xoxoloverb

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

“With?”

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

“Of course.”

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

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

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

“Just the top half. For now.”

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

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

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

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

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

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

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

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

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“Poach me, you mean.”

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

That was all it took.

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

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

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

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

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

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

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

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

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

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

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

“Different?”

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

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

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

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

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

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

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

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

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

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

Instead, you say,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

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

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

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

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

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

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

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

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

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

His brows furrow in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

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

“Marry that girl.”

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

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

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

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

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

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

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

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

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

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

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

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

“Even hash browns?”

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

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You all know I’m right.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

“What happened? You okay?”

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

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

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

“But you’re not most people.”

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

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

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

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

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

“What I need is to be here with you.”

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

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

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

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

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

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

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

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

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

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

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

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

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

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

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

“Blood?”

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

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

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

“My angel,” he breathes.

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

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

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

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

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

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

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

“I quit the SWAT team.”

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

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

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

“What is it, Jack?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

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

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

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

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

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

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

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

“I’m really proud of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, hon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robby, relax. Please?”

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

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

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

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Jack.”

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

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

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

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

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

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

“Robby.”

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

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

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

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

“All of that.”

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

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

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

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

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

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

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

Robby.

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

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

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

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

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

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

“Hey, brother.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

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

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

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

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

Chapter 1: Full Moon

Chapter 2: Functioning

Your first encounter had been right at the front door, where Robby and Jack were positioned to greet the guests.

This, you were prepared for.

Jack's his best friend. There was no way he wasn't going to be at this wedding. So, you plaster a smile across your face, and put on the show of a lifetime.

Jack's easy. You've always liked him. He was Best Man at your own wedding to Robby.

It becomes more of a struggle when your eyes land on the man you thought you'd be with for the rest of your life. "Michael," You nod curtly, decidedly not going in for the hug you had with Jack.

He holds a hand to his chest in faux-offence. "You wound me, sweetheart. I thought we put the animosity to bed with the divorce settlement."

There hadn't been much to settle. No children, and Robby let you keep the house. The only thing he let you give him was your engagement ring.

The sight of it made you sick. A reminder of all the ways you failed each other.

At the time, it felt like an attack - like he was trying to one-up you, prove that he could be the bigger person. Eighteen months on, you're endlessly glad you didn't have to try and find another place to live while your world was crumbling around you.

"You look good," he continues, and when your gaze meets his, you know he's being sincere.

"I should get inside," is your reply. "I promised Dana I'd grab seats for her and Benji."

And with that, your first interaction with Robby in twelve months comes to a close.

*****

Glancing quickly at the seating chart, your heart sinks when you see your name scrawled next to Michael Robinavitch. Normally Best Man is up beside the couple, but the Mohan-Abbots had opted for a sweetheart table.

Meaning you're doomed to four hours of your ex-husband's company. And what's worse: you're enjoying it.

Robby's always looked good in a tux, but the charm offensive is at its highest today - pressing a kiss to your cheek in greeting, dealing out the compliments in spades, and refilling your glass each time it starts to get low.

"Remember ours?" He asks, voice quiet as he leans over to you during the first dance.

"Of course I do. We danced to Roy Orbison and then my heel snapped halfway through, so I had to go barefoot for the rest of the night."

"That was a good day," He muses, expression unreadable as he watches Jack and Samira. He looks almost... wistful?

"Yeah, it was. Pity they weren't all like that."

Against all the odds, COVID had been one of the better times for you and Robby. Freshly married, where the work had been absolute hell, you'd found solace in each other.

Things were good, until they weren't. Until Robby couldn't outrun his demons anymore, and then stopped trying entirely.

"Yeah, uhm, about that..." He says softly. "I wanted to apologise."

This you weren't expecting. Arching an eyebrow, you turn towards him. "For what?"

"For everything," Robby murmurs, his gaze finally dropping from Jack and Samira to his own hands. He swallows hard, his jaw tight as he traces the line of his thumb. "For checking out. Giving up on us."

Your hand tightens around your wine glass, as you search his expression - looking for the catch, the deflection. You find none. "It's in the past now, anyway." Your voice is barely above a whisper. "We just... weren't meant to be. And that's fine."

"Mhm," is his only response. As if unconvinced.

You're not even sure you've convinced yourself, much less him, and against your better judgement, he talks you into a dance.

Were it not a wedding, you're positive you'd be able to resist him. But when it feels like everybody around you is perfectly happy and coupled up, you find it incredibly easy to slip back into Robby's embrace.

You still have some sense.

Keeping his hand firmly on your waist, rather than slipping downwards to where it used to settle, you try and think of anything but the man in front of you.

The potential melanoma that you saw in clinic last week.

Not the wrinkle lines that crease at Robby's eyes.

Your shopping list for next week.

Not how warm he feels against you.

The fact that you're running out of Black Honey.

Not anything to do with Michael Robinavitch.

You tap out after a ballad, unable to take the proximity to him anymore, and excuse yourself to go mingle with Dana and Perlah.

The rest of the night is spent willing yourself not to look back over at him.

*****

"You know, it'll be us next," Robby says, voice low as he watches you say goodbye to Samira.

"By us, do you mean your ex-wife?" Jack asks, eyebrow arched. "Because I hate to break it to you, brother, but you've already done that. And it went up in fuckin' flames."

"It would be different this time," Robby shakes his head.

"Yeah? How?"

"You'll see." Robby pats Jack on the back, and gets to his feet, moving to intercept you as you make for the door. The stairs down from the venue are pretty steep, and he clocked your Louboutins during dinner.

He bought you that pair on your honeymoon. He wonders if you remember.

"Need a hand?"

He can see that you're about to decline, before taking a sample step, and letting out a sigh. "Yes, please."

Robby tries not to let the contact get to his head too quickly as he slips an arm through yours. He hadn't even realised until tonight just how much he's missed you.

Truly.

The days after he moved out of your shared house had been some of the worst of his entire life. After about six months of no-contact, he'd finally decided that he needed to get his life together, and move on with things.

Get back on the horse, as Jack put it.

Except now it's eighteen months on from the divorce, he's been on exactly zero dates, and all he can think about is winning you back.

"This is purely because I can't walk in these shoes," You warn. "Nothing more."

Robby's jolted from his daydream and back to reality. Right. You don't want him back at all.

He's gotta find a way to change that.

Number two. Nineteen months post-divorce. A persistence.

After Jack and Samira's wedding, you're not expecting to see Robby again until they start having kids and you're invited to the baby shower.

That doesn't appear to be the case when you watch his motorcycle pull into the parking lot of your clinic exactly one week later.

A notch appears between your brows immediately, but you're still in the middle of a consultation - you have a feeling that your patient wouldn't be too thrilled with you leaping up to investigate.

Instead, you assure her that her mole has not, in fact, grown three centimetres since you saw her last week. It takes multiple pictures and two rulers before she'll even consider that it may be stress-related.

By the time you're finished, the last person you want to deal with is your ex-husband.

At least it's a paeds clinic after lunch. The children tend to be much easier to handle, and usually have straight-forward presentations. Eczema, contact dermatitis, or psoriasis for the teens.

All things you can do in your sleep.

But first, lunch. And getting Michael Robinavitch to leave.

He's leaning over the desk at reception, one of his more charming smiles plastered across his face as he talks to Pippa at reception. “I was just wondering if you knew when she'd be finish– oh, there she is. No need. Thanks for all your help.”

You've known Pippa for two years, and you've never once seen her crack a smile out in the lobby. She's practically grinning at Robby.

Uh oh.

This is bad.

Still scowling at him, you reach for the collar of his shirt and tug sharply, forcing him to fall into step behind you as you head for your office.

You don't need to air all your dirty laundry in the middle of your practice.

As soon as the door clicks shut, you're spinning on your heel. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Robby just shrugs. “You said you work Fridays usually. Thought you might like some company for lunch.”

“You know - ex-husbands don't usually just hang out with their ex-wives.”

“When have we ever been ordinary though?” He's exhaustingly chipper today - a far cry from his demeanour during the latter years of your marriage.

You take him in, trying to work out if this is all some big practical joke. After trying to tell yourself that the Abbot-Mohan wedding was a fluke, you grudgingly have to admit to yourself that Robby does look good.

He's got exactly the right amount of scruff going for him right now, he's lost the alcohol bloat, and he seems like there's less of the world's weight on his shoulders.

“I don't think this is a good idea.”

“Lunch is always a good idea,” He replies easily. “Three meals a day, and all that.”

There's no way out of this. Once Robby sets his mind to something, he's going to get it. Sighing heavily, you reach for your bag and jacket. “Only if you're paying.”

“Always, sweetheart.”

You fight the urge to remind him that your salary exceeds his by about 40k a year these days, with all the private work.

Even when you were married, you were still the official breadwinner of the family. Skin pays more than emergencies.

“And don't call me sweetheart.”

You're expecting some kind of quip, or snarky remark, but he just nods, and offers you his hand. “Got it.”

“We're not holding hands.”

Another nod, and he follows you out of the clinic and onto the street. You pretend to miss the looks exchanged between your staff.

A few of them know Robby already, and you're betting the ones that don't are wondering why you've been keeping him a secret.

“Noted. Hand-holding's more of a date two activity then?”

The expression on your face is nothing short of murderous. “This is not a date. It's lunch.”

“With somebody you've slept with many, many times before.”

Whatever illusions you'd managed to conjure of Robby after the wedding are completely shattered.

Because Michael Robinavitch is many things, but cool and suave are not amongst them. He's annoying and persistent, and a bad husband.

“I'm going back inside and ordering from Uber Eats-”

“No, no, no - wait!” A hand curls round your wrist, and you think that there might be a hint of desperation in his tone. “M'sorry, shit - just, don't go.”

“Why not?” Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you cross them both over your chest, and do your best to stare him down.

He swallows heavily, voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “I miss you.”

"Robby," You sigh, but he cuts you off.

"We were in each other's lives for almost a decade - don't you think it's a little unnatural for that to have all disappeared? Surely we can be friends."

You have to bite back a scream. "If I remember correctly, it was you who didn't want to be friends."

"I didn't want us to break up in the first place!"

It slips out without thought, and you're suddenly regretting taking a lunch break at all. "I'm not doing this here," You start, but he beats you to the draw.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He scratches the back of his neck, and glances around the sidewalk before his chin drops to his chest. "I've been doing the work. Going to therapy, no more alcohol, you name it. M'even taking some time off work to really get into it all."

The Robby you were married to would never have considered taking the blame for his actions.

"Can't undo the last decade, Michael," you reply softly.

"I know," he insists. "I know. Believe me. It's a well-discussed topic in therapy. I just... I'm trying to be better. And I want to try and make things right with you. One hundred percent platonically."

"You literally just called this a date," you deadpan.

He scoffs. "I didn't say I was perfect."

Number three. Twenty months post-divorce. Another man.

Apparently, you and Robby text now.

You're as surprised as anybody else, but in the time you've been separated, Robby's persistence appears to have intensified greatly.

Each Thursday, he meets you at the clinic for lunch, having bribed newly-qualified attending Frank to cover for him.

He offers to pick you up after nights out, which you accept more often than not (you hate getting Ubers when you're drunk).

Currently?

He's fixing your busted boiler.

You'd be lying if you said that you hadn't dropped it into a text because you knew that he would drop everything to come and fix it for you. Even with a sabbatical looming in just a week, his reply had been instantaneous.

Now, you're perched on the washing machine while you watch a sweaty Robby tinker around in the washroom.

He's already been warned that you have a date tonight, and therefore has to be finished by seven - complete honesty is the main policy of this tentatively developing friendship.

All you'd received in response had been a thumbs up.

That means he's furious.

Really, it had been a little mean on your part. But he doesn't have a claim to you anymore, and you need him to know that if he's going to still be in your life.

When you excuse yourself to the bathroom, you're not expecting your phone to be in Robby's hand when you return. "Roger from Hinge said he's going to be late tonight."

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Your phone vibrated. Thought it might have been an emergency."

You snatch it out of his grasp and scowl. "Why would an emergency text and not call?"

You both go to step at once, awkwardly colliding chest-to-chest. "Can I see a picture of him?"

"What? No!"

"Why not? Thought we were being honest."

It amazes you that Robby manages to somehow be the most serious man you've ever met, and also emulate a toddler with his petulance. You reach for your phone, and don't even notice Robby dipping his head.

His lips are on yours, and suddenly you're twenty-six again and making out with your attending for the first time after the worst shift of your life.

You'd already decided that Emergency Medicine was not for you, but that Michael Robinavitch absolutely was.

In your head, it was going to be a fling. Something sexy and secret for your final year of med school.

The wedding had been a surprise - you never thought that Robby was the type.

The 3 carat emerald cut bezel had told you otherwise. You'd never been able to build up the courage to ask him exactly how much money he spent on it.

The divorce had been an even bigger surprise.

Not to you, by the end. The last eighteen months of your seven-year-marriage had been decidedly less-than-stellar, to the point where couples counselling couldn't even make a dent.

After COVID and Pittfest, you didn't even recognise your husband anymore. You didn't recognise yourself.

While your mind might be surprised by the contact, your body certainly isn't, and you gasp into his mouth.

His hands are everywhere, hauling you closer to him, and you can feel your carefully-applied lipstick smudging across his cheek.

It's only after two minutes of kissing that you finally pull back, and surface to catch your breath. "Robby, I have to go - I have plans."

He's not quite so easily deterred, though. "Yeah, with a guy who looks just like me." You didn't even make it to showing Robby his photo, and yet he's right. Tall, dark, and broody - you've very clearly got a type. He leans in to kiss you again, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure when you melt into his touch. "You could have the real thing, baby. I'm right here."

That's the problem. Ever since you reconnected with him at Jack and Samira's wedding, it's like Robby has been everywhere.

He's practically inescapable.

He moves to suck a mark onto your collarbone, and you make the feeblest of attempts to push him off. "This is a bad idea."

"It's only a bad idea if we make it one," Robby hums, crowding you up against the kitchen counter, as you feel your willpower start to seep away. You have plans with Roger in thirty minutes.

But when Robby sinks to his knees in front of you, hiking one leg over his shoulder, you forget he even exists. “Say the word, and I will,” He mumbles.

There are many words that would end this right now.

Stop. No. Don't.

And yet, your lips can't seem to conjure any of them. You try and form each of the letters, but the only one that forms is an R.

Then an O.

Two B's.

And a Y.

He doesn't need to move your underwear to get you where you need to go. Kissing and nipping, licking and sucking - your grip on the doorframe tightens with every passing second.

Suddenly, you're struck with a vision of a morning with Robby, a week before you filed for divorce. A vision of what your future could be like if you let him in again.

The television hums in the background, something neither of you is watching. Dinner's been sitting in the oven on low for almost half an hour. The chicken is drying out.

You hear him sigh before he even rounds the corner into the kitchen.

"Hey." His voice is flat. Tired.

You look up from the sink. "Hey."

He drops his keys into the bowl by the door. Misses. Doesn't bother picking them up.

"Long day?"

"Mhm."

You wait for something more. Anything. But it doesn't come.

"You want me to plate up dinner?"

"If you want."

It's always 'if you want' these days. It's a Herculean effort to bite your tongue. "My brother called - asked if we wanted to come round next weekend."

"M'working." It's barely more than a grunt.

"You've worked the last six Saturdays - surely someone else could cover. Jack would cover. You could tell them no for once."

"I can't."

"You mean you won't."

"Stop!"

Your voice is the firmest it's been all night. Chest heaving, it's all you can manage to scramble away from Robby. He kneels where he is, hands hesitating where you were just a second ago.

"W-What's wrong? Did I do something?"

Your lip is trembling. “I don't think I can do this again. You hurt me so much, Michael. I-I mean, you're fucking leaving in a week-”

Robby's face falls.

“M'going on sabbatical, not leaving. I'm really trying to work the rest of my shit out. Let me do that, and then let me win you back. Please. I haven't done any of this solely to get you back. But I can't imagine being with anyone else.”

He folds his hands together.

"I spent a long time thinking providing was enough. That if I worked harder, put in more hours, kept the lights on, paid the mortgage..." He shrugs. "That was love."

"You stopped talking to me."

"I know."

"You stopped letting me in."

"I know."

Finally, you summon the courage to ask the million dollar question. "Would it be different this time? If we did it again?"

"Yes." He sounds so sure of his answer that you're almost envious.

But you're still not quite ready. "I hope you're not expecting me to sit at home for three months and wait for you."

"Never," he replies immediately, and you genuinely believe him. "I just want to be in the running again. And earn it. Properly."

Number four. Two years post-divorce. A date.

Robby. 22:01. Just got back to town What are you up to?

You hate your heart for doing a little flip as soon as it sees Robby's name flash on your phone.

Two years ago, the same sight made you sick to your stomach.

He had told you that he'd be in touch when he was finished with his sabbatical, but you assumed that meant you'd get a call a week after he was home. Not the same night.

Maybe Michael Robinavitch has had some character growth. Maybe he could be a good husband this time round-

No. You can't let yourself think like that.

You and Robby got divorced for a reason. Many reasons. More reasons than you got married in the first place.

He was married to his work, first and foremost. Never once did he stray, and he barely even glanced at the nurses and interns who would look at him with stars in their eyes, and yet you were still the other woman within your own marriage.

Then there were the self-destructive tendencies. The times when he'd hit the alcohol a little too hard after a long shift, and be almost unresponsive for hours as he slept it off.

Mostly, you think it was the refusal to try and help himself.

To try therapy. Properly. Not just a few meetings before calling it quits, but really making some efforts towards self-improvement. He couldn't do it for himself, and he wouldn't do it for you.

You couldn't handle the stress long-term. Of not knowing when he'd be home that night, or whether you were getting sweet, romantic Michael, or sour-faced Robby.

It had been the hardest decision of your life, serving him with divorce papers.

But it clearly all worked out for the better. You're both healthier apart, though happier is probably debatable. You like the peace that being single affords you.

So why are you considering letting him back in, after all the therapy and work to get over him?

"Is everything okay?" Mark's voice cuts through your spiral, and your gaze snaps up to him.

"Hm?"

"You get bad news or something? You've been staring at your phone for like two minutes."

Shit.

Your fingers start moving before you can consider your response. If Robby's matured so much, he'll be perfectly alright with this.

You. 22:04. I'm on a date, actually

"Sorry, it was just work. Asking for a consult." Your smile is tight, and you're hoping he doesn't see through the very obvious lie.

If he does, he doesn't comment on it, and you return to your conversation about shares, or stocks, or something equally boring.

Robby had handled all the investment stuff while you were married, and now you pay someone to do it for you.

Finally, he heads up to the bar to get more drinks, and you slip your phone out again.

Robby. 22:05. When will you be done? I'll come and pick you up. Miss my girl.

A text like that from anybody other than Robby would have earned an instant block. Unfortunately, despite his three months away, you're still not immune to the Robinavitch charm.

You never have been.

Besides - you'd already decided you weren't going to sleep with Mark tonight. He's a nice enough guy, but the deal had been sealed when you'd been discussing music, and he hadn't known who Patti Smith was. This man is not your soulmate. But going home alone would mean a date with your vibrator, and one orgasm at most.

Robby would double that, at least.

You. 22:21. ...Not your girl But you can pick me up around 11.

You shoot him the address of the bar, and consider how you're definitely going to hell for this.

The rest of the date passes in half-time, so painfully slowly that you figure you must have a few new wrinkles than you did at the start. Finally, it's time to make your escape. To ease the impending blow, you throw down your half of the cheque in notes, along with a sizeable tip. "You know, I'm really sorry, but there actually was a work emergency. Thought it would be okay, but they need me in."

