beautifulandvoid

[beautifulandvoid]

Love You Anyway (4) | Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Summary: You start talking to Deran again after ignoring him over the duffle bag, though he has no idea that you know about it. Before long, you find yourself caught up in the chaos of Craig getting injured, blood and all, forcing you into a tense and unexpected situation.

Words: 5028

Warning: Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline, swearing, mentions of drugs, blood/injury

Authors Note: Oh my goodness, HI!!! It’s been a fucking minute. My job started up again and getting back into the routine of everything. I had a 3 day weekend so I finally found the time to write. Thank you for being patient! Next part will be the last of then THEN timeline and we will hop into the NOW (2016/2017) timeline 🙂‍↕️

Did anyone see Superman? That was my movie this summer. I saw it three times LOL. David Corenswet is literally one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen in my entire life 😭. I actually liked Superman more than Fantastic Four. And this is coming from a Marvel fan and Pedro Pascal stan 💀 but I wrote a Superman fic if anyone is interested??? let me know.

also someone yell at me to watch animal kingdom im still on early season 3 LOL

I’ll try to update again soon. Enjoy - Ryn

THEN: BLOODY, 2008

“Hey!”

A jeep slowed to a crawl beside you. Craig was behind the wheel, one hand draped lazily over it, while Deran leaned out the passenger window, eyes locked on you.

You froze. For days now, you’d been avoiding him, ever since you found out what was stuffed inside those duffel bags. Sure, you’d said hi when you had to, kept things light, but whenever he asked to hang out, you dodged. Helping my mom with errands. Swamped with homework. Maybe another time.

Now, with him right in front of you, excuses weren’t going to cut it.

“You’re walking home?” Deran asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve given you a ride.”

Craig snorted, not taking his eyes off the road. “I would’ve given her a ride. You don’t even have your license yet, idiot.”

“Same fucking thing, Craig,” Deran shot back before turning back to you. His grin softened.

“Hop in.”

You shifted your backpack higher on your shoulder, heart hammering. “I’m good, thanks.”

Deran frowned. “That’s a far walk.”

“I’ll manage.”

Craig let out a low chuckle, revving the engine just enough to make the jeep lurch forward a few inches, as if daring you to change your mind. Deran kept his eyes on you, searching your face for a crack in your resolve.

You tightened your grip on your backpack strap.

Craig drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, impatience bleeding through. “What, you planning on walking the whole damn way? We don’t go all day.”

The jeep idled beside you, its presence heavy, following your pace. You knew they weren’t gonna let up.

Deran leaned further out the window, his arm braced against the frame. “Seriously, what’s the deal? Are you mad at me or something?”

Your throat went dry. You kept your eyes forward, willing your legs to carry you faster, but your chest felt tight under the weight of his stare.

“No”

“Then what’s up with you?”

You ignored him, eyes fixed straight ahead as you kept walking along the sidewalk. The jeep crawled forward a few more feet before the sound of a door slamming made you glance over.

“Deran!” Craig barked from behind the wheel.

“Just give me a minute!” Deran shot back, jogging a couple steps to fall beside you.

“Hey—stop for a sec.” His hand landed on your shoulder, gentle but insistent, halting you.

“Seriously, what did I do? You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

You shifted under his touch, refusing to meet his eyes. He ducked his head, lowering his voice, trying to catch your gaze.

“I haven’t been avoiding you…” you murmured.

“Yes, you have,” he pressed. “We haven’t really talked since the day you hung out with Andrew. Did he…do something?”

“No. Of course not.” You enjoyed that day with Andrew.

Deran’s brows drew together, his mouth pulling tight. “Are you sure? ’Cause—”

“Andrew didn’t do anything,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

The words hung heavy in the space between you, Craig’s engine rumbling in the background.

Deran’s hand slipped from your shoulder, but he didn’t back away. His brows knit together, eyes searching your face like he could read the truth there.

“Look,” he said quietly, almost pleading, “I want to fix this. Whatever I did… or whatever’s going on… just tell me.”

Your stomach twisted. For days, the image of that duffel bag had haunted you. Money, jewelry, and a gun hidden in the duffle under his bed. You didn’t know why he had those things. You didn’t know what to think.

But looking at him now, so earnest and open, doubt crept in. The thought of him being capable of what you’d conjured up in your head felt impossible. It was Deran, your best friend, the boy who dreamed of getting out of Oceanside, traveling the world, becoming a pro surfer. The same boy who had laughed with you until your sides hurt, who’d always had your back.

Could he really be the person you imagined when you saw that bag? Could someone like him, someone so full of life and mischief, be capable of secrets like that?

You shook your head slightly, trying to push the image away. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.

A car honked sharply behind Craig, snapping both of you out of the moment. Craig slammed his hand against the wheel, leaning out the window to stick his finger at the driver.

“GO AROUND, ASSHOLE!” he yelled.

The other car honked again as it swerved past, tires squealing against the pavement.

“Deran!” Craig shouted, frustration lacing his voice. “Hurry the hell up!”

Deran glanced back at you, then over at Craig, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Drive around the block!” he called, motioning for Craig go.

Craig groaned, muttering something under his breath as he turned the wheel, the jeep lurching forward to circle the block.

“Is it about me not being there when you got your acceptance letter? I know you told me you weren’t upset, but—”

“No, it’s not that.”

“I just feel like… I don’t even know,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “Something’s off. You’ve been distant, quiet. I can’t tell if it’s me or… or what. Just… Please, talk to me. We’re graduating soon, and then you’ll be going off to college… miles and miles away…”

You stiffened, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his tone.

Deran stepped closer, lowering his voice, trying to reach you. “Angel… seriously, you can tell me anything. I mean it. Whatever it is, I won’t freak out. I just… I don’t want there to be this wall between us.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek, your mind spinning with excuses. It’s nothing. I’m overthinking. Maybe I imagined it all wrong.

Your gaze flicked past him, out to the street, to anything but his eyes. The urge to tell him the truth battled with the fear of what it might do—to him, to your friendship, to everything.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “It’s… I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been feeling… a lot lately. Graduation, college… leaving Oceanside… everything is changing, and I feel like I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Deran’s eyes softened immediately, the hard edge of worry fading. “Oh,” he said gently, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. “That makes sense. I get it, Angel. I mean, it’s a lot. I’ve been feeling it too. It feels like everything’s moving so fast, and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

You nodded, grateful that he believed you. Relief washed over you—but underneath it, the secret of what you’d seen in that duffel bag still pressed against your chest, heavy and unspoken.

“Whatever happens, it’s gonna be chill. We’re just gonna ride life straight on, full send, no bail.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his surfer talk.

“There’s that laugh… that smile,” he said, flinging his arm over your shoulder. The warmth of him pressed against you, grounding you, making the fear that had been gnawing at your stomach loosen, if only a little.

Craig had come back around again, pulling up beside where you and Deran stood. The sight of the familiar jeep brought a fleeting sense of normalcy, though your mind couldn’t stop spinning with everything left unsaid.

“You coming?” Deran asked, opening the back door for you, his hand resting on the frame, eyes searching yours. His voice was calm, patient, but there was an undercurrent of hope that made your chest tighten even more.

You hesitated, your gaze flicking to the car, then back to him.

Finally, with a shaky breath, you let yourself slide into the seat. The door closed with a soft thud behind you.

Deran hopped in the passenger seat. “Alright. Now… let’s roll.”

“You wanna come over and hang out for a while?” Deran asked, his voice casual.

“Sure,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though your stomach fluttered.

“Before we head home, I gotta stop somewhere—a slight detour,” Craig said as he drove, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual, eyes scanning the road.

Deran shot him a sharp, almost exasperated look. “Craig…” he muttered.

Craig muttered something under his breath.

“No! Are you stupid? Just take us home,” Deran snapped.

“I’ll be quick, I swear,” Craig replied.

Deran leaned back, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. “I don’t like this,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

You fidgeted in your seat, trying not to show how uneasy you felt. “Where are we going?” you finally asked, voice small.

Craig glanced at you, a flicker of guilt—or maybe hesitation—in his eyes. “Just… a quick stop. You’ll see.”

“It’ll be like, minutes too. Don’t sweat it,” Craig said, trying to sound casual.

The Jeep rolled into a rougher, sketchy part of Oceanside. Buildings leaned awkwardly, paint peeling in jagged strips, windows shattered or boarded up. Trash rustled along the cracked sidewalks, and faint graffiti stretched across walls like silent warnings.

Craig pulled the car up in front of a dilapidated building and twisted the keys in the ignition, letting them hang as he sat back for a moment.

You and Deran waited, making small talk, but the minutes crawled by. Five minutes became ten… then fifteen. The tension in your chest grew with every passing second. Craig still hasn’t come back.

“Is Craig okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Deran’s eyes flicked toward the building, his jaw tight. “I’ll be right back,” he said, rising from the seat. Without another word, he headed after Craig, his movements purposeful but cautious, leaving you alone in the jeep with your worry spiraling.

After several minutes, you watched in alarm as Deran hoisted his older brother up, both of them stumbling out of the building.

“Oh my god!” You quickly jumped out of the back seat and rushed over, helping Deran support Craig.

“What the hell happened?!” you asked, panic tightening your chest.

“I need you to drive!” Deran barked, his voice sharp as Craig groaned in pain.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the pool of blood soaking Craig’s once-pure white t-shirt, oozing as the seconds passed. Craig’s face was bruised, one eye already starting to swell, and blood trickled from a split lip, smearing down his chin. Deran, though steadier, had a darkening bruise forming along his jaw and a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“W-what?! I-I don’t have my license—”

“Neither do I, but you have your permit—”

“Deran—”

“Now, Angel!”

Deran reached out and pressed the keys into your hand. As your fingers wrapped around them, a smear of warm, sticky blood from his hand coated yours, and some of it splattered onto your shirt.

“Here. Just drive. I’ve got him—you just get us moving,” Deran said, his eyes locked on yours, urgent and steady.

You climbed into the jeep, your hands trembling as you fumbled for the keys. The blood smeared across your fingers made them slip, but finally, you managed to turn the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

Deran got Craig into the backseat. Deran pressed firmly against Craig’s wound to slow the bleeding, while his other hand brushed against your arm, steadying you as panic threatened to take over. Craig groaned softly, his bruised face and split lip making your stomach twist.

“Just… drive,” Deran muttered, his voice tight but controlled. “No stops. Just get us out of here.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath, and pressed the pedal down. The jeep lurched forward, every second stretching as fear and the metallic tang of blood filled the air.

You drove the jeep in what you thought was the quickest route to the hospital.

“Where are you going?!” Deran suddenly shouted, his voice sharp, panicked.

“The hospit—”

“No!” Deran and Craig yelled in unison, voices tight with urgency.

You froze for a split second, confusion and fear warring in your chest. “What?! He needs a hospital!” you shouted looking at the rearview mirror at them. “You need a hospital, Craig!”

“No! Not yet! We’re not going to the hospital. We need to get home—now! Trust me, just follow my directions!”

Craig groaned,. “Angel… please… just do what Deran says. Home first.”

Your hands tightened on the wheel as you tried to process their words, your pulse racing. Fear coursed through you. You swallowed hard and adjusted the wheel, turning in the direction Deran instructed, every nerve on edge as you obeyed their urgent commands.

Deran called out directions, his voice tight and urgent, guiding you through winding streets and unfamiliar turns.

“Left here… no, wait… slow down—there’s a pothole… okay, now straight!” Deran barked, glancing down at Craig, who groaned weakly with each jolt of the jeep.

You followed his commands as best you could, nerves straining, until finally, the scenery shifted. The street signs and familiar houses came into view, and a small sense of relief washed over you. You knew this area. From here, you could navigate to Cody’s house without directions.

“I got it from here,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I know the way.”

Deran nodded, pressing gently against Craig to keep the bleeding controlled. Every turn, every bump in the road still sent your heart racing, but knowing the route made the chaos feel just a little more manageable.

You pulled the jeep up to the house, tires crunching over the familiar driveway. Deran slammed his hand against the back of your seat as you hit the brakes hard.

Before you could fully react, Deran was hauling Craig out of the jeep, shouting for help.

You climbed out, still trembling, hands slick with blood.

Smurf appeared at the front door, her eyes widening at the sight of her sons. She caught a glimpse of you, dazed and shaken, but her focus quickly snapped back to Craig and Deran.

“Baz!” she yelled, panic threading through her voice.

Baz came running, swearing under his breath, and quickly helped Deran support Craig. You could hear the urgency in their voices as they guided him inside.

You follow behind, keeping your distance as they move like clockwork, like this has happened before. Nobody hesitates, nobody asks questions. Deran’s got Craig under one arm, practically hauling him forward, while Baz clears the way without a word. Smurf’s already barking orders, sharp and decisive, as if she’s directing a drill she’s run a hundred times.

They take him straight to the kitchen. Your stomach twists as Craig lays the island counter top. Someone’s already grabbing towels, bottles, anything that looks remotely useful.

You freeze in place, heart pounding. You knew you couldn’t do much. You didn’t even know what to do, so you stayed out of the way. You stayed quiet. Your legs carried you back towards until you found yourself in the living room.

You sank onto the couch, blood still clinging sticky to your skin. All you could do was sit, listen, and wait.

—

Andrew rushed home the second Smurf called, her voice clipped with urgency as she told him there was an emergency. He stepped through the front door, moving through the house until his gaze fell on you in the living room. He slowed, taking in the sight of you for a moment, before the sounds from the kitchen, raised voices, someone clearly in pain pulled his attention.

He kept slowly moving toward the commotion in the kitchen, but his gaze returned to you. You were staring down at your trembling hands, slick with blood, and at the dark stains spreading across your shirt.

The sight hit him instantly. His eyebrows furrowed, a sharp tension settling across his features as he struggled to process what he was seeing. You didn’t notice him there, watching, caught between concern and shock.

“Hey,” he says, getting your attention.

Startled, you looked up quickly, instinctively dropping your hands as if caught. Andrew’s eyes softened slightly, but the tension didn’t leave his face.

He just stared at you.

Fuck. That was all he could think.

Your chest heaved, each breath coming faster than the last. Your lips trembled, and the tears threatened to spill over, blurring the line between fear and helplessness.

That made Andrew move.

He crossed the room in a few strides, his hand reaching out before he even thought about it. He crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he asked urgently, scanning your body for any wounds.

“It’s… Craig’s blood—” Your voice shook as your hands trembled.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” Andrew said, voice steady even though his jaw was tight. His thumb brushed under your chin, coaxing your gaze upward until your eyes met his.

Once he had you there, he took your trembling hands in his, not caring that they were smeared with blood. “Tell me what happened.”

“I—I… I don’t know.”

“Okay. Then tell me what you do know.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “We were headed here, but Craig needed to do something—”

“We went to this sketchy building in the rundown part of the oceanside. He said he’d take 5 minutes. Deran and I waited in the car. Deran went in after him because he was there a while. When they came out, Craig was drenched with blood and beaten, as well as Deran but not that bad”

“I—I drove,” you admitted, “I was going to the hospital, but they made me come back to the house—”

He knew you’ve never been in a situation like this before, had probably never seen that much blood in your life.

“Hey… it’s okay,” he said gently, his voice steadying you even as his own heart raced. “You did the right thing. You stayed with them, you helped…”

You nodded shakily, blinking rapidly to clear the sting of unshed tears. Your chest still heaved as you tried to steady your breathing. Andrew’s hands remained firm around yours, grounding you, anchoring you.

“Come with me.” He stood, still holding your hands, and you rose, letting him guide you quickly through the house. He led you to his room.

“Go wash up. Bathroom’s through that door,” he said, nodding toward the doorway. “There are shirts in the top drawer of the dresser. I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded, still shaken, your fingers brushing at the bloodstains on your clothes as you stepped inside the bathroom. Your hands trembled as you reached for the sink, trying to steady your breathing.

Andrew made his way into the kitchen, halting at the sight before him. It looked more like a makeshift operating room than a place to cook. Bloody towels were scattered across the counters. A single bullet sat on a paper towel, catching the harsh kitchen light.

Craig perched on the island, nursing a whiskey bottle, stitches fresh along his side. Baz stripped off his gloves and tossed them onto the counter. Deran leaned against the wall arms folded tight, annoyance etched across his face. Smurf stood with the same expression, sharp and unimpressed.

“Well, it took you long enough. Better late than never,” she said, brushing past Andrew to grab herself a beer from the fridge.

Andrew’s voice came out tight. “What happened?”

Smurf popped the cap, took a sip, then leveled him with a look. “Your idiot younger brother thought it was a good idea to buy a bag of coke after picking up Deran and his friend from school.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “Are you serious? You almost got yourself killed over a bag of coke?”

Deran shifted against the wall, muttering under his breath, “Told him it was stupid…”

“No, he’s right. It was stupid—and the fact you put Angel—”

Before Andrew could continue, Smurf’s voice cut through the room, calm but edged like steel.

“Enough. It’s done. Craig’s alive, and we move on.” She tilted her beer in Andrew’s direction, her gaze flat, unforgiving. “You showing up late doesn’t give you the right to lecture anyone.”

Andrew’s jaw flexed hard, the muscle ticking as if he were biting down on every word he wanted to throw back. For a heartbeat it looked like he might ignore her, push back, but then—he swallowed it. He always did when it came to Smurf.

“Now, as for the girl…” Smurf’s eyes shifted, sweeping slowly across the room before landing on each of her boys one by one. The weight of her gaze was enough to silence even their breathing. “You make sure she keeps her mouth shut. Not a word. You handle it before I have to. Understood?”

A low chorus of mutters followed—agreement, obedience, whatever she needed to hear. None of them dared meet her eyes for long.

Satisfied, Smurf set her beer down with a dull clink, like a queen concluding her decree. “Now… clean my kitchen up.” She drifted out of the room without another word, leaving behind a silence heavy with the echo of her authority.

—

You looked up to see Deran standing in the doorway of Andrew’s room. You were sitting on the floor, back pressed against the bed. Your hands were clean now, wiped free of blood, and you were wearing one of Andrew’s T-shirts.

“Is Craig okay?” you asked, your voice still a little shaky.

“Yeah, he’s fine…” Deran replied, his tone cautious.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping a little closer, concerned with threading his voice.

“Andrew brought me in here. He let me wash up and brow a shirt” you said quietly, still trying to steady your racing thoughts.

Deran sits himself beside you “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, searching for any sign of the fear and shock he knew you’d been carrying.

You ignored his question. “What happened?”

Deran exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with what to say. “It’s… complicated,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “You don’t need to worry. Just… know Craig’s okay. That’s all that matters right now.”

“Why didn’t you let me take him to the hospital?” you asked, voice tight with frustration and fear.

“Baz knows how to patch a wound… He’s good at this stuff,” Deran replied, trying to sound casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

“Shouldn’t you guys go to the police? Press charges or something?” you pressed, your hands clenching in your lap. “Craig was seriously hurt, Deran. He could’ve—”

Deran ran a hand down his face, the weight of it all settling in his shoulders. “It’s not that simple…” He stops himself. “Look, there are things you don’t know, things you don’t want to get involved in” His eyes softened slightly.

“I don’t understand…”

Deran let out a slow, heavy sigh “I know it doesn’t make sense,” he murmured, voice tight with frustration he wasn’t directing at you. “But I need you to just trust me, okay?”

Deran’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly. “Just…you have to promise me you won’t say anything about what happened today with Craig. You can't tell anyone, and I mean it.”

Your throat tightened at his words, the weight of the promise pressing down on you. You swallowed hard and nodded. “I… I promise,” you whispered, though a knot of doubt twisted in your stomach. You wanted to trust him, but what had happened with Craig today and the memory of the duffel bag lingered in your mind. The deep unease reminded you that you’d stumbled into something far bigger than you fully understood.

Deran’s eyes lingered on you, searching, almost pleading. “Good,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, though the warning in it remained.

You shifted slightly, feeling the tension in your body settle into a new, restrained fear. You wanted to ask questions, to understand more, but something told you it wasn’t safe and maybe it never would be. Your chest still ached from the panic earlier, and your hands itched to scrub away the memory of the blood that had coated them.

The brother appeared at the doorway, with Craig, Baz, and Andrew lingering in the back. Craig’s bruised face was pale, the dried blood around his split lip now somewhat cleaned, but the jagged line of stitches across his arm and the swelling forming on his cheek made you wince.

“Sorry about earlier, Angel. Thank you for driving, too,” Craig said, his voice quiet but sincere, carrying a faint edge of embarrassment at how much trouble he’d caused.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you replied, your gaze dropping to the crude stitches Baz had done. The hack-job looked rough—threads uneven, some spots slightly puckered—but it was functional.

You stood up, and Deran mirrored you.

“I should head home,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’ll drive you,” Andrew spoke up, his tone calm but firm. The room went quiet, all eyes flicking to him—the brothers exchanging subtle glances, reading the unspoken authority in his voice.

—-

The drive home was silent. You clutched your backpack tightly.

Andrew kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel, his focus absolute. The low hum of the car filled the space between you, punctuated only by the occasional click of the turn signal or the muted thrum of the engine.

You stared out the window.

Andrew’s hands tightened on the wheel for a moment, jaw flexing. He wasn’t angry at you, but at everything that had led to this, at Craig, that you had been caught up in the chaos he caused.

He pulled up to your house, easing the car into park. The engine hummed softly, filling the quiet, and he kept his hands on the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the silence.

He pulled up to your house, easing the car into park. The engine hummed softly, filling the quiet, and he kept his hands on the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the silence.

You didn’t move.

“You okay?” His voice was low, careful, but there was an edge to it—protective, patient, and just a little frustrated.

“No,” you admitted, letting the tears fall despite yourself.

You hiccupped, pressing your face into your hands, your shoulders rising and falling with each sob.

You’d held your tears back at their house. You didn’t want to cry, especially in front of Deran, but with Andrew, the walls you’d built crumbled. You let it go, letting the tears flow freely, unashamed and raw.

Andrew stayed quiet. He didn’t rush you, didn’t speak over the sobs. He simply let you release what you’d been holding in, giving you the space and safety to feel it fully.

“What you saw today, what you had to do, you shouldn’t have been a part of that. I’m sorry that happened,” Andrew said quietly, voice low but steady, carrying both regret and resolve.

You looked up at him through wet lashes, your hands still gripping your backpack.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he continued gently, tone firm but soothing. “Like I said earlier, you did the right thing. You stayed with them, you helped. You were caught in it, and that’s not on you. None of it is.”

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you.

“But that’s exactly why I don’t want you around,” he added, honest but careful, leaving out any details that might expose the danger.

You frowned, frustration and confusion mixing in your chest. “I… I still don’t understand. What’s going on?”

What secrets were they hiding? you thought, a cold knot forming in your stomach.

Andrew’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head slowly, “You don’t need to understand any of it,” he said firmly. “Not now, not ever. What you need to focus on is graduation and preparing for college on the East Coast. That’s your life. That’s what matters. Everything else… don’t worry about it. Forget it. Okay?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. His words felt final, like a door slamming shut. You wanted to push, to demand answers, but the set of his jaw and the steel in his voice told you it would be useless.

“…Okay,” you whispered, though the word felt hollow.

Andrew extended his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Confused, you unzipped your bag, pulled out your flip phone, and placed it in his palm. He flipped it open, his thumb moving quickly across the buttons. A moment later, he snapped it shut and handed it back.

“My number’s in there,” he said, his tone softer now, though still carrying that edge of authority. “In case you need anything.”

You stared down at the phone in your hands

“…Thanks,” you murmured, though the word felt small compared to everything you wanted to say.

Andrew gave a single nod, eyes forward again, already retreating behind that wall he carried so easily. For a moment, you wondered if he regretted putting his number in there at all.

“You don’t call unless you have to,” he added, the firmness returning to his voice. “Understand?”

You nodded, though uncertainty twisted in your stomach. You weren’t sure what counted as having to. You weren’t sure about a lot of things anymore.

Andrew finally reached for the gear shift “Go inside.”

As you stepped out, you half-expected him to call you back, to give you something more. But the car stayed quiet, Andrew barely shifting behind the wheel.

You closed the door gently and unlatched the gate, slipping through as it swung shut with a soft clang behind you. The walk up the path felt heavy, your fingers clumsy as you dug through your bag for the keys. At the door, you slid one into the lock and pushed it open.

For a moment, you lingered in the doorway, unable to stop yourself from looking back.

The taillights glowed red, then dimmed as Andrew pulled away from the curb. The car rolled slowly down the street, sunlight flashing off the windows before it turned the corner and disappeared.

LYA Tag: @obfuscateyummy @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @child-of-the-amis @cheekeym8s @aj3684 @sunfairyy @ravenouswild @feverxxdream @naxxsstuff @baileythepenguin @britt217 @wittyogredemon @lumpypoll @harmonetta

Love You Anyway | Then (1) (2) (3) (4)

[beautifulandvoid]

baby goes again

dr. robby x jack's adopted sister, f!intern!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, swearing, alcohol, drug mention (fentanyl), reader is roofied (everything is fine she is unharmed), parental death mention, jack widow mention, some (minor) violence between jack/robby, canon medical gore, age gap, angst (resolved by end) words: 9.5K synopsis: based on this request, reader is jack's adopted sister doing her surgical residency at PTMC. jack introduces reader to robby in the hopes that he will be a good mentor to her, but their relationship quickly blurs professional lines. a/n: thank you guys for being so encouraging about this one!! i hope it lives up to expectations. i'm kinda nervous, honestly. the first like 1K of this is verbatim from the blurb so you can scroll through if you've already read that part. ok hehe enjoy pls come yap to me about it later <3 syd

Your legs were bent nearly behind your ears when you heard Jack knocking and calling your name at the door of your apartment.

Robby was so deep inside you, scrambling both nerves and thoughts and any fucking sense you had that it took you too long to register who it was. You lost precious seconds of potential crisis management to the relentless stroke of his cock inside you, your walls clenching tighter and tighter around him as you were being dangled off the steep cliff of bliss until—

“Fuck—Fuck! Stop—“ You tried to push against him, but it was no use, the man might as well have been a fucking boulder.

Robby only pushed deeper, making it impossible for you to continue your squirming, “Just don’t answer it.”

“He has a key—“

Finally, his hips halted and you watched, stricken, as the pleasure in his eyes slowly drained and was replaced with steady horror as you both heard the jangle of keys outside the door.

He cursed under his breath as he nearly leaped off and out of you—the sudden absence of him leaving you with a feeling of hollowness.

"Get in the closet." You hissed, hopping around as you tried desperately to pull on a pair of pants. You heard the clatter of keys against hardwood and Jack's soft cursing and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for granting you more time.

"You want me to get in the closet?" Robby hissed back as he tried to collect his clothing, strewn haphazardly around the apartment from when you had been frantically making out and ripping each other's clothes off, "Have you seen my shirt?"

"We don't have time for this," You whispered and placed your hands on his chest, pushing him backwards until you were at the closet. You opened the door and unceremoniously shoved him inside it, not waiting for his response before closing the door in his face.

At that same moment, your apartment door opened.

When you started at PTMC as a surgery intern and Jack introduced you to Robby, the infatuation had been almost instant on your end. There was nothing you loved more than a tall, bearded man who could be a little mean. Whenever the ER called down for a surgery resident, you practically jumped at the opportunity, bouncing up and down on your heels as the elevator slowly ticked down, down, down to the Pitt. It had been an effort to finally get him in your bed, more effort than you had probably ever put in for a sexual partner. But it was worth every second.

It was immediately obvious to Robby that you had a chip on your shoulder from being raised in your brother’s shadow, but he was oblivious to your yearnings for an agonizingly long time.

Because your parents had adopted you when Jack was well into high school, he affectionately referred to you as their mid life crisis. Jack adored you, but he was your brother. And so he pushed and teased and mocked your whole life.

So while it was nice that Robby was your type, it was more thrilling to know just how much it would get under Jack's skin to know that Robby was fucking you. Because regardless of your differences, Jack had always been protective of you and you knew he would lose his fucking mind if he knew. And Robby knew it too.

And so, even though part of you wanted Jack to find out, to grant yourself the satisfaction of knowing you had pissed off the unflappable Jack Abbot, most of you was a little nervous to find out what he would do if he found out.

You were running to the front door when Jack walked in, looking at you with confusion as he took in your appearance. Clothes crooked, hair mussed, mascara smudged under your eyelids, face glowing and sticky with exertion.

Slowly a smile stretched across his face, "Are you—Is someone here?"

"No," You said quickly, too quickly, "Just me. What're you doing here?" You hugged your arms around yourself subconsciously.

Jack continued to eye you curiously and held out the Stanley cup in his hand. Your Stanley. "You left this in the Pitt."

You took it reluctantly, "You could've left it at my locker."

"Yeah, I could've, but I wanted to see you. Feel like I haven't seen you in weeks—"

"Well, I'm busy, so. You should've called first." You snapped.

Jack was unbothered though, "Who's here?"

"No one you know. Now could you please get out?"

Jack gave a short laugh, "Right. No one I know. You don't have a social life outside the hospital. You want me to believe you're sleeping with someone I don't know?"

Before you could argue, your eyes caught on a black scrub top to your left, poking out from under the console table in your entryway. You remembered now how you had whined desperately with Robby's body pinning you to the wall until he had pulled it up and over his head.

And Jack followed your gaze, smile only growing when he saw it too, "That's a black scrub top." His eyes went back to yours, "Who are you fucking in the Pitt?"

He was moving towards the shirt and you stepped in front of him, "Jack—"

"Is it Shen?" He was stronger than you, so it wasn't much of a fight for him to push you to the side, "Or… It's not the Whitaker kid, is it?" He made a face as he bent to pick up the scrub top—

When his hand closed around it and he started to straighten to standing, there was a clatter as a badge, forgotten beneath the heap of a shirt, fell back to the floor, face up.

You watched, frozen, as his eyes took in his best friend's smiling face looking up at him from the piece of plastic. You thought from the look on his face, he was probably processing denial for about twenty seconds before he moved to the next stage of grief: anger.

He clenched his jaw as he looked back up to you, Robby's shirt still clutched in his hand. You watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed and whispered, voice soft as death, "Where is he?"

"Jack," You said softly, "Please don't do this."

He brushed past you, "Robby," He called, "I know you're here, you sick fuck!"

"Jack!" You pulled on his arm to make him face you, greeted with a rage you hadn't seen from him… Maybe ever. His nostrils flared and his jaw was clenched so tight, you started to wonder if he had cracked a tooth.

"I'm an adult," You tried to say firmly, but your voice wavered, "I can sleep with whoever I want, you're being ridiculous."

He only shook his head, "Not him." He said and wrenched his arm from your grasp as he started walking down the hallway towards your bedroom.

You trailed after him, dragging your feet, and watched from your doorway as he looked through your room, poked his head in your bathroom, "You're acting literally insane right now." You said mildly, having resigned yourself quickly to this situation.

Jack ignored you, "Don't be a coward, Robby." He turned back to face you, "Where the fuck is he?"

The closet door creaked open before you had a chance to respond and your stomach sank. Robby was flushed red as he slunk out of the closet, hands clutching his clothes in front of his naked body. His eyes were locked on Jack's as he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

It felt like a punch to the gut to hear him apologize. You hadn't done anything wrong, and fuck, the sex had been good. Great, even. But that was regret in his voice… and shame. About you.

"Don't apologize to him," You said, aware that you sounded like you were whining, "He's the one who should be apologizing for making such a goddamn scene."

But they both ignored you. Jack flung Robby's shirt at him as if it were a bomb and Robby caught it with a free hand, "I asked you to keep an eye on her as a mentor, I didn't think I needed to specify that you shouldn't fuck her."

"I know," Robby said and looked down. You couldn't believe this.

"She's just a fucking kid."

You want to yell at them both that you're right fucking here. That you're not a kid, despite the fact that you feel your eyes burning with embarrassment. That when Robby again says "I know," you feel the urge to shove him back in the closet or pound your fists against his chest. He didn't think you were such a kid when he was pounding into you just ten minutes ago.

"Jack, I swear. I—I tried really fuckin' hard not to—"

Jack laughed, "Oh, did you? Did she fucking handcuff you to the bed? Is that it? She forced you?"

Robby sighed and shook his head, "You don't understand—"

"I don't understand?" Jack was shouting now, "I've had students crush on me before, so the fuck have you. You shut that shit down! I know you know this! And of all fucking people you—you break your own rules for my sister?"

"I want you both out of here." You said finally, before Robby could say something else that would crush your feelings and your ego. Which they were both doing a spectacular job of at the moment, grinding you like dust beneath their shoes in your own fucking bedroom, "You can both sort out your own fucking issues away from me. And neither one of you better fucking call me."

Finally, Robby seemed to remember you were there and murmured a soft, "Sweetheart—" Which earned him a scathing glare from Jack.

"No," You said and turned from the room, beginning to walk away from them both, "Put your clothes on and go. If the two of you want to talk about me like I'm a fucking child, you can do it outside of my apartment."

You heard Jack come up beside you, "I want to have a conversation with you about this—"

You looked at him and laughed incredulously, "If you wanted to have a conversation with me about it, you should've thought about that before you started running through my apartment like a lunatic on a rampage. Now I want you out." Your voice broke on the last word and you hated yourself when you felt the tears collecting in your eyes.

Jack was looking at you with pleading eyes. He reached for you and you knew he wanted to hug you, but you shoved his arm away.

"Please just go." You said softly, "I want to be alone."

You stood in your living room, arms crossed and faced away from your entryway. You waited until you heard both sets of feet leave your apartment, the door shut quietly behind them.

***

When Jack first introduced you to Robby, his hands affectionately squeezing your shoulders from behind you, you slapping his hands away in annoyance, Robby thought Another Abbot. Cute.

And for a while, it was easy to see you just as cute, adorable in the way your kid sister is. Until he started to notice the effect he had on you.

At first, it was so small, he barely noticed. A slight tremor in your hand if he reached over to guide you through a procedure if your attending wasn't around. Easily attributable to nerves. A low gasp when his body pushed up behind you while working on a trauma, his hands steadying your hips as he moved past.

As a man of empirical data, he felt it was his scientific obligation to test his hypothesis. The null hypothesis being, you didn't have a crush on him and all your reactions could be attributed to anxiety that was professional in origin.

But as the days and weeks passed your reaction to him, to his proximity, to his praise, was constant. And you were starting to reciprocate his touches, his flirting. You even got so bold as to push your ass back into his hips once when he was trying to get by and he was the one who was then flustered, nearly tripping over the tray next to you that Princess had set up.

You had grinned innocently, eyes still glued to the patient and said, "Something startle you, Dr. Robby?"

He had let out an incredulous laugh and came back to your side. He thought it was probably safe to reject his null hypothesis at this point. He was positive you were crushing on him now, and now that he had started feeding into it, you might have assumed he felt the same.

You wouldn't be wrong to assume that. The more he toyed with you, the more he found himself enjoying it. Found himself pushing farther and farther, squeezing your hips lightly as he went by, hand wandering dangerously close to your ass as he moved. Leaning in closer than necessary to murmur instruction, making sure his hot breath caressed the shell of your ear in a way that had goosebumps rising on your neck.

When he wasn't in the ER, almost against his will he found his mind wandering to you when his fist was wrapped around his cock in the shower. The sounds of your gasps, the heat of your body against his, the soothing cadence of your voice when you gave an order and looked to him for approval. More and more often you wormed yourself into all of his fantasies. And later, he'd be sick with guilt, especially if he saw Jack.

Back at your side next to the patient, he watched you closely before he was finally able to tear his gaze away and back down to the patient.

"You do not wanna go down this road, sweetheart." He said darkly, quiet enough that only you could hear him.

"Why's that?" You murmured back.

"I could list a myriad of reasons, chief of which is that your brother would kick my ass."

You hummed, "Probably," Finally, you looked back up at him, mischief glinting in your eyes, "But that's half the fun, don't you think?"

Before he could respond you pushed yourself away from the patient, peeling the gloves from your hands, "Send him up to CT, we'll get an OR prepped in the meantime."

And then you were gone and Robby was stuck feeling like he had lost control of a ship he had thought he was the captain of. But as he blinked his eyes open, it was you at the bow, steering the both of you directly into a storm.

***

Robby closed the door to your apartment quietly behind him, now fully dressed and dripping in shame. It seemed in one afternoon he had likely lost his best friend and also the one other person he had started to feel something for that ran deeper than surface level.

He turned his head to see Jack leaning against the wall, arms crossed and shooting daggers at him.

"Jack, I really am sor—"

But he didn't get the chance to finish his apology because Jack had pushed himself up off the wall and unceremoniously smashed his fist into Robby's face.

With a groan, Robby fell back against your door, his cheek throbbing as he slid to the ground. Through his dizziness, he watched Jack walk away and down the hall without another word.

When Robby brought a hand up to his cheek, he felt the warm stickiness of blood beneath the pads of his fingers and winced.

Perhaps hearing the scuffle outside, your door opened again and Robby nearly fell over, his weight previously being held by the door.

At the sight of Robby on the ground, face already beginning to swell, you sighed, "Get inside."

Robby's knees protested as he stood back up and shuffled back into your apartment. He heard the sound of your freezer opening and closing and then you reappeared in front of him, a cold compress in your hand and some gauze for the blood.

"Sit down." You said quietly, gesturing to the seat at your kitchen table. He watched you silently as he did, but you were carefully avoiding his gaze. He noted the shine in your eyes, the furrow of your brow. You had both known the risks you were taking with one another, but Robby still blamed himself for whatever hurt you were now bearing.

Gently, you dabbed at the small cut at the top of his cheekbone, pausing whenever he winced, "Anything feel broken to you?"

"No," Robby said softly, "I don't think so." He wished you would look at him. Give him any inclination that you didn't hate him too.

You pressed the cold compress to his cheek and when he grimaced, your eyes finally darted to his, "You're lucky." You said slowly, "I've seen him do much worse. I'd go so far as to say he let you off easy on purpose."

Robby laughed, but it turned quickly to a groan of pain, "Doesn't feel like that."

You swallowed, "He'll come around, he loves you."

Robby's hand came up to the compress, covering your hand with his own, "No, he loves you."

Your jaw clenched, "He treats me like I'm still a child rather than a grown woman with agency who can decide whom she wants to sleep with. And then you turned around and did the same."

He sighed, "I don't think of you like that anymore. I just… I understand why he does." When you didn't say anything to that, he continued, "He told me a story once, years ago, when you were still in high school. He said some kid was bullying you and he paid the kid off to leave you alone. But he made sure to tell him that he wasn't above fighting a kid if he didn't follow through on his side of the deal."

You shook your head, "That kid invited me to prom as a joke and stood me up. Jack ended up dislocating his shoulder."

"Kid didn't know what he missed out on. A dislocated shoulder was a kindness, comparatively."

You tilted your head sideways, giving him a skeptical look, "I'm still mad at you." You said softly.

He nodded, "Yeah, it's going around."

You slipped your hand from the compress, stepping back from him to create some space. You didn't trust yourself not to keep touching him, "So are we, um," You cleared your throat, "Are we done now?"

The honest truth was, he didn't know. For himself, he had still been trying to figure out if what he felt for you went beyond the game the two of you had been playing. And he had always suspected you wouldn't find him so appealing once Jack found out. Once the excitement wore off.

He was too old for you, he didn't want to be responsible for hijacking your youth. You deserved someone young and spry who could give you a happy, normal relationship. Not whatever this mess was.

But he was selfish and couldn't close the door completely, "I don't know." He said quietly.

You nodded, your face not betraying any emotion. He hated that about you, that you were so good at concealing what you were feeling. It was only when Jack was here earlier that you had let your guard down enough. He always wished he could get a better read on you.

"You should go," You said finally, "If I know Jack he'll be back here in a couple hours, once he's cooled off."

He nodded and handed the cold compress back to you, but you shook your head, "Keep it. You can give it back another time."

Robby stood and pressed a kiss to your forehead before he left your apartment again.

***

It was months before Robby finally gave in to his desire to feel you. It was the middle of the night on a Saturday and his phone was ringing.

Robby fumbled in the dark for it on nightstand, eyes still closed, before he picked up.

"Robby, it's Jack."

Robby rubbed at his eyes as he sat up in bed, "What's wrong?"

If Jack was calling him from the Pitt in the middle of the night, Robby's mind was already grappling with worst case scenarios: an MCI, a power outage and emergency generator failure, one or multiple staff somehow dead or injured—

"Sorry to call so late, you're just the only one I trust with this." And then, he started talking about you, "She got a flat on her way home from a friend's place and she called triple A, but that could be hours. I don't want her waiting on the side of the road that long by herself."

Robby was already out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder, "You didn't teach her how to change a tire?" He teased.

"Of course I did." Jack said, "I've showed her four or five times. If she's not interested it's like talking to a wall."

Robby smirked, "Tell her to cancel triple A and send me her location."

When he pulled up behind your car, you were leaning against it, phone in your hand. You mindlessly chewed on a nail from your free hand.

Squinting at his headlights, you looked up when he approached. He parked and turned off his lights.

You shook your head as he walked towards you, "I told him not to call you."

"What, you're not happy to see me?"

This pulled a slight smirk from you, "I'm always happy to see my favorite ER attending."

Robby grimaced as he walked to the back of your car, searching for your spare in the trunk, "Don't let Jack hear you say that."

"I won't," You said and bit your lip, "Just like I'd never tell him that I'm your favorite Abbot."

He laughed and shook his head, pulling out your spare tire and the tools he's need to swap it out, "Now what would give you that idea?"

"I don't think you'd roll out of bed in the middle of the night for just anyone, would you?"

"I'm doing this for Jack, not for you." He started to get set up next to the car, "You think you could use the flashlight on your phone to give me some light?"

You obliged him and sat in the dirt next to the car, shining the light towards his hands as they worked, "So you're not happy to see me?" You threw back at him, playfully deepening your voice in an attempt to mock.

He spared you what he wanted to be an annoyed glance, but he thought he probably just ended up looking at you fondly, "I don't sound like that."

You tilted your head to the side, "You didn't answer my question."

He sighed heavily and started cranking the car jack in order to lift the vehicle high enough so he could remove your tire, "Didn't I tell you already that you don't want to go down this road with me?"

You squinted up towards the sky, feigning recollection, "And I thought I told you that that only makes it more fun for me."

He silently loosened the bolts on your wheel, choosing not to humor you. Truthfully, he had jumped at the opportunity to see you outside of the Pitt. But Jack had trusted him with keeping you safe. He wanted to honor that trust, regardless of whatever desires were brewing beneath the surface.

"You don't really want me, kid," Robby said as he pulled the flat from your car, "You just want to piss off your brother."

"Why can't it be both?"

He didn't answer that. Swallowed it down and pushed the spare onto the axle, started screwing the bolts back into place.

"Come on, Robby. I've seen the way you look at me. I'm not blind."

He tightened each bolt with care and then rose to standing, started lowering the car jack. Robby couldn't look at you, felt he was on the verge of crossing lines he absolutely under no circumstances should cross.

And sure enough, when he felt he could trust himself enough to turn back and look at you, he's wrong. He was so very mistaken to trust himself like this. Because you're standing very close to him, a smug look on your face when you notice how nervous you've made him.

"Abbot," He said softly, breath wavering, "Don't push me."

It was a mistake to provoke you like that. You brought your hands up to his chest, placed your palms flat against him, and gently pushed until his back hit your car, "Or what?" You whispered.

Robby's hands were raised by his ears in surrender, but he wasn't going to last very long. He thought you probably already knew how desperate he was by the smug look in your eyes, "If I put my hands on you," He said slowly, "I'm not gonna stop."

"You say that like it's a threat," You fisted the fabric of his t-shirt in your hands and pulled just—Your lips now centimeters apart.

Robby could taste your breath now, and just your proximity alone had his blood pumping between his legs, "It is." He nearly growled.

Your eyes darted down to his mouth and he watched as you licked your lips, then slowly traced a path back up to his eyes, "Are you gonna kiss me, Robinavitch? Or do I have to do everything myself?"

Your words hung in the air, suspended between you, for just a moment. He could walk away. Get back in his car. Go home. Pretend none of it ever happened.

But that was never really an option, was it?

He hesitated for only a split second before catching your mouth with his, his hands lowering to tangle themselves in your hair. You groaned in what sounded like surprise, and he wanted to laugh. You had put on such a good front, but you hadn't really thought he would give in. Clearly, you had no idea the extent to which you had taken root in his brain, in his skin, in his very being.

You had come like a thief in the night, setting traps and stealing his things, and he thought when he followed your clues that he was trying to get you out of his house. The clues had led him straight to you where you had made a home in his attic and instead of kicking you out, he asked you to make room for him.

It seemed that you were just as hungry as he was, pulling him tighter against you, your soft hands wandering underneath his shirt as he sucked your tongue into his mouth. His hands secured to your hips, Robby rolled the two of you until it was your back against the car and he pushed you up, until you sat on the hood.

His lips were frantic as they chased yours, addicted to how soft and pliant they were. He bit down on your lower lip and you moaned into him. He thought he might go insane if he couldn't have you. He felt like at any moment something was going to break the spell and he'd have to take his hands off you and walk away. He wasn't sure he'd be able to, now. His hands impatiently moved up under your shirt, up, up, until he cupped your breasts. His thumbs made slow circles against your nipples and your back arched as you sighed into his mouth—

Your phone was ringing. Still kissing him, you fished it out of your pocket and cracked an eye open to see who the incoming call was from.

"It's Jack—" You said breathlessly.

"Answer it."

"What?" You asked incredulously as Robby kissed along your jawline and up to your ear.

"I said," He whispered, "Answer it."

You blinked a couple of times. You weren't sure exactly what sort of spell Robby had put you under, but surely it was fucking witchcraft that had your thumb swiping across the screen to answer, "Hello?"

Robby started kissing down your neck, to your chest, kissing a line down your shirt to your stomach and you realized immediately what he wanted when he started unbuttoning your jeans.

The fucker made a big show of not wanting to touch you because you were Jack's sister, but it was obvious to you now that he also really wanted to fuck you because you were Jack's sister. You were off limits. Unattainable. Forbidden fruit. And now he wanted to taste you while Jack listened, completely oblivious.

"Is Robby there yet?"

"Yeah," You managed, as Robby pulled your pants down to your knees, "He's swapping out the tire now."

"I tried calling him, he didn't answer."

Robby didn't preamble before his tongue was on you, stroking rough and purposefully along your slit. It was all you could do to stifle a whimper and you felt him grinning against you. Oh, he was gonna pay for this later.

"Yeah… I… I think he left his phone in his car."

You watched as Robby spit on your cunt and then slipped a finger inside you, then a second finger, thrusting so deep inside you, you had to bite down on your fist to stifle the moan that begged to clamber out of your throat.

"You alright?" Jack asked, "You sound weird."

Robby's tongue was swirling around your clit and your eyelids fluttered as the pressure built low in your abdomen.

"Abbot? You still with me?"

"Yeah," You cleared your throat when Robby's tongue flicked over your clit, "All good here. I'll text you when I'm home."

"Maybe I should talk to Robby—"

"My phone's about to die so I really gotta go, Jack—"

"Wait—"

But you had already hung up the phone and it tumbled from your hand into the dirt. Hands now free, you moved them to Robby's head, tugging lightly at his hair as you ground yourself into his mouth.

He grunted into you, fingers of one hand digging divots into your thigh while the other pumped into your mercilessly.

"Robby—" You whined, "—Fuck—Think m'gonna—"

"Go on, baby," He kept his fingers moving inside you even as he looked up at you. Even in the dark, you could see the slick of your juices running down his mouth and beard, "You got it, wanna feel you cum for me."

He latched his mouth back onto your clit, the pace of his tongue relentless against you. Just as you crested the wave of your orgasm, you saw your phone light up in the dirt with another incoming call from Jack.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you whimpered as Robby worked you through your orgasm. On the come down, he kissed up your leg, whispered praises into your skin. He made his way back up to your mouth, his tongue making languid, lazy strokes against yours.

"You're a fuckin' menace," You breathed against him.

He grinned, pushed his head against yours until his nose was nuzzled against yours almost tenderly and you felt your chest grow warm.

"We probably shouldn't have done that," He said finally, lifting you off the hood of the car and back to the ground.

He went to help you pull your pants back up, but you stopped him, "What, you're not gonna fuck me properly?"

The man had just fully eaten you out on the side of the road, but he still had the audacity to blush, "No—I—We shouldn't have—I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, so you regret it?"

He sighed and leaned his forehead to yours, "No, sweetheart," He said softly, "I don't."

Your stomach fluttered at his admission and you leaned up on your toes to kiss him again, the taste of you still on his tongue.

He moaned into your mouth— And then it was his fucking phone ringing in his pocket and he broke the kiss, reached into his phone to see Jack calling. And the shame and the guilt hit him like a train as he picked up the phone.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Don't you answer your phone?"

Robby turned away from you, not sure he could hold a conversation with Jack while looking at you, "I was swapping out your sister's tire like you asked me to."

"So you're with her?"

"Yeah, why?"

There was a pause on the other line, "She was acting strange on the phone. She seems fine to you?"

Robby ran a hand along the back of his neck, "Yeah. She's fine."

"You'll make sure she gets home okay?"

Robby hung his head, "Of course."

"Thanks, man."

When Robby hung up the phone and looked back over at you, you were smirking, "How's Jackie boy?"

Robby ran a hand over his face, still in quiet disbelief about what he had done. He could lose Jack over this. He didn't have many friends to lose to begin with.

"Get in your car, please. I'll follow you home."

"And then… You'll come inside?"

He shook his head, "No. No, this is never happening again. Understood?"

You nodded slowly, you had gotten fully dressed again while he was on the phone with Jack, "Sure."

"I mean it." He said firmly.

"I know you think you mean it." You said as you climbed into your driver's side, "But you'll find your way into my bed one way or the other."

Already, he was recalling how soft and warm you felt around his fingers. How your walls fluttered around him when you came. The sounds you made, the way you had whimpered his name—

He cleared his throat, and with it, attempted to clear the throbbing that swelled between his legs. He was sure you noticed, though, as he made his way back to his own car. Part of him thought you were likely right, that this was never going to end. That his want, his need to have you would win out in the end. And still, it would probably never be enough.

And so, he followed you back to your house, made sure you got safely inside. His self restraint was strong enough that he made it back to his own home, his own bed.

But you were right. It was less than a week later when he found himself in your bed, cock buried so deep inside you, it made his toes curl to think about it later. Again and again he found himself at your door, begging to be let inside, always saying it would be the last time. You would smirk knowingly as you stepped aside to let him by, because you always knew he didn't mean it.

The days and weeks began to blur, his whole consciousness taken up by you. What were you thinking about, what were you reading, did you eat lunch today, what new restaurants had you tried recently, was your insomnia keeping you up again, did you see that new movie? Did you want to go with him?

They weren't dating, he told himself. It wasn't like that. And you wouldn't want him seriously like that anyway. At least, that's what he told himself when he woke up before you in the mornings. Watched you sleep while the warm amber sun washed over your face. Your lips slightly parted, your light snoring the only sound.

You had somehow wormed your way into becoming one of the most important people in his life, and still, he wouldn't admit it even to himself. Because it was going to implode, one way or the other, and it would hurt a lot less if he convinced himself it didn't mean anything.

He was wrong, though. It was still torture when the glass floor shattered beneath your feet.

***

You had almost fallen asleep on your couch when you heard the tentative knock at your door.

Stretching lazily, you swung your legs over the side of the couch and rose to standing. When you opened the door for Jack, you turned immediately back to the living room without greeting him.

You heard him follow after you and for a few moments, felt him just watch you as you laid back down on the couch and ignored him.

Eventually, he sat down on the couch next to your feet, "I'm sorry… For how I handled the situation earlier." He said slowly, "I should have had a conversation with you about it first."

After a moment, you sat up to face him, tugged your legs to your chest, "Was punching him really necessary?"

He ran a hand over his face and looked away from you, "I know you don't think so, but he's taking advantage of you—"

"Give me a break, Jack, I'm a fully consenting adult—"

"He's an attending—"

"He's not my attending, though! He has no authority over me!"

Jack sighed heavily, "He holds a lot of sway in the hospital. It wouldn't look good for you if this got out."

You laughed incredulously, "Wow. I didn't take you for a slut shaming misogynist."

He made a noise of protestation, "That is not what I meant."

"Oh, okay," You shook your head, "Let me ask you a question then: If Dennis Whitaker slept with the Chief of OBGYN, do you think he'd have to have this conversation or do you think people would just be high fiving him?"

He gave you a skeptical look, "I mean, I don't know in what universe that child with tuberculosis face scores Erin—"

"Jack!"

"Yeah, okay, okay. Point taken." He was still shaking his head, though, "I just—I mean, isn't he kinda… old for you? Why couldn't you just mess around with someone your own age?"

Your laugh rose several pitches, embarrassed to be having this conversation with your brother, "Fuck, I don't know. Why don't we call up my therapist? I'm sure she has many opinions on why I'm seeking out the affections of an older man starting with the fact that my biological father abandoned me and my adoptive one died when I was twenty."

Jack flinched at the mention of your father's death and you immediately regretted it, "Sorry, I… That was too far, I'm sorry."

He shrugged and shook his head, "He was your father too. You're allowed to be effected by it."

The both of you were silent for a few moments. Both you and Jack had been in therapy for many years. You, for most of your life dealing with your feelings about adoption and your biological parents. Jack, since he had returned from deployment down a limb. Again when your father died. Again when his wife died.

Despite it, you had never quite learned how to talk about difficult feelings together.

You clutched your hands together in your lap, bracing yourself before you spoke again, "I know… You feel like you have to protect me… Since he died, but I'm grown, Jack. I know what I'm doing."

Jack huffed a laugh through his nose and stood, "You don't get it. You don't know him. He's a fucking wreck. He's just gonna pull you down with him."

"I thought he was your friend?"

"He is! But right now he's not in any fuckin' position to take care of someone else."

"I'm not asking him to."

He shook his head, "He's just gonna break your heart," He grabbed his jacket from where he'd thrown it over the couch arm and began walking back to your door, "And since you're so grown, I won't be picking up the pieces this time."

When the door closed behind him, you pushed your face into your couch pillow and groaned.

***

It was bad enough now, being on shift with Robby. The whispers about how he had gotten punched, which you ignored. Most people thought he had just gotten too drunk and accidentally ambled into a bar fight. Perlah and Princess, though, had clocked the coldness between him and Jack during shift change.

Nobody had seemed to put it together that you were involved somehow, at least, not yet. But you figured if Perlah and Princess knew enough to sus out that Jack and Robby were fighting, it wasn't that much farther a leap to get to you.

So you tried to avoid the ER as much as possible. Until there was a car pile up on the highway just as the morning shift change was starting to take effect.

"Abbot, I need you downstairs helping them stabilize the patients and evaluating for surgery," Your attending said, "We'll get the ORs prepped in the meantime."

And so you found yourself back in the Pitt, back in trauma one, hands tangled with Jack's in a patient's chest cavity while Robby looked on, frustrated, "Who the fuck decided to do a fucking thoracotomy without consulting me first?"

"Who do you think?" Jack asked, neck tilting slightly as he looked up at you with disdain.

You clenched your jaw, "The patient was hemorrhaging and was about to arrest, he wouldn't have made it to the OR if I didn't open him up."

"You're an intern," Jack said, "You don't do this shit on your own without an attending present—"

"Well lucky for me, then, that you're here."

"You had already fucking cracked his chest before I got here—"

"Would the two of you shut the fuck up and update me on the status of the patient?" Robby snapped.

You sighed, "We stopped the bleeding for now, transfused him with five units of whole blood, he's stabilized enough to go up to surgery."

"Fantastic," He grumbled and started backing out of the room, "Call me if you need me."

Jack huffed and pulled his hands from the patient, "Unbelievable."

"You got something to say, Jack?"

"Not to you," He mumbled and quickly exited the room. He found Robby at Central talking to Dana, "What the fuck was that?" He said without preamble.

"What was what?" Robby said, sipping his coffee as he looked up at the board.

Jack scoffed, "You're not gonna put Abbot in her place for performing a thoracotomy without an attending present?"

Robby slowly slid his eyes from the board to Jack, then back up again, "You seemed to have it covered."

"So residents just need to fuck you to get you to go a bit soft, is that it?" Jack said roughly.

Robby's eyes snapped to Jack and then back around the hub to see if anyone else had heard. Dana was mercifully pretending to be busy with something else, but she had known what was going on between the three of you for weeks now.

"You know that's not true," Robby said firmly, "And she's not my resident."

Jack shook his head, "Fucking semantics. You know, I thought you were better than this Robby."

"Jack, I'm not— We're not sleeping together anymore, okay?" Robby said quietly, "We haven't talked since you—Since you found us. It's done."

Jack laughed, "You don't know my sister at all if you think it's done. She doesn't do casual. She thinks she's capable of it, she's not. So whatever you guys have going on means way more to her than whatever she told you. And she's not done, because I see the way she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching." He shook his head, "If you want it to be done, you're gonna have to break her heart. And then I'll have to break your legs."

Jack stormed off after that, finally packing his things and leaving the ER for the day. Robby was left feeling like shit and confused about what the fuck was going on between the two of you, which he thought was nothing.

"Abbot," He called out to you when he saw you passing not twenty minutes later, "Got a sec?"

You nodded and let him lead you into an empty on call room, "You should never have performed a thoracotomy without an attending present—" You already opened your mouth to argue and he raised a finger to quiet you, "—And you need to remember that you're in the emergency room as a consult. Okay? You don't do procedures without consulting an ER physician first. These are our patients. Not yours, not until they roll into the OR. Understood?"

Begrudgingly, you nodded, "Fine. Whatever. Sorry for saving your patient. Won't happen again."

You reached for the doorknob, but Robby pushed his palm flat against the door, preventing you from opening it, "Maybe Jack was right, maybe you have made me soft."

"What?"

"I am the Chief of Emergency Medicine," He said firmly, "And you are an intern. You don't speak to me like that."

