wheels up in thirty.

You and Andrew leave a trail of your clothes as you make your way into the bedroom, you can't think straight anymore when he pushes you onto the bed and closes the space between your lips.

You love the way his cock rests against your lower stomach, throbbing. You can't ignore the way andrew cups your face with his hands when he kisses you softly and passionately.

“Your lips are so soft.” He says, nipping at your bottom lip lightly with his teeth. “I could kiss you forever.” 

“Would you?” You look at his lips, reaching up to touch them. 

“Would you let me?” He leans in again, kissing you once more. Butterflies are dancing around in your stomach. 

“I would never stop you.” You say breathlessly, against his lips. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you down on the bed as his lips make their way down to your collarbone. He kisses along the length of it and the gentleness of it is driving you wild. 

Especially when his lips trail lower, hovering over your breasts. He just stares at them, refusing to touch them. He's purposefully avoiding the areas that make you feel good. 

Andrew likes the way you're squirming from his barley there touches. If he wants to use your body, you're ready and willing. You hope he actually start touching you soon, in fear you might combust from wanting him so much. But he keeps his hands away from anywhere sensitive. It's driving you crazy…

“Please touch me, Andrew.” You can't stand waiting any longer. 

“I am touching you.” He smiles, resting his hands on your stomach. “See?” 

“No! Not like that…” You gasp when his hands slide up to meet in the middle, closing around your neck. 

“Do you not like these touches?” His thumbs press down on the center of your throat. Any air you breathe in is trapped right there. Your body is trembling. 

Andrew gently spreads your legs apart with his thick thigh, pushing it right up against your pussy.

“Let me see you cum from this.” He tells you, gesturing to his thigh between your legs. “Grind your hips on me. Show me you belong to me.” 

You almost cum just from that. You don't hide anything anymore. You show him how needy you are, grinding against his thigh, desperate to cum. To show him. The friction against your clit is incredible. The way andrew is staring at you is electric.

You lift your hands up to wrap around his wrists and you pull him closer, wanting him to choke you harder. He's never wanted someone so badly before, his cock throbbing like crazy. 

Pope applies more pressure, forcing your eyes to roll back in your head. You can't breathe. You're still grinding against his thigh, getting closer and closer to your release. 

Then, he whispers in your ear, “cum right now or I'll stop and leave you wanting for more.” 

His hands squeeze your throat harder, his threat apparent. You cum all over his thigh in that instant, choking on your own moans. You ride his thigh through your orgasm, wanting it to last longer. 

All the while, andrew has the sweetest smile on his face. When you've come down from your high, he lets your neck go and returns to holding your face tenderly, kissing you with so much love.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He praises you, your heart skipping a beat in response. He finally cups your breasts with both of his hands, grasping them firmly. You let out a loud whimper when he rolls his thumbs over your nipples. A few more swipes and they're nice and hard for him, so he leans in and takes one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. 

Then, he trails lower, kissing a line down your stomach until he's between your legs. His eyes are locked on yours when his tongue drags up along your folds until he reaches your clit. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue and you can't hold in your voice anymore. 

“Andrew.” His name comes out all raspy from your lips as your orgasm builds from him playing with your clit in his mouth. 

The expression on his face is pure delight. He loves how you say his name when you're about to cum. He needs to hear it more. So he takes his time, learning what makes you rasp out his name, not letting you cum. 

This is like torture for you. He keeps edging you, bringing you so close to cumming only to pull away at the last second. 

“Please, Andrew.” You can't take it any longer. “I need to cum.” 

He knows that. He can tell from how much slick is pouring out of your pussy. He can probably slide right into you right now. But he's not ready for that just yet.

“Why the rush, huh?” He says, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. “We have all night.” 

“Let me cum just once. Please?” You try because you can't handle getting to the edge and then not going over it. 

“You already came once. Did you forgot that, beautiful?” He smirks. 

You're so over it right now. His refusal is making you insatiable. You want to cum. You want to cum for him. But he won't let that happen. 

“Please let me cum. I'll do anything.” You whine because you have no other options. 

“Will you?” He says, his gaze shifting down to your core. “Then let's see how hard you can cum?"

You let out a loud moan the moment two of his fingers thrust inside of you without warning. You're not ready at all for the sudden burst of stimulation, his fingers curling inside of you until your body is shaking.

“Wait, wait, ple—” You try to move away, to try to stop yourself from bursting at the seams.

But then he locks his lips around your clit and starts to suck, pressing his fingers upwards inside of you right below it, and you cum hard. His fingers are relentless. He slips another one in, stretching you out, watching as your back arches in response. Your body wants more. 

But your mind is screaming for a break. The pleasure fogging all your senses. You can't stop cumming. 

“Andrew!” You plead for him to slow down a little. “Please, I can't keep—”

Andrew watches your body convulse from the small consecutive orgasms riddling your body. He just stares at you, at how utterly beautiful you look. Your pussy is squeezing his fingers so tightly, he can't possibly stop. 

“You want my cock?” 

You answer almost too fast, “Yes baby, please.” 

He pulls his fingers free then presses down on your lower stomach. He licks his lips when you cum again from the pressure, drenching the sheets beneath you. He can't help himself. He leans in, having a taste. 

You grab a hold of his curls and hold him there, angling yourself so he can give you another orgasm before he fucks you.

You rest your hands on his broad shoulders when he climbs back up over you, lining his cock up at your entrance. You spread your legs wider, so it's easier for him. 

“I'm the luckiest man alive.” Andrew says to you bluntly. “ The way you punched that guy, you're perfect.” 

You dig your nails into his skin when his cock pushes inside of you. You're so wet that he hilts with ease, your hips meeting his. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer to you. 

Andrew closes his eyes. As if he wants to etch this feeling into memory.

“Andrew?” You reach up to caress his face, running your fingers along his jaw. “Are you okay?” 

He opens his eyes, staring down at you. You've seen this look before. It's dark, more intense. 

Because the only thought in his mind right now is that he wants to make you feel good. You're his. 

All His. 

“How do you want it?” He asks, rolling his hips. “Nice and slow or do you want me to fuck your brains out?” 

You bite your lip, how do you want it? 

“Take me.” You tell him. “show me I'm yours, My Love.” 

And just like that, you show him again how perfect you are. You can't hold in your voice when he licks his fingers and presses them against your clit. Your whole body shivers in response at the sudden stimulation. 

When he starts pounding into you at the same time. You're moaning his name so loud you're sure it's filling the entire house. You hope nobody is home to hear you. You don't think you're able to resist letting out every sound andrew is forcing out your body. 

“Andrew, keep going...right there, I'm going to—” You pinch your eyes shut, tears dripping down your face as the next orgasm is drilled out of you with how hard he's thrusting. 

Andrew slams into you harder, your toes curling in response to him driving so deep into you, “Look at you. You're cumming so hard on my cock.” 

“Yeeees.” You drag your nails down his back, leaving red scratches behind. Andrew wants to make sure you never forget he can make you feel this way. That your body remembers the shape of his cock pounding into you.

He wants to make sure the only person that crosses your mind is his, no one else.

“Beg for it.” He's getting close but wants to hear you want him.

“Please cum inside of me, Andrew.” You're going to unravel completely when he does. You know it. “I want you to. I want cum with you." 

Your pussy squeezes him so good. You're holding it in. You won't cum until he does. 

Jack Abbot was known as a lot of things.

He didn’t let most of them bother him, ignored the whispers of him being too strict of a boss that were somehow paired with criticisms of being too lax. The harmless quips about his dangerous hobbies that still burrowed their way deep into his chest or the occasional judgmental look he got from people when his leg caught on a step or stiffened behind him.

There was the care taking side of him, giving a granola bar in passing to a med student so exhausted they could barely stand and making sure to remind Robby everyday in the most casual way possible that he cared about him.

He could be cynical and sarcastic, a little hard to understand and almost impossible to gauge the mood of on those days he needed to end up on the roof to even attempt at grounding himself.

Jack was a veteran, a night shift attending, a friend and an enemy.

But he had absolutely no plans of ever being known as a widower.

There had been a new label for him as he entered his thirties, proudly wearing the badge of husband and announcing it to anybody who was around to listen.

“I’m just dropping off her lunch, I’m her husband.”

“My wife loves this flavor, I’m glad you keep it in stock.”

“Sorry I can’t tonight, it’s me and my wife’s anniversary.”

Jack was well aware that he was the luckiest man on earth to have married you.

It was straight out of a fairy tale and went against every single pessimistic bone in his body, truly love at first sight for the both of you.

He’d fallen ridiculously hard for you the moment you’d walked past him on campus, scarf around your neck and a pretty smile on your face as you waved at your friends across the field. You were warmth personified for him and he’d been so distracted, he took a football straight to the face.

Then you were suddenly a lot closer, kneeling down on the grass despite the fact you were wearing pretty white tights, face full of concern as your gloved hands hovered over his nose that was most certainly bleeding.

You’d gotten upset immediately and asked him over and over again if he was alright while he stared dumbly up at you from his place on the ground, only snapping out of it when you gasped that it must be broken.

He had interrupted and finally gotten the courage to speak, telling you he’s a med student and he didn’t think it was that severe, and nearly falling flat onto his back when your eyes sparked with interest.

You were inseparable from the moment you met each other, abandoning your friends who watched curiously as you helped him up and walked with him to the nearest corner store. You stood a little too close for his sanity after buying a cold drink, encouraging him to press it lightly to his face and giving him a pleased smile when he did so.

Jack decided that for the rest of his life he would do anything in his power to see you smile like that every day.

He was in your dorm room almost nightly with stacks of books between you, ankles tangling under library tables, and soft giggles leaving you as you leaned against his shoulder in the courtyard

There was no point in pretending to be friends for more than a few weeks, unable to keep your hands or eyes off of each other long enough for it to be believable. Everyone around you knew exactly what it was and so did the two of you, blushing softly when your friends teased you for being completely smitten but making no move to deny it.

Jack asked you to be his girlfriend after the first snow fall of the school year.

He had made a plan in his head that was far more romantic, including candles and cheesy rose petals his roommate had told him would definitely do the trick. He ended up just blurting it out outside of your dorm building, unable to resist when he saw how the cold had made the tip of your nose turn pink and the way your eyes shone as you wished him a goodnight.

There was a small disbelieving part of him that kept waiting for the honeymoon phase to end, but it never did.

Not when he felt like he needed a change in his career and started to get addicted to a more dangerous feeling, not even when he enlisted and you had to spend some excruciating time apart.

He had felt like the biggest idiot in the world most nights during that time, alone in his tent as he flipped through letters you’d sent him or when he was out in the field and kissing one of the many photos of you he kept in his uniform.

Jack had wrote you over a thousand times and in most of his writings, he ended up apologizing.

He’d tell you that he didn’t know why he needed to chase this thrill and he couldn’t really explain why his skin would start to crawl when he was safe for too long. He knew he was an adrenaline junkie and it wasn’t just an ironic phrase when he was actually in battle, your face the last thing he knew he would remember if anything happened to him.

Along with the heavy guilt of leaving you alone, waiting for another letter that wouldn’t come.

It kept him going every single day and he always reminded you that he would understand if you left him. There would be no anger if you didn’t want to spend the next few years loving a man you couldn’t see, couldn’t touch or hold on the hard nights.

Once, he had written to you saying that he almost hoped you’d meet somebody else while he was away. He had went on and on for too many pages about how he would be a happy man to know you were out there with somebody who could love you in a less painful way.

You’d gone silent for a week after that and it was the worst week of his entire life, unable to sleep or eat properly as the regret hit him hard.

He knew then, if he hadn’t already before, that he could never lose you. He couldn’t stomach you walking away from him or leaving you on this earth after he’d left it far too early.

Jack finally heard from you on the ninth day but it wasn’t through a letter.

You had somehow reached out to one of his higher ups and arranged a phone call, making up a lie that you had a family emergency just so he could hear your voice for the first time in many painful months. He’d tried his best not to cry in the office, face still dusty from the field training exercise he’d been yanked out of.

He had been terrified when they told him somebody was on the phone for him, fearing the worst.

You’d wiped the fear right out of him when you softly laughed and told him to make sure he kept his best poker face before launching into a full scale scolding for him ever even thinking about you leaving him for somebody else. He sat there and tried to hide a smile as you berated the mere suggestion, ending the brief phone call with a deep reminder of how much you loved him.

Jack knew that when the next rotation of sign ups came along, his name wouldn’t be on the list.

He was happy for the experience, the opportunity to further his degree in such a unique form of medicine, but he wouldn’t spend a minute longer away from you than he had to.

The bliss of knowing he’d come home to you shortly was ended about as quick as it arrived.

Not too long after your impromptu phone call, they were sent back out and things moved so fast from there on out that Jack couldn’t even remember the events that led up the accident.

