HOW TO DISAPPEAR
─── jack abbot & michael robinavitch
summary: robby makes you hate him as his last act of kindness before he leaves for his three-month sabbatical. but then he sees you getting close to jack, and it ruins all his plans. (3k)
characters: michael robinavitch / fem!reader, jack abbot / fem!reader, trinity santos in charting jail, dana evans, noelle hastings
contents: lovers to exes w robby, friends to lovers w jack, angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, implied age gap cw for medical inaccuracies bc i don't know what i'm talking about :D, and mentions of robby's suicidal tendencies
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
Robby breaks up with you on a Friday, which you think is especially cruel, considering that every Friday since then has served only as a bitter reminder of the day he told you to leave.
Your relationship had been long in the dying, to be fair. You had stopped recognizing him some months ago — after he brought home that motorcycle, which brought a week’s worth of arguments in with it; and after you found out he made a habit of riding around without his helmet, which nearly gave you an aneurysm with how angry you got at him for it.
You found yourself more mad with him than you were without him, but you stuck around anyway, just torturing yourself with the hope that he’d change. That you would be enough to change for.
“Do you have any affection in your heart for me?” you’d raged from the other side of the kitchen table, burning as hot as your pretty red dress. “Any? At all?”
“Of course, I do!” Robby laughed as he gathered the empty plates, as if he found your anger a quite humorous thing. (It was, in truth, quite funny, because only he could plan a date night that turned into nothing but a total screaming match.)
“Then why do you keep doing this to me?” you’d asked, voice breaking as you blinked away burning tears. “You know I can’t stand that stupid motorcycle to begin with, but you know I hate when you don’t wear your helmet. It’s like you’re purposefully trying to piss me off!”
“Well, believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around you, honey,” Robby answered in a dry monotone as he dropped the silverware into the sink with a thunderous clang.
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “‘Cause it revolves around Noelle.”
“Oh, Noelle!” he laughed louder, turning to face you with a cynical sort of smile on his face. “That’s what this is about?”
“It’s about all of it, Robby!” you thundered. “But, yeah, you flaunting your old fling around at work in front of me doesn’t make it any better—”
“If you don’t like what I do…” he spat, voice even and coated in a layer of venom. “If you’re not happy here… Then feel free to leave. I won’t stop you.”
His words hung in the air for several long moments. They wrapped their cold hands around your neck and stole the breath from your lungs.
“If I go…” you’d told him, voice stern and slightly strangled. “If I walk out that door right now… I am not coming back.”
Robby only shrugged. “If that’s what you wanna do…” he trailed off and turned away, doing the dishes like you weren’t falling apart across the room.
So you left.
And he didn’t stop you.
Robby stuck to his word. And now you’re trying hard to stick to yours.
As the Friday evening draws near — marking five weeks since you walked out the door — you stand at the workstation to finish up your charting. You type slowly, while the rest of the day shift rushes around you to head home, because you have zero plans of returning to your empty apartment so soon. Not until you’ve totally tired yourself out, at least.
It was much easier to be at home that way, you found, when you were only ever there to eat and sleep. It meant never having to face how lonely you truly were without him.
“Are you busy tonight?” Santos wonders aloud as she plants herself at the computer across from yours.
You turn away from the screen for the first time in several minutes to flash the girl a quietly amused look. “You and Dr. Garcia are fighting again, I take it?”
“What?” Trinity scoffs, less than convincingly. “No! Why would… Why would you even ask that?”
“Because normally you’re busy with her,” you answer, partially distracted, as you continue click-clacking at the keyboard in front of you. “And if you’re asking me if I’m busy, it means Garcia isn’t coming over. Which also means Whitaker’s probably going out with Amy, and you just don’t wanna be alone.”
You glance up from your monitor once more, finding the girl scowling at you over the top of hers.
“Is that a fair assessment, would you say?” you quip with narrowed eyes.
“I was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch Drag Race and get wine drunk with me,” Trinity deadpans. “I didn’t need the psych consult.”
You scoff a tired laugh and turn away again. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m going out with the street team tonight— But you’re always welcome to tag along if you want.”
“And work outside of work?” she scoffs. “No, thank you…”
You tense when you feel a warm, wide hand brush along your lower back.
Your head whips over your shoulder to find Dr. Abbot sliding in behind you, placing a sticky note beside the keyboard on your desk. Cologne clings to the thin black t-shirt he wears, tucked into a pair of camo fatigues. He smells of tobacco and leather and sea salt. A dizzying concoction for a girl so strikingly touch-starved.
“Here’s Mr. Turner’s address,” the man tells you. “Or where he says he’s been hanging around recently, at least.”
Your eyes scan over the half-legible scrawl on the paper below, brows furrowing because it feels half-familiar to you. When you turn back to Abbot, you find him towering over you, much closer than you’d anticipated. “Isn’t that the overpass across town?”
“I think so, yeah,” Jack nods, scratching at the silver curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m pretty sure that’s where the ambulance picked him up when he overdosed, too…
“I’ll add that to his chart,” you murmur under your breath and turn away again. “I was gonna extend his prescription for Clonidine anyway— you know, so he didn’t have to come in so often. But this way, I can bring it to him with the street team. Make sure he’s doing well and everything.”
“You going tonight?” Jack wonders aloud.
“Mhm,” you nod as your fingers flit across the keyboard.
“Got room for one more, you think?”
Your squinted eyes cut suddenly in his direction, eyeing the man tentatively as he leans against the desk beside you. His freckled biceps strain against his t-shirt sleeves when he crosses them over his chest.
“Aren’t you working tonight?”
“Nope,” he answers. “Technically, I’m off ’til tomorrow.”
“…Then shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“And miss out on all the action?” Jack scoffs.” No way.”
A laugh sputters from your mouth before you can help it. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s very healthy, Dr. Abbot.”
“Of course, it’s not. But my therapist told me I needed a hobby, so…”
“So you decided getting shot at was the next best thing?” you finish in a deadpan.
“What can I say?” he shrugs. “I suck at golf.”
“You should try jogging,” you tell him, crossing the workstation for the printer on the other side of it. You feel a smile hinting at your mouth when Jack follows the short distance behind you. “It’s like running away from your problems, but, you know… pretend.”
“I tried that, actually,” Jack tells you. “But it’s harder, you know… With my leg.”
You pluck the warm paper from the buzzing printer and turn to face the man behind you. He sports a barely-there wince on his scruffy features, as if the mere mention of the amputated limb has reminded him of the phantom pain that never quite leaves him.
“Is it the sweat?” you ask with a sympathetic grimace.
“The sweat...” Jack nods slowly. “And the constant adjustments, and the strain it puts on my hip and… All of it’s a mess, to be honest.”
“You use liners, right? When you run, I mean?”
“Silicon ones, yeah.”
“You should try double-stacking knit-rite over the silicon,” you tell him, shifting awkwardly on your feet as you struggle to meet the man’s unwavering stare. You swallow hard and fidget with the paper in your fingers. “I, uh… I hear the knit helps with the sweating. Keeps the skin from blistering and everything.”
Jack’s eyes narrow, sparkling with the quiet grin that tugs at his mouth. “Where’d you learn all that, huh?”
“I’m trying to get a vascular surgeon fellowship,” you confess with a shy smile. “I’ve been working with a lot of amputees, and… they’ve taught me a whole lot, you know?”
Jack nods slowly, impressed and half-shocked. “Nice…” he hums. “Let me know if you need a letter of rec.”
He pats you gently on the shoulder as he walks by. You feel your skin burning beneath your scrubs, in the place where he’d touched you, like your brain is scarring his touch into memory.
“And, you know, if you ever wanna take up running again— We could always go to the track by the park,” you blurt. “I can help you make some adjustments, and you can help teach me a thing or two?”
You wince on instinct, preparing for rejection after being so blatantly forward.
Jack only smiles in response.
“Sounds fun,” he says, before sauntering off in the opposite direction. “Come find me before you leave with the street team tonight. We can take my truck.”
“Sure thing,” you call back, with a big dumb smile on your face. It fades the second you realize how dumb you sound. “Sure thing…?” you repeat under your breath, half-disgusted, as you return to your computer.
“About fucking time…” Santos grumbles, still in the same spot you left her in.
“Time for what?” you scoff.
“For you to get laid,” she answers like it’s obvious. “Instead of moping over Robby all the time. It was starting to get a little depressing, to be honest.”
Your face burns red hot.
“I’m not trying to get laid—” you say, then argue in a sharper whisper, “And I’m most definitely not moping over Robby.”
“And I’m not on my third breakup of the day with Garcia,” Trinity deadpans. “Since we’re both lying to each other now…”
“Only third, huh?” you quip. “Must’ve been a slow day today.”
You laugh when she flips you off.
Robby spends the better half of the afternoon just watching you.
It’s not totally his fault, to be fair, his eyes have always had a way of trying to find you in every room he’s in — even when he knows you aren’t there. But then he sees you talking to Jack, and it becomes virtually impossible to work through the sudden heaviness in his chest.
It had been thirty-five days and counting since he talked to you last, and he feels the weight of every single one of them.
He replays the words of that argument ad nauseam. He sees the face you made right before you left whenever he closes his eyes — the furrow that had formed between your brows, the way the lamplight glittered in your unshed tears, the way the tendons tensed in your neck as you fought back the urge to cry.
He thinks he’s only managed to make it this long without talking to you because he finds a strange sort of companionship in his loneliness — in the knowing that you were grieving the same way he was; that you returned to an empty room in a dark apartment every day just like he did. It’s selfish and it’s cruel, but he liked that you were just as hurt as he was. It made him feel less alone that way, like he was still close to you despite the obvious distance.
But then he catches you laughing, and his chest warms instantly at the sound — the prettiest he’d ever heard. His heart deflates a second later when he looks up from his tablet to find Jack standing in front of you, so close that you have to tilt your chin just to keep his gaze.
You peer up at the man from beneath your lashes, half-shy; the way you always looked at Robby in the very beginning of your not-quite relationship.
“Come find me before you leave with the street team tonight,” he hears Jack tell you as he walks away. “We can take my truck.”
Robby thinks a knife to the stomach would hurt less.
“Don’t you dare,” he hears Dana scold from just beside him, when she catches the man about to follow after you when you walk by without a glance thrown his way — as if he were a ghost, doomed to watching the rest of the world move on without him.
His head snaps to the side and finds the woman glaring at him over the top of her glasses.
“Don’t what?” Robby scoffs.
“You know what,” the older woman answers. “Give the girl a break, Robinavitch— You put her through enough as it is.”
“Oh, my god!” Robby exclaims with a cynical laugh. Something manic and half-hurt glitters in his dark eyes as he argues, “I got a fucking motorcycle! Why is everyone acting like I shot someone?”
Dana’s eyes harden as she pulls off her glasses, crossing her thin arms over the chest of her grey scrubs. The look she gives him then nearly makes him cower — it’s not quite angry, just colder than ice, and it cuts through him like steel.
“It’s not just the motorcycle, Robby, and you know it.”
“Do I?” he scoffs a humorless laugh.
The woman shakes her head and turns away, sneering slightly to herself, ‘cause it’s almost like he’s trying to miss the point. “If I have to spell it out for you, Robinavitch, then you’re a bigger lost cause than I thought…”
Robby spends the rest of the day stewing in her words.
Because he thought he was doing both of you a favor, in truth. He thought leaving you would make it easier to leave all the rest of it — that not having to miss you the entire time he was gone might make the trip a little more bearable. And if he knew you weren’t missing him too, then maybe he wouldn’t be thinking about you every second of every goddamn day.
That’s why he got that stupid fucking motorcycle; why he slipped up and told you he rode around without his helmet, just to pick a fight; why he told you about Noelle, because he knew it’d make you second-guess everything between the two of you. He wanted you to distance yourself from him — he needed you to distance yourself from him — because he wasn’t man enough to do it himself.
But now his foolproof plan is biting him in the ass.
And he’s missing you before he’s even left the building.
Robby asks around for you before he leaves, and Shen tells him that he saw you around back through sips of his iced coffee. So he goes to find you while the rest of the day shift trickles slowly out, with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. When he finds you sliding miscellaneous supplies into the back of Abbot’s truck, it feels a little like a punishment — one that he knows he deserves.
“So… About that offer from before…” Jack grunts as he slides another two cases of bottled water into the bed of his truck. “I was thinking maybe we could stop by the track tomorrow morning. You know, before your shift.”
Your eyes narrow despite the quiet smile pulling slowly on your face. “I wasn’t joking about you needing to sleep after this— You do need to sleep at some point, Jack, you know that, right?”
“And I will get some when we’re done out here,” he promises and takes the stack of hygiene kits off your hands. “So… What do ya say?”
You ponder for a long moment, with your lips pursed to the side of your mouth. You can’t help but think of Robby in that moment, if you getting this close to his best friend would break his heart — or what Jack would think about you, if he found out what had really happened between Robby and you.
Because he knew the two of you were close — everyone knew, and everyone had their own speculations — but only a few knew the true extent of it; of how long you and Robby had loved each other, and of how it all crashed and burned in the end.
“Well, we’d have to go pretty early,” you mutter sheepishly. “My shift starts at seven, so…”
“That’s okay,” Jack shrugs with a grin that makes your stomach do a backflip. “I like early.”
You feel your face flare.
“I like early, too…” you mumble sheepishly as you turn back for the rolls of sleeping bags stacked on the sidewalk.
Your gaze locks with Robby’s from where he stands off in the distance. It’s like your pupils are made of magnets, like your eyes were created to be drawn immediately to his. He walks slowly through the parted double doors with his hands in his pockets and something sad in his eyes. Your heart drops at the sight of him.
“Hey, brother,” Jack greets. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
“Yeah, I’m… I’m headed that way…” Robby huffs with a slow nod. His brown eyes dart wildly between the two of you — from Abbot’s oblivious grin to your wide-eyed gaze. “Where are you guys off to, hm?”
“Street team,” Jack tells him.
“Jesus,” the older man scoffs. “You never slow down, do you?”
“I would, but… No one ever taught me how,” Jack quips and takes a step forward to close the distance between them. You continue packing up while the two men share a brief hug. You vaguely hear them murmuring from behind you. “Make sure you come back… Call me if it gets too dark… I’ll take care of her, I promise…”
Robby knows it’s supposed to make him feel better, but it only makes the knife twist further.
He can feel the blade piercing a lung when he asks to speak with you alone; he’s already close to bleeding out by the time he walks you to the edge of the dark sidewalk, leaving Jack to pack up all the rest.
“You gonna be alright while I’m gone?” he asks.
The smile you give him is cynical and doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Yep… I’ve been doing alright without for a while now, so…”
Robby nods, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I… I deserve that, I guess…”
“I’m not saying it to hurt you, Robby,” you sigh. “I’m saying it because it’s true— That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t take pleasure in making you feel like shit.”
“I was trying to— I just wanted to—” He stumbles over himself trying to get the words out. He huffs and runs his palms down the length of his bearded face. “I think I was just trying to make it easier on us, you know, me going away… I thought if we hated each other, I’d be able to leave, but now…”
“Now what?” you press.
“Now you hate me!” Robby answers with a laugh. “And I still don’t want to leave!”
You sigh hard through your nose. Though your stern stare never wavers, you soften visibly around the edges as you confess, “I don’t hate you, Robby… But I do want you to leave.”
He flinches like you’ve hit him “…W-What?”
“I want you to go. I want you to have the… best three months of your whole goddamn life. I don’t care where you go, who you see, or if you— take Noelle with you. I don’t give a shit, I just…” You trail off with a heavy sigh and firm glare. “I want you to come back. That’s all I care about.”
“Of course I’m coming back…” he tells you gently, hands aching as he fights the urge to hold you. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, honey.”
His words make your stomach swirl with a warm feeling. He grins down at you like he knows it, too.
“Bye, Robby,” you deadpan and turn on your heel to walk away.
“Are you still gonna be here?” the man calls after you. You look at him over your shoulder and feel your throat closing at the look he gives you — dark eyes wet and squishy around the edges, glimmering gold beneath the amber streetlamp. “When I came back, I mean. Are you… Are you still gonna be here?”
“I’m always gonna be around, Robby,” you tell him. “You know that—”
“Yeah, but… Will you still be here?”
Waiting for me, he doesn’t say.
You don’t have the right words to answer him.
“…Call me if you need me, okay?” is all you can think to say in the moment. “I’ll answer. I promise.”
Robby feels his heart breaking when he watches Jack help you into the passenger seat of his truck. Because a part of him knows, not so distantly, that he’s bound to find you by Abbot’s side when he returns.
contents: smut! twitter was asking for an erectile dysfunction fic so i started drafting and well, this might have been my calling. ED, a little blue pill, drug talk (jack’s on depression meds), some wine consumption, a whole host of second-hand embarrassment for jack, world’s best wife in the reader, and of course ED wasn’t enough… loosely inspired by 02x02.
[jack abbot x fem!reader. wc: 7.2k ]
masterlist | other jack abbot fics
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls, and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
Jack hated when his shifts never lined up with your schedule. Summer’s were easier, so were those few breaks you’d get during the year, but most weeks it felt like you were ships passing in the night.
You were his wife, not a “sometimes companion” depending on the day. So, when he had off, there was nothing he loved more than being at your side. Watching mindless television, going to the grocery store, listening to you complain about your job, and everything in between. He loved it. Jack never thought that chance would come again and when it did, he promised himself that the time he gave to you would be nothing short of devotion.
And, when the time to “love” became a little more intimate, Jack gave you everything you could ask for. You’d never had a more generous lover, in all sense of the word.
He cared so deeply about you that he was too easily forgetful about his own needs. Jack never liked when you tried to make it all about him—he’d had enough attention in the last twenty years to last him a lifetime in solitude. In return, Jack’s altar was beside you, on top of you, under you, and anywhere near you.
Therefore, when he sacrificed his time away from you to save the lives of strangers, it was only right for him to recompense through the most natural form of intimacy.
But it had been five days. Five days of back to back night shifts where he left you sleeping in bed and you left him walking out the door with your work bag in hand. There had been a light in the distance, Saturday, when his schedule finally broke and you were both off to enjoy each other’s company.
He cooked, you cleaned, and then you’d both retired to the sofa where your feet landed in his lap and a movie you’d seen a thousand times played quietly as days-long lodged conversations started to flow.
Then, you shuffled into his lap and Jack knew something was wrong before even started.
His lips met yours and you melted. You’d been so quick to fall into him, wrapping your arms around him, and pressing down into his lap that it felt needy. Tilting his head back, your fingers pulled at his curls to open him up to you. His kiss deepened and you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.
You laughed, breaking apart.
“What?” Jack asked incredulously. His eyes darted between yours as your hand brushed back his hair.
“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just love you.”
Jack’s hands ran up and down your sides gently. “Well now it’s cheesy if I say it back.”
“No.” Your nose bumped into his. “You could never make it cheesy.”
“I’m pretty sure I could,” Jack admitted with a peck. He let his hands wander down your sides, feeling the skin of your ass before smoothing down your legs and holding them down on himself. “I love you.”
“How much?”
“Eh. ” He shrugged causing you leaned back and swat at his chest immediately before pressing into his pecs with your palms.
“Cruel,” you gasped. “You’re just evil.”
“I don’t know about that.” He removed his hands from you and placed his on top of yours. “But I don’t think a measurement exists for how much I really do.”
Not cruel. Just utterly adoring beyond comprehension.
You leaned in, kissing him again and again and each one ended longer than the last. He brought your hands back to his hair and encouraged a rougher grip. Jack’s tongue was the first to ask for silent permission to which you welcomed it with your own.
You couldn’t remember the last time you made out like teenagers on the couch.
And for ten minutes, you did only that.
Lips swollen and blood rushing in your body, there was something exhilarating about having waited so long to have sex this week. Five days wasn’t a world record for either of you but it felt like a necessary end to it.
Only you were expecting to feel something after ten minutes.
One of your hands slipped from his shoulders and entered the few inches of space between your bodies to grope him above his sweats. You had felt that simply being on top wasn’t enough—you would have felt his erection if you did—but this was the second time in three weeks that grinding on him didn’t work in getting him aroused.
Jack’s attention broke away from your lips and to your neck. His stubble grazed your skin with a roughness you’d only accept from his face. He lathered and sucked, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you feel his desire through his lips.
As you met his groin, you felt the outline of his cock still limp between his spread legs. Gently trailing to the head, you molded your hand around it and rubbed to the base. Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder and you couldn’t help but be satisfied, leaning your own into him.
Jack. Your Jack.
Your hand never stopped going. Slowly, you felt the minutes pass and you put more pressure in your grip and the air around Jack began to change. His kisses stopped, your fingers intertwined with his curls at the base of his head weren’t met with the same sighs, and his own hands loosened their grasp.
On the inside, Jack was having an existential crisis.
He knew it was going to happen.
It was the same goddamn thing from three weeks ago and he’d wrote it off as some kind of fluke. He was tired. He’d worn himself thin from a bad night and three weeks ago, sex wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. But now? Again?
Jack dug his forehead further into your shoulder to think—which was practically impossible for him to do in this state. Yet he tried. He thought back on any changes to his body and any signs he might have missed but the only possibilities he could think about were his age and his meds.
If it was his age, he was just about ready to croak off now. 50. Jack was only 50 fucking years old and he never imagined what the hell life would be like with erectile dysfunction at this age. He’d take it to his grave, he swore to God, but there was one other problem that he just couldn’t shake.
Those meds.
A switch from his therapist a few appointments ago to Zoloft, which was what he was supposed to be taking for years. But just like good medicine, sometimes finding the right balance was hard and it took time.
His therapist had warned him, right?
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
He was falling apart. Jack couldn’t even look you in the eye because now he couldn’t have sex with his beautiful fucking wife and the world was basically ending.
“Yeah,” he barely squeaked out.
You saw through him and he could feel the pity in the way your thumbs rubbed softly on his cheeks.
“I think I need to use the bathroom,” he blurted out and discarded you to the side of the couch.
In his first attempt to stand, Jack struggled to gain momentum off the couch and the redness of embarrassment from another one of his problems inched up the back of his neck like a rash.
Holy shit, he thought. This is the worst day of my life.
He tried harder the second time to avoid your helping hands and rushed off to the bedroom, shutting the door so hard it reverberated throughout the house. Beelining for the sink, Jack’s hands strained the edges of it until his knuckles were white.
“What the fuck!” He scolded himself in a brash whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
This wasn’t happening to him. This was all a dream. A really, god awful, terrible, no good dream that would be over in a matter of minutes. He’d wake up, sun shining, and never deal with this again.
He slapped a hand across his face. It was not a fucking dream.
“Holy shit,” Jack’s words were now nothing but saddened, pathetic whimpering. “This is not fucking happening to me right now.”
From outside the door, you leaned against the frame and let him wallow. Those little blue pills in the back of the cabinet had been pushed away out of spite and this time, you knew he just needed to face the reality of his situation. But that reality was hard to fathom after a lifetime of one activity never having been a problem. He couldn’t have just this one thing?
Jack opened the cabinet and pulled out his Zoloft bottle. Unraveling the prescription label, his eyes raced down to side effects and right there “Erectile Dysfunction” laughed at him. He tossed the bottle in the sink.
“Jack?” You knuckles rapped against the door. “Are you alright in there?”
“Fine!” He replied too quickly.
“Can I come in?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather you not.”
“You’re not gonna dump your meds are you?”
“No,” his tone was still sad. “That’s probably a bad idea.”
Jack could hear your hum. He imagined the look on your face and how you’d probably kick him to the curb now that he was completely defective.
“Jack, I think you need to talk to me about this.”
“No,” he drug out the word. “I don’t think so.”
“Honey.”
He said your name firmly in return.
“I’m coming in.” You didn’t give him any time because as soon as he got a syllable out, the door was open.
Jack’s eyes caught yours in the mirror.
“It’s okay, Jack.”
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well that’s easy for you to say,” he couldn’t help the attitude that slipped out. “You don’t have a broken fucking dick.”
“I don’t have a dick but I do have a libido.”
“It’s not that, baby,” Jack sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I do. Very badly, might I add. But it’s like this—” he pointed to his brain “—just doesn’t want to work and tell the other parts of my body to do their jobs.”
Your brows furrowed in concern. “Is it the nightmares again?”
“No.” He shook his head and realized that you didn’t fully grasp it because of two things: you weren’t in healthcare and you didn’t have PTSD like he did. “They’re fine. They’ve been fine.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Jack.”
You approached him, settling for resting your hand along his back and feeling his tense muscles underneath the fabric of his tee.
“A side effect of the meds,” he gestured weakly to the bottle in the sink. “I can’t get it up.”
“That’s one way to put it,” you mumbled and picked up the bottle.
“My doctor gave me—“ Jack didn’t want the words to form.
Your rubbed soothingly on his back. He loved you so much.
“What did he give you?”
Jack reopened the cabinet and shuffled items to the side before landing on a small white bottle with VIAGRA plastered in blue on the front. His stomach lurched at the thought of needing to take one. Jack held it tightly in his fist in a refusal to show you.
You saw the bottle immediately when he brought it home. Jack was never as sly as he thought he was. He tried hiding your engagement ring for six weeks before proposing but you found it the day after the purchase because he stuffed it the garage where he kept all the spare keys.
He just hadn’t thought that maybe you’d lock your keys inside of the house one day.
Still, he clutched onto the white bottle as though if he dropped it, his problem wasn’t real. He could keep trying. Maybe it would just take a little bit longer than normal but eventually, he’d get hard and you could sail smoothly into the night.
“Are you gonna show me?” You asked patiently.
“I don’t really want to.”
“I’m not embarrassed if you need to use one, you know?”
His eyes pinched closed. “I feel like a fucking failure.”
You exhaled deeply, placing your hand over his fist, and dipping your head to better look at him.
“Look at me, Jack.”
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Jack,” you pressed once more. “Look at me.”
“This has never been a problem,” he said lowly. Jack’s tone lingered on disappointment but aired a frustration that sounded sexier than he meant it. “I don’t know why I can’t be normal in this one fucking way but of course not! Of course not. No… the goddamn leg just wasn’t enough. The stupid fucking depression and the nightmares and my joint pain isn’t enough!”
Jack rarely yelled. He bottled everything inside until it was ready to explode and it was just leaking out of him like a dam bursting.
“None of that is your fault,” you assured.
“What does it matter if it was?” He loosened the grip on the bottle and it rolled into the sink beside the Zoloft.
“Jack. I don’t care if we have sex tonight, okay? It’s not the end of the world for me.”
“It sure fucking feels like it for me.”
“I know it does,” you empathized. “But if you’re not ready to try the pills, then we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Jack whispered. “This is so inconvenient.”
“What would life be without them?”
He breathed in as your hand continued to rub his back and calm him down. Jack glanced down at the bottle, cursing the elephant in the room. He mumbled underneath his breath and even though you were standing beside him, you didn’t catch it.
“What?”
“It takes…” his words were muffled again.
“Are you having a stroke?” You asked honestly.
“No,” he heaved. “If I take one… it would take around an hour to work.”
“Okay,” you replied cautiously. It was his choice, you made that clear.
“And it’s not like… magical. Plus we had a whole bottle of wine with dinner and that might make it worse.”
“Trying to get hard or the erection?”
“Both?” He said like it was a question. He’s the doctor. He should know.
“If you wanted to try it, and it doesn’t work out, then you never have to use one again.”
Jack hummed. “I might have to eat you out for awhile.”
“Jesus,” you laughed. “Don’t try to be sly about it.”
His lips quirked into a small smile, one you’d missed seeing in his despair. Jack picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“I swear to God that if anything goes wrong, I will jump off the fucking roof.”