You stared at him for a moment. His arm was raised over your head against the door, his eyes intently focused on your face, and suddenly you felt warm all over. Molten at just the way he was looking at you. Slowly, you dragged your eyes up his chest to his mouth, where they lingered.

"Or what?" You whispered finally.

His jaw clenched and you saw some sort of inner battle going on behind his eyes for a few moments before—

"Fuck it." His hands were on your face, tongue and teeth clashed as he hungrily kissed you, dragging you over to the bed. He was moving so fast, you felt dizzy at the sensations, his hands greedily grabbing at any skin he could, climbing up beneath your scrub top and ripping it up and over your head.

"Is this what you wanted?" He growled against your mouth, "This why you're being such a brat? You miss the way I touch you?"

His hand slipped past the waistband of your pants and without warning, he thrust a finger into you. You moaned into his mouth, kissed him harder, until he added a second finger and you could hardly breathe, your hips grinding against his hand for more, more, more.

But he pulled his hand out of you when he felt you get too close, "Want you to cum around my cock, want to feel how needy for me you are, hm? Can you do that?" He gripped your cheeks between his hand, forced you to look at him, "Can you be a good girl and follow directions?"

His tone was condescending and you felt the warmth build low in your stomach, felt yourself drip into your pants. You nodded, his hand still gripping your face, "That's my girl," He murmured and pressed a long kiss to your mouth before releasing you again, "Turn around for me."

You let him adjust your hips, push and pull you until you were in the perfect position, his cock lined up at your entrance. He slipped just the tip in, sighed when you moaned, and pulled out, "You have to be quiet, baby. Got it?"

You nodded eagerly, pulled a pillow to your face to stifle the sounds you were bound to make. You had never been able to be quiet. He pushed into you fully without further preamble and you moaned into the pillow.

His thrusts were slow and gentle at first, the burning low in your belly intensifying, muscles coiled tight as they readied for release. He started to speed up his movements, and you listened for his sighs, for his stifled moans. You liked to hear how good you made him feel and he was having a hard time being quiet right now.

Eventually, when he felt your walls beginning to pulse around him, he reached around your front, circled your clit expertly with a couple of fingers. It took seconds to push you over the edge and tears ran down your face as his cock continued to pump relentless strokes into you as you rode the high of your orgasm. And then he was cumming as well, pulling out to spill his load on your ass.

The two of you were silent as you cleaned up. You still didn't quite understand what he wanted from you, nor what you wanted from him. Just that not talking to him had been torturous after he had so effortlessly enmeshed himself in your life over the past few months. Just the few days you hadn't seen him, you hadn't been sleeping well. You thought he likely knew from the bruises under your eyes, but he hadn't said anything.

And then you were both back in the Pitt, gone your separate ways. You went back up to the surgery ward as if nothing had happened. Wondered if you had accidentally gotten yourself too deep into something you'd be unable to escape unscathed.

***

You were off work both today and tomorrow and so had decided to hit the bars with a couple of fellow residents. They had been begging you to come out with them for months, but you had fallen so deep into your non-relationship with Robby, you had refused many such invites in favor of sharing your bed with him.

He had taken to completely ignoring you since your last run in, especially around Jack. You tried to ignore the waves of pain that came with that, if only to not give Jack the satisfaction. You still remembered the way he had warned you that Robby would only break your heart and you had stupidly thought you hadn't given him enough of it to break.

But none of that mattered now. You were very drunk and looking for someone decidedly Not Robby to bring home. You were sitting at the bar top. Your friends said they were just gonna be a sec, they're running to the bathroom. A tall, handsome stranger asked if he can buy you a drink, and you smiled and nodded, welcomed the flirting. Tried desperately not to compare him to Robby.

And that was the last thing you remembered before you were waking up in the back of an Uber, your friends talking in panicky voices on either side of you.

"What'ssssss happeninnnn'?" You slurred, your tongue felt heavy.

"Don't you worry, girl." One of your friends squeezed your shoulder, "We're bringing you back to PTMC. You might need Narcan."

Narcan? Why the fuck would you need—?

"I can't believe it," Your other friend was going on, "We leave her alone for two seconds and bam! Roofied. Insane."

Oh. Well, that explained the time loss. They must've been worried whatever illegal rohypnol you'd been dosed with was laced with fentanyl. You had heard of such a case once or twice before, but it was rare. No real reason to lace a date rape drug with fentanyl, the people they were meant for weren't exactly repeat customers. But, better safe than sorry you supposed.

Jack was gonna lose his shit. And, oh, it was still early, wasn't it? Robby might still be passing off patients, making sure his staff went home for the day. Fuck. You weren't in the mood to see him like this.

"Stay here," Your friend said as the Uber pulled into the ambulance bay, "I'm gonna go grab a wheelchair."

Stay here, you thought as you stared at the car ceiling. As if you had a choice. Everything was spinning.

You heard Jack's voice first, it was him who pulled you from the car, placed you gently into the wheelchair. Then you heard Robby's voice, sounding agitated as he spoke with your friends. Something about why the fuck would they leave you alone like that and what kind of friends were they anyway.

Well, that was probably the last time you were going to be invited out you supposed.

"I don't think you need it," Jack's voice was soft in your ear, "But I'm gonna give you some Narcan just in case, alright?"

You tried to nod, but it just made you dizzy and you closed your eyes instead.

The next time you opened them you thought a decent amount of time must've passed. You felt a bit clearer, a little less fuzzy around the edges. There was an IV in your arm and you were on a gurney.

Robby was sitting by your bed, a tired look on his face as he looked over your chart.

"Robby?" Your voice came out rough and he looked up at you.

"Hey," He said gently, immediately putting your chart down. He took one of your hands in his own and smiled at you, "How're you feeling?"

You swallowed and it felt like cotton going down your throat, "Not so great." You managed, "Still pretty dizzy. Can I have some water?"

"Yeah, of course," He already had a water bottle on standby by your bed, held it to your lips while you took long, swallows.

"Thank you." You said when he took it away, "Did—Did I test positive for fentanyl?"

"No," Robby was playing mindlessly with your fingers, you found it quite soothing, "No, just rohypnol."

Finally, you realized what time it must be and frowned, "Shouldn't you be home by now?"

He shrugged and smiled, "Didn't wanna leave you."

Your face softened marginally and you felt tears burn at the backs of your eyes, "Robby, what are we doing?" You asked quietly.

He brought your hand to his mouth, pressed gentle kisses to your fingers, "I don't know. But I know I don't want it to end."

Jack was watching the two of you from across the way, hesitant to interrupt. He watched the way Robby absently played with your fingers. The way he smiled at you. The gentles kisses pressed to your hand. The way he had told off your friends earlier for leaving you alone, the same way Jack may have if Robby hadn't done it for him. And he was beginning to realize that maybe he had sold his friend short. Maybe Robby all this time had felt just as much for you as you had for him.

Finally, Jack cleared his throat to announce his presence and Robby immediately dropped your hand as if it had burned him.

"Welcome back, kid." He gave you a smirk, which you returned, "You were real out of it for a while there. You can talk again?"

You nodded, "Complete sentences and everything."

"Great. Well, since we didn't find any fentanyl in your system, you're free to go whenever you feel like it. Should feel 100% back to normal in about 24 hours, likely less." He turned his head to his friend, "Robby, a word?"

Robby stood and followed Jack out of earshot of you, "Look, I'm sorry about the hand holding, I—"

"What are your intentions with my sister?"

Robby's mouth hung open for moment, having been interrupted mid thought, "I—What do you mean?"

"Do you care about her?"

"Of course I care about her—"

"You're sitting at her bedside, you're holding her hand, you're looking at her like if anything happened to her you'd set this hospital on fire and then yourself."

Robby scoffed, "I think that's an exaggeration."

Jack gave him a lopsided grin, "Look, I know I've been… difficult. But it's only because I don't want to see her hurt. But I care about you too," Jack swallowed, "And if you care for her the same way she cares for you, if it's gonna make both of you happy, then…" He shook his head, "You have my blessing."

Robby stared at Jack blankly for a moment, "You're�� You're serious?"

Jack nodded, "Yeah. But I meant what I said about breaking your legs if you break her heart, so. Just… Weigh your options carefully." Jack smirked and slapped Robby's shoulder affectionately. "Could you drive her home tonight? Make sure she gets back safe?"

A slow smile spread across Robby's face and then he pulled Jack in for a hug, "You got it, brother."

"What was that about?" You asked when Robby had come back to your side, looking giddy as he grinned from ear to ear.

Robby shook his head and picked up your hand again, pressing it to his mouth, "You ready to get out of here?"

You frowned, "With you? In front of Jack?"

He nodded, "Yeah. And I'd like to stay the night, if that's okay with you?"

You tilted your head to the side, "What did he say to you?"

Robby shrugged, "I'll tell you later. Just trust me?"

You frowned, but nodded, "Sure, okay."

And then Robby led you out of the emergency room, your hand in his. He didn't pay any attention to the stares or whispers and when he kissed you while you were still in the parking lot, you let him.

On the drive back to your apartment, you dug out your phone to text Jack: Thank you.

He hearted the message and just sent back: Whatever it looks like, let yourself be happy. It's what dad would've wanted.

You blinked away your tears and looked over at Robby while he drove, the moonlight casting shadows across his face. Yeah, you thought, I think I can do happy.

[beautifulandvoid]

Papa's Girl | Jack Abbot(t)

Author's Note | Really loving writing Papa and Lily

Summary: Mama and Lily visit Papa at PTMC to bring him lunch.

Rating: G

Lily was swaddled up in her little coat, excited to wear her new matching mittens and hat that came down just above her eyes.

“Are you all bundled up Lily girl?” You asked, kissing her pudgy cheek as you swung her up into your arms, her backpack on your back.

“Cold outside Mama,” she informed, parroting back what Jack had said to her via Facetime earlier that morning. She was excited to visit Papa at work and see some of his friends, even if only for a short while. Jack was staying for a few hours later than expected and you were happy to swing by with a lunch and a fresh pair of boxers and t-shirt to don underneath his scrubs. You’d also folded in a little drawing from Lily for both her Papa and Uncle Robby.

The drive to PTMC was one you’d made many times – from your own doctor’s appointments, to Lily’s, to visiting Papa, everyone there knew you at this point. You waved at the ladies at the information desk, heading down to the ED with Lily’s hand tucked into yours. She insisted on walking herself and carrying a big bottle of Diet Coke for Uncle Robby.

“Now this one looks familiar!” You heard Dana before you saw her as she waved at Lily’s, whose little cheeks blushed at the attention. “Look at that hat! I love the pompom,” she complimented, causing Lily to bury her face into your thigh.

“Hi Dana,” you greeted, swinging Lily up into her your arms.

“’i Dana,” Lily repeated – she was in a big repeating phase.

“Hi gorgeous,” Dana replied, “your man is around here somewhere,” she said, head on a swivel.

“Brought Papa lunch,” Lily informed, slapping her hand on the pink backpack on your back.

“You did? Oh he’s going to be so happy,” Dana smiled, making Lily grin.

“Is that my silly rabbit?” You both turned at Robby’s booming voice. He’d been calling Lily “silly rabbit” for a year – as foreshadowing for when Jack would adopt Lily and she’d become Lily Abbot.

“Uncle Wobby!” Lily’s arms launched forward, holding out the bottle of Diet Coke in her hands – one of his few vices.

“For me?!” He said happily, taking the toddler from your arms and lifting her up over his head, causing her to break out into giggles.

“f’you Uncle Wobby,” she confirmed.

“Look at this hat and gloves, Mama’s got you all wrapped up for the snow,” he said, playing with the zipper on her little pink puffer coat. You turned to chat with Dana for a moment, and when you looked back, both Robby and Lily were gone.

“She’s good for him,” Dana said sagely. “He’s been having a tough go, she brings a lot of sunshine to this place,” she added, making you smile.

“She loves her PTMC family,” you nodded.

“I bet Jack’s back in the lockers,” she said, nodding her head down the hall. “Want to go check? If he shows up here, I’ll hold him.” You agreed, giving her a squeeze on the shoulder before making you way to the employee lockers.

“Knock, knock,” you announced, pushing the door open, seeing Jack sitting on the bench, phone in hand.

“Was just texting you,” he looked up with a smile. You swung the pink backpack down and set it beside him. “Where’s Lil?” He asked, standing and immediately stepping int your personal space.

“Off saving lives with Uncle Robby,” you replied. “Brought him a big bottle of soda,” you added, making Jack laugh.

“Some treats in there for me?” He asked, nodding to the backpack.

“Fresh pair of chonies,” you began, “under shirt and lunch. Put together a salad, some of your mac and cheese and tossed in my leftover ribs from dinner the other night,” You listed off. “There’s a little gift in there from Lil, too,” you added, “oh, and I need to grab Robby’s,” you said, hand diving into the drink side pocket of the backpack to pull out a drawing.

“You’re the best, baby,” he said, arms looping around you to bring you in for a tight hug. “Sorry I gotta stay, we’re short-staffed with the flu, but I should be out in four hours,” he said.

“Just in time for nap,” you pecked his lips softly. “Grandma’s coming to pick up Lil this afternoon, so I rented that new movie you wanted to see and I thought we could order pizza,” you listed off.

“You’re my dream woman,” he groaned, kissing you once more.

“Come on, get changed and I’ll meet you out there, I think Robby’s recruiting Lil for day shift,” you said, pecking him once more and slapping his ass. Jack grunted, but complied nonetheless, stripping down as you headed back to the charge desk. Lily was sitting atop the highest ledge with Robby’s hand on her back as he talked to her seriously, his stethoscope draped around her shoulders. Her little pink coat and winter gear were sitting on a charting desk chair, and Dana was brushing her bangs back from her face.

“Lily, do you want to give Uncle Robby his surprise?” You asked, holding up the folded paper. She immediately made grabby hands at the sight of it, and you handed it over, all adults nearby watching her carefully unfold it, before holding it up for Robby to see.

“Wow,” Robby said with reverence, pulling up his glasses to see better. “Look at those colors,” he said, holding the piece of paper in his hands.

“Lily,” she said, tapping on part of the paper where there was a cluster of purple circles.

“I see!” He agreed.

“Uncle Wobby,” she said next, pointing at most of the paper, but perhaps focusing in on a set of orange lines in the other corner.

“I look amazing!” He insisted. “Can I put this on my fridge at home?” He asked, to which she nodded.

“’N Papa here,” she said, her finger up in the air.

“Papa is here, that’s right,” you laughed.

“I heard somebody call for Papa,” Jack said, rounding the corner, folding his impact glasses over the collar of his fresh scrubs.

“Hi,” Lily cooed excitedly, legs swinging as she reached for Jack, who immediately split into a big, dopey smile.

“There’s Papa’s girl,” he scooped her from the desk, planting big kisses on her pudgy cheek.

“What a mush,” Dana grinned, her attention split between the scene in front of her and keeping a tight eye on the screens behind the desk. “You need anything, sweetheart?” She asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh no, we’re good,” you assured. “Not staying for long, we’re going to run to the store to stock up on hot chocolate and graham crackers before the snow hits tomorrow. Lil is going to Grandma Ruby’s this afternoon to play with the kitties,” you said, eyes flashing to Jack who knew what that meant.

“Kitties,” Lily repeated, one hand on either side of Jack’s face.

“Yeah Grandma Ruby has kitties, doesn’t she?” He asked, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

“Papa kitty?” she said with an inquisitive tone.

“No Papa does not have any kitties,” he shook his head, to which Robby had to hold in a laugh. “Want to say bye to Uncle Robby so he can get back to work?” Jack asked, turning so she faced him.

“Bye silly rabbit,” Robby said, wiggling his fingers into her sides and kissing her cheek.

“Uncle Wobby,” she laughed, placing her hands on his beard and squealing as he snarled into her cheek.

“Bye sweetheart, you have fun with Grandma Ruby,” Dana gave Lil a wave and the toddler waved back.

“Give Papa a big kiss,” you said, “he’ll be home for nap,” you assured. Lily always liked to know when she’d see Papa next.

“Bye Papa,” She said, planting a big open-mouth kiss on his cheek.

“Oh a wet one,” Jack laughed, stroking the back of her head before you could pull her hat back on. “Love you Lily girl, be good for Mama,” he said, handing her back so you could tuck her into her coat. 

“Love!” She replied, holding still as you zipped up her jacket.

“See you later,” you leaned over to peck Jack softly. “Be good.”

“He never is!” Robby called over his shoulder.

[beautifulandvoid]

Easy

Request: Could you do a fic with Jack Abbot and a female reader where she is a nurse and feels like she’s not good enough or is panicking at work even though she’s awesome at her job? Like she’s always too hard on herself.

A/N: I too get panic attacks sometimes and boy would it be nice to have Abbot there to talk me down! Anyway, hope this is okay! Let me know what ya'll think!

Warnings: Talks of death, description of panic attack, medical inaccuracies probably.

You loved being a nurse. You were always taking care of everyone so it made sense to go into nursing. You started out in family medicine, taking care of wellness exams and ear infections. The monotony made it feel like you were wasting away You respected your fellow nurses that thrived there, but something was missing. When you decided to try emergency medicine, you were fascinated. Watching the nurses run around, knowing exactly what to do, you wanted to do that.

You were careful. Too careful. Your superiors warned you that this was a field where you can’t be afraid of mistakes, you have to be able to trust your instincts. You were over prepared to the point that you wasted material and time.

You felt like you were drowning and even on good days, you felt like you were failing. No one could pull you out of the self-hatred spiral. You just hoped to keep the bad days at bay.

But everyone has bad days.

She was just 19 years old, coming in for a sore throat. You had assessed her and deemed her stable. You never entertained the thought that it was the beginning of toxic shock syndrome. Who would?

You were covered in her blood, she had coughed it up as you hooked her up to monitoring equipment. You called for anyone to help as she flatlined. You wouldn’t let anyone else do CPR. You missed this, you’d fix this.

But you didn’t.

“It’s an easy one to miss. You didn’t do this.” Dr. Abbot put a hand on your shoulder as he left the room.

You never had a groove, but what little bit you were starting to get was forgotten. That day shook you to your core. You were even more cautious. You would do everything to make sure that never happened again.

“Y/N, you can’t keep taking this long with patients! You are wasting resources. Why the hell did you do an EKG on Mr. Summers without an order?” Dana sighed as she took her glasses off. She had been on your ass for weeks, trying to get you to figure your shit out.

“He said that his arm was bothering him, I just wanted to be safe!” You argued.

“His arm bothers him because he has arthritis.” She shook her head, giving you a sympathetic look.

“I’ll do better, I’m sorry.” You shuffled off. Your chest tightened, the world felt too close. Why couldn’t you be like everyone else in the department? They all knew exactly what to do all the time? What was wrong with you?

You ran to the stairwell, thinking you had been able to slip away unnoticed.

You tried to breathe but your mind racing caused your chest to heave and wheeze with effort. You felt yourself spiraling and couldn’t stop it. The tears streamed down your face, your hands shook. You were on the verge of passing out, your vison blurring and the edges going dark.

“Easy! Calm down, Y/N. You’re okay.” You could hear the familiar voice, but couldn’t focus on it.

“I can’t….I can’t…” You wheezed. A rough hand grabbed yours and you looked up to see Dr. Abbot. He put your hand to his chest.

“Follow my breaths. In and out. Nice and easy.” He said, keeping hard eye contact. You did your best to follow the rhythm of his chest.

“Good. You’re doing good.” He said as he pulled a stray stool over and sat you down.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.” You mumbled, your hands still shaking.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We all have our moments. I don’t believe that you don’t know what triggered this. You want to start being honest here?” He crossed his arms.

“I…I don’t think I’m good enough to be here.” Your voice small and frail. You heard Dr. Abbot snort a small laugh. You looked up at him confused.

“You think you aren’t good enough. That’s a crock of shit if I ever heard it.” He said, his face never changing. You never could figure out when he was joking with you.

“Everyone tells me how slow I am, I waste time and resources. Dana is always on my ass. I lost that patient and I should have known something was going on! I failed, I constantly fail!” The sobs wracked your body.

“Hey! Easy! You aren’t a failure.” He grabbed your hands. “Y/N, that girl was stable when you admitted her. I saw the records. You did everything right. It’s part of this job, no matter how right we are, people will die. You didn’t fail her. You fought for her when she needed you to.” He said tipping your chin up to look at him.

“Dana is on your ass because she knows you’re the best we got. She wants you to reach your full potential. Hell, last week you caught that silent heart attack, no one else would have done that EKG. They all breeze through patients and you take your time. Nothing wrong with either way of working. But you see things others don’t.” He almost smiled.

“I’m so scared all the time.”

“Everyone is. You learn to deal with it. Don’t let that be the thing that takes you out of here. You’re good, you should be here.” He said, his thumb rubbing circles on your hand.

“I didn’t think anyone saw me.” You said to yourself, you knew he heard.

“Believe me, we see you. I see you.” He said, his eyes kinder than you had ever seen them. Your cheeks flushed.

“You have patients, you shouldn’t be here with me.” You cleared your throat.

“No one is dying and if they are, they’ll find me. You needed me.” He nodded. “It’s okay to break sometimes.” He shrugs.

“I feel weak when I do.” You stand up and tighten your arms around yourself.

“It feels like that, but it’s just part of the strengthening process. Each break down makes you a better nurse. Means you care. The only time you get to leave is when you stop caring.” Dr. Abbott put a hand on your arm. “If you leave before that, I’ll personally kick your ass.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” You smiled, wiping your face.

“Anytime. Get back out there. Find me if you need me.” He nodded as he watched you head back into the pitt. He wandered back in and went to his computer.

“You going soft on me, Jack?” Dana looked at him over her glasses.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He said without looking up.

“You got a soft spot for that girl.” She smirked.

“She’s good. She’s got something we need and I’m not letting her fail.” He shrugged.

“I’m not disagreeing. I feel the same. But mind you don’t get too close. HR will have a field day.” She cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m a professional, Dana.”

“Yeah, you also a man and that lends itself to mischief. Don’t break my nurses hearts, I have to deal with it.” She laughed.

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t hurt her.” He cleared his throat, looking up to watch you rush around the ER.

“You’re screwed.” Dana chuckled as she typed at her computer. “That girl is going to flip your world upside down, Abbot.”

“I can only hope.” He whispered to himself.

[beautifulandvoid]

Imagine you ask Pope to help you get pregnant. You’re a family friend of the Cody’s, on the outside enough that Smurf doesn’t see you as a threat but close enough that the boys feel comfortable around you. You’re closest with Pope, you went to see him in prison, you hang out with him between jobs, you care.

One day you overhear what Baz says to Pope “no one is ever gonna wanna have a kid with you, ever”. It rubs you the wrong way because you know Pope would make a great dad. He’s attentive and caring and protects those he loves and you’ve seen how great he is with Lena. You wanna prove Baz wrong and well, you’ve been wanting a kid for a while you’ve just not found the right person. And who else would you trust with your kid then Pope? So you decide to ask Pope to co-parent with you. After the initial shock wears off, Pope is stoically thrilled with this proposition. He wants to have a child, to have a family, one that he chooses and creates. One that wants him. You’ve been a constant feature in his life, he’d be honoured to help you.

Of course you have to get pregnant first.

Cue you tracking your ovulation and planning for one week a month of marathon baby making. Before the first time, you’re having dinner at Smurfs when your reminder alarm goes off on your phone, signalling the start of ovulation week. Pope perks up from across the table “Now?” You smile softly at his eagerness ,“Yes, now.” Pope gets up immediately. You stand and start to say goodbye and explain that you and Pope have plans when he promptly bends and lifts you up over his shoulder in one swift movement, your sentence trailing into a fit of laughter. “Andrew!” He strides purposefully towards the driveway, leaving his stunned family sitting at the table.

He puts you in the back seat of the truck so he’ll keep his hands off you and as you’re pulling onto the street you raise a teasing eyebrow at him in the rear view mirror. “Don’t trust yourself to keep your hands off me Andrew? You must want to put a baby in me real bad.” Pope hits the breaks and twists around to face you, both hands white knuckling the steering wheel. You stare intensely at each other for a minute before he tells you to put your seat belt on.

You barely make it in the door of your apartment before you’re on each other, lips pressing feverishly to each other, pulling at each others clothes. You’re naked on your bed in no time, Pope promptly putting his face between your thighs. You push up on your elbows to tell him that’s not necessary (you’ve been wet since he threw you in the truck) when he silences you with his mouth around your clit and a large hand on your stomach pushing you back down on the bed, leaving no room for argument. He makes you come twice with his mouth and tongue and fingers before you’re pushing his head away and reminding him the reason you’re both there.

You both moan when Pope slides into you, your foreheads pressed together, your mouths inches apart. He fits perfectly like it was always meant to be him. You cling to Pope as he pounds into you, your legs locked around his hips and nails leaving red paths down his back. His arms slide under your back and he presses your chests together, the slap of your hips joining the noise of your moans. You come quickly, your walls tightening around his cock as the pleasure rolls through you.

“Come in me Andrew. Put a baby in me.” You whisper against his lips, your eyes locked on his. You take his face in your hands and pour all the love you can into your next words. “Make us a family Andrew.” That pushes him over the edge, his hips slamming frantically against yours before he stills, his cock buried deep inside as his cum fills you.

Pope only takes a moment before he’s pulling out of you, grabbing your legs and manhandling you until your legs are propped up straight on the headboard and wall, your ass on your pillows and your head in the direction of the foot of the bed. Before you can even question him, he explains, “Sitting with your legs in the air and your body propped up allows gravity to help with conception.” A huge smile breaks out across your face. “Have you been doing some research Andrew?” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “We want this to work.” Warmth blossoms in your chest at the admittance, that Pope was taking this so seriously, that he wants this as bad as you.

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. “Yes, we do.”

(With your and Andrew’s dedication it doesn’t take long for you to get pregnant, with twins no less)

[beautifulandvoid]

Classroom Wish list

Hello! For those that don't know, I am a second grade reading teacher who is getting ready to go back to school! I saw other teachers share their classroom wish list and wanted to share mine! I teach reading and writing for my whole grade, so anything whether its pencils or books help!

If you're able to, my students and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts!

[beautifulandvoid]

✭ AND BURN ✭ Jack Abbot x F!Reader

・PART TWO to CRASH ・ As you fight for your life after the graphic accident on Robby's bike, the Pitt has to deal with Jack's innate, desperate need to never let you go again.

WORD COUNT: 13.3K @pearlstiare @nowandajenn

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

LINKS to OTHER JACK ABBOT FICS AUTHOR MASTERLIST (do a lotta Lalo Salamanca, you know him?) CRASH THE LENGTHS FIRECRACKER SHIFTING

CRASH (PART ONE) DESCRIPTION: When Jack catches you out walking to work in 30-degree weather alone in the fucking dark, he has no choice but to realize his feelings for you are far past romantics and hurdling towards possession. That only becomes more apparent when he catches you on Robby's motorcycle after.

Graphic depiction of blood, wounds, etc. Angst. Jealousy. Fluff. Yearning. Hurt reader. Jack’s mean when he’s worried about you. Sorry Dana. Jealous Jack. Angry Jack. Pathetic Robby. Could be read as part of “The Lengths” but also not. Depictions of anxiety and suicidal ideation. Inaccurate depiction of the medical field. Jack’s slightly aggressive in his projection and deflection of his feelings for you (sexually, romantically, professionally). Call him the Jack of all trades lol. Unhealthy relationship dynamics.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

It’s sometime after three in the morning. The Pitt’s deep into that strange, hollow quiet when the traumas somehow slow…sorta. Jack’s stolen trauma two to finish his paperwork in silence. It’s against protocol, sure…but. Whatever. 

Then he can hear it, Dr. Shen’s voice drifting in from the nurses’ station, smooth and unhurried. 

“Try this. Just one sip.” 

“I already told you, that looks like diabetes in a cup.”

It’s your voice that replies, obvious in fatigue, but light in a softening laugh. Dreadfully beautiful. Something like that. 

Jack’s spine straightens against nothing. 

You talking to other men is not a crime. Not at all. Not at fucking all. But you do know Shen’s flirting with you, right? 

The question is, are you going to stop him?

“It’s called a caramel macchiato. Stop acting like it’s plutonium.”

“Dr. Shen,” You sigh out the other attending’s name. “Your sugar and caffeine tolerance is something else entirely.” 

No? Okay.

Jack keeps his head down as he signs another discharge. His head cocks once to the side. Stiffly. But only once. He picks up the next chart.

…But he ends up walking out a minute later, because…really. After the next chart, he’d be finished–and there’s always charts to do. It’s an endless hell of charts, always. And Jack knows he’ll find more of his at the nurses’ station. 

When he finds his way to the nurses’ station, chart in hand, he sees you holding a tall cup drizzled with…something. You’re studying it with obvious, visible skepticism. 

Jack doesn’t slow when he sees Shen leaving his crossed arms on the counter, leering down above you. 

What the fuck is going on here?

“You’re going to like it. Trust me.”

“I can smell the calories and, again, diabetes.”

Jack clears his throat, letting the chart snap shut. He doesn’t blink when Shen looks over, grin easy and bright. “Abbot. You want some?” 

“I will stick to coffee that looks like coffee.” 

He says it dryly, and when you duck your head, he can catch you trying to hide your smile.

Shen takes a sip of his own drink–something suspiciously green. Jack blinks once and quickly when your name comes out as a sigh. When it comes out of someone else's mouth. 

The two-second hatred for Shen is as ridiculous as much as it is something Jack can’t stop from reaching the coils of his stomach. 

“Back me up here. Tell him he should live a little.” 

You look up at Jack, and he studies the way your eyes still dance with the smile you’re failing to suppress. Hey. At least he knows you’re not great at everything.

Go ahead. Tell me I should live a little. Act like a giddy teenager with the next attending that can actually have fun and make me feel bad for thinking that an hour later when I realize you’re just…existing with someone who isn’t me. Go ahead.

“He does live a little,” You say it gently. “He just…doesn’t admit it.”

Jack lifts a brow. His shoulders rise with an inhale. 

Nevermind. Good girl. 

“Don’t defend me.” 

“...Sorry.”

And you do not sound sorry at all. 

Jack ignores whatever’s like a smirk on Shen’s face before he walks off. 

The next night, it’s the same. Except this time, you bring something for Shen, because you’re the most perfect co-worker woman nurse in the fucking world, apparently. Not apparently. Jack’s known since the day he met you. 

It’s a little Tupperware container with a foil wrap inside. Jack watches you hold it out, his face and focus only narrowing back to the trauma board with a headshake. 

“Here, since you keep bribing me with coffee.”

He’s not gonna ask what it is. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care. 

You’re just the nicest girl in the world, aren’t you? 

“Oh?” 

“Just something small. I know I didn’t have to, but…yeah.”

“So this is why they call you sunshine. Got it.” 

Jack closes his eyes. When he opens them, he doesn’t look up from the trauma board as he presses his pen against the laminate with a force he doesn’t realize. But still, he doesn’t flinch.

Not until Shen peels back the foil with a stupid quiet wonder. 

“You made this?” 

“Mhm.”

“Oh. I love you.” 

His head snaps to the sight of you and Shen at the counter, and whatever’s burning at the stupid, fucking asshat decision Shen made to jokingly call out his love for you pairs too damn well with one word. It pounds in his head as Santos snorts from across the station. 

Homemade.

Jack's hands tighten around the chart. He doesn’t look up, because he’s patient for his simple reprimand…he just waits until the next break in conversation. 

He’s this close to calling you a slut and bending you over and wanting to shoot himself in the head for it. 

“So I’m gonna have to break bank to serve the nurses matcha if I want brownie bars?”

“I don’t know what makes you think we’re gonna bake for you–” 

He breaks Princess’s quip with his throat clearing. 

“Let’s cool it with the snack-and-drink exchanges for now.”

Both you and Shen turn towards him. Jack’s stare doesn’t budge. The other nurses at the counter go quiet. Even Dana raises her head two computers away. 

Sorry that I don’t want to hear my fellow attending try to get into her pants. He’s amping up the flirtations and praises because she’s wearing her fitted scrubs. 

It’s the most unnecessary, dramatic thought Jack’s had all day. It’s your fault. And there’s nothing wrong with you. 

Resentfully, perfect anomaly you. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“When did you start working for HR?” 

Jack places his chart on the counter at Shen’s quip, palms going up. “I’m not trying to be a stickler, but HR’s been cracking down on outside food handling—” He eyes your…baked brownie thing that unfortunately looks delicious. 

His mouth goes thin. 

“Especially anything homemade. If someone has an allergic reaction or there’s any contamination, it becomes a liability.” 

It’s the truth. It’s also the easiest thing he could come up with. 

He doesn’t flinch when Shen gives a massive, purposeful side-eye. But when you somehow become…smaller at his lecture, Jack turns away. 

He didn’t think he’d have to feed you liquid calories to make you want him. Regretfully, he thought everything else was enough. Whatever. It’s fine. Just a hard quip along his brain. 

“I…didn’t realize.” 

Jack scratches his ear when you mutter it. 

…You’re not supposed to feel bad, sleepy. He didn’t–

You just made something. With your hands. In your kitchen, out of your tight scrubs you decorate against healthcare management’s rules. He wonders what you were where when you were thinking of Shen while making something for him. You probably worried it’d be too sweet. 

His jaw flexes as he watches Shen takes one last bite, groaning like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever eaten. “Of course, Abbot. Our bad.” 

Cum in your seat, why the fuck not?

…It’s over when you both leave. 

Almost.

“Jack?” 

“Dana.” 

Dana taps the arms of her chair. “Considering I assisted you on the case where you threw the medical playbook out the window two hours ago…I’m surprised you’re quoting HR.” 

Jack’s jaw tightens. 

“You ain’t ever said a thing when we brought in crockpots for football Sundays–or when the pharmacy staff gave us those dry-ass muffins, but when Shen gets something that’s edible? What’s that–” 

“Dana. I was making a suggestion.” 

Jack blinks when the Pitt’s charge nurse tilts his head, eyeing him like she knows something. 

“Homemade, no less.”

Jack doesn’t respond to that word, said exactly the way he did. He just rolls his shoulders, because the past ten minutes have been absolutely fucking ridiculous. 

He doesn’t respond to Dana’s look. Or to your silence when you come to walk past him. 

Or to that nauseating, perfect smell of cinnamon and sweetness now wafting from Shen’s station. 

Instead, he turns back to his work, the scribble of his pen not aggressive enough to notice. 

You smile without filter. You give without pause. You sway your hips without any sort of care of where you’ll go next, and Jack feels like the dirtiest old man in the world.

…That doesn’t stop him from realizing that you’ve never baked him anything. 

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

The ER doors slam open with the thunder of wheels. The first thing Mel catches is the red that it tracks in. She swallows. 

Samira moves right behind her. She’s not on an assignment, so her and King can move easily to whatever’s about to make its way to a trauma bay. Her voice is clipped but routine to the medic as she clocks vitals. 

But the two of them–the three of them, as Dana finds her way at their side, they freeze. 

It’s a single second, a heartbeat going missing as the gurney fully comes into view, when they do a double-take at the patient, who’s supposed to be just another patient. 

But on it?

“Oh my God.” 

You. 

You’re unconscious. Full of pallor. They watch your chest jolt and flutter under the oxygen bag being squeezed in rhythm. Your arms are streaked with road rash and blood and bits of your body that should be inside of you. Any piece of gauze that’s been wrapped or stuffed too hastily is already soaked through. 

And you’ve brought a pond of blood along the tile. You. Sunshine. 

Mel puts a hand over her mouth. Samira doesn’t blink. Dana leans over the gurney. 

“...Sun…oh my God.”

The nurse who never takes a real break. The girl who brings snacks that’s not from a vending machine to the Pitt every other week. The one who knows everyone’s birthdays.

For one suspended moment, all three of them–Dana, Mel, and Samira…

They forget how to breathe. 

“Clear trauma two. Now.”

Dana’s voice snaps, and their world jolts back into motion, because this is what they do. This–gloves snapping as they order monitors to be wheeled in, but still…still–they can’t stop exchanging looks over you. 

But before they can start lines, before Dana can even check the monitor, another shadow barrels through, but they hear it before they see it. 

His boots. 

Angry. Heavy. Stomping.

Jack. 

He storms in, and they’re not sure if he’s wet from rain or sweat, because the forecast didn’t call for drowsy weather, but he’s dripping. 

His jaw is locked so tight that Dana swears she can hear his molars grind.

“Move.” 

He’s at your side in seconds. His gloved hands hover over your ribs. Dana, in all her fucking shock, takes a moment to catch the face of Mohan and King, and as good as the doctors they are, she knows they can’t be the ones to handle this. 

“Jack–”

“I said move.” He nearly barks it out under the dry of his throat, eyes only focused on your battered, torn skin. “Get your hands off her if you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

Dana’s hands drop. That’s not something Jack Abbot–the one she knows would ever say. 

But she realizes, there, that Jack doesn’t even know who’s beside him. 

He’s already tearing open another thoracostomy kit, elbowing Mel back like she’s some well-meaning amateur. As if he wouldn’t be the first attending to throw her or any other resident at a case to let them thrive and swim and learn. 

But this case is you, and Dana understands everything that he must be feeling when she realizes that.

“...Dr. Abbot,” Samira is trying in her careful voice, “we need to get access—”

“You can do it over me.”

He says it with a dead, flat tone. It’s terrifying. Dana manages to step forward, making her voice firmer. 

Absolutely not.

“Jack. I’m telling you right now, you are not cleared. With the way you’re acting, you cannot be the one to work on this case–”

“I don’t care.” 

When Jack looks up finally, as if it’s a betrayal to you for looking away from the table, Dana sees how wild his eyes are. 

It’s so much worse than she thought. 

His lip twitches. His eye twitches. His brow twitches. 

“Case? She’s a case to you, Evans?”

His hands work on your chest as he talks, checking the site where he placed the decompression needle, and Dana’s assuming he did that in the field. 

“Yeah. She needs to be a case, Jack. That’s how we’re gonna get her through this, and you’re not in a state to work at all. Not at all. Look at you–” 

“I am looking very clearly,” Jack’s words are dragged in what’s almost a growl, something low in the back of his throat, and when he turns his eyes back up on Dana, the unblinking…the focus– 

Yeah. That’s terrifying as shit too. 

“None of you know how to do this the way I do.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. 

What the fuck are they gonna do?

She turns to Samira, a whisper is the best she can do.

“Robby’s on shift tonight?” 

Samira nods something unsure. “He’s supposed to be, why?” 

“If it’s gonna be someone to bring him down, it’s–” 

Jack’s head whips towards them.

His eyes snap up, feral. 

“Who do you think put her here?”

…The silence that follows is fucking holy. Worthy of Mass on Sunday. 

Samira steps back. Mel goes still, her hands hovering over your wrists, as if trying to save you is the worst thing she could possibly do in this moment. And as if on cue, the doors open again. 

Another gurney. Not as rushed. Somewhat as bloodied. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Jesus–”

Robby’s being barreled through with a neck brace and a gash at his temple, and some of his skin missing. Arm bandaged and slung. Alive–but barely able to keep his head up straight. 

Out of the two of you, the two residents and charge nurse can deduce he’s the lucky one. 

And the moment his stretcher crosses into view of the trauma bay, the entire room stops.

Not just the trauma team. Not just the nurses. The entire Pitt.

And Jack hasn’t moved since Robby came through those doors. Not a twitch. Not a word.

Jesus. If looks could fucking kill.

Dana notices his jaw managing to lock more somehow, teeth grinding behind his lips pressed so tight that they looked bloodless. His shoulders might as well be concrete under his scrubs, and his fists…

They tremble. 

When Dana’s eyes shift away from Robby’s stretcher, slowing to a crawl, she finds Jack’s eyes back on you. 

He swipes your blood-strung hair out of your face. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move. 

“Jack. You can’t do this.” 

Jack doesn’t move away. He doesn’t look towards Dana. He simply works his hands over the first place where gauze has been stuffed, because there’s the first and fifth and tenth. 

“You’re going to compromise her care if you stay in this state—”

Still nothing. But behind them is a groan, then a shuffle. The scrape of knee and shoulder dragging off the gurney. 

“Robby–” 

It’s one of the medics snapping, trying to stop him. 

Too late. 

Robby swings himself down, hand pressed to his bandaged arm as his skinned cheek twitches. He sways, but god, does he manage to stay upright. 

His mouth moves urgently. 

“Sh-she gonna crash if you don’t start another line–get fluids wide open. One of you needs to suction around the intubation tube, she’s got blood in the back of her throat–”

Jack says something Dana can’t make out, but it’s deep. 

“I know she does…I heard it. And get-get the dopamine, Jack…Jack you have to–”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Jack’s voice rips through the trauma bay. 

Everyone jolts. 

Even you, somehow, flinch in spirit. Mel shushes a bare whimper that comes out of you. 

Robby’s eyes, Dana knows the pain in them isn’t just made up of every wound he’s given himself. 

She watches them get wet as Jack stalks forward. Behind him, Samira and Mel take the moment to work on you instantly.

“We are going to end up with two people dead if you keep playing doctor right now. You need to get back on your fucking gurney, and you are going to let them help you while I make sure she doesn’t die because of this. Do you understand?”

Robby, hair matted with blood and eyes unfocused, decorated with the pallor of a man on the brink of shock, shifts his sight from Jack to you. You to Jack. 

“She needs–” 

“She needed someone who would keep her safe!” Jack points with one impossibly shaking hand. “You swore–you swore you’d keep her safe. And now look at her. Look at what you did.”

Jack to you. You to Jack. Jack to Dana. Dana to you. 

Your name is cried out, Robby’s voice hoarse and cracking. 

He staggers forward, hand outstretched, only to collapse when his knee buckles.

“Dr. Robby–” 

It’s Mel who gasps. Dana rushes forward. 

“No, I–I know. I know.”

Robby’s trying to crawl towards your side, lips sharing a slurry of explanations and pleas.

“I was…she was behind me, I tried to–”

The next thing Jack does almost puts a shock as intense as Robby’s in Dana–and Samira. And Mel. And every other person who’s able to look through the glass.

He merely moves past a crawling Robby as if he’s nothing more than a roach he can’t be bothered to deal with. His best friend. His boots squeak with your blood.

“Someone get him up, please.” 

He doesn’t look up from where he spikes an IV line for you. 

“Robby. Get up. Get away from her. Please.”

Robby shakes his head weakly, tears streaking down the grime on his face as Dana tries like hell to hold his body weight.

“I can help–”

“You’ve done enough.”

Jack’s voice, as hoarse and low as it is, could freeze hell over. Dana hopes what she’s hearing is right–that there’s guilt and pity for Robby in there somewhere. Cause, if not? Jack’s not the person she thought he was. 

And shit, she’s not gonna blame you for changing him. Not you, Sunshine. 

From behind, a new voice cuts in.

“He can’t even stand, Jack.”

Heather Collins’s already gloved and stepping forward, trying her best to stay clinical, but her jaw’s clenched. 

“You can get him out of this room and triage him.”

Heather ignores Jack’s dry, harsh tone as she catches Robby’s good arm. Perlah, in a rush, takes the other arm from Dana. Together, they maneuver their way back to the gurney. 

Jack reaches for your wrist…he searches for a pulse he obviously already knows is there. 

Dana watches him squeeze your wrist.

“Wait.”

It’s Robby’s voice again. Broken. Small.

Jack doesn’t turn.

“Wait, I–”

Jack exhales. Dana closes her eyes. “What now, Robby?”

When they both glance back, Dana catches his breath halting. 

Robby reaches for something the medic holds out like a crying baby grasping for its favorite toy.

A helmet. 

Yours. 

It’s half-crushed and bloodied. Dana has to turn away when she catches your hair caught on the cracked visor. 

Robby’s reaching out for it as if he just needs to hold it.

“...You. Gave him that?” 

“He wouldn’t go in the ambulance without it, Dr. Abbot–”

“Tell me, how does that better his chances of not dying–”

“Jack.”

Jack stares at the helmet, and no one can know how something twists in him. 

Possessiveness. Guilt. Horror.

He hasn’t thought about it since he saw that thing thirty feet away from the hell he found you in. Jack hadn’t thought about what you had done to protect yourself. 

It wasn’t Robby’s body shielding you. Couldn’t possibly be with the way he found you…there. Out in the street.

Why were you with Robby, kid? Why weren’t you with him?

Didn’t he promise he’d take care of you? Why didn’t that mean anything to you?

…No. It wasn’t Robby who was shielding you. It was that. A fragile shell of black plastic. 

And Robby’s clutching it like it's a fucking talisman. 

Jack’s finger twitches around your wrist. 

“Jack. Don’t.”

Don’t what? He can’t do anything when Robby’s wheeled away. 

Well. No. He can save you. Feel you. Make sure you’re alive and you have no chance of getting away from him–and he can think how absolutely stupid it is that it took you being cracked against asphalt to forget how much he doesn’t deserve you…

To just take you. 

He doesn’t realize he was still gripping the side rail of your gurney until his knees begin to burn. Your wrist lies limp beneath his fingertips–like you’re dead. But you’re not dead. You’re his, you’re fucking perfect. You can’t be.

Jack lets out a breath at the feel of your pulse. It’s thready, but there. A beat he can anchor to.

He’s going to stay. He has to. 

This is you. 

His girl. 

He decided that a long time ago. He’ll be sorry about that later, but right now, he’ll stabilize you, monitor your post-op, handle your chart, and–

“Jack.”

No. Absolutely fucking not. 

Dana’s voice is controlled. Calm. Almost gentle. 

He doesn’t like it. Not that tone.

Jack doesn’t look up. “Get the dopamine running. Mohan, what’s her BP?”

“...D–dropping. Eight-two systolic and falling.”

“Then we push the epi. Now.”

“Abbot.” Jack blinks slow at Dana’s voice again. “Step back.”

…He looks up there. 

And. Fuck. Dana’s not behind him to unwillingly assist like he thought she eventually would. She’s standing at his side, face leaning in front of his vision. 

He can’t see you.

“Move! Dana, I–”

She’s blocking him from you, like you aren’t his–like he can’t save you. Like you’re another coder he’ll fail, and you’re not. You can’t be. 

Are they trying to kill you? Why the fuck are they hurting you? Just to punish him? For what?

“Every second counts. What the hell are we doing?” Jack straightens. His voice drops. “Evans, do not play with me right now.” 

“I’m not.”

Jack's head lowers at the way Dana says her words so fucking evenly. His thumb runs over your knuckles. 

His eyes travel to the mess of you. He thinks of you down the hall. Hair in a braid. Pink sneakers. 

…Where are your sneakers?

“...She needs me.”

He tries saying it in a way that King or Mohan won’t hear, but at this point, he can only care later. Dana’s eyes flash something full of the pity he’ll spit back up. Something sad. Something knowing. 

But if she knew, she’d let him work on you.

“She needs me.”

“You’re not what she needs right now.”

Jack stills.

No.

All he can hear is Mohan and Mel knowing what to do without him. Your monitors. The life he has to keep steady so he can have you for the rest of his. Sure. It’s the most aggressive thought he’s ever had, but it’s drowned out by the blood in his ears. 

His voice edges out quieter. 

He doesn’t know how dangerous it sounds. Not even when Dana’s mouth parts or the other two look up. 

“Get out of my way.” 

“You’re in no state to treat her.” 

“You think I’m not–”

“I know you’re not.”

Dana’s words land like a fucking punch, but that doesn’t stop Jack from staring into her. 

Nobody has to interrupt. To break up whatever the hell this is. Even Jack knows she’s already gone further than anyone else would dare. 

“We’ve all seen it, Jack. What this…is. What it’s been becoming.” 

Jack’s eyes narrow. 

Not fucking now. 

His head tilts up, shaking slightly – because this is ridiculous. They have him to save you, and this is what he gets? 

The truth? No. 

“You think I don’t see the way you look at her? The way you act ‘round her? The way you can’t seem to breathe when she’s…Jack, this stopped bein’ professional a long time ago.”

Jack blinks. 

He says nothing. 

…Why can’t she just give you to him? Why?

“You’ve trained every single one of them to handle this kind of trauma. You know that. You know Samira and Mel and anyone on this team are more than capable.”

Jack’s mouth opens. Closes. Dana’s voice drops, soft and shaking slightly. 

“Don’t be selfish. If you…if you care for her the way I know you do, you let us help her. Let us take care of her.”

Silence presses into Jack’s body. 

Yeah? What happened the last time he let someone else take care of you? 

Mohan adjusts a line near your arm. King preps for another aspirate and release. Dana doesn’t move. And Jack feels like the room has no edges. No air. 

He looks down at you. 

The streaky pulse of your bruised neck. Your blood seeping beneath his gloves. He thinks of where you should be–

At your station. In his arms. Under him. 

God, he didn’t know he could miss when he felt like the dirtiest old man in the world–when the girl who put unspeakable things in him wasn’t bloodied with the street she fell into. 

All the things he kept buried with dry professionalism, with late nights and self-denial and a touch of self-hatred, with standing at the edge of your apartment after tucking you in and pretending it meant nothing. 

He thinks about that split-second in the ambulance, when the sirens wailed overhead, high and keening–a sound he’s heard a thousand times but never like that. When he held your hand and had to remind himself to be gentle, not selfish, and he couldn’t take the time to realize that he’s done that for you over and over and over again. 

When he cupped your cheek and ordered you. 

“Stay with me, kid.”

And your breath caught on a wet gurgle. 

“You don’t get to leave us, sleepy. You understand?”

He felt the tremor in your chest under his palm. That shallow, failing effort to pull air–but, God…you were trying. But Jack thinks about how he reminded himself that your left lung was–is partially collapsed, with the tension pneumo relieved but not resolved. 

And if it had gone again, you would’ve suffocated before they made six blocks. 

“It’s me. Jack. Your doctor. You don’t get to leave me.”

…Yeah. That split second. 

All the promises to let you go, to be better, to stop smothering the girl he hadn’t even taken out on a real date cause he’s fucked enough to think you’re too good for him while still needing you anyway–

They died in his throat.

But Dana? She’s not gonna let up, is she?

“Jack–”

Jack storms out of the room, snapping his gloves off and throwing them to tile. 

He’s stepped back to give just enough room for the three of them to take his place, to act as if he’s let go. 

But sure as hell not far enough that he isn’t right outside, ready to push them aside at a single mistake. 

At the simplest whimper or moan or plea for him, he begs whatever God isn’t up there for. 

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Robby knew he’d hit the asphalt when the lights exploded behind his eyes. The metal of his bike screamed against the street before everything was…really, really fucking quiet. 

Then came the taste of copper and smoke, his own breath catching nothing as the world flipped and tilted and slammed against him. He didn’t black out when he skidded away from his pile of parts. No. Not really. It was more like a seizure of time or…something, where the seconds jammed and snagged at his throat and bones, and the bits of his skin peeled off. The world felt it had stopped, and every minute without knowing where you were or what happened felt too fucking long–but there were lights and soft voices over him before he knew it. 

He was pinned between the curb he slammed into and the wheel that skidded with him. His knees were screaming. His helmet cracked. His hands were scraped raw and red from instinctively trying to shield the one who was behind him.

You. 

You. 

You had called him for a ride to work, and he was surprised you even wanted to after the parking lot ordeal. Crazy. But he was happy, maybe happier than he should’ve been. And hey, it seemed like Jack made peace with it, and even if he didn’t, his lack of it didn’t mean shit, because he knows his friend well enough that he can figure his own shit out, even if it has to do with you. 

Sunshine of the Pitt. Harbinger of a silliness that would be resentful if you didn’t know how to do your job so well. You. You. 

God, Robby. What the fuck did you do?

He turned his head too fast. Pain bloomed bright behind his eyes. His vision doubled, then cleared.

And then it stopped. Everything.

You were in the middle of the road like you had been thrown there, limbs folded wrong, blood running from your forehead, your shoulder crunched, your leg bent in a way that made him, with all the shit he’s seen…

He wanted to vomit. 

Your name came out of his mouth in a rasp. No answer. 

He threw up. He cried out your name again when he was finished. He watched your chest rise too shallowly and unevenly, and your face was pale in a way that reminded him of every dying patient he had ever failed. 

“Hey! Wake…hey!” It was your name. Over and over and over again. 

Robby crawled. He dragged himself across the street, glass and gravel piercing his knees, but he only went faster, focusing on how your lips were parted, as if you had just been about to scream. 

He choked on his groan when he made it to your side, just as the first poor-sorry bystander ran up with a phone shaking in their fist, and something deep in his shoulder and cheek shrieked, but Robby really didn’t give a shit.

“She’s breathing,” He gasped to no one. “She’s…she’s br–”

But it was wrong. The breathing wasn’t right, and you do everything right. That’s who you are. 

What the fuck did he ruin? What the fuck did he do to you?

Why aren’t you crying and screaming to make him feel worse?

The sirens came–too fast, too close. Too fucking loud. Robby winced as he dragged his body over you, trying to keep your head still when the medics surrounded both of you. Their hands moved too hastily, like they didn’t know what they were doing, and he swears, sunshine–that wasn’t the brain bleed talking. 

They weren’t doing right by you. They didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. And he…

He didn’t know what else to do but hang his body over you and be a fucking doctor. 

“No–” Robby tried to wave them off. “No, her breathing’s shallow, I think she has internal…just–you have to be careful!”

A firm arm pulled him back.

“Sir, you need to step away and let us help you��”

“I’m a fucking ER doctor!” He shouted it, dizzy, and he didn’t realize blood was dripping into his eyes until his vision was painted red, and he wondered if this was what all his vehicular trauma patients see. “She needs a collar, I think there’s head trauma...DON’T tip her. Her arm and leg are dislocated or fractured–”

Robby tried grabbing one of the field med kits, reaching over your body–your heartbeat that he swore he could hear, which was good, but another medic restrained him. “Sir, you’re bleeding. You’re in shock. We’ve got her.” 

…No. No. Please. 

He had her. 

He couldn’t fight them when he had wounds that bled into lakes, and they were medics who could carry three hundred pounds on a good day. So, he just let his voice crack into something really fucking pathetic, but something he needed–because they needed to hear him. 

“Please be careful. Please…she’s–she’s not built for this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Robby?” 

Robby’s head snaps up, eyes beady and wet. He catches Perlah holding steady pressure to the side of his ribs while Heather works a pair of tweezers against the raw scrape across his jawline. He knows the gravel stuck there isn’t bottomless, just bloody and ugly–and that Heather’s covered the missing part of his cheek to deal with later. 

He spits out a piece of pavement, eyes closing. He needs to fix what he ruined, and they’re wasting their time and resources trying to fix him. Why are they doing this to him? Why are they being good?

“Robby.” Heather says it softly. “How about you tell us what happened?”

He would roll his eyes. Robby knows what she’s doing, just making conversation to make sure he doesn’t crash before they send him off for a CT, but he won’t be difficult. Difficult didn’t get him anywhere in your trauma room. 

With Jack. 

“...I was driving.” He can’t even try to bring his voice above the sound of his heart monitor. “We were on the bike.”

Jack. He’s so fucking sorry. 

“...Wasn’t going fast. Wasn’t–we weren’t speeding. We weren’t speeding–”

“Okay. Okay, Robby. That’s good.” 

He doesn’t know how Heather’s focus on him can be a comfort and a death sentence at the same time. He rubs his eyes. Harshly. Maybe. But it can hurt more than anything else on his body. He keeps rubbing. 

“Robby, don’t do that–”

“I didn’t speed. I didn’t, you know? I would never do that with her. She called me to pick her up for work. I didn’t…I didn’t even think she’d want to ride again. But I let her. She needed a ride. I gave her a ride, I don’t know why–” 

Heather glances towards Perlah. 

“How about you tell me how exactly did the accident happened, Robby…if you can–”

“She asked for it.”

Robby’s voice cracks. 

God. He’s a fucking bastard. He’s the worst person in the world. Do No Harm means fuck all to him. He’s killed you, the most sorta-perfect thing to walk into his hospital, and he manages to blame you cause he’ll vomit again if he has to swallow any more guilt. 

Did he kill the sweetest girl in the world?

Robby closes his eyes shut. He doesn’t even hear Heather or Perlah breathing. They’re holding in their judgement, right?

“That sounds wrong. But she did. She did this time. She–God…I kept it slow, Heather. And the light was green. It was fucking green. I checked. I always check!” 

Something clatters. 

“Robby!” 

He opens his eyes to see his fist where the supply tray was. He shakes his head. Over and over, because he’s not capable of anything else. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry–” 

He feels a hand, Heather’s, on his wrist. The one place he is broken or bleeding or bruised. 

“Just keep telling me and Perlah what happened. About the other driver, okay?”

Robby feels the whole of his face twitch and jolt. He nods. 

“There was a car. He ran the light. I wasn’t going fast. I said that, right? I–he just came out of nowhere. Why the fuck would he…why would he…”

Why would he make me hurt you?

“He crashed, sorta. He had a purple tree…the scented hanger thing. His wheels skidded before he drove off. He–we treat those stories every day, but if he walked into this hospital right now, I don’t think…” Robby shakes his head violently. 

“Robby, keep still. I’m almost done with your jaw–” 

“He’s gonna be the one to make me break my oath if he walks in here, Heather.” 

And he can’t look at her or Perlah when he spits that out. 

He can feel Perlah dress the wound over his rib a bit more firmly than she needs to, mouth slight in what could be a smile. 

“Well, the bastard’s lucky you’ll be a patient for the next few days, Robby.” 

He shakes his head again, only regretting it when he can finally look Heather in the eye and realize she really is on the last piece of gravel. 

“No. I told you, I’m clean breaks and surface wounds, I’m not gonna waste a bed upstairs when she’s…” 

…He doesn’t know why your smile and breakage come to him in flashes. He sees it, right there, every other moment out in the street. But it doesn’t matter, he can’t focus on any one image for more than a half-second before he starts grasping at his stomach. 

“Her helmet fit. I made the helmet fit.” It’s the first time he’s as quiet as he was when he started talking. Robby’s just…relaying facts. He doesn’t catch the way Perlah and Heather exchange glances again. “I check the straps. I checked them when I picked her up.” 

