synopsishi again(im gonna be so annoying with this). i had some voices whisper into my ear about a shared tattoo with jack abbott and wife(pediatrics doctor?) reader? reader and jack having two tattoos. one that everyone would see and the other where only the two of them would. and what if, their marriage is like not known to everyone except for Robby and Dana(?hehehe) request!
warningstattoo talk? general hospital stuff, language, making out, smut-ish
authornotein honour of tom holland and zendaya coming back to screen soon i dedicate the tattoo's to them. i had soooo much fun writing this, i can't believe i'm slowly moving into being a jack girlie. ignore the fact that Jack is for some reason in day shift. this one's for @expreissionism
The first time the Pittlings made the connection they thought nothing of it. Some ink swirled around the skin of two doctors wasn't anything, many of them had tattoos themselves.
Doctor McKay had the sort she got in collage and regretted, Robby had one or two that meant something to him, that he'd find himself tracing in times of despair. Doctor Santos had lost count of how many she had and what they all meant.
Javadi herself was pretty terrified at the idea of putting a sharp needle to skin. She was afraid of the permanence of it. The pain.
And her mother finding out.
That was until she spotted yours.
“You have a tattoo,” she noted standing behind you, paying close attention to how you examined the boy in front of you.
You nodded like you weren't trying to listen close down your stethoscope as you asked the boy to breathe in, listening at his back. “I do.”
“That's... really cool,” she said.
You smiled, small. “Thank you.”
Javadi watched your wrist move and arm flex as you put the stethoscope back around your neck, holding onto it either end. She'd called you down for a pedes case but was finding herself distracted by the beauty of the ink on you.
There were hard strokes of black and lighter ones, all drawn around in swirls that came together to make a sun. She thought it looked like the sun from tangled- one of her favourite movies. But you were a grown woman. Maybe you liked the movie as much as she did.
Javadi shook off the idea as you stood, telling the parents what you found. A small crackle in his breathing but as he'd been down with a flu and fever it might not mean anything terrible. Kept for observation and some blood work was ordered before the two of you were slipping away.
“What does it mean?” asked Victoria, hot on your heels as you walked to the nurses station. “The-the sun, I mean? Not crackles in the chest, I-I know that.”
You chuckled, tapping in to chart. Although you worked floors above on the pedes ward, your vintage disney top under the lab coat representing that, you were down enough on emergency and trauma cases to be a familiar and welcome face.
“Oh, you know,” you said, balancing your elbow on the table and checking on the ink. Your lips quirked at looking at it. “Just a little sun, for brightness and stuff.”
Javadi thought it was fitting. You were a sunshine person, hopeful and kind, like a ray of light in the depths of hell she called the ED. She supposed it came with the job, having to be the hope for the sick children.
Everyone down the Pitt could afford to be miserable, with a good enough excuse in working in the emergency department. You were with kids, helping them and their parents through anything minor to the worst days of their lives.
“Kinda, look to the light, kinda thing?” Victoria asked.
You slowly glanced up at her, finding a new perspective. “Yeah. I like that take.”
“Well, well, well,” said a hoarse voice coming closer to the two of you.
Beyond Javadi you looked past her.
Jack Abbot casually strolled over, hands behind his back, arms pulled in tight muscles and freckles in his dark scrubs. “You know, you're down here so often anyone would think you're after a Pedes attending job.”
You rose a brow, challenging him. “Are you offering?”
“Oh yeah, anything to keep sunshine down here.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, leaving Javadi to look between the two of you. She hadn’t realised the two of you knew each other so well.
Sure, you were the first everyone went to for a pedes case but how often was that?
“Sunshine! That’s funny,” said Javadi, standing between the two of you
Jack rose a brow. “It is?”
“Yeah- yeah,” she said with a clear of her throat. “Cause’- she has a sunshine tattoo.”
Jacks lips quirked up to a smirk. “Really?”
You leaned over the counter, chin resting in the palm of your hand. “Yeah. Got it some time ago.”
“Is it somewhere PG-13?” He asked.
“Well to know that you’d have to buy me a drink first.”
“I plan to.”
The two of you shared a smirk.
Suddenly, Victoria thought she was stuck in the middle of something.
It was Whitaker who discovered it next.
He was working with Abbot and Shen on a patient in trauma one, still waiting for the feeling in his feet to return to him after a twelve hour shift. But he wanted to see this patient through first, even if he could have left now the night crawlers had swept in.
He was shooting an x-ray for the guy in a car crash, checking his ribs after being found pressed up against his steering wheel.
Somewhere else you were stitching up his young daughter.
“The car came from nowhere,” fretted the patient, wincing with every breath. “I swear- I swear!”
“Don’t you worry, sir, we’re gonna get you sorted,” assured Jack, peeling off his jacket and replacing it with a vest.
“Is my- is my daughter okay?”
“She just needed a couple stitches,” said Denis.
Jack stretched up, moving the x-ray machine over the patient. “Don’t worry, your daughter is in the best hands. They lumped you with the second best, I’m afraid.”
The patient gave a huff of a laugh that evidently hurt more than anything.
“Okay… shooting!”
Everyone without a vest backed away.
It was at that moment as Jack hovered shooting the x-ray that Whitaker got his first glance at some ink peeking out from his wrist. His watch hid most of what Denis could make out as a tattoo but he thought it strange that Robby should have his own tattoo also typically hidden behind his watch.
Robby and Jack always called themselves brothers, from their years of friendship and shared experiences in the Pitt.
He just hadn’t realised they were that close.
The x ray was quickly done and the machine pushed away as everyone focused on stabilising the man.
A couple broken ribs, a severely bruised chest.
An OR was free to check on any internal bleeding, get the chest sorted.
The doors pushed open and you walked in, a maybe eight years old propped on your hip, little arms hugging around your neck.
Jack’s lips tilted up at once. “Second visit in one day, upstairs must be boring.”
“Well we do like to call this place the circus,” you teased. “This is Mr Peters daughter, she wanted to check in on her daddy.”
Jack tugged off his gloves and Whitaker watched as he approached you and the little girl. “Your daddy is doing fine, he’s strong. I reckon just as strong as you. He’s gonna go upstairs for a closer look but you can go with him, if you like?”
The girl hid her head closer into your shoulder, mumbling something that Whitaker could just about make out.
“Will you come up with me?” She’d asked you.
You bounced her gently. “Course. Upstairs is where all the fun is anyway.”
Jack hummed. “Hm. She has the best candy too.”
Whitaker watched the young girls eyes light up.
As a team from surgery came to drag the father away you followed behind with the daughter in arms, Abbot and Whitaker following out and taking a moment to watch the crowd dissapear.
“Did good in there, Whitaker,” said Abbot, the both of them tearing off their gowns and gloves.
“Thanks,” he said. The both of them went separate ways. Oddly enough, Jack was following in the steps of the team that took up the man and his daughter.
Doctor Robby wondered over, sliding into his seat. If even one of his day shift was left, so was he. It was his own morale code to not go till everyone on day had, Denis was learning.
“Hey,” greeted Denis. “You know I had no idea you and Abbot had matching tattoos.”
“Huh, yeah...” said Robby of absent-mind as he watched the computer. It took him a second to register what he was saying and look up. “Wait, what did you say?”
Suddenly Whitaker felt like he'd said the wrong thing, seeing his attending look over his glasses at him. Maybe nobody was supposed to know? Maybe it was super personal? Or it was a stupid drunk choice they were both trying to forget and he'd just brought it up.
“Oh god, I didn't, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”
Robby scratched at his beard. “Jack and I do not have matching tattoos.”
“Oh.”
“What made you think that?” he asked. “Did someone... say something?” there was something akin to mischief in his eyes, alight.
“No! No! I just- I saw something that looked like a tattoo under where he keeps his watch, and I know you have one there too. Or- well- don't know but I've- I've seen-”
“Yeah, yeah I've got one there,” said Robby, looking back to the computer bored. “So does Jack. His is a moon. Mine's something to do with my grandmother.”
“A moon? Oh.”
Somewhere beyond Whitaker, past his shoulders, Victoria passed by, catching the conversation.
A moon on one. A sun on another. Interesting.
Samira was only looking for her patient when she found a shirtless Jack Abbot hiding behind the curtain with you standing behind him.
Both your heads shot up when the whirl of the curtain pulled back.
“Oh. I'm sorry,” said Samira. She was only momentarily shocked at Jack shirtless, SWAT gear discarded in the corner and the typical pedes case worker standing behind him, working on a bad obviously over eighteen.
Jack tried to shrug his shoulders but came away wincing. “S'alright.”
“Have you guys seen my patient?” she asked, going on to describe him.
“No, sorry. This room was empty,” you said, rolling a q-tip along Jack's shoulder blade. “Anything you need help with?”
Samira deflated, taking a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She was feeling sorry for the patient she couldn't get to in time she didn't realise the look you and Jack shared, one of mutual agreement of apprehension.
“What happened to you?” Samira asked.
“He got shot,” you said.
“You were shot?”
Jack made a 'pfft' noise at the two of you. “Shot at. It was nothing. Hardly a graze.”
You scoffed, reaching over for some bandage and applying it to the wound. “I'll be the judge of that.”
“You my doctor now?” asked Jack.
You bit back a smirk. “Someone has to be.”
Samira had worked with Abbot a handful of times, you maybe more on cases with children that required delicate matters. She never realised the two of you were close enough to tease. Close enough that you would be the first person he runs to for help.
Curious, Samira walked around Jack, standing on the other side of his bed as you showed her the wound.
“Oh. Ouch.”
“See?” you said with a raise of your brows.
Jack's freckled arms crossed over his chest in protest.
“You have a chart?” asked Mohan.
“No,” you said. “We're keeping this off the chart.”
Samira nodded, lips quirking. We?
“Don't need the paperwork from the hospital,” said Jack. “Got big plans tonight, can't have paperwork getting in the way.”
“Big plans?” asked Mohan.
Jack hummed in affirmation.
With your careful bandages around his shoulder he stood and reached for his shirt on the side.
It wasn't just a quick glimpse Samira got of where another tattoo lied. It was a long look as Jack made work at pulling over his navy shirt overhead. At the ache in his shoulder you helped pull it over him and he didn't object, he let you help him like it was natural.
But just under his armpit, on the side of his chest there was a clear stroke of black ink in the curves and strikes of a letter. Just one simple there, no bigger than a finger nail next to his heart.
“All good to go solider,” you said, rubbing his un-injured shoulder.
“Thank you, Doc.”
You smirked. “Don't go straining yourself this evening.”
Jack chuckled, low in his throat. “I make no promises.”
It was only when watching the two of you leave that the hole in her heart for her own devoid love life sung with something other that sorrow. With hope and joy. It was only when she noticed Jack's hand linger on the small of your back as he leaned into say something to you that she realised the slope of the letter at his chest matched the very first letter of your name.
A week later and slowly Samira was forgetting the whole thing. Not forgetting the patient that had ran out on her but forgetting the state she found Jack in, forgetting how you helped him and the letter etched into his skin.
She hadn't told anyone either, because what business of others was it.
It wasn't even hers.
Maybe Jack knew someone in the army had the same initial as you. Maybe it was his mothers name. It didn't have to be yours. It was only seeing him shirtless, seeing you with him that had her thinking of you, she was sure.
But a week later she was brought back to that room.
“Woah- what happened to you?” Robby chuckled as you walked through the ED, a mixture of bodily fluids over your scrubs.
“Emergency c-section, twins,” you said. “I had no time for a gown.”
Robby's smile creased as you squelched closer. Your blue scrubs, typically a baby blue, was dyed darker due to blood, amniotic fluids and what he guessed might have been urine. “They didn't call OB?”
“OB was busy, apparently.”
“Apparently?” he asked, tablet in hand as he followed next to you as you walked to the scrub bin. You walked, arms slightly raised to not let them drop. Robby walked close but not close enough to touch the mess of you.
“Someone in OB has it out me.”
“Evil ex?”
“Yeah, one of yours,” you teased.
“Ouch.”
“I'm cranky.”
“I can tell.”
Santos and Samira were on a case together but stopped when they got a look at you. “Woah, what happened? A pile up?”
“Don't ask,” you grumbled.
From behind you Robby mouthed 'twins' and both knew not to say anymore.
“You know we have gowns for such messy procedures,” said Trinity.
You flashed her a grimace. “You're funny, Santos, must get it from this guy,” you said, slapping Robby in the chest as you stood in front of the scrub bins. However, as an official upstairs pedes resident you didn't have authority for more scrubs. “Is Jack around?”
“No,” said Robby, tapping his own ID cared on the pad and getting you an order of scrubs.
“Thanks.”
Samira wondered, briefly why you asked for Jack when it was probably easier to find some woman for your size. Like herself, for instance.
But in seconds you were pulling off your scrub top, leaving you only in a bra. Your scrub pants were next but you had a thin pair of leggings underneath. No one batted an eyes, except maybe Robby who cleared his throat and turned away, hypothetically hiding you behind his back.
“Thanks again, Robby,” you said, gaining his new scrubs.
“No problem,” he said, leaning over to you. “But you can bring this up to Jack,” he added in a mummer that Mohan just caught.
As you reached up, pulling the scrub top over you Samira caught it again. It was a smaller trace, a think line but there with no doubt.
A simple J in black ink in almost the exact spot as Jack had one of his own.
“Is that-” Mohan didn't get the words out before your scrub top was pulled over, swallowing you from Robby's scrub.
Robby and you looked to her as you pulled on the pants. “What?”
They were all looking at her, expectantly.
“No, nothing, it was nothing.”
“Okay, then.”
But now there was a knowing in there. That she didn't believe in coincidences, not when they were etched into skin.
“You look lovely.” Jack crept up behind you, his voice falling upon your ears with his head quick over your shoulder. He was like hot breath on a glass, there and gone the next second.
You understood why. Knew it had been easier to keep it quiet when things were fresh, yet, things had moved on from new and simple a long time ago and neither of you made to say it. Did you get a banner? Make a public announcement? You had no idea how to do it.
Keeping it on the low was all you knew how to do.
And anyhow, it made things far more exciting.
“Thank you,” you said, passing him a quick smile.
Jack hummed, crowding next to you at the station, leaning an arm on the counter and looking you up and down. “You'd look even better in scrubs that were mine.”
Your eyes rolled. “They're Robby's-”
“Robby's-” he scoffed, shaking his head.
“I had a messy C-section and it was this or several bodily fluids.”
“I'd have rather bodily fluids,” he said.
You hummed. “You think that but then you see me and you'd think different.”
“Oh, yeah?”
You turned your attention onto him, knowing he wouldn't give it up till he had it all. It was something about Jack and un-divided attention, he thrived on it. Giving it to you, or taking it from you. He needed it like sustenance. “Think wet. Think baby fluids that should be in a body on me. Think blood. And probably puke on there somewhere too- I don't even know how.”
“And I bet you still looked beautiful,” he said.
“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” you chuckled.
“I would.”
His hand crept up to your ribs, holding there. As if he was anaesthetic himself, his touch was soothing.
He held over where your initial of his name was, just as you did with him where yours was. It still felt fresh though the ink was imbedded into skin for almost a year now.
It was the soft knowledge of carrying each other closer than you already did. Working in the same building wasn't enough, falling asleep next to each and waking up next to each other wasn't enough but the soft initial of each others name might just have been.
Even if it weren't romantical (which it certainly was) the two of you had at least always respected each other in the work setting. It was a bond running deeper than blood, than respect, than love.
Something the people hadn't come up with a word for yet.
Robby passed by the two of them. “I thought you two were being discreet.”
“We are,” you said, you and Jack turning to face Robby as he took his space behind the nurses desk.
“He's all but holding your breast,” said Robby.
“Physical exam,” Jack shrugged. “And I thought I told you to stop making moves on my woman.”
Robby held up his hands in surrender. “I don't want any funny business in my scrubs,” he warned, s sharp look past his glasses at the two of you.
Jack quirked his lips, pretending his innocence. “We'll change into mine.”
You smacked his shoulder.
“Hey,” said Robby, leaning on the counter next to you as if you were all gossiping nurses and not different attendings in your own rights. “You know, Whitaker thinks we have matching tattoos,” he said, nodding to Jack.
You laughed, tilting your head down.
“Oh yeah, I have an R over my heart,” he teased.
Robby scoffed. “Yeah and I got a J on my-”
You looked pointed at them both. “Don't you have jobs to get to?”
Robby surrendered and headed off, making himself busy.
Upstairs would need you soon enough too, there was only so much time you could leave your pedes ward alone. Your hands were gentle on Jacks, squeezing lightly.
Meaning to let go, Jack squeezed and pulled you back.
“Jack? Woah- what- where are we going?”
His thumb worked up and down the back of your hand as he dragged you off. He found an empty room, checking the room before closing the door and pulling the curtains around.
“Jack!”
His hands found their ways up Robby's shirt on your body, pulling at the skin of your waist and drawing you in till he was kissing you, open-mouthed. It was as if he hadn't kissed you that morning, hadn't stole a make out in the car before heading in, hadn't text you in his spare five minutes that he wasn't thinking about you.
He grinned into the kiss, licking into your mouth.
As bad as it was, stealing a kiss in an empty exam room, your hands wound up to his hair, tugging at the strands. Your body curled into his as his hands moved from under your shirt to over, pulling at it.
“Take this off.”
Biting back a smirk you pulled it off you as Jack leant down to kiss at your neck. He bit and sucked, dedicating time to one mark that would be a tattoo on your neck.
Jack was obsessed with marking you, considering you tried you best to be secret.
This wasn't very secret.
“Jack,” you moaned, own hands clawing at his shirt.
He pulled back long enough to toss his off. “When we're done here... when I've made you come on my fingers,” he uttered next to your ear, breath hot. “You're gonna put my scrub top on, you understand?”
Your lips pursed and nodded.
Jack pulled back enough, lips ghosting yours. “Yeah, baby?”
“Yeah,” you whined.
“Yeah.”
His lips crashed into yours again with fire like need. Hie entire body moved over yours, hands steady on your hips to bring you in. You were stumbling around the room, trying to find a wall or bed.
“God,” Jack whined at your lips. “I could eat you.”
He kissed down your neck, over your chest and leant to press a kiss over his initial. He'd been there when you'd gotten it done, as you had when he got his. The two letters in each others hand writing.
Jack came back up and kissed you again before the door sprung open.
“Room three's open why's nobody-”
Jack jumped in front of you like jumping in front of a bullet for you, his arms fell on either side of you, caging you in behind him.
A woman was sat on a gurney, eyes wide at the two of you.
Dana was leading the charge, Mohan, Whitaker and Santos following and eyes falling wide, jaws agape at the sight of you.
Robby walked past, shaking his head and- taking one look at Jack- decided it wasn't a HR nightmare he could deal with.
“We were just...” said Jack, hesitating. “Doing a physical.”
Dana smirked. “I'll say.”
“Sorry, we'll just-” you apologised.
The two of you fumbled with scrub tops but Jack still found enough time in the mess to pass you his own scrub top and take Robby's himself. In sheepish moves the two of you moved by the group, catching only a couple words.
“Did you see those tattoo's?” said Samira.
“Each others inititals, right?”
“How longs this been going on for?”
Jack threw his arm over your shoulder, bringing you in close and peppering a kiss to your forehead. “Guess we told them, huh?”
content warnings: 18+!!!! Gets quite smutty, fluffy, jack abbot invented YEARNING, age gap!!!, no use of Y/N
notes: i know this one sounds kinda depressing but i promise its fun and funny and flirty and it’s my favorite one ive ever written!! also debating on making an ao3 account - should i?
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack Abbot was unfortunately intimately familiar with the 5 Stages of Grief. Depression, Bargaining, Denial, Anger, Acceptance.
He grieved his leg at the ripe age of 31 - courtesy of an IED in the desert of Afghanistan.
He began grieving his late wife the following year at 32 - courtesy of an arrogant, misogynistic emergency medicine resident.
At 33, he grieved the life he thought he was going to have while he started a new one. No longer a husband, but a widow. No longer an army medic, but an Emergency Room attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Sometimes when he would come back to the empty home he bought at 34, the ghosts of that life were louder than any silence he thought he could drown out with the police scanner.
Jack Abbot knew the 5 Stages of Grief like the back of his hand.
In hindsight, he didn’t know how he didn't realize the 5 stages in which he fell in love with her were quite similar. A mirror of his grief refracted through a lens of unconditional love.
depression
If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.
He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.
He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This was why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.
"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."
Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"
Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."
Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.
She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.
For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?
He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.
She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor that day. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.
It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.
Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.
It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.
Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.
She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?
A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."
"That's it?"
"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"
Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.
"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."
The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.
"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."
Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must have been some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.
He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.
He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."
"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."
Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.
"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."
Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."
"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."
He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.
God, Robby really owed him one.
"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."
"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."
Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"
He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.
"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."
She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.
Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.
He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.
She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"
"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."
"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."
"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."
"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"
That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.
Maybe he owed Robby one.
Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.
Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.
He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."
He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.
bargaining
"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"
Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.
"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."
"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."
"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.
"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.
That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.
What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.
"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.
Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.
"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."
Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.
He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.
He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.
He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?
He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.
He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.
He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.
No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.
denial
She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the hub proved it.
Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous about the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.
So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.
Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.
She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.
Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.
"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.
"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.
"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.
“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.
That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.
It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.
He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.
She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.
Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”
In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.
"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"
"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"
"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"
"What in the greys anatomy"
"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"
"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"
"Does that girl know she has 30mins to claim that man before I do"
"He does not play about her!"
"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"
"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"
"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"
"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"
"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.
"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.
"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.
"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."
“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.
“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.
He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.
He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.
He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.
So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.
And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."
"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.
"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."
"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."
Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."
But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.
anger
Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.
He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.
"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"
"Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.
"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"
"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"
Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.
Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.
They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.
Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.
Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.
They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.
Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.
But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.
And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.
The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.
With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.
It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.
She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.
Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.
So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.
He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.
From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says
Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.
He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.
Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.
Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.
"Shen and Ellis need a cover."
"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.
"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.
Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."
Who was Jack to argue with that?
"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"
Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.
"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."
He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.
