tangled in his heartstrings.

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.

“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.

“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.

Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”

“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”

“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”

“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.

You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.

You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.

The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.

Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.

“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”

“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.

“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”

“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”

You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.

“Robby, relax. Please?”

He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.

Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.

The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.

His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.

“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”

He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”

Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.

He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,

“Robby.”

Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”

Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.

“All of that.”

“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.

He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”

You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.

Robby.

You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.

“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.

Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.

“Hey, brother.”

Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.

You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.

Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”

“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”

“I don’t-”

“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.

All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.

“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”

You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.

“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.

“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.

“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.

Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”

“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”

“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”

“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.

You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.

You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.

The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.

Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.

“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”

“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.

“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”

“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”

You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.

“Robby, relax. Please?”

He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.

Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.

The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.

His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.

“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”

He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”

Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.

He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,

“Robby.”

Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”

Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.

“All of that.”

“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.

He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”

You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.

Robby.

You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.

“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.

Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.

“Hey, brother.”

Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.

You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.

Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”

“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”

“I don’t-”

“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.

All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.

“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”

You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.

“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3

“Oh, hey,” a voice snaps him out of his daydream. “When did you get here?”

He can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re playing hard to get. You’re the only person that makes him doubt himself over and over again.

“Just got here,” he grumbles, voice hoarse.

“Happy Fourth of July, Dr Abbot.”

He looks at you pointedly, watching as your tongue swipes across your pillowy bottom lip. Like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Just Jack here.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t jump into doctor mode and save my life if I needed you to?”

You’re teasing him and he doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

“I’m sure you’d give me the kiss of life if it was necessary, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t like it.

Or rather, he does. He likes it too much, which means it’s gone full circle and ended up resembling something like disdain.

“You’ll be a doctor soon enough,” he counters. “Can save yourself.”

“It’s not as fun that way. I’d rather you do it.”

Either you just winked, or he blinked and his mind is playing tricks on him. Get it together, he pleads with himself. Grow the fuck up.

“You’re a nightmare, you know that?”

“You’re a liar, you know that?”

He shakes his head as he watches you walk away, hips swaying and ass peachier than ever, trying determinedly to ignore how tight his jeans feel.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“How are you liking working nights, kid?”

It’s your uncle who’s asking, half yelling to you across the barbecue.

“I like the night shift way better than the day shift,” you tell him as you stir the ice in your drink. “I’ve learnt a lot.”

You catch Jack’s eyes as you say it, looking at him through hooded lids. An image of you on your knees last week pops into his head uninvited, making his breath catch in his throat.

“What’s it like working with Jack? Bet he’s a real pain in the ass.”

You laugh, tongue darting out to find your straw.

“He’s a good boss. Very hands on. Likes to get down and dirty.”

Your attending shoots you a warning glance, daggers piercing through his stare. It doesn’t deter you, a giggle escaping before you can stop it.

“How is she as a student, Jack?” your dad’s asking as he sidles up to where you’re all stood. “She’s not causing you trouble, is she?”

“Always,” Jack chuckles, making everyone else laugh. “She’s a fast learner - real quick study. Does as she’s told when she’s told for the most part too.”

A memory from last month flashes across Jacks mind, a blurry image of you riding him on his couch while he coaches you through it. Atta girl, he can recall himself murmuring. Such a fast learner, baby. Just wanna make me proud, don’t you?

“Well, you tell me if she causes you too much grief,” your dad grins as he slaps Jack on the back. “Though I suppose if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

He wants to handle you right now - throw you over his shoulder with two palms full of your ass. He’s distracted from that thought by the sight of you helping your mom hang up some bunting on the deck - stretched up on your tiptoes as you hold it in place for her. Your shorts are riding up and your stomach is on show and it takes everything in Jack not to throw a blanket over you so that no one else gets to see what’s his.

Except you’re not his.

You’re his resident. His colleague. His best friend’s daughter. His subordinate.

His salvation and his karma all at once. A dream and a nightmare.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong and yet he’s actively thinking of ways he can get you alone before the day ends. The idea of waiting until tomorrow to touch you seems completely unfathomable. He’s an addict looking for his next fix, desperate to know when he can feel you again.

If his soul is damned, then so be it. He’s been chasing heaven for so long, he’s convinced it most likely doesn’t exist.

You’re the closest thing to it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re talking to a guy.

He’s your age, fairly tall, brown curly hair. He looks like he’d play guitar in a shitty band on the weekends.

Jack hates him already.

Maybe he’s gone cynical with age. Or maybe the sight of you talking to this boy while still dressed in your tiny bikini is just rage inducing enough that it’d send anyone over the edge.

Jack’s a strong man. Not strong enough for this.

Now you’re laughing. What could this person possibly be saying to you that’s that funny? Your full on belly laughs are usually reserved for him. When he tells you that we shouldn’t be doing this, and you reply with your arrogant little sure, Dr Abbot. See how long that lasts, before strutting off across the ER, laughing like that.

Jack’s very aware that he’s the one that keeps trying to shut this situation down, and yet he’s standing in your garden seething with envy at the sight of you simply having a conversation with a man your age. He knows he’s a hypocrite. He’s not oblivious.

Maybe it’s because he’s three beers deep, or maybe it’s because he just simply doesn’t have the energy to argue with his own mind, but Jack marches over to the two of you with his phone in his hand.

“Hon, work’s calling. Emergency.”

You shoot up out of your chair and follow him immediately, right into the empty kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” you’re asking, and your concern is so genuine it almost makes Jack feel guilty for lying. Almost.

He doesn’t reply. He just plants his palms on your cheeks and pulls you into him, kissing you stupid right where anyone could walk in. You’re dizzy with it, grateful he’s got such a strong grip on you or else you’d be toppling over onto the cool tiles.

Jack’s biting at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue over yours, groaning into your mouth like a man possessed. You’re confused and turned on and at the mercy of your boss who’s also your dad’s best friend who you’re probably in love with.

It couldn’t be more complicated if it tried. And yet, here you are. Doing it anyway.

“Jack-”

“Honey.”

He says it flippantly, as if he’s got more important matters to attend to.

“Jack.”

Now he pulls back, fingers digging into your hips like if he’s worried you’re going to bolt.

“What did work say? What’s the matter?”

He’d almost forgotten about that stupid lie to get you in here.

