Hey, I had this thing in my mind - how about Robby or Langdon falling for (possibly more, iykwim) a NICU doc? Caring for babies makes everyone 100000x more attractive. Also, love what you do, keep doing it!!! 🙏🏼✨🤌🏻
sweet like honey
frank langdon x fem!nicu!reader
word count - 1.9k
warnings - infant death (in the past and not at all graphic), kissing, moving very fast
a/n - lowkey lost the nicu plot on this i'm so sorry…..
Frank didn't even quite know what he was doing still in the NICU, he had come down minutes prior in order to bring in a baby that had been born in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He found himself unable to leave, as his eyes had been captured by you, a shining light among the uncertainty of the NICU. He watched, mouth agape and heart pounding in his chest, as you fluttered about the room, softly humming, cutting through the prevalent hissing of oxygen, handling the fragilest beings with the utmost care.
Frank managed to stay like that for a solid two minutes before you eventually turned to notice him.
"Oh! Um, I know you already dropped off that little one, do you need something else?" you ask politely, voice as sweet as honey. You'd seen Frank a few times when he needed to come by the NICU, and you had always found him quite attractive. His piercing blue eyes and sharply sloped nose made him quite easy to look at, but you knew he was married after catching the glint of silver tangled around his finger.
"No- sorry- I'm just tired, spaced out a bit, I should be getting back to the ED," Frank explained, anxiously running a hand through his hair. You watched, mentally noting the new lack of ring on his left hand.
"Alright, well, good luck down there," you softly reply, causing Frank's heart to softly flutter.
Frank found his thoughts drifting back to you throughout the rest of his work day. The color of your eyes, slope of your nose, the fullness of your lips claimed his every thought, serving as a beacon of beauty among the darkness the ED had bestowed upon his mind.
He kept thinking of you, even as he walked out of the hospital and got into his car, I mean, he had only been officially divorced for 3 weeks, how could he already have fallen for someone knew? Was it too fast? Did you even like him?
Suddenly, Frank was brought out of his thoughts as he spotted you out the window, waiting at the bus stop in the pouring rain, no raincoat. Frank's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, despite your soaked status, you were still just as gorgeous as ever. Before Frank even knew it, he was pulling up beside you and rolling down his window.
"Hey, do you need a ride home?" Frank questions, watching as you startle at the sudden interruption.
"Oh, Frank, sorry, I was worried you were some sort of creep... but um, are you sure? Would your wife not mind?" you strategically question, posing it in the hopes of confirming his new relationship status.
"Um- my- I don't have a wife, and before you say anything about getting my seats wet, I have kids, the car has seen much worse," Frank explains, a charming smile playing on his lips.
"I guess I'll take the ride," you murmur, a small smile spreading across your face as you round the car to enter on the passenger side.
As you slide into the black leather seats of Frank's SUV, you note that he had already turned the seat warmer for you. Music played softly over the radio, something by Death Cab for Cutie that you couldn't quite place, but it brought a nice ambiance when paired with the noise of rain hitting the windshield.
"Here, put in your address," Frank instructed, passing you his unlocked phone, opened to maps. You quickly accepted it, your fingers brushing his own, causing both of your hearts to pick up the pace. You type in your address, slightly cringing when you see that it seemed to be about 20 minutes out of Frank's way.
"Thank you for the ride, Frank, I really appreciate it, especially since it’s so out of your way," you explain, dipping your head out of shyness as you felt Frank glance over at you.
"I really don't mind, I mean, between you and I, I've been kinda lonely lately, and I certainly don't mind having a pretty girl in my passenger seat," Frank comments, lips curling up into a smirk as he watches you realize what he just said. You immediately felt your neck and face heat up, a fluttering sensation overcoming your stomach as you fought the urge to shade yourself from his praise.
"I- I- I mean I wouldn't mind keeping you company?" you squeak out, hoping to sound sultry and confident, but coming out as more of a question. Frank softly chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that only served to fuel the butterflies that had taken up residence in your gut.
"We could start tonight, have some dinner if you're okay with that, I'm not trying to invite myself into your home or-" you cut Frank's sudden nervous rambling off by placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.
"Frank, I would love to have you over tonight," you reply with a syrupy sweet smile, the confidence in your voice betraying the anxiety wracking your body.
"Great, that sounds great," Frank answered, letting out a shaky sigh before fully focusing himself back onto the road.
Eventually, you and Frank arrived at your apartment. Upon entering, Frank was enveloped with the warm, soft scent of vanilla and something homey that he wasn't quite educated enough to name.
"Welcome home," you exclaim, turning around a few feet in the entryway in order to observe Frank's reaction. You watched as he took in his surroundings, from the ceramic flower-shaped dish that held your keys, to the various deep green coat of paint on the walls of your living room, complimenting the plants that seemed to cover every inch of the room.
"Wow.... it's gorgeous in here, the place is very you," Frank comments with a smile, coming up behind you so he can place a large, warm hand on each of your shoulders. "What's the dinner plan?" Frank questions, hot breath ghosting over the crown of your head.
"Well, I was planning on making some ramen with gyoza and pickled cucumber salad," you answer, shuffling back a bit, relishing the warmth of his body.
"You making that all from scratch?" Frank inquires, giving your shoulders a light squeeze.
"Mmm, I'm not thattttt fancy, Frank. The ramen is premade and so are the gyoza," you clarify, drawing out your t and finishing it with a satisfying click of your tongue.
"Well, why don't we get started on that?" Frank suggests, releasing you from his hold in order to allow you to lead him to your kitchen.
You lead Frank out of the living room and into the nearby kitchen. The walls are saturated with a deep raspberry tone, complimenting the decorative tiles making up your backsplash. As Frank takes it all in, you make your way to your freezer, sliding it open and retrieving the bag of frozen gyoza before tossing them in Frank's direction.
"Here, get started on these while I work on the salad and ramen. Pans are in the bottom left drawer by the stove," you note as you begin to take out the supplies needed for your portion of the cooking.
The both of you find yourselves in a groove, working seamlessly as you flow around the kitchen to the tune of whatever song was playing from your playlist. Frank appreciated the variation in the playlist, mixing between RnB, alternative, and classic rock.
In a small lull while everything cooked and marinated, Frank finally spoke up, "So, uh, what made you wanna work in the NICU?"
"Oh, well uh, when I was about 7, my mama had another baby, but she was born very very premature and spent weeks in the NICU. I had been really excited to have a sister, and we got closer and closer to her coming home, but just- something happened a week before she was meant to come home, and she passed," you explain, rested against the counter. Frank watches as your hands come together, nails sliding against your cuticle to tear and pry at the skin. He abruptly reaches out to take your hands into his own, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the backs of your hands.
"I could not imagine how difficult that was for you and your family, and I am so sorry it happened, but, thank you for sharing this with me. I think that your background makes you 100 times better than the average NICU doctor," Frank delicately explains, continuing his soothing movements as he speaks. “I wanted to work in the ED after my mothers life was saved in that very same hospital after a car wreck.” he explains, moving forward to press his forehead to your own. Your eyes softly fluttered shut, a fluttering feeling invading your stomach once more as Frank’s hot breath fans across your face. “Can I kiss you?” Frank softly questions, eyes fluttering in a manner where you can feel his lashes tickling your brow.
“Yes-“ you breathlessly reply, faces pressing closer, lips soon to meet, all to be suddenly startled apart by the timer going off. Both you and Frank immediately burst out into a fit of giggles as you both move to deal with the food.
“Let’s try that again later,” Frank comments as the both of you begin to plate up dinner.
And later there was.
After eating dinner and spending some time curled up on the couch together, it came time for Frank to leave.
The two of you stood in your entryway, your arms draped loosely around Frank’s neck.
“So, should we try this again?” You softly suggest, cocking your head to the side a bit.
“Yeah, I think so,” Frank murmurs as he moved in, nose smooshing beside yours, breath mingling before his mouth met yours. The plushness of Frank’s lips contrasted drastically with the firm planes of his body, he tasted of vinegar and sugar from the cookies you had snacked on while lazing on the couch. Your tongue prodded at Frank’s lips, requesting entry to his mouth, which he eagerly allows. Your tongue’s tangled as Frank pulled your body impossibly closer to his own, the heat from his body mingling fully with yours.
After what felt like hours locked in the heated kiss, the both of you simultaneously pulled away with a gasp, foreheads resting together as you caught your breath.
“That- wow- that was great Frank,” you breathlessly whisper, slowly disentangling yourself from his body.
“Yeah- um- I’m really glad we did this- and I would love to do it again, I- I left my number on a sticky note and put it on your fridge so- if you want- we can set up a proper date,” Frank explains, anxiety creeping back into his voice.
“I would love that, I’ll text you tonight Frank, okay?” You reassure softly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you at work tomorrow, honey,” Frank says with a smile.
Needless to say, Frank was visiting the NICU a lot more….
Frank Langdon had faced enough chaos in an emergency department to know that life rarely unfolded according to plan. Trauma pages, crashing patients, impossible diagnoses, those things he understood. Preschool open house? That was entirely different. He found himself standing in front of a cheerful brick building tucked into a quiet Pittsburgh neighborhood, one hand wrapped around a lukewarm coffee that he'd forgotten to drink and the other holding tightly onto Tanner's little hand. Bright chalk drawings covered the sidewalk leading to the entrance, every color imaginable swirling together into flowers, smiling suns, and misshapen dinosaurs that Tanner proudly pointed out as though they belonged in a museum. Parents milled around the playground with practiced ease, balancing conversations while their children darted between slides and climbing structures.
Frank, however, felt strangely out of place. He was still getting used to this version of his life, the one where custody schedules sat in his phone calendar, where he folded impossibly tiny socks in his apartment's laundry room, where every goodbye to Tanner at his ex-wife's house lingered a little longer than he cared to admit.
"Daddy" Tanner whispered, tugging insistently on his fingers. "Do you think they'll have toys?"
Frank looked down at his son, who had managed to dress himself that morning, though his tiny sneakers were on the wrong feet. Frank had noticed halfway through breakfast and decided not to mention it. Tanner had been so proud that it hadn't seemed worth correcting.
"I'd be willing to bet my entire paycheck they have toys."
Tanner's eyes widened. "Your whole paycheck?"
"My whole paycheck."
The little boy giggled, his laughter bright enough to smooth over the nervous knot that had been quietly sitting in Frank's chest since they'd left the apartment.
Inside, the school somehow smelled exactly the way every preschool was supposed to smell, fresh crayons, washable paint, construction paper, disinfectant, and something faintly sweet that reminded Frank of vanilla frosting. Tiny artwork covered every inch of the walls. There were handprint turkeys despite it being nowhere near Thanksgiving, watercolor butterflies with crooked antennae, and rows of smiling self-portraits featuring wildly inaccurate numbers of fingers. It was colorful in a way hospitals never could be. Nothing here beeped. Nothing smelled sterile. There were no overhead pages or rushing footsteps echoing through hallways. Just laughter.
Frank found himself relaxing before he even realized it.
"Mr. Langdon?"
The voice was warm.
Not loud.
Not overly enthusiastic.
Just…warm.
He turned instinctively.
And promptly forgot whatever thought had been occupying his mind.
Standing a few feet away was Tanner's teacher.
She couldn't have been much older than her mid-twenties, dressed simply in a soft blue cardigan over a floral dress that brushed just above her knees. Her comfortable white sneakers had little flecks of dried paint on the rubber toes, and a cheerful sunflower-shaped lanyard rested against her chest with a laminated name tag dangling beneath it. Her hair had been pulled back loosely, though several stubborn strands had escaped to frame her face, and there was a tiny streak of green paint near her wrist that she either hadn't noticed or simply hadn't cared to wash off.
She smiled.
Not the polite, practiced smile people gave strangers.
A real one.
The kind that reached her eyes first.
The kind that somehow made the room feel brighter, like the sunflowers from her lanyard were actually filling the room.
"You must be Tanner," she said, crouching down without hesitation until she was eye level with him instead of towering over him. "I've been so excited to meet you."
Frank watched Tanner immediately duck halfway behind his leg.
She didn't seem bothered in the slightest.
Instead, she smiled even softer.
"I heard someone very important was coming today."
Tanner peeked around Frank's jeans.
"…Me?"
"You."
Another pause.
"I also heard…" She leaned in conspiratorially. "That you're really, really good at finding bugs outside."
Tanner's entire face lit up.
Frank blinked.
How…
"I love bugs," Tanner informed her very seriously.
"I know! Mrs. Williams told me." She nodded like this was groundbreaking information. "She said if I ever need help finding a caterpillar, you're the person to ask."
Frank glanced toward another teacher standing across the room who simply grinned knowingly.
Well.
That explained it.
Still.
Watching Tanner slowly inch away from him toward someone he'd met less than thirty seconds ago was nothing short of miraculous.
The little boy began explaining the difference between worms and snakes with all the confidence in the world while she listened as though he were delivering a university lecture instead of proudly describing something he'd learned from turning over rocks at the park.
She never interrupted.
Never corrected him.
She simply listened.
Really listened.
Frank couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone give a child that much undivided attention.
It caught him off guard.
"So," she said after Tanner wandered toward a sensory table filled with kinetic sand, "you're Frank."
He realized she was looking at him now.
Those same warm eyes.
That same easy smile.
He cleared his throat.
"That's…uh…yeah."
Brilliant.
Years of teaching residents during trauma activations. Perfectly capable of delivering devastating news to families with compassion and clarity, and somehow introducing himself to a preschool teacher had rendered him incapable of forming a complete sentence.
She didn't seem to notice.
Or maybe she did.
If she did, she was kind enough not to point it out.
"I'm really happy Tanner's going to be in my class," she said. "Mrs. Williams told me he's thoughtful."
Frank smiled faintly.
"That's one word for him."
She laughed.
It wasn't loud or forced.
Just genuine.
"What word would you use?"
Frank looked across the room.
Tanner was kneeling in front of another little boy, enthusiastically offering him a plastic dump truck without being asked.
"…Gentle."
The answer came more quietly than he'd intended.
"He…" Frank rubbed the back of his neck. "He's always been gentle."
She followed his gaze, watching Tanner carefully show the other child how the truck worked.
"I can tell."
There wasn't an ounce of pity in her voice when she spoke next.
No careful tiptoeing around the fact that he'd arrived alone.
No awkward mention of spouses or families.
Just simple conversation.
"He seems really loved."
Frank swallowed unexpectedly.
The words landed somewhere he hadn't realized was still bruised. Loved. Not lucky. Not well-behaved. Loved.
He looked at Tanner again, watching his son's tiny shoulders shake with laughter over something only four-year-olds could possibly find hilarious.
"I try," Frank admitted.
She smiled at him again.
"I think you're doing better than just trying."
For reasons he couldn't begin to explain, those words settled deeper than they probably should have.
Maybe it was because they came from someone who spent every day with children.
Maybe it was because she had only known them for ten minutes and somehow managed to see the parts of Frank he usually kept buried beneath scrubs, exhaustion, and quiet resilience.
Or maybe it was simply because this was the first time in a very long while that someone had looked at him, not as the divorced dad trying to hold everything together, not as the ER physician who always had the answers, but just…Frank.
He realized, somewhat embarrassingly, that he'd been smiling for several minutes.
She noticed.
Her own smile widened just enough to make a tiny dimple appear in her cheek. As she turned back toward Tanner, the little sunflower charm on her lanyard bobbed softly against her cardigan, drawing Frank's attention one last time.
It was such a small thing, plastic petals no bigger than a quarter, but somehow it suited her perfectly. Bright. Warm. Impossible not to notice.
And for the first time in longer than Frank could remember, the future didn't feel quite so heavy.
Frank happily spends his day off at the zoo with his family, where the great doctor tries to prove he's also still a great husband and father — dad!frank x mom!reader fluff
warnings: some sexual references, and some mild angst (mentions of Frank's addiction, a strained marriage/family dynamic, and couples therapy) Abby doesn't exist in this fic
words: 2.5k
a/n: this oneshot is also based off of a headcanon I included in one of my Frank Langdon domestic headcanon lists, which you can find on my Langdon Masterlist! I honestly just wanna turn every one of them into oneshots lol
Frank Langdon is well-aware of how much time his job takes up.
Twelve hour shifts, four to five days a week. And that’s not even including the amount of time he has to spend at the hospital lending a hand when it’s busy, or finishing up with charting after his shift is supposed to be over.
He’s tallied up the hours he’s spent away from home. Not that he needed to. It’s obvious that his work-life balance has an effect on him and his family. He sees it every time he comes home and the kids are already asleep, or when he has to cancel your date nights because he gets called in to help with an emergency.
Frank knew he needed to get better at being a dad and a husband—partially out of his own reflection, and partially because you’ve had several lengthy talks about it—but it was hard since he was still a resident. So he went about it in the easiest way he could at first: spending quality time with his family on little day trips whenever he had time off.
Today, he brought you and the kids to the zoo, which was one of his favourite places when he was Tanner’s age.
In the section labeled ‘B for Bear’ of the zoo’s parking lot, you and Frank made sure the kids were lathered in sunscreen and that they knew the rules of the day, much to their dismay.
“No running, stay close to Mommy and Daddy, inside voices when we’re looking at animals so we don’t scare them. Okay?”
Tanner nodded, telling you he understood what you wanted from him. That was good enough for you, so you switched your gaze over to the toddler in your arms.
“You hear that, Penny? I’m looking at you, especially when I say ‘stay close to Mommy’. Do you agree to these terms, troublemaker?”
She gave you a devilish smile and nodded, same as her brother. Again, good enough for you.
“Okay then, I think we’re all ready to go in there!” You said happily. “Frankie, you all good with the backpack?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure we’ve got everything we need. Other than a picture.” He directed his words at the kids now. “C’mon, stand by your mom against the car. Really quick, then we can go, alright?”
He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of you and the kids smiling wide at him. Most of the pictures on his phone were of his family, so he figured one more wouldn’t hurt.
Then the four of you were off, heading to the very jungle-themed entrance to the park. You carried Penny—an arrangement you made clear would not be an all day affair—while Tanner walked between you and his dad with a spring in his step.
Once you got to the gates, Frank noticed you attempting a sort of balancing act as you shifted Penny in your arms so you could show your tickets to the attendant in a tiger-striped polo shirt.
“Hey, Princess Penny, you want to come sit in my arms for a bit? Give your mom a little break?”
You adjusted Penny on your hip and thanked the employee after she opened the gates for your family before you answered Frank.
“It’s okay, honey, I’ve got her. You’ve got the backpack.”
“And that’s on my back. Penny can be in my arms. Or I could carry the bag if she wants a piggyback.”
The mere mention of the word ‘piggyback’ has Penny’s immediate attention. She struggles out of your grasp, eager to be carried by her dad instead of you. Sure, no offense taken.
“Then I can take the bag. I need something to do now that my baby doesn’t want me to hold her anymore!” You spoke dramatically to tease your daughter, with an expressive frown and a hand to your heart as you said that last part.
It worked, and your little girl giggled at you while Frank manoeuvred the backpack to his arms and got Penny settled on his back.
“C’mon, I’ve got these nice muscles for a reason, gotta use ‘em. You could try carrying Tanner, but he’s a big boy now, he doesn’t like being carried anymore.”
Then your son piped up for the first time in a couple minutes, just to agree with his dad, and remind you of the little phase he was going through. “I walk, ‘cause I’m not a baby!”
“You’re always my baby!” You reminded him, leaning down to press a kiss on the baseball cap covering the top of his head.
Once you stood back up to your full height, you made eye contact with Frank next to you, who was sporting a smug grin, satisfied that he had won.
You knew exactly what he was doing—him offering to do everything for you. It had started in one of your first couples therapy sessions, shortly after Frank’s addiction came to light.
You had mentioned to the therapist that this was probably overdue, and described the issues you two had been dealing with for a while, which was how Frank’s job often got in between him and the family.
Your therapist understood the situation, and came up with a solution so quickly, you were sure he had prescribed it to at least a hundred other couples who came into his office.
He said that although the stress of Frank’s job was clearly hard on your marriage, it was not an uncommon problem, or one that was usually solved as soon as most people wished it could be. So in the interim, he suggested Frank try easing the load on your back in any little ways he could. Doing extra chores around the house, prepping the kids’ outfits or snacks before he leaves for work in the morning, all that.
Frank not only agreed to this little homework assignment, but he decided at that moment that he would go all the way with it. He needed you to know that he was serious about your marriage and your family.
He had to prove that you were more important to him than the ED, or the pills, or his own ego. And if a marriage professional told him any way to help get his desperate intentions across, you could bet all your money that he was going to do it.
And honestly, you had gotten his message and felt quite a bit better after the first couple weeks or so, but Frank was absolutely not stopping there.
He still wasn’t relenting in his quest to make you feel loved and appreciated, even on your little family day out at the zoo.
Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but smile at him. But you couldn’t just spend the whole day blushing and grinning at your husband, so you looked to your son and then pointed at the large green sign welcoming you in.
“Okay then, big boy, wanna go run to that sign over there and grab a couple maps for us so we can start the day?”
Tanner looks up at you, wide-eyed. “You said no running!”
You bit the inside of your cheek, while Frank just laughed out loud at your son’s qualm.
“You’re right. Good listening.” You praised his listening skills. “Okay, do you want to walk over there to grab some maps?”
He nodded, then headed to the sign in a speedy walk over to the display. You watched as he grabbed a handful of the brightly-coloured pamphlets, then made his way back to you with a proud smile strung across his chubby cheeks.