On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.
"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.
"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.
His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.
His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.
"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."
"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?
It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.
Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.
Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.
His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.
Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.
"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.
The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.
Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.
Until he wasn't.
Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?
They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.
He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.
He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.
"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.
"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."
She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.
"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.
"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?
"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.
Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.
"Woah! Old man still has moves!"
Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.
Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.
Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.
Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"
Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.
He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."
He was so fucked.
acceptance
Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.
He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.
He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.
He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.
They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.
Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"
Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.
As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."
"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.
Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."
"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.
"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.
"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.
He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.
She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.
"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.
The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."
"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?
"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."
That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.
"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"
Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."
"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.
Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.
She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.
She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."
"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.
"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."
She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"
"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself
"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.
“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”
“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”
Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."
"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.
He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.
"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."
She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."
Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.
“Jack…”
“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.
“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.
“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”
“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.
Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."
"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.
"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”
“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.
“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.
“Shot…at."
She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.
“What?” He asked.
“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”
“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.
She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.
“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”
“That isn’t gonna happen.”
“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”
“Is that an old joke?”
“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.
“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.
“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."
“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”
Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."
She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.
She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”
“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”
“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.
“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”
He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.
“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”
Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.
“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”
“This is a teaching hospital.”
“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”
“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.
“You’re a flirt, you know that?”
“Only with you.”
They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.
Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.
Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”
Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."
Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.
He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."
Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.
"What the hell is your problem?!"
"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.
Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"
Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.
"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"
He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"
The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.
"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.
Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.
She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."
"I know. But I do."
She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"
Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.
"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.
"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"
"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."
"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.
She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."
"Oh no you're not."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”
“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”
“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.
“Seriously?"
Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.
She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”
“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”
She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.
Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”
She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”
“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."
Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."
Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.
His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you think it’s so wildly inappropri-"
“I don’t!”
“You dont? But I thought-“
He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”
“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.
“I know what I said.”
“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”
"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.
His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.
His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.
Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.
He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"
"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.
"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."
"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.
"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."
"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"
"Absolutely not."
"I hate you."
Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.
"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."
She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.
"You're that needy?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.
She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.
"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"
His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.
"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."
She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"
A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.
"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.
He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.
"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.
"What else, baby?"
All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."
They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.
"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"
She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.
"You wanna come for me?"
"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.
Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.
"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"
She huffed out an, "I hate you."
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"
"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.
He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.
Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."
"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."
"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.
"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.
She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."
Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"
"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"
"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."
"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"
"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.
"Come for me first."
"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."
"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.
"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"
She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."
Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."
"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."
"Yeah? That needy, huh?"
"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.
"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.
"Funny."
"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.
Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.
"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and have an IUD. Need to feel you."
Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."
She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.
"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."
He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.
"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"
"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.
"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.
"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."
Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."
She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."
Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.
Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.
He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.
He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."
She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"
He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"
He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."
She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.
A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"
She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.
"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"
Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"
"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"
Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.
"You do? I mean, you are?"
She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”
"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."
"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"
"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.
"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.
"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.
"I love you, Jack."
He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.
"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.
"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.
The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.
From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪
They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'
"Girlfriend, huh?"
Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."
"What else is in the plan?”
“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”
She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”
“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.
She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.
i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users
summary: bucky comes face to face with his last living relative from his family tree, and it's an eight year old little girl running away from her adopted mom.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, fingering, the kid is a fucking brat for like two seconds but she's cute i promise, language, alcohol, alternating pov's, thunderbolts timeline (semi movie spoilers), bucky doesn't know how to be a parental figure, you are a tired parental figure, mentions of relationship abuse (DV) not between character x reader if you or someone you know is in danger/in need of assistance please call this hotline: 800-799-7233 or text BEGIN to 88788
word count: 19.5k (????????)
a/n: this was meant to be posted on father's day but then i completely dropped the ball and then didn't finish it in time but... happy late father's day to bucky who didn't even mean to be a father in this fic LOL
masterlist
Bucky is staring at the little girl in front of him, who is missing one of her front teeth. Her hair was in two braids, though the braids were loose and falling apart with red bows at the end. She is defiant, arms crossed at her chest. On the seat beside hers is a Hello Kitty backpack– one that he only recognizes as Hello Kitty because the girl in front of him just finished a twenty minute lecture on the animated character along with all of her friends and how Hello Kitty is only three apples tall– whatever the hell that means.
“Listen, kid, where are your parents?” Bucky asked, swiping a hand over his mouth.
“I’m staring at him,” she responded. Once again, the same fucking answer that she has been telling him since she arrived an hour ago.
Bucky glanced over at the clock on the oven. It’s nearing four in the morning now, and he can only think that the little girl is lucky that he was home tonight, and passed over his mission to Walker who was begging to get out of Watchtower.
Bucky still isn’t sure how this girl was able to find his apartment.
“I think I would remember if I did the thing to have a child, kid. How old are you?”
“What thing?” she asked, frowning at him.
No. Bucky is not having this conversation right now.
“How old are you?” he repeated.
“I’m eight.”
“Okay,” he nodded slowly. Eight years ago, he definitely did not have sex with anyone. He was still in Wakanda with Shuri, getting the brainwashing pulled out of his head.
Normally he wouldn’t be hesitating like this, but staring at this little girl was giving him doubts. Bucky couldn’t help but feel some kind of uncanny resemblance to her. She looked familiar to him. Her deep brown hair, the stormy blue eyes. The chubby little cheeks that haven’t completely lost all her baby fat– she looked like his little sister.
“I’m not your dad, you know that right?” Bucky finally asked with a sigh.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Alright. Then where are your–”
“You’re my great granduncle,” she cut him off, turning to her backpack. Bucky froze as she unzipped her Hello Kitty bag, pulling out both her tablet that was also cased in another Sanrio character that he wasn’t sure of the name, and a binder that he recognized.
A family tree that he helped organize.
The little girl opened up the binder, going onto her knees, flipping right to the first page and pointed at the small portrait of him. The last picture of himself– a picture that he had taken right before he went off to war.
“That’s you, isn’t it? James Buchanan Barnes,” she said stubbornly.
Bucky couldn’t speak. The little girl flipped forward a few pages, the portraits becoming clearer and made of color now until it landed on her page. Then, she pointed at her own picture. A chubby little infant that had just gotten out of the womb. Under her portrait read the name Rebecca Winnifred Lee.
“My mom named me after my great grandma,” she said, as if she saw his eyes land on the words.
“And our ma, apparently,” Bucky muttered.
He kept staring at the book– eyes following the tree. He noticed that there wasn’t a spot where Rebecca’s father should be. Her mom’s name was Tabitha.
“Where’s your mom, Rebecca?” Bucky finally asked, looking at the little girl. Rebecca shrugged a little then turned the binder towards herself, looking at the little portrait of her mom.
“Dunno,” she said, her voice small and weak. “Have no clue. I don’t have a family anymore.”
Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed at this. “Are you an orphan?”
“I’m hungry, grandpa,” she said, closing the book. She stared at him with wide eyes, and a pout. “Do you have any chicken nuggets?”
“First off– don’t call me that. Second off– you can’t just ignore the question.”
“I’m hungry. I can’t think when I’m hungry,” she defended herself, frowning at him.
Bucky could only stare in disbelief. This little girl had the same fire as Becky did. He let out a deep breath before getting up to go to the kitchen. He didn’t have fucking chicken nuggets, but he could cook her an omelet or something.
“Just stay put,” he muttered.
Even after Rebecca ate, she did not answer any questions. Maybe it was due to the fact that she was only eight years old, but she was exhausted. He still had no idea how she got to his apartment in New York all by herself, or where the fuck she came from. She gave him no answers. She was a better spy than his own teammates. In fact, it was easier interrogating enemies than it was interrogating an eight year old.
After she fell asleep on his couch, he tried going through her backpack. He turned on her tablet, which was locked, so he couldn’t find much information there. The only thing he did see was a picture of Tabitha and Rebecca from when Rebecca was a baby– Tabitha holding her close to her chest. Other contents in the backpack included a crumbled up bus pass, an alarming amount of money for a child, a couple of squished granola bars, and wrappers.
While she slept, Bucky ran his own research.
He needed to make sure this child wasn’t some sort of spy that was sent as a decoy for a mission to keep his guard down for whatever reason. He wouldn’t hurt her, of course, but it wouldn’t be the first time a child was sent to him to disarm him.
Rebecca Winnifred Lee was definitely not an orphan, but she did not have any existing biological parents in the picture. In fact, Tabitha was dead. She had died when Rebecca was a baby– barely even two years old. The dad wasn’t even on the birth certificate, so Bucky could only assume that he was a deadbeat father.
Tabitha passed away from a car accident. It was sudden, and it was fatal on impact. There was no will that was left. There were no last words. Only a body bag and a call that went to her friend’s phone as her only emergency contact, and her friend immediately adopted Rebecca without hesitation.
It wasn’t difficult to grab all of this information from the database, especially with the level of clearance that Bucky had.
From looking up Rebecca’s information– she came all the way from Newport. A five hour bus ride if there were no delays. It would take about three hours by car if you were lucky.
Bucky dragged his vibranium hand down his face, feeling an ache beginning to form behind his eyes. He really shouldn’t be feeling this annoyed, not when Rebecca’s guardian must have torn apart the entire city looking for the little girl. He couldn’t imagine how she would feel knowing that Rebecca was actually two states away.
Bucky tried calling Rebecca’s guardian, only for the call to go immediately straight to voicemail. He tried again, only for the same thing to happen. He let out a sigh before deciding to leave a message.
You were going to kill Rebecca. Truly. You really were.
Well, you were going to strangle her in your arms with hugs and kisses after you found her. Then you were going to kill her for making you worry like this.
She had been giving you hell for the past six months of your life, and you really were doing your best to raise her with all your strength. You understood her, you really did. Rebecca knew that you weren’t her mother, but that you were doing everything that you could to help fill that void that was left behind.
She used to call you Momma when she was younger. You corrected her each time, telling her that you were Auntie. She was confused, but relented and changed up her way of speaking to you.
When she was old enough, she told you that she wanted to call you Momma even though she knew that her biological mother had passed away. From that point onwards, you allowed her to do so.
You don’t know what switched in Rebecca. You don’t know why she stopped running up to you with a big grin and a hug during pick ups after school. You aren’t sure why she stopped looking at you with happiness and love, and it hurt. You think it has something to do with the kids at school teasing her. You’re certain it has to.
During the last parent teacher conference, you sat down with her teacher and she made an offhand comment about how it must be so difficult raising a child that wasn’t yours.
Rebecca was yours.
And when Tabitha met her untimely, unfair death, it wasn’t any question for you to take Rebecca in as your own. Because she was. You were there for every late night and early morning colicky cry. You helped change blown out diapers. You warmed up bottles, rocked her to sleep, sang her lullabies.
And when you were alone, you did it all by yourself. You didn’t complain once because it was no longer Tabitha who needed your help. Rebecca needed you now, and you would do anything for her.
She was your daughter as much as she was Tabitha’s.
Even if Tabitha was here, she would be your child.
And Rebecca hated you for replacing Tabitha.
She told it to you, to your face not too long ago. She said that she wished that you were the one that died, and not her real mom. You knew that she didn’t mean it, of course. That it was words from a child that didn’t know how to express her grief– that didn’t understand that words hurt. You still loved her all the same, even though you were upset with her.
Now, you got a call from the school in the middle of your work day. She never got on the bus that morning, never made it to school. You spent all day driving around the city, looking for her while the police were doing the same. You called your neighbors, her friend’s parents, the school again– anyone and everyone that you could possibly think of.
You went back home to search to find that some of her things were taken. Her shoes were gone. Her backpack was missing, along with her tablet, and wallet that she normally only keeps in her little crossbody purse that she wears when you two go out together.
To your utter disappointment, her tablet was off. You can’t use the Find My feature to track her, and you check every single chance. You’re constantly looking just in case it turns on.
There’s a million things running through your mind at this moment. Did she run away? Did she really hate you that much?
Then, a deeper, unsettling feeling– she was taken while you were at work. Someone slipped in while she was eating breakfast and took her in your own home. The place where she was supposed to be safe– the child that you promised your best friend that you would protect.
You were terrified.
You didn’t even care if she ran away at this point. You wanted her home. You wanted to hold her in your arms and cry.
The police had already sent you home, said they had sent a call to all surrounding stations in the area for a search, but there wasn’t much that you could do at this time. You sat alone in your dark living room, phone on the coffee table with the location of her tablet still showing up as Location Not Found. Your eyes were tired, growing bleary–
Becky Baby last seen in Manhattan. Just now.
You grabbed your car keys, purse, and rushed out the door.
The roads were clear, which made the ride faster– but you were certain that it also had something to do with the fact that you were going twenty five miles over the speed limit. You were thankful there weren’t any cops that were out and about this early in the morning.
You stopped momentarily for gas, and to text your boss that you wouldn’t be able to make it into the office tomorrow for the same family emergency that made you leave work early today– and found a text with an address. A Manhattan address with an apartment unit number.
Then, you found a voicemail waiting for you.
“Hi,” the man said before clearing his throat. “I’m not too certain how to say this, but I have Rebecca in my apartment– Uh. She’s safe. Fed. Sleeping right now. I’ll text you my address to come pick her up. Thanks. Oh- My name is Bucky, by the way.”
What the fuck.
You got back in your car and drove another ten miles over the speed limit.
You pushed past the man who let you in, your eyes zeroing in on the little girl. She wore the same clothes that she wore yesterday morning when you saw her get ready– the same clothes that she was supposed to wear onto the bus and to school.
And she was indeed sleeping peacefully, some drool sliding down her face, hair sticking to her cheek. Your heart was thumping in your chest, tears brimming in your eyes as the weight of everything came crashing down onto you.
You dropped onto your knees in front of the couch- burying your face in your hands. You hit the couch slightly, rustling her awake.
“Mm.. Momma..?” she murmured sleepily. Just for a moment, your heart felt full. You felt like you were looking at that small toddler who would run up to you with legos and a mission.
“Becky– you little brat!” you sobbed through tears. “What were you thinking?!”
You watched as sleep quickly disappeared from her face as she scrambled to sit up, eyes wide on her little face. Her eyes darted from you and the man– Bucky, you guess from the voicemail– and she looked betrayed.
“You called her?!” she shrieked.
“You can’t just run away from your mom, kid,” he sighed deeply from behind you.
“I told you!” she whined at him. “She’s not my mom!”
Your heart broke all over again, but you forced it back into place. You wiped your tears away angrily, and let out a breath. You grabbed her by her tiny shoulders, forcing her to look you in the eyes.
“Rebecca, I don’t care who you think I am. I am your legal guardian. Until you are eighteen years old, I have legal responsibility over you. That means you can’t just run past state lines whenever you want and go into strangers' houses!”
“He’s not a stranger! He’s my great granduncle!” she complained to you, pointing at him.
“What?” you gaped at her, eyebrows furrowing. “Becks, your great granduncle would be like, a 110 years old.”
“Yes,” he said from behind you. “I am.”
You finally turned around to take a good look at the man that you had blown past earlier. He had a box of tissues in his hands, presumably for you. His hair was dark brown, long, pretty, and curly. Just like Becky’s. His eyes were a stormy grey blue that you could get lost in, one that you were certain was an unnatural color. He was a muscular man, tall, handsome. Tanned skin. There was a well kept beard on his face. Another defining feature was the metal fucking arm that peeked out of his t-shirt.
“I’m Bucky,” he said, breaking the silence again.
You blinked, releasing a breath that you weren’t aware that you were holding. You stood, clearing your throat, and introduced yourself to him.
“Are you— You’re all over the news,” you said slowly. “Right? Or am I losing my mind here?”
“Um. No. I am, unfortunately.”
“That’s how I found him!” Rebecca chimed in proudly from the couch. You turned to look at her again. “I was going through Mommy’s old things and found the family book tree and saw his name there– and then I saw the news about him in New York, and I thought he looked really familiar so I searched it up. He’s the same person!”
If you weren’t so pissed about the circumstances you were in, you would have praised her for being so smart, and having such great skills for being so young. However, you are still in New York when you live in Rhode Island. Your head is still pounding, and Rebecca still doesn’t seem to understand the weight of her actions.
You pinch the bridge of your nose as you lower yourself to be eye level with her again.
“Do you understand how dangerous this was, Becky?” you ask, your voice lowered. You’re not condescending her. You’re not yelling at her.
Rebecca pauses, and she curls in on herself. No matter how much she dislikes you these past few months, she still has the muscle memory of a little girl being scolded by her parent. She looks down at her hands, fidgeting.
“What if something happened to you?” you asked, eyebrows furrowing. “You are extremely lucky that you got to Bucky safely. There are thousands of bad people in the world that would love to take little girls off the street and do horrible things to them, do you understand?”
“But it didn’t happen,” she argued weakly.
“Just because it didn’t happen, doesn’t mean that it can’t,” you replied, shaking your head. “How did you get here? Bus?”
Rebecca nods after a few moments. You sighed deeply, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself down.
“How did you get the ticket for the bus?” you asked next.
“Used your card… and your computer. Booked it online when you were sleeping,” she admitted softly. “Printed out the ticket at home, then walked to the station after you left for work yesterday.”
You close your eyes tight to reign in the anger that you feel festering in your chest. You want to scream. You didn’t check your bank statement– it didn’t cross your mind when she ran off to look. Rebecca had never done such a thing before. You didn’t think she was capable of doing something like that.
“Why, Becky? Do you hate me that much?” you asked finally. “Do I make you that unhappy?”
“I don’t like you,” she said stubbornly. “You’re nobody to me.”
“Do you know how hurtful that is?” you whispered to her.
“I don’t care!” she screamed at you. “You’re not my mom! Stop trying to be!”
Rebecca pushed past you, rushing deeper into the apartment. A door slams shut, and you’re left stunned. You’re helpless for a few moments before a tissue box is placed in front of you.
“She went into the bathroom,” Bucky murmured. “Can I get you anything? Water? Beer?”
You let out a dry laugh. “A daughter that doesn’t hate me.”
“Sorry. I don’t know anything about kids,” he chuckled in response.
You let out a deep sigh, shifting to sit down on the couch. Bucky moved, too. He sat beside you, the two of you silent. You let the last few moments wash over you as you replayed your conversation with Rebecca in your mind. Then, you took a deep breath.
“I’m really sorry about this,” you finally said, looking at him. Bucky turned to face you. You clarified, “About bringing our family drama into your apartment. I’m sure you’re tired… and busy.”
“It’s no worries, really,” he promised, giving you a small smile. “It was a surprise, truly. Finding out that I have living relatives.”
“Well– I’m pretty sure she’s the only one. Even though she doesn’t have your last name,” you said with a small laugh. “She kinda looks like you.”
“She looks like my little sister,” Bucky corrected. “And has my sister’s name.”
“Tabitha named her after her grandma– your sister,” you recalled. Bucky nodded. “So it was on purpose then. Maybe the two of you were meant to meet at some point.”
“I’m sure she’s a sweet girl,” Bucky said, locking eyes with you. “You’ve done a really good job raising her.”
“Don’t say that to me right now. I just stopped crying,” you scoffed, though your voice broke as the words escaped your lips.
“I’m shit at comforting people, but I mean it,” he said, sliding the tissue box closer to you. “She’s smart– I’ll give her that. I’m not around a lot of eight year olds, but I sure as hell don’t think that I could’ve gone across state lines at eight years old with the amount of confidence that she has. One of my coworkers– he’s a dad. Well, two of them are. They say that children’s confidence and pride starts at home. So you must be doing something right.”
“She gets it from her mom,” you muttered, pulling a few tissues from the box to bring to your eyes.
“As far as I’m concerned, that’s you,” he said, his voice soft.
It was quiet for another few moments between the two of you. You weren’t sure what to say, not with tears streaming down your face. Bucky doesn’t judge you though. He waits patiently as you wipe your tears away and blow your nose, trying to calm yourself down.
It was nice to hear those words.
The sun was already starting to fully show itself, and you could hear the streets of New York begin to wake. You were certain that this man also had places to be. You couldn’t be in his hair the entire day.
“I’m really sorry for imposing again,” you whispered, finally getting a hold of yourself once more. “Would you– Can you try coaxing her out of the bathroom? I’m sure if she hears me, she won’t come out.”
“Really– no worries. I got it.”
You watch Bucky get up from the couch and make his way down the hall. You hear him knock on the door. While he takes care of that, you decide to pick up Rebecca’s things.
You put the binder back in her backpack, along with her tablet. You find her snacks and printed bus pass as well on the table, and put that away as well. You take out the wrappers and trash from inside her bag and find the trash can under Bucky’s kitchen sink to toss the mess away.
You sat at the kitchen table, nodding off slightly. You’re really not sure how much time has passed before Rebecca is coaxed out of the bathroom. However, you jump to your feet when you hear the bathroom door open.
A few moments later, you see her walking out the hall. Her eyes are red just like her nose. She’s sniffling, one hand gripping her shirt like she’s just been scolded. The other hand is holding onto Bucky’s flesh hand.
You let out a breath of relief as you pick up her backpack and your purse, slinging both bags over your shoulder.
“Come on, Becks. Let’s go home now.”
Panic flashes across her face, and she turns to rush to the bathroom again. Thankfully, Bucky is still holding her hand, and he keeps a firm grip on her.
“Nope,” he sighed, pulling her back. “You gotta go, Rebecca.”
“You can’t make me!” she cried, tugging on her arm. “I don’t want to leave!”
“I don’t have the facilities to raise a kid, kid,” Bucky sighed deeply before leaning down, picking her up in his arms. He gives you a nod. “Lead the way.”
You move towards the door while she squirms in his arms, whining all the same.
You make it down the apartment building towards the street where you parked. You unlock your car and place Rebecca’s backpack beside her booster seat. Then, you turn to Bucky, who’s ready to transfer Rebecca into your arms. The second that he does, she’s screaming her head off.
“KIDNAPPER! THIS WOMAN IS KIDNAPPING ME!”
You both freeze in your spots as people on the street begin to stop and stare. Some are taking their phones out, taking pictures of you– some are calling who you assume is 911.