He remembered lots of noise and then lots of warmth, yelling voices around him and the feeling of his limp body being dragged through trees and dirt. Then came the pain, both from his lower section and from his throat as he screamed it raw all the way back to the medical tent.

The final thing Jack remembered was just as he had thought his last moments would be like.

Your voice and your smile as you looked at him back in the college field, so far removed from the terror and pain of his current situation. You’d never have to experience a trauma like this as long as he could help it but he was scared the pain you’d feel when you got the call he died could almost be worse.

Jack laid there stiffly on the small bed, bleeding out on the dirty white sheets, and still only could think about you and how he hoped you weren’t alone when the phone rang.

It felt like years passed before his eyes opened again and now he was certain he had died because there you were.

Sitting in a chair next to his bedside with your head in your folded arms, tapping your foot anxiously and lightly shaking his bed from the movement. You were sniffing harshly like you’d just finished crying, whispering something under your breath that he thought sounded like a prayer despite knowing you weren’t religious.

He wasn’t surprised that if heaven existed his would start with you at the gates.

He only startled when he went to touch your hair lightly, straining his stiff fingers to try and even feel a strand, and your body shot up in surprise. Your eyes were wide with confusion and then your entire frame sagged in relief before you were standing up abruptly and starting to scream for the doctors.

The understanding that he wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t dead or in some sort of afterlife, only hit him when he saw you start to collapse with sobs.

Because Jack knew that you would never feel any type of sadness in any perfect reality he could imagine.

He didn’t necessarily process anything the doctors were saying to him now that he was awake, words about his amputation and what the healing timeline would look like going right past him as he stared at your face. You were holding his hand then, sending him gentle warning looks that were silently telling him to listen properly.

All Jack could focus on was you, the fact your hair was a little shorter now and your hands were still shaking as you squeezed his even tighter when the doctors started talking about his limitations.

There was still a lack of denial about his new disability until it started to affect your relationship.

Jack didn’t see himself as a traditional man in any sense, he didn’t feel like he needed to do things for you out of necessity but simply because you were the love of his life and he was devoted to you.

He didn’t realize how many little things he had taken for granted until he finally was discharged from the hospital and was forced to adjust to his new normal.

There was no more carrying you through the doorway after a wine filled date, racing with you along the shore of the beach and listening to you giggle when he caught you by the waist and brought you into the water.

It was a painful build of all the small habits he no longer could follow, an inability to take care of you in the ways he felt like he had promised you when you started to build your life together.

Jack felt like he was holding it together fairly well despite the obvious fact he was pulling away from you without meaning to.

He was spending more nights in his study as he prepared to go back to a more routine level of schooling, determined to live life as normal as possible despite the ache in his leg when he sat at his desk for too long and the dizziness his medications would occasionally cause.

There was the times he woke up with nightmares so realistic he’d shoot up in bed, sweat around his shirt collar and his chest heaving so harshly it would cause you to stir too. You’d wake up with him and not sleep again until he was able to, even if it took hours before he could remind himself he was safe in your bedroom.

So he started to sleep on the couch more often than not.

Jack could see the toll it was taking on you but he couldn’t get himself to let you get too close, scared you’d see what your future was going to look like now and decide it wasn’t worth it anymore.

He finally broke down one random weekday in the middle of a chilly fall, similar weather to the first time you’d met all those years ago.

You’d been having car troubles for weeks apparently and keeping it hidden from him, softly whispering that you didn’t want to burden him with any more bills. The hospital was sending letters nonstop, you both had debt from your schooling, and his disability checks were barely enough to cover rent and the groceries.

He didn’t even become aware of the problem until you stormed back in the house only a few minutes after you’d left it, tears running down your cheeks as you gasped and cried to him that your car wouldn’t start.

You had an important meeting at work that would undoubtedly land you a promotion, one that could really help you both live more comfortably. You’d been talking about it for weeks, preparing yourself endlessly and going through your presentation over and over with him each night.

Jack hadn’t hesitated to get up on his crutches and head outside with you, barely throwing on a coat before he was settling himself in the drivers seat of his truck and being hit with the realization that he hadn’t driven since losing his leg.

It was muscle memory to jump at the opportunity to help you, such a simple solution of just getting in his truck and bringing you to work before you were late.

You both sat there in silence, windows still wet from the morning dew and his chest beginning to heave painfully.

Jack drove a manual truck, something he hadn’t even considered since he’d been holing himself up in the house. You had no idea how to drive a stick shift and, not for the first time since his accident, he felt utterly useless in your relationship.

He’d cried for the first time since he had lost his leg in the quiet car, not because of the pain or because his entire life had changed forever, but because of the sole fact he had let you down again.

The therapy started after that, both physical and mental.

You’d climbed into his lap that day and did your best to reassure him that you didn’t love him any less, telling him that you would be with him for eternity in any circumstance, but your words hadn’t been enough and you both knew that.

Things were better after that, not perfect, but Jack was learning to cope with his grief surrounding his own body and you were able to get some pointers on how to be there for him in the littlest ways.

He didn’t think you needed any advice because you were as perfect as always in his eyes, spending extra time out in the yard with him the first fall he tried to rake the leaves again and softly massaging his stump and scars in a warm bath after a bad flare up.

You were still the love of his life and you were the sole reason he was able to continue it after going through something so awful.

There was a light at the end of his tunnel that he would chase forever, even if it was a little slower than he had planned for. You’d never wavered or made him doubt your love for him despite how much he thought he didn’t deserve it.

Jack and you got through the next few years with alot of effort and patience, feeling like you could finally take a deep breath when he graduated and then getting a clean start when he was relocating to Pittsburgh.

By then, his leg was a secondary thought to him despite his disability still being a big part of his story. He didn’t let it define him and he barely felt the need to inform people about it, feeling a surge of confidence as he entered his thirties and got to become more than the guy who had lost his leg.

Becoming your husband only made that so much easier.

Jack had never wanted to be anything more and he would have married you the day he met you if you were willing but he selfishly needed it to be perfect.

He didn’t want you to swear yourself to a broken man or one still doing the work to build a life for the two of you, he wanted you to hear him ask that question and be able to look around and see the stability around you.

And Jack was stable.

The house you two bought was beautiful with enough space to grow your family when you were ready, a topic you were talking about more and more through the years. You loved your job and felt secure and happy in your career and both of you had a perfectly healthy balance of work and life.

There was no extra shifts picked up or late nights that left your feet dragging as you came home because you prioritized each other.

Jack would get a wave of pride over him whenever somebody would ask him the secret to such a happy marriage, especially since he didn’t really have one to offer them.

He could only smile and pull you closer while telling them that marrying your best friend made it that much easier.

You were his soulmate, the only woman he had ever loved and the only one he needed for the rest of his life.

The rest of the world seemed to love you just as much as he did which was no surprise. Showing you off was his favorite thing to do, bringing you to every work function possible and beaming as he watched his coworkers automatically fall for your pretty smile and gentle nature.

He’d get pats on his back from Robby as he told him he was a lucky man and soft nods of approval from Dana who had a knowing gleam in her eye.

You’d sneak off with him to the roof of the hospital on his lunch breaks, the nurses affectionately rolling their eyes when they saw the two of you giggling together like teenagers ditching class.

Sometimes he still felt like the bumbling idiot back in the courtyard, so thrown by your beauty that he let himself get knocked to the ground.

You would lean against him as the wind blew your hair back, looking out at the city you’d made your home together with a fond look.

He could tell you were happy and that made it so much more magical for him.

Jack sometimes felt like he was bragging when he’d talk about your life together, his therapist even occasionally pushed him to really search deep down and find something to complain about.

She’d tell him it was healthy for marriages to have issues, that small disagreements didn’t mean you loved each other less. Jack would earnestly confess to her that he couldn’t think of a single thing he disliked about you.

You didn’t fight over money or snap at each other after a hard shift, there was no chance of infidelity or even wandering eyes, and your date nights were more frequent than not.

Your relationship didn’t grow stale and you didn’t get sick of each other, there was absolutely no settling and you hadn’t made adjustments to yourselves individually to fit better as a pair.

You just did naturally.

He was forty five the first time he noticed anything was changing about you.

There was lot of nights he spent in recent years thinking about how stupid he was, blaming himself for not realizing something was wrong before it was too late to stop it.

He’d sit in an empty exam room for hours and read through your old files, look at bloodwork papers and medication lists and try to figure out why he had missed the signs. He blamed himself more than anything despite the people around him begging him not to go down that dark path.

Jack was a doctor, and a fucking good one.

So how was it possible you’d gotten so sick right under his nose?

It was slow at first and then a suddenly drop off towards the end.

You’d complained about being tired more than usual so Jack pulled back on your date nights out and started to keep them centered around your house, movie marathons on the couch and home made dinners he spent hours perfecting.

Then you would drift off in the middle of conversations, still present and alert but your eyes a little dazed like you weren’t fully there.

He’d stroke your hand softly and say your name in a gentle whisper until your gaze went back to his face, a little confused and sometimes panicked before he quietly repeated himself.

You woke up and threw up once at the end of summer and Jack had been stupid enough to believe you were pregnant. You both were excited at the idea, rushing to the nearest pharmacy to pick up a handful of pregnancy test and standing anxiously in the bathroom as you waited for the results.

Your shoulders had slumped with disappointment when they all came out as negative and he’d been halfway through reassuring you that you could keep trying when you threw up again.

So you changed your diets together.

You started to eat healthier and really stretch out your walks so you could stay active. You’d laugh together about your old age, smiling in the bathroom mirror as you brushed your teeth side by side and counted your ash colored hairs.

You’d told him in bed one night how much you loved growing old with him. He stayed silent as he listened to you whisper about how happy it made you, how you weren’t at all scared of what it might bring if it meant you got to be together through it.

Jack couldn’t stop thinking about that exact conversation at your funeral.

He’d told himself beforehand that he wasn’t going to look at you, lying in that traditional brown casket that made his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure he’d even make it into the building, was certain he’d run out to throw up before the service began.

Robby had been there through it, hand tight on his forearm whenever he shifted like he was planning to leave and a supportive glance when he would start to sob randomly through the kind words people said about you.

Which there was only ever kind words.

His feet had naturally led him up to the front of the room after most people had already filed out of the doors. He knew Robby was still there, somewhere behind him and most likely keeping a watchful eye as Jack stared down at you.

The first thing he thought was that you had significantly less gray hairs than him.

Then he wondered if you would have made fun of him for that, probably kissed his softly on the cheek as you ran your fingers through his curls like you used to do.

You did it all through your doctor’s appointments, naturally comforting him despite the constant bad news you received.

The treatment wasn’t working. Your body wouldn’t respond to medication the way it was supposed to. You had a lot less time than you thought.

He thought the last one was particularly obnoxious to hear and he had wanted to interrupt and scream at the doctor, tell him that of course this was less time than they thought because you had figured you’d be together forever.

Jack had spent a lot of time thinking about leaving you behind. In his tent out in the middle of battle, when he laid there bleeding out and thought for sure he was dead, and almost every night before sleep when he registered the stiffness in his joints and the wrinkles on his skin.

He’d set up some plans for you just in case, money in different places and insurances on his life you’d scold him about if you knew. He’d talked to Robby and your family and just about anybody he could about making sure you were taken care of after he was gone.

There’d never been a time where he considered you would go before him.

Especially not like this.

With your hair only starting to turn colors and your face so youthful even under the powdery makeup and stiffness of your skin. Jack didn’t actually feel much pain looking down in your casket because he refused to even process that as you.

You’d died the second your eyes had fluttered shut in the hospital bed, holding his hand tightly and whispering that you loved him before you fell asleep. You didn’t wake up again, never kissed him good morning, and you certainly didn’t put yourself in this dress and enter this room.

Jack loved you so completely that most of him died when you did.

He was sure it wasn’t too apparent to the newest rotation of med students that came in only a few months after he lost you.

They saw a man who was short with his words and sarcastic, harsh when he was tired and so closed off he almost felt impenetrable. He was suddenly the boss you had to desperately seek approval from and the no nonsense type of doctor he had hated during his first few years of residency.

There was no comparison they could make but he could tell it was hurting the people around him.

Robby especially, who only knew the version of Jack that was loved by you.

The Jack that came to work each day with a lipstick stain on his cheek accompanied by a bright smile, a lunchbox full of love notes and cheesy heart shaped fruit you’d cut up for him. They remembered the Jack that paced himself during his shift to make sure he had energy for your dates and took long breaks when you stopped by to visit just so he could sneak a few deep kisses in before you’d go.

Your shared friends and conjoined families had no choice but to grieve both of you.

Jack buried you in the ground and then buried himself in his work to the point of exhaustion, picking up dangerous hobbies and neglecting his health.

He’d find himself up on that roof top most nights, both trying to relive those days you’d sneak off together and also trying to get as close to you as he possibly could. He wasn’t sure if that meant figuratively or if by putting himself on the other side of the railing and letting himself close his eyes and wait for a sign he should fall away from it.

