Who I currently write for: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington (Stranger Things), other Stranger Things characters, Carmy Berzatto (The Bear), Chef Luca (The Bear), Ritchie Jerimovich (The Bear), CoD, Top Gun
Stranger Things masterlist:
Eddie Munson:
Saturday Movie Night
Eyes (ft. Steve Harrington) Part 1, Part 2
My submission for @lesservillain Strange & Spooky Stories prompts
There's A Fine Line Between Love And Hate: 1
But it’s Home To Me
Steve Harrington:
Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips
Headcanons
Eddie and Wayne
Gremlin Boyfriend Eddie
The Seasons
The Bear masterlist:
Carmy Berzatto:
• Let Me Fix It
Chef Luca:
• Dance With Me
Ritchie Jerimovich:
• The Honey Bee - coming soon
CoD masterlist:
John Price:
• Oh Darlin’ come to bed
• The Mrs
• Captain Price Gave You An Order
My submission to @deadbranch 50 word challenge
•Crossing All The Lines
part of @glitterypirateduck O,Captain! challenge
Ghost:
• Misery’s your master
• I Am No Bird; And No Net Ensnares Me
My submission to @glitterypirateduck Ghost Challenge
Soap:
• And I’ll buy you the world
• Weekend Away
My submission to @glitterypirateduck CoDVacationMode challenge
Gaz:
• Admiring from afar
• Roscoe
• One More Time
Alex Keller:
• Boss
Top Gun masterlist:
Bob Floyd:
• Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
My submission to @lewmagoo Holiday Celebration
•Baby it’s cold outside
My submission to @lewmagoo holiday event
Thunderbolts* masterlist:
Bob Reynolds:
• P.R Nightmare
Other Things:
•Love-Struck playlist for @translatemunson story Love-Struck
• The Witch At The Edge Of The Woods inspired by one of @ghouljams oc’s
• Sandalwood and Smoke
My submission to @the-californicationist nameless challenge
• 911, What’s Your Damage? Playlist for @translatemunson story The Tortured Firefighters Department
I am just so obsessed with the concept of Bob Floyd off duty.
He still keeps his hair relatively short. But it's not gelled. Strands of hair stick out. Locks swoop over his forehead, reminding you that when his hair gets really long, the ends start to curl. Sometimes, if y'all go to the beach or pool, his hair will curl after being air dried by the sun. The longer he's on leave, the more sun kissed his hair gets.
He trades his aviators glasses for brown, slightly rectangular frames. But there's a light dusting of stubble. Bob never lets it get any longer than that, even though he technically can. The always ironed uniform is traded for faded tshirts and worn jeans.
He's way more talkative, of course he is, he's with you! You love that most of all, that he's so comfortable around you to let his guard down.
Summary: After a pediatric patient panics during an IV start, you end up in the ED with a dislocated shoulder, a lot of pain meds, and absolutely no filter. The day shift learns three things very quickly: Jack Abbot is your husband, you picked that one, and apparently, his forearms are medically relevant.
Warnings: established relationship, married Jack and reader, injury, shoulder dislocation, medical procedure/reduction, pain medication/loopy reader, swearing, suggestive humor, sexual jokes, Jack being hot as a clinical intervention, Robby being Robby, fluff, crack treated seriously, hospital setting, peds nurse reader, very unserious wedding lore
Author’s Note: This is very much the sister fic in spirit to Where Is My Husband? Same deeply married chaos, same loopy wife energy, same Jack Abbot being forced to endure public affection against his will. Except this time, Robby discovers that “sexy doctor husband” is not just a title — it is, unfortunately for Jack, a clinically useful intervention. This one is ridiculous, soft, unhinged, and honestly exactly the kind of nonsense I love putting these two through. Jack is trying so hard to be a serious, worried husband; Robby is having the best shift of his life; Dana is quietly enabling chaos under the guise of professionalism; and Reader is simply telling the truth. Loudly. On medication.
You’re welcome.
Xoxo, Del
The first rule of pediatrics was that fear moved faster than pain. You had learned that early.
Pain made kids cry. Fear made them bolt.
Eli Mereiter had been trying very hard not to do either for almost twenty minutes.
He sat in the center of the peds exam bed with his knees tucked under the thin blanket, his left wrist cradled against his chest, his cheeks blotchy from the effort of pretending he was fine. His mother stood near the head of the bed, one hand on his shoulder and the other twisting the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“You’re doing great,” you told him.
Eli looked at the IV tray and swallowed. “No, I’m not.”
You crouched beside the bed so you were closer to eye level.
“You are. Great doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. It means you’re still here with me even though you are.”
His eyes flicked to yours.
The honesty helped. It usually did. Kids could smell a lie faster than adults could dress one up.
“It’s gonna hurt,” he said.
You nodded.
“It’s going to pinch. I won’t call it nothing.” You rested one hand on the mattress, close but not touching him without warning. “But it’ll be fast, and you don’t have to watch.”
His mouth trembled once before he pressed it flat. “I don’t want it.”
“I know.” You gave him a serious nod. “That’s fair. We can hate it together.”
Eli looked at you like that was suspicious. “You hate it?”
“I hate it when kids have to do scary things,” you said. “But I like when they get through them and realize they were braver than they thought.”
His mom made a quiet sound behind him.
You glanced up at her and gave a small, reassuring smile before looking back at Eli.