“Robby.” 

“I don’t know why…why it would come off like that. Why–” Robby straightens up instantly, panic rumbling at his chest. Did they make him a victim of out of sight, out of mind? “Where’s it? Do you still have it? Perlah, where’d you put it–” 

“We didn’t throw the helmet away. You’re getting it back after we treat those surface wounds and breaks.” 

Robby slumps. He nods. His eyes narrow. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” It comes out inside of a choke. He didn’t realize he’s been crying all this time until his new tears smear the stains of the old ones. “I know. Everyone’s thinking it. I saw Jack’s face. I know.”

Heather watches the way his hand curls against nothing, like he’s holding on to the edge of something that’s already dropped out from under him. 

“You weren’t reckless.” 

Robby laughs. Snorts. It’s something bitter and wet. 

No?

“No? Then why the hell is she–” He can’t stop his voice from cracking so hard he can’t finish. He breathes something shaky for a moment. 

“I went slow. I swear I went slow.”

He couldn’t know how something fold painfully in her chest as Perlah’s eyes shift to the ground. She simply nods. “I know, Robby.” 

“She smiled when I picked her up, you know?” It’s softer than the first word he spoke, because he really can’t speak anything more. “She smiles a lot, right?” 

“Robby,” Heather says it firmly, and with all the blood swimming in his ears, Robby can only guess it’s heartbreak starting to show in her voice. “You can stop now, alright?”

Heather felt something fold painfully in her chest.

“I would’ve never let her on if I thought–if I knew–”

“Robby.”

“I would’ve never–”

Heather touches his finger. She squeezes. 

“I know.” 

She says it softly.

“We know.”

And still, he keeps mumbling it under his breath in all his pitiful as shit tears. It’s his prayer. 

Prayer. Curse. Same fucking thing. 

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

He didn’t plan it. He told himself he was just being practical.

The night after Shen had brought you that caramel monstrosity, Jack stops at the twenty-four-hour grocery store on his way into the Pitt. He’s tired, but aware of how ridiculous he looks in front of the pastry case at 8:52 pm. He’s trying to remember what you said you liked.

Jack would think about how more ridiculous it is that he’s doing this for a woman he hasn’t even felt the lips of yet, only to then feel gross in guilt while thinking of the way you bend over when you drop your glitter pen–which he swears is on purpose. He hopes it is, because he doesn’t think he could possibly feel more dirty than he does when he thinks of every crevice of you–body and brain, but if you’re really unknowingly beautiful in body and brain, then fuck him. But then he’d have to admit he’s in a twenty-four-hour grocery store for you. So. 

He ends up buying a box of plain glazed donuts, cause Shen always brings the fancy ones, and he doesn’t want this to look like he’s competing.

He’s not. There’s no competition. 

He tells himself that all the way to the Pitt. When he walks in, you’re already there, reviewing the incoming admits. Your hair’s braided over your shoulder. You look up at him when you hear his footsteps. 

He really could roll his eyes at the way his heartbeat grows faster. What in the absolute hell?

“Well…hello, my doctor. You were pushing your clock-in time.” 

“...Hi.” 

“...Hi.” 

Jack clears his throat and sets the box down on the counter, like it’s no big deal. It’s donuts. People bring food in all the time. 

You especially. 

“Thought we might want something for later.”

He mutters it. 

He’s already regretting it when you blink–bat your eyes at the box. 

“You…brought donuts?”

He shrugs, and he’s not feigning indifference because he is the epitome of indifference right now. Really.

“They were on sale.” 

“On sale.” Why are you repeating? He’s told you he doesn’t like mocking, or the immediate thought of what he could do to you if he had you and you continued to mock him after he established he doesn’t like you mocking him. “What happened to cooling it on snack exchanges?”

…Jack hopes his ears don’t look as red as they feel. 

“Look at you.” 

Of course, Shen chooses this exact moment to walk in. Of course. 

Jack doesn’t blink at his grin. “Trying to corrupt her with carbs, Dr. Abbot?”

“It’s not a bribe.” 

…He doesn’t know what that snaps out of him with all the speed in the world. His hand flexes. 

Shen holds up his hands in surrender, eyes dancing. 

“Wasn’t even thinking that…of course not.” 

You open the box carefully. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

You say it softly, eyes meeting his. They’re smaller when looking down at you.

No. He had to. Because Jack hates the way Shen had smiled when he’d unwrapped the brownie gift. The way you had glowed. But he hates how badly he wants the version of you that laughed and cooked and gave thoughtful things to belong to him. 

And still, he can’t help himself to make sure you belong to him. You don’t deserve that, but he can’t help making sure that guys who have an easier time picking having you over their self-assured hatred of themselves stay away from the girl who bends over in tight fitted scrubs and giggles too hard and knows just how to make every patient relax under her touch and word. 

He can’t help himself, kid. He’s almost sorry about that. 

“I know.”

He nearly mutters his words again. Shen leans over her shoulder, inspecting the selection.

“Wow. No sprinkles? No fancy glaze? You really went all out.”

Jack’s head snaps towards the other attending. 

Your gaze bounced between them, cheeks flushed.

“It’s perfect, Jack. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Jack grumbles it, already regretting every second of this interaction. 

He thought that would be the end of it. But later that night, he comes around the corner and finds you sitting at the nurses’ station, one of the donuts in your hand.

You look up, eyes as bright as you. Fitting. 

“Best donut I’ve had all month! Can I kiss you?” 

Yes. Please. Kiss me on the mouth. Be the one to do it first, so I’m not a disgusting old man. I promise I think of all the good parts of you. Not just the way your body sits perched at your desk. I think of the pink bits of your brain when I’m in bed, and I’m slowly feeling less guilty about how it’s the only thing to get me to sleep. 

Or how it’s the only thing to keep me away for a couple of more minutes before my man hands that are so much older than yours fumble their way into my pants. 

Jack opens his mouth. Nothing comes out…but he smiles, head lowering.

You bite into the donut again, face purely happy, and something in his chest unclenches. 

For a second, it’s almost worth it–just to see you look at him that way.

“Don’t.”

It’s a thought that dies quickly when he catches Shen smirking at him over the top of his chart, and whatever warmth Jack had at his stomach turns into mortification. 

Yeah, he really finds solace in the night shift, doesn’t he?

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Samira always wonders how they get blood out of the linens. This is what she thinks now as she stands at the helm, because you can’t stop bleeding. She can’t stop you from bleeding. And she knows she can keep herself composed with a quiet steel, but she’s figuring out that with you under her hands, she really can’t do that. 

So, she thinks about getting all this blood out of the linens. She ignores the beeping, frantic rhythms and hopes Mel is, too. 

“We need two more units of O neg–Dana, let’s…refocus on airway protocol–and then we can get…Dr. Mckay. Dr. Mckay and Santos. We don’t know what’s going on internally yet, we won’t until we get her up to testing but…it’s–” 

“It’s a lot of blood.” 

Mel’s right on the nose with that. She doesn’t look away from you as they move around you. The strapping, the IVs and saline flushes. 

Your body looks too small, too still on the table. Your normally warm skin, one she remembers you faux sobbing over when you got a large pimple on your cheek, is waxen. Your lashes are sticky with blood. Every other part of you is either broken or shredded or matted–and it’s only every other part of you because your blood’s done all too well in painting you red to the point that there could be wounds they can’t make out. 

Samira swallows hard. Mel’s nose twitches. 

They’ve seen hundreds of traumas. Enough to know they need to be thinking of the mechanics of it, but they can’t. They’re thinking…

That’s you on the table. The one who calls everyone babe and customizes her badge clip with glitter and tapes stars to the back of scrubs when someone passes a certification exam. 

Sunshine. 

Their friend. 

“Pressure’s low. Skin’s cold. We need the ultrasound, Dr. Mohan.”

Samira nods once, lips pressed flat. “Dana went to go get Dr. McKay and Dr. Santos. And more…units of O neg. We’re gonna need–”

Her words break at a sound. 

Something wet and strangled. 

A gasp. 

They watch your eyelids flutter, then lift. Glazed. Wild. 

“...Is–is…Robby okay?”

Everything stops. 

Mel’s hand is already on the pulse oximeter. She startles. Your name slips out, it’s something of comfort but mostly a shock she can’t hide. Samira stiffens by the IV with one–two questions pounding at the back of her head. 

How the hell are you awake? 

And how the hell are you not screaming in pain?

But both residents instantly rush towards you when you try to sit up, breath hitching in broken gasps. 

“Is Robby okay?!” 

Samira finds your name falling out of her mouth firmly. “You need to lie back down–” 

“Mel, is he–is h-h-he okay? He was…he was right there and…I-I–I. God, I think I–

Both of their hearts sputter against their chest when you cough hard, a splatter of blood catching your lips before it spurts all over the gurney. 

The monitors go wild. 

Mel already knows to snap her focus up at the door. 

She’s not going to know what the hell to do if Jack’s right outside. She hopes security took him. Not anywhere bad. Just…somewhere else. 

Samira’s doctor masks drops. Completely. There’s no way it can’t when your chest convulses with IVs tugging. She moves fast–leaning over you, brushing hair from your damp forehead.

“Listen to me. Robby’s alive. You’re both here. We’re taking care of it. But you have to let us help you.”

“Don’t lie! You can’t...can't lie! Is he okay?”

Samira takes a glance at Mel as your voice breaks, caught in sobs too sharp to form fully. Your hands twitch–searching. 

But when you sputter up more blood in your pleas, she can only realize there’s no hope that those footsteps behind her are Dana with backup. 

“Move.”

The single word of their attending is so deep, buried in his throat, that it pierces both residents. 

“Dr. Abbot! We’re fine! Dr. McKay and Santos are on their way with Dana…don’t–we don’t want you to get in trouble, she’s–

“Move.” 

It’s an order Mel doesn’t have to follow when she’s practically pushed out of the way, and Samira only lowers her head. 

They watch Dr. Abbot touch your swollen cheek, and they don’t know why you’re watching his chest. 

“Sleepy, hey, lie back down, baby–”

“I need to know where Robby is! I–I–I…” 

The only thing Samira and Mel can be grateful for is the way your adrenaline is making sure you don’t feel the way you look. But you shake, keening, flinching. Heaving. 

“...Jack?” 

Dr. Abbot nods with something so genuine on his face. 

Like this is the moment he needs, you needing him to take care of you. They couldn’t know how it hits like morphine.

It’s okay, kid. He’s got you. 

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re gonna lie back down, and I’m…we’re gonna help you. Just lie back down–” 

“No! No! No–no no no no!”

What must’ve been almost a smile on Jack’s face drops. 

Mel, her hand awkward but urgent, finds yours. She squeezes it hard. 

“Calm down. We’re going to take care of you, Dr. Mohan–Samira told you, Robby’s okay. He’s going to be okay–

And no, none of them know the way something in him dies when he sees blood pushing through your chest tube. His mouth parts. 

No. No. No. 

“We need to sedate her.” 

“No! No–” 

“Sleepy, listen to me–

“You’re going to crash if you keep panicking. Stop talking. Okay? For you?” 

Jack takes hold of your shoulders when blood spits from your lips when you gasp, shredded voice against his. 

He wants to hold you till you fall asleep. He wants to kill Robby. His brother. He wants it to be yesterday. 

He wants you so much better, and he can’t do shit. What kind of doctor is he?

Jack stills at your sputtered, panicked words.

“You–you’re–you’re mad!”

He blinks, eyes staring into yours. He doesn’t know if you see anything. 

He shakes his head violently. 

“No. No. I’m not mad, baby–” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“Dr. Abbot, we need her blood pressure to stabilize–” 

He doesn’t even know who’s talking every pointless point. 

He’s not mad. He’s not mad. He’ll never be mad at you again, even when your cries break his stomach and heart apart. He’s not mad, sweetheart. 

“I’m not mad. You’re okay. You’re okay, alright? That’s all I care about. I just need you to breathe. That’s all.” 

“I didn’t think this wo…would happen, don…don’t hate me–”

“No.” Jack’s mouth shuts thin, eyes staring through his brows, focusing on you, you, you– “Never. You will never have to apologize. I want you safe, and I’m…” 

“Dr. Abbot, please, please move out of the way–” 

“I’m sorry.”

When you choke, Samira takes the initiative to brush past Dr. Abbot and push you back down on the gurney. An alarm from the monitors wail. Your chest leads have slipped. 

“Don’ hate me…”

His hand burns when it slips away from you. 

What did he do to his girl?

Jack pushes himself back against the wall as he realizes the pain you’ve ignored finally bleeds into your voice as you cry hard. The blood at your mouth bubbles. 

His head hits the wall. 

“Both of you need to–” 

“Dr. Abbot, please–” 

He’ll give it to King, her pleas sound genuine. 

“No, both of you need to answer me. Is her decompensation systolic or diastolic? Do you know–” 

“Dr. Abbot, we’re losing her and you’re compromising us–” 

No. Never that word. No. Fuck that.

“If you don’t, I’m putting on another pair of gloves, and you’re going to let me lead on her–

“Get your hands off the patient.” 

Jack head snaps. 

Dana stands with reinforcements. Dr. McKay. Santos. Both very capable. He knows that. He knows them. 

And he’ll never be able to help himself with you. 

His eyes lock with her. 

“I’m going to stabilize her–” 

“You’re gonna let the ones assigned to do the job to finish it. Jack.” She steps closer. Jack doesn’t move.

“Don’t make me call security and have them drag you out of your own fuckin’ ER. Please.”

Silence collapses on the room. Jack doesn’t even flinch. 

But your pulse does. It jolts and flutters. He finds a promise hiding in your veins, like you caught it when he was promising to let all his promises about letting you go die. 

“...We’ve got her, Jack. I promise.”

Don’t be selfish. Think of her. Always.

Jack storms out of the room again.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

The first time Dana noticed something was up between you and Jack, the night was chaos.

When something was really up, she should say. All she needed was five seconds working with the two of you on the night shift for the first time to pick up how badly you and he wanted to jump in bed with each other. All she needed was five seconds after that to realize how you’ve got Jack wrapped around your finger, but the week after Fourth of July is where she couldn’t deny Jack’s…situation with you any longer. 

Fourth of July had nothing on the mess that came the week after. The Pitt had been bottlenecked by a multi-car pile-up, an allergic reaction gone critical way too quickly, a psych hold swinging fists when he escaped to the waiting room, and then, a goddamn kitchen fire that landed two kids in trauma bays with second-degree burns and a sobbing mother who vomited on Dana’s shoes. 

But still…she noticed it in a moment of stillness. 

That flicker. That look. That flicker of a look. Whatever.

She had just come around the corner of Bay 2, flipping through labs of the allergic reaction case, when she paused. Quiet, somehow. Unseen. Because there they were. 

Jack and Sunshine. 

You were standing beside him, so close. Really, really close. Which, sure, was nothing new for you two. Your hand rested on the small of Jack’s back. Not exactly touching, but more like a risky hover. And you weren’t saying anything. Not out loud. But shit, if Dana takes the chance to write a poem, she could say that the silence between you and Jack spoke well enough. 

Jack’s shoulders, always stiff with the weight of everything he never said, had lowered. It was willing, it had become willing when you did end up sprawling your fingers on his back. And you. And you…you were looking at him with something more than teases and trust. Maybe you were reminding him of something, as you always do, like that Jack hadn’t eaten. 

And god, sunshine, he was looking at you like you were the one thing that made everything else bearable. 

Yeah. It wasn’t just desire or lust. It was something…consuming. That kind of closeness, that type of care for somebody didn’t come from some shifts worked together for the past couple of months. 

That shit came from belonging. From need. 

And suddenly, little things clicked into place. The way Jack always knew where you were in the ED. The way he’d flinch when a resident or nurse would make you laugh. The way he didn’t like it when anyone else called you kid. And shit, she hasn’t forgotten the stare he gave Santos when she tried to call you sleepy. 

Dana blinked.

She didn’t even know what she was feeling. Unease? Concern?

No. She was thinking how disgustingly cute it was. That was easy. Because who would it have hurt? Who or what had it been hurting except Jack Abbot’s stoicism? Dana smiled, because you two were ridiculous. 

But then Jack stepped away too quickly, as if he’d suddenly remembered himself, and Dana slipped away before either noticed her. She was standing just outside of Bay 2, her eyes drifting from the labs she pretended to read. She watched you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Someone approached. 

Donnie. Dana thought he was an alright enough paramedic. Newer and slim-shouldered, smile bright, but definitely more eager as he came up to you fast. 

“You were a machine in there. That kid would’ve been a code if you hadn’t gotten that line in.” 

You looked up, caught off guard by the praise, but you managed a smile. “Well, Dr. Abbot’s a master of his craft, and Danny was already more stable by the time you rolled in with him.”

“Nah, just got him here. You’re the nurse with all the magic.” 

Donnie lingered, not too close, Dana would say. Just…present, and you ducked your head with a soft laugh, embarrassed and flattered. 

Dana didn’t even see where Jack had come from to reappear. One moment he’s gone, the next he’s standing around the corner–silent and still. Watching. Donnie was too busy joking about buying you a coffee as a “compliment” for either of you to notice cowboy attending before your gentle smile and shift of your body told the medic that the conversation was over. Donnie gave a mock salute and jogged off, unaware of the stare being bored into him. 

Jack had crossed his arms, head lowered, and he didn’t even have the class Dana wore to make sure it wasn’t so damn obvious she was stalking the conversation. He probably didn’t care to hide the way his jaw flexed, or the way his fingers twitched on top of his biceps like he had to stop himself from doing something. 

And the idea that this all was disgustingly cute died when he didn’t say a word to you as he walked past you. Like you’ve made some mistake. 

Dana scoffed.

She watched you blink and glance after Jack, confused by the sudden coldness when you couldn’t even finish whatever quip you were making. He didn’t even look at you. She saw it in real time.

Your soft guilt. You wondering if you’d done something wrong as you looked to the tile, your smile dropping with your brow going down.

Dana sighed, because she realized that Jack’s jealousy wasn’t just uncharacteristically childish or romantic. It was protective, yeah, but not like a partner. Shit, you two weren’t even there yet.

It was protective like Jack was watching a stranger trespass on his property. 

“Her oxygen’s creeping back up.” 

Dana’s eyes snap from you on the table to Mel. She puts on fresh gloves, because it didn’t take her more than twenty seconds trying to save you to make her first pair useless with blood. 

“She’s stable–for now. We reassess imaging, Samira?” 

“...Yeah. She’s going to need another CT cycle before we get her up to surgery. ”

This fucking mess–where she sees sunshine, you, broken on the table with the road rash that tears across your jagged ribs, flesh hanging in ribbons and skin marbled and slick with sweat and blood and grime…she feels it all take root at the pit of her stomach. Her eyes are dry in focusing on the purple blooming over your thigh, right where the medics scissored open the fabric of your scrubs. Your clavicle is probably shattered. 

But when she turns to the glass of the door, she sees Jack waiting, staring…

You’re not on the table. You’re asking him what’s wrong when he grabs a chart from the counter and flips through it with white knuckles. You’re swallowing with quick-blinking eyes when he barely gives you some noncommittal shrug. 

“...Did I do something wrong–”

“It’s been a long shift. That’s it. That’s usual, right?”

You’re flinching like his words are louder than they were. But you step closer, and Dana sees him take in a deep breath he doesn’t let go of, just as you go ahead with fixin’ something that’s not your fault. 

“I brought something for you.”

You’re trying to hand Jack a protein bar and a plastic cup of coffee. Jack looks at it. 

But he doesn’t take it. He just sighs, turning back to his chart. 

Dana’s brows furrow when you set the coffee and snack down on the counter, pinching your wrist as you slip away. 

There, with the first moment Dana realized something was really up with you and Jack and Jack, is where you, sunshine, were somehow smaller than you are now. 

He’s crossing his arms over his scrub top that’s soaked in your blood, standing rigid with unblinking eyes fixed on the trauma room, as if he’ll be let back inside if he just stares hard enough. 

Like if he waits long enough, the rules and his residents and Dana will bend for him. 

God, it’s the way he’s not even pacing. Not pacing, not complaining…just waiting. Like deep down, Jack’s really, really thinking that she’s just delaying his right to be with you.

Dana turns away, because if she looks too long at him like that, she’s gonna forget the thousand little good things that makes Jack a pillar of the Pitt, that makes him good and too fucking perfect. She’s gonna forget the time he guided you to your car after your blood sugar tanked after you didn’t eat before coming in to work a double. She’s gonna forget his shaking hands after a patient pushed you into a wall when you were trying to dose him. 

She can’t forget the good things, cause they’re still there, right? 

“She’s gonna be okay, you guys. I don’t count on making those promises outside of here, but…” 

Dana glances back at Jack, still and quiet and calculating. A storm behind glass, waiting for any one of them to make a mistake, as if he doesn’t know how capable they are.

He may have forgotten the good things about himself, but she won’t. 

Her hand brushes yours. 

“She’s gonna be okay.” 

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

When you find Jack in the supply closet during the slow stretch of the shift, he wants to push you up against the shelves and discover that the body he’s been fantasizing about looks nothing like what he imagined, and how that makes it–you all the more fucking perfect. Well. Not push. There’s nothing soft for you to land on in here. 

Dirty old fuck. 

“Dr. Abbot?”

Instead, he just barely looks up. 

“...Jackie?”

Jack stills. 

He’s a dirty old fuck, and you’re too cheeky for your own good.

He smiles. “Busy, kid.”

You step inside and shut the door behind you. Jack let’s out a breath, your name following it. 

Keep it up, sleepy. See where pretending you don’t know you’re tempting him gets you. 

“I just…” You trail off, your fingers curling in the hem of your scrub top. “I wanted to say thank you again.”

“For what?” 

Do not bring up the donuts.

“For the donuts. You didn’t have to do that.”

His hand flexes. “They were on sale.” 

Yeah. He said it too quickly. But he doesn’t stop eyeing your smile.

Even when you pull on his scrub sleeve and he has to remember to breathe evenly. 

Keep it up. 

“You don’t have to thank me.” 

Jack looks you over when your finger trails his bicep. You have to know. It’ll make it so much easier if you know.

“But I want to, Jack. Courtesy is my specialty.”

You tap his elbow. He almost laughs when you try to step back, even as he clenches his jaw.

Unfortunately, for his ethics, pleasure settles in his chest when your mouth parts with a squeaky inhale when he grabs your wrist. 

“Oh. I know it is. But it’s not a big deal. Stop making it into one.” Jack steps closer, patting your palm. “Or you’re not getting donuts again.” 

He watches you watch where he’s touching you, and sorry, sleepy–he’s selfishly hoping you’re feeling whatever you’re making him feel. He doesn’t mean to blame you.

He smiles wide and closed-lipped when your shoulders roll.

“It’s okay. I’ll take a coffee next time.” 

“Oh, Shen’s got you in that department.”

Sorry. He couldn’t help himself. And it’s where he doesn’t even realize he can’t look at you. 

“...Jack?” 

“Yeah?” 

You better not have felt his breath on your hair. Or, if you did, he’d rather have your face flush with those batted lashes. 

“Whatever it is you’re worrying about…” 

Oh, kid.

Poke the place above the navel one more time.

“Don’t.” 

It takes everything in Jack not to squeeze his hands to your waist and hips. Seriously. It takes everything. How fucking ridiculous. 

Pretty, ridiculous girl. What the fuck are you doing that you don’t know you’re doing it? Probably. If he finds out you do, it’ll be worse for you the day he doesn’t let you walk away from him. 

Hearing you squeak when he pokes your spine on your way out isn’t the fantasy at the coil of his stomach, but it does just fine. 

Two nights later, Jack finds himself in a place no man should find himself at 8:32 pm at night. 

“Can I get the…caramel swirl with the…the frothed milk on top?” 

The teenager at the counter stares. Blink. 

“The cold foam?” 

“...Yeah. That. Thanks.” 

It’s not him, it’s you–because there’s no one else he’d stand in line at an unholy Dunkin’ Donuts for. 

“...You sure you don’t want like a black coffee–” 

“I’m fine.”

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

He can’t keep himself still watching them work on you. 

Jack’s a restless guy. It’s not something unknowable. He’s put his heart in a place that might as well have the word restlessness on the sign outside. When he’s not in the Pitt, he tosses in bed. He taps his fingers along his police scanner when he gets lunch by himself. He can barely keep himself from going back and forth to different work-out equipment in his makeshift gym in the garage. His body requires movement. Always. 

But he’s never known restlessness like this. The kind that buries itself in worry and the white of his bones, like standing still doing fuck all is going to be the thing to kill you. But…you’d be proud of him, sleepy. 

He doesn’t get himself kicked out of his ER. He doesn’t burst through the doors of your trauma room. He doesn’t pace from wall to wall or up and down the hall to then dead-eye every person who walks by. He doesn’t beg…order Dana to let him back in. 

No. He does the right thing, which is fuck all, right? 

Jack is more than aware of the logistics of keeping him out here, but his body doesn’t know that. His heart and muscles aren’t as smart as him, so it’s asking him:

Why are you out here doing nothing when she’s in there? You know what to do. You know how to do it. And it’s her. Do you not care about her? 

Of course he fucking does. He wouldn’t feel like his muscles are about to fall out of his skin as every second of him not being in there with you passes if he didn’t. 

But.

“Heart rate’s picking up. That’s not–” 

“Sedation’s wearing off already.” 

It isn’t just logistics and the threat of being thrown out of the ER where he’ll be even farther from you that keeps him out there. That’s not something unknowable too. 

You woke up guilty, crying apologies and pleas because you thought he was going to be mad at you about the bike. He did that. Jack’s the one to make you wake up and find yourself bloodied and battered and have your first thought be about how mad he’s going to be at you. 

Jack glances at the stairwell. He wipes dried grime of sweat off his neck. 

You’ve fractured him, kid. You’ve put him in a place where he wants to keep you in the inside of his body–where he can pretend you’re not capable or strong so the need is justified. The bat of your lashes and the corners of your smile and the bareness of your stomach that he can see when your scrub top lifts at your arms going over your head is what makes him know it’s right to feel mad and bulging every time you giggle with someone else, when you put yourself in situations where you end up like this. 

And then you cry. Or you look at him with confusion like you didn’t know indulging with a paramedic’s flirtations or shrugging off a fixated patient is what makes him go cold on you. Or you beg him not to hate you because, in deliruim, his coldness is what you’re afraid of. 

And then he feels like the worst man in the world. Hence the fracture. 

Jack locks his eyes shut. 

He smothered the promise to stop smothering you. But for your sake, maybe he has fish it out of his throat, because he’s not going to be able to handle you crying like that ever again.

He won’t make it to the point where he can finally have you if you hurt like that in from of him again. Do you hear him? Does he hear himself?

He won’t make it. So. Maybe it’s best to stay out here, even if it feels like death. It’s okay. He’s felt worse. 

 “…Ja…?”

Jack’s sights snap back from the stairwell to the trauma room. He steps forward, fist clenching. 

No fucking way. Absolutely not.

You’re awake. Again. 

People are calling out your name. There’s pain burned and bruised in every crevice of your body. You don’t really even know where you are. 

But where’s Jack? 

He was taking you home, right? He was taking you home is his truck, and you heard a car scream before you…and you went flying. But Jack was taking you home. 

Where is he? Where did he go? Did you hurt him again? You don’t even know how. You never know how. 

Jack?

Samira freezes mid-suture. Dana and Mckay’s eyes dart up. Mel, hunched by the monitor, rises and leans closer, swallowing everything she pretends isn’t fear and heartbreak. 

“Where…where is he?” 

“...Who?” 

“Jack? Is he… okay?” 

The question snaps all heads into the room. Not Robby this time. Jack?

Santos’s first thought isn’t uncouth. It’s fact. 

This might be fucking brain damage. She’s hoping it’s just delirium projecting your undying love for her attending. 

Mel says your name. Gentle enough, as always–but firm enough to ground you, hopefully. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re in the Pitt. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. We’ve got you. Dr. Abbot–Jack. Jack…is fine.”

When your brows knit as you begin to claw at the sheets and IVs, your crew is more than aware the hard part isn’t over. 

 “Is he–” You cough hard, and Mckay’s mumbling soft, sweet okays as you hard-spit a speck of blood onto the gauze taped beneath your chin. “He was driving! He was driving–I shouldn’t’ve let him–I’d walk. I told him I’d walk. He was just trying to…trying to–”

Santos leans forward, feeling your stomach for any distension that’s definitely gonna show with this oncoming panic attack. 

“You need to calm down. Dr. Abbot is fine, sunshine. He’s right outside–”

“No! It was his pickup. It was his truck. I looked up and the whole street shook…Jack’s hurt, I know! He’s–he’s–” 

Your breathing stutters, and in the blur of your eyes, you can make out shouts, and a blonde woman rushing towards the door, and another figure coming in. Or trying to. 

“Look at me. We’re in the hospital. Dr. Abbot is not hurt. Jack is not hurt. You were. We sedated you. We’re going to sedate you again and give you another transfusion because you…you really need. And you’re going up to the OR after we do. But Jack is okay. 

Mel interjects Samira’s words gently. “The accident–you had an accident. The accident was on a bike. Not in a truck. Okay?” 

The truth, apparently, isn’t enough for you. You choke on a sob, and it splinters into whimpers that twist around in your lungs.

“I…I made him come get me…if he hadn’t–he wouldn’t have been there…he wouldn’t have–”

Mckay sweeps your hair away from the dried crusts of blood on your forehead. 

“You didn’t do anything, sweetie. It was you and Robby who crashed. You remember? I heard you made quite a stir for him. Which is good. You up and talking like this is a silver lining. But Jack wasn’t anywhere near any accident. Jack…” 

“Dana, she is literally asking for me. Let me in. Now.” 

“Jack, no–”

“Well. You can hear him, can’t you?”

Santos blinks. She guesses she could say something too. Make this easier on her heart, because she needs to forget that she’s seen you like this at the end of the day. She will, because you’re going to be back in the Pitt annoying the crap out of here before she knows it. 

You better be. 

“You’re not to blame. You’re both safe. He’s fine.” 

But nothings enough for you. 

Except him. What a curse that’s gonna be for the both of you. 

You shake your head, breath ragged. Tears cut through the dried blood on your cheeks. You’re looking past them all now. Looking for him, but that woman–Dana. Dana’s here. 

She’s blocking your view. 

“I’m gonna call security–”

“Dana! Dana, Please–please, I just need to see him. I need–I n–need to know–”

Really. It’s on Dana for leaving the space of the door. She knows that.

It SLAMS open. You jump. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here, kid.”

It’s this man storming in–shoulders squared like a blunt weapon, eyes glassy with fury and fear, but you couldn’t name it in the state you’re in. Neither could he. 

His face is drained, scrub collar crumpled, dread stitched in the lined features of his face. You see him. 

Jack. 

You couldn’t know how he sees you, crumpled and desperate, and feels the wounds of everything he doesn’t want to name burning and knifed into his skin. 

That old, familiar stab of fear. But God, that relief. 

You need me. Always. 

Jack brushes past the team, anxious and fractured, which is what he can realize at the very least. He doesn’t blink as he makes way to your side. 

But he stills when you gasp. 

His mouth parts when your face crumples in horror. 

No. No. No. He had you. He has you. You wanted him. You let him in. Why are you scared? What could he have possibly done again?

“Oh my god. You’re bleeding–Jack, you’re bleeding! I knew it, I knew it–”

Jack edges closer. He swallows the crack of his voice down his throat. He doesn’t need his asks to dare anyone to stop him from grabbing your palm. 

His fingers tremble at your wrist as he says your name. 

“Look at me.” You can look at him now. “Hey–hey. It’s not my blood.”

Jack slows in his breathing as you pause in your panic, eyes wild.

Look at him and realize everything’s going to be okay. That’s what he’s doing right now.

“…What?”

He lifts your hand, pressing a cool kiss to your knuckles. His voice catches.

“It’s yours, kid. It’s all yours.”

Everything stills. The monitor’s beep. 

They watch your heart rate go down.

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my truck. You’re mixing it up. He was driving. Robby.” Jack’s head jolts in a slight twitch at your whimper. “It was you and Robby, baby. Not me. I wasn’t there. But Robby…Robby’s going to be fine. He’s gonna come out of this stronger than ever.” 

No thanks to me. 

“Because that’s what he does. And so are you, because you–you, sleepy are…” 

Jack looks to where another whimper, small and wounded, slips through your slips. Jack looks to the wet pleas of your eyes. He looks to every part of you that still bleeds. 

His stomach drops. 

“You are the most capable and strongest nurse, woman, person we…I have ever seen.” 

Jack leans forward, pressing his forehead to the side of your damp hair.

“Even if you’re making me look like a fool and act like an asshole in front of everyone I respect.” He exhales against you. “So, after you get better, I deserve to make sure that you use those charms of yours to make them forget this ever happen, yeah?” 

When you nod frantically, the crew around him decide to not notice how it’s everything to Jack. 

“You’re going to go to sleep, and they’re going to take you up to surgery. But when you wake up…” 

The truth sits like fire upon wood in his throat. 

“I will be there. With you. For you. I’m not going anywhere. I know it’s a little much, but we can call it a professional favor. Okay?”

Your eyes lock onto his. Your desperation is raw. 

Jack never thought he’d be in a place to try and not enjoy it, but he rather not be the worst man in the world. 

“You’re okay. You’re still here. And I…I’m okay.”

The last line is shaky, but true–because it’s your eyes he’s looking into, even as your tears spill down. Even when the sight against him is familiar, when he realizes your body’s a battlefield. IVs in both arms, tubes secured at your nose, bruising spread like ink across your ribs and collarbone and thighs and shins and stomach and arms. 

Because your lashes flutter, and your lips part in a rasp under his whispers of comfort against your knuckles, steadying your panic with every soft, graveled-throat vow. You’re safe, I’m okay, I’m here.

I’m never letting you go ever again.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

…Dana waits another minute before she tugs Jack away. Again. She just watches his hands intertwine with yours. 

…This is a good part, right?

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

@roses-and-grasses @madamantha @icarusinthesea @fortheluck @crimeshowjunkie @putbloghere @billet-douxxx

[beautifulandvoid]

✭ CRASH ✭ Jack Abbot x F!Reader

When Jack catches you out walking to work in 30-degree weather alone in the fucking dark, he has no choice but to realize his feelings for you are far past romantics and hurdling towards possession. That only becomes more apparent when he catches you on Robby's motorcycle after.

WORD COUNT: 15.7K || Based on the implication we’re gonna see Robby riding a motorcycle in season 2. I am sure Reader's a nurse. dot dot dots like no tomorrow. Graphic depiction of blood, wounds, and vehicular accidents. Inaccurate medical terminology and situations. Age gap between Jack and the reader. Jealousy, possession, romantic entitlement. Dr. Robby x Reader, if you squint like there's no tomorrow. You can read this as a part of the series Lengths, but also not. Might get ocish 🥸🥸. Angst. Jack goes coo coo.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

AUTHOR MASTERLIST THE LENGTHS PART ONE SHIFTING @pearlstiare

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Early evening on a Winter Street. Just before he’ll find you at the nurses' station with your glitter pen and the smile he can’t bear with the cheeks he tries to make blush all at once--

The city is already dipped in that steel twilight, where the breath of drunkards fog, the drunkards he’ll probably have to treat deeper in the night. Wind cuts sharp through the collars of late commuters, but Jack? He’s gonna be early to work, probably. Name him trauma attending of the month.

You are the most ridiculous, resentfully genius nurse and woman and person I have ever met. I wish I could blame you for something. 

He’s behind the wheel of his battered black truck, thermos in the cup holder, window down to breathe in the sting of the too-cool air. Jack doesn’t know why he does this, other than the fact that it’s a place where pain can feel good. When does that happen? Not in the Pitt, that’s for fucking sure. It’s against his medical oath to claim pain can be tolerated. But…that’s only in reference to patients, not him, right?

There’s no way you’ve possibly beaten him to the E.R. One thing you resent him for? It’s the way he’s quick. Casually so. And he’s not too humble about that, if Jack says so himself. 

Ah. Fuck. 

Jack shakes his head stiffly; it’s more like one slight jolt to snap him out of it because thinking of you while he’s on his way to work with you is as ridiculous as you are. It’s uncharacteristically pathetic of him, maybe. There. Maybe that’s something he can blame you for. 

“Nice use of your blinker, bmw-bastard-bitch.” 

Jack nearly whispers it, but that asshole of a driver is what gets his mind to slip away from you, so…thank them for that. Traffic’s slow, and he begins flipping through mental protocol for the night. Staffing numbers, open beds, that critical case that might get transferred down from Fox Chapel–

“Dr. Abbot, there is no need to dryly sass me when all I’ve been doing is assisting you like a champ.” 

“...You are. You are assisting me very well, which is why I need to sass you. With all the praise Dr. Robby’s been giving you, I can’t have your ego building on me. 

Jack’s mouth twitches widely before he jolts his head once again to slap whatever was gonna decorate his face. 

Just leave him alone, kid. 

…He hopes you’re still wearing your pink shoes after he teased you about them for the fortieth time. Jack likes them. They’re…visual stimulation for the slow shifts. 

Okay. Traffic? Traffic’s slow. Staffing’s short on him. Of course, but there seemed to be an endless number of open beds last night. That critical case is definitely getting transferred down from Fox Chapel, poor, bare-budget fucks–

“What the fuck?” 

And there. He sees her. 

You. 

Across the street. Walking alone. Head down, coat zipped tight, tote bag slung over one shoulder and a thermos at your hip. But then…Jack’s focus locks in. 

You’re wearing your pink sneakers and a wool beanie with little specks of glitter. Your badge is clipped to your coat, which bounces with every hurried step. You’re tugging your scarf higher, cheeks are flushed from the cold…because, of course, they are. It’s 30 fucking degrees. Your fingers–they’re bare. What the hell? Do you not own gloves?

Jack’s jaw locks. His foot eases off the gas before his eyes narrow like he’s tracking a threat. Because this, sleepy? 

This isn’t cute. It isn’t quaint. It isn’t you not knowing what’s good for you because you believe the world is perfect and kind, and everything Jack could roll his eyes at you for thinking in the first place, only to let up and realize that, eventually, that’s what makes you you. That’s what been prodding at his fucking heart like a badly held needle to skin in all the months he’s known you. 

This? This is dangerous.

Jack slows the truck. Stops. His fingers flex around the steering wheel, because seriously. What the hell are you doing walking alone?

He watches, heartbeat climbing—not from the initial surprise, but from…a casual, dry rage. Hey, if he weren’t in therapy, he probably wouldn’t know how to name that feeling. But you–you’re so damn feminine in the way you move, the bounce in your step, the shiny pastel accessories clipped to your grey scrubs. Even the ridiculous pink thermos swinging at your hip looks out of place in the darkening, frozen street.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

He mutters his question before making the next turn hard and quick, looping the block with what’s probably muscle memory before pulling up to the curb just ahead of your path. He flashes his lights once. 

If you keep walking cause you think he’s some creep, he’s going to drag you into this truck. 

You’re blinking in surprise, and Jack knows you’re hesitating when you don’t recognize the truck just yet. But when you do, you smile as you pick up your pace, jogging the last few steps to him. 

Jack rolls the passenger window down. 

“Hey, Dr. Abbot! What are you doing out here so early? Trying to beat me agai–”

“Get in.” 

Jack says it flatly. Eyes unblinking. He doesn’t care for or about your face wearing confused, slight hurt when he does. 

You flutter those eyelashes quickly, and this time…isn’t gonna work on him, sleepy. Again. Not this time. 

“Wait–what? Jack, I’m only five minutes from the hospital. Ain’t a big deal.”

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off you, because what is wrong with you? Why are you…out here alone, putting yourself in danger? Whether that be the cold or something–someone else. And you don’t accept his first offer? 

His first order. 

His voice goes sharper. 

“It’s below freezing. It’s already dark. You’re walking alone. I said get in. 

Jack doesn’t know there’s something in his voice that silences any further teasing from you, but his eyes flicker to the way there’s hesitation in your hands, and then he uses his to grip the wheel of his truck. 

“Jack, I’m not a baby bird. It’s Pittsburgh. People walk.” 

“Not women alone. Not at night. Not in that. 

Jack gestures to your coat, which is too thin. Your shoes, too pink. 

You frown. “What’s wrong with my coat? And…how are you still finding a moment to get on me for my shoes?” 

“What’s wrong with it? Jesus,–” Your name comes out of his mouth in a near groan, and he doesn’t understand why your mouth parts slightly at that. “You dress like a candy striper in an alleyway. You ever heard of blending in? That maybe, if you’re gonna walk alone in the fucking dark, then try not wear something that screams “I’m the bubbliest woman on earth?" Seriously, sleepy.” 

Your frown deepens, and maybe Jack will feel guilt over that later. But not now. He needs you to understand. 

“Wow. Rude.” 

You’ve never seen him like this before. Sure, he forced you to report that flirtatious old man, whom you swore was just a victim of dementia, who thought you were his wife, to HR. Sure, sometimes you catch the dry snark in his quips whenever you get “too” smiley with your Mel or Dr. Langdon. But this…this confuses you as much as it hurts you. 

“You don’t get to be oblivious. Not out here. You walk like nothing can touch you, like no one’s watching. You’re you. You? You're all…pink shoes and wide eyes, and you talk to strangers like they’re already friends.” 

He breathes in sharply through his nose before he’s not breathing at all.

“And that’s exactly the kind of person who doesn’t come home one night.”

The wind picks up. You stare at him. He doesn’t look away. Not now, but it’s the way there’s difficulty in that, difficulty where there never was with anyone else.

What are you doing to him?

“Jack...you think I’m that careless? I'd never...”

Jack blinks. No. Because you’re fucking perfect. 

It’s nearly gritted. 

“No. I think." Jack's head shifts stiffly. He swallows. "I just...think the world doesn’t deserve someone like you walking through it alone believing in it.”

You’re quiet, and Jack ignores that feeling that he purposefully doesn’t name…because it’s almost something like fear. That he went too far, which he couldn’t possibly have because you need to understand what you’re doing to him–

To yourself.

You’re quiet. Then, almost shyly–something so unlike you unless he’s confident enough to want to make your cheeks flush. “You always this dramatic?”

Jack reaches the other seat to open the passenger door. 

“Get in. You need a ride, you call me.” 

His eyes flicker to the hesitation in your hands, but he can tell you see there’s no point in arguing, which is good. 

Because something in his voice says this isn’t up for debate. 

“Thank you.” 

“Do not worry about that, kid.” 

Jack waits until you're buckled before he pulls back into the lane. His jaw’s still set. His shoulders are still stiff. But when he glances at you, really looks at you, there’s something in his eyes that’s closer to fear than frustration. But you don’t know that. He hopes you...or he never will. 

He rolls up the passenger and driver windows. He turns on the heat with a tense grip on the wheel. His prosthetic aches—not that he feels it under the rush of adrenaline simmering through him just because he found you taking a solo stroll.

“I’ve walked that street a hundred times, Jack. I’m fine.” 

“You ever hear a woman say that when we wheel her into the Pitt with a stab wound? With—”

Jack stops himself. No breath. No sigh. Just a slight head shake.

With severe injuries from sexual assault?

The rest of his question is said dryly. You falter, looking down at your hands. And quietly, almost to himself—

“You don’t get to be 'fine' when it’s dark and cold and you look like you’ve got a target on your back.”

Silence settles between them.

You don’t argue this time. You just sit beside him, small in the passenger seat, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Jack stares straight ahead...cause he’s realizing something.

This isn’t just about attraction getting the best of his character, or admiration that’s shot in the head when he realizes the perfect, smartest nurse has the bright idea to walk in the cold streets of Pittsburgh after dark. It’s not even that reckless flutter he feels every time you brush past him in the trauma bay.

This is deeper. Sharper. Something dangerous in its own right.

Because you don’t even realize how vulnerable you are. How trusting. How bright in a world that eats people like you alive.

And Jack…he shouldn’t be at the point where he’d burn down the city if it meant keeping you safe, because that’s fucking weird. At most, he should feel…entitlement in his romantics. But this is not romantic. This is protective.

Too protective.

And that realization fucking punches him almost more than seeing you walking alone ever could.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

The hallway’s warmth fogs Mel’s glasses as you see her on her way out. She nods before she greets you and Jack brightly.  The way of her adorable nature is almost enough to forget where you just came from.

But when her smile drops at Jack's inability to really greet her back, it all comes seeping through.

"Don't tell me you forgot how to smile--"

"I'm betting my other leg that that case from Fox Chapel is being transferred down. I heard it's psych-central, and that's your house. You'll be the front nurse on that, I'm sure."

You unwrap your scarf, cheeks still flushed from the cold, while Jack shrugs off his jacket without saying much. You keep glancing sideways at him. 

You still carry the weight of his earlier tone, how surprised you are by how…rattled he got. 

It’s usually not hard for you to make your voice sit light, but here, you push it through your smile. 

“Sooo…you yell at all our nurses for walking to work?”

“No. I would if I caught them.”

You raise your brows, but he doesn’t elaborate when you do. He just fishes through his coat pocket, pulling out gloves. His. 

Worn black leather, and his hands…they’re big. The gloves are too big for you by a mile. He holds them out. 

You smile. 

What is your doctor doing?

“Is this an apology? Or some sort of peace offering?”

You watch his eyes focus on the gloves before they flicker up into yours. And the intensity of his brown eyes is telling you he’s still serious, and you can’t have that. Not after the way he thought you were deserving of…whatever the moment on the street was. 

Maybe he’s just having a bad start to his shift, and you’re receiving the brunt of it, because he cannot be this worried over you, because you’re worth Jack Abbot’s worry. 

You don't deserve his worry, or his casual, dry genius. You don't, and you can't have him pretending that you do.

So, you laugh softly, but Jack doesn’t crack. He just pushes the gloves into your hands more firmly. 

“Keep them.” 

He says it quietly. You blink. Your voice goes startled. 

“Jack, you don’t have to–” 

“I said keep them.”

Your eyes lock for a heartbeat too long. You can feel it in the way yours speed up. You hold the gloves now, your smile gentling. Now? You’re less amused, you guess. More touched and blushed, but Jack’s already looking away, pulling open his locker and putting away his backpack like it’s just another shift, like he didn’t just nearly yell at you on the sidewalk for doing something you’ve done a thousand times before, only to then gift you with something you don’t think he’s ever lent out to anyone. 

“You know, for someone who’s probably the fortieth most dramatic person in the E.R, this is kinda…reactive. Possessive, doc. Where's H.R. when I need them?” 

Truly. You mean it as a tease. Just a soft joke. Not even as something to test the waters, but Jack only crosses his arms against his chest. 

“Just wear them, sleepy. If you paid attention, maybe you'd see that you don't live in the Bahamas."

There. You think he's over it with his dry joke along the slight smirk on his lips.

You slip the gloves on.

"Not now, we are literally about to start our shift-"

"I know, I'm just trying them on."

They hang a little over your fingers. Loose around your palms. You flex both hands. You study the way his warmth feels on your hands.

God. You try not to blush.

What is wrong with this man? What is wrong with you?

...Nothing, really, because who wouldn't feel their heart leap out of their chest when Jack Abbot is like this in his concern? In the slight lines and strong jaw of his face.

You try not to shudder when his hands take yours, casually slipping the gloves to fold them. He shoves them in your tote bag, nothing but the word nothing on his face.

"Does it bother you?"

"What bothers me?"

Jack doesn't blink at your question.

"The reaction." His eyes take a half-second glance at someone passing by, only to face back to you, his head shifted, and his voice is slightly quieter. "Would you rather me not care about you?"

The word not is nearly dragged out in the back of Jack's throat. The entire question is joking. Not teasing. Just asked like it’s nothing.

His mouth twitches when you do end up shuddering, because how can you actually not?

"...I could take it or leave it."

Jack nods with sarcasm in his thinning lips and narrowing eyes. He crosses his arms.

"Yeah. Okay, sleepy."

And Jack doesn’t say another word—he just heads for the trauma bay with that stiff walk, the one that comes when he’s thinking too much, when the limp you wouldn't know was there if you weren't paying attention disappears because he's focused.

You watch him go before you tug out his gloves from your bag. You don't laugh. You don't roll your eyes or come up with an internal quip to lessen whatever's at the pit of your stomach now.

You just put on his gloves to feel the warmth of them.

Of him.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Two days later. Sun is setting, but there is a resentful solace that doesn’t exist in the dark. Jack doesn’t think there’s anything about you he could call dark. He’d kill himself before betting on it. 

Robby’s half-dressed in street clothes, which is pretty unusual for Jack to see. The sweat’s still clinging to the back of his neck from the shift that just ended for him. Jack leans against the lockers, arms crossed, watching his friend shove his scrub bottoms into his bag with a little too much force.

Jack’s not feeling all too swell at a quip from his friend, the friend who’s obviously in a rush to go somewhere, still had time to make. 

“Didn’t know you were on hall patrol now, Abbot.” 

“I’m not?” 

Robby grins stupidly for a second or so. “You sure, brother? Cause I heard…what? A day? Two days ago, Dana saw you with sunshine. Thought you were gonna drag her in by the scarf.” 

Jack doesn’t take to the bait, even though and because it’s fucking stupid. He just picks something off his scrub top and mutters–

“She was walking alone.” 

“I know, that’s what Dana said she told her. And the scarf thing? Her words. Not mine. But uh–” Robby’s head shifts, tilting slightly with his eyes looking to the tile. He zips up his bag. “Walking alone as an adult. I know we don’t usually talk about things like this–I’m in no place to say anything–” 

“And here we are.” 

Jack finally takes himself away from the lockers to put his backpack in his. The pause sits for a minute, and there he thinks about it. 

Justification and defensiveness comes way too easy to him.

“If it was just you peeved enough to make her roll her eyes, that would’ve been that. But with what Dana was saying, just about the way you were acting when you came in…people walk in cities. Like, millions of people do. Every day, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t turn to Robby. He stares at the bottom of his locker. 

Jesus Christ, he wishes he could make this about his disbelief. He wishes how his inability to find this conversation funny and not targeted would be the result of the frustration over why everyone is questioning his frustration–his frustration over an E.R nurse who would know the dangers of walking alone at night as a woman found walking alone at night as a woman. And sure. Yeah. It’s still there in his usual, casual confidence, but–

He knows what this is. He’s known it from the day he found you out in the street. He knows that you could’ve been walking in the middle of the day, sun down upon you and…whatever. You could’ve been with someone. 

And he’d still feel this heaviness in his chest telling him to go after you. 

He’d question if it’s smart for you to walk to work in the heat with scrubs and a sleeved shirt underneath. He’d question who it was you were walking with. He’d lecture you for riding with a stranger if you took an uber. 

It would be easier to not feel so damn guilty about it if he knew you weren’t so damn capable and compentent. That would make his possession over you valid. But…here they are. 

“You wouldn’t stop if you saw one of our nurses or residents taking a thirty minute stroll in the dark while they’re trudging through the snow? That you wouldn’t question their judgement, Robby?”

“...No. No. I would. I’d stop, I’d offer a ride. And walking by yourself when it’s dark out in the cold isn’t the best or most logical situation. Maybe I’d tell her that…I don’t know.” Jack finally turns around, looking Robby in the eyes when he lets him. They stand under that familiar mechanical humming. The walls of the Pitt at work. “For her sake, I’d bring up that I’d rather see her come into work in a cab and not an ambulance that had to have been called because she was robbed and hurt.” 

“There. That is what I am saying. That is–” Jack crosses his arms before sitting down on the bench. “It’s freezing. And dark. And she’s...look, she’s not street-sharp. You know her. Not cautious. Not really. She probably talks to every cab driver like they’re her therapist.” 

“Wouldn’t this not be a situation if she took a cab instead?” 

Jack stops his breath. Smartass. 

“And what about us or the place she’s dedicated her life to scream caution, brother?” 

Jack shakes his head before focusing in on Robby’s face, because as much as this isn’t the most valid anger, it’s also the most valid anger and why can’t Robby see this? 

“...She had no gloves.” 

Jack says it curtly, only going lower and louder on the word had. 

The closest he gets to turning away first is when Robby’s brows raise. 

“...No gloves? That’s your breaking point?” 

No. It’s the point where he realizes you matter more to him than you should, cause you have to matter to him a whole fucking lot–cause he shouldn’t feel like this and the only possible explanation as to why his heart is gonna jump out of his fucking chest at the sight of you is because you made it so he finds himself too worried at every step and too proud at every accomplishment you make with a needle or IV. Because you’re too pretty and competent and bright and everything he can’t handle. So…the most you can do is allow him is worry. 

Even when that worry scares the shit out of him. 

“I am saying, statistically, women alone at night are more likely to–” 

“I know, Abbot. We know. But–” Robby looks up to the ceiling before crossing his arms. Jack laxes his cross to rest his palms on his knees. 

“You were worked up.” 

“How could you know? I didn’t monologue in front of Dana or anyone–” Jack blinks in his breaking. His head tilts before he glances a glare at the door. “...It wasn’t just Evans who mentioned it, was it?” 

Robby doesn’t nod, but his narrowing eyes give way. 

And Jesus Christ, it has to be a good thing. The usual thing of his character–the guilt in the first question Jack asks in his head. The question that’s aided by his hands turning into fists for a second or so. 

It’s not ‘Why would you tell Robby?’. Not ‘Did what he did bother you that much that you brought it up a day or two later?’ 

It’s ‘Why the fuck were you talking to Robby in the first place?’. 

…The guilt makes him aware, right?

“Concern, that’s warranted, Jack. More than. Also, don’t think I’m in a place to care but…I think it’s safe with the way you two act around each other to say that you wouldn’t have reacted like that if it were anyone else. And the way you reacted was a bit…for you, for you–it was just a little over the top. I mean...with the way you've been reacting to her more aggressive patients have been...a lot."

Jack's words come out defensive, fast. And there goes the fucking guilt. 

The patients? Why is he bringing up your slew of sleezy overdoses and drunks?

“You’re right, we’re good with each other, but we don’t usually talk about things like this. But if you’d like to know, I wasn’t that worked up, and even if I was, you are also right on how we don’t need our nurses hitching rides by gurnies.” 

“...You’re worked up right now.” 

…Is he?

Jack gives Robby a look, dry as desert from forever ago. 

“She had no gloves, Robby.” 

He couldn’t know that his fellow attending makes the decision to smile smally, it’s not natural, it’s a choice he makes in chance to have Jack get more worked up. 

What are you exactly doing to this guy?

Maybe the smile becomes more genuine with the question popping into Robby’s head. 

“This interrogation is stopping you from wherever you need to go. Go.” 

It’s definitely more genuine when Jack decides he wants the previous conversation to end. Robby nods his head. 

“...Date?” 

Robby scoffs. “No.” 

“Something with Jake?”

“...Nah–just taking the new bike out. Just got her from a guy upstate. Jack, you gotta see this thing. I’m trying to be casual about it, but I guess, uh, sly biker isn’t my style.” 

…Oh God, Robby.

Jack knows this isn’t a mid-life crisis. Not really, probably. What he knows is that E.R doctors tend to be adrenaline junkies, and sometimes they tend to be adrenaline junkies with the habit of suicidal ideation. Sometimes you get MDs turning into gamblers, sex addicts, drug addicts. Sometimes they put themselves somewhere dangerous. 

Sometimes they buy a motorcycle. 

He watches Robby scratch the back of his neck. His own expression doesn’t shift much, but there’s a delay—just enough time for a beat of concern to flicker behind his eyes because…yeah. A motorcycle.

“You get a helmet too, or just the death wish?”

He tries to say it casually. Robby laughs with a slow blink. “You used to jump out of helicopters. Don’t come for me.”

“Yeah, with a parachute. And orders. And a med evac team on standby. And I’m not exactly bragging about my military resume–” 

Not now. Jack swallows. He pretends Robby doesn’t for the sake of keeping the conversation light. 

“You jealous, man?” 

Jack snorts, lips twitching in something that might be a smile.

“Jealous of bugs in my teeth? No thanks.”

“You’re not invited anyway…” Robby swings his bag over his shoulder. “Grandpa.”

Jack’s head jolts back before he turns his palms up to the ceiling. 

“One, you on every technicality is closer to being a papa more than me. Two, you told me I have to see it. That’s an invitation. I am welcome. Three, I’m saying–you know better. You’ve been in the trauma bay long enough to know that.” 

He knows this conversation won’t exactly go anywhere, because Robby’s stubborn as shit. And that’s okay. He’s an adult. Jack’s sure he won’t be doing any BMX tricks around the block. But still, the reasoning for a sudden motorbike is obvious, and he can’t help but question. But the questions turn into quips, and he’ll…his friend will be okay. 

Robby simply shrugs before grabbing his keys from the locker.

“I need something, Jack. Maybe it’s good to find an outlet that isn’t running laps around the hospital. Like you. And me. And everyone else in here. Just, gotta get the edge of somehow.”

That’s the first time Jack’s posture falters. 

“The edge off what, exactly?”

He sees it quietly and again, Robby gives him a vague, dismissive shrug as he makes his way out. Doesn’t answer. Jack doesn’t push. But he watches.

We don’t need to find each other on the rooftop again. 

“Just–don’t go looking for chaos. You know how it wins. Often. And usually.”

Robby pauses at the door.

“Yeah.” His voice is softer. “I know.”

Then he’s gone. Jack keeps himself there for a bit, standing up to stare at Robby’s empty locker that he never actually locks, his reflection faint in the metal, its decorations of scratches. 

He’s not judging. Seriously. He just knows the feeling too well, and sometimes the feeling takes you over, promises you you deserve to feel it while telling you all the shitty ways you can get rid of it. Some of them get addicted to adrenaline. Some to noise. Some to numbness. Jack isn’t perfect in that department, he can’t be when he finds being co-dependent with his work and the Pitt ideal. That’s not healthy, right? No. It’s not. And he doesn’t care. Still, the guy’s trying to keep his addictions to minimum. 

His head snaps at the sound of a familiar voice trailing past the locker room. Jack makes his way out quickly, ignoring the ache of prosthetic when his does. 

