ON YOUR LEFT.

The markets of Mos Eisley are bustling with activity. Travelers and inhabitants pack the narrow passageways, making it difficult to move from stall to stall. It’s suffocating and the insufferable warmth radiating from the twin suns overhead only makes the experience more grueling. You’ve always hated Tatooine — you’d much prefer a blizzard in the barren tundra of Hoth to a sandstorm in the Dune Sea. Your only reprieve from the heat in the bustling crowd is the way they wordlessly part in front of you on instinct due to the beskar clad figure looming directly behind you like an imposing shadow — your Mandalorian. He wouldn’t bring you here if he had any other choice, but Peli is the only mechanic he trusts with the Razor Crest’s repairs and Mos Eisley’s salvage stalls are the only place in the galaxy that have parts compatible with the pre-Imperial vessel. 

Your eyes scan the merchandise until you find the familiar shape of an old ST-70 left engine deflector shield. The Razor Crest’s had gotten damaged during your last dogfight and now the engine is overheating while reaching hyperspace. Peli informed you both that if a new deflector shield isn’t installed, then your next jump into hyperspace could be your last. You stop at the stall to inspect the part — it’s a little worn, definitely used, but it sure looks better than the cracked piece of useless metal that is on your ship now. 

“How’s this look, Mando?”

You turn around expecting to meet his visor, but instead, find the Mandalorian scanning the crowd from his position at your flank. His helmet moves slowly from left to right, carefully scanning your surroundings. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him observe the environment. Where everyone else around you may perceive him as a threatening force, you only see your watchful protector. Even now as he stands close enough for you to feel the warmth of the suns radiating off his dark beskar, you feel immensely calm due to his unshakable security. Most would call him paranoid for his diligence; however, you understand his reservations with being in such a crowded place. Afterall, you met him because of a bounty placed on your head. 

It was after the Mandalorians had raised hell on Nevarro — after Mando had forsaken guild code in order to save the child that’s currently safe on the Razor Crest with Peli. He was desperate for credits and was offered a job to find and execute a human disrupting trade routes out of Endor. Mando wasn’t in the position to ask any questions, until he found you hiding out in the forest with a tribe of Ewoks. Turns out the man who hired Mando had a team on the planet stealing from the natives in order to profit by selling their goods and resources throughout the system — you weren’t disrupting essential trade routes, you were simply protecting a tribe that had taken you in. He knew the weight of that responsibility well and he’s always had a soft spot for those just trying to do the right thing despite the circumstances of the galaxy. So, instead of completing his mission he accepted a new one: help you take down the band of mercenaries stealing supplies from the Ewoks. In return for his assistance, you vowed to join him in his quest to protect the child from Imperial forces.

It’s been years since your first encounter on Endor and your Mandalorian is still wary of anyone who gives you a second glance. In the time spent traveling by his side, you realized even though he may be a man of few words, the man standing defensively behind you shows his affection through smaller acts of service — which includes watching your back as you look at salvaged parts. 

“Din?”

His visor finally moves to face in your direction at the sound of his name — his real name. A name he revealed in the privacy of the Razor Crest’s cabin late one night about a standard year into your ventures together. You’d been attempting to put Grogu to sleep, a task that was becoming harder as he grew in age and strength. After he finally drifted to sleep, you made your way to the cabin to see if your Mandalorian needed anything from you before you also got some rest. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you approaching him — he’d memorized your footsteps a long time ago — and yet he still spun his chair to face you. 

“You good for the next few hours?”

He nodded in response — a man of few words. You gave him a tired smile and he was suddenly grateful for the helmet covering his expression because he knows that the cool planes of beskar hide a growing tenderness that makes him increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Alright, y’know the drill — wake me if you need anything.”

