⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ marit ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Tech’s POV

Tech remembered the moment the transmission went through. “Clone Force 99 is to return to Kamino to be assigned a Jedi general.” He remembered thinking about how pointless and redundant it was. They were operating perfectly fine without any help from the Jedi, so why would they need one now? Or ever, for that matter. Yet, there was nothing he could do to change that. All he could do is to steer the Marauder back to Kamino, just as they were expected to.

“Ooh, who do you think we’ll get?” Wrecker asked from behind him, tapping his feet excitedly to the floor.

“Hopefully they will give us someone competent,” Tech answered. His only wish is that the Jedi they are assigned to will be someone more intelligent than his brothers, which is not a high bar to clear.

“I bet you they won’t last more than a month with us,” Crosshair commented bitterly, moving the toothpick around inside his mouth.

Wrecker is undeterred by his snark comment. “Well, whoever they give us, I hope they’re someone awesome! I mean, we get to see a lightsaber up close!”

Hunter sighed tiredly, running his hand through his hair. “Just, let’s not give them a hard time. Play nice.”

Tech scoffed. He always acted nice, he just needed to know if the other person deserved his ‘kindness’ or not. For example, regular clones or regs. With the exception of Commander Cody. They’ve always been outcasted by the regs, bullied and mocked for their appearance. It doesn’t matter though, most of them ended up in maintenance work anyway. How does he know that? He hacked the Kaminoan’s database and saw the info, obviously.

Thunder roared outside and turbulence rocked the ship. Tech approached the open hangar as the ship slowly began to lower. He’s done this hundreds, if not thousands of times already. The landing went smoothly as always. He got up from his seat and joined the rest of his brothers. Hunter opened the door and exited first.

The blinding white light of Kamino greeted his eyes, wiping away the tiredness. Tech adjusted his goggles, the world blurry for a second before coming back to focus once the angle was right. He smiled in satisfaction before proceeding to lead his brothers to the meeting area.

When the door opened, Nala Se and Jedi Master Shaak Ti stood there next to someone. You must be our new Jedi general, Tech assumed. He stepped in first and his brothers filed in after. Hunter stepped forward, nodding his head to Master Shaak Ti, “General.”

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice,” Master Shaak Ti said, nodding back to Hunter.

“Of course,” Hunter replied, his eyes drifting to you. “So, is this our new general?”

“Yes,” Master Shaak Ti replied before nudging you. “You may introduce yourself.”

You nodded, taking a step forward and bowed. “Nice to meet you, my name is (Y/N). I’ve heard many great things about your squad. I look forward to working with you.”

Hunter seemed stunned at the politeness before quickly recovering. “Nice to meet you too, General. The name’s Hunter.” He went on to explain everyone’s role in the squad. Starting from Crosshair, Wrecker before finally, Tech. You smiled and nodded at each one of them.

“(Y/N) actually just recently became a Jedi Knight, hence why I think she’s the perfect fit for your squad,” Master Shaak Ti explained.

“Jedi Knight (Y/N) will be assigned to your squad temporarily. I will monitor the compatibility since Clone Force 99 is known for their unorthodox way of… handling things,” Nala Se added.

Tech expected for you to just nod and agree with the Chief Scientist, which would mean you’re offhandedly mocking them. But he didn’t expect for you to instead laugh before saying, “Don’t worry too much about me. I can handle myself just fine and their squad seems fun too.”

Wrecker nudged him on the side and whispered loudly to his ear, “I like her.”

Tech shook his head at the volume but quietly agreed anyway. You didn’t seem half-bad. After a few more formal jargons, Hunter and you shook hands. Nala Se and Master Shaak Ti left the room after making sure you were alright. Master Shaak Ti placed her hands on your shoulder one last time before finally leaving. You observed them once more and Tech found himself nervous under your watchful eye. What did you think of them?

“Well then, what’s our first mission together, Sargeant?” You asked Hunter with a playful glint in your eyes.

He turned to Tech. Which in turn, made you shift your attention fully onto him, waiting for him to say something. Tech composed himself before answering, “Apologies. I’ve just received the transmission, but we are to leave for Felucia.”

“Let’s go, shall we?” You proposed, adjusting your robe as you moved across the room.

Everyone still seemed wary but followed you nonetheless. You walked alongside them in silence. Tech kept throwing glances at you, analyzing you silently inside his head. So far, the only thing he noticed is the two lightsabers clipped onto your belt and how utterly captivating your eyes were.

They are so warm and inviting, he can practically feel the kindness flowing out of it. Your eyes held no judgement against them. There was no hatred or disgust. He was fascinated by it, no one has looked at them that way before. Not the Kaminoan scientists and definitely not the regs. He was so entranced that when he finally came to, he realized they were already back at the hangar.

There’s only one thing floating inside his mind now: How much he can’t wait to get to know their new Jedi general.

Your POV

When you first became a Jedi Knight, the first thing that came to mind is how proud you were for being able to reach that goal. But then another thought immediately followed afterwards: The Clone Wars.

War was something completely unfamiliar to you. The Republic had always been peaceful if not for a few conflicts occasionally. But those were easier times, back then they would’ve just sent a Jedi Master and their Padawan to handle it. Now? There’s several different parties coming together and they’ve somehow managed to drag clones into this.

You were perplexed at the idea. You’ve heard how they were bred specifically for the war, prepared since infancy to become soldiers. You’ve thought about how cruel it sounded. But the Republic didn’t really have a choice. Well, neither did the clones. They needed soldiers to be deployed throughout the galaxy. Still, you couldn’t be more grateful for their creation. Always look for the positives in life, your master would say.

Because if they weren’t created, how would you be able to meet them in the first place? Get to know them better? They weren’t mindless beings. It made it easier to connect with them, but also devastating when their life is lost. Each clone was unique and special with their own little quirks. And that is especially prevalent within your own squad.

Clone Force 99 had a reputation within the clones like no other. Before you were even assigned to them, you’ve heard a great many things about their squad. The Jedis would say they were very efficient at what they did. The Kaminoans would say that they are bad at taking orders but they’ll still get it done. The Clones would say to steer clear from them, that they’re dangerous and wild.

It was a mixed review, but you chose to see for yourself before making any judgement. Even though you knew the chances of meeting them would be small, they are just a squad consisting of four clones after all.

So, just your luck, that after your Knighting ceremony, you would get the news that you’ll be working together with Clone Force 99. It was as if the Force wanted you to see the answer for yourself.

Tech’s POV

True to his observations and analysis, the Jedi they are assigned to has been nothing but pleasant company. You were the perfect match with them, if he could say so himself. That might’ve been an exaggeration, but you deserve the highest praise. Even Crosshair’s hard built walls could not withstand the kindness you offered at every chance.

What should’ve been a temporary assignment ended up being permanent. You’ve been through many missions ever since. Around 57 times, he counted. Tech could go on and on about how impressive you were. How effortlessly you made it look when you sliced through the waves of battle droids. How you listened and followed his plans or suggestions. How you always looked after them when something went wrong.

Like this one time, they had a mission on some snowy planet. An explosive was set off, triggering an avalanche. Wrecker was nearly buried in the snow but you didn’t give up on him. You used the Force to lift him out just in time and you all made it back safely onto the ship.

How you would spend time with each of them to heal their wounds. On one of the many missions, they were ambushed. You were the only one who didn’t get hurt. You spent weeks nursing them back to health, forcing a very unpleasant Wrecker to take his daily medication. Tech chuckled at the memory.

He grew a deep sense of admiration towards you. He found you to be a reliable partner that helped improve the performance of the squad. Even more so after he found out that you were intelligent and knowledgeable too. Not as much as him, but still, compared to his brothers, you were much better company. You could actually keep up and participate actively in your conversations.

Tech greatly enjoyed the time spent together with you. Whether that be when he’s repairing the Marauder after a narrow escape or he’s building a new piece of technology.

It was also not uncommon for you to seek him out first whenever something on the Marauder malfunctioned, even when Hunter or Wrecker were closer. You claimed Tech explained things better than the others did. He found it most especially pleasant when you look at him with those bewitching eyes of yours. He couldn’t ask for a better Jedi, because you were already the best.

But that all changed when a new member was introduced to their squad. Echo.

Your eyes were now focused more on Echo instead. Before Echo joined the squad, your attention had belonged almost entirely to him. You used to spend hours beside him while he worked, asking questions about his modifications and theories even long after his brothers had grown bored of the discussion.

Tech remembered one particular night where you spent nearly three consecutive hours beside him while he recalibrated the Marauder’s navigation system. Even after midnight, you continued asking questions about hyperspace algorithms despite visibly struggling to stay awake.

Hunter eventually had to drag you away to rest while you protested tiredly from the doorway that Tech had not finished explaining one of his calculations yet. But now? Tech found those conversations cut shorter more frequently than before. Sometimes you would leave to check on Echo instead.

The change itself was not drastic. In fact, objectively speaking, most would likely fail to notice it at all. But Tech noticed. He always noticed. Tech wouldn’t admit it out loud, he knew he was being irrational. Echo had gone through so much after Skako Minor, he didn’t deserve any of that. It was also in your nature to bring comfort and security to others. But that didn’t stop the annoyance that bubbled up.

Could it be… Was he jealous? He’s only ever read about descriptions of it but he didn’t felt like it perfectly represented his emotions at the moment. No. He pushed the thought away. Of course not. That’s not possible. For jealousy to be present would mean that he would had to have feelings for the other person. He shook his head and focused on his datapad instead.

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Tech would often hear you praise Echo. “I think your cybernetics are cool. Don’t ever feel ashamed of it, you hear me?”

“Ah, thank you, General,” Echo mumbled shyly.

“If you’re experiencing any discomfort, let me know, okay? I’ll try to see if the GAR could issue you some of the more newer cybernetics.” With that, you stood up from your spot to enter your bunk and contact someone through your comlink.

He noticed how much you were spending time with Echo, how it spiked up to 42 minutes more than usual. It also wasn’t lost on him how on every chance, Echo would opt to sit beside you. Why haven't you treated him this way anymore? Why haven’t you praised him the way you had with Echo?

Tech’s grip around his datapad unconsciously became tighter. He grit his teeth at the question gnawing inside his mind. Okay, he needs to calm down. This is getting out of hand. Think of a way to win her attention back subtly, Tech. He closed all tabs that he had opened and started anew. He began listing all possible ways he could do to draw your attention.

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A few days later, you were fiddling with the caf machine. Tech had just entered the ship after performing a modification outside when he noticed your furrowed brows. Perfect. He approached you, “Allow me.”

“Oh, sure. Go ahead.” You stepped aside and allowed him to inspect the machine.

Tech ran a quick diagnostic on the faulty machine. Within seconds, he managed to find the issue and fixed it. He brewed your usual evening caf and handed the steaming cup to you. You took it graciously and smiled, “Thanks, Tech.”

“Of course, are there any other problems you’ve encountered?” He silently hoped there was more, wanting to increase his daily time spent with you. Even if it’s just for a few more minutes.

“Hmm…” You hummed in thought before shaking your head. “Nothing for now, but if I find one, I’ll be sure to let you know.” You took a sip from your caf and sighed. “Thanks again, Tech. I’m gonna go and meditate now.”

Tech could only nod as he watched your figure retreat outside. His body felt warm at the compliment he just received. Finally, after weeks of not hearing it. For a brief moment, Tech wondered if perhaps he had been overthinking everything after all. He smiled in satisfaction and quickly wrote down what happened on his notes. How glad he is to have his recording on. At least now he can look back at the footage and observe your smile.

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Echo’s new cybernetics upgrade finally arrived. The whole day is spent on helping him adjust to it. Tech was tasked to perform a few tests on him to make sure his mobility was stable. He couldn’t really stay focused though as he felt your gaze was on him.

Once he confirmed that Echo was doing fine, you jumped up from your spot and walked up to Echo. “Congratulations! I’m so glad you finally got those upgrades!”

Echo laughed at your enthusiasm. “It’s all thanks to you, General. I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, “Ah, it was nothing. You deserve it anyways.”

Echo smiled. He glanced past you briefly, his gaze landing on Tech for only a second before something unreadable crossed his expression.

Tech watched the interaction silently. He waited for you to sing him praise but… nothing. You fawned over Echo’s new upgrades along with the rest of his brothers. Tech’s gaze lowered to the floor. A new plan started brewing inside his head.

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“What is it that you want me to see, Tech?” you asked as Tech led you to the cockpit.

“It’s a surprise,” his answer was short. He had spent the last two days upgrading his goggles. He was hoping it would impress you the same way it did with Echo’s upgrade.

Once he made sure none of his brothers were there to overhear, he sat you down on the copilot seat while he sat on the pilot seat. He swiveled the chair and picked up a small box from the side. He took a deep breath and nervously opened it.

You raised your brows, “Oh?”

“It’s my newly improved pair of goggles,” Tech proudly announced.

You nodded and clapped your hands. “What does it do that the old one didn’t?”

“I upgraded the scanning system, expanded the recording storage, and integrated a predictive combat algorithm,” Tech explained casually, as though he had not spent the last forty-eight hours rebuilding half the internal circuitry of his goggles.

He handed the goggles carefully to your hands, relishing the soft feeling when your hands briefly brushed against his. The contact lasted less than a second, yet Tech found himself thinking about it long after you had already adjusted the goggles over your eyes. Now, he just needed to wait for your praise. He wonders, which feature are you going to praise?

You brought the goggles closer and tried it on. It was nauseating at first, but after a couple minutes, your vision finally adjusted. “Wow… You’re impressive, Tech.”

He felt his brain short circuited. “O-of course,” he stammered.

You giggled at his response before continuing, “I can see how this would help you on the battlefield. Still, I’m more impressed how you don't feel like you’re gonna throw up when wearing these.”

“It gets better over time, eventually,” Tech answered. The response was not what he had anticipated. Yet somehow, hearing you praise him directly felt significantly more satisfying than admiration toward the goggles themselves would have.

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You were sitting with Echo now in the main area. Tech could only sit there and watch the two of you. What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling this way? After showing you his goggles, he left to reflect on his journal. He documented the precise feeling he experienced and did some research, but nothing conclusive was found. He felt his chest tightened when he heard you laugh at Echo’s jokes.

“Did you have to make it so obvious?” Crosshair suddenly said from behind him, startling Tech.

When he turned around to face him, he noticed that Hunter and Wrecker was also there. Wrecker had an obnoxious grin plastered on his face. Hunter just had a knowing smirk while Crosshair was scowling as usual.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to convey,” Tech replied.

Crosshair groaned and took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it onto his forehead. “You really want me to spell it out to you? I thought you were the smartest out of all of us.”

Hunter gave Crosshair a disapproving look before sighing, “Tech. Don't think we’ve been blind,” Hunter said seriously.

Tech raised one eyebrow, still not understanding what message his brothers was trying to say. Wrecker finally caved and whispered, “We know you like like her, y’know?”

Tech’s eyes immediately widened and he felt his cheeks flushed. “W-what could possibly make you come to that conclusion?”

Crosshair chuckled at his reaction. “Like I said, you weren’t being subtle about it.”

Hunter smiled as he said, “We’ve seen how you look and act around her, Tech. No need to hide it around us.”

Wrecker nodded in agreement. “Yeah!”

Tech’s head seemed to be working faster than before. Has he really been that obvious this entire time? So obvious that even his below average intelligence brothers could notice? How embarrassing. Tech stood up from his seat and took his toolbox. He said nothing as he shoved past his brothers to exit the ship. He needed to do something before his mind imploded.

He climbed up the Marauder and set his toolbox aside. He took a deep breath and exhaled. That wasn’t real. How long have they known then? No. He doesn’t even want to know. Tech brought up the ship’s schematics, going over his plan to upgrade the exterior of the ship. Once that’s done, he started working. His mind was on autopilot as his hands were busy, trying everything to forget what had just happened minutes prior.

He was so focused, he failed to notice another presence climbing up the Marauder. It was only after he heard his name rolling off your tongue did he snap out of his daze. “W-what?”

