Here you will find links to all the fics organized by character. Going to keep it simple and old school.
I have only a couple of things written right now that you might have seen on AO3. I am open to scenario requests, though I cannot promise I will write them all or how fast they will be posted.
Doctor Jack Abbot
Giving In To Temptation
Revelations, Romance, and Resuscitation - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Titus Danforth
Thrill of the Hunt - Part 1, Part 2
Andrew 'Pope' Cody
The Things We Steal - One Shot
Sammy Bryant
Brett Richards
RPF Shawn Hatosy
All My Reader Inserts are Fem Presenting
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I will be crossposting these fics on AO3 as NamorSlutFanfiction77.
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i feel in my heart and soul pope cody cnc simulated break-in roleplay with aftercare.
Hi! I am, in fact, working on this right now. Just having a little bit of writer's block, if I'm honest.
I don't think I've struggled with a fic so much in my life.
So I will be putting it on my 'Circle back list' and hopefully get a bit more inspiration down the road.
My apologies, sometimes a scenario sounds fun to write, but then when I get to writing it I can barely get three pages out. It's like blood letting someone dehydrated.
This is where I will be and have been posting any and all Shawn Hatosy-related fics. You may have seen some of them already.
These are also cross-posted on ao3.
Please check out my work, and my REQUESTS INBOX IS OPEN.
So send in your ideas. I'm not super fast with updating because I am unfortunately a grown adult with a job and ADHD. But I do love hearing about your ideas.
Its actually really disheartening to see so many AI fanfics and how many people support them. As someone who has been writing fic for over a decade, its so easy to tell and it makes me even more determined to write even if it isnt the best I can do. These newer fandoms are full of great idea but they aren't honing their writing skills.
The Things We Steal - Pope Cody/MuseumCurator!Reader
No smut dear Anon because I got in my feelings about Andrew Pope Cody being in his feelings.
CW: Theft and criminal activities, philosophical thinking, fluff, angst, made up museum curator knowledge, not beta'd, fem-coded reader.
Words: 7,043
It was late, but you wanted to check everything one last time. You hadn’t been able to sleep anyway, so at least you were being productive. You didn’t care if the security cameras caught you in your lounge clothes and sneakers, roaming around the exhibit checking labels. This was your big break. Landing an exhibition this big for the gallery puts you in the running for promotion to Museum Curator.
Standing in front of the canvas painting, a piece that had haunted you since you first saw it on display at the SF MOMA on a school field trip, felt surreal. It was an angel falling from the sky. Its wings were not pearly white, but a mix of brown, black, and white feathers. Their head was thrown back, exposing their neck, eyes closed, accepting their fate. It had been striking before, but now, it had your emotions bubbling to the surface. You turned away and focused on the rest of the exhibit. There were various forms of religious iconography in different media. All of them coalesced into the painting at the center of the room.
You circled the room and came back to the painting. It sat in an ornate gold frame that contrasted with the subject's darker colors. You spoke to it. “I dreamt of you for ages after that day. I dreamt of you when my first cat died. I dreamt of you when my mom passed. I don’t know why.”
Frustrated at the sudden onslaught of melancholy, you wiped away your tears and laughed dryly. “God, I must look insane. I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect. I went through so much trouble to get you here. Everything needs to go smoothly.”
You backed away a step. An appreciative sigh hissed from between your lips. “You really are magnificent.”
You didn’t feel the eyes on you from behind a statue. Rambling to different pieces, you did another circuit around the room.
—-------------
Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody liked art. But not enough not to steal it and sell it. He’d been to this museum before, with Lena, long before this job came to them. Some of the stuff on the walls had been so mundane that even he could have painted it. Now, here they were to steal a painting worth nearly half a million dollars. They already had a buyer lined up.
Pope would have kept the painting for himself if it weren’t so valuable. But he would just enjoy seeing it in up close before it was tucked away in a personal collection until enough time had passed for it to reappear at a private auction.
The cameras had been disabled; J was in the van, ready to receive. Deran and Craig were cleaning out the gift shop, having already prepped the decoy painting to be found a few miles away. He’d told them he could handle one painting. He hadn’t anticipated an interloper.
It was good that you were talking to yourself because it warned him to stay quiet. Pope moved with you as you walked around the room, straightening displayed items or adjusting pamphlets. When you stopped in front of the painting they were stealing, speaking words of reverence that traveled across the empty room, he faltered.
The familiar taste of guilt wet his tongue. He maneuvered around the pieces to get a better look at you. Your voice sounded pretty, while your hair was in a messy bun on top of your head. Smokey the Bear was prominent on the back of your shirt. “Volunteer Firefighter” was emblazoned down the side of your black sweats. You weren’t a threat. You pushed your glasses up while scrunching your nose. That was cute.
“Pope! What the hell are you doing?” Deran whispered vehemently, appearing next to him.
Pope’s head snapped toward his brother. “There’s someone here.”
“Knock her out. We don’t have time for this.” The younger man rushed forward, putting a gun to your head.
—----------------
“Don’t scream. Don’t move.” A masculine voice barked at you moments after you heard scuffled footsteps. You raised your hands in surrender as the jarring cold of metal touched your back.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” you pleaded as fear and anger started fighting for dominance.
“We’re not going ot hurt you as long as you cooperate.” A rougher voice replied.
More footsteps and a third voice entered the fray. “Shit. You said there would be no one but the security guard here.”
A crackling voice on a walkie-talkie, “You guys need to hurry up. Our window is closing. The system will finish rebooting in 5 minutes.”
“Come on.” The rougher voice barked. A man in all black with short, curly brown hair peaking out of a black cap came around. A taller man approached, the third voice. He had longer blond hair clipped up in a bun on the back of his head. You couldn’t see the third man still behind you.
Your panic shoots skyward when you realize they are disabling the weight alarms and removing the angel from the wall. “No! No! Please, take anything else. Not that one.”
“Hey, shut up, okay,” the gun wielder said, a resigned tone to his voice. “I’m sorry, but you and I both know that this painting is the one actually worth a damn.”
“Be careful! Please! You’re going to damage the frame!” You yelled, your intense love for the painting overriding any of your self-preservation skills.
“Deran, shut her up!” The taller man barked.
“Sir, wait, I can help you. You’re going to want to sell it, so it has to be in its best shape. Let me show you how to transport it. I can’t let you just carry it out of here without any protection!” You insisted, to the man behind you—Deran.
“What happens if we transport it wrong?” The rough one asked, his brow furrowed and face serious.
“The frame is considered part of the art piece. It’s hand-sculpted around the painting. They can’t be separated. The canvas could tear if not stored in a fitted box. But it can’t be too fitted. There’s a specific box in preservation that is made to move the painting long distances.” You explained quickly.
“Bring me to the crate.” The same rough man responded. You looked him in the eye. Something passed between the two of you that you couldn’t explain, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.
“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” you responded breathily.
He turned back to the others. “Go meet J on the loading dock with the painting. I’ll meet you down there with the crate.”
Deran shared a look with the taller man and the rough man in front of you, and then the other two dispersed. The man didn’t raise his gun, but he was poised and ready. He gripped your arm and shoved you ahead of him. By the time you’d gotten him into the restoration lab below the gallery level, you felt more confident.
“What should I call you?” You asked the man who followed you.
A long moment of silence ensued. Then his low voice muttered, “Andrew.”
“Well, Andrew. Whatever you and your friends are planning with this painting, I hope it’s at least going to land in a collector's hands.” The sadness was palpable in your voice as you moved to the back of the room towards another door. Opening it revealed a large room with various labelled crates. You pointed to the crate in particular after a few moments of looking. He started shimmying it out into the main aisle while you grabbed a wheeled trolley.
“There’s a buyer,” Andrew replied gruffly, stealing glances at you. “Why are you helping us?”
You showed him how to strap the crate to the cart and replied evenly, “Art theft has been going on for years. Sometimes the same painting is lost and then ‘found’ again in a personal collection. The only way for it to reenter the public art space again is for it to survive being passed around. You’ve not handled fine art. I could tell by how long it took you to disable the pressure sensors.”
You led the trolley while Andrew pushed it.
“How difficult would it have been to keep it safe if you didn’t tell us about the crate?”
“It would have arrived damaged without a doubt. I can’t say how much, but it would definitely affect your sales prospects.” You answered honestly. “I’d rather it be stolen in one piece than in 30.”
—------------
You were smart. So freaking smart and observant. Pope knew he didn’t need to point his gun at you because you were so focused on the painting being transported properly. He could tell that a part of you was scared by the trembling of your hands, but that didn’t stop you from speaking with him like a normal person, even though he was robbing you.
It was easy to convince the others that they needed you. Explaining the risks of damage quickly and appealing to J, who leaned toward logical thinking, had helped seal the deal. You’d already seen their faces, and you’d been cooperative. Now, you and Pope sat in the back of the truck where the painting had been placed in its crate and strapped down.
“We’ll get dropped off at a bolthole with the painting. They’ll leave us there and arrange the drop. Don’t try to run,” Pope explained.
You sat next to him with your arms on your knees, chin on your forearms. “What happens when this is over? After you make your deal?”
“We will give you something to shut you up. Whatever it may be,” Pope muttered, hating that your sad eyes made his heart ache.
“You promise the painting is going to a collector?” You traced your finger through the dirt on the bed of the truck.
“Yeah. I promise. He’s known for it. I wouldn’t have taken it if I thought he’d trash it,” Pope said stoically.
You stared at him for a long moment, then your face relaxed. “I believe you.”
—-------------
You didn’t expect the bolthole to be an actual safe house. A condo in a newly developed area. The others, his brothers, you suspected, had directed you to sit on the floor in one of the rooms and watch as they wheeled in the crate. Then they left you and Andrew to go and facilitate the deal.
“Here,” Andrew held a water bottle out to you. You hesitantly took it from him and then noticed the backpack he had dropped on the bed. Your brows lifted as he pulled out some sandwiches and snacks, as well as a book. He held up two of the plastic-wrapped sandwiches. “BLT or Ham n Cheese?”
“Um…BLT,” you replied. Andrew nodded once, then tossed one of the sandwiches to you. You caught it. Not wanting to sit on the bed, you leaned against a tall wooden dresser. You eyed Andrew as he settled in on a chair in the corner next to a plain table.
“It’s not poisoned.”
“What?”
“The sandwich and water. There’s nothing bad in ‘em. I made them myself. Brought them ‘cause we’ve worked with this guy before and he always makes us negotiate for an even bigger cut. We know he’s good for it; he just enjoys making people squirm,” he explained, taking a bite from his own sandwich.
You didn’t know what to say. They hadn’t hurt you. They had listened to your concerns about damaging the painting. Now Andrew was sharing his food with you. Finally, you sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders falling as you started to eat the sandwich.
Silence reigned.
—------------
He could see you going through the usual emotions as you stared off into space, mindlessly chewing on your sandwich. Your bites were small like a bunny rabbit, and your nose scrunched up at whatever thought came to mind. Pope knew he was staring. But unlike many others, you didn’t seem discomfited by it. It amused him how calm you seemed despite how much danger you were in. You suddenly stiffened and rounded on him.
“What happens after this?” You demanded.
“After the sale?”
“No, with my life!” You snapped. “That exhibition was the culmination of everything I’ve been working towards. That painting is more to me than just a piece of art. Now it’s going to be locked away in some personal collection until the day I die.”
Pope nodded, disliking your distress but surprised by your outburst. “We’ll pay you for your silence so you won’t have to worry about staying afloat while finding a new job.”
“That’s not the point.” You sag back down and bury your head in your hands, abandoning the half-eaten sandwich on the bed. “I’ve wanted to be a museum curator since the moment I saw that painting for the first time. This was my opportunity for the promotion. I spent a year getting the painting exhibition rights. I curated every individual piece in that showcase. This was my moment!”
“You’ll get another chance. There are hundreds of galleries and museums out here. I think my niece has dragged me to each one.” Pope tried to reassure you.
“Do you think any of those places would hire someone who lost a painting that valuable?” You cried out, finally sobbing into your hands. “Every person who feels what that painting makes them feel knows how important it is. Art is meant to disrupt your thoughts and engage your fears. I look at that painting, and I see failure. I see surrender, and I remember my mom holding my hand at 10 years old, seeing me crying in front of it, telling me she was proud of me for loving art the way she did.”
Pope was stricken by the raw emotion you were bearing before him. But curiosity reared its head.
“Surrender? It’s a falling angel…” Pope didn’t realize he had spoken out loud.
“Yeah, and it’s not reaching for the sky; it’s waiting for impact, accepting the inevitable.”
“That’s sad.”
“Is it? Or is it freedom from expectation?” You replied, taking a deep breath, then letting it slip from your lips slowly.
Pope’s brow furrowed as he thought about the painting. Having had a good look at it up close, he could almost picture it in his mind. He’d always thought it was a dark painting—a fall from grace despite the belief that an angel was better, more pure.
“Look, I don’t like to pass judgment; I don’t care why you and your brothers wanted to steal this painting and sell it. But why couldn’t you have just waited for the show to be over? At least then my boss could blame it on the retrieval crew!” You flopped backward on the bed, groaning in frustration.
He felt guilty. It was obvious how important the exhibition and the painting were to you. You were cycling through emotions so quickly it was hard for him to keep up. When your grumbling and sobbing quieted, replaced with sniffles, he spoke again.
“I liked that painting too. I saw it with my niece last year. I’ll take her anywhere she wants to go, ya know. She got into this art kick, and all she wanted to do was go to galleries and museums. I’d never really thought about spending a Saturday at the MOMA or anything like that. Most of the stuff looks pretty ridiculous. But that one stuck with me. I almost didn’t take this job when I realized what painting it was.” Pope spoke slowly, trying to express a bit of remorse. There was something about you that was making him honest.
“But you still took this ‘job’ and now we are here,” you said, disappointment evident in your voice. You sat up, reaching for the water bottle and taking a long sip. Pope hated how red your eyes were. You shouldn’t look like that.
“Are you really going to lose your job over this?” He asked earnestly.
“Probably.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“I can make sure we take care of you, pull some strings at a bigger gallery somewhere. We help people who help us. This deal would have fallen through if Craig and I had damaged it along the way.” Pope didn’t know what got into his head to offer such a thing. He knew his brothers and J weren’t interested in hurting innocent people if they could help it. But you weren’t innocent anymore; Smurf would use that as leverage. Did he really want to put you in that position?
“You’re nice for a guy who robs people.” The sentence comes out amused. The small smile on your lips makes Pope’s heart skip a beat.
—-------------------
Hours had passed, and from the various phone calls you’d overheard Andrew take, it seemed like you’d be at the condo overnight. It was probably ill-advised for you to have fallen asleep on the bed with the man who had just robbed and kidnapped you, but something about his demeanor told you that you were safe with him.
But now that you were awake again, you were restless, pacing the length of the room and glancing at the crate that housed the beloved painting. After agonizing over how far you were willing to go to make sure the painting was safe, you finally stopped a foot in front of Andrew.
You’d felt him watching you, but meeting his intense gaze made your skin feel hot. He raised a brow imperiously. You wondered if you could surprise him any more than you already had.
“Can you help me lay the crate down so I can look at the painting?” You asked, chin high.
“Why?”
“Please, can you just do this one thing? I just want one more look, to see that it’s safe and so I can take it in one last time,” you urged him. You got on your knees and folded your hands together. “Please, please, please, please Andrew–”
Andrew nearly spit out the water he was drinking. “Jesus! Get up! Don’t do that.”
His hands were strong, his grip vice-like as he lifted you back to your feet.
“I just need to check it one more time! We hit, like, three speed bumps.” You insisted, gripping his black shirt.
“Shut up for one second!” Andrew snapped.
You froze, having realized that you were pushing far beyond the limits of a normal hostage. You didn’t know Andrew enough to be so brazen.
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Do what?”
“Get on your knees and beg? You better not. You shouldn’t be getting on your knees for anyone, let alone a man.” He said it with such conviction that an unusual warmth spread in your chest. You missed his hands when he released you from his grip. You watched as he dragged the crate to the middle of the room and used the designated tools to lift one large panel.
You rushed over, dropped to your knees, and started gingerly examining the painting as it lay snug between special cloth and foam encasement. Andrew got down beside you.
—-------------
He stayed silent as you examined the painting. He held the panel up so you could get a good look and use both of your hands to push aside some of the packaging. Even at this awkward angle and upside down, it was a striking painting. But more striking was the way you looked at it. Eyes down-turned, flitting from corner to corner, examining the frame. You could probably detect defects he wouldn’t even notice. Each small sigh of relief told him the painting was still in good condition, regardless.
You were brave. Braver than you probably knew. When you’d fallen asleep on the bed, unafraid of his presence in the room, it had been jarring. It had made his guilt even more unfathomable.
“I’m sorry that what we’re doing is taking this painting away from you.” He hoped you felt his earnestness.
You glanced up at him, a sad smile on your face. “Thanks. You can close it.”
Pope paused, then left the crate open while taking a seat on the bed. You joined him.
“You built that entire exhibit around this piece?”