“There’s no emergency,” he says as he leans back in to your lips. “Just needed you by yourself.”

“Naughty,” you tease as you let him kiss you some more. “I like it. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Wish you would,” he retorts as you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug.

“You’re not usually the one that takes risks, Abbot. What did you say to me last week? You’re going to get us caught?”

“You were. Bending down to pick up a chart and practically grinding on me, like I was in a damn strip club in the middle of the pit.”

You’re struggling to stifle a laugh at the memory, admitting that you probably did push the boundaries a bit too far that day. But Jack had been spending an awful lot of time with Dr Al-Hashimi, and there’s a chance you were a tiny bit jealous of how much they had in common.

“I apologised for that. And you accepted that apology.”

“Because it came in the form of you on your knees.”

“Exactly,” you wink. “Now, are you gonna lie to my face and tell me that this sudden outburst has absolutely nothing to do with me talking to Cory?”

“It has everything to do with that, actually.”

“Oh, we’re feeling honest today are we?”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me Dr Al-Hashimi asked you out the other day?”

It comes out a little more bristled than you would’ve liked, but you’ve never been good at sitting on things that are bothering you.

“It was hardly her asking me out.”

“She said that you guys should grab a beer and share war stories. As in, the two of you would go for a drink. Together. On a date.”

“I’m not sure she meant it that way.”

“She was looking at you like she did.”

“She was being friendly. Trying to bond with the team.”

“You agreed to go out with her.”

“I agreed to talk to her about being in Afghanistan. It’s hardly a romantic topic of conversation.”

“So I’m delusional?”

Jack’s watching your walls go up in real time, can feel the way you’re getting more defensive as you have an internal battle with yourself about the way you’re handling this.

“Honey,” he soothes, one hand on your cheek, the other resting where your neck meets your shoulder. “You are not delusional. Maybe she was asking me out, but that’s not what I took it as. I thought she wanted to catch up, as colleagues. Besides, I’m not gonna go anyway. I’d just be thinking about you the entire time.”

“Good save,” you mutter sarcastically. “She’s pretty. I get it.”

“Sure, she’s pretty. But she isn’t you.”

“So cheesy,” you murmur, but you’re fighting to keep the smile off your face. “When did you get so sweet on me, hmm?”

“I’ve been sweet on you for months,” he hums, fingertips rubbing gentle circles into your skin. “Ever since your first day at PTMC when you called me a stupid old man in front of everyone.”

“You were being a stupid old man.”

“Yeah? Tell me, sweetheart. Has anyone ever made you come as hard as this old man has?”

One of his thumbs is hooking into your bikini tie, showing you just how easily he could undo them right here in the kitchen. You step in closer, seeking out his body heat.

“Never,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

“Those immature boys don’t know how to treat someone like you and you know it.”

“I know,” you sigh as his fingers slip under your bikini bottoms. “You’ve ruined me for everyone else.”

“Good.”

Jack kisses you like a man starved, all teeth and tongue. His left hand grips the back of your neck as his right swipes through your core, groaning when all he can feel is how wet you are.

“Filthy girl.”

You rest your forehead on his chest when he slips two fingers in with ease, crooking them right into that spot almost instantly. He can play you like a fiddle, mindlessly and effortlessly. He doesn’t even have to try.

“Anyone could see you like this,” he’s murmuring into your ear. “Someone could walk in and see you getting fingerfucked by your old man’s best pal. By your boss.”

His words should panic you, but they only turn you on more, knees buckling as he speaks.

“You’re so pretty like this, all pliant and obedient. Wish everyone at work could see this side of you. You’re such a brat to me in front of them.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t lie,” he cuts you off. “It’s not a good look on you.”

You hate to admit how much you love it when he’s mean. At work, he stays so professional despite you being cruel to him just to push your luck. You like when he finally snaps and gives it back to you.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Be quiet,” he hisses, smacking a hand over your mouth while his other one slides in and out of you with no resistance. “Do I need to gag you with your bikini to get you to shut up?”

You groan at the thought, mind flashing back to him doing exactly that last week. You were bent over his bathroom sink, panties in your mouth, legs trembling as he slammed his hips into yours. You came three times before he did, both of you riled up by the constant working each other up on shift.

Your hands are gripping at his t shirt, forehead pressed to his chest as you fight to stay standing up.

“I can feel you shakin’, pretty girl. You close? Already?”

You’re nodding frantically, very aware that he’s making fun of you but too far gone to care. He’s crooking his fingers just right, pushing you further towards the edge the way only someone who’s done this countless times before can.

“You’re so fuckin’ filthy,” he murmurs into your ear, hand still muffling your sounds. “What are you gonna say if someone catches us, hmm? It’s not what it looks like? Because what it looks like is that you’re a fucked out mess for a man who’s twice your age.”

“Jack,” you mumble against his palm. “Please.”

“Pathetic,” he’s chuckling condescendingly. “My pretty little whore. You act so brave at work, and now look at you... whining and crying because I’ve got two fingers in you.”

Someone yells outside and startles you, both of you jumping in unison.

“You better come quick before someone sees us. Come on beautiful, give it to me. Atta girl.”

You’re right on the edge, about to topple over, when Jack pulls his hand from between your legs suddenly.

“No, Jack-”

“Don’t be bratty.”

Your knees are buckling as you hold onto him for dear life, trying to take a deep breath. You bang your fists against his chest in protest, which he’s immediately having none of. He grabs your wrists in one hand, twisting your arms behind your back and keeping you exactly where he wants to.

“Uh uh,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart. You may run that mouth of yours at work, but remember who’s in charge.”

You’re batting your big doe eyes at him, bottom lip jutting out like the picture of innocence.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, honey. I know exactly what you’re doing. It might work on those stupid boys your age, but it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You huff and try to fight his grip, but he’s got you locked in place.

“Listen to me now, because I’m only going to say this once. I’m gonna give it an hour or so, then I’m gonna go home. You know where the key is, let yourself in when this is wrapped up.”

He leans in to press a kiss to your pouty lips, chuckling at your clear displeasure.

“Then, I’m gonna spend all night fucking that attitude right out of you. You’re going to come so many times, the only thing you’ll be able to remember is my name. And then you’re going to be so sweet to me at work, everyone’s going to wonder if you’ve had a personality transplant. Understood?”

He quirks a brow at you, waiting for an answer.

