summary: almost caught having a steamy makeout session with your older not-so-boyfriend boyfriend in the middle of the emergency department by a certain pretty Dr. Mohan, getting ushered out of the room to deal with a violent patient. Jack thinks he's doing what's best for you. (2.3k) (PART 2)
Characters: Jack Abbot x fem reader, x platonic! dennis Whittaker, x samira mohan (love her, mother) part 1
Content: 18+, established relationship, jealousy, angst, mentions of bleeding and getting punched, Jack Abbott lowkey an emotionally unavailable asshole, no spoilers for s2!, mentions of wounds and medical treatment. Part 3 will be coming! MDNI
Trinity’s delicate hands swiftly tie the light blue isolation gown over your black scrubs, her fingertips grazing the back of your neck. Which usually would have sent shivers down your spine.
But now your spine feels heavy and tired, it aches as though it’s struggling to hold up your head that’s burdened by the millions of insecure thoughts rushing through it.
“ you okay bumble?” She questions, her hands tying the lower back strings to the gown into a knot. Ensuring that no matter how aggressive or antsy the patient is, the gown will stay on.
You move your head, side to side. Trying to show that ‘yea nothings wrong, it’s not like I want to crumble into a ball on the floor and cry my heart out. I’m totally chill.’ Lifting the corner of your lips to put on a smile that doesn’t quite reach your melancholy eyes.
“ When are you going to stop calling me that?” You say letting out a loud sigh, interlocking both of your hands together and stretching them over your head. Your knuckles crack, the sound vibrating through the air, allowing for an illicit groan to slip from your lips. One you immediately pretend didn’t happen.
Trinity smiles, taking a step forward, finally facing you. Giving you less room to try to hide the hurt on your face, it was easier when she was behind you tying the gown which now feels a bit too tight. Trying to straighten your posture, you feel the pressure from the two little knots in the back restrict your failed attempts at good posture. “ Hey I think you tied it too tight-“
You feel two hands grip your shoulders, no doubt belonging to Trinity. “ Why the long face bumble?” She asks pulling the ends of the stethoscope hanging around her neck down, a habit of hers she does whenever she’s standing on business.
“ There is no long face Trin-“ your annoyed tone gets abruptly interrupted by god on her own two feet. You don’t even have to look to know who it is.
“ Jesus peach, somebody pee in your lucky charms this mornin?” Glossy blonde hair twisted into a little bun appears in your peripheral vision, dark grey scrubs coming into view as soon as she steps beside you.
“ there’s nothing wrong with me Dana! I’m totally normal! What..Are you guys suggesting my wrinkles are already that visible?” You stammer, voice raising an octave thanks to your nerves and inability to lie. It was never really your strong suit. Damn your stupidly transparent face.
Trinity hands you two pairs of blue surgical gloves, “ you’re gonna need two.” She says patting you on the back with a sly smile on her face. Just then, you feel the itchy latex come in contact with your warm cheeks.
“ Do you not put on the sunscreen my mom brought from the Philippines? Yeah..your wrinkles are realllyyyyy showing.”
Trinity says squishing your cheeks with her hands, as though you were a grumpy little child and not someone who’s a month older than her.
“ Knock it off you two! You’re hurting my heart if you think L/N here has some deep wrinkles. I must be the babadook then.” Dana jokes as she slips on a pair of gloves over her manicured fingers.
You two immediately stand up straight, truly like two little children getting scolded by their mom. Trinity leans in towards your ear, her pink plush lips graze your earlobe. “ Seriously why the stick up your ass?” She questions as quietly as she can, which is frankly not quietly considering its Trinity Santos.
“ I said knock it off you two!” Dana grabs one of the newly introduced patient ‘passports’, courtesy of Dr.Al-Hashimi’s efforts to improve the pitts numbers in the patient score satisfaction, and whacks Trinity on the shoulder.
A figure steps into the room, one hand on the door and one hand holding a black tablet, he peeks his head in.
“ We’re ready for you.” Donnie says pressing his lips into a tight line, trying to hide the joy and utter satisfaction that he won’t be the one suffering the wrath of the kraken.
It’s gonna be you…yayyyy…
Sucking in a deep breath with your eyes closed shut; hands starting to grow sweaty beneath the two layers of gloves and the tightness of the disposable gown just continues to rub against your skin in a manner which is so provoking it’s driving you insane in the brain.
Walking through the busy hospital hallways while Trinity and Dana discuss the possible reasons as to why ‘ you’re not giving Gods joy’ right now.
You try to tune their voices out, o to push them away to the back of your already self-destructive mind where they can dissolve like static.
You know how sometimes you can find comfort in static? Because it’s steady. predictable. Almost soothing in its consistency? Not this time. It’s not comfortable at all as you spot him with her.
He stands tall next to her, rugged face displaying softness and warmth as she throws her head back laughing at whatever he just whispered in her ear. How the light illuminates from her dimples and eyes, the little sparkle in her brown eyes.
Her eyes weren’t just brown, they were honey caught in shadow, glowing when the hospital light touched them. Who the hell looks this majestic underneath the annoyingly bright hospital lights?
You take note of how his hand rests on her lower back as he points at the large chart displayed over the hospital work area. A gesture he never makes with you. A sense of comfort he’s never offered you. Not in public at-least.
In private, it’s different. Completely different. You have to shove his wandering hands off of your body, even though he just catches both of your hands with just one of his and presses small, scattered kisses along your skin.
Even after rough cases, after you’ve felt your patients life slip underneath as you push your body to the edge trying to perform chest compressions. How the death rattle breathing slips from their mouths, silencing the last sign of life and soul inside the now empty vessel. Leaving behind the stillness of something that was once alive.
He still doesn’t offer you this comfort. Not after the countless times you’ve dragged your tired weak legs after him, covered with the blood of someone’s child, hoping for even a sliver of reassurance, like a child chasing after someone who wants nothing to do with their antics.
He would just press his lips into a tight-line and pat your back. The same way he comforts Whittaker, Langdon, Santos, Robinavitch, and Javadi. Like you were just one of them. And not someone who sits on the other end of the table with smudged lipstick.
You don’t notice the hands on your back pushing you towards the guarded ER room, you also fail to notice the man lunging at you.
You attempt to raise your elbows up to block your face, a hand-to-hand combat tip you learnt from the same man who’s responsible for your lack of attention and the fist now connecting to the middle of your face.
Your head snaps back, your body following along with it. The harsh concrete floor connects with your back and head, sending a wave of piercing agonising pain through your body.
You arch your spine instinctively as the pain settles into a dull, throbbing pain behind your eyes. You clench your teeth, trapping the whimper trying to crawl out of your throat.
Blood spills from your nose, warm and metallic, tracing a dark crimson path down your neck, staining your skin the colour of deep wine.
The smell of iron floods your senses, it that was even possible considering the blood pouring out of both of your nostrils. Does your noise even work now? Your hand shakes as you try to touch your nose, instead met with warm liquid
The room ascends into commotion and chaos, ahmed pushes past the doctors and nurses grabbing the kraken tightly and pushing him against the bed. Trying to restrain his wild, thrashing movements. If only that was the end of this horrible situation.
A stream of bodily fluids sprays you on you, instinctively tilting your head to the side to prevent it from reaching your probably broken nose.
More nurses and doctors begin to flood the loud room. You can’t tell if it was loud from the shouting, which you were very much used to in the ER which leads you to believe it was loud because of the ringing in your ears drowning everything else out.
A pair of hands wrap around your shoulders, trying to lift you up and lead you out of room.
You don’t notice the group of people surrounding you, asking if you’re okay. Or you do and just don’t care. The searing pain from your nose and the warm fluid trailing out of your nostrils are the only things keeping you from losing consciousness. Or you might just let it take you.
—
distant shouting and sharp, ragged breaths make you scrunch your nose, the noise dragging back the throbbing ache in your head to the surface. The same pain before everything went black. You passed out?
“ W-what happened?” You whisper, voice hoarse and raspy probably from the lack of water consumed within the past 10 hours of your shift.
“ Oh god L/N…”
His voice momentarily pulls you out of the gnawing pain in your head. Only to sharpen the stabbing pressure behind your eyes.
He stands there, calloused hands gripping the fabric of his black scrub pants as he tries to wipe the sweat and panic clinging to his palms, as though scrubbing them so furiously would erase what happened earlier.
“ Are you okay? How’s your nose? Your head?” His is husky and smoky sending shivers down your aching spine. His gaze settled low and steady on your confused face, eyes a deep storm-blue, carrying the restless weight of a storm pressing against the surface of a restrained ocean.
You notice how the veins in his arms protrude underneath his skin, a clear sign of his distress and panic that he’s trying to contain infront of you.
“ how are your sutures?” You whisper softly as your fingers graze the tip of your nose, biting your lower lip in pain.
“ Christ Y/N..”
Jack groans, burying his face in his hands as his fingers press against the aching throb inside his head. He stands in-front of you, hands dropping down to his sides. Gripping the black scrubs with his sweaty hands.
He looks like a kicked puppy, afraid to speak to you or even look at you. “ I uhm..” he coughs once. “ Your nose isn’t broken..”.
“ yeah I assumed. I’m not in excruciating pain.” You bluntly say in a monotone voice, not finding it in you to speak sweetly to the older man who’s know kneeling infront of you.
You watch him press his lips together into a tight line, tilting your head quizzically. Is he..upset? Oh god no.
Scooting to the edge of the hospital bed with your fingers tightly gripping the white paper sheet beneath you, watching it crinkle with your movements.
“ Hold on hold on careful peach-“ his hands grab a firm hold on your knees.
You narrow your eyes at him, “ Jesus! I’m okay Jack!” you say, scoffing and rolling your eyes.
How dare he? Oh right, the curtains to the hospital room are drawn shut. No one else is in the room, and no one stands from the outside either. Because here, behind the curtains, it’s allowed to exist.
“ I can’t believe you right now.” pushing yourself off the bed, hands steadily grabbing the wall for support. Vision starts to grow cloudy and hazy, the edges of your sight blurring and swaying as if the world was moving underwater.
His hands brace your jaggy rocking, “ What did I do? Come on just sit down peach-“ his eyes keep bouncing between the bottom of the curtain to spot if a pair of feet is approaching and you.
Even now, he’s just so afraid to be seen with you. When you’re clearly so riddled with fear and pain from whatever the hell happened in that hospital room. You’re still a burden to be seen with.
“ I can’t believe you right now.” the situation so funny to the point where you’re laughing and covering your mouth, a loud wince spilling out of your mouth from your fingertips accidentally nudging your injured nose.
“ Would you drop the attitude peach-“
“ You’re such an ass!”
“ Y/N” he warns.
“ Dr. Mohan,” you warn back.
You watch the way his head shoots back and the large step he takes back from you, hands falling down to his sides. You scoff.
“ You’re unbelievable, Dr. Abbott”
His face disappears in his hands, “ I told you not to get too close to me.” He says through his fingers, fingers that want to so badly reach for you but stay where they are, held back by something he’s too afraid to name.
1 of my favourite people in the World and I of the most beautiful. Whenever I read any X reader fics I always picture her and not myself, make of that what you will 🤔
summary: in the middle of the worst e.r. shift of your whole career, you catch your not-quite boyfriend, shirtless, in an empty room with another resident. (6.4k)
contents: established relationship/friends with benefits, jealousy (mohabbot take five real quick), angst, hurt/comfort, kinda canon divergent 'cause i wrote this when the spoilers dropped a few weeks ago cw for s2 spoilers, physical assault (a la dana in s1), panic attacks, mentions of blood and medical procedures, mentions of patient death, brief mentions of grief, brief mentions of not eating due to stress n sadness, allusions to smut 18+ (MDNI)
The lamplit room is filled with Jack’s exclusion from it.
You writhe beneath the mussed blankets, still buzzing from the remnants of your orgasm, and watch his shadow move beneath the crack of the bathroom door. You’re still filled by him, still leaking a mixture of him onto the stained sheets below, and yet you find yourself missing him, anyway.
He does not seem as grieved by the distance as you are. He sobered almost instantly from his own orgasm and promptly slid off your body, without another word or a kiss of reassurance shared between you. He’d slipped his prosthetic back on and made a beeline for the adjoining bathroom — where he has been for some minutes now, just pacing, and leaving you to stew in the worry of what you had obviously done so wrong.
“Do you wanna order food?” you call into the quiet, reaching for your phone on the nightstand beside you. You miss once, then twice, with hands still tingling from a soul-ascending pleasure. The screen fills the dim room with a blue-white light that makes you squint until your tired eyes adjust.
“What?!” Jack shouts back, muffled from behind the door. The hissing faucet shuts off to a slow drip.
“I said, do you—” You cut off your yelling when the bathroom door squeaks open. Jack appears in the doorway, now dressed in the t-shirt and jeans he’d arrived in. He’s shadowed momentarily by the light behind him until he switches it off again — then he’s painted a dim golden color as he walks back into the bedroom for his shoe.
You hold the thin sheet to your bare chest and shift further up the headboard, bending your knees to accommodate his body when he sits on the edge of the mattress to tie his laces. Your eyes soften, waiting for him to look back at you.
He never does.
More quietly, you tell him, “I asked if you wanted to order food. ‘Cause I don’t really feel like cooking right now and, depending on what you want, we should probably wait to order ‘cause Love Island doesn’t come on for another hour, and—”
Jack’s scruffy chin brushes the thin fabric of his shirt as he turns his head slowly to look at you. There’s a distance in his eyes that cuts you off, like you’re a quick fuck that doesn’t know when to stop talking, like he’s waiting for you to stop so he can get away.
“I think I’m gonna head out now, actually,” he tells you, then returns to knot his laces.
“Oh…” you hum, half-breathless, and pretend his foreign dismissiveness doesn’t tear your chest in two. “Are you… Are you okay—?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs and rises from the mattress. “I’m fine. I just— Need to get home.”
You follow him with wet eyes as he rounds the bed for the opposite side, where his phone and wallet sit on the nightstand and his branded rucksack rests on the floor. “Well, do you want me to wait to watch it with you? ‘Cause then I have to text Princes and tell her not to spoil it for me in the morning—”
“Go ahead,” Jack shrugs, with a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he slides the camo strap over his broad shoulder. “I think I’ll survive a week without it.”
Your frown deepens at his joke.
“Did I do something?” you wonder in a meek voice that makes his chest ache.
“No,” he scoffs. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know…” you murmur shyly, shifting on the mattress and grimacing slightly when the sticky sheets cling to your thighs. “You never leave right after we have sex, so I— I didn’t know if, maybe… It wasn’t good for your something, or if I said something—”
“No, it was great—” Jack interjects, but cuts himself off quickly thereafter, like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.
The word ‘honey’ was about to roll off his tongue the way it always does when he’s talking to you, but it feels wrong to say it now, for a reason he still can’t name that threatens to strangle him all the same.
“I just gotta go now. Okay?”
At a loss for what else to do, or what else to say that might make him stay, you just nod with a sad smile. “Sure…”
Jack leaves with a polite nod — like the sex was some sort of mindless transaction he’s thanking you for and not something you’ve done quite regularly for the past several months. He doesn’t speak another word to you when he walks out, and doesn’t look back at you once when he shuts the door behind him.
You stew in his absence and forget to eat.
Your tired body functions the following day on nothing but heartache and half a granola bar.
You drown in the bustling emergency department, and in the void of the white screen ahead of you, where you try and fail to do your charting. You can’t quite garner the strength to use your hands, much less use your brain to put letters on the screen that’ll just look like alphabet soup to you anyway. You’re stuck idling in the emptiness inside of you, where your heart withers along with your stomach.
Robby watches from afar, studying you as he flits between patients and residents requiring his attention. He has, self-admittedly, quite the soft spot for you — because you’re the smartest person on this floor and the most sensitive, too, which makes for a great doctor but very often the saddest person you’ll ever meet. He waits for you to correct yourself before he has to step in, and potentially make your day worse than it’s obviously already going.
You don’t move for six minutes straight.
He timed it.
“What is going on over here?” Robby wonders slowly, leaning over the top of the desk and peering down at you with a pair of stern brown eyes.
You blink rapidly to clear the haze of rumination from your vision and shrink into your cushioned seat like a scolded child. “Charting…” you answer with an unconvincing waver in your voice.
“Looks like it,” Robby scoffs with a hint of a smile that gets lost in his greying beard. He taps the desk with his palm and stands to full height again, nodding his head and urging you to follow him. “C’mon. Walk with me.”
He saunters off in the opposite direction of the work station, taking a tablet that Dana hands to him as he goes. It takes a long moment for his words to compute, and you scramble to your feet when he throws you an expectant look over his shoulder. You fall into step with the older man as he drags his glasses from the shirt pocket of his black scrubs.
Robby sets the black frames on the bridge of his nose and wonders aloud with his gaze turned to the screen in his hand, “What’s going on with you today, kid?”
“It’s nothing,” you shrug dismissively, sticking close to the man’s side as you weave within the crowded hall.
He flashes you an unenthusiastic glare in return. His eyes dart between your furrowed brows, to your anxiety-bitten lips (where your teeth dig into the delicate skin even now), to where you wrench the hem of your long-sleeved undershirt into trembling fists. Whatever it is, it’s very clearly not nothing.
“I’m not asking to be polite, kid,” the older man tells you, firm but not entirely unkind. “I can tell something’s wrong, and it’s affecting your work, so— Just tell me.”
You swallow hard and struggle to find the courage to speak, or to meet the man’s gaze as your eyes dart everywhere but back at him.
“It’s about your friend…” you confess in a sheepish murmur that gets lost in the droning of the bustling E.R.
It takes Robby a moment or more to catch your meaning.
“Jack?” he presses, because he knew the two of you were seeing each other, but not that it was quite so serious to warrant the off-day you’re having now. He makes a mental note to ream Abbot out for it the next time he sees him — ‘cause he can’t have any of his residents upset, least of all you.
You nod with an averted gaze. “He’s just… been off—”
“He’s always off,” Robby scoffs.
“Well, not with me,” you tell him, foreignly firm in your quiet argument. “And now he’s not talking to me, and I have no idea what I did…”
“Well, knowing Jack, you probably didn’t do a damn thing,” Robby concedes with a heavy sigh and flashes you a sympathetic look as you turn the corner. “Just give him some time, alright? He’ll come around. He always does. For now, you’ve got a patient in 8 that’s asking for you—”
Before you can make a guess on who it is — though you think you already know the answer — a strong hand wrenches suddenly around your wrist.