“Yup. Every single piece was picked specifically for this collection. If it did well, it was meant to tour as a travelling exhibit highlighting religious iconography and its relationship to societal expectations, mental health, and the human condition.” You propped an elbow on your knee and set your chin on your hand.
Pope let out a long, low whistle.
“It’s just a fancy way of saying that a fallen angel is a metaphor for life.” You chuckled.
“Ah, ok yeah that makes more sense now,” Pope said solemnly, furrowing his brow. Your giggling caught his attention, making him turn to face you.
“Sorry, it’s just cute.” You looked away. Your eyes traced the lines of the painting again. “I know I can ramble about art and people get bored, but you’ve been really good at listening even if it goes over your head. Thank you.”
The silence that followed was comfortable.
—-------
“So was your only reason for stealing it, money?” You asked as you watched Andrew go through the motions of closing the crate in the exact way you instructed.
“More or less.”
You eyed the man and forced yourself not to notice his muscular and oddly vascular arms. “How much?”
“Preliminary estimate was half a million dollars. It’s a lot of money. We have a lot of people to take care of.” Andrew said, unapologetically, as he stood the crate upright again.
“Like your niece?”
A softness came over his face as he took a seat next to you. “Yeah.”
“You said you’d pay me off so I don’t talk. You’d help me if I got fired.” You fell back onto the bed.
Andrew lowered himself on his side, propping his head up on his hand so he could look over at you. You weren’t touching, but you could feel his heat inches away from you.
“Yeah. It’s only fair since you helped.”
You winced at the word ‘helped’. You’d made yourself an accomplice by telling them how to transport the painting.
“I don’t think being ‘fair’ is normally part of criminal culture.” Your eyes met his and caught the amusement in them.
“You’d be surprised. Making sure everyone gets the cut that was agreed upon is important. Having structure is important.” Andrew said. You noticed how his eyes trailed up and down your body as you lay next to him.
“I was an outlier.” You realized slowly. Despite their inexperience with fine art, they were professionals when it came to heists; you knew that now.
“Yeah, we’d cased the place for a month, through three short exhibitions. No one was ever in the building that late.” He looked at you thoughtfully. “Why were you?”
You hesitated, but figured you’d already told him too much; what was a little bit more? “I couldn’t sleep. I was so nervous about the exhibit. I wasn’t supposed to be there either; my boss warned me about coming in during closing hours. I couldn’t let it go. I was having nightmares about people hating the collection.”
“Wow, really?” Andrew said it with such an incredulous tone that you reached over and shoved him.
“I’m sorry that my nightmares are about normal things,” you huffed. “I bet yours are about a heist going wrong or setting off a bomb that you set up yourself.”
You giggled at the funny image. The corners of Andrew’s lips quirked upwards. Then it got quiet again.
—-----------------
More time had passed. You’d eaten more of the sandwiches he had packed in his bag. J had called and said the buyer wanted more time. You were stuck there with him overnight, this man who intrigued you and should have terrified you. Instead, you were comfortable enough to rant to him as if he were your friend. Maybe he was. At this point, you weren’t worried about being hurt. You were annoyed.
“Who the hell is that guy anyway? Who goes to this much trouble for a painting and still doesn’t know if they want it or not!” You raved, pacing the room again.
“Rich people always make people wait. But they are the most reliable when it comes to paying up for anything below a million. It’s nothing to them, so we give ‘em a little time to figure it out.” Andrew answered evenly. After the last phone call, he’d settled against the headboard, kicked his shoes off and started reading. His backpack was on the floor. You stared at it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked without looking up.
You looked away, embarrassed at being caught. But your eyes shot up when you heard him pick up the backpack. Your eyes widened as he took out a gun, checked the safety, then placed it on the nightstand. He did the same with a second phone and another book.
“Here,” he held it up for you to take.
You eyed him, glanced at the backpack, then back to him.
Andrew shook it at you as if he were trying to entice a scared dog with a treat. “Take it. There are snacks and more sandwiches in there. I didn’t know who would end up waiting here with me, so I prepared in case it was Craig; there’s plenty.”
You realized that Andrew had been pretty free with sharing names, including his. But for all you knew, he could have been making up aliases. Maybe you hadn’t placed your trust in the wrong person. You made your way to the other side of the bed and kicked off your shoes before climbing in, sitting against the headboard, mirroring him. Taking the backpack, you rummaged through it, letting out an excited squeal when you pulled out a ‘share size’ bag of peanut M&Ms.
The deep chuckle next to you made your heart skip a beat, but you ignored it in favor of the sugary treat. “Thank god I’m not allergic to peanuts, or this would have been a bummer.”
You could feel him watching you as you ate a handful of the chocolates before offering the bag to him. He shook his head and chuckled to himself again.
“Are you making fun of my chipmunk cheeks?” You narrowed your eyes at him. Without missing a beat, you tossed an M&M at him. He caught it in his palm without even flinching.
Andrew popped the chocolate into his mouth. Your eyes lingered there for a moment too long,
“The way that you eat those reminds me of how Lena eats them. They’re her favorite.” There was a softness to his voice when he said it.
“Is that your niece? The one that made you go to museums?” You asked, still eating slowly.
“Yea. My brother passed away a few months ago. We don’t know where her mom is, so I’ve been taking care of her.” Andrew explained, looking off into the middle distance.
“You sound like you’re doing a good job, Andrew.” You replied earnestly.
He turned to you, “Ya think so?”
“My dad is still alive, but every year he buys me Almond Joys during Christmas time.” You looked down at the bag of M&Ms. “I hate Almond Joys, but he always forgets. You don’t forget details if you actually care about the person. I bet you know her favorite candy. I bet you know all her favorites. Like color, ice cream, Disney Princess?”
“Violet. Not purple but violet. Chocolate chip. Ariel.” Andrew replied easily.
“That gets an A+ and another M&M.” You beamed at him and tossed another candy his way.
—------------------
It gets late enough that Pope insists that you sleep. It’s unlikely that you’ll be able to leave until tomorrow.
“You should rest too,” you told him as you tucked yourself under the sparse covers.
He was still seated with his back to the headboard. Over the last hour, he’d been growing increasingly aware of your proximity and the ease of conversation. Pope had learned from the past that getting involved with the people they targeted was a bad move. But you were slipping past his defenses more and more the longer you were stuck together. If you could get this far under his skin in less than a day, he wondered how far you’d want to go.
“Hey, don’t ignore me.” You shoved his leg. “Just scoot down. I’d rather talk to your face than your leg.”
“You’re supposed to be resting, not talking,” he deadpanned.
“Ok, well, what if I would rather fall asleep looking at your face instead of your thigh?” You admitted, looking away.
Pope was surprised at your bold admission. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was reward your audacity. You were about to turn your back to him when he got out of bed so he could slip under the covers next to you, lying his head on the pillow, so you were eye-to-eye.
“Better?”
You gazed at him, eyes tracing the bridge of his nose, skating over his cheekbones and down the line of his jaw. “Yeah, this is better.”
Neither of you spoke for a long while. You just looked. Looked, watched, and examined each other. It didn’t feel like scrutiny
You noticed the healed wounds that left scars. The crooked part of his nose that was evidence of having been broken more than once. Andrew was a criminal, even if he didn’t feel like it right now. The proof was in the gun on the bedside table. One that he had pointed at you back at the museum. The way he held himself was commanding at first. But now, hours of forced proximity had softened him to more than the simple label of ‘criminal’. He was a man who loved his niece. A man who worked in the family business, as unorthodox as it was. The type of brother who packs snacks and food based on which of his siblings he’ll be spending time with.
“You’re looking at me and thinking a lot of things,” Andrew said.
“Good things, mostly.” You replied.
“You’ve found good things?” The furrow in his brow made him look like a confused puppy. A puppy that could have done anything he wanted to you this whole time, but didn’t.
You don’t answer his question. “You’re really going to sell that painting tomorrow.”
Andrew frowned, but nodded once. His eyes shifted to the side, like he couldn’t look at you while confirming your worst-case scenario.
Your breath came out shaky, while your eyes stung with unshed tears. You hadn’t expected a different answer or for Andrew to decide to deviate from the plan he and his brothers had set. But a part of you hoped that the seed of connection between the two of you would be enough to lead him to your rescue. He offered no such relief.
—-------------
You flinched when Pope reached for you. But when he tried to pull his hand away, you grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to your cheek. The tears weren’t something he could ignore. Thumbing them away, the heat of your cheek warmed his hand. He’d never felt such regret over a job until now.
“I’m sorry.” The words felt hollow as they fell from his lips. Sometimes he wished he were as impulsive as Craig. Maybe he would have changed the entire plan just so you could have your debut. He would have reassured you with all the words now crowding his mind, that the painting would be in the gallery by the time it opened at eleven in the morning. Instead, he let you bury your face against his shoulder until you cried yourself to sleep.
He stayed up all night wondering if fate would keep handing him such shitty cards. When his brothers let him know, just before dawn, that they were 10 minutes away, he gently woke you. Pope was surprised when you curled further into him.
“They’re almost here. You should use the bathroom before we go,” he urged you.
You woke sluggishly, eyes puffy from crying, but you still had kindness in your eyes for him. You nodded silently, then slipped out of the bed. He watched you pad to the bathroom, your feet barely making any noise on the carpeted floor.
When Deran, Craig, and J arrived, the sun had barely risen past the horizon. You waited patiently by the door as the painting was moved from the condo to the van. Pope didn’t miss the pain in your eyes, but one look at his brothers reminded him why they were doing this. Their lives weren’t meant for soft museum curators who liked M&Ms and scrunched their nose when they teased.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, taking your arm as he pulled you into the back of the van.
This drive differed from the last one. Gone was your nervous energy and frequent glances at the crate. You didn’t even look at Pope when he offered you water or a snack. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.
—----------------
Watching the brothers take the crate and your future out of the van to deliver to the buyer was a hell you never knew existed. You should have been afraid for your life, not some painting. You shouldn’t have felt your heart ache any time you caught Andrew looking at you. The longing in your chest for your lost future shouldn’t be at war with your longing for the man who was causing that loss.
You should have hated him, but you’d humanized him for 12 hours, and now he wasn’t just a criminal barging his way into your life. No, he had always been more than just what he appeared. You’d let him in.
He’d offered you one last look at the painting before they handed it over to the buyer, but you couldn’t bear to accept the kindness. Now you were sitting in the back of the van as Andrew and his brothers got heated just outside. You couldn’t understand them, only surmise their tones. Andrew was angry. Craig was disbelieving but pleased. Deran spoke so softly you could barely tell he spoke at all. The driver sounded young, and he’d been the one to tell everyone that they needed to leave loudly.
When the three men walk into the back of the moving van instead of just Andrew, you tensed.
“Hey, so, um, we talked about it. Pope says you’re willing to stay quiet since you helped–” Craig said.
“He means that you’re an accomplice,” Deran said, not looking at you.
Andrew dropped to a knee beside you and spoke softly but with conviction. “We’ll take care of you after this is all over. We’ll make sure they don’t suspect you. There’s a whole decoy trail in the pro-”
“Hit me.” You interrupted.
“What–”
“If we leave now, we can make it back to the museum before it opens for the day. No one would be on the gallery floor before me because of our protocols. I need to look like I tried to stop you, but I was knocked out. I erased any footage from last night before we left, and anything this morning can be covered with a reboot as long as you’re in and out fast enough. So rough me up and knock me out.” You said it all as if it were common sense, and not a scheme to give you plausible deniability.
“No,” Andrew refused. “I’m not hitting you.”
“She’s got a point, Pope,” Deran said with a sigh. “Plus, if she’s already knocked out, then we can just take her in, drop her off, and be out.”
“We can trash the place a little so that it looks like she struggled.” Craig nodded.
“Andrew,” you pleaded. “Please, just make it quick.”
He tried to pull his arm away from your grip. He glanced at his brothers, but they all had that look in their eyes. The expectation that he would handle the violence, as always.
“We don’t have time for you to second-guess this,” Craig said. “We’ll get in contact with her in a couple of weeks to help with clean-up and to give her a cut for her silence.”
“I’m not gonna hit her.” He refused, turning to meet your eyes again. “I can’t hit you.”
“Someone has to.” Your words had such a finality to them that Pope pulled away and walked out of the van.
Deran followed after him, calling out his name. You shoved the heartache down deep before looking up at Craig. Even when you were standing, he towered over you. His eyes were sad as they glanced from you to where Deran and Pope were arguing outside the van, moving farther and farther away.
“I’m sorry,” Craig whispered as he grabbed you by the collar and pulled his arm back.
—-----------------
Three Months Later
The gallery was packed.
You’d spent the better part of the evening answering questions, thanking donors, and trying not to look too proud every time someone stopped in front of the painting longer than a few seconds. The turnout had exceeded every projection the museum had made. People crowded around display cases and lingered in front of pieces that would have gone unnoticed during the initial version of the exhibition.
The theft had made the painting infamous.
It had shown up a month after being stolen. Some rich kid had lost it in a bet. A piece from his father’s private collection. His father had purchased it at a private auction, and as with all stolen and rediscovered art, the order of possession was murky. The new owner had wanted it shown off properly. With the spectacle of its theft, the man contacted you and gave you another chance for the exhibit of a lifetime.
You hated that part. But you couldn’t deny it had people paying attention. More people than your employee had set as a requirement for your continued position at the museum.
A woman beside you asked a question about one sculpture, and you launched into an explanation you’d given half a dozen times already that night. She thanked you before disappearing back into the crowd. For the first time in nearly an hour, you had a moment to yourself.
Your gaze drifted toward the angel. It looked exactly the same. Not a scratch or dent in it. It had even arrived at the museum in the exact crate that it had been taken in. That should have been obvious. Paintings don’t change. And yet every time you looked at it, it felt different. The first time you’d seen it, you were twelve years old and standing in a museum with your mother. Months ago, you’d stood in front of it and cried because you were terrified everything you’d worked for was about to fall apart.
Now it hung in a crowded gallery, surrounded by people who had come specifically to see it.
Movement across the room caught your attention. At first, you thought it was another guest trying to get your attention. Then your stomach dropped. A familiar silhouette stood in front of the painting. Andrew was standing exactly where you had first imagined him standing when you allowed yourself to think about him at all.
His back was to you as he seemed to bask in the magnificence of the piece. His dark curls brought forth the memory of lying in bed next to him as he offered you comfort despite his role in everything that had happened. Andrew’s head tilted slightly as he studied the canvas, just as serious now as he’d been sitting in the room of that condo months ago listening to you explain why the frame mattered.
For months, you’d wondered what you would do if you ever saw him again. The answer, apparently, was to stand there like an idiot and stare.
Part of you had wondered if you’d imagined that night. Not the kidnapping or the theft. Those had come with enough paperwork to feel real. But everything in between had started to blur around the edges. The conversations. The laughter. The way he’d listened, really listened. Peanut M&Ms. Homemade sandwiches. Worn paperbacks. The sound of his voice in the dark.
The way he was looking at the painting, as if through new eyes, struck a chord. He was casual, just a man enjoying the art. All the rest of it—the van, the guns, the secretly deposited hush money—vanished.
Then he turned, and you watched him scan the room until his eyes found yours. Familiarity flashed in his eyes, followed by the soft downturn of his brow and the softening of his clenched jaw.
You found yourself smiling before you could stop it.
But when he smiled, a real smile, you could do nothing to stop the magnetic pull that had you excusing yourself from a passing well-wisher and crossing the gallery.
“We opened hours ago,” you said when you reached his side.
His smile softened. “Hope I’m not too late.”
You held his gaze. It settled a restlessness that had been writhing in the back of your chest since you last saw him. Andrew brushed a hand through his hair, started to speak, and then stopped. You saved him from his blustering, nudging his arm with yours as you turned toward the painting that had brought you together.
“So,” you said, folding your arms. “What do you think?”
His gaze returned to the angel. For a long moment, he didn’t answer, but you knew that he took his time to think before speaking. Then he said quietly, “I think you were right.”
“About what?”
“It’s not just about falling.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The warmth that spread through your chest caught you off guard. You looked back at the painting. When you spoke again, your voice was lighter, teasing. “For being late, your punishment is walking through this whole exhibit, hearing me explain every single piece. You think you can handle that?”
Picture this: Pope Cody x museum curator reader. It’s her first ever exhibit and she managed to score a high value painting for display. The Cody’s decide to steal the painting. But when Pope sees her he is instantly crushing on her uniqueness and passion for her work. When they go to rob the place, maybe the night before it’s grand opening, she’s there after close just taking it all in. They end up taking her cause she’s a loose end and she is just a menace to them. Her and Pope start feeling things for each other…could have smut or not depending on how you’re vibing. 💕
Thank you for being the first to request a scenario for this tumblr!
I really appreciate it! Your fic will be posted shortly. Thank you for your patience.
I am working on the fic. But i have been working on it so long today that i forgot to eat and now my body is rebelling. My bad yall. I have like two more scenes for the Pope/museumcurator!reader request.
Please choose ONE scenario prompt and ONE character that I write for. I will write you anything from a blurb to a full-length one-shot.