“How about this,” you said. “You pick where you look. Mom’s face, the ceiling tile that kind of looks like a potato, or me.”
Eli’s brows pinched together. “The ceiling tile doesn’t look like a potato.”
You looked up. “It absolutely does.”
He glanced up despite himself. For one second, his attention shifted. Not enough to make him calm, but enough to give him somewhere else to put the fear.
“That one?” he asked.
You nodded. “Very potato.” His mom gave a wet little laugh.
The nurse beside you finished prepping the IV with practiced quiet. You saw Eli clock the movement anyway. His eyes cut to the tourniquet. Then the alcohol wipe. Then the catheter.
His breathing changed. You leaned in slightly. “Eli. Look at me.” His gaze snapped back to yours.
You kept your voice low and even. “Can you breathe in with me?”
He tried. His breath caught halfway.
“That’s okay,” you said. “Again. Smaller this time.”
The nurse reached for his arm. Eli saw the flash of the needle. Fear got there first.
“No,” he said.
His mother tightened her hand on his shoulder. “Eli—”
“No!” He jerked backward, fast and hard, trying to get away from the tray, from the nurse, from the whole room.
“Hey, hey.” You moved with him. “You’re okay.”
But he was already twisting. His sneaker slid against the paper sheet. His hip caught the edge of the mattress. The bed rail was down on your side because you had been sitting there with him, and his small body tipped toward the open space between the bed and the floor.
You moved before thought could catch up.
Your hand caught the back of his gown. Your other arm shot across his chest, bracing him before he could fall.
For half a second, you had him. Then his weight hit your shoulder wrong. Something shifted. Not cracked. Not snapped.
Slipped.
White-hot pain tore through your shoulder and down your arm so violently that the room went gray at the edges. You made a sound you did not recognize.
Someone grabbed Eli from the other side.
“I’ve got him,” the other nurse said. “I’ve got him.”
Good, you thought. That was good.
You went down hard on one knee, your right arm hanging wrong, breath gone from your chest.
Eli was crying now. Not the scared kind. The guilty kind.
“I hurt her,” he sobbed.
You tried to lift your head. Bad idea. Pain slammed up the side of your neck and behind your teeth.
“No,” you forced out. Your voice sounded thin. Far away. “No, honey. You didn’t.”
A hand touched your back. “Don’t move,” someone said.
You tried to breathe through your nose. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay,” she repeated, firmer this time. “We have him.”
Eli’s mother had him against her now, both arms wrapped around his shaking body. His face was turned toward you, wet and horrified.
You managed to focus on him. “Eli.”
His crying hitched. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” You swallowed down nausea. “I know you didn’t. You got scared. That’s different.”
His face crumpled harder. You looked at his mom. “Tell him I’m not mad.”
“We will,” she said quickly.
You closed your eyes for half a second. “Please tell him.”
“We will,” the nurse said beside you. “But right now, we need to get you downstairs.”
You opened your eyes. “No, he needs—”
“He has his mom,” she said gently. “And he has Megan. We’ve got him.”
You wanted to argue. Your shoulder pulsed once, deep and sickening, and the rest of the sentence disappeared. Someone called down to the ED before they moved you. You heard pieces of it through the pain and the blood rushing in your ears.
“Staff injury coming down from peds.”
“Likely right shoulder dislocation.”
“Caught a pediatric patient who panicked during IV prep.”
“Vitals stable.”
“Severe pain.”
Nobody said your name. Or maybe they did, and it got swallowed somewhere between the exam room and the elevator. Either way, by the time they got you into a wheelchair, your scrubs were damp at the collar, your vision kept narrowing at the corners, and your arm had become a separate, terrible country you refused to look at.
You hated being the patient.
You hated it so much you almost missed the part where you were terrified. Almost.
The elevator ride downstairs felt both too fast and too slow. Someone kept telling you to breathe. Someone else kept asking your pain number. You gave a number that was probably too low because saying the real one made it feel more real.
The ED doors opened.
The familiar noise hit first. Monitors. Shoes. Voices. The distant roll of a cart.
Robby was already at the mouth of a bay when they wheeled you in, tablet in hand, chief-of-the-ER face on. Dana stood beside him with gloves already pulled on, calm and unsmiling in the way that meant she had already cleared the room in her head. Santos hovered just behind her like she could smell a procedure from three bays away. Princess was at the computer, and Javadi stood near the supply cart, trying very hard to look like someone who was not internally rehearsing every step of a shoulder reduction.
“Peds called down,” Robby said. “Likely right shoulder disloca—”
Then he saw your face. The chief of the ER expression dropped clean off.
For one second, he was not chief of anything. He was just your friend. “What the fuck, dude?”
You tried to glare at him. “Great bedside manner.”
Robby was already moving. He came to your side, one hand bracing the wheelchair arm, his eyes sweeping over your face.
“Look at me,” he said. “You with me?”
You blinked at him through the pain. “No, Robby, I thought I’d dissociate recreationally.”
His jaw tightened. “Answer me like less of a pain in my ass.”
You sighed. “I’m with you.”
“Good.” He glanced at the peds nurse behind your chair. “They called down a peds nurse. They did not say it was you.”
“Would that have changed your medical plan?” you asked.
“No.” His eyes flicked to your shoulder, and the doctor came back into him all at once. “It would have given me thirty more seconds to emotionally prepare for both my friend being injured and Jack killing me.”