The man’s fingers are warm, calloused, and unwavering against your delicate skin. Your heart lurches into your throat at the sudden panic as your chin snaps towards the man towering over you. He’s tall, bearded, rugged, and so angry he’s red in the face.
“I have been waiting out there…” the man starts, taut voice wavering with a withheld fire. “…For four hours. When the hell am I gonna see somebody?”
“How did you get back here?” is the first thing you think to squeak out, because you vaguely recall McKay sending him back to Chairs after taking his vitals some time ago.
Robby steps in then, cutting between you and the stranger to urge him backward and away from you. You rub at your tender wrist when the man’s brutal touch is gone.
“We’re seeing the sickest patients first, sir. So count yourself lucky you aren’t back here,” Robby explains in an even voice, sounding much calmer than he really feels. “But touch anybody in here like that again, and you won’t be seen at all. Got it?”
The man caves with a heavy breath and with his weathered palms splayed in surrender. “I was just asking a question, man…”
“I’ll handle it, boss,” Ahmad cuts in, rushing towards the three of you after catching sight of the altercation from down the hall. He steps between the two of you and the angry patient and ushers him back toward the waiting room.
“Don’t touch me,” you hear the man spit, but complying anyway.
“Trust me, man,” Ahmad quips. “I don’t want to.”
It takes you a long moment thereafter to catch your breath.
It was certainly not the first time you’ve been grabbed by an unhappy patient, and it would certainly not be the last, but you can never quite get used to the fear. The panic is slow to ebb from your veins, even as the man is escorted back to Chairs. You find him sneering silently at you when you catch his eyes, moments before the door shuts behind him.
Robby steps into your tunnel vision, ducking down to meet your gaze with dark eyes glimmering with worry. “You alright, kid? Did he get you?”
“I’m fine,” you answer on muscle memory and muster a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I’ve seen my fair share of assholes, Robby. Today, even.”
“Well, yeah,” the man scoffs playfully. “You’re with Abbot— I’m sure you’re an expert at dealing with assholes by now…”
By all accounts, you were not supposed to have favorites at the PTMC. And you didn’t really; everyone who stepped foot into the E.R. got the same level of medical care from you — even the assholes. But Louie Cloverfield was different, special. He was the first patient you ever saw as an R1, and when he kept coming in, and you kept picking up his cases, he became your patient.
If Louie was in, and you were on shift, you were the one tending to him. Always.
So, you stay by his side when he loses his pulse, even when the rest of the E.R. reduces to the inevitable chaos of the afternoon rush — even when you know the rest of your co-workers could probably use your help out there now — even when you know there’s nothing more you can do for Louie to keep him alive.
Sweat beads on your forehead as you kneel at his bedside, pounding firmly at the man’s chest in a feeble attempt to keep his heart beating. You’ve lost feeling in your arms now — they’ve gone from aching, to burning, to utterly numb — but your attempt at resuscitation never stops, not even as dark crimson blood spits from his breathing tube; the clearest sign of blood in his lungs.
Robby watches from the back of the room, keeping a close eye on you and the bodies donned in camo outside the window — as the TEMS unit treats a trauma patient across the way, with Jack Abbot among them. He catches the man glancing around the crowded E.R. for a moment, peering over passing heads for a glimpse of you, before the work inevitably drags him away.
Robby knows you have not yet noticed Jack’s presence.
You’ve got the sort of tunnel vision you always get in a crisis, when you refuse to move on until you’ve helped the person in front of you first — which has undoubtedly made you the very backbone of the PTMC patient satisfaction score, though at a detriment to yourself perhaps. Because you never know when to stop; and then, when you inevitably have to, you’ll always find a way to blame yourself for it.
“Three minutes since the epi,” you hear Perlah say, over the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears.
“Hold compressions,” Robby commands.
You stop on instinct, and feel the ache done into your bones. You exhale heavy breaths as you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your gloved hand, careful to avoid the drops of blood spotted there. You feel like your chest is tearing in two when that same, menacing beeping sound fills the air.
“Aystotle,” Robby sighs. “Resume compressions.”
“Give me another amp of epi— and more suction,” you say through panted breaths, situating your palms back over the older man’s sternum. You look past the rogue flyaways falling over your eyes and the nurses crowded around you, peering at Robby with a determined but no less pleading gaze. “What do we do? Should we— Should we give PCC?”
Robby shakes his head with his arms crossed over his chest. “No, it’s too late for that…” he hums sympathetically. “And he’s not an ECMO candidate, so—”
“Well, can you tell me something that we can do?” you snap, harsher than you mean to.
Robby only softens further, dark eyes going tender around the edges as he tells you, “There’s nothing else we can do for him, kid…”
“Robby,” you whimper, flinching like he’s hurt you, but never once stopping your compressions. “C’mon. Please, we can— We can think of something— We still have two more rounds of epi, maybe it’ll—”
You exhale a punched-out breath, like not being able to save Louie hits you like a fist to the stomach. Your aching arms tingle with numbness when you part from the unconscious man. That wretched beeping fills the air once more, ringing through your ears and pounding skull.
“12:07,” you hear Robby announce the time of death, as Perlah’s soft hands grasp gently at your shoulders.
“C’mon. I’ll clean up,” the woman tells you, sniffling. “You take a second.”
“I’m fine,” you shrug, half-strangled, as you slip the bloodied gloves from your half-numb hands. You blink back burning tears as you walk them to the trash.
“You’re not,” Robby murmurs, head bowed to meet your averted gaze. “And that’s okay. Just take a second.”
You remind yourself to breathe — in for seven beats and out for eight — as the muffled exam room breaks away into the chaotic E.R. The rest of it becomes a blur in your tunnel vision, and the calls for concern turn to inaudible slurs in your ears.
“Whoa… you okay?” you only vaguely hear Trinity ask as you storm past the work station.
“Fine,” you squeak on instinct, despite the obvious.
“Oh, yeah, he totally croaked in there,” Ogilvie murmurs, as though to gossip with her, but forgetting to be subtle about it.
“Do you ever think before you speak?” Santos quips. “Or is the stupidity genetic?”
Your heavy eyes search for an empty room to duck into, to at least muffle your screams before you cry in front of everyone. There is no patient in the bed in Central 15, so you burst into that one, still struggling to catch your breath.
Your much-needed inhale gets caught in your chest at the sight you find in the corner of the room — Jack Abbot, stripped off his shirt and wiping blood from his stomach, with Samira standing just behind him, tending carefully to the scrape on his back.
Your sneaker scuffs the tile as you still suddenly in place.
The sound of your sudden presence makes them freeze, too. Their heads dart in your direction, gaping with wide eyes and parted mouths as if you’d just caught them doing something terrible. In a way, it feels like you have.
It feels like you’ve stumbled upon some achingly tender moment between them, of which you had been deprived for some time now — because even when Jack was with you, he was a thousand miles away. You wonder if, maybe, a part of him wanted to be here — with Samira, perhaps — and if that’s why he had left you so abruptly last night, as if it had only occurred to him then that you were no longer what he wanted.
You wouldn’t have blamed him for it, if that were the case. You just wish he would’ve told you before now, so it would feel like less of a white-hot knife lodged into the center of your sternum to find him this way.
“Sorry,” you just barely manage to choke out, though it gets lost in a whimper as you fight back the urge to cry.
Jack’s scruffy chest pinches with worry at the crack in your fragile voice and the visibly frazzled sight of you, all wild-haired and glassy-eyed. It hurts him far worse than the wounds burning red-hot on his pale skin now.
“What happened?” he asks, greying brows lowered in concern.
Samira stills with her soft fingers on Jack’s broad, freckled shoulder, touching him with a tenderness he hasn’t let you give him in some time.
“Are you okay?” she wonders, soft with a worry that is always sincere coming from here, but finds you more like a slap in the face just now.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer on muscle memory, then sniffle as you shake your head at yourself. “I’m not, actually— I don’t know why I said that— Louie just died. Pulmonary hemorrhage. And I was just looking for an empty room to cry in, I didn’t mean to… to interrupt…”
“You didn’t,” Jack assures you, parting from Samira to take a step closer to you.
It takes quite a lot of strength from you to turn away from him, instead of leering at his shirtless form or cowering at the gentle look in his light eyes. “I-I’ll see myself out,” you stammer hopelessly. “Sorry…”
You just barely hear Jack calling your name before the heavy glass door shuts behind you.
With nowhere else to go, and not willing to face the embarrassment of walking back the way you came, you make a beeline for the ambulance bay. The automatic doors part for you, and the cool air outside takes your breath away a second later.
Your chest hitches as you inhale a sniveling breath, trying and failing to regulate your breathing. You stand at the edge of the curb with one hand balled into a fist and one hand clutching your aching chest. Your heart’s telling you that you’re having an embolism and you’re about to keel over at this very moment; your brain’s telling you that you’re just having a panic attack and you need to suck it the hell up.
“Hey,” a man calls from further down the sidewalk.
Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice. You tense at the sight of the man who had grabbed you earlier, and your aching heart forgets to beat when you see him storming over to you. You find he’s wearing a smile on his bearded face when he’s close enough, but it looks more cynical than kind.
“You’re the nurse who got me kicked out earlier, aren’t you?” he asks.
You don’t have the breath or the bravery to correct him now.
“I’m sorry, sir…” you sniffle, wet-eyed, and turn away. “It’s just… It’s been a long day, okay? I didn’t mean for you to get escorted out. You just scared me, that’s all. I’m—”
You turn to face him again when he’s standing ahead of you. But before the words of an apology can spill from your mouth, his weathered fist collides with your nose.
You hear a sharp crack, a wet whoosh, and then the dull slap of your body hitting the pavement. You grimace when the back of your skull meets the concrete, and struggle to blink away the black spots from your vision.
The very first face you see is Langdon’s, though you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since your eyes have closed — a few seconds, maybe, or several minutes. You’re still lying on the rough pavement when you come to, with Frank’s gentle fingers brushing the hair out of your eyes with one hand and shining his penlight into your eyes with the other.
“There you are…” the man coos. “What happened to you out here?”
You hardly hear him, like he’s speaking to you from underwater. You answer him with a question of your own, lifting your trembling fingers to the dull throbbing sensation in your nose.
“Is… Is it bad?” you wonder aloud, half-slurring. You grimace first at the wet feeling on your cupid’s bow, then at the bright scarlet blood staining your fingertips. You whisper, voice breaking. “Ow…”
“Whoa, careful there…” Mel wavers, rushing from behind Langdon to help you when you try to sit up on your own. She crouches down beside him and takes you by the elbows in a pair of gentle hands. She squints behind her glasses when your inhale rattles in your chest. “Did you fall on your back?”
“Did somebody hit you?” Langdon presses from her other side, bushy brows lowered in worry.
“Wow…” you mumble, blinking hard, and wincing when you taste blood in your mouth. “So many questions…”
Mel and Langdon share a panicked look you don’t see.
“Yeah, c’mon. Let’s go,” the older man sighs, urging you up by the elbows and steadying you when you sway softly in place. “Come with me…”
“I can walk,” you protest through your ragged breaths, and through the blood dripping from your cupid’s bow and into your mouth. You pull your arm out of his grasp when the strength to do so returns to you, and stagger the rest of the way to the entrance until you regain your footing. “Just… Be normal, alright?”
“Right…” Langdon scoffs and fights back the urge to laugh — because you obviously have no idea how you look right now, with the lower half of your face all covered in blood, as if you’ve just been rescued from a bar fight. There’s hardly anything normal about that.
You try to be, anyway, as you stroll through the crowded E.R., hoping to be blanketed by the chaos inside. Everyone’s too busy charting or rushing to patients to notice your being there. You’re five or more steps away from making it to the bathroom when Robby’s eagle-eyed stare locks in on you from behind his computer.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” the older man blurts, sliding off his glasses and rising from his chair. He abandons his work without a second thought and rounds the workstation to rush to your side.
“I’m okay,” you tell him with a dismissive wave of your hand, pressing onward even when you hear his footsteps nearing you. He stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and steps in front of you to block your path.
“What the hell happened to you?” he wonders aloud, looking past you to Langdon and Mel as he drags a pair of gloves from his scrub pockets.
“We found her like this,” Frank shrugs.
“I told you to take a break, not get into a bar fight.”
“Ha-ha,” you monotone, then flinch when it hurts to smile. “Ow…”
“Who did this, huh?” Robby asks, cupping your bloodied face in his gloved hands. He runs his fingers over the back of your head first, to make sure you have no wounds there, before pressing his thumbs gently to the apples of your cheeks. “It wasn’t that asshole from before, was it?”
“I didn’t see him,” you lie through your teeth.
“Any trouble seeing? Any double vision?”
You shake your head against his hands, then inhale another rattling breath.
“Did you fall on your back?” he asks you then.
You nod once.
“What about a headache?”
“I always have a headache,” you answer. “I’m fine, Robby. I just need to get cleaned up—”
“Look at you— You’re not fine,” the man snaps. “Now, c’mon. You’re coming with me.”
You have no choice but to follow him when he wraps a firm, gentle hand around your arm, ushering you to walk ahead of him. You ignore the looks and calls of concern from the coworkers around you, except for Mel’s voice, which comes from behind you.
“Should I find Dr. Abbot?” she wonders aloud.
Your head snaps over your shoulder to look at her, and it makes your vision swim.
“Absolutely do not do that,” you answer, a little harsher than you mean to.
“O-kay…” she stammers and trails off.
“In here,” Robby urges, swinging open the door to the nearest empty room. He keeps a steady hand on your back to keep you stable and turns back to Mel before he follows you inside. “Find Abbot,” he tells her.
You lie on your back on the hospital bed while Robby does an impromptu exam. He presses the cold chestpiece of his stethoscope to your skin and listens to your breathing until it evens out again, from where the air had rushed out of your lungs after the fall. He finds your pupils both equal and reactive, and your nose free from swelling or cracking — “Nothing that mother nature can’t fix,” he says, and takes to cleaning you up instead.
“These beds are so hard,” you murmur, shifting uncomfortably with an icepack pressed to your nose, which Princess had brought by some minutes ago. “We should really get new ones in here. How are patients supposed to be comfortable in these?”
“Yeah, I’ll go tell Gloria,” Robby scoffs, dabbing at your nose with a wet wipe. “I’m sure she’ll get right on that…”
He parts from you to chuck the red-tinted napkin into the bin at his side and waits for you to laugh at his stupid joke. You stay silent. You don’t even give him a pity giggle, and you always, at the very least, give him a goddamn pity giggle. His brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and concern.
“Can I ask you a stupid question?”
“Better than anyone I know, Dr. Robby…”
“Ha-ha,” he deadpans, reaching for another wipe with a gloved hand. It’s freezing against the burning skin of your neck as it dabs it gently there. “Why didn’t you want me telling Abbot about this, huh?”
“Because he doesn’t care…” you mumble cynically, almost inaudibly so.
“Oh, c’mon,” Robby scoffs. “Even you don’t believe that.”
You don’t. Not really. You know Jack cares, if only because it’s in his blood to do so. His basic human empathy is what made him such a good doctor. You just aren’t sure that he cares about you in the way you thought he did — in the way you wanted him to — and you’re not quite sure how to voice that to Robby now.
“He’s busy right now,” you answer instead, still half-hidden behind the icepack. “Too busy for me, and I don’t wanna bother him, so… Just drop it.”
Robby flashes you a sympathetic smile that you don’t see as he swipes at the last bit of blood from your skin. “I know he may not act like it, kid, but he does care about you.”
“You’re right,” you mumble. “He doesn’t act like it—”
Jack Abbot bursts into the room like a red-hot flame through a burning house. His broad chest heaves with panted breaths beneath the thin navy shirt he wears in place of his tactical gear, though his camo pants still sit heavy on his waist.
His wild eyes scan your form. “What the hell’s going on in here?” he blurts.
You glare at Robby from behind the icepack. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, I know…” the man sighs, dropping the crumpled wipe into the trash beside him.
“What happened?” Jack presses, more firmly this time.
“Nothing,” you murmur shyly, unable to meet his gaze when he towers at your bedside with his hands on his hips. “It’s not the first time someone’s swung at me—”
“Yeah, but it’s the first time it’s been this bad. Bad enough that someone had to come get me,” Jack argues, made a bit harsher with the concern pinching at his chest. His head whips over his shoulder. “Who the hell did this?”
“Some guy from Chairs, I think,” Robby shrugs. “Name’s Driscoll. Ahmad’s already handling it. He’ll deal with the police.”
“Good,” Jack nods, firm in a way you’ve always adored about him. He was inherently resolute where you were perpetually indecisive. It mostly came in handy when you struggled to figure out what to eat for dinner, not usually in situations like this. “‘Cause we’re pressing charges on this asshole, alright?”
“Honestly, Jack, I don’t care what you do…” you sigh. “But my head is really starting to hurt, and I really don’t feel like handling this right now.”
“On it,” Robby nods, taking the hint and stalking out of the room. He shuts the curtains after him and dims the light as he goes. The noise of the Pitt muffles again when the door closes behind him, leaving you and Jack alone in the not-quite-silence and the not-quite-dark.
“Here. C’mon,” the man urges suddenly, motioning with his chin. “Make room for me.”
“What?” you ask, eyes squinted in confusion as the man turns to sit on the edge of the twin-sized bed, adjusting his prosthetic to swing it over the side.
He gives you an expectant look over his shoulder. “Scooch,” is all he says, in a strangely strong voice despite the very silly command.
You shift on the thin mattress despite your better judgment to make room for him. Jack urges his right leg up first, then his left one second. He settles in beside you and urges the railings up to keep him from falling off the side. You try to do the same, though you possess a lot less strength with only one hand than the man beside you.
Your breath catches when he reaches over you with a strong hand, helping you lift the barrier the rest of the way.
“Thanks…” you mumble, half-shy.
“Don’t mention it,” he huffs politely, with one arm on his stomach and the other curled around your shoulders, keeping you close to accommodate both your bodies on the twin-sized bed. He smells of sweat and musky cologne and antiseptic. It takes everything in you not to melt into his warmth. You remain tense beside him, feeling slightly strange in his hold in a way you never have before.