“Understood.”

“Play it cool, alright? You’ve got to stick around here. Can’t just be running off for no reason.”

“I got it, Jack. Give me a little credit.”

“I’ll give you credit when you do something worth me giving you credit.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want him to see how much you love when he gives you attitude just like you do to him.

“Keep the bikini on,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning in so you can feel his words across your skin. “Wanna fuck you in it.”

“Yessir,” you half joke, testing the waters.

His eyes darken, and you know you’ve hit a nerve.

“Careful,” he warns.

You know exactly what you’re going to be calling him later.

“Think you can behave for the rest of the evening?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good.”

He finally releases your wrists, smirking when you stretch your arms out in front of you and push your tits together accidentally. It’s your turn to smirk when you watch him adjust his jeans, trying to hide the obvious.

“See you later, Jack.”

“See you later, honey,” he whispers against your lips, leaning in to give you one last kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

You turn around to look at him when you walk away, and wish you hadn’t. His gaze is raking up and down your body, nothing but hunger and pure want settled in his eyes.

You hope he doesn’t notice how your legs shake as you leave.

He does.

“Oh, hey,” a voice snaps him out of his daydream. “When did you get here?”

He can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re playing hard to get. You’re the only person that makes him doubt himself over and over again.

“Just got here,” he grumbles, voice hoarse.

“Happy Fourth of July, Dr Abbot.”

He looks at you pointedly, watching as your tongue swipes across your pillowy bottom lip. Like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Just Jack here.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t jump into doctor mode and save my life if I needed you to?”

You’re teasing him and he doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

“I’m sure you’d give me the kiss of life if it was necessary, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t like it.

Or rather, he does. He likes it too much, which means it’s gone full circle and ended up resembling something like disdain.

“You’ll be a doctor soon enough,” he counters. “Can save yourself.”

“It’s not as fun that way. I’d rather you do it.”

Either you just winked, or he blinked and his mind is playing tricks on him. Get it together, he pleads with himself. Grow the fuck up.

“You’re a nightmare, you know that?”

“You’re a liar, you know that?”

He shakes his head as he watches you walk away, hips swaying and ass peachier than ever, trying determinedly to ignore how tight his jeans feel.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“How are you liking working nights, kid?”

It’s your uncle who’s asking, half yelling to you across the barbecue.

“I like the night shift way better than the day shift,” you tell him as you stir the ice in your drink. “I’ve learnt a lot.”

You catch Jack’s eyes as you say it, looking at him through hooded lids. An image of you on your knees last week pops into his head uninvited, making his breath catch in his throat.

“What’s it like working with Jack? Bet he’s a real pain in the ass.”

You laugh, tongue darting out to find your straw.

“He’s a good boss. Very hands on. Likes to get down and dirty.”

Your attending shoots you a warning glance, daggers piercing through his stare. It doesn’t deter you, a giggle escaping before you can stop it.

“How is she as a student, Jack?” your dad’s asking as he sidles up to where you’re all stood. “She’s not causing you trouble, is she?”

“Always,” Jack chuckles, making everyone else laugh. “She’s a fast learner - real quick study. Does as she’s told when she’s told for the most part too.”

A memory from last month flashes across Jacks mind, a blurry image of you riding him on his couch while he coaches you through it. Atta girl, he can recall himself murmuring. Such a fast learner, baby. Just wanna make me proud, don’t you?

“Well, you tell me if she causes you too much grief,” your dad grins as he slaps Jack on the back. “Though I suppose if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

He wants to handle you right now - throw you over his shoulder with two palms full of your ass. He’s distracted from that thought by the sight of you helping your mom hang up some bunting on the deck - stretched up on your tiptoes as you hold it in place for her. Your shorts are riding up and your stomach is on show and it takes everything in Jack not to throw a blanket over you so that no one else gets to see what’s his.

Except you’re not his.

You’re his resident. His colleague. His best friend’s daughter. His subordinate.

His salvation and his karma all at once. A dream and a nightmare.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong and yet he’s actively thinking of ways he can get you alone before the day ends. The idea of waiting until tomorrow to touch you seems completely unfathomable. He’s an addict looking for his next fix, desperate to know when he can feel you again.

If his soul is damned, then so be it. He’s been chasing heaven for so long, he’s convinced it most likely doesn’t exist.

You’re the closest thing to it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re talking to a guy.

He’s your age, fairly tall, brown curly hair. He looks like he’d play guitar in a shitty band on the weekends.

Jack hates him already.

Maybe he’s gone cynical with age. Or maybe the sight of you talking to this boy while still dressed in your tiny bikini is just rage inducing enough that it’d send anyone over the edge.

Jack’s a strong man. Not strong enough for this.

Now you’re laughing. What could this person possibly be saying to you that’s that funny? Your full on belly laughs are usually reserved for him. When he tells you that we shouldn’t be doing this, and you reply with your arrogant little sure, Dr Abbot. See how long that lasts, before strutting off across the ER, laughing like that.

Jack’s very aware that he’s the one that keeps trying to shut this situation down, and yet he’s standing in your garden seething with envy at the sight of you simply having a conversation with a man your age. He knows he’s a hypocrite. He’s not oblivious.

Maybe it’s because he’s three beers deep, or maybe it’s because he just simply doesn’t have the energy to argue with his own mind, but Jack marches over to the two of you with his phone in his hand.

“Hon, work’s calling. Emergency.”

You shoot up out of your chair and follow him immediately, right into the empty kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” you’re asking, and your concern is so genuine it almost makes Jack feel guilty for lying. Almost.

He doesn’t reply. He just plants his palms on your cheeks and pulls you into him, kissing you stupid right where anyone could walk in. You’re dizzy with it, grateful he’s got such a strong grip on you or else you’d be toppling over onto the cool tiles.

Jack’s biting at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue over yours, groaning into your mouth like a man possessed. You’re confused and turned on and at the mercy of your boss who’s also your dad’s best friend who you’re probably in love with.

It couldn’t be more complicated if it tried. And yet, here you are. Doing it anyway.

“Jack-”

“Honey.”

He says it flippantly, as if he’s got more important matters to attend to.

“Jack.”

Now he pulls back, fingers digging into your hips like if he’s worried you’re going to bolt.

“What did work say? What’s the matter?”

He’d almost forgotten about that stupid lie to get you in here.

