her rant to watch the reaction coming out of Richie, which, granted, wasn’t great. He stared at you for a minute.
“Shut up- shut up shithead!” He shouted at the Faks, who complied pretty easily and went back to their pottering. “Boyfriend? Since when have you had a boyfriend?” He gawked.
“Since a year and 2 months ago,” you admitted. His jaw didn’t drop into a long lecture about lying (like you would’ve expected from him a year ago), it set back, genuine shock filling his features. “He’s an ER doctor like me, and he’s here to meet everyone and support me. And possibly save Francine’s life if Sug decides to kill her.” You tried to sneak in the joke to break the ice, but Richie’s face just hardened.
“You kept that for a year and 2 months?” He questioned.
You nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“Carmy know?” He had that dangerous look in his eye, the one where you really couldn’t tell if he wanted to run out of there and never look back, or hang onto you and never let go. Fuck, his eyes were piercing through you. Still, you stood tall, firm in your choice. Jack was your one good thing. Jack was your everything.
You scoffed. “He doesn’t know anything about my life. I don’t even think he knows I live in Pittsburgh.” Not the greatest thing to admit, but it was the truth. Carm didn’t reach out and neither did you.
Richie swallowed the lecture he wanted to give you about sand and stones, and nodded. “Where is he?”
“Downstairs, in bed. I’ll bring him up when we’re dressed, alright?”
You didn’t wait for an answer before running down the stairs, seriously wondering if you’d made the right choice by coming home, and moreover, bringing Jack. Some of the anxiety settled as you watched Jack pull on his suit jacket, the one he filled out so well, with a little bit of a grumble.
“Alright there, old man?” You teased, dropping his coffee on the dresser in front of him. He grunted in response, taking a sip. He loved this, the quiet back and forth you two were so accustomed to. Though, there were still things to be addressed from last night. You’d gone nearly three years without admitting that your brother killed himself. Even more, you’d gone nearly three years without asking for his help. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him as you let out a small laugh. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you raised a hand to run through his hair gently. You two fit together, more than anyone else had.
“You wanna talk about last night?” He asked, his breath hot against your skin. There it was, the simple, no nonsense question. But this was nonsensical. It was emotional, it was unregulated, and it was a lot. It was too much for you to deal with most of the time, and Jack had his own baggage that he had to worry about, he didn’t need to start taking yours on. As if by magic, he opened his mouth again and gave you exactly the reassurance you needed. “Don’t worry about this being ‘too much’. I’m here for you. Literally, I’m in Chicago for you, but also emotionally. And I’m not leaving you.” He smiled, proud of his little unintentional pun.
You let out a half-huff, half-chuckle, and nodded. His arm around you fell as you pulled away to start getting ready for the wedding ahead of you. “It’s a lot.” You admitted. He nodded.
“So was my stuff. Neglectful parents, war, dead wife, PTSD, anxiety, etc,” he shrugged, crossing his arms as you started on your makeup in the mirror. God, he looked handsome. If it were any other day and you hadn’t just spent 10 minutes being surrounded by Faks and Berzattos, and Richie, you would’ve jumped his bones. “I’m also an emergency medicine doctor who has a habit of taking on too much from a patient perspective.”
You chuckled. “Molly tell you that?” You questioned, asking about his therapist. You and her were pretty friendly, especially after the few months of sessions where Jack asked you to join him so he could explain a bit about his past without shutting down. She was great for him, and he really liked how their work together made him feel. You were happy for him, glad he could work through it. He nodded with that ‘trying not to smile’ smile, and walked over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Immediately, you could feel the heat of his hand through your (his) hoodie, and it just drove you insane. He waited patiently for you to start talking. “My mom used to drink a lot. My dad didn’t care, and he drank worse, and then he died, so I guess it wasn’t much different. We weren’t close, he was always off with Mikey. Everyone loved Mikey,” a teary smile invaded your features, but you pushed it down. You wanted Jack to understand. You wanted to be vulnerable. You wanted him to stay. “My mom drank more. She got more uncontrollable. More upset. More… rageful. I was 9 when she threw a plate at the floor that shattered and a piece lodged into my arm,” you pointed out the scar with an almost disinterested gaze, and he noticed. Of course he did. His lips pursed into a line, the thought of a little 9 year old you, just playing on the floor, getting a piece of fucking ceramic in your arm for no good reason, just because someone else couldn’t control their temper, it boiled his blood. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the raised skin. You stiffened under him, but kept speaking. “Richie got mad at her, started shouting, she shouted back. Carmen got the piece out. Sugar cleaned it up. Mikey just watched it all play out. Sometimes he got like that.” You shrugged, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice.
“Like what?” He asked, continuing to press soft kisses to your shoulder and neck. He knew how to calm you. First, just letting you talk. Second, he’d kiss you all over. Third, he’d start running his hands up and down your sides. It was weirdly comforting.
You knew the medical definition for it. He dissociated. You knew the full definition, able to read it off like a script from your week long stint in the psyche ward when you were still choosing a specialty. Dissociation is a mental process where a person disconnects from their thoughts, feelings, memories or sense of identity. He’d just sit there, staring off into space. Now, you knew there were other things going on in his head, but then, you just thought your big brother didn’t care, and you got angry. You’d ice him out for days, sometimes a full week. Now, that thought made your stomach turn. “He’d…” You still couldn’t say it. It felt too impersonal to diagnose him post-mortem.
“Dissociate?” Jack filled in. You nodded. “I see.”
“My mom only got worse. More passive aggressive. More regular-aggressive,” you rolled your eyes, shaking off the emotion from before. “Everyday there was a fucking fight, and it was always my fault. When family came over, things got worse. She’d shout at us in front of people, and they wouldn’t stop her because they felt bad. She’d married an abusive drunk, and they couldn’t fault her for being upset. Got worse again when Mikey left home. He was only living in the city, and we were in the suburbs, but God, you’d think he’d moved to fuckin’ Hong Kong. She talked about him like he was dead. She’d be on her best behaviour when he was coming around, so that was good. Carmen was a real anxious kid though, and everyone just told him he needed to toughen up. He used to draw. He’d draw these incredible pictures at lunch in high school, and some dickward would just come over and rip it up. Drove me crazy,” you shook your head, remembering the fear in Carmen’s eyes, and the pride in the bullies. “I got in so many fucking fights for him. Nearly got me kicked out of school. When I couldn’t deal with the kids, Rich and Mikey would. They’d scare the shit out of them, fake jump them or something. Carmen and I used to be super close.” You explained almost dreamily, finishing off your makeup and moving onto your hair.
“What changed?” he asked, helping you with the straightening iron. He’d made you teach him how to do various hair tricks with it so he could help you if needed. It took a bit of trial and error, and a lot of being burnt with the iron, but he got the hang of it. It nearly made your ovaries explode, watching him brush your hair.
You sighed. “When Mikey died, I kind of… lost it, just a little. Mikey was my big brother and I was taking care of him, trying to get him clean, using all my spare time, which was barely anything, to help him with the restaurant, or with anything he needed. I obviously was the first one to know, and I had to call everyone. I called Carmen. I told him. He hung up. I call him a hundred times, left him voicemails until his was full, and he didn’t fucking call me back. I begged him to come to the funeral, or at least text me back so I knew he was alive. I spent 4 nights calling New York ERs to check that he wasn’t dead. Mikey's funeral came around, and I was alone. Carmen didn’t come. My mom was on the verge of losing it every five seconds. Richie was still trying to fix his marriage. Sugar had Pete. I had no one. I expected him to be there, because he always promised me that if I asked him to do something, he’d move heaven and Earth to get it done. He let me down. So, I flew to New York, called him a bad brother, a coward, and a selfish bastard. I ambushed him outside of his work, and all he said was ‘I have to get back inside’. No sorry. No dropping everything and coming back home to help pick up the pieces. Nothing. He just walked back inside. He came home four months later, and by then I was already in Pittsburgh.”
Part of him wanted to just crawl into a hole and die. His heart broke for you. Everything you’d endured, everything you’d kept silent for so long, everything you’d swallowed. He cleared his throat and made eye contact with you through the mirror. “I’m sorry.” He practically whispered, but you heard it. It hit you square in the chest, and squeezed your heart. He was good at that.
“My mom doesn’t like me in general, but she specifically can’t look at me because I look the most like Carmen and Mikey. You’ll probably see her there today, wine glass in her hand, spewing nonsense,” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. He nodded, pretending he didn’t notice the tremble in your shoulders. “And you’ll see Carmen.”
“I can introduce myself, if it makes it easier?” He offered, finishing off your hair.
You shook your head. “Ideally, I won’t leave your side today.” You admitted, standing up and kissing his cheek, before heading into the bathroom.
The tightness in his chest had eased, and the insecurity had subsided. You had opened up, even though it was hard, and you’d told him. You explained a fair bit of what happened before he knew you, and he almost felt a little giddy that you trusted him, but any happiness was soon crushed by the realisation of what happened to you. He couldn’t help but think of a younger you, with smaller features and less medical knowledge. That scared little girl he caught glimpses of occasionally, much like the glimpses you caught of the boy he used to be. The skinny one with freckles and bruises all over his skin. He liked to think you two could’ve been friends, if there wasn’t the age gap, or distance. Maybe he would’ve helped you fend off Carmen’s bullies, and you could’ve held him when he cried like you were so talented at doing now.
“What do you think?” You asked, stepping out in a gorgeous blue dress. The corners of his mouth rose, and he felt his boxers get a little tighter. You quickly spun around, and he captured your waist in his hand. God, you constantly took his breath away, whether it was the shitty scrubs from the machine, or a beautiful dress like this, or just lying in bed in one of his hoodies, he had no idea how he got so lucky.
“Beautiful.” He whispered before swallowing your lips in a kiss.
Walking upstairs was slightly awkward. Everyone was waiting, staring at you and Jack as you emerged from the basement. RIchie clenched his jaw, Sugar smiled a little too strangely, Pete was just Pete, Neil was already rushing over to introduce himself, Sammy had an eyebrow raised, Teddy was simply staring (and whispering to Sammy), and Sydney just gave you that awkward smile.
“Neil Fak.” He smiled, holding his hand out. Jack took it, and smiled.
“Jack Abbot.” He nodded. Neil kept shaking his hand, unrelenting as he stared at the man in front of him. Jack pretended it wasn’t awkward.
“Wow, you’re handsome,” Neil blurted out before he could stop himself, and you literally faceplanted as Jack tried not to laugh. Richie finally walked over and put everyone out of their misery, moving Neil out of the way as he tried to explain himself. “I mean like, objectively, he’s a very handsome guy-!?”
Richie ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah, yeah Neil, we fuckin’ get it. Richie Jeromovitch, nice to meet ya,” next, he shook Jack's hand. He fell into his easy ‘italian’ charm, cracking jokes immediately. “Doc here treatin’ you good? She can be a real fuckin’ handful.”
Jack smiled and squeezed your hand harder. “She’s stubborn but so am I.” He beamed, and you rolled your eyes.
“Alright, since all the introductions are introduced, let’s go,” you led the charge to the front door with Jack trailing behind, and the rest of the group followed. “God, they are so fucking embarrassing.” You sighed as you started your car. “It’s actually painful to be around them.”
Jack laughed. “I like them.” He shrugged, fiddling with the radio.
You rolled your eyes again. “You ‘like’ them because Neil called you handsome.”
He chuckled. “Definitely helped.”
You scoffed, and focused on driving. These streets you hadn't seen in so long but knew so damn well. Millenium Park. Your old college campus. Your old hospital. All those silly little restaurants your parents would drag you out to. All those streets you’d walked a thousand times before, Mikey by your side making some wise-ass comments about anything. God, you missed it, missed him. Even the suburbs reeked of him, and he rarely lived at home for much of your remembered childhood. The sidewalks you played on, the playground he chased you in, everything. It was all Mikey and Carmen and Sugar and Mom, and you wanted to puke.
Thankfully, the drive ended rather quickly, and you were outside Tiffany’s new home.
Unfortunately, Richie started spiraling.
Sydney stepped in, standing with him while you made Jack walk in with Sugar and Pete, then you came right back out to help. So much for not leaving his side. “Just… take your time,” she instructed as he chain-smoked like a fucking train. “You’re good.” Shit, so much had changed. Richie was actually starting to get in-touch with his emotions? Unheard of. Maybe Mikey dying had done something good.
He let out a weird strangled groan. “It’s gonna be fine.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself too, which he clearly was. You nodded.
“It’s gonna be fine.” Sydney parroted, nodding her head along with yours. Richie turned to the both of you.
“Is it, right?” He asked, taking yet another drag of his cigarette.
She jumped in before you could make a joke about a meteor hitting the house, or that nothing could be as bad as February 22nd and the week that followed. “Think so.” She offered him a soft smile. God, you almost forgot that some people hadn’t been told to push everything down until you explode.
“Everything in life is just for a while.” You added, trying to be of any assistance. Both their heads snapped to you.
“Says who?” Richie asked, offering a cigarette to you, which you took despite the voice in the back of your head (Dana’s voice) insisting that it would kill you.
You faltered for a moment, lighting the cigarette with shaky hands. “Philip K. Dick.” You explained, taking a drag. God, you knew it was awful for you, but you missed smoking, especially on days where everything is going wrong in the ED and you have to just keep going. A smoke on the roof would surely fix all your problems.
Sydney nodded and shrugged. “Well, he’s right. Y’know everything… ends, eventually.”
“That’s the truth,” Richie pointed a finger at you, and you just nodded, enjoying the cancer stick between your lips. God, Jack would fucking lose it if he saw you smoking this. Richie doubled over, trying to get more air into his lungs. “God- fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?” He questioned, standing back up. “God,” he breathed out. “What the fuck?” He stared at the building to his left, the tall redbrick structure in the nice part of town. It must’ve at least cost a million, or close to it. Richie turned back to Sydney. “How’s your dad?” he asked, desperately trying to distract himself from the ongoing anxiety attack he was clearly having. “That’s real shit, I’m being a little fuckin’ asshole.”
You looked to Sydney. “He’s much better. Thanks. Resting. Got five days off of work which he’s loving and also kinda hating.” She explained. You guessed he probably had a heart attack, you had a weird knack for guessing heart attacks. She seemed relieved that he was alright, which you always love to see from patients' families.
“Good, that’s good. Fuck!” Richie groaned. “Fuck! Fuck guys, everythings…” He trailed off, starting into this half-groan, half- cry thing that made you violently uncomfortable. You’d held parents when their children died. You’d held mothers when their baby died coming out of them. You’d held siblings and friends who watched their sibling or friend die. You’ve held husbands who lost their wives, and wives who lost their husbands. You’d held husbands who’d lost their husbands, and wives who’d lost their wives. You’d held children who were orphans. You’d held your own fucking friends and family of the Pitt when people were lost, or people were hurt. Yet, you couldn’t fathom being there for when anyone here broke down. Everyone here was meant to swallow it, and let it fester until they either died of old age, or blew their brains out off the side of a bridge.
“Hey,” Sydney had such a soothing voice. “It’s okay to be… nervous.”
“Good, ‘cause I am.” Richie breathed out. You puffed out another cloud of smoke.
“I get it,” Sydney let out. Richie asked if she was nervous too. “I mean, not about this, obviously, but…”
“What are you nervous about?” He asked, his voice trembling despite the way he was trying to keep himself calm. She looked like she was trying to make a decision that seemed impossible. You let out another puff of smoke.
She smiled softly. “Tell you later?” She offered.
“Promise?” “Promise.”
“Fuck, Doc, will you hold my cigarette for a second, I think I’m about to throw up,” he announced, doubling over again. Sydney started to back away, repeating no over and over again. “Please?” He pushed it in your direction, and you sighed and took it.
You knelt down to meet his eyes. “Richie, I am fucking terrified to walk into that house because I know what I’m going to find. Bitchy comments and strange looks from people who used to know me, yeah?” He nodded along, spitting out some saliva at your feet. “But everyone in there knows you. They love you. Even if they don’t, there’s at least one person in there who does, and that’s Eva. She needs her dad in there, because everything in her life is fucking changing, and she needs you to be a constant, alright?” You cupped a hand on his cheek as he nodded. “Also both me and Sydney are wearing open-toed shoes, so, don’t fucking vomit.” You stood up again, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it under your heel.
He stood back up, flailing his hand for a second. “I think all this shit is really fuckin’ me up and that’s why my pre-service speeches have been such fuckin’ shit, they-fuck-suck-SHIT!” He spoke almost too fast to be understood, but both you and Sydney called his name a few times to bring him back down. “I’m just a fuckin’ man! Being a fuckin’ baby!” Sydney called out his name one last time, and he finally looked at her. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth a few times, and he copied her. Hell, you fucking copied her.
“Let’s just get through this, yeah?” She said, not expecting anything. You were already impressed by her. Completely calm nature, logical thinking, and emotional intelligence? She must hate herself to have gotten into business with Carmen Berzatto.
Richie walked up to her and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for coming with me,” he breathed out. He then turned to you. “Thank you for coming with me,” he hugged you too, and you almost pushed him away because he reminded you of Mikey. Same bone-crushing hug, same fucking coglone, same fucking cigarettes. You didn’t. You hugged him back and nodded. “Let’s do this shit.”
“Fuck yeah.” She breathed out, following behind him.
You wanted the Earth to swallow you up as you walked in behind them, discarding your cigarette just outside the door. The house was beautiful, immaculately decorated with clean white walls and artistic wall hangings on every fucking flat surface. You hated people who had their life together. Your and Jack’s apartment had paint-test strips on the wall and pictures on the floor neither of you had even thought about hanging yet. You sought out Jack first, seeing him standing beside Pete as he recounted another old law story that Jack was half-listening to.
Fuck, he did look handsome. Crisp baby blue shirt with an even paler blue blazer and matching pants. He looked stunning. You caught his eye almost immediately and he smiled as you walked up, inserting yourself beside him.
“Richie alright?” Sugar asked, coming up beside Pete, interrupting him.
You nodded. “He’s fine. Sydney calmed him right down. She’s great, by the way, I really like her.”
Sugar smiled. “Everyone likes Sydney,” she rolled her eyes. “Have you seen-?”
“Not yet.” You gritted out. Jack squeezed your waist, a common sign of affection from him. It says everything. I’m here. I’m sorry. I care. You loved it. Just then, because of course you’re that lucky, Carmen walked in the door in a blue shirt and navy blazer, eyes wide with anxiety, and he hugged Tiff. You thought back to the last time you’d seen Carmen.
You’d made a rash decision and booked a flight to New York, planning on making him explain himself. It was the least all of you deserved, you just couldn’t understand why no one else saw it like that. He’s grieving in his own way, everyone told you. Yeah, so were you. You stayed up late and sobbed for hours. You had a panic attack any time you walked by the morgue in your hospital. You picked up emergency medicine. You researched hospital residency programs hours away. You stopped eating sandwiches. Carmen was functioning just fine, especially if you were going off of the fucking New York Times article that had just been released about him. He was the biggest up-and-coming chef in the world, and everyone clearly wanted a piece of him. You wanted to shove his head into a vat of acid, hopefully it would wake him up from whatever stupid fucking trance he was in.
You showed up at his job (probably not the greatest choice), and you waited by the back door, cigarette box in hand. You smoked the whole pack before he came out, twitching and blinking like he was on heroin. For a moment, you accepted that as an answer. You felt guilty for the messages you’d sent him about how he always ran away from things the second they became difficult. How he constantly let people down and ran away because he was scared of actual communication and confrontation. How he’d broken his promise of protecting you, and always being there when you’d call. Then you remembered his deathly fear of needles, and all your sympathy was gone.
“You fucking prick!” You screamed, shoving his chef-whites-wearing ass against the back wall, dumpsters to your left. For a second, his hands went to your throat, eyes wide and almost ready to fucking kill you. Then you saw the recognition, the adrenaline still there, but aware of the lack of threat. His hands dropped. “Where were you!?” You shouted, completely uncaring of what would happen if someone found you out here with him, with him like this.
His mouth parted like he was going to say something, but nothing came out. Those stupid fucking blue eyes you shared, the ones you’d grown up beside, wild and uneasy. “Doc, come on-”
“Don’t fucking ‘Doc’ me, not now, you fucking coward!” You shouted, slamming your hand down on the metal dumpster beside you. “Explain yourself. Make me understand why you couldn’t show up for Mikey, or Mom, or Sugar, or Richie. Explain to me how you couldn’t even show up for me. Even after all the fucking times you begged me to believe your promises. After all the other times you didn’t show up.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice was breaking. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t start crying, that you couldn’t give him that. But of course you did. The image of Mikey in a fucking hospital gown with no back of his head. The image of tagging him, with your residency friends holding you up so you wouldn’t collapse. The image of his fucking funeral, him lying in that stupid fucking casket, completely lifeless. No more smart jokes or stupid fucking points about shit that didn’t matter. Just nothing. The image of your mom’s house the day you’d told her. You and Sugar had swung by, and the place was in shambles. Pictures torn down off the walls, plates broken in the kitchen, Donna curled up in his bed, holding a picture of her baby, and sobbing. You thought you would lose her too.
He didn’t have an answer. He showed up, but he couldn’t walk in there. He could believe Mikey would do this, and put him in this position. He loved his brother. He loved his sister. He loved you. He didn’t have the answer you were looking for, so he didn’t speak. His mind snapped back to the kitchen, back to Chef David, and how fucking behind he already was. The words left his mouth before he thought about them. “Doc, you have to get out of here, I’m at work-”
A hand met his cheek. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have done that, but it felt damn good in the moment. “Work is always more fucking important than me, right? You and dad are the same selfish bastard in a new fucking skin, y’know that? Y’know what I’ve had to deal with for the past fucking three weeks? Mom, calling me at all fucking hours, drunk out of her mind, and just crying until I go or Sugar goes and finds her, completely inundated with grief. Sugar has been fucking impossible to fucking talk to, because she just sees Mikey when she looks at me. She just sees you when she looks at me. And you didn’t show up,” you sniffled, tears streaming down your face. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t break. He didn’t do anything. He just… stood there. Acting like this wasn’t the end of the world. Acting like your life hadn’t completely fucking changed. So you accepted it. Not prettily. Not happily. But you accepted it. “You’re a coward, a bad brother, and a fucking selfish bitch, Carmy. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t fucking come home. I won’t be there.” You pushed off him, and walked away, breaking for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Sorrow and grief swallowed you for a night in the city that never sleeps. You found a bench somewhere, and you just questioned why any of this had to happen.
He should’ve reached out and begged for forgiveness. He should’ve grabbed onto your arm and asked what you meant, making sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid. He didn’t. He straightened out his chef whites, and he walked back inside. He didn’t think about what you’d said. He didn’t think about Sugar back home, inconsolable. He didn’t think about Richie drowning his sorrows and ruining his marriage. He didn’t think about you or your residency program or how hard you were trying to hold things together when they were crumbling.
He turned inside, and he went back to the kitchen.
Your mind snapped back to the party in front of you, the sight of Jack explaining something medical to Pete, while he listened intently, and the hilarity of Sugar’s terrifying glare being used on Neil. You didn’t look at Carmen again. You didn’t want to. You smiled at the man who made you happy everyday. The man who carried your favourite protein bar in his car, jacket pocket, and cargos. The man who made you take breaks and openly admitted you were his favourite. The man who loved you, wholley. God, you hoped you weren’t losing him.
Carmen looked up from his conversation with Tiff, and he stared. His heart stopped, he was sure of it. You were back in Chicago. Since that night in New York, he hadn’t heard from you, or even about you. He didn’t know where you were. He didn’t know what you were doing. He didn’t know if you wanted to talk. He didn’t know anything. Quickly, he started to walk. Not away, not like he used to. No. He walked towards you, until he was in front of you.
You and Carmen always had the same piercing blue eyes. It used to unsettle people, how bright they were. He cleared his throat, stopping the conversation happening between Sydney, Jack, and Pete. Sugar had her eyes set on the two of you. His tunnel vision had blocked out the rest of them, just focusing on you. You looked different. Different hair, different clothes, different you. You looked older. Prettier. Happier. “You’re… here.”
You nodded slowly, face unchanging. “I am.” God, since when was conversing with your own twin awkward. This was so awful.
Carmen fiddled with his fingers just a bit, straightening his spine. “You left.” He said it like he still didn’t believe it, like it hadn’t been the truth for years.
You nodded again, hand gripping your glass just a little tighter. “I did.”
He tried to steady his voice, and Sydney started her deep breaths beside you, which you followed, trying desperately to hold onto any semblance of calm you had. Think nice thoughts, you told yourself. Takeout with Mel on a Thursday during shift change. Drinks out with Trinity and Yolanda, dragging an unimpressed Jack with you. Friday night date night where you got fucked into oblivion in your bed. Heads Up in the break room during slow moments with Ellis and Shen. Making saves. Helping people. He opened his mouth again. “W-where did you go-?” Just then the fucking Faks burst in, stealing Pete from the situation, trying to convince him to fund yet another one of their terrible ploys. The commotion was just enough for you to slip away, pulling Jack behind you.
Once you’d made your way outside of the main house, you pulled Jack by his collar, and smashed your lips against his. This wasn’t a nice kiss, it wasn’t kind either. It was serving its purpose, grounding you, reminding you that there was a world outside of Chicago, and that you lived in it every other day of the year. He pulled back gently, warm hands on your waist, and a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t,” you sighed, pulling a cigarette out of your bag (you might’ve stolen Richie’s pack inside). “And don’t fucking lecture me right now.” You pointed a finger at his chest, then turned back to lighting your cigarette. You could feel the disapproval from his fucking breath, but he didn’t lecture.
He just ran a hand up and down your back, sighing. “It’s pretty full-on in there, eh?” He questioned, pressing a kiss to your neck. You nodded as you let out a puff of smoke. “Can I do anything?” He asked, like he fucking always did. God, you didn’t deserve him. He was so good, so kind. He was always asking you what he could do for you. It drove you insane because he was so thoughtful.
You shook your head. “Don’t leave me?” You added, a pitiful attempt at humour. His jaw clenched and he physically turned you to look at him.
His heart broke, you thought he’d leave you? Insane. I couldn’t ever. “I’m not leaving you. You hear me?” He asked, a hand cradling your jaw as he stared at you with those impossibly brown eyes. You nodded. “You’re too fucking important to me, alright? I can’t live without you, yes?” He asked, forcing eye contact. You had no idea how he fucking did this, saying the most vulnerable things and keeping (forcing) eye contact.
“Yes.” You agreed, even if you didn’t believe him. You brought the cigarette back up to your mouth, but he snatched it before you could take another drag. He threw it on the floor, crushing it under his shoe. You rolled your eyes, and he gave you that look.
A voice you knew all too well came up behind you. “Can’t hide from me forever, can you?” Claire.
You both went into emergency medicine at the same time. She stayed in Chicago, you went to Pittsburgh. You lost contact mostly, sometimes she’d comment on your instagram, or you’d send her some ER meme.
“Claire,” you whipped around, smiling at her. “How are you?” She looked good, a little older, a little wiser, just as beautiful as before.
She swallowed you up in a hug. “Jesus Christ, it’s been so long!” She beamed. “I’m good, thank you. How are you?” She asked, pulling back. “And who is this?” She turned her attention to Jack, who smiled back.
“I’m good, thank you. Really good, actually,” you were lying through your teeth, but she didn’t seem to notice. When you were home, back in Pittsburgh with a few days off, you were really good. Right now, stuck in shitty Chicago with all your ghosts, you were feeling terrible. “This is Dr. Jack Abbot, my boyfriend.” You introduced and he shook her hand. She sent you a wink, and a mouthed ‘he’s hot’ that Jack definitely didn’t miss. He stifled a laugh behind his hand as you and Claire just looked at each other.
“I read one of your papers, actually,” she admitted, rocking back and forth on her heels. “The one on gender disparity in the ER and how women are often misdiagnosed?” He nodded. “It was great,” she smiled giddily. “I showed it to all my colleagues. They all loved it.”
“Well, thank you,” he smiled. “You should really read Y/n’s newest paper on-” you cut him off by literally covering his mouth with your hand, making both him, and Claire giggle.
When would this hellish conversation end? “Enough about me!” You announced. “What about you? Anything new for you? Friends, boyfriends, family?”
She smiled, laughter easing. “Well, yeah, actually. Carm and I actually dated for a little while,” she confessed, messing with a ring on her index finger. “Nothing serious, a-and we broke up pretty quick. Nothing much since then. Well, until a few nights ago when he came to my house and told me he loved me, which was kinda… a lot,” a nervous chuckle left her lips, as your own jaw was close to being on the ground. Claire and Carmen. What the fuck? She was logical, she always had been. Methodical. Clean. Calm. He was completely the opposite, and not to mention, she was entirely out of his league. “But we’re good now. Over, for sure.” She clarified.
You didn’t know if you were going to be sick, or reach over and shake her. How did she end up with Carmen? How? “Oh. You and Carmen-?” You were going to explode into a very long lecture, and subsequent questionnaire, when Neil came up, jabbering about needing you for something to do with Eva. You turned to Claire before setting off. “We will revisit this.” Claire nodded, holding a thumbs up as you and Jack followed Neil
“Is she alright?” Jack asked, trailing behind the two of you. “Did she fall? Did she hit her head? Is she on fire?”
Neil looked horrified. “No! NO! Nothing like that! God, is that where your mind went? Jesus Christ. No, she’s just… she’s under the table, and she doesn’t want to leave. And now Frank and Richie are freaking out, like on the verge of a panic attack-”
“She’s the fucking cunt-!” “No she’s the fucking cunt!”