“I’m sorry about, Louie—”
“You don’t have to do this—” you blurt simultaneously.
His head snaps over to you. He has to jerk his scruffy chin back to look at you properly from the dwindling proximity between you. His eyes dart between your averted gaze and the slowly melting icepack you fidget with like a stress ball.
“Do what?” he asks.
“I didn’t mean to walk in on you and Samira, okay?” you confess quietly, ‘cause any octave higher, and your voice will start to shake. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to make it a whole thing, you know? So you don’t have to come in and pretend to be all nice just because you think I’m upset, ‘cause I’m not.”
(Your rambling is hardly convincing in the matter, but he makes no mention of it.)
“Okay. I hear you,” Jack murmurs gently, always so patient with your rambling, even though he can only halfway comprehend it a lot of the time. “But I’m still not sure what Mohan has to do with this—”
Honey, he wants to say, but doesn’t allow himself.
“If you want to be with her, that’s okay— Or if it’s just because you don’t wanna be with me, that’s okay, too,” you explain in a strangely even voice. “But I wish you would’ve just told me, instead of bailing on me last night—”
“I didn’t bail on you—”
“—So then I wouldn’t have to catch you and Samira doing…” you trail off, face screwed. “Whatever the hell you were doing back there.”
“Catching us?” Jack echoes with a laugh you can feel rumbling against your shoulder. “That would imply we were doing something worth getting caught. She just walked in on me while looking for her patient, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well…” you hum, gaze averted to the icepack in your lap. “It seemed pretty intimate…”
“It wasn’t.”
“More intimate than you’ve been with me,” you argue sheepishly.
“Well, not to be crude here, but…” Jack trails off with an audible smile in his voice. “We literally had sex last night.”
“Yeah, and you left,” you spit, turning to look at him for the first time since he stormed in. You wear a wet look in your glassy eyes and a bruise blooming on the bridge of your nose. “And I cried myself to sleep about it. Which means I didn’t get to watch Love Island, which means I forgot to eat, which means I’m running on fumes on what has arguably been the worst shift of my whole life.”
You take a much-needed breath when the words are gone from your mouth.
Jack does not jump immediately to defend himself. He knows he doesn’t deserve it now. He just lets himself stew in your fiery words instead, so you know they’ll have a real impact on him before he responds.
“You’re right,” he sighs after a few long moments. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head at his apologetic tone. “Just don’t… Don’t be so mean, you know? If you don’t wanna be with me anymore, why can’t you just say?”
“Because I do want to be with you,” he answers, weathered features screwed in offense. “How would you ask me that?”
“Because you aren’t acting like it—”
“Because I almost told you that I loved you,” Jack blurts suddenly, in a stern tone of voice that snatches the breath from your lungs. He swallows hard and continues. “Last night, I mean, when we… I almost said it… Because I felt it, but then I… I realized I hadn’t said that to anyone since my wife passed, and it freaked me out.”
“But…” you start in a broken whisper. “Why does that have to be such a bad thing?”
“‘Cause it makes me feel guilty,” Jack answers. “The way I love you makes me feel guilty, like I’m abandoning her. And I… I don’t know what to do with all that… grief.”
You feel your heart aching, for the third or hundredth time that day. You notice Jack’s right hand hanging on your shoulder, how his fingers fidget anxiously there, and how his left hand scratches at the rough fabric of his camo pants — made overwrought by his confession, and unsure what to do with it now.
“Why don’t you just give it to me?” you wonder quietly, then shrug at the confused look Jack gives you a second later. “Your grief, I mean. I can take it. You know, make it a little more bearable for you. So you don’t have to carry it all on your own.”
The softness of your words knocks the breath from Jack’s lungs.
The corner of his mouth quirks in a wavering smile as he blinks burning tears out of his eyes. “Jesus, we're a couple of goddamn sad sacks, aren’t we, honey?” he scoffs a sad laugh and runs his free hand down his scruffy face.
Your lips twitch upward, feeling giddy but fighting it. “That’s the first time you called me that in two days…” you observe distantly.
“What?”
“Honey.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m sorry for that, too…”
“Don’t be sorry,” you repeat, this time with a smile. “Just— kiss me or somethin’…”
“Gladly,” Jack says with a wider grin.
You tilt your chin up to meet him halfway when he leans down to kiss you. His nose bumps into the side of your bruised one, as your hand reaches for his wounded shoulder. You flinch against each other in tandem.
“Ow,” you whimper.
“Ouch,” Jack winces. “Shit, honey— Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” you ask with a sympathetic scrunch to your features, cupping his scruffy face in your delicate hands. “I haven’t checked in on you yet, I know you’re hurt—”
“I’m fine,” he assures with a shake of his head, leaning instinctively into your touch. “I got a little banged up, but… I’m good now.”
“Promise?” you whisper, swiping an eyelash from his cheek with your thumb.
“I promise. I'll tell you about later,” he nods once and smooths his calloused fingers across your temple, looking at you with a tenderness you’ve been craving all day. “What about you, honey— Are you okay?”
You inhale sharply through your bruised nose and nod on a slower exhale.
“I will be,” you answer honestly for the first time all day.
Sorry but why does every fanfiction with older men have to be age gap? And why does the reader ALWAYS have to be a pale, white, skinny, petite barely legal woman with a bratty personality?? And why do we suddenly loose subplots and major information that has EVERYTHING to do with the setting we're in
Like im not kidding i saw a fic saying "she shyly glanced down unto her ballerina flats" BALLERINA FLATS. in an apocalypse? Like i get you want your little princess moment but can we do that without tettering on the edge of pedophilia? Ive yet to see a fic with an older man where the reader has a somewhat acceptable age group compared to the character... what happened to bad ass personalities where the reader is ACTUALLY strong and not just a weak woman in need of saving.
Hellooo, I was wondering if you could do a Jack Abbot x fem reader (maybe she’s a nurse) where they both obviously like each other a lot and are super close so they spend a lot of time together in and outside of the Pitt. It’s a miscommunication in that reader thinks they’re dating but Jack doesn’t and he’s all pining after her (maybe insecure cause he’s so much older than her). It kinda goes on for a bit before Jack overhears her one day talking to someone about a boyfriend and he’s so brokenhearted that he starts avoiding reader. Obviously she freaks out and asks what happened, thinking he might break up with her only for both of them to be confused when they realize how stupid they’ve been.
I’m sorry if that was really long/too descriptive. I’ve seen this trope maybe once or twice and I just thought I’d love to see your take on it since you write Jack sooo well💞
💞Tags/Warnings💞: age gap relationship/crush, fluff, talks of age insecurity ( so hurt/comfort ), miscommunication leads to confessions
💞Plot💞: Jack Abbot is the perfect boyfriend! He just doesn’t know it yet..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: So, what are we?!
💞A/N💞: this is so funny! I love a good miscommunication trope. And thank you sm! Hope you like it!!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
“God, I love this man..”
Those words leave Y/N’s mouth effortlessly as she grabs the candy bar that was left on her desk. She already knew who it was from. She didn’t have to read the dorky post it note that was attached to it. The confession stuns even her for a split second.
This was her first time saying it out loud.
It’s followed by a giddy giggle as Mel gets bashful for her. She couldn’t help it though. She was falling for the Jack Abbot. The man who’s been a constant by her side since she started working at the Pitt almost a year or so ago. He’s been her number one supporter on good days and her rock on bad ones.
“You’re so happy.” Mel notes with a big smile as if Y/N’s good mood was contagious. It makes her laugh a bit more.
“My boyfriend is literally perfect, Mel. Of course I’m happy…” Y/N smiles wide, holding the candy bar closer to her chest. Both women fail to notice the older attending hovering around the corner, though.
Jack had been waiting as patiently as he could for Mel to walk away so he could check in on Y/N. She’d had a terrible morning. Hence the candy he’d set for her on her desk. But hearing the word ‘boyfriend’ had done something to his chest. Maybe it had broken his rose colored glasses.
Maybe it had woken him up.
He slowly backs away as it sinks in. Of course. Of course a beautiful girl like Y/N would be taken. He rubs his hands along his cargo pants as he instantly tries to busy himself. He should’ve known that this long game he was playing would only end badly.
He didn’t know when it started. He likes to believe the moment he met Y/N, he started to woo her. But, honestly, he had seen Y/N as a mentee. Someone with a passion for saving people that he respected.
Jack loved a capable woman.
And the day he watched her practically get on top of a plus sized patient so she could have the leverage to give CPR as paramedics rushed the gurney down the hallway? He knew he had to buy her dinner.
Maybe that’s when the view changed? He couldn’t pinpoint it. One day, though, he just looked at her and thought to himself.. ‘huh. Have her eyes always been that deep?’
And he’d been falling in them ever since..
But here he is now. Embarrassed and fidgeting with his stethoscope out of an overwhelming gut feeling of aimlessness. He felt dumb to say the least.
But why feel anything else? What should he feel instead?
Surprised? He’s 50! Obviously getting the girl wasn’t for someone of his age.
What about anger? For all the late night breaks spent on the roof or at the park across the way? For all the deep conversations that an attending and nurse could not platonically have because they’re so intimate in nature, especially if the nurse has a boyfriend! But maybe Y/N was just a naturally open person. Maybe those details he had learned about her weren’t special in nature because everyone knew them. Maybe he imagined the comfortable silence and hand brushing. The resting her head on his shoulder were just habits of hers that she’d do with anyone.
Should he feel concerned? Confused? A boyfriend and yet she’d grab breakfast with him after almost every shift? A boyfriend, but she’d hold his hand as they walk through the farmer’s market on Sunday because she wanted him to explore new aspects of Pittsburgh. There’s a boyfriend in her life, and just earlier this afternoon they’d shared a hospital bed to nap in together for their night shift!
Jack wants to laugh in disbelief. Some girlfriend Y/N was! If he was said boyfriend, he would’ve been down here the first time he heard his girlfriend had gone out to grab a slice at 1am with her attending. Just to make sure the guy knows she’s taken. Maybe they weren’t that kind of couple though. Hell, maybe it was that old school mindset that Jack had that solidified him just not being Y/N’s type.
Jack busies himself by checking the supplies in empty hospital rooms. Refilling what’s needed. It’s tedious, sure, but also just enough to keep his mind on something else and stop his racing thoughts from suffocating his heart..
“Hey..” He hears from behind him, and slows his movements only a bit but stays with his back turned. Looking at her would only make him break.. And he was way too old to be this heartbroken..
Y/N pauses at the tension she clearly sees on Jack’s shoulders. She frowns slightly. “You okay? Is it the supplies?” She tries to joke as she moves closer. “Do you need a stocking buddy?” She teases as she moves to stand next to him. Usually, her teasing would be met with a joke of his own. A sly comment with a soft smirk.
But the minute Y/N’s hand brushed against Jack’s, he drops the glove box he’d been wrestling with and just walks out of the room. Leaving Y/N stunned…
What the hell was that?!
*
*
*
That wasn’t Jack. This wasn’t Jack.
And Y/N was beginning to worry.
For a man who had once told her, ‘you’re the Pitt nurse, sure, but you’re my nurse first’, he was surely enjoying calling for Mateo to follow him on cases tonight..
Y/N stands at the nurse’s station, racking through her brain to think about this. What the hell had she done? What had she said? Why couldn’t he look her in the eyes tonight? Why would he vacate any room she walked into like she’s the plague?
“I’m off..” She hears from behind her and turns to wave bye to Mel who’d been pulling extra hours now that she had no responsibilities towards her sister. That’s when it hit her.
Oh god.
Maybe she had messed up!
Telling Mel! She’d told Mel! She hadn’t used any names, sure, but maybe it was obvious. Maybe Jack wanted to keep this private. He was a very open book at work, though. Hell, Y/N found out the majority of her facts on Jack because of Robby!
That was his work husband through and through..
But maybe this, maybe they, were supposed to stay a secret. Something just for them. And telling Mel had upset Jack. She gets a thought that makes her heart drop..
Maybe it had showed him her immaturity.
She needed to find him…
*
*
*
The sun was just starting to peek up from the city line as Jack leaned against the railing. He needed the fresh air to clear his mind. The night had dragged on and today was a new day. A day to fully sit with this somber acceptance. Y/N wasn’t his. And she never would be..
The roof top door squeaks open and Jack doesn’t turn to see who has entered, assuming it to be Robby. If it was, he’d try and convince the older man to just sit here with him for a moment or so. He could use the silent company. But a voice breaks out of the silence.
“I knew I’d find you here..”
Jack cringes slightly. He sighs at the flutter in his heart. Her voice does that to him. Even now, knowing everything. He hates it.
“Just about to leave.” He says, voice gruff as he goes to grab his bookbag that’s on the gravel ground by his feet. He picks it up and swiftly moves over the railing. Y/N is quick to get in his way.
“Jack. Please. I can explain..” She whispers, finally dropping any casual front. She knew they had something to discuss..
“There’s nothing to explain, Y/N. I’m just your attending..” Jack says shortly, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see her heart break from his words.
“Jack..” She whispers, as if in shock that he’d even say that. He moves to walk past her, but he can’t stop himself anymore. They did have something to discuss…
“No.” He says, turning back around to face her. “You know what really sucks? Is the fact that you couldn’t just tell me.” He states.
“I didn’t think it was important!” Y/N quickly says back, shaking her head as if beside herself in this moment.
“You didn’t think…” Jack laughs humorlessly. A short sound that’s cut off by his hand coming up to rub his mouth in disbelief.
“We spend every night, every morning, every day off together, and you didn’t think it was important?” He continues with a heavy sigh of disbelief and anger.
Y/N shakes her head, arms coming up to hold herself. It’s her turn to breathe shakily in frustration. “I’m sorry that you wanted me kept a secret! I didn’t know you were so ashamed of being with me!”
Jack pauses. “What?” He whispers in disbelief. “What?!” He repeats as if at a loss. “I.. You know what I’m ashamed of, Y/N? Being the other man!”
“What?!” Y/N practically shrieks in shock. That sound stuns the older man for a brief moment. Long enough for her to continue.
“Jack. There is no other man. It’s just you!” She says fast.
“I…” He blinks a bit before shaking his head. No. No, he’d heard her clear as day. “You’re gonna lie? I heard you. Talking about your boyfriend..”
“Are you… Is this a senior moment?!” Y/N loudly proclaims in actual astonishment.
“Hey..” Jack warns.
“You’re my boyfriend, you big dummy! I was talking about you!” She shouts. What the hell wasn’t he getting right now?!
There’s a beat of silence the falls between the two. As if they’ve just now realized how different their viewpoints had been.
“I… I am?” Jack asks slowly now, turning pale with shock. Only then does the anger in Y/N’s body melt away, replaced with surprise. But it’s mixed with something else. Something bitter.
Mortified humiliation.
“A-Are you..?” She asks back before covering her mouth. Had she just assumed all those outings were dates? All those moments alone, all those afternoon naps at work? It was all just friendly?!
“Oh my god, you must think I’m a kid..” She whispers, horrified as Jack lets it all fully sink in. Y/N turns away, hand on her forehead as she wishes for the ground to just swallow her whole. Jack looks at her. Really looks at her, and he can’t help but start to chuckle.
“It’s not funny!” Y/N whines, tears in her eyes as Jack walks over.
“I’m not laughing at you. I.. Come here..” He whispers as he pulls her in. As much as she wants to run, she knows his arms around her will feel so much better…
He holds her close as he rests his chin on the top of her head, arms on her shoulders while she grips his waist. “I… I’m so so sorry..” He says finally before pulling back to look at her.
They both take a moment to actually look at each other and softly begin to laugh. What the hell was this?!
“You must think I’m some dumb school girl.” Y/N groans as Jack smiles softly, muttering assurances that he doesn’t, but she keeps talking. “I.. I thought we.. We’d go out, you’d buy me flowers..” She tries to defend her thought process, but her voice comes out sheepish.
“I was… I was playing the long game..” Jack admits bashfully.
“Long game?!” Y/N asks in a flabbergasted tone.
“Yeah! You know… When a guy likes a girl, so he.. He woos her! To show he’s a good candidate!” Jack defends. Y/N actually eyes him as it clicks.
“Oh my god..” She mumbles as she remembers. Right! He’s 50! Of course he’d think dating is still some big show and dance where the guy has to pull out all the stops before he can even get the girl to be his girlfriend.
“That was all just you being chivalrous?!” Y/N stomps a foot.
“I thought it’d work!” Jack says right back. In his defense, he hasn’t been in the dating game in almost ten or so years..
“Well it did! I thought we were dating already!” Y/N groans as she face palms. Jack chuckles quietly.
“We never kissed..” He points out after a moment. Y/N sheepishly shrugs.
“I thought you were just building up to it..” She defends quietly as he softly laughs and shakes his head.
The two stand on the roof, the early morning sun shining on them as they find comfort in each other’s arms. Slowly, Y/N looks up from her playful tugging at the hem of his scrubs.
“So..” She mumbles. “What are we now?” She asks finally, voice soft and slightly lighthearted. Jack looks at her before leaning in, catching her lips in a tender kiss with his hands cradling her chin and jaw. The kiss makes Y/N’s head spin. It’s exactly how she’d imagined it. The coffee taste and all..
When they finally pull away, Y/N smiles wide against his lips. “Okay..” She mumbles, nodding only slightly as if agreeing to his silent proposal. The two slowly head for the roof door now, with all that settled. But Jack can’t stop himself as they get into the stairwell.
“So. How long have we been dating?” Jack asks curiously.
“Shut up…” Y/N laughs, still embarrassed as she lightly swats at his shoulder.
“What? I need to know if I gotta plan for an anniversary!” Jack teases further as she playfully shoves him before squealing when he goes to grab her waist, playfully running from him and down the stairs as he chases her..
Obviously THE sexiest scene is still Pedro and Adria Arjona, Narcos S1 ep2, but this comes a very close second and you hardly see anything and also Pope is adorable then unbelievably sexy the next!!!
Summary: You grew up with the Danforths; your father was Chester Danforth’s right hand man. When he passes, his twins Titus and Ursula inherit the hotel and casino resort empire, but the chair of the High Council goes to Titus. There’s one rule for Titus to claim it: he must be married. And his bride… is you.
Warning: Age Gap (No specified), Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience, Swearing,
Just rewatched this film for about the 5th time I LOVE it!! Nobody looks sexier wiping blood off their face (except maybe Pedro P). It took me till about the 3rd watch to realise it’s part of Graces’s dress he uses!!! Anyhoo this series is so good too, a little slip up from loverboy and Ursula ….