“There’s no emergency,” he says as he leans back in to your lips. “Just needed you by yourself.”

“Naughty,” you tease as you let him kiss you some more. “I like it. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Wish you would,” he retorts as you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug.

“You’re not usually the one that takes risks, Abbot. What did you say to me last week? You’re going to get us caught?”

“You were. Bending down to pick up a chart and practically grinding on me, like I was in a damn strip club in the middle of the pit.”

You’re struggling to stifle a laugh at the memory, admitting that you probably did push the boundaries a bit too far that day. But Jack had been spending an awful lot of time with Dr Al-Hashimi, and there’s a chance you were a tiny bit jealous of how much they had in common.

“I apologised for that. And you accepted that apology.”

“Because it came in the form of you on your knees.”

“Exactly,” you wink. “Now, are you gonna lie to my face and tell me that this sudden outburst has absolutely nothing to do with me talking to Cory?”

“It has everything to do with that, actually.”

“Oh, we’re feeling honest today are we?”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me Dr Al-Hashimi asked you out the other day?”

It comes out a little more bristled than you would’ve liked, but you’ve never been good at sitting on things that are bothering you.

“It was hardly her asking me out.”

“She said that you guys should grab a beer and share war stories. As in, the two of you would go for a drink. Together. On a date.”

“I’m not sure she meant it that way.”

“She was looking at you like she did.”

“She was being friendly. Trying to bond with the team.”

“You agreed to go out with her.”

“I agreed to talk to her about being in Afghanistan. It’s hardly a romantic topic of conversation.”

“So I’m delusional?”

Jack’s watching your walls go up in real time, can feel the way you’re getting more defensive as you have an internal battle with yourself about the way you’re handling this.

“Honey,” he soothes, one hand on your cheek, the other resting where your neck meets your shoulder. “You are not delusional. Maybe she was asking me out, but that’s not what I took it as. I thought she wanted to catch up, as colleagues. Besides, I’m not gonna go anyway. I’d just be thinking about you the entire time.”

“Good save,” you mutter sarcastically. “She’s pretty. I get it.”

“Sure, she’s pretty. But she isn’t you.”

“So cheesy,” you murmur, but you’re fighting to keep the smile off your face. “When did you get so sweet on me, hmm?”

“I’ve been sweet on you for months,” he hums, fingertips rubbing gentle circles into your skin. “Ever since your first day at PTMC when you called me a stupid old man in front of everyone.”

“You were being a stupid old man.”

“Yeah? Tell me, sweetheart. Has anyone ever made you come as hard as this old man has?”

One of his thumbs is hooking into your bikini tie, showing you just how easily he could undo them right here in the kitchen. You step in closer, seeking out his body heat.

“Never,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

“Those immature boys don’t know how to treat someone like you and you know it.”

“I know,” you sigh as his fingers slip under your bikini bottoms. “You’ve ruined me for everyone else.”

“Good.”

Jack kisses you like a man starved, all teeth and tongue. His left hand grips the back of your neck as his right swipes through your core, groaning when all he can feel is how wet you are.

“Filthy girl.”

You rest your forehead on his chest when he slips two fingers in with ease, crooking them right into that spot almost instantly. He can play you like a fiddle, mindlessly and effortlessly. He doesn’t even have to try.

“Anyone could see you like this,” he’s murmuring into your ear. “Someone could walk in and see you getting fingerfucked by your old man’s best pal. By your boss.”

His words should panic you, but they only turn you on more, knees buckling as he speaks.

“You’re so pretty like this, all pliant and obedient. Wish everyone at work could see this side of you. You’re such a brat to me in front of them.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t lie,” he cuts you off. “It’s not a good look on you.”

You hate to admit how much you love it when he’s mean. At work, he stays so professional despite you being cruel to him just to push your luck. You like when he finally snaps and gives it back to you.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Be quiet,” he hisses, smacking a hand over your mouth while his other one slides in and out of you with no resistance. “Do I need to gag you with your bikini to get you to shut up?”

You groan at the thought, mind flashing back to him doing exactly that last week. You were bent over his bathroom sink, panties in your mouth, legs trembling as he slammed his hips into yours. You came three times before he did, both of you riled up by the constant working each other up on shift.

Your hands are gripping at his t shirt, forehead pressed to his chest as you fight to stay standing up.

“I can feel you shakin’, pretty girl. You close? Already?”

You’re nodding frantically, very aware that he’s making fun of you but too far gone to care. He’s crooking his fingers just right, pushing you further towards the edge the way only someone who’s done this countless times before can.

“You’re so fuckin’ filthy,” he murmurs into your ear, hand still muffling your sounds. “What are you gonna say if someone catches us, hmm? It’s not what it looks like? Because what it looks like is that you’re a fucked out mess for a man who’s twice your age.”

“Jack,” you mumble against his palm. “Please.”

“Pathetic,” he’s chuckling condescendingly. “My pretty little whore. You act so brave at work, and now look at you... whining and crying because I’ve got two fingers in you.”

Someone yells outside and startles you, both of you jumping in unison.

“You better come quick before someone sees us. Come on beautiful, give it to me. Atta girl.”

You’re right on the edge, about to topple over, when Jack pulls his hand from between your legs suddenly.

“No, Jack-”

“Don’t be bratty.”

Your knees are buckling as you hold onto him for dear life, trying to take a deep breath. You bang your fists against his chest in protest, which he’s immediately having none of. He grabs your wrists in one hand, twisting your arms behind your back and keeping you exactly where he wants to.

“Uh uh,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart. You may run that mouth of yours at work, but remember who’s in charge.”

You’re batting your big doe eyes at him, bottom lip jutting out like the picture of innocence.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, honey. I know exactly what you’re doing. It might work on those stupid boys your age, but it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You huff and try to fight his grip, but he’s got you locked in place.

“Listen to me now, because I’m only going to say this once. I’m gonna give it an hour or so, then I’m gonna go home. You know where the key is, let yourself in when this is wrapped up.”

He leans in to press a kiss to your pouty lips, chuckling at your clear displeasure.

“Then, I’m gonna spend all night fucking that attitude right out of you. You’re going to come so many times, the only thing you’ll be able to remember is my name. And then you’re going to be so sweet to me at work, everyone’s going to wonder if you’ve had a personality transplant. Understood?”