"A... dermatology emergency?"

"They're more common than you'd think - my colleague is coming to pick me up," You lie through your teeth. "But I had a really nice night."

Another lie.

You try to dart out so that Mark won't see you leave with Robby, but no luck. The motorcycle is pulled up to the curb with Robby leaning against it, a second helmet in his hands.

“I thought you were going to bring the car!” You hiss, throwing Mark an apologetic glance over your shoulder.

"Bike was what I was riding, and I missed my girl. Mark have a problem with that?"

"If he knew you were my ex, probably."

Maybe you and Robby do deserve each other. God, you're awful. Robby clips the helmet under your chin, and you pretend to not notice your date's gaze staring at you both while he waits for his car to be brought round.

"You ready?"

You nod, though you feel anything but. You've never liked the bike, much to Robby's chagrin. One of his favourite things is having you wrap your arms around his waist while he drives.

*****

Fuck, he knows you too well. It's almost unfair, that even after over a year of separation that he still knows you better than anybody in the world.

There are no pleasantries. No discussions. Just a beeline for the house, before clothes are discarded in a haphazard manner as you try and make it to the bedroom in one piece.

You don't quite make it there before Robby gives you orgasm number one. Torso on the top landing, he gets carried away on the staircase, leaving you totally seeing stars.

Thankfully, he's more than familiar with the house layout, and carries you the rest of the way.

“W-Wait - condom," You interrupt. Last thing you need is a baby to complicate matters. He reaches for the bedside table, complete muscle memory, but you shake your head. “Down one.”

He huffs a little, obviously put out at the change in what he still considers to be his home.

Of course, the fact that you have these at all makes his blood boil a little.

Not that you can't have seen other people.

You've been separated for almost two years, and were growing apart long before that, but god is he so glad to have you like this again. In the home that you both shared - on the bed that he paid for.

Like nothing ever went wrong.

Determined to put the memory of all other men to shame, Robby takes you around his cock, before giving you his fingers and tongue again. By the time you come down, you're more spent than he's ever seen you before.

You're barely awake as you curl into his side. "How was the trip?"

"Really great," he answers honestly. "Did me a lot of good, but I'm glad to be back. Missed you too much."

"Shouldn't be telling you this," you hum slightly, eyes fluttering closed. "But I missed you too."

Number five. Three years post-divorce. Forever.

“You have some white coming in,” You hum, fingers carding through Robby's hair where his head rests in your lap. The windows are cracked open just enough to let a breeze in, and you can hear the faint sounds of a lawn mower down the street.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You separate a few strands between your fingers, tilting his head toward the light. "Right here. My favourite old man."

Robby scoffs. "That feels excessive."

"Well, you did marry a woman eighteen years younger than you. Feels like something you brought on yourself."

You think back to the man who used to come home after twelve-hour shifts, kiss you on the forehead, tell you he was just tired, then carry the weight of the world around in silence until it crushed everything else.

This version of Robby still has bad days.

Still wakes up anxious sometimes. Annoyed. Still gets overwhelmed by work. Still occasionally retreats to the garage or the backyard for half an hour when his head gets too loud.

The difference is that he always comes back.

And he lets you help.

Sure, it had been a little embarrassing announcing that you were back with your ex-husband - especially after all the shit that had gone down between you both.

But Robby had been right.

There's no one else you could ever imagine being with.

Despite all this, you're still shocked when the next words fall from his lips. "Marry me."

"What?" Your fingers freeze mid-motion, and you try to gage from his upside-down expression whether he's joking or not. You don't think he is.

"Marry me. Again."

"Holy shit," You breathe, head spinning. "What? Are you joking?"

He sits up, turning to take your hands in his. "Deadly serious, sweetheart. I uh, didn't really know what the etiquette was for this kind of thing - I know you liked your first ring, but that felt sort of like bad karma. So I was thinking, if you say yes, we could go shopping for a new one together."

A few years ago, you would have been making the biggest mistake of your life. Now, you don't feel a shred of hesitation. "Yes."

His face breaks into a smile. "Yeah?"

You nod, lip between your teeth as you fight back tears. "Fuck it. Let's get married again."

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Although the request mentions she pronoun, after I wrote the fic I realised I did not include any pronouns so it can be g/n!

TW/TAGs: eczema flare up, Jack taking care of you, reader embarrassed about her eczema

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: I will always use my platform to talk about important topics, so while we're on the topic of dermatology, I wanted to remind you all that there is so much underrepresentation and racism when it comes to skin conditions. Around 5% - 10% of images that appear in dermatology textbooks are on black skin, when there are approximately 1.4 billion black people on this earth. There is a huge diagnostic gap to this day, and this leads to mortality that is so preventable.

Let's never stop talking about inequality in healthcare, people. <3

@lacy1986

Keep track of your triggers. That's what the dermatologist kept telling you.

So you know to avoid them. She reminded you.

Make sure you follow the treatment plan. She hands you a piece of paper.

It's a new regime; I'm sure it'll work this time. She smiles softly.

Maybe you should have reminded her that this might have been your 5th visit this year, and you are currently on number three of a 'new regime', and your triggers? Was anything and everything. You couldn't possibly lock yourself up in a bubble now, can you?

Or maybe you can. Because today... today you wanted to lock yourself up and be miserable.

You woke up in pain, a throbbing sensation all over your skin, matching the beat of your heart. As you reach over to flick the bedside lamp on, you feel your skin tear just around your wrist, and you cry out in pain. This new regime must be working miracles, you think to yourself. As you turn the light on, you look down at your body and sigh. You have been scratching yourself in your sleep, and this time, you have drawn blood, and your nice bedsheets are now covered in red blotches. The patches that started appearing two days ago have now doubled in size, and not only are they red, but your skin is dry and discoloured. You are too scared to get out of bed because the patches that surround your knees are about to break, and you know it means a painful day for you. You opt to stay in bed, call Jack, who doesn't pick up, so you opt for Robby and tell him you won't be making it to work today. You are in no state to move, and the thought of applying sanitiser on your hands sent a nauseating feeling through you. A big tub of ointment sat right next to your bed, so you lathered it on all the broken and sore skin and lay back in bed. It gave you temporary relief, but this was nowhere near the end of your chronic illness.

Your phone rings just as you find a comfortable position, that doesn't irritate your sore skin patches.

"Sweetheart, where are you?" Jack has been worried sick when you didn't show up to work.

"I uhhh." You groan in pain as you twist around, "Didn't Robby tell you?"

"I'm sorry I missed your call, I got there and Robby said you weren't in and then you weren't answering your phone so I'm on my way to you now."

"No! no, no don't come here!"

"Why not?"

"You'll catch what I have!" you say quickly, kicking your legs in frustration, which is a big mistake because you felt the scabs around your knees tear.

"What do you have?"

"Uhhh, the flu!"

You could fool anyone in this world, but not Jack. "Yeah, you sound congested."

"I'm soo congested and sneezy."

"Sure, baby, sure." Jack murmurs, "Open the door."

"What?"

"Open... the door." Jack says slowly, "I'm outside."

"One sec" you hang up, throwing the phone to the side and getting out of bed as quickly as your body allows. You throw on a long-sleeved pyjama top and bottoms and walk over to the door. "Shit. shit. shit!" You take a deep breath, preparing for an act that you indeed have the flu.

"Morning, Jack."

He tilted his head to the side and sympathetically murmured, "Oh baby."

"I know," you fake a cough, "so bad."

"No, your eyes!" he reaches over for your face, gently tracing his thumb along your jaw line, "they're so sore."

"What?"

"Are you having a flare up?"

"No!" You brush his hand off and hurry off to the bathroom, which was yet another mistake. You take one look in the mirror, and there was no hiding your flare-up, because it was literally all over your face. Your eyelids are red raw and swollen. "Fucking shit balls!"

"Can you open the door please?" Jack says softly.

"Give me a minute"

"Are you hiding from me?"

"No...." You say defeatedly.

"That's lie number three this morning and it's not even 8am."

You open the door slowly, chin tilted down looking at the floor. "Sorry."

"Oh, you will be." Jack murmurs softly, lifting your chin up so you can face him, "You're embarrassed because you're having a flare-up?"

"Maybe..."

Jack clicks his teeth and shakes his head at you, "you're silly."

"I'm sorry for lying."

"Nothing to be sorry about my love, now let's take a look at your skin."

"No! No, I've managed it all on my own. It's fine."

"Huh...Promise?"

"Uhhh..."

"Thought so. I did wonder why you're wearing long-sleeved pyjamas when it's literally summer. Couch or bed?"

This was certainly a battle in which you are not going to win against your boyfriend who is overly protective and never stops being a doctor, "Bed..."

He wraps one strong arm around you, pulling you closer to him as he leads the way to the bedroom.

"Sit."

"Yes boss."

"Can I take off your clothes?"

"Oooo you usually never ask." You tease him and Jack in response, chuckles and blushes. "Are you blushing right now!"

"Shush you. Dont turn me on mid crisis. Clothes off, c'mon, I'll help." He gently takes off your pyjama bottoms first, watching your face as it winces with every movement. "This is a bad flare up."

"Mhmm."

"What have you used so far?" he leans closer, examining each patch, and you feel yourself starting to tear up in embarrassment.

"Just an ointment..."

He sits on the bed next to you and slowly helps you take off your top, carefully examining each sore and broken patch of skin. "Let's get you in the bath, and then we're gonna help soothe the skin. How does that sound?"

"You don't have to help..."

"Oh we're being super silly today" he says sarcastically, "i'll just sit on the side and be useless then, shall I?"

"I feel disgusting... and I look horrible."

Jack leans in, gently moving your face toward him, "Do you think I'm going to love you any less because of an illness?"

"I just...don't want you seeing me like this." You turn away from him again, wiping the tears that are now rushing down like a waterfall.

"Baby look at me."

"No..."

"Okay, I'm gonna run you a bath, and then we're gonna talk about why you're so wrong." Jack presses his lips against your cheek. "Just remember that I love you for who you are, however you come. I don't not love you on bad days."

Moments later, Jack tells you the bath is ready, and he helps you carefully sit on the edge of the bath as he wipes the ointment off your skin first. "So the ointment creates a barrier... locking the moisture in." He explains softly, "and we need the skin to not have a barrier before you sit in the bath."

"Yes, doc." You run your hand through his curls as he attends to your skin.

"We'll moisturise when you're out of the bath." He helps you get in the bath slowly, and watches your face as it relaxes the moment the lukewarm water touches your skin. Jack sits on the other side of the bathtub, one hand in the oily water, massaging your skin, and the other hand resting on your arm.

"Feeling better?"

"Mhmm."

"Do you want me to leave?"

You shake your head, "I'm sorry for being silly."

"What are you even apologising for?" Jack murmurs softly, his hand gently rubbing the open wound on your knee, "You're in pain and ill, your feelings are justifiable. But what I don't understand is you hiding from me..."

"You know how people feel about eczema.. Some people look at it differently... like I'm disgusting and contagious."

"But I'm not these people, okay, baby? I will never think of you like that."

You both stay quiet for a while, Jack continues to massage the water against all the sore spots, and you find yourself so relaxed that you start crying again. He shifts closer to you, pressing gentle kisses to your lips, while one hand stays resting on your jaw.

"Shall we get back to bed?" he murmurs.

"Yes, please."

"Anything you need, baby."

He helps you stand up slowly, careful of you not to slip in the oily bath and wraps a towel around you. Every one of his moves is gentle and calculated, avoiding irritating your skin further, as he applies the various creams and ointments to your skin. He grabs one of your medical-grade eczema stockings, wrapping it gently around your arms and legs. "Close your eyes," he says, applies the cream around your eyes and, without another word, kisses your lips once more. "Beautiful."

"You sure about that?"

"A billion per cent sure. Breathtakingly beautiful."

"I love you, Jack."

He fucks you while you’re preparing breakfast. He watches as you cook in nothing but his shirt. He leans against the counter as he watches his shirt fall off one of your shoulders. You're humming a song while flipping pancakes, unaware of his predatory gaze. He moves off the counter and walks behind you. He turns you over to face him, hugging you softly. His lips touch your neck immediately, hands traveling from your waist to your ass, cupping them. He picks you up without warning, setting you on the counter in front of him. He kneels in front of you in an instant, pulling your shirt up and bringing you to sit closer to the edge. His hands move to your thighs, and he adjusts your legs so they’re on his shoulders. He dips his head down and straight to your pussy. His tongue licks your pussy in a line first, just to taste you. He moves closer against your pussy as he starts sucking your clit. He holds your trembling thighs. His tongue sets a gurgling rhythm. He feels your hand tug his hair; you feel the vibration of his groan against your clit. He doesn’t care that the pancake is now burnt.

3:00 pm:

He fucks because you make the best tomato soup with grilled cheese for lunch. He watches as you make him a plate and set it down in front of him. He looked at you with so much awe that blood ran straight through his cock. Because you’re perfect. Because he loves you. He pats his lap, and you gladly sit down. He kisses your lips softly at first, but the moment you grind on his hard cock, the kiss becomes sloppy and wet. He didn’t need to break the kiss to pull your panties to the side and free his cock. He entered you slowly, trying to remember the way your tight pussy feels. His head falls back as you ride him. He doesn't care that his lunch is now cold.

5:00 pm:

He fucks you while a movie plays. He couldn’t help it; his head was lying on your lap while you ran your hand through his hair. He didn’t even notice his cock getting hard from how good and relaxed you were making him feel. He moans softly, his warm breath hitting your bare thighs. He closes his eyes softly, feeling your free hand move down his chest. He whimpers quietly as your hand reaches the waistband of his boxers. His hips buck as you grab his cock, stroking him. Your thumb runs over his tip. He becomes needy and impatient; he guides you down on the couch. He doesn’t care that he's missing the plot twist in the movie.

7:00 pm:

He fucks you before you’re about to cook dinner. He sees you bending over to grab something out of the bottom cabinet. He moves behind you, sets his hands on your thighs, bringing you closer to your ass hitting his thighs. He whispers into your ear, his voice rough and low. His big arms hug you tightly. He kisses your neck, taking a step forward so the front of your thighs hit the cold cabinets and your waist pressed against the counter. Your hands on the counter, and you gasp as you feel his hard cock enter you without warning. He doesn't care that now he has to order takeout.

10:00 pm:

He fucks before you go to sleep. Your head pushed up against the mattress. He slaps your ass, making your back arch even more. Your chest on the mattress, ass in the air while he fucks you. The sound of skin slapping against each other. His pace is hard and rough as he pounds into your pussy. He loves seeing your face pushed against the mattress, hair all over your face, while you scream his name. He doesn’t care that the bed is loud, squeaking, and scraping against the floor.

2:00 am:

He wakes up in the middle of the night cock hard pressed up against you. He whispers into your ear, pleading and whiny. You couldn’t help it; you needed to help him. He watches your sleepy body move on top of him. He watches you in the dark; the only light is coming through the small gap in the curtains. The moonlight hits your body. His gaze fixed on you as you took off your shirt-his shirt. He helped you remove your panties. He could see the determination to please him. He admired every movement as you positioned yourself on him. Once your wet slick pussy took in his cock, you began moving. It was a slow grinding movement. His hands on your hips helped you keep the pace. He pushed his head back on the pillow, eyes closed and focused on the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock. Taking in the feeling of you riding him. He groans softly, feeling your cold hands grab onto his chest. You quicken the pace. He could only focus on the way you felt, the way you sounded, the way you looked. You were all that consumed his mind. When he came, he moaned so loudly. He doesn’t care that it’s the middle of the night.

​

You slid into it, set your coffee in the cup holder, and immediately started brushing imaginary dust from the notebook.

You made it.

The thought still didn't feel real. You were finally in medical school. You were, as of today, an M1. Someone had actually looked at your application and your MCAT scores and thought, Yes. We'd trust her with people's lives someday.

You were still staring at the embossed university seal on the welcome packet folder when a voice interrupted your internal giddyness.

"This one taken?"

You looked up at the man who’d worked his way down the increasingly crowded row. He stood there looking unfairly put together, with none of the underlying nervousness most of the rest of the room was projecting. His plain henley and faded Levi’s strung with a brown leather belt combined with his broken in brown work boots to project an air of someone unquestionably comfortable in his own skin. That alone would have been uncommon without the slightly sunbleached olive backpack he had slung over one shoulder. 

He wasn't handsome in the movie star sense.

But he had an air that said I know what I’m doing that was hard to ignore. Solid was the word that came to mind. Broad shoulders. Forearms corded with the kind of muscle that came from years of using them rather than cultivating them. Close cropped auburn hair that looked more habitual than flattering.

He was also older than most of the people filing in. It wasn’t by much - he hardly looked like a professor - but he had to be an upperclassman. M2 or M3 maybe, here to help out on orientation day.

"Oh!" You pull your messenger bag closer. "No, not at all."

"Thanks."

He settled into the seat beside you with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd already figured out exactly how much room he was comfortable occupying in the world.

There was no frantic flipping through papers, no checking the room every thirty seconds. He simply set his bag down, took out a pen, and started reading through the welcome packet.

You lasted almost forty five seconds before you tried to speak to him. "Do you know if they assign anatomy groups today?"

He glanced over. "I hope so."

You blinked. "...You hope so?"

"Sure,” he answers, not really paying attention.

You smiled politely, if with some confusion. “They didn’t tell you?”

That makes him finally look over at you for real. “You think they told me but not you?”

“Maybe,” you say. "I mean...aren't you one of the student mentors?"

A faintly amused expression crossed his face. "I'm a first year."

You stared at him, faintly embarrassed - though really, nothing about him said MS1.

A corner of his mouth twitched. "You thought I was a second year?"

You search for something to say that isn’t just pointing out that while he’s far from old he’s also not exactly your age. "I thought maybe you were helping with orientation."

He nodded once, as though considering the evidence. "I can see that."

"...No, you can't."

"I probably would've assumed the same."

"You absolutely would not have."

"I might've…"

You groaned softly into one hand. "Can’t believe I've been here less than five minutes and I've already offended someone."

"You didn't offend me."

"I implied you looked old."

"You implied I looked experienced."

“That’s just the same thing phrased nicer.”

That got him. A laugh escaped before he could stop it. It wasn’t loud and didn’t last long, but it was enough that you felt the tension in your shoulders ease. He offered his hand to you. "Jack Abbott."

You tell him your name as you take his hand with careful firmness. His own handshake was firm without being crushing.

Warm.

Steady.

You wondered if he practiced using the right amount of pressure with his dad the same way you had.

"Nice to meet you."

Before you could think of something normal to say back, the dean stepped up to the podium. "Good morning," he began, as the room settled and conversation dissolved into silence.

The dean smiled out at the sea of anxious faces. "First, I’d like to say congratulations. Out of thousands of applicants, each of you earned a seat in this room."

You straightened instinctively.

"You come to us from every imaginable background. Some of you graduated college a few months ago. Some of you have pursued graduate degrees. Some of you have had entirely different careers before deciding medicine was where you belonged."

You could see Jack nodding along next to you.

"Whatever path brought you here," the dean continued, "today, you're all beginning the same journey."

Packets rustled.

Pens clicked.

You uncapped yours along with the people around you, but noticed Jack wasn't writing. He was just…listening. Really listening. Like he wasn't worried about missing anything because he trusted himself to remember what mattered.

You envied that.

An hour later, you all were released for coffee before the next session.

The hallway became instant chaos.

You were trying to multitask, prying the lid off a tiny container of cream cheese for the complimentary bagels while also attempting to decipher the map that had been in your orientation packet. Classic mistake. The cream cheese shot out of your fingers, ricocheted off the table, and skidded across the floor.