Rebecca manages to wiggle her way out of your arms and slams herself back into Bucky’s body.
“Daddy, don’t let her take me away!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his torso.
Bucky is staring at her, shock and confusion all over his face. Then, he’s looking at you. He lets out a slow, deep breath before reaching behind you, shutting the door of the car. Then, Bucky reaches for your hand as he bends down to pick up Rebecca at the same time. Wordlessly, he pulls both of you back into the apartment building before more bypassers can take more photos of you or before the cops can come.
For whatever reason or purpose, Bucky gives the two of you his apartment to stay at for the foreseeable future. You want to say it’s out of the kindness of his heart, but you know it’s because your daughter cannot be trusted, and you will most likely be arrested the next time you attempt to bring her outside to your car again.
Thankfully, Rebecca chose the last day of third grade to run away on, so she’s in the middle of summer right now. You don’t have to worry about her missing any academics. However, you have to put in an emergency request for PTO with your company for about a month since you’re not sure how long her tantrum is going to last you.
You’re more than certain that you’ll have to run to the nearest Best Buy and purchase a new laptop within the next few days to remotely troubleshoot anything that your boss from hell's needs you to. She had two other assistants that you personally trained, but it seemed like every single time you were away from the office, the entire building would come crashing down.
One last text was sent out to your neighbor, who often took care of Rebecca when you had to work long nights preparing for presentations. She had a spare key to your house. You asked her to go around the entire house and unplug every electronic and appliance that she could find, and let her know that you found Rebecca.
Texts and emails were flooding your phone, adding to the headache that was already thundering behind your forehead. You put your phone on do not disturb, and put it face down on the coffee table before burying your face in your hands.
You allowed yourself one brief moment of silence before lifting your head. Rebecca was asleep on the couch again. After her tantrum outside, she tired herself out once more.
You didn’t understand it.
She wasn’t like this before. She was a good, well-mannered little girl. She followed the rules, never caused you any trouble. Rebecca was more than eager to do everything right. She hated to be the issue for anyone. You never had any problems raising her. You consider yourself lucky these past eight years.
This was the first time since Tabitha passed away that you felt overwhelmed with her. You could feel tears beginning to well up in your eyes again. You couldn’t abandon her, as much as she claimed to hate you. You needed to take her back with you, and you needed to somehow get her to understand that doing all of this wasn’t right.
The door in the hallway opened, and you quickly wiped away your tears as you sat up straight. Bucky came into view a few moments later, shoving his arms through a leather jacket before fastening his gloves over his hands. You paused at the sight– gloves in the middle of summer? You didn’t ask as he pulled out a key and something else from his jean pocket.
“Spare key,” Bucky said, handing it to you along with a black card– a business credit card.
“What is this for?”
“Groceries. I don’t know what Rebecca eats. She asked me for chicken nuggets last night, but I don’t eat any of that. Go shopping. I don’t think either of you have clothes, so buy clothes, too.”
“What– Bucky, I can afford groceries and clothes,” you said, shoving the card back in his hands. “You’re already letting the two of us stay in your New York penthouse for free. You won’t let me help pay the rent here while we stay.”
Bucky pushed the card back into your hands, “Then help me cook dinner while you’re here. I’m living off take out and shitty convenience store food, and I’m sick of it. Is that a fair trade?”
“You don’t even know if my cooking is good,” you said wearily.
“Rebecca’s been alive for eight years, so that counts for something,” he said with a small shrug. “I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Is there anything you want then? Anything you prefer? Any allergies?” you asked, looking back up at his face. He was already looking at you. Your breath caught slightly in your throat.
“I can eat anything,” he told you, giving you a small smile. “You have my phone number– if you need anything, just call me. I’ll come back right away.”
“I’m sure the two of us will be fine for a day, Bucky,” you said, returning his smile. “Have a good day at… work?”
Bucky laughed at your words– the fact that you weren’t certain at what to call his job. He nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you two later tonight.”
“Don’t be late. I’ll have dinner waiting,” you told him, your smile widening just a bit more at the sound of his laughter.
Bucky left you with Rebecca in his apartment. Vaguely, you wonder if he’s being a little too trusting of allowing a random adult woman in his home along with a child, but then again– he had your phone number within moments of meeting said child. The scary realization that he had the rest of your information at the tip of his fingertips made a shiver run down your spine. You were happy that Rebecca’s last living relative was an ex-Congressman-unretired-superhero.
Rebecca refused to go shopping with you, so you went by yourself. She cried that you would try to take her back home if she stepped outside the apartment with you. You relented. You didn’t need another meltdown.
You went for clothes first, and you didn’t use Bucky’s card for that. Part of you felt mildly offended that he even offered. You were certain that he knew your job, and he could definitely look into the amount of money you made if he really wanted to. Another part of you told yourself to just let it go. He was trying to be nice even though he really didn’t have to be.
You bought enough clothes for you and Rebecca to last for two weeks. You remembered seeing a washer and dryer in Bucky’s apartment– so you would be able to wash clothes when you needed to.
However, Rebecca was a fucking brat and she liked variety in her outfits. That was your fault. You always made sure her closet was stocked and full of different things because you never had that as a child. Yet, here you were– enabling her once again.
You grocery shopped for the two of you– enough for the week and then some. If you needed to get more, then you would come back out. You were hoping that you would be able to settle whatever you needed to with her child brain within the week, and move on with your life. A nagging feeling made you realize that it was highly unlikely.
You used Bucky’s card for the groceries. You were more than certain that he would have said something if he didn’t see the charge on his card and saw the amount of things you bought today. You got all of Rebecca’s regular staples of foods and snacks, along with some more healthy things. You weren’t sure what a superhero ate, but you would be damned if you fed some overly processed foods to someone that was meant to be saving the world.
Then again, he did mention that he was living off of shitty food.
It takes you four trips to bring up several bags of clothes and groceries up to Bucky’s apartment from the parking garage. You’re thankful that Bucky lives in a very nice place in Manhattan– you've heard horror stories of New Yorkers living in places with only stairs with no central air conditioning in the hallways.
Rebecca is playing away at her tablet when you finally bring everything inside.
“Alright,” you said, catching her attention. “I know you hate me, but you’re going to help me organize everything. Get up.”
To your surprise, she does. She puts her tablet down and trudges over to you, opening the first bag of groceries as you open the fridge. You’re shocked to find the thing damn near empty, save for a Brita filter, a case of beer, and a plum. A singular plum.
Bucky was a single man, you realized.
“Hey,” Rebecca said from beside you.
“I told you not to address me like that,” you replied, turning towards the bag of frozen items. You got her ice cream sandwiches, and you were more than certain they would melt soon if you didn’t shove them in the freezer.
“I don’t hate you,” she murmured, her voice quiet.
Your hands paused, and you let out a deep breath. You turned around to look at her. She was sheepish, looking down at the floor. She had a box of pasta in her tiny hands.
“But you don’t want to go home with me?” you guessed. Rebecca nodded. “That’s fine for now, Becks. But let’s put everything away, and then we can figure out what we wanna make for dinner for your… grandpa?”
“He told me not to call him that,” Rebecca said, brightening up immediately.
“What are you gonna call him then?” you asked, chuckling at her. She really did have mood swings.
“He said to just call him Bucky for now,” she replied, smiling as she pulled out lettuce from the bag. “Can you make pizza tonight?”
After putting the groceries away, you pulled out all the toiletries you bought as well and set them up in the bathroom. Toothbrushes for both you and Rebecca, as well as some mouthwash and toothpaste. You got other shower essentials as well, putting them on the rack– and you let out a breath of relief to find that Bucky wasn’t a 3-in-1 kinda single man living in New York.
You cursed to yourself when you realized you had none of your regular makeup or essentials of your own. You forgot to buy deodorant, too.
After putting your new clothes in the washer, you set Rebecca up in the living room with a movie and pulled your phone out. You were going to online shop for absolutely everything else that you could possibly need.
A laptop, makeup to look presentable because you were certain that you would be called for an online meeting at some point, deodorant, perfume, and chargers for your phone and Rebecca’s tablet. Thankfully, everything would be coming in to Bucky’s address by the morning.
With some free time, you even searched up Bucky. You wanted to know about what he did in the government. You recognized his face from brief headlines, but you never really knew what kinds of bills he passed or supported. Maybe you could use heinous actions to your advantage and get Rebecca to go home with you.
His status as an ex-Congressman and a member of the New Avengers were all over the news. You read how he served in the second world war, and the valiant efforts that he made with Captain America. You briefly recalled that lesson in your history class. You skimmed through that section, pausing at the controversies of the Winter Soldier.
You could only read so much before you got angry.
There wasn’t much online about the details that he performed when he was under the jurisdiction of that crazy group that controlled him, but from what you could gather– Bucky wasn’t Bucky. The fact people were still using that to discredit all the good he was doing in the world was pissing you off.
You sighed deeply, looking over at Rebecca, feeling guilt build up in your stomach. Here you were, thinking that you would find dirt on a Congressman as a reason to tell Rebecca that her only living relative was a bad man.
He was literally the opposite of a bad man. A misunderstood man, maybe– but not a bad one.
By the time you finished laundry, it was already six. You weren’t sure what time Bucky was coming home, but you would start making dinner now. You sent Rebecca off to go take a shower since she hadn’t showered all day and she was starting to stink from her long bus adventure while you went into the freshly stocked kitchen.
Rebecca asked for pizza, so you would make pizza. Bucky said he didn’t have any allergies, so you would just make it as you usually did. You usually only made one pizza for you and your kid to share, but you decided to double the batch. Bucky could probably eat an entire pizza by himself and still be hungry for more, you think.
As you mixed the dough and spread it out on the counter, your mind wandered. You didn’t pay too much attention to the man that owned this place, but Bucky was tall. If you had to estimate, he was over six feet tall. Moreover, he was a muscular man. He looks to be a very well built– strong, sturdy man. You struggle these days to pick up Rebecca in your arms, but he picked her up like she was nothing. She probably weighed nothing to him. She looked tiny in his arms.
He could probably pick you up like nothing, if he really wanted to. He looked more than capable of it. Plus, he had a decent amount of money to just be giving you a black card and telling you to spend it on clothes and groceries. Handsome, too. Spoke to you kindly and gently.
“Fuck,” you curse, eyes widening at the mess in front of you. You poured too much sauce on the dough. You immediately shift to rectify the situation at hand, and you’re lucky that you didn’t ruin the pizza.
You need to stop thinking.
He’s Rebecca’s great granduncle. A 110 years old.
“Doesn’t look a 110 though,” you mutter to yourself as you shove the pizzas into the oven.
“You’re going home again tonight?” Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I pay for my place. Am I supposed to keep it vacant? There’s no point in having an apartment if I never spend time there,” Bucky grunted, removing his tactical vest from his body.
“Aren’t you the guy that’s all about efficiency? What’s so efficient about having an apartment when you already have a room at the tower?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
Bucky let out a deep sigh. He knew that she was right, and that she was just throwing words that he said right back in his face. However, once they started this New Avengers bullshit, he couldn’t bring it in himself to get rid of the apartment that he got when he was just a Congressman.
When missions got too hard, or the team were a bunch of pricks, there was somewhere that he could retreat to that didn’t include them. It was his own personal sanctuary of peace and quiet. None of them knew where his apartment was located, and he made sure to keep it that way. He didn’t need anyone or anything to encroach on his personal space.
Right now, he wasn’t searching for peace or quiet. You asked him to be home on time for dinner. He didn’t know what time dinner started for you and Rebecca– he forgot to fucking ask, and it was nearing eight. Even if the food was cold, he would eat it. Either way, he promised that he would be home for dinner. He knew you bought groceries, too. He saw the charge on his card go through.
“We don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow,” Bucky finally said. “I am going to sleep in a room where Ava can’t ghost through whenever she feels like.”
“Woah– so our leader is just running off to let us deal with that?!” Walker complained, removing his helmet.
“If you hate it so much, then you get your own place, too,” Bucky sighed.
“With what money, Congressman?” Yelena rolled her eyes at him.
“Fontaine pays each of us a decent salary for these bullshit missions and to attend those stupid galas, if you forget. Stop wasting your stipends on stupid gadgets, and maybe put it towards a down payment,” Bucky deadpanned.
“Yeah, yeah,” she murmured.
They all filtered out of the locker rooms. They had all unloaded their gear and weapons, and were off to go do whatever they wanted to now that they were free from the mission.
Bucky made a quick pit stop towards his room to shower and change out of the under layer of his mission clothes– into something more harmless. Something that wouldn’t freak out Rebecca when she saw him. He took extra time in looking at himself in the mirror to make sure that there weren’t any visible cuts and scrapes on his face and arms that you would be able to notice. He scrubbed extra hard between the grooves of his metal arm to ensure there was no blood between the gears that either you or Rebecca would be able to smell when he crossed the threshold of his apartment.
He didn’t realize that he was doing all of that until he was done.
“Barnes. Wanna eat before you leave? Bob made food,” Yelena called out to him as he left his room.
“Not hungry,” he grunted, heading for the elevator with his keys in hand.
He ignored the looks from his teammates as he went straight for the elevator, hitting the button to go down to the garage. Bucky moved faster than he did when he was on the mission. He got on his bike, and raced down the street to get home.
He could smell the food from the hallway before he even opened the door.
Usually, when he opened his apartment up– it was dark. The lights were turned off, and it was cold. There wasn’t anything or anyone to greet him. Today was different.
The kitchen lights were on, along with the living room floor lamp. The TV was on to some cartoon that he had never seen before, playing softly in the background. He could hear the faint sound of the washer and dryer being used as well. Then, he heard the sounds of little feet scurrying across the floor followed by voices.
It sounded like he had just entered a home.
He was quiet as he moved down the hallway entrance.
“Careful, Becky. Don’t want you to get burned,” you warned her, and the little girl took two steps back as cautioned. She was wearing pajamas now, her hair no longer in the braids that he remembered seeing when he left this morning. They were fluffy and curly.
“The smaller pizza is ours?” she asked you as you shifted to put the pizza on the cooling rack.
“Mmhm. The bigger one is for Bucky. If he can’t finish it, he can take it to work tomorrow for lunch,” you told her. “I think I saw some tupperware in a cabinet somewhere… If not, then I can just wrap it in foil for him.”
“Do superheroes eat lunch?” she asked, making a face at you.
“Everyone eats lunch, silly,” you scoffed, shaking your head as you close the oven. “Even my boss.”
“I thought you said she’s a villain,” she giggled as you ruffled her hair with your free hand.
“Well. She kinda is,” you shrugged, turning towards the sink to put the baking sheet in cool water. “But I have to feed the villain, so it’s a nice change to feed a superhero instead. Grab some plates from the dishwasher. They’re clean– set up the table, please.”
Rebecca moved right away, doing as you asked her to. She pulled out three plates carefully from the dishwasher, bringing them to the table as you grabbed the cooling rack with the pizzas to bring over as well.
“Do you think Bucky likes pizza?” Rebecca asked you, climbing onto one of the seats as she waited for you to serve her some food.
“He was born and raised in New York. I think it’s criminal if he doesn’t,” you replied.
Bucky let out a soft laugh at your answer before shaking his head. He straightens his back and rounds his shoulders before entering the room.
“I’m back,” he called out, dropping his keys on the island counter. Both you and Rebecca perk up at his announcement, turning to look at him.
“Welcome home,” you greeted, a warm smile on your face.
Bucky has gone through several wars in his life. He has been through countless life threatening missions and never batted an eye. He has been through hell and back. Had his mind wiped and thrown through a blender. He fought his best friend with his own two fists, fought by his best friend’s side at what seemed to be the end of the world, and was then snapped out of existence for five years and he didn’t even know it. Yet, two words and a smile is all that takes for his heart to race.
The man cleared his throat, and forced a smile on his face, giving you a nod.
“Are you hungry? Mo– Auntie made dinner!” Rebecca said, tripping over her words. Your face faltered slightly, but Rebecca didn’t catch it. Bucky did.
“Starved. Smells great,” Bucky replied, coming closer. He took a seat at the table across from you, looking at the pizzas.
Definitely handmade– but he was certain that he had never seen food look better in his entire life. When he took the first bite, he was sure that he had never had real food in his entire life until this point, too.
“Is it okay?” you asked him, looking a bit worried.
“It’s amazing,” he told you. “Honestly. You’re great.”
“It’s my favorite,” Rebecca piped up from her seat. She had already polished off two small slices herself, and had some tomato sauce on the edges of her mouth. Bucky watched as you reached over with a napkin to wordlessly wipe her face before she kept talking. “She works a lot these days, but she’s the best cook ever. I told her that she should’ve been a chef!”
You let out a small laugh at her words, shaking your head. “My mom taught me how to cook when I was younger,” you tell Bucky. “Just home recipes. I learned some more stuff on my own when I got older.”
“Can you teach me how to cook, too?” Rebecca asked you, excited.
“Sure. If you come home with me,” you replied, taking a bite of your own slice. Bucky watched as Rebecca paused, then sunk in her seat, grumbling to herself– she was clearly torn.
Dinner was completed without any other incident. Both you and Rebecca finished your pizza together, and Bucky finished his pizza by himself. He definitely could have saved some for tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. It was nice to come home to a meal, and share it with other people.
It wasn’t to say that his teammates and himself didn’t have meals together, either. It was the fact that neither you or Rebecca were part of that life. The two of you were normal. You were untouched by danger, and your biggest issue was trying to get your kid back home to Newport.
Once Rebecca excused herself from the table, you began to pick up all the plates when Bucky stopped you.
“I got it,” he said, pulling the plates from your hands.
“What? You paid for the ingredients, Bucky. You’re making me feel bad here. I don’t think this is a fair living situation,” you frowned at him. Bucky won’t admit it out loud, but he thinks you look adorable like this.
He thought you were cute this morning, too. Truthfully, he thought you were a very beautiful woman when he first saw you. You came in, pushed him to the side with strength that he didn’t know a regular civilian woman could have, and stormed into his apartment with a pantsuit and a thin trench coat and heels. You looked like you had just gotten off a business meeting.
Right now, you were no longer wearing the heels so you were missing the height he saw earlier before he left for his mission today, but you were still wearing the blouse from earlier. It was untucked now, a couple buttons undone at the top for comfort, and the sleeves were cuffed at your elbows. Your hair was tied back, possibly to keep out of your way while you were cooking.
“You cook, I clean up the mess,” he told you, gently pushing your hands away. “Besides, weren’t you grocery shopping before all of this? Running errands? You’ve been doing laundry, too. You’ve been busy all day, so go relax or something. Take a shower.”
“I’m a grown woman raising a child on my own,” you remind him. “This is my normal.”
“And right now, I’m here. So don’t worry about it. She’s watching… What the hell is that?” Bucky asked, eyes on the TV.
“You’ve never watched Avatar before?” you asked, eyebrows raising at him. You didn’t even look back at the TV. You didn’t even need to look at it to know what Rebecca was watching. “It’s a classic.”
“You watch cartoons?”
“That cartoon aired when I was a kid, okay?”
“The cartoon that aired when I was a kid was Mickey Mouse’s Steamboat Willie,” Bucky shot back at you. “And it was played in the theatre, not in 4K HD.”
“Do all old men have this much sass in their bodies?” you ask, disbelief all over your face. “How do you find the energy to be like this?”
Bucky can’t help but crack a smile. “When you get as old as I am, you find it difficult to hold your tongue. Now go do whatever. I’ll clean up here.”
When you get out of the shower, you’re feeling refreshed. You’re more than ready to knock the hell out and sleep for four days, but you know that isn’t a possibility. If you think back on it, you haven’t slept in over thirty six hours– the thought makes you want to cry.
You hang your towel up beside Rebecca’s before exiting the bathroom. You find that the TV is off already, and you hear the hum of the dishwasher going off. The kitchen lights are off, and only the floor lamp is on now. You’re searching for the little girl, eyes scanning the living room.
“I put her to bed in my room,” Bucky said, catching your attention. He’s sitting at the table– also changed into more comfortable clothes. Sweatpants and a tank top. He also has some documents laid out on the table, along with his laptop. “You and her can take the bed while you’re here.”
“What?” You’re more than certain that you sound like a broken recording at this point.
“I’ll take the couch,” he said, nodding towards it.
You’re still in shock before you cross the floorspace, pulling out the chair to sit beside him. He watches you for a few moments, allowing you to let your mind catch up before you speak.
“I don’t understand why you’re going this far for us. We are strangers to you. You should have kicked both me and Rebecca to the curb the second I came for her,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Is it because you’re related to her?”
“I can’t deny that it’s part of the reason,” he said, letting out a breath as he ran a hand down his face. “She just… she looks like my sister. My little sister. And I don’t know how much you know about the history of me, but I lost everyone and everything I cared about in an instant. It might make zero sense to you, but it’s nice. Coming home and there’s people waiting.”
“Is that the other part of the reason? You’re lonely?” you asked, eyebrows furrowing at him.
Bucky let out a small laugh before nodding. “Yes. I’m lonely. And as long as Rebecca wants to throw her tantrum and say that she wants to stay here, then that’s fine with me as long as you’re fine with it. I’ll let you do a background check on me, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“You’ll let me do a background check on a superhero?” Your mind wandered back on the articles that you read on him. He would let you see the dirt on him that the tabloids didn’t even have?
“You’re her mom,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I know you would do anything for her. My status in this world does not compare to what she is to you.”
You stare at him for a few moments before sighing, placing your elbows on the table, burying your face in your hands. “I need a drink,” you muttered.
“Beer?” he offered, standing. You nod wordlessly as he goes to the fridge.
He cracks open the can before setting it down in front of you, and you lean back in your seat, murmuring a soft thank you before you take your first drink. Your eyes wander over the various files over the table and frown.
“Should you really have classified information scattered about where two civilians can see it?” you joke softly.
Bucky shrugs, and takes a drink himself. “Are you going to spill secret information anywhere?”
“No, but I think you should be worried about the little girl that tracked you down to your apartment and still won’t tell either of us how she did it,” you pointed out.