He quirks a brow at you, waiting for an answer.

“Understood.”

“Play it cool, alright? You’ve got to stick around here. Can’t just be running off for no reason.”

“I got it, Jack. Give me a little credit.”

“I’ll give you credit when you do something worth me giving you credit.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want him to see how much you love when he gives you attitude just like you do to him.

“Keep the bikini on,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning in so you can feel his words across your skin. “Wanna fuck you in it.”

“Yessir,” you half joke, testing the waters.

His eyes darken, and you know you’ve hit a nerve.

“Careful,” he warns.

You know exactly what you’re going to be calling him later.

“Think you can behave for the rest of the evening?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good.”

He finally releases your wrists, smirking when you stretch your arms out in front of you and push your tits together accidentally. It’s your turn to smirk when you watch him adjust his jeans, trying to hide the obvious.

“See you later, Jack.”

“See you later, honey,” he whispers against your lips, leaning in to give you one last kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

You turn around to look at him when you walk away, and wish you hadn’t. His gaze is raking up and down your body, nothing but hunger and pure want settled in his eyes.

You hope he doesn’t notice how your legs shake as you leave.

He does.

“Oh, hey,” a voice snaps him out of his daydream. “When did you get here?”

He can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re playing hard to get. You’re the only person that makes him doubt himself over and over again.

“Just got here,” he grumbles, voice hoarse.

“Happy Fourth of July, Dr Abbot.”

He looks at you pointedly, watching as your tongue swipes across your pillowy bottom lip. Like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Just Jack here.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t jump into doctor mode and save my life if I needed you to?”

You’re teasing him and he doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

“I’m sure you’d give me the kiss of life if it was necessary, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t like it.

Or rather, he does. He likes it too much, which means it’s gone full circle and ended up resembling something like disdain.

“You’ll be a doctor soon enough,” he counters. “Can save yourself.”

“It’s not as fun that way. I’d rather you do it.”

Either you just winked, or he blinked and his mind is playing tricks on him. Get it together, he pleads with himself. Grow the fuck up.

“You’re a nightmare, you know that?”

“You’re a liar, you know that?”

He shakes his head as he watches you walk away, hips swaying and ass peachier than ever, trying determinedly to ignore how tight his jeans feel.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“How are you liking working nights, kid?”

It’s your uncle who’s asking, half yelling to you across the barbecue.

“I like the night shift way better than the day shift,” you tell him as you stir the ice in your drink. “I’ve learnt a lot.”

You catch Jack’s eyes as you say it, looking at him through hooded lids. An image of you on your knees last week pops into his head uninvited, making his breath catch in his throat.

“What’s it like working with Jack? Bet he’s a real pain in the ass.”

You laugh, tongue darting out to find your straw.

“He’s a good boss. Very hands on. Likes to get down and dirty.”

Your attending shoots you a warning glance, daggers piercing through his stare. It doesn’t deter you, a giggle escaping before you can stop it.

“How is she as a student, Jack?” your dad’s asking as he sidles up to where you’re all stood. “She’s not causing you trouble, is she?”

“Always,” Jack chuckles, making everyone else laugh. “She’s a fast learner - real quick study. Does as she’s told when she’s told for the most part too.”

A memory from last month flashes across Jacks mind, a blurry image of you riding him on his couch while he coaches you through it. Atta girl, he can recall himself murmuring. Such a fast learner, baby. Just wanna make me proud, don’t you?

“Well, you tell me if she causes you too much grief,” your dad grins as he slaps Jack on the back. “Though I suppose if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

He wants to handle you right now - throw you over his shoulder with two palms full of your ass. He’s distracted from that thought by the sight of you helping your mom hang up some bunting on the deck - stretched up on your tiptoes as you hold it in place for her. Your shorts are riding up and your stomach is on show and it takes everything in Jack not to throw a blanket over you so that no one else gets to see what’s his.

Except you’re not his.

You’re his resident. His colleague. His best friend’s daughter. His subordinate.

His salvation and his karma all at once. A dream and a nightmare.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong and yet he’s actively thinking of ways he can get you alone before the day ends. The idea of waiting until tomorrow to touch you seems completely unfathomable. He’s an addict looking for his next fix, desperate to know when he can feel you again.

If his soul is damned, then so be it. He’s been chasing heaven for so long, he’s convinced it most likely doesn’t exist.

You’re the closest thing to it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re talking to a guy.

He’s your age, fairly tall, brown curly hair. He looks like he’d play guitar in a shitty band on the weekends.

Jack hates him already.

Maybe he’s gone cynical with age. Or maybe the sight of you talking to this boy while still dressed in your tiny bikini is just rage inducing enough that it’d send anyone over the edge.

Jack’s a strong man. Not strong enough for this.

Now you’re laughing. What could this person possibly be saying to you that’s that funny? Your full on belly laughs are usually reserved for him. When he tells you that we shouldn’t be doing this, and you reply with your arrogant little sure, Dr Abbot. See how long that lasts, before strutting off across the ER, laughing like that.

Jack’s very aware that he’s the one that keeps trying to shut this situation down, and yet he’s standing in your garden seething with envy at the sight of you simply having a conversation with a man your age. He knows he’s a hypocrite. He’s not oblivious.

Maybe it’s because he’s three beers deep, or maybe it’s because he just simply doesn’t have the energy to argue with his own mind, but Jack marches over to the two of you with his phone in his hand.

“Hon, work’s calling. Emergency.”

You shoot up out of your chair and follow him immediately, right into the empty kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” you’re asking, and your concern is so genuine it almost makes Jack feel guilty for lying. Almost.

He doesn’t reply. He just plants his palms on your cheeks and pulls you into him, kissing you stupid right where anyone could walk in. You’re dizzy with it, grateful he’s got such a strong grip on you or else you’d be toppling over onto the cool tiles.

Jack’s biting at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue over yours, groaning into your mouth like a man possessed. You’re confused and turned on and at the mercy of your boss who’s also your dad’s best friend who you’re probably in love with.

It couldn’t be more complicated if it tried. And yet, here you are. Doing it anyway.

“Jack-”

“Honey.”

He says it flippantly, as if he’s got more important matters to attend to.

“Jack.”

Now he pulls back, fingers digging into your hips like if he’s worried you’re going to bolt.

“What did work say? What’s the matter?”

