Summary : Benjamin Poindexter, monster to everyone else, is the only person who could keep your mind from falling apart.
Pairing : DDBA!Benjamin Poindexter x mind reader! reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, panic attacks, sensory overload, mind reading, intrusive thoughts, trauma response, mentions of medical experimentation, murder, blood, protective/obsessive behavior, codependency, morally complicated love, hurt/comfort, domestic Dex, very brief mention of sex. Reader is mentioned to be an OXE medical experiment (Set in the last Episode of DDBA Season 2) (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word Count : 15.8k
Requested By : Anon
Notes : Please send me an ask if you would like to be added to the taglist, sometimes it gets lost in the comments. Enjoy!
Matt Murdock told himself it was a welfare check.
Which was stupid. Obviously it was stupid. Calling anything involving Benjamin Poindexter a welfare check was almost funny, if Matt had been in the mood to laugh at anything anymore.
Dex had shot Buck Cashman outside the Supreme Court and forced a makeshift siege. Of course he’d act like people were just moving targets. Of course, if the city was falling apart, Dex was probably the one person who could make it worse.
But the courthouse was done now.
Sort of.
Matt had stood there in front of God, Fisk, Karen, the cameras, all of New York, basically, and said it. He had torn the last piece of himself open with his own hands.
He was Daredevil.
There was no putting that back.
Fisk took the plea, and he was finally out of office. Fucking finally. The city had helped, and for better or for worse, the streets had bled because of it. Riots broke out, and sirens were everywhere. The whole city sounded like it was trying to crawl out of its own skin.
And Matt knew his days of moving freely were numbered.
It would not take long for the paperwork to be in order. It would not take long for the police to get their arrest warrant.
His name would spread through every system he had spent years trying to evade. Matthew Michael Murdock, Daredevil.
Whatever he was to people; Catholic boy, blind lawyer, vigilante, hero, hypocrite, all of it? That meant nothing. He was just a criminal who had to pay for breaking the law now.
So, fine.
But before all of that happened. He needed to tie up loose ends.
That was what he told himself as he put on a hoodie the morning after the courthouse, at 2 AM.
He crossed rooftops and fire escapes, ribs aching, lungs burning, sweat cold beneath his hoodie.
He was gonna check on him, that’s all. Make sure Dex was not out there killing people for the love of the game. Make sure the city didn’t have one more monster loose before he was taken away.
This better be quick, because would really rather spend his time with Karen before getting locked up.
By the time Matt reached Dex’s apartment building, the riot noise had thinned, like thunder moving farther away without ever really leaving.
Outside, New York still burned in fragments. Inside the building creaked. Old pipes ticked in the walls. Someone two floors down whispered angrily behind a locked door. A television murmured emergency coverage through cheap speakers. The exhaust fans gave a faint metallic complaint above him.
Matt climbed the stairs, knowing Dex’s apartment was ahead.
And then… Matt heard sobbing.
He stopped at the door.
It wasn’t theatrical, not the kind of crying meant to pull attention from the other side of a wall.
It was smaller than that. It almost made it… worse.
It came through Dex’s door in little broken pieces, like your body had run out of strength before it had run out of panic. One shaky breath, then another, then a thin, wet sound you tried to swallow and failed. You were trying to be quiet, Matt could tell. You were trying not to make noise and still the hurt kept leaking out of you anyway.
Matt stopped dead and assessed the situation.
There was a woman crying inside Benjamin Poindexter’s apartment.
For one second, Matt thought about every horrible thing he already knew about him.
Foggy, Father Lantom, all the other bodies he left in his wake.
All of them were there in his head at once, not as memories, but as evidence. As proof against Dex. As a case already built and closed in his mind.
Dex had never been someone Matt could afford to give the benefit of the doubt, not after what he had done. Not after who he had taken. Not even after all that bullshit about one good deed, about evening out the scales, as if taking another life could balance out the lives he had destroyed.
So Matt listened.
And then Dex spoke. “Baby, breathe. Come on. I’m here.”
Matt’s stomach tightened.
Baby?
From anyone else, maybe it would have sounded the way it was meant to: a soft comfort, words meant to soothe.
But coming from Dex, the words twisted in Matt’s ears.
Still, Matt knew it sounded… sincere.
Soft, but not fake-soft. Not mocking. Not cruel. Not even controlling.
It sounded… exhausted and careful. It frayed apart at the edges, like he had been kneeling there for hours, saying the same few words over and over because he was terrified you would disappear somewhere he couldn’t pull you back from.
“I’m right here,” Dex murmured. “You’re okay. You’re with me.”
You made a small, broken sound.
It was this heartbreakingly helpless, breathless little noise that caught in your throat and dragged itself out anyway. It was as if your body was trying to keep crying after you had already run out of strength for it.
Your breathing was too fast; Matt could hear every jagged inhale scraping up short in your chest, every failed attempt to steady yourself. Your heartbeat fluttered, frantic and uneven, skipping over itself like it was trapped.
You were on the floor. He could tell by the way your sobs hit the wood first, the way it sounded low and folded down. You were curled into yourself, maybe.
And Dex was too close. He was close enough that his voice barely had to rise. He was close enough that Matt could hear the shift of his body beside yours, the drag of fabric against the floor, the way he moved like he knew exactly which sounds would hurt you and which ones would not.
Everything Matt heard told him Dex was not hurting you.
The care was there. The patience was there. The way he kept his voice quiet enough not to startle. The way he didn’t grab at you, didn’t bark orders, didn’t crowd too fast. He seemed to be making himself smaller just to keep from adding to whatever was tearing through you.
Benjamin Poindexter sounded…. kind.
Matt hated that. his senses were giving him one answer and his memory was giving him another.
His senses said Dex was helping you. His memory said Dex hurt people.
His senses said Dex was gentle with you. His memory said Dex had killed Foggy.
His senses said there was love in the room. His memory said Benjamin Poindexter didn’t know how to love correctly.
His mind immediately assumed the worst.
Had he held you here? Kidnapped you? Had he convinced himself he loved you, and was he trying to convince you to love him, too?
Your sob hitched again.
“I can’t,” you whispered, voice shredded thin. “I can’t, Dex, I can’t—”
“I know,” Dex said immediately, and Matt could hear his skin on yours, rubbing gentle circles on your arm. You weren’t pulling away. “I know. Stay with me.”
There it was, the softness again.
That was an almost desperate patience in his voice, and still, Matt couldn’t make himself trust it.
Not with Dex crouched close enough for his voice to brush your skin. Not with you breathing like the room itself was killing you. Not with the door locked and the city screaming outside and no one else coming.
Then your breath snagged hard “Dex.”
“I’m here.”
“No.” Your voice thinned, almost terrified. “Someone else is h-here.”
Matt went completely still.
Behind the door, the apartment changed.
It was just a shift in the air. Dex went quiet all of a sudden. Matt understood, somehow, that you knew he was there.
For one suspended second, no one moved.
Your breathing trembled in the silence. Then Dex’s heartbeat slowed as he turned.
That was what made Matt decide. The sudden stillness of a killer turning his attention toward the door.
Whatever comfort Matt had heard before, whatever gentleness had almost confused him, it collapsed under the weight of everything else he knew:
A woman was crying in Dex’s apartment. Dex was too close to you. Ergo, Dex was hurting you and Matt had to get you out.
So Matt stepped back once he kicked the door down, and it broke inward. The sound tore through the apartment, wood splitting against the wall.
Matt stepped, expecting you to recoil.
He expected you to scramble backward on the floor, away from Dex. He expected fear to pull you toward the farthest corner, toward the broken doorway, toward him.
Anything but what actually happened.
You moved toward Dex.
It was a clumsy, desperate little scramble, knees dragging over the floorboards, one hand slipping against the wood as you tried to push yourself up and failed. Your breath came in miserable pieces, your whole body folded around the panic like it hurt to exist inside your own skin.
“Dex,” you choked.
Dex was already moving. He closed the distance before you could reach him properly, like he couldn’t stand the sight of you having to cross even that little distance alone. His hands came out, open, and you clambered into him.
There was no other word for it.
You climbed into his arms like you were trying to get beneath his ribs. As if you pressed close enough, hid deep enough, the rest of the world might lose track of you. Your fingers caught the front of his shirt and twisted there, tight and frantic, pulling yourself higher until your face was buried against his chest.
Dex caught you with his whole body. One of his arms was wrapped around your back. The other came up over your head, shielding your face, tucking you under his chin. He bent around you so gently it was almost painful to process, all that deadly mass turned into cover, into shelter.
Matt froze.
You… were not trapped.
Your cheek was pressed to his chest, hands fisted in his shirt. Your body shook against his, but the second he held you, your heartbeat changed. It was still too fast, still terrified, still broken up with panic, but it reached for his rhythm like a drowning man reaching for shore.
Dex lowered his mouth to your temple.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, baby.”
You made a devastated sound and curled tighter.
Your knees drew up against his thigh. One of your hands slipped from his shirt to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, gripping there like you were afraid Matt might pull him away from you.
“He’s loud,” you managed.
Dex’s eyes stayed on Matt, who still hadn’t said anything. “I know.”
“He’s loud, Dex, he’s so loud.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
You shook your head against him, hiding your face harder in the hollow of his throat. “Baby,” you whispered, voice barely there. “He thinks you’re hurting me.”
Dex went still.
“I’m not,” he said.
“I know.” Your voice cracked on it. “I know. But he thinks it and I can hear it and it hurts.”
Matt’s throat tightened. What did that even mean?
He heard it then, not just the panic and sobs. He heard the trust.
Your fear was everywhere, all over the room, spilling out of you in ragged breaths, but it was not aimed at the man holding you. Dex was the only place in the apartment your body seemed to recognize as safe.
You kept trying to disappear into him.
Every time Matt shifted, even slightly, your fingers tightened. Every time the broken door creaked behind him, your breath snagged and Dex’s palm moved slowly over the back of your head, as if smoothing you back into yourself.
“Don’t listen to him,” Dex murmured against your hair. “Listen to me.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“It’s too much.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
Matt took half a step forward. Dex’s head snapped up. “Don’t.”
The word was quiet to not startle you, and that was enough to stop Matt anyway.
Dex shifted on the floor, turning his body more fully between you and the doorway. You followed without thinking, clinging to him as he moved, your face still hidden against his chest. He kept you tucked there, one arm firm around your back, the other curved protectively around your head like he could keep Matt’s thoughts from touching you if he just covered enough of you.
“Poindexter,” Matt started, and it was smaller now.
Dex’s expression did not change. “Get out.”
“I thought—”
“I don’t give a shit what you thought.”
You trembled harder at the anger in his voice. Dex felt it instantly. His eyes flicked down, and when he spoke again, it wasn’t to Matt.
“Not you,” he whispered, pressing his mouth briefly to your hair.
You made another broken little noise and pushed closer, like the words had gone straight through your heart.
Dex held you tighter, not possessively in a way that trapped, but just enough to tell your body there was he was around it.
Matt stood there in the wreckage of the door, listening to your heartbeat try to steady itself against Dex’s chest, and for one awful second he didn’t know what to do with what his senses were telling him.
Because Benjamin Poindexter was still the reason too many people Matt loved were dead. But you were curled into him like he was the last quiet place in New York.
“He’s still here,” you whispered.
Dex’s eyes lifted. “I know.”
Dex’s face changed, but not by much. Matt doubted anyone else would have noticed, but he did. He heard it in Dex’s breathing, in the shift of his weight, in the sudden burst of restraint. The city outside was loud. The riots were loud. Matt was loud. His suspicion was loud. His righteousness was loud. His judgment was loud.
And somehow, you could hear all of it.
“I don’t want him here,” you said.
That was it. Whatever patience Dex had left for Matt died right there on the floor.
His hand stayed gentle on your back, but his voice didn’t. “Get the fuck out.”
For once, he did what Dex told him to do.
Matt stepped back into the hallway and got out.
The ruined door dragged crookedly against the floor when he pulled it mostly shut behind him. The lock was useless now, broken out from the frame, hanging loose in splintered wood, but Matt still closed it as much as he could.
He stood there in the hall, one hand still near the broken door, breathing quietly through the dust and old paint and the faint metallic tang inside the apartment.
He should have left. He knew that.
You had wanted him gone. Matt had seen enough, heard enough, to know he had been wrong about at least the first thing: Dex hadn’t been hurting you.
But Matt still could not make himself walk away.
Because Matt has convinced himself that love, in the hands of someone like Benjamin Poindexter, could become a locked room so easily.
Matt stayed.
Not close enough to push the door open again, but not far enough to pretend he wasn’t listening.
Inside, your breathing was still ragged.
Dex was still on the floor with you.
Matt could hear the tiny, frantic movements of your hands in Dex’s shirt. The tremor in your inhale. The way you kept trying to tuck yourself into him like the world might stop finding you if there was enough of his body between you and everything else.
“He’s still out there,” you whispered.
Dex’s answer came after a second of consideration. “Is he, now?”
Your breath hitched. “He didn’t leave.”
Fuck.
Matt stood very still in the hall.
“I’ll take care of him,” Dex murmured.
Your breath snagged. “Don’t hurt him.”
There was a pause. It wasn’t long, but long enough.
Then Dex said, “I won’t kill him.”
“Dex.” You didn't sound convinced.
“I won’t kill him,” he repeated, softer this time. “Promise.”
“You’re mad.”
“I know.”
“It’s sharp,” you winced.
“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Inside the apartment, Dex went quiet in a way that felt less like guilt and more like being seen too clearly. “I won’t hurt him unless I have to.”
“Dex.”
“I won’t hurt him,” he said, and this time there was no loophole in it. There was only surrender, because it was you asking. “Okay? I won’t.”
Your breathing shuddered as Dex shifted on the floor.
“I’m going to move you, okay?” he said. “Just to the bed. I’ve got you.”
You made a small sound, and Matt could picture it too clearly now. You curled in on yourself, face hidden, body shaking from too much of whatever it is you could sense.
Dex crouched slowly, though he was already close. Like even now, even with you clutching at him, he was careful not to startle you. He slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back.
You clutched at his shirt with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“No.” His voice went firm immediately. “No, don’t say things like that.”
“I ruined your night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
“I came here and I—”
“You came to me.” Dex pressed his mouth to your temple, quick and fierce. “That’s all. You came to me.”
You made a broken little noise against him.
Matt stood in the hallway, just outside the ruined door, listening to Dex lift you from the floor.
He heard the way your breath caught when your body left the ground. He heard your hands grip for a better hold. He heard Dex adjust instantly, pulling you closer.
“I’ve got you,” Dex murmured. “I’ve got you. I know.”
“You’re going to leave.”
“No.”
You sounded so small when you said, “You are.”
Dex carried you to the bed like every step had been chosen before he took it. Like he knew which floorboards made noise and which ones didn’t. Like he had learned how to move through this apartment in a way that made the least amount of noise for you.
“I’ll take care of him, okay?” Dex murmured. “I’ll make him go away.”
Your breathing hitched as you started to say something, but Dex shushed you gently.
“Yes, I know,” he said, softer. “I know you don’t like it when people see you like this. I know. It’s just gonna be me and you, okay? Just me and you.”
The mattress dipped down under your weight.
“I’ll close the door,” Dex continued. “I’ll turn the lights off. I’ll come right back.”
Your fingers caught the fabric of his shirt again. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving.” Dex let out a slow breath. “I’m right here.”
“You’re thinking about going.”
“I’m thinking about making him leave.”
“I can’t tell the difference.”
Dex went quiet.
Matt heard him sit beside you instead of standing right away. The mattress shifted again as the room settled around the two of you.
You cried a little, more exhausted now, as if the panic had torn through you and left you hollowed out behind it.
Dex’s hand moved over fabric in a slow, repetitive pass. Matt realised he was making the sheets smooth for you as he laid you down.
His hand slid up from your back to the side of your face, thumb hovering near your cheek, not quite wiping the tears away until you leaned into it first. “Look into my mind, baby.”
Matt’s head tilted from the hallway.
What?
Inside the studio, everything went still except for your breathing.
The room was not large enough for privacy. Not really. The bed sat pushed into the far corner. The broken front door was too close. Matt was too close. The whole world was too close.
But Dex bent over you like he could make distance with his body alone.
“Go on,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
You stared up at him through wet lashes, face blotched from crying, lips parted around breaths that still would not come right. Your fingers trembled against his shirt, twisted in the fabric so tightly the seams strained.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then your grip loosened by a fraction.
Your eyes fluttered.
A shaky breath left you, not calm, not even close, but relieved enough that Dex’s shoulders almost caved in with it.
The answer was immediate. No room for doubt. No space for the thought to grow teeth.
But then your expression crumpled again.
“You’re mad.”
Dex closed his eyes for half a second.
He didn’t deny it. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. Not to you. “I am.”
Your breath caught so suddenly it sounded like it hurt.
Dex’s whole face changed. The anger was still there, Matt could hear it in him, running hot under the skin. But with you looking at him like that, terrified because his fury had no color, no label, no clear direction once it got inside your head, Dex felt almost sick with it.
“I’m not mad at you,” he said, urgent in a way that made the words rough. “Never at you.”
Your mouth trembled and repeated yourself. “You know I can’t tell the difference sometimes.” It came out so pained Matt felt it in his own chest.
You said it like an apology, like you hated needing him to explain the direction of his anger because you could feel it anyway, and feeling it didn’t mean understanding it.
Dex swallowed. His hand curved more fully around your cheek now, warm and steady, thumb finally catching one tear before it slid down to your jaw.
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
You looked at him for another second, searching his face like your own mind wasn't enough tonight. Like even seeing inside him had not made your body believe it yet.
Then he lowered his voice. “I have to make him leave.”
Your fingers tightened again, not as badly this time.
Dex did not pull away. He leaned in instead, pressing a short kiss to your forehead, then another to the corner of your temple, like he could nail the promise into place with his mouth.
“I’m going to turn off the lights, okay?”
You nodded, barely, as breathing scraped in and out through your nose.
Dex shifted only when you let him. He eased you back against the pillows in the bed, not putting you down so much as arranging the room around your collapse. One hand stayed on you the whole time, a constant point of contact while the other reached for everything else.
He crossed the few steps to it and slid the window shut with painstaking care, catching the frame before it could knock. Street noise dulled at once.
Then he pulled the curtains together until the thin spill of city light vanished from the wall and your face disappeared into darkness.
As promised, he clicked the lamp off.
The studio fell dimmer, warmer, reduced to the weak strip of hallway light bleeding through the ruined front door.
The phone was next. He picked it up from the small table beside the bed and silenced it without looking, thumb moving from memory. He put it back, screen turned down.
A radio sat near the kitchenette, cheap and old, still plugged into the wall. Dex crossed to it barefoot and pulled the cord free. The plastic scraped faintly against the outlet, and even that made your breathing tremble.
Then, he opened a drawer near the bed.
Something rattled softly as he picked it up. A pill bottle, maybe? No, it could be earplugs in a little tin.
He came back with them in his palm.
You must have watched him through the dark because your breathing changed when he got close again, sounding less lost than before.
Dex sat on the edge of the mattress.
He tucked the blanket around you, drawing it up over your shoulder, smoothing the edge down like he was sealing the world out inch by inch. His hand lingered there after, broad against the blanket, feeling the shake of you through the fabric.
The apartment had become smaller. Every sound had been answered. Every light had been put down. Every little edge of the room had been softened, covered, turned away from you by hands that knew the ritual too well.
He had done this before. Like he had learned, piece by piece, how to make the world survivable for you.
At some point, you must have reached for him again, because Dex’s voice dropped inaudibly. “Hey,” he whispered. “I know.”
The bed creaked as he leaned closer.
A kiss touched your skin. Your forehead, maybe. Then another, lower. Your temple. The damp line of your cheek.
“I’ll be right back,” Dex breathed.
You made a small sound.
He stayed another second, maybe two. Long enough for your fingers to loosen.
Then he stood.
Dex walked to the other side of the apartment without turning on a single light. He made no wasted movement, not a single sound he didn’t mean to make.
At the broken front door, he paused and looked back once.
Matt could hear the small turn of his head. The habit of making sure you were still under the blanket, still breathing, still there.
Then Dex slipped into the hall and pulled the ruined door mostly shut behind him.
It couldn’t latch. But he cracked it closed as carefully as if it still mattered, leaving only a narrow gap of darkness between the apartment and the hallway.
He was keeping the light out. He was keeping Matt out.
When Dex turned, he stood half-shadowed in the corridor, eyes red-rimmed and flat with exhaustion. His face was calm in the way loaded weapons were calm. His voice stayed quiet, almost gentle, but not for Matt.
He did it for yous
“I told you,” Dex said, “to get the fuck out.”
For a while, Matt didn’t say anything.
The hallway held them in the aftermath of what Matt had done. The door hung crooked in its frame, pulled mostly shut even though the lock was split and useless, the wood around it cracked open where Matt’s boot had forced its way through. It couldn’t protect you anymore. It could barely pretend to be a door. Still, Dex stood in front of it as if his body could replace what Matt had broken, as if he could become the lock, the wall, the whole goddamn building if he had to.
Matt could hear the anger in him as clearly as he could hear traffic below: hot, contained, and viciously focused. Dex wanted to do something with it. Matt knew that, but he kept it buried beneath his ribs because you were behind that broken door, and if he let the rage rise any higher, you would feel it.
That was what Matt could not stop noticing. Not the anger. The restraint.
Inside the apartment, you shifted under the blanket. It was only a movement of fabric, barely anything, followed by the small uneven catch of your breath as you tried to settle yourself in the dark corner Dex had made for you. Dex turned his head at once. Not fully, not enough to take his attention off Matt, but enough that Matt realised that some part of Dex had never left the room with you. Some part of him was still sitting beside the bed, counting your breaths, waiting for the slightest sign that you needed him again.
For one moment, Matt didn't feel like he was looking at Bullseye. He was looking at a man furious enough to kill and still aching to go back inside because the woman he loved was trying to remember how to breathe without him there.
Matt swallowed. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
Dex looked back at him and the answer was obvious. Matt had no right to know. No right to ask. He had no right to stand there in the hallway after frightening you and pretend the question was harmless.
“I didn’t tell you.”
His voice was flat and guarded, the words set down like a barrier. Matt’s mouth tightened.
Behind the door, your breathing hitched again, smaller this time, like the sound of voices through wood was still enough to scrape against you. Dex heard it too. The anger in him shifted immediately, folding smaller, tightening down.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.
He knew it was wrong the second it left his mouth. The words were too blunt, too harsh, too clinical. He had meant, What happened? He had meant, Is she going to be okay? He had meant, What did I just walk into, and how badly did I make it worse? But none of that came out. What came out sounded like you were a problem.
“Nothing is wrong with her,” Dex said, and Matt could tell he was trying his hardest not to snap.
Matt didn’t move. Dex stepped closer by the smallest amount, and the entire hallway seemed to narrow with him. His face had gone hard, but not empty.
“Nothing,” Dex repeated, each syllable harsh enough to cut. “She’s perfect.”
Matt exhaled slowly through his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Dex didn’t have to snarl. He didn’t have to raise his voice. The accusation sat there between them, plain and ugly, and Matt couldn’t defend himself from it because part of it was true.
Inside, you were quiet now. Not calm, but silent in the way people became when they were trying very hard not to take up too much space with their hurt. Matt listened to the small tremor and felt the pieces beginning to arrange themselves in his head.
You had known he was outside before Dex opened the door. You had reacted to him even before he even stepped inside. You had known Dex was mad but couldn’t tell where that anger was aimed. Dex had told you to look into his mind with the ease of someone offering proof, not metaphor, not comfort dressed up as poetry, but a real thing he knew you could do.
Oh.
Matt looked back at Dex and stated the painfully obvious explanation. “She can read minds.”
Dex’s expression changed only a little, but Matt heard the rest. The brief tightening of his mouth. The instinct to protect you by lying took over, followed almost immediately by the realization that lying to Matt Murdock was pointless.
Dex looked away, and said, “Yes.”
His voice had changed, still rough around the edges, but the explanation seemed to cost him a part of his soul. Every word about you had to be handled carefully because it belonged to you first. He kept his eyes on the door as he spoke, as if even describing your pain required him to make sure it had not worsened.
“She hears thoughts, feelings. Most days she can keep it out, or keep it separate, or read one mind at a time. She knows how to get through the day.” His teeth clenched, and he looked down for half a second before forcing himself to continue. “But when there are too many people, when emotions run too high, it stops being individual thoughts and turns into noise.”
Oh.
Oh shit, Matt thought as he realized that last night hadn’t only been bad for you. It had been a disaster built exactly out of the things that hurt you most.
Last night, protests clashed with Fisk’s Task Force. Bodies were pressed shoulder to shoulder in the streets, voices raised, officers behind their shields, civilians furious and terrified and righteous all at once. Fisk’s fall had moved through the city like a shockwave. Matt Murdock’s confession that he was a Daredevil had made a home on every screen, in every mouth, in every disbelieving mind.
His confession had not stayed in the courtroom. It had spilled outward, turning into rumor and revelation and riot, and you had walked straight into all of it because you thought Dex was hurt. Because you missed him.
Matt felt his stomach sink.
He thought of you moving through that crowd, not just hearing the sirens and shouting like everyone else, but taking in the thoughts beneath them. Panic layered over rage layered over grief. Thousands of minds all pushing against yours with no space between them. A whole city losing control at once, and you were caught in the middle of it, trying to find one person.
Dex’s face tightened as if he could see the same picture and hated it more because he had already lived the end of it. He hated that he had found you like that.
Matt understood that without being told. Dex had found you shaking apart in this same apartment, or near it, or on the street outside, too overwhelmed by everyone else to find yourself. He had found you and brought you here and spent the night closing windows, killing lights, silencing phones, making the world smaller with hands that had done unspeakable things.
“She came looking for me,” Dex said.
The words were almost stripped of anger now. Dex looked at the door again, and his body softened before he could stop it. But Matt heard it in the way Dex’s breath caught around your existence on the other side of the wall.
Benjamin Poindexter loved you.
Matt didn’t want to know that. He didn’t want to have to make room for it inside the shape of the man he hated. He wanted Dex to stay simple. A killer. Someone with a label simple enough to condemn without complication. But love was written through him now in ways Matt couldn’t ignore.
Matt’s voice came quieter when he asked, “Does she need a doctor?”
Dex scoffed. “Doctors are what made her like this.”
Matt went still.
Dex didn’t explain. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe Matt hadn’t earned that part of the story. But still, he was opening just enough of a door for Matt to picture the white rooms, fluorescent lights and people calling pain research, behind him.
Dex looked back at the broken door, and for half a second, the rage in him gave way. “She has good days and bad days,” Dex said. His mouth tightened, and when he spoke again, the grief in it was almost unbearable. “And she was having a good week.”
That mattered.
Matt couldn’t possibly understand the full weight of that sentence, but Dex did. A good week meant sleep. It meant you could eat without feeling nauseous. It meant you had mornings where you didn’t wake up already bracing against other people’s thoughts.
You’ve had several really good weeks, actually.
It mattered because Dex had met you on a bad day.
—
Twelve months ago…
OXE hired him to kill you.
A freelance gig, really.
The file was from the private medical trial branch of the corporation. It said that you were a failed participant. You were a liability. You were just a woman whose condition had become unpredictable.
They sent Dex a name, a photograph, an address, and a warning not to engage longer than necessary.
The house they had sent him to had no security. It was an old, empty place with drawn curtains and stale air and dust gathered thick in the corners.
You hated it.
Dex found you in the attic under the slanted roof, sitting in the weak orange spill of late afternoon light, one wrist was handcuffed to an exposed pipe. Your knees were drawn up close to your chest. Your hair stuck damply to your face, and your lips were bitten raw, like you had spent hours trying to keep something inside your mouth by force.
The key was across the room.
It was kicked. Dex could tell from the scrape in the dust where it had skidded away from you, just far enough that your fingers couldn’t reach it unless you pulled hard enough to tear the skin around your wrist. The cuff had already bruised a dark, ugly ring on your skin.
You looked at him once.
A small, breathless laugh left you. It wasn’t happy, not even close. It was more like your body had mistaken despair for humor because it had run out of other ways to hold it.
“You’re…” Your voice cracked. “You’re here to kill me.”
Dex didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Your eyes moved over his face, and something strange passed through them.
Then you laughed again, barely. “You think I’m pretty, Dex.”
The attic went still as dust drifted in the light between you.
Dex’s finger rested near the trigger.
“How do you know my name?”
You looked at him like the question itself was tired. “Mind reader,” you said. “Obviously.”
Dex stared at you for a long moment.
You didn’t look like what OXE had described.
Dangerous, yes, maybe. But not in the way they meant. You looked exhausted, cornered, and afraid of yourself than of him. Your whole body was tense against the cuff, but you weren’t trying to get free anymore.
Dex’s eyes flicked to the key, then back to you.
“Why lock yourself up here?”
For the first time, you looked ashamed. “Because it’s loud.”
Dex glanced around the empty attic.
You heard the thought before he could speak.
“Not here,” you said, swallowing, then pointing to your head with your free hand, “but here.”
Your hand then curled briefly around your own throat, not pressing, just remembering.
“I kicked the key away,” you whispered. “So I’d have time to stop myself.”
“From what?”
You closed your eyes. Your voice came out small. “Strangling someone.”
Dex didn’t move.
You opened your eyes, wet and miserable, and looked past him because looking right at him was suddenly too hard.
“He was loud. He wouldn’t stop. He kept thinking and thinking and thinking, and I kept hearing it. I told him to stop to shut up, but they couldn’t, because people can’t just stop thinking, and I knew that, see, I knew that, but I—
Your breath broke as you looked down at your cuffed wrist. “So I locked myself up here. Before I kill someone again.”
Dex should have killed you. That was the job.
OXE had paid him to remove a problem, and there you were, handcuffed beneath a slanted roof, bruised and filthy and shaking because the world had made you into something you were terrified of becoming.
He should have pulled the trigger. Instead, he lowered the gun.
Your face fell immediately, like mercy was its own kind of threat.
“Don’t,” you whispered.
Dex paused.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” you said, voice cracking.
Dex’s mind went quiet.
He had no idea what to do with that. No idea what to do with you.
So he did the only practical thing he could.
He walked across the room and picked up the key.
You cried then, silently at first, tears spilling over without sound as he came back and crouched in front of you. Dex moved slowly. He set the gun down beside him, close enough to reach, far enough that you could see both his hands.
“I’m going to unlock it,” he said.
You stared at him.
“You can read my mind,” he added, awkward and blunt because gentleness was not a language he spoke well yet. “So you know I’m not lying.”
Your breath shook.
You looked at him, really looked, and you squinted your eyes in the smallest, most painful disbelief.
Dex unlocked the cuff.
The metal fell away from your wrist.
You didn’t move.
You only stared at your freed hand like it belonged to someone else. The skin beneath the cuff was swollen and angry, the bruise already darkening. Dex looked at it for too long.
Then he took off his jacket.
He draped it over your shoulders.
You were shaking so hard the leather fabric around you.
Dex did not ask if you could walk. He already knew the answer. He saw the way your legs failed when you tried to gather them beneath you, saw the way your hand went out blindly toward the pipe, toward the wall, toward anything that would keep the room from tilting.
So he picked you up slowly, one arm under your knees, one behind your back, no grip tighter than necessary.
You went rigid in his arms for half a second, then sagged, exhausted past the point of fear.
“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.
Dex looked down at you.
He didn’t know how to answer out loud.
Because I know what it means to be made wrong for the world, too.
Maybe, now that we’ve found each other, we don’t have to be alone anymore.
He said none of that. But you said, “okay.”
He carried you down from the attic and took you back to his apartment because he didn’t know where else to take you.
You sat on the edge of his tub in his jacket while he ran the water warm.
Dex kept looking away, not because he was embarrassed, but because he understood, somehow, that being looked at was another kind of noise. He handed you a towel, found some soaps and put a clean shirt on the sink.
When you could not lift your hands without trembling, he helped.
He helped you into warm water and rinsed dust from your hair, cleaning blood from your bruised wrist. His hand was steady on your skin when you started crying again.
He didn't ask you to stop.
He only said, once, very quietly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
And because you could read his mind, you knew he meant it.
Benjamin Poindexter had been hired to kill you.
Instead, he took you out of the attic and bathed you.
—
Over the next couple of days, you were mostly good.
Mostly.
Because Dex learned quickly that good didn’t mean cured. It meant you slept more than you usually did. It meant you could sit by the window without pressing your palms to your ears. It meant you could make tea in his kitchen and smile at some thought he hadn’t meant to give you.
Within the first week, his apartment changed because of you. He installed wall panelling first, because the building was old and thin and the neighbors came through the walls too easily when everything felt hollow. Then, he gave you thicker curtains, then rugs. Then a new refrigerator because the old one hummed at a frequency that made you bare your teeth and say it tasted wrong.
Dex didn’t ask what that meant.
He just replaced it.
After all, your mind was already susceptible to being invaded by foreign thoughts, he didn't want you to be overstimulated by your senses, too.
That was how it started with him, really. Not with declarations. Dex loved in corrections, adjustments, and threat assessments. He noticed what hurt you, and then he removed it. He learned the signs of your bad days and built around them, one practical act at a time.
You fell in love with him so fast it should have scared you.
It didn’t, but mostly because you knew he had already fallen too.
You could hear it.
He thought he was being subtle, which was almost funny. Dex, who could control his breathing to take a shot, couldn’t hide wanting you to kiss him for more than a week.
You could hear his thoughts every time you came too close.
Not words, exactly. More like flashes of your mouth, your hands in his mind. The curve of your shoulder when you wore one of his shirts. The split-second image of him leaning in, followed by a disciplined thought-wall of don’t, don’t, don’t, because Dex could kill a man without blinking but apparently touching you first was too much.
You let him suffer with it for six days, mostly because you were giving him time to change his mind.
He didn’t.
On the seventh, he was fixing one of the new panels in the kitchen, teeth clenched because the wood refused to sit straight. You were sitting on the counter with one of his old FBI academy shirts that had since gotten too small for his bulk now, bare legs swinging, watching him pretend he was not acutely aware of your knees on either side of his ribs when he stepped between them to reach the wall.
You had laughed from where you sat.
He looked over at you. “You think that’s funny?”
You tilted your head. “You’re thinking about shooting the wall.”
Dex stared at you, setting the screwdriver down too carefully.
“You shouldn’t go digging around in my head.”
“I didn’t dig,” you said. “You’re loud when you’re annoyed.”
That should have bothered him. It did, maybe a little.
But then you smiled at him like his mind was not a terrible place to be. Like you could look at all the terrible things in there and still find him underneath. Like understanding him did not disgust you.
Fuck, he thought, don’t do things that make me want to—
“You want to kiss me,” you interrupted his train of thoughts.
Dex went so still it was almost sweet. Then he turned his head. “You shouldn’t listen to that.”
“You know I don’t mean to.” You hooked two fingers in the front of his shirt and tugged him closer.
His eyes dropped to your mouth, and that was answer enough.
So you kissed him.
Gently at first, just to see what he would do with it. Dex froze under your hands like his body had forgotten every instruction except stay. Then he made this small, ruined sound against your mouth and touched your waist like you were a fragile crystal he had been warned not to break.
After that, neither of you stood a chance.
Neither of you did anything halfway. Dex didn’t know how to want normally, and you didn’t know how to be wanted normally. Kissing turned into touching, touching turned to stumbling into his bed, and being in his bed turned into Dex curling into you afterward like he had found heaven and was furious nobody had warned him it would feel like this.
Sex with a mind reader should have terrified him.
But after the first time he understood what it meant with you. There was no pretending or hiding behind control. He couldn’t pretend to be calmer than he was. He couldn’t hide how badly he wanted to kiss you again, how much he liked your hands on him, how ruined he got when you said his name in that breathless sigh. You knew when he was overwhelmed and you adjusted. You knew when he needed to slow down. You knew when he was thinking too much and when he needed you to pull him out of his own head.
You kissed him through it. You talked him through it. You touched him like his wants were not shameful just because they were intense, like the inside of him was not too much for you.
And you loved him for it.
You loved the strange, violent tenderness of him. The way he checked your face before his hands moved. The way he liked when you told him what he wanted.
“You love me,” you whispered after the second month, half asleep against his chest, your fingers tracing lazy shapes over his ribs.
Dex went still beneath you.
You smiled into his skin. “Don’t panic. I love you too.”
He didn’t say it back then because he didn’t have to.
But his arms tightened around you like the thought of you leaving had become physically unbearable. His mouth pressed to the top of your head, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth, almost desperate.
He loved you with every ruined, desperate, loyal part of himself. He loved you like gravity, like a fixation, like a religion he had invented alone in the dark and then accidentally found living in your body.
You smiled up at him, eyes wet.
“I know,” you whispered. “I can hear you.”
Dex’s hand came up to the back of your neck and kissed you.
You heard it in him constantly after that, and not like a normal man thinking I love you in a normal way.
Still, there were rules.
You didn’t care that he killed AVTF agents and assassination jobs. You had heard enough of their minds to know duty didn’t make most men good. You didn’t hate him for coming home with blood on his hands.
If anything, Dex loved that about you. Because for once, he didn’t have to explain himself.
He didn’t have to come home and build a careful human-sounding justification for the violence. He didn’t have to say he had no choice, or they were a threat. You already knew. You reached into his mind, found his reasoning, and understood it before he even greeted you.
And you would look at him and say, “That’s fine.”
Not because you were naïve. But you knew exactly what he was.
You knew the terrible things he had done. You knew the sound of his mind when he decided someone had to die. You knew how quickly he could make peace with blood if the reason made sense to him. And somehow, you accepted it.
But proximity to killing was a different thing altogether. A hurt mind was a loud mind and a dying mind was worse.
You explained it after an agent got too close to the apartment.
Dex knew that he couldn’t risk a search. He knew he couldn’t risk him writing down the address. He couldn’t risk OXE finding you again.
So he killed him outside, close enough for you to feel the pain.
By the time Dex came back in, you were on the floor beside the bed, hands pressed to your ears even though that never helped. Your face was pale, eyes unfocused, like you were still hearing dead thoughts long after the body had gone limp.
“A hurt mind tastes like TV static,” you whispered.
Dex stopped with blood drying on his sleeve.
You tried to explain because he needed to understand, and with you, Dex always listened like the answer might save your life later.
“I don’t hear words when they’re hurt. Pain turns everything white and icky. It buzzes behind my eyes.” You swallowed hard, breathing through it. “And dying is worse. A dying mind clings to anything it can. A face, a smell, a prayer. Some room they were in when they were little. Anything to stay. It’s so loud, Dex. I can’t filter it, I can’t, I-I… can’t.”
Dex didn’t look sorry for the dead agent, that was not how he worked. But he looked… hurt. He was hurt because you were.
“I know why you did it,” you said, eyes wet. “I know he got too close. I’m not mad.”
That was worse, because he could’ve handled anger. He didn’t know what to do with forgiveness. “I just can’t be near it,” you whispered. “Please.”
It had never been easy for him to change rules, but just like that, because you were hurt, he changed it.
He promised no killing within half a mile of the apartment. He promised there would be no bodies in the building. If danger came near and you were close enough to feel it, Dex would send you away first.
And if he had no choice, if someone had to die and had to die fast, Dex dragged the body away before the mind finished breaking.
He’d drag them down alleys, around corners, behind dumpsters, far enough that their minds could get loud somewhere it wouldn’t reach you.
For a while, that was enough.
Then one day, Dex came home and you weren’t in the apartment.
The door was locked. The curtains were drawn. The lights were low the way you liked them. The kettle sat cold on the stove, even though it was time you usually had tea. Your blanket was half-folded on the chair, one sleeve of one of his shirts hanging off the armrest where you had left it that morning.
But you weren’t there.
Dex stood in the middle of the studio and listened.
He couldn’t hear bare feet shifting against the floor of the bathroom. He could hear breathing from the corner beyond the bed, where you usually were when you were overwhelmed.
Nothing.
His body reacted before his mind did.
A bloom of panic opened behind his ribs.
“Sweetheart?”
No answer.
He checked the bathroom, the closet, the fire escape. The bed, even though he could see you weren’t in it. Then again, because panic didn’t care about logic once it got its hands around his throat.
No.
No, no, no.
For one sick second, all he could think was OXE.
Someone had found you. Someone had gotten in while he was away. Someone had taken you from the little box he had built to keep the world out, and he hadn’t been there to stop it.
Then he heard you.
You were… down the hall?
You let out a sob muffled through someone else’s door.
Dex turned toward it so fast the room seemed to tilt.
He knew that sound. He knew every version of your crying by then. The small ones you tried to hide, the sharp ones that meant you were hurt, the breathless ones that meant too many minds had gotten in and you couldn’t find your way back out.
This one was worse.
This one sounded like shock and the beginning of self-hatred.
Dex was already moving.
The neighbors’ apartment door was unlocked.
He pushed it open and found you on the floor.
You were curled up near the kitchen tiles, knees drawn tight, hands pressed over your mouth as if you were trying to hold the sobs in with your fingers. Your whole body shook.
You were barefoot. Your hair was a mess. One side of your face was wet with tears.
Then Dex saw the bodies around you, and it belonged to the couple who lived there.
The ones who screamed through the walls so often their voices had become part of the building. The ones whose arguments rotted into your apartment at night. The ones whose thoughts were worse than their mouths, according to you. They were bitter and poisoned all the way through.
He knew pieces of them because you knew pieces of them.
You told them they had a son who didn’t live there anymore. The grandparents had taken him in because the father’s anger had become too physical and the mother’s neglect had become too easy to pretend not to see. The child’s room was now turned into storage.
They had been horrible people.
That did not change the fact that you had killed them.
You looked up at Dex. “I’m sorry.”
Your hands fell from your mouth to your throat, fingers hovering there like you could still feel what you had done.
“They were so loud,” you whispered.
Dex stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Your eyes darted to the bodies, then back to him, wild and wet and ruined.
“I knew it would hurt,” you said, words coming faster now, tumbling out of you before you could stop them. “I knew. I knew dying minds hurt me. I knew it would be loud when they died, I knew it would get in, but they were already so loud, Dex. They were already in my head I couldn’t think.”
Your breath hitched hard.
“They were fighting again. Not just out loud outside, but inside. Inside was worse. He was thinking about what he wanted to do to her, and she was thinking about what she should have done to him years ago, and then they were thinking about the boy, and neither of them even missed him right. They just—”
You choked on it.
Dex took one slow step closer. You shook your head, frantic. “No. Don’t. I’m awful right now. I’m so loud.”
“You’re not too loud for me.”
That made you sob harder. You curled forward, forehead nearly touching your knees.
“I tried to go back,” you whispered. “I tried to go back to our apartment. I tried to shut it out, but they kept going and going and going, and I couldn’t tell what was mine anymore. I couldn’t tell if I hated them or if they hated each other or if the whole hallway hated them, and then I was here.”
Your hands twisted in your lap.
“I was just here.”
Dex understood, because it was you.
Because your mind had been filled past the point of reason by two people who had made a life out of being loud, and by the time you understood what your hands were doing, they were already dying.
“I made it quick,” you said.
Your voice was so small it barely reached him.
Dex’s teeth tightened. You looked at him like you needed him to believe that one thing, if nothing else.
“I did. I promise. I didn’t want them to hurt. I didn’t want to hear that part for long. I just needed it to stop, and they were going to hurt each other anyway, and they were horrible, Dex, but I—” Your face fell. “I killed them.”
There was no justification, no defence.
“I killed them,” you said again, and it sounded like you were trying to make yourself understand it.
Dex crouched in front of you, and your eyes flicked to his hands.
Dex knew too much about violence to be shocked by it. But seeing you like this, seeing the toll of it hollow you out from the inside, he understood one thing: The city was killing you.
It was simply too loud, too full for your mind.
“Look at me,” he said.
You shook your head. “I can’t.”
“Look at me.”
Your eyes lifted.
Dex reached for you then, slow enough that you could stop him.
You didn’t.
The second his hand closed gently around your wrist, you collapsed forward into him with a sound so broken it made his throat tighten. He caught you against his chest, one hand to the back of your head, the other arm locked around you while you sobbed into his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped.
Dex held you tighter.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to be like this.”
“I know, baby.”
“They were so loud.”
“I know.”
And he didn’t mean it the way you meant it. He couldn’t. He would never know what it was like to have a dying mind claw through yours, to feel someone’s last panic splinter behind your eyes. But he knew enough. He knew you. He knew what this had cost you.
He looked over your shoulder at the dead neighbors, and there was no pity in him for them.
Only calculation. He was going to clean up this mess, maybe make it look like a murder-suicide, and make sure the investigation didn’t even look your way.
You were crying so hard you could barely breathe.
Dex pressed his mouth to your hair.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “You’re okay.”
That night, after he cleaned what needed cleaning and got you back behind your own door, after he tucked you into the bed and sat with you until exhaustion finally dragged you under, Dex stayed awake beside you and stared at the ceiling.
The panelling he put there was not enough. The blackout curtains he installed were not enough.
The quiet refrigerator, the rugs, the rules about killing, the way he had tried to make one studio apartment survivable — none of it was enough if the city could still get to you through the walls.
By morning, Dex had made up his mind.
He started taking bigger jobs after that, better paying ones.
All with one thing in mind: relocate you from the city.
—
After that, every job had one purpose.
You.
And Dex had always been better when he had a purpose.
Every payment, every account number, every envelope, every favor owed became a way out of the city, a way to buy air your mind could survive.
But money was never quite enough. Money could buy a place, maybe, but money left a paper trail. Dex needed a cleaner solution.
He got what he wanted when the property mogul came to him.
The man owned half a skyline and wanted another man dead over a development dispute he kept calling “a complication.” He met Dex in the private lounge of a building with marble floors and windows too high above the street for anyone inside to remember people lived below them.
He offered a number first.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Dex did not react.
The mogul smiled like he thought he had accepted the offer.
Then Dex gave him his price. “Two hundred thousand dollars,” he said, “and land.”
The mogul blinked. Dex leaned back in his chair.
“Upstate, and no close neighbors within half a mile radius. I want twenty acres at least. I want an existing cabin if you’ve got one. If not, build one.”
The man stared at him for a second too long, like money had made him forget people could ask for things that weren’t numbers. Dex’s expression didn’t change.
“You want him gone by Friday?” he tilted his head. “That’s my payment.”
The mogul laughed uncertainly.
Dex didn’t.
By the end of the week, the man was dead, the dispute was gone, and a plot of land upstate had quietly changed hands through three shell companies and a fake name.
There was a cabin on it already.
It was small and slightly weathered, far enough from the nearest road that the city couldn’t reach it easily. It was enough from the nearest neighbor that even your mind would have to stretch to find another person.
Dex stood on the porch the first time he saw it and listened.
Nothing but birds and wind through the trees.
Perfect.
Dex wanted to surprise you, which was adorable, because he had been thinking about the cabin constantly.
Not just the cabin itself, either. He had been fixing and sanding and checking the locks. He had managed to put extra shelves in the kitchen and fixed the creaky steps. He was planning to replace the bedroom window before you ever saw it because the old one rattled when the wind hit wrong and you’d hate it almost as much as he did.
He wanted it perfect before he brought you there.
So you pretended not to know.
You let him come home with sawdust on his sleeve and plans tucked behind his eyes, let him sit beside you on the bed while thinking very loudly about the porch and curtain rods and whether the trees were far enough from the house to make you feel safe instead of watched.
“You’re in a good mood,” you said.
Dex glanced at you too quickly. “No.”
You smiled into your book. “Okay.”
Then, flatter, he realised, “You know.”
You looked up, trying so hard not to smile because he looked genuinely upset. “I know.”
Dex sighed through his nose. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did,” you said, reaching for the front of his shirt. “I’m surprised you thought you could surprise me.”
And poor Dex, murderous, meticulous, hopelessly in love Dex, let you pull him down into a kiss anyway.
Of course, when he took you there the week after for the first time with your duffel bags in tow, you loved it.
You loved the curtains. You loved the little fire pit he built after you told him fire felt like the good kind of white noise in your head. You loved watching him chop wood with unnecessary precision. You loved sitting on the porch with a blanket around your shoulders while he checked the perimeter for the third time that day, because Dex couldn’t love normally. He loved like a security system with attachment issues.
And Dex loved that you knew.
He didn’t have to explain the strange shape of his obsession. You could reach into his mind and find the answer before he ever opened his mouth.
Why did he reinforce the back door?
Because if someone comes through it, I want three extra seconds.
Why did he move the bed away from the window?
Because glass breaks inward.
Why did he buy six bags of birdseed?
Because you smiled at the cardinals.
That one made him glare at you.
“You’re not supposed to listen all the time,” he said.
You sat on the porch railing, grinning into your mug. “You’re not supposed to think so loudly.”
“I don’t.”
You shrugged. “You do sometimes.”
Your favorite part, though, was watching him practice.
He set up a target in the clearing behind the cabin, a clean round board nailed to a tree stump far enough away that any normal person would have missed half the time.
Dex never missed.
He would stand there in the cold morning air, sleeves pushed up, knife balanced between his fingers with that beautiful focus he had. Then his hand would flick, quick as a blink, and the blade would bury itself dead center.
Again.
And Again.
You sat on a log nearby, chin in your hand, trying very hard not to smile. “You’re showing off.”
Dex did not look at you. “I’m practicing.”
“You’re showing off because you know I’m watching,” you said, “You’re thinking, She likes when I do this.”
The knife hit the target with a sharp thunk.
Dead center.
Dex turned then, eyes narrowing.
You smiled sweetly.
Poor thing. He was terrifying to everyone else. To you, he was just your murderous little cabin boyfriend who would rather die than admit to liking your sweet little praises.
“You know,” you said, “you don’t have to impress me.”
Dex pulled the knife from the target.
That one got him.
Dex walked across the clearing toward you, knife still loose in his hand, expression flat in that way that would have scared anyone who didn’t already know his mind was doing the emotional equivalent of tripping over furniture.
“You think you’re funny,” he said.
“You love me.”
Dex stopped in front of you.
The woods were quiet around him. Birds were shifting in the trees. Firewood was stacked by the shed. Morning light caught in his hair and across the sharp line of his cheek. His mind softened before his eyes did, and you felt it bloom warm in your chest before he ever touched you.
I do, he thought. More than anything in the whole goddamn world.
You smiled up at him. “I know.”
Dex bent downs, caught your chin carefully between his fingers, and kissed you. It was ridiculously gentle for a man called Bullseye.
When he pulled back, your eyes were still closed.
“You’re going to do it again,” you murmured.
“The knife throwing?”
“No.” You opened your eyes and smiled. “Kiss me.”
Dex managed a smile. And because he never missed, he did.
—
Dex still went back to the city sometimes.
He had scales to level, as he put it. Important vigilante work, in his head. It was the kind of work that involved blood and ledgers and moral math only Benjamin Poindexter could make sound reasonable. You never argued with him about that part. You could read his mind. You knew his reasons.
Still, leaving you at the cabin always hurt him.
Not because the cabin was unsafe. It was practically a fortress by then, even with enough stored food to survive whatever apocalypse Dex had apparently been personally expecting.
But he still checked everything twice.
“You’ll call if anything feels wrong,” he said.
“I’ll call.”
“If someone comes up the road—”
“I go to the back room.”
“If the radio cuts out—”
“I use the satellite phone.”
“If you hear something near the woods—”
“I don’t go investigate like a stupid horror movie girl.”
Still, he never left for more than three or four days.
Never.
By the second night, his thoughts would start turning back toward you. By the third, they got restless. He’d think about whether you remembered to eat. Whether the firewood was dry. Whether the road was clear. Whether you were wearing his sweater because you missed him or because the house was cold.
Both, usually.
When he came back, it was almost always late.
You never waited inside.
You would be on the porch before he reached the steps, blanket around your shoulders, eyes bright from missing him too much. Sometimes he didn’t even get the Bullseye mask off before you had both hands on him.
“Missed you,” you whispered, then you’d kiss the mask, right over where his mouth should be.
And his brain would go completely, embarrassingly haywire with love, relief, home, you, you, you.
You laughed softly against the fabric surface of it. “You’re loud.”
Dex’s gloved hands found your waist. “I missed you too.”
“Mmm,” you hummed, “I know.”
He would pull the mask off properly after that, just to kiss you properly. And when his mouth finally found yours, you could feel the city fall away from him.
—
This time, Dex was gone for seven days.
He didn’t tell you why, and not because he wanted to scare you. Because in Dex’s mind, silence was kinder than worry. If he told you that he had played a part in killing the mayor's wife and had been injured, and now needed to do one last assassination before signing a contract with a government agency so he could start providing better for you, you would panic before he could get back to you.
So he kept quiet.
And that was worse.
By day five, the cabin stopped feeling peaceful and started feeling empty. By day six, you were sleeping in his sweater, radio in your lap, listening for a voice that never came. That’s when you realised his lines were non-active. By day seven, every crackle of static sounded like him dying.
He had never been gone that long.
So you left.
It took you hours to walk to the nearest train station, but you managed to do it.
The train, once you got on, was too crowded, and you suddenly were reminded why Dex had moved you away. There were too many shoulders, too many minds packed into one metal tube, all of them thinking too loudly at once. Fear about Fisk, about Daredevil. Anger at the Task Force. A woman was praying under her breath. A boy was trying not to cry. Someone was watching the footage of the protests on their phone.
You focused.
You filtered.
You had gotten good at that, hadn’t you? Dex had helped you get good at that. One mind at a time. One thought at a time. Find the edge of yourself. Stay there. Don’t let the fear become yours just because you can hear it.
And for a while, you managed.
Even with New York getting louder the closer you came. Even with every station spilling more panic into the train. Even as you got out, as the protests moved through the city like a fever, anger and terror and hope all tangled together until nobody’s thoughts came out clean anymore.
You pressed your nails into your palm and breathed.
In.
Out.
Find Dex.
That was all you needed to do.
Find Dex and everything would be okay.
You could be overstimulated. You could be shaking. You could have the whole city scraping against the inside of your skull and still make it to him, because you had done hard things before. You had survived OXE. You had survived bad days. You had survived yourself.
You could survive a train ride and a trip to the city.
You were managing.
Barely, but managing.
Until…
Somewhere in the city, a Task Force Agent shot a man.
You felt it.
You didn’t even see it.
But you felt the impact, the shock, the guttural animal panic of a mind realizing too late that the body was failing. His last thoughts clawed outward, grabbing at anything. He thought about a mother, a kitchen light, the taste of coffee, please, please, please — and it slammed through you so hard you thought you were the one dying.
Too much.
Too much, too much, too much.
By the time you reached Dex’s apartment, you could barely separate yourself from the city.
You stumbled up the stairs with his sweater twisted in your fists and let yourself in with shaking hands and a spare key he kept in the cabin. The old apartment still smelled like him. The wall panelling he had installed for you was still there. The bed you loved was still there.
So you crawled into it.
You curled up small in the old place where he used to hold you through bad nights, pressing your face into his pillow because it was the only thing close enough to a hug you could get.
And when Dex finally found you, you were shaking in the bed, sobbing like the city had followed you all the way in.
—
Present day…
For a while, neither of them said anything.
The hallway held the two of them in the weak yellow light, close enough to fight, close enough for Matt to hear Dex's slight chatter behind his teeth.
The anger was there.
It moved through Dex like a live wire, and viciously restrained. Matt could hear through his heartbeat how badly he wanted to do something with it. He could hear it in the slight shift of Dex’s weight, in the way his fingers flexed once at his side, in the careful control of his breathing.
But Dex didn’t move.
He stood in front of the broken door like his body could make up for the lock Matt had destroyed.
Behind him, inside the apartment, you made a small sound.
Dex’s head turned at once, not enough to take his eyes off Matt. But enough for Matt to understand that half of him had never left the room.
It was awful, seeing that.
It was awful because Matt struggled to see past his sins. He didn’t want to see past his sins.
But the man in front of him was standing outside a bedroom he clearly wanted to return to, choosing not to kill because you had asked him not to.
Matt swallowed. “Does she need help?”
Dex looked at him. His face went cold enough that Matt knew, instantly, he had said it wrong. “She has help.”
Matt’s mouth tightened. “You?”
Dex stepped closer by half an inch. Not a threat, but rather a correction. “Yes.”
Matt let out a slow breath. “I—”
“No.” Dex cut him off. “You don’t get to stand there after kicking my door in, after scaring her half to death, and think you’re the reasonable one here.”
Matt’s jaw flexed. “I heard someone crying in your apartment.”
“And what?” Dex crossed his hand over his chest. “You decided she needed saving from me?”
“You’ve given me plenty of reasons to think that.”
Dex almost smiled. It was a terrible thing. It was humorless, dead before it reached his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I have.”
Matt went still.
Dex didn’t deny it. He didn’t reach for innocence he had no right to hold.
“I know what I am,” Dex said, voice low now. “You don’t have to remind me.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Dex’s eyes sharpened.
Matt took one step forward, careful, measured. “You think because you think you love her, that makes this different.”
Dex’s face changed. Matt heard the hit land.
Dex didn’t hide his agitation well, because in his mind he was thinking how dare you even fucking insinuate that I think I love her. I know I love her. How dare you?
Inside, you must’ve felt the frustration flare, because shifted again, sheets whispering under your trembling body, and Dex turned his head immediately, rage folding down so fast it almost hurt to witness.
His voice dropped toward the door, not Matt. “Sweetheart, I’m okay.”
You didn’t answer, but your breathing slowed.
Matt listened until it settled by a fraction.
“You hear that?” Dex asked with a sigh.
Matt said nothing.
“You hear how she breathes when I’m here?”
Matt’s throat tightened.
Dex leaned in slightly, voice still controlled. “You heard her when you came in. You heard what happened when you kicked the door down. She didn’t run from me. She ran to me.”
Fuck. He had a point.
Matt’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I’m not trying to hurt her.”
“You already did.”
The words landed flat in his chest and Matt flinched despite himself.
Dex saw it.
“You came in here loud,” Dex said. “You brought in your thoughts, your judgment, your anger. You dragged all of it into the room with you and dumped it on her while she was already drowning.”
“I—“ Matt shook his head, turning it slightly down, “I didn’t know.”
“No,” Dex said. “You didn’t.”
The accusation wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Behind the door, you gave another small, broken breath.
Dex’s hand twitched once at his side, like every instinct in him wanted to turn around and go back to you.
“You should go,” Dex said through gritted teeth.
Matt didn’t, at least not right away.
You were quiet now.
Not calm, Matt could hear that much. Your breathing still came unevenly from somewhere beneath the blanket, frayed at the edges, worn thin from crying. But you were quieter than before, and every time Dex shifted even slightly away from the door, your heartbeat changed.
Matt wanted to believe he was looking at Bullseye. At the man who had turned a courthouse into a warzone. At the man whose name belonged on a tip line, in a police report, on every alert system New York still had running after the riots.
Benjamin Poindexter was standing right in front of him.
Matt let him go only a couple of days ago, yes, but hasn’t he been pushing for transparency over the last twenty four hours?
He should believe in the law. Especially now. Especially after what he had said in front of the whole city. He had torn his own mask off for accountability. He had asked New York to believe there was still a line between justice and vengeance and was prepared to pay the price anyway.
So why was he standing here, letting a murderer guard a broken door?
Dex watched him think it.
His mouth barely moved.
“You want to hate me?” Dex said. “Fine. Hate me downstairs.”
Matt’s jaw clenched.
Dex stepped closer. His voice stayed low, but there was nothing soft in it now. “Just don’t do it near her.”
Matt shook his head and Dex shifted towards the door, like keeping Matt’s attention off you was as natural as breathing.
“She isn’t yours to protect,” Matt said quietly.
Dex’s eyes went flat. “No,” he said. “She’s mine to take care of.”
The words should have sounded wrong. Maybe they were wrong. But behind him, your breath hitched at the sound of his voice, and some tiny broken part of it steadied after.
A year ago, Matt would have heard that and called it delusion.
But tonight, he heard the window shut. Dex silenced the phone. Dex killed the lights and unplugged the radio. Dex tucked the blanket over you. He heard love in all the small, practiced mercies Dex had done without needing to be told.
Matt’s hands curled slowly at his sides.
He could still do it.
He could leave the building and call in an anonymous tip. That Bullseye was here, and they could go non-lethal because you were here and there was no way in hell Dex would kill near you. Matt could tell Brent this address, this floor, this door.
He could do it because it would be right.
Because Dex was dangerous.
Because the law had to mean something.
Because Foggy—
Matt’s throat tightened so sharply he almost moved.
But Matt understood, with a sick twist in his stomach, that if he took Dex away tonight, he didn’t know who would be left to tend to you. Who would know how to keep you from drowning in a city full of minds.
Because Matt had heard what one broken door did to you.
If cops came into that apartment with radios crackling, boots pounding, fear and adrenaline spiking out of every mind, you would fall apart. And if they took Dex away, then you would be well and truly fucked.
He didn’t know what doctors would want their hands on you. He didn’t know who would look at you and see a woman before they saw a weapon.
Dex was dangerous.
But maybe that was exactly why he knew how to keep danger away from you.
“She asked you to leave,” Dex said again, quieter this time. “So leave.”
Matt stood there a moment longer. Long enough to feel every reason not to. Long enough to know he might regret it. Long enough to know he would think about this hallway again, maybe for the rest of his life.
Then he stepped back.
Dex didn’t relax.
Matt took another step. Then another, until he reached the stairwell and stopped with one hand near the railing. His face angled slightly toward the apartment again, toward the woman he could still hear crying in the dark.
For a second, Dex thought he might come back.
Then Matt said, very quietly, “If she ever asks for help from someone else, don’t stand in her way.”
Dex’s fingers flexed.
The answer came immediately. “If she asks, I’ll listen.”
Matt could hear that he was telling the truth. His fingers tightened once around the railing.
Still, he stayed there for one more second.
Dex waited him out, because if Matt needed to drag his reluctance down the stairs one breath at a time, fine. He could do that. Dex could stand there all night if he had to. He could become the door until morning if he had to.
Finally, Matt lowered his head and made his way down.
Dex stayed in the hallway until Matt’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs.
Only when the last sound disappeared down the stairs did Dex turn back toward the apartment. The door was ruined, the lock hanging uselessly from splintered wood, the frame cracked where Matt’s boot had forced it inward.
For one second, Dex stared at it.
His anger flared, then he swallowed it down.
Not now.
Not near you.
He stepped inside and pulled the door closed as much as it would go. It dragged wrong against the floor, crooked and broken, but he eased it shut anyway. Then he picked up the kitchen chair instead of dragging it, because the first scrape of wood had made your breathing catch from the bed.
Everything had to be quiet.
He wedged the chair beneath what was left of the handle and pushed once, testing it.
The door held, only barely. It hurt him that it was imperfect, but it had to be good enough for tonight.
Then he turned back to you.
You were still crying, but not like before. Not the full panic that had torn through you until you couldn’t breathe. This was smaller, yet more exhausted. Like your body had run out of strength but your heart hadn’t figured out how to stop breaking yet.
You were curled on his bed under the blanket, face wet, shoulders shaking in little miserable tremors.
Dex crouched beside you so carefully, like one wrong sound might split you open again.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Your mouth trembled. “I wanted to hurt him.”
Dex went still as your eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks.
“I wanted to,” you whispered, horrified by yourself. “After he scared me, after he thought those things about you, after he came in so loud, when he was outside with you and he upset you, I wanted to hurt him, Dex. I did. I did, I—”
“Shh.” Dex’s hand came up slowly, waiting.
You leaned into it before he touched you, and only then did his palm settle against your cheek.
“Shh, baby.”
“I wanted to make him stop.” You shook your head, crying harder now, broken open by the confession.
Dex leaned closer until his forehead almost touched yours. “So did I, baby,” he whispered, rough and aching, “so did I.”
You opened your eyes.
Dex looked at you like it cost him to be that honest and he would pay it anyway if it calmed you. “But we didn’t.”
Your breath caught.
“We didn’t,” he said again, softer. “You stayed with me. I stayed with you. He left. It’s over.”
Your face fell, and Dex shifted up onto the bed then, slow enough not to startle you, and gathered you carefully against him. You folded into his chest with a broken little sound, fingers twisting weakly in his shirt.
He held you like he was trying to put your body back around your soul.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you. I know. I know, sweetheart.”
You sobbed once, small and ruined.
Dex pressed his mouth to your temple. “We’re going back to the cabin first thing tomorrow.”
Your fingers tightened. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” His hand moved over your back, slow and steady. “You can sleep the whole way if you want.”
Your breathing shook against him.
“And my new work doesn’t start for two weeks,” he said, like he was offering you the only miracle he had. “So that’s two weeks, okay? Two weeks of nothing.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him.
Dex’s thumb brushed beneath your eye.
“Just me and you,” he whispered. “No one else. No noise. No city. Just us.”
Your mouth trembled and he kissed your forehead.
“I’ll chop wood. You can sit on the porch. We’ll keep the fire on. You can wear my clothes and sleep all day if you want.”
Another tear slipped down your cheek before you could help it, and he caught it.
“And I won’t leave,” he said. “Not for two weeks. Not for anything.”
You stared at him through wet lashes, searching his face first. Then, his mind.
He was thinking about…
The cabin.
You sleeping in the passenger seat.
You on the porch.
You wrapped in his sweater.
You, safe.
And underneath it all, over and over, so constant it almost broke you…
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Your breath hitched.
His face softened. “There you are,” he whispered.
You made a tiny sound and tucked your face back into him. “Okay,” you breathed.
Dex’s shoulders nearly gave out with relief. “Okay?”
You nodded against his chest. “Okay.”
He closed his eyes and held you tighter for one second, just one, like he needed to feel the word inside his own body. Then he kissed your temple again. “That’s my girl.”
Your crying slowed after that.
It didn’t stop, but it gentled into little exhausted shudders against his shirt while Dex kept his hand moving over your back, the way he knew helped. He stayed until your fingers loosened. Until your breathing stopped tripping over itself. Until your mind, still bruised and raw, found the steady line of his thoughts again.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
You could focus on it now.
Not the city. Not Matt. Not the broken door.
Just Dex and his thoughts, warm and obsessive and constant, wrapped around you from the inside out.
Finally, Dex pulled back enough to look at your face.
“I’m gonna clean up,” he whispered.
Your eyes opened again, instantly afraid. He shook his head before the fear could grow.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” he said. “That’s all.”
You swallowed.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he promised. “You should go to sleep, okay?”
You didn’t answer.
Dex kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then your lips, so gently you almost started crying again.
“Try,” he whispered, because he knew you were so, so tired. “Just try for me.”
You nodded, barely.
Dex eventually eased himself away, slowly and careful, leaving the blanket tucked around your shoulders and the chair braced beneath the broken door.
The bathroom light stayed off, and the door stayed open.
Water ran low in the sink.
You appreciated it more than you could say. The sound filled the little apartment gently, not enough to crowd your head, not enough to become another thing pressing at the inside of your skull. Just enough to give your mind somewhere simple to latch on to.
Dex didn’t need to read minds to know that running water settled you the same way fire did. It had the same white-noise hush. It had the same clear, constant sound that didn’t want anything from you. Fire and water didn’t think. It didn’t feel. It didn’t ask to be understood.
It just moved.
And Dex knew that. He knew you.
So you laid there in the dark, still hurting, still broken in places you could not name, but now, you were present.
You took a shaky breath.
For a while, there was only the water running low in the bathroom sink and Dex moving quietly through the dark.
You could hear him in pieces.
You heard the careful pass of his hands under the faucet, the soft drag of fabric as he wiped his face. The small, practical thoughts he kept lining up for tomorrow.
Cabin first thing.
Full tank of gas.
No tunnel.
Back roads.
Blanket in the passenger seat.
Radio off unless she asks.
Two weeks.
Just me and her.
You focused on him. On the shape of his mind. On the tenderness he had no idea how to say without turning it into a plan, a route, a locked door, a fixed window. Even now, Dex was thinking about firewood and the bedroom window and whether the car heater would be too loud for you in the morning.
It made you smile.
Then… oh.
Something else reached you. Someone else.
It wasn’t Dex; this thought came from outside.
It was a thought that came from out the street, clear and heavy through the thin glass:
I hope I’m doing the right thing.
Your eyes opened. For one second, you lay very still beneath the blanket.
Dex was still in the bathroom. But outside, across the street, Matt Murdock had not gone far.
You got up slowly and turned your head toward the window.
The curtain hadn’t been pulled perfectly shut. There was a narrow gap where city light slipped through, pale and dirty against the floor. You shifted, leaning just enough to see past it.
There he was, across the street, half-shadowed beneath a streetlamp, hood pulled up, face tilted toward the building like he was still listening to the apartments.
Matt Murdock stood there with one foot turned away and the rest of him refusing to follow.
He was hesitating.
His thoughts were still loud, but not loud like before.
It was no longer crashing through you with suspicion and anger and judgment. This was different. His thoughts now were coherent, almost. They came to you in pieces, clear enough to understand.
Benjamin Poindexter is still a dangerous man.
I shouldn’t leave him with her.
But she asked me to leave.
But she’s calmer when he’s near.
Your throat tightened.
Matt’s thoughts vibrated around the shape of Dex, for lack of a better word. There was still blood there, grief there, a wound so deep it had a name you didn’t touch because it hurt even from a distance.
But there was something else in his thoughts now, too.
You.
Because you could read minds, you knew he had heightened senses, and you knew you didn’t have to speak loudly to reach him. You only had to speak clearly.
So you turned your face toward the narrow gap in the curtain, toward the street where Matt Murdock stood beneath the weak glow of a lamp, and whispered into the dark, “I know what he is.”
Across the street, Matt went completely still.
You saw the subtle lift of his head, the tightening through his shoulders. His attention snapping back to your window because he could feel where you were.
He heard you. You knew he did.
You curled your fingers into the blanket.
“But he’s not that to me.”
Matt didn’t move.
You could feel his mind presently listening now. Not as Daredevil. Not as the man who had kicked down the door. Not as someone trying to decide what kind of danger you were.
“He loves me,” you whispered.
Matt’s thoughts shifted.
He does. Even a blind man could see that.
The thought came so clearly it almost hurt.
You blinked, tears slipping sideways into your hair. “He’s good to me.”
You remembered him now, when it was Dex’s hand that unlocked the cuff, how he put his jacket over your shoulders. You thought about the cabin and the chair beneath the broken door. That man was in the bathroom, washing up with the door open because he promised he wouldn’t leave you alone.
You breathed in, shaky but steadier. “He’s a good man for me.”
Across the street, Matt’s face changed.
It was a small, tiny furrow of the brow. But then you heard the thought that followed.
I believe you.
Your breath hitched
Above all the doubt, above all the grief, above all the things Matt Murdock would never be able to forgive, that one thought came through clean.
I believe you.
Not Dex.
You.
He believed you knew what you were saying. He believed you were not trapped. He believed you understood the man beside you better than anyone else in the city possibly could.
And maybe that was the most Matt could give.
You, behind the glass, exhausted and half-broken in Dex’s bed.
Matt, across the street, carrying a truth he didn’t want and yet couldn’t put down.
Because maybe Benjamin Poindexter was not only defined by violence. Maybe there was something else buried deep under him, warped and wounded and difficult to look at, but human anyway.
A person.
Someone capable of loving. Someone, somehow, worthy of being loved.
Matt didn’t forgive him. But for the first time, he saw him differently.
Then he lowered his head and gave you a small nod.
Then Matt Murdock turned away.
This time, he truly left.
You watched until the dark took him, until his thoughts faded into the rest of New York and you could no longer separate him from the city.
But you knew.
You knew that Matt was starting to look at the man you loved differently.
— end.
Extra Note : Like the reader in this story, we all have good days and bad days. Please remember that needing help doesn’t make you weak, broken, or too much. It just makes you human. If you are struggling, please reach out to someone you trust or contact a crisis/support service in your area. You deserve care, patience, and support on your bad days too, lovelies! 🫶💕❤️
Summary: When you have a flashback to your sexual assault mid sex with Jack, he helps you through it. (Please note: Jack does not trigger the flashback and is not inside reader when the flashback truly happens. Nothing sexual happens during or after the flashback.)
AN: You don’t need to relate to anything about this piece or have been assaulted to read it, and honestly, I really truly hope that this will be a piece nobody relates to, or at least an incredibly niche piece that few relate to, but statistically and experientially, I know that’s probably not the case. I hope that if this is something you’re able relate to or that resonates with you, it helps make you feel a little seen or understood, or less alone and that it brings you some comfort. I realize this won’t necessarily be what everyone needs after something like this, or won’t be what’s needed each time, but if it helps one person then it was worth it. And I hope we can all try to listen to Jack and what he has to say because he’s right.
Given the subject matter and potential for even warnings to be triggering I’m putting the warnings under the cut too. I did a much more detailed warning write up given the content. It’s probably too much but I thought it was much better to over disclose than under disclose. If you don’t have any concerns and don’t need as thorough of warnings there’s a more typical summary of CWs towards the top. Please take care of yourself when deciding whether to read, and if you have any questions about content while deciding please don’t hesitate to reach out so I can try and help and provide more info if needed! Thank you so much for reading! ♥️
I tried to do as little description of the assault and perpetrator (criminal) as possible so that it could fit as many personal experiences as possible and so that it would at least have the potential to be less triggering since there would be no description or things described to think of, so there is deliberately very, very little description of any of that. Similarly there is very, very little detail, if any, about how reader feels during the assault, physically or emotionally/psychologically. The piece is closer to it just being said that reader relives their assault (but not completely).
CWs: Jack does not trigger the flashback; Jack is not inside reader when the flashback happens; reader relives their sexual assault (not really described); adrenaline crash; panic attack; sobbed screams; negative self-talk; self-hate; guilt; self-blaming; self-gaslighting; crying; feelings of being undeserving; Jack is annoyed with his disability for a second; showering together; snuggling in bed; kissing; PIV at the beginning (largely not described and brief and nothing sexual after the flashback); mention of nightmares; PTSD flashback; reader thinks of themselves as broken/dirty/tainted/trash; reader starts to blame themself; fluffy ending; no use of y/n.
Reader has PTSD. This is the first time reader has a flashback while in a relationship with Jack and first time having one is at least one and a half years. Reader has been to therapy. Jack calls reader Sweetheart and Baby.
Reader and Jack are having sex at the beginning and Jack is described as fucking them. There is very very little description of that sex, only really that Jack is making reader feel good, reader is breathless and has lost track of time, Jack is lost in reader and reader turns their neck so Jack can kiss and suck at it (but he never does), so it doesn’t start as full blown smut. Reader’s trigger is described (rain drops at an angle on a window). Jack does not do anything to trigger the flashback. Jack is not inside or touching reader when the flashback truly happens, he is sitting next to them in bed.
The feelings/emotions of feeling a flashback coming on and knowing that it’s going to happen and being helpless and unable to do anything to stop it are described. Reader has a total and complete flashback to their sexual assault where they’re completely not in the present and in the past. The feelings/emotions of a flashback are described. Mention that reader has had nightmares previously. Reader is described as being back where it happened with ‘him’ (the perpetrator), but nowhere is described nor is he described. Reader’s assault is not really described, there’s nothing specific about what did or did not happen, just that they were assaulted and it is contextually obvious that it was a sexual assault. Reader starts saying/mumbling the same things they said at the time of the assault (not to Jack, just into the air), but what they said and are repeating isn’t specified. Reader’s brain is described as reconstructing the night of the assault in perfect, vivid detail, but no details are described. While reader is flashing-back they’re re-living their assault and feeling and experiencing the same emotions, however, those emotions and feelings aren’t really described. Reader is described as feeling the way they felt right after the assault.
Reader is described as having laid in the room where their assault occurred after it was over and being cold. Reader thinks that Jack should be uncomfortable around them and their body briefly. Reader doesn’t want to be alone after the flashback. The perpetrator is described as looking and sounding completely different from Jack. Reader is described as feeling like they’re in a place kind of in between the past and present. Reader also thinks and talks about how they could ‘feel’ the perpetrators hands touching them but actually feeling it isn’t described. Reader is described as feeling like they have a kind of layer of dirt on them after the flashback is over. Reader struggles with negative self thoughts and self-hate about putting Jack through this and worries a lot that Jack will feel responsible when he wasn’t (he doesn’t and the focus doesn’t shift to him). Readers refers to/thinks of themself as irreparably broken and fucked up, tainted and dirty, and calls and thinks of themself as damaged goods. Reader starts to blame themself. Reader thinks of themself as something that should be thrown away and replaced.
Reader allows Jack to touch them and seeks out Jack’s touch immediately after the flashback (they come fully back to the present and immediately climb into Jack’s lap while they’re still naked), not at all sexual touch, there’s nothing sexual after the flashback, but they do shower together and Jack does wash reader for them (has his hands on them), there is some kissing (chaste, some lingering) but no making out, and they do snuggle and cuddle in bed naked. Reader kind of starts to self-harm a little-ish but not with the conscious objective of self-harming. Reader has the shower hot enough to cause some tingling, light pain that helps them clear their mind. Reader and Jack discuss their sex life because reader is worried that Jack will be afraid to ever have sex with them again and then is upset they’re even worried about that and feel hypocritical. Reader worries this will change their relationship. Fluffy ending. Jack is the best.
You don't remember when exactly your eyes closed.
You don't remember when you started feeling breathless despite breathing hard. You're not really sure how long Jack's been fucking you and making you feel this fucking good.
Jack, however, he knows exactly how long it’s been, exactly how long he’s been completely fucking lost in you. Because he is. Totally and completely lost in and to you.
You let your eyes flutter back open as you roll your head to the side to invite Jack to kiss and suck at your neck.
You wish you hadn't.
God you really fucking wish you hadn't.
Because the curtains are open and it's raining and rain drops hit the glass of the window at a bit of an angle from the wind. And that's all it takes.
Rain drops.
Rain drops at an angle on a window.
Something that should be innocuous. Mundane. Even beautiful in its own way perhaps.
But it’s not. It’s paralyzing. Terrifying. Panic and flashback inducing.
And that’s bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit. And unfair. Completely un-fucking-fair.
Rain drops at an angle on a window.
That’s all it takes tonight.
Un-fucking-believable.
Reality starts to slip as the wrong groups of neurons start to reactivate in competition with those firing to keep you in the present. And you're aware of it. Aware of the memories flooding back. Aware of the fact that pretty soon the worst group of neurons is going to take over your mind and you're not going to be here in the present anymore. Aware of the fact that even though you know it's coming there's nothing you can do to stop it.
You turn your face back so that it's no longer on one side and you aren't looking out the window. Jack feels your body stiffen as you do and it throws him. You've never stiffened like this before. And Jack knows you, knows everything about you, your past, your present, your dreams for the future. Maybe it's overkill and unnecessary, and fuck is he praying it's both and he's about to be met with a huffed and confused 'what the fuck?' from you, but Jack stills and pushes himself up, pulls out of you and gently sets your legs on the bed, moves your hands off him and rests on his knees between your legs.
When you don't make a sound in response and Jack gets a good look at your face, when he's able to look you in the eyes, he knows he was right and he fucking hates it. "Sweetheart? Can I do anything?" As he's asking, Jack moves on his knees so that he's no longer between your legs but to your side sitting on his knees, not a single inch of him touching you, his movements slow to not startle you and make things worse.
You look up at him and track his face as he moves to the side of you, open and shut your mouth a few times trying to force out words, something to explain what you know is about to happen. But you can't, your mind at once so horrifically present but also so far away.
There's no need for words though. Your eyes reveal everything to Jack, reflect the terror and helplessness you're feeling. They tell him you know what's about to happen and are terrified of it and helpless to stop it.
And Jack can see it happen the way you can feel it happen. Your mind rebuilds that night and puts you right back there. Jack perches on his knees next to you, anxiety making him feel icy, a sense of dread consuming him further with every passing second as he watches your eyes glaze over more and more, get that far away look to them that tells him that even though you're looking at him still, you're not truly looking at him, not truly seeing him.
Your head turns back and your eyes find the ceiling, looking at it, but not seeing it. Because you're simply not in the present anymore, not to any degree. Brains are, unfortunately in this case, very powerful things.
Yours reconstructs that night in perfect, vivid detail. Has you back there with him. Back where it happened with that man.
Words finally fall from your lips, things you said that night repeated in the same exact tone with the same exact emotions flooding you, tears streaming down the sides of your face.
Jack knows you're not here with him in the present anymore, except for maybe the smallest shard of your mind that's aware enough to know what's happening and berate you about it, but not enough to do anything to help or stop it. He recognizes the way you're no longer in the present with him anymore on your face and in your eyes, he fucking watched it happen, he knows he did, your words just further confirmation.
Jack knows you're not here with him because he's been there. He's slipped into many flashbacks that are so deep and consuming that the present ceased to exist, that he truly relived what happened, saw it and felt it and smelled it and tasted it and heard it. And there are only a few things in the world that horrify Jack as much as just the thought of you reliving your assault, let alone it actually happening.
This has never happened before, you've never had a true flashback like this in the year and a half you've been together. You've had nightmares and there have been moments you've started to slip. You've talked about it with Jack, extensively, he knows most of the details. He's held you when you’ve sobbed, when you've come completely unglued, broken all the way down and in need of help to keep yourself above water. But this hasn’t happened before.
And while Jack trusts himself to handle most things, trusts his instincts, he is completely uncertain about how to help you right now, about what to do and how to do it and what to say. He knows how high the stakes are and the absolute last thing he wants is to make this worse for you. To re-traumatize you or cause new trauma.
He can't even really draw on experience because up until you got together he'd been alone for most of his flashbacks, and his are so much different than yours. He decides to start simple, calls your name just loudly enough to not be quiet, but not startlingly loud he hopes, keeps his voice firm, something for your mind to wrap around and hang onto, but still so very soft and loving.
Jack's call of your name doesn't reach you, your mind still lost in the flashback. He considers getting up to turn the overhead light on but hesitates because he doesn't know if the light will make it worse for you or if his sudden movement to turn it on will make it worse. Touching you to try and pull you back to the present is out of the question. He will not touch you without your express permission or you asking or instigating touch until you’re ready. "Sweetheart." He says it a little louder than before, follows it with your name again.
Your tears stop and you're quiet for a few seconds and Jack thinks it might be over, that you might be coming back to. But you aren't. He can tell by your mumbles and the look on your face. You're still there, still in the past.
"Hey, Sweetheart, you're here with me. With Jack. Your Jack." It's his name that does it, that breaks through just enough so that the memory at least stops and you're no longer reliving the actual assault, just laying in that room like you did after. Your head turns just slightly, just enough to bring Jack into view, and beneath the glaze of your eyes Jack sees the smallest flicker of recognition. He knows he looks much, much different from the man, thinks if he can get you to see him and focus on him it'll help. He stays sitting on his knees and doesn't move closer, doesn't want you to feel like he's looming over you or trying to invade your space or going to touch you. "Can you focus on me, Sweetheart? Just keep looking at me."
Your eyes dart around his face, the glazed look to them fading just slightly. You're not in the present all the way, but you're not back there all the way anymore either, feel like you're in some sort of liminal place where you're not reliving what happened but you're still feeling most of the emotions, still not able to fully come back to Jack, but are able to say his name. "Jack?" you whisper.
"Yeah, Baby, it's me. You're here at home in bed with me." Your eyes start to wander from his and he calls you back gently. "Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, okay? Look right at me. See me." Jack wants to fall apart for a whole host of reasons, his mind spinning a thousand miles a minute, but knows he can't, knows it isn't about him right now. It's about you and helping you and being your rock, helping you get through and process this flashback and its fallout, whatever that might end up being. "It's me. You're here in our home, in our bed with me. Nobody is hurting you right now. You're safe and you're loved here in our bed with me."
You swallow hard but do as he says and keep looking at him as rays of the present hit your consciousness. "I…" You're not sure what to say, how to explain what happened when you're still not fully with him. "I went… back there, I don't…"
"I know Sweetheart, you had a flashback. I know, I promise I know and understand and you don't need to try and explain." He nods at you, hopes his eyes read as reassuring. "And I know you're not completely out of it and back with me all the way yet. Is there anything I can do to help right now?"
"I…" you start.
But your brain is too fuzzy to come up with more. You're too confused as the past fades and reality comes back, as the familiar paint coating the walls of your and Jack's bedroom comes back into your peripheral, as you feel the perfectly comfortable mattress you and Jack had so much fun picking out together beneath you. Too confused by the sudden gentle silence punctuated by the sounds of you and Jack breathing and the rustle of soft sheets. Too confused by the scent from the diffusing reeds you and Jack keep on your dresser, the woody undercurrent of his cologne and laundry detergent and your body wash suddenly filling your nose again. Too confused by the feeling of being covered in a thick, suffocating, invisible layer of dirt left by that man. Too confused by the feeling of being irreparably broken and tainted.
The emotional and psychological pain start to intensify, still too subconscious for you to truly realize just how much so right now. The pain intensifies because you're not just going through this yourself anymore, not just putting yourself through this anymore. A dark, blighted piece of your brain whispers that you're putting Jack through this, making him deal with this and with you, making him feel responsible for this, like it's his fault, like he broke and tainted you, when really he just received damaged goods.
It won't be pretty when that hits your consciousness.
"I don't know?" you finally whisper. You don't know why you pose it as a question, that's just how it comes out, how you force the words out of your mouth.
"Okay," Jack nods, voice steady and reassuring, "that's okay. You know I'm not inside of you anymore, right? And that I’m not touching you?"
The question almost feels selfish, like he's trying to soothe himself somehow even when Jack knows that's not what he's doing, not why he's asking. He knows you can see him next to you, are present enough to talk to him. But he sees the way your eyes are still so glazed over even with the flickers of recognition that peak through, knows that while you can see him now and have an anchor back in the present your mind is, at best, in that space in between past and present.
And he knows how disorienting and confusing that space can be, how disorienting and confusing coming out of a flashback and back to the present can be in general. So before anything else he wants you to hear it, wants to make sure you really know that you're alone in your body right now, that you’re in control of it.
"Yeah." Your voice raises just slightly above a whisper. "I knew before." You don't need to say more, Jack understands. You knew he was before you slipped into the flashback, something that relieves him immensely, as selfish as that sounds and feels. He knows it probably didn't help anything at all, but he’s glad it didn't hurt anything either. He’s glad he is, hopefully, still a safe place for you.
“Okay, good, I’m glad. And I’m not going to touch you without your permission or you asking me to, okay?” He keeps his voice calm and light but with something that makes it clear he understands the gravity of the situation and he isn’t trying to be condescending, just reassuring and making sure you know you’re safe.
You feel stuck in limbo, not back there but not fully in the present. You're stuck floating in a kind of no man's land, feeling and thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. It's peaceful in a way, especially in comparison to where you just were and how you know you're going to feel once the present slams back into you. But it doesn't feel good. It's a state of constantly feeling confused and like you've forgotten something important while also knowing that you haven't.
"Yeah.” Your voice drops back to a whisper. “If you're uncomfortable…" There should be an end to that sentence and you know it. But you can't think of one so you hope it's enough for him to know he can leave if he wants. Because you think he should want to. You think he should be uncomfortable around you and your body.
"I'm comfortable where I'm at, Sweetheart," Jack murmurs. It dawns on him though. Maybe you need him to leave. Maybe you don't want to be around a man. That would break his heart only because he wants to comfort you but of course he would understand and never force you to be around him. "But at the same time, what's the most comfortable for me right now is what’s the most comfortable for you. So if you need me to go I can. I can leave the room and sleep in the spare for as long as you need me to. I can go to Robby's. I can call a friend for you, whatever you need, you've got it."
"No!" Panic sparks through you but it's dampened in the weirdest way because you're still not out of it, still not back. But the rush of hormones sent speeding through your system sure helps speed up your reconnection with the present in the worst way. "Please don't go," you whisper. A few tears slide down the sides of your face and you start to tremble just a little, the adrenaline crash finally slowly starting to build. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please don't leave me here alone. Please stay."
The drive to scoop you into his arms and hold you close and never let you go is visceral for Jack, is something he's actively fighting against because he knows he can't do that right now. He thought he'd felt pretty helpless and powerless before, but all of this tonight has been a new fucking level of the two, far above anything he’d felt previously. And he knows it's absolutely nothing in comparison to how you're feeling right now and how you felt that night.
"Sweetheart, it's okay, don't apologize." He rests his hands on his thighs and grips a little so that he doesn't instinctively reach out for you. "You have nothing to apologize for. I just want to do what's best for you and what you need."
You think about it. Or at least you try to. What you need.
But there's nothing there in your brain. You can't catch any thought long enough to hold onto it and do anything with it. You start breathing faster and trembling harder, your panic intensifying at your inability to fucking think. "I don't…know. I, I don't…"
Jack can see the panic you're feeling intensify even as your tears dry. Your breathing continues to get faster and both of you know panicking now is going to make it so much worse when you finally find footing in the present again. Jack's torn, doesn't know what to do, doesn't want to make anything worse. But Jack knows you. And beneath everything you are still in there. His you. So he's going to do what you wanted to beg a lot of people to do after it happened. He's going to treat you like you.
And, generally, you like his touch when you're panicking and not feeling well physically or mentally. He makes the slightest adjustment to what he would normally do with you and asks. "Can I touch you? Just your hand."
"Of course," you mumble. And you mean it. And you want it. Want his touch. Want the feeling of that man's touch replaced.
It feels too automatic for Jack's liking. Too perfunctory.
"It's not a given, ever. You don't owe me that, owe me the ability to touch you, anywhere in any way. I need your permission, Sweetheart, not your acquiescence." He lets his words linger for just a second. "Is it okay for me to touch your hand right now and bring it to touch my chest?"
You nod at him. "Yes."
"Okay, thank you." Jack grabs your hand that's closest to him and shifts forward on his knees a little, still keeps them from touching you. He brings your hand to his chest and flattens your palm against his warm skin before he rests his hand on top of yours. "This okay?" You nod and he can see some of the fog clear from your eyes, knows that you truly mean your silent yes. "Breathe with me, okay? You're safe. I'm not going anywhere unless or until you tell me to. What else can I do?"
"Talk." The thought finally hits you. You let out a shaky breath as your fingertips press into his chest gently. "Keep talking. Your voice is so different than, than… than his was. So just talk please, it doesn't matter about what."
Talk. Jack can do that. Easily. If there's one thing he can do, it's talk. He shifts so that he's sitting on his ass with his legs crossed, his hand still holding yours to his chest to help you coregulate. "I can do that. I love you. I hope you know that. I was thinking we should go on vacation again soon, maybe Italy or Greece. Maybe both. It could be a good mix of going and doing and seeing and then relaxing on the beach and taking it slower before we come back. Or maybe Spain or Portugal. Or both. You could get some new cute outfits, get your nails done and some new shoes before we went. But I'm also more than happy taking some time off and just having a staycation, or going somewhere close by. Even renting a nice hotel room here in the City so it feels different and gets us out of the house."