“There you are.” You grinned as you continued, “Everyone’s worried for you, they’re saying you’ve been acting differently these past few days. So, I’m here to check up on you.”

“That is not necessary,” Tech replied quickly. “I am perfectly fine.”

“Alright then, I believe you. What are you doing up here?”

“Just some minor fixing and upgrades. The Marauder took heavy damage from the last mission, I was planning to upgrade our shield system…” He stopped when he noticed you were staring. Maker help him, your eyes.

“That sounds like a great idea! Would you like some help? I think I remember you taught me some of the basics before…”

He cleared his throat, “Of course. An extra hand would be nice.”

Tech nearly dropped the hydrospanner from how close you were beside him. He continued his work as you occasionally helped him, either by holding a flashlight or handing him the tools that he asked. It brought him straight back to the first time he and you had spent time together.

“Good job, Tech,” you praised, like music to his ears. “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve done this. If you’re going to do some more upgrades, count me in, okay? It’s fun.”

You hopped off the Marauder and landed on the ground, you looked up at him. “Thank you, Tech. I’ll be off now.”

Dr. McCoy carefully navigated the sea of bodies, careful not to step on any one of them. The Enterprise had been boarded little more than thirty minutes ago. Bones followed the path of destruction, hoping to find some survivors. No such luck.

McCoy scanned every body for signs of life, but yielded no results. He grimaced and trudged onward. He hated this feeling of powerlessness. So many good people were dead and there was nothing he could do about it. If only he had gotten down here sooner, maybe there wouldn't be so many casualties.

Leonard rounded a corner and was disappointed to find even more bodies strewn all over the floor. But amidst the flashing red lights, he saw you. You were leaned against the wall, blood staining your blue uniform. His tricorder picked up your heartbeat and he immediately hurried to your side.

"Hey, can you hear me?" He asked, snapping his fingers near your ear. Much to his surprise, you slowly opened your eyes.

He couldn't believe you were alive, let alone conscious. Your arm was a mangled mess of burns, you had a massive laceration in your lower abdomen, you were sitting in a pool of your own blood, and you had a terrible concussion. Your groan came out as more of a choked gurgle.

Leonard wasted no time in prepping a hypo to ease your pain. "Can you speak?"

"Yeah," You managed weakly.

"That's good. That's really good. Can you tell me where it hurts?" He asked.

"It hurts everywhere," you murmured.

"Perfect."

"Perfect?" You asked.

"It means you still have feeling in your limbs. That's a really good sign," Bones jabbed the hypo into your arm and started digging into his bag. He had to get you stable if you were going to have any hope of surviving this. "I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy. Can you tell me your name darlin'?" He asked, trying to ease you into a sense of calm.

"Ensign Y/N Y/L/N. Biology department."

"On, I know about you, you're the one who wrote that dissertation on the possible medical uses of Aldebaran Serpent venom. You graduated top of your class in the starfleet academy. I heard you've got a promotion coming up." Leonard said, hoping to keep your mind alert. He didn't want you passing out with that concussion, not until he was sure there wasn't some internal bleeding going on that his scanners weren't picking up.

"Yeah, if I make it that far..."

"You're gonna make it, trust me." He swallowed. You could see it in his face. The chances of you living weren't very high.

"You're a terrible liar doctor McCoy...I'm gonna die here, aren't I?" You whispered.

"I brought the captain back from the dead using the blood of a homicidal maniac. I've performed greater miracles than this. You ain't gonna die, not if I have anything to say about it." He said, already working to disinfect the gaping wound in your stomach. "Just keep talking to me, can you do that?"

"I'll try..." You struggled to keep your eyes open. "I-I... I smell something burning..."

"Don't worry about that." Leonard said firmly. "Just...tell me about..." He grasped for a topic that wasn't your maimed body or the smell of burning hair. "Tell me about home. What's your family like?" Leonard started to autosuture the laceration.

You ignored his question and tilted your head down to look down at the damage. Bones grabbed your face and forced your eyes up to his. "Don't look at it. Just look at me, okay?"

"Mkay...nice face at least." You smiled weakly.

"Oh?" he got back to his work, but kept talking. "I've always been told I got a face only a mother could love. What's so nice about it?" He asked.

"You have pretty eyes... and..." You lost your train of thought.

"And what darlin'?"

"Huh?"

"I got pretty eyes and what?" he asked, fighting against the knot appearing in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know you, but he'd like to. You were a tough cookie and he respected the hell out of it. He could see it in your eyes. You still had so much to offer the world... the universe. He couldn't let you die like this. He wouldn't let you die like this.

"Oh...I like your...your forehead wrinkles...makes you look distinguished," you attempted another smile.

"Gotta say sweetheart, that might just be the nicest compliment I've ever received." Leonard met your gaze for just a moment before returning to his task.

"Well, I've got more where that came from..." You leaned your head against the wall and looked at the ceiling. "...Might throw up..."

"If you feel like you are, just tell me. Okay darlin'?"

"Mkay..."

You both fell into silence and Leonard labored to think of some way to get you talking again. The autosuture wasn't working fast enough for his liking. He still had about two and a half inches to go. If he didn't work fast enough, you were gonna die.

"...Everything's all fuzzy. Cold." You murmured. A low rumble echoed through the halls as if punctuating your dark statement.

"I bet. You lost a lot of blood, but you'll be okay." Leonard clenched his jaw.

"There are others...gotta help the others McCoy. I'm a lost cause."

"You are no such thing. I'm saving you dammit." He didn't have the heart to tell you the other people in the hallway were already dead. A sudden, sharp jolt shook the ship. Leonard grunted as he tried not to fall into you.

"I'm gonna die... I never even got to ask out that doctor. Never had the guts..." You mumbled, eyes struggling to focus on anything.

"What doctor?" Leonard asked as he continued closing you up.

"Y'know. The grumpy one." You said.

Leonard's expression darkened. He was trying dammit, but not nearly hard enough. You were growing delirious. You didn't even realize what you were admitting to him. Your eyes fluttered closed, but you kept talking.

"I don't really know him, but he saved a friend of mine once... He's uh..." You gathered your thoughts. "He's real smart. So dedicated to his patients. I really admire that... Also got this dry sense of humor, and a really handsome voice. I wouldn't have minded taking him out sometime. Buying him flowers." You hummed.

"He's the kind of guy you bring home to mama, I think...Well...My mama at least." You looked at Leonard, eyes swimming with grief. "I'm not scared. You have to tell her for me. That I wasn't scared...I have people back at home. Can you tell them I love them?" You whispered, just as Leonard finished closing your abdominal wound.

Leonard breathed a sigh of relief as he started wrapping you with a bandage. "You're gonna tell them yourself darlin'. You're gonna make it, you know why? Because you're strong. Resilient as a rubber band." He tied off the bandage and started going to work on your arm. "I'm gonna get you stable and we'll get down to the medbay, then you'll make a swift and miraculous recovery, just in time for you to earn the rank of Lieutenant. How does that sound?"

"..." You didn't respond.

"Y/N?" He asked. Your eyes were closed. Your heartbeat was growing fainter by the second. "No No. Dammit, come on! I'm not giving up on you!" He emptied hypos into your arms and legs. A cocktail of medicines were brewing inside of you, fighting to keep your heart beating. He waited with baited breath for your readings to change on his tricorder.

Eventually, your heartbeat grew stronger and your breathing deeper. Then, to his astonishment, you opened your eyes again.

"Welcome back, you gave me a start there." Leonard flashed a relieved smile.

"Sorry...didn't mean to fall asleep," You smiled back.

Suddenly, the red lights turned off and the hallway lit up in its usual bright white light.

"I know darlin'. You're awake now, that's what matters." He pulled out his communicator. "Nurse Chapel, do they have the bastards detained?... Good. I need a stretcher on deck 15, as well as a recovery team. Prep the protoplaser and the burn chamber for the arrival of ensign Y/L/N." After her confirmation, he hung up and pointed his scanner down the hallway to see if there were any more heartbeats. Nothing.

Bones sighed and hung his head. The bastards were thorough, he had to give them that. He found only one survivor out of how many hallways? He was curious about how the security team managed to take them down, but that would be a conversation for a different time.

"Goddamned bloodthirsty space beasts..." He hissed.

"Tell me about it," you chuckled. "Certainly did a number on me, huh?"

"How are you feeling?" Leonard leaned against the wall beside you.

"Numb all over... I suspect you had something to do with that?" You turned your head to look at him.

"I injected you with a hypo for pain relief right when I found you." He met your eyes.

"Funny. I don't think I remember that."

"You're definitely on the loopy side. Can't tell if it's from the blood loss or an adverse reaction to the medicine, but we'll figure all that out soon."

"You can go now. Someone's coming to get me right?"

"You ain't getting rid of me that easily. I'm staying with you until your stretcher arrives." He crossed his arms.

"But there's got to be others that need help too, right?" You closed your eyes. "I'm fine, you should help them."

"It's against protocol to leave a critical patient alone. I'm not leaving until your ride arrives." Just then, he heard the sound of the hover-stretcher. "Speak of the devil, it's about goddamned time." He stood and addressed the two nurses. He spoke to them in hushed medical lingo. You had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn't sound good.

Leonard helped load you onto the stretcher. "I'm passing you off to Nurse Bell and Nurse Valinsky. They're going to take great care of you."

"As opposed to you taking bad care of me?" You smiled tiredly.

"Very funny," He smirked. "I'll catch up with you soon. Don't miss my face too much, you hear?"

"You're asking for the impossible, Dr. McCoy," You joked. The nurses guided you down the hall and around the corner. Leonard stared out at the crowded hallway, hoping his recovery team would arrive soon. Until then, he would just have to look for living patients on his own.