“I got four! So we can all have one!” He announced happily.
You didn’t have the heart to tell him that neither he nor his baby sister could navigate with a map, so you just smiled and kept quiet. Besides, maybe letting him have this free map would let you save money on souvenirs later on.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” You said to him, gently plucking one from the stack in his hand. “Now we can plan out our trip!”
Tanner hands one map to his dad, and Frank spreads it out as well, looking over all the attractions and exhibits clearly laid out on the paper.
You read things over for a second, and then spoke up again to both your kids. Another rule for the day. “Okay, this is a big zoo, so we may not get to see all the animals today. So we’re all gonna pick one animal each that we have to see, and then everything else, we’ll try our best to see, but no complaining if we don’t get there. Do we agree to these terms?”
Your son thought for a moment, then nodded solemnly. You then looked at Penny, and Frank poked her side, prompting her to respond the same as her big brother.
This agreement made you happy enough, so you didn’t press for anything else to solidify their promises.
“Well, I know Penny wants to see the giraffes, right, baby?” You asked her, and the girl’s face immediately burst into a smile. “Yeah, you want that to be your top animal of the day?”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded, the brim of her little bucket hat bobbing as she did. “Yeah! Giraffe!”
Now, Penny’s choice was easy. She’s been obsessed with giraffes for the past few months, ever since Dana had gifted her a picture book about them for her second birthday. She was even wearing a t-shirt with giraffes on the front, perfect for today.
Tanner on the other hand, was not such a sure answer. He liked all kinds of animals, and he seemed to have a new favourite every week based on whatever his friends at school were into.
You looked down to see your son thinking hard over this decision. He was pinching his chin, and he had zoned out while looking at Frank’s leg while pondering.
You knew that if you didn’t help him pick an animal, your family might never leave the zoo entrance, so you had to step in and offer something. “I’m gonna choose the gorillas, bud, if that helps you narrow down your list at all. I know you like the monkeys too.”
“I do.” He confirmed. “But I also like crocodiles, and lions, and warthogs, and tigers! I don’t know what one to pick!”
“Well, you said crocodiles first. That means you were thinking about them the most, right? They’re probably your favourite right now.”
“I like crocodiles a lot.”
“So you wanna pick them as your number one today?”
You understood that this was a serious decision for a four year-old, so you weren’t rushing or pushing him, you were merely trying to suggest things to clear up some of the racing thoughts in his little head.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
You clapped quietly, happy with his choice, and the fact that you could get your day started. “Yay! Crocodiles it is! But don’t worry, we’ll try our best to see as many of the animals as we can.”
He seemed very content with this solution and your promise—as if he was really going to let anything bring him down on zoo day—and so you were just as happy as your son.
“What’s Daddy’s animal?” Tanner asked, and Frank’s attention was brought away from the zoo map in his free hand with a small questioning hum when he heard his name.
“Everyone’s picking one animal that we have to see today, just in case we don’t have time to see everything.” You explained again. “Tanner’s asking what you want.”
He thought for a second, staring at the sky with the tip of his tongue in between his lips. “What’s been picked already?”
“Penny chose giraffes, obviously.” You started, then Frank shrugged in agreement with your last word.
“Tanner chose the crocodiles, and I picked the gorillas.”
He didn’t hesitate with his decision now. “I’ll choose gorillas, then.”
You rolled your eyes. So did Tanner, but his was for a different reason. Yours was because you knew exactly what he was doing, but your son was rolling his eyes because he had no idea what his dad was doing, or even that he was doing anything at all.
“Mommy already said that!” He informed Frank.
Frank shrugged, careful about not jostling Penny on his shoulders. “You never said that two people can’t choose the same thing! I found a loophole.”
Tanner had no time to deal with his father’s nonsense, but you wanted to indulge. Let’s see where this goes.
“It’s not a loophole, Frankie, it’s a waste of a pick. We were already gonna see the gorillas.”
He leaned closer to you and spoke softly. It was almost his bedroom voice, but the one he uses almost exclusively for apology sex. “Not a waste. We’ll just spend twice as much time looking at the monkeys.”
You leaned in as well, mimicking his actions. “Too bad they’re apes.”
Frank inhaled and put on a dramatic thinking face. “Mm, pretty sure you’re wrong about that. But, I guess that just means we’ll have to spend a bunch of time at their exhibit to see who really knows more about them.”
There it was. Your loving, kind husband trying to prove how much you mean to him in the most annoying, unsubtle ways he could think of.
You rolled your eyes once more, but this time, you couldn’t hide the grin strung across your cheeks.
“You’re so dumb.” You told him with a smirk. He knew exactly what you really meant.
Frank pressed a soft kiss against your lips, which had both of your kids making exaggerated grossed out sounds.
“I think you mean incredible. And tall, like the giraffes!” He said, which made Penny now squeal with joy. “They’re the closest pavilion to where we are, so Princess Penny will get to see her favourites very soon!”
And with that, the family was off on your expedition. Tanner walked a few feet ahead of the rest of you, mindful of the rules you made clear in the parking lot. Penny was ecstatic on her dad’s shoulders, and Frank insisted he was okay with carrying her plus the backpack.
As you walked towards the Savanna animals, you carefully placed your hand in your husband’s. He gladly accepted, entwining your fingers together without missing a beat.
You both looked at each other, sporting small smiles that said a lot more than you wanted to say in public.
“I love you, Frank.”
The reminder wasn’t necessary, but it was something that offered Frank a lot of comfort as you both worked together to repair your family.
“I know.” Frank said smugly.
Always so cocky, even when he was being as sincere as possible. You liked it a lot.
in which jack abbot is the first to notice you, the wallflower resident of the ER.
contents; fem!reader, insecure reader, jack being a total sweetiepie, mentions of financials struggles, probs medical inaccuracies, i know nothing abt working in a hospital, english is my third language so maybe some grammatical errors!
a/n; another part is here !! also saw that we hit 1k follows overnight which is CRAZY!!! thank you all SO SO SO much, the 1k special fic will come out in the following days <3 much love!!!! ps. comment to be added to the taglist for any upcoming parts of this <3 if ur already in the taglist, no need to comment again :3
masterlist ♡ buy me a coffee! ♡
previous part here
You're stood in the ambulance bay, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide in horror as you stare at the streets ahead. It's pelting down rain. The streets are flooding, and you forgot your umbrella.
The thin jacket you've pulled over your scrubs won't do much to shield you from the rain, and the old pair of sneakers on your feet would let the water in immediately. And they wouldn't have time to dry before your next shift.
Not to mention, the walk from the hospital to your house is long. Walking for thirty minutes in pouring rain, only means that you'll end up sick.
"Nasty weather today." Jack hummed, as he came to a stop next to you, his own backpack slung over one shoulder, mimicking yours. His lips pursed a little, as he zipped his jacket up halfway, before moving to dig an umbrella out of his bag, "You waitin' for a ride, or something?"
Your eyes focused on the raindrops slamming into a puddle down the streets, before you gave him an awkward nod. "Uh...just waiting to see if maybe the rain calms down a little."
Jack stills for a moment, his brows furrowing a little, as he turns to look at you a little better. His attentive eyes look over your form, internally scoffing at the thin jacket you were wearing. Silly girl, you'd get sick wearing that.
"You're walking?" He spoke quietly, words fading into a small whisper. He was far more attentive than you'd like. Where you try to cleverly lie through your teeth by using carefully selected words, he deconstructs the entire sentence immediately.
Knowing there's no use in lying, you offer him a meek nod, arms wrapping around your torso. "Yes, I'm walking. But my apartment isn't that far. It's fine, really. I like walking." Like clockwork, the desperate need to justify even the most mundane tasks came out.
Jack clicked his tongue, immediately shaking his head, "No, that won't do."
Your brows pressed into a tight furrow, head snapping up to look at him. "Er...excuse me, sir?" You tilted your head in confusion.
"I said...that won't do." He spoke clearly, turning his whole body to face you. "I can't have my favorite resident walking home in pouring rain, wearing this thin, tiny jacket, and getting sick."
His favorite resident. His. Favorite. You.
A small smirk quirked up the corner of his lips, as he saw the familiar redness bloom over the apples of your cheeks. It was so easy to get you flustered, he couldn't help but want to do it all the time.
"Doctor Abbot-"
"Jack."
"Hm?"
"Call me Jack."
Your cheeks turned a shade of red they had never been before. "Okay, Jack. I was just going to say it's really fine. I can walk. I don't mind."
He shook his head, already moving to shrug off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders, and pulling the hood up to protect your hair. "That's nonsense. I've got a perfectly working car and am in no hurry to get to my boring apartment. Just let me drive you. Just this once."
His jacket smelled exactly like him. A perfect mix of manly and...warm. It was big on you, which made sense. Jack was huge. You were surprised that his shirt sleeves weren't ripping from the size of his biceps. Not that you stared. You did.
"Fine." You gave in, your hands curling into the sleeves of the jacket. You could've argued back and forth, but it would've been no use. Jack might be even more stubborn than you, and somehow always manages to get his way.
With a smile, he opened his umbrella and held it over you both, beginning to guide you into the parking lot, where his car was waiting.
Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger door for you, holding the umbrella over you the entire time, until you were safely situated in the car. Only then did he close he door, shake off the umbrella and drop it in the backseat, before rounding the car and sitting in the passenger seat.
His car was clean. Smelled delicious, like fresh laundry. As soon as he started it, soft rock, maybe something from the 90's? started humming through the car. It was the exact kind of music that fits a guy like him. You wouldn't be surprised if some country-ish songs made their way in there, too.
"Thank you for this, Dr Ab- Jack." You quickly corrected yourself, giving him a timid smile. Your backpack was settled on your feet, careful not to get on the floor of his car. As if any proof of you being in his car was a crime. Like taking space was unimaginable.
He simply nodded, before handing his phone, quietly asking you to put your address into the GPS, which you did, cradling his phone with both hands. God forbid if your hand slipped and you dropped his phone. After you type out the address, you carefully hand him his phone back, and he sets it in the phone holder, before shifting into drive.
Most of the ride is quiet, comfortable. Jack knows you aren't the chattiest person, especially after a long shift. So, he made no moves to push you to talk. His eyes kept shifting over to you, though. Watching what you paid attention to. He saw the way you stared at a bakery all the way until it wasn't visible anymore.
He'd keep that in mind.
Sooner than he'd like, he was pulling up outside your apartment complex. You could feel a small cloud of shame hover over your head, knowing that he's seeing exactly what you're seeing.
With tons of student loan debt still hanging over your head, your apartment was...something. It was a worn-down building complex, paint chipping and peeling, leaky pipes, dodgy heating systems, non-existent AC, an elevator that doesn't work...all of it. But it was a roof over your head.
Jack could see you shrink in on yourself. Even through your limited interactions, where he did most of the talking, he took pride on the fact that he'd definitely gotten good at reading you. He could see dozens of emotions swirling in your sad eyes, and he ached to soothe them away.
"Can I walk you in?" He blurted, watching you start to open the car door. You hesitated, hand stilling on the door handle.
Seeing the confusion in your eyes, he tried to offer you a comforting smile, "It's dark out. You're tired. And god knows who or what is hiding out here. There's weirdos everywhere. Plus, it'd make me feel a lot better if I knew you were safe and sound."
That all-too-familiar pink blush covered your cheeks, and you couldn't help yourself, as you gave him a small nod. "Y...yeah. That'd be okay. Thank you.."
You two got out of the car, and he walked calmly beside you, as you entered the apartment building. You could see his eyes crinkle a little as you climbed the staircase. And you could even see his hand dipping down to rub at his leg, before letting go.
"Well, this is me..." You hummed, standing in front of the door to your apartment. "Thank you again for the ride, Jack. I um- I can pay you for gas, er...just um...let me know how much?"
His brows furrowed. Oh, you sweet girl. You think that small ride would cost you? What kind of people have you been around?
"Nonsense." He shook his head, giving you a warm smile, "I wouldn't charge you for a ten minute ride. I wouldn't charge you for a ride, period. This is what friends do, yeah?"
He dipped his head a little lower to meet your gaze, an encouraging smile on his lips, "Yeah?"
You nodded, hand squeezing the strap of your backpack, the other hand clenched around your keys. "Yea...yeah. Okay." The apples of your cheeks glowed red, as you turned around to unlock the door. "Thank you for the ride. And um...yeah. See you tomorrow."
He smiled, giving you a quick nod, "See you tomorrow."
The door closed behind you, and Jack stood there for a few moments longer, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest. A warmth he hadn't felt for a long time.
Summary: Jack's ex-best friend's daughter starts work at PTMC as a senior resident. Except Jack doesn't know who she is, because she's all grown up and changed her name. Why is the best friend an ex? Because he slept with Jack's wife.
Reader wants revenge on Jack because the family lied to her and told her that Jack was the reason for her parent's divorce.
TW/Tags: enemies to lovers, +18!! , smut, rough/angry sex (consensual), teasing, manipulation from reader (please please consider this while reading! reader manipulates Jack; he plays her too because of misunderstanding and lies. no one gets hurt though.)
Word count: 6.7k
Notes:
Based on this brain dump
i've tagged everyone that commented on the brain dump
Life is funny sometimes, with all the surprises that it keeps throwing your way. After your parents separated, thanks to your mom, who cheated, nothing really fazed you anymore. Your darling mom who would never hurt a fly… why would she do such a thing? She told you the man seduced her. He played her until she fell under his charm. And the man? It was your dad’s best friend too. The one who was always around and with an angel of a wife who hung out with your family all the time.
Speaking of your dad’s best friend, the man whom you grew up hating and never wanting to see again. This same man? Yeah, he’s right in front of you.
“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself. Suddenly, your footsteps slow down, and you wonder if it’s too late to back out of this job. The curls are the exact same, except they are now grey. The eyes haven't changed one tiny bit, except for the wrinkles that sit close to them.
Jack frickin' Abbot was staring back at you.
Is it too late to run?
Your heart hammered so quickly you thought you were about to pass out as you stood in the middle of the busy ED.
“Gloria’s new hire, welcome!”
“Dr Robby” you clear your throat and grip the strap of your bag a bit too tightly, “hello”
"I’ll introduce you to everyone, and then we can do rounds?”
“Sure, yeah” you rasp out, your throat going awfully dry as you see him approach the man you hate the most in this entire life.
“This is Dr Jack Abbot, attending physician.”
He smiles at you.
The fucker smiles at you.
Like he hasn’t destroyed your life.
Then anger fills you almost instantly. You force a smile, despite wanting to slap him, and a small hello.
“Nice to meet you” he says. “Looking forward to having you on my team.”
“Y-your team??” You look over at Robby with shocked and horrified eyes. “I thought I was working with you?”
“Night shift operates under Jack.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
You mumble, “Great. Wonderful. Rounds?”
“Wanna meet the rest of the team first?” Jack asks.
“Nope, seen enough,” you bite back quickly.
Awkwardness hangs in the air for a moment, and Jack’s expression changes into interest. Who was this brat in his ED who’s being sassy with him, two minutes after starting her new job?
“I’ll leave you with Jack then.” Robby gives your shoulder a tap before walking away. He glances over his shoulder at the way you awkwardly stood next to Jack, and he can smell the trouble already.
Oh boy.
“So where did you do the first few years of your residency?”
“Far away from here.” You mumble, holding tight onto the stethoscope that sat around your neck.
“Emergency medicine?”
“Yes”
“Not in the mood to talk?”
“Exactly” you huff.
“But we just met…” Jack says.
Oh.
Oh. He doesn’t recognise you.
Of course he doesn’t because the last time he saw you, you were much younger and you’ve changed your name.
“Sorry”, you mumble again, already plotting your revenge on him. if you're gonna work this closely with him, then you're gonna take time making his life hell. “I’m just stressed.”
“You’ll do great. C’mon, let’s do rounds then me and you can catch up some more!” He says excitedly, and you drag your heavy legs after him.
And that’s how you met Jack Abbot after years of no contact.
You had no shame in hiding your hatred toward him, so your snappy comments and rudeness became noticeable very quickly.
You tried your best to be polite....
Actually, you didn’t try that hard.
You have waited years to get your revenge on the man who broke apart your family. And there he was, leaning against the nurses’ station, thinking he was some sort of Casanova.
You walk over quietly and sit on one of the desks next to Lena, ignoring Jack’s eyes on you. “How’s the night?”
“Fine”
“Not in the mood to talk?” You could practically feel his stupid smirk as he asks the question.
“Nope”
“You’re never in the mood to talk” he pulls a chair, sitting next to you. “It helps you know.”
“What does?”
“Talking.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“Okay, Dr Abbot”
“It’s Jack.”
Actually it was Jakjak, sometimes Jacky. “I’ll try.”
“So you’ve been here a few weeks.”
“I’m aware.” Your eyes are fixated on the computer ahead of you, hoping this conversation would end pretty soon.
“How are you finding it?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Dr Abbot, I’m busy.”
“Clearly.” He scoffs. Jack is desperate to try and have a conversation with you. Because who the hell is this resident with a mouth like yours, who doesn’t seem to like Jack despite him doing nothing wrong? “Did I do something to offend you?”
“What?” You click your teeth sarcastically, “Of course not!”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Alright then. If you say so.”
“Deffo”
“Wanna grab a coffee after work?”
“Do you ask all of your residents this?”
No, only the ones that Jack’s desperate to find out more about. “Sometimes yeah.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?”
“That’s private, Dr Abbot.” You’re too busy planning your revenge on him.
Planning revenge is like a surgical procedure.
Precise.
Dangerous.
And has to be done in a specific amount of time. Otherwise, complications might arise along the way, which might interfere with the procedure. And you want the procedure to be completed perfectly.
You wanted to anger him, in so many ways until he blows over. Until he yells and screams at you. Then. You were going to cry, maybe apologise. You were going to let him believe what a good girl you are.
And then...maybe…you were going to make him fall for you. This step you weren’t too sure about. But you wanted to break his heart so bad, just like he broke your dad’s.
So you plotted, tiny little things like double-checking his charts, casually saying things like, “just… making sure of a couple of things.” Loud enough for him to hear it, but not too obvious in front of everyone else.
You didn’t hold back your tongue when you snapped at him when he corrected you, “Got it, thanks for your time.”
You maintained professionalism when patients were around, but the moment he gave you feedback, you sarcastically said, "I don't remember handing out feedback forms."
And you avoided him, making it far too obvious that the moment he stepped into the room, you walked right out. But with every step you plotted, Jack never broke down once.
The fucker was kind and respectful, and actually, a very good mentor. Despite everything you threw at him, he shrugged it off and went on with his night.
The man was nice to you. Hell, he was even good-looking and charming.
And you were starting to regret this plan of yours because this man was not the same man your parents told you about. They told you he was evil.
But then the day came when you snapped at him on a bad day. And Jack finally snapped back.
You were told the roof is where Robby and Jack hang out, so you started escaping there during the shift sometimes. It was exhausting, actually, pretending to be this evil. But your mom had told you about all the things that he did to her, so how can you not hate him?
You found a calm spot on the roof, and lit up a cigarette courtesy of an emergency pack you kept on you. Today’s shift has been particularly rough — too many deaths and too much tension.
“Can’t smoke up here.”
You turn around slowly and see Jack walking toward you. He wore his usual black scrubs, with hands tucked into his pockets, stethoscope bouncing on his neck with each step.
“Fire me” You turn your back to him. Firing you would only make your life easier. Because being stuck here with him is torture.
“Can’t.”
“Unlucky.”
“That was a bad shift.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Can I have one?”
“No”
“The fuck is your problem?” He spits out, and you can’t help but smirk slightly.
“Nothing, just don’t like sharing things.”
“Well, throw it out then, because you can’t be smoking up here.”
“Make me, Dr Abbot.”
You hear his footsteps approach you slowly, and you glance over to him, staring at you. His head is tilted down slightly, eyes wide open and not blinking, one hand slowly trailing across the barrier until it reaches you. He leans in slowly, keeping only inches away from your face. “Throw. It. Out.”
“Would you like one?” You smirk at him, which seems to anger him more.
“What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have one”
“You sound like a spoilt brat.”
You chuckle.
“Kid, you need to get your shit together.”
“Don’t ever call me that again.” Rage instantly fills you. Kid. He used to call you a kid. Back when he was the fun family friend who came over. “Not a kid.”
“It’s something I call everyone-“
“Don’t give a fuck, Abbot. Don’t say that again.”
“Oh, the bee’s angry.”
“Fuck off” You click the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it before brushing past him, but he gets hold of your arm. He pulls you back a small distance, then whispers, “Get your shit together.”
You can feel how warm his breath is on your ear, and how tight the grip on your arm is. He is finally angry.
You turn to face him, lips too close and nose brushing against his, “my shit is already together. It’s you who needs a good look in the mirror.”
Jack lets go of your arm, and you hurry back downstairs, feeling an unexpected type of heat pooling in your belly, and a flush that sat on your cheeks.
Why the hell were you turned on right now?
You are a puzzle that Jack can’t seem to figure out.
His patience has now finally run out, and he wants to confront you about your issue with him. But Jack isn’t an idiot, and he is well aware that you're playing some sort of game. But the question that lingered in his mind is why?
He noticed how your breath hitched when he got hold of your arm. It wasn’t in fear, no. He noticed how your body reacted by leaning further into him, and how your lips trembled when you spoke.
He turned you on.
So Jack is now playing you, just like you have been playing him.
