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A 9-year-old Central Texas boy diagnosed with leukemia at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic needs a bone marrow transplant, but there’s le
BET ON IT !
synopsisyou and Robby had been going steady for a few months now but when a betting board is made on who your mysterious male friend could be, Robby is not happy with the outcome.
warningslanguage, smutish- allusions to smut, jealous Robby, mention of shooting- GSW
author noterobby x reader but platonic frank x reader, can you tell santos is my favourite cause i include her in basically everything i write
Santos had had a day.
More traumas than she could deal with and a young girl who came in with bruises that suspiciously looked like abuse. She’d had just about enough when she realised she’d have to give another two hours to the place to get her charting done.
When she came home she knew Whitaker was at Amy’s and you should have been home. She watched you practically bolt out the place. Santos hoped it’d be a night of crappy food and shitty movies.
So when she ditched her keys at the kitchen counter and listened out the last thing she expected to hear was moaning.
“What the?” she called out for you.
Maybe you were having a self-care night. Charged up a vibrator and such.
Santos chuckled to herself as she made to tiptoe past your room.
There was the unmistakable sound of another.
“Oh fuck.”
Trinity paused.
You and her were close, she could admit that. You were maybe her only friend. So she knew you had been going through a dry patch. Because you were making it everyone's problem.
She listened in.
There was deep groaning from a man and your moans, the soft thudding of a bed against the wall. Trinity thanked the heavens again that the head of your bed was against Denis's wall and not hers.
“Deeper, harder,” she heard you moan.
“Oh, fuck me,” the guy groaned deep. She didn't recognise the voice. Did she?
Curious she tried to listen to the mans voice, wondering what she could tell. He must have been busy as little else was said other than groanings.
Where had you met this guy? Had this been happening longer than she knew? Is this why you hurried out?
Santos thought you weren't one of one night stands. Were you proving her wrong?
She snook into her room and knew she had to tell someone, at least Whitaker.
Robby collapsed next to you on your bed, catching his breath as you pulled the sheets up to cover your slightly sweaty bodies. The bed creaked under his weight as he moved around, getting himself comfortable.
Your bed was a small double, not really built for anyone more than one. Let alone Robby.
“You want some water or something?” you asked.
Robby chuckled, the bed creaking again as he turned on his side to face you. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?”
You lifted your shoulders, tucking your hands under your head to admire him. “Well you're the senior citizen with the... bad back?”
His brows lifted. “Oh that's how you want to play it.”
He grabbed your hip and pulled you close.
You were still trying to recover from the multiple orgasms Robby had ripped through your body as soon as you'd stepped through your apartment door. But that didn't stop his hands from crowding around your body, pulling you into him as all his hardness turned soft.
His lips found yours as easy as one found home, kissing you the way he knew you liked to be kissed. Head tilted to reach deeper, nose moving against your cheek.
There was a sudden shriek in your apartment.
You pushed Robby off, sitting up quick in bed.
“What?” he asked, far less alarmed then you as his arm fell around your waist.
“Trinity.”
Robby hummed. “Thought you said she was at Garcia's tonight?”
“I thought she was,” you uttered as if she was in the room.
The dating with Robby had started maybe three months ago when you'd had a disastrous date at the same bar Robby frequented with his buddy Duke. He'd seen the distress you were in with your date when he wouldn't stop talking about why sports people should actually get paid more than health care workers.
From there you had drinks with Robby.
From there he asked to see you again outside of work.
From there you ended up in his bed and he in yours on the occasions you had the place to yourself, which with two room mates didn't happen often.
You'd thought tonight was one of them.
“You should go,” you said, throwing the cover back to find your clothes in the dark.
“What?” Robby laughed, without moving. Instead he got himself comfortable, throwing an arm around the back of his head and tugging the covers down to his waist.
“Yes, do you want Trinity to know?”
“She doesn't sleep in your room though does she?”
Still, you tried to find some clothes.
The word around the PTMC was that Robby was a seven week itch kind of guy, the sort to never tie himself down. So though you'd been on dates with him and though he'd brought you flowers before and held your hands in bars and took you to a fancy dinner, he still fucked you like a guy that could move on the next day.
And you didn't want to scare him away with talk of serious dating. A bit of Robby was better than none of him.
You just didn't want your friends to judge you for that.
“Hey-hey-” Robby moved over on the bed, arm darting out to wrap around your waist and tug you back in.
You couldn't even protest before he was pulling you into him, hooking one of his large legs over yours and trapping you in. Your quilt was pulled up and his head rested next to yours.
At least when you and Robby were done with the sex you never kicked each other out of bed. But you did go into work separately.
“But-”
“-I'll be out of here first thing in the morning.”
With his arms around you and his calming breath you didn't think you could push him off you if you wanted to.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Robby kissed the blade of your shoulder and for the rest of the night that was how you were and when you woke in the morning with two hours to spare before your shift started, Robby was already gone.
“So who's the lucky guy?”
You chocked on your coffee, peering next to you at Trinity. “What?”
She smirked, leaning on the locker next to yours. “Oh come on, I heard you last night.”
The bitter taste of black coffee turned to ash in your stomach. She'd heard. Or worse, she'd been up to see Robby sneak out in the morning.
“What-what do you mean?” play it cool, you could totally starve of the humiliation. Maybe you could persuade her it was a dream, a nightmare, that she was sleepwalking and actually heard/saw/knew nothing.
“I heard you last night,” she said. “Quite the dicking down from what it sounded like.”
You felt the heat in your cheeks. “Oh my god.”
“Hey, I think its good, you deserve it,” said Santos as you hid yourself in your locker, taking great care in peeling off your jacket and finding your stethoscope inside. “So is it someone I know, or...”
She didn't know. You rejoiced silently before realising she still knew there was someone. “That is none of your business.”
“Oh come on, you know Garcia!”
“Because she works here.”
“Does he work here?”
“No!” you close the locker door, not as amused as Trinity was clearly finding this situation. “Please, he's just... a guy.”
She leaned in closer for the gossip. Few things got her as excited as gossip did. “A boyfriend guy or a sleep around guy?”
Wasn't that the golden question.
“Oh my god, you don't know.”
“Santos!” the call of her name should have saved you. Not when it was Robby calling for her as he stood between the two of you. “Pelvic exam in three.”
She groaned but gave a salute. “You got it boss,” she said to him before aiming a finger at you. “This isn't over.”
Santos had turned, leaving and you hardly waited anytime to turn back to the lockers and bash your head into them. Not enough to hurt but enough to erase the terrible fact that Santos had heard you.
Robby liked hearing you moan and you liked Robby so you always moaned loud.
And she'd caught enough of it.
Usually, you wished for Robby to be a bit louder in bed. You were glad he hadn't been.
The cold metal of the locker was replaced on what might have been your twentieth go at hitting yourself with the back of a rough hand.
“Everything okay?” asked Robby, coming to stand next to you, leaning on the lockers. His eyes creased with concern.
“She knows.”
His brows shot up, which didn't indicate a good reaction. “She knows?”
“Not about you, don't worry,” you said with a light scoff. “She knows that I had a good time with a guy last night, she doesn't know who.”
Robby nodded in consideration. “So we're in the clear?”
You screwed your eyes shut. You hadn't realised just how bad you wanted him to shrug it off, tell you he didn't care if Trinity knew, that of everyone in the ward knew, that he only cared about what it meant between the two of you. You only realised when he didn't give you that option.
He wanted to be sure he wasn't affiliated with it.
“Yeah, you're in the clear.”
You left Robby at the lockers before suspicions could grow. Nothing wrong with a resident talking to their attending and so far you and Robby had done a good job at not having any suspicion- not even from Dana.
The least you could do for the guy was keep it that way.
“You had a hot date last night?” Princess slid up to your side before you were even half way across the ward.
You groaned. “Santos told you already.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“Say anything about what?” Javadi's voice suddenly came from Doctor McKay's side. The older woman tried to act uninterested but her keen eyes were watching you from over the computer.
“She had a date around hers last night,” said Perhlah, coming up to your other side.
“And she won't tell us who it was,” added Princess.
Javadi's smile grew and her jaw hung open. “Who?”
You shook your head and stared at your shoes. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Okay!” Robby's voiced boomed out. He clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention. “We have patients, how about we go ask them some riveting questions?”
Mel frowned from somewhere in the crowd that had formed. “We should go ask them if they know who the guy is?”
She realised quickly that wasn't quite what he meant.
Perlah and Princess walked off together, quietly scheming. “Men just don't get it.”
You gulped down, smoothing your hand over your head and where the growing headache was forming. “Thanks.”
Robby said nothing but there was the brief feel of his hands on your shoulders as he squeezed before moving past you.
It was going on lunch, you'd just gotten a trauma through and up to the OR when you spotted bright post-it notes stuck up on the board in Ahmed's office. The betting board, his mini kingdom had been put back together.
Three titles.
Who?
How long?
Casual or dating?
“Oh my god!” your shriek echoed around the Pitt.
“What? What is it? What?” Robby was at your side in an instant, body almost slamming into you with how quick he slid next to you. He steadied himself, holding on.
“That!”
Ahmed had set up a betting board based on your love life.
The who column was spread with names and the name of those that had bet scribbled underneath. In the middle there was how long had it been going on for, some thought it was only a few weeks, others guessed up to six months.
The last column, wondering if it was a casual thing or serious was filled with almost every post it note saying 'casual'.
“Oh,” Robby chuckled.
“It's not funny,” you argued. “Has every body here bet?”
“Not me, I had no idea. Besides I think that's kind of cheating, right?”
“I see you've found my latest and greatest,” said Ahmed, approaching behind the two of you. “We got this up and running two hours ago, you want me to break it down for you?”
“Holy shit,” you uttered, scanning the board. It was a great and easy way to find out what everyone thought about you.
Robby nodded, leaning on the door next to you. “Holy shit.”
“How much money's in the pot?” you asked.
Ahmed grinned like he was just waiting for you to ask. “Five-hundred and five dollars!”
Robby chocked on a breath next to you as your jaw hung open.
Someone was gonna make money of your guys' sex lives and none of that was going to come to you.
“And I'm guessing I can't get in on it?” you asked.
“No," said Ahmed. “Unless, you know, you wanna tell me who it is and I'll split the money between us.”
“And who do you think it is?” asked Robby. He asked casually, still leaning on the doorframe like he couldn't care less. If he was a girl in a rom-com he might have even checked on his nails or twirled his hair. But you'd studied him close the last couple months, you'd worked all his emotions out into your own little Robby dictionary.
There was a hint of jealousy.
“Well, I've gone with the fan favourite,” he said, plucking off his post it note to show you. “Frank. Three months. And serious.”
“Langdon!” Robby announced.
Uh-oh.
“Yeah, man,” he said. “More than half these notes say it's him.”
On further reading you noticed it did. On yellows and pinks and greens Frank's name was written in quick scribbles or thought out curves.
Frank? Sure the two of you were close. You'd worked close together for a year- nearly two. You worked coordinated well in traumas and with patients you always knew what the other was thinking.
Since his divorce with you'd been helping him as much as you could. You had a friend who was a good lawyer and when he had a chance to see the kids you always covered.
You knew, of course, everything that had happened with the benzos.
You knew Robby still wasn't back to being best-buds with the guy.
You didn't know everyone thought you and Frank were together!
Donnie side stepped past you, coming in with his bets. “I got it, I got it-”
Robby snatched them from his hand, scoffing at whatever was written.
“Langdon. Two weeks and serious.”
“Et-tu, Donnie?” you asked.
“I got fifty in the pool, looking to get a new tv, you know.”
Robby stormed off.
Donnie watched. “He got a bet in?”
“Not yet, sorry, you don't mind?” asked Ahamed.
You scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”
You left them to it, finding Robby sitting at the nurses station at a computer. His jaw clenched and fingers worked furiously over the keypads. You evaluated the area before leaning in. “If you put a pool in we could split the money?”
“Should I put a bet in for Langdon?” He didn't look up to you as he slid on his glasses.
It angered you because he seemed annoyed at something he knew not to be true and because he slid on the glasses that made him even hotter than he already was.
“Is there something wrong, Robby?”
“No.”
“You seem-”
“- I'm not,” he snapped.
He was.
Robby wouldn't admit how much he let his emotions rule, especially anger. He used to be terrible for it but for a while he'd been better, lighter on his feet, patient. Since about.... well, since you started seeing each other.
“Hey.” Langdon joined your side.
You noticed a vein in Robby's neck twitch. “Hey.”
“You seen what everyone's saying?” asked Frank. “Apparently we're seeing each other?”
“Yeah,” you said, turning to him. “I had no idea.”
“You think I should buy a ring next?” he teased.
Robby slammed his hands on the counter, pushing himself up and storming off without so much as a glance.
Frank watched. “What's his problem?”
What was his problem? You'd love to know. “He had a bet on someone else,” you excused.
“Oh bummer,” said Frank. “You think he lost a lot of money?”
You didn't have time to come up with another lie as you spotted Santos and Whitaker walking by. Politely, you ditched Frank, promising you'd catch him for lunch.
“Did you start a betting system on my sex life?” you asked Trinity.
She smirked. “That wasn't me, I had nothing to do with that, seriously!”
“It's true,” said Denis. “But she was the first to put down a bet on Frank.”
You looked at her. You knew the history between her and Frank. Why would she want you to sleep with him? “You hate Frank?”
She shrugged. “So I guessed you were sleeping with him and didn't want to tell me because you know I don't like him.”
You shook your head. “I didn't want to tell you because it's none of your business.” You considered Whitaker. “Who'd you bet for?”
“I-I didn't, I-I wouldn't-”
“He bet on Nick from radiology.”
All of this from Robby sleeping with you in your apartment. Next time- if there was even gong to be a next time- you were doing it at his.
By the end of your shift anyone that hadn't placed a bet had.
Franks name had doubled and the pot was up to one thousand dollars (the highest bet in Pitt history). Frank found it funny, cracking jokes about it all day, throwing arms around you and dragging you onto cases saying 'couples that save lives together, stay together.'
Any other time you'd have laughed.
But when Robby was around every corner, glaring yet refusing to talk to you you couldn't find amusement in it.
The night had come and you were catching a break at the ambulance bay, sitting down on the curb. You were home in an hour, Denis had already gone to Amy's to deliver a lamb or something and Santos was supposed to be at Garcia's tonight.
But you highly doubted you'd have company.
“Hey,” Jack greeted, walking over to you in his midnight scrubs and bag slung over his shoulder. “How's my favourite day shift resident?”
You smiled a tired one at him. “How much money do you have in your wallet?”
Without a beat Jack fetched it and offered you what he had. Because that's the kind of guy Jack was.
“No, no,” you chuckled. “I don't need your cash. There's a betting pool on about who I'm sleeping with. I just- I was gonna ask you to not place a bet.”
Jack laughed, setting next to you on the curb, stretching out his prosthetic leg. “Would be a bit unfair seeing's as I'm best pals with the guy you're dating.”
“Not dating,” you corrected. “Probably not even seeing each other after today.”
Jack listened as you explained the distance, the glares, the snapping that returned to Robby. He didn't jump to defend his friend, he listened to you and took notes mentally. “The guys an emotional wreck. You know that. I know that.”
“But I thought he was doing better?”
“He was- is. Since he started dating you,” he said. “You ask me he's dealing with some emotions he doesn't know how to process. Jealousy. Greed. What's the other deadly sin?”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lust?”
“Yeah. That.”
“So I'm supposed to what? Let him be a dick all over again?”
“Oh fuck no,” said Jack firmly. “Put him in his place.”
Admittedly you didn't want to. You wanted to go back to being whatever it was you had with Robby. You wanted to hold hands and share beers in shitty bars at least an hour out of town so it was kept a secret. You wanted the brush of hands between the rush of patients and the discreet meetings at his or yours.
But how far were you willing to bend before you broke?
“So who's everyone putting bets on anyway?” Jack asked.
“Frank.”
Understanding of the situation hit him. “Ah.”
“Yeah. Ah.”
Suddenly the wail of an ambulance cut through the quiet.
The doors burst open, Robby, Santos, King, Jesse all pouring out.
“GSW to the chest, forty-two year old male, weak pulse, un-conscious on the ride over,” said Robby tugging on his gloves as you and Jack jumped up. He spared a glance at the two of you before the ambulance pulled up.
You jumped into it, wheeling the gurney ahead into trauma two. Everyone working around the man.
“Okay we move him on the count of three,” said Jack as you all got a hold of the patient. “One... two... three!”
He was heavier than some, not that it would effect your level of care but it made moving him just that but more difficult. There was a breath of air and struggle from Jack and Robby, the noises you had to drown out.
“Lets get an intubation tray going!” called Robby.
The two of you crossed each other, swapping sides.
“Can we talk later?” he uttered as he paused for only a second.
“Whatever, Robby.”
He sighed heavy.
The rest of you carried on gaging the extent of his injury.
“So do you want me out the apartment tonight so your man friend can come around?” asked Santos at your side.
“I want you out cause I'm annoyed at you.”
“Ouch.”
“Okay we need to turn him to see if it went through, on my say!” yelled Robby.
The team had thinned as orders had been barked, there were two of you on either side of him: Robby and Jack, and you and Santos.
Robby passed a nod. “Okay, roll!”
You and Trinity pulled while the men on the other side pushed but maybe Robby didn't have a good grip or maybe he hadn't expected him to be so heavy.
Robby grunted and groaned. “Ah, urg-”
“Not through,” Jack grunted.
You tried to lower him as slow as you could but it wasn't slow enough as Robby's hand got trapped under.
“Oh! Fuck me!”
You and Jack lifted the body quick and Robby released his hand.
Santos was frozen.
The whole room seemed to pause for a second.
“Oh my god!” Santos cheered, arms thrown wide. “Oh my god, oh my god!”
What was wrong with her?
It took you a second to realise, memory of last night coming to you.
Robby over you, thrusting careful.
Your body moved with his thrusts but you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his pelvis in till you felt the length of him deep. “Deeper, harder,” you'd begged.
Robby had groaned out loud, just the way you liked to hear him. “Oh! Fuck me!”
He'd uttered the words into you as he pressed his weight down, squashing you onto your squeaky bed. He'd wrapped his hands around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your walls fluttering around his cock.
Santos had been home longer than you'd thought.
Now, she was practically jumping up and down, smirking. “Oh my god!”
“Trinity can I talk to you outside please?”
“It's- you- and-” her arms were waving around.
“Outside, please, Trinity!”
Everyone was staring.
“Trinity, outside!” You guided her out and she let you, abandoning the trauma and ripping off her gown. You returned, finding Robby's gaze and Jack's amused grin as he tended to the patient. “Sorry, Doctor Robby, may I talk to Santos outside for a moment?”
Robby must have jumped to the same conclusion as you. “Er yes, yes! Of course, go!”
You rushed out, nudging Trinity into an empty exam room as she laughed. You closed the door and pulled the curtain over the glass.
“It's Doctor Robby!” she said at once. “It's Doctor Robby! You're sleeping with Doctor Robby!”
“Can you keep your voice down?”
Santos laughed again, a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, this whole time I thought it was Frank. Oh, I'm so happy.” She wiped at amused tears.
“Hey!”
“How long have you been sleeping with him?”
You shook your head, tugging off your own hospital gown. “It doesn't matter.”
Finally Trinity considered you. Her laughter died. “What-what do you mean?”
How could you explain that what she'd heard last night was over hardly twenty-four hours later.
The door pushed open and Robby stepped through, gown and gloves already gone.
“Is everything okay in here?” he asked, looking between the two of you.
“You and you?” Trinity confirmed, finger gesturing between the two of you.
Robby ran his hands through the back of his hair.
“I just can't believe it,” she said. “You guys are dating?”
Robby sighed out a “yes” at the same time you shook your head, “no”
Now, Robby looked at you.
Santos folded her arms over her chest, smirking and watching like the two of you were her favourite show. “Oh.”
Robby's hands fell to his hips as he looked at you. “What do you mean, no?”
“What do you mean, yes?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he chuckled.
Your rubbed at your temples. “I'm so confused.”
“You're confused, I'm confused,” Robby scoffed.
“Wait- I'm confused,” said Santos. “You guys don't know if you're dating or not?”
Robby's eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “Doctor Santos, please. Go make yourself useful.”
Trinity didn't move. She looked at you, waiting for what you wanted. Because yes, Robby was her attending but you were her friend. When she was insecure about Garcia you were there telling her how much better she could do.
In the hospital Santos was guided under Robby.
At home, she was guided by friendship and care for you.
You gave her a nod and she dismissed herself.
You didn't know where to look, didn't know where to touch.
Outside the usual routine of the Pitt carried on.
Robby sighed, hands going into his fleece pocket. “You didn't know we were dating?”
No, you really didn't. “Was I supposed to? You never asked.”
He shook his head, looking down with a chuckle. He started to list things off, counting them off on his fingers. “Flowers, dinners, day trips, was that not enough?”
“But you never said!”
“I thought it was obvious!”
“Obvious to who?”
“To us!” His hands fell to your forearms.
“No to you maybe!”
“So the dinners... the flowers, you thought it was all just, just sex?” he asked.
You'd hoped it was more. You'd dreamt about it when his weight kept you down on his bed after you kissed and made love for hours. Love...
“I... yeah.”
How long had you thought him the bad guy? Were you the one that had been distant, pulling away?
You carried yourself away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. You never realised how uncomfortable those things were.
Robby laughed to himself, standing for a moment longer. He checked that nobody was around through the curtain before he settled next to you. He shuffled, his bodies attention focused on you. He laid a hand on your knee, tilting his head to try to look at you. “I should have asked, properly.”
“It would've saved confusion,” you admitted.
Robby's hand came up, cradling your face and drawing your attention to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek.
You looked at him, finding nothing but warmth in his gaze. The only thing that had been there for three months. “But today, you... you could hardly look at me.”
He took in a deep breath. “I was...” his jaw ticked.
You smirked. “Jealous?”
His eyes flickered back to yours. “Nobody on that board thought I could be dating you.”
“Till about two seconds ago I didn't even know we were dating,” you joked.
Robby shook his head, wetting his lips. “We are.”
“You're not even going to ask me?”
“I don't need to,” he said. “We're dating, that okay with you?” His face inched closer.
“I don't know, I might have to ask Frank that one,” you teased.
Robby leant back, a dark look to him. The hand caressing you fell to your neck, keeping you looking at him. “You think that's funny?”
“Everyone else thinks so-”
He pulled you in by your neck and kissed you, hard, the imprint of his teeth felt through your lips.
You held onto him, kissing him with a new need. Kissing your boyfriend. Your hands wound around his head and you brought him down on top of you.
Robby climbed atop the bed that was not made for heavy make out sessions. He held the edge with one hand and the other fell down your body till it could crawl up your scrub top, un-tucking it and holding onto your hips.
He bit down on your lip and used the opening of your mouth to slide in his tongue.
“This is un-professional,” you said against his lips.
“I've been wanting to be un-professional for months.”
You were so lost in the feel of each other you didn't notice the curtain being yanked back until you heard.
“We got him stable,” said Jack, casually. “Oh and you've got an audience.”
You looked over Robby's shoulder as he looked back to see nosey nurses and night shifters along with half the day staff all looking at you.
You tapped his shoulder and though resigned to, Robby slowly climbed off you.
“Who put down Robby?” Ahmed called. “Did anyone bet Robby?”
The crowd that had watched you both suddenly rushed to the board, scanning the name.
Eventually you and Robby joined, waiting.
“Oh my god.”
“There he is, Robby, one vote!”
Robby's head perked in confusion.
“Who is it? Who?”
Ahmed collected the money and made his way through the people. To the one who had made a bet on Robby. “Doctor Robby, three months, and serious.”
He delivered the money- to everyone's shock- to Frank.
Your jaw hung open as Frank collected the money.
Everyone looked at him, silent.
You couldn't tell if next to you Robby was okay with it or angered.