Another nod in response and instead of turning around to face the controls like you’d expect, his visor maintains its focus on you. His head tilts up slightly to meet your gaze from his seat, exposing a thin sliver of tan skin between the beskar and dark, wool fabric. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the sight and your breath catches. His head cocks to the side at your silence, exposing even more skin and you’re embarrassed by the way you yearn to know the man that’s underneath the metal. 

You definitely need some sleep. 

“Night, Mando.”

You turn on your heel to leave him for the night, but his voice stops you in your tracks.

“Din.”

His voice is soft, even through the helmet’s modulator. 

“What?”

“My name is Din Djarin.”

Your mouth goes dry at the revelation. The atmosphere in the cockpit of the Razor Crest suddenly shifts into something more intimate. He shifts in his seat slightly as the silence continues. You’re usually the talker, but what he just told you has left you completely speechless.

“Din is my family name.”

His family name. Those words weigh heavy on your heart. He had once told you about his homeworld — the one he knew before his upbringing on Concordia. About the Separatist invasion that occurred early in his youth. About the slaughter of his people by heartless battle droids. It was his first moment of vulnerability with you on the Razor Crest — the first time he let you see beneath the beskar for just a second. Movement rips you from your thoughts and your face softens as you notice Mando fidgeting nervously with his gloves. 

“Din.”

His head shoots up at the sound and his hands still. Beneath the visor, you know his eyes are boring into you. The thought almost makes you squirm — the moment of vulnerability feels foreign in this environment. Still, you allow him the time he needs to process. Afterall, he most likely hadn’t heard that name since he lived on Aq Vetina — yet another thing the Separatists took from him on that fateful night. Your heart wrenches for the man sitting in front of you. For the boy he once was — before Death Watch, before the beskar. 

You say the name again. The word feels heavy on your tongue, but a smile spreads across your features as the Din’s head cocks to the side. 

He looks at you the same way now. Even after the countless rotations that have passed since that night, he still regards you with his head tilted slightly to the right — an affectionate gesture, at least when it comes to you. You bite down hard on your inner cheek to stop the smile that begs to spread across your face at the sight — because despite his best efforts at looking intimidating, the way he’s looking down at you is undeniably cute. 

“How’s this one look?”

Din’s helmet moves slightly toward the object you’re pointing at as he takes a step forward, invading your personal space. Your breath catches when his beskar presses lightly against your back as he inspects the deflector shield over your shoulder. You hear him hum softly, the voice modulator doesn’t pick up the sound, but your proximity allows you to hear it from beneath the helmet. It’s uncharacteristically warm — it makes you wonder how his voice would sound without the helmet on. 

“Looks good enough to me.”

The Mandalorian shrugs his shoulders slightly and takes a step back. You immediately miss the feeling of his body behind you, but shake it off in order to barter for the piece you desperately need. Din appreciates the way you stand your ground in the market — he’s never been good with people, but you always seem to understand exactly what to say no matter the circumstance. You’ve gotten him and the kid out of some tough spots with nothing more than your wit and charm on several occasions, but he was always there behind you with a hand on his blaster just in case things went sideways. Even now, as he watches you haggle the price down with the stall owner, his hand rests against his thigh just above his blaster — you can never be too careful, especially on Tatooine. Once you bring the price down enough for your satisfaction, you turn around and outstretch a hand to the man standing behind you. Din wordlessly unclips a pouch from his belt and drops it into your hand. You smile at him before turning back towards the stall owner, the sight worth more than credits can buy. His head tilts as he studies you, something he’s found himself doing more recently. There’s just something about you that draws him in, something that’s becoming harder to resist the longer he spends by your side. He thought about ending your arrangement awhile ago, but he’s certain he wouldn’t be able to breathe without knowing you’re safe beside him — wherever you go, he goes. 

You turn around, placing the deflector shield in the old rucksack slung across your shoulders before sliding the pouch of credits back into his hand. Din sucks in a breath, immediately wishing that the leather of his gloves would disappear so he could feel the sensation of your hand against his. He wraps his fingers around the credits like they’re his only lifeline, fist clenching tightly in an attempt to keep his resolve. 