Your eyes become more and more present as Jack talks, the glaze to them fades. "I was also going to ask you tomorrow if you could make me those cookies," he drops his voice and gives you an almost sheepish look with big puppy dog eyes. "I've just been craving them and I know it's kind of silly but as much as I love having them to take to work when I'm on, there's something about having them here when I'm off. I can't explain it. I'm not even going to try because it doesn't really make sense," he chuckles.
Jack knows the present is seconds away from slamming back into you by the way you blink and shift a little on the bed before sitting up. He has no idea what it's going to look like for you, how you'll react and what you'll need from him. He loosens the press of his palm to the back of your chest so that if you need to pull your hand away quickly it's easier to. He has a feeling he knows how you might react based on the trauma you just relived and how it’s gone when the two of you have spoken about it before and extrapolating from how he reacts when he comes back to from a deep, consuming flashback like that.
He keeps talking like you asked. "Whatever happens next it's okay, Sweetheart. No matter what, I promise. We'll get you through it somehow, someway, even thought it might absolutely fucking suck and be awful and not feel worth going through just to get out of it. Nothing you feel, other than loved by me, will be permanent. The feelings will fade out and I'll be here with and for you through all of it unless you tell me to go."
Jack sees the moment it happens, your eyes moving to the left before moving side to side almost like you're reading. And even though you've been through this before nothing will ever quite prepare you for what it's like to have the present slam back into you. "Oh my god," you mumble, brain flooding with suddenly articulable and understandable thoughts that are flying a million miles a minute. They all drop out suddenly though as the memory of what you just went through, what you just relived hits you. As the memory of what you went through that night hits you again.
Nausea crashes into your stomach as your visceral horror at reliving it crashes into you, as all the emotions you felt after it happened that night do, as you realize you feel like you did after it happened that night and as the adrenaline crash finally hits you harder than you think one has ever hit you before.
You let out a shuddery and broken whimpered breath, your upper back arching and chest caving inward like you've been hit in the chest and had the breath knocked from your lungs. Your eyes find Jack’s again, your hand not on his chest slaps over your mouth as you look at him and shake your head a little, the horror and terror you feel coloring your eyes.
"Oh my god Jack." A single tear leaks from both of your eyes and you let out a muffled scream into your hand as it all settles into your brain and body.
And then you break, every piece of you shattering as you start to sob uncontrollably, your body shaking all the same while you're stuck in place for a moment, your hand against his chest almost clawing at it because you need him, need him closer and holding you and to feel his hands on you and to be in his arms, the safest place in the world for you.
The second your body allows it you're scrambling into Jack's lap, his hand coming off yours so that he can hold his arms open for you. You sit sideways, wrap your arms around him and bury your face into the side of his neck as you cling to him. He's caught off guard by the move, wasn't sure you'd want to be touched, but he also knows he has absolutely no fucking way to try and imagine or anticipate what you might want or need because he's never been in anything close to your position, has absolutely no frame of reference outside of your shared PTSD diagnoses.
Jack isn't sure whether to wrap his arms around you, he doesn't want to deny you any comfort or reassurance you might be seeking but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he made you feel violated in some way, if he touched you when you didn’t want to be touched. "Sweetheart," he says just loud enough for you to hear through your sobs, "do you want me to…?"
It takes a second for you to find a break in between your fully sobs into his neck. "Please," you finally choke out. If you had more words, more brain capacity and more composure you'd try to explain why. Try to tell him that in his arms is where you feel the safest and reminds you that you're loved and replaces the feelings of the unwanted touch your mind just made you feel over again. Try to explain that you were so alone after it happened, so cold and alone and comfortless, that being comforted by his warmth while he protects you and keeps you safe and loves you reminds you that you aren't there when you start to slip back for a second.
"Always," Jack murmurs as he wraps his arms around you tightly, scoots on his ass until he's resting against a pillow and the headboard. He pulls the comforter up around the both of you, remembers you saying once that you were so cold after, once it was over. The sweetness of it almost emphasizes the cruelty of what happened to you, what you just relived and another sobbed scream rips from your throat, muffled this time by Jack's neck.
"Alright, shh, okay, okay, Sweetheart," Jack soothes you, one hand holding the back of your head and the other rubbing up and down your back as he starts to rock you side to side. "I've got you, I've got you. You're safe here, I promise."
You cling to Jack as he holds you like that, rocks you back and forth and whispers reassurances and kisses the top of your head while you sob and scream into him almost violently in some ways. He's steady through all of it, through every scream and choked out description of how awful it was and what happened to you and what that man did to you, through every intense shake as the adrenaline crash works with everything else going on to destroy your body and mind.
None of it is new information, you've talked about it, told him about it before while calm. But it still breaks Jack's heart all over again. And hearing it through your screamed sobs makes Jack hurt worse than he ever thought possible, tears stinging his eyes at many points, all of it exacerbated by his knowledge that his pain is at best a small fraction of yours.
It's not about him though and he knows it, isn't going to try and make it about him. There's not going to be a play to usurp what happened to you or to take your pain for his own or to make you comfort him. His heart breaks and he hurts simply because his partner, the love of his life, is hurting so deeply and that hurts him, especially when he can't really make it better.
"May-Maybe he wouldn't have done it if I, if, if I had just, just-"
Jack stops you before you can even finish forming your sentence, wishes he could've stopped you before you even formed the thought because he's sure it's one you've been ruminating on while in his arms. "Baby, I need you to look at me, please." He keeps his voice light even with as serious as it is, makes sure that his words don't come across as a command, that you know you don't have to if you don't want to. He won't pull your head from his neck to get you to look at him.
It takes you a few seconds but eventually you pull your face from your favorite hiding spot from the world and look up at Jack through your tears, stuttered breaths in as you try to maintain the slightest bit of control over your sobs while he talks to you. One of his hands finds your face, fingers delicately wiping away what they can of your tears. He makes sure he has strong eye contact with you before he starts talking. "What happened to you, what he did to you is not your fault. In any way. It is not your fault. You didn't cause it. You didn't contribute to it happening, not even the slightest bit. You didn't ask for it in any way. There is nothing you could have done to prevent it or to stop it. Absolutely nothing. It happened to you, not because of you."
"Your mind is wrong, all the thoughts and ideas it comes up with about how you could've prevented or stopped it, all the things it tells you that you could've done or said, or not done or said, it's wrong, I promise you. All the should’ves, could’ves, and would’ves are wrong. It doesn't matter how logical or realistic the thoughts seem, your brain is just wrong." He pauses to let his words linger between you, give you a chance to really take them in. "And I know me saying it is easy and you believing it and accepting it isn't, I know my words don't just make it better immediately, that you might not be able to believe them right now, to any degree. I don't expect them to make it better or fix things or calm you down and make everything you're feeling go away. I just wanted you to hear the words."
Jack's words are everything. Even though he's already told you them before, multiple times, they're still everything. Everything to you. Everything you needed to hear and then some, even though in a lot of ways it doesn't feel like they make any difference if you're honest. You're too escalated, too worked up and too convinced that it was, at least in part, your fault. That you did something or said something.
Deep down though, you know he's right. After a lot of therapy, most of the time you agree with him. This is just one of those times where you're struggling to. Because it's one of those times where the weight of it, of what happened to you sits so heavily on your mind and heart and body that all reason and logic are gone, your brain grasping for anyway to make sense of what happened or to explain it, even if that means blaming yourself. And you know Jack understands, that you don't need to explain.
You nod at him, it's all you can do. You hope that your eyes say it all for you, thank him and you needed to hear that and you believe him, it's just hard to accept but you're trying, and you love him.
You curl yourself back into him, face finding his neck again as you continue to sob. They trail off eventually though, replaced by sniffles and big racked breaths, hiccuped ones and ones that sound almost like sobs but aren't quite. You can feel the numbness that always seems to follow a big cry coming for you but it's like it can't quite get to you. In the minute or two of relative calm you get, the exhaustion sets in and you're pretty sure you're just out of tears and too exhausted to cry any more. You're glad really, your brain chastising you for how unfair this is to Jack.
But that makes the realization that Jack's here and saw you like that, truly in a flashback for the first time, slam into you. The realization that what happened to you has impacted your relationship with Jack hits you. The realization that you were having sex when you got triggered and started going back there and so Jack might think it's his fault or that he caused this hits you. And so your body finds it within you to start crying again, to sob as you choke out, "I'm sorry," over and over again to a slightly confused Jack.
"Shh, Sweetheart," Jack's arm shifts to hold you a little closer as his other hand keeps moving up and down your back. He has a feeling he knows what you're apologizing for. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're allowed to need this and to do this, have this catharsis and cry it out. It's okay. I'm just glad I'm here for you and you don't have to do this alone."
"No, I, I, I do. I do Jack!" you sob. "I do, I do because, because you prob-probably feel like it's your, your fault and it's not, I sw-swear Jack." You pull your head from his neck, so you can look at him the best you can with tear blurry eyes. "Please, please don't think, think this was your fault, Jack. Or that I, I think you'd ever do something like that to me, because I know, know you wouldn't. I didn't think it was you. And I don't, I don't," you take in a big shuddery breath, unable to really get much oxygen in effectively, "I don't think you're like him, and you don't treat me like, like he did, or make me feel like that, I promise, so please, please don't think it's you." You're begging him through your tears, voice low and anxious. "It was the rain on the win- window," you force out, "not you. Not you. It wasn't you."
Wracking sobs take over your body again but you don't let yourself fall back into Jack's arms all the way because you don't deserve it. You don't deserve him. And he's not going to want you after this, after you made him feel like that, after seeing how broken and fucked up you apparently still are.
"Sweetheart, I know," Jack murmurs. He picks his voice up a little, calm and steady and grounding. Reassuring. "I didn't think any of that for a second. I know PTSD, I know what it's like, how it can feel like it hits out of absolutely nowhere. I know what those flashbacks are like and that you were truly back there and not in the present with me."
"I promise you that I don't think it was my fault, or that you thought it was me, or that you think I treat you like him, or make you feel like him, or think I'm like him or that I'd do that to you. I don't think any of those things, no matter what your mind is telling you, I promise. I promise." His voice is almost as pleading as yours. The last thing he wants you worrying about and feeling bad about right now is him and how he feels. "It's okay. It was a flashback. I'm not minimizing that at all but it was a flashback Sweetheart and I promise I understand, I really do. You know I do. I know what it feels like and what it means and how much it fucks up your brain and your body and I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I know none of it was about me. And I've got you, okay? I've got you."
You're not entirely convinced but your brain is at the stage where it's ping ponging around, finding every possible thing to worry about. So it jumps to something else now.
"I just couldn't," you sniffle hard, "I couldn't pull myself out of there and now, now…" You trail off as you start to choke on the big hiccuped breaths you're almost gulping down. "Now you're going to be scared to have sex with me ever again." Your voice is as high-pitched with sorrow and anxiety as Jack as ever heard it. "And I've ruin-ruined it all. I've ruined everything. I've ruined us." Your voice cracks on the last word as an intense sob leaves you because you're sad. You're so fucking sad at the thought and the realization.
"No, Sweetheart, you haven't," Jack is quick to start reassuring you. "Not at all, not even the smallest bit. We're okay, I promise you. Nothing has changed between us, nothing at all." You shake your head at him, unable to believe it, that this hasn't ruined everything, that you haven't ruined your relationship. "Nothing has changed. I'm not going to be scared to have sex with you ever again. We're okay. I know how consuming and real and believable the thoughts your mind is telling you are right now, but I promise you they're not true. You haven't ruined anything, least of all us."
You whimper as you keep shaking your head and shrug, your eyes still locked on his, tears getting more out of control in a way that tells Jack you're starting to truly exhaust out. "You haven't, Baby, I promise." One of your hands lays limp in your lap, fell from around him at some point when you stopped feeling like you deserved to have him or his comfort. Jack takes your hand slowly, watches your reaction carefully as he brings it up to his chest and takes some exaggerated breaths so you can really feel the movement of his chest under your palm. "Breathe for me, yeah? Breathe with me. Just keep looking at me."
You do, in large part because you've finally hit a place where your head is so fuzzy that you don't know what to do so you latch onto the instruction, let Jack talk you through calming down, focus on the feeling of his chest under your hand and his low gravely voice that you love.
"There you go," he murmurs as you quiet, only sniffles and the occasional stray tear left. Your eyes are incredibly swollen and bloodshot, and Jack knows you must be exhausted. "Here, let's get you cleaned up."
Jack reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the box of tissues off it, pulls one out and starts wiping at your tear soaked face. When he grabs a new tissue and you hold your hand out for it he gives it to you, lets you blow your nose and finish getting yourself cleaned up how you want. He gives the smallest smile to himself when you take a fresh tissue and wipe his neck where you'd sobbed into it. A couple of stray tears fall down your face as you do and he's quick to grab a tissue of his own and wipe them away before setting the box back on the nightstand and grabbing his water bottle.
"Will you have some water for me?" Jack asks as he takes the lid off his bottle with one hand and holds it up toward your mouth but not too close. "It'll make you feel a little better." He doesn't have to say that you cried enough to contribute to dehydration. You're pretty sure you’re feeling it already and he's gently told you enough times after you've cried now that you just know. And you know he's right. Even if it's not much, it will make you feel at least a little better especially because the water in his bottle is always ice cold.
You nod and bring your hands up to his, wrap one over the top of his where it holds the bottle and one around his wrist, let him help you drink because even though you feel like you don't deserve it, know you don't deserve it, it still feels nice to be taken care of how he takes care of you in all these little ways and tiny moments. When you've finally had enough you move your hands and nod, help him get the cap screwed back on.
"Thank you, Sweetheart," he murmurs to you as he reaches over and sets the water bottle back on the nightstand. He means it both for having some water and helping with the cap. You know, and you know you should thank him but you can't quite find the words.
You blink up at him owlishly when he looks back at you, purse your lips slightly and tilt your head just a little and he knows. Jack knows you're saying thank you and not just for the water. The edges of his lips quirk upward and his eyes soften more at the edges to tell you that you're welcome.
"Kiss?" The way he words the question is deliberate. He could have asked for a kiss, can I have a kiss? But he doesn't on purpose because if you're not ready for that he doesn't want you to feel like you're denying him, doesn't want to put any kind of pressure on you. So he poses it neutrally, more like he's asking if you'd like him to give you one.
You nod and the corners of Jack's lips pull upward a little further into a small smile. He leans in and kisses you, chaste and soft and quick but more than enough to silently say he loves you and the two of you are okay and everything is going to be okay no matter what it feels like right now. You chase his lips as he goes to pull back and Jack stills, gives you the handful of additional kisses you seek out. Once you're sated enough with kisses and go to pull away from him, Jack presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, squeezes you gently in his arms where you still sit in his lap.
Your eyes close at the feeling and you try to keep yourself calm and centered, even keel. But the guilt is setting in. The feeling bad and like he could do so much better. Like he should do so much better. You keep your eyes closed for a few seconds after Jack moves his lips, resist the urge to slump into him because, like so many times tonight, the least you can do is look him in the eyes for this.
When you do Jack swears you almost look sheepish in a way, sheepish with a deep sadness, almost a kind of resignation that pierces his heart with something sharp and icy. Your eyes are wet with tears again but Jack already knows these ones will never quite fall, will just linger at your lash line almost taunting you, making you feel like you could lose it again at any moment when in reality you can't in a way. Because you're out of those kinds of tears and the energy it takes for that kind of crying.
"I'm sorry," you whisper after a couple seconds of eye contact. You let out a soft, shaky breath. "I hate that I'm broken. That I'm broken for you Jack, that you're with someone who's broken. I don't get why you want to be with someone who's broken. Who's so fucking broken." Your voice cracks over the words.
Jack keeps the frown that could consume his whole face small. He knows what you mean by broken, that it's not you saying you need help or have fallen apart and need help piecing yourself back together. He knows it's you saying that you're something that can't be fixed, that you're a never ending reconstruction project, that you're difficult. That you're not worth it. That you're something that should be thrown away and replaced.
"Sweetheart," Jack starts just above a murmur, the tone of his voice tells you that Jack knows exactly how you mean the word, "you're not broken."
"You had a flashback but that doesn't make you broken." Jack's hand starts rubbing up and down your back again, his touch firm and warm and more soothing than you think you deserve. His other finds your hand in your lap and holds it, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Being depressed and sad and anxious and mad and hurt and upset about it doesn't make you broken. Not being able to have sex or continue to have sex because of it or needing space or not wanting to be near me because of it doesn't and wouldn't make you broken. Completely shutting down for a while and needing to block out the whole world wouldn't make you broken. That's all human."
He squeezes your hand, eyes so soft and loving and caring it almost makes you feel a bit sick because your brain is still screaming at you that you don't deserve him, that he needs to leave you and go find something better. "Those are all natural reactions to the awful, heinous thing that happened to you. And I know you know that and that it's so easy for me to say all of this, and I promise you, I'm not trying to minimize anything, what you went through or what you felt or feel. I just want and need you to know that you're not broken. No matter how much it feels like it. You're not broken."
"You are so many things, but broken isn't one of them." Jack tilts his head at you just slightly. He doesn't have to think about it, about ways he'd describe you, the words he'd used. They fall off his tongue. "You're witty and intelligent and kind, loyal, to a fault sometimes, selfless, gracious and funny and formidable, tenacious, and spirited, beautiful in every sense, gorgeous. And you're mine. You're not broken." His eyes speak the rest for him. Especially not how you mean.
You shrug shallowly. "Damaged and tainted goods then."
"No," he says a little more firmly, but still so achingly soft and sweet. He hates how much he knows you believe your words are true. "Please don't talk about yourself like that. You're not damaged or tainted because of what happened. I don't see you like that or think about you like that, not at all."
You look away from him finally, not because you're upset or anything, because you're scared he'll realize you're right and you'll have to watch it happen. "That doesn't mean I'm not, Jack. It just means you don't see or think of me like that."
"You're not though," he shakes his head even though you're not looking at him to see it. Jack really, really hopes he isn't saying all the wrong things and fucking this all up. "I know… I know it's easy for me to say and so much harder for you to accept and believe, and I don't want to be saying the wrong things or frustrating you or making you feel unheard or ignored or like I'm being dismissive or minimizing, I just… I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. And again, like I said earlier, I just wanted you to hear the words."
"You're changed, of course you are. That kind of trauma changes you and that's okay. That change doesn't make you broken, or damaged or tainted goods. You have to understand you're the strongest person I know." Your eyes slowly return to his as he speaks and he gives you a soft, thankful smile.
"You've done more than just survive what happened, and surviving alone is an extraordinary feat. You've lived and you've thrived, even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes, or even a lot of the time. You've opened yourself up and trusted the world and people again despite so many valid reasons not to. You've looked a kind of evil nobody should know, a true, unadulterated evil in the eye and you live and you trust and you love and you go on. You trust me and give yourself to me, all of yourself. That all requires strength that few people have, even if to you it just feels like surviving or what you have to do because life and the world have to go on."
"And that's not something I think. That's something I know, even if you don't and you can't believe that, which is okay of course. I know that. And I will spend forever trying to show you that and get you to believe that." He pauses, eyes searching yours for a moment and reflecting the depth of his love for you and his intense honesty and belief in everything he just told you. "I love you."
"I love you too," you whisper.
You let yourself melt into Jack as his arms wrap around you fully again and pull you into him gently, give you permission to take the comfort you want and need from him. You rest your side against him, your head against his chest and your ear pressed against his warm skin so you can listen to his steady heartbeat. You wrap one arm around him and let the other rest on his chest next to your face, your index finger tracing random shapes on his freckled skin through a comfortable, safe, silence that helps you gather some of your thoughts and further regulate.
"It, it's never hit that hard before, I'm sorry." The impulse to explain more and try to somehow make everything better is strong, but your brain simply doesn't have anything left to even begin to try. Both you and Jack know that it's likely that part of the reason it hit harder is because it could. Because you needed it to. Because it could finally hit as hard as you needed it to because you knew that Jack was with you, that he would hold you and keep you safe and wouldn't let you get lost or stuck in your mind. That you wouldn’t have to worry about having to take care of yourself after.
"Please try not to apologize." He says it gently because he knows how hard it is, understands the impulse to. "You have nothing to apologize for or feel bad about, Sweetheart. I know that doesn't mean that you don't feel like you do or feel bad, but in my mind, you don't. I'm not holding any of this against you. I'm not upset or hurt or mad that it happened and you needed me. I'll never be upset by that."
You shrug in his arms, swollen lips pushing out in a pout. "I know," you whisper, "it's just hard."
"I know, Sweetheart," he murmurs back, gives you a little squeeze.
A few moments of silence pass. And it finally feels like a true silence, your brain mostly quiet.
"Hey Jack?" Your voice is quiet, but not whispered.
"Yeah?" He starts rubbing his hand up and down your back again, the perfect pressure in his fingertips to almost give it a massaging quality.
You pull your head from his chest and look up at him. "Thank you." For everything. Those two words go unspoken but both of you know that's what you mean.
"Always," Jack nods with a small smile. "Anytime, anywhere. Whenever you need."
You swallow thickly and nod. Your lips tremble a little as you form your next words but there are no tears in your eyes, just gratitude and devotion, love and thanks, gratefulness and trust, and something that tells him you're thinking about how lucky you are. "Thank you for stopping."
"I'll always stop." He tells you with a nod, holds your eye contact in that serious way he does sometimes because he needs you to hear this again even though he knows you already know it or you wouldn't be together. "I'll always listen to you. It doesn't matter that we've had sex before, or that we've done whatever it is we're doing before. Everything stops the second it's not an enthusiastic yes, the second you're acquiescing and not truly consenting or not able to truly consent, always. I’ll always stop."
You nod, not wanting him to think you doubted him or didn't know that. "I know, I know, I promise. I've known, I've always known. I just wanted to say thank you for that."
He tilts his head at you slightly. "It's not something you need to thank me for."
"No, but…" You let out a breath and shrug. "You know?"
"I do," he nods.
You shift a little, move one hand to play with the curls at the nape of his neck because it soothes you as much as it does him, your other hand resting with your fingertips at the base of his neck, your thumb brushing back and forth over his collarbone. "How did you even know? You, you stopped before I asked or said anything. Before it even, before I was back there, when I could just feel it coming on and knew it was going to happen and that I couldn't fight it off and keep myself here."
Jack takes in a deep breath as he thinks about how to try and explain it. "You stiffened in this way you never have before and your breathing seemed off." He shrugs shallowly, looks away for a second as he thinks about it. "I don't know. I just felt it. I was praying I was wrong and you were going to be like 'hey what the fuck' but I just felt it and knew. I knew there was no yes anymore. You told me with your body when you couldn't with your words."
You hold his gaze for a few seconds before your eyes drag down his face and neck to watch your thumb rub back and forth over his collarbone as you think about that and what it means. Jack had been deep into it when it started to happen, out of his mind and totally fucking lost in you.
And yet he still knew. He still felt it. He still heard you. Heard your body.
That's how safe you are with him, how protective he is, how much he cares about you, how well he knows you, how some little piece of his brain is always in tune with you and watching you to make sure you’re okay. That’s how much he loves you.
You lean up and into him and press your lips against his, the kiss chaste but saying so very much. You let the first kiss linger before giving him another and another, Jack letting you be in full control of how deep the kisses are and how long they last, clearly just happy to feel your lips against his with the contented sigh he breathes through his nose. You know you just said it to each other, but you want and need to tell him again.
"I love you," you whisper against his lips before kissing him again and then pulling away a little to look at him and make sure he knows just how much you mean it.
Jack smiles softly at you. "I love you too, always, no matter what." He rests his forehead against yours. "I mean it," he whispers. He needs you to hear him and to know this hasn't changed anything between the two of you, hasn't changed how he feels about you, how much he loves you and wants you and needs you. "I love you. No matter what."
You didn't realize how much you needed to hear it until Jack says it. "No matter what," you repeat to him, tilt your head up just slightly and give him another achingly sweet kiss.
"What do you need now?" Jack knows you need sleep, that you're exhausted from everything that just happened. But he also knows the chances of you being able to sleep right now are approximately zero. “Or want?”
You close your eyes and pull your forehead from his, let out a long breath. "To shower." Jack can tell there's more you want to say, that you're trying to piece words together in your mind. "I, um. I could feel his, his hands and…" You trail off and shrug shallowly to finish your sentence without finishing it. "I just, I, I need to shower it all off. Feel clean."
"Okay, Sweetheart," he murmurs. "You don't have to explain or justify it to me, you know? It's enough that you want it." Your eyes find his and you nod, lean in and kiss the corner of his jaw because it just feels right. You can feel the soft smile that pulls onto his face at the move and something about it helps you, reassures you that you can still make him smile and aren't just a dark cloud that does nothing but bring him down and torture him.
The thought of you potentially alone in the shower doesn't really thrill him. It makes him worry about you getting too far into your head, you flashing back again while alone, somewhere you could fall and seriously injure yourself. But this is what you're telling him you need and so of course he's going to make sure you get it and get it without any pressure to let him be there. "Want me to go get it started for you?"
Half of you wants to say no because that means he'll be getting up and you won't be safe in his arms anymore. But you really do need to shower and feel clean and let the water wash at least some of the fog from your mind before you try to sleep. And you want to feel Jack's wet, shower warmed skin against yours, want to feel his hands, hands you know, that you'd recognize anywhere, that are wanted, gliding along your skin.
Thinking about that makes you realize what he asked. Want me to get it started for you?
For you.
He never says that, because when he's starting the shower for the both of you it's unnecessary. He must not want to pressure you, must want you to have to say no, actually, you need to shower alone, you need your body to yourself, because he knows how hard of an ask that could potentially be. But you had time with your body to yourself. And after it happened all you had for a while in the cold was your body to yourself. So you just want him and his warmth and his protection and the safety of his arms and his love.
He can tell something is off when you don't answer right away, runs through what he said and how he said it and how he's holding you and where his hands are on you right now trying to identify something wrong.
"Jack?"
"Yeah Baby?"
It takes you a second to find the words, suddenly worried he might say no. That maybe he didn't specify for you because he doesn't want to shower with you for so many potential reasons. "Will you shower with me?" You force the question out, immediately start to qualify it. "It's okay if you don't want to, I, I understand, I'd just…" You don't want to tell him that's what you want, is part of what you need because then you're just forcing him, aren't you? Because how could he say no? You know he would never.
"Hey." The softness of the word cuts off all your thoughts. "Of course. I just wasn't sure if you'd want that and I didn't want you to feel pressured to let me in with you."
"I don't want to be alone," you admit. Or at least it feels like some kind of admission. "And I, I want to be with you. You make it better. You make me feel safe and like I'm okay or at least will be."
Jack feels a huge weight lift from his shoulders at your words, partial relief flooding his system at you saying he makes it better and you feel safe and like you’re okay or will be. "Good. Because you are safe with me and you're going to be okay. We'll get you through this," Jack whispers. "You ready? You can sit on the edge of the tub while I get it going, yeah?"
"Yeah," you nod. You move from his lap to the edge of the bed and stand, start walking in and do as Jack suggested and sit on the edge of the tub.
Jack slides to the edge of the bed after you and grabs his crutches, starts making his way behind you to the bathroom and it's one of those moments that frustrates Jack to no fucking end. He can't carry you into the bathroom. Not easily at least. Not without the entire production of him putting his prosthetic back on even if he doesn't do it completely properly. He can't even hold your hand and guide you to it, can't rest his hand on your lower back or your neck. Presuming you wanted any of that. He fights to keep the frustration off his face and out of his body and the way he crutches because he doesn't want you to think it has anything to do with you.
He turns the shower on a little hotter than the temperature you like and use all the time because he knows you'll want it hot and he's hoping if it's hotter than you expect you won't turn it up even more to borderline scalding. He just doesn't want you to hurt yourself.
Jack feels the water with his hand and turns to you. "It's ready whenever you are." He gets himself in and sits on the bench, gets wet enough to not be cold as he does, the more central waterfall head on for you to stand in. You guys had redone the master bath shortly after you'd moved in, the shower incredibly fancy with multiple shower heads and a nice bench that seats two and doesn't feel clinical at all. You like showering together. It had been more than worth it. As was the best water heater money could buy.
You follow him in and sit on the bench next to him, adjust the shower so that the water falls down over the bench. Jack opens his arms a little to see what you want to do and you move closer to him, press your side against his as his arm wraps around your back, hand resting on your hip. You grab his other hand from his lap and hold it, lay your head against his shoulder with your eyes closed and just breathe as the water rains down on you.
Jack senses that silence is what you need right now, that it's letting you clear your mind and reflect some. And it is and you are. As the fog clears from your mind you smile to yourself just a touch when you recall everything random that Jack said to you when you'd asked him to just keep talking. Jack makes sure the silence doesn't start to get charged, though. Pays even closer and more conscious attention than usual to make sure that you don't get stiff or tense or do anything else that tells him you're starting to slip too far into your mind.
After several long minutes you let out a deep sigh and pick your head up off his shoulder. "I'm going to exfoliate," you tell him as you stand and grab the sugar scrub you use every now and then.
Jack watches intently as you also put on the exfoliating hand mitten you have on and turn the temperature of the water up even further while adjusting the settings to have some falling on him and some where you're standing. Your eyes glance over at him, eyebrows raising slightly to ask if it's too hot. He shakes his head to tell you it's okay, watches you carefully while you start to exfoliate.
As you scrub it's like you can't do it enough, can't work it into your skin hard enough to truly get clean even with the hot water, though it doesn't truly feel hot enough even though the temperature has your skin tingling in a kind of low grade constant pain that's helping clear your mind further. And Jack lets you have it for a bit. Lets you scrub your skin hard under the just below scalding water despite knowing what it's doing to your skin.
But as you keep scrubbing yourself you continue to do it harder and harder, going over spots you've already scrubbed halfway to raw and he knows he needs to step in to protect you, to keep you from scrubbing until you're bleeding. "Sweetheart," he calls to you just loud enough to be heard over the water.
You don't hear him. Well, you do hear him, but it just doesn't hit your brain in the way it needs to so you continue scrubbing at yourself. Jack doesn't want to touch you out of nowhere or without your permission so he tries saying it a bit louder.
"Sweetheart." This time it breaks through and you stop, look over at him with raised and slightly furrowed eyebrows. Jack gives you a small smile, a silent thank you for looking at him and for stopping. "You're going to scrub your skin raw." You think about it for a second and then shrug. That would definitely make you feel clean enough. “I can’t have you hurting yourself, Baby,” he says gently.
No. You can’t put him through that on top of everything else. You can’t. But you don’t trust yourself. You think about it and realize the solution is the best of both worlds, each of you getting what you want, you feeling Jack’s hands on your body helping to replace the feeling of unwanted hands, and Jack getting to make sure you don’t get hurt.
You take the hand mitten off and offer it to him. “Will you?” you ask quietly, so quietly it aches. “Please.”
Jack’s eyes flick between yours searching for any sign that you’re feeling pressured or hesitating but finds neither. “You’re sure? You can say no, you can keep doing it and I’ll remind you not to be too harsh.”
“I’m sure,” you nod once.
And so Jack scrubs you down, doesn’t use the mitten so his hands replace the touch your mind recreated for you earlier and help you feel clean without destroying your skin. When he's finished scrubbing you offer him your shampoo and conditioner and he washes your hair, takes his time and gives you the most incredible scalp and neck and jaw massage as he shampoos you, kisses at your shoulders while your conditioner sits.
Jack looks at the bottle of body wash you're offering him and then back up at you, nodding slightly to make sure you're telling him to wash you with this and not just handing it to him for himself. You nod. You know that you'll be able to smell him when you're curled up into him in bed but you don't want the scent of your body wash competing. You want to be wrapped up in him and his scent because Jack smells like home and safety and protection and reminds you that nobody can touch you here, that the only way someone could ever touch you in the presence of Jack would be quite literally over his dead body.
The shower loosens you up some, helps your brain reset and you feel closer to yourself. It’s not perfect of course, it’s not like it erased what just happened. But it’s better. And you know that more than the water and the heat and the soap and the feeling clean, it’s because of Jack.
Once you're both out of the shower and dry you head to the sink to deal with your hair and skincare and brushing your teeth. Jack follows you, brushes his teeth and runs his hands through his curls a few times to make sure there's no knots. He watches you for a few seconds as you rub in some serum. "You okay if I step out to get bed ready?"
You balk at the question, unsure what he really needs to do to get the bed ready. Your heart rate ticks up at the thought of being alone even though you know it's not really being alone. He's going to be right in your bedroom getting your bed ready. You're warm and you can smell him. You'll hear the comforting familiar click of crutches as he moves around. If you need to you can run right to him or ask him to come back or to talk to you.
Just as Jack goes to retract the question and say he'll wait, you nod, give him a small smile. "Yeah. I'll be okay."
His eyes dart around your face looking for any sign that you're not sure and forcing this because you think you're being difficult or something like that. He nods slowly when he doesn't find anything. "Okay. Just shout if you need me and I'll be right back."
You step closer to him and push your lips out and Jack smiles, leans down and in and gives you a kiss before he crutches out into the bedroom. His first stop is to close the curtain obviously. He throws the used tissues away next and then strips the bed and starts changing the sheets. Jack has no idea if it's something you need or that will help you but he figures that clean sheets can't hurt.
He's putting the comforter back on the bed when you get to the doorframe and you lean against it to watch him, feel a lump in your throat forming and tears stinging at the back of your eyes because fuck this man loves you and you are so, so aware of it. He makes sure you know even when he's not trying to. And you know to Jack this is no big deal, this is just a little thing he's doing to take care of you. But for you it's one of those little things that's fucking everything.
You have to say it to him again. Have to make sure he knows. "I love you Jack."
Jack looks over at you as he finishes pulling the comforter up. "I love you too, Baby." He gives you a smile that steals your breath and makes you a little dizzy, clears any last bits of fog in your mind. He sits on the bed and sets his crutches to the side before he slides in, pats the spot next to him. "You ready?"
You nod and hit the bathroom light, almost scurry over, suddenly desperate to be close to him again. Jack doesn't have to ask how you want to lay because you're laying on your side next to him, tangling your legs together and pressing as much of yourself against him as you can, your head tucked under his chin, top hand splayed against his chest.
Jack chuckles at the little sigh of contentment you let out once you've wiggled around enough and found the perfect position. "Comfy?"
"Very," you hum.
You're still a little shaky. Both of you know it and neither of you are surprised by it. It'll linger for a bit the same way Jack's flashbacks do, but it'll pass as much as it feels like the almost intrusive presence and anxiety in your mind never will. Talking would help but you really don't want to put anything else on Jack.
Jack wraps his top arm over you and runs his hand up and down your back with the right pressure to make it feel like he's holding you close at the same time. From his own experiences he has a feeling that the shower probably cleared your head and left you wanting to talk a little more. "We genuinely don't have to Baby, but I just want you to know that if you need to talk more, that's okay and we can, I would want us to. Especially if you think it would help."
You shrug shallowly against him with your top shoulder. He always knows. "I don't know. I just…" You let out a long breath and then shift so that your head is up on the pillow next to his, the two of you looking each other in the eyes while still wrapped up together, Jack's hand still traveling up and down your back soothingly. "I need you to know that wasn't your fault. None of it. And I need you to know that I don't feel like you did anything or like you assaulted me and I, I, I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry for this."
Your eyes are wild, so very obviously desperate and anxious for him to understand and believe you. You know you're repeating some of what you said earlier while you were panicking and distraught but you need him to know it's all still true now that you're out of that more extreme headspace. "I knew it wasn't you, I never thought it was you doing… anything. I saw you move before it fully hit me. I promise I never thought it was you and that you don't remind me of him or treat me like him. And I promise I know you never could or would do something like that to me or hurt me at all. I don't think of you-"
"Sweetheart," Jack interrupts gently after letting you have your moment of worry. He doesn't want you to get yourself worked up about this of all things, not when he already knows everything you're saying and you have nothing to worry about.
"Just promise me," you get out before he can say anything else to you. "Please just promise me you know Jack. Promise me you know you didn't cause it and I didn't think it was you and that I know you would never and that you don't remind me of him."
He nods, moves his hand from your back and grabs yours that's still pressed to his chest and holds it, brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of it while maintaining eye contact. There's something so oddly reassuring about the move, something so earnest in its subtle reassurance and expression of love. "I promise you that I know I didn't cause it and you didn't think it was me and that I know you know I would never and that I don't remind you of him."
"Okay," you whisper, nodding at him. "As long as you know. Because before you were even sure, the second something felt off you stopped, Jack. You, you… You stopped." And I'll never be able to tell you what that meant to me.
Jack squeezes your hand back. I know. "And I always will." He presses another kiss to the back of your hand. "I promise I know."
You lift your head up and stretch over to him, brush your lips over his and nuzzle his nose for a second before kissing him, pulling your hand from his so that you can hold the side of his face as the kiss lingers, Jack pouring all of his love and adoration and feelings for you into the simplest of kisses. You steal another and another every time one kiss ends because they're soft and loving and physical reassurance and Jack. These kinds of kisses are so very Jack.
"Can I say something else?" you whisper against his lips as you finish your last kiss and return your head to laying on the pillow. "And it's really dumb but I can't get it out of my head and I think just, just saying it again might help."
He nods. "Of course, and I doubt it's dumb."
"I know it's dumb. It's so dumb and you already reassured me about this but I'm still worried you'll never want to have sex with me again, or like you won't be able to because of this. I know it traumatized you too, Jack." You sigh deeply, close your eyes and frown to yourself. This is so wrong. "And I know I shouldn't be worried about it, that it's wrong, and I don't know why it's what my brain is fixated on right now and it feels hypocritical in a way almost, but I just… I am."
"That's not dumb, Sweetheart. It's valid to worry about that, it's normal and natural to worry about that." Jack waits the few seconds until you let your eyes flutter back open to continue speaking, wants to make sure you really hear him. "You're allowed to worry about that, about our sexual relationship. And you can like and love and enjoy and want sex. That doesn't make you a hypocrite, and it doesn't lessen what you went through, doesn't mean it wasn't really that bad, I promise you."
Jack nods at you slightly, his gaze intense but in the most loving and reassuring way. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, squeezing softly. "It doesn't lessen what you went through and it doesn't mean it wasn't really that bad," he repeats for emphasis.
He can see in your eyes that you want to believe him, that you want to believe him so badly. But right now you can't. Some wall you've built in your brain is blocking it. It's not something Jack is going to push any further for the night, because it won't help. It won't make you believe him. Not right now.
So he moves on to your other worry. "I also promise you that when you're ready I'm going to want to have sex with you and we're going to have sex."
"Like normal?" you whisper. "Like before this, before tonight."
"Like normal. We’ll have really, really good sex. The best sex." His voice is firm, hesitation free. Reassuring. He doesn't make you feel crazy for asking.
"And you'll still be okay with everything we did before?" You chew on the inside of your cheek.
"As long as you are, yeah," he nods. He brings your hand back up to his lips and kisses it again, was able to see how much the small move helped you earlier. "I will. I promise you. Our sex life will be the same, Baby. It's not going anywhere or changing because of this unless you want or need it to."
His words are reassuring and that's what you need, what you need to hear, that things will go back to normal. That he won't be afraid or unable to have sex with you. That this won't control your life. That it won't take something else away from you. That you won't lose that part of yourself or your relationship. "It'll be normal." It's ostensibly a sentence, a statement of fact, but there's a hint of intonation that tells Jack you need more reassurance.
"I promise," he tells you confidently, not a hint of uncertainty in his eyes or his lips or on his face.
"Okay," you breathe. "Okay, thank you."
There's more on your mind. The self-blame. You feel like you should acknowledge to Jack that you know this is on you, that a creation of your mind has brought the two of you here.
"Do you ever feel like… I guess…" You sigh and untangle your legs from Jack's, roll onto your back, not because you want or need to be away from him, you make sure your side is pressed against the front of him so that it's almost like he's on his side leaning over you. But because you feel like you need to be staring at the ceiling when you say this for whatever reason. Your hand finds his and brings it to your tummy so you can play with his fingers as you speak.
"There are moments where I'm almost not sure what's worse, that night when it actually happened or the flashbacks where I'm right back there on that night and can feel all of it, relive all of it because I'm not in the present except for this one tiny piece of my brain that hangs onto the present just enough to make sure I know I'm imagining it, that I'm making myself go through it again and that it's my fault I'm feeling how I am because I'm just… imagining it." The long breath you let out is far more shuddery than you want it to be. "And this time, this time it was worse because it wasn't just me I was putting through that and making deal with that. I was putting you through it too, making you deal with it too. Still am. All because I can't keep it together, and let my brain reconstruct it and imagine it."
Jack considers for a few seconds and you're struck by how much you appreciate it. His consideration of your words, the ones you're using to say how you feel. "I understand what you mean, yeah. I guess I've never really articulated it that way to myself, but yeah, I can see it, I understand what you mean."
"And I get that last part, you know I do." He leans his head forward and down slightly and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, a simple expression of love. "But it's not you, it's not your fault. It's not a conscious decision you're making. You don't think it's my fault when I have a flashback, don't blame me. There's no difference, Baby. You didn't decide to have a flashback and make yourself go through that again. I saw it in your eyes as it started, I saw the terror. It's not about not being able to keep it together. It's something that happens to you. You weren't and aren't putting me or yourself through anything, Sweetheart."
"I know, but it's, it's Thursday fucking night, Jack. It's a random fucking Thursday night!" Your voice breaks on the last word and you huff at yourself and the pressure you can feel forming behind your eyes. "And then the curtains just happen to be open and rain hits the glass just right, just like it did on that night and so I fucking lose it? That's not fair. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to me. It's just not fair." Your voice breaks on the last word.
It's obvious to both you and Jack that you need to cry again. That you're right on the verge of doing so. But that would be just one more thing you put him through again tonight, a thought that makes you want to cry all the more.
"It's okay if you need to cry again, Baby," Jack tells you softly. I know it would be different, that these would be tears of a different kind. And even if they weren't, it doesn’t matter. It’s unspoken, but you hear it, read it on his face.
At the same time Jack finishes his sentence the first tear slides down your face. "God fucking damn it," you mutter as more follow. Jack reaches behind himself blindly until he finds the box of tissues and pulls a couple out, hands them to you.
You take them and blot at your eyes, wipe the tears from your cheeks to try and keep yourself a bit cleaner since you just showered. You roll off your back onto your side again, curl back into Jack and intertwine your legs again, rest your head under his chin and cry into one of the tissues. Thank you for letting me do this, for holding me through it again.
"This was never supposed to affect us, Jack," you sniffle, Jack's arms moving around you so that he's holding you tight to him. "You were never supposed to have to deal with this, with me like this or with this kind of flashback and the way it fucks me up, much less mid us having sex. I was supposed to be better. I was supposed to be better! I haven't had one since we got together and then a fucking random Thursday night and some stupid fucking rain destroys it all."
You're crying in earnest, the tears pouring from your eyes, but you're not sobbing. It's a controlled and quiet weeping, breaths sucked in through your teeth and occasionally shuddered out as you tremble in his arms. You’re crying like you're deep into mourning. And you are in a way. "This was never supposed to happen, you were never supposed to have to deal with this Jack, I was supposed to be better. I hate this and, and I was supposed to be better and I'm sorry for all of this. I'm so sorry."
Jack holds you as you cry again, whispers more of the same sweet reassurances that he did earlier, presses soft kisses to the top of your head as one hand rubs up and down your back. He knows this is a catharsis of a different kind because he's been there.
And this is a catharsis of a different kind, one that's harder to explain and articulate. Sobbing earlier, that was more about what happened to you. About experiencing it all over again. About not being able to stop it, then or now. About that man and what he took.
Weeping now, it's more about mourning the person you were. About everything that came after. About the way it changed you and your world. About everything that's been taken and the way it continues to take at times. About the way it continues to fuck with your head and your life. It's about the way you're so sure it's affecting your relationship with Jack, changing everything and fucking it all up, and how you can't seem to stop it from doing so. It's about the way you're not better, not fixed and fine and over it.
You're not sure how long Jack holds you while you cry, how long it takes for your tears to finally stop. It doesn't really matter, you suppose. You know the man, know he'd hold you forever if that's what you needed.
"It's okay, Sweetheart," Jack murmurs. "I've got you. And this isn't affecting us, I promise. Not the way you're worried about and thinking it is. It's not changing us or anything between us. I absolutely fucking hate that this happened and that you had a flashback because I hate you hurting and the thought of you having to go through that, but it's okay in a sense that it happened."
You pull your head from his neck so that you can look at him, know his words will have a better chance of actually piercing your brain if you're looking at him. And god you really fucking want them to. For you and for him.
He gives you a small smile and then continues. "You're allowed to have flashbacks. You're allowed to struggle with your trauma. It's okay if you're not better the way you thought you were or the way you want to be. None of this is going to make me go anywhere. It's not pushing me away and it's not too much. You're not too much. So please try not to beat yourself up too badly, Baby. I don't want that. I don't feel like I'm dealing with it or with you or like you're putting anything on me. I'm just taking care of you. The same way you take care of me when I have a flashback or get deep in my head, yeah?"
"Yeah," you mumble, shrugging. Your head isn't foggy or fuzzy courtesy of the tears this time. It's still. You're in one of those head-spaces where you're not slowly continuing to devolve but you're not sure you're necessarily improving. You're just steady where you are. Things are still. And with that stillness comes a feeling of calmness that helps you start to come back to yourself a little. "I guess. It feels different."
Jack gives you a small smile and laugh through his nose. "I know. And I know one day I'll probably say the same thing. Again."
You manage to give him a small, lopsided smile back and you swear the happiness that returns to the corners of his eyes at seeing you smile nearly makes it all magically better and you fine and completely unbothered. Almost. "Thank you Jack," you whisper. "For all of this, for everything."
Jack can tell from your words and body language that you're telling him you're mentally at a spot post second catharsis where you're at least relatively decent and don't want to keep going too much and fuck it up and lose it again. And Jack respects that and isn't going to force you to continue this conversation or start any others like it tonight. "You're welcome. I'm always right here whenever you need me Sweetheart."
You nod and let out a breath, close your eyes and take a minute or so to settle into your now still mind. "I think I'm going to tell work I'm sick and won't be in tomorrow. Take a long weekend with you." You slowly reopen your eyes.
Jack smiles at the thought of getting a long weekend together, getting you to himself all of Friday and Saturday and Sunday since he doesn't have work. He smiles at the thought of you resting too, of you taking the time you need to recover and heal and get back to your baseline because he knows that deep of a flashback lingers in some almost indescribable way, casts a kind of cloud that stays with you and takes time to clear all the way. "I think that's a very good idea. You need the rest."
You swallow hard and let out the softest laugh through your nose, shrug slightly. "I need the time with you."
His heart aches at how sweet that is, how sweet you are and how much you love him and need him. "You've got me. Whatever you need is what we'll do."
"I know, thank you." You sigh and move yourself out of his arms, start to roll over. "Let me text before I forget."
You grab your phone and shoot off a text to your boss to let her know you won't be in tomorrow. As you compose and send the text you can't help but ruminate a little on the fact that you're about to have a three day weekend with Jack, a somewhat rarity for the two of you, and you don't know if and when you'll be ready for sex again. It'll really depend on so many things, none of which are truly related to Jack. It's not that you're scared to have sex with him again, at all. He was perfect. He stopped before you asked. Before you even really fully realized you needed him to stop.
You roll back over and Jack's relaxed half-smile melts you for whatever reason. He loves you so much, does so much for you, is so patient with you. You're pretty sure you could never even begin to give him what he gives you but damn if you don't want to spend your life trying. "I love you Jack. I really do, I hope you know that and how thankful and grateful I am for you and your understanding and your care."
His smile pulls up wider again. "I know, I promise. There hasn't been a day since we first said it to each other that I haven't known. And I love you too, Sweetheart."
You both roll into each other naturally for the kiss you share. Neither of you are particularly surprised when it turns into more kisses than you can count, each so incredibly loving and full of emotion and feeling but still chaste in their own ways, tender and pressure free. You bring a hand up and hold Jack's jaw, thumb brushing back and forth over his stubble because it feels good for both of you.
He nuzzles his nose with yours when the two of you pull apart and chuckles to himself when you press your forehead to his chest and push to get him to lay on his back how you want. You curl into his side fully, one leg draped over the top of him, your head resting perfectly in the crook of his shoulder as your top hand rests on his chest, fingers running over his skin. Jack wraps his arm around your back and holds you close to him, his other hand up behind his head.
"So, thoughts on where you might like to vacation?" Jack asks once you're both settled in. He knows it's an abrupt change and he hopes it doesn't feel forced. He just knows that you need a lighter, more normal conversation before you guys try to sleep. "Greece? Italy? Both? Or Spain? Portugal? Both of them? I suppose we could try to do all four in one trip if you wanted."
"Any and all." You genuinely mean it. "Literally anywhere with you Jack."
Jack clicks his tongue behind his teeth and you can feel him nodding slowly. "That's very sweet and romantic and I feel the same way, don't get me wrong, but that's not particularly helpful in planning a vacation."
"Oh, I'm sure you have some ideas." He can hear the small smirk pull onto your face as you speak. "I could get my nails done?"
He loves that that comment didn't escape your notice even with it almost certainly being something you didn't consciously process at the moment he said it. "It was just an idea," he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I know you like getting them done before we go somewhere."
"Yeah, but you've never suggested it before." Your smirk grows wider. "It's like you want to make sure they look nice or like you know they might be prominently featured in photos."
"I think you're reading into a passing comment."
"I know I'm not." And you both know you're right. You're not reading into it at all. Jack said that to drop an engagement hint and tease you a little like he's done numerous times in the past month or so.
He shakes his head slowly, the smile he's wearing that you can't see but can hear completely giving him away. "You're ridiculous."
"That's half the reason you want to marry me," you say right on the heels of his words without missing a beat. Jack blurts out a laugh at your words, unable to stop it as they catch him by surprise. He doesn't know what he expected you to say but apparently that wasn't it. His reaction makes you giggle a little. "I match your level of ridiculousness and you love that."
"So true, Sweetheart. So, so true." Jack leans his head down and to the side and presses his lips against as much of your forehead and the top of your head as they can reach.
"We could start planning tomorrow," you suggest.
"We could." Jack runs his hand up and down your side absent-mindedly as he thinks about tomorrow and the weekend and if there's anything you guys need to do. There doesn't seem to be much. Laundry. Vacuum. A bunch of other little domestic things Jack can't believe he's lucky enough to share with you. But to Jack, it also doesn't really matter what you guys do as long as you're together. "We can just see what the day brings once we're up."
"We have to go to the store." Jack's brows furrow and he makes a little noise of confusion to ask you why. "For the right butter. And probably a couple of other things." Jack shifts the both of you so he can turn his head and see you better. He repeats a similar sound and his brows stay furrowed, still confused. You guys went to the grocery store last weekend and are still all good on stuff. He's pretty sure there's butter in the fridge. You giggle at his reaction and the way he hasn't put it together. It makes you yawn and Jack swears to god it's one of the cutest things he's ever seen. "For the cookies."
"Oh." Between telling him you're going to make the cookies for him and that yawn and your giggle, a wave of love and adoration that threatens to drown him crashes over Jack. You're the most important and precious thing in the world to him and he loves you more than he knows what to do with. "You don't have to make me the cookies."
You shrug. "I know I don't have to. I want to." You sigh happily. "You look very cute and hot eating them."
"I look very cute and hot eating them?" The amusement is clear in his voice. "The cookies?"
"Mhmmm," you hum at him.
Jack chuckles, shakes his head at you and brings the hand behind his head down so his arm can wrap over the top of him and let him hold you more. "Care to elaborate?"
You make a noise like you're pretending to think about it. "No," you finally say simply.
Jack laughs softly and that’s the last little bit you needed to realize and start to truly believe that everything is going to be okay, your anxiety starting to fade. He moves his head and presses as much of a kiss to your forehead as he can. "I love you so much, Baby."
I hope that this brought you at least a little comfort. ♥️ And if you relate, I'm truly sorry for whatever you've been through and am proud of you for surviving. Thank you so much for reading!! ♥️
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13.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: car accident that’s DUI related; mildly graphic but within (and lesser than) season one canon level of graphic; blood; broken bones; compound fracture (no real description); internal bleeding and injuries; medically induced coma; severe lung injuries; CPR; coding; being intubated and on a vent; inaccurate medical descriptions and realities; panic attacks; pain killers; lorazepam; extreme grief; extreme anxiety; crying; self-hate; self-blame; regret; compartmentalization; denial; reference to PIV sex; no use of y/n.
Summary: Jack gets a premonition about you at work, but there's no way that feeling can be true, right?
AN: I don't have much to say other than I know this is probably too close to other things I’ve written or at the very least is in my heavily written for, go to genre. It’s just so good I can’t help myself, my brain is wired this way I'm sorry 🫠🥲. I think it’s different enough (idk about good though lmao) and it was asked for and based on this request so!! Might be the last fic I write for this kind of situation/trope unless we're okay with more? Or maybe only for someone other than Jack? I don't know. I promise there is much less angsty hurt/comfort and fluff on the horizon and that I'm still working through requests before I get into new series. So, I hope this is enjoyable and thank you for reading if you decide to! ♥️
Jack is standing at the hub with Robby, Dana and Lena when he first starts feeling it.
He can't explain it, but he gets a premonition, a feeling like something bad is about to happen. Something bad involving you. A cold chill passes through him and he shivers, his stomach sinking even further and heart rate picking up. Something's wrong. Something related to you. He can just feel it.
But that's absurd.
You're fine. You texted him just before he got to work about thirty minutes ago that you were finally leaving the office and heading home. You mentioned it had been a long day and you wanted to slip into a hot bath since him slipping into you wasn't an option given that he was working.
Jack tells himself it's not that odd for you not to have texted him that you made it home, especially with you saying it had been a long day. It just slipped your mind, he's sure.
Still, he sends you a text. A single, simple text to reassure himself.
J - How's your night going sweetheart? Did you end up taking a bath?
He slides his phone into his pocket and tunes back into the conversation somewhat, but Jack really can't shake the fucking feeling. Once they've finished hand off Jack goes to check on a patient. Thirty or so minutes have passed since he sent you a text when he steps out of a patient room and checks his phone. You haven't responded to his message.
That would make sense if you were in the bath, right? Jack tries to get himself to believe it but he can't because it wouldn't really make sense. Normally you have your phone next to the tub somewhere for a podcast or music or whatever. Maybe you didn't hear your phone go off. Or maybe it's still on silent from work.
Jack calls you. The phone rings and rings and rings and rings until it clicks over to your voicemail. He doesn't leave a message, his chest growing a little tighter with worry as he hangs up. He shoots you another text.
J - I know you probably are, but can you just shoot me a text to let me know that you're okay as soon as you can? Thanks baby. I love you
He forces himself into another patient's room. Still nothing from you when he walks out of the room ten minutes later. Jack calls you again. You don't answer. He's nauseous now, trying to tell himself he can't just feel things like that and that it's just anxiety because he misses you.
When he heads back to the hub he's surprised to see Dana and Robby still there.
"Don't ask," Robby sighs as Jack starts to ask why they're both still here.
Before Jack can ignore Robby and ask anyway Lena interrupts the three and lets them know they've got two MVC patients five minutes out courtesy of a drunk driver, one stable enough and one barely holding on who they almost called at the scene before they were able to get a weak pulse back.
"Can you stay?" Jack looks at Robby. He's sure his anxiety and distress must be on his face because Robby looks at him and doesn’t give him any shit about staying, just nods in agreement. "Thanks."
Jack turns and walks out to the ambulance bay. He knows it's a waste of five minutes but he just needs to pace. Pace and keep calling you.
And so he does. Jack walks up and down the ambulance bay alternating holding his phone to his ear and staring at it willing you to call or text him back apologizing and saying you're fine, you accidentally left your phone in the other room, or you let yourself sit on the bed when you got home and fell asleep and your phone was still on silent from work or something, anything.
But his phone never rings. A text never comes through. Jack's anxiety just continues to build and he promises himself if he's still like this after these two traumas he'll beg Robby to cover for him just long enough so that he can run home and check on you and then come back.
"Jack." He's vaguely aware of Robby's voice calling his name behind him as he paces away from the doors. "Jack." Robby calls again.
"Jack!" Robby finally gets his attention when he paces his way back to the doors. "Hey, man, what is going on? Did something happen? You look like you're about to have a panic attack."
"I can't get in touch with her." Jack doesn't give Robby any further specifics. He knows Robby will know who he's talking about.
"Okay," Robby draws the word out. "Do you have a reason to think something happened?"
"No, I… I don't, I just. I don't know," Jack mutters distractedly. "I just feel like something bad has happened… like something's wrong with her. I feel it. Like a premonition."
"Maybe this is just going to be a shit show and that's what you're feeling." Robby nods his head in the direction of the sirens that have just become audible. "Or maybe this is the start of a long night of traumas and you won't get out on time tomorrow and will miss seeing her before she goes to work."
Jack nods slowly. "Yeah, maybe." He tries to force his brain to accept the options but it won't. His thumb hits your photo on his favorites and he calls you again. Still nothing. He's going to be sick, has to walk away from Robby and choke back a couple of dry heaves because the feeling that something is wrong with you has gotten so strong that Robby's right. He's getting panicky.
"You okay, Hon?" Dana asks Jack as she walks by him, resting her hand on his back and rubbing it as she pauses next to him.
"Can I ask you a favor you're going to hate me for?" Jack can barely recognize the sound of his own voice with how strained and raw it is. He feels and watches Dana stiffen at it, can feel Robby's eyes on him.
"I'm not gonna hate you for anything," Dana reassures him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "What do you need?"
Jack takes a deep breath. This is fucking insane. He needs to get a goddamn grip. He shakes his head as he goes to tell Dana to forget it, but that's not even close to what comes out. "Can you just stay for a couple of minutes and keep calling her until she picks up?" Jack holds his phone out to her with your contact brought up. "Your phone, my phone, both. I don't, it doesn't matter. Maybe yours, maybe she doesn't want to talk to me."
"Of course." She takes his phone and steps in front of him to look at him. "Is everything okay Jack?"
"I just," he swallows hard, "it's so stupid but I just have this feeling that something's wrong or happened to her and I can't shake it." As Jack thinks more about it his mind at least supplies something concrete, something that he's now so worried about his breathing picks up. "She said she might take a bath so I don't know. I'm worried she hit her head and fell in and drowned or something."
"You ready, Jack?" Robby calls to him.
"Go," Dana nods. "I'll call and let you know the second I hear from her."
"Thank you," Jack nods. The appearance of the first ambulance clears Jack's mind for now. He has to focus on this, on his patient. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath and stretches his neck, forces the compartmentalization he needs right now. When he opens his eyes back up he's in fully focused trauma mode, walls built so high he's not feeling anything other than what he needs to in order to do his job. "First or second rig Robby?" he asks as he walks back over to Robby. "You can pick since you're staying to help with this."
Robby hesitates as the first ambulance pulls in. "Second."
"Got it." Jack pulls his gloves on as he walks up to the back of the ambulance as the doors burst open.
"Unrestrained driver, stable most of the way here, but his pulse started getting thready a couple of minutes ago," the paramedic tells Jack as they unload the gurney and start moving toward the trauma room quickly.
"Fuck," Robby mutters just loud enough for Jack to hear. Jack knows Robby must have decided to bet on them getting the most seriously injured patient here first so he chose second in hopes of getting out quickly.
Robby steps up as the next ambulance arrives. "Restrained driver. If it can be broken or fucked up, assume that it is," the paramedic tells Robby with an eerie seriousness as they get the gurney out. The paramedic runs through vitals as they walk into the Pitt and bad would be an understatement.
"What the fuck happened?" Robby asks as they get into the trauma room. "This is the worst MVC vic I've seen in a long time."
"The drunk driver with Dr. Abbot ran a red going at least 60 in a 25. T-boned her car on the driver's side which made it flip and roll into the other lane where she got hit head on favoring the driver's side by a semi going over the limit but at least not fucking 60." The paramedic pauses while they transfer the patient. "You should see the car. I can't believe we got her back and she's still alive. I thought we'd lose her again on the drive over."
"I fucking hate drunk drivers," Robby swears under his breath as the paramedics leave and the Pitt team takes over.
"That was a nice save," Jack tells the team as surgery wheels the patient out of the trauma room and up to surgery. That was almost not a save at all. Jack wasn't sure they were going to get the guy back once he coded but they had managed to, it hadn't even taken that long to get him stabilized and handed off to surgery, only ten or so minutes. The guy wasn't as injured as he looked despite the code.
As he takes off his gloves and gown and comes out of his full trauma focus Jack realizes the bad feeling he had about something happening to you has dwindled significantly, almost completely gone. There's some part of that fact that seems to give him its own anxiety but he's able to ignore it as he steps through the vestibule between the trauma rooms and into Robby's trauma.
Jack steps a bit closer to the bed and looks at Robby's patient, closest to her right side. He obviously can't say for sure since he doesn't know the woman but Jack would bet a lot of money on her being unrecognizable, her face already swollen and darkly bruised, covered in blood from a scalp laceration and her nose. There's dried blood at the corners of her lips and trailing down telling Jack she was coughing up blood or maybe throwing it up at some point. Maybe both. The remnants of dried blood he can just see in her ET tube confirm at least some was coming from her lungs.
He's only looked at her face and it feels wrong to think about right now but Jack can't help but do so. It's patients like this, accidents like this that make him so fucking glad you don't drive to work.
Jack looks up at the monitor. Not a single number is good.
"Those are good comparatively," Robby tells Jack as he continues to work on the woman, tossing out orders and confirming ones given by Parker and Mel.
"Yeah?" Jack moves his eyes to start to take in the rest of the woman, most of her visible skin covered in some amount of blood. She has a visible deformity to her shoulder and wrist on the right, chest tubes on both sides, her abdomen covered in dark bruises, seatbelt sign already visible.
"She desperately needs the OR but we can't get her stable enough for transport." Robby shakes his head as he glances back up at the monitor to see slipping vitals. "Fuck," he mutters. "It would be easier to tell you what's not wrong," Robby tells Jack before Jack can ask.
His eyes continue to move down the woman and he finds a pelvic binder, they must think she broke or dislocated something there, eyes looping back up to check on this side's chest tube output. Jack catches Bridget's eye. "Set up to auto-transfuse her." He's careful not to step too far into Robby's trauma, knows Robby might have a plan, but looking at the number of discarded blood bags and her vitals, it's obvious they're headed there.
"She was removed from the car barely alive, coded at the scene but they got her back. They nearly called her there," Robby explains.
"What happened?"
"Drunk driver t-boned the driver's side at 60 in a 25. Flipped and rolled the car into the other lane, hit head on by a semi over the limit but not 60," Parker explains. She was there when Robby asked.
Jack cringes and clicks his tongue. "She might not ever stabilize, Robby. She might not make it to the OR." He knows Robby knows, but also knows that sometimes it can be helpful to hear it from someone else.
"I know." Robby's tone is a little clipped so Jack backs off.
"Can I do anything?" Jack walks back up towards the patient's head to walk around to her other side, staying as out of the way as possible while still evaluating the patient like Robby will do with his sometimes, just an extra, fresh set of eyes. Her vitals continue to slip. She'll code soon probably, Jack thinks to himself.
The woman has another obvious deformity to her left tibia and fibula about half way up her calf. It's easy to tell with the compound fracture that both bones are involved. Her ankle on that same leg lays against the bed at an unnatural angle that makes Jack wince. He hopes for her sake she was unconscious for most of this.
"What are you thinking neurologically?" he calls to Robby before Robby can answer his first question.
Robby almost huffs a laugh as he steps up to check her pupils again. "Pupils are equal and reactive. All the telling reflexes are normal, no posturing. Portable x-ray shows T-8 to 12 are broken, 11 and 12 look shattered, but she has normal reflexes there too so it looks like no cord damage, knock on wood for her." Robby turns back to Jack and shakes his head. "It's like she's incredibly lucky but also," he gestures to her, "clearly not. She was damn near DOA. She's a fighter though, I thought we were going to lose her within a couple of minutes."
"Yeah," Jack nods slowly. There's something off here but he can't figure out what. Something they're missing. He focuses as he tries to figure out what it is, standing on the patient's left side now and as close to the wall as he can get to let everyone work. He can still hear everything going on and see them working on her but it doesn't really process fully as he tries to figure out what his feeling is.
It hits him just as Ellis moves and the left hand of the patient comes into Jack's view. You drove to work today because you had to run an errand across the city at lunch. So you drove home tonight. You drove.
Time slows and sound fades as Jack steps closer to the patient, takes in the engagement ring the patient's wearing. Even bloodied it's beautiful and bespoke. And Jack knows it's bespoke. Because he's the one that designed it. Because that's your engagement ring.
Which means Robby's patient, Robby's patient who he just said was damn near DOA, who Jack said might not ever stabilize or make it to the OR, that patient is you.
Maybe it's not. Maybe the ring just looks similar or, or maybe someone stole it from you, or maybe, maybe something, anything to make this not true.
Jack moves down to the end of the bed and looks at the patient's right ankle. There's a slightly jagged scar starting just above the medial malleolus that continues about five inches up her inner calf. It's a scar Jack is intimately familiar with, he must have kissed the length of it at least a hundred times while kissing his way from your ankles up to your inner thighs. It's your scar.
All of the air leaves his lungs in some strangled, choked sound he can't hear that gets everyone's attention.
"Jack?" Robby glances over at him.
The bad feeling he had went away because you're here, you're near him. Not because nothing bad happened to you and not because you were okay. Because you're here.
"Michael." It's raw and broken, unrecognizable and absolutely soaked in pain.
"What?" Robby's eyes flash to him. "Jack? What is it?"
It takes Jack a second because he can't pull his eyes from your scar, can't stop thinking about every time he's kissed it, all the sounds from moans to giggles you'd make for him when he did.
"The ring," Jack finally forces out, slowly looking up at Robby, completely helpless and paralyzed. "Her ring, the ring, look at…" he glances at your left hand. He knows Robby will recognize it, he made Robby look at it a million times as he designed it and once he got it. "It's, it's," Jack's already working his way toward hyperventilation as panic starts to course through him because he was and is pretty sure this patient is going to fucking die and this patient is you, "it's, I…"
Robby furrows his brows and steps to look at the ring closely. "Oh my fucking god," he mumbles, face dropping and blood draining from it. He looks up at whoever is standing closest to him. "Go get Dana. Now."
Everyone in the room is confused as things still just a touch for a second while Robby clearly pulls himself back together. "It's Jack's fiancée. We are not fucking losing her," he almost snaps at everyone. “We are not fucking losing her. This is one of our own, this is family.”
There's a small collective gasp or harsh intake of air and then everyone is moving even faster.
"Michael, I can't," Jack pleads with him, voice strained and full of tears he's fighting for some reason.
Dana walks in looking confused. "What's up?" Dana nods at Robby as her attention turns over to Jack.
"It's her." Robby glances at Jack and it's all she needs to know.
"Oh my god," Dana whispers.
Jack's brain is spinning so fast he's close to physically dizzy and almost can't understand any of the emotions he's feeling. But somewhere through it another realization breaks through that has him doubling over in pain, mental and physical, fighting back the urge to be sick and resting his hands on his knees for a few seconds before he straightens back up.
The drunk driver. He must’ve had the drunk driver.
"Somebody please, please," his voice cracks and breaks over the word heartbreakingly as tears finally start to stream down his face, "tell me I didn't just save the guy who might've killed my fiancée Tell me I didn't just fucking save him!"
Jack looks to Robby who looks back at him and Jack knows from Robby's face. He did. He treated the drunk driver. He treated the man who did this to you. Who very likely killed you.
"No. No. I'm going to fucking kill him." Jack spins, hellbent on getting to that OR and undoing everything he already did.
Dana's right there to stop him with her hands slightly raised. She shakes her head gently at him. "Let's go." She nods over at the vestibule between the trauma rooms and Jack loses his anger for now, the panic and sorrow and devastation finally overwhelming him as he lets Dana lead him toward the doors.
"Please, Michael," Jack pleads, knees buckling a little because he's ready to get on them at his best friend’s feet to beg. "Please, please save her. Please don't let her die, please don't, please-"
"Get him out Dana!" Robby yells.
"Come on Jack, let them work," Dana says softly.
"Please," Jack begs, unable to say anything else. "Please, please please please. I'll do anything, I'll give anything, whatever you want." It's no longer clear who Jack's pleading with, Robby or a god he doesn't believe in.
"Jack." Dana steps in front of him and grabs his upper arms, gently pushes him so that he walks backward into the vestibule.
"I can't, I c-can't Dana," Jack whimpers between heavy breaths. He can't lose you. He can't fucking lose you.
Jack is barely aware of someone bringing in a chair and Dana pushing him down into it, leaving it pointed toward the trauma room so he can see through the window. Or could if the tears still streaming down his face silently weren't so heavy that his vision is so blurred he can't see his legs as he looks down at them.
He starts to rock himself in the chair a little, feels like he's going out of his mind and needs to crawl out of his fucking skin. Jack curls in on himself and digs his hands into the opposite forearms, squeezing so hard it'll bruise and digging his nails into his skin for the pain, hoping in vain it'll ground him even a little bit.
But you're the only thing that could ground him right now. Your voice. Your touch. Your smell. Your taste. Your soft skin under his hand. He can't have that though because you're bleeding out internally on Robby's table, body so likely broken beyond repair.
Jack doesn't have hope. He can't let himself have hope. It's too cruel. The kindest and best thing the world ever did for him, ever gave him, it's about to take away from him.
That's confirmed for him when three words break through Jack's panic enough to have him flying out of the chair and through the doors back into your trauma room. He doesn’t know who said them and it doesn’t fucking matter. "Asystole, start CPR!"
"No no no," Jack nearly screams. The panic he'd been fighting breaks over him completely, vicious and consuming in its intensity. "No please, does, does she need blood?" he chokes out through sobs.
"You can just, j-just hook me up, I'm, I'm O neg, I can donate directly." Jack can feel himself getting lightheaded from his hyperventilated breathing in between his sobs but he doesn't care. Part of him almost wants to pass out because then he won't have to do this, but he also can't stomach the thought of you dying without him holding your hand.
"Just, hook me up, hook me up to her, and and sh-she can have whatever she needs!" Jack sobs. He knows it doesn't work like that, knows that's not an option and he's sure there's something so sad for everyone watching him to see this medical doctor reduced to begging for something like this but he doesn't fucking care. "She can have all of it, all, I don't need, don't need it without her. I don't want it without her." His voice is high pitched and as raw as ever at the end as he watches his best friend give his fiancée CPR, hears him break one of her ribs.
Dana follows Jack just through the doors and grabs his arm, squeezes gently. "Jack, come back and sit down, we don't need you falling, okay?"
"No!" He moves his arm away so it slips from Dana's hand. "She's going to d-die! She's fucking dying! I have to be with her, I have to." Even in this state Jack knows it's a good idea, knows it's what needs to happen, knows there's no good place for him to sit near you in this room while they work on you. Knows that he's hyperventilating now and the lightheadedness taking over is just going to intensify. But it doesn't matter. He can't stop, can't try to control himself. He can only panic about you dying right in front of him and what is he going to do and this can't be real and he needs you.
"I need a PRN lorazepam order for him," Dana calls to the room as she starts walking toward the doors so she can go get it.
Every person in the room who can prescribe it calls out the order and Dana disappears to run and get it. She's quick, comes back through the other trauma room and Jack is so far gone and leaning into the doorframe to keep himself upright when she comes back that he doesn't even fight it when she puts the chair right behind him and pulls him down into it. He has no reaction to Dana cleaning his arm and then sticking him and injecting the lorazepam. He's not even really aware it's happening until it starts forcing him to calm down.
"If we get her back you're taking her up however she is," Robby orders Walsh. Jack hadn't even realized she was here.
"Already my plan, I don't care how weak her pulse is, family's different," she nods at him. "And when. Not if."
Robby holds compressions, everyone's eyes glued to the monitor. "V-fib." Bridget's the first to call it out.
"Fuck yes," Robby mutters. "We can work with that."
Jack watches them shock you three times before they get you back as the meds calm him down at least physically more and more, his sobs reduced to wracking breaths and hiccuped whimpers. He's almost physically numb by the time they're almost running as they wheel you out to get you up and to an OR. But his mind hasn't really shut off much. He's still dying inside.
He forces himself out of the chair and walks into the room, Robby stepping in front of him to block him from leaving and trying to follow you up. "Let them work. Then we can go up, okay?"
"I need to be with her Robby," Jack mumbles, trying to step around Robby.
"Jack, no." Robby steps with Jack and grabs one of his arms without thinking, smearing your blood from the glove Robby hadn't yet removed over Jack's arm.
It works. Not for the reason Robby thought it would. But it gets Jack to stop. It gets Jack to freeze.
Jack brings his opposite hand up and touches it, enough of your blood there to transfer onto the pads of his fingers. The room is silent, or as silent as possible with the Pitt just beyond the doors, as Robby and Dana watch Jack look at the tile floor of the room, watch him fixate on the streaks of your blood and the couple of small pools that had poured from you before they could stop it.
He walks over to one and kneels next to it. It's fresh. Fresh enough that it hasn't started to fully coagulate or dry yet. He leans over it a little and almost scares himself when he watches a drop of something hit it but then he realizes he's crying again and it's one of his tears hitting your blood.
Jack knows it's macabre and unsanitary and probably gross and over-dramatic but he doesn't care, presses his palm of his hand into the small pool of your blood because it's all he's fucking got of you right now. He lifts it up and looks down at his hand, shaking his head and sucking in a strangled breath through his teeth.
"What if this is all I have left of her?" He looks up at Robby and Dana shaking his head, a wave of tears soaking his face as they all finally fall at once. "I have to go. I have to go be with her." Jack is unsteady on his feet as he gets up, Robby and Dana rushing forward to help steady him. "What OR is she?"
"You can't go in Jack," Robby says quietly.
Jack sniffles deeply. "Observation then."
"Don't do that to yourself Jack," Dana whispers.
"I have to be with her. I have to know what's happening so that I can, can go say goodbye before they call it." Jack presses his bloody hand over his heart and holds it there trying to remember how to take a step so that he can start getting to you.
"They will come get you before they call it, I promise." Robby squeezes his best friend's shoulder and cuts Jack off before there can be any arguing. "I spoke with Emery about it. Someone will come."
"Still, I… I should watch, I should, should know what's happening, what she’s going through," Jack mumbles.
"She wouldn't want you to torture yourself by watching and seeing her like that." Dana moves so that she's in Jack's line of sight and can get his eye contact. "She would not want you seeing her like that Jack and I know you know that. She would much rather you be in one of the quiet family rooms up there."
"Maybe if I… Maybe if I go into observation it'll give her something to yell at me about when she wakes up and so, so it'll make her wake up, it'll mean she'll wake up." All of them know that's bullshit but nobody says it. "I just, I want to be on the same floor as her."
Jack's finally able to get himself moving and starts walking toward the doors, Dana and Robby staying next to them and exchanging worried glances. He can feel the eyes of all the Pitt staff on him as he walks to the elevator, Shen long since called in to take care of the night shift. He thinks vaguely that maybe he should be embarrassed, that they have lots of people who don't react to something like this the way he did. But that would require caring and Jack simply doesn't.
He lets Robby and Dana lead him upstairs and into one of the quiet family rooms Dana had said you'd want him in. He knows she's right. He knows he doesn't want his last memories of you to be images of you in surgery. He knows he probably couldn't stomach it.
The three sit in silence for a few minutes, Jack lost in thought as he stares at a spot on the wall across from him. His brain conjures up some of his favorite memories of the two of you just to be a fucking dick and make him remember what he's so sure he's going to lose.
Jack has no idea how long it's been when he stands and starts to pace. His brain is so tired he can't even articulate what he's feeling other than sadness and anger and anxiety and grief. He opens and closes the hand covered in your dried blood. He should rinse it off but he can't, can't bring himself to do more than have the thought that he should. And he's quiet at first. Until he's not.
"They almost called her at the scene," he mutters to himself. He looks up at Robby and Dana as he walks back and forth. "They almost fucking called her at the fucking scene!" It's louder than he wanted but neither Dana nor Robby react.
Jack runs his clean hand through his hair and pulls at it. "And then what do I do? What do I fucking do?" He releases his hair and grinds his jaw so hard that it hurts. "I fucking save the guy that killed her!" Jack stops pacing at one end of the room, chest heaving as he lets it all slam into him again, gives into the panic and lets it take him over because he doesn't fucking care. He deserves to suffer. He bends at the waist and lets himself hang there for a second because it just feels like what he needs to do before he straightens up and looks at Robby and Dana. "I saved him while she's, while she is," he has to force the word out, broken and cracked, "dying in the next room! If I'd have, have…"
"Jack there is nothing you could've done. You know that," Robby says firmly.
"No I don't." Jack almost huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. "No I fucking don't! I could've done so many things! I could've driven her. I, I could've asked her not to go, or to take a different route, or, or… I could've gone to the scene, maybe I could've stabilized her better there. Something! Anything!"
"You had no way of knowing, Hon," Dana tells him. "This shit happens, as awful as it is. We know it happens."
"It's not supposed to happen to her!" Jack snaps, gives back into the urge to hyperventilate as he starts imagining his life without you again. "It's not," he breathes hard but short, "not supposed to happen," another breath, "to her." He continues to hyperventilate. "She," his hyperventilation is even harder and faster than last time, almost like a subconscious attempt to make himself pass out, "she doesn't-"
"Okay, Jack, sit down." Robby walks over to him and grabs his shoulders, directs him toward a chair.
"No, I…" Jack shoves at Robby weakly, "I have to go." Despite his words he slumps into the chair Robby gently pushes him into. "I have to go be with her." He looks up at Robby and shakes his head and it makes everything worse, makes the tunnels invading his vision worse as he starts to shake with the panic. "Need to be."
Dana sits wordlessly in the chair next to Jack and pulls another dose of lorazepam for him, quickly runs an alcohol wipe over his skin and sticks him in his other arm. "Jack breathe," she tells him, takes his hand and puts it on her chest and takes big breaths to show him.
He shakes his head again. "No, I can't." But the lorazepam starts to kick in and forces his breathing to slow. Jack fights it though, he fights the drug hard, tries to keep himself worked up and panicking because he deserves it, he fucking deserves it. It's a losing battle though, the drug easily overpowering him.
"Jack, do you want us to fully sedate you so you can get some sleep?" Robby asks gently.
"No," he mumbles, rubbing his clean hand over his face. "I want my fucking girl. I want to be at home in bed with her." Jack huffs and shakes his head, fights back more tears. "And I need to be awake for when Walsh or whoever comes to get me and take me into that OR. When I have to go figure out how to say goodbye to her." The use of when is deliberate. Because Jack is convinced you're not surviving this and it's going to happen any moment now.
And so Jack returns to sitting and staring at a spot on the wall across from him. He can hear Robby talking to him but he doesn't tune in enough to know what he's saying because as he disassociates this time his brain alternates between his favorite memories of you and playing out imagined scenes of what his life will look like without you in it.
He sees himself having to walk into your shared place alone, having to get into bed without you and just stare at your pillow knowing you'll never be there looking back at him with that small smile again. He watches himself having to pack your clothes away and not being able to do it, sinking to the floor instead and holding one of his favorite shirts of yours to his chest and sobbing into it. He sees himself staring at your shampoo and conditioner every time he's in the shower because he can't bring himself to get rid of it, opens the bottles just to smell them to try and remember how you smelled but it's never the same because they didn't mix with your natural scent.
He watches himself cry silently in bed when he realizes your pillow and the sheets have stopped smelling like you. He sees himself keeping the half eaten pint of your favorite ice cream in the freezer, letting it taunt him every time he opens the door. He sees himself planning a funeral instead of a wedding, having to pick out the outfit you'll be buried in, never being able to cook your favorite dish, never being able to move because he can't live somewhere you haven't been. He watches himself grow old without you, sees the spark and light never return to his eyes.
Time passes. Jack isn't fully aware of it, it's like his brain can't recognize it. It's probably the only reason he hasn't asked for an update yet. He doesn't realize Robby and Dana have been in and out of the room, always leaving one of them with him. Because it's been hours now. He's aware of them asking him if he wants something to eat, trying to get him to have some water at least, does he need to go pee, is he sure he doesn't want them to help him sleep.
"Jack." He barely responds to Robby saying his name, raising his chin just slightly.
"Jack."
Jack had prepared for this. He told himself it was going to happen so that when it did he would be ready. But he was fucking kidding himself because it's happening and he is not fucking ready. His entire world has already been pulled out from under him so Jack doesn't understand how he feels it happening again when Emery says his name.
"No," he whispers, refuses to look up at her and shakes his head. "No."
"Jack-"
"No!" he interrupts her. "No! You go back and fix her! Don't come in here and make me, make, don't ask me to come with you to say goodbye!" Jack stands and takes a few steps but then turns around, unable to face any of them, unable to face reality. “Go fix her, please. Please Emery, please go fix her and save her.”
"I need you to come with me Jack, I need you to trust me. I'm not taking you to the OR to say goodbye. I'm taking you to her-"
"I don't believe you," he shakes his head and cuts her off, "I don't believe you. You, you, you just want me to go with you, you’ll take me there once you have me walking."
"Jack," Robby steps in, puts his hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezes. Jack flinches at it because now he's got Robby comforting him for what he's about to have to go do. "Emery is telling the truth. Let's go to her room."
"Why? So you can tell me she's going to die when we're there?" Jack finally turns and looks between Robby and Emery. "Why don't you tell me right here, tell me what's wrong and what happened and what you did? It hasn't even been that long!"
"It's been over eight hours, Jack," Robby tells him.
"I’m not telling you here because I want to take you to her so that you can be with her as soon as possible. I thought you'd prefer to get to her right away and be next to her when I go through everything with you," Emery explains. "She's stable, Jack. It's still touch and go, yes, but right now she's stable."
Jack stands there for a moment with his chest heaving. He has to be with you regardless, as scared as he is. Even if they're lying and they're going to take him to an OR or take him to see you and tell him you're eventually going to die, he has to be with you.
"Okay," he whispers, starts walking toward Emery and the door. He follows her silently, the tiniest bit of relief washing over him when they walk in the opposite direction of the ORs that's quickly nullified by his anxiety and sheer terror about what he's going to be told, about whether you'll recover.
They step into the elevator and head up to the floor the ICU is on, walk for what feels like forever until Emery turns and opens the door to your room. Jack follows her in, head spinning so much he's surprised he's able to walk and stay upright with how dizzy it makes him.
His heart and mind shatter once again when he takes you in, laying so still in a hospital bed. "Oh," he whimpers, shaking his head as tears start to fall, his face breaking. "My girl." His voice shakes as he walks closer to you, goes to stand next to your bed on your left, takes in all of you, every bruised and cut inch, every tube he knows is sticking out of your body under your gown, your ET tube and your PICC line and your casted wrist in a sling because of your shoulder, what he knows to be an external fixators covered by the blanket keeping your broken leg and ankle together. "My love." He looks up at your vitals and sure enough they're all stable. They're good all things considered, all of them except your pulse ox.
Robby brings a chair up behind Jack. "Why don't you sit next to her, Jack?"
"I, I, I…" Jack trails off shaking his head as he sits, takes your uninjured hand in his clean one so, so carefully.
"Her lungs are the biggest problem right now. The contusions are bad. I'm not going to lie Jack, they're some of the worst I've ever seen. And she has some pretty severe pulmonary edema because of how much fluid we had to give her. We're going to keep her medically induced and on the vent and monitor closely." Emery says ‘we’ even though everyone knows she won't technically be involved, isn't really your doctor anymore because that's just not her job. But they all know she'll be involved anyway, that Robby will too. "Like I said, it's still touch and go, she's having some minor events from time to time but we're able to stabilize her. She's not at all out of the woods but she's stable Jack."
Emery continues, outlining everything they did during surgery for your internal bleeding, all the wounds they found, what they found on scans once they were able to get them. She reports what Ortho did for you, who's taking over your care here in the ICU, that Neuro and Ortho are working together on your spine but it's going to have to wait until you're healed enough to handle being prone for surgery. Jack takes it all in and processes it but it's unconscious in a way because he's fixated on you, staring at you and thinking about you and how much pain you'll be in if and when you wake up.
Eventually Emery finishes, asks Jack if he has any questions. He shakes his head, runs his thumb over your knuckles, clearly spaced out and not entirely there. "Emery." Jack pulls his eyes from you to turn and find her when he realizes she's walking out. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for being a dick. Thank you."
"Of course." She gives him a small smile as she nods once and walks out, leaving Jack, Dana and Robby alone in your room.
"Do you want us to stay?" Robby asks.
"No, I…" Jack turns his head back and lets his eyes find you again, stomach churning as this new reality settles over him. "I think I'd like to be alone with her now."
"Alright. But call if you need anything or anything changes," Dana says as she walks over and squeezes Jack's arm. "We'll be back to check on you both."
"Thank you." He makes himself look over at them. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, brother. See you soon." Robby gives him a small smile and then walks out with Dana, shuts the door behind them.
Jack is quiet for a moment as he just watches you, studies your swollen and bruised and cut up face. He clicks his tongue behind his teeth, and lets tears fall. "Oh Baby," he sighs lowly, the words shaking. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He sniffles hard. "I should've, I should've done more. I should've driven you and just not slept. I should've… I'm sorry." Jack doesn't know what else to say, just has the overwhelming urge to apologize to you. "I'm so sorry."
He takes in a loud wracked breath as he says it again. "I'm sorry."
Jack stands, keeps your hand in his and leans in and kisses your forehead, the lightest press of his lips against your skin, almost a ghosting more than anything because he's terrified to hurt you, but he just needed to do that. He sits back down and moves the chair closer, looks at you helplessly, as helpless as he feels. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't protect you, I'm sorry I can't fix you, can't make you, make you better. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." Jack rests his forehead on his arm right below his wrist of the hand holding yours so carefully. "Please come back to me. Please. I'm sorry." He starts to weep in earnest. "I'm so sorry."
Ten days or so pass. Jack's not keeping track of time at this point. That's what he tells himself. He doesn't want to know, prefers to live as unaware as possible of how much time has passed without you. With you in a medically induced coma on a vent. They’d just been able to stop the sedation and take you off the vent. It's a lie though, one designed to make himself feel better. Jack is painfully aware of how much time has passed.
Jack and Robby have been sitting in silence in your room for a few minutes once their general conversation trailed off.
"She's going to wake up Jack."
Jack pushes his lips together and up a touch, shrugs shallowly, doesn’t look over. "You don't know that, Robby."
Robby lets out a deep breath. "True, yeah. But she's only just off sedation and the vent, nobody expected her to wake up immediately. She's a fighter and tenacious and will keep fighting to be with you."
Jack pulls his hand from yours and stands up to pace. "She might hate me if she does."
Robby clicks his tongue. "She's not going to hate you."
"Well guess what Robby, you don't know that either." Jack snaps as he paces. He knows that was shitty of him, knows that Robby is just trying to help in a situation where there's very little to be done. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Robby says softly. "I know you're right Jack, but I really believe I'm right too."
Jack nods in acknowledgment. He doesn't know what to say to that because he still isn't letting himself have hope. Or at least not much of it. "You see her car?"
"I think I saw a photo a few days ago, yeah," Robby nods.
Jack walks over to Robby silently and pulls his phone out, brings up the photos and hands his phone to Robby. "Scroll."
Robby looks at Jack for a moment before taking his phone and looking down at it. "Jesus fucking christ," Robby breathes out as he scrolls through the photos of your car.
"I saved him, Robby." Jack starts pacing again to burn off the anger at himself that boils his blood and makes him want to shatter the window and jump. "I saved the piece of shit that did that," he points at his phone, "I saved the man that did this to her." Jack moves his arm to flourish in the direction of your hospital bed.
"He got released a couple of days ago. Got to just walk the fuck out of here, hardly worse for wear." Jack knows Robby already knows this because they've talked about it at least five times but he still needs to say it all again. "I fucking saved him. And it wasn't fucking easy, it wasn't just treating and stabilizing and getting him off to surgery. It was a fucking save. He was fucking dead and I brought him back to life!" His voice breaks over the last word.
Jack stops pacing and walks back over to the edge of your bed, stands between it and his chair. "How is she ever supposed to forgive me for that if she wakes up? How am I ever supposed to forgive myself?"
"You did your job, Jack. She would never hold that against you or be mad at you for that. We both know she'd be upset if you hadn't treated him." Robby pauses. "And, as for how you forgive yourself, I don't know, honestly. Maybe as she gets better and you see that she's not mad at you for it you'll be able to start forgiving yourself."
Jack shakes his head but doesn't verbally argue. He won't forgive himself. Ever. He knows he won't. Maybe, maybe, if you asked him to he could, or at least could some. "I don't know how to do this, Michael."
Robby doesn't say anything, leaves the silence for Jack to fill.
He carefully settles on the edge of your bed, overly cautious to make sure he isn't pressing against you and potentially causing you pain. "I don't know if it's fair to ask her to fight. Her body is so broken, Michael. It's everything. It's fucking everything. My whole girl." Jack sniffles hard as he tries to keep the tears back. He's so fucking tired of crying. "I'm afraid to touch her most of the time. I swear to god every single inch of her is bruised. And so I don't know if it's fair to ask her to be in all this pain and to fight to come back to me and be exhausted. I know she must be tired." His voice cracks.
Jack brings a hand up to your head and strokes your hair so, so gently, puts no pressure on your head, is almost hovering just above your hair more than anything. "I don't know whether to tell her it's okay to let go. That I know she's tired and in pain and that it's okay for her to rest and let go. Because it's not. Not to me. But I don't want her to suffer and what if she's just exhausted and suffering Michael? What if she's feeling all the pain and unable to do anything about it? What if she's fighting for me, hanging on for me, to be here with me and she's in agony and it’s for no reason because she’s going to die anyway?"
"We would know if she was in pain, her heart rate would be elevated and it's not. It's perfectly normal. And Jack." Robby lets out a breath. "Even if she is exhausted and in pain, even if she's in agony, I know that she would be perfectly okay and even happy with that if it's what's going to get her back to you."
Jack lets out a small sob at that and leans in, presses a delicate kiss to your forehead with trembling lips and then pulls back a little and gives you a trembly smile as tears soak his face and shirt even though you can't see it, talks to you even though he doesn't know if you can hear him. "I love you, Sweetheart. I love you so fucking much."
Another couple of days pass. Jack loses more and more of the small shard of hope he let himself have as they do. He's barely sleeping or eating or drinking. He's only shaved because the facial hair starts to annoy him at a certain length and Robby brought him some stuff from home including a razor.