He calls you out by your last name before he turns into the hall.

“When did you start gossiping with Robby–”

He stops when all he finds is Santos. A very confused looking Santos. 

His mouth parts. He grips the door frame before pulling on both ends of his stethoscope.

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else. You can…continue to go wherever you were going.” 

“...You thought I was sunshine?”

“Santos, I am apologizing. Do not push it.” 

“You heard me and you thought I was her? I sound nothing like her...I mean, I feel complimented–” 

“Go. Now. Thank you.” 

Santos leaves with what Jack thinks is a smile. He blinks once. 

He is trying. 

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

The trauma bay smells a little more like antiseptic than usual. An overhead light flickers. The night, as much as it started with Robby’s confrontation, is good. It’s been a long night, but the kind that Jack thrives in. Thrives in exhaustedly, but thrives none-the-hell-less. 

And sure, even with you as his little snitch, it’s easy to stay sharp when you’re across the room. 

“I think I’m having heart palpitations, Dr. Abbot. The means it’s been a good shift, right?” 

You pull off a pair of blood-streaked gloves. You’re breathing a little harder than usual, but of course, you’re smiling that smile of yours that’s somehow more energizing than cocaine. He’s guessing. Whatever the comparison, it’s resentfully more energizing. 

He watches you. As always nowadays. Screw you.

“I’m not saying our nurses fumble their way through central lines. But you? You, sleepy, are like a damn sniper. Solid work tonight.” 

He says it dryly. You raise a brow. 

“A sniper?”

“One shot. Clean. No mess. I blinked and you already had it taped.”

You snort as you toss your gloves and it’s streaky red into a bin. “I know what a sniper is. Just...that is probably the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.” 

Jack shrugs, eyes still on you. 

It’s a compliment. His compliment. Just take it. 

“I meant it as high praise. Snipers are efficient. Focused. Lethal.” He cocks his head to the side. “But unlike you, they’re usually the silent type.” 

You obviously don’t get his little jab is specific to you talking about him with Robby, but he lets that go when you let out a half laugh. 

In the end, he’s sure it’s good that he’d rather have you laughing that tucked away in the corner of his truck. 

“Okay. Doc, you are either flirting with me or insulting me and I genuinely can’t tell which one it is.” 

Jack’s mouth twitches. “That is the beauty of it. I keep you guessing.” 

He doesn’t answer your quip along your grin after. There’s only something quieter in his smirk–something he’s probably not gonna name because tonight was mostly good despite everything and he doesn’t want to ruin them. 

“You are definitely flirting. So, no–I’m not finishing off your charts for you.” 

…Whatever’s the quiet thing in the lines of his face must against his better judgement. It’s what got him flirting with you in the first place, what makes him softly slip up and find confident justification for said slip up later. 

He pretends to focus on a chart that, no, you will not finish. You are bullshitting him. He’s always finishing your ends of a chart. 

“You belong on the night shift.”

It’s an efficient thing inside of him, Jack guesses. It’s really quick to make him confident in his dry, low blurtings. 

You blink. He looks into your eyes. 

“What?” 

“You’re good. Too fast. Again, you’re from a more than capable bunch, but even the best nurses trip over themselves when they get assigned to night. You…adjusted like you didn’t have to.” 

Jack won’t notice the way your smile falters just a little. If he did, there goes his chance of staying confident. But he watches you shrug with folding arms, your soft voice slipping away from him. 

“I learned how to survive in chaos a long time ago.” 

…Yeah. He can tell. It’s why it’s unfortunate that it takes one moment of you out in the dark to know that doesn’t make a difference. 

Beautiful, capable girl. 

His eyes hold yours. He’d thank you for letting him if he didn’t realize the both of you are already post-shift. The morning sky is that bruised purple…like. Lavender. Lavender-grey. There’s headlights blinking down wet, frosted streets. 

“Walking again, sleepy?” 

“Just to the bus station. It’s not far.”

“Still dark out.”

“Thanks for the update, Weatherman. Jack, I promise–I’ll be fine. I’m not walking home, just making my way for the bus.”

He doesn’t smile as the both of you make your way down the hall to find the nurses’s station where you tucked your bag underneath a desk. You always leave him– 

The Pitt so quickly. He watches you tie your scarf with practiced hands. 

He feels himself press something more firm to the bottom of his throat. “I can pick you up. Drop you off. We work the same shifts most nights anyway. It’s just convenient.”

You look at him, and he’s beginning to accept the way your gentle expressions make him…falter’s a weak word. Ew. But also, it would be you, wouldn’t it? 

“Jack–” 

Get in his car. Let him take you home. 

“It’s not a big deal. I’m offering. That’s all.”

It’s obvious you’re hesitating on a reply, but Jack isn’t exactly sure it’s because you don’t believe the concern or…that you can see it all too well. 

“I’m suggesting, really. But–so you know. You don’t need to be out like that again. Not when I’m...when you have people willing to help you out.”

The latter is a bit more heavy on his chest, because that’s more likely to scare you away from him, right? 

“...Okay, Jack. If I need it. I promise.”

Jack nods once, briskly. Like it’s settled. But there’s something tight in his jaw, something he doesn’t say. Another unnameable thing.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Another evening stroll home.

You should’ve called a car.

You’re bundled up, yes–but your pace is one of a slowpoke. You’re tired. You’ve just finished a double, and it’s cold enough to bite at the tip of your nose. That damp Pittsburgh chill that’s seeping through your coat no matter how tightly you wrap it is almost as lovable as Whitaker, or the way Jack smells. 

Golly, you’re smart, aren’t you? 

But you needed the walk, the quiet. The feeling, however temporary, that you can move through the world on your terms. Even if it’s just ten blocks. Even if the reason why you first walked to the Pitt and then home isn’t as poetic. You just missed the bus twice that day. 

You pull your scarf higher over your mouth, hugging yourself as you pass the bar on the corner, one Heather and Co. promised they would take you out to when you first started working in the E.R. You watch a man stumble out, so you’re obviously missing all the fun. You try not to flinch when he shouts something you can’t catch. You don’t really look up, even. It’s just a man being loud, as drunk men are. 

But what’s louder is that rumble of an engine slowing behind you. You can’t help the way your heart skips with a cold spike of adrenaline. That sound–there’s no way you don’t flinch at its rumble. 

…Of course. 

You sigh shakily, watching your breath managing to go cool against your scarf. It’s only a strange mix of relief and frustration tightening at your chest. 

You doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Jeez.”

You steel yourself when Jack’s truck crawls up beside you, the window sliding down with that creaky, mechanical whine. 

Quick, what’s the quickest way you can settle your doctor? 

“Hey…” You look down to your bundled hands. “At least I’m wearing your gloves this time.”

Jack’s pale face wears nothing. Not even a blink. 

“I–” 

“I thought you said if you needed a ride, you’d tell me.” 

You close your eyes for a beat at how sharp Jack’s voice is. You count to three before you look at him. 

Quick, what’s the quickest way you can settle yourself? 

You watch your breath fog the air, scoffing light. “Are you, like, following me now?” 

Inside of you is a wanting you want to berate. That thing–that stupid, anxious flutter it always does around Jack, the thing that almost kills your quips and banter and births blushing and a shyness you can barely handle. It’s still here now. When he’s berating you. For being a grown adult, making the decision to walk home. 

“I just finished a double, you’re on your way to the Pitt…wh-why would I call you? That would make me some…l-leechy asshole. And you're gonna be late for work.” 

Jack nods sharply. Blinks once. Your heart speed up. 

“Leechy asshole. You made a good choice becoming an E.R nurse and not a poet, sleepy. Good choice.” You watch him press a button and faintly hear something like air start to blow. Heat. “Get in.” 

That thing. The flutter. As much as it infuriates you, it’s a small, pathetic part of you that makes you feel safer seeing him here. And if this was any other situation–flirtations in a trauma bay, watching him go stern when a patient hits on you and such, you wouldn’t hate that part of yourself. You usually don’t. 

But that part of you is what makes you almost immediately listen to him. It’s what makes you want to please him, satisfy whatever this is. And that? As much as you like him, you can’t let that happen when it’s not right, right? The way he worries isn’t…normal, right? 

And you’re almost to the point of not caring, of getting in the car, and that can’t happen. 

“You walked past a drunkard stumbling around with a bottle like it’s a damn .47.” 

His voice goes low, irritated. Your jaw tightens. 

You’re already at the point of feeling more embarrassed he caught you walking alone than angry at how he thinks he can act this way with you. And that’s…you’re 90 percent sure that’s not right either. So. 

“That guy from the bar? You noticed tha…” You shake your head. “He didn’t even look at me, Jack.” 

It’s obvious Jack isn’t satisfied with your defensiveness, because his voice lifts just enough that you know this is as close as he gets to raising it. 

“That is not the point. He could’ve. Or–not him, but the next night you decide to play with hypothermia, you find someone who takes advantage of the situation you put yourself in.” 

And there, with Jack’s lowering eyes and stern jaw, you feel your frustration curl into something meaner. Something tired. And you think he can see that, and that he can see why. 

You feel satisfaction swell against the fatigue of having to justify every step you take, of denying any justification of why Jack can act like this. 

“I’m not saying it would be your fault–I will…I am going to backtrack on that.” 

“Yeah, Jack. You better if you want me to get in your truck.” 

You couldn’t know how he takes that as an immediate challenge, even when he cocks his head lower and stiffly. 

“You’re don’t have to assume that every single being on the sidewalk is a threat. I’m just saying I’d rather…I’d rather have someone be there for you if there is.” 

You watch his jaw clench, and for second, you think you see something you’ll ignore. 

An actual raw, ugly fear in his eyes. That, if it’s there, it doesn’t matter how unjustified it is, you think you might have to let Jack have it. 

“I’ve told you this already. You know doctors don’t like to repeat lectures.” The wind gusts between you and the truck. “Get in.”

You look down at your shoes, fighting the way your throat aches, but when you begin to speak, you already know that your voice is gonna be smaller than it wants to be. 

“I said I’d ask when I needed you.”

…You know this can’t just be about tonight, or about the last time he found you one the street. It’s never just one moment about tonight. 

It’s every moment and shift and look you decided to find endearing–the times where Jack is waiting for something to go wrong so he can be the one to fix it. 

And with his soft curls and demanding eyes, you can’t ignore how you feel more grateful than furious. 

“And I said I didn’t want you waiting to you do.”

..It’s why you get in the truck with spite and cause all at once, why you buckle your seatbelt with stiff, careful hands before Jack pulls away from the curb without a word. 

“You’re freezing.”

“...You’re dramatic.” 

Jack pushes the passenger vent towards you, and the other passing car’s headlights catch the faint lines around his mouth, the one’s that appear when he’s close to a smile.

“You wanna talk about dramatic? You catch Robby's ride before he left?”

Both of you. Settled.

You stifle a giggle. "Yep. It’s…nice."

You have to stifle another when Jack’s head snaps at you. 

“Do not tell me you’re a biker girl. Absolutely not–” 

“No. Absolutely not. They are death traps…not that I’m judging your friend!”

The headlights pass, it’s nothing but the dark. You don’t see how Jack’s mouth falters, the way the lines disappear. 

“Well. He’s your friend, too.”

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

He is definitely late for his shift, like you said. But hey…it’s not exactly your fault. The heater hums low, pushing warm air towards you, and with that, the exhaustion you garnered from your double, and your strolling through snow, Jack assumes it’s why you ended up curled into the passenger seat, head tilted against the window, lips parted in a dream or whatever. He doesn’t say a word, he drives. One hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh near where his prosthetic makes him whole. The radio is off, the scanner is off, and both his phone and pager’s been buzzing on the dashboard. Both are ignored. The hospital is long behind both of you. 

And he passed your street ten minutes ago. Hence, his being late isn’t your fault. 

He’ll claim that it isn’t your fault, cause that means the reason as to why he’s not at the job he needs to feel like breathing matters isn’t you. It can’t be. There can’t be any more chances to let you be the one to ruin him. That’s not really fair to you. 

“Sleepy?” 

You’re only stirring. Jack doesn’t sigh, and he doesn’t remember when he decided to keep going…but he did. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re asleep. And Jack…Jack can’t remember when the hell was the last time someone trusted him like this. Outside of the Pitt and off of a gurney, away from charts and recommendation letters. 

He watches your chest rise and fall with every breath, watches as your hair shifts as the truck bumps along a quiet neighborhood road. And really, he’ll tell himself it’s just about the peace in the way he tells him it’s not your fault. It’s cause of the stillness, the calm before a shift full of bleeders and chaos. But shit, when the hell has he ever been one to enjoy that calm?

No. Jack deserves the truth…most of the time. So. He knows it’s not the bullshit stillness or the calm. 

It’s the way you look right now. 

The prettiest, most unguarded thing curled up in his truck. You’re beautiful when you’re too competent for everyone’s good and when you’re the most vulnerable thing on earth. How dare you, kid? 

The realization finds that it isn’t just admiration. It’s not just protectiveness. It’s…oh. God. Fuck him. It’s in the way that says…that says–

You’re mine. And if the world’s too loud, I’ll drive us through the quiet until morning just to prove it, as if the light is where I’ve found solace all along. Crazy. 

He exhales slowly. Looks at the clock. 9:38 P.M.

Yeah, he’s miles past your apartment, nearly at that overlook where he sometimes parks when the weight of the world and past won’t lift. He’ll listen to his police scanner. Eat a ham sandwich.

He lets the truck roll to a gentle stop and puts it in park. He just…sits. He watches you. 

…He lets himself need you, as if it’ll only be this one, unspoken moment he’s indulging in. He lets his chest feel warm and his shoulders roll with what might be a shudder without guilt. Without denial. 

How can someone so beautiful make him feel ugly things?

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You stir faintly, nose scrunching. You don’t wake. He doesn’t really move. 

He promises he’ll drive you home soon, but not yet. Not while the world still lets you sleep beside him, and not while he’ll let himself feel good about it.

"...You know nothing. How impossible is that?"

His hand flexes. His head cocks as he closes his eyes at a little noise you make. Something like a rumble.

...Not while he feels this good.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

You blink awake on your couch. Not in Jack’s truck or in your bed as if you made it there by yourself. Your couch. A blanket is tucked over yours, and it’s not the one you usually fold on your chair. It’s heavy. Wool and worn. 

Like it’s from Military surplus. 

You realize it has to be Jack. It smells like him–sanitizer and cedar and whatever soap you keep trying to figure out the brand of. The thing that gets Jack to call you a freak. You shift. 

Your shoes at next to the door, and your scarf is folder on the coffee table with your bag and thermos. It’s the pisces your brain has to pull together through the soft haze of the morning sun.

Jack didn’t drop you off at the curb. He didn’t nudge you awake with that gruff, but not unkind efficiency you and others know. You may not remember the ride, and you certainly don’t remember being carried inside, but clearly…you were. 

He took off your shoes. Placed the blanket over you. Tucked you in. 

Jeez, Jack. Why, why, why?

You can’t deny him when he does shit like this, and how can you think it when you end sniffing his blanket as end up wrapping it tighter around yourself, heart pounding quietly in the hush of your apartment. 

“Jack…”

If you end up wrapping yourself in his warmth again, not because he orders you to, but because you want to, then how can you deny both of you?

"Jack."

You breathe in cedar.

"Sleepy, what in the hell is this?"

The next shift is a good shift. The kind that runs smooth and quiet, and Jack feels need in his throat. What, you may ask? Good question. He doesn’t know. But he won’t go looking for an answer. It’s been a good shift. 

Jack, as usual, is dry-witted, and you’ve been laughing in a way that makes Dana more than once, smiling faintly at the inside jokes and medically-based flirtations between the two of you. You bump your shoulder into his when he grumbles at your handwriting on a chart. He tries not to smile and pretends not to watch you when you turn. 

The ease of it all sits under the night he dropped you off and carried you inside, where he had to press his hand against your scrub top to find your keys. Neither of you dares to lift said ease. You both assume it’s because the other doesn’t care to. Both of you are right. So, there’s that usual, perfect rhythm of nurse and doctor, that trust, and now that quiet, dangerous acceptance of whatever the hell you two are seeping through. 

“Your notes are in all caps. Again.”

“That’s just passion. You should try it sometime.”

“If I have passion, it comes in black ink. Not red or pink.” 

“Pity.”

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

You swear you’re not breaking bad. 

You were really planning to get to work with anything that wasn’t your two feet, this time. But for the first time ever, your luck would have you, the bus ends up being twenty minutes early before you can catch it after you were called in. You had to make a choice. Jack…you guess he’d be satifised with the way you thought of his offers (demands) first, but you knew today was his one day off. You would think he appreciates the way you thought about him with consideration. 

An uber would’ve taken twenty minutes to get to you when it would take you twenty or so minutes to find yourself just in time for work. You made a choice, and really, it’s not the worst when you’re walking with the sun coming up instead of going down. It’s beautiful, honestly. You nearly forget what Jack would say, and you definitely can’t focus on the ache in your feet with how the glow of golden rises over Pittsburgh’s steel and brick bones. 

You almost collapse from pure frustration when you hear the rumble pull up to the curb just behind you. 

How? Possibly how? 

You turn, ready to find another excuse for Jack, but you don’t find him, and the slighter engine purr makes sense–because it’s Robby with his motorcycle. He kills the engine. 

…His choice in transport is really something. 

“Hey.” Finding him at your side is less with anxiousness and more with a pleasant, friendly curiosity. More with something casual and less with the need to grasp for what makes you feel…safe. 

“Hey, Robby.”

You smile when Robby does, even though his is slight. 

“Listen, I know Abbot probably sounds like a broken record by now, but I’ll have to agree with him. I don’t know how you find this sort of stroll…suitable. You good?”

“Yep, just got roped into picking up an morning half-shift. I was gonna grab a bus ride and missed it, because I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

Robby nods, then his noses scrunches under a blink or two. 

“Well, didn’t know I was gonna pick up trouble today. Come on. If you want, but I’ve already found you.” 

You laugh. “You’re a menace.” 

Robby’s smile grows thinner. You watch his hands on his handlebars tighten. 

“You’re flattering.” He says it with a quiet, casual sarcasm before pulling out–oh. Oh no. “We’re both heading to work, and you were lucky enough to not let Pittsburgh Transit devour you up. C’mon, I’ll take you…if you’d like.” 

He holds out his spare helmet. Your hand tightens over the strap of your tote. 

“It hasn’t been used by anyone…so. If you’re, you know, worried about headlice. I’d, uh, hope any future person I’d potentially ride with wouldn’t be likely to have them.” 

Your smile falters. 

“I’ve actually never been on one of those.” 

“Damn, you are a good girl.”

You roll your eyes to the point you can’t see Robby already regretting his own quip, eyes closing shut for a half-second. 

“No, I get it. I’m kinda surprised by how many people at work haven’t ridden one at least once before.” 

“I mean, it is a motorcycle, Robby. And they just always seemed... dangerous.” 

You think Robby’s listening to you in the way he keeps a slight nod before tilting his head from side to side, but if he’s anything like Jack, which God, you know the both of them are like each other more than they want to admit, you know he won’t let it go. He probably won’t end up berating you onto his motorcycle or end up carrying into the Pitt, but you just know he’s gonna push, and it might work, because you’re you and Robby’s Robby. 

Your friend whom you trust.

“I will go slow. Take no unnecessary journeys. And I…drive like I suture.” 

“Jagged?” 

You let yourself laugh when Robby scoffs. “Hey.”

When he hands you the helmet, you study it in your hold before looking at the sidewalk ahead. 

You hear his voice in the back of your head–gruff, dry, concerned and knowing, but you push it down. 

You’ve accepted whatever Jack is to you, and you’ve done more than accept whatever he makes you feel, but the fact his voice is the first to pop in your head at the fear of riding a motorcycle instead swallows you with something overwhelming. 

And also, Robby’s your friend. And to deny him is to deny exceptional E.R skills, or his occasional kindness and constant sharp sarcasm, or the fact you want to get closer to him. Something like that. 

“Okay. Just this once. I better not owe you anymore lemon bars."

Robby’s brows raise when you take the helmet and try to buckle it, and despite everything you just thought to justify this, you nearly regret taking up his offer at the way you’re definitely buckling this thing up wrong. 

“Oh. She trusts me. Let’s not tell Abbot.” 

“I won’t if you won’t.” 

You can tell he’s close to sighing and you know why when his hand is hesitant to reach out. 

“Help me out here, attending.” 

You watch Robby smile the way one does at a stranger they accidentally make eye contact with before dropping it when he gently fixes the buckle. You climb carefully on the back–arms hesitating, then wrapping around his waist, and it’s not so awkward when you can feel his body through the layers of jackets and scrubs and long sleeves over. 

You don’t feel the weight of him, really, and your mind automatically drifts to a question: How did the weight of you feel in Jack’s arms? 

That swallows you too.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

There’s nothing else like spending your night off at work. Jack will feel less about it later, knowing that…what? Therapy sessions and lying at home reading or sleeping isn’t this. Still, he’s thankful for the shift to end, at least lying at home means he can take off his prosthetic for more than ten minutes. He took a guilty twenty in pedes when it was empty. 

He walks out of the entrance with Dana, who’s mid-sentence concerning something ridiculous Whitaker did with charting, because Whitaker on nightshift rotation is hilarious. Whatever the mistake, it was slight enough to go without attending reprimand and humorous enough to make Jack smirk. 

That’s when his eyes flicker toward the far end of the lot. 

Robby’s parking with someone pressed up against his back. 

You.

You pull off a black helmet, your hair tumbling out as you laugh with cheeks flushed from the wind. Robby follows you just after. Also helmeted as he grins slight. He kicks the stand. 

What in the actual fuck?

Jack takes in a breath he doesn’t let go. He slows mid-step. 

“You good, Abbot?” 

When his jaw locks, it almost aches as much as his leg, but he doesn’t even blink as Dana follows his gaze. Jack thinks she’s wincing dramatically in his peripheral. 

“Oh. Oh…no.” Dana puts her hands on her hips. “Calling Nurse and Doctor Sunshine to trauma one, leave the ride behind. Jesus Christ, how’d he get sunbeam on that thing? 

What the fuck are you doing? Why would you do this?

“He wants to die? Okay. That’s unfortunate. He does that?”

His near-casual, throaty spat comes out easier that it would’ve been keeping it in, and maybe there’s something opposite to the external telling Jack what he said was too much, because his shoulders roll, and deep down he knows he’s just being mean as hell to be mean as hell. 

 “Jesus, Jack.”

Evans is the external something. Jack lifts his head back. “It’s the truth. That is…absolute insanity. Dana?”

“...I think I left something inside.” 

Dana disappears back into the E.R and it’s nothing but Jack’s chance to start walking towards the both of you.

For the sake of keeping his anger high, he pretends that this is solely about you getting on a fucking motorcycle. Because it is. Why are you getting on a motorcycle? You. Fucking you. 

Why are you doing this to him. 

“What is this, a midlife crisis field trip?” 

Again. Being mean for the sake of being mean, cause Jack knows it isn’t that, but it’s what gets you to look up at him surprised with Robby sighing something low. 

“Robby, what the hell, man?” His voice goes nearly high. 

“Oh, c’mon, Abbot. She needed a ride–” 

“No. Yeah. As she usually does. But a motorcycle? You–” His head snaps towards you. “Robby, you want to risk your own neck for a Harley, fine–but bringing someone else on that suicide ride? Why the hell would you agree to that?

The words thrown towards both you cut harder than he means it to, but it’s what he feels in his gut, because why?

He keeps himself sturdy when Robby scoffs. 

“Sunshine, help me out here. She is…we’re adults.” Robby crosses his arms. “She needed a ride, Jack. It was either that or be late waiting for a cab or walking again. Which is what you were worked up about. Sooo…don’t really understand the fucking issue. This? This right here is what we talked about–” 

“You talked about this?”

Robby’s reply is what Jack would expect, maybe what he deserves, that voice that’s tingy and knowing, not loud–but definite in a bite. Still. Fuck him. 

His head tilts towards you, voice towards you–

“Why didn’t you call me? Seriously?”

You shift. He watches your arms cross over your chest. “I didn’t know you were working tonight, and again, wouldn’t make sense to make you pick me up to drive to the place you came from. Seriously, you’re not supposed to be working–and we were…safe, Jack. Helmets. He went slow, I held on, I–” 

Just took the first chance to wrap yourself around Robby?

That thought scares Jack as much as it makes his fist clench. 

“You think that matters when a car cuts you off and you skid thirty feet into a curb?” He doesn’t stop eyeing your focus when he hears Robby scoff again. “And hey, okay. You hitched a ride on the back on what you called a deathtrap because you thought you wouldn’t be caught by me?” 

Robby nods shakily. It’s not from nerves, it’s from that growing, steady impatience that’ll probably make his voice go sharp. 

“...Being caught? Jack, what is this? You sound like an aggressive PSA and a dad and it’s as offensive as it is confusing. Definitely wouldn’t have guessed this reaction from the first time I talked to you about my bike. Which. I do prefer honesty. But…you wanted her off the street. We were safe. You shouldn’t even be entitled to my justifications right now. I’m surprised that I even care enough to feel offended, because this conversation should be treated as bullshit…but because I wanted you settled, man–I…she did exactly what you wanted—she took help–”

His eyes don’t leave you, even when bits of Robby’s rant shakes him, triggers him. 

He couldn’t know that you see something feral flickering behind them—something you can’t shake or he can’t help. 

Something he wouldn’t want to help if he could. 

“You think this is help?” He jabs a finger at the motorcycle like it’s something obscene. “You think putting her on the back of that thing is better than a cab? Or the bus?” 

“It was explained. There was no chance for a bus or cab or uber or fucking…you, man.” Robby lifts his hands in what’s probably exasperation. 

Not him. No chance for him, huh? 

“I figured—”

“You figured what?” Jack cuts in, voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “That it’d be fun? That she’d enjoy it? That–” 

“That she’d get to fucking work!” 

Robby’s arms go up as his yell booms across the lot. Jack’s not scared by it. 

…But yeah, even in his stone rage that he’s sure he’s right to have, Jack knows that was warranted. 

What’s warranted to is the feeling of hot coals in his stomach when you grab Robby’s arm, comforting him–like he’s not the one that convinced you to go on a death trap. 

Like Jack’s not the one who’s vision when black when the motorcycle came speeding in. Like it’s not his heart that’s slamming against his fucking ribs for you right now. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? What are you doing to him?

“Robby–” 

Your mutter is barely heard when Robby shifts the weight of his legs, looking up at the sky. “Nothing happened.” 

Robby knows there’s more to say, that really, this shouldn’t matter in the first place, that he should not be on trial and it’s already ridiculous he’s letting himself sit in the face of Jack’s fucking jury, but that’s not gonna do any good, is it? 

“Nothing. Happened.” 

“...That’s not the point, Robby.” 

“The point doesn’t matter, but…I’m gonna ask you what it is anyway. Just so we can get it out of the way.”

Jack opens his mouth. Closes it. 

He sees the real point in the way you keep your hand, which manages to stay soft somehow even though you scrub your palms to shit with antiseptic and sanitizer like everyone else, on Robby’s bicep. 

It’s not that fact something could’ve happened. 

It’s the fact he can’t see you with someone else like this. Even if it’s just a ride. Even if it’s just a ride he’d rather you have than needing to walk alone in the fucking dark. 

Even if it’s Robby. Especially because it’s Robby. And the guy gave you a ride. A thrill–even if he’s just taking you to work as he so humbly did today. 

Something primal and ugly claws up his throat, looking at where you touch him.

“I don’t give a damn what you ride, Robby. But if you convince others to get thrown in what is a statistically dangerous hobby, try remembering they might be worth more intact.”

Robby goes still before he runs a hand down his face. 

And for the first time, Jack doesn’t want to look at you. 

“...Jack–” 

So. He turns away, stalking back to his truck before he can say something worse and learn how to find it the right thing to say later. He climbs in, slams the door.

And when he looks in the mirror, he sees you two standing together—your hand on Robby’s arm? He finds a realization sliding sharp under his ribs. 

He’s not gonna stop wanting you, even if it turns him into a fucking asshole.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

It's the next day. Or the next. Apologies are in order. Are they given? No. Jack will claim this is how men are. But shit, for men? He and Robby do a pretty good job of communicating.

The night shift has finally slowed to a manageable hum, which is not that surprising, even when Robby ended up having to share it with Abbot. They’re mature enough, yeah? Still, he’d be impressed if he found it important. 

God. He’s never seen Jack like that before. Ever. There have been points of time of snappy, semi-quiet bouts of professional frustration, towards him and others, but what happened the other day was…something else. And it’s taking a hold on him. 

Because Robby catches Jack in a supply closet. He’s organizing, settling a neatness between surgical gloves and IV kits–and it’s the 12th weirdest thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

“We good, Abbot? You good?” 

Obviously not, because one of the busiest men on earth, a man who craves chaos as much as it eats at him on occasion is alphabetizing medical supplies. But Robby has to ask anyway. He could pretend he’s better than the ache in his chest rising at the sight–the one that creeped in when you climbed off the back of his bike, hair tangled from the ride, cheeks flushed and alive in a way that could’ve been funny to look at.

That ache that he felt ridiculous for having in the first place when that moment was ruined with the look on Jack’s face. 

Like someone had pulled a pin from a grenade he’d been holding inside. That someone being Robby when he just offered you a fucking ride. 

Robby steps into the supply room, letting the door swing shut behind him before crossing his arms. He can tell Jack’s already tense in the shoulders, his back set like concrete as he rummages in the cabinet. 

“I’m fine, Robby. We’re fine.” 

…Robby’s gonna try for humor first. Try to pretend the knot in his own chest isn’t there and that he’s not expecting an apology. 

“If organizing the supply closets was added onto attending responsibilities, I missed the memo. And I’m also fucked.” 

…No answer. Jack doesn’t even glance over his shoulder. Robby leans one shoulder against the doorframe. 

He should just walk away, because this will die. And it’s not important. 

But he can still see your face when you thanked him for the ride. That sorta…soft and tired and relieved look. And then you looked up at Jack when he came striding across the street. 

Like you knew exactly how bad you were gonna get it for accepting a ride from a person you trusted. 

That can’t happen again. Not just because it’s uncharacteristically unprofessional as shit concerning Jack Abbot, but you don’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that. 

“You came at me like I put her on a live grenade, man. And I know we’ll get over this without dragging it back up, but if she’s gonna get lectured like she’s 12 years old every time she comes into the parking on a ride that isn’t yours–” 

Jack closes the cabinet shut. Not hard enough to be a slam, but loud enough to make a point. He turns to do what he does so well, focus his eyes on anothers. Robby sighs. 

He doesn’t have time for this. But he’s making time for his friend. And you. 

“You put her on a machine with two wheels and no shell. Don’t act like I overreacted. I–”

…Heat crawls up his neck. It’s annoyance, yeah. Maybe, but it’s something that really doesn’t need to be as deep at it is right now. 

But Jack’s a good guy, he owes Robby this much–the ability to see just how fucking annoyed his is. 

“...There were parts of what I was saying that other day that were aggressively…unneeded. I’m not oblivious. The suicide ride quip, that was…” 

“That kinda fucked me up, Jack.” 

“I know. I know–” Jack looks to the ground, eyes straightening out on the tile. “...It’s a motorcycle, Robby. You have every right to ride one. And yeah, she has every right to accept a ride from you or from anyone…but it’s a motorcycle.”

Robby doesn’t nod or shift. He blinks once. “I know.” 

Jack shakes his head stiffly as it lifts back in slight. “...And I just can’t fucking stand it. And I end up overreacting. I give a wonderful performance in our trauma center parking lot because I can’t stand it.” 

“I know.”

“And…you know–” For a rare moment, Jack almost looks uncertain in what he’s gonna say. Crazy stuff, but Robby can make that…it’s not him being unsure in his words, it’s him unsure in if he should say them. 

“...You know how I am with her. You know.” 

Robby’s eyes narrow to the shelf beside them in an instant. He pushes himself off the doorfame, hands in his pockets. 

“No, brother. I don’t.” 

Jack’s brow furrows, the confusion is too obvious flickering across his face. 

“Do not bullshit me, Robby. You, unfortunately, have known me longer than anyone here and it’d be you to pick out what’s exactly going on with me and her–” 

“Yeah. I have. I have, man.” 

He’s known Jack long enough to care about the guy. He’s known him long enough to really, really wish that whatever is going on between you and him is something he couldn’t bother to acknowledge, but it’s something else, something that he and others are gonna be able to ignore anymore. 

Something that Jack stopped ignoring a long time ago, to hold it in his fists. Long, long time ago. 

“I’ve known you long enough to see the way you look at her. Act around her. Sometimes it’s endearing, sometimes it’s concerning! It’s…” 

Robby’s voice is flat, tired. Cause he’s really, really tired. “It’s every patient of hers you deem too aggressive when you don’t even have to be there. It’s that very, very obvious jealousy when she laughs with Whitaker or King.” He counts it off on his fingers. Yeah. Like it’s something he’s rehearsed in his head. “But then you’ll have dry flirtations–” He gestures vaguely to…something. “The little gifts, the dumb as shit nicknames and it’s almost like something people can ignore.”

He pauses, he sits in what he’s just spat out in something that’s nearly facetious, but mostly something that’s making Robby realize what this is. His hands drop, his head drifts to the tile before he remembers he’s an adult, and he should look at the person he’s talking to. 

Jack’s wearing the blankest expression he’s ever seen. 

“...And you get at me in the parking lot because I picked her off the street, something you berated her for. And I could tell you over and over again that I rode safe. Slow, that I wouldn’t have her or anyone else in danger, but I also know that it doesn’t matter to you, because it’s not the fact she took up a ride, it’s because she held onto me. That’s what you saw? That’s what you can’t stand–” 

“Robby.” 

Robby stills in his breath before focusing on how his and Jack’s gaze lock. He’s obviously tired, cornered, but still sharp. 

Desperate to justify something he knows he shouldn’t. 

Robby blinks, his mouth thins. 

“And then you look at her like you’ve already decided something for both of you.” 

Jack closes his eyes. Robby regrets nothing and everyone. 

You wish not to be bothered with acknowledging him and her, but you notice every bit. You are hilarious. 

Jack's voice is ragged when it crawls out of his throat. 

“So you do know.” 

“No.” Robby drops his hands to his sides. “I know what it looks like. But I…I don’t know what to call it, Jack.”

He watches Jack search his face as he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know the name for this because it’s not normal.” He can already feel his voice gentling without a softness Robby doesn’t think he can muster if he tried. “And even if I did know the name, it wouldn’t matter.”

Jack blinks once. 

“Why?”

…Jesus fucking Christ. 

Robby tries to make his gaze steady and unflinching, exhaling with every other way. 

“Because the way you’re starting to act is unacceptable.”

He doesn’t catch it. 

The way Jack flinches. 

“You have to care about that. I’m telling you this as your friend.” He gestures between them, helpless. “This thing you’re doing—hovering over her, cutting off every exit, lashing out at anyone who gets near—”

His jaw tightens. 

“It doesn’t matter what you call it. It doesn’t matter that you know how you are with her. You can’t keep going like this.”

They stand in between the humming of the walls. And yeah. Robby doesn’t feel any better with what he’s said. But hey. It’s communication. 

Jack’s hand comes up on the metal shelf beside him. It flexes. 

“I didn’t ask for this.” 

Robby’s chest goes tight. 

He thinks about the first week he met you, when your skills rivaled those of a 2nd year resident, when you put him under a load of disbelief. 

He thinks about you in his kitchen for five minutes when you dropped off lemon bars just because, as if that’s an actual fucking reason. How you caught him when his loneliness was less casual and more pathetic looking, where his lone microwave was still steaming on the kitchen table, but you smile like you weren’t thinking how fucking alone he was. 

It had been easy it had been to let you in, even when Robby knew he shouldn’t.

When he remembers the feel of your arms around him, your cheek resting against his back. How natural it had felt…how much he’d liked it.

Robby told himself–tells himself it didn’t mean anything. Whatever he felt. 

Doesn’t have to mean anything, no matter what he feels. 

But standing here, watching Jack come apart. God, kid, he’s not so sure anymore.

Yeah. None of us did.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

It’s past midnight, and in the fluorescent glow of every floor, the Pitt feels like it always does at this hour–too bright with man-made sunlight. But earlier, you were laughing with Mel in the hallway, a giddy and awkward rush of shared jokes about a patient who swore the candlestick up his ass got there by accident. 

It’s almost a normal shift, like you’re just another nurse in a chaotic E.R that you wouldn’t choose to escape. You hope your shaking hands don’t look as obvious as they feel. 

But now it’s just you and Jack. And the airy silence, of course. Yippee. 

You know it would’ve had to have been confronted at some point, that you would’ve had to find enough courage in you to make your anger about what happened with him and Robby known. You’re impressed, really. You didn’t think your doctor would beat you to it. 

“ I wasn’t fair. About the bike. About Robby.”

He’s standing by the lockers, arms folded tight across the chest with a scratch to his elbow. He doesn’t look right away, but when he does, you feel it like always. 

His stare goes straight through you. A shiver shoots down your spine. 

You press your thighs together. 

“No, not really.” 

“I shouldn’t have…acted the way I did in the parking out. It wasn’t just unprofessional, it was…mean. See? I know enough to use a juvenile word to describe what an asshole I was.” 

“And why the sudden realization?” 

“...It was brought to my attention, and denial is pointless.” 

You shift your weight, clutching the strap of your bag. 

You feel it–the words you should say pressing down on the pink of your tongue. Something rightfully rational and grown-up. 

Yes. You overreacted. You made me feel like a child. You were awful to Robby in a way I couldn’t think was possible. It isn’t fair. You were an asshole. And I know it’s coming from a place I was to crawl into, but you can’t act like this. 

But no, you step closer instead, because the truth is…

You know now that that part of you is small and shameful. 

It’s what makes you like how much he cares. Even if it comes out wrong or feels too big. 

It’s why you’ve been sleeping with his blanket for the past week. 

“Well…you were just being you.” 

Your throat tightens around the softness of your words. 

“It’s just another end of the gruff, quietly concerned cowboy.” 

And even though you could buckle under his stare, you watch Jack blink in startle. Like he wasn’t expecting her to tease him as she always does. 

Settle. Loosen. 

And even when he’s the one in the wrong, find yourself wanting to make him smirk down at you. 

“Cowboy again?” 

Jack says it dryly. Your mouth curves. 

“Big ol’ boots and an unrelenting stare. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

And you’ll leave it at that, because you don’t think you’ll ever tell him that it’s that stare and the worry and that entitled, raw possession that makes you feel…seen, even when it shouldn’t. 

When it makes you feel wanted. 

Protected. Claimed. 

God, you know–that’s not healthy. You’re not supposed to feel any of it, but hey. At least you can name that part of you now. And you know exactly all the reasons as to why you shouldn’t tell Jack about them. 

Except for one, you couldn’t know. You couldn’t know that if you told him, that’d only fuel him more. 

Jack’s expression softens, and you can tell that he’s trying not to smile. 

He fails. 

“It still doesn’t excuse how I spoke to you. Or Robby. It won’t happen again.”

The locket room hums around the both of you. 

“...Unless you knowingly get on a bike you called a death trap. That, I’ll have to report your lapse in judgement to…someone.”

When he stretches his hand out to pull you up from the bench, you take the moment to study Jack’s face. The lines around his eyes, the tired and chiseled slope of his jaw and shoulders, and the way you don’t think he’ll ever not meet your gaze. 

It’s all that and then some as to why you can’t help but feel warmed at everything he does–everything that should be named a mistake but isn’t. 

It’s why you’ll never waste a moment to see if Jack Abbot can blush–why this moment of bravery exists. 

Why you kiss the back of his hand when you take it. 

His fingers are scarred and strong–and they clench when you press your lips to the soft hairs at his knuckles. 

Cedar. Sweat. And everything nice. 

When you realize how harshly your heart is pounding against your ears, you realize just how stupid this might’ve been. Your eyes widen. 

This assurance in stupidity is especially true when Jack jerks suddenly. Smoothly, but in a second where you’re thinking–

Oh, fuck me. 

You're already pressing fumbled apologies to the back of your teeth, but before you can pull away from the moment where you think it’s like your lips burned him–

Jack’s fingers wrap around your wrist. 

It’s not exactly a grip, but he squeezes. 

Your eyes are already locked on his, and you think they’re darker under the dim light. They have to be. 

You want to collapse. There’s nothing but the feeling of fire against the pit of your belly, and your hands, and your thighs–

“Jack? I–”

Whatever you were going to say, which couldn’t have been anything at all, is broken in the air when Jack begins pulling. Not to stop you. 

…But to turn your palm upward, exposing the soft center of your palm.

Your breath hitches. 

He lowers his mouth to your skin. 

His lips brush the base of your fingers, firm and unshaking, then trail gently to the center of your hand. 

He’s returning your kiss. 

“...I’m working a double. I-I know you’re not–” 

“No.” 

Jack’s eyes close when his mouth presses deeper, like he’s savouring something, and it takes everything in you not to slip a soft moan against this moment. 

And it takes everything in you not to think about the way his voice went high and cracked when he found you on the back of Robby’s bike. How his words hadn’t sounded like anger so much as terror. As both, and how that should’ve made you mad. Maybe it did. 

But it’s so easy to remember that white-hot, belly need to close the distance between the two of you. Say…

It’s okay, Jack. I’m here. And I like that you’re here for me. 

“But we’re coming and leaving at the same time on Tuesday. Right?”

His eyes are unblinking against yours when he opens them again. You nod so quickly that it’ll embarrass you when you think about it before bed. But with the way his mouth feels about your flesh, his dry, deepening lips? The ends justify the means. 

“Well.” 

It’s only fire along every crevice of yours when his nose presses into your knuckles. 

“Thank God for that.”

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

My girl, my girl, my girl.

Jack’s running late. Again. This time, it’s on account of you, sleepy. 

You know him, if there’s anything he takes a sick pride in, it’s his punctuality–but tonight…he lingered in the front of his apartment complex. Just tapping away at the wheel at his other hand rested on the edge of his phone. 

You make him feel like a little boy who can’t sit still. Absolutely ridiculous. He’s nervous. The last time he went to work nervous was…never. Not even on his first day, it’s so expected of Jack that he’s sure he doesn’t take sick pride in that. 

You make him not quite brave enough to text you. Something. Anything. Anything that’ll give him more of you. 

Sleepy, sleepy. 

The way you looked at him yesterday, kid. Smiling in that soft, resigned way when you called him your cowboy, finding your way back to the light or something like it, letting go of his…okay. He’ll call them mistakes. For now. For your sake. 

But the memory and your kiss are what makes him, for the time ever, very sure that he’s allowed to think of you on his way to work. 

“Can afford those rims, but not new headlights? Right. On.” 

…He’s telling himself he’ll do better. So there’s that. 

He’ll stop snapping every time you step out of line when it comes to your safety. He’ll make sure there is no line. That’s weird. He’ll stop you from watching the back of your head across the trauma bay like you’re the only thing tethering him to the fucking floor. That’s weird too, especially when he had his teaching and the good days and his crew and every slight good thing about him tethering him to the floor first. 

He would do better. He will. 

Jack’s not gonna risk whatever you gave me yesterday. Not any way in hell. He owes you that. 

…And with the way you touched him, with the way you didn’t leave after an apology he had to burn out of him–maybe he owes himself that too. 

Jack merges onto the main drag. His hand flexes. When did his hand get so hairy? And scarred?

If I can. 

If I want to– 

“Oh. Very nice on that turn.” He nearly whispers his road rage. “Asshat.”

…He’s not gonna look under the rug of promises. What’s that gonna do?

Under the I’ll be better’s, under the I’ll let you breathe, he’s gonna find some useless truth. 

Something like the idea that he’s not going to want to stop. 

That Jack…likes how it feels to be the one you look to when things get ugly. Because you do, right? You accepted his bare-bones apologies with your lips on his hand. You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t. 

His eyes glance to the passenger seat, where your hair clip from the night he drove you home lies next to a folder and his ham sandwich. 

He did mean to give it back. 

Maybe I can still be her cowboy. 

It’s a wry thought. 

Just a little less fucking unhinged. 

He doesn’t blink when the scanner crackles dispatch static. It’s something he’s trained himself to tune out unless it catches wind of the worst disasters.

So. Jack doesn’t know why tonight’s words cut through the air. 

“Unit 14, be advised: Motor vehicle accident. Motorcycle involved. Two confirmed. Severe trauma inflicted on female passenger. EMS has arrived on scene.”

Jack’s head cocks to the side as he stares straight forward. It’s his body’s own doing, a reaction he doesn’t understand. 

Because this is Pittsburgh. There’s already been a fire, a stabbing. A car flipped over on 28. It’s a city that never runs out of ways to bleed people dry and keep the beds at the Pitt full. 

“Repeat: Motorcycle collision. Female passenger is unresponsive. Male rider attempting to interfere with EMS. Confirm blocking lanes and priority traffic.”

He knows better, which is why he doesn’t understand how the blood from his knuckles ends up disappearing. He doesn’t understand that until he realizes he’s been gripping the wheel. 

It’s nothing. It is absolutely fucking nothing. Stop the internal panic. Stop acting like you’re gonna fucking collapse. 

…Jack knows better. 

“Confirm accident is at intersection of Carson and 22nd.” 

And on cue, he hears the sirens four blocks away. 

Jack lowers his head in one curt nod as feels his muscles tense in the way they do when he realizes a patient is gonna be more of a challenge than he first thought. That useful, nerved feeling that only gets in the way of logic and ability. 

Anxiety. He can name that. You’ll be proud of him when he sees you in the Pitt. 

Because you will be there, curled up at the nurses station, complaining about the cold as if you didn’t trudge the small of you through it because you’re too good. You will be there. Jack will see you. 

He will see Robby there too, and he’ll pass that sorry sight of a motorcycle crash–one that he’s probably gonna be in charge of by the time he gets to work. 

Yeah. This is it. A ridiculous and unneeded point of anxiety in his chest. One he’s gonna regret by the time he pulls into the Pitt because it is his fault. He shouldn’t be feeling it. 

Jack presses the gas pedal. He runs a red light. He pulls out his phone, eyes flickering up at the window and down at his thigh as he types with a stiff, hot hand. His hand shouldn’t be this hot. 

‘On my way. can meet me at the front ent rance?’

You’re already at the Pitt. Or hell, he’ll catch you walking the streets again. That’s fine too. That’s perfect. 

‘I know this is an od d requst but can you just call me?’

‘Sleepy’ 

And like that, Jack doesn’t even realize he turned onto Carson until he sees the flashing lights. Two ambulances. 

No. God. 

He throws the truck into park. His tires scream as he does. 

It’s like someone put a bomb under Robby’s motorcycle. 

It’s in pieces–half crumbled against a lamppost, the other half smoking in the gutter. Glass and blood make the asphalt glitter. 

The paramedics crouch over two bodies.

Jack shoves the door open as he storms forward. A red haze–red as the road, swims behind his eyes. 

There’s so much blood. 

More blood than he’s seen in his worst cases. Splashed up the curbs, smeared in arcs and black cracks. 

How the hell is it everywhere?

Jack chokes on his own breath as he walks in a stiffened pace that’s telling the ache in his prosthetic to go fuck itself. As he does, he realizes what that cracked-open black half-moon thing is. It’s thirty feet away from the scene. 

The helmet. The helmet you wore. 

There’s a chunk of your hair stuck to the visor.

He shouts out your name. He doesn’t register that it’s almost a cry. 

He crosses the last few feet at a run, not because he recognizes the first body to be Robby. 

“Just le-let me help her, man! I promise…I-I’m a doctor, I work at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center–” 

His face is ash-gray, a strip of skin peeling off his cheekbone. His scrub top is soaked near-black at the shoulder. He’s fighting the medics as they try to pull him onto a gurney. But he’s fighting none-the-fucking-less, streaky gash on the hairline and all. 

The blood on the road can’t possibly all be from him. Why the fuck is there so much of it?

What did he let happen to you?

“We know who you are, Dr. Robinavitch. We’ve met a few times, remember? You need to let them help her and us help you, okay?” 

No. Jack runs with his vision tunneling in and out towards the scene, because the next body he recognizes is you. 

His girl. In all his failure. 

You’re sprawled on your side, crumpled like someone folded you in half and dropped you to watch you spread. Your hair’s soaked red. It streaks your throat. 

He can’t remember if you had your hair in a braid or ponytail yesterday. 

You’re glistening and caked with blood and broken bits in the way he’s only seen patients he ends up coding for hours. You. Sunshine. Sunbeam. Sleepy. 

Oh God. God. Why would you expect him to believe in you when you let this happen to her? 

Why would Jack let this happen to you? 

He stands over you at your right leg–right where it’s twisted at an impossible angle under your hip. Your left leg, your tibia, has snapped against your skin. Not enough to make bone jut out, but enough. 

And your face, your face–

“...I could care that you’re unusually pretty.” 

“No?” 

“Not here. By the end of shift, that face will be covered in blood, vomit, or some other fluid you’d be better off not naming. It doesn’t matter.” 

“...So you’re saying I’d trigger the senses if you took me out of here?” 

“...Can you finish your chart?”

One cheek’s caked in road grime, the other’s split from eyebrow to chin with your eye swollen shut. 

Jack’s focus goes black around the edges, but he catches a drop of water falling to the ground. 

“...Sir?” 

Your abdomen’s rising unevenly and too shallow, and Jack knows without touching you that your lung’s collapsing already. 

But you’re breathing. You’re alive. His girl’s alive. 

“...Dr. Abbot?”

“BP?” 

He doesn’t catch the way the medic startles at the bark. He just drops to his knees to do what he does best. 

“Gloves.” 

“...Dr. Abbot–” 

“Gloves. Now!”

If these medics were any older or more experienced enough to fight Jack’s protocol breach, they’d have a problem on their hands. 

He’s given gloves in a second and putting them on in the next. 

He ignores the cold under his gloves when he presses two fingers to your carotid. Rapid. Thready. He ignores anything that could make him pause or remember just how fucked this situation, because you don’t deserve that. He was already pushing it by standing over you for more than five seconds. 

“Hey…Jack?” 

Robby’s voice is made up of glassy shock. 

And suddenly…Jack feels like his own skull is going to split. 

“She–she was behind me, okay? They ran the light. She–”

It’s slurry and desperate from the throat, and Jack doesn’t look at him. 

Really, he can’t even know how he doesn’t trust what he’d do if he did. 

“Jack. I’m sorry–s-she–”

He can see out of the corner of his eye that Robby’s gesturing at the medic trying to staunch the blood at your scalp. 

“I tried–God, I was trying to…to tell them, they need a thor–”

“Thoracostomy kit. Now.” 

The medic’s blanching. Jack narrows his eyes at them. 

Are you really making me take my eyes off her? 

“Dr. Abbot–” 

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

Jack says it low in his throat, unblinking with a tilted head forward. 

He takes the oxygen mask he’s handed before the kit’s thrust into his palm.

He fits it over your mouth. Rasps out your name. 

Your lashes flutter. Your eyes roll in the back of your back.

No. He’s wrong. 

“Look at me.” 

Jack’s not ignoring the things that could make him collapse, he’s just not collapsing. 

Jack rips the kit open as your blood soaks the knees of his pants. His gloved fingers map your ribs. He counts the intercostal spaces. 

He finds the fifth. He plants his palm. 

He closes his eyes for a second. Then three. 

For the next ten seconds, you’re waiting for him at the Pitt. You walked from your apartment. Your hair is braided. 

You’ll come home with him by the end of the night, but for now, you’re where he can always find you. 

Where you’ll always be able to find him. 

“On my count, pressure release.” 

One. Two. Three. 

Jack makes the incision in a clean, practiced motion. He can hear the blood hissing around his fingers. 

The chest rises a fraction deeper. 

He hunches over before he can hear the medic swallow their spit. 

“We’re gonna load her.”

Nine, ten. 

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off you. “I’m coming.” 

“Dr. Abbot–

Jack looks up. The ambulance radio crackles. 

When the medic nods, he has to try his hardest not to let his prosthetic disconnect when he rises with no groan. 

“I’m fine, man. I ca-can help her. Everyth-everything on me’s a clean break or a slow bleeder–”

“Dr. Robby, we’re gonna load you in too–”

“We’re going the same way–” 

“Robby.” 

When Robby looks up with glassy eyes and glassed skin, he sees Jack looking at him. 

…Not now, because the pity and worry for Robby that evaporated at the sight of you? 

Every ounce of it finds its way back to Jack when he sees his brother. Still slumped, blinking dully at the wreckage. 

“Shut up and let them help you.”

…Nearly all of it.

He turns back before he can see Robby trying to peek over at where you’re being lifted, and Jack has to flex his hands not to grab onto you. But as they lift you, your limp hand falls against his chest. 

Your little sniper fingers leave a smear of blood over his scrub top. And a second…he’s gotta be allowed to close his hand around yours. Just for a second, kid. 

“...Dr. Abbot, please don’t touch her cheek unless it’s medically needed.”

In the second, he’ll allow a thought, too. And maybe he’ll kill it with his hands. Maybe he won’t. He’s not really thinking about that when he has to make sure you’re alive. And with what Jack saw on the street…

Oh. He’s allowed. 

It’s a clear thought, clear as the sirens screaming in his ears. 

He’s not going to stop. He’s not going to let go. He’s not going to make himself less for the sake of anyone. Because he’d been right. Jack had always been right.

This is what happens when you pretend someone else can keep you safe. And he’s not going to stop needing to be the only one who can keep you safe. 

Because…well. Look. 

When he tries, the world reminds him exactly how close it is to taking you away from him. 

[beautifulandvoid]

Stay with me

parings. michael robinavitch x reader

warnings. age gap (michael early 50s, reader early 30s), traumatic birth, hospital setting, nobody dies, michael is mess and constantly stressed, other pitt characters, reader gets described as pale in a medical sense no mentions of outright skin color or hair type, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. this ones a doosey to make up for not writing for our sad boy! I love this and I'm happy I got to fulfill yet another request from you guys! I love y'all so much, and remember that all feedback is appreciated and to please enjoy!

wc. 3800+

Maybe coming into work at thirty-nine weeks pregnant wasn’t the best idea.

But you were stubborn. Always had been. And despite everyone—especially Robby—telling you to stay home, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit around waiting for labor like a ticking time bomb. You hated the stillness. The wondering. The endless scrolling and anxious pacing.

So here you were, waddling through the automatic doors of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center like you weren’t a day past thirty weeks. Your badge still clipped to your belly, your sneakers swelling tighter by the hour, and your hair pulled into a bun that screamed "I tried... kind of."

“Seriously?” came Frank’s voice before you’d even made it to the nurses' station.

You didn’t even look up. “Good morning to you too.”

“You’re full term,” he said, falling into step beside you, black scrubs hugging his sturdy figure as per usual. “As in, literally any second now.”

You smiled at him over your shoulder, trying not to let the exhaustion show. “I’m fine. And I’m bored. Let me chart for a few hours. I’ll even sit down the whole time. Swear.”

“You know that’s a lie,” he shot back, snorting. “You’ll be helping lift gurneys and running labs by noon. Someone’s gonna find you chasing a trauma bed down the hallway.”

“Hey,” you said with a little huff, rubbing your back with one hand, “just because I’m growing a whole human doesn’t mean I forgot how to function.”

Frank just gave you a knowing look, which meant: we’ve all seen you trying to wedge yourself into the cafeteria chairs.

That’s when Robby appeared around the corner, clipboard in hand and eyes already narrowed. He didn’t even have to say anything—his expression screamed "Really?" Robby frowned, scanning you up and down. His hand hovered near your lower back, not quite touching but always close. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You tilted your head and gave him your most innocent look. “I’m on light duty. Promise.”

“I’d like to point out,” Langdon added, grinning as he peeled away toward the coffee cart, “that I tried.”

You plopped yourself into the nearest rolling chair with a dramatic sigh and swiveled toward Michael. “It’s either this or reorganizing the diaper drawer for the sixth time this week. I think the baby’s fine with me typing a few notes.”

Robby crouched down beside you, one knee on the floor like he did when checking patients, except this time his palm found your knee instead of a pulse point.

“You’re swollen. And your breathing is a little tight.” He raised an eyebrow. “How long were you on your feet this morning?”

“Like… twenty minutes.” You grinned. “That includes brushing my teeth and taking care of the dogs.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning his head against your leg. “You’re going to send me into cardiac arrest before this baby even gets here.”

You carded your fingers through his hair, soft and absentminded, brushing the strands back from his forehead. “You’re cute when you’re worried, old man.”

“I’m always worried,” he muttered. “Because you’re always doing something you shouldn’t.”

You didn’t argue. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong. You were already shifting, trying to pull up the electronic charts on the nurses’ station computer.

Michael gave your belly a light pat and stood, arms folding as he watched you with that quiet, hesitant fondness he reserved only for you. “Fine. Two hours. Feet up. You so much as sneeze weird, and I’m dragging you to OB myself.”

“Deal,” you chirped, already logging in.

“And don’t even think about stealing someone’s trauma case when we get slammed.”

“Define stealing,” you replied innocently, sipping from your water bottle.

He pointed a warning finger, but his smirk gave him away. “Two hours.”

“Love you too, Doctor Buzzkill.”

As he walked off, you caught the way his hand reached for the stethoscope around his neck, the subtle shake of his head as he glanced back at you one last time before disappearing toward the elevators.

And for a little while, everything felt normal. The steady rhythm of the hospital, the buzz of the morning shift changing hands, the rolling carts, the beeping monitors, and the casual banter of a team that had become a second home. You rubbed your belly gently, feeling a soft nudge from the baby in response.

Still here, still safe.

You leaned back in your chair and took a deep breath.

You had no idea how quickly everything was about to change.

The morning passed in a blur of keyboard clicks, routine charting, and the occasional pat on the shoulder from coworkers who either admired your stubbornness or questioned your sanity. Probably both.