Summary: After several weeks, Sammy and Nate finally had the man from the alley in custody, and they brought you in to identify the suspect in a lineup.
Words: 4215
Warning: Age gap relationship (mid-20s/mid-30s), murder investigation, gang-related crime, mentions of therapy, support group, panic attack
Authors Note: GAH finally an update on da sammy fic. Enjoy - Ryn
SAFTEY | MASTERLIST
You’d started seeing someone to help you process everything that happened—the murder you witnessed and what came after. It hadn’t been easy. Some days still felt heavier than others, like the memory was right beneath the surface waiting to pull you back under.
But slowly, in small steps, things were beginning to shift. You were learning how to sit with what happened without letting it consume you. Learning how to breathe through the fear instead of getting swallowed by it. Learning, bit by bit, how to keep moving forward.
Sammy and Nate checked in when they could, keeping you updated with whatever information they were able to find about the case.
Tonight, you were halfway through making dinner, absentmindedly stirring something on the stove while the TV murmured softly in the background. There was a knock at your door.
You freeze.
You lower the spoon onto the counter and cross the room, wiping your hands nervously against your sweatpants before unlocking the door.
“Who is it?”
Then a familiar voice calls from the other side. “It’s Sammy.”
You unlock the door. Sammy and Nate stand on the other side, both looking more serious than usual. Sammy’s hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket while Nate stands stiffly beside him, his expression unreadable.
“Hey,” Sammy says quietly.
“Hi,” you answer, your gaze flicking between them. “What’s going on?”
Sammy exchanges a quick look with Nate before speaking again. “We have an update on the case. Do you mind if we come in?”
Your chest tightens at the word case.
“Sure,” you murmur, stepping aside to let them through.
You step aside to let them in.
Neither of them says much as they walk into the house. You close the door behind them, the click of the lock suddenly sounding too loud in the quiet apartment.
The smell of dinner still lingers in the air as you trail after them into the living room. Sammy and Nate sit on the couch while you lower yourself into the chair across from them, your hands curling tightly together in your lap.
You reach for the remote and mute the TV, the soft glow from the screen flickering across the room as silence settles over all three of you.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
Then Sammy finally breaks the silence.
“We got him.”
Your breath catches. “W-what?” Your eyebrows lift in shock as you stare at them. “You found him?”
Nate nods once. “We have a suspect in custody,” he says carefully. “But we need to do a lineup.”
“A lineup?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended.
“We need you to identify him,” Nate says. “Officially.”
The room suddenly feels colder. Your stomach twists hard enough to make you feel sick.
Sammy leans forward slightly, his voice gentler now. “You don’t have to answer right this second. We know this is a lot–”
“N-no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I want to.”
The words come out shaky, but certain.
Silence settles over the room for a brief moment. Sammy studies your face carefully, like he’s trying to make sure you really mean it.
“You’re sure?” He asks softly.
You wanted justice for the man he murdered, but also for yourself. For what he did to you. For the fear he left behind and trying to work through.
“If you identify him,” Nate says carefully, “it gives the DA enough to move forward with charges. Your statement and the lineup become part of the case.”
He pauses, meeting your eyes directly.
“And because you’re an eyewitness to the murder itself, there’s a strong chance you’d be called to testify later on. That could be at a preliminary hearing or at trial…if it goes that far.”
Sammy’s voice softens slightly. “It doesn’t always end up in a full courtroom trial. Sometimes there’s a plea deal before that happens.”
Nate nods once. “But if it does, we don’t just put you on the stand and leave you there. We prep you for everything…what you’ll be asked, what the courtroom looks like, who will be there. You’d be guided through it step by step.”
A brief pause settles in the room again, heavier this time, but honest.
Sammy adds, “Right now, though, the lineup is the next step. That’s all you have to focus on.”
You let their words sink in. You let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself.
“We can schedule it whenever you’re ready,” he says softly. “Tomorrow, next week… whenever.”
“No,” you say quietly, shaking your head. “I don’t want to keep waiting… could we do it tomorrow?”
Sammy nods immediately. “Okay,” she says gently. “If that’s what you want, we’ll make it happen.”
The smell hits first—sharp. .
“Oh shit.”
You rush back toward the kitchen and cut the heat on the stove. You already know it’s too late.
Sammy’s already moving, fanning the smoke. Nate steps in and reaches up, switching off the smoke detector before it can fully go off.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sammy says, still waving a hand through the air.
Nate glances at the pan, then at you. “It happens.”
You turn on the sink, letting water run over the pot as you stare at it like it personally betrayed you. The hiss of steam rises up immediately. Fading smoke and the quiet mess of what was supposed to be dinner.
“Well,” you mutter, shoulders dropping slightly, “there goes my dinner.”
Sammy tilts his head toward you. “We were actually just about to go get something to eat. You should come with us.”
Nate glances sideways at him quick, subtle. Not unkind. Just a look that says remember what we talked about. Boundaries. Lines. Don’t get too emotionally folded into it too fast.
Sammy catches it, but doesn’t backtrack.
You blink, caught off guard more than anything, then glance back at the ruined pot once.
“…Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’d like that.I’ll just go change real quick.” You disappear down the hall, leaving the apartment quieter behind you.
Nate’s voice drops low enough that it doesn’t carry past the room. “You gotta be careful.”
Sammy glances at him. “About what?”
Nate tilts his head slightly toward the hallway. “You know what I mean. We’ve talked about this, Sammy.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Nate replies evenly.
Sammy opens his mouth to argue, but Nate cuts him off with a small shake of his head.
“You always get a little too emotionally attached to some of the people we help,” Nate says. “I’ve seen it before.”
Sammy looks down, jaw tightening slightly.
Nate studies him for a moment. “And that’s exactly why I’m saying something.”
“She’s alone, Nate. She doesn’t have anyone there for her…”
“So were a lot of people we’ve helped.”
Sammy falls quiet.
Nate sighs “You care. That’s one of the things that makes you good at this. But you can’t be the person who saves everyone, Sammy”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Sammy doesn’t answer right away.
Finally, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks toward the hallway. The conversation drops away as you step back into the room, ready to leave.
“I’m ready,” you announce with a small smile.
Sammy looks over at you, whatever had been on his mind disappearing behind an easy expression.
“Good,” he says, “Let’s go.”
—
You were laughing, your head tipped back as Sammy told another story about him and Nate had on the job. The hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filled the diner around you, but Sammy had your full attention. He talked with his hands, getting more animated with every detail, and every time he made you laugh harder, a grin spread across his face.
Across the booth, Nate rolled his eyes and let out a quiet chuckle. For once, he stayed silent, letting Sammy have the floor. Every now and then he'd shake his head when the story became a little too exaggerated, the look on his face saying he'd heard it a hundred times before. Still, there was a fondness there as he listened.
You hadn't laughed or even smiled like this in a long time. Sitting in the worn diner booth, surrounded by the smell of coffee and greasy food, the weight you've been carrying felt a little lighter. For a little while, you were able to forget everything else and simply enjoy being here.
Suddenly, Sammy's phone started ringing.
He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
"It's Tammi. I gotta take this." The comment seemed directed more at Nate than anyone else.
Sammy shoved his phone to his ear as he slid out of the booth. "I'll be back."
You watched him head toward the front of the diner, but he hadn't gotten very far before his voice carried back to the table.
"No, Tammi, that's not what happened!"
A beat passed.
"Because that's not what I said!"
He pushed through the front door, but even through the glass you could still see him gesturing with his free hand, clearly growing frustrated. Sammy threw his head back in exasperation.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him, concerned flickering across your face. Nate, meanwhile, didn't seem bothered in the slightest.
Tammi’s his wife, right?” you ask Nate, your thoughts drifting back to the conversation you’d had about her with Sammy in his car that night when he’d driven you around aimlessly because you couldn’t sleep.
“Yeah,” Nate sighs.
“Is it always like that?” you ask, your meaning clear, Sammy and Tammi, arguing over the phone.
"Pretty much." He leaned back in the booth, exhaling. "It burns hot for a while, then it’s like nothing ever happened. Until the next time."
Another muffled burst of Sammy's voice drifted in from outside.
"That doesn't seem healthy..." you said cautiously.
He glanced toward the window, where Sammy was still pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.
“It’s not, but Sammy loves Tammi,” Nate said quietly, watching him for a moment longer. “He puts up with a lot of shit when it comes to her.”
He hesitated, jaw tightening as he kept his eyes on Sammy.
“Sammy’s a good guy,” he continued, voice lower now. “But she just walks all over him…takes advantage. She comes up with these crazy ideas and expects him to be okay with it. Never runs anything by him, and Sammy’s always the one left cleaning up the mess.”
His expression hardened slightly, frustration slipping through.
“I just don’t get it,” Nate admitted. “He bends over backwards for her, and she—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like she doesn’t even notice what it costs him.”
“I don’t particularly like her…” Nate cut himself off, as if only then realizing how much he’d said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be airing this out. It’s not my place and this is very unprofessional.”
You met his eyes, steady and reassuring.
“Well, I don’t think any less of you or him. It’s off the record, but I get it. You’re his partner… his friend. You care about him”
“Yeah…he’s my brother. Love him to death”
A small smile tugged at your lips at that.
Nate noticed it and huffed softly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the moment.
“It’s just…” he started again, then paused, eyes flicking back toward Sammy before returning to you. “I don’t think she treats him the way he deserves.”
“I’d be lucky to have someone like Sammy,” you said quietly.
That made Nate pause. He looked at you a little more directly this time, like he was trying to figure out whether you meant it the way it sounded. His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Oh god…I didn’t—I–” you started quickly, words tripping over each other as you tried to backpedal, to save yourself from what you’d just said.
It came out too fast, too honest. A silly little crush on Sammy you knew wasn’t going anywhere. He was the detective on an active case you were involved in, and he was married, completely off-limits. No matter how harmless, the feeling stayed tucked away. Still, you thought he was cute, kind, funny, and easy to talk to and you liked how safe you felt around him.
Before you could dig the hole any deeper, Nate let out a quiet chuckle.
“Off the record,” he said, easing the tension with just those two words.
You manage an embarrassed smile, heat rising in your cheeks. A voice cuts in before you can respond.
“Sorry about that,” Sammy said as he slipped back into the booth, settling into his seat with an easy familiarity, completely unaware of the conversation he'd just interrupted.
“You okay?” Nate asked, giving him a quick once over.
“Yeah, I'm fine,” Sammy said, waving it off. Then he looked between the two of you. “Now, where was I?”
“We were dealing with Elmo on Hollywood Boulevard,” Nate supplied, jogging his memory.
“Oh, right!” He pointed at Nate. Anyway...” He turned back to you. “So this guy dressed as Elmo...”
—
“You’re still willing to come in tomorrow and identify the suspect in the lineup?” Nate asked. The three of you stood on your front porch, the evening air settling around you as the conversation wound down.
“Yes,” you said with a nod.
“Okay.” Nate returned the nod. “We’ll have the lineup set for around noon. If anything changes, we’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Nate said.
“Tomorrow,” you echoed.
“Hey, I’ll catch up in a minute,” Sammy called after him.
Nate glanced back, then gave a small nod before heading toward the car, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.
A brief silence settled between you.
“Thanks for tonight,” you said.
“Yeah, of course.” Sammy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you need a ride tomorrow? We can come pick you up if you need.”
You shook your head. “I’ll manage. Thanks for the offer”
The quiet lingered for a moment before his expression softened.
“How’ve you been holding up?” He asks.
You looked down briefly, gathering your thoughts. “Okay,” you said honestly. “Those resources you gave me... I've been talking to someone. Going to the support groups, too. It's been helpful.”
Your eyes lifted back to him.“So... Thank you. For taking the time to put all that together for me.”
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “I’m really glad they’ve been helpful.”
He paused, then added more quietly, “I know none of that stuff makes things magically better overnight, but you shouldn't have to carry all of it by yourself.”
Something warm settled in your chest at that. “Well,” you said with a small smile, “it helped more than you probably realize.”
A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Good,” he said simply. “That's all I was hoping for…I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Sammy.”
“Goodnight.”
With one last nod, he turned and headed down the walkway toward Nate and the waiting car, leaving you standing on the porch.
—
You step into the police station at noon, the glass doors shutting behind you with a soft thud. The familiar buzz of phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and low conversations fills the lobby.
Behind a thick pane of security glass, the receptionist looks up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
“Hi.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. “I’m here to see Detective Bryant and Detective Moretta.”
“Name?”
You give it to her, watching as she types something into the computer. After a moment, she nods.
There’s a loud click before the secured door beside the desk unlocks with a buzz.
“You can head through there.” She pauses, stopping an officer on his way out. “Hey, Coop—could you bring her down to Gang and Narcotics?”
The officer slows, glancing between the two of you before giving a short nod. “Yeah, I got her.”
“She’ll be waiting for Detectives Nate and Sammy,” the woman adds.
Cooper pushes the door open wider for you. “C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to follow.
You recognize him. Officer John Cooper.
He’d been one of the officers on patrol outside your house the night of the murder. Recognition crosses his face too.
“Hi,” you greeted him with a small smile.
“Hey” he replied with a nod, acknowledging you as he held the door and led the way down the hall.
Cooper glances over at you as he walks. “How’ve you been holding up?”
“I’m doing okay…”
He nods once like he expected that answer. “Been a rough few weeks.”
“Yeah.”
He guides you into the middle of the bullpen. A rowdy open room filled with desks pushed together in clusters. Phones ring constantly here, someone arguing lightly across the room about paperwork while another detective laughs at something under his breath. It feels chaotic, alive.
Near the middle, two desks sit across from each other, both buried in files, coffee cups, and scattered notes.
Sammy looks up first from his chair when Cooper approaches. Nate leaning against Sammy’s desk with a folder in his hands, turns a second later.
Both of their expressions soften immediately when they see you.
“Hey,” Sammy says, standing.
“Thank you” you turn and give Officer Cooper a smile. He nods before walking away.
“You ready?” Sammy asks.
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a nod anyway.
“Alright,” Nate says softly, “We’ll walk you through it.”
They lead you down the hallway. The farther you get from the bullpen, the quieter everything becomes. Nate walks slightly ahead, while Sammy hangs back just enough to stay beside you.
When your fingers start twisting nervously in your sleeves, Sammy notices immediately.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly. “There’s no rush.”
You nod again, though your stomach is twisting harder with every step.
Nate opens the door to a dim observation room. A large pane of glass stretches across the wall in front of you. Beyond it is another room. Empty except for black height lines marked against the wall and numbers taped along the floor.
Your chest tightens at the sight.
Nate steps beside the glass. “Okay. In a minute, six men are going to come in and stand on the numbers. They may have them turn, step forward, or say a few words. Standard procedure.”
“You don’t have to answer immediately,” Sammy adds. “Take your time. If you recognize someone, you tell us the number they’re standing on.”
“And if you’re not sure,” Nate says gently, “you say you’re not sure. Don’t pressure yourself into choosing somebody.”
Your eyes stay fixed on the empty lineup room. “Will they be able to see me?”
“No,” Sammy says firmly.
Nate gives a small shake of his head. “This is a one-way glass. You can see them, but they can’t see you. He won’t know where you are.”
“He won’t hear you either,” Sammy adds. “Only us.”
You exhale shakily, but the tightness in your chest eases just slightly.
Sammy gestures toward the chair closest to the window. “Sit if you want. And if this gets overwhelming at any point, we stop. Doesn’t matter if they’re halfway through the lineup. You’re in control here,”
Before you sit, he pauses, studying your expression for a second longer. “You still okay to do this?”
The question was gentle, genuine like he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind without a hint of judgment.
Your fingers tightened together nervously. After a moment, you nodded.
“Yeah.”
Sammy studied you for a second. Not fully convinced you were calm, but accepting the answer anyway.
“Okay.”
You lowered yourself into the chair, clasping your hands tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking.
Nate remained by the observation glass while Sammy stayed close by. Sammy glanced over at you one last time. When you gave him a small nod, he looked at Nate and gave a subtle okay.
Nate returned the nod, then leaned toward the intercom.
“Alright,” he said, pressing the button. “Bring them in.”
The lineup room beyond the glass still sits empty for another moment, painfully quiet. Then men file in one by one, forming a straight line before stopping and turning toward the glass.
Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. That same stare. The same shape of his face. The crooked nose you remember too clearly and then your eyes catch on the tattoo curling just above his collar.
Your eyes stay locked on the man in the lineup like you can’t force yourself to look away. Everything inside you locks up. It feels like he’s staring right at you.
“It’s- It’s three, he’s the man in the alley…” you swallow, forcing the words through. “It’s number three.”
“You’re sure it’s number three?” Nate asks, not doubting you, just making sure the detail is solid, anchored.
You nod quickly “I’m sure,” you say. “His eyes…that tattoo. It’s him–”
Your hand lifts to your throat before you even realize it, fingers brushing against your skin like you can still feel his grip there. The memory crashes back in.
You didn’t expect this…didn’t think seeing him on the other side of the glass would hit you like this.
“I—I can’t breathe—” you manage, voice breaking as tears spill over before you can stop them.
“Cut it, Nate,” Sammy says sharply.
Nate immediately goes to the intercom, voice low as he tells them they’ve got what they need.
“Hey—hey. Look at me. Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
Sammy steps into your line of sight, blocking the glass completely. His hands settle on your shoulders.
You grab onto him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck. His arms come around you just as quickly, holding you steady against him.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You’re okay.”
His hand settles between your shoulder blades as your breath comes in short, uneven pulls.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The words give you something to focus on besides your panic. His hand never left your back, rubbing slowly.
Behind him, Nate watches silently. Sammy can already feel Nate staring at the back of his head, probably knowing he’s going to say something about this later. Right now, Sammy doesn’t care.
“Shhh, you’re okay,” he says softly.
Your breathing starts to steady. After a moment, Sammy pulls back just enough to look down at you.
“I’m sorry…seeing him just…Sorry…” you say, as you quickly wipe the tears from your eyes.
“Hey,” he cuts in gently. “You have nothing to apologize for. You did good.” His voice stays calm as he rubs your arms.
“How about we get you something to drink? Fresh air, too,” Nate suggests gently.