“She’s asleep, so I think I’m safe for now,” he chuckled. You smile at that, shaking your head as you take another drink. Bucky watches you for a few moments before he speaks again, “Has it always just been you and her?”
“Since her mom passed? Yeah. Just the two of us. Our neighbor– Mrs. Mendoza– helps out on nights when I work late. Otherwise it’s just me and her,” you nodded, taking a deep breath as you say it out loud.
“Isn’t that hard?” he asked.
“I’m sure it’s not more difficult than keeping the world safe every other week,” you smiled at him.
“You’re keeping her world safe. That has to count for something, too,” he dismissed.
“Well… It’s easier now that she’s older. Though this phase she’s in definitely sucks,” you admitted before smiling at the flashback of memories of her as a small baby in your arms. “But I’ve had my moments of crying in the bathroom when she was a toddler because I was overwhelmed and alone.”
“No one special to keep you company though?” he asked.
You paused mid-drink, eyes flickering over to him. You raised your eyebrows, watching him for a moment. His face was calm as he took a sip of his own can, waiting for your response. Usually, you would have skimmed right over the question, but there was a certain tilt in his voice that made you stop and weigh his words over in your mind.
“Are you hitting on me right now?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
“Depends. Do you think I am?”
“There’s a strong suggestion that you are.”
“I’m asking if Rebecca has a strong father figure in her life.”
You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile behind the can. “You think she would have ran off to find you if she had a strong father figure?”
“You tell me,” Bucky said with a shrug, nonchalant. He can’t seem to hide the smile on his face either.
You shake your head, placing the can on the table. You move over the papers so that the condensation doesn’t ruin his files as you take in a breath.
“I don’t have time to date,” you revealed to him. “Becky is my top priority. And most guys don’t want to date someone that has a young kid. They see it as baggage. She comes before anything in my life. I closed the chapter of romance when I adopted her. I don’t remember the last time I went on a date, if I’m being honest.”
“You’re still young,” he said. “At some point, Rebecca will be old enough. She won’t be a kid forever.”
“You’re right,” you nodded, looking down at the can. Your smile turns slightly sad, somewhat melancholic before you meet his eyes again. “But she’s still a kid right now. And as much as I would like to have somebody special in my life like that… I don’t have the ability to be selfish when she relies on me. It’s not just my heart that the other person will break if they decide to walk away from me, you know?”
“I get it. Kinda.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Kinda?”
“With my job,” he explained. “It’s selfish. Sometimes, I’m away for weeks at a time, and I would be radio silent for the entire time. It would be hard on them, not knowing if I was okay. So, in a way.. I get it.”
“Is that why this apartment reeks of bachelor in New York?” you asked, tilting your head at him.
“Is it really that bad?” he chuckled.
“Bucky. Your fridge was empty. Your bathroom is barely stocked. You don't even have decorations in here,” you pointed out at him, watching him hold his hands up in defense.
“You still have my card. Go ahead and decorate the place to your liking.”
“Pardon?”
“You work as a personal assistant, right? Let me use your skills. Make my place look more homey. That way, when you’re gone, it still feels warm,” he said, giving you a small smile.
His words made your chest squeeze. When you’re gone.
You’ve barely known the man for over twenty four hours, but it still made you feel sad in a way that you can’t explain. Maybe it was the fact he already admitted to you that he was lonely– that he enjoyed coming home to people in his house. That he liked seeing Rebecca’s face because it reminded him of the sister that he was ripped apart from when he was taken as a prisoner of war all those years ago. Maybe it was because in this moment, he didn’t look like a superhero or a congressman like in those pictures of the articles you read. He looked like a man. Just a tired man, who wanted to rest.
“You really don’t mind it if we stay for a bit?” you asked, worry lacing your voice. “What if I turn out to be a serial killer or something?”
Bucky barked out a laugh that made your stomach flip. “Then guard my house while I’m gone, sweetheart. Consider it your work for me allowing you to stay here for free.”
Over the two weeks, your routine with Bucky continued.
You and Rebecca would wake up early to make Bucky lunch before he went off for work. You woke up at five the first day, unsure of what time he would leave– thankful it was the time he woke up himself to get in the shower. The two of you rushed to make him something. Each day was something different, and it would also be your lunch for the day as well.
The first day, he was surprised when Rebecca handed him the bag at the door.
“Bring home the container so we can run it through the dishwasher tonight. And come home for dinner. I’ll make salmon, if you like that?” you asked him with a smile.
Bucky’s eyes flitted over to you and Rebecca, who was about to fall over from sleepiness, still holding out the tupperware of food to him.
“Love it,” he responded, snapping out of whatever haze he seemed to be in, taking the bag from your kid. He let out a shaky breath, and ruffled her hair. “Thank you for this. Bye–”
“It’s not bye!” Rebecca cut him off, angry. “It’s see you later! Bye is too final. Mo– Auntie said so. You have to say see you later.”
You stifled a laugh at Bucky’s face. His mouth was agape, eyes wide as he was scolded by an eight year old with tangled hair and morning breath. She was also dead serious with her words, hands on her hips.
“See you later, Becks,” he corrected himself. She smiled, satisfied.
“See you later, Bucky!” she grinned at him.
“Have a good day at work,” you told him when his eyes went over to you, still smiling. “I’ll start decorating your place today.”
He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yes– thank you. I’ll see you later tonight.”
Over the week, you ordered decoration and different furniture for Bucky’s apartment (using his card), and Rebecca helped you build everything throughout the day as packages began to arrive. In between all of it, you worked remotely as your boss had you troubleshoot items that your incompetent coworkers couldn’t seem to figure out on their own. You were damn near about to lose your mind. After all, you were on emergency PTO. You shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of this right now.
Though, it was still less work than if you were in the office on a regular day.
All in the meantime, you were still doing your best to reconnect with Rebecca. She seemed to be warming up with you little by little again. The small child that you knew was still in there. You could see that everything she was doing was definitely a front– that there was something here that you were so close to cracking what was in her tiny little mind.
Bucky would come home every night around eight. You would have dinner ready for him around that time as well. Sometimes, he would come home with a new bruise on his face or a cut on his lip. You told Rebecca that if she saw it, not to mention it. That he was a hero fighting bad guys, and home was a place for him to rest. She understood, and was a good girl. She allowed him the peace within these walls. Bucky seemed to appreciate it.
You would watch Bucky interact with Rebecca, too. He began to wipe her mouth when sauce or crumbs would find its way on the edges of her mouth, and she would let her. If she wanted more food, he would move before you would to give her some. When her glass of juice ran low, he would stand from the table to fill it up– but not before adding some water to it like he saw you did once before.
After dinner, Bucky would do the dishes while you went to shower, and he would put her to bed. When you got out of the shower, he would be doing paperwork at the kitchen table that he couldn’t do at his office or whatever building that he worked at, and you two would drink a can of beer or two together while you talked.
He would tell you about his day, and you would tell him about the copious amounts of money that you just spent on his card. He would laugh, and shake his head, but he would never get mad at you. Of course, the numbers were always exaggerated. You just wanted to see him laugh.
Bucky’s smile was pretty. His laughter was genuine, and you enjoyed watching the way that his whole body rumbled when he laughed. The sound was low, and reverberated throughout your body when the noise hit you. You enjoyed listening to it.
“Is this your first time in New York?” Bucky asked you one night.
This time was different. You weren’t at the table. There wasn’t any paperwork. You two were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, the TV turned on to some random movie that neither of you were watching. He had his right arm draped over the back of the couch, legs spread a bit wide as he relaxed comfortably against the back of the couch. Your back was pressed against the armrest of the other end, your feet barely brushing his thigh, your left arm on the back of the couch with your fist propping up your head as you looked at him.
“Is it obvious?” you asked, making a face.
“You sound like you’re from California.”
“Ugh,” you groaned. “I hear that all the time. Valley accent? I thought I got rid of it by now. I’ve been living on the East Coast since before Becky was born.”
“Why’d you move all the way out here?” he chuckled, taking a drink.
“It’s kinda a shit story. I haven’t even told Becky. You sure you wanna hear it?” you asked, cringing a little.
“I’ve been through hell. I’m sure I can handle it,” he promised.
You were silent for a few moments, trying to figure out where to start this story. After all– you’ve never said it out loud before. You figured the very first person you would ever tell it to was Rebecca. You sucked in a breath.
“Becky’s dad was a drunk… who used to beat Tabitha,” you finally start. You watched as Bucky sits up a bit straighter. He turns the TV off, and shifts to face you completely. His attention is on you, fully. “I knew, and I told her to leave him– but she would tell me she loved him, and it was hard for her to leave him. I… still don’t get it, but I’ve never been in one of those situations. Anyway– she’s my friend, so I stayed beside her regardless.
“Then, she got pregnant, and she had a wake up call. She realized that… she didn’t want any baby of hers to be beaten the same way that she was being beaten so we finally went to the police. Unfortunately, his dad is a cop. So, they didn’t do anything… and her asshole boyfriend threatened to kill both her and her unborn baby.
“We were both twenty one years old, in our last year of college. She had no job, I was working at a mall in LA, and we had absolutely zero assets, but I suggested to her that we run to the other side of the country and start over. So we did. I transferred to a university over here to finish school. She dropped out to work full time while she still could and saved every single penny. I worked when I didn’t have school to help save money, then got a job as soon as I graduated to help out Tabitha with Rebecca. I would work during the day, and she would take care of Rebecca, then she would work night shifts. Then, Tabitha… passed away in a car accident on her way home one early morning.”
Bucky didn’t say anything when you finished. You looked down at your lap, feeling a bit nervous as you chewed the inside of your cheek.
“That answered a bit more than what you asked, but uh– I was born and raised in California,” you added with a nervous laugh, clearing your throat. “Went to UCLA and everything.”
“Is that bastard still alive?” Bucky asked you, gritting his teeth.
“Rebecca’s dad? I have no clue,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t have social media anymore. Tabitha and I went completely off grid when we ran so that we couldn’t be found. No Facebook or anything like that. He shouldn’t even be able to find Rebecca– she has Tabitha’s maiden name, not his last name.”
Bucky clenched his jaw, letting out a deep breath through his nostrils before nodding once. He closed his eyes tight, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Jesus. That’s really– I’m sorry,” he whispered your name. “That’s horrible.”
“It’s okay,” you whispered back. “Becky’s a blessing, even though there were so many things that went wrong before I managed to have her in my life.”
He stared at you for a few moments, eyes roaming your face. You didn’t cry over this story anymore. You had cried over it by yourself many years ago. You came to terms with it a long, long time ago. You were certain the next and last time you would cry is when you would tell Rebecca– and you would only cry if she ended up crying, too.
“It must have been lonely,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Your lips parted as you struggled to find the words to respond to him. You wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell him that it wasn’t lonely because Rebecca was there by your side, but you knew that wasn’t the truth. You were still lonely– there was a void that Rebecca couldn’t fill, just like there was a hole that she was trying to fill by running away from you. Instead, you nodded, and gave him a sad smile.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m pretty damn lonely.”
“Cheers to that?” he offered, holding his can out to you. You chuckled, hitting the edge of your can against his.
“Cheers.”
You both took a long drink.
“Admittedly, I am not as lonely with the two of you around though,” he said, looking around his apartment. “My house looks… lived in.”
“That’s another word for messy, Bucky,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.
You note the coffee table with drawings made by Rebecca. She drew Bucky and his metal arm. She drew another portrait of him flexing. There were some drawings of flowers. That wasn’t even all of the drawings– Rebecca taped a good amount of her art to the wall. You apologized to Bucky when he came home and saw them, but he told you to leave them there. He liked seeing them haphazardly taped up, even though they weren’t leveled properly.
You also take in the stray lego blocks that are on the floor near the hall. Bucky brought them home on the fifth night, saying that he went to the store and bought them since he didn’t want her to be completely bored in his house. She did play with them, but didn’t even finish it before she got side tracked by her tablet.
He also bought her some board games that you played with her while Bucky was gone at work– that you also didn’t manage to clean up while he was away. The games were unfinished, and Rebecca refused to let you tidy up the area until she won.
“I like it though,” he said, giving you a smile that was contagious.
“So you’ll miss her when she’s gone?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.
“I’m saying that I might need to take a trip to Newport every once in a while. Or maybe convince you to come visit me here so I can see my great grandniece.”
“Because you’ll miss her,” you repeated, chuckling to yourself.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll miss both of you. Not just her. It’s not just Rebecca that I look forward to seeing every night when I come home.”
You stare at him for a few moments before bringing the can of beer to your lips, taking a drink to busy yourself with something. You’re hoping the liquid will be able to cool down the burning in your cheeks, but it’s unlikely that it’s doing anything for you.
“We can come back for holidays,” you said after a few moments, unable to meet his eyes. “And you’re welcome to visit us whenever. I… also enjoy greeting you when you come home, too. And talking to you every night. It’s nice.”
Bucky let out a breath of what sounded like relief. Your eyes shifted over to him once more, finding that he was smiling again. “I’m glad we’re in agreement, sweetheart.”
If you weren’t blushing before, you know that you are now.
It’s on the third week when you finish your shower earlier than usual to find that Bucky isn’t at the kitchen table like he normally is. Instead, you find that he’s in the bedroom with Rebecca. The door is slightly open, and you can see him sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, stroking her hair as she lays there, tucked in and ready to sleep.
“You’re fighting bedtime a lot longer tonight, Becks,” he whispered to her, stroking her hair slowly.
“I’m not tired,” she grumbles, but you can hear the sleepiness lacing her words. Bucky must be able to as well, from the way he chuckles.
“Sure, kiddo. What did you do today?”
“Nothing interesting.. Momma took me to Central Park today. We walked around. Never been there before,” she told him.
“And that’s not interesting?” he asked softly.
Rebecca shrugged slightly. “It’s hot outside. We got ice cream. I saw you in the newspaper. What did you do today?”
“Just boring stuff,” he said with a sigh, still lulling her to sleep with gentle strokes to her head.
“Can you tell me about your superhero friends again?” she asked with a yawn.
“Which one?”
“Your favorite one.”
“I think your mom is my favorite superhero, Rebecca,” Bucky whispered to her.
“My Momma isn’t a superhero,” she frowned at him.
“Hm… I think she is,” he shrugged. “To me, at least. She wakes up early every day to make lunch for me and you. I’m sure if I stayed, I would be able to eat the breakfast that she makes, too, but I just don’t have time for that. I know you eat it. She doesn’t have to do it. Then, she makes dinner every night as well. She takes care of you, does all the chores without complaining. Don’t you notice that my apartment looks really nice all of a sudden? Your mom decorated it all by herself.”
“Don’t all moms do that?” Rebecca asked.
Bucky smiled sadly at her. “Some of my friends have really bad moms, kiddo. Some of my friends don’t have moms at all. They would have loved to have a mom like you do. So it really breaks my heart to see you treat her the way you do when all she does is love you.”
Rebecca was quiet for a few moments before she turned on her side. “I don’t hate her,” she muttered into the pillow. “I really love her.”
“I know you do. She knows that, too,” Bucky promised her, patting her back rhythmically.
“Is she really a superhero?” she asked, peeking out of the pillow to look at him.
“Sure she is. She can be a superhero to me and you,” he told her, and she gave him a small nod. “However, a superhero needs somebody to protect– which is you. So you need to go to bed.”
“Okay,” she sighed dramatically, closing her eyes. “Good night, Bucky.”
“Good night, Rebecca,” he chuckled, rubbing her back gently.
You step away from the door slowly, making your way to the kitchen. The dishwasher is already going, the table has already been wiped down. You decide to beat Bucky by a step and take out the beers from the fridge and put them on the table and wait for him there.
He doesn’t keep you sitting there for too long, as you hear the door to the bedroom shut a few moments later.
“You showered fast today,” Bucky said, opening your can before picking up his own.
“Happens every once in a while,” you shrugged as you watched him grab his backpack to pull out his files and laptop to start working. You watch in silence for a few moments, drinking as you do before a question comes to mind. “Are your teammates so loud that you can’t do your reports in the tower?”
“I can,” he said. “You get used to it. I just come home every night now, so I spend less time in the tower. Have to make up for it by doing the reports here.”
“Wait– you didn’t come home every night before?” you asked.
“No,” he shook his head. “There was no reason for me to come here all the time. No one to come home to.”
“So you lived and worked in the same place that you call your base?”
“Pretty much. I just used this place as a space to… unwind, I guess. When things got too hectic,” he said, shrugging a bit. “This is the first time that I’ve consistently come home since I started the Avengers job.”
“Oh,” you said, and you feel a little dumb. You feel a little sad, too. You stare at him, but he’s looking at his computer. He’s typing away at things that you don’t understand. “But your team… You get along with them?”
His hands stop over his keyboard. There is a small, teasing smile on his face.
“Are you worried about me?”
“Yes,” you answer immediately, locking eyes with him. It makes the smile falter on his lips. “You said you were lonely. Your lives are in their hands right? Do you not trust them?”
Bucky pauses, running his metal hand through his hair– you learned last week that the metal was called vibranium. He contemplates your words for a few moments before nodding.
“I trust them,” he said, his voice steady. “I trust them to do the job, and to do it right. Do I trust them emotionally? That is a different level that I am not sure I will be able to reach with them. The team is still fairly new, and I’m still learning different parts of them that they’re hiding from me, too. I’m their leader. I can’t just… be vulnerable straight off the bat, you know?”
“Do you have any friends?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“I did,” he said, looking back at his keyboard. “He’s kinda suing me right now for the rights to the name of the Avengers, so there’s a bit of a rift between us.”
“The new Captain America– Sam Wilson?” You recalled the name from an article you read when you searched up Bucky on the first day you were here.
“Yeah. That guy. We’re not really on speaking terms right now,” Bucky sighed deeply. “After the previous Captain America passed on the mantle… Sam’s pretty much the only friend I have left.”
“You have me,” you offered.
His eyes went back to you, a small smile finding its way to his face.
“And you,” he added, nodding. “Thank you. You have me, too.”
“You’ll have to put your world saving on pause during Christmas,” you said, smiling back. “Rebecca will be heartbroken if you don’t come over to celebrate with us.”
Bucky let out a laugh. “I’ll mark it on the calendar.”
You’re about to make another joke, something else to make him laugh so you can hear the sound that makes your heart soar through the roof when you hear your phone start buzzing on the couch. It’s already past eleven– you shouldn’t have anyone calling you. You and Bucky share a look before you go towards it, picking it up.
To your utter horror, the familiar caller ID of your boss is staring at you. Part of you wants to let it go to voicemail, but you know that her next plan of action is to just start spam texting you through the entire night until you answer her.
“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, seeing the look on your face.
“Yeah. Just my boss,” you sigh. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
Bucky nods at you, and looks back down at his computer as you sit down on the couch and tap on the green button on your screen before bringing the phone to your ear.
“It's so good to hear from you, Sil!” you greet with a fake cheery voice. You can hear Bucky choke on his beer behind you. You turn around, glaring at him as he coughs, trying to stifle his laughter. “How can I help you toni-”
“I need your ass back in Newport as soon as possible,” your boss, Silva, demands.
“Um, Sil, I’m still on emergency leave,” you remind her, trying to keep your tone light.
“You think I don’t know that?!” she hissed at you. “Hannah fucked up the presentation for the Morgan Corporation, and Denise somehow messed up both the catering and the hotel venue for the presentation. I need you to get back here and fix this mess otherwise you won’t have a job to get back to!”
“The Morgan presentation? The one that’s happening in two days?” you repeated, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You mean the one that I completed last week and sent back to you– the one that I finished for Hannah remotely?”
“You worry about the details too much,” Silva dismissed. “I need you here now. I’m not giving you an option.”
The line hung up, and you stared at your phone. Thousands of thoughts are racing through your mind as your cortisol levels are increasing. Then, you stood up.
“I have to go back to Newport,” you said, turning around to look at Bucky. “Can I ask you to look after Rebecca for like, two days? I’ll be back, I promise, right after the presentation is over. She’s self sufficient. She knows how to use a microwave and the toaster, I just need you to come back home after work to make sure she’s not dead or choking on anything–”
“Hey, hey. Slow down,” Bucky cut you off, voice soft and soothing. You didn’t even realize you were rambling. Bucky stood quickly, crossing over to you to place his hands on your shoulders. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to lose my job and my only source of income that supports me and Rebecca if I don’t go home to do this fucked up presentation,” you whispered, heart pounding in your ears as you look at him. “My coworkers are incompetent and my boss fucking sucks. I’m so sorry Bucky, I know your job is so much more demanding than mine is and I would try dragging her with me, but I’m scared she’s gonna make a scene again–”
Bucky cuts you off once more by saying your name so gently your breath catches in your throat.
“Don’t worry. I can watch an eight year old for a day or two,” he promised. “And I can take a break, too. Are you going to leave right now?”
“I should,” you said, letting out a breath. “Less traffic. And I’ll have to get in the office right away so I can fix whatever dumpster fire is waiting for me.”
“Okay,” he nodded, his hands sliding down your arms. “Go get ready. I’ll make you some food to bring with you on the road so you have something to snack on while you drive.”
“Okay,” you echoed back at him.
The second Bucky lets go of you, you’re immediately rushing to change your clothes and put shoes on.
“Where’s Momma?” Rebecca asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she walked out into the living room.
“She had to go back home. Her boss called her into the office for an emergency presentation,” Bucky answered, flipping the pancakes on the pan. “It’s just gonna be me and you for the next couple of days, if that’s okay with you, kiddo.”
“Oh,” she murmured before clambering onto one of the kitchen island’s bar chairs. “I was just asking… since she always wakes me up to help make you lunch. You’re not working today?”
“Took the day off to hang out with you,” Bucky shook his head, then plated the pancake, right next to the eggs and bacon that he had already cooked earlier. He turned off the stove, then put the plate in front of the little girl.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he nodded at her, picking up his coffee mug.
The day is fairly quiet, all things considered. Too quiet, actually. Rebecca normally isn’t like this. Bucky knows that he can’t really speak since he’s gone most of the day, but even during the brief moments of time when he sees her before he goes to work and when he eats dinner with her– she’s much more animated.