“Is that Sugar?” You questioned, eyes wild as you searched the room for her blonde hair. You found it, screaming at Francine. “Shit, alright, umm… Jack, you stay here and try to talk Richie and Frank out of their fucking panic attacks, I’ll be right back,” you decided, walking off to try and pull the women away from each other. Jimmy was standing beside them, looking like he would rather be slingshotted to the moon than be between them. You stalked over, trying to have your voice heard over theirs. It was times like these you wished you had the capacity for volume that Robby did. “Ladies! Let’s just fuckin’, no, Francine, I swear to fuck I will rip your hair out of your head if you so much as try to bite me one more fuckin’ time. Sugar- Sug- Natalie! Stop acting like fuckin’ schoolgirls- ohhh, do not fuckin’ piss me off right now. Is this how adults act-? No! I didn’t fuckin’ think so! Francie, lovely to see you, stay in the fucking house. Sugar, lovely to see you, stay in the fucking tent. Problem solved!” You clapped your hands together definitively, one of the Faks taking Francine away as Sugar stood in her place, rage radiating off of her. You grabbed a glass of champagne from a table nearby and handed it over to her, irritation rushing through your veins. “Grow up,” you scoffed before cheersing your glasses together. “Cheers!” You fake smiled before rushing off back to Jack and the boys. God you hated this fucking family. If you weren’t already so frazzled, you would’ve noticed the three people trailing you. You didn’t, you only stopped when you found Rich and Frank standing beside a table, with the hilarious image of Jack’s legs sticking out from under the table.
Behind you Stevie, Carmen, and Tiffany all stood. You genuinely jumped, tripping over Jack’s prosthetic leg, and falling on top of him. “Oh shit, sorry baby,” you sighed, rolling up his trousers and reattaching his leg the way you’d done a thousand times before. “You alright in there?” you practically whispered.
“All good.” He responded as you stood up, turning back to the trio in front of you.
“Is he a pirate?” Stevie smirked, that stupid smirk you’d always wanted to slap off his fucking face. You sent him that look, the one Dana called your ‘scary dog look’, and he nodded. “No jokes about the leg, got it. So, how are you?”
“Great, thanks Stevie,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, mostly because that was the only language he understood. “How’s your lavender marriage?” You shot back, smoothing out your dress.
He laughed. “Hoo-ho! You got me there! Maybe we should ask Carmy here how many times he heard me and Michelle fuck while he was staying with us in New York, shall we?” He turned his head to Carmen, who was just staring at you.
He shook his head. “No, we shall not.”
You changed your focus to the beautiful bride in front of you. “Hey Tiff, congratulations,” you smiled, pulling her into a hug. You didn’t know her well, but you knew Richie, and when they started going out, he beamed. Even when they got married and things got hard, he was so fucking in love with her. “This place is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. She was always so sweet. “How are you? How’s Pittsburgh?”
“Pittsburgh,” Carmen parroted. “You moved to Pittsburgh?”
“Yes, Carmen, PTMC had a great residency program,” you sent him a death glare, then turned back to Tiff. “I’m good thank you, yeah, Pittsburgh’s great. My boyfriend and I-” you pointed out Jack, who was still under the fucking table. “-are living together now so, yeah, it’s great.”
“Boyfriend, wow!” She beamed, holding your hands in hers. “That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, and yeah, I’m so happy for you too,” you smiled. “And thank you for inviting me, that was more than kind.” You added, still feeling Carmen’s eyes on you.
“Oh, of course. We’re still family, right?” She smiled.
“Right,” you agreed. “So what’s going on with you-”
Carmen stepped in closer, eyes wild. “You moved to Pittsburgh and you didn’t tell me?” He asked, voice cracking like it did when he was upset. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Stevie smirked at the sight in front of him, he loved getting to watch the drama unfold. Tiff just watched, then took a silent step out, mouthing a ‘good luck’ in your direction. Frank and Richie were too busy bro-ing it out to realise the shitshow in front of them.
“You didn’t seem to care about me in New York,” you shrugged, crossing your arms. “And PTMC had a great residency program. I was thinking about my future-”
He let out a strangled laugh. “S-so you can show up to my work, my future, and scream a-at me to come home, but you didn’t fucking tell me where you went, and what, I’m just supposed to fucking take that becuase it’s about ‘your future’? What bullshit is that, Doc?”
You let out a sharp breath. “I’m sorry I did that, it wasn’t the right thing to do. I was just hurting, and I wanted you to understand but I didn’t know how to say it, so I just… I had to hurt you too. In hindsight, I’ve no doubt that you were grieving in your own way, I just… I couldn’t see it, and I’m sorry.” You fiddled with your dress, wishing all of this could just be over, that you could just teleport back to your apartment in Pittsburgh with Jack.
He stared, eyes fixed on your face. He nodded, quickly. He blinked. “T-Thank you, for apologising. I-I’m sorry too.”
You were shocked at that. Your eyebrows jumped up into your hairline, mouth dropping open slightly. You just nodded, mouth dry and throat burning with unshed tears.
“I think she just doesn’t want to dance,” Jack shrugged, standing up. “I think you need to be okay with that,” he explained to Frank. He stood up to find Carmen and Stevie in front of you, your shoulders clearly trembling. He wrapped a hand around your waist, and pulled you into him, squeezing your hip. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice gruff and low.
“Yeah, I’m-”
“Wow,” Donna’s voice cut through the noise in your head, and your heart dropped into your stomach. She sounded dreamy, like she was remembering a young set of twins that she hadn’t yet ruined. Stevie fell away, not wanting to be anywhere near Donna and you together. “Both my babies are right here.” She smiled, pulling Carmen into an awkward looking hug, and then turning to you with open arms. You couldn’t do it. You ducked out, rushing out of the tent as you felt bile rise in your throat. You sat in the garden for a while, train-smoking some cigarettes as you waited for the inevitable bomb to explode in your face.
Inside the tent, Carmen was staring at Jack Abbot like he didn’t know what to do with him, and Donna was looking at him like she had a thousand questions to ask.
Carmen cleared his throat. “You’re her boyfriend?” He asked, his voice wavering. Jack nodded his head with a soft smile. He decided to give you a bit of time on your own, especially when he could ensure you wouldn’t be bothered by your twin or mother for at least a little while. “How is she?”
Loaded question, he thought. He pursed his lips together. “She’s the best doctor I have on my staff, she’s one of the kindest people I know, and she misses you,” he shrugged. “She loves her job and she dedicates almost too much of herself to it. She’s the most popular doctor in the Pitt, and she deserves every piece of praise that she gets.”
Carmen nodded, then walked off, his breaths erratic and shallow. Jack cleared his throat, taking another sip of his water.
Donna smiled at him, a curious glint in her eye. “Do you like working there? At the Pitt with her?” She asked.
He broke out into a proper smile thinking about all the time you two had shared there. From your first day where you performed a perfect crike and central venous catheterization within 30 minutes on your first shift, to the day he kissed you for the first time on the roof, to the days now, where the only good thing in that building is you. “I do, very much so.” he grinned. She nodded.
“I always wanted to be a nurse, y’know,” she smiled that tight-lipped smile he was getting more used to. He saw the similarities in features, just when she tilted her head the right way.
“Oh really?” he coaxed, wanting her to talk more so that he didn’t have to.
“Yeah, I did. I did a course back in high school about CPR and everything, and I was… wow, it was a lot,” she chuckled. “I have no idea how you guys do it.”
He nodded, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah, it’s… it’s still a lot sometimes, even for us.”
“I don’t think that ever changes,” she shook her head, playing with the ring on her finger. “So, she’s… she’s good?”
There it was, the question he was waiting for. “She’s… yeah. She’s great. She’s an attending now, she did her exams a few months ago, so… yeah. She’s great. I love her a lot,” he confessed, trying to keep a little bit of the pride out of his tone. “She’s so smart, and so quick, and… she was just made for it. She really cares about the people who walk in everyday, and she, she always knows what to say. She’s always trying to make things better for everyone else, including our staff. She just… she cares a lot. She’s nice to med students and new interns which is shockingly rare,” he chuckled, thinking of your relationships with Whitaker and Santos and Javadi, and how close you got with Mel. “She’s just… she’s so special. All her patients rave about her, all her collegues rave about her, hell, I fucking rave about her. What she does is special. Obviously, there’s moments where it’s hard, especially because she’s so hard on herself, but she’s incredible at what she does, and half of that is how she speaks to people. She just… she cares,” he shrugged, his heart swelling with pride. “She is just incredible and we are more than lucky to have her. I’m more than lucky to have her.”
She let out a fond laugh. “Really?” She pleaded, hoping what he was saying was true. He nodded. “That’s wonderful! I always knew she would be a doctor. She always wanted to fix things, that’s why we all call her Doc, because she was always bandaging scrapes and helping out Carmy with his…” she trailed off. “And how did you two meet?”
“I was her attending at the same hospital while she was finishing out her residency and we became friends, and then it just turned into more,” he shrugged. He knew this would come up, especially with the age difference and everything. She nodded. “We live together now, which is great. She's, unsurprisingly, a great cook.” He chuckled.
She was quiet for a moment, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Wow. You really… you really see her, don’t you?”
“I try to,” he breathed out. “She doesn’t always want to be seen.”
She shook her head, covering his hand with hers. “You see her, just like Mikey did. You understand her,” she smiled, one stray tear falling down her cheek. “That’s special.”
He smiled back at her, and nodded.
“Take care of my girl, alright?” she asked, voice breathy and full of emotion. He nodded, a solemn promise he’d made over a year ago, to himself. “Thank you.”
And she left. So he left and found you outside with a half-empty cigarette box, and tears streaming down your face. He helped you up, warm hands on your waist as he guided you through the party to your car, forgoing any and all proper goodbyes or thank you’s. You needed space. You needed time. He buckled you up into the passenger seat of your car, and set off for Sugar’s house.
“Thank you.” You whispered out, eyes already droopy after your very emotionally draining day.
He shook his head, squeezing your thigh in his hand. “Always.”
That was it. He’d always be there for you.
richie has a younger sister. her and mikey can’t tell the difference between being in love and being best friends that are way happier in each other’s company than any other time.
wow what a big surprise i’m writing friends to lovers again!
Your brother is annoying as fuck. Everybody knows that — every single resident in the city of Chicago, Illinois knows that Richard Jerimovich is really fucking annoying. So, obviously, by proxy his best friend must be pretty annoying too. And he is, Mikey is his own brand of irritating.
…But there’s just something about him. He’s got that smile, and he looks at you and asks questions like there is nothing in the world he’d rather be doing than talking to you. Mikey’s obnoxious, yeah, but in a way that makes you want to be obnoxious with him. That’s probably half of Rich’s problem, honestly, how much time he’s spent with Mikey throughout the years.
Thanks to that, though, you’ve also spent a lot of time with Mikey — with all of the Berzatto’s, really. You’re closest in age to Sug, so in your younger years you spent most of the family (plus you and richie and all the rest of the stragglers) gatherings trying to make conversation. You’re both…very different people.
You have the same ‘obnoxious by proxy’ issue. It seems to spread from Richie like a fucking virus, and given that he’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a father figure, God help you, you were its first victim. Grandma did not have it easy between the two of you. So, yeah, conversations with Sug were kind of awkward. Natalie, she’s always been like the mother her’s should have been while you’re more of the straggle on little sister clinging to whatever attention anyone will give you. You love her, of course, just like you love Carm, too, but the older you got the more you gravitated towards your brother and Mikey’s company. Eventually, Rich and Bear turned into Rich and Bear and lil’ Bird.
That’s what grandma had always called you. Her little bird, always tweeting and fluttering around the house. Donna had caught onto it and had thought it was the funniest thing considering you’d blown through five different jobs that month.
“Oh,” She’d thrown her head back with laughter, clapping. “Isn’t that true? Like a bird, flying from place to place with no care.”
That’d been a long time ago now. You don’t get to see the Berzatto’s, or even Rich for that matter, very much anymore. Rich and Tiff are married with a baby on the way, Mikey’s running The Beef, Sug’s got her fancy schmanschy boyfriend Pete and her fancy schmanschy bank job, and Carm disappeared to wherever the fuck he went for his equally as fancy schmanschy chef shit. Leaving you just kind of…there. Still fluttering around from stupid job to stupid job like the little stupid bird you are. You did have a stable job for a pretty long minute there — a waitress at this little 24/7 diner. The hours sucked, your co-workers sucked, the food kind of sucked, but the pay was pretty good.
You quit two days ago.
It feels like a relief, if you’re being honest, not having to be tied back down to a place again. You can go back to your usual Birdie ways. Plus, now you can surprise everyone at Donna’s Fourth of July Party you were supposed to work through.
Mikey’s the first one to notice you walking into the backyard from the side gate — he stands from the patio table and points your way with that big grin of his.
“Look who flew in! Hey, lil’ Birdie girl!” He meets you halfway across the lawn with Richie in tow while everyone else waves and greets you from the deck. There’s even something about the way he walks that’s just so Mikey, swaggering and tall, fast and bulky but never in the way.
You laugh, cheeks warm and already achey. Mikey’s always been able to cheer you up like that, like stepping outside on a warm, sunny day after months of rain and sleet, but it’s amplified when he hugs you tight and groans, lifting you onto your tippy toes so your face lands in his shoulder.
“Hey, Bear,” You give him a big squeeze right back, your palms running over his back. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too, my Birdie,” He mutters into your ear while he sets you back down and presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek when Richie starts bitching about sharing and having a turn.
“Wassup, baby Bird?” Rich pulls you into his side to press his lips to your forehead. His stubble scratches over the side of your face, arm tugging around your neck. “Thought you’re ’posed to be working all day.”
“Eh,” You pat Richie’s chest and he takes it as a signal to loosen his grip and start walking back to the deck everyone else still sits on. “Damn the man, it’s a fucking holiday.”
“Did you quit? That’s the type of shit you say when you quit, Birdie.” Mikey snickers from the other side of Rich, who looks down at you with his eyebrows raised expectantly.
“That’s the type of shit I say when the man deserves to be damned,” You make a stupid face up at him, pointing a finger into the side of his jaw hard enough to make his face shift the other way.
“Yeah, you totally fuckin’ quit!” Mikey pitches in, his deep laughter ringing through the whole street.
Richie yells your name, your real name, and pulls you into the softest headlock in existence.
“I was just fucking telling Tiff how good you were doing, you little piece of shit!” He pulls at you just a little harder to make you stumble and shriek against his chest. “Six months you made it — y’know how many times you’ve done that? Two!”
“Help me for christ sake, Bear!” Mikey is laughing his ass off, and you believe he takes pity for a moment when he peels you out of Richie’s grip, but five seconds later you’re back to screeching and now thrown over Mikes shoulder while he jogs up the deck’s stairs.
“Hey Sug, Pete, hi Tiff!” You greet who you can see through the hair curtaining your upside down view against Mikey’s back. “Don’t mind me, y’know, just hanging — around!” Before you can finish your stupid, overused joke Mikey throws you back upright. Dizzy from all the fast movements, you stumble into his chest. He throws his big arm back around your shoulder and guides you the few last steps to the table of food laid out that everyone else had already gotten to.
“Watchu want, lil’ Bird?” His thick fingers give him a hard time separating the fancy, stars and striped paper plates Donna got for the occasion but he refuses to let you help or get your own food — just gives your hip a shove, and tells you to go say hi to everyone else while he fixes you something up.
You listen, because Mikey makes it hard not to when all of his instructions are said in that sweet, light voice and he looks at you with those big brown eyes like you’ve never done anything wrong in this world. Mikey guides you to where he’d been sitting next to Richie at the table and stands behind you with a hand on the back of your chair. He grabbed you a water, too, which is already cracked open when he sets it next to your plate on the table.
It’s easy to fall right back into the system of the Berzatto household, especially on a holiday like this, where the only cooking Donna had to do was already prepared side dishes and Mikey could man the grill while she drinks too much for the rest of the night. It’s nice, all things considered, to get to be with your people. To laugh obnoxiously, and listen to all of Mike and Richie’s stupid stories, and drink a little bit more than what would be considered okay if it wasn’t the fourth of July. Mikey keeps bringing you a beer back every time he grabs himself a new one, and who are you to say no to that.
Richie, for the first time in all of his existence, and Tiff are the firsts to leave and considering the woman can’t drink, nobody blames them. Sug and Pete follow shortly after, as well all of the other random gaggles of aunts and uncles and family friends and whoever the fuck. Donna went inside to get another drink, and never came back out. It’s just you and Mikey, now.
You can hear the radio he’d set up on the deck still murmuring something about America and freedom from all the way around the house on the front patio. You walked around the front the house to sit and watch the fireworks the people across the street always fire off. They’ve been done for a while and way too many mosquitoes are starting come out, but Mikey is next to you on the porch swing, calloused, warm hands going up and down over your legs in his lap, so you don’t really care.
“You ever,” You start, staring off into space. When you’re drunk, you let all the stupid shit your mind lets you think leave your mouth, and you haven’t drank in a while, so it’s probably worse. “Bear, do you ever have dreams about The Beef?”
You tilt your head against the back of the cushioned, wooden bench to find him already staring at you. There’s amusement in his eyes, followed by a little bit of confusion as to where you’re going with this.
“No, not really, Birdie,” He shakes his head just a little bit, but it’s enough for his outgrown hair to move over his forehead. You want to reach out and touch it, comb your fingers through it, pull at it and kiss him hard, or maybe sweet and slow instead. Woah. When the fuck did that happen?
“Why?” Mikey asks like he’s a little afraid, but definitely more curious. His hand stops moving, and instead, his fingers tap above your ankle.
“I get—I get these dreams where ‘m at work,” You squirm around to face him better, knees bending as you move to lay back against the stiff arm of the bench that rocks back and forth from all your movement. “They’re not even bad dreams, i’m just doin’ work shit, but that’s what makes them so bad. Like…like it’s so boring and slow and then yknow, I wake up the next day and have to do actually go do it.”
Mikey isn’t really sure what to say about that, but you can tell he’s listening. Mikey always listens, he always nods with your sentences and makes expressions at all the little plot tangents.
“That’s what happens,” You look down to his fingers tapping against your leg. One of his fingernails still has a white line from when you asked him to come help hang a painting after you’d inherited grandmas house. You’d been laughing so hard at something incredibly stupid and couldn’t stop, so he decided to try to nail the thing up with blurry eyes and shaking shoulders. You want to grab his hand and push it up higher or kiss that white line away or maybe hold it in yours and squeeze three times and never let him go. “That’s when I quit, when I get the dreams.”
Your head falls back with a harsh bonk onto the hard wood, arms crossing over your chest when a gust of wind blows through. You wish Mikey had a jacket to give you because he would, he always does, and you could keep it for a couple days to smell him.
“Fuckin’ stupid, isn’t it?” You mumble, looking over and into the stars. His fingers stop tapping, and instead wrap around your ankle with a squeeze, drawing your gaze back to him. His hand is warm, and so is his thigh under his jeans.
“Don’t say that,” He criticizes you, but it’s so soft it hardly counts. The furrow in his eyebrow looks less like confusion and more like concern and sympathy, now. Those eyes of his will kill you someday — all bright and shiny and dark and wet and just so fucking Mikey Bear like. “Don’t let anybody tell you you’re stupid. Nothin’ about you is stupid.”
When he says stuff like that, and looks like that, big and strong and sweet and loving and so content to be with you and just so Bear, who’s been there your whole life and never said you were stupid, or naive, and calls you Birdie for no other reason than because you are simply his lil’ Bird, you want to fall into his lap. You want to wrap around him and smell his cologne and let his hands touch all over you and feel his voice rumble in his chest under you. You want to curl up over his scratchy jeans and seep into his stupid Miller Lite t-shirt and laugh and smile and never have to be apart for months on end because you both have stupid, busy, boring, chaotic, jobs.
So you do. You pull your legs from over top of him and crawl into his lap. He lets out a huff of air, but doesn’t stop you.
“Thank you, Bear,” You squeeze around his shoulders tight, like you had all those hours ago when he pulled you up off the lawn and into his chest. “I have dreams about you too, sometimes.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grins down at you, a palm landing steady against your back to keep you in place. The other smooths over your hair when the wind blows it over your face. “You wanna quit me too, or what?”
“No,” It falls from your lips instantly and hushed, like even just saying it shouldn’t have happened. “Never, Bear. Never ever. Always get em’ when I miss you.”
“Really?” He says it like he would have never thought that to be possible, that someone would ever miss him that much. His hand smooths over your hair again, and his grin widens. “You’re in my dreams all the time, pretty girl.”
Your own grin grows to match his. You’re not sure why — if it’s the pet name, his hands keeping you secure and touching you so delicately, the admission of you being in his dreams, or it’s just because he’s Mikey, and when he smiles you can’t help but smile too. You haven’t smiled this much in a long, long time. Probably since the last time you’ve gotten to spend a full day with Mike and Rich.
“What do we do in your dreams?” You whisper, leaning your forehead to his.
“Lots of stuff,” His head shakes back and forth just once. This time you only notice because you feel him moving against you. “Back to bein’ kids doin’ stupid shit in my bedroom. Our trip to Lake Michigan, when you stole Rich’s sunglasses in the car, remember that? When the waves were so big, y’know,” You nod in unison. “Was takin’ over the fuckin’ boardwalk and we just kept on goin’, got back to the truck soakin’ fuckin’ wet.”
“His sunglasses blew off my face when the wave almost took me,” You murmur, toying with the neck of his shirt. “But you saved me.”
“Yeah, Birdie,” He nods, once. “Those are my good dreams. What d’your dreams with me look like?”
You lean further into him with a pleasant hum, taking the last tiny bit of distance away to lay back against this chest and play with the little hairs over the back of his neck.
“They aren’t with you. You’re not just apart of it, or a memory or somethin’. It’s just you.” Your hand travels down, scratching his neck gently then thumbing at the indentation the tag of his worn, soft shirt leaves over his skin. “You’re just there, that’s all. Just you and me — me and my Bear.”
Mikey’s hand follows the slope of your spine to sit at your waist with a squeeze. His other one pets over your hair one last time before he uses it to push your head away from the crevice of his muscled shoulder and presses a lingering, soft press of a kiss to to your temple.
“Me and my Birdie. You wanna hit the hay, baby, or what?”
In the morning, Richie will show up for his stupid tracksuit jacket he forgot. He’ll find the two of you, Bear and lil’ Bird, sprawled over top of each other on the Twin XL that Mikey barely fit on by himself for the long time he endured it. Thank fuck he got out of there.
Richie will think nothing of it, because you’re Bear and lil’ Bird, and do something obnoxious like start yelling and clapping or throw whatever not too hard object he sees at Mikey’s back while the big man crowds you against the wall in his sleep.
The three of you will go out for breakfast after you throw on a new shirt you stole out of Mikey’s old closet full of his high school years’ clothing and the jean shorts you wore on the fourth. Mikey will sit next to you, throwing his arm across the booth behind you and Richie will complain about sitting on his lonesome. You will not talk about your time on the porch then, nor ever. You won’t talk about the dreams or the pet names or the forehead kiss.
Richie will ask how you plan on getting another job while you drink a milkshake at 9 in the morning. When you roll your eyes and groan against the straw, Mikey will look across the booth and tell your brother he hired you and that you’re starting at The Beef on Monday. You will choke on your milkshake, Richie will yell something expletive, and Mikey will just shrug.
✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦
✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦
✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 10.5k✦
✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.
“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.
“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.
You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.
“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.
“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“
“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘
“It’s not a mating dance!”
“It seems like a mating dance-“
“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.
But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”
Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
“You smell good.” He mutters.
He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.
“What the fuck is up with him?”
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.
“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
“There are no other words I could use, though-“
“Corrupt?”
“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.
“Dogshit.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“
“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“
“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
“Yeah. Because I had a source.”
“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“
“Shut up, I’m excited-“
“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.
“It’s- Uh- Superman.”
You blink. “What?”
“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”
“I- You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“I can find someone else-“
“No, I- I’ve got it.”
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”
He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.
You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.
“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.
“Clark-“
“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”
You blink. “Back up?”
He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.
He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“
“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
“You’re sick-“
“No. I’m not.”
“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”
He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.
“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
“Clark- Please-“
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You can’t help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
“Is he-“
“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”
You frown. “But-“
“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
“Don’t go visit him.”
You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“
“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”
“But-“
“Don’t.”
“What if he needs something-“
“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”
“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”
Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Lois-“
“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.
You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.
Don’t.
His door is right there.
Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.
Don’t.
You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.
Don’t.
But you want to.
Don’t.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-
Don’t.
Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.
He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
It’s a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.
It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.
He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.
He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.
You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
“Hello?”
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesn’t look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, there’s something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.
He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.
“Clark?”
“I’m here for your interview-“
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
“Clark- Wait-“
Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
He’s burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
That’s… Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.
You still haven’t really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.
You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-
No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.
But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And you’re not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.
You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.
He’s naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.
And his cock.
You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“
“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. He’d been humping the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”
“Clark-“
“Stop saying it like that.”
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.
“Don’t laugh either.”
“I- I’m sorry-“
“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”
“No- That- That’s weird-“
“Kal-El?”
“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.
“I need to be able to call you something.”
“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
“No, not- Not like that-“
“Not like what-“
“It’s just, when you talk-“
“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.
It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.
“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”
“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”
“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“
“You said I shouldn’t talk.”
“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
“You better fix the wall, Kent.”
“I will. ‘M sorry-“
“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.
“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”
That’s not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.
“You know kryptonite?”
You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”
“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“
“Clark.”
“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“
“It what-“
“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.
“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“
“Can’t you?”
Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.
And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
“You- You can’t mean that-“
“Why not?”
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.
“You don’t have to pity me-“
“It’s not pity.”
He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“
“Who says it’s not how I feel?”
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
“Uhh… Steve?”
You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.
“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”
“No, you-“
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.
He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.
There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
“Clark-“
“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
“Smell so good.” He almost whines. “So good.”
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“
“You- You can’t-“
“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“
“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You don’t mind at all.
“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“We talked about this-“
“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
“I need to get you ready.”
You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“
Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”
“How do you know-“
“Nose.”
“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“
“Not enough.”
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.
“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.
That’s his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
“Are you serious-“
“I can’t help it.”
“You- You could wear nose plugs-“
“No. Like it too much.”
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
“You- Can’t move-“
“You should move-“
“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.
“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
“You came in bed last night.”
He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”
“About who?”
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”
And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”
“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.
“Yeah? Like what?”
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
“A brat.”
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
“You- You can’t just say that-“
“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”
Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.
“Can you please look at me-“
“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
“Clark-“
“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”
“I- I need to get you-“
“I’m going to touch you, okay?”
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
“Sorry-“
“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
“Be- Be careful.”
You pause. “Does it not feel-“
“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
“What- What are you-“
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.
There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
“Are you-“
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
He’s cumming.
And he’s not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
“If you-“
“Do that inside me.”
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
“I- I mean- Clark-“
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
“Don’t- Don’t tease-“
“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
“Oh- Oh god-“
“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.
You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“
You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.
You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.
You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”
Well. If he needs it.
It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“
“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.
“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“
“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”
You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
That’s a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.
You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.
“Don’t do that.”
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.
He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.
“I liked it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”
You nod. It’s all you can manage.
He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.
“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
“Big.”
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.
“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.
“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”
You blink, and his eyes widen.
“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.
“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.
“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.
It’s an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.
“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.
“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”
“See it-“
“X-ray vision.”
“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.
You shake your head. “It fine-“
“I wanted to-“
“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.
“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.
“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
“I-“
“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“
“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“
“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”
You laugh. “Bring it on.”
✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
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Ballerina Reader who meets Park the Shark after she shattered her femur in a car accident and needed surgery
Reader who is despondent because she knows she’s getting older and feels like younger dancers are joining the ballet company. So she already feels like her career is threatened and now she’s not going to be able to dance until she’s healed and has had extensive physical therapy
Reader who is stuck in the hospital alone most of the time
Her friends from the ballet company visit but she finds their company depressing because she only thinks about how much she’s missing out at work and the fact that her understudy had replaced her in the ballet she was getting ready to star in
Her mother is overbearing…a total stage mom who visits but the visits make Reader feel worse
Reader who is stubborn and tries to push her recovery
This puts her at odd with Park who is frustrated with how much she’s pushing herself when she’s not ready
They have some pretty vocal arguments about it…
Park comes to her room to remind her as her physician that she needs to follow the recovery plan
Reader doesn’t like his tone and is quite vocal about telling him so
They tend to go back and forth on a daily basis
Park brushes off questions about why he doesn’t turn over her care to another doctor given she’s being so uncooperative
He hates to admit he’d find the fact that she’s not taking his stern bossy attitude kind of appealing if she wasn’t his patient
Reader kind of breaks down on him during yet another heated discussion about her not following the recovery plan
She rants about her fears over never dancing again, her bitterness towards her friends at the ballet company for looking at her with so much pity, and her mother’s pressures to heal fast
Park shocks her and himself by sitting down and letting her rant…he’s shockingly a good listener
Park who tries to alleviate Reader’s misery by offering distraction…he’s maybe starts taking his lunch breaks in her room…keeping her company
Reader is shocked to find that Dr. Park is good company
The pair are surprised that they find themselves taking to one another with ease…shocked that the conversation grows far deeper than a doctor patient interaction
Park who maybe looks forward to seeing Reader and Reader who kind of looks forward to seeing Park. His visits are sadly the highlight of her day
Park who struggles with the realization that he finds Reader to be so appealing. He’s sure that finding his patient stunning is so breaking so many ethics
Reader who is embarrassed to admit she finds the stern doctor kind of hot…
Reader who gives him so much shit when she finds out he’s called Park the Shark…Park who actually smiles at the teasing…
Reader who manages to follow her recovery plan to the point that she can leave the hospital
Park who feels his heart sink realizing she’s walking out of his life for good on a pair of crutches
Reader who feels foolish for hoping he just might ask to see her outside of all of this…outside of her being his patient
Reader who ignores the fact that she misses Park by throwing herself into physical therapy
Therapy is frustrating and she fights the urge to give up
Reader who stares at her phone debating calling the number listed on the discharge paperwork she was given…Parks office number…she doesn’t know what she would say though…the thought of calling him feels pathetic…what if she misinterpreted what seemed to be happening between them?