You nod.
“I got her,” Nate says, glancing at Sammy as he passes Sammy a file.
Sammy hesitates for a beat, then nods once. “Yeah… okay.”
“Come on,” Nate says, a hand settling lightly on your back as he guides you toward the door and out of the room.
—
You sit on a bench in a small courtyard outside the police station, a water bottle in hand as you take slow sips.
Nate sits beside you in silence.
“What's gonna happen now?” you ask him
“We got what we needed,” he said gently. “Your statement, the identification... that gives us what we need to move forward with the investigation.”
He glanced at you briefly, checking your reaction before continuing.
“Like we said yesterday…we’ll present the case to the DA. They’ll decide what charges to pursue, and if the case moves forward, it could eventually go to trial.”
You nodded quietly, absorbing the weight of what that meant.
“So... more waiting,” you said.
A faint, sympathetic smile crossed Nate's face.
“Unfortunately,” he replied. “A lot of it is waiting.”
You let out a quiet sigh and looked down at your hands.
“I’m going to hate that…”
Nate nodded, like he'd heard that sentiment a hundred times before. “Most people do.”
“Because when you're waiting, your brain fills in the blanks,” he continued. “You start wondering what's happening behind the scenes, whether anything's moving forward, whether it's actually going anywhere.”
You gave a small nod. “Exactly.”
“But that doesn't mean nothing's happening,” Nate said. “It just means a lot of the work is happening where you can't see it.”
“In the meantime,” he said, “keep doing what you've been doing. Sammy, mentioned you’ve been going to therapy and support groups…”
“Just don't put your life on hold waiting for the next update,” he added gently. “We'll call when we have something. Until then, focus on you.”
“That’s easier said than done,” you said, letting out a humorless laugh.
Nate nodded, unsurprised.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It usually is.”
Sammy approaches and stops in front of the two of you.
“Everything okay?” he asked, tone easy but observant.
Nate gave a small nod. “Just wrapping up.”
Sammy’s eyes flicked to you a second longer, softer now. “You good?” he asked, more gently this time.
You nod and sigh “Ready to head home”
“We’ll take you home,” he said simply.
You and Nate stood, and the three of you walked out of the courtyard together, then made your way toward the car.
Sammy needs someone nice and deserving with him being such a sweetie, Tammy is just awful…..plus after watching a buff as hell Shawn now, he is adorable “normal” as Sammy with love handles and a little belly, like I say absolutely adorable in his suits!!!!
Love You Anyway (16) | Andrew "Pope" Cody x Reader
Andrew Cody x F! Brother's Best Friend x Reader
Summary: The next morning, you wake with a quiet sense of contentment, exactly where you want to be.
Words: 1820
Warnings: Age Gap (mid 20s / early 40s), mentions murder, swearing
Authors Note: Happy Birthday, Andrew. This is the last part of Love You Anyway. Thank you for all the love you’ve shown it. (and knowing me… we could always come back to this world again. Who knows.) Enjoy - Ryn
LYA | MASTERLIST
NOW: THE END, 2017
Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains. Andrew is already awake, propped slightly on one elbow, watching you.
A sleepy smile tugs at your lips. “Hi,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.
A small smile appears on his face. “Hey.”
For a moment, neither of you says anything. You stay tangled together beneath the blankets, enjoying the quiet. The world outside can wait.
“How’d you sleep?” Andrew asks softly.
After everything that happened yesterday, you’d expected a restless night. You’d thought the bruises, the cuts, and the memories would keep you awake for hours.
Instead, the second your head hit the pillow, exhaustion won and with Andrew beside you, you’d felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Safe.
You let out a quiet laugh. “Better than I thought I would.”
“Yeah?”
You nod against the pillow.
“How’re you feeling?”
You shift slightly and immediately regret it as soreness pulls through your muscles. Bruises ache beneath your skin, and the cuts still sting when you move.
“My body’s sore,” you admit with a wince. “Everywhere.”
“Yeah,” Andrew says quietly. “I figured.”
His hand slides slowly up your back, warm and steady against you. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before resting his brow against yours, his eyes closing for a moment.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "For everything... for last night. I never wanted any of this to happen to you."
He swallows, the words catching before he forces them out.
"I know you told me you loved me last night, but..." He hesitates, the words clearly costing him. "If you want out—if you don't want this anymore... if you don't want me... this life..." He swallows hard. "If you changed your mind....I'd understand. I..."
You don't let him finish. You cup his face and kiss him. When you pull back, your forehead finds him again.
"I didn't change my mind," you whisper. "I'm still here aren’t I?”
His eyes search yours, like he's trying to make sure you mean it that you're not saying it because you're hurting, or because you think it's what he needs to hear.
“Angel…”
“Andrew…I’m not going to pretend I like it,” you say honestly. “What you’re around… what comes with it. I don’t. But I’m here anyway.”
Your voice steadies as you go on.
“And I’m not asking you to change everything or pretend it’s not your life. We were already figuring out how to keep me out of it before. We were doing okay.”
You swallow, fingers still lightly curled against him.
“I know you wouldn’t pull me into something on purpose,” you add. “And I know I’m going to end up knowing more than I want to sometimes. But I also know you’ll do your best to keep it away from me.” you finish quietly. “And that matters to me.”
“I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” he adds. “I’m asking if you’re sure you want this… with me. Knowing all of that…”
“I’m with you,” you say softly.
“Yeah?” he asks quietly. His thumb traces once over your knuckles again, slower this time. “You’re really sure?”
“I’m sure,” you say “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”
“I love you” he whispers.
His smile only grows. The room falls quiet again. Neither of you makes any move to get up .For now, wrapped in warmth and the quiet comfort of each other's company, the rest of the world feels far away.
You study Andrew for a moment, almost afraid that if you blink, the moment will disappear. He leans in and kisses you. You smile against his lips as the kiss deepens
"Uncle Pope!" Lena's voice rings through the room as she barrels through the doorway.
You and Andrew spring apart so fast it's almost comical, both of you scrambling upright.
"Lena!" Andrew says a little too quickly, trying to sound completely casual.
He looks toward the doorway and finds not only Lena but Craig, Deran, and J standing there, all wearing expressions that range from amused to outright entertained.
Heat floods your face. If the mattress would have swallowed you whole, you would've gladly let it. "...Morning," you mumble.
“Sorry to uh, barge in on you two,” J says, shifting slightly in the doorway. “But someone—” he nods toward Lena, “decided she needed Uncle Pope immediately.”
Lena looks between the two of you, completely oblivious to the awkward silence hanging in the room.
“Uncle Pope, I missed you,” she says brightly, already climbing onto the bed. She settles herself in his lap and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.
Andrew softens instantly, one hand coming up to steady her as he hugs her back. Then Lena pulls away just enough to look at you and her expression changes. Her eyes land on the bruises scattered across your arms and the scrapes on your face.
"What happened?" she asks, her expression instantly turning worried.
Andrew's smile fades. "Angel was in an accident," he explains gently. "That's why I had to drop you off at the babysitter's yesterday."
Lena's attention snaps back to you. "Are you okay?"
You offer her a reassuring smile. "I will be"
She studies you for another second, seemingly satisfied, before her curiosity shifts gears. "Were you guys sleeping?"
Andrew nods. "Yeah, we were just resting”
Lena tilts her head. "Are you guys dating?"
Craig, Deran, and J snicker at the question, each of them quickly trying to hide their amusement.
Andrew glances at you for the briefest moment before looking back at his niece. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.
"Yeah," he says simply. "We are."
Lena's eyes go wide. "Really?"
"Really."
A huge grin spreads across her face. "Does that mean she's my aunt now?"
Craig loses his battle with composure, laughing outright. "The kid doesn’t waste any time."
Deran shakes his head "Jesus, Lena."
J snickers.
Andrew lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not exactly," he says. "It's... a little more complicated than that…”
Lena frowns as she tries to make sense of it. "Oh."
The disappointment lasts all of two seconds. "Can she still come over?"
Andrew’s expression softens right away. “Yeah,” he says. “She can still come over. If she wants to.”
Lena’s attention snaps back to you in an instant, eyes lighting up again. “Will you come over?”
You don’t hesitate. “Yes. Of course I’ll come over,” you tell her gently.
“Hey—are you hungry?” Andrew asks.
“Mhm,” Lena nods without hesitation.
“How about we make breakfast?” he suggests.
That’s all it takes.
She’s up in an instant, scrambling out of bed and darting past everyone like she’s been waiting for permission to launch herself into the day. “Breakfast!” she calls over her shoulder as she runs out of the room.
Craig lets out a laugh, already moving after her. J follows close behind, shaking his head like he’s trying not to smile too much.
Andrew chuckles under his breath, watching them go.
Before he gets up, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips quickly, then pulls away with a faint smile and heads after them.
Deran doesn’t follow. Instead, he stays. He crosses the room and drops down onto the bed beside you, stretching out like he’s making himself at home without asking permission.
The mattress dips under his weight.
Deran settles in like he’s got nowhere else he needs to be, one arm hooked behind his head as he stares toward the ceiling. The noise from the kitchen starts to build already, opening, Craig’s voice carrying, Lena bouncing between questions like she can’t decide which one matters most first.
“How are you doing?”
“Feeling a lot of things,” you admit honestly.
He nods slowly, like he understands there isn’t just one answer to that.
“I’m not gonna give you a whole speech..I’d like to tell you things will get better,” he says after a beat, voice steady but careful. “It’ll get easier to manage eventually. Things don’t exactly go away, though. I think you know that…” He pauses, then adds, softer, “But either way… you don’t have to deal with it alone. You’ve got us.”
A small silence settles between you.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I know I do.”
“We’re here. We get it… as sad as that sounds. I mean…I'd prefer we didn’t all have shared expertise in this kind of thing. But,” he continues, more grounded again, “it does make it easier to show up for each other. When it counts.”
You reach for his hand and squeeze it.
“I love you guys,” you say quietly.
His expression shifts at tha —something softer, a little caught off guard, but not in a bad way.
“I don’t know how you could,” he admits after a beat, honest in a way that isn’t self-pity so much as disbelief.
You shake your head slightly, eyes still on him.
“So,” he says, a little too casually, “you and Andrew.”
You let out an immediate laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, stop.”
“Ew—yeah, gross,” he says at once, like the idea alone is offensive enough to erase from his brain. He even scrunches his face, shaking his head. “I don’t need that image in my life. Ever.”
That pulls a laugh out of you real this time, unguarded.
From down the hall, the house is anything but calm.
Lena’s laughter cuts through the first high, breathless, followed by Craig shouting something that sounds like an accusation and a defense at the same time. Andrew’s voice rises over both of them, sharp with frustration, and J’s in there too, arguing back.
“Come on,” you say, sitting up. “Let’s go help in there before they burn something down.”
A loud beep cuts you off before he can answer.The smoke alarm fully loses patience with everyone, its shriek filling the house in seconds.
“Already did,” he mutters,
From the kitchen, Craig’s voice carries over the noise. “It’s fine—turn it off, it’s fine!”
“It is absolutely not fine!” Andrew snaps back.
J says something you can’t quite make out over the alarm, sounding offended and defensive all at once, and Lena just keeps laughing—fully entertained by the chaos.
Deran pushes himself off the bed, shaking his head as he walks toward the doorway with you.
When he reaches the hall, he stops for half a second at the sight—smoke drifting up near the ceiling, everyone talking over each other, the kitchen in total disarray.
He lets out a slow breath.
“That…” he says simply, gesturing loosely toward all of it. Then he looks at you.
yay Pope and Angel, creat combo!!!!! I enjoyed this series, it took a few twists and turns but there always Andrew and Angel at the ❤️….plus I have loved all the gifs you pulled for the headings, Shawn is adorable younger, the actor they portraying young Pope was great, but no where near as cute as the young Pope would have looked!!!
Slice of Life: Goodnight N Go | Jack Abbot x Reader
Slice of Life Series
Jack Abbott x Best Friend’s Sister!Reader
Summary: Once a year, Jack Abbot takes the early train from Pittsburgh to New York to see you. He spends the afternoon with you, remembering your brother, his best friend, who has passed. He always catches the last train home, says goodnight, then goes. But this year, he doesn’t say goodnight. And he doesn’t go.
Word: 8909
Warning: Age Gap (Mid 30s/Early 50s), death of a family member
Authors note: This fics inspired by Goodnight N Go by Ariana Grande. This is one of my favorite songs of her’s. I really loved and enjoyed writing this one. I hope you guys like it! 🤧 as for my fic series Love You Anyway, Affinity, and Still, next parts will be coming out soon!!! I’m sorry for the delays! For sure Love You Anyway will be out this week. Thanks for being patient. Enjoy - Ryn
SOL | MASTERLIST
Every year, on the anniversary of your brother Wes's passing, you find yourself at Penn Station, waiting for his best friend, Jack Abbot.
The tradition began the first year after Wes’s passing. You had always been close to him and looked up to him growing up. After his military service, Wes had moved to New York City and often told you about the places and spots he loved. You moved to the city to feel closer to him, hoping to walk the streets he cherished, visit the places he loved, and keep a part of him near.
At a small music store he used to frequent, a familiar album, his favorite, caught your eye. You smiled; it felt like a sign. But just as your hand reached for it, another hand did too.
Jack Abbot, your brother’s best friend from the military, was there, by fate or chance, whatever you wanted to call it, reaching for the same album. Of all people, of all places, on that day of all days, he was there. You hadn’t seen him since the funeral, and he didn’t know you’d moved to New York; he was only passing through, having just visited family in Massachusetts.
Jack had always talked to Wes about visiting him in New York City. He had wished he’d done it sooner. This was his first time in the city, and the fact that he ran into you, his little sister, on the anniversary felt almost impossible.
You didn’t know each other well, you’d only met Jack a handful of times, but when your eyes met, for a heartbeat, something flickered: surprise, familiarity, and something softer, an unspoken connection lingered between you.
Jack suggested the two of you get coffee, and you accepted. One cup turned into an afternoon of stories and laughter, remembering the parts of your brother that time hadn’t taken. By the end of the day, Jack caught the last train home to Pittsburgh, and you exchanged numbers, unsure what might come of it.
The next year, Jack returned, same day, same train. Neither of you ever said it out loud, but it became your way of keeping your brother close. Over the years, you stayed in touch through phone calls and FaceTimes and texts, yet every year, without fail, you saw each other on the anniversary of Wes’s passing.
In that time, you became true friends, sharing afternoons of stories, laughter, and quiet remembrance. A connection quietly grew into something just beyond friendship. There was something there, something unspoken, but neither of you ever acted on it.
And so, for the past seven years, you’ve waited at Penn Station for Jack. He takes the seven a.m. train from Pittsburgh and arrives at four, just as he always has.
You see him walk out of arrivals, salt-and-pepper curls, a white t-shirt under a casually unbuttoned black flannel, jeans, a tactical backpack slung over one shoulder. He moves with that familiar ease, the same way he always did.
Your heart skips. You can’t help but notice the little details, the way his eyes sweep the crowd until they find you. He pauses, just long enough for that flicker of recognition to cross his face. Then he smiles, and with that small, knowing curve of his lips, he starts walking toward you.
You start to make his way towards him. When you reach each other, he drops his bag down and pulls you in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck, standing on your toes slightly as he pulls you in close.
“Hey,” he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your shoulder.
“Hi,” you reply, smiling despite yourself, squeezing him a little tighter, reluctant to let go.
“It’s good to see you.” He takes you in for a moment, his face pressed into your hair.
“How was the train ride?” you ask, stepping back just enough to look at him.
“Long, like always,” he says with a small sigh, lifting his bag. Nine hours, every single time. Yet he does it without complaint, nine hours just to spend a few precious hours with you, to sit together, laugh, and remember Wes, before heading back on the eleven o’clock train.
“But worth it, you know that,” he adds, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. He throws an arm around your shoulders, warm and familiar, and you bump him lightly with your hip.
“So what’s the plan?” he asks, grin tugging at his mouth.
You laugh softly. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Same thing we do every year, hit the record shop, walk through the park, and have dinner at Taluchi’s.”
“Creatures of habit,” he teases.
“Tradition,” you correct, nudging him with your shoulder.
—
You weave through the familiar aisles, the scent of vinyl and old paper filling the air. You’re at the music store, Wes’s favorite, and the one where you had run into Jack, by chance, seven years ago. He’s already in the rock section, fingers brushing over albums as if he knows each one by heart.
“You always start here,” you tease, leaning against the edge of the aisle. “It’s like a prelude to the rest of the day.”
He smirks without looking up. “What can I say? Some things never change.”
“How’s the ER been treating you lately?” You ask wandering closer, picking up an old album that catches your eye.
He finally glances at you, eyebrows raised. “Same old. Busy. Exhausting. The usual chaos” He shrugs, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And you? How is event planning?”
You shrug, flipping the album in your hands. “It’s… eventful. Literally.” You joke. “We just had this grand gala event for a huge company. It was stressful but it went really well in the end.”
The two of you continue catching up, wandering through the aisles and letting the conversation drift, work stories, personal updates, and those small, familiar jokes that only seem to come out when you’re around each other.
“Hey, look at this,” Jack says, plucking a DVD from one of the neatly organized shelves. The store isn’t just music, old movies and books are tucked into every corner.
He holds up one of Wes’s favorite films, Space Camp.
You gasp out a laugh, but also excitement “oh my gosh, I haven’t seen this in ages! He used to make me watch as a kid. said he said at one point he wanted to be an astronaut because of this film.”
You take the DVD from his hands and look at the cover: the Space Camp kids and their instructor, accidentally launched into space in baby blue flight suits.
Jack chuckles, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “He even made the guys watch this on movie night at the base once.”
“I don’t have this,” you say, flipping the DVD over to check the price sticker on the back, squinting slightly at the faded numbers.
“I’ll buy it for you,” he says, leaning casually against the shelf, his smirk teasing, like he already knows how this is going to play out.
“What? No, I’ll just pay for it,” you insist, reaching for it.
“Come on, it’s—” He snatches the DVD from your hands before you can grab it, holding it just out of reach.
“Pff, five bucks,” he states, waving it slightly.
“Hey! Give it back, I’ll pay for it,” you try again, lunging slightly and brushing his arm, but he effortlessly steps back, holding the DVD like it’s a trophy.