“Jack is not going to kill you,” you replied.
Dana made a quiet sound. Robby pointed at her without looking. “Do not contribute.”
Dana lifted both gloved hands. “I said nothing.”
“You thought loudly.”
Santos leaned slightly to see your arm better. “Is it anterior?”
You swallowed through the pain. “Is Eli okay?”
Robby’s attention snapped back to you. Then he looked to the peds nurse. “Eli is the kid?”
The peds nurse nodded quickly. “Eight-year-old. Wrist injury. He’s okay. Megan stayed with him and his mom.”
Your eyes closed. “Did someone tell him I’m not mad?”
Robby went still for half a beat. His expression changed again. Softer this time. Worried in a way he could not hide behind sarcasm fast enough.
“Yeah,” he said. “They told him.”
“He won’t believe them,” you murmured.
Robby looked at you. “He might.”
“He’s eight.” Your voice thinned around the pain. “Eight-year-olds think everything is their fault.”
Robby looked at you for one second too long. Then he nodded once, like he was putting that away for later. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to get you on the bed. Slow. Dana, support the arm. Javadi, do not look terrified.”
Javadi straightened. “I’m not terrified.” Robby looked at her.
You hated the careful hands and the count of three and the way pain still broke through your teeth when they moved you.
You hated that Robby’s face stayed calm. That meant it looked bad.
Once you were on the bed, Dana slid a pillow under your arm with the clean precision of a woman who did not waste motion. Princess clipped a monitor to your finger. Javadi asked about allergies, her voice only a little too bright. Santos hovered at the foot of the bed, watching your shoulder with open interest until Dana glanced at her.
Santos lifted her hands. “I’m not touching anything.”
“Correct,” Dana said.
Robby looked up from your shoulder. “Pain number.” You hesitated.
He gave you a look. “Do not make me ask like I don’t know you.” You told the truth.
Robby’s mouth tightened. “Thank you for not lying to me twice.”
“I lied once,” you admitted.
Robby shook his head. “You lied badly once.” Your breathing hitched. “Did someone tell Eli?”
The peds nurse, still lingering near the curtain, nodded. “Megan did. His mom did too.”
“But did he believe them?” you pushed.
Robby braced one hand lightly on the bed rail. “Do not try to sit up.”
You looked at him. “I wasn’t.”
“You thought about it,” Robby replied.
Your eyes narrowed. “You can’t prove that.”
“I’m chief of emergency medicine,” he said. “I can prove anything if I chart creatively.”
A laugh tried to escape you. It did not make it past the pain. Robby saw that too. His voice shifted.
“IV, x-ray, then pain meds before we reduce it,” he said. “Let’s get films and make sure we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Love being discussed like a broken chair,” you muttered.
Robby leaned over you, penlight in hand. “I have never met a chair this mouthy.”
Princess found a vein in your good arm. You looked away while she taped the line down. That felt ridiculous, considering you had started hundreds of IVs yourself, but today your body had decided to be dramatic, and you were not giving it more material.
Robby watched your face. “You okay?”
“No,” you answered honestly.
Robby almost smiled. “Good answer.”
Princess glanced up from your IV. “Do you want us to call someone?”
“Yes,” you said immediately.
Robby’s eyes narrowed like he already knew where this was going.
Princess kept her hands near the computer. “Who should we call?”
“Jack Abbot.”
The room did not stop. Not yet. Princess typed, then paused.
Her eyes moved from the screen to you. “Dr. Abbot?”
You breathed through your teeth. “Yes.”
The room went a little too quiet. You opened one eye. “What?”
Santos looked from you to Robby. “Night-shift Abbot?”
“How many Jack Abbots do you know?” you asked.
Javadi made the mistake of whispering, “Dr. Abbot is her emergency contact?”
“He’s my husband,” you said, like that explained the entire universe.
It did, actually. Just not to the room. Santos stared.
Javadi looked like someone had changed the laws of physics in front of her.
Princess’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Dana, somehow, did not move at all.
Then her eyes narrowed. “The sandwich.” You closed your eyes. “Dana.”
Santos looked at her. “What sandwich?”
Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “Shift change. Three weeks ago. Abbot was coming off nights. She was passing the desk with a stack of peds charts.”
Princess leaned around Javadi. “I remember that.”
“He had half a sandwich in his hand,” Dana said. “Tore the crust off without breaking conversation, held it up, and she took it on the way by.”
You breathed carefully through your teeth. “I was hungry.”
“You said thanks,” Dana added.
Santos blinked. “That’s it?” Dana finally looked up.
“That’s the point.” A beat passed.
Then Princess pointed toward you. “Wait. The parking lot.”
You opened one eye. “Please don’t.”
“I saw you two by the employee parking last month,” Princess said. “He switched sides with you near the cars.”
Javadi blinked. “Switched sides?” Princess looked at her like this was obvious. “The sidewalk rule.”
Javadi’s brows pulled together. “The what?”
“When the guy walks closer to the street,” Princess said. “Protective thing. Old-school. Very romantic if he’s hot.”
Santos made a face. “That sounds fake.”
Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord. “It’s not fake.”
Princess pointed at Dana. “Thank you.”
You stared at the ceiling. “Can we not analyze my husband’s walking patterns while my shoulder is in another fucking zip code?”
“And he had your bag,” Princess added.
“It was heavy,” you said.