Park who goes back to his usual routine trying to ignore the fact that he misses how Reader had become part of his day.
Park who knows he could get her number…he’s got access to her medical files…but the thought feels so unethical…as though he isn’t already pushing ethics by crushing on his patient?
Months go by and one day Park arrives at the ortho department to find an envelope has been delivered to his charge nurse with his name on it
Park who opens the envelope to discover ballet tickets his heart skipping a beat when he spots Readers name as the lead dancer
Park who feels his palms sweat when he buys a bouquet of pink roses and shows up to the ballet in the front row seat she reserved with his ticket
Park who watches Reader dance making the choice that he’s not going to let her walk away from him again
Park who gives a standing ovation at the end of the ballet
Park who stands awkwardly in the lobby clutching the roses worried he might have misinterpreted what the tickets meant…what if it was just an innocent thank you and not a sign she truly wanted to see him because she’s missed him as much as he’s missed her?
Reader who finds Park in the lobby a sigh of relief leaving her she almost fearing he’d leave after the ballet ended…that her sending the ticket would be seen as an act of gratitude and not a way to reconnect outside of a doctor/patient relationship
Park who presents the flowers to Reader and offers to take her to dinner
Reader who accepts the dinner offer and is relieved that conversation comes just as easy outside the walls of the hospital
Park who drops Reader off at her apartment after dinner walking her to her front door
Park who takes a chance to ask to see her again.
Reader who answers with a kiss to his cheek and a affirmation that she’s expecting to see him again
Park and Reader who fall into a relationship
Park who attends every ballet reader takes place in bringing her roses each time
Park who stands up to Reader’s overbearing mother making Reader adore him all the more
Park who rolls his eyes when Reader asks if he finds it weird knowing he’s literally seen his girlfriend’s broken femur on an operating table…it is kind of weird but he refuses to acknowledge that their first meeting was less than ideal
Park who reassures Reader she will still have worth when her professional ballet career ends and makes her consider the possibility she might be able to teach ballet when she’s ready to leave the ballet company
Reader who occasionally does have pain even if she’s completely healed…it’s a little harder to dance now and she hates to admit it
Park who is determined to care for her when she does feel less than great.
Reader who looks at the scar along her leg feeling strangely thankful for the injury. It may have hurt like hell and been a pain to heal from…but she did get a boyfriend out of it
Where Clark is front row during the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in awe. Just like he's all blushing in the dressing room full of lingerie models, waiting for you
Masterlist <3. Request! Model!Reader series
It's summer. It's Victoria's Secret, it's New York. You know what that means.
Clark doesn't know the difference between you opening the show or appearing at any other time. But It's not just any old thing! The model who opens the show is always the one who deserves it the most; she's the first one everyone sees and scans in fascination.
Clark still doesn't understand. But he knows it's important to you, so when you excitedly tell him you've just been chosen to open the New York show for the renowned lingerie brand—he's happy for you. "You deserve it, babe. You've worked so hard."
And you worked really hard. Clark has watched you take off and put on those Angel wings always with different themes these past two years, hoping that next year you'll be the one opening. And it's happening. So of course you make sure your boyfriend has a front-row seat, where only special fashion critics and celebrities are supposed to go. The entire floor where the models and angels are supposed to be modeling is covered in pink glitter, giant decorations that match the theme of the runway.
In the models' dressing room, the Victoria's Secret cameraman is with you and the rest of the models, all having a good time while you all get your makeup done and your lingerie sets put on. The cameraman approaches you and focuses on your face. "Waiting for someone special?"
"Maybe," you answer, and all the models laugh and give you little pinches while you shake your head, smiling.
A few rows behind Clark are Jimmy and Lois, who promised Cat an exclusive on the fashion show. Of course, get two more seats for your boyfriend's friends who already know you as his girlfriend. Today, if there's time, you'll get to know them better—until now, you've only known the things your boyfriend told you about his day at work. Lois puts too much sugar in her coffee; Jimmy went on a date with this girl.
"Cat's going to go crazy with all this." Jimmy holds the camera up, focusing on the long runway in the center of everyone. "Do you think Clark's girlfriend lets me photograph her inside the dressing room?"
"That's so creepy Jimmy," Lois frowns, and Jimmy drops the camera in his lap to defend himself. "I'm not a creep! There are always journalists inside the models' dressing rooms. Journalists way better paid than you and I combined."
Clark is thinking about what to answer when a journalist from a European fashion magazine asks him who he is with a camera in front of his face. The lights dim and focus on the runway. Clark and the journalist fall silent, as does Jimmy and Lois, and everyone else in there.
The lights come back on—but they're almost unnecessary because of all the camera flashes surrounding the runway when the music starts playing. Something sexy, something rock, something Victoria's Secret hottie. Clark's is frozen as the show welcomes you: the flashes become even stronger, reflecting off your body and hair.
You start catwalking and and Clark's jaw is already on the floor—of course, after dating for quite some time, it wasn't the first time he'd seen you in your natural habitat. But a "casual" lingerie runway is very different from seeing you with angel wings hanging off your back, moving with you as you walk without tripping, your eyes focused straight ahead.
Clark doesn't know much about fashion, but he can tell that the bra you're wearing isn't anything like the other models', just as not all of them wear angel wings—as if it were some kind of prize you have to work for. You turn around on the runway to catwalk backstage gracefully, the flashing cameras something you were practically born with.
After what was roughly an hour of glitter, music, wings, lingerie, and your boyfriend being amazed by every second he spent sitting there—front row, watching the literal angel of his dreams—the show ends. The press becomes even more scandalized, talking to everyone and practically everyone while cameras try to find you and the others.
You had sent Clark a message that you were backstage, so he came looking for you, eager to see you and congratulate you on how great you were—more than great, amazing. Clark saw the door you'd told him about and opened it, smiling.
Clark swore he thought it was a private dressing room. But all the girls in lingerie and robes told him otherwise.
Models eating, others taking off their clothes to get into their robes, giggle as soon as they see Clark. Yep—that's your boyfriend. "Clark!" You go to the door laughing with your friends after Clark slams the door as soon as he realizes it definitely wasn't an exclusive dressing room.
"Hi, Clark!" all the girls say in unison, smiling when they see your boyfriend again, a mess holding your hand as if afraid of losing you among so many women. "See you in a bit, girls!" You say before heading out with Clark.
"Did you loved it?" You say quietly once you're alone. There's no press, no sudden girls in lingerie—just you and him. You and Superman.
"Everyone loved it," Clark remembers Jimmy's expression once the show was over. He took pictures of literally everything and gave his camera to Clark, making him promise to take a picture of the inside of the dressing room for Cat. You take the camera from your boyfriend's neck.
"Yeah, but—did you loved it?" You stare at the camera for a few seconds and then you see him—your eyes are bright and your cheeks are as red from both the past excitement and the man in front of you. You see Clark scratch the back of his neck, shrugging.
"I loved it," and you both laughed at the same time. "I think any man would be jealous of me right now. Especially back there, with your friends."
"But especially here. With you."
You two kiss with love, you kiss with need. Clark's arms wrap around you, almost afraid of breaking you. You only separate for air, and you feel him smile against your lips, making you want to skip the after-party and run away with him.
"Let's take a picture," you raise the camera with your hand in front of his face and yours.
(Synopsis) Where your boyfriend takes you to meet his parents, but they already know you. Of course, you're the girl from TV!
Request <3. Masterlist— Model!Reader series. REQUESTS OPEN
Your only expectation was that they wouldn't hate you. That they wouldn't think you were a shallow girl like most people did when you said you were a model. That they could see that you really, really love Clark.
"Stop biting your nail." Clark takes your hand from between your teeth with a chuckle. His other hand is on top of yours, squeezing it lightly as another way of telling you—for the tenth time today—that everything will be okay. "I don't know why you worry so much, everyone loves you."
The problem is, his parents aren't everyone. They're your boyfriend's parents. Probably the most important people in his life. From now on, your relationship with Clark changes. Everyone knows that a relationship isn't the same before and after family visits.
"Honey, Clark's here!" Clark and his father share a hug before Jonathan notices your presence. He sees Clark as if telepathically asking a question, and Clark nods. The man smiles at you within seconds. "Nice to meet you, dear. Come on in."
Okay. His dad seemed kind. He even offered to hang up your coat in a sweet gesture. Jonathan Kent can't help but raise his eyebrows at the texture of your fur coat—it definitely didn't feel cheap.
You were standing in the living room, looking at the pictures the Kents had all over their house—Clark in a baseball uniform at what looked like six years old, Clark on his first day of school, newspaper clipping about Superman. You were smiling at a specific picture of your boyfriend with a cow before you heard a female voice join the conversation between Clark Kent and Jonathan Kent.
Martha Kent. "Here I am, here I am." You put the picture back immediately, almost as if you'd been doing something wrong. "Where's my boy?" Martha's voice is that of a mother overjoyed to have her son home. She hugs Clark like he's still a toddler; you guess that's what being a mother is all about.
"Honey, we have a guest," Jonathan nods gently at you as his wife separates from their son. Clark rushes to your side, taking the hand you were about to tuck back between your teeth.
Clark says your name with a smile, putting his arm around your waist. "She's my girlfriend." You hope your smile isn't too big—you're trying to put on the expression you wear when runway directors tell you to be natural. You're being natural.
Martha Kent frowns, and you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach. God, now you want to throw up. "You—" Martha puts a couple of fingers to her lips, as if she's trying really hard to remember something. Your legs feel weak; you knew it, she hates you! She probably thinks you're not good enough for her son, and that you don't have a real job and—
"You're the girl from the perfume commercial!" Clark's mother smiles almost excitedly. "Yes! Yes, it's you! From TV! What are you doing here in my house?" Ma Kent's smile is from ear to ear, while you remain confused.
Perfume commercial? Perfume commercial! "Oh, yes," you let out a slightly embarrassed giggle. "I'm the girl from that commercial. I'm the face of the brand, so—" Martha Kent is already hugging you before you can continue.
"Oh my god, you're even prettier in person." She gives her son a withering look. "Clark Joseph Kent, why didn't you ever tell me you were dating the girl from the TV?"
"I told you she was a model" Clark defends himself, already pleased to see his mother likes you. He knew she would like you.
"Yes, but you didn't say she was the girl from the perfume commercials." Martha Kent slowly pulls away from you, apologizing in advance. "I love that perfume. Jon gave it to me on our anniversary. Look. I always wear it." She brings her wrist closer to you so you can smell it: yep, it's your perfume.
For the rest of the day, Martha treats you practically like her daughter. Besides being the girl from TV, you're her son's girlfriend—so she tries to make sure you're comfortable at all times. She even asks you what your favorite food is, so she can make sure she make it when Clark brings you home again.
"I told you she was going to love you." Clark is brushing your hair behind your ears. You're lying in bed with him, just relaxing, crammed into the single bed in his old bedroom. "You're the girl from the perfume commercials"
"Yeah, make fun of it all you want," you roll your eyes as Clark laughs. "I get paid a fortune for those commercials, I want you to know"
"Well, it clearly works," he nods, acknowledging the power of marketing. "Look at my mom. Wearing your perfume. Who would have thought her son was dating that gorgeous girl in the commercial"
The next time you go to the Kent farm, you give Martha the latest collection of females's perfumes that the perfume brand released, while Martha gives you the best casserole you have ever tasted.
summary: in which you, a world-famous celebrity, confess during a late-night interview that your celebrity crush is none other than superman, sending the internet into chaos - only for him to shatter headlines weeks later by confirming you’re the one he’s hopelessly in love with.
word count: 3.2k
warnings: celebrity x superhero dynamics, public scrutiny, light angst, mild language, suggestive dialogue, media manipulation, romantic tension, fame-related anxiety, soft moments, affectionate nicknames, one kiss scene.
The thing about being famous — truly famous, the sort of face people recognise before they even know why — is that every word you speak is a headline waiting to happen.
Every gesture is photographed, every laugh or frown dissected for meaning, and every slip of the tongue becomes the subject of a hundred think-pieces before the day is over. You learned that early, and so did your team.
That is why, before every interview, they hand you a neat stack of cue cards covered in talking points and safe answers. What to say. What not to say. Lines rehearsed until they sound casual. Not exactly authentic, but, as your manager likes to remind you, authenticity is a dangerous luxury in your position.
The problem is that you are anything but responsible.
Which is why, the moment you step off the brightly lit set of the late-night talk show you have just finished filming, you are met by a wall of voices — your manager, your publicist, your assistant, all speaking over each other with a kind of controlled panic that tells you this is not just a “we’ll smooth it over later” situation.
“Why the bloody hell,” your manager demands, striding toward you as if you are about to make a run for it, “would you say that?”
You blink at him. “Say what?”
He drags a hand over his face. “You know exactly what. The one thing that was not on the cards. The one thing we specifically told you not to joke about. This was live television. Do you understand me? Live.”
You shrug, still walking toward the exit. “Come on, Jeff, it is not that bad. I mean, you do realise Superman is my boyfriend.”
“Shhh!” Jeff’s eyes dart around the crowded hallway as crew members and assistants pretend not to listen. “Do not say that out loud in public.”
You grin. “The clip cannot be that bad. Honestly, ease up on me. I might have gotten a little carried away, but it was charming. Endearing, even.”
At that, several people in your team exchange a collective wince that makes you stop in your tracks. “It is not that bad… right?”
Your assistant, looking equal parts apologetic and eager to prove a point, steps forward with her tablet. “You should see it for yourself.”
She taps the screen, and the footage begins to play.
The studio is warm with applause and golden light. You are on the couch opposite the host, smiling easily, leaning into the moment. The host tilts their head and says, “As one of the most recognisable faces in the world, I have to ask; who is your celebrity crush?”
Your answer comes without hesitation. “Oh, definitely Superman. How can you not?”
The audience bursts into laughter and applause, the sound encouraging you like fuel to a flame. You lean forward in your chair, eyes bright, and keep going. “The man saves the world on a regular basis, walks away without a scratch, and somehow manages to have perfect hair while doing it. I do not even want to know how much product that takes — but I respect the commitment.”
The host chuckles, shaking their head. “Hair is your dealbreaker?”
“Oh, no,” you say, holding up a hand for dramatic effect. “That is just the beginning. Do not get me started on those biceps. Or his shoulders. Or the whole…” You gesture vaguely with both hands, letting the implication hang in the air. “You know.”
The audience erupts again, and you smile like you are letting them in on a secret.
“So,” the host says, clearly enjoying themselves, “you are saying you would…?”
“In a heartbeat!” you interrupt, your voice smooth, confident, and just a touch lower. “No hesitation. No questions asked. Superman, if you are watching this, call me — or, you know, fly over, whichever works.”
The interviewer chuckles, shaking their head in disbelief. “Well, that’s quite the invitation.”
You lean forward, voice dropping even lower, the hint of a smirk playing at your lips. “Oh, it’s more than an invitation. Let’s just say, I’m not the type to play hard to get. Especially when the man of steel’s involved.” You tilt your head, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Besides, who says a girl can’t handle a little heat?”
The interviewer pauses dramatically, then adds, “Well, folks, it seems we’ve uncovered a story that’s more than just breaking news—it’s breaking hearts. I think it’s safe to say our guest here has way more than a crush on Superman. Maybe the real question is—does Superman even stand a chance?”
You hand the tablet back and clear your throat. “Okay,” you admit, “maybe it is a little bad.”
Maya, who has been hovering like she has front row seats to the apocalypse, brightens instead of wilting. “Actually, it’s kind of great! You’re currently trending in every possible category. #SupermanCrush, #Y/nAndSuperman #PowerCouple, #She’sGettingThatSuperDick—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake—! Stop encouraging her!” Jeff cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the hallway chatter.
“This is not great, Maya. This is not the kind of attention we need right now. She has three brand campaigns running and an entire charity gala to host next month. The last thing she needs is to be turned into some viral thirst meme for a man who doesn’t even—”
“Exist?” you supply helpfully, already turning toward the exit. “Come on, Jeff. You’re overreacting. I am not going to be cancelled for having good taste.”
Jeff’s voice follows you down the hall. “It’s not about taste, it’s about focus. About controlling the narrative. About—”
“About you being allergic to fun!” you call back, and the sound of Maya muffling a laugh is the last thing you hear before the studio doors close behind you.
Two weeks later
The makeup room smells faintly of hairspray and expensive foundation. You’re perched in a tall chair, a stylist dusting highlighter across your cheekbones, when your phone buzzes in your lap.
Clark’s name flashes across the screen. You swipe to answer, and his face fills the frame — soft morning light behind him, hair still a little damp from a shower.
“Hey, honey,” he says, voice warm enough to melt every muscle in your shoulders. “Just calling to wish you luck for your big commercial debut.”
You smile, leaning back so the stylist can get at your jawline. “You should save the luck for yourself. Don’t you have a press thing today? Cape and everything?”
“Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couple of questions, couple of photo ops. Nothing too serious. I think yours is a bigger deal.”
“Oh, please,” you laugh. “You’re about to stand in front of every camera in Metropolis. I’m just pretending to drink sparkling water and smile at the right time.”
His gaze shifts like he’s cataloging every detail of your face. “You look beautiful,” he says suddenly, the kind of sincerity that stops you mid-breath. “They haven’t even finished your makeup yet and you already look like the ad is about you instead of the product.”
The stylist snorts quietly, pretending to focus on your blush. You bite back a smile. “You’re biased.”
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Flattery won’t get you out of your press conference.”
In the background, your stylist lets out a barely concealed snort of amusement. Clark hears it, grins faintly.
“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”
You arch a brow, playful. “You always say that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
You glance at the mirror, then back at the screen, tilting your head. “Careful, Kent. You keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you’re still in love with me.”
His expression softens, something gentle pulling at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not really something I fell out of.”
That catches you off guard — not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s so casual, like he’s just telling the truth the way he always does. Your heart flips quietly.
You clear your throat, shifting in your chair. “You’re supposed to be focusing. Don’t you have, like, three speeches to sit through?”
He winces a little. “Don’t remind me.”
He glances offscreen, probably at a publicist waving at him, then looks back at you. “I’ll pick you up after your shoot. We’ll go somewhere nice. You can tell me all about your day, and I can tell you about mine.”
You soften. “I’ll be watching you, you know.”
His smile widens. “Guess I’d better make it worth the view.”
You hold his gaze for a second longer before the call ends, the screen going dark — but the warmth in your chest lingers long after.
You can hear the low murmur of the crew setting up lights for the commercial shoot in the next room. Your phone is propped up beside the mirror, the black screen reflecting your own half-finished face. You check the time without meaning to.
Clark’s press has just begun.
Across the city, under the bright wash of camera lights, Superman steps onto the low stage set up in the Metropolis Civic Center. The room is full, the kind of full where every seat is occupied and still the back wall is lined with reporters who did not want to miss this. A wall of microphones waits on the podium in front of him, each bearing the logo of a different news station.
He stands tall in the suit — the deep blue catching the light, the scarlet cape falling in an easy line at his back. You know the way his shoulders feel under your palms, the way the fabric warms against his skin. The rest of the world just sees the symbol. You know the man who wears it.
He greets the room with the same even courtesy he always does, a small nod and a “Good evening” that quiets the shuffle of bodies.
“Superman, can you confirm if the water treatment facilities in Old Town are now stable after last week’s explosion?”
“Yes,” he replies, calm and even. “Repairs were completed two days ago. The system is safe for use.”
“Any comment on the trade negotiations between Metropolis and Gotham regarding shared patrol zones?”
“I have spoken with both mayors,” he says, measured. “They are working toward a mutually beneficial arrangement. I’ll assist where I’m needed.”
“What’s the update on the fire in the North District?”
“Contained. No fatalities.”
The questions keep to the familiar rhythm — infrastructure, safety, policy. He fields each one with the same unflappable professionalism.
And then it happens.
From the middle row, a voice cuts through, sharper than the rest. “Superman, there’s been growing speculation about your personal life in light of certain… public comments made by Y/N Y/L/N in a recent interview. Can you confirm whether you’re currently in a relationship?”
The room changes in an instant.
Dozens of hands shoot up. Reporters lean forward in their seats, voices overlapping until the words are impossible to separate.
“What can you tell us about Y/N Y/L/N?”
“Have you seen her late-night interview?”
“Are you aware she called you her celebrity crush?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘The man saves the world and has amazing hair while doing it’ — do you have a response to that?”
“Is it true you’ve been spotted flying near her residence?”
“She also made comments about your—” one reporter hesitates just long enough to smirk “—biceps. Care to elaborate?”
“Are you two in contact?”
“Have you met her before?”
Microphones are pushed closer to the podium, cameras zooming in as if they might catch the truth in the twitch of an eyelid. Even the reporters who had been studiously quiet now strain forward, unwilling to miss the moment.
For a man who has faced alien invasions, nuclear detonations, and political hearings with the eyes of entire nations on him, it is almost disorienting to see Superman pause.
The barrage of questions is relentless. Flashbulbs pop in bursts that leave afterimages in the corners of vision. The press knows the moment is rare — a crack in the usual steel composure — and they press in with all the hunger of people who know a headline is within reach.
He knew you were famous. He knew it in the way people sometimes stopped mid-sentence when they saw you walking toward them, in the way entire conversations shifted when your name entered the air. He knew it because you are you, and he is just Clark.
But even Superman is not strong enough to resist when the subject is you.
At first, he clears his throat, a faint smile touching his mouth. “I… have seen the interview,” he says, voice steady but softer than before. The microphones lean closer, eager. “I think she was being very generous.”
That earns a ripple of laughter from the crowd. He glances down briefly, as though considering where to draw the line, but then his eyes lift again, warmer now.
“She’s… remarkable,” he continues, the words slower, like he is savoring each one. “Not just because of her talent, or how she can hold an entire room’s attention with a single look, though she can. It’s… more than that. She’s kind, she’s fiercely determined, and she sees people — really sees them — in a way that makes you want to be better.”
The room is quiet in a different way now.
“And yes,” he adds, the corners of his mouth lifting, “she did mention my hair. And my… biceps.” That earns a scattered laugh, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. “She has this way of making a compliment sound like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. You start to believe her before you even realize it.”
Someone calls out, “So you do know her?”
His answer comes without hesitation. “Yes. I know her.”
It is not the clipped affirmation of a man protecting his privacy. It is a confession, an acknowledgment. He takes a small step closer to the podium, as though the microphones are your ears.
“She’s… the kind of person who could make anywhere feel like home. And I…” He stops himself, but only for a second, the restraint slipping away like water through open hands. “I’m very lucky. I don’t think she’ll ever know how lucky I feel.”
He exhales, almost smiling at his own words, before glancing toward the moderator. “Next question?”
The moderator is mid-scan of the crowd when a voice rises above the chatter, firm and clear.
“So, Superman,” a reporter calls, “with all these compliments you have been giving Y/N Y/L/N, are you saying she is more than just a friend?”
The room changes at once. Chairs shift. Pens freeze. Every camera finds its mark. The question lingers, heavier than it sounds, pulling the entire press room into a held breath.
Superman doesn’t answer right away. He stands calm and steady, his gaze moving thoughtfully across the crowd. There is no trace of panic in his face. It is not the look of someone caught off guard, but of someone carefully choosing what truth to give away.
He leans slightly toward the microphone, his voice even.
“Y/N is my sweetheart.”
The words are simple, but the effect is immediate.
Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by a wave of camera shutters firing in rapid bursts. Reporters scramble forward, trying to be heard over each other.
A reporter near the front calls out, “So you are confirming you are together?” Another tries to get his attention with, “How long have you known her?”
He smiles faintly, almost shy now, and replies, “Long enough to know I am lucky.”
Another voice calls, “Have you seen the interview she gave?”
This time he laughs under his breath. “I have,” he admits, “and for the record, I do not think the biceps are that impressive. But if she likes them, I will not complain.”
The laughter from the crowd is warm now, lighter, but you can tell they are sensing just how much he means every word.
The press conference ends with a final chorus of questions that Clark does not answer, his smile lingering as he steps away from the podium. The image freezes on the monitor in your dressing room, and you just sit there, unable to stop smiling.
Minutes Later: BREAKING HEADLINES!
SUPERMAN’S SWEETHEART REVEALED?
“Y/N IS MY SWEETHEART,” SAYS SUPERMAN!
SUPERMAN IN LOVE: Y/N Y/L/N CONFIRMED AS THE HERO’S HEART
It is ridiculous how happy you feel. Warm all over, like his words have wrapped around you and settled somewhere deep inside. You keep replaying them in your head — the way his voice softened, the way he said sweetheart like it was meant only for you.
You realise you are still staring at the blank screen, chin propped in your palm, a silly grin tugging at your lips. You feel giddy, not just because he said it to the world, but because you know he meant every word.
The door to your private dressing room creaks open. You glance at the mirror in front of you, catching Maya’s reflection. She steps inside with her usual clipboard in hand, a small, knowing smile on her face.
“Someone is here to see you,” Maya says, sing-song, a little breathless like she’s been holding in the surprise the whole walk over.
“Already?” you blink, eyebrows lifting. You're still in your chair, still in the afterglow of it all — the adrenaline, the spotlight, the way the world tilted just slightly when Clark said your name like it meant something.
Maya just grins and steps aside.
And there he is.
Clark fills the doorway like he was made to stand in it, slightly disheveled in the most unfairly attractive way — tie loosened, top button undone, that same soft, quiet smile tugging at his lips.
But it’s his eyes that give him away, the way they drink you in like he hasn’t seen you in days instead of hours, like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
You don’t even have time to stand before he’s already crossing the space between you in a few long strides. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the curve of your cheek, grounding you just as he leans in.
The kiss is warm and familiar and impossibly gentle. The kind that feels like something to come home to. It lingers just long enough to make your heart stutter, and when he pulls back, it’s only far enough to look you in the eyes.
“I am Superman, after all, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
And in the quiet that settles, in the warmth of his touch and the stupid little smile tugging at your lips ,the world outside doesn’t matter. Not the headlines, not the hashtags, not the sea of reporters still buzzing downstairs.
Your fingers slip into his, and you press your forehead to his chest, the fabric of his shirt still faintly cool from the air outside.
“Don’t fly off just yet,” you whisper.
“I wasn’t planning to,” he says softly, holding you tighter. “Not unless you're coming with me.”
The Wayne Family Does A WIRED Autocomplete Interview
pairing: batfam x batmom; Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
warning: Usage of Y/N (it's unavoidable here), Bat siblings, Bruce Wayne has a sense of humor (who knew), talks of pregnancy, Tim Drake missing spleen, light cursing (there might be grammatical error sorry)
wordcount: 3, 184
author notes: my YouTube watch history is going to be fucked with this series. Anyways I hope you guys like it.
[Batfamily Interviews Masterlist] | next interview ->
The video opens with with a short in the moment intro. It the Wayne Family, they don't know that the camera started to roll. In the first row from left to right sit you, Damian, Cass, and Duke. Behind in the second row sits Bruce, Jason, Dick, Tim, and Stephanie. Jason is messing with Damian by barely touching his earlobe. Damian flinches at the feel of a ghostly touch.
"Todd!" Damian yells. Which cause Damian and Dick to both laugh.
You turn in your seat to swat Jason's hand away, "Can we behave for once?"
The camera cuts before showing the Wayne again, but this time all facing the camera sitting nicely as this time they were informed that the video had started.
"Hello, we are the Waynes and this is the WIRED Autocomplete Interview." Bruce introduces.
Autocomplete suggests the most common searches on the internet
"I still don't quite understand the rules of this…" Bruce admits to his children.
Stephanie groans, "B, we went over this."
So WIRED asked the Wayne family some of the Internet's burning questions
Jason holds the board and angles it in a way that it faces the camera. The board display that of a Google search with Bruce Wayne typed into the search bar and four questions coming up in the search. Part of the sentence was hidden under a white tab.
"So these are like the most searched questions from Google and you have to answer them." Tim explains.
"Is there a right and wrong answer?" Bruce asked.
Tim and Steph both shake their heads, "No."
"Just answer the question however you want." Stephanie said.
Jason pulls the first tab off to reveal the hidden part of the question. "Is Bruce Wayne…richer than Lex Luthor?"
"Um…I think I'm generally considered richer than him in wealth, I mean I'm certainly richer than him in other aspects…like having hair…"
The crew begins to laughs. Jason makes a 'boom' sound as he pretends to drop a bomb.
"Shots fired." Dick said.
You were sitting there pinching the bridge of your nose trying your best not to laugh.
"You know lots of things" Bruce said smugly.
"Why is Bruce Wayne…afraid of bats?" Jason read off the next questions.
"Are you really afraid of bats?" Duke asked turning in his chair to look at Bruce.
"Okay…I wouldn't really say afraid…." Bruce started before you interrupted.
"No, you still have some fear for them." you corrected.
"When I was seven, maybe eight, I fell down an old well that was part of the property that I wasn't suppose to be at. Ended up being part of a cave system and there was a flock of bats that swarmed and attack me." Bruce stated.
"Wait are you serious?" Stephanie double checked.
"When aren't I?" Bruce said sarcastically.
Jason reveals the next question, "Does Bruce Wayne…have living family?"
Stephanie gasps, "Kate. We love Kate." The other nod in agreement.
Bruce throws a hand up, "My cousin, Kate from my mother's side. Who was actually with me when I fell down that hole and may or may not be the reason." Bruce gives a dead stare to the camera.
"Clip that." Steph said towards the crew.
Bruce gave a confuse look, "What?"
"B, again we talked about this!"
You were still hung up on what Bruce said, "Wait no she wasn't. Kate was living in Europe at the time."
Bruce put a finger to his lips in a 'shushing' motion.
"Alright last question," Jason annouced, "Is Bruce Wayne…batman. That's the age old question right there."
"Bruce is never beating the batman allegations." Dick said.
"Not I am not Batman. I hate that guy." Bruce states.
Jason throws the board somewhere off camera.