“You can’t say that,” you lamented. “You’re literally the last person who should joke about that.”
“I’m kidding.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “I can’t let you fall in love with someone else.”
“How kind of you to think about me.”
Jack flipped on the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and swallowed the pill in one gulp. There was no turning back now.
“Well?” You asked him as he wiped his mouth dry.
“Well what?”
“You want to finish what you started?”
He locked eyes with you in the mirror and opened his mouth to object to the statement. You climbed into his lap. You kissed him first. But he saw a glimmer of hope that maybe the little blue pill would be a good thing for the both of you tonight and forgot about it. Jack nodded instead.
“Get on the bed.”
Whatever the little blue pill did, it gave Jack an ounce of courage back and fuck, could you feel it.
Jack had been on you from the moment you laid down on the bed. In silence, he stripped off your clothes one by one and settled between your thighs ready to give. And for the past thirty minutes, you’d been close twice before he drew back and smiled at you as his cheek rested against your leg.
Every time he did, you had to look away.
He was so sweet. Jack, the man who does anything for anyone, looked at you like you held the moon.
You fought a grin by biting down on your lip and had your arm flying over your eyes to shield his own impenetrable stare from reaching you. And then his mouth was on you again, tongue lightly flicking your clit as he slipped two fingers inside.
You writhed, body shaking lightly in pleasure as his hands grew more firm around your thighs and minimized any distance between you. Jack figured if he could lay atop the mattress and grind into it that it would replace the need for you to jerk him off for five minutes, and he was right.
The combination of periodically rutting against the mattress, listening to your sweet sounds, and feeling you squeeze his fingers was sheer poison.
He curled his fingers up inside of you, sliding them in and out in the same direction until your moans turned into a whine that spelled out his name.
“Jack,” you breathed in heavily.
Your hand fell from your eyes and trailed over one of your breasts, squeezing it, pinching the nipple just hard enough before fanning out on the comforter. Jack removed his fingers to let his tongue sink lower, pushing into you softer and wetter than before. His mouth devoured you; a sickening slurp of his saliva and your wetness had your mouth falling open, silent in disbelief that not an hour ago, you didn’t think this was going to happen.
“S-shit, Jack.”
He slowed down, sparing a glance at your face before deciding to back off. His pointer finger replaced where his nose was grazing your clit. Jack pressed down there, moving in small circles as your hips moved with him.
“That feel good?” He asked softly.
“I think that fucking pill gave you superpowers,” you spat out fast. “Holy shit.”
“Magical” his ass. It was certifiably otherworldly.
“Might just have been a long time since we’ve done this.”
You agreed, moaning a “yeah” in reply.
“Sweetheart,” Jack said like a question. “I hate to do this to you…”
“What?” You sat up so quickly that you got a little dizzy. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jack couldn’t hide his blush. There was no easy way to say “I’m hard now, let me fuck you” after having a meltdown.
His throat bobbed and you caught it.
“You ready?”
Jack nodded and you retuned it with a nod of your own. “Okay, yeah. Alright—”
“Why does this feel like I’m losing my virginity again?” He joked. His laugh barely sounded like one because the second he sat up on his knees, his erection was all he could look at.
Jack had never been embarrassed by his cock before.
“If this is how you lost your virginity, I’d be a little nervous,” you scoffed. “Sit back against the headboard.”
He didn’t argue with you which was a rarity it terms of control. Nothing was really in his control right now and it was making his anxiety shoot through the roof.
Jack shuffled back to the headboard and slipped off his shirt. He helped you pull down his sweats carefully and even though he didn’t feel like you had to be, he was grateful for your gentleness. At the sight of his prosthetic, you tipped your head knowingly at him.
“Why didn’t you take this off yet?”
“I forgot,” he feigned innocence.
“Mhm,” you judged and took it off for him. “Sure you did.”
With his prosthetic resting on the floor against the bedside table, you resumed your position in his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while your free hand wrapped around him. You’d never been with someone who needed to take a Viagra before. Jack felt different and you knew how he felt in your hands.
His dick felt firmer—less like his own and more like one that was being controlled.
Your hand went from tip to base and back and he jolted.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s like my nerves are on fire.”
“Does it feel bad?”
His nose brushed yours as he shook his head. Jack didn’t tell you to stop so you kept pumping him mildly.
“It feels really fucking good, actually.”
“Yeah?” You smiled.
“Yeah.”
Jack kissed you with everything he could muster. He gripped your bare hips tightly, sinking his fingers into your skin until he felt like you weren’t going to disappear. You put more tension in your fist and he groaned, precum escaping him and making your job easier.
“Do you feel like you’re ready?” You kissed him lazily, pulling on his bottom lip enough for it to bounce back.
He chased your lips. “What if—”
“Honey,” you soothed. “We’ll get there, okay?”
“Okay,” he accepted. He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you the reassurance he also needed.
Lifting up in his lap, you guided him to your entrance and sunk down slowly. The feeling was overwhelming and you both needed time to adjust. Jack’s head fell back against the bed frame as far as he could go, clenching his jaw enough where the muscles strained on his face.
“You’re fine, Jack,” you cooed in his ear. Soft pants met his cheek as his hardness was unlike anything you’d experienced. “Breathe, baby.”
Your nails raked the base of his skull.
“Keep going,” he bit out. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”
“I guess we’ve both been ‘rejuvenated,’ huh?”
Jack wasn’t overly appreciative of your humor but you moved anyway, testing the waters of your bounces and grinds before settling into a rhythm that suited you. His cock stretched you wide and every time you sank back down, it was as though he never filled you in the first place. A spark of exhilaration bloomed. This was so different, so minutely different, that it felt new.
Jack’s hands groped your ass to help ease the strain on your thighs the longer you went. His lips swapped duties between connecting with yours and finding the skin of your neck, collarbone, and chest peppered with affection. Jack listened to your soft mewls. He soaked in the whispers of sweet nothings and the shaky gasps you couldn’t help.
He wanted you close.
Jack needed you to mold into him like he was showered in rain. He pulled you close; arms wrapped up around you so tight there was no escaping his embrace.
He nipped at your chin. Low and rough, Jack spoke to you. “I love you so much.”
Jack’s nose trailed up your cheek, bumping into yours and seeking your lips again.
“You have no idea how much I love you.”
“Jack,” you whined with a grin. A shake in your legs had him running his hands over your back, soothing you now instead.
“I know you’re ready, baby.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m close.”
“What do you need from me?” He asked willingly.
You shook your head. “I-fuck, nothing. I just—”
Jack bent his knees the best he could and the angle his cock was hitting changed on a thrust. Deep and unforgiving, your fingernails dug into his skin hard. Jack murmured appreciation, egging you on to the finish line and neglecting himself.
You were too wrapped up in the feeling. The building of a week, the racing of your heart, to think for a second that he was nowhere near close to his orgasm.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
He felt the falter in your hips.
Your orgasm shook you from Heaven to Hell and back—even if believing it was hard to fathom. Jack’s hand flew to the back of your head, holding you into him as the aftershocks of muscle spasms lingered seconds after your breathing began to settle. You returned his kisses with your own against his neck and shoulder. The freckles on his body were reminders of all the places he had ever been kissed and you were adding to that—on top of ones that already existed, beside them, and in the spaces that laid empty of any.
He wouldn’t remember them in every lifetime but you liked to imagine that all of his freckles were kisses from you.
As your brain recovered from the fuzzy glow and you realized that Jack was still rock hard inside of you.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” Jack cut you off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… I think it takes time.”
“But now you haven’t even…” you trailed your response with a flick of your eyes downwards. “I can’t leave you like that.”
“Baby, it could take an hour.”
You glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. The time read 11:47.
“We’ve got time.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you give me a handy for an hour.”
“Hey,” you tugged on his earlobe lightly. “I’ve got a mouth too.”
“It’s fine,” he reassured but you weren’t buying it. His mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Would you hate me if I asked you to clean up alone?”
You ran your thumb along his jawline.
“I could never hate you, Jack. I’ve lived this long, I think I can handle one less aftercare shower.”
“It makes me feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not. I promise you.”
Carefully, you lifted up from his lap and let him slip out. You avoided looking at him so he didn’t find another reason to be embarrassed about something that impacted millions of men—especially those who were on medication for concerns far more important than simply erectile dysfunction.
He watched you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door with a click before he put his pillow to his face and yelled into it.
The prescription tag read as follows:
Prolonged erection greater than 4 hours and priapism (painful erections greater than 6 hours in duration) have been reported infrequently since market approval of VIAGRA. In the event of an erection that persists longer than 4 hours, the patient should seek immediate medical assistance. If priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss of potency could result.
Jack had to put his readers on to even see the label.
“… if priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss…” he repeated the label back to himself to make sure he read it correctly.
His eyes flitted to his phone, touching the screen to light up a big 7:30 AM and a picture of both of your smiling faces beaming back at him.
This might not have been the actual worst day of his life but it was second.
His crutches clicked against the floor as he approached your side of the bed. He hated waking you up when you were clearly dead to the world. Laid face first into your pillow, he rested a hand on your back and shook you gently.
“Baby?”
You barely bristled. He repeated the action, calling out your name louder.
“Hm?” You grumbled in slight annoyance.
Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing as he turned wrong and made his sweatpants tighter than they already were.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he started and realized how quickly those were the wrong words. You sat up abruptly, face twisted in concern as he tried not to cry from the pain his fucking dick won’t stop causing.
“What!?” You searched his face for an answer. “What happened!?”
“You gotta calm down.” Jack moved his arm to block your view.
“About what? What’s wrong?”
“I seem to be having a little… complication.”
Your brows furrowed. “A complication?”
Jack clicked his tongue with a nod. Your eyes darted down too obviously to his pants and back to his face. His erection was blatant. It practically waved at you from behind his arm.
“Does it have anything to do with that?” You said above a whisper. “Why do you have such bad morning wood?”
Jack groaned, again, completely at odds with himself.
“Remember when we had that bottle of red with dinner?” You nodded. “Well it turns out that sometimes while meds can cause the problem, mixing alcohol with the little blue pill causes… other problems.”
“And this can’t be solved with an orgasm?”
“Not after more than six hours.”
Your eyes bugged out of your head. “Six hours!? Jack, what the fuck!”
“I thought it was going to go away!”
You swiftly moved out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. Jack watched you pilfer the room for socks and shoes and leggings and just sat there helplessly on the edge of the bed with his crutches one inch from sliding off of it. You didn’t say anything and that made it worse for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jack spoke up.
“What are you sorry for?” You opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh tee. “It’s not your fault.”
“It feels like it is.”
“Well it’s not, Jack. So stop apologizing and get your leg on.”
“I can’t bend over.”
You tossed the shirt to him. “We’re going in.”
“Where?”
“The ED.”
“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “No the fuck we are not.”
“You say that like you have a choice, Mr. Abbot.” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Turns out that doctors are truly the worst patients. Your night shift is gone, Robby’s gotta be—”
“I am not letting Robby see me like this.” The thought repulsed him so badly that it made his skin crawl.
“Then someone else will help us,” you clarified. “The longer we wait the worse I’ll assume it will be for you. I’m not driving you to Presby or Mercy when I know the ones that can help you the best.”
“I’ll never live this down.” His eyes filled with ashamed tears and every now and then, you’d seen Jack down on his luck.
A terrible shift, a long week, anniversaries he’d rather not have… but he stared at you from the bed and he looked so small. His salt and pepper hair was flat from restless sleep and the scruff on his face couldn’t hide the jumble of thoughts pouring out of him. You moved to stand in front of him, grasping his face between two hands, and forcing him to look you in the eye.
“You are the strongest, most resilient man I have ever met. You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count and now, it’s my turn to help you the best way I know how. This is bad now, yeah… it is,” you nodded in agreement, “but it’s not forever. After this, you’ll call your therapist and tell him what happened and we will try again when things are better.”
A tear steamed down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger.
“It’s okay to be embarrassed, honey.”
“I’m gonna make this up to you,” Jack settled. “I promise.”
“Okay.” You didn’t need him to. However, if it made him feel better, sure. Your hands tapped his face twice before letting go. “Let’s go, Soldier.”
The PTMC Emergency Room wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it wasn’t one you frequented.
It bustled with far too much chaos and while your own career had its fair share, there was something about Jack’s place of work that made you feel ill just looking at it. Death, hurt, pain, and suffering wrapped up in four walls, some windows, and doors.
And now Jack sat outside of it in a wheelchair because he refused to go in on his crutches.
“Just go in and tell Dana I’m out here.”
“Someone is going to have to come and get you anyway, so just come with me.”
Jack begged, “please.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Luckily, Dana was talking with a young nurse at the hub when the ambulance bay doors opened wide. You kept in a straight line to her, not distracted by the sounds and the yelling coming from one of the many rooms. Dana was halfway through a sentence when she glanced over her shoulder and did a double take.
“Hey stranger,” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
The young nurse beside her, Emma, smiled at you in the awkward way you did when you didn’t know someone’s friend.
“Hi Dana,” you greeted.
“Jack’s not here,” her eyes questioned you. Jack had been scheduled off for the next couple days so there was no telling where he’d be other than at his house.
“Well,” you let out a loose, barely amused chuckle, “funny you should say that.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not really… I just—we just—need this on the down low, alright? He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.”
She nodded understandingly and grabbed an iPad from the counter. “Where is he?”
“Out in the ambulance bay. I put him in a wheelchair.”
“Should I get Robb—”
“No!” You said loudly and shook your head. “God, no. Sorry.”
Emma jumped at the sound and her eyes darted to the bay. “Can I help?”
Your face scrunched. Jack would rather not traumatize a new nurse so early in the shift.
“Is Donnie around? Or Dr. Al-Hashimi?”
“Yeah.” Dana patted Emma on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em and we’ll put Dr. Abbot in Room 7.”
Dana rounded the hub and put a hand on your shoulder. As she stepped further away, she pressed about the situation.
“You know, you two aren’t getting any younger. You can’t go at it like rabbits.”
“Dana,” you scolded with a smile. “That’s—that’s not it.”
“What happened?”
All that was needed to be said were three little words:
“Little blue pill.”
Jack heard the hiss of the ambulance bay open and Dana walked up to him with a laugh buried in her throat. Jack was wearing a hat and glasses like a superhero in disguise and his backpack flipped over so no one could see the name angled in his lap.
“Don’t fucking say it, Evans. Don’t.”
“I’m not!” She held up her hands in defense.
“Dana said she’s gonna help. No one needs to know.”
You grabbed his crutches off the wall and followed closely as Dana wheeled him into Room 7 and pulled the curtains. She left still fighting amusement as Donnie entered with Baran.
“Dr. Abbot,” she said fondly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I think we both had different ideas about how today would go.”
Jack took off his glasses and hat, passing them off to you. The bag stayed lumped in his lap.
“So, what brings you in today?”
There was a second of silence and then:
“I seem to have a bit of a… priapism problem.”
Baran’s eyes widened and Donnie hesitated putting on his second glove.
“And how long has the erection lasted?” Jack hated how she pronounced the word loud and clear. He looked at you, shrugging for a loose approximation of time.
“Maybe around… since 11 or so?” You informed.
“So somewhere around 8 hours?” She asked and motioned for Donnie to put the bed rails down. “Does that seem accurate?”
You both nodded. Donnie wheeled Jack over to the bed and he hesitated, looking at you to help him instead. You handed Jack his crutches and as he stood, both Donnie and Baran tried to be respectful and looked away from Jack’s body.
“Dr. Abbot, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your medical history, medications, and so forth. Is that okay with you?”
“I think you can just call me Jack now,” he grunted as he shuffled onto the bed.
“Can you tell me what medications you take?”
“I-uh, take um, 100 mg of Zofolt, 3 mg of Prazosin for sleeping, and Cyclobenzaprine as needed, 5 mg three times a day, but I haven’t needed it lately.”
“And for the priapism problem?” She slipped on her own gloves.
“I took one Viagra.”
“Have you taken one before?”
“No,” Jack admitted. “My therapist changed one of my medications to Zoloft two months ago and ordered it as a precaution.”
Baran nodded in understanding and as she sat down on a stool and rolled closer, Jack’s hand shot out to yours and squeezed tightly.
“Did he explain the side effects of taking those medications together?”
“Yes,” Jack recalled. “But we must have had… three glasses of wine last night and I’m pretty certain that’s the reason it won’t go away. A reaction, if you will.”
“You’re not wrong.” She smiled at him kindly, then to you.
“How long have you been married? I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Six years,” you told her. “And it seems we’re always finding something new to experience together.”
“It’s a good thing,” Baran assured. “Imagine living a life where it’s normal and boring all the time. At least you’ll be able to laugh about it later.”
Her eyes found Jack’s and he knew she needed to look at him more closely.
“What happens in this room, Dr. Abbot, stays in this room. Got it?”
He nodded and focused on a spot across the wall as Donnie hovered behind Baran. Your hand covered his, rubbing gentle circles to ease the discomfort.
“Was this a special occasion or something?” Donnie asked Jack. “Or just a regular Saturday night for you two?”
“Just a Saturday night,” he said shyly. Jack, being bashful? You relished it.
“I gotta say Doc, your wife’s a lucky woman. Who knew Dr. Abbot hit the genetic lottery.”
The blush that overtook his body was a deeper red than his penis. Your hand flew to your mouth, covering the choked laugh before it could escape but Donnie was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and keeping it in was practically impossible. Baran bit down on her tongue.
But Jack knew how to bite back too. “If your idea of the genetic lottery is a guy with 1.75 legs, then sure. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Okay.” Baran finished her inspection.
“I have a feeling this isn’t a cold compress kind of procedure,” Jack wished.
Baran shook her head.
“We’re going to need to aspirate.”
Jack was back on his crutches after an hour with a soreness that would last hours.
“I don’t think I need to tell you what you can and cannot do in the next 24 hours,” Baran opened up the curtain and immediately Jack locked eyes with Dana.
“No, you don’t.”
“Maybe also speak to your therapist about the prescription the next time you go?”
Jack gave you a closed mouth smile. “I already heard that from this one.”
“She knows what she’s talking about it seems,” Baran nodded in approval.
The door opened up and Donnie held it for Jack to escape from. The RN held out his fist, asking Jack wordlessly to bump it.
Jack obliged.
“My man,” Donnie grinned. He slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before walking to a computer.
“I’m never filling in for day shift again, ever,” Jack told you over his shoulder.
“All good, Jack?” Dana asked from the hub as you both passed by.
“Never better.” Jack kept going towards the door.
“Thanks Dana for your help,” you said appreciatively. “If he never tells you, he’s thankful too. And I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
The doors to Trauma Bay 2 opened with a whoosh. Jack, still on the slow run on his crutches out of the ED never looked back, but Robby caught sight of him as he sanitized his hands.
“Woah!” He exaggerated. “What’s Jack doing here?”
“He’s going home,” Dana informed and you gave a small wave to Jack’s work wife. He hated when you called Robby that but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Just a little accident.”
“Jack!” Robby called after him but Jack didn’t care.
“Adios! Goodbye!” He said your name loudly followed by a “hurry up!”
You tapped the counter. “Sorry. The princess needs a ride home.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to call him that,” Robby laughed.
“It’s the least of his problems right now.”
They watched you trail behind your husband who, once through the second door, turned and waited for you patiently. You kissed him gently before walking out of view and inside of the PTMC, the world continued to turn.
Robby looked at Dana with a question and Baran walked away before he could ask her anything remotely related to Jack. But Donnie… Donnie just can’t keep anything to himself.
He turned to Robby in his swivel chair.
“Did you know Abbot’s packin’ heat down there?”
A/N: i wrote this straight over three days after not writing for about a year. crazy how that works, huh?
i hope the twitter divas find this.
comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! it keeps us writing!
summary: after the events of the pittfest shooting, jack knows exactly what you need in order to relax.
word count: 1.1k
cw: showering together, nudity, no smut, fluff
notes: I just need a older man to take care of me
— Out of all the shifts you have worked throughout your time as a resident, this was by far the worst one yet. All previous grueling hours, the stretched out days that felt everlasting, the endless energy spent before today was nothing compared to this - the night of the PittFest shooting would definitely go down in the books.
The chaos of it all required all hands on deck, meaning the night shift team was called in earlier than usual. Jack and you weren't even scheduled for work that evening, having both taken the rare shift off to escape for once. Nevertheless, when duty calls, you answer. Especially when the one calling is Robby from the PTMC, explaining that there's been a mass casualty and they needed all the help they could get.
If you were going to remain remotely sane during times like this, it meant you had to be able to find the silver linging, the small positives within the overwhelming negatives. Luckily for you, having the day off meant you could go home once things settled and returned back to their normal level of disarray.
You sat beside Jack on the bench, resting your heavy head against his shoulder, not having the power to hold it up yourself. There was a small group of you gathered outside the emergency department, debriefing about the events that played out. Usually, you'd contribute more to the conversation, but all you could do was listen silently to the words that flew around you.
You tugged on the sleeve of Jack's scrubs, attempting to shift his focus to you. The man's head turned in your direction, gazes meeting each other to exchange silent words. He looked at the droopy state of your eyes, knowing what you were trying to convey without having to speak the words.
“Ready to head out?” Jack mumbled quietly, his full attention on you now. You inhaled deeply, letting your eyes flutter shut as you did, then opening them to look at him and nod your head in agreement. He stood up first, then took your hand and hoisted you up along with him. “Let's get going.”
The drive back to the house was understandably quiet, only a few words uttered here and there. You leaned against the glass of the window, eyelids flapping tiredly as they caught glimpses of the city lights. Before long, the truck had come to a halt and the engine shut with the turn of the key. Jack rounded the front of the vehicle, making his way towards the side you occupied. He opened the door, scooping your exhausted frame up in his strong arms as he carried you inside.
“We gotta get you cleaned up.” He brought you to the bathroom you shared, placing your body carefully on the sink counter. His hands found the strings that held the pair of scrubs you were wearing on your body and pulled at the end to release the knot. He let the loose material drop onto the bathroom floor, working on peeling your socks off. His hands left a firm squeeze on each foot and his palms flattened, gliding from the skin of your ankles all the way up to the tops of your thighs. Next was your shirt, to which you lifted your arms in the air without needing to be asked. This made a smile spread across Jack's face as he rolled the piece of clothing over your head and threw it behind him without a care.
You took charge now, reaching to your back and unclasped the bra that still remained on your body. Jack took this as his queue to strip himself, grabbing the waterproof prosthetic he used when showering.
The first step into the shower felt like pure bliss, the warm water helping to calm the aching muscles that laid beneath your skin. A heavy sigh left your lips as the water rained down on the frontside of your body. Your eyes opened to the sound of the curtains crinkling, the hooks sliding against the metal rod as Jack filled in the space that was left behind you.
“Hi.” Is all you said, now angling your body to face his, the two of you being able to look at each other fully.
“Hi.” Jack smiled back, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he pushed down on the pump to your shampoo, lathering it in his palms before threading his fingers through your hair. He massaged the product onto your scalp, making sure to avoid getting any near your face. You hummed at the gesture, letting your lids flutter shut at the sensation. You stayed like this for a moment, basking in his presence and the magic that his hands were working.
Returning the favor, you squirted some liquid soap onto your hands, rubbing your palms together until bubbles began to form. Your hands flattened on the taut surface of his chest, gently spreading the product over the expansion on his skin. The suds trickled down as you washed his arms, admiring his thick biceps that stretched the skin on the surrounding area. Eventually, you reached his neck, hands sliding to wrap around to the back of his head and bring it closer to yours.
“Feeling better?” Jack murmured deeply, head tilting slightly at his own question. You nodded, eyes trailing down his face to locate his lips as the sudden urge to feel them against your own washed over you. You felt him smile into the kiss, one of his hands dropping from its prior placement in your hair to now wrap around your back, pulling you impossibly closer.
“Lets finish up here quick so we can get you to bed. How does that sound?” It sounded perfect, you thought to yourself.
Now - in a clean pair of pajamas that felt like heaven against your freshly washed and moisturized skin, you waited for Jack to return. He entered the room with a cup of cold water, ice cubes clanking as they bounced off the glass that surrounded them. Jack placed the water on the nightstand of your side of the bed, quickly finding his designated side and swinging his legs over the mattress.
You felt arms wrap around your midsection, pulling you in so that no room remained between the two of you.
“Thank you.” You whispered out into the dark room, truly grateful for all that Jack has done for you, not just today, but throughout the course of your relationship. He has known you long enough to know exactly what you needed in order to destress after a long day at work, and tonight was no different.
ABOUT: Jack's therapist isn't much happy about his new hobby.
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x therapist!reader
NOTES: Our favorite veteran is here and hotter than ever!
"When I told you to get a hobby, I didn't mean risking your life on your days off." That's your first reaction when Jack Abbot—fifty-four years old, decorated veteran, and unfortunately your patient—casually informs you that he volunteers with SWAT whenever he gets the chance.
"What?" He shrugs like it's nothing. Like he just told you he'd taken up tennis. "It's fun. Keeps me sharp. Makes me remember the old days.”
You scoff softly and lean back in your armchair, pouring him a cup of coffee from the pot on the side table. You’ve been working together for six months now—long enough to know his words, long enough to know he enjoys provoking you, and long enough to almost be done.
He’s a flirt. Incorrigible.
You hand him the cup without touching his fingers.
“What about this screams healthy coping mechanism to you?” you ask evenly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re still choosing self-destruction, just dressed up as public service.”
His jaw tightens slightly—there it is. You hit something.
Jack leans back, spreading his legs comfortably, studying you over the rim of his cup. “You always go for the jugular like that?”
“Occupational hazard.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. "You think I have a death wish."
"I think," you reply calmly, crossing one leg over the other, "that men who've spent their entire adult lives in combat don't always know what to do with peace.”
Silence stretches between you. You keep going. "I'm going to introduce you to a colleague of mine. He specializes in PTSD, and I think he can help you more than I can at this point."
Jack doesn't move at first. Then his eyes narrow slightly—not angry. Guarded. "That's your polite way of firing me, doc?" he asks.
“It’s my professional way of doing what’s best for you.”
He sets the coffee down slowly, the ceramic clicking against the saucer. “Six months,” he says. “And you’re already handing me off?”
“I’m not handing you off,” you correct gently. “I’m recognizing that what you’re dealing with runs deeper than what we initially outlined: the hypervigilance, the adrenaline-seeking, volunteering for SWAT.” You pause. “You deserve targeted treatment.”
Jack nods. “So… you wouldn't be my therapist anymore.”
“No. I have the perfect one to take over.”
“And it wouldn't be wrong if I asked you out.”
You don’t react immediately. You’ve learned that silence unsettles him more than disapproval ever could.
When you finally speak, your tone is even. “You know that’s not how this works.”
A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. “Technically, if you’re not my therapist anymore—”
“Ethically,” you cut in, “the power dynamic doesn’t evaporate the second I refer you out.”
Jack exhales through his nose, leaning back in the chair again. “Are you always this clinical when someone’s interested in you?”
“In this room? Yes.” You soften, just slightly. “If, after your treatment is working — after time has passed, after you’re stable and not chasing adrenaline to feel alive — if you still want to ask me out…”
You let the sentence hang.
His eyes darken, intent.
“…then we can revisit the question.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. Not triumphant. Not smug. Hopeful. "Guess I'd better do the work then," he murmurs.