She looked at you. “It had little strawberries on it.”
Robby’s mouth twitched. “Jack carried a strawberry bag?”
You gave him the best glare you could manage while lying flat with your arm attempting secession. “You are supposed to be my doctor.”
Santos’s face changed. “Oh, my god. The fire alarm drill.”
“No,” you said.
“You had his jacket,” she said.
“It was cold.”
“No.” Santos pointed, too delighted to stop herself. “He put it around your shoulders before you asked.”
Dana’s gaze sharpened with recognition.
Santos nodded hard. “And took your clipboard so you could get your arms through the sleeves.”
Princess looked at Robby. “You knew?”
Robby held up one hand. “I was at the wedding.”
The room shifted again. Javadi whispered, “There was a wedding?”
You stared at the ceiling. “I’m starting to think day shift needs hobbies.”
Robby looked at you, and this time his humor was gentle around the edges. “You married a night-shift attending and then wandered around this hospital accepting crustless sandwich halves like that was normal.”
“It is normal,” you replied.
“For married people,” Dana said.
Santos looked personally offended. “I am usually very good at noticing things.”
You swallowed through another pulse of pain. “Sorry my marriage was inconvenient for your brand.”
Robby pointed at you. “Pain has not made her less mean. Excellent prognostic sign.”
Princess was still looking at you like she had discovered treasure. “So Dr. Abbot is your husband.”
“Yes.”
“And he brings you coffee,” Princess added.
You inhaled. “Yes.”
“And the sandwich,” she continued.
“Yes.”
Princess’s eyebrows rose. “And the parking lot.” You closed your eyes. “I would like drugs now.”
Robby’s smile faded enough for his concern to show again. “Soon,” he said. “We’re moving.”
Then he held out his hand toward Princess. “I’ll call him.”
You looked at him. “You don’t have to.”
“I do, actually,” Robby replied.
“Why?”
Robby’s face softened around the edges, just enough that your chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with your shoulder.
“Because he’s going to be worried,” he said. “And if a stranger calls him, he’s going to scare somebody.”
You sighed. “Jack doesn’t scare people.”
“No,” Robby said. “But when he’s worried about you, he gets very concise.”
Dana hummed. “That’s true.”
You closed your eyes. “Tell him not to speed.”
Robby shook his head. “I’m not promising that.”
“Robby,” you said, trying to sound reasonable.
He sighed. “I’ll suggest moderation.”
Robby stepped a few feet away from the bed and tapped Jack’s contact. You watched him through the pain, sweat cooling at the back of your neck. He pointed at you without lowering the phone. “Try not to dislocate anything else while I’m gone.” The call rang once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, Jack answered.
His voice came rough with sleep and irritation. “What, Robby?”
Robby glanced back at you. You were pale on the bed, jaw tight, your good hand fisted in the sheet while Dana adjusted the monitor.
“Your wife is in the ED,” Robby said. “She’s fine. I’ve got her.”
The line went silent. Then Jack’s voice came back low and awake. “What happened?”
“Right shoulder dislocation,” Robby said. “Peds incident. She caught a kid before he fell and took the force the wrong way. She’s conscious, stable, and pissed off, which I’m taking as a good sign.”
Another pause. Jack breathed out once, sharply. “Of course she caught the kid.”
“Yeah,” Robby said, softer. “That was my reaction too.”
You lifted your head an inch off the pillow. “Tell him not to speed.”
Robby looked over his shoulder. You stared back, sweaty and serious.
“She says not to speed.”
Jack was already moving. Robby could hear it through the phone: sheets, a drawer, something hitting the floor. “Tell her I’m coming.”
“Jack,” Robby said carefully.
“I heard her,” Jack said sharply.
Robby nodded once. “Good.”
“Thanks, brother. I’m on my way,” Jack replied.
Robby’s mouth softened. “Yeah,” he said.
He ended the call and came back to the side of the bed. “He’s coming.”
You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Good.” The word came out smaller than you meant it to. Robby heard that too. For a second, he was quiet.
Then he nodded to Princess. “Now give her the good stuff before she remembers she’s trying to be reasonable.”
Princess pushed medication into your IV. Warmth moved up your arm a few seconds later, strange and soft. The pain did not vanish, but the edges of the room began to loosen. The lights blurred a little. The monitor beep sounded farther away.
You blinked. “Wow.”
Santos leaned closer. “How’s that?”
You turned your head toward her slowly. “You have two faces.”
Robby’s mouth twitched. “Better?”
You inhaled. “I can still feel my skeleton making bad choices.”
“So, somewhat.” Robby grinned.
You looked toward the curtain. “Did someone tell Eli I’m not mad?”
Robby exhaled. “Yes.”
“I’m not mad,” you repeated.
“I know.”
You blinked hard. “No, but he needs to know.”
“He knows,” Robby replied gently.
You frowned. “You’re just saying that.”
“I am saying many things,” Robby said. “This one happens to be true.”
You tried to sit up. Every person in the room reacted.
Dana touched your good shoulder. “Nope. Stay back.”
“I should tell him,” you told her.
“You should keep your shoulder still,” Robby said.
You frowned at him. “You’re being bossy.” Robby shrugged. “It’s on the mug.”
“Jack has a mug that says World’s Sexiest Doctor,” you replied without thinking. The pain meds were softening things too much now. Words had started wandering into places you had not invited them.