“It’s just 5 dollars,” he repeats, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Honestly, you’re making this way too dramatic.”
You huff, rolling your eyes, but can’t hide the grin tugging at your lips.
“Okay, fine… thank you,” you say, finally relenting. He grins, heading to the counter, and hands over the cash for the DVD, tucking it carefully under his arm before returning it to you with a triumphant smirk.
You take it, shaking your head but smiling. “You really didn’t have to…”
“No sweat,” he says,
The two of you leave the shop, DVD in hand, laughing and teasing each other as you head to the park.
—-
Together, you walk through Central Park. The air is crisp, the kind of autumn chill that makes you pull your jacket a little tighter. The sky is overcast, clouds thick and heavy, muting the last hints of daylight. The sun is starting to set, its glow barely breaking through, casting the park in soft, dusky shades of gold and gray.
Despite the gloom overhead, the streets are alive with scattered joggers, couples strolling, and the occasional dog chasing a thrown ball.
You walk side by side, the comfortable silence between you only broken by the occasional comment about a passerby or the crunch of leaves underfoot.
He bumps into you playfully, nudging you with his shoulder. You stumble a step to the side, laughing, and nudge him back. The easy, familiar rhythm between you returns, the kind built on years of teasing and comfort.
“You know…” you start, your voice softer now, “even though it’s a hard day, I still look forward to it every year.” It slips out before you can stop it, something you’ve never actually said to him before.
Jack glances over, his smile fading into something gentler. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Me too.”
He kicks at a loose pebble on the path, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “It’s strange,” he says quietly. “Even though the day’s about Wes, being with you makes it feel like a part of him’s still here.” He pauses, glancing your way before looking back ahead. “I guess that’s what keeps me coming back every year.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “And… I just like spending time with you. Always have.”
You feel your cheeks flush before you can stop it, and you quickly look away, pretending to focus on the path, though a small, shy smile tugs at your lips.
You’d felt something for Jack for a long time, a quiet pull you’d never acted on. He was your brother’s best friend, and you’d always been careful not to cross any lines. And yet… Jack, smart, charming, kind, loyal, and compassionate, had a way of making life feel lighter. He could make you laugh like no one else; you were always a giggling mess around him. And, truth be told, you found him incredibly attractive, the kind of person whose presence made your heartbeat a little faster, whose easy smile and thoughtful eyes seemed to pull you in without effort.
You cherished your yearly tradition, the walks through the park, the easy conversation, the small moments that kept Wes’s memory alive. You wouldn’t trade it for anything, even if it meant keeping your feelings to yourself.
Jack liked you too. Every brush of your shoulders, every laugh you shared tugged at him in a way he couldn’t ignore. And he loved making you laugh; it was one of his favorite sounds, the way it could light up your face.
He’d tease and flirt with you, but it never went beyond that. You were Wes’s sister, and that made everything impossible. Acting on it wouldn’t feel right. So he stayed loyal and careful, keeping his feelings buried, even as being near you kept drawing him back, year after year.
Before either of you could say anything, a cold drop fell from the sky. Another follows, and within seconds, the rain starts to fall harder, steady and relentless. You let out a surprised laugh, throwing your hands over your head as you look up.
“Oh, great timing!” you shout through your laughter, as Jack grabs your wrist and the two of you take off running.
You dash across the path, the rain coming down in thick sheets now, until you find cover beneath one of the stone bridges. The sound of the rain echoes around you, loud but somehow soothing. You’re both laughing, a little breathless, clothes damp and hair sticking to your face.
Jack wipes his face, shaking some of the water out his drenched curls.
You hug yourself instinctively, shivering as the cold soaks through your clothes. The damp air clings to your hair and skin, making you feel smaller, exposed.
Jack notices immediately, his brow furrowing slightly. Without a word, he hunches over to set his backpack down and reaches inside. He pulls out the black flannel he had been wearing earlier, now slightly crumpled from being packed away. He takes a few steps toward you.
“Here,” he says softly, the edge of his lips curling into that small, careful smile. He drapes the flannel over your shoulders, the fabric warm and heavy, carrying the faint scent of him. Slipping it over your damp skin feels like a small shield, not just against the chill, but against something more.
The closeness makes your chest flutter. You hesitate, fingers brushing the edge of the fabric, aware of the subtle heat radiating from him. His white shirt is soaked, clinging to his body and outlining the strong lines of his chest and shoulders.
You can’t help but glance, cheeks warming instantly. He notices, and a knowing glint appears in his eyes. You swallow hard, suddenly conscious of every movement.
Jack stands with quiet intensity, posture relaxed yet attentive. “Better?” he asks, voice low and gentle, as if testing the waters between a joke and something more.
Jack doesn’t step back. The rain taps steadily on the bridge, a quiet rhythm beneath the thrum of your heartbeat. “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, half a tease, half concern. “Or is that just me making you nervous?”
Heat rises to your cheeks, and you glance down, pretending to focus on the slick pavement beneath your feet from the puddling you made. When you dare to look back, his gaze meets yours, steady and unflinching, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.
“I… I’m fine,” you manage, though your voice betrays you.
“Sure?” he presses, his tone playful but intimate, “Because you don’t exactly look fine to me.”
You let out a short laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. “Stop it,” you say, trying to sound firm, but the warmth in your chest betrays you.
Jack’s smirk widens, just enough to make it clear he’s enjoying this, your reaction, the closeness, the little spark between you. “Stop what?” he asks, voice teasing, leaning just slightly closer, as if daring you to tell him.
“You know what you’re doing,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth curving despite yourself.
He chuckles, pretending to look offended. “Me? I’m just standing here.” Then that teasing glint returns to his eyes. “You, on the other hand…” He lets the words hang, his tone playful and low.
Your breath catches “What about me?”
“Might wanna work on your subtlety,” he says, amusement flickering in his voice.
You blink, caught, then narrow your eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
He gestures loosely at himself, the soaked fabric of his shirt clinging to his chest. “You were checking me out.”
Your mouth falls open, heat flooding your face. “I was not!” You try to deny it.
He grins, cutting you off. “Sure you weren’t. Just admiring the scenery, right?” His gaze lingers warm, amused, a hint of challenge in it. He tilts his head slightly, water still dripping from his hair. “Pretty sure you were,” he says, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”
You let out a huff of laughter, crossing your arms. “Wow. Humble much?”
He chuckles, raising his hands in mock defense, that playful spark still in his eyes. “Hey, I just call it like I see it.”
You shake your head, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your face, trying, and failing, to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
“The charming kind, though,” he says easily.
You laugh, glancing toward the park as the rain begins to lighten. “Looks like it’s finally easing up… I’m getting hungry.”
He follows your gaze, stepping carefully around a slick patch of sidewalk. “Yeah… might actually be safe to make a break for Taluchi’s now.” His tone is easy, but there’s that quiet weight in the way he watches you move, like he’s memorizing the rhythm of your walk.
He lifts his bag off the ground, slinging it over his shoulder, and falls into step beside you. The two of you slip out from under the bridge, the smell of wet asphalt and city air filling the space between laughter and light conversation.
—-
“It’s about time you two showed up!” Alessia called out as the bell above the door jingled.
You and Jack stepped inside, shaking off the rain. The warm scent of garlic and fresh bread hit you immediately, mingling with the hum of chatter and clatter from the crowd at Taluchi’s. Waiters weaved between tables, balancing trays of steaming dishes, while the low murmur of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter filled the air.
“Hi Alessia,” you said, smiling.
Gio peeked out from behind the counter, grinning. “Finally! I was starting to wonder if you’d get here today. Careful—you’re leaving puddles all over my floor!”
You laughed. “Caught in the rain at the park. Sorry, Gio!”
Alessia bustled over, flour dusting her apron. “Sit, sit! You’re soaked. I should’ve had a towel ready just for you two.”
“I think we’ll survive,” you said, shrugging off Jack’s flannel.
“Survive?” she repeated, mock horror in her voice. “You two come here every year, and Wes’s favorite restaurant deserves better than soggy guests!”
She grabbed a couple of towels that Gio brought out “Here! Dry off before you catch a cold. Honestly, what would Wes say if he saw you like this?”
Jack laughed, taking the towel from her. “He’d probably tell us to stop complaining and eat already.”
Alessia waved a hand toward the booth you sit at every year, keeping her voice low over. “Go on, sit…get warm. We’ll get your order started… and I’m gonna bring you some soup.”
You slid into the booth, while Jack’s eyes wandered mischievously to the table. Water had already been set out. He slid in across from you, picking up a straw and tearing a small piece of the paper wrapper. Without warning, he put the straw to his mouth and blew, sending the tiny paper fragment sailing straight at you.
You yelp. He snickered.
“I hate when you do that,” you said, though your tone was more amused than angry, and a reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
Determined not to let him have all the fun, you grabbed a straw and tore off a small piece of the wrapper, aiming carefully. You blew, only for the paper to miss entirely, fluttering harmlessly to the table.
Jack laughed, leaning back with mock triumph. “Wow. Harsh. I thought you had better aim than that.”
“I almost got you,” you shot back
“Almost doesn’t count,” he teased, nudging your shoulder gently with his own. “But I’ll give you points for effort.”
Alessia appeared at the edge of the booth, balancing two steaming bowls of soup. “Here you go, darlings. Careful, it’s hot!”
. You and Jack dug in. Eventually more food came out, passing bread and twirling pasta from shared plates. Conversation flowed effortlessly, you laughed at old memories, teased each other, and before you knew it, hours had slipped by unnoticed.
By the time you glanced around, the restaurant was nearly empty. You and Jack were mostly dry now, though a few damp spots lingered on your clothes. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, caught up entirely in each other’s company.
Alessia appeared, shaking her head with a smile as she picked up the empty plates. “Alright, darlings, we’re closing. Time to wrap it up!”
“Don’t you have a train to catch?” she asked, glancing at Jack.
He frowned, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “Yeah… I do,” he said quietly, the thought of leaving this warm, stolen moment behind pressing on him. He glanced down at his watch—10:20 p.m. The last train back to Pittsburgh left at 11:00.
A tight knot formed in his chest. Forty minutes. Just enough time to walk and make it… but not enough to let this night linger the way he wanted.
Jack reached for his wallet as Alessia cleared the last of the empty plates. “I’ve got this,” he said, flashing you a quick grin.
“No, I can—”
“Relax,” he interrupted, taking his credit card out and setting in on the table. “It’s on me.”
“Credit card roulette,” you said with a grin, pulling your card from your wallet and setting it on the table. “Alessia picks a card, and whoever she chooses pays for dinner.”
Jack’s brows lifted, that familiar mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Alright, you’re on.”
Alessia returned to your booth just in time to catch the exchange, laughing as she shook her head. “You two are always fighting over the bill,” she said, holding out her hand expectantly.
Jack gathered the cards with mock seriousness, fanning them out dramatically like a magician about to perform a trick. “Choose wisely, Alessia,” he warned playfully. “The fate of dinner and my dignity is in your hands.”
She plucked a card without looking and held it up toward both of you, it was yours.
“Looks like dinner’s on me, ha!” you said, laughing triumphantly.
Jack groaned playfully but smiled, leaning back. “Fine… I’ll let you have this one. Thank you,” he said, the warmth in his voice belying his mock defeat.
A few minutes later, Alessia returned, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she held out the cards. Without a word, she handed yours back.
You smiled at her and Gio, who gave a small wave from behind the counter. “Thank you both for everything,” you said, with warmth in your voice.
“Anytime, darlings,” Alessia replied, waving you off as she returned to tidying the restaurant.
Jack followed close behind, and together you stepped out onto the streets. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the pavement slick and glistening under the streetlights. The air was cold, crisp, and fresh, but it didn’t dampen the lingering warmth from the restaurant.
As you walked toward Penn Station, the soft strum of a guitar caught your attention. A street performer had set up near the corner, singing with a voice that carried effortlessly over the quiet hum of the evening.
Jack’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Without a word, he slipped his backpack off, taking your hand into his. “Dance with me,” he said, tugging you gently closer.
“What? Here?” you whispered, glancing around at the few passersby.
“Yeah, here,” he said, his voice low but full of certainty. “Come on.”
Before you could protest further, he spun you lightly toward the music, the movement effortless, fluid—like he’d done it a hundred times before. The street performer’s voice carried through the cool night air, soft, singing “Crazy for You.” The notes floated around you, mixing with the hum of traffic and the faint hiss of the wet pavement beneath your feet.
Hearing the song made you think of the ending of 13 Going on 30, when the door opens and Jenna steps with Matt…married, happy, and exactly where she’s meant to be.
Jack leaned close, matching the rhythm with a playful sway. His hand found the small of your back, guiding you gently.
“Jack, people are staring,” you whispered, your face flushing as you glanced at the handful of pedestrians slowing to watch.
“So?” he murmured, smiling down at you. “Let them.”
You groaned softly and hid your face against his chest. His laugh rumbled through you, a quiet, breathy sound that made your heart stumble.
Then, right as the performer reached the chorus, Jack started singing along…loudly, shamelessly off-key. You burst out laughing, your shoulders shaking as you tried to shush him, but that only made him sing louder.
“Stop laughing!” he said, grinning, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. “Or you’ll make me look bad.”
You laughed harder, barely able to catch your breath. “You’re doing that all on your own!” you managed between giggles.
He shook his head, feigning offense, though his grin only widened. “Wow. No faith in me at all?”
“None,” you teased, still laughing as he twirled you again, your shoes slipping slightly on the damp pavement. You caught yourself against him, your hands pressed to his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath your palms.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The world around you blurred—the fading melody, the city lights, the people passing by. All that remained was the sound of his breathing and the faint rhythm of the song winding down.
Jack’s laughter softened into something quieter, his voice low as he said, “You know… I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh this hard”
You looked up at him, your smile lingering. “That’s because no one else is ridiculous enough to make me dance in the sidewalk”
He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch slow, lingering. “Guess that makes me special, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you—thudding, warm, alive. “You’re the only one who can make me laugh this much,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
His grin gentled into something warm, sincere. “I love making you laugh,” he said quietly
Something shifted in his expression, softer, almost reverent. For a second, neither of you moved, the sound of the city dimming around you. The performer’s final note hung in the night air, fading into silence.
Then Jack glanced down at his watch, the smile dimming slightly. “Ten-forty,” he murmured. “I should probably head to the station.”
You nodded, though the motion felt heavier than it should have. The spell of the moment broke just enough for the world to filter back in, the low hum of traffic, the faint chill that crept in with the night air.
Jack slipped his backpack over his shoulder, and without thinking, you fell into step beside him. The streets glistened under the streetlights, the reflections of neon signs stretching across puddles like liquid color.
Neither of you spoke at first. Your hands brushed once, twice, each time lingering a little longer until, finally, he took yours. His palm was warm, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin as you walked.
Penn Station came into view ahead, its glowing signs reflected in the slick pavement. You and Jack stepped inside the station, the warmth and bustle a sharp contrast to the cold, wet streets outside. People hurried past, dragging suitcases and calling out over the din of train announcements.
Jack slowed his steps, as if by doing so, he could delay the inevitable.
“Guess this is it,” he said finally, voice low.
Jack glanced at you, his expression softening. “I wish we had more time,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
You looked up at him, your breath visible in the cold air. “Me too,” you admitted, the warmth of the evening inside the restaurant still lingering between you.
“Thank you for coming” you pulled him into a hug, the warmth of his body grounding you for a brief, perfect moment.
“I wouldn’t miss this day for the world,” he murmured against your hair, his arms tightening around you just enough to make the goodbye sting a little less.
You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, holding onto the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Neither of you wanted to let go, the night felt too alive, too stolen, and for these few moments, you didn’t want it to end.
As you pulled back slightly, the unspoken tension hung between you, the magnetic pull, the way his eyes lingered on your lips, as if he were weighing whether to bridge the space between you.
“Okay, stop lingering,” you say trying to sound casual, though your voice betrayed the slight tremor in your chest.
He just stared at you, eyes intense and searching, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“Jack, you’re gonna miss your train,” you added, trying to sound firmer. You nudged him lightly, letting out a laugh. “Just say goodnight and go.”
His lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile, but his eyes never left yours, caught between staying and leaving.
Finally, with a reluctant sigh “Goodnight,” he says, voice casual, but there’s a lingering weight behind it.
“Goodnight,” you echo, forcing a light tone, even as you watch him walk away, feeling the quiet tension hang in the space he just left.
As you watch him walk away, your fingers fidget with the necklace Wes had given you before he died. You rub and tug the pendant absentmindedly. You speak aloud, as you always do, even though he’s gone.
“I really like him, Wes,” you admit softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the empty street. “I… I don’t know what to do about it.”
The pendant swings gently in your hand, a small, comforting weight, as if Wes is listening anyway.
“I know he’s your best friend and maybe I shouldn’t feel this way… but I can’t help it. And… I feel like you had a hand in this somehow. The first time I met Jack, on the first anniversary of your death, it didn’t feel like a coincidence. I think you knew we needed each other, and you brought us together.”
You twist the pendant between your fingers, “Wes… if it’s okay… if he and I could… you know, be a thing… I just know we’d be good… great together. Please… give me a sign. Anything.”
You hold your breath, half-expecting a miracle. For a long moment, nothing happens—just the steady hum of Penn Station, the low murmur of strangers passing by, the distant echo of a departing train.
Your shoulders sink. The weight of it settles in your chest as you let out a quiet sigh. You turn, ready to head home, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the cavernous space.
As Jack stopped from the platform, he watched you walk away, so absorbed in the sight of you that the world around him seemed to blur. His heart twisted in a quiet ache, a mix of longing and hesitation. He told himself it didn’t matter, that he had a schedule to keep, that he couldn’t let himself get tangled in feelings, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from you. At that moment something was telling him to go to you, that this wasn’t a “goodnight and go,” like it had been in previous years.
Earlier that morning, he had muttered a quiet plea to Wes, almost as if testing fate: Give me a sign. Just one. Something that tells me it’s okay—that it’s okay to be with her. That this time I shouldn’t walk away, that I should stay. Wes… is it really okay? Am I allowed to… to go after her?
The words had felt strange even as he said them, a whisper into the empty air, but the weight of them lingered, settling in his chest like a quiet hope.
Now, lost in the rhythm of your steps, he barely noticed the train doors sliding shut. By the time he blinked and shook himself free from his trance, his train was already zooming past him.
This wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t random. It was a sign, from Wes, from fate, from something bigger telling him it was okay to stay, to turn back, to see you again. The missed train was exactly what he had asked for, even if he hadn’t realized it.
Jack exhaled, the tension in his shoulders melting away. Every doubt vanished. With a newfound certainty, he started moving toward you. This time, he wouldn’t let the moment slip away.
You continue walking through the train station, then, almost as if the universe itself is answering, you hear your name, soft at first, barely cutting through the noise of the crowd.
You freeze.
You turn, heart leaping, and see Jack making his way back toward you through the thinning crowd. There’s a hint of relief in his smile when your eyes meet, like he’s been staring at you longer than he’ll admit.
Your chest tightens. For a fleeting moment, it feels like Wes’s hand is gently guiding this, nudging the two of you back together. This, right here was your sign. You can’t help but smile, silently thanking Wes as your fingers play with your pendant.
“Jack—what are you doing?” you asked, your voice soft, a mixture of surprise and hope.
“I…missed the train,” he admitted, catching his breath, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.
“What?”
“I missed the train,” he repeated, this time with a tone somewhere between sheepish and amused, like the universe had handed him exactly what he hadn’t realized he needed. “It took off”
You blink at him, disbelief and something else, something warmer, fighting for space in your chest. “So… you’re stuck here?”
He shrugs lightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Looks like it…till morning”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, in that case… I guess you’re coming home with me tonight.”
–
You and Jack stepped into your studio apartment, the door clicking softly behind you. The air felt charged, quiet, almost fragile. You were nervous. This had never happened before. Jack had missed his train. This was new territory.
“Don’t mind the mess,” you said, gesturing vaguely.
You had dishes still in the sink, books left open on the coffee table, and clothes strewn across the floor near your unmade bed. If you’d known earlier that he’d be coming home with you, you would have cleaned up—made the place look less like a lived-in mess and more like… something presentable. But now, with him standing there, grinning like this, it almost didn’t matter.
Jack’s eyes roamed the apartment, taking it all in. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “Messy? This looks like home,” he said, shrugging off his backpack with ease, as if he belonged here already.
You laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Well… home isn’t usually this chaotic.”
He stepped closer, his presence filling the space, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The sound of your breathing, the faint hum of the city outside, and the soft warmth between you made the apartment feel smaller, cozier and intimate in a way you hadn’t expected.
You stepped aside as Jack set his backpack down, his prosthetic leg making a faint click against the hardwood floor. He gave you a sheepish grin.
“Guess I should probably shower before I crash on your couch,” he said, wiggling his fingers at you like it wasn’t a big deal, though you could see the careful way he shifted his weight to balance.
“Yes! Just give me a minute,” you replied, passing through the living area, tossing your wallet on the coffee table as you head toward your bed by the window. “I’ve got something for you,” you added, rifling through a drawer. A moment later, you held up a worn T-shirt and a pair of shorts.
“Here—these should do for the night.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, taking the clothes. “These are yours?” he joked.
You laughed softly. “No. My dad’s. He comes to visit from time to time. Don’t worry, they’re clean,” you said, handing them over.
Jack gave a small, “Thanks… this’ll be perfect,” he said, holding up the T-shirt and shorts like they were treasures.
“Go on, then,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom. “When you come back out, I’ll throw your clothes in the wash.”
Jack nodded, giving a quick, sheepish grin. “Got it,” he said, as he made his way into the bathroom. The faint click echoed softly through the apartment before fading under the sound of running water.
The two of you got ready for bed. You fluffed the couch cushions and laid out blankets for him, making it as cozy as possible. After he finished his shower, you tossed his clothes in the wash and stepped in yourself.
By the time you came out again, you were already changed into your own pajamas. The living room was bathed in warm, soft light from a lamp on the side table. Jack was still up, sitting on the couch, flipping through one of your coffee table books, his prosthetic leg off and resting on the floor beside the couch. He looked calm, but there was a vulnerability in his posture that made your chest tighten.
You paused for a moment, taking him in, the ordinary intimacy of the scene feeling almost natural, it all felt familiar, like you’d shared a million moments just like this.
“Thought you’d be asleep by now,” you said softly.
“I’m not tired,” he replied, his voice calm, almost casual. He closed the book with a soft thud, setting it back on the coffee table, and leaned back against your couch. He was waiting for you, relaxed but attentive, like he was exactly where he wanted to be.
“That’s right… you find comfort in the dark,” you murmured, recalling something he’d once told you.
“Are you tired?” he asked gently.
You shook your head quickly, lying through a smile. You were tired, yes, but you didn’t mind. You’d find any excuse to stay awake with him, just like this, quiet, close, and content in each other’s presence.
“Well, since you’re not tired, I was thinking we could watch Space Camp,” he said, gesturing toward your TV.
“Yeah… I’d like that,” you replied. You went to grab the DVD from your bag and then headed to the TV. The soft click of the buttons echoed slightly in your apartment as you turned it on and slid the disc into the player.
Jack shifted slightly on the couch as you returned and settled beside him. The lamp on the side table cast a golden glow over both of you, illuminating the soft rise and fall of his chest as he relaxed into the couch cushions.
You settled in, letting yourself sink into the comfort of the moment, aware that this ordinary evening, just the two of you, the movie playing, the soft quiet of your apartment, felt quietly perfect.
Throughout the movie, the two of you traded commentary, laughing at the cheesy lines and exaggerated astronaut antics in Space Camp. You tell him about Wes’s favorite scene to reenact, and he quoted lines he thought were worth remembering.
You were starting to grow tired, your eyelids heavy. Jack picked up on the subtle shift in your body language—how your head gradually found its way onto his shoulder, how your breathing slowed and softened.
He reached for the remote and turned off the TV.
“You should go to bed,” he said softly.
You blinked, trying to hide the drowsiness that was creeping in. “I’m not tired.”
“Yes, you are. Go to bed,” he said firmly, though there was a gentle edge to his voice.
“Okay,” you huffed, reluctantly lifting your head from his shoulder. You stretched and padded across the living room, reaching the side table to switch off the lamp. The soft glow vanished, leaving the apartment bathed in shadows and quiet calm.
You continued to your bed, the comforting warmth of the apartment following you as you climbed under the covers.
“Goodnight, Jack,” you murmured.
“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice low and gentle, lingering in the stillness.
He settled on the couch, and you on the bed, separate. Yet in the quiet of the apartment, both of you felt the same pull, a wish to be closer.
—
You woke in the middle of the night, shivering, the chill biting at your skin. The heater must be down again. Sleeping by the window didn’t help, the draft seeped through the thin frame, making the room feel even colder.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed and wrapped your blanket tightly around your shoulders, the fabric barely holding back the shiver. Each step across the floor made a soft creak, the apartment otherwise silent except for the faint hum of the city outside.
You moved toward the older heater, hands brushing over the metal. It was cold to the touch. A sigh escaped you; of course it wouldn’t be working tonight.
You made your way to the couch, where Jack was curled up, already deep in sleep. The glow from the streetlamp outside cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to disturb him, but the cold was relentless.
“Jack,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over your own teeth chattering.
He stirred instantly, sitting up with practiced alertness, a reflex honed by years in the military. Even half-asleep, his movements were precise. Propping himself on one elbow, he blinked at you, voice groggy and thick with sleep. “Hm… what’s wrong? You okay?”
“Yeah… I’m fine, Sorry for waking you..” you murmured, hugging the blanket closer. “My heater’s down…” you added, voice trembling slightly from the cold.
Jack shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Come here,” he said softly, still thick with sleep. “Lay with me.”
He lifted the edge of his blanket in invitation. You hesitated only a moment before shuffling closer, still wrapped tightly in your own blanket. He eased back down as you settled against him, your chest pressed to his, your head finding its place against his heart. His chin came to rest lightly on top of your head as his arms wrapped around you, drawing you closer. He pulled his blanket over you both, tucking you in, cocooning you in warmth that was entirely his. His body radiated heat, steady and grounding, chasing away the chill.
“Geez,” he murmured with a sleepy laugh, his breath ruffling your hair. “You’re as cold as a popsicle.”
You let out a small, muffled laugh against his chest. “Told you my heater’s down,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.
He hummed softly in response, the sound low and soothing, vibrating beneath your ear. “You’ll warm up soon,” he mumbled, his words slurring as sleep started to pull him back under.
You smiled faintly, letting your eyes drift closed. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, it all wrapped around you, comforting and safe.
In that quiet moment, a sudden urge bubbled up inside you, pressing insistently against your chest: the need to tell him how you felt. The thought was both warm and terrifying, a fluttering mix of hope and fear that made your heart race in ways words could hardly contain.
“Jack?” you whispered.
“Mhm?” His reply was muffled, heavy with sleep.
You sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. He looked peaceful, almost boyish like this, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and soft, each rise and fall of his chest steady and calming.
“Jack…” You hesitated, your heart pounding. “I like you.”
His eyes fluttered open, widening with surprise. Sleep melted away, leaving him momentarily still, as if he were trying to process your words, deciding if he’d really heard them.
The silence stretched. You felt your throat tighten. “I shouldn’t have said that,” you whispered quickly, looking away. “Forget it. It’s late.”
But before you could lie back down. His hand comes up, his thumb coming up to caress your cheek, he pulls a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I like you too”
“You do?” You ask
“Yeah, I do… a lot actually. More than I should.” he says softly. “I think we know we’ve both liked each other for a while now. We just never said anything because of—”
“Wes,” you both say at the same time, the word hanging in the quiet room.
“You know… I think we were meant to run into each other on his first anniversary. I think Wes knew we’d need each other,” you murmur.
Jack’s gaze softened, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah…” he murmured back, his voice quiet, thoughtful. “Maybe he did.”
“I talk to him sometimes… out loud, it’s kinda silly,” you add with a small shrug.
“It’s not silly,” he says quietly. “I do it too sometimes.” His fingers absentmindedly toy with a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear again.
You take a breath, the words trembling on your lips. “I asked him to give me a sign… that it would be okay if you and I could be… a thing…”
Jack’s hand pauses in your hair. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just studies your face. “You did?” he asks softly, his voice almost a whisper.
You nod, feeling your cheeks warm. “Yeah. And then… you showed up. Right after…when you missed the train”
His eyes soften. “I asked him too,” he admits quietly. “Before I left Pittsburg, I asked him for some kind of sign that I wouldn’t be crossing a line. That wouldn't be wrong.”
You blink at him, surprised. “You did?”
Jack shrugs, his smile lingering, eyes warm. “Yeah… I was too focused on you to even notice my train was leaving.”
You smile, feeling your chest lift. “We were waiting for the same sign without even knowing it.”
He breathed out a quiet laugh, the kind that said this feels right, then fell silent again.
Slowly, he sits up, the movement deliberate. The air between you hummed, charged and tender. Jack’s expression softened as he leaned in slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked, his voice low, careful, threaded with hope.
Your heart fluttered so hard it almost hurt. You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes.”
Slowly, you both lean in, foreheads brushing first. Jack’s hand lifts, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. There’s a soft, almost imperceptible pause, as if neither of you wants to rush this moment. His thumb traces your skin lightly, reverent, and for a heartbeat he just gazes at you, memorizing every detail.
Then your lips meet—tentative at first, soft and exploring, savoring the new, fragile closeness between you. A quiet moan slips from your lips as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, letting it grow naturally, smoothly.
His hands move with quiet certainty, sliding from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. Breath mingles, slow gasps slipping between kisses, each one dragging a little longer than the last. Another soft moan escapes, low and unrestrained, as your lips part under his, surrendering to the sensation, to the rhythm that seems to exist just between the two of you.
A sudden shiver runs through you, and Jack pauses, pulling back just slightly. “Are you still cold?”
“No, no… not at all,” you laugh, feeling absolutely giddy.
His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You sure? You were shivering a little.”
You laugh again, heart still fluttering. “I was… but that’s because of you, not the cold.”
He grins, leaning in a little closer, mischief and warmth in his gaze. “See? I knew it earlier at the park—it was all because of me.”
“Oh, stop it!” you laugh, shoving him playfully.
But before you can get away, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you back down with him, holding you close. You squeal softly, laughing into his chest as he nuzzles against you.
The two of you settle against each other, the laughter fading into quiet comfort. His arms tighten around you just enough to keep you close, and you rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head.
Minutes pass, the world outside fading away, until the soft rhythm of his breathing lulls you into a peaceful sleep, still tangled together on the couch, safe and warm in each other’s arms.
—
You and Jack had a slow, lazy morning, laughing as you made breakfast together, lingering over coffee, stealing little touches as you moved around the kitchen. Every glance, every shared smile felt effortless, like you’d been doing this forever.
Eventually, the time comes for him to leave. You find yourselves back at Penn Station, the bustle of people around you making the moment feel both ordinary and impossibly intimate.
“How is this even gonna work?” you ask, voice low, a little worried. “You live in Pittsburgh, I live in New York…”
Jack cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing softly across your cheeks. “Beautiful, we’re gonna make it work. We’ll figure it out, okay?”
You nod, but your chest feels tight. “Okay… but it still feels… so hard.”
He leans closer, forehead resting against yours. “I get it. This… this is harder than any goodbye we’ve ever had. Because we’re finally together. Not just wanting each other, not just hoping… finally.”
You feel the weight of his words, the truth pressing softly against your chest. “Yeah… finally,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.
Jack smiles softly, brushing his lips over your forehead as he holds you close. “And that’s why it’s worth it. Every mile, every call, every visit—it’s all for this. For us.” He presses a hand to your heart. “We’ve done the calls, the FaceTimes, the texts… all of that. But now? Now it’s more visits, and touches, and feelings we couldn’t share before. That’s new. That’s ours.”
Jack leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss, slow and unhurried. When he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are warm and certain.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “We’ll find what works for us, yeah?”
“And I’m going to make it work because…” He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss. “…I’m not letting go. Not now, not ever,” he murmurs, his words spilling between kisses that make you giggle against him.
The PA system crackles with announcements, pulling you both back to reality. You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as you can, savoring these final moments before the station noise and the distance between you claim him.
Finally, he pulls back, brushing his lips over yours one last time. The warmth of him lingers, the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint hum of the station around you.
“Alright, go before you miss your train again,” you say, your hand lingering on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips, eyes dark and teasing as if he could stay here forever.
“I know you wouldn’t, but you’ve gotta get back to the ER in Pittsburgh,” you reply, your voice soft, but edged with insistence, as your fingers tighten slightly around his flannel.
“My buddy Robby can hold it down without me,” he counters, leaning in just enough for his forehead to brush yours.
“He needs you. The nights of Pittsburgh need Dr. Abbot,” you insist.
He knows you’re right. A small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips
A sudden announcement cuts through the station: “Last call for Pittsburgh.”
Jack glances toward the platform, eyes meeting yours one last time. A small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “That’s my cue,” he murmurs, though neither of you moves.
“Alright, now go,” you nudge him.
He takes a few steps toward the platform, the click of his shoes echoing in the bustling station. He pauses, looking back at you, and the hum of conversation and rolling luggage fades into the background.
“Okay… wait. One more kiss,” he says, weaving back through the crowd. He steals a quick, urgent kiss from your lips, soft, electric, leaving a spark that lingers even after he pulls back.
“Jack!” you laugh, breathless, swatting lightly at his chest, your heart racing with amusement and longing.
“I need something to hold me over!” he teases, eyes glinting, voice low but playful.
“Stop it and go!” you insist, though your hand still lingers near his, unwilling to let him leave entirely.
He leans in one final time, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your lips. Pulling back, he smiles softly. “Okay, I’m going! I’ll call you!”
His hand brushes yours one last time, then he turns toward the platform, weaving through the crowd as the train’s distant rumble grows louder.
You watch him go, and for a moment, your thoughts drift to Wes, your brother, the reason your paths ever crossed. Without him, none of this, none of Jack, none of these stolen kisses, none of the ache and joy of this goodbye, would exist. A small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips, and you whisper to the empty station, “Thanks, Wes.”
The PA repeats faintly, “Last call for Pittsburgh,” but all you hear is the echo of Jack’s presence, the warmth of his kisses, and the certainty that this, what you share, is worth every mile, every moment apart, and every memory that brought you together.
CONSTANT AS SCARS (ANDREW “POPE” CODY) | MASTERLIST
Andrew “Pope” Cody × F! Friend/Paramedic Reader
Summary: Scrapes, gashes, cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds from some reckless job, seemed to cling to Andrew Cody like a shadow he could never shake. Every time he plunged into danger, every time he crossed a line, it all somehow led him back to you. You were there to patch him up, to steady him when the world left him raw and bleeding. His trouble was constant, unavoidable. And somehow, against all odds, so were you.
Constant as Scars (4) | Andrew "Pope" Cody x Reader
Andrew “Pope” Cody × F! Friend/Paramedic Reader
Summary: After Craig tells you he's worried about Andrew, and J coming to you about who he's letting stay at the compound, you walk in on Anrdew in a compromising position.
Words: 4152
Warnings: Spoilers for season 4, suggestiveness
Authors Note: I'm still so gagged that I went to Oceanside and went to Baz's house. It was so werid being there lol. Enjoy - Ryn
CAS | MASTERLIST
There’s a knock at the back door sharp, impatient.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” you call out through a yawn, already dragging yourself toward it.
You pull it open and find Craig standing there.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, and before you can even respond, he’s already stepping past you like he belongs inside.
You let out a slow, tired breath, closing the door behind him. “Craig, I’m not in the mood for whatever this is…”
“I’m not here to tease you,” he says quickly.
Without missing a beat, he makes himself right at home like he always does. He breezes past you, already opening your fridge, scanning it. He starts rummaging through it, pulling things aside with casual confidence, like this conversation is just background noise.
“Or get patched up,” he adds, half-distracted as he rifles through your fridge like he lives there, shifting things around with no real intention of taking anything. “And it’s not about some stupid fight or drama I’ve gotten myself tangled in.”
He shuts it when he comes up empty, like he’s personally offended by your lack of snacks.
You lean your weight against the doorframe, rubbing a hand over your face. Your hair’s still messy, your eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“I’m tired,” you say flatly. “I worked a night shift last night, and all I want is to go back to sleep.”
Craig’s expression shifts to less amused now, more serious. “It’s about Pope.”
The shift is immediate. The air changes.