She picks at her food during lunch, even though it’s chicken nuggets. He doesn’t think that she’s playing with her food, but Bucky watches as she skins the poor nuggets of its crust before she decides to slowly eat them. Bucky even gives her an ice cream sandwich that she looks solemnly at as she eats.
Rebecca doesn’t even pay attention to the cartoon that he puts on for her. Avatar. He even watches it with her. He hates to admit it, but it is pretty damn entertaining. He’ll have to tell you when you get home that you were right. He asked Rebecca what element she would like to have as a superpower and she just shrugged at him as she picked at her nails.
Bucky tried playing a board game with her. She didn’t argue with him, but she wasn’t paying attention to him or the game. She wasn’t into it or anything at all. There wasn’t any fire in her eyes.
Rebecca was sad, and he didn’t understand why.
When dinner rolled around, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. She was poking at her chow mein that he ordered because she mentioned that she wanted noodles ,and he was a shit cook that couldn’t compare to you. He didn’t want to feed Rebecca inedible food.
“Becks,” he said, putting down his chopsticks. “What’s going on?”
His eyes widened when her eyes began to well up with tears. He immediately reached for the napkins on the table– square napkins that were in a napkin holder that you bought for him. In fact, there were even tablemats and coasters on the table that weren’t there before you came into his life.
“I miss my Momma,” she wailed.
Bucky got out of his seat, pulling Rebecca’s chair out of the table so he could properly look at her. He kneeled beside her, wiping her tears as she cried. He held the napkin to her nose as she blew into it, hiccuping and sobbing.
An idea popped into his head.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bucky asked. “For your Momma to be gone?”
“No– NO!” she cried loudly, shaking her head. Then, she looked conflicted. “I… I mean… I thought I did…”
“Rebecca. What did you really want?” Bucky asked, taking her little hands in his.
“My teacher… and my classmates told me that family meant blood. And that my Momma can’t be my family because she’s– she’s not blood. So.. So I came to look for you… And I really… really like you… but I love my Momma more,” Rebecca managed to stammer out between sobs and sniffles, her little body violently shaking between each hiccup.
Bucky let out a small laugh, rubbing her back as he grabbed another napkin off the table to help wipe her tears again.
“I really like you, too, Becks,” he promised. “And I know your mom loves you so much. I’m really glad that you found me. Thank you.”
“Really?” she whispered, looking at him. “I… I wasn’t annoying?”
“'Course not,” he chuckled. “I really enjoyed having you around. I’ll miss you when you’re gone. Both you and your mom. But right now– you wanna go home, don’t you?”
She didn’t hesitate to nod, “Yeah… I wanna go home, Bucky. Can you take me?”
Bucky smiled at her, even though something in his chest broke a little bit. He wiped away the last bit of her tears as he let out a breath.
“Alright, kiddo. Let’s finish dinner. I’ll take you back home.”
Rebecca’s mood instantly skyrocketed from there, as Bucky’s mood plummeted. He did his best to hide it. He put Rebecca to bed, and sat in the living room with his face buried between his hands, shrouded by darkness.
He tried to go to sleep, but his body wouldn’t let him. Then again, he knew that sleep would only make the inevitable come by faster– that he would be alone so much quicker. Either way, the sun came up, and Rebecca got up early on her own.
Rebecca showered, got dressed, and packed the Hello Kitty backpack that she came with.
Bucky couldn’t help but smile when he saw her with it.
He got her situated in his car, then input the address to your house that he pulled from the background check that he did on you almost a full month ago. He found a radio station that played some kid friendly songs that Rebecca seemed to know, the little girl singing along happily to each word. She even teased him for not knowing any of the words. When she got tired and fell asleep, Bucky ended up in his own head.
The three hour drive soon passed by him quickly, and he was pulling into your driveway. Your house was cute. It was one story, with a front and backyard. White picket fence with a mailbox. Your car was parked in the driveway, and you were coming out of the front door. Your eyes fell on Bucky’s car, then on Rebecca, who was already unbuckling herself and throwing herself at you as quickly as she could.
“Momma!” she cried, running to you.
You caught her as she jumped on you, stumbling backwards slightly. Bucky got out of the car, seeing your bewildered look.
“Hi, baby,” you said, holding her head to your chest. “What– what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry for being mean to you,” she whined, tears in her eyes. “I want to stay here. With you– I really do love you. I’m sorry!”
You blinked at her, still confused, but hugged her tight to your body. You looked over at Bucky, who gave you a smile and a nod.
“She missed you,” Bucky said. “She asked me to take her home.”
You let out a breath, still trying to process everything. You stood up, ruffling Rebecca’s hair as you unlocked the front door to let the kid inside. She ran inside as you turned to Bucky, who grabbed her little backpack to deliver to you.
“Thank you,” you said, still a little breathless.
“Of course,” he chuckled. “How’d your presentation go?”
“I’m actually on my way to it. I’ll have to drop her off at my neighbors– anyway. Um… Come visit for Christmas?”
Bucky stared at you for a little bit longer, taking in your appearance. You were in work attire right now. It was different from how he was used to seeing you in his apartment– he decided he enjoyed the oversized t-shirts and the cotton shorts much more than the pantsuits, but you were still pretty like this, too.
“I’ll text you,” he nodded, giving you a smile.
“Yeah. Text me,” you smiled back. “Stay safe, Bucky.”
“Yeah… Bye,” he said.
You didn’t correct his parting words as he turned around towards his car.
Bucky didn’t let himself linger on your street. He refused to. He didn’t have a place here, as much as his heart wanted him to stay here. You were only in his life for twenty-three days. That’s all it was. He told himself that he was silly for growing attached to you, to Rebecca.
He kept telling himself that as he cleaned up the board game pieces in his apartment, and as he carefully sorted the lego blocks in a way that Rebecca would be able to still be able to build the puzzle she was making according to the directions.
Bucky continued to tell himself that he would get over the darkness of his apartment as he moved all of your toiletries to the cabinet under his sink where he couldn’t see it. He lied to himself that you didn’t make a lasting impression on his brain as he rolled over on his bed to where you slept– to where he could still smell your perfume on his pillow.
“What the fuck is wrong with you these days?” Yelena demanded as they got off the loading dock. “You look like some kind of abused puppy.”
Bucky rolled his eyes as he began to remove his gear. “The fuck are you talking about?” he grunted.
“You don’t go home early anymore. Sometimes you don’t go home period. Did your secret girlfriend break up with you?” John guessed.
Bucky frowned. “I didn’t and don’t have a girlfriend. Who came up with that?”
“We just made up theories,” Ava said.
“And your theory was that I had a girlfriend?” Bucky sighed.
“You left the tower early, came to work everyday in a good mood, and you brought a home packed lunch everyday,” Yelena deadpanned. “So yeah. Girlfriend.”
“We thought you were getting laid!” Alexei boomed with laughter.
Bucky’s scowl deepened, and he rubbed his fingers over his eyes. He was getting a headache. Bucky was trying and failing at attempting to drown out the boisterous talk around him as his teammates attempt to come up with conspiracies on why he’s been going home earlier this past month.
“Do you think he’s been broken up with?” John asked Ava.
“Within a month? No way,” Ava scoffed. “I mean, he’s Barnes, but he’s still a handsome man.”
“Bob, what do you think?” John asked, turning to him.
“Um… Maybe they got into a fight?” the man added in nervously. “Maybe Bucky’s tryna let her cool off?”
“A fight for this long though? He hasn’t gone home early in like, a week!” John exclaimed.
“Not manly,” Alexei clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “A man should own up to his mistakes and face his woman accordingly!”
Bucky wanted to go home.
Home to what though?
There were no board games to play with Rebecca if dinner wasn’t done in time. He wouldn’t be able to listen to Rebecca’s nonstop tirade on what Hello Kitty character of the week is her favorite since her little eight year old mind can’t decide on a single one to keep.
Bucky would have to stare at the lopsidedly taped drawings on the wall that Rebecca taped up– drawings of the three of them that she proudly showed him when he came home. Art that was all over his walls, the main decoration of his place.
He wouldn’t be able to put Rebecca to bed tonight.
You wouldn’t greet him when he came through the door either. You wouldn’t smile at him with the same warmth you always do. You wouldn’t be there to sit with him after dinner and chat with him until the late hours of the night and keep him company to talk about nothing and everything at the same time. You weren’t there to giggle with him as you drank maybe a little too much, your thigh brushing against his as you sat next to him on the couch as you both pretended to watch something on the TV together.
You wouldn’t be there in the early hours of the morning, hair slightly messy as you make him lunch– lunch that the team teases him about because they once saw the sticky note that had an encouraging message written on it in your handwriting that you include with every single lunch you pack for him. At some point, you started drawing a single heart with each note, too.
There was no point in going home to an empty apartment after he knows how good it can be to return home to a warm one.
“Barnes.”
“What?” he snapped, looking at Yelena.
“Go on a vacation.”
“What?” he repeated, eyebrows furrowing at her.
“I’m not gonna ask you for any details,” she started, “Whatever is going on isn’t messing with the job right now, but it sure as hell might do it soon– so figure out your life before you start fucking up on missions. I’ll make sure Val doesn’t ask about you.”
Bucky knew Yelena– this was a nice way of her telling him to fix whatever went wrong. He let out a breath. Without another word, he turned away.
The doorbell ringing throughout your house makes you look up from your laptop. You check the time– it’s only seven. Rebecca’s at a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight, and you’re not expecting any guests.
You make your way to the front of the house, checking the camera. Your heartbeat quickens as the screen lights up with a familiar face. You rip the door open immediately.
“Bucky?” you asked, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey,” he greeted you, albeit a little awkwardly. “Nice to see you, too.”
“I mean– yeah. Nice to see you. Come in.”
You step aside to let him in, watching him take in the surroundings of your house briefly. Then, he clears his throat, eyes settling on you again. Suddenly, you feel bare even though you’ve worn similar clothes in front of him before.
“Where’s Rebecca?” he asked, shifting on his feet.
“She’s at a friend’s house tonight. Sleepover,” you answered. “Sorry to disappoint. She would’ve been happy to see you.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I–uh… I came to see you, actually,” he confessed.
Your lips parted, eyes searching all over his face again. He’s not lying. He’s staring right at you, and you’re getting lost in his eyes. You quickly pull yourself away to turn towards the kitchen.
“Want something to drink? Water? Beer?” you asked, opening the fridge and pulling out two bottles of beer prematurely. “I haven’t cooked anything yet, but are you hungry for anything?”
“Just you,” he answered.
You paused for a moment, wondering if you heard him correctly. Then, you straighten. The silence is heavy as you feel his eyes on your back. It’s burning you, but not in a bad way. It’s not desire, not lust. You can’t describe the feeling that he’s emanating right now.
You take in a deep breath before you turn around, placing the bottles on the table.
“Can you open these with your metal hand or do I need to get the bottle opener?” you asked, looking at him again.
“I got it,” he murmured, reaching for them. Both of the bottles were opened with ease, and he handed you the first one, your fingertips brushing against each other as the drink passed between you two.
You watch as he brings the rim to his lips at the same time you do, both of you taking a long, slow drink together. It goes down your throat in a burn that you’ve never felt before.
“What did you mean by that?” you finally asked, wetting your lips nervously. “What do you mean.. me?”
“Exactly what I said,” he replied, eyes never leaving your face. “You. I want you.”
You closed your eyes, letting out a breath. “Bucky, I told you that I don’t do–”
“And I will be here for you and Rebecca. That is not a problem for me,” he cut you off immediately, putting the bottle down on the table to place his hands on your shoulders. “You don’t understand. The last week and a half have been absolute hell for me. You showed me what a home is, and it’s gone. I miss it. I miss you, and I miss Rebecca. I know that you are a package deal. I know where you are, Rebecca is.”
“Do you miss me, or do you miss the home that I gave you?” you asked wearily.
“Sweetheart, you are home,” he whispered, stressing the words. Your chest squeezed at his confession. “I thought I was going crazy. I thought– I tried to envision somebody else. I couldn’t. It had to be you. I don’t think it can be anyone else. I need it to be you greeting me. Am I– was I the only one who thought there was something between us?”
You want to run away. You want to lie to him and tell him that he made it all up in his head. But you’ve been thinking about him, too.
You made too much food the past week and a half. You’ve accidentally made his serving without thinking about it. You’ve been waking up earlier than you need to because you still think about making him lunch, and you go to work wondering if he ate a substantial dinner.
Other than food– you wonder if he’s lonely. He told you that he was. He told you that you and Rebecca made him less lonely. And he made you less lonely the days that you spent with him, too.
“It’s not just my heart that you would break,” you whispered, repeating the same words that you said to him before.
“I would never,” he promised.
“You said that it would be selfish of you to be in a relationship with someone because of your job,” you told him.
“This past month showed me that I could manage,” he said, shaking his head. “I came home to you every night, didn’t I?”
He had a point.
You bit your lip, still hesitating. You were scared. Terrified. Bucky could see it in your eyes. His hands slid from your shoulders down your arms and to your hands, squeezing them comfortingly.
“We don’t have to tell Rebecca right away, if that makes you feel better. We can feel it out. See if this works. And if it doesn’t– then she’ll never know. I know that’s your main worry,” he said, brushing his hands over your knuckles. “But please believe me when I say I would never do anything to hurt either of you.”
You know that wouldn’t be fair to Rebecca. Hell, that wouldn’t be fair to Bucky.
The two of them have bonded so well over the short time that they’ve known each other that it’s almost scary. Bucky mentioned that he didn’t have the facilities to raise a kid, but he did pretty damn well with running after her.
She hung off his vibranium arm more times than you could count. You watched as he did push-ups and she sat on his back giggling. There were times where she helped him load the dishwasher. They watched cartoons together, and she would explain the plot of the episode, and he would sit there and genuinely listen to every single word that came from her mouth.
“I don’t want to hide anything from her,” you said, sighing softly, squeezing his hands back. “Besides, I was planning on quitting my job. Do you want to hire me as your actual personal assistant? Do you think me and Becks could just move into your apartment for real this time?”
Bucky’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“I fucking hate my boss, Bucky,” you said, smiling at him. “I was your pseudo-assistant and all you had me do was buy pillows and spend your money on groceries. It was a pretty good gig. I mean, of course, if you need my resume, it’s pretty good. I can print it out for you.”
“I mean– us. You’re giving us a chance?” he asked, still in shock.
You smile wider at him. “Should I add my feelings for you on the resume?”
Bucky stared at you for a few moments before his hands cradled your face, his lips pressing against yours before you even realized it. You let out a small laugh against him, feeling him smile against you as your arms wrapped around him.
Soon, you were pressed between the counter and the solid muscle that was Bucky. His hands were on your waist, holding you close to him as you held onto his jacket, pulling him into you as you angled your head to make him kiss you deeper.
It was almost effortless, the way your tongue met his. You’re not even sure who’s mouth opened first, but you didn’t really care. The first moan that came out was his, though. You were hungry to hear more. You rose on your toes, pressing harder into him as a hand splayed against your back. You briefly let go of his jacket to start shoving it down his arms. He let you.
“Shit,” he grunted as you broke the kiss trail kiss down his neck, a second hand moving to cradle the back of your head against him. “Sweetheart, where’s your bedroom?”
“Down the hall, last door to the left,” you whispered into his skin right before he hooked his hands under your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips.
Just like you thought, he picked you up like you were nothing.
He carried you over to your room as you continued to pepper kisses against his neck, nipping and biting at his skin as he hummed in enjoyment. Once he got to your bed, he laid you down in the middle of it, kneeled between your legs.
“One of my pillows still smells like you,” he muttered, hands finding your waist again. “Your entire room smells like you.”
“Is that bad?” you whispered back.
“No. Drove me crazy. I missed you so much,” he sighed, his hands dipping under your shirt. “Is this okay?”
“I haven’t done anything like this in a really long time, Bucky,” you confessed, meeting his eyes. “Might be a little awkward.”
He smiled a bit, bending down over you to press a kiss to your forehead, your nose, then a sweet kiss to your lips. Bucky pulled away to look you in the eyes.
“It’s okay,” he promised. “It’s been a long time for me, too.”
Your stomach flipped with anticipation as he pulled your shirt off your body, eyes beginning to trail all over your bare torso. He cursed under his breath, and you felt goosebumps raise where his hands ghosted over your skin. He wasn’t touching you fully, not yet.
Then, Bucky descended, catching you in an open mouthed kiss as his hands finally closed over your breasts, kneading them. You let out a soft moan against his lips as his fingertips rolled a stiff nipple with one hand while his tongue licked into your mouth.
“It’s already hard,” he muttered, pulling away from your lips.
“Because you’re touching me!” you complained, your chest rising and falling unevenly. Bucky chuckles above you, kissing your jaw.
“You’re cute when you’re needy,” he said. “Are you wet, too?”
You can’t answer him– he’s already searching for the answer himself. His flesh hand is dipped under your shorts and underwear, parting your folds and humming in delight at his discovery. You, on the other hand, are at his disposal.
“Bucky,” you whispered, hands grabbing onto his shoulders.
“I got you,” he murmured, biting at your neck gently before soothing the wound with his tongue.
You’re deliciously overwhelmed within moments. He still has his face in your neck, his metal hand teasing your breast and nipple, and the other hand between your legs, fingers just barely poking at your entrance where you want him most. He’s messing with you, you realize. He can feel your pulse from where his lips are.
“Please, Bucky,” you moaned– only to feel his fingers press into you a moment later.
“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he chuckled into your ear.
“You’re such an asshole,” you gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulders as he finds a lazy pace to fuck you with his fingers.
“And you look so pretty like this,” he said, eyes scanning over your figure beneath him. You could only imagine what you looked like right now. Flustered, with his hand in your shorts, one breast being grabbed by his metal hand. You must look like a work of art to him.
Another moan escapes your throat as his finger crooks just slightly, eyes falling shut.
“Oh my God– more–” your words come out broken as he fulfills your request without another word, a second finger joining in to press in and out of you faster. Your hips buck up slightly to meet his hand, a shiver rushing through your body as you feel pressure building up in your stomach.
“There you go,” he whispered, and you take a moment to look at him. His eyes are blown out– dark. You almost can’t see the stormy grey blue eyes with how he’s looking at you right now. Your eyes trail down his body, and you can see him straining against his jeans. “Feels good?”
“Fuck– yes. Feels really good,” you forced out, a moan following your words.
He smiles in delight at your response, fingers curling ever so slightly and hitting that slightly spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars behind your eyes. Your back arches and he takes note– and his fingers quickens.
You can’t moan. No noises escape you as your walls clamp down on his fingers, eyes closing tight as you cum all over his fingers. Bucky lets out a moan above you, getting off at you getting off. His fingers never stop, continuing to massage you through your high.
Your body trembles slightly as he finally pulls out, and you watch him lick his fingers clean. You have never seen a hotter, more sensual sight in your entire life.
“Bucky,” you whispered, breathing a bit heavier. “Take your pants off already.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, swallowing thickly. “If we start–”
“Oh my God, fuck me already,” you cut him off, reaching for his belt.
A laugh escapes his lips as he moves to help your shaking hands, tossing the belt to the side of your bed. He removes his shirt next. As he throws his pants and underwear off, you do the same, and he’s above you within the next few moments.
You don’t give him a chance to breathe before your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling his body down against yours. You like the feel of his bare body against yours. It’s warm in a way that you’ve never felt before. Comfortable and hard– safe.
His lips are on yours in an instant as he situates himself between your legs once more. You feel the tip of him press against you, spreading your folds just slightly. He’s hesitating.
You grind your hips against him as you continue to kiss him, humming softly. You want him. You want this.
Bucky lets out a small sigh against you, and finally slides home.
Both of you let out a moan into each other’s mouths.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky groaned, breaking the kiss. His forehead is pressed against yours. “You’re just swallowing me up– you’re so tight. Thought I stretched you out.”
“Told you– I haven’t done this in a long time,” you whispered back, a broken moan falling from your lips as he pushed in more of his length.
The stretch doesn’t hurt. In fact, you’re loving every moment of it. You feel every inch of him, every groove and every vein of his cock entering you. It’s addicting. He’s addicting. When his hips are finally flush against yours, you feel impossibly full. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this feeling.
“Nice and slow,” he grunted, and you nod deliriously in agreement as he takes the first thrust.
It’s heaven.
You’re falling apart, and Bucky is putting you back together just as fast with each slow roll of his hips against yours. He’s whispering praises to you as you hold onto him, but you can’t focus on his words right now. All you can focus on is the steady movement of his hips hitting yours, the sound of your own heartbeat, the feel of his heartbeat against your chest, and the way he looks at you with so much affection in your eyes that it makes you melt into the sheets beneath you.
“God, you’re so pretty,” you slur out the words, a bit breathless.
Bucky lets out a small laugh, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart stutter. He does look so pretty. There’s a light sheen of sweat that’s covering his body right now. His muscles are rippling with each thrust into your body, and his arms are flexed as he holds onto your waist to keep you in place.
“You don’t even know what you look like right now. It’s taking everything in me not to go wild,” he whispered back. “Wanna savour the moment.”
He pulls out until just the tip of his cock is left inside of you before thrusting back deep into you in one fluid motion, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips part in a noiseless moan.
“God– you liked that?” he grunted, and you nodded, opening your eyes to look at him. “I could tell– you clenched around me so hard I almost came right then and there.”
“Again,” you whimpered, grabbing onto his wrists for stability. “Do it again.”
“I don’t think I can last very long if I keep doing that, sweetheart,” he admitted.
“Neither can I– please?” you begged.
“Fuck,” he cursed, biting his lip as he tried collecting himself. “Where? Baby, where?”
“In me, on me– I don’t care,” you babbled, shaking your head. “Please, please, just hurry–”
He cut you off with another deep roll of his hips, capturing your lips once again. You couldn’t even kiss him back with the way he was fucking into you. It was slow, deep– but he was hitting everywhere that you could’ve ever needed. You were tightening around him, and you knew he was feeling it, the way his hips stuttered slightly, and hands tightened at your waist.