The next broad gets passed and it had Dick's name on it. Damien holds it, while you peel off the tabs and read the questions.
"Alright is Dick Grayson's name Dick." you read off.
"Yes actually his full name is Dick-wad." Jason answer for his older brother.
Dick slaps the back of his brother's head. "It's Richard." There was a pause before Dick speaks up again, "Why is Dick short for Richard? Who came up with that?" Dick asked, genuinely curious.
"In the Middle Ages, it was a trend to rhyme things. Rich or Rick was actually the shorten name for Richard, but then Rick evolved into Dick." Alfred answer somewhere off camera.
"That was the infamous Alfred Pennyworth everybody." Jason said.
You read the next question, "Where is Dick Grayson…from?"
A unison of 'o's' sounded from Dick's left (camera right).
"Aren't you like…technically not from anywhere?" Tim asked.
"Kind of, I was born into a traveling circus, so there was like actual city to like call home because the circus was home." Dick explained.
"So nowhere?" Stephanie clarified.
"Your birth certificate actually says Star City because that's where the circus was heading next." Bruce mentioned.
Dick pauses and leans forward to look at Bruce, "They told me that they lost it."
"I have my ways." Bruce said.
"Okay, two more question." you say. "What happened to Dick Grayson?"
Dick looked towards the camera confuse, "Did something happen to me that I'm not aware of?" This makes Stephanie and Jason laugh.
"I think they are talking about the circus accident, honey." you say.
"Oh like what to me after the…oh well to make a long story short, I got adopted by a grumpy rich guy that had no idea what he was getting himself into by taken in a kid that lived in a circus his entire life."
"Never in the history of ever did someone had to child proof chandeliers." Bruce said.
"Is that why the chandeliers are all bolted like that?" Duke asked.
"Yes, because Dick kept swinging on them."
"You know everyone thinks that Jay was the trouble, rowdy kid, but it was actually Dick." you pointed out. "Alright last question…you wanna read it Dami?"
"Dick Grayson…butt contest?" Damian read out.
Dick hides his face while his siblings laugh at him.
"So…" Dick began to say, face still hidden behind his hand. "So Teen Vogue put me in a contest for who had the greatest ass or something like that." Dick removes his hand from his face. "They had Nightwing also in that contest and it was down between me and him and I lost…which is utter…crap. I definitely have the better ass, but yeah that's that." Dick explained.
Damian tosses the board lightly off camera and another board was handed to Duke.
"Damian this one is yours." Duke said. "Is Damian Wayne…vegan?"
"Vegetarian. They are entirely different despite what people might think." Damian informs with a matter-of-fact voice.
"Is Damian Wayne…" Duke begins the next question before Damian can go into detail about the difference between vegans and vegetarians. Duke pulls back the tabs and slightly laughs at it before speaking. "Is Damian Wayne a test tube baby?"
Jason fell towards Dick in a belly laugh. Stephanie was also laughing and clutching onto Tim for support. Damian crossed his arms in a pout and you pulled him in and gave him a little frown.
"Oh wow, how did you guys get Tim's search history?" Jason joked. Tim threw his hands up in defense.
"I think they are confusing me with the clon-" you covered Damian's mouth before he could say too much.
"Is this really what people are searching?" Bruce asked.
Jason straighten up and wiped tears from his eyes, "I think that's the best question we are going to get this entire video."
"No Damian is not a test tube baby." you answer as you removed your hand from Damian's mouth.
"Well…" Tim began and that seem to set off a vocal stim amongst the siblings.
Damian glared daggers at his brothers.
"Stop it." Bruce warned.
"What is Damian Wayne's…favorite animal?" Duke read.
"All of them, it's hard to chose a favorite." Damian states.
Cassandra leans over and whispers something into his ear. It was the first time she had say anything the entire video. Though she is know to be the quite one and not one for speaking.
"Cassandra said that I should mention all of my pets that I have." Damian repeats what Cass said to him.
"You have have like 20 animals." Tim said.
"This is gonna be a minute." Dick stated.
"There's Alfred The Cat, he a tuxedo cat so it makes him look like a butler. So I named him after our butler. Ace and Titus are mostly father's pet Doberman, but they like me more. Then there is Bat-Cow, she has marking on her face that make it look like she is wearing a mask like the bats and then I'm gonna count Grayson's dog Haley because I watch her a lot and then…" Damian turns to look at Bruce. No words where exchanged between the two, but you knew what Damian was asking. "And then there is Goliath, he's a dragon bat."
"You just unintentionally answered the next question." someone says off camera.
Everyone looked towards Duke as he pulled off the tab to the last question.
"How many pets does Damian Wayne have?"
"Are you fucking psychic or something, Cass? Jason asked looking at her.
Cass gives a knowing smile.
The next board was pass and Stephanie grabbed it.
"Oh this should be good." she said and looked at Tim, who was beside her. "Is Tim Drake…" she pulls the tab, "Gay?"
"I lied I think Tim's questions are going to be the best." Jason said.
Tim sighs, already over it, "Yes, bisexual. Next question."
"Does Tim Drake…" Stephanie reveals the rest of the question and instantly falls out of the chair in laughter. Everyone was confuse.
"Wait what did it say?" Dick asked leaning back to look at Steph who was on the floor.
Tim snatched up the board from her and read it. "Does Tim Drake have a spleen..okay you know what, we're done."
Tim tosses the board and walks off screen. Stephanie was now in tears on the ground. Dick and Jason were now also laughing. Cass was smiling, laughing silently.
"Drake is very sensitive about his spleen." Damian said.
"Tim, baby, come back." you say.
Bruce looks back at Stephanie, "Stephanie…" there was a bit of amusement in his voice.
"Steph, honey." you said.
The was a cut in the video, everyone was in recovery form laugh, Stephanie was wiping the tears from her eyes and every once in a while she would threaten to start laughing again, but would compose herself.
"Okay look the whole spleen thing." Tim began and this time Jason was the one to break, "Jason!"
"I'm sorry, the situation was funny." Jason said.
"Okay so I got stabbed. When you live in Gotham there is a fifty percent chance you are going to get caught in something." There was some gasps from the crew. "Hold on, don't gasps yet. I kept it a secret. Bruce and mom where out of town along with Alfred," Bruce could feel his blood pressure rise the more Tim tells the story, "So I tried to take care of it myself. Ended up getting an infection from it, got really sick. Dumb and dumber had to take me to the hospital, where I had to get my spleen taken out."
You and Bruce were shaking your heads.
"This is where we also learned that Tim is like a freaking Victorian child. A common cold could actually kill him." Dick said.
"Should also mention that Bruce had to demand to get your spleen back and now we have it in a jar." Stephanie said.
"Yeah, so that is the spleen story, so now everyone stop talking about my spleen." Tim said to the camera.
"Tim Drake coffee order." Stephanie says.
"Black coffee with half a pound of sugar." you say.
"It is not that much sugar." Tim corrected.
"Timothy." you said with a stern voice.
"It's a lot of sugar." Tim said, defeated.
Stephanie reveal the last question, "Tim Drake's age."
Tim went to answer, but Jason stopped. "Hold up, hold up. I think we should have the old man answer this."
"I know how old all of you are." Bruce stated.
"Do you though?" you looked back at your husband. He looked at you offended.
"Dick's 25, Damian is 11, Duke is 16, Jay you're 19…"
"That sounds like a question." Jason stated.
"It wasn't. Cassie is also 19, older by two weeks. Tim and Steph are 18."
You looked surprised, "Wow, I'm surprised, you normally get them mixed up."
"Jason's turn." Dick says holding the board. "Is Jason Todd…Bruce Wayne's biological son?"
Jason rolled his eyes, "Really."
It should be noted that Bruce and Jason were sitting the exact same way with their arms crossed and a scowl on their face.
"Multiple blood test have been done and we can confirm, for now at least, that Jason and Bruce have no biological relations." you state.
"I think it's the fact that DNA test have to even be done." Tim said.
"You guys do scarily look alike though, even Dick, Tim, and even Cass have some resembles." Duke said.
Cass got your attention and started to sign to you.
"Do you remember when we found that one picture and we all thought it was Jason, but turns out it was actually just a young Bruce." you translate Cass' signing.
"I don't see it." Bruce says looking at his children, which makes the crew laugh.
"Is Jason Todd…dead?"
"Only on the inside." Jason says and he moves before you could wack him because he just knows. "Um…I was. Well I was presume dead anyways."
"Dude has a whole grave and everything." Stephanie said.
Dick pulls the tab back to the third question, "What happened to Jason Todd?"
"That's a loaded question." Tim says.
"A lot." Jason states.
"And final question," Dick says, "Why did Jason Todd go missing?"
"Oh my gosh," Jason blurts out, which makes some laugh. "I ran away, I was a kid. Stop Googling me, please." Dick throws the board behind him.
"Oh goodness is it my turn?" you say looking at the board Bruce was holding.
"How did Y/N Wayne and Bruce Wayne meet?" Bruce askes.
"The most rom-com way ever." Dick said.
Bruce made a face, "I wouldn't say that."
"Bruce didn't like me when we met." you say. The news of this makes the children gasps. You nod, "Yeah He tried to find ways to get rid of me actually because he didn't think I was needed. I was hired on as Bruce's assistant though really I was working for Alfred cause someone didn't want to run their own company." you dissed.
Bruce lean down to kiss the top of your head, "I'm glad my attempts weren't successful, my love." he said.
Jason reads the next question, "How did Bruce Wayne propose to Y/N Wayne?"
"Well it was suppose to be a surprise, but someone couldn't keep their mouth shut and crash the proposal site." Bruce grumbles.
Dick had a guilty look on his face, "Listen I was excited, I didn't know it was suppose to be a surprise."
"I quite literally told you that it was when I tucked you into bed that night."
"To answer the question though, we went to the Gotham Botanical Garden because there was a new statue exhibit that were like copy of famous renaissance sculpture, but I had to pretend like I didn't know what was happening because Dick told me that night before leaving for dinner." you said.
Bruce has the board back in his hands now, "Y/N Wayne's birthday."
"Yeah Bruce, when's ma's birthday?" Jason asked.
"It was one time…" Bruce address.
"One time too many." you said giving him a look.
"It's May twenty-second." Bruce said.
"Is Y/N Wayne…" Bruce lifts the tab, but puts it back when he read what underneath it.
You furrow you eyebrows at him, "What?"
Jason leans over Bruce to pull the tab away, "Pregnant." An uproar started which causes you to laugh.
"There is already enough of us!" Steph exclaim.
"There's no way this is how you tell us." Tim adds.
Duke and Cass where beaming compare to Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie. Damian's expression was unreadable.
"No I am not pregnant." you say.
"You're smiling!" Jason points out.
"I was just laughing."
"I'm not convinced."
"Last board." Duke announces.
"Last board!" the rest children said (minus Damian and Cass) in various different ways.
"Alright. How to get adopted by the Wayne family?" Tim reads off.
"Be an orphan or semi-orphan." Dick said.
"Have a lot of trauma." Tim adds.
"And you too just might be picked up off the streets by Bruce Wayne." Jason finishes.
"Or you can be like me and just stick around long enough that you eventually get you own room and become a dependent on taxes." Steph says.
You laugh at your children's antics while Bruce just shakes his head. Something that he seems to do a lot through the video.
"How many kids are in the Wayne Family?" Duke reads the next question.
"Legally or…" Bruce asked, which makes the crew laugh. "Legally everyone here minus Stephanie who, beyond contrary belief, won't let us adopt her. So don't let what she says fool you."
Stephanie beams.
"Does the Wayne Family own Gotham?" Dick reads.
"No." Bruce answers, "We are one of the founding families, but none of us really own anything. Gotham is run by the people…I just help fund it."
"The Wayne family corrupt." Jason reads.
"Again no." Bruce restates, "My father made questionable choices, but it was all driven by the love he had for my mother."
"And it seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Jason said as he grabs Bruce's shoulder.
The last broad gets flung somewhere off screen.
"Well that's it, I hope everyone was satisfied with our answers." you say.
"Thank WIRED for having us and apologizes to the crew members that were almost taken out by flying boards." Bruce said.
The children all wave to the camera and the video ends.
922 Comments
@ rollinghills
Bruce's face the entire time during the pregnancy question, oh she is definitely pregnant.
@ tessabp17
Not them throwing Bruce under the bus the entire time.
@ clairebear646
Why didn't Stephanie, Duke, or Cassandra have a board??
→ @ tjt5841
Cass is really private, Duke is also private and still new to the family, he's just being foster by the Waynes, and Stephanie is just there.
@ nicodegallo
Stephanie is essentially a squatter in the family. She has squatter rights lol.
@ bee2free
No because Damian looks the least like Bruce and he is the only one actually related to him.
→ @ justiceforjay007
They all look so alike, I forget that none of them are related to one another
→ @ snaillover365
Tim and Cass could literally be twins
add. notes: Lore is ovbiously changed because the internet/people can't know that the Wayne are in fact the Batfamily.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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! warning ! — these are all porn, do not open in public; you must be logged into twitter/x for you to view all of these <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot who feels so bad about wanting to fuck his best friend’s daughter — he finds a work around <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot who, despite complaining, will let his nympho girlfriend take him anywhere
۶ৎ; jack abbot who finds his younger girl’s oral fixation kinda cute — even when he’s just come off a 12 hour shift
۶ৎ; jack abbot who haaates having to punish his little girl :( but it’s gotta be done!! so he ties you up with soft restraints he stole from the hospital — and makes you count
۶ৎ; jack can’t be sure what you’re up to while he’s at the hospital all day!! which is why a hole inspection is a part of your daily routine <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot who doesn’t mind if robby joins, sometimes he’ll even let his best friend’s take your pussy
۶ৎ; jack who’s so sweet really :( he knows just how big he is — so what better way to prep you than stretch your little cunt out on his big fingers <33
۶ৎ; jack abbot who likes to show you just how big he is before he fucks you
۶ৎ; jacks getting old :( sometimes he just doesn’t have it in him to fuck you properly!! but that’s what the toys are for after all <3
۶ৎ; it’s not his fault that he has to punish you — he literally told you he’d do your pelvic exam!! you shouldn’t have gone to that gyno anyway!
۶ৎ; just what jackie needs after a long shift <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot king of the munches
۶ৎ; jack who just knowsss how much bigger he is than you :((
۶ৎ; jack abbot loves coming home to his sleepy little gf after a looong night shift
۶ৎ; late nights in the on call room …
۶ৎ; jack abbot who doesn’t even waste time taking his dirty scrubs off before fucking his perfect girls mouth <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot blowing off some steam from work while you play the games he bought for you <33
an: thankyou all so much for reading!! i can’t believe the amount of love i’ve recieved since literally starting yesterday >.< hope u guys enjoy!!
I can’t wait for more CYM and more Of Eddie with baby Wayne and Penny! 💖 which reminds me I think it would be really funny if Eddie got called in to the preschool for something Penny did like biting another child or something becuase they said something mean
i like the way you think! this takes place the day after Cookies ‘N Clean.
BABY’S GOT BITE - Fall of ‘91
(young parents!Eddie Munson x fem!reader)
more dad!eddie and penny adventures can be found on my masterlist
summary: . . . just a couple of hours after dropping your four year old off for her first day of preschool, you and Eddie are called back to pick her up.
a/n: once more, everyone lives in Hawkins because i said so. mistakes will be fixed later, i’m currently shadowbanned (pretty sure so hi if you see this) and one thing i can’t do is post on the website for some reason so sorry if the formatting is weird.
𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
“Call Friend Bear, call Share Bear, call the whole squad of Care Bears because there is a lack of caring in this room. I don’t care, I really do not give a singular care. None. You wanna know why? ‘Cause they are art. They are a lifestyle. You are gonna watch Cheech & Chong and you are gonna love them.” Argyle ducked around Steve and made a dive for the VHS player.
“You always pick them for your turns on movie night, Argyle, please. I can recite the scripts by now!”
Eddie shook his head, lips curled into an amused smirk as he watched the two fight over what movie to play next. Most of the group had knocked out, not used to being awake that early anymore. He didn’t care what movie was playing, it was like nine in the morning, both you and Eddie had the day off since it was Penny’s first day at preschool and you knew the goodbye when dropping her off would drain you both emotionally.
Penny had cried the whole time, but refused to be anything but positive in her actions. She was tearing up as you both walked her in, fat tears had been rolling down her cheeks when you’d both smothered her with kisses, but it had been saying goodbye to her baby brother that really made her start sobbing. Wayne was barely a year old, but sensing his sister’s distress, was in anguish himself, lower lip wobbling as he cried and reached for her.
You’d wanted to comfort her but she hadn’t let you, she’d even been crying as her teacher lead her away all the while waving goodbye to her family as she disappeared from view.
All your friends—minus the kids, they had school, too—had also called in special favors to get them free for the morning, eager to be there for her first day as well. They hadn’t gone to the preschool with you, but they’d been there to say goodbye before you all left the apartment—Robin and Argyle had cried harder than Penny and Jonathan had been forced to comfort both because Steve was also trying not to get emotional—in the morning and they’d decided to stick around until she got home.
The living room was packed, but Eddie was grateful for everyone’s support and he was trying not to get too choked up about how much they all loved Penny.
You were curled into his side, on the recliner, tears smeared around your eyes as you snuggled into him for comfort. You’d been quiet ever since you got back home, he knew how guilty you were feeling because he felt the same sense of guilt. He wanted to pull Penny out of class so bad but he’d remind himself that all four of you needed to get used to it, she’d have to start going to school eventually.
Barely a few minutes into the trailers, the phone rang. You shifted to stand but Eddie nudged you further into the seat, pressing a kiss to your head as he slipped out from underneath you and grabbed the phone off the hook.
You didn’t even bother acting like you were paying attention to the tv screen, staring at Eddie as he mumbled into the receiver. You watched as he furrowed his brows and ended the conversation quickly.
“What’s wrong?” You asked the second he returned, drawing the attention of the others. Eden—closest to the tv—paused the movie.
“Something happened at the Preschool, they want us to go over.” You tossed the blanket you’d been under off of you as you stood up. Steve, Jonathan and Argyle jumped up too, and Eddie rolled his eyes as their chests’ puffed out.
“Calm down, Three Musketeers, they said it was an altercation with another kid and I’m hoping you’re above fighting a child.”
“Not like Steve would win.” Robin chirped from her place on the floor, holding a hand up to Eden who reached over and gave her an aggressive high five. Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have laughed, but he was worried about his baby and he could tell you were too, since you were already waiting near the door.
“Shut up!” Steve hissed, "I could take a kid!"
“Want us to watch Wayne for you?” Jonathan asked and Nancy nodded, scooting closer to the end of the couch where the baby monitor was placed.
“That’d be great. Hopefully, we won’t be too long.” Eddie grabbed his jacket and yanked his shoes on before you both hurried out the door.
Eddie had insisted on driving since he was pretty sure you’d break a couple of laws if a meant getting to Penny faster and you would have, so that worked out for the best.
He was practically running to keep up with you as you made your to the front office. They’d been expecting you, the same woman who had greeted you when you dropped Penny off lead you back to her classroom.
All the other kids were playing outside, but Penny’s teacher sat with her at a small table as she colored.
Eddie’s heart dropped when he took in her sad face, lips pulled down in misery.
When she heard the door open and looked up to see you and Eddie, she burst into tears, pushing her small plastic chair back from the table as she hopped down and ran towards the both of you.
You dropped down to a squat, letting her run right into your open arms. Her much smaller ones clung to you tightly as she sobbed and you picked her up, cradling the back of her head while you supported her bottom with the other arm.
You traded concerned looks with Eddie, and when it became clear Penny’s tears wouldn’t be stopping, you handed her over to Eddie so you could go talk to her teacher about what had happened to make Penny so upset.
Penny clung to Eddie just as tightly as she had to you. Deciding it’d be best to take her somewhere she could calm down, Eddie carried her out to the empty hallway.
He pressed kisses to her head, nuzzling his face into the curls that tickled against his face as his hand rubbed up and down her back. Eddie could feel the stutter of her breathing as she hiccuped. “Shhh…It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s got you, daddy’s right here. Mommy’s gonna go talk to your teacher and then we’re gonna go home okay? You wanna tell me what’s wrong, little bitty pretty one?”
His voice was gentle enough to sooth her, her crying morphing into just the hiccups. Tears were still falling from her pretty brown, doe eyes as she wiped her face and nose against the material of Eddie’s shirt.
“H-He—he-he pulled on my hair, daddy! And-And he said I look like uh-like uh a clown!” Eddie had expected her to start crying again, but Penny’s small hands curled into fists, bunching up his shirt.
He raised his eyebrows at the anger reflected on her face, it was one he’d seen pretty often as of late; specifically, when she was throwing her tantrums. Eddie never held those against her, aware she was throwing them because she couldn’t properly communicate or understand why she couldn’t drink any of the cleaning chemicals you had around the apartment—he still couldn’t figure out why she wanted to go for the stuff that could kill her so badly, did she actually want to give him a heart attack?—regardless of how trying it could be to his patience. Especially when the tantrums were because he’d told her ‘no’ or didn’t let her act like a brat.
It was obvious Penny had a negative interaction with a classmate, but she didn’t appear sad when she recanted it to him, just angry.
“A little boy pulled your hair?” Eddie asked, and Penny nodded, removing one arm from around his shoulders to rub at her hair. Eddie raised his hand on the arm he wasn’t using to hold Penny to rub at the spot on her head she’d been caressing, obviously still sore from her fight. “Is that why you’re crying, baby? Did he hurt you?”
“Yeah, but-but thas not why I’m cryin’, daddy. I dint cry when he pulled my hair, I used my words like you and mama tell me then-then after I also bit him really hard just so he know to don’t do it again and he cried and told teacher on me.”
Eddie knew he was telling the guys to be above fighting a child, but boy was this kid testing him, coming up to his baby, pulling on her hair and teasing her. Penny’s hair was curly but kind of all the same length, she very much so had the ‘Annie’ curly ‘fro goin on, it was absolutely adorable. People would constantly stop you two to tell you so when you took her out with you and Eddie couldn’t get enough of it. Penny loved it, too. She’d get all shy and hide her face in Eddie’s neck when given a compliment over it, but the second that person was gone, her pretty hair was all she would chat Eddie’s ear off about.
Still, you’d kill him if he let her bite another kid even though Eddie was positive she’d do it again, eventually. He’d been in that little boy’s position before they’d enrolled her in preschool. Granted he didn’t pull her hair or ever hurt her to be on the receiving end of her bites, no, he got to get those just for being her dad and dealing with those tantrums. He’d take being her gnawing post if that meant he got to be her dad though, it was a real privilege.
“You did the right thing by using your words, baby. But remember, we don’t bite people no matter how mad we get. It’s mean. And you’re not a mean girl,” He cooed, heart melting at the way she preened under the attention and he used his thumb to wipe away the last remaining traces of her tears. “You’re my little bitty pretty princess.” He leaned his head down to press his forehead to hers, grinning as she placed her little hand on the side of his face, caressing his cheek.
“I love you, daddy.” Eddie loved it when her tender side came out, usually right after she was done with her fits and apologetic. After you’d give her time to calm down—much better at dealing with her tantrums since they occurred more often with you because unlike Eddie, you had no problem saying no to her—she’d come find you, crawl into your lap, then tell you how much she loves you and say sorry while you cuddled her. Those were some of Eddie’s favorite moments to watch.
“I love you, too.” He moved his head just so he could press a kiss to her palm, not even concerned as to why it seemed to be sticky. He was used to gross stuff like that already.
Penny spent the rest of the time waiting for you telling Eddie all about the other kids she’d met who hadn’t been mean to her and he listened dutifully, wondering how she managed to seemingly remember the name of every single kid in her class but claimed to not remember household rules like how the toilet isn’t for throwing away toys she doesn’t like anymore or where she put her shoes when Eddie wasn’t watching her close enough.
Eventually you emerged from the classroom and immediately covered Penny in kisses but Eddie noticed how you didn’t try to take her from him and he bit back a smirk. You wouldn’t confess no matter how many times Eddie tried to get you to, but he knew Penny was getting too heavy for you; something you didn’t like to think about because you wanted to consider her a little baby forever.
“So what happened?” He asked once you got your fill. You played with Penny’s fingers, turning her palm over to look at the sticky substance on her palm that caught your attention. Jam.
“One of the boys pulled her hair during story time, the teacher said she went over to intervene but that Penny handled it really well and told him to stop.” You tried to hide your grin, because really this shouldn’t be funny, but your daughter cracked you up sometimes. “Then she got down on all fours and bit his leg.”
Eddie cleared his throat, trying his hardest to not laugh. It would only encourage Penny, she loved making people laugh and if she suspected biting peoples' legs was funny, especially to Eddie, she’d be nipping at her every ankle in sight. “Why was she so upset when we got here? She was crying but she told me it wasn’t because of the other kid.”
“When they mentioned we were coming for her, she started to miss us all over again so she got sad.” No way was Eddie gonna have an easy time doing this all over again tomorrow. No freaking way. His hold on Penny tightened ever so slightly. “The little boy’s mom already picked him up, but they said neither is in any real trouble, they just had to let us know it happened. We can take her home.” It didn’t sound like a suggestion, which Eddie was more than happy about.
He filled you in on the car ride home on exactly why Penny had done what she did and he was surprised you weren’t as miffed about it as he was, then you told him that usually happens to girls. The hair pulling and teasing part, not the biting part.
“It used to happen to me all the time,” You explained, “So, I’m not that surprised that it’s her first run in with something like that, especially from a boy. I don’t like it, but I’m not surprised. Besides, I can’t be mad at her. I used to bite people when I was little, too.”
“I knew it, you looked like a biter in all your kid pictures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!?”
───
All eyes were on the three of you when you entered the apartment, Penny—who was back to normal and happy the whole ride home—started wiggling in Eddie’s hold when she saw half the group of her favorite people waiting for her.
“What happened?” Nancy demanded, turning away from watching Jonathan wipe the baby food off of Wayne’s face. It looked pointless to Eddie considering most of the baby food was on Jonathan.
You and Eddie exchanged smirks, already having predicated their reactions in the car.
“She bit a kid.”
They erupted into cheers, crowding around Penny when she ran to the living room, forcing herself onto Steve’s lap after Eddie put her down to hear all about it.
You watched in amusement, relaxing back into Eddie’s embrace as he slipped his arms around you from behind. He pressed a few wet kisses to the side of your neck, nipping once at your jaw.
“You know, if you still feel the need to bite someone, I’d be more than happy to be of service, Hannibal.”
“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”
He just hummed into your neck, but you could tell by the smile you felt pressed into the skin there that no, he was so not gonna let that go.
SUMMARY: you were not a jealous person. that is until it comes to your very hot boyfriend being ogled at by a new nurse at the pitt. (2.1k words)
CONTAINS: jealousy, established relationship, allusions to smut, like daydreaming about it but nothing actually happens (thinly veiled voyeurism but i feel it's justified)
i was listening to the song by maisie peters (my beloved), and i had to write my king with it
Jack always made sure you felt comfortable in your relationship with him. He made you lunches when he could. He took you out and made you feel like the only girl that ever mattered to him.
That didn’t quite quell your feelings when you saw other women fawn over him.
You hadn’t been possessive before Jack. Maybe it was because you’d had a horrific taste in men in your prior relationships, and no one had really wanted them. But that was the difference with Jack.
You knew your boyfriend was hot. And not just casually hot, the kind that had your heart (and somewhere just a little lower) throb every time you saw him.
It was in his every feature. His hair that you loved to run your hands through was silver with age and had curled in ways that he knew you loved. His eyes, dark and piercing, were enough to make a grown woman melt when they were focused on them. God knew his voice didn’t help too, especially when it got all low and gravelly. Jack’s charm was it’s own thing too; the joking, the winking, the confidence that seemed to emanate from every inch of him.
Maybe part of it was seeing him in uniform. You knew it did things to people. It did things to you. But sometimes you wished it was only you who got to reap the benefits of him in his SWAT uniform, or with his stethoscope around his neck. It was a silly thought you knew, and almost definitely selfish, but it didn’t stop you thinking it.
Especially when you went to visit him at work. You didn’t do it often. Just when you knew he’d gotten to PTMC early, or that he was working a double. You wanted to see him, and it felt even better that he wanted to see you too. And it was always with the promise of you bringing him lunch, for a change, that often ended with you getting food for the entire night shift instead.
It was on one of these nights that you noticed her.
You’d slipped in, handing a meatball sandwich to Dan on security as a bribe before going straight to the nurses station. Lena’s face brightened just a little at the sight of you. “What are you doing out so late?”
“Had to come see my favourite people,” you grinned, leaning against the counter.
“And I’m top of that list, right?” she asked as she looked at you over her glasses.
You reached into your bag, pulling out a chicken and salad sandwich and sliding it across to her. “Oh, of course. Way higher than my boyfriend. Speaking of, where has he gotten to?”
Lena accepted the sandwich with an approving nod, setting it aside only to glance around for Jack with you. “No idea. Can’t be far though.”
You rolled your eyes at her before moving through the Pitt like you belonged there. And you did, honestly. Ever since you and Jack had started dating a whole year and a half ago, you’d come to the Pitt a lot. People recognised you now. Some, mostly Shen when he was around, called you ‘Mrs Abbot’, a title you didn’t have yet but knew it belonged to you. They appreciated the food you brought, even if everyone knew it was just to buy you some peace and quiet with Jack. As long as it kept you coming back and Jack in good spirits, it was all worth it.
You were used to having to search for him. He could be anywhere, doing any number of things, but what remained consistent was that he was always down here. So you weren’t that surprised to see him exiting one of the trauma rooms, like rough and ragged in all the best ways.
What did surprise you was the woman trailing behind him.
She was a little older than you maybe. She was pretty even whilst looking tired. And she was watching Jack like she was trying to strategise how she could eat him up at the soonest availability.