*Add any other details you want in your request
Sharing food/Ordering food as a surprise/buying food for someone else.
Someone is sick with the flu and needs care.
Character A goes to the hospital and Character B is there for a completely unrelated reason.
Character A stumbles upon an open journal and discovers Character B’s feelings.
Angry angry argument that turns into makeup sex. They forget what they were arguing about.
The tough one is the opposite when they are drunk. Cue embarrassement/exasperation/fluster
Character A thinks Character B isn’t dressing to their best potential. Cue fluffy shopping trip
CNC Free Use Fantasy
CNC Somnophilia
Secretly married for some reason
Character A leaves a very dark hickey in a very public place on Character B, this is how their day goes
Friends with benefits until Character A gets publicly hit on and Character B gets very jealous
Accidentally ate some weed brownies. “I heard sex while you’re high is amazing, but I don’t think my naughty bits exist anymore.”
Waking them up with spicy fun.
Edging them all day until they beg for it
Exes who just can’t stay away from each other
There’s only one bed. Smut obviously or alternatively angst
Someone assumes they are a couple and one of them runs with it a little too convincingly
One night stand meets again a week later and things get awkward
Pulling them in by the belt loops
Unintentionally close physical proximity leads to unfortunate boner
Character A is teaching Character B about a hobby so they can bond
Character A has to act as Character B’s body guard for some reason.
Out on the town Character A greets Character B as if they know each other to fend off unwanted attention. Character B goes with it because they think Character A is hot.
Stuck in an Elevator/Basement/Closet/Room
Kink sex goes wrong so Character A says the safe word. Character B administers all the aftercare
“We could get caught’ Sex
Character A is a very tactile and physically affectionate person. Character B doesn’t like being touched.
Clothes still on, quickie because they are trying for a baby.
They aren’t even together, although they should be by now, then Character A just asks Character B to marry them.
Middle of the night cooking, except it’s making the weirdest most absurd dishes imaginable, just for fun.
Person A has become a health food nut and this is driving person B absolutely crazy.
Imagine person A of your OTP relentlessly flirting with B in public, just to see B blush.
Imagine your OTP+ freaking out over a bee/bird/lizard/etc in the house.
Imagine your OTP is wrestling over the remote.
Imagine Person A of your OTP seeing Person B with bed hair for the first time, and being totally blown away by how cute/hot/etc. they look with their hair being a huge mess. Bonus: if Person A gets flustered when Person B pokes fun at them for liking it.
Imagine person A of your OTP scaring person B (during Halloween) on accident so badly that they cry.
Imagine person A walking out of the bathroom after a shower, half-naked and wreathed in steam, and B immediately dropping whatever they were holding.
Imagine person A of your OTP coming home from the gym all sweaty. Person B sees this and gets instantly turned on.
Imagine Person A of your OTP has been dating someone else (could be your NoTP) and they’ve broken up. Person A goes to Person B for comfort, and B reassures them that it wasn’t meant to be; they weren’t right for A anyway. Person A then asks what sort of person would be right for them, and Person B starts listing qualities. Things get awkward when Person A realises that Person B is basically describing themselves.
“I was walking by the roller coasters and someone’s shoe flew off and hit me in the head” scenario
I sent a selfie of myself in the tub to the wrong number and you responded back with another selfie. Holy shit you’re really attractive.
Both of them being the best friends that everyone just assumes is a couple and no one is even surprised when they announce they’re official because ‘wtf do you mean you weren’t before?’
“You were trying to reach for a box of cereal and a whole shelf’s-worth of cereal boxes fell on you here let me help”
I heard a noise in the middle of the night thinking someone broke in so I went downstairs with a baseball bat ready to pounce but it turns out to just be a cat and now you want to keep it
an offer to fuck somehow turned into us eating girl scout cookies and watching reruns of friends on my living room floor and honestly this is the best sleepover I’ve ever had do you wanna do this again sometime
He comes to the same coffee shop everyday. You’re always smiling. Until you aren’t. Now he needs ot get rid of whatever or whoever hurt you
Casual proposal from Person A. Person B accepts but won’t stop calling them out for being lazy with it. Person A shows them that they aren’t lazy where it matters–in bed.
Please Choose up to TWO quote prompts and ONE Character that I write for. I will write you anything from a short blurb or drabble to a full length one-shot.
“It makes me mad how pretty/handsome you are.”
“Maybe we should just run away together.” “Yeah? Where to?”
“I think you’re my soulmate” *drunken vomiting*
“Quick! Kiss me!”
“You have such big fucking hands.”
“Put your eyes away.” “What?” “Your fucking puppy eyes.”
“You’re cute when you’re mad/grumpy/yelling.”
“You’re beautiful.” “No, I’m not.” “If we were in a museum, you’d be the true masterpiece.”
Character A is doing something mundane. Character B exploding with affection/lust/adoration across the room.
“I hate you.” “I told you to quit lying.”
"Say that again, I dare you." "What are you going to do about it if I do?”
"Hi, honey." "Don't honey me, you just threw a book at me!"
"Huh, you know when you're not scowling at me, your eyes look a little less sad."
"What if one day you wandered off a cliff?" "Would you join me?"
"Sometimes I feel like you want to get hit." "By you? Yeah.”
"You are certainly interesting." "Is that a compliment, or are you making fun of me?" "Yes.”
"I'm not docile by any means." "I've noticed, I notice everything about you."
"I need help to bury a body," "and you thought of me? aw." "Actually, I'm the only one who would miss you if you went to prison." "You'd miss me?"
"I hate you!" "As long as you feel something towards me.” "Watch it!" "It's cute how easy I can rile you up… Do you truly hate me?" "I wish that were possible.”
"Your freckles." "What about them?" "They look like stars.”
"Hey! Don't touch me, pervert. I have a girlfriend/boyfriend." "I am your girlfriend/boyfriend." “whaaaaaaat?”
"Stop kissing me. I'm in a relationship/married." "Yeah, dumbass. to me." "Hmm, I don't think so. You're out of my league.”
"I don't need you to carry me." "I beg to differ.”
“Who is he?” “Just an old friend.” “friend? Does he know that?”
“The two of you looked cute; you're always welcome to find me when you realize you’re not one for settling.”
"I don't want to be just your friend anymore... I want to be so much more.”
"Do you ever think about what it would be like if we were together?”
"What if I told you I've been in love with you for years?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Never go there alone.”
“Even the devil was an angel once.”
“My ex invited me to their wedding?” “Are you going?” “Yeah, and you’re coming with me.”
“Jeeezus” “What?” “Tattoos?” “Yeah…what about them?” “Sorry, I just didn’t realize you had any. You don’t seem like the type.” “Are you calling me a wimp?” “Yea actually.” “I’ll have you know I like the pain.”
“Look me in the eyes this time and say you don’t feel anything for me.”
“You really think they are going to keep me from you?”
“Oh, the kitten’s got claws.”
“That was so unfair. You can’t just do that without warning me.”
“I think I liked you better when you were on your knees begging for mercy.”
“How long have you been standing there?” “Take a wild guess.”
“I am nothing like her. I will never be anything like her.”
“Did you just moan? He literally just walked in and your first reaction is to moan?”
“If you would shut up for one second. I’m going to kiss you.”
"Come on, this isn't funny." "I'm not joking. It's locked."
I will be writing for Jack Abbot, Titus Danforth, Pope Cody, Sammy Bryant, Brett Richards, and RPF if you're freaky like that.
Send me prompts/scenarios/reacts and I’ll write you a fic or ficlet.
Requests are OPEN AS OF 6/2/2026
I only write Reader fic, all fem-presenting.
I take any request, but if it is something I am uncomfortable with I will just tell you I won’t take. But I’m pretty much okay with everything.
Feel free to ask me questions if you aren’t sure about something. I am super nice I promise.
The more specific the request the better. If you prefer smur or no smut let me know.
I’m a slacker when it comes to proofreading so sorry in advance for any typos or errors in the scenarios.
I do the requests in the order I get inspired to write them so be patient if I don’t get it out right away.
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I have the right to adjust the request as I see fit so I can give you a fic that is sensible and something I can write, but I will take your stated preferences into account.
If you do not see me publish your request there is a likelihood that I could not think of anything to write for it. I apologize but I do not want to force a story if I cannot come up with anything.
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Please be patient as I am only one person and I have a full time job and life.
When a new EMT rolls into the Pitt, Jack can't get over it. He knows her. He just doesn't remember who she is. When the truth is finally revealed, Jack has to reconcile the past with the present.
CW: Fluff, Traumatic background with low detail, eventual smut.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Your eyes tracked the unfamiliar face the moment you walked into the Pitt. The man walking up to the patient with Shen was a new face. Dark hair. Tall. Sharp jawline. Cheekbones that could cut glass. Even as you made your way over to the nurses’ station, you could see his dark eyelashes beneath his protective glasses. You can’t help but observe him as he moves smoothly, calling out orders in a deep but warm voice. He exuded confidence and competence. It reminded you a little of how Jack held himself.
You turn to the nurses and are unsurprised to see them gossiping and watching the newcomer. “New attending?”
Dana nods, “Fresh meat.”
Whitaker appeared at your side. “Doctor Eli Morales. He started yesterday.”
“Former army medic, single, never married, and a dog person,” Princess rattled off like she was reading off a checklist.
“Why do you—ya know what, I know better than to ask,” you laughed to yourself.
Santos came up to your other side and raised her brow. “Don’t tell me that Dr. McSteamy over there has caught your eye, too? Don’t let Abbot see. You should just look longingly into my eyes instead.”
You shoved Trinity, laughing brightly at her playful flirting.
“Wait, she hasn’t noticed yet,” Whitaker said.
“Noticed what?” Javadi joined them.
“The badge reel.” Whitaker grinned.
“Oh, yeah. You like Pokémon, right? It looks like Dr. Morales is also a fan. Maybe you could trade cards or whatever it is you nerds do.” She teased you.
You squinted your eyes when Morales turned, and you spotted his badge reel immediately. It was a freaking Fidough. A Fidough. The cute bread dog. Not even Pikachu.
“You can see her inner nerd clawing to the surface,” Santos whispered to Javadi.
“He’s also got a Pokémon card in his phone case,” Whitaker added. “You’ll never guess which one.”
So far, Whitaker had been the only one to admit to a similar interest in the pocket monster hobby. A hobby you never really mentioned around Jack, except for when he shook his head at your binders when he was helping you move in.
“He’s a hot nerd,” Princess announced dreamily.
“Who’s a hot nerd?” Jack said, appearing before them. “Hey, Chip. You’re in early today. Have you eaten?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back.
Jack eyed you for a moment. “Come to the break room, I packed some of that apple granola shit you mentioned. You can’t go running around in an ambo on an empty stomach.”
His hand settled automatically against your lower back as he steered you toward the break room. Everyone at the nurses’ station exchanged looks.
“Who’s that?” Dr. Morales’s breathy voice asked as he approached the station. Everyone could see how his eyes tracked your form and how his lip twitched at the corner.
--------------------
In the break room, Jack pulled a portable parfait cup from his pack in the fridge and handed it to you.
“Jack, what about you?” You pouted.
“I have another one, and I bought more of that trail mix from Trader Joe’s. I’ll be fine.” Jack assured you, patting your head affectionately.
“Doctor Abbot, I was hoping for a consult on the patient in trauma one.”
Doctor Morales appeared at the break room door, hair perfectly coiffed. His smile was perfectly white and dazzling. There was grey hair at his temples, but otherwise it was thick and dark.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Eli Morales. I’ll be one of the new attending physicians here in the ED.”
His dark brown eyes, framed by dark lashes, were annoyingly captivating. You took his hand for a firm shake. You introduced yourself. “But don’t call me Chip.”
“Sure, but why not?”
“Only he gets to call me that,” you pointed at Jack, but laughed softly as you continued, “Santos will do it no matter what I say, though.”
“Chip?” He asked.
“Nickname. You want to tell me about the case?” Jack interrupted, stepping slightly between the two of you.
“Oh yes! Here I took some photos of the lesion.” Morales lifted his phone.
“No fucking way!” You gasped.
“Chip, what the hell?” Jack startled.
“Is that?” You pointed to the back of his phone, where a Pokémon card sat in the sturdy plastic.
He laughed, full-bodied and delighted. “You know cards? Yeah, it’s exactly what you think it is.”
“And you just walk around with it on your phone?” You took the phone when he handed it to you. “I can’t believe I’m seeing one in person.
“Oh, this is a Pokémon thing,” Jack chuckled. He looked over your shoulder and took in the card. It looked like two bird things doing the heart shape that swans make when they mate. It was cute.
“Jacky, this is like a holy grail card. I’ve wanted one forever.” You exclaimed.
“It’s a piece of cardboard.”
“It’s art!”
“It’s just two birds.”
“They are dragon types.”
“My mistake, two cardboard dragons.”
“Worth more than the teak chairs you bought me.”
“What–”
There was a knock at the door. You all turned to see Princess standing in the doorway. “Your partner is looking for you. Dispatch is calling for an ambo nearby, and you’re the closest.”
“Shit! Okay,” you handed Morales back his phone. “Thank you so much for letting me see it, Doctor.”
“Call me Eli,” he said warmly.
“Eli,” you smiled at him.
“You should head out, Chip,” Jack grumbled.
Immediately, you turn and hug him, “Thanks for the food. I owe you one.”
He pressed a kiss to your hair and then pushed you toward the door. “Go on. Be safe.”
“Sure thing, old man!” You winked, waved goodbye, and then were on your way.
“Come on then, Morales. Tell me about that trauma,” he commanded.
Morales nodded, “She seems nice.”
Jack didn’t reply as he headed out of the break room toward Trauma One, cracking his neck as he walked.
“Hustle up, Morales.”
The younger attending fell into step beside him.
Jack glanced at the ambulance bay doors as he headed in the opposite direction.
-----------------
“I swear to you, I don’t think she’s noticed,” Santos whispered heatedly to Javadi.
“Willing to bet on it, Trini?” Mohan challenged as she walked by.
Santos watched from across the ED as Robby walked up to you and Jack, taking the older man’s attention. Almost as if he was called, Morales appeared at your side, smiling charmingly and standing very close. You took an unconscious step back to lean against Jack’s back. Morales took a step closer.
“I’ll take that bet,” Trini called out to Mohan’s retreating figure.
—----
You were showing Eli pictures on your phone as you chatted about some ‘new release’ happening soon. Jack was far enough away to look like he was doing some charting, but still close enough that he could hear what was said.
“I have a friend who gets me ETBs at MSRP. Otherwise, I buy singles.” You said. Jack’s typing faltered when he realized he didn’t really understand that sentence. But it seemed like Eli did.
“I try to get to a card show once a quarter. Get it out of my system by buying packs to open later, and singles for sets I have planned. I haven’t been to one here yet.” Eli ran a hand through his stupidly perfect and shiny hair.
There is one at the end of May at the convention center. It’s a big one, so if you want to spend a ton there, it's the place to do it. Have any holy grails you’re looking for?”
On and on you went. You were supposed to be here having lunch with him. Instead, Jack was trying to finish up some charts while Eli kept you company. He tried to ignore the ease with which you and the new attending conversed. The man was friendly. Just yesterday, he and Jack had been talking about tennis during a slow night. He’d had fun. It wasn’t hard to like the guy. Morales was smart, experienced, and the same kind of unhinged that Jack was. They both knew the same shortcuts because of their army medic backgrounds. He could count on him during a heavy trauma.
The greatest flaw of Eli Morales was that he took your focus away from Jack.
“Hey, Jacky, the sandwiches will get cold.” You had appeared at his side, gripping his forearm familiarly. When you had time to stop by for lunch, you’d always bring sandwiches from a specific Italian spot you both loved. Then you’d eat it in his car, stepping away from the ED for a moment of calm while you chatted. “Should I just get them? We can eat them in the break room.”
“Sorry, Chip. I’m almost done.” Jack said.
“It’s ok. I’ll grab them from my car. Just meet us in the break room.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, Eli and I were talking about that con I told you about. I’ll have your sandwich ready. Don’t you dare skip your meal.”
Jack’s jaw clenched as he watched you disappear down the hall with Morales. Although silent, his reaction had not gone unnoticed. When he finally left the station to go to the break room, money was exchanging hands in the nurses’ station.
—-----
Jack could see the sweat dripping down the side of your face as the gurney was rolled into the ED. You were performing CPR on the young woman, and had been for the 20 minutes it had taken you to reach the hospital.
“Hey, you can switch. We got this,” Morales was already directing the bed to Trauma 2. “Sweetheart, you can come down.”
Jack buried the green flare in his chest and moved between you and Morales. His hand slid up your back until he squeezed your shoulder. “Chip, kid. You’re past the point of tired. Morales will take over.”
“I fucked up, Jack.” You choked out. “I didn’t see the bracelet. It had fallen off.”
“I know, chipmunk. But you gotta let us take over.” Jack’s voice was calm and low. He circled your waist with his arms. “Lean on me. We’re gonna pull away on three, then Morales will take over. Can you do that?”