He’d almost forgotten about that stupid lie to get you in here.

“There’s no emergency,” he says as he leans back in to your lips. “Just needed you by yourself.”

“Naughty,” you tease as you let him kiss you some more. “I like it. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Wish you would,” he retorts as you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug.

“You’re not usually the one that takes risks, Abbot. What did you say to me last week? You’re going to get us caught?”

“You were. Bending down to pick up a chart and practically grinding on me, like I was in a damn strip club in the middle of the pit.”

You’re struggling to stifle a laugh at the memory, admitting that you probably did push the boundaries a bit too far that day. But Jack had been spending an awful lot of time with Dr Al-Hashimi, and there’s a chance you were a tiny bit jealous of how much they had in common.

“I apologised for that. And you accepted that apology.”

“Because it came in the form of you on your knees.”

“Exactly,” you wink. “Now, are you gonna lie to my face and tell me that this sudden outburst has absolutely nothing to do with me talking to Cory?”

“It has everything to do with that, actually.”

“Oh, we’re feeling honest today are we?”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me Dr Al-Hashimi asked you out the other day?”

It comes out a little more bristled than you would’ve liked, but you’ve never been good at sitting on things that are bothering you.

“It was hardly her asking me out.”

“She said that you guys should grab a beer and share war stories. As in, the two of you would go for a drink. Together. On a date.”

“I’m not sure she meant it that way.”

“She was looking at you like she did.”

“She was being friendly. Trying to bond with the team.”

“You agreed to go out with her.”

“I agreed to talk to her about being in Afghanistan. It’s hardly a romantic topic of conversation.”

“So I’m delusional?”

Jack’s watching your walls go up in real time, can feel the way you’re getting more defensive as you have an internal battle with yourself about the way you’re handling this.

“Honey,” he soothes, one hand on your cheek, the other resting where your neck meets your shoulder. “You are not delusional. Maybe she was asking me out, but that’s not what I took it as. I thought she wanted to catch up, as colleagues. Besides, I’m not gonna go anyway. I’d just be thinking about you the entire time.”

“Good save,” you mutter sarcastically. “She’s pretty. I get it.”

“Sure, she’s pretty. But she isn’t you.”

“So cheesy,” you murmur, but you’re fighting to keep the smile off your face. “When did you get so sweet on me, hmm?”

“I’ve been sweet on you for months,” he hums, fingertips rubbing gentle circles into your skin. “Ever since your first day at PTMC when you called me a stupid old man in front of everyone.”

“You were being a stupid old man.”

“Yeah? Tell me, sweetheart. Has anyone ever made you come as hard as this old man has?”

One of his thumbs is hooking into your bikini tie, showing you just how easily he could undo them right here in the kitchen. You step in closer, seeking out his body heat.

“Never,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

“Those immature boys don’t know how to treat someone like you and you know it.”

“I know,” you sigh as his fingers slip under your bikini bottoms. “You’ve ruined me for everyone else.”

“Good.”

Jack kisses you like a man starved, all teeth and tongue. His left hand grips the back of your neck as his right swipes through your core, groaning when all he can feel is how wet you are.

“Filthy girl.”

You rest your forehead on his chest when he slips two fingers in with ease, crooking them right into that spot almost instantly. He can play you like a fiddle, mindlessly and effortlessly. He doesn’t even have to try.

“Anyone could see you like this,” he’s murmuring into your ear. “Someone could walk in and see you getting fingerfucked by your old man’s best pal. By your boss.”

His words should panic you, but they only turn you on more, knees buckling as he speaks.

“You’re so pretty like this, all pliant and obedient. Wish everyone at work could see this side of you. You’re such a brat to me in front of them.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t lie,” he cuts you off. “It’s not a good look on you.”

You hate to admit how much you love it when he’s mean. At work, he stays so professional despite you being cruel to him just to push your luck. You like when he finally snaps and gives it back to you.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Be quiet,” he hisses, smacking a hand over your mouth while his other one slides in and out of you with no resistance. “Do I need to gag you with your bikini to get you to shut up?”

You groan at the thought, mind flashing back to him doing exactly that last week. You were bent over his bathroom sink, panties in your mouth, legs trembling as he slammed his hips into yours. You came three times before he did, both of you riled up by the constant working each other up on shift.

Your hands are gripping at his t shirt, forehead pressed to his chest as you fight to stay standing up.

“I can feel you shakin’, pretty girl. You close? Already?”

You’re nodding frantically, very aware that he’s making fun of you but too far gone to care. He’s crooking his fingers just right, pushing you further towards the edge the way only someone who’s done this countless times before can.

“You’re so fuckin’ filthy,” he murmurs into your ear, hand still muffling your sounds. “What are you gonna say if someone catches us, hmm? It’s not what it looks like? Because what it looks like is that you’re a fucked out mess for a man who’s twice your age.”

“Jack,” you mumble against his palm. “Please.”

“Pathetic,” he’s chuckling condescendingly. “My pretty little whore. You act so brave at work, and now look at you... whining and crying because I’ve got two fingers in you.”

Someone yells outside and startles you, both of you jumping in unison.

“You better come quick before someone sees us. Come on beautiful, give it to me. Atta girl.”

You’re right on the edge, about to topple over, when Jack pulls his hand from between your legs suddenly.

“No, Jack-”

“Don’t be bratty.”

Your knees are buckling as you hold onto him for dear life, trying to take a deep breath. You bang your fists against his chest in protest, which he’s immediately having none of. He grabs your wrists in one hand, twisting your arms behind your back and keeping you exactly where he wants to.

“Uh uh,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart. You may run that mouth of yours at work, but remember who’s in charge.”

You’re batting your big doe eyes at him, bottom lip jutting out like the picture of innocence.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, honey. I know exactly what you’re doing. It might work on those stupid boys your age, but it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You huff and try to fight his grip, but he’s got you locked in place.

“Listen to me now, because I’m only going to say this once. I’m gonna give it an hour or so, then I’m gonna go home. You know where the key is, let yourself in when this is wrapped up.”

He leans in to press a kiss to your pouty lips, chuckling at your clear displeasure.

“Then, I’m gonna spend all night fucking that attitude right out of you. You’re going to come so many times, the only thing you’ll be able to remember is my name. And then you’re going to be so sweet to me at work, everyone’s going to wonder if you’ve had a personality transplant. Understood?”

