vampires will never hurt you

a little distracted (jack abbot fluff) andrew cody blurb (fluff) andrew cody blurb (nsfw) andrew cody blurb (fluff) napping with jack (jack abbot fluff) a special patient (jack abbot fluff)

You freeze because you vaguely remember something along those lines. Something about telling Jack that he needs to find a different hobby. And maybe you did mention something about your baking, and you guess you've formed plans for this Saturday. Clearly, all of this had slipped your mind in your excitement of not having to go into the Pitt for a whole two days. You sigh, and the thought of canceling pops into your head. But shortly after, guilt pops in and decides against it.

You: Right. Sorry, slipped my mind.

Jack: No worries, need to cancel?"

Of course, the man can read your mind, fuck, now canceling was really out of the picture.

You: No. Can we bump it to like 10:30?

He replies with a thumbs up, and that has you getting out of bed rather quickly. Suddenly fully awake and slightly pissed off at yourself for managing to forget about Jack coming over to your apartment in an hour.

After brushing your teeth and doing your skin, you move quickly to cleaning your kitchen as fast as you possibly can. Make sure to grab your great-grandmother's recipe book. Luckily, you had all the ingredients the recipe called for, thanks to the banana you got a few days ago and had also forgotten about. Then you moved to the living room and the bathroom. Doing as much as you could in about 10 minutes. Which wasn't a lot, but just enough not to be embarrassed by its state.

Right at 10:00 AM, your doorbell rings, and you're not surprised. Abbot would be where he said he would be, right at the time he said he would.

When you open your front door, you see Jack in regular clothes and not scrubs for the first time in…well, probably ever. Only wearing a plain black T-shirt and blue jeans. And he looks too attractive for a basic outfit.

"Hey." He greets you as he stands outside your door.

"Hey. Did you just come from your shift to bake?"

"Yeah. Just got off."

"And, you're not tired?"

"Not really. I'm a bit wired for the first few hours after. I'll go to sleep when I leave."

You nod, showing him your kitchen. "Okay. Um. I pulled out my grandmother's old recipe book, and I only had the stuff for banana bread. Hope thats okay."

"Sounds fun." He gives you a small smile as you start taking out the ingredients. "You bake often?"

You hear him ask as you're pulling out your mixing bowls. "Uh.. not as much as I did in college. I became a sort of stress baker and would bring desserts to my classmates during finals."

"Really?" He leans against your counter. You set the mixing bowls next to him, then went back under the counter for your KitchenAid stand mixer and placed it on the counter.

"Mhm. But once I started my residency, I didn't have much time for it anymore. Plus, it's not really the healthiest of hobbies."

"True. But now I'm curious as to why you haven't brought in any of these baked goods? It would make my shift a lot better if it started with cookies or a muffin."

You smile a bit as you prep what you will need. Giving Jack a small shrug, "I don't know, bringing in cookies or something to doctors feels like bringing caramel apples to a dentist's office. I did offer to bring Robby cupcakes for his last day before his sabbatical, but he didn't want anything like that.

"He had to ruin it for the rest of us."

"But I don't know, maybe one day I'll bring in like muffins or something."

"Well, my night crawlers better be included." He teases, a slight smile forming.

You can't help but laugh as he refers to 'his night crawlers' as you grab the butter you had on the counter, softening.

"You have any other hobbies that don't raise your blood sugar?" He asks as he gives the recipes a once-over.

"Uh.. pilates…on YouTube because I can never make the classes. But besides that, not really. Kinda don't have the time. What about you? Well, besides ones that place you in active fire."

He laughs a bit at your jab at his field medic 'hobby'. "Yeah, I hike and work out. Sometimes I do yoga."

"This the receipe?" You look over to where he's pointing to your great-grandmother's recipe book resting on your wooden cookbook holder, open to the banana bread recipe

"Yep. Was my great grandma's, it's pretty straightforward."

The two of you work on the recipe, Jack handling dry ingredients, and you handling the wet and greasing your grandmother's floral bread loaf pan.

As you finish cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, you feel a light sensation of something hitting your hand. So you light, you almost don't feel it. Taking a glance over your shoulder, you see white baking flour on the shoulder and across the top of your back. Moving your eyes to Jack, you see him laughing, holding your flour.

"Your flour was having issues because it wouldn't open. And when it did, that happened." That apparently is flour exploding onto your back. But you suspect it was flung rather than randomly exploded.

"You're really immature for a man in his 50s, you know that." You turn around, going to where he was standing, and reach into the flour bag. You grab a bit between your fingers and toss it back onto him. The lower half of his face and his shirt are lightly dusted with white flour. "Wow, you almost can't see it; it blends in with your grays." You tease, unable to resist the urge to joke about his age.