So since that day onward, with every snappy comment you made at him, Jack replied flirtatiously. When you told him one night that he spoke too much, he responded with a smirk, “I get nervous around pretty women.”
Another night, he had something smeared on his face. “You have something on your face, Abbot."
“You gonna wipe it for me?”
“The hell would I do that for?”
Jack chuckles, “So romantic.”
And when it came to double-checking his work?
“You missed the signature on page three, Abbot.”
“I left it on purpose, just making sure you’re paying attention.”
“I always pay attention.”
“Of course you do, especially when it comes to me.” He leans in with a smirk. “And I love it.”
“The fuck?” you whisper to yourself once he walks away from you.
Later that night, you can’t seem to get him out of your head because his flirty comments were going right through you so you decide to go for a wander around. You step into the elevator, not paying attention and texting a guy on one of the dating apps.
“Move.” A voice from behind says.
You turn around and Jack is also stepping in. “You could say please?”
“Or I could push you.”
“That’s harsh.”
“I thought you might like it rough.”
“Abbot, what is your problem?” You take a step toward him, fully closing the distance between the two of you.
He can’t hide his smirk at the way your nostrils flare. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
He leans forward slightly, raising his eyebrows playfully, “What’s up with your nose then?”
“Nothing’s wrong with my nose,” you mumble, so hyperaware of how close his body is to yours. You feel yourself throb, and you’re so confused about why the hell this was turning you on.
“Cat got the tongue?” Jack murmurs slowly. “Or ran out of angry words to say to me?”
“I’m just thinking of my next step.”
“Of your game?”
“You think this is a game, Abbot?”
“Isn’t it…?” He leans in, lips barely an inch away from yours, his voice dropping even lower, which sends electricity down your spine. “Your pupils seem to be telling a different story... and your pulse…” he brushes a gentle touch on your neck, pressing two fingers on your hot neck where your pulse is, “racey, strong… and so fucking hot.”
You don’t say a word as the elevator dings wide open. You let out a shaky exhale, not wanting to move away from him. Jack grins with satisfaction as he steps away. “Enjoy your date tonight. Don’t think of me.”
Your heart is about to explode with how hard it thumped. A part of you wants to slap his smirk off, and another part wants to drag him back into the elevator to show him how rough he can get with you.
In preparation for the date, you put on an outfit — a denim skirt with a split-hem halter-neck top, along with small kitten heels. You're showing enough cleavage to make a man drop to his knees. A man like Jack, hopefully. You felt good and looked even better.
Your phone pings, and a message has come through in the pitt group chat.
Trinity: Good luck!!
You: Thank you. 😘
Samira: be safe
Parker: use protection 😏
You: Hah. Thanks girlies
Trinity: Send us a picture of Marty so we can approve
Jack: his name is Marty?
You: At least it’s not Jack.
Robby: 😂😂😂
Jack: what sorta name is Marty?
You: One image sent (of you)
Trinity: OMG girl you look delicious
Samira: hot damn
You: Thank you. Will keep you all updated!
Jack texts you privately within seconds of receiving the photo.
Jack: You’re wearing that to dinner?
You: What’s the problem?
Jack: Nothing. Stay safe.
You: Do you always message your residents about their outfits?
Jack: Only the ones that want me to.
You send him another picture: a close-up one. You see the tiny three bubbles pop up on the screen, then disappear. One more step in your plan that you need to accomplish. Making him fall for you.
Jack’s gripping his phone, breathing heavily as he stares at the photo. His cock twitches as he studies the way your top wrapped around your body, sitting perfectly around your breasts. Far too much skin is showing. Fucking lucky, Marty.
This game was getting a bit out of hand for Jack too.
He types, then deletes. He wants to say screw Marty, come to mine. Types again, then deletes.
What the fuck is he thinking? You hate him; it’s obvious that you do. But sending him a picture like this?
Jack: You look nice. Stay safe.
You: Just nice?
Jack thinks you look mind-blowing, but he can’t exactly say that.
Jack: Enjoy your date and call me if you need anything.
He’d be the last person you’d ever call.
You: Lol.
The more Marty spoke, the quicker you lost the will to live. The boy was dull, with no sense of humour, and talked far too much about types of birds. You told them you're scared of birds. But he just kept going.
Your mind kept thinking of one person who could sit in the chair opposite. One person who could put the fire out that's burning inside of you.
Jack frickin' Abbot.
But that would be wrong. Morally wrong. He was your dad’s best friend. He broke apart your family, remember?
Trinity: how's the date?
You: amazing!
Parker: i hear wedding bells
You: maybe...
Jack: if it's amazing then why are you on your phone?
You: Isn't it past your bedtime, grandpa?
Robby: 😂😂😂
Trinity: do you have burn dressings, Dr Abbot?
Jack: I don't understand the joke
You: call the elderly helpline, i'm sure they can help. anyway best go! me and marty are going home 😘
You say goodbye to Marty, feeling relieved that this boring date has finally finished. Just as you’re standing outside the bar waiting for a taxi, your dad texts you to check in. He says he misses you and he’s looking forward to you going home.
Your darling dad, who now lives alone, heartbroken and sad.
All because of Jack fucking Abbot.
Maybe it was time to confront him. To tell him what he did to you. How he broke your heart when he destroyed your family. But the only problem is, you don’t have Jack’s address.
But luckily for you, he texted you privately.
Jack: You're going home with him?
You: Yes
Jack: After the first date?
You: Especially after the first date.
You: Jealous?
Jack: Stay safe.
"why are you so nice!!!" you yell at the phone. "Ugh just- be bad-God dammit!"
You: I changed my mind, not going home with him
Jack: good girl
"Fuck!!!" you yell again, feeling yourself get turned on over 2 words, and people are now looking at you awkwardly. "Get your shit together!"
Jack: how are you getting home?
You: Walk
Jack: No
You: No?
Jack: Get an Uber
You: Don't have the app
Jack: I'll request it for you.
You: Where to?
Your phone rings, and Jack's calling. "Where are you?"
"Outside a bar."
"Where do you want to go to next?'
"I want to speak to you. I have something to say." You murmur. You want to finally confront him. Blame the cocktails, or the shitty date, or your plan that doesn't seem to be working well, or your head that can't decide what it truly wants.
“Good girl, wait there. Send me your location.”
Not even 15 minutes later, Jack, not an Uber, pulls up outside the bar, immediately getting out of his car. “Did he do something-“
“No, no-”
“Okay then what?”
You hate how concerned he looks right now. You hate how vulnerable you look right in front of him. This was meant to be time for confession, but instead you’re standing in front of him, trembling because of how much his caring is turning you on right now.
“Let’s get you in the car.” He says softly, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around you. He waits for you to sit in, leans in and clicks the seatbelt in. His face is so close to yours, so close. And you wanted a taste of his lips.
“Thank you” you whisper, and he smiles softly.
He turns the engine on, and asks for your address.
“Actually, I meant what I said. I want to talk.” You say quietly, “Somewhere where my roommate won’t hear us.” You don’t have a roommate.
“How drunk are you?”
“I’m fine” you mumble.
“Fine, you’re coming back to mine, but we’ll talk in the morning.”
You don't protest and sink back in the seat.
Jack kept glancing over at you, mesmerised by your clothes and your body on the drive home. He can’t think of you that way; he knows he shouldn't. The thoughts in his mind are about having you in the backseat. In his bed. In the shower. He’s older; you’re his resident.. fuck. And he wouldn’t. Jack would not take advantage of you in this state. He reminds himself to get his shit together because you hate him. And he should hate you too, but he's nowhere near that.
But you on the other hand is so God damn touch deprived, that even the man you hate the most is turning you on.
You could obviously see his glances, and you decide that you want to do something about it. Jack’s hand rests on the centre console, and you stare at his thick fingers for far too long before you lift your hand and rest it on top of his.
Jack doesn’t protest the innocent move. One hand interlinks your fingers, and the other grips the wheel tightly.
"Jack?” You mumble.
“Yeah?” His throat is awfully dry.
You move his hand onto your thigh, resting yours on top.
Jack clears his throat at the feel of your skin. Smooth. Silky. Goddamn it.
You’re waiting for him to move his hand, grip your thigh, move a thumb. Anything. But he’s too fucking respectful. He wasn’t so respectful when he screwed your mom.
So you grab his hand and move it up your thigh. He doesn't protest the movement when your hands reach under your skirt.
“Sweetheart-“ Jack’s fingers tremble as they come in contact with your soaked panties.
“Just want you to feel me.” You murmur softly, “want a taste?”
“You’re drunk and-“
"You're saying no to me?" You pull your hand away, and his follows straight after.
“Don’t care” Jack bites back. His erection is becoming way too painful and he knows he’s in big fucking trouble. “We’re here.”
A few moments later you’re back in his apartment. “Sit.” He gestures at the barstool.
You sit.
“Drink.” He hands you a bottle of water and a protein bar.
“You didn’t tell me to eat.”
“Welcome back, big mouth.” Jack leans on the counter, watching you struggle to open the bottle of water. “Need a hand?”
“Got it.”
“Sure.” Jack starts tapping his fingers on the counter annoyingly.
“Stop it.” You mumble, still trying to open the bottle of water. “Okay can you help?”
“You don’t usually give up this easily.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You said you wanted to talk, so talk,” Jack says.
“I changed my mind.”
“So you came here for a sleepover?”
“Sure you can call it that.”
Jack chuckles. “Marty not good?”
“Boy was dull as fuck.”
“What’s your type then?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.” You take the bottle from Jack and gulp it all in one go. Water drips down from your mouth onto your neck, but what almost made Jack explode was the trail of water between your breasts.
He clears his throat, “I’ll get you some clothes.”
“I sleep naked.”
“Not at sleepovers, you don’t,” Jack yells back walking away from you.
You follow. “So we are having a sleepover?”
“Only if you keep the hands to yourself.”
“I promise.” You pout.
Jack groans silently at the way you press your lips together. “Change.” He hands you a T-shirt and shorts.
“Smells of you.”
“Nice?”
“Nope.”
“Ouch” he chuckles, taking a step toward you, “Shall I check your pulse again to confirm? Or the panties?”
You go silent.
“Thought so." Jack smiles, "Good night.”
“You’re not staying?”
“You’re drunk”
“I’m only gonna sleep, I promise.” You trace your finger down his arm, and his body reacts by moving toward you. “I think we can both do with a cuddle.”
“When your breath doesn’t smell of tequila, we will.” Jack leans in, nose brushing yours. “Good night.”
“Jacky?” Using his own nickname against him.
Jack frowns. No one has ever called him that in years. Exactly 20 years actually. “Yes sweetheart?”
“I’m sorry” you cup his face.
Jack wraps his arm around your waist, “What for?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I can handle complicated.”
“No..” you lean in further, lips almost touching his.
“Good night.” Jack tilts his head to the side, kissing the corner of your lips. Your legs almost collapse at the touch, and you want to beg for more as you see him walk away. He adds, “Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the boom shine too bright.” You say quietly and Jack stops in his track.
The saying goes, don’t let the moon shine too bright. But his ex-best friend’s girl, ever since she was little, couldn’t say moon. So she says boom. And the saying stuck ever since.
This is a crazy coincidence, right?
Right.
Jack continues walking, leaving you to collapse on the bed and go into deep sleep. He, on the other hand, doesn't sleep, tossing and turning on the couch, thinking of a very naked doctor in his bed, who hates his guts but so desperately wants him. But what the hell for?
And why can't Jack go to sleep? He wants her more than anything.
Hours later, you wake up before Jack and decide to have a wander around his apartment. He had no pictures of anyone on his wall, including his late wife. His apartment had the bare minimum of decoration.
Why doesn’t he have pictures of his late wife?
You know she died. Everyone knows she died. Jack was the gossip of the town. He didn’t even go to her funeral. What sorta man cheats on his wife and then doesn’t go to her funeral?
A man you hate so much. What the hell were you thinking last night?
“Morning.” A low, gravely voice.
“The couch speaks.”
“How’s your head?”
“Fine” your tone voice is nowhere near as playful as it was yesterday. “I’m going home, thanks for the ride last night.”
“Someone’s in a bad mood.” He shifts, yawning loudly as he stretches.
Fuck him and his big muscles.
“Not talkative either.“ he says again.
But he notices that you’re not yourself. You’re standing in his kitchen, gripping the counter too tightly with your back now turned to him so you don't have to see his stupid muscles. You’re an idiot, your mind reminds you, standing here in his kitchen, wearing nothing but a T-shirt.
“What’s on your mind?” He says as he puts his prosthetic on.
“Nothing.”
“Not me?” Jack teases as he walks over to you, standing just behind you.
“Definitely not you.”
“You think of me a lot.” He is so right. He hasn’t left your mind for a moment since you started work at PTMC.
“No I don’t.” You blurt out.
Jack takes another step forward, pressing himself against you. “You looked pretty last night.”
You don’t want to, but your body moves back toward him like a magnet. He’s shirtless and wearing just his boxers. You feel his erection on you.
“Marty thought so too.”
“Did Marty kiss you?”
“He did more than that.” You lie.
Jack huffs, his breath warm on your ear. His hand comes slowly from the side, resting on your stomach.
“Was he good?” He murmurs.
“Best there ever is.” Your reply coldly.
Clearly, you are not in a playful mood, so Jack immediately steps away from you and walks away.
Silence hangs in the air as you try to collect your breath. But the fucker isn’t getting away this easily. “Where are you going?
“Back to my comfy bed.” He yells from the bedroom.
You follow him in, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, taking his prosthetic off.
You ask, “What sorta game are you playing?”
“What do you mean?” He says casually as he shifts on the bed.
“Tell me the truth.” You try to steady your voice, but the sight of him, lying in the bed, arms stretched out behind his head, with his erection about to burst out of his boxers.
“There’s nothing to say.” Jack shrugs.
“Bullshit.”
"That's big coming from you," Jack murmurs slowly, eyes fixated on your bare legs.
“I can’t stand you.” You charge toward him, standing right next to the bed “I can’t stand the fucking sight of you. I can’t stand it when you talk, Jack.”
“Sit on my face then.” He lowers his voice with a smirk. “If you hate me so much, then shut me up.”
You want to slap that stupid smirk off his face.
But why the hell are you climbing onto the bed?
He lowers himself down, “if you hate me so damn much and you want this mouth to stop talking, then shut it up. I dare you.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” You hiss but your hands are shoving at his shoulders, pushing him flat on his back.
“Yeah? So why are you climbing me?”
“Shut up Jack.” You swing a leg over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head.
“Do you always go to bed wearing just a T-shirt?” Jack groans, and the vibrations between your legs almost send you collapsing.
“Just shut the fuck-“
His tongue drags heavy strokes against your soaked clit, and you gasp. It's hot. It's relentless. You hold onto his curls to steady yourself as you rock against his movement.
He doesn’t tease. He devours the taste of you. He eats like a man who’s been starved.
You grind on his face and your thighs tremble in response to his tongue sticking inside of you. You gasp again “I hate you.”
“And you taste incredible”
A broken moan tears from your throat the moment two fingers replace his tongue.
This is incredible
He is incredible.
“Fuck!” You clench your thighs around his face.
Jack keeps licking you through the orgasm, two fingers still in, until you’re oversensitive and twitching. But before you can do anything else, he flips you on your back, and he’s now over you. You tug at his boxers, finally freeing his erection.
“You sure?” Jack asks again.
“Too scared to fuck me, Jack?”
“Not scared, love. But I need you to be sure.”
“There’s one thing I’m sure about…” You pull his head toward you, “and it’s for you to fuck my brains out.”
He slams into you in one brutal push, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns so good you both groan. You find his curls again, and this time you pull his lips to you.
He doesn’t give you time to adjust; instead, he just pulls back and dives in again. The bed creaks loudly underneath you as he fucks you like you wanted. Every thrust hits the perfect spot, making your back arch off the bed in response. You dig your nails into his skin, legs wrapping around his waist and wanting more of him. “Is that all you got Dr Abbot?”
He grabs one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, and the movement makes your eyes roll back in response to how deep he is inside you. The creaking gets louder.
He feels you clenching around him. “Show me how much you hate me and cum on my cock, pretty girl”
A scream tears from your throat as you orgasm, Jack following right after.
He doesn’t pull out straight away; he stays buried deep inside, resting his forehead on yours, “You okay?”
“Why do you care?” You say breathlessly.
“You’re hot.” He smirks.
“You’re not.”
“If you say so, sweetheart. But your dripping cunt says otherwise.”
“Do you always talk so much after sex?”
He whispers against your lips, “Only when the opponent is chatting bullshit.”
“Shut me up then, Jack."
He pulls out of you, giving himself a quick wipe with the edge of the sheet, before hovering his cock over your face. “Shut up then. Be a good girl and open up”
You don’t hesitate.
You lift your head up and you don’t tease. You just take all of him, inside that pretty mouth of yours.
Idiot.
That’s one way you described yourself as you looked at yourself in the mirror.
Stupid.
Foolish.
The synonyms go on and on and on.
“Stupid dumb bitch” you say to yourself.
“Did you say something?” Trinity pops her head into the bathroom where you are getting ready.
“Oh no sorry just singing.”
“What are you wearing tonight?” She asks.
“Not sure yet. Maybe the denim skirt from last night.”
“You have a nice lace top, put that on!”
“NOWAY. It’s a night out with everyone.”
“So?”
“So Robby will be there. So will Abbot.”
“Again, so?”
After too much convincing, you settle on the lace crop top with sweetheart neckline and the denim skirt. Trinity keeps asking if you’re okay because you’re awfully quiet, and you can’t particularly say that you fucked Jack as revenge, but it’s no longer revenge because you enjoyed every minute and might have actual feelings for him, now can you?
You settle in the booth next to Trinity, gripping tightly on the bottle of water that sat in your hand. You opted for a booze free night. Needing to clear your head after an eventful morning and to now come up with a different plan.
Jack sat opposite you in the booth, eye fucking you the whole time.
That stupid smirk. Them fucking lips.
You take another sip of water and try and engross yourself in conversation but it doesn’t work.
You can’t stop thinking about him. And it’s too obvious that he can’t either.
But it’s a good thing you requested a last-minute leave from Robby the moment you got home this morning. A family emergency was the reason. Needing to fly out asap. Robby didn’t question the lie. You were indeed flying out, but the emergency was your feelings.
But you didn’t think he was going to bring it up at dinner.
“When do you fly out?” Robby asks casually.
“Where you off to?” Jack frowns.
“Home.” You lower your chin and stare at the table.
“When?”
“My flight is in the morning.”
“Hope your dad’s okay.” Robby says softly.
“What happened to your dad?” Jack is furious that he doesn’t know that you’re leaving.
“It’s nothing. Can we talk about something else?”
“Hey where did you say you’re from again?” Robby asks.
“I didn’t-“
“Portland.” Trinity cuts in.
“Funny Jack lived there too” Robby chuckles. “Before-“
“Robby,” Jack warns.
“Before what?” You ask. Before he broke your family apart?
The tension is too obvious for anyone to ignore.
“Before my wife died.” Jack adds quietly.
“Did you go to her funeral?” You say rudely, and everyone now’s looking at you. Too specific of a question and you are now slipping up.
“I didn’t actually,” Jack murmurs.
“Why not?”
“She didn’t deserve it.”
“Who doesn’t deserve her husband going to her funeral?”
“A cheater.”
“You cheated?”
“Okay maybe let’s not-“ Robby cuts in but Jack gestures for him to stop.
“She cheated.”
What?
“With my best friend actually.”
The fuck?
“Huh?” Trinity spits out. “That’s brutal”
“Yeah it got messy. She cheated on me with my best friend, then his wife cheated on him with our other best friend. It was like a pineapple sorta situation, excluding the fun of swinging.”
“Sorry what?” He’s lying. He had to be lying. “What’s your best friend called? The one your wife cheated on you with?”
He says your dad’s name.
The music in the bar goes quiet. Too many eyes are on you as you gasp.
He’s lying. Your dad wouldn’t-
It all made sense. He did. He lied.
“Excuse me one second” you collect your things off the table quickly with shaky hands and you push Trinity out of the way. “I need a minute.” Trinity doesn’t move quick enough and you practically shove her over and mutter a sorry. As you slide out of the booth, your lace top snags on the table and rips wide open.
“Shit, hang on” she tries to free your top but the trembling of your body doesn’t help. You pull on it and rip it open, freeing yourself, but your abdomen is now exposed.
A moon scar sits just around your rib cage.
Jack’s world goes silent, taking him straight into a flashback.
“Jakjak is gonna stitch you up, baby” Your dad’s voice echoes in Jack’s head.
“It’s like a boom” you say.
“It’s a moon” Jack corrects you.
“I know, but it’s something my dad and I say all the time.” You laugh.
Jack fucked his best friend’s daughter.
The door slams behind you the second you get home. Your hands won’t stop shaking as you drag a suitcase out and start throwing things in.
You needed to get out of here. Fast.
And no you won’t be going home. Because where the fuck is that?
Who is lying? And why do you believe Jack more than your own family?
You gasp for air just as the panic attack hits you. You claw at your neck, in an attempt to open up an airway.
They’re liars. All of them are liars.
Your eyes burn from the tears, and you run over to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, trying to calm the heat down.
“I can’t breathe” you cry out to no one, “I can’t- fucking- breathe!”
Your whole body trembles as you collapse on the bathroom floor. You hug your knees up to your chest and sob.
Your whole life is a lie. And you fucked your dad’s innocent best friend.