Frank looked around at everyone. “C'mon, nobody else saw it? He's been happier for three months and can't take his eyes off her.”
Clealry, nobody had.
“I thought you didn't bet?” you asked him.
Frank shrugged, bashful. “Yeah well, couldn't help myself. Here-” Langdon held out the wad of cash to Robby's hand, practically forcing it in. “Take her somewhere nice.”
You wished you had a camera to capture Robby's shock.
“Okay folks! Show's over!” called out Dana. “Day shift let's pass on to night so we can get out of here to have some fun!” she winked your way.
Slowly the crowd dissipated, shaking their heads in disappointment.
Ahmed was already pulling off the notes and rubbing away at the board.
Robby waved the cash in front of you. “What do you say, you gonna let your boyfriend treat you tonight?”
“Well I think we worked hard for it, don't you?”
I love you, I love you, I love you
synopsis Robby is known to speak before he thinks sometimes, but when the cost of his words is losing you, he’d rather die (6.6k words)
warningheavy angst, language, hospital stuff, mention of drowning, near death experience, robby is constipated emotionally as always, jack to the rescue, kinda yearning Jack if you squint, inaccurate medical practices I am noooo doctor!
authornotethannk you so much for the request!!! and thank you for your kind words! I had so much fun writing, I think angst is probably my favourite to write over anything especially when Robby is the one yearning. I hope you liked! (Gif credits @emziess :)
Pitt masterlist Last robby fic!
As a resident in the Emergency Department there was a lot you knew.
You knew that preeclampsia effected about eight percent of all pregnant women worldwide. You knew how to intubate and had in fact done so many in your time at PTMC that you were sure you could do it with your eyes closed. You knew that in the bottom draw of Dana's select spot at the nurses station was a pack of nicotine gum hardly used because Dana thought they were a bunch of bull; in spite of the literal doctors orders.
You knew there was a leaky faucet in the women's bathrooms that drove everyone insane when they went in there to steal a moment's peace. You knew the computer in central fourteen was the faultiest one which was why you avoided charting in there all together.
So you knew there must have been a reason why Noelle from insurance was biding her time with your new boyfriend. There must have been a reason why he was grinning big at her like he hadn't with you for days.
“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.
You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”
Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”
You nodded.
Robby rubbed at the side of his face as his cheeks flushed, Noelle shifted her weight onto her other heeled foot- apparently getting herself comfortable.
“Who is that, again?” asked Doctor Mohan.
“Noelle. She's from insurance.”
Samira nodded. “Noelle from insurance. Annnd do we like Noelle, from insurance?”
At that you realised just how transparent your glares might have been.
“Oh, you know,” you mumbled, finally looking back down to your tablet that had grown dark in the absence of movement. “It's our job to like everyone.”
Santos passed by you then, dropping herself down into your favourite chair in exhaustion. “Not everyone.”
“So we're all having a great day, I see,” you commented, sarcastically. However the sardonic tone of your voice was over-saturated with a loud laugh.
Your head practically snapped up to see Noelle laughing at something Robby had said. Even his face was scrunched up at his joke. You watched as Noelle's hand darted to his bicep, playfully hitting him in a way that could only be recognised as flirting.
You watched as Robby looked down to her hand on him and then he looked up, finding you and finding your watchful gaze. Only then did the pink in his cheeks subside and the wrinkles of amusement die.
“Didn't they have a thing before you and him got together?” asked Santos.
You sighed. “Yes, they did, thank you, Trinity.”
“Hey, just trying to be helpful.”
“Save it for the patients,” you said.
Robby took one step in your direction but you'd already dismissed yourself from Santos and Mohan, walking the ward like it was a battle field.
But you could hear your boyfriends heavy boots close behind you.
“Don't do that,” he said, calling after you.
“Do what? See a patient?”
“It's not what you think,” he said.
“Of course it's not,” you said, trying your best to be indifferent.
You knew about Noelle and Robby's history, just as you knew about his and Heathers, and his and the pathologist from upstairs, and the one from ortho. You knew and you understood, heck you'd even been around to joke about with Landon. Robby's famous seven-week itch.
Rumour had it before he finally got to hold your hand and kiss you whenever he liked he'd been trying to nail you down for years, but you weren't sure how much you believed.
It had been nine months, maybe closer to ten since you and Robby had officially started seeing each other. It was the real boyfriend-girlfriend deal where you could call each other at any moments of the day, could get take out together and discuss the boring things together.
Yet, you did none of that.
Robby and you didn't talk.
You fucked- but only each other. You worked on cases together- strictly professional. On the days where you were desperate there was an on-call room Robby could book out and steal time away with you.
But you didn't remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him.
“It's not,” said Robby again.
“Of course it's not.”
Robby sighed, falling closer behind you. “Well, it doesn't really sound like you believe me.”
“I believe you,” you said. “Do I believe Noelle...”
“Oh, c'mon,” Robby chuckled, like the very idea of them was ridiculous. Like the two of you didn't begin where they ended. “You seriously gonna be hung up on that?”
“Don't,” you warn, shaking your head.
You reached for an exam room door, where a sixteen year old boy was complaining of migraines but Robby grabbed your wrist and stirred you away.
“You wanna argue, not here,” he said.
“I don't want to argue.”
Robby led you out to the ambulance bay. Any nurses stealing a couple minutes of peace quickly diverted back in and even ambulances seemed to divert away. He let go of you, standing away and folding his arms over his chest, defensive. “So come on, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You're mad because I was talking to Noelle- about a case, might I add,” he said. There was nothing soft in his tone, nothing that calmed your nerves on edge. He said it all like it was a joke that he already knew the punchline to.
You rubbed at your temple. “You can talk to Noelle about cases, of course you can-”
“- Oh, thank you, glad I have your permission,” he chuckled.
“Can you just not be a dick about this, for once!” you snapped.
Robby's brows rose to his head, almost shocked at your snap at him. He held out his hands. “Okay, I'm not being a dick.”
“You are, and it's like sometimes you don't even realise.”
His hands were worn with the mornings patients and you could see the stress he tried to hide away as he wiped up and down his face.
You took a deep breath. “Robby, if you don't want this to work out all you have to do is say.” You said it, un-sure if you even meant it. Un-sure that you could ever go back to who you were before meeting Robby, let alone sharing in his life. In the small moments grabbing take out together and eating it on his sofa. In the mornings where you both naturally woke up early enough to just admire each other before you had to get to work.
Robby chuckled dryly, hands on his hips. “Oh my god, all of this because I spoke to another woman?”
“Because you laughed with her like you haven't with me for weeks!” you argued.
For once, Robby was silent.
You told yourself after the seven week mark that it would be any day now, that he'd tell you you were better off friends; colleagues. Every day and week it didn't come, every month he got more comfortable in your bed you figured you'd easily get rid of him in your life as easily as you welcomed him.
Now you stood across from him in the early morning light of the ambulance bay knowing if he left you now you'd never get back on your feet again.
“I see the way Noelle looks at you, how the others from upstairs do to,” you begin.
Robby shook his head, something earnest in his gaze. “They're not- they don't-”
“- I know, I know,” you said, cutting him off with a grimace of a smile. “ ”I know you don't love them, Robby. I'm just not sure you love me either.”
As un-cultured as you were with your own relationships you weren't sure when the right time to say I love you was. You knew Santos had said it to Garcia drunk one night and woke up with regret pinning her to the bed. You knew Dana and Benji had said it to each other a week in. You knew you loved Robby before you even kissed him.
Robby looked down to his boots, shaking his head. “That's not fair.”
Your heart pinched. “I know I love you, Robby. But I can't watch all these woman over you and-and wonder.”
“Your insecurities are not my fault!” Robby snapped.
You knew he didn't mean it, or hoped he didn't. You knew in the very small arguments you'd had that he spoke without thinking and came grovelling back.
Maybe it was worse this time because you knew it was the truth. You knew these women- his ex something's- didn't get to see Robby in the early mornings and be the last thing he spoke to at night. You knew Robby wasn't inviting them into his self, but he wasn't pushing them away either.
They'd all been quick, snaps of bands on wrists. You were supposed to be something more.
Maybe you weren't.
Biting on the inside of your cheek, you felt the familiar burning in your chest, rising up to your neck.
“Okay.” You held yourself tight, heading past him and to the doors that were already welcoming you back.
Robby was hot on your heels, quicker even as he pushed himself ahead of you. “No, no, no- hey- wait, no I-I didn't mean that.” His eyes were wide, hands held out in front of you, not quite clasped together, pointing to the sky but pleading none the less.
“We shouldn't talk about this now, Robby-”
“- I- we... honey, please.”
He stood in between you and the doors. Beyond him you saw the chaos of the room, the charts being passed, the labs being reported. The world still turned.
Robby's hands fell to your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. “Let me- jus' let me-let me-”
“Hey! You two!”
Robby didn't jump apart from you, he squeezed your arms tighter as the two of you looked back to Dana who rushed out, wisps of grey hair falling around her. “What is it?”
“There's been a crash down the docks, all hands on deck!”
You thought you knew chaos, having seen all sorts of terror and oddities in the Pitt but the scenes at the dock were nothing like it. A complication with a boat, an explosion- small enough- rattled ferries and had them crashing into one another like terrible scene of dominoes.
Heck, you weren't even sure if the docks were safe to be standing on.
There were fire trucks and ambulances that didn't just respond to PTMC but Presby too. Police were corning off the area, talking to any witnesses but everyone blurred in one as you weaved in and out of them.
You'd been sent as an emergency respondent thanks to how level-headed and sturdy you were in the Pittfest. You still remembered how Robby nominated you as well as Whitaker to go with some from surgery, his eyes dark on you, a trusting nod passed before you were handed a jacket and pushed into an ambulance.
You'd already pulled a sheet over three bodies, one of them too small for your liking.
“Any for me?” asked a first emergency responder, you think his name was Spencer, catching it in the rig you caught a ride in. “We can take two.”
“Yeah!” you yelled and led him away. “This guy, approximately in his thirties, head lack to the right, needs to go to surgery immediately. This woman, late twenties, lost consciousness, possible pelvic bleed but she's stabilised, need's a ultrasound.”
“Got it!”
You'd gone through almost all the gloves you had in your pockets. There was blood seeping into your scrub uniform at your knees. You'd forgone your coat to a little girl who took an ambulance back with her mother, trembling from the cold.
A steady, firm hand settled between your shoulder blades.
“How you holding on, Slugger?”
Your heart soared in relief when you recognised Jack's voice, felt his steady hand and saw his easy smile in the middle of all the pain.
“Jack, thank god. Are you here with your team?” you asked, eying the uniform he was in.
“Yeah, we came to secure the area, doing everything I can to help,” he said, the two of you nudging your way through the people, stepping over the rubble and pools of water or blood. “How you holding up?”
“Lost three,” you told him.
Jack looked down at you, the weight of his gaze always heavy. “And how many you saved, huh? Focus on that number.”
The wind picked up, sending a chill over your bones.
“Hey, where's your jacket?” asked Jack, a frown taking over his features.
You chuckled. “Probably half way to Presby by now, think we've handed off all the traumas PTMC can take.”
Jack tutted and shook his head aside. “I reckon they've got one more in them.”
You didn't know how you and Jack had got so close, somewhere along the lines of hand-offs and covering night shifts you just always gravitated toward each other, working well and saving lives. Every daring procedure you'd taken was with him over your shoulder only for him to go and boast about you to Robby later.
Jack led you to Robby, for that you always had to be thankful.
“Hey! I've got a guy seizing over here!”
With your case in hand the two of you rushed off.
The man seemed middle-aged with no obvious wound to him as you and Jack took either side. The man was at the edge of the docks, the crashing of the waves fighting against you as you worked to stablilse him.
Jack steadied him. “Check if there's any medication on him! It might be a disorder!”
You checked, coming up empty pocketed. You fumbled in your bag and tried your pockets before finding the vial and clean needle. “Pushing diazepam!”
With five cc's in his seizing slowed to dull twitches.
“We need a back board and neck brace,” said Jack, looking around to try and flag down anyone.
Nobody was catching your eyes. This close to the water you were out of the way of most of the chaos.
“Go!” you told Jack. “I'll stay with him, make sure he doesn't sieze again.”
Jack's brows pinched together for a second. “You sure?”
You nodded. Your hands remained on your patient, feeling his tremors and already timing his pulse with your watch. “I've got it, go!”
In hind sight you should have thought about the implications. You'd been grabbed and yelled at and spat at in the ED by less sever patients but once you'd been attacked by a man who just woke up from a seizure, dazed and confused and naming you his enemy.
Robby had never been so close to murder.
It took weeks for the bruises to go down, for your hand to heal properly from the fall and you were on bed rest for a week.
You knew what it meant to be alone with a patient, but sometimes you supposed it couldn't be helped.
The diazepam should have helped- you've seen it help- but soon enough the man started twitching, slow at first, before it started to fit and his whole body moved.
He was a strong man. You weren't.
“It's okay, sir- sir!” you threw your weight against him to hold him still, wonder what you can do to stop him biting down on his tongue with the little equipment you had.
The man was mumbling to himself, thrashing violently.
“C'mon Jack, c'mon-”
It only took a wide sweep of the mans arm to send you hurtling back and crashing into the icy water.
The sky was darkening by the time Robby counted off his thirtieth patient of the day. Twenty-five of them had been from the incident at the docks. Only one he couldn't save, two sent up to the OR.
He counted the patients, counted the hours that ticked by, counted every ambulance that came by not carrying you. He'd expected you back by now, expected to have a little piece of mind with seeing you back in his eyeline.
Robby's heart was being squeezed progressively as the day went on, ever since he'd snapped and said words he never even meant.
Every second, passing from patient to patient and tearing off gloves to replace them with clean ones he checked his phone for any update from you.
Nothing.
You must have been busy down there.
But just three ambulances ago Whitaker returned saying he lost sight of you practically immediately.
So where the hell were you?
“Hey, Dana-” he called, rounding on the nurses station.
She looked as dishevelled as he felt, wisps of hair, dark circles under her eyes.
“Can you get a hold of transport, ask where the hell is my resident.”
“I just got off the phone with them, Robby-” she reached over and placed a hand on his, the one that had been tapping relentlessly. “She's on her way in now.”
Before Robby could even wonder why Dana had to hold his hand to tell him, why her eyes were glassed over and her voice trembled to tell him the doors bust open.
“Robby!” Jack yelled out.
He turned, catching sight of his old friend, the greying hair damp and sticking to his skin. He was half dressed in SWAT gear, his jacket discarded and bits of tinfoil falling from his shoulders. Jack was set over a gurney, hammering down on a chest and going in for CPR the old fashioned way.
“What happened? You fall in-”
Robby got to the other side of the gurney and breath caught in his chest.
“She's been down thirty- thirty-five minutes, I dunno, man,” said Jack as he continued hammering down on your chest.
It was you. Blue in the face and eyes closed, droplets of water at your lashes. Your hair was turning to ice fanned out underneath you. He'd been running his hand through your hair just that morning, had he not. There was a blanket, maybe two, thrown over you but your body only reacted to the thumping Jack delivered on your chest, pinching your nose to breath down your open mouth.
This morning you'd been warm, so warm, with a leg thrown over his hips in attempts to keep him in your bed. And he'd been close, so close to burying himself in your warmth.
He didn't even have to touch you to know you were cold.
“I found her- in the water- pulled her out-” gasped Jack as he continued compressions.
“What do you mean in the water?” asked Robby, surprising himself by how calm he sounded.
“She- she fell, or-or something, I dunno man-”
“You don't know?” he snapped. “Why isn't she bagged?”
“We ran out,” said the paramedic pushing you in.
“You ran out?!”
“Robby- Robby!” Dana's hands were on his chest, keeping him at bay before Robby even knew what he was going to do.
Robby shook her off. “What's open?”
“Trauma two just got cleaned up-”
He grabbed the gurney and pushed you into the room. The weight of Jack on top of you trying to save your life squeaking the wheels against the floor not long wiped from blood. Robby was aware of other voices, of people wondering if that was Jack and was it... no... it couldn't have been.
The doors closed behind a team of people all teaming in, stuttering when they saw you.
“Hook her up!” ordered Robby, ignoring any protocol of gowns and gloves. If he was going to get you back he was going to feel the beat of your heart under his palms. “Jack, move!”
Jack slowly climbed down and Robby jumped up next, quickly taking over compressions.
He remembered kissing down your chest, hiding himself there on mornings he wanted to steal away five minutes, pulling the covers up past the two of you. How he was breaking ribs to keep you alive. “Somebody get a bag on her, now!”
“She's- she's been down a long time,” said Jack, catching his breath.
Robby thumped down on your chest, kidding himself with the dull flutter of your eyelashes, knowing it was only through the force of his hammering down on you. “She's alive.”
“Jesus, Jack, you're as cold as ice,” said Dana from somewhere behind Robby.
“I'm fine,” he dismissed. “Robby, you shouldn't be working on her, brother.”
Others in the room stopped, hearing that.
It was protocol family waited outside, that if family or friends ever came in demanding help the same DNA did not attend. They were too emotionally clouded. To invested to think straight. The last time Robby found himself in this situation: blood pumping in his ears, chest tight was trying to save Jake's girlfriends life.
He'd failed.
The only person to pull him back from that was you.
There'd be nobody if you didn't pull through. He'd be left in that pedes room, never to leave.
“Robby!” Jack tried again.
“Shut up and get me some warm saline!”
“Oh, no,” said Jack, walking around till he was on the other side of your gurney. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”
Robby was still pressing his hands down on your chest when Jack reached over, past the bag they'd finally clamped over on you, and stroked back your hair.
“We're gonna get you through this,” he uttered in an oddly tender moment.
“We need to get a central line in her,” said Matteo.
Jack looked at Robby. “Brother.”
“No.”
“You have to move, we need to get a line in her.”
Robby knew that. He knew so much as a doctor, as chief attending. But he couldn't stop, he physically couldn't bring himself to.
“Robby, man, you gotta let go.”
“I can't... I can't... I can't...” he said. The only thing keeping him sane was the one, two, three, four count in his head, was the cold feeling of your flesh under his hands. “Push three milligrams of epi.”
Jack huffed in frustration, probably the only thing keeping him warm. He marched around your bed to his side. “Robby, so help me god I will drag you out of here if you don't let her go!”
“I can't!” he yelled.
It was selfish but Robby had some how convinced himself he could be selfish with you. He could hold on tighter in the mornings and let you go for the rest of the day. He could watch patients get close to you because he knew it was him who got to kiss you. He could hold back the worst parts of himself to keep you, no matter how much it tore him apart to push you away on the days he wanted to be closest.
No, Robby could never let you go.
If you ever tried to leave him, he'd hold on tighter.
Robby dropped his voice low. “I can't.”
Jack took in a slow breath, a gentle hand on Robby's bicep. “Okay. Okay. You don't have to let her go... but to save her you have to move aside.”
A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.
Slowly, Robby moved from your chest.
The people swarmed you. Someone cut into you, getting a central line in on your other side.
Robby stayed where he was, a hand holding yours tightly as if he could squeeze his own life into yours. He cried- maybe loudly- at the feel of how cold you were.
“What's her temp?” asked Jack.
“Eighty.”
Robby looked up to the monitor reading your vitals. “That's- that's too low.”
“We're getting her warmed up.”
“Get the warm saline.”
“We are.”
Robby leaned over you once the line was placed, brushing back your hair and trying desperately to ignore how cold you were. “You're not dead, you're not,” he said, low for you. Your vitals may have been saying different. “You're not dead.”
“Doctor Robby-”
“Please,” he begged with trembling lips. “Please, don't do this to me.”
A monitor sung low and dry. The classic song of a flatline.
His head jerked up.
Jack caught his stupor and pushed him from you, sending him into Dana's ready hold. “She's going into V-fib!”
Dana held Robby. Physically she wasn't strong enough to hold him back but Robby wasn't strong enough to fight against her. “Robby... Robby, c'mon, let's wait outside.”
He was shaking his head.
“Panels, charge to three hundred!” called out Jack.
Dana had just managed to push him out the doors as he shouted clear!
Through the glass Robby watched your body jerk but not respond.
“Please, please, please,” he uttered. His back hit the nurses station, his knees giving out as he slowly slid and sank to the floor.
“Okay, okay,” muttered Dana, falling with him and holding him there.
The Pitt seemed to stand still at the sight of their boss, white faced and hands trembling, brushing back his hair. Noise travelled quick, that it was you in the bed, ribs breaking from compressions, chest hurting from the shock.
Robby's hands clasped in front of him, his star of David chain clenched in his hands. “Please.... she can't do this to me, please.”
Dana tugged on his body, bringing him in closer. With her sharp gaze she pushed everyone else that dared try and get closer away. “C'mon, Robby, she's strong, you know that. And stubborn like hell, huh?”
Robby nodded along with her words, un-sure if he could believe it.
“Charge again, three hundred, let's go!” called Jack, rubbing the panels before everyone backed up. “Clear!”
There was a small beep, a pick up in the line.
“There! Resume compressions!”
“Doctor Robby!” Santos ran up, her gown like a cape around her. She slowed to a stop in front of the two slumped. “Dana. Dana, is it- is it true, is it?”
Robby looked up, tear stained cheeks red.
“Yeah, kid,” said Dana, sadly.
Santo's jaw trembled before she shook her head in resolute, saying one simple word. No. Then she stormed into the room.
Robby knew you favoured Santos and somewhere along the way Robby had come to look for her when an interesting case came in. He came to favour the way you smiled at Santos when she did things right and Robby searched for any smile he could get from you.
So, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and followed her in- back into the chaos that was your room. The blankets had slipped from your body in the shocks and he desperately tried to hold himself back from fixing them.
“Doctor Abbot-” said a nurse or a intern or someone in the room. “It's been thirty minutes.”
“Hold compressions.”
Robby knew it was to check your pulse but he winced when they paused, when your body didn't respond.
“Still asystole, resume compressions.” Jack caught Robby's gaze.
He'd seen that look on Jack's face. Had seen the hopelessness and the devastation at losing a patient not only in his face but in his own reflection. “Don't-”
Jack lowered his head. “Robby.”
“No, Jack, her temp is not up! She's cold,” he said, walking back around the room. He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on gloves. If nobody else was going to save you he would. “She is not dead! She's not- She's not dead till she's warm and dead! Push another round of epi!”
Matteo jumped at the chance.
Jack stood by Robby's side. “Just... prepare yourself, okay? She's been down a long time. She might not come back from this.”
Robby glanced back at him. “She will.”
“And even if she did-”
Robby cut him off. “She will.”
They couldn't send you up to the OR- there was nothing surgical to do. They couldn't send you to the ICU- you weren't stable. They could work on you for hours, in the pitts of hell.
Robby didn't stop Jesse from compressions but he leant over you, leaning his lips into your forehead. “You'll come back, you have to come back.”
“What's her temp?”
“We're up to eighty-eight.”
“When was our last epi?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Push again.”
At some point Santos pushed her through the crowd, taking compressions from Jesse who she deemed weak-armed.
“Doctor Santos-” said Jack, the only one seeing this for what it was. A disaster. One more emotional person in the room wasn't going to help. If you woke you might just choke on tears from them all.
“I can do it,” she argued, nodding to the night attending. “I can do it.”
Santos was as stubborn as you. If anyone might have been able to beat her heart into beating, it would be her.
Robby leant over you. Robby could feel your skin cold against his lips and he pet back any bit of you he could reach, trying to warm you. He caught Jack's tired gaze, his lifeless stare like he was already grieving you. “I never told her I love her, Jack.”
“Get an APG,” said Santos.
Jack clasped his shoulder. “Tell her now.”
Robby looked back down to you, past the bag pushing your breath, through Santos keeping your heart beat. He kissed your forehead. “I-” he chocked on the words. He couldn't remember a time where he'd said it and meant it like he does now.
He knew Jack was giving him a way out. He knew Jack was giving him the chance to live with no regrets.