You hadn’t stopped compressions. Tears were rolling down your face. Jack wasn’t even sure you could see what you’re doing. He held you close, letting your back press against his chest. In your ear, he spoke, “Chip, baby girl, you have to get out of the way if you want us to fix this.”
You sobbed harder, then finally nodded your head. Your voice was thick and rough, “O-on three.”
“One. Two. Three!” Jack pulled you completely off the bed, holding you up against him as your legs gave out. Morales was working on the patient the moment he had an opening. Jack held you tight and pulled you out of the trauma bay.
After they stabilized the patient, Morales asked Lena where you were. “Don’t worry, Doctor, she’s in excellent hands. Jack took the rest of the night off and is taking her home.”
The handsome doctor nodded, still looking worried, but continued to the next patient.
—------
“Heard the dynamic duo put on a bit of a show last night,” Robby said when he approached the nurses’ station in the morning.
Dana took off her glasses and nodded. “The patient had an allergy to painkillers that they gave her on the way to the hospital. Her allergy bracelet had fallen on the ambulance floor. By the time they figured it out, she was in cardiac arrest. Chips Ahoy was on top of her, doing compressions for nearly 30 minutes. Jack had to pull her off. Like, literally wrap his arms around her and convince her to count down so they could continue once they got her out of the way.”
Robby whistled. “How’s the patient?”
“Stable and upstairs in a room.”
“And they are?” He glanced around.
“Jack took her home and took the rest of the shift off.” Lena chimed in.
“I’m guessing Morales took over as shift lead?”
“Yep,” Santos said. She rolled over to them from behind a computer. “I got called in early. Poor guy. He’s trying so hard.”
“He’s doing great as a new attending,” Robby said, confused.
“No, she means he’s trying so hard to get close to our favorite EMT. Then this happens. Jack swoops in like Superman and takes her home.” McKay said. She had also come in early.
“You think Morales likes her?” Robby ran a hand through his hair.
“I insinuated once, and she laughed it off as if I were the crazy one. To be fair, I’ve heard her say she looks like a potato, so we can’t really trust her judgment on her date-ability.” Santos sighed. “She’s one of those who will never believe it.”
“Who won’t believe what?” Eli asked tiredly.
“Nothing.”
“No one.”
He looked at the group and just shook his head. “Keep your secrets then.”
Dana watched him walk away, “Does he not realize that she doesn’t know?”
Robby rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to know.”
--------------------
“Wanna grab coffee with me after shift? You and Shen have been hyping up that new place so much that it made me curious. I also gotta give you back those fishing poles I borrowed.” Morales said as they both grabbed their things from their lockers.
“Sure, man. Catch anything on your trip?” Jack chatted with him as they walked side by side toward the parking lot.
“Nothing too big. Enough for a few fancy dinners. Those poles came in clutch. Thanks for lending ‘em. I wouldn’t have booked the trip if I’d known mine were damaged in the move.”
It was an easily flowing conversation between two coworkers. Post shift jokes. Random questions. A little bit of complaining about patients.
Then it shifted.
“Jack, can I ask you something?” Morales seemed contemplative. He didn’t look him in the eye and fiddled with a napkin.
Jack knew already. How could he not?
“Is she seeing anybody?”
Jack paused. Furrowed his brow.
“You know, the Pitt’s favorite EMT. Is she single?”
“No.”
Morales blinked. “No, she’s not single?”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “No, she isn’t seeing anyone. And yes, she’s single.”
“Good.” Morales breathed out. Then a bright smile swept across his stupid, perfect teeth.
-------------------------
The first post-shift coffee turned into a weekly thing. Jack didn’t know why he let it happen. Despite his growing unease over Morales’ interest in you, he was exactly the type of guy that Jack got along with.
They’d lost family during and after their tours in the Middle East. They had both gone to the same medical school; he did it ten years before Morales did. They cheered for the same sports teams and kept up with each other intellectually.
But they rarely talked about you. Until Morales asked how you’d met. Jack had told him most of the story, wanting to make it known that his connection to you ran deep.
“You should be proud of her.” Morales took a swig of his beer. “Not a lot of former patients end up doing what she did. She even tracked you down. She wanted to make sure you knew you impacted her life.”
“Yeah,” Jack said quietly, “she’s pretty amazing,”
“I’ve got a patient who just sent me a graduation announcement. First kid in their family to finish college.” He shrugged and glanced at Jack. “Almost brought tears to my eyes. I don’t have kids, but I imagine it’s got to feel like that.”
Jack choked on the comparison. Is that what they thought? He could understand being seen as your mentor.
But a father figure?
Was he really that old?
Morales was only 10 years younger than him. Which still made him older than you.
Jack felt sick as Morales talked more about the kids he had helped and how they showed their appreciation.
You weren’t a kid anymore. He kept reminding himself, even as the doubt trickled in.
-------------------------
It was a late night in the ED. Slow as a snail, and Jack had been staring hard at the screen in front of him, unblinking, for nearly an hour.
Santos, having finally caught up with her charting, went up to him.
“What’s eating at you, boss? Missing our Chips Ahoy while she’s on day shift rotation?” She tried to coax him out of his funk.
Jack sighed. “Be honest with me for a second.”
“So honest they could make me a saint. What’s eating at you?”
“Do you think I give off ‘father figure’ energy?”
Santos blinked. “Uh. No, not really. I mean, you have the stern voice down, but that’s from being in the army. You do too much cool shit, like SWAT and risky procedures, while arguing with Doctor Walsh. It’s more like ‘cool uncle’ energy.”
“Still old though?”
“Age is relative. What are you too old for?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly. But ya know the pharmacists have a nickname for you.”
“Do I want to know–”
“Doctor Daddy.”
“Shut up, Santos.”
“So maybe ‘Daddy figure’ vibes.”
“I’m going to go drown myself in the break room sink.”
-------------------
You were hanging out at the ED on your day off. As crazy as that sounds. But you and Jack had been on alternating shifts for a few weeks and hadn’t been able to hang out as much as you would have liked.
Handover for the night shift had started when Eli pulled you aside. You were waiting for Jack, who was talking to a few residents while pointing at the board.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime, if that’s something you’d be into?” You could tell he was a little nervous. But he was genuine. Annoyingly handsome in his street clothes.
You still looked past him to Jack, who was obviously looking around the ED for you. Your eyes locked. Jack seemed to take in the scene; the proximity between the two of you.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now. Took a bit of time to build up the courage.” Eli diverted your attention. He looked like a puppy waiting for a command. Your eyes glanced towards the nurses’ station. Jack was gone, but everyone was pretending not to be watching.
If you said ‘no,’ then you’d humiliate him. He’d been so nice since he’d started there. He was objectively handsome. And he’d asked you out when Jack never had. You replied, “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”
—------
You sat together on your couch, like you always do on movie nights. You’re both off for the next few days, so you really wanted to milk this time with your favorite person. But the earlier exchange had turned the familiar setting into a minefield.
“Jack, what do you think about Eli?” You asked finally. You both knew you weren’t paying attention to the movie.
Next to you, Jack stiffened. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “He’s a good guy.”
You looked at him expectantly. “Go on. You two have been friendly. Give me the truth.”
Jack sighed, “He’s funny. Smart enough to keep up with you. You guys have that Pokémon thing as a mutual interest. So far, everyone likes him, including our patients.”
“He wants to take me out to dinner in a few days,” you explained.
“I gathered,” Jack said, leaning into the sofa with his arm along the back of it, tilting himself to face you. “He’s annoyingly perfect. I’d say he’s a catch, and he’s been into you for a while now.”
“Oh. I hadn’t really thought of him like that,” you admitted.
“You should give him a chance. He’d be lucky to have you. I also think you’d have fun making all the nurses in the hospital jealous,” he tried to lighten the mood, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” you felt your heart clench at his encouragement. “Princess might shun me.”
The sound of the TV filled the space between them.
“Hey, Chip?” Jack broke the silence.
“Yeah, Jacky?” You turned to him, big eyes looking up at him in the dim light.
“Ya know that shelf of binders. The ones you keep your cards in?” He said, gesturing at one bookcase he had assembled for you. The top shelf was filled with colorful zip binders of various sizes.
“You mean the ones you teased me about because they were ‘neurotically’ organized?” You frowned, but the lilt in your voice told him you weren’t mad.
“I stand by that observation,” he ruffled your hair affectionately. The tension broke. Jack stood and pulled down a dark green binder. “Why does this have my name on it?”
“Wait, no! Give me that!” You jumped up and tried to snatch the binder away from him as he unzipped it.
“It has my name on it!” Jack dodged you and vaulted over the sofa. You both dissolved into manic giggles as you chased him around until finally he collapsed back onto the couch. “I surrender! Jesus, Chip. Is there contraband in here?”
You took the binder and flopped onto the couch next to him, tucked against his side. The awkwardness of earlier had vanished. “If I show you, you can’t make fun of me.”
His arm came around you as he rubbed your shoulder. “I promise to be respectful.”
The boyish smile he gave you made your heart flutter. You averted your eyes and opened the binder. Jack pulled the binder into his lap as he took it all in. He’d seen the cards in some of your other binders, and they were all cute and thematic. One was filled with cute cat-like monsters. Another was filled with various rodents. But this one was filled with fierce dragon-like Pokémon. Some looked like they were made of rocks, while others breathed flames. Jack flipped through the binder, pointing out some of the ones that caught his eye.
“I know you aren’t really into it. But I’m a firm believer that you just haven’t found the kinds you like. So I put this together. I know it’s childish,” you explained.
“You picked all of these for me?”
“I looked for ones you might like. Like these,” you flipped to a page and pointed at the top row. “Geodude and all the evolutions kind of remind me of when you’re in your SWAT uniform. There’s a spread for the legendaries because, well, you’re just that cool.”
Jack flipped through the pages and stopped on a spread. “Who’s Brock?”
“Well, he studies to be a Pokémon doctor.”
Jack smiled. “Alright, what about all these pink ones?”
“Well, Chansey, Blissey, and Audino are basically nurses,” you replied.
“So this whole binder is full of cards that remind you of me?” Jack’s heart melted as he leaned into you, hugging you close.
“Yeah, I actually had to ask Eli for some more stereotypically ‘masculine’ cards because I only keep the cute ones.” Your mention of the other doctor was nonchalant, but you felt Jack stiffen. He pulled away, cleared his throat, and then closed the binder.
“I’m sorry I made jokes about your hobby before. I was being a dick.”
“Yeah, you were. But we can like different things. I wasn’t going to drag you to a card show or anything.” You took the binder and walked it over to a shelf.
“You could.”
“Or if things go well with Eli, we can go together,” you said, not turning back to look at Jack. You didn’t see the pained look on his face. He couldn’t see the wistful look in your eyes.
—-----------
It was so easy to talk to Eli Morales that you sometimes wondered if you shared a brain. You shared opinions on issues. You had the same sense of humor. He was gorgeous in fitted black pants and a dark purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He’d picked you up from your apartment and had the date completely planned. Dinner at a nice restaurant, but not too nice. Eli asked all kinds of questions about you. It was easy for you to do the same with him. He’d reached over and taken your hands a few times, and you’d let him.
The dinner was drawing to a close as you both sipped wine and nibbled on a shared dessert. Hours had passed, and the restaurant was dying down. You laughed as he finished up a story about a dog running loose through your last hospital.
“Oh my god! I have to tell Jack about this,” you breathed out between giggles. You froze, realizing what you said.
That thought wasn’t supposed to come out of your mouth. It was supposed to stay buried in your psyche like all the other little thoughts you’d had tonight.
Jack would love this place.
He wore purple. How did Jack guess?
I should take Jack here one of these days.
You were on a date with a good man. A really good date. But he wasn’t Jack.
Eli blinked slowly and looked away.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring someone else up,” you tried to explain.
“Hey, it’s okay. I get it,” Eli smiled sadly. “He’s important to you.”
“We were having such a nice time.” You dropped your head, annoyed at yourself.
Eli observed you for a moment, shaking his head. “And we still are. I knew when I asked you out. I figured since he said you were single that he wasn’t planning on making a move. I took my shot.”
“What are you saying?”
“You talk about him like he hung the moon and stars for you.”
“Then why ask me out?”
“I didn’t want to have any regrets.” Eli stood, “I’ll go pay off the tab. I’d like to stay friends. Who else am I supposed to be nerdy with?”
You took his hand. “I’m sorry, Eli.”
He leaned down and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t be. Just tell him the truth.”
You watched him walk away.
—----------------------
The light in your living room was on, but Jack was sprawled across your sofa, fast asleep. He’d waited for you like he did when he knew you were pulling a double. You kicked off your heels quietly and walked around to the front. There was a book lying open on his chest. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose.
Carefully, you perched on the edge of the cushion and looked down at him. In sleep, his laugh lines flattened, the furrow in his brow was less prominent, and his jaw was loose, making his teeth just barely visible. He was softness personified. You wanted to crawl into his chest and never leave.
A greying curl was falling forward on his forehead. He felt the featherlight touch of you brushing it back. Blinking awake, Jack stretched and closed the book on his chest.
“Hey, chipmunk,” he said, “how was your date?”
You bit your lip and sighed, “...good.”
Jack nodded, “Okay. Anything else?”
Your eyes roamed over his face. The eyes that had been a vision of comfort for so long were now looking at you with worry.
“Chip?”
You traced a finger up his forearm, averting your eyes from his intense gaze.
“What happened? Did he do something?” He was already on alert. Your hand on his forearm tightened.
You swallow thickly. “He told me I should be honest.”
Jack raised a brow and settled back. “Well, that seems like sound advice.”
“Yeah.”
“If you like him, tell him.” Jack’s voice was low. He was looking down at your hand on his arm. You could practically see him shuttering his feelings. You flipped your hand and entwined it with his.
“Jack, look at me,” you commanded quietly.
He didn’t move.
“Please look at me. Let me be honest with you.”
That caught his attention. Your eyes met. Your voice cracked. “Jack Abbot, it's always been you.”
“What?” Jack stared at you like you’d spoken a different language. But disbelief made way for understanding.
He whispered your name. Your real name, and for once, it felt like a blessing and not a curse.
For the first time, you saw desperation in his eyes. Desperation to understand. To know that your words were real. His eyes dilated and flicked to your lips. You surged forward, holding his face between your hands, and your lips met his in a firm kiss.
Jack didn’t respond. Your stomach dropped, and the icy, cold hand of rejection wrapped around your throat. You tried to pull away. Jack muffled a groan of protest by deepening the kiss. The slide of his lips and tongue made your knees weak. His hands found your waist, pulling you in close. You reached for him in return. Your nails dragged up the nape of his neck and into his cropped curls.
Jack’s strong arms pulled you onto his lap. The feel of his capable hands moving restlessly across your thighs, hips, and waist pulled a moan from your throat. You both came up for air, foreheads pressed tightly together. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing. In the dark of the living room, everything felt a little surreal.
You smiled when you felt his nose brush against yours.
He pulled back just far enough that he could look you in the eyes. “Do you really mean that?”
Your heart filled to bursting at the apprehension in his eyes. “Oh, Jack. I don’t think I’ve ever been more honest than I am now.”
A breathless whimper fell from his lips. His arms tightened around you while his kiss-bitten lips found yours again. Jack moved your arms to loop around his shoulders as he buried his face against your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin. His fingers found the hem of your dress and pushed it up to your waist.
“So soft, sweetheart,” he groaned.
You rocked against him, feeling his hardness through the grey sweats he wore. “I love your hands on me. I love it when you touch me.”
“Yeah?” Jack’s voice broke as you cupped his jaw and pulled him into a kiss, so filthy it left you both grinding against each other.
The heat was building. The desire overflowed. The hem of his t-shirt was found, and it soon fell to the floor.
“Jack,” you moaned, dragging your blunt nails down his chest and to his abs. Meanwhile, he’d pulled the zipper of your dress down your back. Your lips met again as you worked together to push the dress off your arms and let it pool at your waist. Your chest was bare only for a moment before Jack’s hands were on you, followed by the wet heat of his mouth and tongue.
He pressed his face against the swell of your breast, flicking his tongue across the stiff nub as he inhaled against your skin. “You taste so good. Smell so good. Feel so good.”
You rocked against him. “I need you, Jack.”
“Patience, baby.” The words were muffled against your skin. He palmed your ass, slipping his hands under your panties and squeezing your supple cheeks. Jack’s movements guided your rocking against the tent on his lap. You soaked through your panties and left a dark, wet spot on him.
You held his face to your chest, gasping when he brought one hand forward and cupped your wet pussy. Jack cursed, eagerly pushing your panties aside and gliding his fingers through your slick folds. “So wet.”
That strangled admittance had a dizzying effect on both of you. Your hands raked down his chest, fumbled with the tie on his pants, and then delved straight into his underwear. Jack kissed you in the same moment that he thrust two fingers into your welcoming heat, and you wrapped your hands around his cock, thumb grazing his tip.