A doctor's work is never done.

~~~

When you awoke, you felt heavy. It was dim in the medbay and all was quiet, save for the occasional beeping of the biobed. You attempted to sit up, but winced the moment you put pressure on your arm. From the shoulder down, your limb was covered in bandages. You felt a deep ache all the way through your body and decided it was best to lay back down.

You tried to remember how you ended up here, but everything after the initial attack was a blur. You remembered the grumpy doctor, you remembered him mentioning your dissertation, he said something about pretty eyes, and you remember being so tired, but trying so hard to focus on him.

You looked around the room, hoping there might be a nurse nearby. Instead you found a room full of people sleeping in biobeds. There was a light on in the office at the end of the room, but you had no way of knowing if there was actually someone inside.

You scanned the controls to your left until you found a call button. Once you pressed it, you heard shuffling in the office. Much to your surprise, Dr. McCoy came shambling out.

"It's about time you woke up," Leonard took a look on your screen to check all your vitals. As you watched him, the events of your last encounter came flooding back. Distinguished forehead wrinkles? Seriously?

"Your heart-rate is kicking up," Bones smirked "Is that because of me?" He joked.

You rolled your eyes, "how long was I out?"

"About forty-eight hours."

"Two days?!"

"Better keep it down darlin'. Don't want to wake the neighbors." He slowly raised the bed into a sitting position and handed you some water.

"Thanks," you said hoarsely, "I didn't even realize I was thirsty."

"That's what I'm here for." He grunted as he copied some data from your biobed to his PADD.

"Bringing me water?"

"Keeping you from dying of dehydration," Bones corrected.

"Aw, and here I thought I had my own personal butler," you smiled and sipped your water. 'He really does have pretty eyes,' you thought while watching him work. Who were you kidding? It wasn't just his eyes that were pretty, it was all of him. You cleared your throat and took another sip. "Anyway, what are you doing here so late? I didn't think you worked gamma shift."

"I normally don't, but there are a lot of reports to file and not a lot of time to do it."

"That bad huh?...How many dead?" You asked softly.

"Fifty-six," Leonard sniffed pulled out his kit.

"Damn... and what about the pirates?"

"In custody back at Yorktown." Leonard administered a hypo into your arm. The soreness melted away almost immediately, but the ache in your chest didn't.

"I would have been one of them if it weren't for you..." You whispered. "You didn't give up... even when you should have."

"Any doctor worth his salt wouldn't give up on the likes of you, not when you were so keen on living. Ain't seen nothing like it in a long time. Your body just kept going long after it should have shut down." Bones explained, "And you kept telling me it was hopeless, but I could tell you were hoping for a miracle."

"So you gave me one," You smiled up at him.

"I told you I would. They don't say I have legendary hands for nothin'," McCoy smirked.

"Still, thank you for not giving up on me," you laughed. "I definitely owe you one."

"Ask out that doctor of yours and we'll call it even," Leonard spoke so casually, you nearly didn't register what it was he just said.

"I-I- my what?" You asked, dumbfounded. Your heart-rate picked up again and Leonard couldn't mask his amusement.

"You should get some rest, Nurse Chapel will be by in a few hours with some food for you. We're putting you on a soft food diet until your internal wounds heal some more. If you need anything before then, you know where the call button is." Bones started back to his office, but stopped just short.

"Oh, and Y/N?"

"Y-Yeah?"

Leonard sent you a smug look. "I like daisies," He said before disappearing behind the door.

You laughed and rested your head on your pillow. 'Daisies huh?' You thought to yourself. You weren't sure how you were gonna pull that off this far from Earth, but if Dr. McCoy could perform miracles, why couldn't you? Of course, the flowers would have to wait until you were released from medical care. You didn't mind too much though, Dr. McCoy was going to be there to take care of you.

And he wasn't giving up on you anytime soon.

....................

Taglist: @shadowbriar

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Jack just shoots you a shamefully proud smirk, stepping up to the automatic hospital doors. He lets you step in first, a hand reaching out for the small of your back as you both enter the waiting room. 

It was crowded, people huddled together in winter coats, the walls already crowded with people standing. Jack keeps his hand against your back, both to guide you through the throng of groaning and coughing and also to be nearer to you.

The waiting room made him claustrophobic, the thick stench of antiseptic and sickness lingering like a bad memory. You  glance back at Jack, a brow raising as you scan your medical badge. He gives you a soft smile, his hand settling lower against your waist as you hold the door open.

“After you, Dr. Abbot.” Jack snorts.

“Thank you Nurse Abbot,” he squeezes your waist, making his way to the locker hall. You roll your eyes, laughing.

He was still getting used to you sharing his last name. Still getting used to seeing a golden band on your ring finger.

Jack Abbot hadn't really planned on marrying again. He'd been content enough in accepting the role of silver haired widower; the doctor who flirted with patients and staff like he was all that. Who spent every waking hour working and volunteering because stopping for even a moment might make him realize he wasn't as content as he thought he was.

You saw right through him though. The nurse who worked night shift for years with him, matching his stride. Always one step ahead in trauma rooms, always ready with a comeback for his witty jokes. It was a crush that developed slowly over lukewarm coffee and overly detailed charts.

A crush that quickly became infatuation, one that anyone could see the two of you shared for each other. It wasn't long after Lena finally pushed him to grow a pair and ask you out that he was looking at rings.

The fact you had said yes- yes to a self destructive Vet, to an Attending with a sad past and even sadder sleep schedule- was enough of a confirmation for him to know he was more than head over heels for you.

You both stuff your bags into individual lockers- your coat and knit sweater shed on top of your purse, lunch bag slung over your shoulder; Jack’s pack is placed carefully onto the small shelf and he sheds his zip up, folding it and placing it onto the bag. He feels your hand at his elbow, a kiss placed onto his shoulder. 

“I’m going to put this in the breakroom. Want a cup of joe before someone drags you off to a case?” Jack looks over his shoulder, shaking his head. 

“Nah. I’m gonna wait till later. Al Hashimi probably has a hell of a headache with all the craziness this weather brings. She’s tough but snow injuries are relentless.” You hum.

“It was a snow day too for schools. I heard it on your scanner- we can probably expect quite a few sled accidents and snow ball mishaps.”

“Oh,” Jack gives you a raised eyebrow, his hand lingering on the open gap of his locker. “I thought you didn’t listen to that thing.”

“I said I didn’t like to listen to it,” you corrected. “Gives me nightmares.”

“Is that why you cuddle closer at night? Need me to ward off the bad dreams?” You laugh and roll your eyes, adjusting the strap of your lunch bag.

“You wish. You’re just there to keep me warm at night.”

“Liar.”

“Twat,” you smile.

Jack huffs, gesturing for you to come closer. You do and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning even closer and placing a kiss on your cheek. Your cheek is cool against the warmth of his lips, bits of snow still clinging to your hair. He brushes the barely there frost away, just catching your quiet thank you. 

You take a breath, glancing down the hall and into the brightly lit central hub of the ED. Jack turns and looks with you, watching as you stare into the bustle of the lingering day shift. Dana still ordering people around, a few of the student doctors running from room to room, trying to finish up and go home.

Jack smiles, practically reading your mind.

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're already drowning in patient charts and trauma calls." You let out a breath, nodding.

"Maybe I am. Just looking at that station has me tired." Jack chuckles.

"It won't be too bad. It's not snowing as hard as last year. Maybe it'll be a more qui-"

You gasp, mouth wide with offense as you reach out to cover his mouth.

“Don’t you dare say the ‘q’ word Abbot. You know better.” He huffs, smiling beneath your palm. “I know it’s gonna be fine. I just need some caffeine in me before I can face the music.” 

“Then stop loitering around here with me and go,” Jack says, his words muffled beneath your hand, thumb jerking towards the break room. You laugh, taking your hand away.

“Can’t a girl admire her husband for a couple minutes?”

“You could. But you’d probably miss the two minutes of quiet before all hell breaks loose.” You roll your eyes, sighing. 

“I can’t believe you said it-”

“Go on,” swats your hip, gently pushing you towards the ED. “Go make your coffee.” You giggle, and begin to walk away. 

Jack shakes his head, digging through his bag for his watch he’d forgotten to put on before leaving the house. He perks up when the familiar sound of your sneakers echo against the floor again and he turns to watch you hurry back.

You practically run into him, throwing your arms around him and squeezing. Jack stands there bewildered for a moment, a lovestruck grin gracing his face as you stand on your tip toes and press a kiss to his lips. A short kiss, half smile and teeth.

His favorite kind, really.

“Forgot to say I love you,” you breathe. Jack gives you an amused smile, your hand clinging to his bicep.

“Forget me already?”

“You know what I mean,” you laugh.

For a moment it’s just the two of you, the three little words that meant everything to him settling against his skin like a warm blanket. Jack stares at you, hazel eyes moving across your face, memorizing the curve of your lashes, the pattern of freckles, the soft touches of makeup you’d put on in the car. 

He takes a breath, trying not to rush the moment. Trying not to let it slip by, warding off the memories trying to fight for the forefront of his mind- another life he’d once lived. Another person he’d once loved, memories like smudged photographs, slowly replaced with newer ones. 

Life in high definition. Here and now. 

Jack leans closer into you, fingers digging into the waistband of your scrubs. Like it would ground him.

“Jack?” You squeeze his arm. “You’re staring.” Jack blinks and clears his throat.

“What, admiring my wife is off limits for me?”

You roll your eyes, grinning. You open your mouth to give him a smart retort, but another voice from around the corner beats you to it.

“Abbot, I think most things concerning your wife and you are off limits in this hallway.” You both turn as Parker Ellis ambly strolls up to her locker. She gives you a look and Jack can see the pink darken on your cheeks- no longer flushed from just the cold. 

“You’re just jealous Parker,” Jack says as he squeezes your shoulder. 

“Maybe,” she tosses her bag into the locker, giving you a knowing smirk. “Or maybe you two are so in love, it sickens me."

------------------------------------------------------

You felt your own mouth curling into a quiet smile despite yourself. “So this must feel really nostalgic for you then, huh?”

“Extremely,” he deadpanned.

“Well…” you sighed. “Got any tips for me then, old man?”

Jack exhaled a heavy breath and turned to face you while the heavy machine beeped and buzzed beside you. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his camo pants and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, look at it this way— Today is gonna suck, but… That means every shift from now can’t possibly get worse than this one, right?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “That, or we just… keep descending into another circle of hell every day.”

Jack smiled wider at your cynicism, patting you softly on the shoulder before sauntering off the way he came. “That’s the spirit, kid.”

You still feel his hand on you even now, wide and warm over your thick black scrubs, while you trudge through the rest of your charting. You hate the effect he has on you; you hate how often he plagues your every thought. It takes a great amount of muscle memory, you find, not to accidentally jot his name down as your hand moves the pen on autopilot. 

You don’t think it’d feel quite as pathetic if you thought that there might be an inkling he felt the same way about you. But now, all you are is an R4 with a stupid schoolgirl crush on her boss, and half a mental breakdown away from scribbling little hearts in her notes with his initials scrawled inside.

“You plan on getting in on this?” Santos asks in place of a greeting as she slides her swivel chair next to yours. She wears a faint smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her light eyes that gives you great pause.

Ink smudges on the inside of your wrist as you halt your scribbling to flash her a dubious look. “…On what?”

“Ahmad got bored after Princess won the last bet,” she tells you, reaching behind her to tighten the half-ponytail at the crown of her head. “Said the grid was too good to take down so soon, so… He started a new one.” 

You scoff a dry laugh and turn away again. 

“Yeah? What is it this time— Which one of us is gonna be the first to have a breakdown and quit? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d win that one…”

“Close…” Trinity croons, leaning in like she’s about to tell you some sort of secret. Her eyes flit somewhere over your shoulder, in the vague direction of where Mohan stands with Jack across the room, before she confesses. “It’s about Abbot and Samira. I have it on good authority that they were getting pret-ty close in Central 4 together…”

“C-Close?” you echo on bated breath. 

Your head whips over your shoulder to the other side of the workstation, where Jack and Samira exchange information about one of her patients. You hadn’t given their closeness a second thought before now. It’s like you blinked, and now the sight of them together makes you feel sick. 

You hope Santos doesn’t see the hurt weighing down your features when you turn back to her. “What— What do you mean close?”

“I mean, Dr. Abbot was half naked while Samira was tending to his shoulder,” Trinity explains with a scoff and turns back to her own clipboard. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it until I heard her say, ‘It’s our little secret—’” 

She mocks in a high-pitched voice, which sounds nothing like Samira’s, before laughing to herself.

“—Like, c’mon. You guys could at least try to be subtle about it.”

You know she expects you to start laughing with her, but you struggle to find the energy to do so now.

“Yeah…” you sigh instead, hardly audible as you struggle to speak through the sudden tightening in your chest. “Right…”

“You should go place a bet,” she tells you, half-distracted by the files before her. “You could win back the money you lost and then some.”

“With what?” you joke with a sad scoff. “The three dollars I have left to my name?”

She flashes you a deadpanned look. “If that’s all you have to lose, I think I’d take those odds.”

You figure Trinity’s right. You have nothing more to lose, in truth — not after the shit day you’ve already had, and the money you’ve already lost, and the teenage heart inside of you that’s already broken. 

You finish up your charting, return the clipboard to the patient rack, and retrieve your wallet from the locker room. Because, as you see it, you’ll either leave this shift about a hundred dollars richer or with nothing at all; either totally vindicated or with a bank account just as empty as you feel on the inside.

You find Ahmad in the security room, and he flashes you a toothy grin as you slink through the doorway like a shy little storm cloud. He motions with the notepad he holds in a sun-kissed hand. “I knew you’d wanna get on the books, kid— What’d it take to convince you this time?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug with a mournful sigh. “I just… realized that I have nothing else to lose, I guess…”

Dr. Barker laughs from beside you.

“Well, that’s always the best reason to make a bet, in my experience,” he jokes with a pearly white smile, pushing the sleeves of his navy button-down up to his elbows to reveal the expanse of his tanned, scruffy forearms. 

Nick Barker stands quite a few inches taller than you — which you hadn’t expected before now, since he’d spent most of his time in the E.R. sitting behind the portable radiology machine. He has to look down at you from the bridge of his broad nose from this angle, with eyes so dark they’re almost black. 

He’s almost effortlessly handsome. Like, Disney prince sort of handsome. The kind of handsome that makes it impossible to look into his eyes without blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I’m normally a lot more responsible than this, but… I figured all things considered…” you trail off with a sheepish shrug.

“Yeah, you’re talkin’ to the girl who hasn’t taken a day off since I started here— Two years ago,” Ahmad scoffs. “I think you deserve to let loose every once in a while, Doc, all things considered.”

He taps you gently on the head with his notepad. You roll your eyes and reach into the pocket of your scrubs, cheeks burning under the weight of the sudden attention you’re getting. 

“Just put me down for $10—” you say, but cut yourself off when Ahmad hisses through his teeth. “…What is it?”

“Minimum this time twenty,” he grimaces.

Your shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Seriously?”

“We had to up the ante this time, kid— Rules of the game.”

“Then I guess put me down for twenty…” you huff and pluck your wallet from your scrub pockets. “For… unrequited…”

“Unrequited by who?” Ahmad presses with his brows raised to his hairline.

“I don’t know. Samira, I guess,” you shrug, half-timid, ‘cause it’s not like you totally believe it either. You’re just trying to take a page out of Trinity’s book, really, and manifest something good for yourself for a change — pretending that Abbot isn’t into her in the hopes that it’ll make it somehow real.

“What?” Ahmad laughs like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t believe in love?”

You flash him a solemn look in return. “I’ll start believing in something again when the systems come back up,” you answer in a monotone.

“Touche…” he nods slowly while Dr. Barker exhales a quiet laugh through his nose. 

A familiar voice comes suddenly from the entrance:

“I think that is the single sanest answer I’ve heard all day,” Jack Abbot himself hums in a gritty deadpan. 

You nearly break your neck with how fast your head whips over your shoulder, finding the man leaning against the doorway with his toned arms crossed over his chest and a smug smirk dancing on his lips. 

Your skin prickles with a red-hot heat while your pounding heart drops to your stomach. If he wasn’t into you before, he certainly won’t be now — not with you making bets on his love life like a crazy person with nothing better to do. (Though, in many ways, that is exactly what you are.)

“Dr. Abbot…” Ahmad croons, trying to play casual despite knowing his secretive betting ring’s finally been found out. “That’s funny— We were just talking about you.”

“Robby may or may not have told me,” Jack confesses as he saunters slowly into the security room, boots heavy on the white linoleum. “Wanted me to tell him if there was something going on with Mohan and me, so he could recoup the money he lost in the last bet.”

“…Well, is there?” Nick wonders lowly.

“C’mon, Barker. Where’s the fun in that?” Jack scoffs a dry laugh, then goes strangely solemn again in a flicker. “Even though, as an attending, I think I have to say that I am very against this— I feel like this has H.R. violation written all over it.”

“Well, what Gloria doesn’t know, won’t hurt us, right?” Ahmad quips.

“I’ve been livin’ by those exact words for years, brother.”

Your hands are clammy and trembling for a reason you can’t name as you pull two crumpled bills from your wallet — a dingy, pastel Polly Pocket billfold you’ve had since you were twelve — as if you needed another reason to look any less cool in front of Jack. The pale pink interior is left glaringly empty, save for a few folded receipts and miscellaneous fortune-cookie slips.

“Wow…” you huff as you pass Ahmad the twenty. “That is all the cash I have to my name. I’m officially more broke than I was in med school— I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“I can take you out to dinner with my winnings, if you want,” Nick offers suddenly. 