Danabrought you a fruit cup and didn’t even bother hiding the fact that she was watching your ankles like a hawk. “You know,” she said while leaning against the edge of the station, “we’ve had patients come in for stubbed toes more dramatic than you being full-term and still here.”

You laughed softly, spooning pineapple into your mouth. “I just wanted one more shift. One more day of normal.”

“You’re due in three days,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You know what would be really normal? Not going into labor next to the trauma bay.”

You gave her a half-hearted glare, and she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving along.

By the time the clock read 10:47 a.m., you’d gone through two rounds of vitals checks, one baby name debate with the new ER nurse (“Mikey Jr.” was not happening), and an entire cup of crushed ice. You felt... okay. Tired, sure. Tight across the ribs, definitely. But okay.

The baby kicked again—this time a little stronger, enough to make you wince and shift in your chair. You rubbed at the spot, exhaling slowly as the muscles in your lower back pulled tight.

Normal. Probably.

You stood up to stretch, rolling your shoulders as your bladder reminded you it was still being squished by a watermelon-sized human. With one hand pressed to your back, you made your way toward the staff bathroom, waving off Frank’s dramatic offer to “escort the ticking time bomb.”

Inside, you braced your hands against the sink for a moment, catching your breath. That tightness across your middle was sticking around longer than you liked. Not a contraction exactly... but a pressure. Your reflection looked a little pale, a little drawn.

Probably just low blood sugar. Probably just tired.

You splashed cold water on your face, took a breath, and patted your belly like you were trying to reason with it.

“Let’s not do this here, kid,” you whispered. “Give me 'til at least lunch.”

The baby shifted again, slow and sluggish.

You frowned.

Back at the station, you tried to ignore the small twist of something off. Robby walked by on his way to check in with a patient and paused long enough to give your hand a squeeze. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want him to worry—not yet. Not unless there was a real reason.

But deep in your chest, just under the hum of fluorescent lights and the steady rhythm of the hospital, a quiet unease began to grow.

You went back to your chair, sat down slowly, and propped your feet up on an overturned supply box Dana had dragged over earlier.

“Getting royal treatment now,” you murmured with a soft smile, stretching your fingers across your belly again. The pressure was still there—low and dull, like a cramp that hadn’t quite made up its mind. But you chalked it up to gravity. End-of-pregnancy things.

Michael passed through again, this time glancing at your chart on the screen. “You okay?” he asked casually, but his voice held that little edge, the one he got when he was reading between the lines of your smile.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just tired. Baby’s being clingy.”

He crouched down beside you again, resting his hands on your knees and gazing up at you like you were something fragile and wildly important. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

You shrugged. “I think my blood sugar’s just dipping. I’ll eat something real at lunch.”

Robby opened his mouth like he wanted to press the issue, but then his pager buzzed, pulling him back to the chaos. “Page me if anything feels off, okay?”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Promise.”

He kissed the inside of your wrist—gentle, a little rushed—and then disappeared down the hall.

You watched him go, your heart tugging in that quiet, familiar way. This wasn’t supposed to be dramatic. You were just going to stay a few hours. Get your fill of normal. Go home.

You reached for your water, took a sip, and then—

The pressure in your lower abdomen suddenly turned sharp.

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t stabbing, not yet—but it was wrong. Deep and spreading and foreign.

You shifted in the chair again, trying to ease the feeling, but this time it moved through your back too. A tight, radiating grip like something clenching from the inside.

Your hand instinctively moved to your belly. Still round. Still there. But... heavy. Heavier than before.

You stood up too fast and had to grip the edge of the desk for balance. A strange wave of heat flushed through your chest and ears.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay. Not panicking.”

You turned toward the hall, planning to make your way down to OB—just to be safe—when a sudden gush of warmth rushed down your legs.

Your eyes dropped to the floor.

Blood. Not water… 

Not a trickle. Not a few reassuring spots.

A pool.

Everything stopped.

You opened your mouth, tried to call out for someone—Frank, Dana, Robby—but your throat closed up as your knees buckled.

A pair of arms caught you before the world tilted entirely sideways, voices shouting your name, feet pounding against tile.

And somewhere in the distance, your heart broke open in fear as someone screamed for a crash cart.

The world dulled around the edges.

Voices came in waves—too loud, then too soft. The fluorescents above you blurred into a single long smear of white as you blinked hard, trying to stay awake. You were lying flat now, someone barking orders just over your head, hands pressing against your belly. Something cold touched your arm. A tourniquet? IV? You didn’t know. 

You wanted to speak, but your tongue felt thick and heavy. The baby wasn’t moving. Or maybe you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t tell anymore.

Where was Michael?

You turned your head slightly, reaching out blindly with a trembling hand. “R-Rob—”

And then everything went black.

On the other side of the Pitt the hallway was loud, as usual. One resident talking too fast, an alarm going off two bays over. Robby had just finished checking vitals on a pre-op trauma patient when the words cut through the noise like a blade.

“Code OB! Nurses’ station—she’s hemorrhaging!”

For half a second, it didn’t register. He stood frozen, pen in hand, until Dana’s voice came from behind—sharper now, more desperate as she ran past him.

“Robby—it’s her! It’s your girl, it’s—”

He dropped the pen. Took off running.

The world narrowed to tunnel vision, his shoes slamming the floor with every stride as he turned the corner.

And there you were.

Lying on the floor in a growing puddle of blood, too still, too quiet. Langdon was crouched beside you, white-knuckled and pale, while someone was trying to keep your airway open and shouting at a med tech for an O2 mask. Two OB nurses had already arrived from upstairs, trying to lift your limp form onto a gurney.

“Move—MOVE!” Robby’s voice cracked as he shoved between bodies, sinking to his knees beside you. His gloves were on before he could think.

“Talk to me,” he begged, brushing a blood-slicked hand over your cheek. “Baby, come on—hey, stay with me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the blood again. The amount of it. His heart seized.

“She was complaining of tightness earlier,” Dana said quickly. “Didn’t think it was labor. She didn’t say anything about bleeding.”

“Placental abruption,” one of the OB nurses muttered grimly, already calling down to surgery. “We need to move now.”

“No.” Robby gripped your hand as they lifted your body onto the bed. “You hold on. You don’t get to—don’t you dare leave me.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly. It was the smallest thing, but it was enough to crack him wide open.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead to yours as they wheeled the gurney away. “God, I love you. Just hold on. Please.”

The elevator doors slammed open, and then they were gone—your body rolling down the hall, trailed by shouting voices and the squeak of rubber wheels.

Robby stood frozen in the blood you left behind.

And he prayed—for the first time in years—that he wouldn’t lose the two people who had already become his whole world.

The observation room was too bright.

Too sterile. Too loud and too quiet all at once.

Robby sat hunched forward on the gallery chair, elbows on his knees, hands laced together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His scrubs were stained—your blood, dried now—and he hadn’t moved to change them. It felt wrong. Like washing it off would be admitting something final. Like you were already gone.

The OR doors had closed over an hour ago.

Every minute stretched. He counted the seconds between every nurse that walked in or out of the room. Every ding, every beep, every sound made his chest seize like a vise.

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

He shot to his feet so fast the chair rattledagainst the floor.

It was one of the OB residents—a younger guy, fresh-faced, kind eyes. He looked nervous standing at the doorway. 

“The baby,” Robby said before the kid could speak. “Is he—?”

The resident gave a small, quick nod. “He’s stable—strong APGAR, breathing on his own. He’s in the NICU right now, just for monitoring because of the blood loss and delivery trauma, but he’s holding on great.”

Robby felt something like a breath stutter through his chest. A crack in the suffocating weight.

“A boy,” he repeated, voice cracking on the word. He scrubbed a hand down his face, the ache behind his eyes blooming all at once. “And she?”

The resident hesitated.

Robby’s stomach dropped like a stone.

“They’re still working on her,” he said carefully. “There was extensive bleeding. She lost a lot of volume and needed multiple transfusions. The placenta had fully detached. She coded once on the table but they got her back quickly—Dr. Jensen’s still in with her. They're doing everything they can.”

That familiar numbness swept in—cold and full of static. He’d seen this happen. He knew what these situations could look like. How fast they turned.

But this wasn’t just any patient.

This was you.

The woman who’d kept him steady when he didn’t know how to be. Who fought him and loved him and refused to be anyone but exactly who she was. This was the woman who carried his child, who still hadn’t heard that he made it. That their son made it.

“Can I see him?” Robby asked, quietly now, trying not to let his voice shake. “The baby?”

“Yeah,” the resident said, nodding. “I’ll take you myself.”

Robby glanced down at the gallery one last time.

“Hold on,” he murmured under his breath. “Please… just hold on.”

And then he followed, toward the small flicker of hope that looked an awful lot like a tiny newborn baby in a bassinet.

The NICU was soft with dim lighting and quiet beeps—worlds away from the chaos upstairs. Here, everything moved slower. Gentle. Careful.

Michael had scrubbed in without thinking, numb to the motions as the nurse guided him toward the far incubator. She was saying something—about weight, oxygen levels, bloodwork—but it barely registered.

All he could see was him.

His son.

Tiny. Swaddled in a sea of pale blue, a knitted cap covering his head, wires curling like vines across his chest. His skin was flushed pink, his breathing steady and strong, even with the tubes nearby just in case.

Robby stopped short a foot from the incubator.

“Go ahead,” the nurse said softly, nodding. “He’s yours.”

He stepped forward, one hand trembling as he reached out and pressed his now clean fingertips into the hole in the side of the incubator. Then he looked down through the clear plastic, and something in him shattered clean through.

“You’re here,” Robby whispered.

Not to anyone else. Not even to the nurse.

Just to him.

“You’re really here.”

His voice cracked. A tear slipped hot down his cheek. He swiped at it quickly, but it didn’t stop the next. Or the one after that.

“I thought we lost you,” he whispered, pressing his other palm fully to the side of the incubator now. “I thought—I thought I was going to lose both of you.”

The baby stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, his little face scrunching as if to acknowledge him.

Robby laughed—just a quiet breath of it. Barely more than a sound.

“You’ve already got a lot of fight in you,” he murmured. “Just like your mom.”

That cracked him open again. He dropped his head forward, resting it gently against the warm plastic as tears spilled freely now, all the fear and helplessness and love pouring out with no one around to see. No one to judge.

“She’s not out of it yet,” he said, so quietly it barely made it past his lips. “I don’t know how she’s doing….”

He swallowed hard.

“But I need her to be. You need her to be. So you just… hang on in there, little man. And I’ll hang on too.”

He stayed there for a long time. Just breathing. Just watching his son sleep, chest rising and falling with a steadiness Robby needed like oxygen.

And then—

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

A voice behind him.

He turned.

A nurse he didn’t recognize stood in the doorway, eyes soft but urgent. “They’re bringing her out of surgery now. She’s stable.”

Without knowing how long you were out the first thing you felt was the weight in your chest. Not pain—though there was plenty of that, dull and heavy through your midsection—but weight. Like your body had been filled with cement and someone was slowly peeling it away.

The second thing was the beeping.

Steady. Familiar.

A monitor. You’d heard that rhythm a thousand times, but this one felt… personal.

Then came the light. Too bright. You winced.

“Hey—hey, easy…”

A voice. Soft. Hoarse.

You knew it.

Your lashes fluttered as you tried again, squinting against the fluorescent ceiling until a shadow leaned into your frame of view. Hair mussed. Beard teased. Scrubs wrinkled. Eyes bloodshot but still such as deep warm brown. .

Robby.

He was sitting beside your bed, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees like he hadn’t moved in hours. Days maybe. His hand was already in yours.

“You’re okay,” he said quickly, blinking down at you with a thousand emotions all crashing in at once—relief, love, panic, exhaustion. “Jesus, baby, you’re—God, you scared the hell out of me.”

You opened your mouth, but your throat was too dry. All that came out was a rasp.

Robby was already up, pouring water and helping you sip from a straw with gentle, practiced hands.

When you finally managed a whisper, it was just one word. “Baby?”

His lips trembled around a smile.

“He’s okay,” Robby said, nodding, voice cracking as he set the cup aside and cupped your face with one hand. “He’s perfect. He’s tiny and loud and beautiful. They moved him to the nursery this morning but stable. Breathing on his own. He’s strong. Like you.”

You exhaled slowly, your body sinking back into the mattress with a kind of weak, aching surrender. The tears slipped out before you could stop them.

“I thought I lost him,” you whispered.

Robby shook his head. “No. You didn’t. You brought him into this world. You fought like hell.”

You looked up at him then, really looked, and saw the toll it had taken on him—the shadows under his eyes, the hollow in his cheeks, the scruff he hadn’t bothered to shave. He looked like a man who’d been holding his breath for days.

“You stayed?” you asked.

He gave a watery laugh. “I never left.”

And then he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Slow. Long. Like a prayer.

“You scared me,” he whispered into your skin. “More than anything in my life. Don’t ever do that again.”

You reached for him, weak and shaking but needing him close. He didn’t hesitate. He was there in your arms a second later, wrapped around you like a shield, like a lifeline. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you let yourself breathe.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed after that.

The pain meds kept you somewhere between floating and dreaming, and the monitors were a constant lullaby, but Robby never left. He was always there, holding your hand, brushing the hair from your face, whispering things you barely remembered.

But when the nurse finally came in, smiling softly and pushing a clear bassinet ahead of her, the world snapped back into focus.

“I thought you two might be ready,” she said gently.

You blinked hard, trying to sit up, but the ache in your abdomen stopped you short. Robby was already there, adjusting the bed, piling pillows behind you like he had done it a hundred times.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re still healing.”

But your eyes were locked on the tiny bundle being lifted into your arms.

And then—he was there.

Your son.

Wrapped in soft hospital blue, all fuzzy hair and wrinkled skin and the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen. He blinked up at you like the light was too much, his brow furrowed in confusion, and then he yawned—wide and slow—and settled against your chest like he already knew exactly where he belonged.

The breath hitched in your throat.

“Oh,” you whispered. “Oh, hi…”

Your voice broke on the word.

Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his arm behind your back, his other hand smoothing over your son’s impossibly small shoulder.

“You made him,” he said softly, awestruck like he still couldn’t believe it. “We made him.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you gently ran your finger down your baby’s nose.

“He’s perfect,” you said. “He’s… ours.”

Robby kissed your temple and stayed there, his lips pressed against your skin as your son sighed in his sleep and curled closer.

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

There was just the three of you, tucked into a too-small hospital bed, held together by quiet breathing and trembling hands and the kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud to be felt in your bones.

This was certainly worth the pain. 

mercury-glow 2025

[beautifulandvoid]

Karma - Part 5

Masterlist

paring: andrew pope cody/stripper!reader tags: 18+, starts in s1, slow burn, implied age gap, no use of y/n, implied stalking. customer service. reader has fake names, a large family (but reference to deceased parents), and a past (that is catching up). no smut for this part.  wc: 9.3k  an: thank you so, so, so much for the nice comments and reblogs on the earlier parts. having active readers always makes a story fun to write, and I hope you'll enjoy this too, even if the vibes are a bit different this time.

summary: Who says you can’t meet the love of your life in a strip club dressing room after his brother paid another girl a thousand bucks to wish him a happy birthday? Okay, so he’s a bit strange and he might be stalking you and his mother is terrifying and you’re really just trying to make enough money for rent and tuition without getting into any kind of trouble, but on the bright side, at least he’s not a cop.

Karma - Part 5 - [AO3 LINK]

“…morning, welcome to Craft Coffee! What can I get started for you today?”

Somehow, you and Pope settled into a routine. Or, rather, you kept working your normal hours, and Pope seemed to adapt his schedule around them. Never discussed, never agreed upon, but meeting Pope at both the coffee shop and the club had gradually stopped becoming a novelty and drifted into an expectation.

“…great, that’ll be eleven ninety-seven, please. Will you be paying with cash or card this…”

Every night you danced, he made an appearance. Sometimes he showed up when the club opened, sometimes almost at the end of your shift; sometimes he stayed until the club closed, sometimes he excused himself early without anyexplanation. He paid you diligently for every song danced and insisted on tipping enough that you could have comfortably based your entire club income on him.

You had almost worked up the nerve to ask if he was paying you that much because he didn’t want you to dance for anyone else. Almost. Because he had still not stipulated any terms for taking his money. At one point, you started accepting more private dance requests than usual just to see if it prompted any kind of reaction from him. To no avail. It did not matter if you were on stage or occupied with another customer, Pope seemed perfectly content to wait until you were done with either.

“Yes, we do have soy milk, but can I recommend the oat milk for the latte? It’s a more rounded flavor, it’s…”

And now, you had started keeping mostly to the stage and refusing private dances until Pope showed. Sam didn’t care, obviously, as your net earnings had gone up after Pope came around. And you had not been long enough at this club to have acquired any other regulars who could complain, either. Jasmine occasionally gave you the stink eye — maybe she was regretting peddling Pope over to you — but the only one you really had to answer to was yourself. Because deep down you knew why you were doing that and it was a dangerous road to go down. You did not know Pope, and he did not know you — not really.

Not yet.

The club did not exactly lend itself to any kind of real conversation — especially because of DJ Snowfall who still played music just a little too loud — so you and Pope did most of your talking at the coffee shop. Because he showed up there too, like clockwork, usually right before the lunch rush. He’d order a coffee and stare at the waves until you clocked out. And each and every time, he’d give you a peculiar look over his shoulder when you came to sit with him. Almost like it surprised him, even though you did that every time.

“…three different blends today, one is a dark roast with strong undertones of chocolate and…”

At one point, you wondered if he actually showed up just to watch the waves and that you were bothering him by joining. Then after a particularly harrowing shift — you had worked an eight-to-four at the hospital before coming straight to the coffee shop — you had simply sipped your coffee in silence, too tired to talk. It had taken less than a minute before Pope initiated conversation. Asking an innocuous question in his trademark raspy voice about the cleaning schedule of the ice machine of all things. 

Deeper conversations were a bit hit-or-miss with him, though. While he always answered whatever you asked him, you often got the feeling that he was only telling parts of the truth. The gentrified, acceptable parts maybe, but according to his own version of conventionality. Still, you learned bits and pieces that you hoarded inside your mind, gluing together a mismatched puzzle that took the vague shape of the man you called Pope. 

And while he shared snippets of his own life, his interest in yours seemed bottomless. No matter what tangent you embroidered upon or how you zig-zagged your way through a story, he listened with abrupt attention. Like you built an abstract collage of his snippets, he seemed to pour everything you shared into a lifelike mould, determined to fill out every nook and cranny until complete. 

“…just wait over there by the bar and we’ll have your order out as soon as possible…”

So yeah, you had a routine. And with your work schedule before classes started back up, you saw him practically every day. And you had to admit that you kind of liked the routine. 

Until today, when you were minutes away from clocking out, and he still hadn’t shown up to the coffee shop.

It was no big deal, you told yourself as you kept a steady eye on the front door. He had a life, after all. A family. Something was bound to come up sooner or later; a dance recital for his niece or mini-golfing with his brothers or something. You had to face it, you had little to no idea how he spent his time away from you. Maybe he just had a doctor’s appointment? Or his parole officer dropped in for a surprise call? Emergency water leak at one of the properties he managed?

Maybe he’d just gotten bored of the routine?

“No boyfriend today?” Mio asked innocently where the two of you ran a cleansing cycle on the coffee machines to prepare for the next shift.

Still watching the door, you tried to answer dismissively. “He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Right. Just a guy who takes his customer loyalty card very, very seriously. Kelly, has her boyfriend missed a single shift in the last two weeks?”

Kelly pretended to think from her spot by the ice machine. “No, no, I don’t think he has. It’s almost surreal seeing that chair empty at this hour. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone all of a sudden. Is this a dream?”

“I don’t know! Do you think we can get another guest to sit over there? It’s making me dizzy to see all those waves without him blocking the view with his meditation or whatever he does for an hour waiting for her to—”

“Can you guys shut the fuck up?” you finally snapped, glanced at the door again, and then resolutely focused on the coffee machines. “My shift ends in five minutes, remember? You wanna do this by yourself?”

“Seriously, babe, we’ve practically been able to watch his hair grow great in the last few weeks,” Kelly had of course spilled the beans about your miserable attempt at a compliment and Mio kept bringing it up, “and you’ve been watching that door like an abandoned labradoodle all morning, so you obviously thought he was going to be here. Can you just call him already? Jeez, I’m getting worried something’s happened to him.”

The thought had struck you too, even if the more rational explanation was that something just came up. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I can’t,” you said quietly and dumped the soapy water in the sink, droplets splattering over your apron. You refused to look at either of them. “I don’t have his number.”

That wisely shut them up, even if the look they shared spoke volumes. It was the truth though. And precisely why you needed to watch your step. Whatever relationship you and Pope had, it was far from conventional. The cynical side of you would call it transactional. Pay-to-play, where you had exchanged money, but not phone numbers or addresses.

Even if you wanted to check up on him, you didn’t know how. 

So, instead, you finished your shift at Craft Coffee and hung around in the parking lot outside, pretending to look for something in your bag until you felt stupid and then did the only logical thing you could think of:

“Hi, Fatima, it’s me. Are you at work? Great. Could you do me a favor and check if there’s anyone by the name of Andrew Cody admitted? Please, I don’t wanna clog up dispatch. Yeah, county-wide would be great. No? Okay, any Caucasian John Doe’s in the last twenty-four hours, around five nine, medium build, dark brown or reddish hair? No, okay, that’s great. Thanks. Yeah, no worries, I just wanted to check.”

Okay, so if something had happened, at least he was not in the hospital.

Which was a good thing, you tried to convince yourself after hanging up the phone where you were now walking along the Strand. The cool ocean breeze whipped at your clothes and filled your nostrils with the salty air you still loved. No hospital meant that he was probably okay. It was not like you wanted him to be in the hospital just so you could go see him. Because that would be crazy, right?

No, he was fine. Maybe just running late? You kept walking in the wrong direction — that happened to be the direction Pope’s car usually came from — and craned your neck at any dark-colored trucks passing by.

In the end, literally, you reached the pier and gave up. 

At home, you grimaced yet again at the state of the apartment. Your shitty ex-roommate had really gone out of her way trying to find your stash — ripped up the carpet (camouflaged with strategically placed ornaments), poked holes in the sofa cushions (still hidden under the fancy throw blanket), and yanked out all the vent covers and light fixtures (which you had shoved back in place, but lacked the tools and skills to repair). 

One window in the living room also refused to latch properly, but you weren’t sure if that was the work of your shitty ex-roommate or just regular wear and tear. It posed a slight security risk, but your apartment was on the second floor so you hoped that would deter any potential burglars. You would have brought it up with the landlord, but you needed to fix the rest of the apartment first if you ever wanted to see a cent of that security deposit again. 

Pope’s absence hung over you like a cloud, and you hated the way your brain jumped back to him at the thought of money. Transactional. What had he said that one time? Fair pay for services rendered. You mulled this over as you carefully extracted your stash from its new hiding place and counted through it again. Most of these bills had passed through his hands and represented hours of dancing for him. Night after night of chipping at his walls with nothing but your smile and swaying hips. Pay-for-play.

And even though you did your hardest to ignore the question, it wiggled its way into the back of your mind anyway. What were you going to do if Pope stopped coming to the club?

The obvious — and stupid — answer flashed across your retina before you could stop it. The headline of ‘Masked burglars steal $500K from popular San Diego gentlemen’s club, police asking for tips’ running like a permanent news ticker on the inside of your eyelids. The number five-hundred thousand highlighted like the neon sign outside the strip club. 

For the 500,000th time, you got out your other phone and read The Message again. And again. And again.

“Stupid,” you finally muttered with a shake of your head and hovered your finger over the delete-button, something you should have done a month ago. You read it one last time, taking in every extra letter and misspelt word and emoji that had raised your suspicions in the first place. Risky. Stupid. A trap. Police asking for tips, yeah, you bet they were.

You dropped the phone without deleting the message.

There was always Jenna, though. The self-appointed party girl who had been your ticket here to Oceanside in the first place. Maybe you could make a roommate situation work this time? As long as you invested in a decent set of earplugs, a solid lock, and some high-end air freshener, at least. Any port in a storm, right?

All of this still churned in your head when you headed for the club later that night. You should give Jenna a call anyway, ask if she wanted to run errands with you since she had a car and you didn’t. You really needed to have all your books and equipment in place before classes started back up. You could float the idea of rooming with her again. She lived pretty close to the school and—

“Hey, Karma!” 

You jumped at Geri’s sudden shout when you exited the dressing room, still completely absorbed with your mundane task list. Geri hurried over from the bar and dragged you to the side where you were somewhat shielded from the blaring speakers. 

Geri was a former shotgirl turned dancer turned waitress, as she loved to embellish on whenever you hung out at the bar. From what you knew, she had been at the club almost as long as Sam, and claimed to have quit dancing because of a bad knee. You had your doubts about that one. She had definitely been a bombshell back in the day, but age and extensive tanning had taken its toll on her. You supposed she tried to make up for it with the overtweezed eyebrows and box-dyed red hair, but the overall effect gave her almost a desperate vibe.

Most of the girls loved Geri, though. She knew the ins and outs of the trade, had a knack for promoting dancers and upselling drinks, and often functioned as a house mom for the younger girls that needed a bit of emotional guidance. She had tried it with you too, when you first got there, but you were both older than most newcomers and had experience, so she quickly backed off. No mistake, you also liked Geri, but she also represented your absolute worst nightmare: getting stuck in a strip club for the rest of your life.

“Hey, just a heads up, a guy came by earlier,” Geri said, almost too nonchalant, and shifted to balance her tray on her hip. “Clean-cut, medium height, kinda cute. Sound familiar?”

“Pope?”

“Nuh-uh, trust me, I know who he is by now.” Geri shook her head and your stomach sank. “And you might want to keeprule number three in mind about him.”

“I don’t think that applies,” you mumbled and bit your lip raw. Rule number three: no boyfriends at the club. “He’s just a regular… regular.”

“Uh-huh. Well, this was a different guy. Came in at lunch and asked around for a dancer called Destiny.”

Destiny. The name brought you straight out of whatever Pope-flavored thoughts you had harbored and right back to San Diego.

“Okay?” you asked, hoping you were able to put on an appropriately confused expression while your brain just went: ‘Shit shit shit shit shit.’ “What does that have to do with me?”

“Well, just the way he described her, it kinda sounded like you. Exactly like you, actually,” Geri pushed on. “Same hair, same skin-tone, same body type. Used to work in downtown San Diego, good at the poles…”

“San Diego’s pretty big. And Destiny is probably the most common stripper name ever,” you said with a light and easy smile. This was just a coincidence. It had to be. “Did he say why he was looking for her? Was he like a cop or something?”

“Why? Are you in trouble?”

“Oh, no. Not me.”

Her gossamer-thread eyebrow lifted. “Your boyfriend?”

“Uh, no? Not that I know of. And he’s not my—”

“Well, if this guy was a cop, he didn’t show any ID. Only left a card. Said to call if a Destiny or anyone matching that description came through. I asked around and it sounds like the poor guy’s been casing strip joints all around San Diego County looking for this girl.”

You smiled sympathetically, while your spleen tried to eat its way out of your stomach. “Oh, really? And he hasn’t found her?”

“Obviously not. But he offered some real cash in exchange for any information. You sure it’s not you? The way he described her, it definitely sounded that way. Could he have gotten the name wrong? Karma and Destiny have the same vibe.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” You gave her a huge smile and did your best to sound bright and positive. “Destiny is so Baby’s First Stripper Name and I chose Karma to be different.” 

“Right,” Geri said in a slow tone and narrowed her eyes, obviously sizing you up. “Are you still in touch with any of the girls you worked with in the city? What was the club called again?”

Every neuron in your brain screamed at you to lie lie lie, but would not shut up long enough to help fabricate a plausible deceit. 

“No, not really,” you ended up saying in a weak voice, only answering her first question and hoped she would not notice. “I sort of left for good. In a hurry.”

Geri winced in an obvious put-on sympathetic expression. “Bad breakup?”

“Something like that,” you lied.

“Okay, I just thought that maybe you could ask around. But I get it, you keep to yourself. It’s fine. Sorry to bother you.”

“No problem. Sorry I couldn’t be of any help. Now, I gotta get on stage before Sam throws a fit.” You kept the manic smile in place as you tottered toward one of the corner poles. “No problem at all.”

You could feel Geri’s stare on you linger throughout the night, but you made sure to smile her way every time. If you cowered, she would pounce. 

In the middle of the week, it was another relatively slow night. No one came to challenge your spot on stage and you span around and around for hours, bottom lip growing sore from the way you nibbled it in thought. How did they know? How could anyone know? Well, they did not know, did they? Whoever was snooping around asked for Destiny, and it wasprobably the most common stripper-name of them all. This could not be anything other than a coincidence.

Coincidence or not, it stuck in your head. It did not matter how much you tried to disassociate and get lost in the music, you probably put on the worst performance of your life. Stocky and jilted movements that grew stiffer and more half-hearted for every time you took a break to tour the booths and found them empty. Still no sign of Pope.

Before you knew it, it was two in the morning, the bartender signaled for last call at the bar, and your shift had ended. 

No Pope.

No Pope, but some other guy snooping around asking about a stripper named Destiny. And you had barely made enough money to break even with the club fee. Great. Just great. 

Even worse, you felt two sets of eyes on you as you shimmied down from the stage, wincing at the way your calfs protested the prolonged dancing. Geri watched you from the bar, like you halfway expected, but then there was DJ Snowfall staring at you from his booth. Neither made any attempt at hiding it and there was no fuzzy warm feeling in your stomach now as you recounted the way Pope had handled DJ Snowfall a few weeks ago. 

Because now Pope wasn’t here anymore.

You hastily wiped off your makeup in the dressing room while all the other girls did the same, although with less ferocity. You gnawed at your lip, scrubbing your eyes with a wet-wipe, not caring how your eyeliner smeared around the creases of your face. If there ever was a day to look like some strung-out junkie when going home, today was it. You always dressed in baggy, unflattering clothes when leaving the club, anyway. Now you just took it a step further. Trying to make yourself as unattractive — and unlike yourself — as possible. 

“Anyone going toward Carlsbad?”

“I got an Uber going up to North Valley, if anyone wants to come.”

The girls called out various directions, agreeing to split cab fare, but you declined all offers. The last thing you needed was anyone here finding out where you lived right now. You weren’t sure you had fooled Geri earlier, but if you disappeared now, she would definitely know something was up. 

Except nothing was up, you told yourself for the hundredth time that night as you stuffed your high-heels into your backpack and jumped into some baggy sweatpants. It was just a coincidence. 

Either way, you had to stick out for a while longer. Maybe until classes started? That’d be a decent excuse. Hopefully, the ‘kinda cute’ guy would have moved on by then. There had to be an abundance of strippers named Destiny matching that description in San Diego County. 

This was just a coincidence.

Then there was Pope. Or the lack thereof. Was it just a coincidence that some guy came asking about a stripper named Destiny the same day Pope didn’t show up? It had to be, right? They couldn’t have gone after him, could they?

Sure, he wasn’t in any hospital, but that did not mean he wasn’t lying half-dead in a ditch somewhere.

You wanted — you really wanted — to ask around if anyone had a number for him. Or even his brothers. Jasmine had mentioned his brother being a regular here, after all, although you had no idea which one. You rolled your eyes at yourself and pulled the loose hoodie over your head. You were being ridiculous. Acting like he’d been missing for a week instead of a day. And he wasn’t missing either, was he? He just didn’t show up when you had expected him to. The two of you had never even explicitly agreed on meeting either, so why could you not stop flexing your hands into fists whenever he crossed your mind?

On reflex, you followed a gaggle of other girls out of the dressing room and tried to will your inner organs to stop squeezing together like that. Pope was fine, the guy asking around was a coincidence, and you just needed to go home and forget about all of it. 

Passing the bar on your way out, you remembered what Geri had said about the guy leaving a card . The other girls kept walking while you slowed to a halt. Maybe you could see if the number he left was listed anywhere. Like at the San Diego Police Department or something. You only needed to get to the card without Geri finding out — she was still hanging up the clean glasses on the rack, but—

“Hey, ladies, any of you seen Karma?”

You snapped to attention at the sound of your ‘name’ and saw how DJ Snowfall — Dylan — was crowding the girls trying to exit the club. Unlike the other times he tried to woo the dancers, he looked more agitated than suave now. Shifting around, running his hand through the stupid pompadour repeatedly, and rolling his shoulders. The girls twittered various replies of how you were just here a second ago or maybe still in the dressing room and you backed away before Dylan could spot you.

Back into the dark corridors beyond the dressing rooms, you sped toward one of the many exits and out into the night and did not fully breathe before you had put several blocks between you and the strip club. Only then did you dare flag down a taxi to go home.

You gnawed your lip raw and spent the whole trip peeking out the back window, memorizing cars to make sure you weren’t being followed. For the first time in a while, you did not feel watched while going home, and for some reason that made you even more paranoid.

“You can just drop me off here,” you told the driver when you had reached the right neighborhood. Hood up and shoulders squared, you dashed out of the cab and took the shortcut between two larger buildings to get to your apartment. It would be tricky to follow on wheels and the gravel path would let you know if someone followed on foot. It was eerily quiet this far away from the surf, only the cicadas occasionally trying to give you a heart attack, and the pebbles crunched under your sneakers in a steady pattern.

Inside the pocket of your hoodie, your knuckles went white from clutching your keys.

You did not breathe until you closed the apartment door behind you and locked it firmly. The wood felt cool against your forehead when you leaned against it. Breathe, just breathe. This was just a coincidence. You were just being paranoid.

Everything was fine.

****

The next day, you tried to keep your expectations in check when you clocked in at the coffee shop. And then you tried to ignore the sick feeling in your chest when you finished up your shift. Still no Pope. 

“Hey,” Mio said and stopped you before you headed out. He pushed a to-go cup of coffee toward you on the counter. “Men ain’t shit, okay? Fuck that guy.”

“Thanks.” You gave him a wane smile and accepted both the coffee — your favorite order that you rarely drank because you did not want to burden the baristas — and your share of the tips. “How’d we do today?”

Kelly popped up behind Mio. “You fucking rocked it, like always. Come on, you know there’s a reason we’re always on the same shift. Because we’re awesome together. Now go on, enjoy your days off, and we’ll see you on Monday. And fuck that guy!”

“Fuck that guuuuy!” Mio chorused, and you shook your head at the pair, hoping the other customers weren’t paying attention to their shenanigans. You had to admit you felt a bit better as you exited the coffee shop — no sign of Pope or his car in the parking lot — and headed for the community college campus. Since your shitty ex-roommate had taken your laptop, you had to use the computers at the library whenever you needed to go online. Maybe this was the day someone halfway decent would answer your roommate ad.

No such luck, but you took the time to make a note of everything you needed to get before classes started — Jenna had agreed to run errands with you on Saturday — and check the listings if there happened to be a studio apartment within your budget somewhere close to campus. Then you had to face the fact that your budget had drastically changed if Popehad decided to ghost you.

Maybe it was easier if you could at least pretend that his money was the reason you worried about him?

In the middle of noting down the contact info for a room to rent up by Dixie Village — two housemates, but washer and dryer on-site — your phone rang. The Craft Coffee-landline.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Grace, right? It’s Mika.” The afternoon shift lead at the coffee-shop. “Uhm, I’m probably overreacting, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up that there was a guy here asking for you like half an hour ago.”

Ice spread through your veins and you quickly took stock of your surroundings, brain working overtime to spot anything amiss. Half an hour was ample time to get from the coffee shop and here.

“What guy?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t tell me his name.”

You swallowed heavily, closed down the computer, and grabbed your tote bag while keeping an eye on the empty aisles of the library. “What’d he look like?”

“Uh, just a guy? White guy, short hair, not super tall, but not short. Kinda cute. Seemed really interested in finding you.”

Heart beating in your throat, you made your way out of the library. “What’d you tell him?” 

Mika laughed in the phone, a bit shaky. “That I had no idea what he was talking about. That I didn’t know anyone by that name. Come on, I’m not an idiot, I’m not giving random strangers that kinda info. You want me to call the cops?”

“No!” you blurted out and winced when the librarian gave you a nasty look as you hurried past. “No, it’s fine. I got it. Thanks.”

Once might be a coincidence, but twice was a pattern as far as you were concerned. First the strip club and now the coffee-shop. Shit! You needed a plan. You needed a way out. You needed to leave!

You kept glancing over your shoulder as you exited the building, which in hindsight wasn’t the smartest move, as you then missed what was right in front of you.

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” you shrieked and jumped when someone appeared on the pathway next to you. “What the— Pope?”

Pope took a step back and pulled in his chin, a visceral reaction by his standards, but looked only mildly perturbed at your outburst. Aware of how other people on campus glanced your way, you exhaled slowly to get your heart rate down and tried to come to terms with the situation. 

He did not seem to have any issues waiting, having hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his dark jeans. A quick once-over revealed he looked fine — unharmed at least — dressed in that short-sleeved shirt with the dotted pattern you liked.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” you finally breathed, took another glance over your shoulder and then checked quickly to see if anyone was coming up behind Pope. Nothing yet, so you forced yourself to face Pope. “Hey. What’s up?”

Pope’s keen eyes darted behind you, lingered for a moment, but soon returned to you. As always, he seemed to prefer to stare directly into your eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said in the least convincing tone ever, and clutched the straps of your tote bag so hard your knuckles ached. “Yeah, it’s fine. I just had too much caffeine. I get jumpy. Uh, what are you doing here?”

He hesitated, like he was tempted to call your bluff, but then shrugged and rocked on his heels. “I ran a little late today. Family meeting took longer than I’d hoped. I went by the coffee shop looking for you, but you’d already left.”

“Yeah, my shift ended—” you started before Pope’s words caught up with you. White guy, short hair, not super tall, but not short. Kinda cute. “Wait, wait, wait, you went by the coffee shop? Now?” 

“Yeah, maybe twenty minutes, half an hour ago.”

“And you asked for me?”

“Yeah,” Pope repeated and made a discontent face. “I asked if they could give you a call, but they said they’d never heard about you, so…” He made a different discontent face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to catch my breath,” you said, and ran a hand over your face to at least make an attempt at hiding your insane relief. “Ohhh, okay, so that was you. Right. Uhm, don’t take it personally, it’s company policy to not give out that kind of information.” Something clicked, and you peered at Pope behind your fingers. “But how did you find me here?”

“You’re always carrying around that bag,” Pope nodded toward your tote bag, which sported the MiraCosta College logo, “and you told me classes are gonna start up soon. Figured I’d at least try here before I went home. Guess I got lucky.”

A perfectly plausible explanation, but he was almost too nonchalant in the way he explained it. Or indifferent to whether or not you believed him. Taunting you to challenge his defence.

“Right,” you repeated and glanced at your tote bag. You had probably used it after every shift at Craft Coffee. “That’s sloppy of me, I guess.” 

He did not respond and the relief from before still flooded your system too much to care about minor details like that. But it was a sobering realization too — how many other breadcrumbs had you scattered around town since you got here that could lead people your way?

“Are you waiting for someone?” Pope stared at you with his chin tucked in, and you realized you had looked over his shoulder again. 

You shook your head, trying to shake away the unsettling feeling of being pursued. “No. Are you okay, by the way? I didn’t see you yesterday. And it’s not like you owe me an explanation or anything, it’s just that—” You broke off, pulled in a breath and started over. “Nevermind. You okay?”

Pope glared at you for a second, again looking like he was tempted to call your bluff, but then he sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said in a tired voice and glanced sideways, lip curling in thought. “Spent the night in jail.”

“Jail? For most people, that’s the opposite of fine,” you pointed out and absentmindedly headed for a nearby bench to sit down. Pope followed suit, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and flexing his hands together. “What happened? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he repeated, but still with that twist in his brows. “Violated my parole. Flash incarceration. Just a warning, not—” 

Pope cut himself off and glared at the nearby bushes with his lips almost puckered in what you had come to recognize as suppressed anger. His jaw worked, like he was chewing every word he wanted to say to shreds, unable to get anything coherent out. 

“I need a favor,” he finally said and relieved the bushes of his angry stare, focusing it back at you. Like always. “I failed my drug test.”

“Uhh, okay? I mean, I owe you, so sure. Although, I’m not a hundred percent certain, but I think they test for gender too when they run their samples, so I—”

“I dont need your piss,” Pope interjected with that worried slash annoyed frown in his brows and you breathed another sigh of relief. His mouth and eyebrow worked in tandem as he explained. “I tested positive for LSD.”

“LSD?” Whatever you had expected, it was not that. “You’re taking—”

“No. I’ve never taken that shit in my life.”

“Then how did you test positive? Was there some kind of mistake, a mix-up or something?”

“No, they made me take a second test. Also positive. So,” Pope lowered his voice and leaned closer, “I need to know if there’s anything else that would flag as LSD on a drug test. You know this stuff, right? From your classes?”

“Uh, I guess, there’s plenty of prescription drugs that would trigger a false-positive for LSD, but…” It took you a while to catch on, distracted by how he stared at you without blinking. “I thought you said you weren’t on any medications.”

“I’m not. Anymore. But they had me on this shit called thorazine in prison. Heard of it? Can that still be in my system, making me piss hot?”

Thorazine. You almost shuddered at the name. A potent and cheap anti-psychotic. Also known as the drool tool; zombie pills; the closest you could get to a lobotomy without actually having the surgery. Really popular in the US prison system, from what you knew. You had never seen the effects first-hand, but had heard the stories. And they were horrible.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about it.” You tried to keep your expression and voice neutral, but you had to ask, “How much were you on?”

“I don’t know.” Pope’s raspy voice sent chills down your back. “A lot.”

“Jesus. I’m so sorry, Pope,” you said without thinking and didn’t realize you had put your hand over his before his relentless stare left your face to glare at it. You drew back as if burned and cleared your throat. “Uhm, maybe? I don’t know. I’m not a doctor or a pharmacist or anything, I can’t say for sure.”

“But you can find out,” Pope stated, and leaned forward to force himself into your line of sight. “Right?”

“I guess?” you asked more than said, a bit stuck on how absolutely awful prison must have been for Pope. At best, he’d get a visit once a month. The rest of the time he was doing the thorazine-shuffle by the sound of it. You gnawed at your lip, but you figured you owed him this much, at least. And now that he was here, you did not really want to let him go again. “We’re already at the library, so might as well do it now. Come on.”

It was strange to walk beside him in such a mundane setting. Even with his average stature, he had a looming presence that you could practically feel rushing ahead of him. It belonged on a battleground and not in a library, and his unblinking eyes absorbed every piece of information his surroundings had to offer. His attention dashed around whenever some unfortunate student or employee happened to pass by as the two of you made your way to the row of computers in the back.

You logged on, and glanced up at Pope’s hovering self. “You wanna sit? I don’t know how long it’s gonna take.”

Pope took a seat behind you, slightly angled so that he would have a full visual of the rest of the library. If you paid attention, you could almost see how he settled into a standby mode, with all the grace and patience of a professional sniper.

Well, no one would sneak up on you with him around, at least.

It took a while to find what you were looking for — most of that time was spent trying to spell chlorpromazine — but eventually you angled your screen toward Pope.

“Eighteen days,” you said matter-of-factly and nodded at the medical journal describing the trials. “Based on empiric evidence, that’s the absolute longest after ingestion that thorazine would be detectable in urine specimens.”

The silence hung heavy between you. Pope had been out of prison for way longer than that. Pope’s lips had zipped together hard and his jaw rolled and rolled while he glared at the screen.

“I gotta go.”

Fortunately, you had expected this and managed to rise and grab his wrist before he could take off. “Pope, wait.” This time you refused to let go of him, no matter how much he glared. “Even if the thorazine’s out of your system, there are loads of other medications that would trigger a false-positive for LSD. Are you sure you’re not taking anything?”

“I didn’t think I was,” Pope rasped, but with an inflection in his voice that could cut glass. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You lowered your voice, still holding onto his arm in case he tried to bolt. “Are you taking them without knowing? Like, are you having blackouts? Missing chunks of time or waking up in places without knowing how you got there?”

It was hard to say if it was in anger or shame, but Pope snapped his head sideways. For once robbing you of his knifelike scrutiny, subjecting you to a viselike uncertainty instead. His down pulled brows spelled fury, but the turn of his mouth spoke of something a lot worse. Something that hurt.

“Hey,” you said gently and pulled on his wrist to make him look at you. “What’s going on? How can I help you?”

“I can handle it.” An expressionless mask had settled over his face. “Are you working tonight?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll try to make it, but I’m gonna be late.” Pope pulled himself free and turned to leave. “Lot of stuff going on.”

“What kind of stuff?”

He paused and answered over his shoulder. “Family night.”

***

“…she’s like 69, you get what you give. Karma, ladies and gentlemen!”

The cool metal of the pole helped ground you as you took the stage. In the beginning, you had assumed that the poles functioned mostly as a safety rail. Something to hold on to so you did not faceplant off the stage. That’s how most girls treated it these days, as a way to keep their balance when dropping it low or at best do a body roll against it. But you had worked with some old-timers back in San Diego, who remembered when stripping was synonymous with pole dancing, and they taught you some moves.

While you were far from the most acrobatic, you enjoyed the tricks and spins and occasional inversion. Anything that could add spice to a dance routine without immediately tearing off your clothes. The guys at the gentleman’s club back in San Diego had always awarded your efforts — they had seen a nice pair of tits a thousand times, but not necessarily on a girl spinning upside down while doing the splits. The crowd at this club was less appreciative, but Sam particularly liked the old-school vibe it brought and encouraged you to work the poles.

It was easier sometimes to focus on the technicalities of a pose and feel your core burn at the effort, rather than smirking sexily and figure out how long you could take to unclasp your bra before people got bored. Like tonight, you barely looked at the crowd, stuck in your own world where it was just you, the music and the pole.

You still took off your clothes, but your focus remained inward. Like you were practicing a routine instead of performing it. Like you were not really here.

Because you did not want to be. 

From the moment you stepped out of the dressing room, you felt Geri’s lingering gaze on you. Like she was surprised you had showed up tonight — or disappointed. You played it off the best you could. Whoever the ‘kinda cute’ guy was, whoever he was working for, he had no way of knowing what had happened. 

This had nothing to do with you. 

You had to keep up appearances for the time being, though. Even if no one here was supposed to know your real name or where you lived or that you went to school, who knew what random tidbit you might have shared once that would lead straight back to you? Someone might have noticed your Uber going down a specific street, or that you once changed into a t-shirt with the Craft Coffee-logo or even seen you in passing at the hospital. All tiny things that no one would think twice about until prompted by an outside force with a financial encouragement. Hell, Pope had apparently tracked you down via a fucking tote bag.

Speak of the devil, he must have finally turned up. It was past midnight, but one of the bartenders caught your eye from the stage, waved toward the booths and held up one finger. Booth one. 

A few steps down from the stage, you froze. What if it wasn’t Pope who waited for you in booth one? What if Geri had given that guy a call? What if he — or whoever he worked for — was in there? How fast would security get here if something happened? How were you going to shake them off your tail if they followed you from the club? How were you going to get out of this?

You turned around, intending to head to the bar and ask the bartender who had requested you. Instead, you stared right at Geri, who was watching you intently from the waitress station. Any sign of weakness, and she’d take you down. Shit. 

Heart pounding and palms slick, you surveyed the rest of the dim-lit club. A few tables with what looked like college boys out on the town, some white-collars more busy with their scotch than any girls, and a flock of women (bachelorette party?) who were having the time of their life buying table-dances from Pepper and Trixie. No one seemed to be lookingyour way. Not even DJ Snowfall, because he was not even in his DJ booth like you had expected.

No, DJ Snowfall was standing inside booth one, his tall stature making him easy to spot now that one of the stage lights swerved his way. You inched closer, still not sure what to expect, and caught the snippets of what sounded like a heartfelt plea from Dylan:

“…come on, man, don’t be like that. I need your help.”

“Not my problem.”

That was Pope. You would have recognized his voice anywhere and now it flooded your system with a mixture of relief and elation all over again. Like the world was back in order now that he was back at the club.

Too caught up in your own myriad of emotions, you did not catch exactly what DJ Snowfall thought of Pope’s response. You barely had enough wits about you to step out of the way as he tore out of the booth, almost knocking you over with his frantic movements. For a second, you expected him to head to security, make up some kind of story to get Pope kicked out of the club, but he only retreated to the safety of his DJ station.

Eyebrows raised, you swiveled back and entered booth one.

The way Pope sat reminded you of the first time you saw him. As if he was poised rather than seated. On edge, both literally and figuratively, with a clenched fist on each knee. A dewy bottle of beer stood on the side-table, untouched by the looks of it, and he was glaring holes in the air before you entered and his focus snapped to you.

He did not look to be in a talkative mood and honestly, neither were you. Your adrenaline was still spiking from that perceived close-call and now you felt the imminent crash looming ahead. So you said nothing, stepped fully into the booth, and started to dance.

And unlike last night, you managed to lose yourself in the music now.

You did not even make an effort to maintain eye contact. With heavy lids, you went through the motions. Not really hearing the song, just reacting to it; hitting every beat, swaying to the rhythm, rolling with the heavy bass. The muted lyrics and industrial synth line of the song overpowered any other thought in your head and you treated Pope as nothing but a prop. Like the pole, he was something to lean on, something to dance around, something that was just there.

You did not pay attention to his expressions, did not care where he was looking, did not register if he reacted when you climbed on top of him. You danced and swayed and writhed, without inhibitions or coherent thoughts, running your hands all over yourself and throwing your hair around. Bending, arching, and twisting your whole body this way and that to the music. Physically you felt ethereal and sensual and divine; your mind felt leaden and frigid and infernal. 

The song finished, and you almost blinked awake from a trance. You had ended up in his lap — some subconscious part of you still running that same routine of tempting the client to buy another dance — and your thighs strained with the effort of keeping yourself hovering over him. You had one hand on the sofa back for support, the other one on Pope’s tense shoulder, and you looked down at him like you had forgotten he was there.

Because in a way you had.

Pope’s face had cleared somewhat, his eyebrows going from pulled down to lifted. His stare less intense and more curious. He did that thing he did, moving his neck to deepen the eye contact, and asked, “Are you okay?”

Still feeling like you might float out of your own body, you nodded and sat back so your weight suspended between his knees. Sweat had pearled up at your hairline and on the back of your neck — you had danced pretty hard, maybe too hard — and Pope had caught on.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just off my game today.”

You moved to get off his lap, but froze when Pope stopped you with a hand on your left thigh. This marked the second time he had ever touched you of his own volition.

“Did something happen?”

“Not really.”

“That’s not the same as ‘no’.”

“Uh, well, there’s this guy,” you started, a little distracted by his calloused palm burning your skin, and managed to meetPope’s intense stare, “he’s been showing up at work lately. Every shift for the last few weeks, actually,” you smiled when Pope’s brows fell back down as he figured out where this was going, “and then yesterday he went AWOL and I was worried and then I found out he spent the night in jail because he somehow took LSD without knowing it.”

Pope looked like he was inches away from rolling his eyes. 

“How about you?” you continued in a casual tone. “Are you okay? No offense, but you seem like you’re enjoying this even less than usual. DJ Snowfall spoil your appetite?”

You did your best to not react to his hand still on you, especially with the acute attention he seemed to give it. Maybe if you did not make any deal of it at all, he would figure it was okay.

“Baz had me running some bullshit errand tonight,” Pope eventually confessed, periodically glaring at his hand. “A complete waste of time. That’s why I’m late.”

Baz was his brother, the only one he had ever mentioned by name. 

“You didn’t have to come here tonight, you know,” you said quietly, or as quietly as you could with the music running loud in the background. “I’ve never been in jail, but I can’t imagine you got much sleep there. You must be beat.”

“I’m fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Oh, so jail was nice and cozy, then? Restful, even?”

Pope’s nostrils flared when he glared at you, but his gaze tore sideways again. “No, it’s not. It’s loud and dirty and everything smells of sweat and piss. And no one washes their hands or uses hand sanitizer, even if it’s right there on the wall next to the toilet. Bunch of fucking animals.”

You kept quiet, noting how his hand flexed where it laid on your thigh, subconsciously kneading the flesh.

“And then I come home and Baz has this fancy new idea and is bringing in random guys from outside the family who I don’t know if we can trust and then my other idiot brother backs out of doing his part and it’s not like Deran can go alone, so I have to step in on short notice instead of coming here early like I wanted to.”

Pope must have finally realized he was treating your thigh like a stress ball and yanked his hand away. He held it aloft, giving you space to move off of him, and you shuffled to sit next to him instead. You had gotten pretty good at interpreting when he was cool with physical touch and when it became too much.

“We’re not gonna even talk about the drug LSD?” you asked after a while, cocking your head at Pope who had leaned back in his seat, hands flexing together in his lap. 

“I’ll handle it,” he almost growled, gave the air his best stare, and then his head swivelled around to face you again. “Did it bother you?”

“Yeah, the LSD is kinda bothering—”

“I’m not taking LSD.”

“That’s somehow even worse.”

“I’ll handle it. I meant if it bothered you that I showed up at the library,” Pope clarified in a flat tone. And there was that catch in his voice, that hint of vulnerability that had you shaking your head to reassure him before you even registered the full question. “You seemed scared.”

“Not of you.”

That caught his attention, and he shifted to face you again. “Someone else?”

It was so tempting to tell him the truth, but rehearsing the sentences in your mind made you sound both wimpy and paranoid. So, instead, you shook your head. “I just got spooked when I heard someone had asked for me at Craft Coffee. I worried it was someone who knew me from the club. Not you.”

Pope had raised his eyebrows at your words, but slunk back with a hint of a smile. It disappeared when he asked, “Has someone here been bothering you?” His face grew dark. “The DJ? If he has, you let me know and—”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“But?”

“But there’s plenty of stories about guys who sit in the corner to watch a girl dance and build a whole relationship with them in their head without ever interacting. And then when they do try to act on that fantasy, they get hit face first with reality and often can’t handle it. Can never be too careful.”

He stared at you, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long time — even for him. “Right,” he finally rasped. “But you haven’t noticed anyone sitting in the corner or following you or anything?”

“No. I just feel watched sometimes. And I know that sounds ridiculous, but I can’t see shit from the stage most of the time. Not with the lights and the spinning and then my makeup runs in my eyes when I get hot and…” You trailed off and shifted in your seat as Pope was somehow paying you more attention than usual, even if that shouldn’t be possible. “Don’t worry, I’m being careful.”

“Good,” Pope said, almost too quickly. His eyebrows had taken residence high up on his forehead while the rest of his face remained impassive. “It’s good that you’re careful. I gotta go.”

“Now? Okay, I— oh, come on. Please don’t,” you groaned when Pope rose from his seat, got out his wallet, and started counting bills. “On the house. For real.”

“We’ve been here for at least five songs—” 

“I’ve only danced for one of them. Please, don’t do this. It makes me feel like shit when you pay me to talk to you.”

“I missed last night—”

“Seriously, are you allergic to money? This isn’t a doctor’s office, I don’t charge no-show fees.”

Everything about Pope’s body language spelled an argument, especially his flexed jaw that kept working and working. His lips twitched, halfway to a snarl, and he resumed counting out bills. “You helped me earlier today.”

“Yeah, I helped you because that’s what friends do. For free.” 

Bold statement that had your heart beating uncomfortably hard, but you refused to back down. At the club he was a customer, out there he was a friend. Like it or not.

Pope froze at your words, finger trapped between two twenty-dollar-bills, and his eyes darted around in obvious buffer-mode. His lips pursed and he glared at you like you had insulted him before he flicked through the bills again. One, two, three — all the way up to twenty. “Here. Just take it.”

You just looked at the money and cleared your throat to get rid of that pesky lump stuck there. “Is that your way of saying we’re not friends?”

He glowered at you, a concentrated ray of repressed anger and despair, desperately searching for an outlet. With his lips zipped together hard, he snatched the money back, tore out two twenty-dollar bills and thrust them your way like he really wanted to stab his fist through a wall.

“Forty bucks,” Pope said through gritted teeth, his chest heaving with the apparent effort of standing still long enough for you to accept the cash, “for one song.”

You smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

------

Should this have been split into two chapters? Probably. Will I be doing that? No.

Anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter too. Are the pieces of Karma's time in San Diego coming together or still a complete mystery? Is she just being paranoid or is it all just a coincidence?

Other than that, if you liked this, please let me know! Reblogs and comments also make me write faster 💕  Thank you!

[beautifulandvoid]

I have been OBSESSED with Digital Era!! Your writing is absolutely beautiful and I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much about hand placement in my life. I would love to see more of the story! What does the morning after look like? How does Mohabot react? Is there a secret bet in the PITT that’s about to be settled?

IHHHHH thank you, baby!!!<3 I probably mentioned this somewhere, but I actually planned to include the morning after and Mohabbot reaction in the original chapter. So, I’m happy you asked for this, because otherwise, it would’ve sat in my docs and never seen the light of day.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖣𝗋. 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 "𝖱𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒" 𝖱𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝖣𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖤𝗋𝖺)

𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖬𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾

𝗐𝖼: 3.7𝗄

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌/𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌; 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖱𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖾-𝗀𝖺𝗉

You wake not from the weight over your waist, or the heat seeping into your back. No, what rouses you from sleep is the face nuzzling into the nape of your neck, the scratch of a beard against your skin. 

Slowly, very slowly as you come to, you hear a low, soft hum and occasional sigh follow what you realise is a set of awfully familiar lips brushing kisses against your skin. They're barely there, not a press in comparison to a soft pout. 

You let your eyes remain closed, basking in the moment, until you eventually ask, "Enjoying yourself?" 

Your voice is sleep-adled and muffled from the pillow, but the indication that you're awake is enough for the man behind you to suddenly freeze. Now, only Robby's breath actively fans across your naked shoulder. If you don't imagine it, you could hear him swallow.

You giggle upon realising that he hadn't planned to wake you, nor for you to notice his affectionate nuzzling. Your amusement seemingly snaps him out of whatever hesitant state he'd entered.

"Don't laugh," he says, but he isn't embarrassed as a smile breaks through the sentence. The same smile you can feel as he presses a firmer kiss to your shoulder, then see as you turn in his arms.