“Fuck, Chip. Fuck. I haven’t done this in so long. I don’t know if I’m going to last if you touch me like that.” His head was thrown back against the sofa as he let you touch him. You were grinding down on his still fingers as you pulled his cock free from his pants.
“You won’t have to last, Jack. This is only the first night. We’ve got all the time in the world.” The whispered reassurances banished any insecurities that had cropped up. “Lie back and let me do this.”
Jack’s eyes were lazy with lust as they tracked your movements. You stood and stripped your dress and panties off. Then you helped him with his sweats while pressing teasing kisses to his exposed skin. When you came to the end of his leg, you remembered his prosthetic. “Oh, good. It’s already off, so you’ll be comfortable.”
The easy way you’d brushed off the glaring disability in favor of running your tongue up the length of his hard cock would have made him fall in love if he wasn’t already.
“Let me move a bit, then you can come up here, sweetheart,” Jack said. He shifted from leaning against the arm of the sofa to the back, planting his foot on the floor for leverage. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as he took your hand and guided you to straddle him.
You hovered over his thick shaft, rubbing your wet cunt along the length of it while your hands tugged at his hair and you nipped at his lips. The soft whimpers and groans Jack was letting loose were more than you could bear.
Catching his chin, you looked him in the eye. “Look at me, Jack.”
His hazel eyes were a storm of desire and affection. The familiar brow furrow appeared when you reached down and lined up his cock to your slick hole.
“Don’t close your eyes.” The breathy command came out in a deep growl as he suddenly pulled you down and thrust up.
You trembled at the fullness. Neither of you moved. His hands flexed on your hips, holding himself back.
“Kiss me,” you pleaded.
His lust softened, pulling you tighter against him as he leaned back into the sofa. Your torso was flush against his as you started to ride him. But Jack was far from passive. His hips rolled in time with yours while his hand buried itself in your hair, maneuvering you for a soul-deep kiss. You held on tight as you moved like it wasn’t your first time coming together like this. The pleasure built in an accelerating crescendo.
Your hands found purchase on the back of the couch as you rode him in earnest. The slap of damp skin on damp skin was loud in the quiet of your apartment. Jack was thrusting into you from below with quick, pointed strokes. Another flood of wetness wept around his cock as you neared your peak.
“It’s okay. You can cum, sweetheart. I’m barely holding on,” Jack growled into your ear. “Cum for me.”
You fell off the ledge a moment before he followed. Pleasure so overwhelming that you both kissed and sucked and fucked in a sensual dance, stretching your release until you collapsed against each other. You were both sucking in air like you had run a mile.
When the sweat had dried on your skin, and you’d been cuddled up for too long, Jack finally coaxed you to get up. “We should clean up and try to get a few hours of sleep in.”
You stretched like a cat against him, stole a kiss, then finally pulled away from him. You pouted a little at the loss of his heat.
“Fucking hell,” Jack groaned as he propped himself up. His hand was on his lower back.
You couldn’t help but giggle as he grumbled.
“You laughing at me, sweetheart?”
“You’re cute, old man.”
“True, but I’d prefer to be called ‘your man’.”
You shook your head in amusement as you crossed the room, still naked, and grabbed the crutch he kept in your apartment. You lay it within his reach.
“I’ll go start a bath for us. Take your time.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. Jack watched your swaying hips, reaching out for the crutch without a second thought.
==============
Your first day back on the job was standard until your first drop-off, when Jack was there to receive your patient now that he was on shift.
Jack was next to you in the blink of an eye as you followed the usual routine, listing off stats rapid fire as Santos and Princess came up to assist.
When you were done reporting, trauma two was in full swing. You moved out of the way. But not before sharing a long look with Jack. Trinity caught that look and gasped. Only to be scolded by Princess to focus on the intubation.
You stopped by the Pitt at the end of your shift, as usual. But when you walked through the doors, you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, even if they pretended not to be watching. You tried not to let it get to you as you found Jack.
“Is it just me, or is everyone looking at us?” You whispered out of the side of your mouth.
“Not just you,” he murmured, turning away from his tablet. “Give it a couple of minutes, Santos wants to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
“CHIPS AHOY! I cannot believe you chose him over me!” Santos practically slammed into your side, gripping your arm.
“Trini!” you gasped, surprised.
“And not only that, but I owe Whitaker thirty bucks because you two couldn’t hold out for one more week.” Santos pouted.
Whitaker laughed loud enough to make you turn your head. He was waving around a not inconsiderable wad of cash. “I told you that her going on a date with McSteamy would get his ass in gear.”
“Hey! I’m still your attending Whitaker!” Jack scowled.
“Aww, what gave it away?” You whined, turning to Jack.
“You had those ‘fuck me’ eyes earlier. But we confirmed it when Princess caught Jack texting you and calling you ‘baby’,” Santos answered.
“But the most damning? That was when Samira walked in on Jack changing his shirt and saw the scratches and hickies.” Javadi looked embarrassed as she said it.
Your hands covered your face in mortification. Jack looked unbelievably smug. “Yeah, but that could have been from anyone.”
“Nope! Nope! LALALALA. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOU IN BED, ABBOT. I’VE ALREADY PLAGUED MYSELF WITH THE COLLAR!” Santos screeched as she plugged her ears.
Jack looked mortified.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Whitaker sighed. He stepped away, but pivoted back to the two of you. Handing you each a couple of twenty-dollar bills, he smiled. “Thank you, and I’m happy you two figured it out.”
Jack looked at the money, shrugged, then pocketed it.
“On that note, I should head out. I just wanted to check in.” You smiled at Jack, but before you could move, he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.
The look he gave you afterwards and the bright smile that you wore as you walked out weren’t missed by anyone.
When a new EMT rolls into the Pitt, Jack can't get over it. He knows her. He just doesn't remember who she is. When the truth is finally revealed, Jack has to reconcile the past with the present.
CW: Fluff, Traumatic background with low detail, eventual smut.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Jack rolled into a seated position. He didn’t need to look down to pull his prosthetic back on. When he finally stood–stretching like a cat and blinking awake–he remembered where he was. He scanned the sparse room and smiled at the scattered book. They were in piles on the ground and in the bookshelves he had put together the night before.
After putting you to bed last night, he’d gone around and pulled all the curtains and blinds, doublechecked the doors, and had set your coffee maker to turn on automatically. He could already smell the new brew from his place in the living room. He did his best to stay quiet during his morning ablutions in the hallway bathroom. You’d made sure he had a set of anything and everything he could need before you’d even had dinner the night before.
By the time you walk into the kitchen, blurry-eyed and yawning, he’s got eggs and bacon cooking on a hot skillet. You paused in the threshold between the hallway and kitchen, watching him with wide eyes for a long moment. When you sniffled, Jack’s head shot up in concern. He was then witness to an impressive seven sneezes in a row.
“Uh, you alright, Chip?” He asked, a brow raised, his voice tinged with concern.
“Yeah,” you huffed, “My allergies always act up when I move to a new location. You didn’t have to make breakfast.”
Jack shooed you away when you tried to take the spatula from him. “Ah ah ah. I got this. Sit, eat. Then we can strategize for the rest of the day.”
“Rest of the day? You’re staying?” There was a hopeful tinge to your voice.
“No place else I’d rather be,” Jack said. He pushed a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast across the island where you’re seated. He joined you soon after with his own plate.
“You’re the best. Like really. A godsend. Always have been,” you mumbled between bites of crispy bread.
“I was thinking we could finish up the bookshelves and clear a path for the coffee table. The dressers and side tables won’t come in until next week, so I can come back and help you with them then. That sound good?”
“Perfect. You’re too good to me.”
“Nothing’s ever too good for you, Chipmunk.”
You couldn’t stop the bright smile and bashful feeling that bloomed in your chest.
------------------------
“Where do you want this?” You heard Jack say behind you.
You were up on a step stool, organizing a row of hardcover classics in one of the bookcases. Jack was holding a small wooden chest in one hand as he dug through a moving box on the sofa. Seeing him with the chest in his hands made your stomach swoop.
You stepped down from the step ladder. “Open it.”
The doctor turned to you with a raised brow, and curiosity immediately formed. You walked up to him as he opened the box, reverently sifting through the papers.
“Are these,” Jack glanced at you, “my letters?”
It had been a while since you had pulled the sheafs of paper out, but they had been a comfort to you in times of loneliness and pain. The physical proof that someone out in the world cared about you. Every single page of writing seemed to have Jack’s sharp scrawl across it, even sticky notes he had left for her when she was still in the ER.
“I hope you don’t think it’s weird that I kept them all these years. You were-are-very important to me, Jack. I don’t think I would have made it through what I did without you. I could never get myself to throw them away.” You admitted.
“No, no, honey. It’s sweet. Come here.” Jack took your wrist and pulled you down to sit with him on the couch.
“I know you probably didn’t keep mine. I was just a silly teenager with a crush and a lot of unprocessed trauma. I didn’t expect anything-”
“Chip, calm down,” Jack soothed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I would have kept all of your letters, too, if I could have.”
“Oh.” You breathed out.
—------------
Jack felt sick with guilt. He had tried to keep the letters. They had been in a manila folder in his closet for a long time. Unlike you, he hadn’t revisited them. They were keepsakes of a time when he had done well in a life full of mistakes and regret. Between getting married, becoming a widow, and working to stay alive, he’d lost the letters.
Tentatively, he reached for your chin and made you look at him. Your eyes met his, nervously flicking from his face to behind him, back to his eyes, and away again.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Chip. I’m happy that they meant so much to you,” Jack said, voice low as if he were talking to a skittish animal.
“I don’t know why I’m freaking out,” you sucked in a deep breath of air. “I don’t want you to think I’m weird or obsessed.”
“I like weird. I also don’t think an obsessed person would have gone 20 years no contact, as we did,” he reassured you. “I never thought of you as some ‘silly teenager with a crush’. As adorable as you could be sometimes, I knew you needed guidance and support. I was happy to be that person for you. I was happy to see you getting better. You went through an incredibly traumatic situation that could have ruined an adult, while you were still a teenager. You were–are–so strong, Chip.”
You started to calm down. Jack let his hand drop from your chin.
“I may not have kept the letters, but I never forgot how important it is to connect with my patients. I never forgot that seeing a patient for only the things happening to them was just as bad as giving them the wrong treatment,” he sank back into the couch. “The things you taught me? That’s how I connected with Cara the first time we met. She had come to the Pitt after an accident. Everyone was worried about her since she had pretty impressive wounds. But she kept talking about a puppy. Over and over. Everyone ignored it, but once she was stable, I asked. She’d dodged a puppy in the road and was so worried about it that it was making her sick.”
“What did you do?” You asked, looking over at him.
“I went to where the accident happened once my shift was over. I found the puppy, and I snuck it into the hospital the next day. “She cried so hard it almost got me in trouble.”
“She sounds sweet.”
“She was.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Me too.” He sighed. “I told her about you, once. We’d been together 10 years at that point. She had just started her chemo and wanted me to distract her. I joked about everything. I told her about the craziest cases I could think of. Then she asked me which case had the best ending despite being the worst to think about. I told her about you.”
“Really?”
“Yup. She used to say that cases like that were what gave me a soft side.” Jack closed his eyes at the intense memory. “When she was really sick—when she wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital anymore—she gave me this Amazon package. Said she had one of the nurses order it for her. It was an anniversary gift. It was a chipmunk. This fluffy keychain sort of thing. It was supposed to ‘represent the best parts when the worst parts got too loud’. It was the last gift she gave me. Like she knew I would blame myself.”
“Did you blame yourself?”
“Of course I did. As stupid as it was to rage against cancer as if being a doctor protects you and the ones you love.”
“The day after I buried her, when I decided I needed to move out of our house, I looked for your letters. I needed palpable proof that I had helped someone. That I wasn’t destined to lose everything important to me. That’s when I realized they were gone. Probably had been for a long time. It felt like I was being kicked while I was already down.”
It was your turn to wrap your arms around Jack and give him some comfort. “Will you tell me more about her sometime?”
“Yeah, Chip. I will.”
“Want a distraction now?”
“God, yes, please. The air is thick with emotions. Any longer and you'll have to take me to the Pitt for asphyxiation.”
“Help me with the rest of my books. I think you'll get a kick out of the rest of them. They are a wild array of romance novels that you will love to make fun of.”
“Perfect. I saw one earlier that caught my eye.” He walked across the room, rifled through a box, and pulled out a beat-up paperback. He read the title from across the room. “‘Marrying the Silver Fox’? A bit on the nose, don't you think, Chip?”
“For the record, that one is tame.”
Jack flicked through the book and stopped on a page. His eyes widened. “That is an interesting use of mint toothpaste.”
You tossed a pillow at him. “Shut up!”
The rest of the afternoon was taken up with emptying moving boxes and scathing critiques of your reading preferences.
“Why are all these men either hockey players, billionaires, or stalkers?” He asked as he finished filling one of the shelves.
You scoffed from your place on the floor, where you were surrounded by more books. “Women love variety. Who doesn’t want a burly hockey team desperately vying for their attention? And billionaires? Blame the love for that on the economy and the legacy of Pretty Woman.”
“And the stalkers?”
“Dark romance has its positives…” You stood up and tried to snatch a particular book out of his hand.
“Ok, but the colorful tabs are for what exactly?” Jack asked, flipping open the book.
“Wait, Jack, gimme that!”
“Now I have to read it.” He held you back with a hand on your forehead. He flipped to one of the marked pages. You watched as his eyes scanned the page and his ears started to turn pink. Jack closed the book and rubbed a hand down his face, freeing you long enough to snatch the book from him. “Chip, a knife in a mattress?”
“Yeeaap,” you stretched the word out as you shoved it back onto the shelf.
“Women are terrifying. You’re terrifying.” Jack shook his head.
“You like me anyway.”
The response was out before he could think about it.
“Yeah,” he said smoothly, “I do. Thought I was smarter than that.”
“Rude,” you pouted. But you still felt your cheeks warm as he shot you an affectionate smile.
Jack cleared his throat and picked up another stack of books. “Haunting Adeline? You read horror?”
“Oh shit!” You lunged for the book. Jack caught you around the waist automatically, dropping the pile as you stumbled together, falling to the floor in a blob of limbs and laughter.
“My books!”
---------------------------------
Some people would think your dynamic would change now that everything was out in the open and you’d found the rhythm of your friendship again. But the next time you saw each other at the ED felt normal. Blissfully normal.
“Chipmunk is looking for you,” Santos called to Jack across the nurses' counter.
Jack didn’t look up from his chart. “She had a name, Santos.”
“A name you never seem to remember,” Santos shot back.
Before he could respond, you bumped into his side, lodging yourself comfortably next to him while sticking your tongue out at Santos, “Only Jack gets to call me that, Trini!”
“Girl, quit making me jealous of a dinosaur,” she shot back, with a grin on her face.
You shoved a coffee into Jack’s hand. He accepted it automatically. “What is this?”
“We switched when before I dropped you off.” You shrugged.
He looked down and smelled the familiar dark roast wafting through the top. “...How did I not notice?”
“Jack, you drank half of it before you were even out of my car. I only realized when I got to the depot and took a sip of mine that it was the gasoline you call coffee and not my premium matcha.” You pouted.
Robby passed behind the counter, stopping short enough to stare. “You’re sharing beverages now?”
“Against my will. I knew it tasted like grass,” Jack muttered.
You gasped, “I bring you your morning fuel after you drank mine, but suddenly I’m being slandered, and you’re offending ancient tradition.”
The grin tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth and appeared before he could stop it. Robby’s eyes widened at the easy intimacy. He turned to Dana, who was also watching the pair bicker.
“You two are more entertaining now than you were when Jack couldn’t figure out where he knew you from,” Dana smirked, taking off her glasses. “I’d have been offended if I were you, missy.”
“I could never be mad at Jack, Dana,” you replied with ease.
“I think he’d actually be worse to work with if you ever did,” Robby chimed in.
“Hey!” Jack protested.
Santos barked out a laugh, “Yeah, have mercy on us and keep him tame."
---------------------------
Jack’s head snapped up when he heard a commotion at the ambulance bay doors. A few COs led a gurney with an inmate who was thrashing against his restraints. Robby was already rushing over to start treatment when you walked in. Your carefully sleek ponytail was frizzy and askew, and your hands rubbed your neck.
Jack moved around the nurse’s station, straight to your side. His gait focused, and eyes already assessing, “Chip. You alright?”
“I’m fine,” you replied automatically.
“Let me see,” the command was sharp. You hesitated for a moment before lowering your hands and letting him take you by the chin. You already knew the bruises were forming. Jack’s jaw tightened at the angry red skin.
“Je-sus,” Santos winced. Whitaker had the wherewithal to tug her along to the trauma bay.
“Come sit her over here, Jack. We don’t have any rooms open right now.” Dana gestured towards an empty chair next to her.
You could see the worry in his eyes and feel it in the way he was practically wrapped around you as he guided you over to the nurses' station.
“I’m peachy, Jacky. I told you inmate medical transport was my least favorite assignment.” You shrugged.
“They always want to hit the women,” one of the EMTs muttered darkly as he brought your bag in from transport.