“Open the door.” A loud knock on the front door. Jack’s voice, low and rough, “Right now.”
“No” you whisper to yourself and cover your ears. “This can’t be happening!”
“I know you’re in there. Open up!”
More knocking.
Each knock is louder than the other.
“I can hear you crying. Open up!”
You fight the dizziness and steady yourself onto the wall as you move up slowly. You hands tremble as you creak the front door open.
“What’s your real name?” Jack pushes past you.
You shake your head.
“Is that why you hate me? Because of what my wife did?”
“They told me- it was-“ you gasp for another breath.
“Told you what!” Jack yells and you flinch.
“They told me you slept with mom and broke apart our family.” You cry out, “They told me it was all your fault I come from a broken home!”
“I swear I didn’t-“
“I believe you.”
“I will swear on any holy book I did not-“
“I know, Jack! I know!” You don’t mean to yell but emotions are running too high because you just found out your whole life is a lie. “I lied to you! I fucked you for revenge! But it wasn’t even revenge because- fuck- fuck I fell for you like an idiot!”
“I had no clue who you are. I promise you I had no idea until I saw the moon scar that I stitched.”
You close your eyes, lips quivering as you nod.
“You’re leaving?”
“I was gonna”
“Home?”
“Where is that!”
Jack takes a few steps forward toward you, “don’t leave me.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I fell for you too, like an idiot.”
“You should hate me.”
“Oh I did, for a short time” Jack chuckles. “But kudos to you for changing my mind.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, for what I did. I believed them I-“
“Why do you believe me?”
“Because…” you choke up, “because despite everything I did to you, you never once hurt me.”
“And I promise I never will.” His voice is too sincere.
"It's easier if you hate me."
"Why."
"Because I deserve it."
"Do you want me to hate you?"
"Please." You’re still trembling from the panic attack, and your cheeks are wet with tears. But when Jack cups your face, you feel safe and something inside you snaps. You murmur, "He stole your wife, it's only fair you steal his daughter."
Jack chuckles, "That's wrong on so many levels."
"What they did to us was worse." You whisper, one hand brushing through his curls, pulling him toward you. "I need you to prove to me how angry you are at me. Him. All of them."
"I'm not ang-"
"Jack." You interrupt, "I need you to remember that I am an impatient brat who gave you hell."
He smirks, and this time you don't feel like slapping him. You feel like kissing him. You pull him with his curls, and this time the kiss is different. You don't feel so evil. He walks you over to the dining table and lifts you onto it. "Stay."
"No," you shrug playfully and try and slide off. But instead he pins you down with one arm.
"This lace top" he says slowly, grabbing the broken seam, "never wear it again."
"But-"
He rips it apart.
"You're gonna have to buy me a new one."
"Stop talking." he pulls down on your skirt, dropping it to the floor, "You're seriously not wearing panties again?"
"I thought-"
"You thought what? Marty was gonna be there?"
"Actually maybe Robby-"
Jack presses his lips against yours. You tug at his trousers franctically, freeing his erection. Without warning, he pushes in. You cry out into his mouth and for a moment Jack freezes. "is this too much or-"
"Stop talking Jack" you gasp, "I like you, you stupid idiot."
"Me too, sweetheart, me too."
You both may have fucked out of hatred once, but today, you fucked like you were in love.
--
a/n how funny would it be if reader and jack flew back to portland and confronted the family? then had sex in the house where her dad lives for the whole house to hear?
Summary: The first time Andrew Cody sees you is within the confined walls of Folsom State Prison. You’re volunteering with a prison library program, helping inmates read and providing educational support. One look at you is all it takes for him to become instantly attached to you and he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.
Tags/warnings: Age gap (reader is in her 20s and Andrew is late 30s), yearning, prison Pope, mention of violence, brief scene of violence, obsessive behaviour, parasocial behaviour, mention of mental health issues, prison abuse, no use of y/n
Word Count: 3,256
Author's note: NOT PROOFREAD. I'm really excited about this series and for the first time, I actually have most of the series already written/planned out. I've been working on this idea for the past few months and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Season 1 Pope is very special to me. The picture is actually from when Shawn Hatosy was playing Lawrence Sheppard in Law and Order: Los Angeles but he looks like season 1 Pope Cody. Thank you for reading and I hope you guys enjoy this series!
Pope stood in the middle of the bank, guns drawn and pointing at the hostages laying on the floor. There were only a few unlucky customers who had decided to go to a bank in the middle of the work day. An elderly woman lay on the floor, tears streamed down her face as she recited a prayer. A businessman was cursing another his breath about missing a meeting while he studied the carpeted floor, trying not to draw attention to himself. A pretty young woman, wearing a skirt and cardigan was laying on the floor across from where Pope stood, looking up every few seconds at her captor’s masked face. She was the most composed out of all the other hostages. The security guard’s face was pressed against the ground by one of Pope’s heavy black boots, his gun had been tossed towards the opposite side of the bank.
Deran and Baz were getting the bank tellers to fill up bags with cash. The Cody brothers had been robbing banks for years and they had mastered bank robberies down to a science. It was supposed to be a simple job, in and out within ninety seconds.
“Is that all the cash?” Baz asked. His voice was muffled slightly by the ski mask covering his face.
“Y-y-yes,” the shaking bank teller nodded.
“We got it. Let’s go!” Deran called out to Pope.
The boys rushed past the counter, heading towards the back doors where Craig was waiting in the getaway car. They only had twenty seconds left before the police would get to the bank and surround the entire building. Deran was first to exit through the back door, followed closely behind by Baz and then Pope. As Baz ran past the teller counter, he tripped on the waste basket.
“Shit,” Baz groaned as he stumbled into the counter.
From there, everything happened in slow motion.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Pope saw the security guard reaching for his gun and pointing it at Baz.
“Fuck,” Pope cursed under his breath. He looked ahead at Baz who was trying to get to the exit. Pope was sixteen seconds behind Baz, there wouldn’t be enough time for him to get out of the bank without risking both of them getting shot.
“Baz and Pope, get the fuck out of there!” Craig’s voice crackled in his earpiece.
It was against Pope’s nature to let someone he loved get hurt and in that moment, there was only one thing he could do. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the security guard, shooting him in the leg. The guard went down with a thud, clutching his right leg as he cried out in pain. At that same moment, he could hear the thud of the backdoor closing and the roar of the getaway car’s engine as it sped away; Baz had made it out. Then the unmistakable sound of sirens surrounding the bank rang in Pope’s ears, the familiar blue and red lights reflecting onto his face as police charged into the bank with guns drawn.
“Drop your gun, put your hands on your head, and get on the fucking ground! Now!”
Andrew replayed that day nearly every second of the past few weeks since he arrived at Folsom State Prison. Although he didn’t regret sacrificing himself for Baz, he couldn’t help but feel a little resentment towards his family. It had been just over three weeks and they had only visited him a few times. When they did visit him, conversations were limited, he could feel a distance between him and his family that only grew larger with each visit. They were moving on with their lives while he was suffering alone in prison.
“Inmates line up against the wall!” Hilty, one of the brutal corrections officers yelled out. “Inside that library are volunteers from the California Prison Library Program. These are unpaid volunteers, so don’t give them any shit. You are expected to behave, shut your fucking mouths, and listen to them. If anyone falls out of line, that's an immediate loss of privileges. And if anyone really wants to fuck with me, you’ll be thrown into solitary. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” some of the inmates grumbled.
“I know most of you can’t even fucking read, let alone care about books but you’ll suffer through it. The volunteers will be coming every Wednesday for the next month before they move on to a different prison. Get in there and sit down at the tables,” another corrections officer said as he handed out pamphlets about the library program.
Before Andrew could step inside the library, Hilty stopped him. Placing an imposing hand on his shoulder, grip so tight it was intended to leave marks. “I’m keeping my eye on you. If you act up, I’m gonna throw you back into solitary. You remember what happens there, don’t you?” he asked, a sinister smile forming on his scarred face. .
“Yes, sir,” Andrew nodded in a monotone voice. His eyes stared blankly into the library ahead, unable to meet Hilty’s beady eyes. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to punch Hilty square in the jaw but Andrew knew better. After beating up a prison guard in his first week at Folsom, the other guards retaliated by throwing Andrew into solitary, stripping him naked and blaring loud music for hours on end. The torture was relentless, seemingly endless attempts to break Andrew’s already broken spirit and Hilty was the ringleader behind the abuse.
After Hilty let go of him, Andrew stuffed the library pamphlet into his breast pocket- the only pocket his orange jumpsuit had before he walked into the library and stood beside his cellmate, Vin. While Andrew wasn’t particularly fond of Vin- he talked too much and was too intrusive, Vin had been his only cellmate that lasted longer than a week. All of his previous cellmates had wound up in the infirmary after starting fights with Andrew.
The prison warden was standing at the front of the library, calling up each volunteer before letting them introduce themselves. While Vin was whispering about how useless the library program was, Andrew found himself getting distracted by thoughts of his family. He wondered what jobs Smurf was planning, if Deran and Craig were out doing stupid shit, and whether Baz was taking care of Lena. The thought of Lena instantly sent a rush of melancholy through Andrew’s body, his perfect little niece who he was just starting to get to know before he was arrested. Lena was only three years old, just a baby in Andrew’s eyes and he hoped she wouldn’t forget him.
Just as Andrew’s thoughts started drifting off to a darker place, as they often did when his mind went off on tangents, he heard your voice. The second you spoke, everything went quiet, which was more than rare for him. It was a miracle, divine intervention and you were that divinity. Your voice, so soft and sweet, was like that of a siren, your call luring him in.
“Hi, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” you took a step forward and introduced yourself to the inmates. You moved your hands around as you spoke about what you studied in university and how excited you were to be at Folsom.
For the first time since Andrew arrived at Folsom a few months ago, he was happy to be there, because in the depraved cruelty and coldness of the prison, there you were, standing with his fellow inmates, an angel amongst demons. You were far too beautiful to be in such an ugly place but he was eternally grateful that you were here. He was sure that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Reading has always been an outlet I use to escape-” you paused as you nervously glanced at the warden who met your gaze with a stern look and a subtle shake of his head at your word choice, “Sorry, that’s probably not the right word…but it’s just a great way to get away from your thoughts or whatever’s going on in your life. When I was younger, whenever things weren’t great at home, which to be honest was often, I would stay up all night with a blanket over my head and a flashlight in my mouth as I read books. For me, reading was an immersive experience that allowed me to take a break from all the thoughts in my mind and follow characters through their journeys of self discovery. I look forward to helping you guys do the same.”
“Let’s give a round of applause to our volunteers,” the warden ordered.
There was a scattered round of applause coming from the inmates but Andrew’s clapping, while fairly quiet so as not to draw attention to himself, was genuine. He admired the way you spoke about reading, you sounded so passionate and inspired. Your mention of reading at night to escape when things weren’t good at home resonated with him. He was all too familiar with trouble at home, Smurf was always pitting his siblings against each other, always vying to be in control of every situation. You didn’t have to share that part of your life, all the other volunteers had very surface level reasons for why they were volunteering- required community service hours, bullshit about helping the less fortunate, or a pretentious ramble on the pedagogical value of reading. But not you, you were real, honest, and vulnerable to people you didn’t even know, and not just people, convicts, men who had committed crimes the court deemed bad enough to be thrown into a six by eight feet cell.
“You’ll be split into reading groups and assigned a volunteer to help you find something to read. Fifty inmates per group, each group will have three volunteers and six corrections officers,” the warden continued.
Andrew held his breath while the groups were called out, hoping that he would be assigned to you.
“Cody, group six.”
“Group six over here by the window!” you called out.
“I’m group eighteen. Tell me if someone gives you shit,” Vin said, patting Andrew on the back before heading over to join his volunteer.
Before walking over to you, Andrew took a deep breath to compose himself. By the time he joined the group, you had already started speaking to some inmates, some of whom were shamelessly flirting with you. Although he had absolutely no reason to be, he felt a sudden pang of jealousy. He didn’t like the way the other guys were looking at you with hungry eyes like they wanted to eat you.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?”
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”
“Ever been with a gangster?”
You answered each flirtatious question with a pleasant smile, totally unfrazzled by the attention you were receiving. “No. I already answered that. And no. Now, let’s get started. I’m gonna get each of you to fill out a reading comprehension booklet. It has some standard reading comprehension questions- multiple choice along with some true and false that will help me gauge your literacy levels. Once you’ve finished those questions, make sure to fill out the ones about the genres or topics you’re interested in so I can help you find the right books.”
The inmates each took a booklet and began answering the questions. Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he gripped the dull pencil tightly in his hand, trying his absolute best to answer the questions correctly. For some unknown reason, he wanted to impress you. As he answered the questions, his eyes kept gravitating towards you, as if there was a magnetic pull, willing his body towards you.
With the other volunteers, it was clear that most of them were there for some ulterior motive. College students who were just there because it looked good on their resume and some older volunteers who probably just wanted to brag about volunteering; they didn’t really care about helping inmates read. But not you. You were there out of the kindness of your heart, although you seemed a little scared at first, you poured all your energy into helping people. You stood right beside each inmate, closer than anyone else would’ve stood, and helped them pick out books according to their literacy levels. You didn’t flinch or subtly move away from inmates if they got closer to you, instead, you leaned in, treated them like real people.
Once he finished answering the questions, he stood up and walked towards the table you were sitting at with the other volunteers. He wanted to hand his booklet to one of the other volunteers. There was something about you, your overall presence that made him feel uneasy. It wasn’t because you were intimidating or seemed untrustworthy, it was the opposite. You had a warm, welcoming, and trustworthy presence. He wanted to be close to you, protect you, and let you disarm him.
But you were the first one that looked up as he approached the table.
His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would explode. He wasn’t someone who was easily rattled, he could crush someone’s carotid artery without breaking a sweat but with you, his hands were fidgeting by his sides and for someone whose stare was so intense that people were constantly avoiding his eyes, he struggled to meet your eyes. It felt sacrilegious for him to even look at you, someone as pure, sacred, and beautiful as you. Your eyes were full of love and kindness, he felt guilty whenever your perfect eyes met his dark, troubled eyes, the eyes that some people had looked into before dying.
A kind smile formed on your face that had Andrew’s heart pounding even harder and his pupils dilating. “Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and sweet like honey as you took the booklet from him.
You didn’t even know it but in that moment, Andrew pledged his devotion to you All it took was a smile and you become the centre of his universe. The light that radiated off of you reflected onto him, overpowering the darkness that had seemed to plague him his entire life before meeting you.
“Inmates, take a seat at the desk and the volunteers will come by with books for each of you,” a corrections guard ordered.
Andrew sat down at the desk and eagerly waited to see what books he would get. Unlike his sister Julia, he had never liked school. The teachers didn’t care, the subjects were useless, and the homework was too hard. Smurf never cared about his grades, she focused on the things she deemed more important like how to steal, lie, and cheat. But you made him excited about learning and reading because in his eyes, it was a way to get closer to you and understand you.
One of the other volunteers handed him a reading sheet and three books. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed your name beside his assigned list of books. These were the books you had chosen specifically for him and he would treasure the books.
As the first session of the library program was wrapping up, Andrew overheard two of the inmates talking. The second he heard your name in their conversation, he stood up straighter, his body rigid and alert.
“Did you see the way that pretty one kept looking at me? She wants me, I could see it in her smile.”
“Wasn’t she smiling at everyone?”
“Nah, she gave me a look. Fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve seen fine shit like that walk through here. I can’t let her go without giving her some special lovin.”
Andrew’s jaw muscle twitched and his fists clenched at hearing those words. Solitary be damned, there was no way he would ever let anything happen to you. Within seconds, Andrew’s fist was pummeling into the inmate's face. The inmate was knocked to the ground, his head hitting the ground with a thud but Andrew didn’t stop. With his biceps flexing against the fabric of his orange jumpsuit, he grabbed the inmate’s hand, pressing it against the wooden leg of the table and kicked it as hard as he could. The sound of bone cracking echoed in his ears as the inmate cried out in pain, trying to clutch his limp wrist.
“Cody, on the ground now!” the warden yelled as three guards restrained him.
“I’m taking you straight to solitary,” Hilty sneered as he cuffed Andrew and led him towards the dreaded room.
Even while Andrew sat in solitary, naked and strapped to a metal chair with heavy metal music blaring from the speakers, he was unbothered. As cold as the room was and as much as his body ached from the beating he had gotten from Hilty, he was at peace because now he had you. The thought of you pulled him out of the darkness, you had become his escape.
Later that night when Hilty finally let him out of solitary, Andrew lay on his cot and pulled out the pamphlet of the library program from earlier. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. It was a picture of you, judging from the slightly shorter length of your hair, it was taken a few months ago. You were sitting in the library beside an inmate at another prison pointing at a section of books. Andrew held the picture close to his face and stared at the picture of you until the sun came up.
For the next month, Andrew watched you from afar, diligently taking note of all the books you talked about and mentally cataloguing every detail of you. He wanted to remember it all so that when the time came for his release, he would find you. Each night, he went to sleep with the photo of you from the pamphlet. He had torn out your picture as neatly as he could and stared at it all night. Sometimes he would play out conversations with you in his head, pretending that you were really there with him. He held the photo to his chest, wanting you to be as close as possible with the distant yet sure hope that someday, he would get to actually hold you in his arms.
As the library program at Folsom was coming to a close, Andrew felt a sense of impending doom. You had been such a light in the darkness that consumed him, temporarily soothing his chaotic mind. He had grown attached to you and Wednesdays had become his favourite day of the week, solely because those were the days he got to see you. Each library session, he silently watched your every move and memorized every observable trait. He knew that the remaining five years and 10 months of his prison sentence would pass agonizingly slow so he wanted his memory of you to stay sharp. The thought of you would carry him through the rest of his sentence.
On the final day of the prison library program, the urge he had to approach you and be close to you was stronger than ever but he held himself back. He didn’t want your first time meeting him to be in prison, that just wouldn’t be right. You deserved a real love story and that was exactly what Andrew would give you.
dr robby x f!reader
read on ao3 | the bug collector masterlist
content: 18+ mdni, reader is mikey berzatto's widow, discussions of suicide, suicidal ideation, death and grief, domestic violence (verbal, emotional, physical), discussions of pregnancy/fertility/conception, substance use disorder, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, smoking, mental illness, minor age gap? i would say reader is in her early forties, robby's in his fifties, dysfunctional family, reader is orphaned, berzattos something like found family, reader's nickname given by berzattos is bug, brief mention of unspecified child abuse, likely medical inaccuracies, broken heart syndrome, swearing
words: 13.5k
synopsis: wracked with guilt and shame that could rival that of a devout catholic's after your husband ends his life, you decide to follow in his footsteps by abandoning the life you've built together. packing up your things, you flee to pittsburgh, leaving behind both chicago and the only family you'd ever known. but grief cannot be outrun, robby knows that better than anyone. one day, maybe you'll stop running long enough for him to show you.
a/n: well. i said i would do it, didn't i??? anyway this one is super niche who knows when i will finish it if ever this is mostly just the set up ahhhhh idk why i'm so nervous about this when i know no one is going to read it lmao. i'm having fun with it though and i really love writing the bear characters! mind the tags pleaseeeee and take care of yourselves. if you like this one please let me know or i fear it will be abandoned <3 syd
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, for grief is proud and makes his owner stoop. To me and to the state of my great grief, let kings assemble; for my grief's so great that no supporter but the huge firm earth can hold it up.
[Throws herself on the ground.]
Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
-The Life and Death of King John, William Shakespeare
The morning of the day the world ended, you were thinking about leaving Mikey again, for probably the hundredth time. You'd pulled out your suitcase from under the bed, unzipped it, sat on the floor, and stared at it for over an hour.
Mikey had been sweet the last few days, but that wasn't uncommon. He could usually sense when you were thinking about leaving, when you got tired of begging him to come home. When you didn't engage in the fights he stoked. When you stopped going through his things so you could flush the drugs down the toilet.
The last few days, as he normally did when he sniffed out your thoughts, he was kind to you. Did the things he always had in the beginning stages of your relationship, like make you coffee, kiss you goodbye, made sure he was in the bed with you at night when it was time to go to sleep. He hadn't been sober for much of it, but there was almost nothing on this earth that could make him want to be sober for more than an hour in that last year.
And so, much like every other time you had planned to leave Mikey, you sat staring at an open suitcase wondering if you were making the right decision.
But then the phone rang and you tore your gaze away from the suitcase to see Natalie calling. Part of you was tempted to ignore it. The Berzattos had taken you in like you were practically their own long before you and Mikey had even thought about dating. Leaving Mikey wouldn't just be leaving Mikey, it'd be leaving the only family you'd ever known. Natalie, the only sister you'd ever had.
Wracked with guilt, you stared at her contact photo long enough that it almost went to voicemail.
"Hey, Nat, what's—"
You remembered thinking as Natalie screamed almost unintelligibly into the phone that it was a joke. A prank. You were already thinking about the long speech you'd give Mikey, Richie, and Fak, surely the perpetrators of it.
"Natalie, slow down." You stood up, still calm and in denial, although just one finger on your free hand trembled as you walked toward the safe where Mikey kept his gun. Your gun, you knew, was exactly where you'd left it. In its own safe tucked away in your nightstand. You had just checked for it this morning, because sometimes Mikey took it without asking and if you were leaving you wanted to take it with you.