"Mm, it's all in good nature." You assure him upon meeting his brown eyes.

His hair is flatter than last night, pressed against his forehead. Somehow, it's still ruffled from sleep. He looks soft, boyish in a different way than when that smug smile graces his features, especially with the soft curl to his lips now.

"Don't know if I ever said it yesterday," you hum, fingers carding through his beard before trailing one of them over the smile lines hidden beneath it, watching the upwards bow of his lips that put creases beside his eyes. "But I really like your smile."

Robby's huff is a soft sound through his nose as he tilts his head to press a kiss to your finger. "I already knew."

"You did?"

"Mhm, one of the few things I got to know beforehand." He hums low in his throat, the sound grittier than yesterday, much like his voice. "Got the excellent advice to just smile at you."

You chuckle. "Well, it was one of the reasons this turned into such a success." You press a quick peck against his lips, only making the very smile you're talking about widen.

"And what are the other reasons?"

"You really think you've earned the right to now?"

"After last night, definitely." You scoff gently, feeling Robby's arms tighten around your waist, closing the remaining space between your bodies. "But I have other methods to get the information."

You cock a brow. "Which is?"

He suddenly pulls the covers above your head, secluding you from the outside world as he attacks your neck with kisses. With his beard tickling your skin, your laugh spills naturally. 

You try to squirm away from him, but Robby quickly thwarts your attempts by rolling on top of you, elbows planted beside and close to your head. 

"R-Robby- Please!" You get out between having breaths and squeals, trying to tuck your chin so he doesn't get access to your neck. But he only ducks his head lower, chuckling against your skin as he drags his chin just lightly enough that his beard tickles more scratches pleasantly.

You scramble to push him away, but you're no way near strong enough to force Robby off of you, especially with so little space to move as well. So you aim for the only thing you can: his hair. Grabbing a fistful of his brown locks, you redirect his face with a tug back and yank forward.

Sometimes, you've got to thank the single-mindedness of men, because once you're kissing him, Robby's smug smile slowly fades as he starts reciprocating it. 

You moan softly into his mouth when he presses your head back with the way his falls lower between his shoulders. Unfortunately, from your previous laughter, there isn't much more air in your lungs and you have to pull back to replenish your oxygen. But your little plan works, as Robby doesn't go back to his teasing.

You breathe the same air, mouths hovering not far from each other, all the while gazing at each other. The duvet blocks out some of the light, making Robby's pupils hard to distinguish from the brown of his eyes, and shadows play across his features. But they don't make him look sharp or jagged, but soft and muted. 

Something from yesterday appears again. The butterflies fluttering in your stomach during dinner. The thrumming in your chest from the elevator. The excitement from arriving at Robby's apartment.

"Gotta admit, I'm not used to this," you murmur against his lips.

Robby's lips twitch upwards, dropping his chin to pointingly graze yours. "Do I hear a complaint?"

"No," you quickly say on a laugh, unable to handle another attack. "No, you're not."

"Good," he mumbles, following up with, "I'm not either."

"No?" You had already suspected that he didn't date and hadn't for a while, but you never got confirmation yesterday.

"God, no, it's been years." You release a soft sound, one you were only able to do this early. 

"Happy I broke the spell," as you speak, your fingers start carding through his hair, from the short strands near his neck to the crown of his head.

He sighs, eyelids dropping, relishing your gentle scratching. "Yeah, me too," he agrees, even if it wasn't really a question to begin with. Nonetheless, it manages to make you smile before Robby's mouth dips to cover yours.

The kiss is lazy this time around. Slow enough that you can take a deep breath through your nose and not disturb the kiss. Even if the air beneath the covers grows warmer, stickier from used oxygen, it remains disgustingly cosy, not growing into something frenzied.

A shudder runs through your body when Robby gently coaxes your tongue with his. Goosebumps spread across his skin as well when you drag your nails up his back.

It's cosy, disgustingly so, as you break into a smile that Robby is quick to mirror, leaving your noses to brush more than your lips.

"We should get up."

"Not enjoying my wake-up?" His voice is light, the question asked on a barely contained chuckle.

"I'm enjoying it very much," you giggle, "But I also know my growling stomach soon will run the mood."

He chuckled at that, conceding with a shake that really carried the same air as a nod as he tossed the covers aside, climbing off of you and out of bed. Clad in only a pair of navy boxers, you have to bite the inside of your cheek hard to not go back on your decision as your eyes trail over Robby.

His soft tummy with the delicious happy trail that made you grit your teeth. The hair on his chest where his necklace rested, gold shining through dark brown. His strong arms with the tattoos you hadn't realised he had before you prepared to go to sleep. When he turned, you stared at that muscular back you could look at for days.

Probably feeling your eyes burn into him, Robby looks back at you as he picks up his jeans, along with yours, from yesterday. "Are you going to defy your own stomach?"

"Can't fault a girl for looking," you offer with a cheeky smile, not even trying to deflect.

One side of his mouth kicks up as he throws your pants on the bed. "Get decent." You huff out a chuckle as you climb out of bed. 

Similar to Robby, you slept in solely your panties, the rest of you bare. And like clockwork, you feel the same heat you just subjected Robby to drag across your body. You watch him watch you, entertained by how he paused buttoning up his jeans to shamelessly stare when you step out of your underwear, icky at the thought of wearing them throughout today as well. Yet, you don't remain naked before him for

"What happened to decency?" You smugly point out as you grab your bra, Robby's eyes finally meeting yours as you hook it in place before shuffling it around the right way and sliding your arms into the straps.

It's his turn to scoff, walking over to his closet to retrieve a shirt with a grumbled, 'Decency, she says while giving me striptease.'

You bite your lip to curb both a smile and the laugh bubbling up, moving around the room to find your top. Spotting the white crumbled fabric, you pad over to the middle of the room.

When you pick up the white,curmpled heap of fabric from the floor, you scrunch your nose at your cardigan. 

You remember the forecast said it would only become warmer each passing day. Given the sun shining through the blinds and how the room is already hotter than when you arrived at Robby's yesterday, they were correct. 

Even thinking about putting on the fluffy piece of clothing you thought was such a cute choice yesterday made your skin prickle.

"Didn't plan for good weather?" You follow the smug voice, catching Robby just as he tugs a t-shirt over his head.

"Didn't plan for a sleepover," you return, watching as his head pops through the opening, hair slicked down somewhat and with a smile on his face.

"Lucky me that you changed your mind," he says, stepping up to you. One of his arms winds around your waist, pulling you against his body.

You roll your eyes, but don't parry his face when he bends down to plant a kiss against your lips.

Robby's arm tightens around you, large hands splaying wider, fingers brushing the lace of your bra. His other hand finds your hip, half of it atop your jeans, the other half reaching your bare stomach above the hem.

"Borrow one of my shirts." He offers when he stands straight again.

"Is that okay?" Robby doesn't answer, merely sends you a look that says enough. You laugh softly, getting his point. When you try to step away, however, you're held back. "Robby?" 

He releases a hum, shifting his hold, sliding his arm until he holds your hips with both hands. You peer up at him, curious when his brown eyes remain downcast. It's not until he starts angling your hips, twisting your body this and that way, that your eyebrows raise, a light scoff escaping through your nose.

Robby's eyes flicker up to meet yours, only momentarily, before they drop down the length of your body again. "Just enjoying the view before it's gone."

"Oh my god," you laugh this time, pushing at his chest, but it has the opposite effect, as rather than pushing Robby further away, he pulls your hips against his.

"Can't fault me," he dips to mouth along your clavicle, the action awfully familiar from yesterday, especially as he speaks against your skin, "Real good memoris." 

"Let me get dressed," you breathe, not complaining, but the cramping in your stomach makes it easy to stay focused. "I'm getting hungry... and not for that." You quickly add when Robby leans away, watching you with raised brows and lips curled inwards.

"Tease," he muses, reluctantly letting go of your hips.

"Insatiable," you retort with a glance over your shoulder as you move to where he previously stood, yet Robby doesn't look the slightest bit bashful, only shrugs with an easy smile.

"You bring it out of a man, sweetheart." And it's your time to duck your head and mumble something incomprehensible while digging through his closet for just a plain white shirt.

With Robby lending you a spare toothbrush and you applying some of the bare basics makeup and skincare you always carry with you, it's not long before you find yourself ready and by his front door.

Yet, before you can reach the door handle, a finger loops through one of your belt loops, gently tugging you back a step to not disturb your impaired balance in heels. Another decision you aulted your past self for doing. 

You turn to look at Robby, who's got one hand in his back pocket, the other urging you closer by another tug on your jeans. You accept your fate, letting yourself be herded toward him, knowing what he wants when he ducks his head.

When you can't help but giggle, he mumbles, "The first-kiss rule is already broken," between light, repeated pecks.

You break into a smile at that, hovering just out of reach so you can speak uninterrupted, "So just because of that, all bets are off?"

Robby notches his chin lower when he leans away, watching you through his brows despite the height difference. "Last night kinda sealed the deal."

He says it with that boyish smile on his lips as his eyes almost gleam. It's infuriatingly disarming and just like yesterday, you avert your eyes, unable not to smile yourself despite shaking your head.

"Yeah, yeah, eat it up while you can."

"Oh, I will."

You roll your eyes, huffing an amused, "Fine, I'll let you", as you peck his cheek, fully intent on being on your way as you slide your hand into the grip he has on your pants to interlock your fingers. But Robby has other thoughts, as his other hand finds the back of your head to redirect your mouth to his and prolong the peck into something more.

"We shouldn't-" you begin, but Robby's lips chase yours, finding them, and interrupt the sentence, "-we'll never get going otherwise."

"Wouldn't mind just having lunch instead." Your resolve is so fuckign weak around him that you genuinely consider agreeing. Thankfully, the sound of Robby's phone breaks you apart.

With a groan, he pulls away from you, only letting one hand fall at first to reach his phone, then the other joins to type out a message as a furrow works itself between his eyebrows.

"What is it?"

Robby's eyes jump from the screen he scowls at, the expression falling instantly. "Oh, nothing." You send him an unimpressed look, and he sighs, "Just my colleague checking in."

"Collegue as in friend or not?"

"Friend." You smile, eyes falling to his black screen, only to jump back up to his eyes.

"And what did they ask?"

"How things are going?"

"And you answered?"

"That I'm having brunch, so don't disturb me."

You laugh, head tilting as you look up at him. "Didn't they set you up with me? Surely you don't need to be so secretive?"

He lets out a short chuckle, shaking his head but never dropping his gaze from yours, "Oh ho, that's plenty enough for them, trust me." 

As on cue, Robby's phone chimes, and his eyes drop, only to send you an amused look and turn the phone towards you.

Send her our greetings.

You laugh as you walk away, pulling him along with your interwined hands and out of the door to finally be on your way.

You walk to the brunch place hand in hand, the restaurant not far and fortunately not packed. Once seated, the waitress takes your orders. Both you and Robby opt for pancakes, with Robby choosing a sweet and savoury combination featuring maple syrup and bacon, while you select a purely sweet one with berries, whipped cream, and syrup.

The conversation is light, comfortable as you wait for your food. Continuing in the same fashion once your plates are set down in front of you and you dig into your orders.

You don't really know what prompts it, just that the short sequences you just witnessed will be one you'll shove away in your mind, a little movie to replay in the future and look back at fondly. Why? You don't know. But your heart thuds a little harder after watching Robby laugh at one of your jokes, a droplet of syrup falling onto his hand as his fork hangs in the air a little longer. Setting down his utensil, he licks the rup from his finger, shaking his hand in retrospect to whatever you'd said, sending you a look that was nothing but amused. 

There's a softness in the moment that makes you infinitely happy that Robby's friends set you up with him.

"Can I borrow your phone?" You ask Robby suddenly and with a little smile, head resting on your fist. He raises his brows, watching you questioningly. 

Honestly, you hadn't thought he would give it to you, but your smile widens when he shuffles in his seat with a "Sure" and hands it to you across the table. 

You break into a bigger grin as you enter his camera. Of course, Robby notices when you angle it to fit him in the frame, the sides of his mouth twitching up. "What are you doing?"

You're quick to take a picture when you see the gentle smile on the screen, even if he doesn't look into the lens. Deciding not to answer but simply show him, you turn his phone around. 

His eyes fall to the screen, but he doesn't properly see what's shown before he fishes up his glasses and puts them on. 

"You looked too handsome not to." His brown eyes widen, and as they jump to look at you over the black rims of his glasses, a pink hue is already working its way to colour his cheeks.

"Really?" He scoffs, head hanging as he rubs at his neck.

You giggle, loving that bashful expression of his as he looks at you, hand still on the back of his head, scratching through the short hair there. But you decided to push it further, hoping to succeed with what you aimed for in the beginning.

"Do you mind opening your and Jack's conversation?" You wiggle the phone.

Robby's hand drops, eyebrews shooting up. "Don't tell me-"

"If you don't want me to, that's fine." You reassure him, then close his phone and hand it back to him.

"You're only adding fuel to the fire," he says on a chuckle, shaking his head, but abides your request by motioning for you to join him by curling his index finger.

You eagerly move from your side of the table and slide into the booth Robby sits in, not shy to press your body against his. As he hands back his phone, now with the requested conversation open, he raises his arm and rests it behind you on the backrest.

Even though Robby sees you write the message, you tilt the screen more towards him so he can read it properly once you're done.

—Good news, he gave me a smile.

*Picture attached*

"Are we in the clear?"

"You'll have to repay me for this," he mutters as he presses send and plucks the phone from your hands. You turn to look up at him, lips curved in a smile. "And just how do you imagine I should?"

"Free tonight? There's this other restaurant I've wanted to test." He asks, setting his phone aside and taking off his glasses as he does so.

Your break into a smile. "We haven't even finished our second date and you're already asking for a third?"

"A waste to not spend my days off with you when I have the chance." This time, you duck your head, feeling a warmth rush up your throat. Robby's chuckle is low, his hand settling right where your neck meets your upper back. "Didn't hear a no."

You look at him, meeting his brown eyes. You're only partly distracted by their sfotness, and by his thumb brushing beneath the collar of the too-large shirt you borrowed from him. "I'm free, but no late night, because I work tomorrow."

"No sleepover this time, got it," you roll your eyes as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

***

After Robby's curt reply over an hour ago, Jack didn't think he would change his mind and reach out, so the notification does make his brows furrow as he sits on the bed, blackout curtains drawn and prosthetic resting against the bedside table. But, confusion soon turns into pleasant surprise when he stares at a short text, accompanied by a picture.

With a fond scoff, he set the phone aside, knowing someone who would like to see those messages. 

Even if Jack's smile is faint, it's there when he arrives at the Pitt that evening and sees Samira. He doesn't go up to her, choosing to wait by the lockers as she finishes her conversation with Dana. But, he doesn't have to wait for long before she does, visibly perking up as her brown eyes land on him.

It never fails to make Jack's lips twitch upwards, but when he holds his phone up, informing her that, "I've got updates," the same thing as always beats harder in his chest upon seeing something in her eyes light up more than usual.

When Samira sees what's on the screen, she gasps and quickens her steps, taking the phone from him once close enough. Her eyes instantly land on the picture, then the text, before moving to the picture again once she has received the explanation for it, and finally look at Jack with a wide smile. 

"They already went on a second?" 

"That's from this morning," he informs her.

Samira's eyes widen, mouth dropping open in excitement. "No, it isn't!" 

"She spent the night." Jack juts his chin, directing her higher in the message chain. He sees her scrolling when he says, "Bet you'll have an easier time Tuesday." 

Samira's smile remains, albeit tilting more towards confusion as she looks at Jack. When he tips his head, eyebrows cocking, she realises. "God, you're impossible," she scoffs, but his expression only drops into an amused one. 

"Consider it mission succeeded."

Choosing to ignore the very implicit comment, Samira's eyes drop to the picture. 

She's never seen Robby smile like that. What makes the picture even sweeter is that his eyes are shifted slightly to the right, looking at whoever is taking the picture, you. Whatever apprehensions she had before about this idea have entirely vanished. Mission succeeded indeed.

[beautifulandvoid]

Quiet Part 4

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

Part 1 can be found here, Part 2 can be found here and Part 3 can be found here!

19.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: death of toddler discussed (not reader’s); domestic Jack; domestic Robby; shy reader; discussions of loss of spouse; anxiety; grief; guilt; shame; self-hate; light body image issues for reader; Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; reader is not a therapist; no use of Y/N or related.

Summary: You and Jack try to work through your miscommunication, a patient death rocks him, and Robby loves being an uncle.

AN: Well, we ended up getting an extra 6k words or so because of me splitting this from Part 3, including some very cute Jack and baby and Robby and baby scenes (or at least I hope they're cute lol). I used an OC for Robby’s love interest because it's going to be easier for the future of the story and her role in it for me to have control over her background, how long she's been at the Pitt, her friends, her personality, etc. I’m so sorry if your name is Rowan and/or you’re called Ro. Like I said with Part 3, we're getting towards some of the plans I have for them that I'm really looking forward to writing! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!! ♥️

"Dada," your son whimpers at the closed door and the sudden disappearance of Jack.

He starts to cry and you're quick to pull him in closer to your chest and bounce him. This isn't abnormal, he often cries when one of you leaves if he's not distracted. It just hits you harder tonight.

"I know Baby, he had to go to work, he'll be-" You stop yourself. You don't know if you can say it like you always do. He'll be back soon.

"You're okay," you murmur to him, kiss the top of his head. "It'll be okay. We'll be okay." A few of your own tears fall before you even realize it as you shush your son and take him into the living room to grab one of his favorite toys. It works and distracts him and his tears stop soon. It takes a little longer for you to get yours under control but eventually you do.

You don't realize as much time passes as it does but your phone chiming with a text pulls you further back into the moment.

J - Made it to work

You want to hold onto that text so badly, try to convince yourself that if he wasn't coming back he wouldn't have bothered sending that text. He'd just be done. And you do take some comfort from it but your brain still twists it, that the message was short, he meant it with some short tone you read into it. You don't know what to say so you keep it simple.

You - Good

The rest of your night is typical other than the ache in your heart and the whirlwind of thoughts in your brain. You spend time with your son and once you get him down you go and finish cleaning up dinner. As you deal with the dishes you have time to think and you hate it.

You replay everything you thought during dinner, everything you've been thinking since dinner. You're terrified Jack isn't coming back. You're terrified that this has made it too real and Jack can't or doesn't want to deal with it or handle it or something.

And then you realize that you've been so focused on Jack and worrying about you and Jack that you haven't let yourself think much about the fact that your son's first word was dada and that it was spoken to a man that wasn't your husband because your husband isn't fucking here. Your husband is hundreds of miles away in Arlington.

Your son is never going to call him dada or daddy or dad. Not really. Not in a sense that feels meaningful. Sure he might talk about him that way or refer to him like that but he's never going to call your husband that. He's not going to get your husband's, his father's, attention by saying those words. Again, because your husband isn't fucking here.

You replay the whole scene in your head, your son saying it for the first time, you and Jack looking at each other, both of you excited and in the happiest disbelief and emotional. Both of you shedding tears.

And it's not how it was supposed to look. It's not how it looked when you imagined it the few times you'd let yourself think about not miscarrying and really having this baby during those five weeks you knew you were pregnant and your husband was alive.

But like with so many things, you don't hate it. You don't hate the way it looks with Jack there. And maybe you should. Maybe you should be way more upset about him calling Jack dada. Maybe you shouldn't want him to, or shouldn't be okay with it. Does your husband hate you for that? That you don't hate it and that you like it? Are you the worst wife?

A crushing wave of guilt overwhelms you, one that drowns out some of your worry about losing Jack. Guilt that you were more focused on you and Jack than your husband and your grief over losing him and your son calling a different man dada. And that grief is right there with the guilt to further overwhelm you.

And you can't do it. You just cannot do it tonight. You can't feel. You're too tired and your head hurts and your tears are mixing with soap as you finish the dishes and Jack isn't here to talk this out with and your husband is dead and everything is so fucked up in your head you can't breathe.

So no. You can't do this tonight. You can't feel these feelings and try to work through them. And you won't.

Oftentimes, most of the time really, when Jack is working, you stay up as late as you can to text with him to the extent he can. But not tonight. Tonight you can't. You can't sit or lay in bed and think about what just happened and if Jack's too freaked out and going to leave. You can't berate yourself for not thinking about your husband enough, not being upset enough, not immediately feeling enough grief when it happened. You can't drown in the guilt and the grief. You can't feel.

So you take some sleeping meds, get ready for bed, climb in and set an alarm. You send Jack a text to let him know, brain screaming the whole time that he doesn't care and won't miss texting you and will be relieved, and that you shouldn't care whether he cares right now because you should just be guilty and grieving your husband and too upset about your husband not being here to feel any other emotions.

You - Hey, just wanted to let you know I'm falling asleep. I hope things have been okay so far and the rest of your shift is good

As the meds start to hit and you get drowsy it really hits you, that realization you've been repressing so you don't have to think about it and sort through all of the emotions that come with it. The reason that the guilt and grief is so crushing, more intense than it has been in a good while now. The reason you're so terrified of losing Jack.

Love.

You're falling in love with Jack. You might already love Jack in a way if you could get yourself to be honest with yourself.

And it feels so good and so fucked up of you at the same time and you wonder if your therapist could emergency fit you in tomorrow to try and help you with some of this because your head is so fucked up right now.

You'd be in a full on panic attack if the meds weren't forcing you under. You're grateful that they're working and your eyes shut and stay shut as sleep blankets you.

Jack misses your presence tonight as odd as that sounds. Normally he feels his phone buzzing periodically up to a certain time. It's always you. Always you sending texts during the night of photos or videos of your son, updates and your reactions to whatever reality TV show you're watching, things you see while scrolling whatever app you're on that make you think of him.

His phone has buzzed once tonight so far. That's quiet. Jack doesn’t like the quiet. The quiet has been far too kind to him lately and he knows it. So the quiet isn't helping any of his anxiety, in particular his anxiety about losing you.

He's thankful that the shift is busy because it saves him from thinking too much about anything other than work and what's in front of him or around him. But around midnight he gets a chance to sit in the break room long enough to actually eat what you'd packed him. He looks to see what you've sent him as he reheats his food in the microwave.

While Jack believes you that you're asleep and not just not texting him, it still increases his uneasiness. You sent that message around 10:15 and the entire time Jack has known you, except for when you were sick, he has never seen you go to bed before 11. You're a night owl like him and even though you work normal hours you often still struggle to go to sleep at a decent time. He shoots a quick text back.

J - It's been okay so far, thanks. I hope you sleep well Sweetheart

It worries him. But you did seem tired, so it makes sense. Right? He wonders if you’re not feeling well, if you’re getting sick. You would tell him though, wouldn’t you? He considers texting, calling even, to ask if you’re not feeling well, but he doesn’t want to wake you. Maybe he should bring some stuff home just in case you are getting sick, help prevent it from getting worse. 

Maybe it’s your period or the days before and so you’re just hit with general malaise. God, should he even be thinking about that with how relatively new everything is? Is that too personal? He’s a doctor so it’s just something that comes to mind. Maybe you’re anemic though, if it is your period. He should try to get you to come in and order a couple of blood tests, just to be sure you’re okay. A quick CBC, BMP and serum iron. Well maybe a CMP since you’ll be giving blood anyway, TSH maybe. 

That's all overkill and he knows it. You're just tired, like he's just tired sometimes. His brain is just choosing something else to spin out over that seems easier to cope and focus on in comparison to spinning out over him stealing this huge thing from your husband and you maybe wanting to break up with him.

Jack resigns himself to seeing how you are in the morning and going from there. If you'll let him in your place and stay. He's watching your son tomorrow so he doubts you'll say anything before you get home at night, especially because you will want him to be able to grab some sleep, he's sure. You're caring and compassionate like that.

He thinks about that something else he's feeling about this whole situation that still hasn't quite come to the surface yet. He grabs his food from the microwave and sits down as he tries to get it to come up for him.

It's looking at his ringless left hand as he stirs that makes it click.

He was supposed to be doing this with his wife. Their baby was supposed to be calling him dada. He was supposed to look over at her and cry with her over it and get to embrace her and kiss her and have it be a purely happy moment, maybe with some bittersweetness of their baby growing up.

They'd been actively trying when she died. But he never got to have that with her.

All of the things he does with your son were supposed to be with their baby. And somehow that had never really fully occurred to him until this moment. How was that even fucking possible? How could he be that shitty of a fucking husband to just not remember or realize he'd wanted this with her? Does she hate him? Think he's the worst husband? Is he the worst husband?

His own wave of guilt crushes him. Like yours does, it drowns out a lot of his worry about losing you. It's guilt for somehow not putting together this was something he was supposed to have with her. Guilt for not grieving that all over again because of course it was on his mind every time he saw a child of any age for at least the entire first year after losing her. But he grieved and it got better. Still, his brain tells him he should've been grieving it again when your son came into his life and he hasn't grieved enough recently, his grief hasn't been prominent enough in his life. So grief is right there with his guilt to overwhelm him further too.

Jack can't do this at work. He can't feel all this shit and be this in his head. He'll end up being so distracted he might kill somebody. Or at least that risk is there. So he has to box it all up and put it on a shelf in his mind to deal with later. To deal with his therapist on Monday. Maybe some of it with you if you even still want him because he still wants you. Even with this grief suddenly raging. He still wants to be with you.

He puts the lid back on his lunch because he's not hungry now. It makes him think of you, of course. How you didn't really eat. How you packed this for him even when clearly in your head about things. And there through all the guilt and grief about his wife, more of his worry about losing you resurfaces.

Jack knows why it scares and worries him so much. He's known for a while.

Love.

Jack is falling in love with you. Really Jack knows he probably already is in love with you, he's still working on admitting that to himself.

And it feels good. Loving you. Loving your son. Your son calling him dada. It feels so, so good in a way Jack never thought he'd feel again. But like for you, there's some part of it that feels wrong. He knows she'd be happy for him. That wherever she is, she is happy for him. About all of it. Finding you and falling in love with you. Having your son to love like his own and your son calling him dada. He thinks back to the dove. He knows she wants this for him. But in the moment knowing that isn't really making anything easier.

"Jack." Bridget opening the break room door and saying his name pulls him from his thoughts. "Two majors and a minor rolling in five. Victims of a pretty nasty MVC."

He nods and starts standing up. "I'll be right there." And just like that Jack shoves everything in a box and sets it aside for now.

You wake up in the morning feeling like you didn't sleep at all. But at least you weren't actually awake because all the feelings crash back down on you once you're awake and you wish you could just take more sleeping meds and roll back over. You have to get up though. Get yourself ready. Get your son ready for daycare maybe.

As you sit up you grab your phone and read Jack's text. Sweetheart. That has to be good, right? Him using a pet name. And he hasn't let you know he won't be able to watch your son, so he's probably coming still. But you won't let yourself bet on it. Your brain tells you that if you don't get your son ready for daycare he won't show, and that if you do Jack will be here.

So once you've gotten yourself ready and dressed for the day you slip into your son's room and wake him up and get him changed and out of his pajamas. You're slipping him into his high chair when you hear the lock of your front door turning. Jack's home.

"Hey Sweetheart, I'm here," he calls to you as he sets his backpack down and pulls his scrub top off so he's just in his undershirt. He thought about things on his way home and worked through some stuff in his head and is feeling much better. Much lighter and more like himself. It's not like the guilt and grief and other feelings disappeared, he just seems to have a better handle on them at the moment. He's still worried about you though, and a little worried you're going to break up with him, but the return of rational thought has helped with that worry too.

"We're in the kitchen," you call back to him, going to grab your son some breakfast.

"Hey," Jack says through a long breath out as he walks in. It was a long night and he's glad to be home. His stomach sinks though when he looks at your son and sees him in real clothes and his daycare bag on the table looking packed.

"Dada, dada!" your son says excitedly, kicking his feet and holding his arms up for Jack with a smile.

Jack can't help but beam and you catch it and it starts to make you think that maybe things are okay. "Hi, Kid! Did you sleep well? I missed you!" He walks over to your son and leans down, gives your son several kisses to the cheek and tickles his tummy, chuckling at the way it makes him giggle. That scene soothes some of your nerves even more.

"Hey," you say softly as you walk back over to your son with some breakfast for him that you get situated on his tray.

"Hi," Jack murmurs, "I missed you too." He can tell from your face how tired you are and it worries him. But he just wants to feel you first so he wraps his arms around you a little hesitantly.

He doesn’t ask. Not verbally at least. He still does sometimes, but usually in a different context, when he's asking for a kiss, not if he can kiss you. He doesn’t need to ask anymore, you’ve told him that, because you don’t want him to feel like he can’t just have a normal relationship with you and because you’re okay with it. With him not asking. You’re there. 

Sometimes though he brushes his thumb over your lips to tell you that he wants to kiss you, that he’s going to kiss you, giving you time as he leans in to pull away. It makes your heart flutter a bit, the way he respects you and never wants to make you uncomfortable and pays so much attention to make sure you’re okay with anything the two of you do. 

And that's what he does now, his thumb brushing over your lips. But this time he waits a few seconds before leaning in. You wrap you arms around him and Jack takes that as a sign and smiles to himself a little when you don't pull away as he leans in to kiss you. You kiss a few times, short and sweet, but the last one lingers, each of you trying to take as much reassurance as possible from it.

When Jack pulls away he studies your face a little harder. It doesn't look like you slept much at all. Not in a bad way like you look anything less than beautiful to him, just in the sense you look exhausted and sad and drained and unwell and it hurts his heart. "Did you sleep at all last night?" His brows furrow and he brings the back of his hand to your forehead. "Are you feeling sick?" You're not feverish, which Jack is happy about, but still.

"Oh, yeah, I slept the night. I fell asleep shortly after I texted you. I think I just slept like shit. Sometimes the sleeping meds do that, I guess. But I don't really feel sick. Just tired." You shrug to yourself a little and go to pour yourself some coffee to go. You need to find it in you to ask if Jack is watching him.

He's glad you're not feeling ill, but the sleeping meds catch Jack off guard and make his brows furrow even further, his mouth pulling down in a frown. "You took sleeping meds?"

You still for just a second. You forgot you hadn't told him, not that you feel the need to hide it or anything, you just didn't say it in your text. "Yeah. My mind was just racing and I knew I wouldn't be able to shut it off to try and get some sleep. And shitty restless sleep sounded better than being awake with my thoughts, I guess."

So you went to sleep early to avoid feeling anything. Jack gets it. He really does. But it makes his anxiety about losing you spike and he remembers the daycare bag looks packed and you just kissed him, yeah, but maybe you lingered on that last kiss because it was a kiss goodbye.

"Is he going to daycare?" He looks over at the bag and then back at you. "I thought I was watching him?"

You look down at your travel mug and swallow hard. "I, um, I just wasn't sure… if you were going to be able to anymore, so, um, I thought I'd get him ready just to be safe. But, yeah, if you still could, that would be great."

Jack gives you a second because he can tell there is so much you're not saying and he wants to see if you'll say anything else. But you don't. "Why wouldn't I be able to anymore? I can, to be clear. Just what made you think I wouldn't be able to anymore?" he asks with a slight shake of his head, the confusion clear on his face.

You chew on your lip and shrug. What the fuck are you supposed to say? He's so different now, not at all like he was when he left yesterday and it leaves you a little thrown and berating yourself for not realizing he might have just needed some time to process everything and that you jumped straight to him leaving you.

"Hey," he says softly, walking over to you and resting his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. "Talk to me, please. If you can. I know something is going on and if I can help I want to." His thumbs run soothing circles against your shoulders over your top.

You look up at him as scared and small as he's ever seen you. It shatters some piece of him and he will do anything to make sure you never look like this again. "Are you staying?" you whisper.

"Of course," he whispers back, brows pulled together tightly.

"Not like now, but like… you're not going anywhere?" You force the next group of words out of your mouth because you just need to know and you know you need to talk to him and communicate better than you have so far. "You don't, you don't need time or space? Or want to break up?"

Jack shakes his head once, a bewildered shock twisting his face. "No. God, no." He takes your face in his hands gently. "Sweetheart, why, or, or what made you think I might want any of that?"

Shame floods you. For even thinking any of that was a possibility. And what if you thinking it and asking him is going to make him decide he does need time or space or to break up? You're too tired for all of the emotions running through your brain, for how intensely you're feeling them all. Any semblance of rationality you had when you woke up is quickly fading.

You don't know how to answer him. You don't want him to think your thoughts reflect on him. Because they don't, not really. They reflect your brain and your trauma.

"I, I don't want you to think that I think poorly of you or really believe you could or, or would just walk away, because I don't. It's just where my brain goes to try and prepare for, for loss I think." You look at him pleadingly. "And I don't want you to think any of this is your fault."

"I'm not going to think that Sweetheart, I understand," Jack assures you.

"Yesterday, after he called you dada and that initial few minutes passed, you just seemed… upset, almost. Or overwhelmed. And you got quiet and I thought maybe it just made reality hit, like the reality that you're not just taking on a relationship with me, you're taking on a child, you're becoming a parent in a sense. I thought maybe that was too much for you, more than you could really handle, or that maybe it made this too real and you realized you didn't want this. Or, or weren't ready or something. So I thought maybe you weren't going to come back other than to get your stuff one day. That maybe you'd break things off." You shrug and sniffle, a few of the tears you'd desperately been fighting off spilling over your lash line and down your cheeks, wetting Jack's thumbs where they rest against your skin. "I'm sorry. Deep down, rationally, I knew you wouldn't do that, wouldn't just not come back, or leave because of this but I just got worked up and wasn't being rational, so I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Jack. And I get if this changes things for you."

"It hasn't changed anything, I promise." His thumbs wipe away the tears and he moves his hands down to pull you into him for a hug. "I promise you have nothing to be sorry for, I understand. I was worried the same almost. That maybe it made things too real for you or it was just too much too soon or you were upset at him calling me dada because that's what he should've called your husband, any of those kinds of things. I was worried you might want to end things."

"Never," you sniffle, "it never crossed my mind. It stirred up some feelings yeah, and I thought about my husband and there's grief and, and I desperately need to see my therapist to try and untangle whatever the fuck my mind is right now because I can barely articulate anything about how I feel with how fuzzy my head feels, but I never thought it was too much or that we needed to break up or that I wasn't ready or anything like that and it didn't upset me, it doesn't upset me."

Jack pulls away just enough so that he can look down at you.

“None of that ever crossed my mind either. Well I suppose that's not quite true. I never thought it was too much or that I wasn't ready. I very briefly wondered if I should give you an out and break up with you or float the idea of us ending things because I thought it might be the best thing for you and what you wanted. But then I thought that it's not for me to say what's best for you or would help you, and I knew I was off the rails when I was thinking that shit. But I never, not even for a second, wanted to break up or felt like we needed to," he says firmly. Not in a mean way, just for emphasis. "I can't tell you how sick and upset it makes me feel to even think about us not being together, to think about losing you. And losing him." He glances at your son.

"And I wasn’t upset by it, by him calling me dada. I was, I was…” He lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. I wasn’t upset and it’s not that I didn’t like it or that it made things too real or was overwhelming. I just felt bad. Like I was stealing something from your husband. I don’t want to replace his father. I want you to know that and as he grows up I want him to know that. I want him to know his father.”

There's a little glimmer there for you. As he grows up. Jack's thinking about a future with you.

“So it, I don’t know, I guess it just threw me and I didn’t know how to react. I was so happy, like fucking ecstatic about it and proud of him and actually feeling that role and like I did fit it in a way, and I still do and I still love it and hearing it from him, but I also felt and still feel a little like the worst fucking person in the world for being excited that another man’s son, another soldier's son called me dada when I’m not and he's dead." He shakes his head a little, trying to figure out how to best describe his feelings.

"I just felt like I was overstepping almost or crossing some line, or that it might seem like I was trying to be him or erase him and it felt wrong to be as fucking incredibly happy as I was and to feel that role, but I still was and still am. I just got in my head and it took over and I didn't realize that was noticeable to you. I didn't want it to be. I didn't want to ruin that moment for you." He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose. "Fucked that one up pretty good."

"Dada! Dada!" Your son calling for Jack has the two of you looking over at him and chuckling at the mess he's managed to make with breakfast. Jack slides his hands to your waist and gives a gentle squeeze before turning to your son and grabbing a baby wipe from the daycare bag on the table.

"You've got a little something on your face there, Kid," he teases as he leans in to clean him off.

"Dada!" your son squeals with laughter as he tries to dodge Jack wiping him off.

The scene makes you smile, much of your anxiety dissipating from your conversation with Jack and watching him with your son. The guilt and grief hasn't gone away, and there's some lingering anxiety but you don't feel like you're about to drop into a full fledged panic attack at any moment.

"Alright, come here," Jack tells your son as he sets the wipe on the tray and unbuckles your son. Jack picks your son up and settles him in an arm before stepping back to be close to you.

As Jack starts speaking again you lean in and give your son a kiss, mouth a 'hi Baby' at him. "When I was at work, I realized that I'd never thought before about how my wife and I had wanted this. Kids. Like I knew that, but, I don't know, until now it just never really was like something I was consciously thinking about and that grief hadn't flared and now it has. Something about this made that hit. I guess it's like I realized that for most of the part of my adult life that I spent thinking about kids, I always thought when a baby called me dada it would be her and I's baby. I don't know how I, or my therapist frankly, hadn't thought about that yet, how it hadn't come up more intensely like this for me before now, because honestly that grief is pretty intense right now. It doesn't make me love him less, of course, just, it's there and I need to work through it. It's hard to explain."

You shake your head at him, give him a soft, knowing smile. "No, no I understand. I know what you mean, about different… aspects or parts of grief flaring, and I know it doesn't automatically change other feelings. It's just there like it always is, but worse or more prominent. It hurts a little worse. I think I'm in the same boat right now. Well," you laugh softly, "we both know I am. It, uh, has made me think about my husband a lot, yeah. And I wonder if I'm awful for not thinking about him more when it happened or for not being more upset or sad about it. I feel guilty. That my grief didn't, I don't know, outweigh my happiness almost, or that it wasn't far more prevalent, or equal, I guess. Which is obviously some pretty fucked thinking."

He nods. Jack understands. "I feel guilty too, yeah, wonder those same things. At work, when I realized, I felt awful about not having really thought about it before. We were like actively trying when she died and somehow it just never really occurred to me before. Maybe because he was here already and a part of you and we started as friends. I think it just had to be the word and the significance of it and having that role that brought it up." He shrugs because the answer is so simple to talk about but at the same time is so fucking complicated and hard and uncomfortable to execute. "So just some things to work through there. But I'm going to. Just like you are for the stuff this has kicked up for you and just like we both have before when we've had a flare of grief or that kind of thing. And I'm not going anywhere or changing anything while I work through it, okay?"

"Okay," you murmur. "Neither am I." You step closer to Jack and lean up, push your lips out a little to see if he wants a kiss or is okay with you kissing him, because you'd get if he wasn't with how he just spoke about his wife and his grief.

But Jack is more than happy to kiss you, is relieved that you seem to be feeling at least a bit better emotionally. He leans down to meet you and the two of you kiss, quickly smiling into it when a tiny hand taps on each of your cheeks. "Not getting enough attention Baby?" you ask your son as both you and Jack turn to look at him. He babbles at you a little and you and Jack both lean in at the same time and kiss one of his cheeks, sandwiching his face between yours and pulling pealing laughter from him, both of you chuckling as you pull away.

"I'm really sorry I upset you and made you feel like I might not come back, or like it might have been too real for me because that could not be further from the truth. I'm still right here and the same and just as committed as I was yesterday before he called me dada." Jack holds your gaze in that way he loves to as he speaks, his earnestness shining through his voice and eyes.

"No, no. Don't apologize. You're allowed to react and have feelings and you didn't make me feel like that. My brain made me feel like that, it was my reaction based on my own trauma and where my mind was at the time." You bring your hand to cup his jaw for a second before running it through already fluffy curls that make you smile. "And I'm just as committed too. I'm sorry for causing all of this. I should've just spoken to you and communicated better, and I'm sorry for not doing that and will do my best to do better in the future. And I'm sorry that I made you worry that I might break up with you or like it might have been too much for me, because, like you said, that couldn't be further from the truth."

Jack leans his head into your touch a little and lets his eyes flutter closed for a second. He loves the feelings of your hands in his hair. "You didn't cause this. At all. And I'm sorry that I didn't speak to you or communicate better and I'll try to do better in the future too." He lets out a huffed laugh, shaking his head slightly. "We could've saved ourselves a lot of worry and discomfort if we'd just talked."

You match his laugh. "We could've, yeah. It's hard sometimes, I guess. It's like I don't want to trigger something for you or make you feel bad or seem like I'm taking your grief and making it about me and how it impacts me, you know?"

"I do," he nods, "because I feel the same way a lot of the time."

Neither of you say it but couple's therapy crosses both of your minds. Not because there's a problem or things are on the rocks or even headed that way. But because this is a unique situation and you both just admitted to struggling at times with how to navigate and address your grief and how it impacts each other and your relationship. Yes, your individual therapists can help with that, but you both think maybe it's worth considering a couple's therapist. Nothing is said for now because neither of you want it to freak the other out while you're both coming down from being as anxious as you were.

"You going to be okay at work?" Jack asks softly.

You sigh. "Yeah, I just wish I didn't have to go." You glance at your watch. "And I really need to go now. I hate it. I'm sorry I can't stay to talk more. I, um, I also might call my therapist and see if she could squeeze me in at some point today because my head is truly such a mess. Would it be okay if I got home a little later if she could only take me after work?"

"Of course," Jack smiles at you. "I think that's a great idea and I hope she's able to see you. And I also wish you didn't have to go to work, but don't apologize. I'll be here to talk tonight or whenever you're ready and want to."

Both of you know that you have a lot more work to do with the feelings and grief this has stirred up for you. Neither of you are under the impression that everything is just magically better from the relatively short conversation you had. But neither of you are scared by the fact that it's not all magically better. You both know that there often will be work to be done to greater and lesser degrees for one or both of you because grief never truly goes away. And you both know you're committed here, that you're strong and want to be together and put in all the work for yourselves and for each other and for you as a couple.

Even though you know that the two of you are okay, you can't help but seek reassurance as Jack walks with you to the front door to see you off. You grab your things and turn to Jack and your son. "We're okay?"

Jack smiles at you and gives you a kiss. "We're more than okay on my end," he reassures you. "We okay on yours?"

You smile at him and take a kiss of your own. "More than."

Things have genuinely been great since the dada thing. You and Jack are great. Him and your son are great. It's only been a week, but it feels like a lot has happened in that week. You've both started working with your therapists on the emotions and grief that were brought up. You and Jack talked about it more after you each saw your therapist for the first time after it happened. You've talked about it as much and as often as you've both needed to over the week, including discussing couple's therapy and are looking into it and at therapists together. And you're continuing to work through things individually and as a couple. It was your first major miscommunication and you guys survived. If anything, you both feel like the whole thing has made you stronger as a couple, strengthened your communication and brought you closer together.

It's a Saturday, the day of the Pitt bowling afternoon and night. Dana scheduled it to start at five so that any night shifters working could swing by before starting if they wanted.

"Sir," Jack says with a humorous mock sternness and exaggeratedly raised brows as he looks down at your son who's laying on the sectional alligator rolling and wiggling all over as Jack tries to finish getting him dressed, his shirt already on. "I know it's awful and sometimes we just want to be pantless, believe me, I get it, I really do. But this is not a situation where we can do that. So if you want to go get more attention than you're going to know what to do with, you're going to have to let me get some pants on you, okay?"

You smile at the two of them from where you sit on the couch packing the diaper bag, or backpack, you suppose.

Your son giggles up at him in response, settling on his back but still kicking his legs rather wildly as he reaches up at Jack with his small hands. "Dada, Dada!"

"Give Dada just a second, Kid," Jack tells your son as he manages to get the jeans on your son and pulls them up. It had taken a few days, but Jack eventually worked through enough and was able to start referring to himself as Dada with your son. It had helped that your son started calling you mama the day after he first said dada.

"There!" He smiles down at your son. "Good job, Kid! Thank you." Jack leans down to give your son what he wants. Jack rests his forearms on either side of your son to take his weight and leans over and gives your son big overdramatic kisses on each cheek. He moves down and blows a couple of raspberries into your son's neck to your son's utter delight, full on baby belly laughs ringing through the room. You take a video of it, laughing to yourself at your son's laughter and Jack's struggle to blow more raspberries against his tummy where Jack's pulled his shirt up because Jack is laughing too. "Alright, crazy boy, how hard are we going to fight socks and shoes, hm?"

Jack picks your son up and holds him while he grabs a pair of shoes and socks, and sits down on the couch with them, your son in his lap. "Hey, thanks Man! I appreciate the spirit of cooperation." Jack praises your son as he doesn't fight getting socks and shoes on.

"You boys ready?" You smile over at both of them, your son looking up at Jack like Jack personally hung the moon and all of the stars for him.

Jack nods. "I think we are."

You and Jack get out the door and your son in his car seat and start the short enough drive to the bowling alley. You drum your fingers on your leg the closer you get, your anxiety starting to rise.

"You okay?" Jack asks, glancing over at you when it doesn't stop after a minute or so. "We don't have to do this, you know."

"No, no, I'm okay." You reach over and squeeze his thigh reassuringly. "Just, you know how I am. Shy. Social anxiety. But I know you and Robby and Dana. And I have to meet people eventually. I want to. I just…" you shrug, "have anxiety. I have to force myself to do it, and I don't mean that in a bad way, just that the only way to know people and make myself more comfortable is to go and meet them and push through it all at the beginning. These people are important to you, Jack. You guys are like a family, Dana said it. Pitt family. So I need to do this. I want to do this."

"Okay," Jack nods. He looks over at you at a red light. "But if you get too uncomfortable or anxious or want to leave for any reason just let me know and we'll go."

"I will, thank you." You smile at him. "At least the baby is kind of an icebreaker."

"True," Jack agrees. "And you have Ro to watch so we can lovingly tell Robby how fucking oblivious he's been being."

You laugh and nod your head at him. "I do, yes."

Ro is short for Rowan, the new-ish to the Pitt and Pittsburgh physician's assistant who Robby is into. You learned a lot about her from Robby one night he was over to hang with Jack and your son. She's a couple of years older than you, been here for about nine months, work days, is single, on the shyer similar to you, but assertive with patients and doctors when she needs to be, extremely smart and dedicated to emergency medicine.

"Is there a reason why he's being oblivious?" you ask Jack. "If you can share outside the best friend zone."

"I don't think it would really be in that zone. He's already told you how much about himself the times he's been over? He'd tell you this. He probably will tell you this when you tell him she's into him." Jack pauses for a second and thinks about how to phrase what he's heard from Robby before. "He's scared about putting himself back out there and doesn't want to risk undoing all the work he's done on himself, like he's worried he's going to fall back into old habits, especially ones that contributed to the end of past relationships."

You make a face of consideration and nod. "That makes sense."

Both Jack and Robby have talked about PittFest with you, though in Robby's case it's really with you and Jack, almost like he's bringing you up to speed at times. So you know what an absolutely awful time it was for him and how much therapy he's had since then and how hard he's worked on and for himself.

You think about what Jack said for a minute or so and then look over at him even though he can't look at you for more than a second or two at a time. "Do you think he's worried about undoing the work he's done or is it more that he's done all of this hard work on and for himself and improved himself in areas that have caused issues in past relationships and he's worried that he's going to get with someone and it's still not going to be enough? Or, that, in his perception, he's still not going to be enough? And so it'll just confirm for him in his mind that it's intrinsically him that's the problem and he's just never going to be good enough and doesn't deserve love? Or a combination thereof maybe?"

Jack opens his mouth to speak but then closes it because, damn you are probably so incredibly right. "I'm betting it's more all of that than him worrying he's going to fall back into old habits, yes."

"Understandable," you hum.

"It is," Jack nods. "Are you sure you're not a therapist?"

"Quite sure," you chuckle. "I'm just an over-thinker who's had a lot of therapy."

"Yeah," Jack nods in agreement as he pulls into the parking lot and finds a spot, "but you're my over-thinker who's had a lot of therapy." He smiles fondly at you once he's parked in a spot.

"That I am," you giggle a little. It's still so weird to hear sometimes. That you're his. You feel like it might always be.

Your giggle sends an urge to be close to you and a wave of adoration and happiness and… love, probably, if he was honest of himself, through Jack. He takes his seat belt off and is leaning over the center console before you can get yours to reel all the way back.

He brushes a thumb over your lips before he brings his lips to yours and kisses you. It's chaste at first, but devolves into more when you open your mouth for him, catching him by surprise. He's quick to take the opportunity to though, his tongue gliding over yours. Jack bites your bottom lip gently before pulling away, slightly flushed and breathing just a touch harder than normal.

"What was that for?" you ask a little breathlessly.

Jack smiles and shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Because I can."

You smile back at him and the two of you get out of the car, Jack grabbing your son out of his car seat since it's behind the driver's seat and throwing on the diaper backpack. It is admittedly quite a sight to see him this domestic and almost in a kind of dad mode, baby in one arm, diaper bag slung over the other shoulder, wearing one of his tighter shirts he often wears under his scrubs and a well fitting pair of jeans. His curls have gotten a little longer and that one is falling onto his forehead like it always does. It's hot. He's hot.

He always is. He's always unfairly handsome and attractive. You want him. You want him.

And that scares you a little. You haven't been with anyone since your husband obviously. Nobody, no man, has seen your post-baby body. And Jack is… Jack. All muscled and toned and salt and pepper curls and hazel eyes and beautiful smile and kissable lips and cheekbones. Sometimes you ask yourself what the fuck he's doing with you when he could have literally anyone. You see it all the time, women and men checking him out, staring for a little too long, flirting with him, sometimes right in front of you.

It brings up a lot of guilt and grief too. Just the fact of wanting to sleep with Jack, let alone actually doing it. You weren't supposed to sleep with anyone but your husband for the rest of your life. You still can't shake the feeling of disloyalty and how it makes you feel adulterous almost even when you know it's not. You know your husband would want you to move on and be with someone else, but it's just hard. There's still a lot for you to work through on this subject, and you know that, and that it's okay that there is, but you really hate it sometimes. And then there's guilt you feel for not being able to give Jack yourself like that even though you know he's okay with it, is happy to wait for you to be ready and never pressures you.

You remind yourself that you're allowed to have this, to want Jack and be attracted to him. That you're allowed to be happy and share your life with someone else.

"Can I help you?" Jack's voice brings you out of your head and back to the moment. He's smirking at you just a little. You must've been staring and letting your eyes roam him.

You breathe a little laugh, look like you've been caught. "Sorry, just, um… you look very good. This is a very good look on you."

"Yeah?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah," you nod. "We should head in."

Jack chuckles to himself a little as he agrees with a nod of his head, walking up to you and holding your hand with his free one, lacing your fingers together. He drops your hand only to open the door for you, rests his hand on your lower back once you're both through to help guide you over to where he spots everyone.

"Hi!" Dana says excitedly as her and Robby walk over to meet the three of you just a bit away from everyone to help ease you in. You're definitely within earshot of anyone who wants to focus and hear your conversation. She gives you a hug before turning to Jack and your son. "Hi boys!"

"Hey guys!" Robby greets you, similarly exchanging hugs with you and Jack. "Hi little man! How are you?"

Your son smiles at Robby before turning his head to look at Jack. "Dada! Dada!" Then he turns to look at you. "Mama!"

"Oh my god, it's even more precious in person!" Dana laughs.

"It really is," Robby agrees.

They both were sent videos of your son talking of course. Robby had gotten Jack to go to the roof with him for some privacy before asking how Jack felt about your son calling him dada. The two had a good conversation about it and Jack was grateful Robby brought it up because he wasn't really sure how to.

"Can you say Dana? Dana," you ask your son as you point to her. "Dana."

Your son hums like he's thinking about it. "Dana. That's Auntie Dana. I know you can do it," Jack tells your son, bouncing him a little to pull a laugh. "Dana."

"Na!" Your son looks at Dana as he says it, getting the schwa a little mixed with the broad a sound. It just makes it cuter. "Na!" He points at her.

"Very good, Baby!" you praise him. "That's Auntie Dana!"

"Na!" your son repeats, all four of you chuckling at him. You glance around the group and notice a few people glancing in the direction of the five of you. But one woman in particular is frequently glancing over, eyes not so much on the group as they are on Robby, who's standing next to you such that the front of him is visible to anyone looking over at you. You're quite sure she has to be Ro.

"I'm happy with Na. That's so good Honey, I'm proud of you!" Dana leans into Jack a little to tickle your son's tummy.

It pulls another chorus of giggled "Na!" from your son.

"What about Robby?" you ask him. "Robby. Uncle Robby." You point at Robby like you did with Dana.

Your son looks at you intently like he's listening and hums and babbles a little, but doesn't try Robby.

"Robby?" Jack prompts your son. "Uncle Robby. Robby."

Your son keeps babbling and looking between the four of you. It's pretty clear he's not totally sure about the word.

"Might be a little advanced for us when we've only been talking a week," Robby laughs.

"Yeah, we're going to have to figure something else out for a bit I think." You smile at Robby.

"Bee!" your son suddenly exclaims, clapping his small hands together as he looks at Robby. "Bee!" He points at Robby.

"Yeah!" Jack laughs. "That's Uncle Robby! Good job Kid! Look at you getting so many names today!"

"Bee!" your son says again. This time though he doesn't point at Robby. Instead he leans himself as far out of Jack's hold as he possibly can towards Robby and makes grabby hands at Robby.

You and Dana exchange a look, lips pressed together and eyes crinkled in adoration. Bee is pretty fucking adorable. And you can tell Robby loves it, loves the fact that he has his own unique name. He's misty eyed and you can tell he's fighting to not get fully teary when your son clearly wants to be held by him.

"Yeah?" Robby chuckles. "You want Bee?" He steps closer to Jack and takes your son from him who happily perches on Robby's side, babbling away and pulling at his shirt a little, almost going to chew it. When you lean in to stop him by pulling Robby's shirt away from his mouth he just drops Robby's shirt and starts chewing on his hand.

"Yeah," you draw out the word, "I thought so. He's starting to teeth again. Molars. It's not going to be a fun time when it really hits, Baby," you say with a small frown.

"Oh, buddy, yeah, that's not going to be fun," Robby shakes his head as he looks down at your son. He bounces him a little in his arms, making your son beam and laugh up at him through his hand in his mouth. "I bet Mama and Dada came prepared though."

Robby and Jack share soft, wistful smiles with each other at Robby calling Jack Dada.

Jack slips the backpack off his shoulder. He pulls out a couple of teething toys to offer your son who picks one and immediately begins chewing on it. "You want to give him some motrin now or wait a bit?" Jack asks you.

"Let's just do it now. Maybe we can prevent him from hurting." You give Jack a somewhat small smile and he gives you a sympathetic one back. He knows how hard it is for you to see your son in pain and it's hard for him too. "Can you hand me a burp cloth too so Uncle Robby's shirt doesn't get totally covered in drool?"

"Oh, it's fine if you don't have one, I don't mind," Robby says with a small shrug.

Jack pulls one out and hands it to you. While Jack measures out the motrin you help get the towel over Robby's shoulder and down his shirt enough on the side he's holding your son. It takes some persuasion but Jack gets your son to take the motrin without too much fuss and he has some water before resuming chewing on his toy while leaning in Robby's arm to look around.

"You see who was watching Robby?" you ask Dana under your breath as the five of you walk over to the group.

"I sure did, and that's her." She gives you a conspiratorial grin.

Jack wraps his arm around your side once you're really in with the group, which you appreciate immensely. You lean into him just a little to help ground yourself further.

"Alright everybody listen up!" Dana yells. A quiet settles over the group as everyone looks at her. "Group introduction to make this easier for us all." Dana asked a few days ago if you'd prefer something like this and as much as you hate being the center of attention, you felt like it was just easier. Dana points to you and says your name. "This is Jack's girlfriend. Please do not scare her away." Everyone laughs at that. She points to your son and says his name.

"Na!" he says back to her with a wide, fairly drooly smile. There's a few soft laughs and some awws from the group at it, drawing your son's attention back to the group.

Dana smiles brightly at him. "He's her son." She glances at you. "And this is Uncle Robby," Dana jokes, making Robby roll his eyes.

"Bee!" your son exclaims looking up at Robby again before he gives a big baby sigh and lets himself almost collapse and fall against Robby's chest with the softest thump, one hand holding his toy as he chews on it, his other hand reaching up and idly holding onto Robby's beard. It's fucking adorable.

You look up over your shoulder and exchange smiles with Jack. He squeezes your waist, a soft touch just to remind you he's here for you. You look out to the group and find Ro with her eyes glued to Robby, adoring smile on her face.

"Let's just go in a circle and say our names and whether we're day or night shift, or if we're a partner whose partner we are, okay?" Dana phrases it as a question but it's not really. Everyone is more than happy to cooperate though, and you quickly take in everyone's name, shift and relationships to the best of your ability. "Okay, thank you all." Dana says when Mel finishes the circle.

Everyone goes back to what they were doing and who they were speaking with. You, Robby and Jack get settled at one of the tables, Dana off to bowl with some of the others. People circulate and you meet them all a couple at a time, chat and get to know each other even if only a bit cursorily given the setting and how much there is to do at the bowling alley. You meet the day shifters who were working as they trickle in. You don't bowl though, wanting to be close to your son. Everyone is lovely, very kind and genuinely interested in getting to know you. Your son gets passed around as people come and sit and chat with you to his utter delight as he soaks in all the attention. When you can tell he's getting hungry and start to get some food out for him, Ro, who has him in her lap, feeds him for you. You don't think Robby's eyes leave her for more than a few seconds the entire time she has him.

At some point Jack gets asked to bowl with a group and you tell him he should go and you mean it. You feel comfortable enough to not need him next to you as a buffer, especially with Dana across from you.