If someone asked him what he does all day and night he wouldn't know what to say other than he sits by your side, drags the cot they brought him over and lays by your side sometimes. He's always so far in his head and dissociated that time passes without him really realizing it or needing to do something to keep himself entertained.
He hasn't cried since that time with Robby. Maybe he finally settled into a numbness, maybe he ran out of tears. Maybe he doesn't think he deserves the catharsis and that he should have to deal with it all building up inside of him.
Jack scoffs at himself when he hears you say his name just above a whisper. Great, he thinks, now he's adding auditory hallucinations into the mix. But then he swears he feels your hand move in his and his head snaps from the wall he'd been staring at to you. To your eyes. To your beautiful, beautiful eyes that are open and looking at him. "Oh my god," he mumbles.
"Jack," you repeat his name again, just slightly louder. Your throat and mouth feel like sandpaper, have never been dryer.
"Holy shit," Jack breathes. "You, you, you're awake." He laughs in disbelief. "You're awake!" He's on his feet in seconds, looking down at you with glassy eyes. "Hi Sweetheart. Oh, I love you."
Every inch of you hurts. You can tell you're already on pain meds though with the way it's all a dull throbbing ache. And because you look down your body and see all the evidence of injuries, feel the sling, and know that Jack would never let them not have you on strong pain meds.
"Water?" You want to say that you love him too but you're not sure you could get that many words out with how dry your mouth and throat are.
"Of course, yeah." Jack grabs the pitcher your nurse has filled up every day and set on your tray and pours some into the cup next to it. He unwraps and sticks the straw into it as he brings it closer to you. "Small sips, yeah?"
You nod, barely though because as soon as you start to try it fucking hurts. You take a few sips and the relief feels so good you're pretty sure it eclipses the pain for a second. "Thanks," you whisper when you've had enough.
"Better?" Jack asks as he sets the cup back down. "And let me know if you want more."
"Much." You force yourself to say the word at a normal level and make a face at the sound of your own voice. You don't recognize it. Jack laughs softly because it was adorable, because you're adorable and you're awake and you can talk and you recognize him and maybe, just maybe things will be okay. "And I love you too, so much."
He beams at you as you tell him the words he's been dying to hear. "Your voice will get back to normal."
You hum in acknowledgment and are quiet for a few seconds. "Jack, everything hurts."
His smile fades so quickly into a frown that it's like a knife to your heart. You hadn't meant to make him feel bad. It's not his fault. You don't really remember what happened but you remember your car getting hit.
Jack swallows hard. "I know Baby. I'm so sorry," he murmurs. He gently lets go of your hand and reaches behind you and grabs something, brings it down near your hand and rests his nearby. "Do you want a boost of pain meds? Pushing that button gives you one. And if you can't press it just let me know, okay?"
You'd love a boost of pain meds if you're honest. But you'd love time with Jack more because you can tell he's not okay. Can tell he's so, so not okay. He looks gaunt, almost haunted in a way. He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping. It makes you realize it might not be the same day or even the day after you got hit. You can worry about that later. "Won't that make me sleepier?"
"Yeah," he nods. "But that's a good thing, you need to rest Sweetheart." Jack smiles at you softly but internally he's starting to lose it. He feels so selfish because he doesn't want you to sleep. He doesn't want you to close your eyes. He wants to keep talking to you, wants that proof that, at least for now, you're okay.
"In a bit, it's not that bad, honestly." You return his smile, though it's smaller than usual. "I wanna talk to you. I, I don't know how to explain it but I feel like I've missed you. Been missing you." You watch the glass return to Jack's eyes, watch the tears accumulate at his lower lash line but refuse to fall. Your smile fades. "Jack, what happened?"
"I missed you too," he murmurs, pausing for a moment because he has no idea what to say. Where to begin or how to explain or how to tell you he saved the guy that came a nanometer away from killing you. He forces himself to just start. "You were t-boned on the driver's by a drunk driver going 60 in a 25. It rolled your car and then you got hit by a semi head on. And I…" It feels wrong and selfish to get this out now instead of telling you more about your injuries but Jack is stuck. He can't move past it without acknowledging it. "I fucking saved him. You were both brought here and I got his ambulance and I fucking saved him. You coded, your heart stopped multiple times, and I, I saved the man who did this to you." A few tears slide down his cheeks the next time he blinks.
"I saved the man who almost killed you. His heart stopped and I brought him back to life." Jack sucks a ragged breath in through his teeth, eyes reflecting a kind of terror as he makes himself hold your eye contact because it's the very fucking least he can do during this. "And if you can never forgive me for that I understand and can go. Because I'll never fucking forgive myself. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry, I’m so sorry."
"Hey," you say gently, inch your fingers as close to his as possible and brush against them so that he'll take your hand back, which he does even though you know he feels like he doesn't deserve it. "You did your job Jack. How could I ever be mad or upset about that or hold it against you? I'm not and I don't, Sweetheart. I'm glad you did your job. I'm proud of you for doing your job." Jack shakes his head at you to tell you that you shouldn't be. "I am. If you need my forgiveness then I forgive you, but know that I don't think I have anything to forgive you for. And I hope one day we can get you to a place where you can forgive yourself."
Jack wants to believe you, and deep down he does, but at surface level he's still terrified that as you go through recovery and are in pain and having to work so hard that you'll come to hate him. Come to be mad about it and upset and resent him. "Maybe, yeah," he whispers. He knows it's not fair to keep the story here, no matter how hard he's struggling. You asked what happened and you deserve to know what happened to you.
Jack's eyes leave yours for the first time since you woke up except for when he was helping you drink and you watch them glaze over a little. "Jack?" He looks back up at you. "Can I have a kiss?"
He lets out a little breath. How could he have gotten so caught up in everything else that he forgot he can kiss you now. That your lips will actually move back against his. "Always." He leans over you carefully and tilts his head, brings his lips to yours in the softest, most achingly sweet and tender and loving kiss. You sigh contentedly into it and so Jack kisses you again. And again and again. He can feel a little piece of him healing with each kiss. "Thank you," he whispers against your lips before pulling away. You raise your eyebrows slightly. "For helping me when I should be the one helping you."
"You are helping me Jack." You can see your reassurance only goes so far but decide to leave it for now, know him well enough to know that it's not the time to push it.
"We um, we didn't know it was you, when you came in. Robby took your ambulance. Even after I came in and looked at your face we didn't know it was you. You were unrecognizable, your face was so swollen and bruised and…" Jack closes his eyes for a second, squeezes them shut hard, trying to get that image out of his mind. You know it.
"Look at me, Sweetheart. Look at me now, Jack." You squeeze his hand lightly.
His eyes slowly flutter back open and flit around your face as Jack lets the image of your face when you first came in fade. "I saw your engagement ring. That's how we realized it was you." Jack starts to tell you all about it then. He knows he should get your nurse and your doctor but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want to share you.
Jack tells you that it's been almost two weeks which is what ends up throwing you the most, not your injuries or Jack saving the guy who hit you, but the loss of time. He promises that he's been here by your side every day, has been sleeping here and showering here, hasn't left your side for a single second. He tells you about the feeling he had, about you coding at the scene and how they almost called you there, how you coded in the trauma room. He explains all of your injuries and what happened during surgery, how your lungs were really bad but have healed well, are still healing, what they think recovery and recovery times are going to look like.
"Well," you breathe a soft laugh once he finishes. Somehow you remember the conversation you and Jack had over text before the accident as you were leaving for work. "Damn. I guess it's going to be a hot minute before I can have you slip inside me or I can slip into a hot bath."
Jack can't help but laugh, it just comes out because it's the most fucking you thing to say in reaction to everything he just told you. He laughs properly for the first time since the morning he spent with you on the day of the accident as you got ready for work, sits back down in the chair and kisses the back of your hand that he's holding as he laughs.
His laughter only lasts so long though. That kind of catharsis triggers another one and Jack slips from laughing properly to sobbing. To sobbing harder than you've ever heard him cry before, harder than he thinks he's ever cried before. Jack lets go completely, every emotion he's been holding onto since he realized it was you in that trauma room pouring out of him through tears and wracked breaths.
He keeps holding your hand, is so careful not to squeeze it tightly, and brings his head down to rest near your thigh where your hands lay intertwined and sobs into the blanket. Jack cries loud and shamelessly, without abandon because it's all his body and mind know how to do right now. That and try to apologize to you as he does so, choking on his words and sobs.
"I'm, I'm, I'm sorry I save-saved him." The words are strained, like he can barely get them out, can barely control his breathing long enough to choke them out. "I'm so-sorry, you, you don't deserve th-this, I, I, I…"
Jack hates this. He fucking hates it and himself for doing this to you, putting you through this when you just woke up. He hates that he's not taking care of you, that you're having to take care of him right now, having to try and calm him down when he should be there for you.
Seeing him like this breaks your heart, is made all the worse by the fact that you can't do anything to comfort him. You can't tell him to get in bed with you or rub his back or kiss him or wipe away his tears because you can't fucking move really. When you pull your hand from his he cries a little harder for a second until he feels your hand in his hair, weaving through his curls to scratch at his scalp how you know calms him.
You start to feel bad yourself because it feels like this is your fault, like Jack is feeling this way because of you. It's obvious how much he's been through, how he's been living here and hasn't been taking care of himself because he's too worried and depressed over you. And that's your fault. If you hadn't driven to work that day, if you had just done that errand another day. Tears start to slide down your face, for the way you start to feel responsible, yes, but also at watching Jack hurt like this, watching him be consumed by it.
"Jack, Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for my love." You say it just loud enough for it to be heard over his sobs. "None of this is your fault and I'm not mad at you for doing your job, Baby."
"S-still!" He's crying so hard now that he's shaking and choking, almost gagging and dry heaving at moments because he's so completely unregulated. "I, I'm sorry for not protect-protecting you, and for being like this." The last word is ragged, he chokes on it, starts coughing.
"Okay Jack, shhh," you soothe him, continuing to run your fingers through his hair and scratch at his scalp. "Don't try to talk, Baby, just let it all out and we can talk later, I promise."
You're relieved when Jack seems to follow your advice and lets himself cry without trying to say anything to you. His anger at himself makes it all worse. This isn't how he wants to be spending this time with you. He knows you're going to get really tired here soon, that you probably already are and are fighting it, and will fall back asleep and he doesn't want to waste moments with you. He can't help it though. Jack cries until he physically can't anymore and is just sniffling and taking in wracked hiccuped breaths as he tries to come down.
He moves his face so that one side is pressed against the mattress, the back of his head to you, in part because he grabs a tissue off the tray and in part because he doesn't want you to see him like this. You keep your hand in his hair as you give him a chance to collect himself, let him blow his nose and wipe away his tears and get his breathing back to normal before you speak.
"Jack?"
"Yeah Sweetheart?" He still can't bring himself to turn and look at you. He feels ashamed and he knows he must look like a mess, he can feel how swollen his eyes and lips are, and he knows it's going to hurt you, be hard for you to see and make you sad.
"Can I have a kiss?" Your ask has the desired effect, you can see some of the tension melt off him at the thought of kissing you, can see him perk up if only a little.
Jack sniffles hard one last time and then lifts his head, grabs your hand as you let it fall from his hair and kisses your palm. You have to work to keep the frown off your face when you see him, see how totally and completely destroyed he looks. You hate that you can feel yourself growing even more tired and everything getting more painful because you don't want to fall asleep on him. You can only hope that crying like he did for as long as he did combined with the clear lack of sleep he's had recently will exhaust him and finally let him get some good sleep now.
He furrows his brows when he sees the dried tear stains on your cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean to make you cry too."
"You didn't," you whisper back. "The situation did."
Jack grabs a tissue and gently wipes away the salty marks left on your skin by your tears. He shrugs. You know he doesn't believe you and that's okay. You didn't expect him to. That's something that's going to take time and healing.
"I love you," Jack murmurs as he leans in and gives you the kiss you asked for, still so gentle with you but letting this one escalate when you run your tongue over his lip. He doesn't let it last very long though, still concerned about your breathing and lungs even though they're looking much better. You manage to pull the smallest laugh from him when you make a little noise of discontent as he pulls away. "Gotta make sure you can breathe, Sweetheart."
You give a slight teasing grumble but know he's right, could feel yourself getting breathless far quicker than normal. Than before the accident.
"I love you too." You tilt your head at him just a little and smile. It's soft and not that big but it's genuine, it meets your eyes and it is the most beautiful sight to Jack, makes his heart skip a couple of beats and some of the heaviness lift. "We're gonna be okay, Jack. I know you can't believe that right now and I understand why and that's perfectly okay, Baby. But we have each other. You have me and I have you. So I know we're gonna get through this and we're gonna be okay."
A year passes. To say your recovery was difficult would be an understatement. You're not sure whether you even consider yourself fully recovered at this point. You suppose you are. You're back to work and can do pretty much everything you could do before the accident, including Jack. You still have a lot of pain at times which irritates you more than anything but you know it could be much, much worse. You're down to only seeing your physical therapist once a month but you still have exercises and stretches you have to do every day.
Psychologically… things were rough for both you and Jack. Maybe even worse than your physical recovery some days. You didn't have much memory of the actual crash itself until you got in a car for the first time after it and it all came flying back. You'd absolutely fucking lost it in the backseat with Jack, panicking harder than you ever have before, beyond grateful that Robby was driving and Jack was there next to you.
Today is the one year anniversary of the accident. You and Jack have been enjoying each other and the peace and quiet that comes with the extremely remote and unbelievably nice lake house he found to rent for a week. It's your second day here. Jack needed to be way the fuck out of the city on the anniversary, needed to be somewhere he didn't have to see or hear a car or an ambulance. You were more than okay with that, felt the same exact way and told him you wanted to spend the actual day wrapped up in him in bed in a little cocoon of safety.
You and Jack are in the obscenely big tub in the master bathroom. It has built in seats and everything and almost feels more like a hot tub they just put inside than a bathtub. Despite the fact that there's two seats you are, of course, resting on top of Jack with your back to his chest.
He's been treating you like glass all day. It's something he still falls into from time to time and you get it, you truly do. You're not at all surprised it popped back up today, nor do you really care. It means that the sex today has been so incredibly soft and slow and loving. You spent a fair amount of the day just cockwarming in bed, laying on your sides tangled together with Jack inside you as you chatted or made out.
The two of you have been in the bath a while now. It's a post sex bath and it's perfect. You're pretty sure you could fall asleep on Jack if you let yourself. You don't though, want to be present in the moment with him. You play with his wedding ring under the water and occasionally he'll move his hand quickly so that he can get his hand on top of yours and play with your wedding and engagement rings.
You haven't been married long, only two-ish months. After what happened you and Jack were talking one day while you were still in the hospital and you both expressed not wanting to wait. The only reason you waited as long as you did was because you didn't want to get married in the hospital and you wanted to be out of all casts and braces so that they weren't in photos.
It was a small, intimate self-uniting ceremony, the two of you surrounded by your closest friends and family. Instead of a big reception you'd rented a party room at a local restaurant for good food and drinks and a little dancing. It was perfect. It was you and Jack.
Jack breathes a little laugh to himself.
"What are you laughing at Dr. Abbot?" you hum.
"I know it's not the first time this has happened since the accident but I couldn't help thinking to myself right now that you got me slipping inside of you and to slip into a hot bath." He turns his head and kisses your temple, laughs again a bit louder this time. "I can't believe that's how you reacted to me telling you everything that happened and all your injuries."
"Yes you can." He can hear the smirk in your voice.
"Yes I can," he's quick to agree, wraps his arms around your torso and pulls you closer to him. "I don't think I realized it at the time but I think subconsciously that was the moment where I realized you were going to be okay because you'd just woken up after this horrific accident and been told all this awful shit that happened to you and that was your response, that incredibly you answer." He kisses your temple again and lets it linger. "It was just so you and I had missed you," he whispers, trying not to get emotional about it. "I had missed you so fucking much."
"I had missed you too, Baby," you murmur. "I love you Jack. More than you'll ever know."
"I love you more, pretty girl," Jack hums.
You shake your head against him. "That is simply not possible."
"It is indeed possible and true." This time you can hear the smirk in his voice.
You lean up off his chest and move off his lap and Jack whines, pulling a chuckle from you. But you don't go far, just turn yourself over and sit back on his lap perpendicular to him with your back against the tub wall so that you can see him. You shake your head but before you can argue Jack presses one of his thumbs to your lips. "Yes."
You press a kiss to the back of his thumb. "No," you murmur against it. You give it another kiss before quickly taking it into your mouth and nibbling at it gently.
Jack gasps in fake surprise. "Don't bite my thumb!" You smirk around his thumb and then release it, give it another quick kiss. "I think we're going to have to agree to disagree on this one, Sweetheart."
"That's fine," you shrug. "I know I'm right."
Jack rolls his eyes at you affectionately and then wraps his arms around you and pulls you close as you move to get closer to him. Your lips meet in a searing kiss that never quite seems to stop as you start making out. It's sloppy and hot and messy teenager shit almost but that's what makes it so fucking good right now.
It doesn't long for hands to start roaming, for you to get wet and Jack to grow hard again. "Let me take you to bed again. Let me have you again," Jack mumbles against your lips. "Please."
You answer the same way he asked. "Please." You kiss him one more time because his lips are right there and you can't resist. "Please Jack."
Jack nods, looks at you with blown, lust heavy eyes. He gets you out of the tub and both of you dried off, takes you back to bed and finally lets himself kiss every single one of your scars from the accident before he shows you how much he loves you and what you mean to him, the two of you nuzzling noses and breathing against each other’s lips before kissing slowly and swallowing down each other's moans as you climax at nearly the same time.
As you bask in the afterglow together, Jack laying on top of you and you running your hands through his curls and over his shoulders and up and down his back, a thought hits Jack.
"You can say it, you know," he says quietly. "I told you so. You can say it."
"I don't like doing that, it always ends up feeling mean, even when it's teasing." You pause for a couple of seconds. "I also have no idea what I would be saying it about."
"Us being okay and getting through what happened." He can't quite bring himself to say 'the crash' today. "You told me that we were going to be okay and you knew we'd get through it and at the time, I didn't believe you, I couldn't let myself believe you." He lets out a long breath and shrugs. "But you were right."
"Jack," you say softly, "I don't need to say-"
"Please," he cuts you off. "Please say it. I want you to say it. I need you to say it." Jack has no idea why he suddenly needs this now but he does. He knows it's his brain’s way of trying to get himself to accept that when something bad happens and you tell him that you guys will be okay he should believe you. He can believe you in that moment.
Because while Jack hopes that something as bad as the crash never happens again, he knows that some bad things will happen, that there will be hard times because that's life. And you told him you guys would be okay and you were right. So he just needs to hear it as silly and stupid and dumb as that might be or at the very least feel.
"Do you want me to be like… sassy? Or serious?" you ask, trying to infuse some lightness back into the situation for him.
Jack laughs, kisses your chest. He loves you so much he doesn't know what to do with himself half the time. "Surprise me."
You take a moment to consider and then tug on his hair gently so he'll look up at you and he does. "I told you so." You try so hard to say it with sass and a smirk but it doesn't quite hit because you can't keep the brightest smile off your face because you love him and you guys were and are okay and he's your husband and you have the rest of your lives together. Jack adores that smile, loves it so much and finds it so adorable and beautiful he could bite you with how hard the cuteness aggression hits him. But he doesn't, laughs softly instead.
"Yeah," Jack nods, smiles back at you just as brightly and brings his face closer to yours so he can kiss you once he’s finished his sentence, "you did."
I just love exploring the range of ways I think Jack would react to reader being critically injured and I think it would depend so much on who else was there. I think with Robby he knows that he doesn’t have to do it or keep it together, he can lose it because he trusts Robby so implicitly and there’s nobody else he’d rather have treating reader, not even himself. (Not that he doesn’t trust or think the other Pitt doctors are good doctors, just, you know.). But I can also see it a million other ways where it still feels true to him.
Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read and your support! ♥️ As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments, they mean so much to me!
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6.2k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: hurt/comfort; fluff; reader struggling; overwhelm; sadness; reader has one of those days; crying; nondescript mention of reader's cycle causing sore breasts; gets a little smutty at the end; reference to oral and PIV sex; no use of y/n or related.
Summary: Jack takes care of you when you have one of those days.
AN: They're backkkkkkkkkk!! Nobody may care, but I care, I love them 😂. Honestly shocked I managed to stay away from them for so long. You don't really need to have read the series for this to make sense (though I'd encourage it because I love these two), but some things will make much more sense and maybe there will be more depth? Idk. Reader is in such a specific mood it's not like it necessarily screams them the entire time. You can find Part 1 here if you'd like to read or refresh! If you haven't read, Jack calls Reader Doll as a pet name and Reader calls Jack Peter as a pet name which is explained more in the series lol. Inspired by this ask for the 1k celebration! I'm not sure if any of reader's words about what one of those days feels like will make sense or resonate with anyone but I tried lol. I hope this turned out comforting and fluffy and that you enjoy! ♥️
You need Jack.
You need your husband.
If you walk in the door and find him getting ready for work and he tells you they need him to come in you'll come fully fucking unglued.
You know it's ridiculous that you feel this way but you just fucking do. It was a day. You're not sure how else to describe it. It was just one of those days.
"Peter?" you call as you finish unlocking the door and push it open. "Please tell me you're not getting ready to go to work."
"I'm not getting ready to go to work," Jack confirms for you.
You look over at him as you shut and lock the door. Jack nods toward where his crutches are balanced against the couch. If he had to go to work he'd already have his prosthetic on and crutches set aside. He's smiling at you softly from where he sits on the couch, blanket spread over his lap, looking like he was waiting for you. There's something in his expression, in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners this time that tells you he knows. He knows it was a fucking day for you.
He beckons you with a finger. "Come here, Doll," he says quietly, delicately, like he's worried the sentence might be too much for you. He's not wrong to worry about it.
You take in a deep breath and sigh deeply, set down your purse. "If I don't go change first I won't at all until we go to bed and I want to be out of these pants and this fucking top so badly."
Jack smiles at you, his hands pulling the blanket off him a little. He holds up one of your favorite pairs of comfy lounge pants and your favorite shirt of his that you love to steal and then puts them back under the blanket against his body. "Been cuddling them so they're warm for you and smell like me." Your shoulders drop and a small pout pulls onto your face. Jack furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. "Was that not the move?"
You nod at him, swallow hard and then laugh through your nose. "It was the perfect move," you reassure him as you start walking over to him, vaguely teary because it’s so sweet and perfect and Jack. "You have done so, so many sweet things for me over the years, Jack, but this…" You shrug. "This is one of the sweetest."
"Good," he nods as he shifts so that he's sitting normally on the couch but closer to the edge than normal, spreads his legs for you to step between. "Though I'll admit there's a caveat," he smirks at you.
"Oh yeah?" You step between Jack's legs and rest your hands on his shoulders. You don't wear the smirk you normally would, don't have that lilt in your voice, that teasing playfulness that is so you.
It confirms everything Jack was thinking. He continues to be flirty and lighthearted but not overly so. "If you want the comfy clothes you have to let me strip you," he tells you, voice low and full of the smirk he's still wearing.
You click your tongue and sigh dramatically. "You drive a very hard bargain Dr. Abbot, but I accept."
Jack winks at you and brings his hands to your waistband, and unbuttons them and pops the clasp. He unzips them and then pushes them down your legs, helps you step out of them. He hums appreciatively at the pair of underwear you're wearing. "I like this pair," he murmurs, leans forward and kisses at the waistband over your hip. "On or off?"
"Off," you murmur back, run a hand through salt and pepper curls you'll never stop loving and finding unreasonably hot.
"Yes ma'am." Jack hooks his thumbs under the waistband and pulls them down where you easily kick them off. He holds out the pair of pants he has for you, helps you step in them and get them pulled up before his hands grab the hem of your shirt and start to pull it off. Jack hums again as you finish getting your shirt off and toss it aside, his eyes adorably intent as they roam your exposed abdomen and chest. "I love you so much, Doll," he whispers before leaning in and pressing kisses across your exposed skin, not focusing on but certainly lingering on some of your scars.
"I love you so much too, Peter." And you do. You really, really fucking do. He is so good to you, treats you so well, makes you feel so much better just by being him and loving you. He makes everything so much better just by being his sweet, affectionate, teasing self.
Jack presses one lingering kiss to your skin and then pulls back, bunches up his shirt for you and holds it out for you to stick your arms through and then pull on properly. The second you have it on Jack's pulling you onto his lap perpendicular to him, has your ass closer to the outside edge of his thigh so that you're leaned back in his arms and he's almost cradling you. "You hungry?"
You shake your head at him. "Not right now."
He nods, is quiet for a few seconds. "You wanna talk about your day?"
You let out a soft breath. He always knows. It’s like a sixth sense. You've almost never had to tell him or say anything in particular or do something out of the ordinary for him to know. You're not quite ready to yet though, so you defer. "How'd you know?"
Jack gives you a small smile. "You were quiet today." He leans his head down close to yours and kisses one of your cheeks. Normally you text him fairly regularly. Not today.
"I could've just been busy." You nuzzle your nose against his when he keeps his face close to yours, rub your cheek against his lower cheek and jaw to feel the slightly longer than usual stubble scratch your skin.
"No," Jack drawls. He kisses your other cheek. "There's you normally," he murmurs, presses an achingly sweet kiss to your forehead. "There's you busy." His voice stays low and this time his lips find the tip of your nose. "And there's you quiet." Jack's lips finally find yours and yield to you, let you control the kiss, the kisses, because it always turns into more than one with you guys. He pulls away after a few kisses, moves his head back up and looks down at you. "You were quiet today, pretty girl."
You could legitimately scream at how fucking sweet and adorable and healing Jack is being right now. How fucking perfect. How he's being everything you need and then a whole lot more.
"I don't know Jack." Your words aren't whispered or murmured but they're soft and low. A kind of dejection to them almost that makes Jack sad in the truest sense. He keeps his face as it is though, loving and admiring. "It was a day. Not a bad day, just… a day." You let out a long breath. "It was one of those days."
You don't know what else to say and that frustrates you. You know that Jack understands and that he doesn't care that you don't have the words to describe it right now but you do. You care. "Nothing was even that wrong or that bad, some stuff went well even, but it was just so fucking bad at the same time. They day felt so, so…" You trail off because the words don't magically appear for you.
"I don't know," you sigh, looking away from him but not really at anything at all. "I don't know, I don't know how to describe it and that makes it fucking worse somehow, it makes it feel manufactured, like I'm just making it up so that I can feel this way and wallow in it and my self pity and whatever else."
Jack nods slowly. "You're not though," he murmurs, just barely audible on purpose. He wants you to know that he heard you and he understands and that you don't need to respond to what he said and that he isn't invalidating your feelings, but he also wants you to know that he knows you're not making it up.
When you don't say anything Jack sits you back up fully and squeezes your thigh. You stand almost on instinct and Jack grabs a couple of pillows and puts them at the end of the couch and then leans back against them and spreads his legs out so he's laying on the couch but sitting up a little. Once he's comfy he beckons you with his finger and there's no hesitation, you're laying cuddled on top of Jack in seconds, quick enough that it makes him chuckle as he pulls the blanket he'd set on the back of the couch over the both of you.
He gives you some quiet to think about and figure out what you want and need right now, wraps his arms around you under the blanket and holds you and rubs your back and lets you soak in his warmth and smell and listen to his heart beating under your ear. When you start to shift on him Jack loosens his arms for you and smiles to himself as you wiggle your way up him a little so that you can burrow your face into his neck.
Jack wraps his arms back around you and starts rubbing your back again. It would be impossible to explain how loved you feel in the moment, how much you love this, getting to snuggle with him like this, getting to come home to him after one of those days and be able to exist how you need to with no judgment or expectation. It would be impossible to explain how much you love him.
You swallow hard and then ask even though you know you don't need to. "Can I just…?" Your words are muffled and mumbled against Jack's neck but he hears them. And he understands them.
He holds you a little tighter, brings one hand to cup the back of your head. "You never have to ask, Doll. Never. You do whatever you need to." Jack feels the first of your tears against his neck. "I've got you, okay? I've got you, let go if you want, Sweetheart."
Your tears are quiet and somewhat light for a moment before Jack feels you shake your head against his neck a little bit and then finally let go, start crying into him in earnest. You let out the indescribable and inexplicable emotional pain and suffering that has plagued you all fucking day for reasons you either don't know or can't understand or that your brain won't let you fully realize through sobs into Jack's neck as your hand fists at his shirt.
Jack holds you through it, rubs your back and strokes over your hair, whispers soft words of reassurance that he has you and he's here. He's your constant as you fall to pieces in his arms, steady and strong and unwavering as he holds you and catches every piece of you. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now Doll, and that's okay and understandable and more than allowed, but you're going to be okay and even if you don't know what exactly you're feeling, these feelings at this intensity will pass."
It takes what feels like forever but eventually Jack is proven right and the feelings ebb, your tears slow until they've finally stopped completely, replaced by wracking and hiccuped breaths. "I don't, don't, I don't know," you start, cut off by a series of hitched breaths.
"Shhh, Doll, just let this pass. Let yourself recover a bit, yeah?" Jack grabs your hand that's still fisting his shirt and uncurls it gently and places it flat on his chest, his hand on top of yours. "Breathe with me. You don't need to force words out right now or explain. Just breathe. I'm not going anywhere."
You do your best to listen to him and sync your breathing with his. It takes a bit but eventually you're able to. Jack smiles to himself, knows you're recovered enough to talk without making yourself choke and hyperventilate when you pull a corner of the blanket up and move your head and wipe off the side of his neck so that it's not covered in your tears and mucus. He makes a mental note to throw the blanket in the washer.
When you're satisfied with your cleaning job you wipe your face and then put the blanket back and then burrow your face right back into Jack's neck, smiling to yourself a bit when you feel his chest shake and vibrate a little with a quiet laugh.
"What?" you murmur. Jack can hear the small smile in your tone.
He shrugs as best he can in your current positions. "You're just fucking precious and you're all mine." His arms squeeze you a little tighter for a second to emphasize his words.
You sigh noncommittally into his neck, thankful for his words and knowing how much he means the first part and loves the second part but you don't feel particularly precious right now or like anyone much less Jack should love that you're all theirs. You're quiet for thirty seconds and then you finally make yourself pull your face from Jack's neck so you'll be understandable when you talk, adjust yourself so that your head is tucked under his chin.
Jack considers telling you not to apologize preemptively because he knows that's what you're about to say but he doesn't. He knows that you need to say it, knows what it feels like to need to say it.
"I'm sorry," you whisper.
"You have nothing to apologize for, I promise," Jack murmurs.
"I just hate it, Peter. I hate it when I do that to you." You sigh angrily at yourself. "When I just fucking cry for no fucking articulable reason and don't even say anything to you really. I just fucking cry. And it's worse when I walk in the door and basically straight into your arms and just start crying after barely saying hello or asking how you are or how your day was. I hate it."
"I know," Jack says softly. "But sometimes that's what we need. I do it sometimes, and no, before you can say it, it's not different."
"It is though, Jack" you tell him emphatically. "It is because when you do this it's for a reason, a good reason, it's something really bad or sad or difficult or scary. Something you can name. I do it because it was a day, but then I can't even articulate what that means or why it was a day. I'm going to start doing it for no fucking reason here soon I bet."
"That's okay. Your feelings are still valid, your needing to cry or have whatever kind of catharsis is still valid, even if you have no reason." Jack slows his hand as he moves it up and down your back. "You don't need a reason to feel the way you feel, at any time, ever. You can just feel it. So even if you have no reason, I'll still hold you just like this. I'll still have you. I'll still think how lucky I am that you trust me like this, that you feel safe enough to be this vulnerable around me. I'll still think about how lucky I am that you're mine."
"So you don't need words, Doll. You don't need to be able to explain how you're feeling or what you're feeling. You don't need to spin or overstimulate or overwhelm yourself even more by trying to figure out how to articulate how you're feeling and why." He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. "At least not for me. But I understand the urge and the need to know for yourself. I know that not being able to articulate your feelings and the reasons for them makes it feel like they're winning, like they're in control of you."
"Yeah," you agree quietly. Jack's words are so sweet, pull at your heartstrings and make you feel so loved and accepted you're almost not sure what to do with yourself. You feel so restless, not even in a physical sense though, it's all mental. It's like the words you want and need to say to get this to pass are right on the tip of your tongue but you can't find them to get them out.
You try to reset yourself a little, nuzzle your nose against Jack's chest and breathe him in deeply. "Nothing bad even happened." You can't help but shrug. "Especially in comparison to some days that don't even turn into actual bad days."
Jack brings one of his hands up and cups it over your cheek that's not pressed against his chest, thumb running back and forth over your skin soothingly. "It can just be one of those days even if some stuff went well or better than you could've ever hoped for or good things happened. The day can just be one of those days because it is and because that's how it feels to you, regardless of what's happening externally in the world around you."
"I don't want it to." The words sound as small as you feel.
And Jack knows it and it hurts him, kills him that there's not more he can do. His hand leaves your face so he can hold you tighter to him. "I know, Doll, and I don't want it for you either. Ever."
He feels you turn your head slightly and press your lips against his chest over his shirt in acknowledgment, are quiet for a moment or so before speaking again. "I just should be able to articulate it if it's making me this upset."
Jack is careful to keep his next words loving and not teasing like they could be. He knows that teasing isn't what you need right now, isn't going to help anything. "Well, you know what we say about should in this household," he murmurs, starts rubbing circles over your back.
You huff a small laugh. You're not upset, don't roll your eyes. If anything, like Jack hoped, it makes you smile to yourself just a touch. Because he would catch you using that word and remind you.
And Jack smiles to himself at your small, huffed laugh. "You want me to try to describe how it feels for me? See if that kind of prompting works. Maybe it'll be easier to add onto what I’m saying and not have to figure out where to start."
"Please," you whisper. You really need to get this shit out of your head. You know it'll make you feel so much better.
Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I guess for me… when it's one of those days it's usually because it feels like everything is too much, everything is overwhelming but not in the kind of way where you can take a few minutes to yourself and calm down and feel better. It's just constant overwhelm. But you can't find the source of the overwhelm, so you can't try and make it better, so you're stuck. Which makes you feel helpless, which makes you feel out of control, which exacerbates everything."
"Yeah," you agree before Jack can continue. "You're stuck and you can't figure out what it is, in part because there isn't anything. Or there isn't anything that should be overwhelming. Even all the little things added up don't feel like they should be overwhelming, which contributes to the overwhelm itself, but they fucking are overwhelming and it's impossible to let them go and then you pick one and ruminate on it and then pick another one and so you're just constantly in it. So then everything feels overwhelming and it becomes one of those days."
"It feels like whatever happens next will be the last goddamn straw." Now that you've found the words they pour out of you easily. You have no idea if they make sense or will be understandable to another human but it doesn't matter. You need them out. "And you put on this fake smile and try to hide it and act like you're not dying inside because somewhere between the constant overwhelm and bouncing from thing to thing to ruminate on, you've just gotten sad."
You blow out a small breath from your nose and swallow hard. "You've gotten so fucking soul-consumingly sad, but even that's almost blunted in some way. Like you feel it all, you feel that fucking sad, but you don't. You almost can't. At least you're able to recognize the emotion though. But as soon as you start to really feel and identify the sadness you just jump back to feeling totally overwhelmed with just a side of sadness, and so you go from stuck in overwhelm to stuck in limbo somewhere between overwhelm and crushing sadness and that feels awful. So you're feeling it all but you're still not. And you're back to not knowing what 'it' is. Not being able to define how you're feeling."
"You still feel like the next small thing could push you over the edge but never does because the ledge is moving with you. You're constantly chasing it. You're restless, so fucking restless, mentally more than physically, but sometimes it feels like you need to just go run as hard and fast as you can for as long as you can to try and get it out, whatever it is, and to try and clear the fog from your brain. And you're agitated in this sad and overwhelmed way." You let out a sad sigh through your nose. But you can feel it helping, can feel yourself getting a little better and perking up a little as you get it all out.
"You know that in some ways it feels better to go over the ledge and get it out but you can't. Until you can and it's too fucking much as you start to fall and you don't want to go over the ledge anymore and get your hand out just in time to hold on, but then your pen dies or your Diet Dr Pepper spills or you get one more thing at work and you're falling and maybe you hit the ground and you're crying or maybe you're trying not to cry and so you're stuck feeling like you're falling while still having to work." You shake your head slightly against Jack's chest as you think back on feeling it today. So many fucking times. "And so you're sucking on your tongue and pushing it against the roof of your mouth as hard as you can while still looking normal to not let the tears you feel fall or you're crying silently at your desk at work and trying to pass it off as allergies or you're sobbing into your husband."
"And you fucking still can't explain why." The 'still' is harsh, sounds desperate, as desperate as you were before you found these words. "You still can't explain why it was one of those days. You can't explain why everything was too much today. You can't explain how you feel. And then it starts all fucking over again because none of it ever really went anywhere. You didn't really work through any of it, you didn't cry it out and work through it that way, unless you're lucky and you finally did and it's the end and you're coming out of it, so it just starts all over again and you realize you're still stuck."
"You know there still isn't anything or any combination of things that should make you feel like this. Sometimes on one of those days, if you're honest with yourself you can step outside it for a second and can see the things, objectively, you can see how they stack and would be too much for anyone. But then you step right back in it and that objectivity and realization is kind of gone. And on the rest of them, on most of them, your brain shuts off all your insight so there's no stepping out of it and so as far as you're concerned there truly is nothing that explains why you're feeling like this." You pause, quiet for a moment as you catch your breath and realize how much lighter you feel just from talking, from being able to finally get it out, like you knew you would if you could just find the words. And Jack helped you find them. Like he always does.
"I don't know if that made any sense." You huff a laugh and sigh. "Probably not, but saying it all helped, getting it out, talking it out. It helped. A lot I think." You're quiet for a moment and Jack lets the silence linger, waits patiently for you to say more. "It's just… it's all there and you can feel it all, but it's not and you can't feel any of it and so you don't understand how you've ended up here feeling the way you are." You shrug against him. "And so you say it's been a day, that it's been one of those days."
You pull your head off his chest and shift yourself. You need to see him, need him to know how much you love and appreciate him, need him to know you know how lucky you are to have him. Jack makes a little noise of displeasure when you start to move off him but is quickly soothed when you just shift so that you're laying on top of him somewhat, your forearms on his chest as you hold your head up so you can look at him.
"And if you're really fucking lucky you have someone who knows exactly what it's been one of those days means without you saying a word. Who senses it over text. Who gets it. Who relates. Who knows that there's nothing he can do to fix it but also knows that he can make it better and will do anything to do so." You look at him with what you hope is enough adoration and love he could drown in it.
Jack smiles tenderly at you, puts his hands on your back just above your ass under the blanket and listens as you continue. "You have someone who helps you try to articulate it and listens, without interrupting, to you go on and on and on once you find the words when he already knows and you know he listened, he really fucking listened and didn't just space out and he could probably repeat some of it verbatim."
Your voice grows a little shaky. "You have someone who's been there and helps lead you out of it, someone who, if he hasn't been there, jumps into the fray, your fray, where he abso-fucking-lutely doesn't have to go, he jumps into it with you and helps you look for and find the way out of it."
"You have someone who loves you and won’t give up on you. Ever. For any reason. Even when you feel like he should." Your eyes are slightly glassy now as they bore into his, saying thank you and you love him and you're grateful for him and need him and want him. You and Jack stay like that for just a moment, eyes locked on each other's, soft, almost mushy, smiles on both of your faces. So much is said between the two of you with no words, only your eye contact and expressions.
"And if you're really lucky," you whisper, "he has salt and pepper curls you fucking love and hasn't shaved in a day so his stubble is a little longer and-"
Jack snorts a laugh at the abrupt change and shakes his head at you, glad to see you perking up as you sniffle a laugh. "Come here, you." He slides his hands up your body, one to the back of your neck so he can pull you in for a kiss. You giggle but it quickly fades once your husband presses his lips against yours. There's the perfect give and take, Jack letting you take what you want and need before he starts seeking more and you let him take, let him give you what he thinks you need, really, back and forth as you kiss until you're breathless.
When you're finally forced to break apart from air you stay as you are, your hands resting flat against Jack's upper chest. His lips are lightly flushed from kissing you, his hazel eyes sparkling and pulling so beautifully green in the lighting.
"Everything you said makes sense." You give Jack a little look of disbelief. "It does. I promise," he murmurs, returning his hands to your back and pressing just the tips of his index fingers into your skin and running them up and down your mid to lower back. "Feeling a little better?"
"Yeah," you nod, looking and feeling lighter. "I needed to be able to get it out. Thank you for helping me get there, and…," your smile turns so sweet Jack can nearly taste it, "For everything, Jack."
"Always. And you have nothing to thank me for, Doll. I'm your husband." Jack brings his left hand up and stretches it, wiggles his ring finger a little bit to emphasize his wedding band. "I'm here for you. Today, tomorrow and every day after."
You grab his hand with one of yours and bring it to your lips, kissing over his ring a couple of times before lacing your fingers so that you're palm to palm. "I love you."
"I love you too." Jack sticks his lips out requesting another kiss and you're quick to drop his hand and lean up to give it to him, giggle into the kiss a little when Jack uses his hands to grab your ass and pull you up his body a little closer. "You wanna keep talking about it?" he asks once you've both had enough kisses for the moment, his hands not leaving your ass.
You shrug a little. "Only if it flows. Like if it comes up or out when we're talking normally because I think I need normalcy right now and not to focus on it."
"Okay," he nods. His eyebrows raise slightly as he gives you a little bit of a look. "We should get you some food."
You scrunch your nose at him. "I'm fine," you mumble, already knowing he's right. "I'm not hungry."
Jack knows you're telling the truth, that you aren't hungry, because he knows how appetite vanishes when you're feeling how you are, it happens to him too. "It'll make you feel better." He gives you a knowing smile. "You know I'm right."
You sigh over-dramatically and rest one side of your head on his chest. Jack chuckles nearly soundlessly but you can feel the vibrations and movement of his chest. His arms wrap around you tightly, one running parallel up your spine so he can cup the side of your face to keep you close. He starts listing off names of places and eventually one sounds good and you nod against him telling him you'd like that.
Food gets ordered and you and Jack stay as you are while you wait for it, talking about whatever comes up. Once the food arrives you guys turn the TV on to the show you're currently making your way through, sit on the couch with the side of your thighs touching, still chatting some as you watch. You get everything tossed once you're both finished and settle back on the couch, Jack laying out on it and you cuddling on top of him, your back to his chest with the blanket on top of you.
You alternate holding Jack's hands and playing with his fingers under the blanket as you watch and chat. At the end of one episode you sigh softly, not really wanting to move but knowing you should. "You wanna go shower?"
Jack hums, low and from his chest, his hands slipping from yours and sneaking their way under your back. "Maybe in a bit." You can tell what he means from the tone of his hum, his growing hardness against your ass also a give away.
He pops the clasp of your bra and moves his hands back around to your front. You think he's going to reach for your shirt to take it and your bra all the way off at the same time but he doesn't. His hands slide up the front of your shirt and dip under the cups of your bra, pushing it off and up enough to be out of his way.
You sigh when your breasts are released, a light hint of a moan to it. That bra is cute and makes your boobs look good, but it's so uncomfortable so you always get that sensation of relief and aching soreness that feels good when it comes off. You're also at that point in your cycle where your breasts get a little sore.
Jack's warm hands squeeze your breasts, fingers kneading with the perfect pressure. He's well acquainted with the sighs of relief you make when you take off the bra you were wearing, watched you put it on this morning and made a point to remember. He knows you're at that point in your cycle, too.
It's when his thumbs and index fingers pinch and roll each of your nipples that you finally give him a proper moan, arch your back some. Jack hums a laugh telling you he knew exactly what he was doing and how it was going to feel for you. "Yeah," he murmurs, the confidence verging on a subtle cockiness in his voice making you shiver, "I thought that would feel extra good right now, Doll."
"God, you have no fucking idea," you moan, eyes fluttering closed as you let the sensation consume you, feel yourself get wetter and wetter for him the longer he plays with your breasts and nipples. You swear to god Jack could probably make you come just like this, that's how fucking good it feels. "I'm gonna give you the best blow job of your life or whatever the fuck you want as a thank you, fuck Jack."
"While I'd never turn that down," Jack emphasizes his words with a particular rough twist of your nipples that sends a shockwave of pleasure over you, "you don't have to thank me."
You moan again. "Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean, I don't feel like I have to, I want to. Because this… this feels so, so good Jack." He swears he can already hear a little bit of a slur to your words from the pleasure he's giving you. "We could continue this in the shower?"
"How about I take you to bed first," he rasps, fingers rolling over and massaging your breasts so deliciously it's hard to breathe. "No sense showering and then getting all sweaty."
You bite your lip and try to think of anything to say while also thinking about all the things he could possibly do to you. "Does that mean you have plans?" you finally get out.
"I have a thought or two," he hums.
You clench around nothing at the edge in his tone. "Like what?"
"I'd like to taste how wet just my hands on your tits has made you. Keep my hands on them as I do." He brushes his thumbs over your nipples teasingly light.
You jolt at the sensation, already feeling shaky from the pleasure. "Jack if you eat me out and play with my tits and nipples right now I might cease to be." He's too fucking good at eating you out, it's obscene how good he is at it, how much he loves it.
"Well the general idea is to clear your mind for at least a little bit, yeah." You whine at his words, thinking about his mouth on you and his hands still at your breasts and his stubble in between your legs and what it would feel like against your extra sensitive nipples and breasts.
"What else?" you pant.
"I'd like to fuck you." Jack lifts his head up and leans it forward a bit so his lips can be right next to your ear as he murmurs. "Hard."
Jack doesn't need to say more the way some men might to make their words hot as all fuck. It's in his delivery of the word, the way his voice sounds when he says it, how he murmured it right at your ear as his hands continue to make you wetter and wetter for him.
"How?" you breathe.
Jack hums a dark laugh. "Gotta keep some secrets, Doll." He moves his hands from your breasts and takes them out from under your shirt. "Go get on the bed."
My pen dying or my diet dr. pepper spilling or getting one more (sad) thing at work have definitely NEVER been my last straw. I don't really know what the end was or where it came from but I had that feeling of relief and good soreness pain taking a bra off while writing this and thought to myself what if Jack Abbot was here to make the most of this feeling and you know, here we are.
Anyway, I hope it was okay and comforting and fluffy and that you enjoyed! I have so much I'd like to do with these two still, they are my original babies. 🥹 If you have any ideas or things you'd like to see with them, feel free to let me know! I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments, they mean so much to me! Thank you so much for taking the time to read! ♥️
Want more Jack and the Pitt content? Check out my masterlist here. I also write for Pope from Animal Kingdom!
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Interact with this post if you'd like to join my Michael Robby Robinavitch tag list, and this post if you'd like to join my Andrew Pope Cody tag list! Each tag list is separate, so be sure to interact with each post for each character you'd like to be tagged for!
summary: after a bad day, robby gets a suprise on the roof. (0.8k)
notes: more dad!robby BECAUSE I LOVE DAD!ROBBY OKAY. i have 0 experience with children so if any of this is inaccurate im sorry!!! not proofread and no warnings. love yall 🥰
the cold breeze hits robbys cheeks, cooling the heat that had built up from non-stop movement all day, and helps ground him. he closes his watery eyes and breathes deeply just as you taught him to when things get too much, though without your presence he finds it harder to fight the sinking feeling in his chest. the shift was… hell. in reality thats probably an exaggeration but he cant think of a single other word that adequately describes the past few hours. non-stop chaos, patients becoming aggressive more than usual, gloria on his tail constantly and that case. the main reason hes up here needing to get away from the pitt. it sticks in his mind and all he can see it-
before he can get lost in the spiralling thoughts he hears the door to the roof open softly, followed by a familiar pair of footsteps. he spins around quickly and sees you walking towards him carefully due to the chubby baby wrapped to your chest.
"what happened? are you okay?" robby goes into to doctor mode immediately and starts looking over you both for any sign of injury or illness, but all you do is smile softly and tiredly.
"were okay, dont worry." you reach a hand up to cup his bearded cheek, the other rhythmically tapping against the sleeping babys back. "heard you had a bad day. wanted to make sure youre okay." you say as if its the most casual thing in the world. he casts his brown eyes down to his baby girl who has matching ones, though they are closed right now, deep in sleep and drooling over your shirt.
"is she-"
"shes wrapped up perfectly, just as the doctor said to." you say, voice barely above a whisper. "aaand i happened to have timed it perfectly that nap time is over, and im sure shed love nothing more than to wake up in her daddys arms." he still doesnt say anything, instead preferring to flick his eyes between the both of you.
eventually he does answer by moving his hands forwards to your wrap and you help him manoeuvre her out of it. once shes been freed robby cradles her in his arms as she makes small noises signaling shes waking up. he presses a soft kiss to her nose which causes her eyes to start fluttering gently.
"hey maggie, you have a good sleep baby?" at the sound of his voice she opens her eyes fully taking in her surroundings before she looks up to robby and immediately breaks out into a gummy smile and grabby hands. he adjusts her so shes upright and face to face with him, a large hand supporting her back. her pudgy hands make their way to his beard and she opens and closes them quickly, fascinated as always with the feeling of his beard between her fingers. the touch makes his shoulders visibly relax and relase a huge sigh, she always did that, you both did.
"hi." robby says again now sporting a grin of his own. she squeals in response and babbles, robby nodding and responding as if hes never had a more important conversation. "no way, and you came on an adventure? all the way to daddys work?" he tickles. her chunky stomach and pulls a proper belly laugh from her and giving her forehead a soft kiss, longer than usual.
"told you, she always loves waking up with you." he looks to you now and if possible his smile grows wider.
"come here."
robby pulls you into his arm thats not supporting maggies and kisses you. "thank you," he mutters against your lips, quickly followed by, "who ratted me out."
you laugh at him and he doesnt think hes heard a sweeter sound (besides your daughters giggles) and say, "dana. she was worried about you, said today was worse than usual."
he nodded, "you can say that again." he looks at maggie again as she drools down his clothes now. "i think its about time we get you home little missy. im sure youre starving."
"just like i imagine her daddy is to," you say raising an eyebrow at him, still able to see the exhaustion in his eyes even through his smile. "i think we all deserve some greasy food and comfy pyjamas while we lay in bed and watch shitty tv?"
"that sounds perfect." robby says, quickly followed by a happy squeal from maggie.
"though you cant have greasy food baby you get boob." you say and maggie still smiles excitedly as she always does. "cmon mikey lets get you home."
before you head off the roof you wrap maggie to robbys chest, the warmth calming any negative feelings still swirling inside him though as he looks at the happy baby strapped to his chest, and even happier you by his side, he cant find it in himself to even think about the shift he just worked.
ꕤ Andrew "Pope" Cody x F!Reader - Bartender!Reader AU
ꕤ 4.7k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: jealousy; anxiety; shutting down; self-doubt; self-hate; very brief thought about self-harm (not by reader); unwanted attention and flirting; brief mention of accepting infidelity (nobody even comes anywhere close to any sort of cheating); allusion to sex, small splash of NSFW at the end; no y/n.
ꕤ Summary: Pope thinks you're interested when a customer asks you out.
ꕤ AN: Once again here to say I love this man an unreasonable amount. I have this set in that kind of loose bartender!reader AU that I unintentionally made and kind of love. You don't need to read any of the previous fics in that AU for this to make sense, but you can find one here and the other here if you'd like! This also incorporates this request! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! ♥️
"It's gonna be fun! Plus I’ll be there."
The guy is smirking at you and tries to drop his voice to be suggestive. It’s not.
You're already over this group of guys sitting three stools over from Pope at the bar of the Drop. They’re constantly needing you, asking for this and that, just so that you can only escape them for a few minutes at a time. The flirting has been awful and relentless, met with pained and grimaced half smiles from you that should be more than enough to tell him and his friends you're not interested in this guy. You’ve told them you have a boyfriend you love very much, but they're tipsy and full of themselves so none of it works.
You can see it getting to Pope as he overhears it, his face setting more and more, body growing increasingly tense. This is the first time you’ve been asked out by a patron in front of Pope. And of course you’re wearing a proper t-shirt so your necklace isn’t visible.
You need these guys to get out of the bar and to the party the guy asked you to go to with him as soon as fucking possible.
"Maybe," you finally shrug noncommittally, hoping it’ll get them to knock it off until they leave and you say no.
Maybe. You're actually considering it? That does it for Pope, he can’t stay here and watch this happen. He digs out his wallet and throws a $20 on the counter, way too much to cover his one beer, drains what's left of it and starts to leave.
You have absolutely no intention of going. Sometimes it's just better in these situations to feign a little interest to get them off your back. You're excited because you're off at 10 tonight and have plans to spend the night with Pope, maybe take a walk on the beach and grab some food before returning to your place. You guys have been together for eight months now and things are going well. Pope has all but moved in, both of you wanting him to escape his mother as much as possible, so he's almost always at your place, sleeps there nearly every night anymore.
"Maybe?" one of the guys questions, drawing out the word and looking at you like you're insane for only saying maybe.
"I'll go if my boyfriend can come with me and wants to go." You flash them a tight lipped smile, narrowing your eyes.
One of the three scoffs. "And who's your boyfriend?"
Your smile pulls up into something genuine and settles on your face with the smallest hint of a smirk. You love getting to tell people you're Pope's girl and love even more how his reputation, while not completely fair or earned you think, precedes him and gets men to back off. "Pope Cody."
"Oh," the three say in various tones, all suddenly looking sheepish and sober.
You hum a laugh. "Need anything else?" They shake their heads and you nod and turn to walk back over to Pope.
Your face immediately furrows when you see his empty seat and the $20 he left on the bar top. You look around and see him getting closer to the door. "Pope!" you call after him, hoping he'll hear you and stop. You quickly make your way from behind the bar and towards him.
He has half a mind not to stop, but that feels childish and even with his heart hurting and emotions walled off and his half acceptance that you guys are over, even with his veiled jealousy, he doesn't want to worry or hurt you. So he stops, but doesn't turn around.
"Hey!" You find it weird that he doesn't turn toward you but you brush it off and just step in front of him. "What's up? Where are you going?"
"Home," he grunts at you.
Your brows furrow, you don't understand what happened. "Are we still having a little mini date kind of thing once I'm off?"
His jaw clenches. "Oh, no. Please, go with them if you like them so much better."
You recoil slightly, confusion falling over your face more intensely. "What?" You shake your head at him. "Better than who?"
Pope holds your gaze. "Me." It's numb. There's no emotion in his voice as he buries it all down. But you can see glimmers of it in his eyes. "Go tell them it's not a maybe and you'll be at their party since you'd rather spend your time with them. With him."
Your jaw actually drops a little and you're frozen and silent for a long enough second that Pope steps around you and continues toward the door. "Pope! Wait! That's not true, at all!"
He hears you but he doesn't stop because yes it is. He was stupid to think that he'd ever be enough for you in the long term. That you'd ever stay with him. He wonders what it is that finally made you leave. Wonders why you’d do it to him like this.
You watch him walk out the door and want to run after him, reassure him that he's wrong, that you don't like the guy or them at all, that they're just a random group of customers tonight, and that you told them about him to get them to fuck off. But with Pope you're not sure if following him is the right move or if it's better to give him space for a bit, finish out the rest of your shift and then go to him, show him you have no interest in going out with that guy or the group.
Deran makes the decision for you in the end, calling out to you. "Yo! Could use you!" He gestures to the busy bar.
"Yeah, of course, sorry," you say distractedly, return to the bar and head to a waiting group. "What can I get you?"
By the end of your shift things have slowed enough that Deran lets you leave early, clearly able to tell that something is up with you and Pope. "You guys okay?" he asks as you grab your stuff and start walking out.
"I…" It hurts to admit. "I don't know."
Deran looks at you for a couple of seconds and then nods. "Pope is… Pope, you know?"
"I know and that's one of the reasons why I love him. I just don't know if he…" you trail off again with a sigh. "I don't know."
"You guys will figure it out. Get outta here." He flicks his chin at the door.
"See you tomorrow," you nod at him and finish the walk to the door and leave.
When you pull up to your place and don't see Pope's truck out front your heart sinks. You know it's jealousy, that it stems from his insecurities that are a result of a lifetime of being used and abused and told he wasn't good enough and that nobody would want him and that he's incapable of being on his own or with someone romantically, and a bad, bad person only good for violence. It hurts your heart to think about him feeling that way. It’s all so untrue.
You don't bother getting out of your car, just drive over to the Cody house praying that he's there and that you won't have to see or deal with Smurf, praying she isn't with him feeding him lies about how awful you are and see, he can't trust anyone, and nobody wants him like that.
Mercifully his truck is there and you're able to slip in the back and get to his room without running into anyone.
"Pope?" You knock softly on his door, not wanting to disturb him in the unlikely event he fell asleep. "Can I come in?"
There's no response and the urge to cry hits you as you wonder if this is the end. If it's too much for Pope, if he truly believes you like the guy, or anyone, better or more than him. You decide to knock again and if he doesn't answer, stick your head in to see if he's asleep. If he's not then you'll take the hint and leave.
This time your knock earns you a quiet grunt and you open the door and step in, lock it once you've closed it because the absolute last thing you need right now is Smurf walking in. He's curled up on the very edge of his bed, his back to you. Pope is big, broad and thick and muscular and has a presence. But curled up with his knees close to his chest on his queen size bed he looks smaller than you've ever seen him look before and you hate it. Hate that you're at least part of the cause of it.
You want nothing more than to run to him and slide on his bed next to him but you know you can't. He always prefers that you shower after work before getting into bed or being on the couch because you inevitably get sticky. You always do because you respect him and it's such a simple thing.
"Can I grab a shower quickly?" You know that if he says no then he doesn't want you here, doesn't want you on his bed with him.
There's a couple seconds of silence but it doesn't feel like Pope is thinking about how to answer, more that your words are just processing slowly because of how in his head he is. "Yeah."
You let out a small breath of relief that Pope hears and that confuses him. "Okay, I'll be quick." Before you head to the bathroom you grab a shirt from one of his drawers to wear once you're out.
Pope's head spins even faster while you shower, because you came. You went looking for him when he wasn't at your place. It's only a bit past ten so you came here straight from work, didn't go out with those guys. He feels bad now, on top of everything else. It’s too much, his head hurts and he just doesn’t want to feel.
It's genuinely not that he doesn't trust you, it's that he thinks so little of himself. Can't imagine why anyone, much less you, would want to be with him, especially when there’s other options right in front of you.
Before you came over right after work and proved him wrong, Pope had assumed, because of his own trauma, that you'd go to the party and be with the guy or find someone else and probably not try to find him until tomorrow. He was telling himself that it would be okay. That he could accept any kind of infidelity if you still wanted to be with him, because does he really deserve any better?
But he considered asking you to leave because he doesn't want to hurt like this, doesn't want to be hurt and there are moments where it's impossible for him to see any ending for the two of you that doesn't end up with him hurt and destroyed. Losing you now would destroy a part of him, even if he's the one who broke it off, especially because of tonight, but it’s better now than years down the road. Hearing you say maybe was just so hard. It hit him like a slap in the face. It was one of his biggest fears, you finding someone else and it happened right in front of him. But he doesn't want to hurt you and he knows he already is. He could hear it in your voice.
There's a huge part of him that craves love. Your love. Because it feels so true and real and unconditional, even now. And there’s a tiny piece of him that, with your help and nurturing, is just barely starting to believe that he deserves love and is capable of giving it, and giving it beautifully, and that he's a good person and so much more than what his mother made him, that who he is for and because of Smurf isn't the real him.
And despite his insecurities, deep, deep down, and easily pushed down further by his negative thoughts about himself, his entire being knows you and knows you're his and choose to be his and love being his, knows you love him and he loves you and that you're not going anywhere, knows he can, and does, trust you completely, more than he trusts anyone else in the world.
Of course it all devolves into an encompassing and stifling self-hate for doubting you, for thinking you'd ever be disloyal or cheat on him in any way because he knows you wouldn't. That you would break up with him long before you ever did that to him. That it's happened to you before and you'd never put someone else through what you went through. Self-hate that he's acting like this and shutting down and ruining the night and very probably your relationship because he doesn't know how to do this and is scared and retreating into himself. Self-hate that you're upset and sad and hurting because of him.
You're quick in the shower, desperate to get close to Pope and comfort him and yourself and work out whatever this is. You dry yourself quickly once you're out and deal with your hair just as fast, not caring too much about it at this point.
You pull on Pope's shirt and then slide into bed next to him. Your hand touches his side before you're able to get your body pressed against his back and Pope flinches.
You pull your hand back fast, like it's been burned, and scoot away from him. Ice flows through you and tears hit your eyes and start falling silently. He's never flinched at your touch before.
Pope squeezes his eyes shut harder and cringes to himself. He knows that hurt you, and he hadn't even meant to flinch, it just happened. There's no reason to flinch with you and he's not sure why he did. But he's also not sure how to walk it back so he stays quiet, feels like he's way out of his depth and drowning at this point.
When he doesn’t say anything you start to shuffle across the bed. He clearly doesn’t want you here, you’re just making him worse and he needs space. You’re losing him, more tears falling at the thought, but you’re not going to force yourself or your words on him.
Pope hears and feels you starting to get off the bed and it’s like he can’t breathe to get words out but he has to make you stay. “You’re leaving?” he forces out quietly.
You stop moving toward the edge of the bed. "Isn’t that what you want? It feels like you want me to leave but don’t know how to ask or say it," you whisper, the sadness in your voice making Pope want to take a knife to himself.
"No." He says it quickly, more of a breath almost, like he went to say it so fast his vocal chords didn't quite catch up. He lifts his top arm and reaches back blindly with his hand, looking for any part of you he can touch and pull toward him.
You grab your hand with his and let him pull you closer to him with it, settling back on your side and moving right next to him, your chest against his back spooning him as much as possible with your size difference. Pope repositions your hand and laces his fingers through yours and holds them to his chest. It's grounding. It's you.
Your bottom arm adjusts so that you can have it above you, bend it right so that your hand can run through auburn curls you adore so much you dream of them. You nuzzle your nose against the nape of his neck and press a few soft kisses there. Pope sighs contentedly at it, though you can tell there's a touch of sadness or something similar to it. You stay quiet for a few minutes to give you both a chance to settle and recenter. Then, you speak.
"I know this is a jealousy thing, Pope and I get it, I promise I do. But please know I didn't want to go with them, nor do I like them better than you. There's nobody on the planet or in space that I like better than you," you murmur, press a lingering kiss to the back of his neck. "You're my person. You will always be my person."
A couple of beats pass. "You said maybe," he whispers.
You let out a breath, not one that makes him think you feel like you've been caught, just one that says you're thinking of how to explain. "I did, yeah." Your fingers continue to run through his hair as you explain. "I know that intellectually you know and understand that people flirting with me is just something that's going to happen, that it's part of the job. But I also know that emotionally it's much harder to process and deal with even though you trust me completely, because I know you do and that this doesn't change that."
"I said maybe because I've come to learn that sometimes if I shut it down it gets worse. They just try to flirt harder and get more lewd and inappropriate. Sometimes they even get angry and aggressive or threatening. And I know you and Deran were there and nothing was going to happen to me but I've trained myself to always take the safer path for the days and nights where you or Deran aren't there so that way I don't confuse days and do it when it's just me. I can handle myself, yeah, you've made sure of that," you laugh softly, "but I just prefer to not have to."
"So I said maybe to get them off my back. I think that you might not have heard what I said after maybe. I told them that I'd go if my boyfriend could come with me and wanted to go." You press another kiss against his skin and leave your lips close enough to brush against him as you speak. "As I hoped, that prompted one of them to ask who my boyfriend was and I got to tell them Pope Cody and I wish you could've seen the looks on their faces."
Pope can feel your smile on the back of his neck and it, along with your words, goes far in bringing him back down somewhat and reassuring him. He squeezes your hand and then lets it go, rolling over so that you're face to face.
"Hi, Handsome," you murmur, smiling at him.
He looks at you for a second and then has to move his eyes down to look at your neck. "Hi."
"I know it's hard." You readjust slightly so that you can keep running your fingers through his hair and put your other arm over his side. "I really do. Believe me, I get jealous too, a lot, and so I know all the insecurities it can bring up and how difficult it is to deal with and how truly awful it can make you feel about yourself. And I know my words only go so far but you have to know, Pope, that I only want you. You're it for me. I'm only ever coming home to you, I'm only ever going to be with you anymore, physically and emotionally. There's nobody else for me. I've met and have the person I want forever with."
Your words make Pope emotional and he hates how quick tears are to form in his eyes. He looks back up at you and swallows thickly. "I'm not good for you. I hurt you. I don't know how to do this. I'm too fucked up for you."
You furrow your brows in concern. "Why? Because you got jealous?"
Pope shakes his head and a few tears run down his cheeks. "Because I'm not a good person and you are. And we both have to accept that I'm never going to be the person you think I can be."
"I don't think you need to be some other person, nor do I want you to be. I just want you to be you, Pope. Just as you are." You pause for a second to gather your thoughts. "You don't need to change in any way or become what you think is a better person or become perfect for me to keep loving you. I just want you. No more and no less, however 'you' are on any given day. I love you. There isn't some version of you that I think you can become living in my head and that's who I'm really in love with. I'm in love with you. The man who has been through so much and struggles with emotions sometimes and thinks he doesn't know how to be in a relationship when he's treated me better than anyone else I've ever been with, and who sometimes needs reminding that he's a good person and isn't who he's been forced to be and that he deserves happiness and love and good things."
You bring your hand from his side to wipe away the remnants of his tears. "And Pope if there are times that you have to be a different version of yourself, a version of yourself that you don't want to be and that someone else makes you be, that's not going to push me away. I accept all the versions of you. Because I love you just as you are."
Pope's heart races. Despite your words he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop when what he did and what his jealousy means really hits you. He wants to feel secure so badly but he doesn't know how. "I'm sorry. For the jealousy and being an asshole at the bar and shutting down."
You give him a small smile and run your top hand up and down his side. "Jealousy is human, Pope. I accept your apology and thank you for it, but know that jealousy is human."
"I hate the idea of you thinking that I don't trust you or doubt you." He has to draw your attention to it, to at least one interpretation of his jealousy because he needs you to see it. Needs to know that you've seen all the angles so he can do his best to reassure himself that there's no shoe waiting to drop. "It's not that, I promise."
"I don't," you say simply with a little shake of your head. You say it quickly too, it's not something you really have to think about. You know it's not that. "I get jealous too, remember? I know it's not always about your partner, that it can be about your past and how you've been treated and what people have told you about yourself. I know you and I know this isn't a situation where you got jealous because you fundamentally don't trust me. I know it's a trauma response."
Pope looks at you, face furrowing deeper as more tears fill his eyes but don't fall, making him feel weak. He looks like he's in pain and he is in a sense. Because this is too much, you're too much. Too good for him and he's going to lose you and he needs to point out everything bad about him as it relates to the two of you that he can think of right now so that he knows you've considered it. "You're too good for me. Too patient and understanding. I'm going to take too much one day and you don't deserve that."
"You're not going to take too much," you reassure him, or hope you do anyway. "You give too much to ever get close to taking too much."
He huffs at himself at that. "I'm not sure what I really give you other than sex and ruined nights and-"
"Hey," you cut him off so he can't list every negative thing about himself that he perceives. "You give me peace and reassurance just by being near me. You give me a chest to cry into when things are too much or I'm sad or anxious or whatever. You give me happiness, all the time, sitting at the bar just to be with me while I work, when you smile at me, when you laugh, when you make a joke that goes over most people's heads and when you're so serious all the time. You give me strength."
"You give me love, unconditionally. Love that I know I can count on to always be there no matter how badly I fuck up or upset you and no matter how sad or anxious or whatever I am, no matter how much mental health I have or don't," you laugh softly. "You give me so, so much, I couldn't possibly list it all."
"But most importantly you give me you, Pope." You smile at him and Pope has never felt more loved than he does in this moment. "All of you. Your heart. And I know how hard that is, how hard it is to trust and give someone the power to hurt you, to ruin you, especially with your past. You give me you, and even if you gave me nothing else, that would be so much more than enough."
"Really?" he whispers, unable to believe he gives you all of that, or that you believe he does, or that he would be enough. Just him.
"Yes, Sir." You nod, smiling at him fondly. "I love you. And I'm gonna love you forever."
His face relaxes just slightly as he closes the gap between your faces. "I love you too." Pope kisses you then, a kiss so soft and achingly sweet that you know nobody would think he's capable of, but he is. All the time with you.
You let him take what he needs, giggle into the deepened kiss when he pulls you closer to him and holds you against him as tightly as possible.
"I'm sorry I'm not good with words and don't have more to say," he mumbles against your lips.
You nuzzle your nose against him and give him another kiss before responding. "You're more than good enough with them, but you don't always have to have them. Sometimes we just don't and sometimes we say what we need to without words." You press your lips against his again. "You're very good at that."
Pope hums against you in response, kissing you again, hard, things escalating as you naturally start to roll on your back and spread your legs to accommodate him as he follows, using his knees so you don't have to take all of his body weight. But before it even really begins he shakes his head as he kisses you and pulls away. Your stomach drops a little, unsure of what's wrong, of if you did something. He looks down at you with his usual Pope intensity. "I can't do this here. This place can't taint this, us. I'm not going to let it. Can we go to your place?"
A small smile you're clearly trying to contain pulls onto your face. "I would really love that," you nod, being a little over-dramatic in showing your restraint. The corners of Pope's lips quirk up in a small smile and he shakes his head slightly at you in an inside joke kind of way.
He leans up and back on his calves, planning on helping you sit up and then getting the fuck out of here, but he pauses, his brain short-circuiting for a second when he's met with the sight of your bare cunt, his shirt riding up you a bit with all the movement. You forgot you'd only put on his shirt. "Ah," you hum and click your tongue, "I'm gonna need to borrow a pair of your sweatpants or shorts, please."
I hope you enjoyed and thank you so much for reading! I really love hearing your thoughts and comments, they give me so much motivation and happiness! ♥️
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Based on this ask for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "show me that bruise please."
6.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Discussion of reader being very briefly assaulted in the form of her arm being grabbed hard; diverges from canon; a fairy bad bruise but no heavy graphic description; canon typical violence in the form of the guy who assaulted you being taken care of by the Cody boys™️; reference to use of a bat as a weapon; mention of a shotgun; super vague reference to drugs if you've watched the show and/or know Craig; mention of a bar; Pope struggles; heavy allusion to sex; emotional-ish but I think still quite fluffy; no use of y/n or related.
Summary: You come home to Pope with a bruise.
AN: My first time writing for Pope. He is a tough one to nail down in all aspects, voice, characterization, movement. So I'm very nervous and concerned about whether this reads and feels like him in those ways. I'm also only about half way through season 4 so I haven't seen all of him quite yet. I didn't get into too much into either Reader or Pope's internal thinking and feelings how I sometimes do. I was trying to keep it lighter and shorter. 😂 Anyway, I hope it reads and feels like him and is nevertheless enjoyable if it doesn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments and thank you so much for reading!
You’re still thinking about how you’re going to tell Pope as you turn down the street of your house.
You suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. His reaction will be the same no matter how gently you tell him or how much you play it down. Because it’s you. And so it’s visceral for him. Instinctual.
Especially when it’s you being injured by someone else.
The two of you met shortly after Deran bought and opened the bar. He hired you as a bartender. To the surprise of everyone, Pope included, the two of you hit it off. He’d come in and sit at the bar before opening while you prepped. You’d talk, he’d listen, would talk some. He talked more over time as he became comfortable with you. You started going to parties at the house which gave you more time together, got him more comfortable around you. Particularly because you generally spent about five minutes in the backyard before slipping with Pope to whatever free room was available and shutting the door.
You only ever talked. You’d lay on the bed side by side and stare at the ceiling while you talked and during the periods of comfortable silences. You never made him talk. Never made him try to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to push for more while in a bedroom with him.
He let you help with Lena. It was you he turned to when he had to let her go. He spent considerably more time at your place after, both because he wanted to be there and because you saw what Smurf was doing to him.
Your relationship was a slow progression. But he finally asked you out like you hadn’t been dating in a way already and things grew from there. You probably moved in together a little too quickly but you had to get him out of that fucking house and away from Smurf. The progression wasn’t linear. Nothing ever truly is. Both of you had things to work through, pasts that made relationships difficult. You stuck together though. And here you are a few years later. You just bought a house together and are both thinking about more in your own heads.
Pope’s on the couch waiting up for you and watching another nature documentary when his phone rings. His brows furrow a little when he sees it’s Deran. “Yeah?”
“Hey, so listen… little physical altercation at the bar tonight-”
“Involving her?” He’s already up and grabbing his keys.
“Yeah but she’s fine, man,” Deran sighs in that vaguely impatient and resigned way he does. “She already left and is on her way home. It really wasn’t much. Some guy grabbed her arm and that was really all he was able to do before it was handled. I just didn’t want to get yelled at for not telling you, so I called.”
Pope’s voice is even lower than usual, seething. “You better hope she’s really okay.”
He hangs up, turns all the living room lights on, sits back down, and turns the TV off. He’d love to know why the fuck you didn’t call him.
He hears the garage door opening, your car pulling in and it closing again. He’d taught you that when you guys moved in. To keep the car in reverse and close the garage door before parking, unlocking your car doors and getting out. Safer. Thirty seconds or so later the door leading from the garage into the house opens and you walk in, set your stuff down with its usual clatter. “Hey! I’m home.”
You toe your shoes off and kick them onto the bottom shelf of the shoe rack how Pope likes. The second you step into the living room and find the TV off, all the living room lights on, and Pope sitting straight up in the armchair you already know. His eyes find yours immediately and stay on you.
“Deran?” you confirm as you walk further into the living room. You stand near the armchair, close enough that he could stand and reach you or grab your hand as he sits but far enough away to give him space and not be looming over him.
“Called.” Pope’s face would be unreadable to anyone but you. Everyone would just see anger and his scowl. And yes, he is angry. But you see the slight softness to his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow just a little differently than when he’s angry, and the way his head isn’t bowed in anger but rather lifted just a little with the slightest tilt. Worried. Pope is worried about you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
It’s acerbic. It’s Pope being worried and struggling with the vulnerability that worry brings. He’s not sure what he would be without you. Not sure he would continue to be for very long without you.
You tilt your head at him a little, keep your tone soft and volume normal. “Of course I was.” You nod as you say it. “I just thought doing it in person would be better so that I’d be here and you could see I’m okay.”
After a few seconds of consideration your answer earns you an almost imperceptible nod. He likes that thought process, the way you were trying to make this even a little easier on him. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head at him and he accepts it for now. “What happened?”
You shrug. “I was walking back from a table and some guy stopped me and started talking. When I tried to excuse myself to get back behind the bar he grabbed my arm. I got away quickly enough. Left a bruise but it’s really not bad.”
“What?” It’s low, eerily calm and all gravel. And there’s anger, you think. Real anger. Not anger that’s in part masking worry. You can see it and you can hear it.
“Pope, I’m okay-”
“He left a mark on you. That’s not okay.” His breathing has gotten heavier as his anger grows. It’s not at you and you know that. He’s just livid at the thought of someone leaving a mark on you. He’s glad he can’t see it, that you’re wearing one of his shirts and the sleeve is long enough on you to just about hit your elbow. Glad he has time to try to prepare himself to see it.
“It’s not that bad, it’s just a bruise.” You offer him a small smile to see if it’ll help show him you’re okay. It does. Just slightly. Your smile helps him. Always helps him regulate and come back to center even if just the slightest bit. “I give myself them all the time.”
He shakes his head a little. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is or isn’t. And if it’s already visible it’s bad enough.”
“Pope, I’m okay. Look at me.” You offer him your hand and after a few seconds he takes it and stands up. You take one of his hands in yours and press his index and middle finger into your wrist, his fingers automatically adjusting until they find your pulse. You cup his face, keeping looking into his eyes. “I’m here,” you murmur. “I’m here with you and I’m okay.”
His jaw grinds a little but he nods and lets out a breath. It’s helped him come down a little. “Show me that bruise please.” His tone has evened back out. He’s not demanding. It’s a statement, but there’s just enough of a slight upward intonation at the end of the sentence that you know you could refuse.
You don’t want to refuse though. And there’s no point in refusing. He’s going to see it at some point tonight unless you change in the bathroom with the door closed and wear one of his shirts or something long sleeved.
“Okay.” You nod at him. Pope lets go of your wrist and your hands move from his face, one hanging at your side as the other grabs your sleeve and pulls it up, bunches it at your shoulder before coming down so he can see. You hold that arm out a little for him.
Pope’s breathing picks back up as looks at your arm, uses his finger to ask you to hold it out more and turn it for him. He’s a little lightheaded and a lot nauseous at the sight, red and purple blotches are already settling into your skin. But it’s not so much the red and purple that makes him lightheaded and nauseous.
“That is not just a bruise,” he grits out, his breathing picking back up again. “That’s his fucking handprint on your skin! That is his fucking handprint bruised onto your arm!” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell though he says the words with force behind them. The words are strained too. A man trying to keep himself collected. At least for now. At least for this conversation with you.
Pope thought he was livid before, thought he was full of rage. At whoever did this to you. At himself for not being there to protect you. But one look at the handprint shaped bruise on your upper arm has him thinking he’s never truly been livid before. Hasn’t come close to hitting true rage before.
“I’m okay. It doesn’t really hurt and it’ll fade.”
“Who was it?” Pope finally pulls his eyes off the bruise and back up to yours. “Is he a regular?”
You shake your head and let out a concerned breath. “Deran and I already took care of him, Pope. Please. I don’t want you to leave tonight or put yourself at risk while you’re this upset about it.” Your eyes grow a little glassy and the corners of your lips pull down.
Both your words and the look on your face make Pope pause for a second. He can’t let his anger go. But he can at least try to set aside for now. For you.
“You took care of him?” His eyebrows raise slightly.
“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty sure I broke his nose. If I didn’t, Deran definitely did. He was there within seconds of my punch to take over for me.”
“With?” You know he’s asking how you might’ve broken the guy’s nose.
“My fist.” You smile a little at the way the quickest little smirk of pride flashes on his face.
“Does your hand hurt?”
“A little maybe.” You open and close it. “Nothing I’d be desperate to take ibuprofen or tylenol for.”
“Let me see.” He holds his hand out and you place yours in his. Pope looks down and doesn’t love what he sees. Your knuckles are very clearly bruised. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” he releases your hand and looks at you, “it always is.”
You shrug. You don’t really care. “But hey, it’s not broken because I had such a great self-defense instructor who taught me how to protect myself for the times when I can’t be with my boyfriend.” Something about ‘instructor’ gets to Pope a little, makes his heart beat a little faster. You pull your sleeve back down, covering the bruise. “Probably the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.” You hold out your hands for Pope and pull him gently and start walking backwards towards your bedroom once he takes them.
“He can be taken care of again.” He’s talking about the guy who did this to you. You give him a little nod, shrug in admission and acquiescence. The guy could.
“Auburn curls,” you continue, squeezing his hands. He goes to squeeze back but stops, doesn’t want to make the bruising worse. “The most beautiful hazel eyes. Big hands that enveloped mine. Soft yet firm tummy I could feel whenever he was right behind me helping me position my hands or something. Muscular arms.” You cross the threshold into your bedroom, warmth flooding through you when you watch the corners of his lips twitch up, his eyes crinkle a little as your words make him give you the smallest smile. “Sharp jaw with some stubble that made me shiver when it would scrape lightly over my ear and face when he leaned in from behind to give me instructions.” You stop walking when you and Pope are standing face to face at the end of your bed, stepping close to him and resting your hands against his chest.
“You were supposed to be paying attention.” He tilts his head slightly as he slides his arms around your waist. “To what you were being taught.”
You smirk at him. “Evidently I was.” You pull your bruised but not broken hand from his chest and wiggle your fingers at him.
“Maybe you need to take a refresher course from this instructor.” It seems teasing. Or the closest to this kind of teasing Pope will probably ever get. And perhaps it is in part, slight part. But really it’s a type of vulnerability Pope only gives you. It’s a veiled ask and expression of concern. He wants to teach you again, assure himself that you know how to defend yourself when he’s not with you.
“I’d be more than happy to do that.” You nod at him.
He swallows. “Thank you.”
“Always,” you murmur. You press your lips together and up, ask him for a kiss. He leans down and in to give you one. More than one. Brings a hand up to hold your jaw gently. Like you’ll break. Another silent ask, though you’re not entirely sure for what. You’re not sure he knows. You pull away a little at a natural break in your last kiss. “What do you need?”
He shakes his head a little. “I don’t…” His eyes wander around your face, jaw rolling as he tries to find the answer. Not because he feels he needs to give you one but because he wants to find the answer for himself. A few quiet moments pass, but you’re patient. You’re always patient with him. He finally gets what he needs articulable, brushes the thumb of the hand still holding your jaw over your lips, just enough force to tilt your head a little. “To look at you. To feel you.”
You nod as you study him, his eyes. There’s really two ways to give him both of those. But there is only one way he’s using his eyes and body to ask for, consciously or not.
If he wanted to strip you and lay you on the bed and look over you by kissing every inch of you his free hand would be playing with the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants and his eyes would flick to the bed at least once. But neither of those happen.
Instead his eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. His free hand squeezes your hip gently, gives it the slightest tug to the right. It matches with the way his thumb tilts your head slightly to the right. The bathroom is off to the right.
It’s obvious.
“Shower me?” Your words are important. Especially now, especially to Pope. Shower me. Not shower with me. You want him to do this for you. You’re giving this to him. Giving yourself to him. “Wash him off me. Please. I only want you on me.”
“Yeah,” he nods, “okay.”
You smile at him as he lets his hand fall from your jaw and take yours. He leads you to the bathroom, closes the door so the steam will heat the room, turns the shower on and lets the water get warm as he strips you, pants and underwear first, then himself completely, and then his fingers play at the hem of your shirt for a few seconds as he tries to brace himself to see it again before he takes it off, makes quick work of your bra.
His anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s right there beneath the surface. It flares when the bruise is revealed again, rings in his ears. But you’re more important than it. You need him right now. To take care of you and wash the guy who did this from your skin as much as he can.
And he needs you. Now and always. Needs to know you’re okay. He feels like his emotions, his worry and resultant need to see and feel you might be out of proportion with what happened, especially to an outsider. Because at the end of the day you are right. It is just a bruise. It’s not life-threatening. You don’t need any medical treatment. But for Pope it might as well have been. It was life-threatening to him because you were in danger and he wasn’t there. The situation was life-threatening even if the bruise it left you with isn’t.
The whole thing is a reminder of something he knows all too well, how fragile life is, how easily it’s taken away. How easily the woman he loves could be taken away. It makes him breathless if he thinks about it for too long. So maybe his emotions and his reaction feel out of proportion, would seem that way to an outsider. But they aren’t to him. He’s had too much ripped away, seen too much violence and death, and so every threat to you is life-threatening in his mind.
Pope grabs your hand again before he uses his other to feel the temperature of the water. You bite your lip at it because something about it is just adorable and precious. He wants to hold your hand here in your bathroom. Doesn’t want to be not touching you.
Once he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets you in first, makes sure you get completely wet and are warm before he lets you spin the two of you so that he’s under the stream of water. When he’s done he moves you back, has you get your hair wet again before grabbing your shampoo. He’s thorough, massages your scalp a little before rinsing and applying your conditioner. He holds you while it sits, hugs you to him, his head turning to rest on your shoulder. After enough time has passed he rinses your hair, makes sure all the conditioner is out.
The breath of air he lets out as he takes a step back to grab your body wash would be just that, him letting out a breath, to anyone else. But you see it for what it is, a small sigh of relief that he can now finally do what he’s been aching to do. He can wash you, can run a soaped up washcloth over you, follow behind it with his other hand so he can feel you as he looks you over, go over every inch of you to reassure himself. To comfort himself.
You grab the washcloth and start to get it wet as he grabs your body wash. But you stop him. “Yours, please.” He’s still for a few seconds before grabbing his and turning around to take the washcloth for him. You love smelling like him. And you know that smelling like your shampoo and conditioner and his body wash is going to be perfect for him in bed tonight. Because he loves the smell of you but also loves the possessiveness of you smelling like him. Best of both worlds.
The shower has been quiet and continues to be as Pope washes you, kneeling to wash your legs to make sure he feels all of you, looks at all of you. It’s not unusual. It’s Pope. He doesn’t need words to express himself right now. His hands and eyes and lips say everything. He’s worried about you. He’s scared. He’s angry at the guy who did this. He doesn’t like you getting hurt. He hates it. It’s unacceptable. He’s sorry he wasn’t there. He’s going to take care of you. He’s got you. You’re safe with him.
He loves you.
You don’t speak because you know how focused he is and wants to remain. You talking might interrupt or distract him. He might not get everything he needs from this. So you watch him wash you, run your hands through wet curls when he’s on his knees in front of you.
Pope occasionally presses kisses after the hand following the washcloth. To your hip, your collarbones, your knee, your inner wrist, your tummy, the back of your calf, your lower back, up your spine, your shoulder, your hands, your fingers, your neck. He doesn’t care about the taste of soap on his lips, he doesn’t even really register it.
He avoids it though. That one upper arm. But once the rest of you is finished and it’s the only unwashed part of you he turns his attention to it. You watch the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes as he looks at it, watch his jaw clench and unclench. Pope looks at you, waits for the soft smile and nod you give him before his eyes turn back to your upper arm.
He’s exceedingly gentle as he runs the washcloth over the bruise, the hand that follows behind it feather light, fingertips dragging over your skin lightly enough to bring goosebumps to your skin even with the heat of the shower. The washcloth hitting the floor makes a slapping sound that neither you nor Pope really hear. He’s too focused on you and you’re too focused on him.
He leans down, drops his head enough to bring his lips to your arm, shifting as he needs to in order to kiss every single square inch of the bruise. His eyes stay on it once he’s done, fingers tracing over it again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he brings his eyes back to yours. His scowl has tightened enough to reflect how sad he is, how responsible he feels. They match his slightly glassy eyes. Shame clouds his features and he has to look away, afraid of what he’ll see on your face once his apology processes even though he knows your face isn’t going to change.
And there’s the fear you knew was coming for him.
The fear that he fucked up, that he wasn’t there and let this happened and failed to protect you so you’re going to revoke your love. Break up with him. Leave him. Or maybe just punish him with the silent treatment and put downs and little snide comments designed to inflict maximum damage until you decide it’s enough. He knows you won’t do any of that but that type of treatment is all he’s known and even with the years between you where you’ve never done anything of the sort, it’s still almost impossible for the fear to not take him over for a little when he feels like he’s messed up and let you down. It’s a Pavlovian response. And he knows you know that. That you don’t hold it against him or think it’s reflective of what he thinks about you.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your voice is warm and even. It’s normal, how you always talk to him. You have to fight to keep it that way not because you’re mad at him or upset with him but because seeing him like this, being this hard on himself, feeling this guilty, makes your heart ache for him and hurts worse than the bruise or when it was left.
“I should have been there.” He shakes his head and you can see his scowl relax back into anger at himself, jaw setting.
You move your hand within his field of vision so that he knows it’s coming when you slide it into his and squeeze. “I know it feels that way, and your feelings are valid and your guilt makes sense, I promise. But we can’t be together every second Pope. And even if you had been there unless you were following me from table to table it would’ve happened all the same.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have seen us together and not tried.” You tug on his hand a little, try to get him to come closer to you so that he’ll be in the stream of water. You can see that he’s cold. But you’re not surprised when he doesn’t move, knows he thinks being cold is just part of the penance he feels he deserves. So you step out of the stream and drop his hand so you can wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. “And I’d have been there. I’d at least have been there.”
As you expected, Pope slides his arms around you and walks you both back into the stream of the shower. You stand there quietly with him for a few moments until he relaxes enough to truly hug you back, lean over you and rest his head on your shoulder. You rub his back, try to give him as much comfort as he’ll accept before you pull back and lean in to kiss him.
You break the kiss and let your hands leave his body to hold his face so that he’ll look at you again. “I know I can’t take it away from you or convince you that you don’t need to feel responsible or guilty or like you let me down or failed me. But I can tell you that I don’t feel like you’re responsible for it, I don’t feel like you let it happen or that you weren’t there for me or that you let me down or failed me. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going silent.” You give him another couple of kisses before smiling at him, watch him fight to accept your words. “I still love you more than I know what to do with and I still feel loved by you. There hasn’t been a single second since you first told me that I haven’t.”
“There hasn’t been a single second I haven’t.” He’s urgent in the way he says it, like he needs you to know, needs you to believe him.
“I know,” you murmur. You steal a lingering kiss from him and then settle him back into you. It doesn’t upset you that he doesn’t really verbally acknowledge the rest of what you said. You know he was listening and taking it in and is trying to process it all.
After another minute or so Pope pulls away from you so that he can quickly wash his hair and body. Normally you’d ask to do it for him but you know it would be too much for him right now, that he’d let you but grow even more tense with how much he’d feel like he didn’t deserve it. So you just watch, step out of the stream when he needs to rinse. And when he’s done he pulls you into him so that your back is against his chest, positions you just right so that the water falls on you both but keeps your heads out of the stream as you soak together.
Eventually you start to talk softly, chatter at him like you do. It’s something he loves about you. That you’ll talk to him and not expect him to talk in return. But you don’t talk constantly either. You know when to and for how long. You’re not afraid of the silence that often falls between the two of you, it’s always comfortable, always feels safe. Sometimes you just like to break it. Sometimes the energy shift within him as he starts to get in his head is so palpable you can feel it and start to talk to bring him out of it before he gets too far in. Sometimes it’s some of both.
He comments from time to time, gives you hums of acknowledgement to make sure you know he’s listening. He doesn’t need to because you know he’s always listening. Always remembering. He’ll bring up something you randomly spoke about as you guys make dinner a month after the fact. Sometimes you don’t even remember.
You bring a hand up and back and run your fingers through his hair for a second as best you can. “I love your curls when they’re wet,” you sigh happily.
“You always love them.”
You giggle a little at him and the way he says it so simply, like he’s saying water is wet or some other obvious fact, almost a little distracted, voice stoic in a way and low enough to be all gravel. “True.”
From there you tell him about other things that happened at the bar. Give him a little more info on just how well Deran took care of the guy.
“And as Deran’s hauling him over to the door Craig leaves the bathroom,” you pause in a silent we both know why, “and is like ‘yo, what the fuck?’ and starts yelling for Kai to hand him the bat and when she wouldn’t he started to go for the hidden shotgun. Luckily Deran had the guy out by that point, but then Craig found out what happened and was asking for the bat again and saying he was just going to find and have a talk with the guy and make sure he knew I was yours and that he was lucky it was him and Deran there and not you.”