You’d be furious with him if he did anything to himself so he didn’t but he thought about it almost constantly.

It was almost passive, just the lingering belief that he would be better off.

He’d be with you and that was all he wanted.

There was no room for anything else in his head, a constant rotation of what you would have done or said if you were here and then the pain when he had to remember over and over again that you weren’t.

He sold your house, far below its actual value and that was even tougher considering it was priceless to him. He figured if he didn’t get out of it then he would end up doing something drastic like burning it down just to escape the scent of you and the memories bouncing off the walls.

He could hear your laughter when he passed the living room and feel your eyes on him when he ate dinner alone, the echoes of dishes clanking as you bumped your hip against his teasingly and your shoes still sitting by the door.

Your toothbrush was dried out on the sinks countertop and your soap bottles hadn’t gone down an inch, unfinished laundry still sitting down there dirty in your basket and the last carton of milk you’d bought getting more and more rotten by the day.

Jack gave your car to your nephew next and then cried his entire drive home, pulling over in some random parking lot and then punching the buttons off his radio when a song you used to hum came through the speakers.

He’d gotten out of his truck and left it there, crooked and barely between the lines as he limped the six miles back home. It was dark by the time he made it and his leg hurt so bad he was positive it was bleeding but he couldn’t be bothered to check or take care of himself, throwing his aching body and heart down on the couch.

Robby had eyed him harshly the next day, the cuts on his knuckles and the obvious discomfort in the way he moved despite his shift not even starting yet.

It got a little easier over the years, bad habits sticking and personality shifting in the way someone’s did when they went through something horrible.

Jack Abbot was known as a lot of things.

But before his newfound labels, he was a romantic and half of a perfect relationship. He was a partner, a caring friend and the type of guy you could call whenever you needed a shoulder (or two considering you’d always be a few steps behind him).

Jack was a husband long before he was a widower.

pushing aside his search for the baggies nicki had misplaced somewhere around the house, he was now onto an entirely different mission.

pope's was usually the last room he liked to go into. it was eerily clean, with every single one of his possessions perfectly laid in its assigned spot. which was why the camera had stuck out like a sore thumb. it was an odd thing for pope to leave lying around, specially on his bedside table.

and so he picked it up.

and then he fell into a trance.

displayed on the small screen was a paused video. you were sat back on the side of the bed, elbows digging into the plush of the mattress as you supported your weight on them, looking up at the screen with wide eyes and a tiny, pleased smile. your body was barely covered by a pink negligee falling off your shoulder and your tit peaking out. your hair had a little more volume than usual and your makeup slightly different. you'd done yourself up for this.

with the click of a button, the enticing thumbnail began playing.

the quality was somewhat shitty, which annoyed craig a bit.

it was shot from pope's perspective, he noticed immediately. he towered over you as you sat on the bed looking up at him.

"hey, handsome," you spoke at the camera, cheeky smile on your lips.

your hands went up to pope's body, disappearing from frame but clearly beginning to paw at pope's chest off-camera.

similarly, pope's hand entered frame, cupping your cheek as you leaned into the touch. your face turned slightly to the side, mouthing at pope's palm until you caught his thumb in your mouth.

the angle of the camera raised a little, giving craig the perfect angle as you looked up at the camera, eyes wide and mouth suctioning at pope's thumb. he could pretend it wasn't his brother's.

"fuck, baby. so fuckin' perfect for me," pope interrupted.

after some moments, you finally slipped the thumb out of your mouth, licking at its length once before kissing the back of pope's hand.

with some coaxing, you laid back on the bed as pope drew himself closer, straddling your body on the bed.

"let me get a good look at you, angel."

this was followed by pope somewhat shakily panning into every inch of your body. he started with your face, planting a kiss on your lips before you showed the camera a toothy smile. his hand came out once more to caress at your cheek, trailing down to your neck, to your half-uncovered tits. there, his thumb circled your nipple through the thin fabric, drawing a sigh out of you.

below him, you squirmed and moaned for pope as his hand traced down every inch, feeling every supple inch of barely-covered skin. occasionally he'd lean down and kiss at whatever part of your body laid in front of him at that moment, making it so the camera drew too close for craig to see anything, but he could still hear that tiny intake of breath you did every time he kissed you.

"andy... want you."

"i know, baby."

again, he panned out, hovering over you and showing your needy self under him. there was some silence, only filled up by some low grunts of pope's.

"do i look pretty, andy?" you giggled up at him after some moments of silence, eyes drawing below the lens every so often.

"so pretty, baby," he grunted.

craig could guess what was going on off-screen as pope watched you.

"you gonna fuck me, or what?"

a breathless chuckle could be heard off-screen, and then some unbuckling and ruffling of clothes.

"yeah, baby, 'm gonna fuck you. don't you worry 'bout that."

a hand appeared, digging into your hip as pope drew himself closer. while one hand shakily held onto the camera, the other aided in turning you over and onto your hands and knees.

from behind you, pope adjusted you, pressing deep into the small of your back to get your ass further up and your arch a little deeper.

teasingly, you swayed your hips at him, smiling at him as you twisted your head to look back into the camera.

the tiny thong you had on hid absolutely nothing, much less did the negligee pope had pushed up to fully uncover your ass.

the next few scenes were a little unfortunate for craig.

they consisted of pope pulling out his dick, stroking it, as he pressed it into you, circling at your clit as you mewled out his name and pushed your ass up against him.

craig was conflicted. on one hand, he didn't want to see his brother's dick, but on the other, he really wanted to see you getting fucked from behind.

with a mental coin toss, he decided to do some mental gymnastics to remove pope from the equation and solely focus on how breathless your wail sounded as soon as pope made his way inside you.

he had a perfect view of the recoil of your ass, groaning inwardly when you'd push back, when the sound of skin slapping joined in with your tiny, high-pitched moans.

sometimes pope would grip at your hair, making you sit up on your knees and pressing your back to his chest. craig couldn't really see much from this angle, but he'd hear the kissing and your muffled cries.

he wasn't sure when this was recorded, whether he'd been at home when it happened, but you'd been careless in the volume of your noises. an endless stream of sounds of pleasure left your lips as pope pounded into you.

"m-more, ffuuck, please."

"right there- fuck, don't stop—"

"andy- oh, fuck, andy!"

these were all sounds he'd grown familiar with through your relationship with pope. you were never shy in expressing yourself in the bedroom, but seeing it? and from this angle, where he could pretend it wasn't his brother who was dragging these noises out of you?

fuck, he could just-

"what are you doing in my room?"

craig felt his body go completely still. every hair in his body stood up and his muscles tensed.

he couldn't dare look behind him, to look at the source of the voice as the video continued to play in his hands.

"and what the fuck are you doing with my camera?"

slowly, craig twisted his body, camera still in his hands as he looked to find pope's erect figure standing by the door of his room.

"hey, man, i was just-"

"fuck are you doing looking at my videos of my girl?"

with a single move, pope's hand landed on a tight grip around craig's wrist, making him groan out as his fingers relaxed around the camera, letting it fall onto pope's other hand.

mutely, the sex noises could still be heard emanating from the digital camera. pope turned the volume down, not once taking his threatening eyes away from craig's guilty ones.

"i just- i was looking for my baggies and-"

"they're not in my room."

craig sighed at the interruption, "yeah, man, i noticed. i just saw the camera and i got curious, that's all."

"you got curious for," he took a moment to check the screen, "twelve minutes and fifty-five seconds?" he read off the time lapsed of the video.

craig winced.

"it's not like that, okay?"

it was pure denial, but if craig knew anything, it was that the best remedy was always to lie your way out of trouble.

pope nodded to himself, unconvinced. with one step forward, he was in craig's face, looking up to him with that same threatening expression pope reserved for anyone but you.

"i catch you looking at my girl again, i'm going to break your legs. this is your last warning, craig."

even as he towered over him, craig gulped with a nod, eyes wandering away from his. it was kind of embarrassing how easily he folded under his gaze. he knew pope would be good on his words, specially with this being his second warning.

"understand?"

"yeah- yep, got it, pope."

taking his chance, he rounded pope and practically sprinted out of the room. outside, he let out the breath he'd been holding, relieved it didn't escalate this time around.

but even then, he found himself making a mental note.

"need a hand, sweetheart?" he flashed her his signature smile, his eyes raking down her body.

her bikini suddenly feeling too small.

"oh… no.” she said politely.

“c’mon” he urged, his fingers brushing hers before she let go of the towel.

that made her scoff. one thing she hated was when men didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“need a hobby?" she shot at him. raising her eyebrows.

baz grinned down at her, “pope never mentioned you were cute."

once he freed the towel, she was quick to grab it from his grasp and pull it up to cover her exposed chest.

"hmm, probably because he knew you'd act like this." she deadpanned.

baz chuckled, stumbling back and put a hand over his heart.

"wow she's got jokes.”

"and he flirts with his bothers’ girlfriend."

he heard it from across the yard— pope looked up from the grill, suspicious and already annoyed as he noticed how baz was trying his best ignore him.

"if i'd met you first—"

she held up a slender finger.

"if you'd met me first, i'd still be with andrew."

"wooooow.” has dragged, “that's cold." he said, dryly.

she shrugged, narrowing her eyes as the sun started to beam hotter.

"i’m just being honest." she said, giving him a sweet smile.

pope scoffed from where he stood and moved. fast.

he appeared at her side, sliding an arm around her waist protectively.

"what'd he do?" he said into her hair.

"flirted." she said truthfully.

baz scoffed as she turned her face to press into pope’s exposed and tanned skin.

"what'd she do?" pope asked baz.

baz threw his hands up as if to signal he was joking the whole entire time, sighing dramatically.

"she put me in my place, man.”

pope looked down at her, trying not to smile.

Trust Craig and Deran to act like two teenagers and throw a party when Smurf was away on one of her trips. There were people everywhere, in the pool, on the patio, even on the other side of the couch. While everyone else seemed to actively seek out the chaos, you were more than content with being glued to Pope's side. Hiding in plain sight inside your own bubble was more exciting than playing stupid drinking games in front of everyone. His attention was the only one that mattered.

“Do you want another drink?” You asked as you sat with your legs nonchalantly across Pope's lap.

Pope tapped your leg, his way of asking you to move. “I’ll get them.” You shook your head as you pushed Pope back down and stood beside him. You ran your hand through his hair, tightening your grip as you made your way towards the nape of his neck. You pulled on his hair, forcing his head backwards and a growl to sound in his throat. “I’ll be right back, pretty boy.”

You placed your lips within touching distance of his, but kept enough space between you that the only contact was a fleeting brush as you walked away. He groaned in disappointment, always desperate for your affection.

He was extra clingy lately, and you couldn’t figure out why. Nothing had gone wrong with a job, at least not with your knowledge. Everything seemed perfect. The only thing that sprang to mind was the approaching one year anniversary of his release from prison.

The whole time Pope was locked up, you never missed a visit. Every time the phone rang, you jumped to answer it just in case he somehow earned extra phone privileges. The postman knew you by name due to the infinite letters you sent back and forth. He even somehow managed to send you origami flowers for special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries. He never forgot a single one. You kept everything. Every letter, every flower, every card.

For one visit, you decided to make it special by buying an expensive perfume you thought he would like. You made sure to spray it all over you, but one look at him and you knew something was wrong. He appreciated the gesture, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings, especially when you did it all for him, but it wasn’t the same. He missed the smell of your old perfume. He missed the smell of you and the way it lingered on his skin after your visits. It was the same smell you made sure to spray all his letters with, the one that reminded him of home and what was waiting for him when he got out.  

When he was released, he became extra possessive, if that was even possible. In his mind, he was trying to make up for lost time, the time that was stolen from both of you. Neither one of you could keep your hands off the other. Whoever said the honeymoon phase didn’t last was a liar. Here you were, many years later and still insanely in love.

The search for more drinks had you gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already missed him. You tried to get back to him as fast as possible, dodging drunk couples dry humping in the kitchen to whatever music was playing from a speaker.

When you returned, the sight in front of you stopped you in your tracks. Pope had tensed up, his shoulders square and ridged. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to the girl in front of him, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the way she placed her claw like hand on his knee. She had her back to you, so she couldn’t see your slow approach, like a lion hunting prey.

Pope was intrigued to see what you would do. The anticipation of your next actions excited him, causing his jeans to grow tighter. The way you didn’t take lightly to someone else flirting with him, or showing him any romantic interest, always led to you being jealous.

Knowing your natural instinct to be territorial over him was one of the things he loved most about you. You always need to be within touching distance, and the way your hands ran all over him in search of bare skin set his body on fire. He played into your primal need for his attention and your obsession with reminding everyone he was yours. You wouldn’t let anyone, and especially not Pope, forget who he went home to every night.

“You're in my seat.” The tone in your voice was blunt and impolite. You didn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation. She was in your way, and you made light work of letting her know.