Robby slowly turned his head. “I’m sorry. He has a what?”
You winced. “It was a joke. I got it for him when we were dating.”
Princess looked delighted. “And he kept it?”
You breathed through another pulse of pain. “He drinks out of it every morning.”
Santos stared. “Abbot drinks coffee out of a World’s Sexiest Doctor mug?”
Dana, dry as dust, added, “That explains more than I wanted it to.”
Robby pressed his fingers to his mouth like he was trying to hold in actual joy.
You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my doctor.”
“I am,” Robby said. “And this is healing me.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. The ED lights drifted above you. Your body felt heavy against the bed, but your mind kept circling the same places. Eli crying. Your shoulder slipping. Jack coming. You blinked slowly. “Did someone tell Eli?”
Dana adjusted the blanket around your legs. “Yes.”
“Did someone tell Jack?” you asked.
Robby’s mouth twitched. “Yes.” You nodded, satisfied for exactly one second.
Then you frowned. “Which one is coming to see me?”
Robby stared at you. “What?”
“Eli or Jack?” you asked.
Princess turned toward the computer with suspicious speed. Santos looked openly delighted. Robby’s expression brightened with pure, terrible affection.
“Oh,” he said softly. “This is going to be a great drug for you.”
You frowned. “Don’t be weird.”
Robby patted the bed rail. “Try not to say anything incriminating before your husband gets here.”
Your eyes closed, but you could still hear the smile in his voice. “Jack already knows everything.”
Robby made a thoughtful sound. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s test that.”
Robby stayed beside the bed after Princess pushed the medication. One hand rested on the rail. His eyes moved from your face to the monitor, then to your shoulder, then back to your face again. He was not joking as much now.
You hated that. “Stop looking worried,” you said.
His mouth twitched, but it did not quite become a smile. “Stop giving me reasons.”
You blinked at him, the lights blurring softly around the edges. “Rude.”
“Consistent,” Robby said.
Dana adjusted the blanket over your legs, brisk yet careful. “That’s one word for it.”
The medication had made the room strange. Softer, but not kinder. The monitors sounded farther away, and the overhead lights had started to bloom at the edges. Your shoulder still hurts. Not as sharply as before, maybe, but it was there under everything, pulsing and wrong. You tried to shift away from it. Your body disagreed. “Bad,” you muttered.
Robby leaned in a fraction. “Pain?”
You shook your head. “Existence.”
He nodded once. “Fair.”
Dana checked the line of your IV, then glanced at him.
Robby’s eyes returned to yours, and something in his face softened. “Hey,” he said. “World’s Sexiest Doctor.”
You frowned. “What?”
“The mug,” Robby said, voice lighter on purpose. “You said he drinks out of it every morning.”
Your face softened before you could stop it. “He does.” Princess turned from the computer with immediate interest. Santos, who had been pretending not to hover near the foot of the bed, stopped pretending. Dana’s expression did not change, but her eyes flicked toward you.
Robby leaned one forearm against the rail. “Still can’t believe he committed to the bit.”
“It’s not a bit,” you said.
Robby’s eyebrows lifted. “No?”
You looked at him like he was missing the obvious. “It’s true.”
Santos’s mouth curved. Dana looked down at the monitor. Princess pressed her lips together like she was holding something very large behind her teeth. You blinked at the ceiling, dreamy and annoyed all at once. “He is the sexiest doctor.”
Robby drew back like you had slapped him. “Rude.”
You turned your head toward him slowly. “You’re right.”
His expression softened. “Thank you.”
“Ellis is pretty hot, too,” you murmured happily.
Robby froze. Princess made a sound and turned sharply toward the computer. Santos whispered, “Wow.”
Dana closed her eyes. Robby stared at you. “That was not the correction I was requesting.”
You considered him through the pleasant fog around your thoughts. “You have nice hair.”
Robby’s hand went to his chest. “That was devastatingly lukewarm.”
“It is nice.”
“Nice hair,” he repeated, wounded. “That’s what I get after years of friendship.”
“You’re my friend,” you said.
His expression shifted. For one second, the joke left his face. “I know.”
You watched him through the blur. “You’re a good doctor.”
Robby’s hand tightened slightly on the rail. “You’re on excellent medication.”
“I mean it.”
“I know,” he said, quieter.
Dana looked away first. Santos suddenly found the supply tray very interesting. Robby cleared his throat and straightened. “Okay,” he said, his voice returning to a steady tone. “Let’s get ready.”
The words landed wrong. Your smile faded. The room shifted back into medicine too quickly. Gloves. Positioning. Dana adjusting the bed. Santos watching Robby’s hands intently. Javadi standing too still by the supplies, trying to look prepared. Your stomach dropped through the medication. “Wait.” Robby looked back at you. “Yeah?”
Your good hand tightened in the sheet. “You’re doing it now?” His expression softened. “Soon.”
“No.”
Dana’s hand settled lightly near your good shoulder. Not holding you down. Just there.
Robby stepped closer. “I know.”
“No, Robby.” Your voice stayed even, but barely. “I don’t want to do it.”
Robby did not flinch. “I know you don’t.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you mean it.”
You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. “I don’t want it to hurt.”
Robby’s face changed again, not much, just enough to show you he hated this part too. “I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”
You frowned. “That’s what people say before they do stuff that sucks.” Santos muttered, “Accurate.”