Jack looked like he wanted to hunt the inmate down. Instead, he gently checked your neck, strong fingers firmly pressing into your skin. “Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“Jaaack.”
His eyes flicked up to yours, boring into you with his worry and irritation.
‘It’s not a big deal,” you said more softly. You reached for his arm and squeezed as if to show him you were fine.
“Yes, it is.” Jack nearly growled. He stood with his hands on his hips, clearly agitated.
“It was handled,” you explained. “One of the straps wasn’t secure, and he got his arms loose for maybe ten seconds.”
“Ten seconds is plenty of time for someone to crush your trachea. I would know!” he snapped.
“Says the man who runs around with SWAT for fun!” You shot back. The ER had continued its usual frenzy, but you could feel the eyes discreetly watching the heated exchange.
His shoulders dropped as he sighed heavily.
“Have you told your superiors this keeps happening?”
You crossed your arms defensively, warning in your voice. “Jack.”
“I’m serious. This wasn’t the first time.”
“It isn’t unusual. We take precautions.”
“Not enough.” The finality in his voice seemed to ripple through the department.
You knew he was right. But your pride was just as stubborn as his. “So what exactly do you want me to do?”
“I want you to stop acting like getting assaulted at work is just part of the job.” The worry in his voice broke through his frustration.
Your expression softened as you stood and stepped closer.
Before you could say anything, Robby emerged from Trauma 2, pulling off a pair of gloves.
“He’s stable and sedated,” Robby announced dryly before glancing between the two of you. “Although Abbot here looked about thirty seconds from committing homicide.”
“I still might,” he grumbled.
You couldn’t stop the snort of amusement. “Hey, doc. Do no harm. Remember?”
Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the whole situation was giving him a headache. Unselfconscious, you stood and reached for his hands, entwining your fingers together.
His hazel eyes opened a moment later. “Tell your boss. Please.”
You nodded, and immediately his shoulders relaxed. “I’ll talk to them. But I’m not requesting a permanent reassignment unless they think it’s necessary.”
“Chip.”
“Take it or leave it.”
You eyed him, prepared for him to argue. Then he sighed. “Fine.”
“Deal?” You stuck your hand out toward him.
Jack pulled you into a hug rather than shaking your hand.
Neither of you noticed that most of the ER had watched your interaction and felt like they had witnessed a new side of their attending.
--------------------------
Little shared moments between the two of you were commonplace.
The kind that slipped so naturally into your daily lives that neither of you questioned them.
“You left your hoodie at my place again,” you told Jack as you dropped off a folded sweatshirt at the nurses’ station.
Jack was looking intently at an X-ray and didn’t look up. “That’s because you live in a freezer.”
“I run hot.”
“You should ask your doctor about that.”
“Already did. He said I’m just too hot to handle.” You winked, waving at some of the nurses as you left.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Princess whispered to Dana.
Dana shot a look at Robby, who snorted into his drink.
“It’s like watching your crush fall in love with your dad,” Santos sighed, as she continued her charting.
The amount of time you spent at the ED during your own ambulance rounds was astonishing at times. You’d drop off coffee on hard days as if you could feel Jack spiralling. Sometimes you’d have bags of food for the whole shift. Amongst which there was always a single bag that you and Jack shared.
Any time you came in with a trauma, both of you would immediately look for the other.
“It’s like telekinesis,” Javadi said as she watched for the third time that day as Jack popped his head out of a room the moment you walked through the door.
“It’s kind of like how a cat’s ears will perk up before their owner is through the door because they memorized how their tires sound on gravel,” Mel added.
“Or when dogs scent their humans in a crowd of people,” Whitaker chimed in.
“Nope. Nope. My brain did not just picture Abbot wearing a collar,” Santos rubbed her eyes as she walked away. Her fellow residents and interns cringed at the thought.
----------------------------
Then there were the moments no one else saw.
The first time you invited Jack to sleep over after a trying shift.
Every subsequent time, when he would walk in and find the sofa made up for him, just in case he needed company.
The weekends when you paid for his labor with home-cooked meals and playful bickering over Ikea furniture.
Or the time you slipped him a spare key, and he never had to knock at your door again.
One night, during handover, Robby took a long look at Jack. “You know, I haven’t seen you this relaxed in years.”
Jack looked up from the tablet, “I relax.”
“Now it’s not a lie.”
“Go home, Robinavitch.”
Robby smirked and then gestured with his chin for Jack to turn around. Your laugh rang out through the space as you walked through the doors with Santos. Jack’s attention was completely yours in the space of a second. Robby made a whiplike sound and was disappointed that his friend didn’t react.
“You say something?” Jack asked, finally turning back to him.
Robby shouldered his bag. “Nothing, man. Have fun assembling whatever furniture she conned you into building tonight.”
Before Jack could respond, you crossed the space and playfully rammed your forehead into his shoulder. “Are you done yet? I’m convinced they sent me the wrong pieces for this sideboard.”
When a new EMT rolls into the Pitt, Jack can't get over it. He knows her. He just doesn't remember who she is. When the truth is finally revealed, Jack has to reconcile the past with the present.
CW: Fluff, Traumatic background with low detail, eventual smut.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
You were trembling with nervous energy. Jack was coming over after calling you ‘sweetheart’ and sending that emoji. You reminded yourself that he’d called you that before, and the emoji was wildly out of character for him, but it did nothing to steady your hands as you tried to make your place look decent, if a little bare. You’d been in Pittsburgh for over 5 months now, and the only room that was fully moved in and unboxed was the kitchen. Boxes in your room doubled as dressers while you tried to find time to buy actual furniture.
The living room had a sofa, a mounted TV, and a roll-away table. The perimeter was filled with boxes, bags, and wrapped art pieces. All things you still had to put away. Not to mention the 5 boxes of books you’d also taken with you. God, you really needed to go furniture shopping. Jack wasn’t coming until the afternoon, so you had time. Maybe you could at least order some furniture for future visits.
You were getting ready to leave when your phone vibrated.
It only took Jack 20 minutes to arrive at your door.
“Hey, sorry. I know this is weird and random. But you said I could ask for help whenever-” You started to babble as you let him inside.
“Chip, don’t worry about it. I’m always happy to help. You didn’t tell me you had a condo. Do you own this outright?” Jack asked as he took in the post-modern architecture. Old enough to be sturdy, new enough not to need too much maintenance.
“Uh, yeah. I was making good money in California, but I needed to get away from the family. I found this place, and it’s better than anything I could have afforded over there.” You winced when you mentioned finances. Talking about money always made you uncomfortable.
“You really haven’t moved in,” Jack eyed the boxes around the living room.
“It’s hard with my hours being way less consistent here than I’m used to. I also couldn’t take much furniture with me. I’m lucky I had my bed delivered the day after I moved in. I figured I’d gradually find pieces to fill the place.” You followed Jack as he walked around your place. Next to the living room was a decent-sized kitchen with a small island. He could see that you had an average-sized backyard. Upstairs, he peered into your bare bedroom and an empty spare room.
You’d gone quiet under Jack’s perusal of your space. Seeing it through new eyes made it even more apparent that you hadn’t made it a home.
“Alright, chipmunk. Grab your bag. We’re going shopping.” Jack said. Hearing him say the word ‘chipmunk’ sent you back in time for a moment.
“You like Alvin and the Chipmunks?” The handsome doctor asked you.
It was the first question anyone had asked you that wasn’t related to what happened to you. You looked up at the doctor, who kept a distance from the bed. You nodded.
“Ya know, there are girl chipmunks too, right? Or is Alvin your favorite?” He asked gently.
“My brother’s name was Alvin.”
“Oh. Well, now I can’t call you that. But I read the note that you don’t like your name. So what should I call you?” His eyes were kind. Not sad, like everyone else had been.
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s start with ‘chipmunk’ for now. I’m Jack Abbot.”
“Aren’t I supposed to call you Doctor?”
“My friends call me Jack.”
“Earth to Chip, I mean it. Grab your bag,” Jack said with an amused smile on his face, interrupting your trip down memory lane. “You can’t live like this, sweetheart. Let’s get you some furniture. I can help you unpack. We were going to hang out today anyway. Might as well make it productive. Plus, I brought my truck. So if you buy anything we can bring back today, we can get it done together.”
“Jack, you don’t have to.” You tried to protest, but he just raised a brow at you and scoffed.
“I want to. Now grab your shit and let's go.”
------------------------------
“They are so pretty, but it’s just a bit out of budget when I think about what else I’m probably going to get.” Your fingers skimmed the matching bedside tables. They had a classic look but had built-in charging stations.
“I got it. Don’t worry about it.” Jack said, unbothered as he played with the tassel of an extravagant lampshade.
Your face blanched. “But, Jacky–”
“Don’t argue with me. I’ll win.” He warned. His warm hand found the back of your neck and pulled you in close so he could murmur in your ear, “I promise. I want to do this. I’ve saved up more money than I know what to do with. That’s what happens when you’re a 50-year-old workaholic with no family.”
“You have to let me buy you something,” You countered.
The only thing Jack wanted from that shop was a set of ‘whetstones’ that had obviously been gifted to someone who had no idea what to do with them and had donated them along with other kitchen supplies. He'd been interested immediately.
-------------------
“Are you looking for anything specific?” A saleswoman asked a few moments after they had stepped into the modern furniture store.
“I’m thinking of a nice dresser,” you said uncertainly.
“She likes cherry wood. Or anything with a darker finish. It has to go well with the bed frame and headboard. I was thinking more on the classic side, with feet and hidden wheels so that if she wants to move it around, it won’t be hard for her.” Jack rattled off, glancing at the woman only once. He turned to you before walking away, “Chip, I saw something over there when we walked in.”
The saleswoman stared after him, then a smile spread across her face. She gave you a knowing look, “Your husband is very attentive. Aren’t you lucky?”
“Oh, he’s not–” You rushed to correct her. But Jack’s voice interrupts you from across the sales floor.
“Chip, come and look at this. We could replace that table in the living room.”
------------------------
“I can’t believe you haggled that antique vendor down $300!” You gripped his bicep with both hands, hopping a little as you walked out of the consignment shop. Your happiness made Jack’s heart race. Who knew that haggling with a vendor would make you cling to him?
“He knew he was overpricing the thing, especially when you loudly screamed at the sight of it. He counted on you wanting it so badly that you’d pay double.” He explained as if it were obvious.
“Thank you, Jack. I’ve wanted a mid-century teak and leather chair since I did wood shop in my first year in college.” Your voice was dreamy.
“What’s so special about it that the price tag said $1,000.00 for a pair of chairs. I like my luxury stuff, but that was surprising. Plus, you didn’t let me buy them for you.” Jack grumbled.
“You’ve already bought so much for me today. This is 100% a splurge purchase. Unnecessary. Getting both for $800.00 is practically robbery, but I don’t think the guy actually knew what he had. If I’d seen them when I didn’t have the money for it, I probably would have cried.” You told him, your stride faltered as you pouted exaggeratedly at him.
“Well then, it wasn’t unnecessary. You’re happy, right?” Jack’s eyes met yours. There was a layer of intensity there, a double meaning.
“Extremely.” You breathed out.
“Good.”
---------------------------------
It’s already 5 pm by the time you get back to your place. You brought in two dressers, the teak chairs, and two cheap bookcases that still needed to be built.
“I’m ordering food. I’m too tired to cook right now.” You huffed as you dropped to the sofa. “And no, you can’t cook either. We’re going to rest, old man.”
“Only because you asked nicely.”
While you waited for the food, Jack started building the bookcases, following the directions quietly. The concentration furrow in his brow was unfairly attractive. By the time there’s a knock on your door, he’s anchoring one bookcase to the wall, and you’re trying to come to terms with the wave of attraction that had come over you at the display of his continued capability. He had no idea the effect he was having on you. You pulled your phone out.
“I gotta say, Jack, I think the girls are going to love this,” you teased as you snapped a photo of him wiping sweat off his brow. He was in a plain white shirt, a flannel with rolled sleeves, and jeans. He was devastating.
“Right. Like anyone wants to ogle an old man.” He rolled his eyes, moved the tools to the corner, and then joined you on the couch. You were spreading out the take-out on your rolling table. Your new table would be delivered the next day, so you made do.
“One: you know, I don’t actually think you’re old. Two: Competency porn.” You winked at him.
“Competency. Porn?” He choked on the water he was sipping from. His ears had already started to turn red.
You nodded enthusiastically, “Women love reliable men who can problem-solve without making a whole stink about the effort they put in. You’re also giving off lumberjack vibes. I don’t think I need to go into how women find that attractive. I’m convinced that’s how Robby gets dates. It’s all in the beard. Nothing to do with his obvious insanity.”
“So you’re saying you think I’m hot because I do things for you while wearing a plaid shirt?” Jack asked. His face was serious, but you could tell from his tone that he was amused.
“Yes. Heavy on the ‘doing things for me’.” You teased, unwrapping the naan and handing him one. “But really, Jack, thank you. I kept putting off furniture shopping because I always get overwhelmed with all the choices. Not to mention all the things you paid for! You’re getting a crazy birthday gift from me, be warned.”
“A guy can’t be nice to his friend?” He grumbled.
“Jaaaack.” You shoved his shoulder.
“Chiiiip.” He mimicked your voice; his smile was dazzling. You had to pause to catch your lost breath.
“Eat your butter chicken, Doc.”
----------------------------------
“That’s not fair. He’s nice! He’s a doctor! It’s not the same thing.” You argued. Your mother sighed heavily.
“Even so. It’s inappropriate for you to keep talking to him. You’re a child.” The look on your father’s face showed his exhaustion.
“It’s just letters. Barely even notes. He’s the only one who doesn’t look at me and only sees what happened to me!” Your face was streaked with tears now.
“This is for the best. We’ve already asked the hospital to get involved.”
“No! Dad! No, you can’t get him in trouble for just being nice to me!” You wept loudly.
“We just want what’s best for you.”
“Then don’t take him away from me!”
---------------------------
“Hey, shhh, we fell asleep on the couch. I’m just taking you to your room.” Jack whispered as you stirred in his arms.
Jack pulled back the sheets with one hand before easing you into your bed. Before he could step away, you tugged at his pant leg. Your voice was rough with sleep, “You can…take your leg off. I remember…more blankets in the hallway closet.”
He took your hand and tucked it back under the blanket. “Thanks, Chip. Sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”
When a new EMT rolls into the Pitt, Jack can't get over it.
He knows her. He just doesn't remember who she is.
When the truth is finally revealed, Jack has to reconcile the past with the present.
CW: Fluff, Traumatic background with low detail, eventual smut.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
He couldn’t figure out why you looked so familiar. You were new among the EMTs who brought patients to PTMC. Jack had caught a glimpse as he arrived early for his night shift, fully prepared to help out for a couple of hours before he had to take the mantle of shift lead. He knew you from somewhere, and he couldn’t place it. You’d been back four separate times with different patients, and each time, he made sure to get a better look.
Whoever you were, you looked good in uniform. It fit your body perfectly, accentuating your strong legs and back. You had to be hitting heavy weights; there was no way that the passive physicality of your job gave you glutes and quads that he wanted to grab.
Jack schooled himself. He wasn’t one to ogle women as a general rule. But his curiosity had led to appreciation. At this point, he was certain he had met you before.
By his next shift, he knew he had to talk to you. He’d lost sleep trying to figure out where exactly he knew you from.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Jack called out to you, following you to the ambulance bay.
“Oh, Doctor Abbot! I’ve been meaning to stop by and say ‘hello,’ but things are always hectic when I’m here, of course.” You wore a soft smile.
He may not remember you, but you definitely remembered him. A wave of embarrassment came over him. Were you a hook-up he didn’t recall? No, you were younger than he normally went for. He doubted you’d smile at him like that if that were true. You knew his name and seemed at ease in his presence.
“I knew I’d run into you eventually. I just got back to Pittsburgh a few weeks ago and started my ambulance rounds last week. Reaquainting myself with the city and all that.” You kept talking, and Jack kept listening. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’ve been meaning to thank you again for what you did for me. I know, I know. It’s your job. But sincerely, you inspired me. I became an EMT because of you.”
Jack’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn’t help but smile. The sun had sunk low as you’d spoken. Golden hour looked magnificent on you. That image, paired with the sincerity in your eyes, was almost too much for him.
Before he could respond, your partner called your name from the ambulance. The name still didn’t ring any bells for him.
“Shit, I have to go.” You took his hand in both of yours and squeezed it affectionately. “I’m really happy I could see you again.”
One last wave of your hand, then you jumped into the ambulance, and off you went.
Shen sidled up next to Jack. “You know her, boss? Damn. The rest of the guys are going to be so disappointed. They’ve been practically tripping over themselves since she first showed up.”
“Yeah?” Jack turned, brow raised. It wasn’t surprising that the men had noticed you; they never missed a pretty face.
“Look, I may be a happily married man, but that is a very pretty, very out of their league woman. Add that you’ve apparently already got a leg in? The boys don’t stand a chance.” Shen laughed, sipping on his iced coffee. “So how do you know her?”