Bucky’s head dropped to your neck, your arms wrapping around his shoulders once more as his thrusts got sloppier, his hands moving to grab your thighs and fold them against your body. You gasped beneath him, clenching around him.
“Bucky– shit–”
“Yes, yes, I know. I got you,” he moaned into your neck, one hand moving between you to rub tight circles into your clit– and you were done for.
You were a mess beneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his fingers and hips never stopped. You felt his body shiver above you a few moments later as he groaned in your ear, and you felt an irreplaceable warmth fill your body as his hips came to a slow, cock twitching inside of you.
Bucky collapsed above you, though he kept most of his weight off of you as he tried catching his breath. Both of you were entirely spent. Eventually, he rolled over on his side, and pulled you into his chest with a satisfied sigh. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Then, you felt him tilt your head up to meet his lips once more. You feel his hands rest against your back, pulling you closer to him. You find that you don’t want to be anywhere else.
“I promise I’ll make you and Rebecca happy,” he murmured, lips barely pulled away from yours. “I’ll find a new apartment so Becky can have her own room.”
“You wanna cuddle with me at night, Bucky?” you ask, smiling against his lips. “Don’t wanna sleep on the couch anymore?”
“Hell no,” he snorted. “Why would I?”
You let out a laugh, pressing another quick kiss to his lips as you settle your head onto his arm. He watches you, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. There really is no mistaking the amount of affection that he has for you in his eyes.
“She’ll probably call you dad in a few months,” you whispered, watching his face to see how he’ll take it.
“She can call me whatever the hell she wants as long as it’s not grandpa,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. Despite the sass, there’s a smile on his face that he doesn’t bother to hide.
masterlist
taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla
let me know if you would like to be added/removed to a general bucky taglist :)
For all those out there who have family or parents that don’t accept you for who you are I’m here for you. I will be your family. I will be your mom. I will never judge you. My inbox is always open. I’m here for you. Support you. You are loved.
this is going around twitter rn but im also super curious: please tell me your top four comfort movies that you’re always down to watch bc my friend thinks mine are ridiculous and now we’ve realised everyone’s version of “comfort” is hilariously different
Summary: You’re struggling with feeling beautiful as you get older, and Jack is not amused.
Warning: SMUT(18+MDNI), established relationship (y’all married with teen kids), you and jack are around the same age, jack is the perfect husband and obsessed with his wife, sassy AF dana (love her), pet names, language, alcohol, angst? (low key its just readers internal thoughts being all over the place), insecurity, mentions of aging, mentions of botox and cosmetic procedures, casual dominance (or moreso jack is not gonna let you talk down about yourself), mentions of sex toys, oral sex (m – receiving), praise, dirty talk, flirting, married banter, domesticity, fluff, did I mention jack is perfect!? implied sex (they are gonna have a looooong night y’all)
A/N: Parents deserve hot sex. Ok, real talk, I’ve been really nervous about this one, because I’ve spent way too much on it (pretty sure I started this in November and then paused). I really struggled with dialogue (making Jack perfect takes time), and finally, I spent the last few days wrapping up a scene I was super stuck on. dividers as always by @saradika-graphics.
Jack’s brother was recently divorced and was dating a 25 year‑old, and he had invited her to Robby’s cookout event. You really did try to connect with her. There was nothing wrong with her at all; she was smart, kind, beautiful, and genuinely lovely to be around. But every time you talked, you couldn’t shake the quiet little voice in the back of your mind whispering that she probably thought you were so old. Not in a mean way—just in that unbridgeable, generational gap way that made you suddenly aware of every reference, every memory, and every piece of life you lived before she was even born.
You grew up during one of the most chaotic, colorful, and culture defining periods. It was objectively the best of times. You remember MTV when it actually played music videos, not just endless reality shows. You lived through the TRL era, counting down the top hits and feeling like you knew every artist personally. Bad fashion was a big part of your life too… wearing glitter gel, butterfly clips, chokers, tube tops, and low-rise jeans without shame. You watched Titanic in theaters when it was a phenomenon (not a meme), and you absolutely remember sitting there thinking, Seriously, Rose? You could’ve scooted over an inch. Jack could’ve fit on that damn dresser.
You remember the boy bands fighting for space on every radio station and lived through the full pop‑princess explosion. You were there for the golden age of R&B and hip‑hop, with artists like Aaliyah, and Tupac defining the scene and pushing boundaries. You watched teen TV explode with Buffy saving the world, and you laughed every single time Jazz got thrown out of the house on Fresh Prince. You cried real tears when Ross messed up in the worst way. Sure, he and Rachel were 'on a break,' but it was still complete bullshit.
You lived through the rise of the internet from scratchy dial‑up tones to full‑blown Wi‑Fi, watched Google go from 'a weird new search thing' to the center of the universe, survived AOL chat rooms, MySpace, and watched Facebook launch. Your childhood included witnessing historic moments like the fall of the Berlin Wall, the O.J. trial as a middle‑schooler, Columbine as a teen, and the Y2K panic as a young adult—when everyone thought computers might explode at midnight. And as you grew into adulthood, the world shifted…more dramatically when 9/11 happened. You were old enough then to understand the weight of what was happening and to feel everything change in real time.
You and Jack had lived enough life for your twins to swear you were ancient, yet ironically they thought you were super cool for still having all your original game consoles. They and their friends definitely played with them every chance they got.
You didn’t feel your age at all, but your body loved to remind you every chance it got. Recently, you had really been noticing the fine lines and wrinkles around your eyes and mouth. The laugh lines that once brought you joy now seemed like a sign of aging you couldn't escape. You thought about the cuts and bruises that seemed to take longer to heal now, the grey hairs that stubbornly would appear despite your best efforts to mask them by dying your hair and getting highlights. You knew that you were at a different stage in your life, a stage that came with its own beauty and grace. However, seeing young girls with their flawless skin and toned bodies seemed to mock your own imperfections.
So when Dana drifted over, plate in hand, and nodded toward Jack’s brother and his new girlfriend, you knew exactly where this was going. Dana never tiptoed around anything—years in the ER had carved her into a straight‑shooter with a dry wit sharp enough to cut through steel. You’d known Dana for about ten years now, since you, Jack, and the kids left Boston after he got the job offer at PTMC.
"Let me guess," she muttered, eyes narrowing just slightly. "He’s in love."
You tried not to say much. Who were you to judge their relationship? Sometimes age gap relationships worked, sometimes they didn’t, and it wasn’t your place to weigh in—especially not here, where your kids were not so far away, and had no business overhearing adult commentary about their uncle’s love life.
Dana watched your careful silence and huffed a small, knowing breath. "Relax. I’m not asking you to spill family secrets. I’m just saying…it’s predictable." Her tone was blunt, but not rude. Just Dana being Dana…and very allergic to sugarcoating.
You shrugged, keeping your voice neutral. "They met at work."
Dana rolled her eyes. "Of course they did. They always do."
"What do you mean?" you asked, since you knew that Dana didn’t gossip, but she also didn’t pretend not to see what was right in front of her. Then she leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice. "Robby’s dating a resident."
You nearly choked. "What? Who?" Dana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her chin toward the cluster of residents gathering near the grill. "Her." Your eyes followed her gesture, landing on a young woman laughing with a group of interns.
"He’s in love," Dana said, repeating her earlier line with thick sarcasm. "That’s all I’m saying." Then she made a zipping motion across her lips. "Secret."
"Does Jack know?"
"Yeah. Probably," Dana said with a shrug.
Why hadn’t he told you?
More residents started drifting into the yard, conversations rising and overlapping as the cookout filled out. You tried to stay focused on Dana, but your attention kept snagging on one person in particular.
Dr. Mohan.
You hated that you’d been aware of her presence for weeks. She was in her late twenties and beautiful in that effortless, unfair way that youth seemed to just fucking provide. She was sharp, confident, and competent, which were all qualities that made her stand out. She was also a doctor who worked with your husband every single day, spending hours with him during long shifts and late-night consults. But more than anything, she was the resident he talked about the most because he admired her work ethic.
You knew she viewed him as a mentor, and you genuinely believed that. But sometimes, in the quiet corners of your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if she also appreciated what your husband looked like. You weren’t fucking blind…your husband was fine as hell, and he’d aged like the kind of man who only got better with time. Part of it was genetics, but a lot of it was the way he lived. He was ex‑military, disciplined to his core, the kind of man who still woke up early without an alarm and actually liked going to the gym. He took care of himself, stayed strong, stayed sharp, and it showed in every line of his body and every bit of that handsome face. You remembered when he’d been self‑conscious years ago about the grey coming in, and you’d had absolutely no problem showing him just how much it drove you wild. It was honestly unfair how good he looked for a man that was the big 5-0.
And the world noticed. The patients at the hospital definitely noticed. Sometimes, the moms at school would look at him with 'fuck me' eyes that it seemed like their pussy’s were practically melting. And as for younger women? They didn’t even bother being subtle. More than once, you’d overheard someone blatantly call him a DILF, much to your daughter’s absolute horror. She’d practically melted into the floor the first time it happened.
So when Dr. Mohan spotted Jack across the yard and lit up with a bright smile, your stomach tightened. Her skin seemed to glow without trying. No dark circles. No exhaustion etched into the corners of her eyes. She walked straight over to him, greeting him warmly, and the two of them slipped into easy conversation. You didn’t want to be the wife who started side‑eyeing every young, pretty coworker… but here you were, margarita in hand, downing the entire thing in one go.
"You trying to get a hangover?" Dana’s eyes tracked the empty glass as you set it down a little too firmly.
"Hydration is overrated," you muttered, reaching for the salt rim with your thumb like you could somehow lick your dignity back into place.
"Yeah, well, so is vomiting in public."
"I’m not drunk."
"Yet..." she said, folding her arms.
"Ha-ha."
"You only drink like that when something’s chewing on you."
"It’s a cookout," you said, shrugging. "I’m just… relaxing."
"Rough week at work?"
"Long week." It was honest, maybe more than you intended it to be, and it felt heavier than you expected. Working as a PT meant putting in long hours every day. There were always stories to listen to and lists of people who needed your patience and positivity, even when you were running on empty. This week, all of that had finally caught up with you, leaving you completely drained.
"What do you think it is?" you asked, eyes locked on Robby and his new companion.
Dana followed your stare, then looked back at you. "What?"
"Why men," you said, lowering your voice but not your irritation, "…when they hit a certain age, suddenly decide a woman twenty or twenty-five years younger than them is their soulmate."
"Could be a dozen things," Dana said. "Ego boost. Panic about aging. Wanting to feel relevant. Sometimes it’s about control. Sometimes it’s about novelty. Sometimes it’s just plain old insecurity dressed up as chemistry." She took a sip of her drink, eyes still on you. "Or," she added, "maybe they just like being admired again. And having something shiny."
"Hmm."
"And… sometimes it is the real deal." She shrugged, thoughtful. "Robby’s 54. I hope he finds his person soon, honestly. I really do." Her voice wasn’t judgmental…just tired, and maybe a little protective. You looked back at Jack and Dr. Mohan again, the two of them still talking, and you must’ve been staring harder than you realized, because then Dana’s voice cut in.
"Just because some men chase shiny things doesn’t mean they all do," Dana gently bumped your arm gently, as if to offer some silent reassurance.
Jack drove with one hand gripping the steering wheel, while his other rested warmly and solidly on your thigh. Every so often he’d reach over, catch your hand in his, and lift it to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of it. He and your son were caught up in a lively sports debate, voices bouncing back and forth with a kind of enthusiasm that only they could sustain after a long day. They discussed stats, players, predictions, and they were so engrossed that you lost the thread about thirty seconds in. Still, the sound of their voices was familiar and soothing.
Meanwhile, your daughter was curled up in the backseat, completely absorbed in her book. You had no idea how she managed to stay so focused. You’d always admired that about her because you couldn’t even glance at a text message while the car was moving without feeling nauseous.
Suddenly, your son’s phone vibrated, cutting through his conversation with Jack. He glanced down, grinned, and immediately twisted in his seat to show the screen to your daughter, who immediately abandoned her book to lean in. Whatever teenage drama he had pulled up made her snort with laughter and shove his shoulder playfully. The two of them then slipped into their own little world.
"Hey," Jack said quietly, just for you. "You’re awfully quiet over there."
You turned towards him, pulled from your thoughts. "I’m just tired."
"Yeah?" he murmured with quiet concern. His hand slipped from your thigh and came up to the back of your neck, his fingers warm as they rubbed gently at the tense muscles there.
"Dad," your son said, still scrolling, "Manuel’s having a bunch of guys from the team over tonight to celebrate the end of the year, so I’m probably just gonna spend the night. Can you guys just drop me off?"
The school year had just ended, and the twins had just finished their junior year. Time was flying, and this fall they would be applying to colleges, which felt surreal. Your son was a wonderful soccer player, so senior year would be critical for him, and he had a strong chance at receiving a soccer scholarship since he had already caught the eye of college scouts.
"Who’s going?" Jack asked, eyes flicking to the mirror.
"The usual," your son said.
"A bunch of the guys?" you repeated, lifting your hands to make air quotes around the phrase. "Are you sure it’s not a party?"
Your son groaned. "Okay, first of all, you’re using the air quotes wrong. You’re supposed to use them on one word, not the entire sentence." He shook his head dramatically. "Secondly, his parents will be there, so no, we will not be partaking in booze or drugs. At least not tonight," he added with a smirk.
Jack shot him a deadly look in the mirror. "Not funny," he grunted, in a way that shut down the joke instantly. Jack usually didn’t sweat the kids having a social life, never hovering, never butting in about who they hung out with or their late-night group chats. But because of the things he’d seen in the ER, the things he’d had to treat and sometimes couldn’t fix, he was also fiercely protective. Anything even faintly related to drugs or alcohol made him tense up. One minute, he was the relaxed, joking parent; the next, he was all sharp edges and quiet authority, the kind that came from years of watching preventable tragedies roll through trauma bays at 2 a.m.
"Oh yeah," you said, leaning back in your seat, "because high school 'gatherings'"—you exaggerated the single air‑quoted word—"are known for their sophisticated mocktail menus and engaging discussions on sobriety."
"Yeah, Mom, it’s gonna be super intense. We’re planning this deep philosophical debate on whether Gatorade counts as a performance enhancing drug," you son said, continuing his bit with you and playfully teasing back. He had definitely inherited your husband's sarcasm.
"Sure, bud, we’ll drop you off. Sounds like you boys will have fun," you confirmed.
Your daughter snorted, burying her face in her book again. Jack’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, softening instantly when they landed on her. "Hey, honey," he said, his voice shifting into that gentle tone he reserved only for her. Your daughter was his princess—always had been. She could do no wrong in his eyes, and honestly, you’d gotten lucky with her. She was responsible, thoughtful, and somehow managed to be a teenager without giving either of you ulcers.
"You still going to the movies with Sonia tonight?" he asked.
She looked up from her book, nodding. "Yeah. We’re gonna eat first and then head over." He hummed in acknowledgment, and she went right back to reading. Jack pulled into Manuel’s neighborhood about 10 minutes later, and Jack squeezed your thigh before slipping his hand away and stepping out of the car with your son. He always did the drop‑off properly, never just letting the kids tumble out and disappear. You watched Jack cross the short stretch of driveway, greeting Manuel’s parents who had just opened up the door.
Your son was already halfway inside, calling a quick "Bye!" over his shoulder, which earned him a pointed look from Jack that made him double back to wave properly. "Love you!" he called, this time directing it at you with a real smile before disappearing into the house, swallowed by the noise of teenage boys. Jack jogged lightly back to the car, slid in, and shut the door with a soft thud.
Back home, your daughter hopped out almost before the car stopped, ponytail bouncing as she jogged up the steps. A second later she darted back out, sweater in hand—except it wasn’t hers. It was unmistakably yours, the expensive cashmere knit you had recently purchased. She tugged it over her head as she passed you, already halfway to the driveway again. "Thanks, Mom," she chirped in that sweet, practiced voice she used whenever she wanted to avoid being interrogated about borrowing your clothes.
You raised an eyebrow, but she was already walking towards the shared car she and her brother used. Jack had wanted to get each of them their own car the moment they turned 16. They were going to be 17 this fall. Honestly, you could have done it; financially, it wouldn’t have been a stretch. But you were trying to raise kids who didn’t expect everything to be handed to them on a silver platter. It was a delicate balance. You’d grown up with so little that giving to your children felt almost like breathing. You and Jack loved spoiling them (well mostly Jack). You loved watching their faces light up when they received something special, and you cherished the opportunity to offer them the things you’d never had. Yet, at the same time, you wanted them to stay grounded. So, the compromise you arrived at was sharing one car. They had to alternate, negotiate, and learn to plan ahead, and in doing so, they grew a little more responsible every day.
She tossed her book into the passenger seat of her car, checked her phone, and called out, "Sonia’s already on her way—I’ll be back by eleven!"
Jack leaned out the window a little. "Seatbelt," he reminded, gentle but firm.
She rolled her eyes in that affectionate teenage way, then jogged back over to the driver’s side, leaned down and kissed Jack on the cheek, then crossed to your side and pressed a quick kiss to yours too.
"Love you both!" she said, hopping into her car and buckling up before pulling out of the driveway.
Jack locked the car while you followed him up the walkway, and as the door clicked shut behind him, the quiet of the house wrapped around you. Inside, Jack barely made it three steps into the house before veering straight toward the couch instead of the entryway bench. The shift in his gait was subtle, but you knew him well enough to recognize it instantly—his prosthetic was bothering him. Probably had been for a while, and he just hadn’t said anything with the kids in the car.
He lowered himself onto the cushions with a quiet exhale, already reaching to unclip the socket. You were moving before he even asked, crossing to the cabinet where you kept his extra balm. By the time he eased the prosthetic off and set it beside him, you were kneeling at his side with the jar in hand. You scooped a bit onto your fingers and gently worked it into the irritated skin, slow and careful, the way he liked it when the spot was tender. His shoulders softened almost immediately, the tension easing out of him as your touch soothed the pressure point.
When you finished, you grabbed his crutches from where they leaned against the wall and brought them over. He took them with one hand and reached for you with the other, pulling you in just enough to press a warm, grateful kiss to your lips.
"Thank you, baby," he murmured.
You brushed your fingers along his arm in response before heading for the stairs. Halfway up, you were already tugging your shirt over your head. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were shedding the rest and kicking off your jeans, unclasping your bra, letting everything fall into a small pile on the floor.
As you stepped into the bathroom, the overhead light flickered on automatically. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t that you didn’t recognize the woman staring back; rather, you suddenly saw her so clearly. You noticed the faint stretch marks at your hips and the way your stomach wasn’t as flat as it used to be. Lower down, barely visible unless you looked closely, was the thin line of your cesarean scar, tucked beneath your pubic bone, yet tonight it somehow felt more noticeable.
Steam filled the bathroom as you stepped under the hot water, letting it beat against your shoulders until your muscles finally loosened. The shower was the one place you could hide for a minute—no kids, no noise, no mirrors. Just heat and the hope that it might wash off the heaviness clinging to you.
A few minutes later, you heard the bathroom door open, and Jack’s familiar footsteps and crutches moving closer.
"My love," Jack called over the sound of the water. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"
You pushed wet hair back from your face. "Honestly? I’ve got a headache. I’m not really hungry."
There was a brief pause, then the shower door cracked open just enough for him to peek inside. He wasn’t trying to invade your privacy, just checking in because that’s what he did. You startled at the sight of him, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest. You didn’t even know why since he had seen you naked like this a million times…but your reaction was immediate, almost panicked.
Jack froze, his eyes widening in a way that wasn’t harsh, but definitely hit with more force than you expected. If anything, there was a flicker of something almost like hurt there, quickly swallowed by concern. He didn’t step closer or push the door open any farther; he actually eased back half an inch, like he was trying to give you space without making a big deal of it.
"Sweetheart, look at me for a second. What’s going on?"
"Nothing," you replied quickly, lowering your arms. "I think I just had a little too much to drink at Robby’s. That’s all."
He studied you through the steam, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure?"
"I’m fine," you insisted, forcing a small smile. "Just going to take some Tylenol and try to sleep early."
"Tylenol’s fine, but I want to know what you’re actually feeling. Is it just a headache? Or are you feeling any nausea? Any vision changes?"
Having a doctor for a husband meant concern was Jack’s default setting. He couldn’t not assess. He couldn’t not worry. He kept scanning your face for clues, and so to ease his concern, you leaned forward just enough to press a light kiss to his mouth. Warm droplets from your hair and eyelashes landed on his cheeks and nose. You reached up and brushed your thumb along the water on his cheek. "It’s just a headache, Dr. Abbot," you said, letting the teasing edge into your voice.
A small sense of relief washed over him, just a hint of it. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension between his brows eased. You reached out and gently cupped his cheek, and he leaned into your touch. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he tilted his head enough to press a slow kiss into the center of your hand.
"You know I worry. Especially when you don’t look like yourself.
Something in his phrasing hooked into you before you could stop it. You don’t look like yourself.
You knew what he meant. You knew. He meant tired. Off. Withdrawn. Not your usual energy. That seemed like the logical explanation. Yet, somehow, your mind twisted the meaning, distorting it into something else.
You don’t look like yourself. Meaning what? Older? Less put‑together? Less… attractive?
Fuck, you hadn’t been working out the way you used to. Between the kids, work, the house—your routine had slipped. And you’d told yourself it was fine, that you were fine, that Jack didn’t care about any of that. But the second his words brushed against that raw place inside you, your mind went spiraling somewhere else entirely.
Perhaps you really didn’t look quite like yourself lately. Maybe you did appear a little older, more tired, worn down in ways you hadn’t really noticed until now. Once that thought crept in, other doubts and ideas started to follow.
Maybe it was time to do something about it. Not necessarily for Jack (at least, that’s what you told yourself). A spa day sounded tempting…maybe a facial or some kind of treatment to help you feel refreshed again. Something simple, but effective. Or perhaps, in a way you’d never seriously considered before, maybe a little Botox wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Some of your friends were doing it, swearing it wasn’t about vanity but about feeling like the person they still believed they were inside.