But Robby would regret not dying with you if you didn't make it.
There was a silence throughout the room, not even the beating of a monitor keeping him sane.
Robby's hot tears hit your cheeks.
“Temp?”
“Up to neinty.”
“Halt compressions.”
Santos paused.
Nothing.
Then a shrill beeping.
If Robby thought it was life he was going to be souly mistaken.
“She's in V-fib again!”
Robby backed away, tucking his head down to his chest as he watched Jack get the panels, rub the gel on.
“Charge to three hundred- clear!”
Your body jolted again, blankets slipping down your bare body and Robby suddenly wanted to cover you, wanted to pull every tube keeping you alive out and just hold you. Warm or cold. He just wanted to hold you.
“Again, charge. Clear!”
There was a silence. Maybe you were so angry at him you were proving a point by dying. You were a good swimmer. Why didn't you swim?
Everyone in the room paused, seeming to wait for someone to call it.
Jack looked at Robby.
“No,” he said, pushing past everyone.
“Robby-” interjected Jack.
He snatched the panels from Jack. “Charge again, three hundred-”
“-Robby-”
“I said charge again!”
The room was heavy as Jesse moved to do so, charging them up.
“Clear!”
Your body jerked again, violent. Your face remained peaceful, Santos remained off to the side, waiting for orders, waiting to know. Everyone else was looking to each other, silently deciding who would be the one to drag Robby away from your body.
“Wait- there!”
In the middle of them all there sat a pick up in your heart.
The room jumped into discussion about how to carry on, about how to keep the momentum going while Robby pressed his stethoscope into his ears and the other down on you. He listened, catching the beat of your heart.
“She's warm, she's warm and she's alive,” said Jack with a smile.
You were dreaming. It was a sweet sort of thing.
It was a warm body blanketing you and hands holding you. It was lips you knew pressing along you and drawing out pleasure. There were three tiny words spoken into flesh.
It was Robby, his head laid upon your chest in your bed and mumbling the words, tracing every letter over your ribs. When you reached for his hair, when you tried to say the words again you coughed up water instead. You clawed at your throat. You chocked in panic-
Then there was a beeping bringing you out of sweet dreams.
“Hey, hey. Honey? Honey, can you look at me?” a warm hand was running over your head, pushing back your hair. “Open your eyes.”
You tried to. They felt heavy. Sleep heavy.
But someone was coaxing you through it, holding your hand and brushing back your hair.
“Yeah, there we go... there we go, hey.”
The lights were bright, almost painfully so as they blared in your eyes. It took you a couple blinks to get them right but when you did there was a dark shadow looming over you, blocking out the lights.
There was the ragged pull of a beard and the slope of a well known nose.
You breathed in and smelt burnt coffee and hand sanitiser. “Robby?”
He smiled, crows feet at his eyes. “Hey, honey.”
You pushed up your arm, finding it oddly weak like it had been weighted down. You found an IV down in your arm. The white lights... the white walls and the IV all made slow sense.
“Wh-what?”
“Easy, easy.” Robby grabbed at your arms, holding you. He helped you sit up, reaching over and plumping your pillow and holding you there.
Only when you heard the monitor calming down and felt the pain lessen did Robby let you go, perching close on the bed next to you and grabbing your hand again.
“What happened?” you asked, finding your throat parched.
Robby sighed, pulling your hand into your lap. “There was an accident at the docks. You went with the responders to help. Your patient had a seizure and...”
You remembered the dock, the wind cold and the yells. You remembered Jack was there and the patient, he was seizing. “What happened to him?” you asked.
Robby stared at you, a small shake in his head as his brows pinched together.
“The seizing, the patient.”
There was a small look of disbelief, a soft smile creasing his chapped lips.
“What?”
His smile turned sharp with affection as he looked down. Your hand, engulfed in his, was pressed to his lips. He stayed like that as the scenes played in his head and the smile slowly started to fall. “You were brought in, your body temp was eighty. Jack was- was doing compressions. We- we had to shock you, so much, you don't- ” Robby sighed out a shaky breath. “You don't know what it was like.”
The dock, the bodies, Jack. The bite of cold water like a thousand daggers piercing into your skin. You had gasped for breath, limbs flailing.
It had felt like dying.
“Oh.”
You rubbed at your chest, pain blooming.
“You might be a bit burnt, from the shocks. And we were- we did compressions for a while so you broke a rib,” he said, chocking down a cry.
You squeezed his hand. “We?”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest. His lips were pursed.
You'd seen Robby cry before, in shades of red face and clenched palms and always trying to hide it away. But you'd never seen him try to hide away as much as he was now. Your hand escaped his hold, caressing down his cheek.
“Robby.... hey....”
His lips puckered to your palm, pressing a kiss there. His palm was large as he held your hand up to his cheek.
“Hey,” you cooed.
Robby glanced up at you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.”
“No, no it's not, it's not okay,” Robby took a shaky breath and scooted closer. His arm came over you, bracing himself on the bed. “You almost died.”
You searched his eyes but only found pain and defeat. He looked tired. Really tired. “But I didn't.”
“That's not the point,” he said. He brushed back strands of your hair, kept petting it down in a way you guessed comforted him more. “Jack was doing compressions for almost an hour. Your temp was down the whole time. We shocked you four times. Four.”
Robby's voice broke.
“You almost died and the last thing we did was argue.”
You didn't know what to say to that. The words I'm sorry were already rising and like he sensed it, Robby gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah... probably wasn't the best timing.”
“We're never arguing again, you understand?”
You smirked, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You could feel the race of his pulse. “Give us a week.”
“No,” said Robby. “Never.”
Something sour tasted it your mouth.
“Because we- are we, broken up?”
“No. No. We are not,” he said sternly.
You let out a breath. “Good. Good. I'd have hated to wake up from near death to that.”
“I should have listened to you,” he uttered. “Noelle is nothing, everyone else is nothing, nobody means anything to me, only you. Only ever you. And I am never letting you go again, ever.” He kissed your hand again.
You smiled at him. “What if I need to pee?”
“You can hold my hand.”
“And on mornings where I have really bad morning breath?” you teased.
“That doesn't happen, you know that,” Robby smiled.
Without any arguments left you gave up, sinking into your sheets with a shiver.
Robby frowned. “Are you cold?” he was up at once, pulling at the covers over you and the blankets. He was all but tucking you in as you laid there, taking it.
“Robby.”
“Yeah?” he hummed.
You tugged at his arm, pulling him down.
“What are you- what are you doing?” he chuckled, lightly.
“I'm cold, you're a human furnace, hold me.”
Robby was on the verge of complaining even as you pulled him down on the bed. He grunted at the squeak of the bed, was careful of the monitors assessing you. He squeezed in, pulling the rail back up as you curled up to the side to give him space. “These beds are not made for two.”
“You'll have to get onto the attending about that,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.”
“Meh, I can persuade him, if you like.”
Robby smirked. “He'll do whatever you say.”
His arm slung over your shoulder and rested there, holding your body into him till your head was on his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart. It was just like you dream. Of comfort and warmth.
Robby said your name in a whisper.
You looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut before releasing them.
“I...”
You watched the move of his lips. “Robby, you don't have to-”
“No, I want to,” he said. Robby's hand was careful as he cupped your face.
“You don't have to say it just because of what happened.”
“I'm not, believe me, I'm not,” he said. “I love you.”
It was the words you wanted to hear, the words you needed to know, the very thing to finish off your dream.
“Robby-” you interjected.
“I love you,” he smiled, grinning wide at you. “I've said it now, I don't think you'll get me to shut up.” There was fake remorse in his voice, a feigned sort of sorry.
“I can think of a few ways.”
Robby's lips were warm and giving as you puckered your up to his, kissing him slow. If you lost your breath kissing him it'd be a hell of a way to go.
Robby smiled against your lips. “That might work.”
His body half rolled onto yours, the bed creaking in protest. Only when your monitor warned of you losing breath did he pull away and check the machine.
“Get some rest, Robby, you look like you need it,” you said, kissing his cheek slow.
There was fight of protest in him that quickly gave up.
Robby looked up at you, wide eyed. “Can I stay?”
You nodded.
“I love you.”
The words he'd given you, the words he'd never forget to say. The words he'd spoken and would never take back.
taglist: @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,
There is probably something REALLY wrong with me cuz tell me why I was smiling ear to ear after experiencing this hollowing-out kinda angst???
Truly so fkn beautiful 🤌🩷
Thorin Oakenshield X f!Reader
Summary: When Thorin's Company gets a chance to rest at the hidden valley called Rivendell, you get the chance to be pampered like a noble. Thorin notices, and you notice him noticing, and there's no way you can't talk about it. (wc. 3k)
Warnings: Reader is female body coded; she/her pronouns.
Listening to: 'Black Swan' Instrumental cover by NUMERO
Masterlist || AO3 link
If the water was food, you would call it delicious.
After weeks spent on the road, days of horseback and nights laid in soil and stone, the steam and hot water felt heavenly. Delicious, divine, mouthwatering. You swore when you sunk into it, never once having the pleasure of anything other than a lukewarm bath in your whole life, let alone the streams of cold river water in recent times.
Then again, you’d never been to Rivendell before either.
You were no dwarf, however your ancestors had been one of the handful to escape Dale. Not many men survived the day Smaug attacked that city, the ones that had were forced to relocate to a town on the nearby lake. Not your family. For as long as you could remember you’d been travelling merchants, convinced that one day - some day - your family could lay their roots back in Dale.
After all, even dragons couldn’t live forever.
You’d overheard the exiled dwarf-king Thorin speaking with the grey wizard Gandalf at an inn. An accident really. You were there on your own business, but you couldn’t help insert yourself into the conversation.
You had convinced them - though Gandalf was on board with a lot less convincing - to go back to your own kin and try and rally them to join too. Thorin was to meet with representatives from seven kinds of his kinfolk, and between them and your ever-growing clan of man you could amass enough bodies to take back both the city of Dale and the mountain. You’d left with a pep in your step, convinced yourself that it would be an easy feat.
It was not.
You’d forgotten the last person to be as convinced as you that your family would return home was your grandfather, and he was laid in an unmarked grave at a wayside. No one else thought it possible except you.
Remembering the feeling that settled in your stomach when they looked at you like you were a little girl with a foolish idea still made you feel sour and heavy. Worse? The feeling you got when Gandalf and Thorin and all those people in Bilbo’s house looked at you when you told them you were the only one of your family to come join them.
Soaking in the hottest bath of your life in a hidden elven valley made all that feel like an age ago.
You closed your eyes. Your limbs were weightless. Steam rose and kissed your cheeks and eyelashes. The scent of healing salts and relaxing oils filled your nose. Just about anyone could walk in on you at that moment and you’d care very little.
Eventually someone did walk in, two she-elves, and you spent the rest of your time in the bath with them both carefully untangling and washing your hair. They had the patience of angels, and fingers that worked like magic. They almost put you to sleep.
By the time dinner rolled around, you were wandering the halls behind your escort like you were walking on clouds. Your hair was loose, and they’d given you slippers and a temporary gown to wear while someone mended and washed your clothes. Both must’ve been made with the same fabric, coloured like starlight and softer than silk, flowing around you like chiffon. You’d come across fabrics of many kinds in your life as part of a merchant caravan, but never for your own use, and never anything like this.
You felt like you were in a dream. You felt like a princess, not the daughter of an exiled wanderer.
Walking into the balcony dinner was being served in, you stopped in your tracks. If you cared more you would’ve been embarrassed that none of your companions seemed to have had the same treatment as you.
They were still in their travel clothes, though their unwashed state wasn’t unusual - you came to learn they were messy eaters and often bathed after dinner, not before. Besides the elves, you were the only one in such fine clothes.
Though you quickly decided they must’ve declined any offer that you received of fresh clothes, and you also decided it was their loss. You’d never felt nor looked better in your life.
“Well well, don’t you sure scrub up nicely.” Bofur was the first to notice you, and the first to make a comment. You - having had any shyness melt off you during your bath - milked all the comments that followed for all their worth.
You winked at Bofur, twirled when Dwalin asked, even did a curtsy before turning away and walking over to the only unclaimed seat in the room at the table with Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin - all with a big grin on your face.
“You made use of the hospitality.” Gandalf said, eyeing you with a cheeky look on his face as you sat down.
“I’ll have you know in some places it’s very rude not to let someone extend generosity. I wouldn’t want to disrespect our gracious host.” you replied.
“From what Mithrandir had told me you’ve all had quite a journey to get here. I’m glad to hear you made yourself comfortable.” Elrond said, gesturing toward the food and drink laid on the table. Gandalf picked up the conversation from there, you presumed about whatever small-talk they had before you walked in.
You couldn’t help how your attention drew to Thorin - it normally did, no thanks to the big fat crush you’d grown for him over your time spent on the road. This time your attention was his because he was being very, very quiet. When you caught his eyes - which wasn’t hard, since he was already staring at you - he cast his sight away at his plate so fast it was like he was burnt.
“Are you alright?” you asked, quietly, leaning closer to his side.
“I’m fine.” he said quickly, keeping his eyes fixed down, “Just trying to stomach this food.”
“Thorin,” you hissed, nearly kicking him under the table. You looked up at Elrond, who thankfully either didn’t hear or chose to ignore his comment, “These people have been nothing but kind to us, you could at least pretend to be grateful while in their presence.”
He looked at you. You were prepared for him to throw some anti-elf snark your way but instead you watched as his eyes filtered over your face and body and his face softened. He heeded your words, letting it go with a grunt.
If you wanted to get to the bottom of his strange demeanour - because he was acting strange outside the expected sourness - you’d need to corner him later.
Thorin physically felt like throwing up when you walked in on dinner. He could barely stomach any of the leaves on his plate after you sat beside him.
You were just so, so beautiful.
You were pretty, obviously so. Many of his company would treat you with more kindness or softness than they should because of it, and it didn’t go past his notice that he himself was like that too. Then you proved yourself worthy beyond your good looks.
Back when they camped at the ruined farm you’d chased after Gandalf when he and Thorin disagreed. Everyone let you go, convinced that since you held no dwarven stubbornness that you could persuade the wizard to not stray too far. It got late, and neither you or the wizard returned. It ended up being a blessing when everyone else got captured by trolls.
You’d burst through the brush and all but gorged out one of the trolls' eyes before they cornered you in turn. Thorin remembers as clear as day the way you circled on the spot and held out your sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, eyes keen and feet light. Some warrior goddess personally made by the smith sent to save them. You’d landed a few heavy blows, held your ground for a time all on your own, before your weapons were knocked from your hands - then Gandlaf saved the day and brought daylight a few inches closer before it was too late.
Thorin could also remember the way you turned to look at him - well, them all really - after. The way the sun shone past your features, like a halo with your skin glowing, and he believed for a moment that perhaps you were a she-elf who’d bewitched him. There was no way a daughter of a man could have his heart beating like a field mouse by just looking at him.
Then you walked into dinner here at Rivendell, and well… He couldn’t look at you at all.
The gown those elves put you in was a floor-length white, off-the-shoulder, with sleeves that were almost dramatically long. Showing off your collarbones as it shimmered in the evening sunlight, fitting you perfectly. It made his throat swell up and his chest tight and his palms sweat like a madman.
Not that Thorin didn’t love you in your regular travel clothes, but - wait.
Love?
Oh Mahal, this was more than just some silly fondness or superficial feelings. He was in love with you. He could feel it now, almost see it in front of him - the pull. The feeling all those before him spoke of but he was yet to believe. It tied around his heart, tight and strong and warm, and it stayed there all night long.
Even while getting Elrond to read the moon runes on map to the mountain, that underlying tug toward you once the realization awoke never once let up. It was always there, right from the moment he warmed up to you - a stranger - at the inn in Bree. It stayed all the while, lying in wait until he was able to give it a name, which by doing so he also gave it weight and, above all, power.
Dwarves were a very private kin, very rare occasions were marked for pomp and celebration, and this? This was something marked by a quiet conversation, and something to mark outwardly to only those who noticed. But you were no dwarf.
You were a daughter of man, and he had no idea how to confess that you were his One. He had no idea if you even knew what that meant.
“Thorin, can I talk with you?” Your voice jolted him from his thoughts.
You stood beyond him in the hallway, face and features lit by moonlight, which a look on your face as gentle as your words. Balin, who had been walking with him back to their temporary room, bid him goodnight. Thorin might’ve missed his quiet and knowing look if he was less careful.
Then he was alone with you.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, joining you as you shifted toward one of the alcoves. This place was full of hiding holes - if Thorin didn’t think any better he’d say they were for all the scheming of elves, but for this moment he was grateful for the privacy.
“Everything is fine with me,” you started, a wistful look upon your face before you seemed to remember why you’d called him over, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, you were acting more stand-offish than I expected at dinner. And before you start I know you said you were fine but I don’t think you are.”
“Why might that be?” he asked, looking up at you carefully.
“Well, I don’t know. I guess I can just -”
“- feel it?” he suggested. You looked at him surprised, and slowly started nodding.
“Yes. I feel it. Is that too strange of a thing for me to say?” you asked.
“Not at all.”
“You answered that very fast.” you replied, smiling carefully, and Thorin felt his heart starting to beat faster despite how composed he was determined to remain on the outside.
“I suppose that just means I knew what to say,” he said. You hummed in reply, then lent back, waiting. “What?”
“You never answered my question.” you said. “Something is bothering you, isn’t it? You’re not usually one to beat around an answer. You’re normally so straightforward.”
“You never actually asked me anything,” Thorin was quick to say, then lent back against the wall and crossed his arms - as if that was a suitable defence for what was going to be your oncoming onslaught to his decision to keep his true feelings to himself.
There was no way he could just blurt out that he loved you, that his feelings were so deep it was as if he was made with them already engrained in his soul. He needed to wait for the right time.
“Well then, your majesty, tell me what’s bothering you.”
Thorin stood there for a moment, watching as you made yourself mirror him on the other side of your alcove. The soft look on your face, the kindness in your eyes, how that dress made you look more precious than any jewels he remembered from the mountain hoard. What was bothering him was easy to name, because it was you.
“Me?” you said, face freezing, and so did his heart.
Did he just say that? Out loud? That you were the one that was bothering him? You certainly were the one on his mind, making him act ‘strange’, but you’d never been a bother once in the whole time he knew you.
“No, I didn’t mean -” He started quickly, breathless.
“Thorin it’s fine,” you started, pushing off the wall slightly, and with your voice stiffer than before, “You’ve always been honest, I like that about you. You can be honest with me, if there’s something I’ve done to upset you I’d want to know.”
That weight in his chest, the feeling in his heart, felt like it was cracking with every word you said.
“You’ve never upset me,” he said, stepping forward as if he’d be able to stop you if you chose to leave. He would’ve reached for your hand if he wasn’t so concerned about you fading away. “You’ve never bothered me. It’s me, it’s all me. I can feel myself reacting in some certain way around you and tonight it just became too much. I didn’t know how to act, so I didn’t act in any way at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I feel for you is beyond love. It’s like how I feel was built into me, I’m made to feel this way about you and after years alone it’s strange how naturally it comes to me now.”
Thorin watched your face twist to one of hurt to confusion, then a hopeful kind of bittersweet, before you spoke.
“Love?”
Ah, he did say love, didn’t he.
“I suppose men have no other word for it.”
“Alright,” you started slowly, “So what word would you have for it?”
“Lansel. Amrâbulnâs. Take your pick.” He said, and he could tell from looking at your face that you had no idea what they meant. He sighed, taking a moment to translate before speaking again. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks before he even said it out loud. “Love of all loves. True love, or soul-mate.”
“Soul-mate?” you said softly, as if in a dream. He finally was able to meet your eyes again. “You believe in that?”
“We call them our Ones. That there is one person made for us and drawn to us, just us, to love. One great true love for a lifetime, only to be found once. Men do not have this?”
“For us it’s just a story. Fairy-tales. No such a thing exists for us.” Thorin felt his heart sink. Men did not have soul-mates, so they did not have Ones. Was he doomed to a one-sided all-consuming love for the rest of his long miserable life? “We do have something else, though.” you said, voice soft as you looked out the window.
“What is it?” he asked, daring to be hopeful one last time tonight before giving up.
“Black swans.”
“They do not exist.” He said, and you smiled.
“That’s what everyone thinks. One of my cousins said his father found a flock of them once, on a lake far far away. Men do not have all the knowledge in the world. Black swans can be seen as a sign that rare and unpredictable events can exist too, that impossible things aren't so just because they haven’t been seen to happen. Soul-mates may just be rare or unseen in mankind, so they perhaps are black swans too. Not non-existent, just unheard of.”
“You think yourself one of these swans?” Thorin could see your beauty liken a swan, soft and graceful.
“I think I’ve felt a pull to you since we met. I’ve felt it turn into love, a love of all other loves I’ve felt before.” you said, and Thorin could feel himself drawing closer to you as you repeated his earlier words. “It comes naturally, like I was made for it.”
“Are you sure?” Thorin asked, close enough now that he could could every one of your lashes, and every mark on your face. His question was double-edged. Were you sure about this? About him? Were you sure about how you felt?
“Yes.” you said, and he felt you lean closer. Now he could feel your breath on his lips, smell the wine from dinner and all the oils your hosts let you use on your skin during your bath. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life, more sure than when I forced you to say yes to me all the way back in Bree.”
He smiled. So did you, so wide and full he could almost feel it as much as he could see it. Your eyes were bright, and he felt young again.
“Alright then.” he said, feeling your hand slip into his, soft and cold compared to his large calloused fingers. “My One.”
“Amrâlime,” you said, whispering against his lips. He pulled back slightly, registering your word. He frowned, then smiled.
“You know Khazdul?”
“I’ve lived amongst you for months, and you all speak it all the time. I know a word or two.” you said, smirking.
“You could’ve said that before you made me explain myself.” he said, but all you did was laugh, light and carefree and Thorin felt his heart flutter in a way that made him feel more alive than he ever had before.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
(You've come this far; remember to support the writing you love by giving a reblog <3)
After Midnight
Part One: The Man in the Corner Booth
Every night, just after midnight, the same man walks through the door. Tall, broad, a worn t-shirt clinging to a frame that had been built overtime. Tired dark brown eyes, hair always a little messy. He orders the same whiskey, sits in the same booth, and leaves right before sunrise. He barely speaks, but when he does it’s low, rough and steady, the kind that lingers long after the words are gone. You don’t ask about the bruises, the blood on his knuckles, or why he always watches the exits. And he never asks why you always save him his seat.
content warnings: sex. drinking, blood, swearing, making out, weapons, you get it.
notes: this is good🥹
pairing: frank castle x reader
part one of After Midnight a series I making 🤤
word count: 1747
____________________________________________
The bell above the door rang just after midnight. By now, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The same heavy footsteps. The same quiet pause before he walked further inside. The same man who always chose the booth in the corner the one with the best view of the door and the rest of the room. Frank Castle.
He wasn’t the kind of customer who came in looking for conversation. He didn’t flirt, didn’t make small talk, didn’t linger around hoping someone would notice him. He came in, ordered the same whiskey, and sat in silence. And somehow, that silence became familiar.
You set the glass down in front of him before he even had to ask. “Rough night?” you asked. His eyes lifted to yours for a moment. Dark. Tired. Guarded. “Something like that.”
A small answer. Barely anything. But with Frank, it was something. You allowed yourself a small smile before turning away. Because every night after midnight, Frank Castle walked through that door.
And every night, you saved him his seat.
The next few weeks were the same. Same routine. He’d come in just after midnight, you poured his whiskey. He took his usual seat. But slowly, the silence between you two became a comfortable kind of one.
The bar was quieter than usual, most of the crowd already gone. You were wiping down the counter when a man slid into the seat in front of you.
“Busy night?” he asked. You glanced up. “Not really.”He smiled. “Good. Means you can keep me company.” You gave him a polite smile, already knowing where this was going.