"Oh, really?" Jack's brows raise as he grabs another pinch of flour from the bag, and a handful of flour lands on your cheeks, covering half of your face. Considerably more than the bit you threw onto him.

"Oh my god!" You reach for more flour, but he moves the bag out of your reach, faster than you can retaliate.

"Wow, you're really immature, you know. We gotta have flour for the banana bread. Stop playing with it." He says in a low, sarcastic voice as he grabs your measuring cup.

You stand there, mouth open, watching as he reads your grandmother's recipe and pours in the amount of flour that's needed.

"You're such an asshole!" You make another attempt at the bag, but he moves faster.

"Playing with flour, really? What are you 4?" He gives you a small smirk as he puts the flour back in your pantry.

You stand facing him for a few seconds, until the mix of annoyance and attraction passes. You turn your attention back to your mixing bowl of wet ingredients. Stir the mixing spoon in the bowl.

Jack joins you, holding a bag of baking chocolate chips, which you assume he grabbed from your pantry when he was putting the flour away. You stare at the bag as you continue stirring the ingredients.

"The recipe doesn't say anything about chocolate chips."

"I think we can take some creative liberties." He opens the bag of chocolate chips, putting a few in his mouth first.

You really don't have any issues with adding chocolate chips, and you've added them to the recipes before, but where's the fun in agreeing with him?

"My Great Grandma might argue with you on that. My mom said she took offense to any changes to her recipes, and I'd rather not have a visit from her spirit yelling at me because I let a man, of all people, add things willy-nilly."

Abbot's brow raises slightly as he takes what you told him. "Really?" He asks, clearly not falling for your tale.

You nod. "Oh yeah. From what I heard, she hated people changing her recipes, but I guess I can deal with her haunting me tonight if you really want to add chocolate chips."

Jack gives you a little laugh. "Thanks for taking one for the team. Really appreciate it."

You open the drawer of your cabinet, grabbing a measuring cup to add exactly the right amount of chocolate chips so as not to disrupt the balance. After a drunken experiment of adding as many chocolate chips as you wanted, you learned that eyeballing it did more harm than you'd think.

You grab a 1/2 measuring cup, and Jack notices immediately. "So just out of curiosity, if you've never strayed from the recipes…How would you know exactly what measurements are needed?"

You hand him the measuring cup, and he pours the chips into it. "Well, when you suggested it, she spoke to me and told me exactly how much is needed."

"Did she?" Jack asks with a laugh. "Well, tell her I appreciate her letting me take such liberties. Wouldn't want to offend."

After you mixed all the ingredients, you realize the banana bread recipe made two loaves, forgetting it was your great grandma's recipe, and she had 8 kids. Usually, you'd do the math to make a smaller portion. But you were a bit distracted by Jack's presence, joking and laughing with him.

The two pans of the banana bread are in the oven, and you set your phone timer. "I forgot to halve the ingredients for one loaf, so you can have the other. Maybe split it with Robby or something."

Jack stares at you for a little while, clearly confused. "Why do you assume Robby first?"

"Don't you live together. You and Robby."

"Um. No? We do not live together. Why did you think that?"

You shrug. "Just got a vibe. I thought you were like roommates or…" You trail off, almost saying boyfriends. "or…something…" You say instead.

"Or something…"

You nod.

"You just got a vibe that Robby and I are living together?"

You nod again.

"Right. And what gave off those vibes? He folds his arms over his chest, waiting for your explanation.

It takes you a moment to think about it. Because the vibe you were getting was that they either dated or are in some sort of middle-aged men situationship. "Uh.. a codependant vibe. I don't know, I feel like you guys have a sort of romance history or something."

Jack laughs at that, but doesn't touch on it any further than he did. "You have flour on your face." He hands you one of your dish towels with chickens on it. You don't miss how he didn't deny what you were hinting at with Robby. But you choose to ignore it.

You take the towel and wipe your face where you think the flour is. "Yeah, because the 50-year-old man decided to throw flour on my face."

Jack steps closer, lightly taking the towel from you and wiping the flour off for you instead.

"That was definitely you playing with flour." He steps back after wiping the flour off, then tosses your towel to you to catch, which you do.

You touch it back at him. "You have flour on your face, too, Mr. Maturity."

He takes the towel to wipe his face, then sets the ducky-printed towel on the counter and leans back against your counter, shifting his weight slightly. "So how long do these have to bake?"

His question brings you out of staring at how good he always managed to look, even with leftover flour on his face. You pick up your phone and check the time you set a while ago. "An hour. I can bring it by during my shift tomorrow if you have to go."