You were about to try and convince yourself that you’d imagined that last part when Crus appeared at your shoulder. “You met the new nurse yet?”
“So that’s who she is,” you muttered, passing him his cheese and tomato sandwich.
He gave you a look that said he knew exactly what you were thinking as he took a bite. “That’s a no then.”
“Jack’s only mentioned her in passing. Said she’s keen.” He had in fact done so. You’d been out shopping for clothes to a family event that had closed in on you too fast when work cropped up, as it often did. You searched for her name in your mind. “Rachel, right?”
Crus nodded, speaking through a mouthful. “Keen is one way of putting it. I’d say she’s obvious, but I think he’s just too blinded by you to notice.”
That helped a little. You knew it to be true. Jack was loyal, almost too loyal in some places, but you loved it about him. It’s part of what made you feel safe in the relationship, knowing that there was always someone who wasn’t halfway out the door with another girl. He made sure there wasn’t a person out there who didn’t know that you belonged to him and he belonged to you.
Except for Rachel, it seemed. Your fingers played with the necklace that had his initials on as you watched, sensing that freshly familiar possessive urge underneath your ribs. No matter how much you trusted him, the jealousy didn’t seem to want to stop.
Jack looked up from his chart, sighing as he went to say something to Rachel. Then he stopped, letting his eyes drift back until they landed on you. It calmed you a little to see how his expression softened, just that little bit, in the way you’d come to know he only did for you. Crus had disappeared because he knew way better than to get between the two of you. A fact Rachel would have to learn when she stepped in your way when you got closer to Jack.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice tight. You would have found it amusing at any other time. But not then. Not when she was in your path.
“I was just going to see my boyfriend.”
“What room is he in?” Rachel said, looking at you as if you were dirt on her shoe. You made a mental note to tell Lena that her new nurse needed some lessons in bedside manners.
Before you could snap back though, Jack stepped forward. “Hey Rachel, she’s here for me.”
You found some sort of strange thrill at the way her head turned to look at him disbelievingly. You were a grown woman, you shouldn’t take pride in the jealousy of others. And yet.
You pushed past Rachel, wrapping your arms around Jack’s middle and pressing a kiss to his neck. Beneath your lips, you could feel his chuckle. “Missed me, have you sweetheart?”
“So much, Jack,” you murmured, pulling back to look him in the eyes innocently. “Brought food for you and the others though.”
“Aren’t you just an angel,” he said amusedly. You knew it wasn’t a question. Late at night, he’d whisper to you that you were sent to guard him, to keep him sane and keep him on earth. “What did you bring me?”
You kissed his cheek and pulled his BLT from your bag. “Your favourite.”
Jack grinned proudly as he set the sandwich aside. “I should really start listening to Dana and marry you. Make you the official Mrs Abbot.”
“I’m ready when you are,” you teased, feeling the warmth settle in your chest at the idea of marrying him. You already had a Pinterest board set aside for when he asked, one that he had seen frequently when he stole your phone. You weren’t rushing though. You knew he’d know when the time was right.
You could feel Rachel’s eyes on your back. There was a heat to her gaze that you didn’t appreciate. Just because she thought Jack was hot didn’t make him hers, and you were determined to prove it to her.
With one quick glance to make sure Jack wasn’t urgently needed, you stood behind him as he started to eat his sandwich. He only hummed as you slipped your arms around his middle and barely batted an eye when you started to kiss his neck. The only sound of vague complaint that came from him started when you sucked a bruise in a place far too prominent.
“Is it my birthday?” he asked, his voice only slightly rough as he swallowed down the food. “Is that why I’m getting this treatment?”
“Maybe,” you hummed, marking along his neck like it was your sole purpose. And finally, you heard a huff beside you as Rachel rushed off.
He let you keep going, just for a minute, before saying, “Honey, I’m at work.”
“And I miss you when you’re here,” you murmured, trying to sound whiny enough that he wouldn’t stop you from your mission.
“Is that so?” Jack said. He sounded just a little amused, but in that way you knew that told you when you were pushing it. “Here I just thought you were jealous.”
You lifted your head to meet his gaze indignantly. “I am not jealous.”
He snorted, turning to cup your face in his gentle, calloused hands. “You are. And it’s sweet, baby, but we both know I’m all yours.”
“She didn’t know that though, did she?” you huffed, leaning into his touch like you were starving for it. You knew it wasn’t Jack’s fault that he was abnormally hot, but it didn’t help that sliver of insecurity when he couldn’t shake his admirers off.
Jack sighed. Not in frustration, but understanding. He hadn’t considered how it would look to you, half assuming Rachel’s closeness was a willingness to learn. But he saw it now. He knew that if he reversed it – him coming to see you at work with some boy following you around, acting like you didn’t belong to Jack – he’d feel a little insecure. More than a little, if he was being honest. His thumbs brushed your cheeks as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “’M sorry, baby. I wasn’t paying any attention to her, I promise.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” you murmured, expression softening as you basked in his attention. “It’s just… she should know you’re mine.”
He pulled one hand from your face to gesture to the marks on his neck. “Mission accomplished.”
“Not as thoroughly as I want,” you said, rolling your eyes. You’d much rather he could fuck you in front of everyone, just so no one else ever got the same idea as Rachel. Even just him and you and your mouth in an on-call room would have been enough.
But chance would be a fine thing. Before you could even drag him in the direction of somewhere a little more private, Lena was calling Jack towards the ambulance bay. “Fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath, “I gotta go, sweetheart.”
“I know,” you sighed, giving him an understanding smile.
His eyes darted across the ER as the paramedics pulled in the patient, rattling off information at a speed some wouldn’t be able to keep up with. Instead of rushing to their side though, he pulled you in for a kiss. Too deep, too intimate to be something others would see. When he pulled back, you felt Rachel’s eyes on you again. This time though, you knew she wasn’t going to push with him again.
“I’ll see you at home,” he whispered as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. Only then he rushed away.
You stood there for a moment, feeling the shift from peaceful to hectic like a physical thing. You were used to it really. It didn’t hurt like it did in the beginning, especially because you knew it wasn’t personal. It was just the way the Pitt worked.
Ellis waved you out as you left, taking her usual sandwich from you with a quiet appreciation. The drive home was quiet in the way you liked, especially when you were drifting towards being too tired to drive. When you got home, you headed straight for the bed you shared with Jack with a yawn. And as you were settled and drifting towards sleep, you heard a ping from your phone. Jack was the only person you had notifications on for, so you weren’t surprised to see it was from him. What brought on the reluctantly proud smile to your face was the message itself:
Jack: I like you possessive. I’ll show you how much when I get home.
summary: you have to go home for a wedding. jack comes to support. you think it's the end of your relationship, he proves it's not.
pairing: jack abbot x fem! doctor! reader, carmen berzatto x fem! sister! reader, sugar berzatto x fem! sister reader, richie jerimovitch x fem! cousin! reader, etc.
warnings: regular themes of the bear, regular themes of the pitt, jack was abused as a kid, reader was lowkey abused as a kid, talks of suicide, talks of death, talks of depression and addiction, talks of jack's PTSD, stevie is annoying, LOTS OF CURSING, fear of abandonment, lots of crying, non-sexual nudity, spoilers for the wedding episode (based on episode 7 'bears'- season 4 of the bear)
a/n: yall, this is 13k words. good luck.
banners from my good friend @no-144444 !
Everything was on fire. His leg, well, his lack of leg had been at him all night. His back was killing him from all the fucking leaning he’d been doing. His eyes were bloodshot from the double he’d unintentionally pulled. Fuck, he just wanted to go home. The last few hours had been a blur. Mass casualty events hit just a bit too close to home, reminding him of his time in the military, which was never really a good idea. He hated it, the screams he couldn’t forget, the wounds he couldn’t treat, and the faces forever etched into his memory. He hated it because he couldn’t watch fireworks, or watch any of those documentaries you so loved, or function properly sometimes. Sometimes the PTSD took over and the nightmares dragged him back, dragged him away from you.
You were always so patient. Always waiting for him, ready to pick up the pieces.
Shit, where were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the shitshow everyone had just endured.
He slid up against the nurse’s station, leaning against the desk as he gained Dana’s attention. “Know where my girl is?” he asked casually. You two had given up keeping it a secret months ago, specifically after Shen had made a powerpoint about how perfect you two are for each other and left it playing in the breakroom for a full night and day before either of you noticed. It had an AI image of you two kissing which looked far too real.
She let out a sigh, leaning in closer. Alarm bells went off in his head, but he kept calm. It’s probably fine, he told himself. She’s alright. “She’s getting some air, apparently,” She raised an eyebrow, putting a hand over his. He stiffened. He hated how often you followed his tradition of going up there for some air. Mostly he contemplated what the fuck he was doing with his life. You went up there to stop him. “Brought her phone, it was ringing. She answered it.” She shrugged and let go of his hand. That terrifying expression on her face, the one that meant she was worried. Not many things can make a charge nurse worried. More alarm bells than he’d enjoy to admit started ringing. You hated phone calls, it was just a thing with you. You texted, you listened to voicenotes, but you didn’t pick up your phone. It used to piss Jack off because calling is so much easier than texting, but he slowly understood it’s just something you didn’t enjoy, and he adapted.
The elevator was never fast enough for him, and neither was how long it took him to get up the stairs. The cold air hit him as he walked out onto the roof, your figure on the safe side of the railing. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Slowly, he approached. He caught words. No. Can’t. Mom. Sugar. Carm. Bear. Sydney. Tiffany. Frank. He didn’t pry. He leaned against the railing, and he waited.
“Rich, I’m not going,” you rolled your eyes as he kept fucking talking. “Yes! Yes, I fucking understand, thank you so fucking much for reminding me of what a terrible child and sister I am, I’m well aware, thank you!” You scoffed and the voice on the other side just got louder. “Is that Neil? Neil’s listening to this? Are your fucking joking me right now Rich?!” You gripped the railing with your free hand, a bruising grip around the cold metal. “Yes, hi sweetheart, I-I’m good… alright thank you sweetheart, bye. Fuck you Rich, no, no, seriously, fuck you. Get fucked, genuinely,” you sighed, eye closing, shoulders tense. Jack didn’t think he’d ever heard you curse so much. You rolled your shoulders and spoke again, brow furrowing. “What? I know she’s your ex-wife, but seriously? Fuck the wedding! I’m not driving for 7 hours to attend a wedding of a woman I literally don’t fucking know! Oh wow! That’s really fucking mature Rich, yes I know I’ve been living in Pittsburgh, thank you so much for fucking reminding me…- oh my god are you seriously still not fucking over that?! I had to leave! Oh, I’m so sorry did Donna try to kill you? Exactly, you fuckin’ jag-off,” you shouted over the phone, and finally made eye contact with Jack, realising he’d been standing there. Your voice evened out. “I have to go- I get it, alright, I fucking get it! Jesus, good-fucking-bye! Yeah fuck you too, alright? Love you Rich, I’ll think about it- alright, bye.” You were both quiet for a moment, just letting the energy of that call dissipate.
You pushed yourself off the railing, and turned to him. You let out a breath. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Who’s Donna and why did she try to kill you?” He asked, amusement laced in his tone. It quickly faded when that sad chuckle left your lips. You shook your head and pushed your phone into your pocket, then walked over to him and fell into his chest.
“She’s my mom and she hates me,” you shrugged as he wrapped his arms around you. He had to find out how fucking insane your family was eventually, right? “You alright?” You asked, pulling back to look at him. “Shouldn’t you have gone home already?”
He tucked a bit of hair behind your ear and shook his head. The fact that you’d glossed over the fact that you mom hates you made his heart hurt a little bit. You never talked about family or how you grew up, all he knew was that you were from Chicago, you had a sister and two brothers, and you never wanted to go back. He didn’t push, much like you didn’t push with his upbringing after he’d told you about it. “Waiting on you,” he smiled softly. “You did great today,” he cooed. “I’m proud.”
You nodded and offered him that tired smile he’d grown so used to, and he just had to lean in and kiss you. Soft lips meeting his, a gentle kiss, and a real smile on both your faces as you walked back into the ED. Dana sent you a look that you ignored, and you slipped away from Jack for just a moment to find Gloria.
But you didn’t tell him that.
The drive to Chicago was miserable, it always was. Nearly 7 hours of open road, an empty car, and a playlist that no matter how loud you turned the stereo, you still couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and the thoughts in your head. You had told Jack you were sick and to avoid your apartment lest he felt the need to be consumed by the flu. He seemed to be staying away effectively, so you were going to be homefree for the weekend. The fucking wedding though, that stupid guilt trip Richie had somehow convinced you to attend, just for him. You’d see Sugar, and Carmen, and Richie, and your Mom, and everyone else you wanted to forget. You’d notice the space where Mikey should be. You’d see the empty glass that should be in his hand. You’d see the lack of floppy brown hair and stupid jokes that should entertain you all night long, and act prouder than anyone ever had. Well, maybe Mikey’s pride in you was rivaled by Jack’s, but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself.
A phone call came in, and you rolled your eyes. Still, you answered it.
“Where are you?” Jack’s voice was harsh, annoyed, angry. You fumbled with your phone for a second, debating on whether to crash into another car, or just tell him the truth.
“The highway,” you finally answered, deciding that maybe vehicular manslaughter is a bad idea, and insurance fraud is just stupid to go to jail for. “I’m going home for the weekend.”
He huffed out a sigh, and you heard something thump down on a table. “I’m at your apartment. Was going to take care of you this weekend,” he admitted, and your heart squeezed. That voice in your head that sounded a little bit like your mother’s chimed in. God, you don’t deserve him. You’ll never deserve him. Why would you think he’d ever stay with you? Not when you’re this broken. “How far are you?”
You took in a sharp breath and started. “Jack, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want to rope you into this shit and seriously, you’d thank me if you knew them-”
“How far are you from your apartment?” He asked, enunciating every single word with that terrifyingly calm voice. The one he used with combative patients and med students, the one he’d never used with you.
“45 minutes.” You gulped.
“Turn around, come get me, I’m coming with you.” He said finally, and he hung up. The pit in your stomach only grew. You turned around. Maybe it was the selfishness of not wanting to be alone this weekend, maybe it was the fear that you would lose him if you didn’t, maybe it was just because he’d asked you to.
You were parked up outside your apartment in 35 minutes thanks to quick traffic. Jack was waiting on the curb, a suitcase, crutches, and his waterproof prosthetic beside him. With that hardened look on his face. Determination. You had seen it so many times before. Boyfriends insisted they wanted to meet your family, despite what you’d told them. You would just have to watch as the night went on. They’d go quiet, sorry, not quiet, fucking silent. They’d shrink, become less and less enthused by the idea of a future with you as they watched the past you’d had to deal with play out in front of them. A week later, you’d get some excuse about why it wasn’t working. Sometimes they were brave enough to admit it was the family baggage. Others ghosted, and others just didn’t give a reason. He opened the boot of your car, shoved his things beside yours, and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. You stared at him, and he stared back at you.
“Well you’re not driving,” he said it like it was obvious. It was to him, considering driving had never been a favourite pastime of yours. You rolled your eyes but jumped out of your seat and swung around to the passenger. So, he wasn’t completely livid with you, that was good, right? Well, he had every right to be, you had lied. “I’m not mad,” he explained as he started the car and drove off for Chicago. “I just want to understand why you felt like you couldn’t tell me. Or… bring me.” He cleared his throat after that last part, but his vulnerability had been visible anyway. Your heart sank, he couldn’t really think you didn’t want to bring him because of him, god no.
You turned to him, putting a hand over his. “God no, Jack. Please don’t think I was trying not to bring you because of anything other than the fact that my family is fucking crazy,” you practically begged, squeezing his hand. He didn’t glance in your direction. You let out a sigh and cleared your throat. “Jack, fuck, my mom’s an alcoholic, my dad died, my eldest brother blew his brains out in 2022, my twin brother is like the most mentally unwell but functioning human being, and my sister just had a baby. My cousin who’s not really my cousin-” you tried to explain it as best you could, hoping he didn’t notice the wobble in your voice. “His ex-wife is getting remarried and he’s showing up for her and their daughter, and he asked me to come, and since I haven’t been home in ages, everyone is going to be on my ass, including everyone from the Bear, and all the fucking Faks, and it’s just- it’s going to be a shitshow!” Thankfully, you were stopped at a redlight, and he could finally look at you. Notice the lip-bite that was stopping you from losing it. Notice the quick breathing. Notice the fear in your eyes, the kind that screamed ‘please don’t leave me now’.
“What’s a Fak?” He questioned, and the genuine confusion in his tone made you laugh. He was always good at that, giving you moments of light in your darkest times. Like that time you had to code a little boy who eventually didn’t make it. He’d brought you up to the roof and made some dumb joke about something Robby had done, and you laughed. You laughed until you cried, and he held you. He didn’t complain, just stroked your hair and back, and held you. Like you were precious and worth-it, and not a complete burden. Maybe that’s why you fell in love with him. “And what’s the Bear?”
You huffed, sitting back in your seat, groaning. “The Faks are more cousins, kind of, and the Bear is my brother’s restaurant. It used to be my older brother’s sandwich spot, but he’s turned it into this fine-dining fuckery thing,” you scoffed, and he sent you a look. “I curse when I go home.” You shrugged.
“Noted.” He nodded.
It was past midnight by the time you and Jack pulled into the Berzatto-Kasinsky home. Ringing the doorbell seemed risky, so you just texted Pete that you were outside. The door was open in a matter of seconds, with a very happy looking Pete.
“Hey Doc-! And…?” He searched for his name (which you’d never told anyone back home).
“Jack,” you filled in. “Jack Abbot, Peter Kasinsky,” you introduced them and they shook hands. You skillfully evaded Jack’s eyeline as you both walked in. “Is Sug up?”
Pete smiled, nodding. “She’s just with the baby.” He was glowing with pride for both of them, you could tell. When Natalie first introduced Pete to the family, you’d been so confused. You were just a med student back then, but you had been so shocked that she’d picked someone so outside of the norm for Berzatto women. Now, you could see exactly why, because you had your own Pete, who yeah, maybe was a bit more rough and tumble occasionally, but he was soft. Soft when you needed him to be, kind always, and constantly there. It was nice.
“Fucking finally back in Chicagoland?” God, she sounded too much like your mother sometimes. It gave you chills. “Where have you been, Doc?” She pulled you into a hug before you knew what was going on, and you just accepted it graciously, hoping it would be over soon. “Oh my god, is this the boyfriend? I thought you were never going to bring him home?” She stared at Jack, who just waved, poorly concealing an awkward smirk. “You do know mom is going to be there tomorrow, right? She’s going to have something to say-”
You gently pushed her off. “Yes, Sug, I know. She always has something to fucking say. This is my boyfriend, Jack Abbot, meet my sister, Natalie Berzatto.” You introduced them, and she shook his hand graciously before turning her attention back to you.
“Everyone’s going to be looking for you tomorrow-” “I know.” “Have you heard about what’s been happening?” “No, Sug.” “Have you updated mom or Carm on anything recently? Because you know they think you’re mad or dying, or both-?”
“Obviously fucking not, Sugar,” you scoffed, dropping your bag on the ground (probably far too loud for the current audience). “And as you can see, I’m alive. Jack takes great fucking care of me, and as for Bear and Mom, I plan on avoiding the fuck out of both of them, all fucking weekend. Thank you for the questionnaire, but we’re both completely exhausted, and we’d love to get some sleep before tomorrow’s shitshow begins. Thanks.” You took Jack’s hand and led him downstairs to their basement guest room, and shut the door of the bathroom without a word.
You put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your sobs as you showered the day off you. God, you hated Chicago. You hated how much Mikey haunted everything. You hated how little everyone talked about him. You hated that Jack was here, getting a front row seat to your slow breakdown, and the insanity of your family. You hated how you already felt like you were losing him.
Knock knock.
The door was unlocked, but of course he would give you that space, give you a chance to refuse. You didn’t. “Come in.”
He was in the shower and holding you before you really knew what was happening. The tears came unexpectedly too, but he held you through them anyway, taking his time as he washed your hair, and washed your body. The words started falling from your lips. Might as well tell him now so when he breaks up with you, he’ll have all the facts. “I did some of my early residency at Rush hospital. It’s a 13 minute drive from State Street Bridge. Mikey shot himself in the head on the State Street Bridge. Someone had reported a body in the water, and when his body was fucking fished out they brought him to our coroner. I was on my second round of placement, and it was my first week of mortuary. He got wheeled in, and I knew right away. I didn’t even have to lift the sheet, I just felt it. He was meant to be picking me up from my shift, but he hadn’t been calling me to come out like he usually did when I was finished my shift, fuck Jack, he used to call me all the time,” you sobbed into his chest as he held you. “Then I had to call my mom, and Nat, and then I called Carmen but he was in New York, and when I told him, he just hung up. He just fucking hung up at me, and he didn’t fucking come to the funeral, and he’s all fucking great now, and that’s awesome. But I’m not great. I’m fucking awful, and I miss my brothers!” Your sobbing had become uncontrollable, and your words unintelligible, so he just let you cry into him, held you up when your body nearly gave out, and helped you into some pyjamas and into bed.
He was quiet. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it without it being a big deal. He was just surprised you’d never told him before, not exactly hurt, but not exactly alright with it. He’d told you everything, his war stories, his wife, his family. He’d unloaded everything of his, and yet you hadn’t so much as skimmed the surface with yours. He wasn’t mad, he just… wanted to be there for you in the way you were for him. It was only fair.
You took his silence as regret, as it had been with every other boyfriend. You lay, staring up at the ceiling, and debating how your life would look without him in it. How you two would work together despite the breakup. It filled you with a sense of rage. Not even at him. Just… at the situation. You’d grown up in a terrible home, and you had to subject him to it, then watch him leave. You lost him in every fucking scenerio. Your brain turned that idea of him leaving (idea without any probable cause) into a certainty. Then turned it into his ‘ploy to break up with you’. Your brain convinced you, in a matter of moments, that Jack had really been using this trip to break up with you. “Fuck, this is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” you let out in a hoarse voice. “A fucking reason to end things.”
He shot up from his spot on the bed, confusion pulling at his features. Even in the dark you could see how offended he was. “What?”
You scoffed, turning over. “Just forget it.” You brushed his hand off your shoulder and tried to just focus on getting some sleep for tomorrow.
“No, I will not just forget it, what are you saying?” He challenged, exasperated. He turned you over forcefully, making you meet his eyes. “I love you. I love you. I don’t give a fuck if your family are crackheads, or fucking murderers. I’m not here for them, I’m here so you don’t have to go through this weekend alone. That’s all I care about. I care about you getting back to Pittsburgh in one piece. I care about you being happy. I don’t care about your sister, or your twin, or your mother. I care about you, because you’re mine to protect, alright?” He affirmed, hands cupping your face like you were the most important thing to him. He brushed away the few stray tears that had slipped out. “Alright?”
You nodded, surging forward and capturing his lips in a ;ess than gentle kiss. You were pouring all your gratitude and apologies into it, as he poured all his affection and care. You pulled back, nodding. “Alright.”
He smiled. You fell asleep against his chest.
You woke up with a bang. A literal bang. Well, a car horn. Richie’s stupid fucking car horn. Beside you, Jack stirred and tightened his grip on you. You groaned into your pillow and wrapped a hand around Jack’s wrist. “I’m sorry about today.” You frowned. He cracked a smile.
“It hasn’t even happened yet.” He chuckled, taking your hand and bringing it to his mouth. He peppered kisses along your skin in that effortlessly romantic way he did everything. Sometimes you wanted to throttle him for it.
“Exactly, have to get it in early,” you gave him a grim smile, and got out of bed, though not without a struggle. The noise of the front door opening filled your ears. “Don’t come upstairs for a while, wait till I call you. Or wait till I start screaming.” You called after yourself as you climbed the stairs.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he nodded sarcastically, rolling back over in bed, pulling on his reading glasses, and turning his phone on. “It’s fucking 9am. Crazy people” He said to no one in particular before opening up the Wordle.
Upstairs, you were already being inundated with information from Sugar about what was going on with the wedding, hearing from Neil about how the restaurant is going, watching as Sammy Fak fumbled with the fridge door, staring as Teddy Fak tried to work the kettle, trying to understand the quiet introduction coming out of Sydney's mouth, and holding a baby. Somehow, still more chill than the Pitt. You continued on your journey for coffee as you introduced yourself to Sydney, while Sugar screamed at Neil.
“No, you fuckin’ bitch, I fuckin’ told you not to fuckin’ invite her and me to the same fuckin’ thing, and you fuckin’ invite her!” Sugar groaned as Neil stood there looking far too guilty. “She’s a backstabbing bitch!”
“It’s not my wedding!” He argued, faking innocence like a toddler caught with his hand in a cookie jar. You finally reached the coffee machine. Richie was already trying to talk your ear off about the wedding. Both Sammy and Ted sent you a very enthusiastic hello, swallowing you up in a too-tight hug that you barely peeled away from.
“Look, I’m glad you came, thank you, cousin. Means a lot,” He smiled tentatively. You nodded, acknowledging his gratitude. “I don’t know how I’m goin’ to fuckin’ do this.” You realised you’d mistaken anxiety for tentativeness while you watched him play with his tie. Shit, since when did Rich wear suits?
“You wear suits now?” You questioned, pouring yourself a mug with one hand. You bounced the new baby in your other arm and smiled down at the sack of soft bones, and even softer skin. If you hadn’t been an ER doctor, you would’ve been an ob-gyn. You like kids, but you love taking care of them when they’re newborn and can’t talk back. To your left, Sammy nearly opened a door in his face, but you reached out a hand to stop him, as Sugar called Francine a cunt repeatedly.
You smiled. “I know,” part of you wanted to spill it right then and there. Tell him that the only reason you looked healthy at all was because your attending-turned-boyfriend made sure you took breaks at, and from work. Tell him that days spent at overpriced farmer’s markets and in his apartment were your favourite days. Tell him that a guy you jokingly called grandpa was your favourite person. Tell him that Jack was your first real piece of happiness since Mikey passed. Tell them that while you weren’t over it, you were finally starting to build on top of it, and realise that grief doesn’t go away, it just gets less loud. You shook it off. “Who’s she talking about?” You questioned, taking a sip of your coffee and looking to Pete for an answer. He grimaced. “Don’t tell me it’s Francie-?”
Sugar whipped around faster than lightning. “Do not speak that name in my fuckin’ house!” She pointed a vicious finger at you, and you held up a hand in mock surrender. Pete offered an apologetic smile which you acknowledged, then handed his baby back. Sugar continued on her rant as Richie watched, and Sydney pretended that she cared to be there.
“Hey, I know we haven’t met before, but I’m Sydney,” she held out her hand to be shook and you took it. You quickly told her your name, and turned your attention back to the coffee. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
You grimaced. “Oh yeah? Did Carmen tell you about the time I shaved his head in his sleep or…?” You asked, afraid of the things he’d said about you. Granted, there was much worse, but still, over a decade later, the last time you checked he was still butt-hurt about the fact that you’d shaved his head in his sleep.
She laughed. “No, surprisingly, but I have heard you’re an ER doctor?” You nodded. “Great! Cause’ I’m seriously going to need you to sedate me today or something, considering how bad everyone is making it sound.” She chuckled awkwardly. You smiled. She was sweet. A little awkward, very funny, and calm. You had no idea how she got into business with Carmen, but you hoped she had good mental health resources.
“Whatever you’ve been told about these things, people always get better with age. Some of us are still reeling from the disaster of the seven fishes from a few years ago, so don’t expect anything like that. I seriously doubt Tiffany would take it-” It was pretty hard to have a conversation over the sound of the coffee machine, Sugar’s breakdown, and whatever song Pete was humming to the baby, but you two somehow did it. You watched as Pete blessed himself when you mentioned that seven fishes dinner. Fucking forks man.
“Oh, so now you know Tiff, huh?” Richie scoffed, crossing his arms. “Where was this energy two weeks ago?”
“I don’t know her. I just know she didn’t put up with your shit, so I seriously doubt she’s putting up with the family’s.” You shrugged before picking up another mug to fill it for Jack, when Richie practically barked.
“Two mugs?” He questioned, eyes wide. Everything in the kitchen stopped. Sugar was the only person you’d told about Jack. You knew anyone else would’ve spilled it to your mom, and it would only be a matter of time before she started calling you and begging for you to bring him home. Even the thought alone made you shiver. You sucked in a deep breath.
“Two mugs,” you nodded. “I brought my boyfriend with me.”
You would’ve thought you’d just told the room you had gained the ability to fly. The three Faks dropped their jaws, and Neil started yapping, Teddy started complaining, and Sammy started congratulating. Sugar stopped her rant to watch the reaction coming out of Richie, which, granted, wasn’t great. He stared at you for a minute.
“Shut up- shut up shithead!” He shouted at the Faks, who complied pretty easily and went back to their pottering. “Boyfriend? Since when have you had a boyfriend?” He gawked.
“Since a year and 2 months ago,” you admitted. His jaw didn’t drop into a long lecture about lying (like you would’ve expected from him a year ago), it set back, genuine shock filling his features. “He’s an ER doctor like me, and he’s here to meet everyone and support me. And possibly save Francine’s life if Sug decides to kill her.” You tried to sneak in the joke to break the ice, but Richie’s face just hardened.
“You kept that for a year and 2 months?” He questioned.
You nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“Carmy know?” He had that dangerous look in his eye, the one where you really couldn’t tell if he wanted to run out of there and never look back, or hang onto you and never let go. Fuck, his eyes were piercing through you. Still, you stood tall, firm in your choice. Jack was your one good thing. Jack was your everything.
You scoffed. “He doesn’t know anything about my life. I don’t even think he knows I live in Pittsburgh.” Not the greatest thing to admit, but it was the truth. Carm didn’t reach out and neither did you.
Richie swallowed the lecture he wanted to give you about sand and stones, and nodded. “Where is he?”