“I’m working.”You turned back to the counter, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned against the counter, clearly not understanding the hint. “Come on,” he said, a crooked smile on his face. “I’m just trying to keep you company.”You gave him a look. “I don’t need company.”The man laughed. “Everyone needs company.”You ignored him, turning back to the glasses you were cleaning. Usually, that was enough. Usually, people got bored and left. But he was drunk. And drunk people rarely knew when to stop. “You always this stubborn?”You glanced back at him. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing”The room was quiet enough that you could hear the ice shift in frank’s glass from across the bar. You didn’t look over. You didn’t need to. You already knew he was paying attention. The man leaned closer. “You got a mouth on you.”You smiled slightly. “You gonna shut me up?”That seemed to irritate him.
His hand moved toward the counter, a little too quickly. Not enough to scare you. Just enough to confirm what you already knew. He was testing boundaries. Your hand moved beneath the bar, fingers brushing against the hidden gun tucked away there.You weren’t planning on using it. You rarely ever did. You just wanted him to know you weren’t someone he could push around. Frank noticed the movement. Of course he did. His eyes lifted from his drink, watching you for a moment. Not the weapon. Just you. Like he was realizing there was more to you than the person who poured his whiskey every night. The man didn’t notice. He just kept talking.
“You gonna keep acting like you’re better than me?” You looked at him calmly. “No.”A pause.
“I’m gonna tell you what’s going to happen next.”
The man’s expression hardened. And before the situation could go any further-
“Listen to her.”
Frank’s voice cut through the room. Quiet. Low. You looked over. He was sitting where he was still but now he was watching. The man turned around, looking toward him. “You got something to say?”
Frank didn’t answer right away.He took another sip of his drink. “She told you to leave.”The man let out a laugh. “And that’s your business?”Frank’s eyes lifted. “No.”A pause. “But you’re not listening.”
The simplicity of the answer seemed to irritate him more. The man looked back at you, shaking his head. “You always need someone else to speak for you?”That almost made you smile. Because he clearly had no idea who he was talking to. You opened your mouth to answer, but Frank spoke first. “She doesn’t.”The man looked back. Frank’s expression didn’t change. “She’s been handling you just fine.”That caught you off guard. Not because he defended you. Because he didn’t make you smaller to do it. He didn’t act like you needed saving. He just stated what he saw.
The man scoffed. “Then why are you talking?”
Frank looked down at his glass. “Because I’m tired of hearin’ you. ”The man stared at him. For a second nobody moved.
Then the alcohol, the anger, and all the embarrassment all mixed together. His expression changed. And you saw it happen before he even moved. Frank did too. The man made a fist and swung, more out of frustration than anything else. But he never got the chance to do anything. Frank moved. Fast. One second he was standing there, the next the man was pinned against the table, Frank’s grip keeping him completely still. Frank leaned slightly closer, his voice low. “Bad choice.”
The man struggled for a moment before realizing it wasn’t going anywhere. Frank didn’t look impressed. He didn’t look proud. He just looked tired. Frank leaned closer, his voice dropping lower.“You’re gonna get up, you’re gonna walk out that door, and you’re gonna forget you ever came in here.”A pause. “You understand me?”
A few seconds passed. Then Frank let him go.
The man stumbled back, fixing his jacket and suddenly a lot less confident than he was a minute ago. He didn’t say another word. He just left. The bell above the door rang. Then silence. You looked at Frank.
“I had that handled.”Frank looked at you. “I know.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”His eyes flickered toward the door. Then back to you.“Didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”A pause.
“No man talks to a lady like that. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You held his gaze from across the bar. Those dark, tired eyes of his met yours, and for once, he looked like he didn’t have somewhere else to be. The silence between you stretched. Not awkward. Just different. Then you looked away first, reaching for his glass. “You’re getting another.” It wasn’t a question. Frank watched as you poured the whiskey, the amber liquid catching beneath the dim lights of the bar. You slid the glass back toward him. “This one’s on the house.” His eyes dropped to the drink, then back to you. A small pause. “You don’t have to do that.”A slight smile appeared on your face. “I know.”
The bell above the door rang. This time, you knew something was wrong before you even looked up.
Frank did too. The second he saw who was standing there, something in him changed. The relaxed posture. The quiet man sitting at the bar with a glass in his hand. Gone. The man from earlier stood near the entrance, but this time he wasn’t drunk. And he wasn’t there to talk. Your eyes dropped for a moment. The gun in his hand.
Your stomach sank. “Frank.” It was barely above a whisper. But he heard you. Of course he did. His eyes moved toward you for half a second.
“Get down.” The words were quiet. Not panicked.
Not loud. Then everything happened at once.
The sound cut through the room. The lights above the bar seemed to flicker in the chaos, glasses rattling against the counter as everyone moved at once. Your first instinct wasn’t even fear. It was him. Frank. He was already moving before you could think, putting himself between you and the danger like it was automatic. Like he didn’t even realize he’d done it.
A few moments later, the room was silent again.
The man was gone. And Frank was still standing there acting as if nothing happened. You stared at him. And then at his arm, blood leaking through his black t-shirt.
“My car’s right out front frank, we need to get you to the hospital right now.” His expression immediately changed. “No.”You blinked. “No?” “No hospitals.” The answer was too quick. You looked at him. And suddenly it made sense. The way he always watched the exits. The way he never stayed too long. It was clear to you that Frank avoided being seen. “Frank…”“I’m fine.”
You gave him a look. “I’m not letting you deal with that alone.” For the smallest second, something almost like amusement crossed his face. Almost.
Then it disappeared. “You got somewhere I can go?”Your eyes dropped to his arm again. Blood had soaked through the sleeve of his shirt now, running down toward his wrist in slow, steady lines before dripping onto the hardwood beneath him.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”“I’ve lost more.”
“You say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better.”“It doesn’t?” You shot him a look. “No.”
For the first time that night, the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. Almost like he’d forgotten how.
“My apartment’s five minutes away,” you said quietly. “I can patch you up.”Frank held your gaze.
Long enough that you wondered if he’d walk out that door anyway. “You know how to stitch someone up?”A small smile found your lips.
“You think I’d keep a gun if I didn’t?”For the first time since you’d met him, Frank looked genuinely caught off guard. Just for a second. Then he gave a slow nod. “Lead the way.”
Pittsburgh we laugh we cried I became a furry I love this city so much
"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."
Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.
Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.
REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH
Maybe if AI would stop scraping works, no one would think this.
Long dashes are made when I put two together on my Mac 😅 I’m sure I use too many of these, bold too much, and put way too much in italics in my fics but I don’t care 🤓
Why is no one talking about how hot this shot is
This has been hot since day one 🤷🏻♀️😍
The sequel to Uninvited has begun! This takes place at the end of Uninvited (CH62) and before the final chapter (The End).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
OUT OF BODY 2026 | dir. Nick Sweeney
he looks so childlike when trying not to cry :/
I have a strong desire to revisit and add to Thorin and Rowan’s story 🤓 🤔
The Call: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (Ex!Wife AU)
Summary: Robby takes the plunge and decides to call you, leading to a surprising revelation.
Companion piece to:
A Fucking Nightmare - Robby’s worst nightmare comes true when his ex-wife shows up as a guest at Dana’s vow renewal ceremony.
Regrets - Robby can't help but think about his regrets after seeing his ex-wife for the first time since he signed the divorce papers.
Unread - Robby turns to Jack when you don't respond to his message.
You pick up on the second ring.
Robby doesn’t expect it as he leans against the wall in the ambulance bay with the phone clasped to his ear, watching a tiny bird flit in and out of the bushes across from him.
“Michael…” You answer, your breath coming in quiet pants over the line as he checks his watch. He forgot about the three hour time difference between Pittsburgh and Seattle. You’ll be on your morning run right now, feet pounding the pavement in those colourful skintight leggings he used to peel off you back in the day. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” He feels a warmth blossom in his chest as his shoe scuffs at the cracked concrete underneath his feet. “What were you thinking?”
“I just ran past Toshi’s.” There’s a light huff between your sentences, one that tells him your still in motion. “Do you remember it?”
“The last time I was in Seattle.” His mind floats back to before the divorce, to sitting down at the best teriyaki place in the city and then walking you back to your apartment and undressing you for the last time. He remembers the sound of your zipper as that dress slid from your shoulders, the softness of your skin underneath his lips as he kissed a heated trial down your body, the taste of you erupting on his tongue as he went down on you in the hall.
He’d been insatiable that night, wanton, desperate to claim every inch of you. He wonders if somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it would be the last time, that he knew when he got back home to Pittsburgh, he was going to detonate the relationship.
“Vivi…” He says softly, pinching the space between his brow to ward off the pressure that’s built between his eyes at the memory. “The text I sent the other night… I understand if it was too much.”
“What text?” He can hear your footfalls slowing as you ask him the question.
“After the vow renewal…” He explains, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown as his palm scrubs over the back of his neck. He can feel the dryness of his skin, the friction as they work against each other. “When we were dancing you said you had regrets, I just wanted to let you know that I did too.”
“Michael…” Jesus, just the way you breath his name, it does something to the man whose forgotten he wasn’t born ‘Robby’. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I sent you a text.” He perseveres, agitation starting to lace within his tone. “And you left me unread-”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’d never…” You pause for a moment to take a sip of water and Robby listens to the silence with bated breath as the cogs turn inside your head. “Owen was waiting for me when I got back home… I left my phone in the kitchen. He must have seen the screen light up and…”
You trail off, leaving Robby to process a wealth of information he didn’t want to fucking know. “Owen… is he your…” He can’t force himself to say the word boyfriend, not when his throat already burns like he’s swallowed bleach.
“My ex.” You tell him with a sigh, and he can imagine you pushing your hair away from your features with the back of your wrist as you lean against your own wall in another city. “We broke up a few months ago. He heard that I’d taken the job at PTMC and was trying to convince me to stay in Seattle.”
To give him another chance, Robby reads between the lines of what you’re not saying. He can’t blame the poor bastard, he knows what it’s like to bask in your light, to be warmed by your kindness, to be scorched by your passion.
“Did you change your mind?” He finds himself asking, his heart thudding against his ribcage like a jack hammer, threatening to burst through the bone.
“No, I miss Pittsburgh.” He lets out the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. “I miss my tribe, I miss the Pierogies, sometimes… sometimes I even miss you.”
The admission, it’s an olive branch, your way of reaching out to him this time. All he has to do is reach out and grab it, to give as much as he takes without reservation, without fear.
“I miss you too.” His voice is raw as he whispers the words down the line. “Maybe when you come back to Pittsburgh, we could talk about that.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!
Can I have a request with jack Abbott where he’s pretty stressed at work when reader comes into work in the morning because she’s working days for a couple weeks with Robby and jack snaps at her and reader is really sensitive and jack tries to find her before he leaves to let her know he’s leaving for the day and he can’t find he and Robby noticed her acting different and she tells him what happened and when jack co es back into work ,ager that evening he’s full of regret and want to apologize to his girl and make it better and he calls her all the pet names, baby, sweetheart, darling, honey and have them both have the next day off and he really makes it up to her and shows her how sorry he is with his mouth if you write smut if not ignore that part. Thank youuuu
Note: It took me a loooong time to write and I even had to split it into two parts! Thank you for the request and for waiting, I found it insane to write something like this (I have another similar one, but it doesn't compare). I hope you like it and oh, I wrote it while listening to The Heart Wants What It Wants, I recommend it.
The Space Between Shifts - Jack Abbot x fem reader
Pairing: Jack Abbot x female reader
Synopsis: Dr. Robinavitch asks you to work the day shift for two weeks to cover for a coworker, which leads to a major argument with your boyfriend, Jack Abbot, who works the night shift with you.
Warnings: Intense relationship conflict, slow healing, regret, temporary toxic behavior, jealousy, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, unhealthy attachment, miscommunication, arguments, emotional exhaustion, without using Y/N (I use "you" a lot), reader cries a lot (understandable), reader assigned female at birth. Established relationship. Hurt/Comfort. Jack Abbott is a complete asshole in this story, but he'll make up for it in the end (I hope. Jesus.). Angst with a Happy Ending.
REMEMBER: English is NOT my first language, sorry for any mistakes or confusion. Support authors and don't use AI.
You loved your job. With absolute certainty, being the assistant ER doctor at the Pittsburgh hospital was your dream ever since you understood yourself as a person. You learned from the best doctors, made friendships that would last a lifetime, and, of course, met the love of your life in those cold, impersonal hallways, where the smell of hand sanitizer and antiseptic mixed with sweat and the urgency of lives being saved every second.
Jack Abbott, attending physician on the night shift, was the man who commanded his team during the crazy late nights of The Pitt's ER. After twelve or more hours of exhausting shifts, he transformed into your incredible older boyfriend, the one who knew exactly how to calm you with a simple touch, how to make you laugh after a particularly difficult day, how to hold your hand when medicine proved too cruel. There were days, or rather, nights when you both barely had time to exchange brief words due to the hellish chaos of the hospital. When you got home, you were so exhausted that at most you would shower together in silence, just the hot water washing the fatigue from your shoulders, and go straight to bed, where sleep overtook you before you could even say "good night." But that, of course, didn't mean that the two of you didn't have some intimacy or interaction. There were glances exchanged during shifts, hands that brushed against each other when passing through the hallways, coffees left on each other's desks as a silent gesture of love.
However, lately, the shifts had been extremely heavy for the couple. You, the assistant doctor, and him, the chief ER doctor, never stopped moving. You were almost always scheduled for extra shifts, as if the hospital were conspiring to keep you apart, exhausted, and on the verge of collapse. The statistics for the night shift had increased considerably in recent weeks: more traffic accidents, more cardiac arrests, more shortness-of-breath crises, more of everything. Pittsburgh seemed to have decided to fall ill en masse, and the two of you were on the front lines.
On that specific morning, the sun had barely begun to paint the sky in shades of orange when you were getting ready to leave the hospital after a particularly brutal night shift. The night had been a nightmare: three consecutive polytraumas, a child with febrile seizures who almost didn't make it, and a fulminant heart attack that, despite all efforts, could not be reversed. You had slept only four hours on the couch in the break room, barely able to close your eyes without reliving the scene of that family in tears.
Your clothes were packed in a small backpack, and you longed to change out of the uniform stained with coffee and sweat into something comfortable. Your body ached, your eyes burned, and the only thing going through your head was getting home, taking a hot shower, and curling up in Jack's arms, if he had already arrived, of course. You weren't even managing to go home together anymore.
That's when you heard hurried footsteps in the hallway, followed by a familiar voice that made you stop.
"Doctor! Good thing you haven't left yet!"
You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Robby to his friends, approaching with an expression of relief on his face. He was in an impeccable uniform, after all, the day shift was about to start.
"Robby? What is it?" You adjusted the backpack strap on your shoulder, feeling the fatigue weighing on every muscle. "I was just about to leave."
"I know, I know, and I'm sorry to hold you up. But I needed to talk to you before you left." He stopped in front of you, a little breathless, and rested his hands on his knees for a moment to catch his breath. "Sorry, I ran from the triage sector to get here."
You furrowed your brow, worried. "Is everything okay? Some problem with a patient?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Robby straightened up and ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you knew well. "It's about the schedule."
"Ah." You sighed, narrowing your eyes and already foreseeing what was coming. "Let me guess. You need me to cover another shift."
"Actually, no." Robby shook his head, a somewhat sheepish smile appearing on his lips. "It's the opposite. The human resources coordinator came to see me early today. Dr. Matthews, who was on medical leave, decided to extend her absence for two more weeks. And, since you're the most experienced in the area and Dr. Lena can't cover, they wanted to know if you'd take it for fifteen days."
You blinked, processing the information. "Two weeks? But I'm already doing extra shifts at night. If I stay on the day shift, how do I come in for the night shift?"
"Exactly." Robby crossed his arms, leaning against the hallway wall. "I know it's a lot to ask. You're already exhausted, and I know this means less time with... Dr. Abbott, but Matthews really has no return date and the administration is desperate. You're one of the best we have, and they trust you."
You bit your lower lip, thoughtful. The idea of spending two weeks on the day shift was exhausting, it meant sleeping in opposite hours to Jack's, seeing each other only in the brief moments when one arrived and the other left. But, at the same time, it was part of the job and you had never been one to refuse when they needed you.
"Does Jack know about this?" you asked, your voice lower, wary. He was the chief doctor of the night shift and you were basically his right hand, so, the schedule change meant a change in plans and routine. Jack hated that, even if he didn't show it.
Robby shook his head. "Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first, to find out if you were up for it before making it official. Then you can talk to him."
You nodded slowly. "Alright. Tell them I accept, but let them know that if Matthews comes back earlier, I want my night shift back immediately."
"Of course, of course." Robby smiled, relieved. "You're incredible, you know that? I don't know what we'd do without you."
"It's what needs to be done." You shrugged, trying to disguise the exhaustion. "But, speaking of Jack, is he still here? He finished the night shift a little while ago, didn't he?"
Robby looked at his wristwatch and grimaced. "He officially finished two hours ago, but... well, you know Jack. He's been in the ER since four in the morning. The night was hell and he's trying to organize everything before he leaves."
Your heart clenched. You knew how Jack got when things were difficult. Normally he would shut down, put all the weight of the world on his shoulders, and refuse to ask for help. You also knew how he got when he was at his limit: impatient, irritated, prone to explode.
"I'm going to stop by there before I leave" you said, adjusting your backpack. "I want to see him before I go."
Robby watched you for a moment, something indecipherable passing through his eyes. "Just... be careful when you tell him, okay?" he gestured to reinforce it. "He's at his limit and sometimes when people are at their limit, they say things they don't mean. Things that hurt."
You furrowed your brow, confused. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing specific." Robinavitch raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Just... patience. He's going through a difficult time in the ER, you know and I know how much that affects him and, well, I don't want things to get bad between you two. Just don't let his exhaustion hurt you, okay?"
You nodded, although a hint of anxiety was already beginning to form in your stomach. "I'll be fine. Thanks for the concern, Robby."
He smiled, a warm and genuine smile. "That's what friends are for. Now go, before I convince you to stay for another shift."
You laughed, a weak and tired sound, and said goodbye with a wave. As you walked toward the ER, the conversation with Robby echoed in your mind. You hoped that wouldn't be the case.
The ER sector was calmer than you expected. Only a few patients in the waiting room, one or another stretcher being wheeled by nurses, the constant sound of cardiac monitors. The day shift hadn't officially started yet and the night team was preparing to leave.
That's when you saw him.
Abbott was standing in front of the reception desk, his navy-blue uniform stained with something dark that you preferred not to identify. The chart tablet was open in front of him and his agile fingers scribbled something with a specific pen that you had given him at some point, his brow furrowed in an expression of concentration so deep that he seemed to have forgotten the world around him.
His hair, normally well-groomed, was messy, as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly while reading reports. The unshaven beard gave him an older and more tired look. And his eyes, when he raised his head and saw you, you saw a fatigue that went far beyond the physical.
"Jack" you called, your voice soft, almost hesitant.
He stared at you for a moment, and you saw something shine in his eyes, relief, perhaps? But it was only for a second, because in the next instant the exhaustion took over again.
"You're still here?" he asked, his voice hoarse and soft, his palm going briefly to your lower back. "I thought you had already left."
"I was going to, but Dr. Robinavitch stopped me in the hallway" you explained, your eyes passing over your boyfriend's tired face. "He needed to talk about the schedule."
Jack furrowed his brow. "Schedule? What about the schedule?"
"They want me to go to the day shift for two weeks" you said, trying to sound casual, but clearly failing as you noticed Jack's movements change. "Dr. Matthews is going to be away for longer."
To your surprise, Jack didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, his eyes dark and indescribable. Something in that expression made your heart speed up.
"Two weeks?" the older man repeated, his voice lower, almost a murmur. "You're going to be on the day shift for two weeks?"
"Yes. I accepted. I thought it would be better to help, since they're short-staffed."
Jack withdrew his hand from your lower back. You felt the absence of the warmth of his palm, then watched him drop the pen onto the counter with more force than necessary. The crack against the marble echoed in the empty hallway.
The night had been long for him, you knew that because you had also been there, working in different wings, but always connected by the same frenetic rhythm of the hospital. You two were part of the night team, the one that faced the darkest hours, the most serious cases, the most difficult decisions, and that was how you met, that was how you fell in love, that was how you built a life together. Between twelve-hour shifts, coffees taken at three in the morning, and hands that found each other in the empty corridors.
His brow was furrowed, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. You took a step closer, trying to reach his hand. "It's not like it's so different, Jack. I'll still be here, at the same hospital. We'll just see each other at diferent times."
Jack pulled back from your hand before you could touch him. The gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you felt it like a blow to the face.
"You don't understand, do you?" His voice was tense, each word carefully measured. "You don't understand what this means."
"What means what?" You furrowed your brow, confused. "Jack, it's just a shift change. Two weeks. It'll go by fast."
"Go by fast?" He let out a short, bitter, humorless laugh. "You have no idea what going by fast is. We work together, you and I. Every night. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked."
He ran his hand through his hair, the nervous gesture you knew so well. His body posture was so tense now that anyone passing by would clearly notice the argument that was beginning to form.
"You're going to the day shift" he continued, his voice louder, harsher. "And what's left for me? I'll stay here, alone, doing the night shifts without you?"
"Jack, you're not going to be alone. The night team is still there. Shen, Ellis, Dana, and the residents..."
"Shen" Jack interrupted, and the name came out with a disdain that surprised you. "Ah, yes. Shen. The great Dr. John Shen. Fuck him, you're going to spend two weeks working with Robinavitch during the day, while I'm here, in the dark, dealing with everything alone and don't even start repeating about the others, that's not what this is about."
"You're not dealing with everything alone. You're the chief doctor. You have an entire team."
"A team that isn't you!" he shouted, exasperated, drawing the attention of those around, and the words fell between you like a stone in water, creating ripples that you didn't know how to contain.
There was something in his voice, something you had never heard before. A mixture of frustration, fear, and something you could only describe as despair.
"Jack..." you began, trying to find the right words.
"You knew I would be upset about this?" He took a step forward, and you instinctively stepped back half a step. "You knew, and even so you agreed. Without consulting me. Without thinking about what this would do to us."
"Do to us? Jack, it's just a shift. It's not the end of the world." You laughed without humor.
"Maybe not for you." His voice was shaky now and you saw his eyes shine with an intensity that made you hold your breath. "Do you think I endure these nights because I'm strong? Do you think I survive all this shit because I'm a good doctor?"
He got even closer, and you felt the heat of his body, the smell of antiseptic and coffee that had accompanied him since the previous night.
"I survive because you are here, damn it" he said, his voice broken. "Because when everything goes wrong, when a patient dies, when the team is at its limit, I look to the side and I see you. You are my anchor, love. You are the reason I don't lose my mind in this place."
You felt your eyes fill with tears, but you didn't know if it was from emotion or resignation. The intensity of his confession made you feel the weight of being everything to someone.
"And now you're leaving" he continued, his voice softer, but no less pained. "You're going to spend the whole day here, doing shifts with Robby, laughing at his lame jokes, sharing coffee with him, while I'm at home trying to sleep alone. When I come back for my shift, you'll be leaving. We'll cross paths like strangers."
"Jack, you're exaggerating. That's not how it's going to be."
"How do you know? Have you done this before? Have you ever spent two whole weeks without working by my side?"
The question hung in the air and you realized he was right. You had never been separated on shifts since you started dating, since you started working at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. You had built your entire relationship around that night routine: the shared coffees, the moments of rest in the break room, the hands that secretly found each other in the corridors.
"You're being unfair" you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm doing this because the hospital needs me."
"The hospital always needs you." The bitterness in his voice was palpable. "And me? Do I need you too, or does that not matter?"
"Of course it matters" you furrowed your eyebrows, somewhat desperate. "You know it matters."
"Then why didn't you ask me? Why did you just accept without talking to me first?"