Robby never had a problem taking off his pants before a quick hookup, the only issue comes when it’s time to get rid of his shirt. Luckily, you’re there to show him just how much you love his body.
tags/warnings: smut, minors DNI, belly riding, porn wirhout plot, male masturbation, nipple play, belly worshipping, blowjob, cum eating, casual sex, self image issues and insecurities (from Robby), age gap, f!resident!reader
You were lying there in the dim glow of Robby’s bedroom, your chest still rising and falling in waves with the aftershocks of the orgasm he’d dragged out of you with his mouth. It hadn’t taken long to get here, a few twelve-hour shifts together, a couple of shared looks across the ER, and now here you were: naked, spent, and staring up at the man who’d just eaten you out like it was his sole mission in life.
Robby stayed there, kneeling between your legs, still fully dressed in gray cargo pants and a white t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders. His salt-and-pepper hair was mussed after your fingers had been in it not ten minutes ago, and those big brown eyes of his were fixed on you now with a heat that made your thighs press together instinctively. His mouth was still shiny with the remnants of your arousal, his lips slightly swollen from the work he’d put in between your legs.
You swallowed, your voice was a little husky from the moans he’d pulled out of you earlier. “It’s a little unfair, don’t you think?” The words came out teasing as you gestured lazily at yourself, then at him. “I’m laid out here all naked, and you’re still fully dressed.”
A low chuckle rumbled out of him, and Robby dragged his eyes over your body slowly. He took in the sweat still decorating your chest, the way your nipples tightened under his gaze, and the slick shine between your thighs that he’d left behind. “I figured you’d want a minute to catch your breath before we even the score.”
You didn’t want a minute, you wanted him, right fucking now. The power imbalance had always been there, with him being the chief attending and you his newest resident, that was part of the reason you’d find yourself so attracted to him from the beginning. But now, the power had flipped in the best way the second you left the hospital, and you felt like you had all the control right now.
You pushed up onto your elbows, dropping your gaze pointedly to the obvious bulge straining the front of his pants. “I’ll catch my breath later. Right now I want to see what I’ve been feeling pressed against my thigh for the last fifty minutes.”
He didn’t argue, just moved his hands to the waistband of his pants, hooking his thumb under the fabric as he popped the button with a flick. The zipper rasped down, and you sat up fully then, reaching for him without thinking. You brushed his fingers as you tugged at the belt he hadn’t even bothered to undo properly in his haste earlier. You worked it free, sliding the buckle open with a clink.
“Someone’s eager,” he commented, but he let you take over, dropping on his back next to you, lifting his hips off the mattress to help you shove the pants down his legs. They caught briefly on the thick thighs you’d felt flexing earlier when he’d held your legs open, then pooled at his ankles before he kicked them aside, leaving him in just the black boxer briefs that did nothing to hide how hard he was. The outline was obscene, thick and straining against the fabric.
You didn’t hesitate, sliding up your hands over his thighs, feeling the coarse hair there, and hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers to drag them down slowly, letting the fabric catch on the head of his cock before it sprang free. And fuck… It was huge. You’d felt it through layers, grinding against you, pressing between your thighs when he’d pinned you to the mattress. But seeing it like this, bare and erect and curving slightly upward toward his stomach, was something else entirely. The thick veins ran along the shaft, and the head was flushed dark and already glistening at the tip, easily the biggest you’d taken or even seen up close.
Robby lay there unapologetic, but the way his breath hitched when your eyes widened told you he knew exactly what he was packing. “Jesus, Robby,” you breathed, half-laughing as you wrapped your hand around the base before you could stop yourself. Your fingers didn’t quite meet, the girth was filling your palm perfectly. You gave it one slow stroke from root to tip, feeling the way it jumped in your grip, the bead of pre-cum that slicked your thumb as you swirled it over the head.
He let out an exhale, lifting one hand to cup the back of your neck. “Careful,” he warned you. “You keep going like that, and we’ll be over before we even start.”
You stroked him again, firmer this time, twisting your wrist just a little at the head the way you hoped he’d like. The weight of him, the heat, the soft grunts that escaped his mouth… it all made your mouth water and your pussy ache all over again. Robby twitched his hips forward once, fully involuntarily, before he caught himself.
The small distance between your bodies closed as you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was slow at first, allowing you to taste the faint remnants of yourself on his mouth from earlier. Robby responded immediately, keeping his hand at the back of your neck, threading his fingers through your hair as he angled your head just right, deepening the kiss and brushing his tongue against yours.
You never stopped moving your hand, sliding it over the rigid member, feeling the vein along the underside throbbing with each pass of your thumb over the head. Robby was leaking steadily now, making each stroke smoother and wetter. You tightened your fingers just enough at the base, then loosened on the way up, learning what made him moan the loudest. The kiss grew messier as Robby nipped at your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue, sliding his free hand down your bare back to pull you closer until your breasts pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt, molding your naked body over his still clothed one.
You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp for air. “God, you feel so fucking good,” you murmured, giving his cock another firm stroke that made his breath hitch. Then you let go for a second, gripping the hem of his shirt instead. You tugged at the fabric, trying to pull it upward. “Let me get this off you.”
Robby’s hand caught your wrist gently but firmly before you could yank the shirt higher. He pulled your palm back down toward his erection, guiding it back around his shaft with intent. His voice came out guarded. “It can stay on.”
You paused, keeping your fingers still, loosely wrapped around him, but not moving them. You searched his face, those sweet eyes, usually so commanding at work, now held a flicker of hesitation you’d never seen before. You tried again anyway, your other hand joining the first at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it playfully. “Come on, Robby. What are you doing? Let me take it off.”
He exhaled through his nose. “What are you doing?”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “Trying to get your shirt off. Seems only fair after you had your head between my thighs for like an hour.”
He shook his head once, trying to offer you one of his smirks, but it fell a little flat. “Why?”
The question threw you off, and you blinked as you sat back slightly on your heels on the bed, your naked body fully on display while he lay there in just the shirt and nothing below the waist, with his huge cock still jutting out proudly, glistening from your strokes, bobbing slightly with his heartbeat.
“What do you mean, why?” you asked, genuinely confused. “You can’t blame a girl for wanting a little skin-to-skin contact. I’m completely naked here, and you’re still half-dressed.”
Robby glanced down at your hand hovering near his cock, then back up to your face. For a second, the confidence that had defined every second since you’d walked through his door, the way he’d pinned you down, the filthy praise he’d growled while licking you through your orgasm, just seemed to drain right out of him. He looked… human.
“It’s just…” He rubbed a hand over his face, the same gesture you’d seen him do at work more times than you could count. “I don’t have much time to hit the gym anymore. Between the shifts and everything…”
You’d never guessed Robby could be self-conscious about what was under his shirt. This was the same man who never doubted himself when there were lives on the line in his ED, who’d answered your shameless flirting with such confidence, like crossing the line with a coworker was nothing new to him. The same man who had just let you see everything he kept hidden between his thighs without a flicker of hesitation.
Yet now, as your fingers hovered at the hem of his shirt, he looked almost… shy. Self-aware, and mbarrassed of showing you his fully naked body. And you wondered, quietly, if he always kept his shirt on when he fucked
You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “Do you think I care? Robby, I’m not here because I think you look like some bodybuilder under your shirt.”
He let out a breath that was half-laugh and half-sigh, running his hand through his hair. “It’s just… the years don’t come alone. I’ve forgotten to look after myself and… Fuck, look at you.” He dragged his eyes over your body again, the curve of your breasts, the way your thighs still glistened faintly from his mouth, and your release. “You’re… to die for. Fcking perfect. And I’m laying here like this.”
You weren’t blind, you’d noticed the slight softness around his middle that the oversized scrubs usually hid, the way his shoulders were still broad and strong but no longer sharply cut like they probably once were. None of it bothered you, quite the opposite, it turned you on. Ripped, gym-perfect guys had never done much for you. What drove you absolutely insane was the natural, masculine reality of Robby’s body, the solid weight of him.
You shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him affectionately. “Just shut up and let me see. I promise I’m gonna love it.”
For a long moment, he just looked at you, those intense eyes searching your face and looking for any sign you were bullshitting him. You held his gaze, resting your hand lightly on his thigh, stroking the coarse hair there in slow circles. Finally, Robby exhaled slowly, and he moved his hands to the hem of the shirt. He gripped the fabric, hesitating only a heartbeat longer, then pulled it upward in one motion, dragging it over his head and off his arms.
His chest was broad and strong, but it had a soft layer of fat to it now, the kind that came from too many fast and crappy meals and not enough time for anything resembling a consistent workout. His belly was round and soft, curving gently outward. There was a light dusting of dark hair across his chest that trailed down in a thicker line toward his navel and beyond, disappearing into the thatch at the base of his still-hard cock.
Robby’s face tightened the moment the shirt hit the floor. He opened his mouth, already starting to apologize again. “Look, I know it’s not—”
You didn’t let him finish, just surged forward on your knees, cupping his face in both hands and crashing your mouth against his in a hard kiss. It wasn’t gentle this time, it was hungry, almost fierce. Robby made a surprised sound in his throat, but he kissed you back just as fiercely. You began to move your hands everywhere at once, exploring his body greedily. One slid down from his jaw to his neck, then lower to his shoulders, squeezing the solid breadth of them. The other roamed across his chest, pressing into the soft give of his pectorals, spreading your fingers to feel the warmth, the slight weight, the way his skin heated under your touch.
You squeezed, kneading the softness there, brushing your thumbs over his nipples, which tightened instantly. Then your hands drifted lower, over the round curve of his belly, grabbing handfuls of the soft flesh, digging your fingers in with appreciation. It felt good, warm, and real, but you could feel the faint tremor of self-consciousness still lingering.
You broke the kiss just enough to speak against his mouth. “Your body is so fucking sexy, Robby,” you punctuated the words with another hard kiss, then another. “I’m so turned on right now. You have no idea. This—” You squeezed his belly again, then slid up to cup his chest, circling his nipples. “—all of this. God, you’re driving me crazy.”
He tried to pull back slightly, still caught in that loop of doubt, muttering something about “not exactly a prize,” but you silenced him with your mouth again, kissing him even harder, leaving no room for arguments.
Moving down slowly, you pressed your lips to the center of his chest first, right between his soft pecs. Then you let your tongue out, dragging a stripe across one of his nipples, making the nub tighten under the flat of your tongue. You circled it lazily before closing your lips around it and giving a gentle suck.
“Fuck…” he muttered and you smiled against his skin as you moved to the other nipple, licking strokes over it before flicking the tip with your tongue. You alternated between them, licking, sucking and grazing with your teeth just enough to make his chest twitch beneath your mouth. His nipples were sensitive, pebbled and flushed by the time you pulled back, leaving them shiny with your saliva.
Then you started moving even lower, you kissed your way down the warm, rounded swell of his belly, taking your time. Open-mouthed kisses, and licking from below his sternum all the way down to his navel. Robby’s stomach tensed as if he was trying to suck in his stomach, but he eventually relaxed as you nuzzled into it, rubbing your cheek against the curve like you couldn’t get enough.
“You have no idea how much I love this,” you said against him, kissing the softest part of his lower belly, nuzzling and pressing your face into him, inhaling his scent while you squeezed the sides of it with your hands possessively.
Robby let out a shaky exhale above you, his cock throbbed visibly against his stomach, inches from where you were resting your cheek, but you stayed focused on worshipping the belly he’d been so self-conscious about only minutes earlier.
Finally, you pulled back, moving up his body one again, resting your forehead against his. You kept your hands on his body, one still kneading his belly possessively, the other tracing patterns through the hair on his chest.
“Wanna see how turned on you got me?” you whispered.
Before he could respond with more than an exhale, you shifted on the bed, swinging one leg over his hips to straddle him. The position put you directly above his lap, but you didn’t lower yourself onto his cock, instead, you settled your weight so that your slick, still-sensitive pussy hovered just above the round curve of his belly.
The heat of your core radiated against his skin, close enough that he could undoubtedly feel the wetness. Your thighs bracketed his sides until your knees were pressing into the mattress on either side of him. You rocked your hips once, very lightly, parting and brushing the slick folds of your pussy teasingly against the soft warmth of his tummy, just enough contact to let him feel how drenched you still were, how your body had responded to him, to all of him.
Robby’s hands came up to your thighs instinctively, gripping them. You looked down at him, resting your hands on his shoulders for balance. “See? This is what you do to me. Just looking at you… touching you… It’s got me soaked all over again. Fuck, Robby, I want all of you.”
The sensation was nothing like anything you’d felt before, his stomach was so soft, so warm, so wonderfully plush that it cradled every inch of your cunt like it had been made for this. Your juices, still plentiful from the earlier orgasm and the fresh wave of arousal that seeing him shirtless had triggered, immediately began to coat him. With each forward rock of your hips, you smeared more of your wetness across the swell, painting glistening trails over the trail of hair that led down from his navel.
The friction was perfect, it got your clit dragging deliciously against the flesh, the slight give allowing you to press down harder without discomfort, every movement sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
You kept moving your hips in rolling waves, forward and back, then in small circles that made your shiny pearl catch just right against the warm curve. You could feel your arousal building rapidly, how your inner walls clenched around nothing as you used his soft belly like the most perfect toy.
“Fuck… Robby,” you gasped, tipping your head back as another wave of pleasure rolled through you. “Your body feels so good… so soft and warm.”
Robby looked completely gone beneath you. His eyes were wide with disbelief and lust. He couldn’t seem to decide where to look, flicking hiz gaze frantically from your face, flushed and lost in pleasure, to your bouncing breasts, to the mesmerizing sight of your beautiful, glistening pussy rubbing all over his soft stomach. His mouth hung slightly open, like a man utterly wrecked by the sight of a beautiful woman using his imperfect, lived-in body to chase her own pleasure so shamelessly.
He watched every roll of your hips like it was the most hypnotic thing he’d ever seen. Your slick folds spreading and dragging over him, the way your clit peeked out with each backward slide, swollen from ll the friction. Robby’s hands twitched at his sides at first, then he finally moved one, wrapping it around the thick base of his cock. He started stroking himself slowly, almost absentmindedly at first, but he tightened his grip as he watched you grind faster.
You noticed the rhythmic movement of his right arm, and you let out a breathless laugh that turned into a moan when your clit caught particularly well against a spot on his belly.
“You’re touching yourself?” you managed to say as you pressed down harder, smearing more of your juices across his skin in a wide arc. “Robby… you really can’t wait, huh? Do I make you that desperate?”
He nodded jerkily, moving his hand faster along his massive shaft now, getting his fingers wet with pre-cum as he pumped them up and down the veined length. “Fuck yes. Look at you… riding my stomach like that… so fucking hot. You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”
His words only spurred you on, so you leaned forward slightly, changing the angle so your clit got even more direct pressure with every grind. Your pussy was absolutely drenched now, with yourr juices flowing freely and coating his entire lower belly in a slippery mess.
Robby’s stroking grew erratic as he watched you chase your orgasm on his body, the contrast was dizzying, your youthful form moving so fluidly against his older and softer one. His free hand eventually came up to grip your thigh, fingers digging into the muscle as if to ground himself while you used him.
You kept going, riding him harder. “Oh god… I’m so close,” you whimpered. “It feels so fucking good… I’m gonna cum just like this…”
The orgasm hit you all of a sudden, and its intensity was overwhelming. You arched your back sharply at the same time a loud moan tore from your throat. Your pussy clenched and pulsed against his skin, fresh waves of your release flooded out, soaking his tummy even more thoroughly. Your hips stuttered through the climax, grinding erratically as you rode it out fully, prolonging the sensation by pressing down hard and rolling until the last tremors finally subsided. Only then did you lift yourself off him, shifting to kneel beside his hip on the bed.
You looked down between his legs, expecting to see his cock still hard and ready. Instead, it was soft now, resting against his thigh, still impressive in size even when flaccid. Robby’s hand and shaft were covered in thick ropes of his own creamy cum.
His chest rose and fell rapidly with a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction.“Sorry,” he muttered, “I couldn’t stop… watching you like that… fuck, you were too much.”
You let out a soft chuckle, one that was was warm and loving, without a trace of mockery. “You really came, didn’t you?” you reached out to brush a stray lock of his salt-and-pepper hair back from his forehead. “Just from watching me grind on your belly like that. God, Robby… that’s kind of hot.”
He let out a self-deprecating groan, rubbing his free hand over his face as if he could wipe away the flush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah… fuck. Couldn’t help it. You looked… Jesus, the way you were riding me.. You were all wet, getting off on me like that.”
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I wanted to be the one who got you off like that,” you said quietly, the words carrying a playful edge of disappointment that wasn’t really disappointment at all. “Wanted to feel you cumming inside me, or at least have my hands or mouth on you when it happened. Not that you stroking yourself while I came all over your stomach wasn’t insanely sexy… but still.”
Robby’s brown eyes darkened again at your words, and you tilted your head, letting your gaze drop deliberately to his spent cock. You licked your lips slowly, feeling a throb of arousal in your belly at the sight. “Think you can get it up again?”
He let out a short, breathless laugh that turned into a groan. “Fuck… I can try.” Without hesitation, he moved his hand back to his cock, fisting it slowly, squeezing it from root to tip in long strokes. The flesh began to twitch under his touch, thickening slightly as the blood flowed back in.
He watched you the whole time, but you didn’t let him do it alone for long. “Let me help you,” you whispered, moving down his body, settling between his spread thighs on the bed. You leaned in, tracing a broad stripe from the base of his cock upward with your tongue, collecting the salty and bitter taste of his cum in one pass.
You moaned softly at the flavor, and licked again, this time focusing on the underside of the shaft, dragging the flat of your tongue along the prominent vein there, cleaning every streak of pearly white that had dripped down. When you reached the head, you swirled your tongue around it in circles, lapping up the thicker globs that clung to the slit.
His cock jumped, hardening noticeably now, the entire length was shiny with your saliva instead of his release. You took the head into your mouth briefly, sucking with pressure, hollowing your cheeks as you worked to clean him completely.
You pulled off for a moment and looked up at him from between his thighs with a wicked little smile. “Told you I’d help.”
Robby’s chest rose and fell faster, the soft roundness of it moving with each breath. “Fuck me.” He cursed into the room.
You leaned back in, extending your tongue for another slow lick along the full length of his now fully erect cock. “In a second.”
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A/N: I’m sorry this is all I’ve had time to write, my life is extra busy with work and college. I really want to write stories with more than just smut, but I can’t seem to find the time right now. I hope you still enjoy this in the meantime.
summary: you never thought this was how your life would turn out, being pregnant and alone. Robby was supposed to be there for you, every step of the way, but then you went and ended things.
word count: 7k
cw: angst (some fluff scenes, not much comfort), separated/breakup, pregnancy, injury, fem!reader, ER stuff
notes: this is the longest fic I’ve written and the first on in a while, have mercy and thanks to the pitt for making me write again.
— You always dreamt of being a mother, all women have before, regardless if that was what they truly desired. The idea of motherhood is taught to us from a young age, drilled into our brains from the very beginning. They said it would be like nothing else you have experienced before, that the feeling of bringing a life into this world is unrivaled. Especially to be able to do this along with your partner, the one person you chose to spend the rest of your life with. You were promised all of this, the thrilling but terrifying process all at once, the handsome husband to help you through it all and experience it with you. That is what pregnancy was supposed to look like, to feel like. At least, that is what you were expecting when you saw the two lines slowly appear on the test nearly seven months ago.
You never thought this was how your life would turn out, being pregnant and alone. This was far from what you were expecting, from what you were hoping for. Out of all the possibilities you imagined as a young girl on how your life might turn out, this was never one of them. No, this time timeline never even crossed your mind as being possible. You knew that pregnancy came with its struggles of course, there were pains, complications, emotions. But you were promised a husband to be there with you every step of the way, to support you whenever needed, to fill in these gaps. It seemed you weren't so lucky.
Now, the universe was not the only aspect responsible in leading to your current predicament. You were a major factor in your own suffering. You loved Robby, you really did, but sometimes love isn't enough. Even with all of the affection that flowed out of you and into him, you knew that Robby wouldn't be able to be a father. At least not one that was present, physically or emotionally. There was no doubt in your mind that Robby would be a good dad one day, just now isn't the time. He was always working, there would be no time for a kid on top of that. Even when he wasn't physically in the PTMC, mentally he was, his brain was still stuck in work mode, constantly thinking of what he could have done differently to save the patient. It was starting to bleed into your relationship as well, affecting the bond you have formed. Robby spent more time involved with his work than he did your relationship, than he did with you.
You knew he loved his work and you didn't want to take that away from him. It seemed to be one of the only things keeping him going, while simultaneously being the thing that was dragging him down. You couldn't get in the way of that, in the way of what was going to happen if he didn't find balance soon enough. And you didn't want your future kid to be either.
Even though you had ended it with Robby, you still made sure to keep him up to date on what was going on. You sent him ultrasound pictures whenever you got them, and in return he sent back a photo of the pictures hanging off the wall. With the absence of a man around the house, it was difficult for you to make much progress with the nursery. You knew that if you pressed send on the picture of the practically empty room, littered with unopened boxes, Robby would insist on building it all himself. And you couldn't handle that in your current mental state, it was back at the beginning of your second trimester still, only a few months after things had ended with him. Instead, you deleted the photo of the intended nursery, knowing the outcome.
Regardless of the status of your relationship, it was his child too, he deserved to know these things. And you knew how desperately he wanted to.
So here you are, extremely pregnant with no one to navigate it with. No one to confide in. No one to pour your heart out to, to bear this weight with. This was definitely not how you expected your life to play out. You need to keep moving forward, for yourself and your growing baby. No matter how much love you still held for Robby, or how much he had for you, the decision had to be made. And you needed to leave the past behind.
You dragged your hands down the length of your face, letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion. Currently, it was still early morning and you were laying in bed, eyes just beginning to peek open. It's funny how quick your mind moved, how easily it betrayed you by reminding you of your situation. It was like it didn't even give you a chance to have a good day. You shook your head, slowly attempting to throw your legs over the edge of the bed and start your day. When your feet finally made contact with the floor, a sudden wave of dizziness passed over you, making you sit back down on the mattress.
“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, rubbing at your forehead in an attempt to soothe the feeling. You didn't think anything of it, there were a million and one symptoms that came along with pregnancy, usually at the most unexpected times. You give yourself a moment to rest, then rise to your feet and make your way to the bathroom.
You hit the toilet with a harsh thud, unable to control your body completely so early in the morning, lower extremities stiff from sleep. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you release into the toilet. If there was anything you learnt from being pregnant, it was that the women were not exaggerating about the peeing part. You finished up, lifting from the seat with the help of the countertop of the sink.
While looking in the mirror, your vision got blurry, only being able to see the general outlines of objects. You blinked rapidly, determined to rid yourself of this impairment as black blobs floated around you. The slow creep of worry spread throughout your body, what felt like little jolts of electricity jabbed at your heart. Out of all the side effects that came with pregnancy, something like this has never happened to you. With a few more strained blinks, your vision cleared and slowly returned to normal.
“What is with you today?” You spoke more to the baby than yourself, knowing their presence was the cause of these episodes of illness. Your hands fell to your rounded stomach, leaving featherlight strokes along its scarred surface. It was like you were back in your first trimester, all new sensations and hormones out of order. By the third and final trimester, things have balanced out, finally providing you with some relief from the chaos.
Sighing, you dragged your body in the direction of the stairs, hoping to make your way to the kitchen. Making it to the beginning of the stairs you began your slow trek down, one hand on your belly and the other resting on your lower back. You knew that you should have had at least one hand anchoring you, but the ache in your back was too much to bear, you needed to feel some sort of external pressure on it. The first few passed with ease, it wasn't until you reached the fourth step that your legs began to feel shaky and dizziness struck again. Quickly, you shot out a hand to the railing beside you, trying to save yourself from what was undoubtedly going to happen. But it was far too late for that.
Your legs fell out from beneath you, resulting in your bottom making a harsh connection with the wooden floor. You thought that was the last of it, you could take a fall on your ass, what you dreaded was the possibility of injuring your stomach, your baby. Of course, you had to land on an awkward angle of a steps edge, making you topple over. And there was no stopping the momentum of your heavy body from tumbing down the stairs with force. The only thing that could stop this was the bottom, where the stairs leveled out with the floor, where you slammed down hard.
The first thought that crossed your mind was your little girl, hands flying to your stomach in concern. You frantically swept your eyes over the skin, looking for any signs of injury. Luckily, there was no visible blood or open wounds Internally though, you could feel stabs of pain shoot and settle into the sides of your stomach.
Sucking in a shaky breath, you reached an unsteady hand into your pocket to fish out your phone. The numbers ‘9 1 1’ slowly appeared on the screen, hitting the call button was the only step left. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the green symbol. You knew what had to be done; you had to call an ambulance which would inevitably take you to the closest hospital, which happened to be the PTMC. The same place your now ex-boyfriend worked, the same ED that Robby was in charge of. You bit your bottom lip, quickly pressing the call button.
The noise was the first thing you noticed once you arrived at the emergency department. The noise was unbearable, sirens, screaming patients, the yells of the doctors sending out commands.
So far no sight of Robby, which distracted you from the ache in your stomach, the ache everywhere really. A small part of you were hopeful that you would never have a run in with him, but your logical side knew otherwise. This was his department, his doctors, his orders. You knew he always checked in when emergencies came in, juggling how ever many were active at the time. You wondered which doctor you would get, would it be Collins? Maybe Mohan.
“What do we got?” Oh, it would be Dr. Langdon it seemed. You could tell from the voice alone, having visited the PTMC many times, you knew the staff by now. Some of which were Robby's closest friends.
“30 year old pregnant female, roughly in the third trimester.” The EMT explained from behind you where she was pushing you from. Doctors and nurses swarmed around the gurney you were occupying, joining the EMTs as they pushed you along towards an empty room. “Suffefed a fall down the stairs after reports of dizziness, feeling light headed, and numbness in the legs.”
His eyes shot open once he laid them on your figure, recognizing you immediately. He opened his mouth to say something, but it looked like he changed his mind, and carefully picked his next words. “Okay, get her in Trauma 2, we'll assess her more there.”
You were grateful for his response to seeing you in a place like this, it felt good being treated like anyone else, not being reminded that you had some kind of connection to the PTMC. You were wheeled into the room, brakes being placed within seconds of stopping. Langdon came up to your side as the nurses got to work taking your vitals. One of the student doctors observed as Dr. Langdon raised your pants to look for any injuries present, working through both legs, and then your arms.
“Can you tell us more about what happe-” Langdon attempted to ask, before the person you were dreading seeing barged through the doors, interrupting Dr. Langdon in his assessment.
“What do we have?” Robby asked, hurriedly shoving a pair of blue gloves over his hands. He wasn't completely looking at you yet, instead his gaze was focused on the vitals present on the machine, beeping steadily. He gave the opportunity for a student to chime in and fill him in on the case.
“30 year old female, roughly seven months pregnant. Reported feeling dizzy and generalized numbness in the lower extremities while walking down the stairs, resulting in a fall. No apparent open wounds-” The intern's voice faded away as Robby's eyes settled on you. You wouldn't be able to tell by the look on his face, always remaining professional and stern in front of patients, but you knew his heart sank from what was looking back at him.
“What the hell happened?” Robby rushed to your side, taking out his mini flashlight to check your pupils. He asked a question which warranted an answer, but he cut in once again. “What's her vitals?” He shouted to the nurse currently standing by the machine, keeping a close eye on what the screen was reading.
“Increased systolic, 152/73. Slightly elevated heart rate at 117, oxygen sats look good at 95%.” The nurse finished, to which Robby responded with the nod of his head. Looking back in your direction, he lifted the shirt you were wearing to reveal your protruding stomach. His hand fell to rest on the skin as he did a full sweep of the surface all while his thumb rubbed small, reassuring circles. Under other circumstances, months ago, this act would be considered comforting, your body still reacts like it is. But your brain snaps into reality, suddenly you tug down at the hem of your top, concealing your bump from him.