The girl barely turned her head as she looked you up and down with a scowl etched on her face. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused.” When she still didn’t move, to either stand up or remove he hand from touching up on your man, whatever restraint you had left exited your body. “Move.”

The only moment she made was to shift closer towards Pope. The sickly sarcastic smirk on her face was giving you another reason to smack her and put her back in her place, but the lustful look on Pope's face stopped you. The fucker was enjoying this. You knew he loved you when you would stake your claim on him, but you really weren’t in the mood. This bitch was pissing you off beyond any desire to kiss Pope desperate and silly in front of everyone.

The grip you had on the two glass beer bottles was dangerous. Any harder and you were sure they would shatter. You placed both bottles down on the coffee table, but your eyes never left where her hand lingered. It was either that or you would smash one over this girls head. “I’d move if I were you. This is not a fight you will win.”

Before the girl could reply, Craig appeared. He could sense the tension from the far side of the pool, and being the good friend he is, he knew you were one more second from jumping on her and pushing her into the pool. That, and the fact he didn’t want anyone to call the cops. “Just a warning, she doesn't play about her man.”

The girl wrapped her fingers further around Pope's knee and pushed herself up from the couch. When she reached her full height, she made sure she was way too close to you. To Craig's credit, he got it spot on. You didn’t mess around when it came to Pope, and you didn’t take lightly to some random bitch trying to glare you down.

With a tilt of your head, you dared her to make a move. You knew she wouldn’t actually do anything, but you half hoped she was more stupid than she looked. Just as you thought, she backed off. She scoffed and mumbled something under her breath about you being a psycho. You blew a kiss at her to send her on her way as she walked towards the patio.

When he was certain you weren’t going to follow her, Pope pulled you back down to sit beside him by the wrist. “You need to relax, sweetheart. I'm all yours.” Once he was content with you snuggled back into his side, he kissed the palm of your hand in an attempt to calm you down. The reassuring gesture wasn’t meant to be sexual, but you would be lying if it didn’t turn you on.

You pouted at him. “I mean, I can't really blame her. You're so handsome.”

Pope shrugged his shoulders at your comment as if he thought you were lying. He looked away from you, suddenly finding something over your shoulder very interesting. You had to force him to look at you, taking his chin in between your fingers, demanding his full attention. You knew he had issues with his self-worth and made a point to remind him of how much he meant to you. “I'm serious, Andrew. You're beautiful.”

He wasn’t expecting you to straddle him, a thigh on either side of him. You trapped him beneath you as your hands returned to his hair. He stared at the delicate chain that lay against your dainty neck. The ‘A’ you so proudly wore every day, marking you as his. It let everyone who dared to look know that you were taken. It let them know that you were owned by someone else. They couldn’t have you.

You were Popes girl. Your heart, mind, body, and soul belonged to him. Every time he looked at it, it made him feel warm. You were willingly his. The person he loved willingly loved him back. You had given every inch of yourself to him. He had never been loved this good before, and certainly not unconditionally. No matter what he did or what he had done, there were no strings attached. Your devotion to him was something he never thought he would find, much less deserve.

Pope was just as equally devoted to you, if not more so. He worshipped the ground you walked on. In his eyes, you were a goddess, someone who deserved to be taken care of and adored beyond all human comprehension. Popes world didn’t just revolve around you, you were it. Your being was his reason for living. You were the reason he kept breathing.

If he anticipated that something would be an issue, it was sorted before it even popped into your pretty little head. He believed it was his mission to keep you safe and happy.

He tucked his pointer finger beneath the chain and tugged you closer to him. The sound of your voice catching in your throat sent sparks straight to his dick. He loved that he could coax sweet sounds from you. “You're the pretty one, angel.”

Once he said that name, you knew it was game on. Every time he called you that, it always ended the same way, with you on all fours and begging. He would do the dirtiest of things to you and have you say the most depraved things ever whispered, but to him, you always looked so innocent and sweet.

You crashed your mouth onto his while you grinded into him. Your hunger was evident in the way the tip of your tongue flicked at his top lip, demanding he open up. He gave you what you wanted, allowing your tongue to slide over his.

You might have orchestrated this, but Pope controlled it. Every one of your movements was sanctioned by him. Even when you thought something was your idea, it originated from Pope. He was always three steps ahead. He knew everything about you and your body. He knew how you would react if he touched you a certain way. He knew how to rile you up, how to push your buttons. The worst part was that he knew you knew. You were a puppet on a string, and he was the most masterful puppeteer to ever exist.

“Maybe you should remind me whose name I scream every night.” His hands controlled your movement in his lap, only allowing you to move the way he wanted. You fought back. You gripped the front of his shirt, attempting to pull him even closer to you.

Your words woke something within him. The reminder that he was needed, and that he was the only one who could give you what you wanted always twisted something inside him. It made him feel important, desired even. And if there was one thing you were sure of in this life, it was that you desired Pope above everything and anything else.

If you were being honest with yourself, your favourite part was when you caught him off guard. The groan he held in his throat or the breath that caught in his lungs were the most delicious of sounds. Yes, you followed the script he gave you, but you loved throwing in a plot twist every now and again. You couldn’t let him have all the fun all the time.

He slid his hands over your ass to the back of your thighs and stood up from the couch. You automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and giggled at the feeling of his hands squeezing at your soft skin. You giggled into his neck, nipping at the exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt.

He walked towards his room, taking the floor in long strides. He wanted to get there as quick as possible. Once inside, Pope took full advantage of the privacy the room provided and released his grip on your thighs to place you on the ground. It took a second for you to remind your brain how to stand and support yourself. You used Pope as something solid to ground yourself on, and once the memory returned, you could feel his rough hands tearing your clothes off.

He left you in your underwear before removing his hands. You knew he had a thing about seeing you like that. Not undressed in the sense you still had something covering you, but also not leaving much to the imagination.

As he took one step forward, you took one back. His eyes raked over your body, taking it all in as you increased the distance between you. You continued stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. There was nowhere for you to go, and Pope stood there on the other side of the room, just watching.

You slowly reached around your back to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your shoulders with the opposite hand. He groaned at all your teasing, palming himself through his jeans. When you finally removed your bra, freeing your tits, the sight made him want to wrap his mouth around each nipple and suck.

You next went to take off your panties, but before you could, he grabbed you by the throat. The quick movement of his hand caused whatever noise you had wanted to let out to get trapped and die in place. Pope loved being the one to take your panties off, and the idea of anyone else doing it, even you, killed him.

Pope pulled you towards him more gently and slowly than you had ever experienced. You were helpless as he controlled your every breath. He could end you right there and then if he wanted to, but you knew he wouldn’t. The way you gave him full authority over your entire being made Pope feel vulnerable. You were the only person on the planet who wasn’t afraid of him, not even when he held you with such roughness.

He squeezed the sides of your neck, restricting your ability to breathe. The mixture of possession and obsession displayed on his face as he stood over you at the foot of the bed should have scared you, but his actions had the opposite effect. You were turned on beyond comprehension. You squeezed your thighs together, noting the wetness pooled between them. You were almost sure Pope could hear the squelching sound they made as you desperately looked for friction to release the ache between your legs.

Your hands automatically went to his waist. The neediness in your trembling hands was something you couldn’t deny. You thought that if you undressed him quickly, he would stop teasing you and give you what you desired. You had only managed to pop the button of his jeans open before Pope turned you around, crashing your back to his chest so he could kiss the side of your cheek.

“Need something, Angel?” He didn’t expect an answer, he didn’t need one.

With his free hand, he pushed the flimsy fabric of your panties over your hips and down your legs agonisingly slow. You stepped out of them and, with one last squeeze, he released your neck, pushing you onto the bed face first.

Pope crawled over your limp body, trapping you beneath him on the mattress with his full weight. He used your positions to his advantage, pushing his ever growing bulge into your ass as he grinded against you. The roughness of his jeans against the back of the soft skin of your legs contrasted beautifully with the clean sheets under you.

Pope weaved his hand through the stands of your hair and tugged, forcing your head to fall back against his shoulder. The angle gave him full access to kiss up the side of your neck, grazing his teeth against your jaw. “On your knees.”

There was no pet name, nothing to suggest it was a suggestion. No, it was a raw demand. He was telling you, not asking. The speed at which you complied should have been embarrassing, but you knew what was waiting for you. If you weren’t so desperate for him to fuck you sore, you would have fought back. Any idea of teasing him and drawing this out wasn’t on the table.

You heard Pope make light work of undressing himself. The buttons of his shirt hitting the floor excited you. You needed him now. You needed him inside you.

The sound of him undoing his zipper made your hips buck against nothing but air. He noticed, of course he did. Pope knew every micromovement you made, and he was especially aware when it came to sex. He was always eager to pleasure you, even if he teased you first. “Look at you, begging to be filled.”

An audible sigh left your lips as you felt the bed dip under Pope's weight. He was right there, but so far away at the same time. You wished he would hurry up, but you knew this would all happen when he was right and ready to give it to you.

The feeling of his hands running over the back of your thighs and up your back made you shiver. Pope let his hand rest against your shoulder as he ran the head of his swollen dick through your folds, gathering your wetness. Once he was satisfied with how wet you were, making sure he would slide in with ease, he lined himself up with you.

You were more than enthusiastic, desperately pushing back against him, wanting to hurry him up. Pope pulled back and used his free hand to slap the full cheek of your ass. The sound of your scream echoed against all four walls of the room.

“Behave, sweet girl.” He tutted at you as he ran his rough hand over the hot mark he just made. Your skin felt tender, but the sweet sting made you wetter than you wanted to ever admit out loud. He had marked you, and the reminder would stay with you for days on end.

He stayed still, only moving his hand in soothing circles against the forming welt. His hips were hauntingly still. It took everything in you not to repeat your mistake and push yourself closer to him.

You were unsure what he wanted. You didn’t want to give him cause to drag out his teasing, but you didn’t know how to get him to hurry up either. Settling on seeking forgiveness as a way to placate him, you muttered an apology. “I'm sorry, Andrew.”

Your plan seemed to work. You turned your head back to look at him over your shoulder to find him already looking at you. The image of him touching you delicately contrasted beautifully with the primal look in his eye. He held you there in his stare, listening to your breathy whines. “Eyes on me.”

You nodded weakly, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and focused on him. He gathered saliva in his mouth and spat it on you. It wasn’t like he needed the extra wetness; you had never been wetter in your life. He did it just because he could, because he knew you would take it and thank him for it later. He did it as a warning that you and your pussy were his. The feeling of it dripping down your ass and across your lips to where you wanted him was a symbol of possession.

He lined up again, and this time you didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to think about what he would do if you misbehaved again. He pushed just the tip in and stilled his hips. “Who is the one who screams my name?’

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you didn’t answer. You were too focused on the feeling of his wedging his cock into you. He pulled out slightly, a form of punishment you loved to hate. You were now further away from having him fully inside you, but it also meant you got to feel him push back in.

“I, fuck, I do.” You stuttered.

Happy with your breathless reply, he fully bottomed out inside you. You weren’t expecting him to push in all in one go, he normally went slow and gentle. This was something new for both of you. Pope grunted as the wide o expression on your face let the mewl you held escape you easily.

He didn’t still his hips for too long, but he still gave you a brief second to adjust to him. No matter how many times he fucked you, you always needed a moment to stretch yourself out on him. Before you fully realised he had moved, Pope pulled out of you and thrusted himself back in just as quick.

The rapid thrust of Pope's hips against yours was something you wished you would never have to go without again. That feeling alone was enough to satiate you for the rest of your life. Nothing could ever compare.

Pope knew you were lost in the feeling, and as much as he loved the fact you were cock drunk on him, you were enjoying it a little too much for his liking. He wanted your complete attention. He slapped your ass again, this time on the other cheek, causing you to moan his name.

“Who owns me?” The grin on his face was one that didn’t come naturally to him, but the image of you desperate to take his thick cock stirred something within him. He always knew you were the only one for him, but seeing you like this, bent over in front of him at his mercy, ready to give him everything, made him want to give you his whole being in return. “Who do I belong to?”

Normally, he would be asking you who you belonged to, but seeing you get jealous over some girl made him want to remind you that he was yours. He needed to remind you that you were the only one who could take him like this, that you were the only one who could give him everything he needed.

“Me.” Your voice was weak, not that he could hear you, even if your head wasn’t buried into a pillow.

He pulled on your hair again, making you let go of the pillow. He wanted to hear you, loud and clear. He hated it when you tried to hide yourself from him. Every sound you made belonged to him. He earned every single one of them, and he was determined to make sure you gave them to him. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your pornographic moans was his favourite thing in the world. “Sorry, I can't hear you, Angel.”

“You- you're m-mine.” You muttered in between thrusts, voice drawn out and scratching at the air for breath.