You opened your mouth to answer, but the words didn't come. Because he was right, you hadn't asked, but you didn't need to, you were above all a doctor who took an oath and that was your job even if Jack was the chief doctor. You simply assumed it would be acceptable, that he would understand, and that it wouldn't be a problem. Now, seeing the pain in his clear irises, you realized how wrong you were, even though you hadn't done anything wrong.
"I... I didn't think" You admitted, your voice choked. "I just saw an opportunity to help and took it. I didn't imagine it would affect you this much."
"Well, it affects me." He took a step back and the space between you seemed to expand infinitely. "It affects me because you are the only thing that keeps me sane. It affects me because without you, these nights are even more unbearable and the idea of spending two weeks without having you by my side during the shifts is... is more than I can bear."
You felt the tears finally stream down, hot and fast, running down your face without you being able to control them. You weren't to blame, you weren't doing this to affect him, damn it, it was your job and it could be him in your place.
"Jack, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Didn't mean to?" He let out a sad laugh. "But you did. You always hurt me when you make decisions alone. You don't realize it, do you? You think you're protecting me, but in reality, you're excluding me."
"I'm not excluding you!"
"Then why didn't you tell me before you accepted? Why am I finding out now, at the end of my shift, of our shift, that I'm going to spend two weeks without you?"
His voice was so loaded with emotion that you felt your heart clench. He seemed so small in that moment, so tired, so fragile, the opposite of the confident and imposing doctor everyone saw.
"Jack, please..."
"I'm tired" he said, his voice abruptly weary, as if all the energy that propelled him had been exhausted.
"You're not the only one, you know. Don't be unfair, you know I care and I care a lot."
"Then prove it." He stared at you with an intensity that made you hold your breath. "Show me that I am more important than a shift, more important than the hospital, more important than everything."
It was dirty. Underhanded, the way he said that, even unethical. A choice? That request was totally unfair and of course you opened your mouth to respond, but the words fled far away due to the total shock with his sentences and his gaze itself, it wasn't your Jack. There was a vulnerability there, a despair so deep that you felt as if you were looking into the abyss and you wanted to jump without thinking, just to put an end to it all.
Like the fight bell that saves them before the decisive punch, the door to the trauma sector opened and Dr. Langdon appeared, his face worried.
"Dr. Abbott, we have a case in room 3, I know your shift has already ended, but it's a polytrauma, car accident."
Jack looked at the doctor, then at you. The vulnerability disappeared, replaced by a mask of professionalism that you knew so well.
"I'm coming" he said, his voice firm, without the tremor from seconds ago.
He picked up the chart tablet, adjusted the stethoscope around his neck, and started walking toward the trauma room. But before leaving, he stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder, seeing you standing there in a state of shock, and then he was gone, leaving you in the middle of the empty corridor, with the tears still streaming down your face and your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
You stayed there for a long time, motionless, listening to the echo of his footsteps fading away. The fluorescent light flickered above your head, and the sound of the cardiac monitors seemed like the flapping of distant wings.
When you finally moved, it was toward the locker room. You needed a moment alone, you needed to process what had happened. But as soon as you entered the room, you saw Robinavitch sitting in one of the chairs, a worried expression on his face.
"I heard everything" he said, his voice soft. "It wasn't intentional, I was here when you started arguing and... the wall is thin."
You sat down next to him, the strength suddenly abandoning your body.
"He's so furious" you murmured, your voice hoarse. "I've never seen him like this."
Robby placed his hand on your shoulder, a comforting gesture.
"He's not furious with you" he said. "He's scared. You two built a life around these night shifts and this change threatens that. He's afraid of losing you."
"But he's not going to lose me. It's just two weeks."
"To him, two weeks might feel like an eternity." Michael sighed. "Jack is an intense man, you know that well. He clings to routines, to people, to places. Changes have always been difficult for him after everything."
You lowered your head, your hands trembling slightly.
"He said I'm the only thing that keeps him sane" you confessed. "He said that without me, he can't endure the nights."
"And that's true." The other doctor's voice was gentle and firm. "But it's also an enormous pressure on you. You can't be the only reason he's happy. That's not healthy."
"I know." You raised your eyes to him. "But what do I do now? He's so hurt."
Robby thought for a moment.
"Let him calm down." Robinavitch advised, watching your figure nod slowly, feeling Robby's words echo in your mind.
"Thank you" you said, your voice a little firmer.
"Always." Robby smiled, a warm smile that made you feel a little better. "You two are my friends despite everything. Now go home and rest. You're going to need energy to face him and, of course, the next shift in the morning."
You laughed, a weak but genuine sound.
"You're right."
You got up, picked up your bag, and walked toward the door.
You drove home in silence, the morning sun beginning to warm the horizon. Jack's words echoed in your mind like a painful refrain, each one a reminder of what was at stake.
When you finally arrived at the apartment you shared, you entered and felt the weight of solitude. The place was empty, silent, the curtains still closed from the previous night. You dropped your bag on the couch, took off your coat, and walked to the bedroom.
The bed was unmade, Jack's pillow still with the imprint of his head. You sat on the edge, touching the soft fabric, and felt the tears return.
"Why does everything have to be so difficult?" you murmured to yourself, but there was no answer. Only silence and pain.
You lay down, curled up in the covers that still smelled like him, and let sleep finally take you. But before closing your eyes, you made a promise to yourself: you would fix things with Jack. You would show him that you loved him, that he was important to you.
When Jack arrived an hour later, he found the apartment silent. The kitchen clock marked nine-thirty in the morning and the sunlight was already seeping through the gaps in the curtains, drawing golden stripes on the wooden floor. He even imagined that you had preferred your own place, that small flat you still kept rented, even though you barely set foot there since you started sharing the apartment three months after you began dating. The possibility of you having gone there tightened something in his chest, a dull and uncomfortable pain that he refused to name.
With a resigned sigh, he left his backpack on the entryway hook, the weight of the day finally sliding off his shoulders like water. He massaged his tense neck with tired hands, feeling each muscle knot protest against the abuse of the last eighteen hours. The hospital had been hell, one more patient lost, one more family in tears, one more night where he wondered if any of this made a difference.
The attending physician walked to the bedroom with slow, almost reluctant steps. He didn't know what to expect to find, maybe you awake, sitting on the bed, ready for another argument, maybe you sleeping deeply and as exhausted as he was, or maybe you simply weren't there, which would be the worst possible scenario.
When he opened the door, he could hear the soft sound coming from the bed, your calm and deep breathing, the soft sound he knew so well, the rhythm that had accompanied him every night for over a year. He pressed his lips together, his eyes flying to the bed you both shared, and he felt his heart clench in a way he didn't expect.
You were there. Lying down, hidden under the warm covers and with your face pressed against his pillow, your hair spread over the pillowcase while one hand extended to the empty side of the bed, as if you were searching for him even in sleep.
In that same instant, Jack felt regret like a stab to the chest. He remembered how he had treated you at the end of the night shift upon learning that you would be doing two weeks of day shifts. The harsh words, the accusatory tone, the way he had dumped all his frustration on your shoulders, shoulders that already carried the weight of your own exhaustion, your own battles.
Damn, you were also a doctor and had obligations. You weren't just a girlfriend who existed to comfort him, to be by his side when the nights got difficult. You had a career, a vocation, an oath you had made long before you met him. Abbott couldn't act so irrationally about not having you by his side during the difficult nights in the ER. You always made yourself available, always put your own well-being on the line to help the hospital, your colleagues, the patients. Even he had already been benefited by your inexhaustible generosity and in return, he had been rude to you. More than rude, he had been cruel. He used words like weapons, wounding without hesitation because deep down he knew you would forgive him. Because you always forgave him.
However, Jack Abbott was a difficult man and he himself knew that better than anyone. He had grown up learning that the world was a hostile place, that trusting someone was a risk that wasn't always worth taking, that showing vulnerability was a sign of weakness, and he didn't give in so easily, even more so when the latent pain of "betrayal," because that was how he, in his wounded pride, chose to call it, of you going to the morning shift grew like a weed inside his chest.
It wasn't logical. He knew it wasn't logical. But logic rarely had a place when emotion took over. Jack stood in the bedroom doorway for a long moment, watching you sleep. Your face was calm, your features relaxed, your lips slightly parted in a soft sigh. You seemed so peaceful, so innocent, so different from the woman he had confronted hours earlier in the hospital corridor.
He should lie down beside you. He should wrap you in his arms, bury his face in your hair, and apologize. He should say he was wrong, that illogical fear had made him act like a fool, that you were the most important thing in his life and that he would do anything to fix what he had broken.
But pride was a wall he didn't know how to tear down and his core insisted that he couldn't show weakness. He couldn't admit that the idea of spending two weeks without you by his side during shifts terrified him more than any medical emergency.
Instead, Jack took a step back. He closed the bedroom door carefully, almost silently, as if he were sealing something he didn't want to face. He walked back to the living room, his heavy steps echoing in the silence of the apartment, and looked at the couch.
It was a comfortable couch that you had chosen together on a Saturday afternoon, laughing as you tested different models in the furniture store. You had insisted on one that was big enough for both of you to lie down on, and of course he agreed because he couldn't say no when you smiled that way. But now, in that moment, the couch seemed like a symbol of everything that was wrong between you.
With a tired sigh, Jack grabbed a blanket from the closet and one of the cushions. He arranged himself on the couch, stretching his long body over the seats that barely accommodated his height. The position was uncomfortable, but he didn't care. In truth, a part of him wanted to feel uncomfortable. He wanted to feel the weight of his decision, the price of his pride, the pain of his stubbornness.
He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. His mind spun around the same questions, the same regrets, the same anger he couldn't name. Why hadn't she asked before accepting? Why had she simply made the decision without considering him? And, more importantly, why did this hurt so much even knowing that he was being immensely unfair to his girlfriend?
The clock marked almost ten in the morning when Jack finally succumbed to exhaustion. His heavy eyes closed, his breathing became deeper, and sleep enveloped him in a dark, dreamless mantle, sensing the storm that was coming when he woke up.
You woke up a few hours later, feeling the sunlight already stronger through the curtains. The clock on the bedside table marked almost two in the afternoon and you stretched slowly, your muscles aching from the previous night and from the argument that still echoed in your mind.
Your hand extended to the empty side of the bed, expecting to find Jack's warm body, the heat of his skin against yours, but you found only cold, empty sheets.
You furrowed your brow, sitting up in bed. The bedroom was silent, the door ajar, and there was no sign of Jack. For a moment, you imagined that he simply hadn't come home, maybe he had stayed at the hospital. But then you heard a sound coming from the living room, a low, constant snore, the kind Jack made when he was too exhausted to control his breathing.
You got out of bed, your bare feet touching the cold floor, and walked to the bedroom door. When you opened the door and looked into the living room, your heart stopped for an instant.
Jack was on the couch.
He was lying there, wrapped in a blanket that barely covered his broad shoulders, his face turned toward the backrest, as if he were hiding from the world.
What you felt in that moment was an overwhelming mixture of hurt and anger. A silent fury that started at the bottom of your stomach and rose like fire, burning every inch of your body.
He preferred to sleep on the couch. He preferred to pull away, to build a physical barrier between you rather than share the bed with you. After everything you had been through, after all the nights he had pulled you close in the dark, after all the moments he had said he couldn't sleep without you, now he chose the couch.
The pain was so sharp that you could barely breathe. Your eyes burned with angry tears, and you felt the lump in your throat forming, tightening like a clenched fist.
"Jack."
His name left your mouth as an icy whisper, but the sound cut through the silence of the room like a blade.
Jack moved slowly, sleep still clinging to his eyes. He blinked a few times, confused, before turning and facing you. For a moment, something like guilt passed over his face, but it was quickly replaced by the mask of indifference he wore so well.
"You're awake" he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. "I didn't want to bother you."
"You didn't want to bother me?" You repeated, your voice trembling with anger. "You slept on the couch, you chose to sleep on the couch instead of coming to bed with me and acting like a decent adult."
He sat up slowly, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he ran his hand through his disheveled hair.
"I didn't want to wake you up" he said, but the excuse sounded hollow, even to him. "You seemed so tired, and I..."
"And you what?" Fists clenched at your sides. "You're avoiding me, Jack. You're punishing me because I accepted a shift and because I dared to do something without your permission."
"You're exaggerating." His voice had a defensive tone that you knew well. "I just needed space."
"Space? Now you need space?" You let out a bitter laugh. "You never needed space before. You always say you can't sleep without me and you always pull me close in the middle of the night. Now, suddenly, you need space?"
Jack fell silent, but you saw the muscles in his jaw contract. He was holding something back, containing some emotion he didn't want to show.
"And all of this because of a day shift of two fucking weeks?" You continued, your voice louder now, the anger bubbling in every word. "Because I'm going to spend some time with Robby and because I won't be here to hold your hand during the shifts." Your voice was venomous but it didn't matter, the older man was being so ridiculous since early on.
"You don't understand." Jack's voice finally came out and it was loaded with a frustration you didn't expect.
"Then explain it to me." You crossed your arms, your body tense. "Explain to me why you're acting like an idiot and explain to me why you preferred to sleep on the couch rather than face me. Explain to me what the hell is going on with you!"
Jack got up from the couch and even barefoot at home, he was an imposing figure. He stared at you for a long moment, you saw something dark pass through his eyes, and it was bitter, foul-smelling... Venomous.
"You want to know what's going on?" His tone was low, controlled, but there was a tension that made you hold your breath. "I'll tell you what's going on. I'm tired. Tired of being the only one who seems to care about this relationship. Tired of being the only one who tries to keep things together."
"What? That's not true. I care too."
"Care? You call this caring? You make decisions without consulting me, you accept shifts without thinking about how this will affect me and affect the team. You act like you're single, like you don't have anyone waiting for you at home."
"Like I'm single?" Your voice rose, the indignation bubbling. "Jack, I spend every night with you, I share my life with you! I wake up every day thinking about you and how dare you say that I act like I'm single?"
"Actions speak louder than words." The eyes of the person in front of you were not the same as the man you loved, they were cutting and each word uttered was like a stab. Before you didn't understand why Jack Abbott was feared in The Pitt's ER or why people avoided getting involved with him, but now you had a vague notion with this new insecure, dependent, and bitter facet that the older man was showing. "You can say you love me, but when it comes time to make a decision, you don't include me, as if my opinion didn't matter."
Jack let out a short, bitter laugh, increasingly malicious. His eyes, which before shone with the exhaustion of eighteen hours of shift, now shone with a cruelty that he himself didn't recognize. It was as if a dark version of himself had taken control, fueled by exhaustion, by wounded pride, and by the fear he refused to name.
"People call this reciprocity?" Your voice faltered, feeling the salty tears running down your skin. You felt like you could vomit from sadness right then and there. "I waited for you to trust me, to support my decisions the way I support yours. But it seems I was wrong."
"You're always right, aren't you?" The words came out like venom, each syllable loaded with a cutting intention. "You never make mistakes, never make an error. You're the perfect doctor, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect person. While I'm just the guy who can't handle his own emotions."
"I never said that!" You sobbed the words, both of you disheveled from sleep, from the hurt and the anger that had accumulated like a storm between you. All because of a damn shift change. A simple change of hours that, in any healthy relationship, would be resolved with a calm conversation and a mutual agreement. But there, in that apartment that had once been a refuge, it had transformed into a battlefield. "You're putting words in my mouth."
"I don't need to put words in your mouth." Jack took a step forward, and the afternoon light coming through the curtains created dramatic shadows on his face, accentuating every line of tension. "Your actions already say everything."
He knew he was wrong. A part of him, the rational part that still remained in some obscured corner of his mind, screamed for him to stop. Screamed that he was turning something small into something gigantic, that he was destroying the most precious relationship he had ever had because of his own sick pride. But Jack lost his limit. He knew he was wrong, he knew he was being cruel and unfair, but he couldn't stop. And, deep down, a perverse voice whispered that he didn't even want to stop.
"You want to know the truth?" His voice was a low growl, loaded with a fury that wasn't directed at you, but at himself. "You're selfish. You think only about yourself. About your career, your shifts, your needs."
Lie. Lie. Lie.
Jack was lying and he knew it. Every word that came out of his mouth was a lie carefully constructed to wound, to push away, to create a distance between you that he, in his state of emotional confusion, believed to be necessary. He wanted to hurt you, and he succeeded.
The sentence hit you like a punch to the stomach. You felt the air leave your lungs, as if you had been knocked down by a physical blow. The tears intensified, streaming hot and fast down your face, without you being able to control them.
"Selfish?" Your voice was barely a whisper, broken and trembling, like glass about to shatter. "I'm selfish? After everything I've done for us? After all the nights we spent together at the hospital, all the coffees I left on your desk, all the hugs I gave you when we both lost a patient... I'm selfish?"
Jack opened his mouth to answer, but the words didn't come. Instead, he just stared at you and you saw something waver in his eyes, a crack in the wall of his anger, a glimpse of the man he really was, of the man who loved you. But it was too late. The knife had already been plunged and the blood was already flowing, unstoppable.
The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the sound of your muffled sobs and Jack's heavy breathing. The apartment, which before was full of life and love, now seemed like a tomb.
"You know the truth, Dr. Abbott?" You continued, hoarse from the sharp crying and from the anger that burned in your chest like fire. Driven by the pain that was transforming into indignation, you took a step forward, your eyes fixed on his. "You accuse me of being selfish, but who's here throwing a tantrum because I'm going to work a different shift for two weeks? Who's sleeping on the couch because they can't handle the idea of spending a few nights without me? Who's putting their own insecurity above my career?"
Jack furrowed his brow, his expression becoming harder, more closed off. The man you loved seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a stranger who wore his face, his voice, but who didn't have his heart.
"You're twisting everything!" he said, but he faltered slightly, as if he himself didn't believe what he was saying.
"Am I twisting it?" You let out a humorless laugh, the tears still streaming. You ran your palm angrily over your face, drying them with a brusque gesture, as if you could also wipe away the pain you felt. "You don't want to admit it, do you? You don't want to admit that you're scared!"
"Enough." Jack's voice was a low growl, and you saw his hands clench into fists at his sides. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do." You stared at him with an intensity that made him step back half a step. "I know you're scared, Jack. I know you're so terrified of losing me that you're doing everything to make that happen. Because it's easier to destroy it yourself than to wait for me to destroy it and all for what? A fucking shift change!"
The words hung in the air, heavy and painful. You saw something break in his eyes, a crack in the armor he had built around himself. But the anger still burned in your chest, you couldn't and didn't want to stop now.
Jack shook his head slowly, you saw his eyes shine not with anger, but with something that looked like desperation.
"You don't understand" he said, his voice hoarse. "You don't understand."
"I understand more than you imagine" you replied, trembling. "But the difference between us is that I choose to trust. I choose to believe that what we have is strong enough to survive two damn weeks. You, instead, are choosing to destroy everything."
You didn't wait for an answer. There was nothing left to say. The words had already been spoken, the wounds had already been opened, and what remained was the empty silence that stretched between you like an abyss.
With a tired sigh you turned around and began walking toward the bedroom. Your steps were heavy, each one demanding a superhuman effort. You entered the bedroom you shared, the bedroom that had once been your refuge, and started gathering your things.
It wasn't much. Some clothes, your personal hygiene products, the phone charger, a few books. The bag you used for the hospital was in the corner and you filled it with the essentials. You didn't want to take everything, you didn't want it to seem like a definitive goodbye. But you needed to leave. You needed air. You needed distance.
Jack appeared at the bedroom door, his eyes wide when he saw what you were doing. The despair that painted itself on his face was almost palpable, a stark contrast to the anger he had shown minutes before.
"What are you doing?" a tone of alarm he couldn't disguise. "What is this?"
"I'm leaving." You were calm, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. "You want time? You'll have time. I'm not going to stay here to be treated as if I'm the villain of the story."
"Love, no..." Jack took a step forward, his hand extended, and the pet names he used so frequently in moments of tenderness finally escaped his lips. "My love, please, don't go. That's not what I meant."
"It's exactly what you said." You closed the bag with a snap, your eyes fixed on him. "You called me selfish. You said I only think about myself. That I don't care about us. You said all that, Jack."
"I didn't mean that." His voice was broken now, the pride that kept him standing slowly crumbling. "Love... please. You know I didn't mean that. I just... I was so tired, so frustrated, so scared of losing you that I..."
"You were scared of losing me, so you decided to hurt me?" You shook your head, the tears threatening to return. "That doesn't make sense, Jack."
"I know." He took another step, and now he was just a meter away. "I know it doesn't make sense. I know I'm being an idiot, a complete idiot. But, please, don't go. Stay here. Let's talk. Let's work this out."
"We already talked." Your voice was soft, but firm. "I already said everything I had to say. Now you're the one who needs to think. You need to decide if you want to trust me or if you're going to let your fear destroy what we have."
"But I love you, baby." The phrase left his lips like a sigh, full of a pain so deep that you felt your heart clench. "I love you more than anything, darling. More than any shift, more than any patient, more than anything in the world. You are my life. I can't imagine my life without you."
"Then show me." You passed by him, feeling the heat of his body for an instant, feeling the familiar scent that always calmed you. "Show me that you trust me. Show me that our love is stronger than your fear."
"Please, darling, don't go." His voice was almost a whisper now and something broke in it. "Don't leave me alone here. Not after everything."
"You won't be alone." You stopped at the living room door, your hand on the doorknob, without looking back. "You'll have time to think. And when you're ready to talk for real, when you're ready to listen to me and to listen to yourself, you know where to find me."
"When are you coming back?" The question was of such raw desperation that it almost made you collapse.
You closed your eyes, feeling the tears burning behind your eyelids, your lashes heavy with the salt of wet tears.
"When you're ready to be the man I know you are. Not the man that fear turned you into."
And then you opened the door and left.
The hallway air was cool against your hot, wet face. You walked toward the elevator with firm steps, even though your legs trembled, even though your heart was shattered.
Don't look back, don't look back.
You didn't look back.
But, on the other side of the door, Jack Abbott fell to his knees in the middle of the living room. The tears he never shed finally came. They streamed silently down his face, marked by exhaustion and regret, while the sound of the elevator door closing echoed in the distance.
He stayed there for a long time, motionless, listening to the silence of the empty apartment. The clock on the wall marked the hours, each tick a reminder of what he had lost.
DON'T LET GO OF JACK'S HAND! Until next time, lol
ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇs ʏᴏᴜ
Summary: Neither you nor Robby ever finalized the divorce. You simply split your lives in half and carried on as if the other no longer existed.
The arrangement works perfectly—until the twins you’ve spent years raising apart find each other at camp and decide their parents need a little help.
Pairing: “Husband!” Robby x “Wife!” reader
WC: 8.2k
Warnings: 18+, arguments, robby was an asshole, mentions of failing marriage, slight smut, miscommunication, yearning! robby, your daughters are sneaky, insight to their parenting, the kids do not have phones at camp, probably minor inaccuracies, slightly proofread, fade to black at the end.
Years ago..
When you were younger, navigating life, and trying to understand exactly what you wanted out of life— you met Michael. Michael who later began to call Robby, was quiet and stayed to himself more often than not.
You met him when you attended a medical conference, a conference where doctors and med students from all over gathered for various lectures or seminars. You wanted to pretend like you didn't see him at first, like he wasn't attractive when he smiled at you.
Truly, you can't even remember why your parents had you join them at the conference— but by the end of the night you were kissing Robby, the man you pretended not to see.
Robby was interested in you, geniunely interested in you— in a way that you hadn't experinced before. He found your loud laugh, your random questions, your intelligence, and your undeniable beauty, enticing. His interest in you went beyond wanting a good one night stand, but he wanted to know you in every way possible.
Just by sheer luck, you and Robby lived in the same city— just about thirty minutes from one another. Which made it possible to keep in touch and to see where things could go.
You couldn't understand why the day that you met Robby went the way it did or why you showed deep interest— but it must've been fate.
The two of you kept your promise and kept in touch, calling whenever you could and leaving silly voicemails in each other's voicemail box.