“I would like Dr. Langdon to continue the assessment, please.” You blurted out flatly, hoping that your face didn't disagree with the words that were leaving your mouth. His hand stayed on you for a moment, until slowly retracting it back to himself, like he was considering your words.
“Whatever the patient wants.” He sucked in a quick breath, then stood to his full height and took a few steps away from you. His eyes never left yours, staying locked onto you no matter how far his body moved, all the way until he exited the room. Langdon returned to his previous actions, running his gloved hands along the bruising on your hip, and your swollen ankle that you just now noticed.
“Is the baby going to be okay?” It came out as a murmur, small and quiet, filled with anxiety. His eyes flicked up to meet yours from where he crouched by your now discoloured ankle.
“We're going to get a OBGYN consult down here as soon as we can, but from what we can tell she's doing just fine.” His words brought little comfort, nodding your head you mustered the smallest smile. You could endure whatever it took, as long as she was okay, you would be too.
You were now moved into a non-emergent room, where you could take your time to rest and return your vitals back to your baseline. Considering all the symptoms you had; dizziness, blurred vision, numbness, and the elevated heart rate, they had concluded that your blood sugar levels were too low. They put you on pain meds and wrapped your twisted ankle to secure it. Just the OBGYN visit was left to see the status of your baby, which you anxiously awaited for.
You hadn't seen Robby face to face since the initial encounter, but every now and then you saw him lingering, watching over you. If he happened to walk by, he halted his steps and peered from the hallway. If a doctor or nurse left the room, he bombarded them with question after question, asking how you were doing. Still, he respected your wishes and kept his distance. Which you were thankful for, but you knew he would be eager to see you, and now that you've calmed down you could allow yourself that.
A knock on the door echoed through the room, thanks to the glass door you were able to see exactly who it was. Robby gently cracked the door open just enough for half his body to wedge itself inside, you could read the look on his face. You nodded your head in consent, as Robby slipped past the rest of the door.
“How are you feeling?” He rasped quietly, bashfully, as he chose to stay standing by the entrance. His hands were tucked into the pockets of the zip-up sweater he wore, his head tilted slightly as he waited for your answer.
“Okay.” Is all you managed to say, suddenly feeling insecure. It had just dawned on you that this was the first time you and Robby were having a conversation, in person, since the break up. His brows furrowed and based on the look on his face, he wasn't satisfied with your response. “Better.”
He heaved a big sigh, you watched as his shoulders visibly relaxed, rolling back just a little. He grabbed a chair, dragging it until it was placed by our bedside, letting his body fall into it. “You need anything?”
“Nope.” You shook your head, forcing yourself to offer only short responses. He nodded too, hand hesitantly closing the distance and grasping yours. His entire presence was throwing you off, sirens going off in your head. Your body and your mind were fighting against each other, both wanting different things at this moment. To your body, this felt natural, this was what you were missing, that this was what has been missing for quite some time now. Your body yearned for his touch, to have his skin on top of yours, and to never let him go again. However, your mind knew this was wrong, that things between you two were over and you shouldn't give any opportunity for them to start back up again.
Your mind won the battle as you removed your hand, resting it on your stomach.
“Langdon told me what happened, but I want to hear it from you.” He hummed, recovering quickly from your sudden retraction, leaning back in his seat. Robby always held eye contact with you, that was something you used to love, how sincerely he looked at you, like he saw into you. This response wouldn't be shortened, you knew Robby would want the whole story, for your safety and the baby's.
“I don't know. The whole morning I was feeling off, I knew something was wrong. I tried to get out of bed and then this wave of dizziness just hit me, sending me back down. I thought I was fine, that this was just a one time thing because it was so early, or whatever. Then when I went to the bathroom, at the sink my eyes got so blurry all of a sudden.” You rambled out. Robby nodded his head and let out a little ‘mhmm’ after every detail. He was no longer leaned in the back of his chair, but rather scooched to the edge, intently listening to you. You observed his small mannerisms, how his knee nervously jerked up and down, how his eyes scrunched slightly as his attention stayed on you.
“Then it was time for breakfast, so I was walking down the stairs and then my legs started to shake and I got dizzy again. Next thing you know, I'm on my ass, falling down to the bottom of the stairs.”
“All of those symptoms align with low blood sugar, and due to your current state,” His eyes fell to your very pregnant belly. “It makes sense. We took a look and we were right, you had abnormally low blood sugar levels.”
“Ya, Dr. Langdon let me know.”
“As far as your injuries go, just some light bruising to your hip and a twisted ankle. It looks worse than it seems, those ones like to bruise easily.” He continued, blabbering about medical stuff that you had already been informed of. This was how he found comfort, he was a doctor after all. He was saying this to reassure himself more than you, tell himself that you were going to be okay after all. “Your systolic was a little high, but it's come down quite a bit, what we gave you must be working.”
You nodded in agreement again.
“And OBGYN was ordered to check on our little girl, they should be here any minute.” Robby cracked a small smile as he said that. ‘Our little girl’, god that felt right coming out of his mouth, like it was meant to be that way. “She looked good from what we could see, but its always smart to call in the professiona-”
“Look, Robby.” He stopped his speech, mouth left open as you squeezed your way into the conversation. “I know all this stuff already, okay? I appreciate you being so worried about me, about us.” You rubbed where your baby grew, drawing his attention to the area rather than your face.
“Ya, okay. Sorry.” Robby apologized, eyes drifting between your own and the bump below.
“You don't have to apologize for caring, it's nice having someone do that for me again.” You smiled. The words felt guilty leaving your lips, too low of a blow for a time like this, but you said it anyways. “Just apologize for not knowing when to shut up.”
He laughed now, and so did you as you shook your head at him. The moment was cut short with another knock sounding throughout the room, this time it was a woman who you assumed was from OBGYN sent to check on you.
“Good morning, I am Dr. Monroe from Gynecology.” She glanced at Robby, then looked back at you. Dr. Monroe pulled an ultrasound machine behind her, setting things up on the opposite side where Robby was. “Are you comfortable with me proceeding with the exam with another person present?”
This time you glanced at Robby, he looked right back at you. He was standing now, he had been since Dr. Monroe entered the room. A few moments passed just like that, both of you staring at each other silently. When finally, Robby broke the staring contest and headed towards the door to leave.
“You can stay, if you'd like.” You said at the last second, making Robby halt and turn his body. He slowly returned to his previous seat, feeling giddy that you allowed him to stay for this intimate moment. He wanted to stay, but didn't have the courage to ask it out right, he felt he wasn't in a position to ask such things of you.
“To my understanding, you've had a fall, correct?”
“Correct.” You answered. “I’ve just been feeling really dizzy and weak, so I fell down the stairs.”
“Okay, is it alright if I feel your stomach?” You muttered a yes, pulling up your shirt to allow her full access to your skin. Her fingers began at the top, pressing firmly, then worked their way down to the bottom of your stomach. In one particular spot her fingers grazed, a sharp gasp left your mouth, a deep pain flaring inside. Her face did not change, being familiar with this reaction and not wanting to scare her patients any more than they already were.
“Hey, what's wrong?” Robby stood, the chair long forgotten behind him as it almost fell over from impact. Your eyes slammed shut, facial muscles tensing in pain. “Come on, talk to me.”
“Hurts.” Is all you say, all you are able to.
“No need to start worrying just yet, it might just be some deep tissue bruising.” Dr. Monroe grabbed the portable ultrasound machine from earlier. “We need to get a better look with the ultrasound.”
You were used to the cold jelly that they applied to make the tool glide with ease across your stretched skin. It made sense after seven months of grueling pregnancy. “Everything looks good from my end, no abdominal bleeding or any other injuries of concern. The bruising was isolated to your tissues, no harm to your little girl. Time is the only thing that will heal the area.” She concluded, which allowed you to breathe again, no longer holding air inside with worry. “Would you guys like to see her?”
You watched as Robby's face changed into one of surprise at the question, though he's seen pictures of her numerous times, he has never gotten the chance to see her in person, on the big screen, with you by his side. His gaze finds yours, silently asking permission. Who are you to deny him this? Especially with that expression he wore, you weren't capable of saying no.
Dr. Monroe tilted the screen towards the pair of you, zooming in for a detailed view. She pinpointed the head, feet, even the little fingers. Robby has seen countless ultrasounds, he knew what to look for, which part was what. But he still found himself listening, unconsciously acting like a blank slate that was unaware of the anatomy. Because it was different, this baby was his, the life you and him created.
Letting your gaze shift away from Robby, now inspecting the expression that the other doctor wore. She was smiling fondly at the sight of Robby, her eyes growing soft at the scene. You found yourself doing the same, feeling your eyes prick and your chest seize with that familiar ache. Seeing him like this sparked many unwanted memories, the years you spent with him playing in your mind like a record that you had no control over, not being able to press pause or turn off whenever you wished.
“You two make a beautiful couple.” The gynecologist removed the probe from your stomach, cleaning up any excess gel that was left on your skin. She reorganized all her supplies, giving you both time to process the information she presented.
Robby blinked a few times as the screen went black, still staring at the glass even though it disappeared, almost in denial. You've been to countless appointments this far along in your pregnancy, having seen your fill of the baby, if that was even possible. Robby hasn't had the same pleasure, regretfully. For him, it felt like it started just as fast as it stopped. There would never be enough time in the universe that would suffice for him, he could stand there gazing upon that screen for eternity. He looked at Dr. Monroe, her comment only now registering in his mind. He only nodded in acknowledgement, a burning feeling arising in the back of his throat, hindering him from speaking.
“Well, thank you for letting me help you today. I'm glad to see that your baby is in such good health. Do you have any questions or concerns for me before I go?” The doctor secured the machine in her grasp, ready to exit the room when the time came.
“No, thank you for everything.” You covered the length of your exposed midsection as you watched Dr. Monroe in her departure. Robby muttered out a quick ‘thank you’ right before the door closed with a click.
Silence befell the room. It would be awkward in any other circumstance, with any other person. But this was Robby. The same man you dated for nearly four years, the same man you dreamt of marrying once upon a time, growing a family with.
“You hear that? We make a beautiful couple.” Robby was the one to break the silence, bringing his arm up to scratch at the back of his head, like he always did when he was nervous. Classic Robby, trying to hide the true agony he felt with humour.
“Made.” You clarified grimly, hating how rude it sounded, how naturally it slipped out. You need to set boundaries, not get his hopes up, for both your sake and his. The singular word made him suck in a breath, his lips suctioning onto his teeth in discomfort.
“Ya.” His head nodded frantically as reality hit him. Robby was always the type to conceal his emotions, bottling them up tightly in the hope that no one would notice. Others might not have paid such close attention to the man, you noticed though, you saw through the little cracks. All others saw was their chief of emergency, their attending, someone to turn to during tough times, to offer directions. And it took its toll, slowly eating away at him every second of the day, festering underneath the surface. You picked up on the way he was avoiding eye contact now, his hands insecurely tucked away into his pockets. The way his waterline was slightly red, how his brown eyes were glazed over. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
You couldn't bear seeing him like this, especially knowing it was partially because of you. To think that you were causing him this turmoil, to a certain degree, was excruciating. You weren't sure if it was due to the pregnancy hormones or Robby's presence, or maybe a mixture of the two, but a sniffle escaped from you. Then followed fat globs of tears leaving wet streaks down your cheeks, having no remorse for your dignity. Robby was at your side in an instant, kneeling to be level with your body.
“Hey, what's wrong?” You hid your face, shoving it as far as possible into the safety of your hands. Humility bubbled inside of you, total embarrassment of bawling in front of your now ex-boyfriend who just so happened to be the father of your child as well. “Come on, baby, you gotta tell me what's wrong.”
‘Baby’. The word was spoken naturally, easily, like it meant nothing. But it meant everything, to you at least, giving you the energy to pull away from yourself. “That's exactly what's wrong.” You meant for it to come out harsher, to hit with more of a punch, but in your current state it didn't translate properly.
“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn't mean for it to-” He stopped himself. Because he was unaware of its existence, unconsciously coming out like a reflex. Robby couldn't stop it from happening, like his brain acted on pure memory from when he used to call you that.
“What did you mean for it to be then, Michael?” The man was taken aback by that, recoiling physically from the use of his first name. For a while he sat still, unable to move as he took in your words.
“I.. I don't know.” Your mouth fell open at how hurt he sounded, how raw his voice was as it made its way to you, tugging at your heart. It all dawned on you, how uncalled for your behaviour was, how inconsiderate. Robby didn't deserve this kind of treatment, he was already dealing with so much shit and you didn't want to add it to.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” You sputtered shamefully. "It's just been a stressful day, a stressful seven months really.” A small laugh, though nothing felt very funny right now.
“No, I am. I’m sorry, truly. You have every right to be pissed at me, at the whole situation. I fucked up, I know I did.” He exhaled, rubbing his face harshly to scrub the despair he felt away, to distract his nervous system. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”
He was spiralling now, gruff hands covering his face as tears undoubtedly leaked past his lashes. All the stress that came with his job, coupled with the overwhelming guilt that filled his body. He was reaching his breaking point, body betraying himself, emotions flowing freely no matter how hard he tried to suck them back in, to reverse what was already done.
“I know, I know.” You spoke calmly to soothe him, your hand finding itself tangled in his hair at the back of his head. Playing with the strands that grew there, you pulled at his neck, urging him towards you. Robby's eyes caught your quickly, asking if this was alright with you, in disbelief that you were allowing him this. You only tugged harder, guiding his head to lay on the area where your chest and abdomen joined. At first, he was rigid in your grasp, muscles tensed with unfamiliarity with his position, which was odd because once upon a time this action would feel so natural. In this moment, in your embrace, Robby felt his worries wash away. He knew it was only temporary, that the anguish would soon return after being abandoned by your hold. It didn't take long for his body to relax against yours, a large exhale releasing through his nose.
You let Robby stay like that for a while, not wanting to disturb what little peace was available to him. But all good things must come to an end eventually, and Robby was the one to pull away. He didn't want to get greedy, you had already let him stay for the ultrasound, and now he's soaked your shirt with his tears.
“Uhm,” He cleared his throat, dabbing off what remained on his cheeks from his outburst. “Thank you, you know, for everything. You still manage to be the kindest person I know, even when I've been a dick.”
“Because I've moved on,” You stated, frowning now. “I need to move on.” You corrected yourself, knowing that your previous statement wasn't completely true, but you were trying. “And I suggest you do the same.”
It pained you to admit it, deep down a selfish part of you wished that he would never move on, never stop loving you. You heard Robby huff out a dark, sarcastic laugh. “Its not that simple.” Sorrow returned, contorting his face pathetically. “I- I still love you. I love you. I don't want to leave you in the past. I don’t want to fucking move on, not without you.”
“Stop, stop saying shit like that. You don't get to say that to me. You had your chance, you fucked it up. You did, not me, that's on you.” Your voice was raising, the tone becoming cruel. You knew you were being rude, how your words sounded, how they would stab into the already broken man beside you, chipping away at him. “All you can do now is take accountability and move on. However you need to; date other women, pick up extra shifts at the Pitt, just find something to distract you. And leave me out of it.”
He shook his head in disapproval at your suggestions, date other women? Leave you alone? He needed to be there for you, atone for his sins. The idea of other women never crossed his mind even once across the span of seven months, his thoughts constantly filled with images of you, memories of the life you had together.
“Do you hear yourself? What you're asking me to do? I can't just go and date other women. I-” He scratched at his head aggressively, a tick he did often when he was becoming overwhelmed. He shot a glance at the door, planning his escape route as he felt himself slipping. He was growing familiar with that sensation, happening more frequently lately. “I can't deal with this right now, I got enough shit going on.”
“If not now, then when? It's been seven months of this, you've had seven months to figure shit out.” His back was facing you now, almost at the door. The room was closing in on him, air escaping his lungs, he needed to leave as soon as possible. “You have three more until she's here, breathing our air, seeing our world. And when that happens, you better have shit settled. She needs a father, not Dr. Robinavitch, not the chief of emergency, just Robby.”
You gave time for your words to sink in, penetrate his cloudy, numb brain. He was Dr. Robinavitch by the end of your relationship, the Robby in him long gone, tucked away in the corner. You wouldn't let that happen with your kid. Only his head turned towards you, the rest of his body still facing the door.
“Alright.” Is all he said before exiting the room, emotionally checked out at this point.
Shit, you thought as his figure disappeared into the chaos of the crowded hallways of the ED. Maybe you were too harsh on him, poked him too hard in the most fragile areas. You exhaled, subconsciously stroking your belly, which you did during times of stress like this. You'd give Robby time to cool down, digest what little emotions he could. Though you knew he wouldn't, instead absorbing them and letting them smoulder in his heart.
Walking with the state your ankle is in wasn't the smartest decision you could have made, but it was something you did anyway, desperate to check in with Robby. Carrying around the weight of another human didn't help much either, applying even more pressure on the tender joint. Technically, you were advised to stay in bed to get as much rest as possible. Dr. Langdon had specifically told you not to wander, at least not without the use of a wheelchair. You ignored his requests, as you waddled your way out of the safety of your room.
Luckily, no one you knew saw you making your way towards the set of doors that led to the stairs. You were positive that if Langdon or Collins caught a glimpse of you, they'd scoop you up and wheel you back to your room. You were just passing the nursing station, when a voice rang out and interrupted your adventure.
“And what are you doing out of bed?” You knew that voice, that accent was unmistakable, having heard it a million times before, when you were still with Robby. You stopped in your tracks, not daring to face your body to the woman. Dana rounded her desk, coming to meet you instead.
“Oh, you know, just getting my steps in.” You joked dryly, hoping to distract Dana from your endeavors. Even after the breakup, Dana occupied a special place in your heart. The charge nurse was always there for you, and you know she tried to be for Robby too.
“Uh huh.” She muttered suspiciously, looking you up and down with pinched eyelids. “Last I heard, you were supposed to be on bed rest.”
Your frame aligned with hers fully now, you knew you had to tell her the truth. Bluntly, you confessed.“I overheard a nurse saying she caught Robby having an episode earlier.”
She nodded, still eyeing you like a hawk, thumb coming to rest under her chin in thought. “Come on kid, I saw him heading for the stairs. I'll even do you the honor of personally escorting you there.”
She always knew exactly what you needed, and right now all you needed was to see Robby, no questions asked. Her arm wrapped around you, resting on your lower back to guide you along the path. With the help from Dana, you finally reached the entrance to the stairs, stopping just before the doors to look back at Dana, thanking her for the help.
Pushing the door open, your eyes landed on Robby sitting on the second step, head in his hands. He remained seated, but his neck snapped up at the noise of the door.
“Hey.” You shuffle closer, stopping a few paces before you reach him, leaving a couple feet between the two of you.
“You should be in a wheelchair.” He hummed, shaking his head in criticism at your choice of mobility. His gaze fell to your bandaged ankle, staring it down like he was sharing the same pain you felt. He imagined that the extra poundage didn't help much either, only adding to your discomfort.
“You should stop worrying so much about me. Focus on yourself for once.”
“I’ll never stop worrying about you.” He breathed out. “You should know that by now.”
Ignoring the latter comment, you pressed further. “You okay?” No response, skipping over your question entirely and asking his own.
“How did you know I was in here?” Robby inquired from his spot on the stairs. His voice has been so gentle throughout the conversation, like he didn't have the willpower to raise it even an octave.
“Overheard a nurse talking earlier, she said something about you having a so-called episode. Dana brought me here.” He smiled, though you knew it wasn't genuine, his eyes still cloudy. He couldn't be mad at her for revealing his hiding spot, but he definitely was concerned with the fact that there wasn't a wheelchair in sight.
“Of course she did, she always liked you.” He laughed almost silently, dropping his head to the ground. You inched closer, moving so you were as close as the stairs allowed you to be. Your hand found itself under his chin, feeling the scruffiness of his peppered beard, prickling at your fingertips. His head was forced to tilt up due to you raising it, making your eyes meet. He looked like a wounded puppy, dark brown eyes glimmering, face droopy. He melted into your touch much like one too, eyes clamping shut at the sensation. As you removed your touch, his head followed it slightly, hoping to feel it once again.
To the best of your ability, you took the spot beside him on the stairs, hitting the ground with a soft groan. Robby's elbows were on his knees, leaving a triangular gap perfect for your arm to loop around, pulling him in. No words were spoken between the two of you for a good five minutes, basking in the silence. That was just what Robby needed, your touch on him without the pressure to say anything, to reveal any of his dark feelings to you.
Robby's palm found its way onto your belly, where his daughter rested, completely clueless that her father was there. You let him, allowing him to massage tenderly at the tissue.
“I love you.” He mumbles out into the open, continuing his display of affection on your stomach.
You weren't sure if the confession was meant for you, or for the baby girl growing strong under his hand, it didn't matter much either way. In your mind you wanted to say it back, to reciprocate the feelings, but no response came out, letting the silence consume the room once again.
summary: a failed marriage, a traumatic brain injury, an old emergency contact, and a love that doesn’t give up.
warnings: okay, medical inaccuracies up the wazoo, I tried my best with research but at the end of the day I am simply just not a doctor :(, car accident, failed marriage, TBI, multiple panic attacks, memory loss, ONE USE OF (Y/N) BECAUSE I COULD NOT FIND A WAY AROUND IT PLS FORGIVE ME!
main masterlist | support dividers by @cafekitsune
Jack received the phone call at 3:48 AM.
It was his one night off, and his sleep schedule was so messed up that he didn’t sleep through the night even on off days. He was awake, staring at his buzzing phone, wondering why he was getting a phone call from Dana, of all people, at 3:48 in the morning.
“Dana, you okay?’
Dana stood on the other end of the line, free hand on her hip and wondering how the hell she was supposed to tell Jack the information that she had.
The silence hung heavy, something was wrong.
“Dana?”
Dana exhaled a breath, shaky and long. Your name tumbled past her lips and Jack nearly dropped his phone as he shot up off of his couch, fumbling for his prosthetic while Dana explained that you were there, in his ED, and he was still listed as your emergency contact.
“How bad is it?” He asked after getting changed and out the door, faster than he ever had while he fumbled with his housekey, shaky hands struggling to jam it into the keyhole.
“Just get here as fast as you can.”
“Page Robby.”
“Already did.”
Jack’s thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour as he drove the short distance to PTMC, after your divorce, he’d chosen a place close to the hospital so he could easily get out the door and to the hospital if he was needed. But he hated it, hated the small house he rented, not bought, just in case you’d ever change your mind one day and decide you love him still, decide you want him to come back and share your home again.
The house was small and cramped and rundown, but it did the job for a divorcee who didn’t do much but work and sleep. He thought the reason it was so void of warmth is because you weren’t there to fill it.
The day you handed him the divorce papers was the worst of his life, beating the day he lost his foot by miles. He worked too much, was no longer emotionally or even physically present. He was starting to feel like a roommate to you, not your husband. And he had let you go, you had given him a choice, and he let you go. He didn’t promise things would be different or that he’d change because he knew he couldn’t.
Or that he wouldn’t.
But as time drew on he realized more and more everyday how much he’d do anything to get you back, and was crushed by the weight that it was entirely too late. But now, as he sped through the streets of Pittsburgh to get to you, he realized he’d do anything for you to just be alive.
“I promise I’ll never ask you for anything again.” He whispered as his hands gripped onto the steering wheel, pleading and making deals with God, unsure if he could even hear him.
He didn’t know what he was walking into, but if Dana wouldn’t even give him details over the phone, he knew it had to be bad. So bad that Dana couldn’t even speak it.
His heart thundered in his chest, blood roaring through his ears when he made his way into the Pitt, having slipped in through the ambulance bay so he didn’t have to deal with the groanings of the very impatient patients that sat in chairs. The doors slid open and Jack was immediately met with two hands on his chest, stopping him from walking in any further.
“Jack, I need you to listen to me. Really listen.”
“Where is she?” His eyes were dark, darker than Dana had ever seen them, she was sure. There were too many people in between him and the only woman he ever loved and he needed her to move. But her feet were planted like cement to the floor, she’s seen worse.
“She’s already up in the OR with Walsh, Robby got her stabilized- Jack!”
As soon as he heard the word OR, his feet were moving, past both Dana and Robby who were trying like hell to keep him downstairs, but he tore his arms away from their grips and continued on his path.
Robby had to push him up against the wall, forearm barred over his chest to get him to stop. He felt bad and he was sure Jack would have a headache after but he didn’t have any other choice.
“You cannot go up there.”
Jack’s nostrils flared, moving his shoulder to make an effort to get out of Robby’s hold but Robby only pushed him further into the wall.
“She’s alone.”
His voice was cut raw as he spoke, each word painful.
Robby shook his head, “Walsh has her. She’s not alone.”
“She’s my wife.”
Robby hung his head, thinking over his next words carefully before realizing there was no gentle way to deliver the words he needed to deliver.
“Not anymore, Jack. Right now, you’re just her emergency contact.”
Jack’s breath sputtered, heart cracking in his chest because he knew Robby was right. He wasn’t even sure how he was still your emergency contact. He was sure you had friends, family, maybe even a new boyfriend to fill that space, but Dana had confirmed multiple times that he was the only one listed. Jack didn’t even know where to begin in finding someone else to call for you. Your dad died when you were in high school and your mom passed away during your marriage, leaving you with no other family except a few distant aunts and uncles and a handful of cousins. He didn’t know any of your friends anymore, didn’t even know if any of them were still around. He asked Dana to keep looking.
“What happened?”
Jack asked after Robby escorted him into a family room, finally give in that there was nothing he could do for you now, and he had to let the surgeons do their jobs.
Robby ran a hand over his face. He knew when Dana called him in that he would not only have to work to stabilize you and save your life, but he’d have to face Jack, and tell him what happened to you, tell him what he had to do to save your life.
He watched Jack’s face fall more and more as he explained you were in a car accident, hit head on and spun off of the highway and into a ditch. Explained how it took firefighters and EMT’s hours to figure out how to get you out of your car without killing you on the spot.
He told him how he didn’t recognize you when he entered the trauma room.
Robby had held his tongue for a moment before telling him that, but ended up realizing it was better for him to know what he was going to walk into when you were out of surgery rather than be blindsided.
He explained that they did, and are doing, everything they possibly can to save your life.
Jack would relive the day you gave him divorce papers over and over if it meant you never had to be here.
What Robby didn’t tell him, was that the guy who hit you was DOA, that he had seen pictures of your car and nearly vomited at the sight, and that your last conscious moments were spent terrified, asking for Jack.
It’s not what he needed right now, what he needed was to cling onto hope that you were going to wake up.
Hours drawled on, two friends crammed into a family room, sitting in chairs and couches that were two small for their large frames, unsure what time it was as they started to question reality by doing nothing except staring at the walls that stretched out in front of them.
Every so often, Jack would forget why he was there, forget why he was sat at an awkward angle staring at a picture of a pond that was supposed to be calming, then he’d remember and it would all hit him like a pound of bricks.
Robby fell asleep with his head tilted back and mouth open.
Jack envied him. Every time his eyelids started to weigh heavily, pulled down by lack of sleep and upset, his body would jolt him awake, like it knew this was not the time for him to get to happily doze off.
He was waiting for you.
“Jack.”
His body jolted, head snapping up as he was caught in a moment of dozing off.
Emery Walsh was in front of him, expression unreadable, she looked drained, deflated to the bone. Her shoulders sagged and the normal whites of her eyes were beat red, hair wild and coming out of what once was a neat bun in the back of her head.