“Fucking Craig,” Pope huffs. But you know his lips are upturned at least a little, know that he loves it, his brothers protecting you, that he loves them. “Deran should’ve let him.” You hum in acknowledgment and stand in comforting silence for a bit. “I’m glad they had your back.”
You don’t comment on those words, know he doesn’t want you to. Instead you tell him the rest of the night was uneventful, let there be a few minutes of silence before you start talking again, this time about whatever pops into your head. Things you need at the grocery store, somewhere you think you guys should go on vacation, another random story someone at work told you, how you need the oil changed in your car.
The entire time you chatter at him Pope holds you close, kisses at your neck and just below your ear, occasionally letting his lips pull up just a little at something you say or how animated you get, content to listen to you and let you drown out the thoughts in his mind trying to take over.
“Leave your car tomorrow and take mine. I’ll change the oil.” He gives your neck one last kiss and then moves his hands to squeeze your hips gently. “Let’s get out. The water is getting cold.”
“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” You spin to give him a kiss quickly before you wait for him to turn the shower off and step out, dry himself and wrap his towel around his waist. He holds his hand out for you and you take it, let him grab your towel and dry you off.
Pope wraps your towel around you to help keep you warm while he sorts out your wet hair for you. You both hang your towels to dry before heading back into your room.
“No.” He says it softly but it’s loud enough to hear and you turn to him, abandoning the pair of pajamas you were about to pull from the dresser. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you. “Please,” he whispers. He needs you skin on skin, no fabric between you. He needs to feel your warmth seep into him. Needs to know you still want his skin on yours.
“I’d love that.” You smile brightly at him. It makes his heart seize a little. He’ll never get over you wanting him in every way, of you looking at him like that. Like he’s your world.
Nor will he ever get over sliding into bed next to you and laying on your side, you seeking him out, tangling your legs together and resting your arm across the side of his waist as your heads lay on the same pillow and you look at each other.
There’s a couple moments of silence as you both settle in.
“How’d your day go? Anything you want to share?” The smile you wear reassures him he can say no if he wants.
He shrugs with his top shoulder. “It was fine until that phone call from Deran. Didn’t really do much.”
You hum at him. “Well I’m glad it was otherwise fine.”
He gives you a single nod and the peaceful silence returns. The two of you just rest together, looking at each other, hands running up and down your sides. You watch his face slowly tighten. He has something to admit.
You give him time to work it out in his head, don’t prompt him or ask him anything. And eventually the silence is broken.
“I’m finding him,” Pope admits.
You let out a small laugh, smile at him and nod. You squeeze his hip. “I know.”
“Does that make you mad?” That question is quieter, like he’s afraid of the answer and feels like shit for the way he’s not sure a ‘yes’ would be able to stop him.
“No.” You shake your head.
“I don’t want to make you mad.” He swallows thickly, like he’s trying to take his next words down with it. “But he bruised his handprint onto your skin. I can’t let that go, I can’t let that go.”
“It doesn’t make me mad, my love. I promise.” You run a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, yeah? Can’t have you getting hurt on me. Or anything else.” You don’t need to specify you’re talking about him getting caught and going back to prison. He knows.
There’s a brief pause as he accepts your words. “You like taking care of me when I’m hurt,” he mumbles like it doesn’t mean everything to him.
“Well yeah!” you huff a laugh. “But I’d gladly accept never getting to take care of you in that specific way again if it meant you were here with me and never got injured, or sick for that matter, again.”
Pope nods. More silence. He shifts in bed, just a small wiggle. But he has been the whole time. He’s restless. He knows you’re okay but he needs more to quiet his mind.
“You’re okay?” He breaks the silence again.
“I’m okay.” You smile at him and nod. Your eyes roam his face and then settle back on his as you hear what he wants. “It’s okay if you need more.” You grab Pope’s hand and roll on your back, tug on his hand to get him to follow you so that he’s on top of you. “If you haven’t felt me quite enough to really believe that I’m okay.”
“Yeah?” he breathes with a nod.
You lean up and kiss him, run a hand through his curls and use it to guide his head down with yours as you kiss. “Yeah,” you whisper against his lips.
He kisses you this time, gives you a tiny grunt of appreciation when you open your mouth for him so he can taste you. As you kiss you grab his hand, guide it over your body to remind him that he can touch you, that you’re his, all of you. He doesn’t need much of a reminder, hands roaming all over you as he kisses you breathless. His hands are softer than usual, gentler. He doesn’t squeeze quite as hard. It’s not that he doesn’t want to mark you, he loves marking you. But not tonight. He can’t tonight.
You whine in discontent when he breaks the kiss and pulls up to look down at you, hazel eyes blown and chest heaving slightly. “Thank you. For not making me ask.” He gives you another lingering kiss and pulls up a little and looks at you again like you’re unreal, a figment of his imagination. But he could never imagine something as good as you, no matter how hard he tried. “You never make me ask.”
“You do ask.” You sigh softly as he moves one of his hands closer to where you want it. Where he wants it. “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” You widen your legs for him letting his pelvis drop down and settle against yours more as you continue to look him in the eye. His hips and yours roll and his hand falters as you both find friction another way. He gives you a soft groan as his hand starts moving closer again, though for a different purpose this time. The pleasure Pope’s sending through you has your voice breathy and low as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer again so that your lips touch. “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”
I hope it was okay and 'Pope' enough! I love hearing your guys' thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin, motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming!
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“Thank you. For not making me ask.” “You never make me ask.”
-
“You do ask.” “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”
That is one of the most romantic things I've ever read. The vulnerability in saying "thank you for not making me ask" is much greater than in simply asking for it. "I'll always make sure I can hear you"
I'm so glad you enjoyed and saw the romance with me, I just love him so so much and think everyone should have someone who won't make them ask 🫠🥲. Thank you for your kind words! ♥️
13k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: jealous!Jack; insecure!Jack; soft and fluffy; reader has smoked a cigarette twice when under extreme stress; reader asks for a cigarette (jokingly?); alcohol; a hint of soft Dom!Jack if you squint; reference to brat-tamer!Jack being a little mean in a way you like; quick reference to the roof and jumping; reference to wishing to strangle someone (not reader, I bet you can imagine who); fingering; spit as lube; short description of oral; short description of PIV sex; not edited or beta-ed; no y/n or related
Summary: The aftermath of what Jack said to you and the outing to the bar.
AN: Hi!! Thank you all so much for the love on Part 1! Hopefully Part 2 will be okay. I think it might go a bit of a different direction than one might think, and a different direction than we might normally expect from me (?). I don't know lol. Also I fear I may have let some of you guys down with the bar scenes, but writing group scenes is very tiring for me lol and it wasn’t where I wanted to spend my time for this story and I was over writing fucking Dale and coming up with shitty flirting and trying to make it fit, so I’m sorry if the bar stuff isn’t what you were hoping for. I hope it ends up okay and that you're able to enjoy and thank you for reading! ♥️
You stare at Jack in disbelief as he walks away from you.
"Here's hoping you don't let him, I guess."
You know why he said it. You know that he's jealous and very insecure right now. You know he didn't and doesn't mean it. You know he already regrets it. And you know he does trust you. But none of that makes Jack's words hurt any less right now.
You force yourself to look away from Jack and walk to the bathroom. You turn the sink on and let the cold water run over your wrists, closing your eyes and tilting your head back.
"Just me," Dana says as she walks in, checking all the stalls before leaning back against the sink next to you. "You okay, Kid?"
You take in a deep breath through your nose and let it out. "You have a cigarette?" you half joke with her as you turn the water off and dry your hands.
"Ha!" Dana laughs. "Yeah, but I won't give you one."
"Why?" You give her a weak pout.
"Jack wouldn't be pleased with me. And I don't think you really want one." She flicks her eyebrows up at you.
You roll your eyes at her. "Well great news! He's already mad at me, so we can just tell him I snuck it from you without asking. If he even notices that I smoked. That would require him getting close enough to me to smell me and I don't think he's particularly interested in that right now." Dana is right though. You don't really want one.
She gives you a look. "No. But I will step outside with you if you want." You nod and the two of you leave the bathroom and walk out into the ambulance bay until you're standing in what's left of the sun. "So. You okay?"
You huff a laugh. "Well my creepy med school ex is here and I've had to spend the majority of my day suffering with him, and my boyfriend hates me, so I'm just great. So, so great."
"Jack does not hate you," Dana nudges you with her shoulder. "That man isn't capable of hating you, he loves you far too much."
"Let me be dramatic," you teasingly glower at her for a second. "Mad at me then. Jack's mad at me," you shrug. "For having a past it feels like And not being able to control someone else." You sigh, shaking your head. "Fucking Dale. And I get it. I totally fucking get it. If the situation was reversed and it was me having to watch him be with one of his flirty exes all day… He's reacting much better than I would be. Like so much fucking better. So I really do get it, and I know how irrational it is and how it's about insecurity and not really your partner, but I just. I don't like upsetting him or making him hurt and I think that's what I'm doing right now and I don't know how to fix it."
"I know it feels and seems like it's you, but it really isn't. To the extent he even is upset or hurt, it's not on you Kid. Like you said, his jealousy is about his insecurities and feelings." She gives you a sympathetic smile. "I don't think he's even mad at you. He's in his head. And that's a hard place for him to be sometimes."
"I know," you whisper, heart aching at the thought. "And I hate that. I don't want him there alone when he doesn't want to be alone and when it's hard and when he never has to be there alone again. I wish he'd just have a real conversation with me about it." You shake your head and rub your temples. "He seems to think there's some sort of competition going on between him and Dale to have me, but there's not. There's no question. I've been counting down the minutes until I get to be free from Dale. I count down the minutes until I get to fully be with Jack again when we're on shift together, or the minutes until I can go home to him when we're not. Jack is it for me, Dana, you know? He's the one."
Dana gives you a knowing smile, clearly thinking back to when she knew her husband was the one. "I do, yeah."
You chew on the inside of your cheek to try and fight off the tears you feel coming. You can't cry at work over this. It's incredibly unprofessional.
"I don't know how to make him understand that he's the only one I want and love. That he's the only person I've ever truly loved and been loved by. The only person to ever make me feel truly loved. Jack gives me everything, he leaves me wanting for nothing. He's not perfect because nobody is, but I couldn't create a better partner for me. I'd never let him go. He's Jack." You pause, trying to hold it together. "He's my Jack." Your voice cracks on his name and a few tears spill over. "All I want in this moment is a kiss from him and a big hug and him to tell me it's okay and we're okay and that everything is normal and good. I just want him," you sniffle.
You shake your head at yourself and wipe away your tears. "And I can't have that because we're at work and because I'm throwing myself a pity party and letting myself wonder if he even wants that anymore at all even though I know this is all because he's scared of losing me right now," you laugh sadly with Dana. You look over at her. "Right?" Dana nods, wraps you in a hug and rubs your back. "I just want him. But it's fine, everything will be fine. I'm just ready for the day to be over and to never see Dale again."
"You want me to talk to him?" Dana asks as she pulls out of the hug.
You shake your head at her. "That's not your job-"
"I asked. And I have a feeling that when we walk back in he's going to be watching us and come over to me and ask what's up. So if you're okay with it, I'll talk to him. Maybe tell him some of what you said?" She tilts her head at you and raises her eyebrows.
"Okay," you nod, "yeah, if you don't mind. But if you do, please don't. We'll figure it out. We always do."
Dana nods and flicks her head in the direction of the doors. "You ready?"
"Yeah." You clear your throat as you walk with her. "Sorry for this. Very unprofessional of me."
"It's fine, Hon. It happens," Dana chuckles.
You wipe at your eyes one last time as you cross the threshold back inside. "Does it look like I've been crying?"
She shakes her head. "Nah. You didn't cry long enough or hard enough for it to show."
"Good," you nod. "Thanks Dana." You smile at her and squeeze her arm before walking away, conscious of Jack's eyes tracking you.
Jack regrets it the minute he says it.
"Here's hoping you don't let him, I guess."
He has no idea why he doesn't immediately turn around and apologize. Maybe he doesn't want to see the look on your face, the hurt he knows has to be there. Maybe he doesn't want to risk you saying fine, that you will give Dale a chance to win you back. Maybe he's worried you won't forgive him.
Because Jack knows he's taking out his emotions, his insecurity and jealousy, on you rather than just discussing the whole situation with you. Part of him is scared to bring it up and have that be how you realize that all of his insecurities are actually things you should leave him for, just like he thinks.
It just feels so stupid and almost pathetic for him to be this insecure when he knows he doesn't have a reason to be. And he knows he doesn't need a reason for his emotions, but that lack of a reason makes it feel so much worse to him. So does him knowing you don't even like Dale, that you're desperate for the day to be over so you can get away from Dale and not have to play quite as nice.
Deep down Jack knows this isn't really about Dale per se, because he knows how you feel about Dale. Dale is just a representative of every person who flirts with you, of everyone who could take you from him, everyone who you could see is so much better than him.
He knows this is about himself. About how he sees himself, both generally and in relation to you. About how scared he is of losing you, of being hurt. About how he doesn't think he's good enough for you.
At least he knows what he'll be talking about with his therapist at his next session.
Jack tracks down all of the med students and residents, has everyone present or update him one last time so he's ready to hand off to Shen. He hates how nervous he is when he starts walking around looking for you so that you can update him.
When he can't find you he goes to the hub figuring you'll turn up there looking to update him eventually. He's only been there thirty seconds or so when he looks up and sees you and Dana walking in from the ambulance bay together. His eyes are glued to you as you reach up to your face and wipe at your eyes. Jack's heart and stomach fall at the sight.
You were crying. He made you cry. He wants to go to the roof and do it, and that's not even that dramatic. He hates himself for making you cry, which he tries very hard to not let make him even more insecure.
He watches you until he can't anymore, his head turning back to Dana who flicks her chin at the empty behavioral 1, telling Jack to follow her. He does quickly, eager and terrified to hear what she has to say, to find out why you were crying.
"Listen," Dana starts as Jack closes the door. "I get the jealousy. I know how instinctive and consuming and uncontrollable it can feel. But you're being an ass Jack, and you can't take out your jealousy and whatever other emotions you've got going on in your head on her. And, you know, to help with your jealousy, Jack, she loves you and wants you even when you're being an ass." She raises her eyebrows at him in emphasis.
"I know," he runs a hand through his hair, "believe me I know and I feel bad and I don't know why I'm being like this when I know she can't stand him," Jack sighs, shaking his head and looking at the floor. He wants to ask about the conversation Dana had with you, but it feels wrong to ask. "I…" he trails off as he looks back up at Dana.
"She told me I could talk about what she said during our conversation," Dana offers, trying to give Jack a place to start.
His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?" Dana nods. "Okay, well, um, how'd it go?" He's not sure what specifically he should ask about.
"Well she started the conversation by asking for a cigarette." Dana gives Jack a look.
"Shit," he mumbles, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. You don't smoke. But you've admitted to Jack that you smoked once, after your licensing exam when you were so stressed and fried and keyed up that a friend offered you a cigarette and you just took it as something to focus on. And Jack has actually seen you smoke once, standing outside silently with Dana against the hospital wall after PittFest. So you asking for a cigarette is not a great sign. "Did she really want one?"
"Nah," Dana shakes her head with a small smile. "I don't think so."
Jack nods slowly. "She cried?" The strain in his voice is obvious.
"Mm," Dana hums, moving her head side to side a little as she thinks. "I don't know that I'd call it crying. She shed a few tears, yes."
Jack cringes, slamming his eyes shut and bowing his head for a moment. "Why?" he mumbles as he looks back up at Dana.
She gives him a sympathetic smile and laughs softly. "Because she loves you."
He furrows his brows at her and tilts his head, shaking it a little. "What does that mean?"
Dana shrugs. "She thought you were mad at her and I said I didn't think you were mad at her, just in your head. She said she knew and that she doesn't want you to be there alone when you don't want to be and don't have to be and that she wishes you'd have a real conversation with her. And she said that you're the only person she's ever truly loved and to ever truly love her and make her feel loved and that you're not perfect because nobody is, but that she couldn't create a better partner for herself and she'd never let you go. She said you're Jack and paused and then said you're her Jack and that's when the tears fell."
The bittersweet ache in his heart is so strong it feels harder to breathe. It's bittersweet because you're out here saying all these perfect and loving things about him, things you've been trying to tell him all day and he's being a dick to you and letting his emotions control him. "Fuck!" Jack runs his hand through his hair again, tugging at the roots a little just to try and center himself. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. Now, even with as loved as he feels and the way you described your devotion to him to Dana, he's worried his attitude and behavior might have pushed you away just a little too far. He looks at Dana with eyes that reflect the ache in his heart. "Do you think she'll forgive me?"
"Well, she also told me toward the end of our conversation that all she wanted right now is a kiss and big hug from you and for you to tell her that it's okay and you guys are okay and everything is good and normal." Dana raises her eyebrows at him, smiling softly again, and moves toward the door. "So I think in some ways she already has forgiven you, Jack. But you gotta talk to her. Really talk to her and explain and be honest." She shoots him a pointed look before opening the door and walking back to the hub to hand everything over to Lena.
Jack stands there for a moment thinking about everything you said to Dana, everything you've said to him today. A million realizations hit him at once, all boiling down to the same conclusion that he's really known all day but that he's actually able to, for the first time today, believe.
He doesn't need to be jealous.
Even with all his insecurities and the reasons he can come up with for why he should be jealous and why you should be with someone else, anyone else, he doesn't need to be jealous. You're completely devoted to him in a way he's quite sure he doesn't deserve, especially with how he's been treating you today.
Jack knows he needs to find you, have a real conversation with you and apologize. Grovel if he has to, if that's what you want. He'll get down on his knees. But for some reason he doesn't think you're going to want that.
He walks out of the room and looks around for you. He spots Shen at the hub first and decides to just go hand off so he can continue his search for you.
Jack goes over and brings him up to speed on almost every patient but then remembers he hasn't checked in with you one last time. "Oh, let me go talk to her and I'll find you to finish."
Shen shakes his head as he takes a sip of his iced coffee. "You don't need to, she found me and just gave me the update directly because you were busy and honestly it was just easier, saves the game of telephone."
"Oh," Jack has to control the way his shoulders want to deflate and his voice wants to reveal his disappointment, "okay, yeah. That makes sense. That's it then. Floor is yours."
"Cool. Have fun at the bar tonight and have a drink for me," Shen tells Jack as he walks away.
"I don't think this place serves boozy iced coffee, but I'll try," Jack jokes with him.
You and Jack don't speak for the rest of the shift or before you all start walking to the bar. You're not sure if Jack wants to talk to you and for some reason you feel like you don't really know how to talk to him right now in a sense. You hate it. But you figure he'll come to you when he's ready.
Word had spread throughout the day and there's a good group of you going to the bar, a few people who didn't work today meeting you there. You change into a comfortable pair of jeans you keep in your locker and take your scrub top off so that you're just in your undershirt, wipe your arms and neck down with a baby wipe and then throw on your cotton zip-up jacket. You want as much of the day off you as possible. Jack has a similar idea, taking his scrub top off so that he's just in his undershirt and cargos.
You're already waiting with some of the group at the hub when Jack walks over. His eyes run up and down your form, appreciating the fit of your jeans and undershirt, a small smile twitching up at the corners of lips. That smile falls when he sees Dale give you similar elevator eyes and look at you hungrily. He clenches his jaw at it, he doesn't like another man looking at you, especially Dale, and especially with that look.
Jack's smile falls into a frown when he takes in your face. You look tired and worse, defeated. He starts walking to you, hoping he can pull you aside somewhere before you get to the bar but is quickly intercepted by Dale as Samira walks up to you. It at least makes him feel a little better when you perk up a little as you chat with Samira.
As you leave the hospital and head for the bar you and Samira fall to the back of the group, Jack deliberately doing the same, hoping he can slot himself in so that he's walking next to you, maybe take your hand. But it backfires spectacularly when Dale ends up between you and Jack.
You're surprised when Jack seems so… unbothered by it, your eyes flicking over at him, narrowed in slight confusion. He seems to have chilled out tremendously, to the point he's not getting completely worked up again as soon as Dale does something he doesn't like. He doesn't look mad or upset. Maybe a bit irritated but not even that, really. It throws you, but you go with it, hope he really has hit some kind of turning point.
Once you're at the bar, Jack takes over holding the door so he can catch you as you walk in. "Hey," his fingers brush your elbow but he doesn't grab it, isn't sure if you'd be okay with that right now, "can we talk outside for a minute?"
"Of course," you nod, stomach starting to churn a little. There's a meekness to your words and nod that makes Jack frown to himself. "Hey, Samira, I'll catch up with you inside," you call to her before turning around and stepping outside with Jack.
"Let's, um, go around the corner, yeah?" You nod at him and follow him around, standing across from him just inside the alley on the side of the bar. Jack lets out a steadying breath, hoping he hasn't permanently damaged your relationship or pushed you away. "I am very sorry for the way I've treated you today. I apologize, deeply and sincerely, and I'm happy to apologize again and talk more later. I've been jealous and battling my own insecurities all day, that's not an excuse, just an explanation, and I let it all win and took it out on you and that's unacceptable. I didn't mean any of it and I know you're not interested in him and aren't going to even entertain taking him back. I know I made an already difficult and trying day more difficult and trying for you and I'm very, very sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."
You let out a relieved sigh, glad he really has turned a corner, even if only somewhat, even if only enough to apologize and see how he's been acting today clearly.
You give Jack a loving smile and take a step closer to him, rest your hands on his chest. "Of course I can forgive you." You lean up and kiss him, sense he needs the reassurance, and frankly so do you. Your smile grows when Jack sighs in relief and you watch the tension melt from his shoulders. "I get it. I get how easily the jealousy and insecurities can take over. I'm not happy with how you treated me at times today or that you wound up taking it out on me, of course, and I know you're not happy about it either, and we both know it's not okay, but I understand why it happened, and it hasn't changed anything between us, okay? Your jealousy and insecurities don't get that kind of power. Neither does he." Jack nods and you slide your hands up to hold the back of his neck, thumbs running along his jaw. You enjoy the slight scratch of it from his stubble that's grown out over the day. "Is there a reason you wouldn't just talk to me about it all?"
Jack licks his lips and shakes his head, takes a couple of seconds to put his thoughts together. "I was afraid, I still am a little, honestly, that if I told you all of my insecurities it might make you see them and realize that I'm right to be insecure about them and they're reasons to leave and so talking would end up making you leave. I know how twisted and fucked that logic is, I just couldn't help but be terrified by it and so I didn't talk. And me thinking that it would make you leave, that's not a reflection of you and anything I think you'd really do, it's totally my brain projecting my past and trauma and just what I think you should do, maybe. Because sometimes I really believe that you could do better. That you should. And that I don't deserve you."
"Jack," you whisper, heart hurting at the thought of him hurting and having those thoughts.
"It's hard not to compare myself. To any guy, but especially an ex. And it's hard not to see myself losing that comparison," he admits. "Even against Dale."
"Jack, Sweetheart, I don't see other people like that. None of them. I don't compare you to anyone. I don't need to. I know I have the best and everything I could ever ask for and then a whole lot more." You're not going to push him to reveal his insecurities right now, especially not here. You might ask when you're home but even then you know they're something he needs to be ready to share.
The earnestness in your expression and your words are like a balm for Jack, soothing still recovering nerves and thoughts of his insecurities. "I know, I do. I promise," he murmurs.
"I couldn't compare you to anyone if I tried. You're my Jack. Nobody could ever make me feel the way you do. There's just something about you." You bite your lip and giggle preemptively a little. "A je ne sais quoi, one might say."
You and Jack look at each other for the briefest second before bursting into laughter together. "I love you, and I'm really happy we're okay," Jack says through his laughter. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, kissing you breathless and then giving you the big hug you told Dana you wanted. "And I'm really, really sorry that I hurt you. I hate it so much."
You wrap your arms around his neck, holding Jack close. "I love you too, and I'm really happy we're okay too," you murmur into his chest just loud enough for him to hear. "And I forgive you."
Jack rubs his hands up and down your back and sways the two of you a little bit. "It's okay," he murmurs, "we're okay and everything is normal and good." There's the slightest intonation at the end that tells you he's seeking your reassurance that what he's saying is true.
"Everything is normal and good," you reassure him as you pull back to look at him. You raise your eyebrows at him a little. "How are you feeling now? You seem kind of… chill. Like he stood in between us as we walked and you didn't seem to be super bothered."
"I'm feeling better about it, yeah. Talking with Dana helped, a lot. I know it should have been talking with you, but she told me some of what you said and I don't know… I just got over myself in a way," he shrugs. "It's still kind of hard to watch and stirs up insecurities, but I'm in control of them now at least. I tried looking for you to talk to you before we got here, but I couldn't find you and then you were talking with Samira and Dale came up to me."
"He idolizes you," you smirk at Jack.
Jack rolls his eyes at the thought of Dale. "Do you want an apology from him? Publicly or privately or both? Because I'm happy to make sure he apologizes."
You chuckle and shake your head at him. "Nah. I'm over it and him. It's just not worth it. You can give him a little piece of your mind if you want at some point, without making a scene, please, but honestly I don't want to give him any more of my time or have to hear anything else from him, much less some pathetic, disingenuous apology that he doesn't understand why he's giving."
"That's fair," Jack nods. "Do you want a public apology from me? Either here or at the Pitt? Or both. I'm sure people saw me being an ass to you today."
"No," you laugh softly. "I don't think anyone actually really did other than Dana. Nobody said anything or gave me any looks. And even if they did, you apologized to me and we talked and that's all that matters. Plus I hate that kind of attention." You and Jack share a look. "But I appreciate you asking and acknowledging it was in public. And I appreciate you owning how you acted and not making excuses or trying to play it off and giving me a sincere apology. Not everyone would."
"Of course. It's about the least I could do," he smiles at you. "Is Dale making you seriously uncomfortable with the flirting? I hesitate to call it flirting but that's just the easiest way to refer to whatever it is he's doing."
"Not really," you shrug, stepping out of the hug as Jack does so that the two of you can walk back to the bar. "Especially now that we're okay and you've chilled about it. It's just kind of funny and I imagine it's only going to get increasingly entertaining with drinks."
"Alright," Jack chuckles. "Do you mind then letting me be the one to tell him about us when the time is right? If he starts making you uncomfortable, just tell him or do whatever you need to do, of course."
You laugh as you walk into the bar. "Sure, Sweetheart, you can tell him."
"Thank you," he smirks at you, following you in. "You want a drink? I'll go grab us some at the bar."
"I do," you nod, peering around the bar looking for the group and Garcia. They've splintered off into smaller groups, but you spot her pretty quickly. "I need to see what Yolanda is drinking. I'm buying for her."
Jack raises an eyebrow. "Lose a bet?"
"No," you smirk at him, "she was fucking phenomenal with Dale today."
"Oh was she?" Jack returns your smirk. "Well, you go find out what she had and text me and I'll get it put on my tab. I'll buy her drinks all night for that."
You giggle at him. "Alright, I'll see you over there." You give Jack's arm a little squeeze and head over to her table, taking off your jacket and using it to save the seat next to you for Jack and to prevent Dale from leaving his seat across the table to come sit next to you. You find out what she was drinking and text Jack, let her know he's buying for her all night and glance at Dale in explanation, making her laugh.
It only takes Jack a few minutes to make his way over, setting your favorite drink down in front of you and his neat scotch in front of the seat next to you that he takes.
"Wow," Dale drawls, "I wish our attendings bought us drinks," he tries to joke. It earns him some half-hearted hums from around the table. You bite your tongue and don't inform him that Jack isn't buying you a drink as your attending, but as your boyfriend.
Conversation starts to flow, and people move around tables to mingle and get to talk to everyone. At some point Jack and Dale end up alone, a situation you spot immediately and watch out of the corner of your eye.
Dale brings up the open attending position again. "It would be so great if you could put in a good word for me. I'd love to get to work in the Pitt."
Jack takes a sip of his scotch and nods. "I mean yeah, I'll report what I observed if you make it far enough for them to ask me." He knows the chances of Dale's application getting that far are slim.
Unsurprisingly, Dale misses the slight dig. "Thanks man, I really appreciate it!" Dale looks over at you and nods. "Yeah, it would be great. Since she has an attending position here, if I got the other one I bet I could get her back and rekindle things with my full package." Jack doesn't have to follow Dale's eyes to know he's looking at you. "Would be kinda cute. Little attending power couple."
Jack clenches his jaw and feels the flare of insecurity and jealousy trying to come up but controls himself and doesn't let it take over. He just gives Dale a smile and nods. "Good luck with that, Dale."
Dale's even more all over you at the bar once he talks to Jack and you return to your original seat. It goes on and on and you're surprised Jack hasn't told him yet. You keep waiting for Jack to jump in and say something but he doesn't. He just sits there quietly sipping his scotch, watching with an amused smile. The two of you exchange looks and smirks at things Dale says and a couple of times you have to look away from each other to keep from laughing. Jack has clearly come to enjoy it for the free comedy show that it is.
"Do you remember getting stuck in that basement together during our third year of med school?" Dale asks you, clearly trying to take it somewhere flirty or sexual. You've just started shutting him down to the best of your ability, much to the amusement of the group.
"No, but I do remember each of the seven times you passed out in anatomy lab and how you could never tell the difference between the clitoris and urethra and in general did so poorly with female reproductive anatomy they kicked you off your OBGYN rotation early." You smile sweetly at Dale, the alcohol helping you feel less bad about the jabs you're making.
Santos chokes on her drink, almost spitting it everywhere and Samira has to abruptly get up and leave the table with her hand over her mouth, the rest of the table looking down or away and trying to cover their laughter.
"Oh that absolutely tracks," Garcia nods.
Jack's clearly holding back a laugh as he finishes his scotch and sets his empty glass down. "Another round?" he asks the group. As a chorus of yes rings out Jack stands and heads to the bar.
"You know what, I'll help," you tell everyone, getting up and following him to the bar, wanting a moment alone with him. You slide onto the stool next to him as he finishes ordering. "Hi," you smile.
"You following me?" he teases, turning on his stool so that he's facing you.
"And what if I am?" you challenge with a tilt of your head.
Jack shrugs, that easy smile he has that you love so much pulling onto his face. "It would make me a happy man."
"I have good news for you then."
He laughs softly and nods. "I'm sorry again, Sweetheart. I hate how I was with you today in those bad moments. I loved the good moments we had. But I hate that I made you hurt and cry. That thought kills me. I want to be wiping your tears and holding you through them, not causing them."
"I know, Baby, and I forgive you. You didn't really cause them as such. I was just emotional and overwhelmed by how much I love you and what felt in the moment like my inability to make you see it." You rest your hand on his thigh and squeeze gently.
"You do make me see it, I swear. It's not you doing anything wrong that made me like that, it's-"
"Hey," you cut him off gently, not wanting him to get too worked up or back in his head, "I know. I know it's not about me or anything I did or didn't do or am or am not doing."
"Good," Jack nods slowly. "As long as you know."
"I do." Your brows arch in curiosity, eyes narrowing just slightly and an amused smile gracing your face. "But so you really just got over your jealousy?"
Jack opens his mouth to say something but then stops. He doesn't want to do this here. "One second," he tells you. Jack flags down the bartender and asks if he can take the drinks over to the group, pointing at the table. The bartender agrees and Jack drops a $20 on the counter before standing and holding his hand out to you. "Come with me."
You tilt your head in playful suspicion but take his hand. You'd follow Jack anywhere. You let him lead you through the bar, neither of you caring who sees nor trying to hide it. Jack takes you down the stairs to the much nicer and very clean single stall bathroom that only locals who frequent know of and are allowed to use.
You raise your eyebrows at him and smirk as you walk in, Jack locking the door behind you.
"Don't look at me like that, this isn't going where you think it's going. I just didn't want to have this conversation at the bar." He walks over to you and settles his hands on your hips.
"Oh," you croon, "but the bar bathroom?"
"Is private," he nods at you teasingly.
You hum in acknowledgment. "So you just got over your jealousy?"
Jack tilts his head as you move a little closer to him and wrap your arms around his waist loosely. "I'm not sure I'd say got over it, because it's still there. Like I said, it's more like after talking with Dana and thinking about what you said to her and had said to me during the day, all these realizations hit me, ending in me realizing that I don't need to be jealous, even if I'm feeling jealous, so it's easier to not let it take control. I mean I knew that all day, so I guess it was really me being able to actually believe that I don't need to be. I'm not saying my insecurities have just disappeared, I'm just handling them better right now and realized I know so many reasons why I don't need to be jealous and give into that feeling, even with my insecurities."
"You wanna share some of those reasons?" you ask. "And that's a serious question. You can say no, you don't have to share. I just wanted to let you know that I would listen if you wanted to say them out loud or if you want me to know some to remind you of if this happens again."
Jack nods. He takes a second and then lets out a long breath. "I know without a doubt you love me and choose me every day even if I question the wisdom of that choice because of how I feel about myself. I know that you're patient with me, even when I'm being an asshole." The two of you exchange small smiles. "I know that you'll give me grace when I make mistakes, that you're not going to run away just because I make one and am an asshole or whatever it might be, I know you're not going to run and find someone new just because things get hard. I know you're committed to me and to us."
His eyes start to grow a little glassy. "I know you could never love him, or anybody else for that matter, the way you love me. Twelve hours with him and you look like you're ready to jump off the roof," Jack pushes his lips together in a tight line and shakes his head once as he swallows thickly. "I'm the one who talks you off the roof. I'm the only one you trust to talk you off the roof."
You both laugh softly, your eyes growing glassy to match Jack's. "Very true," you murmur.
Jack takes in a deep breath. "And I know without a doubt that he could never love you the way I do. For so many reasons. But primarily because he only sees you as something to have. I see you as everything. The only thing, the only thing that matters, because that is what you are to me. The only thing that matters. I need you to know that. I don't need any of the rest of this shit, as nice as it is." He pauses for a second to take you in, make sure he has your gaze. "And I know that you only want and love me. Not Dale or anybody else. Just me. Just your Jack."
You nod at him, giving his words a chance to linger in the small space between you. And also to let you and Jack come down a little bit, not wanting either of you to get totally bogged down in emotion, even good emotion, in the bathroom of this bar and then have to return to the group upstairs.
"Good," you start, "all of those things are true. I'm glad you were able to realize all that, you fucking goose," you tease him. Jack laughs, lets out a small groan because he still has no fucking idea where that came from when he called you it earlier today. You have to laugh along with him, his laugh always infectious and mood brightening.
You bring your hands to cup Jack's face as your laughter trails off. "My Jack," you whisper with a beaming smile.
"Your Jack," he whispers back and nods, smiling just as hard. Jack takes in a deep breath and shakes his head at you a little. "I love you so fucking much." He leans in and kisses you, both of you smiling so widely that it doesn't quite work at first. You both melt into it though, Jack's arms wrapping around you tighter.
He starts walking you backwards, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your head as you hit the wall. You moan when you're finally able to really taste the scotch on Jack's tongue and that's when he pulls away to kiss at your jaw. "You wanna know what else I know?" he asks, his voice low and seductive, all gravel, while one hand comes and unbuttons and unzips your jeans with ease.
"Yeah," you pant softly as Jack slips his hand into your pants below your underwear and works his fingers downward.
You make a noise of protest when Jack abruptly pulls away, both of you looking at each other in confusion.
"Jesus fucking christ," Jack's face twists with a hint of concern, "I've never felt you this… dry."
You scoff. "Hello? Do you remember who I've spent all fucking day with? And then on top of that you were giving me whiplash. Of course it's a fucking desert down there." The two of you share an amused laugh as Jack flicks his eyebrows up at you in acknowledgment. "Just keep kissing me and talking to me, and using your fingers and it'll be quick," you tell him a little breathlessly as you try to grind down onto his hand.
"Yeah?" Jack asks with a smirk, pulling his hand from your pants to spit on his fingers before slipping his hand back where it was, his other hand holding onto your hip. His lips find yours once again and the heel of his palm grinds against your clit while his fingers run through you and tease your entrance.
"Yeah," you mumble against his lips. Jack laughs softly against your lips before kissing you hard, consuming you and swallowing down every whimper and moan and sigh his lips and fingers pull from you. "Just so you know," you breathe as his lips move down to your jaw, "this is going exactly where I thought it was."
Jack nips at the corner of your jaw, smirking at the little gasp you make. "I mean I can stop," he hums. "We're just starting to get somewhere," Jack murmurs as he pushes a finger inside of you now that you're wet enough and you keen for him. "But I can stop."
"Do not fucking stop," you pant, one of your hands flying down to hold onto his wrist so that he can't pull away, both of you pretending you'd be strong enough to stop him, your other hand gripping the bicep of his other arm.
He chuckles darkly against your ear. "Well when you order me so nicely."
Jack kisses you again, starts pumping his finger in and out of you slowly, adjusting his hand so that his thumb can work your clit more precisely than the heel of his hand. You pull your head back, pushing it into the wall a bit at the feeling. "Oh, Jack," you sigh so sweetly for him it almost makes his teeth ache.
"My beautiful woman," Jack murmurs, more to himself than anything, a small smile pulling at his lips, but his eyes beaming as he looks into yours, the corners crinkled how you adore. After a few seconds the smile grows into a self-satisfied smirk, his eyes narrowing just slightly, now sparkling with heady lust that has you shivering. "I know he could never fuck you the way I do," he rasps as he slides another finger inside of you, thumb working your clit a little faster. "Because he's just a little fucking boy and you need a real man to fuck you right."
"Fuck, Jack," you moan, clenching around him as the fire he's started in your lower abdomen stokes hotter.
Jack swallows down your moan as he kisses you again, sucking on your tongue. He's fully hard now, already straining against his boxer briefs and cargos. He pulls away to let you get some air, your eyes finding his automatically, knowing it's his expectation. "Good girl," he praises you, giving you a single pass of his fingers with them crooked just right to rub over that perfect spot inside you. "I know he couldn't get as deep inside of you as I do." Jack emphasizes his words with a harsh thrust of his fingers inside you as deep as he can get them, careful not to scratch or ram into your cervix.
His thrust forces you to take a sharp breath in and your hand around his wrist tightens as you try and fail to think of anything other than "Jack," to breathlessly stutter out.
"I know he couldn't make you feel as full as I do," Jack groans, again emphasizing his words, this time by fucking a third finger inside of you. His cock throbs at how tight you are around his fingers, how hot you are and how wet you've gotten. How wet he's made you.
"Shit, your fingers feel so good, Jack," you moan, your orgasm building almost embarrassingly quick. Your hand on his bicep moves up to his hair, fingers tangling in the salt and pepper curls you love so much. "So, so, fucking good. Make me feel so full."
"Did he ever even make you come?" Jack whispers at your ear, gently biting the shell of it as his fingers continue to work you, thumb playing with your clit just how you like and need, slick with your own arousal.
You manage to pant out a laugh. "What the fuck do you think?"
"No, he didn't, did he? He left you to do all the work for yourself, which is an atrocity." He 'tsks,' shaking his head a little as he pulls back, blown hazel eyes boring into yours. Jack finally gives you what you want, crooking his fingers again and keeping them like that as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, switching up his rhythm to keep you guessing, but always dragging along that spot. "Pretty thing like you should be able to just relax and let all the way go and give into the feelings, be made to feel good."
"You do," you mewl, "Jesus, Jack, you do. You do, make me feel so good."
"Yeah, I know I do, Baby. And this," Jack grunts, curling his fingers with greater pressure and pushing down harder with his thumb so he's almost cupping you, "is mine," Jack groans. "Your pussy belongs to me."
He starts moving his fingers again, and you keen for him, "Yeah, yeah, yours, Jack. Yours." Your mind is starting to get hazy from the pleasure, Jack quickly becoming the only thing that exists for you, words and coherent sentences getting harder to form. You let your head fall against the wall and close your eyes.
Jack's cock throbs and strains painfully against his boxer briefs and cargos. He knows he's leaking for you, is desperate for some relief but ignores it to focus on you. He realizes your eyes have closed and that's simply not going to work for him. "Ah, ah, you have to keep looking at me Baby, or I'll stop."
You force your eyes back open as Jack's hand on your hip comes up, his thumb brushing over your lips. You open your mouth for him, whimpering when he slides his thumb in and presses down on your tongue to move your head back down a little so he can see your eyes better. He picks up his pace as he does, your orgasm so close you can taste it.
Jack smirks at you when you have to move your hand from his wrist up to his shoulder to help steady yourself, your other hand still in his hair and tugging with every stroke of his fingers. "I know that even if he tried, he couldn't make you come as hard as I do."
You moan against his thumb and Jack pulls it from your mouth. "No, only you Jack," you pant, having to really work to keep your eyes open. "Only you, Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack."
"I know he couldn't make you come this fucking fast in the bathroom of a bar after a twelve hour shift, much less the trying and never-ending twelve hour shift you just had," Jack husks, the way you say his name making him shiver.
"Jack, please!" You're close, you're right fucking there. And Jack knows it. You know he knows it. "Please, Baby," you moan, "please, please, please."
"And I know I can make you come after all that." Jack's free hand covers your mouth to muffle the cry of his name he knows you're about to give him. He times the next drag of his fingers with the pass of his thumb over your clit perfectly. "Easily."
Your orgasm crashes down on you as Jack finishes the last syllable of the word, pleasure searing through you and stars dotting your vision as you fight to keep your eyes open for Jack. You're thankful for his hand over your mouth keeping you quiet as you let yourself relax and let all the way go and completely give into the way Jack is making you feel so fucking unreasonably good.
Jack praises you as he works you through it, "my good girl," and "you did so good for me, Baby," and "there you go, that's it," and your name dripping off his tongue. Though still muffled by his hand, Jack's name similarly falls from your lips over and over, and Jack can feel every time you moan his name, the air you expel to make the sound hot against his palm. He slows just before you hit painful overstimulation, working you up enough so that you'll feel every movement of the seam of your jeans for the rest of the night.
He pulls his hand from your over your mouth and his fingers from you, humming in appreciation as he admires how slick you've gotten them while you suck in huge breaths of air and try to catch your breath. Jack offers you one to clean for him and keeps the other two for himself.
You don't care that you're still panting, still feel a little like you're not getting enough oxygen, you open your mouth for him when he offers it and make a show of sucking it clean, holding his gaze the entire time and deliberately letting a little spit drip from the corner of your mouth.
Jack gathers the spit on his finger as he pulls it from your mouth, kitten licks it clean and then sucks his other two fingers clean, holding your gaze just as you held his. He groans from deep in his chest at the taste of you, lets his eyes flutter closed for a few seconds as he enjoys.
He opens his eyes as he pulls his fingers from his mouth. "So sweet for me."
"Oh, fuck Jack," you pant softly, breathing a laugh. "You and your perfect fucking timing are gonna kill me one day."
"You think I'd ever let that happen?" he quirks an eyebrow and smirks as his hands come and button and zip your jeans.
You pout, drop your weight onto one hip and everything, still catching your breath. "So no fucking me here?"
Jack chuckles at you. "No, Baby," he shakes his head. "You're going to have to wait until we get home for that." He brings his hand up and cradles your jaw, brushes his thumb over your lip and then kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "But good things come to those that wait," he murmurs against your lips, giving you one last chaste kiss before pulling away.
You whine, but pacify yourself by reaching for his waistband, knowing he's hard. "At least let me take care of you, Handsome," you croon, licking your lips and starting to fantasize about the feel and taste of Jack in your mouth.
He intercepts your hands before they make it to his waistband, bringing each to his mouth and kissing your palms. "Home," Jack murmurs firmly.
You give him another little pout but don't push the issue, tell yourself waiting makes it better. You turn to look in the mirror, fixing your hair some and smoothing out your shirt.
Jack slides up behind you, arms wrapped around your middle as he rests his head on your shoulder and tilts his head, catches your gaze in the mirror. "Somehow you look even prettier like this, when you're glowing and dewy from coming so hard and still so needy."
You shiver at his words, turn in his arms and smile, ghost your knuckles over his cheek. "You're very sweet."
"Just the truth, Sweetheart," he smiles at you and then leans in for a quick kiss. "Okay, you head back out. I'm going to take a minute," he gestures at his still hard cock, "and then I'll come join you."
You nod. "Okay, Baby. I'll see you out there." You give him one last kiss and head to the door.
"Hey," Jack gets your attention before you open the door, gives you a knowing smirk, "if a good moment comes, tell him."
"So how come this boyfriend of yours never showed up? I wanted to meet him." Dale takes a sip of his beer while trying to make some sort of suggestive eyes at you that fail comically. A small group of you are at a high top table, Jack having slipped away a few minutes ago to settle up with the bartender. You're really not surprised when Dale tries to show he's better in front of the group, but you are a little disappointed Jack isn't here for it. "I'd never stand you up, especially not in front of a group."
There have been several moments since you returned to the group where you could've told Dale, but none of them felt quite right. This moment, however, feels perfect.
"Oh Dale." You smile and finish off what's left of your drink as the group tries to stifle their laughter. You set your glass down and smirk at him. "You've already met him."
You laugh under your breath as you watch Dale's brows furrow and lips pull down into a frown as he looks around at the men of the Pitt who are in your group and scattered around the bar.
Jack stays to the side, out of view but within ear shot and hears the conversation. So with perfect timing, you feel an arm wrap around your waist and smell what's left of Jack's cologne as he walks up behind you. "Hi," he murmurs at your temple, just loud enough to be heard by the group, "I love you." You lean back into Jack as he kisses your temple, absolutely relishing in Dale's horrified expression. Jack is fine with respectful and classy PDA when you're not at work even when you're with people from work, so it's not like any of this is scandalous to the rest of the group. "You ready to go home, Sweetheart?"
"Love you too, Handsome," you murmur back, turning your head and taking a proper kiss from Jack. "And yeah, I was just thinking about how I'm getting kinda tired."
Jack hums as he straightens back up, staring Dale right in the eyes. "Can't have you getting too tired on me before I get you in bed."
Dale looks like he might be sick, clearly panicking at the realization that he's been flirting and making sexual comments to his idol's girlfriend all day. The others at the table are all looking down at their laps for the most part, knowing that if they look at each other they'll all lose it and start laughing. They glance up every now and again, though, to get another look at Dale's face.
"Very true. I'm sure the walk to our place will wake me up some." You give Dale a saccharine smile as Jack takes a step back and helps you off the barstool and into your jacket. "And we have tomorrow off, so we can sleep in."
"Maybe I'll make you breakfast and bring it to you in bed if you're good," Jack winks at you.
He turns his attention back to Dale, and if looks could kill, Dale would be dead. Jack takes in a deep breath to calm himself a little, remembering what you told him earlier when he asked if you wanted an apology from Dale. "A bit of professional and personal advice. The next time a woman tells you she has a boyfriend and doesn't react to your attempts at flirting, back the fuck off and fucking stop." He raises his eyebrows at Dale and nods to underscore his words.
His anger flares again as Dale looks at him in fucking confusion. God he'd really love to strangle this asshole a little bit, but Jack is quite sure that would qualify as making a scene. "You're lucky that she's so over it and you and that she doesn't want to give you any more of her time or hear anything else from you. Because if it were up to me you'd be on the bar publicly apologizing to her now and you'd be back in the Pitt the next time she works apologizing to her in front of everybody for the fucking complete lack of respect you showed her today."
You bite your lip as you watch Dale's eyes somehow grow wider, his mouth opening and closing as he shakes his head, trying to find words to get himself out of this. You let him flounder for a moment before replying to Jack.
"We'll have to see about breakfast in bed I suppose, Dr. Abbot," you smirk at him before turning your attention back to the group, pausing for a second just to revel a little more at Dale's face. "Goodnight and good luck to those of you working tomorrow. See you all soon. Well," you look Dale in the eyes, "not you luckily."
"Have a good night guys," Jack nods at the group, laughing under his breath as he gives Dale one last glare.
You give everyone a little wave as you turn with Jack and start walking out of the bar. When you sling an arm around his waist and lean into him Jack runs his arm up your back, holding the back of your neck gently to help guide you through the fairly busy bar.
"That's my girl," Jack praises you just loud enough for the two of you to hear as you get close to the door.
You shrug. "Just telling the truth. If I never see him again it'll be too soon. And hey," you squeeze his waist and pause at the side of the door, "I really appreciate you respecting what I said earlier and giving him a little piece of your mind without turning it into a huge scene and not forcing him to apologize. A lot of men would've just kind of disregarded that and gone full knight in shining armor just to prove a point to everyone else."
"I'll always respect your choices, Sweetheart," he smiles down at you. "In everything."
"I know and I didn't doubt it for a second, I just still think I should acknowledge that I see you doing it and I appreciate it," you explain. "I really did love what you said though. Very hot, Dr. Abbot."
"Good. I'm very glad you know and don't doubt it," he says seriously. "And I'm glad you found it hot. I'd also like you to know that I wanted to strangle him, just a little bit, but I didn't because that probably would've caused a scene." You snort a laugh and shake your head at him as you smile. Jack chuckles with you as he opens the door for you. "You think he'll still apply for the attending position?"
"Oh absolutely." You roll your eyes to yourself and shake your head. "You know in some ways I'd love to see that interview and him absolutely groveling at your feet."
Jack huffs. "He doesn't need to grovel at my feet. He needs to at your feet." After a second Jack sighs and then gives a single laugh. "The look on his face was fucking priceless."
Both you and Jack burst into laughter. "I know I wish I'd asked someone to record it," you giggle. Jack wishes he could bottle the sound and how good it makes him feel.
He subtly glances through the window near the table you'd been sitting at and then slows. You look up at him with raised brows, confused about why you're stopping. "Can I kiss you?"
You give him an amused smile. "Since when did you need to ask?"
"Since there's a dual motive because I both want to kiss you and Dale is watching and I want to rub it in. But I don't want you to feel used," Jack explains.
You giggle again as you lean up to kiss Jack, wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth for him before he even has to ask. Jack wastes no time deepening it, gliding his tongue across yours as his hands slide down your sides to your back, moving lower until his hands slip into the back pockets of your jeans and pull you closer to him by your ass.
"You're so adorable. I love you," you whisper against his lips before giving him another lingering kiss. "That was very sweet of you to ask, but I'd like to rub it in too."
"Clearly," he laughs against your lips, pulls his hands from your pockets and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you close. "I love you too."
You and Jack chat about whatever comes to mind as you make the short walk home hand in hand with your fingers laced together.
"Oh," you squeeze Jack's hand, "remind me at some point when we're home that I need to order more of these scrub pants."
"Okay," he draws out the first syllable. "Why?"
You glance up at him and smile sweetly. "I want enough of these to make sure I can wear them every time I work with you."
Jack lets out a pained groan. "That's just mean. That's like…" He tries to think of a comparison. "I'm going to start wearing only my undershirt. No scrub top."
"That is so unfair," you whine, thinking for a second. "Though, you know, that'd probably improve the patient satisfaction scores of the patients attracted to men who only get to admire you from afar, so I guess I can suffer to get Gloria off our backs. Only if you give me the credit with her."
Jack huffs a laugh. "Stop it." He bumps your shoulder with his.
You shrug. "I'm just saying the people attracted to men love you, Dr. Abbot."
"They do not." You can hear the teasing eye roll in his voice.
You glance up at him with an amused smirk. "How many phone numbers have you been given so far this year Jack?"
"What?" he mutters, taking a second to think about it. "Honey, I have no fucking idea. Not many."
"Not many, he says," you laugh to yourself. "32, Jack. Just that I've been around to witness or been told about. It's mid May. 32."
Jack scoffs. "How the fuck do you know that?"
"Because I'm jealous every single time I see it happen or am told it happened and so my mind just makes me keep track of the number." You glance up at Jack and smile when you see his mouth a little open and eyebrows raised, a bit surprised. "You're not the only one in this relationship who gets jealous, Jack. Though, I can admit it's much different when it's random people and not someone from the past who there's been a kind of relationship with."
"Is that why you've been so chill about me being jealous and a dick to you in certain moments today? Which again, I truly am sorry for being like that." He shoots you a sheepish smile.
"I've accepted your apology," you tell Jack gently. "We're okay, I promise. And I'm not upset with you." You give his hand another squeeze. "You have to work on forgiving yourself, Baby." Jack nods slowly. He knows he does. It's just really hard to think about forgiving himself for hurting you.
"But yeah, that's part of why. The other part is if the situation was ever reversed, and it was your ex flirting like that with you I'd lose it, like I would be fully apoplectic. I'd make sure she knew so fast and be such a bitch you'd probably have to send me home," you laugh. "It would be insecurity fucking central, especially because I'm sure all your exes are fucking gorgeous. I wouldn't be able to keep it together, I'd have to force myself to not talk to you so that I didn't take it out on you and that would be so hard to do because talking to you would give me reassurance. It would be bad. So, yeah. I get it, you know?"
"And partially, I don't know," you shrug softly, "I don't like that you felt jealous and insecure and I don't want you to feel like that because I know how much it sucks, but the fact that you did get jealous made me feel good in a way? Like in the sense that, to you, I'm worth getting jealous over."
Jack lets out a long breath and slows you both to a stop under a streetlight so you can see each other well when you face each other. "Okay, first of all, none of my exes are anywhere near as gorgeous as you, so try to remember that. And second, yeah, of course you're worth getting jealous over. The thought of losing you in any way terrifies me. You're worth more than getting jealous over. I mean jesus, Sweetheart, you're worth everything to me. My other limbs," he gives you a humorous smile, "my career, being a doctor, my freedom. My life. Everything."
You have to look down for a couple seconds to blink back a few tears. "God, you so would say that under a streetlight on a random street in Pittsburgh, just like you said all that romantic shit in the bathroom of a bar," you laugh under your breath as you look back up at him.
He raises an eyebrow at you. "Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all," you shake your head, pausing. "It's..," you press your lips together in a smile and nod once. "It's a Jack thing. It's just very you to say something that romantic and meaningful and loving in some random spot as reassurance. Which," you cock your head at him, "you realize the same is true for me of you? You're worth everything to me."
"I know," he nods with a sappy smile.
"You don't ever need to worry about losing me to someone else. You're my forever, Jack. My always. My constant." The corners of your lips twitch up in a teasing smile. "The stripes to my zebra."
"Oh god," Jack groans, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. "We were having such a nice moment and you just had to bring up fucking zebras," he teases, unable to hide his laughter.
He leans down and kisses the top of your head, the two of you standing there and laughing for a bit together before you pull away from him.
"But I'm serious." The way you smile at him makes Jack dizzy, your eyes glittering with love. "There's no me without you anymore, Jack. Without you, I'd be a shell of myself. You carry my heart."
Jack smiles back at you, his eyes glittering just like yours. "As you carry mine, Baby." He leans down and kisses your lips and then your forehead. "Let's get home."
You nod and keep one of your arms wrapped around Jack as you start walking towards home again. The silence you share is comfortable and familiar. It's the sound of you both winding down from your shift and the day.
Your walk home continues in silence until you abruptly break it. "You know, we could have zebra print as one of our wedding colors." You know you're not engaged, but you also know it's coming sooner rather than later. You can just feel it.
"Stop it." Jack tries to stop the laugh your words pull from him but he can't. "What am I gonna do with you?"
You and Jack don't make it to the bedroom when you get home. He has you pinned to the wall next to the front door and his lips on yours seconds after your bags hit the floor. It's only another fifteen seconds before he's walking you backwards to the couch and getting his lips on a different part of your body that has you arching your back and tugging on his hair as Jack devours your pussy.
He doesn't give you any time to recover, his cock inside of you within seconds of pulling his mouth off you. It ends with the two of you in a heap on the couch, Jack's head on your chest as you giggle in a post-orgasm haze about how good he fucks you and Jack pants about how he'll never get enough of you.
You eventually pull yourselves together enough to take a shower together. You talk more as you wash each other, Jack revealing some of the insecurities he was dealing with earlier, and you reassuring him. And now Jack finds himself naked and waiting for you in bed while you finish up your skincare. He lets his eyes roam your body greedily when you walk out of the bathroom naked. You notice of course, and it makes you feel better about yourself than he could ever fathom.
"Okay, so, I know this is probably awful, and you don't have to answer, but I'm kind of dying to know." You raise an eyebrow at him. "Was he even good in bed?"
You laugh, having been wondering if he'd ever ask. You stop at the dresser to answer him before finding one of his old t-shirts to wear to bed. "Not my worst, for sure. At the time I thought he was pretty good, but I was comparing him to college experiences, so," you shrug. "I was serious in the bathroom at the bar, though, he never made me come. I got off while he was fucking me because I got myself off, but he never made it happen by himself."
Before you can turn to find a shirt Jack beckons you to him with his fingers, opening the comforter for you to climb in. He wants to feel as much of your skin on his as possible. "You wouldn't describe him as having been pretty good now?"
You get on the bed from the end and start climbing your way up Jack's body. "Now I know he was just okay at best. Not bad, but just okay."
Jack smirks. "Oh yeah? And how do you know that?"
"Well," you smirk back at him, lowering yourself on top of him so that you're chest to chest, and giving him a quick kiss, "I started getting fucked by this really hot doctor, the hottest and most handsome man I've ever seen, actually. His name is Dr. Jack Abbot. He's shown and continues to show me what sex can really be, how good I can really be made to feel."
"Sounds like quite the guy," Jack hums. But there's a little flush to his cheeks that tells you how much your words mean to him.
"He is." You lean in and give him another couple of kisses. "You have nothing to worry about when it comes to anyone I've ever slept with. You're really, really fucking good at everything related to sex, Jack. You're far and away the best I've ever had."
"Yeah?" Jack chases your lips and gives you a sweet peck.
"Mhm," you nod. "And I know it's because you love me. Like truly love me. And so even when you have me sobbing with my head pushed into the mattress and you're being a little mean how I like because I was being a brat and you're fucking me within an inch of my life, I feel loved and I know I am loved, just as much as I feel and know it when you're holding me close and making love to me and saying you love me over and over. I always know. I always feel it. And it's not even just love, it's your love, and that just adds something for me, I guess."
Jack's heart throbs in his chest because you are so sweet and precious and always know just what he needs to hear even when he doesn't know. "I am very, very glad that you always feel that and know it, because I do truly love you, more than I know what to do with." He gives you a loving smile. "And know that I always feel and know I'm loved by you."
"Good." You smile back at him and lean in for another kiss, let him deepen it. Jack rolls the two of you as you kiss so that he's on top of you. But you know it's not going anywhere, both of you are too tired. You know he just wants to lay on you and be held after the battle he's had with his thoughts all day.
Jack settles his head on your chest, the thump of your heart calming him and helping lead him to sleep. You wrap your arms around him and run one of your hands through his hair, scratch at his scalp how he enjoys.
After a bit Jack breaks the comfortable silence you've been resting in. "I think we should plan a vacation."
"Yeah? Where do you wanna go?" You run your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and the scratch there, pulling a soft groan from Jack.
"Preferably somewhere we would spend most of our time laying in the sun." He nuzzles his nose against your skin, pressing a few soft kisses to the top of your breast.
"Mm," you groan longingly at the thought, "I think that sounds lovely and perfect."
"You're not bummed it's not Paris?" he teases. But there's a bit of a real ask behind it.
You snort. "Hardly. I'd love to go with you someday, and I appreciate you being worried about that, but if you think I could ever be bummed about the prospect of getting to press myself into your sun-warmed body and getting to see you half naked, all tanned with your freckles popping more…" you hum as you imagine it, "then you're very wrong."
Jack chuckles. "Alright, I just wanted to check."
"We can look around online tomorrow if you want." You yawn, your sleepiness starting to hit you hard.
"That sounds good, Baby." Jack shifts, leaning off of you and nodding with his chin to tell you to turn over so he can spoon you.
You shake your head, you want to spoon him tonight because you want to hold him and because you know it's what he needs tonight after battling his insecurities all day. "Other way. I want to be the big spoon tonight."
He lets out a soft breath, gives you an even softer smile before kissing you. "Okay."
Jack rolls and you roll behind him, spooning him as best you can with the size difference between you. He takes your arm that's over the top of him and brings it in close to his chest, snuggling up to it as he basks in the feeling of being held.
"Love you, Jack," you mumble, sleep thick in your voice as you give in to it.
"I love you too," he murmurs, "sleep well, Sweetheart because in between looking for a vacation spot I intend on fucking you so good over and over again tomorrow that you forget his and any of your exes names."
I hope it ended up being okay and that you were able to enjoy! I really love hearing your thoughts and comments, they motivate me so much, and your interactions truly mean the world to me! Thank you so much for taking the time to read! ♥️
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16.4k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Jack being domestic; shy reader; I once again made up shit about the layout of PTMC a little; grief; angst; reference to past pregnancy; reference to past miscarriages but no graphic descriptions, just a mention they occurred (reader does not actively experience one in the fic); discussions of loss of spouse; anxiety; light body image issues/lack of confidence for reader; Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of loss of spouse; mild self hate; Shakespeare; no use of Y/N or related.
Summary: You meet Dana and Robby, you and Jack go on a date, and your son says his first word.
AN: I went ahead and split what was all just going to be Part 3 into Parts 3 and 4, so Part 4 should follow pretty soon after this. We're getting towards some of the plans I have for them that I'm really looking forward to writing! I love domestic Jack with a baby, I really do. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! ♥️
Jack’s already turning and starting to half run in the direction of your son’s cry when his phone vibrates. You’re calling him. Fuck.
But before he can even answer, the doors open as Mateo brings someone back and Jack sees you standing there holding your son, phone held to your ear by your shoulder as you bounce your son. You look like you’re in distress.
Jack’s close enough that he doesn’t have to totally yell. “Hey!” He calls just loudly enough to get your attention, beckoning you through the doors as he runs over to meet you by them, hands holding the ends of his stethoscope around his neck, ready to put it on in seconds. His call is loud enough to get Dana and Robby’s attention and when they both see Jack running, a visibly distressed you, and your crying son they start to walk over slowly, feeling out if they’re needed.
You grab your phone and hang up, make it through the doors without Jack having to reopen them. “Hey, look who it is,” you say softly to your son, showing him Jack as you meet just beyond the doors.
“What’s wrong? Which one of you is it?” Jack’s eyes are wild, full of worry and his breathing a little heavier than normal. Your son is already reaching for Jack and settling down but he holds off on taking him in case he needs his arms free for you.
“What?” you shake your head a little, brows furrowed. Then it hits you. Where you are. “Oh!” You start shaking your head. “Nothing, no, neither of us, we’re fine, sorry! I'm so sorry!” Dana and Robby overhear and move back to the hub.
Jack lets out a relieved breath and takes your son from you in one arm and pulls you into him by the waist for a hug. You smile as you hug him back with one arm, the other rubbing your son’s back. You rest the side of your head on his chest. “Heart’s racing,” you murmur, “you okay?”
“Yeah. I am now.” He lets out another breath as he kisses the top of your head before the two of you pull apart. “I just heard him crying like that and then you called and I saw you looking upset and it’s an ED. So I went straight to something was wrong.” Jack hasn’t even noticed how he’s swaying from hip to hip a little to help soothe your son who's now mostly calm. "Can I kiss you?"
The question catches you a little off guard. Not in a bad way or one that makes you uncomfortable. You just know this is Jack’s work and weren't sure if he was ready to go this public because you know everyone in the ED will know by the end of the day. "Yeah, of course."
Jack leans down and kisses you, short and sweet and chaste. It's the most natural thing.
“I’m really sorry, Jack," you apologize as you separate. "I didn’t mean to make you worry. He has his well baby one year appointment upstairs in like twenty minutes. I had to wake him up so he was mad. Then I thought the appointment was thirty minutes earlier than it actually is while getting ready and for half the journey here and he can always tell when I’m stressed and it makes him stressed so he was just mad at me. And then I was just so flustered by everything that I came in this way and so I figured I’d try calling you to see if you could just let me in this way so I didn’t have to walk around.”
“Don’t apologize,” he shakes his head at you. “All that matters is everyone’s okay. It’s just been a long night and I forgot he had the appointment and that that was why I didn't have to leave right on time.” He looks down at your son who’s now quiet and happily playing with the chest piece of Jack’s stethoscope. “Tell mommy you’re not mad at her,” he says to your son in a soft baby voice, “you just wanted to sleep in today and don’t like when she’s stressed.”
Your son smiles at Jack and then at you, giggling and clapping the hand not holding onto the chest piece against it. You and Jack laugh with him and smile at each other. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.” You nod and Jack’s hand finds the small of your back as he starts to guide you over to the right elevator.
“Dana and Robby at the desk?” you murmur to him as you walk by.
Jack glances over. “Yep.” He clicks his tongue. “They’re excited for Friday.” You're officially meeting Dana and Robby Friday night. They're coming over to your place for dinner.
“I am too.” You nod. “Nervous.”
Jack turns so that he’s facing you when you get to the elevator. “I understand. But try not to be.”
You look up at him. “They’re important people in your life. What if they hate me?”
Jack gives you a knowing smile. “They won’t, Sweetheart. I know them and I know you and I’m very, very sure they won’t. They already like you.”
“I hope,” you murmur before looking at your son. “Alright Bud, come see mommy.” You hold your hands out for him and he half leans out of Jack’s, one hand reaching for you but the other dropping Jack’s stethoscope and holding onto his scrub top tightly. “Gotta come all the way here my love.” You tickle his tummy before trying to take him from Jack.
He lets go of Jack’s top and curls into you. But his hand still reaches for Jack. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Jack leans in and kisses at your son’s fingers to make him smile before hitting the button to call the elevator. “Text me when you’re done, yeah?”
You nod. “I will. And remember I’m off today too. I like being with him after vaccines.”
“Alright Sweetheart, I’ll see you.” Jack steals a quick kiss from you and presses one to the top of your son's head. "Bye Bud, be good!" He watches you walk on the elevator, waving at your son.
But as soon as your son sees Jack waving and you moving away from Jack and Jack not following he starts to whimper and cry a little. Jack instinctually moves his arm across the elevator door so that it won’t close. You walk back out of it and your son calms down, reaches for Jack again.
Jack looks at you before taking your son. He knows you need to be getting to the appointment. Only once you nod and shift your son in your arms so he can go to Jack does he take him. Your son hangs onto your shirt this time. It’s obvious he wants both of you.
The entire situation makes you a little breathless. Because you can’t lie to yourself. Jack’s worry, the way he ran to you, his drive to care for you and your son, his protectiveness, the way he instinctively shot his arm out to stop the elevator from closing at the whimper of your son, it’s all incredibly incredibly attractive. It’s hot. It makes you want him. You still struggle at times accepting that you’re sexually attracted to someone else and are allowed to be. It can make you spiral at times. This isn’t one of those times but the thoughts still flicker in your mind and help fluster you.
“Well…” you clear your throat. You don’t know why you’re still so awkward at times, so flustered by him and how intense and caring and attractive he is. He’s your boyfriend for christ’s sake. You kiss him. You’ve cried into his chest. More than once. He’s cried into yours. You’ve sat in his lap. And yet he still has the ability to, sometimes quite easily, fluster you. “Do you want to come with us? Or could you?”
Jack blinks at you for a moment. He is very much still affected by you of course, but things relating to your son always fluster him to varying degrees too. Because he knows how meaningful it is. What a privilege it is. How special and how much it means you trust him. Yes, it’s just a doctor’s appointment but it’s more than that. It’s a family thing. Something your husband might have gone to you with. It’s parental in a way. Fatherly. He doesn't take that lightly and he always watches you a little closer to see how much it flares your grief.
He’s done a lot that’s parental in a sense, that’s fatherly, but this feels so different. Maybe it’s just that it really highlights it. The kind of role Jack has here with your son. How it’s going to grow as your son gets older. When he can talk. He’s been aware of it, of course, but something about this gives it a greater presence in his mind.
“I’m sorry,” you try to force a laugh with the words and hold your hands out for your son, “just forget I asked, I know it’s too much too soon-”
“No! No, not all.” He gives you a little smile and hits the elevator button again. “I was just thinking and making sure I was good to leave and had handed everything off.”
“You sure?” you whisper.
“I’m sure if you are. I know this is-”
“I’m sure.” You nod at him and match his smile. “And this way if anything is wrong you’ll be there and understand it much better than me.”
You and Jack walk onto the elevator when the doors open. It’s really a bit of an awkward shuffle since your son is still holding onto your shirt so you and Jack have to be close. But once you’re both on your son seems to relax and lets go, content in his belief you’re not going anywhere.
“I really don’t think anything will be wrong,” Jack assures you as he brings his free hand and tickles your son’s tummy a little.
You let out a small sigh as you step off the elevator and walk towards the skyway connecting the inpatient side of the hospital to the more outpatient side. “I know, I just worry, you know?” Your voice is a little small and Jack knows. He knows you mean you think you worry more than the average parent because of your husband.
“I do, yeah. That’s part of why I give his heart and lungs a listen every now and then, check his lymph nodes. Little things like that.” Jack glances over at you with a little smile. "I just worry, you know?"
“You do?”
“Yeah,” he nods slowly. “I’m sorry if that’s weird, I can stop.”
“No! No, it’s not weird at all, I just didn’t even think about the fact that you could.” You smile at him as you near the office. “I appreciate it. I… The way you love and care for him is something I really don’t take for granted and I hope you know that. Because you don’t have to do any of this, any of what you do for him and us and me. A lot of men wouldn’t."
You don't say it but you think about how a lot of men who physically get far more than you're able to give Jack wouldn’t and don’t do what Jack does for you so happily and without fuss, or that they do but then expect something in return or exert pressure for something physical as a reward. And Jack doesn't. He goes so far out of his way to make sure you don't feel pressured, reminding you at times that you don't owe him and he doesn't expect anything from you and checking that you really want whatever it is you're about to do.
"I know you know that and want to do what you do, I just want to make sure you know that I recognize that I’m,” you run a hand over your son’s hair, “that we’re very lucky to have you and that I appreciate you.”
“I know you do.” The two of you slow as you near the office. “I know you appreciate me, I promise."
"Good, I'm glad you know.” You stop walking just to the side of the office door so you’re not blocking anyone going in or out. Being outside the office reminded you. “I have a question, one you can genuinely say no to, it would be okay if you did.” Jack’s brows furrow a little and he nods.
You take in a deep breath and close your eyes for a second before looking up at him again. This is hard. This is asking him to take on a lot. “When I go to check him in, they’re going to ask if I want to update his emergency contact on file. It’s someone from work right now, but if you were okay with it, I’d much rather it be you.”
Jack nods. “Of course. I am at daycare,” he reminds you with a smile.
“I know, this just feels different,” you shrug. “Bigger.”
He knows exactly what you mean because it feels bigger to him too. Can’t quite put his finger on why, but it does. Maybe it’s just that it’s on top of the fact that he’s here with you, going to this appointment. You didn’t just ask at home and update it when you came alone. He’s here.
“It does, yeah,” he agrees. “But I’m still happy to be it.”
“Okay,” you nod, “but if you ever don't want to be it anymore just let me know, okay?”
“I will.” He gives you a soft smile. “I don’t think that’ll happen, but if it does, I’ll tell you.”
“Good, thank you.” You return his smile and try to stay calm when you lean up and push your lips out for a kiss. Sometimes being the one to initiate makes the guilt start to get a little unchecked. But you and your therapist have talked and are working through that further and you know it’s important for you and your relationship that you initiate.
"You don't owe me a kiss for that," he murmurs.
"I know, I just want one." The smile on Jack’s face grows as he leans down to give you the quick kiss you asked for. “We should probably get in. You can go sit with him and I’ll join you once I’m done checking in.”
“Sounds good.” You guys step back over to the door and Jack opens and holds the door for you.
The appointment itself is smooth. Your son is healthy, meeting milestones and in good percentiles for his age. He’s content with both you and Jack there, smiling and happy like he almost always is. There are tears when he has to get his shots, ones that break your mom heart, but Jack is there for the both of you, rubbing your back and helping distract your son with peek-a-boo and his stethoscope.
Once the three of you get back to your place you convince Jack that he needs to go to bed and sleep. He knows you’re right, knows how exhausted he is for some reason today, but he still wishes he could spend the extra time with you.
“Jack?” you call to him as he hits the guest room door. He looks back at you where you’re standing with your son to take him into your room with you so that you can change into something more comfortable.
“Yeah?” His eyebrows raise a little and you’ve seen it happen a thousand times before, seen it happen a thousand times before when he’s sleepy like this. But something about this moment, in his scrubs with his stethoscope still around his neck, hair fluffier from running his hand through it a lot over his shift, makes the look even more adorable, makes him seem so adorable yet handsome you could scream.
“Thank you for coming with us.” You smile at him. “We really appreciate it.”
Jack gives you a sleepy smile back that has you biting your lip. “Thanks for asking me to go with you.”
"Come here, please," Jack beckons you over to him softly. He stands up from where he's sitting on the couch watching you pace the living room. It's kind of cute the way your son is transfixed watching you walk back and forth.
You stop pacing and turn towards Jack. You let out a deep breath but walk over into his open arms. "I'm just worried they won't like me Jackie." You rest your forehead against his chest and hold onto his waist as he wraps his arms around you.
Jack's lips twitch upward. Not at your worry but at the name. It's a name he's rarely heard throughout his life. His wife called him it all of once and then never again because it just didn't feel right for either of them. But from you it feels right. There's something so soft and vulnerable and achingly fucking sweet about the way you say it, and yeah right now you're worried and upset, but Jack knows it's always going to sound like that coming from you because it's you and it just fits.
He leaves the name for a second. "They already like you, Sweetheart, and I am quite certain they're just going to like you even more when they leave tonight."
"How can they like me when they haven't even met me?" you mumble into his chest.
"Because you make me happy." He runs his hands up and down your back as he keeps you close and rocks you a little, able to keep an eye on your son who's over happily playing with some toy blocks. "And they know it and can see it, and they’ve wanted that for me again for a long time."
You rest your chin on Jack's chest and look up at him with wide eyes. "Well what if they meet me in person and realize they don't actually like me? Or what if they think I'm awful for you or something?"
Jack leans down and kisses your forehead. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to lie to you and promise you that they're going to feel a certain way about you when they leave. But knowing them and knowing you and knowing myself before and after you came into my life, I can honestly tell you that I truly believe with my entire heart and brain that they're going to love you and be happy for us and want to come back over soon and get to know you and him more. But even if, and I mean if, they didn't like you, we'd figure it out. They and their opinions aren't a part of our relationship, and yes, I know that's easy for me to say right now, but I promise you that we would figure it out, okay?"
You let out a long breath. "Okay," you nod, resting the side of your face back on his chest, "okay."
"Also." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Jackie?"
"What?" You pull your head back and look at him with confusion.
Jack wears an amused smile. "You called me Jackie."
"I did?" You furrow your brows a little more and look away from him as you replay the conversation in your head. "Oh, I did. I'm so sorry. Do you hate it? It just slipped out. I call you it in my head sometimes," you admit with a shy smile. "But it's okay if you hate it, I don't need to ever call you it again. Out loud or in my head."
"No, no," he's quick to shake his head. "I like it. It's cute. It's a very you thing to call me." Jack kisses your forehead again. "Only like it from you though."
The two of you are only just able to share a kiss when there's a knock on the door. Jack feels you tense a little. "It's going to be great, Sweetheart," he reassures you.
You nod at him and walk over to grab your son and a toy for him off the floor while Jack checks that it's Robby and Dana and opens the door, greeting them.
"I brought wine," Dana tells Jack as she steps in.
"And I brought beer," Robby says as he follows her in.
You settle your son on your hip as you walk toward the front door, watching Jack and Robby do what you'll come to learn is their normal quick, clapped hug. Jack hugs Dana properly and kisses her cheek and you smile to yourself at how cute the whole thing is, the three of them and their chosen family.
"Where's this woman of yours and her precious son?" Dana asks Jack as they pull apart.
You take a couple of steps forward and it's more the babbles from your son at seeing Jack than any noise you make that alerts Dana and Robby to your presence. "Hi." You greet them with a shy smile.
Even though they already know, Jack tells them your and your son's names again. Dana is the first to walk closer to you, waving to your son and then turning her attention to you. "Are you okay with hugs? Because shaking your hand feels kinda weird," she laughs.
"Sure," you nod, "yeah of course, if you, if you want to." You don't want her to feel like she has to greet you in some particular way.
"I do, yeah," she reassures you as she leans in for a quick hug that's a little to the side since you have your son resting on your one hip. "Jack's right," she glances over at him with a smile before looking back at you, "you're even more beautiful up close."
"Oh," you let out a flustered laugh. "Well um, thank you." You smile at her before looking over at Jack whose amused smile doesn't quite cover the light blush he wears at Dana's revelation that he talks about you and how beautiful you are to her and Robby at work. "And thank you too."
Dana steps aside so that you and Robby can finally meet.
"Hi," he smiles warmly at you and holds his hands out a little, "you okay with hugging me too?"
You nod and return his smile. "Of course, if you want."
Robby just gives you a small nod and gives you a similarly quick hug a little to the side like Dana did. "Hi little man, you're so big now!" he coos to your son as he steps back. Robby looks back at you. "I trust Jack has already explained my name?"
"He has, yeah." You smile softly.
"Good," Robby smiles, "just wanted to make sure so you're not confused when he inevitably calls me Michael at some point."
"I appreciate it," you nod at him. "Please, come in, come in," you usher, hand gesturing to the living room. Jack grabs everyone drinks and puts what Dana and Robby had brought in the kitchen and fridge.
Dana and Robby naturally look around as they walk in and sit down. You and Jack take the loveseat to give Dana and Robby room on the couch. You sit close, sides touching each other, Jack's arm between your back and the cushion, his hand resting on your hip. It's reassuring and helps you relax a little. You're able to pass your hand over his and give it a little thank you squeeze while you get your son situated sideways on your lap so that he's looking towards Dana and Robby, his toy in his lap entertaining him.
You notice Dana's eyes lingering on the American flag displayed on one of the shelves in the room, a photo of your husband and one of you and your husband next to it.
You say his name. Your husband's. "That's him obviously," you let out a slightly awkward laugh.
"Man, he's a real combo of the two of you isn't he?" Dana muses as she brings her eyes back to you and your son.
You nod and smile as you look down at your son. It's very true. "Yeah, you can definitely tell which features he got from who."
"Has it been long?" She asks gently, her eyes on you the whole time. You feel Jack stiffen beside you and rest a hand on his thigh and squeeze gently to let him know it's okay.
There's a pause while you think of what to say, because you know when you answer her and Robby are immediately going to try to do mental math. So really you're trying to figure out what exactly to say.
"I'm sorry if that was too much," Dana starts.
"Oh, no." You shake your head and smile at her. "No, no, it's okay. I was just thinking of how much to trauma dump on you guys, I guess." You laugh to yourself. Both her and Robby look a little confused. "I'm going to tell you and your instinct is going to be to start doing math based on him and his birthday," you glance down at your son, "and it's just all sad so I was just thinking about how much to say."
"As much or as little as you want, Hon. We deal with trauma for a living." Dana smiles at you. Robby gives you a soft smile too.
"It's been about a year and eight months now." You let out a breath. "God, that's still so totally unfucking real to say." Jack's hand squeezes your hip reassuringly and to remind you that you don't have to say anything else. You decide to just tell them what you told Jack initially. "Jack said he told you guys that my husband died while deployed. I guess the long story short is we'd been trying for a baby for a bit, I kept miscarrying. About two weeks before he was being redeployed I found out I was five weeks pregnant and it was just different. I had real symptoms and we were so cautiously optimistic. We both hated that he had to go but were comforted by the fact that as long as everything went to plan he should be back in time to be here for the birth. And then things didn't go to plan and he died when I was ten weeks pregnant." You shrug because you never really know what to do after saying that.
Both Dana and Robby look equally heartbroken for you, Dana keeping your eye contact even as her face melts into a kind of grief. Robby reacts similar to how Jack did, closing his eyes and wincing a little. "So you know… kept the baby lost the husband that time. Pretty sick of the universe. Especially because I don't really have family, much less anywhere nearby."
"Jesus, so you did everything after that alone?" Dana asks, shaking her head slightly. You nod. "You are one strong woman, I hope you know that."
"Oh," you titter, "no, I don't think so. I just did what I had to do, you know?"
"No," Robby shakes his head. Despite there being some force behind his words because he really wants you to hear and believe him, his voice is gentle and the look he gives you is soft. "Dana's right. You are."
Jack can tell that while you're not upset with how the conversation has gone so far, you need some lightness infused back into things and to move the conversation along a little. He slides his hand up your back and wraps it gently around the back of your neck, thumb rubbing into your skin a little. "I'd just like to point out that I tell you that all the time."
You huff a laugh and roll your eyes at him. At Jack's voice your son looks up from the toy he's been playing with in your lap and shifts to find Jack, giggling once he makes eye contact. You all laugh as he crawls from your lap over to Jack's and starts grabbing at Jack's face.
"I adore you Kid, but why don't you go see Dana or Robby, hm?" Jack hums at him, grabbing his small hand and pretending to eat it just to pull the sweetest giggles from him. Jack has taken to calling him Kid recently. You find it adorable. "Robby's face is extra fun to grab at, remember?" Jack tells your son in a baby voice, smirking at Robby. You both already know your son is going to have a field day with Robby's beard.
"And I will happily allow it." Robby nods at him with a teasing smile.
"I'm sorry in advance." You shoot Robby an apologetic smile. "And, yes! Sorry! I should've asked if you guys wanted to have him, I'm just not used to… having other people to offer him to," you laugh. "He can take a bit to warm up to people though, I know he's technically met you guys before though. And he's obsessed with Jack so it's hard to get him out of Jack's arms sometimes." You look over at Jack. "It's understandable, really."
Jack's eyebrows raise and he gives you a little smirk while Dana and Robby chuckle.
"I would love to see him!" Dana gets up and walks towards you and Jack. "He can take all the time he needs to warm up to me."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I don't know how I ended up making this feel so formal either, like we're all sitting here so properly. Please just make yourselves at home, walk around, whatever. We play with him on the floor a lot," you look over at the area, "so if he gets attached he might want you to go sit with him on the floor, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, we'd be happy too." Dana bends a little and holds her hands out to your son. He looks at them and her and then at you and Jack.
"Yeah, Robby's got a few years left of being able to get up and down from the floor, it's not a problem at all." Jack gives Robby a saccharine grin.
Robby rolls his eyes at him, but there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Ha ha very funny, Jack."
You and Dana chuckle at the two of them and then you turn your attention to your son. "You wanna go see Auntie Dana Baby?" you coo at him. "You've met her before. You like her."
"Auntie?" Dana's smile is slightly teasing but also so bright at being called Auntie.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," you rush out. "I shouldn't have assumed you'd want to be called that, I'm so sorry-"
"Sweetheart," Jack cuts you off gently, "you just made her entire month, don't apologize. She absolutely wants to be Auntie Dana." He gives you a reassuring smile before smirking a little at Dana. Jack's eyes make their way back to your son and he nods and gives your son an encouraging smile. After a few more seconds of consideration your son reaches up for Dana to take him.
"It's true," Dana chuckles in response to Jack's words. "Hi Baby, you're so gorgeous aren't you? And you've gotten so big since the last time I held you." Dana coos at your son, taking him to sit back on the couch with her.
"Does that mean I'm Uncle Robby?" Robby asks with a hopeful, excited smile and raised eyebrows.
"No." Jack deadpans.
You click your tongue at Jack and bump him with your shoulder. "Ignore him on that, please."
Robby chuckles. "I frequently do."
"Do you fuck." You can feel Jack roll his eyes as he says it.
You shake your head at the two of them, smiling to yourself. They really are like brothers at times. "Yeah, you're Uncle Robby, or at least that's what I was going to call you. Only if you want though."
"I'd like that." Robby nods as he slides down closer to Dana on the couch to be near your son.
"Then Auntie Dana and Uncle Robby it is." You let yourself lean into Jack a little more now that you don't have your son on your lap and he kisses your temple. You like it, love it even, how Dana and Robby have also accepted your son into their lives so unconditionally before really knowing him or you.
The five of you stay in the living room and chat for a while, conversation flowing freely and easily as Dana and Robby play with your son. Eventually dinner finishes in the oven and you all move into the kitchen and dining room while you and Jack quickly finish up a few sides. Once dinner is over you move back into the living room, Robby and Dana sitting on the floor with your son and continuing to play with him as you all chat.
After a bit, Jack slips off to the bathroom. "So is this when the real interrogation starts? What are my intentions with your Jack?" you joke with Dana and Robby once the bathroom door closes.
"No." Dana laughs, shaking her head.
Robby laughs with her but grows more serious. "It's very clear how good you are for him. He hasn't been this happy in years." Robby gives you a knowing smile. All three of you know exactly how many years.
You let out a little sigh of relief. You know Dana and Robby love Jack enough that they wouldn't lie to you about you being good for him and him being the happiest he's been in years. You're happy to have the reassurance from them because sometimes you doubt yourself in those ways.
"I'm glad." You smile at them both, head spinning just a little as you think about Jack. You end up staring off into the distance at a spot on the floor without realizing it. "He is so good for me. He has the patience of a fucking saint with me, on like every level and he is so thoughtful and understanding and he's jumped head first into all of this with my son too, and he is so fucking good with my son, and is just so…" Loving. That's the word you want to use but don't for a number of reasons. You let out a slow breath.
"So caring. He's just so there for me. Wherever I am. He's there. He meets me there. He makes me…" Feel things I thought I'd never feel again after my husband died. That's the way you want to finish that sentence, but you need to truly make that admission to yourself first. "Happy. He makes me very happy." You finally realize you're staring at a spot on the floor and bring your eyes back to Dana and Robby, letting out a small awkward laugh. You pretty much just verbally processed out loud to them some of how you feel about Jack. "Well, that turned into me rambling awkwardly, didn't it? I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," Dana shakes her head at you, an almost wistful smile on her face. "Jack is an amazing man and he deserves to be with someone who recognizes that, and you do."
"We're both really happy for you." Robby smiles at you, happily letting your son pull at his beard.
Jack comes back within earshot of the living room during Robby's pause. "And what were you all talking about that you had to stop discussing once I was back?" Your son hears Jack's voice and is immediately sitting on Robby's lap so he can find Jack and start crawling towards him. "Miss me that much Kid?" Jack chuckles as he bends down to pick your son up. Your son babbles happily at him, small hands resting on Jack's cheeks.
"I was just about to tell her about that one time freshman year when you-"
"Michael," Jack interrupts him, "you should take a good couple of seconds to really think about whether you want to start the war of embarrassing high school stories."
"I think he does," Dana tries to egg Robby on.
But after a couple of seconds Robby holds up his hands in truce and Jack starts walking over to them. "If you pull on Uncle Robby's beard extra hard right now I'll buy you all the bubbles you want next time we're at the store," Jack stage whispers to your son who giggles loudly in response.
"You're such an asshole sometimes." Robby shakes his head at Jack but holds his arms up to accept your son as Jack hands him back down to Robby. "And we both know you're so wrapped around his finger that you'll buy him all the bubbles he wants the next time you're at the store regardless." Robby smirks.
"You say that like you aren't just as wrapped and wouldn't buy him all the bubbles he wanted at the store every single time." Jack cocks his head and flicks his eyebrows up at Robby as he sits back down next to you.
The two stare at each other for a minute until Robby breaks it, laughing to himself and looking down at your son in his lap.
"God, man, I can't fucking believe we're sitting here having this conversation about me buying bubbles for him, for my nephew. It's like surreal almost." Robby looks back up at Jack with a hint of wonder to his smile. "I was the new kid who sat next to you on the bus on the first day of sixth grade. And now look where fucking we are."
"Pretty fucking crazy," Jack nods. "Nobody else I'd rather have here with me though."
You and Dana look at each other exchanging smiles of adoration for the two men and the deep brotherly love they have for each other. You're both almost vaguely teary. You look at each other just a touch too long though and burst into giggles at the same time.
"I'm sorry," you giggle out to Jack and Robby. "That was so precious I felt myself getting teary and then I looked at Dana…"
"I was too!" She laughs. "I was gonna fucking cry over you two and then it just turned into laughter."
Jack and Robby laugh with the two of you, and the four of you settle back into conversation.
"You okay?" Jack whispers when Dana and Robby get distracted by your son, bringing his head close to yours over your shoulder, lips near your ear.
"Yeah," you nod as you whisper back.
"Alright, just wanted to check." Jack keeps his voice low. "But if you need this over at any point just let me know and I'll make something up, okay?"
"Okay, but I don't think that'll happen." You turn your head and kiss the side of Jack's lips making him smile and nuzzle his face against yours for a second.
It's not too much later that your son starts to slow down and grow sleepy as you all chat. Eventually he leaves Robby and Dana and crawls over to you and Jack. "Yeah, it's about that time, isn't it Baby?" you murmur as Jack picks him up.
Your son is happy in Jack's arms, head resting against Jack's chest. His eyes stay open for a while and watch Dana and Robby when they move to sit back on the couch from the floor. But as you talk his eyelids grow heavier and heavier and eventually he's out.
You let Jack hold him while he sleeps for a bit until there's a lull in the conversation and you can bow out for a few minutes to get him changed and in some pajamas and in bed. It takes a bit but you know Jack doesn't mind holding him while he sleeps, that Jack loves it if anything.
"I'm going to go put him down," you smile at the room, "give you guys a chance to gossip about me. I'll be right back." The three of them laugh at your joke as you get up and take your son from Jack's arms and walk to the nursery.
You're not wrong in a sense. But it's not really gossip per se.
"Jack she is so fucking great, oh my god!" Dana almost squeals at him when they hear the door to the nursery close. "She's even better than you described!"
"I know," Jack says smugly.
"She really is incredible, Jack. I honestly wasn't sure she could live up to your description but she did. Even better, like Dana said. I'm so happy for you. Both of you." Robby tilts his head at Jack. "And she's really into you Jack. She like, gushed almost, about you while you went to the bathroom."
"Gushed?" Jack smirks. But he can feel the softest rush of heat to his face as he wonders what you said.
"That was honestly probably the right word choice," Dana says in support of Robby.
"Thank you!" Robby huffs.
"Alright, alright." Jack lets out a single laugh to himself. "I could gush about her, honestly."
"We know." Robby and Dana say at the same time, all three laughing at it.
"Okay but seriously," Robby cocks his head at Jack, "the way you look at her, the way she looks at you, you can tell. It's obvious that you guys are really into each other."
"She is so good for me." Jack tells himself he's not going to go on too much about you because he's already done his own version of gushing about you to both of them many times at work. "She just has this presence that makes me feel safe and calm and… steady. And it's been a long time since I've felt any of that. She makes me happy. Like really happy and not just in a situational sense, you know? She just makes me happier all the time, as a person."