Your head snaps in his direction, and his eyes widen, as though surprised by his own forwardness. He swallows hard, pronounced adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, scruffy with a five o’clock shadow. 

“You know, if you— if you wanna… let loose or whatever.”

Your lip flickers upward in a shy smile when Dr. Barker sighs and shakes his head to himself. A few rogue strands of dark hair fall from their gelled quaff and hang over his forehead until he pushes them back in place again. 

“Sorry, that, uh…” He chuckles awkwardly at himself. “That came out weird.”

“I might be stuck in charting jail for the rest of the night, actually,” you say with an apologetic grimace, wringing your clammy fingers into knots. “Can I get back to you on that?” 

“Yeah!” he blurts, a little quicker than he means to. He clears his throat and, in an octave lower, repeats himself. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”

You dismiss yourself with a quiet smile and lack the courage to look Jack in the eye when you pass him on the way to the door. He watches you leave and waits for you to glance back at him with his heart in his throat. You never do. 

Still, though, he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself; after watching you turn down the handsome radiologist every woman on this floor has been fawning over all day. He turns back around and hisses through his teeth, trying not to look as smug as he feels. 

“Damn,” Jack deadpans. “That was cold, man…”

Nick’s dark eyes widen and flit wildly between the two men on either side of him. “Wait— Really?”

“Ice cold…” Ahmad affirms with a slow nod. “Girl said she’s broke, and you think she’s gonna say ‘no thanks’ to some free food? In this economy? Yeah… She’s not into you, man.”

Jack claps the solemn boy hard on the shoulder. “You win some, you lose some, kid… Don’t take it too hard.”

You forget all about the stupid bet and Nick’s offer some hours later, when Robby sticks you with Ogilvie and tells you to walk the MS4 through your canthotomy patient. 

You talk aloud as you slice your scalpel through the young girl’s eye, where the socket is raging red and bulging from the pressure behind it. The boy doesn’t say a word the whole time, just holds the plastic cup where the bright crimson blood drains from the eye, and doesn’t move a muscle until it stops.

“I think that’s the closest I’ve come to puking since I started med school,” the boy confesses when it’s done, standing just over your shoulder while you fill out the patient’s med slip. “I didn’t even get that close during cadaver lab, when all of us started craving meat from the formaldehyde— I’m pretty sure five people dropped out that day alone…”

His voice trails off when Samira catches your eye, rushing by the desk with her wild curls falling from her claw clip. She wears the hard shift all over as she makes a beeline directly for Jack, planting herself ahead of the older man; so close she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze. 

Your hand freezes around the pen as you keep your eyes on the two of them, staring harder than you probably realize as you struggle to make out their conversation. Their words are drowned out by Ogilvie’s rambling, and the surrounding beep and chatter of the crowded E.R. 

Mohan talks wildly with her hands and says something about “a letter,” while Jack nods along sympathetically and says something along the lines of “give me your number.” 

Your chest flares with a white-hot feeling when you watch the man pass Samira his phone to plug her number into. It’s like the world has fallen out from under you and swallowed you whole, like you’re drowning in the fire of your own envy. 

You’re barely seven hours on the job, and you’ve already lost all your cash — you’ll be doomed to the three-day-old leftovers in the fridge, if the newfound heartache hasn’t already snatched your appetite for the evening. That means you’ll be running on fumes tomorrow morning — still broke, still hungry, still heartbroken.

Then you remember Dr. Barker — Disney prince Dr. Barker — and his offer of dinner from earlier in the security room. 

You make the terribly impulsive decision to take fate into your own hands and forget to properly dismiss yourself before dropping the finished order slip off across the room. Ogilivie is quick to follow close behind, lacking any real sense of personal space. He nearly trips over himself to keep from running into you when you freeze suddenly in place.

“You don’t have to follow me anymore,” you tell him.

“Oh… Well, then… What am I supposed to do?” the blonde boy shrugs.

“I don’t know. Do whatever you want…” you trail off and glance around the bustling work station. You spot Trinity standing at the chart rack and motion over to her. “Go help Dr. Santos with her next patient.”

The dark-haired girl turns at the sound of her name. 

“Oh, please don’t—” She cuts herself off with a sigh when Ogilvie makes his way towards her anyway. “Fuck. Fine…”

You continue your trek to the other side of the crowded work station, where the portable radiology machine takes up the majority of the room. You can smell the man’s expensive, musky cologne before he ever comes into view.

“Hey, Nick…” you greet, then wince at how weird it sounds a second later. “I mean, Dr. Barker— Sorry—”

He glances up from his work at the sound of your voice. “Nick is fine,” he assures with a kind grin and a pair of chocolate-colored eyes.

You try to smile back, but your nervousness makes it look more like a grimace. “It’s not, like, totally too late for me to take you up on that offer for dinner, is it?”

“No!” he blurts with a shake of his head. “Of course not!”

“Great…” you say with a relieved sigh.

“Yeah, I’ll— I’ll text you the details later.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t…” You scrunch the bridge of your nose in a sheepish look. “You don’t have my number…”

His mouth falls softly agape with the realization. “Oh. Right. Duh.”

You smile wider despite yourself, ‘cause he’s almost as awkward as you are, which you didn’t think was possible before now — especially not for someone as pretty as he is. 

You turn away and grab the nearest pen, clicking it on with your thumb before reaching for his arm. You scribble your number over the dark blue veins on his wrist with a newfound confidence — one that you never had before now, one spurred on by the man’s obvious shyness. 

You feel Nick’s eyes on you when you look away, flitting wildly across your profile. 

“This isn’t… This isn’t just because of the bet, is it?” he wonders with a waver in his voice.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the whole thing you said about… losing all your money or whatever,” Dr. Barker explains with a sheepish laugh. “You’re not just going out with me for a free meal, are you?”

“Well, isn’t that kinda the point of going on dates? The free food?” you joke with a dry laugh, which fades instantly at the confused look Nick gives you in response. Your face floods with horror a second later. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding— Of course not.”

“Okay,…” Dr. Barker says with an awkward chuckle. “Good.”

“Good,” you echo with a sigh and rise to full height again.

“I’ll, uh— I’ll text you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you chirp with a polite nod and a giddy grin, which ebbs the second you turn away from him. You shake your head as you slink back through the bustling emergency department, squeezing your eyes shut and murmuring under your breath in disgust, “I’ll be waiting—?”

You nearly trip over yourself when you ram suddenly into a firm body. Two calloused hands grasp gently at your elbows as you stumble backwards. You almost lose your breath when you find Jack Abbot towering over you.

“Shit… you huff. “Sorry, I— I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Where’ve you been hiding?” Jack squints. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Your shy smile fades into a disbelieving squint almost instantly; at the bitter reminder of Jack and Samira — of the seemingly intimate conversation they’d shared just minutes ago, and of the bet you know you’re bound to lose now.

“No, you weren’t,” you deadpan.

“I was,” he insists. “I feel like I always am, some way or another.”

Your chest warms at his words. You choke on the funny feeling when you force yourself to swallow it down. “I was just— walking one of the interns through a lateral canthotomy,” you stammer as you step back out of his hold.

“Gnarly,” Jack hums with a slow nod.

“Did you, uh… Did you need me for something?”

“Yeah, I have a patient over in Trauma 2— Sliced through his left hand with a circular saw,” Jack explains, staring down at you from the bridge of his nose as he crosses his strong arms over his chest. “But the crazy part is, he used his right hand to take the nail gun and—”

“Oh, my god,” you blurt before you mean to. “He tried to put his hand back on with the nail gun, didn’t he?”

“Close…” he hums with a knowing glint in his eyes. “He used the gun to fire two nails into his temple— Said he thought it would distract him from the pain in his hand. And the weird thing is, he’s walking and talking just fine.”

“Holy shit…” you mumble, wide-eyed. “Why do you always get the cool cases?”

“You can have it,” he assures you, with something soft swimming in his eyes. “That’s why I wanted to find you— so you could do it with me.”

Something about it feels way more intimate than being asked out for dinner.

You finish the rest of your shift as normal — feeling like a shell of your former self after hours of running on fumes; both excruciatingly tired and buzzing with white-hot adrenaline all at once. 

The only real difference between today and every other day before this one is that, for the first time in a long, long time, you actually have plans outside of work — almost like a real human person with a social life would.

You return home after the long day, only for an hour or so, to shower and change out of your scrubs. You wash away the scent of blood, sweat, and antiseptic from your skin, and only cut your knee once when you shave your legs for the first time in weeks. You pull out a nice top, a short skirt, and a real bra from the depths of your closet. You go as far as to break out the expensive perfume that you’ve had for years, ‘cause you only use it on extra special occasions, which tend to be few and far between for you.

You feel like an entirely different person when you meet Dr. Barker at the address he’d sent you a few hours ago — a nice bar, just a few blocks down from your apartment building, that you’d been meaning to visit for years but found every excuse in the book to stay home instead. You find the man sitting alone in a far booth in the dimly lit room, sipping slowly at the beer he nurses in his hand, and feel a little like a fraud when you slide into the vinyl seat across from him. 

Nick has only known you for the better part of a work shift, to be fair, not counting the handful of times you’d smiled politely in passing when you clocked out for the day. You know he’s got some version of you in his head already, like all men do — someone much cooler than you really are, someone much better at separating their work life from their personal life than you are.

You prove him wrong in record time, sharing a plate of loaded nachos between you and forgetting to eat any of it as you get too easily lost in your ramblings. You tell him of the long shift, and of the man you met with two nails in his skull, and fail to remember that not everyone can talk of blood and gore over a meal as easily as you can.

“—Honestly, I’m still surprised it didn’t hemorrhage! The X-Ray showed one of the nails was, like, half an inch away from nicking an artery,” you ramble with a giddy grin. “I pulled them out with some local anesthetic, and he was totally fine— Well, except for the hand, obviously. ‘Cause he did lose a few fingers, but… Dr. Abbot took care of that, so…”

“Did he?” Nick hums, hiding his smile behind the pint he brings to his mouth. 

He thinks this must be the fifth or so time you’ve brought up the man’s name tonight alone — not that you seem to notice. He doesn’t know whether that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse.

“Yeah— I always tell him he would’ve been an amazing surgeon if he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination of, like… A half-blind sloth,” you say, then swallow hard at the playful look Nick gives you in response. “‘Cause, you know, sloths are really clumsy, and they… Sometimes mistake their own limbs for branches, so… They fall a lot…”

You trail off and reach for the glass of water at your side, becoming very suddenly self-aware of your inability to stop rambling.

“You talk about him a lot,” Nick observes with a kind smile, licking the sheen of alcohol from his lips.

 “…Who?” you wonder with furrowed brows.

“Dr. Abbot.”

Your features flood with terror. “Do I?”

His broad nose scrunches with a breathy laugh. “A little bit, yeah.”

“Oh, god…” you groan and hide your face behind your hand. Nick’s laugh gets lost in the rock music playing overhead. “That’s so annoying. I’m sorry—”

Your phone glows to life as it buzzes against the wooden table it sits on. You reach over to flip it face down before you can read the message on the screen.

“I didn’t… I didn’t even notice… I’m so sorry.”

It vibrates again, twice more in quick succession.

Your stomach twists with the anticipation of what it might say.

“It’s whatever,” Dr. Barker shrugs, pushing the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. “I get it. He’s your boss and everything, so…”

Your phone buzzes on the table once more, for longer this time, now with a phone call. 

You tense, but make no move to answer it, for fear of making this more awkward than you already have — though your pretending not to hear it doesn’t make it any better. 

The corner of Nick’s lip twitches into a sympathetic smile, ‘cause he can tell that you’re trying to be polite, even though you’re fidgeting at the thought of answering it. Because your friends usually only ever text you, so if someone’s calling, it’s bound to be important.

“You can get that if you need to—”

“Thank you,” you sigh before he’s properly gotten the words out, scrambling for your phone with anxious hands. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m sure it’s just… Fuck.”

The call ends before you can answer it. 

Nick’s eyes widen at your reaction. “Everything okay?”

“It’s Parker…” you answer with your eyes trained on the blue-white screen. Your chest deflates with a heavy sigh beneath your skin-tight top. “And I know it’s serious because she despises double-texting and she just sent me four back to back, so…”

Your eyes are wet and preemptively apologetic when they dart to the man across the table, who meets the disaster of you with a tender grin.

“You gotta go back in, huh?” he squints.

“I do…” you sigh. “I’m so sorry—”

“Just make it up to me next time,” Nick shrugs, watching with kind eyes as you scramble for your phone and purse. “When I win that bet, I mean. I’ll take you out somewhere nice— We can do this for real. If you want.”

You slide out of the cracking vinyl booth with a grimace — equal parts unnerved at the idea of doing this a second time and half-surprised that Nick would even want to, after you did nothing but anxiously ramble before bailing on him out of nowhere.

“Yeah…” you waver anyway as you stand to full height again. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”

“Thank you again— I’d kiss you right now if I could,” Dr. Ellis tells you when you pass her in the ambulance bay, where she hurries out of the E.D. on long limbs. She calls over her shoulder, moments before she’s out of earshot. “You look hot, by the way!”

The passing reminder of what you’re showing up to work in hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

The double doors of the PTMC part for you, and the air-conditioned emergency room wraps its cold fingers around every inch of your exposed skin — your shaven legs, arms, and collarbones; all of which are normally concealed by your dark scrubs and undershirts. 

You can’t help but feel a bit like you’re doing the walk of shame as you race past the work station with your head bowed, barely noticing that the systems are up and running again as you go. You’re too busy trying to make yourself as small as possible on your way to the scrub dispenser down the hall.

Jack smells you before he sees you.

He gets a sudden whiff of something sweet and creamy, like whipped vanilla and fresh raspberries, something candied enough to eat. Then he looks over his shoulder, from where he’s stood at the front desk, and finds you rushing past him in a hurry. His neck nearly cracks with the strength of the double take he gives at the back of you — short skirt swishing around your thighs, tight shirt showing a sliver of your lower back. He feels a little like he’s in middle school again, going wild at the mere sight of a girl’s bare shoulder. 

By the time his brain starts working again to greet you, you’ve already turned the corner.

“Whoa, gotta hot date tonight?” he hears Shen ask as you walk by.

“Just left one, more like,” you scoff.

“Damn. Poor guy,” the man quips, then laughs when you flip him off.

“…What the hell?” Jack mutters under his breath, with his eyes still trained on the empty hall you’d just disappeared down.

“What? You didn’t hear?” McKay wonders aloud, from where she’s hunched over the monitor across from him, still closing down for the day now that the ED isn’t in analog hell anymore. She peers up at him with tired blue eyes, half-hidden beneath her wild fringe. “Don’t tell Princess, but apparently, she went out with that Dr. Barker guy from radiology.”

“Oh, really?” Jack hums, nodding slowly to feign interest. He hopes the hurt flaring in his chest doesn’t show all over his face as he turns back to his computer. “Sounds fun…”

Javadi eyes him from behind McKay’s shoulder. Her dark, observant stare traces the edges of his face as she twirls the string of her lavender jacket with her pointer finger. 

“Well, don’t look so upset about it, Dr. Abbot,” she jokes with a quiet laugh, half-dazed from the long day. “I have a lot riding on this bet about you and Mohan, you know—?”

Cassie flashes the younger girl a wordless look.

Victoria’s eyes go wide when they flit back to Jack’s. 

“—Which I wasn’t supposed to mention in front of you…” she blurts and fakes an awkward laugh. “There is no bet, actually. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Jack doesn’t ease the tension by telling her that he already knows; that he has known all day. He just flashes her a half-smile and a pair of squinted eyes as he steps back from the monitor. 

“Real smooth, kid…” he jokes before he walks away.

He leaves the work station and turns the corner to find you cradling a pair of black scrubs to your chest and making a beeline for the restroom nearest to the break room. He rushes on long legs to catch up with you, limping slightly from his prosthetic. You freeze at the sound of your name from his lips, echoing from down the long hall. Your skirt swishes around your thighs as you spin in place to face him.

“Hey…” Jack greets, only slightly out of breath when he towers finally over you.

Your brows lower in confusion at the sight of his flustered state, but you smile nonetheless. “Hey…?”

“How was the, uh… The date?”

“Date?” you scoff. “What date?”

“The one you had with Dr. Barker.”

His biceps strain against his scrubs when he crosses his arms over his chest, peering down at you from the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks flare instantly. You can’t help but feel like you’ve been caught, like he’s just found out you’ve been cheating on him or something — even though the two of you aren’t even together, even though it’s abundantly clear that he wants someone else.

“Well, it wasn’t— it wasn’t really a— a date,” you stammer and turn away. “It was just… dinner.”

“Right,” Jack scoffs and follows behind you the short distance to the bathroom. “Because the two of you weren’t flirting in the security room or anything.”

You huff an emotionless laugh and roll your eyes at him, even though you know he cannot see you. “Yeah, because you and Samira weren’t flirting in Central 4 this morning or anything…” you echo in a gritty monotone.

Jack catches the bathroom door before it can shut behind you. You glance over your shoulder when you hear it hit his palm. You find the man looming in the doorway with something mischievous glittering in his narrowed eyes.

“I’m trying to get changed,” you deadpan, despite the distant fluttering in your chest.

Jack passes through the threshold and lets the door shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the empty bathroom, where the white-blue fluorescent lights buzz overhead. 