But that morning, you walked with purpose toward's Mikey's "office," if one could call it that. It was a single folding table and more papers and boxes than you could understand. Scattered throughout it were the occasional photo in frame, like your wedding photo.
Your eye caught sight of it as you walked over to his safe on the lone bookshelf. There was a crack down the middle of the glass of the frame. Mikey had thrown it a few weeks ago. Not at you, you'd maintain, just towards you. You'd been meaning to get around to replacing it.
As Natalie sobbed frantically in your ear, you unlocked the safe and—
No gun. Just a single, folded piece of paper that read: BUG in messy scrawl you'd know anywhere.
Distantly, you knew Natalie was calling your name, but you put the phone down with a shaking hand and then reached for the paper.
You unfolded it, smoothed out the wrinkles, and there were just three sentences written out.
I'm sorry. Carmy will take care of everything. I love you.
And then the world ended.
***
When the world ended, you ran. Mikey seemed to have had everything figured out before he blew his brains out on the State Street Bridge and so there was no use for you. He left you with nothing. Except the house, which you had put up for sale within weeks.
"Bug, hold on—hold on—I don't know why he left me everything," Carmy was saying frantically as you were packing your things into your pickup, "He was fucked up, he wasn't thinking straight, obviously, or he would've left the restaurant to his fucking wife."
"Carmy," You sighed, "It's fine. I never wanted the Beef anyway."
"Okay, but, I could use your help. Where the fuck are you going anyway? Does Richie know you're leaving? Natalie?" At the look on your face he leaned his back against your truck and dug around for his cigarettes, "Fuck," he muttered, "You're gonna make me tell them, aren't you?"
You hadn't seen Carmy for a couple of years by the time Mikey ended it, but he looked worn out since the last time you saw him. He'd lost some weight and the bags under his eyes were heavy. It had been cruel for Mikey to strap him with a fucking floundering sandwich shop when Carmy had been working at one of the best restaurants in the world. He idolized Mikey. You knew immediately he'd never get rid of it like Natalie asked him to.
And so the cycle would continue. The Beef would curse Carmy next—No, that was terrible to even think, to put out into the universe. Carmy was different. He'd be fine.
"You don't need me, Carm," You said quietly, accepting a cigarette from him, "You have Richie."
He scoffed, "Richie's a fuckin' idiot, he doesn't know how to do shit."
"Richie knows more about that place than I do. Fuck, he probably knew Mikey better than I did at the end."
You felt Carmy's eyes on you, but didn't turn to meet them.
"That's not true." He said finally, "You knew him better than anyone."
You hummed, "He was planning this for weeks and weeks and I had no idea. Not a fuckin' clue," Finally you turned to him, "So what does that say about me, Carm? About our relationship?"
You weren't sure what it was you wanted from Carmy. Reassurance that he didn't blame you? For someone to say out loud that it wasn't your fault? That even though you'd been revolving around Mikey like he was the Sun for practically your entire life, how could you have been expected to notice when his light dimmed?
Carmy didn't say any of that and he wouldn't because you both knew it was bullshit. If it was anyone's job to notice that Mikey was well and truly slipping, it was yours.
And maybe you had been so busy thinking about yourself that you hadn't noticed. Or maybe you hadn't wanted to notice. The implication was the same and if they wouldn't condemn you for it, then you'd do it yourself.
"If you won't call Sugar, you should at least call Richie." He said quietly, "He's been a fuckin' bastard lately and he hates me right now so please don't make me be the one to tell him that his only other friend has left town without a trace."
You couldn't talk to Richie. You hadn't been able to look him in the eye since the day it happened. If anyone would be able to see right through you to the truth of it, to see your failures, it'd be Richie.
"Why's he mad at you?"
Carmy shrugged, "Think he's just pissed Mikey left it to me. Doesn't matter how many times I've tried to tell him I never fuckin' wanted it. Not without Mikey."
Ah, yeah, that sounded like Richie. You hadn't wanted the Beef either, but you understood the resentment anyway. The truth that came with it, that Mikey had never really seen the two of you as family.
"He'll get over it," You said swallowing, "You're family."
Carmy didn't say anything to that, "Could you at least tell me where you're going?"
The youngest Berzatto, you'd always had a softness for Carmy. It was you who'd intervened on his behalf whenever Mikey and Richie were being too hard on him. When he left for Paris and then Copenhagen and finally New York, Mikey was proud of him, of course, but you identified the resentment. That Carmy had been able to get out. The same bitterness that had simmered below the surface and led you to drop out of NYU and come back to Mikey.
That seemed like lifetimes ago, now.
Sighing, you dug around in the cab of your truck until you found a pen and a notepad. Quickly, you scribbled down the address of the apartment you'd be renting and then handed it to Carmy.
He squinted at it and then up at you, "Pittsburgh? What the hell is in Pittsburgh?"
Nothing. Nothing and no one who knew you. A one bedroom that didn't have any traces of Mikey in it. Not a single soul who knew who the Berzattos were or what a Chicago Beef was. Well, maybe they'd know what a Chicago Beef was.
You dropped your cigarette and crushed it beneath your boot before walking back around the truck to the driver's side.
"You should sell the Beef," You said, climbing into the truck.
"Are you ever gonna come back?" Carmy asked, leaning into your window as you started the truck.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat and turned to him, "I feel him. Constantly," You said softly, "Like a fucking weight on my chest. I just need to be somewhere where his ghost isn't suffocating me."
He nodded and pushed off the side of your car, "Well, we'll miss you here. Don't know how we're gonna do it without you."
You felt the muscles of your face soften. Carmy could be both so much like Mikey and nothing at all like him, "Carm, you're gonna do so amazing," You nodded reassuringly and lowered your head to force eye contact with him, "Mikey knew it. I knew it. Everyone in this city knows it."
"If he knew it why didn't he ever bring me home to run it with him, huh?" There was the heat back in his voice, the classic rage only a Berzatto could carry, pulling behind him like a boulder on a rope, so used to its presence he sometimes forgot it was there. Until now. Until forced to examine all the ways in which we'd let him down. "Instead he left me with a—a fuckin' failing restaurant with no money and—and the only living person who was fuckin' keeping it afloat's leaving too."
"Carmy—"
"No, just—just fuck off then, alright?"
Your eyes burned. You didn't want to leave things like this, but you knew he'd be upset. You had planned to leave without telling anyone to avoid all of this mess, like a coward, but Carmy had shown up out of the blue, planning to ask for your help. Instead, he'd been confronted with you packing your life away. Running. Leaving him the same way he felt like Mikey had. Didn't you know what that felt like? So easily you'd perpetrate the same violence against him if it meant escaping its echoes yourself.
"I'm sorry." You said weakly, not knowing what else to do or say. You were sorry. But you weren't sure you'd survive another second under the suffocating weight of the grief.
Carmy wasn't looking at you now. Hands on his hips as he stared off into the sunset. A police siren wailed in the distance.
"Don't expect me to keep it from the family." He said finally, "When they ask, I won't lie for you."
There had been a time when Carmy would have lied for you as easily as the river flows down the bank. It was amazing the things Mikey could continue to take from you, even from the grave.
You swallowed and nodded, "I understand."
He stood there stoically as you started the truck. Your eyes filled as you looked at the house you and Mikey had shared for twenty years in the rearview mirror. The rose bushes you'd tended to by the stoop. The stubborn crack in the foundation that Mikey attempted to fill himself every few years. The beers you'd shared and cigarrettes you'd smoked with Richie and, later, Tiffany in the backyard. You couldn't imagine that anywhere else would ever feel as close to home as those four walls and the laughter and screaming and crying that settled in the foundation like mold. It would have collapsed one day anyhow, even if Mikey hadn't been the one to issue the final blow.
"Carm," You called over the roar of the engine. You saw the moment he hesitated, when he stubbornly wanted to deny you the desire to look into his eyes, but he looked up. "I'm sorry he left such a mess, but you don't have to be the one to clean up after him. If you don't want to."
He nodded, seeming to consider it, then, "You know that's not true," He said, squinting against the light of the setting sun, "I begged him to let me work at The Beef for years so he gave it to me," He grinned sardonically, "Fuckin' bastard."
You did know it wasn't true. Carmy would clean up any mess if Mikey was the one to make it. But you had to say it anyway.
"Take care of yourself, Carm," You shifted the car into drive, "I love you, bear."
When he looked back at you, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. Eventually he nodded, "Love you too, bug."
With that, you pulled off the curb for the last time and watched the Chicago skyline fade in the rearview mirror.
***
As long as you could remember, you always wanted to be married. It wasn't as if you'd diaried about the wedding you'd throw, the type of dress you wanted. You didn't create long lists of baby names to one day share with your future spouse. You didn't imagine the life you'd share or the house you'd one day live in.
To you, it was the one sure way to ensure you belonged to someone. That you mattered to someone. The fantasy of being loved and wanted and adored and taken care of by someone. You had always hated being alone. As you were passed from foster home to foster home, some of them the source of recurring nightmares over the years, the best ones where you were treated with cold indifference, it was this fantasy that kept you going.
It was Uncle Jimmy who had introduced you to the Berzattos. You were living at one of the very bad foster homes at the time, suffering through the fourth grade, your marks were tanking and you barely spoke to anyone at all. You had taken to not going home after school, instead, wandering the streets of Chicago until the sun rose again in the morning. Sometimes people took pity on you, assumed you were homeless and bought you a meal. You spent a lot of time in the library during this period. But even libraries closed at night.
And so you'd walk and walk and walk. Up the river, down the river, along the pier, through the park. On one night, you were particularly tired. You hadn't been back at the house in about three days. You were hungry and your feet hurt and you were starting to smell from the lack of a shower. The streets were usually quiet at night and this night you made the mistake of walking out across the road without checking for cars.
You remembered the squeal of the brakes and the smell of burnt rubber against asphalt—And then the yelling.
A heavyset man climbed out of his car, red in the face and started bellowing at you about looking both ways before crossing and didn't your parents teach you how to cross the street safely?
The lack of sleep had you irritable and on top of that, you were frustrated that he hadn't hit you. You hadn't intended to be hit, but your immediate thoughts were that if you had been hit, you could have at least gone to the hospital and been doted on. You'd have a safe place to sleep and something to eat. But the hood of his car had barely grazed you.
"You think if I had parents I'd be walking around in the middle of the night, dick wad?" You'd shouted back.
The man quieted and took a closer look at you. Then, he looked around at the empty streets, checked his watch to see what time it was, then sighed heavily as he looked back at you. His eyes traveled from your dirty sneakers, up to your face, streaked with dirt and hair that hadn't been combed or washed in many days. His nose wrinkled in distaste, but you weren't embarrassed. You would happily take being hungry and dirty and smelly over being in that house.
"Get in the car," He said finally with a jerk of his head.
Finally, you had the good sense to revert from rabid dog back to scared child, "Wh—What?"
"Get in the car," He said slowly, "I'm not gonna hurt ya, kid. Are ya hungry?"
At the mere mention of food, your mouth watered. You nodded.
He nodded, "Thought so. Come on, get in. I know a place."
Reluctantly, you climbed in the car. Looking back on it, you thought you'd been smarter than getting in a car with any stranger. But you hadn't slept in days and the ache in your chest that longed to be taken care of by an adult, any adult, twinged at the man's offer.
You were quiet as he drove through Chicago to River North and didn't take offense when he rolled down the windows, assumedly to air out your smell.
You remembered vaguely that he took the car ride to lecture you about how it was unsafe for a girl your age to wander the streets at night like that. But you only sat quietly, the exhaustion fully setting into your bones now that you'd sat down.
He parked along the curb across from a home that had a single light cutting through the dark of the night and unceremoniously got out of the car, gesturing for you to follow. It took a lot of effort for you to pull yourself from the safety of the car, but you managed, trailing after the man like a sick puppy.
You had only known him less than thirty minutes, but you clung to his pant leg as he spoke to the adults who answered the door—another man who had the same mannerisms as the man who almost hit you, whose name was apparently Jimmy, and a very heavily pregnant woman behind him who watched you with a gentle expression on her face. More gentle than you could recall anyone looking at you before. Uncomfortable, you averted your gaze.
Jimmy turned back to you and crouched in front of you, "You see the nice lady behind me?"
You looked over your shoulder to the woman again, who was still looking at you with a soft smile on her face. You nodded.
"She's gonna let you shower and get you some food, okay?"
"What're you gonna do?" You asked immediately, afraid he was already intent on abandoning you.
"I'm gonna have a beer with my friend over here—" He nodded towards the other man, "—and make sure you're looked after."
You swallowed, "You'll still be here when I get out?"
He nodded, "Promise."
You had been lied to by many adults in your life and so your instinct was to distrust him. You couldn't explain why as you looked over the planes of his face, the bags under his eyes, the ginormous glasses that framed them, and the wrinkles beside them, you trusted him. You allowed the woman—Donna—to coax you down the hall.
As she led you to the bathroom, you remembered at the end of the hall, a cracked door and two eyes illuminated by the hallway lights, watching you. Donna, following your gaze, had sighed and said, "Mikey, back to bed. Now." And then the door had closed. That was the first time you laid eyes on Mikey Berzatto.
Later, freshly showered and stomach full of baked ziti, Donna led you back to Jimmy, who smiled at your wet hair and clean clothes (later, you'd learn the clean clothes were Mikey's).
"Feeling better, kiddo?" Jimmy asked.
Yawning, you nodded. You were feeling better, though you were on the verge of falling asleep. Jimmy took you home that night, telling you stories about the Berzattos as he drove. At first when you got back in the car, he'd intended to take you back to The House, but after you refused to give him the address to the point of tears, he'd sighed and began to drive to what you presumed to be his own house. You realized as he drove that you were in the same neighborhood as The House, but you didn't mention it to him, afraid he'd insist on taking you back.
That night, he let you sleep on his couch and at your insistence, he slept in the recliner across the room.
A lot could be said about Donna Berzatto and Uncle Jimmy, the people they became, the people they hurt, but you would always have a soft spot for them for this day, if nothing else. You felt, and you'd tell them for many years after, that they saved your life that night.
You understood the issues Mikey, Sugar, and Carmy had with their mother. You'd witnessed first hand her near violent mood swings and the unforgivable way she'd spoken to them. You'd joke with the siblings for many years after that the only reason she'd been so sweet to you that night was because she'd been pregnant with Sugar. But despite it all, nobody could say that Donna didn't love her children. She hadn't been able to love them the way they needed, and at least in the case of Mikey, you hypothesized it led to his demise, but she had loved them nonetheless. And this was more love than you had witnessed at any time up until that point.
So it was no surprise then that you dug your grubby fingers so deeply into Unc and subsequently, the Berzattos.
And since it had been what you'd wanted so fiercely for as long as you could remember, the decision to drop out of Tisch at NYU, giving up your free ride to come back home to Mikey when he proposed your sophomore year had been an easy one for you to make. Even when Jimmy gave you hell for it.
"I know that I gave you shit for fuckin' going to school for performing arts," He filled the phrase with disdain, "But it's still an education. For free. And you're just gonna throw it away for that fuckin' idiot kid—"
"Will you give me away?" You asked, interrupting his spiel. You had always intended to ask him, but it was easiest to ask now, when you could distract him from all the ways in which you were a disappointment. You weren't his kid, but he had always treated you like it. Before you'd accepted the free ride to NYU, he'd offered to pay your full tuition to any university you wanted.
"Fuck," He'd sighed and ran his hands over his face, displacing his glasses, "You're fuckin' killin' me here, kid."
You grinned, sensing a retreat, "So that's a yes?"
"I just don't understand why it has to be right now. Are you pregnant?"
You rolled your eyes, "I already told you, no. I can pee on a stick for you if you want."
He waved you off, "Then there's no reason this can't wait until graduation, huh?"
You sighed, you didn't want to explain to him the childlike fear that if you didn't marry Mikey right now, he'd lose interest by the time you came home. This felt like the one chance to get everything you wanted. Namely, the Berzattos, legally by contract. And Mikey. The only boy you'd ever loved. You could always go back to school or go to school in Chicago. You might not get another chance with Mikey.
"Jimmy, please."
He stared at you for a few moments and you felt it when he gave up. His shoulders drooped and the muscles in his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head, "Alright, kiddo. Fine. But I'll only walk you down the aisle if you promise me one thing. You listening?" You smiled and eagerly nodded, already thinking you'd won, "You don't let Mikey handle the money."
You frowned, "I don't understand."
"I mean, you can let him handle the money, or what he thinks is the money. But I need you to promise me that you'll keep your own money that he won't have access to."
"Unc, what the fuck are you talking about?"
He looked down at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table, "You know I love Mikey. I love the Berzattos, his father was always a good friend of mine… But the fact of the matter is that they've never been good at business. And now that The Beef is Mikey's and you intend to marry him, that means it'll be yours, too."
You frowned, "Yeah, okay. I know that."
He nodded slowly, "And you understand that if something goes wrong, any money issues will also fall on you. Any debt. This could ruin you—"
"Everyone loves The Beef—"
"The best restaurant will not survive a mismanagement of money, sweetheart. I know you understand that."
You set your jaw stubbornly and sat back against your chair, "So, what, you want me to bet on my future husband's failure and create a secret escape fund?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do."
You rolled your eyes, but he grabbed your hands across the table, "Listen to me. I know you're smart. You're smarter than him and at his worst I think he'll come to resent that—"
You didn't want to hear this, "Jimmy—" You tried to pull your hands away, but he squeezed tightly.
"At his best, Mikey is a good man. He'll make a good husband. But when things get hard—and they will get hard—I just need to know that you are capable of taking care of yourself. Promise me."
It was scaring you, this talk. You knew what he was really saying underneath it all. You'd had many conversations about the Berzattos with Jimmy over the years. He was like a father to you and so you'd always kept whatever he'd told you under lock and key. Even from Mikey.
He did love Mikey. He loved Donna, loved Mikey's father, loved Nat and Carmy. But he had also seen the family at their worst. And you knew he worried that you'd truly become a Berzatto, and everything that came with it. The mental illness, the substance abuse, the disappearances, the often violent endings. The circular curse of being a Berzatto in this town.
You swallowed, "I promise," you said quietly, "Am I just gonna be another Berzatto to you now, Unc? Just a lovable pain in the ass?"
He chuckled, but shook his head, "No, sweetheart. You've always been a Kalinowski to me anyhow. You'll die a Kalinowski."
You thought about this conversation twenty years later in your new Pittsburgh apartment, sitting in the open window with a lit cigarette in your mouth and an open Peroni beside you. The apartment was empty, just hardwood floors and a mattress on the floor. Your valuables scattered across the floor and in boxes. Your gun in its safe by the head of your mattress.
Everything else you'd gotten rid of. Mikey's presence too consuming. You'd barely been able to convince yourself to take your clothes, able to look at every piece and identify a memory with Mikey, both good and bad.
That was the dress you wore to your twentieth anniversary dinner. There's the shirt he nearly ripped apart in his rush to get it off you and fuck you against the wall when he got too drunk three years ago after a night out with Richie. These are the jeans with the tear at the knees from when he shoved you down the porch steps after you talked back to him in front of the family—
Your phone was ringing again. You'd made a game out of trying to guess if it'd be Natalie, Jimmy, or Carmy. The fact that Richie hadn't tried to call you told you enough about where he stood. You knew he blamed you for Mikey, could see it all over his face at the funeral. That was fine, you thought it was your fault too.
You had a running theory that following Jimmy's advice, squirreling away cash every month into a secret bank account, had cursed your marriage and Mikey. Right now you felt that it was Jimmy calling. He tried calling you more often than Carmy, but less than Natalie. Natalie's voicemails were always the hardest to listen to.
You watched the phone screen as it rang and rang, then signaled that voicemail was picking up. New Voicemail - Uncle Jimmy.
Immediately, you picked up the phone to listen to his message. You didn't like to admit it, but you still liked to hear the sound of his voice, you found it soothing.
"Hey, kid, it's me." He sighed into the receiver, "Carmy says you've gone to Pittsburgh. I don't know what the fuck is in Pittsburgh, but I'd appreciate it if you'd pick up the fucking phone so I know you're alive. Or at least… Look, I—I know how hard it must be for you right now with Mikey—Well, I guess I don't know. Not really. But you could at least let me try...To understand." He paused for a few moments and then sighed, "If you could just text me proof of life, I won't bother you. I get it, you don't wanna talk, message received. I just… Wanna make sure you're okay. Alright?" There was another pause, a longer one this time, just the sound of his breathing, "I love you, kiddo," He said finally, "Call me back."
You put the phone down for a few minutes and looked out at the sunset. The apartment you'd rented was fine, but you'd rented it for the view alone. You could see one of the big bridges that crossed the Allegheny. Being close to the river reminded you of home. Sighing, you picked up the phone again and took a picture of the view, tangerine sky warm and inviting as it stretched across the bridge.
Opening your text thread with Jimmy you attached the photo and typed simply Alive. Then hit send. Jimmy liked the message—something you had taught him how to do. You watched the speech bubble pop up and disappear repeatedly. Then, nothing.
You would call Jimmy again eventually, just not today.
Today, you watched the sun set over Pittsburgh and then fell asleep on your bare mattress in the middle of the room, ambulance sirens lulling you to sleep like an old friend.
Later in the night, you'd wake and reach for Mikey's warmth only to grasp at the empty mattress. Blinking your eyes open, you'd remember where you were and that he was dead. Staring at the ceiling, your lower lip wobbling, you'd commence your new nightly routine of sobbing and wailing into your pillow. Both cursing Mikey and murmuring that you loved him until your body collapsed with the fatigue of grief.