Fantastic.

Even better, it landed right at the base of a pair of broken in brown work boots. 

Jack.

He bent down to pick it up before walking over to you with a grin that make him look more boyish. "You lose something?"

"Only my dignity."

"Don’t worry - you’ll get it back when they hand out our white coats," he said with a wink, handing back the little container.

You accepted the cream cheese with exaggerated solemnity. "I appreciate your discretion."

He nodded with faux seriousness. "I didn't see a thing. Scout’s honor."

You laughed. "So...where were you before this?"

It was an easy question. The kind strangers asked to break the ice. You’d asked and answered it half a dozen times this week alone, a little way for people to tell each other where they were from or what undergrad they’d gone to. 

"The Army, then back here for undergrad at Pitt. You?"

"Tulane. I finished undergrad in May, moved up here a few weeks ago."

“...Tulane?” 

“Oh!” You looked up from spreading a thick layer of cream cheese onto your bagel. “Yeah, in Nawlins. Er…New Orleans.”

He nodded, mouth quirking at the way you’d pronounced the city’s name. “Must be a big change.”

You shrug. “A bit, but not as bad as some people. At least I'm used to city living. And the rivers; though frankly it feels irresponsible to have so many.”

“Well we can’t all live on the Mississippi.”

“I don’t see why not,” you say, taking a bite of your bagel. “It’s certainly big enough.”

He snorted, rocking back on his heels as he shot you an amused little smile. 

You swallow your bite and cock your head at him. "You know..."

"What?"

"I think we're going to get along like red beans and rice."

Jack looked at you for a long second. “...is that good?”

You gasped. “Nevermind, I spoke too soon about this city.” You look at him with exaggerated pity. “It’s clearly never fed you right.”

YEAR THREE

Never jump into a relationship while getting sober. Your sponsor told you this at your very first meeting, eleven months and several chips ago, chatting over lukewarm coffee in a church basement somewhere in West Hollywood. You'll just end up replacing one dependency with another, she explained with a knowing grimace. 

You're almost positive she meant romantic relationships. Not friendships. 

So it's fine that you and Jack started texting right around the same time you started going to AA. 

You don't tell him about your sobriety - don't tell anyone, really. Your law school friends are scattered across the country now, and barely have the bandwidth to exchange a few simple texts once a week. You're practically certain that your parents would think you were being overcautious if you told them, make some condescending comment about your generation. 

You think Jack would understand. 

You know that he would, based on that last conversation. 

You still can’t find the courage to bring it up.

Instead, you talk about everything else. Put him on speaker when he calls, and you can almost imagine he's in the room with you. He tells you about the chaos of the PTMC while you do the dishes, about Florence's sudden and all consuming Ali Hazelwood obsession as you clear out your inbox. Sometimes, when he has a night off, you watch movies while on the line with each other. You introduce him to some of your less traumatizing horror favorites, and he introduces you to When Harry Met Sally.

You're sitting on your couch, a pizza box balanced on one knee, your phone on another. You got the dinner inspiration from Jack, who was weighing the merits of cold versus re-heated pizza when you picked up earlier that evening. You can imagine him slouched on his own couch - grey, you decide - taking bites at the same time as you, separated by hundreds of miles, your lives tied together by pure happenstance. 

"This is a good part," he says again as the screen splits for the phone call scene.

"You've said that five times already.”

"And I've been right, haven't I?"

"Yeah, yeah."

You take another bite of pizza as the characters on your screen bicker about Casablanca. A bit of tomato sauce drips onto your T-shirt. Shit. You're glad he can't see it.

"Feeling a bit of deja vu right now, if I'm being honest. Also fomo - should I have seen Casablanca? Am I uncultured?"

"Yes to both."

You roll your eyes. "Look at us. Reviving the long lost art of the phone call."

"Nora Ephron would be proud."

"Who?"

A sigh. "Do you ever pay attention to the credits?"

"No, because I am not a nerd."

"Sure you aren't, Madam Lawyer."

"Lawyering is like, the least brainy of the brainy professions. The only two requirements that they look for on your CV are a bad attitude and sado-masochistic tendencies."

"Sounds like I'd fit right in."

"Total shoe in. Let me know if you're considering a career change."

He laughs at that, the sound bright and warm like the crackle of a bonfire on a winter night, and so vivid it feels as if he's right beside you, breath tickling your cheek. You swallow the thought with another bite of pizza. Do not make this weird.

"When the hell are these two idiots going to kiss?" you say, which launches Jack into a whole tangent about slow burns. You wonder if he can feel you smiling from Pittsburgh. 

The low murmur of his voice becomes a calming soundtrack to your strenuous life. It's not until you're debating giving him a second call one drizzly day in November that you realize how frequent they've gotten. 

You hit dial anyway.

"So, it's love then?" Malcolm says when you tell him about the calls over coffee one morning that winter.

You met Malcolm at AA - one of the few people under thirty in the room, and the only one who seemed to have a sense of humor. He's from Galway, and introduced himself as a traitor to his culture on two accounts (giving up Guinness and sharing his feelings rather than keeping them bottled up).

"It's...a complicated situation."

Malcolm snorts. A bit of coffee sloshes over the lip of his mug. 

"Understatement of the fuckin' year."

You've already told him all of the gory details of your relationship with Jack - the sex, the reveal of his relationship to your father, the awkwardness the next summer and subsequent reconciliation.  

"I really like talking to him, and..."

"And you don't want to lose him?"

The mere thought sends a stab of panic through your chest. 

"It would never work out, so if I did have a crush -" You emphasize the word before Malcolm can get too fixated on the notion of this being anything more than that - "then all I can do is hope it goes away with time."

It doesn't. Not over the next six months of calls, and by the time you touch down back in Lihue that summer, it's clear that your feelings are here to stay. 

You just have to keep them under wraps for the next seven days. Seeing him now won't be that different from talking to him on the phone. Aside from the fact that he will actually be in the same room as you, and it would be so, so easy to reach out, to touch him, trace your fingers over the stubble along the edge of his jaw -

Nope. You are doing better now - the picture of self control. 

Your family arrives first, and your hair is already beginning to poof as you wait for the Abbots outside the airport. You try to tame it as best you can, constantly batting it down and tugging it behind your ears. It's silly, the tug of insecurity you feel. Jack has definitely seen you in worse shape than this, but your nerves only grow, prickling your skin with anticipation. 

Lucy squeals shrilly and barrels towards the sliding doors of the terminal. Florence absorbs the full impact of the bear hug with shocking steadiness, keeping them both from going sprawling across the concrete - a feat that seems to defy the laws of physics. 

Your eyes trail behind her, to the man dropping a duffel bag beside a pair of suitcases. 

Wearing a Hawaiian shirt. 

After two years of seeing him in nothing but jeans and muscle tees, the floral printed shirt and khaki's he's sporting are a pleasant surprise that has your heart tripping over itself. 

Your face splits in a brilliant grin, and you don't even think twice before bounding over to him, wrapping him in a hug. 

Jack grunts a little as you collide, your head slotting beneath his chin, nose pressed to his chest. He smells exactly as you remember. 

"So, spill." When he stares at you blankly, you wave your hands at him. "Did one of your patients give you a Tommy Bahama gift card, or..."

He glares at you, though you notice his cheeks pinkening ever so slightly. "Florence picked it out."

"She has exquisite taste." You bite your lip. "I can't believe you are wearing a Hawaiian shirt."

He frowns down at the garment like it personally offended him. 

"I think he looks very handsome," your mother croons placatingly through the open window of the rental car, which your dad has idling at the curb. 

"When we get to the hotel, I'm changing," he grumbles. 

"Nooo, please, I love it."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Swear?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." You hold up your hand. 

He still looks unconvinced. 

"Good thing I know CPR."

"You look great, Uncle Jack!" Lucy calls as the girls begin to load their luggage into the open trunk. 

"You do," you agree. "Total Jimmy Buffet, beach dilf vibes."

Lucy turns to you, mouth gaping.

"Did you just call Uncle Jack a dilf?"

"I -" You splutter, mouth flapping as your cheeks grow unbearably hot. "You know what I mean."

“Is that a dad I’d like to…” Jack blinks rapidly as the meaning dawns on him.

Florence's nose is wrinkled, and she's eyeing the ground like she's praying for it to open up and swallow her. 

"That's basically incest, you know," Lucy continues. 

You've never been a particularly violent person, but you get the strong urge to slap her. 

"I was trying to make him feel better!" 

You're afraid to look at Jack, so certain that Lucy's comments will have him wanting to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. Instead, you find that he's gotten even closer, your hips nearly brushing as you turn to glance at him. You can't quite decipher the look in his eyes, but his lips are quirked in a not-quite-smile.

"I think you all are just jealous," he finally says. 

"Sure, old man," Lucy retorts with a snort. 

You help him load the luggage into the back, automatically taking the duffel bags since you know he'll fight you if you try to lift anything heavier. 

"Thanks," he offers as he slams the door shut.

"'Course. I'm just happy we managed to get it done without a concussion this time."

"You and me both."

Florence and Lucy have already claimed the back row, leaving you and Jack the middle. One of the seats is occupied by the groceries your family picked up for the week, so you're forced to squish together, thighs pressed against each other. One of his hands rests on his knee, skimming lightly against your leg. You have to fight the urge to squeeze it. When did you get so sappy? You decide to blame the romcoms. 

Your dad, who hasn't been paying attention, catches Jack's eye in the rearview mirror.

"That a new shirt?"

The girls erupt into giggles. 

"Should've stayed in my fuckin' scrubs," he complains, but you catch the slight curve of his lips. 

"Looks like we might finally get to see Jackie in vacation mode," your mom jokes. 

The engine rumbles to life. For the first time in three years, you have a good feeling about this trip.

Jack has slept a total of eleven and a half hours in the past two weeks. His insomnia always gets worse in the summer, the heat sending his already shell-shocked nervous system into overdrive, causing him to spend his nights writhing in sweat soaked sheets. Needless to say, he really fuckin' needs this vacation. 

Almost as much as he needs you. 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to notice it - how easy it was to fall asleep after a call with you. Some nights he'd feel his eyelids begin to leaden the second you picked up, pulse slowing to a pleasant crawl as you drawled on about your day. He wondered if you ever suspected he was nodding off when his side of the line got quiet. 

Maybe it was just the time difference. Always three hours later for him, and you had a tendency to call at night anyway. But then he remembered how he felt that first summer, how after his nights with you he got the best sleep he'd had in years. 

What it was about you that managed to calm him down he couldn't put his finger on. It wasn't just the fact that he was able to talk to you - his therapist had never had the same effect on him in the decade and a half he'd been going to her. He tried to replicate it by leaving the TV on at low volume, thinking that maybe it was just hearing someone else's voice that helped to lull him to sleep, but it was no use. The effect that you had on him was utterly unique, intrinsic to you and you alone. 

Jack was notoriously lousy at friendships. It was easy to keep them up with his co-workers since he saw them practically every day, but he had a tendency to go dark. Vanish without a word whenever things got hard, retreating within himself as if the isolation could help him to keep his bullshit from leaking into the lives of the people he loved. In a few moments of weakness after Marisol passed, he'd dropped baby Florence off at his mother's in the middle of the night. Drove through Pennsylvania backroads in a fugue state until exhaustion kicked in, at which point he would pull over to some lookout, stare out at the miles of woods and imagine them swallowing him whole. It should have been terrifying, how much comfort he felt in the prospect of disappearing. 

The image of Florence's tiny face was always what managed to drag him back every time. Guilt ate away at him when he returned, resulting in sporadic periods during which he spoiled her rotten. He'd never told Robby about it, barely had the courage to discuss it with his therapist.

He's considered telling you. 

During a phone call in late November, the second that day. He could tell you were getting sleepy by the soft, dreamy quality to your voice, revealing a far more wistful and sappy side to you than he'd gotten to see thus far. 

"I love the rain," you murmured. 

He imagined you tucked into your bed, blankets curled around your body like a cocoon, eyes beginning to flutter. 

"What color is your room?" he wondered aloud. 

You laughed. He regretted asking almost immediately, but you answered without questioning his motives. 

"Green. Not like, booger green. Soft, pastel. Summery. My bedsheets are pink, in case you're wondering."

"Pink, huh?"

"Is that surprising?"

"A little."

Another laugh, one he can feel in his chest, warm like a glowing ember. 

"I promise the colors work together. My comforter has this tiny floral print on it with little bits of green in the leaves, so it ties together really nicely."

"I don't doubt it."

The line went silent. He held his breath a little, ears straining to make out your soft sighs beneath the slight patter of rain in the background.

"I like to imagine your room, too."

"Oh yeah?"

"I picture a lot of grey. Maybe navy. A nautical bathroom or two, perhaps."

He huffed out a laugh.

"Sorry to shatter the illusion," he began.

"Damn, really? I was so confident!"

"Yeah, no my room's white. Cream, actually. Yellow bedsheets." He swallowed. "Marisol designed it."

You were silent a moment. Then, you said something that surprised him. 

"You know, I really missed her for the longest time when I was a kid. She was the first person I knew who died."

"You...remember her?"

It was a factor he hadn't considered before. After you swore that you hadn't recognized him, he'd written off the possibility that you had any shared memories. He's tried not to think too hard about it. How the little girl who'd charmed his wife so was the same person as the woman he'd fallen for two years ago. The thought always made him a bit queasy.

Logically, he knew he hadn't done anything that morally reprehensible since he had no idea who you were at the time. The real transgression would be if he let something happen now that he knew your identity. And he wouldn't. If there was one thing Jack Abbot was a master of, it was self restraint. So even if he did sometimes get a funny feeling in his chest when you laughed, he was confident he could keep that feeling locked inside of him until the day he died. 

"Yeah. It's a bit harder to now, after so long, but yeah. I remember."

"She was crazy about you. Believe it or not, you're the reason we decided to try for Florence."

He wondered if it was a mistake to bring that up, if reminders of your shared past would send your already fragile dynamic spiraling into fucked up territory.

"Do you think-" You cut yourself off sharply. "Sorry," you said with a laugh that sounded forced. "This is...I shouldn't be..." Another pause. "Do you think it's peaceful? Death, I mean."

His pulse immediately jumped.  

"Why do you ask?"

"Sorry, that was a stupid question. Talking about her, and then-"

"Hey." He cut you off, fixing his voice into something as firm as possible even when he could feel it trying to wobble. "What's going on?"

The silence was agonizing. 

"I don't know," you finally confessed. Your voice was barely audible, a sliver of a whisper. "I just get so tired sometimes. Things have been better, I don't even know why I brought it up. It's just...you're a doctor. And then when we talked that first summer..."

His throat felt like it was closing, strangling his words, his thoughts. 

"God, I really am sorry. Truly. I don't mean to make people worry - I've been trying to do it less. Makes me want to walk into the fuckin' ocean." 

Shit. He really needed to fucking say something, anything to let you know that he was here. That he's been there, more times than he'd ever been brave enough to admit. 

"You're not alone," he finally managed. 

The line went quiet. Then, a faint sniff. 

"I know," you finally murmured. "Thank you, Jack."

The words flooded him with relief. Maybe he could handle this friendship thing after all. 

The first night back on the island, Jack is already on his way over when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Meet me at our spot.

When he arrives, he finds you grinning at him. At your feet is a picnic blanket, covered in paper plates of fruit and cheese. There's a bottle of beer sweating on one side of the blanket - his, he guesses - and a bottle of pink lemonade on the other. He can't help mirroring the smile on your face. It's exactly what he needed.

And strangely...

Romantic.

The thought startles him. It's been surprisingly easy to keep your relationship purely platonic, especially given how much of a struggle it was last summer. And while the sight of you now isn't enough to send him sprinting to the shower to jerk off, it does feel slightly...different. He can't quite explain it. Maybe it's the spot, the fading orange glow of the sun against the sea at your back, painting everything in a warm, dreamy light. Or maybe it's him, and his tendency to take a good thing and fuck it up. 

"Is it too much?"

He notices too late how your face has dropped. You're watching him carefully, lips pursed, a tiny wrinkle in your brow. 

"No - it's perfect."

"Good."

The grin returns, and his stomach flips. You drop to the ground, and the skirt you're wearing fans around you as you sit. 

"I swear I haven't started biting in the past year," you say teasingly as you pat the space opposite you. 

"One can never be too careful."

He obeys nonetheless, sinking onto the blanket. It's a bit difficult to maneuver with his prosthetic, and he massages his thigh once he's finally settled. 

"Is it - do you want to take it off?"

You're staring at his leg, the clearly defined edges of the metal obvious from this angle. 

"It's fine," he grunts. 

You narrow your eyes at him. He sighs, and begins to detach it. Once it's off, he tucks the fabric of his pants over the stump, keeping it concealed. Your eyes briefly take in the prosthetic at his side before returning to his face. 

"Better?" you ask.

"Yeah. Thanks, for all of this."

"I thought we'd toast the beginning of the trip."

You produce a bottle opener from the mostly empty tote bag at the edge of the blanket and crack his beer before passing it to him, then open your lemonade. He's a little surprised to see that you're not drinking - not in a bad way, but given that last trip... He forces himself out of that memory before it can make him clam up even more. 

"To vacation," you say as you tip your bottle against his. 

"To new beginnings," he adds.

Your hand freezes right before your mouth, a funny look he can't quite decipher coming into your eyes. But then you shake your head lightly and sip your drink. 

"To new beginnings," you agree. 

Jack swallows a mouthful of his beer. It's a bit warm, but he forces himself to sip it anyway. You select a piece of pineapple from the plate of fruit resting beside your lap, and you pop it into your mouth with a pleased moan. A bit of juice dribbles down your chin. 

It's fucking obscene. And yet, as Jack watches you, the way you start to hum contentedly, lips curling as you chew, he doesn't feel the surge of lust he anticipates. Something else is stirring in his chest, something he'd forgotten existed. 

"Come 'ere," he tells you. 

You obey, leaning closer to him. He takes your chin in his hand, and with the other, lightly brushes the juice that's drying on your chin. 

"There."

He can feel the pulse in your neck jump a little. 

Your eyes widen suddenly. He pulls away. 

"You alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." 

But your voice is too breathy, and he catches the way you can no longer look him in the eye, the way your chest is heaving...

And the way you'd looked at him just a moment ago...like he'd fucking -

"This is really good," you say loudly through another mouthful of pineapple. "Want some?"

You'd been doing so well. That first day, everything had been perfectly normal (aside from that mortifying dilf slip up). You and Jack talked and joked around like a totally platonic pair, like friends - which you were. It made you think that you could handle this, that the proximity wouldn't change anything. 

And then he touched you. 

Not just any touch. The calloused pad of his thumb brushing the corner of your lips. 

You had a sudden, desperate, terrifying thought. Deeper. And then you were picturing him pressing his thumb into your mouth, adding another finger, pressing further along your tongue until your eyes began to water. Telling you to suck them in that husky voice, eyes dark with desire. 

And before you knew it, there was a familiar wetness pooling between your legs. 

You managed to hold out another hour, then feigned a yawn, which prompted Jack to suggest the two of you turn in for the night. 

Thank god you have your own room. The door is barely shut behind you before tugging off your underwear, kicking it off as you climb into your bed. You brace yourself on your knees against the mattress and tuck a pillow between your legs. The bed creaked a little as you began to grind into it, giving your clit the stimulation it had been craving while you popped your thumb into your mouth. 