“You good?”

You peer up at him and he swears that you can see right through his beskar. His visor hides the smile pulling at his lips as he nods at you. 

“You?”

Your smile matches his own, not that you can tell. You move your hand up to your face, wiping the sweat from your forehead before answering.

“Just tired of this heat.”

Din chuckles at that in understanding. Even though he’s gotten used to the uncomfortability that comes from wearing head-to-toe armor, the twin suns high in the afternoon sky are practically baking him in his beskar.

“You thirsty?”

Your smile grows in understanding. It’s not often that the two of you have time to spare when visiting Tatooine, but on the rare occasion that there is a moment of down time Din would offer to buy you a drink at Chalmun's Cantina. 

“Very.”

Din extends his arm out, motioning for you to lead the way. You brush past the Mandalorian and you don’t need to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s following — there’s nowhere in the world you wouldn’t be able to feel Din’s presence, even the crowded alleys of Mos Eisley. 

The cantina is a welcome reprieve from the blistering heat of Tatooine, but it is equally as crowded as the market. Din finds a small booth in a dim corner and leaves you only to buy a drink at the bar. Your hand settles on the blaster at your hip — the blaster Din gifted you on life day during your second standard year together. Locals tend to leave you alone, they’re aware that you’re under the protection of the Mandalorian that frequents the establishment; however, Mos Eisley is a popular spot for traveling bounty hunters and smugglers. To your dismay, you seem to have attracted the attention of a young, olive skinned Twi’lek in standard bounty hunter gear. The man saunters over to your booth and your hand tightens around the grip of your blaster. He places both of his hands on the table and leans over you, your head tilts up to meet his eyes. He’s attempting to make himself look taller by invading your personal space. You wonder if this is an attempt at intimidation — or worse, an attempt to impress you. 

“Can I buy you a drink, ma sareen?”

Before you can form an answer, there’s already a blaster pressed into the Twi-lek’s back.

“Too slow, vaar’ika.”

Din places the drink down on the table with a heavy thunk and slides it towards you. You wrap your hand around the cool glass filled with neon blue liquid and take a sip before smiling sweetly up at the Mandalorian. Your eyes then drift to the Twi’lek who hasn’t moved an inch. You arch a brow at the young bounty hunter before speaking.

“Looks like Mando already beat you to it.”

The Twi’lek growls, barring his teeth at you. Din presses the blaster deeper into his back in response. 

“Mind your manners.”

Din’s voice is ice cold, the voice modulator of the helmet eliminating the warmth you heard earlier today from his tone, which makes his words even more threatening. It’s moments like this when you realize just how dangerous the Mandalorian truly is. He could drop the Twi’lek without breaking a sweat — and he would without a second thought if the Twi’lek even thought about hurting you. The Twi’lek huffs out a frustrated breath before making his way back to a group of bounty hunters in the opposite corner of the cantina. Din watches him for several moments before holstering his blaster and sliding into the booth on the opposite side of you. You watch his shoulders relax as his visor focuses back on you.

“You ever get tired of being my bodyguard?”

Din’s head tilts at your question, like he can’t believe you’ve asked it and he answers immediately.

“No.” 

You take another sip of your drink, attempting to hide the smile spreading across your features due to his response. Din notices. He notices everything about you — like the way you immediately change the subject. He doesn’t mind. By now, the two of you have established a comfortable ritual at the cantina. You talk and he listens. Occasionally, you ask him a question and he obliges you with an answer, but he’d much rather hear the sound of your voice.

You’re halfway through a story when a commotion from the other side of the cantina interrupts you. Din’s visor immediately moves toward the group of bounty hunters who are now fighting amongst themselves. He scoffs as he realizes that the olive skinned Twi’lek from earlier isn’t with them — he must have left to save himself from further embarrassment. Your head moves to follow Din’s gaze and you sigh as one of them pulls out their blaster, pointing it at one of his fellow men. You finish your drink and give Din a disappointed look. 