“Am I hearing things, or do you sound a little jealous?” the older man quips, glittering eyes trained on the back of you as you duck into the singular stall across the room.

It clicks shut behind you. 

“Aren’t you the one who came chasing after me, Dr. Abbot?”

“Aren’t you the one who ran off from your date just to come back in?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you laugh.

“C’mon,” Jack scoffs. “You know what.”

Your short skirt pools around your feet with a quiet thud. You step out of it and toe off your right shoe, sliding on the adjoining pant leg before slipping the sneaker back on again. You do the same for the left side, and Jack has to shake the visual of your half-naked body from his head.

“I thought we had… You know, I thought we had a thing going on…”

“A thing?” you repeat, half-muffled, as you slide your shirt over your head. You hang it over the stall before reaching for your scrub top. “I wouldn’t exactly consider flirty comments and lingering eye contact a thing.”

Jack catches a glimpse of your bare spine through the sliver in the door frame. He swallows hard and forces himself to look down at his feet.

“You say that like I don’t wish I could do more,” he tells you. “I’m an attending— I can’t just go around making moves on my residents. It’s not a good look.”

The stall door squeaks open again. You come into view, now dressed in your scrubs, and wearing a hardened scowl on your dolled-up face. “Well, that didn’t stop you from getting Samira’s number, did it?” you argue. “Or letting her patch you up this morning?”

“I gave her my number because she asked for a recommendation letter, and I told her I’d give her one,” Jack confesses, watching you with a glittering gaze as you storm past him with your clothes cradled to your chest. He makes room for you by the sink and fights back a grin while you scrub angrily at your hands. “And I was patching myself up, actually, until she walked in looking for her patient.”

“Well, how convenient…” you grumble.

Jack smiles wider. “You are jealous,” he croons.

“I am, actually,” you deadpan, with your eyes trained on the soap you suds between your fingers. Even still, you can see the man in your peripheral vision, standing in the mirror just behind you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and smell the cologne lingering on his clothes.

“So that’s why you went out with the Barker guy, huh?” Jack lilts. “You just wanted to make me jealous…”

“No, actually,” you tell him. “I went out with Nick because I figured I should probably stop chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t want me.”

You turn off the faucet with your fist and reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.

Jack follows your every move.

“Yeah?” he hums lowly. “And who said I didn’t want you?”

You turn around to glare at him despite the newfound heat swimming in the pit of your stomach. 

“Well, I think you’ve made it pretty clear, Dr. Abbot,” you deadpan. “I don’t think the entire floor would be betting on you and Samira otherwise.”

Jack takes a daring step closer, until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze when he towers suddenly over you. With his hands crossed over his chest, he bows his head and tells you, “Well, I don’t want Mohan. And I don’t care about that stupid bet. Is that clear enough for you?”

Your chest warms with a familiar feeling. Your features crumple under the weight of it as you murmur sheepishly, “Okay. I’m not even trying to be funny right now, but if you’re trying to tell me that you do like me, you’re going to have to say that outright, or else my brain won’t—”

You feel his hands on you, wide and warm around the outsides of your elbows. You feel your feet stumbling on the tile, and your chest colliding with his, and then his mouth pressing against yours. You feel his chapped lips, his coarse scruff, and his exhaled breath from his nose as it fans warm over your skin. 

You freeze against him, too stunned that he’s kissing you at all to remember to kiss him back.

Jack pulls away from you a dizzying second or more later. He peers down at you with a heavy gaze and smiles when he realizes you haven’t yet taken your eyes off him.

“I like you…” he tells you slowly, as though to make sure you’re really hearing him. “Are we clear now?”

You swallow hard and nod your head, licking at your kissed lips in a feeble attempt to taste him again. 

“Crystal,” you quip drily.

You rise to the tips of your toes and wrench your free hand in his scrub top, with every intention of kissing him again — for real this time. You flinch in a fleeting panic when the bathroom door squeaks open a second later. 

Samira slips inside, too distracted by the phone in her hand to see what she’s walking in on. You and Jack freeze against one another accordingly, as if being so still will somehow make you invisible.

The door closes behind her and muffles the never-ending chaos outside. Only when it clicks shut again does Samira look up from her phone, dark eyes wide as they flit wildly between the two of you.

“Holy shit…” she mumbles under her breath, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.

You push the man away from you on instinct. 

“We weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hardly convincing in the matter.

Jack’s soft eyes cut over to you. “Real smooth,” he mumbles.

Samira’s look of shock ebbs into a giddy smile. 

“I knew it!” she exclaims, voice ringing through the tiled restroom. “Ahmad looked at me like I was crazy when I put forty dollars on the two of you, but I knew I was right!”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The bet,” she shrugs with a smile. “I put mine on the two of you. Which means I just got a couple hundred dollars richer, at least.” 

  The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

“Which means I just lost all of my money…”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I can spare some of my winnings. I mean, it’s only right, right?” Samira says with a pretty laugh. “You guys can go out for drinks or something special. My treat.”

It becomes suddenly very difficult to imagine yourself from five minutes ago — back when you were overcome with jealousy just by the sight of her alone — knowing now that she had been rooting for you this whole time. Jack seems to know this, too, based on the smug smile he gives you.

“This real nice of you, Mohan,” he says. “But if I’m taking my girl out for drinks on a first date, I’m gonna be the one payin’ for ‘em— No offense.”

“None taken,” she shakes her head. “Means more money for me.”

You’re still catching your breath in the meanwhile, ‘cause the newfound title has all but punched the breath from your lungs. My girl, he’d said, and god, you wanted nothing more than to be his girl.

“We should, uh—” You clear your throat when the words get stuck there. “We should probably get out of here before the others think something weird is going on…”

“Something weird is happening— The entire E.D. is betting on my love life,” Jack scoffs as he follows you out of the bathroom, where the chaos of the E.R. finds you almost instantly. “Sorry you lost, by the way. The bet, I mean…”

He catches himself nearly reaching out for your hand. He balls his own into a fist instead to fight the urge. You can see the longing to glittering in his eyes, anyway, when you turn to flash him a sheepish look in response.

“Well, I didn’t lose completely,” you lilt with a lazy shrug. 

“No?” Jack hums.

“No…” you grin. “I think I won where it mattered.”

a few hours into a deep sleep, you started dreaming. a pressure on your arm, someone holding onto you tightly. you couldn't make out their face, your dream-addled mind making their features fuzzy and swirling. you tugged on your arm, hoping to loosen their grip, but they only clung tighter. it was starting to hurt and you were starting to panic.

you pulled harder, your hand coming to grab your stuck arm. the person's grip didn't give. you pulled with all your might, frantic and pained, but they barely seemed phased. like you were just a fly annoyingly buzzing around their head.

you woke up when your body finally realized the pain was real. your eyes opened, the pitch black of the room making everything all the more disorienting. you felt jack spooned up behind you, arms wrapped around your body in the same position you both fell asleep in.

you looked down, and jack's hand was wrapped around your forearm, a white-knuckled grip that made you grit your teeth.

"jack." you whispered, trying to move your arm.

his grip tightened, the veins in his arms standing out from the force. you let out a quiet whimper, your heart racing and sweat beading on your forehead and your back from his body heat. he was twitching behind you, breathing sharp and fast like he always did when he was stuck in a nightmare.

"jack, baby." you spoke again, a little louder this time.

you knew startling him would only make things worse. you'd seen the momentary panic when he's jolted awake, the way his eyes dart around the room with military precision, scanning for threats and assessing how to take them down. it's usually only a few seconds before he realizes where he is, that he's safe at home, but it's enough.

he's trembling, both from the dream and the sheer force of the grip he has on you. tears are starting to sting your eyes, and you swallow down the lump in your throat.

"jack." you talk louder, "jack, wake up."

each time you speak his name, it's a little louder, hoping to gently break through the fog of his dream. by the dozenth time his name was called, your voice cracked from the pain of his grip.

"jack, please!"

he inhaled behind you, sharp and quick. he let go of you, hands still shaking. you couldn't help but let out a sob, your hand throbbing as blood flow finally returned to your fingers. you sat up quickly, swinging your legs out of bed as you cradled your arm to your chest, trying to flex your fingers.

"oh jesus," jack breathed out, sitting up as well. "oh baby, are you- fuck, are you okay?"

he's moving behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. he flicks on the lamp and then you can feel him crawl closer, sitting a few inches away, unsure. you don't respond, trying to get a hold on your breathing and your tears so jack didn't feel any more guilty than he already did.

"sweetheart..." he whispered, voice trembling as much as his hands. "i'm so sorry."

you shook your head finally, eyes closed. "'s not your fault." you choke out.

"don't do that."

you took in a shaky breath, tilting your face up to blink rapidly at the ceiling, trying to dispel your tears. jack was quiet, watching you. he gave you a few moments.

"can i touch you?" he asked, so softly it made you tear up again.

you nodded, and jack's warm palm wrapped around your bicep. with a quiet c'mere, he pulled you ever so gently into his chest. you leaned against him, burying your face in his neck as he rubbed your back.

"let me see..." he murmured, his touch featherlight as he took your wrist, moving your arm slow and careful into his line of sight.

an angry red welt in the perfect shape of his hand was pressed into your skin. you didn't need to look at him to know he was frowning. he ran his thumb over the skin.

"can you move your fingers for me?" he instructed quietly, and you made a fist a few times. your fingers were red from the lack of blood flow, tingling painfully as they slowly regained mobility.

"you're gonna bruise." he told you quietly as you settled yourself further into his lap. he was using his doctor voice on you.

you didn't say anything, just let him hold you and rock you side to side, your eyes closed and your nose against his neck. his mouth was pressed against the top of your head, occasionally kissing you. it was a while before either of you spoke up.

"i'm so sorry, sweetheart." he murmured, "i'm so fucking sorry."

you shook your head, arm still cradled against your chest. "you don't need to-"

"yes i do." he interrupted, cupping your face and pulling you back to meet his eyes. "yes i do, i absolutely need to apologize."

"you didn't do it on purpose, i know you would never hurt me." you argued meekly, his eyes intense as they stared into yours.

"that doesn't matter," he countered, "i still hurt you, purposefully or not."

you swallowed, hesitating for a moment before nodding. he pressed his forehead to yours.

"i'm sorry, baby." he whispered, "please forgive me."

you leaned into his touch, your bottom lip quivering. "i forgive you."

he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck as he hugged you tight, rocking you side to side again. "i love you so much. i swear i will never do that again. ever."

"i love you, too." you whispered, cheek pressed against the top of his head, a few silent tears dripping into his hair.

you held him until he was ready to pull away, his eyes meeting yours again.

"let's get an ice pack on that, and i'll make you some tea in the meantime, okay?" he wiped his thumbs under your eyes gently as you nodded. "can i get a kiss?"

you let out a watery laugh, sniffling. "you don't have to ask."

the corner of his lips turned up a little at the sound of your laugh. "of course i do." he murmured, waiting until you gave him permission to cup your face and press the gentlest kiss to your lips.

one, two, three more short pecks to your lips before you were scooting off of his lap. jack moved across the mattress to his side of the bed, grabbing his prosthetic and the gel liner sitting on his nightstand.

"tea and ice." he said more to himself than anything, sliding the liner on over his residual limb and situating the prosthetic into place. "anything else you need, baby?"

you watched him from your side of the bed, already tucked back under the covers. you knew jack well enough to know he wouldn't let you follow him to the kitchen, that he would insist you stay comfortable in bed while he doted on you and brought you everything.

"just you." you answered honestly, making him huff out a quiet laugh.

"still?" he asked, his tone half-joking.

"forever and always."

your completely, utterly, sickly in love tone made him twist a little to look at you. curled up under the sheets, wearing his shirt. you were staring at him like he put the moon in the sky just for you, even after tonight. it made his heart ache.

The apartment is honey-gold with late afternoon light, that weird hour that doesn’t belong to anyone.

Not morning. Not evening.

Just that quiet, suspended time night shifters live in, when the rest of the world is halfway through their day and yours is just beginning.

The clock on the stove reads 4:42 PM, but your brain still thinks it’s morning. Your body thinks it’s midnight. And Jack is wrapped around you like you’re the only solid thing in the room.

The blackout curtains don’t quite meet in the middle, so a stripe of sunlight cuts across the bed, warm against the sheets.

It lands right across his bare shoulder. Golden, soft. You trace it lazily with your fingers. He doesn’t wake.

He’s half on top of you, one leg hooked between yours, arm tight around your waist, face tucked into your neck. His breath is warm and slow and smells faintly like the toothpaste you both used at eight this morning before collapsing into bed.

Post-shift sleep always feels heavier, like drowning in cotton.

You shift a little. His grip tightens instantly. A low, sleepy hum against your collarbone.

“…don’t go,” he mumbles.

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You’re warm.”

“So are you.”

“Good.”

He sinks closer, like a cat claiming territory.

You smile into the pillow.

This is your favorite part of night shift life, the world feels small. Private. Like you two exist slightly out of sync with everyone else. No emails, no traffic... No expectations.

Just him.

Your fingers slip under his t-shirt, tracing the familiar line of his spine; he sighs, then blinks one eye open.

“What time is it?” he croaks.

You squint at the clock.

“Four forty-something.”

He groans dramatically and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Illegal,” he mutters. “The sun shouldn’t exist when I’m conscious.”

“You picked night shift.”

“I was lied to.”

You laugh softly, and his stubble scratches your skin when he kisses your shoulder, slow and lazy.

Neither of you moves to get up, you still have time. Report isn’t until seven. There’s always that dangerous illusion that you have plenty of time.

His hand slides under your shirt, resting warm against your stomach. Not sexual. Just… grounding, like making sure you’re real.

You turn to face him. His hair’s a disaster, pillow lines on his cheek, eyes puffy with sleep. God, you love him like this. Soft. Unarmored. Just Jack.

“Hey,” you murmur.

“Mm.”

“You okay?”

He nods, then shrugs. Then stares at you for a long moment like he’s trying to memorize your face.

“What?” you ask.

He studies you another second. Then, very casually, very quietly:

“What if we got married before shift?”

You blink.

“…what?”

“What if we got married today,” he repeats, like he’s suggesting takeout. “Before work.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow.

“Jack. We just woke up.”

“I know.”

“You still have pillow creases on your face.”

“So marry me anyway.”

You stare at him.

He doesn’t smile. He’s serious.

Soft. Calm. Certain.

“There’s that courthouse by the hospital,” he says. “Closes at seven.”

“…you’ve thought about this.”

“Maybe.”

“Jack.”

He exhales through his nose, thumb rubbing slow circles on your hip.

“I just keep thinking,” he says quietly, “how every shift feels like roulette.”

You know. You’ve both seen it. The calls that change everything. The families. The codes. How fast a normal day becomes the worst day of someone’s life.

“I don’t want to keep waiting for some perfect moment,” he continues. “Because we don’t get those. We get vending machine dinners and trauma bays and five minutes together in supply closets.”

You snort.

“Romantic.”

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

He cups your cheek, his hand is warm, steady.

“I already feel married to you,” he says. “You’re the first person I want after every shift. You’re the one I fall asleep with at eight in the morning. You’re home.”

Your throat tightens.

“So… what if we just make it official?” he murmurs. “Today. Before we clock in.”

“This is the least traditional proposal ever.” You reply, mid-laugh.

“I’m aware.”

“It’s very ‘we have forty minutes before report.’”

“Extremely on brand for us.”

You look at him, at the messy hair. The sleepy eyes. The absolute sincerity. No kneeling, no grand speech.

Just him. Choosing you. Right now. Every day.

You lean down and kiss him. Slow. Soft.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He freezes.

“…okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Let’s go get married before shift.”

He stares at you like you just rewrote gravity.

Then he laughs, bright and disbelieving, and pulls you into the tightest hug.

“Oh my god,” he says into your hair. “We’re insane.”

“Completely.”

“We’re going to show up to trauma married.”

“Dana is going to lose it. And Robby.”

“Worth it.”

Sunlight creeps further across the bed, reality creeping in. You groan.

“We have, like, an hour to shower and not look like raccoons.”

He kisses you again, quick and sure.

“C’mon,” he says, sliding out of bed and grabbing your hand. “Wife-to-be.”

*************

You stand in front of the closet in your underwear twenty minutes later, staring at your clothes like they personally betrayed you.

Scrubs, hoodies, old band tees, three identical cardigans… Why do you own nothing remotely bridal?

You huff out a breath.

“This is so stupid,” you mumble, rifling through hangers.

Then…

Your hand pauses in the back. The white dress. You’d forgotten about it. Simple. Soft cotton. Knee-length. Something you bought last summer for a friend’s birthday dinner and never wore again. Nothing fancy, no lace. No drama, but clean. Light. Easy.

You pull it out and hold it up. It looks… right. You tug it on. Bare legs. Minimal makeup. Hair still a little messy no matter what you do. You look like yourself.

You study your reflection… A woman about to get married before a 7 p.m. trauma shift.

Completely unhinged behavior.

You smile.

Perfect.

When you step out into the living room, Jack is buttoning up a clean dark shirt. Not scrubs yet, actual clothes. You stop walking.

Because… 

Oh.

Oh no.

He looks unfair. Dark jeans. Rolled sleeves. Hair still slightly damp from the shower. That stupidly handsome jawline, the faint shadow of stubble… like he accidentally walked out of a “small-town courthouse wedding” indie movie.

He looks up. Freezes.

“…hi,” he says softly.

The way he says it, like you just knocked the air out of him, makes your stomach flip.

“You look…” he trails off.

“Don’t say bridal,” you warn.

“I was gonna say beautiful.”

You swallow.

“Good. Stick with that.”

He steps closer, hands sliding around your waist, thumbs brushing the fabric of the dress like he can’t believe it’s real.