Craig exhales, “We were on a job–”
“You shouldn’t be telling me this” you didn’t say anything. The less you knew about their jobs the better.
“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important… things went sideways.”
The words made your heart clench. A rush of panic flooded your veins.
“Sideways?” you repeated, your voice tightening. “What do you mean? Is he okay?”
“Physically, he’s fine. But mentally…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We were on dirt bikes, getting chased by cops.”
Your stomach dropped.
“We cut through an orange grove, trying to lose them.” His jaw tightened, eyes falling to the floor for a moment, like he was seeing it all over again. “Then he just... stopped.”
“Stopped?”
He nodded once. “Turned his bike around and headed straight back toward them.”
A chill ran down your spine.
“He pulled his gun,” Craig said quietly. “Just rode right at them with it drawn.”
You blink, the words not fully landing at first. “He…what?”
Craig lets out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I had to drag him out of it. We almost didn’t make it back.” His voice drops. “Patch… he was trying to get himself killed. One second we were riding, trying to get away, the next he looked like he didn't care what happened to him.”
A pit forms in your stomach,“Craig…”
He runs a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to steady himself. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m just worried about him, you know? I just came from talking to Deran about it. I told him he should let Pope work at the Drop…give him something to do, keep him busy, keep him moving but he shut it down. He just thinks the Pope needs to stay away from Smuf” he rolls his eyes, annoyed with Deran.
“When did this job happen?”
“Three days ago”
“I don’t know what to do,” he says quietly. “I know he gets like this sometimes, but I haven’t seen him this low in a while.”
And you understand what he means without him having to explain it further.
When Andrew got like this, it wasn’t something you could talk him out of. It didn’t sit on the surface where you could reach it. It pulled him under…fast, deep until it felt like nothing could get through.
Craig looked at you for a moment before asking quietly, “Could you talk to him? He opens up to you more than anyone.”
The request made your chest tighten.
“Okay... yeah.” You nodded. “Of course. I'll talk to him when I get the chance.”
“Thank you,” he says, pulling you into a brief hug.
“I’ll catch you later,” he says as he pulls away.
“Yeah,” you reply softly.
He gives you one last look before turning to leave.
Once he was gone, you headed back to your room. You picked up your phone from your nightstand and called Andrew. It rang a few times before going to voicemail.
“Hey,” you said after the beep. “Call me when you get a chance.”
You hung up and set the phone back down, trying not to read too much into the silence.
With a sigh, you climbed into bed, hoping to get a little sleep before your night shift. You had an uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you let your eyes close, hoping you'd wake up to a missed call or a text from him.
—
You still thought about Andrew throughout your shift, replaying everything Craig had relayed to you. The words wouldn’t leave your mind.
You knew he’d been cage fighting just to blow off steam, his outlet in the chaos that was his life but things were clearly getting worse. Bad enough that he might even end up standing off with cops on a job. That kind of escalation didn’t happen out of nowhere.
It had been building for a while now, simmering under the surface until it finally reached its boiling point and now, it felt like it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down. You needed to see him before it got worse.
It was later in the night, well into your shift, when J called.
“Hey, I’ve gotta take this. I’ll meet you inside,” you told your partner, Tony, glancing down at your phone.
Tony nodded and headed into the diner while you lingered in the parking lot beside the ambulance. The two of you had some downtime and had stopped for food.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Patch.”
Your stomach tightens slightly at the sound of J’s voice.
“Are you okay?” you ask, furrowing your brows. There’s something in his tone, something heavy. “Whats wrong?”
“Could we talk?” His voice is low, cautious.
“Yeah, of course. What’s—”
“In person?”
“I’m working, but I have some down time now. My partner and I are grabbing a bite to eat before we head back out on the road,” you cut in quickly. “We’re at Bob’s BBQ on Main Street. There’s a booth in the back by the window. Come by if you want—I’ll save you a seat.”
“Alright. I’ll be there in a bit.”
“Okay,” you say, keeping your voice gentle. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah.”
The line goes dead, and you stare at your phone for a moment longer than necessary, unease settling in your chest.
—
J showed up about 20 minutes later.
Sensing the conversation was probably better had in private, your partner Tony gave you some space, taking his food and settling at a table across the room.
J stood there for a moment before finally sitting down across from you. He looked uneasy, like he wasn't entirely sure how to start.
You pushed your basket of fires towards him. He grabbed a fry, more out of habit than hunger.
“Do you know Angela Kane?” he asked carefully. “She was my mom’s best friend.”
You hadn’t heard her name in years. “Yeah, I remember her.” You’d been around her plenty of times when you were younger. She wasn’t exactly a friend, but she wasn’t a stranger either.
“Why?” you ask.
“She got out of prison. She's staying at the house.” He doesn’t say more, but the sharp edge in his voice tells you everything you can tell he doesn’t want her around, especially at the compound.
“Smurf’s letting her stay?” you ask, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. You remember exactly how much Smurf never liked her though, to be fair, Smurf doesn’t like most people.
“No, Pope is,” he said.
That made you pause.
“Really?” you asked, eyebrows lifting slightly, disbelief threading through your voice.
That didn’t sound like Pope at all. First wanting to stand off with cops, and now letting an old friend of Julia’s stay at the house?
He hated having people over…tolerated it at best. If you were a stranger, you were expected to leave the moment your welcome even hinted at wearing thin. And even if he did know you, it depended entirely on trust and history, and whether or not he liked you.
He knew Angela through Julia, and Andrew was probably only letting her stay because of that connection—but still, it felt off.
“I don’t like her. I never did growing up,” J said.
“Well, that makes two of us,” you admitted.
Growing up, she’d always rubbed you the wrong way…little comments, teasing here and there, nothing outright cruel but enough to linger. She was one of the people who never quite understood how the Codys, especially Andrew, could be friends with you.
You knew you were different from them. The Codys knew it too. Your upbringing wasn’t the same as theirs but you were still close enough to be adjacent, always orbiting their world without fully belonging to it. And yet there were ways you connected. Especially when it came to your father being the under-the-table doctor in Oceanside.
“I don’t trust her. Pope’s making a mistake letting her stay at the house. I don’t understand why he’s helping her when he didn't even help my mom and I”
You knew Andrew thought about Julia all the time, even if the family had long since cast her out. There had been rare moments, years back, when the Codys crossed paths with her but they always kept their distance. Andrew would admit, every now and then, that he wanted to see her. You always encouraged it, even offered to go with him whenever you visited. But he never did.
Back then, he was still tightly wound around Smurf’s leash. That was part of it, but not all of it. You knew the rest was guilt. He couldn’t bring himself to face his twin. The only person besides you who truly understood him and he’d betrayed her, left her behind.
They came into this world together, only to end up facing it alone.
You feel for J. And you know Andrew should’ve done more. Deep down, you’re pretty sure he knows it too.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“It’s not going to change anything. You know him. Once he’s set on something, there’s no getting him to change his mind.”
“That’s not always necessarily true,” you said. “I’ll talk to him. I’ve been planning to see him ever since Craig came to me this morning. He told me what happened on the last job.”
“He claimed that he was ‘wiped out’.. That’s probably what he’s going to tell you” J says.
“I know,” you replied, steady. “And I know that’s not the truth. Craig’s worried. I know it’s bad when Deran and Craig… even Baz, when he was around, had to come to me just to talk sense into him.”
“I just haven’t been able to get a hold of him,” you admitted. “He’s not answering my calls.”
A shadow crosses J’s face. “He’s been spending time with Angela.”
You nod slowly, unsure what to make of it. Your silence stretches a beat too long.
J watches you carefully, “I figured you should know,” he adds, quieter now. “That’s all.”
You swallow, forcing your expression to stay even. “Yeah. Thanks.”
—
You try Andrew again the next day, but there’s still no reply, no call back, nothing. Growing more worried, you decide to head to the compound to see him for yourself.
It was late. You weren’t even sure if he was home. You pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and stepped out. You moved through the breezeway toward the backyard. The sliding glass door to the kitchen was open, and inside you found Smurf.
She was in a robe, casually making herself a cocktail.
“Where’s Andrew?” you ask, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.
“He’s in Craig’s old room,” Smurf replies, tone light—almost too light.
You miss the faint smirk at the corner of her mouth, but she knows exactly what’s waiting on the other side of that door… and exactly what it’s going to do when you open it.
Your heart pounds as you make your way down the hall to Craig’s old room. You push the door open.
“Andrew—oh my god!”
There they are. Andrew and Angela. Caught in the mess of sheets, limbs tangled, skin flushed, reality unmistakable.
Andrew wasn’t spiraling. Not alone and unraveling the way you’d worried. He was fine. More than fine.
All the worry that's been eating at you for the past couple of days dissolved the second you saw him in the bed. A different feeling slipped into place. An ache. A stupid, painful ache that settled in you. Because he was with her.
What happened in just a couple of days? What shifted so fast, so easily, that it ended with her in bed with him like she belonged there?
Your gaze flicked between them, your pulse still racing from the worry that had sent you tearing across town a worry that now felt ridiculous. Embarrassing.
Has this all been some kind of joke? Did Craig and J lie to you when you’d talk to them? Had they planted the idea that Andrew was struggling just to get you here? Just so you’d walk in and see this? See them together. Were they going to hold this over your head, tease you about it?
“Patch?” Andrew jerks upright. He’s sitting up now, fumbling with the sheet to cover himself, eyes wide in shock.
You barely manage to murmur, “I’m… I’m sorry—” before you pull the door shut a little too hard. You press your back against the wood for balance.
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself steady. He’s fine. That’s what matters, but the sight of them, of him playing on a loop behind your eyelids.
Tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You drag in a shaky breath and force them back. You will not fall apart in his hallway. Not outside the bedroom door. Not where anyone could open it and see exactly what this did to you.
Not here. Not now.
You rush down the hall.
“Going so soon?” Smurf calls after you as you pass through the kitchen.
You can hear the smirk in her voice, even without looking back.
You don’t respond. You just keep moving, weaving through the house, desperate to get out.
Behind you, Andrew’s footsteps hit the floor hard—fast, uneven, closing the distance. He’s half-dressed, only in boxers, hair tousled like he’s just thrown himself out of bed, chasing after you.
“Patch—” he calls out, voice strained, but you don’t stop. Your legs move on their own, carrying you toward the front door as your mind swirls with disbelief and hurt. Every step feels heavier, like the walls are closing in with your racing thoughts.
“Whoa—hey! Stop, stop!” His hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you around. You spin to face him, your chest heaving, heart pounding. His eyes are wide, desperate.
His hands move to your shoulders, grounding you, before sliding down your arms in an attempt to steady you. “What—are you okay? What are you doing here?” His voice trembles with worry, his gaze searching yours as if trying to read the storm inside you.
“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—” you say quickly, stumbling over your words. He notices the tears gathering in your eyes.
“Hey, slow down. Take a breath.” His tone softens, careful and coaxing. “Look at me.”
His hands rise to cup your face, trying to guide your attention back to him, but you pull away before he can fully reach you, putting space between you.
His hands fall back to his sides.
Andrew frowns, watching you step out of reach, the rejection landing harder than he expects.
You wrapped your arms around yourself instead, holding on tight as if you were the only thing keeping yourself together. His brow furrowed, concern deepening as he watched you retreat further into yourself.
“I thought—” Your voice caught. You swallowed hard and tried again. “Craig said you weren't doing good.”
Andrew's expression immediately changed.
“Craig?”
You left out the details of what Craig had told you, knowing Andrew was smart enough to fill in the blanks on his own. And you definitely weren't about to mention J meeting up to talk, upset about Andrew letting Angela stay at the compound.
Your gaze dropped to the floor.
“That’s why I’m here. I've just... been worried,” you admitted quietly. “I've tried calling you—”
“I’ve been busy. Been helping around at The Drop.” He huffed a dry laugh. “The place is a goddamn dump…definitely not up to health code. I don’t know how Deran gets people through the door, or how they keep coming back.”
Despite everything you were feeling, a small smile threatened to pull at your lips. It sounded like Deran had finally listened to Craig about giving Andrew something to do.
You knew how meticulous Andrew could be. How he couldn’t stand things being out of place. You could already picture him stalking around the bar with a rag in one hand and a scowl on his face, scrubbing things that didn’t need scrubbing, reorganizing shelves that weren’t his to reorganize, and driving Deran absolutely insane in the process.
Under different circumstances, the image might have made you laugh. Instead, the amusement faded almost as quickly as it came.
“I’ve been meaning to call you back, it’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a tired sigh.
He’d been meaning to call you back, but he never really got around to it.
Angela had only been crashing at the house for a couple days, but she was there when he got home, there in the quiet moments, and somehow he just fell into that rhythm without thinking about it. She’d quickly become someone he leaned on without really planning to. Especially tonight.
And the call… kept slipping further out of reach.
“Things have just been complicated lately.”
“Right…” It comes out more irritated than you intend, edged with something you’re trying not to name. Jealousy you don’t want to admit, even to yourself. You know you shouldn’t feel like this, you tell yourself there’s no reason to, but that doesn’t make the feeling go away.
Andrew’s expression shifts immediately. He catches the tone.
“Patch…” he starts carefully, choosing his words. He thinks it’s about him not calling…the silence, the distance he left between you. He has no idea it’s anything deeper, or that seeing him with Angela is what really got to you.
“Angela, Andrew—what is she even doing here?” The words come out sharper than you meant them to.
His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “She needs a place to crash.”
You stare at him for a moment. “And you just let her crash here after not seeing her for years?”
Andrew shrugs, like the answer should be obvious. “She’s got nowhere else to go.”
You stare at him for a second. “Are you sure that's all she needs?”
His eyes narrow immediately. “What's that supposed to mean? Did Smurf put you up to this?” he cuts in sharply. “Convince me to get rid of her?”
“What?” You let out a disbelieving laugh. “No.”
“Because this sounds a lot like Smurf.” he states
“Well, it isn't…”
A tense silence settles between you.
“Andrew, you don’t even know her—”
His jaw clenches. “She’s not some stranger.”
“She might as well be,” you argue. “You haven’t seen her in years.”
His gaze stays fixed on you. “You’re acting like she showed up here with some kind of agenda.”
“And what if she did?”
“Jesus Christ,”
“I’m serious!” You take a step closer. “You trust her that much?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?” You look at him like he’s lost his mind.
“She needed help,” he says, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. His voice goes flat with disbelief, like he can’t make sense of your reaction. “I thought you’d understand where she’s coming from.”
You shake your head slightly, cutting in. “She just shows up out of the blue and says she needs help, and that’s enough for you?”
His expression hardens immediately, the patience draining out of him. “Yeah. It is.”
“What is this?” he asks, frustration in his voice. “Where is this coming from?”
Angela appears behind him, quietly stepping into view in his shirt and a pair of shorts.
Andrew glances back at her. He sighs before gesturing slightly between you, trying to smooth the moment over. “Angela, you remember Patch right?”
Your voice steadies, even if it takes effort. “Hi, Angela.”
Angela gives a small nod, a polite half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey… it’s been a while. Still hanging around the Codys, I see. You haven’t changed much.”
“Yep” was all you managed to say to her.
“Sorry about earlier— I didn't mean to barge in on you guys like that” you add quickly to both Andrew and Angela. It’s performative, but at this moment it still feels like the right thing to say.
“Was worried, is all… but you’re clearly fine.” You clap your hands together once, forcing a brightness that doesn’t match your expression as you address Andrew. “So I’m just going to go now.”
Your voice wavers on the last word. You can feel it building. You already know if you stay a second longer, you’ll lose it.
“Hey—” Andrew’s voice cuts in, firm now. “We’re not done talking.”
Behind him, Angela shifts awkwardly, suddenly very aware she’s standing in the middle of something she doesn’t fully understand. But Andrew doesn’t look away from you.
You swallow hard, hold his gaze for a beat too long, then break it and with that, you turn and walk out the front door. Outside, the air feels colder than you expect. You step off the porch and out into the driveway toward your car. The tears escape, falling from your eyes.
Smurf comes out of the garage and steps into the driveway just as you’re reaching for your keys.
You move on instinct, slipping them from your pocket, already trying to make your escape before she can say anything.
A part of you wishes she would’ve warned you. But then again Smurf isn’t the kind of woman who deals in warnings.
She crosses the space between you in a few unhurried steps and stops right in front of your car door. Leaning into it, she plants herself there.
Her gaze drifts toward the house, lingering a beat too long, like she can see straight through the walls and into whatever mess just unfolded inside.
“Angela’s a snake,” she says quieter this time, but no less certain. “Slithering where she doesn’t belong.”
“She’s got more at stake in him than you think,” Smurf adds. “That’s why she’s not going anywhere on her own. You better make yours count.”
You look at her, confused, like she’s missing a piece of the story you don’t have.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she says immediately, tilting her head. Her eyes narrow, unimpressed. “You’ve been pining over Andrew for years. Don’t act like I didn’t notice.”
She rolls her eyes like the thought itself is obvious. Before you can even respond, she cuts you off.
“I tolerate you… more than I tolerate her,” Smurf says flatly. “And that should tell you everything you need to know.”
Her gaze flicks back toward the house again, “Angela doesn’t belong in that house. Doesn’t belong with him. She’s temporary…a distraction, nothing more.”
Her lip curls slightly. “And I don’t keep things around that don’t belong.”
Then her attention snaps back to you. “But you?” she continues, voice sharpening. “Don’t stand there acting like you don’t know what you want.”
Her mouth tightens, eyes unblinking now. “I thought you were stronger than this. Girls who give up before the fight even starts—they’re pathetic. Weak. They don’t get what they want.”
A beat.
“And right now,” she says, softer but cutting, “that’s exactly what you’re acting like.”
“You want my advice?” she asks, though it doesn’t really sound like a question. “if you actually want him, you don’t sit back and hope it passes, you step in and make sure it does.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns and heads back inside the house.
You hurry into your car and start the engine, but you don’t pull out right away. You just sit there, hands tight on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. After a moment, you let your head fall forward against it, trying to steady your breathing before you move.
After a moment, you lift your head, straighten your grip on the wheel, and pull out of the driveway.
wow what a chapter!!! I absolutely hated Angela so I felt rage just at her name🤣 Smurf is something else isn’t she? I am dying to know what Patch is going to do as I don’t have a clue what I would do!!!! Cannot wait for the next part!!!