You’d always brushed off the idea, but now, it seemed like maybe you could use a little boost. Just something to help you look a bit more awake, a little more like yourself. It was a small step, perhaps, but one that might make a difference. Though you drew the line at that filler bullshit because one mom at the kids school had her face so botched with it, she looked completely unrecognizable and fucking insane.
You didn’t even notice you’d fallen silent until his voice pulled you back.
"Baby? Where’d you just go?"
You blinked, suddenly brought back to the conversation, the warmth of his face just inches from yours. His voice was gentle, cautious—like the way he’d speak to patients who were dissociating or drifting away. And for some reason… it was pissing you off. It felt like he was 'handling' you instead of just fucking talking to you.
"Just—" you hurried to say, a bit too quickly. The word sounded sharper than intended, clipped and jagged at the edges, "let me just… finish up. I’m not dying, Jack."
You shut the shower door on him, just firm enough that it created a thin barrier between you and the look on his face. The glass fogged almost instantly, blurring him out, and somehow that made everything worse. You wanted to cry, and the pressure sat right behind your eyes, hot and insistent. But he was still right there, just a few feet away, so you refused to make a sound. You heard the faint shift of his weight and the soft scrape of his heel as he stepped back. He lingered for a heartbeat on the other side of the fogged glass, and you could tell he was caught between staying and giving you space. Then the bathroom door opened with a muted click, and his footsteps faded down the hall.
A few tears finally slipped free, and a small, broken sob escaped before you could stop it.
You were halfway through getting dressed when you finally checked your phone on the nightstand. A handful of missed notifications lit up the screen, but your attention went straight to the family group chat with the kids.
Your daughter had texted earlier:
im just gonna spend the night at sonia’s
Jack had already given his approval in the chat. You tapped a heart on the message, keeping the exchange simple. Scrolling down, you saw she’d sent you a separate message too—just to you, not the boys.
sonia found out her boyfriend’s been DMing some girl…like not okay stuff
she’s freaking out 🥺 why are boys horrible?
What the hell were these kids DMing each other? When you were their age, the most scandalous thing anyone sent was a winky face on their Nokia phones. You thought for a moment before responding.
Oh honey… Sonia can definitely do better. High school boys are basically half‑formed humans. Their brains won’t finish cooking until they’re like… twenty‑five. Tell her this is why we don’t take boys seriously until they can rent a car without an extra fee.
You could see the four messages pop up one after another at a rapid‑fire, which was usually how she texted.
lmao mom please 😭
"half‑formed humans" is sending me. im stealing that
tell dad I’m never dating until im 30
actually no, don’t tell him that, he’ll take it seriously and then cry when I bring someone home
You could almost hear her voice in the messages. She always tried to play it cool, but you knew when she appreciated you, and this was one of those moments. You quickly typed back a heart and felt a warm tug in your chest. Despite the chaos of raising teenagers and all the nights you lay awake worrying, you couldn’t help but feel grateful that your children still came to you with things like this. It made you realize just how lucky you were that you were all close, and that they trusted you and Jack enough to share the messy parts of their worlds.
You padded down the stairs, the house quiet except for the low hum of the microwave. The smell hit you before you even reached the kitchen; it was leftover chicken tikka masala warming up.
Jack stood in front of the microwave with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter. You could see that he had put on the prosthetic he typically wore at home. This one was gentler on his limb, lighter, and easier on the skin below his knee. But even so, you didn’t love seeing it on him after how much discomfort he’d been in earlier. You bit back the urge to tell him to take it off right then; you didn’t want to to be a nag. You’d give it thirty minutes, then you’d say something. Jack looked up the second you stepped inside the kitchen.
His eyes flicked over your face, then he smirked, just a little.
"I love you, but you have a very specific face you make when you’re mad at me and pretending you’re not."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier," you apologized sincerely, "and I’m not mad at you."
"Okay, not mad at me," he said slowly, nodding once. "But…" He pointed at you with the hand not holding the microwave handle, "…you’ve got the eyebrow thing happening." He stepped closer, eyes narrowing in exaggerated analysis. "And the 'I’m fine but absolutely not fine' posture. Plus, you walked down the stairs like you were trying not to stomp but still kind of stomping." He lifted a brow, amused. "So, no, maybe you’re not mad at me. But you’re definitely mad about something. Or stressed. Or overthinking. Or all three, because you like to multitask."
The microwave beeped behind him, but he didn’t look away from you.
"Seriously," he asked, walking towards you, staring down at you, and rubbing soothing circles over your arm, "what’s up?"
"It’s not important," you said, trying to look away, but he gently guided your chin back toward him.
"Use your big girl words."
"Why didn’t you tell me that Robby is dating that R2?"
He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and something that almost resembled guilt, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he hesitated before answering. You could tell he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, maybe caught off guard by the question or unsure if he should reveal what he knew. You crossed your arms, feeling a twinge of disappointment and hurt bubbling up inside you.
"I didn’t keep it from you on purpose. It’s just… recent. And they’re not exactly broadcasting it. It felt like it wasn’t my news to tell."
You let out a frustrated breath. "So basically your best friend and your brother—the two people you’re closest with—are both fucking hot young girls?" Jack blinked in surprise at your outburst, and his mouth parted slightly as if he’d just walked into the middle of a conversation he didn’t realize he was having.
"Whoa—okay," he said, hands lifting slightly in a slow down gesture. "I’m gonna need a map for how we got from point A to… whatever point this is." You kept going anyway, the words spilling out faster than he could catch them.
"And I swear," you continued, throwing a hand in the air, "every time I visit you at the hospital, the residents are just getting younger and younger and younger."
"O-okay?" he said, completely perplexed.
"I just… I feel old, Jack. I feel like I’m aging in fast forward. Menopause is around the corner, my body doesn’t look like it used to, and I don’t feel…" you hesitated, the word catching. "Pretty. I just don’t feel pretty anymore."
In an instant, Jack’s face changed instantly, as if the ground dropped out from under him. A look of genuine distress washed over his face, as if the very thought of you not feeling pretty pierced him deeply and caused him pain. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something comforting or to respond in some way, but before he could get the words out, you pressed on, the momentum of your words carrying you forward without pause.
"And you have these gorgeous young residents like Dr. Mohan that are fucking brilliant," you blurted, gesturing vaguely. "And I know it’s ridiculous, but some days I just feel invisible to the world. Like I’m just… fading into the background because I’m not in my twenties anymore. I miss 2005. I miss feeling like I am the young one in the room." Your head began to throb, so you pinched your nose and closed your eyes. "Fuck…I don’t recognize myself sometimes… so yeah, maybe I worry you could… I don’t know. Fall for someone like her."
"Okay, I gotta stop you right there," he lifted a hand, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin. "Because I’m married to the sexiest woman who brought me back to life after the worst thing that ever happened to me."
He rarely referenced that time so directly. And suddenly, the memory of how you met flickered through your mind—the version of him who’d come home from deployment after being honorably discharged, the man who’d walked into your PT clinic with a new prosthetic and a look in his eyes that said he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel whole again. You’d helped him relearn balance, relearn movement, relearn trust in his own body. You’d watched him fight for every inch of progress. And months after he was no longer under your care, when he finally asked you out, you’d said yes because by then you’d seen the strength beneath the brokenness, the humor beneath the pain, the man beneath the soldier. You finally opened up your eyes again to find your husband looking at you with that intense, fucking eye contact he was so good at.
"You think I’m going to fall for someone because they're young? You think that’s all it takes for me to forget the woman I’ve spent twenty years loving? I chose you. I still choose you. And I’m not going anywhere."
You swallowed at the serious tone in his voice.
"Dr. Mohan is a young physician at the start of her career. I respect her work, but she’s not someone I see through any lens other than professional. I’m her attending. Her supervisor. My job is to guide her, not… anything else. That’s the beginning and end of it."
Pleased to see that your bad mood was starting to fade, he leaned in with a smirk. "And", he added, tapping your chin lightly, "you’re acting like I’m over here high-fiving my brother and Robby for dating girls who were probably in middle school when we started paying our mortgage." You let out a reluctant huff of air—not quite a laugh, but close. "We’ll see what happens with those relationships. I’m not exactly putting money on either of them lasting. But who knows?"
You simply nodded, and Jack’s eyes searched yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw. "Listen," he said quietly, "I know getting older feels heavier for women. You’re judged harder, expected to look perfect, and expected to stay young forever. It’s fucking unfair. Men are rewarded for aging, and women get criticized for it. You’re carrying a weight I’ll never fully understand, and I hate that you have to deal with that. I mean look at you—you’re a knockout."
"You don’t have to exaggerate. I know I don’t look the way I used to."
"Excuse me?" Jack’s voice was sharp as he glared at you. "You are objectively beautiful. And not just 'for your age.' You’re just insanely drop dead gorgeous. I have no idea how I landed you. You are so out of my league, and trust me, enough people remind me every day."
You rolled your eyes, ignoring how his brow lifted in challenge. "Did something about what I say sound unclear?" he growled, and you hated the way your belly pooled with heat at his tone.
"No," you mumbled.
He stepped back ever so slightly, putting his hands on your hips. In one fluid motion, he let his fingers linger before giving your ass a light squeeze. "I mean… have you seen your ass?"
"You really think you’re so smooth." The corners of your mouth couldn’t help but lift. "And unfortunately… it’s working."
"Good," he said, before pulling you in for a deep kiss, temporarily silencing you. His tongue dipped inside your mouth for a few seconds before he pulled away, leaving you wanting more. "I love you," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your head spin. "And… I’m sorry if I’ve been doing a bad job of showing it lately. If you’re feeling this way… then I’ve clearly been doing something wrong."
Your lips parted, but he kept going. "Because if you’re standing here doubting yourself…" he shook his head, jaw tightening with that familiar self blame, "then I haven’t been showing you what you mean to me." You opened your mouth to protest, but he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. "I’m not saying this to make you reassure me," he murmured. "I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever known…inside, outside, all of it. And if you haven’t been feeling that lately?" His voice cracked just slightly. "Then I’m a shit husband."
"Jack… no. Don’t say that. You make me feel loved in ways I never thought were possible. You haven’t done anything wrong." You took his hand and placed your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. "I just had a moment, and got in my own my head. Honestly, it’s probably just hormones." You gave him a helpless little shrug. "My emotions have a mind of their own lately."
"Are you sure? You can be honest with me. If you feel something’s been off with us… I want to know."
"I’m sure. I promise. If something was wrong, you’d be the first to know. I love you, too. So much."
Jack studied you for a moment, his eyes searching your face the way he always did when he needed to be absolutely sure you weren’t just telling him what he wanted to hear. And when he finally decided that you were telling the truth, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"Alright," he murmured when he pulled away. "Then let me remind you of something. There are a lot of perks related to getting older, and we’re about to enter a very fun phase of our lives."
"Oh yeah? What’s that?"
"The kids being out of this house."
"Please. You’re going to cry when they go to college. You’re going to be a mess."
Jack pouted, not even pretending to deny it. "Maybe. Probably." Then he grinned, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "But I’m also looking forward to more alone time with my wife. More nights like these. More quiet mornings. More dates. More vacations. More uninterrupted sex. More… us."
"They’re such cockblocks," you giggled.
"They really fucking are."
You would be lying if you said you and Jack had the same sex life you did from when you first started dating. Things had shifted, but you still maintained a healthy dynamic. It was harder to have spontaneous moments, and the problem with teenagers is that they had comprehension of what sex is. When they were younger, if they walked in on you and Jack, they didn’t understand what they were seeing at ages three or four…so you could quickly shoo them away. But once they reached a certain age, you and Jack had to get creative, especially since they were night owls, and you two usually waited (or passed out) until they were asleep to enjoy private time in your bedroom. Sometimes it was fucking in the laundry room during a very loud load. Recently it had happened in the garage. And the car. If you were honest, you two started having a lot more sex in public places during dates after having kids. A restaurant toilet could surprisingly feel romantic—and fucking hot as hell.
"Speaking of…" Jack’s fingers brushed against your cheek, a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Empty house."
Your husband loved it when the kids had sleepovers.
"Oh… I hadn’t noticed," you teased, and your breath hitched as you noticed his eyes flicker down your shirt. Jack leaned forward, pouncing on you and kissing you, and it was messy and all-encompassing. Your lips parted, and his tongue curled around yours, making him groan low in his throat.
You responded by leaning into him, deepening the kiss, your hands instinctively finding their way to the sides of his face, drawing him closer. Jack’s hands found their way to your waist, fingers pressing into your sides as he pulled you in, his hands were hungry, greedy in their exploration. Jack’s arousal was very evident by the tenting of his jeans. Your fingers trailed down his torso, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, and you could hear the sharp intake of breath he took as you brushed against the waistband of his jeans.
With a rush of adrenaline, you dropped to your knees, hands moving to the front of his jeans, your fingers deftly working to unbuckle the clasp. Jack’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he pulled back slightly, leaning on the counter.
"Sweetheart, wait."
You pursed your lips, frowning. "What? Why?"
"What about your headache? Your head was killing you earlier," he grunted.
"It’s gone. The shower helped," you confirmed, a playful smile forming on your lips. Your fingers squeezed his thighs, feeling the strength beneath the fabric. "I just want to take care of you," you cooed.
"It’s supposed to be the other way around, baby," he groaned, looking pained.
"Since when do you turn down head?" you smirked, tilting your head slightly to the side.
Jack breathed out a long sigh, nostrils flaring. "I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”
He always, always put your comfort before anything else. And fuck, it was one of the most attractive things about him. Your fingers continued to work his jeans open and pulled them past his hips. "I’m fine. Jack… I’ve been thinking about this all day."
"Oh yeah?" Jack spread his legs a bit wider, clearly getting more used to the idea.
"Yeah," you whispered, pulling his boxers down, as he helped pull his cock free. You wet your lips, tongue darting forward to flick teasingly at his slit, and looked up to find him staring.
"This was all that you thought about?" he taunted. "Sucking my cock?"
You shook your head. "No."
"What else?" he asked, his voice shaky, his fists tightening.
You chewed on your bottom lip.
"Tell me," he growled.
"You using that new toy on me," you admitted, your face feeling hot. You had recently purchased this clit-sucking vibrator that your friend raved about. Her review was literally: Let me tell you, this will absolutely suck your soul through your lady parts and bring you to heaven. You and Jack didn’t use toys often, but whenever you did, it was always an extremely memorable experience. He especially loved watching you use them on yourself.
Jack looked at you for a few seconds, and then finally made a low, dangerous sound. "Well then, you better make use of that fucking mouth so that we can get to the next part." You nodded in agreement and wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, applying a soft pressure as you guided him into your mouth. It was challenging to take all of him at once, but you persevered, your mouth stretching to fit his leaking and heavy length.
He barely stifled a groan, choking out muffled curses. With each movement, you felt more confident, your tongue swirling around him as you slowly took him deeper into your mouth.
"That’s it. Take the whole thing. Just like that," he urged, his voice thick with lust as his hand found the back of your head. "Such a good girl. You’re doing so fucking good."
You looked up at him, moaning at his praise, and then focused your attention back on your task. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him in deeper, the weight of him filling your mouth as you bobbed your head up and down. His hips flexed with each bob of your head, his lips parting as he panted. You could feel the tension building in his body, his thighs flexing beneath your hands as you squeezed them tighter.
"Fuck," he hissed, his voice strained. "You look so good with your mouth full. You—" he gasped when he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.
You gagged, but you kept going because you loved hearing him like this, the sound of him feeling good because of you pushing you further. You pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the tip before sinking back down, taking him as deep as you could manage, with tears filling your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. The perfect taste of him was overwhelming, and you could feel the slickness pooling between your thighs, the heat radiating from your core.
His jaw clenched. "You’re gonna make me come." He tried to pull you off from him, but you kept going, stretching your mouth wider for him, and winked at him.
When he realized what you were insinuating, a guttural moan slipped from his lips, and he chuckled darkly. "Dirty girl."
You whined, causing your throat to vibrate along his length, which caused Jack’s eyes to roll back, and his head to tip back. His neck was straining as he fucked your throat with a feral grunt while you stroked the parts of him you couldn’t reach with your hand.
"Shit—" he started, but before he could finish, you felt him tense beneath your hands. With a few more deep thrusts, he found his release, moaning out your name and filling your eager mouth with his warmth. You met his hazel eyes as he watched you swallow his hot sticky release down your throat.
Jack groaned, melting against the counter, an arm thrown over his eyes as he caught his breath, and you kindly shimmied his boxers and jeans back on him. You were slowly getting up when Jack grabbed your waist, and he kissed your temple. It was a gentle gesture, yet charged with an unmistakable intensity, then his lips were back on yours, feverish and desperate. His hands roamed your back, fingers tracing patterns, and you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back.
You pulled away slightly breathless, and he started trailing soft kisses down the line of your jaw, pausing just above your collarbone.
"Oh shit, your leftovers," the thought hit you when the smell of chicken tikka masala suddenly filled your nostrils, and you realized his food was probably cold at this point.
"Don’t give a flying fuck about that right now," his lips brushed against your neck softly before he pressed a gentle kiss against your pulse.
"Thought you were hungry?"
"I’m hungry for something else."
Your giggled.
"I think it’s time we go play with that toy now," he grunted, his teeth scraping along the curve of your shoulder. You probably had about an hour or so before Jack would be able to have sex with you since he had just come, but luckily, your husband was very skilled with his fingers and mouth and could give you an orgasm…or two before then.
"Better be careful not to strain yourself, old man," you said playfully.
His strong arms grabbed you, and before you knew it, your body was lifted and thrown upside down over his broad shoulders as you got a lovely view of your husband's denim-clad ass as he dragged you to your shared bedroom.
If you liked this, I’ll be writing a prequel series of these two love birds! Find the Masterlist here.
Thanks for reading! I want to be clear that I’m not criticizing age gap relationships at all. Most of the time when I write Jack with a reader insert, there is an implied age gap, even if I don’t spell it out. It makes sense since Shawn Hatosy himself is almost twenty years older than me, and so his characters are in that age demographic. But for this story, I wanted to push myself and explore something different: Jack in a relationship with a woman his own age. Especially since I don’t really see stories like that in this fandom. Age gap stories are fun, romantic, and absolutely valid, but I think writing age appropriate relationships matters too, especially for readers who want to see themselves aging and still being deeply desired. Women are constantly told (implicitly and explicitly) that their beauty and sexiness have an expiration date. Seeing a man in his 40s or 50s still obsessed with a woman his age pushes back against that narrative. And writing a story about Jack, who is devoted to his mid to late 40's wife, and who still sees her as the center of his world, was powerful to me. Also, Shawn being married to a woman his age makes me very happy inside. They are stunning together.
Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk.
Signed,
A woman in her early 30’s (who still struggles with the concept of aging because of the number of ads I get for anti‑aging products, which makes me want to scream)
synopsisyou and Robby had been going steady for a few months now but when a betting board is made on who your mysterious male friend could be, Robby is not happy with the outcome.
warningslanguage, smutish- allusions to smut, jealous Robby, mention of shooting- GSW
author noterobby x reader but platonic frank x reader, can you tell santos is my favourite cause i include her in basically everything i write
Santos had had a day.
More traumas than she could deal with and a young girl who came in with bruises that suspiciously looked like abuse. She’d had just about enough when she realised she’d have to give another two hours to the place to get her charting done.
When she came home she knew Whitaker was at Amy’s and you should have been home. She watched you practically bolt out the place. Santos hoped it’d be a night of crappy food and shitty movies.
So when she ditched her keys at the kitchen counter and listened out the last thing she expected to hear was moaning.
“What the?” she called out for you.
Maybe you were having a self-care night. Charged up a vibrator and such.
Santos chuckled to herself as she made to tiptoe past your room.
There was the unmistakable sound of another.
“Oh fuck.”
Trinity paused.
You and her were close, she could admit that. You were maybe her only friend. So she knew you had been going through a dry patch. Because you were making it everyone's problem.
She listened in.
There was deep groaning from a man and your moans, the soft thudding of a bed against the wall. Trinity thanked the heavens again that the head of your bed was against Denis's wall and not hers.
“Deeper, harder,” she heard you moan.
“Oh, fuck me,” the guy groaned deep. She didn't recognise the voice. Did she?
Curious she tried to listen to the mans voice, wondering what she could tell. He must have been busy as little else was said other than groanings.
Where had you met this guy? Had this been happening longer than she knew? Is this why you hurried out?
Santos thought you weren't one of one night stands. Were you proving her wrong?
She snook into her room and knew she had to tell someone, at least Whitaker.
Robby collapsed next to you on your bed, catching his breath as you pulled the sheets up to cover your slightly sweaty bodies. The bed creaked under his weight as he moved around, getting himself comfortable.
Your bed was a small double, not really built for anyone more than one. Let alone Robby.
“You want some water or something?” you asked.
Robby chuckled, the bed creaking again as he turned on his side to face you. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?”
You lifted your shoulders, tucking your hands under your head to admire him. “Well you're the senior citizen with the... bad back?”
His brows lifted. “Oh that's how you want to play it.”
He grabbed your hip and pulled you close.
You were still trying to recover from the multiple orgasms Robby had ripped through your body as soon as you'd stepped through your apartment door. But that didn't stop his hands from crowding around your body, pulling you into him as all his hardness turned soft.
His lips found yours as easy as one found home, kissing you the way he knew you liked to be kissed. Head tilted to reach deeper, nose moving against your cheek.
There was a sudden shriek in your apartment.
You pushed Robby off, sitting up quick in bed.
“What?” he asked, far less alarmed then you as his arm fell around your waist.
“Trinity.”
Robby hummed. “Thought you said she was at Garcia's tonight?”
“I thought she was,” you uttered as if she was in the room.
The dating with Robby had started maybe three months ago when you'd had a disastrous date at the same bar Robby frequented with his buddy Duke. He'd seen the distress you were in with your date when he wouldn't stop talking about why sports people should actually get paid more than health care workers.
From there you had drinks with Robby.
From there he asked to see you again outside of work.