***
It took months to get the book truck up and running. First, you had to find the perfect truck within your budget. Then, you got busy gutting it and building shelves into the walls. You were very slow and very bad at this and got easily frustrated whenever you remembered Mikey could've had this done twice as fast as you.
You ended many of the days in the beginning crying with splinters in your hands and itching to call Richie. He wasn't as handy as Mikey, but he was close. And he'd probably know how to make you laugh while he helped you anchor the shelves to the walls.
But you couldn't call Richie. You were hours away and he didn't wanna hear from you. You felt more alone than you'd felt since you were a child and Jimmy coaxed you into his car.
It was nearly February again, nearing the anniversary of the day the world ended when it was ready. You'd gotten enough inventory, you spent nearly all your savings getting it up and running while you worked in the meantime as a barista at a local coffee shop.
But once it was ready, when you'd outfitted it with a mini fridge and a Breville so you could also sell coffee, once you'd gotten all the correct licenses, you drove out and picked a nice spot near the river to set up shop for the day.
No customers the first day, but that was expected you supposed. It was cold, a brisk breeze coming in off the river, bare trees bending to its will.
But then there were no customers for weeks. People would stop and look, like you were a zoo exhibit. You sold the occasional coffee, but your inventory remained stagnant.
And then as winter was beginning to thaw into spring, a tall, bearded man approached your table. At first you didn't notice him, Shakespeare's King John in your hand, spine bent in half as you murmured one of Constance's monologues to yourself. A local theater would be putting it on later in the summer and at your therapist's urging you were auditioning later that week.
You hadn't been on a stage in something like twenty years, but your therapist reminded you it was just for fun. And a way to excise your grief.
"King John?" She asked when you told her about the audition.
You nodded, "You know it?" It was about the only Shakespeare you didn't know.
"Yes," She said and then stared past your shoulder at nothing, "Yes, let me know what you think of Constance."
When you got to her monologue where, lost in her grief she swears she's not mad, though she wished she was for that would be better than the hell her grief had wrought, you were sold. You would not and could not play anyone else.
So you were lost in her monologue, muttering under your breath when the tall, bearded man approached. For a moment when you noticed him you thought you had done such a fantastic job of getting lost in the bottomless well of your own grief, you'd conjured Mikey.
And so, you must have uttered his name because now the tall, bearded Not Mikey was frowning at you, "Sorry… Have we met?"
You blinked, "Oh, no, sorry I—I thought you were someone else. How can I help you?"
He peered behind you at your van—truck—whatever you wanted to call it, then back at you, "I haven't seen you here before."
You sighed and sat back in your chair, "Look, I can show you the licenses if you want, I'm allowed to park here—"
"Oh—No—" He laughed nervously, "Not what I meant, just—I'm pretty familiar with most of the vendors around here. I was just wondering if you're new to the area?"
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, eyes trailing to where he had a badge clipped to his hoodie. An emergency medicine doctor at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Michael Robinavitch. Michael. Mikey. A shiver ran down your spine and you crossed them in front of you. It was an incredibly common name, you reminded yourself.
Looking back up at him, you rescanned the lines of his face, found softness in his creases and warmth in his eyes. A bone deep exhaustion that you recognized in the way he held himself, as if he were right now leaning against the boulder he'd been pushing up the hill.
Growing up with the Berzattos and Jimmy had always given you a healthy skepticism of authority, which included doctors, but something about him, the way he carried himself, made you feel like you could trust him.
Or maybe it was just the visceral reminder of Mikey.
You swallowed, "Sort of, yeah. I moved here almost a year ago."
He nodded, "From whereabouts?"
"Chicago."
He raised his eyebrows, "Well, Pittsburgh must seem pretty quaint comparatively. How long were you there?"
The strangest things could trigger the grief. For example, the way the sun was shining in this stranger's face with Mikey's namesake, for just a moment his broad chest was Mikey's. His beard the same one you'd run your fingers through. His lips the same ones that you'd kissed for decades. It felt like a punch to the gut and you physically recoiled.
Politely, he acted like he hadn't noticed, waited patiently for a response to a question you could barely remember him asking.
"Um," You said slowly and pulled your eyes away from him, "My whole life."
"Why'd you leave?"
You pulled your gaze back to him and noted all the ways he was different from Mikey. Different nose, shorter hair, more freckles, slightly taller. Cataloguing them put you more at ease. Your shoulders relaxed and you sat back in your chair, "Trying to outrun a ghost." You said honestly.
You expected him to laugh or mock, but he did neither, only nodded and offered you a soft smile, as if he understood. Clearing his throat he asked, "Do you have coffee?"
You nodded, "Just an espresso machine. I can make you an Americano, a latte, or just a shot."
He requested an Americano and you were back with it in just a couple of minutes. He handed you some crumpled bills and then began to back away from your table, "I hope you're done running."
And then he was gone. You frowned after him, unsure what to make of his cryptic message, but after a moment simply shook your head.
You forgot about him for a while, the stranger with Mikey's name, but it wouldn't be long before your paths intersected again.
***
Natalie had been calling you repeatedly for hours. You weren't sure why you were still avoiding her, still avoiding all the Berzattos and Richie and Jimmy. It just felt like once so much time had passed since you last spoke the scarier it became to break it.
I'm calling for your own good, She texted when you continually denied her calls, In a couple of hours you're gonna wish you'd picked up the phone.
You frowned at the message. What could she possibly mean by that? But you had left your phone in another room and so were seeing the text hours later. As you thought about dialing her or texting back, there was a knock at your door.
"What the fuck?" You muttered quietly to yourself as you got closer to the door and heard the familiar sound of arguing outside your door.
Looking through the peep hole, you saw Carmy and Richie, between them, a Black woman you didn't recognize. She had a baby face, clearly younger than Carmy even, her braids tucked away beneath a silken scarf tied at the nape of her neck. Small hoops dangled from both her ears and she appeared to be trying to mediate an argument between the two men.
For a moment, you considered slowly backing away from the door and pretending you weren't home. Carmy being here was a mild inconvenience. You didn't know who the other woman was, but she seemed to be some sort of new addition to the fucked up Berzatto circus, unaware that any attempt at mediation between Carmy and Richie would just lead to her becoming collateral.
It was Richie you most dreaded seeing. Richie who you couldn't quite bear to look in the eyes.
But as you backed away, there was more aggressive knocking on the door and Richie's voice raised over the cacophony, "Bug, open the fucking door, I know you're in there I can smell those fucking hippie-dippie flower sticks burning."
You glanced back at your table where your incense stick was indeed burning, the scent of citrus and florals drifting through the apartment.
"Shit," You murmured, and then Richie was banging again.
"Bug, I swear to God—"
"I'm coming, shut the fuck up!" You shouted and then blew out a long breath between your lips before walking back over to the door and opening it.
All three people on the other side quieted immediately upon seeing you. Carmy and Richie stared open mouthed at you as you stared between the two of them, none of you knowing what to say before the woman between them thrust her hand towards you.
"Hi, I'm Sydney. I'm Carmy's business partner. It's nice to meet you, finally."
You took her hand, warm and soft in your own, noticed the way Richie rolled his eyes behind her back. Carmy watched her with a sort of quiet reverence, like he was afraid she was too good to be true. You wondered if he was aware of the way he looked at her.
She had a sweet smile, had an eagerness to her that you instantly found endearing, "Hi, Sydney," You swallowed, "Wanna tell me what these doofuses are doing at my apartment?"
She opened her mouth as if to explain, but then the two men immediately started talking over one another, words climbing in volume until they were again shouting over each other.
You rubbed a hand over your eyes, "My God, shut the fuck up!"
Just then, a loud banging could be heard from the wall next to your apartment. You sighed. It was a noise you'd become intimately familiar with over the last few months whenever your elderly neighbor, Mrs. McGraw, was displeased with you. She'd take her cane and bang the rubber bottom of it against the wall three times. Sometimes more, depending on how egregious your offense was.
"Sorry Mrs. McGraw!" You called and then turned your attention back to Richie, Carmy, and Sydney, "If you can manage to keep your voices at an indoor level you're welcome to come inside. Otherwise, you can get in the car and drive back to Chicago."
Carmy and Richie stared blankly at you and Sydney's eyes darted nervously between them before she smiled at you and leaned forward conspiratorially, "Please don't make me get back in the car with them." She whispered.
The corner of your mouth twitched, but before you could say anything else, Richie shoved Carmy lightly, "Well, you heard her, Bobby Flay, get in there."
Carmy turned around to face Richie, "Cousin, I swear to God, you put your hands on me one more fuckin' time—"
"What're you gonna do, huh? Run and tattle to Natalie again?"
Sydney sighed next to you, "I miss Natalie."
Your stomach twisted painfully as you thought of her texts this morning. In a couple of hours you're gonna wish you'd picked up the phone.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat, "Me too."
Once everyone was inside the apartment, you closed the door and then turned to face them, leaning your back against the door, "Well? What're you doing here?"
Carmy and Sydney stared at you quietly, but Richie couldn't seem to look at you. It was expected, but it still made you feel sick. It had been Richie who had nicknamed you Bug, all those years ago. You'd resented it then, but hearing him say it again had warmth spreading through your chest.
"Um," Carmy looked off at Richie and then back at you, "How… are you?"
You scoffed, "You came all the way down here to ask me how I am?"
"You don't answer your phone," Richie said quietly, looking down at his feet as he ran a hand over the back of his head.
You rolled your eyes, "And how would you know that? You've never called me."
He shrugged, "Why bother when I know you won't pick up?"
You clenched your jaw, "This is not all on me."
"Really?" He laughed, still barely able to meet your eyes, but when he did his gaze seemed to burn holes in you, hot and accusatory, "Only one of us packed up her shit and crossed state lines, ran like a fuckin' coward, abandoned the only family she ever knew when they needed her most—"
"You didn't fucking need me!" You shouted indignantly, "You couldn't even fucking look at me—"
"Both of you, shut the fuck up!" Carmy interrupted. Sydney stood wide eyed behind him, arms crossed over her chest. She may be Carmy's business partner, but it was clear she hadn't yet adjusted to the Berzattos, "This is not what we came here for," He said firmly, turning his attention to Richie, "Right, cousin?"
Richie shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning away from you. And it hurt. You didn't think you could feel much of anything after Mikey. It had felt like free falling when you found out, the pain constant and never ending. Every morning you woke up, you still forgot for those few precious moments of delirium. So truly, Richie's obvious disdain should have felt like a tap on the shoulder in comparison. But it stung.
Richie had been your first friend. He would deny this, but it was him who convinced Mikey to let you hang out with the two of them when it was clear you weren't going anywhere. He would say you hadn't given him much choice, but you knew it was something else, something deeper. The Berzattos, for all their issues, at the bottom of it all there was always love. It was the reason kids like you and Richie, who had never known any kind of affection, latched on to them.
And you knew he recognized it in you—the desperation, the longing—the same way you saw it in him.
So now the pain ballooned in your chest knowing he didn't feel that same sense of comradery anymore.
"Why are you here, then?" You asked sharply, "I told you I'm not coming back to Chicago."
After a moment of silence passed, Carmy cleared his throat, "Cousin, do you wanna tell her? Since it was your idea?"
Richie sniffed, nose scrunching up his face, "Nah," He said, and walked towards the door, "I'm going out for a smoke."
He left you, Carmy, and Sydney standing alone in your apartment. You felt you must have been visibly struggling to conceal the effect Richie's rejection had on you, but neither of them acknowledged it.
You cleared your throat, "Carm, could you please just tell me why you're here?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his curls, "We're redoing The Beef, we closed for renovations except for a sandwich window. It's gonna be a real restaurant."
You softened immediately. This was what Mikey had always wanted. To make a real restaurant with Carmy by his side. It was a shame he'd never get to see it, "Carmy, that's amazing."
He nodded, "It's gonna be called The Bear."
Your chin wobbled, but you stiffened your jaw and nodded, "Mikey would've loved that." You said softly.
Carmy looked away from you and cleared his throat, "Anyway, Uncle J, Syd, and I have been talking about franchising the sandwich part of the operation. And since you have a ton of experience running The Beef, Richie suggested the guinea pig should be opened here. In Pittsburgh. With you essentially running it yourself."
At first, you thought maybe you'd heard him wrong. But he stared at you expectantly. Your brow furrowed and you scoffed, "No."
Carmy opened and closed his mouth, "I don't understand, I thought—I thought you were upset Mikey hadn't left you anything and—And I wanted to make that up to you—"
"That's not your responsibility and I told you I never wanted The Beef. Mikey knew that."
You felt the panic beginning to flood your chest. If Carmy had talked about it with Jimmy already that meant they'd probably already put money into it, money you knew Carmy didn't have because Mikey had driven the place into the ground towards the end. A common fight you'd had in the last few months was you asking why there was so much money missing when you sat down to reconcile the books.
He shook his head, "Bug, we did all this for you. We already picked a location—"
"Well you should've fucking ran it by me first!" You shouted, your chest tightening painfully in response. Subconsciously, you brought a fist up to your sternum and rubbed firmly, "Who the fuck buys a sandwich shop without first talking to the person you want to run it?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise!" Carmy shouted back, "And you haven't exactly been easy to get in touch with!"
Suddenly, you felt the walls closing in on you. You had given up everything to make sure you wouldn't be stuck at The Beef. The place you felt had killed Mikey, your best friend, the love of your life. The Beef had stolen a lot from you, from Mikey. It had destroyed your marriage, it had taken away your education. The stress of it and the importance Mikey and the Berzattos attributed to it had led you to turn to alcohol and drugs on more than one occasion. You could not and would not go into business with the Berzattos again. You loved them, but you knew it would kill you. You'd sooner disappear a second time, this time across the country. Maybe fake your own death, change your name.
These thoughts raced through your brain and the edges of your vision were beginning to go fuzzy. This was when you realized both that you were struggling to breathe and that Carmy and Sydney were both in your face, concern in their expressions.
You were on the floor—How did you get on the floor? Weren't you standing just a second before?
Then it was Richie in your face, Richie's hands on your cheeks and then helping you back to standing. You thought he might be shouting, at you or Carmy, you weren't sure, but in your disoriented state, you happily leaned into him when he wrapped your arm over the back of his neck, holding your weight with the side of his body.
"Thanks… Richie…" You mumbled, but were too preoccupied by the the intense pain in your chest and the feeling that you were slipping far away from yourself.
You thought as you slipped away again, you heard his voice, "Come on, stay here, Bug. I need you."
But the harder you fought the darkness, the stronger it became until inky black shadows consumed you.
***
Robby had always been as careful as possible not to cross any lines with patients. Everybody could repeat the ethics of it, knew it was a big No-No. But nobody had warned him how difficult it would be as a thinking, feeling, human being not to think or feel too much about another human being on the worst day of their life.
In your case, when Robby met you, it wasn't the worst day of your life. Not exactly. The way you'd describe it to him later was that the worst day of your life had stretched and expanded over months like warm taffy and when you met him it was like it was finally tapering off. Like coming down from a bad trip. But that came with its own set of issues. The reality of it had begun to truly set in for you.
Nobody had warned him that, in practice, keeping a professional boundary would prove near impossible when he came face to face with you. With someone who had faced what to many others would seem insurmountable tragedy, but to you what seemed like the inevitable conclusion of your marriage to which you shrugged your shoulders and tossed up the middle finger. Packed up your things and began running from the grief.
What you hadn't expected was that your life would follow you here, to Pittsburgh, no matter how you tried to shake it.
And what he hadn't expected was seeing that mess play out in front of him and deciding he wanted more of it.
That day when Richie wheeled you into his emergency room, his eyes widened upon seeing you, "Oh," He said, "It's you."
You had managed a smirk that turned into a wince, "Nice… to see you again… Dr. Robinavitch."
The man behind you eyed him suspiciously, "You two know each other?"
Before he could answer, you had chimed in, "Yes, Richie, I'm not a recluse. I am capable of making friends."
Your tone was so aggressive, he didn't have the heart to correct you or explain to this man that you had only ever met on one other occasion.
"I know you can make friends, you just suck ass at keeping them."
You were insisting you were fine and that you wanted to leave even as he watched McKay set the EKG up on you. Even when she listened to your heart and noted the irregular rhythm.
Your troponin levels were slightly elevated, but not at the level they'd typically see after a heart attack, even though all your symptoms seemed to point in that direction. And when they did the coronary angiogram, there was no evidence of any blockage.
"What're you thinking?" Robby asked McKay quietly and she frowned.
She shook her head, "No idea. I was hoping you would know. Everything points to heart attack, but her arteries all look clear."
The truth was, Robby had a hunch, but wasn't quiet sure yet.
"Can you walk me through what happened again if you don't mind?" He asked you, lowering himself to the stool at your bedside.
You seemed irritated, but indulged him nonetheless.
"Well, I was trying to enjoy a peaceful Sunday morning before these bozos—Not you, Sydney—Interrupted and tried to dump a sandwich shop franchise on me—"
Richie scoffed, "You can't act like this came as a surprise when you and Mikey had been talking about it for ages—"
"Yes!" You wrang your hands as Robby watched your heart rate climb, "When we were desperate for money! And then he went and killed himself instead!"
"Well believe it or not him offing himself has done fuckin' squat to improve our financial situation so we're back at franchising—"
"And that's fine! But I don't want any part of it!"
"Woah woah woah—" Robby put up his hands to quiet the room, "I'm sorry… Who's Mikey?"
Richie frowned and turned to you, "Thought you said you were friends?"
You glared at him stubbornly, "Believe it or not, Richie, telling everyone I meet that my husband blew his brains out isn't exactly a great icebreaker."
Robby sat, stunned for a moment as you and Richie stared each other down. The other man, with brown curls and startlingly blue eyes, watched them with the annoyance and boredom of a younger sibling, leaned over his knees. The woman who had come in with them sat anxiously next to him, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"Doctor," The younger man started after the silence fell, "Could you just tell us if she's gonna be okay before they kill each other?"
Robby clasped his hands together and turned his attention back to you, "Was today the first time you've noticed any symptoms like what you experienced today?"
You opened and closed your mouth, then looked around in thought, "I've never… lost consciousness like the way I did today. But… the chest pain and shortness of breath… Started happening when my husband died."
Robby rubbed at his beard and looked at you, "You are showing signs of heart damage, but not a heart attack. You don't have any blocked arteries which, along with the obvious signs of heart damage, we'd need to diagnose a heart attack. Now, as I've said there's damage that appears to be isolated to your left ventricle. McKay, when do we usually see damage isolated to the left ventricle?"
There was a lengthy pause behind him and then, slowly, "Takotsubo… cardiomyopathy?"
Robby nodded, "Exactly, or you might know it as broken heart syndrome."
Everyone in the room stared at him blankly, "Well, what the fuck does that mean?" You asked finally.
"McKay?"
"It means you're gonna be fine," McKay said, flashing you a reassuring smile as she walked over to the computer to chart, "Onset of broken heart syndrome symptoms typically appear immediately following an extremely emotionally or physically stressful event. Left untreated, it can continue to cause damage if the stress isn't mitigated properly. We'll order you some medications to improve your circulation and reduce inflammation and we'll monitor you for a few hours while we wait for a room to open up upstairs. You'll need to be admitted for monitoring for two to three days so we can make sure we got the diagnosis correct and that you're improving. Robby?"
Robby nodded, "That all sounds good. Your symptoms should improve pretty immediately once the medications start working. We'll also have you come back in a few weeks to make sure the damage is healing properly."
"Sorry," Richie said and then scoffed, "Are you saying she literally has a fuckin' broken heart? I coulda fuckin' told you that."
Robby smiled, "No, it's just the name due to the cause."
"Why don't you guys go back home?" You said softly and then forced a smile, "Sounds like you have a lot of work to do."
Carmen ran a hand over his face, "No, we'll stay until you're okay to leave."
You sighed, "Carmy—"
"Look, you can up and move yourself to another state, but you fuckin' piss me off with the—The implication that you're no longer a Berzatto because Mikey's dead. You were a Berzatto long before you ever married Mikey and you'll continue to be until we're all dead. You understand?"
Despite his harsh tone, you softened at what he'd said and slowly nodded, "Ok, Carm."
Robby cleared his throat for a moment, "Um, I can show you guys to the cafeteria if you'll be staying—"
Richie snorted, "Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, Doc. We'll figure something else out. None of us will be eating hospital food."
You smirked, "Sorry, Richie, I don't think we have any Michelin star restaurants in the neighborhood."
"No," Richie said and went to stand behind Carmy, clapping him over the shoulder, "You have something better. Your own personal Michelin star chef."
"Cousin," Carmy shrugged out from under Richie, "What did I say about not fuckin' touching me?"
"You know, we really are behind on menu…" The woman next to Carmen, Sydney, said softly.
"Yes, Chef," Carmy said tiredly with a sigh, "Heard."
"Here," You said, fishing in your bag for your keys, "You can at least use my kitchen."
"I told you, we're staying."
You nodded, "I know. I'm only a block away, the hospital will call if anything happens," You turned to Robby, "Right?"
He nodded, "Absolutely."
"See?" You looked back at Carmy, "Go on, I'll be fine."
Carmy stared at you for a few more moments before giving in, taking the keys from you and kissing the top of your head as he did. Sydney followed him out of the room, waving awkwardly as she left, leaving you and Richie and Robby.