“You look like you,” he murmurs.

“That good or bad?”

“The best.”

He kisses you. Slow. Warm. Like you’ve got all the time in the world, even though you absolutely don’t.

***********

The courthouse is only ten minutes away. Early evening light spills gold across the sidewalk. People are still out, walking dogs, grabbing coffee, living their normal Tuesday lives. And you’re sitting in the passenger seat thinking: I might have a husband in an hour.

Your hand is laced with his over the center console. He keeps squeezing your fingers like he needs to check you’re still there.

“You nervous?” you ask.

“A little,” he admits.

“Regretting your impulsive life decisions?”

“Never.”

A beat.

“Okay maybe a little but in a hot way.”

You laugh.

God, you love him.

The courthouse steps are quiet, almost empty. You step out of the car, heart suddenly thundering.

This is real.

This is happening.

Jack glances at the building, then at you. Then…

“…shit.”

“What?”

“I forgot something.”

Your stomach drops.

“What did you forget?”

“I’ll be right back. Two minutes. Stay here.”

“Jack…?”

But he’s already jogging down the sidewalk.

You blink.

“Jack!”

He waves without turning around and disappears around the corner. You just stand there. Alone. Outside a courthouse. In a white dress. About to get married. Possibly abandoned.

“…cool,” you mutter. “Love this for me.”

You check your phone. No texts. No calls.

Five minutes pass. Then seven.

Okay.

Now you’re spiraling.

Did he panic? Did this suddenly feel too real? Did you both just speedrun a proposal and now he’s having a crisis behind a vending machine somewhere?

Right when you’re about to march back to the car…

“Hey!”

You turn and there he is. A little out of breath, hair wind-tousled, grinning like an idiot. Relief slams into you so hard you almost cry.

“You absolute jerk,” you snap, marching toward him. “Where did you…”

He holds something up between his fingers. Two small velvet boxes. Your brain short-circuits.

“…what.”

“There’s a jeweler two blocks over,” he says, slightly breathless. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want you to not have rings.”

Your throat closes.

“I know we said courthouse quick and whatever,” he continues, suddenly shy, “but… I wanted something you could look down at during shift and remember we did this. That it’s real.”

He opens the boxes. Two simple bands.

Gold. Clean. Classic.

Nothing flashy, just solid. Forever.

Your eyes fill instantly.

“You ran to buy rings?” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“You idiot,” you choke out, smiling.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But I’m your idiot.”

You throw your arms around him.

He laughs into your hair, hugging you tight. He presses his forehead to yours.

“C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s get married before we’re late for work.”

***********

The courthouse doors open with a heavy, reluctant creak, like the building itself is tired.

Inside, the air smells faintly of disinfectant and old paper, the kind of scent every public building seems to share. The lights are too bright after the soft gold of outside, fluorescent and unforgiving, humming quietly overhead. Beige tile floors, plastic chairs lined against the wall, a corkboard cluttered with notices about parking permits and jury summons. It’s deeply, aggressively ordinary.

You look at Jack. He looks at you.

And something about the sheer lack of romance makes you both start laughing under your breath, like kids who snuck into somewhere they shouldn’t be.

“This is it, huh?” you murmur.

He squeezes your hand. “Five-star venue. Very exclusive.”

Your fingers stay threaded together as you check in at the clerk’s desk. There, a tired woman with reading glasses squints at you both.

“Marriage license?” she asks.

Jack nods.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looks between you, then down at your dress, then at his shirt.Then back at you with the faintest, knowing smile.

“Night shift?” she asks.

You both freeze.

“…how did you-”

“Honey, I’ve worked this desk twenty years,” she says. “I can spot hospital people a mile away.”

You laugh. She slides the forms under the glass.

“Fill these out. Ceremony room’s at the end of the hall. Judge’ll be free in ten.”

Ten minutes. Your heart flips. Ten minutes until he’s your husband.

While Jack finishes the paperwork, you wander a few steps away, suddenly jittery with energy. There’s a tiny vending machine nook down the corridor.

And next to it…

A sad little stand. Plastic buckets. Half-wilted carnations. Baby’s breath. And one bunch of small white daisies wrapped in cellophane. Probably leftover from someone’s graduation or something.

You stare at them.

They’re imperfect. A little messy. A little crooked. You love them immediately.

Three dollars in coins from your scrubs pocket. That’s all they cost. You peel the plastic off and hold them in your hands.

Simple. Soft. Enough.

When you walk back, Jack looks up. Sees the flowers. His entire face melts.

“Where did you get those?” he asks.

“High-end floral boutique,” you say seriously. “Next to the vending machine.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“They were three dollars.”

“Still beautiful.”

He says it like he means you. Not the flowers. You feel heat climb your cheeks.

Your last names get called and you walk inside. The ceremony room is tiny, smaller than you expected, just a little office with folding chairs and a state flag in the corner. A fake ficus plant. A desk pushed against the wall.

That’s it.

No music. No aisle. Just you. Him. A middle-aged judge with kind eyes and sensible shoes.

She smiles gently.

“Just the two of you today?”

Jack squeezes your hand.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just us.”

Perfect.

Two courthouse employees linger near the wall with clipboards, polite and detached. Witnesses, apparently. One of them gives you a small smile, like she’s seen this a hundred times and still finds it sweet. It makes everything feel oddly real.

Not a dream. Not something private and imaginary. Official. Documented. Witnessed.

The judge says a few simple words. Nothing flowery, nothing long, just talk of partnership and commitment and choosing each other every day. The ordinary miracle of building a life side by side. The language is plain, almost practical, which somehow makes it land harder.

You barely hear half of it, because you’re too busy looking at Jack. At the way he’s looking at you like you hung the stars yourself. Eyes soft. A little glassy. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real, or that this is actually happening.

There are no vows. No speeches. No promises you rehearsed in the mirror. Just the judge glancing between you and asking, gently:

“Do you take this man to be your husband?”

“I do,” you say, voice steadier than you expected.

“And you? Do you take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do,” he answers, just as quick, like there was never any other option.

He reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as he pulls out the small velvet box from earlier. For the first time since you got here, he looks nervous.

Not scared. Just… careful. Like this matters more than anything.

He slides the ring out and takes your left hand, his touch warm and familiar. You feel the faint tremor in his fingers as he guides the band over your knuckle. It’s simple gold, nothing fancy, but when it settles into place it feels strangely right, like something that’s always belonged there.

Like it was waiting for you. Your throat tightens.

“Okay,” you murmur softly, blinking fast. “My turn.”

You open the other box and take his hand. His skin is warm, pulse steady under your fingertips. You push the ring down slowly, feeling the shape of his hand, memorizing the moment. He watches you like you’re doing something sacred.

When the band slides into place, he lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.

Like relief.

Like home.

The judge smiles at both of you, satisfied, and closes the folder with a soft clap.

“Well,” she says gently, “that’s it.”

A tiny pause. Then:

“You may kiss your wife.”

The word hits you both at the same time. Wife.

His breath catches. His hand slides up your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye, gentle and reverent, like you’re something fragile and holy and he’s afraid you might disappear if he moves too fast.

And then he kisses you. Slow. Deep. Not rushed. Not messy. Just warm and sure and full of everything you don’t have words for. It tastes like toothpaste and coffee and him. Like early mornings driving home half-asleep. Like shared granola bars at 3 a.m. Like every shift you’ve survived shoulder to shoulder.

Like home.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together and you’re both smiling like idiots, a little dazed.

Married.

Just like that.

No music. No aisle. No big moment. Just love. And fluorescent lighting.

You huff out a shaky laugh, tears threatening anyway. “We really just did that.”

“Yeah,” he says softly.

He turns your hand slightly, brushing his thumb over your new ring like he needs to check it’s real. “Hey,” he adds, quieter, almost shy. “My wife.”

Your heart does a little jump.

“My husband,” you say back.

You check your phone out of habit and immediately grimace. “It’s 6:18.”

He snorts. “Of course it is.”

There’s no dramatic rush, no sprinting for the door. Just the two of you exchanging a look that says yeah, that tracks.

You grab his hand, bouquet tucked against your hip, and he squeezes your fingers once before leading you back out into the hallway.

“C’mon,” he says, already walking. “If we’re late, you’re explaining it to Dana.”

“That’s not fair, this was your idea.”

“Yeah,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it though.”

And together you head back to the car, rings catching the last light of the evening, two slightly underdressed, newly married idiots on their way to clock in for night shift like nothing monumental just happened at all. Like this is just another day.

Only now, you’re his. And he’s yours.

***********

Inside the ER, the familiar sounds hit immediately; phones ringing, someone laughing too loudly at the desk, the squeak of stretcher wheels, the constant low murmur of controlled chaos. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee wraps around you like muscle memory.

Lockers first.

The white dress gets folded carefully into your bag, softer now, like it belongs to another life entirely. You pull on your scrubs, tie your hair back, wash your face quickly.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at your left hand. The ring catches the fluorescent light when you flex your fingers. Simple gold, nothing flashy. But it feels heavier now. Warmer.

You turn it once around your finger, just to feel it there. Still real. Still yours.

When you step out, Jack’s already finished changing. He bumps your shoulder lightly as you pass each other, an unconscious touch, the same as always, except now it sends a little electric current up your spine.

Your husband.

Jesus.

You’re going to lose your mind if you keep thinking that.

Dana is at the nurses’ station when you walk out, flipping through charts with the kind of focus that suggests someone’s personally offended her with bad handwriting.

“Nice of you two to join us,” she says without looking up. “Thought you called out together or something.”

“Tempting,” you reply, logging into the computer beside her.

“Yeah, yeah. You can rest when you’re dead.”

It’s normal. Completely normal. The same start to every shift you’ve had for months, which feels surreal, considering you got married less than an hour ago.

Report rolls on. Room numbers. Admits. Staffing gripes. Someone already asking about coffee. You jot notes automatically, brain sliding into work mode like muscle memory.

Across the station, Jack leans beside Robby, talking through bed assignments, one hip against the counter, arms loosely crossed. Calm. Focused. He looks exactly like he always does at the start of shift.

No one would ever guess. Your gaze drops to your hand as you type. The ring catches the fluorescent light. Just a small flash of gold. It sends a stupid, giddy warmth straight through your chest.

Your husband.

God.

You look down too long, and Dana notices. She pauses mid-sentence, eyes narrowing slightly at your keyboard.

“…hold on,” she mutters.

You instinctively still.

“What?” you ask, too quickly.

She doesn’t answer. She just stares at your hand resting on the desk. Then at your face. Then back at the ring. Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“You were not wearing that yesterday,” she says slowly.

Your heart leaps into your throat. Across the station, Jack glances over at the shift in her tone. He watches you lean closer to her, shoulder brushing hers, like you’re about to share gossip.

You whisper, “Don’t react.”

Dana immediately reacts. Her hand clamps onto your forearm.

“You didn’t,” she breathes.

“Shh,” you whisper, already smiling. “Just- keep your voice down.”

“You didn’t,” she repeats, louder this time, eyes going wide and shiny. “You two did not-”

“What?” Robby calls from across the desk.

Dana looks between you and Jack like her brain can’t decide who to yell at first. You try to shush her, but it’s too late. She turns fully toward both of them.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she blurts.

Jack straightens. “What did we do?”

Dana points dramatically at your hand.

“Explain. The ring.”

Everything goes very still for half a second. Robby looks at your hand, then automatically at Jack’s… Because of course he does.

And there it is. Same simple gold band. His eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into his hairline.

“…no way,” he says.

Jack exhales through his nose, caught, like a kid who just got busted sneaking candy. You and him lock eyes across the station. There’s that tiny, helpless smile again.

“Well,” you say softly, because there’s no point pretending now, “we had the afternoon free.”

Dana makes the most offended noise you’ve ever heard. “You got married and then just came to work like it’s nothing?!”

“Courthouse,” Jack says, shrugging like you’re talking about grabbing groceries. “Took twenty minutes.”

“TWENTY-” she chokes. “I hate you both.”

Robby lets out a low whistle. “Before shift? That’s… actually kinda badass.”

“It was impulsive,” you say, laughing.

“It was insane,” Dana corrects, but she’s already tearing up. “Oh my god. You idiots. That’s disgustingly romantic.”

She grabs your hand to look closer at the ring, then immediately grabs Jack’s wrist too, comparing like she’s inspecting matching tattoos.

“They match,” she says, voice wobbling. “I can’t deal with this. I’m too tired to be this emotional.”

Jack looks mildly alarmed. “Please don’t cry at the desk.”

“No promises.”

Robby claps Jack on the shoulder. “Congrats, brother.”

Jack just nods, a little bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Then he looks at you. Not big. Not dramatic. Just soft. Private. Like the rest of the room fades out for a second.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other,” he says.

It’s the most Jack thing he could possibly say.

You smile back. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

Dana sniffs loudly. “Okay, great, beautiful, love wins, whatever. Trauma room two is waiting and you’re both still on the schedule, married or not. Move.”

And just like that, the moment folds back into the noise of the ER, monitors beeping, phones ringing, someone calling for transport.

Life continuing.

Only now there’s a small band of gold on your hand when you reach for gloves.

And every time you catch Jack’s eye across the department, there’s that quiet, stunned look between you both.

Like you’re sharing the best secret in the world. 

By the time you get home, the sun is fully up and the world is already loud again; traffic, neighbors, someone mowing a lawn down the block. It feels wrong, somehow, after the strange bubble of the night. You barely make it through brushing your teeth before you both collapse into bed, still half damp from the shower, limbs heavy and boneless with exhaustion.

Jack falls into you automatically, like he always does, one arm slung over your waist, his face tucked into your neck. You tangle together without thinking, sheets twisted around your legs, his thumb drawing slow, sleepy circles against your side. Neither of you says anything. There’s nothing left to say.

A few minutes later, just before you drift off, he presses a lazy kiss into your shoulder and murmurs, “Night, wife,” like it’s the most normal word in the world. You smile into the pillow, pull him closer, and finally let sleep take you both.

***********

a/n: So... what I meant is... I know you probably can't just go and get married right away, but for the sake of the story let's pretend you can 😆

It had been one of those shifts where more patients were lost than saved. Where everyone had done everything they possibly could and then some, but it still hadn’t been enough.

Now, after what was quite possibly the most emotionally taxing twelve hours of his medical career, all that stands between him being in your arms is the short elevator ride to his condo.

It takes less than sixty seconds to get to his floor, but that’s more than enough time for every bloody and ugly thing he had witnessed tonight to make its way to the forefront of his thoughts.

A sixteen year old girl who he had to declare brain dead from a suicide attempt.

A husband and father of three who suffered a fatal heart attack at only 48.

A woman killed in a head on collision because of a drunk driver, and her husband’s cries when Jack had to deliver the news that she hadn’t survived surgery.

He had taken a much needed break to call you after that one.

He doesn’t make a habit of calling you while he’s at work. Not only is he usually too busy to even check his phone most of the time, but he also doesn’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night.

He felt like shit about it - waking you up at four in the morning. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to hear your voice if he was going to make it through the last few hours of the night without coming apart in front of someone who needed him.

“Jack?” You rasp, voice still groggy with sleep. He sighs in relief, followed by an immediate pang of guilt for waking you up. “Baby, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, his voice cracking. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just really needed to hear your voice. That’s all.”

He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. You might not know the specifics, but you know that it’s bad if he’s calling.

He pauses when he hears his name called over the hospital intercom. He should have known better than to think he could have two minutes to just fucking breathe. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t apologize,” you insist, gentle but firm. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that. I’m always here. In any way that I can be.”

He nods even though you can’t see him - even though he’s alone in an on-call room that he stepped into as he pressed your name in his recent calls and prayed that you’d answer.

“I know, honey.” He swallows down the lump forming in his throat. “I know you are. Still. It’s the middle of the night. I’ll let you get back to sleep. They’re calling for me now, anyway.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask softly. He can so clearly envision the look of concern on your face. He’s seen it more times than he can count at this point. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to see your face right now. He makes a mental note to FaceTime you the next time he decides to be inconsiderate and call you before the sun is up.

He can’t quite bring himself to say yes. “I will be,” he says instead, and hopes that it sounds believable enough. “I’ll be home in a few hours, okay? Try to get some more sleep.”

It took every ounce of his willpower to hang up after hearing you say I love you, Jack.

The weight on his shoulders feels a hundred pounds lighter as soon as the door to his condo clicks shut behind him.

He hears you before he sees you. Before he can kick his shoes off in the foyer, he hears you in the kitchen. You’re humming to yourself - and judging by the smell of fresh coffee and savory aromatics drifting down the hallway, cooking breakfast.

Which can only mean one thing - you’ve called out of work today. Because on days that you work? You grab a protein shake or protein bar and you’re on your way. But on days that you aren’t working? Jack comes home to all of his favorites.

His suspicions are confirmed as soon as he enters the kitchen and sees you folding an omelette in a pan, wearing only an oversized t-shirt that barely covers the curve of your ass.