Dana looked at her. Santos lifted both hands. “I’m validating.”
Robby ignored her and kept his eyes on you. “It is going to suck,” he said. “But the longer it stays out, the worse it’s going to feel. I want to get it back where it belongs.”
Your breathing went shallow. The medication had made everything loose except the fear. That stayed sharp. Clear. Mean. You looked toward the hallway. “Fine.” Robby waited. You glared at him, sweaty and medicated and angry enough to hide behind it. “I’ll do it if Jack is my doctor.”
The room paused. Dana looked at Robby. Princess looked at the hallway. Javadi looked like she had just realized this was not covered in any textbook.
Robby let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “That’s not how this works.”
You frowned at him. “He’s a doctor.”
“He is.” Dana’s voice stayed calm beside you. “He’s also your husband.”
You looked at her like she had helped your case. “Exactly.” Robby’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Before he could answer, Jack’s voice cut through the department. “Where is she?”
Your head turned. Completely. All the thoughts in your brain scattered like startled birds. Jack was halfway down the hall, moving fast and trying not to look like he was moving fast, a hoodie under his unzipped jacket. His hair was sleep-rough on one side. His jaw was tight, his eyes already searching, already locked on the room. The second he saw you, his pace changed.
Your good hand lifted off the sheet. “That one.”
Robby followed your gaze. For the first time since the reduction tray came out, true humor broke through his worry. “Oh,” he said softly. “Okay.”
Jack stepped into the bay. You pointed at him, certain now. “I want that one.”
Jack froze for half a second. His eyes moved over you. Face. IV. Monitor. Shoulder. Robby. Dana. Back to your face.
Then he was at your side. “Baby.”
The word hit the room like a dropped instrument. Santos stared very hard at the floor. Princess pressed her lips together. Javadi’s eyes went wide, then wider, like she was watching hospital folklore become sentient.
You smiled up at him. “Hi.”
Jack took your good hand, his palm warm and familiar around yours. “Hi.”
His thumb moved once over your knuckles. You exhaled. You felt it happen before you could stop it. Your shoulders did not relax, not really, but your breathing changed. Your grip loosened from the sheet. The sharp edge of panic moved back by an inch.
Robby saw it. His eyes flicked to the monitor, then to Jack’s hand. “Interesting.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”
“I’m observing.”
“You observe too loudly.”
Robby’s mouth curved. “I am her physician.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “You are enjoying being her physician too much.”
“I was worried,” Robby said.
The joke thinned for a second. Jack looked up. Robby held his gaze. “Still am.”
Jack’s face shifted.
You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do serious faces.”
Jack looked back down at you. His thumb moved again. “Sorry.”
You studied him, hazy and affectionate. “You came.”
“Of course I came.”
You turned your head toward Dana, solemn and proud. “I picked that one.”
Dana’s mouth twitched. “So I’m hearing.”
Jack closed his eyes. “What did you give her?”
“Pain control,” Robby said. “Not enough to explain all of this.”
You tugged lightly on Jack’s hand. “He’s being rude.”
Jack looked at Robby. “Stop being rude.”
Robby pointed at him. “You weren’t even here.”
“I believe my wife.”
Princess turned toward the computer again, but not fast enough to hide her smile.
Santos murmured, “That was hot.”
Dana said, “Santos.”
“What? It was,” Santos replied with a shrug.
Jack ignored all of them and leaned closer to you. “How bad?”
“Bad.”
His face softened. “Yeah?”
You nodded, then regretted it. “Don’t let me do head stuff.”
“I won’t,” Jack promised.
You frowned. “Having a head is bad.”
“I’ll make a note,” Jack said with a soft smile.
Robby stepped closer to your injured side. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to try Cunningham.”
“No.” Your response was immediate.
Jack’s hand tightened around yours. Robby did not react like the word surprised him. “I know.”
“No, I don’t want Cunningham. It sounds smug,” you told him.
Robby’s brow raised. “It’s a reduction technique, not a man at a country club.”
You frowned at him. “Still smug.”
Jack’s thumb brushed your knuckles. “Look at me.”
You turned your eyes back to him. “No.”
Jack’s eyes softened. “You’re already doing it.”
You glared. “That’s annoying.”
His mouth almost smiled. “I know.”
Robby looked between you and Jack. Then his eyes moved to the monitor again. A thought entered his face.
Jack saw it immediately. “No.”
Robby blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”
Dana adjusted the bed so you were sitting up more, angled slightly back against the raised mattress. The movement sent a pain-sparking sensation down your arm. “Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, this is worse than my fucking IUD insertion.”
The room went silent. Jack’s thumb stilled against your hand. “Okay,” he said carefully.
You opened your eyes and glared at the ceiling. “I thought I knew pain. I was wrong.”
Dana’s mouth twitched near the monitor. Princess turned very deliberately toward the computer.
Jack leaned closer. “Baby.”
“No.” You turned your glare on him. “This is your fault.”
His brows pulled together. “My fault?”
“Yes.”
Jack blinked once. “How is this my fault?”
“Because,” you said, furious and medicated, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know this was worse.”
Robby looked up. Jack did not move.
“I was doing fine,” you continued. “I was in my celibate phase. I was at peace.”
Jack’s face changed by exactly one dangerous millimeter. “You were not at peace.”
“I was close.” Your eyes narrowed. “Then you came along with your stupid handsome face and your stupid arms, and then I got the stupid IUD, and I thought that was pain. But no.”