“Please tell me you saved her.”
Emery crouched in front of Jack, eyes the softest he’s ever seen them and he prepared himself for the worst as she looked at him.
She brought a hand up to grip his wrist.
“You can go see her, Jack.”
Jack felt relief tear through his body, a noise shot from his throat that he’s certain he’s never made before as he nodded, his free hand coming up to squeeze Emery’s in a wordless ‘thank you’. A woman who, in the past, has been nothing but a pain in his ass, is now the woman that saved your life. As he looked at her he saw someone completely knew, a person, who just fought tooth and nail to keep another person breathing. He’d never forget it.
Robby stirred at the commotion, immediately asking if you were okay before he could even peel his eyes open, his eyelids lined with thick sleep.
Jack just nodded in response, unable to form words.
The elevator from the ED to the ICU felt like hours, as Emery explained the extent of your injuries, Jack felt sick to his stomach.
“I’m going to explain this to you as if you know nothing, okay? Just listen.” She’d said the second Jack and Robby stepped into the elevator. “She has a DAI, diffuse axonal injury. While it’s not primarily an internal bleed, her brain nerve fibers were torn due to the acceleration of the car accident, causing small, microscopic hemorrhages.”
Jack felt he was going to be sick, he knew what all of this meant, he knew what DAI was, had seen it too many times. Too many times to know that people don’t just bounce back from this. You were never going to be the same.
His hands clenched in his pockets.
He followed Emery down the halls of the ICU, the only sounds being the echoing of their footsteps and the too slow beeping of monitors coming from the rooms that they passed.
Emery stopped in front of a door, which he was assuming was yours, but paused before turning to him, her hand hovering over the handle.
“Jack you should know-“
“I know.”
“I know, you know. But I’m required to tell you the risks of what she faces when she wakes up.”
Jack swallowed, thick, his own saliva feeling foreign in his mouth. She took his silence as a sign to continue.
“She might not wake up for a long time, that’s not a bad sign, okay? And when she does, Jack, she-“ She took in a sharp inhale, she’s delivered these words hundreds of times but never to someone she knew. Someone she’d even say she respected. “She may not remember you.”
Jack didn’t move, his hands still firmly shoved into his pockets, eyes fixed on the handle of the door.
Robby choked behind him.
“Due to the severity of the TBI, we hope that it’ll only be temporary. But she-“ Her head turned towards the door to your room. “She’s really gonna need you. This is not a time for you to disappear into your despair.” She turned back towards Jack, eyes sharp and serious. “Do you understand?”
“Let me see her, please.” His voice rasped and broke around the edges and he didn’t care. Each second he stood there, with a door barring him from seeing you, felt like agony. His skin burned with every minute that passed that he wasn’t holding your hand or brushing your hair out of your face.
Robby’s firm hand squeezed Jack’s shoulder after he nodded, and he’d never been so thankful for his best friend as he was in that moment. He’d be too scared to walk into that room without him.
He realized when Emery opened the door he should’ve taken a few moments to prepare himself for exactly what he was about to see, he underestimated it tremendously.
You laid on the bed, practically lifeless, with a tube sticking out of your throat and white gauze wrapped around your head, eyes so swollen he probably wouldn’t be able to see your pretty irises even if you were awake. Your leg was in a cast, ending just above the knee, elevated with a strap that hung from the ceiling. Your arms were covered in bruises and stitches and he could barely tell that you were even there under all of that mess.
He stumbled into the room, breath catching in his throat as he brought a hand up to his chest, clutching at the material of his tee shirt as if they would do anything to hold his heart together as he felt it was being torn to pieces while he looked at you.
“Oh, god. Honey…”
His hands hovered over you, not knowing where he could touch you without causing further damage, and he settled for just resting his hands on the stiff mattress with his pinky finger pressed up against yours.
Emery backed out of the room without a word, gently shutting the door behind her. Robby stood by the door, arms interlocked over his chest as he watched his friend fall apart.
Not even he could walk him off of this ledge.
“She’s gonna fight like hell.” He said after a few moments of silence, watching Jack watch you.
Jack didn’t respond.
“And we are gonna fight like hell.”
Jack continued to stare at you, soundless tears slipped past his lashes. “I should’ve fought harder before.”
“Jack-“
“No.”
His voice was ragged, so broken as he still wouldn’t turn to face his friend, eyes glued to you.
“Maybe she wouldn’t be here if-“
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“If I had fought harder for her before-“
He was panicking, chest rapidly rising and falling as he choked on his words.
“Nothing would have changed.”
Robby’s voice was stern, cutting through the anxiety that was radiating off of Jack.
“You hear me?” He stepped closer to him, so close that his voice rang in Jack’s ears. “Nothing would have changed. Fate has a habit of playing like that.”
Jack gripped the sheets, knuckles turning white.
“You’re here now. You can change it.”
“We’re divorced.”
That one thing, that one detail of this whole mess hung in the air, ugly and thick and Robby wanted to kick something.
“She needs you. Divorce or not. I’m here for whatever you need.”
And with that, Robby was out the door, and Jack was left with just you, your face being a cruel, physical manifestation of the heartbreaking reminder of what he’d done to your marriage. What he’d done to you.
-
It had been weeks, weeks of turning you over so you wouldn’t get bed sores, which took a whole team considering the countless other injuries that littered your body, Jack was just thankful you weren’t awake for it and prayed you couldn’t feel the pain through your sleep, the only thing that relaxed him was the steady rate of your monitor. Weeks of Dana coming in to administer your sponge baths while Jack waited outside the door like a guard dog, understanding that it wasn’t his place anymore. Weeks of reading you your favorite book, Little Women, aloud, and trying to ignore the ache in his chest when he got to the chapters of Beth’s sickness and eventual death.
“That’s not gonna be you, baby.” He’d said as he read to you.
It was weeks of waiting, not sleeping, and holding your hand once he’d worked up the courage to do so, after a little bit of encouragement from nurses and various doctors in the ICU. He was sure he looked like hell, curls awkward from sleeping in weird positions, heavy bags under his eyes, his irises watery and glazed over from his lack of sleep and tears. Every muscle and bone in his body ached from the discomfort of the hospital but nobody could convince him to leave because it was a thousand times worse for you and he refused to leave you alone here.
It was beginning to feel like routine, massaging your stiff muscles and sponge baths and turning you over and brushing your hair as gently as possible after Emery was able to take the gauze off of your head. Jack was beginning to think that maybe this was just life now, maybe this was all you were going to get and he was unconsciously okay with the idea of this being his new normal, if it meant you were safe from pain, comfortable, maybe somewhere nice in your sleep, he’d take care of you like this forever.
But a heartbreaking, sputtering breath brought him back to reality.
“Oh my god.” He pushed up from the chair he was in, the legs sliding across the ground with a sickening screech, and dropped the book he was in the middle of reading, the pages crumpling beneath him as they hit the floor, accidentally stepping on it as he scrambled to hit the call nurse button, not being authorized to remove your intubation himself.
“They’re coming, sweetheart.” He tried to comfort you as tears ran down the sides of your face, resting a gentle hand on the top of your head. “I know, baby. I know. Try to relax.”
His heart severed in half as he watched you struggle, at the painful choking sounds that came from your throat as the nurses pulled the tube out of you, the coughs that rang from deep in your chest, dry heaves that left spurts of saliva down the front of your gown as you cried.
“Breathe.” He soothed, finally smoothing his hand over your hair, his other hand grasped in yours.
“Wa-“ Your voice rasped and you couldn’t even finish your word before you were coughing again. He looked to the nurses and they nodded, busying themselves with pouring water into a small paper cup for you, sticking a straw into it and handing it to Jack.
“Small sips.” He instructed and you wrapped your lips around the straw, taking in probably too big of a sip and you closed your eyes with relief, whining when Jack pulled the cup away from you.
“I know, I’m sorry. More soon, okay?”
You continued to breathe deeply, cautiously, as if you were relearning how to breathe. The swelling in your face had gone down significantly, the bruises were either faded yellow or gone completely, your arms were returned to their original color and the cast on your leg had already been changed in the weeks you were still sleeping. You looked like you again.
Jack knew, he knew the whole time you’d been sleeping, having had weeks to prepare for you not to recognize him, and it still hit him like a tank when your eyes turned to him, confused and utterly helpless. You asked the question and Jack felt like the wind got knocked out of him. That dreaded question he’d put off thinking about for weeks.
“Who are you?”
Your voice was raspy and raw, as if you were talking through razor blades that were lodged in your throat, Jack winced at the noise and the pain that was evident on your face as you spoke.
Emery was in the room now, not exactly the doctor assigned to your care but she’d be damned if all she did was save your life and then disappear from your case.
Her eyes flitted to Jack, this had been a possibility, her and Jack had discussed it and still, it didn’t make this moment any easier.
Jack looked at Emery, almost for permission, not wanting to do anything that would stress you out or have to elongate your recovery.
She nodded.
Jack inhaled as he turned back to you, his hands awkward at his sides. He wore a soft smile to not scare you but it didn’t reach his eyes.
You noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes.
“We uh,” He coughed, “We were married.”
You didn’t say anything, just stared at him as he loomed over you. Familiarity flooded your veins but the lack of familiarity in your eyes spooked Jack as he watched you, waiting, hoping for something, anything.
“Tired.” Your voice was raspy, hardly above a whisper as you talked through the swelling in your throat, your eyelids started to flutter, Jack could tell you were fighting to keep them open.
“That’s okay.” Emery assured you, adjusting your pillows and pulling your blanket up around your shoulders. “Rest a bit, alright?”
She hadn’t even finished speaking before you were asleep again.
“She’s gonna hate me.” Jack spoke.
“Maybe.” Emery said, “Maybe not. Why don’t you give her the chance to decide?”
-
When you woke up again, peeling your eyelids apart like they had been glued shut while you were sleeping, the room was empty, quiet aside from the slow beeping of your heart monitor.
You groaned as the light seeped in through your squinted lids. Whose idea was it to make these lights so damn bright in here? And where even is here anyway?
“Hey, hun. Let’s turn these lights off, hm?”
A voice rang throughout the room, and suddenly the lights were dimmed and you relaxed, as much as you could with the throbbing in your head.
A woman with nearly white blonde hair entered your eyesight, a small smile playing on her lips as she looked down on you. She was dressed in grey scrubs and a pair of glasses were perched on the end of her nose. She wore a badge and you strained your eyes to read what it said.
Dana Evans, charge nurse.
“Aren’t you a vision in hospital wear?” She joked and you wanted to laugh, but everything just felt so scary and unfamiliar that as soon as you went to laugh you ended up choking on a sob instead.
“Oh, honey.”
You kept crying, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as your body wracked with sobs, tears were slowly turning into panic as your heartrate rose rapidly, the monitor being much faster than it was before. Your chest was burning, something thorned and sharp and unforgiving was lodged in your chest and you gripped at the sheets underneath you, wanting to curse and scream but feeling like a prisoner in your own body as you writhed and struggled.
“You’re safe.”
A new voice cut through the air and that same rush of familiarity sank into you, seeping through your skin and bones and settling deep into you.
A large hand laced through yours, and despite your confusion, you gripped back, harder. The hand was warm, calloused and rough but impossibly soft in yours, it was what you needed.
Jack had been sitting out in the hall while you slept, guilt started to creep in to his chest when you didn’t recognize him, unsure if you even would want him there if you knew who he was, if you remembered why your marriage failed and what he had done, or more so lack thereof, to get you to the broken place you are now, a place where he was afraid to even hold your hand.
Emery’s words rang in his head, a constant, aching reminder.
“She’s gonna need you.”
“This is not a time for you to disappear into your despair.”
He hated how accurately she read him, like a damn picture book on display for everyone to see and understand. Because as he sat here, eyes fixed on the lifeless walls of the ICU, all he wanted was to disappear, for Dana to find your real emergency contact, not the outdated one, and let you be taken care of in the way you deserved. And he was contemplating it, really truly thinking about walking away when a hand touched his shoulder.
“She needs you.”
Those three words snapped him back into place, back to the present.
You needed him.
He cannot disappear.
And now he was there, his hand clasped in yours, desperate for you to calm down, to stop crying and looking so scared because it was ruining him. The woman who was usually so confident, so sure of herself, now horizontal in a hospital bed, every limb and finger shaking because you didn’t know where you were and everything was confusing and you were so scared.
A noise broke through Jack’s voice as he watched you struggle, a mix between a whine and a choked sob, his body was trying to erupt with emotion at your pain but he had to hold it together, he couldn’t break. Not here, not in front of you.
“I promise. I promise you’re safe.”
Pet names were desperate on his tongue but he didn’t want to confuse you any further than you already were, so he pushed through with everything in them to keep them at bay. His free hand fretted over you, never really landing because he was just so unsure of his place in all of this. In where you wanted him.
“Keep talkin’ to her.” Dana encouraged, tilting her head towards the heart monitor and Jack was astonished to see that it was helping, your heart rate was going further and further down with each word he spoke.
“Just breathe, okay? Match mine.” He instructed, breathing in and out loudly so you could follow his steady motions. “Breathe when I breathe.”
You struggled for a minute, each breath being caught by the panic in your chest, but Jack was incredibly patient.
“It’s okay. Keep trying. Doing so good.”
His words were steady, his tone even despite the shake that threatened to break through his throat.
Eventually your breaths were matching his completely, eyes wide and teary as you looked up at Jack, completely enthralled by his presence despite still not understanding why he felt so comfortable to you.
“Good, that’s good. Good job.”
Your hand didn’t leave his.
“Did you ever find her emergency contact?”
Jack spoke low, mouth turned away from you in an effort to only have Dana hear him.
Your eyes widened, “I don’t have an emergency contact?”
Jack cursed at himself for not speaking low enough, your hand gripped his harder and he scrambled to find words, find an explanation. To figure out a way to tell you that he’s your only emergency contact, but there’s a high chance that you may not want him there.
“No, no. You do. I’m your emergency contact, but-“
“I don’t know you.”
Dana had already pulled out her phone and called for Emery, now that you were awake again, there was unfortunately a lot of questions to ask.
“Do you-“ Jack choked on his words, hating how he even had to ask this question. “Do you know who you are?”
You blinked, staring at him like he had just asked you the stupidest question in the world, but eventually the expression in your eyes began to fade, eyes widened and your grip on Jack’s hand tightened even harder because the answer was no, you had no idea who you were, or why you were here, or why this man kept holding your hand and looking at you like you were going to break in half.
Jack could tell just by your reaction, the mist forming in your eyes, what the answer to his question was.
“Hey, that’s okay. It’s normal after-“
“After what?!”
Emery opened the door then, giving you a tight lipped smile as she entered the room, stale with grief and antiseptic.
“Glad to see you’re awake again.”
Your eyes followed her as she crossed the room, each footstep methodical and properly placed, after doing this countless times it felt like a routine for her, but she had to remember now, in this room, this wasn’t routine, this was Jack Abbot’s ex-wife, the only woman he ever loved and things were different. She wasn’t on this case because of routine, she was on this case because Jack trusted her and her skills and because you could not be another routine rotation.
“I’m Dr. Emery Walsh, can you tell me your name?”
You just stared at her, face unchanging, stoic, even.
“Can you tell me why you’re here?”
You shook your head.
Emery nodded, giving you a small smile. “You were in a head on collision. Hit your head pretty good and got stuck under your car for a while,”
Something sharp twisted in Jack’s stomach.
Emery moved about the room as she asked you questions, checked your heart monitor, rest your IV, logged onto the computer and was now typing your responses into your chart. She explained your broken bones, what happened with your head and how they fixed it, and lastly that these scary moments of being unsure where you were, were totally normal all things considering.
“Post traumatic amnesia.”
She’d explained.
“Dr. Abbot, would you step outside with me?” Emery turned to Jack after bombarding you with probably too much information, and motioned for the door. Your grip on him tightened and his chest ached, he promised he’d be back, and that Dana would stay with you, he wasn’t leaving you alone. Jack followed Emery into the hallway.
“Post traumatic amnesia is temporary, Jack.”
Jack knew she had more to say, “But…”
“But sometimes it takes years.”
Jack swore, crossing his arms and turning away from the surgeon, biting at the inside of his mouth to try and control any sort of emotion that was threatening to expose him on his facial features.
“Why does she cling to me like she does?”
Emery sighed, “Even though her brain doesn’t recognize you, her body does. She probably notices little things in you that she doesn’t in anybody else she’s met so far. You were also there when she woke up, a comforting presence. She’s latched on.”
Jack wonders if you’d have latched onto him if you remembered anything.
Every bit of information that stuck in his brain from school, training, years in the field betrayed him, fled from his mind as if evacuating because of the sheer panic that was now living there, for the first time in his life, Jack Abbot didn’t know what to do.
“What do I do?”
Emery was more than sympathetic, more than she usually would be with Jack, because he was going through hell, and this was completely normal for doctors and surgeons. All of their muscle memory and protocol seemed to fly out the window as soon as it was someone they cared about, it’s why it was against the rules for them to work on their own family members and loved ones.
“Talk to her. Tell her things about herself, about you, about what you’ve done together.”
Jack sucked in a breath.
“And the divorce?”
Emery studied him for a moment, the way his fingers were shaking but he had them held so tightly between his arms that it was barely there, how his lip was wobbling but he was trying to hide it. The deep bags pressing into the skin below his eyes from his lack of sleep. He was wrecked.
“Tell her all of it, Jack.”
-
“Where did we get married?”
Jack smirked, “Courthouse down the road. You wore a white dress you found at goodwill and a cheap bouquet from the convenience store two doors down.”
You nodded as you soaked in the information, what kind of person you were, what kind of person Jack was, the kind of couple you were together. To you, it seemed as though you were the type of couple who just wanted to be together, and didn’t care about much else. The kind of couple that could get married at a courthouse and honeymoon at a motel on the edge of town because you were just so wrapped up in each other that none of the planning or grand gestures seemed worth it to you.
You looked at him now, nestled into a crappy hospital chair that was too small for his large frame and you wondered where it all went wrong, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know. You didn’t want to taint the picture perfect image you had of the two of you in your head, didn’t want to know what could have possibly happened between you and the handsome doctor that refused to leave your bedside as you recovered.
“You seem like you were a good husband.”
He wiped your face after you ate, he stood outside of the bathroom door while the nurse on shift helped you shower or use the toilet, he massaged your feet and read you books and reminded you everyday that you were beautiful despite the thin layer of grime that never seemed to go away even after you washed yourself multiple times. He’d brush your hair and rub creams and moisturizers into your skin and even brush your teeth for you when it all just got too overwhelming and tiring.
He didn’t respond, his eyes were fixed on the pink sheets that brought a little bit of life into your hospital room. Jack had gone to your house and brought back blankets and pillows, comfortable and familiar things for you to have here, even some childhood family photos you had framed and pictures of friends. Friends who hadn’t come by yet. The oblivion you had broke his heart, and he was eagerly awaiting yet mostly dreading the day when your memory came back and everything hit you, unforgiving and heavy.
You'd refused to look at the pictures.
“Emery said you can go home soon.” He avoided your comment, voice rougher than it was before. You noticed how familiar he felt to you, how you noticed sudden drops in his voice and small tremors in his hands or mouth. Despite your memory being completely shot to hell, he felt real to you. You knew him. You took comfort in it.
Home.
As sad as it was, this hospital was your home now. You don’t have any memories outside of the four walls of your hospital room and the hallway from walking up and down it with your physical therapist. Jack had pushed to get you outside multiple times but you kept refusing. You couldn’t admit that you were scared, feeling like a child for being afraid of going outside, but you were unsure of what waited for you outside, unsure if the trees or fresh air would trigger a memory and to be honest, you’d become nervous of regaining your memories.
You had already triggered a memory, just walking down the hallway of the hospital, something small. A quick flash of light and Jack next to you in scrubs, hands shoved in his pockets. It took your breath away.
Your nurse asked if you were okay and you nodded. You still haven’t told anyone about it. You knew they would take it as a good sign and would just push you more to look at pictures or go outside and you weren’t ready for it yet. You knew you had a life outside of this place and it scared you, because it was a life without the man you’d grown so fond of, and what if it was just a life of heartbreak and emptiness waiting for you. You really only asked small questions here and there, usually when you were tired and Jack would massage your arms with scented lotion, the kind that you liked when you were married, he said. You found that you still liked it now too.
You hummed at his statement, of going home, not giving a definitive answer because you weren’t sure what to say. As much as you didn’t like the smell of the hospital and the death and devastation that surrounded you, somehow you couldn’t shake the feeling that that’s all that waited for you outside of here too. At least here, it was contained. Controlled.
Jack watched as your heavy eyelids fluttered while he rubbed the sore muscles in your arms and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were just as afraid of your memories as he was.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You went home on a Tuesday.
The rest of the world went on, people got in their cars to drive to work, clocked in at their jobs, babies cried and people got married and kids in school took their tests and went on field trips and you were going home.
Emery agreed to release you only on the condition that Jack stay with you, which was his biggest relief yet worst nightmare. The two of you sharing your home together again would surely bring back memories, maybe even bring back memories of the last night you had together, the grief and the devastation and the words he didn’t mean. He couldn’t watch your heart break all over again.
But nonetheless, his fear of you remembering was conquered by his want to get you out of that hospital room and back to your real life.
He had all of your things packed into his car, the last thing being you, and your blanket, waiting for him in a wheelchair with a nurse in the lobby of the ICU wing of the hospital.
You were in a pair of your favorite sweatpants, or at least Jack said that they were, and his too big black sweatshirt that smelled just like him. He had bought you a nice pair of ugg slippers while he was out one day and your feet were slipped into those, clutching the blanket from your own home as if it was the last of your belongings.
Jack’s car pulled up, a shiny black truck, and an uninvited memory flashed behind your eyes.
A car dealership, a sunny day, Jack’s smile and his hand in yours.
Jack recognized it as soon as he walked through the automatic doors, the recognition in your eyes that had never been there before. You couldn’t pretend in front of Jack, couldn’t fake that your memories weren’t coming back. He’d spent years memorizing your features, every look and every small change in your irises, he knew it all.
He crouched in front of your wheelchair, cautious but eager as his hands hovered over you. “What’d you remember?”
“Your uh, your truck.”
Jack turned to look at his car, amazed at how something so simple like his basic black truck could trigger something for you, slowly bring you back to him.
“Yeah, honey? What about it?”
Honey.
“Jack…” Tears filled your eyes as you looked at him, that word dripping past his lips triggering so much emotion in you that you didn’t know was in there.
“Hey…” His voice softened at the tears spilling past your waterline, hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb catching the stray tears that were falling. “Sweetheart.”
Honey. Sweetheart.
You gasped, choking on more tears.
The nurse holding your wheelchair looked at Jack, raising her eyebrows in a question, asking him wordlessly if this was a good or bad sign. Jack gave her a slight nod that went unnoticed to you, telling her this was good, you were remembering. And it scared him to no end.
“You wanna go home?”
You nodded, movements frantic as you practically fell into Jack while he stood up, arms reaching for him. You didn’t have exact recognition of your memories but there was something there, this wasn’t just the man that you were told was your husband at one point, that you were growing to like. This was your husband. You could feel it blooming in your chest as the words lingered in your ears.
Honey. Sweetheart.
“Let’s get you home.”
Your home, you found, was warm. Low, warm lights filled each room, complete with pretty pictures adorning the walls and books tucked into every corner, draped with soft looking blankets and pretty colored rugs and cushions. You smiled when you saw it, the inviting glow of it chipping away at the fear that had built a wall around your heart.
“This is mine?” You asked, hands running over the dark brown wood of your bed frame as Jack got you situated in your room.
“Yeah, all yours.”
You didn’t miss the way Jack winced when he said it, and you realized this had been his home at one point too. This was your shared house. He’d let you have it.
“Are you going to stay here?”
Jack nodded, “Doctors orders.”
You watched as he unpacked your bag for you, putting everything back in it’s exact right spot, you must’ve not moved things around much after he left.
“And if it weren’t?”
Jack froze, muscles tightening as he clutched on of your tee shirts in his hands. The smell, the layout, everything being the exact same save for the pictures of the two of you on the walls was suffocating him. It hadn’t felt like this when he came back here alone to pick up your things for you.
“I wouldn’t leave you alone. Not for a second.” He said after he continued to move, busying his hands with putting your things away.
For some reason, his answer frustrated you. Because now, being in your house again, you remembered that your marriage failed, that the two of you were separated now and you didn’t know why, all of your past tangled feelings of not wanting to know, of wanting to stay in your oblivious bubble popped. The bubble was gone, you were back in real life, starting your life again.
“But you did leave me. Alone.”
Your voice shook, “I live here alone, don’t I?”
Jack didn’t respond.
“No friends came to visit me, or family. The only people I met in the hospital were doctors and nurses. So tell me again Jack, about how you wouldn’t leave me alone?”
Jack winced at the edge in your voice. He thought maybe it would be best to let your memories come back to you, but now, as you stared at him, anger and impatience laced in your voice as you exhaled through your nose, starting at him, demanding answers. He couldn’t keep it from you any longer.
“You asked for it.” He hated the way it came out, almost accusing, as if him leaving you was your fault, as if he couldn’t have fought harder for you. “You wanted the divorce. I’m sorry.”
The words hit you like a ton of bricks. “Why?”
Jack shook his head, avoiding eye contact with you as he placed his hands on his hips.
“What did you do?”
Jack’s chest caught as he took in a breath, gearing up to say the words he hated himself for. The words he beat himself up about over and over again, the reason he couldn’t sleep at night, the reason his wedding band taunted him on his nightstand, laughing in his face over the biggest mistake he ever made in his life.
“I didn’t choose you.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You told me, medicine or you. And I didn’t choose you.”
Your jaw dropped and a broken sound escaped your throat, exactly the reaction you gave that night you gave him the choice. Jack wished he didn’t have to relive it but knew he deserved it.
“I want you out.”
“Please-“
“Out of my house!”
Your words cut deep, like a knife to his chest. Your house.
“I uh- I can’t leave you alone.”
You were fuming, chest heaving, angry at the audacity of the man in front of you, how he’s spent these past few months fooling you. Coddling you, making you believe there was a chance, that between the two of you hung something sweet, something good. Something worth saving. Everything felt broken around you.
“Out of my room then.”
Jack looked like he was going to say something but decided against it, the nodded, and ducked out of the room, purposefully trying to make himself smaller in your presence.
“You tricked me!” You yelled once he was out of the room, slamming the door shut and Jack flinched at the booming noise that echoed off of the walls of the house.
As he walked out of your room and down the stairs toward where he knew the guest bedroom was, he tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, the dryness that coated his mouth and the twitch in his muscles. He shut the door behind him and finally let a dry sob escape his lips, covering his mouth with his hand so you wouldn’t hear him.
Your words taunted him, pointed a finger in his face and laughed at him because the last thing he was trying to do was trick you. He loved you, was completely devoted to you in every way and as hard as he tried he knew he couldn’t take his words back from that night. The night where he chose medicine over you, words that he didn’t mean because he was mad, but now it was too late because he had said them and it was over and you shoved divorce papers in his face and there was nothing he could do to make it better. He thought maybe this was his chance, nursing you back to health and reading to you and telling you about your favorite colors and animals and food that you hated, reteaching you how to braid your own hair and crochet. You had to go through the grief process of learning your parents were gone a second time and he held you through it, wiped your tears and stoked your hair and whispered to you that everything was going to be okay, that he was there. He just wanted you to feel loved and safe because this was all so scary, but the other side of him knew, deep down, that he didn’t want you to hate him all over again, the selfish part of him thought maybe he had more time. That maybe you’d remember him as your husband first and ex husband later. He thought he had more time than just a car ride.