Picturing that it's his. Imagining the stiffness of his cock beneath you as you suck on his fingers, the curses mumbled into your hair as he struggles to contain his arousal. The moment he breaks, the way he'd tug off his boxers with rabid desperation before lining himself up against you. Your juices coating his head, making his eyes flutter. Then, his cock plunging inside of you. That glorious stretch. So much better than his fingers, his tongue.  

You remove your fingers from your mouth and instead shove your palm inside, biting down on it to contain the moans threatening to burst from your lips as you ride out the waves of pleasure, writhing against the pillow, grinding out every last bit of your orgasm until you feel empty.

You'd never gotten this worked up over a guy before - especially not over something as insignificant as the kind of contact that had prompted this. 

Maybe this is a good thing, you consider as you collapse onto your bed. Maybe, if your feelings for Jack fall within the comfortable bounds of everyday horniness, then this crush is manageable. Not a dependency or problematic coping mechanism, not something that can threaten the friendship you've worked so hard to build.

And definitely not love. 

Sleep does come to Jack that night, but it's not what he'd hoped for. Fitful, it claims his mind in short bursts. He isn't able to go more than an hour without waking with a gasp, jolting up in bed, hands white knuckling the stiff cotton sheets. 

He's aware that he should have anticipated this. He knew his insomnia was reaching a peak even before he left, and it was far too immature for a man of his age to think something so simple as a vacation would fix anything - especially with his first Fourth of July off in years looming around the corner. 

He sorts through the usual steps. Makes sure the AC is set low (way fuckin' lower than he'd set it back in Pittsburgh), hydrates, takes the meds his therapist finally convinced him to accept a few years back. Meditates, even.

Wonders if you're awake.  

The units are within view of each other, the buildings they sit in at a perpendicular angle. If he stands in the living room, he can just make out the blades of a fan in one of the bedrooms. He isn't sure if it's yours. He's never gone further than the kitchen, which is probably a good thing. If he did know what your bedroom looked like, that probably would have meant his already razor thin self control had shattered a long time ago. 

He spreads out on the couch, watching the fan whir against the dull grey of the bedroom through the window, and doesn't wake again until the golden rays of dawn are piercing his eyes. 

While his mind is grateful for the extra few hours of sleep, his body protests immediately, sending sharp pains stabbing through his spine and neck the second he starts to stand. He battles through it as he hobbles into the kitchen with the help of his forearm crutches and starts up the coffee machine.

"Morning," Florence murmurs as she pads out of her room a few minutes later. 

She pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot. When did she start doing that? She just celebrated her fourteenth birthday, so he guesses she's old enough to be drinking coffee, although he wonders if he should leave a few pamphlets on caffeine consumption around the house just in case. 

He presses a kiss to the back of her head as he moves past her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. What about you?"

She turns as she says it, so there's no chance of him evading her stare. 

"Fine." Her eyes narrow, and he sighs. "It was rough at first, but ended up getting a solid few hours."

"Promise?"

He can see the worry scrawled in her eyes. She knows about his struggles with sleep - it would be impossible for it not to, given how thin the walls in their house are - but he thinks that he's kept the worst of it from her. He hopes it, at least. Since Marisol's death, all he's wanted to do is wrap their little girl in bubblewrap. Of course, that is the last fuckin' place Florence has ever wanted to be, even before she'd grown into a headstrong teenager. Something he's sure she inherited from him, along with her unique ability to pierce through everyone's bullshit.

"Promise," he swears.

She holds his gaze an extra beat before releasing him, turning to her coffee. "Good. It's going to be a long day today."

He fakes a groan. "What do you two troublemakers have planned now?"

"Well, we never got to show them the secret falls last summer, so Florence was thinking we could kick off the week with it before we get too tired."

Jack can almost feel his back wincing at the idea of spending the day kayaking and hiking through jungle, but he ignores it. Bowing out of the activity would be sure to make Florence worry. He will prove to his daughter that he's fine, just as he has hundreds of times before. He's sure of it.

Predictably, Florence and Lucy want to ride over to the river together, which makes it all too easy for you to offer to ride with Jack to avoid cramming into your family's cramped rental car. It's still early in the morning, but the muggy summer heat is already beginning to thicken the air in the vehicle when you climb inside. You roll down your window as Jack starts the car, then work on connecting your phone to the car's stereo.

"You like Springsteen, right?"

The prolonged silence prompts you to look up from your phone. You find Jack's eyes straying from the road to your face, his expression curious but strangely guarded. 

"What?"

"Nothing," he finally says. "Springsteen's fine, but you can play whatever you want."

"I don't mind oldies. I'm actually a big fan of dad rock."

"Dad rock?"

"Springsteen, Bon Jovi, Green Day, The Killers, The All-American Rejects..." You tick off of your fingers.

"What makes those dad rock?"

You shrug. "I assume because dads listen to them."

"Ah, because dads are the arbiters of pop culture."

"Mmm no that would be teen girls - just look at what they did for the Beatles."

He huffs out a laugh. "I think my daughter would agree with you."

"Is Florence excited for high school?"

"Uh, yeah." He scratches his jaw. "A bit nervous, but I think it's normal."

You notice him tensing a little at the mention of Florence. You wonder if it's weird for him, talking about her with you, a blurring of boundaries he's not quite comfortable yet. 

"I hated high school," you confess, switching gears. 

"Everyone does."

"Even you? Captain of the cave man football team?"

Jack snorts at that. 

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one who was miserable."

"You seem better now. This summer," he corrects after a beat. 

"Yeah, I guess I am."

It's an opening, you know that, made all the more obvious by the pointed quirk of his eyebrow, urging you on.

Now's the time to tell him...

No. Not yet. You'd rather enjoy the peace a little longer. 

You slide your sunglasses onto your nose and rest your head against the seat, turning to face the summer breeze. 

Jack is not surprised that the two of you end up paired together again. It's a side effect of his singleness that he's learned to accept - always being left as the odd one out - but at least when he's with you he's not alone.

A part of him does worry a little, scans Allan's face for any signs of suspicion. He knows that his friend is probably blissfully unaware of the friendship between you, since he expects that explaining your convoluted history would be just as much (if not more) of a headache for you as it would be for him, but now that the two of you are in the same place, it's getting harder to hide how close you've gotten. 

Especially when you're so physical.

Elbowing him in the ribs when Lucy and Florence crack jokes about their geriatric fathers, helping him smear sunscreen on the back of his neck, plucking a stray lash off his cheek. That last one he's certain no one sees. Your fingers move quickly while the others are distracted by the kayaking instructor.

It's probably important, whatever the balding millenial at the front of the group is explaining to the rest of them, the potential hazards and tips he lists as he walks them through the route they'll take. Jack can't bring himself to focus on anything but your lips as you whisper, make a wish, before puckering them and blowing the delicate lash off of your thumb. 

He knows that he's fucked by the time the kayak hits the water. 

You gasp a little as you step into the river beside it, lips splitting in a surprised grin. He's careful to hold it steady for you while you slide inside and brace your feet against the tip. 

"You coming, old man?" you tease. 

He rocks the kayak, sending a bit of water sloshing over the slides into your lap. You shriek. 

"One more old joke and I'm throwing you overboard."

"Oh, please," You sigh as he climbs in behind you. "I know you love me."

The words hit him like ice water down the back of his neck.

The others are soaring ahead, and Lucy's even started hollering taunts back at them so loud the entire island can probably hear her. He's distantly aware that you have started paddling, that you're grunting a little at the effort of propelling the boat by yourself. 

"Come on," you urge, completely unaware of the effect that you're having on him. "If Lucy beats us there we'll never hear the end of it."

Slowly, Jack begins to move. 

He knows you didn't mean it - couldn't have. It was just more of your teasing. 

And yet he can't focus on anything but those five words for the rest of the day. 

The next morning, it is decided by a unanimous, unspoken agreement that the rest of the day will be spent vegging out by the pool when everyone wakes feeling like their arms have been ripped off. You wish that they actually had been, and have to keep yourself from pulling out the Advil, knowing what Jack would have to say about it. 

Fucks up your liver, need to hydrate and rest, blah blah blah...

You're the last to make it out to the pool, and you're a bit surprised to find that he isn't already there. Florence and Lucy are already splashing about in the deep end, looking as if they're trying to create a whirlpool. You wonder briefly if they're too old to be playing around like little kids, but the sound of your sister's laughter brings a smile to your face. 

It's not long before you discover your arms are too sore to even prop up the book you're reading, and you lie back on the lounge chair, folding your arms over your face.

You must nod off eventually, because you're suddenly awakened by something cold pricking your foot. Peering out from between your fingers, you see your sister leaning over the edge of the pool, flicking water at you.

"I was sleeping," you groan.

"Florence went to the bathroom like half an hour ago and hasn't come back. Can you go check on her?"

Even though you're still a bit groggy, the concern leaking into her tone shifts you into big sister mode. You slide on your flip flops and wander over to the restroom, a small, hut-like building tucked behind the showers. The inside is silent, filled only by the soft patter of water dripping from one of the faucets. 

"Flo?"

The nickname is new for you, something you've heard your sister say but never used yourself. You're grimacing at yourself when a tiny voice answers.

You follow it to the largest stall. The lock jiggles, then the door cracks open. It's immediately apparent what the problem is.

"Oh."

Your sister got her period just a few months before. Apparently, it was a celebration in your house. She'd sent pictures of the cake your mom baked her, red velvet. A jarring difference from your own first period, which had involved your mother screaming at you for ruining the leather upholstery of her car, but that's neither here nor there.

"Yeah, oh."

Florence is scowling at you, arms folded in front of herself protectively. There's a tampon in one of her hands, the fluff spilling out of the applicator. 

"I can't figure out how to use this stupid thing."

"Uh, yeah, it's hard at first." You dig around in your purse until your fingers close around one of the pads you keep tucked in the back for emergencies. "Here, try this for now."

She accepts the pad, eyeing the plastic wrapper suspiciously. "It's pretty self explanatory," you add. "But I can show you-"

"I've got it," she mutters, then slams the door in your face.

You lean back against the cool metal. Behind it, you can hear the sound of crinkling plastic.

"Everything alright in there...honey?" 

Again, you wince at yourself.

"I don't like nicknames."

You and me both, kid. 

The door creaks open, nearly sending you falling back into her chest. You catch yourself before you do, and step out of the way while she marches over to the sink.

"Why didn't you text anyone?"

She shrugs, the gesture so quick it's more like a shudder. 

"Ja- your dad is a doctor, I'm sure he would understand."

Florence winces. You realize you're not the only one who's concerned about his absence.

"Is he...feeling alright?"

"He's sleeping."

This sends a tiny wave of panic skittering down your spine. Jack's told you about his sleeping problems on multiple occasions, though never in much detail. He has a tendency to hold back when it comes to that kind of thing.

Florence's eye's are narrowed, gazing at your face intently. You wonder how much he's told her about his struggles, although you can't imagine him being willing to unload that kind of thing onto his own kid. 

"Do you think my dad is happy?"

Coming from anyone else, the bluntness of the question would surprise you. Coming from Florence, however, you can see where she's coming from. With her arms folded over her chest, sporting a disarming, no bullshit stare, she feels much older than fourteen. You get the fierce desire to wrap her in a hug, but you can guess that she would probably detest the gesture. So, instead, you give her what she wants - honesty. 

"I think he's trying to be. Being here, with you, it's good for him. But he's been through a lot, and sometimes no amount of R&R can make that go away. And when things get bad, he might need a little more support without knowing how to ask for it."

She nods, and you can almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. You wonder how much she knows. Clearly, if she's decided you're the best person to ask that question, she must have some understanding of how close you and Jack have gotten.

As she goes to open the door, you hold out a hand to stop her, then shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in just your bikini bottoms.

"Here," you say, holding them out to her.

"Thanks."

The effort it seems to take her to say it makes it all the more touching. Definitely her father's daughter, you think to yourself as you follow her out into the midday sun. 

Due to sleeping through most of that day, Jack is, predictably, wide fuckin' awake by the time that night rolls around. He plans to slip out to the cliffside as soon as Florence heads over to see Lucy for the night. 

Florence, unfortunately, has other plans. 

When he comes out of his room, he finds her sitting at the counter in the mini kitchen of their unit, a steaming pot of coffee resting on a pot beside her. There's a cup sitting in front of the other seat, already full. By the time he slides onto the stool, his guard is all the way up. 

"Hey."

Florence takes a long sip of her coffee. 

"You shouldn't have caffeine this late-"

"I got my period today."

Fuck. He doesn't realize that he's said the word aloud until he notices the slight curl of her lips.

"Shit, kid, are you - did you get everything alright? I'll run to the store -"

She presses her lips in a thin line and pats the seat beside her. It takes all of his might to force himself onto it.

"I got my period today," she repeats. "And you weren't there."

The weight of that statement hits him like an M-80 to the chest. 

"I'm saying this because I know it'll make you feel bad."

He frowns at her, but she simply shrugs. Who raised this fuckin' kid?

"And because of that," she continues. "I know you'll listen to what I have to say."

He's white knuckling the countertop now, but he nods. "Alright."

"I want you to tell me things. I know there's stuff you've been trying to protect me from, but I'm older now. I can handle it."

He can see the desperation in her eyes, and it makes him ache. 

"I know that, kid. I just don't want you to have to worry about your old man."

"I already worry." She nibbles on her lip. "This would help me worry less."

He swallows. "Fine." The word comes out rough, and he clears his throat. "What do you want to know?"

The muscles in her face relax a little. 

"You're not sleeping."

It's not a question, but he treats it like one anyway. "No, I'm not."

"Is there a specific reason this time?"

He shakes his head. "Rarely is that simple. I've talked to Doctor Nazila about it, and I have a plan for when it gets bad like this. I'm working on it, promise."

"Is it hard being away from work?"

"Always is."

He sighs, runs a hand against the scruff lining his chin. Can't remember the last time he shaved. No wonder she felt inspired to give him a fuckin' intervention. 

"Why haven't you dated anyone since mom died?"

Jack turns his head so sharply it nearly gives him whiplash, aggravating his already aching spine. They've never talked about his dating life - if he could even call it that. At this point, it was practically in a coma.

Florence has somehow managed to polish off half of her cup of coffee, probably why she's starting to fidget, fingers tapping against the ceramic to a restless beat. 

"Is it because of me?" she continues. 

"No. I don't know," he corrects, in the name of honesty. "Maybe it was at some point. But now it's all me."

She purses her lips, seeming a bit dissatisfied by his answer. 

"I think it would be good for you to have someone."

He does have someone, he wants to protest. Multiple someones, in fact. A whole army of people willing to take a bat for him at the PTMC, not to mention Allan, and Koa, and you. 

He takes a sip of his coffee. It's lukewarm and slightly burnt, but Florence is watching him intently so he forces himself to swallow.

"Yeah," he finally says, returning the mug to the counter. "Maybe."

Jack doesn't join you that night. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize it. The sun has long since sunk beneath the sea, and mosquitoes are nipping at your ankles by the time you finally call it quits and return to your family's unit.

Hey, you finally decide to text him as you turn on the shower. Everything okay? 

All you get is a thumbs up in response. 

It gives you the strangest sense of deja vu. Suddenly you're fifteen again, checking your messages every five seconds to see if your crush of the week has deigned to reply to your texts. Practically dissolving into overjoyed tears when those magical little bubbles finally filled the bottom of your screen, then were followed by the most boring, one-word answer imaginable, so laughably apathetic in comparison to whatever you'd sent that it almost felt cruel. 

As you shove your face beneath the near-scalding water, you reason with yourself that he's got a lot on his plate. He's probably out buying Florence fifteen different types of pads and tampons from the local drugstore or busy attending to her every need (not that you think she'd be the type to have many). It's more than likely that he just woke up and had to go grab himself some dinner, or just needs some time to be alone. 

Still, you check your phone five more times before falling asleep.

Nothing.

Jack manages to catch a few hours of sleep that night, but by the time his alarm wakes him at eight hundred hours, his back has only gotten worse. In the name of being honest, he confesses to Florence the reason he winces when she asks him to pass her the syrup. At her urging, he spends the morning at the spa, getting his first massage in...well, his first massage ever, he realizes.

This place has a way of leading him to do things he never thought he would. 

It's a relief when he conks out within the first five minutes of the massage, but when the therapist gently prods him back into the waking world, it's not long before he realized the pain hasn't improved much. He's forced to spend most of the day in bed (again), and thankfully manages to rally by the time Florence returns to drag him to the hotel's movie night on the beach. 

The sun has just begun to set when he finally spots the group on the beach. Allan and Darby wave to him from a pair of lounge chairs, which he guesses probably have net zero lumbar support. You're sitting at the foot of your father's chair, legs curled into your chest, watching the forty-year-old trailers blurring across the tarp that's spread out by the water. When your eyes meet his, you give a small wave.

"About time you showed your face," you joke.

"Where've you been, Jackie?" Darby asks, squinting up at him.

"Swimming with sharks. Water's great, real shame you all missed it."

Lucy blows a raspberry up at him.  

"Anyone want drinks, snacks?" he asks the group.  

The girls chirp out their orders, Jack is grateful when you offer to help him carry back the massive feast they've requested. There's no line at the poolside bar, and thankfully the bartender doesn't look too put off by the length of his order. 

"Think I might stay here a while," he confesses to you.

"Alright. But you can't get mad if I ignore you every few seconds to watch the movie."

The bartender returns with the drinks, and Jack watches as you sip your water, something wistful in your expression.

"You're not drinking."

It's something he's noticed throughout the trip, but hasn't been sure how to approach. After his talk with Florence, it seems like a good idea to put it out there. Open up the potential for dialogue, let you know that he's there. 

"Yeah." You take another, long sip, avoiding his eyes. "Just, something I'm trying out."

Jack understands the cues, and pivots accordingly.

"Well, allow me to introduce you to the virgin pina colada."

He waves down the bartender and orders it for you. When the drink arrives, your eyes narrow suspiciously at the florescent blue umbrella and dozen cherries fighting for the limited space atop the thick layer of whipped cream.  

"I'm not really a sweet girl," you protest.

Jack snorts. "Yeah, I've gathered that much."

You swat his arm, and take a sip. A thin line of cream coats the skin above your lip as you do. This time, he resists the urge to wipe it from your lips. Thankfully, your tongue darts over the space, licking it away.

"So...how've you been?" He grunts in answer, and you laugh. "That bad, huh?"

He lowers his gaze to his beer.

"Apparently Florence wants me to get back out there." 

You snort. "And what do you want?"

"No fucking idea."

You take another sip of your drink, and give a small, contented sigh that makes him smirk. 

"She's pretty."

He follows your gaze across the strip of lawn separating the hotel from the sand to a woman sitting with her friends on a blanket. Her jet black hair is cut short at her shoulders, pin straight, and wobbles slightly as she laughs.

"Not my type."

"What is your type?"

He shrugs. "Not her."

You roll your eyes. "You're not even going to give me a hint?"

"Nope."

He isn't even sure why he said it. This whole honesty thing is verging on some painfully uncomfortable territory, but you seem blissfully oblivious to the reason he's keeping his answers so clipped. 

"Come on, I'll tell you mine."

You squint out at the crowd a moment before pointing. "There, that guy." 

The man you've selected is tall. Dark eyes, sharp jaw. Young.

All Jack can think is, that guy looks nothing like me.

"You guys are getting to be pretty close."

The forced breeziness of your mother's tone gets your attention. You glance over your shoulder at her to find her staring at you instead of the movie, her gaze searching, for what you don't know. Jack insisted you leave him at the bar to wait for the food after you kept squinting at the screen to catch the subtitles, and you're not sure exactly what you've returned to.