“That’s right. I'm yours.” Another tug to your hair caused you to arch your back. The new angle gave him more room to ruin you, if that was even possible. You could feel him deep in your lower abdomen. “And you will never forget it, will you?”

You hummed a response. Even if you wanted to, you never could, nor would, forget that Pope was wholly and completely yours. The feeling of him pulling fully out only to snap his hip back against you was hypnotising. How he hasn’t broken you in half, you will never know.

You reached a hand around to rub your clit. The lazy and rough circles you made, mixed with the feeling of his swollen tip opening you up each and every time, were slowly bringing you to the edge. Just as you were getting lost in the unavoidable wave of your impending orgasm, the sound of Pope howling a question in your ear brought you back to reality.

“You gonna let me cum in you? Give you my baby so I can never leave?”

Your knuckles were white under the grip you had on the sheets beneath you. You hadn’t expected him to say that. Pope wasn’t the most verbal in bed. He normally communicated through grunts and harsh whispers when you were being good for him or did something he liked. And yet, here he was asking to have his baby.

You had talked about it briefly, on and off, over the years, and you thought the right time would present itself whenever the universe thought it was right. Other things kept getting in the way. The jobs, his family, everything, but in that moment, there was only one answer you could give him. You weren’t even sure you had let him finish his question before you screamed your answer back at him. “Yes, Andrew. Fuck, cum in me, please.”

“You sure, Angel? There's no going back once I make you full with my kid.” In between filling you with his dick and giving you some of the best sex you have ever had, he was still giving you an out. He didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t fully committed to. If anything, it made you even more sure in your decision.

You wanted to scream out yes. Yes, yes, yes. The words wouldn’t come, caught in the bottom of your lungs. The idea of Pope being your baby daddy was the sexiest thing you could imagine.

“Better hurry up and decide, shit - ” His rhythm faltered slightly, as if he was holding himself back. He was close, so close that you knew it was now or never. You had to make sure he knew how serious you were. “I'm so close, sweetheart”

“Please, Andrew. Let me make you a daddy, please.”

That was all he needed to hear. The sound of your fucked out voice begging him to get you pregnant, to permanently tether your lives together, caused him to roll his eyes back with pleasure. Pope let the little restraint he had left go, and with whatever energy he had left, he went all out.

You had never been fucked so hard or so fast before. If it wasn’t for the grip of his hands on your hips, you were sure you would have fallen flat against the bed. You had no confidence in your legs or arms to hold you up.

The feeling of him rutting into you as he came was something you would never forget as long as you lived. His hot cum spurted into you, painting you white as he spasmed like a man possessed. His hands clawed at you with a bruising grip as he tried to keep you in place, making sure you took everything he had.

Pope opened his tightly shut eyes and released his grip on you, gently placing you down onto the bed, all while keeping himself inside you. He didn’t want to waste a single drop. You were caged beneath his warm body as you felt him soften inside you.

Pope rolled off of you with care, aware of how sensitive both of you were after what had just happened. He hissed, feeling your walls trapping him, not wanting him to pull out. The feeling of his cum dripping out of you made you giggle. Your legs trembled with pleasure. In that moment, you had fully accepted that there was no possibility of you leaving your bed anytime soon. You bit your lip, turning to look at him lying beside you, staring at the ceiling. He was still trying to regain a normal breathing rhythm as his heart audibly thumped against his chest.

Once he snapped back to reality and his breathing began to slow, he shifted onto his side. He was so proud of himself. Never did he think he would be able to make someone as happy as he made you. His hazel stared back at you with all the love he couldn’t verbally say to you out loud. And in that single look, there was no doubt for either of you. You had just been knocked up.

As Pope brushed his fingers against your smiling face, the ‘A’ of your necklace caught his attention. He brought his fingers down towards it, wiping the sweat of your neck away in the process. He placed the delicate letter in between his fingers, running his thumb over it.

You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t form a coherent sentence and just held out the plastic stick. His eyes widened, his mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Is this—wait, are you—I’m—” He exhaled a sound that was half laugh, half something much deeper, and your tears came flooding back.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “We’re going to be a family.”

Jack cupped your face with both hands and kissed you slowly, tenderly. You could feel the dampness on his cheeks and smiled against his lips… you’d never seen Jack Abbot cry before. Not like this.

He pulled you close and lifted you off the ground, and spun you two together in the small bathroom, both of you laughing through tears, until the sound of excited paws skidding across the tile announced that your dog had bolted in to join the chaos, jumping and barking as if he knew exactly what was happening.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“I need those lab results the moment they’re ready. The family in north four has been waiting long enough.” You told Perlah as you two walked to the nurse’s station. “Understood, I’ll look for you as soon as they’re in.” She grabbed the tablet from you and gave you a firm nod as she hurried off down the hall.

You turned and headed toward the break room, desperately in need of a breather. The morning sickness had pulled you out of bed two hours early, and you were running on caffeine after a twelve-hour night shift. You were starting to feel every bit of it.

She pushed open the door only to find Jack sipping on his coffee. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi, my darling,”

You settled onto the worn couch across from the table and pulled out your phone. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I scheduled an OB appointment for next week.”

That got his attention. He looked up from the cup, and the tired lines around his eyes softened.

“Good. If my calculations are correct, she’ll be five weeks on Thursday. The timing matches that time we-”

You chuckle. “She?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Just a feeling.”

“Well, either way… the appointment’s set.” She let herself sink a little deeper into the cushions. “I’m going to grab a five minute nap. If my pager goes off, you have permission to wake me.”

He smiled… small and quiet, the kind of smiles he saved only for her and let her rest.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Here are the results you asked for,” Perlah said, and you offered her a grateful smile while grabbing the tablet. “Thanks, Perlah. I’ll go see the family in a few minutes.” The nurse nodded and left you alone. At the end of the hall, you spotted a familiar face just arriving for the day shift.

“Hey, stranger. When are you finally coming to movie night?” Trinity said, and she fell into step beside her on the way to the lockers.

“Probably next week. I actually have something I want to tell everyone.”

You couldn’t wait to tell your friends. Samira, Dennis, Victoria, and Mel, your day one group.

“Tell me now. I’m invoking best-friend privileges.”

“Nope,” you laughed. “I want everyone there when—”

The sentence died in your throat.

A cramp. Sharp wrenching pain tore through your lower abdomen — sudden and total, unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Your hands went to your belly and you heard Santos call your name, but the words felt far away. The room tilted. Your vision blurred at the edges.

“Y-you’re bleeding.”

You forced herself to look down. Your scrubs were soaked through, deep and dark. The tablet slipped from your hand and you sank to the floor slowly, both arms wrapping instinctively around your stomach, as if you could hold on to something already slipping away.

“I'm pregnant,” you barely said in a whisper. Your voice almost nothing. “Call someone.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath beside her, and you don’t know how much time passed until the sound of running footsteps… fast, purposeful, the footsteps of someone who already knew something was wrong before he rounded the corner. You knew those footsteps. You heard them every day tiptoing around the bed to try and not wake you.

“Y/N…”

Jack’s voice broke as he said your name. He dropped to the floor beside you without hesitation, and you grabbed his hand and held it with every little strength you had left. There was nothing to do and he knew it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It all happened very fast after that.

The nurses and our colleagues arrived. You were transferred to a gurney and taken to a room. Doctor Al-Hashimi delivered the news in a careful, clinical tone, though by then neither you nor Jack needed to hear it spoken aloud. You knew. The procedure that followed was quiet and efficient and devastating in the way that only medical things can be… clean on the outside, a wreckage underneath.

You couldn't stop crying. The grief came in waves you couldn’t brace against. That baby had already been so loved, so wanted. You two had already started imagining a future (small things, simple things like buying a school backpack and buying butterfly hair clips) and now that future was simply gone. The absence of it felt enormous in the sterile recovery room upstairs.

Jack sat in the chair beside your bed, his eyes hollow with a sorrow he was doing his best to contain. He hated that he hadn’t been there when it happened and that a handful of minutes had separated him from that hallway.

Our baby is gone, you thought and couldn’t face him. You had to look away for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” you whispered.

He shook his head and squeezed your hand.

“Sorry for what, darling? You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was rough and careful at the same time. “We both know these things just happen.”

“But what if I did something wrong? What if I didn’t rest enough, or—”

“Hey,” he held up a hand, gently, the way he did with patients spiraling. “You did nothing wrong. You know that. You know exactly what the research says—that these things happen, and that it isn’t anyone’s fault.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. “You didn’t cause this, my sweet.”

The old nickname undid you completely. He used to call you that when you had just started dating. You’ve been married for a year now and time’s moving way too fast. But not fast enough to remove today’s memories from your brain.

“We couldn’t even hear the heartbeat yet,” you said softly, voice fracturing on the last word.

Jack simply sobbed hugging her.

You two stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon… not speaking much, not needing to. Just holding on. The grief settled around you like weather, heavy and real, but not the end of anything. You two had survived worse together. Massive casualties, an amputation, grief, traumatic childhoods, and now a miscarriage.

You two finding each other had been the result of all of that. And finding your way through this will be done the same way you’ve always had — side by side, stubbornly, with every ounce of love that rises from the ashes.

And maybe, someday, you would try again.

-

"I have eyes."

"Maybe he just crashed there."

"At Dr. Y/N's apartment?"

They looked at each other.

Dana, who had been stirring her coffee for about thirty seconds longer than necessary, set the spoon down. "Okay," she said. "That does sound suspicious."

Santos appeared in the doorway mid-stride, chart under her arm, already sensing the atmosphere. She looked between the three of them. "What sounds suspicious?"

Whitaker leaned against the counter and lowered her voice with great ceremony. "Abbot was seen leaving Dr. Y/N's apartment this morning."

Santos went very still. "No."

"Same outfit as yesterday."

The pantry absorbed that information in collective silence for a beat.

Javadi, who had been quietly pouring herself a coffee in the corner and not intending to get involved, turned around slowly. "Wait. Are they dating?"

"No," Robby said.

Everyone turned. He was standing just outside the pantry doorway, eyes still on the monitor in his hand, having apparently been there long enough to follow the entire conversation. He looked up briefly, unbothered. "They act too complicated to be dating."

Dana stared at him. "That somehow makes this worse."

Santos shook her head slowly, looking at no one in particular. "It's like a reality show. Except it's set in a hospital and the stars are geniuses who are completely useless when it comes to feelings."

Javadi leaned against the counter with her mug. "I genuinely thought adults got better at this."

Robby tucked the monitor under his arm and pushed off the doorframe. "Not trauma adults," he said simply, and walked back to the floor.

Nobody had a good argument against that.

******

Today you walked into the hospital with a surprisingly clear head.

The alcohol had been lethal as usual. One drink was enough to knock you out embarrassingly fast, but at least it came with one benefit. Sleep. Actual, uninterrupted sleep. Working in healthcare made eight consecutive hours feel like a mythical privilege reserved for people with normal jobs and functioning circadian rhythms.

You took another sip of the coffee in your hand.

Jack's coffee.

God.

The thought alone almost made you laugh. Jack Abbot sleeping on your couch. Jack Abbot opening your fridge and standing there in silence for a full three seconds, staring at the Coke cans and energy gels with the expression of a man confronting a personal affront.

And then there was the contact name.

You had nearly choked when you unlocked your phone this morning. Right there between two other saved numbers, neat as anything.

Captain Chaos.

Unfortunately accurate.

You stepped off the elevator onto your floor, coffee still warm, bag over your shoulder, and immediately felt it. The particular atmospheric shift of a floor that had been talking about something and had just stopped.

A nurse glanced at you and then quickly found somewhere else to look. One of your attendings became very absorbed in a chart that had apparently gotten fascinating in the last ten seconds. Two nurses near the station stopped mid-whisper and arranged their faces into expressions of complete innocence.

You slowed your steps.

Then you spotted Garcia near the station, flipping through charts with the focused energy of someone actively avoiding eye contact.

You sighed quietly. It felt like high school. Actually no. It felt like the army, which was worse because at least in high school people were honest about gossiping.

You walked over. "Garcia."

She looked up too fast. "Yes, boss?"

"My office."

Her shoulders stiffened immediately. "Am I in trouble?"

You gave her a look. "That depends."

Garcia followed you down the hall with the energy of someone walking toward something unavoidable, which was impressive considering she regularly made half the OR attendings nervous without trying. The second the office door closed behind you, you set your coffee down and shrugged off your coat. Garcia hovered near the chair like she was debating whether sitting without being told to counted as insubordination.

You sat first. "What is it. Shoot."

Garcia cleared her throat. "It's about you."

"Oh?"

"Some nurses," she said carefully, "saw Dr. Abbot leaving your apartment building this morning."

You blinked. Then blinked again. A laugh escaped before you could stop it, short and genuine.

Garcia frowned slightly. "Wait. So it's true?"

"Didn't he bring me home last night?" you said, tilting your head. "I was one drink away from becoming a floor hazard."