You watch Robby and Ro together as they play in a group. And yeah, Dana and Jack are right. She's into him and they seem to flow well together, play off each other. The conversation appears, from what you can see, to flow easily between them. You don't see any awkward looking pauses or a struggle to come up with something to say.

The group eventually thins out as it gets later. Dana's off playing with a group and Robby and Jack are playing each other, passing your son back and forth as they take turns rolling. He seems to think it's a very fun game judging by all the giggles. You're back further, at a table by yourself and you're okay with it. You appreciate having a little time to yourself.

"Okay if I sit?" Ro asks as she approaches slowly. The two of you really hit it off earlier, exchanging phone numbers and talking about meeting up to hang out at some point.

"Hey, of course!" You smile at her. The two of you fall into conversation easily and you notice how she continuously glances over at Robby and Jack.

"So, how did you and Jack meet?" she asks.

You laugh a little. "My son was a patient of his. Which probably sounds kind of bad, but it's a whole thing. It was a slower night, I was a fucking mess, Jack was so good with him. Jack happened to have his dog tags in his pocket for some reason that night and it just like triggered me when I saw them. My husband died while deployed when I was ten weeks pregnant with him." You nod over at your son, smiling fondly at both your boys. "As a widower himself, and a veteran, Jack understood and we had a connection. I don't have any family or really any friends here so when my son was discharged he gave me his number in case I needed anything. I got quite sick a few weeks later and ended up texting Jack. He went all doctor on me and I had an IV and meds and slept for like twelve hours straight probably. Anyway, we became good friends after that. Kind of working towards more on my end, I just wasn't ready at that point. And then like three months after we met I told him I was ready and here we are a little over two months later."

"I am so sorry about your husband, wow. That must have been… You had to do everything by yourself, I can't even imagine." She gives you a sympathetic smile, seems to already know you well enough to know that you guys don't need to dwell on it and if she moves on you won't be offended. "I relate to the not having any friends or family here. Though, after nine months the Pitt is like a family and I'm pretty friendly with people, so I suppose I do."

"No significant other I take it?" you ask.

She gives a soft laugh. "No." As she says it she looks over at Robby who's currently holding your son while Jack bowls. It's perfect, giving you a reason to bring him up eventually.

You arch a brow and give her a knowing smile when she looks over at you. She gives you an almost embarrassed smile, knowing that she gave herself away.

"Those two are something else sometimes aren't they?" you joke, not making it about Robby yet. You watch as they playfully bicker with each other over something, making your son laugh in the process. Their competitiveness is coming out.

"I only really get to see them together at shift change or if we have something like this or whatever, but from what I'm seeing now, yeah," she laughs, "they certainly are."

You laugh with her and take a sip of your drink. "They're both great men."

"They are, yeah," Ro agrees. "And Jack is so good with your son. I wouldn't have known he wasn't Jack's biologically between the way he is with your son and the way your son is with him and calling him dada."

"I know, I'm really lucky. Jack loves him like he's Jack's own." You smile wistfully over at Jack, appreciating his side profile when he turns to smirk at Robby after he makes a strike. "Robby's great with him too. Jumped head first into the uncle role," you chuckle.

"Oh my god, that Bee thing when Dana was introducing you was so fucking cute. Your son is so comfortable with him, and the Bee nickname is so so cute." Ro grins as she looks over at Robby. "He'd be such a good dad."

"I know, right? He just started calling Robby that today. Between you and I, Robby got a little misty eyed at it, it was very adorable of him." You look over at the three again. "But yeah, he is really comfortable with Robby and he was pretty immediately, which is very rare for him. Guess Robby has a good vibe."

"Yeah, I guess," she says a little distractedly.

"So Robby?" You're wearing that knowing smile again when she looks at you.

"Ugh," she groans, putting her face in her hands for a moment. "That obvious?"

"I'm particularly observant, so maybe not to everyone," you try to reassure her.

"I feel like such a fucking teenager with a crush. And of course it has to be on my senior emergency med attending, who I swear to god I have every shift with. Like our schedules align." She shakes her head a little and lets out a long breath. "I need to find someone else to at least date to help me get over him. Wanna help me find someone?"

"Why do you need to get over him? How do you know he's not interested? Because just watching the two of you together tonight, there's clearly some chemistry there and it looked pretty mutual." You cock your head at her.

She shrugs. "I don't know, I just… I don't think he's into me like I'm into him. I've cooled it some because it started to feel a little pathetic but I was really flirting with him for a while and would get some back but he never made a move or whatever. If he was interested he would've."

You consider her words for a moment and nod slowly. "I think you'd be surprised at how oblivious men can be at times." You didn't ask Robby if you could say anything to her, so you're not going to reveal what you know.

She laughs at that. "Yeah, but, I don't know. Why would he be interested in me, you know? Even short term, let alone long term, which is what I'd want with him. Look at him."

You furrow your brows incredulously. "Look at him? Look at you! He should be so lucky as to have the chance to take you out, let alone ever call you his." She furrows her brows right back at you and gives you a look. "I'm serious. But fine, that aside. Would you ever ask him out?"

Ro snorts. "No. I couldn't. Just like me personally, my personality and anxiety, I'd never be able to. I wouldn't be able to risk the awkwardness. I'd have to switch to nights when he said no."

"But if he asked you out, you'd say yes?"

"Oh yeah, like embarrassingly quick too I'd imagine." She nods, rolling her eyes at herself.

"Do you trust me to talk to him?" You float the idea gently. If she says no you think you could still get Robby to ask her out.

"And say what, hey Ro has a big crush on you, do you reciprocate?" she jokes.

You really don't want to outright reveal Robby's equally big crush on her so you think about how you could phrase it such that she might infer that there's something requited. "Maybe Robby just needs some reassurance. Or some help in clearing some obliviousness."

Ro is quiet for a moment as she studies your face, her eyes narrowing. "You think he might be oblivious and think I'm not into him?" she asks incredulously.

You nod. "I think it's certainly a possibility." She looks so torn as she thinks about it. "Hey, if you don't want me to say anything to him, I won't. But I saw him with you today and I think based on what I saw between the two of you that you might be a little oblivious as to how into you he is."

"Really?" She's wide eyed and looking a touch apprehensive, more cautiously hopeful than anything. You nod again. "God, wow. I don't know. You know what, this is probably the liquid courage talking but fuck it, yeah. Yeah, if you don't mind, maybe he does just need someone to clarify things for him because it does feel like he's into me and it leaves me confused when he does nothing. So at least I'll know. But," she gives you a fake stern look, "if he's not actually into me you have to help me find someone."

You smile at her. "Deal." You jokingly stick your hand out and she follows, taking your hand and shaking on it.

"Hey, Ro!" Dana calls to her from one of the lanes. "You're up."

"Fuck, I promised I'd play with them the next game." She shakes her head at herself and downs her drink. "Hey, thank you. For you know… what you're going to do. And I really enjoy talking with you, we should definitely hang out sometime soon."

"I'd love that," you agree with a smile. "I'll text you."

"Ro!" Dana calls again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Ro calls back to her as she gets up and heads over.

As Ro leaves, Jack, Robby and your son finish their game and start walking over to you. You and Jack exchange looks and he knows by the smirk to your smile that he was right.

"Mama! Mama!" your son cries excitedly when he sees you, trying to launch himself out of Jack's arms into yours as Jack sits at the table.

"Hi Baby!" You grab him from Jack and kiss all over his face. "Have you been having a good time? It sure sounded like it!" You take the burp cloth from Jack and throw it over a shoulder, pretend eating your son's fingers when he sticks them near your face, a game he loves. You can't help but smirk at Robby and raise your eyebrows. "Sit."

"Oh god," he says fake nervously as he sits down.

"First," you start as you get your son situated on your lap and get him a fresh teething toy that he immediately starts chewing on, "who won?"

"Who do you think?" Jack asks smugly as Robby rolls his eyes.

"Aw, congratulations Sweetheart!" you say playfully, giving Jack a quick kiss.

"So…" Robby says.

"So. Jack and Dana are right." You shrug at Robby simply. "She's into you. It's obvious in how you guys interact and how she looks at you."

"See?" Jack smirks and tilts his head. "Oblivious," he tells Robby affectionately.

Robby sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know guys. She is her. You saw her. Do we really think she's into me?"

"Yes," you and Jack say at the same time.

"I mean maybe, but I'm not sure I want to risk a friendship and working relationship over a maybe," Robby sighs.

"No, no." You shake your head at him with a smile. "There's no maybe. I asked her and she said I could talk to you. I can tell you with certainty this is not a maybe. I know the feelings are reciprocated and that she's interested in something more than causal with you. She told me. And I point blank asked her, if Robby asked you out would you say yes, and she told me yes, she would."

Robby blinks at you for a second. "Oh."

Later that night once you're home, you and Jack are sitting on the couch, you curled into his side, drinking beer and cider while watching your show and cuddling. Your son was out the minute you got home after all the excitement on top of the teething. You both receive a text around the same time, Robby's text to Jack beating Ro's text to you by thirty seconds or so. They must have just parted.

Robby - You were right. About Ro

Ro - He asked me out!!!! You were right, he said he didn't think I could possibly be into him so that's why he never made a move!! You're going to have to help me pick out what to wear for our first date!

You and Jack look at each other and smirk. He raises his bottle to you. "To being right."

You chuckle and nod, clinking the neck of your bottle against his. "To being right."

A week later you hear Jack’s key in the deadbolt around 9:30 p.m on Friday. 

“Who is it?” you ask your son in an excited voice, pointing at the front door from where you’re sitting playing with him. “Who’s home?”

He looks at the door as Jack opens it, a huge smile taking over his face as soon as he recognizes Jack. “Dada, dada!” he squeals as he walks over to Jack. He’s pretty decent at walking now, but still tumbles sometimes and often prefers crawling because he can get around faster. “Dada, dada!”

Jack beams as he hears your son and sees him toddling over. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing that. And after today he needed to hear it.

Half way to Jack your son ditches walking for crawling so he can get to Jack quicker. Jack throws his scrub top off so that he’s in just his undershirt when he crouches down and waits for your son to get to him. “Hi Kid!” Jack grabs him and picks him up as soon as he’s close enough. “How are you?” Jack gives your son a couple of kisses to his cheek as he stands back up and then holds him closer, one hand cupping the back of your son’s head for a moment before Jack shifts him into one arm. 

You smile to yourself as you watch the two of them together. Jack looks exhausted, far more than usual. This was the last of four days on and he pulled a double today. He hadn’t been sleeping well going into the four days and that first night was a particularly rough one. You can’t quite put your finger on what it is exactly but something tells you that at least some part of the last twenty four hours was bad. Really bad.

You stand up and walk over to your boys. “Hi,” you murmur as you slide your arm around Jack's back and lean into his free side. 

"Mama, mama, mama!" your son exclaims excitedly, bouncing in Jack's arms as you join him and Jack.

Jack’s arm is quick to wrap around you and pull you into him even closer and he bends his head to nuzzle his nose against your hair and breathe you in. “Hi.” He pulls his head back up a little and slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling gently so you look up at him. 

You already know what he’s asking for, tilt your head before he has to say anything and lean up to meet him for a kiss. He keeps you there for a second, lets it linger and sucks on your bottom lip just a little before taking a few more kisses and letting you go. 

“I’m surprised he’s still up.” There’s a little pause and then a whisper under his breath you barely catch. “Really glad he is.” Jack walks into the living room, shifts your son again so that he’s holding him with both arms, keeps your son close. He sits in his usual spot on the couch. 

“He napped pretty late. Just wanted to keep going all day until he didn’t,” you laugh softly. “I’m going to go heat up some dinner for you, okay? Then you should sleep. You need it.” 

Jack nods, gives you a weak smile. “I couldn’t if I tried,” he shakes his head, still holding your son so close to him, as tight as he can without causing any discomfort or pain. “I need this time with him until he goes down. And with you.” His voice falters on ‘need.’

You know something happened, and with the way Jack is clutching your son you have a pretty good idea of what. “You want to talk about it?”

“Once he goes to bed,” Jack says softly, releasing your son when he starts to pull away so that he can see and grab at Jack. 

You give him what you hope is a reassuring smile and then head to the kitchen, making sure what you were keeping warm in the oven for him is hot enough.

You can’t imagine doing Jack’s job. Can’t imagine seeing everything he sees and then having to live with it on top of everything else in his life. You don’t think you’ve met someone stronger. He tells you that you’re the strongest person he knows all the time but you wonder if he ever considers how strong he is in that calculation. You know he doesn’t. 

You walk back into the living room with the food and a drink for Jack, smiling at him playing with your son on his lap. “You’re going to have to hand him over or set him down so you can eat, Jackie.” 

He makes a little noise of discontent but he knows you’re right. “You wanna go play some more?” Jack carefully sets your son down to see if he’ll ask to come back up or if he’ll go back to his toys. When he happily starts to go back towards his toys Jack looks back up at you and takes the food as you set the drink down on the end table. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” you murmur as you sit on the couch close to Jack. “I’m glad you’re off for a couple of days. You need to make up the sleep.” 

“Me fucking too,” Jack sighs between bites. The two of you watch your son play and entertain himself as Jack eats. “I don’t care about the sleep. I want time with you guys.”

“Busy last twenty six hours?” You want to rest your arm on the couch behind him and run your hands through his hair but you’re worried it might make him fall asleep with how much it seems to relax him at times. 

“Nonstop. It always is in a way, but this was nonstop traumas coming in and people walking in with injuries and illnesses far worse than they thought.” He takes a sip of the drink you brought him. “The last three though…” he trails off, shaking his head. 

You don’t ask anything further for now, knowing the two of you will talk at least some after your son goes down, which probably won’t be too long. You can see his play getting more subdued. 

“Thank you again,” Jack tells you when he’s done eating. He stands to go put his plate in the kitchen but you stand with him and take it from him.

“You’re welcome, and I’ve got it.” You smile at Jack and nod over at your son. “Go be with him. He’s getting sleepy.”

Jack smiles back at you. He loves the way you see him. How you see what he needs and give it to him to the best of your ability. He goes over and sits on the floor with your son and plays with him until he starts to lose interest and really just wants to cuddle and cling to Jack. Jack starts to read him some books, does all the voices and everything and your son is slowly lulled to sleep, grabbing for the pages of the books less and less until he’s out in Jack’s arms. You get it. You love Jack’s voice too, he could absolutely read you to sleep. 

The scene is still one of those that’s hard for you. You’re so glad your son has Jack in his life, you love watching the two of them together, love the way Jack loves your son like he’s Jack’s own. But that was supposed to be your husband. And a part of your heart yearns and longs for it to be your husband. 

Sometimes the cognitive dissonance hits hard and tears you apart and makes you spiral. Because how can you feel both? How can you love having Jack in your son’s life, love watching the two of them together, and how Jack loves your son like he’s Jack’s own but also almost wish you didn’t have that in a sense by longing for it to be your husband instead. You struggle with what to do with those conflicting emotions, how to reconcile them. It doesn’t seem fair to either Jack or your husband. 

You have to do your best to set it aside for the night because you know Jack needs you. So you focus back in the present, watch Jack stare down in wonder at your son as he rocks him gently to keep him asleep. You don’t need to see Jack’s eyes to feel the emotion in them. It’s palpable just by how he’s holding and looking down at your son. 

Jack’s having to focus on keeping his breathing steady to keep himself calm as he watches your son sleep. He’s so big now but still so small in Jack’s arms, so fragile. Life is fragile in general, few people know that as well as Jack with what he’s been through and what he sees at work. And tonight the fragility and smallness and innocence of your son is hitting him harder than it ever has before. 

“I don’t want to put him down.” Jack glances up at you. “I don’t want him out of my arms.” His voice is thick with emotion and if you didn’t already know what must’ve happened at work for him today, you definitely do now. “I can protect him here.” His voice falters a little and he looks back down at your son.

“I know,” you say softly, give him an empathetic smile. “Believe me, I know.”

Jack lets out a heavy sigh. “I should put him down.”

“Up to you.” You really don’t mind if Jack wants to hold him longer. You certainly have before. 

“If I don’t now I never will.” Jack throws you a look and you laugh a little in understanding. 

You walk over and grab your son from him to say goodnight to his sleeping form and so Jack can get up easier. “Goodnight Baby,” you murmur against his cheek, pressing another couple of kisses against his skin. “I love you.”

“I’m gonna grab a quick shower and change after and then I’ll be out, okay?” You nod and Jack gives your forehead a kiss before he grabs your son and heads off to get him changed and in pajamas and down in his crib. 

By the time you’re done with the dishes and tidying up the front room Jack is crutching back into the living room in a casual shirt and pajama pants and taking his usual seat on the couch. You watch the way he pulls his pant leg up and rubs his stump and does his skin checks as you walk to sit next to him, setting the monitor on the coffee table. “You should massage it.”

Jack shakes his head at you. “I can’t be asked.” 

“I know you’re sore,” you say softly as you sit in your usual seat next to him on the couch.

He looks over at you and smiles as he settles back into the couch. “It’s okay.” 

“Jack.” You give his arm a gentle squeeze. This isn’t something you’re going to push him on, but you want and need him to take care of himself. “You’ve been on for four days and just pulled a double. At least let me massage it while we talk.” 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done so. Or even the second. You remember the first time well because it had been so intimate in its own way. It had taken a bit for him to let you help him again after that, for him to really teach you about his prosthetic and the pieces and taking it on and off and how to care for and clean his prosthetic and stump, for him to show you how best to massage it to help him get some pain relief. 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” The smile you give him is so casual, like this isn’t a big deal at all, like it’s just a simple thing you’re doing for your boyfriend, no different than massaging his back or neck and shoulders after a long day. Like your acceptance and wanting to help and not being bothered or put off by it isn’t huge for him and doesn't mean more than he could ever express. “Are you okay with me grabbing the stuff?”

“Yeah,” he nods his head. “It’s on my nightstand.” It still throws him a little, how much you don’t mind and actually want to help him. 

“Okay, you lay back and get comfy while I grab it.” You squeeze his arm again and kiss his cheek before getting up and grabbing the salve from Jack’s room, your spare bedroom. 

When you get back Jack is spread out over the couch, head propped up with some pillows against the armrest, legs out. He moves his legs so that you can sit and you turn yourself toward him a little so that you can see him when you talk before he lowers his legs back, his stump nearly in your lap and his other leg draped over your lap and on the couch. 

You push his pant leg back up and open the salve and get some on your hands, rub them together a bit to get it warm and then start your massage. Jack lets out a long breathy groan at the feeling. It feels good, both physically having someone massage this sore part of his body and emotionally having someone who wants to take care of him, especially this part of him.

“I think you already know what it is.” He tilts his head at you with a slight frown.

You look at him and nod slowly. “I think I probably do, yeah.” 

“Is it okay? To talk about? I know you worry about him and I don’t want this to make things worse.” Jack really doesn’t. He’d rather not talk to you about this than have it trigger something for you and make you upset. 

“Thank you for asking.” You give him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I promise.” Jack gives you a slightly weary look. "I promise. And if it gets to be too much, I'll tell you."

Jack nods takes a few seconds before starting. “I haven’t lost a kid since we’ve been together. Today was the first one in a pretty good while for me. And don’t get me wrong, a kid of any age is hard. But of course it was a kid his age, and I don’t mean just a baby. I mean his age. Born three days before him.” You wince to yourself at his words, hands never stopping their massage, and Jack lets out a long shuddery breath. “Kids are always hard. All deaths are, but kids have always been harder. They are for most people.” 

He shakes his head a little, rolls his jaw as he tries to keep his emotions in check. “I thought I knew what that harder was, what harder felt like and then, and then you guys came into my life and I, I love him like my own and became like…"

"A parent," you fill in for him, sensing that he's not sure whether you'd be okay with that particular word in this context. You are. It feels strange sometimes for where you are in your relationship and the relatively short amount of time that's passed, but there's no denying Jack has a parental role in your son's life.

"I became like a parent," he nods, "and it changed things I guess, because jesus fucking christ.” Jack runs a hand through his hair and is quiet for a few seconds. You sense he has more to say so you give him time to gather his thoughts and recenter himself, hands continuing to glide with perfect pressure over his skin. “I haven’t had a patient death hit me that hard in a long fucking time. I had to go tell his parents and I selfishly wanted to fall apart with them. I didn’t. I haven’t and I won’t, but fuck. It hit me so fucking hard. I still feel vaguely nauseous.” 

“It’s okay to, Jack,” you murmur. “If you need to fall apart that’s okay. Anyone would after something like this.” 

Jack shakes his head. He’s not ready for that. He doesn’t want to fall apart even though he knows you're right and it's okay for him to. He doesn’t want the emotions. “It’s just three days, you know? Three fucking days apart. The same age. The same size. And it’s just so easy for my mind to conjure up the image of it being you, of it being us, and Robby or Heather or John or whoever taking us to a room and telling us. I feel like it’s all I’m going to see tonight if I can even fall asleep. And I really need to fucking sleep.”

You could cry just listening to Jack talk about it, for the life lost and his parents and Jack and all of the other staff who worked on him. You wish so badly that you knew what to say and could make it better for him, make him not hurt so bad. “I’m so sorry Jack,” you say softly. “It’s so incredibly awful, for everyone involved."

“You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s the job and I know it.” The look of guilt that pulls onto Jack’s face is heartbreaking. “I just wish we could’ve saved him.” 

“Jack,” you shake your head at him a little, almost pleadingly. “It’s not your fault. I know that you did everything you possibly could and that if you couldn’t save him nobody could.”

“He was nearly DOA, already arrested when he got to the hospital, but I tried fucking everything to be that one-tenth of one-tenth of one percent case where we got him back. Because I had to, I had to be able to look his parents in the eyes and tell them that I tried everything to save him.” The guilty look on Jack’s face only seems to intensify as he speaks, matching how the guilt he feels intensifies. He looks at you like he’s imagining having to tell you because he is. Because how could he not.

Jack closes his eyes and takes in a few breaths before opening them again. “I don’t know. It just… was hard. Really fucking hard.” 

“I’m sure it was more than really fucking hard, Sweetheart.” Jack shrugs listlessly at you and you frown. You’re not frowning at him, just at the situation. The world. You hate how much he’s hurting and how little there is you can do about it. And you hate how you can tell Jack thinks his reaction is out of proportion because it’s not. Not to you anyway. “You’re not being overdramatic for being this shaken, Jack,” you murmur.

“I just hate it,” Jack mumbles. “Some days I don’t know why I go back.” 

You take in a slow, deep breath through your nose. “For the ones you can save. And for the families of the ones you can’t.”

Jack lets your words wash over him for a few seconds before he nods. He wants to say something back but he doesn’t know what, seems to have run out of words. “Thank you.” His eyes flick to your hands and you move them so that he can sit up. “Can I have a kiss?” His eyebrows raise adorably as he asks.

“Of course. You can have as many as you’d like.” You slide over to him and into your normal spot on the couch and lean into him, let Jack seek out your lips. He takes kiss after kiss from you, keeps them shorter and chaste until you manage to suck on his bottom lip to get him to stay and silently tell him he can kiss you slower and deeper. Jack takes it, kisses you like it’ll fix whatever little piece of him broke tonight. And maybe it will. 

You nuzzle your nose against his for a second and kiss his forehead after you break apart for some air. Jack grabs the monitor and wakes it to check in on your son, smiling at the position he’s sleeping in and showing you. 

“He’s crazy,” you chuckle, shake your head a little. 

Jack chuckles in agreement and sets the monitor back down. He slips his phone out of his pocket and starts looking at photos of your son, watches a few videos as you lean into him and watch with him. Some are of you and your son, but there’s a couple of him and Jack that you’ve taken and sent to him, lots of dada and mama videos, one of Jack holding his hands and helping him toddle around the playground shortly after he started walking, your son belly laughing as Jack pops him in a swing and starts pushing him from the front so the two can look at each other. 

You smile to yourself at the memories and at Jack watching the videos to comfort himself like you do sometimes. 

“He’s so funny,” Jack laughs softly, letting out a big breath. “He’s perfect.” Jack’s whispering now as tears sting at his eyes. “Three days.” He looks at you hopelessly, eyes glassy with tears that are close to falling. He shakes his head and shrugs. “Three fucking days. And they looked so fucking similar, same eye color, same size. I know we have the t-shirt that baby was wearing and I, I couldn't fucking save him. I couldn't fucking save him.”

Jack finally gives in to the day and his feelings and hot tears stream down his face. He brings his hands to his face to muffle the small sob he can’t keep down. He feels so fucking ridiculous for this. This reaction is completely out of proportion. Jack knows that his exhaustion is playing a large role here, finally at a point where it’s fried his ability to regulate his emotions anymore. But still. He’s not those parents, your son is safe and healthy and asleep in the next room down and you’re here with him. It's too much, an unfair reaction on his part.

And yet he’s still sitting on the couch crying in front of you, giving you one more thing to deal with. He shouldn’t have even told you, he knows this has to be so beyond triggering for you. When the two of you met you were so scared of something happening to your son, held him so close and said that nothing could happen to him. And here he is shoving something happening to a kid damn near his literal exact age right into your face. He should have just asked Robby or Dana to sit with him and listen to him vent for a little bit before coming home. 

But more generally too, how many times can Jack ask you to do this with him? How many times can he ask you to hold him while he cries over shit neither of you have any fucking control over? Or shit he could avoid needing to cry over if he changed jobs? How many times can he ask before it starts to push you away? Before it’s too much and you can’t deal with it or him anymore? And then he’ll just have nothing again. He won’t have your son. He won’t have you. 

As soon as Jack starts crying you’re reaching for him. “Come here, Sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Jack lets himself fall into you, buries his head in your neck and clutches at your shirt as you wrap your arms around him, one hand rubbing his back while the other cradles the back of his head. “I, I, I’m sorry,” he finally manages to choke out through his tears. You immediately know what he means, all of the things he’s trying to apologize for to you and the universe and those parents.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Jack, you’re allowed to feel your emotions with me, however that might look. Whenever and however often you need to, okay?” You kiss the top of his head, let your fingers start to scratch at his scalp gently and rock him a little. “It’s not going to be too much. You’re not being overdramatic. And I’m really glad you spoke to me about it, I know you’re probably upset with yourself for talking to me about it because it was a kid his age, but it’s okay, I promise. I’d have told you if it wasn’t. I want to be here for you. Thank you for letting me be.”

He cries a little harder for a second at your words, a stronger sob wracking his body because you know him so well, can nearly read his mind. You got all of that just from him saying sorry.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur to him when he tries to speak again. “Just be. Let yourself do this, okay?” You continue to kiss at the top of his head, nuzzle your nose into still slightly damp curls. 

Jack does. He lets himself cry into you, doesn’t try to fight it. He’s not really sure he could even if he wanted to, but there’s a different kind of peace and catharsis that comes from just accepting you need to cry and letting yourself. In giving up the fight against the emotions that want to overwhelm you.

He’s not sure how much time has passed but his tears eventually stop. Jack doesn’t know if they fade away with a kind of acceptance or if he just runs out of them. He can’t bring himself to move. He doesn’t want to move. He would never ask and he completely respects you and where you are and that you’re not ready and why you’re not ready and he doesn’t hold it against you, but fuck Jack wishes you were ready to sleep in the same bed together. Just sleep. Nothing else. Just be close and sleep next to each other. Because he could fall asleep here like this. He could fall asleep with you next to him. He doesn’t think an empty bedroom is going to do it tonight. Like it hasn’t really for the last week. 

He’ll just have to make do. Eventually exhaustion will force him to get some sleep or maybe he’ll take some benadryl. 

You notice how drowsy he gets in your arms, know it's not just the tiredness and resignation that can hit once you stop crying hard. You really hope it'll translate once he's in bed, that he'll be able to fall asleep and sleep hard for at least twelve hours. But you know that's unlikely to happen, that he'll be plagued by nightmares and that, like he said, this is all he's going to see when he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Jack finally forces himself to pull away from you. Your neck is a mess where he cried into you so he brings up part of his shirt and wipes it clean. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"Don't be. I'm a mom, it doesn't bother me." You run a hand through his hair and use the thumb of your other hand to wipe away some of the tear stains that streak his cheeks. You give him a sympathetic smile and lean in for a soft kiss. It's not the first time you've comforted him with a kiss but it's something that Jack hasn't had in so long and he needs it, he really fucking needs it and you give it to him. "You wanna talk more?" you murmur after you pull away.

"No. I don't think there's anything left to say," Jack sniffles. "I think I just needed that to process. To talk and then cry. So thank you."

"Of course," you nod, "always, okay? I meant it. Whenever and however often you need it."

"I know, thank you." He steals another kiss from you. "You wanna watch an episode?" Jack asks as he sits back up properly in his seat, lets his hand linger on your thigh, just above your knee. But it's tentative, he's not truly resting it there. He's waiting to see if you're okay with it.

You put your hand over his and press down a little to tell him it's okay. "You should get some sleep Jack. You really need it."

He nods. "I know, and I will. But if you're up for it I'd really like some time with you. Time that isn't me venting about work and then crying into you again."

"Of course I'm up for it. I'm always up for time with you." You slip your fingers through his and squeeze gently.

"Thank you." Jack nods and grabs the remote, puts on what the two of you are currently watching together. You cuddle into him pretty close and the two of you laugh at the show and talk about random things it makes you think of.

The strain of exhaustion grows clearer and clearer in Jack's voice though and you hate it. And you hate the thought of suggesting bed and almost taking yourself away from him when it's clear he needs comfort. But you're not ready to sleep in bed together. For you it feels like it would be such a huge jump from the cuddling you guys do on the couch, even with as close as you get sometimes. There's something that feels more intimate about cuddling in a bed together.

But an idea strikes you. Maybe this way he can get a little sleep and relax himself enough that when he goes to bed he'll be able to fall asleep right away. "Can we try something?"

"Course." It's almost mumbled and Jack's eyelids are so heavy when you move from his side and look at him. Combined with how guilty he still looks and how almost scared he seems at the prospect of trying to sleep and actually falling asleep and having nightmares, your heart breaks a little.

You grab the monitor, your phone and the remote and move to the other corner of the couch and recline it so that your feet are out in front of you and you can lay back a little if you want. You set the monitor on that end table, put the other blanket over your legs and then prop yourself up with a pillow and put another in your lap. “Come here.” You pat the pillow. 

Jack furrows his brows. "You sure about this?" It's not like that much of you will be touching but it's still his head in your lap.

"I am, yeah." You appreciate the way he checks, know it's not him second guessing you but giving you that extra second to think about it.

"I don't want to fall asleep on you." He's already moving while he says it, stretching himself out on the couch and putting the other blanket over himself.

"I'll just wake you if you do," you murmur, smiling to yourself as Jack lays on his side facing the TV and getting his head comfortable on the pillow in your lap.

"Okay." He's already getting properly about-to-fall-asleep drowsy again.

You start running your hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp every now and then before going back to running your fingers through the salt and pepper strands that make it hard to breathe sometimes. Your other hand rubs the back of his neck and you can feel him growing more and more relaxed. It makes you smile. The two of you continue to talk idly for a few minutes as you keep watching the show, but Jack's eyelids grow heavier and heavier with each blink.

Your hands in his hair and rubbing the back of his neck and the way he knows he's got his head in your lap really do him in. "Thank you again for listening and massaging," he mumbles sleepily.

"You're welcome," you whisper. "Just let yourself fall asleep Jackie." You keep your hands as they are and it only takes a couple of more minutes before Jack's breathing evens out and he fully sags into you and the couch, finally asleep.

You pull his blanket up over him a bit more and change the TV to something you don't normally watch with him. Your plan is to wake him in a couple of hours, hope that he can get into bed and pass back out. You don't bother setting an alarm because you're not feeling particularly tired yourself.

But you don't account for the weight of even just Jack's head and shoulders in your lap and the heat he gives off and how comforting it ends up being. And so before you even realize it, you're out too.

You and Jack stir around the same time in the morning, your son babbling to himself a bit through the monitor. Jack shifted at some point in the night, rolling so that he's facing you. You still have a hand in his hair but your other hand is covered by his where it rests on the pillow.

"Fuck," Jack mumbles, voice still thick with sleep as he blinks his eyes open. "Did we spend all night out here? I’m sorry."

"It appears we did," you hum. "Don’t be sorry though. You needed the sleep and I don't even remember falling asleep so clearly I was comfortable." Your hand in his hair starts to run through it and your heart skips a beat at the way Jack closes his eyes and hums as he leans into it a little. "Did you sleep well? Any nightmares?"

"No. None." He opens his eyes back up. "Yeah, I can't remember the last time I slept that well actually. I feel like a whole different person already and I'm not even all the way awake yet." 

"You should go try and sleep more. You have a lot to catch up on," you say softly.  

Jack lets out a long breath. "I’ll nap when he does."

"Okay." You raise your eyebrows at him and give him the best serious look you can muster. "But you better." 

"I will," he nods, "promise."

"Good." As he often does, your son has settled himself back down, rolled over, and gone back to sleep. You laugh to yourself when the monitor goes quiet. You look at Jack and tilt your head. "How about I make some breakfast and you stay here and doze or at least rest?" Jack gives you an amused look and you huff at him. “Okay, I can make pancakes and eggs and whatever other breakfast stuff we have in there, thank you very much.” 

“I know, I just like teasing you.” You roll your eyes at him affectionately and giggle a little. The sound is a tipping point for Jack and he carefully sits up, your hand slipping from his hair as he brings his face closer to yours.

Jack brushes his thumb over your lips and leans in and kisses you softly. It's quotidian. Like a quick good morning kiss, a kiss when you pass each other in the kitchen, or a kiss when one of you hands your son over to the other. But it leaves you both smiling.

You keep Jack close when he starts to pull away a little, wrap your arms around him and pull him back to you so that you can kiss again. That kiss turns into another which turns into another which turns into making out on the couch, your hands running up and down Jack's back and upper arms while Jack braces on his forearms a little so that you don't take all of his upper body weight in this position.

“Is this okay?” Jack whispers against your lips about a minute or so in, pulling away just enough for his eyes to scan your face looking for hesitation or discomfort or any sign you're unsure. You've made out before of course, but this is different.

You know what he’s asking. Is it okay to be kissing how you are with him still half laying in your lap and your chests pressed together. “More than.” You smile at him, and your smile and you already starting to chase his lips is all Jack needs to bring himself back to you and kiss you again.

You and Jack make out until you're breathless. He can't help but tease you just a little when you break apart to get some air. “I thought you were making breakfast and I was dozing or resting.”

“You wanna stop?” you breathe, raising your eyebrows and smirking at him teasingly.

“Fuck no.” He leans back in for another kiss to show you just how much he doesn't want to fucking stop.

“Then soon. I’d like to keep doing this for now. Just this,” you murmur. You’re not ready to go any further at the moment but you like this. Being close on the couch and making out. And you know Jack would absolutely never try to escalate things without asking first, making sure you were truly okay with it, but you try to communicate with him, let him know where you’re at. He appreciates it more than you know because he never wants to make you uncomfortable or feel pressured to do more. He’ll wait for you, for as long as you need.

You can feel Jack smile against your lips. “I’d like to keep doing just this too.”

Another two weeks pass in the blink of an eye, you and Jack continuing to get closer in every sense.

Things seemed to change a little after that night Jack slept with his head in your lap on the couch. Jack immediately noticed you being a little more touchy and physical and asked to talk about it one night, wanting to make sure you weren't feeling pressured somehow or like things had to change or progress just because of that one night. He wanted to confirm where you were at and what you were okay with the two of you doing and him doing or initiating. It had been a good conversation and it made you somehow appreciate Jack and his consideration and care and the way he puts your comfort above all else even more.

That night had ended with you laying on top of Jack on the couch making out, your hands threaded through his hair and his hands staying locked on your waist. A lot of nights since have ended like that. Your cuddling on the couch has intensified too, with Jack often laying spread out on the couch with you on top of him, head on his chest, lower body between his legs. Sometimes it's the opposite, especially on nights Jack worked the morning of, where you lay out on the couch and he rests on top of you, head on your chest, lower body between your legs. You make out like that sometimes. Sometimes you do it sitting up or with you in his lap.

You'd gotten more comfortable and now Jack's hands roam your back and over your hair, and only there, where you told him you were comfortable, when you make out. You'd never be able to articulate how much you love and appreciate that when you proverbially give Jack an inch, he takes the inch and absolutely nothing more. If anything he doesn't even take the entire inch, still checking in with you, mostly with looks at this point, to make sure you're okay and comfortable.

And when you ask to stop or aren't up for something you guys have already done Jack stops immediately and never pressures you, never says something like, but we've done this before. The same is true of you when Jack has moments or a day of heavy grief or whatever that makes him not want to do certain things. There's never any guilt tripping from either of you. Just acceptance and reassurance it's okay and offers to help or listen or do whatever the other wants or needs.

For some reason you feel particularly close to him tonight, want to be particularly close to him. It's Friday and the two of you had gone on a fairly short casual dinner date while Robby watched your son. You're laying on the couch together now, Jack sprawled across it with you on top of him. You both have kiss swollen lips and are still catching your breaths a little from making out as you settle your head back on his chest.

It's late enough now that both of you are growing sleepy. "Sweetheart?" Jack asks as he runs a hand up and down your back.

"Yeah?"

"We should both probably head to bed before we fall asleep out here," he murmurs.

"Probably," you hum. You don't really want to move though. You don't want to leave Jack. It makes you think.

You sigh a little as you force yourself up, grabbing a kiss from him on the way up that makes him smile. You grab some water from the kitchen and the monitor while Jack turns off the TV and blows out the candle you had lit to scent the air and give some ambiance. Once only the hall light remains on as Jack crutches down to your bedroom door with you to say goodnight like he always does.

You share a few kisses and a long, tight hug before separating. "Night, Jack."

Jack gives your forehead a kiss and takes one last kiss from you, smiling down at you when he pulls away. "Night, Sweetheart."

You don't open your door and walk in. Instead you just stand in front of it thinking. Your mind races and your heart quickly follows suit. You look over at Jack as he hits the door to his room.

“Hey Jack?” 

“Yeah?” He turns his attention to you from the door to the guest room, his hand on the door handle. 

You clear your throat and look down for a moment. You want this, you truly, truly do. You've been thinking about it every night since Jack slept with his head in your lap on the couch. You've been together for three months now. It’s just hard to summon the courage to get through all of the emotions and bring yourself to ask him. You shut your eyes and take in and let out a deep breath before opening them and looking at Jack.

“Do you… Um, would you, uh. Would you like to sleep in here with me? In my, in my bed? Just sleep. And cuddling and, and being close like on the couch. Just that for right now. It’s okay if you don’t want to though, and if it’s too much too soon for you, being ready isn’t just about me.” You’re internally cringing at yourself so hard. You’re a mess asking this, tripping over your words and punctuating your sentences with nervous laughter. “But if you were ready, I would really like for you to. If you want and would like that. So, yeah. Would you like to sleep in my bed with me?”

I hope you enjoyed and it was okay! I love to hearing your thoughts and comments! All of your interactions give me so much joy and inspiration! And as always thank you for all your support and for reading!! ♥️

Again, I still have a lot of ideas for these two and hope you're ready and would like more of them!

Want more Jack? Check out my masterlist here!

Want to be added to my Jack tag list? Interact with this post!

Interact with this post if you'd like to join my Robby tag list, and this post if you'd like to join my Andrew Pope Cody tag list! Each tag list is separate, so be sure to interact with each post for each character you'd like to be tagged for!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Tag list:

@loveyhoneydovey @love-affair-with-fandoms @mstrsgoodgrl0628 @equallyshaw @kmc1989 @artsymaddie @moonshooter @whiskeyhowlett-writes @smallcarbigwheels @hawkswildfireheart @blackwidownat2814 @viridian-dagger @andabuttonnose @beebeechaos @pear-1206 @starkgaryan @travelingmypassion @marvelcasey05 @daydreamingallthetime-world @millenialcatlady @nursejuju86 @escapefromrealitysm @emilia527 @satanxklaus @frazie99 @kastleandmurdock @guardiancardigan @zoctopiii @4rosabellaa @adissapointmentlol @nowandajenn @book-of-roses @redzscare @concentratedconcrete @freshbearbouquetblr @qardasngan @practicalghost @wolviehugh @athena1504 @iamcryingonceagain @acn87 @moonpascal @lostfleurs @beltzboys2015-blog @pouges-world @roseanddaggerlarry @lauraneedstochill @robbyrobinavitch @shesaidshemight

[beautifulandvoid]

Fic inspired by my toddler being a toddler:

You and Jack sat on bench sharing ice cream, your legs draped over his lap. The air was warm and humid, his shirt was sticking to his biceps and his curls were especially defined.

“Wanna trade?” You asked after asking for a lick of his cone, cookies and cream was his go to.

“Not particularly?”

You flashed your doe eyes and he turned away “No! You should have thought about that before ordering honey pistachio, grandma.”

“I was feeling adventurous.”

“Okay, well stop that.”

“Fine.” You slumped back, taking your legs out of his lap and crossing your arm over your stomach. He wasn’t letting up.

The park was busy, the basketball and tennis courts full. Kids screamed and giggled on the swings. The two of you sat in silence, mainly because you were giving the silent treatment— when suddenly a boy no older than 4 screamed in passing:

“Mama, why does he got that?” Pointing directly at Jack and his prosthetic. The mother flushed and immediately scolded her son.

“Honey we do not point at others. Sir, I’m so sorry.” She apologized.

Jack motioned with his head for the pair to come over. He handed you his ice cream cone and bent down to the kids level.

“Don’t apologize, kid’s just curious. This is called a prosthetic.”

“A profetic?”

“Close enough— you know how you and your mom have two feet?” The boy nodded. “I only have one. So this helps me walk and run around. I put it on every morning when I wake up and take it off before I go to bed.”

Without hesitation, Jack slipped off his socket and showed the boy his missing foot. His eyes shot open tenfold and reached out to touch. His mother pulled him back a bit.

“Don’t touch honey.”

“It’s okay— go ahead buddy, you can touch if you want.” And the boy did. Tracing his fingers along the titanium.

“Why’d it fall off?” The boy asked innocently.

“Well, mine didn’t fall off. I was in a really bad accident and my foot got really, really hurt. The doctors tried to fix it but couldn’t. So they used special tools to remove it.”

“Like a hammer?”

“Probably.”

You chuckled at his sarcastic response, although he was probably not wrong, orthopedics is basically carpentry for your bones.

“But not everyone who has a prosthetic arm or leg got in an accident like I did.” Jack continued. “Sometimes people may get very, very sick, and their arm or leg needs to be taken off so they’ll get better again. Sometimes people are born with one arm or leg, or none at all. That’s called amelia.

“My sisters name is Amelia!”

You and Jack both belly laughed. The boys mother face palmed.

“Is it now?“ Jack wiped a tear from the inner corner of his eye as he continued to laugh.

“Can you run fast with that on?”

“Well, I have another one of these at home that I use just for running.” Jack stood up, “see if I jump on this leg” he began to hop on one foot “I kinda bounce a bit because my ankle bends. But if I try to jump on my prosthetic, I don’t really bounce, so that makes running with this one kinda hard.”

Jack demonstrated for the boy so he could see the difference.

“Thats why I have my running blade, It kinda looks like the letter J.”

“Jack starts with J! That���s my name!” The boy squealed.

“My name is Jack too! Good taste, mom. Unlike my girlfriend who got honey pistachio ice cream.” Your mouth fell open in offense.

He gave little Jack a fist bump before challenging him to a race. The two of them running up and down the walking path—big Jack letting little Jack win.

Your stomach fluttered as you watched him interact with the kid. The two of you had talked about children briefly, his fears of not being a good enough father weighed heavily on him. Clearly he had no issues on that front as you watched Jack answer all the kids questions and help ease his mother’s embarrassment.

The two of them parted ways and said their goodbyes. He sat back down next to you on the bench and you looped your arm around his bicep. He reached out to grab the ice cream cone he handed to you. When you handed it back his face fell.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You ate mine?”

[beautifulandvoid]

A House all Our Own

It’s not even close to your alarm going off when you wake up to the sound of someone rustling around somewhere else in the house. You could tell they were trying to be quiet, but you could even hear the way the person would swear quietly every time they made a noise that they thought was too loud. You knew that voice and couldn’t help letting out a quiet chuckle even as you got out of the bed.

“Hey, Cowboy,” You murmur with a sleepy smile, dressed in one of his t-shirts that was too big for you, going down just past your ass.

“What are you doing out here?

“Shit, did I wake you up? M’sorry darlin’. I tried to be as quiet as I could.” Rhett stands up from where he had been crouched in front of a cardboard box.

You wave your hand noncommittally. “It’s okay, what are you doing?” You ask, nodding toward one of the boxes on the ground that Rhett had just been rummaging in.

“I’m just…” He looks around at all the half-unpacked boxes. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get us going on unpacking the rest of our crap.” He chuckles.

You frown. “Hey, it’s not crap, it’s ours, just like this house is ours,” you smile, taking a few steps toward him.

He matches your steps until he’s close enough to wrap his arms around you, and you can press your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “You’re right, it’s all ours.”

After months of arguing back and forth about Rhett moving out of his parents' house, he finally agreed, and now the two of you have your own little place. Rhett’s relationship with his family was complicated, so there was a compromise. Your new little house was at the edge of the Abbotts’ land, not fully gone but not living together, the best of both worlds. Now came the worst part, unpacking.

“You want some help?” You ask softly, not pulling away from his warm body. You could feel the way that he moved, obviously looking around the room again at all the mess.

“Nah,” He answers, kissing the top of your head. “It can wait until tomorrow. Let’s get back to bed.”

You smirk, finally pulling back from him. “If you still can’t sleep, maybe I should show you how loud you can be when you live alone,” You say, taking his hand and leading him back toward your bedroom, the only room in the whole house that had been fully unpacked.

[beautifulandvoid]

Quiet Part 3

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

Part 1 can be found here and Part 2 can be found here!

16.4k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Jack being domestic; shy reader; I once again made up shit about the layout of PTMC a little; grief; angst; reference to past pregnancy; reference to past miscarriages but no graphic descriptions, just a mention they occurred (reader does not actively experience one in the fic); discussions of loss of spouse; anxiety; light body image issues/lack of confidence for reader; Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of loss of spouse; mild self hate; Shakespeare; no use of Y/N or related.

Summary: You meet Dana and Robby, you and Jack go on a date, and your son says his first word.

AN: I went ahead and split what was all just going to be Part 3 into Parts 3 and 4, so Part 4 should follow pretty soon after this. We're getting towards some of the plans I have for them that I'm really looking forward to writing! I love domestic Jack with a baby, I really do. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! ♥️

Jack’s already turning and starting to half run in the direction of your son’s cry when his phone vibrates. You’re calling him. Fuck. 

But before he can even answer, the doors open as Mateo brings someone back and Jack sees you standing there holding your son, phone held to your ear by your shoulder as you bounce your son. You look like you’re in distress.

Jack’s close enough that he doesn’t have to totally yell. “Hey!” He calls just loudly enough to get your attention, beckoning you through the doors as he runs over to meet you by them, hands holding the ends of his stethoscope around his neck, ready to put it on in seconds. His call is loud enough to get Dana and Robby’s attention and when they both see Jack running, a visibly distressed you, and your crying son they start to walk over slowly, feeling out if they’re needed. 

You grab your phone and hang up, make it through the doors without Jack having to reopen them. “Hey, look who it is,” you say softly to your son, showing him Jack as you meet just beyond the doors. 

“What’s wrong? Which one of you is it?” Jack’s eyes are wild, full of worry and his breathing a little heavier than normal. Your son is already reaching for Jack and settling down but he holds off on taking him in case he needs his arms free for you. 

“What?” you shake your head a little, brows furrowed. Then it hits you. Where you are. “Oh!” You start shaking your head. “Nothing, no, neither of us, we’re fine, sorry! I'm so sorry!” Dana and Robby overhear and move back to the hub. 

Jack lets out a relieved breath and takes your son from you in one arm and pulls you into him by the waist for a hug. You smile as you hug him back with one arm, the other rubbing your son’s back. You rest the side of your head on his chest. “Heart’s racing,” you murmur, “you okay?”

“Yeah. I am now.” He lets out another breath as he kisses the top of your head before the two of you pull apart. “I just heard him crying like that and then you called and I saw you looking upset and it’s an ED. So I went straight to something was wrong.” Jack hasn’t even noticed how he’s swaying from hip to hip a little to help soothe your son who's now mostly calm. "Can I kiss you?"

The question catches you a little off guard. Not in a bad way or one that makes you uncomfortable. You just know this is Jack’s work and weren't sure if he was ready to go this public because you know everyone in the ED will know by the end of the day. "Yeah, of course."

Jack leans down and kisses you, short and sweet and chaste. It's the most natural thing. 

“I’m really sorry, Jack," you apologize as you separate. "I didn’t mean to make you worry. He has his well baby one year appointment upstairs in like twenty minutes. I had to wake him up so he was mad. Then I thought the appointment was thirty minutes earlier than it actually is while getting ready and for half the journey here and he can always tell when I’m stressed and it makes him stressed so he was just mad at me. And then I was just so flustered by everything that I came in this way and so I figured I’d try calling you to see if you could just let me in this way so I didn’t have to walk around.”

“Don’t apologize,” he shakes his head at you. “All that matters is everyone’s okay. It’s just been a long night and I forgot he had the appointment and that that was why I didn't have to leave right on time.” He looks down at your son who’s now quiet and happily playing with the chest piece of Jack’s stethoscope. “Tell mommy you’re not mad at her,” he says to your son in a soft baby voice, “you just wanted to sleep in today and don’t like when she’s stressed.” 

Your son smiles at Jack and then at you, giggling and clapping the hand not holding onto the chest piece against it. You and Jack laugh with him and smile at each other. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.” You nod and Jack’s hand finds the small of your back as he starts to guide you over to the right elevator.

“Dana and Robby at the desk?” you murmur to him as you walk by. 

Jack glances over. “Yep.” He clicks his tongue. “They’re excited for Friday.” You're officially meeting Dana and Robby Friday night. They're coming over to your place for dinner.

“I am too.” You nod. “Nervous.” 

Jack turns so that he’s facing you when you get to the elevator. “I understand. But try not to be.” 

You look up at him. “They’re important people in your life. What if they hate me?”

Jack gives you a knowing smile. “They won’t, Sweetheart. I know them and I know you and I’m very, very sure they won’t. They already like you.”

“I hope,” you murmur before looking at your son. “Alright Bud, come see mommy.” You hold your hands out for him and he half leans out of Jack’s, one hand reaching for you but the other dropping Jack’s stethoscope and holding onto his scrub top tightly. “Gotta come all the way here my love.” You tickle his tummy before trying to take him from Jack. 

He lets go of Jack’s top and curls into you. But his hand still reaches for Jack. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Jack leans in and kisses at your son’s fingers to make him smile before hitting the button to call the elevator. “Text me when you’re done, yeah?”

You nod. “I will. And remember I’m off today too. I like being with him after vaccines.”

“Alright Sweetheart, I’ll see you.” Jack steals a quick kiss from you and presses one to the top of your son's head. "Bye Bud, be good!" He watches you walk on the elevator, waving at your son. 

But as soon as your son sees Jack waving and you moving away from Jack and Jack not following he starts to whimper and cry a little. Jack instinctually moves his arm across the elevator door so that it won’t close. You walk back out of it and your son calms down, reaches for Jack again. 

Jack looks at you before taking your son. He knows you need to be getting to the appointment. Only once you nod and shift your son in your arms so he can go to Jack does he take him. Your son hangs onto your shirt this time. It’s obvious he wants both of you.

The entire situation makes you a little breathless. Because you can’t lie to yourself. Jack’s worry, the way he ran to you, his drive to care for you and your son, his protectiveness, the way he instinctively shot his arm out to stop the elevator from closing at the whimper of your son, it’s all incredibly incredibly attractive. It’s hot. It makes you want him. You still struggle at times accepting that you’re sexually attracted to someone else and are allowed to be. It can make you spiral at times. This isn’t one of those times but the thoughts still flicker in your mind and help fluster you. 

“Well…” you clear your throat. You don’t know why you’re still so awkward at times, so flustered by him and how intense and caring and attractive he is. He’s your boyfriend for christ’s sake. You kiss him. You’ve cried into his chest. More than once. He’s cried into yours. You’ve sat in his lap. And yet he still has the ability to, sometimes quite easily, fluster you. “Do you want to come with us? Or could you?”

Jack blinks at you for a moment. He is very much still affected by you of course, but things relating to your son always fluster him to varying degrees too. Because he knows how meaningful it is. What a privilege it is. How special and how much it means you trust him. Yes, it’s just a doctor’s appointment but it’s more than that. It’s a family thing. Something your husband might have gone to you with. It’s parental in a way. Fatherly. He doesn't take that lightly and he always watches you a little closer to see how much it flares your grief.

He’s done a lot that’s parental in a sense, that’s fatherly, but this feels so different. Maybe it’s just that it really highlights it. The kind of role Jack has here with your son. How it’s going to grow as your son gets older. When he can talk. He’s been aware of it, of course, but something about this gives it a greater presence in his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” you try to force a laugh with the words and hold your hands out for your son, “just forget I asked, I know it’s too much too soon-”

“No! No, not all.” He gives you a little smile and hits the elevator button again. “I was just thinking and making sure I was good to leave and had handed everything off.”

“You sure?” you whisper. 

“I’m sure if you are. I know this is-”

“I’m sure.” You nod at him and match his smile. “And this way if anything is wrong you’ll be there and understand it much better than me.”

You and Jack walk onto the elevator when the doors open. It’s really a bit of an awkward shuffle since your son is still holding onto your shirt so you and Jack have to be close. But once you’re both on your son seems to relax and lets go, content in his belief you’re not going anywhere. 

“I really don’t think anything will be wrong,” Jack assures you as he brings his free hand and tickles your son’s tummy a little.

You let out a small sigh as you step off the elevator and walk towards the skyway connecting the inpatient side of the hospital to the more outpatient side. “I know, I just worry, you know?” Your voice is a little small and Jack knows. He knows you mean you think you worry more than the average parent because of your husband. 

“I do, yeah. That’s part of why I give his heart and lungs a listen every now and then, check his lymph nodes. Little things like that.” Jack glances over at you with a little smile. "I just worry, you know?"

“You do?” 

“Yeah,” he nods slowly. “I’m sorry if that’s weird, I can stop.”

“No! No, it’s not weird at all, I just didn’t even think about the fact that you could.” You smile at him as you near the office. “I appreciate it. I… The way you love and care for him is something I really don’t take for granted and I hope you know that. Because you don’t have to do any of this, any of what you do for him and us and me. A lot of men wouldn’t."

You don't say it but you think about how a lot of men who physically get far more than you're able to give Jack wouldn’t and don’t do what Jack does for you so happily and without fuss, or that they do but then expect something in return or exert pressure for something physical as a reward. And Jack doesn't. He goes so far out of his way to make sure you don't feel pressured, reminding you at times that you don't owe him and he doesn't expect anything from you and checking that you really want whatever it is you're about to do.

"I know you know that and want to do what you do, I just want to make sure you know that I recognize that I’m,” you run a hand over your son’s hair, “that we’re very lucky to have you and that I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.” The two of you slow as you near the office. “I know you appreciate me, I promise."

"Good, I'm glad you know.” You stop walking just to the side of the office door so you’re not blocking anyone going in or out. Being outside the office reminded you. “I have a question, one you can genuinely say no to, it would be okay if you did.” Jack’s brows furrow a little and he nods.

You take in a deep breath and close your eyes for a second before looking up at him again. This is hard. This is asking him to take on a lot. “When I go to check him in, they’re going to ask if I want to update his emergency contact on file. It’s someone from work right now, but if you were okay with it, I’d much rather it be you.”

Jack nods. “Of course. I am at daycare,” he reminds you with a smile. 

“I know, this just feels different,” you shrug. “Bigger.”

He knows exactly what you mean because it feels bigger to him too. Can’t quite put his finger on why, but it does. Maybe it’s just that it’s on top of the fact that he’s here with you, going to this appointment. You didn’t just ask at home and update it when you came alone. He’s here. 

“It does, yeah,” he agrees. “But I’m still happy to be it.”

“Okay,” you nod, “but if you ever don't want to be it anymore just let me know, okay?”

“I will.” He gives you a soft smile. “I don’t think that’ll happen, but if it does, I’ll tell you.” 

“Good, thank you.” You return his smile and try to stay calm when you lean up and push your lips out for a kiss. Sometimes being the one to initiate makes the guilt start to get a little unchecked. But you and your therapist have talked and are working through that further and you know it’s important for you and your relationship that you initiate.

"You don't owe me a kiss for that," he murmurs.

"I know, I just want one." The smile on Jack’s face grows as he leans down to give you the quick kiss you asked for. “We should probably get in. You can go sit with him and I’ll join you once I’m done checking in.”

“Sounds good.” You guys step back over to the door and Jack opens and holds the door for you. 

The appointment itself is smooth. Your son is healthy, meeting milestones and in good percentiles for his age. He’s content with both you and Jack there, smiling and happy like he almost always is. There are tears when he has to get his shots, ones that break your mom heart, but Jack is there for the both of you, rubbing your back and helping distract your son with peek-a-boo and his stethoscope. 

Once the three of you get back to your place you convince Jack that he needs to go to bed and sleep. He knows you’re right, knows how exhausted he is for some reason today, but he still wishes he could spend the extra time with you. 

“Jack?” you call to him as he hits the guest room door. He looks back at you where you’re standing with your son to take him into your room with you so that you can change into something more comfortable.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raise a little and you’ve seen it happen a thousand times before, seen it happen a thousand times before when he’s sleepy like this. But something about this moment, in his scrubs with his stethoscope still around his neck, hair fluffier from running his hand through it a lot over his shift, makes the look even more adorable, makes him seem so adorable yet handsome you could scream.

“Thank you for coming with us.” You smile at him. “We really appreciate it.” 

Jack gives you a sleepy smile back that has you biting your lip. “Thanks for asking me to go with you.”