He quirks a brow at you, waiting for an answer.

“Understood.”

“Play it cool, alright? You’ve got to stick around here. Can’t just be running off for no reason.”

“I got it, Jack. Give me a little credit.”

“I’ll give you credit when you do something worth me giving you credit.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want him to see how much you love when he gives you attitude just like you do to him.

“Keep the bikini on,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning in so you can feel his words across your skin. “Wanna fuck you in it.”

“Yessir,” you half joke, testing the waters.

His eyes darken, and you know you’ve hit a nerve.

“Careful,” he warns.

You know exactly what you’re going to be calling him later.

“Think you can behave for the rest of the evening?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good.”

He finally releases your wrists, smirking when you stretch your arms out in front of you and push your tits together accidentally. It’s your turn to smirk when you watch him adjust his jeans, trying to hide the obvious.

“See you later, Jack.”

“See you later, honey,” he whispers against your lips, leaning in to give you one last kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

You turn around to look at him when you walk away, and wish you hadn’t. His gaze is raking up and down your body, nothing but hunger and pure want settled in his eyes.

You hope he doesn’t notice how your legs shake as you leave.

He does.

“Y’alright?”

You’d recognise that voice anywhere, of course, and not just because he’s the only Irish man in The Cotswolds.

“Bored out of my mind, actually.”

“You’d never know.”

“I’m a good actress, these days. I’ve done one too many of these stupid garden parties.”

He chuckles all genuine and honeyed, and you’d be lying if you said the sound didn’t settle warmly in your bones.

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

He’s keeping his voice low, inconspicuous. You’ve both turned so you’re looking out over the garden, backs to the table, watching the crowds of people and their gossiping. To anyone else, it looks like an innocent conversation between two acquaintances. They can’t see his hand playing with the hem of your dress behind you, or the way his fingers keep brushing the backs of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

“My boyfriend is coming over. You know that.”

“What time?”

You roll your eyes but answer anyway.

“Nine.”

“So what I’m hearing… is that you’re available from whenever this crap finishes until then?”

“That’s a stupid idea.”

“You usually love my stupid ideas.”

“Well maybe I’m trying to be smarter.”

He laughs with his full chest while you fight to keep the grin off your face, shaking your head.

“You’re already the smartest person here. Any smarter and we’re all doomed.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Declan.”

He pauses for a moment, pressing his side into yours and running his thumb across the soft skin of your thigh underneath your dress.

“I think we both know that’s not true, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters as you will yourself to get it together, desperate to not repeatedly give in to his murmured promises and flirty remarks. It’s wrong. You know it is, both of you do, and yet…

“I want you gone by eight at the latest. I don’t need the two of you bumping into each other on my front step.”

He smirks like the cat that got the cream, looking down at you with lust drunk eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Promise to make it worth your while, yeah?”

“You always do,” you breathe out, so quietly that you’re surprised he hears.

He’s about to reply when you’re both startled by Rupert, striding over with the confidence of ten men and a bottle of champagne in his hand.

“Have they run out of glasses, CB?”

He slings an arm around your shoulder, laughing that rich man’s laugh right into your ear.

“Live a little, darling. Walk with me, will you? I have a story that might be worth your time, and I thought I’d bring it to my favourite journalist before anyone else.”

Rupert all but drags you across the garden, already chattering on about a scandal in the local constituency of the Conservative Party. You cast your eyes back to where Declan hasn’t moved, his gaze roving over your figure as you walk away.

He winks cheekily, dirty smirk slapped across his face.

You hate the way it sends electricity running through your veins in anticipation.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s six forty five when there’s a knock on your door.

The devil himself is standing on your front step, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Hi darlin’.”

His accent is like molten honey, golden and warm and laced with sweetness. There’s mischief running through it though - as there always is.

“Come on,” you urge, grabbing his tie and pulling him inside, worried that one of your neighbours will see.

He laughs as he shuts the door behind him, unphased by your urgency.

“Thought you had a meeting. CB was telling me all about it earlier.”

“Rupert would tell you anything,” he chuckles. “He’s got a soft spot for pretty girls.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you giggle, undoing his tie from around his neck and hanging it on your coat rack.

“No. I have a soft spot for one pretty girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you tease as you roll your eyes, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. “How about you put your money where your mouth is, hmm? We don’t have all night.”

He clicks his tongue, hands finding your hips to pull you against him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush yours. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Less talking,” you scold, grabbing at his biceps to kiss him desperately.

Declan pushes you up against the wall, hips pressing into yours as he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey and those mints he keeps in a tin in his back pocket. He scatters open mouthed kisses across your neck, licking across your skin and sucking the spot underneath your ear.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he mumbles. “Ever since I saw you in this dress.”

“You like it?” you breathe, head rolling to the side to give him more access.

“I fucking love it.”

“Good. Bought it for you.”

He groans, grinding his hips into yours.

“You’re a minx,” he pants, biting at your shoulder. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

With that, Declan wraps his arms around your middle, practically dragging you into the living room to throw you onto the sofa. He pulls your dress over your head, throwing it onto the floor with reckless abandon.

He instantly gets on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs with rough hands.

“Been waitin’ for this cunt all fuckin’ day.”

Your underwear is tugged down and discarded before you can blink, leaving you naked and high on the anticipation of it all. Your lungs are heaving, hands shaking as you will him to do something.

Declan sits back on his haunches, making a show of rolling up his sleeves. He looks so broad and commanding in his blue jeans with his shirt undone. He might be the one on his knees, but he’s definitely still in charge here.

You tangle your fingers into his dark hair and tug, pulling him closer.

“Please, Dec.”

“You sound so beautiful when ya beg.”

He grips your thighs tightly, ensuring they stay apart, as he leans in and presses kisses to any skin he can find.

“Don’t tease.”

“Or what, hmm? What are ya gonna do, sweetheart?”

“Stop it,” you chastise, head dropping back onto the cushions. “Please, baby.”

He chuckles before diving forwards, licking a stripe through your core. He wastes no time, tongue flicking over your clit like he’s done so many times before.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, fingers gripping his hair tightly. “Fuck, Declan.”

You’re convinced he enjoys this just as much as you do. He’ll eat you out for hours, never once expecting something in return - happy to feel you fall apart on his tongue again and again and again.