"Well, yeah," Garcia said quickly. Then she hesitated, weighing something, and pushed forward anyway. "Did something happen?"

You looked at her. Really looked at her.

Garcia straightened immediately. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was out of line."

Silence settled for a moment. You looked down at your coffee, turning the cup slowly in both hands.

"Nothing happened," you said quietly. A pause, small and thoughtful. "Jack Abbot is not like other men." The corner of your mouth moved slightly despite yourself. Not quite a smile. Something more private than that.

Garcia stood very still.

Oh, she thought. Oh no.

Because that wasn't the voice of someone dismissing a rumor. That was the voice of someone who had thought about something for a long time and had just let a small piece of it out without meaning to.

She said nothing. Wisely.

"Is there any way to stop this before it reaches the night shift?" you asked.

Garcia thought about it for exactly three seconds. "Bribe them."

"I'm listening."

"Food." She counted on her fingers. "Samosa. Lumpia. Donuts. Good coffee. Not the pantry coffee. Actual good coffee."

You exhaled slowly. "Help me order it."

"Yes, ma'am." Garcia was already pulling out her phone with the efficiency of someone who had been waiting for a task like this her entire career.

By mid-morning the pantry had been transformed. Boxes of donuts, two trays of samosas, lumpia stacked on a proper plate, and coffee that actually smelled like coffee. A small handwritten note that just said eat. No signature necessary.

The gossip didn't disappear exactly. It just became significantly less important on a full stomach. People still exchanged glances in the corridor but the energy had shifted from speculation to something more like contentment, and by afternoon the morning's events had been largely absorbed into the general business of a busy hospital day.

Almost.

*****

Jack walked into the Pitt for the night shift with a ease about him that was immediately visible to anyone paying attention, which Robby was, because Robby was always paying attention.

"Good evening last night?" Robby asked, falling into step beside him.

"Good evening." Jack dropped his bag. "Didn't everyone?"

"Most people spent theirs at home." Robby crossed his arms. "Not at Dr. Y/N's apartment."

Jack looked at him flatly. "You have a very active imagination."

"Nothing happened," Robby said, mimicking a neutral tone. "But do you wish something did?"

Jack scoffed and picked up the nearest chart. "I'm going upstairs."

"What? Why?"

"Because I've worked here long enough to know how fast gossip travels in this building." He was already heading toward the elevator. "And I'd rather get ahead of it."

Robby watched him go. Then turned back to the nurses station where Dana was standing with her coffee and the expression of someone who had heard everything.

"He's going up there," Robby said.

"I know."

"To check on her."

*******

The nurse at the OR station looked up when Jack stepped off the elevator. "Dr. Abbot?"

"Is Dr. Y/N operating right now?"

"No, she's in her office."

"Great." He was already walking.

The nurse watched him go down the hall and then looked at the other nurse beside her with an expression that said everything that didn't need to be said out loud.

Somewhere behind them, two attendings exchanged a glance. Jack Abbot on the OR floor during the night shift, heading directly to the department head's office, was not a subtle development. Within four minutes three separate people had found reasons to walk past the corridor.

The food bribe had bought you approximately six hours.

You were halfway through a surgical report when the knock came.

"Come in."

The door opened. You looked up and saw Jack leaning against the frame, jacket still on, with the unbothered energy of a man who had decided something and acted on it without overthinking it.

"Heard we're the hospital headline," he said.

You set your pen down and tilted your head slightly. "Feels like high school." A pause. "Actually, the army."

Jack's mouth curved. He pushed off the doorframe and leaned against it properly, arms crossing easy over his chest. "What's the difference?"

You finally looked up at him fully. "I'm their boss now."

"That never stopped soldiers," he said.

FLASHBACK

Back in the army, people liked watching the two of you.

Not because either of you were particularly affectionate. God no. You argued too much for that. You bickered over medical protocols, fought over sleep schedules, had a running dispute about whose turn it was to check supplies that had been going on for three weeks with no resolution in sight. Jack said you were stubborn. You said he had a hero complex. Everyone else thought it was the funniest thing in camp.

Because somehow, despite all of it, you both knew each other far too well.

One afternoon Diaz was halfway through a bowl of terrible military pasta when another medic offered Jack a cup of black coffee. You looked up immediately from across the table.

"Don't," you said.

The medic blinked. "What?"

"He hates coffee that tastes burnt."

Across the table Jack didn't look up from his paperwork. "She's right."

You pointed your fork. "He also hates raisins."

"They ruin cookies," Jack muttered.

"And if he skips lunch he gets grumpy and starts lecturing everyone about field protocol like it's anyone's fault but his."

"I'm literally sitting right here."

Diaz looked between the two of you slowly. "What the hell."

You frowned. "What?"

He pointed his fork at both of you. "You know way too much about each other."

Jack finally set his paperwork down and looked at the medic. "She's worse, for the record." He turned calmly. "Don't give her anything spicy unless you want to watch her spend an hour insisting she's fine while silently suffering."

You narrowed your eyes. "You told nobody that."

"She's also completely dependent on iced coffee."

"I'm not dependent."

"You drink it like it's keeping you alive."

"It is."

Jack continued without missing a beat. "And she hates waking up early unless caffeine is already in her hand. Not nearby. In her hand."

"That is a normal human reaction."

Diaz set his fork down entirely and pushed his pasta away like he had lost his appetite for everything, including the conversation. "You two are exhausting."

A soldier passing behind you slowed down. "Married couple fighting again?"

"We are not a married couple," you and Jack said at the exact same time.

The table went quiet for one full second. Jack get up from his table and go outside.

Diaz dropped his head into his hands. Someone slapped the table. The medic who had offered the coffee looked deeply relieved that he was not involved.

"Just date already," Diaz said into his hands.

"He's like every other man," you said flatly.

Immediate protest from multiple directions.

"No offense, Doc," Diaz said, lifting his head, "but there is not another guy like Abbot in this entire camp."

"He volunteers for the dangerous missions," another medic said.

"Carries people back himself," someone added from further down the table.

"Half the nurses have a thing for him," Diaz said. He pointed at Jack empty chair with complete sincerity. "If I were a girl? Absolutely."

You stabbed your food and said nothing.

Because the unfortunate truth was that Diaz was not wrong, and you were self-aware enough to know it even if you were never going to say it out loud. Jack Abbot was annoyingly one of a kind. Reliable in the way that mattered, not the easy surface kind but the kind that showed up at three in the morning without being asked.

Protective without making it a performance. Too self-sacrificing for his own good and completely unbothered by that fact. The kind of man who remembered everyone's coffee order but forgot to eat his own lunch. Who sat with terrified soldiers before surgery and said nothing because sometimes nothing was the right thing. Who carried guilt like it was his by right.

And when you had gotten embarrassingly drunk that one time, he hadn't laughed. Hadn't teased you about it, hadn't taken advantage of a single moment of it. Just quietly made sure you got back safely while pretending your clinginess wasn't affecting him at all.

You sighed. A long, resigned, deeply reluctant sigh.

Everyone at the table leaned in slightly.

You stabbed a piece of food and looked at it instead of any of them. "Fine," you muttered. "There's no other man like Jack Abbot."

Silence.

The specific kind of silence that felt dangerous.

You frowned and looked up. "What?"

Nobody answered. They were all looking behind you with expressions ranging from delighted to openly entertained.

Slowly, with the particular dread of someone who already knew what they were going to find, you turned around.

Jack was standing directly behind you, arms crossed, looking down at you with an expression that was completely unreadable except for the very corner of his mouth, which was doing something it absolutely should not be doing.

"Well," he said, after letting the moment sit exactly as long as it needed to. "Didn't know you thought that highly of me."

The heat that climbed your face was immediate and total and completely beyond your control.

You turned back to the table. Sat up straight. "I was sleep deprived."

The entire table groaned in unison.

"Here we go again," Diaz muttered, and picked his fork back up. ******

PRESENT

You leaned back in your chair. "I hated the training," you admitted. "The shooting too." A quiet breath escaped you. "But I miss everyone."

Jack watched you for a moment. Something tightened in his chest. Not the explosions, not the chaos. But the people. The strange little family built in impossible places.

"So," he said after a beat, deciding the room had gotten too serious, "when exactly am I getting a playdate with Riot?"

You narrowed your eyes. "You're scheduling visitation rights now?"

"That boy misses his dad." He got up from the doorframe and settled into the chair across from your desk like he had been invited, which he had not.

"Absolutely not," you said.

"He offered me his blanket last night." Jack leaned forward slightly. "We're bonded."

You bit the inside of your cheek. He was sitting closer now and looking annoyingly good at this distance and you were going to pretend neither of those things were true. "I have your number now," you said, aiming for unbothered. "I'll text you."

Jack tried not to look too pleased about that. So she wasn't shutting him down. "Can I buy him new toys?"

That caught you off guard. You blinked. "You're serious."

"Very."

You huffed softly. "All his toys are old anyway."

Jack smiled to himself. Good. "And if you're ever busy," he said, voice dropping slightly, "you could always send him to me."

You looked up. He meant it. The old memories surfaced before you could stop them. Training Riot together in the dust outside the tent, sneaking him scraps, the tiny scraggly puppy who refused to sleep unless one of you stayed close.

"I'll think about it," you said quietly. "I don't want to take up your free time."

Jack shrugged one shoulder. "I don't exactly have anyone else to spend it with."

Oh. Single.

Good to know. Dangerous information. You filed it away and immediately told yourself not to think about it. "You still do SWAT?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

Jack caught it immediately. The concern underneath the casual question. "Sometimes," he said. He leaned back slightly. "Worried I'll get shot again?"

Yes. Obviously.

But saying that out loud felt like handing something over that you weren't ready to hand over. You crossed your arms instead. "I'm worried you'll drag Riot into your bad decisions."

Jack laughed, low and genuine, and you had forgotten, somehow, in the years between then and now, how much you liked that sound.

"I could spend the free time training him," he said. "Like the old days."

You looked away for a second. "He'd probably like that."

A comfortable beat passed between you. Jack tilted his head. "You know what's interesting?"

You sighed. "What now."

"We haven't argued. At all."

"Give it ten minutes."

"There she is," he murmured, far too pleased with himself.

You opened your mouth to respond and a knock came at the door.

"Doctor?"

A nurse stood in the doorway, something careful in her expression. "Someone wants to see you."

"Patient?"

"No." She hesitated. "He said he's a colleague. He's been waiting downstairs."

Your shoulders pulled back slowly. You already knew. You didn't know how you knew but you did, and the certainty settled in your chest like something cold.

"Tell him I'm operating," you said quietly.

"Of course." The nurse pulled the door closed behind her.

The room felt different afterward. Jack had gone still, watching you with the particular attention of someone reading between lines.

"What happened?" he asked carefully. "Should I be concerned?"

You were quiet for a moment. Then, "It's Diaz's brother."

The name landed in the room and stayed there.

Jack said nothing for a second. Diaz. The name carried too much with it. Too much blood. Too much grief. Too much of a night that neither of you had fully put down.

"Why does he want to see you?" Jack asked.

"I don't know." You looked down at the desk. "I just don't have the courage to meet him right now."

Jack reached forward without overthinking it. His hand wrapped around yours, warm and steady, the same way it had in the field when things went wrong and words weren't enough.

"Hey." His voice was quiet. "It wasn't your fault."

Your chest tightened immediately. Because some part of you, the part that still ran the scenario on bad nights with different choices and different timing, still believed otherwise.

You looked at your joined hands. "You weren't there after," you said. "The things his family said." Your voice softened at the edges just enough to betray you. "I know they were grieving. I knew it then. But part of me still thinks if I had moved faster."

Jack squeezed your hand. "You did everything you could." The tone he used was the one that used to cut through the chaos in the field, steady and certain, the one that made people believe him. "You hear me?"

You stared at your hands together on the desk and thought about the last time he had held your hand like this. The army. After bad nights, after surgeries that didn't go the way they were supposed to, back when both of you still assumed there would always be more time.

"I know," you said quietly.

"You don't sound like you know."

You exhaled slowly. "There were three of us there," you said after a moment. "You got injured. Diaz." Your jaw tightened. "And I was the medic."

Jack watched your face carefully. Still carrying it. After all this time, still carrying it exactly the way he recognized because he had carried his own version of it for years.

"You know what the worst part is?" you said softly, almost laughing at yourself. "I still replay it. Different choices. Different timing." A pause. "Maybe if I'd noticed something sooner."

"You moved fast," Jack said. "You saved people."

You gave a small humorless laugh. "Not everyone."

Silence settled between you. Then Jack squeezed your hand once more, gentle and grounding. "You sound exactly like me after bad cases."

You glanced up at him. He looked too soft. Too steady. Too much like something you didn't have a safe category for right now. You pulled your hand back slowly.

"I hate when you make sense," you muttered.

The corner of his mouth moved. "There she is."

You pointed at him. "Don't get comfortable. I'm still difficult."