"We know that too, trust us," Robby teases Jack.
"And you look good with a baby in your arms, Jack." Dana smirks a little.
"What about me?" Robby asks her, nudging her leg with his foot.
"You know what, you do too Robby," Dana nods, "and women love that. Maybe you can take him out around the city one day when you babysit. It'll get you noticed and they'll love that you're being a fun involved uncle even more."
Jack can't help but laugh because he knows Robby is already starting to regret the question and it bringing up the topic of his love life.
"You want me to take Jack's baby around the city to try and get dates?" They all hear it but none of them react, none of them seem to fully recognize in the moment that Robby slipped in a sense and just called your son Jack's son because it feels so natural.
Dana nods. "I mean you'd be babysitting and spending time with him. The rest would just be a bonus."
"I regret asking. Why did I ask?" Robby shakes his head to himself.
"It's not necessarily a bad idea if you ever did," Jack agrees with Dana.
"Okay, I don't need any help getting dates, thank you." Dana and Jack both give Robby a look at that, more teasing than anything. They both know Robby could have a love life if he really wanted one. "Just because I haven't found someone I want to date doesn't mean I couldn't be getting and going on dates."
You overhear Jack and Robby as you walk back into the living room with the monitor. "Well, I guess you moved on from gossiping about me to Robby quickly. I'm not sure if that's good or bad."
"Or lack thereof," Jack quips about Robby's love life. Robby huffs at him.
"It's good," Dana reassures you with a smile.
"Good," you nod, sitting back down on the loveseat next to Jack and resting your hand on his thigh, "so what was the not bad idea?" You look over at Robby since this is about him. "If you're okay talking about it with me here. We don't have to."
"It's okay," Robby tells you as he gives you an appreciative smile.
"I was saying that women like seeing men with babies and if Robby babysits one day he should take your son out around the city and attract some attention," Dana explains.
"Attract some attention, oh my god." Robby runs his hands over his face.
You giggle. "I mean, women do like it. It makes them think. And finding out you're the caring babysitting uncle would be even better."
Dana looks at Robby and flourishes her hand towards you. "That's what I said!"
"And that's why I said it wasn't a bad idea." Jack pauses. He brings his hand to the back of your neck like he did earlier, gently pulls a little so that you'll look back at him. "I don't want you to think we're viewing him as like, I don't know, a thing to be used, though."
"No, god, no," Robby is quick to agree with Jack, looking a bit stricken at the thought, "not at all." Dana nods in agreement with the two.
You laugh softly, still looking at Jack. "No, I don't think that at all. Honestly it would be a great time for him. He would absolutely love all the attention, even if you wouldn't Robby."
"Oh that's very, very true," Jack chuckles, "that's a good point."
"Okay," Robby starts, "but I want to promise you that if I ever took him out like that it would be to spend time with him, not to fish for dates or attract attention."
You turn back to Robby. "I know Robby, I promise." You give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. "I know you care about him and it would be about spending time with him and any numbers or dates you got would just be a bonus."
"Again, that's what I said." Dana gives Robby a pointed look.
"I heard there was maybe someone at work though?" You look at Robby with slightly raised brows.
"Oh no, not you too!" Robby sighs. "He already recruited you into badgering me about this?"
"Good job Jack!" Dana laughs and Robby rolls his eyes at her.
"He's joking, he loves it." Jack smirks at Robby but squeezes your hip reassuringly.
Robby hums as if to say he's not so sure about that.
"Oh, no, I'm, I'm sorry," you start, suddenly the stricken one, "I didn't mean-"
"Hey, no, no," Robby interrupts, smiling at you. "It's okay, I promise. It's okay to tease and badger along with them, it's not going to make me not like you." You nod at Robby and try your hardest not to grow suddenly quiet or off. He said it was okay. "There is someone but I'm not convinced she's into me like I'm into her."
Jack snorts. "Okay, well Dana and I know she is. You're just incapable of seeing it somehow."
"Well, okay. Why don't you come to the Pitt bowling thing and watch Robby and her together?" Dana suggests to you. "You can see what you think and then tell Robby your read on it. Maybe he'll trust you more as a neutral outsider?" She glances at Robby.
"Yeah," Robby nods a little in consideration, "I would be more apt to go for it if someone who's never seen us together saw something. And I know you'll be honest."
You nod. "Jack already asked me if I wanted to go and I said yes. So I can do that." You laugh to yourself. "Yeah, actually we're bringing the baby so there we go. We'll let her see you as Uncle Robby, maybe it'll help seal the deal even more."
"Oh, I'm so glad you're going! This will be great! We need more Pitt family babies and I know that everyone is dying to meet you and him," Dana chuckles. "And they're going to love you both."
"Hopefully," you titter.
"They will," Robby agrees with Dana.
Jack leans into you a bit, his hand back at your waist and squeezing gently. "They will," he murmurs. "And Dana and I will get to prove to Robby that we're right," Jack says in a normal voice, smirking at Robby.
Robby rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh that you all end up sharing for a few seconds. The four of you chat for a while longer before Robby and Dana decide to head out.
"Seriously though, if you guys ever need a sitter, Dana and I are both ready, willing and able," Robby offers as you all linger by the door.
"We are," Dana confirms. "Eager, even."
You nod at them both. There's nobody you would trust your son with more than Dana and Robby, the fact that Dana's a nurse and Robby's a doctor only part of the reason for trusting them with him. "Yeah, I think we might take you up on that soon." You look over your shoulder and up at Jack. "If Jack wanted."
"Fuck yeah I want." Jack smiles widely at you. "I'm so ready to take you on a childless date as much as I love him and our time with him."
All four of you laugh at Jack's enthusiasm. "Yeah," you nod at him, "I want that too."
You and Jack take up the babysitting offer quickly, Jack planning a date for the two of you eight days after you had Dana and Robby over. Dana was the first of the two to say she was available that Saturday night so she's looking after your son tonight.
Jack hasn't told you the details of the date yet other than to give you an idea of how to dress and that it involved dinner and something after. He'd said dressy casual, more than jeans and a t-shirt but not necessarily a full cocktail dress or something like that, and that for reference he'd be in casual slacks and a casual long sleeve button up.
You pick out something you think fits the bill and gives you some confidence. Or as much confidence as you're realistically going to get. You and Jack know each other incredibly well, he's seen you incredibly sick and has held you when you cry and seen the aftermath and yet you're nervous as all fuck for this date and for him to see you somewhat dressed up like this.
Jack takes your son so that you're able to get ready in your room alone, the two sitting on the couch together. He of course can't help but think about his wife and there's an ache that squeezes his heart for a bit. This isn't the first date he's been on since his wife. The ones that came after the first one he went on after his wife all seemed a bit easier. But this one feels like that first one again. Maybe because it's the first date he's been on since his wife with someone who really matters. Someone he's in a relationship with. Someone whose son is sitting on his lap. He lets himself feel it all for a bit, acknowledges all the feelings so that it's easier to let them slip back into the background and have excitement and first date nerves come back to the forefront.
You do your hair first and then move on to your makeup. It's the first time you've really done your makeup in a very long time and it's kind of weird seeing yourself with it on once you’re finished and looking at yourself in the mirror.
You slip into what you picked out and stand in front of the mirror to look at yourself, doing your best not to pick yourself apart too much. Once you decide this is as good as it's going to get you turn from the mirror and just stand there for a minute. You haven't been out on a real date like this since losing your husband obviously, and it's just strange and there's a sadness that comes with it, even with as excited as you are to get this time with Jack. You just weren't supposed to have to date someone who wasn't your husband ever again. You take a few minutes to feel the grief and sadness and think about your husband and talk to him in your head how you do sometimes when your grief and guilt start to flare so that you don't get overwhelmed. And then you take a deep breath and focus back in the present, on Jack and the date you're about to go on with him. You're allowed to have this. You can have this. It doesn't make you awful.
After you spray on a little perfume you hit the lights and walk out to the living room. Jack is already dressed and sitting on the couch with your son, a couple of toys and books around them. You smile to yourself at the view and clear your throat, walking further into the living room so you're more visible to Jack. You clear your throat. "Um, is this okay? The outfit? Like is it appropriate?"
Jack looks up at you and his brain buffers a little bit as he takes you in. You look incredible. You always do, but it's a different type of incredible all dressed up like this with your hair and makeup done.
"Wow. Yeah. So much more than okay, you look gorgeous, wow," he laughs breathily. Jack stands and walks over to you, his eyes dragging over your body and face, eyes stopping when they reach yours. "You're so beautiful." He glances at your son and bounces him a little. "Your mama's stunning, isn't she Kid?" Your son babbles a little in response and claps his hands.
Your brain buffers just like Jack's did when he stands up and you get a full look at him. The man is always unfairly handsome, even when exhausted from a string of on days, but being in perfectly fitted slacks and a button up collared shirt gives him a different kind of edge that leaves your brain empty for a minute.
You feel your entire body grow hot at his words because look at him. And he's calling you gorgeous and beautiful and stunning. "Thank you. You look incredibly handsome. It's uh," you let out your own breathy laugh, "it's hard to describe, yeah. But, you look incredible Jack." You look at your son. "And thank you Baby." You lean in and give his cheek a light kiss to avoid any lipstick transfer.
Some pink tinges his cheeks at your words. "Thank you." There's a couple of seconds of silence as the two of you smile at each other, both of you feeling like teenagers about to go on a first date with your crush. "I, um, I was going to get you flowers, not, not daisies, but I know your husband showed up with flowers on your first date and I didn't want it to seem like I was…" he can't think of exactly how he wants to finish that sentence so he takes a chance because he's pretty sure you'll understand what he means. "You know?"
You nod and smile softly at him. You know what he means. He doesn't want to seem like he was trying to replace your husband or be him or copy him or override memories. "I do know, yeah. And I appreciate it. But I also want you to know Jack that anything you ever did wouldn't seem like that to me because I know it never would be that."
"Good," Jack smiles as he nods at you, "I'm glad you know."
A knock on the door interrupts before either of you can say anything more. Jack's slightly closer to the door so he makes sure it's Dana and opens it. "Hi," he greets her with a hug once he gets the door closed, "thank you for doing this."
"Of course! I'm more than happy to!" She smiles widely at him and sets her bag down. She takes a step back and looks Jack up and down. "Wow, look at you Dr. Abbot. Don't you clean up nicely?" Dana smirks.
Jack gives her a fake little huff. "You say that like you're surprised."
"Not at all, it's just a rarity to see you in something other than scrubs, jeans and a t-shirt or sweats." Her attention turns over to you. "Hi," she greets you as she hugs you. "You look beautiful, Mom."
"Thank you," you murmur to her before pulling out of the hug. You're awkward with compliments. Always have been, almost assuredly always will be.
"And hi, you!" Dana turns her attention to your son, who giggles at her. "You ready for a fun night with Auntie Dana?" She holds her hands out and your son looks up at Jack who smiles and nods at him. At Jack's encouragement your son reaches for Dana who happily grabs him and starts bouncing.
Jack smooths out his shirt and walks over to one of the bookshelves in your living room that's three-quarters shelves with the remaining quarter a cabinet with doors. "Everything you should need is out in the nursery, diapers, wipes, PJs, the monitor. There's some food for him in the fridge and he's big on the milk game right now, usually he has a sippy cup with dinner or before bed if he doesn't want it with dinner. He usually goes down pretty easily." You smile to yourself as you listen to Jack give Dana the rundown on everything related to your son. It's heartwarming. "Emergency medical supplies are here," he taps the cabinet with his foot, "PTMC is the closest hospital and Robby texted me earlier that he's not drinking tonight and on standby to go in if anything happens, so call him if it does."
Dana smirks as she walks into the living room. "I see he's taking the whole uncle thing seriously."
Jack tilts his head. "He is. Just as seriously as you're taking the aunt thing because I know that's not your normal purse."
"What?" She shrugs with a playful defensiveness as she draws the word out. "I wasn't sure what all you'd have here so I brought a couple of things just on the very off chance something happens."
It makes your heart ache in the best way, and you have to giggle a little because the whole thing is just so painfully cute and sweet. Jack and Dana look at you. "No. No, I'm sorry, I'm not laughing, laughing. It's just very sweet, all three of you are, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it and how much more at ease I feel knowing I'm leaving him with you, Dana, and with Robby on standby. Truly."
"As a mom I totally get it," Dana nods, "and truly I'm happy to do it. I miss when they were this little, you know?"
"I do." You let out a long breath. "They grow up too fast." You look at your son in her arms with a wistful smile. "And please help yourself to anything here."
"Uber's just about here," Jack interjects gently. He could drive but it's just easier to take an uber, and it lets both of you drink.
"Okay," you breathe out. You walk over to Dana and take your son for a minute, hugging him tight and giving him a couple of kisses that leave behind a little lipstick.
"I'll get it," Dana tells you when you go to lick your thumb to wipe it away.
"Thank you." You give her a grateful smile before hugging your son again. "I love you Baby, be good for Auntie Dana."
Dana takes him back from you and Jack leans into her to give your son a quick hug and kiss. "Love you, Kid."
Dana distracts your son while you get your shoes on, Jack already in his, and grab your coats before stepping out. Jack locks the door behind you. You smile at him when he opens the car door for you, murmur "thank you," as you get in.
Once you're at the restaurant Jack stands right behind you as you both wait for the hostess to return and seat you. You're close enough that both of you are able to really smell each other, the scent of your perfume and Jack's cologne wrapping around the memories of the evening.
You get seated and look around a little as you open your menu. The restaurant is romantic, small but not too small, dim with up-lighting adding to the glow of the candles that adorn each table. It's that lighting that makes Jack's eyes look a different color with each flicker of the flame. You're so entranced by watching them as he looks at you that you nearly miss his question.
"Hm?" It's distracted but you quickly pull yourself back to as his words process. "Yeah. Yeah we can share a bottle of wine with dinner, that sounds nice."
"Okay, let's decide what we're having first and then pick. Unless you have a strong preference for red or white? Or pink." His eyebrows raise slightly with his intonation.
"I don't, no." You shake your head as you look down at the menu.
Jack can't help but stare at you for a moment, finds himself entranced by watching the flicker of the flame highlight the different contours of your face so beautifully. He has to drag his eyes off of you and down to the menu.
The two of you decide what you're going to have and then pick out a bottle of wine together. You order when your waiter comes by and then are finally able to really settle in.
"I meant to say earlier but the hostess returned and started showing us to our table," Jack starts with a small smile, "you smell particularly nice tonight."
"Oh, um, thank you." A shy smile pulls on your face. Between Jack's comment and the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the room you get flustered, just like you did in the hospital when asking Jack to come to your son's appointment with you. "It's perfume." You pause for a second as what you said sinks in. "Well, I'm sure that was obvious," you laugh. "God, I don't know why I still get this flustered around you like you aren't my boyfriend and when you're still here despite knowing some of the most personal things about me and seeing me ugly cry into my hands or you and a bunch of other embarrassing things."
Jack gives you a sympathetic smile and laugh as he finishes taking the drink he started while you were talking. "Oh trust me, Sweetheart, I know how you feel. You do the same, to me, I promise." Your forearm and hand rest up the side of the table and Jack brings his to match, nudging the tips of your fingers with his. "It's very endearing. You getting flustered."
"Given how often it seems to happen that's probably a good thing," you laugh softly with him. "And you, um, you smell very nice too. I noticed earlier, I'm not just saying it because you did."
"Thank you." He nods, but it seems like there's more he wants to say that he doesn't.
"What?" You wear a curious smile now.
Jack shakes his head and bows it for a second. He's not going to lie and say nothing. "I considered saying 'thank you, it's cologne,' just to tease you, but decided not to because I wasn't sure if it would land and be a cute moment or just make you self-conscious and embarrassed," he admits.
You smile brightly at him and laugh a little. "It would've landed and been a cute moment in this context where I'd already made fun of myself about it. But as someone who gets easily self-conscious and embarrassed I really appreciate you thinking about that."
Your waiter cuts in with an apology and sets down the appetizer you and Jack decided on. As it always does with the two of you, conversation flows freely and easily as you eat your appetizer and mains.
"So do I get to know what we're doing after this yet?" You give Jack a hopeful smile as the two of you wait for your dessert.
"Yeah, alright, I'll tell you," Jack says as he nods. As he goes to tell you Jack starts to regret not asking about this beforehand because now that it's here and he's about to tell you he's worried it's silly or cringe or going to end up being embarrassing. At the same time he wonders if it's too much in a way. Too serious or trying too hard or too something.
You don't miss the pink that tinges Jack's cheeks. "I'm sure I'm going to love it Jack." You give him a reassuring smile.
He raises his eyebrows for a second and tilts his head like he's trying to say he's not sure. He licks his lips and forces himself to start talking. "I got us tickets for the Benedum Center." He lets out a little breath through his shy smile. "Macbeth is on."
It clicks immediately and takes you back to just around four months ago.
Jack stands up, puts the chair back and looks back at you, rolls his eyes. “Patient census comment coming back to bite me in the ass. Shoulda known better.”
You let out a small laugh. “I thought it was very Scottish Play of you.” Jack smiles at you. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” He walks over to the door and puts his hand on the door handle, pauses, thinking.
Jack turns back to look at you. “What’s done cannot be undone,” he says with a little smirk.
You laugh almost properly at that. It makes you feel, maybe not totally happy, but okay. It’s been a while since you’ve felt either.
“Oh wow, okay, well go get ‘em Lady Macbeth.” Jack laughs softly, more of just a smile with some air breathed out of his nose as he shakes his head a little at you.
"Oh Jack," you whisper, face melting into the most adoring smile because you truly do adore this man. "That is so sweet. I love that."
"Yeah?" His lips pull up in a tentative smile.
"Yeah." You nod, still smiling at him and sliding your fingers over his where they rest on the table and rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb.
"I'm glad you remembered or it would've been awkward." He burns off some of his nervous energy with a laugh.
"Of course I remember. I remember that night quite clearly and that whole exchange in particular because, it, it made me feel okay for the first time in a very long time, almost happy. I could never forget it, or you for giving me that feeling back." You pause and laugh softly, shaking your head at him. "I can't believe you remember with all the conversations you have with people every time you work."
"Well one, you're not just a person I spoke with at the Pitt one shift. You never were. And two," Jack chuckles to himself, "patients' moms call me a lot of things, some of which are very choice, but I can promise you I've only had one call me Lady Macbeth, so it's definitely memorable."
You click your tongue playfully. "Okay, I only called you it because you quoted her."
"I only quoted her because you brought up the Scottish play." His eyes sparkle with mirth in the flickering light as he tilts his head at you with a smile. "And you have to admit it was impressive that I could quote Macbeth offhand."
"Oh, freely," you nod, "it was very impressive. I was honestly shocked in the moment. I recognized it once you said it, but I don't think I could have offhand quoted it like that." The two of you laugh. "But really Jack," you squeeze his hand, "I'm excited and it truly is incredibly sweet and romantic and something I'll always remember."
"I'm glad it's okay," he murmurs.
"More than," you murmur back.
Your dessert gets dropped off and you and Jack share it, finish up the last of your bottle of wine, pay and grab another uber to the theater. You check your phone in the uber and smile at the photos Dana sent of your son and her and your son, sharing them with Jack. You send her a quick text back thanking her for sending them.
You head into the theater once you arrive and, unsurprisingly, Jack got you guys what have to be some of the best seats in the house. The play itself is wonderful and both you and Jack look over at each other when Lady Macbeth says that particular line. Once the play is over and you're out of the theater standing off to the side Jack helps you into your jacket before putting on his own.
"Would you like to head back home? Or we could stop somewhere and grab a nightcap." Jack knows you might be missing your son and itching to get back home to him or that you just might be tired and ready to go home. "Totally up to you Sweetheart, I'll be happy either way. I've had a great night, a great time with you." He gets a little shy on you again, dropping his head a bit and lowering his voice. "I, um, I hope you've enjoyed too."
You all but beam at Jack. "Of course I have. I always enjoy time with you Jack and tonight has been amazing." Jack lets out a slight sigh of relief at that. He doesn't know why he was so worried about it when he's watched you smile the entire night, but he was. "It's been really nice getting to have some adult time that's not us in my living room while the baby is asleep. I mean I love that, don't get me wrong, I love that time with you and wouldn't want it to disappear, but this kind of real date is just different, you know? A different kind of time together that I've really, really enjoyed." You think about his question and look at your phone. Dana has sent a photo of the monitor showing your son asleep in a silly position in his crib. You show Jack, who chuckles. "I think a nightcap sounds lovely. I don't really want the night to end," you admit, your own shyness coming out.
"I don't either," Jack agrees. "I'm glad you've enjoyed the night so far." Jack's eyebrows raise just slightly and you smile at the way the two of you can communicate in such subtleties. You lean into him and he brings his head down, the two of you exchanging a couple of kisses. When you part you use your thumb to wipe away the little bit of lipstick transfer on his lips. "I know a place a couple streets up, if you're okay walking. It has a speakeasy sort of thing going on. That work for you?"
"Sounds perfect." At your words Jack holds out his arm for you to take and you do with a little giggle. "Lead the way, Dr. Abbot."
A little over a month later it’s a pretty typical Thursday evening. You’re home around 5:15 like usual on days Jack works and you and Jack make the most of the hour and fifteen minutes you have together before he has to leave for work.
Your son started walking shortly after you and Jack went on your first real date. You cried and Jack got misty eyed and you spent hours on the couch showing Jack photos and videos of him as a newborn up to nine months when Jack came into your lives. He was so tiny and now he's so big and you love it but it's also so hard.
He's getting closer to talking too. You both keep coaxing him to try and say mama, keep reading to him a lot to encourage him. You know it's coming.
But when it happens it's still a surprise.
Jack's sitting on the floor with your son playing and helping him walk some when you return to the living room from changing out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. Jack picked your son up from daycare after he got up since he worked last night. The last couple of nights. He's glad this is his last shift on this string.
"How are you guys?" You ask Jack as you sit on the floor next to him, your son toddling over to you and babbling. "Hi Baby! Did you have a good day? I bet you were excited to see Jack when he picked you up, hm?"
"We're alright. He was excited to see me, yeah," Jack chuckles. "We've just been playing and chilling since then, had a snack when we got home. And I'm alright. Really wish I didn't have to work."
You give your son a couple of cheek kisses and hold him close to you for a second before letting him sit in your lap. "I wish you didn't have to either," you sigh. You lean into Jack and share a couple of kisses, both of you smiling as you pull apart.
"At least I'm off after this shift and-"
Jack is interrupted by your son pointing at him and then clapping. "Dada, Dada." Both your and Jack's heads snap to look at your son. It's brief, and he's back to babbling nonsense while the two of you are still processing.
"Did he just say dada?" you breathe to Jack, your emotions already pulling you in multiple directions.
"Yeah," Jack laughs, beaming at your son, "he did. He just said his first word."
"Oh my god," you whisper, tears already hitting your eyes. Like so many things with him, there's an edge of not quite sadness but almost longing that washes over you as he hits this milestone. He's so grown. And it makes you beyond thrilled but he's growing up. He's not your tiny newborn anymore and part of you longs for him to stay little forever. "He's talking." A few tears slip down your cheeks as you bring him back to your chest to hug him and shower him with kisses. "I'm so proud of you Baby, my smart boy!"
The excitement encourages him to repeat himself, his babbling leading into another, "Dada, Dada," as he looks at Jack.
"He is." Jack gets a little emotional too because your son is talking and calling him Dada and like for, it's a realization of how big he's getting. "You're so smart! That's such a good job, Kid."
You sniffle a laugh and let your son sit back on your lap as you get your phone and start to record. "What did you just say Baby? Dada?"
You're able to lean back and pan out enough so that you can see both Jack and your son in the frame. Jack reaches over to tickle his tummy and your son grabs one of his fingers, his entire small hand wrapping around it and shaking it up and down a little. "Dada, Dada, Dada!"
When he lets go of Jack's finger Jack takes his hand back, wipes a few tears off his face and claps for him. "That's so good, Kid! You're so smart!"
Your son giggles in response and copies Jack, clapping and babbling a little more. You stop recording and lean in for a quick kiss with Jack because in the moment it feels right.
"I'm so proud of you, Honey. You're doing such a good job!" You lean down and kiss his head, nuzzle your nose there to take in the smell of baby shampoo. "You're getting so big, time needs to slow down."
"I can't believe he called me Dada," Jack murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you catch it. Because the way he looked at Jack when he said it indicates there was at least some association. Jack is unbelievably happy that your son's first word was dada and that he was saying it at Jack. He knows your son doesn't fully grasp what the word means and the significance behind it, but still. It's so beyond touching and it matches the role he feels like he has in your son's life and how he feels about your son. Jack loves your son like he's Jack's own. Jack would do anything for him, walk into a burning building or jump in front of a car for him without a second thought. But he wonders if you're okay with it because at the end of the day, your son isn't his and this should be your husband. He looks up at you. "Is that okay?"
"Of course it is," you give him a soft smile, "it fits."
Jack's words make you think, though. The irony that your son's father is dead and his first word was dada doesn't escape you. It feels very much like it should feel like a sick irony to you. And it does, but perhaps not as bad as you thought it might. It does hurt when you think about it. Your son was supposed to call your husband that. You're not necessarily upset as such that he called Jack dada, but he was supposed to call your husband that.
You really want to have this moment though. To be here and present and just let yourself be happy and a little emotional and proud of your son and not be consumed with grief. You wish you could control it that easily. It sucks. It's always going to fucking suck when your son hits a milestone and your husband isn't here. But you know your husband wouldn't want your grief over him to darken all of those memories. So you do your best to focus on the moment.
"Okay," Jack nods, gives you a matching smile, "I kind of thought so too, but I just wanted to check."
You take a second to gather some of your thoughts and figure out how you want to explain them. "This is not going to end up being particularly articulate, but I think that's the role you have in his life right now, Jack. So it makes sense for him to call you that. I know he doesn't fully understand it, but still. And I'm really grateful for the relationship you have with him and how much and the way you love him and help me with him. Not every man would be okay with that or willing to take on a kid, much less a baby. So, it's really okay Jack, for him to call you Dada, I promise. As long as it's okay with you, of course."
Jack's smile grows a bit. "It's okay with me, yeah." He gets a bit of a shy look to him and looks down at your son. "I like it," he admits, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. For some reason he feels like he should say he likes it even though love is the more accurate verb.
You reach over and run your hand through Jack's hair, let it slide to the back of his neck and squeeze. "Good, I'm glad."
Your son saying it again brings both of your attentions back to him. You and Jack take more videos as he keeps repeating it, both of you praising him and giving him kisses and tickling him to make him laugh.
Jack starts to take another video as your son says it again, "Dada, Dada, Dada."
You take in an excited break and get your son to look at you. "What about mama? Can you say mama? Mama, mama." You slow down the last two words and exaggerate pronouncing them and your mouth movements to help your son see.
"Say mama!" Jack encourages him too. "Mama, mama."
Your son looks between you and Jack with a huge smile on his face, basking in both of your attention and matching your excitement. "Dada!"
You and Jack crack up because it's so perfect, such a baby thing to do. "Of course not," you laugh. "Only dada."
"Dada!" your son laughs again crawling off your lap and over into Jack's. He stops recording, smiles and chuckles at your son as he supports your son standing on his thighs. Jack leans into your son, moving his face to kiss dramatically at the small palms that rest on his cheeks just to hear your son laugh more.
Jack loves it, hearing your son call him that, and is so excited and touched and happy and proud, but as it really starts to sink in it also throws him. Hard.
Your son's first word was ‘dada.’ To a man that’s not his father. Jack feels like he took that from your husband, like he stole it and he’s somehow overstepping, like he just crossed some huge line and you're going to end up hating him or resenting him for it. He worries it's going to seem like he wants to try and replace your husband in your son's life when he doesn't. He doesn't want that at all. He wants your son to know his father.
So part of him feels awful and like one of the worst people in the world for being so excited and truly happy at your son effectively calling him dada. He knows you're excited about it and that you said it's okay and it makes sense because that is pretty much the role Jack has in his life, but it's still hard for him, he's still almost torn about it and how he should feel and if he's allowed to be happy or if he should offer to try and get your son to not call him it. And while he knows you wouldn't lie to him he can't help but wonder if you're really okay with it. If part of you doesn't like it and resents him over it. If it's such a big thing that it's going to make all of this crash down around you in a way you're not ready for.
Jack slips deep into his head about it, starts to get a little more subdued, quieter and a bit less expressive. But he isn't aware that it's noticeable, that you can tell he's getting in his head and that you're worrying something is wrong. Anxiety starts to flood you a little bit.
"I should go finish dinner, since Mama started it this morning." He nods at your son with a soft smile. Even with as small as it is you can still see the adoration he has for your son in the way his eyes crinkle. "Mama," he exaggerates the word, "put it all in the slow cooker, didn't she? That was very nice of Mama. Been smelling good all day, hasn't it?"
Your son giggles at the facial expressions Jack makes at him as Jack speaks and answers him with another, "Dada!"
"I'll finish it off," you tell Jack, gesturing for him to stay sitting. "You should stay sitting and rest. You're about to be on your feet for the better part of twelve hours."
"Okay," he says a little quietly, nodding once with a small smile.
You linger for just a second as you appraise him again, swallowing hard. "You okay?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He cocks his head at you.
"I don't know. I just like to check. But good, I'm glad you are." You squeeze his arm and stand up, make your way into the kitchen and get started.
But you glance over at your son and Jack as you finish off dinner. Jack is noticeably quieter with your son. Or maybe it just seems that way, you tell yourself. Maybe it just seems that way because your son is saying dada to Jack over and over again and babbling even more. It also doesn't escape your notice that as much as Jack is smiling and telling your son he's proud of him and doing such a good job talking and he's so smart, Jack is constantly saying mama to try and get your son to say it. And you can't decide if it's because he just wants your son to say it for you or if it's because he doesn't want your son calling him dada.
You know he said he liked it and that he wouldn't lie to you but you also get how it's a big thing. Something that might make it too real for him. You try not to think about it too much as you finish up, but it's hard not to. "Hey, dinner's ready," you call over to Jack as you set the last of it on the table.
"We'll be right there," he calls back as he stands up and then grabs your son before walking over.
As you get some dinner squared away for your son on his high chair tray you debate whether to bring it up. Jack only has about twenty-five minutes before he has to leave and you don't want to upset him by asking if he's okay again or make eating dinner and the last of your time with him awkward. Jack knows he can talk to you about anything, so if something was wrong he would tell you. Right? He's just tired like he said. This is fourth shift in a row and the last before he's off.
It's just that there's been such a change since you got home, a noticeable shift in his demeanor and behavior since it happened. You worry your lip between your teeth as you sit at the table.
Jack arrives at the table with your son, slipping him in his high chair and getting him buckled in before sitting at the table himself. "It smells good, thank you." He smiles at you as he dishes some onto his plate.
You really wish you could shut your brain off because all it's doing right now is overthinking every single one of Jack's movements and words and the things he doesn't say and how he says what he does say. There's no pet name at the end of that sentence where there normally would be. That has to mean something. But then he did smile at you like he normally does.
"Your day was good?" Jack asks as you both eat. "I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier after you asked. We got a little distracted." He forces a lopsided smile. He's still pretty deep in his head about it.
You can tell his smile is forced. It doesn't even begin to reach his eyes and it makes your stomach plummet. The scrap of hunger and ability to eat that had been poking through your anxiety induced nausea disappears. "It was okay, yeah, thank you. Just a typical day, nothing exciting either good or bad." You smile at him and make sure it meets your eyes even if it's weak. But you look over at your son pretty quickly.
You're not really eating now as much as you are just pushing the small serving of food you took around your plate. Jack notices. He's an observer. It's how he makes sure you're okay, how he makes sure the people he loves and cares about are okay. He noticed the smaller serving you took but didn't think too much of it because sometimes you do that and go back for seconds. But this is just not eating. You're stressed or anxious or both or feeling some other emotion so intensely it's preventing you from being able to eat and Jack doesn't like that at all.
He would think maybe you're upset that your son called him dada but you were so excited and he doesn't want to think you're upset about it. You'd reassured Jack that it was okay and that it was really the role he has in your son's life so it made sense. If you'd been upset he would have picked up on it then. He knows he would've. But maybe the reality of him calling your son dada is just hitting you now. Maybe the grief it has to be dragging up is really settling in.
"Hey," Jack gets your attention softly between bites of his own. "What's up?" When you look back at him Jack glances at your plate and then back up to you to let you know he knows something is up with how little you're eating.
You let out a small breath, try half-heartedly to make it a little laugh. "I'm just emotional about him talking." It's not a lie. You are emotional about it. "He's just getting so big and I love watching him grow and be able to do new things but there's that piece of my heart that can't handle my baby not being my little baby anymore."
Jack's quite sure that's not the entirety of what's bothering you, but he doesn't really know how to try and coax more out of you, especially with as little time as he has left with you before he has to leave. Maybe you're just not ready to talk about whatever it is. He's sure you have to be thinking about your husband, that it has to stir up some grief. And in this instance Jack might be the last person you want to talk to about that grief with.
He nods slowly and finishes chewing his bite. "That makes sense, yeah." He looks over at your son who's messily feeding himself dinner and chuckles at him which earns him a happy smile from your son. "It's crazy to think about how much he's grown just since I met him. So I can only imagine." He goes to say more and follow up with you but your son interrupts him.
"Dada, dada!" Your son claps his hands together as he makes grabby hands at Jack.
"You gotta finish your food there, Kid." Jack smiles at him, pointing to the tray. As he goes to lean in and help your son eat he glances at his watch. 18:20. It stops him from leaning in towards your son. "Shit, yeah, and I've gotta go get dressed for work." He shoots you an apologetic smile as he finishes off his last few bites and gets up from the table to go change. It doesn't meet his eyes again.
Your heart falls as you watch Jack walk away from you. He's never not at least leaned in towards your son when your son has reached for him from his high chair. You're certain something has to be very wrong. Maybe your son calling him dada has made this too real for Jack somehow, has really made him realize the full implications of being with you and you having a son and that he has a parental role. Maybe it's too much for him and he's realizing he doesn't really want that. Maybe he's not going to come back once he leaves tonight except to get his things. Maybe he's going to tell you it's all over.
You try to push aside those thoughts because you know they're irrational and just your anxiety lying to you. Jack is not the kind of man who would ever do that, just decide it's over and never come back other than to get his stuff. You know that. But your rational and logical brain isn't in control right now.
While Jack gets ready you go into the kitchen and grab a container to put some dinner in for Jack to have as lunch. You throw a couple of other things in the bag with it and leave some protein bars on top for him to put in his pockets because that's more likely what he's going to have time to eat. You sit back at the table while you wait for him, grab your son from his chair now that he's done eating and clean him up with a baby wipe.
Jack shuts the door to what's effectively his room now and sits on the edge of his bed. He takes in and lets out a long breath. He can't stop fixating on the idea that he's taking this away from your husband and that he's awful for being happy about it. He can't help but worry that you're growing upset about it and don't want your son calling him dada, and don't want him in anything close to that role. He can't shut his brain off just like you can't.
And he knows something more than just being emotional about your son talking is up with you. You just seem sad or upset, the smiles you've given him have only just reached your eyes. Maybe the grief this is stirring up is different this time. Maybe you're realizing this is a little too much, that your son is calling someone else dada and you aren't ready for Jack to have that title and role. Maybe it's not something you're going to be able to move past. Maybe tomorrow night you're going to break this whole thing off, romantically and even as just a friendship and Jack's going to lose you and your son.
God, maybe he should float the idea so that you don't feel bad about doing it, breaking up with him. Maybe he should break up with you because maybe it would help you, maybe it would be what's best for you. He knows that's totally off the fucking rails and hates himself for even thinking about it. He doesn't get to decide what would help you or what would be best for you. Like all the other thoughts do, these ones linger.
There's something else throwing Jack too but he can't put his finger on what it is, can't get it to come to the surface. He's sure it's because his brain doesn't want to have to deal with that and at the moment he's kind of fine with it.
He forces himself up and to throw on an undershirt and scrub top, his usual cargo-style scrub pants. There's a part of him that wishes he could call out and stay here and get your son to bed and then talk to you and try to get a read on where you're at, maybe explain some of his feelings. He knows the two of you talking and communicating is absolutely what needs to happen right now. It doesn't necessarily have to be a long drawn out thing, just something. But there's a part of him that's ready to get out and to work where he'll be distracted and won't have to really confront any emotions about it and won't have to hear you break up with him or something.
Jack knows his thoughts are irrational. He knows you love the relationship he has with your son, knows how thankful and grateful you are for it. He knows this is anxiety lying to him. You're not the kind of woman who's just going to be done because this one thing brings up hard emotions. Jack knows that because lots of things have brought up lots of hard emotions since you met each other and officially got together and you're still together. But like you, his rational and logical brain isn't really in control on that side of things right now.
So maybe work will be good and help him process things better, because his rational and logical brain will be so on while he's there, that's the zone he'll be in. Maybe he can kind of transfer it over to all of this and it'll be better and he can calm himself down.
He spends way longer than he means to in his room getting changed. Of course you overthink that. It means he's rushing when he comes out of his room. "Oh, thank you for doing that, you didn't have to." He gives you a grateful smile that just meets his eyes when he sees you've thrown together some lunch for him and left protein bars out which he shoves in his pockets. You pretty much always get his lunch together if you're around when he leaves, but Jack doesn't take the fact that you do for granted.
You smile back at him. It's weak again, but a smile nonetheless. One that also just meets your eyes. "I know, but I like to."
Jack nods and glances at his watch. 18:30. "I've gotta go, I'm sorry." You shake your head. He doesn't have anything to be sorry for. You stand and follow him towards the front door, sway back and forth with your son as he changes the foot on his prosthetic and gets his shoe on his other foot. "Be good for mama, yeah?" He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head toward your son as he stands back up, leaning in and kissing his cheek, lingering for just a second. "Bye, Kid," he whispers. You tell yourself it doesn't look like or sound like a total goodbye, just a see you later. But your brain is warping everything. "You be good too," he murmurs to you as he pulls you in for a quick hug and kiss.
He's releasing you and opening the front door quickly. It's really because he's running a little late, but in your brain it's because he can't wait to get the fuck out of here and be free of you. He doesn't use a pet name, there's no 'see you tomorrow morning' like there usually is when he's watching your son the next day. Your brain tells you it's because he's not coming back and you need to plan to take your son to daycare in the morning.
"Bye," you call after him. "Have a good shift." He nods at you.
Jack shuts the front door behind him and for the first time you find yourself worrying about whether he’s going to come back.
I hope it was okay that you enjoyed! I would love to hear your thoughts and comments! All of your interactions give me so much joy and inspiration! Thank you for all your support and for reading!! ♥️
I still have a lot of ideas for these two so I hope you're ready for and looking forward to more!
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9k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: reader is in a car accident but it's not particularly serious; reader breaks her wrist; possible medical inaccuracies; suggestive; reader gets a bad bruise; no use of y/n or related.
Summary: Jack sees you get hit by a car and becomes your doctor and more.
AN: Listen friends, I was missing Jack viscerally because it has been a moment since I have written for him, so I started this and have no idea where it came from or what it truly is, I just rolled with it. It's fluffy and suggestive at points and there's lots of banter. Jack Abbot has a lot of game, even over text, I believe this in my soul. This is a little bit of my Ted Talk about that towards the end. I don't know what I'm doing here anymore. 😂 Based on this ask from the 1k celebration! The prompt was "Show me that bruise please." I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! ♥️
“This feels quite overkill if I’m honest, Dr. Abbot.”
The stupidly handsome doctor you’ve just met smirks at you in the back of the ambulance. Truly, he has to be the most attractive man you’ve ever had the privilege to lay eyes on.
Jack knows he’s literally just met you but there’s just something about you that has him already at ease with you. “That your professional medical opinion?” You watch his eyes flick up to the monitor and his smirk deepens when your heart rate increases a little. It would embarrass you a little more if you hadn’t seen Jack move a little to readjust himself where he’s sitting when you called him Dr. Abbot. “Call me Jack.”
Jack was walking to work when he saw you get hit as you were walking across the street on a walk sign by someone turning right who hardly slowed, either assuming there wouldn’t be any pedestrian traffic or forgetting there could be. He’d run over to you of course, let someone else call 911 while he introduced himself and made you stay laying on the asphalt. Once the ambulance arrived he just jumped in the back with you since they were taking you to the Pitt.
“A C-collar and backboard, really?” you huff. “I have a broken wrist and my hip and side will have nasty bruises. The rest of me is fine. This is just embarrassing.”
“I know it’s easy for me to say but you shouldn’t be embarrassed by some absolute fucking moron hitting you with his car.” He’s angry, it’s clear from his tone and the set of his jaw. Something about how he looks at you as he says it feels almost protective in a vaguely possessive way. Like he’s angry it was you they hit because it’s you. “And you’ll thank me if you have a spinal injury and I just preserved your ability to walk and use your arms.”
You sigh at him. “I think you just like having me strapped down and being in control.”
“It’s a nice bonus,” he teases.
You’d tilt your head at him if you could but you’re forced to settle for smirking at him. “Kinky.”
“Oh my god,” he mutters, rolling his eyes to try and pretend it didn’t affect him. But you can see the blush that tinges his cheeks an adorable shade of pink. “Morphine have you a little uninhibited?”
“It’s not the morphine” you laugh softly.
He smiles at you and shakes his head as the ambulance slows to a stop and the back doors open. He can’t believe you’re actually interested in him and flirting with him.
“Jack?” A different male voice calling his name has Jack breaking eye contact and helping get the gurney out of the ambulance.
“Witnessed.” Jack explains to Robby as he hops out of the ambulance behind your gurney and walks in with you. “Pedestrian versus Honda-CRV, low velocity, maybe 5 miles per hour but accelerating. Vitals are stable at 100 over 70, pulse 90, resps 14, pulse ox 97, no LOC, no head injury, oriented times 4, obvious distal radius deformity. Five of morphine en route. Hit on the right side, lower abdomen and pelvis took the brunt of the impact. Pelvis is stable. Abdomen tender on exam but otherwise unremarkable. Sensation in all extremities intact.”
“Wow,” you hum. “If I wasn’t mad at you I’d tell you how impressive I find it that you remembered all of that without writing it down, Jack.”
Jack huffs a soft laugh and shakes his head as he looks down at you. “Collared and boarded her to be safe, much to the patient’s chagrin.” You don’t miss the looks between the two other men now walking with your gurney. They seem surprised by how Jack is with you and that you called him Jack. “Liter of NS going in due to significant dehydration.”
You scoff. “I resent that. Diet Dr Pepper has water in it.”
“I, no,” Jack shakes his head at you. “No. That’s not how that works.”
“I’m Dr. Robinavitch. Everyone calls me Dr. Robby. And this is Mateo.” Robby looks between you and Jack. “Do you two know each other?” The amusement is clear in his voice, like he thinks he just caught Jack in something.
“Hi Dr. Robby and Mateo.” You give them both a friendly smile but Jack notices it’s not the same smile you gave him and something about that pleases him. He’s really into you. Perhaps more than he wants to admit.
“No. We only met when I saw the accident and went over to help,” Jack explains.
You raise your eyebrows at him. “Okay, I think you watching me get hit by a car, running to my aid, palpating my pelvis, riding in an ambulance with me and letting me call you by your first name qualify us as knowing each other.”
“I think that just means I’m your doctor.”
“I think your reticence means you don’t want to know me.”
Jack snorts a laugh. “Reticence?” He says it like he can’t believe you just used that word and gives you a look to silently communicate that what you said is the furthest thing from the truth.
“Chagrin?” Your tone matches his as you smile.
Jack shakes his head at you and looks up at Robby. “I’ll just stay with her. No point getting one of you guys involved just for you to leave in five minutes. Send in one of the nurses on with me once it hits seven, yeah?”
There’s a slight pause before Robby says a drawn out, “okay,” and smirks at Jack.
Jack gives Robby a look and already knows Robby will hound him with questions when they run the board. He can just tell Robby thinks there’s something going on. Maybe Robby is a little right.
Once you’re in a room they’re quick to transfer you and the paramedics leave, Robby and Mateo clearing out with them leaving just you and Jack in the room. You’re still in the c-collar and on a backboard and you still hate it and find it embarrassing.
Jack logs in on the computer that’s in the room and starts a chart on you, puts in your first and last name and date of birth for now before ordering a few different sets of x-rays. “Are you wearing a bra with a clasp?”
You laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?”
He walks over to your bed and looks down at you. Jack is doing his best to keep it professional now that he’s officially your doctor. “It’ll make a difference on whether we have to cut your clothes off.”
“Oh.” Your face sobers quickly and it makes Jack smile to himself. You’re adorable. “It does have a clasp, yes. Am I making you uncomfortable? Because I can cool it.”
“You’re not.” He gives you a lopsided smile. Maybe he should tell you to cool it at least while he’s your doctor but Jack just can’t bring himself to. It’s not that big of a deal as long as it’s mostly one-sided for now and he stays professional, right? “And good. We won’t have to cut anything off.” Jack nods at you, looking away from you when the door opens. “This is Bridget, one of our nurses here.”
Bridget appears on the other side of your bed and smiles down at you. “Hi there.”
“Hi,” you greet her with a smile and your name. “Thanks for helping take care of me.”
“Bridget’s going to get you in a gown and they should be able to grab x-rays.” Jack turns his attention to Bridget. “Sweatpants are loose enough you should be able to get them down easily. Bra has a clasp so it can come off and her shirt can stay on for now and come off once her spine is clear. I ordered all the x-rays, portable, they should be in to do them all soon. I’m going to set my stuff down and run the board with Robby and will come back once the x-rays are in.”
You click your tongue at Jack’s words. “Oh so we get to work and you just abandon me like this, I see how it is.”
Jack’s eyes find yours again and he gives you a small, amused smile. “I’m not abandoning you, I have other work I have to do, unfortunately. Somebody has to run this place. Don’t do anything funny like code when I’m gone, okay? I’ll be back.”
“I didn’t realize I was just work to you, I’m hurt.” You make sure the pout is clear in your voice since Jack is walking to the door and no longer looking at you. “And, sure you will.” You draw out the sure for a few seconds. “It was nice meeting you Dr. Abbot, maybe our paths will cross again.” You can hear him chuckling as he walks out of the room and smile to yourself at the sound.
When you look over at Bridget she’s waiting for you with raised eyebrows and an amused smile of her own. The two of you share a laugh before she throws a gown over you and starts getting your clothes off.
Once your clothes are off and Bridget has a gown laying over your bottom half the x-ray techs come in with the portable machine and shoot images of your spine, neck, pelvis and wrist. You and Bridget chat idly while she cleans a few cuts and scrapes you got from the car and hitting the ground and you wait for the x-rays to come back and a doctor to come clear you.
You hear the door open and you know it’s Jack even with your inability to see him. You can just feel his presence. “See, I’m back, just like I said.”
“No, actually, I can’t see. I’m still boarded and collared,” you deadpan.
Jack walks over and smiles down at you. He swallows down the flirtatious comment that immediately formed on his tongue. He’s your doctor. He has to be professional. But he can’t stop his eyes from sparkling mischievously. “Your spine’s clear.”
You take in a quick breath and raise your eyebrows, mouth forming a small ‘o’ as you fake surprise. “I’m truly shocked at this news, Doctor.”
Bridget and Jack help you out of the collar and off the board, rolling you towards Jack who very deliberately keeps his eyes on yours so that you don’t think he’s trying to check out your bare ass as much as he would like to. He steps over to the counter and turns his back to you while Bridget helps you get your shirt off and into the gown properly, starts reviewing your chart on the tablet he’s holding.
“Thanks, Bridget.” Your words and the absence of the sound of fabric shuffling tell Jack he can turn around again.
“Of course.” She gives you a smile and steps out of the room for a minute.
“And thank you.” Your eyes find Jack’s. It’s a thank you for everything he’s done so far, coming over when he really could have just kept walking by, protecting your spine even if you bitched about it. For coming back.
“You’re welcome. Anyone we can call for you? Significant other? Family?” Jack asks lightly, glancing up at you from the computer and trying to keep it casual and professional. But you both know what he’s fishing for and you’re happy to give him the answer.
“Oh, no, but thank you. Bridget told me my phone survived luckily. If you don’t mind handing it to me? It’s in the bag.” Jack nods and hands you the bag, takes it back from you and sets it down again once you’ve gotten your phone out. “And I’m painfully single.”
He’s looking back down at the tablet but you catch the way the corners of his lips quirk up just slightly for a couple of seconds. He clenches his jaw to avoid verbalizing the ‘good’ or ‘maybe not for long’ that want to slip out. Jack settles for nodding at you while he grabs the stool and rolls it over to the side of your bed and sits.
“Obviously your wrist is broken,” he turns the tablet and holds it towards you so that you can see your x-ray, uses his pen to point to the very obvious line representing the break, but the move isn’t condescending. He’s just showing you. “Distal radius fracture, but it’s a pretty clean break so we just need to reduce it and get it casted, you won’t need surgery or anything.”
“Well thank fuck for that,” you huff. “Imagine me having to take time off for surgery a week into starting a new job.”
Jack chuckles. “Your pelvis looks fine on x-ray and you don’t have any symptoms of internal bleeding or other injury there, but I’d like to get a CT just to be sure, have Ortho review both sets of films.”
“This feels like even more expensive overkill now.”
“I know.” Jack nods slowly. “But that car hit you pretty good and pelvic injuries can be deceptive and life threatening. I promise you that I’m not one to order unnecessary tests because I know how expensive it gets. So humor me please.” Jack tilts his head at you for a second. “Also remember the insurance company of the guy who hit you or your underinsured motorist insurance is going to end up paying for this.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “I guess I can humor you yet again.”
His eyebrows raise a little and he smirks. “Didn’t realize you’d humored me before.”
“I could have refused the backboard and collar but I didn’t. And I could have refused even coming to the hospital but I didn’t.”
“With that wrist?” He cocks his head at you.
You cock your head back at him. “We both know a walk to urgent care would’ve been astronomically cheaper.”
He nods, moving the tablet so that one edge is pressed into his lower abdomen, his wrists crossing as both hands hold the opposite side of the tablet. He leans back a little. “So why didn’t you decline?”
You shrug. “This really attractive doctor persuaded me to humor him.”
Jack feels his face heat up and glances away. You giggle at the blush that crawls up his neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He knew some answer like that had to be coming but hearing it in your voice still throws him for a couple of seconds. “You should text or call a friend, ask them to spend the night with you. Maybe two depending on how you’re feeling tomorrow.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” you laugh softly. “I just moved here from California. I don’t know anyone here and I’m not about to ask someone back home to take a plane to come take care of me for 24 or 48 hours because I was bumped by a car.”
Jack rolls his eyes at you playfully and you have to bite your lip at it. “It was a little more than a bump.” He pauses and looks at you for a second. He believes you but it’s still hard to believe that you don’t know anyone here and that you’re this chill about being hit by a car in a city you just moved to and are essentially all alone in. “You really don’t know anybody here?”
You shake your head. “Nope. I haven’t started work yet. So actually, Dr. Abbot, Jack, you’re the first person I met and now know in this city. Oh, but wait,” you hum to yourself, “that’s right, we don’t know each other,” you tease.
He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m honored to be the first person you know and to know you in this City.”
“You shouldn’t be,” you laugh with him.
He can hear how serious you are about the self-deprecation even as you laugh, can see it in your eyes and how you look away from him. Jack almost reaches out to squeeze your hand and get your attention back. Almost. He’s your doctor. He has to be professional. So he settles for growing a little more serious so that you know he’s happy to have met you.
“And yet I still am.” You look back up at him and Jack offers you a small, knowing smile. “We’ll get you in a cast, get the CT and then watch you for a couple hours and have you on your way home, okay?”
“Alright,” you nod, “that sounds like a plan, thank you.”
“How’s the pain? You need more meds?” Jack opens the tablet back up to put in the order for the CT of your pelvis.
“Oh, I’m okay, but thank you for asking.” Something about the small smile you give him makes Jack’s heart ache in a way he can’t describe. He’s falling for you. Just you and your personality and the way being around you makes him feel because he really doesn’t know much about you. He knows more about your health history than he does about you as a person. He’s been a doctor for a long time now and this has never happened with a patient.
“Alright, I’ll give you more before we reduce your wrist and cast it.” Jack forces himself to push up off the stool and stand. “Need anything before I go?” You shake your head at him. “Okay. Call button is there if you do need anything,” he points to it, “and we’ll get you casted and scanned here shortly.”
“Sounds good, thanks Jack.” You give him a little wave with your good hand as he turns to walk out.
Not long after Jack leaves you’re taken to CT and then returned back to your room in the ED. A little over an hour later and you’re surprised when it’s Jack who walks in with all the reduction and casting supplies.
“Hey. How are you doing?” he greets you as he steps back in the room and sets everything down.
“Hi.” You can’t help but giggle and it makes you feel like a teenager in front of her crush all over again. “I’m okay. How are you? How’s the day?”
Jack laughs to himself as he starts getting things set up. “I have to tell you that you are the most polite patient I think I’ve ever had. You’ve thanked me more than I get thanked by all my patients combined in an entire shift most nights. And I genuinely can’t recall the last time I had a patient ask how I was and how my day was going.”
You give him a shy smile and shrug a little, look down at your good hand where it picks at a non-existent piece of fuzz on your blanket.
“I’m alright. Haven’t been hit by a car today, so I’ve got that going for me,” he teases you with a small smirk.
You laugh. “Glad one of us can say that.”
“And the day has been fine, so far. Can’t really complain.” Jack shrugs and gives you an easy smile as he wheels the tray with everything set up over by your bed and sits on the stool and rolls over to you.
“Especially because you have me as a patient,” you stage whisper and wink at him.
He wants to say it back to you in confirmation, to tell you that you actually have no idea how much easier and better you’re making this shift for him. Instead he just nods at you. But you know. You know he’s confirming it. It’s obvious in how bright his eyes are. “I’m going to give you some more morphine, then reduce your wrist and have some post reduction films taken. Then I’m going to start casting you before the films even come back because I’m pretty confident it’ll be aligned since it’s a clean break. And if it’s not then I cut it off and we start over. Sound good?”
“Are you asking for my professional medical opinion again?” You smirk while nodding so that he knows you’re okay with it.
Jack laughs as he pulls his gloves on because your answer was so unexpected and so you as he’s coming to learn. After prepping your IV Jack sticks the needle with morphine in and finds your eyes as he presses the plunger down. “I don’t think I asked for your professional medical opinion last time, I asked if it was your professional medical opinion.”
“A trivial distinction.” You can feel the morphine hit your system and you let out a breath. “Hit harder that time, wow.”
“Because you’ve already had some and that was a bigger dose,” Jack chuckles. “I need you nice and relaxed for this and don’t want it to hurt.”
There’s so much you want to say to that last sentence but you don’t because words are a little hard as you adjust to the morphine. “Mission accomplished, Doc, thanks.” You breathe a laugh, acutely aware of how it feels like you’re floating. You’re momentarily wrapped up in the feeling enough that you miss the way Jack’s jaw clenches at you calling him Doc.
Despite the morphine it still smarts pretty good when Jack reduces your wrist and palpates it after to check the alignment. It brings you right back to reality, the slight haze of the morphine clearing, though you’re still feeling good from it.
“What color cast do you want?” Jack asks you as the techs wheel in the portable x-ray to shoot your post reduction films. It takes you a few seconds to answer because you become almost transfixed on watching his hands as he takes his gloves off. Something about it is stupidly hot.
“Um,” you start, desperately trying to think about what color cast you want. You like red, but black makes the most sense because it matches everything. “Sorry, I’ll have black, please. Thank you.”
Jack’s lips press together in a small smile as he nods at you and steps out of the room to grab the black fiberglass.You’re still so polite. He finds it so incredibly endearing.
By the time Jack gets back to your room with the fiberglass they’ve just finished your x-rays and are wheeling the machine out. “Doing okay?” Jack checks with you again as he sits back on the stool and slides on another pair of gloves before starting on your cast.
“I’m good, yeah, thanks for asking.” You tilt your head as you watch Jack start. “Though this feels like a job for an intern if not a med student.”
Jack’s hands slow and he looks at you as he wraps the cotton around the stockinette on your arm. “You trying to get rid of me?” He smirks, letting his eyes linger on yours for a few seconds before looking back to your arm.
“No, no.” You shake your head. That is the absolute last thing you’re trying to do and you both know he knows it. “It was just an observation.”
“It’s good for me to do one every now and then.” He tilts his head and shrugs. “Keep up my skills.”
“Well I’m very glad I can provide this opportunity for you, Dr. Abbot.” You smile at him even though he’s not looking at you. But Jack knows you are. He can hear the smile in your voice and can just feel it radiating off you.
“Post reduction films are back,” Bridget lets Jack know as she walks in the room with a tablet. Jack rolls on the stool towards her and she flicks through the images for him so that Jack doesn’t have to take his gloves off.
“Looks good, thanks Bridget.” Jack nods and smiles at her before starting to roll back over to you.
“Thanks Bridget!”
“You’re both welcome,” she chuckles to herself as she walks back out of the room.
“So you run this place?” you ask Jack as he finishes with the cotton and starts getting some fiberglass strips ready. You remember Jack saying someone had to run the place when he was leaving you initially.
“At night, yeah.” Jack grabs one of the strips and starts wrapping your arm with it. “I’m the senior attending when I’m on.”
“The man in charge.” He can already hear the smirk in your voice. “Hot.”
“You know, Robby is technically somewhat above me because I don’t want to deal with the admin side of things in any capacity.” He glances up at you for a second.
“Dr. Robby doesn’t have salt and pepper curls that threaten to put me into cardiac arrest.” You think that’s a thought you’re saying to yourself in your head until Jack stifles a laugh and glances at you again with slightly flushed cheeks this time. “Oh fuck I said that out loud.”
“You did indeed,” Jack confirms amusedly.
You take in a breath and hold it for a second before letting it out. “I’m blaming that on the morphine this time.”
Jack chuckles at you and shakes his head. “You’re too much,” he laughs under his breath.
You catch it. You know exactly what he means by too much, know that he means it in a good way. “Too much or a challenge?”
“A challenge, yeah. Fits better for some reason.” He nods as he puts another piece of fiberglass around your arm.
“And do you like a good challenge Dr. Abbot?” You’ve dropped your voice just a little.
He stills for a second and you’re ready to apologize for going too far but before you can he makes that intense eye contact he seems to have a proclivity for with you. He knows he should look away from you and back at your cast and make some casual comment to keep the conversation moving along, but he doesn’t want to. And telling you this is just telling you something about his personality that you asked about, right?
Jack drops his voice a little too. “I love a good challenge.”
You and Jack share an especially intense moment of eye contact before he turns back to your cast. It doesn’t take much longer for him to finish it up and leave you to rest, promising his return once your CT results were back and he had a chance to check them out.
And Jack does return to check on you and let you know your CT looks fine. He lingers though, sitting on the stool by the edge of your bed just chatting with you until he knows he has to get back on the floor. An hour or so later he checks on you again, bringing you food this time. He brings some for himself too, says he figured he’d just multitask and check in on you while having lunch. You know it’s bullshit and an excuse to spend more time with you. Jack knows you know it’s bullshit. Both of you love it, the time together.
He’s back in your room checking in on you for a third time now and after talking for a bit you finally can’t help but tease him about it a little. “You know, Jack, I’ve been watching you and you don’t seem to spend this much time checking in on your other patients.”
“None of my other patients are as cute and funny as you.” The sentence slips off his tongue before Jack has any hope of stopping himself.
You grin at him. “Is that why you’re keeping me here?”
“No.” He trips on the word just a little, slightly flustered that he just said that to you at work while acting as your doctor. “I really did want to keep you under observation for a while since you’re going home alone. Getting to stop in and see and talk to you, that’s just…” He trails off as he searches for the right words.
“A nice bonus?” you offer, repeating his words from earlier.
Jack smiles at you and nods slowly. “A nice bonus, yeah.”
“Hey Jack,” Bridget sticks her head in your room and you both look at her, “STEMI two minutes out.”
“I’ll be right there.” Bridget nods and walks off. Jack turns his attention back to you as he gets up and walks backwards towards the door of your room. “I’m discharging you. They’ll get the paperwork all ready and get you out of here, okay?”
He’s turned around and speed walking towards the ambulance bay before you can even respond. You feel so ridiculous with the way your heart sinks. You know it’s his job and it’s busy and shit happens and you don’t hold it against him of course, and you know that the two of you aren’t anything anyway and try to tell yourself that this was just some harmless flirting, but you thought you’d at least be able to say a real goodbye and give him a real thank you. And yeah, maybe get his number or give him yours.
You guess it just wasn’t meant to be because you’re certain you’re not seeing Jack again today and you know he’s not the type to pull your number from your patient chart to text you. It surprises you a little because you really felt like there was something there for both of you. Your certainty grows when Dr. Shen swings by to review your discharge paperwork with you, telling you Jack is caught up in a trauma and they don’t know how long he’ll be and didn’t want to keep you waiting. You sign what you need to and Dr. Shen removes your IV before leaving you to get dressed and letting you know a nurse would be in to wheel you out soon. You get yourself dressed once he’s pulled the curtain and left, and you feel every single second of it already. You know tomorrow is going to be something.
After thirty minutes or so Bridget comes into your room with a wheelchair and the two of you chat as she wheels you towards the street exit.
“Bridget!” You really want to hate the way you smile to yourself when you hear Jack’s voice, but you can’t. Bridget stops walking and you both look over at Jack who’s walking towards you briskly.
“Yeah?” She smirks at him, clearly already knowing what’s coming.
“Shen asked for you in north 2.” Jack notices the way you look kind of surprised to see him. “I can wheel her out.”
Her smirk grows and she glances down at you, shaking her head a little. “Okay, thanks.”
You smile at her. “Thank you Bridget, for everything.”
“Of course, Honey.”
“My uber is picking me up at the designated spot out front,” you tell Jack as Bridget walks away.
“Okay.” Jack grabs the handles on your wheelchair and continues in the direction Bridget was taking you. “You didn’t really think I was going to let you leave without saying goodbye, did you?” He asks once you’re outside.
You shrug. “Dr. Shen went over the discharge paperwork with me. You’re a busy doctor. You’d finished treating me. You’re the senior attending,” you sing that last part a little before growing a bit more serious. “You have much more important and better things to be doing with your time than saying goodbye to me.”
Jack wants to tell you that nothing could be more important than seeing you again, and that there is nothing better he could possibly be doing than spending time with you. But he’s pretty sure verbalizing that would make him sound way too intense at this point.
“I’m not that busy.” It’s not really a lie in the scope of things but he’ll have to hustle to make up for spending this time outside with you. More than worth it to him though. He rolls you over towards a bench and positions you so that he can sit on the bench and the two of you can see each other. “And even if I was that busy, I would have made time to say goodbye to you.”
You have to bite the inside of your lower lip and smile to yourself at that. “Because I’m the cutest and the funniest?” you tease him.
Jack chuckles, his eyes glittering in this light. He nods. “Because you’re the cutest and the funniest,” he confirms.
The two of you share a laugh and you glance down at your phone, glad for once that your uber is taking a bit longer to get here. Your eyes catch on the silver sharpie in the pocket of Jack’s scrub top.
You look back at him for a second. “You wanna sign my cast?” Your eyes flick down to his chest pocket and back up.
Jack looks down and sees the sharpie. He’d used it earlier for a kid who wanted a black cast and all the doctors and nurses to sign it. He smiles as he pulls it out and uncaps it. “Sure.”
You hold your casted arm out to him and Jack pauses for a second, trying to decide whether he should really do this or not. But you’re not his patient anymore technically and he knows you’re interested in him. He starts writing his name and then continues.
“Taking an awfully long time to write Jack.” Just as you start teasing him Jack pulls away and caps the sharpie as you bring your arm back and look where he signed. He hasn’t just written Jack or even Dr. Abbot or Dr. Jack Abbot like you thought he might have. He’s written Jack followed by his phone number.
“Oh,” you laugh breathily when you see it, “that was smooth, Dr. Abbot.” You look up at him with a wide smile, your eyes glittering just like his. “I’m impressed.”
Jack nods just a little, self-satisfied smirk decorating his face. “I figure you can black it out with sharpie once you’ve got it down.” You nod but hold your phone out for him to put his number into so that you know you have it correctly. He’s quick to type it in and give you your phone back, his eyes finding yours again. “And I just want you to know that I promise you’re the only patient or former patient I’ve ever… flirted like this with and given my number and that you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to flirt like this with and give my number to.”
You can’t help what has to be the most love sick idiot screaming smile that pulls onto your face at his words. “I’m special?”
“Very.” Jack’s smirk has morphed into a smile that matches your own.
You push your bottom lip out in a small, fake pout. “Because you feel bad for me not knowing anyone?”
“No.” Jack doesn’t miss a beat. “Because there’s something about you. Something that makes me happy and want to be around you.”
There’s a poignant pause and your soft smile of disbelief that melts into one of adoration makes Jack want to scream because you’re so precious. After a few seconds you find words. Not particularly good ones, but words nonetheless. “Yeah… I feel the same.” Your phone chiming interrupts the moment. “Oh, shit! That’s my ride.”
Jack stands and wheels you over to the car you point out, offers you his hand to help you out of it. “Let me know you make it home safely, yeah?”
You take Jack’s hand and let him help you. Between the laying in the hospital bed and sitting in the wheelchair you’re pretty stiff. “I will.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, opening the door for you and helping you into the car.
“Jack.” He looks at you with slightly raised brows, hand on the door ready to close it. “Thank you for everything. I really appreciate your care and kindness.”
He smiles and gives you a single nod. “You’re welcome. Get home safe, okay? Doctor’s orders.”
“Okay,” you giggle as Jack shuts the door.
Less than ten minutes pass before Jack’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
You - Made it home
You - In one piece and everything
He smiles to himself.
J - Good. Get in bed and rest
You - Yes, Sir 🫡
Jack’s so fucking glad he’s in the breakroom alone and can adjust himself as he reads you calling him Sir over and over again. He swears it makes him a little lightheaded and he has to tell himself to pull it together.
J - Let me know if you need anything
J - I’m off at 7 (in theory) and will be asleep during the day since I’m back on tomorrow night, so you’ll probably have to call if you do need something
You smile to yourself now because he really is so sweet and caring, especially towards someone he barely knows and just met.
You - I will and good to know, thank you
J - Sleep well
For some reason your heart flutters at that.
You - You too
You - Eventually 😅
You - And let me know you make it home safely
J - I will
You’re asleep when Jack texts you around 8:30 in the morning. It’s not that he forgot to text you, he just got off late.
J - Was there late but made it home. In one piece and everything ;)
Jack isn’t surprised when you don’t respond to his text. While he’d love to get to chat with you for a bit he’s glad you’re managing to get some sleep.
You wake up around ten and smile when you see a message from Jack, bite your lip at the way he echoes your words. You’re both fond of doing that.
You - That’s what I like to hear
You spend the day lounging in bed, dozing on and off and watching your favorite show. You’re beyond sore.
It’s around four when your phone chimes, your heart racing at the prospect of it being Jack. Jack smiles to himself when he wakes up to a message from you. He knows he’s so done for you with you.
J - I’m awake. How are you feeling?
You - Like I got hit by a car
J - Not just bumped?
You roll your eyes and shake your head at him but are beaming because it’s him and he’s funny and he makes your heart race and butterflies flutter in your stomach.
You - 🙄 Rude of you to use my own words against me
He chuckles to himself, sitting up in bed and running a hand over his face.
J - You like it
You - Yeah, I do 😌 Bet I’ll end up giving you a lot of my own words to use against me 😏
Now that you’re not his patient, Jack can more openly flirt with you and he’s chomping at the bit for the opportunity. So when you give it to him he takes it. Again and again and again as it’ll turn out.
J - Oh, I expect nothing less, Sweetheart. You strike me as quite the brat
J - And yes, I do like it 😌
J - But only from you
Your eyebrows shoot up. He’s not wrong in the slightest, he was just so relatively reserved last night that his forwardness now is augmented. You greatly enjoy it. You can feel how much you enjoy it between your legs.
You - 😳🥵
You - Kinky
You - Your flirting game is joining your salt and pepper curls as something about you that threatens to send me into cardiac arrest
You - And I’m down my dominant fingers. What’s a girl to do?
Jack swallows a groan. He can’t help the way his palm glides along himself over his boxers. He woke up hard and you’re just making it worse. The smile he wears is smug as he types out and sends his next two messages.
J - There’s my little challenge
J - Is that your way of asking for help? Because if you want anything you’re going to have to ask properly Sweetheart, and I expect a please and Sir in there somewhere
Your heart races at the way he calls you his little challenge, but your jaw actually drops open a little at his second message. This man might actually be the death of you. He’ll absolutely be the little death of you because you just know his confidence is earned and that he has a big dick and knows how to use it. Knows how to fuck.
You - JACK
J - Yes?
You - You’re going to fucking kill me before you even get the chance
You - You have no idea how serious I am, oh my god
He chuckles to himself.
J - Not god, just me
J - And I would never let that happen
J - I’m going to get spotty as I get ready for work, I promise I’m not ignoring you. You need anything?
J - On a serious level
You swear you’re fucking vibrating over him. You might have to find a vibrator, or you would if you knew it wouldn’t just hurt and not in a fun way with how sore you are, especially in your pelvis since it took the brunt of the impact. But you’re also melting because the man can communicate and keep you from slipping into anxiety or even panic at the change in response time. It’s just as big of a turn on as the rest of his words and self.
You - On a serious level I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you telling me that. And I think I’m okay for now, thank you for asking
You - Though I was going to make a lot of good jokes about what I need
J - Why do you think I added the on a serious level?
J - Let me know if that changes. My ability to look at my phone at work is inconsistent at best, but I’ll do my best to check
You - Because I’m special?
Jack smiles, rolls his eyes at you affectionately even though you can’t see.
J - Yes
J - And the cutest and funniest
The man is so fucking sweet you could scream and you do actually kick your feet in bed a little before abruptly stopping and wincing.
You - Baby 🥺🫠 I’m melting
You - You are so unbelievably sweet, Jack
J - I aim to please
You - You succeed
J - I know
You - Confident but not cocky. I like it
You - I might end up falling asleep, so if I don’t reply that’s why
Jack is equally as appreciative of you communicating and letting him know that you might stop responding so that he doesn’t worry about you in a physical sense since you’ve just been hit by a car, but also in the sense of wondering if he did something wrong or if you lost interest or if he made you mad.
J - Good. Thank you for letting me know. As much as I’ll miss you the rest is good for you 🙂
When you don’t respond Jack figures you do end up falling asleep. It’s why he’s particularly concerned when Lupe comes and finds him at the hub talking with Robby around 6:45 and lets him know that you asked for him and are waiting in chairs, but that she can get rid of you if he wants.
“No, no.” His face clouds with concern. “I’ll get her.” Jack doesn’t even end his conversation with Robby, really. He just takes off.
He walks over and opens the door to chairs, walking towards you quickly as you walk towards him once you see him. He hates how antalgic your gait is. Even though you’re smiling at him you look like you’re in a fair amount of pain. He can’t help how he goes straight to something being wrong.
“Hey, you okay? What’s up?” He asks with deep furrowed brows and a slight frown as he rests his hand on the small of your back and guides you into the closest open exam room, leaving the door open but pulling the curtain so you have a little privacy.
“Hey. Nothing is wrong, I didn’t mean to worry you.” You give him a reassuring smile and are relieved when his face smooths out and he smiles a bit. But you still feel a little bad now for making him worry at all. “My wrist has just really been hurting.”
“Did you take your meds? Did you re-injure it somehow?” he queries, ready to go into doctor mode.
“I don’t think so and yeah, I took them. They just don’t work well.” You shrug a little, a shy smirk pulling on your face. “I was thinking maybe you could just kiss it better.”
Jack lets out a relieved chuckle and rocks back for a second. “It’s casted. I’m afraid I can’t kiss it better Sweetheart.”
“Hmmm,” you hum. “Well, I think kissing me elsewhere might make it feel better.” You take a step closer to him.
“Oh yeah?” Jack closes the last of the distance between you, hands feather light at your waist so that he doesn’t hurt you.
“Yeah,” you breathe out, resting your good hand on his chest and keeping the other off to the side.
“Probably worth a try,” he murmurs as he leans his head down. Your lips meet in an achingly sweet kiss. You both pull away just slightly and open your eyes to take in the other’s, both sets of eyes hooded, with pupils that have blown wide. You’re quick to lean back in for another kiss, and then another, and another that gets a little more heated, lips moving against each other like satin. You nip at Jack’s bottom lip as he pulls away. “Feeling better?”
“Oh, so much better,” you laugh breathily before leaning back into him and letting Jack kiss you again. You’d let this man do whatever the fuck he wanted with you, would hand yourself over to him, body, mind, and soul. You already know it.
Jack knows this is really not the place to be doing this but he just can’t bring himself to care right now. He lets his tongue swipe along the seam of your lips and licks into your mouth when you open for him, groaning softly at the taste of you. He has to force himself to pull away and while you’re just as sad as he is about it, you understand and respect it.
“How’d you know I’d be here early?” He takes your casted arm and brings your hand up so that he can gently kiss at your fingers.
“You just have that air about you. And you would’ve been early yesterday if you hadn’t gotten involved with me,” you giggle.
“Observant,” he murmurs against your fingers before gently bringing your hands back down together. “Can I check out the bruise on your side while you’re here? Please.”
You fake a scandalized gasp. “Are you asking me to take my pants off for you? Because you got that for free yesterday, but now it’s going to require dinner first.”
“No,” he shakes his head at you with a knowing and slightly smirked smile, “I’m asking you to pull your shirt up a little and the waistband of your pants down just slightly so that I, as a medical doctor, can evaluate the bruise and make sure you’re okay.”
“You’re not my doctor anymore,” you point out.
“And yet you’re here asking me for pain relief,” he’s quick to fire back with a smirk. It’s hot how fast the words slipped off his tongue. “Which I happily gave you and will continue to give you.”
You raise and eyebrow and smile at him, bob your head once. “Touché.”
“I want to ask you out to dinner, believe me,” Jack sighs. His eyes are so earnest as he smiles at you, almost imploring you to believe him like you don’t already. “And I was planning on it tomorrow when I had a chance to call you, but right now in this conversation I don’t want you to think that you have to say yes or that I’m only asking you out to find out if you’re really okay or that I expect you to take your pants off for me at the end of the date.”
You soften, your hand still on his chest rubbing at it softly in what you hope is reassurance. “Jack, please don’t worry about any of that. None of that ever occurred to me with you. I know you’re not like that.”
“Good.” Jack raises his eyebrows just a touch and widens his eyes a little, tilts his face. “Show me that bruise please,” he whispers.
You laugh softly and nod, adjust your purse and then pull down the waistband of your pants. Jack helps and lifts up your shirt just enough for him to see. He winces as the bruise comes into view.
“You can see the grill marks, it’s kind of cool,” you laugh.
He grimaces as he looks up at you, unamused at the way the grill marks of a car are bruised into your skin and the thought of you hurting as much as you must be. “Pain hasn’t changed? No new symptoms or anything?”
“Nope.” Jack drops your shirt back down and you pull your waistband back up.
He’s in full Dr. Abbot mode now. “No abdominal tenderness or distention? You don’t feel bloated or anything? No blood in your urine?”
You give him what can probably only be described as a gooey smile. “No, Dr. Abbot,” you murmur.
“What?” The lightest blush colors his cheeks at the way you’re looking at him.
You shrug gently. “I just think you’re incredibly sweet. Worrying like this about me.”
“I told you,” he cups your jaw in one of his large hands, thumb brushing over your cheek, “there’s something about you.”
“There’s something about you too, Jack.” You wrap your good hand around the wrist of his hand that cups your jaw, anchoring him there. He leans down and the two of you kiss again, slow and soft and achingly sweet.
You’re both grinning like idiots at each other when you break apart.
“You really came here just to see if you could get a kiss?” Jack raises his eyebrows slightly and moves his hand back to your waist when you let go of his wrist, your hand settling on his chest again. “You have to be in a lot of pain. I know you are. I can see it in how you’re walking.”
“I mean yeah, some. It’s not so bad though. Especially not after the kisses. I’m only two blocks away so it’s not like it was a ton of walking. And in addition to seeing if I could get a kiss, I also had a hunch getting to see me would help ease some of your worry and I don’t like you worrying.” That makes Jack’s heart melt. You don’t like him worrying. You care about him enough to walk the two blocks down here to see him just so he could lay eyes on you and reassure himself that you’re okay. He’s not sure if he deserves that. “Plus I forgot my insurance card last night. But I waited all day to come get it so that I could see you!”
Jack huffs with mock offense. “So it wasn’t even me!”
“No, that’s not true! It was you. I could’ve had them mail the insurance card back to me or picked it up during the day when you weren’t here. Getting to pick up my insurance card was just a nice bonus.” You wink at him.
Jack laughs and shakes his head. You have to laugh with him because his laugh is so infectious and hearing it makes you happy.
He smiles at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes him happy as his laughter trails off. “So will you let me take you out on a date?”
“I thought you’d never ask Dr. Abbot.” You nod and bite your lip, thumb brushing across his chest. “I’d really like that.”
“Good,” he gives you a quick kiss, “I can start showing you Pittsburgh’s best.”
“I think you already have,” you giggle.
You and Jack both start laughing again. “That was terrible,” he teases.
“Hey, it made you laugh.” You’re falling for the sound, chasing it already. “And it’s true.”
Jack shrugs and blushes again as he thinks about your words. “I’m the first person you’ve met here. You have nothing to compare me to. I could be Pittsburgh’s worst. Maybe you just think I’m the best because I’m the first.”
“I know you’re not the worst.” You shake your head. “You’re the best. Of everywhere. You’re just the best.”
“I mean,” he draws the words out a little. “I’m this old and single. Could mean something.”
“Yeah, it does,” you say simply. “It means you’re a doctor and a workaholic.”
“That obvious, huh?” He cocks his head.
You cock yours back at him. “Maybe the universe kept you single because I hadn’t moved to Pittsburgh yet and it knew I’d be the one who could handle and be okay with you being an emergency room physician and workaholic.”
Jack grows a bit more serious. You can tell this is something that’s burned him before. “Could you? Handle it? The hours and… workaholic-ism? If this went somewhere? Because I’d really like it to.”
“I could, yeah. We’ll work it out together. Promise.” This is something that’s burned you before too. “Could you?” you ask quietly, letting him know that you’re also somewhat of a workaholic with long hours. “Because I’d really like this to go somewhere too.”
“I could,” he nods, gives you a lopsided smile. “Like you said, we’ll work it out together.” Jack leans in and gives you another lingering kiss before murmuring against your lips. “Promise.”
I hope it was okay and silly and fluffy and a little hot! I really love hearing your thoughts and comments, they give me so much inspiration and liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming, I'm always up to chat!
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You can find Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, and Part 4 here!
42k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: No super specific wedding details are given; some anxiety; very fluffy; Robby and Jake make up; Jack is a consent king; use of eyedrops; unprotected PIV sex (bc implied with relationship); oral sex (both m and f receiving); fingering; dom!Jack; manhandling; light condescension; bondage; use of your underwear as a gag; knife appears in the bedroom but is not used on anyone; doggy; alcohol; reader: loves champagne, sits on Jack’s lap, takes Jack’s last name, gets drunk, wears a dress; author: did not proofread, faded to black on a lot of sex, did not pick a wedding venue because I’m too picky; overwhelmingly NOT proofread; no use of y/n or related
Summary: You and Jack get married.
AN: And so we've reached the end. The wedding fought me every step of the way, so hopefully that is not reflected in the quality of it, lol. I'm sure part of it was some subconscious block because I don't want them to end. Honestly, it’s quite bittersweet and a little emotional posting this final part as silly as that makes me feel. I've just spent a lot of time in their heads. While Part 1 was not the first Jack fic I posted, it was the first one I worked on and the idea that got me writing again after a four years. Thank you all so so much for reading and supporting me along the way! ♥️ I would be nothing without you all, so truly, thank you for reading the copious amount of words this universe became. I hope it lives up and feels like the ending they deserve. ♥️
Jack’s forehead furrows as his eyebrows raise at your question. “Flew to Vegas tomorrow and elope?” He wants to make sure he heard you correctly.
“Yeah.” You nod vigorously, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn together. You start chewing on your bottom lip and playing with your fingers in your lap. Jack knows you’re genuinely distressed right now and he hates it, hates that he caused it, even inadvertently. He sits up further, leans forward so that he’s closer to you where you sit on the edge of the bed.
“Well, I… I think,” Jack pauses, just needs another second. “I think you’ll regret it, not having the wedding. And don’t-” Jack reaches out and grabs your wrist gently so that you can’t get off the bed like you were moving to, he can already hear your brain attacking you. He finds your gaze again before he keeps talking. “Don’t think that means I don’t want to get married to you. I do. And if we decide we want to elope to Vegas or anywhere else, then I’m okay with that. As long as you end up my wife, okay? I’m not saying no, Doll.” He lets go of your wrist and grabs your hand, laces it with his. “I’m saying that I think we should sleep on it. I think you want the wedding we’ve planned so far and that you’re beyond exhausted and that your anxiety is driving your brain right now, yeah?”
You just look at him, seem a little like you’re lost to your thoughts, not in them, to them. “I… yeah,” you whisper.
Jack knows he needs to get you back in bed with him, get you close and help you find your way back and then to sleep. “Come here?” He pats your side of the bed next to him and gives you a little smile. “Please.” You release his hand and crawl over him, snuggle up under the covers into his side and bury your head in his neck. His arms wrap tightly around you and he kisses your temple. “Good girl,” he murmurs, “thank you.”
You can’t help the way ‘good girl’ makes you shiver. Maybe that’s what you need, you think to yourself, to have Jack fuck you in a hard reset after the week you had. Being in his arms is more than enough though, has you calming and coming back to a state of rationality pretty quick.
“We’ll sleep on it, okay? I promise we can talk about it in the morning and that I’m not saying no.” Jack clicks his tongue. “Could you pick your dress up early and bring it with us to wear in Vegas?” That makes you snort a laugh into the side of his neck. Jack smiles to himself, pleased he was able to get a laugh out of you. He rocks you a little playfully. “What? I’m dying to see you in your wedding dress.”
“I probably could, yeah.” You slide your hand down Jack’s bare chest a little, trace shapes with your finger, write little messages of love. “But no. We don’t need to sleep on it. I don’t even know what that was. I want what we’ve planned so far.”
Jack rubs your back with one hand. “I’ll check in with you on it tomorrow, okay? Just to be sure. And I think maybe a little panic and a lot of exhaustion. But you also don’t need to know what it was, yeah? It’s okay to not know.”
You nod. “I just like knowing. Makes me feel like I have some control, which I know is a total fucking illusion.” You sigh into him, nuzzle against his neck. You like the way his stubble feels, it’s oddly grounding for you. “I hate this. Being like this.”
Jack bites back the urge to say you’re not being like anything because he knows what you mean. Knows you mean you hate feeling so emotionally labile and panicking and feeling out of control. “I know, Doll.” He doesn’t need to say more. It’s not the time. It’s not why you said it. You just need to feel heard and seen. Jack uses his hand on the back of your neck to pull you away from him a little so that he can see you. “Can I do anything?”
You look at him and then to the side as you think. Think back on the flash of a thought you had. Maybe you should ask him to, ask him to fuck you into a hard reset. He does it so well. Knows just how to fuck until you’re sobbing and releasing every pent up emotion in you, and keeps going, fucking you thoughtless and incoherent and unable to feel or think about anything other than him. Knows how to break your mind in just the right way to get all of your emotional turmoil out. Knows how to take his time putting you back together with his touch and his words and his love so that you feel like the normal version of yourself when you wake up the next day, not however you had been feeling.
He always takes such good care of you after even if the memories of it are so heavily fogged they almost don’t truly exist. He holds you while you keep sobbing, lays on you often, his body weight helping with your shaking, cleans you up, makes sure you get to the bathroom and have some water and sometimes a snack before you fall asleep, whispers reassurances and little expressions of his love while he rocks you until you fall asleep, holds you the entire night as you sleep curled up on him.
Yeah. You think that just might do the trick, especially with as exhausted as you are and how hard he’ll make you sleep.
Your eyes find Jack’s again, his eyebrows slightly raised. He knows you thought of something with how long you were looking away. Your expression, the look in your eye and the specific way you look at him makes him think he knows what you need. “Jack,” you whisper. Your voice confirms it.
Still though. He wants to be explicitly sure so that he doesn’t start something you weren’t asking for that will actually hurt you or make you worse. “Fuck you all the way gone?”
“Yeah.” You nod, eyes already blown wide. “Please.”
Jack nods, rolls the both of you so that you’re on your back with him hovering over you. “You’re sleeping until you wake up tomorrow. I’m not setting an alarm and I’m not waking you up when I wake up. And if you wake up at a time I deem to be too early you’re going back to sleep, even if I have to put you back to sleep myself.” He drops his hips against you then and grinds against you as if you didn’t already know what he meant. “Deal?”
“Deal,” you breathe.
Six weeks. Only six weeks left until the wedding. It feels so short and so long at the same time. Pretty much everything is planned, everything you could possibly do up to this point is done. It’s just a waiting game for the next couple of weeks.
You’d worked late tonight so you went to the hospital instead of home, planning on surprising Jack and suggesting you grab dinner somewhere if he was up to it after his shift. If not, maybe you could grab takeout on the way home.
When you found Jack he was finishing some charting at the desk and talking to Robby. Somewhere along the lines the conversation between the three of you turned to your bachelor and bachelorette parties.
“No strippers.” Jack glances up at Robby from the computer.
“Okay.” Robby nods.
Jack looks up at him again. “No strippers.” His eyes return to the computer.
“No strippers.” Robby nods again. He doesn’t even sound facetious. Something about the interaction so far is quite entertaining to you.
“Hey,” Jack looks up at him again, “I’m serious. No strippers. She won’t even be the mad one. I will be. No strippers.”
“Peter, he agreed the last two times.” Jack looks over at you and blinks as you nod. You know you should stop there but you can’t help yourself. You shrug, try and look nonchalant. “He’s seen my boobs, he knows you don’t need to be looking at any stripper’s tits.”
Jack’s head whips back over to Robby, eyes glaring just a little at his best friend.
“Woah, woah, woah! Okay, I never said that.” Robby holds up his hands. “She did. I didn’t even think about that. I was simply respecting the boundary you set when you said no strippers for your bachelor party.” Robby brings his hands back down and shrugs. “But again, they’re very nice b-”
“I,” Jack interrupts Robby loudly to get him to stop talking before returning to a normal voice, glaring daggers at him now, “will cancel the entire party and find someone else to officiate our wedding if you finish that fucking sentence Michael.”
You struggled to hide your laughter the second Robby started to say you have nice boobs again but Jack’s reaction pulls an audible laugh from you. Both Robby and Jack turn to look at you. “I just,” you shrug, “you guys are funny.” It didn’t escape your notice when Myrna moved in closer. You and her shared a conspiratorial look, something you seem to often do when you’re together.
“You know,” Myrna interjects. All three sets of eyes find her in her chair a little behind Jack and Robby. “I could show Fruitcake my tits. Then they’d be the last pair he saw.”
“Thank you, Myrna, that would be perfect.” Jack smiles at her genuinely before looking to Robby with an overly saccharine smile.
“Absolutely not. Put,” Robby emphasizes the word and shuts his eyes “your shirt down Myrna.” She’d started to pull it up. He opens his eyes and looks at Jack. “The officiant threat? It works both ways.”
Robby turns and starts to walk away and Jack snorts making Robby stop and turn back around. “Oh please, you love us and her white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies far too much to even dream of it, Michael.”
“Don’t worry Fruitcake, you can have some of this cookie.” Myrna tells Robby with a suggestive eyebrow raise and smirk before starting to wheel herself away.
Jack bites back his laughter and holds his hands up in truce at that one. He goes to say something but Robby stops him.
“Just don’t.” Robby holds his hand up at Jack. “Just don’t say anything and we’re all going to leave and you’re going to buy me several drinks.”
Jack looks over at you, eyebrows raised, smirking. “I suppose I did kind of start it, didn’t I?” You admit with a nod. “A few drinks seems fair.”
The wedding is in five weeks, just over a month. It’s all you can think about as Jack drives you to Dana’s house. It’s 2 p.m. on a Saturday. You’ve been invited over for a little party for Dana to show off the kitchen remodel they just finished on the house.
“Did she say if lots of people are coming?” you ask Jack.
Jack shrugs. “She didn’t, no. Just said to show up with you.” You smile at that. Sounds like Dana.
“Hey, are you doing the whole something old something new thing?” Jack asks. “I heard a patient discussing it yesterday and it made me wonder.”
“Oh, I hadn’t really thought about it I guess.” You think on it for a few seconds and then shrug. “I mean I guess I’d like to but no, probably not. Where would I get that stuff from, you know? I don’t want to ask anything else of anyone, everyone has already done so much for us.”
Jack hums in acknowledgment. “People would if you asked. Without hesitation or feeling burdened.”
“I know, but still. It’s really not a huge deal.” You look over at Jack and squeeze his hand where it rests on your thigh. “It’s not like we’re doing all of the wedding traditions.”
“No we most certainly are not.” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance at you with a bit of a lopsided grin. Jack turns down the street and finds a place to park. “Time to go see how many people showed.” He gets out of the car and walks around to open your door for you, gives you a kiss as you get out.
The two of you walk hand in hand up to Dana’s door and knock. “Hi!” Dana throws the door open. “So glad you could make it!” You’re both ushered in as you exchange hellos and hugs. Jack and Dana share a look as you set your purse down on the credenza with your back to them.
“Well! Lead the way! I’m excited to see it, especially since you wouldn’t tell me which granite you settled on.” You throw her a look.
She laughs, starts walking you through the hallway towards the kitchen. But the three of you stop once you hit the living room.
The living room is decorated in bridal shower decor, a banner reading ‘bride to be’ hanging from the mantel and sitting and standing and mingling amongst it all are a few of your coworkers who you’re close to, your friend, and many of the Pitt crew, Victoria, Samira, Cassie, Mel, Heather, Kim, Parker and Princess. A chorus of soft ‘surprise!’ rings out as everyone looks at you and tips their cups to you. You smile and give a little wave, still shocked and struggling a bit to process.
“Oh my god,” you mumble. “Dana?” You look over at her questioningly. “You didn’t… this is… wow.” A surprise bridal shower for you. A genuine, you had no fucking clue you weren’t coming here for a get together to show off the remodeled kitchen, surprise.
“Surprise!” Dana laughs.