Robby nodded slowly. “That is a clinically fascinating chain of blame.”
Jack did not look away from you. “So your shoulder hurts because I’m handsome.”
Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.” Your face softened immediately.
Jack noticed. His eyes dropped back to yours, something warm cutting through the mortification. “What?”
You blinked up at him, drug-soft and suddenly pleased. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”
Jack’s thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah, baby.”
A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”
Robby looked from you to Dana. Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “What?”
“You’re enjoying this,” Robby said.
“I am maintaining room discipline.”
“You called her Mrs. Abbot.”
Dana’s mouth barely moved. “That is her name.” Your smile widened.
Jack looked at Dana, then back at you, and his face softened despite himself. Dana glanced at the monitor. “See? Therapeutic.” Robby’s eyes dropped to Jack’s sleeve.
Jack saw it happen. “No.”
Robby smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You looked at my sleeve.”
“Clinically,” Robby replied.
Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
You blinked up at Jack, still angry, still hazy, still betrayed by the entire medical system. “He does have nice forearms.”
Jack stared at the ceiling. Robby nodded toward Jack’s arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”
Jack looked at him. “Excuse me?”
“She’s tensing.”
Jack gave Robby a look. “You want me to roll up my sleeves.”
“I want patient compliance,” Robby corrected.
Jack looked at Dana. Dana glanced at the monitor, then at you. “It would probably help.”
Jack’s face went flat. “Not you too.”
Dana shrugged. “I’m practical.”
Robby looked delighted. “See? Medicine.”
Jack exhaled through his nose, then dragged one sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm. Your eyes followed the movement immediately. You hated yourself a little. Not enough to look away. His forearm flexed as he pushed the fabric past his elbow, tendons shifting under skin, the veins at his wrist standing out when his fingers curled once around the bed rail. Your mouth went soft.
Robby pointed at you. “There.”
Jack’s eyes cut to him. “Do not point at my wife while she’s objectifying me.”
“I am pointing at a response to treatment,” Robby replied with glee.
You looked at Jack’s arm. “Treatment is good.”
Princess made a strangled sound. Javadi stared straight ahead like a resident determined to survive rounds with her soul intact.
Jack leaned closer to you. “You are making this very difficult.”
You blinked. “Me?”
“You.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “Very stubborn. Very pretty. Extremely bad at being a patient.”
The giggle came before you could stop it. Soft. Helpless. Embarrassing. Jack’s eyes warmed. Robby looked like he had just discovered a new antibiotic. “Oh, that’s excellent.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Ignore him.”
“You think I’m pretty,” you said.
“I married you,” Jack replied.
“That’s not an answer.”
His mouth curved. “Yes, baby. I think you’re pretty.”
You melted. Completely. It was humiliating. It was also his fault. Robby adjusted your injured arm, careful and slow, guiding your hand toward his shoulder. The position made pain spark hot and immediate. “No.” You tried to pull back. “No, fuck this.”
Jack’s face sharpened. Robby’s tone stayed calm. “I need thirty seconds.”
“I don’t want thirty seconds,” you said, frowning.
Robby’s expression softened, “I know.”
“No, I want that one to do it,” you said, looking from Robby to Jack.
Jack leaned closer. “You have that one.”
“I want that one to doctor me.” Your lower lip jutted out.
Robby, far too cheerful, said, “We’ve covered the conflict of interest.”
You frowned at him. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack looked at Robby. “Fix her shoulder.”
Robby looked at Jack’s hoodie. Jack saw it. His whole body went still. “No.”
Robby lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Jack stared at him.
Robby smiled. “She responded well to forearm.”
“Forearm is not a drug,” Jack shot back.
Robby shrugged. “It is today.”
Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck me.”
You, who had been blinking hazily at the ceiling, turned your head with alarming speed. “Yes.”
The room stopped. Completely. Jack’s hand froze halfway down his face. “No.”
You frowned, offended. “Rude.”
Princess turned toward the computer with the focus of a woman fighting for her life. Santos stared at the floor, shoulders shaking.
Dana checked the monitor. “Heart rate response noted.”
Jack looked at her. “Dana.”
She did not look up. “I report data.”
Robby pressed his lips together. “For the record, that was the fastest she’s oriented to verbal stimulus since the medication.”
You reached weakly for Jack’s hand. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy from medication and pain, your good hand tight around his, your face still trying so hard to stay mad because scared was too vulnerable, and both of you knew it. His irritation lost some of its shape. “Fine,” he muttered. Robby brightened. Jack glared at him. “Don’t look so happy.”
“I’m a scientist observing results,” Robby replied, delighted.
Jack stood beside the bed and reached back, fingers catching the sweatshirt at the back of his neck. Your eyes locked onto the movement. He pulled it over his head in one smooth drag, the hem catching for half a second on the white T-shirt underneath. The shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders when he lifted his arms. His biceps shifted under the fabric. His forearms flexed as he dragged the sweatshirt free.
The room went very quiet. You stared. Completely gone. Jack paused with the sweatshirt in one hand. Just for a second. Long enough to let you look. His mouth tilted, barely. “Better?”
You nodded slowly. “Wow.”
Robby made a sound that might have been spiritual.
Jack dropped back into the chair beside you and took your hand again. “Eyes on me.”