Your dates always consisted of takeout on his couch, while he also helped you study for upcoming law school exams. Despite having little knowledge on the subjects, he didn't mind— even if he had to look up the answers himself.
You spent plenty of nights laying in the bed beside him, your head on his chest— wondering how you'd ever move on if he left.
He was your moon and you were his sun— both unable to exist without the other.
Your parents were estatic that the two of you had found each other, even with the age gap— they approved.
It was rushed but two months after the year mark of dating, Robby proposed. You had no idea that he was going to, nor were you expecting it any time soon.
Your family was having their annual family barbeque at your parents house, everyone in one specific color that was picked out. The color that year just so happened to be a cream white, which could have been intentional— but Robby would never tell you.
"I can't believe that you planned this.. decided to propose to me." You laughed, your eyes filled with joy.
He pulled you closer to him, flashes of light hitting the two of you as relatives took pictures and cheered.
"I knew from the moment that I met you, baby. I was always going to make you mine."
The two of you shared a kiss, your tears wetting his cheek.
"I want whatever life that I can get with you." He mumbled against your lips, his curving into a smirk.
That night was a blur besides the fact that you couldn't stop looking at your ring and feeling so complete, like you had hit the lottery.
You had been engaged for two months, still trying to figure out what you were going to do.
You never thought that you'd be planning a wedding so soon, especially in the middle of studying for your bar exam.
A big wedding was something that you weren't interested in, even though your parents volunteered to cover the bill.
The day had finally come a few weeks ago and you had taken your bar exam. You hoped that your studying and years of hard work paid off. Robby sat beside you, holding one of your hands as you hesitated on clicking the mousepad for your results.
"Take a deep breath, honey—"
"You passed, I know you did." Robby assured you.
Your heart thrummed in your chest, feeling like it could beat out of it.
You took the leap and pressed the mousepad, the page loading.
It felt like an eternity to be honest.
"Congratulations.."
You gasped, jumping in your seat— glancing at Robby.
"Babe.. I did it—"
"I fucking did it!" You yelled with excitement, squeezing Robby in a tight hug.
"Yeah, you fucking it did it. I'm so proud of you." He chuckled.
He pressed a kiss to your lips, your eyes landing on eachother.
"I love you so much, honey—"
"Let's go to the courthouse and get married today."
You pulled back, staring at him with a shocked smile on your face.
"Robby? What?"
He grabbed your hand, holding it in his.
"I mean it, I don't want to wait anymore and what better way to end this day?"
Robby was serious, more serious than you'd ever seen him about anything.
You nodded, "okay."
You Pulled him into another kiss, completely filled with joy.
You called your parents and took them by surprise, telling them that not only did you pass the bar exam— but you were going to get married at the courthouse.
The two of you found the perfect outfits to wear and raced down to the courthouse, hoping to get seen before the time cutoff.
You barely made it with only five minutes to spare.
That day at the courthouse, in rushed clothes, with heightened emotions, you and Robby tied the knot— with only your parents there to witness.
Sure, there was no grand wedding with bridesmaids, fancy food, and over a hundred guests— but it was better than you imagined.
You married the person that you couldn't see your life without, the person that showed you what love was.
Your parents shed a few tears taking pictures of the two of you and being surprised by the randomness of it all.
That night when the two of you were alone, you laid underneath Robby— his mouth on yours, your legs wrapped around him, the sounds of your love filling the air as his cock snapped into you.
"It feels so good." You whined.
"I know it does, baby. You're doing so good taking every inch of me."
Robby's cock filled you, taking your breath with each thrust— your pussy still not used to him.
"Fuck." You rasped.
That sex was the best the two of you had ever had, the passion at an all time high. Something that you could look forward to for the rest of your life.
Robby was yours and you were his.
The first four years of marriage had passed by before you knew it. The two of you had found a rhythm that worked best for your marriage. Your hours at the firm and his hours at the hospital lined up, meaning that the two of you could end the night together.
You never expected your marriage to be perfect all of the time or at all, because there was no such thing as a perfect marriage. Your parents had been married for well over twenty years and it wasn't always easy, but they managed.
Your marriage with Robby was barely at the four year mark and it was constantly teetering on the brink of ruin.
He had changed, changed into someone that you didn't recognize. He wasn't the Robby that you had fallen in love with, he was a shell of him.
You didn't know whether it was the job or just maybe that his love for you had dwindled, but all he did was push you away. He didn't want to talk and work on things, he just always wanted to be alone— sitting on the couch by himself.
If you hadn't gotten pregnant, you probably would have given him what he wanted and left— but you wanted to make it work. You didn't want to give up on him, because he could get through whatever was troubling him.
You stood at the sink, washing out the few dishes that remained— the swell of your belly pressed against the countertop.
Robby came into the kitchen, hovering near you— watching you without saying anything.
"I want a divorce." He spoke, his words cold and to the point.
Your hands stilled on the mug, the water running over your hand.
"What?" You replied, your voice shaky and eyes unable to meet his.
"I just don't want to do this anymore.. be trapped here—"
"In this." He continued, looking around the kitchen.
You put the mug down in the sink, turning off the faucet— a pressure building in your belly.
"Michael.. you don't mean that."
He nodded, his lips pursed— the lines near his eyes deepening.
"I do."
"I'm pregnant with your daughters ..”
"and you want to end things, now? or even at all?" You questioned, your voice coming out small and lip beginning to quiver.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That wasn't exactly what we planned, but it happened and it doesn't mean we have to stay together."
Your eyes watered, a sob clawing it's way up your throat.
"Is there.. Is there someone else?"
He laughed with annoyance, throwing his hands up.
"Christ!—"
"There isn't anyone else, I just want to be done with this. I don't want to come home and be hovered over because you feel like I'll kill myself."
His words were cruel, devoid of any love that he claimed he once had for you. The total opposite of the sweet words and promises that he said on your wedding day.
"Michael.." You mumbled, tears falling down your cheeks as you stepped closer.
He took a step back.
"Please, just please.. don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Your hand curled around your belly instinctively as if you needed to protect them.
"What about them? What about raising them?"
Robby snapped, "I didn't even want a baby and you expect that to make me stay? stay with a wife who acts like a dog waiting to be kicked? A wife who can't leave well enough alone?"
You flinched, your mouth opening and completely shutting without any words leaving.
Robby watched the pained expression on your face, instant regret filling his veins as he took a deep breath.
"I didn't.. I didn't mean.."
You turned back to the sink, blinking through the tears as you pulled the handle for the hot water.
"You did mean it.. and thats okay." You softly muttered.
Robby stood there for a second longer, watching as you breathed through the broken sobs that escaped your mouth.
The last three months of your pregnancy flew by, faster than you expected. Everything in your house shifted after what Robby said, his words changed something in you— breaking the last remainants of the hopeful dream you had.
Robby started seeing a pyschiatrist and getting the help that he needed, the help that you had begged him to get for several months.
When he finally did get the help, you were happy for him— happy that he was getting what he needed. However, for you— your marriage ended that night that he said those things. He said things that you would've never said, especially not to your pregnant wife.
You slept in the guest bedroom the last three months, eating meals by yourself, spending more time with your parents. You gave Robby the space that he wanted so badly and let him be.
For Robby, getting the help that he needed was like waking up from the perputal nightmare that he'd been trapped in. Only once he woke up, you weren't standing there waiting.
The words that left his mouth that night had haunted him ever since. He'd hurt you in a way that no apology could fix.
You no longer smiled at him when you came into the house, tried to make small talk, or even waited up for him after you cooked. You gave him exactly what he asked for, only it wasn't what he truly wanted.
When you went into labor, Robby never left your side and was there every step of the way. To the average person, they would've thought he was the perfect husband— but they couldn't see the rot beneath the surface. How the very foundation of your marriage was only still withstanding while you gave birth.
You gave birth to two very healthy girls on Christmas eve at 7pm. The best christmas present in the world.
Hayden and Lottie.
Two girls who looked more like their father than they did you.
Your parents doted on them— taking pictures of them, along with you and Robby holding them. They were so happy for you, completely unsuspecting of the news that you'd tell them about your marriage.
When you went home with the girls, you were relived to not be pregnant anymore and to finally get your body back— but you didn't expect the whirlwhind of emotions.
You came back to a home that you didn't recongize with a stranger.
Robby loved being a new dad and holding them, loving on them as much as he could. He let you be, because he knew that was what you needed.
You realized that your marriage was truly over and that you needed to leave, you needed a new space to grow in. You needed a fresh start for your daughters and your new year.
You also understood deep down inside that you couldn't handle two small babies on your own— not with your schedule, career, and budget. You also didn't want to take them away from Robby or do the back and forth.
Somewhere in the haze of emotions and multiple unfortunate conversations, you and Robby decided to split them.
He'd raise one on his own and you'd raise one on your own.
It was far from normal and most wouldn't agree to it, but both of you figured that it would work best for the two of you.
You moved your things out and said goodbye to Hayden, while Robby said his goodbye's to Lottie.
A feeling that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. You gave birth to two and left with one, understanding that you wouldn't raise her or probably ever know her.
It wasn't supposed to end that way.
11 years later..
Shortly after you and Robby seperated, you landed a job as an attorney working for the media outlet— Waystar Royco's international division. With no idea what your life would even look like after Robby, you and Lottie boarded a plane leaving for London.
You moved to London with only a few bags and freshly into motherhood, looking for the fresh start that you craved.
You didn't worry about even starting the divorce process, you just left.
Living in London was such a big change compared to living in the states, but you adapted quickly and got used to everything— including only raising Lottie.
Lottie was an easy baby, only fussing occasionally and always giggling at the little things that she saw.
Lottie looked just like Robby— dark brown hair, brown eyes, and she had a few freckles that went across her nose like a bridge.
You often wondered how Robby was doing, what Hayden was like, and what the two of them would be like together— but the decision was made for the best. You knew that regardless of everything else, Robby loved his daughter more than anything and would do his best raising her.
Lottie asked about her father often, but you'd cahnge the subject and keep your answers vague.
She normally didn't mind, but you knew that one day that was bound to change— especially with the rise of social media. You just prayed that any information regarding him would only be found out once she was an adult and could perhaps understand your decision.
Even though you're not british, nor a citizen— Lottie had an adorable and sometimes raspy british accent.
Lottie was easy— she loved to play with her barbies, play with her friends, and read books. If she wasn't doing that, she was practicing her ice skating with her coach.
Lottie had been enrolled in ice skating since she was four, something she's loved ever since.
That year, there was a camp being held for girls around her age— girls who participated in ice skating in competitions. There was also a conference for their coaches.
Lottie begged to go, considering it was fully sponsered. She'd been invited for the last two years and you had said no, but you agreed this time. You wanted her to go have fun with girls her age and to learn new techniques.
The only thing that worried you was that the camp was in Colorado, in the states. Lottie had never been to the states and it would be so far away from you.
It would be three weeks of her summer break, not the end of the world— at least thats what you reminded yourself.
Lottie came downstairs in a striped shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail with a red bow attached.
"Mummy, are you positive that you can't come as a guide on this trip? I want you to."
You glanced up from your computer screen and the email that you were responding to.
"I'm sorry, honey— I can't. I'd love to, but I still have to work."
Lottie pouted dramatically in front of you, coming to take a seat at the table beside you.
"Please.. Please." She whined.
You reached across the table, gently rubbing her hand.
"Lottie, if you're scared to be away from me— you don't have to go."
"I'm not scared, mum.. I just don't want you to miss it."
Your expression softened, your heart feeling like it was being squeezed in your chest.
"Sweetheart, I won't miss a thing. Coach Jessie is going to record everything and send it to me, then when you get back we can go to the rink together—"
"How does that sound?"
She perked up, a smile on her face as left her seat to hug you.
"Deal!"
You hugged her back, your hand holding her head.
"That's my girl." You laughed.
ꕀ
While you were in London, winding down for the night with Lottie. Robby was picking up Hayden from Mckay's house— Hayden and Harrison had a playdate while Robby ran errands.
As the years had gone by, Robby had began to get the hang of things with being a single dad. There was quite a bit of trial and error at first, but nothing that he couldn't recover from.
That first year of not having you around or knowing if his girls were okay, nearly broke him.
He missed you and regretted so much, more than he could begin to even remember. He made you think that this was neccessary, that he didn't love you and that wasn't true. He loved every bit of you and the gift of fatherhood that you gave him, he just was in a bad place.
When the night would come in and it would be just him and Hayden, he always fought the urge to not fly there with her and beg for your forgiveness— beg for his family back.
But, he needed to let you go— he had to. He had already done enough.
Hayden was a fussy baby— a bit more of a crybaby than he expected and she often kept him running on fumes when he'd go to work the next morning.
She was very similar to Robby, not just with her looks— but personality. She could be rough and sassy at times, giving him a run for his money.
Robby relied on a babysitter throughout the school year, because he wouldn't be off in time— which also meant that they didn't get much time together before bed.
Hayden was similar to you in the fact that she loved to sleep and if she didn't get enough it was everyone's problem.
She was like you in many ways, she even picked up the habit that you had while pregnant with them— humming while she ate.
Hayden asked about you frequently, but Robby avoided the subject as much as he could. Hayden would even sometimes bring you up to get under his skin.
"I don't think my mother.. wherever she is, would appreciate you not telling me stories about her." She'd tease with a smile.
Robby enrollled Hayden into ice skating a few years back, because she had a strong interest in it. He didn't realize how much her coach, neccesities, and competition's would eat into his monthly balance though.
When she was invited to the camp this year in Colorado, he had no problem with saying okay— because that meant he could take extra shifts without needing a babysitter.
Robby sat on the couch, scrolling on his phone and trying to schedule a grocery order.
"Dad, I'm out of soap!" Hayden shouted in the hall from the bathroom.
Robby glanced over his glasses.
"Use mine, sweetheart." He yelled back.
There was a beat of silence, him thinking that he had solved the issue.
"Ew, it stinks!" She yelled.
He sighed, "I will add some to the order."
There was another beat of silence.
"Dad, don't forget that I need another suitcase!"
Robby pulled his glasses off, scratching his brow in disbelief.
"Honey, whats wrong with yours?"
"It's too small, remember?" She added.
"Right.. right." He mumbled to himself, searching suitcases in the walmart app.
At this rate, he'd be sleeping at the hospital for extra shifts. His child was going to drain his account before she left.
The morning that the girls leave for camp…
You and Lottie had been up late the night before, she was going to miss you and didn't want to admit it— because she was scared that you'd make her stay.
The truth was, you were going to miss her too. This was the first time in eleven years that she would be traveling without you and away from you in general.
That night before, she came into your room with two pb&j sandwiches on a plate — crawling into bed beside you.
"What are these for?" You asked with a smile, setting down your book on the nightstand.
"Well, I won't see you for three weeks and they're our favorite."
She was so thoughtful and had a heart full of love, you grabbed half of your sandwhich and bit back tears.
Where had the time gone? she wasn't your small baby anymore, she was growing up faster than you wanted her to.
"Well, thank you. We haven't gotten to enjoy these together in awhile, since I've been busy with work."
She bit in her sandwhich, chewing on it and staring at your tv on the wall.
"I'm going to miss you, honey." You admitted.
She glanced at you, her mouth full of bread.
"Mum, don't.."
You laughed a little, your glassy eyes obvious to anyone that looked hard enough.
"Don't what?—"
"It's true, I will miss you. I won't know what to do for those three weeks, I'm so used to having my sidekick around."
You stared at the tv for a moment, chewing your sandwhich— but you were stopped mid chew by the sound of sniffling.
Lottie chewed beside you, her cheeks now stained with tears.
You sat your sandwhich back down on the plate, pulling her close to you.
"Oh, Lottie. I didn't mean to upset you."
Her tears wet your pajamas, " what if I don't make any friends there?"
You rubbed her shoulder with a scoff.
"Don't be silly! You'll make plenty of friends, you won't even remember why you cried to begin with. There will be plenty of girls there that are the same age as you, girls who are interested the same thing."
"Maybe, maybe not." She muttered, wiping her nose.
"There will be, trust me." You reassured her, kissng her forehead.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" She asked glancing up at you.
"Of course, darling." You smiled, grabbing the rest of your sandwhich.
Lottie had to practically be dragged from the bed the following morning, completely overcome from exhaustion— because she wanted to stay up and watch Stranger things.
Both of you were tired, truly— but you got her up and ready.
The chef had breakfast prepared for the two of you— waffles, eggs, bacon, and orange juice. It was Lottie's favorite meal for breakfast.
Lottie was excited, "This plane ride will be scary—won't it?"
You smiled at her curiousity, finishing your waffle.
"Not neccesarily, You'll be in first class with Jessie sitting right beside you."
"Will I be able to sleep?" She pried.
You wiped your mouth with a napkin, "that depends. It will be a long flight and at some point you'll sleep, but I can't tell you for how long or how good."
You finished your breakfast, putting your plate in the sink— while Lottie sat at the table eating and reading her book.
You double checked her luggage, making sure that she had everything that she needed.
"Are you going to work after you drop me off?"
"Yes, sweetheart. I have a meeting at the office today." You mumbled, squatting as you zipped her dufflebag back up.
"Lottie, please finish your food quickly. Gerard will be here soon and we must make haste to meet Jessie on time."
Lottie turned the page of her book, paying you no attention.
You went upstairs, grabbing your heels and glancing over your outfit in the process. As you came down, Gerard honked the horn outside.
"Lottie!" You yelled, your feet thumping against the carpeted stairs.
"I'm finished, mum. I'm grabbing my bags." She responded.
You opened the front door for Gerard, who came to grab Lottie's bags.
"Goodmorning, Lottie! are you excited for your camp?" He asked with excitement, taking her bags.
"I am, I think it might be fun." She replied, trailing behind him to the car.
You glanced around, making sure that you had everything— considering that you wouldn't have time to come back.
"Deep breaths, everything will be just fine." You whispered to yourself as you walked out of the door, shutting it behind you.
The slightly cool London air brushed against your skin, the coolness that didn't last long— because by the middle of the day you'd be miserable.
During the car ride to the airport, Lottie had you braid her hair— because she didn't want it to be a "mess" during the entire flight.
"Also, please do not share any brushes or combs at camp. I packed you an extra of both, just in case you lose yours." You gently reminded her, adding a bit of gel to slick back her frizzy hairs in the front.
"What if I lose those?"
"Lottie."
"I know, I know. It was a joke." She smirked.
Most of the ride was quiet, Lottie still reading that book and you enjoying the last few minutes with her.
When you arrived at the airport, Jessie was already there and met you outside. Gerard unloaded Lottie's bags, while you stood with her on the sidewalk.
She hugged you tight, as tight as her little arms could.
"I fear that I am going to be very bored here without you." You teased.
"I might be bored without you too, I'm not sure yet." She giggled.
You crouched down to her height, staring into her big brown eyes— the ones that she took exactly from Robby.
"The time will fly by before you know it, but until then— you behave and have fun, okay?"
She smiled, "Okay."
"I love you, honey."
"I love you too, mum."
You stood, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"Jessie, keep me updated."
She nodded, holding Lottie's bags.
"I will and I'm sure that she'll make sure of it."
You stood there a moment longer, watching as both of them walked through the double doors.
ꕀ
The night before, Robby had stayed up late— repacking and organizing Hayden's luggage as she slept.
The suitcase that he had delivered had more space than he realized, so he shifted some of her things around.
Outside of when she went to school or was with her babysitter, Hayden was always by his side. He knew that he was going to work extra shifts while she was gone, but he still didn't truly know what to do with himself.
Maybe, in his new free time he'd actually ask Noel out on a date. He hadn't been on a date or even slept with anyone since you, he didn't have the time and that was the last thing on his mind.
Perhaps it was time that he put hiself out there and allow himself to find love, not that he neccesarily needed it nor was he looking for it.
His pathway of parenthood was different than most, which was purely his own fault — but he wouldn't change it for anything. He loved Hayden more than anything and he knew in his heart that you felt the same about Lottie.
He can't even begin to imagine what his life would be like if you had taken both of them or if the two of you had to share custody.
Nights like that, where he was up alone with his thoughts— he'd try to look you up and hope to see anything that could provide him comfort, but you didn't keep social media. You were pretty similar to him in that regard.
Robby fell asleep on the couch after organizing Hayden's bags.
His alarm beeped waking him up from his deep sleep, the urge to snooze it heavily on his mind.
He powered through his tiredness, putting on a pot of coffee and hoping in the shower to wake himself up.
That shower was just what he needed, but for some strange reason you were on his mind heavily— more than you had been in years.
After his shower, he got dressed and made his way into the kitchen. He wanted to enjoy the few minutes that he'd have alone before needing to wake up Hayden.
Robby checked his watch a few minutes later, going into Hayden's room to wake her up.
He stared at her for a moment, how she slept with her legs in different directions and her mouth slightly opened— just like you.
He gently pushed her hair out of her face, sitting on the edge of her bed.
"It's time to get up, sweetheart." He spoke softly.
She groaned, "I'm tired."
"I know, honey— but you have to. We have to leave in an hour to get you to the airport in time."
He left her room, giving her a few minutes to wake up fully. If she wasn't up, he'd wake her again— but Hayden was pretty good about getting up.
Robby sat down in one of the chairs at the counter, responding to a text from Jack. The bathroom door in the hallway shut with the sound of the shower turning on following it.
I don't know, man. Noel seems nice, but I have my plate full with Hayden and I'm not sure that I'm ready to explain my situation to anyone. I also don't need judgement, I've been fine without it for almost 12 years.
Robby exited the text thread and read the latest news articles, sipping his coffee and waiting on Hayden.
Thirty minutes had passed.
"Kiddo, we have to be out of the door in twenty or you'll be late!"
"I know, I'm getting dressed—"
"but I can't find my pink shirt." She replied in an annoyed tone.
Robby rolled his eyes and brought her bags out to his jeep while he waited.
A few minutes later, Hayden emerged from her room with her hair in a messy bun and had on the pink shirt that she claimed was lost.
"You ready to roll?" Robby asked, checking his watch.
"Yeah."
"You got everything?" He questioned.
"I think so." She mumbled.
Robby and Hayden left out of the house and got into his jeep.
"You want anything from Mcdonald's?" Robby suggested, backing out of the driveway.
"Orange Juice and a sausage biscuit, with grape jelly?"
Robby nodded, "you got it."
A response from Jack came onto the screen, his carplay automatically reading it outloud before he could stop it.
A date with Noel wouldn't be so bad..
"Christ.." Robby mumbled, touching the screen.
It might do you some good to go on one and stop thinking about your ex wife.
Hayden stopped chewing her food, her eyes flickering to a flustered Robby.
"Dad, who's Noel? and is Uncle Jack talking about mom?"
"Uh, that is a conversation for another time—"
"Just finish your food, we're almost at the airport." Robby replied, his heart feeling like it could beat out of his chest.
Hayden shrugged and contined to eat, staring out of the window.
When Robby pulled up at the airport, the traffic to drop people off was heavy. Hayden's coach, Ben, was being dropped off right behind them.
Robby pulled his jeep to the curb, turning on his hazards as he began to grab her bags.
Hayden hugged her coach as she got out, Ben grabbing her bags.
"Goodmorning, Mr. Robinavitch."
Robby nodded, his eyes being blinded by the sun as it rose—"Morning."
Hayden gave Robby a hug, "I'm going to miss you."
He hugged her back, feeling as if his heart was being tugged on.
"It'll only be three weeks, but there will be plenty of activites. If I'm not mistaken there's horseback riding, swimming, along with the ice skating practice.''
"but, I will miss you too." He smiled, tears wetting his waterline.
"Ben will send you videos when I practice, right?"
Ben nodded, "yes. Robby will get all of the updates possible."
"I love you, dad." She mumbled against his shirt.
"I love you too, kid."
Hayden let go of him, giving a wave as she and her coach walked into the airport.
"I'll see you in three weeks!" Robby shouted at her.