“Yeah,” you laugh out incredulously. You turn to Jack. “Did you know?” You’re not sure why you’re asking. You can tell from the lack of surprise on his face that he did.
“I did, but only for like a week,” Jack explains. You give him a lingering look of bewilderment mixed with incredulity before turning back to Dana.
“Dana, this is so much.” You shake your head at her a little. “This must have been so much work, I… thank you, I just, I don’t know, I don’t know what to say.” You laugh a little.
Jack slips away to give you and Dana a moment, goes back to the front door to wait for you to come say goodbye. He smiles to himself. He’s glad Dana ended up planning one for you. She’d asked him off-hand months ago if you were planning one and he’d told her no, you weren’t, but he thought your friend might try to. He didn’t hear anything else about it until last week when she revealed the kitchen party was really a bridal shower for you.
“You don’t have to say anything. All you have to do is come have a good time with us.” Dana smirks at you. “We have so much champagne to get through.” That makes you smile. You love champagne. “And it’s real champagne, not sparkling wine.” She winks at you.
“Oh I’m sure it’s amazing, I just, I don’t know I feel bad because you guys already threw us such an amazing engagement party, and now this and you really didn’t have to. I love it and appreciate it so much, I just hope you didn’t feel like you had to since I wasn’t planning one.” Your brows and forehead are furrowed in concern.
The engagement party wasn’t a surprise, you and Jack knew about it from the beginning. You just weren’t involved in the planning, were given a date and time and eventually a place to show up to. It had been beautiful, incredibly you and Jack, and so obvious how well those who planned it knew you as individuals and a couple. You couldn’t have planned a better one for yourselves. Nor would you have, but you were both told that everyone wanted to celebrate the two of you and if nothing else it was a reason for a party. It had been perfect. And you know this bridal shower will be too. You’re still just floored.
“I didn’t at all.” Dana smiles at you, gives you another hug. “And I wasn’t involved in the planning of the engagement party, that was all Robby and Heather and Mel, so it’s not like I’m pulling double duty. Plus I had a lot of help.” She glances over at your friend who tips her drink at you again with a smirk. Dana releases you but keeps her hands on your shoulders and squeezes. “Come on, go say goodbye to your man and then you can see the granite while you get some food and a drink.”
“Thank you, Dana.” You manage to catch one of her hands when she takes them off your shoulders. “I mean it,” you squeeze her hand, “it really means so much to me and to Jack and I know I can be bad at expressing it. So thank you.”
Dana smiles at you warmly in that way she does, eyes knowing and head bowing just a little to make it knowing. “You’re welcome.”
“Alright, let me say goodbye to Jack!” You turn from Dana and walk back into the hallway where Jack’s standing waiting for you, pleased smile on his face. “I can’t believe you knew.” You shake your head at him.
“Keeping that secret was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done and I only knew for a week. I wanted to tell you so badly.” He laughs a little, wraps an arm around your waist to pull you close and you rest your hands on his chest. “But you deserve this. The surprise. The shower. I know you think you don’t and I know me saying you do isn’t going to convince you, but you do.” He leans in and gives you a quick kiss. “Enjoy yourself, yeah?”
You nod. “I always do with everyone here.”
Jack laughs a little. “Good. I expect to hear all about it later.”
“I’ll do my best to take notes for you.” You give him a little smirk for a second and then let your face even back out. “You picking me up?”
“Course,” he nods, “just call me when you’re ready Doll.”
“Okay.” The two of you share one last kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” You both walk over to the door and Jack steps out. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
A month. Only a month until the wedding. It’s swirling in Jack’s mind as he sits on the couch reading with the quiet buzz of the police scanner in the background when his phone goes off. He half expects it to be a message asking him to come get you from whatever bar or club it is you ended up at.
Y - u come dwn
Y - ?
Y - pls
An amused smile makes its way onto Jack’s face. He’s seen you pretty tipsy before and it looks like he will be again. He thinks it’s cute the way you asked him to come down, how you knew he’d be up and waiting for you even though it’s 2:30 a.m.
J - I’ll be waiting.
Jack is only waiting outside for a few minutes before an SUV driven by Dana’s husband rolls up. He and Jack exchange knowing smiles and shake their heads. Jack walks over to the back door and can hear all the giggles before he even opens it.
“Peter!” You beam at him, reaching for him with both hands as you sit on the seat of the car with your legs hanging out for a minute. “Hi! I missed you so much!” you giggle. Jack takes in your quite dilated pupils and the way you slur your words a bit and extremely giggly affect.
“Oh, you’re drunk drunk,” Jack laughs to himself as he takes your hands and helps you get out of the car, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist to help support and stabilize you as he gets you on the sidewalk.
The driver’s window rolls down. “They’re all more or less three sheets to the wind. The rest are sleeping in our guest room because I don’t trust them alone at home and don’t think they have partners. I’m glad one of them,” Dana’s husband points at you and smirks, “had the sense to call me and not an uber.”
Jack glances at you. “Yeah, I am too.”
“I was gonna call you but D has a bigger car an’ we could all fit,” you giggle, words slurring together as you lean further into Jack. Someone rolls the window down and Dana, your friend, Heather, and Samira’s heads become visible to varying extents.
Jack looks at them and then back at you and then back to Dana’s husband. “Good luck and godspeed.” Jack nods at him before turning his attention back to you. “Okay, Doll, let’s get you to bed.”
You take in a gasping breath and stand up a little straighter at his words, hands grabbing at the chest of Jack’s shirt. “Fan-fucking-tastic idea, Dr. Abbot. Do y’know how hot you are? Do I tell you enough? Look at him.” You look over at the window. “Wait no don’t he’s mine.” A second later you gasp. “Oh my god and he’s like your boss. Mostly. Kinda.” That makes you all burst into giggles again.
“Okay,” Jack drawls, he already knows his version of bed and yours are two very different things, “say goodnight.”
“Goodnight! I love you all! Thank you! Debrief tomorrow!” You let go of Jack’s shirt with both hands to blow them all kisses and Jack’s quick to hold you even tighter as you sway now that you’re not holding onto him. You turn with Jack and start walking in, his arm never leaving your waist and hold on you never loosening.
Getting you inside and to the bedroom is easier than Jack expected. You’re not super unsteady on your feet when he’s helping support you and guiding you. He’s never seen you this drunk, not that you’re blackout drunk by any means, he’s just never seen you like this. He finds it quite adorable, even if it’s a little difficult to keep your attention.
Once you’re in your room Jack has you stand by the edge of the bed, planning on starting to take your clothes off so he can get you off to sleep. “You know you haven’t even kissed me?” You pout at him.
Jack gives an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to get you inside safely.” He tilts your chin up and leans down and into you. “Come here,” he murmurs. His kisses are short but filled with so much reverence you could drown in it.
“Jack,” you sigh happily, get your lips on his neck and start to kiss and suck as your hands begin to wander. “Please.”
Jack laughs a little to try and cover the groan he can’t help but make when you manage to nibble at his neck. He pulls back up and looks at you. “Please what, Doll?”
“Please fuck me into next week.”
“Mm,” Jack gives you a gentle smile and shakes his head, “you, my love, are far too drunk to consent to sex right now, as much as I would love to fuck you into next week.”
“Jackie!” you whine, pout harder than he’s ever seen. It’s so adorable it’s a bit comical and he stifles a laugh. Maybe if he sees you naked, your drunk brain thinks, maybe then.
You start taking off your clothes and the only reason he allows it is because he needs to get them off of you. Once you’re completely undressed you bite your lip when he starts to take his shirt off, thrilled your plan worked and ready to surge forward and suck hickies into his chest once he gets his pajama pants off. That’s why you’re so confused when Jack holds his shirt out for you. You only question it for a second though, drunk and horny brain thinking he just wants to fuck you while you’re wearing his shirt.
You giggle at him. “So dirty, want me in your shirt. Want me to ride you too?” Your slurring is adorably intermittent.
Jack shakes his head at you with an amused smirk. “I’d like you to come into the bathroom with me so I can take your makeup off.”
“Jack!” It’s a drawn out whine that almost makes his name two syllables this time. “We’re engaged.” You bring your left hand up towards his face and he has to grab your wrist gently to stop you from accidentally shoving your hand in his face. “See? That’s blanket consent.” You wink at him, or at least attempt to.
Jack laughs through his nose, smiling and shaking his head at you. “That’s not how that works, Doll.”
You sit on the edge of the bed and lean back on your elbows, open your legs for him a bit. “I think yes it is.”
“I know no it’s not.” Jack raises his brows at you and gives you a little look with a small smile.
“Well I’m sayin’ yes,” you slur defiantly.
“Doll, you are too drunk to say yes and have it mean yes. So I’m saying no, okay? First thing in the morning.” Jack gives you a little smiled grimace, trying to keep it light and tease you a little about the hangover he’s sure you’ll have. “If you’re feeling up to it.”
But the humor doesn’t land and exactly what he was worried about happening happens.
“You don’t want me?” It’s suddenly far more serious, your voice dripping with some real hurt, real insecurity.
“I always want you.” Jack crouches down and holds your face in his hands, brushes his thumbs over your cheeks. “Hey,” he calls softly when you won’t meet his eyes. “Look at me.” You don’t. “Please? It’s important.” It takes a second but eventually you do as he asked and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile and gentle squeeze of your face. “I always want you. And if you weren’t drunk, absolutely, I’d already be inside you. Remember, I said you’re too drunk to consent as much as I would love to fuck you into next week?” You blink at him, vaguely recalling him making such a statement but eyeing him suspiciously. “I promise you I am very hard right now. So please believe me that this has nothing to do with whether I want you and am attracted to you because yes and yes, I promise you Doll. I always want you. Your trust in me to protect you and take care of you and respect you is something I want too. My wants are at odds right now.” Jack goes to say more but stops, shakes his head a little, smiles at you. “And I know you’re not really taking any of this in so I’m going to stop. But know that I always want you. Always.”
You’re silent for a moment and Jack is concerned you don’t believe him and trying to think of a different approach. “Okay, but I always want you.” You smirk at him, pulled from your sadness and back to giggly and horny and happy drunk. You grab his hands from your face and try to get them to grab your boobs but Jack won’t let you, pulling his hands away. “So it’s the same. So yes, we can. Yes, it means yes.”
“That was a poor choice of words.” Jack sighs to himself and brings his chin to his chest for a second. “It’s not quite the same or what I meant.” He shakes his head at you. “As soon as you’re ready to and want to once you’re sober, okay?” You whine and go to say something, probably argue more. “I got your favorite Ben and Jerry’s today. You want to-”
You gasp and stand up, Jack following you up and his arms quickly encircling you to keep you from falling over. “Did you really?”
Jack nods as he guides you back down so you’re sitting on the bed again. “I really did. How about you have some of that and some pedialyte and ibuprofen while I get your makeup off? And then we’ll sleep, yeah?”
“Okay. But only because you got Ben and Jerry’s.” You point at him in the overdramatic way only a drunk person can.
“Good.” Jack smiles, leans down to kiss your forehead before starting to go to the kitchen. “Stay sitting here, okay? Please.”
You hum your agreement. “At least one of us will be getting BJs tonight,” you mutter as he walks away. But Jack hears it and starts laughing.
He turns back to you at the door, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes as he looks at you. “I love you so much, you know that?” You nod at him and let yourself fall back onto the bed.
Two weeks later you’re standing at the desk in the Pitt chatting with Jack. It’s a common sight anymore. You’re waiting for Dana. She’s sneaking out early to go to your last dress fitting with you. The wedding is only two weeks away and while there’s of course last minute wedding stress, truly you’re more excited than anything, ready for it to be here and be Jack’s wife, take his last name. And Jack is just as excited, just as antsy for it to be here.
“I can’t even see the shoes?” Jack gives you a little pout. It’s adorable and it honestly makes you consider showing him because he’s doing it here at work, in front of people.
“You can’t even see the shoes,” you confirm, give his pushed out bottom lip a quick kiss.
“You’re so mean to me having them right here in front of me in a bag and not letting me see!” He gestures at the bag, keeps giving you those puppy dog eyes that almost always work on you. Almost.
You step a little closer to him and drop your voice so only he can hear. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, okay Dr. Abbot?” You smirk when his jaw clenches and rolls.
He leans in even closer, hunches a bit to bring your faces closer together. “By giving me a fashion show of your wedding dress and shoes?” He raises his eyebrows and gives you an encouraging smile and nod. He knows you’re most likely taking the dress home tonight.
“Peter!” You smack at his chest playfully.
“I had to try!” Jack straightens back up to his full height.
“Mhm,” you hum at him. “It’s too bad, you would have really liked my little make it up to you treat.” Another clench and roll of his jaw.
“Oh? And what would-”
“Oh, hey! You’re here, great.” Robby interrupts Jack who turns to stare daggers at him for interrupting his chance to find out what you had planned. “I uh, I need to talk to you both. Can we talk? Um, over here?”
Robby starts walking towards the family room and you and Jack exchange confused and slightly concerned looks before following him. Robby seems nervous, jumpy almost. Jack knows he hasn’t been like this all day, only just now. Robby holds open the door for you both, shuts it and sits across from you.
He clears his throat and looks at you. “Jack already told you about Jake and I.” It’s a statement that picks up just slightly at the end as he seeks confirmation.
“Yes and I’m so happy for you Robby, for both of you. I’d love to meet him when you’re ready, we could have you guys over or something.” You smile at him, warm and enthusiastic and genuine.
Jack had told you about Robby and Jake. Once he’d left your house the morning after Leah’s sister came in Robby had called Jake and Jake answered. And Jake agreed to meet up with Robby at Robby’s place to watch a game and talk some maybe. Apparently it had all come out then. Jack had been right. Robby had been trying to give Jake space and let Jake come back to him, but Jake wasn’t sure how to find his way back to Robby, how to ask Robby to forgive him or how to reach out and ask to hang out, not after everything he’d said that day. And since then over the last month things had been getting back closer to how they were before Pitt Fest between Robby and Jake, different, yes, for multiple reasons, but similar in the amount of talking and seeing each other.
“Yeah, that would be great, I think he’d enjoy that. He’s asked about you Jack.” Robby looks over at him. “But, um, on that note, kind of, I was won-”
“He should come to the wedding!” You blurt it out and cut Robby off without even realizing it because you just had to say the thought as soon as it came into your head. “Oh my god.” You cover your hand with your mouth and Jack has to laugh. You remove your hand after a second. “I’m so sorry, I just had the thought and, and it doesn’t matter. Please, go on.”
Robby’s stuck blinking at you for a moment. Jack looks at Robby and then you and then back to Robby and snorts a laugh.
“He was about to ask if Jake could come to the wedding.”
You look at Jack and back to Robby. “Really?”
Robby nods. “Yeah. But it’s okay if he can’t, like if you don’t have the table space or dinner or any of that I know it’s like two weeks away and you probably can’t change numbers.”
“Of course he can come, we want him to come.” Jack gives Robby a bit of a you had to ask? look.
“We booked extra spaces and food just in case. And he’s basically your son, he’s not just invited, we want him there! I’m so sorry I didn’t think about it and ask earlier-”
“Don’t apologize,” Robby cuts you off with a bit of a laugh. “It means a lot that you guys want him there. I appreciate it.” He stands up. “That’s all I had, I just didn’t want you to feel awkward if you had to say no in the middle of the ED because of space or whatever.”
The second you step out someone is calling for Robby. “I’m being paged.” Robby raises his eyebrows and walks backwards for a second before turning around to walk off to where he’s needed.
“Hey! There you are!” Dana calls, starts walking over to you. It’s strange seeing her in anything other than scrubs. “You ready?”
“Yeah!” You turn back to Jack and lean up for a kiss and quick hug. “I’ll see you soon Peter, I love you.”
“I love you too.” Jack returns your hug and kiss, but catches your wrist as you start to walk away. You turn and look back at him with a smile and raised brows. Jack looks serious with just a touch of what seems almost like desperation. “What was it? The make it up treat for me when I get home?”
Your smile shifts into a smirk as you pull your hand from him and walk backwards slowly. “That’s for me to know and you to maybe find out, lover boy.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You and Jack emerge from the metro just across from the Louvre. Grabbing Jack’s hand you lead the two of you over towards a side entrance and enter near the restaurant patio and walk out into the plaza with the inverted pyramid. After you’ve walked closer you release Jack’s hand so that you can take a couple of photos with your phone.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” You walk ahead of Jack a bit without realizing it.
“Stunning,” Jack murmurs to himself. But Jack isn’t looking around at the pyramid and the buildings. Jack is focused solely on you. He stays behind you but moves to the side a little bit and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box he’d gotten just for this, takes your engagement ring out of it. He actually had forced himself to wear your ring on a chain around his neck this morning, just for this and had taken it off the chain while waiting for you to use the bathroom earlier in the day.
He keeps himself behind you by a few steps and pulls his pant leg up a bit as he slides down on one knee. Again.
“What do you think? I know it probably doesn’t live up to expectations with how I went on about it, I just love it so much for some reason.” You smile to yourself and turn to where you think Jack is going to be standing, wanting to see his expression as he takes it in. But he’s not there and so your brows furrow as you start to turn to look for him.
Jack smiles in anticipation. He knows that it’s a little ridiculous maybe, probably, seeing as how you’re already engaged, but still. As much as his other proposal felt right and was right, this still feels kind of right too. You turn completely and your eyes find him already down on one knee this time.
“Shut the fuck up.” You clamp a hand over your mouth. You know he’s already proposed but even so, that’s the first thing you say? You think to yourself. Really?
Jack laughs, closing his eyes and leaning forward on his knee a little bit. “Oh my god,” he breathes through a small laugh, smiling as wide as he ever has and shaking his head as he straightens back up and looks up at you. “I love you so goddamn much. That was so perfectly you.”
You pull your hand from your mouth and open it like you’re going to say something and then close it, put your hand back over it.
Jack has to laugh a little at that too. He decides to keep it short and sweet this time. “You are far and away the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I hope you know that.” He’s still smiling but becomes a little more serious, eyes sparkling with mirth and tears. “I want to do every day and every night with you. I love you. So what do you say, Doll? Will you marry me?”
You move your hand from your mouth as a few tears slip down your face. You’re beaming at Jack as you start to nod. “Yes” you giggle, “yes, yes, yes! I’ll marry you, Jack Abbot.”
After you spend the day at the Louvre Jack explains why he had you bring a nice cocktail dress with you. He’d made a reservation at a quite upscale Parisian restaurant to celebrate the second proposal. As thrilled as you are to have gone back to the hotel and gotten all dressed up and to be here and as special and as spoiled as you feel, half of you is ready to throw back your champagne and drag Jack back to the hotel. He’s in a pair of slim fit black dress pants, a simple collared button up shirt in white and a black blazer that matches his pants.
You order a very nice bottle of champagne to share during dinner. Once your glasses are poured, you hold yours up and tip it towards Jack a little. “To the Abbots.”
Jack swallows hard but mirrors you, lifting his glass and tipping it towards you a little before you carefully clink your glasses together. “To the Abbots.”
The drink he takes is fairly quick because he wants to watch you and the way your lips wrap around the rim of the flute and how the flicker of the candle on your table with the low lighting of the restaurant make your eyes look almost moltent. He’s particularly wired for you tonight, can’t really put his finger on why.
Maybe it’s just the whole thing, being in Paris together, having just proposed again, you in that dress. Maybe the second proposal has just really shoved it right back in his face that you’re going to be his wife. His wife.
Whatever the reason is all Jack knows is he’s been half hard since you left the hotel, and you are, unknowingly in fairness to you, winding him up more and more with every little thing you do. He doesn’t want to rush this, at all, and he doesn’t, but that tension and need for you just continues to build.
He doesn’t realize it but it’s the same for you. Jack looks so fucking hot dressed like this. He always does but there’s something about this and how rare it is for you to see him like this and the fact that you’re seeing him like this in Paris that’s driving you up a wall.
You get through the bottle of champagne while eating your appetizer and mains. You both decide on a dessert to share and a drink, Jack picking a fancy scotch you’re praying you’ll be able to taste on him later.
As your waitress is walking away Jack messes with his tie, unknotting it and shoving it in his pocket before undoing the first two buttons of his shirt. In part because he has a plan and in part because he does in fact feel smothered and too hot, but not from the temperature of the room. “It’s hot in here, I was dying with that thing, sorry Doll.”
Your eyes narrow and you cock your head at him but don’t say anything. You know he runs hotter than you but, at least to you, the restaurant isn’t particularly hot and you’re usually the one who’s more temperature sensitive. And something about what Jack just did feels familiar. But then maybe you’re just lightheaded and dizzy by how he somehow looks even hotter with his collar open like that. If he takes his blazer off and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows you’ll be on your knees between his legs with everyone watching.
“Hey?” Jack’s voice cuts through your thoughts and brings you back. “You good?” He’s almost a little too nonchalant with the question.
You look at him for a moment before you smile and nod at him. “More than, Peter. Looking forward to dessert.”
Jack hums low, eyes greedy as they roam over your face, down your neck to your cleavage and then back up so he’s looking you in the eyes again. He fills out well past half hard, thankful he’s sitting and that the table provides cover. “Me too, Doll, me too.”
Before you can say anything else your drinks are brought over and by the time the waitress walks away again Jack is asking you a question about Versailles tomorrow. It feels like he’s trying to distract you. You let him.
Dessert comes not long after your drinks and looks amazing. It’s as delicious as it looks and the soft moan you let out when you first taste it has Jack even more riled. He’s ready to slam his drink, finish the dessert in two bites and get you the fastest taxi back to the hotel so that he can finally be tasting you or inside of you or fingering you. He doesn’t particularly care which at the moment, he just needs you.
It hits you mid sip and you take a hum in, have to temper your reaction so you can swallow and not bring the glass down to the table so hard it breaks in your hand. “Tie raincheck.” You nod a little. “Tie raincheck, that is exactly what this is.”
Jack raises his eyebrows at you, tries to feign confusion. “No idea what you mean, Doll.” Jack takes a sip of scotch.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Yes you do.”
Jack sets his drink down and looks up at you. “Dessert.” He points to it with his spoon.
“Tell me I’m right.” You can feel your pulse quicken, fight the urge to rub your legs together to get the tiniest bit of friction. You can feel yourself getting wetter for him as you think about what’s to come, how he’s going to use the tie on you.
There’s a subtle shift in the energy between the two of you, Jack becoming far more dominant as you decide whether to behave or be a brat. “Doll.”
“Peter.”
Jack cocks his head at you. “Eat.” There’s a bit of a warning to it.
“You know exactly what I mean. On the roof of the hospital because we didn’t get to go to the wedding.” You set your spoon down and lean in a bit. “You told me you promised to give me a raincheck on the tie because I’d said something earlier about what you’d wear to the wedding and the tie would be in your pocket at the reception waiting to be used on me.”
Jack’s eyes darken a bit more and he sets his spoon down, leans in close to you over the table and holds your gaze. “I know that as soon as we finish this,” he nods down at the dessert without breaking eye contact that’s started to smolder, voice lower and more gravelly, “we can go back to the hotel and I can use the tie shoved in my pocket on you and fuck you until you’re so cock drunk off me the only three things you can say are ‘Jack,’ ‘yours,’ and ‘wife.’” He leans back to sit normally and picks his spoon back up, gives you a little smile like he didn’t just promise to fuck you stupid. “Dessert first, yeah?”
It takes you a few seconds but eventually you nod wordlessly and pick up your spoon.
You start eating noticeably faster than normal and taking bigger sips of your drink. Jack pins your spoon with the rounded point of his the next time you go for a bite. You look up at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. You’re eating dessert like he asked.
“Don’t rush.” You let out the smallest whine but Jack catches it, raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at you for a moment before letting your spoon go.
You do as he asks, slow yourself back down to your normal pace, or at least as close as you can get with how wired he’s gotten you. Jack knows and lets it happen. He knows he’s taking slightly bigger bites than he normally would because as much as he loves teasing you and dragging it out he’s also pretty desperate to get back to the hotel, to tease you and drag it out there.
You finally finish dessert and your drinks and Jack pays. He flags down a taxi to get you guys back to the hotel and the way he waves and whistles to get the driver’s attention since their window is down has absolutely no business being as hot as it is.
In the cab you can’t help yourself. Your hand wanders over to Jack’s thigh and moves up and in until you find his semi. You know it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass but you can’t help yourself and rub him, try to get your thumb around the ridge at the head of his cock how you know he likes. Jack stifles a quiet grunt as you get him harder. His jaw clenches, chest starts to heave a little, breathing a bit louder. His hand wraps around your wrist and moves your hand, pins it to the seat between you. You pout, both because he’s stopped your fun and because he deliberately hasn’t given you the satisfaction and looked at you since you got in.
Just as he always does Jack walks around the car and opens the door for you when you get to the hotel, gives you his hand to take to help you out. He looks at you finally as you take it and let him help you out, gives you a little smirked smile and raise of an eyebrow. He’s quiet as you walk through the hotel and in the elevator. You were hoping he’d push you up against the wall of it and makeout with you, let you find out if you can taste his scotch on him. But no. He just lets the anticipation and tension build. A hand on the small of your back guides you to your hotel room where he opens the door for you.
“Stop,” Jack instructs you as you step into the bedroom. You hesitate and he sees it, sees you deciding whether you’re going to push him tonight. You decide not to and so do as he asks, stopping in place. “Good.” Jack turns and goes back to get the door deadbolted and secured before coming back to you.
Warm hands find the zipper of your dress and pull it down, help you shrug out of it. He crouches to get your shoes off and have you step out of the dress. Jack takes his time hanging the dress up, watching from the corner of his eyes how you shift on your feet in anticipation.
He walks back to you, stands in front of you this time, eyes dragging down your body, lingering on the lingerie you’re wearing, that he had to force himself to ignore after he got your dress off you so he could tease you by hanging it up. “You get this for me?” Jack slips a finger under one of the bra straps and pulls it away before releasing it to snap back against your skin. It makes you shiver.
“Yes,” you breathe.
Jack hums at that, brings his eyes to yours and gives you a smile. “So good using your words without me having to ask.” His attention returns to your body and the lingerie. He starts palming at himself over his pants much like you did in the cab. He lets out a low breath as he hardens fully and fights the urge to say fuck it and just take you now because god knows he wants to.
Instead, he pulls his hands away and moves them down towards the bottom of the set where they play with the waistband, making their way to the side and repeating his actions with your bra, slipping a finger under it and pulling the material towards him before letting it snap back against you. You’re breathing much heavier now, both of you can hear it.
“It’s very pretty, and you’re stunning in it, Doll,” he murmurs, flicks his eyes back to yours so he can look you in the eyes for a second, make sure you know how much he means it. Jack hums as one hand moves to his pocket. He pulls out his pocket knife and flicks it open without looking as his other hand toys with one side of the waistband that sits on the outside of your hip. “It’s a shame really.”
He pulls the fabric out far enough to slip the blade under it and pulls, cutting through the material with ease.
“Fuck, Jack.” His eyes flash to yours when you say his name. There’s something darkly and deeply possessive about his look. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen it this intense before. It makes your heart beat faster.
He does the same to the other side, holds onto the material so that he can slide your underwear from between your legs before it hits the floor. He glances down at the gusset and then back at you. “Messy girl.” Jack smirks, and closes the knife, slips it back in his pocket with your underwear. He brings his hand down to your center, runs a couple of fingers through you to see how wet you already are for him. “Fuck,” he groans, other hand rubbing his cock just for some friction and relief, “that for me too?”
You nod and he raises an eyebrow. “Yes, yes. For you. Always for you.”
Jack throbs against his boxer briefs that are entirely too tight for his liking now. You’re testing his patience without even knowing it, just by standing here and doing what he asks. It’s not a bad thing, he’s just acutely aware of how much teasing you is teasing him.
He pulls his hand away and licks his fingers clean and his other hand pops the clasp of your bra. The whole thing makes a shiver race up your spine, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. He tosses the bra aside and spends a moment just looking at your breasts, licks his lips without even realizing it.
Jack pulls away a bit and his hand finds his other pocket, pulls out the tie. You whimper a little at the sight. “Now, what to do with this?” He cocks his head at you. “Could gag you with it. Tie your ankles together.” His hands find yours, bring them up in front of you and turn your wrists slightly so that your hands are in front of your chest, palm to palm like you’re praying. “I think,” Jack lilts, “this is what we’re going to do. You were just so handsy in the cab, afterall, I’m sure you had your fill of touching me then. Plus,” he takes your underwear from your pocket and lays it over one of your shoulders, “we have these for your mouth.” He binds your hands together with the tie expertly, running it across the back of your palms and fingers in addition to your wrists so you can’t even open your hands to try and touch him. He knots it off with a bowline knot. Strong, but very easily undone should the need arise.
“No!” You shake your head at him, whining and pleading. “I didn’t, I didn’t!”
Jack hums at you. “Well that’s also a shame, then.” He grabs your underwear from your shoulder and brings them to your mouth. “Open.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Jack freezes immediately. Wait is not one of your safe words but it’s also not something you end up saying that much during sex, especially not how you just said it. “No! Not bad!” That stops him from pulling out the knot. “A kiss, please.” It’s almost begged and Jack lets out a little laugh, a small amused smirk forming. “I want to know if I can taste your scotch on you, please, I’ve been thinking about it since you ordered it. Please, please, Jack. I’ll be so good, please!”
The smirk slips from Jack’s face as his jaw grinds at your words, at how you’ve been thinking about tasting him for that long. “I suppose you’ve been listening quite well so far.” You both know this is as much for him as it is for you after your admission.
Jack holds your face in his hands and leans in to kiss you. Your mouth opens in anticipation and he’s quick to give you what you want, sliding his tongue into your mouth, one hand sliding from your face down to grope at your ass as he gets lost in the kiss. It’s longer than he intended but he doesn’t care, he can’t get enough of the moans it’s pulling from you every time he licks into you and sucks on your bottom lip.
He forces himself to pull away. “So?”
“Yeah,” you pant, “I could. Tasted so fucking good.”
“Good.” Jack steps back and takes his hands off you but hovers them nearby for a second to make sure your balance is okay with your hands tied like they are after leaning into him for the kiss. “I hope you enjoyed it because the next time I kiss you I won’t taste like it.” He brings your underwear back to your mouth. “You remember everything?” He’s asking if you remember how to get him to stop when you have neither your hands nor your mouth like this. You nod and he can see in your eyes that you do. “Good,” he nods. “Open.” You do and he stuffs your underwear inside of your mouth, thumb brushing over your bottom lip when he’s finished.
You track his every movement as he walks over to the desk and takes his blazer off, sets it over the back of the desk chair. He turns and looks at you, walks back so that he’s only six or so feet in front of you and undoes the button at one of his wrists, starts rolling his sleeve up just below his elbow, and doing the same with the second.
If you trusted yourself to get onto your knees safely with your hands tied like this you would, spit out your underwear and crawl over to him. But you don’t so all you can do is stand there and whine a few moans at him, try to plead with your eyes, for what you’re not entirely sure.
Jack hums at you. “Bet you wish you hadn’t been handsy in the cab now, don’t you?”
You whimper at that, hand your shoulders a little. Jack smirks.
He walks to the bathroom and grabs a clean towel, lays it over the edge of the bed. “Go sit.” You do as he asks, quivering in anticipation the whole time. Jack walks to the head of the bed and grabs a bunch of pillows, props them all right behind you. He wants you to lean back and watch, wants to be able to make eye contact with you.
Jack walks back to the edge of the bed and stands in between your legs when they automatically part for them. “You gonna be good and watch?”
You nod rapidly, not even sure what it is you’re going to be watching but knowing it’s going to feel almost too good and be almost too erotic to stand with how keyed up you are.
“Good,” Jack nods. He sinks to his knees then and you let out a muffled cry at the realization. His hands find your ankles and he rests the flat of your feet on his shoulders, pulls you down by the hips so that your ass will just slightly be hanging off the bed and tilting your hips up when he gets you to lay back. He pulls the pillows closer to you again. “Lay back.”
Jack nods at you, looks down at your cunt, now perfectly on display for him, swollen and glistening. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, smirks when it has the desired effect and has you clenching around nothing and whining. Jack kisses the insides of your thighs, sucks at your skin hard enough to burst blood vessels, nibbles at you. He turns his attention back to your pussy. “You smell so good.” He kisses just above your clit and you roll your hips, using his shoulders as leverage. He tilts his head and rests it on your thigh for a second as he looks up at you. It’s a bit of an unexpected move, not one you can recall him doing to you, though you frequently do it to him when you’re taking him in your mouth. Jack breathes in deep through his nose and groans from his chest. “Always smell so good for me. And you taste just as good.”
You whimper and clench around nothing just as Jack surges forward and licks you cunt to clit. You flinch at the feeling, hips bucking up. The vibration of Jack’s laugh meets your clit as he sucks it into his mouth, his hands finding your hips and pinning them down.
He teases your clit with the tip of his tongue as he sucks on it, gently rolls it between his teeth before pulling away. His tongue circles around it and then drops down, pushes inside your pussy, fucks you a few times before it figure eights back up to your clit, flicks over it rapidly before he sucks it into his mouth again.
You’re wailing for him because you can be with your underwear muffling every cry and moan his tongue rips for you. You’re teary from the pleasure already, your whole body on fire. You never want him to stop it feels so good. Your hips struggle against Jack’s hands, trying to buck up to no avail, hands straining against the tie because you want your hands in his hair so badly, want to grip at the sheets, something, anything.
The intense eye contact you share makes Jack’s tongue feel even better, the pleasure in the creases of his eyes and pull of his eyebrows helping get you off. There’s something about knowing how much he loves this, knowing how much he loves eating you specifically out that drives you insane, has your toes curling against his shoulders. He’d told you once, you can hear it in your head now in that low gravelly voice of his, that he was always very whatever about it, didn’t love or hate it, but would do it of course, until he met you, and now he loves it, craves it, wants to be doing it all the time, finds himself missing it at random moments during his days.
Jack repeats his movements, groans and grunts into you as he alternates sucking and licking and tongue fucking you in different patterns right to the edge. It doesn’t take long. You’re close, already. And if he had more patience and wasn’t as painfully hard as he is he would back off, drag it out longer, edge you a bit.
He sucks at your clit until it pops out of his mouth as he pulls his head away. “I want you to focus and feel, Doll. And keep your eyes on mine.”
You moan something that sounds like you’re trying to say ‘I am’ through your underwear.
“No.” His voice is sharp, cuts through your pleasure haze, eyes blazing. “Focus and feel it.” You’re not sure what it means but you nod, you’ll do anything for him right now.
Jack holds your gaze for another moment before glancing down at your cunt and sucking at your clit. He looks back up at you as he releases your clit and flicks his tongue over it with precise strokes that are just the right pressure to pull tears from your eyes because of the intensity of it all. He raises his eyebrows slightly, a reminder to focus and feel it.
You do, ground yourself in Jack’s eyes as you look at him and focus and feel. It hits you. You take in a gasped shuddery breath, try to say ‘oh my god’ around your underwear but it just comes out as a moan and a sob.
The strokes of his tongue against you aren’t just precise. They’re spelling out his name. He starts over when he knows you’ve got it. J a c k A b b o t M i n e M y W i f e. You’re almost hyperventilating it feels so good, is so possessive it augments the feeling of his tongue three-fold. Once he’s finished the final e of wife he starts over with a J and one hand leaves a hip.
You’re so focused on Jack and his eyes that you don’t even see it about to happen, though you theoretically would be able to. Two fingers slide inside you, easily with how wet you are. Jack finds that spongy spot inside of you makes a rapid come hither motion and you’re gone.
It shoves you over the edge, launches you over it really. The groans you’re pulling from Jack just from coming on his fingers as his tongue laps at you make your orgasm crash into you even harder. You knew you were close and it was going to hit you soon but it still catches you off guard. It’s blinding, you try so hard to keep your eyes open and give Jack the eye contact you know he wants, is demanding of you. But something has to give, you have to take one sense back from him.
You sob out moans around your underwear, enjoy the freedom you have to not hold back for fear of being too loud in a hotel. You try saying his name around it, aren’t even fully conscious of it because of how fucked out of your mind you are, how little control you have over your body and mind right now.
He starts to ease off and slows just when he needs to, right before the point of painful overstimulation. Because that’s not what he wants tonight. He just wants you to feel good. He laps at your pussy a few times to clean you up a bit and get a few last tastes of you.
You whimper when he pulls away and stands up and looks down at you. You got so wet and so messy that almost the entire bottom half of his face is slick and shining with you. He smirks at you, licks his two fingers clean before bending down and grabbing your bra from the floor and uses the cups to wipe his face off. “You are,” it’s a little panted, “so delicious. I could do that forever. Live between your legs like that.” His words make you whimper again.
Jack helps you sit up so he can clear the pillows away then lay you back on the bed. He walks around the side and pulls the comforter down and then moves you so that your feet and head face the side of the bed, not the headboard and end. “God, Doll.” You can hear him messing with his shirt, unbuttoning it and throwing it to the floor, undershirt joining it a second later. “I could’ve come from just that. Just fucked my fist once or twice and lost it just from the way you taste and how pretty you sound when you come even all muffled and how hard you gripped my fingers.”
You moan at that, wish that you could see him getting undressed and talking about you like that. The clinking of metal tells you he’s undoing his belt, the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor a second or so later. Both pants and boxer briefs if you had to guess.
It’s quiet for a second until you strain and hear the softest hum of skin rubbing skin. Jack’s stroking himself slowly, eyes roaming your body intently. You whine. You want him back, want him inside you. Need him inside you.
“Need something, Doll?” Jack asks as he climbs on the bed and up your body so that he hovers over you. You blink hard at him and try to say ‘you.’ Jack uses a hand to wipe away some of the fresh tears that slip from your eyes. “Me? Just like this? So you can see since you can’t touch or speak?” You nod quickly and repeatedly, drop your shoulders and widen your eyes to say please. “Well,” Jack starts as he pulls away from you and moves to the side of your legs, “that’s not the plan baby.”
He flips you over so that you’re on your stomach, grabs your hips and pulls them up so that you’re on your knees. Even with your hands tied together like they are you’re still able to push the front half of your body up on your elbows a little. “I just really love having you from behind sometimes, you know?” Jack moves to kneel between your legs, runs a hand through your cunt and uses it to slick his cock before sliding it between your lips and running it through you, head nudging at your clit. “Love looking at your ass.” His hands grip your cheeks, squeeze a bit roughly.
You’ve come back down enough now that your mind is a little less hazy and you have the wherewithal to moan as you move your hips back and forth in time with his as he slides through you. Jack laughs, pinches one of your ass cheeks. “Impatient girl.” A hand presses into your lower back to still you and a second later you feel Jack’s other hand helping line himself up. “That’s okay, I’m a little impatient right now too.”
Jack slowly pushes into you, a flurry of curse words falling off his tongue as he does, a long moan from you until he bottoms out.
“We’ve barely started planning the wedding and I’m already impatient for you to be my wife.” Jack pulls out of you, right to the tip, hand still pressing into your lower back. “Impatient for you to have my last name.”
It’s slow at first, teasing the both of you really, long, patient strokes out of you followed by easing himself back in. It’s slow until it isn’t, because Jack doesn’t slowly build up to a faster pace. He just pulls out of you slowly again but snaps his hips to get himself inside of you quickly, sets an unrelenting pace, hands finding your hips and pulling you back onto him so he can fuck you harder with every thrust.
“You’re already mine,” Jack grunts. “So fucking mine, god!” You feel so good, are so wet and tight for him and he is so impossibly deep in you that it makes it harder for him to say what he wants, thought starts to go. “Everyone knows from the fucking rock on your finger.” He keeps fucking you at the same pace, doesn’t slow down for a second. It shakes the bed, hard, and it’s the reason he put you sideways, so the headboard didn’t keep slamming against the wall and earn you a noise complaint. “Everyone knows you belong to me. Knows you’re mine.”
You’re reduced to tears and moans by his words, struggle to keep yourself up as your whole body shakes.
“I love fucking you like this. Can get so deep, fuck you so hard.” His hands find just above your hips and he pushes down, hard, but not hard enough to hurt. It tilts your pelvis even further for him, lets him get even deeper. “Can fuck my pussy. So. Fucking. Deep.” Each word is punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips.
You sob at it at the same time Jack growls your name. He has never fucked you this deep before, has never been quite this feral. You have no idea what’s set him off like this but you’d like to know so you can keep it in your back pocket. It’s the last semi-coherent thought you have.
His pace grows frenetic, strokes just as hard and fast but not in the same regular rhythm they had been as Jack gets further drunk off you. Jack pulls out right before he’s about to come and you sob at the loss. You don’t have much time to think about it or be sad though because he’s flipping you over and leaning over you and thrusting back inside of you in seconds. He’s still though.
“You’ve been such a good girl,” he murmurs through a pant as he undoes the knot of the tie and unwraps your hands. “Taken it all so beautifully.” His praise makes you shiver as he removes your underwear from your mouth, makes the fire that’s taken over your body burn even hotter.
His hands take yours carefully and he kisses at some of the indented marks left by the tie before rubbing each hand and wrist out for a second. He wipes at your mouth after, helps remove the saliva that’s dripped out from having the gag in. You’re panting hard, punctuated by hiccupped breaths from your tears. “So good for me.” His thumb brushes over your lip and then he leans down and kisses you, presses his body into yours and slowly raises his hips to pull himself out of you.
Your hands run up his neck and tangle in his hair. The relief that feeling the unfairly silky strands against your hands brings you is almost comical. It’s just his hair. Just running your hands through his hair. The kiss isn’t as long as either of you would like since you’re both panting pretty hard, already out of breath. “I mean it you know.” He nods, pushing back in slowly, just like he had earlier. “I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”
“I know.” Your voice is raw. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“Good,” Jack murmurs, presses another soft kiss to your lips. “I have a promise to keep.”
He’s straightening up and throwing your legs over his shoulders before you can process his words and try to think about what promise he’s talking about. And then Jack’s right back to fucking you. Hard. With a kind of nearly reckless abandon that’s driven by sheer need.
“Jack!” You tug his hair hard and it just spurs him on, makes his hips move faster somehow. “Oh fuck, I’m, it’s too, you’re too…” You shake your head a little, don’t even know what you’re trying to say, “Please. Please.”
“Please what?” Jack pants out as he leans into you further, rolls your hips up more so he can get even deeper. “What Doll? Please what?”
“Any, anything!” You’re lost in the sensation of him. He’s all you have, all that exists to you right now. “I, I.” A little moaned sob leaves you as you give up trying, let your eyes flutter closed.
Jack laughs darkly. “You’re so fucking-” Jack has to stop to groan when you somehow find it in you to rock your hips in time with him. He doesn’t remember what he was going to say. “Mine,” he growls at your ear. “You’re fucking mine.” Jack slips his hands below your shoulders, rests on his elbows and curls his fingers in your hair. He uses it as leverage to push you down onto him so he can fuck you even harder. He’s got you nearly pressed in half, your hips tilted so far up he’s snapping his hips and fucking nearly straight down into you. “Look at me.”
“Jack, I, I, I can’t,” you stutter through a moan. “Can’t, I can’t.”
“Yes the fuck you can,” he growls. “I know you fucking can, Doll.” You force your eyes open, Jack coming into focus as your tears clear enough to really see him. You’re glad he made you open them because fuck does he look good. Jack is feral and possessive in a way you haven’t seen before and is fucking you harder than he ever has before and is somehow even deeper than in your last position. A few sweaty curls stick to his forehead, eyes absolutely wild, blown so wide you’d struggle to tell what color his irises are if you didn’t already know. His flushed face and neck are strained, veins more prominent than usual.
And Jack is looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists to him in this moment. Like he’s so attracted to you that he can’t get enough of you. Like fucking you is a privilege. Like he needs you so bad it hurts. Like he’ll never have enough of you. Like he knows you’re his in every sense of the word. Like he knows how good he’s fucking you, cocky and proud.
“That’s my good girl,” he purrs at you, all gravel and rasp. Every thrust steals your breath as it sends another wave of pleasure through you. It’s dizzying, how he’s making you feel physically and emotionally. He always makes you feel so wanted but it’s even more heightened right now. He’s desperate for you. You’re the only thing on his mind. “Whose are you?”
Your mouth opens and closes as you try to find the word, panting out small sobs until it mercifully runs through your mind. “Y-yours Jack,” you cry, “yours!”
“That’s fucking right,” he growls again, leans his head into your neck and sucks hard. “And.” it’s harder for him to get words out too. Jack’s just as pussy drunk as you are cock drunk. “What are you gonna fu-fucking be?”
Your hands slide from his hair down to the side of his neck and back. Jack loves the sharp pain it brings, somewhere some part of him knows he’ll have scratch marks and bruises tomorrow. You’re a panting, sweaty mess beneath him. “I…” You’re so far gone you hardly know how to begin to even try to think to find the word.
He sucks at your neck one last time and pulls back up. You haven’t answered him. “Eyes back on me,” he orders. You comply, eyes opening to find his again. “What’re you-” Jack groans as you squeeze him even tighter. “Fucking christ you’re so good, feel so fuckin’ good!” Jack’s derailed for a moment by his pleasure, the pleasure you’re giving him. But the promise comes back to him. “What’re you gonna be?”
You’re all whimpers and whines as you open and close your mouth as you look for the word. Jack chuckles darkly. He starts to mouth the word at you and it hits.
“Wife,” you moan, at the pleasure you’re feeling and the thought. “Your wife!”
“Fuck!” Jack snaps his hips even harder when you say it. He loves hearing you say it. “That’s right. My wife. My fucking wife. My fucking wife with her perfect fucking pussy that’s mine. You are fucking mine.” Jack starts to babble as he gets closer and closer. “Anything else to say Doll?” he chokes out through heavy pants.
You shake your head, let out a sob. You need this. Need him, need to come, need to feel him come. “Jack!” Your nails dig into his back and neck. “Jack!” you moan again. It’s the only word your brain can come up with unprompted.
“Good,” he grunts, panting hard as he shifts and slides a hand between you, circles at your clit. He doesn’t even mean to pull it from you that fast but you’re so close and so far fucking gone that it’s just a few swipes of his fingers and you’re coming, the pleasure searing every nerve.
You’ll look back and know that it’s easily the hardest you’ve ever come, easily. You’re rendered totally breathless, completely lost to the pleasure flooding you. Jack’s right behind you, his orgasm catching him just as off guard as yours caught you. You get so tight around him, sound so beautiful in the seconds before you come and force yourself to keep your eyes open and look at him, teary and fucked out and like you know you belong to him, that he’s slamming into you, pulling his hand from your clit and grinding himself against you as he tries to prolong his release and yours.
There are no words for either of you, both of you rendered completely speechless by the intensity of the orgasms ripping through you. Jack gets his voice back first, an absolutely strangled groan of your name from somewhere deep in his chest. It has to be one of the most erotic sounds you’ve ever heard him make. Your voice comes back shortly after, as do your tears because you are still so overwhelmed with pleasure and feelings and Jack. You moan his name over and over.
Jack collapses on you carefully, so that his head is at your chest and your torso isn’t completely covered by his making it harder to breathe. He’s shaking just as badly as you are, both of your bodies have no idea what to do with all the pleasure. You’re both panting hard, still a bit lost in your minds to it. You trade off moaned and groaned fucks and oh gods and I love yous and each other’s names as you come back down, occasional aftershocks hitting you both and making you whine. He kisses at your chest wherever his lips happen to reach.
Jack’s forcing himself to get back quicker. He has the instinctive drive to take care of you. You need him. That was a lot to take and you were properly sobbing. “Okay,” he finally pants out minutes later. “You are so fucking good, fuck me. You feel so good.” He pushes himself up so that he can lean down and give you some soft kisses to your lips and also your face, the bruise he sucked into your neck, your collarbones, the top of your breasts. “My good girl. So perfect and beautiful for me.” He gives you a few more kisses and then he forces himself to roll off you.
“Jack?” you whimper. You miss him already, miss his body weight helping calm your shakes and his warmth and his smell. You’d stopped sobbing and Jack doesn’t want you to get teary again.
“Shh,” he soothes you, “it’s okay, I’m right here.” Jack sits up and pulls you into his arms before grabbing the comforter and sliding you both up the bed so he can hold you as he reclines on the headboard. You curl into his chest once he’s settled and strong arms pull the comforter over the both of you before slipping under it and wrapping around you tightly, putting pressure on you to help with the shakes. His are almost gone now. “You did so fucking well,” he murmurs through softening pants. “I love you.” He kisses the top of your head. “You were so good, I’m so proud of you.”
“I love you too,” you murmur, absolutely fucking glowing in his arms at the praise, smiling to yourself as you nuzzle his chest. If his arms weren’t wrapped so tightly around your body you think you’d be floating away from how good you feel.
Jack shifts, grabs a bottle of water from the nightstand and opens it. “Water, yeah? Please.”
You whine at his request, but this one is playful, you’re back with him. “Don’t wanna move.”
Jack laughs softly. “You barely have to, just lift your head a little, okay?” You huff a little but do as he asks and he holds the water for you, tips it carefully so that it doesn’t flow too fast for you and pulls away when you start to pull back. “Thank you Doll.”
“Thank you,” you hum at him in response, settle your head back on his chest. “You’re so fucking good too, you know. I hope you know. I’ve never been fucked the way you fuck me.”
“Always. And I do know. Believe me, you make sure I fucking know.” Jack takes a couple of sips of his own before recapping the bottle and setting it on the table again. He holds you tight again, kisses the top of your head every now and then. “You doing okay, Doll?”
“So, so much more than okay.” You realize with how raw your voice is and how you’re still shaking a little it’s not very reassuring. “My body just,” you take in a deep breath, “doesn’t know what to do, but I feel good. I feel amazing. That was so fucking good Jack, you felt so fucking good, made me feel so fucking good. I feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have just gotten fucked like that.” You sigh so dreamily it makes you giggle.
“Good,” he murmurs, chuckles just a little from your last sentence and your giggles. He knows you’re okay and relaxes. “We’ll take a bath in a few minutes, yeah? You can go to the bathroom, have some more water for me. Maybe have a snack. And then I’ll massage you out a little, once we’re out of the bath, okay?”
“You don’t have to do that.” You kiss his chest because he’s the sweetest.
“I do. I always need to take care of you after regardless of how hard or soft it is. But more than that I always want to, okay?” Jack kisses the top of your head.
“I know. And I want to take care of you too.” You run a hand through his sweat damp curls, scratch at his scalp. Your shaking has stopped now.
Jack’s head leans into your hand on instinct because of how good it feels. “You always do,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. “I love you Doll.”
“I love you too Peter.” He can feel your smile against his chest. “Kinda sleepy.”
Jack lets out a little laugh through his nose. “I’m sure you are. I am too. Let’s get you into the bathroom, yeah? You can pee while I start the bath and then once we’re in you can even doze on me a bit if you want okay?”
“Yeah.” You nod a little and take in a deep breath before moving with Jack so that you’re both properly sitting up.
He stands up and holds his hands out for you. You’re so blissed out you don’t even realize he’d left his prosthetic on. “Ready?”
“Ready.” You grab his hands as you push off the bed and wow can you feel the soreness and stiffness already. And that’s on top of how your legs feel weak and shaky right now from how thoroughly you’ve just been fucked. You let out the softest groan of pain.
Jack catches it immediately, wraps his arm around you to help support you. “You okay?” You look up at Jack and nod, give him a smile. Because you are. You fucking love it. Love this feeling and how he takes care of you and lets you take care of him in the bath. Jack helps you into the bathroom and to the toilet while he starts the bath.
As always, he pours in a copious amount of bubble bath gel. You’d told him once that bubble baths were your favorite and so he always tries to make sure there’s something for you. Bubbles or a bath bomb, you’d mentioned liking those once. This is the upscale expensive brand bubble bath that the hotel provides. You both enjoy the way it smells.
“Peter?” you call to him from the small separate area where the toilet is.
“What’s up? You okay?” Jack’s already moving towards you.
“Can we have bubbles?” You support yourself on the wall and stand and flush as he comes into view. “I forgot to ask.”
Jack gets an arm around you to help support you and smiles, kissing and nipping at the tip of your nose just so he can hear your fucked-out, sleepy laugh again. “You’ve got bubbles already waiting for you, Doll. You never need to ask. I’ve got you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s the day of your third anniversary.
You and Jack didn’t abide by the whole not seeing each other or sleeping in the same bed the night before your wedding thing. You stir awake curled against Jack’s chest, nuzzling into him and intertwining your legs further as you settle back against his chest, not ready to fully wake up and open your eyes to the world. Jack’s hands start to rub up and down your back and you feel the vibrations of his low chuckle in his chest more than you hear it.
“I think it’s time to get up, sleepy girl,” Jack hums at you.
You shake your head against him lazily. “Don’t wanna leave this. You.”
Your voice is so sleepy and adorable Jack can hardly stand it. “You know what today is?”
“Mm,” you hum at him, make no effort to pull yourself further awake. “Saturday.” Jack scoffs a laugh and rolls his eyes affectionately even though you can’t see. You smile against his chest as he shakes his head. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” Jack concedes, gives your ass a little pinch. That makes you jolt in his arms and yelp, not because it hurt because it surprised you. “But that’s not what I was looking for.”
“I can’t believe you just pinched my ass to wake me up on the morning of our third anniversary and wedding!” You don’t move an inch and Jack gets the answers he was looking for.
“I did not!” Jack huffs with a laugh. “You were already awake when I pinched you!”
“The pedantism I’m facing at this hour of the morning is unreal,” you sigh dramatically.
“Oh that was hardly pedantic, and you know it.”
“I know no such thing. But,” you pause for effect and to kiss at Jack’s collarbone, nibble at it just a little. The reaction from him is immediate, hips canting just slightly against yours. You’ve felt how hard he’s been this entire time. “I do know that if we stop debating it you’ll have enough time to fuck me one last time as your fiancée. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”
Jack’s already rolling you onto your back before you even finish the word fiancée. “Say it again.” His voice is lower than normal, more grit to it than usual even for mornings. The thought is too much. He knew it of course, you kind of half did last night just in case you wouldn’t have time this morning but still.
“Fuck me one last time as your fiancée Jack.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at the salt and pepper curls that are just a centimeter or so longer than when you met as Jack starts kissing at your neck, just kisses, just uses his lips to tease you and grinds up against you. “Fuck me one last time with this last name.” Jack stills at that. Obviously he knew your last name was changing but until you said it he hadn’t thought about it in this context. It makes him a little more feral somehow. He lifts his head from your neck and gazes down at you, eyes blown wide and panting a little. You can tell from his gaze that he’s about to, that he’s already there and thinking of ways he can go hard without risking marking you or making you unable to walk or making you cry and risk swollen eyes.
“Jack,” you moan his name softly as you roll your hips as he grinds against you. “Fuck me one last time before my last name is Abbot.”
And so he does.
Jack stands in front of his dress blues where they hang waiting for him to put them on. It’s hard not to think about it, about the last time he saw himself wearing these. At your funeral. And yes, it was just a nightmare, but still. He can’t help the little pang that hits him. You could have died. He’s so aware of it. He could be standing in front of them trying to force himself to get in them so he could get to your funeral. You could have died.
But you didn’t. You’re alive and off in your own room getting your hair and makeup done, slipping into your wedding dress. The thought makes him smile. Jack is wearing his dress blues to marry you, to start a new chapter with you, not to say goodbye to you.
“You good?” Robby walks in before Jack can fully pull himself out of it.
“Yeah,” Jack nods. “I’m more than good. I’m marrying her today.” Robby doesn’t say anything, waits to see if Jack has more to say. “In that nightmare, of her funeral, I wore my dress blues. And Michael, she is so fucking good and imperfectly perfect and so herself and she loves me so fucking much, with this intensity that I’m not sure I deserve that it feels like it’s too good to be true somedays, like she’s too good. Like this life with her is the dream and that nightmare is reality and I’m going to wake up any second in your guest bedroom without her and be back in that nightmare.”
Robby nods slowly, takes in a breath as he thinks. “Well,” he draws the word out in contemplation. “I can promise you this isn’t a dream Jack. You’re not waking up from this to the nightmare that life without her would be for you.”
“I know. And I don’t want to seem sad, because I’m not, I’m so far away from sad.” Jack pauses, gets a little quieter. “She’s everything, Michael. She’s the only thing I’ll ever need. And I’m marrying her today and it’s so fucking cliché but it feels too good to be true because what could I have ever done in any lifetime, let alone this one, to deserve her?”
“I don’t think you’re sad Jack. I think you’re in love and about to get married and with everything you guys have been through I can understand why it’d throw you for a second.” Robby walks in the room a little closer to Jack and leans his back against the wall the closet is on so he can see Jack’s face. “But I know for a fact that she’s getting ready right now thinking, for reasons I may never personally understand,” he lets out a small laugh which Jack preemptively rolls his eyes at, “the same about you. That you’re too good to be true. That life with you is a dream or too good to be true. And knowing her how I do now, I’d be willing to hazard a guess that she’s probably not sure what she did to deserve you either, not sure she deserves you.”
Jack finally pulls his eyes from his dress blues to look over at Robby. He doesn’t say anything though, voice just a little too thick with emotion.
“And to that I have two things to say. One,” he holds out a finger of his left hand horizontally in front of him and wraps his right hand around it, “I love you both dearly, I really do, but you are both fucking idiots for thinking you don’t deserve each other and your love. And two,” he moves his right hand off his one finger and holds out a second that his right hand then wraps back around, “you do deserve each other and each other’s love. Why is she worthy of your love, but you’re not worthy of hers?” It’s a rhetorical question. “Because Jack, you say she’s everything and I know she is, I believe you. I see the way you look at her and hear the way you talk about her. But you are everything to her in the same way, the same capacity. She looks at you the same way, talks about you the same way. The way that you love her and feel about her and the intensity of your love for her, is exactly the same as how she loves you and feels about you and the intensity of her love for you.” Robby shakes his head a little and takes in a big breath before letting it out. “And she deserves you and your love, right?” Jack nods. “Well Jack, you deserve her love. And I think that today, on the day of your wedding, would be a really good day to let yourself accept that. That you deserve her and her love and to be loved at the same intensity with which you love her.”
It’s quiet as the two look at each other. Robby’s words hit Jack hard. He’s right. Jack hates admitting it but he’s right. All he can do is nod at Robby who gives him a little smile in return. After a second Jack clears his throat. “God Michael, our therapist is really rubbing off on you. How often are you seeing him? You thinking about leaving me to go become a psychologist?”
“Ha!” Robby laughs. He knows by the use of his real name that Jack’s thanking him in the only way he can right now. “He’s got jokes.”
Jack laughs with him but grows a little more serious. “Are you going to give her the same spiel?
Robby nods. “I can go right now and do it, see her in her-”
“No! Do not!” Jack cuts him off, Robby smirking and laughing. “You can talk to her through the door. Or have a dance with her or something later.”
“Whatever you want, brother. Get dressed.” Robby squeezes Jack’s shoulder as he walks by to step out of the room.
Jack lingers on his hanging dress blues for just another second before taking them down and getting into them. Robby walks back in once he has his shirt and pants on, jacket still hanging. “For you.” Robby hands him a decently sized small box.
“Aw, Robby, you shouldn’t have,” Jack teases him.
Robby snorts. “I didn’t.”
Jack’s eyebrows raise at that and he opens the box. Inside is another box, a recognizable box and in that box is a watch. He finds a small note. So you can’t be late to our forever. ;) I love you more, Doll. Jack lets out a little laugh to himself, shakes his head. He sets the boxes on the dresser in front of him and takes the watch out, puts it on. It fits perfectly without needing any links removed or added and he’s sure it’s because you measured his wrist during the night or when he fell asleep on the couch at some point.
“Ready?” Robby is holding Jack’s coat open for him. Jack nods and slips it on, stands in front of the mirror while he buttons it to check it all looks okay. He makes sure to slide two handkerchiefs into one of his pockets. “I have the rings.” Robby touches where his inside pocket is. There’s a knock on the door. “I think that’s my cue.” Robby walks over to Jack and they share a hug. “I’m so happy for you Jack. I’ll send her in, yeah?” Jack nods and Robby starts walking over to the door.
Not far away you’re in your own room getting ready. Even though you and Jack had decided not to have a bridal party, your dress shopping party is there with you, getting hair and makeup done too as they prefer, just for the experience and fun.
Once you’re done you sit around chatting as Heather, Dana, Mel and your friend get theirs done. You laugh at something Dana says as Mel walks up and sits next to you. “I have something for you.” She hands you a box that’s six or seven inches in length, not overly thick.
You take the box from her and smile. “Thank you Mel, that’s so sweet of you.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not from me.” You furrow your brows at her and give her a confused smile. “I think you should open it.”
You give her one last confused look and then unwrap the box. It has a note on top. Something new. Love you more, Peter. You shake your head as you smile to yourself. You remember him asking on the way to your bridal shower. You hadn’t thought much of it since then, but had a moment or two where you kind of wished you could. At least now you’ll have one of the four. You set the note aside and open the box. “Oh my god, Jack,” you whisper to yourself as you take in the diamond tennis bracelet. The metal matches that of your engagement and wedding rings, diamonds the perfect shape.
“Wow,” Mel laughs a little stunned as she takes in the bracelet with you. “It’s beautiful. Very sparkly.”
“I love sparkly,” you murmur to yourself as you nod slowly, still a little stunned. You’re not surprised by it in the sense that it’s a very Jack thing to do, you’re just still in disbelief sometimes that you found Jack, think you probably don’t deserve someone as good as him. He did this for you. Got this for you. Just because he wanted to.
“Want me to put it on?” Mel asks.
You glance up at Mel at her words. It takes a moment for them to process and then you nod. “Please.” She takes it carefully from the box and you hold your wrist up for her. She brings it over and gets it clasped and you shake your wrist a little to get it to settle. “Fuck,” you breathe out. It’s even more stunning on.
“Yeah, I’ll say.” Heather smirks as she comes closer to take a look, Dana and your friend following. You all spend too long looking at it before you settle back in.
Your friend is the next one to come sit by you. She hands you a box that’s a little bigger than a necklace box. “This one is not from your almost husband. It’s from me.” She raises her eyebrows at you and gives you a little smirk as you start to open it. Inside is the garter she’d helped you pick out one day, only in a light shade of blue. “Something blue.”
“Thank you,” you tell her with a slightly trembling voice. You know she hand dyed it for you, took that time out of her busy schedule to do that for you. “It’s even more beautiful in blue,” you laugh. Your laugh draws attention and you quickly hold it up. “Pretty blue garter,” the three who work with Jack collectively make noises of fake disgust and gagging, “mhm, yep, that’s what I thought.” You all share a laugh.
You smile at Heather when she comes to sit by you. “Old or borrowed?” You ask with a smirk and raised brows.
She’s smiling as she offers you what is a necklace box. “I’m not sure if it really counts as old,” she says as you open it, “so I have a backup just in case.” You raise your brows at her as you take the lid off. Inside is a larger cameo locket with a humming bird on it. It’s beautiful in its simplicity. “Open it. Also I didn’t envision you wearing it, I thought maybe you could wrap the chain around your bouquet, have the locket in the front or back depending on what you think.”
You carefully take it out of the box and open it. Inside is a locket sized photo of you and Jack. “Oh my god,” you whisper. “That’s the first photo Jack and I ever took together.” You look up at Heather glassy eyed. “How?”
“Remember when we went to that cocktail bar a month or so ago and I happened to bring up photos in conversation and steered it towards first photos of all the couples. You showed me your guys’ while Dana was showing you the one of her and her husband she’d taken a picture of on her phone. I was able to air drop it to myself before giving your phone back. I took a little advantage of you being a little tipsy.” She shrugs, but you both laugh. You’re back to looking at the photo of you and Jack, running your finger down the edge of the locket. “I found the locket itself at an antique store. Hummingbirds are a symbol of resilience because of how resilient they are. And with everything that you guys have already survived together, resilience felt right for the two of you.”
“Heather,” you breathe shakily, as you look back to her, lips pressed in a line but pulled up in a smile that says you’re trying not to cry. “This is incredible. Thank you.”
“That’s so fuckin sweet,” Dana dabs at her eyes. It’s then you realize her, Mel and your friend have gotten close. You pass the locket around so they can all see the photo. “You’re making us all look bad Heather!”
Heather laughs and shrugs. “Idea just came to me.” You smile at her again and reach out and squeeze her hand, nodding at her in thanks again.
“Well, I suppose cat’s outta the bag that I’m borrowed.” Dana walks over to her purse and grabs a small ring box from it and hands it to you. You open it to reveal a beautiful art deco style ring inlaid with diamonds. “I know it’s a very particular style, but that ring has been worn by every Evans woman who has gotten married for the last hundred and two years. Not a single divorce.”
“Oh Dana, it’s beautiful.” You look up at her. “But I’m not an Evans and I wouldn’t want to risk messing up it’s ma-”
“No.” Dana cuts you off with a ‘please’ look. “None of that bullshit. You are an Evans. So is Jack. Even if not in name.” You look back down at the ring and then up at her, round eyes and eyebrows slightly furrowed, a silent ‘really?’ “I brought ring sizers just in case it doesn’t fit on a finger on your right hand. We can make it work.”
“Thank you,” you whisper when she gets closer, swallowing thickly. “It means more than you know.” Dana doesn’t say anything back, just smiles as she helps you try on the ring. It fits perfectly on your right ring finger, your engagement ring sitting above it for now until after the ceremony. Once you have the ring on and the locket around your bouquet, you set your garter on the bed to put on before your dress. “There we go. Something old something new something borrowed something blue. He made it happen. That man.” You laugh a little to yourself as do the others.
“So,” Mel clears her throat, “the rhyme actually ends with ‘and a sixpence in her shoe.’ I wasn’t really sure if you’d want to do that or if someone else would get one, so I got one just in case. It goes in the left shoe” Mel holds it up. “I brought some quick set epoxy if you wanted to glue it to the bottom of your shoe if it’s heeled and has a spot that won’t hit the ground, or it has a small hole and can become like a charm or even get sewn onto the shoe. Or you can put it somewhere else. If you want.” She smiles at you. “But totally cool if you don’t.”
“No no, we have to have the full rhyme!” You cock your head at her and smile. “It’s perfect Mel. Thank you so much.” You walk over and grab your shoes. “Help me get it on my left shoe somewhere?” Mel nods and the two of you step over to the desk to survey your options and decide how best to do it while everyone else finishes up. “Thank you Mel. I would have been so annoyed if I found out we didn’t do the entire thing after,” you laugh.
“I thought you might be,” she laughs with you. “I’m glad it worked out.” By the time you and Mel turn back to the group everyone is finished with hair and makeup.
“All right, we’ll head out and let you get dressed.” Heather gives you a knowing smile and walks over to hug you tight, followed by Mel and your friend, each of them congratulating you and saying how happy they are for you and Jack before walking out.
The door closes and it’s just you and Dana now. She was the only one who went to any of your fittings with you, so she’s the only one to see you in the dress with it fitted properly. It doesn’t take long to get you in it, all things considered, and your accessories don’t take too long either.
Dana steps back to survey you for a few seconds before you turn to look at yourself in the mirror. The dress still makes you feel like it did when you first bought it. It makes you feel good, makes you feel how Jack makes you feel when he looks at you. Special and beautiful. And this is it. You’re in your dress for real this time. All of your accessories on, hair and makeup done, shoes on. You’re going to go walk down the aisle to Jack in not more than ten minutes.
“You look beautiful, kid.” Dana’s eyes are a little glassy as you look at each other through the mirror. “I’m really happy for you guys. You are so so good for him. I’ve never seen him so happy, and I’ve known him a long time.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, giving her a tight smile and tilting your head back a little trying to stop any tears from forming. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to cry yet.”
Dana laughs. “It’s okay. If you’re all good I’m going to head to my seat.”
You nod. “Thank you. I mean it Dana. We’re lucky to have you.” She gives you one of her smiles and nods, goes to turn. “You should go see Jack. Before you sit down.” Dana’s eyebrows furrow as she turns back to look at you. “Promise me you’ll go.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion a little but she nods and walks out.
She knocks when she reaches Jack’s room. “There you are.” Robby smiles at her as he opens the door. “You look very lovely.”
Dana gives him a suspicious look. “Thanks. You don’t clean up top bad yourself Cap. Is there a reason I’m here?”
Robby nods and she walks in the room. “He’ll explain. I’ll see you out there.” He gives her a last smile before exiting the room, the door closing behind him.
“Jack?” Dana calls out as she moves further in the room. He smiles at her as he walks out from the bathroom, fully dressed and ready. “Wow,” Dana lets out a low whistle. “Aren’t you a sight?” She walks over to him and gives him a hug, a kiss on the cheek.
“You look pretty damn good yourself,” Jack tells her.
She waves him off. “You look very handsome. She’s gonna cry. And you’re definitely gonna cry when you see her.” She rubs in that she’s seen you just a little, earns the smallest eye roll from Jack. “You need something? Your bride got all mysterious on me, ‘promise me you’ll go see Jack’ and then Robby answers the door grinning like an idiot and offering no explanations.”
Jack shrugs at her, smiling like he knows something she doesn’t and that’s going to make her react. “I need someone to walk me down the aisle.”
Dana’s head lolls forward a little, eyebrows raising as she stares at Jack. “I thought you guys weren’t doing that.”
Jack shakes his head. “She decided not to have anyone walk her down the aisle. I never decided I wouldn’t have anyone.” Dana’s still looking at him in disbelief. “I want someone to. And who better to do so than the second most important woman in my life?” Dana’s eyes get watery and she cocks her head at Jack, silent because she’ll cry if she tries to speak. “You know I mean that and that it’s true,” Jack tells her softly.
Dana nods at him. “Jack, I…” She fans at her face and grabs a tissue from the nearby box, dabs at her eyes. “You’re pretty important to me too, you know that?” She whispers as she wraps him in another hug. He laughs softly and nods. “I’m so happy for you Jack. For both of you. She’s everything you’ve ever deserved. I’m so glad you found your one.” Dana sniffles and finishes wiping at her eyes. “I’d be very proud to walk you down the aisle.”
Jack offers Dana his arm and she takes it, the two of them leaving the room and heading to the ceremony space. Robby is waiting for them in the staging space that’s hidden off to the side of the top of the aisle. The three share a look and Robby cues who he needs to so that the music starts.
Robby walks down first, takes his place at the top of the altar facing the audience, padfolio with his notes in hand. The music changes slightly and Dana and Jack start walking down the aisle. The change in the music is also your cue to wait ten seconds or so and then go to the staging area yourself and wait for your music to hit.
There are murmurs of approval and appreciation and hums of aw as Dana and Jack walk down the aisle. The only people who have seen Jack in his dress blues before are those who were in his unit. For everyone else, your friends, all of the Pitt family, it’s the first time. He looks good in them, of that there is no question.
When they hit the end of the aisle Dana rests her cheek against Jack’s and gives him a little cheek kiss as they hug again. “I’m so proud of you Jack. And so, so happy for you,” she whispers to him. “You deserve this, yeah. The both of you do.”
“Thank you, Dana.” Jack rubs her back a little. “You have no idea how much we appreciate you and everything you’ve done for us. And for me over the years.”
She nods at him as she pulls away and takes her seat right on the aisle of one side of the front row. Jack walks up the altar and shares a handshake and quick hug with Robby before he settles just in front of him, turning to face the top of the aisle.
Jack looks around at everyone who came. The ceremony space is completely full. It’s small, but big enough, an intimate ceremony of just you and your closest friends and family. Neither of you wanted something huge. All of Jack’s unit minus one are there with their significant others if they have one, your friend and a few of your closest work friends and what feels like most of the Pitt and their significant others where applicable, plus Dana’s kids, Langdon’s kids, Harrison, Becca and Jake.
In his mind he notes that it feels like entire damn department is here and he can’t help but wonder who the fuck is staffing it right now. Jack is actually able to smile to himself at the thought despite the small pang. He thought the same exact thing to himself in that nightmare. But this time while it still doesn’t really matter and he doesn’t really care because he’s here with you getting married, he will be going back to that hospital. He lets himself wonder about it more, wonder if Robby somehow pulled off getting nearly an entire moonlighter crew so everyone could be here.
Jack can’t believe it’s finally time, that he finally gets to see you in your wedding dress and marry you. His heart races and he breathes a little faster and harder in anticipation. He’s sure that if he didn’t have one hand clasping the back of the other and hanging down in front of him they’d be shaking.
Your photographers get into position so that photos can be captured of both you and Jack seeing each other for the first time. They stay as inconspicuous and as out of the way as possible.
In the staging area at the top of the aisle your heart is racing just as fast as Jack’s if not a little faster because you still have to walk down the aisle, by yourself, with all eyes on you and not trip or fall or otherwise stumble. And you can’t help the thought of what if he hates my dress from running around your brain. Your bouquet shakes as you hold it with one hand, smooth out your dress with the other as you wait for the music.
You force yourself to take a couple of deep breaths and pull it together. You know really the anxiety is more eagerness than anything. You just want to be married already, want to be kissing Jack and in his arms and crying about how much you love him. You can’t believe the day is finally here. You remember you get to see him in his dress blues for the first time now and it helps you focus and smile.
The music you’ve chosen to walk down the aisle to starts and you hear Robby ask everyone to stand. You hold your bouquet with both hands low in front of you and take in one last deep breath before you round the corner and hit the top of the aisle.
Seeing each other for the first time is quickly etched into your memories. Neither of you will ever forget the moment, forget the way you struggled to breathe for a second or how everything and everyone else seemed to fade away.
Jack’s breath catches in his throat when he sees you, a beaming smile pulling on his face and tears hitting him immediately. “Oh my god,” he breathes out quietly for only Robby to hear as he shakes his head at you a little in disbelief, his first tears of the ceremony starting to stream down his face.
While everyone is looking at you Jack brings a hand up to his heart and lays it flat over it for a second before closing it into a fist and nodding at you a little. He grabs one of the handkerchiefs from his pocket to wipe at his tears as Robby squeezes his shoulder silently.
Jack tried to imagine your dress, what it would look like, what you would look like in it and he never got anywhere close. You look perfect in it, more beautiful and stunning than Jack could have ever hoped to imagine. Your dress fits you perfectly, both in fit and in personality. It matches you, your personality and energy, complements your natural beauty without overtaking you. The dress, while gorgeous, isn’t the focus. The focus is you, just as it should be, he thinks.
You’re a vision as you walk towards him, radiant and ethereal and breathtaking. And somehow you’re his. His girl, his woman. You’re about to be his wife and Jack doesn’t know how he got so fucking lucky. He sniffles as more tears fall that he was to wipe away.
You have to remind yourself to breathe as you start walking, because Jack steals all the air from you as soon as you look at him. Your eyes glance at the path in front of you and then back to him because you just can’t look anywhere else. You suddenly don’t care if you trip or stumble or fall because you weren’t looking where you were walking, taking in Jack, looking at him and returning his gaze is worth the risk. You return his beaming smile, your eyes tearing up just as his do.
He’s so handsome. He always is but him in his dress blues on your wedding day is a different type of handsome. He almost looks regal in a sense with how perfectly they fit him and how sharply pressed they are, highlighting his chiseled features. He’s breathtaking, truly. And somehow he’s yours. Your man, your Jack. He’s about to be your husband. The thought makes you laugh to yourself a little as your first tears of the ceremony spill over and onto your cheeks.
Jack looks at you like you’re the last sight he ever needs to see to die a happy man as you walk towards him, like you’re the only thing that exists in the world right now and the most precious and beautiful thing that exists. Because you are. And you look at him the exact same way, like you’re walking towards your future and the only thing that matters. Because he is.
The two of you beam at each other even harder as you walk closer and closer to him. Your eyes roam each other more the closer you get, just for a few seconds to take in more details before you look back into the other’s eyes.
As you reach the end of the aisle you slip your bouquet to Dana and take the hand Jack offers you. “Please be seated.” Robby nods at the audience.
“Worth the wait I hope?” you whisper to Jack as you stand across from him and face him, voice trembling and more tears sliding down your face.
“You’re,” Jack shakes his head, struggling to come up with any words that could even begin to describe how stunning you look right now. He has to settle for simple. “You’re beautiful, Doll.” You know what he means, know that beautiful means what it always does but that there’s an extra indescribable edge to it right now. You know because it’s how you feel about him. “Gorgeous. There aren’t words,” he whispers to you.
“That’s how I feel, there aren’t words for you either.” The smile you give him is a little trembly as a fresh wave of overwhelming love hits you. “You’re so handsome, Jack. Unfairly so.” And just like beautiful, handsome also has that edge that Jack recognizes.
He laughs a little and then Jack can’t help himself. He captures your chin with his thumb and index finger and leans in, steals a kiss from you. It’s your last kiss before you’re married.
“You skipped a couple of steps there, brother,” Robby teases Jack as the two of you settle back in your respective positions facing each other, eliciting a soft laugh from the audience.
You hold one of Jack’s hands and use the other to wipe at the tears on your face, a mix of yours and Jack’s now. Jack drops your hand for a moment to switch his handkerchief to his other hand so he can reach into his pocket and pull out the second handkerchief.
It makes you laugh when you take it from him, more tears slip down your face. “Always so prepared.”
“I try.” He smiles at you and wipes away more of his own tears as you do the same before you grab each other’s hands again, one pair of hands less held than the other as you both hang onto handkerchiefs.
You both know there’s going to be a lot of tears during this ceremony for the two of you and that getting your vows out is going to be difficult. Everyone knows it. Because it’s not just that this is your wedding and you’re so in love and finally getting married. It’s because it almost didn’t happen. Because you’re both so acutely aware of how precious time and your love is. Because Jack was almost planning your funeral and not helping you plan your wedding.
“Are we all ready now?” Robby smiles, asking not just you and Jack but also your guests. It pulls laughs, and excited calls of yes and it’s about time and finally. It’s perfect, it’s the atmosphere you and Jack wanted. You didn’t want stuffy or overly formal. You wanted it to reflect the two of you and Robby’s question has set the perfect tone.
“More than,” you laugh softly, squeezing Jack’s hands.
“More than,” Jack agrees, beaming at you and laughing a little as he returns your squeeze.
“Great! Well, welcome everybody to what I know will be an emotional but incredibly joyous and fun wedding. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Robby, or Michael, when Jack is mad at me, and I’m their favorite third wheel.” Robby gives a self-satisfied smile as he says it, and you, Jack and the audience all laugh. It’s true.
“Their love story has not been the easiest. Before they were even engaged they faced challenges most couples, married or otherwise, never have to. And hopefully they’ll never have to again. I also want to say quickly that I got their permission to talk about what happened. I'm not just up here bringing up one of the most traumatic and difficult times of both of their lives individually and their life as a couple.” There’s more laughter from everyone at that.
As much as you and Jack truly are paying attention to what Robby says, your eyes aren’t coming off one another. For the most part it’s all eye contact, just how Jack loves, but sometimes you both let your eyes wander to take in the other more, you eyes dragging down Jack to appreciate him in his dress blues again and his roaming you to take in you in your dress and every detail of it.
“God knows they’ve had too much practice but something that stands out about their love to me is their ability to weather their worst days together. It’s one thing to stand next to each other and survive on the best days, when things are great and easy and another to stand next to each other and survive on the worst days, when things truly probably couldn’t get any worse and qualify as one of the worst days of their lives. And I truly mean weathering their worst days together because they’re always there for each other.” Robby takes a moment to let the words linger and glances down at his notes.
“People say that relationships and love aren’t always 50-50. That sometimes one person is at 10% and so, in the best relationships, the other is at 90%. And that’s them.” He nods as he says it and there’s a few murmurs of agreement from the audience.
“They have this constant give and take, this way of adapting for the other. And if one of them is at 10% and the other falls even lower, to 5%, they’re both able to set their struggle aside for the moment and immediately be at 95% for the other. They never let the other be alone in their struggles or in their joy.” Robby pauses for a second, has to clear his throat, the emotion clearly starting to get to him. “It’s quite incredible to watch.”
Robby shifts his attention to address you and Jack directly. “I am so incredibly happy for the both of you. I have never met two individuals who deserve this happiness and love and life together more. I love you both very much,” his voice trembles a little as he says it, “and I wish you nothing but a lifetime of adventure, laughter, peace, joy and love.”
You both look up at Robby as he says it. His eyes are glassy, and wet with unshed tears that are threatening to spill over. Jack nods at him, the two sharing a knowing smile. When Robby’s attention shifts to you, you mouth ‘we love you too’ and a few of those unshed tears slip down his cheeks.
“I’m going to share two moments, my favorite moment that I’ve had with each of you that’s really kind of about the other one of you and then I’ll move this along, I promise.” Robby sniffles, wipes quickly at his eyes and takes a deep breath. You and Jack look back at each other and raise your eyebrows as you both grin in anticipation. You both correctly know you’re about to hear a story you’ve never heard before.
“I’ll start with you Jack. Years ago now, there was a really bad day at work and you and I were walking out into the darkness. You said something about preferring working nights and I asked if you were sick of working them yet and you said that your therapist thought you found comfort in the darkness.” You laugh softly at that, as does the audience. It sounds like Jack.
“So fast forward two years and we’re walking out of the Pitt together one day as you’re getting off, you know actually it must have been three years and four or five days ago because it was a couple of days before your first anniversary. I asked you if you could cover a shift, fully expecting a yes. I was asking but I was so positive you’d say yes because you’re Jack and you always said yes to working. But you said no.” Robby pulls his mouth together in a grimace and nods at the audience to pull a few laughs.
“No because it was your first anniversary together. And then,” Robby laughs to himself a little and cocks his head for a second, “like you’re just saying the sky is blue and not about to rock my entire world you said, ‘also, I’m switching to days, it’s better for us.’ I was honestly impressed with myself that I processed that news fast enough to call out a question to you before you were too far away to hear. I yelled at you, ‘I thought you found comfort in the darkness?’ and you turned around and looked at your phone which was definitely a photo of you by that point and smiled as you yelled back ‘guess I find it somewhere else now.’” A soft chorus of ‘aww’ rings through the audience.
You tilt your head at Jack, chin trembling as your lips press together in a tight smile as you try and keep it together, silently asking him ‘really’ as your eyebrows draw together. Jack’s smile softens, eyes looking at you fondly, almost nostalgically and he squeezes your hands. He gives you a few small nods and your tears return.
“And I knew as I walked back into the Pitt, yes to go straight to Dana to tell her,” everyone laughs loudly at that, including you, Jack and Robby, “that even if you hadn’t told me yet, you were already planning a proposal. Sure enough, a couple of days later you told me you were going to propose, not sure when or how or where yet, but she’s it. She’s the one. ‘She’s my forever,’ I believe are the exact words.”
“Oh Jack,” you whisper just loud enough for him and him alone to hear, more tears falling. You wish that you could hug and kiss him and thank him for making you feel so loved all the time. Because he does and in the moment, hearing that story it’s overwhelming. You’re not sure how you’ll survive his vows. Your hands squeeze his before you drop one and use the handkerchief he gave you to dab at your eyes again and blot up the tears that have already wet your face. Jack remembers that conversation well, remembers how that smile at the end that Robby mentioned lasted his entire walk home. And somehow, he realizes, he loves you even more in this moment than he did then.
Robby glances at you with a little conspiratorial smile. “And you. Just under two years ago, you and I were sitting in your hospital room talking. It was truly just you and I because Jack was showering. You’d been out of your coma for just shy of two days so we’d really known each other and had the opportunity to talk for five-ish days or so I wanna say. So we’re talking and you ask me to go to the grocery store for you. I said ‘sure of course, just make me a list.’” Robby nods a little as he remembers while he speaks.
“I give you my little notepad and a pen and it took you maybe five minutes to write down this fairly long grocery list. I remember thinking it was great that you had all these things you wanted and had an appetite and us having a battle about me taking your card to pay for things but anyway I take the list and after my shift I go, don’t think much of it.” He shrugs, glances at you and then the audience. You already know what’s coming and you know that you never told Jack.
“I get to the store and start shopping and realize two things. First, that the list isn’t quite as long as I initially thought because you’d written brand names and specific flavors for things. And second,” he pauses to laugh a little, “every single thing on that list was one of Jack’s favorite things. Every single thing, I swear to god.”
Robby’s nodding at Jack, not that Jack sees it. He’s far too focused on you, asking you a ‘really’ with his eyes the same way you did, tears threatening to wet his face and a wobbly smile. And just like him you give him a few nods, squeeze his hands.
“So I call you and you answer and said ‘hey if you’re looking for Jack he’s down getting the dinner delivery he ordered so he might not be able to answer.’ And I’m like ‘no I’m looking for you. I’m at the store and this list is all for Jack. Is there anything you want?’ You tell me ‘No, I put what matters and what we need on it.’” Robby glances at you, smiles at the way you’re looking at Jack.
“I press you, ‘okay but are you sure?’ You said ‘Robby, please. He’s not eating enough here and it’s not healthy for him. He can’t eat big meals right now, he just picks at everything and you and I both know him and know he’s a snacker, a grazer. But he doesn’t have any snacks here. So he’s not really eating. Please. The list is what we need. What I need.’”
Jack’s hands squeeze yours again, harder this time as ‘what I need’ echoes in his mind and tears slide down his face. You were focused on him during that time, you were watching him and taking care of him without him knowing it. It’s so you and he could almost drown in it, your love for him. “Doll,” it’s whispered, barely audible to you with how his voice cracks over it, hand dropping yours to wipe away his tears. Your heart aches in the moment from how much you love him. Like Jack you remember this story fairly well despite your health status at the time because it was the first super personal conversation you had with Robby. You can remember the genuine anxiety you had at the time because Jack wasn’t eating enough and it scared you. And also like Jack, somehow, you realize, you love him even more in this moment than you did then.
“We hung up and it really sank in as I walked around shopping. You were just shot, had multiple major surgeries, a skull fracture, you had been out of a coma for less than 48 hours and you’re worried about Jack.” Robby shakes his head and lets out a small incredulous laugh. “You’re noticing Jack not eating enough and that he’s not eating big meals and remembering that he’s a snacker. You’re still pretty heavily medicated and you’re pulling out brand names and flavors of Jack’s favorite things. That’s when I knew if he asked you’d say yes and, selfishly in a way, it’s when I was convinced that you were the one for him and when I knew I wanted him to ask you.” All three of you, and probably close to the whole damn audience, have to take a second to clean up your tears.
“And so here we are today. At your wedding. You were two strangers in a bookstore. There was nothing between you. But from that nothing you slowly forged what has to be the most beautiful and profound love I’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing.” Robby’s voice wobbles and he pauses for a second, lets out a breath.
“These two have decided to write their own vows, so get your tissues ready, I’m sure.” After deciding on personal vows you and Jack had decided to end them with five promises to each other. “Jack, we’ll start with you.”
Jack takes in a deep breath and drops one of your hands so that he can grab his vows from his pocket.
He starts with your name, squeezing your hand that he’s still holding. “I’m going to start with some honesty,” he gives you a little smile. “I struggled to write these. Not because I couldn’t think of what to say but because there’s too much to say, there’s too much I want to tell you and promise you, too much you deserve to hear. And I could stand here and talk for hours and say all the words and it would never be enough to tell you how much I love you, how deep my love for you runs or how embedded in my soul you, and my love for you and your love for me is.” You start to cry because you know how much he means it and because you get it, feel the exact same way.
“Doll, you are easily the biggest overthinker I know,” he laughs a little as he says it, smiling at you while you and the audience also laugh. He glances down at his vows before looking into your eyes again. He did his best to memorize them so that he can look you in your eyes as he speaks his vows to you. “And I say that with all the love in the world, I truly do, because I know it means that you have thought of every single reason not to love me or marry me and yet here you are. Loving me. Marrying me. You jumped head first and with your eyes wide open into loving me and you’ll never know what it means to me to have that kind of pure acceptance,” Jack’s voice trembles, “and to know that you’ve seen every bad part of me, every flaw and imperfection and have overthought it all and that you,” he has to stop as his voice breaks and he sucks in a shuddery breath to stifle the smallest sob. He just barely clears his throat, like he knows that he’s going to have to choke out his next line and pause after it regardless of how much he tries to prepare now. “And that you accept it all and choose to love me despite all my flaws and imperfections.” It almost sounds whispered with how raw and hoarse his voice is as he says it, but everyone hears it. Jack sniffles, drops your hand and takes a few seconds to wipe the tears from his face and collect himself before taking your hand again and continuing.
“You truly have no idea just how much you save me every day, heal a little piece of me with every smile and kiss and ‘Peter.’ You’re my comfort,” he tilts his head and gives you a lopsided grin that meets his eyes hard as he echoes what he told Robby two years ago, this time straight to you with tears flowing down both of your cheeks, “my salvation and my strength. You’re my home and my world. I told you once that you’re my best everything and I mean it. You are my best everything. You are the greatest and best part of me. I love you more than I know what to do with or how to show you.” You dab at your eyes almost continuously with your free hand, Jack’s words searing themselves into your brain and heart, especially with how he’s looking straight into your soul through your eyes as he talks to you.
“And of all the things I might accomplish in this life,” Jack sniffles and clears his throat so his voice is a little stronger again, “the only thing I care to be remembered for is being your husband and being lucky enough to love you and be loved by you.” You cover your mouth with your handkerchief at that and stifle your own small sob while you squeeze Jack’s hand, hoping he understands that you’re saying the same is true for you. He knows. He always knows.
Jack glances down at his vows again and straight back up to you. “So I promise to be honest, to be loyal and faithful and always have your back as your biggest supporter and your greatest source of encouragement. I promise I will always be here for you, that I will always be your refuge. I promise to always fight for you and for us. I promise to never take you or your love for granted and to always remember just how lucky I am to be able to call you mine.” He pauses to smile at you, tilt his head and squeeze your hand to emphasize the last one before he says it. “And I promise to love you with all of me through anything and everything life might throw our way.”
It’s hard to resist the urge you have to hug him and kiss him and hold him close for five minutes straight while you both just cry tears of love and happiness into each other. Because you want to. You’ve never felt more loved or moved in your life. It’s almost difficult to comprehend in a way, that those words were just spoken by the love of your life to you. That someone feels that way about you and loves you this much. You’re not sure you deserve it but you take it in as best you can while he puts his vows away and wipes at his face. And Jack feels it too, that urge to hug you and kiss you and try to show you how much he loves you because he knows his words, while clearly impactful, fell far short of expressing his love for you. Like he said, he could never truly tell you what you mean to him and how much he loves you because the words don’t exist.
It’s quiet once Jack finishes, only sniffles from everyone present filling the air for a moment. Robby reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, your vows that you’d given him to hold onto for you this morning. “And now you,” he says softly, giving you a supportive nod as the two of you share a look while you take your vows from him.