“No fucking clue.” Jack walked away, rolling your name over and over in his head, hoping it would help him recall it better, but it proved fruitless.
In true Pitt fashion, the news that he knew the pretty new EMT but couldn’t recall from where had spread like wildfire. Now it was a game that Ellis and Shen, in particular, liked to play.
“Abbot’s right. She looks at him too kindly for her to be an ex booty call.” Shen said.
“How old do you think she is? Maybe she was military.” Ellis added.
“Can’t be more than 35. Granted, she does have a youthful glow, so the margin of deviation is pretty wide,” Lena commented.
It was a slow night. They had already covered Shen’s mouth twice to stop him from jinxing it. Now Abbot had to listen to them speculate about you.
“Do none of you have anything better to do?” He looked at them pointedly.
“No. You still don’t remember her, boss?” Shen inquired.
“Unfortunately, no.” He sighed deeply. Jack was starting to feel very guilty about not remembering.
“Yet she always says ‘hi’ to you when she can. And she left us those extra donuts and made us promise to give you one. So she’s definitely into you.” Shen took another obnoxious sip from his sugary monstrosity.
“OR maybe she’s an old patient, and I saved her life. She might just be grateful. I’ve saved a ton of people,” Jack reasoned.
“But you have a great memory. It doesn’t make sense that you don’t remember her,” Ellis said, her eyes never leaving her computer screen.
“Fuck if I know. Get back to work. Do not bother her if she brings anyone in tonight.”
At handover, the gossiping had started to get to him.
“Robby, you know that new EMT?” Jack inquired, trying not to sound too invested. At the nurses’ bullpen, the flurry of shift change was a big enough distraction from their murmured conversation.
“The one Santos has a crush on?” Robby’s brow furrowed.
“Does she? Why do you know that?” Jack asked, incredulous.
“I know everything. Now what about the EMT? Have you figured out how you know her?” Robby was looking up at the board and cross-referencing the tablet in his hand.
“She knows me, but I can’t remember her for the life of me. She said I’m one of the reasons she became an EMT. But I’ve tried for the past few weeks to recall, but I just can’t.” He knew he sounded frustrated.
“You could just ask her.” His friend replied, looking at him pointedly.
“And admit to this woman that I impacted her life so deeply it changed its trajectory, while she didn’t leave even a name on my mind? Do you want me to embarrass her?” Abbot was many things, but no one could ever say he was inconsiderate of a woman’s feelings.
“You either ask her, or you never find out, man.” The taller man shrugged.
“Ok, well, look the other way then-” Jack stepped up to a monitor.
“Look the other way when what?”
“When I pull up her medical record.”
“Seriously, Jack–”
“Robby! Abbot!” Dana called out. The playful bickering was out the window as a new emergency was brought to their attention.
They met the incoming trauma as soon as it came through the doors. You're next to the gurney covered in an almost comical amount of blood, giving information on the MVC victim and a heads up that two more were coming in critical condition. Jack was impressed by your composure. He let the rest of the day shift take over so he could approach you.
“I hope none of that's yours,” He said, eyeing you up and down.
“Arterial. The one who didn't make it. I did cut my hand on some glass,” you sighed, stretching your shoulders out.
“You got a change of clothes in the van? We have to do the usual tests before we can let you go.” He said, seriously.
“Yeah, I know the drill.” You met his gaze. If you weren’t covered in blood, Jack thought he might see your face flush. A moment later, your partner rolled up, thankfully clean, and handed you a go-bag. “Where can I get changed? I’ll also need a bio bag for these clothes.”
“The call room should be empty. Come on,” Jack gestured for you to follow him. “There’s also a shower in there. Nothing fancy, but I think I’ll feel better if you stop looking like Carrie.”
“Thanks, Doc.” You smiled at him unabashedly.
“I’ll come back with a bio-bag,” He replied.
After fending off questions from Robby and Dana about why he’s tending to you himself instead of passing you off to one of the interns, he finally returned to the call room. Two sharp knocks to the door caused it to open a few inches. Jack was about to avert his eyes when he realized your bare back was to him, until he noticed the puckered scar tissue on your lower back. They looked jagged and formed a ‘w’ followed by an ‘h’ and an ‘o’.
Memories flashed before his eyes. He panicked for a moment, thinking he was having a PTSD episode, until everything he knew about you came to the forefront of his mind.
A 16-year-old girl with a similar face and dark hair, trying hard not to cry as she lay in a gurney, the back of her nightgown torn and soaked in blood. Her shaking hand clutched a stuffed toy, a Disney chipmunk.
“Chipmunk…Chip!” Jack breathed out the nickname with a gasp.
You pulled the loose shirt down all the way, then turned to look at him. “I knew you didn’t remember me. Took you long enough, Jacky.”
You’d been one of his first patients when he started working on emergency medicine outside of the military. Civilian hospitals were less dangerous but equally painful. He remembered the late-night trauma call like it was yesterday. You were just a kid, and you’d put your trust in some 20-year-old boy who made you feel mature and seen. That ‘boyfriend’ had carved the letters into your back and was going to finish the rest when your worried friends had gone looking for you. You were supposed to be at a sleepover with your best friend.
It had been harrowing for a younger Jack to see a group of teenagers rallying around their friend as they followed you into the ER. You’d come through the doors, face down on the gurney, nearly catatonic. That ‘boyfriend’ had followed, causing a minor brawl in the ambulance bay as he’d yelled at you to ‘keep your mouth shut’. There had been a lot of stitches sewn that night, along with a call for PD.
Your wounds hadn’t been life-threatening. The trauma, however, ran deep. Jack remembered your wounds being redressed by an R2 while he supervised. He recalled your hysterical crying when the charge nurse went through the rape kit with you. Everyone in the Pitt could hear it.
Your nightmares kept ripping open your wounds. Three attempts to hurt yourself with a stolen scalpel or needle kept you down in the ER on an involuntary hold. Jack had faced the grim reality that war was not the worst that humanity had to offer.
When you yelled at your friends for saying your name, a trigger for you, he had started calling you ‘chip’ for the chipmunk toy you kept with you. Jack was the only male doctor that you let near you. You were one of the few cases where he got too invested. When nightmares had plagued you, he was able to get you to open up by sharing his own experiences with harrowing nights. You’d both lost something inherent to yourselves, and it kept him from ever looking at you with pity. You felt safe around him. He couldn’t refuse when you asked to keep in contact with him once you were moved to a room upstairs.
His therapist and yours had found the letters you handed off to each other endearing. At least once a week, the charge nurse had a handwritten letter waiting for him that you’d dropped off. He would leave one for the day shift to hand to you when you’d visit the ER after your weekly meetings with your psychologist.
That lasted for a few months before the hospital admin got involved. Your parents had been worried about your attachment to yet another older man, despite it being innocent. The two of you hadn’t even seen each other in person since the day you’d come down to bring the night shift home-made cookies, two weeks after you were discharged. But he’d written one last letter, telling you to do well in school, to be brave, and to be safe.
The next time he heard anything was a year later. A small note: “We’re moving. Thank you for everything. - Love Chip.” That had been the end of that. 20 years had passed.
“You almost hurt my feelings. But then I remembered that I’ve had rhinoplasty, it’s been 20 years, and I’m easily 80 lbs heavier.” She was still smiling at him softly as he stepped into the room and closed the door.
Jack was overwhelmed. He’d thought of you a few times over the years, wondering what kind of woman you’d become, but inevitably, his life would interrupt his thoughts. Somewhere down the line, he’d forgotten what your real name was.
“It’s been nagging at me since you first showed up that I knew you. I feel terrible for not realizing sooner. I’m sorry.” He took a step closer as he finally got a good look at you. Your hair was wet from the shower, but all the blood was gone. Your nose was a little straighter and smaller than it could have been. You had small smile lines and the faintest crows' feet. Your dimples were more pronounced than they used to be. But your deep brown eyes were the same.
Jack knew he probably looked a little deranged, gazing at you with a soft smile on his face. “You really became an EMT because of me?”
“Well, I wasn’t keen on being a doctor, too much school. But I still save lives. I’m still there for people on their worst day. I told you I wanted to help people like you helped me.” Your eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Oh no! I don’t want to get too emotional. I was actually getting used to you not knowing me. It’s been fun ‘people watching’ in here when I get the chance. Your staff adores you. Even if you’re grumpier and greyer than I remember.”
“Hey! I’m still the hotshot around here,” Jack countered.
“Yeah, I noticed. The other EMTs all talk about you like you’re Superman. I didn’t realize so many grown women could swoon over an old man.” You laughed as his face flushed.
“Come here, brat!” Jack finally closed the space between the two of you, looping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest.
Jack stiffened when he realized what he’d done. But a moment later, you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him back. They’d never touched outside of what was clinically necessary when you were a teenager, for obvious reasons.
They stayed like that for a long minute, both of them sniffling but unwilling to admit they were emotional about the reunion. It was Jack who finally pulled back, then gripped your shoulders firmly. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you. I wondered, over the years, ya know. I really wanted you to do well. I know it might be weird in retrospect, but I considered you a friend. You were one of the first people in my life whom I talked to about my leg and how it affected me. It meant a lot to me that even in your darkest time, you cared about my well-being.”
“I thought about you, too. Honestly, thinking about you being disappointed in me kept me from doing some really dumb shit over the years. I considered reaching out a few times, but decided against it. I looked you up, though. I’ve read all your papers. I know about…” You looked at the ring on his finger. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m happy you cared enough to remember me, Chip,” Jack smiled down at you.
“Is it weird that I feel a little giddy when you call me that?” You asked, laughing to yourself.
“Not weird. I knew you had a crush on me back then.” He teased.
“Did not!” You shoved him playfully, “Ow! Fuck, I forgot.”
You both looked down at her hand to see it wrapped in a towel, blood blooming through the thin fabric.
“Right. Yeah, let’s go take care of that. You got everything? Here’s the bio bag.” Jack helped you gather your ruined clothes. Then opened the door for you, “After you, Chip.”
He’s surprised to walk straight into your back.
“Am I interrupting something?” Santos asked, eyes flicking between the two of you. She must have been walking by when the door opened.
“Don’t you have a patient to see?” Jack maneuvered around you and started guiding you with a hand on your back. A detail that made Santos’ eyes widen.
“I was actually looking for her,” Santos followed closely behind them. “I was told she had a lac on her hand and she needs blood tests,” she turned to you, “Your partner told me.”
“Please don’t tell me he stayed? I told Jeremy to finish up and bring the van back for shift change since I didn’t know how long I would be here.” You grumbled.
Jack could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching as the three of you walked into an empty patient room.
“Santos. You draw blood for the labs. I’ll take care of Chip’s hand,” Jack ordered.
“Chip?” Santos asked, her eyes once again flicking between you and him.
“It’s a nickname,” you replied quickly. “Blood draw right?”
You distracted yourself by watching Jack’s hands as he cleaned the cut in your palm and started the stitches. Santos was an obvious spectator even as she prepped your arm and found a vein.
“So, Chip?” Santos prodded as she expertly drew your blood for the tests. “Doesn’t really fit your name.”
“Short for ‘chipmunk,’” Jack replied, absentmindedly as he pulled the needle through.
You bit your lip and continued to gaze at Jack fondly. He could practically hear Santos jumping to conclusions in her head. He hoped that his ears weren’t turning pink. This was a lot of attention after the recent revelation.
“So are you straight?” Santos blurted out.
You looked over at the resident and smiled. “I identify as bisexual, Doctor Santos.”
It was Santos who was nervous now. “Oh, um, that’s cool, yeah.”
“Doctor Santos, I can stay with Chip here. You should finish your rounds.” Jack said sternly.
“Ay, ay, captain! It was nice talking to you for longer than a ‘hi’ and ‘bye’.” Santos waved at you before leaving the room.
“She’s sweet.” You chuckled to yourself as Abbot finished patching up your hand.
“How’s the pain?”
“I can barely feel it. How long will I have to wait here?”
“Depends on the results, but it won’t be more than an hour.”
“Will you stay with me, Jack?” You asked tentatively.
Jack didn’t stop his impulse to reach over and brush her hair off her cheek, tucking the lock behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m here until you tell me to leave. I have to make up for taking so long to remember you.”
----------------
Robby rounded the corner to find Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker peaking into a room. The main traumas had been dealt with for now, so he figured he’d play nice. He walked up to them and whispered, “What are you doing?”
None of them moved. Santos didn’t turn. “Shhh, Abbot is in there with my future girlfriend. Looks like everyone who bet they didn’t know each other lost. He even had a pet name for her.”
“It’s not a very good pet name,” Whitaker murmured.
“Pet name?” Robby asked, surprised.
“Chip, short for chipmunk,” Santos replied. “He’s being very touchy.”
Robby looked over at his friend to see him standing in front of you. You were sitting on the side of the bed. It had been adjusted so that your feet were skimming the floor as they swung back and forth. Jack was very close to you to the point that you were looking up at him. Your fingers were tugging absentmindedly on the front of his scrubs as you spoke animatedly. You and Jack were laughing, teasing. It wasn’t shy or secretive at all. Both of you even greeted Princess when she came over with some papers. He noticed you didn’t step away from each other or make room between you.
“You don’t stand a chance, Trini,” Javadi mused.
“Look, I get that everyone thinks Abbot is a hottie silver fox, but come on, he’s at least 15 years older than her. Plus, he just remembered who she is, so it can’t be romantic.” Santos insisted.
Robby almost agreed with her until he saw you playing with Jack’s hand, pressing your palms together, then entwining your fingers. His wedding ring sat on one of those entwined fingers. Robby had never seen Jack hold someone’s hand like that, or let someone hold his hand like that, since before his wife died.
“Alright, back to work, you three. No more spying and no more speculating. Bet or no, we have patients that need to be seen,” Robby commanded. He glanced up just in time to see you pulling Jack down to whisper something in his ear.
--------------------------
“Jack, someone left this for you,” Dana called out when he walked in. She winked at him as he took the envelope emblazoned with his name in your handwriting. He just shook his head and took the letter, as if everyone didn’t already know who the letter was from.
A few months had passed since you reconnected. It had been a little awkward at times when both of you realized just how much life the other person had lived. For Jack, reconciling the fragile teenage girl with the capable woman he now knew had been a lesson hard-earned. His instinct was to be protective, even overbearing. You wouldn’t let him get away with that and frequently made sure he knew that you were good at your job and didn’t need any babying.
Of course, unable to do things like people with normal friendships, you and Jack had started to leave each other notes at the nurses’ station when you knew you were working opposite shifts or wouldn’t see each other. The nurses were in a tizzy over it, for once, Jack didn’t care what people thought about his associations with a woman. He was quite private with his relationships, but this was different. This friendship started in the Pitt 20 years ago. It made sense for it to continue here as well.
He put his bag away and tore open the taped-down piece of paper.
We’re both off tomorrow night.
Come over? I can prove to you that I can cook.
- Chip
Jack paused, his heart sped up at the prospect of going to your place. So far, everything between the two of you had been more or less in professional settings and within the normal breadth of co-workers who were friends. You weren’t the first co-worker that he had spent time with off the clock. He’d been close with most of the night shift staff for years. But the idea of being with you, in your home, alone, was daunting.
As his shift passed, Jack thought hard about the last few months. From the realization of who you were to the near-constant communication that the two of you shared. Well, constant in a way that two people in emergency medicine could keep up. Usually, when you asked a question in your letter that demanded an answer, he would shoot you a text, but he hadn’t done that yet. It wasn’t until 3am that he had a moment to look at his phone and saw the texts you sent.
The last text was from 10 minutes before.
He’d barely finished typing the last text before a rather obnoxious gif was sent back with Alvin the chipmunk giving a thumbs up.
“What’s got you smiling at your phone like a teenage boy?” Walsh appeared at his elbow.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re like a bad cough I can’t get rid of?” Jack glared, pocketing his phone.
“I have now. Heard you’re dating that EMT. Didn’t know you had the dog in you, Abbot? Got all the young guns jealous,” Walsh chuckled.
“I’m not dating her. We’re friends. I was her ER doctor when she was a teenager,” Abbot admitted, hoping that word would spread so he didn’t feel like a total creep.
“Woof, robbing from a cradle you helped take care of is audacious work, Jack. I think I’m a little bit proud of you,” Walsh cackled as she walked away. Jack ran an exasperated hand down his face.
Unfortunately, her words kept repeating in his head. Had everyone assumed you were dating? No, most of the day shift, especially the guards, still flirted with you. Did he want to date you? He was attracted to you, who wouldn’t be. Was the age gap really that bad? Roughly 15 years. But you were 30+ now, so it wasn’t a DiCaprio situation. He did know you as a teenager. Briefly. But still.
Did you even see him like that? He’d known you’d had a crush at some point in the months you’d sent letters back and forth with him when you were both younger. It was easy to read a teenager’s subtext. A childhood crush didn’t exactly translate to grown-up feelings.
“You’re brooding,” Robby murmured as he came up beside Jack during shift change.
“Said the pot to the kettle,” Jack countered, but still gave the man a one-armed hug.