His baby girl was growing up right in front of him. She wasn't the toddler that stomped around the house, pointing at things as she learned to walk. She was eleven and heading to camp.
Robby felt old.
The morning that all of the girls arrived..
Both girls had landed in Colorado, a place that neither of them had ever been before.
The sun was out, shining bright and the heat followed it. A different kind of heat compared to what they normally dealt with.
The camp was in a more remote area of Denver. A camp built specifically for girls from all around to come every year. The camp was specifically for girls ranging from nine to sixteen who were competive ice skaters, not just any girl though— girls who had done exceedingly well and stood out.
The camp focused on plenty of things, including— leadership skills, skating techniques, making friends, and also lectures for the coaches on bettering their teachings.
The mosiquitoes buzzed as the girls stood outside, the camp coumselors running around like their heads were cutoff and the coaches trying to figure out what going on.
"Are there going to be other British girls here?" Lottie asked Jessie.
Jessie scratched her brow, glancing around to see where to get information at.
"I think there are ten others, but they might be older than you—"
"Wait right here." Jessie trailed off, walking to another coach.
"Attention, Ladies! I am counselor Diane, the lead counselor at this camp. I am happy to welcome all of you to the great state of Colorado." She laughed, her voice echoing into the microphone.
"I know that most of you have been traveling longer than you wanted, to get here, so we will get all of you situated first. There's a list right behind me on the wall with the bunking information— your name and number bunkhouse will be on the sheet." She added.
While Lottie stood there waiting on Jessie's return, Hayden had already begun to make friends.
"My name is Penelope!" The redheaded girl smiled, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and holding her hand out.
"I'm Hayden." She hesitantly replied, shaking her hand.
"Where are you from, Hayden? I'm from Nebraska."
Hayden glanced around, looking for Ben— ready to put her bags away.
"I'm from Pittsburgh."
"Oh, nice. I've never been there." Penelope mentioned.
Ben came back to Hayden, interrupting the conversation.
"You can go check the list, if you want. I'll stay here with the bags.”
Hayden glanced at Penelope, "you want to come with me?"
Penelope shrugged, adjusting her backpack— "sure."
They walked side by side to the sheet, standing in line behind all of the other girls.
Jessie had made her way back over to Lottie, a tired expression on her face.
"Sorry about that. Now let's go check out the list to see where you'll be bunking, shall we?"
Jessie grabbed Lottie's bags, both of them walking to the line.
"This is my second year coming." Penelope mentioned to Hayden.
"My first." Hayden replied.
The chatter in the line was obnoxiously loud, they were barely able to even hear themselves think. It didn't help that the line moved slow and that everyone was tired.
Lottie wiped the bead of sweat that formed on her forehead, "is there a practice today?"
Jessie laughed.
"God, no. Once everyone is in their bunks, there will be a rest period and then dinner will be served in the eating hall."
Hayden and Penelope moved up the line, exchanging a few words here and there.
"My parents hope that I make friends this time, it's a little hard to with the practices." Penelope sighed.
"My dad told me to make friends too, but there's probably no one here from Pittsburgh."
"Well, we can always talk on the phone?" Penelope suggested.
Hayden shrugged, "sure."
They finally reached the front of the line, staring at the papers for their names.
"I'm in bunkhouse fourteen.." Hayden mumbled.
Penelope jumped with excitement beside her, "me too!"
"We are also rooming with Kinley Harris and.."
Hayden squinted.
"Lottie."
Penelope glanced at Hayden, "I've never met a Lottie before."
Penelope's words were just loud enough to catch Lottie and Jessie's attention, both who happened to be standing right behind them.
"I'm Lottie!" She spoke with a loud pitch.
Hayden and Penelope turned to face Lottie, Hayden's brows furrowing.
"Woah." Penelope gasped at the sight of Lottie.
Lottie and Jessie both stared far too long at Hayden, the two of them seemed like exact carbon copies of each other. The only difference was Lottie's hair was longer than Hayden.
Lottie held her hand out, still slightly confused.
Penelope shook Lottie's hand, her mouth still agape.
"Both of you look alike."
Hayden scoffed, hesitantly shaking Lottie's hand next.
"I'm Hayden, Hayden Robinavitch."
Lottie shook Hayden's hand, the handshake lasting longer than necessary.
"Robin.. a .. what?"
Jessie nudged Lottie, a smile on her face.
"I'm Lottie's coach! Let's go get you girls settled into your bunkhouse."
All three girls followed Jessie to what felt like their long and unending walk to bunkhouse fourteen.
Their bunkhouse was big, more than enough space for four girls— but there was no sign of their other bunkmate yet.
They set their bags down and claimed their beds.
"Okay, girls— we will see each other again at dinner in the eating hall. For now, you'll stay in here until the horn goes off.
Lottie sat on her bed, pulling her shoes off as she huffed air.
Hayden put her bag on her bed, pulling a few things out.
Penelope walked up beside Hayden, glancing around the room like she was scared of being caught.
"Don't you think it's weird that the two of you look just alike?"
Hayden rolled her eyes, "we do not."
Hayden wasn't quite sure why, but it truly got under her skin being told that she looked like Lottie.
Penelope seemed a bit frightened at Hayden's stern reaction and decided to drop it, but she meant what she said— they looked alike.
Within a few minutes— Lottie had fallen asleep on her bed, Penelope had a book out, and Hayden looked through the photo album that she brought.
Dinner approached faster than the girls expected. They were served burgers, tater tots, corn, and strawberry cake.
The eating hall buzzed with conversation from the girls, laughter at some tables and debates at others. The coaches and counselors all sat at separate tables across the room.
Lottie, Penelope, and Hayden sat together at their table.
"Where are you from, Lottie?" Penelope pried, eating one of her tater tots.
"Well, I was born in Pittsburgh— but I've lived my entire life in London." Lottie confessed.
"Wow! London seems so cool." Penelope gushed.
Hayden's eyes flickered to Lottie's face.
"I was born in Pittsburgh too."
Lottie's brow raised as she bit into her burger, "that's cool."
"Are either of you a good ice skater? I've only won five competitions." Penelope raved.
"I've won twelve competitions." Hayden told them.
Lottie hesitated a second before speaking.
"I've won fifteen, including nationals."
Penelope 's eyes widened, "nationals too?"
"Yeah, it wasn't really hard." Lottie continued.
Hayden sighed, her fingers digging into her burger.
"Show off."
Lottie frowned. "I'm not showing off, I just answered her question."
The rest of their dinner was quiet, at least for the three of them. Penelope rambled about a few things, but Lottie and Hayden just seemed to get off on the wrong foot.
After dinner, the girls prepared for bed as everyone would be practicing tomorrow.
During the bright and early hours of the morning, Lottie left her bunkhouse with Jessie. They always practiced early and in this case, they wanted more time before everyone else would start practicing.
"Do you like your roommates?" Jessie asked while they walked to the rink.
"Not really." Lottie responded, staring down at her feet as they walked.
Jessie walked ahead, leading the way.
"Have you noticed that you look a bit similar to Hayden?" She asked.
Lottie stopped in her tracks, "I don't look like her."
Jessie threw her hands up in defeat, dropping the subject.
The one thing that made the girls seem even more similar was their annoyance with the people who brought up the similarities.
"I'm going to send your mum a video of what we practice today." Jessie mentioned.
When both of them reached the rink, it was empty. Jessie turned the lights on and gave Lottie a moment to put on her skates.
Lottie took her sweet time, but she eventually joined Jessie on the ice.
While they were out there, Jessie had Lottie working on a flying camel spin. It was a bit advanced for her age range as most eleven year olds did not do them, but Lottie had been ice skating for years— putting genuine effort into her practice.
Lottie tried one again and landed wrong.
"I can't get it right!" Lottie huffed, picking herself up off the ice.
Jessie skated over, giving her a hand.
"A few falls doesn't mean that you can't get it right, you've landed it perfectly over a dozen times."
Their conversation was interrupted, by the sound of the doors opening near the front of the building.
Ben and Hayden made their way in to practice.
Lottie rolled her eyes, which Jessie noticed.
Ben and Hayden made their way onto the ice and skated on the farther end, leaving ample space for both of them.
Hayden and Ben worked on a pancake spin, which was something that Lottie could not do.
Hayden did the pancake spin effortlessly, while Lottie did a magnificent flying camel spin. Both were able to do things that the other could not, both of them staring at the other while they practiced.
Hayden began to skate around the rink, while Ben went to the restroom.
Right as Lottie had almost did another perfect spin, Hayden skated directly into her— knocking her down.
"Watch where you're going!" Lottie barked.
Jessie reached out her hand to Lottie, glancing at Hayden. "Are both of you okay?"
Hayden nodded, Lottie stood up— wiping off her pants.
"I'm just peachy." She mumbled with a frown.
"I'm sorry." Hayden smiled.
Jessie could sense the tension between the two, but she couldn't pinpoint why.
Ben came back onto the ice, waving at Lottie and Jessie as he dragged Hayden to keep practicing.
"What's up with the two of you? You've barely been here a day." Ben asked.
Hayden hesitated.
"She just seems.. like a know it all—"
"Look at me, I have an accent and I can do a flying camel spin." Hayden mocked.
Ben laughed, genuinely amused at their silly antics.
"It's okay to be jealous.. you know?—"
"I'm not jealous." Hayden interjected.
"It just means that we will work harder to master the skills that we are working on, so that we can get to those other ones." Ben continued.
Lottie and Jessie moved on to another spin, the Biellmann spin.
It was a little difficult to master, but Lottie had. She just needed to be able to perfectly execute it in a routine.
Hayden watched Lottie skate around and do the Biellmann spin, a smirk on her face.
"Ben, can I practice my Biellmann spin?"
Ben nodded, completely unaware that Lottie was also practicing it.
Hayden began to do a routine and include the Biellmann spin, which Lottie noticed.
Anger brewed in Lottie's veins as she watched Hayden do it, intentionally picking at her to get a reaction.
"Copycat." Lottie spoke.
Jessie could sense the immediate defeat and retraction that Lottie had.
"Well, that's enough for today. I will take you back to the bunkhouse and you can rest until it's time to get the day started." Jessie smiled.
Lottie nodded.
Shortly after, Jessie and Lottie left the rink— leaving Ben and Hayden alone.
Ben stared at Hayden, a disappointed look on his face.
"Don't be catty, it's unnecessary. The two of you can be friends."
Hayden didn't say anything, but she did feel some guilt. She shouldn't have acted that way, but neither should have Lottie.
When Lottie got back to the bunkhouse, it was quiet— Penelope was still sound asleep.
Lottie gently put down her stuff and crawled into her bed, opening one of books that she brought along with her.
She already missed home and her feelings were hurt, because she was good— but Hayden got under her skin.
Lottie quietly read her book, turning page after page when the bunkhouse door opened and closed.
Hayden set down her duffle bag onto her bag with a thud.
Lottie paid her no attention, continuing to read her book— until the weight on the bed shifted.
Lottie lowered her book, her brow raised as she stared at Hayden.
"What are you doing?"
Hayden twisted the small mood ring on her finger, " I am sorry. I didn't mean to be mean and.. upset you."
"I'm not upset." Lottie shot back.
Hayden paused, unsure what to say next.
"Well, I was told to apologize."
Lottie kept a grip on her book, staring at Hayden.
"Okay."
Hayden was about to get up from the bed when she noticed Lottie's bookmark, her brows furrowed in confusion.
"I've seen that picture before."
Lottie glanced down at the picture of her mom, the picture she used as a bookmark.
"I doubt that, that's my mom in the picture."
Hayden shook her head, "no. I have seen it, I have."
Hayden got up from the bed and went to her side of the room, rummaging through her things.
"Got it!" She smiled, running back over to Lottie.
Lottie sat up in the bed.
"See, this is my dad and his picture looks similar to yours." Hayden pointed out.
Lottie stared at the picture of the man that she didn't recognize, something that seemed familiar to her— but not at the same time.
Hayden stared at the picture of the woman, admiring her beauty and big smile that she had in the picture.
They both slowly, pushed together the picture that had been clearly ripped in half.
They gasped, staring at each other in shock.
The seams of the ripped picture fit perfectly and it was obvious that their parents were staring at one another in the photo.
"Is that.. my mom?" Hayden asked.
"Then.. that would be my dad." Lottie sputtered.
"I never knew my mom, I've never even seen her. My dad always avoids talking about her." Hayden mentioned.
Lottie glanced up at Hayden.
"My mom never talks about my dad either."
There was a long beat of silence, the kind that felt heavy— like it was suffocating every thing in the room.
"When's your birthday?" Lottie finally asked.
"Christmas Eve, seven pm to be exact."
"Me too.." Lottie stated.
How was that possible? They were twins? Those were their parents?
"We're twins?" Hayden questioned, a look of confusion and surprise on her face.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated.
Where The Hell Is My Husband
Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Summary: A night out with Robby, Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, and Mel takes a turn when you get drunk, refuse to leave the bar, and start loudly demanding to know where your husband is. Santos calls Jack. Jack arrives. Unfortunately for everyone in the bar, you are drunk and do not immediately recognize him as your husband.
Warnings: alcohol use, drunk reader, suggestive jokes, reader being extremely horny for her own husband, Jack being responsible and not engaging sexually while reader is drunk, soft caretaking, lots of teasing, lots of “hell yeah.”
Author's Note:
I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes a woman gets drunk, forgets she is married, and tries to hit on her own husband in public. Sometimes that husband happens to be Jack Abbot. Sometimes he has to provide ring verification every five minutes while trying to get her to drink water.
This is love.
Xoxo, Del
By the time Santos called Jack, you had been singing for twenty-three minutes.
Not continuously.
There had been pauses.
Important pauses.
One pause to tell Robby he was doing the background vocals wrong. Another to inform Whitaker that his attempt to close the tab was “emotionally hostile.” Another to point at a man near the jukebox and announce, with deep conviction, that he was not your husband because your husband had better shoulders.
Mel had tried water.
Javadi had tried fries.
Whitaker had tried logistics.
Robby had tried joining in, which had only made everything worse.
And Santos, because she had the glare of a woman who had spent years keeping doctors from making stupid choices, and no patience left, finally pulled out her phone.
You were standing beside the booth with one hand braced on the table, swaying to the beat of a song that was no longer playing.
“Baby! Woo-hoo, where the hell is my husband? Woo-hoo! What is takin' him so long to find me? Woo-hoo!”
Robby lifted both hands as if he were conducting you. “Great projection.”
Santos pointed at him. “Stop encouraging her.”
Robby shrugged, “She’s an artist.”
“She is refusing to leave a bar because she thinks her husband has been misplaced,” Santos replied.
You turned sharply. Too sharply. Mel caught your elbow before gravity could make a compelling argument.
“He is not misplaced,” you said.
Santos lowered the phone slightly. “No?”
You frowned, “He is missing.”
Javadi nodded from the end of the booth, phone in hand, filming with the calm detachment of someone documenting history. “The distinction is important.”
Whitaker rubbed both hands over his face. “It is not.”
You slapped one palm gently against the table. “My husband is handsome and tall and sexy and has doctor hands.”
Robby leaned toward Mel. “Doctor's hands is specific.”
Mel nodded. “And accurate.”
“And,” you continued, because you were not finished and everyone needed to understand the scale of the emergency, “he has very serious pecs.”
Santos closed her eyes.
Robby whispered, “Here we go.”
You pointed at him. “Respect the pecs.”
“I do,” Robby said immediately.
Whitaker slid your glass of water toward you. “Can we respect the pecs from the parking lot?”
You shake your head quickly, “No.”
“Why?” He groans.
You point towards the door, “Because my husband is not in the parking lot.”
Santos pressed Jack’s contact and lifted the phone to her ear.
You gasped. “Are you calling him?”
She nodded, “Yes.”
“No!” You exclaimed.
Santos looked at you. “No?”
You shook your head, “I don’t want to call him.”
“You have been singing for him for twenty-three minutes,” Santos said.
You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I want him to appear.”
Robby slapped the table once. “That is marriage.”
Santos ignored him and turned slightly away as the call connected.
Jack answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”
His voice came through low and alert, and you froze.
Santos looked at you.
You stared at her phone like it had become sacred.
“Abbot,” Santos said.
There was a small pause on the other end. “Santos?”
“You busy?” She asks.
“At home.” Jack’s voice sharpened. “Is she okay?”
You grabbed Mel’s wrist and whispered very loudly, “Is that my husband?”
Mel patted your hand. “Yes, honey.”
You looked down at your left hand.
Your wedding rings gleamed under the warm bar lights.
You gasped. “I have wife jewelry.”
Robby bent forward with a wheeze. “Wife jewelry.”
On the phone, Jack went quiet. “What was that?”
Santos looked at you as you lifted your hand in front of your face and admired your rings with genuine awe.
“She is okay,” Santos said carefully.
Jack exhaled. “Define okay.”
You turned toward the booth again, apparently remembering your mission. “Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?” You pick up your song.
Jack went silent.
Robby threw his head back and supplied a terrible echo. “Woo-hoo!”
Santos pinched the bridge of her nose.
Jack said, “Is that her?”
“No,” Santos said. “That is the jukebox haunting me.”
Jack sighed, “Santos.”
“Yes, that’s her.”
“Is she hurt?” He asked.
“No.”
“Sick?” He continued.
“No.”
Jack exhaled, “Crying?”
You pointed at a man near the pool table. “Not him. My husband has a better ass.”
Mel covered her mouth with a hand.
Santos stared at the ceiling. “No. Not crying.”
There was a pause.
Then Jack said, dry as hell, “Did she say something about my ass?”
Robby lunged across the table, trying to get closer to the phone. “Tell him she said better.”
Santos shoved his forehead back with two fingers. “She is refusing to leave until her husband comes to collect her.”
You leaned toward Santos’s phone. “Tell him to wear the gray sweatpants.”
Santos pulled the phone away from you. “Absolutely not.”
Jack made a sound that might have been a cough. “I’m leaving now. Send me the address.” He was already moving.
“All right,” Santos said. “I’ll send it.”
In the background, Robby shouted, “Tell him she’s been reviewing his ass for twenty minutes!”
Jack went silent again.
Santos closed her eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”
You reached toward the phone. “Wait, I want to talk to him.”
“No,” Santos said, ending the call.
Your lower lip trembled, “But he’s missing.”
“He’s on his way.” She told you.
That stopped you. Your mouth fell open. “He’s coming?”
Santos slid her phone into her pocket. “Yes.”
You laid a hand on your chest, “To me?”
“Yes.” Trinity nodded.
You pressed both hands to your cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”
Whitaker nodded toward the door. “Great. Now we can go.”
“No,” you said immediately.
His shoulders dropped. “Why not?”
You looked at him like he had just asked the stupidest question in recorded history. “I have to be here when my husband appears.”
Robby raised one hand. “I support her.”
Santos snapped, “No one asked you.”
You sat back down in the booth and folded your hands on the table like you were waiting for a job interview.
Mel slid the water toward you again. “Drink some water while you wait.”
You stared at the glass.
Then at Mel.
Then at Santos.
“What if he gets here and I’m drinking water?” You ask.
Javadi tilted her head. “Would that be bad?”
You frowned, thinking hard. “No. Hydration is sexy.”
Whitaker looked at the ceiling. “Thank God.”
You picked up the glass, took one sip, and set it down with a proud nod.
Then you leaned toward Robby. “Do you think he knows he’s my husband?”
Robby’s face lit with dangerous joy.
Santos pointed at him. “Do not.”
Robby held up both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
Her eyes narrowed, “You were about to.”
Robby frowned deeply, “I have never done anything wrong in my life.”
Javadi looked up from her phone. “There are videos.”
You tapped your rings against the table, watching them sparkle. “I’m going to ask him.”
Mel smiled. “Ask him what?”
“If he’s my husband.” You answer.
Whitaker muttered, “This will be efficient.”
“It will not,” Santos said.
And it wasn’t.
Because when Jack walked in seven minutes later, everything in you stopped working.
He came through the door in jeans, sneakers, and a dark hoodie under his jacket, like he had pulled on the first clothes he found and driven over without thinking about anything except getting to you. His hair was messy, his expression serious, and his eyes scanned the bar once before landing on your booth.
On you.
You stopped mid-hum.
Your hand tightened around Mel’s wrist. “Oh no.”
Mel followed your gaze. “What?”
You pointed. “That man has pecs like my husband’s.”
Robby twisted in his seat so fast he nearly knocked over Whitaker’s drink.
Santos sighed. “That man is your husband.”
You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on Jack as he crossed the bar. “No.”
Javadi kept filming. “Denial phase.”
Jack reached the table and looked you over first, quick and clinical, because he was Jack. No visible injury. No tears. No panic. Just you, drunk and bright-eyed and staring at him like he had been sent from some divine catalog of bad ideas.
His shoulders eased. “Hey, baby.”
You blinked. Then slowly turned to Santos. “He called me baby.”
She nodded slowly, “Because he is your husband.”
You whipped back toward him. “You are?”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
He lifted his left hand without hesitation.
His wedding band caught the bar light.
You looked down at your own rings.
Then back at his.
Then at your rings again. “Oh, my god.”
Jack’s face softened. “Yeah?”
You beam. “We match.”
“We do.” He replied.
You looked him up and down, with a long pause at his chest. “Hell yeah.”
Robby slammed both hands on the table. “And we’re off.”
Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Don’t.”
You leaned toward Mel, still staring at Jack. “He has very serious pecs.”
Jack closed his eyes for half a second.
Mel’s shoulders shook. “I know, honey.”
“Do you think he works out?” You whispered to Trinity.
Santos answered before Jack could. “Occasionally.”
You nodded solemnly. “It’s working.”
Jack opened his eyes. “Okay. Time to go.”
You frowned. Then looked him up and down again. “Hey, soldier.”
The whole booth went quiet.
Jack stared at you.
Santos slowly turned her head. “Oh, my god.”
You gave Jack what you clearly thought was a seductive smile. “You come here often?”
Jack’s mouth twitched again, despite his best efforts. “To retrieve my drunk wife from a bar? No.”
Your eyes went wide. “Wife?”
He lifted his hand again.
You looked at his ring.
Then yours.
Your whole face lit up. “Hell yeah.”
Javadi, still filming, said, “The verification system remains functional.”
Jack looked at her phone. “Are you recording?”
“Yes.” She answered instantly.
Jack groans, “Why?”
“Documentation,” Victoria answered.
“It’s behavioral science,” Robby added.
Jack ignored all of them and reached for the water glass instead of you. “Drink.”
You froze. Then you sat up straighter, eyes suddenly sharp with drunk discovery. “Huh.”
Jack paused. “Huh?”
You pointed at him. “Attending voice.”
Robby made a delighted noise. “Oh, she clocked it.”
Jack gave him a flat look. “Do not participate.”
You leaned toward Santos, whispering very loudly. “He said drink like he was about to order labs.”
Santos nodded. “He did.”
“I did not,” Jack said.
Mel patted your shoulder. “You kind of did.”
Jack pushed the glass closer. “Three sips.”
Your lips parted. “Oh, fuck me.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Please just drink the water.”
You picked up the glass with both hands, still staring at him. “You’re very bossy for a stranger.”
Jack opened his eyes. “I’m not a stranger.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Then you looked down at your rings again.
Jack lifted his hand.
You inspected his wedding band with deep seriousness.
“Right,” you said. “Husband.”
“Yes,” Jack confirmed.
You took one sip.
Jack nodded once. “Good.”
You set the glass down too hard. “No.”
His brow furrowed. “No?”
“You can’t say ‘good’ with attending voice.” You frowned.
Robby dropped his forehead onto the table. “She’s right.”
Jack pointed at him. “Not another word.”
You finished the water because Jack stood there with crossed arms and serious eyes, and the world had become a place where hydration was suddenly compelling.
When you set the glass down, Jack picked up your coat. “Arm.”
You inhaled sharply.
Santos pointed at him. “That one was attending voice.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “I need her arm in the sleeve.”