"Good," he said easily. "I was worried you'd changed."

*****

Jack returned downstairs just in time to see Robby grabbing his bag.

"You survive?" Robby asked.

Jack scoffed. "Unfortunately."

"So." Robby leaned against the desk with the ease of someone with nowhere to be. "Did she yell at you?"

"No."

"That bad, huh?"

Jack ignored that and headed toward the pantry. Robby followed, because apparently the concept of privacy was something he had decided didn't apply to him tonight.

Jack poured coffee into his tumbler. The pantry was quiet, which he appreciated, and small, which he did not, because it gave Robby nowhere to be except directly next to him.

"You know," Robby started, in the tone he used when he was pretending to be casual, "for someone who claims nothing happened, you've been going upstairs a lot."

"Need something?"

"Curiosity."

Jack sighed.

Robby crossed his arms and leaned against the counter beside him. "Jack."

"Hm."

"What is actually going on with you and Dr. Y/N?"

Jack stopped pouring. The pantry was quiet enough that the silence had weight to it. He set the coffee down and leaned against the counter, arms folding across his chest.

"Nothing," he said.

Robby looked at him. "That sounded rehearsed."

"It's complicated."

"Oh God." Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. "You like her."

"No."

Too fast. Too flat. Even Jack heard it.

Robby's eyebrows lifted slowly. "Oh, that's bad."

Jack exhaled through his nose and said nothing, which was its own kind of answer. He picked up his tumbler and looked at the middle distance with the expression of a man having a conversation with himself that he was losing.

Because the honest answer was not simple. Was there attraction? Yes. He was not blind and he had never been good at pretending otherwise when it mattered. Seeing you again after all this time, seeing what you had become, the confidence that had replaced the nerves, the sharpness that had always been there but was fully unguarded now, the way you ran an OR like you had been doing it in harder places than this, which you had, he knew exactly how hard the places had been.

Yeah. He noticed.

The problem was everything sitting underneath that. History. The explosion. His leg. The morning they had both left without saying the things that probably needed saying, and the years of silence that followed. All of it still there, unaddressed, like a chart nobody had signed off on.

And then there was the age gap, which he was aware of every time he thought about it and trying very hard not to think about.

"You're thinking too loud," Robby said.

Jack rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm too old for her."

Robby stared at him for a beat, then scoffed loudly. "That’s your excuse?"

Jack shot him a sharp warning look. "It’s reality."

Robby shrugged, entirely unfazed. "You know what reality also is?"

Jack already hated where this conversation was going.

"She clearly likes you."

Jack frowned immediately, his defensive walls going right back up. "She does not."

Robby gave him a flat, disbelieving look. "Abbott." He paused, letting the silence hang between them before dropping the hammer. "She bribed an entire floor with food to stop gossip from reaching you."

Jack went completely quiet. Oh. "...She did?"

"Yeah," Robby said, crossing his arms. "Pretty sure she was trying to protect your reputation."

Something uncomfortably warm settled deep in Jack’s chest at that admission. It was dangerous. Very dangerous. Jack picked up his tumbler and walked out of the pantry.

Robby watched him go with the satisfied expression of someone who had gotten exactly what they came for.

*****

The night moved fast, blurring into a steady stream of crises. There was a chest pain case, endless rows of laceration stitches, a drunk guy loudly arguing with hospital security, and a severe asthma flare. Then came another patient, and another, until Jack barely had a single second to stop moving.

Across the department, Ellis approached him holding a medical chart. "Dr. Abbott?"

Jack glanced up from his paperwork, rubbing his eyes. "Hm?"

"I need a second opinion." She handed him the tablet, pointing to the screen. "Thirty-eight-year-old male. Chest pain after a panic attack. Vitals are completely stable, but..." She hesitated, shifting her weight awkwardly. "He specifically asked for Dr. L/N."

Jack frowned slightly, his professional posture returning. "You can consult me."

"He said he knows her."

That brief statement made something in Jack’s stomach tighten instinctively. Without thinking much of it, he turned and followed Ellis toward the curtained observation bay.

"She busy?" the patient's voice drifted out from behind the fabric.

"She already done with her shift," Ellis answered, reaching out to grasp the edge of the material.

Jack pushed the curtain aside, and then he nearly stopped breathing entirely.

The world tilted around him, just slightly, but it was enough. For one impossible, agonizing second, Jack genuinely thought he was looking at a ghost. The man in the bed had the exact same eyes, the same jawline, the same mouth, and that exact same signature exhausted look around the eyes. Only this man was older. He was alive. He was alive when he shouldn’t be.

Jack froze completely, his hand gripping the curtain.

The man offered a tired, knowing smile from the hospital bed. "Hello, Dr. Abbott."

Jack could only stare.

No wonder. No wonder you couldn’t handle seeing him.

No wonder you had completely refused to meet him tonight.

Because sitting right there, looking painfully and devastatingly familiar, was Diaz. Or at least, someone close enough to make old, buried wounds rip wide open. The dead suddenly looked alive again.

Ellis looked between the two of them, her brow furrowing with confusion. "...Dr. Abbott?"

The man shifted slightly against his pillows, clearing his throat. "Rafael Diaz," he said gently, extending a hand. "It's difficult to see Dr. L/N. So I figured I’d try you instead."

Jack swallowed hard, his throat tight as his mind raced back to the dust and the blood of the field. God. He even sounded just like him.

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“Who is this?” Pope’s voice comes from the doorway, tone stiff and on edge. As if he was trying to sound authoritative.

Y/N looks up from her magazine, lying on her stomach on the bed as Julia sits on the floor right beside her. Her eyes lock on to the young boy, Julia’s age, and he quickly averts his eyes to the ground like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Y/N had to admit..

He was pretty cute.

“Hi…” Y/N says softly. That seems to get his attention again. He shifts a bit, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he eyes her.

“Hi..-“ He mutters after a slight pause, their moment quickly being interrupted by Julia.

“Oh god, Pope! Get out..” Julia hisses as she gets up fast.

“You’re not supposed to have people over.” Pope says back, worry in his tone as his twin sister rolls her eyes.

“Nobody’s home but you, brown nose. And you’re not gonna tell.” She says simply as she ushers him out of the room.

“Who’s that?” Y/N asks curiously after a brief moment of silence. As if she couldn’t help herself..

“The warden.” Julia jokes as Y/N stares at the now empty space in the doorway. She hums a bit, intrigued…

* * * PRESENT DAY * * *

Y/N throws her car into park while actively opening her door. She was seething, and the adrenaline pumping through her veins was the only thing stopping her from thinking things through at this moment.

Because at this moment, she was storming up to the Cody Residence, and she wasn’t leaving until J was in her car.

Banging loudly on the door, she is relentless until it swings open. “Jesus! I hear you, what?!” Craig snaps a bit as he stands in front of her, wincing as he adjusts to the morning sun. He pauses as he sees her.

“Y/N?” He asks. “Holy crap, look at you..” He laughs, shamelessly checking her out.

“Where’s J?” She asks bluntly, ignoring his eyes. He pauses, opening his mouth to more than likely lie, but a voice comes from behind him, deep within the house.

“Aunt Y/N?”

Y/N gets on her tip toes to look over the shoulder of the 6-foot 3 man, sighing as she makes instant eye contact with the frightened looking 17 year old. “J. Hey, baby. Go get your stuff. I’m here.” She says.

“Hold on now. Smurf isn’t gonna like that.” Craig says.

“She can talk to the judge about it. He’s mine.” Y/N says shortly, hand going to her back pocket to pull out the folded up court paper. Craig eyes it like he’s considering taking it and reading it, but both know he’s too hungover for that.

J moves fast, rushing into the room given to him for the night so he could grab his things as Y/N waits at the front door, Craig rubbing the gunk from his eye.

“Whoa, whoa!” A voice shouts from the backyard, and it sends a jolt of electricity through Y/N. She plants her feet and takes a deep breath.

The last time she saw Smurf, she was 17 years old. The same age as Julia. She was big and bad then. But Y/N was a grown woman now. So Smurf coming over to the front door… Didn’t hold the same affect.

Not when J was on the line.

“Y/N. Been too long. What are you doing out there? Come on inside..” Smurf smirks as Y/N narrows her eyes.

“I’m real good out here.” She says back.

“I would like to go over this mess. Seems to be some confusion.” The older woman says, tone getting tenser.

“I can gladly involve the cops.” Y/N shrugs, keeping her expression neutral. Smurf hums quietly, hands going to her hips as Craig instantly stands up straighter from his once slack position against the front door.

“Ay, now. Don’t go around saying that word.” Craig warns.

“Or what?” Y/N asks as she looks around the inside of the house fully. Craig and Smurf at the front door, Deran and Baz on the couch.

And then there was Pope.

He had obviously come from the backyard and through the side of the house so he could take his mark leaned up against her car, hands in his front pockets.

Y/N had learned enough about this family through Julia to know Smurf rarely got her hands dirty. She would if it meant protecting all she’s built, sure, but usually she’d just send one of her sons to do it. And looking at each and every one or them? None of them had the guts to do anything. And the only man who did.. Well.. He still held love for her in his dark eyes..

J comes over to the door and Y/N stares both Craig and Smurf down. “Let him through.” She says, voice quiet but tense.

“Maybe you’ve lost your damn mind…” Smurf mutters in humor, mostly to herself.

“Yeah. My best friend is dead. And I’m here to get her son. And you’re in my way. You wanna see how much I’ve lost of my damn mind? You want J? You’re gonna have to kill me.” Y/N says simply, looking Smurf right in the eyes, unblinking. Pope watches from his spot by her car, jaw clenched with… Maybe it was fear? Fear of getting that look from Smurf..

Instead, Smurf smiles. As if amused. Or is impressed? Y/N couldn’t get a read on it. But she stays with her head high.

“No need to get violent. J can go…” Smurf says innocently as she backs away. Pope watches as J runs out of the house and straight to Y/N’s car, head down and gripping his bookbag tight to his chest as he gets into the backseat, not even saying a proper goodbye to any of them.

Y/N swallows a bit, the adrenaline crashing deep into the pit of her stomach. With her shoulders forced straight, she walks over to her car too. Pope watches her as he stays leaned against the hood of her car. She opens her driver side door and as she’s getting in, she hears it.

“Hi…”

The word is so quiet. So soft. It blows with the light summer breeze. She bites her lip for only a second before letting the tension go with a singular breath out.

“Hi.” She whispers back before getting in the car fully and starting it up. He gets off the car, allowing it to drive away.

“You know them, Aunt Y/N?” J asks after a moment. That question triggers a tsunami of memories as Y/N shakily focuses on the road…

* * * Flashback * * *

“Hi..” Pope says as he stands in front of Y/N, blocking her sun. She smiles at him, tipping her sunglasses down a bit to playfully eye his dripping frame.

“Hi.” She says softly. There are other seats, but he sits at the edge of her chair while she lays by their pool. She settles back more against her chair, comfortable with his choice and being this close to him. Until she feels eyes on her again.

Looking over, she sees Pope still watching her. “What?” She giggles, pushing her sunglasses up finally so there sat on her head.

Pope pauses as if realizing just now he’d been lost in his own thoughts while staring. He did that a lot though. He liked just watching Y/N. No matter what she was doing. His hands nervously grip his swim trunks as he looks away towards the pool. Julia was still inside cutting up some fruit for their impromptu pool day.

It was rare that Y/N could come over these days. It was like the family, more specifically, Julia, was always busy. Yet here she was today, enjoying her friend’s company and furthermore, Pope’s attention.

“What?” She asks again when Pope tries to ignore her the first time.

“Nothing..” Pope tries, voice soft. He hadn’t meant to stare.

He really hadn’t..

“No, too late. Tell me!” Y/N urges as she moves her foot to playfully nudge his lower back. His skin cold from just getting out of the pool. He’d gone from being put off by Y/N’s presence at their house to slowly hanging around her and Julia more and more.

Despite how most people would react towards the growing chemistry between their friend and sibling, Julia seemed to really like it. She had even brought up just a few days ago at school how Y/N is just what Pope needed.

Y/N couldn’t get her to elaborate further on that though..

He swats at her foot as he tries to shake his head again. She keeps messing with him though, playfully poking her toe against his lower back and side as he tries to stop himself from grinning.

Pope was constantly in a box.

She liked getting him out of it as much as she could. He was a good guy. Always looking out for his family and Julia. And in return, Julia was constantly urging him to make his own choices.

The looming threat of their mother was something Y/N had yet to face herself. She was always invited over whenever Smurf was gone, but she could feel it.

All of it.

The twins had a strong bond. One that Y/N admired, but one she also knew came from trauma.

Pope finally grabs Y/N’s foot, holding it as he keeps his eyes down at her painted toes. “I.. I just think… You look good. Like this.” Pope finally mumbles.

“Like what? In my swimsuit?” Y/N smirks, thinking this was just an average teenage boy moment.