"Come here, please," Jack beckons you over to him softly. He stands up from where he's sitting on the couch watching you pace the living room. It's kind of cute the way your son is transfixed watching you walk back and forth.

You stop pacing and turn towards Jack. You let out a deep breath but walk over into his open arms. "I'm just worried they won't like me Jackie." You rest your forehead against his chest and hold onto his waist as he wraps his arms around you.

Jack's lips twitch upward. Not at your worry but at the name. It's a name he's rarely heard throughout his life. His wife called him it all of once and then never again because it just didn't feel right for either of them. But from you it feels right. There's something so soft and vulnerable and achingly fucking sweet about the way you say it, and yeah right now you're worried and upset, but Jack knows it's always going to sound like that coming from you because it's you and it just fits.

He leaves the name for a second. "They already like you, Sweetheart, and I am quite certain they're just going to like you even more when they leave tonight."

"How can they like me when they haven't even met me?" you mumble into his chest.

"Because you make me happy." He runs his hands up and down your back as he keeps you close and rocks you a little, able to keep an eye on your son who's over happily playing with some toy blocks. "And they know it and can see it, and they’ve wanted that for me again for a long time."

You rest your chin on Jack's chest and look up at him with wide eyes. "Well what if they meet me in person and realize they don't actually like me? Or what if they think I'm awful for you or something?"

Jack leans down and kisses your forehead. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to lie to you and promise you that they're going to feel a certain way about you when they leave. But knowing them and knowing you and knowing myself before and after you came into my life, I can honestly tell you that I truly believe with my entire heart and brain that they're going to love you and be happy for us and want to come back over soon and get to know you and him more. But even if, and I mean if, they didn't like you, we'd figure it out. They and their opinions aren't a part of our relationship, and yes, I know that's easy for me to say right now, but I promise you that we would figure it out, okay?"

You let out a long breath. "Okay," you nod, resting the side of your face back on his chest, "okay."

"Also." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Jackie?"

"What?" You pull your head back and look at him with confusion.

Jack wears an amused smile. "You called me Jackie."

"I did?" You furrow your brows a little more and look away from him as you replay the conversation in your head. "Oh, I did. I'm so sorry. Do you hate it? It just slipped out. I call you it in my head sometimes," you admit with a shy smile. "But it's okay if you hate it, I don't need to ever call you it again. Out loud or in my head."

"No, no," he's quick to shake his head. "I like it. It's cute. It's a very you thing to call me." Jack kisses your forehead again. "Only like it from you though."

The two of you are only just able to share a kiss when there's a knock on the door. Jack feels you tense a little. "It's going to be great, Sweetheart," he reassures you.

You nod at him and walk over to grab your son and a toy for him off the floor while Jack checks that it's Robby and Dana and opens the door, greeting them.

"I brought wine," Dana tells Jack as she steps in.

"And I brought beer," Robby says as he follows her in.

You settle your son on your hip as you walk toward the front door, watching Jack and Robby do what you'll come to learn is their normal quick, clapped hug. Jack hugs Dana properly and kisses her cheek and you smile to yourself at how cute the whole thing is, the three of them and their chosen family.

"Where's this woman of yours and her precious son?" Dana asks Jack as they pull apart.

You take a couple of steps forward and it's more the babbles from your son at seeing Jack than any noise you make that alerts Dana and Robby to your presence. "Hi." You greet them with a shy smile.

Even though they already know, Jack tells them your and your son's names again. Dana is the first to walk closer to you, waving to your son and then turning her attention to you. "Are you okay with hugs? Because shaking your hand feels kinda weird," she laughs.

"Sure," you nod, "yeah of course, if you, if you want to." You don't want her to feel like she has to greet you in some particular way.

"I do, yeah," she reassures you as she leans in for a quick hug that's a little to the side since you have your son resting on your one hip. "Jack's right," she glances over at him with a smile before looking back at you, "you're even more beautiful up close."

"Oh," you let out a flustered laugh. "Well um, thank you." You smile at her before looking over at Jack whose amused smile doesn't quite cover the light blush he wears at Dana's revelation that he talks about you and how beautiful you are to her and Robby at work. "And thank you too."

Dana steps aside so that you and Robby can finally meet.

"Hi," he smiles warmly at you and holds his hands out a little, "you okay with hugging me too?"

You nod and return his smile. "Of course, if you want."

Robby just gives you a small nod and gives you a similarly quick hug a little to the side like Dana did. "Hi little man, you're so big now!" he coos to your son as he steps back. Robby looks back at you. "I trust Jack has already explained my name?"

"He has, yeah." You smile softly.

"Good," Robby smiles, "just wanted to make sure so you're not confused when he inevitably calls me Michael at some point."

"I appreciate it," you nod at him. "Please, come in, come in," you usher, hand gesturing to the living room. Jack grabs everyone drinks and puts what Dana and Robby had brought in the kitchen and fridge.

Dana and Robby naturally look around as they walk in and sit down. You and Jack take the loveseat to give Dana and Robby room on the couch. You sit close, sides touching each other, Jack's arm between your back and the cushion, his hand resting on your hip. It's reassuring and helps you relax a little. You're able to pass your hand over his and give it a little thank you squeeze while you get your son situated sideways on your lap so that he's looking towards Dana and Robby, his toy in his lap entertaining him.

You notice Dana's eyes lingering on the American flag displayed on one of the shelves in the room, a photo of your husband and one of you and your husband next to it.

You say his name. Your husband's. "That's him obviously," you let out a slightly awkward laugh.

"Man, he's a real combo of the two of you isn't he?" Dana muses as she brings her eyes back to you and your son.

You nod and smile as you look down at your son. It's very true. "Yeah, you can definitely tell which features he got from who."

"Has it been long?" She asks gently, her eyes on you the whole time. You feel Jack stiffen beside you and rest a hand on his thigh and squeeze gently to let him know it's okay.

There's a pause while you think of what to say, because you know when you answer her and Robby are immediately going to try to do mental math. So really you're trying to figure out what exactly to say.

"I'm sorry if that was too much," Dana starts. "Oh, no." You shake your head and smile at her. "No, no, it's okay. I was just thinking of how much to trauma dump on you guys, I guess." You laugh to yourself. Both her and Robby look a little confused. "I'm going to tell you and your instinct is going to be to start doing math based on him and his birthday," you glance down at your son, "and it's just all sad so I was just thinking about how much to say."

"As much or as little as you want, Hon. We deal with trauma for a living." Dana smiles at you. Robby gives you a soft smile too.

"It's been about a year and eight months now." You let out a breath. "God, that's still so totally unfucking real to say." Jack's hand squeezes your hip reassuringly and to remind you that you don't have to say anything else. You decide to just tell them what you told Jack initially. "Jack said he told you guys that my husband died while deployed. I guess the long story short is we'd been trying for a baby for a bit, I kept miscarrying. About two weeks before he was being redeployed I found out I was five weeks pregnant and it was just different. I had real symptoms and we were so cautiously optimistic. We both hated that he had to go but were comforted by the fact that as long as everything went to plan he should be back in time to be here for the birth. And then things didn't go to plan and he died when I was ten weeks pregnant." You shrug because you never really know what to do after saying that.

Both Dana and Robby look equally heartbroken for you, Dana keeping your eye contact even as her face melts into a kind of grief. Robby reacts similar to how Jack did, closing his eyes and wincing a little. "So you know… kept the baby lost the husband that time. Pretty sick of the universe. Especially because I don't really have family, much less anywhere nearby."

"Jesus, so you did everything after that alone?" Dana asks, shaking her head slightly. You nod. "You are one strong woman, I hope you know that."

"Oh," you titter, "no, I don't think so. I just did what I had to do, you know?"

"No," Robby shakes his head. Despite there being some force behind his words because he really wants you to hear and believe him, his voice is gentle and the look he gives you is soft. "Dana's right. You are."

Jack can tell that while you're not upset with how the conversation has gone so far, you need some lightness infused back into things and to move the conversation along a little. He slides his hand up your back and wraps it gently around the back of your neck, thumb rubbing into your skin a little. "I'd just like to point out that I tell you that all the time."

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes at him. At Jack's voice your son looks up from the toy he's been playing with in your lap and shifts to find Jack, giggling once he makes eye contact. You all laugh as he crawls from your lap over to Jack's and starts grabbing at Jack's face.

"I adore you Kid, but why don't you go see Dana or Robby, hm?" Jack hums at him, grabbing his small hand and pretending to eat it just to pull the sweetest giggles from him. Jack has taken to calling him Kid recently. You find it adorable. "Robby's face is extra fun to grab at, remember?" Jack tells your son in a baby voice, smirking at Robby. You both already know your son is going to have a field day with Robby's beard.

"And I will happily allow it." Robby nods at him with a teasing smile.

"I'm sorry in advance." You shoot Robby an apologetic smile. "And, yes! Sorry! I should've asked if you guys wanted to have him, I'm just not used to… having other people to offer him to," you laugh. "He can take a bit to warm up to people though, I know he's technically met you guys before though. And he's obsessed with Jack so it's hard to get him out of Jack's arms sometimes." You look over at Jack. "It's understandable, really."

Jack's eyebrows raise and he gives you a little smirk while Dana and Robby chuckle.

"I would love to see him!" Dana gets up and walks towards you and Jack. "He can take all the time he needs to warm up to me."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I don't know how I ended up making this feel so formal either, like we're all sitting here so properly. Please just make yourselves at home, walk around, whatever. We play with him on the floor a lot," you look over at the area, "so if he gets attached he might want you to go sit with him on the floor, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, we'd be happy too." Dana bends a little and holds her hands out to your son. He looks at them and her and then at you and Jack.

"Yeah, Robby's got a few years left of being able to get up and down from the floor, it's not a problem at all." Jack gives Robby a saccharine grin.

Robby rolls his eyes at him, but there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Ha ha very funny, Jack."

You and Dana chuckle at the two of them and then you turn your attention to your son. "You wanna go see Auntie Dana Baby?" you coo at him. "You've met her before. You like her."

"Auntie?" Dana's smile is slightly teasing but also so bright at being called Auntie.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you rush out. "I shouldn't have assumed you'd want to be called that, I'm so sorry-"

"Sweetheart," Jack cuts you off gently, "you just made her entire month, don't apologize. She absolutely wants to be Auntie Dana." He gives you a reassuring smile before smirking a little at Dana. Jack's eyes make their way back to your son and he nods and gives your son an encouraging smile. After a few more seconds of consideration your son reaches up for Dana to take him.

"It's true," Dana chuckles in response to Jack's words. "Hi Baby, you're so gorgeous aren't you? And you've gotten so big since the last time I held you." Dana coos at your son, taking him to sit back on the couch with her.

"Does that mean I'm Uncle Robby?" Robby asks with a hopeful, excited smile and raised eyebrows.

"No." Jack deadpans.

You click your tongue at Jack and bump him with your shoulder. "Ignore him on that, please."

Robby chuckles. "I frequently do."

"Do you fuck." You can feel Jack roll his eyes as he says it.

You shake your head at the two of them, smiling to yourself. They really are like brothers at times. "Yeah, you're Uncle Robby, or at least that's what I was going to call you. Only if you want though."

"I'd like that." Robby nods as he slides down closer to Dana on the couch to be near your son.

"Then Auntie Dana and Uncle Robby it is." You let yourself lean into Jack a little more now that you don't have your son on your lap and he kisses your temple. You like it, love it even, how Dana and Robby have also accepted your son into their lives so unconditionally before really knowing him or you.

The five of you stay in the living room and chat for a while, conversation flowing freely and easily as Dana and Robby play with your son. Eventually dinner finishes in the oven and you all move into the kitchen and dining room while you and Jack quickly finish up a few sides. Once dinner is over you move back into the living room, Robby and Dana sitting on the floor with your son and continuing to play with him as you all chat.

After a bit, Jack slips off to the bathroom. "So is this when the real interrogation starts? What are my intentions with your Jack?" you joke with Dana and Robby once the bathroom door closes.

"No." Dana laughs, shaking her head.

Robby laughs with her but grows more serious. "It's very clear how good you are for him. He hasn't been this happy in years." Robby gives you a knowing smile. All three of you know exactly how many years.

You let out a little sigh of relief. You know Dana and Robby love Jack enough that they wouldn't lie to you about you being good for him and him being the happiest he's been in years. You're happy to have the reassurance from them because sometimes you doubt yourself in those ways.

"I'm glad." You smile at them both, head spinning just a little as you think about Jack. You end up staring off into the distance at a spot on the floor without realizing it. "He is so good for me. He has the patience of a fucking saint with me, on like every level and he is so thoughtful and understanding and he's jumped head first into all of this with my son too, and he is so fucking good with my son, and is just so…" Loving. That's the word you want to use but don't for a number of reasons. You let out a slow breath.

"So caring. He's just so there for me. Wherever I am. He's there. He meets me there. He makes me…" Feel things I thought I'd never feel again after my husband died. That's the way you want to finish that sentence, but you need to truly make that admission to yourself first. "Happy. He makes me very happy." You finally realize you're staring at a spot on the floor and bring your eyes back to Dana and Robby, letting out a small awkward laugh. You pretty much just verbally processed out loud to them some of how you feel about Jack. "Well, that turned into me rambling awkwardly, didn't it? I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Dana shakes her head at you, an almost wistful smile on her face. "Jack is an amazing man and he deserves to be with someone who recognizes that, and you do."

"We're both really happy for you." Robby smiles at you, happily letting your son pull at his beard.

Jack comes back within earshot of the living room during Robby's pause. "And what were you all talking about that you had to stop discussing once I was back?" Your son hears Jack's voice and is immediately sitting on Robby's lap so he can find Jack and start crawling towards him. "Miss me that much Kid?" Jack chuckles as he bends down to pick your son up. Your son babbles happily at him, small hands resting on Jack's cheeks.

"I was just about to tell her about that one time freshman year when you-"

"Michael," Jack interrupts him, "you should take a good couple of seconds to really think about whether you want to start the war of embarrassing high school stories."

"I think he does," Dana tries to egg Robby on.

But after a couple of seconds Robby holds up his hands in truce and Jack starts walking over to them. "If you pull on Uncle Robby's beard extra hard right now I'll buy you all the bubbles you want next time we're at the store," Jack stage whispers to your son who giggles loudly in response.

"You're such an asshole sometimes." Robby shakes his head at Jack but holds his arms up to accept your son as Jack hands him back down to Robby. "And we both know you're so wrapped around his finger that you'll buy him all the bubbles he wants the next time you're at the store regardless." Robby smirks.

"You say that like you aren't just as wrapped and wouldn't buy him all the bubbles he wanted at the store every single time." Jack cocks his head and flicks his eyebrows up at Robby as he sits back down next to you.

The two stare at each other for a minute until Robby breaks it, laughing to himself and looking down at your son in his lap.

"God, man, I can't fucking believe we're sitting here having this conversation about me buying bubbles for him, for my nephew. It's like surreal almost." Robby looks back up at Jack with a hint of wonder to his smile. "I was the new kid who sat next to you on the bus on the first day of sixth grade. And now look where fucking we are."

"Pretty fucking crazy," Jack nods. "Nobody else I'd rather have here with me though."

You and Dana look at each other exchanging smiles of adoration for the two men and the deep brotherly love they have for each other. You're both almost vaguely teary. You look at each other just a touch too long though and burst into giggles at the same time.

"I'm sorry," you giggle out to Jack and Robby. "That was so precious I felt myself getting teary and then I looked at Dana…"

"I was too!" She laughs. "I was gonna fucking cry over you two and then it just turned into laughter."

Jack and Robby laugh with the two of you, and the four of you settle back into conversation.

"You okay?" Jack whispers when Dana and Robby get distracted by your son, bringing his head close to yours over your shoulder, lips near your ear.

"Yeah," you nod as you whisper back.

"Alright, just wanted to check." Jack keeps his voice low. "But if you need this over at any point just let me know and I'll make something up, okay?"

"Okay, but I don't think that'll happen." You turn your head and kiss the side of Jack's lips making him smile and nuzzle his face against yours for a second.

It's not too much later that your son starts to slow down and grow sleepy as you all chat. Eventually he leaves Robby and Dana and crawls over to you and Jack. "Yeah, it's about that time, isn't it Baby?" you murmur as Jack picks him up.

Your son is happy in Jack's arms, head resting against Jack's chest. His eyes stay open for a while and watch Dana and Robby when they move to sit back on the couch from the floor. But as you talk his eyelids grow heavier and heavier and eventually he's out.

You let Jack hold him while he sleeps for a bit until there's a lull in the conversation and you can bow out for a few minutes to get him changed and in some pajamas and in bed. It takes a bit but you know Jack doesn't mind holding him while he sleeps, that Jack loves it if anything.

"I'm going to go put him down," you smile at the room, "give you guys a chance to gossip about me. I'll be right back." The three of them laugh at your joke as you get up and take your son from Jack's arms and walk to the nursery.

You're not wrong in a sense. But it's not really gossip per se.

"Jack she is so fucking great, oh my god!" Dana almost squeals at him when they hear the door to the nursery close. "She's even better than you described!"

"I know," Jack says smugly.

"She really is incredible, Jack. I honestly wasn't sure she could live up to your description but she did. Even better, like Dana said. I'm so happy for you. Both of you." Robby tilts his head at Jack. "And she's really into you Jack. She like, gushed almost, about you while you went to the bathroom."

"Gushed?" Jack smirks. But he can feel the softest rush of heat to his face as he wonders what you said.

"That was honestly probably the right word choice," Dana says in support of Robby.

"Thank you!" Robby huffs.

"Alright, alright." Jack lets out a single laugh to himself. "I could gush about her, honestly."

"We know." Robby and Dana say at the same time, all three laughing at it.

"Okay but seriously," Robby cocks his head at Jack, "the way you look at her, the way she looks at you, you can tell. It's obvious that you guys are really into each other."

"She is so good for me." Jack tells himself he's not going to go on too much about you because he's already done his own version of gushing about you to both of them many times at work. "She just has this presence that makes me feel safe and calm and… steady. And it's been a long time since I've felt any of that. She makes me happy. Like really happy and not just in a situational sense, you know? She just makes me happier all the time, as a person."

"We know that too, trust us," Robby teases Jack.

"And you look good with a baby in your arms, Jack." Dana smirks a little.

"What about me?" Robby asks her, nudging her leg with his foot.

"You know what, you do too Robby," Dana nods, "and women love that. Maybe you can take him out around the city one day when you babysit. It'll get you noticed and they'll love that you're being a fun involved uncle even more."

Jack can't help but laugh because he knows Robby is already starting to regret the question and it bringing up the topic of his love life.

"You want me to take Jack's baby around the city to try and get dates?" They all hear it but none of them react, none of them seem to fully recognize in the moment that Robby slipped in a sense and just called your son Jack's son because it feels so natural.

Dana nods. "I mean you'd be babysitting and spending time with him. The rest would just be a bonus."

"I regret asking. Why did I ask?" Robby shakes his head to himself.

"It's not necessarily a bad idea if you ever did," Jack agrees with Dana.

"Okay, I don't need any help getting dates, thank you." Dana and Jack both give Robby a look at that, more teasing than anything. They both know Robby could have a love life if he really wanted one. "Just because I haven't found someone I want to date doesn't mean I couldn't be getting and going on dates."

You overhear Jack and Robby as you walk back into the living room with the monitor. "Well, I guess you moved on from gossiping about me to Robby quickly. I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

"Or lack thereof," Jack quips about Robby's love life. Robby huffs at him.

"It's good," Dana reassures you with a smile.

"Good," you nod, sitting back down on the loveseat next to Jack and resting your hand on his thigh, "so what was the not bad idea?" You look over at Robby since this is about him. "If you're okay talking about it with me here. We don't have to."

"It's okay," Robby tells you as he gives you an appreciative smile.

"I was saying that women like seeing men with babies and if Robby babysits one day he should take your son out around the city and attract some attention," Dana explains.

"Attract some attention, oh my god." Robby runs his hands over his face.

You giggle. "I mean, women do like it. It makes them think. And finding out you're the caring babysitting uncle would be even better."

Dana looks at Robby and flourishes her hand towards you. "That's what I said!"

"And that's why I said it wasn't a bad idea." Jack pauses. He brings his hand to the back of your neck like he did earlier, gently pulls a little so that you'll look back at him. "I don't want you to think we're viewing him as like, I don't know, a thing to be used, though."

"No, god, no," Robby is quick to agree with Jack, looking a bit stricken at the thought, "not at all." Dana nods in agreement with the two.

You laugh softly, still looking at Jack. "No, I don't think that at all. Honestly it would be a great time for him. He would absolutely love all the attention, even if you wouldn't Robby."

"Oh that's very, very true," Jack chuckles, "that's a good point."

"Okay," Robby starts, "but I want to promise you that if I ever took him out like that it would be to spend time with him, not to fish for dates or attract attention."

You turn back to Robby. "I know Robby, I promise." You give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. "I know you care about him and it would be about spending time with him and any numbers or dates you got would just be a bonus."

"Again, that's what I said." Dana gives Robby a pointed look.

"I heard there was maybe someone at work though?" You look at Robby with slightly raised brows.

"Oh no, not you too!" Robby sighs. "He already recruited you into badgering me about this?"

"Good job Jack!" Dana laughs and Robby rolls his eyes at her.

"He's joking, he loves it." Jack smirks at Robby but squeezes your hip reassuringly.

Robby hums as if to say he's not so sure about that.

"Oh, no, I'm, I'm sorry," you start, suddenly the stricken one, "I didn't mean-"

"Hey, no, no," Robby interrupts, smiling at you. "It's okay, I promise. It's okay to tease and badger along with them, it's not going to make me not like you." You nod at Robby and try your hardest not to grow suddenly quiet or off. He said it was okay. "There is someone but I'm not convinced she's into me like I'm into her."

Jack snorts. "Okay, well Dana and I know she is. You're just incapable of seeing it somehow."

"Well, okay. Why don't you come to the Pitt bowling thing and watch Robby and her together?" Dana suggests to you. "You can see what you think and then tell Robby your read on it. Maybe he'll trust you more as a neutral outsider?" She glances at Robby.

"Yeah," Robby nods a little in consideration, "I would be more apt to go for it if someone who's never seen us together saw something. And I know you'll be honest."

You nod. "Jack already asked me if I wanted to go and I said yes. So I can do that." You laugh to yourself. "Yeah, actually we're bringing the baby so there we go. We'll let her see you as Uncle Robby, maybe it'll help seal the deal even more."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're going! This will be great! We need more Pitt family babies and I know that everyone is dying to meet you and him," Dana chuckles. "And they're going to love you both."

"Hopefully," you titter.

"They will," Robby agrees with Dana.

Jack leans into you a bit, his hand back at your waist and squeezing gently. "They will," he murmurs. "And Dana and I will get to prove to Robby that we're right," Jack says in a normal voice, smirking at Robby.

Robby rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh that you all end up sharing for a few seconds. The four of you chat for a while longer before Robby and Dana decide to head out.

"Seriously though, if you guys ever need a sitter, Dana and I are both ready, willing and able," Robby offers as you all linger by the door.

"We are," Dana confirms. "Eager, even."

You nod at them both. There's nobody you would trust your son with more than Dana and Robby, the fact that Dana's a nurse and Robby's a doctor only part of the reason for trusting them with him. "Yeah, I think we might take you up on that soon." You look over your shoulder and up at Jack. "If Jack wanted."

"Fuck yeah I want." Jack smiles widely at you. "I'm so ready to take you on a childless date as much as I love him and our time with him."

All four of you laugh at Jack's enthusiasm. "Yeah," you nod at him, "I want that too."

You and Jack take up the babysitting offer quickly, Jack planning a date for the two of you eight days after you had Dana and Robby over. Dana was the first of the two to say she was available that Saturday night so she's looking after your son tonight.

Jack hasn't told you the details of the date yet other than to give you an idea of how to dress and that it involved dinner and something after. He'd said dressy casual, more than jeans and a t-shirt but not necessarily a full cocktail dress or something like that, and that for reference he'd be in casual slacks and a casual long sleeve button up.

You pick out something you think fits the bill and gives you some confidence. Or as much confidence as you're realistically going to get. You and Jack know each other incredibly well, he's seen you incredibly sick and has held you when you cry and seen the aftermath and yet you're nervous as all fuck for this date and for him to see you somewhat dressed up like this.

Jack takes your son so that you're able to get ready in your room alone, the two sitting on the couch together. He of course can't help but think about his wife and there's an ache that squeezes his heart for a bit. This isn't the first date he's been on since his wife. The ones that came after the first one he went on after his wife all seemed a bit easier. But this one feels like that first one again. Maybe because it's the first date he's been on since his wife with someone who really matters. Someone he's in a relationship with. Someone whose son is sitting on his lap. He lets himself feel it all for a bit, acknowledges all the feelings so that it's easier to let them slip back into the background and have excitement and first date nerves come back to the forefront.

You do your hair first and then move on to your makeup. It's the first time you've really done your makeup in a very long time and it's kind of weird seeing yourself with it on once you’re finished and looking at yourself in the mirror.

You slip into what you picked out and stand in front of the mirror to look at yourself, doing your best not to pick yourself apart too much. Once you decide this is as good as it's going to get you turn from the mirror and just stand there for a minute. You haven't been out on a real date like this since losing your husband obviously, and it's just strange and there's a sadness that comes with it, even with as excited as you are to get this time with Jack. You just weren't supposed to have to date someone who wasn't your husband ever again. You take a few minutes to feel the grief and sadness and think about your husband and talk to him in your head how you do sometimes when your grief and guilt start to flare so that you don't get overwhelmed. And then you take a deep breath and focus back in the present, on Jack and the date you're about to go on with him. You're allowed to have this. You can have this. It doesn't make you awful.

After you spray on a little perfume you hit the lights and walk out to the living room. Jack is already dressed and sitting on the couch with your son, a couple of toys and books around them. You smile to yourself at the view and clear your throat, walking further into the living room so you're more visible to Jack. You clear your throat. "Um, is this okay? The outfit? Like is it appropriate?"

Jack looks up at you and his brain buffers a little bit as he takes you in. You look incredible. You always do, but it's a different type of incredible all dressed up like this with your hair and makeup done.

"Wow. Yeah. So much more than okay, you look gorgeous, wow," he laughs breathily. Jack stands and walks over to you, his eyes dragging over your body and face, eyes stopping when they reach yours. "You're so beautiful." He glances at your son and bounces him a little. "Your mama's stunning, isn't she Kid?" Your son babbles a little in response and claps his hands.

Your brain buffers just like Jack's did when he stands up and you get a full look at him. The man is always unfairly handsome, even when exhausted from a string of on days, but being in perfectly fitted slacks and a button up collared shirt gives him a different kind of edge that leaves your brain empty for a minute.

You feel your entire body grow hot at his words because look at him. And he's calling you gorgeous and beautiful and stunning. "Thank you. You look incredibly handsome. It's uh," you let out your own breathy laugh, "it's hard to describe, yeah. But, you look incredible Jack." You look at your son. "And thank you Baby." You lean in and give his cheek a light kiss to avoid any lipstick transfer.

Some pink tinges his cheeks at your words. "Thank you." There's a couple of seconds of silence as the two of you smile at each other, both of you feeling like teenagers about to go on a first date with your crush. "I, um, I was going to get you flowers, not, not daisies, but I know your husband showed up with flowers on your first date and I didn't want it to seem like I was…" he can't think of exactly how he wants to finish that sentence so he takes a chance because he's pretty sure you'll understand what he means. "You know?"

You nod and smile softly at him. You know what he means. He doesn't want to seem like he was trying to replace your husband or be him or copy him or override memories. "I do know, yeah. And I appreciate it. But I also want you to know Jack that anything you ever did wouldn't seem like that to me because I know it never would be that."

"Good," Jack smiles as he nods at you, "I'm glad you know."

A knock on the door interrupts before either of you can say anything more. Jack's slightly closer to the door so he makes sure it's Dana and opens it. "Hi," he greets her with a hug once he gets the door closed, "thank you for doing this."

"Of course! I'm more than happy to!" She smiles widely at him and sets her bag down. She takes a step back and looks Jack up and down. "Wow, look at you Dr. Abbot. Don't you clean up nicely?" Dana smirks.

Jack gives her a fake little huff. "You say that like you're surprised."

"Not at all, it's just a rarity to see you in something other than scrubs, jeans and a t-shirt or sweats." Her attention turns over to you. "Hi," she greets you as she hugs you. "You look beautiful, Mom."

"Thank you," you murmur to her before pulling out of the hug. You're awkward with compliments. Always have been, almost assuredly always will be.

"And hi, you!" Dana turns her attention to your son, who giggles at her. "You ready for a fun night with Auntie Dana?" She holds her hands out and your son looks up at Jack who smiles and nods at him. At Jack's encouragement your son reaches for Dana who happily grabs him and starts bouncing.

Jack smooths out his shirt and walks over to one of the bookshelves in your living room that's three-quarters shelves with the remaining quarter a cabinet with doors. "Everything you should need is out in the nursery, diapers, wipes, PJs, the monitor. There's some food for him in the fridge and he's big on the milk game right now, usually he has a sippy cup with dinner or before bed if he doesn't want it with dinner. He usually goes down pretty easily." You smile to yourself as you listen to Jack give Dana the rundown on everything related to your son. It's heartwarming. "Emergency medical supplies are here," he taps the cabinet with his foot, "PTMC is the closest hospital and Robby texted me earlier that he's not drinking tonight and on standby to go in if anything happens, so call him if it does."

Dana smirks as she walks into the living room. "I see he's taking the whole uncle thing seriously."

Jack tilts his head. "He is. Just as seriously as you're taking the aunt thing because I know that's not your normal purse."

"What?" She shrugs with a playful defensiveness as she draws the word out. "I wasn't sure what all you'd have here so I brought a couple of things just on the very off chance something happens."

It makes your heart ache in the best way, and you have to giggle a little because the whole thing is just so painfully cute and sweet. Jack and Dana look at you. "No. No, I'm sorry, I'm not laughing, laughing. It's just very sweet, all three of you are, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it and how much more at ease I feel knowing I'm leaving him with you, Dana, and with Robby on standby. Truly."

"As a mom I totally get it," Dana nods, "and truly I'm happy to do it. I miss when they were this little, you know?"

"I do." You let out a long breath. "They grow up too fast." You look at your son in her arms with a wistful smile. "And please help yourself to anything here."

"Uber's just about here," Jack interjects gently. He could drive but it's just easier to take an uber, and it lets both of you drink.

"Okay," you breathe out. You walk over to Dana and take your son for a minute, hugging him tight and giving him a couple of kisses that leave behind a little lipstick.

"I'll get it," Dana tells you when you go to lick your thumb to wipe it away.

"Thank you." You give her a grateful smile before hugging your son again. "I love you Baby, be good for Auntie Dana."

Dana takes him back from you and Jack leans into her to give your son a quick hug and kiss. "Love you, Kid."

Dana distracts your son while you get your shoes on, Jack already in his, and grab your coats before stepping out. Jack locks the door behind you. You smile at him when he opens the car door for you, murmur "thank you," as you get in.

Once you're at the restaurant Jack stands right behind you as you both wait for the hostess to return and seat you. You're close enough that both of you are able to really smell each other, the scent of your perfume and Jack's cologne wrapping around the memories of the evening.

You get seated and look around a little as you open your menu. The restaurant is romantic, small but not too small, dim with up-lighting adding to the glow of the candles that adorn each table. It's that lighting that makes Jack's eyes look a different color with each flicker of the flame. You're so entranced by watching them as he looks at you that you nearly miss his question.

"Hm?" It's distracted but you quickly pull yourself back to as his words process. "Yeah. Yeah we can share a bottle of wine with dinner, that sounds nice."

"Okay, let's decide what we're having first and then pick. Unless you have a strong preference for red or white? Or pink." His eyebrows raise slightly with his intonation.

"I don't, no." You shake your head as you look down at the menu.

Jack can't help but stare at you for a moment, finds himself entranced by watching the flicker of the flame highlight the different contours of your face so beautifully. He has to drag his eyes off of you and down to the menu.

The two of you decide what you're going to have and then pick out a bottle of wine together. You order when your waiter comes by and then are finally able to really settle in.

"I meant to say earlier but the hostess returned and started showing us to our table," Jack starts with a small smile, "you smell particularly nice tonight."

"Oh, um, thank you." A shy smile pulls on your face. Between Jack's comment and the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the room you get flustered, just like you did in the hospital when asking Jack to come to your son's appointment with you. "It's perfume." You pause for a second as what you said sinks in. "Well, I'm sure that was obvious," you laugh. "God, I don't know why I still get this flustered around you like you aren't my boyfriend and when you're still here despite knowing some of the most personal things about me and seeing me ugly cry into my hands or you and a bunch of other embarrassing things."

Jack gives you a sympathetic smile and laugh as he finishes taking the drink he started while you were talking. "Oh trust me, Sweetheart, I know how you feel. You do the same, to me, I promise." Your forearm and hand rest up the side of the table and Jack brings his to match, nudging the tips of your fingers with his. "It's very endearing. You getting flustered."

"Given how often it seems to happen that's probably a good thing," you laugh softly with him. "And you, um, you smell very nice too. I noticed earlier, I'm not just saying it because you did."

"Thank you." He nods, but it seems like there's more he wants to say that he doesn't.

"What?" You wear a curious smile now.

Jack shakes his head and bows it for a second. He's not going to lie and say nothing. "I considered saying 'thank you, it's cologne,' just to tease you, but decided not to because I wasn't sure if it would land and be a cute moment or just make you self-conscious and embarrassed," he admits.

You smile brightly at him and laugh a little. "It would've landed and been a cute moment in this context where I'd already made fun of myself about it. But as someone who gets easily self-conscious and embarrassed I really appreciate you thinking about that."

Your waiter cuts in with an apology and sets down the appetizer you and Jack decided on. As it always does with the two of you, conversation flows freely and easily as you eat your appetizer and mains.

"So do I get to know what we're doing after this yet?" You give Jack a hopeful smile as the two of you wait for your dessert.

"Yeah, alright, I'll tell you," Jack says as he nods. As he goes to tell you Jack starts to regret not asking about this beforehand because now that it's here and he's about to tell you he's worried it's silly or cringe or going to end up being embarrassing. At the same time he wonders if it's too much in a way. Too serious or trying too hard or too something.

You don't miss the pink that tinges Jack's cheeks. "I'm sure I'm going to love it Jack." You give him a reassuring smile.

He raises his eyebrows for a second and tilts his head like he's trying to say he's not sure. He licks his lips and forces himself to start talking. "I got us tickets for the Benedum Center." He lets out a little breath through his shy smile. "Macbeth is on."

It clicks immediately and takes you back to just around four months ago.

Jack stands up, puts the chair back and looks back at you, rolls his eyes. “Patient census comment coming back to bite me in the ass. Shoulda known better.” 

You let out a small laugh. “I thought it was very Scottish Play of you.” Jack smiles at you. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” He walks over to the door and puts his hand on the door handle, pauses, thinking.

Jack turns back to look at you. “What’s done cannot be undone,” he says with a little smirk. 

You laugh almost properly at that. It makes you feel, maybe not totally happy, but okay. It’s been a while since you’ve felt either. 

“Oh wow, okay, well go get ‘em Lady Macbeth.” Jack laughs softly, more of just a smile with some air breathed out of his nose as he shakes his head a little at you. 

"Oh Jack," you whisper, face melting into the most adoring smile because you truly do adore this man. "That is so sweet. I love that."

"Yeah?" His lips pull up in a tentative smile.

"Yeah." You nod, still smiling at him and sliding your fingers over his where they rest on the table and rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb.

"I'm glad you remembered or it would've been awkward." He burns off some of his nervous energy with a laugh.

"Of course I remember. I remember that night quite clearly and that whole exchange in particular because, it, it made me feel okay for the first time in a very long time, almost happy. I could never forget it, or you for giving me that feeling back." You pause and laugh softly, shaking your head at him. "I can't believe you remember with all the conversations you have with people every time you work."

"Well one, you're not just a person I spoke with at the Pitt one shift. You never were. And two," Jack chuckles to himself, "patients' moms call me a lot of things, some of which are very choice, but I can promise you I've only had one call me Lady Macbeth, so it's definitely memorable."

You click your tongue playfully. "Okay, I only called you it because you quoted her."

"I only quoted her because you brought up the Scottish play." His eyes sparkle with mirth in the flickering light as he tilts his head at you with a smile. "And you have to admit it was impressive that I could quote Macbeth offhand."

"Oh, freely," you nod, "it was very impressive. I was honestly shocked in the moment. I recognized it once you said it, but I don't think I could have offhand quoted it like that." The two of you laugh. "But really Jack," you squeeze his hand, "I'm excited and it truly is incredibly sweet and romantic and something I'll always remember."

"I'm glad it's okay," he murmurs.

"More than," you murmur back.

Your dessert gets dropped off and you and Jack share it, finish up the last of your bottle of wine, pay and grab another uber to the theater. You check your phone in the uber and smile at the photos Dana sent of your son and her and your son, sharing them with Jack. You send her a quick text back thanking her for sending them.

You head into the theater once you arrive and, unsurprisingly, Jack got you guys what have to be some of the best seats in the house. The play itself is wonderful and both you and Jack look over at each other when Lady Macbeth says that particular line. Once the play is over and you're out of the theater standing off to the side Jack helps you into your jacket before putting on his own.

"Would you like to head back home? Or we could stop somewhere and grab a nightcap." Jack knows you might be missing your son and itching to get back home to him or that you just might be tired and ready to go home. "Totally up to you Sweetheart, I'll be happy either way. I've had a great night, a great time with you." He gets a little shy on you again, dropping his head a bit and lowering his voice. "I, um, I hope you've enjoyed too."

You all but beam at Jack. "Of course I have. I always enjoy time with you Jack and tonight has been amazing." Jack lets out a slight sigh of relief at that. He doesn't know why he was so worried about it when he's watched you smile the entire night, but he was. "It's been really nice getting to have some adult time that's not us in my living room while the baby is asleep. I mean I love that, don't get me wrong, I love that time with you and wouldn't want it to disappear, but this kind of real date is just different, you know? A different kind of time together that I've really, really enjoyed." You think about his question and look at your phone. Dana has sent a photo of the monitor showing your son asleep in a silly position in his crib. You show Jack, who chuckles. "I think a nightcap sounds lovely. I don't really want the night to end," you admit, your own shyness coming out.

"I don't either," Jack agrees. "I'm glad you've enjoyed the night so far." Jack's eyebrows raise just slightly and you smile at the way the two of you can communicate in such subtleties. You lean into him and he brings his head down, the two of you exchanging a couple of kisses. When you part you use your thumb to wipe away the little bit of lipstick transfer on his lips. "I know a place a couple streets up, if you're okay walking. It has a speakeasy sort of thing going on. That work for you?"

"Sounds perfect." At your words Jack holds out his arm for you to take and you do with a little giggle. "Lead the way, Dr. Abbot."

A little over a month later it’s a pretty typical Thursday evening. You’re home around 5:15 like usual on days Jack works and you and Jack make the most of the hour and fifteen minutes you have together before he has to leave for work. 

Your son started walking shortly after you and Jack went on your first real date. You cried and Jack got misty eyed and you spent hours on the couch showing Jack photos and videos of him as a newborn up to nine months when Jack came into your lives. He was so tiny and now he's so big and you love it but it's also so hard.

He's getting closer to talking too. You both keep coaxing him to try and say mama, keep reading to him a lot to encourage him. You know it's coming.

But when it happens it's still a surprise.

Jack's sitting on the floor with your son playing and helping him walk some when you return to the living room from changing out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. Jack picked your son up from daycare after he got up since he worked last night. The last couple of nights. He's glad this is his last shift on this string.

"How are you guys?" You ask Jack as you sit on the floor next to him, your son toddling over to you and babbling. "Hi Baby! Did you have a good day? I bet you were excited to see Jack when he picked you up, hm?"

"We're alright. He was excited to see me, yeah," Jack chuckles. "We've just been playing and chilling since then, had a snack when we got home. And I'm alright. Really wish I didn't have to work."

You give your son a couple of cheek kisses and hold him close to you for a second before letting him sit in your lap. "I wish you didn't have to either," you sigh. You lean into Jack and share a couple of kisses, both of you smiling as you pull apart.

"At least I'm off after this shift and-"

Jack is interrupted by your son pointing at him and then clapping. "Dada, Dada." Both your and Jack's heads snap to look at your son. It's brief, and he's back to babbling nonsense while the two of you are still processing.

"Did he just say dada?" you breathe to Jack, your emotions already pulling you in multiple directions.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, beaming at your son, "he did. He just said his first word."

"Oh my god," you whisper, tears already hitting your eyes. Like so many things with him, there's an edge of not quite sadness but almost longing that washes over you as he hits this milestone. He's so grown. And it makes you beyond thrilled but he's growing up. He's not your tiny newborn anymore and part of you longs for him to stay little forever. "He's talking." A few tears slip down your cheeks as you bring him back to your chest to hug him and shower him with kisses. "I'm so proud of you Baby, my smart boy!"

The excitement encourages him to repeat himself, his babbling leading into another, "Dada, Dada," as he looks at Jack.

"He is." Jack gets a little emotional too because your son is talking and calling him Dada and like for, it's a realization of how big he's getting. "You're so smart! That's such a good job, Kid."

You sniffle a laugh and let your son sit back on your lap as you get your phone and start to record. "What did you just say Baby? Dada?"

You're able to lean back and pan out enough so that you can see both Jack and your son in the frame. Jack reaches over to tickle his tummy and your son grabs one of his fingers, his entire small hand wrapping around it and shaking it up and down a little. "Dada, Dada, Dada!"

When he lets go of Jack's finger Jack takes his hand back, wipes a few tears off his face and claps for him. "That's so good, Kid! You're so smart!"

Your son giggles in response and copies Jack, clapping and babbling a little more. You stop recording and lean in for a quick kiss with Jack because in the moment it feels right.

"I'm so proud of you, Honey. You're doing such a good job!" You lean down and kiss his head, nuzzle your nose there to take in the smell of baby shampoo. "You're getting so big, time needs to slow down."

"I can't believe he called me Dada," Jack murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you catch it. Because the way he looked at Jack when he said it indicates there was at least some association. Jack is unbelievably happy that your son's first word was dada and that he was saying it at Jack. He knows your son doesn't fully grasp what the word means and the significance behind it, but still. It's so beyond touching and it matches the role he feels like he has in your son's life and how he feels about your son. Jack loves your son like he's Jack's own. Jack would do anything for him, walk into a burning building or jump in front of a car for him without a second thought. But he wonders if you're okay with it because at the end of the day, your son isn't his and this should be your husband. He looks up at you. "Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," you give him a soft smile, "it fits."

Jack's words make you think, though. The irony that your son's father is dead and his first word was dada doesn't escape you. It feels very much like it should feel like a sick irony to you. And it does, but perhaps not as bad as you thought it might. It does hurt when you think about it. Your son was supposed to call your husband that. You're not necessarily upset as such that he called Jack dada, but he was supposed to call your husband that.

You really want to have this moment though. To be here and present and just let yourself be happy and a little emotional and proud of your son and not be consumed with grief. You wish you could control it that easily. It sucks. It's always going to fucking suck when your son hits a milestone and your husband isn't here. But you know your husband wouldn't want your grief over him to darken all of those memories. So you do your best to focus on the moment.

"Okay," Jack nods, gives you a matching smile, "I kind of thought so too, but I just wanted to check."

You take a second to gather some of your thoughts and figure out how you want to explain them. "This is not going to end up being particularly articulate, but I think that's the role you have in his life right now, Jack. So it makes sense for him to call you that. I know he doesn't fully understand it, but still. And I'm really grateful for the relationship you have with him and how much and the way you love him and help me with him. Not every man would be okay with that or willing to take on a kid, much less a baby. So, it's really okay Jack, for him to call you Dada, I promise. As long as it's okay with you, of course."

Jack's smile grows a bit. "It's okay with me, yeah." He gets a bit of a shy look to him and looks down at your son. "I like it," he admits, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. For some reason he feels like he should say he likes it even though love is the more accurate verb.

You reach over and run your hand through Jack's hair, let it slide to the back of his neck and squeeze. "Good, I'm glad."

Your son saying it again brings both of your attentions back to him. You and Jack take more videos as he keeps repeating it, both of you praising him and giving him kisses and tickling him to make him laugh.

Jack starts to take another video as your son says it again, "Dada, Dada, Dada."

You take in an excited break and get your son to look at you. "What about mama? Can you say mama? Mama, mama." You slow down the last two words and exaggerate pronouncing them and your mouth movements to help your son see.

"Say mama!" Jack encourages him too. "Mama, mama."

Your son looks between you and Jack with a huge smile on his face, basking in both of your attention and matching your excitement. "Dada!"

You and Jack crack up because it's so perfect, such a baby thing to do. "Of course not," you laugh. "Only dada."

"Dada!" your son laughs again crawling off your lap and over into Jack's. He stops recording, smiles and chuckles at your son as he supports your son standing on his thighs. Jack leans into your son, moving his face to kiss dramatically at the small palms that rest on his cheeks just to hear your son laugh more.

Jack loves it, hearing your son call him that, and is so excited and touched and happy and proud, but as it really starts to sink in it also throws him. Hard.

Your son's first word was ‘dada.’ To a man that’s not his father. Jack feels like he took that from your husband, like he stole it and he’s somehow overstepping, like he just crossed some huge line and you're going to end up hating him or resenting him for it. He worries it's going to seem like he wants to try and replace your husband in your son's life when he doesn't. He doesn't want that at all. He wants your son to know his father.

So part of him feels awful and like one of the worst people in the world for being so excited and truly happy at your son effectively calling him dada. He knows you're excited about it and that you said it's okay and it makes sense because that is pretty much the role Jack has in his life, but it's still hard for him, he's still almost torn about it and how he should feel and if he's allowed to be happy or if he should offer to try and get your son to not call him it. And while he knows you wouldn't lie to him he can't help but wonder if you're really okay with it. If part of you doesn't like it and resents him over it. If it's such a big thing that it's going to make all of this crash down around you in a way you're not ready for.

Jack slips deep into his head about it, starts to get a little more subdued, quieter and a bit less expressive. But he isn't aware that it's noticeable, that you can tell he's getting in his head and that you're worrying something is wrong. Anxiety starts to flood you a little bit.

"I should go finish dinner, since Mama started it this morning." He nods at your son with a soft smile. Even with as small as it is you can still see the adoration he has for your son in the way his eyes crinkle. "Mama," he exaggerates the word, "put it all in the slow cooker, didn't she? That was very nice of Mama. Been smelling good all day, hasn't it?"

Your son giggles at the facial expressions Jack makes at him as Jack speaks and answers him with another, "Dada!"

"I'll finish it off," you tell Jack, gesturing for him to stay sitting. "You should stay sitting and rest. You're about to be on your feet for the better part of twelve hours."

"Okay," he says a little quietly, nodding once with a small smile.

You linger for just a second as you appraise him again, swallowing hard. "You okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He cocks his head at you.

"I don't know. I just like to check. But good, I'm glad you are." You squeeze his arm and stand up, make your way into the kitchen and get started.

But you glance over at your son and Jack as you finish off dinner. Jack is noticeably quieter with your son. Or maybe it just seems that way, you tell yourself. Maybe it just seems that way because your son is saying dada to Jack over and over again and babbling even more. It also doesn't escape your notice that as much as Jack is smiling and telling your son he's proud of him and doing such a good job talking and he's so smart, Jack is constantly saying mama to try and get your son to say it. And you can't decide if it's because he just wants your son to say it for you or if it's because he doesn't want your son calling him dada.

You know he said he liked it and that he wouldn't lie to you but you also get how it's a big thing. Something that might make it too real for him. You try not to think about it too much as you finish up, but it's hard not to. "Hey, dinner's ready," you call over to Jack as you set the last of it on the table.

"We'll be right there," he calls back as he stands up and then grabs your son before walking over.

As you get some dinner squared away for your son on his high chair tray you debate whether to bring it up. Jack only has about twenty-five minutes before he has to leave and you don't want to upset him by asking if he's okay again or make eating dinner and the last of your time with him awkward. Jack knows he can talk to you about anything, so if something was wrong he would tell you. Right? He's just tired like he said. This is fourth shift in a row and the last before he's off.

It's just that there's been such a change since you got home, a noticeable shift in his demeanor and behavior since it happened. You worry your lip between your teeth as you sit at the table.

Jack arrives at the table with your son, slipping him in his high chair and getting him buckled in before sitting at the table himself. "It smells good, thank you." He smiles at you as he dishes some onto his plate.

You really wish you could shut your brain off because all it's doing right now is overthinking every single one of Jack's movements and words and the things he doesn't say and how he says what he does say. There's no pet name at the end of that sentence where there normally would be. That has to mean something. But then he did smile at you like he normally does.

"Your day was good?" Jack asks as you both eat. "I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier after you asked. We got a little distracted." He forces a lopsided smile. He's still pretty deep in his head about it.

You can tell his smile is forced. It doesn't even begin to reach his eyes and it makes your stomach plummet. The scrap of hunger and ability to eat that had been poking through your anxiety induced nausea disappears. "It was okay, yeah, thank you. Just a typical day, nothing exciting either good or bad." You smile at him and make sure it meets your eyes even if it's weak. But you look over at your son pretty quickly.

You're not really eating now as much as you are just pushing the small serving of food you took around your plate. Jack notices. He's an observer. It's how he makes sure you're okay, how he makes sure the people he loves and cares about are okay. He noticed the smaller serving you took but didn't think too much of it because sometimes you do that and go back for seconds. But this is just not eating. You're stressed or anxious or both or feeling some other emotion so intensely it's preventing you from being able to eat and Jack doesn't like that at all.

He would think maybe you're upset that your son called him dada but you were so excited and he doesn't want to think you're upset about it. You'd reassured Jack that it was okay and that it was really the role he has in your son's life so it made sense. If you'd been upset he would have picked up on it then. He knows he would've. But maybe the reality of him calling your son dada is just hitting you now. Maybe the grief it has to be dragging up is really settling in.

"Hey," Jack gets your attention softly between bites of his own. "What's up?" When you look back at him Jack glances at your plate and then back up to you to let you know he knows something is up with how little you're eating.

You let out a small breath, try half-heartedly to make it a little laugh. "I'm just emotional about him talking." It's not a lie. You are emotional about it. "He's just getting so big and I love watching him grow and be able to do new things but there's that piece of my heart that can't handle my baby not being my little baby anymore."

Jack's quite sure that's not the entirety of what's bothering you, but he doesn't really know how to try and coax more out of you, especially with as little time as he has left with you before he has to leave. Maybe you're just not ready to talk about whatever it is. He's sure you have to be thinking about your husband, that it has to stir up some grief. And in this instance Jack might be the last person you want to talk to about that grief with.

He nods slowly and finishes chewing his bite. "That makes sense, yeah." He looks over at your son who's messily feeding himself dinner and chuckles at him which earns him a happy smile from your son. "It's crazy to think about how much he's grown just since I met him. So I can only imagine." He goes to say more and follow up with you but your son interrupts him.

"Dada, dada!" Your son claps his hands together as he makes grabby hands at Jack.

"You gotta finish your food there, Kid." Jack smiles at him, pointing to the tray. As he goes to lean in and help your son eat he glances at his watch. 18:20. It stops him from leaning in towards your son. "Shit, yeah, and I've gotta go get dressed for work." He shoots you an apologetic smile as he finishes off his last few bites and gets up from the table to go change. It doesn't meet his eyes again.

Your heart falls as you watch Jack walk away from you. He's never not at least leaned in towards your son when your son has reached for him from his high chair. You're certain something has to be very wrong. Maybe your son calling him dada has made this too real for Jack somehow, has really made him realize the full implications of being with you and you having a son and that he has a parental role. Maybe it's too much for him and he's realizing he doesn't really want that. Maybe he's not going to come back once he leaves tonight except to get his things. Maybe he's going to tell you it's all over.

You try to push aside those thoughts because you know they're irrational and just your anxiety lying to you. Jack is not the kind of man who would ever do that, just decide it's over and never come back other than to get his stuff. You know that. But your rational and logical brain isn't in control right now.

While Jack gets ready you go into the kitchen and grab a container to put some dinner in for Jack to have as lunch. You throw a couple of other things in the bag with it and leave some protein bars on top for him to put in his pockets because that's more likely what he's going to have time to eat. You sit back at the table while you wait for him, grab your son from his chair now that he's done eating and clean him up with a baby wipe.

Jack shuts the door to what's effectively his room now and sits on the edge of his bed. He takes in and lets out a long breath. He can't stop fixating on the idea that he's taking this away from your husband and that he's awful for being happy about it. He can't help but worry that you're growing upset about it and don't want your son calling him dada, and don't want him in anything close to that role. He can't shut his brain off just like you can't.

And he knows something more than just being emotional about your son talking is up with you. You just seem sad or upset, the smiles you've given him have only just reached your eyes. Maybe the grief this is stirring up is different this time. Maybe you're realizing this is a little too much, that your son is calling someone else dada and you aren't ready for Jack to have that title and role. Maybe it's not something you're going to be able to move past. Maybe tomorrow night you're going to break this whole thing off, romantically and even as just a friendship and Jack's going to lose you and your son.

God, maybe he should float the idea so that you don't feel bad about doing it, breaking up with him. Maybe he should break up with you because maybe it would help you, maybe it would be what's best for you. He knows that's totally off the fucking rails and hates himself for even thinking about it. He doesn't get to decide what would help you or what would be best for you. Like all the other thoughts do, these ones linger.

There's something else throwing Jack too but he can't put his finger on what it is, can't get it to come to the surface. He's sure it's because his brain doesn't want to have to deal with that and at the moment he's kind of fine with it.

He forces himself up and to throw on an undershirt and scrub top, his usual cargo-style scrub pants. There's a part of him that wishes he could call out and stay here and get your son to bed and then talk to you and try to get a read on where you're at, maybe explain some of his feelings. He knows the two of you talking and communicating is absolutely what needs to happen right now. It doesn't necessarily have to be a long drawn out thing, just something. But there's a part of him that's ready to get out and to work where he'll be distracted and won't have to really confront any emotions about it and won't have to hear you break up with him or something.

Jack knows his thoughts are irrational. He knows you love the relationship he has with your son, knows how thankful and grateful you are for it. He knows this is anxiety lying to him. You're not the kind of woman who's just going to be done because this one thing brings up hard emotions. Jack knows that because lots of things have brought up lots of hard emotions since you met each other and officially got together and you're still together. But like you, his rational and logical brain isn't really in control on that side of things right now.

So maybe work will be good and help him process things better, because his rational and logical brain will be so on while he's there, that's the zone he'll be in. Maybe he can kind of transfer it over to all of this and it'll be better and he can calm himself down.

He spends way longer than he means to in his room getting changed. Of course you overthink that. It means he's rushing when he comes out of his room. "Oh, thank you for doing that, you didn't have to." He gives you a grateful smile that just meets his eyes when he sees you've thrown together some lunch for him and left protein bars out which he shoves in his pockets. You pretty much always get his lunch together if you're around when he leaves, but Jack doesn't take the fact that you do for granted.

You smile back at him. It's weak again, but a smile nonetheless. One that also just meets your eyes. "I know, but I like to."

Jack nods and glances at his watch. 18:30. "I've gotta go, I'm sorry." You shake your head. He doesn't have anything to be sorry for. You stand and follow him towards the front door, sway back and forth with your son as he changes the foot on his prosthetic and gets his shoe on his other foot. "Be good for mama, yeah?" He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head toward your son as he stands back up, leaning in and kissing his cheek, lingering for just a second. "Bye, Kid," he whispers. You tell yourself it doesn't look like or sound like a total goodbye, just a see you later. But your brain is warping everything. "You be good too," he murmurs to you as he pulls you in for a quick hug and kiss.

He's releasing you and opening the front door quickly. It's really because he's running a little late, but in your brain it's because he can't wait to get the fuck out of here and be free of you. He doesn't use a pet name, there's no 'see you tomorrow morning' like there usually is when he's watching your son the next day. Your brain tells you it's because he's not coming back and you need to plan to take your son to daycare in the morning.

"Bye," you call after him. "Have a good shift." He nods at you.

Jack shuts the front door behind him and for the first time you find yourself worrying about whether he’s going to come back.

I hope it was okay that you enjoyed! I would love to hear your thoughts and comments! All of your interactions give me so much joy and inspiration! Thank you for all your support and for reading!! ♥️

I still have a lot of ideas for these two so I hope you're ready for and looking forward to more!

Want more Jack? Check out my masterlist here!

Want to be added to my Jack tag list? Interact with this post!

Interact with this post if you'd like to join my Robby tag list, and this post if you'd like to join my Andrew Pope Cody tag list! Each tag list is separate, so be sure to interact with each post for each character you'd like to be tagged for!

Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Tag list:

@loveyhoneydovey @love-affair-with-fandoms @mstrsgoodgrl0628 @equallyshaw @kmc1989 @artsymaddie @moonshooter @whiskeyhowlett-writes @smallcarbigwheels @hawkswildfireheart @blackwidownat2814 @viridian-dagger @andabuttonnose @beebeechaos @pear-1206 @starkgaryan @travelingmypassion @marvelcasey05 @daydreamingallthetime-world @millenialcatlady @nursejuju86 @escapefromrealitysm @emilia527 @satanxklaus @frazie99 @kastleandmurdock @guardiancardigan @zoctopiii @4rosabellaa @adissapointmentlol @nowandajenn @book-of-roses @redzscare @concentratedconcrete @freshbearbouquetblr @qardasngan @practicalghost @wolviehugh @athena1504 @iamcryingonceagain @acn87 @moonpascal @lostfleurs @beltzboys2015-blog @pouges-world @roseanddaggerlarry @lauraneedstochill @robbyrobinavitch @shesaidshemight

[beautifulandvoid]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[beautifulandvoid]

Just as a update for those who might also read my stuff on Ao3, my username on there has changed. So now both here and there are Beautifulandvoid.