Robby busied himself with finishing the charting McKay had left after putting in her orders, glasses perched on his nose, he pretended not to be eavesdropping.
"I'm gonna pack up your shit in your truck for you," Richie was saying, "And then we can drive you home when you're ready."
You laughed harshly, "The fuck you will. I'm not going home. This is my home now."
"Your home is with your family. When will you get that through your thick fuckin' skull—"
"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't blame me for Mikey?" Richie went quiet. Robby felt like it was time for him to exit the room, but he found himself glued in place. The two didn't seem to notice him.
"I blame myself." Richie said finally.
You scoffed, "I was planning to leave. When I found out I was packing a suitcase." You swallowed, "Richie, I was so busy thinking about how I was going to leave I didn't even notice. I didn't hear him take his gun. I don't even remember where he told me he was going. I've—I've wracked my brain over and over trying to remember what we did that morning, before he left, and I can't—"
"Okay—" Robby interjected as the alarms started going off to indicate your rising heart rate, "I'm really sorry, but I have to advise that you avoid, for a while at least, conversations that you think may upset you."
Richie cleared his throat, "That's alright, doc, I need to step out to make a call anyway."
"Richie—" You called, but he was already gone, leaving just Robby alone with you.
"He hates me," You said, sounding dejected.
Robby opened and closed his mouth, "He's grieving, I imagine. Same as you." He paused for a moment, then, "I'm sorry for your loss."
You took in a slow deep breath before meeting his eyes, "Thank you. And I'm sorry."
He frowned, "For what?"
"For bringing my trainwreck of a family into your ER."
He smiled, "Believe me, I've seen much worse. Besides, you did warn me that you were running from ghosts. It seems I met a few of them today."
You stared off into the distance for a few moments, "I love them, I just… Can't stand to look at them when I know—" You stopped yourself and looked down at your hands.
Robby didn't know you well enough to talk you down from this. To say it wasn't your fault and have you believe it. So he didn't try. Instead, he again sat at the stool next to your bed.
"If you're up for it, I'd love to hear about him. Your husband."
You smiled at him with watery eyes and sniffled, "We were high school sweethearts. He was my first crush, my first boyfriend, my first everything. My second friend, after Richie. He was my best friend." You swallowed, "He was so funny, he was the sun in every room he walked into. Everyone revolved around him, his light. He would've done anything for me, for the people he loved.
"When I was in college in New York, I once called him up sobbing telling him I didn't have enough money for food and I was ashamed to ask anyone for money. He hung up the phone, cooked a fridge's worth of food for me for hours and then immediately got in the car and drove to me."
"Sounds like he really loved you," Robby said softly.
You nodded, "Yeah, I think so. Most of the time. But I think I failed at loving him. At the end."
Robby slowly shook his head, "I doubt he'd agree with you."
You smiled kindly, but he could tell you didn't quite believe him. Clearing your throat, you reached for your phone on the table next to you, "Sorry, but do you mind if I make a call?"
He shook his head and stood, "Not at all. I'll be back to check on you soon."
***
Alone, you took a deep breath and dialed Natalie's number, anxious and biting at your cheek.
"Well, it's about fucking time," She huffed as soon as the receiver clicked over.
"Hi Nat." You said softly, closing your eyes at the sound of her voice.
"I wanna be pissed at you, but Carmy said you're in the hospital."
The corners of your mouth twitched upward, "I'm okay, permission to be pissed granted."
She was quiet for so long on the other end of the line, you thought maybe she'd hang up on you, but when her voice came through on the other end again it the devastation in her tone broke your heart, "How could you just leave like that? I needed you. I thought we were sisters."
Your eyes burned and you sniffled, "We are, Sugar."
"I expected it from Carm, you know? The isolation, the refusal to pick up his phone. But not you. And then I have to find out secondhand you left the state?"
"I know," You nervously toyed with the rough hospital blanket, "I'm sorry."
Her breathing wavered, "Are you ever coming home?"
You pressed your lips together and looked outside the door to your room. Watched Robby pass, his eyes meeting yours briefly through the glass as he continued walking. Something about him soothed you. You thought maybe it was his unflappable demeanor, something he had to have working in this place you imagined.
"Bug?" You were pulled back by Natalie's voice.
"I don't know." You said finally and took in a shaky breath, "I miss you." You said honestly. She said nothing for a while and you worried you'd really upset her again, "Nat?"
"I'm pregnant." She blurted out.
You sat stunned, mouth open for a few moments, "Natalie, that's… Congratulations." You said, trying to stifle the ache in your chest. You could be happy for her, you told yourself. You didn't have to make it about you and Mikey. But still, you were glad she couldn't see your face as you felt something crack in your chest.
"I want you to be her godmother."
You fought tears as you stared up at the ceiling, "I would be honored," You said, swallowing past the lump in your throat.
You talked for a few more minutes, promising that you'd make it home at some point, if only to visit, and hung up the phone.
It took only moments for you to dissolve into deep, hyperventilating sobs as the memories of desperately trying to conceive flooded your memories. How besides Mikey, the only thing you'd wanted most in this world was to be a mother. The way towards the end, when it was clear you'd never successfully carry a child to term, you could feel the resentment from Mikey. Another string between you frayed and snapped. Yet another way you'd let him down.
You felt the familiar constricting in your chest as your breathing began to become irregular and labored. Then the alarms were going off and before you knew it Robby was above you again, face flooded with concern. His voice came in and out as he tried to talk to you and then to the doctors and nurses around you until your vision grayed out again.
When you woke next, Richie was pacing in front of your bed.
"Stop that," You said, voice scratchy, "Making me dizzy."
He stopped his pacing and turned his attention to you, "Would you stop fuckin' passing out?"
You smiled, "Sorry."
"Doctor said you took a phone call and then you went down again."
It came back to you slowly, but this time, when the wave of grief hit you, you breathed through it, "I called Natalie. She told me she's pregnant."
Richie had been a good friend to both you and Mikey when you were going through the challenges and heartbreak of infertility. But when you'd found out Tiff was pregnant, it'd been hard to be around them. And you knew it was hard for them, too, not being able to celebrate with their friends. You wished you'd been better.
But Richie's face softened, "M'sorry, Bug. I know how badly you wanted that."
You shrugged helplessly, trying to be dismissive, but dissolving into a weepy mess anyhow.
Being in that hospital for two days surrounded constantly by Richie, Carmy, and Syd—who you easily grew to adore as well—you cried more than you had since you moved. And the more they resigned to the fact that you weren't coming home with them nor would you be running a sandwich shop up here, the easier the interactions became.
The hospital staff grew to like Syd and Carm specifically because they began bringing extra meals for your favorite doctors and nurses. They'd even gone back downstairs to the ER to give Robby a couple meals.
Which was how Robby ended up back in your room upstairs during your last night here.
"Hey," He said, knocking his knuckles against your doorframe, "Can I come in?"
"Of course," You said, trying to stifle the immediate feeling of safety that flooded you at the sight of him.
"I, um, was hoping to see Carmen and Sydney to thank them for the food." He said as he grabbed the stool and pulled up to your bedside.
It shocked you, the way disappointment rushed in with the realization he wasn't here for you, "Oh," You said, hoping you hadn't visibly deflated, "They just left, they'll probably be back in a bit."
"Also wanted to check in on you." He said, smiling, "Have they convinced you to go back to Chicago?"
You shook your head, "No… No, I like it here."
He exhaled, "Well that's a relief, where else am I gonna get my Americano on a walk by the river?"
You grinned, "One day, maybe I'll even convince you to buy a book."
He smiled and nodded, "I'd like that." Then he stood, took a step away from your bedside, "I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Thank you for your help."
"'Course," He said, and began backing out of the room, "I'll see you around."
See you around. It sounded like a promise, one you hoped he intended to keep.
***
The next time you saw Dr. Robby was for your follow up appointment. You were seeing your cardiologist, but Robby poked his head in when you'd been there only ten minutes.
"Hey," He said, whole face lighting up at the sight of you, "Heard you were here, wanted to see how you're doing."
Your cardiologist looked vaguely annoyed as he stood up from his stool, "She's fine, Robby," Then he looked back at you, "No more smoking, please," He said earnestly, "Or drinking."
You winced, "Yeah, sorry."
As your doctor left, Robby walked towards you, an amused smile on his face, "You experienced something resembling a heart attack not two weeks ago and you've been smoking and drinking?"
You drew the curtain closed, Robby just on the outside so you could change, "I've been smoking and drinking most of my life, started when I was eleven. I quit for a while, when we were trying to have kids." You swallowed past the lump in your throat, "But I figured I deserved to take it back up again when Mikey killed himself."
You pulled the curtain back and sighed, "Sorry, I need to figure out a… gentler way to say that."
He shook his head, "You don't have to censor yourself for me."
Huh. That was… pleasantly surprising. You tilted your head slightly, "There's a look people usually give me. When they find out about Mikey. I can never tell if it's because they think I'm damaged or they assume that it was my fault. But you've never looked at me like that."
He scratched the back of his head and turned his head away from you, "I had someone close to me… end their own life. I suppose I… understand the feeling that comes with it better than most."
You were gathering your things, but stopped to look back at him, "I'm sorry for your loss, then."
He shrugged, "It was a long… long time ago." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I actually wanted to see how your house is… If you're prepared for the storm we're getting in a few days."
You noted the quick subject change, but snorted, "You afraid of a little rain, Robby?"
He huffed, "It's not 'a little rain'. They think the rivers are gonna overflow. They're projecting a lot of flooding and damaging winds. Do you live alone?"
You narrowed your eyes and gave him a teasing grin, "I'm not sure you're supposed to ask a widowed woman that."
He flushed a deep crimson and you almost felt badly for teasing him, "If you're comfortable, I could take a look around. Maybe board up your windows. Friday night?"
You opened and closed your mouth, felt yourself panicking. Was this a date? It'd been a year since Mikey and Lord knew your relationship had long been over before then. Even if the love had never quite left. Even though it still lingered in every breath, in every crack and crevice and beat of your heart.
And then you remembered—
"I—Sorry, I can't Friday. I have rehearsal. I'm—I'm in a play down at PICT."
He raised his eyebrows, "Oh! What show?"
"Uh, King John. Shakespeare."
He nodded, "I'm familiar. Who are you playing?"
"Constance."
He almost smiled, then nodded, "Yeah, I can see that. How about Saturday?"
"Sorry?"
"Saturday? To stop by your place? Help you prep for the storm?"
"Oh—" You had already forgotten, "Sorry, um, yeah—Sure, okay."
He pulled his phone out and handed it to you and you put your number in, hesitating each time, hearing Mikey in your ear as you did.
Look at you, Bug, he taunted, like I was never even here.
The guilt stirred your stomach the whole way home, his ghost on your shoulder all night, never letting you sleep, "He's just being nice," You whispered, but it sounded like you were begging the silence.
"He's being neighborly," You pleaded with the darkness.
There was no reply.
When you grew impatient, tossing and turning on your mattress, you crawled out onto the fire escape and lit a cigarette.
***
There was a moment, nearly a year before Mikey died, where your fights changed.
For most of your lives, there had been a familiar cadence to them. You accused him of something, he'd deny it, try and laugh it off. The more you'd insist, tone raising in pitch, he'd get mean. He'd jab his knife repeatedly between your ribs and you'd foolishly grip the hilt and pull it out over and over, never noticing that it allowed him to twist the knife repeatedly.
But in those last few months, something changed. You couldn't put your finger on it exactly, what changed in you, why you started allowing the knife to stay where he thrust it the first time, stemming the blood flow. Never giving him the chance to stick his fingers in the open wound. You used to be all bark, no bite, but lately you had begun to snarl when he got too close.
Maybe it was that by that point you'd packed up your things on three separate occasions, even stayed elsewhere a night or two. Not that Mikey noticed, too high to note your absence.
The week before, the week that had you sitting on the floor of your bedroom again the day they found his body, had come close to finding you both in repeated cycles.
He came in late that morning having been out drinking and taking God knows what drugs and you were at the sink washing dishes. He sidled up behind you, slipped his arms effortlessly around your waist and kissed the back of your neck. He reeked and you tried not to flinch away from him.
"Let's go to bed baby—Aren't you ovulating?"
You lightly pushed his arms away, "I'm not doing anything with you until you take a shower."
"Looook," He whined, pulling his phone out of his pocket to show you, "I track your cycle, I know it's time—"
"It's not, actually," You said, probably a little harshly, and walked away from him.
After a moment, he followed you, "What d'you mean?"
You could feel it already, even though you hadn't yet told him what you knew would send him off the deep end, you could feel the air around you crackle and pop as he walked behind you.
"I'm not ovulating anymore." You said slowly, still refusing to look at him, "I'm on birth control, I asked my doctor to put an IUD in a few weeks ago."
The silence felt dangerous. You did your best not to seem afraid, but truth be told, you were. There was no telling what Mikey would do these days. How he would react when he didn't get his way.
When he laughed, you flinched, then chastised yourself for it internally.
"Very funny, Bug."
"What's funny?"
"It's a funny fuckin' joke. That you would do somethin' like that without talkin' to me first."
You clenched your jaw, "I don't need your permission to regulate my own body."
When you finally turned to him, his own jaw clenched, mirroring your own.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet, deadly calm, in a way that unsettled you, "We've been tryin' for a baby for… for months… for years."
You nodded, "And lately I find myself grateful to not be carrying the child of a deadbeat addict."
You regretted it immediately, didn't recognize the words as they left your mouth, their only purpose to wound and maim. You weren't sure you recognized yourself anymore.
But before you could even open your mouth to tell him this, to apologize—white hot pain stung, biting into your cheek. It took you a few seconds to realize that Mikey had slapped you. The skin of your cheek burned hot as you clutched it beneath your palm.
When you looked up at him, your vision blurred with tears, he looked just as stunned as you, "B—Bear?" You whispered, voice hoarse and confused.
"Baby, I—" Mikey looked down at his hands as if they'd betrayed him, "I'm so sorry, I don't know—" He shook his head helplessly, falling to his knees in front of you, "I didn't mean it, Bug. Please, I didn't mean it."
He sobbed, hugging your legs like a child. What am I doing? You wondered, not for the first time, What are we doing to each other?
Still, you felt an aching tenderness for him. You could still remember the Mikey who could make you laugh when you were crying, who carefully removed bugs from your first apartment instead of killing them. Mikey, who'd vowed to love you in sickness and in health with tears in his eyes in a cheap banquet hall when the two of you were still twenty one and dumb. Mikey who made love to you in the bed of his truck, in a field miles and miles out from town, and then pointed out the constellations to you later as you laid on his bare chest. Mikey who had always made you feel like the most important person in the room.
Mikey had always been a bit rough around the edges. He'd never been the same after his father left, but he'd still been Mikey. Up until a beer a night turned into a six pack turned into a few bumps of cocaine on the side.
But in this shell of a man who crumpled at your feet, you could still see the boy you fell in love with. Still, even though you were beginning to understand there was something that had broken beyond repair between you, you couldn't help the urge to mend.
You sank to the ground beside him, running fingers through his hair and pulling him to you. Whispered that it was alright, that you knew he didn't mean it. Calmed him enough to get him into the shower and into bed where he slept for the whole day.
It was the first time he laid a hand on you, but it wouldn't be the last. Up until the end, you still tried to convince yourself it could be salvaged.
Mikey was always remorseful, but he could never seem to accept that he needed help. And on the rare days he could admit that something was really wrong, you couldn't convince him that he was capable of change.
In the end, it became obvious to you that he didn't love you enough to get help. Not only was he intent on self destructing, he seemed to want to take you down with him.
You loved Mikey. You would always love Mikey. He was the love of your life, your soulmate, your best friend, your husband. Nothing would ever change that.
But you couldn't deny that along with the seemingly unending devastation, his death brought you a morsel of relief. And you weren't sure you could ever forgive yourself for that.
pairing: michael "robby" robinavitch + john carter x reader
synopsis: to marry into the Carter estate was every young woman's desire. there was the obvious choice; naive and young physician john carter who had been raised under his grandmother's thumb and brought up into society properly. then there was the eldest; michael, who went by his late mother's last name to honor her, robinavitch. the eldest was a tempest storm and consumed by the life of a physician, never making time to marry and having a reputation that proceeds him. what happens when you, a young and newly taught seamstress, move into the small town of Wildeverie and meet the two brothers who quickly become consumed by the desire of your affections?
rating: 18+ mdni, no use of y/n, slowburn, innacurate regency era, questionable family relations, we gotta get cool with a whole lotta stuff real quick
note: yeah this is a self-indulgent brother fantasy ngl
i'm so excited to finally release part 2 to my 90s Nursery Collection, i've enjoyed creating this set soo much and I cant wait for you all to enjoy it too! part 2 consists of both more infant items ( I couldn't resist ) but also toddler items! everything matches to part 1 very well so you'll have no trouble mixing these sets together.
Every item has lots of swatches both coloured and patterned, for part 2 i've also added for most items an extra swatch which adds stickers and doodles to add even more character to your nursery. One of my personal favourites has to be the stroller and playpen, the stroller isn't functional however it pairs so well with the carseat and looks so sweet in any entrance to your home. The playpen is functional and just embodies the overall look I was going for, these classic 90s playpens which have so many fun colours and patterns which you can see above!
I hope you all enjoy this set, I'm planning to do maybe up to 6 parts eventually, so I cant wait to see where I go with them! And thank you to everyone for being patient and supporting me along the way with my progress posts, if you're interested in seeing them and aren't already a member I post every 2-3 items as I go and you can hear about my process and what's coming next :) !
see you all very soon - ida
this set will be free for everyone on the 21st of august
18 furniture items
functional :
• Toddler bed 1 : has lots of swatches both plain + sticker swatches
• toddler bed 2 : includes sticker swatches
• playpen : functions as a crib for infants, you can also put it in your inventory and simply move around freely so great for travel!
• toy kitchen : Pandasama's toy kitchen mod is required for this to function, you can get here :https://www.patreon.com/PandasamaSims4/posts/pandasama-x-toy-41789617
• toy box : has sticker swatches for a more used look and matches toddler bed 1
• dresser : matches toddler bed 2 and the nightstand, you can place the hanging baby clothes inside of the wardrobe section! ( requires royalty and legacy )
• hanging baby clothes : fully functional and comes in some super sweet swatches all with 2 different skin tones!( requires dream home decorator )
• standing infant walker : infants can use this to learn to stand, and come in many cute colours.
• stacking toy : functional as nesting blocks, changes from clean to messy when playing
⋮⟢ drabble: jack abbot and his controversially young gf who’s overly possessive (and he loves every second of it!)
⋮⟢ feeling tired couldn’t write a full fic so here’s a self-indulgent thought!
jack dating a girl who hasn’t quite kicked her petty and possessive tendencies™. it’s definitely a learning curve for both of you, and the fact that he is objectively the most charming man you’ve ever met implies that he definitely comes across as that to everyone else doesn’t help your case. what does help, though, is how keen he is on showing you he’s spoken for, has been for a while, and is not planning on looking anywhere else.
he’s both endeared and confused by it. he’s confused when it pops up at random times. he was also confused about how when it first showed up in your relationship – when you started giving him the silent treatment after a barista left a little heart on his coffee – and he felt so giddy proving to you that he’s only got eyes for you. he’d lit up like a christmas tree on the inside at the idea that you’d gotten mad over him. there was probably something wrong with him.
he knew someone else may have considered this somewhat of a red flag. but jack, instead, found that kissing you all over underneath a tree outside the coffee shop – your cheek, your neck, the corner of your cute scowl, hands holding your waist until the sulk gave out – undid you inside of ninety seconds. it also undid him considerably faster.
he’d thrown out the cup without mentioning it, tucking you both into the dappled shade. the bark of the tree caught roughly against his palms where his arms braced your head, and he was too busy watching the tightness drain out of your pretty face to notice the sting of it. he felt the exact second your fists uncurled from where they’d been pressed against his chest, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, forgetting what they were mad about.
this would not be a problem, he’d decided. he’d take about four hundred more of what people considered a ‘red flag’ if it meant you were entirely his to soothe.
he’d be scanning the groceries at self-checkout, and you’d turn to see one of the workers looking at him. your spine went stiff, a frown marring your face. and then you’d start tugging on his sleeve from beside him, telling him to hurry, hurry up, hurry up, let’s go.
“who wants to have their way with me now?” he’d mumble, bumping his hip into yours, still not looking away from the register.
“no one,” you’d say. you didn’t want to boost his ego anymore. “just fucking hurry up now.”
“who is it?”
“me. i do. let’s go home so i can have my way with you.”
he clicked his tongue. “liar. you’re just gonna yell at me.” still, he turned his neck slightly to where yours was, murmuring a small “ah” to himself.
you groaned, but he did speed up. with bags in hand, he turned to walk out with you, placing himself behind you, free palm on your shoulder, thumb finding the curve where your neck met it. you’d come face-to-face with the poor woman you’d theorized was already in love with jack.
“hey, my girlfriend here really wants some lottery tickets. can you let my girlfriend know where she can find them?”
he couldn’t help it! he loves the little way the corners of your mouth curves up whenever he makes it clear that he’s taken.
the woman would blink, an obvious wedding band catching under the lights (jack would snort softly from behind you), as she pointed toward the front counter, entirely married, entirely not the threat you’d decided she was.
“good,” you murmured later, grabbing the lottery ticket as it printed.
his free palm would settle on your waist and he’d murmur, “did i make you happy back there?”