You looked at him, dazed. “You need my arm?”
Jack took a slow breath. “Baby.”
You melted back against the booth. “Oh, Jackie.”
That got him. Just a little. His expression shifted, the stern line of his mouth almost breaking.
Santos saw it immediately. “Don’t reward her.”
“I’m not rewarding her,” Jack said.
“You liked Jackie,” Santos replied.
Jack held the coat open and looked at you. “Arm.”
You stared at him. Then slid one arm into the sleeve. “Bossy.”
He guided the coat around your shoulders. “Other arm.”
You looked at Mel. “He wants the other one too.”
Mel nodded, fighting for her life. “Coats usually do.”
You gave Jack your other arm. He pulled the coat into place and zipped it halfway with careful, practical hands. You looked down at the zipper. Then up at him. “That was hot.”
“It was a zipper.” Jack deadpanned.
You sighed happily, “You did it like a procedure.”
Robby lifted his head. “Sterile field: wife edition.”
Jack did not turn around. “Robby.”
“Sorry.” Robby lowered his head once more.
Santos stood and grabbed her bag. “We are leaving before she proposes to him.”
You froze. Then your head turned slowly toward Jack. “I proposed?”
Jack’s expression softened at once. “No, baby.” He lifted his left hand before you could even ask, wedding band, catching the bar light. “I proposed.”
You looked down at your rings. Then at his. Then up at him, stunned and pleased and drunk-happy. “You wanted to marry me?”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Still do.”
Your whole face lit up. “Hell yeah.”
Robby dropped his forehead back to the table. “They’re disgusting.”
Jack crouched slightly in front of you and offered his hand. “Stand up.”
The booth went silent. You stared at him. Then you looked at Santos. “Attending voice.”
Santos nodded. “Full attending voice.”
Jack’s eyes flicked briefly to the ceiling. “I am trying to get you upright.”
You nodded, “You’re doing it with authority.”
“You are drunk in public,” Jack replied.
You clicked your tongue, “You’re hot in public.”
Mel made a small sound into her hand.
Jack’s ears went faintly pink.
You saw it. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “Jackie’s blushing.”
Jack shook his head, “I am not.”
“You are.” You squeal with delight.
Jack’s hand stayed steady in front of you. “Up.”
You pressed one hand dramatically to your chest. “Fuck.”
Santos stood and grabbed her bag. “We are leaving before she discovers a military kink.”
Jack’s head snapped up. “Santos.”
She shrugged, “What? She’s halfway there.”
You tilted your head, considering. “A what?”
“Nope.” Jack took your hand and helped you stand. “We’re going home.”
For one glorious second, you were upright and triumphant.
Then the room tilted. Jack caught you by the waist.
Your entire body went still. “Oh, fuck.”
“Balance,” he said.
You stared up at him. “You said that like an order.”
“It was an explanation,” Jack replied.
You smiled up at him, “Do it again.”
“No,” Jack answered immediately.
Robby lifted his head. “She’s not wrong.”
Jack’s eyes cut to him.
Robby lowered his head again. “Withdrawn.”
You touched Jack’s chest lightly with one finger. “Responsible soldier husband.”
Jack looked down at your hand. Then at your face. “Doctor husband. Former soldier.”
You nodded solemnly. “Doctor husband with command voice.”
Mel laughed into her hand.
Jack took a slow breath. “Arm over my shoulder.”
Your eyes went wide. “Jackie.”
“Arm,” he repeated, then pointed to his shoulder. “Here.”
You looked at Santos. “He pointed.”
“I saw.” She answered.
You licked your lips. “He pointed and said here.”
Trinity nodded solemnly, “You’re going to survive.”
You shook your head furiously, “You don’t know that.”
Jack guided your arm over his shoulders.
You held on to him and immediately looked delighted. “I’m touching him.”
Santos nodded. “You are.”
“Legally?” You asked, looking to Jack, bright and hopeful.
Jack lifted his left hand in front of your face.
You checked his ring. Then yours. “Hell yeah.”
Jack slid an arm around your waist and pulled you carefully against his side.
You went very still. Then you looked down at his arm. “Oh, fuck me.”
Jack sighed. “Please walk.”
You looked up at him, eyes wide and delighted. “Can you say it again, but like bossier?”
“No,” Jack said.
“Absolutely not,” Santos said at the same time.
Robby lifted his head just enough to gasp for air. “I can’t believe it. This is foreplay with witnesses.”
Jack pointed at him without loosening his hold on you. “Not foreplay.”
You leaned into his side and whispered loudly. “But later?”
Jack closed his eyes. “You’re drunk.”
You nodded, “But later, when I’m not drunk?”
“Later,” Santos said quickly, “is between you, Jack, and God.”
Javadi nodded. “And possibly the HOA, depending on volume.”
You looked at Jack. “Do we have an HOA?”
He shook his head, “No.”
You leaned closer to him, “Then later?”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “Walk.”
You inhaled sharply. “Oh, that was better.”
Santos threw both hands up. “Door. Now.”
Jack started moving.
You went with him, tucked carefully into his side, one arm over his shoulders, his arm secure around your waist, your coat half-zipped and your dignity somewhere under the booth.
You made it three steps before he said, “Watch your feet.”
You looked up at him. “Attending voice.”
“Safety voice.” He corrected.
You shrugged, “They’re cousins.”
“Eyes forward,” Jack replied.
You sighed dramatically, “Oh fuck me, that one too.”
Santos followed behind you, laughing now despite herself. “This is the worst evacuation I’ve ever seen.”
Jack kept you tucked firmly against his side. “It is not an evacuation.”
“You’re using evacuation posture,” you said.
He looked down at you.
You smiled up at him, drunk and delighted. “I like it.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “I know.”
Halfway to the door, you twisted carefully to look back at the table.
“Everybody be cool,” you announced. “I’m leaving with my husband.”
Robby raised both hands. “Hell yeah, Mrs. Abbot.”
You stopped.
Jack stopped with you, patient but visibly suffering.
You looked down at your rings.
Then grabbed his left hand and checked his.
The band was still there.
You smiled, delighted all over again. “Hell yeah.”
Jack’s face softened.
Then you glanced behind him one more time.
“And he has a great ass!” You cheer.
Jack immediately started walking again.
“Goodnight,” he called over his shoulder.
Santos waved. “Hydrate her.”
Mel added, “Text when you get home.”
Whitaker pointed at Jack. “Do not let her order fries.”
You gasped. “Traitor.”
Javadi lifted her glass. “The record will show we tried.”
Robby cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ask him to walk bossier!”
Jack pushed the door open with his shoulder and guided you into the cool night air.
The second the air hit your face, you sighed dramatically and leaned a little more heavily into his side.
Jack adjusted his hold. “You okay?”
You looked up at him.
The bar lights spilled behind him, catching the edge of his jaw, the tired concern in his face, the little pinch between his brows that meant he was trying to figure out if you needed water, food, sleep, or all three.
Your drunk brain, unhelpfully, sorted those options into one category.
Husband.
“Jack?” You asked quietly.
Jack looked down at you, “Yeah, baby?”
“You’re really my husband?” You whispered the question.
He lifted his left hand between you before you even asked.
You looked at his ring.
Then down at yours.
Then up at him.
Your smile went soft and bright and drunk-happy. “Hell yeah.”
Jack shook his head, but he was smiling now. “Yeah,” he said, guiding you toward the car. “Hell yeah.”
You made it halfway across the parking lot before you stopped again.
Jack looked down. “What?”
You stared at him very seriously. “You came when I sang.”
His mouth twitched. “Santos called.”
“But I sang.” You persisted.
Jack nodded, “You did.”
“And you appeared.” You added with delight.
“I did,” Jack replied.
You nodded, deeply moved. “Powerful.”
Jack opened the passenger door and kept one hand at your back. “In.”
You looked at the seat. Then at him. “I like it when you give directions.”
Jack almost smiled, “I have noticed.”
“Can you say ‘in’ again?” You asked, looking up at him.
His answer comes quickly, “No.”
“Meaner?” You tried.
This answer was faster: “Absolutely not.”
You sighed and got into the car anyway, mostly because Jack’s hand was warm at your back and he looked like that, and you were only human.
He leaned across you to buckle your seatbelt.
You went very still.
Jack paused immediately. “Okay?”
You nodded, eyes wide. “You smell good.”
He huffed a quiet laugh and clicked the seatbelt into place. “You’re drunk.”
“You smell good when I’m drunk.” You amended.
Jack shook his head, “That’s not how that works.”
“It is for me.” You replied with a happy shrug.
Jack braced one hand on the roof of the car and looked down at you.
His expression was amused. Tired. Fond in a way he would absolutely deny if Robby had been there to witness it. “You need water when we get home.”
You pointed at him. “Bossy.”
“You need sleep.” He added.
You smiled. “Oh, fuck.”
“And no flirting with me until you can walk in a straight line.” Jack continued.
Your mouth fell open. “You’re denying your wife?”
Jack held up his left hand.
You looked at his ring automatically.
Then at yours.
The distress vanished.
You nodded, “Hell yeah.”
He smiled despite himself. “And yes. I’m denying my drunk wife.”
You considered that, then nodded slowly. “Responsible husband.”
He smiled softly, “Trying to be.”
You looked him up and down from your seat. “Hot.”
Jack shut the door before you could say anything else. You watched him walk around the front of the car. The parking lot lights were doing very good things to him. His shoulders. His hoodie. His jeans. When he opened the driver’s side door, you were still staring.
He slid in and caught your expression immediately. “No.”
You frowned deeply, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to,” Jack commented.
You looked out the windshield, dignified. “I was admiring privately.”
You looked at his hands on the steering wheel. “Oh, fuck.”
He closed his eyes. “Baby.”
You looked down at your rings.
Then, at his hand on the wheel, wedding band visible under the passing sweep of the parking lot light.
“You called me baby.” You sighed happily.
He pulled out of the parking space. “I’m your husband.”
You smiled at his ring. “Hell yeah.”
The drive home was mostly quiet. Mostly.
You hummed under your breath until Jack, without looking away from the road, said, “No more husband song.”
You turned your head toward him. “I like it when you’re bossy.”
“I know.” He replied.
You sat up straighter, “Say something else.”
“No.”
“That was something.” You mumbled.
He sighed.
You smiled out the window like you had won.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, your energy had softened around the edges. The feral husband appreciation was still there, obviously, because Jack existed and you had eyes, but it had gone warm and sleepy.
Less bar announcement.
More gravity.
Jack came around to your side and opened the door.
You looked up at him.
He looked down at you. “Out.”
Your mouth parted.
Jack pointed at you. “Do not.”
You pressed your lips together, nodding seriously. Then whispered, “Attending voice.”
He helped you out anyway.
You wobbled once on the driveway, and his hand found your waist immediately.
You leaned into him. “Good catch.”
He gave you a little grin, “Good wobble.”
You gasped. “You praised me.”
“I should not have,” Jack replied, regretting his choice immediately.
You smiled up at him, “I liked it.”
Jack looked down at you, “I know.”
Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Jack locked the door behind you, then turned back to find you standing in the entryway, looking down at your left hand again.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Checking?”
You lifted your rings toward the hall light. “Still married.”
Jack held up his left hand. His wedding band gleamed.
Your smile went loose and delighted. “Hell yeah.”
He took your coat off first.
Not because you helped.
You did not help.
You got distracted halfway through by the flex of his forearm when he pulled the sleeve down your arm. “Oh, fuck.”
Jack paused. “What?”
You didn’t look up, “Your arm.”
“My arm is removing your coat,” Jack said.
“Yeah.” You stared at it. “That’s the problem.”
Jack exhaled through his nose and hung your coat on the hook. “Kitchen.”
You looked at him sharply. “Attending voice.”
Jack sighed, “I’m getting you water.”
“You said kitchen like an order.” You argued.
Jack inhaled, “It was a destination.”
“A hot destination.” You corrected him.
He pointed down the hall. “Move.”
You inhaled. “Jackie.”
“No.” He said instantly.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” You said with a whine.
Jack gave you a look, “I do.”
You followed him anyway, because his hand settled at the small of your back and your drunk brain apparently classified that as a life-altering event.
At the kitchen counter, he gave you more water and two crackers.
You stared at the crackers. Then up at him. “Are you feeding me?”
“I am preventing tomorrow from being worse,” Jack replied.
Your eyes went wide and affectionate, “You provide.”
“I provide saltines.” Jack amended.
You picked one up and took a dramatic bite. “Sexy.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Chew.”
You froze. Then pointed at him with the cracker. “Attending voice.”
Jack tilted his head, “Chewing is not optional.”
“Oh, my god.” You fan yourself with the cracker.
He dragged a hand down his face. “Please eat the cracker.”
You did, mostly because he watched you with that serious, focused Jack expression, and you had already learned at the bar that being perceived by your husband while he gave basic instructions was dangerous.
After water and crackers, he got you upstairs.
Barely.
There was a brief negotiation on the landing because you stopped to admire his butt from a lower step and whispered, “Perspective,” like you had made a scientific discovery.
Jack looked over his shoulder. “Keep walking.”
You gripped the railing. “Attending voice.”
“Stairs voice.” He corrected you.
You shrugged, “Same family.”
When you finally reached the bathroom, Jack set your makeup remover, toothbrush, and face wash on the counter as if he were preparing for a procedure.
You leaned against the doorframe and watched him. “You’re setting up supplies.”
Jack nodded, “I am.”
“Like an attending.” You add.
“Like a husband who knows you’ll sleep in mascara if I don’t help,” Jack replied.
You gasped and looked down at your rings.
Jack lifted his left hand immediately.
You checked. Satisfied, you nodded. “Verified.”
He handed you a makeup wipe. “Face.”
You took it, then blinked. “Huh.”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“You said face.” You answered.
Jack nodded, “I did.”
“Very direct.” You replied with a crooked smile.
Jack looks over your face, “You have makeup on it.”
You touched the wipe to your cheek, still watching him. “Bossy skincare husband.”
Jack leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. That was a mistake.
You stared at his chest.
He noticed. “Face,” he repeated.
You closed your eyes. “That was worse.”
“Makeup off.” He tried again.
You threw your head back in defeat, “Oh, fuck.”
He held out his hand. “Give me the wipe.”
You handed it over without thinking. Jack stepped closer and gently tipped your chin up with two fingers. The bathroom went very quiet. He wiped beneath one eye with slow, careful strokes, his other hand steady at your jaw. His face was close enough that you could see the tired fondness in his eyes.
You swallowed. “Jackie.”
His thumb stilled for half a second. “Yeah?”
“You’re really good at this.” You whispered.
He smiled softly, “At taking off mascara?”
“At being mine.” You said, almost breathless.
His expression softened.
Then, because you were drunk and incapable of letting tenderness survive unbothered, you added, “Also, your pecs are close.”
Jack closed his eyes. “There she is.”
You smiled.
He finished with your makeup, then handed you your toothbrush.
“Toothpaste,” he said.
You looked at the toothbrush. Then at him in the mirror. “Attending voice.”
“Toothpaste voice.”
You brushed your teeth while glaring at him with exaggerated suspicion.
Jack watched you in the mirror, arms crossed, trying and failing not to smile.
When you finished, he pointed to the sink. “Spit.”
You blinked around the toothbrush. Then slowly looked at him. “Jack.”
“What?” He asked.
Your eyes widened, “You can’t just say spit like that.”
His jaw tightened. Not anger. A smile he was trying to kill. “I am asking you to brush your teeth.”
“You are issuing commands in a bathroom.” You say, mouth foamy.
Jack looked down at your mouth, “You have toothpaste in your mouth.”
You pointed the toothbrush at him. “Dangerous.”
“Sink.” He commanded.
“Oh, fuck.” You spat, rinsed, and accepted the towel he handed you.
“Good,” he said.
You pressed the towel to your mouth and froze.
He sighed immediately. “I forgot.”
“You said good.” You grinned.
He sighed again, “I did.”
“With the voice.” You say, eyebrows raised.
Jack shrugged, “It slipped.”
You lowered the towel and pointed at him. “Dangerous.”
“Bed,” he said.
You stared. “Jack.”
He pointed toward the bedroom. “Now.”
Your mouth dropped open. “Oh, fuck me.”
Jack muttered something under his breath and guided you into the bedroom.
He found one of his old T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts from your drawer. Then he turned back to you, clothes in hand. “Can I help?”
You looked at the shirt. Then at him. Then down at your rings.
Jack lifted his hand before you could ask. You checked his wedding band.
“Okay,” you said. “Husband verified.”
He nodded once, “Good.”
You pointed at him immediately. “You did that on purpose.”
“I did not.” He replies innocently.
You pouted, “You weaponized good.”
“I am trying to get you into pajamas,” Jack replied.
Your frown deepened, “Domestic warfare.”
He helped you sit on the edge of the bed. Then he crouched in front of you and touched the hem of your top. “Arms up.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Is this a trick?”
He smiled, “No.”
Your brow furrows, “Because I’m drunk.”
“Exactly.” Jack agreed.
You look at him suspiciously, “You’re not going to be weird.”
“I’m not going to be weird,” Jack promised.
You leaned closer, whispering with great seriousness. “I might be weird.”
His mouth twitched. “I know.”
You lifted your arms.
Jack changed you with the careful efficiency of a man determined not to let his drunk wife turn pajamas into a legal incident. Shirt off, sleep shirt on. No lingering. No teasing. No letting his eyes go where drunk you absolutely wanted them to go.
Which, naturally, offended you. “You’re very respectful.”
“I try,” Jack replied.
You groan, “It’s annoying.”
“I know.” He said.
You sighed, “It’s hot.”
“I know that too.” He said with a smile.
He helped you step into the shorts while you held both hands on his shoulders for balance.
The second your palms settled there, you sighed. “Shoulders.”
“Balance,” Jack corrected.
“Shoulders.” You repeated dreamily.
He pulled the shorts up to your hips and patted your side once. “Done.”
You looked down at yourself. Then at him. “You dressed me.”
Jack shrugged, “I helped.”
“You’re like a sexy pit crew.” You say with a wink.
Jack stared at you.
You nodded, pleased with yourself. “Fast. Focused. Good with hands.”
He stood and pointed at the bed. “Lie down.”
Your eyes went wide. “Attending voice.”
He continued to point, “Bed.”
You looked at him desperately, “Oh, Jackie.”
“Do not make bed weird.” He groaned.
You pouted, “You made it weird when you pointed.”
He pulled the blanket back. “In.”
You climbed under the covers, mostly because the single syllable nearly took you out.
Jack tucked the blanket around your waist, then set the water on the nightstand.
“You need sleep,” he said.
You looked up at him, suddenly softer. “You’re staying?”
His expression shifted. “Yeah, baby. I’m staying.”
You looked down at your rings one more time. Then reached for his hand.
Jack gave it to you.
You checked his wedding band, slower now, your thumb brushing over the metal.
“You proposed?”
He sat on the edge of the bed beside you. “I proposed.”
“And I said yes?” You asked happily.
His mouth softened. “You said yes.”
You smiled, sleepy and bright. “Hell yeah.”
Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.
“No sex,” You murmured. “I’m drunk.”
Jack huffed a laugh against your temple, “I know, baby.”
Your eyes closed. “It sucks, though, because you have amazing pecs. And a great ass.”
He laughed quietly and brushed your hair away from your face. “Go to sleep.”
You sighed into the pillow. “Attending voice.”
“Husband voice,” he corrected, softer.
Your smile was almost gone with sleep. “Jackie.”
“Yeah?” He answers quietly.
“Still hot.” You murmur into your pillow.
He stayed there until your breathing evened out, his thumb moving once over your rings before he let go. Then he slipped into the bathroom, changed, came back, and climbed into bed beside you. You rolled toward him automatically, even in sleep, one hand landing against his chest like you were verifying he was still there. Jack covered your hand with his. Your rings pressed lightly against his skin.
The Next Day...
In the morning, you woke up to pain, sunlight, and consequences.
Mostly consequences.
Your head hurts. Your mouth was dry. Your body felt like it had been assembled incorrectly. For one blessed second, you remembered nothing after the second round of drinks.
Then your phone buzzed.
You opened one eye.
On the nightstand, your screen lit up with a message from Robby.
MRS. ABBOT LIVE AT THE BAR: WHERE IS MY HUSBAND TOUR
You closed your eye again. “No.”
Beside you, Jack was already awake.
You could feel it.
You turned your head very slowly.
He was lying on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, watching you with the calm, devastating expression of a man who knew everything.
You swallowed. “How bad?”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Define bad.”
You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.
He reached over and tugged it down just enough to see you. “You reviewed my body in public.”
Your eyes closed. “Oh, my god.”
“Pecs got mentioned several times.” He added.
“Jack.” You whined.
He grinned, “Butt got a standing ovation.”
You covered your face with both hands. “I need to leave the country.”
“You also called your rings' wife jewelry.”
A pause.
You peeked through your fingers. “That’s kind of cute.”
Jack nodded, “It was very cute.”
Your stomach softened despite the hangover.
Then he added, “You made me show you my ring every time someone told you we were married.”
You lowered your hands. “I did?”
He lifted his left hand. His wedding band gleamed in the morning light. Your eyes flicked down to your own rings automatically.
Jack noticed.
A smile started at the corner of his mouth.
You pointed at him. “Do not.”
He raised both his hands, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked smug.” You replied, eyes narrowed.
Jack tilted his head, “I’m allowed.”
“You are not.” You argued.
Jack smiled, “You kept checking.”
“I was drunk.” You defend.
Jack looked down at his ring. “You were thorough.”
You groaned again and rolled onto your back. “I hate myself.”
“No, you don’t,” Jack said.
You stared at the ceiling. “I hate Robby.”
“That’s fair.” Jack agreed.
Your phone buzzed again.
This time, Jack picked it up before you could stop him.
“Jack.” You warned.
He looked at the screen. Then his mouth twitched.
“No.” You groaned.
He turned the phone toward you.
The video thumbnail showed you in the booth, hand dramatically raised, mouth open mid-song. At the same time, Robby performed backup vocals, and Santos looked as if she were reconsidering friendship as a concept.
You stared.
Then slowly turned to Jack. “Delete it.”
“It’s not on my phone.” He replied.
You groaned, “Tell Robby to delete it.”
“I will,” Jack answered.
You narrowed your eyes.
Jack’s expression stayed too innocent. “After I watch it once.”
You huffed, “Jack.”
He pressed play. Your own drunk voice filled the room with devastating commitment. On-screen, Robby echoed you terribly.
Then the video shifted as Santos muttered, “I’m calling Abbot.”
Your face lit up. You grabbed Mel’s wrist and shouted, “Tell him to wear the gray sweatpants!”
Jack paused the video. Silence. You stared at the ceiling. Jack stared at the phone.
Then he looked at you. “The gray sweatpants?”
You pulled the blanket over your face again. “I was unwell.”
“You were specific.” Jack corrected you.
“I had a medical condition.” You attempted to explain.
“Being horny for your husband is not a medical condition,” Jack replied.
You slowly lowered the blanket.
Jack’s eyebrow lifted.
You pointed at him. “You’re a doctor. Diagnose it.”
He laughed then. Really laughed. Warm and low and unfairly pleased.
You groaned, but you were smiling too. He set the phone aside and leaned over you, bracing one hand near your shoulder. Your eyes flicked to his arm before you could stop yourself.
Jack noticed that too. “Still?”
“Shut up.”
His smile widened.
You looked down at your rings, partly because you were embarrassed and partly because the habit had apparently survived the alcohol. Then, quietly, Jack lifted his left hand beside yours.
The rings caught the same strip of morning light.
Your chest softened. “We match,” you said, voice rough from sleep and singing and terrible decisions.
Jack’s expression went gentle. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “We match.”
You stared at the rings for a second.
Then at him.
Even hungover, even humiliated, even with video evidence waiting in the group chat, you could not help it.
“Hell yeah.”
Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.
“Hell yeah,” he said.
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