“Downstairs, in bed. I’ll bring him up when we’re dressed, alright?”
You didn’t wait for an answer before running down the stairs, seriously wondering if you’d made the right choice by coming home, and moreover, bringing Jack. Some of the anxiety settled as you watched Jack pull on his suit jacket, the one he filled out so well, with a little bit of a grumble.
“Alright there, old man?” You teased, dropping his coffee on the dresser in front of him. He grunted in response, taking a sip. He loved this, the quiet back and forth you two were so accustomed to. Though, there were still things to be addressed from last night. You’d gone nearly three years without admitting that your brother killed himself. Even more, you’d gone nearly three years without asking for his help. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him as you let out a small laugh. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you raised a hand to run through his hair gently. You two fit together, more than anyone else had.
“You wanna talk about last night?” He asked, his breath hot against your skin. There it was, the simple, no nonsense question. But this was nonsensical. It was emotional, it was unregulated, and it was a lot. It was too much for you to deal with most of the time, and Jack had his own baggage that he had to worry about, he didn’t need to start taking yours on. As if by magic, he opened his mouth again and gave you exactly the reassurance you needed. “Don’t worry about this being ‘too much’. I’m here for you. Literally, I’m in Chicago for you, but also emotionally. And I’m not leaving you.” He smiled, proud of his little unintentional pun.
You let out a half-huff, half-chuckle, and nodded. His arm around you fell as you pulled away to start getting ready for the wedding ahead of you. “It’s a lot.” You admitted. He nodded.
“So was my stuff. Neglectful parents, war, dead wife, PTSD, anxiety, etc,” he shrugged, crossing his arms as you started on your makeup in the mirror. God, he looked handsome. If it were any other day and you hadn’t just spent 10 minutes being surrounded by Faks and Berzattos, and Richie, you would’ve jumped his bones. “I’m also an emergency medicine doctor who has a habit of taking on too much from a patient perspective.”
You chuckled. “Molly tell you that?” You questioned, asking about his therapist. You and her were pretty friendly, especially after the few months of sessions where Jack asked you to join him so he could explain a bit about his past without shutting down. She was great for him, and he really liked how their work together made him feel. You were happy for him, glad he could work through it. He nodded with that ‘trying not to smile’ smile, and walked over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Immediately, you could feel the heat of his hand through your (his) hoodie, and it just drove you insane. He waited patiently for you to start talking. “My mom used to drink a lot. My dad didn’t care, and he drank worse, and then he died, so I guess it wasn’t much different. We weren’t close, he was always off with Mikey. Everyone loved Mikey,” a teary smile invaded your features, but you pushed it down. You wanted Jack to understand. You wanted to be vulnerable. You wanted him to stay. “My mom drank more. She got more uncontrollable. More upset. More… rageful. I was 9 when she threw a plate at the floor that shattered and a piece lodged into my arm,” you pointed out the scar with an almost disinterested gaze, and he noticed. Of course he did. His lips pursed into a line, the thought of a little 9 year old you, just playing on the floor, getting a piece of fucking ceramic in your arm for no good reason, just because someone else couldn’t control their temper, it boiled his blood. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the raised skin. You stiffened under him, but kept speaking. “Richie got mad at her, started shouting, she shouted back. Carmen got the piece out. Sugar cleaned it up. Mikey just watched it all play out. Sometimes he got like that.” You shrugged, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice.
“Like what?” He asked, continuing to press soft kisses to your shoulder and neck. He knew how to calm you. First, just letting you talk. Second, he’d kiss you all over. Third, he’d start running his hands up and down your sides. It was weirdly comforting.
You knew the medical definition for it. He dissociated. You knew the full definition, able to read it off like a script from your week long stint in the psyche ward when you were still choosing a specialty. Dissociation is a mental process where a person disconnects from their thoughts, feelings, memories or sense of identity. He’d just sit there, staring off into space. Now, you knew there were other things going on in his head, but then, you just thought your big brother didn’t care, and you got angry. You’d ice him out for days, sometimes a full week. Now, that thought made your stomach turn. “He’d…” You still couldn’t say it. It felt too impersonal to diagnose him post-mortem.
“Dissociate?” Jack filled in. You nodded. “I see.”
“My mom only got worse. More passive aggressive. More regular-aggressive,” you rolled your eyes, shaking off the emotion from before. “Everyday there was a fucking fight, and it was always my fault. When family came over, things got worse. She’d shout at us in front of people, and they wouldn’t stop her because they felt bad. She’d married an abusive drunk, and they couldn’t fault her for being upset. Got worse again when Mikey left home. He was only living in the city, and we were in the suburbs, but God, you’d think he’d moved to fuckin’ Hong Kong. She talked about him like he was dead. She’d be on her best behaviour when he was coming around, so that was good. Carmen was a real anxious kid though, and everyone just told him he needed to toughen up. He used to draw. He’d draw these incredible pictures at lunch in high school, and some dickward would just come over and rip it up. Drove me crazy,” you shook your head, remembering the fear in Carmen’s eyes, and the pride in the bullies. “I got in so many fucking fights for him. Nearly got me kicked out of school. When I couldn’t deal with the kids, Rich and Mikey would. They’d scare the shit out of them, fake jump them or something. Carmen and I used to be super close.” You explained almost dreamily, finishing off your makeup and moving onto your hair.
“What changed?” he asked, helping you with the straightening iron. He’d made you teach him how to do various hair tricks with it so he could help you if needed. It took a bit of trial and error, and a lot of being burnt with the iron, but he got the hang of it. It nearly made your ovaries explode, watching him brush your hair.
You sighed. “When Mikey died, I kind of… lost it, just a little. Mikey was my big brother and I was taking care of him, trying to get him clean, using all my spare time, which was barely anything, to help him with the restaurant, or with anything he needed. I obviously was the first one to know, and I had to call everyone. I called Carmen. I told him. He hung up. I call him a hundred times, left him voicemails until his was full, and he didn’t fucking call me back. I begged him to come to the funeral, or at least text me back so I knew he was alive. I spent 4 nights calling New York ERs to check that he wasn’t dead. Mikey's funeral came around, and I was alone. Carmen didn’t come. My mom was on the verge of losing it every five seconds. Richie was still trying to fix his marriage. Sugar had Pete. I had no one. I expected him to be there, because he always promised me that if I asked him to do something, he’d move heaven and Earth to get it done. He let me down. So, I flew to New York, called him a bad brother, a coward, and a selfish bastard. I ambushed him outside of his work, and all he said was ‘I have to get back inside’. No sorry. No dropping everything and coming back home to help pick up the pieces. Nothing. He just walked back inside. He came home four months later, and by then I was already in Pittsburgh.”
Part of him wanted to just crawl into a hole and die. His heart broke for you. Everything you’d endured, everything you’d kept silent for so long, everything you’d swallowed. He cleared his throat and made eye contact with you through the mirror. “I’m sorry.” He practically whispered, but you heard it. It hit you square in the chest, and squeezed your heart. He was good at that.
“My mom doesn’t like me in general, but she specifically can’t look at me because I look the most like Carmen and Mikey. You’ll probably see her there today, wine glass in her hand, spewing nonsense,” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. He nodded, pretending he didn’t notice the tremble in your shoulders. “And you’ll see Carmen.”
“I can introduce myself, if it makes it easier?” He offered, finishing off your hair.
You shook your head. “Ideally, I won’t leave your side today.” You admitted, standing up and kissing his cheek, before heading into the bathroom.
The tightness in his chest had eased, and the insecurity had subsided. You had opened up, even though it was hard, and you’d told him. You explained a fair bit of what happened before he knew you, and he almost felt a little giddy that you trusted him, but any happiness was soon crushed by the realisation of what happened to you. He couldn’t help but think of a younger you, with smaller features and less medical knowledge. That scared little girl he caught glimpses of occasionally, much like the glimpses you caught of the boy he used to be. The skinny one with freckles and bruises all over his skin. He liked to think you two could’ve been friends, if there wasn’t the age gap, or distance. Maybe he would’ve helped you fend off Carmen’s bullies, and you could’ve held him when he cried like you were so talented at doing now.
“What do you think?” You asked, stepping out in a gorgeous blue dress. The corners of his mouth rose, and he felt his boxers get a little tighter. You quickly spun around, and he captured your waist in his hand. God, you constantly took his breath away, whether it was the shitty scrubs from the machine, or a beautiful dress like this, or just lying in bed in one of his hoodies, he had no idea how he got so lucky.
“Beautiful.” He whispered before swallowing your lips in a kiss.
Walking upstairs was slightly awkward. Everyone was waiting, staring at you and Jack as you emerged from the basement. RIchie clenched his jaw, Sugar smiled a little too strangely, Pete was just Pete, Neil was already rushing over to introduce himself, Sammy had an eyebrow raised, Teddy was simply staring (and whispering to Sammy), and Sydney just gave you that awkward smile.
“Neil Fak.” He smiled, holding his hand out. Jack took it, and smiled.
“Jack Abbot.” He nodded. Neil kept shaking his hand, unrelenting as he stared at the man in front of him. Jack pretended it wasn’t awkward.
“Wow, you’re handsome,” Neil blurted out before he could stop himself, and you literally faceplanted as Jack tried not to laugh. Richie finally walked over and put everyone out of their misery, moving Neil out of the way as he tried to explain himself. “I mean like, objectively, he’s a very handsome guy-!?”
Richie ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah, yeah Neil, we fuckin’ get it. Richie Jeromovitch, nice to meet ya,” next, he shook Jack's hand. He fell into his easy ‘italian’ charm, cracking jokes immediately. “Doc here treatin’ you good? She can be a real fuckin’ handful.”
Jack smiled and squeezed your hand harder. “She’s stubborn but so am I.” He beamed, and you rolled your eyes.
“Alright, since all the introductions are introduced, let’s go,” you led the charge to the front door with Jack trailing behind, and the rest of the group followed. “God, they are so fucking embarrassing.” You sighed as you started your car. “It’s actually painful to be around them.”
Jack laughed. “I like them.” He shrugged, fiddling with the radio.
You rolled your eyes again. “You ‘like’ them because Neil called you handsome.”
He chuckled. “Definitely helped.”
You scoffed, and focused on driving. These streets you hadn't seen in so long but knew so damn well. Millenium Park. Your old college campus. Your old hospital. All those silly little restaurants your parents would drag you out to. All those streets you’d walked a thousand times before, Mikey by your side making some wise-ass comments about anything. God, you missed it, missed him. Even the suburbs reeked of him, and he rarely lived at home for much of your remembered childhood. The sidewalks you played on, the playground he chased you in, everything. It was all Mikey and Carmen and Sugar and Mom, and you wanted to puke.
Thankfully, the drive ended rather quickly, and you were outside Tiffany’s new home.
Unfortunately, Richie started spiraling.
Sydney stepped in, standing with him while you made Jack walk in with Sugar and Pete, then you came right back out to help. So much for not leaving his side. “Just… take your time,” she instructed as he chain-smoked like a fucking train. “You’re good.” Shit, so much had changed. Richie was actually starting to get in-touch with his emotions? Unheard of. Maybe Mikey dying had done something good.
He let out a weird strangled groan. “It’s gonna be fine.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself too, which he clearly was. You nodded.
“It’s gonna be fine.” Sydney parroted, nodding her head along with yours. Richie turned to the both of you.
“Is it, right?” He asked, taking yet another drag of his cigarette.
She jumped in before you could make a joke about a meteor hitting the house, or that nothing could be as bad as February 22nd and the week that followed. “Think so.” She offered him a soft smile. God, you almost forgot that some people hadn’t been told to push everything down until you explode.
“Everything in life is just for a while.” You added, trying to be of any assistance. Both their heads snapped to you.
“Says who?” Richie asked, offering a cigarette to you, which you took despite the voice in the back of your head (Dana’s voice) insisting that it would kill you.
You faltered for a moment, lighting the cigarette with shaky hands. “Philip K. Dick.” You explained, taking a drag. God, you knew it was awful for you, but you missed smoking, especially on days where everything is going wrong in the ED and you have to just keep going. A smoke on the roof would surely fix all your problems.
Sydney nodded and shrugged. “Well, he’s right. Y’know everything… ends, eventually.”
“That’s the truth,” Richie pointed a finger at you, and you just nodded, enjoying the cancer stick between your lips. God, Jack would fucking lose it if he saw you smoking this. Richie doubled over, trying to get more air into his lungs. “God- fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?” He questioned, standing back up. “God,” he breathed out. “What the fuck?” He stared at the building to his left, the tall redbrick structure in the nice part of town. It must’ve at least cost a million, or close to it. Richie turned back to Sydney. “How’s your dad?” he asked, desperately trying to distract himself from the ongoing anxiety attack he was clearly having. “That’s real shit, I’m being a little fuckin’ asshole.”
You looked to Sydney. “He’s much better. Thanks. Resting. Got five days off of work which he’s loving and also kinda hating.” She explained. You guessed he probably had a heart attack, you had a weird knack for guessing heart attacks. She seemed relieved that he was alright, which you always love to see from patients' families.
“Good, that’s good. Fuck!” Richie groaned. “Fuck! Fuck guys, everythings…” He trailed off, starting into this half-groan, half- cry thing that made you violently uncomfortable. You’d held parents when their children died. You’d held mothers when their baby died coming out of them. You’d held siblings and friends who watched their sibling or friend die. You’ve held husbands who lost their wives, and wives who lost their husbands. You’d held husbands who’d lost their husbands, and wives who’d lost their wives. You’d held children who were orphans. You’d held your own fucking friends and family of the Pitt when people were lost, or people were hurt. Yet, you couldn’t fathom being there for when anyone here broke down. Everyone here was meant to swallow it, and let it fester until they either died of old age, or blew their brains out off the side of a bridge.
“Hey,” Sydney had such a soothing voice. “It’s okay to be… nervous.”
“Good, ‘cause I am.” Richie breathed out. You puffed out another cloud of smoke.
“I get it,” Sydney let out. Richie asked if she was nervous too. “I mean, not about this, obviously, but…”
“What are you nervous about?” He asked, his voice trembling despite the way he was trying to keep himself calm. She looked like she was trying to make a decision that seemed impossible. You let out another puff of smoke.
She smiled softly. “Tell you later?” She offered.
“Promise?” “Promise.”
“Fuck, Doc, will you hold my cigarette for a second, I think I’m about to throw up,” he announced, doubling over again. Sydney started to back away, repeating no over and over again. “Please?” He pushed it in your direction, and you sighed and took it.
You knelt down to meet his eyes. “Richie, I am fucking terrified to walk into that house because I know what I’m going to find. Bitchy comments and strange looks from people who used to know me, yeah?” He nodded along, spitting out some saliva at your feet. “But everyone in there knows you. They love you. Even if they don’t, there’s at least one person in there who does, and that’s Eva. She needs her dad in there, because everything in her life is fucking changing, and she needs you to be a constant, alright?” You cupped a hand on his cheek as he nodded. “Also both me and Sydney are wearing open-toed shoes, so, don’t fucking vomit.” You stood up again, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it under your heel.
He stood back up, flailing his hand for a second. “I think all this shit is really fuckin’ me up and that’s why my pre-service speeches have been such fuckin’ shit, they-fuck-suck-SHIT!” He spoke almost too fast to be understood, but both you and Sydney called his name a few times to bring him back down. “I’m just a fuckin’ man! Being a fuckin’ baby!” Sydney called out his name one last time, and he finally looked at her. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth a few times, and he copied her. Hell, you fucking copied her.
“Let’s just get through this, yeah?” She said, not expecting anything. You were already impressed by her. Completely calm nature, logical thinking, and emotional intelligence? She must hate herself to have gotten into business with Carmen Berzatto.
Richie walked up to her and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for coming with me,” he breathed out. He then turned to you. “Thank you for coming with me,” he hugged you too, and you almost pushed him away because he reminded you of Mikey. Same bone-crushing hug, same fucking coglone, same fucking cigarettes. You didn’t. You hugged him back and nodded. “Let’s do this shit.”
“Fuck yeah.” She breathed out, following behind him.
You wanted the Earth to swallow you up as you walked in behind them, discarding your cigarette just outside the door. The house was beautiful, immaculately decorated with clean white walls and artistic wall hangings on every fucking flat surface. You hated people who had their life together. Your and Jack’s apartment had paint-test strips on the wall and pictures on the floor neither of you had even thought about hanging yet. You sought out Jack first, seeing him standing beside Pete as he recounted another old law story that Jack was half-listening to.
Fuck, he did look handsome. Crisp baby blue shirt with an even paler blue blazer and matching pants. He looked stunning. You caught his eye almost immediately and he smiled as you walked up, inserting yourself beside him.
“Richie alright?” Sugar asked, coming up beside Pete, interrupting him.
You nodded. “He’s fine. Sydney calmed him right down. She’s great, by the way, I really like her.”
Sugar smiled. “Everyone likes Sydney,” she rolled her eyes. “Have you seen-?”
“Not yet.” You gritted out. Jack squeezed your waist, a common sign of affection from him. It says everything. I’m here. I’m sorry. I care. You loved it. Just then, because of course you’re that lucky, Carmen walked in the door in a blue shirt and navy blazer, eyes wide with anxiety, and he hugged Tiff. You thought back to the last time you’d seen Carmen.
You’d made a rash decision and booked a flight to New York, planning on making him explain himself. It was the least all of you deserved, you just couldn’t understand why no one else saw it like that. He’s grieving in his own way, everyone told you. Yeah, so were you. You stayed up late and sobbed for hours. You had a panic attack any time you walked by the morgue in your hospital. You picked up emergency medicine. You researched hospital residency programs hours away. You stopped eating sandwiches. Carmen was functioning just fine, especially if you were going off of the fucking New York Times article that had just been released about him. He was the biggest up-and-coming chef in the world, and everyone clearly wanted a piece of him. You wanted to shove his head into a vat of acid, hopefully it would wake him up from whatever stupid fucking trance he was in.
You showed up at his job (probably not the greatest choice), and you waited by the back door, cigarette box in hand. You smoked the whole pack before he came out, twitching and blinking like he was on heroin. For a moment, you accepted that as an answer. You felt guilty for the messages you’d sent him about how he always ran away from things the second they became difficult. How he constantly let people down and ran away because he was scared of actual communication and confrontation. How he’d broken his promise of protecting you, and always being there when you’d call. Then you remembered his deathly fear of needles, and all your sympathy was gone.
“You fucking prick!” You screamed, shoving his chef-whites-wearing ass against the back wall, dumpsters to your left. For a second, his hands went to your throat, eyes wide and almost ready to fucking kill you. Then you saw the recognition, the adrenaline still there, but aware of the lack of threat. His hands dropped. “Where were you!?” You shouted, completely uncaring of what would happen if someone found you out here with him, with him like this.
His mouth parted like he was going to say something, but nothing came out. Those stupid fucking blue eyes you shared, the ones you’d grown up beside, wild and uneasy. “Doc, come on-”
“Don’t fucking ‘Doc’ me, not now, you fucking coward!” You shouted, slamming your hand down on the metal dumpster beside you. “Explain yourself. Make me understand why you couldn’t show up for Mikey, or Mom, or Sugar, or Richie. Explain to me how you couldn’t even show up for me. Even after all the fucking times you begged me to believe your promises. After all the other times you didn’t show up.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice was breaking. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t start crying, that you couldn’t give him that. But of course you did. The image of Mikey in a fucking hospital gown with no back of his head. The image of tagging him, with your residency friends holding you up so you wouldn’t collapse. The image of his fucking funeral, him lying in that stupid fucking casket, completely lifeless. No more smart jokes or stupid fucking points about shit that didn’t matter. Just nothing. The image of your mom’s house the day you’d told her. You and Sugar had swung by, and the place was in shambles. Pictures torn down off the walls, plates broken in the kitchen, Donna curled up in his bed, holding a picture of her baby, and sobbing. You thought you would lose her too.
He didn’t have an answer. He showed up, but he couldn’t walk in there. He could believe Mikey would do this, and put him in this position. He loved his brother. He loved his sister. He loved you. He didn’t have the answer you were looking for, so he didn’t speak. His mind snapped back to the kitchen, back to Chef David, and how fucking behind he already was. The words left his mouth before he thought about them. “Doc, you have to get out of here, I’m at work-”
A hand met his cheek. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have done that, but it felt damn good in the moment. “Work is always more fucking important than me, right? You and dad are the same selfish bastard in a new fucking skin, y’know that? Y’know what I’ve had to deal with for the past fucking three weeks? Mom, calling me at all fucking hours, drunk out of her mind, and just crying until I go or Sugar goes and finds her, completely inundated with grief. Sugar has been fucking impossible to fucking talk to, because she just sees Mikey when she looks at me. She just sees you when she looks at me. And you didn’t show up,” you sniffled, tears streaming down your face. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t break. He didn’t do anything. He just… stood there. Acting like this wasn’t the end of the world. Acting like your life hadn’t completely fucking changed. So you accepted it. Not prettily. Not happily. But you accepted it. “You’re a coward, a bad brother, and a fucking selfish bitch, Carmy. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t fucking come home. I won’t be there.” You pushed off him, and walked away, breaking for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Sorrow and grief swallowed you for a night in the city that never sleeps. You found a bench somewhere, and you just questioned why any of this had to happen.
He should’ve reached out and begged for forgiveness. He should’ve grabbed onto your arm and asked what you meant, making sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid. He didn’t. He straightened out his chef whites, and he walked back inside. He didn’t think about what you’d said. He didn’t think about Sugar back home, inconsolable. He didn’t think about Richie drowning his sorrows and ruining his marriage. He didn’t think about you or your residency program or how hard you were trying to hold things together when they were crumbling.
He turned inside, and he went back to the kitchen.
Your mind snapped back to the party in front of you, the sight of Jack explaining something medical to Pete, while he listened intently, and the hilarity of Sugar’s terrifying glare being used on Neil. You didn’t look at Carmen again. You didn’t want to. You smiled at the man who made you happy everyday. The man who carried your favourite protein bar in his car, jacket pocket, and cargos. The man who made you take breaks and openly admitted you were his favourite. The man who loved you, wholley. God, you hoped you weren’t losing him.
Carmen looked up from his conversation with Tiff, and he stared. His heart stopped, he was sure of it. You were back in Chicago. Since that night in New York, he hadn’t heard from you, or even about you. He didn’t know where you were. He didn’t know what you were doing. He didn’t know if you wanted to talk. He didn’t know anything. Quickly, he started to walk. Not away, not like he used to. No. He walked towards you, until he was in front of you.
You and Carmen always had the same piercing blue eyes. It used to unsettle people, how bright they were. He cleared his throat, stopping the conversation happening between Sydney, Jack, and Pete. Sugar had her eyes set on the two of you. His tunnel vision had blocked out the rest of them, just focusing on you. You looked different. Different hair, different clothes, different you. You looked older. Prettier. Happier. “You’re… here.”
You nodded slowly, face unchanging. “I am.” God, since when was conversing with your own twin awkward. This was so awful.
Carmen fiddled with his fingers just a bit, straightening his spine. “You left.” He said it like he still didn’t believe it, like it hadn’t been the truth for years.
You nodded again, hand gripping your glass just a little tighter. “I did.”
He tried to steady his voice, and Sydney started her deep breaths beside you, which you followed, trying desperately to hold onto any semblance of calm you had. Think nice thoughts, you told yourself. Takeout with Mel on a Thursday during shift change. Drinks out with Trinity and Yolanda, dragging an unimpressed Jack with you. Friday night date night where you got fucked into oblivion in your bed. Heads Up in the break room during slow moments with Ellis and Shen. Making saves. Helping people. He opened his mouth again. “W-where did you go-?” Just then the fucking Faks burst in, stealing Pete from the situation, trying to convince him to fund yet another one of their terrible ploys. The commotion was just enough for you to slip away, pulling Jack behind you.
Once you’d made your way outside of the main house, you pulled Jack by his collar, and smashed your lips against his. This wasn’t a nice kiss, it wasn’t kind either. It was serving its purpose, grounding you, reminding you that there was a world outside of Chicago, and that you lived in it every other day of the year. He pulled back gently, warm hands on your waist, and a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t,” you sighed, pulling a cigarette out of your bag (you might’ve stolen Richie’s pack inside). “And don’t fucking lecture me right now.” You pointed a finger at his chest, then turned back to lighting your cigarette. You could feel the disapproval from his fucking breath, but he didn’t lecture.
He just ran a hand up and down your back, sighing. “It’s pretty full-on in there, eh?” He questioned, pressing a kiss to your neck. You nodded as you let out a puff of smoke. “Can I do anything?” He asked, like he fucking always did. God, you didn’t deserve him. He was so good, so kind. He was always asking you what he could do for you. It drove you insane because he was so thoughtful.
You shook your head. “Don’t leave me?” You added, a pitiful attempt at humour. His jaw clenched and he physically turned you to look at him.
His heart broke, you thought he’d leave you? Insane. I couldn’t ever. “I’m not leaving you. You hear me?” He asked, a hand cradling your jaw as he stared at you with those impossibly brown eyes. You nodded. “You’re too fucking important to me, alright? I can’t live without you, yes?” He asked, forcing eye contact. You had no idea how he fucking did this, saying the most vulnerable things and keeping (forcing) eye contact.
“Yes.” You agreed, even if you didn’t believe him. You brought the cigarette back up to your mouth, but he snatched it before you could take another drag. He threw it on the floor, crushing it under his shoe. You rolled your eyes, and he gave you that look.
A voice you knew all too well came up behind you. “Can’t hide from me forever, can you?” Claire.
You both went into emergency medicine at the same time. She stayed in Chicago, you went to Pittsburgh. You lost contact mostly, sometimes she’d comment on your instagram, or you’d send her some ER meme.
“Claire,” you whipped around, smiling at her. “How are you?” She looked good, a little older, a little wiser, just as beautiful as before.
She swallowed you up in a hug. “Jesus Christ, it’s been so long!” She beamed. “I’m good, thank you. How are you?” She asked, pulling back. “And who is this?” She turned her attention to Jack, who smiled back.
“I’m good, thank you. Really good, actually,” you were lying through your teeth, but she didn’t seem to notice. When you were home, back in Pittsburgh with a few days off, you were really good. Right now, stuck in shitty Chicago with all your ghosts, you were feeling terrible. “This is Dr. Jack Abbot, my boyfriend.” You introduced and he shook her hand. She sent you a wink, and a mouthed ‘he’s hot’ that Jack definitely didn’t miss. He stifled a laugh behind his hand as you and Claire just looked at each other.
“I read one of your papers, actually,” she admitted, rocking back and forth on her heels. “The one on gender disparity in the ER and how women are often misdiagnosed?” He nodded. “It was great,” she smiled giddily. “I showed it to all my colleagues. They all loved it.”
“Well, thank you,” he smiled. “You should really read Y/n’s newest paper on-” you cut him off by literally covering his mouth with your hand, making both him, and Claire giggle.
When would this hellish conversation end? “Enough about me!” You announced. “What about you? Anything new for you? Friends, boyfriends, family?”
She smiled, laughter easing. “Well, yeah, actually. Carm and I actually dated for a little while,” she confessed, messing with a ring on her index finger. “Nothing serious, a-and we broke up pretty quick. Nothing much since then. Well, until a few nights ago when he came to my house and told me he loved me, which was kinda… a lot,” a nervous chuckle left her lips, as your own jaw was close to being on the ground. Claire and Carmen. What the fuck? She was logical, she always had been. Methodical. Clean. Calm. He was completely the opposite, and not to mention, she was entirely out of his league. “But we’re good now. Over, for sure.” She clarified.
You didn’t know if you were going to be sick, or reach over and shake her. How did she end up with Carmen? How? “Oh. You and Carmen-?” You were going to explode into a very long lecture, and subsequent questionnaire, when Neil came up, jabbering about needing you for something to do with Eva. You turned to Claire before setting off. “We will revisit this.” Claire nodded, holding a thumbs up as you and Jack followed Neil
“Is she alright?” Jack asked, trailing behind the two of you. “Did she fall? Did she hit her head? Is she on fire?”
Neil looked horrified. “No! NO! Nothing like that! God, is that where your mind went? Jesus Christ. No, she’s just… she’s under the table, and she doesn’t want to leave. And now Frank and Richie are freaking out, like on the verge of a panic attack-”
“She’s the fucking cunt-!” “No she’s the fucking cunt!”
“Is that Sugar?” You questioned, eyes wild as you searched the room for her blonde hair. You found it, screaming at Francine. “Shit, alright, umm… Jack, you stay here and try to talk Richie and Frank out of their fucking panic attacks, I’ll be right back,” you decided, walking off to try and pull the women away from each other. Jimmy was standing beside them, looking like he would rather be slingshotted to the moon than be between them. You stalked over, trying to have your voice heard over theirs. It was times like these you wished you had the capacity for volume that Robby did. “Ladies! Let’s just fuckin’, no, Francine, I swear to fuck I will rip your hair out of your head if you so much as try to bite me one more fuckin’ time. Sugar- Sug- Natalie! Stop acting like fuckin’ schoolgirls- ohhh, do not fuckin’ piss me off right now. Is this how adults act-? No! I didn’t fuckin’ think so! Francie, lovely to see you, stay in the fucking house. Sugar, lovely to see you, stay in the fucking tent. Problem solved!” You clapped your hands together definitively, one of the Faks taking Francine away as Sugar stood in her place, rage radiating off of her. You grabbed a glass of champagne from a table nearby and handed it over to her, irritation rushing through your veins. “Grow up,” you scoffed before cheersing your glasses together. “Cheers!” You fake smiled before rushing off back to Jack and the boys. God you hated this fucking family. If you weren’t already so frazzled, you would’ve noticed the three people trailing you. You didn’t, you only stopped when you found Rich and Frank standing beside a table, with the hilarious image of Jack’s legs sticking out from under the table.