“yup.”
and jack would smile because he truly did feel like he’d won the lottery. he’d watch you over your shoulder as you fussed out a coin, brow furrowed as you did the scratch-off.
“i won two dollars,” you’d say after revealing the last symbol. you’d twist in his arms, ticket held up with a smile like you’d just told him you were pregnant with triplets instead of two dollars richer.
“lucky girl,” he’d say, matching your smile. his mouth would brush your hairline.
“uh-huh,” you’d say, letting him stay there, nose tucked against your hair.
“c’mon then, let’s go.” he’d put his hand on the small of your back after a minute, turning you around, to lead you out. clearly still hanging onto your short burst of jealousy. “before someone else decides to steal me.”
“don’t.”
“i’m vulnerable,” he’d tease.
or you’d go to pick him up in the morning, watching him handover the shift to robby, and then he’d go and say goodbye to one of his patients who thanked him profusely.
when he’d come back out, you’d roll your eyes and turn your back to him, already walking to the exit. “aren’t you just a ladies man?”
robby’d look at jack slightly confused and maybe even a bit put off, but jack would just wet his lips as he watched you leave, looking completely and utterly delighted.
“your girlfriend’s got a jealous streak, i think.”
“she does, doesn’t she?” jack would still be watching the doors you’d gone through, tugging the lanyard off his neck. “i love her. i gotta go.”
robby would rub his chin as he watches the man he’s known for too long look utterly delighted to get chewed out and wonder what the hell was going on in your home.
meanwhile you’d be at the car with your arms crossed, watching jack walk toward you with a little smile on his face that should’ve been wiped off with the long shift.
“i’m sorry,” he’d say immediately, slightly out of breath because he’d sped up to find you. “she thought i was her son,” he said about the patient, an eighty-year-old woman who truly did think he was her son. “but i’m sorry.”
“you’re too old to be her son.”
“too old to be a lotta things.” he’d back you gently into the passenger door, hands finding your hips. “not for this, though.”
and you’d keep going anyway, muttering how he was too nice, that he should only smile at you, that it wasn’t fair, that he was doing it on purpose.
“tell me to shut up,” you’d say out of nowhere, in the middle of your rant, furrowing your brows as he let you go on and on.
“no.” he’d rear his head back like he was confused by the demand. “i’ve wanted to hear your voice for the last twelve hours.”
you’d stare up at him with your mouth slightly open and nothing at all to say. his thumb would come up to press gently on your chin, keeping the expression there.
“there she is,” he’d murmur, pleased. “quiet at last.”
in the car, on the way home, he’d respond to bits of your rant.
“all my patient satisfaction scores are gonna go down.”
“so those are more important than me?”
his hand would land on your thigh as he kept his eyes on the road. “nope. i like the girl more than the scores.”
a lot of the time with you, he’d feel like a puppy getting a trick right. which is why he’d started doing it on purpose; introducing you before he introduces himself, texting you the logistics of his life unprompted, taking your hand in the condiments aisle for no reason, calling you after physical therapy simply because his physical therapist – sam – had touched his arms during the lesson and – like he’d been pavlov’d, some conditioned little bell going off in his head that only you were allowed to touch him – jack felt an immediate pressing need to hear your voice.
he knew that he was only feeding into it, selfishly craving more of your teeth in his shoulder and your fingers wrapped around his forearms in public even if your positioning hardly ever allowed for it.
it was getting out of hand. on a night off, when he’d come in with swat during the day and stayed until the end of day shift, robby and dana asked him to come to the bar and get a drink.
“yeah – let me just ask her if she can come, too.” he immediately said, already pulling out the phone to ask you.
except you were on shift till nine p.m., and you’d said so – go!!! have fun!!! tell dana i said hi!!! – when he texted you. jack made a small noise in his mouth.
“i can’t,” he’d said.
“she’s not letting you go?” robby asked curiously.
no, you’d in fact told him the opposite of that. but he didn’t want to say that, quite liking the idea of you having that hold on him. so, he’d say, “somethin’ like that,” hoisting his bag over his shoulders. “i’m gonna sit in her bar till she gets off. you’re welcome to grab a drink there.”
“so we can all watch your girlfriend make drinks?”
dana would simply chuckle, shaking her head, already knowing that jack would somehow manage to convince half the staff clocking out to come watch you work.
he’d never felt as doted on and claimed as you made him feel. you’d swapped out the ancient bar of soap in his shower for something that smelled like you. there were bobby pins in every crevice of his car now. you’d somehow become his emergency contact, too, leaving robby a little stunned.
you’d spend all night leaving small marks on his body (the crescent of your nails at his shoulder, your teeth marks just below his collarbone that would be evident with one wrong movement under his scrubs) and he loved finding each of it randomly while getting ready.
this is also why he’s so confused when dana brings up your jealousy and how a little bit of couples counseling could help. nothing feels wrong about the relationship at all!
he’d go through all the questions he assumed a therapist would ask.
was he unhappy? not at all. he was actually stupidly happy. he’d started humming in the car and coming home early.
was he worried? about what – that you’d give him the silent treatment for twenty minutes and then hold onto his bicep for hours just to make up for it? that you’d get a bit vicious about someone and then fall asleep on his chest like an overheated animal?
that you sat tucked him in the corner in restaurant booths so you could see the whole room and he could only see you? jack hardly thought there was anything worth looking at besides you anyway.
“even the healthiest couples do it,” dana would say.
“what would it do?” jack would ask curiously, indulging her.
“well.” dana would settle in, elbows on the desk, warmly concerned. “it’ll help with her being less possessive, for starters.”
jack would just look at her, head tilted, genuinely lost. then he’d rub his thumb along his jaw, feeling eerily unsettled by the words. “it’d make her stop?”
“ideally, yeah. that’s the idea.”
oh, he hated that thought. he knew your possessiveness didn’t come out of you being insecure. he knew that it was easy to assume some poor anxious girl white-knuckling her way through the relationship, checking his phone, counting the women, but that wasn’t it.
it came out of you picking him up and putting him in your pocket. you’d simply decided that jack abbot was yours, and so what if you got a little feral when the world got too near him?
“nah,” he’d say, shaking his head as he pressed his lips together. “we’re alright.”
“you may be fine with it. but, she’d have healthier relationships in case – ”
jack’s eyes would widen, and dana would look a little caught off-guard, realizing what she’d said.
“no.” he’d make a small sound, shaking his head again. “we don’t need that, then.”
“jack –”
“she’s not goin’ anywhere.” he’d knock the desk twice. “neither am i.”
“you know what,” dana would say, blowing out a breath. “i believe that.”
later that afternoon, he’d settle on the couch beside you, mind still reeling from the idea of there being an after him for you. his arms would go around your shoulders, pulling you in impossibly close. one hand would fit around the back of your neck, thumb under your jaw, tipping your face up until you had nowhere to look but at him.
“never gonna leave me, right?” he’d ask.
your brows would pull in together, the corners of your lips curving downwards.
“why?” you’d drawl. “planning on doing something bad?”
“nope,” he’d say. “just askin’”
your jaw would tighten as you tried to gauge his expression. “then stop. nobody’s leaving anybody.” you fixed him with a pointed look. “you’re not going anywhere.”
“damn right i’m not,” he’d say. his hands would slide up your neck and into your hair, fingers spreading wide. “say it again.”
you’d laugh shortly. “you’re not going anywhere.”
“mm.” his thumb would drag along the column of your neck as he felt you go pliant under his hold. “again.”
“jack – ”
“humor me, angel,” he’d say, the words coming out in a barely-hidden plea.
“you’re not going anywhere,” you’d say, humoring him, half breathless and the other exasperated. he’d kiss you on the last word, catching it in his mouth before it finished.
the other hand would come down at your lower back and haul you across to settle on his lap.
both your knees would land on either side of him, and his hands would immediately settle on your hips.
“you’re being so strange today,” you’d say, chin tilting up as his mouth dragged down your neck.
“yeah.” he’d smile against your skin. “gonna hold it against me?”
you’d laugh, surprised at the dramatics. and he would smile so hard and spend the entire day proving to you he would never. which mostly meant he let you do whatever you wanted for eleven straight hours.
you’d put a face mask on him. he’d sit there on the couch, a decorated combat medic, and let you take four photos he’d only found out you’d posted when javadi and santos looked at him funnily during handover. he’d let you try different colors of polish on his nails, and then paint yours with the one you liked best.
he’d watch you scroll on your laptop through different clothes, pointing out things he liked, which you’d taught him to do while being visibly delighted the one time he’d said “this one’s nice.” now he did it constantly, never quite holding himself back from voicing his opinions (it was often, he thought everything would look great on you).
jack is exactly where he wants to be! and people would just have to grow used to your claws and your terrible manners spawning out of nowhere, because the man they came out for had no intention of asking you to put them away.
in which jack abbot is the first to notice reader, who has always been used to being left behind and ignored.
contents; fem!reader, probs medical inaccuracies all my knowledge comes from shows lol, not proofread & english is my third language so if there's grammatical errors i apologize </3
a/n; im so glad sooo many ppl liked the first part!!! i love writing stuff like this (mainly bc i heavily relate to reader LMAO), so im so happy you all like them too!! <33 comment 2 be added to the jack abbot fic/blurb taglist!
first part here
masterlist ♡ ko-fi
It had been a hellish day. Sweltering heat from outside had crowded the waiting room, slowly wafting into the ER. Patients were more aggravated than usual— that’s what heat does to people, you figured.
That’s what you kept telling yourself, at least. That everyone’s just tense and irritated from the heat— none of the abuse patients spewed at you was personal. They were just having a bad day.
But as more and more hours passed by, convincing yourself felt harder. You’d also gotten majorly embarrassed earlier in a trauma— you were trying to decide on how to treat the patient, and had stuttered through half your sentence. They went with someone elses idea instead. As soon as the patient was stable, you dipped out of the trauma room out of shame.
Jack had been there. Attendings often oversee traumas, obviously. He was trying to listen to your idea of treatment, when someone spoke over you. They were louder, which got the attention of the other doctors.
He saw you shrink back into yourself, and his heart broke a little. This was the first time he’d seen you try to take lead in a trauma for a while, and to see you get shut down like that? It made him angrier than he’d like. He tried to find you after, but no luck.
Until…
”There y’are…” He hummed quietly, hands behind his back as he approached you, watching your from hunched over the computer, typing up a chart (rather annoyedly, if he says so himself).
Your head tilted slowly, eyes catching his, before you turned back to the computer with a small hum. This had been your routine lately. He’d find you throughout the day, trying to spark up conversation.
You barely responded— still a little wary of him. It’s like you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if he needed a reason to be talking to you.
”Y’know…” He gruffed, pulling up a stool to sit down next to you, eyeing the screen, ”I heard what you suggested in that trauma today. It was a really good plan.”
Like clockwork, your cheeks tinged pink. Like they did every single time Jack complimented you.
”Thank you.” You murmured, hands halting on the keyboard, as you angled your body just slightly toward him, ”But um…I think Ogilvie’s plan of treatment was good, too.”
Jack shrugged, a small frown on his face. ”Well, yeah. But, I think yours was better.” He whispered quietly, as if it was a secret between you two.
You couldn’t fight the small smile lifting up your lips. This is what Jack did. He made you feel seen and heard. He pulled you into traumas with him, leaned closer to hear you speak, to let you share your opinion.
Jack's eyes stayed on your for a while longer, before his teeth dipped into his lower lip, his gaze moving to the screen now instead, studying your notes. "Your charts are neat. Easy to read, nice job." He gently patted your shoulder then, before standing up with a small groan and walking off.
It took you another five minutes to recalibrate your brain and focus back on the chart.
The next time you saw Jack was in the breakroom— a sacred space that you were lucky enough to have a little time for. You weren't expecting Jack, though. You can hardly relax around him.
But it's weird. He doesn't make you anxious in the way others do. It's hard to explain what you feel around him. Safety? No, no, that's nonsense. He's just your attending. He has to praise you. That's how you learn, right?
You open the fridge and grab your little lunch box, the top of it decorated with all sorts of stickers, all mirroring your interests. You can practically feel Jack's eyes burning into you, as you sit down by the table, right across from him.
There's a small tremble to your hands as you pop open the box, simultaneously pulling your water bottle from your bag— that you'd grabbed from your locker.
"That's all you're having?" Jack murmured, eyeing the small sandwich and handful of crackers in your lunchbox.
You didn't want to tell him that that's all you could scrape together. How your rent was raised again, and you're too anxious to talk to your landlord about it. Or how you're still stuck paying your mother's car off, because you know she won't listen if you ask for her to start paying her own bills.
"Yeah." You nodded, taking a small bite out of the sandwich, "I had a big meal before work. So this'll hold me over, until I get home." The lies from you came naturally, something you were far too comfortable with.
Lying is safe. You don't want people to see what a lonely mess your life actually is. As if being a pushover at work isn't enough, you're a pushover all over.
Being stuck so deep in your thoughts, you barely register the fact, that Jack had gone all quiet, watching you with that ever-familiar furrow in his brows. You avoided his gaze, making quick work of finishing your small lunch, just so you could escape.
Something about Jack is unsettling. Not in a bad way. It's just...safe. Too safe. You almost find yourself wanting to unclench your jaw, to actually tell him the truth. But he's the one person whose noticed you, and you can't risk pushing him away with your baggage.
"See you out there." You murmur as soon as your lunch is finished, the empty lunchbox shoved back into your bag, as you hurry out of the breakroom with your water bottle in hand.
The next few hours go by in a blur. You can definitely feel a little gnaw in your gut, the pitiful sandwich not really satisfying your hunger. But you had to make do. Just for now, right?
Jack noticed. He noticed the small frown on your face, and the way your hand would settle on your stomach when it threatened to rumble. He saw you eyeing the vending machine, or looking dreamily at the other lunches in the fridge.
You were so obvious. He thought it was cute, really. But also sad. You were so used to being ignored, you were sure no one would notice anything you do. But he notices.
And Jack also knew you'd never ask for anything. But he's not sure if he can take any more of your sweet puppy eyes looking at the vending machine. The food in that machine is mediocre, at best. You deserve more.
So yes, maybe Jack did order food. And maybe he 'accidentally' ordered too much, and begged you to split the food with him. He didn't want it to go to waste, he says...
You reluctantly agree. You hate taking things from people, but you hate wasting food even more, so you sat down to eat with him. He handed you more and more, swearing that he wasn't even that hungry.
An hour later, you see him buying a sandwich from the vending machine.
summary: your boyfriend proves that loving you is as easy as breathing.
pairing: jack abbot x girlfriend!reader
tags: afab reader, pre-established relationship, an age gap mentioned but not specified, reader described as having longer hair, domesticity, fluff, acts of service jack abbot, talks of failed last relationships (reader), just some cutie stuff
word count: 1.5k
notes: gentle jack abbot my love
“I’ll handle it, honey.”
A common statement inside of your household, however it never seems to fall from your lips. Instead, your boyfriend seems to be holding it hostage, consistently ready to fix whatever problem you may have. Even when you complained about a problem and already told him about the solution you’d planned in your head, he had handled it before you could even get home from work.
Once you were within the four main walls of your shared apartment, you didn’t have to worry about a single thing. Jack worked nights and yet still managed to get everything done during the day while you were gone, leaving your clean laundry folded on the bed and an empty sink. When you complained about the fact that you felt like you weren’t helping at all, he simply kissed you on the forehead with a hand on your bicep and told you that you helped by just sitting down and looking pretty.
This morning, as a test, you had written out a to-do list for yourself and kept it private. It was filled with things you hadn’t yet brought to the attention of your acts-of-service boyfriend, such as unclogging the shower drain or finally putting away the stack of books that had just been accumulating in the corner of your bedroom as you purchased more and more. Things he wouldn’t even be able to think of without you mentioning it.
Work is gruesome, as it usually is. Jack’s outside of your apartment when you get home, t-shirt pulling taut around his shoulders as he leans down to grab the numerous packages sitting on your doorstep. His face lights up when he sees you, sitting up straight so that he can loop his index finger into your beltloop and bring you closer for a welcome home kiss. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth. “How was your day?”
You reach to grab one of the packages, trying to help him from having to hold them all, but he skillfully manuvers away from your reaching hands and opens the front door for you instead. When you stop to give him a stern look, he just nudges the back of your ankle with his foot, gesturing with his head for you to step inside.
Surrendering on this fact, you sigh, stepping into the apartment. You’re quick to shed your bag and hang it up, kicking off your shoes and abandoning them next to the door. Seeing Jack eye them out of the corner of your eye, you lean down to grab them, setting them down on the shoe rack. “Exhausting,” you admit.
He places the packages on the kitchen counter, stacking them neatly. A palm flattens against the granite as he turns to look at you, the muscle of his bicep just begging to be let out the confines of his shirt. “Want me to run you a bath?” He asks.
You laugh at the pure incredulousity of the moment. Months ago, you had been dating guys your age, worshipping the small things like opening doors or paying for your drinks. You had been fighting about feeling insignificant, about having to pull them away from video games long enough to have an at-home dinner with you, about feeling ignored when you hung out with their friends.
And now there’s Jack Abbot. Older than you, sure, but he was everything you had been asking for on every birthday wish. He spoke about you when you weren’t there, had you plastered upon everything that everyone would see (his home and lockscreen, your initials engraved on the inside of his watch) and chose to hang out with you over everyone else. His phone was abandoned on the kitchen counter from when you got home until the both of you went to bed, the ringer on so he didn’t have to check it just in case anything from the hospital came in.
Everyone who had been with you throughout the trials and tribulations that was dating in the modern age had told you the same thing – the perfect one will come by when you least expect it. Of course, you didn't believe them. It was hard to have hope in the later days when every person you became slightly interested in treated you so horribly, like you were just another person rather than you.
But then Jack came about. A charming smile, a calmness about him, an empathetic soul that you thought only existed in books and movies written by women. He had courted you kindly, although carefully, not wanting to come off as some older creep who wanted you just for your youth. Your first date had been filled with flowers and butterfly feelings, showing off everything Jack Abbot was rather than a facade of everything you wanted him to be.
You smile as you step closer, leaning up to kiss him again. A “thank you” to something he did without knowing he did it. “It’s alright, baby. I’ll probably just quickly shower before dinner.” And then you kiss him once more, just because you want to.
“Alright,” he concedes. He places a final kiss on your forehead, hand playfully swatting your ass as he steps away. “I’ll get dinner started so you don’t have to cook while you’re hungry.
Shaking your head, you laugh as you step into your shared bedroom. You don’t close the door when you strip off your work clothes, a girlish giggle leaving your lips when Jack playfully whistles from the kitchen. After fixing him with a matching glare, you finally disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind you to keep the steam from seeping out.
Once you’re in the shower, you look down at the shower drain, remembering your list from this morning. A task for tomorrow morning, you decide, a good way to spend your day off when Jack is at work. For now, you’d have to deal with a little bit of water pooling around your feet while you washed off the grime of the day.
Except the water never catches. Instead, it flows down the drain easily, never staying in the tub for longer than a moment. Shock flows down your body the same way the shower spray does, your jaw dropping.
You finish up quickly before hopping out, drying off and wrapping yourself in the fluffy robe Jack had bought you the moment you had complained about not wanting to get dressed as soon as you got out of the shower. After ensuring you won’t drip water all over the apartment, you bombard your way into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is happily cooking while humming some old rock tune to himself.
“Did you unclog the shower drain?” You ask, letting your tone be as accusatory as it wanted to be.
Jack glances over his shoulder at you, the wrinkles around his eyes softening at the look of you all bundled up. He remembers your question and looks up at your face, shrugging. “Yeah. I noticed it wasn’t draining as well, only took about two minutes to do.” His horrible habit of brushing off everything he did comes roaring to a head, his focus turning back to the stove.
“Jack,” you whine. You sidle up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist from behind and placing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His hand grabs yours, lifting them up slightly so you weren’t accidentally burned. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s my hair.”
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling beneath your cheek. “I’m insulted that you think my luscious locks wouldn’t help clog the shower drain,” he deflects. “Oh, I also put away those books in the bedroom. I’m not sure if it’s exactly how you organized them, so let me know if you need me to move them.”
That just pulls another groan out of you, turning your head to press your face fully into his skin. “You’re so annoying. I was going to do both of those things tomorrow.” Your voice turns whiny as you trail off, fingertips pressing into his abdomen.
“But I did them today so now you don’t have to. You can enjoy your day off the way you’re supposed to.” Jack steps away from the stove, grabbing your hands so that he can turn around and pull you into his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your hairline, smiling into your hair. “Sittin’ pretty and spending my money.”
Your brow knits as you look up at him, hands sliding down to his waist. “You’re mean.”
“I love you,” he responds easily. Still grinning like a child on Christmas morning, he tucks a strand of your wet hair away from your face before tilting your chin up, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. “Can’t be mad at me for lovin’ you, sweetheart.”
As he intended, you relax into his touch, chasing his lips when he pulls away. Then, you pout, huffing your indignation. “Fine. But only because I love you, too.”
“I know.” Jack laughs at your petulant look, swatting your ass again. “Now get out of the kitchen so I can feed my woman.”
“But I did them today so now you don’t have to. You can enjoy your day off the way you’re supposed to.” Jack steps away from the stove, grabbing your hands so that he can turn around and pull you into his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your hairline, smiling into your hair. “Sittin’ pretty and spending my money.”
Like shut up Pepaw why is he so perfect 😭 this was so good!
germansingergirl
prguitarman
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