Hours went on, loud silence hung in the air of the house as the hours crept later and later. He decided that despite the argument, he was still here as your caregiver, and it had been too long of silence from you, and he should check on you. He was about to make his way upstairs when he heard a loud crash, and suddenly his cautious footsteps were purposeful and quick as he raced up the stairs to find you.
Another crash and a scream rang from his old office, now your storage room, and the sound shot straight through his heart, his foot and prosthetic couldn’t carry him fast enough as he swung open the door and quickly fell to his knees in front of you, body crumpled to the floor, surrounded by scrapbooks and photographs splayed out on the floor around you.
He took your arms in his hands turning them over and assessing you for any injuries, just hoping and praying nothing was self-inflicted because he knew that could happen all too often with cases of amnesia. People becoming frustrated and suffocated by unfamiliarity and just needing to be in control of something.
“What hurts?”
You were crying, loud and ugly tears and Jack peeled the hair from your face, sticky with snot and tears and pushed it back.
You shook your head.
“Get off of me.”
Jack paused a moment, this wasn’t a spill or a surgery complication or an injury, you were having an episode.
This was rage.
“No.”
Him leaving you alone to drown in your despair would help nothing.
You looked at him then, eyes widened from the audacity for him to say no to you. You pushed him but he didn’t move, his body sturdy against your grip while his arms still held yours.
“You left me!”
Jack’s face faltered as you yelled and screamed at him, still trying to push him away.
“I’m here now.”
His voice was even, not climbing even the slightest bit despite thr frustration he felt.
“That means nothing!”
You were getting weaker, dissolving into your own tears. “You should’ve come back for me sooner!”
“I should’ve.”
Eventually you had tired yourself out, your body slumped closer to the floor, away from Jack, arms still in his hold, head practically hanging.
“Why don’t I take you to bed?”
“M’tired.” Your words slurred.
“I know.”
Jack leaned forward to gather you in his arms, ignoring the sting from his prosthetic that he had been wearing for too long as he lifted you up, trying to hide the groan that escaped past his lips, not that you’d notice with how tired you were.
His heart broke as you held onto him tighter when he put you into bed, all he wanted was to be able to climb in next to you and hold your body against his, to pull you on top of him and revel in the comfortability of your body weight on his. But he unraveled your arms from around his neck and pulled the blankets up to your shoulders.
Once again, leaving you alone.
Jack wasn't asleep for long when his eyes shot open, sensing something had shifted in the house, sensing your discomfort even from all the way downstairs. He waited for a moment, eyes raking through the darkness of the room, a sharp cry set him into motion, securing on his prosthetic in record time and launching himself up the stairs and into your room.
Your limbs were tangled in the sheets, and Jack didn't have to get close to know that sweat drenched your forehead and soaked into your hair as sharp cries tore through your chest.
"Wake up, baby."
He smoothed your hair back, wiping the sweat from your skin.
"Baby." He shook you lightly and your body jolted forward, chest heaving and eyes blown wide as you tried to adjust to the dark.
"The car." You rasped out. You had a nightmare of the accident, one of the few things Jack dreaded you remembering.
His heart broke at the thought of how terrifying it all must have been, getting hit so hard then being stuck in your car, injured and bloody, not knowing if anyone was coming for you. If he was coming for you.
"You're safe."
"The car, it-" You were blubbering, messy tears fell down your face and onto your tee shirt and Jack's heart broke clean in half.
"It's over. It's all over. You're safe now."
"Don't leave." Your grip on him strengthened.
"Not leaving. I'm right here."
You fell asleep with him sitting at the edge of your bed, stroking your hair, and when you woke up again, he was gone.
-
Days passed with the two of you just coexisting, more memories came back to you as days went on, small things here and there, you didn’t share them with Jack but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice. How your eyes lingered on pictures of your friends or how your eyes bore into certain objects that belonged to your parents. You had already told him, the second you were recovered, you wanted him out, so he kept to himself. Kept himself busy by cleaning and finding various projects around your house, fixing whatever needed to be fixed.
“My name is (Y/n).”
Jack nearly jumped at the sound of your voice after going so many days without hearing it. You had been sitting outside, stretched out on a blanket in the yard, letting the sun hit your closed eyelids, and Jack was inside, tidying and reorganizing the kitchen.
He blinked at you, taking in your appearance, your jeans were rolled up to your ankles and a blue striped sweater hung off of one shoulder, sleeves bunched up to your elbows. You looked so cute that he wanted to scoop you up and kiss you all over right then, but he stayed in his spot.
Jack’s brow furrowed at the emotion hanging in your face because you knew your name, you were told your name when you woke up,
“Yeah.” He nodded, voice unsure as he looked at you, worried that maybe you were backsliding in your recovery.
You shook your head, screwing your eyes shut and letting a few tears fall down your cheeks.
“No. I know.”
Jack still looked confused, so you took a step forward.
“I remember. I know.”
Jack’s face washed with relief, eyebrows softening and eyes widening as it clicked into place. The confidence in your shoulders despite the tears and the assurance you carried in your posture. You weren’t being told your name, learning the sound and the letters of it, you knew your name. It was yours. It came back to you.
“Oh my god.” Jack breathed out a laugh and you ran to him, launching into his arms and he didn’t hesitate to catch you, securing his arms around your frame and squeezing tight because this was huge.
“You’re Jack.”
Tears were soaking his shirt and the top of your head, both of you a mess as you held onto each other, the tightness of your grips spoke a thousand words for each of you.
“Yeah, I am.” You were both laughing through sobs, probably the most joyful noise that’s filled your house since he left.
Jack pulled away, framing your face in his hands, beaming.
“This calls for celebration.”
It had been days of you ignoring him, giving him nothing but the cold shoulder and icy stares and yet, here he was, grinning ear to ear after happily cleaning your kitchen and celebrating your small wins, looking at you with nothing but adoration and love in his eyes that it made you feel weak in the knees. You remembered he’s Jack and that he bought a shiny black truck and that he’s a doctor who works in the ED of the hospital and nothing else, but as you look at him now, admiring the beautiful smile that adorned his face and the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes, your stomach erupted into something unfamiliar, a certain excitement as heat crept into your cheeks.
You had a crush. On your ex-husband.
“I only remember my name, Jack.” You murmured, burying your face back into his shoulder, suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so excited over such a small thing and for your previous outbursts and silent treatment towards him.
He was here, proving his devotion to you as each day passed and as you watched him clean the kitchen and reorganize your photos and deep clean your rugs that maybe love was possible again.
“Hey, that’s a big deal.” Jack rubbed circles into your back. “Will you look at me?”
You pulled your head up off of his shoulder and reluctantly looked at him.
A smile pulled at his lips, and the sparkle in his eye was completely captivating as you practically watched his thoughts dance behind his eyes.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
-
You looked at yourself in the mirror, knowing that the girl in the reflection was you, but not fully recognizing you.
You’d slipped into a black maxi dress and the pair of shoes you liked the most from your closet, something casual but pretty. You did your hair and spent too much time on your makeup, having to call Jack in to help you because your movements were still shaky and uncoordinated, you were happy you hadn’t put your outfit on yet, so Jack could get the full effect later.
You looked pretty, and you were satisfied with what the mirror showed you, but it felt so foreign, staring at your reflection and not being totally sure if it was you looking back at yourself.
A knock sounded from your bedroom door and your heart thumped in your chest.
You answered the door and nearly got the wind knocked out of you from Jack in his dress shirt, nervous hands clutching a bouquet of flowers, various different colors spilled out of the plastic wrap and you wondered when he even found the time to sneak out and get them. Your hands instinctively shot up to clutch your cheeks.
“Hi.” Jack said, holding the flowers out for you.
“Hi.” Your voice was a whisper.
You took the flowers, bringing them to your nose so you could get a whiff and you closed your eyes, taking in the scent.
Flowers. A ring. A party. Multiple parties. Jack.
“These are my favorites.”
“You remember?”
You nodded as you continued to stare at them, “Just now.”
“Wanna put them in water before we leave?”
“Yes.”
Jack guided you down the stairs, watching you closely as you moved the flowers from their wrapping and into a fresh vase. His heart squeezed as you took a moment to just look at them.
“You ready, sweet girl?”
You nodded and Jack held out his arm for you, escorting you out of the kitchen and through the front door. You found it all a bit silly, but incredibly sweet and endearing and you threw your head back in laughter when Jack opened the door for you and made a big deal of gesturing you into the car, bowing as you passed him as if he was your personal chauffer.
He played your favorite song for you in the car, a memory that had come to you recently, something he noticed from the subtle turn of your head and sparkle of your eyes when he played it in the kitchen.
“I Will” by the Beatles.
“Love you forever and forever,” Jack sang in the car with the windows rolled down, voice cracking and pitchy but he’d sing like that forever with no shame if it kept you giggling and looking at him the way you were now. “Love you with all my heart.”
“Love you whenever we’re together, love you when we’re apart.”
He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, hoping you knew it wasn’t just words he was singing, but declarations to you. Words he meant.
With the look on your face, something told him he did.
He pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, the place where you had your first date. He hoped that in taking you here it might trigger some more memories for you.
He did all of the stereotypical date things, held open your door, pulled out your chair, held your hand across the table, and told you how beautiful you looked, over and over.
“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?”
You smiled, “Only like 100 times.”
“Good. Gonna say it 100 more times.”
Once you got home, stomachs aching from too much bread and laughter, you asked Jack if he’d watch a movie with you.
He was breathless, and hoped this whole day hadn’t just been a mood swing, the ones Emery had warned him about. He prayed and begged for this to be real, for this, falling in love, again, to be your new normal in your healing process.
“Yeah, sweetheart. That’d be nice.”
You squeezed his hand and disappeared into your room, mumbling something about getting comfortable and Jack stood frozen for a second before scrambling to do the same.
You beat him to the living room, curled up on the couch with you favorite blanket draped over you, picking at your nails as you stared ahead at the blank TV screen in front of you.
“Hey.”
Your head turned, eyes brightening as he entered the room.
“Hi.”
“What movie do you wanna watch?”
“Whatever was my favorite.”
Jack smiled, “Now there’s two answers for that one. You want the fake answer you’d give to other people when they’d ask or the real answer?”
You gave him a look, a smile tugging at your lips, “Real answer.”
Jack plopped down on the couch next to you, remote in hand.
“Good choice. Madagascar it is.”
“What was my fake answer?”
“Little Miss Sunshine. That would’ve been a good choice too.”
“Can we watch that one next time?”
“Anything you want.”
You were basically draped over Jack when the movie ended, his arm holding you up and in place with your cheek smushed against his chest, eyes drooping as the end credits rolled.
You turned your head to look up at him only to find he was already looking at you.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you kiss me?”
You could feel Jack’s heartrate pick up in his chest. He just looked at you for a moment, his eyes flickered to your lips and in that moment you knew it was a done deal.
“I-“
He was going to protest, unsure if that was something you were ready for. He wanted to push you to heal but he didn’t want to push so hard that he broke boundaries, and he feared this was teetering the line.
“Please.”
It was desperate, real and raw as you practically begged, eyes filling with tears at the sheer emotion of just needing him closer.
His hand came to cradle the side of your face and he nodded, he’d agree to do anything if it meant you wouldn’t cry.
“Shh, okay. Okay, baby.”
Baby.
He pulled your body up so you were more situated in his lap, facing him instead of straining your neck away from the TV.
He brought his lips to yours delicately, not daring to tease, and you choked back a sob at the feeling of his lips on yours.
Jack, your Jack.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss deepened, his other hand coming up to clasp the back of your neck, lips working against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, the two of you desperate to pull each other impossibly closer.
His wife.
He pulled back, leaving one last chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away from you, breathless and lips swollen as he continued to hold you.
“You took me where we had our first date.”
“Yeah.” His voice shook. “Yeah, I did.”
-
The next few weeks were exactly like that. Almost like a honeymoon phase. Stolen kisses in the aisles of the grocery store, playing Beatles records while you made breakfast together, and watching all of your favorite movies to end your nights. You were starting to fall head over heels for him and as much as it scared you it excited you even more.
Jack had taken sabbatical so he could stay with you longer, and everyday you were more and more in awe of him and less and less upset about learning why it all ended, the two of you working through the negative feelings that came up as you drew closer, growing in deeper understanding of one another.
And the day the actual memory came back to you, you wished none of your memory even came back at all.
Jack had left for the store that morning, insisting you stay home because of the small headache you’d been complaining about, he said the fluorescents would only make it worse. Once you finally wandered out of your room after he left, you saw something perfectly placed on the kitchen island, propped up next to the most recent flowers Jack had given you.
The backside of a photograph with messy handwriting scrawled across it, written in blue ink. Jack had come across it while he was reorganizing some of your things and the photo and the note he'd scrawled on the back made him smile, he thought maybe you'd want to see it too. He had no idea the ugly ties you had with that specific photograph.
It read, “Since the first time I saw you, I have belonged to you completely.”
You turned the photo around and a gasp got caught in your throat.
The picture was of you and Jack, your arms thrown around his shoulders, a big smile stretched across your face as you looked at the camera, Jack’s arms wrapped around your waist as he looked at you. You were both standing on the street, you were wearing a long white dress and Jack was in a black button down and jeans.
White dress.
This was your wedding day.
Your stomach was in knots as you stared, memories starting to push through the dam in your brain and you slammed the picture on the countertop, twisting your eyes shut and trying to will the memories to go away.
Crying, glass piercing into your knees, the picture lying on the floor surrounded by ruin.
Jack yelling, you screaming, throwing things, empty threats cutting through the air.
“I’m not doing this with you anymore.”
“So what is it? Me or the ER.”
Silence.
“And if I choose the ER?”
“Then you’ve ruined our marriage.”
Jack disappearing out the door, his mind made up.
Your hand clutched your chest as your breaths came out uneven and rapid, crying and clawing at the material of your shirt.
“Oh my god.”
Jack dropped the bags at the front door, running to get to you and trying to push the panic down when he realizes you’re already deep in it.
Your hands clutched the kitchen island, muscles shaking from the force you were using and tears were relentless, marring the skin of your cheeks and rolling down your neck. Jack tried to pull you away but you weren’t budging, he could easily move you if he wanted to but he didn’t want to startle you or make things worse.
“Sweetheart.”
His hand gripped your wrist, the other coming to rest on the back of your head.
“I’m here. Breathe. Breathe for me.”
You continued to cry, but at the sound of the desperation in his voice, you crumbled, top half bending over the kitchen island, your forehead resting on your arms.
Jack felt helpless as he watched you fall apart, none of his normal tactics seemed to be working and he was seriously wondering if he should take you to PTMC.
“Baby, please.”
You were choking so much on your own breath and sobs that Jack was seriously worried, so much so that he ditched the gentle approach, pulling your body off of the counter top and grasping your wrists in his hands, guiding you backwards until your back hit the counter and his body caged you in.
“You’re not breathing. Breathe.” His voice was stern, face hard and serious even though you still refused to open your eyes.
“I remember-“
You opened your eyes then, starting to be in pain from screwing them shut so tightly. “I remember you leaving.”
He thought telling you was bad, you remembering it crushed him to pieces.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled you against him then. “Sweetheart.”
He cradled you to his chest, letting you cry but reminding you to breathe as you did.
“I don’t want to remember that!”
“Me neither.” Jack confessed, wanting to press a kiss to your hairline but not wanting to overstep, knowing this was incredibly fragile for you.
“I want it to be just us again. Just us with happy memories.”
Jack ached because that’s all he wanted too. But he knew better than anyone that with falling in love came all of the ugly stuff. Part of love was loving despite hurt.
“I wish that’s how it worked.”
Jack wasn’t sure how much time passed, him holding you like that. It could’ve been minutes or hours, but it was long enough for you to stop crying and for him to start humming as he swayed you back and forth. Long enough for your voice to be hoarse when you finally did speak again.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?’
You surprised yourself with the words you spoke next, despite the suffocating pain of your newest memory, the words that tumbled from your lips were all you felt.
“I love you.”
-
You had a checkup with Emery at PTMC, and you were beaming from ear to ear with her satisfaction with your progress. From the past year of your recovery and Jack living with you, sleeping in your bed again, being your partner again, Emery estimated you had nearly 80% of your memories back, and they were still coming steadily. She even predicted that you’d have 100% of your memories back if you stayed on the course you were on now.
Life felt easy again, you thought you loved Jack without your memories, but with each one that came back you found that you somehow loved him more, even with the bad ones, not even knowing you even had the capacity to love another human being that much.
Jack decided that was cause for celebration, and invited his friends, now your friends, over for a barbecue at your house, together.
Your friends had tried reaching out, too little too late. Spilling excuses about husbands and kids and work. You’d assured them they were forgiven, but they just weren’t welcome in your life anymore, not that you were ever really that close anyway. Despite the ugliness and the pain and the devastation, you had fallen in love again. You had a family again.
You were in the backyard, making sure all of your roses were facing the sun, when you nearly fell over Jack as you walked backwards to make sure they were all looking their best before you expected company.
You turned to find him on one knee and the breath nearly knocked out of you as your hand shot up to cover your mouth that hung open, your hand gripped into the skin of his shoulder as he looked up at you on one knee, a small black box in his hands, and a delicate diamond ring placed in the center of it.
“Hi, baby.”
Your eyes moved from the ring to his, and you noticed how nervous he was. The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyebrows furrowed, just the slightest bit, eyes misted over with tears.
“Hi.” You whispered, but it was barely audible over your hand that was clasped over your mouth.
“Over the past year, I’ve had the pleasure of doing something not everyone gets to do.” Jack cleared his throat, “Falling in love with the love of my life, for a second time. I almost lost you and I-" His breath sputtered as tears swelled at his waterline, "I was given a second chance with you and i don't want to waste it."
Something in your heart splintered as he referred to the last year as something sweet, a privilege, instead of something you both wished deep down had never happened. You’d never thought about it that way, and suddenly you were overcome with thankfulness for it too. A second chance.
You dropped to your knees in front of him, one hand wrapped around his wrist and the other held onto the side of his face. You looked at him with so much love in your eyes Jack thought he might break, he thought he’d never get to see that again.
“I love you.” You spoke, breathless.
“I’m so in love with you.”
He turned his face and pressed his shaky lips to the palm of your hand, letting them linger there for a moment as he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed before bringing his gaze back to you. A single tear ran down his face and smeared itself into your hand.
“Will you marry me?” He paused, a small smile playing at his lips, “Again?”
You just threw your arms round his neck, nearly knocking him over into the grass he hugged you back.
You pulled away, hands finding his cheeks and lips peppering kisses all over his face.
“Yes, yes, yes. 1000x forever, yes.”
Jack laughed through his tears and took the ring out of the box, pulling your left hand away from his face so he could slip it onto your ring finger, the diamond caught the sun and shone so brilliantly you thought you’d never take your eyes off of it.
“I think there may be a white dress for you to change into on our bed upstairs...” Jack said, feigning oblivion. “Might wanna put it on before the engagement party.”
-
After a night of just pure sweetness, all the girls fawning over your ring, bone crushing hugs from Robby and Dana once you worked up the courage with a little push from Jack to tell them both that you remembered them, too much food and stolen glances between you and Jack across your yard, he carried you upstairs to bed with whispered promises of cleaning up tomorrow.
“My bride.” He cooed as he set you down on the bed, his thumb running over the diamond on your finger.
“I love you.” You hummed. “Gonna lose my memory again just so I can fall in love with you even harder, again.”
“You are so terrible.” Jack reprimanded but he stifled a laugh before he pressed a kiss to your cheekbone.
“That’s just how much I love you.” You shrugged, humor laced through your tone and Jack loved it because it was real and you were here and he would go through it a thousand more times with you if it meant getting to where you were now.
"What a blessing in disguise that you were still my emergency contact." You said.
"Yeah, how'd that happen?"
"Never changed it."
Jack looked puzzled.
You swallowed, thick with emotion, "I knew you'd always come."
Jack buried his face into your shoulder, pressing kisses into your skin there and all the way down your arm, torn apart with fondness at your words.
“I'm never gonna stop falling in love with you." He confessed in a whisper against the soft skin on the inside of your arm.
“Fall in love again and again forever?" You asked, voice incredibly soft as you admired the man who was hopelessly lost in you.
summary: good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.
wc: 14.5k (i have no idea how that happened)
tags/tropes: age gap (duh), slow burn with an insane amount of tension, lowkey very emotionally rife, hurt/comfort, not-so-unrealistic amounts of crying, langdonmel in the background if you squint (you don’t have to squint very hard i love them so much guys im sorry) vaguely referenced but not subtlety implied bad childhood, gratuitous and frankly ridiculous medical inaccuracies because i took a lot of creative liberty, reader is an ode to Matilda by Harry Styles and You’re Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan, Pitt Crew becomes reader’s family :)
a/n: this was supposed to be a sort-of drabble for @leeknowpegger. idk what happened. pegger i’m sorry i’ve been so dead recently (always) will you take this as an apology. If you’d like more cohesive tags, more context, extra details, and more in depth warnings, this fic has been cross-posted on ao3, and will be linked below :]
NOT-SO-FRIENDLY-PSA: Any comments asking me to write more, post another chapter, or anything of the sort will be deleted. Please do not send an ask into my inbox either. Screaming in my inbox (not about wanting more, general screaming) is totally fine though!
ao3
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۫ ꣑ৎ
You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.
Five months of being the untouchable, “perfect” intern. Robby’s newest addition to his growing list of “work-wards.”
Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.
Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that you’re not fit to be a doctor.
Tonight isn’t the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isn’t even the first time you’ve been removed from a case. It’s not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve made a mistake.
You’re an intern. It’s your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. That’s what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. They’d ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasn’t meant for you, but hell if you don’t say it to yourself every night like a prayer.
But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. You’re stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.
The patient isn’t dead. Despite your mistakes, they didn’t die. There’s really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.
And yet, here you are.
Your first mistake wasn’t terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern who’s drilled sterile protocol into her head until it’s muscle memory.
For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.
And, well. There’s no time to re-scrub, so there wasn’t a need for you in the triage room anymore.
Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if you’d focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.
It was a test. Not your first.
And you ripped the fucking purse strings.
Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until “you get your head back in the game.”
And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who can’t handle some criticism and correction. You’re a hard worker. You’re good at this. You have to be.
So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.
You’ve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)
You’re just so upset with yourself. You’re better than this. You know you are. You’ve proven that you are. You don’t drop scalpels. You don’t break the sterile field. You don’t rip purse strings.
But you did tonight. And maybe one day you’ll laugh, but today is not that day.
You just don’t get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. You’re on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robby’s respect.
But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.
You can’t be burning out, right? That’s not how burn out works. There’s like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but that’s because you work in medicine. And you’re an intern. You’re supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe you’re not? You do enjoy your work, and it’s exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this can’t be burn out. You don’t burn out. That’s not you. Right? No. Of course not.
You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.
Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you don’t quite hear the door open.
You do, however, hear the quiet “Oh.” that’s mumbled a few moments later.
Of-fucking-course.
You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you weren’t just crying on the ground.
“Dr. Abbot! I’m so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise I’m still working on it—“
He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.
“Just needed some four by fours, kid.”
Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.
“…Those are three by threes.”
Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.
“Right,” You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. “I’ll just get out of your way. Sorry.”
You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.
“Look,” Dr. Abbot starts. “You’re one of Robby’s adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?”
“That is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.”
His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)
You don’t know what to do. He’s looking at you. Your boss doesn’t fluster you. You’re chill. You’re normal. You’re cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.
“Robby doesn’t adopt interns lightly. Don’t let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.”
You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.
The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.
Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.
“What, it doesn’t happen to you?”
A jolt of panic stabs your chest. “No! Of course it happens to me, I didn’t mean to imply that I’m like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at all—“
Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. You’re a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.
Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. He’s got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldn’t be hot, but he’s got his hand on your shoulder and you’re having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?
“Usually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you don’t get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesn’t mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.”
He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost don’t notice because he said you do good work.
Abbot gives you another grin. “And I didn’t stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.”
“But I ripped the purse strings,” You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, “Like an idiot.”
“You ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.”
“I practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didn’t happen!”
He tilts his head, almost cat-like. “Did you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?”
“…No?”
He snorts. “Exactly. Dr. Garcia probably won’t hold it against you. She’ll give you shit for it, but it’s not like she’s never going to give you another chance.”
You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbot’s reassurances echoing in your head.
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I don’t usually do that.”
Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. “Wouldn’t judge you if you did, kid.”
—
Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.
He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because he’s always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.
Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now he’s an attending. Night shift lead.
He started to get restless again.
He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didn’t sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.
And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.
And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.
That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasn’t him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jack’s stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.
Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasn’t tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didn’t actually know cats could snore like that.
Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.
Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shift’s conclusions. He’s picked up a very special language of gauging what he’s getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest intern— a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. He’d heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.
Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.
He’d watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because it’d fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks ‘Oh.’
And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks ‘Well, there’s something to do.’
Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how you’d looked at him when he’d assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.
He tells himself that he’s just going to keep an eye on you. For Robby’s sake. He’d do the same for Whitaker.
The next time you have a night shift, you’re clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.
When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where you’re diligently filling out a chart.
“That one yours, then?”
Jack shakes his head. “It’s not like that. You make me sound like a creep.”
Another raised eyebrow. “Sure it isn’t.”
“She’s Robby’s intern.”
“Mhm.”
“She’s way too young.”
Parker shrugs. “She’s good.”
“She is.”
The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. “Think she’ll burn out?”
“Maybe.”
Parker crosses his arms. “Are you gonna let it happen?”
“She’s not my intern.”
Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.
“It’s an HR nightmare.”
Parker shrugs. “You just said she’s not your intern.”
He narrows his eyes. “You know what I meant.”
“Do I? It’s been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.”
“Parker.”
“Jack.”
He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. “You’re the worst.”
Parker just laughs. “Sure I am.”
To your credit, he doesn’t find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesn’t last.
You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isn’t far enough to account how you’re shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.
Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what he’s not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.
Jack blinks, and in the next second he’s in the room, standing in between you and the patient.
“Excuse me, what the fuck is going on here?”
Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.
“I said I want a real doctor, not this fucking—“
“Get the fuck out of my hospital.”
Shen peaks his head in. “Security’s on their way.”
Jack reaches behind him to where you’re still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jack’s never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled “I’m fine, really, he just surprised me.”
Thankfully, security doesn’t take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, he’s out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before he’s beelining for it.
When he opens the door, you’re sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like you’ve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
“Dr. Abbot!”
Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics don’t lend to much mobility and he’s too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, there’s a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.
He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.
“Can I…?” Jack’s voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble that’s seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.
You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.
“He had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didn’t really notice until I got here.”
“Parker and Shen didn’t notice?”
You look at your lap. “I told them I was fine… And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. It’s just a little cut.”
Jack’s fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.
But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.
Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.
His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesn’t look that bad either.
But there’s still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.
“If I leave you here so I can get supplies,” He starts, voice a little rough, “Can I trust that you’ll stay here and not do anything stupid?”
“Uh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?”
Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. “That’d be preferable.”
Later, when he’s at home in his bed, he’ll assure himself that the night shift wasn’t truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while he’s busy.
No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.
What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack who’s got a thing for fixing.
He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. It’s something he’s generally very good at —which is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at all— but you’re looking up at him and there’s something really dangerous in the air and it must’ve gotten into your blood stream or something cause it’s swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.
He decides he could at least tone it down. You’re an intern. Robby’s intern. So what if you’re bleeding all over the break room? Jack’s just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. That’s all.