"It's good seeing him happy, it's just...isn't it a bit weird?" She leans into you, her tone switching to teasingly conspiratorial. "Being friends with someone our age?"

You swallow. "We're both always the fifth wheels," you explain. "Seventh if you count Lucy and Florence. It can be a bit lonely, hanging out with couples all week."

"But it's not just this week, is it, hon? I've seen you texting him back home."

She gives you a knowing look that says, I am still your mother, you know. It's oddly comforting to know that she's been paying this much attention to you, even if you don't like where this is headed. 

"We have similar jobs. It's good to talk to someone like him, get some perspective."

She blinks. Waits a beat. You smile, eyes pinched, not sure what else there is to say.

"You're an obsessive person."

"I - what?"

"Oh come on, you know what I mean. You tend to fixate on things, get too attached. I just worry..." She nibbles at her lip. "Crushes are perfectly normal, especially at your age. But - hon, you know it'll never happen."

The laugh comes spluttering out of you, the sound wet and gasping, sounding more like choking. 

"I do not have a crush on Jack."

"Well that's good, then." Her overly saccharine tone tells you she doesn't quite believe it. "Because you're like a daughter to him. And I just worry you won't be able to handle it when this friendship inevitably falls apart. You both are in such different stages of life, it's just probably not going to last long."

"I'm not a child," you grumble, tugging your knees up to your chest to disguise the heat rushing to your cheeks. 

You still can't help feeling like one.

Your conversation with your mother weighs on you. It's impossible for it not to. Because everywhere you turn, everything you do - there he is. Jack likes this, Jack says, Jack thinks, Jack Jack Jack Jack. It slips out so naturally, and now that you're paying attention, it makes you uneasy. 

Instead of heading to the cliffside again tonight, you force yourself into the shower. Getting clean is an easy deterrent to keep you from going out. You massage shampoo into your hair, do a deep condition, skip through a new playlist Malcolm recommended. Try your very best not to think of him.

It gets even more difficult when you see five texts waiting for you when you get out. You don't have to check to see who they're from.

You put your phone down. Feel it buzz. Your fingers twitch. It's startling how difficult it is to keep yourself from checking it. But what are you supposed to do? This was supposed to be the healthy coping mechanism - talking to your friends. What did other people do during the long, lonely hours of the night, with nothing but their thoughts to keep them company, not even sleep willing to respond to their call? 

You try everything you can think of. Reading, television, even working out, knees slotted beneath your bed while you do crunches until your stomach spasms. Nothing works. Not the meditation tutorials you find on YouTube, or the breathing exercises. And now that you're so wired, you're thinking of the rum you know your father bought from the market earlier that day, sitting in the fridge, untouched. Neither of your parents know about your sobriety - hell, neither of them ever seemed to tune in when you were struggling the most. And now that you're thinking about it, the thought just won't go away, the potential to drink your anxieties away tantalizing. 

The worst part is you know someone who could talk you down, give you some advice - or at the very least support - because he's going through the same damn thing. But, while you might be as obsessive as your mother claims, you're also fucking stubborn. 

You will not text Jack Abbot. 

You. Will. Not.

Jack isn't sure what he's done. All he knows is something is different at brunch the next day. On paper, everything would seem fine. You smile at him, pass the Tobasco when he asks for it, laugh at his jokes. But beneath it all, he can sense there's something missing. As if the thing between the two of you - the thing that exists when it's just the two of you - has been stripped away, leaving nothing but the half hearted courtesies of a couple of family friends.

Which is, he supposes, what you are. What you have been, these past two summers. 

Maybe getting some space will be a good thing for you both.

Even if it hurts worse than his fuckin' back.

Apparently, getting Jack Abbot out of your system takes a lot of fucking willpower. You feel like a robot the entire next day, carefully calculating everything you say, everything you do, so that he is removed from the equation. That morning, you consume more coffee than you have the entire week, and still you feel as if all the life has been sucked out of you by the afternoon. 

It is a necessary evil, you've decided. To get your mom off your back, and convince yourself that you don't need to FaceTime your sponsor to keep yourself from draining the never ending pitchers of mimosas - then sangrias - that your mother and Nani can't seem to stop ordering. After breakfast stretches into brunch, you make the very mature (if you do say so yourself) decision to excuse yourself and spend the next few hours taking all of your angst out on the stairmaster. 

By dinner, your ass feels like you sat on a hot stove, but you feel better than you have all day. 

You're seated next to your father. He's quiet, his expression guarded. It's familiar territory - more reminiscent of your childhood than the way he's behaved the past few years. The Fourth always puts him on edge, even though he's gotten better at hiding it as you've gotten older. You've never tried to interrogate him as to why.

The thought of attempting to uncover the demons lurking behind his stoicism has always felt like a betrayal. Like doing so would thrust your already tenuous relationship into uncharted territory, and you would never be able to go back. 

"Fifty bucks that dude eats it," you whisper to him as an overconfident teenager attempts to mount his surfboard while his cronies whoop and holler at him from the beach. 

"That's a terrible bet," he replies, all mock sternness before granting you the tiniest grin. 

Just as you predicted, the guy trips head first into a particularly fierce looking wave. You pop a piece of a roll into your mouth, shrugging smugly. 

"How have things been at home?"

You wrinkle your nose. "Doesn't that violate the rules of vacation? What happens at home, stays at home."

He doesn't say anything, just stares in that same manner he has your whole life, as if waiting for you to get all of the smartass excuses out of your system.

"I don't know. Fine, I guess."

"Work's good?"

You shove a bigger bit of bread into your mouth.

"Yup," you mumble.

"If something's ever giving you trouble, you know you can come to me. I know it's been a few years since I've handled anything IP related, but I can still try to help."

You roll your eyes. "Try a few decades."

Not even a flicker of amusement enters his gaze. Your smile drops.

"It's just...it's important to your mother and I that you know that we're here to help."

"I know that." You swallow. "I know all you guys want is for me to be successful -"

"Happy."

Your father blinks at you, concern wrinkling his brow.

"All we want is for you to be happy."

The impact of those words knocks the wind out of you. It was nothing revolutionary. Every parent longs for their child's happiness. But, you both seem to realize at the same time that it's the first time he's said it out loud. 

"Are you happy?" you finally manage. 

He cocks his head, considering. 

"Yeah, I think so. I'm getting there, at least. Isn't that what life is - learning how to be happy?"

You consider his words as the first firework bursts above your heads. The crowd of diners gawks at the explosions of color raining across the night sky.

It's then that you realize there's one of your group missing. 

It's so fuckin' pathetic.

Jack is sitting in the bathtub of his suite with his clothes on, unable to move. He can't quite recall the thought process that led him to this situation. He is aware that he hasn't celebrated the Fourth outside of the PTMC in over a decade. That, before that, he would spend the evening curled on the ground of his and Marisol's walk in closet, flinching at every bit of noise that managed to pierce the room. 

The fact that the climb inside the bath tub has transformed his back pain into a back spasm makes him feel unbearably old. The old man with his fuckin' back. Even more embarrassing is the fact that he knows he's the only one of the three of them barricading himself in his room.

Of course, Allan and Koa weren't there that day. The first time Jack nearly lost his life, just barely scraping by less one half of a limb. A fair trade, he'd thought at first, loopy with pain and the few weak meds available at the field hospital. He wasn't aware that the hard part didn't begin until after the healing ended. 

"Jesus, Jack."

He can barely lift his head, but he knows who he'll find in the doorway. 

"What are you -" You stop yourself, and drop to a squat beside the tub. "You know, this friendship thing goes both ways. You can call me if you need help."

Didn't realize we were speaking, he thinks. Sounds awfully childish, even inside his own head. 

"I'm fine," he grunts.

You scoff. "Then move."

His jaw flexes. You purse your lips. Checkmate. But the judgment quickly vanishes from your eyes. 

"Can I get you anything?"

He can just barely shake his head. "The ibuprofen's no fuckin' use, and I don't have anything stronger."

"What about liquor? My dad picked up a bottle of rum from the store."

"Doubt it'll help. Just need to ride this out."

You sigh, and stand again. He thinks that you have finally made the logical decision to leave him there right before you drop one leg over the edge of the tub and swing yourself inside, wedging yourself beside him.

"I promise I will not be offended if you go enjoy the fireworks like everyone else on the fuckin' island."

You ignore him, smoothing the maroon fabric of your dress over your knees. It's all that he can make out, his field of vision limited by the inability to turn his head without severe pain.

"Fireworks are overrated."

He wishes he could see your face. The two of you sit in silence. Without anything worth staring at but the peeling paint on the wall opposite him, Jack closes his eyes, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your breathing.

"What was it like, back then?"

Jack doesn't have to guess what you're talking about. 

"You don't have to tell me. Honestly, I'm asking for purely selfish reasons." You make a sound that's half a laugh, half a sigh. "I kind of always got the sense that I don't understand my father. And given all of the mid-life crisis adjacent behavior in recent years...I don't know. He never talks about it, and I just feel like I'm missing some crucial context."

Context. That's what it is supposed to be, he supposes. A bit of background on which to build a person, the roots that build a life. The past. Not a curse that plunges him back into the same terrifying scenes over and over again, making his mind feel like a broken film reel. Something he had accepted a long time ago would never truly be over.

Of course, how could you begin to understand that? He didn't talk about it. Learned quickly that silence is a form of safety, that leaving things unsaid can sometimes make them feel less real. But, as Florence had shown him, that approach can hurt as much as it helps. He inhales. 

"Active duty is a thing of extremes. Even just the desert itself - so blistering during the day your skin starts to peel if you stand in the sun for more than ten minutes, then a frozen fuckin' tundra at night. Bad days are real fuckin' bad. And when you know your next breath could be your last, everything is heightened. You bond quickly, and so inevitably it's not long before you're watching friends die. Almost worse when there's nothing to see, when they disappear off the face of the earth and you don't know if they're captured, or flailing around the desert dying of thirst, or already dead."

He swallows. 

"It's not a choice you realize you're making. You adjust to survive it. But when you get back, you don't know how to stand still."

You squeeze his hand. He's not sure when you took it, must have gotten lost for a moment there. He squeezes it back.

"I jumped straight into school when I got home," he continues. "Then came back as a combat medic as soon as I finished med-school. Started volunteering with SWAT as soon as I finished physical therapy for my leg. Marisol thought it was the guilt that made me do it, but I dunno...think it's just the way I'm wired. It's what I'm used to."

"That makes sense."

Your thumb is rubbing small circles over his skin, tracing over each of his knuckles. Something about the gesture feels more intimate than a kiss.

"Sorry for rambling, I know you wanted to hear about your old man-"

"No, actually, that helped a lot. I can see that in him too. More so when I was a kid. He was like a fucking drill sergeant back then."

"I remember. Wouldn't even touch a beer, now he's knockin' back mai tai's like there's no tomorrow."

You don't laugh when he expects you to. Your grip on him has grown a bit stronger, your fingers still.

"I think, in a weird way, I was that for him," you confess. "He channeled all of that energy, that fear, into me. Now he's all mellowed out."

Jack considers it. He's tangentially aware of the strained relationship between the two of you, but hasn't pressed any further than you've been willing to go during your talks. It aligns with the change he's noticed in Allan since that first trip, with the things you've confessed to. 

"You should talk to him," you continue.

"We talk."

"About this? About real shit?" You've got a point, and you both know it. "You, dad, and Koa are the only three people who know exactly what you've gone through."

It's exactly what Florence wants from him. He's also aware that getting three vets in their late forties to talk about their feelings is probably not something he can commit to. 

"I'm sorry for unloading all of this on you," he says instead. 

"God - don't you get it, Jack? You are not a fucking burden. The way you care about people - I've never experienced anything like it. Everyone here loves you so much. Please, let us."

He doesn't miss the word you've used.

"Everyone, huh?"

You inhale sharply.

"Lucy may still be undecided," you finally say.

He laughs, and is greeted with a new wave of pain. 

Eventually, a song begins to play. He opens his eyes to find you've braced your phone against your legs, and are playing the opening credits to Dirty Dancing. There's no possible way that you could know that this particular film was his late wife's favorite, but it's the extra bit of relief he needs. 

Your head nestles into his shoulder.

"I think you may be the only one with the equipment to understand me," he confesses.

Slowly, you press a small, whisper of a kiss against his arm. 

"Happy Fourth, Jack."

Jack wakes to a squeak. Is briefly disoriented, first by the startling lack of pain, then by the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, then by the warm body snuggled into his side. When he finally blinks the sleep out of his eyes, he finds Florence standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

Staring at you.  

When you wake, Jack is gone. Your phone is balanced safely on the edge of the tub, and there's a pillow tucked behind your head. You're not sure how he managed to climb out without waking you. Unlike him, you didn't suffer any debilitating injuries over the course of the trip, but you still struggle to rise after spending the night curled in the cramped tub. 

The unit is totally silent. After discovering the kitchen empty, you poke your heads into the bedrooms and discover them the same. There's no note, no text waiting on your phone. It all feels...odd. Like a bad one night stand. You half expect to see clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, to feel the familiar pounding of a hangover building behind your eyes.  

"Where've you been?" your mother asks when you finally return to your suite. "We thought you were still asleep."

Her eyes drift down to your dress - the same you'd been wearing the night before, now thoroughly wrinkled and damp along the hem with morning dew. 

"Fell asleep on the beach watching the fireworks."

Your throat is unbearably dry, and you pour yourself a glass of pineapple juice from the pitcher she has set on the counter.

"I wish you would be honest with us," she presses.

"I'm not lying!"

You are. Badly, you might add, your voice rising to a pitchy screech and cheeks heating pathetically. She purses her lips, and simply shakes her head.

You don't see Jack again until lunch, your last meal on the island before you have to head to the airport to catch a red-eye (the only thing you can afford right now). He looks tired, the skin beneath his eyes flushed dark and hollow looking. The Hawaiian shirt has been traded for one of his classic muscle tees. His eyes flick up to you as you slip into your seat, then return to his plate. 

"I just find that hard to believe," Nani is saying.

You catch a muscle in his jaw tick. It's not immediately clear what it is you've walked in on, but the air around his side of the table is...tense. Even Florence looks uncharacteristically grumpy, arms folded stiffly in her lap, glaring down at her untouched plate. 

"What about the girl you were seeing a few summers ago?"

Your fork clatters loudly onto your lap and you curse as a bit of balsamic from the salad you'd been trying to snack on smears on your shorts. Florence's eyes dart to you, narrowing slightly. You offer the table an apologetic smile that mostly goes unnoticed, all the while struggling to keep your hands from shaking.

"That's over."

The way that he emphasizes the word - over - feels like it's not just meant to put an end to this conversation.

Did Jack somehow guess at the feelings you'd been trying so hard to deny, deny, deny like a good little lawyer all week? Was that why he was acting so weird now?

"What about you?" Koa asks, turning to you. "Stealing plenty of hearts, I'm sure."

"Oh yeah, loads. Started putting them under the floorboards but the beating's starting to keep me up at night." 

This earns you a few semi-forced laughs, and one groan from Lucy.

"No, uh, I'm not really dating anyone," you say, punctuating the confession with a sip of iced tea.

"Well, it's hard to meet people these days," Nani says, patting your leg reassuringly. "Especially since you work from home." 

You swallow. "Yeah, about that...I quit, actually."

Now it's your side of the table's turn to tense. You finally force yourself to look up from your plate to your father, who you expect to find rearing up for a lecture. Instead, his eyes are soft, widened with surprise and maybe a little concern.

"It just wasn't working for me," you continue, desperate to fill the sudden silence. "I think that kind of place would have burnt me out in a few years, had I stayed."

Your mother nods slowly. "But you're looking for something else, right?"

"I'm casting a wide net. Applying a lot in LA, and some places on the east coast. New York, Boston. Pittsburgh."

It wasn't a calculated decision to keep this particular update from Jack, just like it wasn't to keep the truth about your sobriety from him. But sometimes it was easier to bask in the newfound peace of your relationship, especially when you were feeling good. 

You had hoped Jack would be pleased. Looking at him now, however, you can't quite get a read on his reaction. It's certainly not a positive one - that much is obvious from the fact that he still can't even look at you.

What did I do wrong? you want to scream.

"Well, I think it's great, kid," Koa chimes in. "Onwards and upwards."

"Exactly," Nani agrees, raising her glass. "To new beginnings."

"To new beginnings," you say for the second time this trip, but all of the hope you once felt at the prospect is nowhere to be found. 

taglist: @mayorsof

Today you and Jack decided to take your four year old daughter, Aria, to the park for a family day.

Jack had worked more than normal this week and you felt he just needed a day to get out of the house and enjoy a good day outside.

“Who’s excited for the park?” you ask, looking in the rear view mirror at your daughter.

Small eyes identical to Jack’s look at you with excitement.

“Meeee! I want to go to the slide with daddy! And then the swings!” she rambles on with a smile.

“Don’t worry baby,” you smile back at her “you’ll get to do all of that.”

Jack enterwines your hands and brings it up to place a gentle kiss as his eyes stay focused on the road.

“I’m glad to have you both to myself for the day.”

You squeeze his hand briefly “We’re glad to have you too J. You deserve a break.”

He smiles as he thinks of the relaxing day ahead of him with his girls.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The walk from the parking lot to one of the open field areas is a good twenty minute walk.

Jack has a cooler bag of drinks and snacks while you carry Aria and a bag of her things she may need and some toys.

Once you guys find a decently shaded spot with a few people, Jack lays down a light blanket and sets everyone’s stuff down.

You set Aria down and look through your bag.

“Shit” you mutter quietly, still rummaging in the bag.

Jack looks up from his seated position on the blanket as he grabs some water from the cooler.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I forgot the sunscreen in the car.”

He nods “Well, we’ll just play mostly in the shade. It’s okay.”

You look at your husband with the classic ‘are you serious’ face.

Jack Abbot,” you start “you and your daughter are the most sunburn prone duo on the planet. If you want to risk it with never ending teasing from Robby, go for it. But our daughter is not leaving here looking like a tomato and in pain.”

He chuckles at the tomato reference “Okay sweetheart, be safe and hurry back.”

You run your hand through his grey curls as you pass him.

“Will do, J.”

—---

As Jack waits for you to get back, he has his full attention on Aria as she tells him about the Bluey episode she watched that morning.

“You know I was sitting there with you silly” he laughs as he tickles her side gently.

She erupts in giggles as he continues and attacks her face with kisses.

“You and your granddaughter are adorable” a voice says from the walking path a little bit in front of him.

His eyes furrow a bit as he looks up at the older woman walking her dog.

“I’m sorry?”

Did he hear her right?

She points at Aria with a smile “Your granddaughter,” she says again “she’s just a cute little thing.”

Jack forces a smile at the words.

“She’s actually my daughter.” he corrects politely

He sees the exact moment when the woman realizes.

“Oh my! I am so sorry hun, I-I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed th– I’m so sorry. You and your daughter have a great day.”

She waves briefly before continuing on her way down the path. Once she’s out of sight, the smile Jack had been faking falls immediately.

Granddaughter? Did he really look that old?

He was nearing fifty in a few years and you were a good eighteen years younger than him.

Did people think you were his daughter?

Did people make comments like that to you?

Were you upset about things like that? That he was so much older?

Would you prefer someone younger?

“Daddy!”

A small body falls into his lap, pulling him from his downward spiral of thoughts. He plasters a convincing smile as he goes back to playing with Aria.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You hurried to the car as quickly as you could and hurried back. You see Jack tossing a foam ball back and forth with Ari. She giggles as it bounces out of her hands and to the side.