All good things must come to an end. 

Din gets up first, allowing his body to block you from the possibility of any misfire. He really never gets tired of being your bodyguard — he watches over you like it’s his life’s sworn purpose. The two of you exit the cantina. The heat has dissipated slightly, but it still hits you like a punch to the face. Still, you smile up at Din.

“You really do take me to the nicest places.”

He chuckles at your sarcasm, leading you towards the sparsely crowded passages that’ll take you back to Peli’s workshop. That is, until your touch stops him in his tracks. His visor moves to his arm, where your hand has found its place between two of his beskar plates. He can feel the warmth of your touch through the fabric of his flight suit. The sensation makes his brain short circuit. He tilts his head back up and finds you already looking at him — the playful glint in your eye has been replaced with a devastatingly beautiful tenderness. 

“Hey, Mando!”

Din groans in frustration as he tears his attention away from you, spotting the Twi’lek from earlier. He must have followed you both from the cantina; however, Din was certain that he had left before the two of you. Either way, he’s tired of the man’s continued presence.

“Who’s too slow now?”

Din watches as the Twi’lek pulls out his blaster. He grabs his in return and aims; however, the olive skinned man beats him to the trigger. Din expects the bolt from the opposing blaster to ping off his armor, but it moves past him in slow motion. He moves on instinct, realizing too late that the shot was never meant for him — the Twi’lek was aiming for you. His hands move to pull you towards his body, out of the line of fire. A sharp gasp escapes your lips. Din hopes that it’s because of the sudden movement, but as your hand moves to hold your side he knows he was too late. 

“No.”

Not you, not now. He cannot lose you. 

His visor immediately finds the Twi’lek, still standing smugly at the entrance of the passageway. A growl rips through his throat as he raises his blaster once more with frightening speed before firing three shots at the Twi’lek. Once the assailant's body is lifeless on the ground, he focuses his attention back on you. His hands cover yours at your side before his visor focuses on your face.

“You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

You nod at his words, though you’re unsure if he’s attempting to convince you or himself. Either way, he seems to relax slightly at your coherent response.

“We gotta make it back to the Razor Crest. Can you walk?”

You take a careful step forward, gritting your teeth through the searing pain. Din moves to your side, wrapping a solid arm around you so you can lean against him for support. The journey back to Peli’s workshop is grueling. Between the pain in your side and the blistering heat, it’s a miracle that you don’t pass out. Din spends the trip carrying the brunt of your weight, mumbling an apology every time you wince. 

“What the hell happened out there?”

Peli questions the Mandalorian as soon as he enters the workshop. He throws the mechanic a look over his shoulder before answering.

“What’s it look like? I have a med kit on the Crest.”

“Well, did you at least get the part I need?”

Din huffs out a frustrated breath before yanking the rucksack off of you and throwing it at Peli. The mechanic catches the bag with ease before eyeing the deflector shield inside.

“Keep the kid off the ship!”

Din yells over his shoulder, but Peli is too busy assessing the part the two of you picked up. He lets out a frustrated sigh before hauling you up the ramp of the Razor Crest. Din places you gently down on the worn bench where you and Grogu eat meals together. He moves quickly, grabbing the med kit from the cluttered supply closet and dumping its contents on the small table beside you. Din kneels down in front of you, glancing up at your face before pulling your tunic up slightly so he can get a look at the wound. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. Your eyes follow nervously, but you let out a sigh of relief — the bolt simply grazed the skin on your right side. It will probably scar; however, the injury will heal fairly quickly. Din’s posture, though, is anything but relieved. 

“Din, I’m okay.”