“No. Like… In the sun. You look good in the sunshine..” He says slowly, like it was hard to explain. Y/N pauses at the compliment, smiling a bit. She sits up more, playfully resting her chin on his shoulder. He finally looks at her.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N whispers as they make eye contact. It was rare when Pope could do that. Look someone in the eyes. But… It was always cherished by Y/N. “You gonna do somethin ‘bout it?” She playfully flirts as she wiggles her eyebrows at him. He watches her before his eyes move to her lips. He doesn’t make a move though. Just stares.

“If you’re gonna kiss me.. Kiss me…” Y/N whispers finally. Pope looks up fast to meet her eyes before he gets a look on his face, as if he’s losing the courage to actually do it. Quickly, he gets back up instead and does a cannonball into the pool, leaving Y/N slightly disappointed…

* * * Present Day * * *

J doesn’t speak much when they get back to her place.

She knows why.

His head is still reeling from his two days at the Cody house, and Y/N doesn’t push him to tell her what happened there.

Maybe she just doesn’t wanna know..

He barely eats, but he does gratefully shower and make himself at home in her guest room. It’s a silent evening that seems to pick up though when J walks into the living room hours later.

“My mom… She didn’t want them around for a reason, huh…” He begins quietly, as if getting it now. Y/N looks up from her book. She shuts it and sits up more from her comfortable, lounging position on the couch.

“Yeah. She uh… She didn’t have the best home life growing up.” She admits slowly. J walks over to sit next to her.

“Is that why? Are they why?” He asks quietly, and he doesn’t have to clarify. Y/N hesitates a bit.

It was a loaded question.

“I… Don’t know.” She admits softly. Sure, being a child of Smurf meant you born with a slight disadvantage, but Y/N liked to think Julia could’ve beat those odds..

“But…” She continues. “I know for sure that if it was up to her… She’d still be here. Right by your side…” Y/N says simply as J shifts a bit in his seat, looking down at his hands.

“It was up to her..” He mumbles, making Y/N shake her head fast.

“No. It never was.” She reminds him gently.

“How do you know?” He asks finally. Y/N frowns a bit at his sharp tone, but she lets it go.

“I don’t know what it’s like being an addict..” She agrees gently. “But I knew your mom.” She points out. “And how much she loved you.” She adds gently as J’s shoulders slump a bit. “And… I am.. Constantly reading up on it.” She admits softly.

“What?” J asks.

“As a kid? I was always told that once you understand something, it loses its horror.” Y/N explains her logic. J pauses at that.

“So… Anything that scares you..” He trials off and she nods to show him he’s on the right track with it. She’d dive head first into learning more about whatever her fears were.

That included everything from ghost and ghouls when she was about 8… To the effects of heroin on the brain when she was 19 and having to watch her bright eyed friend slowly mutate in front of her..

J stays silent for a moment longer, letting that sink in before opening his mouth again. “That… Guy..” He begins. “Uncle Andrew..” He corrects. Y/N frowns a bit, knowingly. She figured J had picked up on the slight tension between them..

“You knew him. Because he was mom’s twin..” He says.

Y/N feels the urge to explain more, but she decides to just nod instead. “That’s why you’re not put off by him?” He asks curiously.

Y/N pauses a bit before shrugging slightly. “Remember what I said about learning about something so it loses its horror?” She reminds, letting that statement stand on its own.

J nods a bit, resting his head on her shoulder…

* * * Flashback * * *

“Y/N, stop!” Julia fusses as they pull up to the Cody home, covered only by the darkness of night.

“No. You’re entitled to your shit. She can’t just get mad and kick you out without anything.” Y/N argues as she throws the car in park.

“You don’t understand..” Julia tries, voice tense. Y/N shakes her head, moving to get out of the car. “They’ll kill you.” Julia finally says.

That’s enough to make her friend pause. But only for a moment. Then Y/N is getting fully out of the car and walking over to the house..

When Julia had showed up on Y/N’s front porch earlier today, all she had were the clothes on her back, and she looked a mess. Y/N’s parents seemed almost too hesitant to let her in, but Y/N knew this wasn’t Julia. Her Julia. This was a wreck of a girl who had just been ‘banished’ from her family.

Whatever the hell that meant.

And Y/N wasn’t gonna let those assholes keep anything that rightfully belonged to Julia. She knew better than to just knock on the front door though. The garage was slightly open, and she already knew where Julia’s room was. Loud rock music could be heard coming from the backyard. No doubt coming from Craig’s radio.

Y/N uses it as a camouflage of sorts so she can freely entire the house through the garage door. Looking around, she finds the living room and kitchen empty.

She walks over to the hallway leading to Julia’s room, heart thudding in her throat as she gets to the bedroom door, slowly opening it. It’s pitch black in the room and she slowly steps inside, quietly closing the bedroom door behind her to keep from letting the all of the light flood into the dark hallway. All she had to do was find the damn light switch..

She fumbles to find it, hands rubbing up and down the wall near the bedroom door. She can’t even see an inch in front of her face. The darkness is actually suffocating..

“Come on… Come on…” She murmurs quietly as she searches. The light switch finally grazes her finger tips, making her sigh in shaky relief. The music shuts off in that same second, making her stiffen. She knows she doesn’t have much time to grab a duffle bag of clothes, maybe some cash if she finds it. Julia had told her something about a ‘stash’.

With the lights now on, she turns to fully face the room and lets out a frightened yelp as she sees Pope sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with an unreadable expression. The sight startled her enough to fall back against the door, slamming it fully shut.

“Ay! Who’s slamming doors in my house?!” Smurf shouts from the living room. Y/N doesn’t take her eyes off of Pope, hands on her mouth to keep herself quiet.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. Or why he was even in here. But he sat there with the ability to make or break her night. He was the only thing determining if she made it out of this house tonight or not.

And he knew that.

Footsteps can be heard coming down the hallway as Pope slowly stands up, his dark eyes locked on to hers as he walks closer. She doesn’t move, doesn’t shrink away from his towering form. He reaches for the doorknob and her eyes close, waiting for his loud announcement that she was here. In the house. She lets him open the door a crack. On the other side is Smurf.

“It was me.” Pope says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to slam it..” He says, voice rough with exhaustion. Y/N wants to gasp for air. It’s like a reflex. Like when someone who’s been drowning finally breaks free to the surface. But she holds it down, just relieved he’s covering for her.

“Pope. I know you’re still upset. But you did the right thing telling me about your sister..” Smurf whispers calmly, voice like silk. Y/N stiffens, turning to face Pope now from behind the door. He looks down, ashamed.

“You don’t steal from family.” Smurf says simply. Pope nods at that and allows her to kiss his cheek before she leaves the hallway.

He slowly and quietly shuts the door, finally making himself look at Y/N with guilt clear in his eyes. She shakes her head, unable to believe this.

It was him?!

Pope says nothing. He doesn’t try to defend himself. Instead, he silently heads to the bedroom closet and pulls out a medium sized duffle. He hands it to Y/N, as if knowing why she’s here. Her frustration subsides as she gently takes the bag from him. She moves around him to Julia’s dresser. Only then does he finally talk.

“Hi…” He whispers.

She says nothing back at first, head spinning still. But slowly… She turns back to look at him. “Hi…” She says back quietly, both leaving those words there in the air as a soft goodbye. He walks out of the room and Y/N forces her brain to work again…

Sneaking out of the Cody household was easier than sneaking in.

Pope kept everyone outside in the backyard while she scurried out of Julia’s room and into the garage. When she gets back to the car, Julia is stunned but gratefully takes the bag that holds a few outfits and other personal items.

“No one saw you?” She asks in surprise as Y/N begins to drive off.

“Um… Andrew saw me.” Y/N says. Julia pauses.

“He didn’t stop you?” She asks.

“No. He uh… He covered for me to Smurf.” She continues, voice quiet as she focuses more on the road. She couldn’t risk anything happening to her dad’s car..

“He… Like he lied?” Julia asks quietly as Y/N shrugs, not letting it fully sink in. Until Julia speaks again, voice soft as if she’s talking to herself now.

“He’s never lied to her before…”

* * * Present Day * * *

A hard and firm knocking on Y/N’s front door wakes her from her sleep. She sits up fast, looking around in a daze. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. Slowly setting her book down, she gets up and stumbles a bit to the door, still slightly out of it from just waking up. She opens the door and blinks the remainder of sleep from her eyes as she sees who’s standing on her front stoop.

“Hi…” She whispers. Pope watches her softly.

“Hi…” He whispers back…

*

*

*

The only sound in the kitchen comes from the slight hum of the ceiling fan as it spins at a medium speed.

“Smurf wants J…” Pope mutters finally.

“That’s why you’re here?” Y/N asks, completely bypassing his statement. Her arms cross in order to keep her sweater closed.

“I’m here to warn you..” He says quieter, looking down somewhat.

“Well warning received. Goodnight, Andrew.” She says right back, tone short.

“You don’t get what you’re doing, Y/N..” He says, voice growing tense. “If she says the word..” He trails off. Those five words hang in the air, and Y/N knows they leave a bitter taste on Pope’s tongue.

She can see his eyes twinge slightly.

“You won’t hurt me..” She says, unfazed with a simple shrug.

“I could.” Pope tries shortly. But it’s not a threat.

It’s a fear...

Y/N raises an eyebrow and then moves over to the knife holders by the sink. She grabs one and sets it down on the island counter top between her and Pope. The clink of the knife against the marble rings out in the silence. He stares at the knife with his jaw clenched, gripping the counter top a bit harder.

“Then do it..” She says as she watches his face. He slowly looks up at her, his face unreadable like it was that night all those years ago.

Only… It’s not ‘unreadable’ to Y/N anymore. She knows now what that look really is. It’s Pope going against his programming.

Finally, Pope grabs the knife and slowly walks around the island and over to Y/N, somewhat towering over her as she doesn’t break the eye contact either.

Without looking away, he reaches around Y/N with the knife and sets it back in the holder.

His shoulders are deflated as he realizes at the same time she does; he’s a monster… Yet she still holds a piece of his humanity. And it’s a shield..

“All the paperwork is iron clad. Smurf can stomp her feet all she wants, she can’t have J.” Y/N says simply. Pope watches her, still uneasy.

“Andrew. I worked on it myself when Julia…” She trails off a bit, shifting slightly. Pope seems to straighten up more at that.

“When Julia.. What?” Pope asks. Y/N sighs softly.

“When Julia first got clean.” She finally finishes. “She knew deep down she wouldn’t stay that way. And she needed to make sure J was protected. The way you two should’ve been..” Y/N states as Pope shakes his head fast as if not wanting to think about the ‘what if’s of his life right now.

He stays quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in before he slowly leans against the island, both elbows on the surface as he folds his arms, resting his head on them to try and breathe. Y/N watches, leaning her side against the island as he blinks fast, a habit he has to push down strong emotions.

“Were you there?” He asks finally. Y/N is confused for only a second before shaking her head.

“But leading up to it… Were you around?” He asks. Y/N presses her lips together, knowing what this is. The guilt of having been in jail while Julia went through this. Y/N watches as his eyes seem to well up only slightly. Pope was never one to cry. But his eyes would turn misty every now and again. Like rain clouds rolling in.

“Anytime she let me in, I was there.” Y/N assures quietly. There’s another long moment of silence between the two.

“When she…” He pauses, voice rough. He clears his throat. “Before she died..“ His voice breaks a bit. Y/N places a soft hand on his tense shoulder.

“Did she know?” He asks quietly, stopping at half the question. “Did she know that I loved her?” He tries to add more to the question, yet that still doesn’t feel like the one crowding up his mind right now. Y/N watches him with a heavy heart..

“I just… Did she die knowing I loved her?” Pope finally asks the question the way it was intended..

Y/N frowns softly. “She loved you, Andrew.” She finally says. “And… She died loving you. And J.. And me.” She continues quietly.

“How do you know?” He asks after another moment of silence.

“It’s just something I have to tell myself..” She admits. “Because the alternative is she died scared..” Y/N can feel her stomach twist at that thought.

“And Julia was never scared.” She states simply.

The kitchen is quiet for a good minute or so after that. Pope breaks down softly, being as quiet as he can because it’s second nature for him to hide his cries by now. Y/N moves closer to him, gently cupping his face with both hands so she can stroke his cheeks with her thumbs.

He grips her elbows first and then her upper arms before his hands find her waist to hold her close. He melts against her, allowing this moment only. She presses her forehead against his, both finding comfort and solace in each other…

With eyes shut, the moment of mourning slowly drifts into one of rekindling. Tentatively, Pope’s lips meet hers. The kiss slow and full of an understand that only they two could hold for each other.

Pulling away ever so softly, Pope sighs in quiet relief and it makes Y/N shiver slightly.

“Hi…” He whispers when she finally opens her eyes to meet his attentive and tender ones.

“Hi…” She whispers back..