“Tilt your head up.”
He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so there’s no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he can’t get the sound of the slap out of his head and it’s all just kind of a lot.
He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like you’re burning up.
Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.
He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.
“Did you walk to work today?”
You wince. “My car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didn’t just leave my car in the middle of the road.”
He blinks.
“Your car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didn’t tell anybody?”
You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.
“Yeah? I carry a knife and I’ve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.”
There’s… a lot to unpack in your answer.
“Kid,” He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, “What was your plan to get home?”
“Walk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so I’m probably going to text her.”
Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didn’t think to let your boss know that your car broke down and you’d be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.
God.
“It’s really fine though,” You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. “My place isn’t that far, and it’s not the first time my car’s died. The battery’s kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and it’s like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. I’ve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.”
He wishes you’d stop talking so he’d stop hearing things that make him want to do things he can’t and shouldn’t do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.
Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.
“I’ll drive you home. If you’re fine with that.”
Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.
“Oh no, you really don’t have to. I promise I’m—“
“Please stop saying you're fine,” He begs, “You don’t have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think you’re coming down with something.”
The smile that’s seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.
“Well,” You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, “Things certainly aren’t… great, but I’ll survive. I’m not like, incapable, or anything.”
Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.
He hums. “Is that what you think? That I or someone else here will think you’re not competent or that you’re weak if you take a break or ask for help?”
Your face falters again. “No, no, of course not I just… I don’t know. I’m an intern. It’s my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just don’t want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I need— internships are competitive. They’re competitions, really. And I want to win.”
Jack Abbot knows what it’s like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that you’re capable and strong and unfailing.
So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.
“You’re a smart kid,” He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, “And you’re going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.”
He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. “This industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you don’t take care of yourself. I get it. We’re doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. It’s okay to… not be okay for a minute.”
You huff a watery laugh. “Isn’t that what energy drinks are for?”
He shakes his head. “What, trying to die faster?”
“Anything to shake those student loans. Can’t be in debt if you’re dead.”
“Don’t they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?”
“I don’t think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think it’ll hold up in court.”
Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isn’t sure.
He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.
“I gotta get back out there,” He jams his thumb towards the door, “But feel free to take five. No one’s judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, I’m telling you to take a break.”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For the…”
You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. “…And for the advice.”
He shrugs, like taking care of you hasn’t become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesn’t matter, like he’s just doing his job.
“Offer for the ride’s still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.”
And with that, he’s out the door.
It’s the end of shift, and you’re staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.
You’re not exactly rushing out the door.
You’re clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that it’s been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?
The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.
“Still raining out there?”
“Yep. Looks worse now.”
“Not great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.”
“Mhm.”
“Did you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?”
“No. I didn’t want to wake her up.”
Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.
“Come on, kid.”
The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesn’t think it’s awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.
He’d been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and it’s only thanks to Sabrina Carpenter’s voice that you don’t feel like completely freaking out.
You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.
“—I get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy—“
“—Treating me like you’re supposed to do, tears run down my thighs—“
By the time you’ve realized that perhaps this isn’t the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and who’s car you’re currently riding in, the words “I get wet” have already left your mouth so there’s no real point in stopping.
On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.
Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. You’re considering changing the radio station because god.
“So,” You start, just to say anything that drowns out “knee-deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?”, “Did you… have a good shift?”
That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?
Dr. Abbot snorts. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
Ah. Right. The Incident.
“I told you I’m—“
“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying that?”
Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?
He continues. “Fine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didn’t leave a mark, that’s still shitty.”
“Have you been hit by a patient before?”
He huffs. “Hell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. It’ll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.”
“Sorry you had to step in. I’ve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.”
“Oh yeah?”
You nod. “It was during my Pedes rotation, actually. I’ve always known working with kids probably wasn’t going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.”
“What, did she slap you too?”
“Nope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.”
“Fucking hell, kid. What’d you do?”
You shrug. “Kept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.”
Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. “Always the patients you least expect.”
“The importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.”
The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.
Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.
Your last thought before falling asleep is that you don’t remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.
Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.
“What?” You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: “Whamfgh?”
Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. You’re absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.
Oh right, your apartment.
“Oh,” You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.
Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.
You rub at your eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Little over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.”
“It doesn’t take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.”
Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.
“Did you just… park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?”
He just shrugs. “Like I said. You looked like you needed it.”
Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.
“Sorry. You didn’t have to wait.”
“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have.”
Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isn’t nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.
Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet “hey” you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.
It’s a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbot’s. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. It’s nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an intern’s budget.
“For the next time your car dies,” He clarifies, as if the jacket’s purpose is the thing that’s stupefied you, not the fact that he’s the one giving it to you, “In case of rain.”
“You really don’t have to,” your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, “I mean, I can just buy my own—“
“First of all,” He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, “Do I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I don’t want to? And second of all…”
He tilts his head, gaze sharp. “Are you really going to buy one for yourself?”
Your mouth goes dry.
“I was planning on looking online—“
Dr. Abbot interrupts you. “Now you don’t have to.”
Like it’s that easy. Does he want it to be?
“Dr. Abbot, I—“
“Jack.”
His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.
“Jack,” you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. “I can take care of myself. You don’t need to give me your jacket. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
“Kid—“
The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.
“Don’t call me kid like I’m stupid.”
Dr. Abb— Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.
He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.
“I don’t call you kid because I think you’re stupid. I don’t think you’re stupid. You’d know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. ‘Kid’ is a…” He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, “…Nickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but it’s not derogatory.”
Jack holds up a second finger.
“You have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldn’t have a low grade fever, and you would’ve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. You’ve been surviving. There’s a difference.”
Shame burns white hot through you— all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.
Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’d be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents don’t do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?”
“That depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Exactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesn’t actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.”
He nudges the jacket on your lap. “So just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.”
Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.
“You worry about me?”
Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.
“I worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.”
Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. It’s not like Jack actually likes you or anything.
You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jack’s car.
“Well. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.”
“No problem, kid.”
And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, that’s no one’s business but yours.
—
From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.
Whether it’s something he’s doing on purpose or you’ve just developed a heightened sense to his whereabouts— it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didn’t choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, he’s there.
You’re being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.
Working a double isn’t horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jack’s solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, you’re quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.
Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.
Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe it’s the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) It’s probably both of those things.
But there isn’t really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.
You’re distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.
Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.
“Hey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to have… bled through.”
If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.
“Fuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,” You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”
In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.
“To tie around your waist,” He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.
You don’t actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you don’t particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldn’t be working here. Robby wouldn’t let that kind of thing slide.
So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.
What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.
The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this time— a tiny bag of pretzels.
She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.
“Bad shift?”
“Bad life,” You grumble. “Dr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesn’t know what pad sizes are for.”
Dr. King nods thoughtfully. “He asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and he’s a doctor.”
“Here here,” You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. “How did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?”
“We’ve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,”
She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. “But to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasn’t an option. Which. Probably isn’t helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something that’s nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so it’s just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?”
You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasn’t Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.
Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in various… situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldn’t be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.
Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like you’re going to explode and die if you don’t have someone to confide in right this very second. You haven’t heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.
“Mel,” You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, “Can I tell you a secret?”
She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. “Um. Sure?”
“Have you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?”
Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. “Is this about Dr.—“
“I have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think it’s ruining my life.”
The words burst out of you all at once, and Mel’s expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.
“Ah,” She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. “Um. Well I personally don’t have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.”
You bury your face into your hands and groan. “It’s awful. It’s so cliche. It’s so fucking Grey’s Anatomy.”
“I’ve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.”
Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.
“Have you… acted on it?”
“No!” You snap your head up. “I mean. No, I haven’t. I’m not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. He’s an attending and I’m an intern.”
She leans in. “But…?”
“But sometimes… I wonder? I don’t know. I’m probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, that’s normal, right?”
Mel nods. “Fr— Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we don’t. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?”
“Right. Yeah.”
She takes the pretzel bag back. “Is there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?”
Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.
“He gave me his rain jacket. To keep.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.
“I’m honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. I’ve been told I can be… dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.”
You shrug. “You’re a great listener, and you haven’t steered me wrong in the past.”
She brightens. “That’s good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with your… particular situation.”
Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. “I’ll let Robby know you’re taking ten, so don’t worry about someone looking for you while you’re changing.”
“You’re the best. I love you.”
The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.
—
Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? “Hey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?”
Additionally, she’s kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohan’s work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.
After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.
“Hey!” She jogs up to you as you’re walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.
“Sorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?”
“Right!” You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think you’re capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like she’s the only expert around. “Yes. That. It’s a really normal question, you know.”
Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. “Uh, sure?”
There’s a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.
“This is about Abbot, isn’t it?”
You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. “Am I that obvious?”
She laughs goodnaturedly. “No. Probably not. You’re just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.”
“He’s so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like I’m dying.”
She makes a noise of sympathy. “He is. It’s fucking annoying, at a certain point.”
“Thank you!” You shout, “Like it’s just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead I’m just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.”
“Have you ever seen Grey’s—“
“Yes. I know. I can’t be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?”
Mohan purses her lips. “Well. You did just say you felt like you were dying.”
“I know,” You sigh. “It makes me feel… shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“On my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.”
She winces. “Oh. That’s not… great.”
Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. “He found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.”
Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think it’s a right of passage. And as for that second part…”
She shrugs. “Abbot gives credit where credit is due, but he won’t coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.”
“That’s what he said. It just didn’t really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.”
Mohan actually looks taken back.
“Okay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?”
“Whenever I have a spare twenty dollars.”
She grins. “I happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?”
“Yes please.”
Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samira’s is much more enjoyable than you expected— considering the fact that you’re an intern and she’s a resident. She confides that she doesn’t have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have “real girl-time”.
She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.
You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.
Maybe everything will be okay.
—
Everything is not okay.
You’re now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, you’ve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.
Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.
You shoot her a look. “Supportive as ever, Dr. Santos.”
“I try.”
You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.
It doesn’t help much.
There’s a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because you’re still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.
Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and it’s one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.
The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.
You’re just… having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. It’s the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while you’re awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.
A vacation. A week off. You’re describing taking a week off work. It’s comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.
You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, you’re the only liability he has to really worry about.
Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while you’re charting.
“You’re flagging.”
Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. “I’m fine. I just need a Redbull or something.”
He slides the tablet out of your hands. “Part of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Can’t be a good doctor if you’re falling asleep during the exam, right?”
“I would never fall asleep during an exam.”
He shrugs. “I’ve seen it happen.”
Jack jerks his head towards the break room. “Take five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.”
“Yes sir.”
He rolls his eyes. “Get going.”
Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patient’s doctor fantasy.
Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.
Your shift ends with little fanfare. It’s honestly a miracle you survived. You’re exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.
Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, it’s fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, it’s dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.
“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that he’s already texted.
Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.
And that’s just the last straw, really.
You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samira’s contact through blurry eyes. When you think you’ve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.
The phone rings for a bit, and you’re about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.
“Hello?”
It’s not Samira who answers. It’s Jack.
You sniffle. “Why are you answering Samira’s phone?”
“I didn’t. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?”
“Oh,” You decide to ignore his question, “I meant to call Samira. Sorry.”
“Wait,” Jack’s voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, “Answer the question. Are you okay?”
Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.
“The power’s out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power won’t be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but it’s cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever won’t go away.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
Always a man of action, Jack is.
You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he can’t see it. “I was supposed to call Samira and see if she’d let me sleep on her couch.”
“I have a guest bedroom.”
The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jack’s encouraging advice, Jack’s steady presence, Jack’s warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“What’s your address?”
The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. It’s just that kind of day.
You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jack’s apartment as directed.
It’s… fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.
The actual building itself isn’t very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so it’s not exactly surprising that Jack’s apartment is the penthouse. It’s just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt you’ve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.
Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.
If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesn’t hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldn’t have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.
His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.
He makes a low noise in his throat.
“Oh, you poor thing. Come here,”
Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying ‘come inside’ but the dam breaks the moment he says “poor thing” and you don’t have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than “Jack=Comfort and Safety".
Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then you’re crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.
Jack doesn’t react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe you’ve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.
“Poor girl,” he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, “They been running you ragged?”
You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut open— like you’ve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you can’t stop it.
“I’m so tired.” You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything that’s happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you don’t talk about that happened before.
“I know sweetheart, I know,” Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. “How about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?”
At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.
“Sorry,” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I got snot on your shirt.”
“Trust me kid, it’s seen worse.”
He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.
It’s nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesn’t, actually, look the inside of a dentist’s office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctor’s office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when you’re a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.
Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.
There’s a feeling under your skin you can’t place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light you’re watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if he’s got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.
But that’s a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.
Jack is— inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.
“By the way,” Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? “I have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably won’t come near you, but be warned, he’s an asshole when he wants to be.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.”
“That explains a lot of things.”
His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you don’t care to parse through at the moment.
“Um,” You start, feeling a bit unsteady, “Is— Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feel… grimy. Your apartment seems clean and I’d hate to get my hospital grime on anything.”
Jack just chuckles. “One, I wouldn’t care if you got ‘hospital grime’ on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?”
“I might’ve forgotten to grab those.”
Another huffy laugh. “That’s fine. You can borrow some of mine. I’ll leave them on the bed.”
That’s like. Wow. Yeah. You’re just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. You’re going to shower in Jack’s shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.
“I already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?”
Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.
“Yeah,” You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, “Yeah that’s fine. Thank you.”
Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. You’re not sure if there’s an intention behind the word choice.
Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. There’s a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and it’s not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.
Maybe that’s your problem. You haven’t felt like anything is in the right place in years.
You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jack’s water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.
They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.
Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholic’s is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you don’t feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.
(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)
The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. You’d read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But he’s dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.
Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon he’s stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.
He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.
“Feeling better after your shower?”
You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.
“Isn’t it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?”
He shrugs. “It’s dinner for us. Or, well, me. I’m not sure your body knows what meal it is.”
He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. “Any word from your landlord?”
“No. Sorry for… all of this. I know you’re tired.”
“I wish you’d stop apologizing for things I don’t mind doing for you.”
You don’t really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.
You clear your throat. “I can call Samira whenever. She’d probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Don’t feel like— I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.”
“Do you want to leave?”
You wish he’d stop asking questions you don’t want to answer.
You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robby’s kid, through and through.
“Well, I can’t have you getting sick of me. You’re the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesn’t pan out.”
Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. “Who said I’d get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.”
“Do you?”
You ask the question before you’re aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But you’ve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.
Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesn’t look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like he’s disappointed that you had to ask.
“Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”
“I don’t know,” You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, “I don’t want to assume anything.”
“You’ve already assumed quite a bit.”
You scrunch your face. “That’s different. Those are safe assumptions.”
“Are they?”
“Obviously, it’s safer to assume that you don’t want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do I’ll bother you and I want you to—“
You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. It’s not hard to figure out what you were going to say.
I want you to like me.
Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then he’s rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him —never turn you back, never let your guard down— and then he’s standing in front of you, over you, and you’re not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.
It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing. It’s impossible to ignore.
(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)
He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you don’t, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.
It’s cleaning the cut from the slap, it’s a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.
Unlike that day in the break room, there’s no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.
It’s just you and Jack, in Jack’s apartment, wearing Jack’s clothes, and pretty soon you’re going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.
And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and you’d make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.
He doesn’t. He starts talking.
“I like knowing that you’re safe. That you’re taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because I’m the one making sure of it.”
Your breath hitches in your chest.
“That’s kind of a lot of work, though.”
He hums. “It is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.”
Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so it’s not surprising that you start crying again.
Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything he’s been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.
“You don’t have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”
There’s the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?
Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.
Jack said you don’t have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you don’t do something you’re going to be sick with everything that’s swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jack’s perfectly decorated walls.
That would be something, wouldn’t it.
You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jack’s back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesn’t talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like he’s making sure you’re still there.
Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so there’s no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.
There’s a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.
You start crying again, in earnest.
“I’m sorry,” You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m— I don’t know. I don’t know.”
You’re hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.
Your life hasn’t been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Hey, hey hey hey, shhh,” Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isn’t Jack. “You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re okay, I got you.”
He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesn’t tell you to stop, or to calm down, or you’re being too much too fast.
“You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
—
You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.
You wake up in Jack’s bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. There’s the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.
Holy shit. What the fuck.
Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of what’s around you.
In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jack’s handwriting on it.
Kid-
I’ll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.
Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably won’t leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.
The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. It’s not ideal, but you’re wrung out and don’t have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what you’ve heard, Langdon isn’t really in a place to say anything.
On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isn’t too terribly awful.
Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.
Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdon’s general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.
You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.
“There are more of you here then there’s supposed to be,” You grumble, scrubbing at your face. “Why are you all here?”
Mel is the first to speak.
“It was Frank actually!” Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, “He figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didn’t tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!”
Wow, okay, that’s. A Lot.
You squint. “That doesn’t explain why you’re all here. I mean it does, but only like, why you’re here physically.”
Robby frowns. “We heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.”
Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.
Robby shoots her a look, but continues. “We care about you. We— I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.”
Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. “Jee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.”
Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.
"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."
Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.
–
At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.
It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:
Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.
Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.
–
When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.
He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.
And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.
You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.
"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'
You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."
You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."
Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.
Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.
Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.
The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.
Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.
"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"
He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.
"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."
He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.
"Why did you put it on?"
You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.
"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."
The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.
"How come?"
"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."
You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."
"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."
You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."
Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.
"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."
Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.
He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.
He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.
"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.
"Hmm?"
"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are you— I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortable—"
"I want to kiss you."
Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.
He continues when you don't speak.
"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."
"Oh."
"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."
You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.
"I thought I was just reading into things!"
"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"
Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.
"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"
He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.
"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"
For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.
"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."
luffy who knew nothing about pregnancy or what that really meant, but was still fascinated with you and your rounded belly.
he used the surface to take naps on during the boring days on the open waters, hat resting horizontally across his face.
you gently grabbed the top of his hat and removed it, successfully revealing the pirate that laid under it. “get up, I need to pee.”
“again?” he lazily rolled off your lap, sprawling out on the wood paneling that made up to ship. “why do you go so much?”
“because my baby’s telling me I have to go.” you jokingly explained, forgetting who you were talking to here. to luffy this wasn’t a joke, he took it seriously.
“she can talk!?” he sprung up with his mouth hanging wide open in shock.
luffy is obsessed with talking to your stomach after that, actually thinking that she would respond. you told him she can’t speak but that didn’t stop him from trying to get a response.
“hey! you awake in there?” he poked your side and waited a moment to listen, huffing in frustration luffy leaned down to press his ear to your skin. still nothing though.
he always have his hands somehow resting against your belly, that’s how he would feel the baby kick for the first time.
“what was that?” he pressed harder with his palm to try to feel it again.
“she’s really beating on me today.” you grimaced, rubbing the area in an attempt to soothe it.
“hey! stop hurting y/n” luffy would yell at her through your skin.
luffy would see you walking along past him and start copying the way waddle, laughing hysterically and thinking he’s the funniest.
as zoro lifted unbelievably heavy weight above his head, luffy and you stood not too far away. seeing this an idea crossed the pirates mind, he smiled and got in position. his hands wrapped under your armpits to hoist you up on to his shoulder.
“luffy, what are you doing!?” you knew he was strong of course but to hold your almost eight-month pregnant body.
it’s rare that he would ever share his food with anyone else, but luffy did just that with you, even going as far as feeding you himself sometimes.
he’d be sitting behind you, legs enclosing around you while his arms wrapped tonne in front of you. he had a chicken drumstick in hand, he waved it back and forth in your face.
“chopper said that you need to eat lots since there’s two of you” he explained as he shaved the chicken in your mouth. “and nothings better than meat!”
as you chewed off the bone, he moved it in the direction of his own mouth, licking the bone clean from whatever you didn’t eat.
yes, luffy is ignorant to the idea of pregnancy and what it does to your body. but his curiosity and love for you out ways the uncertainties.
As you lay with your back pressed up against his chest, you can confidently confirm that taking a bath with luffy is a hassle to say the least. Not to say that you necessarily disliked the baths you would take together, you just got annoyed at the fact that your boyfriend couldn’t stop playing with your boobs. It wasn’t even in a sexual way, more so due to his immaturity and curiosity.
You convince luffy to relax in the tub with you, being a pirate wasn’t easy in any means, leaving you mentally and physically stressed. The bath was the perfect solution. He agrees of course, slipping in behind you and nuzzling his head in you neck.
It only takes a good ten minutes before he’s starting to become restless. He has the tendency to get bored very quick with situations that require peace and quiet, his brain always needs to have some type of entertainment going on.
“Isn’t this nice, Luffy?” You sigh as you stretch out as far as possible. You enjoyed peaceful quality time like this, it was hard to come by on a ship with a group of rowdy pirates, especially when the rowdiest of them all was you captain and boyfriend.
“I’m bored!” He cried out as he fell backwards and slammed his hands on the surface of the water, splashing water all over the floor and you. He giggled at the splashes he made, flailing his arms around to do it again.
“Enough.” You said sternly, eyes closed. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again as he crossed his arms in front of him stubbornly.
His eyes began to dart everywhere in the room, the door, the light, the cabinet, your chest. His eyes went back to that last. They moved up and down, boobs going under the water and resurfacing again.
Your eyes closed, unsuspecting of what he was about to do. He slid his hands around to your front, grabbing each mound. “Luffy,” Your eyes opened. “What are you doing?”
“Bored.” And this would somehow entertain him, you thought? Yes, yes it would it seemed.
He jiggled them, moving one up while the other went down. Water lightly splashed around them, earning a satisfied laugh from the pirate.
“Stop being weird!”
“It’s not weird, it’s fun!” He pushed them together and watched as water squirted out the top of you cleavage. You leaned back slightly to glance at his face, pure happiness was plastered on it. You bit your lip and smiled, if this was what it was going to take to keep him entertained then so be it.
“As long as you promise to stay quiet, got it?” You kissed his cheek.
“Luffy, don’t you think that’s enough already?” You whine out, back arching and fingers clawing at his black hair. You don’t know how much more you could take of this, Luffy has been at for what felt like hours. He’s been licking, sucking and even nibbling at your swollen nipples.
“Mm mm!” He let out a hum in response, a sound of disagreement at your question. You don’t know what has gotten into him, he didn’t even say anything when he got home from his adventure on the new island you arrived at, just shoved his head under your shirt and forced it off soon after.
He’s been going at them ever since.
He let go of the first nipple, leaving a stringy connection of saliva from your flesh to his lips, then attacked your neglected one. You glanced down at him, mouth slightly open from the pants slipping past, you could see his eyes softly shut.
He looked totally content with the situation, his hold around your body tightened. He wished to be closer to you even though he was as close as humanly possibly.
“Luf, starting to get sore.” But he didn’t respond, his suckling only continued on in a steady speed. You sighed, and looked closer at the man between you chest. Drool was leaking from where he was attached to your mound.
“Luffy? Hey, get off.” You shook his head in an attempt to pry him off of you, he didn’t budge quite yet though. Fed up, you gripped the roots of his hair and tugged back hard, only then did he pop off from you. He didn’t move, only let out quiet breaths of snores.
“Hey, are you sleeping?!” This guy could really nap anywhere, anytime. Even while he was going at your boobs like that.
✪ Roronoa Zoro
“Does it feel good?” The green haired man behind you questioned, adding a quick pinch to the nub that was pressed between his strong fingers. “Hm?”
You nodded, you grasped the fluffy sheets from underneath you. He had you sat on his cock as he leaned against the headboard of the bed frame and had you placed between his legs with his arms wrapped around you, poking and prodding at your chest.
“Don’t pinch so hard please!” You pleaded with the man, bringing your hand up to pry at his fingers. He was to strong for you, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his tanned skin.
“This is your own fault, you know?” He chuckled lightly, he was enjoying this whole thing. “You just had to wear that stupid, slutty bikini, huh?”
You moaned at the mention of your earlier activities and the clothes your were wearing. It was an extra hot day on the ship and a small bathing suit seemed to be the best remedy. Zoro didn’t agree.
“I can’t lie though,” He exhaled on the back of you neck and cupped both of your boobs, starting to squish your tits, the fat of them toppled out of the space between his long fingers. “You look so hot whenever you wear it.”
“But it’s only for my eyes, got that?” He explained, ending his sentence with a quick smack to your meaty breast.
✪ Vinsmoke Sanji
It was supposed to be a punishment, but to Sanji it wasn’t much of one. Because he enjoyed every and anything you did.
You had his hands tied behind his back and his eyes covered with a black cloth.
“Sit,” You demanded your lover who listened carefully to your instructions, you helped guide him, he then nestled into the open space in your legs. “Go.”
As soon as you said that singular word, he eagerly began to search for your nipples, his treasure. His lips slithered messily along your flesh, blindly going in all directions.
“Would you hurry up?” You rolled your eyes, acting as though you didn’t love this. He did too, you could tell by how he let out little cries at your words. “You’re pathetic.”
“Y-You’re so mean!” He mewled, then returning to his previous actions.
“Ya well, that’s what you get for calling other girls pretty!” You were still bitter from Sanji hitting on another woman, right infront of you too!
You and Sanji walked into a new store, it had all these unique cooking tools and ingredients, right up Sanjis alley. The lady working at the till kept going on and on about all of the new items they had in stock, and when you finally got your boyfriend to leave, he said ‘goodbye pretty’.
“I told you I’m sorry!” He tugged harshly against his restraint, relentlessly trying to escape so he could touch you to his satisfaction.
“Sorry, but,” You paused, enclosing his slim build in your plush legs. “You’re just going to have to show me how sorry you are.”
✦ warnings ➠ nsfw, cunnilingus, swearing, almost getting caught
✦ note ➠ 3000+ LIKES ON MY CLINGY GOJO POST?!? thats actually insane, I’m so happy thank you for all the support 😨🫶
✪ Monkey D. Luffy
— You felt shaking, hands were on you and vigorously pushing and pulling you. Your eyes weren’t open yet, they couldn’t, you were just sleeping a few seconds ago and now you were being rudely awaken. Keeping your eyes closed, you called out for your boyfriend.
“What, what is it Luffy?” You sighed, shoving your face further in the blanket, trying to go back to the time when you were still sound asleep. “It’s still nighttime, go back to bed.”
He whined out, nuzzling his face in your neck. “But I’m hungry.”
Of course he is, you shook your head in annoyance. “That’s what you woke me up for? Wait and eat in the morning like the rest of us.”
Luffy licked your cheek, leaving heavy and warm breaths on it. He always was so impatient when he wanted something, especially when hunger was what he wanted. “But I cant.”
You were shocked, you really shouldn’t be though, he was obsessed with food to point where it was slightly unhealthy. You forcefully shoved his face away from you, making him fall on his side of the bed. “Well too bad, now go to sleep.”
“I can’t, not when I’m so hungry.” He huffed out, sounding defeated by his own words, at least it seemed like he was done with this stunt. But you felt bad a little bit, if he was so hungry that he couldn’t even sleep, then that’s an issue.
“If you’re really that hungry go to the kitchen.” That was the final thing you were going to say, now you were for real going to sleep.
You felt him shuffling beside you and the bed swaying from his movement. It melt like he was moving down the bed, making it to the foot of it. You ignored him, just wanting this to be over.
He disappeared under to covers for a minute, lifting your leg and placing himself between them. “Why would I go to the kitchen? My foods already right here.”
For the first time that night your eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to adjust to the environment. You reached in the dark for the light, turning it on and removing the cloth that separated the two of you, bLuffy was there, resting his cheek on your thigh. He had a lazy and goofy smile on his face like he always did, but his eyes were different. His eyes stared into your soul, hunger definitely evident in his gaze.
“Oh,” That’s all you could say, you had just been waken and had to face this. “You’re that type of hungry.”