If there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that he hit the fucking jackpot when you agreed to go on a date with him almost half a year ago. And then, against all odds, he hit the jackpot for a second time when you agreed to move in with him last month.

Making you his was the smartest thing he has ever done. He’s reminded of that every time he comes home this - this proof that even though there’s a lot of tragedy in the world, he has something worth coming home to. Something pure, something beautiful.

“Smells good,” he hums, placing his backpack on the counter and taking a seat at one of the island barstools. He had easily walked over 10,000 steps last night and his leg is screaming at him to take his prosthetic off.

“Hey, baby. I didn’t even hear you come in.” You glance over your shoulder and greet him with a soft, sleepy smile. The guilt he had felt for waking you up at four in the morning returns tenfold - he woke you up and here you are, cooking him breakfast.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he sighs, eyes darting from where you’re sliding the omelette onto a plate with bacon to a cutting board with fresh fruit beside a tall glass of orange juice. “Call out of work, make me breakfast…”

“I know,” you shrug, smiling growing as you saunter over to where he sits. He spreads his legs apart just enough for you to step into the space between his thighs. “But I wanted to. I’d much rather be here with you.”

You cup his face in your hands and his find your waist, pulling you close enough to press his lips to yours. Right away, all of the lingering tension from the night seems to melt away at the feeling of your lips against his. You taste faintly of spearmint toothpaste and caramel flavored coffee creamer and he wants nothing more than to drink you in.

His hands ghost downwards, over the cotton of your t-shirt and settling just under the curve of your ass. You let out the tiniest whimper into his mouth when he digs his fingertips into the meat of your inner thighs, soft and pliant under his touch.

He breaks away to pepper kisses down your neck, stopping when he gets to the pulse point of your throat. “Well, I really appreciate it, but there’s something else I’d like to have first.”

He’s exhausted. Physically and mentally drained. But he would want you even on his deathbed.

You hum a laugh, your hands dropping to the tops of his shoulders. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Abbot.”

“Oh, I can definitely finish,” he murmurs. Then, as if on cue, his stomach growls. Your chest vibrates with silent laughter and you pull away with a knowing look in your eye.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you hum. “Eat your breakfast and then I’ll go start the shower. For both of us,” you add with a smirk.

That is a deal, and not a bad idea by any means. He hasn’t eaten anything other than a pouch of vending machine trail mix since before his shift started last night, and he’ll never say no to showering with you.

God knows he could use a shower after the night he had, too.

He pulls your face back to his for one more kiss before reluctantly nodding in agreement.

You hesitate before walking away, a look on your face that isn’t unfamiliar to him. He sees it every time you want to comfort him and wildly underestimate just how much you do without even trying.

“I’m sorry you had a hard night,” you whisper, brushing your thumb across the stubble along his jawline. “I wish there was more I could do.”

He shakes his head before you can say anything more. He’ll have none of that nonsense. “You do everything for me by just being mine.”

Your expression softens. “I’ll always be yours,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his cheek before stepping out of his embrace to turn in the direction of your shared bedroom. “Now eat.”

Just as he’s finishing the last few bites of the veggie omelette you made for him, he hears the shower turn on in the bathroom. The mental image of you making sure both the temperature and pressure settings are exactly how he likes them after a long shift makes him smile to himself.

He pushes himself up from the stool with a wince, putting his dishes in the sink before making his way to the bedroom. He’ll worry about cleanup later. By the time he reaches the foot of the bed, his residual limb is throbbing again.

“Let me take care of you.”

He’s lifting his pants leg to access his prosthetic when he glances up to see you exiting the en-suite bathroom in only your silk bathrobe. Steam is already billowing out of the cracked door, hot shower ready and waiting for you both.

Jack freezes. He used to insist that he could handle it - partially out of insecurity, partially because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to be so vulnerable with anyone. But now he can’t remember the last time he tried to stop you. He trusts you implicitly, and right now, he needs you. Needs to feel your hands on him, needs to feel you dote on him.

So he watches. Watches as you kneel before him and pull his pants leg up to his thigh, revealing his leg. Watches as you remove his prosthetic with practiced ease and then set it to the side before looking up at him with those eyes that make him nearly melt into the mattress. You stand back up, pushing yourself off the floor with your hands on his thighs.

You smirk down at him. “Arms up,” you command and he obliges, as silly as it may seem. Of course he’s capable of undressing himself, but what can he say? For selfish reasons, he likes to indulge you.

You reach down to grab the hem of his scrubs, delicately easing the top over his head and discarding it somewhere behind him. His undershirt quickly follows. A soft jerk of your head towards the bathroom indicates that you’re ready to help him get to the shower, but he doesn’t move to stand. Not quite yet.

His hands settle on the silky fabric draped over your waist. He likes this bathrobe - and he’s pretty sure he paid for it, too. He likes it because, usually, you aren’t wearing anything beneath it.

He smirks up at you and you lovingly roll your eyes because you already know what he’s about to do.

“Go on, then,” you encourage with a breathy laugh.

He tugs the sash of your robe lightly, just enough for it to fall open and reveal exactly what he had suspected. Nothing but soft skin and gentle curves that he wants to trail his hands all over.

You let the silk fall to the floor at your feet.

His gaze drags over you, from your thighs and up to your chest, and he loses his ability to form a coherent thought. The exhaustion from the night he had definitely isn’t helping, but it’s just you. You have this effect on him even after a full twelve hours of sleep. You’re not doing anything other than standing in front of him and you still steal the air from his fucking lungs.

He leans forward, just enough to press his lips to the skin next to your navel, his hands digging into the flesh of your sides. You hum, your fingers finding their way to his curls. He’s barely touched you but the mere sight of you before him has his boxers feeling uncomfortably tight.

“Come on,” you croon. “The water’s gonna get cold.”

As content as he would be to sit here and breathe in the smell of your skin all day, he lets you help him into the humid bathroom, where he quickly sheds his remaining clothing.

He chose this condo specifically for the bathroom. The shower is what sold him - a wide, open layout, no lip to step over, and a spacious bench built into the back wall. A rainfall showerhead overhead, handheld sprayer within reach of the bench, and an added custom handrail. It has everything he could possibly need in terms of accessibility and comfort, even when you aren’t home to help him, but he enjoys it all the more when you are.

You stay close as he steps inside - close enough that he can feel the brush of your fingers at his lower back. Not because he needs help with every little movement, but because you like taking care of him, and he likes letting you. Especially on days like this.

He lowers himself onto the stone bench with a quiet grunt, palms braced on either side of him. The relief of having his prosthetic off, the steam, the simply being back in your orbit hits all at once. Hits hard enough that he has to blink against the sudden sting behind his eyes.

You don’t call attention to it. You never do. You just step between his knees and lift his chin gently with your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He exhales shakily. “Yeah. I’m good, honey.”

It’s not a lie. Your voice and touch have pulled him out of far worse headspaces than this.

You don’t push. Instead, you reach for the handheld sprayer and guide hot water over his shoulders, letting it cascade down his back. He rests his hands on your hips, his thumbs sweeping over damp skin absentmindedly.

“Tell me if it’s too hot,” you say.

“It’s perfect,” he groans.

You work the sprayer over his chest next. Your free hand follows the path of the water, smoothing over his muscles and coaxing the tightness out. He closes his eyes when your palm drags up the side of his neck, and his voice comes out low and strained when he speaks. “You’re gonna spoil me, you know.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. “I plan to. As much as you’ll let me, anyway.”

He’ll let you do whatever you want if it means coming home to this for the rest of his life.

He trails his fingertips up the skin of your inner thigh, smirking to himself when he sees the goosebumps that erupt across your belly at his touch. He stops when he reaches the apex of your thighs and looks up at you.

“Gotta let me spoil you, too. Just a little bit.”

For a second, he thinks you might object. Not that he thinks you don’t want it, but because you’re so focused on him that you’re reluctant to let him give you the same attention sometimes. But he should have known that after a week of double shifts and opposite schedules, you’re as needy for him as he is for you.

You place the handheld sprayer back on its hook, hardly taking your eyes off of him. You release a shaky exhale and give him an eager nod.

He pulls you closer to him, until his lips grace the skin just above the soft patch of hair between your legs. He teases your entrance with the tip of his finger, lubricating the digit with the slick he finds there. You tremble, your hands clutching onto his shoulders for support.

“Jack,” you whine as he eases one thick finger inside, then another, knuckle deep. Your walls clench around him, tight satin gripping his fingers. Your back arches and his other hand comes to massage your breast, rolling your nipple between two fingers. You grind your hips against his hand with a whimper, a plea for more.

God, you’re so gorgeous. He still can’t believe that you’re his. That he gets to see you like this - gets to have you all to himself.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, increasing the pace that he pumps the two digits inside you. Your head rolls back and the noises that fall from your lips echo off the bathroom walls, pretty sounds that he’s been addicted to drawing from you since the first time that he ever made you come.

“Sit back,” you say suddenly, your tone somewhere between commanding and begging. “Wanna ride you.”

Normally, he’d insist on taking his time with you - make sure you’re properly stretched out and ready for him - but something about the way you’re looking down at him makes him scoot back until his spine collides against the stone wall without hesitation.

Right now, he’s thanking god or the universe or whatever higher power there may be that he found a condo with a giant bench seat for reasons completely unrelated to being an amputee.

You crawl onto his lap, your knees bracketing the sides of his hips. He takes his hard length in his fist and lines himself up at your entrance. You hover for just a moment, teasing, and then slowly sink yourself onto him. He doesn’t blink, not wanting to miss the way your eyes roll back in your head and your teeth dig into your bottom lip when you bottom out.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his own head falling back against the shower wall. “Feel so fucking good, baby. Needed you so bad.”

“I know,” you half-moan, half-sigh as you roll your hips. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And you do. He lets you set the pace - at first so tortuously slow that he thinks he’s going to combust, but then he snakes his hand between your bodies and finds that sweet spot at the apex of your folds and you start to lose your composure. He can feel your walls constrict around him like a vice and he knows you’re as close as he is.

He captures a nipple in his mouth, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue and you gasp his name loudly enough that he’s certain the neighbors would hear if it weren’t for the shower drowning out the cacophony of sounds coming from this room - your moans, his grunts, and the slapping of skin where your body meets his.

“M close, honey,” he groans, applying more pressure to your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Need you to let go for me. Need to feel you come.”

You crush your lips to his, crying into his mouth as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling of your cunt fluttering around him sends him over the edge and he spills inside you.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you sit there, him still fully inside you and you slack against his chest. He just knows the water runs cold now.

You pull back enough to look at him and press a tender kiss to his lips. “Feeling any better?”

He smiles up at you, your face glistening with perspiration and lips kiss-swollen. His own personal earth angel.

“Much,” he sighs. “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you called out of work?”

You chuckle as you crawl off of him to stand, reaching beside you to turn off the water. “I’ll have to do that more often, then. I have PTO days that need to be used, anyway.”

He takes the hand that you offer to help him up. “I mean,” he shrugs, pushing himself off the bench with a small grunt, “You could just quit. Let me really take care of you. Then we could start every morning like this.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head as you reach to grab the towels draped over the handrail a few feet away. “Very tempting, Abbot. But I’m gonna have to see a ring before I agree to anything of that sort.”

He laughs - the first true, deep belly laugh that he’s had in days - because little do you know, he’s had a ring picked out since the day after you agreed to be his.

Maybe that was a little preemptive of him, but he couldn’t help himself. You give him everything by just being his.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

His head lifts at the sound of your voice. There’s a second—just one—where something unravels in his expression. The ER face slips, the doctor face disappears; the one that holds things together because it has to. What’s left behind is just Jack. Your Jack. Exhausted, hollowed out, trying so hard not to bring work home with him even when it clings to his skin.

“Hey,” he replies, quieter than usual. He looks… wrecked.

There are faint shadows under his eyes, darker than they were a week ago. His shoulders sag forward, tension still locked between them like his body forgot how to let go. His hair is a mess, curls flattened by a beanie he must’ve shoved into his pocket halfway through the walk home. His jacket hangs open, forgotten.

You cross the space between you without rushing him. One step at a time. You take his jacket first, fingers brushing his wrist, he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans into the touch like it’s instinctive.

“Long day?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. Jack lets out a breath that turns into something close to a laugh, but not quite. “You could say that.”

You guide him toward the living room without explanation, without questions. The lights are low; just the glow from the fire and a strand of warm fairy lights you strung earlier in the afternoon. The couch is layered with blankets, soft and thick, his favorite one folded just within reach. The coffee table is cleared except for two glasses and a bottle of wine he’s been saving but never seems to find the right moment to open.

Jack stops short. He takes it all in slowly: the fire, the quiet, the way the house feels… different. Safe and intentional. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmurs.

You smile, soft and knowing. “I wanted to.”

His jaw tightens, just slightly. Guilt, creeping in where it doesn’t belong. You see it happen and move before he can spiral. “Sit,” you say gently, tugging him down onto the couch.

He goes willingly, sinking into the cushions like gravity finally caught up to him. You drape the blanket over his legs, tuck it around his waist. When you press your hands to his shoulders, he lets out a low sound—almost a groan—as the tension there finally acknowledges itself.

“Jack,” you whisper, leaning down so your forehead rests against his temple. “Tonight isn’t about anything you couldn’t fix.” He swallows.

“I keep thinking about them,” he admits quietly. “The ones I couldn’t save. It’s worse around the holidays, everyone’s just expecting miracles.” You slide into his lap sideways, careful, grounding. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

“You did everything you could,” you say. “I know that. And so do they.”

He presses his face into your shoulder, breath warm against your skin. You feel his arms come around you, strong but tired, holding on like you’re the only solid thing left. For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

The fire pops softly. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks crackle prematurely; someone impatient, someone celebrating early. Jack barely reacts but there's the slightest of flinches from his hand; a memory of the war that quickly leaves his mind.

“You’re off tomorrow,” you remind him. “Just tonight, and tomorrow. That’s it. No ER. No alarms. No impossible decisions.”

He nods against you. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

You smile faintly. “I do.”

Dinner is quiet, the good kind.

You sit across from each other at the small table, candles flickering between you. You made all his favorites; nothing fancy, just comforting. The meal he always asks for when he’s had a brutal shift. He eats slowly, savoring each bite like he forgot food could taste like this.

“This is incredible,” he says softly. You reach across the table, lace your fingers with his. His thumb rubs absentminded circles into your skin.

“You don’t have to be strong tonight,” you tell him. “You don’t have to carry anything.”

His eyes soften at that and he squeezes your hand.

After, you clean up together and not because it needs to be done right away, but because there’s comfort in moving around each other, brushing shoulders, exchanging small smiles. He kisses your temple when you hand him a towel and you pretend not to notice how carefully he moves, conserving energy.

Back on the couch, the world feels even smaller.

You curl up against his side, legs tangled, blanket pulled up around both of you. The fire casts shadows across the room, painting his face in gold and amber. You trace slow patterns on his arm, feel his breathing even out under your touch.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a while.

“For what?”

“For seeing me,” he says. “Even when I don’t say things out loud.”

You tilt your head up and kiss him; slow, gentle. A kiss that doesn’t ask for anything. His lips are warm, familiar, soft with gratitude and he kisses you back like it’s grounding him, like it’s proof he’s here, alive, loved.

Midnight approaches quietly. You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t count down. You just stay like this, wrapped in each other, listening to the crackle of the fire and the distant hum of the city outside. When the clock finally ticks over, Jack presses his forehead to yours.

“Happy New Year,” he whispers.

You smile. “Happy New Year, Jack.”

He kisses you again; longer this time, deeper, full of promise and relief. When he pulls back, there’s something lighter in his eyes. Not healed nor fixed, but held. And for tonight, that’s enough.

You stay there until the fire burns low and sleep takes him, head resting against your chest, breath steady and calm. You don’t move. You don’t need to.

Because the night shift meant you’d be seeing more of your brother’s best friend—despite Robby’s persistent claim that he didn’t have any—Jack Abbot.

And Jack had never been just a crush.

Whatever you felt for him had long since grown past something that simple.

You did your best to hide it, of course. In your mind he was something to be admired from a distance like a shiny diamond displayed behind glass. Close enough to see the way it caught the light, close enough to imagine how it might feel in your hand, but ultimately too precious, too complicated, too far out of reach to ever truly be yours.