She sees you first.

“Mama!” she squeals as she runs towards your legs.

You pick her up and kiss her cheek “Hey baby. Were you playing with daddy while I was gone?”

“Yes yes yes!” she cheers while clapping her hands.

You laugh as you set her down on the blanket.

“Okay sunscreen time for you both.”

You look towards Jack and see him looking ahead with a slight frown.

“Babe, everything okay?” you ask softly

You see him immediately give a half smile that’s not convincing.

“Yeah honey, I’m good.”

He’s definitely acting weird.

You raise an eyebrow “You sure, J?”

He nods as he sits Ari in his lap.

 “Alright” he says “lets get some sunscreen on our little monster” he attacks her with tickles.

You can’t help but smile at them but you’re still not convinced Jack’s okay.

You let it go for now but you’ll get him to tell you what’s wrong in a little while.

—---

You guys have had a great time spending the day entertaining one another with Aria.

After finishing the lunch you had packed for everyone, Jack wipes his hands off.

“M’gonna find the bathroom. I’ll be back sweetheart.”

“Kay, be careful” you say as he walks past you.

While he’s gone you talk to Ari.

“Are you having a good day with mama and daddy today?” You smile

Ari grins big, looking more and more like her dad every day.

“Yes!”

“Good, baby.”

You go to grab your drink when her little voice speaks up.

“Daddy sad.”

You face her quickly with furrowed brows.

Huh?

“What baby? Why’s daddy sad?”

Maybe she saw what had happened.

You pick her up and hold her in your lap.

Ari leans the side of her head against your chest and gets comfortable.

“What happened baby?”

She looks around and then points at something.

You look and see an older lady with a dog walking.

“Who’s that?” You ask gently

Ari snuggles closer to you.

“Her and doggy said hi.”

“They talked to you and daddy?”

Aria nods against your chest.

Bingo.

What the hell happened when you left earlier?

Jack comes back a few minutes later.

“Alright Abbot girls, do we want to make our way home soon? Maybe get someeee ice cream on the way?” He says in a silly voice to Aria.

“Ice cream daddy!” she claps in excitement.

“Okay baby, we will soon.” he grins at her

You set her down in front of you where some of her toys are.

“J,” you say quietly

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You grab his hand “Are you gonna tell me what happened earlier?”

He noticeably stiffens at your question and shakes his head briefly.

“Nothing happened?” you press.

“So,” you turn to look for the lady “that woman over there didn’t come over and talk to you and Ari?”

He follows where your finger points and you see his fists clench and unclench.

“Baby, please… tell me what happened?” you plea.

He takes a deep breath.

“When you went to the car, she was walking by and said… something.”

You look at him silently waiting for him to continue.

“She uh, thought I was Ari’s grandfather.”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“She thought Ari was your granddaughter?”

He nods not making eye contact with you.

“Well J, we know that’s not true. So what’s the matter baby?”

“It… it just made me think. Does everyone see it that way?” he shrugs “Do I look that old? Do you think I look too old? Would you want someon—“

“Jack Abbot don’t you dare finish that question.”

His face looks defeated.

“But would you?”

With wide eyes you reassure him “Jack, I would never.”

Your heart breaks at how the interaction upset him.

“Jack listen, I understand where those insecurities can come about but babe…” you pause briefly

“there is no one else on this earth I want more than you. I chose you because you’re funny, you’re considerate, a gentleman, mature, passionate, and talented. You’re also so fucking handsome. Incredibly hot.” you wink 

“But most importantly, I chose someone who would make not only the most amazing husband but also the most amazing father to our kids. And I'm not always the best at choosing things, we know this” you laugh softly

“but I couldn’t have chosen someone better for those roles than you. You’re it babe and you’re stuck with me and Aria forever. Ari also doesn’t care about your age, she just loves her dad.”

“Isnt that right, Ari?” you look at your daughter whose attention is being held by the toys in front of her.

You gently pick her up and set her in your lap.

“Where’s daddy?” you ask as you hold her.

She points at Jack with a smile.

“Tell me something you love about daddy.”

She giggles as you blow raspberries against her cheek.

Jack can’t help but grin at his two favorite girls.

“He plays with me and he, he kisses my boo boos and and he’s nice to you. I love daddy.” she rambles.

You look at Jack with a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘see, I told you’.

His eyes water at his daughter’s words.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

Ari starts to move in your lap and reaches her arms out to Jack.

“Daddy! Hold meee!”

Jack reaches over and takes her from you.

She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, squishing her cheek against his. The action grounds him, melting away the remaining insecurities from earlier.

The sight melts your heart.

You grab your phone and snap a quick picture.

“Anytime you feel down about this again,” you show him the picture you had just taken

“Just remember who your biggest fan is.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

“With?”

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

“Of course.”

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

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

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

“Just the top half. For now.”

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

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

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

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

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

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

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

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

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“Poach me, you mean.”

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

That was all it took.

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

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

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

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

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

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

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

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

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

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

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

“Different?”

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

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

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

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

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

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

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

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

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

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

Instead, you say,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

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

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

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

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

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

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

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

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

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

His brows furrow in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

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

“Marry that girl.”

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

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

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

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

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

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

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

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

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

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

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

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

“Even hash browns?”

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

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You all know I’m right.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

“What happened? You okay?”

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

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

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

“But you’re not most people.”

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

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

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

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

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

“What I need is to be here with you.”

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

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

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

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

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

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

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

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

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

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

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

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

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

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

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

“Blood?”

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

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

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

“My angel,” he breathes.

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

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

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

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

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

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

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

“I quit the SWAT team.”

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

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

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

“What is it, Jack?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

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

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

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

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

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

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

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

“I’m really proud of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, hon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robby, relax. Please?”

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

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

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

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Jack.”

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

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

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

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

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

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

“Robby.”

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

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

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

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

“All of that.”

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

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

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

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

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

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

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

Robby.

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

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

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

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

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

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

“Hey, brother.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

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

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

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

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

She wasn't working at PTMC when you were first here, so she must've transferred while you were in California. The tall, brunette neuro doctor with tanned skin, deep brown eyes, and bright smile makes you feel...small.

You don't like it. You don't know the woman and you don't like how she makes you feel incapable, all just because she's making Jack smile and laugh.

Ugh. Jealousy is an ugly feeling. You're mentally scolding yourself for feeling this way.

Distraction. Yes. You need a distraction.

You clear your throat, gaining the attention of Jack and Doctor Alvarez, "I'll see to my other patients since you two got this," you give them a polite smile and exit the room, going down to the south wing to check on Mrs. Callahan.

You fill the rest of your shift seeing patients, jumping in whenever a med student calls for an attending. You still work beside Jack, but you restrain your playfulness. You still banter with him during cases, but it doesn't hold its usual familiarity and care. You can only hope Jack doesn't notice the little change.

______________________

There's something going on with you. You're different today and Jack doesn't know why.

The shift started off per usual, he gave his Nightcrawlers a little hype up chat, you and he jumped onto a case together. He threw you some playful jests and you threw back witty quips.

At some point, things changed. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, you were out of sight in an instant. He didn't see you for more than a minute in three hours and that's not usual for you. You'd always be by his side if you weren't preoccupied with a case.

He strolls up to Lena while she's directing one of the new nurses on where to go. He clears his throat and lowly murmurs, "Lena?"

"What's wrong?" the woman immediately looks up and over his glasses at Jack. Her eyes narrow, "What did you do?"

He holds his hands up, "I didn't do anything. Least, I don't think I did, but she's been, I dunno, avoiding me?"

Lena can't help but chuckle. She sets down the iPad she was holding and puts her hands on her hips, giving off the aura of a disappointed mother, "Alright then. Tell me every interaction you've had with her since the start of shift."

So Jack relays how he came in early and you arrived right on time. He handed you a protein bar, one he remembered that you loved. You smiled so wide at him then and he felt like he could die happy right then and-

"Okay, you're a softie for her. We all know this. Continue on," Lena demands. Jack sighs and he continues.

You worked on two trauma cases together, a code STEMI, and a neuro case. You called for a neuro consult and Alvarez came down. You stayed for a little bit and then excused yourself since it seemed he and Juliette had it under-

"Doctor Alvarez. The same Doctor Alvarez you dated for a little bit after Specs left?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Did you flirt with Alvarez?"

Jack nervously switches his weight from his prosthetic leg to his other, "I don't think so."

"You don't think so? That's not a no."

He shrugs, "Jules and I have always had a good relationship even after we broke things off." Lena just gives him a hum and picks her iPad back up, which irritates Jack, "So what did I do?"

"You're a grown man, Jack. I think you can figure it out." the night shift charge nurse starts to walk away but Jack follows her.

"I can't, which is why I'm asking you," he stops her in her path, "C'mon, Lena. Please, you know I'm rusty with all of this."

Lena can't help but chuckle, "God, you and Robby are just terrible when it comes to your love lives, aren't you?"

Jack frowns, "Well that's hurtful comparing me to Robby like that."

She rolls her eyes, "Maybe you should just talk to Specs instead of pondering what's going on. I don't have time for your lovesick drama," she waves him away, walking down the hall and stepping into a room.

"Hey," he turns at the sound of your voice. His shoulders loosen up and his voice softens, "Hey, what's up?"

"Just need a second set opinion. I'm getting some...weird vibes with a patient and his mom."

"Yeah, sure. Lead the way." He silently follows you to North Five. There's a teenage boy sitting on the bed with his mother hovering at his side. When you re-enter the patient's room, you introduce Jack. It's very formal and professional.

"He's a more experienced doctor, so sometimes he catches things that I don't."

Jack's lips twitch and he murmurs to the teenage boy, "She basically just called me old but in a nicer way."

The boy snorts and he glances your way, seeing you try to hide your smile. Jack asks some questions to the boy, Malachi. With every answer, Jack notices him do quick glances to his mom, his mom has a firm grasp on his arm.

"So you said you tripped over your cat? What kind of cat you have?"

Malachi seems to lighten up as he answers, "A ginger cat, Manny. Short for Mandarin. He's a funny dude."

"Ginger cats are known to be a wild breed. Always getting zoomies, I hear."

"Ye-Yeah. That's how I ended up falling down the stairs. Guess he got a case of the zoomies and decided to run down the stairs same time I was. Didn't want to step on him, so I stumbled and fell."

Jack nods, "Okay, well, we'll get you in line for a CT scan."

Malachi's mom objects, "Is that really necessary?"

Before Jack responds, you interject, "We just need to make sure your son doesn't have any other internal bleeding."

"And how long will that take?" The mom asks, clearly annoyed that she and Malachi have been there for several hours now.

"We'll try to fast track you, but it's not a guarantee. May be an additional three to four hours, give or take."

Malachi's mother shakes her head, "Un-fucking believeable."

Jack clears his throat, "Let us know if we can get you anything else," he nods and gestures for you to follow him out. You quietly follow him back to the central hub and you stop as he faces you, "Yeah, you're definitely onto something in there. Mom is either a severe helicopter parent or something else."

"Should I call Kiara down?"

He nods, "Yeah, that's probably best. But, uh, good work in there."

"Thanks," you turn to leave, but he stops you.

"Wait, um," he steps a little closer and murmurs to you, "Did I do something? Today it seems like you're just a little...distant."

You look at him, giving him a small smile and a shake of your head, "No, I, um, just feel a little off today."

"You sure? Because this morning, things seemed like they were fine and-"

"Don't worry about it, Jack. Seriously."

He frowns at you, "I always worry when it comes to you."

You sigh and mumble back to him, "I'm not yours to worry about," and you leave without another word.

Sweetheart. The name echoes a few times in your head before you shake it out. 

Somehow, in times of chaos and destruction, the human spirit hardly falters. 

Calm down, he’s just being a doctor, he’s just trying to help me feel safe right now. Older men just say things like that, that’s all.

“Everything good?” He pipes up when he sees your eyes glaze over. It’s partially from exhaustion. And being lost in your own head.

Pull it together! 

You nod. “Yeah, all good, just tired,” you reply.

From your seat, you get a better view of Dr. Abbot. 

His navy shirt is slightly damp from sweat, darkened in areas under his arm and around his neck. He sports some cargo pants that are clearly not for fashion - he’s had some involvement in the military. Chiseled jaw seems to glisten with his peppery colored stubble, probably a day two or three shadow growing in. 

And his eyes. It’s not just that they’re normal, uninfected, clear. Although every time you look at them, you thank the lord that he’s not going to go berserk in a few hours and sink his teeth into your arm. 

Windows to the soul, isn’t that what they say? Each time your eyes meet his, you’re greeted with warmth in the form of a deep hazel shade. 

It feels familiar, like coming home. 

Huh. Even though this guy isn’t a zombie, he could still be… you know… a man. Something sinister. Preying on you in your vulnerable state. Lying about who he was. 

No. You always had a good sense for these things. He seemed trustworthy. Besides, if he wanted to do something to you, the chance to do it was long expired. 

He slides the locker room bench to the side and closer to you and pats his lap. “Could’ya put your leg up here?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say as you hoist it up, letting the back of your calf rest on his knee, your foot hovering in the space between his two legs. 

He stretches the tape out and begins to wrap your barefoot, taut, but clearly not trying to injure you further. 

It’s mesmerizing. 

“You do this often?”

Abbot’s eye stay trained on his busy hands as he continues to pass the roll of tape around your ankle and foot. “More used to reattaching feet. People don’t come in just for a sprain, usually.” 

“Oh, right.” You deflate, somewhat embarrassed at your lack of self-sufficiency, incapable of helping yourself. 

The corner of his lips twitch upwards. “But lucky you, I did my fair share of ankle splints when I served.” He pauses to rip the tape with his teeth, securing the end by tucking it into a fold. “You’re tougher than some of my crew, you know. Running on a sprained ankle all day is quite the feat.”

Your face flushes with the compliment. He’s just trying to make you feel good, your inner voice scolds. 

But you notice briefly how his hand rests over your shin, thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly. 

Just for a moment. 

“Let’s get you some food and water,” he says abruptly, moving his hand off your leg, like he realized it a beat too late. 

Before you can even rise out of the chair, he’s by your side, hooking one arm under your arm and around the other side to your waist, lifting you up. 

Dangling, your toes barely touch the ground. 

“I can walk, you know.”

But he doesn’t let go. “The less stress you can put on it now, the better. Plus, we might have to run. Gotta save it up.” 

You shudder. An ambush here would be terrifying. But you remember that he barricaded the only door to this locker room. Unless the undead figured out how to undo the complicated lock, you were both safe. 

For now. 

He begins to steer you towards the back of the room. “I got some food, it’ll last us a few days.” 

As you round the corner, you see a makeshift setup for his bed and supplies. By the look of it, he’s probably only been here for a day or two. He sets you down on top of a pile of clothes and sits down next to you on a backpack. 

A radio crackles. 

“Is that, does that connect somewhere?” You point to the device sitting on a shelf above. 

He nods. “Yeah. Occasional safety messages are broadcast every hour. Everything’s gone to shit though. Who knows if the people broadcasting are infected too.” 

Setting you down on a stool, he continues. “But there’s updates from the CDC every day. That’s what I try to listen for. Once they come up with a cure or something.”

A cure. Could it be possible? It certainly wouldn’t bring anyone back to life who was already past the 24 hour point. But maybe it could stop the parasite from spreading. Or grant immunity. 

If people actually used their brains and collaborated and got on it quick. And all dependent if there was a remedy. 

“What do you think?” You chirp, curious to get the doctor’s take. 

Grabbing a couple of granola bars, he tosses one in a slow arch to you. You catch it and without thinking twice, wrapper crinkles, slightly stale bar, gone. 

He hums in approval as you devour it, a clear sign that you really needed food. “I got a few more. Eat till you’re full.” Then his face shifts somberly. “I think there’s a chance. I’ve seen miracles happen. But it’s going to take a lot of smart people to put their heads together to figure it out.”

Then he adds, “if they haven’t died yet.”

You stop mid-chew. 

The appetite that was gnawing your stomach to bits is now completely gone, replaced by a dark pit. 

“Hey.” 

Your eyes refocus and find their way back to those hazel eyes. 

“Jack.” He sticks out his hand for you to shake. “My first name is Jack.”

You accept it, feeling the warmth once again from his body through his palm and finger tips. For a moment, your hand remains in his, eyes locked on each other. There’s a tug in your chest, like you didn’t want to ever leave this man’s side. 

“Let’s just focus on one day at a time.” He says. 

You open your mouth to reply, and a yawn rises up out of your chest. You struggle to stifle it. 

Jack lets go of your hand. “You need rest.” 

He pushes himself off the ground, groaning slightly with exertion. 

He’s just as tired as you.. 

Jack’s mind has been racing. Similar images of deceased loved ones like the ones in your head keep him awake at night. It’s worse than his years in the military, if his therapist was still alive after all of this, he would need years to sort out his PTSD. 

After his second day in the warehouse, he wasn’t sure if he was going to stay sane. 

Then you showed up. 

Scared, weak, brave. He was shocked that you were alive, but after spotting the gun in your belt strap and the fact that you had run miles on a twisted ankle, well, something was different about you. 

And as awful as it made him feel to admit it, there was something beautiful about you, disheveled hair and tear stained makeup. The way you clung to him intensely, like you needed him as much as he needed you. 

Jack shuffles his extra clothes around on the ground, adjusting his backpack for you to lay your head. “I know it’s not much, but you can sleep here.” 

You smirk. “Better than a five-star hotel.” 

He watches as you lay your head down, grabbing a jacket and pulling it over your body. Then he lays down on the cold tile ground next to you. 

“Hey,” you sit up once you realize he’s only on the hard tile. “I don’t need all of this.” You slide him a sweatshirt. 

He chuckles lowly. “I’m not going to sleep much, just resting for now. Someone’s gotta stay awake to keep you alive.”

You let out a sigh. Too tired to protest, you recline once again, shifting your body till it’s comfortable. Not that it takes much for you to fall asleep. 

As you listen to the hum of the lights in the locker room and the sound of Dr. Abbot’s breathing, you slip out of consciousness. 

BANG BANG BANG

You sit up, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple with new gravity. 

Jack’s already on his feet, slowly grabbing a heavy black axe off the ground with gloved hands. He sports one of the backpacks, and his face is cleaner than it was before you fell asleep. 

Did he get any rest? Did he watch you sleep? 

The banging continues upstairs. 

“What is it?” You hiss, rubbing the bleariness out of your eyes. 

You’re not sure how long you slept. But adrenaline floods your veins and it’s much easier to stand now, so you must have gotten enough to recover from your long day before. 

He looks back at you. “Grab that backpack.” He doesn’t explain, just starts barking orders. Sticking out his chin, he continues. “Put on the jacket and those gloves. Get your gun. Get your shoes on, and lace them tight for your ankle. We need to leave, now.”

You obey his orders without thinking. As you sling over the backpack, you pat your hips, looking for the pistol. 

“Here.” 

Jack kicks over your gun and you snatch it up, securing it back on your person. “Thanks.” 

Somehow, you’re not that scared now. The last thing you wanted to see was another person with the parasite. This man by your side, however, pushed the threat of death into a far secluded corner in your mind. Jack Abbot was exactly the kind of person you would want to be partnered up with in a zombie apocalypse. 

You both ascend the staircase.

The clanging noise rings across the open warehouse and comes from the door on the far left side. Following closely behind Dr. Abbot, you peer over his shoulder, squinting at the frosted glass.

A hand slams into the window and you flinch. It doesn’t break the glass, but you doubt it’ll hold up much longer. 

"Stay close to me,” Jack’s eyes flick back to you, reaching out with his free hand, pulling you closer by your waist. 