Jack shifts again on his feet. "Got nowhere else to be. Unless you want me to go."

"I don't want you to go." You reply probably with too much urgency in your voice. You take a moment. "No. I just assumed you were a busy man."

He shakes his head, walking out of your kitchen and over the living room of your apartment, and gestures to your couch to sit.

You nod, letting him know it's fine. "Sure. But watch out for Christina." You warn him of your grey tabby, who usually lies on your couch and has a way of camouflaging into your grey couch. You've sat on her more than once, so you've gotten used to giving your couch a small pat down before sitting.

"Christina?" He repeats, raising his eyes.

You leave your kitchen and go over to where he was in the living room. Nodding. You go over to where he was about to sit on your couch, do a quick pat-down, and find Christina curled up, clearly woken by you. You gently pick her up.

"Ah, that must be Christina," Jack says, sitting down on your couch.

Your cat gets fed up with being held, jumps from your arms, walks over to her cat tower, and resumes her slumber inside the little cat house on the tower.

"Yeah, I saw her at the shelter when I first moved to Pittsburgh, and she looked… a little cunty, and I feel like Christina is a cunty name. The employee said she had a big personality, could be a little sassy, so I went with Christina."

"Cunty?" He repeats with a laugh.

"Laugh, but you can't tell me she doesn't look like a diva."

He looks down at the tabby, evaluating her diva likeness. "Yeah. I can see that. I forget your generation has made that word into a compliment now.

"Do you? I forget it was very offensive to your generation

"Yeah. Catches me off guard a bit hearing it thrown around so casually sometimes."

"I kinda like it. Like its cunt, like its cunty."

Abbot laughs, and the two of you pass the hour talking, some of it is probably not H.R. compliant gossip regarding the Pitt, some of it about what the two of you do outside of work. The conversations flow so naturally and easily that you're anxious or nervous that you're sticking your foot in your mouth. You're so engaged in the conversation, fully captivated by him, that the time goes by faster than you think. Next thing you know, your phone timer is going off, and you remember he wasn't just over here to hang out with you.

You take the two pans out of the oven, sticking a fork in the center, checking to see if they have baked all the way through, which they both have. You take out one loaf and place it on the white floral bread tray, which was also passed down from your great-grandma. You take out a knife to slice a piece for you both to try.

"Want a coffee or something to go with it?" You offer, setting a piece of the baked good on a plate for him.

"No thanks, try not to drink caffeine after my shift."

Right. Night shift. Somehow, it slips your mind what that really means. That it was more than just coming in at 7:00 PM. It probably meant sleeping during the day, working until the sun came up, and plenty of other lifestyle changes and adaptations.

"Right. I forgot that means you have a completely different schedule." You cut the second piece for yourself, placing it on the second plate

Jack takes a piece of the banana bread onto his fork, taking a bite. You pause, waiting to see his reaction. Not to see if he liked it, you've never met a person who didn't enjoy your great-grandmother's recipe. Cooking for everyone in your classes, plus the professors in your master's program, gave you a good census on that. And Jack was no different. You can see it on his face as his eyes close for a moment, enjoying the flavors of the banana bread.

"Wow thats really good." He takes another bite shortly after.

"I'll let her know when she comes to haunt me later tonight."

He gives you a short laugh as he finishes the piece of bread. You place a few more pieces of the loaf you've already cut into in a tub for you and pack up the second bread for him to take as well.

"So what did you think of baking?"

Abbots pauses, thinking for a second, as he holds what you gave him to take with you. "Don't think it's for me. But I will say that I did enjoy the company more than the activity." He gives that charming smile that never fails to make your heart beat a bit faster.

He makes his way to your front door, preparing to leave with his banana bread in hand. It may just be your imagination, but it seems as if he's lingering. Not quite ready to leave, and you're feeling the same.

"Well, I'm sorry you didn't find it fun."

He shakes his head, disregarding your apology with a slight wave of his head. "Really, don't be. I'll just suggest a hobby for us to try next time."

Your brows raise slightly as you hear his suggestion. The hint of flirting that's evident in his tone. Next time? As in he wanted to do this again. Whatever this was. You have to bite back the ridiculous grin that threatens to come out after hearing him, having to fight to stay as neutral and calm as you can.

"Yeah? I promise it won't slip my mind next time."

"Good. Cause I'm not going to lie, I was a bit offended that you had forgotten about me."

"It wasn't that I forgot you, I just was looking forward to lying in bed on my day off. But this was much better."

Again, he gives you a small smile. "I'm glad. I'll see you tomorrow when you come in, and I'll text you the next hobby we're going to try."