Despite being barely a decade older than you, he insisted on calling you “kid,” brushing off your constant reminders that you were very much not a kid.

But he saw you that way since you hadn’t lived through the kind of grief Jack had. A widower. A veteran. An amputee. He carried a lifetime of loss and responsibility on his shoulders that you simply didn’t. 

Even though you’d seen unspeakable things as a trauma surgeon—blood, shattered bones, lives slipping through your hands—none of it compared to war. None of it compared to what haunted Jack.

It didn’t help that he felt an almost irrational loyalty to your brother. Something you became acutely aware of a week into starting nights. From the way he hovered a little too carefully to the way he kept conversations clipped and professional whenever Robby was within earshot.

His composure crumbled after he drove you home after a brutal shift and you’d invited him upstairs for tea, an innocent proposal. Or so you had thought. 

But then one thing turned into another on your couch, knees brushing, shoulders too close. You’d leaned in—and he’d kissed you back. For a moment, he let himself have it. Let himself have you.

And then, when your fingers hooked into the hem of your top, reality seemed to crash back over him. His body went rigid. He pulled away abruptly, something conflicted flashing across his face.

“This isn’t right,” he’d muttered, more to himself than to you.

Within seconds, he was out the door.

The week that followed was thick with tension.

Shen noticed first. The easy banter between you and Jack disappeared. No more shared jokes over open chests and trauma bays, no more dry comments muttered behind masks. Instead, your exchanges were clipped and clinical. 

“I could’ve cut the tension in that room with my scalpel,” he muttered as you pulled your bag from your locker.

“Excuse me?” You turned to him, equal parts confused and affronted.

“You’re usually glowing when Abbot’s around,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “Today you barely even looked at each other. So… What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you replied quickly, shoving your locker shut a little harder than necessary. “I just wasn’t in the mood.”

“Yeah, sure,” he snorted. “And I’m not addicted to Dunkin.”

“You are,” you shot back pointedly. “The amount of sugar in those things could kill you, you know.”

“And you’re deflecting,” he countered, far too pleased with himself.

“I’m not deflecting, because there’s nothing to deflect,” you huffed.

“Right,” he said dryly. “Well, whenever you’re in the mood to be honest, you know where to find me.”

He drained the last of his coffee and gave you a lazy wave before heading off.

You rolled your eyes, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you followed him out. Today, you didn’t have the energy to stay around and pretend in front of Robby and Jack that everything was fine.

Your brother would notice. He always did. And then the questions would come.

How were you supposed to tell him you were in love with a man who would never allow himself to want you back?

For days, you found yourself dreading the night shift. It didn’t matter whether it was chaos or quiet, all you wanted was to crawl back to days. At least there, you’d be spared from Jack Abbot and his all-consuming presence.

You even went to Gloria and asked when you could switch back.

You left her office disappointed when she told you it would be at least another month before she could replace you. So, with your head bowed and your pride swallowed, you endured the nights—and him.

longer than a fleeting second. At that point, you would have traded that kiss back in a heartbeat if it meant he’d just talk to you the way he used to.

It all unraveled one night when you lost three patients in a row. And another two of them had come in so critical you’d known, somewhere deep down, they probably wouldn’t make it. The internal damage was catastrophic—beyond repair—and no amount of skill or speed could have altered the outcome. Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to sign three times of death. Three families who would never see their loved ones again. And two other families holding onto hope you knew would soon crumble. 

Half an hour before your shift ended, with the OR momentarily steady and no new traumas incoming, you slipped up to the hospital roof.

You told yourself it was just for air.

Instead, you broke down.

Your chest heaved with sobs tearing out of you in a way that felt almost violent. Your face burned, swollen and wet, hands trembling where they braced against the security railing.

In your grief, you didn’t notice the door creak open behind you and didn’t realize you weren’t alone anymore.

It wasn’t until you felt those calloused hands—hands you knew far too well now—cup your face and gently turn you toward him that you realized you weren’t alone.

Jack was there.

He pulled you into his chest without hesitation. The second you felt him, whatever fragile control you had left shattered. You cried harder, fists twisting into the fabric of his scrubs as if you needed to anchor yourself to something solid. His chin rested against the top of your head, his arms firm and steady around you while he murmured something low and soothing—words you couldn’t quite catch through the rush of your own sobs.

“I couldn’t save them,” you choked out after what felt like hours. “They wouldn’t stop bleeding… I tried everything. They just—they wouldn’t stop.”

He drew back just enough to cup your face again, forcing you to look at him. His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes, wiping away tears with surprising gentleness.

“You’re an incredible surgeon, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough but unwavering. “If you couldn’t save them, then no one could’ve.”

You wanted to believe him. Especially when he called you sweetheart.

The word wrapped around you differently. It felt intimate in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel since that night on your couch. And for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t looking at you like he was trying to keep his distance.

He was just looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“But I do,” you breathed, forcing yourself to steady. “I messed it all up.”

His brow furrowed. “What did you mess up?”

“This.” You gestured weakly between the two of you. “Us. I hate that you can’t even look at me because I was stupid and reckless and kissed you. And I know you don’t like me like that. So… I’m sorry.”

His expression shifted immediately. “You think I can’t look at you because I don’t want you?”

You swallowed. “Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you, like you’d spoken in a language he didn’t understand and was trying to decipher what the hell you had just said.

And when he finally responded, it wasn’t with words. Instead, he dipped his head and kissed you.

It took you a second to react, shock freezing you in place before instinct took over and you kissed him back, fingers curling into the front of his scrubs again.

“It wasn’t stupid,” he murmured against your mouth before kissing you again. “And you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” another kiss, slower this time. “And I do like you like that.”

“Really?” You leaned back slightly, searching his face, your eyes wide and vulnerable in a way that completely undid him.

“Yeah, kid—”

You immediately scrunched your nose in disgust. “You really have to drop that name. Especially after having your tongue in my mouth.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost laughing despite himself.

“I’m serious,” you insisted, a faint frown pulling at your brows.

“Okay.” He pressed his lips to yours again. “I won’t do it again, sweetheart. Promise.”

And in that moment, Jack was deeply grateful Robby wasn’t on shift. Because if your brother had pushed open that rooftop door and found you like this—kissing and tangled up in each other—Jack would’ve had to explain exactly how in love he was with his sister.

And that was a conversation he wasn’t quite ready to survive.

Whether it was after you lost a patient or he needed a moment to breathe, the two of you gravitated to the hospital’s rooftop instinctively. It was quiet and safe from the wandering eyes of coworkers—and, more importantly—from your brother.

On the nights Jack needed it, you’d find him standing far too close to the edge, shoulders rigid, staring out over the city. You always stayed behind the safety railing, heart in your throat, offering silent company rather than questions. You’d wait him out. Wait until the tightness left his posture. Wait until he stepped back on his own.

Then you’d walk back inside together, like nothing had happened.

You were careful, though. You knew Robby had a habit of going up there when the day shift rolled in. If Jack lingered too close to the day shift starting, you’d reluctantly head down first, unwilling to risk your brother finding the two of you alone on the roof.

To Robby, you and Jack were barely more than acquaintances. Friends would’ve been a stretch in his mind.

It was better that way, you and Jack had both agreed. Because you had no idea how he’d react if he realized the truth.

So, you snuck around.

You never left the hospital together, never arrived anywhere side by side. But you always found your way to each other. Sometimes it was his house and sometimes it was your apartment. What you shared lived in private spaces, because that was all you allowed yourselves to have.

You also rarely talked about feelings.

You told yourself it was fine—that knowing he wanted you was enough. But it wasn’t. Not entirely. You needed more than stolen kisses and rooftop silences. You needed clarity. Something steady. Something real.

Still, you didn’t push.

You were too afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing this was. Too afraid that if you asked for more, he’d retreat. And losing him completely would hurt far worse than settling for half of him.

You learned, quietly, that Jack was in therapy. It made sense, considering everything he’d survived. Maybe that was another reason you stayed silent—because at least he was talking about his feelings somewhere. You just wished he’d let you be part of that somewhere.

Sometimes, late at night when he was asleep beside you, doubt would creep in.

What if he only saw you as a distraction? As a fling?

You knew very well that wasn’t how you saw him.

Because you didn't want pieces of Jack Abbot—you wanted all of him.

It was only a matter of time before the conversation caught up with you.

After trailing his car home one night, you sat in your own for a full minute before stepping out, gathering every ounce of resolve you had. You promised yourself you wouldn’t soften it. Wouldn’t downplay it. Wouldn’t accept less than what you deserved.

When you finally brought it up, you braced for resistance.

You were used to it. Every man you’d dated before had grown defensive the second a conversation turned serious. Small concerns escalated into arguments. Simple needs became accusations. It was exhausting and one of the reasons your relationships had never lasted. You refused to scream your way through things that could be talked through calmly.

But Jack Abbot wasn’t like that.

He didn’t interrupt or shut down. 

He listened to you. Really listened.

When you told him you needed more—that you liked him too much to keep pretending this was casual—his expression didn’t harden. If anything, it softened.

“Friends with benefits?” He repeated, almost baffled. “I’m way too old to even know what that’s supposed to mean, let alone want it.”

Despite yourself, a small nervous laugh escaped you. “It means no strings. No expectations.”

“Sounds like a waste of time,” he replied dryly. “I don’t do things halfway.”

“And I don’t want something halfway,” you admitted back. “I don’t want to feel like this is temporary.”

His jaw tightened at that.

“You’re not temporary,” he said quietly, like the idea offended him. 

“Then…” you trailed off, searching his face. “What do you want this to be?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I’d like to be your partner,” he said simply. “If you’ll have me.”

You stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “If I’ll have you? Jack, I don’t think you realize how much I lo—”

The word caught in your throat.

“How much you what, sweetheart?” Jack whispered, breaking the momentary silence. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears. There was still time to laugh it off and pretend it never happened.

Instead, you inhaled.

“How much I love you.”

The words hung between you, fragile and exposed.

There was no taking them back. And you didn't want to. Because they were true. You loved Jack Abbot with every fiber of your being. From the moment you met him, something in you had settled into place. Your heart had chosen him long before you’d allowed yourself to admit it—beating for him in a way it never had for anyone else.

“I love you, too,” he said at last.

The words landed gently, but they stole the air from your lungs.

“You don’t have to say it just because I did,” you murmured, suddenly shy under his steady gaze. Vulnerable in a way that made you want to fold in on yourself.

“I’m not just saying it.” His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs warm against your cheeks, grounding you. “I’ve been in love before. I know what it feels like.” His voice softened, “And this isn’t the same, because you’re not the same person. But I still know what love is.”

He leaned his forehead against yours.

“And I know I love you.”

Your vision blurred despite your attempt to blink the tears away.

“I love you, YN,” he repeated, firmer this time. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

Then he leaned in and kissed you.

It started soft—a brush of lips, slow and certain—but it didn’t stay that way for long. Your hands slid up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the grey at his temples, tugging gently as if to prove he was real. His hands moved from your face to your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you flush against him like he was done keeping any distance at all.

The kiss deepened, unhurried but full of intent.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Good,” he murmured back. “Because neither am I.”

You barely broke apart as you made your way down the hall to his bedroom, hands searching, mouths finding each other again in the soft glow of the morning sun. There was no awkwardness now or hesitation. Just the quiet certainty of two people who had finally said the thing that mattered most.

There was still one difficult conversation left. One that involved your brother, and whatever fallout might come from this. But that could wait.

Right now, knowing you and Jack were standing on the same ground—wanting the same future—was enough.

You could face the rest later.

Later came sooner, rather than later.

Barely a week after confessing your love for each other, you and Jack found yourselves back on the rooftop.

This time, you were sitting side by side behind the safety railing per your very firm insistence. Your head rested against his shoulder, his arm warm and secure around your waist. Your shift had ended minutes earlier, and you’d both hurried upstairs to catch the sunrise over the Pittsburgh skyline.

After another grueling night, it felt like peace you’d earned.

For once, neither of you were saying anything.

In your calm, you barely registered the creak of the rooftop door. It was old, rusted; it creaked all the time.

But then a voice cut through the morning air.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Jack’s arm disappeared from your waist instantly at the sound of your brother’s voice while you lifted your head from his shoulder with a slow, resigned sigh.

“Robby…” Jack exhaled carefully.

“Don’t ‘Robby’ me!” Your brother snapped, eyes blazing. “Why are you cuddling with my sister?”

“We—”

“And is this why you changed to nights?” He cut in, turning on you. “I bet Gloria didn’t even have to pressure you. You probably volunteered. Was working with your brother such a burden that you had to run off to another shift?”

“What?” You hissed incredulously, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Okay,” Jack tried, stepping slightly in front of you, palms raised. “Let’s all calm down—”

“And you,” Robby barked, pointing at him. “How could you? Didn’t I tell you not to do this? To leave my sister alone?”

“You did what?” You nearly shouted, whipping towards Jack.

Robby ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I knew it from the second you switched shifts that this was a bad idea…”

“Robby!” You snapped your fingers at him, “Me changing shifts had nothing to do with you or Jack. It was a management decision, you know that.”

“I apparently know nothing,” he shot back, chest rising and falling hard. “My sister is messing around with my friend, and I find out by walking in on this?” He gestured wildly between you and Jack. “Were you even planning on telling me? Or were you just going to stay on nights forever and hope I never noticed?”

You felt your temper flare.

“First of all,” you said sharply, “I am not ‘messing around.’ And secondly, you don’t get to act like I need your permission to date someone.”

His jaw tightened. “He’s my friend.”

“And I’m your sister,” you fired back. “Not your property.”

Jack stayed quiet at first, watching the two of you go back and forth. He knew better than to wedge himself between you when your tempers were flaring.

“Robby, we were going to tell you,” he said finally, his voice steady.

Your brother’s glare snapped to him. You gave Jack a small, encouraging nod—a silent we’re in this together.

“When?” Robby demanded. “And how long has this even been going on?”

Jack didn’t look away. “It started over a month ago. And we’ve been officially together for a week.”

“Wow.” Robby let out a sharp breath, dragging both hands down his face like he was trying to physically process it.

Then Jack stepped closer to you. 

“I love her,” he said, firm and unflinching. “And I’d like your blessing. But I won’t stop seeing her if you don’t approve.” He swallowed, his voice softening just a fraction. “I know this is a shock. And I hate that you found out like this. I really do, Robby.”

Your brother looked between the two of you—at the way you stood shoulder to shoulder, at the way your hand had unconsciously slipped into Jack’s.

Robby exhaled slowly, some of the fire draining from his expression, replaced with something more complicated.

“This is serious?” Robby finally asked.

“As serious as it gets,” Jack answered without hesitation.

Robby’s eyes shifted to you then, searching your face the way only an older brother could. “And you really like him?”

A small smile pulled at your lips despite everything. “I love him.”

“Then…” Robby started with a soft exhale, “You have my blessing.”

Your mouth fell open, already prepared to argue—to tell him you didn’t need permission in the first place—but before you could get a word out, Jack stepped forward and pulled your brother into a hug.

Robby went rigid in his arms, clearly not prepared for that level of emotional sincerity at sunrise. After a beat, he awkwardly patted Jack on the back.

“Thank you, brother,” Jack murmured quietly.

“Yeah,” Robby muttered, pulling back with a grimace. “That’s weird now.”

But the edge was gone. And when he looked at you—really looked at you—and saw the way your eyes shone and something in his expression softened completely.

“Just… don’t make me regret this,” he said gruffly.

You didn’t hesitate. “We won’t.”

The moment fractured when Robby’s pager went off.

He glanced down at it, then back at the two of you. “Duty calls,” he muttered, giving you one last assessing look before turning toward the door. He was probably already a few minutes late for the start of his shift.

“Well,” you exhaled, shoulders finally dropping, “that was something.”

“Definitely something,” Jack agreed, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“At least we don’t have to hide anymore,” you said, relief threading through your voice.

He huffed softly. “We still have to notify HR.”

You groaned immediately. “You think they’ll make me switch back to days?”

“I’m not your superior,” he pointed out calmly. “There’s no direct conflict of interest. We don’t evaluate each other, and we don’t report to one another.”

You eyed him skeptically. “That sounded rehearsed.”

“I may have… looked into it,” Jack sheepishly admitted.

Your lips twitched. “You looked into it?”

“I wasn’t going to risk your career,” he said simply. “Or mine.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten. 

“So?” You asked quietly. “We’re okay?”

He stepped closer again, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

“We’re okay,” he said. “No more hiding.”

“No more hiding,” you agreed softly, tilting your head and pressing a soft kiss to his lips as the morning sun shone across the rooftop.