The man between your limbs nodded eagerly, relieved that you had finally understood him. He had awoken in the middle of the night and the feeling washed over him, he couldn’t sleep after that, he needed you.
“Well, eat then.” That’s all it took for him rip off your shorts and underwear, revealing you to him. You could never deny your boyfriend, even if it was so late, not when he looked so longingly up at you.
He delve in instantly, not being able to wait any longer. His mouth was wide open against your folds, sucking and nudging them how ever he wished. Luffy didn’t focus on anywhere in particular when he ate you out, he liked to pay attention to every part of you down there, making it a messy operation, your juices spread across his face and everywhere on your thighs.
“Oh-h, so good.” This session Luffy seemed to really want it, he was licking so aggressively and tugged harshly at your lips. You weren’t complaining, the pleasure was almost unbearable.
It wasn’t till he placed a bite on your clit that you felt the beginnings of your end. He’s never done this before, but the new found trick brought you dangerously close to your climax.
“Do it again!” You pleaded, wanting to feel that same sensation from before. And he listened, using his canine to squish your bud, he lapped at the same spot to soothe it. You came undone, Luffy crawled up your body and dropped onto your chest, you noticed he had a soft grin on his face.
“You really were hungry, huh?” Your fingers started playing and twirling mindlessly with his hair.
“Mhm.” He hummed, closing his eyes from the comfort he received at the mercy of your hands. You too shut your eyes, being able to sleep again.
✪ Roronoa Zoro
— If there was one thing you knew about your boyfriend, it was how much he liked eating pussy. He’d eat it from the back, he’d eat it in sixty nine, he’d eat in the shower. He would literally do it anywhere at anytime. A position he hadn’t tried though was you sitting on his face.
So right now, he decided that you were going to sit on his face, but you were having some difficulty with that. You hovered over his awaiting mouth, using the headboard of the bed to hold yourself up.
“Sit on my face already.” He wrapped his buff arms around your thighs, attempting to pull you down on his face.
“Z-Zoro, don’t you think I’ll be to heavy?” You quivered, not letting him win the tug of war you were having.
“Don’t care,” The greened haired man loosened his grip, letting you raise slightly. “Just want to taste you.”
You bit your lip, thinking about how desperate his expression looked, you could tell he really wanted this and who were you to deny? You reluctantly lowered yourself closer to his face, making sure not to have your whole weight on him.
His lips chased yours, coming up to meet your dripping core where it was above him. He slowly made out with it, messily sucking and slurping. He quickly shook his face in your heat, spreading the juices he has created.
“Fucking come here.” His words were muffled against your skin as he forced you to fully sit down on his face. Your cheeked flushed in embarrassment, worrying if you were to much for your boyfriend to bare. You tried to get off, but the strong arms on your legs kept you in place.
“Zoro!” You whimpered, grasp tightening on the wooden frame.
He only carried on, now comfortable with the position you were in, nice and snug to his face. His tongue worked quick and tight circles on your bud, not stopping until he heard a moan rip from your vocal cords.
You glanced down on him through your droopy eyes, he was also looking up at you. His eyes always stood out to you, they were always stern and fierce, staring right through you.
He kept eye contact with you as he face moved deeper into you, his nose becoming smaller in size. Your stomach did flips in response, contracting as you felt tingling down there.
He smiled into you, he could see how much you liked sitting on his face, and to think on how you were so against it before.
His grin became bigger as he noticed how close you were, this might be the quickest he’s ever made you come.
Picking up his pace, he pushed you over the edge until you came undone onto his smushed face. “How do you like the new position now?”
✪ Vinsmoke Sanji
— You were becoming very annoyed at your boyfriends current antics, he’s been at it for what it felt like hours now. You sat on a chair in the kitchen, attempting to enjoy the beautiful meal that Sanji had prepared for you. That task was almost impossible though, due to the man that was positioned at your feet in front your chair.
“For the tenth time, Sanji, the answer is no.” You huffed out, stabbing another piece of food with your fork.
“Please, Y/n! Just one taste!” He begged, smushing his blushing face against your exposed knee. You had decided to wear a skirt today as it was very warm outside, it seemed to have an affect on the blonde man.
“I’m trying to eat, can’t you wait until I’m at least finished?” You wiggled your leg, trying to shake the man attached to your knee off of you.
His grasp became harder, slowing your movements until they stopped totally. His face moved closer, it reached the hem of your skirt where he brought his fingers to fidget with it softly. “I can’t wait, need it right now.”
Normally you wouldn’t put up such a fuss, but you were in the kitchen, anyone could walk in whenever they wanted. “Sanji, what if someone came in? Like if Luffy got hungry and ran in, what then?”
“I’ll be quick, promise.” He started laying quick kisses on your thighs, his eyes still looked at you from below waiting for your response.
You thought about it for a moment, sighing in defeat. “You promise?” He nodded eagerly, eyes filled with lust as he glanced up at you. You nodded your head in agreement, once you gave him the go ahead he immediately flipped your skirt and dived straight in, head disappearing under the flowy material.
At first he kissed you through the cloth that separated him from your bare pussy, his breath was warm when it fanned onto you. He pulled your underwear off, revealing everything to him.
For some reason unknown to you as you couldn’t see Sanji because of your bottoms he paused in his tracks, not going further.
“You said you’d be fast, get on with it and eat me out already.” You gave him time to resume his prior actions but when he refused and stayed in his place, you threw the skirt up off his head. “What are yo-”
“Just admiring my pretty girl.” Anyone would assume that he was referring to you, but you knew what he was talking about and it wasn’t your face. It was your cunt.
“Shut up.” You forced his face into your core, you couldn’t look at him any longer, just thinking about his words made a wave of heat form in your lower stomach.
Your boyfriend didn’t protest, starting to lick long strips up your slit, sucking on your bud when he reached it at the end. He repeatedly did this until he felt your juices slipping everywhere, now your hole was ready for his tongue. He slipped it inside, letting it slowly slide in to its full length.
You whimpered in response, hands flying to his yellow hair. “Keep going.”
He listened to your pleads, swirling his muscle around in circles before pulling out and searching upwards for your buzzing clit. You felt his lips wrap around it, applying suction on it, during all of this the tip of his tongue poked through his lips and flicked at your bud.
“So close, Sanji!” Your legs enclosed on his torso, trapping him. His actions became faster, suction harder and flicking harsher. It was all too much for your aching cunt, your climax was nearing.
Just as you were about to let go, you heard a voice coming from outside the door. “Sanji! I’m hungry when it food going to be ready!?”
“Have some patience Luffy, you pig!” He pulled away to yell at the pirate captain, stuffing his face back in like nothing had happened.
“Sanj-ji he’s going to walk in here!” You felt tears sting your eyes at the stressful situation that had a chance to occur, but the tears were also present in your eyes due to the fact that the feeling from before was back again.
The cook didn’t respond, eating you out the same as before the interruption. You panted, pawing at his locks as you came on Sanjis mouth.
He quickly licked it all up, placing your panties back on and flattened out your skirt to normal just in time before the energetic black haired boy came barreling through the kitchen doors.
✦ summary ➠ teenager gojo just might be the clingiest boyfriend that there ever was on this planet.
✦ warnings ➠ none
✦ note ➠ thank you for 80+ followers ❕and for all the comments, likes and reposts 🤍
teenage!gojo is aware of the rule that states no male and female mingling in dorms past 8:00pm, but that doesn’t stop him from sneaking into you room at night. He would slide up next to you and slither his arms around your torso.
teenage!gojo would drop everything if it meant he’d be able to hang out with you. He was hanging out with Geto and immediately left when he saw the picture you posted, it was of your laptop playing a movie and your cat sitting beside it. You were all alone, so that meant he had to go see you.
teenage!gojo would always remember to buy you your favourite snacks and bring them back to you.
teenage!gojo is the type to always be touching you somehow in public and private settings. Whether that be holding your hand, wrapping his arm around your hip, stuffing his face in your neck, etc.
teenage!gojo would beg for kisses anywhere anytime. He was about to fight someone but insisted that he needed a good luck kiss.
teenage!gojo would spend every penny he had on you, not that he’d run out of money anytime soon or ever really. He’ll buy you anything you ask for; new shoes, a night at the movies, jewelry, etc.
teenage!gojo can’t go even a day without seeing you, he’d be a wrecked. His mission took multiple days and Geto had to deal with the effects of it. Gojo would lay around all day, mumbling about you the whole time and how much he missed you.
teenage!gojo literally can’t survive without his girlfriend.
✦ summary ➠ some jjk men finding out they are going to be a daddy.
✦ warnings ➠ pregnancy (duh), swearing, mentions of sex
✦ note ➠ Also ps the gojo one is kinda cringe ngl but whatever kinda cute, my fave is the Nanami one I think.
✪ Satoru Gojo
— Gojo had been lounging around on your shared bed the whole day. It was one of his odd days off, so he chose to spend it being lazy.
As he was living carefree and innocently, you had just found out you were pregnant. Not that this should be a surprise.
Sure, your period being very late and the puking in the morning should’ve been enough of a sign that you were pregnant. But you didn’t actually think you were pregnant, pregnant.
But that was the reality you faced now in the bathroom of your master bedroom. You knew you couldn’t hide anything from your frost haired boyfriend for too long, so mays well fess up about it quickly.
You took the positive stick with you as you made your way to the room that was connected and that held Gojo. You weren’t too scared to tell him, because he always made it annoyingly obvious to you that he wanted a baby with you. Every minute he got he would make a comment about how nice it would be to have a child running around, how cute you’d look with your stomach swollen, how tiny baby clothes were and he told you how he envisioned his future child in them.
So no, you didn’t feel much fear. As for you thoughts on the predicament, you also had wanted a kid. Though you didn’t make your opinion as aware as he did, you still wanted to have one some day, and that day was this one it seemed.
You waltzed up to him, throwing the stick onto his exposed chest. “Looks like you got what you wanted.”
He threw a confused look your way. “Huh?” He let out the sound, but it died out as he held the object thrown at him and saw what it actually was. “You’re pregnant?!”
You only nodded, readying yourself for whatever celebration that was going to happen soon. Just as you expected, he sprung up and attached onto you to bring you down onto the bed with him.
“Yes! Yes! This is perfect. Thank you,” He planted so many quick kissed onto you face that they interrupted his sentence formation. “Thank you, thank you.”
“You should thank yourself for this, you are the one who always chooses to come inside.” You remarked jokingly, also wrapping your arms around him.
✪ Suguru Geto
— You sat nervously on the bed that was wrapped in white, thin paper to ensure it was clean for any patient that had to use it. And that patient was you. You gripped your husbands hand harder, looking to find comfort in his eyes.
“Hey, it’s going to be alright.” He smiled and brought your hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “We get so see her this time, isn’t that exciting?”
He used ‘her’ to refer to the growing babe in your stomach, but you didn’t truly know the sex of them just yet. He just hoped for a baby girl, hence the use of the pronoun.
Today was your first official appointment at the doctors that you would actually see your baby. You were both feeling so many emotions right now. You were both excited as well as frightened at the same time. You would be able to see your bundle of joy, but there was also a possibility of the fetus having something wrong with them, like a illness.
The door opened and your doctor entered. “Hello, I’ll be helping you for today. My name is D/n, pleasure to meet you.” She thrusted her hand towards your husband, then you as well.
“To begin, we’re just going to start with you Miss mommy. We will perform some basic health checks, your levels and such. How does that sound?” She was very sweet, always making sure to ask if you were ok to proceed.
“Sounds perfect.” Your husband responded for you politely. You added in a nod too.
“Now, let’s move on to what you’ve both been waiting for.” After your procedure was done, it was time for your baby’s turn. “I’m going to perform a ultrasound, you’ll be able to literally see your baby through this! All parents are overjoyed about their first ultrasound.”
“I’d say I’m more anxious, actually.” You muttered, you didn’t want to be a killjoy but how could you not? There was a big step between knowing you’re pregnant and watching your belly grow and actually seeing your baby.
“And that is completely normal! Many say the same too, if you are worried then that is just a sign you are going to be a caring mother.” She had a perfect response for everything. She must’ve been use to all of this already. “Now, I will warn you that the gel is quite cold, but that’s the worst that’s going to happen for this step.”
“Before I start, I ask all my patients if they would like to know the gender.” You both would definitely like to know, since Geto was so keen on it being a little girl.
“Yes please, my husband wants it to be a girl you see.” You informed D/n.
“And as for you? What would you like the gender to be?” She asked you this time.
“My wife doesn’t care much either way. She almost always corrects me when I say our baby is a girl.” Geto sent a look of admiration your way. Everyone took a moment to chuckle, once the moment was over you decided it was time to get it over with.
“Let’s do this, then.” You let it out as a breath. “You ready, Suguru?”
“Not really, are you?” He was joking, half joking at least.
“Not at all.” You responded, letting the man kiss your hand again.
The professional spread the gel all over the surface of your rounded stomach. Once it was to her liking, she turned on the machine and grabbed the device that had the sensor on the end of it. “Let’s see your baby!”
Except it wasn’t just a ‘baby’ the correct term would be ‘babies’ because there’s was two. “Oh, how lovely, you will be having twins it seems.”
Twins? You thought, what would Suguru think about this. So you tilted your head to your husband that was eagerly sitting beside you on his chair. He was in his own world, not noticing you were even looking at him. He eyes were stuck on the screen that showcased the little white and grey blurbs that were your babies.
“And it seems your husband was right about the gender, they’re both healthy, baby girls!” She cheered, continuously moving the wand around your stomach to get new angles.
“You see, I was right!” He pointed out, shimmying closer to your body that was laying down still.
“How do you feel about finding out it’s twins?” You couldn’t help but ask him, anticipating his response.
“I feel that whatever those results would have shown, I would still love you just the same.” He hummed, bringing his hand to your face and brushing your hair out of your face to lay a kiss on your forehead. “I might even love you more.”
✪ Kento Nanami
— Nanami had been at the grocery store, he had to purchase a long list of things. The list contained many things like milk, batteries, lettuce, a pregnancy test or two. Normal things.
Except, this was not normal of course. Nanami especially did not feel normal as of right now, he felt on edge ever since he received the text from you to add a pregnancy test to the grocery list. His phone almost fell right out of his hands at the store when he read it.
And now he was home finally.
You heard his car pull up earlier, so you were already there to meet him at the door once he came through. There was a awkward pause when he laid eyes on you. You didn’t know what to do, you just texted him out of the blue that you needed a pregnancy test. That could only mean one thing, that you were pregnant, or at least there was a possibility of it.
He dropped the bags that he held at the door way of your house where he stood. He quickly sped walk towards you, slightly leaning down to match your height. He brought his hands up to cup your face, he didn’t do anything now, just stare into your eyes. You looked into each others soul, relishing in this intimate moment together.
“You think you’re pregnant?” He asked in a soft voice as not to ruin the moment. You sighed but nodded still.
At this, he closed the gap between your lips and left a intense kiss on them. He pulled back but not too far, wanting to stay as close as he could to you right now.
“Alright.” Is what he said before he left you to return to the previously held bags. He searched through them to find the box that held the stick you needed.
He came back to where you still stood, placing the said box in one of your hands and taking the other in his to hold. “Let’s go the washroom, together.”
You nodded again, following the man that held your hand now. Together, you thought. That single word made you feel warm, it made you feel not so alone in this whole situation.
He opened the door that lead to your bathroom, stilling and letting you in so you could pee on the test in privacy. But you didn’t want that. “Can you stay?” You waited a moment. “Please?”
“Of course.” He kissed you cheek. You sat on the toilet, taking time to just stare at the unopened test before you. Nanami picked up on this, gently taking the box out of your hands and opening the package himself. He gave it back to you now, he hoped that this would send a message to you, that he was there for you no matter what.
You did your thing, peeing on the stick finally. You pulled it back up from underneath you, looking up at Nanami again. “Now we just wait, I guess.”
And wait you did, anxiously to say the least. You had now changed positions. You sat on the counter of the sink, in between your boyfriends legs while he stood. He had been spitting encouraging and comforting words while also rubbing soothing circles on your legs and back. Anything to pass the time and bring you consolation.
The amount of time that was needed had passed. Now it was time to look at the results.
You went to grab the stick but before you could, Nanami grabbed your hand to halt you. “I want you to know that now matter what it says, I’ll still love and support you, ok?”
“Ok.” You smiled up at the blonde, he always knew how to calm you down. He then let go of you so that you could continue with your pursuit of finding out the results.
You flipped the stick over and there it was, two lines that meant you were pregnant. You let a shaky breath out, not sure how to react to this. You looked at Nanami to see how he was handling this, fairly well it seemed. He had a small smile on his face and his eyes looked almost watery.
He took the test away from you, tracing the two lines that went downwards on the tiny screen. He dropped the stick back onto the surface, wrapping his hands around the back of your neck to bring you in for a big, celebratory kiss.
“I am honoured to be able to have a child with you, Y/n.”
✪ Toji Fushiguro
— The black haired man let out a yawn as he rested his feet on the row of benches in front of him. He had his arms stretched across the seats on either side of him too, completely relaxed in his current state. He was watching the boat race today.
This was his favourite hobby by far, he could just laze around the stadium all day and possibly win some money, though he seemed to have bad luck and lose most of it. He didn’t care though, because gambling put him in a good mood, nothing could bring him down. Then his annoying phone ringer went off, signalling someone was calling you. Now that, that could bring him down.
The race was set to start soon, any minute now even. He pulled the phone out of his pocket, your contact lit up the screen. He sighed, there was two minutes left until the boats started racing, he could spare one call with you.
“What, woman?” He drawled out with annoyance evident in his voice. Could you have called at a worse time? He thought internally.
“Get home, now.” Is all he heard on his side of the line before the call was ended by you. Who does she think she is, hanging up on me like that? And only saying three words! Even though he protested in his mind, he got up none the less and made his way to your shared apartment.
After you had ended that call, you immediately felt a wave of anxiety wash through your body. You were in the bathroom on the toilet, positive pregnancy test in hand.
You shouldn’t be surprised really, ever since the two of you started this relationship Toji insisted on having sex without a condom. Now you were forced to face the consequences to your actions, well Toji’s actions really.
You stood up, deciding you should get ready for your boyfriends arrival.
Once Toji arrived, he was met with your figure sitting at the kitchen table. You had your elbows rested on the surface and your hands covering your head. You looked distressed.
He walked up to you, kicking the chair leg you sat on. “What’s up with you? The race was just about to start too and then you had to go and call me all the way over here.”
You didn’t respond verbally, only pulling out a little stick and slamming it on the table in front of him.
He raised an eyebrow, picking the unknown object up and inspecting it. Oh shit, he thought. And that’s what he said out loud too. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit? That’s all you have to say, really?!” You were starting to get angry now, what kind of response is that to such important news.
“What do you want me to say?” He asked, this was a genuine question. He wanted to know what you wished for as a response, did you want to keep it? Or didn’t you? He needed to know.
“I want you to say,” You breathed in. “I want you to say you’re happy, to say you’re happy to have a baby with me.” You whispered.
He wasn’t the best with sharing his emotions, you know this, but he showed it now in his own way. He dropped down to his knees in front of your chair, grabbing each of your hands and bringing them to his lips.
“I wanna have a baby with you.” He mumbled against your hands and kissed them.
✪ Choso Kamo
— Choso sat on the couch while watching the tv play in the living room. The two of you had cooked up some breakfast, it was early in the morning, but it was the weekend so you both could just relax and spend time doing what you want.
You were doing your morning routine in the bathroom, or at least that’s what Choso was told you were up to. Instead, you were nervously awaiting for the results of the second pregnancy test you had used. The first one was positive, so if this one was too, then it had to mean you were pregnant for sure.
You knew Choso had wanted a child ever since you met, he had told you almost every time you fucked. But for some reason, you still felt scared for his reaction once you told him.
Choso, finished his breakfast by now, had begun to feel worried. You have been in there for quite some time now, too long for your usual routine, and he knew how long you usually took. He had witnessed it almost every morning for the past two years. Plus he had to use the bathroom anyway, so he decided to go to you.
He placed his bowl in the sink, wiped his hands and went to go see what was taking you so long. Once he reached the door, he knocked on it. “Hey, Y/n. Everything alright in there?”
Your heart stopped, the white sticks almost dropping from your hands. “Uhm, ya! Almost done!”
“Can I come in, I have to pee really bad.” He giggled, gripping the doorframe in an attempt to hold his piss in.
You let a breath out, trying to ground yourself. This is Chose we’re talking about, he’s wanted a baby forever, and he loves you. He’ll be ok with it, you told your self. You threw one of the tests in the garbage and kept the other, holding it behind your back.
“Sorry, I lost track of time.” You said as you opened the door, allowing your boyfriend to come in.
“It’s fine.” He rushed past you, not without laying a kiss on your cheek though. He placed himself in front of the toilet, ready to unzip his pants, but stopped as he looked your way. You looked suspicious, you were standing by the sink and staring at him. The most interesting fact was that you had your hands behind your back, like you were hiding something.
He stopped in his tracks and came closer to you. “What you got back there?”
“This.” You said when you shoved the test into his chest. You had a smile on even though you were afraid, but you knew Choso would be excited. “You’re going to be a daddy, Choso.”
He brought the stick to his face, he was surprised to say the least, but a good kind of surprise. He had wanted this with you for a long time.
He grabbed you, picking you up and flinging you around in celebration. “I’m going to be a dad!” He laughed out.
“And I’m going to be a mom!” You laughed along with him. Placing kisses all over each other’s faces.
✦ summary ➠ yuji was just a sweet, teenage boy. How could he not develop a crush on one of his fellow first years?
✦ warnings ➠ none
— She’s so pretty, that’s what the pink haired man thought. His elbow rested on the desk and his hand was tucked under his chin as he watched you from his seat in the classroom. You were conversing with Nobara at your own desks in the first years room, Nobara was most likely spreading gossip. But he didn’t care much what the two of you were saying, he was in a trance, stuck looking at the face he has loved ever since the beginning of school. Ever since you first met.
“Are you just going to stare the whole class?” Nobara sassed. “Cause it’s starting to creep me out.”
“Uh, no. Sorry, I just zoned out!” He was stuttering, scared that they (mostly you) had caught him in his antics. He quickly turned his body forward, sitting properly.
You thought he was the cutest when his voice betrayed him, leaving broken words.
“You know Itadori, you’ve been acting awfully weird lately.” The girl remarked, eyeing the boy with a grin on her face.
“R-really?!” The said boy swallowed the lump forming in his throat from his friends sentence.
You see, Nobara has been keeping a close eye on Yuuji as of late, she’s noticed a few odd things that the boy has started doing recently. First, she noticed the way Yuujis eyes wandered and how they stuck to you whenever he had the chance. Then, Nobara picked up on the way that Yuuji would go out of his way to do any task for you, to help you however he can, he’d do anything for you. The final quirk that surfaced was how the boy struggled to talk in your presence, he always seemed to turn red and stutter with his words.
That last one was her personal favourite, she would tease him about it constantly.
“I just zoned out! Really, honestly I did!” He tried to reason with her, but he knew that she had him figured out. There was no escaping this now.
“Oh, I believe you on that. I know you zoned out, you just didn’t zone out on me.” She concluded. “You were zoned out on Y/n!” She was now sprung up out of her seat and pointing an accusing finger at Yuuji.
“What?! No- I, I wasn’t! I swear, I was just uhh watching the door for when Gojo was going to show up!”
“The door is on the opposite side of the room, Itadori.” Megumi added in finally, he had actually been here the whole time, but just wished to mind his own business until class started. But Megumi couldn’t let that remark be left unpunished, it was just too stupid.
Yuuji left out a sound of defeat as his head smacked down against his desk, he was so embarrassed. His face was so red and radiated heat.
You had also begun to feel embarrassed, was there actually a chance that he liked you? I mean why else would he be staring at you and get so flustered when someone called him out on it.
You let out a small giggle, many emotions running through your body.
At this, Yuuji lifted his head slightly, just enough to see your face. You were smiling, eyes closed and cheeks pink. You were so cute, he was starting to stare at you again.
“I have to go.” That was all he said as he ran fast past everyone, shooting out the door to who knows where. He didn’t, he just wanted to get away from that damn room. He didn’t want to be seen by you like this, it was too much too fast.
“Yuuji, Wait!” You stood up, your chair screeching behind you from the speed that you got up at. “Nobara, you embarrassed him!”
“Hey, he should’ve known that I’d find out.” She smirked, shrugging his shoulders up with no care.
You shook your head, she could be so inconsiderate sometimes. You followed Yuujis trail, hoping to find him quick. Class would start soon but you didn’t mind. You just hoped that Yuuji was alright wherever he was.
You sped down the hallways for quite some time, turning a few times until you found him. He was sat beside a vending machine, head resting against the wall.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” You panted out, stepping closer to him. He didn’t move, staying is his spot. “Why’d you go and run off like that, Nobara was just trying to get a reaction out of you.”
His head fell against the machine now, his eyes softly closed and his lips pursed slightly.
“You know I don’t care if you were looking at me. Everyone zones out once in awhile. It’s normal.” You tried to comfort the poor boy. He looked so defeated.
You were starting to get worried now, he wasn’t responding. You moved beside him, sliding down the wall so that you were sitting by him now.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” You leaned downward to get a look at his face, he was avoiding eye contact even.
“Have you ever had a crush?” He blurted out fast. That was odd, really random too, you thought to yourself.
“I mean, ya. I’ve had a few before.” You laughed a little, not knowing how to respond really.
“Oh, ok.” That was it? Why was he acting so depressed. You frowned, reaching for his hand. You just wanted to console him. He’s your friend after all and you wanted to be there for him if he was struggling in any way.
He flinched away from your touch, curling into himself as much as he possibly could.
“You know, if you ever need to talk I’m here. You’ve always been there for me when I needed, so you can tell me anything you want.” You grasped his hand anyway, wanting him to truly know you meant what you were saying. He looked down at where your hands met each others and then made the hold tighter.
“I like you, Y/n.” He finally made an effort to lock eyes with you. “I have for awhile now, that’s why I’ve been ‘acting weird’ as Nobara would put it.”
He looked ashamed of what he was confessing. “I just, when I see you, I can’t help but stare. You’re so beautiful and nice and you always share your food with me and you always make me laugh. Oh, your laugh is so damn cute too and- ”
You had to stop his rambling, so what better way of doing that then giving him a tender kiss on the lips. His eyes stayed open because of the shock coursing through his body, had you really just kissed him? This can’t be real.
You pulled away, laying a final kiss on his cheek this time. You couldn’t help but laugh at his facial expression. His face still had a look of shock, mouth slightly opened and eyes blown wide.
“I like you too.” You smiled up at him, confidently looking into his eyes.
“Oh….” His facial features started to morph slowly, a grin growing. “Oh!”
“Come on, let’s get back to class before Gojo comes looking for us.” You tugged him up along with you, making your way to the room that held the rest of the first years.
“Yes, please do hurry. Don’t want to be too late now do we?” A teasing voice came from deeper into the hallway behind you.
You both shared a similar look of surprise and fright as you turned around to find out who it was, deep down you both already knew who it was.
“Gojo sensei, when did you get here. Haha?” Yuuji scratched his head, looking anywhere but Gojos eyes.
“More importantly, how much did you see?” You added, looking down towards your feet.
“Long enough to know my beloved students are going to be a couple!” The teacher exclaimed in a very cheery voice. “Now, let’s get you two love birds back to class so we can start our lesson!”
You and Yuuji both cringed simultaneously, begrudgingly following behind the tall white haired man that they called their teacher.