You attempt to soothe his worries; however, it seems that your words fall on deaf ears. He grabs a stimpack from the table — his fingers clutch the container so tight you’re worried it might shatter as he administers it to you. You grimace at the sharp pain in your side from the injection, but are grateful for the way your pain subsides to a dull ache almost immediately. Din mumbles an apology before moving to grab a bandage. He struggles to remove the adhesive backing, fumbling due to the fabric covering his hands. A string of Mando’a expletives escapes his mouth as he drops the bandage before frustratedly peeling off his gloves and unceremoniously tossing them on the floor with the discarded stimpack. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the tan skin he just unveiled — the scars that litter his bruised knuckles and the veins that trail up towards his forearms. And then you notice the way that his hands tremble as he moves to grab the bandage again. You grab them with your own in order to ground him back in this moment. Din immediately stills. Your touch is electric — his skin is buzzing due to the contact. And then you sweep your thumb gently over one of his swollen knuckles and his heartbeat is ringing in his ears. A part of him wonders if you can hear it through the layers of fabric and beskar.

He’s been careful to avoid this — the addictive sensation of your soft skin against his. Every time he’s had to patch you up in the past, his dark gloves have been a barrier between you both. But the heat of Tatooine and the anxiety making its home in his bones had his palms sweating uncomfortably against the heavy leather. The fabric kept sliding against his slick skin, making all fine motor skills damn near impossible. He never expected you to capture his hands with your own. But you did and there’s no going back. He never knew what he was missing, but now he does — he was a man dying of thirst and you're an oasis. 

The adrenaline coursing through his veins has him moving forward without a second thought, resting his beskar clad forehead against yours. The cool metal feels like heaven against your sunbaked skin; however, a selfish part of you wonders what this would feel like without the beskar barrier. The meer thought crossing your mind has guilt immediately clawing up your throat. This should be enough — it’s more than you ever thought was possible when you first started traveling with the Mandalorian. However, every time Din offers you a new piece of himself, you yearn for another. Your hands involuntarily tighten around his and you swear you hear Din whimper through the helmet. He’s desperately trying to regain his self control, but he’s overwhelmed by the fact that your hands grasping his is no longer enough contact.

“Do you trust me?”

You pull your forehead away from his and stare into his visor. He feels infinitely small under your gaze. Once again, he swears you can see through the beskar.

“Of course.”

Your immediate answer relieves some of the anxiety that’s built up in his chest. He trusts you implicitly — more than anyone in the galaxy. He’s glad that he’s earned even an ounce of that from you.

“Close your eyes.”

You do as you’re told. Din’s heart is hammering against his chest as he musters up the courage for what’s next. He pulls his hands away from yours. The immediate frown that accompanies your expression has his lips quirking up into a small smile. His fingers tremble as he reaches up and grabs the edge of beskar under his chin. The helmet slides off easily and a gasp escapes your lips as you hear the metal clang against the floor. Din blinks once, then twice — attempting to adjust his vision to the unfamiliar light. And once his eyesight clears, it feels like he’s looking at you for the first time. And gods, you are beautiful.

“Please don’t open your eyes, cyar’ika.”

Your heart clenches as his voice graces your ears. The Mando’a term of endearment has never sounded sweeter. His timbre is soft and warm without the voice modulator — it’s how you’ve always imagined his voice would sound. The Mandalorian may be cold and intimidating by nature due to necessity. But Din — your Din — sounds like sunshine. You nod at his plea. Although you wish you could get just a glimpse at the man standing before you, you’d never do anything to break the careful, steadfast trust built between you both. 

He moves closer to you, invading your personal space more than he’s ever allowed before. Your breath catches in your chest as you feel the heat radiating off of his body. And then he reaches out, gently guiding your hands to his face. You realize immediately what this gesture means — you may not be able to open your eyes due to his oaths, but this is his way of allowing you to see him. Din’s eyes flutter closed as your fingers roam the gentle planes of his features. A small laugh bubbles in your throat as his short stubble prickles your finger tips. To Din, the sound is heavenly. And then you card your fingers through his curls — the noise that escapes him is vulnerable and desperate. He never knew how starved he was for your touch and now that he’s felt it, his hunger feels damn near insatiable. He moves forward slowly, pressing his forehead against yours once again. Your hands immediately still as you feel his breaths fan against your cheeks.