You were already near him, but he wanted you right by him, to protect you. The thought of losing one more person, even though he just met you, was unbearable.

And if you were in different circumstances, you would’ve blushed at the action, maybe even said back some flirty remark. But you can’t, as you hear the banging get more intense as you both approach the door. 

Your heart still flutters though. 

“I would go through a different door, but I’d rather kill them now than get ambushed,” he says lowly, raising his axe. 

Now you’re both just a few feet away from the door. 

Jack’s body stiffens. “Okay, I need you to take a few steps back and get ready with your gun.”

He turns to you. “If I get bit, you need to shoot me.”

“What?” You almost shout, wincing when the bodies outside slam louder against the door. 

A hand lands on your shoulder. “Please. We can’t let this thing spread around any more.”

You swallow dryly. 

“The only way for us to get through is for me to cut off their limbs,” he explains, and you nod in understanding. “I think there’s only two or three of them.” 

He steps back and points to the door, walking through the plan. “I’ll open the door, and step to the side, and get the first one that comes through. When I tell you, run up the stairs to the right, they’re slower going up, and I’ll follow behind and get the second one.”

“What if there’s more?” 

Jack shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

Well that’s comforting.

He reaches for the door handle, which rattles with each bang. “Ready?”

You take a few steps back and eye the staircase to the right. “Ready.” 

It all happens so fast. Jack barely touches the knob and the first person crashes through, falling down on their knees. 

“HELP!” The woman shrieks, skin and hair frenzied, already molting in grey and black pieces. Her voice ignites every muscle fiber in your body, turning on your fight or flight instinct.

With one swing, Jack’s axe comes down on her neck, severing it instantly. The head rolls and those grey eyes land on you, chilling your blood instantly. 

“Run, now!” Jack yells, already sprinting after the man that comes barreling through the open door. 

Every muscle in your body twitches to life, and you bolt up the stairs. You don’t look back, listening as steps clang on each step, but they slow as the man limps and struggles, just like Jack said they would.

You hear a whoosh and the sound of flesh connecting with a blade, turning around just in time to see Jack hacking off the legs of the man before plunging his axe into the man’s neck. 

It’s too late. 

A third figure bursts into the room, lunging straight for Jack Abbot, eyes manic and teeth bared. 

“Jack, no!” You cry out, reaching for the pistol, but unable to get a clear shot of the attacker. 

The zombie jumps and chomps down on Jack’s leg right as he yanks his weapon from his previous victim. 

“NO!”

You train the gun on Jack now- 

If I get bit, you need to shoot me, the words repeat abysmally in your mind. 

I can’t! He can’t die, I can’t shoot him!

He manages to slice through his assailant’s neck after two attempts, their head bouncing off the bottom step, and rolling to the side. 

Shoot! Shoot, damnit. He’s going to turn into-

Jack drops the axe and throws both hands up in a surrender. His eyes snap to you with panic.

Jack knew something was wrong the minute he walked through the door.

Usually, his sweet girl was curled up on the couch, fighting to wake up, using all of her strength to sleepily pad her way towards the equally tired man the moment she laid her eyes on him. A lazy half-smile had been on his face the entire drive home. He'd spent it imagining the million little kisses she’d press across his face while he stood there, still somehow surprised that someone as precious as her loved him back.

He was greeted by the same comforting calm of his town home, a stark contrast from the electric buzz of the PTMC. Jack looks to the couch… and it’s empty.

While part of him wanted to panic a little, he knew better. He furrowed his unruly eyebrows as he dropped his things slowly, making his way to the bedroom. He knew she was here somewhere. Her car was in the driveway, and could see the spare key he gave her on the kitchen table.

His shoulders hunched over with the exhaustion only the night shift could bring, as he turned the corner and saw her frame in bed. Jack's shoulders relaxed, despite the weight of the past 13 hours. A tired smile found its way onto his face as he took in her sleeping silhouette breathing slowly, her upper half covered in his navy blue duvet.

Then he heard his sweet girl whimper, like a wounded animal.

He called her name lightly; no response.

Jack walked towards her, trying to ignore the dull ache of his prosthetic after a long shift. He watches her sleeping frame lightly curl in on herself, a light groan escaping her lips.

The doctor in him does an immediate intake, scanning over her. That’s when he sees it: the small, dark crimson patch below her, following the trail between her legs. It’s fresh, almost concealed from his eyes from the blackout curtains of his room.

His poor girl.

He turned on the lamp, on his bedside table before Jack’s calloused hands brushed her sweat-slick hair away from her forehead, her body slowly relaxing at his touch.

“Baby, I’m home,” he whispered.

Her back arches lightly as she begins to stir, eyes fluttering as Jack coaxes her back from the land of dreams.

“Hi Jackie,” she mumbles, voice dripping in sleep.

She stretches a little, smiling up at her man, before taking in her surroundings. She opens her mouth to ask Jack about his shift before feeling the warm damp feeling between her legs. She looks down and sees red before going cold, heart sinking.

She freezes before sitting up quickly, immediately grabbing at the bunched up duvet in an attempt to cover up the stain.

“Oh my God… no, no, no…,” she murmured, her eyes starting to sting with embarrassment.

“Hey, hey. Breathe,” Jack’s silky voice enveloped her as he moved to sit on the bed, petting her head. His heart broke a little watching his girl panic quietly, making it his mission to quell her anxiety.

“I bled all over your bed, fuck.”

Hot tears begin to fill her vision. She tried to blink them away, feeling even worse that she made such a mess in her boyfriend’s bed, and is somehow making it about her. In the back of her mind she was praying to whoever would listen, hoping the universe would show her some mercy and swallow her whole.

“Honey, it really is ok—”

Jack continued to comfort the poor girl, his large hand cupping her cheek as he wiped away some rogue tears. His attempts at calming her are interrupted by her panicked babbling.

“I’m really, really sorry Jack.” Her lip quivered, trying to remain calm and failing miserably.

While their relationship wasn’t particularly new, she still hadn’t dealt with… this, over the months they’ve been together. At least not at his place. She felt the dull ache of her hips begin the bloom, her embarrassment doing little to distract her from the sudden sharp pain of her cramps.

Jack’s voice broke through her anxious fog, as he bent down to meet her eyes.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Your sheets…”

“They’re just sheets, baby. I’ll wash them.”

“This is so embarrassing.”

“For who?”

She avoids his gaze, too busy racking her mind over and over on how to make it all better, than to respond to Jack’s question. His hand moves to lightly pinch her chin between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Pretty girl, please look at me.”

Her watery eyes reluctantly meet his as he guides her head gently.

“There you are,” he said lovingly, his handsome half smile blooming as she followed his request.

“I feel gross.”

Jack immediately frowned at that.

“Babygirl you are far from gross to me right now.”

She swallowed hard, ears heating up at his words. “But… I ruined your bed. And your morning.”

“No, sweetheart. You got your period. Those are two very different things.” His voice lowered to a whisper before continuing, "You haven't ruined a thing. Not the sheets. Not my morning. Certainly not you, pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the way Jack is treating her with such care, the sheer humiliation of this moment, or the amount of hormones flowing through her, but the poor girl can’t stop crying. It’s not even particularly dramatic, but it does feel equally as pathetic as she imagines sobbing in front of him would. Her breath is ragged, her lip quivers uncontrollably, and her brows shake from the strain of holding her frown. She sniffles, and wipes at her tears like she’s trying to will it all to go away.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Why not?” Jack at this point is equally devastated at the meek sound of the woman in front of him, and confused as to why she’s so embarrassed about something so natural.

“I've worked in an emergency department for over twenty years. It’s going to take more than a little blood to scare me off.”

“I’m still really sorry. I didn’t know it was coming…” she hiccuped.

“Irregular cycles happen honey, I get it.”

“And you just got off of work—”

“Exactly, so let me do my job. Let me take care of my girl, ok?”

A deep frown etched itself further onto her now splotchy, tear-stained face.

“I was gonna make you breakfast.” Her voice cracked a little at the end of her confession. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

With a tilt of his head, his crow’s feet spread wide as Jack smiled in pure disbelief. How did he manage to get such a sweet girl? What could he have possibly done in a past life to deserve her?

“C’mere.”

He doesn’t wait for her to follow his direction, but immediately scoops her up into his big, freckle kissed arms, holding her like he’s trying to put her back together, one gentle touch at a time.

The exhaustion from her own emotions releases as soon as Jack has a hold on her. He manhandles her a little in the way she needs when she’s overwhelmed. Her head instinctually moves to hide in the crease of his neck, finding comfort in the scent of amber, sandalwood, and something else she could only describe as distinctly Jack.

She feels his slender nose bury his way into her messy hair, as he takes a deep inhale. He begins to lightly rock her in his lap before placing a few chaste kisses along her hairline.

“My sweet girl…” Jack coos, his lips brushing the crown of her head.

She buries her face a little deeper into his neck, focusing on the sound of his breathing, trying to match its rhythm.

“Right now I need you to let me take care of you. I know you’re embarrassed, but humor me anyway.”

She sniffles before slowly, readjusting her face to stare up at him, nodding once.

“Good girl.”

A shy smile and a blush appear on her face. Jack lets out a small laugh at her shyness.

“Can I ask you a couple of doctor questions?” He asks, cupping her face once more.

“Mhm.” She quietly gives permission.

“Ok sweetheart, scale of one to ten, how’s the pain?”

She thinks to herself for a moment.

“A seven. Maybe seven and a half.”

Jack’s hand moves to her tummy, rubbing lightly and moving to massage her hips.

“Where does it hurt the most, baby?”

“My hips and lower back. Like I’m being stabbed.” She groans sarcastically as another strike of pain hits her pelvic area. “My head hurts too.”

Jack gave a small nod, his expression settling into something calm and certain.

Wordlessly, he stood, gathering her into his arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Judging by the smile tugging at his lips, it might've been his favorite part.

“Jaaack!” The girl squealed in surprise, tightly gripping his shoulders and once again hiding her face in the pretty creases in his neck, his stubble tickling her.

“Shhhh pretty girl. You said I can take care of you, so let me,” he stated, voice strong and firm, allowing no room for argument.

She didn’t argue. She felt herself melt a little further into his chest, cheeks warming despite everything. There was something unfairly comforting about the quiet confidence in his voice.

He made his way towards the bathroom, using his elbow to flick on the light switch. The way his beautiful girlfriend melted into him made the ache in his leg completely worthwhile.

He gently set her on her feet before helping her sit on the closed lid of the toilet. Jack crouched in front of her, bringing himself to eye level. He held her waist as he looked into her red-rimmed eyes. Her face was puffy from crying, but Jack thought it made her look like an angel. He couldn’t have dreamt her up if he tried.

Rubbing his thumbs comfortingly against her torso, the only thing on his mind now was making his girl feel better.

"Here's what we're gonna do," he said softly. "I'm going to get these clothes and the sheets in the wash. While I do that, I want you to use the bathroom, okay? Then I'll help you get cleaned up.”

His girl played with her fingers in her lap, still feeling shy, but nodded at his instructions. She nibbled at her lip a little before squeaking out a “Thank you Jackie.”

“Anytime pretty girl.”

Jack leaned forward, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of the old U.S. army shirt she'd borrowed from him. He stole one slow, gentle kiss, turning the girl into a puddle under his touch. This kiss was slow and full of care, feeling like they were in their own little world.

The couple only parted when Jack moved to pull the shirt off of her frame.

“Arms up for me, sweetheart.”

Once she was naked, Jack stood up and gathered her clothes, reassuring her that he would be right back.

The now naked girl took a moment to sit in the silence of Jack’s simple bathroom.

She stared at the closed door for a moment before letting out a long, shaky breath. The embarrassment hadn't disappeared, but it no longer sat quite so heavy in her chest. She wasn't sure she believed Jack completely yet... that she hadn’t made some earth shattering mistake, but listening to the quiet purr of his AC, she believed him enough.

Slowly, she took care of herself, wiping away the blood smeared on her thighs, wincing as another cramp rolled through her hips like a storm. The exhausted girl starts to sweat, feeling like there is a live wire under her skin. The light is too bright, her hips ache, her head is two seconds away from having cartoon birds float above her.

By the time she gathered the strength to stand, putting her weight onto the nearby bathroom counter, she zeroed in on the familiar sounds of Jack moving through the house.

The washing machine rumbled to life. Fresh sheets snapped crisply over the mattress. Cabinets opened and closed with practiced ease. The kettle clicked on. Somewhere between remaking the bed and digging through the medicine cabinet, she heard him quietly ordering breakfast from the little diner they'd started calling their place. He didn't even have to ask what she wanted anymore.

It was oddly comforting listening to him put the house back together while she attempted to do the same thing to herself.

There’s a soft knock on the door that interrupts the quiet.

"Can I come in, sweetheart?"

"Mhm."

Jack nudged the door open with his shoulder, his arms already full. Fresh pajamas were draped over one forearm, a fluffy towel over the other. Balanced carefully in one hand was a glass of ice water, two ibuprofen resting in his palm.

A soft smile spread across his face as he found her waiting for him. There was something deeply intimate about moments like this.

"There's my girl."

She gave him a tired smile in return, now standing, gently wrapping her arms around herself.

Jack crossed the room, setting everything on the counter before turning back to her.

"Open."

She blinked, similar to a deer in headlights.

"What?"

He extended his palm between them.

“Medicine. For the cramps. Open.”

Her lips pulled into a small pout as she eyed the pills suspiciously, like he'd just handed her poison. Rationally, she knew they would ease the cramps eventually. Unfortunately, nausea wasn't known for being particularly rational. Her stomach rolled at the mere thought of swallowing anything right now.

“… I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“They’re huge.”

“They’re tiny.” Jack smirked at her antics, managing to still be spoiled despite the pain she was in. Her attitude was his own fault, so he couldn’t be mad. If anything, he was getting more and more lovestruck by the second.

“Jack…” the girl whined.

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. She folded her arms in mock hurt and protest. Jack lifts his free hand to pet her hair away from her face.

“C’mon honey, doctor’s orders.”

That only made her pout some more.

“This is an abuse of your license, Dr. Abbot.”

The cheshire cat had nothing on the grin Jack was wearing right now.

"I’m pretty sure encouraging my girlfriend to take ibuprofen falls well within my scope of practice.”

“… I still don’t want to. Don’t want to throw up.”

Jack stepped closer until they were nearly touching. He closes the distance, nudging his sloped nose against her own, breath fanning her face. His voice softened at the concern in her voice.

“You won’t. Big drink of water first." He grabbed a glass of water from the counter and placed it in her hands. "Then the pills."

She sighed dramatically, shoulders deflating, eyes closing in defeat.

She pushes up on her tip toes to kiss him gently, before taking the pills out of his palm. Doing as she was told, she grimaced dramatically once she'd swallowed them.

"Ugh."

"Atta girl."

"Try not to look so pleased with yourself."

“Can’t help it. You’re too good for me.”

He lightly taps her ass with his hand, and kisses her cheek before maneuvering her body to switch places with his.

“Time to shower.”

Jack pulls away the shower curtain, moving to sit on the edge of the tub. Steam begins to bloom through the bathroom as he turns on the water, sticking his hand under the faucet to check the temperature. He adjusts the flow until the water settled into a gentle, steady warmth.

"There," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Perfect."

His girl watched him in awe as he made himself bare before his fingers found the buckle of his prosthetic with practiced ease. She watched quietly as he unfastened the socket before setting the leg carefully against the wall.

She'd watched him do it countless times, but something about it always made her pause. It was one of the few moments where he let himself be taken apart in front of someone else.

Before she could drift too far into thought, he looked up.

"C'mere, sweetheart."

She helped him stand up off the edge of the tub, step into the spray of water before settling into this built in shower seat. She followed suit stepping carefully over the lip of the shower, immediately sighing as the warm water kissed her skin.

Jack patted his thick thigh and opened his arms.

Without a word, she settled onto his lap sideways, one arm looping around his shoulders as she tucked her face into his neck. The heat of the shower seeped into both of their aching muscles, and for the first time all morning, the knot in her hips loosened ever so slightly. Jack rested one hand against the small of her back, the other rubbing slow circles over her hip. The tips of his fingers messed with the ends of her hair, as they began to curl from the heat and humidity of the room.

"Better?"

"...A little."

"I'll take a little."

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The water drummed softly against the tile and their bodies while he simply held her, content to let the warmth and the medicine begin doing their jobs. She pressed kiss after kiss against his neck, and he traces sweet nothings into her skin, like it could magically will all of her pain away.

Eventually, Jack reached for the bottle of body wash.

"Mind if I help?" He mumbles against the crown of her head.

She nodded against his shoulder.

His movements were unhurried, almost reverent. He worked the soap into a soft lather before gently washing away the dried sweat and tears from her skin, careful around the tenderness in her stomach and hips. The room filled with the scent of citrus, a bright clean scent he bought for her when she started spending the night. Every touch of his hands asked a silent question, every pause waiting to see if she needed him to stop.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had treated her body with so much patience. That alone made her eyes well up again. Thankfully the billows of steam and the spray of water hid her secret from the gentle man cradling her.

When he reached for the shampoo, she smiled.

"Jack..."

"What?"

"I can wash my own hair."

"I know."

His fingers disappeared into her curls anyway, scratching lightly at her scalp until she melted with an involuntary sigh.

"There it is," he teased. "Knew that'd get you."

After he rinsed the shampoo, thoroughly checking to make sure none got in her eyes, Jack went to put the bottle back on the shelf. The girl caught his wrist in her hand.

"Your turn." She said, like it was only fair that she returned the favor.

Jack blinked.

"Sweetheart—"

"You've been on your feet for thirteen hours." She gently took the bottle from his hand. "Humor me anyway,” she teased, repeating his words from earlier.

Jack's mouth opened to protest before closing just as quickly. There wasn't much fight left in him after his shift, and truthfully, he didn't want to deny her this. Not when she was looking at him like he hung the moon just for her. Which he would, by the way.

"...Okay," he relented, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She shifted carefully to straddle his lap before hesitating, her hands coming to rest lightly against his shoulders as she hovered momentarily.

"...Jack?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Her eyes dropped between them.

"I'm sorry if I... get blood on you."

The apology came out so quietly it was almost lost beneath the steady patter of the shower.

Jack's brows knitted together for only a second before he reached up, cupping her damp cheek.

"Honey." His thumb swept gently across her skin. "We're literally in the shower."

A tiny laugh escaped her as she gave him a sheepish look.

"And even if we weren't..." He smiled, pushing her hips down to meet his, forehead resting against hers. "I'd much rather have you in my lap than worry about a little blood."

Her shoulders softened.

"I love you, Jackie.”

“I love you more, sweet girl.”

She gave him a languid kiss, his tongue swirling against hers before she pulled back to wet his salt-and-pepper curls. Her fingers were meticulous in combing carefully through each lock until they were slicked back from his face. Fuck, he was so pretty.

A small amount of shampoo was rubbed into a rich lather between her hands before she worked it gently into his hair. Her fingertips scratched slow, deliberate circles against his scalp, lingering at the base of his neck where the day's tension had settled. Between each scratch of his scalp, his girl pressed kisses on the apples of his cheeks, his angular jaw, and anywhere else she could reach from this position without much effort.

Jack's eyes drifted shut almost immediately at the feeling. His hands massaged the swell of her hips, and he relished in the feeling of her soft tummy pressing against his. Jack couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair, or took care of him like this.