From there you ended up in his bed and he in yours on the occasions you had the place to yourself, which with two room mates didn't happen often.
You'd thought tonight was one of them.
“You should go,” you said, throwing the cover back to find your clothes in the dark.
“What?” Robby laughed, without moving. Instead he got himself comfortable, throwing an arm around the back of his head and tugging the covers down to his waist.
“Yes, do you want Trinity to know?”
“She doesn't sleep in your room though does she?”
Still, you tried to find some clothes.
The word around the PTMC was that Robby was a seven week itch kind of guy, the sort to never tie himself down. So though you'd been on dates with him and though he'd brought you flowers before and held your hands in bars and took you to a fancy dinner, he still fucked you like a guy that could move on the next day.
And you didn't want to scare him away with talk of serious dating. A bit of Robby was better than none of him.
You just didn't want your friends to judge you for that.
“Hey-hey-” Robby moved over on the bed, arm darting out to wrap around your waist and tug you back in.
You couldn't even protest before he was pulling you into him, hooking one of his large legs over yours and trapping you in. Your quilt was pulled up and his head rested next to yours.
At least when you and Robby were done with the sex you never kicked each other out of bed. But you did go into work separately.
“But-”
“-I'll be out of here first thing in the morning.”
With his arms around you and his calming breath you didn't think you could push him off you if you wanted to.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Robby kissed the blade of your shoulder and for the rest of the night that was how you were and when you woke in the morning with two hours to spare before your shift started, Robby was already gone.
“So who's the lucky guy?”
You chocked on your coffee, peering next to you at Trinity. “What?”
She smirked, leaning on the locker next to yours. “Oh come on, I heard you last night.”
The bitter taste of black coffee turned to ash in your stomach. She'd heard. Or worse, she'd been up to see Robby sneak out in the morning.
“What-what do you mean?” play it cool, you could totally starve of the humiliation. Maybe you could persuade her it was a dream, a nightmare, that she was sleepwalking and actually heard/saw/knew nothing.
“I heard you last night,” she said. “Quite the dicking down from what it sounded like.”
You felt the heat in your cheeks. “Oh my god.”
“Hey, I think its good, you deserve it,” said Santos as you hid yourself in your locker, taking great care in peeling off your jacket and finding your stethoscope inside. “So is it someone I know, or...”
She didn't know. You rejoiced silently before realising she still knew there was someone. “That is none of your business.”
“Oh come on, you know Garcia!”
“Because she works here.”
“Does he work here?”
“No!” you close the locker door, not as amused as Trinity was clearly finding this situation. “Please, he's just... a guy.”
She leaned in closer for the gossip. Few things got her as excited as gossip did. “A boyfriend guy or a sleep around guy?”
Wasn't that the golden question.
“Oh my god, you don't know.”
“Santos!” the call of her name should have saved you. Not when it was Robby calling for her as he stood between the two of you. “Pelvic exam in three.”
She groaned but gave a salute. “You got it boss,” she said to him before aiming a finger at you. “This isn't over.”
Santos had turned, leaving and you hardly waited anytime to turn back to the lockers and bash your head into them. Not enough to hurt but enough to erase the terrible fact that Santos had heard you.
Robby liked hearing you moan and you liked Robby so you always moaned loud.
And she'd caught enough of it.
Usually, you wished for Robby to be a bit louder in bed. You were glad he hadn't been.
The cold metal of the locker was replaced on what might have been your twentieth go at hitting yourself with the back of a rough hand.
“Everything okay?” asked Robby, coming to stand next to you, leaning on the lockers. His eyes creased with concern.
“She knows.”
His brows shot up, which didn't indicate a good reaction. “She knows?”
“Not about you, don't worry,” you said with a light scoff. “She knows that I had a good time with a guy last night, she doesn't know who.”
Robby nodded in consideration. “So we're in the clear?”
You screwed your eyes shut. You hadn't realised just how bad you wanted him to shrug it off, tell you he didn't care if Trinity knew, that of everyone in the ward knew, that he only cared about what it meant between the two of you. You only realised when he didn't give you that option.
He wanted to be sure he wasn't affiliated with it.
“Yeah, you're in the clear.”
You left Robby at the lockers before suspicions could grow. Nothing wrong with a resident talking to their attending and so far you and Robby had done a good job at not having any suspicion- not even from Dana.
The least you could do for the guy was keep it that way.
“You had a hot date last night?” Princess slid up to your side before you were even half way across the ward.
You groaned. “Santos told you already.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“Say anything about what?” Javadi's voice suddenly came from Doctor McKay's side. The older woman tried to act uninterested but her keen eyes were watching you from over the computer.
“She had a date around hers last night,” said Perhlah, coming up to your other side.
“And she won't tell us who it was,” added Princess.
Javadi's smile grew and her jaw hung open. “Who?”
You shook your head and stared at your shoes. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Okay!” Robby's voiced boomed out. He clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention. “We have patients, how about we go ask them some riveting questions?”
Mel frowned from somewhere in the crowd that had formed. “We should go ask them if they know who the guy is?”
She realised quickly that wasn't quite what he meant.
Perlah and Princess walked off together, quietly scheming. “Men just don't get it.”
You gulped down, smoothing your hand over your head and where the growing headache was forming. “Thanks.”
Robby said nothing but there was the brief feel of his hands on your shoulders as he squeezed before moving past you.
It was going on lunch, you'd just gotten a trauma through and up to the OR when you spotted bright post-it notes stuck up on the board in Ahmed's office. The betting board, his mini kingdom had been put back together.
Three titles.
Who?
How long?
Casual or dating?
“Oh my god!” your shriek echoed around the Pitt.
“What? What is it? What?” Robby was at your side in an instant, body almost slamming into you with how quick he slid next to you. He steadied himself, holding on.
“That!”
Ahmed had set up a betting board based on your love life.
The who column was spread with names and the name of those that had bet scribbled underneath. In the middle there was how long had it been going on for, some thought it was only a few weeks, others guessed up to six months.
The last column, wondering if it was a casual thing or serious was filled with almost every post it note saying 'casual'.
“Oh,” Robby chuckled.
“It's not funny,” you argued. “Has every body here bet?”
“Not me, I had no idea. Besides I think that's kind of cheating, right?”
“I see you've found my latest and greatest,” said Ahmed, approaching behind the two of you. “We got this up and running two hours ago, you want me to break it down for you?”
“Holy shit,” you uttered, scanning the board. It was a great and easy way to find out what everyone thought about you.
Robby nodded, leaning on the door next to you. “Holy shit.”
“How much money's in the pot?” you asked.
Ahmed grinned like he was just waiting for you to ask. “Five-hundred and five dollars!”
Robby chocked on a breath next to you as your jaw hung open.
Someone was gonna make money of your guys' sex lives and none of that was going to come to you.
“And I'm guessing I can't get in on it?” you asked.
“No," said Ahmed. “Unless, you know, you wanna tell me who it is and I'll split the money between us.”
“And who do you think it is?” asked Robby. He asked casually, still leaning on the doorframe like he couldn't care less. If he was a girl in a rom-com he might have even checked on his nails or twirled his hair. But you'd studied him close the last couple months, you'd worked all his emotions out into your own little Robby dictionary.
There was a hint of jealousy.
“Well, I've gone with the fan favourite,” he said, plucking off his post it note to show you. “Frank. Three months. And serious.”
“Langdon!” Robby announced.
Uh-oh.
“Yeah, man,” he said. “More than half these notes say it's him.”
On further reading you noticed it did. On yellows and pinks and greens Frank's name was written in quick scribbles or thought out curves.
Frank? Sure the two of you were close. You'd worked close together for a year- nearly two. You worked coordinated well in traumas and with patients you always knew what the other was thinking.
Since his divorce with you'd been helping him as much as you could. You had a friend who was a good lawyer and when he had a chance to see the kids you always covered.
You knew, of course, everything that had happened with the benzos.
You knew Robby still wasn't back to being best-buds with the guy.
You didn't know everyone thought you and Frank were together!
Donnie side stepped past you, coming in with his bets. “I got it, I got it-”
Robby snatched them from his hand, scoffing at whatever was written.
“Langdon. Two weeks and serious.”
“Et-tu, Donnie?” you asked.
“I got fifty in the pool, looking to get a new tv, you know.”
Robby stormed off.
Donnie watched. “He got a bet in?”
“Not yet, sorry, you don't mind?” asked Ahamed.
You scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”
You left them to it, finding Robby sitting at the nurses station at a computer. His jaw clenched and fingers worked furiously over the keypads. You evaluated the area before leaning in. “If you put a pool in we could split the money?”
“Should I put a bet in for Langdon?” He didn't look up to you as he slid on his glasses.
It angered you because he seemed annoyed at something he knew not to be true and because he slid on the glasses that made him even hotter than he already was.
“Is there something wrong, Robby?”
“No.”
“You seem-”
“- I'm not,” he snapped.
He was.
Robby wouldn't admit how much he let his emotions rule, especially anger. He used to be terrible for it but for a while he'd been better, lighter on his feet, patient. Since about.... well, since you started seeing each other.
“Hey.” Langdon joined your side.
You noticed a vein in Robby's neck twitch. “Hey.”
“You seen what everyone's saying?” asked Frank. “Apparently we're seeing each other?”
“Yeah,” you said, turning to him. “I had no idea.”
“You think I should buy a ring next?” he teased.
Robby slammed his hands on the counter, pushing himself up and storming off without so much as a glance.
Frank watched. “What's his problem?”
What was his problem? You'd love to know. “He had a bet on someone else,” you excused.
“Oh bummer,” said Frank. “You think he lost a lot of money?”
You didn't have time to come up with another lie as you spotted Santos and Whitaker walking by. Politely, you ditched Frank, promising you'd catch him for lunch.
“Did you start a betting system on my sex life?” you asked Trinity.
She smirked. “That wasn't me, I had nothing to do with that, seriously!”
“It's true,” said Denis. “But she was the first to put down a bet on Frank.”
You looked at her. You knew the history between her and Frank. Why would she want you to sleep with him? “You hate Frank?”
She shrugged. “So I guessed you were sleeping with him and didn't want to tell me because you know I don't like him.”
You shook your head. “I didn't want to tell you because it's none of your business.” You considered Whitaker. “Who'd you bet for?”
“I-I didn't, I-I wouldn't-”
“He bet on Nick from radiology.”
All of this from Robby sleeping with you in your apartment. Next time- if there was even gong to be a next time- you were doing it at his.
By the end of your shift anyone that hadn't placed a bet had.
Franks name had doubled and the pot was up to one thousand dollars (the highest bet in Pitt history). Frank found it funny, cracking jokes about it all day, throwing arms around you and dragging you onto cases saying 'couples that save lives together, stay together.'
Any other time you'd have laughed.
But when Robby was around every corner, glaring yet refusing to talk to you you couldn't find amusement in it.
The night had come and you were catching a break at the ambulance bay, sitting down on the curb. You were home in an hour, Denis had already gone to Amy's to deliver a lamb or something and Santos was supposed to be at Garcia's tonight.
But you highly doubted you'd have company.
“Hey,” Jack greeted, walking over to you in his midnight scrubs and bag slung over his shoulder. “How's my favourite day shift resident?”
You smiled a tired one at him. “How much money do you have in your wallet?”
Without a beat Jack fetched it and offered you what he had. Because that's the kind of guy Jack was.
“No, no,” you chuckled. “I don't need your cash. There's a betting pool on about who I'm sleeping with. I just- I was gonna ask you to not place a bet.”
Jack laughed, setting next to you on the curb, stretching out his prosthetic leg. “Would be a bit unfair seeing's as I'm best pals with the guy you're dating.”
“Not dating,” you corrected. “Probably not even seeing each other after today.”
Jack listened as you explained the distance, the glares, the snapping that returned to Robby. He didn't jump to defend his friend, he listened to you and took notes mentally. “The guys an emotional wreck. You know that. I know that.”
“But I thought he was doing better?”
“He was- is. Since he started dating you,” he said. “You ask me he's dealing with some emotions he doesn't know how to process. Jealousy. Greed. What's the other deadly sin?”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lust?”
“Yeah. That.”
“So I'm supposed to what? Let him be a dick all over again?”
“Oh fuck no,” said Jack firmly. “Put him in his place.”
Admittedly you didn't want to. You wanted to go back to being whatever it was you had with Robby. You wanted to hold hands and share beers in shitty bars at least an hour out of town so it was kept a secret. You wanted the brush of hands between the rush of patients and the discreet meetings at his or yours.
But how far were you willing to bend before you broke?
“So who's everyone putting bets on anyway?” Jack asked.
“Frank.”
Understanding of the situation hit him. “Ah.”
“Yeah. Ah.”
Suddenly the wail of an ambulance cut through the quiet.
The doors burst open, Robby, Santos, King, Jesse all pouring out.
“GSW to the chest, forty-two year old male, weak pulse, un-conscious on the ride over,” said Robby tugging on his gloves as you and Jack jumped up. He spared a glance at the two of you before the ambulance pulled up.
You jumped into it, wheeling the gurney ahead into trauma two. Everyone working around the man.
“Okay we move him on the count of three,” said Jack as you all got a hold of the patient. “One... two... three!”
He was heavier than some, not that it would effect your level of care but it made moving him just that but more difficult. There was a breath of air and struggle from Jack and Robby, the noises you had to drown out.
“Lets get an intubation tray going!” called Robby.
The two of you crossed each other, swapping sides.
“Can we talk later?” he uttered as he paused for only a second.
“Whatever, Robby.”
He sighed heavy.
The rest of you carried on gaging the extent of his injury.
“So do you want me out the apartment tonight so your man friend can come around?” asked Santos at your side.
“I want you out cause I'm annoyed at you.”
“Ouch.”
“Okay we need to turn him to see if it went through, on my say!” yelled Robby.
The team had thinned as orders had been barked, there were two of you on either side of him: Robby and Jack, and you and Santos.
Robby passed a nod. “Okay, roll!”
You and Trinity pulled while the men on the other side pushed but maybe Robby didn't have a good grip or maybe he hadn't expected him to be so heavy.
Robby grunted and groaned. “Ah, urg-”
“Not through,” Jack grunted.
You tried to lower him as slow as you could but it wasn't slow enough as Robby's hand got trapped under.
“Oh! Fuck me!”
You and Jack lifted the body quick and Robby released his hand.
Santos was frozen.
The whole room seemed to pause for a second.
“Oh my god!” Santos cheered, arms thrown wide. “Oh my god, oh my god!”
What was wrong with her?
It took you a second to realise, memory of last night coming to you.
Robby over you, thrusting careful.
Your body moved with his thrusts but you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his pelvis in till you felt the length of him deep. “Deeper, harder,” you'd begged.
Robby had groaned out loud, just the way you liked to hear him. “Oh! Fuck me!”
He'd uttered the words into you as he pressed his weight down, squashing you onto your squeaky bed. He'd wrapped his hands around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your walls fluttering around his cock.
Santos had been home longer than you'd thought.
Now, she was practically jumping up and down, smirking. “Oh my god!”
“Trinity can I talk to you outside please?”
“It's- you- and-” her arms were waving around.
“Outside, please, Trinity!”
Everyone was staring.
“Trinity, outside!” You guided her out and she let you, abandoning the trauma and ripping off her gown. You returned, finding Robby's gaze and Jack's amused grin as he tended to the patient. “Sorry, Doctor Robby, may I talk to Santos outside for a moment?”
Robby must have jumped to the same conclusion as you. “Er yes, yes! Of course, go!”
You rushed out, nudging Trinity into an empty exam room as she laughed. You closed the door and pulled the curtain over the glass.
“It's Doctor Robby!” she said at once. “It's Doctor Robby! You're sleeping with Doctor Robby!”
“Can you keep your voice down?”
Santos laughed again, a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, this whole time I thought it was Frank. Oh, I'm so happy.” She wiped at amused tears.
“Hey!”
“How long have you been sleeping with him?”
You shook your head, tugging off your own hospital gown. “It doesn't matter.”
Finally Trinity considered you. Her laughter died. “What-what do you mean?”
How could you explain that what she'd heard last night was over hardly twenty-four hours later.
The door pushed open and Robby stepped through, gown and gloves already gone.
“Is everything okay in here?” he asked, looking between the two of you.
“You and you?” Trinity confirmed, finger gesturing between the two of you.
Robby ran his hands through the back of his hair.
“I just can't believe it,” she said. “You guys are dating?”
Robby sighed out a “yes” at the same time you shook your head, “no”
Now, Robby looked at you.
Santos folded her arms over her chest, smirking and watching like the two of you were her favourite show. “Oh.”
Robby's hands fell to his hips as he looked at you. “What do you mean, no?”
“What do you mean, yes?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he chuckled.
Your rubbed at your temples. “I'm so confused.”
“You're confused, I'm confused,” Robby scoffed.
“Wait- I'm confused,” said Santos. “You guys don't know if you're dating or not?”
Robby's eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “Doctor Santos, please. Go make yourself useful.”
Trinity didn't move. She looked at you, waiting for what you wanted. Because yes, Robby was her attending but you were her friend. When she was insecure about Garcia you were there telling her how much better she could do.
In the hospital Santos was guided under Robby.
At home, she was guided by friendship and care for you.
You gave her a nod and she dismissed herself.
You didn't know where to look, didn't know where to touch.
Outside the usual routine of the Pitt carried on.
Robby sighed, hands going into his fleece pocket. “You didn't know we were dating?”
No, you really didn't. “Was I supposed to? You never asked.”
He shook his head, looking down with a chuckle. He started to list things off, counting them off on his fingers. “Flowers, dinners, day trips, was that not enough?”
“But you never said!”
“I thought it was obvious!”
“Obvious to who?”
“To us!” His hands fell to your forearms.
“No to you maybe!”
“So the dinners... the flowers, you thought it was all just, just sex?” he asked.
You'd hoped it was more. You'd dreamt about it when his weight kept you down on his bed after you kissed and made love for hours. Love...
“I... yeah.”
How long had you thought him the bad guy? Were you the one that had been distant, pulling away?
You carried yourself away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. You never realised how uncomfortable those things were.
Robby laughed to himself, standing for a moment longer. He checked that nobody was around through the curtain before he settled next to you. He shuffled, his bodies attention focused on you. He laid a hand on your knee, tilting his head to try to look at you. “I should have asked, properly.”
“It would've saved confusion,” you admitted.
Robby's hand came up, cradling your face and drawing your attention to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek.
You looked at him, finding nothing but warmth in his gaze. The only thing that had been there for three months. “But today, you... you could hardly look at me.”
He took in a deep breath. “I was...” his jaw ticked.
You smirked. “Jealous?”
His eyes flickered back to yours. “Nobody on that board thought I could be dating you.”
“Till about two seconds ago I didn't even know we were dating,” you joked.
Robby shook his head, wetting his lips. “We are.”
“You're not even going to ask me?”
“I don't need to,” he said. “We're dating, that okay with you?” His face inched closer.
“I don't know, I might have to ask Frank that one,” you teased.
Robby leant back, a dark look to him. The hand caressing you fell to your neck, keeping you looking at him. “You think that's funny?”
“Everyone else thinks so-”
He pulled you in by your neck and kissed you, hard, the imprint of his teeth felt through your lips.
You held onto him, kissing him with a new need. Kissing your boyfriend. Your hands wound around his head and you brought him down on top of you.
Robby climbed atop the bed that was not made for heavy make out sessions. He held the edge with one hand and the other fell down your body till it could crawl up your scrub top, un-tucking it and holding onto your hips.
He bit down on your lip and used the opening of your mouth to slide in his tongue.
“This is un-professional,” you said against his lips.
“I've been wanting to be un-professional for months.”
You were so lost in the feel of each other you didn't notice the curtain being yanked back until you heard.
“We got him stable,” said Jack, casually. “Oh and you've got an audience.”
You looked over Robby's shoulder as he looked back to see nosey nurses and night shifters along with half the day staff all looking at you.
You tapped his shoulder and though resigned to, Robby slowly climbed off you.
“Who put down Robby?” Ahmed called. “Did anyone bet Robby?”
The crowd that had watched you both suddenly rushed to the board, scanning the name.
Eventually you and Robby joined, waiting.
“Oh my god.”
“There he is, Robby, one vote!”
Robby's head perked in confusion.
“Who is it? Who?”
Ahmed collected the money and made his way through the people. To the one who had made a bet on Robby. “Doctor Robby, three months, and serious.”
He delivered the money- to everyone's shock- to Frank.
Your jaw hung open as Frank collected the money.
Everyone looked at him, silent.
You couldn't tell if next to you Robby was okay with it or angered.
Frank looked around at everyone. “C'mon, nobody else saw it? He's been happier for three months and can't take his eyes off her.”
Clealry, nobody had.
“I thought you didn't bet?” you asked him.
Frank shrugged, bashful. “Yeah well, couldn't help myself. Here-” Langdon held out the wad of cash to Robby's hand, practically forcing it in. “Take her somewhere nice.”
You wished you had a camera to capture Robby's shock.
“Okay folks! Show's over!” called out Dana. “Day shift let's pass on to night so we can get out of here to have some fun!” she winked your way.
Slowly the crowd dissipated, shaking their heads in disappointment.
Ahmed was already pulling off the notes and rubbing away at the board.
Robby waved the cash in front of you. “What do you say, you gonna let your boyfriend treat you tonight?”
I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense
Y'know I'm so glad someone reminded me of this. Because this was also discussed.
My stepmother did NOT like the way her Libertarian Viking Neighbor framed pregnancy as the fetus "attacking the woman". She incredulously told him this was extremely disrespectful to expectant mothers to portray pregnancy as so violent and negative.
Libertarian Viking Neighbor's response was that people consensually hurt each other all the time, and "there's like a whole community about that, with the acronym the one that starts with a B" And his reasoning was that if the mother was consenting to bring attacked by the baby, it in fact wasn't violent and negative because there was consent.
He brought up people consensually hurting each other, didn't go for one of the obvious answers like boxing or body mods or something, no he went STRAIGHT TO BDSM and he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE ACRONYM
Intense Socks @intense-socks - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