Behind you Stevie, Carmen, and Tiffany all stood. You genuinely jumped, tripping over Jack’s prosthetic leg, and falling on top of him. “Oh shit, sorry baby,” you sighed, rolling up his trousers and reattaching his leg the way you’d done a thousand times before. “You alright in there?” you practically whispered.
“All good.” He responded as you stood up, turning back to the trio in front of you.
“Is he a pirate?” Stevie smirked, that stupid smirk you’d always wanted to slap off his fucking face. You sent him that look, the one Dana called your ‘scary dog look’, and he nodded. “No jokes about the leg, got it. So, how are you?”
“Great, thanks Stevie,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, mostly because that was the only language he understood. “How’s your lavender marriage?” You shot back, smoothing out your dress.
He laughed. “Hoo-ho! You got me there! Maybe we should ask Carmy here how many times he heard me and Michelle fuck while he was staying with us in New York, shall we?” He turned his head to Carmen, who was just staring at you.
He shook his head. “No, we shall not.”
You changed your focus to the beautiful bride in front of you. “Hey Tiff, congratulations,” you smiled, pulling her into a hug. You didn’t know her well, but you knew Richie, and when they started going out, he beamed. Even when they got married and things got hard, he was so fucking in love with her. “This place is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. She was always so sweet. “How are you? How’s Pittsburgh?”
“Pittsburgh,” Carmen parroted. “You moved to Pittsburgh?”
“Yes, Carmen, PTMC had a great residency program,” you sent him a death glare, then turned back to Tiff. “I’m good thank you, yeah, Pittsburgh’s great. My boyfriend and I-” you pointed out Jack, who was still under the fucking table. “-are living together now so, yeah, it’s great.”
“Boyfriend, wow!” She beamed, holding your hands in hers. “That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, and yeah, I’m so happy for you too,” you smiled. “And thank you for inviting me, that was more than kind.” You added, still feeling Carmen’s eyes on you.
“Oh, of course. We’re still family, right?” She smiled.
“Right,” you agreed. “So what’s going on with you-”
Carmen stepped in closer, eyes wild. “You moved to Pittsburgh and you didn’t tell me?” He asked, voice cracking like it did when he was upset. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Stevie smirked at the sight in front of him, he loved getting to watch the drama unfold. Tiff just watched, then took a silent step out, mouthing a ‘good luck’ in your direction. Frank and Richie were too busy bro-ing it out to realise the shitshow in front of them.
“You didn’t seem to care about me in New York,” you shrugged, crossing your arms. “And PTMC had a great residency program. I was thinking about my future-”
He let out a strangled laugh. “S-so you can show up to my work, my future, and scream a-at me to come home, but you didn’t fucking tell me where you went, and what, I’m just supposed to fucking take that becuase it’s about ‘your future’? What bullshit is that, Doc?”
You let out a sharp breath. “I’m sorry I did that, it wasn’t the right thing to do. I was just hurting, and I wanted you to understand but I didn’t know how to say it, so I just… I had to hurt you too. In hindsight, I’ve no doubt that you were grieving in your own way, I just… I couldn’t see it, and I’m sorry.” You fiddled with your dress, wishing all of this could just be over, that you could just teleport back to your apartment in Pittsburgh with Jack.
He stared, eyes fixed on your face. He nodded, quickly. He blinked. “T-Thank you, for apologising. I-I’m sorry too.”
You were shocked at that. Your eyebrows jumped up into your hairline, mouth dropping open slightly. You just nodded, mouth dry and throat burning with unshed tears.
“I think she just doesn’t want to dance,” Jack shrugged, standing up. “I think you need to be okay with that,” he explained to Frank. He stood up to find Carmen and Stevie in front of you, your shoulders clearly trembling. He wrapped a hand around your waist, and pulled you into him, squeezing your hip. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice gruff and low.
“Yeah, I’m-”
“Wow,” Donna’s voice cut through the noise in your head, and your heart dropped into your stomach. She sounded dreamy, like she was remembering a young set of twins that she hadn’t yet ruined. Stevie fell away, not wanting to be anywhere near Donna and you together. “Both my babies are right here.” She smiled, pulling Carmen into an awkward looking hug, and then turning to you with open arms. You couldn’t do it. You ducked out, rushing out of the tent as you felt bile rise in your throat. You sat in the garden for a while, train-smoking some cigarettes as you waited for the inevitable bomb to explode in your face.
Inside the tent, Carmen was staring at Jack Abbot like he didn’t know what to do with him, and Donna was looking at him like she had a thousand questions to ask.
Carmen cleared his throat. “You’re her boyfriend?” He asked, his voice wavering. Jack nodded his head with a soft smile. He decided to give you a bit of time on your own, especially when he could ensure you wouldn’t be bothered by your twin or mother for at least a little while. “How is she?”
Loaded question, he thought. He pursed his lips together. “She’s the best doctor I have on my staff, she’s one of the kindest people I know, and she misses you,” he shrugged. “She loves her job and she dedicates almost too much of herself to it. She’s the most popular doctor in the Pitt, and she deserves every piece of praise that she gets.”
Carmen nodded, then walked off, his breaths erratic and shallow. Jack cleared his throat, taking another sip of his water.
Donna smiled at him, a curious glint in her eye. “Do you like working there? At the Pitt with her?” She asked.
He broke out into a proper smile thinking about all the time you two had shared there. From your first day where you performed a perfect crike and central venous catheterization within 30 minutes on your first shift, to the day he kissed you for the first time on the roof, to the days now, where the only good thing in that building is you. “I do, very much so.” he grinned. She nodded.
“I always wanted to be a nurse, y’know,” she smiled that tight-lipped smile he was getting more used to. He saw the similarities in features, just when she tilted her head the right way.
“Oh really?” he coaxed, wanting her to talk more so that he didn’t have to.
“Yeah, I did. I did a course back in high school about CPR and everything, and I was… wow, it was a lot,” she chuckled. “I have no idea how you guys do it.”
He nodded, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah, it’s… it’s still a lot sometimes, even for us.”
“I don’t think that ever changes,” she shook her head, playing with the ring on her finger. “So, she’s… she’s good?”
There it was, the question he was waiting for. “She’s… yeah. She’s great. She’s an attending now, she did her exams a few months ago, so… yeah. She’s great. I love her a lot,” he confessed, trying to keep a little bit of the pride out of his tone. “She’s so smart, and so quick, and… she was just made for it. She really cares about the people who walk in everyday, and she, she always knows what to say. She’s always trying to make things better for everyone else, including our staff. She just… she cares a lot. She’s nice to med students and new interns which is shockingly rare,” he chuckled, thinking of your relationships with Whitaker and Santos and Javadi, and how close you got with Mel. “She’s just… she’s so special. All her patients rave about her, all her collegues rave about her, hell, I fucking rave about her. What she does is special. Obviously, there’s moments where it’s hard, especially because she’s so hard on herself, but she’s incredible at what she does, and half of that is how she speaks to people. She just… she cares,” he shrugged, his heart swelling with pride. “She is just incredible and we are more than lucky to have her. I’m more than lucky to have her.”
She let out a fond laugh. “Really?” She pleaded, hoping what he was saying was true. He nodded. “That’s wonderful! I always knew she would be a doctor. She always wanted to fix things, that’s why we all call her Doc, because she was always bandaging scrapes and helping out Carmy with his…” she trailed off. “And how did you two meet?”
“I was her attending at the same hospital while she was finishing out her residency and we became friends, and then it just turned into more,” he shrugged. He knew this would come up, especially with the age difference and everything. She nodded. “We live together now, which is great. She's, unsurprisingly, a great cook.” He chuckled.
She was quiet for a moment, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Wow. You really… you really see her, don’t you?”
“I try to,” he breathed out. “She doesn’t always want to be seen.”
She shook her head, covering his hand with hers. “You see her, just like Mikey did. You understand her,” she smiled, one stray tear falling down her cheek. “That’s special.”
He smiled back at her, and nodded.
“Take care of my girl, alright?” she asked, voice breathy and full of emotion. He nodded, a solemn promise he’d made over a year ago, to himself. “Thank you.”
And she left. So he left and found you outside with a half-empty cigarette box, and tears streaming down your face. He helped you up, warm hands on your waist as he guided you through the party to your car, forgoing any and all proper goodbyes or thank you’s. You needed space. You needed time. He buckled you up into the passenger seat of your car, and set off for Sugar’s house.
“Thank you.” You whispered out, eyes already droopy after your very emotionally draining day.
He shook his head, squeezing your thigh in his hand. “Always.”
That was it. He’d always be there for you.
I have a baby blurb request if you like the idea! Eddie just being really touchy and clingy on the reader for no particular reason but he literally won’t let her move rooms without following her like a puppy/hanging off of her like a koala. We love our lovesick boy!!!
ty for your request ❤︎ 0.4k, fem
“Oh, Eddie, my sweet angel from heaven.”
You’re kidding. Mostly kidding, voice soft and quiet as Eddie races back from his trip to the bathroom. There are perfect wet prints on his thighs where he’s dried his hands in a rush. The bed wobbles under his sudden return. He gets his arm around your waist and shuffles up to hook his chin over your head. “Wha’dyou say?” he asks.
“I said you’re heavy.”
“I don’t think you did.”
You smile. Eddie smiles the same, his mouth catching the side of your forehead, lips warm and a little chapped.
“Was there something scary back there?” you ask.
“In the bathroom?” He sighs dramatically, and manhandles you further into his arms. It gives you a jolt in your tummy of pleasure. “You weren’t there, so. Totally horrifying.”
“Oh.”
“Oh…” He turns your head to kiss your eyebrow. “Yes. Very scary stuff in there.”
“Did you clean it up at any point while I was gone?”
“It’s usable.” He spots your disgust and nuzzles your head. “Usable for you, so I cleaned it on my hands and knees. You doubt me. You hate me and you think I’m disgusting while I love you enough to get bleach on my good jeans–”
“Shh,” you murmur, raising your hand to curve around his face without moving from your spot below him. You stroke his cheek, shushing him quietly. “Shh, baby. I love you.”
You do it because it’s corny and it’ll make him melt. He acts like such a character, always loud and brash when he’s so sweet in his centre. Baby talk makes him cringe but he loves it simultaneously, and you love to tease. Better when he goes like warmed taffy against you, all his energy turned to clinging.
“I love you,” he murmurs, almost embarrassed.
“And you’re not disgusting. I could never hate you.”
He scoffs weakly. “Yeah, I know.”
“Yeah, you know. Thank you, sweetheart.” You’re laying it on thick, now, but it’s not not real. You love him. You don’t mind babying him. “You’re so good to me.”
It’s like glue. He’s stuck to you from that moment on, all day long, cuddled to your side as you make dinner, barely parted while you eat. When you need to take a bath, he holds your hand over the tub’s lip, stars in his eyes as you shave your straggly knees.
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You're known for being clumsy. So it's not all that surprising when you get injured at work (not the hospital) and are taken to PTMC, where your boyfriend Jack works.
Unfortunately you've managed to break your ankle, rather than your usual small bruises.
One problem: you don't Jack you're a patient.
So when he does finally hear that you're in the ER, he gets garbled information and winds up thinking you're gravely injured.
You were used to it by now.
The stumbles. The clipped corners. The oh shit moments that ended in bruises you couldn’t quite explain without sounding like a walking disaster.
It was almost a running joke at this point.
Almost.
Because this time, it wasn’t a joke.
The pain had been instant—sharp and sickening, shooting straight up your leg the second your foot landed wrong on the uneven concrete outside your workplace. You’d heard it, too. That awful, unmistakable crack that made your stomach drop before you even hit the ground.
“Don’t move,” someone had said.
Like you could.
By the time you got to PTMC, the adrenaline had worn off just enough to let the pain really settle in.
Which was… unfortunate.
“Scale of one to ten?” the nurse asked.
“Can I say twelve?”
She gave you a sympathetic smile. “We’ll take care of you.”
You nodded, gripping the edge of the bed as they moved you, your ankle protesting with every slight shift.
Jack worked here.
That thought floated up, hazy and distant through the pain.
You considered asking someone to grab him—but then again, he was probably busy. And it wasn’t like you were dying. Just… dramatically inconvenienced.
You’d tell him later.
Yeah.
Later.
Jack heard about it the worst possible way.
Half a sentence.
Rushed.
Wrong.
“Hey—uh, Abbot—there’s a girl—came in from an accident—bad leg injury, maybe more—think it’s your—”
That was all it took.
Everything else blurred.
“What?” Jack snapped, already moving. “Who?”
“Your—your girlfriend, I think—”
His stomach dropped.
Hard.
“Where is she?”
“Trauma two, but I don’t—”
He didn’t wait to hear the rest.
Because bad injury in the ER didn’t mean simple.
It meant blood.
It meant complications.
It meant worst-case scenarios that his brain was already filling in faster than he could stop it.
His chest felt tight—too tight—as he pushed through the double doors, eyes scanning, already expecting—
God.
Anything.
You were mid-sentence with a nurse when the curtain yanked open.
“—and then I tripped over literally nothing, which feels personal at this point—”
You stopped.
Jack stood there.
Breathing hard.
Eyes wide.
Scanning you like he couldn’t process what he was seeing.
“Hey—” you started, confused.
He crossed the room in two strides.
“Jesus—” his voice came out rough, uneven as his hands hovered over you like he didn’t know where to touch first. “What the hell happened?”
“Uh—gracefully injured myself, obviously—”
His jaw tightened, eyes flicking down your body, searching.
Your arms. Your ribs. Your head.
“Where else are you hurt?” he demanded.
“What? Nowhere, it’s just my—”
“Don’t,” he cut in, sharper than he meant to. “Don’t do that thing where you downplay it. Where else.”
You blinked at him.
“I’m not downplaying anything, Jack. It’s literally just my ankle.”
He didn’t look convinced.
His hands finally settled—one bracing lightly at your knee, the other hovering near your wrist, like he needed to feel something real.
“I heard ‘bad injury,’” he muttered. “No one said what. No one said how bad—”
His voice dipped, something strained threading through it.
“I thought—”
He didn’t finish that.
Didn’t need to.
“Oh,” you said softly, the realization hitting all at once. “Hey—no, I’m okay. I promise.”
His eyes snapped back to yours, searching like he was trying to catch you in a lie.
“I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself, can I?” he said, forcing a half-joke, but it didn’t land right.
Not with the way his chest was rising too fast.
Not with the way his grip hadn’t eased.
“I mean, I’m fine, so it’s okay—”
“No, it’s not okay.”
The words came out quick. Too quick.
Too real.
Jack dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head like he was trying to get a hold of himself.
“Not when I feel like I’m going to go batshit fucking crazy thinking you’ve hurt yourself.”
His voice did something strange at the end—tight, like it caught on something he couldn’t quite swallow down.
The room went quiet.
You stared at him.
Really looked this time.
At the tension in his shoulders.
The way his jaw was clenched like he’d been grinding his teeth the whole way here.
The way his eyes hadn’t stopped moving—checking, double-checking, making sure you were still in one piece.
“Jack…” you said softly.
He exhaled hard, like he’d been holding it in for too long.
“I thought it was worse,” he admitted, quieter now. “No one tells me anything, I hear half a sentence, and suddenly you’re in the ER and I don’t know if—”
He cut himself off again, shaking his head.
You reached for him, fingers brushing his wrist.
“I’m okay,” you said gently. “Just a broken ankle. That’s it.”
He stilled under your touch.
“Just,” he echoed, like he didn’t love that word.
“Okay, fine,” you amended slightly. “A very painful, extremely inconvenient broken ankle.”
That got a small huff of air out of him.
Barely.
But it was something.
His hand finally settled over yours, grip firm—grounding.
“Of course you break something,” he muttered. “Couldn’t just be a bruise like a normal person.”
“Hey,” you said, offended. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
That earned you a look.
A real one this time.
Tired. Relieved. Still a little shaken.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You do.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slower now.
More careful.
Like he was reminding himself you were actually here.
“You scared me,” he added, almost under his breath.
The honesty of it hit harder than anything else.
You squeezed his hand gently. “Sorry.”
He shook his head immediately. “Not your fault.”
“Debatable,” you said. “I did trip over air.”
That pulled the smallest hint of a smile from him.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That tracks.”
There was a pause.
Then his gaze flicked back down to your ankle, wrapped and already starting to swell.
“How bad?” he asked.
“Fracture. Maybe a break-break. They’re still figuring it out.”
He nodded, slipping back into something steadier now that he had facts.
“Alright,” he said. “We’ll get you sorted.”
We.
You smiled a little at that.
“Yeah?”
His grip tightened slightly, just enough to be reassuring.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re not doing this one solo.”
And this time, when his eyes moved over you, it wasn’t frantic.
It was careful.
Protective.
Like he’d already decided he wasn’t letting you out of his sight anytime soon.
summary: you're a highly strung lawyer, he's an emergency doctor trying to find his feet again. theoretically, your worlds should never collide. that theory holds true until a paralegal takes a tumble and you end up at the ER.
pairing: lawyer!reader (fem) x frank langdon
warnings/tags: frank being a cutie, reader being a legal badass, reader and frank lowkey have some vices in common (read between the lines here so i do not have to spoil things!), abby and kids do not exist in this universe, the pitt crew lowkey being thirsty af for the reader, ogilvie kinda being a creep, everyone lowkey just wants you ok!!! flirting, fluff, swearing, usual medical descriptions that you’d expect from the pitt!
notes: i lowkey ran away with this fic but I'm not mad about it. also...me not using a gif for a fic for the first time ever... i'm getting with the times!
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
series masterlist
masterlist
"That went better than expected."
"Don't jinx it."
You pressed the pedestrian crossing button, impatiently glancing left and right before you stepped out onto the road.
"I'm not jinxing anything! I'm just saying I think the judge might actually-"
You turned at the sound of a sharp yelp from behind you.
"Oh my god - Amy!"
She was sprawled out on the road, her stiletto lodged in between the cracks of a grate. Her ankle was twisted at an odd angle, her face contorted in pain.
"I'm fine, I'm fine-" She insisted, already trying to push herself up.
You crouched beside her, dropping your bag without a second thought. “Don’t move, you might make it worse.”
Passersby began to slow down, a few drifting closer as if to ascertain if they were going to be obligated by their conscious to offer to assist.
“I’m fine.” She repeated.
You stared at her, then at her ankle, which was already starting to swell.
“You are very much not fine.”
“Look, I can get up just- fuck!” She cursed loudly as she tried to put weight on her twisted ankle to hoist herself up.
You gripped her arm firmly, stopping her from toppling down again.
She looked up at you sheepishly.
You merely raised a brow.
“Ok." She admitted, wincing. "Maybe I’m not fine.”
“Yeah no shit.”
You glanced around, spotting a taxi rank only about a hundred metres away. You straightened, already pulling up your phone to google the nearest hospital.
“We’re taking you to the ER.”
“Wait no but what about-“
“-I’ll deal with it.”
The emergency room of PTMC was exactly how you remembered it - too bright, too busy and full of people who all seemed to be having worse days than you.
You stayed close to Amy, guiding her to a waiting chair and helping her fill out her admittance forms as her pain worsened.
“There's so much work to do, you shouldn’t be wasting your time here with me.” She muttered guiltily.
“You’re being ridiculous.” You reprimanded, although your tone was gentle. “I’ve got it sorted.”
You tried to ignore the constant buzzing of your phone in your pocket.
“Although, I think you’re banned from stilettos for a little bit.”
“But they’re Jimmy Choo.” She pouted.
You huffed a laugh despite yourself.
“Amy Saint-Clair?” A nurse called.
You glanced down at her ankle. It had nearly doubled in size since you first walked in.
“We might need a wheelchair.”
-
You followed closely as the nurse wheeled Amy through the swinging doors.
If you thought the waiting room was chaotic, the actual ER was something else entirely.
A hive of activity that somehow seemed to function as one organism - a single stream of consciousness, doctors and nurses weaving through the chaos with practiced fluidity.
“What have we got here-“ Another nurse stops, eyes dropping to Amy’s ankle.
You didn’t miss the way the nurse’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they looked up at their colleague.
“Dana, is there a room open?” The nurse called out as a blonde woman swept past them.
“Room 8’s free.” She replied without looking back.
“Great.”
In one fluid motion, the first nurse handed the wheelchair over, disappearing back to the admittance area before you could blink.
Finally, the nurse turned to you both.
“Sorry about that, today has been chaotic. I’m Perlah.”
“That’s ok, I’m Amy.”
You introduced yourself when Perlah turned to you before tacking on "concerned co-worker."
Perlah smiled. “Alright Amy let’s see what we can do for your ankle.”
Your heels hit the polished floor loudly as you hurried to keep up with Perlah, who was moving the wheelchair at an impressive pace given her size.
The sound carried.
Unbeknownst to you, heads turned. Subtle at first, then less so.
Santos let out a low whistle.
Whitaker cut her a look out of his peripheral. “Nice. Very professional.”
“What? She's hot...in my professional opinion.”
He shook his head, forcing himself to stare back at his computer.
“Who’s the hottie in room 8?” They both glanced up to see Javadi peering around her monitor.
“Who the hell says hottie?”
"What's this about a hottie?" McKay's ears piqued, causing her to divert from her route immediately.
"Pretty friend of a patient in Room 8." Jesse piped up from his desk.
"You lot are worse than teenagers." Dana roused, looking at them over the rims of her glasses.
She glanced up at the electronic board.
"We do actually need someone to go check-"
"-I'll go." Santos volunteered, already moving to jump up from her stool.
"Sit back down missy." Dana snapped. "You're way too behind on your charting."
Dana's gaze swept over the pitt, then paused.
She did a double take when she saw a flash of dark hair accompanied by a familiar slouch and forlorn expression.
"Doctor Langdon."
Frank looked up, mildly startled at the sound of his name being called.
"Just the person I wanted to see." Dana smiled as she inclining her head. "Patient for you in Room 8, looks like a nasty ankle trauma."
Frank swallowed a very obvious sigh. He'd been hoping for even just a ten minute respite from what had been an incredibly shitty shift so far.
"On it."
Everyone watched him leave. Then almost in unison, their attention snapped back to Dana.
"Dana, what the hell-" Santos began to protest.
"Save it." Dana continued typing, sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
"He's moody today." She added as she glanced over her shoulder to Room 8 as Frank pulled the curtain aside.
"So?"
A small smirk twitched up onto her lips as she shrugged innocently.
"Thought it might cheer him up a bit."
-
"A doctor should be with you shortly." Perlah reassured Amy as she helped settle her onto the hospital bed.
You thanked her, your hand coming up to pat Amy's shoulder, thumb brushing absentmindedly in a soothing rhythm when you caught her grimace.
"Jake's still coming, right?" You asked, trying to pull her focus somewhere other than the pain.
"Yeah." Amy nodded, exhaling shakily. "Said he'll get here as soon as he can but traffic's a nightmare. Said something about a six car pile up on the motorway."
You both looked up as the curtain slid open.
He was tall.
That was your first thought.
Dark hair, slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. A stethoscope hung loose around his neck, like it belonged there rather than being placed there. And his eyes - a striking shade of blue.
Those piercing eyes flicked from you to Amy and then back to you again.
"Hopefully none of them need a trip to the ER."
His voice was warm. Grounded and steady in a way that immediately made you feel like everything was a little more under control.
"No I don’t think so, my boyfriend said it didn't look too serious." Amy chuckled awkwardly.
“Well that’s a relief. I’m Doctor Langdon by the way.” He introduced himself as he squeezed a pump of sanitizer into his hands.
“Amy.”
“Nice to meet you Amy.”
His eyes met yours again, this time holding your gaze just a touch longer.
You offered your name, hoping it sounded more casual than you felt, as you resisted the urge to stare longer than was appropriate.
Then he smiled, just slightly.
Ok, he was hot.
He took the tablet from Perlah, glancing through the intake notes.
“Now, I’ve heard we had a nasty fall on your ankle, is that right?”
“I wouldn’t say it was nasty-“
You shot her a silencing glare. “It was nasty. Her shoe got caught in a grid at a crosswalk and she practically faceplanted."
Frank nodded, attention sharpening on Amy’s ankle.
“That sounds painful.”
“Very.” Amy admitted.
“Alright, let’s take a look Amy.” He slid on a pair of gloves and crouched beside the bed.
He had barely even brushed a finger over the area when Amy let out a hiss of pain.
Frank glanced over his shoulder to Perlah.
“Push four of morphine.”
You didn’t mean to watch him so closely.
The way he moved - careful, deliberate. The way his brow pulled together just slightly as he focused. The quiet, almost automatic gentleness in the way he handled her ankle.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket again.
You ignored it.
You told yourself it was because Amy needed you, and definitely not because you were suddenly, acutely aware of the attractive doctor in front of you.
"Does this hurt?"
His voice softened as he gently rolled her ankle forward.
Amy flinched, "yeah that really hurts."
“Alright. That’s helpful. Not fun, but helpful.”
There was something about the way he said it - dry, but kind - that made Amy visibly relax despite herself.
After a moment he stood, unfolding back to his full height.
"Well Amy, we're going to need to do a CT of your ankle to see if there are any fractures."
"Do you think it's broken?" She asked anxiously.
"Unfortunately it's hard to say right now given the amount of swelling. It might just be a really bad sprain."
He turned slightly, murmuring something to Perlah, pointing at the tablet.
You watched the folds of Amy's face crease into an anxious frown. You crossed your arms as an unexpected bubble of irritation burst in you.
"You know, it’s ridiculous that there’s even a grid there. That’s where you’re supposed to walk.” You huffed to Amy. “And it’s right in the middle of the city where thousands of women in high heels walk every single day.”
Frank’s mouth twitched faintly.
He and Perlah exchanged a look.
“It is kind of silly.” Amy agreed half heartedly.
“It’s not just silly, it’s negligent." You insisted, the familiar rhythm of advocacy settling within you. “I should write to the council you know. Threaten to sue or something, because otherwise nothing will actually get done about it like usual because they're-“
You stopped yourself abruptly when you remembered where you were.
You were not at your desk angrily typing out a letter to an opposing party, you were in a hospital.
You cleared your throat.
"Sorry." You glanced sheepishly between Doctor Langdon and Perlah. "I can get...worked up sometimes."
"More like highly strung." Amy grumbled, causing you to shoot her a glare.
"What are you, a lawyer or something?" Frank asked as he slid his gloves off, a quiet thread of amusement in his voice.
You winced.
"Just a little bit, yeah."
He looked up at you again, his eyes wide. "Wait seriously?"
"She's not just a lawyer, she's a great lawyer." Amy boasted proudly.
Langdon glanced between the two of you.
"So you're-"
"-a concerned colleague." You jumped in.
"She's my boss." Amy corrected. "I'm her paralegal."
"Ok firstly, you're not my paralegal, you're a paralegal at the firm I work at. And secondly, I am not your boss - you're making me sound old."
Frank huffed a laugh at that. It slipped out of him easier than it had all day - maybe even all week.
Amy rolled her eyes fondly at you in a way that only someone in a great working relationship could.
"We were coming back from court when I tripped." She explained.
Frank nodded, but his eyes still hadn't quite left you.
"Well...boss or not, it's very nice of you to come and wait here with her. Not a lot of coworkers would do that."
"Oh." You glanced at Amy and then back at him. "Well... she always uses the correct font type and size, so I'm a little attached."
Amy snorted. "And who says romance is dead?"
That loosened another quiet chuckle out of Frank, and for a second his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than necessary.
You felt it. That small shift, like the air had changed pressure. A flicker of something as your heart skipped a beat.
Perlah smirked as she slipped out of the room.
"Ok well-" Then Frank's attention was on Amy again, as if that moment had never happened, like flipping a well worn switch. "it might take a while before your CT, so just try to relax and if your pain gets worse let a nurse know and we can increase your morphine dose."
“What’s a while mean in doctor speak?”
“Could be half an hour, could be a couple of hours. It really depends on if we get anything urgent come in. But we’ll try and get you through as fast as we can.” He reassured her.
Amy shot you a panicked look.
"Ok, thanks doc.” You answered for her as you grasped her hand and squeezed.
"No problem."
His eyes flickered to you once more before he disappeared through the curtain.
Frank pulled the curtain shut. Unable to help himself, he hovered outside as your muffled voices pierced through the thin fabric.
"You should go, seriously. I can't ask you to stay here for hours."
"I'm not leaving you here on your own."
"But there is so much work to do- ok wait pass me my laptop and I can start-"
"Amy, you're not working, you're in the hospital for christs sake. Nothing we do is that important."
Frank knew he should walk away, but he couldn't bring himself too.
"But-"
"-no buts." Your voice was gentle, but had a firm edge, one that made it clear you weren't budging. "I can do it all tonight."
"But you already have so much to do." Amy's voice grew softer as her resolve waivered.
"Exactly, so what's a couple more things to add to a never ending list?"
Frank heard Amy let out a defeated sigh. "Well at least there's one positive to all this."
"Oh yeah? what's that?"
A beat, and then-
"Doctor Langdon is hot."
He didn’t let himself hear your response.
Frank moved fast. Down the hall, around the corner, going anywhere but there.
His jaw tightened, heat creeping up the back of his neck despite himself.
Perlah made her way back to the desks clustered in the middle of the ER, the hum of monitors and overlapping conversations swelling around her again.
Princess pounced immediately.
“Javadi says there’s a gorgeous woman in Room 8.”
“There is. She’s a lawyer.”
“Oh." Princess' brows lifted. "Beauty and brains.”
“I like her, seems fiery.”
They both looked up, falling silent as Langdon walked past.
“And Langdon’s the primary?” Princess murmured in Tagalog, their eyes tracking his every movement.
“Yep, and he’s smitten.”
Frank stopped at one of the computers and swiped his ID.
He glanced over at Princess and Perlah to see them giggling. They fell silent when they noticed his gaze, before sharing a glance and bursting into another fit of involuntary laughter.
He shook his head, jaw tightening as he turned back to the screen, willing the faint heat creeping up his ears to disappear as he began typing.
"Heard you've got a stunner in Room 8."