You’re starting to think that Twi’lek did more than graze your side with his blaster outside of the cantina — that your body is actually unconsciously sprawled against the sands of Tatooine. Because this is a dream — heaven, really — and you never want to wake up. 

“I’m sorry this is all I can give you.”

His voice is impossibly quiet and you can hear the shame permeating through his words. You gently shake your head against his. Doesn’t he know what this means to you? How you know that he’s already given more of himself to you than his creed allows? Your hands move, cradling his face.

“This is everything, Din.”

He laughs — really laughs — at that. The sound is melodic. And with a newfound confidence, Din greedily presses his lips against yours. Your hands find their way to his soft locks once more as his pull your body against the harsh planes of beskar armor, careful of your injury. The kiss is desperate and messy — years of built up tension finally breaking through your haphazard affections. When you finally break the kiss, gasping for breath, Din doesn’t let you go far. His knuckle caresses your cheekbone as he openly admires your flushed features. And when he speaks, his voice is overflowing with unbridled devotion.

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

“Motherfucker!”

You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black. 

Great. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast. 

You miss the night shift.

It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out. 

Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea. 

He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind. 

“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”

Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips. 

“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”

Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.

“You sound like Jack.”

You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments. 

“Have you talked to Jack recently?”

Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.

“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.

“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”

Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence. 

It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with. 

“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”

“Mhm.”

That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.

“A little help here?”

You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other. 

“What’s the story here?”

You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.

“Bar argument gone ugly.”

The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.

“Is that glass?”

Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face. 

“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”

You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”

Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground. 

“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”

You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance. 

“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”

Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.

“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”

“Oh, shit.”

Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.

“We need some help in here! You good?”

Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.

“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.

“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”

Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.

“Woah, what can I do?”

Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.

“Give them a hand, will ya?”

Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon. 

“Absolutely not!”

You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back. 

“What the hell is going on in h—?”

Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.

“Knock it off before I knock you out.”

Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.

“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”

Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.

“How you doing, Slugger?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”

Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient. 

This day can’t get any worse. 

Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.

“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”

His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.

“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”

You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.

“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”

You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.

Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s  a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.

Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him. 

“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”

Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.

“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”

If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.

“Abbot.”

Of course he is.

“I can’t get a hold of him.”

Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning. 

“He’s gone fishing.”

Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.

“Abbot is fishing?”

“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”

Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.

Oh. 

The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders. 

“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”

Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.

“I think I can manage that.”

Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage. 

“Where is she?”

Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity. 

“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”

Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you. 

“Exam room 11.”

Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You are a horrible patient.”

“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”

Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.

“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”

Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.

“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”

Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.

“Langdon. Out. Now.”

Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries. 

“It looks worse than it is.”

It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch. 

“Do me a favor?”

You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.  

“How are you here?”

Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be fishing.”

His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.

“I got a call.”

“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”

“To everyone other than you.”

Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with. 

“But how… Perlah.”

Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell. 

“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”

Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”

Jack’s brow furrows at your words.

“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”

You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.

“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”

You almost smile at that.

“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”

You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.

“Two weeks is too long.”

“You’re not my boss, Jack.”

Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this. 

“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”

A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you. 

“Do what?”

Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.

“Get through the fucking night.”

A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.

“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”

Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart. 

“Why would you want that?”

“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”

Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.

“You don’t know where you stand with me?”

You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?

He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”

You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face. 

“You never said anything.”

Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.

“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”

You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.

“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”

You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.

“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”

Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows. 

“Him being here was unnecessary.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.

“You were jealous.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I have no reason to be jealous.”

You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.

“What makes you so confident?”