“Oh man, this feels so unfair, I can barely see through the tears.” You sniffle a soft laugh the audience joins you in, handkerchief at your eyes trying to soak up all the tears. You take in a deep breath before opening your folded vows and looking back up into Jack’s eyes. “Jack,” you start, “I love you.” You let out a small laugh because it’s such a simple way to open, glance down at your vows. Like Jack you’d memorized them to the best of your ability so you can look him in the eyes.
“I swear this next part is written down,” you wave your vows at him and then the audience. “Writing these was much harder than I thought it was going to be,” you tilt your head and give him a look, “not because I couldn’t think of anything to say to you but because what do you tell the person that’s everything to you? I couldn’t figure out how to distill how I feel about you and how much I love you into words, and I still haven’t because nothing I say will ever be enough to even scratch the surface of how much I love you and what you mean to me.” Your voice catches thick in your throat as you shake your head a little at him while you speak, eyes narrowing slightly to emphasize your words.
“The thing about you Peter, is that you see me, all of me, to an extent I didn’t think was possible. You always use that x-ray vision they pulled you aside to teach you in your last year of med school,” you laugh a little as you say it and Jack lets out a short but proper laugh at your words because they’re unexpected and of course you would remember that, “to see right through me and know how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. There is nothing that makes me feel more loved than when you take a single look at me and know exactly what I need without me speaking a single word. And when we’re together that’s an hourly occurrence.” You blot at your eyes again quickly and glance at your vows before finding Jack’s eyes again and continuing.
“You take what you see and you use it. Use it to love me and take care of me and heal me, even if you don’t consciously realize it. I’ve come to realize that you know me better than myself because you see me more than I see myself. And you always, without fail, see the best in me even when I show you the worst of me.” You take in a deep, shuddery breath as you struggle to keep your voice steady. “I am quite sure that has to be love in one of its simplest and purest forms. And that’s how you love me. I couldn’t be luckier.” Your voice is so thick and heavy with your tears you worry that you’re getting to be unintelligible but Jack’s reaction, the fast run of big tears and his trembling lip, and the increase in sniffles you hear from the audience make it clear everyone heard.
Your gaze intensifies, eyes boring into Jack’s. “You’re my whole world and my entire heart. My rock and my constant. My biggest supporter and my protector. You’re everything. You are my everything and everything to me, Jack.” Your voice breaks on his name but you don’t clear your throat. You let it be raw and higher pitched as you finish. “Please never forget that.” Jack shakes his head slightly and squeezes your hand to tell you that he won’t and lets out the quietest choked sob, handkerchief damp with his tears just like yours with yours. His heart aches now with your love for him.
You clear your throat, take another shuddery deep breath and collect yourself. “I promise to always be your best student in medicine and otherwise, to never stop learning about you or how best to love you. I promise to never stop trying, to never give up on you or on us. I promise you my faithfulness, my honesty and my loyalty and my unwavering support in everything and to always be your safe space where you never have to hide. I promise to love you all the time, especially in the moments you’re struggling to love yourself. And I promise to never stop falling more in love with you.”
Again, Jack fights the urge to hug and kiss and be close to you that you both fought after he made his vows to you. He’s never felt more loved, never felt so good. He struggles to comprehend it too, that someone loves him as much as you do, needs him the way you do. But you do and he knows it and he beams at you as you both wipe your tears. He takes your vows from you and folds them, slips them in his pocket next to his. You squeeze each other’s hand again, and you do your best to let it take the place of the hug and kiss you’re desperate to give him. You know you have a whole life to hug and kiss him as you please and that you’re going to feel this same overwhelming love in both directions in a few minutes when Robby says you can finally kiss. In this moment you just hope Jack has a fraction of a clue of how much you love him and need him and looking at him and seeing how he looks at you, you’re pretty sure he does.
“Well,” Robby says quietly. “I think we all need a moment after those.” Sniffled laughter rings out from the audience as Robby does give everyone a moment to dry their eyes and collect themselves. Even you and Jack both manage to get your tears to stop, if only for a little. “I’ll now ask you both to affirm your vows and declare your intent.”
Robby turns to Jack first. “Jack, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.” Jack’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists as he says the words clear and strong, not a hint of hesitation to be found anywhere.
“And do you,” Robby’s attention turns to you as he says your name, “take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.” You beam at Jack as you say it and you’ve never exuded such confidence. You say it like it’s the easiest and simplest thing in the world.
“And now for the exchange of rings.” Robby’s voice is a little shaky. He grabs them both out of his breast pocket. “Very beautiful rings at that.” He says, sniffling and clearing his throat, a low hum of laughter sounding at his attempt to hide his emotions. He holds them in his palm in front of you and Jack, the padfolio with his notes in his other hand.
Robby takes in a deep breath. “Your rings symbolize your love for one another. Love freely given and chosen every day with no beginning or end and with no true giver or receiver as you both give and receive equally, unbroken and infinite and yours alone. When you look at your rings be reminded of this moment, of the vows you’ve made to each other today, and of your unending and ever growing love for each other.”
He offers his palm to Jack who picks up your ring. You raise your left hand and spread your fingers so Jack can hover your wedding ring at the start of your ring finger. Your hand shakes, no matter how hard try to keep it still the excitement and disbelief and joy and love win and it keeps shaking. Jack supports your hand with his free one, has it upturned, fingers resting against your palm and the length of your fingers, thumb wrapping gently over the side of your hand and resting on the back of it. Jack’s eyes return to yours and with it the intense eye contact you share, have been sharing most of your time up here. His eyes are glassy as he smiles at you. But you catch the slight tremble of his lips.
“Jack, repeat after me. I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness and my undying devotion.”
“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness and my undying devotion.” Jack’s eyes grow glassier as more tears form.
“Let it remind you that no matter where I may be, I am always with you in your heart.”
“Let it remind you that no matter where I may be, I am always with you in your heart.” A few tears slide down Jack’s cheeks, his voice breaking around ‘always.’ You reach out with your right hand instinctively and use your handkerchief to blot some of his tears from his face making him laugh a little. From his face your hand goes to your own where tears have started to fall.
“And with this ring, I marry you and pledge to honor the vows we have exchanged today, to choose you every day and to love you with all that I am and all that I will ever be.”
“And with this ring,” Jack has to pause for a second to collect himself and clear his throat, “I marry you and pledge to honor the vows we have exchanged today, to choose you every day and to love you with all that I am and all that I will ever be.” He’s smiling at you as he says it, tears still wetting his face as he breaks eye contact with you to watch as he slides your wedding ring all the way onto your finger.
You watch as he does too, wear the biggest grin when you look back up at each other. You widen your eyes at him in a silent oh my god I have a wedding ring, we just did that.
Robby holds his palm out for you and you take Jack’s wedding ring. Jack holds his left hand out and spreads his fingers just like you did. And his hand shakes just as badly as yours did as you hover his wedding ring at the start of his finger. Your free hand comes to support his left as he did for you.
Robby glances at you. “Repeat after me. I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness and my undying devotion.”
“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness and my undying devotion.” You press your lips together hard but they pull upward in a smile, tears still flowing from listening to Jack declare the same thing to you and trying to prevent the emotion from fully clouding your voice this early.
“Let it remind you that no matter where I may be, I am always with you in your heart.”
“Let it remind you that no matter where I may be, I am always with you in your heart.” You make it just a little further than Jack, the tears slipping into your voice and making it break at ‘in.’
Neither you nor Jack really stopped crying since you started again when Jack gave you your ring, nor have either of you stopped smiling through your tears. So, like you, Jack uses his handkerchief to wipe away some of your tears before doing the same for himself and his own. He’s careful too, dabbing like he’s observed you doing so that he doesn’t smear your makeup. You fight the urge his care and attention gives you to cry a little harder.
“And with this ring, I marry you and pledge to honor the vows we have exchanged today, to choose you every day and to love you with all that I am and all that I will ever be.”
“And with this ring, I marry you,” you pause to sniffle, try and steady your voice in vain, “and pledge to honor the vows we have exchanged today, to choose you every day and to love you with all that I am and all that I will ever be.” You have to break eye contact again so you can both watch as you slide his wedding band all the way onto his finger. Once it’s on you both watch as Jack closes his hand into a fist and reopens it as he gets used to having a ring.
You’re both wide eyed as you hold hands again and slowly look back up at each other, almost in disbelief because this is it. You both have rings, have made vows and declared your intent. Robby is about to say it. Grins pull up onto your face, breaking quickly into huge beaming smiles. You’re both so overwhelmed with love in the moment, tears flow a little harder and you both giggle softly.
“And now by the very limited authority vested in me,” Robby nods at you and Jack and grabs both of your handkerchiefs from you, not that either of you see him or do much more than release them when you feel him pull, still focused on each other, still beaming so hard your cheeks hurt, “I pronounce you husband and wife. May your first act of marriage be one of love. You may now kiss for the first time as husband and wife.” As soon as he’s done speaking, Robby moves off the altar to the side so that it’ll just be you and Jack in photos, your friends and family cheering and clapping loudly for you, a couple of people whistling.
Without hesitation you and Jack move in synchrony, both of you taking a half step towards the other to close the small distance between you, your bodies pressing against one another. Jack brings his hands up to your face, his thumbs resting gently above your jawline as his other fingers hold your neck. Your hands find the sides of his upper arms and wrap around them as much as possible. You both somehow smile a little bigger as you keep looking each other in the eyes for a second, your hands. Your heads tilt in opposite directions automatically as you lean in and kiss for the first time as a married couple.
The kiss is perfect. Short and chaste but so much more than enough to at least begin to convey all the emotions both of you are feeling, the excitement and disbelief and joy and overwhelming love. There’s so much love in the kiss it almost makes both of you dizzy. It lingers just long enough but not too long. When it ends you steal another couple quickly. “I love you,” you giggle against Jack’s lips.
“I love you too,” Jack chuckles a little.
Your arms wrap around Jack’s neck, one hand staying to hold the side of his face as his hands are moving so that one arm wraps around you, hand splaying against your back as his other hand grips your waist. He pulls you tight against him and then tucks you under him as he spins you a little and smoothly dips you as he kisses you again, just like he did when you first visited and selected the venue. You finish one kiss and smile against each other’s lips for a second before you kiss again and Jack returns you upright just as smoothly as he dipped you.
When you’re standing again you and Jack pull apart, and the audience quiets just enough as Robby steps back onto the altar so that he can introduce you. “Family and friends, I’m honored and thrilled to introduce to you for the first time the Abbots!”
You’re sure you must grin like a love-drunk idiot when Robby calls you the Abbots but you genuinely couldn’t stop it if you tried. You’re truly just that happy. And Jack’s smiling just as hard at you as he laces your hand with his and you both turn towards the audience. You grab your bouquet from Dana in your other hand and exchange smiles with her before turning back to Jack to share a glance and make your way back up the aisle, smiling and thanking your friends and family who are clapping for you once again as you do.
You and Jack walk hand in hand to the small room you’ve set aside to have thirty minutes with each other before you take photos while your guests enjoy cocktail hour. Your makeup artist has already graciously left you some redness clearing eyedrops and the caterer dropped off some appetizers for the two of you to enjoy. You figured it was a good way to give your eyes a chance to recover from crying even though your photographer can edit them out and to get some food because you’ve been told it gets hectic and the bride and groom often don’t get to eat much. But more than anything it’s just thirty minutes alone together as husband and wife.
Once you’re both in the room with the door locked you can finally give into the urges to be close and hold each other that you were both fighting the entire ceremony.
Your arms slide around Jack’s neck as his slide around your back, pulling you as close to him as he can get while still being able to kiss you. Because kiss you Jack does. He starts fairly chaste, more a series of kisses than anything but they grow more fervent, his tongue flicking across your bottom lip to coax your mouth open for him. When you do he’s quick to lick into your mouth, groaning at the taste of you. He lets you into his mouth when your tongue seeks it out, sucks slightly to pull another pretty moan from you, a small groan escaping him when you nip at his bottom lip and suck at it before letting him dive back into you.
You finally break apart when you’re no longer able to get enough oxygen in through your nose alone. You rest your foreheads together for a second before you move you to have your face nuzzling against his neck so that your chests can be pressed against each other more as you hold each other.
“I wanted to do this so bad during the ceremony,” you murmur. “Just hug and hold you and be hugged and held by you. I just wanted to be close after everything that we said.”
Jack squeezes you tighter, rocks you both a little. “I did too Doll, believe me.”
The two of you stand there holding each other and relishing in your closeness for what has to be five minutes. You’re both silent save the occasional soft hum at the right touch. You’re silent but you’re still talking to each other with your hands, where they wander and rub and squeeze. Both of you are reflecting on what you said to each other at the ceremony, what was said to you by the other, observations Robby made. It’s hard to believe it’s real. You made it here together and are now standing holding each other as husband and wife.
Jack takes great care not to mess up your hair as he lets one of his hands find the back of your neck and pulls your face from him gently. “Let me really look at you and your dress now, yeah?” he murmurs as his eyes find yours before you can whine about being pulled away from him.
“Only if I can also really look at you.” You smile and are already releasing him and stepping back for him as you say it. You know he’ll let you. He won’t understand why you want to, but he’ll let you.
“Course,” he whispers distractedly as he takes his own step back and starts really taking in your dress, taking in every detail and walking around you to see the entire thing. The same feelings and thoughts as when he saw you for the first time rush through him. “Doll,” he breathes out once he’s in front of you again, “you are truly stunning. You always are but this, you in your wedding dress, fuck, it’s something else.” He looks you in the eyes as he says it but once he finishes they quickly drop again, sweeping over your dress and back up to your eyes. “There really aren’t words.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, awkward at accepting compliments, even from him. But you don’t need to say more, Jack knows. He knows what his words mean to you and how they make you feel. “Let me see you, please.” Jack nods and your eyes rake over his body. He turns for you slowly, lets you take him in. “You are so unfairly handsome, Jack, I don’t know how I got so lucky.” Like with him, your feelings and thoughts when you saw him the first time hit you all over again. “Always are, but this,” you let out a soft laugh and shake your head slightly, “like you said, it’s something else. No words.”
A light flush hits Jack’s neck and cheeks. He struggles accepting compliments at times just like you. “Thank you.” He doesn’t need to say more either, and you share another kiss and wrap each other in a tight hug again, communicating so much with every touch. You stay wrapped in each other like that for at least a minute if not a little longer.
“Wanna sit? Have some food?” Jack finally murmurs. He would stand here holding you forever if you asked. Happily.
You nod, take his hand as he releases you and guides you over to the couch, food on the table in front of it, along with the eyedrops. “Here.” You grab the eyedrops and a tissue, put a couple drops in each eye. “To help with the redness.”
“You really thought of everything didn’t you?” Jack grabs them from you and then the tissue, puts a few in each eye and uses the tissue to catch anything that falls over.
“Makeup artist,” you admit. “She was on it.”
“She was,” Jack murmurs. “Even though you don’t need it in the slightest, your makeup does look exceptional.” He leans in for a quick kiss before turning to pull the table the food is on closer to the couch.
“Wait! Before we eat, move my engagement ring back!” You hold out both hands.
He chuckles a little at your excitement. You could easily move it back yourself but you want him to and it’s adorable. “Alright, Doll.” Jack smiles at you as he slides your engagement ring off your right hand and brings it over a little and slides it right back down your left ring finger until it sits atop your wedding band perfectly. He brings your hand up and kisses your rings before he lets go of your hand. “Perfect.”
You giggle a little as you look down at your left hand and wiggle your finger a little to watch all the diamonds catch the light. Jack smiles as he watches you, drinks you in and tries to memorize the moment and how happy and gorgeous you look. “Hey, guess what?” You look back up at him.
“What?”
You shift a little closer to him and place your hands on his chest. “You’re my husband now,” you slide your hands up his neck to hold his face, “and I’m your wife.”
Jack’s eyes darken, jaw tensing and breathing picking up just slightly. His hands wrap over yours where they rest against his face and neck. “My wife,” he breathes out.
His lips are on yours, all consuming from the get go, no soft lead-up like he usually does. His kisses are insistent, tongue tasting you again and pulling a little moan from the back of your throat. The sound spurs him on, Jack’s hands moving, arms wrapping around you as he leans you back onto the couch, one hand supporting your neck and helping you keep it up enough so that your hair is protected as your head almost lays against the armrest of the couch. It’s an awkward position with your legs still over the edge of the couch but neither of you care or even particularly notice, getting lost in each other, heavy exhales through your noises and sloppy kissing sounds filling the room.
“Jack.” You try to say his name as a warning but it comes out far too breathy to be remotely effective. He doesn’t like that you’ve pulled away, his lips chasing yours as he makes a noise of discontent. “You really want our first time as husband and wife to be a quickie in a random room?”
“I mean…it’s a nice couch,” he mumbles against your lips.
“Jack.” Your hands push at his chest a little so that he’ll look at you.
“No, no, I know you’re right, I just.” He groans and rests his forehead against your chest for a second before looking back up at you and helping you sit back upright. “I just want you. Really bad. My wife.”
“I know.” You give him a soft smile and kiss on the cheek. “And please don’t think I don’t want you. I do. Just as badly as you want me.”
“No, I know, I don’t think that,” he assures you. “You’re right. I want to be able to go slow and take my wife apart piece by piece for our first time as husband and wife.”
His words make you shiver. “Yeah,” you breathe out and nod, eyes flicking all over his face and down his body before coming back up. “I want to be able to do that to my husband too.”
Jack groans, leans his forehead against yours. “The anticipation makes it better, right?”
You let out a small laugh. “Sure does, Peter.” You give him another quick kiss. “Let’s have some food.” Jack nods and pulls his forehead away.
You and Jack both start to eat, still side by side and leaning into each other a little. “Oh, what’s the ring on your right hand?” Jack asks in between bites.
“Mm,” you hum as you finish chewing and swallowing. “My something borrowed, which reminds me. Thank you. For doing that for me, arranging it.” You look down at the ring. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to do it until I had everything.” You return your eyes to Jack’s and smile at him.
“It felt like you were a little more bummed about not doing it than you were admitting to yourself. And none of them felt burdened by it, if anything they were all excited to have that extra bit of involvement.” He raises his eyebrows a little and cocks his head just a little, the slightest I told you so smile pulling onto his face.
“I’m ignoring that look on purpose,” you tell him before taking a bite and grinning at him. Jack just laughs and shakes his head, takes a bite of his own. “But the ring is from Dana, obviously. She said it’s been worn by every Evans woman who has gotten married for a hundred and two years and there’s not been a single divorce,” you explain after you finish your bite.
Jack’s eyebrows raise at that and he tilts his head to silently say impressive as he chews. “Then something new you obviously know about which we’re circling back to in a second.” You grab your bouquet from the table. “Heather’s something old was this locket.” You hand the bouquet to Jack so he can see.
“It’s very pretty.” He runs his thumb over the front.
“It is. She got it at an antique store and said hummingbirds are a symbol of resilience and she thought that was fitting for us.” You rest your hand on Jack’s upper arm and squeeze a little. “Open it.”
It should be more difficult than it is for Jack with how big his hands and how thick his fingers are but practicing medicine has given him phenomenal dexterity. You’re intimately familiar with how good his dexterity is. “Oh, wow,” Jack murmurs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting but not that. “Our first picture together.”
You beam at Jack even though he can’t see because he’s still looking at the picture. “She got it off my phone one night when we were out. Very sneaky,” you laugh. “And then apparently the rhyme ends with ‘a sixpence in your shoe.’ Mel wasn’t sure if anyone was getting one so she got one and we attached it to my shoe.” You hold it out for Jack to see. “But about this something new, Jack Abbot.”
“You skipped something blue.” Jack raises his brows at you slightly as he takes another bite.
You shake your head, smirking just a little. “No, something blue is for you to see later.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion just a touch but you watch as they dilate a little because he knows it has to be something below your dress based on your smirk. “What if I want to see it now?” he rasps.
“Then you’ll have to be patient.” You shrug at him. “Something new. Jack, it’s beautiful.” You hold up your wrist to admire the bracelet. “It’s so much and it complements my rings perfectly.” You can feel your eyes start to burn a little and you have to look away from the bracelet and Jack so that you don’t start crying again and render the eyedrops useless.
“You deserve it,” Jack murmurs, making you shake your head and tilt it back so you don’t cry. “It’s about the least you deserve, Doll.” You reach blindly for his thigh and squeeze it as a thank you and way to say all the words you can’t at the moment. “And let’s talk about my something new.” That gets you to laugh a little and after a big breath you’re able to look at him. “It’s incredible.” Jack holds his wrist out this time, pulling his sleeves up a bit. “I don’t think I’ve ever had something this nice or been given such an amazing gift.” He runs a finger along the circular face of the watch.
You’re smiling at him when he looks up at you. It’s soft and reflects so much love with the extra little squint of your eyes. “You deserve it. It’s about the least you deserve, Peter,” you repeat Jack’s words back to him, mean them just as much.
He smiles at you, just a hint of some shakiness in his lips before leaning in to kiss you. Like your thigh squeeze his kiss is a thank you and everything else he can’t say. “I love you,” he whispers as he pulls away, smiling softly at you.
“I love you too.” You give him another little thigh squeeze.
You and Jack continue to chat as you finish eating your appetizers. You still have some time left once your done and Jack pulls you into his lap and leans back into the couch as he holds you. You both revel in the closeness and soft touches.
There’s a knock on the door and you know your time is up. “Guess I have to go share you with everyone again.” You pout at Jack playfully.
He chuckles and kisses your out turned lip. “I know how you feel Doll.” He gives you a real kiss once you get rid of your pout and then is up and opening the door.
Waiting outside it for you are your photographer, your makeup artist, Robby, Dana, and your friend. “Marriage license time,” Robby sings a little as he walks in holding up the paper.
All of you sign it, Dana and your friend acting as your two witnesses. You say goodbye and they head back to cocktail hour while you get your makeup touched up and you and Jack meet with your photographer for photos, take what feels like a thousand all over the place. You both know it’s going to be hard to choose which ones to get printed and hang.
Just before you finish taking photos your wedding coordinator gets everyone to the reception space and seated for dinner. When you do finish she lets Robby know and hands him the mic. You’d also roped him in to quasi-emceeing for you.
He introduces you as you and Jack walk into the reception space. “Alright everybody, for the second ever time, let’s give a warm welcome to the Abbots!” Your guests all cheer and clap for you as you and Jack make your way over to your sweetheart table and sit down, Jack pulling your chair out and offering you his hand to help you sit like he always does.
“Okay, so,” Robby starts as dinner begins to be served. “Obviously dinner is being served. The bride and groom decided to let whoever wants to give a speech give one during dinner. But you have to give it before they give their own right before the first dance.”
“I’m not going to give a full one since I really already got to at the altar. But, I just want to say again that you both mean so much to me and I am so happy for you guys. I wish you all the happiness in the world, you both deserve it so so much and deserve each other and your love. So here’s to the Abbot’s,” Robby raises his glass and everyone follows, “I love you both dearly.” He tilts his glass at you and the sound of glasses clinking together fills the room for a few seconds before it stops when sips are taken.
Quite a few people give speeches over the course of dinner, Dana, Heather, your friend, Jack’s unit gets up and gives one together, some of the Pitt crew copying and getting up in small groups to say a few words. You and Jack laugh and chat together in between them, stay close to each other and pick off each other’s plates. You’d deliberately gotten different options so you could share, something you frequently do when you eat out.
Once you’re done eating and signal to Robby he gets up and calls out to see if there are any last speeches and hands you and Jack the microphone when everyone stays seated. You and Jack take turns speaking to all of your friends and family, keep it short because you know everyone’s attention spans for speeches are worn by this point.
After you finish Robby takes the microphone back, gives you and Jack a second to get out on the dance floor. He keeps the introduction simple. “And now we get to watch them have their first dance as husband and wife.”
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you whisper to Jack as you start to dance when your song begins playing.
“I know,” he murmurs back as he beams at you. “After all the planning and waiting for this day to come here we are.” You and Jack are really swaying to the music more than anything. You didn’t learn a dance or really practice. It just wasn’t your style as a couple.
“You know I’ve been thinking about this moment since you danced with me up on the roof.” Your eyes start to grow a little shiny.
Jack smirks a little and flicks his eyebrows up. “We weren’t even engaged then.”
You shake your head. “No, we weren’t. But I hoped and dreamed we would be one day and while we were dancing and ever since then I had moments where I really thought about it and what it would be like. Our first dance at our wedding.”
“You wanna know a secret?” Jack’s grinning at you.
“Always.”
“I came about three seconds away from proposing up there on the roof that night,” he admits with a little laugh.
Your jaw falls open a little. “Really?” Jack nods at you with an amused smile. “Why didn’t you?” You’re smiling back at him now that you’ve gotten over the initial shock of his unexpected revelation.
Jack hums for a second. “I didn’t think the roof of the hospital I work at and you were currently a patient at really screamed romantic or place to propose. And you were in the hospital. You’d been shot and almost died and I didn’t want it to feel like that’s why I was proposing. Because of what happened or because I felt like I had to or anything along those lines.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that,” you murmur. Jack nods. He knows. He knew then too, but it still worried him and at the end of the day he didn’t want to propose on the roof of the hospital. “Did you have the ring with you?”
“No,” he laughs, “nope, I was just going to get down on one knee and do it and promise you there was a ring waiting at home and send Robby to go get it.” He pauses for a second. “I was also worried you would get so excited you’d somehow manage to accidentally pull your central line out and it would go from cute date night scene to bloody crime scene with my hand clamped over your neck real quick.”
“That would not have been ideal.” Jack spins you at the right point in the music and it and his words make you giggle a bit. “Would have been a hell of a story though.”
“Oh, it would have been something,” he laughs. You both smile at each other fondly, glad you’ve gotten to a point where you can talk about what happened with some humor and not feel a total ache inside.
“I love you,” you whisper to him, “more than anything.” You stick your lips out and Jack leans down as you continue to dance and gives you the kiss you ask for.
“I love you too,” he whispers against your lips, “more than anything.” He steals another couple of kisses from you before straightening back up as the song starts to end. “I’m going to dip you,” he murmurs quickly.
And as the music ends Jack dips you and kisses you again, just like he did at the altar. You smile into it before the kiss breaks and you keep your foreheads together as Jack brings you back upright. “Always so smooth,” you laugh.
“Only for you, Doll,” he murmurs, pulling his forehead from yours and giving you a quick forehead kiss while your guests clap and the DJ puts on a fast song, everyone heading to the dance floor.
The party really starts then, the DJ doing a great job of playing all the right songs to get people dancing and having a good time with you and Jack out on the dance floor. He mixes in a few slow songs and you and Jack enjoy watching who pairs up with who and getting to take a few minutes to focus back on each other and check in.
“I’ll be right back,” Jack tells you with a quick kiss after a slower song finishes and a fast one starts.
“You better be,” you say with mock sternness in your tone and on your face, Jack rolling his eyes playfully at you. He walks off the dance floor and shrugs his jacket off and lays it over his chair at the sweetheart table and undoes a button of his shirt.
Jack keeps his promise, making his way back to you from behind and pulling you close as he starts dancing with you again. “Fast enough?” He yells over the music.
“I suppose.” You turn your head up to look back at him, huge smile on your face. Your eyebrows raise and you spin in his arms when you notice the lack of jacket and open button. “Hot?”
“Not anymore.” Jack smirks at you and pulls you back close to him to dance.
You and Jack get separated a bit as you dance. And when another slow song starts Robby cuts in just before Jack can get to you. “May I have this dance?” He offers you his hand. “Don’t even start Jack, the officiant is allowed a dance with the bride, it’s just the rules.” Robby smirks, giving Jack a look.
You laugh softly at Robby’s playful over-formalness. “You may,” you nod at him, take his hand. “Next one, Peter.” You wink at Jack.
“It’s true Jack, Robby’s right,” Dana playfully chides him. “Plus I think you owe me a dance.”
“I suppose you did walk me down the aisle.” Jack smiles and steps away from you and Robby before offering his hand to Dana.
You and Robby start dancing, really just swaying around the dance floor more than anything. “I had an interesting conversation with your husband while he was getting ready earlier.”
You’re smiling at Robby the entire time, but your eyes light up and you beam at him when he calls Jack your husband. “My husband,” you just have to say the words, make a little face of excitement. “And what did you and my husband talk about?”
Robby’s quiet for a moment as he thinks of what exactly he wants to say. “I started by telling him that the two of you were idiots for thinking you don’t deserve each other and your love, because I know you have the same thoughts as him at times.” Your mouth drops open a little and you scoff playfully. It’s definitely not what you expected him to say. “And then I said some rendition of this. You said he’s your everything and I know he is. Everyone here knows he is, we all believe you. I see the way you look at him and hear the way you talk about him. But, you have to know that you are everything to Jack in that same way, that same capacity. He looks at you and talks about you in the same way you do about him. The way that you love him and feel about him and the intensity of your love for him, it’s all exactly the same as how Jack loves you and feels about you and how intense his love for you is. You think he deserves your love, right?”
“He does,” you affirm quietly as you nod.
“Yeah,” Robby nods, “he does. And you deserve his love just the same. I told Jack that I think today, on the day of your wedding, would be a really good day to let yourself accept it. That you deserve Jack and his love and to be loved at the same intensity with which you love Jack.” Robby’s giving you a small, knowing smile, eyebrows slightly raised as he nods just a little at you.
You have to look away for a moment. “Robby, I,” you start, but never finish. His words hit you just as hard as they hit Jack. As hard as it is for you to believe and admit you know Robby is right.
“It’s okay,” you can hear the smile in Robby’s voice and you look back at him. “You don’t have to say anything. I just told Jack I’d give you the same spiel.”
You laugh softly. “What was his reaction? It had to involve your therapist.”
Robby laughs properly at that. “Yeah, you know him well. He said our therapist was rubbing off on me and asked if I was thinking of leaving him to become a psychologist.” He rolls his eyes.
“Sounds like him.” You and Robby share a quiet laugh together, your eyes drifting across the dance floor until you spot Jack. You watch him and Dana dance for a moment, both of them smiling and laughing. It makes your heart warm.
“You’re really good for him, you know?” Robby watches you watch Jack. You pull your eyes back to him and flash an apologetic smile for ignoring him a little for a second there. “I’ve never really had the chance to tell you that. But you’re really really good for him. You’re what he needed.”
You give Robby a small smile. “Yeah, he was what I needed too. What I need.”
“I know it sounds like something people say just to say, but please try to believe me when I tell you that I have never seen that man happier than I have since you’ve been in his life.” Robby smiles and tilts his head. “And thank you. For loving and helping the people around him too.”
“You’re family. All of you. And thank you, Michael,” your voice shakes just slightly. “For everything.”
Robby huffs a laugh and looks away from you for a second. “That was a very targeted use of Michael meant to make me cry again.”
You both laugh as the song ends and move towards the edge of the dance floor. “It wasn’t deliberate,” you whisper as you hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. “It just felt like the right moment.”
“Am I allowed to have my wife back now?”
“Of course,” Robby tells him as you both turn to greet Jack and it’s almost like you’re magnetized the way you both seamlessly move towards each other, your hand sliding to rest on Jack’s back as his arm wraps around your waist. He gives you a reassuring little squeeze and kiss to your temple and you rest your other hand on his chest.
“He gave me the spiel.” You look up at Jack with a gentle smile.
“Ah,” Jack nods, “good. You should listen to him.”
“You both should listen to me!” Robby scoffs playfully. “Once again, you’re both idiots sometimes.”
“Thank you for not putting that in your ceremony opening or your speech.” Jack flicks his eyebrows up and nods at Robby with a fake grimace and ire.
Robby rolls his eyes. “Just try, yeah? That’s all. Just try to accept you deserve each other and your love, okay?”
You and Jack share a look and exchange soft smiles before turning to Robby. “We are,” Jack assures him.
“Promise,” you add.
Robby looks between the two of you before nodding. “Alright. Good.” He looks back at the dance floor. The music is fast again, the majority of your guests out dancing. It makes you and Jack happy, seeing all of your friends and family blending together like they’ve known each other forever. “You guys should get back to dancing with your guests.”
“You,” you point at Robby, smile growing, “should come with us!”
He laughs, shakes his head. “Maybe in a bit, I’m going to take advantage of your open bar and go get a drink, sit for a minute.”
You boo him teasingly. “No, no, Doll,” Jack starts as Robby turns and starts walking away, “if the old man needs a rest, we have to let him. Don’t want him straining himself, do we?” You bite your lip and turn your head into Jack’s chest a little as you fight back a laugh.
Robby stops walking and gives a singular hummed laugh before turning to look back at you and Jack. “You just really had to go there, huh?”
Jack presses his lips together and pulls them up a bit in a not quite smirk, as he shrugs and starts pulling you towards the center of the dance floor. “I didn’t go anywhere but the truth.”
You giggle as you and Jack turn and let yourselves get pulled back into the middle of things, starting to dance with your friends again. Jack doesn’t let you get separated this time, he wants you close, keeps a hand wrapped around your waist and you pulled back close to him. You share a laugh when you see Robby there with you, getting pulled in by Heather and Santos.
A few songs later and the DJ announces that the cake will be cut in ten minutes. You spin so that you and Jack are chest to chest. “Guess we should go sit and cool down and I should touch my makeup up before that.”
Jack nods at you and laces your hand with his. The two of you walk back over to your sweetheart table and Jack pulls your chair back for you, helps you sit before he takes his own seat. “Thank you.” You lean over and give him a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing the makeup bag staged under the table.
“For?”
“For getting my chair and helping me into my seat.” You throw him a smile as you start to pull things out of the bag. “And don’t say I don’t need to thank you for it because that’s what a gentleman does or whatever variation thereof you were about to say. I do need to thank you for it because I appreciate it and you and want you to always know that and that I don’t take you for granted. And most men don’t do things like that anymore, Jack. So it is special to me.”
Jack laughs to himself. “You’re welcome. I enjoy doing those kinds of little things for you.”
“I know, because you’re the best.” You pull a couple of oil blotting papers out from the pack in your makeup bag. “Sh.” You hold your index finger up to Jack’s lips. “Just accept that you are.” You pull your finger away and replace it quickly with your lips.
Jack deepens the kiss more than he generally would in public and you let him. You’re effectively alone right now, everyone having so much fun dancing or sitting around the other tables and laughing that nobody is looking at you. Even then it’s not like you’re fully making out. Jack’s tongue just presses against your lips a little and you open your mouth just a little for him, just enough for his tongue to slip into your mouth and taste you for the briefest of seconds.
“You taste like expensive champagne,” he groans against your lips before pulling away. “I love it.”
You hum at him and Jack says nothing, doesn’t flinch or blink as you start to blot at his face with the papers, just lets you do your thing, both of you equally sweaty. It’s a better look on him though. You only blot a few more places and then pull away, deciding it’s okay if he looks a little sweaty. Just makes him more attractive to you if you’re honest. “I enjoy expensive champagne,” you smirk at him as you shrug, “actually I’d like more expensive champagne. We should go get some.”
“I’ll go get us some, okay? While you touch yourself up or whatever it is you believe you need to do, because I personally think you look gorgeous just as you are right now.” He leans in and steals a kiss before you can argue with him.
“I look sweaty and shiny.” Your eyes track him as he stands up.
Jack stoops and kisses the top of your hair carefully. “Gorgeous,” he whispers as he walks away, walking backwards for a few paces to wink at you before turning.
You shake your head at him affectionately and go back to blotting your face and touching up your makeup so that your lipstick is fresh and your face perfectly between matte and dewy. You know your photographer can edit things but you also know other people will be taking photos. It really hits you once you close your compact and aren’t focused on your face anymore. You and Jack are married. You’re about to cut the cake at your wedding.
Jack’s thinking the same thing as he walks to the bar and in the moment he waits for the bartender to pour the two glasses of champagne and one of water. He thumbs at his wedding ring, opens and closes his fist. He’s not used to it, wearing a ring, and so it’s a constant reminder. You’re married. He’s bringing his wife back champagne for you to enjoy together before you cut the cake at your wedding.
“Okay, more expensive champagne as requested.” Jack hands you your flute before he sits and sets down his flute and the glass of water. “And some water. We should both have some.” He gives you a little no arguing look.
“I wasn’t going to argue, I was going to say thank you and that I meant to ask you to get some before you walked away but forgot.” You grab the glass and take a couple sips. “So thank you. I needed it.” You hold the glass out to him.
“Course, Doll.” He takes it from you, has a couple of sips himself before setting it down. You both pick up your champagne flutes and take a sip.
You hum as you let the bubbles rest in your mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. “You have to admit it’s really fucking good champagne.”
Jack laughs. “I never said it wasn’t! I think it’s very good.” He stops speaking but his lips twitch like he wants to say more, eyes glint a little mischievously.
You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs, “I was just thinking about how I was never a big champagne fan before you.” You raise your eyebrows at him asking that so? as you take another sip. “Tasting it on you though… changed my opinion. Now I love it.”
You cough a little as you finish your sip, not expecting him to say that. “Probably less tasting it on me and more me making us always get expensive real champagne.”
“No, I’m quite certain it was tasting it on you.” You give him a look. “It was. The first time we shared a bottle of one of your favorite expensive real champagnes we were at your apartment because your week had been long and you wanted to celebrate it being over and the fact that I had a full weekend off so we could spend the entire weekend together. I had a glass and thought it was better than champagne I’d had before, yes, but I didn’t love it really. And then we started making out on your couch and I tasted it on you and my eyes were opened. Ever since then I really have come to enjoy it. But it was tasting it on you that made me start to enjoy it.”
You nod at him, the slight grin you’re wearing telling Jack that while you struggle to believe it, you do believe him. “I’m equal parts wooed and turned on by that little confession, Peter.”
Jack laughs at that, properly, because it was such a you thing to say. “You are…” he shakes his head and looks around while he tries to find the right word. “You.” His eyes crinkle and his lips pull up, “you’re so you sometimes, Doll, and I love it so much. I’m sure that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but-”
“It does,” you cut in to reassure him. “I know what you mean. You have moments where you say or do something and I think to myself that was such a Jack thing of him to say or do. I get it, and I love it too.” You give Jack the same loving smile he’s giving you. “A toast.” You raise your champagne flute, Jack following your lead. “To a long lifetime of expensive champagne together.”
Jack shakes his head at you, still smiling at you like he’s drowning in love. “Here, here,” he murmurs before you clink your glasses and take a sip. “You done touching up?”
“I am,” you nod. “We still have some time.”
“I know, come here.” Jack beckons you with his fingers, his other hand patting his lap. You giggle as you comply with his request, sliding your flute of champagne over next to his before sitting on his lap, one arm wrapping behind his neck so you can scratch at the nape of his neck how he loves. “That’s better.” One arm comes around you to hold you close while his other hand rests in your lap and starts to play with your hand that rests there too.
You let yourself lean into him. Let yourself lean into your husband as you take a moment together and watch the room, sip on champagne and water. “I can’t believe it’s almost over.”
“I know,” Jack agrees. His hand squeezes your hip and you look down at him. “Thank you.”
You smile at him curiously. “For what?”
“Everything.” He shrugs, looking into your eyes. “Marrying me. Being my best friend. Making me laugh. Taking care of me. Loving me.” There’s a little pause between each one so they all sink in. Jack glances away from you and you can tell from that and his expression that there’s one he’s fighting with himself about saying. When he looks back up at you he’s clearly more emotional. “Waking up,” he whispers so quietly you would’ve missed it if you weren’t looking right at him.
“Jack-”
“No,” he shakes his head, clearing his throat. “No, I don’t want us to go there or dwell on it or any of that, I just wanted to say it, felt like we should acknowledge it quickly somehow.”
You give him a soft smile, bring your hands to cup his face. “I’ll always wake up for you,” you murmur as you look him in the eyes and lean in to give him a series of painfully soft and sweet kisses.
“Good.” He smirks at you. “If you don’t I’ll just pinch your ass awake.”
“Ha!” you laugh triumphantly. “So you admit it! You did pinch my ass awake on the day of our third anniversary and wedding.” Jack starts laughing because the way you said it was so you again and he loves you so much and you’re his fucking wife now. You shake your head at him in mock upset.
Jack keeps laughing, his laugh so contagious it makes you start to laugh with him. He’s overwhelmed. “I love you so fucking much I want to squeeze you and bite you and kiss you and also just fuck you right here on this table, god.” He leans in and steals a kiss from you, longer this time.
“I love when I bring out the cuteness aggression in you,” you giggle as he pulls away. Jack shakes his head at you and laughs softly. “But hey,” you grow a little serious again. “Thank you too. For everything. Marrying me, being my best friend, making me laugh. Loving me.” Your voice gets a little like Jack’s did and you tilt your head at him a little. “Taking care of me. Never leaving my side. Never letting me feel alone.”
“Always, Doll.” Jack’s eyes crinkle just a little more than normal with his soft smile that you return. You just look at each other for a moment, let it all fade away and rest your foreheads together.
“Here.” You pull your forehead from Jack’s and grab a napkin, dip a little piece in the glass of water. “Let me make sure you don’t have any lipstick on you.”
“Not my color?” He smirks.
“Not there it isn’t.” You look him in the eyes and smirk harder, the quickest and slightest raise of your brows.
Jack lets out a single choked laugh as you bring the napkin to his lips and rub gently. “Are you trying to have me hard in the cake cutting photos?”
You roll your eyes at him affectionately as you finish wiping off his lips. “I’m sitting on your lap Peter, I can assure you that if I wanted you hard in the cake cutting photos I wouldn’t be using my words to achieve that.” You boop his nose on the last word and die a little inside at how cute he looks when he scrunches his nose at it.
“Yeah, yeah,” he playfully grumbles as you grab your lipstick and compact to check if you need to touch up from the kisses. “Do you want me to put my jacket back on while we cut the cake for the photos?”
“Up to you,” you shrug at him. “I want you to be happy and look how you want to look in our wedding photos. It’s not all about what I want.”
“No, I know, I just didn’t know if you had a preference because I don’t really care strongly one way or the other,” Jack explains. “I just want you to be happy.”
You tilt your head at him and give him a small smile. “As long as you’re up there cutting the cake with me Jack, I’m going to be happy. Jacket or not. All I need is you.” Jack makes a little noise of protest and you laugh softly. “Why don’t you leave it off? We have lots of photos of you with it on and I don’t know, you have the jacket off for a reason. Because you got hot while dancing and having fun at our wedding before we even made it to cutting the cake. I like the idea of the photos reflecting that. But truly, it’s up to you.”
“Alright, I’ll leave it off.” A beat passes and Jack doesn’t quite stifle his smirk fast enough so you catch a glimpse of it. “Do you want me to undo one more button for the photos?”
Your heart races a bit just at the thought of him with two buttons undone. “That would be very slutty of you Peter,” you hum.
“Slutty?” Jack barks out a laugh. “Are you saying I’ve looked slutty every time I’ve worn a dress shirt like that?”
“Why do you think I never want you wearing two undone in public? I’d have to fight everyone off.” You shrug.
“So you’re saying I’m a slut?” He raises his eyebrows, amused smile ghosting his lips as he tries to keep it from pulling up. But you can see it, especially in his eyes.
“No.” You shake your head slowly and finish off your champagne, set the empty flute on the table. You lean in close enough for your breath to ghost across his lips, drop your voice to just above a whisper. “I’m saying you’re my slut,” you pull back and give him a dazzling smile, “Dr. Abbot.”
“Jesus,” Jack mutters under his breath, shaking his head and looking away from you. “You’re ending up using your words to achieve it without trying.” You giggle at his reference to your earlier discussion. “Doctor was so on purpose.”
You tug just sharply enough on the curls at the nape of his neck to pull a little sharp breath from him. “You started it my love, making me think about you with two buttons open. I merely finished it.” You steal a quick kiss from him. “You know you can call me it now.”
Jack is focusing so intensely on not getting any harder than the semi he currently has that he’s a little too distracted to truly think about your words. His eyebrows raise a little. “Call you what?”
Your eyes flick away from him for a second before returning. You hum softly, the faintest smirk and lean back in close. “Abbot.”
Jack groans low, right from the center of his chest and the sound makes you shiver as you stand up. “No no no, where do do you think you’re going? You don’t get to drop that and run.”
“Yes yes yes. We’re being summoned to cut the cake.” You nod over at where the wedding coordinator is waving you over.
“Okay, well I’m going to need a minute here,” Jack huffs under his breath.
“Oh?” You feign innocence. “Something the matter, dear?” Jack looks at you stone faced and shaking his head slightly. “Come on,” you hold your hands out for him. “Just stay behind me until you’re good.”
“Alright, but don’t ‘accidentally’ lean back into me and rub your ass all over me.” Jack takes your hands and stands, walks a step behind you just to the side when you begin walking.
“I would never, I can’t believe you’d accuse me of doing such a thing.” You click your tongue at him.
“Ha!” Jack scoffs a laugh. “You would, multiple times. And I’m serious, if you do I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the nearest bathroom.”
You tilt your head and he can feel your smirk even if he can’t see it. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Oh that’s not a threat Doll,” Jack murmurs, all gravel and lust. He rests a hand on your hip once you arrive in front of the cake and squeezes. “It’s a promise.”
You glance back up at him and the hunger he’s staring down at you with almost makes you say you need a minute and grab his hand and run to the nearest bathroom. Instead you just stare back at him for a moment before he nods to the cake and you turn back around.
The cutting itself is fairly quick and easy. Jack’s steady emergency room physician hands are able to hold yours still as you cut into the cake and pull a slice out. He holds the plate as you each feed each other a little bite and kiss once you’re done. There’s no smashing of any kind, you know Jack would never and neither would you. It’s sweet and the love is palpable as your friends and family watch, photographer snapping away.
The dance floor clears for the most part as everyone grabs cake and takes a breather. You and Jack take your piece and return back to your sweetheart table, but just about as soon as you’re finished you’re dragged back onto the dance floor together by Dana and Parker.
You and Jack get a little separated but are still pretty close and it’s easy for you to dance your way back over to him. “Hey!” You give him a quick kiss to the cheek. “I’m going to the bathroom. It’ll take a second with the dress. Try not to have too much fun without me.” You wink at Jack before turning around and grabbing your friend’s hand for help with your dress.
He watches you walk away and link arms with your friend, lean into each other as you walk and giggle together. Jack intends on slinking off the dance floor since he really only wants to be here with you.
“Nope!” He’s caught by Santos and McKay. “She’ll be back soon enough, you can stay out here with us.” Santos raises her eyebrows at him almost as a little challenge and Jack rolls his eyes but lets them pull him back in.
He’s always aware of you though, always wants to know where you are in case he needs to get to you immediately. So he sees when you walk out of the bathroom, you and your friend still giggling. He shakes his head and smiles at the two of you, focusing back where he is.
But when your friend appears without you he looks around. He stops dancing without fully realizing it once he spots you. You’re sitting at a table with a bunch of the men from his unit and their significant others. You feel his gaze on you, you always do, and look over at him, give him a quick wave and a smile but don’t go to move at all, just return to your conversation.
You had met them before the wedding since they all flew in a day early, had a nice dinner all together, so it’s not like they were literal strangers at your wedding. But still. You don’t have to be over there sitting with them and talking to them and getting to know them. Yet you are. Because like everyone else important in his life you want to do more than just know them cursorily. You want to be friends. You want them to know they’re just as important to you as they are to Jack. You want them to know that they can call you and you’ll help just like Jack would and that your and Jack’s place is open to them whenever they might need.
“You good?” Dana yells over the music at Jack, grabs a hand to get him dancing again. He smiles and nods at her, his mind still on you and how amazing and perfect you are and how fucking lucky he is.
A couple of songs pass and Jack watches you and a few of those who you’d been talking with make your way back to the dance floor. Jack manages to slip off the dance floor finally. He walks up to the DJ. “Can you play this song?” He shows the DJ his phone.
“Yeah,” he nods. “I’ll play it next.”
“Perfect, thanks.” Jack smiles to himself as he moves around the dance floor to be close enough to you but far enough away that you don’t really see him as you dance.
The current song ends and everyone is thrown for a second by the instrumental piano opening. It takes you five or six seconds to fully clock it, laughing to yourself and starting to look for Jack when you realize.
He slips up right behind you, one hand on your waist as his front presses into your back. “Hi, Doll,” he murmurs, the cheeky grin he’s wearing clear in his voice. He presses a teasing kiss to your neck.
You spin so that you’re chest to chest now, hands going just where they need to so that you can start slightly faster slow dancing. “Hi Peter.” You lean up for a quick kiss. “As Time Goes By. How coincidental.” You arch a brow at him in playful accusation.
“It felt right,” Jack admits to requesting it, shrugging, “since I wouldn’t sing it for you in Paris.” While other couples are dancing the two of you can feel lots of eyes on you. It’s clearly a song that’s playing specifically for you and Jack. He gives you a slightly sly smile and your brows raise in anticipation. “Of all the bookstores in all the towns in all the world, you walked into mine.”
You press your lips together and smile as you hold back a laugh. “I can’t decide if that was really bad or really good.” You and Jack share a laugh. “It was very romantic. This whole thing, requesting the song and sneaking up behind me, because I know that was deliberate too,” you nod your head a little at him as you say it, “and the line.” Your eyes grow a little glassy at the sentiment. “I like to think we were fated too.”
“I know we were,” Jack nods, “I know the world brought you to me on purpose.” His eyes are a little glassy now too.
You push your lips out a little and Jack leans down to kiss you. “I love you,” you murmur against his lips.
Jack hums a little laugh, lips pulling up into a smile against yours. “I love you too.”
The final hour or so of the wedding goes fast and yet slow. You and Jack both don’t want it to end but at the same time you’re a little desperate to finally be alone together for the night. It’s been a beautiful and perfect long day. Your and Jack’s perfect day.
You say goodbye to everyone as they all walk over towards the car you and Jack will be leaving in. There’s hugs and a few tears and promises to see each other soon and text and call and send photos from the honeymoon.
And then you and Jack are finally in the town car and being driven away.
“That was really the perfect day,” you sigh as you lean into Jack. You’re happy that Robby was able to check you into the hotel earlier before the wedding and drop your stuff so that you and Jack can just run through the lobby to the elevators and get to your room as quick as possible.
“Yes it was.” Jack moves his arm around you and pulls you even closer. “I love you.”
“I love you more.” You tilt your head up as Jack leans down and kisses you.
It devolves so very quickly. You and Jack makeout effectively the entire rest of the way to the hotel. Jack gropes at your breasts over your dress, sucks bruises into your neck and collarbones and chest now that he finally can again. The last two weeks of being unable to mark you anywhere that could be visible in your dress were torturous even if he understood why and completely respected it.
You undo another button of his shirt and kiss at his chest, lick your lips to wet your lipstick before you do so that you leave lip prints behind on his chest and his neck. You wrap your hand around Jack as best you can over his pants and rub at him. Both of you happily swallow down the quiet moans you pull from each other, knowing that the screen dividing you from the driver is not soundproof.
“Do you want to stop?” you pant softly against Jack’s lips, moaning softly as he squeezes one of your breasts and nibbles at your jaw.
“Why would I ever want to do that?” His lips are back on your neck the second he’s done speaking, kissing and sucking lightly, smiling to himself when you squirm a little from how good it feels.
“So that you’re not hard walking to the elevator.” You barely get ‘elevator’ out before Jack’s back to kissing you.
“If you think,” he pauses so that he can kiss you again, “that I’m going to be anything,” another kiss and a nip to your bottom lip, “other than painfully fucking hard for you,” another kiss, “until I’ve finally come inside of you,” Jack groans as your thumb flicks over his head in just the right spot, “come inside my fucking wife,” those words steal your breath even harder and Jack moves to suck on that spot on your neck he knows is extra sensitive, “you’re fucking insane Doll.”
“Fuck, okay,” you gasp, as he sucks that spot again, “just wanted to check.”
He hums a thank you against your lips and you continue like you are until the car starts to slow as you arrive at the hotel. Jack’s quick to slide out of the car and then help you out before you both make a walking sprint to the elevator, the late hour meaning the lobby is pretty much empty. You giggle to yourself as Jack presses you up against the wall of the elevator, your very own movie moment. He groans into your mouth in relief a little now that he can finally grind his hips against yours.
Jack forces himself to pull away from you as the elevator slows to a stop. Robby already gave him instructions to the room so he doesn’t have to stop and read the signs. He laces your fingers together and leads you to the room, fishing the key from his pocket and opening the door.
Even with as absolutely fucking wired as you both are for each other, the day catches up with you once you step in the room and see the bed in the honeymoon suite of the fancy downtown hotel you’re staying at for the night. You leave for your honeymoon tomorrow. You’re so fucking ready to know where you’re going.
You’re both tired and there’s a bit of a lull in the making out and groping as you walk in and both look over the room, though Jack stands right behind you, hands squeezing your hips over your dress and keeping your ass flush against him. He sets both of your phones on the dresser next to you before you take a few more steps in so that you’re almost right at the edge of the bed.
“Can I?” Jack leans into you and murmurs against your neck, fingers running over the part of your dress that will let him start to take you out of it.
“Please,” you breathe, voice shaking just slightly in anticipation. You had decided on no wedding lingerie that required changing, only what would fit under your dress. Jack wanted the opportunity to slowly strip you out of your wedding dress, said it’s something he’ll only get the chance to do once. And what you have on under your dress is pretty, very bridal, while still practical enough to get you through the wedding. But you have lots of lingerie for the honeymoon all in the carry-on suitcase you packed, including a pair of lacy underwear with his name embroidered in the gusset.
Jack’s hands tremble a little as he starts to get your dress off you. He takes his time, every movement purposeful and designed to tease both of you a little bit, his fingertips ghosting over the skin of your back, lips trailing along your spine and shoulders. He’s careful not to rip anything as he helps the dress fall down your figure and pulls it out from under you once you step out, helps you out of your shoes. He doesn’t let himself look up because he knows if he does he won’t lay your dress out nicely on the couch. You turn as he lays it on the couch so when he turns back to you Jack he’s met with your eyes on him.
His eyes don’t stay on yours for long though, dropping down and running over your body, stopping for a second at the blue garter on your thigh.
“I know it’s not proper wedding lingerie, except for the something blue. I suppose it is,” you laugh breathlessly.
Jack shakes his head slowly. You’re unreal, far and away the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His cock strains against his boxer briefs painfully. “Fuck me,” he groans as he palms himself over his pants, desperate for any friction he can get. “You’re stunning.” Jack walks over to you, pulls his hand off himself only so that he can get his hands on you, let them glide over your bare skin.
“Your turn.” Your trembling hands come to the buttons at Jack’s chest and start unbuttoning them, a few a little more difficult when your hands shake worse as Jack squeezes at your ass and one of your breasts. He pops the clasp of your bra as you finish the last button of his shirt, both of you shrugging out of the items and tossing them aside. Your eyes rake over his chest and arms, pussy throbbing as you do. He’s so handsome you can hardly stand it. “You’re so perfect, Jack.”
You lick your lips to wet your lipstick again and kiss at his collarbones and chest as your nails drag lightly down his stomach. “Fuck,” Jack grunts at the sensation. He rolls one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and kneads at your other breast as your fingers get his belt and pants undone.
You hook your thumbs in the waistbands of his pants and boxer briefs, rewet your lips and slowly kiss down his stomach and leave lip prints in your wake. “Doll,” Jack husks as you sink to your knees.
Once you settle on them your thumbs finally drag Jack’s pants and boxer briefs down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach as he shivers. “Peter,” you sigh back at him as you take him in your hand and slowly pump him. Your mouth kisses around the base of him, his balls and inner thighs and lines of his hips, lip prints decorating his skin as Jack groans loudly, eyes unable to leave you. “See?” Your breath fans across his skin as you look up at him through your lashes. “It is your color here.”
Jack chokes on the laugh your words pull for him when you take his head in your mouth, humming happily as you swirl your tongue around him before taking more of him. “Fucking christ!” Jack grunts, lets his head tip back and eyes flutter closed to focus on the feeling of you bobbing up and down him.
You hum around him at times, usually when you pull another deep groan from him. You love having Jack in your mouth. Few things make you feel as powerful and sexy.
Jack’s close. He’s been wound tight for you all day, especially since after the ceremony. He lowers his head back down and opens his eyes. Two fingers hook under your chin. “Up.”
You pull off him and pout. “Jack,” you whine a little. “Wanna make you come like this.”
“Next time.” He offers you his hands which you take and stand up. Jack kisses you hard. “The first place I’m coming for my wife is inside her,” he murmurs against your lips.
“Fuck,” you whimper as Jack starts kissing you again.
“On the bed,” Jack instructs as he pulls his lips off yours. “If you have anything in your hair, take it out so it won’t hurt you.” You do as he asks, situating your hair and then crawling to the middle of the bed and leaning back on your hands so you can watch him. Jack gets his shoes off and then gets on the bed on his knees. He grabs your feet and holds them up, lips finding one of your ankles and starting to kiss up the inside of your legs, head moving back and forth between both legs until he grows closer to the garter.
His lips stay on the thigh it’s on, kissing around it. “It’s very pretty,” he murmurs, lips teasing your skin.
“I thought you’d like it,” you pant.
“Love it Doll.” Jack nibbles at the skin of your inner thigh just below your garter and then takes the material between his teeth and pulls it down off your leg.
“Fuck Jack!” you moan. It’s such a simple move but the way he keeps his eyes on yours the entire time makes it one of the most erotic things he’s ever done for you.
He’s quick to make his way back up you, grabs the waistband of your underwear and quickly gets them off. You think he’s going to settle with his face in between your thighs but he doesn’t. He nods at you and you lay back on the bed while he kisses up your tummy and chest, stopping to lavish your breasts with attention from his mouth and hands. “Fucking love your tits,” Jack groans against one of your nipples. You thread your hands through his hair and tug a little as your back arches at the feeling of his tongue swirling around it.
“Jack, please,” you beg, for what you’re not sure. He just feels too good, his hot skin that’s pressing against yours and his mouth on your breasts.
“I’ve got you,” he soothes, “I’ve always got you Doll.” Jack kisses his way up your chest to your neck and jaw and then finally your lips. Your legs spread further apart for him and as he makes his way up his right hand slides down and slips between your lips. Jack feels how wet you are the second his middle finger hits your clit. “You’re fucking soaked,” he rasps against your lips, fingers still moving down to feel just how wet you really are.
“I have been all night,” you admit through a little moan, the palm of his hand rubbing against your clit as his fingers tease your cunt, circling around your entrance but never slipping inside. “For my husband. Have needed you all night.”
“Yeah?” Jack pulls back from you a little. “I’ve needed you too.” His hand pulls away from you and you whine at loss. Jack offers you his index and middle finger, the two most coated in you. You maintain eye contact as you open your mouth and let him slide them inside before you suck them clean, running your tongue up and down each finger, moaning softly. Jack’s hips grind into you without conscious thought, his cock hard and heavy against you. “Such a good girl for me,” he coos as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. “Let me taste you.”
Jack kisses you, licking into your mouth and groaning as he tastes you on your tongue. He shifts a little as he devours you, kissing you with just the right pressure to tease. He doesn’t stop kissing you as the fingers of his left hand trail down you and make you shiver. He’s careful how he does it, keeps all but his fingertips off you until his middle and ring finger tease you again, pressing into you shallowly and withdrawing a few times. “Please Jack!” you keen for him. “Please, need it, need you.”
“Okay, Doll.” Jack’s lips are back on yours as he arches his wrist a little further and slides his two fingers all the way inside of you, curling them perfectly over that spongy spot inside of you.
And you feel it. The cool press of metal against the outside of your pussy. “Jack!” you gasp his name, fingers tugging even harder at the salt and pepper curls you love so much.
“Yes Doll?” He smirks at you, fingers dragging back out of you before plunging right back in.
“Your- oh!” Jack steals your breath and your train of thought as he changes his pace and hooks his fingers just a little bit more, fucks you with them a little harder. “Your ring, your wedding ring. I can feel it.”
“Can you?” Jack hums at you, “Well how about that?” You whimper at his words, know he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. He kisses you again but it doesn’t last particularly long because the feeling of his ring against you and his fingers fucking you perfectly completely steals your ability to kiss him back in any meaningful way, your mouth hanging open a bit as you let out breathy higher pitched moans with each pass of Jack’s fingers.
“Jack I need you inside me,” you rush out in a single exhale, still moaning intermittently. “Need it. Your cock. Not your fingers. Please.” One of your hands grabs at the wrist of his left hand to still him. And Jack does stop, smirking a little at your desperation. You take a few breaths before looking Jack in the eyes. “First place I’m coming for my husband is on his cock.”
Jack stills and growls at your words as he pulls his fingers from you, rolling a bit so that he’s back properly on top of you and not rolled to the side slightly. He should have seen that one coming, he set himself right up for it with what he said to you. Jack doesn’t offer you his fingers this time, bringing them to his own mouth and sucking them clean. “God!” he groans as he finishes. “You taste so fucking good. My wife tastes so fucking good.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You nod at him, hands slipping between your bodies and grabbing at his cock, trying in vain to guide him inside of you. “Fuck me Jack, please. Fuck your wife!” Your words make Jack shudder. He pulls back so he can watch as he runs his cock through you, letting out a shuddering breath as he does. “Jack, I need you,” you whine at him.
“I know, Doll, I know. I need you too.” Jack takes himself in his hand and watches as he lines himself up. His chest heaves slightly as he drags his eyes back up to yours and then pushes into you almost agonizingly slow. “Fuck,” Jack draws the word out as slow as he pushes inside of you, both of you fighting through the pleasure to keep your eyes open.
“Oh, Jack” you moan softly, “more, please more.”
Jack groans as he leans down and kisses you, sucking on your bottom lip and pulling it taut as you flutter around him. “Shit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he pants against your lips. “My perfect wife.” His arms slip under your shoulders so his hands can cradle your face as he pulls his hips back just as slow as he pushed into you.
“My husband.” Your lips graze his as you breathe the words out. You roll your hips in tandem with Jack so that he’s fucking you a little harder, cunt wrapping around him so tight Jack swears it takes a little more force to pull himself out of you. “Fuck Jack!” you mewl, one hand clawing at his shoulder and the other at his ass cheek for a moment before your fingers squeeze at his muscle.
Jack hisses at the feeling, kissing you passionately, tongue exploring your mouth as though he doesn’t already have you memorized. He keeps his pace languid for now, wants to drag this out for the both of you. You love it, wouldn't have it any other way right now as you drown in Jack and his love and this moment.
The room is filled with the lewd wet sound of your pussy and heavy pants against skin as Jack ceases his greediness and lets your tongue into his mouth. He instinctively chuckles a little with how eagerly you take advantage of the opportunity, head lifting off the bed a little for a few seconds as you kiss him.
As much as he doesn’t want to Jack pulls apart so you both can breathe. “What are you?” He asks through heaving breaths, eyes reflecting how on fire he is for you, practically pinning you to the bed. “Tell me what you are.”
“Your- fuck Jack!” He changes his rhythm on you just slightly and it has you stuttering. “Your, your wife.” Tears of pleasure start to burn behind your eyes.
“Good girl,” he praises you, words pulling a loud moan from you just like he knew they would. Jack fucks you with his whole body, hunched over and using his hips and back and thighs to drive himself into you, muscles rippling under your fingertips. He can’t get deep enough, can’t feel enough of you, can’t be close enough to you. “That’s fucking right you are. My wife. All fucking mine.”
“Say it for me,” you plead with Jack, tears of pleasure finally dripping down the sides of your face. “Tell me what you are.”
Jack laughs softly against your lips as he pulls your legs up around his waist to change the angle. “Your husband,” he rasps at your ear. “I’m your husband.”
You whine as he says it, trail off into a breathy moan of his name. “Jack!” Your nails claw into his skin, leaving trails of red marks in their wake as one hand slides down his back and the other up his ass cheek to his hip, pulling a choked groan from the back of Jack’s throat. “I’m so close. So close baby, please!” It’s not often you call him baby, and something about the word always makes him short circuit a bit.
He picks his pace up, snaps his hips a bit harder, sucking and nibbling at your neck as he buries his face there for a moment as he gets lost in the feeling of you, breath hot against your skin. Fucking you and making love to you is always mindblowing, but this is different, this has an edge, for both of you. Because you’re married. Because it feels like your first time all over again in a way.
“Just like that, yes! Don’t stop!” you moan, voice high-pitched and breathy.
Jack’s just as desperate for your orgasm as you are, breath heavy and hot against your lips. “Come for me Doll, come for me.” Jack’s voice is strained with his desperation, hips driving him into you over and over while his fingers circle your clit. “Come on my cock, come on your husband’s cock. Make me come.”
“I will, I will,” you cry for him, eyes fluttering closed and sending more tears down your face as the pleasure overwhelms you and builds to a breaking point.
“Look at me,” Jack pants, voice cracking on the last word. “Look at me while you come for your husband.” You force your eyes open and Jack’s staring down at you intensely. “Be my good little wife and come for me.”
His command and the way he’s looking at you like he needs you so desperately he’d do anything for you, like you’re the only thing that matters, like the most beautiful and precious thing to him that he has to protect, and like he needs this, you to come, are more than enough to make you shatter beneath him.
“Jack!” You get a single cry of his name out before all words fall out of your mind, completely overwhelmed by Jack, by your husband, as your orgasm sears through what feels like every nerve in your body. Your nails drag along Jack’s back so hard you might have broken skin in a few places but he doesn’t care, it just shoves him closer to the edge. “Oh fuck Jack, please!” you moan once words return, again unsure of what you’re begging him for.
“Shit! So fucking tight”! Jack struggles to hold himself off, does only for thirty or so seconds so that he can drink in your face as you come for him while he fucks you through it. “My wife’s so fucking tight, so fucking wet for me.” He pulls his hand away from your clit before you hit painful overstimulation. “Fuck, Doll, I’m gonna come, pussy’s squeezing me so tight, gonna come for you, fill you up, and you’ll be so good for me and take it all.” He starts to babble and his hips start to falter, a clear sign he’s right at the edge.
“Come for me Jack,” you purr at him, hands threading back into his hair and tugging at the root just to give him a little shock of pain opposite the pleasure how you know he loves. You’re looking at Jack much the same as he looked at you, like you love him so much it hurts sometimes, like you’d walk straight through a wall of flames for him. Your love overwhelms him, you overwhelm him. And then you say it as a soft moan and he’s gone. “Come for your wife.”
Jack comes with the most erotic, carnal groan of your name that you’ve ever heard from him. His orgasm rips through him, tears through him so intensely it steals his breath for a moment before a slurry of curse words and my wife and so perfect fall off his tongue like a hymn he’s composed just for you. His hips still but you roll yours up against him and clench around him deliberately. “Fucking shit, Doll! Fuck!” Jack groans, voice and neck and face strained as you prolong his orgasm, somehow pull a bit more cum from him.
“Feels so good when you come in me,” you hum all pleasure-drunk and breathy at Jack. Your face matches your voice. You look so fucked out and beautiful below him, his girl. His woman. His wife.
“Oh fuck!” Jack grunts, a shiver running up his spine hard as an aftershock hits him. “Fuck, Doll, you’re so fucking good.” He collapses on top of you carefully.
You tremble under him a little, arms and legs wrapping around him and holding him to you tight. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dr. Abbot.” It’s almost a little slurred as you come back down from your orgasm.
Another shiver races up Jack’s spine at doctor. “Never had a title kink before you.” His lips brush against your chest as he speaks before nuzzling against you. It’s not the first time he’s told you that, but you still love to hear it.
You can only hum in acknowledgment, let your hands find his hair and run through his curls, scratch at his scalp intermittently. The two of you lay there in a comfortable silence, murmuring soft words to each other. Jack nuzzles into you and kisses at your chest wherever he can reach, enjoys listening to your heartbeat and how it slowly returns to something closer to normal.
After a while Jack nuzzles into your chest one last time before pulling his head up. You open your eyes knowing he’ll be looking down at you. He’s smiling when he comes into focus. “How’s my wife?”
“I’m pretty fucking great,” you murmur, blissed out smile on your face. “Feeling very, very well and thoroughly fucked by my husband. A little sleepy.” You bring your hand up and run your fingers through Jack’s curls, push back a few that sweat has stuck to his forehead. “How’s my husband?”
Jack chuckles at you. You’re so adorable when you’re all fucked out like this. “Oh, I’m pretty fucking great too, Doll.” He leans down and kisses you. “Feeling very, very lucky to call you my wife. And I’m with you on the sleepy.”
You already know what he’s going to say based on the look on his face. “No!” you whine, wrap your arms and legs around him tight. “Let’s just stay right here. It’ll be fine this one time, we can just curl up like this and fall asleep.”
Jack laughs and shakes his head at you. “I’m not sure now’s the time to risk it, baby. You don’t want to start our honeymoon with a UTI.” He takes another kiss. “And we both know you’ll be upset with yourself in the morning if you don’t take all your makeup off. Plus I should really wipe the lipstick off.”
You groan but loosen your grip on him when he pulls away, both of you hissing a little as he slips out of you. Jack holds his hands out for you and helps you up and off the bed. His hands find a hip and your waist quickly once you’re standing, ready to grab you and keep you from falling if your legs are too weak. You lean into him for just a second while you get your legs steady back under you and then nod at Jack.
He keeps an arm around your waist anyway, just to keep you close. You realize step into the bathroom and Jack flicks the light on, leads you over to the toilet. He walks to the sink as you go to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping the lipstick from his skin.
You join him when you’re done, washing your hands as he washes his face. You make a face of consideration as he pats his face dry. “I could just leave it for one night, I’m tired.”
Jack shakes his head at you and you know he’s right, you’re just not in the mood. It’s been a long day and you just want to curl up in bed with your husband. Jack puts a towel on the sink counter, and pats it. “Up.”
You debate fighting him because you know what’s about to happen. But you also know that Jack loves this part and it’s not something that happens frequently because you normally take your makeup off as soon as you get home. You slide yourself onto the towel as Jack pulls out your makeup remover wipes from the toiletry bag you packed. “Probably going to have to scrub pretty good,” you tell him, “she used the good setting spray.”
Jack nods as he starts to wipe your face. “Very good setting spray,” he notes absentmindedly as he works. He does have to use more pressure than normal. “Tell me if I start hurting you.”
“I will, but you won’t.” You give him a sleepy smile and Jack’s heart aches with how cute you are.
Once he’s gotten everything off your face he’s weary as he eyes your lashes. “Are these the lashes designed to stay on or? How do I get them off?”
“You’re so cute,” you giggle at him, beaming at him because they’re such Jack questions. He’s always curious, especially when it comes to you and things he can do to take care of you.
“What?” he drags the word out. “I don’t want to accidentally rip off all your eyelashes!”
“I know, you’re just the cutest, wanting to know. Caring enough to want to know.” You push your lips out and he gives you the quick kiss you’re seeking. “These ones aren’t designed to stay on, no. There’s some cotton balls and makeup remover in the bag. Just put some on two of them and hold them on for a minute and they should peel right off.”
“Can do, Doll.” Jack nods. He does and goes to take them off but hesitates. “Okay, maybe you should at least do one. So I can see.”
Even with your eyes closed you smirk. “See one, do one, teach one?” Jack huffs at you and you know he’s rolling his eyes. “You have to admit that was pretty good.” You slowly peel one off.
“It was,” Jack agrees with fake begrudging. He loves it. Loves how you listen and really take in what he says whether it’s when he’s directly speaking to you or if you happen to be watching him from just within earshot at work. “Okay. Please tell me if you feel me pulling your actual lashes.”
“Were you this scared when you first did sutures on someone?”
“Doll.”
“Yes, yes I’ll tell you,” you reassure him.
“Okay.” Jack grabs the other lash and pulls it off without issue, like you knew he would.
“See? Nothing to it.” You squint at him to avoid getting the makeup remover in your eyes. “We’ll make you a makeup artist yet, Peter.” Your squinting kills any power the smirk you try to give him might have had.
He ignores your comment with a little shake of his head and smile. “To answer your question, no, I wasn’t because you spend time practicing on fake skin before you go to a real human.”
You hum at him and slip off the counter. It’s going to be easier and quicker for you to wash your face and brush your teeth. “Thank you. For taking my makeup off and learning about eyelashes for me. I love you.” You wrap your arms around the middle of him and rest your head on his chest.
“Always, Doll.” Jack bows his head and leans a little to press his lips to the top of your head. “And I love you too.”
The two of you stand like that for a moment before you pull away and quickly wash your face before you and Jack brush your teeth at the same time. You say fuck it to your skin care for one night and just put some face lotion on, offer some to Jack. Once you’re done Jack turns around and after a second you do too.
Your stomach drops a little. “Oh my god Jack!” His back is covered in scratches from your nails that are really more raised welts at this point. It looks incredibly painful and your head starts to spin because you feel so bad for doing that to him.
“What?” He spins quickly, brows furrowed and lips pulled down, concern all over his face.
“Your back! That’s what!” You gesture with your finger and he spins for you again. “Jack, it has to hurt. Why didn’t you say anything?”
He turns back to look at you. He doesn’t like your expression, the sadness in your eyes and your frown and the way your brows are furrowed so close together. You’re upset and Jack can tell your mind is starting to swirl. “Hey, hey hey. I promise you I didn’t even notice. I promise. I wouldn’t have even known if you hadn’t said anything.”
“But Jack, it’s bad. I did a good number to you. They’re welts, not just scratches.” Your frown deepens.
He steps closer to you and cups your face with his hands. “Doll, I promise you it felt so fucking good when you were making them in the moment but they haven’t bothered me at all since.”
“You promise?” you whisper. You know he would never lie to you and you can see the earnestness in his eyes. It slows your mind, as do his hands holding your face.
“I promise.” He nods. His eyes drop to your neck and chest, hands letting go of your face. “Have you really looked in the mirror yet Doll?”
“Kind of?” Your brows are still drawn together but Jack’s relieved it’s in confusion this time and that your upset has faded.
“You should. Because I did a good number on your neck and chest too,” Jack grimaces a little. “And it feels much worse than some scratches now that I’m really looking at them.”
You turn and look in the mirror. “Oh,” you breathe. Jack’s head starts to spin now. But then a smile grows on your face. “I love this.” You run your fingertips over some of them.
“What?” Jack gives a small incredulous laugh.
You turn around to look at him and see the way he’s still spinning out a little like you were. “Jack, I love this shit. I love wearing your marks. And you gave me them as my husband and I get to have them on our honeymoon.”
“They’ll darken and be worse tomorrow.” He still eyes you a little wearily.
You meet his eyes in the mirror, can see he’s still spinning out a little like you were. “Good. I hope they get darker the day after that.”
“Yeah?” It’s the same as you asking if he promised. He knows you wouldn’t lie and can tell you’re not but he just needs to hear it again.
“Yeah.” You nod with a small smile. “Very fucking yeah.”
That makes him crack a smile, yours widening in turn, his mind slowing. You turn back to face him. “Are they going to be all on display for the honeymoon?” You press yourself up against him.
Jack laughs. You’re trying to get a hint as to where you’re going on your honeymoon, hoping he’ll answer and it’ll give you insight as to whether you’ll be spending a lot of time with your chest not covered by a shirt in a swimsuit.
He gives you a self-satisfied grin and you start pouting before he even says anything. “That’s for me to know and you to find out babygirl.”
You roll your eyes at him affectionately but it turns into a big yawn that has you covering your mouth. Jack laughs softly. “Come on sleepy girl, lets get into bed.” He fights back his own yawn while following you as you walk back to bed, flicking the light off.
You climb in under the covers while Jack sits on the edge of the bed and takes his prosthetic off. Once it’s off he flips the lamp off and slides in beside you, hands on your waist and pulling you close as you move toward him. You snuggle together on your sides, limbs tangling as you get as close as possible while still able to see each other. “Hi handsome.” You smile up at Jack and kiss up his chest and neck to his lips.
“Hi beautiful,” Jack murmurs against your lips. “My beautiful wife. Today was pretty perfect.” Jack takes another couple of kisses from you before pulling away and looking back at you. He swallows thickly. “A little surreal. We’re married.” He’s not dwelling, he’s really not.
But Jack lived in a world where he never even got to ask you to marry him, where he wore his dress blues not to wait for you at the end of an aisle on an altar but to watch them lower you six feet into the ground, even if it was only in his mind. He just has to acknowledge it one last time. It makes him appreciate this, appreciate you all the more.
“Sure was. My handsome husband.” You giggle against Jack’s lips. “But it’s real. We’re married.” You look at Jack and smile as he smiles back at you.
Your smiles and crinkles in the corners of your eyes say everything to each other. Thank you, you’re perfect, you’re my best friend and soulmate and the love of my life, you’re my everything, my whole world and my home, I meant every word I said today and will be faithful to the vows we took. I love you.
Your eyelids get heavy fast as Jack’s warmth seeps into you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. You can only fight it for so long as it gets harder and harder to open your eyes with every slow blink. There’s so much you want to say to him even now at the end of your wedding day when it feels like you’ve already said it all to each other. But there’s no way you’ll get anything coherent out. So you kiss Jack one more time and settle for the words you hope convey it all.
“I love you, Peter.”
Jack hums a little laugh to himself because you’re adorable and precious and beautiful and his. His wife.
“I love you more, Doll.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you made it this far, again, thank you so so much! I hope you enjoyed this part and the series. As much as this is the end of the kind of main story, I don’t think this is truly the end for them. Certainly I have a whole list of other ideas that I’d like to work through first, but I have a couple of ideas for shorter one-shot style fics for these two. If you have anything in particular you'd like to see from them feel free to drop me a note wherever!!
Quiet Part 2 is up next. I should have more free time this week and don't plan on making those parts as long so hopefully something will be out towards the end of the week!
Also, a huge huge shoutout to @loveyhoneydovey for beta-ing at times, talking me off a thousand ledges per part, and listening to me go on and on about these two and different ideas. This story is better because of your help. ♥️
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25.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: mentions of blood, mentions of guns/shootings/gunshot wounds, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, CPR, mentions of jack's injury and losing his foot, anxiety about partner's safety, angst (kind of), very emotional, probably incorrect description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, reader wears Jack’s clothes, self-hate, Robby has been to therapy, fighting/arguing (no raised voices), unprotected PIV sex (BC implied with their committed relationship), allusions to sex and oral sex, discussion of end of life wishes, descriptions of nightmares, discussion of someone dying in front of reader, panic attacks, vomiting (very brief, not reader), discussion of scars/wounds, grief, mention of UTI, myrna, reader likes candles, Jack is the best, I had this idea and started drafting before we knew Jack was a widow so in this world he has never been married, no use of y/n or related, not really proofread.
Summary: Healing is hard. Emotions abound. Somehow life goes on. [Author continues to suck at summaries.]
AN: I am so sorry this took so long 😅 The vignettes have a bit of a different feel here because the way we are moving through time is much different and on a larger scale. But each vignette 'happened' before the scene it precedes. Part 4 is already like 75% of the way done so it will not be as long of a wait, I promise 😭 I know some wanted it all at once and I'm sorry it isn't, but I can offer as an apology the fact that because we're getting another part we're getting more content both in Part 3 and in Part 4!! Also I promise Quiet Part 2 is next up after Part 4. Thank you all so much for your patience and support and for reading!! Your replies and likes and reblogs mean so so much to me and I know we're all busy so I really appreciate you taking the time to read whatever it is I do here ♥️
After the housewarming party, life is good. You and Jack are still home together while you recover, in love and soaking each other in and planning France and dreaming out loud about your wedding. And healing. Individually and together.
Things get harder though.
You’re both in therapy, yes, but you’ve been through a lot in the last month and a bit, and an hour a week only does so much. You’re both struggling, struggling a little harder now that the kind of honeymoon period of you getting home from the hospital has passed.
You and Jack talk about it sometimes, about how things feel harder in a way all of the sudden now that you’re not focusing on being home finally and getting your place painted and all moved into. You think it’s just because you have lost some of that distraction. The reality of what happened starts to sink in deeper. Especially because things are ostensibly returning to normal but not really.
Because normal isn’t being at home together while you’re recovering. You’re back to that hospital feeling of waiting. Waiting for you to recover enough for the next step to get taken. Jack going back to work. You going back to work. The return of your true new normal.
So things get a little harder, emotions more intense. Some days it feels like you guys are taking more steps backward than forward. But you’re taking those steps in whatever direction together and you have each other and are in love and that’s all either of you need at the end of the day. Each other and your love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s day four.
Four days now you’ve been in a coma. Four days with no signs of waking up soon, even after they weaned you off the meds that had been keeping you under to help you heal. No twitch of your fingers or toes, no flutter of your eyelashes, no little grunt, no breathing over the vent. Nothing. Just you laying there in a hospital bed. Technically still alive and with him, but are you really?
Jack stretches out. He hasn’t left the hospital since you got shot. Literally has not set foot out of the building, hasn’t gone to the roof or out into the ambulance bay or gone through the main doors to stand on the street.
Dana brought him in clothes and toiletries. She brought some for you too, telling Jack that you’d want them as soon as you were awake. Half of Jack wanted to scream at her for tempting fate like that, now that she brought them there would be no use for them because you’d never wake up.
And half of him wanted to just sob into her because he knows that as much as she did bring them for you, she brought them for him. To give him the option of smelling like you, or just smelling your shampoo to smell you for a second. To give him a shirt of yours to keep near his head when he tries to get an hour of sleep. It helped once. He was actually able to grab a couple of hours.
It’s not the same though, because those products haven’t mixed with your body chemistry to become the unique scent that is you. But it’s better than nothing. Because until Dana had brought it in for him he’d forgotten what you smelled like.
He’d forgotten what you sounded like too. The sound of your voice, the way you say his name. The way you say you love him. Your laugh. He just couldn’t hear it in his head. He cracked on day three and listened to a voicemail you left him, watched a video of the two of you that you’d taken one day. It was comforting to be able to remember what you sound like and what you look like when you smile, to have those little pieces of you back in his mind. But it was also a devastating reminder of what he might lose.
Your things, the voicemails you’ve left him and the videos and photos you’ve taken together might be all he really has left of you at the end of this. The realization had made him dry heave a little.
Robby walks in as Jack is stretching, hands him a coffee and a brown bag. Breakfast. “You have to eat if you want the coffee or else it’s just going to shoot up your heart rate and give you more anxiety.”
Jack looks at him almost blankly as he sits down in the chair on the other side of your bed across from Jack. “I’m still a doctor, you know?” The words hit Jack. “A fucking shitty one apparently. I can’t even fix her. This shit is what I do and I’ve saved so many people but the one fucking person who actually matters.” Jack shakes his head. “And nothing.”
Robby cocks his head at him. “No doctor could fix this Jack. She’s in a coma. You’re making sure she gets the best care possible. That’s all anyone could do for her right now, doctor or not.”
Jack waves Robby off, takes a sip of the coffee but makes no move for the bag. It earns him a look from Robby that he ignores. They sit in silence for a bit. It’s hard to come up with things to say. But Robby knows Jack needs to start thinking about it. It’s still very far down the line but it’ll be better for him to start thinking and coming to terms with it now, Robby thinks.
“Jack.” Jack pulls his eyes off you and over to Robby. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
Deep down Jack knows exactly what Robby’s question means. But he doesn’t let himself go there. He can’t. Robby will have to spell it out for him. “What I’m going to do about what?”
“What you’re going to do if down the line she heals physically but doesn’t wake up?” Robby says quietly, as though saying it lower will make it somehow less painful, pull less of a reaction from Jack.
“What the fuck is that? Why the fuck would you even bring that up?” Jack snaps at him. While you were awake after surgery you’d signed a healthcare proxy giving Jack the authority to make treatment and end of life decisions for you. It had been just in case. Better to have it because then you would never need it right? Wrong. “We’re so the fuck far away from that. She’s not even healed. You and Dana are the ones that keep saying ‘it’s only been four days Jack give her time’ and now you’re coming at me with this bullshit?”
“I’m not coming at you with anything. Just asking a question because maybe it’s better to start preparing now for something you’ll never have to do than to be unprepared.” Robby shrugs.
Jack doesn’t say anything, just looks back at you. He scoots his chair closer so that he can hold your hand. You’re just so goddamn still. It’s unnatural. Even the way you breathe is, it’s mechanical. Chest rising and falling in time with the clicks of the vent.
“I know that I don’t really know her, Jack, and certainly don’t know her well. But just from the little bit of time I have been able to get to know her I don’t think she’d want this Jack. Not indefinitely. I don’t think she’d want machines keeping her alive.” Robby watches Jack carefully as Jack takes in his words. Devastation is quickly covered by anger.
“I don’t fucking care. She should wake the fuck up then and not leave this to me. Not make me fucking kill her.” Jack knows his anger at you is misplaced and a cover for how much this conversation is hurting him. Anger is just easier to deal with than heartbreak and grief right now. He sees Robby go to speak. “Just fucking don’t Robby. Don’t. You’re right. You don’t fucking know her. And I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if she wouldn’t want it because I need her. And having her here with me like this is better than not having her at all.” Jack knows how selfish he sounds, how selfish he’s being.
Robby doesn’t say anything, waits until Jack glances over at him, tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, asking him ‘really?’ without a word.
Jack sighs and looks back over at you shaking his head. “No,” he whispers. “She would hate it. We fucking talked about it once, way before this when it was on some show or movie we were watching. It would be cowardly and selfish of me to keep her here like this forever, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with completely losing her and could live in a perpetual delusion that she’ll wake up tomorrow.” Jack gives a short and hollow laugh through his nose. “Right before I left to go down to the ED and help, we… argued isn’t the right word, but I don’t know what is. She mentioned it, her dying. That if she had already died, in the OR or at the courthouse then I could be properly grieving, and I cut her off but she was going to say that I could be working towards moving on.”
Jack feels guilty for getting angry at you, for being selfish. He knows you’d understand and wouldn’t care and wouldn’t want him to feel guilty but it doesn’t help. He swallows thickly and then takes in a deep breath, squeezing your hand, praying you’ll squeeze it back, even just a little.
“But there’s no moving on from her.” Jack shakes his head as he looks down at you. “The problem is that I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to do it. To sign the damn papers,” Jack admits, voice wet with the tears lining his eyes.
Robby nods slowly. “You are now and you will be then, if that then does ever come. You will because it’s for her. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two humans love each other as much as you do, the way you do. She would do anything for you. And I know you’d do anything for her, no matter how much it killed you inside. So I know that if that day ever comes you’ll be strong enough to sign for her, to do that for her.”
Jack’s silent for a minute, trying not to give into the urge to grab your shoulders and shake you awake. “I don’t know Robby. I don’t know how to talk to her like this. I try, but I just never know what to say other than I love her and please come back to me and please don’t leave me alone. And I hate it. She deserves more. For it to not be about me,” he whispers, stands and runs the back of his bent index finger over your face like he’s trying to memorize you. As if he hasn’t already. He’s teary, voice small and raw from all the tears he’s already shed. “So how do I let her be taken from me? How do I give her up, give up on her, tell her it’s okay to let go? How do I stand there and fight all my training and every instinct and just watch her die and know it’s my fault?”
Robby has to take a minute to compose himself because his heart aches for Jack. It’s hard to see your best friend, your brother, contemplating losing the love of his life. Even though all of Jack’s questions are rhetorical he answers the last one.
“You don’t,” he says simply. “You get in bed with her and you hold her and find it within you to talk to her. Tell her all of your favorite memories together. Tell her what she means to you. Tell her you love her. And you stay there in bed holding her until she’s gone.”
Jack takes in a shuddering breath as he sits back down in his chair. “Hope seems so worthless and useless right now even though it’s all I feel like I have left.” Jack grabs your hand again, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “I hope I never have to sign those papers.”
Robby sniffles a little, not crying, just emotional. “That makes two of us, brother.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I think you should consider leaving your engagement ring here.” You and Jack are planning more for your trip to France, making packing lists. Well, you’re on the computer planning and making lists and Jack is chopping up ingredients for dinner.
It’s been four days since the housewarming party. You feel like Jack has been more stressed lately, more on edge. Looking at you like he’s terrified of losing you again, like he did at times in the hospital and the first two days you were home.
“Why?” You pout at him from the stool you’re sitting on at the kitchen island. “I want to wear it and show it off and take photos with it on while we’re in France!”
“I know,” Jack hums lowly, his eyebrows raising a little as he focuses on chopping. “I worry about it getting stolen, you getting assaulted for it or something, especially in Paris.”
“But walking around with it on in Pittsburgh is okay?”
He sighs at you. He kind of hates that you said that because now it’s all he can think about. Whether he has put your life in danger for a third time by getting you a nice engagement ring. Because he’s already done it twice. When he didn’t check you over in the trauma room before letting you go and going to help Robby, and when he left to go down to the ED and wasn’t there to notice you going septic and throwing a PE.
You’re the only one who would notice him stiffen the way he does, it’s so slight. You feel bad. You know he’s been struggling more the closer he gets to going back to work and having to leave you alone. Even starting with half shifts. And you know he’s struggling to talk about it with you because he doesn’t want to burden you with it or make you feel any guiltier. You’ve both fallen into that habit a little bit.
“I really don’t think anyone is going to try to steal it off me or assault me to get it when I’m walking around with you.” You raise your eyebrows at him and give him a knowing smile, wait for him to lift his head to look at you once he’s finished chopping. He does.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He points the knife at you teasingly and holds your gaze for a moment before grabbing something else to chop and getting back to it.
“But I don’t want to leave it here Peter!” you almost whine. It makes Jack chuckle to himself a little. “I don’t want to argue about it, but I really want to take it. I like showing it off, like everyone knowing I’m yours.” That makes him look up at you again and you smile at him and nod encouragingly. You can see the possessive look in his eyes, the way he breathes a little bit faster thinking about it. But he just clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth at you and shakes his head as he looks back down. “Okay, how about a compromise?”
“A compromise?” Jack echoes.
“Yes. A compromise.”
There’s a beat where neither of you talk, only the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. Jack pauses his cutting and looks up at you. “Are you gonna tell me what the compromise is?”
“I’m thinking of one,” you grumble, knowing how satisfied he’s going to be.
“Oh,” he draws the word out teasingly, “she suggests a compromise before she even has one!”
“I’ll come up with one, just give me a minute,” you huff. Jack hums at you again, keeps chopping. “Okay, yes! I have one. What if while we’re in Paris or whatever bigger cities or places you’d prefer I wasn’t wearing it on my finger you wear the ring around a chain on your neck? Even on the same one as your dog tags if you’re bringing them. People are much less likely to try to snatch it from your neck and run, plus it’ll always be covered by your shirt unless you’re going to start wearing deep v-necks, which I doubt.” You smirk.
You watch Jack’s eyes slide from you to the wall behind you and glaze over. It’s clear he’s going back somewhere, you just don’t know where or why or what happened. The smirk slides from your face as it twists into concern.