“Rough night?” He asked as Jack handed him the tablet.
“Pretty hectic there early on, but it mellowed out by 4 AM,” Jack said. His phone chimed with a text message. Then a few more.
You'd heard about The Hunt. The payout was huge, and the risk was bigger. But you had nothing left to lose. You could win this or die trying. Nothing could have prepared you for Titus Danforth.
The dagger came free from where it was lodged in the trunk of the tree with a deep thunk. You’ve only a moment to relish in triumph when you feel a presence behind you. You tried to twist away from his reach, but he was prepared for it. Titus’s body crowded around you. You swung upward. His quick reflexes helped him dodge the blade, but the sharp tip left a red line on his cheek.
The moonlight bathed him in pale light. Were it a different situation, a different life, you would think him beautiful. Then he lunged for your wrist. Cold reality spurred you to fight back. The dagger slashed through the air as you stumbled forward, making him hiss as it sliced through the top of his shirt, leaving a shallow cut through his skin.
You found your footing and faced him. Anger and fear coalesced as his fingers brushed the broken skin, coming away bright red with blood.
Then he laughed. Your blood ran cold as his amused eyes ran up the length of your body. Titus bit his lip. He looked like he wanted to eat you. You ignored the heat that shot to your hips at the thought.
“There she is. I like it when they fight,” he purred. With long strides, he closed the distance.
You slashed at him again. He dodged easily this time, grinning openly. Your boot shot forward toward his groin, but he twisted at the last second, catching most of the impact against his thick thigh. Amusement flashed in his eyes as he caught your leg and yanked you forward. Then the back of his hand cracked across your face hard enough to send you sprawling into the dirt.
There was no time to acknowledge the excruciating heat of pain across your cheek. You scrambled, trying to regain your footing. The dagger flashed menacingly in your hand.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Your voice echoed through the forest as Titus stalked forward.
Crouching beside you, he pointed a gun at your head. “You fight dirty, princess. A cock shot? Really?”
“You hunt people for sport!” You snarled despite your growing awareness of the gun, meters away from you.
“And you put 6 bullets into a man’s chest after he started begging for his life.” Titus tilted his head, fascinated eyes watched you struggle with the truth. “You enjoyed it more than you want to admit. Enjoyed seeing the light vanish from his eyes.”
“No!” You’d gotten to your knees. You lifted the dagger to the hand holding the gun. With a decisive slash, the gun fell. You lunged at him. But now that his hands were empty, he grabbed you outright. His body slammed into yours hard enough to knock the air from your lungs as he drove you backward into the forest floor.
The dagger was tossed away from you. His blood made his grip on your arms slippery. You bucked violently beneath him, clawing at his face, throat, anything you could reach. Titus finally caught both of your wrists in one hand and forced them above your head.
“You exceed my expectations, sweetheart,” he groaned. He loomed above you as his eyes seemed to strip you bare, and his free hand groped your body.
You thought he would be angry at your determination to survive. But instead, he sounded aroused. You lifted your leg to try to knee him in the back, but he simply loosens his grip enough for you to lift up so he can slam you down harder against the ground. He shoved a thigh between your legs and ground his hips in retaliation. You could feel him hard against your hip.
A humiliating sound caught in your throat.
Leaning down to breathe the same air as you, he dragged his muscular thigh between your legs until a pitiful gasp finally escaped through your tight lips. “Yes. Let it out. I want to hear you.”
Mortification motivated you. Twisting your hips sharply beneath him, you nearly succeeded in rolling him sideways. Titus actually lost balance for half a second before throwing his weight down harder across your body with a breathless laugh.
“Oh, fuck.” He dragged out the word as he gripped your hip and rutted against you. The gravel in his voice was sinful. “You’re strong.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m sure you do. But that doesn’t change how this ends.”
You fought harder, uncaring of the bruises and cuts that littered your body. Desperation burned like lava through every muscle in your body. Your legs wrapped around his hips as you tried to throw him off balance again. Titus groaned outright this time when your bodies dragged together. The grip he had on your wrists was like heavy shackles. His forehead dropped briefly against your shoulder.
“You have no idea,” he muttered darkly, “how badly I want you.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. The neglected part of you that thirsted for recognition and affection surged to life.
Then he buried his face against your neck, laving his tongue across the bite mark he had left behind. You jerked violently as he sucked a path to your earlobe. Heat washed over you from your ears to your core. The tender kiss he bestowed on the sensitive skin beneath your ear before sucking hard made you whimper.
Your hips moved against him. Involuntary. Seeking out friction, Titus answered. His hands pushed your legs further apart so that he could grind directly between them. A rough, broken moan slipped from his lips as his hard bulge dragged against the seam of your pants.
“Titus–”
“You feel that?” he whispered against your throat. “What you’ve done to me?”
Desire gave way to irritation. At you. At himself.
Your hands had been freed, letting you shove his shoulders hard. “Get the fuck off me!”
His lips silenced you. Your teeth clicked together by the force of it. Your fight-or-flight was falling victim to the fire he had been stoking in you since he first caught your eye. Titus kissed as he hunted. Thoroughly, like a man possessed. Like he intended to consume every sound you made. His tongue swept into your mouth while his body kept grinding against yours with slow, deliberate pressure.
It felt good. Too good.
You hated it. You hated yourself for feeling the heat of lust beneath him. Heat that loosened your tense limbs and pulled pathetic noises from your throat.
Titus took every noise and breath, swallowing them until you were pliant and limp. The fight melted out of you. Exhaustion seeping out from the walls you’d kept them behind. His lips held yours in one long, chaste kiss. Then he lifted himself off you.
Cold air hit your damp skin like water had been dumped on you. Gasping for breath, you lay at his feet and at his mercy. You watched his thick chest rise and fall beneath the tight black fabric of his shirt. Blood still streaked across his skin from where you’d landed your dagger. His lip twitched, amused.
“You’re everything I hoped to find.”
Your stomach twisted painfully.
He reached down, grabbed the dagger from the brush nearby, and pressed the hilt back into one of your hands. “One more relic, princess.”
Titus pushed your hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. “Sunrise is coming. You’d better work fast.”
He stood and began to walk away. “I promised I’d let someone survive until dawn.”
Then he disappeared back into the woods, leaving you sprawled and breathless across the forest floor.
----------------------
As you search for the final relic, exhaustion crept into your bones. The forest had grown eerily quiet now. There were no more gunshots or distant screaming. No crashing of footsteps through the brush. Only the wind moving high through the redwoods and the sound of your own ragged breathing.
You kept catching your feet on roots. Every part of you that Titus had touched felt like a bruise was forming. Your neck throbbed beneath dried blood. Every time you built up the energy to start running again, the bracelet would knock heavily against your wrist like a reminder.
You thought about death. But you also thought about how good his kisses felt.
You should have hated him. You did.
So why couldn’t you stop thinking about his mouth? The realization made nausea crawl up your throat. You were embarrassed by how hard it had been for you to stifle your moans while he was on top of you. You were insane. You can’t want him. He hunted people through forests for entertainment. He killed men like swatting flies. He pinned you down and marked you like an animal. The ghost of his words echoed through your mind.
You’re everything I hoped to find.
Your belly felt heavy; weighed down by the weight of him, the heat of his skin, the crack in his voice.
-------------------
Dawn was coming. The moon hung low now, pale against a sky slowly bleeding grey at the edges. Panic began rising again beneath your exhaustion. You needed the key.
Desperation took hold as you run through the trees. Your burning lungs dulled the pain of skin whipped by branches as you moved deeper into the woods. But still, there was no sign of a new ribbon. You circled until the terrain became more familiar. You recognized the massive split tree from earlier. There was the dried creek bed where you’d hidden once from distant hunters.
Then you saw it.
Bodies.
Your steps faltered
A pile of bodies. All the ones you had seen before. All the ones you had a hand in killing.
And the rest of them. The Hunters. The Contestants. Piled haphazardly like leftover logs. Blood soaked dark into the earth beneath them. You couldn’t stop the terrified whimper as faces you recognized stared lifelessly toward the dim morning.
A hunter missing half his jaw.
A fellow contestant curled unnaturally around a tree root.
The scarred man with the phoenix tattoo.
On top was the thin contestant. The one that had won before. Glassy-eyed and just as dead as the rest. Even his foreknowledge couldn't save him from the Hunt.
The last ember of hope was extinguished.
Nobody survived Titus Danforth.
He's next to you before you realize he's even in the area. You stood side by side, looking down at the bodies like it was a scenic view. Titus emanated fire while the pile of former humans gave off a cold enough to freeze your desperation.
Titus spoke with an even voice. Low enough to seem reverent, but loud enough that he didn’t have to turn towards you. “I chose you immediately.”
Your heart clenched. Your eyelids dropped, but the image of the dead mass was burned into your retinas.
“The second you stepped off that bus.” Titus’s hands were in his pockets. From your periphery, you could see that he had bandaged his forearm and cleaned off some of the blood. He looked remarkably untouched. You wondered how much blood and whose was lingering on your body right then.
“My family thought I was being impulsive when I demanded to choose my future wife. They said she needed to be strong enough to survive becoming a Danforth.”
You turned to him as cold realization swept up your spine.
“So I watched you. I saw that delicious desperation transform as you proved me right.” His eyes dragged over your face and lingered at your lips.
“You’re terrible. Cruel,” you said, although there was no bite in it; you had no energy left.
Titus smiled faintly, “Yes.”
The silence stretched as you watched each other. Time was slipping by.
“I wanted you. I get what I want,” He said with finality. Titus lifted one hand slowly. The key, the final relic, dangled, wrapped around his fingers.
No.
No. no.
NO NO NO—-
“There’s nobody left,” a demented kindness filled his gaze.
The realization felt like a stab in the chest. You were never supposed to find the key; never supposed to win. It was a test of your worthiness. The Hunt had ceased to be a game the moment Titus saw you standing with the other contestants. Your loss was written the moment Titus chose you.
No one else had stood a chance of survival.
The power. The ruthlessness. The influence. You realized why they all feared him in the beginning.
You ran away. Titus let you.
You know it's too late; the sun was already rising. You headed back towards the villa.
Make it to the grass. Make it to where no trees can hide you. If someone could see, then maybe someone could help you. The tree line was coming. The green grass spread out towards the entrance where they had started this farce.
Hope surged stupidly in your chest. Just a little more.
His approach was thunderous. A tree branch snapped loudly. Then another. You faltered, lost your footing, but crawled your way to your feet. You couldn’t stop.
Titus crashed through the forest behind you like an animal finally unleashed. Gone was the patient hunter who silently stalked through the shadows. He barrelled through the woods openly now.
All restraint was gone. The predator wanted his prey.
Terror consumed you until your heart raced faster than it had ever done in your life.
You breached the treeline.
Then slammed into the ground under the weight of him bodily tackling you at full force. Your torso landed on soft grass while your knees scrabbled on rough earth and twigs. A scream ripped from your throat as he climbed on top of you.
One large hand shoved between your shoulders, pinning you facedown into the grass while the other yanked your wrists behind your back.
“Shh, easy,” he panted. He was smiling. You could hear it curling around his words.
You thrashed violently beneath him as sunlight spilled fully across the grounds, while the two of you remained in the shade of the treeline. Defeated tears fell as he tied your wrists tightly together. Your body shook with adrenaline and fear.
“Stop,” you choked into the grass.
Titus leaned over you, breath hot against the back of your neck as his hands started to roam your body. “You’re going to enjoy this. I promise.”
His body was a mass of muscle. You expected him to be rough with you. But his touches were teasing, exploratory. That made it worse. Your body responded.
On your knees, face down, his hulking form enveloped you. You tried to focus on the feel of the grass and the familiar smell. That didn’t last long.
“Oh, sweetheart. Just let me make you feel good.” Titus whispered as his lips descended on your neck. He tugged your hair, allowing him more room to suck at your skin. His hot tongue probed and tasted the salt and sweat. His hips cradled your ass while he grinded softly against you. You could feel the outline of his hardness against you.
You bit your lip to stifle your reaction when he pushed your shirt up and slid his hand under your bra, cupping the roundness of your breast and then pinching your nipple.
“Titus-” you gasped as the shock of pain bled into pleasure. Your thighs shifted.
“That’s it. Be a good girl and feel how good it is when you let me touch you.” He purred. One large hand slipped down to the waistband of your pants, making quick work of the button and zipper. Titus touches you with your panties still on. “Oh, baby. You’re soaked.”
Your body trembled with your determination not to react. His long fingers teased the wet gusset of your underwear, skimming your labia and clit with enticing but too-brief strokes. A whine of displeasure slips out. It had been so long since someone had touched you.
Could you do this? Could you give in? What was the alternative? Dying. Dying was the alternative.
Titus slipped his hand under your panties and glided through the mess between your legs. With a strong hand in your hair, he forced you to turn so he could capture your lips in a biting kiss.
Damn this evil man and his unbelievable kisses. You try to pull away, but he holds you in place as he teases a finger into your wet core. Titus is still rutting gently against your ass.
“Tell me what you want,” Titus said through a groan. Two fingers plunged into you. Your back arched of its own accord. Your hips grinded, rolling into his hold.
Desire is desire even if it's twisted. Touch when you're starved is satiation. You couldn’t do this.
Titus pulled you up, holding you tight against his chest. One hand had a firm hold on one of your tits, lazily flicking the nipple and pinching it alternately. The wet squelch of his fingers thrusting into your wet cunt was loud in the cool, quiet morning. Your hips rolled into his hand and back against his hips.
“Yes, that’s it. Such a good girl. What do you need?” Titus groaned in your ear. The unmitigated desire in his tone had your hips bucking against him.
“No–please—I can’t,” you cried out, interrupting yourself with sensual moans.
“Yes, you can. How about a treat since you did so well today? Hmm? You want to cum don’t you, baby?” His fingers curled perfectly, while his thumb swiped at your swollen clit.
“Please, Titus,” you sobbed as the waves of pleasure grew in intensity. You couldn’t control your hips as you leaned into him.
The moans he was pulling from you were obscene. But what did it matter? Who would hear you? Everyone was dead. This man, who was fucking your pussy with his fingers, had killed most of them. He’d killed them for you.
“Yes, that’s it. Cum for me,” Titus growled in your ear as you shattered. You screamed his name as your pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers. His touch was relentless. Hard thrusts into you, followed by swift light swipes across your clit and pussy lips until you’re begging him to stop.
“No, sweetheart. That’s not what I need you to beg for.” He pushed you down with a solid hand between your shoulders. He sat back on his heels. His large hands cupped and rubbed your ass. Your hands were still tied behind your back, so you couldn’t stop him as he pushed your pants and panties down, exposing your swollen and ready cunt to his heavy gaze.
He didn’t speak. You lie there, anticipating more from him. But he doesn’t touch you. Seconds turn into minutes. You grow restless with anticipation.
The sound of a button, then a zipper. He spits.
Fwap fwap fwap
He was stroking his cock while looking at you. But he didn’t touch you.
“You have such a pretty pussy, baby.” Titus moaned. “You got so wet for me.”
Your hips twitched.
“Use your words.” He commanded. The edge was dulled by the wet sound of him jacking off.
“Titus,” you moaned. You knew he was going to make you say it.
“Yes, princess?”
“I need—”
“No.”
“Don’t you want—”
“You know how to say it. You’re too smart not to have figured it out.”
You whined softly, “Please, Titus. Fuck me.”
“Close.”
“I beg you, Titus Danforth. Fuck my pussy.” You whimpered.
“Atta girl.” His hot hand on your hip was all the warning you received before he notched his tip at your entrance and slammed into you.
“Fuck!” It’s animalistic and brutal. His chest plastered to your back as he pounded into you. His arm wrapped across your collar and shoulders to keep you in place. His rough and powerful thrusts shoved you into the grass.
“You were made for me. This pussy was made for me.” Titus groaned brokenly into your shoulder. “So wet and hot. You’ve never been so wet, have you, baby?”
You couldn’t have responded if you wanted to. You were lost to the pleasure. It felt too good. It shouldn’t. Your body was confused with adrenaline, lust, and spite.
“You’ll never be desperate for anything ever again. I’ll take care of you.” Titus promised. His voice softening as he pounded into you harder. That moment of softness was your undoing.
“Titus!” You felt him spill inside you as your orgasm took your breath away.
After the long night. After the fear and the pleasure and the pain. You came so hard that black spots filled your vision. You’re in and out of consciousness as you’re moved from the grounds, to the villa, and to a bath. Titus was with you the whole time. It was his arms around you as you sank into a hot bath. It was his hands that cleaned your skin. Titus dressed you in comfortable night clothes as if he truly considered you something precious. After everything you’d seen him do today, to people, to you, it shouldn’t have felt genuine.
But then he got into bed with you. Held you close. Kissed you tenderly on your temple.
“Forget the desperation for money, for survival. As long as you belong to me, you will never be desperate again.” His voice held an assuredness you had never personally felt.
You knew coming to the Hunt had a high cost. But if this was the price you had to pay, it wasn’t so bad. Being a pet is better than being the prey.