Frank didn't bother to look up from his screen as McKay leaned across the desk, her tone far too casual to be innocent.
"Really? I can't say that I noticed."
McKay scoffed. "Sure you didn't."
She paused for a moment and then, "so... is she single?"
Frank finally looked up at her over his monitor. "I don't know." He said flatly. "I was busy treating my patient, you know - doing my job."
McKay rolled her eyes. "Why is everyone so boring today?"
He shook his head and cursed quietly under his breath.
Frank Langdon had handled a lot in this ER. He'd intubated critical patients, manually pumped hearts, stood knee-deep in chaos during mass casualty incidents without flinching.
And yet, the truth was, he was more rattled by you then anything else he'd stumbled upon in the pitt.
He'd nearly tripped over his own feet when he pulled back that curtain and saw you sitting in that chair.
You were a blur of long and graceful limbs, legs crossed neatly, posture perfect despite the chaos around you. Those sky-high heels tapping faintly against the floor, like you carried your own rhythm into the room.
Then, your eyes met his.
Your hair fell in soft, deliberate curls, framing a face that was too gorgeous to be sitting under harsh fluorescent lighting in the middle of an emergency department.
It had taken everything in him not to stare.
He was a professional, he had to remind himself. One who was lucky to even still be practicing.
Then, you'd started speaking. And that had somehow made it even worse.
You were fiery, well-articulated, confident - something that no doubt came as a result of your profession.
But there was a softness to you too, a kindness that made him slightly weak in the knees.
The way your hand had settled on Amy’s shoulder. The way your voice shifted when you spoke to her.
It had caught him off guard.
After a few minutes, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Dana a few feet from him, writing something out onto a chart.
"You knew."
Dana didn't even look up at first.
"Knew what?" She asked innocently.
Frank pursed his lips and kept his eyes glued to his charts as he muttered his next words. "You knew that she was gorgeous when you sent me in there."
"Really? I can't say that I noticed."
His eyes narrowed as she echoed his words back at him, a knowing smile on her lips as she shot him a wink.
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Now that you were satisfied Amy was comfortable, you finally dared to look at your phone.
Three missed calls, thirty unread emails, seven teams messages and a voicemail from a very unimpressed partner.
"Go." Amy insisted, nudging your arm when she saw the look on your face. "Call whoever you have to call.”
“It’s fine-“
“You’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re not stressed but you’re actually two minutes away from having a meltdown.”
“I am not-“
“-you are.”
You sighed, your shoulders dropping just slightly as you glanced back down at your screen.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m morphined up and have endless tiktoks to scroll through. I’ll be fine.” Amy insisted.
You hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“Ok…just try not to injure any other part of your body.”
“No promises.” She beamed back.
You shot her one last glare as you yanked the curtain back - and stepped straight back into the chaos.
It hit you all at once.
Voices overlapping. Monitors beeping. The constant movement like a fast flowing tidal wave.
You paused for half a second, scanning for someone who looked even remotely interruptible.
“Excuse me.” You hurried over to a young doctor with a mop of curly brown hair who was typing away frantically.
He swivelled around in his chair at the sound of your voice.
His eyes widened as he looked up at you.
“Sorry- is there somewhere I can take a phone call?” You asked as you held up your buzzing phone.
"Um-" His cheeks grew red. "Uh well you could maybe uh-"
"Ignore Ogilvie. He's new." You looked up to see the older blonde nurse from earlier.
"Work call?"
"Unfortunately."
She flashed you a sympathetic call as she jerked her thumb behind her. "Go use the ambulance bay sweetheart, just make sure you stay out of their way if one of them rolls in."
"I will, thank you." You flashed her and Ogilvie a smile before hurrying in the direction she pointed you in.
Ogilvie watched as you walked away, his mouth slightly ajar as your hips swayed in your tight skirt.
"Sweet lord have mercy." He breathed out.
You moved quickly, heels clicking sharply against the floor, cutting a clean line through the chaos.
You passed an older doctor, offering a polite, automatic smile as your eyes met his.
Robby slowed slightly, turning around to watch you as you walked past.
He blinked slowly, then glanced toward Dana, who was flipping through a stack of folders like nothing unusual had just walked past.
"Is there a lawsuit going on that I don't know about?"
"More like Ogilvie's about to get served with a restraining order if he doesn't stop gaping." Santos remarked dryly as she walked past.
Robby's stare hardened. Dana slid off her glasses, using them to point vaguely in your direction.
"She's the co-worker of the patient in Room 8, Langdon's looking after her."
"I bet he is." Ogilvie muttered.
Robby shook his head slightly as he raised his hands up in defeat.
"On second thoughts, I don't want to know."
You groaned softly, rubbing at your temples as you leaned back against the cool brick wall just outside the ER doors.
You'd successfully calmed down two partners, delegated three tasks and promised to 'circle back' and 'touch base' on something that you absolutely did not want to circle back or touch base on ever again.
And in the process, created an impossibly large to-do list for yourself.
A familiar tension headache was starting to creep up the right side of your neck, settling stubbornly at the base of your skull.
You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose.
Frank had come out to take a breather.
Robby had been on his ass the entire shift, Santos was still giving him the evil eye and his back had started that low, persistent ache that never really went away - like it was just waiting for the worst possible moment to remind him it was there.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you.
You, in his usual hiding spot, tucked just out of sight from everyone unless they actively came looking.
Now that you were standing, he could take you in properly. You'd abandoned your matching suit jacket at some point, but the rest of your outfit was still immaculate - leaving you in a tight skirt that fell just below your knee and a structured top with capped sleeves.
You looked like you'd just stepped out of an episode of Suits.
Completely out of place, and yet somehow not at all.
He cleared his throat, causing you to startle slightly as your eyes snapped open.
"Hi." You blurted out.
"Hi." He echoed.
There was a small beat where you just looked at each other.
"Sorry I um- one of the nurses said I could take a call out here. I hope that's ok."
He smiled softly. "Yeah of course." Then he nodded towards the phone still clutched in your hand.
"Everything ok?"
"Oh, yeah." You said automatically. Then, after a second - "I mean no, but it will be."
He nodded like he understood.
"Work stuff?"
You let out a dry chuckle. "Always."
His eyes moved over your face more carefully this time, catching the faint shadows beneath your eyes - half-hidden by makeup, but not invisible.
"We're in the middle of a big trial." You explained. "So it's a little hectic at the moment, client's stressed, partner's stressed, so naturally... everyone's stressed."
Frank nodded again. "Sounds..."
"Stressful?" You offered, pulling a chuckle from him.
"Yeah, stressful."
"It is." You admitted, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But I mean-" You waved towards the ER. "it's nothing like what you guys deal with in there."
Frank frowned slightly at your deflection. "Stress is still stress."
"Yeah but when I'm stressed over a typo in a court document I have to remind myself that I'm not performing heart surgery to calm myself down." You tilted your head, looking up at him. "While you guys are literally performing heart surgery."
"Alright touche." Frank raised his hands in mock surrender. "But still, sounds like you've had a big week."
"More like a big year." You huffed, the honesty slipping out before you could catch it. "But yeah, big week."
"Lot of late nights?"
Your eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that your polite way of saying I look haggard?"
Frank let out a huff of disbelief, "trust me, you are far from looking haggard."
You tried to ignore the annoying way your stomach flipped at that.
He seemed to realise what he’d said a fraction too late.
He straightened slightly, clearing his throat, one hand lifting in a vague, corrective gesture.
"I just mean-" he motioned toward you, "you look like you’re running on about three hours of sleep."
You folded your arms across your chest, leaning more into the wall. "Is that your professional medical opinion?"
"It's a guess." He shrugged his shoulders. "But I'm usually right."
Your eyes narrowed further at the slight humour in his expression. There was no chance in hell you were going to admit he was practically right on the mark.
Before you could answer, your phone buzzed again.
Langdon watched as your eyes darted down, a grimace flashing across your features as you read whatever email had just come through. Your grimace only deepened as your phone began ringing.
“I’ll let you get that.” He made to go back inside.
“No it’s fine, I’m very intentionally ignoring it.” You shoved the phone back into your pocket, as if to emphasise your point.
“He’s a partner on the other side of this matter.” You explained, shaking your head. “He thinks ringing me is somehow going to make him get his way.”
"I'm guessing that happens a lot." Frank leant his shoulder against the brick, angling his body towards you.
"People underestimating you."
You studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of insincerity or expectation of praise for acknowledging something that was quite literally the bare minimum.
You were pleasantly surprised when your fine tuned bullshit detector didn't sound alarm bells.
"It does." You acknowledged after a moment. "But it makes it more fun when I inevitably run rings around them."
Your accompanied smirk made Frank let out a genuine laugh. "I have no doubt about that."
As his laughter faded, your eyes stayed locked. You felt it again - the shift. Something you couldn't quite name, or maybe were too afraid to just yet.
Your phone buzzed entitledly again.
"Sorry-" You glanced down at the caller ID. "I do actually have to take this one."
“Partner?”
“Oh- no I’m single.”
Frank blinked. Then a smirk broke through, unguarded.
“I uh- I meant law firm partner.”
“Oh.” Your phone was still buzzing in your hand, now completely forgotten as you tried not to spiral about how embarrassing that was.
“But that’s very good to know.” Or something of that ilk is what Frank wanted to say.
"Amy should be next in line for her CT, so it shouldn't be too much longer of a wait."
Is what he said instead as he pushed off the wall.
Professional, safe, controlled.
"Thank you doctor."
"Frank." He corrected you automatically. "What I mean is- just Frank is fine, you don't have to call me doctor." He added hastily as he began to slowly back away.
Smooth.
A smirk tugged at your mouth. "Ok." You said lightly.
"Well thank you... just Frank." You teased before finally placing your phone to your ear.
The way you said his name - low, deliberate, just teasing enough - landed in his chest, in his throat, somewhere inconveniently deeper than either.
He shook his head as the sound played over and over in his head as he slipped back inside the ER.
Frank exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
He was, to put it professionally, completely and utterly fucked.
Half an hour later, Amy was no closer to getting her CT scan.
You were back in your waiting chair beside her, posture far less composed than before, one leg bouncing slightly, still frantically glued to your phone.
And while you were trying your best to work, annoyingly all it seemed you could think about was Frank Langdon.
You exhaled sharply, dragging your focus back to the email in front of you.
The two of you looked up from your phones as the curtain slid across the railing.
And as if you'd manifested him with your thoughts, your eyes locked with Frank's blue ones.
Frank stepped inside, a coffee cup clutched in one hand, his other already reaching to pull the curtain closed behind him.
"Hey Amy, sorry for the wait. I just wanted to check to see how you were doing?"
"Oh I'm fine, just keep the morphine coming." Amy grinned.
"We can definitely do that." Frank chuckled.
He shifted his weight slightly, glancing between the two of you.
"You were next in line for CT but a trauma came in, I don't think it'll be too much longer now though."
"No problem, thanks for letting me know." Assuming the interaction was over, Amy glanced back down at her phone.
Suddenly, Frank's eyes were on you. There was the slightest pause, like he was debating something.
His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he extended his hand holding the coffee out towards you.
"I got you this-"
"oh-"
"-figured you might need it if you're going to have a late one."
Amy’s head snapped up so fast it was almost comical.
"You really didn't have to do that Frank." Despite your words, your mouth was already salivating at the prospect of caffeine. Your hand already reaching, your focus locked on the cup like it might disappear if you hesitated.
"Thank you."
Your fingers brushed against his as the cup changed hands.
"You're feeding my addiction you know."
Frank’s mouth lifted as he adjusted his grip on his stethoscope, buying himself a second.
"Luckily you're not my patient then."
As if suddenly remembering Amy - his patient and whole reason for being here - was in the room, his attention snapped back her.
"Sorry Amy, no liquids other than water before a CT."
Amy's eyes darted between the two of you, a knowing grin forming on her face. "Oh that's ok, don't worry about me Frank."
You shot her a warning look behind his back.
If Frank noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead he just shot you another smile.
"Alright." He said, glancing back at you one more time - quicker now, but no less intentional. "I'll check back in after your scan is done."
You pressed the cup to your lips, using it as a shield to avoid Amy's stare as he left.
"Ok. What the fuck was that?"
"What was what?" You answered innocently as you busied yourself with your phone.
"You really didn't have to do that Frank." She mocked in a low, sultry tone.
"I do not sound like that." You snapped, your eyes finally meeting hers.
"You were practically eye fucking him."
"I was not!"
A heartbeat later you added quietier, "we talked for a bit when I was outside making work calls. He told me to call him Frank."
"Oh my fucking god." She let out a cackle of disbelief. "You want him."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do. Admit it! You want to fuck the hot doctor-"
"-would you keep your voice down!" You hissed, glancing over your shoulder.
"Yes, obviously he is attractive ok?" You muttered reluctantly.
"And-" She sat up straighter in her bed. "He clearly wants you too."
"Ok no-"
"- he just bought you a coffee." She interrupted, ticking it off like evidence, "which was clearly an excuse to come and talk to you by the way, and he couldn't keep his eyes off you. What kind of doctor does that unless they're into you?"
"Really nice ones?" You meekly suggested.
She shot you a deadpan stare. "You're too smart to be saying such dumb things."
Your brow furrowed. "I don't like your tone missy."
"What are you going to do about it? I'm not your paralegal, remember? Besides why is any of this a bad thing? Honestly when was the last time you actually got laid because-"
"Alright Amy-" Perlah barged in before you could retort back. "Finally time for your CT."
"Saved by the bell." You muttered.
Perlah tried her best to fight the grin threatening to spill onto her cheeks. Neither of you had to know that she'd heard every word.
As time wore on, your stomach started to grumble, promptly reminding you that you had not eaten anything since stuffing down a muesli bar this morning on your way to court.
The idea of hospital cafeteria food was enough to turn you off the idea of eating all together.
You could hear two staff chatting outside.
"Thank god this shift is nearly over."
"I know, I'm starving."
"I really could go for an unethical donut right now, but don't tell Dana I said that."
An idea started to take shape.
You googled the number of a local pizza place that you knew was half decent and open. You pressed the phone to your ear, tapping the well worn arm of the chair impatiently as it rung.
"Hello? Hi yes- look I was just wondering- would you by any chance deliver to a hospital?"
-
Frank glanced at the clock.
Only an hour left of this seemingly never ending shift.
Despite how busy they had been, it seemed the entire emergency department had found the time to learn about your existence and more annoyingly, his apparent thing for you.
Every time he walked past someone he was greeted with a shit-eating grin and a snarky remark.
"I didn't know you liked Legally Blonde, Langdon."
"Permission to approach the bench?"
"Is your girlfriend going to sue me if I stuff this intubation up?"
He slowed as he watched his co-workers flocking towards the break room.
"What's all this?" He asked Mel.
"Oh um- someone got us pizza."
"Upstairs send another gift?"
"Nope.” Mel shook her head. "An anonymous delivery apparently."
"Anyway." She shrugged after a moment. "I'm getting a slice. I just hope they ordered Hawaiian."
Frank frowned slightly, watching as Mel joined the feeding frenzy.
Dana stopped beside him, silently handing him a receipt.
"What am I looking at?"
"The online order receipt." She smirked up at him. "You might want to cross check it with Room 8’s emergency contact."
While still waiting for Amy to come back from her scan, you had finally relented and pulled out your work laptop.
You'd kicked off your heels at some point, abandoning them beneath the chair, and were now perched awkwardly with one leg tucked under you, using Amy’s side table as a makeshift desk.
You peeked over the top of your monitor at the sound of a throat being cleared.
Frank stood tentatively at the threshold, as if he was mindful not to intrude.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"I thought you might be hungry."
You glanced down to see he was holding a slice of pizza on a paper plate, a napkin folded neatly underneath.
The way the napkin was folded so deliberately made something unfurl beneath your ribs.
"First a coffee and now pizza?" You teased as you closed your laptop halfway. "I didn't realise food delivery was in the job description of an emergency doctor."
"It's an unwritten but vital part of the job." He answered smoothly, handing it over to you.
Your fingers brushed again as you took it.
Except this time, neither of you pulled away particularly quickly.
You glanced down at the plate to see two pills placed neatly beside your pizza.
“Pain killers."
He motioned to his own neck. "You keep bunching your shoulders up around your ears, probably because your neck’s tight from sitting at a desk all day."
You tilted your head slightly.
"Which means, you more than likely have a tension headache right now.”
You stared at him for a moment.
“What are you, a doctor or something?” You teased, repeating his question to you hours earlier.
“Just a little bit, yeah.” He echoed your words right back.
You huffed out a quiet laugh, your head pounding a little too hard for you to bother to try and deny its existence.
"Well, thank you." You shot him a smile as you placed the pills on your tongue, reaching for the water beside you. As you tilted your head back you were very aware of his attentive gaze.
He took a seat on the edge of Amy's bed, leaving just enough space between you to be appropriate.
"You know." He cleared his throat again, glancing down at his hands. "Dana forced the delivery driver to give her the contact number for the order. Said she needed to make sure it wasn't a poisoning attempt or something."
You let out a real laugh at that. "A mass poisoning event? Sounds like the perfect opportunity for a class action, my firm's great at defending those."
Frank hummed, observing you take your first bite.
"You know you put your phone number down as Amy's emergency contact right? So it shows up in the system."
"I’m innocent until proven guilty."
"You didn't have to do that." Frank was unable to hide the affection in his voice.
"Do what?"
You held his gaze for a second and then broke, a smile tugging at your mouth as you finally relented and offered up an innocent shrug.
"I wanted to. You guys work hard."
You glanced back at your laptop. "I was going to come and grab some but I got stuck."
"Ignoring misogynistic partners?"
You snorted. "I wish. Putting out fires instead."
"Another late night?"
"Looks like it."
Frank hummed again, his teeth catching briefly on his lower lip as he watched you.
"I know you're worried about work and Amy." He said slowly. "But it's important to take care of yourself too."
You looked up. There it was again. The sincerity, the kindness, the softness in his voice that made your stomach flutter.
"Should I take that as official medical advice?"
"I'm just saying-" Frank emphasised. "I've seen a lot of hardworkers end up in here, I wouldn't want that to happen to you."
"Well it's a little too late for that." You remarked dryly.
You glanced up when silence followed. Your eyes widened as you realised you'd said those words out loud.
"I um- what I meant was-"
"You don't have to explain." Frank cut you off, but you were already shaking your head.
"No it's fine, I um-" You hesitated, then exhaled. "I got admitted here once during law school." You admitted quietly.
Frank stiffened.
"I was so stressed and studying so hard and getting no sleep obviously, and then next thing I know a friend of a friend is suggesting I try these pills that apparently made you focus for like twelve hours straight."
You let out a small, humourless breath as the words continued to pour out of your mouth. The weeks of sleep deprivation weakening your usual posterity.
"Of course I told myself it was safe because everyone at law school was using them so why couldn't I? And I was smart so I could control it and-"
You cut yourself off when you realised how much you had been rambling.
"Sorry." You pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and pointer finger as your headache pulsed, too soon for the painkillers to take effect. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." You confessed.
"I've been clean for years, so no need to report me or anything."
Your attempt at lightening the mood flatlined.
You inwardly cursed yourself, glancing down at your lap. Why did you have to open your mouth? Any chance of him being interested was going to completely fly out the window-
"Benzos." Frank murmured.
You looked up with a start. "What?"
"Benzos." He repeated, this time a little louder, his eyes meeting yours. "That was my vice."
Your face faltered. You closed your laptop lid fully, slowly, as if you might spook him if you made any sudden movements.
"Dexies."
Something deeper formed between the two of you. Recognition, understanding.
You both saw the irony then too. You were two sides of the same coin, two professionals albeit in vastly different fields - one chasing a high, the other a low.
You saw the pain in Frank’s face, unable to be concealed by a weak attempt at a smile.
Your struggle had been years ago.
His… wasn’t.
“You know-“ You began gently. “-addiction doesn’t define us.”
Frank let out a sharp chuckle, more terse then he’d intended.
You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an Alcoholics Anonymous brochure.”
That got a genuine but short lived smile out of him. “You don’t need to apologise. The last few months have just been…” he paused, like he was trying to choose between words.
“Shit.” Was what he finally settled on.
You nodded slowly in understanding.
“It's hard not to feel like it defines you." He continued. "Working here."
"I know that feeling." You said quietly. "Like you've failed at something. Like you were supposed to have control over this innocuous thing and couldn't handle it."
He looked at you intently.
"That you should have been able to fix it yourself, without anyone else knowing. That everyone else is judging you for it."
His eyes stayed on you.
"How do you not feel like that?" His voice was smaller this time.
"I try and remember that everyone has shit going on, even if they're good at hiding it."
You smoothed your skirt as you shifted your weight.
"I have clients - CEOs, executives - the type of people you think would have everything under control, who royally fuck up and I mean royally. It usually starts with something small. Something they think they’ve got handled. And then it spirals."
You gestured outside. "You see people at their worst here everyday. People who ignore your advice, who try to convince themselves they can take care of themselves just fine without help."
Your gaze softened. "And you save them."
You offered him a small shrug. "So yeah, addiction sucks. But it isn't going to be what people remember. Not unless you give them a reason too."
You reached out instinctively to take his hand, to offer another layer of comfort. You stopped just shy, remembering yourself in time. Instead, you patted the edge of the hospital bed awkwardly.
Frank studied you for a moment. He barely knew you, and yet, you were one of first people since coming back to make him feel like he wasn't just a problem to be fixed. Like he was wanted, seen.
Frank ran a hand through his hair, letting a few strands of hair flop forward. His eyes flickered down to see that you still hadn't moved your hand from the bed.
"You know." He began, his voice lighter this time. "You're quite persuasive when you want to be." He placed his hands by his side, fingers curling over the iron frame of the bed.
"Oh yeah?"
The edge of his pinky brushed yours.
"Yeah. You should think of making a career out of it."
Your lips curved, "I'll keep that in mind."
You could have asked further questions - you had every right to want to know. But you didn't pry further, as if you knew the wounds were still so fresh they had barely begun to scab. Like you knew he wasn't ready to rip the temporary band aid off just yet.
That restraint said more than anything else could have.
It made something in his chest tighten.
It only made him want you more.
Like always, Jack Abbott had arrived early for his shift.
He strolled through the ER, taking stock of patients and preparing himself for whatever mess the day shift had left for him to mop up.
He glanced briefly through the slightly ajar curtains of Room 8.
He came to a stop as his brain caught up with his eyes. Then slowly he took a step backwards.
He blinked a few times, letting himself process what he was seeing before turning around and walking back towards the epicentre of the chaos.
"Someone want to tell me what's going on in Room 8?"
A few heads lifted as he glanced around at his colleagues.
"Is Langdon getting sued or something?"
Javadi snorted. "He's getting something alright."
Jack looked around for someone to promptly resolve his bewilderment.
"She's the co-worker of one of his patients." Whitaker supplied.
"Yes." Robby cut in, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. "So like everyone who walks in here, she should be treated with dignity and respect."
Jack raised a brow.
"Well, whatever's going on in there-" He said, glancing back towards Room 8. "I volunteer to be next in line."
Laughter erupted. Mohan shot him a glare from across the room.
"Oh for the love of god." Robby buried his head in his hands. "Would you please stop encouraging them."
"Robby!" Dana called out. "Trauma incoming, two minutes tops."
The laughter stopped just as quickly as it had started.
-
You peaked out from behind the curtain, watching as the doctors and nurses sprung into action.
Frank had bolted the second he'd heard the word trauma.
You watched as he kitted up for the trauma room, pulling on gloves, movements quick and efficient.
He slid his glasses on, those annoyingly attractive strands of his fringe still flopping over his forehead.
It was like the Frank who had been sitting beside you minutes ago, quiet and open and real had ceased to exist. He was replaced by something precise, calm, unmoveable.
You watched him step into the trauma room without hesitation.
And something about that - the competence, the confidence, the way the chaos seemed to bend around him instead of swallowing him - it did something to you.
Looks were one thing. But this? It was enough to make you weak in the knees.
-
"Don't worry kids, the adult has arrived."
Frank stepped back as Garcia sauntered into the trauma room, Robby immediately jumping in to explain the patient's symptoms.
"I'm going to need to make an incision."
Wordlessly a scalpel was placed into her outstretched hand.
"So Langdon-" She started casually. "I've heard you've got a hot lawyer down here." She said it so nonchalantly it was like she was running a knife through butter, not a person's chest cavity.
"Jesus- OR knows about this?"
"Everyone knows about this." She corrected him.
"Must be a slow news day." He grumbled as he went to check the patient's vitals.
"She bought us all pizza." Mohan unhelpfully added.
Garcia glanced up. "Really?"
"Really." Mohan confirmed.
Garcia's brow lifted slightly as she worked.
"So this woman is hot, smart and buys your co-workers food seemingly out of the goodness of her own heart?"
McKay let out a snort.
"Better find a way not to screw this one up Langdon."
"Trust me, I'm working on it." He mumbled under his breath.
Across the room, Robby noticed it.
There was something different in Langdon. He moved like he was more sure of himself, less in his head.
That dark, heavy layer that he'd been carrying since he'd returned was not gone completely, but it was like something had finally cut through it, even just a little.
Robby’s expression didn’t change, but he watched him for a second longer than necessary.
He was still so angry at him, the sting of the betrayal of his adopted prodigy still fresh. But he couldn't ignore the flicker of something in him. It was brief, gone as quickly as it came, but still identifiable.
Relief.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Amy and Perlah trundled back into the room from her journey upstairs.
Frank wasn’t far behind.
"It’s just a bad sprain." He confirmed. "Painful - but nothing we can’t manage."
Amy let out a dramatic sigh of relief.
“We’ll put you in a moon boot and give you some crutches." He added before crouching down at the foot of her bed.
You tried to focus back on your phone, but your attention kept drifting.
To the way he worked. The quiet focus. The gentle way he handled her ankle, explaining everything as he went.
And occasionally, to the way his eyes flicked up to you.
From somewhere just outside the curtain, voices filtered through.
"Have you seen the lawyer yet?"
"Yeah she's really pretty."
"I know. Langdon's whipped. He's doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The soft voice."
"He always has a soft voice."
"No - this is softer."
Your cheeks burned.
Frank very intentionally ignored them.
"This is amazing." Amy whispered.
"Please stop." You whispered back.
"Ok!" Frank jumped up with just a touch too much enthusiasm to be natural.
"You should be all good to go. You’ll have to keep weight off it for at least a week.”
“So no Jimmy Choos?”
“Definitely no Jimmy Choos.”
Amy pouted out her lower lip.
“I’d be happy to look after them for you.”
Amy cut you a side eye. “You have enough pairs of shoes to supply a small village.”
Frank smirked to himself at your bickering. Your eyes met briefly, training on one another long enough for Amy and Perlah to exchange a look.
"Um actually I think I need to go to the bathroom before I go." Amy announced loudly. "Perlah, do you think you could help me?"
"Of course."
"It might take a while." Amy held up one of her crutches. "You know, being impaired and everything."
"So plenty of time to talk." Perlah piped up.
You watched them go, both of them barely containing their giggles as they slipped out through the curtain.
Silence fell, thicker this time.
"Well, that was subtle." Frank remarked once the two of you were alone.
You let out a breathless laugh.
"Very."
Another pause.
It felt different now. Quieter. Like something was waiting to be said.
The two of you eyed eachother for a moment, as if daring to see who would break the silence first.
"So-" Frank relented first. "I um- I finish my shift in about ten minutes and I know you're busy but-" He paused, his cheeks tinging pink as he tried to phrase his words eloquently.
"I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go have dinner? There's a decent Japanese place just around the corner."
You couldn't fight the way your mouth instantly curved upwards.
"I thought doctors couldn't date their patients."
"We can't." He said quickly. "But you're not my patient. I even checked the hospital's guidelines just to be sure."
Your brow quirked up. "Did you now?"
"I did. Section 14, paragraph 5 provides the definition of patient - in case you wanted to do your own due diligence."
You laughed as if he might not be serious.
You didn't need to know that ten minutes ago he had been frantically flicking through the guidelines on his phone. Checking once, twice and then a third time just to be safe.
He was still on shaky ground here, he didn't want to do anything to rock the boat further. But there'd been a part of him that would have been willing to risk it regardless, to listen to the voice shouting at him that you were worth it.
"So technically ok but maybe just morally grey then?" You teased.
Langdon shrugged. "Maybe, but isn't that the area where you lawyers love to operate in?"
You snorted. "Wow. You know, if you ever decide you need a career change, you should consider the law Doctor Langdon."
"Something tells me the law is better off in your hands."
Your smile widened.
"So-" He said after a heartbeat, a little softer this time. "Is that a-"
"-it's a yes."
You surprised yourself at how quickly you answered.
There was a time not that long ago where you would have hesitated.
You hadn't dated in a long time, you were too busy with work, telling yourself that you weren't going to waste your limited spare time with mediocre men - which Pittsburgh seemed to supply in abundance.
But now, standing in front of Frank, you felt all of those worries fade away into the background.
Relief flickered across his face, quick but unmistakable.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Frank smiled - warm, a little shy, genuine.
"Ok, cool."
"I'll wait outside with Amy, her boyfriend should be here soon - finally."
"Sounds good, I won't be too long."
You moved to gather your things, slipping your laptop away, but paused as you reached for your bag.
"Everyone's going to be staring at me out there, aren't they?"
"...probably."
"And it's not because they want free legal advice?"
Frank chuckled. "I'm afraid not."
You nodded slowly as you digested that information.
Then, your mouth curved into a small smile.
“Well-“ You slipped your heels back on, straightening to your full height.
"Better give them something worth looking at then."
Frank let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head, not even bothering trying to look away as you walked past him.
As the faint click of your heels echoed once more down the hallway, something settled in his chest. He felt more grounded, more sure of his place here.
And for the first time since walking back in through the doors to the pitt, Frank Langdon felt truly glad to be back.
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