He goes to say something but stops as your words fully process. Wear the ring around a chain on his neck. Like he did at your funeral.
Jack drops the knife, it falls out of his hand and clatters a bit as it hits the counter. “Jack?” you whisper, your heart rate picking up.
The nightmare plays on fast forward in Jack’s head, every emotion he felt when having it slamming into him all at once and making his head spin. With the massive flood of epinephrine, norepinephrine and cortisol all those emotions cause his body to release, Jack’s turning and leaning over the sink to be sick.
It’s all too much.
“Jack!” You’re off the stool and over by him in a second, rubbing his back. “Hey,” you murmur, “it’s okay, you’re okay.” You have no idea what’s going on with him, but have a feeling.
Jack shakes his head at you as he dry heaves a few more times, trembling like nothing you’ve seen from him before. “I’ve got you.” Your hand keeps rubbing circles on his back soothingly and it’s simultaneously comforting him and burning him, because it’s all too much. There are too many emotions.
You were dead. He was at your funeral. It was so real.
Tears start to stream down his face silently as he rinses the sink and his mouth. “We can get you to bed, okay? I’ll make you some broth if you feel up to it.”
He can hear the anxiety in your voice, the worry for him, your love for him. He loves it, he does, truly, but it almost makes it worse because you were dead. And if you were dead, if you had really died, he wouldn’t have this. He wouldn’t be in sweatpants and an old shirt at home chopping things to make dinner for the two of you while you sit in the kitchen to be with him and plan your trip. You wouldn’t be rubbing his back and so worried about him. You wouldn’t be taking care of him and offering to make him broth.
You simply wouldn’t be.
Jack shakes his head and sniffles. He turns to you and your eyes widen when you see him crying, pain and a heartbreaking and agonizing sorrow etched into his face that threatens to bring you to tears. You immediately know what this is about. He doesn’t need to say anything. He’s not ill. But you’re not sure how to support him, what to say, what exactly is wrong. “Jack what’s-”
You’re cut off by him crumbling in front of you, grabbing at your forearms to pull you closer as he slides down the base cabinets to the floor, bringing you down with him. “I,” he tries to choke out, “I, I…” He shakes his head again.
He can’t speak right now, and you know it. “Okay, it’s okay,” you tell him as you reach for him and pull him close to you as you press your back against the cabinet, letting him almost lay on you.
Jack buries his head in your chest, careful not to press into your still healing sternum too hard, and clings to you, both arms wrapped tightly around you, one diagonal up your back, hand clinging to your shoulder for just a second before it slides over to your neck, two fingers pushing down.
He’s looking for your pulse.
“Oh, Jack,” you whisper, your own voice thick with tears now. “I’m here. I’ve got you baby.” You hold him just as tight, let one hand find his hair and run your fingers through it, scratch at his scalp at times, kiss the top of his head and nuzzle your nose into him in hopes of soothing him. Sometimes you rock a little, but you’re not sure if that’s more to comfort him or yourself.
And you whisper little words of reassurance and, you hope, comfort to him. “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” You hold him and let him weep into you. Let him keep his fingers pressed into your pulse point. Let him cling to you like you’re the only thing left in the world, because to him you are. You’re his whole world.
It kills you, seeing him like this, hurting this badly. This deeply. You know it has to do with what happened, know that it’s been building up in him for a long time. That he hasn’t said anything about it, not because he was trying to hide it but because he just couldn’t. And you understand that. A whole lot.
“Here baby,” you murmur at one point, try to move his head a little which just makes him sob harder and hold you closer. “Shh, I’m not going anywhere, just trust me, okay? I think this will help.” You try again and this time he lets you move his head, lets you turn it to the side and move it over and then pull him back to your chest, keep your hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He’s confused until he hears it.
The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest.
It makes him tremble against you harder, clutch at you tighter. But you don’t care. You wouldn’t care if he held you so hard it hurt. You’d take on all the physical pain out there without a second thought and genuinely smile about it if it would take away Jack’s pain.
It starts to pass the longer Jack is in your arms, ear to your chest listening to your heart beating, fingers pressing into your skin feeling your heart beating. It calms him. He quiets, reduced to only sniffles and hiccuped in breaths and swollen eyes and an ache so deep in his chest he’s not sure it can be fixed. But you’re with him, still holding him on the kitchen floor and brushing at his cheekbone and scratching at the nape of his neck and kissing his curls and whispering soft words of reassurance to him.
You’re here. You’re in your shared apartment. You’re alive.
You have to be, right? The sound of your heart beating and the warmth of your chest and your voice whispering quiet words to him has to be real. It would make sense for you to come up with the idea of him wearing your engagement ring on a chain around his neck all on your own as a compromise. It doesn’t mean he’s still in that nightmare and just starting to realize it. It means the two of you just think alike. Right?
You aren’t sure how long you end up sitting there on the floor together, his head pressed against your chest. It doesn’t really matter. You know he’s really starting to come down when his fingers no longer press into your neck to feel for your pulse. “I’m here if and when you want to talk,” you whisper. You don’t expect anything back from him and aren’t hurt when he remains quiet.
Eventually Jack pulls his head from your chest and looks up at you. After a few seconds of eye contact he pushes himself up and sits with his back against the base cabinet next to you. He wipes off his face with his hands and once he’s done, one of your hands immediately finds one of his and squeezes. He needs it. Little things like a hand squeeze from you to remind him that you’re still here with him. Eventually he lets his head tilt and rest on your shoulder. You turn your head, give him a lingering kiss to the temple and then rest yours on top of his.
And then you just sit like that. For as long as he needs. Even when your ass goes numb and back stiffens a bit. You stay just like that with him.
Jack loves the way you don’t press him. You don’t ask if he’s okay, or if he wants to talk about it, or tell him gently to talk to you. You just let him be as he comes back to himself fully. And he knows it’s not because you don’t want to talk about it or don’t want him to talk to you about it but because you understand that sometimes there is simultaneously too much and nothing to be said. So you let him be.
After a while Jack takes a big breath in and slowly lets it out. You feel him pull his head a little so you lift yours up and look over at him as he looks at you.
He looks wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. Eyes red and swollen, lips a bit swollen too. Mouth set and lips pulled just the slightest bit down, hair fluffier and more askew than normal because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. His shirt is wrinkled, part of the neckline darker than the rest of the shirt from his tears. He looks haunted.
But mostly it’s the way he’s looking at you that really shows how wrecked he is. You’ve seen Jack look at you a lot of ways, with a lot of different expressions, especially recently with everything that has happened. Happy, sad, like he’s amazed and can’t believe you’re alive, like looking at you hurts him a little because it reminds him of what he almost lost and who he couldn’t protect.
But you’ve never seen Jack look at you like this. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re alive, but not in an incredulous, happy sense. Jack’s looking at you like he truly cannot believe you’re alive, is scared to believe it even for a second. Like he doesn’t trust the world that you are in fact alive, doesn’t trust himself and his ability to know whether you’re alive. Like you’re a hallucination or a mirage, or a ghost who has been living with him and he’s just realizing it. Like you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from.
“I…” Jack tries to start, voice raw, as unsure and questioning and wrecked as he looks. He just keeps looking at you like he’s about to come back to reality and you’re about to disappear right in front of his eyes, just cease to exist.
He shifts and leans off the cabinet, gets closer to you and takes your face in his hands. Jack holds your gaze how he loves to do, lets his eyes burn into yours as though they’ll give him the answer to whatever question it is he can’t speak.
You lean your head into one of his hands a little and then Jack’s kissing you, pressing against your lips hard at first like he was bracing to just move through air and never actually find your lips. It’s short, his head pulling back from yours for a second to look you in the eyes again before his eyes drop to your lips.
Glassy eyes look back up at you, questioning. You nod slightly, because of course he can kiss you. And he does.
Jack pulls your head back towards his as he leans in, both of your mouths opening just slightly. He takes the opportunity, licks into your mouth and starts devouring you, his head moving slightly with each kiss and slip of his tongue back into your mouth.
It’s greedy the way he kisses you, nose smushing into your face as you both start to breathe hard, the sound almost lost in between the noises of pleasure you pull from each other and the pops of your lips with each pass. Jack kisses you like he doesn’t believe you’re real. Like each kiss might be the last one he’s ever able to give you, like it’ll never be enough, like he’ll never have enough of you. It’s not something you’ve ever felt from him before. You can tell he’s scared in a way but you aren’t sure about what exactly.
He keeps kissing you but his hands drop from your face to grab at the hem of your shirt, start sliding it up your body, stopping to pop the clasp of your bra as he works the shirt up and eventually over your head, helps you shrug your bra off. You expect his lips to return to yours immediately but they don’t.
Jack stands as he tosses your shirt and bra to the side, hands reaching down for you and helping to get you up on your feet. Before you can say anything his hands are on your hips and his lips are back on yours. He walks you backwards to the kitchen table until your ass bumps into the edge of it. Without breaking the kiss he moves his from your hips and blindly wipes off the table, sending some mail and books and whatever else happened to be there clattering to the floor.
He finally breaks the kiss to give you a chance to breathe and so he can check there’s nothing on the table. “Jack,” you breathe out with some surprise. He grabs your hips and helps you sit on the edge of the table before stooping to bring his face back close to yours.
“Please,” he whispers against your lips, “please. Please, I need this.” He pushes his lips to yours once again, licking into your mouth once again. “I need to feel you.” He feels your hands at the hem of his shirt and moves apart just enough for him to get it off and throw it to the floor. “I need you.” It’s pleaded, desperate and needy, but not erotically so.
“Of course, always.” You let him support you as he leans over you and guides you down until your back rests against the table. “You have me, you always have me.”
It’s quick then, the way he tears off your bottoms and then his. You wrap your legs around him as he leans back over you, chest to chest and kisses you again, like he can’t get enough, like each kiss is a surprise he wasn’t expecting to actually get. He grinds himself into you as he does and you respond in kind, tightening your legs around him and letting your hips buck as much as they can against him to search out more friction. His hands roam your body, pressing into you to feel as much as he can, groping at your breasts and squeezing your hips as his lips stay on yours.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, hand sliding between the two of you to feel how wet you are for him. “Can you take me like this?”
“Yeah,” you pant softly, “yeah, please Jack.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hands tangling in salt and pepper curls you adore.
He shivers at the way you say his name, his lips leaving yours so he can look down at you as his fingers run through you and then over his cock to slick himself up as much as he can. “I need to know you’re real and still here. I need to be close to you.”
Jack notches himself in you and then moves to rest on his forearms with his hands holding your face, forehead resting against yours before he finally pushes himself into you slowly. His voice cracks with emotion part way through the needy and relieved groan he draws out as he pushes in.
“Oh Jack,” you moan as you take a breath in and feel it catch in your throat.
Once he bottoms out Jack stills, the two of you panting against each other’s lips until Jack’s are claiming yours once again. He stays still, lets himself relish in the way you taste and how you feel around him, so tight and warm and fluttering as you adjust to taking him with no real preparation.
Jack finally draws his hips back slowly and steadily pushes himself back in with a grunt. “You okay?” Even with as out of his mind for you as he is, how desperate and needy and frantic he is to have you he’s still checking in on you. Would rather die than hurt you, especially like this.
“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, Jack please. Need you.” Hearing that you need him has Jack pulling his hips back again, faster this time before snapping back in.
From there it’s all feral need and grunts and groans as Jack tries to be closer to you, to consume you, to be one with you. His strokes are hard as he tries to get as deep inside of you as he possibly can. His pace varies, keeps you on your toes, but it’s not deliberate this time. It’s Jack chasing what he needs from you however his body tells him, however feels right at that second. At some point one of his arms slides under your back, his hand wrapping over the opposite shoulder so that you tilt to the side just a little and he can pull you down onto him as he fucks you so hard your last clear thought is of concern he might break the table.
Your hands tug at his hair, nails draw up his back when he starts mouthing at your neck, kissing and sucking, lips passing over the scar from your central line again and again. He rests his cheek against yours leaving his mouth near your ear allowing you to hear every little noise your body pulls from him. Jack is fucking you with pure need but it’s not an erotic need like it is sometimes when you tease him or he’s been thinking about you all day. It’s intimate. Jack needs you. He needs you. All of you.
Only you.
You’re so lost in the haze of pleasure that it takes you a moment to realize your cheek is wet where your and Jack’s touch. You realize he’s crying. “Jack?” You moan his name so sweetly for him, lace it with all the concern and worry and need you have for him.
It makes him let out the smallest sob and breathe in hard through his teeth, shake his head a little against yours. He pulls his head from yours and looks down at you, hips slowing but not stopping. “Tell me you’re here,” a fresh wave of tears roll down his face and hit your cheeks. He’s unfairly beautiful when he cries. “Tell me this is real. That you’re real.” A few of your own tears slip out the corner of your eyes and roll down towards your ear. “Please,” his voice cracks, more of his tears joining your own on your face, “please be real. Please tell me you’re here and real and with me.”
You do. Over and over and over until his lips are back on yours and consuming you in a different way now. More confident, more convinced you’re real and here with him and letting him fuck you on your kitchen table to soothe himself and fix something inside of him he didn’t realize was broken.
Letting him take solace from every part of you.
One hand slips between your bodies and with how well he knows you it’s not long before Jack has you soundless with pleasure for a moment as your orgasm crashes over you, voice coming back to moan out little whispers of his name, veiled pleas for him to take anything and everything he could ever need from you.
And so Jack does. Lets himself give in and lose himself all the way in you, your name groaned with a relieved intensity you’ve never heard from him before, lower and more gravelly than usual right at your ear.
Jack works himself through it before stilling and resting his forehead back against yours, the two of you panting softly as you come down, bodies hot and sweat sheened and sticking together. “I love you,” Jack whispers, eyes opening and finding yours before kissing you, chaste but lingering. Just to feel you.
“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips when you’re able, hand running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. Jack kisses your lips again and then your chin, down your neck and to your central line scar, lingering there before kissing down to the highest part of your thoracotomy scar. “Bed?”
Jack nods, lifts himself off of you and pulls out gently. He steps back and helps you up and off the table. “I should take care of all this.” He nods to the kitchen.
You shake your head and grab his hand. “The carrots and potatoes can live there overnight and it’ll be fine. We can order something from bed.” You squeeze his hand and pull him gently so he starts walking with you.
Jack pulls back on your hand before you can get in bed, flicks his chin towards the bathroom. “Go,” it’s not an order, just a reminder. “We don’t want my… whatever that was to be the reason you get a UTI. You really don’t need that right now.”
You smile at him gently and nod. Even after all the emotional turmoil he just went through, still is a little bit from what you can see in his eyes, he’s still thinking about you and your well being and keeping you healthy and safe. “You’ll get in bed?”
He nods and drops your hand, sits on the edge and takes his prosthetic off as you go pee. He’s leaning against the headboard and staring into space when you get into bed. You slide up next to him so that your legs touch and lean back against the headboard, let your hand rest on his thigh and give it a little squeeze so he knows you’re here for whatever he might need.
“When you were in a coma,” Jack starts, voice strained and raw, “I started having nightmares.” He rests his hand on top of yours. You close your eyes and bow your head a little, heart sinking. “Some weren’t completely awful. But the one I got the most…” he trails off and shakes his head, grows quiet again.
“You don’t have to tell me,” you remind him softly, lean your head over and kiss his bare shoulder.
“I know, but I want to. At least enough to explain what that was.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jack.”
“I know but I want to tell you.” He pauses for a second. “The worst, and of course most frequent, one was where you died in the OR. And I had to hold your lifeless body and somehow force myself to walk away from you. In the nightmare I’m thinking back on that while I’m sitting at your funeral.” You blink away tears because you can’t even imagine the level of pain that must have caused him. Multiple times. “The details, I… They don’t really matter, right now. In the nightmare I wore your engagement ring, the one that never got to go on your finger because I never go to ask, I wore it on a chain around my neck.”
“Oh fuck Jack,” you cringe, closing your eyes and squeezing his thigh tight and hating yourself. “I am so fucking sorry.”
Jack finally turns his head to look over at you. “Don’t be. Seriously. You had no way of knowing.” You appreciate him saying it but it doesn’t stop the guilt that builds inside of you. You were the reason he had the nightmare in the first place and now you’re the reason he had to go right back there. “So when you, when it got brought up, it just made it all hit me again, all the emotions from that nightmare and it made me panic almost. That this wasn’t real, that you weren’t. And I lost it a bit and so I did whatever that was and then needed to be as close to you as possible.” He shrugs a little. “I needed to know you were real.”
Jack’s hand slides under yours and picks it up, laces your fingers together and squeezes. You feel vaguely lightheaded by his admission and then berate yourself and feel guiltier for thinking about yourself when this is about Jack and him still needing you. “I,” you try to find words to say, “I’m sorry,” Jack shakes his head but you continue, “I can’t even begin to imagine how painful that must have been.” You pause and have to look away from him for a moment, can feel his eyes remain on you. “Or maybe I can, to some extent at least, and that’s why I’m sorry and wish I could take it all away from you, make sure it never happens again.”
“That one has only happened once since you’ve been home. The first night.” You feel a little relief at that, are able to look back up at him. “They’ve kind of changed though, honestly. It’s not holding your dead body in an OR anymore, it’s walking in the door from work or the store or wherever and finding your dead body on the floor or in bed or wherever. Complications. Something else random. Freak home deaths I’ve seen roll through work before.” He lets go of your hand to bring his hand to your face again. “I wake up and have to convince myself you’re here. I’ve gotten quite good at the art of taking your pulse on your wrist without you waking up.” He gives a little laugh through his nose, trying to infuse a little lightness. It doesn’t work. If anything your lips pull down a bit. “Sometimes I just lay awake for a while watching you breathe. Sometimes I cuddle up to you a bit closer to feel your chest rise and fall against mine. Sometimes I fall asleep counting the beats of your heart while I feel your pulse.”
You take in a shuddery breath, trying so hard to focus on him and helping him and being here for him and not on the way this is all your fault. “Do you want to talk or for me to just listen?” You don’t want to force him to truly discuss this with you if he’s not in the headspace right now and it won’t surprise you if he’s not.
Jack thinks about it for a second. “Listen, please.”
“Okay.” You nod at him. “I’m not saying this to start a conversation when you just told me you wanted listening but I just need to make sure you know. You can do whatever you need to do Jack. When you wake up from one. Wake me up. We can talk, we can just sit together, whatever you need, okay?”
He nods, pulls his hand from your face to wipe away the couple of tears that have fallen down his own during this conversation. “Actually when you shifted us earlier, in the kitchen. Pulled my head to your chest so I could listen to your heart. It helped a lot. I just didn’t want to hurt you, before. With your chest healing.” He tries to laugh softly at himself.
You give him the best smile you can manage with all the guilt and self-hate swirling inside you. “You can roll me into whatever position you want so you can listen anytime.” You know he’s trying to keep the conversation light because he knows how hard hearing it is for you. But that’s not fair. You should be the one trying to keep it light for him, should be taking care of him. “We could get you another stethoscope to keep on your nightstand,” you offer. “Then you could really listen whenever you wanted.”
He gives you a little more of a laugh at that and it makes your small smile become a little more genuine. “Could, yeah. But I like having my head on your chest, feeling you. I think it probably helps ground me in its own way.”
“Makes sense.” You rest your left hand on his chest, push down a little extra hard with your ring finger so he can feel the band that lives there now. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy and that you didn’t have to. And I want to do whatever I can to help you because I don’t want you to suffer.” You stop yourself from adding the because of me that you want to so badly.
Jack picks up your hand, brings it to his lips palm first and kisses the band of your engagement ring before flipping your hand and kissing to the side of it the best he can with the setting. He brings your hand to the side of his face and covers it with his as he leans into it. “You always help. Even when you’re just laying there asleep and don’t know it.”
You give him a little smile and laugh through your nose, try your best to take his words to heart because you know how much he means them. Jack knows you’re struggling, he can read you like a book. But he senses that you don’t want to acknowledge it so he doesn’t bring it up.
His stomach growls then which makes you laugh a little more and he huffs. “Ruined our moment.”
“Nah,” you shake your head and pull your hand away and rub his stomach, push off the headboard to sit up more. “What do you feel like? Can’t have my man going hungry.” The smile you give him is genuine, all the way to your eyes this time and it makes him mirror you, that smile of his you love so much pulling onto his face.
He widens his eyes at you for a second and raises his eyebrows and you already know what he’s about to say. “You.”
“Yeah, I walked into that one,” you click your tongue at yourself. Jack gives you a smirk. “I don’t think I’m going to be filling enough for that-”
“I could go for seconds. Thirds, even.”
“Mm, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no.” You boop his nose and the way he scrunches his nose at it is so cute you could bite him. “Real food first. Me later, if you’re good.” He raises his eyebrows at you with a little smile. “What would you like? I’ll order.”
“Feisty. I’ll take it. Be so good for you so I can have dessert.” He nods all saccharine and put-on grin that makes you roll your eyes at him playfully. He thinks for a moment and then says the name of your favorite restaurant.
You tsk at him and give him a really? look, but you’re smiling still, grinning, in fact. Like an idiot. It’s so sweet and so Jack, just one of those little casual ways he shows he loves you.
“Whattt? I can’t want that?”
“You can, but I don’t think it’s really your first choice, right now.” You shake your head a little as you speak. You start to slide out of bed and Jack whines, grabs at one of your arms.
“Where are you going?” he pouts at you.
“Gotta go get my phone so we can order, baby.”
His pout lessens fractionally. “Alright, but hurry back.”
“You’re very cute when you’re clingy,” you giggle at him as you get out of bed. He goes to make a smart comment back that he isn’t clingy but stops. He is right now and he doesn’t fucking care. He’s allowed to be.
Jack has a favorite restaurant, just like you. Several, actually but you know the one that really tops the list. But you’ve also deduced that Jack has a favorite comfort restaurant that’s different from his favorite favorite. And you know what his favorite comfort meal from that restaurant is. So you add it, pick something for yourself and order it to be delivered before walking back into the bedroom with your phone.
“Took you long enough,” he teases as you come into view. “What were you doing?”
“Ordering.” You toss your phone at him as you slide in and he unlocks it, reads it over.
He swallows thickly and looks at you with glassy eyes. You make him feel more loved than he could ever possibly deserve, knowing him that well without him having ever said a word about it and doing it for him without asking. You give him a soft smile when you turn to look at him. “Okay?”
“More than,” he whispers. “Thank you.” He pulls you closer to him so that you’re cuddling chest to chest, gives you the sweetest, simplest kiss. It’s everything. “You know,” he hums, starting to push you on your back. “I think you’re my appetizer and dessert.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“How about the day we met? We consider that our first date, it’s our anniversary,” Jack suggests.
You and Jack are lounging on the couch together, half watching your show and half discussing wedding things. You’re not making any real plans, just thinking and dreaming out loud with each other.
You can’t help but tease him. “Is that because you only want to have to remember one date?”
He shoots you a look. “No.” He wags his head at you as he says it. “I just thought it was kind of sweet. That’s our day, you know? And it falls on a Saturday that year.” He waves his phone that’s open to the calendar app at you.
You grin at him. “You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot.” You’re crawling into his lap as you sing it, running your hands up his chest to hold his face so you can cover it in kisses.
“So you’ve said.” Jack moves his head and chases your lips with his trying to get a kiss on the lips. “Multiple times.”
“Because it’s true,” you mumble against his lips as he kisses you, running your hands through his curls.
“Yeah, yeah.” He playfully waves you off as you settle on his lap perpendicular to him, one of his arms resting against your legs, hand spread over the thigh closest to him. His other hand rubs up and down your back absentmindedly. “You thought about where?”
“Mm,” you hum, look down at your engagement ring, “not so much. You?”
“Yeah,” he nods, squeezes your thigh. “I was thinking the bookstore.”
Your eyes come up from your ring and look at the wall in front of you for a second before looking at Jack. He can’t be serious. You open your mouth to say something, but close it as you struggle to find the words.
“I didn’t expect speechless but I knew you’d love the idea.” Jack smiles. He uses the hand rubbing at your back to gently grab the back of your neck and bring your face close to his as if he’s going to kiss you. He drops his voice and lets a breath of hot air fan over your lips. “I’m fucking with you,” he murmurs before pulling his face away a bit and releasing you, letting his hand come down to your back again, a huge self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Jack!” He laughs at the shrill tone of your voice and the way you swat his chest playfully.
“I really had you there for a minute,” he laughs as you fake pout at him. “But something I love about you is the way you were thinking so hard of a way to let me down without hurting me.”
“You did!” You huff at him. “I was sitting here thinking how am I going to explain to him that while I love our bookstore it doesn’t say wedding venue, nor do I want our wedding to be a near recreation of our first date with a bunch of extra people with us!”
Jack chuckles a little more. “I haven’t really thought about where either. Hard to think of where before you have a date to know the season.” You nod and hum, he makes a good point. “I only have one wedding requirement. And it’s not even really the wedding.”
“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at him in intrigue. “What’s that?”
“I plan the honeymoon.” Both of your eyebrows raise at that and you cock your head at him. You don’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t planning the honeymoon apparently. “And you don’t get to know where we’re going until we’re at the gate about to board.”
“How will I pack?” You look slightly stricken. “Jack, I love you and I trust you with my life, truly, but packing-”
“I’m going to give you,” Jack cuts you off with an oddly reassuring smirk, “two packing lists. You’ll make two piles. Once you’ve left to go get ready I’ll put one of the piles into a suitcase. That way I get my surprise and you’ve packed for yourself.”
You blink at him for a moment. “Jack,” you whisper, swallow hard and will away the tears you can feel forming. “You have this all planned out just to surprise me?”
“I thought you might like the idea, but it’s okay if you don’t.” He nods to emphasize that part. “But if we do decide to do it this way we’ll still talk about places of course, it’s not like I don’t want any input from you. I’ll just be the final decision maker.”
“No, I love it.” The laugh you give him is breathless. “It makes me feel so loved and taken care of. It’s hard to wrap my head around.” You lean into him to give him a deep kiss. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“I think the general idea came to me a couple weeks after I knew I wanted to marry you.”
You beam up at him. “That long?” Jack nods. “Wow.”
“Did you have a moment?” Jack asks you. You furrow your brows at him and shake your head slightly to ask him to explain. “A moment when you knew you wanted to marry me. That you knew you’d say yes if I asked. It’s okay if you don’t, honestly.”
“Of course I do!” You click your tongue at him. You let out a short laugh. “It actually wasn’t long after yours. Like two-ish weeks later, maybe? Things had been adding up, there were lots of things. This was just the first moment where I really consciously thought it.” You smile at him, wrap one arm around his neck so your fingers can scratch at the back of his scalp and nape of his neck how he likes.
“You had just worked I think five nights in a row helping cover shifts. We hadn’t spoken on the phone that day, but exchanged some texts in the morning before you got home and went to sleep. And I could tell just from them that you were so beyond exhausted. My day, well. It was probably the worst and hardest day I had ever had at work and I felt so selfish but once I was able to leave I just went straight to your place. Without asking. So I knock and wait, get ready to leave because I know you’re asleep but then you open the door in your pajama pants, you’d clearly just woken up. And you give me this little ‘Hey Doll, come in’ as you open the door. I was frozen by that point. You took one look at me, grabbed my hand, pulled me inside and sat me on your couch and then disappeared. At some point you came back and gave me a tight hug, kissed my forehead and said ‘I’ve got you.’ And the next thing I know you’re stripping me and getting me into the bath you’d apparently drawn. You sat on the floor next to the tub with me. I still hadn’t said a single word to you at this point. Not even hi. And then you start talking to me. Just talking. I don’t remember about what. But you knew just from looking at me that I needed help getting out of my head. And as I listened I finally found my voice and was able to say I was sorry. You asked why and I said something along the lines of I was being selfish and knew you were exhausted and shouldn’t have come and made you do all this just because I had a bad day. And then you said, ‘Don’t apologize for needing me. Ever. For anything or for any reason. The day will never come where you need me and I am too tired for you.’ It wasn’t a big deal or a huge declaration. Just a casual fact you were stating. You knew what I needed just by looking at me. You didn’t care that I didn’t say a word to you while you did all this stuff for me. You didn’t ask what was wrong or for me to talk to you. You just met me where I was. And as you were helping me out of the bath and drying me off with a towel I just had the thought. I want to marry him.”
You wipe a few tears from your eyes. “Sorry, that was probably way more of a story than it needed to be to answer your question.”
“Don’t apologize,” Jack murmurs. His eyes are glassy just like yours, a bit red. He gives a soft laugh. “I just feel kind of bad now that I didn’t give that much detail.”
“Don’t.” You shake your head at him. “I promise, if I had been down on one knee on this floor that story would have been a whole lot fucking shorter.”
That makes Jack laugh properly which makes you laugh properly. You turn a little and slide your arms around his neck to hug him, his arms sliding around you in return and holding you close.
You nuzzle into his neck and then pull back for a kiss, let Jack deepen it as he begins moving to get you on your back on the couch, propping himself up on his elbows on top of you to keep too much weight off your chest and abdomen. You have to break apart for air but Jack goes straight to your neck, kissing and sucking and pulling all those pretty little sounds from you that he loves.
“We have a date,” you whisper, hands tugging at his curls a little.
Jack pulls back from your neck to look down at you, both of you grinning at each other. “We have a date.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You and Jack walk into the Pitt together. He needed to grab some stuff and sign a few things and was going to have Robby drop it all off so he didn’t have to leave you. You haven’t been outside much since the shooting. But you convinced him that you guys should go together, that it would be good for him to see people. As long as he would drive you guys, which he would of course.
Jack was weary at the idea. You seemed to be struggling a bit harder lately and he worried something about being in the Pitt specifically might be too triggering for you. He knows that you have a lot of unresolved anxiety and guilt about what happened still. And that, while you’ve spoken generally about feeling guilty for putting him through all of this, you, like him, struggle to talk about it with him because you see it as burdening him or guilting him.
But you reassured him that it would be fine. You’d been back to the hospital since everything for follow up appointments. Not to the Pitt, but if the hospital didn’t completely trigger you why would the Pitt?
You feel a little twinge of something as you walk through the ambulance bay doors, the ones you’d come through that day. Jack can tell and he squeezes your hand, stops and pulls to the side. “You sure about this? We can leave, right now.”
You shake your head. “No, no I’m sure. It’ll be good for me. I’m okay, really. It was just a little second of something.”
He eyes you for a second but nods and starts walking you further in. It’s busy, nobody notices either of you as he leads you over to the break room. “You want to wait here? Shouldn’t take long. You can check the fridge. Anything with Robby’s name on it you can steal.”
That makes you laugh, helps you relax. “I’ll wait here, yeah. Go do your thing, Dr. Abbot.” You wink at him.
Jack lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head. “Don’t even start with me, Doll.” It makes you giggle as he leans down to kiss you. “I won’t be long, okay?” You nod at him, take a seat as he walks out.
You scroll on your phone for a few minutes before your curiosity gets the better of you. You walk over and peek out the window of the door. It’s constant movement right now, people barely acknowledging each other as they rush to get somewhere else. You open the door and step out, just to look around.
Before you’re even really aware of it you’re standing in front of one of the trauma rooms. That trauma room. The parts you can remember play in your head. Hugging Jack, Robby calling him over, you realizing what had happened and calling to Jack. And then nothing. Standing here you can only imagine what it must have been like for Jack, for him to have seen where you were shot and then watch you collapse. And then you made him live in the hospital with you for weeks. And now you’re making him stay home with you. Sometimes your guilt makes you feel like his jailer.
Jack chats with Robby at the desk while he fills out one of the papers, gives whatever info it is HR so desperately needed to process all his leave correctly. Robby’s mid sentence when Jack spots you just in the corner of his eye, turns to see you standing in front of the trauma room. Jack leaves without a word to Robby and strides to you.
“Hey,” he calls out as he gets close so that he won’t scare you when he steps in front of you and puts his hands on your arms. He sees that your eyes are a little glazed over when he gets a good look at you. “Why don’t you come over to the desk with me, yeah?” He’s not going to ask you why you were there like you’re a child who needs to explain yourself to him. He’s just going to redirect. “Yeah?” He asks again as he cups your face with one hand.
“I just wanted to see. I, I got… curious. Just wanted to watch.” You explain anyway. “And then I was here.”
“That’s okay, Doll. You can sit at the desk with me, yeah?”
You look around. There’s a chair against the wall a bit down, not facing the trauma room. “I’ll sit there. If that’s okay. Then I can watch.”
Jack glances over. “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s okay.” He walks you over to it, squeezes your hand. “I’m almost done, I promise.”
Being away from the room and back in Jack’s space snaps you back a little. “Okay, Peter.” You smile at him before he walks away.
After a few minutes sitting there by yourself a woman rolls her wheelchair up to you. “And who are you that they’ve got sitting in time out?”
You glance around for a second to see if anyone’s coming after her and when nobody does you figure fuck it, and answer. “I’m Jack, um, Dr. Abbot’s fiancée.”
“Oh you lucky girl,” the woman smirks at you. “I’m Myrna.”
“Oh!” You smile widely at her. “Yes! I’ve heard a lot about you from Robby!”
“Have you now? Fruitcake’s talkin’ about me outside of this shithole. I knew I had that cocksucker wrapped around my finger.”
“Fruitcake?” You laugh. “That’s what you call Robby? Fruitcake?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “He loves it.” Myrna gives you a conspiratorial wink. “He pretends it doesn’t, but I know it makes him feel things.”
At the desk Robby looks up, sees you and Myrna talking and you laughing. “Oh that’s not good.”
“Hm?” Jack raises his brows and then looks up. He smirks. “Not for you, but I think it’s going to be pretty funny for me.” Jack signs the last form and they both walk over to you. You and Myrna quiet as they get closer.
“Myrna, are you harassing Jack’s fiancée?” Robby asks sternly, crossing his arms.
“Not at all Fruitcake!” You answer for her. “We were just having a little chat.”
Robby lets out a big sigh as Jack laughs. “See man, I told you. Not good for you, funny for me.”
“Actually, we were talking and Myrna is free, Robby. She can be your plus one to the wedding! You said yesterday you were still looking!”
“That sounds perfect!” Jack smirks, clapping Robby on the shoulder.
“I’ll let you see my vagina again for free Fruitcake,” Myrna offers, raising her eyebrows at Robby.
Robby lets out another sigh and hangs his head. “The roof doth beckon.”
You and Jack laugh while Myrna swats at him. “Ready Doll?”
“Yeah.” You look at Myrna. “It was lovely meeting you Myrna, I look forward to seeing you again.” You turn your attention to Robby, disguising your smirk with a warm smile quite well. “Bye Fruitcake!” You lean up and give Robby a quick kiss on the cheek as Jack snorts a laugh and holds his hand out for you.
As the two of you walk away you hear Myrna giving Robby more shit.
“How come she’s allowed to kiss you on the cheek, cocksucker, but when I try you threaten to call the cops?” You and Jack laugh with each other as you walk out the ambulance bay doors to go back home.
That night Jack thinks it’s a little strange, how long the shower has been running. And how it doesn’t sound like you’re in it. There’s no pause to the water raining down on the tiled shower floor, no slaps of water hitting against the floor suddenly when you step to rinse your hair or body, no muffled rain sound when you let yourself stand under the stream and soak. Only the uninterrupted sound of water raining from the shower head onto the tile.
He glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. You have to have been in there for at least thirty minutes. Jack looks back over at the bathroom door. It’s unnerving. Something is wrong.
He gets off the bed, shirtless and just in his sweatpants. You guys had been winding down for the night before you decided to shower. He tries the handle. It’s unlocked. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you can enter without asking if the door is unlocked.
“Doll?” Jack calls to you softly as he opens the door.
It’s like you don’t even hear him. Jack finds you in only your underwear staring in the mirror at your scars, one hand hovering over the bottom of the long laparotomy scar running up your stomach, another over your mouth, tears streaming down your face. Being at the Pitt today pushed you over some edge you didn’t realize you were so close to.
He knows now that you were using the sound of the shower to hide your muffled sobs.
His eyes run over each of your scars, starting with the one up near your neck from your central line, that one fading quicker with how small it is, especially in comparison to the others. From there his eyes move down until he hits the scar from your thoracotomy. He traces the line with his eyes before he finds the laparotomy scar and lets his eyes drag along it. And then his eyes move over to the more circular scar. The bullet hole.
“Doll, sweetheart,” Jack keeps his voice low as he walks into the bathroom. He steps over to the shower first and turns it off. Even that hardly seems to get through to you. He sees your eyes leave yourself in the mirror and flick to him for just a second. The tears start to fall harder.
Jack walks up behind you so that his warm, bare chest presses against your back, his hands resting on your hips and lips kissing at your neck. Not teasing, just loving, soft and sweet and trying to soothe you when he knows words are only going to go so far.
“What if you can never look at me the same way again?” You finally whisper, moving your hand from your mouth.
You can see his brows furrow and a look of confusion fall over his face. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve kissed all of them, that you did the first time we had sex again after what happened. But I see you looking at them all, all the scars, whenever one is visible. And so what if you can never look at me the same way again, especially when they’re visible. What if my body is just always a reminder of one of the worst days of your life? A visual reminder that sends you right back there, that just, that just tortures you!” You let out a quiet sob. “What if that’s all you can ever see when you look at me?”
Jack takes in a deep breath and you can feel his chest press into you a little more as he does. He catches your eye contact in the mirror. “Doll,” he murmurs, “I think that you misunderstand why I look at your scars whenever one is visible.” Jack slides his hands from your hips around your front in a kind of backwards hug, pulls you back closer to him a bit.
Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”
He nods. “Will you turn for me? Sit on the counter?” Jack tilts his head a little so that it rests against yours. “You can say no and I’ll still tell you of course. You know I just like my eye contact.” He says it with just a hint of a smile and self-teasing tone to try and get you to smile.
And it’s small, but it works. Your lips pull up just slightly for a second. You chew on the inside of your cheek for a second before you turn around and let him help you get you up to sit on the edge of the counter.
“Thank you.” Jack steps between your legs and leans down to kiss your forehead. “You want me to grab your shirt?” He’s cognizant of the conversation you’re having and the fact that you’re topless, scars on display. You give him a little nod and he grabs it from the pile of your clothes you made to the side of the door. “I say your shirt, but I really mean my shirt, don’t I?”
You’d been wearing one of his old shirts that’s a bit oversized on him, soft and worn in and smelling like him. You stay quiet and nod. Jack’s heart almost throbs in his chest at how much he hates seeing you like this, this upset. Your tears have stopped now though. Little victories. Once it’s on he rests his hands on the tops of your thighs, rubs his thumbs in what he hopes are soothing circles.
“Your scars don’t remind me of one of the worst days of my life. Looking at them doesn’t send me back to the hospital or torture me. Pretty much the exact opposite.” This time it’s your brows that furrow. “They’re a reminder of what happened, sure. Of what I almost lost. But it’s that part that’s important. What I almost lost.”
“You know what you didn’t have in any of my nightmares?” Your eyes widen a little because you know what he means, what he’s going to say. “Scars. You only had wounds, fresh, stitches still in them. No scars.” Jack squeezes at your hands. “When I was in that operating room holding your dead body, you didn’t have any scars. So your scars, looking at them, when I look at them, they don’t torture me or send me back to one of the worst days of my life. They tell me that you’re alive. They remind me how hard you fought to stay here with me. They remind me how strong you are. They remind me that you’re here with me, healing and living.”
Jack moves his hands from your legs and sets them on the outside of each of your thighs on the counter, hunches over a bit and leans on them as he moves forward to kiss your forehead again. You bring your arms up and set them on either side of his neck, fingers playing in the curls at the nape of his neck.
“Your scars are proof that you’re alive. And so your scars will never be anything less than one of the most beautiful and important and comforting things I could ever look at.” He says it so seriously, so firm and settled, looks you straight in the eye as he says it. It makes a few tears slide down your cheeks again. “Second only to your face and you in general, okay?” He nods as he says it.
He brings a hand up to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “Can I give you a kiss?”
You nod as a couple more tears fall. Jack takes your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up so he can kiss you. It’s gentle, soft and sweet and lingering as he just holds you there. He pulls back but then goes back for another quick one.
Both you and Jack are surprised you haven’t started fully bawling into him, but there’s something in your chest that stops it from coming out like it needs to. You couldn’t describe it if you tried.
“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”
It takes you a moment to answer. Not to decide. Just to answer. “Just bed, please.”
“Of course, Doll.” Jack steps back from between your legs and helps you get off the counter safely before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bed. You both slide in and Jack takes his prosthetic off and gets an arm around you, pulls you into him as he leans up against the headboard.
You let him, let your head rest on his chest and let his arms wrap around you and let him hold you close as you think about everything he said. You believe him, you do. You know he would never lie to you and when you think about it all it makes sense. You just wish it were the same for you. Wish you could look at them and feel something, anything other than crushing guilt.
Because for you they’re a reminder of a traumatic event but more than that they’re a reminder of what you put Jack through. What you continue to put him through now as you try to heal physically and mentally.
Sometimes, maybe a lot of the time recently, you go back to that place. That place where you just wish it would stop, be over for the both of you. Wish you hadn’t made it out of the OR or the courthouse. That place where your brain tells you that Jack would be better off without you, that it’s unfair of you to ask him to do this all with you, that he’s only here with you still because he feels some sort of weird responsibility for what happened to you, that even if he doesn’t think he could, he would survive losing you and he would properly grieve and he would move on and find someone else. Someone who’s less work, less of a burden. Someone who’s better. That it wouldn’t even be that hard.
The rational part of you knows that those thoughts aren’t true. That Jack is here because he loves you, more than anything, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. That he would not survive losing you or properly grieve or move on. That if he knew he would tell you that you’re not work at all, not a burden, that he could never do better. That he had an entire nightmare about having to bury you and it hurt so bad that even weeks later when he thought about it he was physically sick and broke down in the kitchen.
Jack doesn’t push you, just like you never push him. He does get worried though. He hates to see you cry but this silence is somehow worse.
“You wanna go to the bookstore tomorrow?” He asks it just to ask. Just to fill the silence and help distract you and maybe keep you out of your head. Or from getting further into it.
You can feel the vibration of him speaking as your head rests on his chest. “Hm?”
He kisses the top of your head. “Bookstore tomorrow?”
“Maybe, yeah.” It’s an odd answer from you. “I don’t know.”
Jack nods slowly. “It’s okay to not know. And I’m here if you want to talk or have me listen. Whatever you need.”
You hum at his words. “I don’t know anything anymore Jack,” you admit.
You feel his arms hold you a little tighter. He doesn’t understand and something about the way you say it scares him a little. “What do you mean?”
The something in your chest that was blocking everything from coming out starts to crack. “I don’t know,” you whisper, high pitched and cracking. “I don’t know how to do this.” You pull away from him and move so that you’re sitting next to him with your legs crossed so that you can face him.
“I know I’m in therapy. And I know it helps. And I hate to think about what I’d be like without my therapist.” You shrug, chin trembling and tears lining your eyes as you look at him. You look so sad and it kills him.
“But I still don’t know how to do this Jack. How to heal, how to grieve. I don’t know how to heal the tremendous guilt I feel. And everyone says to let myself grieve and what the fuck am I grieving? I don’t have anything to grieve. I didn’t lose anything! Not like you. It’s not the same as what you went through. You lost a piece of yourself. I happened to get shot and spent time in the hospital and yes I almost died but I didn’t lose a piece of me. And so I don’t know what I’m grieving and I don’t know how to grieve or what I’m grieving or how to heal from this… this amorphous concept. This thing, that just happened to me. This event. And I shouldn’t need to! I shouldn’t need to grieve or heal. There’s nothing there. I don’t have anything to grieve or heal from, and I shouldn’t be like this! And I’m not trying to throw what happened in your face Jack, I’m not, I promise, and I’m not for a second saying you somehow had it easier because there was a more tangible thing to grieve, if anything it’s the opposite, you lost a piece of yourself and I lost nothing. You had so much to grieve and heal from, you needing to grieve and heal and struggling that makes sense. I lost nothing. I don’t even know what I have to grieve. I don’t know.”
All the tears in your eyes spill over at once. You bring your shoulders up to your ears in a held shrug. “I don’t know, Jack.” He’s never heard you sound so small. Not even that ‘okay’ you gave him in the hospital was like this. The guilt and shame and embarrassment all flood you, make it hard to look at him. “I didn’t say anything even though I’ve been struggling because-”
You shake your head, try to wipe some of the tears off your face, look down at your hands in your lap. “I just don’t know how to do this, whatever this is. And it’s like recently I’ve lost all the words to even try and begin to explain how I feel or felt. I lost all the words.” You force yourself to look back up at him because when you admit this and apologize you need to be looking at him. “I lost all the words and my head got so fucked up that I didn’t know how to ask for help, from anyone.”
Jack catches the change in tense. You had said you don’t know but now you’re saying you didn’t, like somewhere along the way in this conversation, this admission, this time with him, you found the words again.
You shake your head a little as more tears slip down your cheeks. You whisper now, voice thicker than he’s ever heard with emotion. “Not even you. I didn’t know how to ask you for help Jack.” You try to hold back a small sob through your teeth. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t know, I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” You’re cut off by the wracking sob that you’re finally able to let out as that something in your chest shatters.
“Okay, shh.” Jack shushes you softly as he reaches for you while you let yourself fall forward into his chest, rolling on your side slightly to get your legs stretched out as he pulls you on top of him and cradles you against his bare chest. He isn’t shushing you to get you to stop, only for the comfort of it.
Jack hates this. He hates seeing you suffer so thoroughly. He hates the way he can’t hug you and put you back together, the way he can’t fix this for you, can’t take away your pain. Can’t take on all of the pain for you. Jack believes you when you say you didn’t know how to ask, knows that you weren’t trying to hide it from him, just like he wasn’t trying to hide his shit from you.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He repeats it as he continues to hold you, rocks with you at times like you did with him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” One arm keeps you close, his other hand rubbing your back in circles. He knows there’s very little he can do right now except hold you through it.
With time, you run out of tears, exhaust yourself out of crying and just sniffle and hiccup into Jack. He keeps holding you, doesn’t push for more from you.
“It’s just so hard.” Your whisper breaks the silence after a good five or so minutes.
You can feel Jack nod. “Talk or listen?” he whispers.
You try to think about it. You’re not really sure what you want. “I don’t know,” you admit, “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” You try to stop yourself from getting worked up again, the reality of one more thing you don’t know hitting you hard.
“Shh,” Jack soothes you, “it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize and you don’t need to know. It’s okay. I promise.” His hands rub up and down your back and he kisses the top of your head. With how escalated you are right now he thinks eye contact will be too much so he just holds you tight as you are. “I’m going to talk. And if you want me to stop, just say so, okay?”
You nod. Jack takes a breath in as he tries to think of how to start and how he wants to say what he has to say. “You don’t ever need to apologize for struggling and not knowing how to ask for help.” There’s a pause as Jack realizes how guilty he feels about that. He knows he can’t focus on himself right now. You need him. “I think maybe we need to try and find something that you could do, that both of us could do honestly, that doesn’t require words but would let the other know we needed help. So then we don’t need words and can still get help.”
“Probably, would be good, yeah,” you mumble against him.
“Good. We’ll figure something out, promise.” He’s quiet for a moment to give you the chance to say you’ve talked enough for the night, but you don’t. “As for the other part, I know and understand and hear you when you say that you don’t know what you’re grieving and that you don’t have anything to grieve. But Doll, you do. You have so much to grieve, so much you are grieving even if it’s hard for you to see or understand right now. There doesn’t have to be some tangible loss like a foot or a person for you to have something to grieve. I hate it, and I wish that I could make it different and better for you, but you did lose a piece of yourself.” Jack feels new tears wet his chest but you don’t ask him to stop or make a noise so he continues. He knows he’s not what’s making you cry. That it’s just hard to hear and realize. “You lost a piece of yourself the moment that gun went off, and the moment you watched someone die in front of you,” he addresses the one thing you don’t talk a lot about because you’re not ready yet. It took a while for you to even be able to tell him. “And the moment,” he has to take a breath to steady himself because it’s still so hard to say, “the moment that bullet hit you, and when you almost died and over weeks in the hospital. All of those things take something from you, even if it’s not something tangible. You’ve lost a piece of yourself. And you’re grieving the person you were before you lost it. You’re grieving the you who didn’t know this type of violence, the you who didn’t know what it felt like to be shot, or what it felt like to be drowning in your own blood, or what it felt like to be septic or what it does to you to watch someone die in front of you or how it feels to see reminders of what you went through permanently on your skin. You’re grieving the person you were. And you’re grieving other things that I don’t know because I’m not in your brain. But those ones I said, those are ones I can see you grieving and struggling with and I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m being condescending or trying to define your grief for you, because I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you what I see in the hopes that it’ll help you be able to see, or give you a starting point.”
You shake your head against his chest. You know he’s not doing any of that, he didn’t even need to say it but you find it sweet that he did. “I know,” you sniffle. “I do. And it does help and somewhere deep down I know what I’m grieving, all of those things. Some things I probably can’t articulate. I just feel like I don’t know how to grieve. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to grieve obviously but I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s all the guilt making me feel like I don’t deserve to grieve or heal and should be stuck in this weird limbo forever or what. I just don’t know how.”
You both sit with your words for a minute. “I wish I had answers,” Jack finally murmurs. “But I’m not sure if anybody really knows how to grieve.” He tries to think of more to say that might be comforting or helpful. Before he can you speak.
“I got you all wet and snotty, I’m sorry.” You lean off his chest a little and put your hand under your shirt and bring it up to try and wipe him off. Jack understands you. You’ve talked enough for the night.
“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Jack laughs softly, grabbing at your hand to get you to stop. “Two of the most benign bodily fluids I’ve had on me, and they’re yours. Plus, I think I’ve done the same to you recently.”
“That’s different.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” he shakes his head, gives you a little tap on the ass.
“It’s true!” you protest. “I was wearing a shirt. You’re not. That’s different.”
“Still.” He knows you’re technically correct. “I did the same to you. And I’m pretty sure I cried tears onto your face while we were, you know… at the table.”
You burst out laughing. “While we were at the table? That’s what we’re calling it?”
“It’s not incorrect.” He shrugs, beaming just from hearing you laugh and being the one to pull it from you.
“Well, actually, I think it was more you were at the table. I was on the table,” you point out.
Jack shakes his head and smiles at you. “Prepositions are overrated.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You and Jack don’t argue often. But you’re humans. Humans who went through a major trauma together. And humans aren’t perfect. Individually or as a couple.
Neither of you even remember how it started. And you’ve somehow moved far, far away from what you were initially discussing and starting to bicker about. But you’re here now and things are escalating into a kind of argument. Even with the escalation you never raise your voices at each other, never yell. Still. It’s neither your nor Jack’s finest moment.
Jack has never pressured you into going outside. He knows it’s still hard for you, knows how much it scares you. But he also knows that you really need to and that it’s never going to get less scary. He knows that he needs to go outside but doesn’t want to leave you, feels like he can’t leave you or something will happen like when he left you that time in the hospital. And you know that you need to go outside. It’s just so scary. You were shot. You’ve put Jack through so much, and when you think about outside you think about what if something else happened, when will it be too much for him, you can’t keep asking him to do this.
Jack isn’t pressuring you to go outside but he does ask. Again. In the space of minutes.
“I don’t want to, Jack.” Your tone has a snappy edge to it. You’re getting frustrated. At yourself more than Jack.
“You’re going to have to go outside eventually, Doll. For more than me driving you to a doctor or therapy or the bookstore.” Jack tries to keep his tone even. He’s getting frustrated too, also more at himself than you. Something about his words stings when you know he doesn’t mean them to, know it’s because you’re escalated and more sensitive in a way. The way he says it makes it seem like he’s not doing those things with you, just driving you somewhere. Chauffeuring you. Like he doesn’t want to be doing it. “Around the block, please. Nothing major. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”
You shake your head from where you’re sitting on the couch, knees coming up to your chest. “I don’t want to. Asking me eight more times isn’t going to change my answer.”
“I’m worried about you!” Jack stands across the living from you in jeans and a shirt. Actually dressed compared to you in lounge clothes that are effectively pajamas. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” you can’t help the little face you make at that, “I’m really not, I promise. I’m just worried. You need to go outside. Get some fresh air. You’re holding yourself hostage here. You’re holding me-”
Jack stops as soon as he realizes what he was about to say. But he knows from the look on your face that it’s too late. And he’s right. It hits you like a slap to the face, far worse than he even realizes or could imagine. Because you’ve never really explicitly or in any detail told Jack about the guilt you have from effectively asking him to do all of this with and for you, about how guilty you feel that his entire life has been turned upside down and that he was confined to the hospital and is now confined to home because of you, because you’re scared to go outside. About the guilt of feeling like his jailer. Or hostage-keeper, apparently.
It’s a silent type of panic. One that pulls a band around your chest and stomach making it hard to breathe and sends adrenaline through your veins to chill your fingers and toes and has tears hitting your eyes.
“Doll, I didn’t-”
“No, Jack, finish the goddamn sentence.” Your voice is eerily calm now. Jack takes in and lets out a breath, tilts his head and goes to speak. “No Jack. Finish the fucking sentence.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know that. I wasn’t thinking when I said it, phrased it like that.” Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Phrased it like what? Like you resent me? Like you’re getting tired of me? Of having to take care of me?” You’re pushing some of his buttons now, a little more deliberately than he had initially pushed yours.
Jack clenches his jaw and tries to breathe through his hurt and rising frustration. “I don’t resent you, nor am I getting tired of you or having to take care of you.”
“You just feel like I’m keeping you hostage in your own home?” It’s cold, the way you say it. Icy. The guilt eats away at you. You hate yourself for what you’ve put him through.
“You won’t even try, Doll! I know you know I need out of this house and you won’t even try!” A push back at your buttons. Jack knows that it’s not a matter of trying. He knows it’s not that simple. Just like you know he isn’t growing tired of you or caring for you.
“You won’t try leaving me alone,” you fire back. “I got fucking shot and I don’t want to go outside. So why don’t you try just leaving me here alone if you want to go outside that badly?” That one really hits a nerve, harder than you realize because Jack hasn’t directly expressed just how guilty he feels about what happened when he left to go down to the ED that time in the hospital. How fucking responsible he feels for what ended up happening, for you almost dying. How he thinks it’s completely his fault and could have been prevented, easily.
“Because the last time I left you alone you ended up coding in front of me and coming a centimeter and a half away from dying!” Jack takes a quick breath. He hates himself for what he let happen to you. “You don’t even know what you don’t fucking know! I watched my best fucking friend intubate you and do CPR on you and shock you. I watched them crack your chest. I have seen your literal fucking heart.” That’s all new information to you and it makes you hate yourself a little bit more even though you know that wasn’t Jack’s intention. “I have sat by you while you were in a coma for five fucking days, all because I-”
You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. All because I left you and so I wasn’t there to notice you getting sicker and to feel your fever before you went septic and threw a PE.
“Oh well I am so sorry Jack, that I went to work and got shot and almost died-”
“Don’t.” The way he says it is almost dark, low and deadly serious, face set and eyes piercing the thick tension between you. That’s the line for him. The almost flippancy in your tone.
Jack holds his hands up. “I need air.” You don’t say anything as he walks over to the entryway and puts on his shoes. “I love you.” He puts his hand on the door handle and pauses.
“I love you too.” The door opens, Jack walks out and it shuts, key turning the deadbolt to lock a few seconds later.
The sudden quiet of your apartment is what seems to bring you back down. You take a gasping breath in as everything you said to him sinks in. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, tears wetting the back of it. You’re pretty sure you’ve never hated yourself more.
You stay there on the couch, are stuck there really, unable to bring yourself to move. All you can do is cry and think about how to apologize to Jack. You start ruminating and edging toward panic thinking about whether he’ll be able to forgive you, whether you guys will be able to work through this. You know it’s panic and that you guys will be able to. That both of you said things you didn’t mean and that were designed as jabs at the other. But yours feel so much worse than anything he said to you. Even when Jack forgives you, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.
Jack takes a couple of steps away from your apartment door but stops. He can’t. He can’t go any further. He knows he needed air and was right to step out and get some and help diffuse things between the two of you because that conversation was not going anywhere. But his fear is still there. So he walks back and slides down the wall right to the side of your door, convinces himself that this way he’ll hear you fall, if something happens. He’ll know.
Sitting in the quiet brings Jack back down too, gives everything he said to you the chance to sink in. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair before bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing in. He’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself more. He gets panicky too, it gets hard for him to imagine how you could ever accept his apologies, how he could ever make this right. He knows that you’ll forgive him, and that you’ll work this out. He just doesn’t know how he’ll forgive himself.
Neither of you even cares what the other said to you. Not really. Both of you can hardly even remember what the other said to you now, in part because it doesn’t matter. It was said out of frustration and hurt and a deep grief, none of it was meant. Things just boiled over. And in part because all you can remember is the terrible things you said to the other.
Jack doesn’t sit there long. It can’t be more than twenty minutes. You’re on your feet the second you hear the door start to unlock, walking closer to it and trying to wipe the tears from your face quickly. Jack pushes it open and looks at you, looks just as devastated as you feel and you hate it. He walks in and closes and locks the door.
“I’m so sorry.” You both say it at the same time and it makes you smile a little at each other. You’re both moving then, walking towards one another until you meet and pull each other into the tightest hug.
“I was so out of line Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.” Jack can feel your tears wet his neck and it makes him squeeze you a little tighter.
“I was too. Way out of line. I didn’t mean it either. I’m so sorry, Doll.” Jack kisses the top of your head.
The anxiety hits you a little harder being in Jack’s arms for some reason and you start to tremble. “I feel so awful, and I promise the tears aren’t manipulative or for guilt or to distract, I’m just so sorry and I hate myself for what I said and I don’t want to lose you.”
Jack frowns to himself. He’d like to have a strong word with whoever made you feel like you have to explain your tears. “I promise you that I never, for even a second, thought that. Now or any time in the past. I don’t want you to hate yourself, but I get it because I hate myself too right now. I don’t want to lose you either.”
A few tears of Jack’s own slip down his face as he says it at the thought. “You’re not going to lose me,” you whisper.
“And you’re not going to lose me,” he whispers back. “Let’s go to bed.”
You pull away from him a little. “We can go out, if you just give me a couple of minutes to change-”
Jack shakes his head. “I don’t want to go out right now, I just want to be in bed with you, holding you close.” Jack brings a hand to your face and cups it, brushes some of the tears away. “I’m just as insecure as you are right now. Just as shaken. And not by anything you said. By myself, for what I said.”
You lean into his hand. “How do you always manage to do that?” Jack raises his eyebrows to seek clarification. “Read me so well. Know how I’m really feeling.”
He shrugs, like it’s simple and obvious. “You’re my favorite book. I’ve got you so well memorized you’re an easy read.” You give him a sad nod and look down at his chest. “Hey,” he guides your head back to look at him when you don’t resist. “That was so cheesy and deserved at least a pity laugh.”
You give him the smallest one through your nose. You love this about him, it’s one of the ways he takes care of you when you’re upset, tries to make you laugh a little when appropriate to help distract your mind. Usually it works. You’re just a little too shaken yourself for it to right now.
“I,” you try to find the words. “I’m not upset or shaken by anything you said either. I just want to make sure you know that.”
“I do.” Jack nods. “Honestly Doll, I barely remember what you said to me. All I can hear in my head right now are the things I said to you.”
You give a slightly bigger laugh through your nose. “Same. I can only hear myself, only remember my words.” You know you’re preventing him from getting you in bed where he wants to be, but you have one last thing to say. “I don’t want that to ever happen again Jack, I don’t ever want to hurt you like that again, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, and I don’t want to hurt you or say things like that to you ever again. But right now, I think we hurt ourselves more than we hurt each other.” He leans down and you share a kiss, three actually, each one lingering, an apology, forgiveness given and declaration of love from both of you to the other. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? I promise.”
Jack’s promise is how the two of you found yourselves here. Couples therapy.
It wasn’t one person’s suggestion. After the argument the two of you had been talking in bed, trying to work some of what you each said out. You both talked about your own therapy and it just kind of dawned on you both at the same time and you both agreed, easily, even laughing together when you said it at nearly the same time.
You stand outside the office with Jack. You hate the term, feel like it implies something. But nothing is wrong between the two of you. Just the opposite. After your argument you both knew you needed guidance on navigating your guilt and healing as a couple, not just as individuals. Both of your therapists had recommended the same couples therapist when asked, one who specializes in helping couples who have gone through an acute traumatic experience together.
Nothing changed after the argument. You were both clingy the rest of that day and for a few days after. If anything in some ways it made you guys feel stronger as a couple. But at the same time neither of you ever want it to happen again.
So here you are. You know it won’t make you as individuals or partners or your relationship perfect because that’s impossible. And you both know you’ll hurt each other again as you heal from this and move through life together because you’re human. Neither of you expect perfection.
Jack squeezes your hand as you stand there. You squeeze back, hard as you let out a big breath.
“Preventive medicine,” Jack reminds you. You’d admitted to him one day how much the term couples therapy freaked you out and how you knew it was stupid and nothing was wrong with you guys or between you guys but it still freaked you out. Jack had suggested calling it preventive medicine, asked if that might help. You weren’t sure you were sold but knew you’d pick apart any potential name for it and preventive medicine was better than couple’s therapy to you for some reason.
“Nothing is wrong?” Sometimes you just need reassurance from him. He’s always happy to give it.
“Absolutely nothing. I’m not mad or upset with you. I’m not hurt. I don’t resent you. I love you. More than I did yesterday, less than I will tomorrow, whatever the fucking saying is. We’re okay. I promise. And if we’re ever not, if we ever even get remotely near being on the same planet as not being okay I will tell you.” Jack kisses your forehead. “This is a good thing. It’s smart. They tell people to do this before they get married even when one of them hasn’t just been shot and almost died.”
You smile at him, soft and a touch somber, but a smile nonetheless. “I know. And thank you. I’m sorry, I know I’ve been so insecure and worried lately and asking for so much reassurance.”
“I’ve been the same,” Jack reminds you. You hum and shake your head as if to question him. “I have been, at least a little bit. And you give me reassurance. You don’t mind. You say you’ll give it to me as much as I need it, never take it personally because you understand. The same is true for me. I will give you however much and whatever type of reassurance you need as much as you need whenever you need and I will never take it personally. I understand too. I’d rather you ask than live with worry that could be soothed by asking, yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah.” You lean into Jack for a second and take in a deep breath. “Alright. I’m ready. I don’t know why I even had to stand here and become ready, but whatever.” Jack smiles to himself because he loves when you do that kind of self-commentary. “You ready?”
“I’m always ready for anything with you Doll.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack is obviously the first of you to return to work. It’s not something either of you are looking forward to really. In a sense you both are because it checks off another box on the return to normalcy. But you’re not looking forward to being alone and Jack isn’t looking forward to leaving you.
The two of you talk and decide he’ll start with half shifts, give you both some time to adjust back into things. He had been working days but he thought maybe nights would be better until you were back to work, you’d be asleep when he was gone that way. You were fine with it and so that’s what he worked out with Robby.
It’s strange sitting on the bed watching him pull on black scrubs that have been folded so long they’re a little creased. It’s been a long time since you last saw him in scrubs. It makes you smile because it reminds you of life before the shooting. And he still looks incredibly, incredibly fucking hot in them.
“What?” He smirks as he looks at you after pulling his scrub top on over his undershirt.
“I didn’t say anything!” You give him a look of mock offense. You really are doing your best to temper your anxiety about tonight.
He narrows his eyes at you a little and walks to stand in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to say it. I could just feel it.”
You lean your head forward onto his tummy and rest your forehead there for a moment before looking up at him. “That so?” He gives you another smirk and nods. “I’m not allowed to appreciate how good you look in scrubs anymore, Dr. Abbot?”
Jack steps back and takes your hands to pull you off the bed. “Of course you are. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it.” He uses one hand to hold your face before leaning in and kissing you, hard, a little bit of tongue. Just because he can. He pulls back just far enough so you can see each other and gives you another smirked smile before kissing your forehead and releasing you.
The two of you walk back into the front room together, and you sit on the couch and fidget with your fingers while Jack looks through his backpack to make sure he has everything he needs. You grab your phone, try to distract yourself with it so he doesn’t feel you staring at him the entire time. You don’t want to make this any harder for him. Both of you know the other is just as anxious.
Jack glances down at his watch. He needs to leave. The urge to pull out his phone and call Robby to say he can’t make it in is immense. But he, and you, know that this day has to come eventually. He walks over and sits next to you on the couch. “You gonna be okay?” He grabs one of your hands in his to help ground you, get you to focus on him.
“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” You try to give him a brave smile but you’re not sure how well it lands.
“I want you to call me or text me if you need anything, okay? I mean anything. If I have to leave early then I have to leave early.” His eyes flit around your face trying to make sure he’s reading every little bit of you. “And if for some reason I don’t answer the phone, call the hospital, yeah?”
“I know Peter,” you murmur, bring his hand up to your face and lean your cheek against the back of his hand. “I’ll be okay though. Really. It might be hard at first but I’ll probably just end up falling asleep and then you’ll slip into bed beside me before I even know it.”
“I really hope so, Doll.” Jack leans in and kisses your forehead, lingers for a moment before he pulls back and looks back down at you. His brows are creased, mouth just slightly pulled down, eyes a little wider than normal. He’s concerned, worried about you. You hate seeing him like this. You know part of it goes back to his nightmares about coming home and finding you dead.
“It’ll all be okay in the end. You’re coming home to me.” You manage to give him a real smile, as small as it is, and it visibly helps him relax.
He’s able to return it. “Yes I am. Always.” He stands up and you follow, walk him over to the door.
“Text me when you get there, yeah?”
“Course. And you text me during the night if you need, okay?” You nod at him, give him another little smile as he pulls his backpack over one shoulder. He pulls you close to him in a tight hug, kisses the top of your head before letting you pull back and kissing you. “I love you. So fucking much.”
“I love you more,” you murmur before stealing another kiss. Normally he’d argue with you, but tonight he lets you have it.
Jack opens the door and steps out and you close it behind him. You both know that if he turned and looked at you he probably wouldn’t end up going in. He waits to hear the deadlock before he takes a few steps away. He has to stop though and just breathe for a minute before finally setting off.
You lock the deadbolt and then rest your forehead against the door, one palm flat on it. Tears hit your eyes and you feel so fucking ridiculous about it. Like some clingy, codependent fiancée who can’t stand to be away from her man for more than ten minutes. You try and remind yourself that this is okay, you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling and you being upset isn’t because you’re clingy or codependent. It’s because you went through a major trauma and are healing and it’s your first time truly being on your own since you were shot. You know this won’t last, that it won’t always be like this, but in this moment it feels like it will and it overwhelms you.
Your hand itches to undo the deadbolt and dart out after him, beg him not to leave you. But you can’t do that. This is something that has to happen. So you pull yourself from the door and head back to the couch for a second before getting back up to go do the dishes from dinner. You thought it might be a good distraction. Instead it just reminds you that he’s not here doing them with you.
Your phone dings as you finish loading the dishwasher and washing the pan that can’t go in it. It’s Jack letting you know he got to work. He keeps typing, and you chew on your lip as you wait to see what he’s going to say.
J - I just want to let you know that it’s slammed here tonight so I’ll probably be busy and not around a ton. But I’ll check my phone often even if I can’t always reply. So text me if you need to, or call me or the ED. I love you.
Your heart falls at his words and some part of you feels selfish for it. It’s good. It’s good for him to be there and be busy and have that distraction and get back to normal. It just sucks you won’t have him to talk to much. You had tried to prepare yourself for this, tried to operate under the assumption that he wouldn’t be around much but a part of you, apparently a big part, still held onto the hope he would.
There’s also the unspoken meaning of the Pitt being slammed. The chances he’ll get off on time are probably slim to none unless some miracle happens. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re going to be asleep anyway. But will you really?
Jack is anxious to get a text back from you, glancing at his phone nonstop while Robby goes over the board with him. This was exactly what he did not want to happen. He didn’t want it to be slammed. Busy, fine. He appreciates the distraction it brings. He’d still be able to respond to you more even if not as frequently as he’d like. And slammed means the chances of him getting off in six hours are a fraction above non-existent. He knows you know that too.
He also knows that he’s the lucky one out of the two of you. He can’t afford to be distracted here. So he has to do some kind of compartmentalization. It doesn’t mean he won’t miss or worry about you constantly. He will. He just has to force himself to stay present where he’s at. His inability to be distracted here is itself a distraction from his anxiety and missing you.
It feels selfish. He knows that you don’t have the same luxury at home, if anything it’s the opposite. You have to try and find things to distract yourself so that you don’t end up getting too into your head. He knows that sometimes you struggle to come up with ways to do that, or that you think of ways but can’t convince yourself to do them. He gets it. He’s been there himself. And up until now he’d been there to distract you when you couldn’t do it for yourself. But now he’s not.
So he’s anxious as he waits for a response. He knows you’re just staring at your phone trying to think of what to say. He’s trying not to think about the likelihood of teardrops hitting the screen of your phone and magnifying whatever they fall on. He’s trying not to think about what you look like when you cry like that, completely silent with the tears slipping down your face.
You’re looking down at your phone enough that the first tear to roll off your face hits the screen. You shake your head at yourself. You need to get a grip. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jack will be fine.
You - I’m glad you made it there safely. Thanks for letting me know, I hope the night isn’t awful. Let me know when you’re on your way home. I love you
Jack feels better for about half a second when your name finally flashes on his screen. But then he reads your message. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a second before looking back down at his phone. He can feel your dejection through the phone. For his part Robby gives Jack space, doesn’t comment on it, intercepts a couple of people who want to welcome Jack back. It takes Jack a moment to decide on what to reply. He knows that it doesn’t matter what his reply is, it’s not going to make anything better.
J - Of course. Don’t forget you have a couple new books on the kitchen table and all of wedding pinterest and the knot to explore. I love you more
His message does manage to pull a little laugh from you. He’s so sweet, your Jack. Reminding you of things you could do to keep yourself occupied and distracted. You look around the kitchen and take in a deep breath, try to hype yourself up.
It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do this and be fine and Jack will be so proud of you. You can do this. You grab your laptop and settle on the couch, put a show you like on and start looking through pinterest like Jack said. It goes well at first. Until you see something you really like and go to turn your computer and look over at Jack to show him. The realization hits you then that you’ve only ever done this with him.
Fine. That’s okay. You have books. You turn the TV off and go look through the stack, pick one out and curl back up on the couch. Reading also goes well at first until it finally hits you that you’ve been staring at the same page for quite a while now because it’s hard to see through your tears. You set the book down and feel so defeated. You want to be okay so badly, for Jack and for yourself. But it seems the more you try to be the more you aren’t.
You check your phone. 7:47. Nothing from Jack, not that you expected anything, especially since effectively no time has passed since his last message. You don’t know why you can’t do this, why it’s so hard. And that just makes you more upset.
You get up once you start sniffling from the tears and just take yourself to bed, curl up in a ball on it with a box of tissues and let yourself cry. You grab your phone several times, have to fight the urge to call him and plead for him to come home. You have to fight the urge to get up and grab an uber and show up at the ED. The only good thing about crying is that it’s exhausting, and the swelling of your eyes makes you feel even more tired. And so you slip under without even realizing it.
When Jack finally gets a second to check in and look at his phone sometime around 10:00 he’s a little surprised to see nothing from you. It’s unlike you. Normally you’ll text him often throughout your day, even if he can’t reply. Just little things. What you’re doing. Something funny that happened or that you saw. A photo of something that made you think of him. A moment on a show he doesn’t watch but that you want him to see. But then he realizes the problem with his thinking. Normally.
Normal at this point is synonymous with ‘before you were shot.’ Because nothing has been remotely normal since then. It’s all been temporary. The hospital was temporary. Him being at home with you was temporary. Even his half shifts are temporary. And you both want normal back. But it’s not. And even when it is you both know it’ll be different, and that’s okay. A new normal is okay. But you’re not there yet and so, Jack realizes, thinking about what you’d normally do is futile and deceptive. He is surprised he hasn’t gotten anything wedding related though. He thought you’d take him up on that suggestion, go on pinterest, send him things you find and like.
J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?
Before he can even start to wait for your reply Parker is grabbing him for help with a patient and his phone is back in his pocket. He tells himself he’s just been moving a lot and so that’s why he hasn’t felt his phone vibrate with your message. But when he pulls his phone out at 12:23 and there’s nothing from you he can’t help the pit of dread that starts to form in his stomach.
Flashbacks of nightmares play in his head. You dead on the kitchen floor. You dead in your bed. You dead on the couch. He stops himself. You must be asleep. You just fell asleep early. Hell, maybe you took some sleeping meds just to make it easier for yourself and were asleep before his last text. That has to be it. Even though he’s sure you won’t see it, because you’re sleeping, he sends another one with the news you both saw coming.
J - Hope you’re sleeping well. I’m going to be stuck here past 1. I’m hoping for 3/3:30, at most 4. I promise as soon as I can get out I will. I’m sorry. Love you
You wake with a start, covered in cold sweat, heart racing, chest heaving. It takes you a minute to fully come to. You had a nightmare. You were back in that courtroom with gunshots deafening you as you tried to hide. And then that body collapsed in front of you just like it did that day but this time you do recognize the person when their face rolls towards you as they bleed out, eyes fluttering closed.
Jack.
You think you woke up before you even got shot, though you’re not sure. You’ve never been able to remember exactly when it happened. All you know is you saw Jack’s face and Jack’s blood and then mercifully woke the fuck up. You take a second to try and come down, look over at your phone and see it’s just after 2:00 and Jack’s messages. Your heart is crushed a little by the disappointment of him being home late even though you expected it. If he had gotten off on time he’d have been here, might have woken you getting into bed, might have stopped you from having that nightmare and that image of him seared in your brain. You know it’s not fair to put that on him and you aren’t, you don’t blame him. You just can’t help but think it.
It’s what makes you burst into tears, again. Your disgust at yourself for even coming close to thinking about blaming him. And then you’re crying about all of it. Tears of anger at yourself, tears of frustration with yourself, tears of despondency about getting better, tears of panic from seeing Jack in your nightmare, tears of sorrow that he’s not home, tears of disappointment with yourself that you couldn’t do this one night, tears of confliction about being alive. You wear yourself out again.
But this time you don’t go back to sleep. Instead you get up and take a shower to rid yourself of the sticky cold sweat that covers you. You hold some ice to your face once you’re out, hope it’ll help with the swelling of your eyes and lips enough that Jack won’t notice, especially in the dark. You toss the copious tear soaked tissues in the bathroom garbage and put the tissue box back where it was so that Jack won't see anything amiss and crawl back into bed. The exhaustion of crying pulls you under again.
Jack’s out at 3:13. He hates it. He’s still on edge because still nothing from you even though he didn’t expect anything. He lets you know he's on his way home anyway. He cannot be home and have eyes on you soon enough. The drive is at least short at this time of night. There’s no lights on when he opens the door. Part of him is relieved because that would make sense if you were sleeping. But part of him is just put more on edge by the darkness. He doesn’t let himself think about it much, drops his backpack and gets his shoes off quickly and then is heading for your room.
As much as he wants to, he doesn’t turn the overhead light on. He can make out your form on the bed so he steps over to the bathroom and reaches in to flick the light on, leaves the door open to give him just enough light in the bedroom to look at you. Normally the sight would turn him on, immensely. It still does, he can feel it. But tonight that’s overshadowed by the way it breaks his heart because he knows what it means.
You’re curled up on his side of the bed, head on his pillow, wearing one of his shirts and holding another close to you, clutching it to your chest really. He lets out a slow breath through his nose as he takes you in. His brows furrow a little. He’s not sure if it’s the lighting or if your eyes and lips are really a little swollen. He makes himself let go of the thought for the moment so that he can grab a pair of pajama pants and just get in bed with you.
When he walks in the bathroom properly it hits him. It’s a bit warmer than your bedroom, a bit more humid. And the smell. It smells like he just showered. Which means you showered recently and used all of his products so that you’d smell like him. It’s so sweet but it hurts, that he wasn’t here when you so clearly needed him. He tries to set that aside and not feel guilty, think about and apply what you guys have learned in couple’s therapy but it’s hard. And it gets harder when the pile of white catches his eye and he sees all of the tissues in the trash can. It wasn’t the lighting. The swelling is real. You cried. A lot.
You’re not sure what wakes you but when you force your eyes open you realize the bathroom light is on which means Jack is home. It’s the first time you’ve smiled since he left. “Peter?” you call softly as you get out of bed to walk to the bathroom. Jack’s out of his scrubs in just his pajama bottoms.
“Hey, I’m sorry Doll, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You shake your head at him, meeting him at the doorway to the bathroom.
“I’m just glad you’re home.” You push your lips out for a kiss he happily gives you. “Missed you. Were you okay?”
“I was yeah. Being slammed was good at keeping me distracted." He frowns for a second because he knows how not the case that was for you. He leans in for another kiss. "I missed you more,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding your waist.
You hum back against his lips as he kisses you again. “I’m going to let you have that only because I was passed out most of the night.”
Jack nods at you. But you can tell from the speed of it that he knows. You just give him a little shrug to tell him you know he knows.
“Why didn’t you call?” It’s soft. He’s not angry at you or upset with you in any way. Just curious. You look away from his eyes down at his bare chest and give another little shrug. “Did you need me?”
“I was okay… eventually,” you admit. One of his hands finds your chin, gently pushes it up to see if you’ll move your head up to look at him. You don’t resist so he tilts your chin up.
Jack gives you a small smile and keeps his voice low and gentle and he hopes comforting. “That doesn’t answer my question.” The hand still on your waist gives it a small squeeze. “You can be okay and still need me, or trying to convince yourself you’re okay and still need me, or trying to be okay and still need me.” He raises his eyebrows a little at you.
You look at him for a beat and then let out a big sigh, lean forward and into him a bit so that your forehead rests against his chest. “I hate it when you do that,” you grumble against him.
“What’s that?” He leans down and kisses the top of your head.
You move your forehead off his chest but plant a kiss there before looking back up at him. “See right through me,” you murmur through a watery smile. “I don’t know how you’re so damn good at it.”
“Well,” Jack nods slowly, “in your fourth year of med school they pull a couple of students aside, obviously the ones they think are the best since I was one of them, and they teach us x-ray vision.”
You let out a huffed laugh but smile at him. “I really thought I was about to learn something about med school.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me?!” He gives you his best surprised face.
You roll your eyes at him and laugh a little with him but it quickly turns into trembling lips and you shaking your head.
“Okay baby, come here,” Jack whispers, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, one hand finding the back of your head and holding your face against his chest.
“It was so bad Jack, it was so bad,” you choke out through a strangled sob. “And I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to cry into you tonight or this morning or whatever the fuck it is. I just want to get in bed and be with you.” You sniffle and try to pull yourself together.
“I know.” He rocks you just a little, presses his lips to the top of your head and lets them linger. “But we can be in bed together and you can be crying if that’s what you need.” As he speaks he flicks the light off and settles one hand on your hip and slowly begins walking you backwards toward the bed.
“I’m tired of it being what I need,” you mumble. At least you’ve managed to stop the tears. You turn once your knees hit the back of the bed so that you can slide in, Jack following you once he has his prosthetic off. “I just…I had a nightmare.”
Jack cringes as he settles and holds his arms open for you. “I’m so sorry.” He knows all too well how much they can rattle you and fuck you up for days. How long it can take to get them to a point of only happening a few times a year. How much therapy and EMDR he’s had to do to help with his over the years. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You sigh as you curl into his side and drape your top leg over his, rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. The hand of Jack’s arm that’s now behind you starts rubbing your back up and down. “I was back there. In that courtroom on that day. And it was all the same and as much as that sucked it was fine. But then I got to the part where that woman collapsed in front of me and died but,” you have to pause and try and get yourself closer to Jack. “But it wasn’t her. It was you.” Jack’s shifting onto his side a bit more at that and pulling you closer into him, pressing the front of his body against yours. He positions you so that you can rest your ear up against his chest. “And unlike her you rolled your head to look at me as you were bleeding out and then I woke up.”
You hear the click of Jack’s jaw as he opens it to say something. But it never comes, instead you just feel his head shake a little. You let yourself focus on the beat of his heart underneath your ear, the warmth of his skin. “I’m so sorry,” he finally whispers. “I know it’s not my fault but I am so sorry that you had to experience that Doll.”
You shrug a little. Apparently you’re all out of tears for the night. You’re too tired for them. And here in Jack’s arms with his heart beating under your ear it’s not so scary. There’s an odd sense of calm that fills both of you. You feel kind of bad, like you've taken this for yourself, haven't talked about how he did at work. But you know there's time. “Don’t be,” you whisper, turn your face a bit to nuzzle into his chest. “At least I didn’t have to live through your funeral. I’ve got that goin’ for me. More than you can say.”
He can feel your lips turn up in a smile against his chest. And he has to let out a laugh at it too. Because you’ve hit a point where you can start to make small jokes about what’s happened, what you’ve both been through. Because it’s all so miserable and horrific that if you guys don’t laugh you’ll cry. After a second you pull your head from his chest and look up at him. He looks so amused with his wide closed lip smile, shaking his head at you slightly that you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing. But that makes him crack and start properly laughing and so you do too.
You guys laugh until it hurts, until the smallest tears slide out the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, that was probably so insensitive of me-”
“No,” Jack keeps laughing, “no. No, Doll that was so fucking needed, fuck me. The laughing feels just as cathartic as crying right now.”
“I agree,” you giggle as you both start to wind down. You lean in to kiss him and Jack keeps you there, nipping at your bottom lip and tugging at it a little when you try to pull away. “Needy,” you murmur teasingly.
“For you? Always.” You lay there and kiss. Kiss and make out in bed pressed against each other simply because you want to feel close and because you can. It’s not leading anywhere as good as it feels and as wired as it makes both of you. You can feel him growing hard against you and yourself growing wetter for him but you’re both content to stay like you are.
Eventually the kisses slow. You’re both sleepy, and between snuggling with each other and all the kissing it’s quick to catch up with you. Just as you both start to nod off you think of something. “Hey Jack? Maybe no more night shifts.” It’s all sleep slurred and in that drowsy tone you get that he finds particularly adorable.
He laughs a little through his nose. “No more night shifts,” he agrees, just as groggy.
When you wake up the next day Jack is able to get in touch with Robby and switch things back so that he’s on days again. Something about the daylight makes it a little easier for you, and you don’t seem to have any nightmares when you sleep snuggled into Jack. The next time he goes to work for half a day shift sucks still, but significantly less than that first half a night shift. Each time it gets a little bit easier, even when Jack is finally back to regular twelve hour shifts.
And then eventually it’s your turn to go back to work. It’s not just going back to work, it’s going back to the place you were shot. Both of you are on edge. Jack hates the thought of you having to go back there, it sends his anxiety through the roof even though he knows logically it’s probably the safest courthouse in the entire country right now with all the heightened security.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Jack asks you for probably the tenth time this morning alone.
“I’m sure,” you call to him from the bathroom as you finish getting ready. Jack appears in the mirror behind you, stopping at the doorway of the bathroom. You look at him in the mirror. “It’s okay, I’m ready. I can do this.”
You sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself than you are Jack. “You can call me. If you need anything.”
“I know,” you nod, “I promise I know and that if I need you I’ll call.” You turn to look at Jack and start walking towards him. Half of you feels ready for this, is craving the normalcy that being at work will bring. The other half knows you’re probably not quite ready. You haven’t even been by the building to expose yourself to it.
You pick at the breakfast Jack made you, stomach churning too much to feel hungry and making it hard to swallow anything down. He doesn’t comment on it as he sits at the table across from you working on today’s crossword, isn’t going to pressure you into eating more or potentially make you feel bad by calling you out on it. He gets it. He didn’t eat much dinner the night he went back to work for that one half a night shift.
It’s going to put your shoes on where you really start to let yourself realize how not ready you are for this. You stare down at them for what feels like ten or so seconds but is in reality close to a full minute. Jack knows because he glances at his watch after the first few seconds pass and you don’t move to put them on.
Finally you force yourself to and grab your bag. You take in and let out a deep breath and ignore how shaky it is as Jack walks over to you. He doesn’t want to smother you in reassurance and reminders you can call him or end up letting an ask for you to stay home slip out. “Have a good day Doll. Call if you need and I’ll be here waiting for you when you get home. I love you.”
Jack leans down and kisses you, one that lingers followed by a bunch of softer pecks. “I will,” you nod. “I’ll see you tonight.” You put your hand on the door handle and open it a little. “I love you more,” you smile up at him. He lets you have it this morning.
As you walk out the door and close it you know immediately you’re not ready. Jack knows you aren’t ready. But you try anyway and he doesn’t try to stop you because this is something you need to do for yourself.
It doesn’t take too long to get there, the commute is generally fairly easy even though it’s busy. You walk up to the courtyard of the courthouse and stare at the entrance. It feels like you can’t breathe and you’re aware of how badly your hands shake. Your heart races as you try and tell yourself you just need a minute and then you’ll go in.
But everything just gets worse. All you can hear is screaming and gunshots, taste that metallic flavor of adrenaline, and smell sulphur and smoke. You can’t do this. You so cannot fucking do this.
You get yourself back enough so a trembling hand can get your phone out of your bag, unlock it and hit Jack’s name. He answers on the first ring. “I’m not ready Jack, I can’t do this, I, I, I’m stuck outside and I need you, please come, I’m sor-”
“Doll,” Jack interrupts you. “Turn around.”
You do and standing at the edge of the courtyard is Jack.
He hangs up his phone as he starts moving to you, shoving past a couple people with a distracted excuse me because he just needs to get to you. He knows that you don’t want to fully lose it here, not with the potential for people you know or work with every day to see. And Jack doesn’t want it for you either. He knows you hate crying in front of people, that it took a while for you to be able to cry in front of him.
“I’m here,” he’s saying as he gets to you, arms reaching out before he’s even all the way there to start pulling you into him. “I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” Your hands slide around his waist and clutch at the back of his shirt as you close your eyes and press the side of your head to his chest.
You breathe him in, smell your laundry detergent and his body wash and him. You focus and let his heart beating become the only thing you can hear. The metallic taste in your mouth starts to fade.
“Ready to walk?” Jack whispers as he feels you start to calm down. You nod against him and so he lets go of you. A hand finds your lower back and starts directing you over to a bench outside of the courtyard facing away from the courthouse.
You both sit and he pulls you as close as possible, wraps the arm closest to you around your waist to keep you close as you rest a hand on his knee. Jack brings his other hand across his body and rests it on top of your hand, laces your fingers together from above.
Jack doesn’t pressure you, doesn’t ask you for details or if you want to talk or what exactly happened. He just sits there with you holding you close. You tilt your head and let it fall onto his shoulder. He tilts his head and his lips press against you where they can reach before he lets his head rest on yours lightly.
“I feel so ridiculous,” you murmur after a while.
Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”
“I knew the entire morning I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to be so bad so I didn’t listen to myself.”
“I know. I knew,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t make you ridiculous. Just human.”
“You knew?” you whisper, pull away to look at him. “How?”
“You told me as much with your eyes and the way you hesitated before you did anything related to getting ready this morning.” He squeezes your hand. “Before picking up your hairbrush and putting your bra on and picking up your mascara, that type of stuff. Your hand hesitated for just a second or two before you grabbed whatever it was. And then when it took you as long as it did to get your shoes on I just had an intuition or gut feeling or whatever you want to call it that I should be here.”
“You didn’t try to stop me?”
“No,” he shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “It was obvious that you needed to do this. Come here. Try. Get yourself back in front of this building. You needed to do it for yourself and I wasn’t going to interfere with that, no matter how badly I wanted to stop you so you wouldn’t hurt. You needed to do this. My role is to support you and help you with your healing. Not to dictate how you do it.”
You take in and hold a long breath before letting it out through your nose and shaking your head a little. “You’re way too fucking good for me.”
Jack gives you a look. “Not even gracing that bullshit with a reply,” he parrots the phrase you love to use back at you.
You give him a little eye roll and a smile. “I just should be better, Jack. I should be able to go back and get back to normal. But then I got here and it’s like it was yesterday.”
He nods slowly. “I think it was yesterday in a sense, Doll. This is your first time even being in front of the courthouse since it happened. That’s one. Two,” he pauses to take a breath and look down and away from you for a second. “A very, very smart woman,” he looks back up at you with a small smile, “once told me that should is a stupid word. Nothing should or shouldn’t be. Things just are. And it’s okay for them to be as they are. It’s okay for this to be as it is.”
You’re quiet for a few seconds before you let out a huffed laugh through your nose. “I can’t believe you just used my own words against me twice in a row.”
Jack clicks his tongue and shrugs. “I can be a real dick sometimes can’t I?”
You roll your eyes at him again and lean back into him. “Maybe. But you’re my dick, so it’s okay, I’ll allow it.”
That makes him roll his eyes at you and chuckle. “Yeah, I’m your dick, alright. I’m glad to hear you’ll allow it,” he teases.
“I’m actually quite impressed that you remember that entire little speech I gave you,” you admit after a few minutes.
“Repeated it to myself a lot. Still do. Well, really in my head you’re saying it to me and I hear it in your voice. So I guess I have you repeating it to me a lot.” He pauses. “It’s important to remember.”
“I suppose it is.” You pull away again to look up at him. “Thank you. I love you.”
“Always, Doll.” The kiss he gives you is quick yet ardent. “I love you too.”
There’s a lull as the two of you just sit on the bench and exist together, soak in the sun.
“You wanna go to bath and body works?” Jack breaks the silence. An amused smirk pulls on your face as you pull away to look up at him. “Candles are on sale. $12.95. And they just released a bunch of new scents.”
You know he’s offering and that he keeps tabs on when they’re on sale and when new scents come out because he knows how much you enjoy candles and the fun of smelling them. You bite your lip and look up at him all dreamy. “You’re perfect, you know that?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head and stands up, offers you his hand and helps you off the bench so you can head to the store. “Just in love.”
You take a bit more time for yourself before you try going back again, go and sit outside the courthouse with Jack and alone. And the next time you go back to work Jack goes with you, holds your hand all the way up to the employee entrance. He gives you a kiss goodbye and holds the door open for you, watches you for a second before he lets the door close. He waits outside on a bench for a bit, just in case you decide you’re not ready again and need him. But you don’t. And so Jack smiles to himself as he gets up and heads back home.
Normal. Things are finally starting to get back to normal.
But, as it turns out, normalcy is a fragile thing. And so things are finally starting to get back to normal.
Until they aren’t.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you so so much for reading, I hope it was okay!
Part 4 will be out soon!! This weekend for sure! And then we're straight into Quiet 2 which I am so fucking excited for! I have many many plans! How many exclamation points can I use in a row!!!!!
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