He'd long since adapted to doing nearly everything himself. But there was something impossibly tender about surrendering such an ordinary task to the woman he loved. Every careful stroke through his graying curls, every gentle scratch of her nails against his scalp, every ounce of attention she poured into him whispered the same thing she'd been trying to tell him all morning:

Let me take care of you, too.

A quiet hum escaped his chest before he could stop it.

She smiled to herself.

"Good?"

He cracked one eye open just enough to look at her.

"Dangerously."

She finishes rinsing his hair, watching the suds flow down his neck and disappear between their touching chests. She drags her hand down his face before tipping his chin up, admiring the clean silver strands now curling tighter from the steam.

"You're so handsome, you know that?" She whispered with a light tilt to her voice.

Jack smiled lazily. "Hm. I've been told."

His hand moves up from her hip to brush the side of her breast lovingly.

"Not nearly enough."

She kissed him once. Then again. Then a third time just because she could. His hands pulled her impossibly close, like if he tried hard enough they could merge into one. Not that he’d mind one bit.

"Feeling better?" he asked between kisses.

"Mhm."

"Good. Was starting to miss my girl."

She laughed into his mouth, stealing one lingering kiss before bumping her nose against his.

"I’m back."

After a few more minutes of hushed ‘I love you’s’ and gentle caresses under steam, a shiver rippled through her before she could stop it. Jack felt it immediately where she rested against him, his hands instinctively rubbing a little more warmth into the small of her back.

"Cold?" he asked softly.

She gave a sleepy nod against his shoulder.

"A little bit."

He reached behind him, fingers searching for the faucet before twisting it shut. The steady hiss of water faded until all that remained was the soft drip from the shower head and the sound of their breathing.

"Guess that's our cue."

Neither of them moved.

She stayed tucked against him for another few heartbeats, content to listen to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Jack rested his cheek against the crown of her head, planting one absentminded kiss into her damp curls.

"We're gonna wrinkle," he murmured.

"You already are."

That made Jack smack her ass a little sharper this time, making her giggle in surprise.

“Brat.”

“You love it.”

"...You've got me there."

Reluctantly, she untangled herself from his lap and stepped carefully onto the bathmat. Jack followed more deliberately, bracing one hand against the grab bar as he eased himself onto the edge of the tub before reaching for the towel he'd left waiting.

Before he could unfold it, gentle fingers stole it from his hands. He watched her with soft eyes.

"You spoil me."

She looked up with a grin.

"I learned from the best."

She draped the oversized towel over his shoulders before gently rubbing the moisture from his hair, careful not to muss the silver curls she'd just washed more than necessary. The towel moved down over his neck and broad shoulders, lingering where the muscles still carried the weight of the night.

Her touch was slower now than it had been in the shower. Less about cleaning him. More about loving him the way he'd loved her all morning.

She knelt carefully in front of him, drying his good leg before lifting the towel to the smooth skin of his residual limb with the same tenderness he'd shown her only minutes earlier.

The moment she finished he wordlessly grabbed another towel, wrapping it around her shoulders until she disappeared inside it, smiling to himself when only her nose peeked out from the fluffy fabric.

"There."

She giggled at his actions. "I look ridiculous."

"You look adorable."

"You could at least say mysterious. It’s much cooler."

"I'll let you know if you ever pull it off."

She gasped in fake shock.

"You wound me, Dr. Abbott."

"Mm, I'll make a note of that in your chart."

She dissolved into laughter, the bright sound bouncing off the tile. God, he'd never get over the sound of her elation. His favorite sound in the world.

Jack moved himself from the edge of the tub to the closed seat of the toilet, reaching for the clean pair of boxer briefs he'd left on the counter earlier. Balancing easily on the support bar he had installed, he stepped into them before easing himself back onto the closed toilet lid. Without the prosthetic, moving was slower, more deliberate, but his girl noticed how little it seemed to bother him anymore. Years of practice had turned adaptation into routine.

Once Jack was dressed, he stood up, steading himself on the counter.

"I need to grab a couple things from the bedroom."

She frowned.

"I can—"

He was already shaking his head as he reached behind her and the bathroom door where a pair of forearm crutches leaned against the wall. Slipping his arms into the cuffs had become second nature years ago.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

He kisses her on his way out. She watched him disappear down the hallway with the familiar rhythmic thunk of the crutches against hardwood.

A few moments later he returned carrying a small bundle tucked beneath one arm.

"I come bearing gifts."

She looked down to find one of his faded Army shirts, a fresh pair of cotton underwear, a pad, and a pair of fuzzy socks she'd accidentally claimed as her own months ago.

She pouts, cooing at her boyfriend’s thoughtfulness and care for her.

Jack couldn't help but smile as he helped her step into the fresh underwear, kneeling just long enough to smooth the fabric back into place. He pressed the pad into her waiting hand before turning politely toward the sink, giving her a moment of privacy.

When she quietly announced she was ready, he pulled one of his faded Army shirts over her head, laughing softly as the sleeves swallowed her hands once again. A pair of fuzzy socks disappeared onto her feet soon after, earning him another sleepy smile that made every ache from his shift worthwhile.

Jack leaned down to steal one lingering kiss, his forehead resting against hers for just a moment before lacing their fingers together.

Breakfast was waiting on the porch by the time they wandered into the kitchen, still wrapped in oversized clothes and damp hair. They ate curled together on the couch beneath a blanket, absentmindedly trading bites from each other's plates, feeding one another while morning sunlight slowly spilled across the hardwood floors.

Somewhere between the last sip of coffee and the final bite of pancakes, Jack felt her growing heavier against his shoulder.

He smiled, gathered her into his arms one last time, waking her up only to take her back to the freshly made bed. Fresh sheets crinkled softly beneath them as Jack settled in next to her, gathering his girl against his chest like he had a hundred times before. His arm found its familiar place around her waist, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against the cotton of her shirt.

She stared at the morning light spilling through the curtains for a long moment before speaking.

"...I'm sorry I cried so much."

Jack frowned immediately.

"Hey."

He gently touched her face until she was looking at him, brushing one last damp curl away from her face.

"I need you to listen to me."

She nodded.

"You never have to apologize to me for something your body does."

Her eyes shimmered again.

"But it was so messy..."

He smiled sadly, his thumb stroking across her cheek.

"Sweetheart... periods are messy." He shrugged one shoulder. "Life's messy."

His forehead found hers.

"You aren't."

She swallowed hard.

”You're not gross." Another kiss to her forehead. "You're not embarrassing." A kiss to the tip of her nose. "You're not a burden. Not to me."

His hand slipped beneath hers, lacing their fingers together over her stomach. "You're just my girl. I’d do anything for you.”

The words hit somewhere deep inside her, loosening the last little knot of shame she'd been carrying all morning.

"So the next time this happens..." he murmured, "I want you to tell me. I'll wash the sheets, order breakfast, hold you through the cramps..." He smiled, warm and certain. "Whatever you need."

"...Every time?"

Jack looked at her like the answer should've been obvious.

"Every. Single. Time." He punctuated every word with a kiss to her delicate mouth. She tucked herself beneath his chin again, letting out the deepest breath she'd taken all day.

"Love you, Jackie."

His lips brushed her hair one last time.

"I know, sweetheart. I love you, too. Always will."

“Oh! No! Put that down!” Y/N fusses as she rushes back into the kitchen, heels hanging from one hand while both hands work on trying to put in an earring. Jack looks up from his feast. It was one cookie! He couldn’t help it if he loved his girl’s baking!

“One more bite!” He defends as he runs from her to the other side of the kitchen counter, mouth full of already half the snickerdoodle.

“Jack! That’s not for right now!” Y/N says as she chases him. She should’ve known his offer of using his oven last night so she could ‘sleepover’ was just an excuse for this..

“It’s so good..” He grumbles happily, mouth still full as he finishes the cookie before finally catching his girl by the waist with a soft chuckle.

“Jack..” Y/N complains as she brushes at his fresh navy blue polo. “You got crumbs..-“ He cuts her off as he gently tilts her chin.

“It’s just crumbs. I still look good, and you…” He backs away to spin her a bit. “You look perfect..” He says.

“Flattery will not distract me..” Y/N states firmly. He chuckles softly and pulls her back in.

“I can try..” He plays along before kissing her tenderly. She can’t help herself, giving in almost instantly as her arms wrap around his neck.

See, whereas Jack worked in the ED, dealing with life and death day in and day out, he always swore Y/N had the harder job. She worked in PEDs on the fourth floor. The two had met during a patient hand off. She’d been the one to go downstairs and get said patient, and something about her.. It woke Jack up after a twelve hour shift.

Maybe it was the bright, ‘Cinderella’ themed scrubs she was wearing. Maybe it was the fact that her tired face brightened the second she was in front of the child in order to make them feel less nervous. Maybe it was her smile. But.. Jack left the hospital that day knowing he was gonna remember her name.

Nurse Y/N..

And six months in, her name had changed. From Nurse Y/N to just ‘Y/N’, then again to the first letter of her name, to now… ‘Boop’.

As in Betty Boop.

He said he called her that because whenever she fussed or panicked, she was very animated with it. Like how Betty Boop would be. She rolled her eyes the first time he explained it to her, saying that wasn’t true. But he took note of her little foot stomp when she said that. And.. Bashfully, so did she..

She’d always been told she was too much. But.. Jack was the calm she needed. Panicking and fussing around him was like… Freaking out in a padded room. It was safe and contained and no judgement would ever be put on her afterwards.

Six months in, and she was about to introduce him to her family. Everyone was getting together at her old childhood home for her grandmother’s 70th birthday, and she wanted to make everything perfect..

She had even picked out everything Jack was wearing. And as always, he let her fuss about, but still calmly stood by for when she needed that assurance that she was doing great and everything would be fine.

“Today is gonna go great, Boop.” He whispers against her lips. She sighs softly as she sheepishly fusses with his collar, mostly to have something to do..

“Look at me..” He says softly as a way to get her attention. She grumbles softly but gives in fairly quickly, looking up at him. He smiles softly.

“Let me worry about meeting your family today. Okay? That’s for me to carry. Only thing I want on your mind is.. How excited you are to be seeing all your relatives.” Jack says, voice as calm as ever. It makes Y/N take a deep breath, relishing in his soothing tone and warm hands that rub along her arms.

“Okay..” She says finally.

“Good.” Jack states as he backs away a bit. “Only worry you should have is me finishing that bowl before we get to the house.” He jokes a bit as he nods towards the Tupperware of cookies.

“Jack!” Y/N warns, but a smile tugs on her lips as she quickly grabs the bowl from the counter to get it away from him.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he goes to get his keys..

*

*

*

Jack is able to distract her with some music on the radio, blasting as they sing along to it. It gets her laughing and by the time they pull up, Y/N is excitedly rushing to the backyard, leaving her anxiety in the passenger seat like an infection that seeps into Jack instead.

He takes a deep breath. All he could really do now is turn on the charm.

And turn it on he did..

Y/N’s arms wrapped around his bicep was an anchor for him. A safety rope. The two moved around the entirety of the backyard, introducing him to every family member in sight.

Back in high school, Jack remembered being told by a teacher that he was so charming, he’d be able to talk his way out of a murder charge. He kept that in mind as he spoke to everyone he met, hoping he’d talk his way into being seen as a man that was more than worthy enough for Y/N…

At a certain point of the grill out, Jack watches from his place on the backyard patio as Y/N begins playing with the children at the party, setting up a game of hide and seek. Jack had really hit it off with her uncles and cousins, so here is where he stood, by the grill, cracking jokes and watching his girl be her average amazing self..

At a certain point, all the men were pulled away for something, and Jack had taken it upon himself to start cleaning up the grill area a bit. Mostly to make himself useful. As he gathers up the pans and tongs and spatula used, a man moves over to his side instantly.

“If anybody asks, I’ve been here the whole time helping you out..” The man smirks at Jack, making him pause for only a moment before nodding slowly.

“Sounds about right to me.” Jack finally agrees before holding out a hand while balancing the dirty dishes on his free arm. “Jack Abbot..” He says politely.

“Sam. Sam Y/L/N..” The man says, and Jack slows his thoughts in slight astonishment.

Oh.

Y/N’s father..

While giving the rundown of her family, she’d brushed past her dad a bit, saying he’d probably be too busy to attend. So, Jack wasn’t given anymore information on the man.

Crap..

“That look on your face. Let me guess, you’ve heard of me..” Sam jokes. Jack cracks a small smile, mostly to save face.

“Funny enough.. No. Not much..” He says assuringly as Sam laughs while shaking his head.

“No, it’s alright. I get it. Now, I’ll only be worried depending on who you got your information from..” He teases as he slips his hands into his pockets while gazing out into the backyard. Jack sets the stuff down now, deciding it’s best to make a first impression without dirty dishes clinking around in his grasp.

“If you got it from my sister Sandra, just know I did pay her and her husband back. She just loves saying I didn’t..” Sam snorts with an amused shake of his head.

Jack pauses before trying to open his mouth, being cut off again.

“My brother Thomas has no room to talk. I let him sleep on my couch while he was between jobs.” He continues as Jack keeps up a small smile even though he’s beginning to feel a bit… Put off by the man. He shakes off the feeling. He still had to make a great impression.

“And.. If you got any stories from my ex-wife…” He trails off. “Well. You know what they say, ‘you wanna put a man away for life, make the defendant his ex-wife’..” Sam jokes. Jack stiffens a cringe, instead laughing along with Sam, nodding as if agreeing with the dreadfully cliché ‘bitter ex-wife’ narrative.

Jack had met Y/N’s mom while helping to set up, and the woman was a beautiful spirit. It was clear to him that that’s where Y/N got her heart. Watching Sam, now.. It made Jack wonder what the hell Y/N got from him?

“Let me guess. You’re Maddie’s new man?” Sam asks, speaking about his baby sister now. Jack chuckles at that, feeling iffy on correcting him. No one at the party had brought it up, but Jack knew the age difference was very much apparent.

“Actually-“ Sam cuts him off.

“Don’t get all shy. I get it. Meeting the older brother. But.. It’s all good. I’m not gonna judge.” Sam shrugs. Jack straightens his shoulders a bit as he realizes who’s really standing in front of him.

Jack has met a man like him in the past. Many men, actually. A man who got by on the false image they shined out on to the world that couldn’t be further from who they actually were. A man who used shiny objects to distract from their sour mindset. A man who thought any failure they faced was due to the world and not from their own actions. In short, Sam Y/L/N was just a man.

A man who liked to hear himself talk.

Jack clears his throat a bit as he gazes back out into the backyard. “I should actually-“ Sam cuts him off again, this time stepping a bit closer as he puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Don’t scurry away now. You seem like the most fun person here. I mean, you leave me, I have no one.” Sam snickers. Jack’s eyes narrow slightly. He says it as a joke, but.. Jack has a hunch there’s truth in that.

“Who else can I talk with, hm?” He continues anyways.

“Maybe your daughter..” Jack offers, giving Sam a pointed look.

“Oh. God..” Sam chuckles and Jack stiffens, turning to him.

He didn’t like the sound of that..

“What?” Jack asks slowly.

“I love that girl. I do. But.. Between you and me? She can be…” Sam shakes his head. Jack moves away from his grip slowly, crossing his arms as he corks his head a bit. A voice in his head was telling him to keep calm.

“Can be… What?” Jack asks, voice getting tight.

“The girl is too… Sensitive. That’s all her mother’s doing. She’s always been so.. I don’t know how to describe it. Needy? Clingy?” Sam shakes his head, not knowing how to put it into words.

“All I’m saying is..” He finally says instead, leaving the attempt where it’s at, not caring to continue his train of thought. “Lord help the man who she latches on to..” He jokes with a heavy sigh.

Jack clenches his jaw now. He needed to walk away..

“I should go.” He says again, this time meaning it for Sam’s safety.

He didn’t want to swing on this man. Not when he should be making a good first impression.

“Oh, come on! Don’t go yet..” Sam chuckles as he stops Jack again. “Look.. I love my daughter. But.. There’s times where she can be.. Too much, ya know? Too.. Too..” He snaps his fingers as he thinks, free arm wrapped around Jack’s shoulders.

“Dramatic!” He says as it finally pops into his head. “That’s the word! Dramatic..” He nods. “I used to tell her ‘what are you gonna do in the real world’, you know what I mean? If you’re stressed out in the fifth grade, I can’t imagine you when you’re actually paying bills..” Sam laughs as he shakes his head.

“I think she’s doing real good for herself..” Jack finally states, unable to hide the glare on his face. Sam doesn’t pick up on the mood shift between the two, watching as Y/N chases around the kids while he shakes his head.

“Still the same attention seeker though. And now she’s this uh.. Baby nurse, I think.” Sam continues on with a shrug. As if not impressed.

“Pediatric Nurse Practitioner..” Jack mutters, tone tense.

“What?” Sam asks looking at Jack now.

“Your daughter…” Jack begins slowly. “Isn’t a ‘baby nurse’.” He states as he watches Sam closely, his fists clenching a bit at the belittling name given to her career. “She’s a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner..” He corrects.

Sam blinks a bit, as if not knowing what to say for a moment. Then he smiles a bit. “Yeah. Same thing.” He tries with a shrug as Jack watches him closely, letting those three words sink in.

He’d gotten his answer now.

Y/N had gotten something from Sam.

She’d gotten her self-doubt.

Y/N hadn’t gotten her father’s eyes, or laugh, or even smile.

No.

She got his insecurities. His fears, his shortcomings. She carried around his words and they weighed her down everyday.

All she’d gotten from her father.. Was an anxiety of never being good enough. And out into the world, he sent her. To stumble and fall and claw at her own skin out of a desperate attempt to escape his perception of her.

But she never could.

Because if he looked away from her, he’d have to then face a mirror. And he wasn’t ready to do that.

But Jack wasn’t waiting..

“No. It’s not.” Jack says. Sam pauses, finally sensing the tension. He tries to chuckle in order to lighten the mood a bit, but Jack only stares at him.

“Okay..” Sam finally says. “Alright, noted..” He says. “Don’t have to get all serious about it..” He tries to joke as he nods at Jack to lighten up.

“Well, when someone makes light of my girl’s accompaniments, I tend to get serious.” Jack finally says. Sam’s smile slowly drops as he realizes who he’s been talking to.

“You’re..” Sam pauses as Jack moves closer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder now.

“Let’s get some things straight here for next time...” He begins, voice low as he leans a bit closer to Sam’s ear. “Y/N isn’t a ‘baby nurse’. She is an advanced practice registered nurse who specializes in the healthcare of children. In an emergency setting, at that.” He says slowly as he watches Sam. “She’s not clingy or needy, she’s human. Her emotions.. Are what make her an amazing nurse to those kids. She’s doing great things for herself, and she’s doing it all on her own. Which is a miracle, because that means that somehow, even with your shitty parenting, she’s managed to stay a beautiful, bright, and honest young woman with her heart on her sleeve.” Jack says, not holding back now. He backs away from Sam, rolling his shoulders a bit to get the rest of his aggression out.

“I’ll give you some time to get right before you go and say hi to your daughter.” Jack says softly, turning to walk away before pausing. “Oh!” He says, turning back to a now silent and brooding Sam. “And.. Just so you know.. I’m not swinging on you out of respect for Y/N. She’s been looking forward to this party all month. But the next time I hear anything leave your mouth about my girl.. You’ll be on the floor.” Jack says certainly, nodding his head slightly to show that’s a promise.

Sam clenches his jaw slightly, watching as Jack walks down the patio steps and into the backyard. “I’ll be seeker!” He announces as the kids cheer at that. Y/N smiles brightly, walking over to him.

“Having fun?” She asks eagerly.

“A blast.” He smirks at her before tenderly kissing her forehead.