He knows exactly which spots will have you arching your back, how much pressure to use to have you writhing on the sofa cushions, where to put his hands to push you right over the edge. He can play you like a fiddle, observant and experienced.

His nose nudges your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, messy and wet and completely committed. The grip he has on your thighs is getting tighter and tighter, fingertips bruising your skin. You pray you’ll be able to see the marks when you look in the mirror tomorrow.

You’re teetering on the edge of your release, legs shaking and abdomen tightening. Declan can read you like a book, knowing exactly where you’re at - and taking advantage of it.

Just as you’re about to come, he pulls away and sits back, grinning like a deviant.

“No,” you’re panting. “The fuck are you doing?”

He laughs, leaning down to rest his head on your leg. He looks up at you with a gaze that’s half lust and half mischief, biting at his lip as he watches your chest heave.

“What do you want, darlin’?”

You pout at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“Come on, let me hear you say it. I want you to beg me to make you come. Tell me how you’ve been waiting for it all day, sweetheart.”

“I-Declan, I just-”

“Come on smart girl, use that big brain of yours. Why don’t you tell me all about how you think about me when you touch yourself? No - why don’t you tell me how you think about me while he fucks you?”

Your hips buck up into the air, desperate for any kind of friction. Declan laughs cruelly, wrapping his arms around your thighs again to pull you to the edge of the sofa, the strength he exerts only turning you on more.

“It’s okay,” he soothes against your core. “You don’t have to tell me. Your dripping wet cunt tells me everything I need to know, darlin.”

All you can do is moan, breathing like you’ve run a marathon. All you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel is Declan O’Hara.

“If we had the time, I’d edge you some more. Eat you out until you cried. You always look so pretty when you’re crying f’me.”

He finally takes pity on you, curling his tongue inside you as his nose repeatedly bumps against your clit. He’s practically making out with your core, saliva dripping down your thighs and onto the sofa. You can’t bring yourself to care about the mess, more focused on the older man’s mouth and the skills it possesses.

You’re whining, fingernails digging into his scalp as you grasp for something to hold onto. He’s groaning too, having just as much as fun as you are.

“Come for me, pretty girl. Show me how fucking beautiful you look.”

Your back bows off the sofa as you grind against his face, riding out your climax. Your thighs tighten around his head, desperate for him to keep going for as long as possible.

“That’s it. Atta girl. There we go.”

You’re trying to catch your breath as Declan stands up, sitting down next to you and pulling you into his side. His fingers draw patterns on your hips, absentmindedly calming you down as you nestle into him, seeking out his body heat.

You lean up and kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth eagerly. He tastes like you, and the realisation makes you whinge.

“Let me return the favour, please,” you whisper against his lips.

“As much as I’d love that, darlin’… we can’t.”

You quirk a brow at him in confusion, his rejection more than unusual.

“It’s twenty past eight.”

“Oh, shit,” you groan, finding your underwear and pulling them up your legs.

“I wish I could stay,” he reassures as he kisses you again sweetly. “You know I do.”

You nod, running your fingers through his sweat soaked locks to move them out of his face.

“Promise I’ll repay you next time.”

“I’ll hold ya to that.”

The phone ringing startles you both, your heart jumping in your chest. You pick it up quickly, wrapping the cord around your finger.

“Hello? How are you? Ah, good. Yes, fine. Alright, I’ll see you then. Yes, see you soon. Mhmm… I can’t wait either.”

You put it down just as quickly as you picked it up, finding your dress from the floor and pulling it over your head.

“That was Patrick. He’s at the train station, about to start the drive back here. He won’t be long.”

“I best get going then,” Declan says as he buttons up his shirt. “Don’t need a family reunion in your living room now, do we?”

You shake your head, scoffing at his attempt at a joke. Walking him to the front door, you press his tie from the coat rack into his hand so he doesn’t forget it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? You’re coming for lunch at the house?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you say as you lean up to kiss him, sighing at the taste of his lips. “I’ll wear that lacy white lingerie under my dress just for you.”

“Great,” he groans. “Now I have to think about my son seeing that on you when it should be me.”

“You might,” you tease, smoothing out his shirt. “There’s a lot of rooms in that house, Declan.”

“You’re a minx.”

He kisses you once more, big hands cradling your face as he pulls you in.

“See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you will.”

You watch him go from your front step, making sure no one sees him leave. As soon as he’s out of sight, you’re shutting the door, trying to tidy the living room frantically. You open the windows, lighting a candle and picking up everything that was knocked to the floor in the lust filled frenzy. You’re covering your tracks as best you can, just like you’ve done countless times before.

You don’t need Patrick asking why the room smells like his dad’s aftershave.

You don’t need Patrick asking questions at all.

a little gift for you, as promised…

@do-it-for-kicks @whytheylosttheirminds @laverna-fanfictions @graceflorence

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.

“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.

“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.

Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”

“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”

“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”

“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.

You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.

You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.

The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.

Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.

“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”

“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.

“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”

“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”

You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.

“Robby, relax. Please?”

He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.

Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.

The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.

His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.

“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”

He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”

Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.

He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,

“Robby.”

Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”

Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.

“All of that.”

“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.

He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”

You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.

Robby.

You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.

“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.

Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.

“Hey, brother.”

Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.

You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.

Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”

“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”

“I don’t-”

“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.

All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.

“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”

You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.

“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.

“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.

“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.

Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”

“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”

“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”

“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.

You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.

You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.

The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.

Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.

“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”

“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.

“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”

“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”

You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.

“Robby, relax. Please?”

He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.

Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.

The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.

His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.

“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”

He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”

Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.

He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,

“Robby.”

Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”

Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.

“All of that.”

“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.

He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”

You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.

Robby.

You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.

“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.

Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.

“Hey, brother.”

Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.

You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.

Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”

“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”

“I don’t-”

“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.

All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.

“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”

You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.

“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.

“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.

“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.

Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”

“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”

“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”

“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.

You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.

You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.

The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.

Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.

“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”

“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.

“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”

“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”

You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.

“Robby, relax. Please?”

He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.

Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.

The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.

His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.

“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”

He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”

Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.

He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,

“Robby.”

Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”

Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.

“All of that.”

“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.

He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”

You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.

Robby.

You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.

“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.

Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.

“Hey, brother.”

Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.

You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.

Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”

“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”

“I don’t-”

“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.

All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.

“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”

You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.

“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.