You obeyed immediately. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”
Robby looked at the monitor, then at Jack. “That was outstanding.”
Robby grinned. “You removed clothing, and her heart rate stabilized.”
“That is not what happened,” Jack replied with a sigh.
Dana glanced at the monitor. “It sort of is.” J
ack looked betrayed. “Dana.”
She shrugged. “I report data.”
Robby gestured toward you, far too pleased with the entire clinical situation. “Magic Mike: ED Edition.”
Jack’s head snapped up. “No.”
Robby’s grin spread slowly. “I don’t know, brother. You danced at your wedding. Pretty risky, if memory serves.”
Jack’s stare went flat. “Robby.”
“There was a certain Eminem song involved,” Robby continued.
Your head turned on the pillow. “Shake That.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Do not help him.”
Robby pointed at you, delighted. “That’s the one.”
Dana looked up from the monitor. “You danced to ‘Shake That’ at your wedding?”
“No,” Jack said immediately.
You turned toward him with surprising speed. “Jack.”
His eyes opened. “Baby.”
Your brow furrowed, “Don’t you dare deny that.”
Princess pressed both lips together and turned toward the computer as if it had suddenly become fascinating. Santos stared between you and Jack, openly thrilled. You lifted your good hand as much as the IV allowed and pointed at him. “That moment changed my brain chemistry.”
Jack looked toward the ceiling. “Good Lord.”
Robby nodded solemnly. “For the record, I was there. It changed several people’s brain chemistry.”
Jack’s head turned slowly. “You cried during the father-daughter dance.”
“You and your wife offended decent people everywhere with that dance,” Robby said.
You nodded, glassy-eyed and completely unashamed. “Yep. My grandma left.”
Jack looked down at you, horror flickering across his face. “Your grandmother left?”
You blinked up at him. “You didn’t know that?”
“No,” Jack said. “I did not know that.”
“She came back for cake,” you added.
Jack looked at you. “That does not make it better.”
Robby’s grin widened. “I’m just saying. It was a lot of wedding.”
Jack’s eyes cut to him. “You ended that night with half your shirt unbuttoned because a bridesmaid took your tie off with her teeth.”
Santos’s head snapped up. “With her teeth?”
Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat wedding lore.”
Princess turned from the computer, delighted. “Did he go home with her?”
Robby pointed sharply at your shoulder. “We have a patient.”
Jack’s mouth curved, barely. “He did.”
Robby stared at him. “Betrayal.”
Jack shrugged. “You started this.”
“I started a medical discussion,” Robby defended.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “You called me Magic Mike.”
Robby frowned. “In a medical context.”
You looked between them, soft and dreamy now, the medication turning the memory warm around the edges. “It was perfect.”
Jack’s expression shifted. “Our wedding?”
You nodded. “You danced. I danced. Robby got slutty.”
Robby pointed at you. “For the record, ‘Robby got slutty’ is not medically relevant.”
Your eyes drifted back to Jack. You studied him for one long, medicated second. “You got slutty.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “I did not.”
You gave him a look. “Tell that to your hips.” You kept looking at Jack, still dreamy and deeply serious. “And hands.”
Jack closed his eyes again.
Santos made a tiny sound. “He got slutty.”
Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”
Your face softened immediately. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. His thumb moved once over your hand. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”
“I heard,” Jack said, quieter now.
A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.” Jack’s expression softened before he could stop it.
Robby looked from you to Dana. “You’re enjoying this.”
Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “I am maintaining room discipline.”
Jack looked at you slowly. He looked down at you, and something in his expression changed. Not embarrassed now. Worse. Amused. “You know, baby,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t hear you complaining that night.”
Your mouth parted. For one blessed second, the medication actually managed to quiet you.
Robby looked delighted. “Oh, that worked.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”
You blinked up at Jack, soft and glassy-eyed and deeply sincere. “I was thoroughly enjoying it.”
Dana closed her eyes. Princess turned fully toward the computer.
Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “That is a lot of marriage for a workplace.”
Jack’s jaw flexed, but his thumb moved over your hand again. “Trouble.”
You smiled faintly. “You started it.”
Robby pointed at Jack. “She’s right.”
Jack looked at him. “You started it.” Robby nodded. “Also true. Still worth it.”
Dana adjusted the bed, then looked at both of them. “Shoulder now. Wedding crimes later.”
You frowned. “They’re not crimes if everyone had fun.”
“Your grandmother left,” Jack said.
“She came back for cake.”
Robby nodded. “Strong recovery.”
Jack looked at him. “You are done.”
Robby smiled. “Brother, I have barely begun.”
Dana’s voice cut through, calm and final. “Robby.”
Robby lifted both hands. “Shoulder now.”
Jack leaned closer to you, resigned and soft all at once. “Eyes on me, trouble.”
You looked at his white T-shirt, then his face. “I am looking,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
For half a second, he looked like he might say something that would make the entire situation worse.
Robby must have seen it coming, because he clapped once, sharp and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “Shoulder.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You heard the man.”
You frowned at him. “I don’t like the man.”
Robby adjusted his gloves at your injured side. “The man is hurt by that.”
Dana moved closer to the bed, one hand resting near your good shoulder. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, calm and even. “We’re going to sit you up a little more.”
Your face softened immediately. Jack saw it again. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You like that.”
You blinked at him. “Like what?”
His voice went quieter. “Mrs. Abbot.”
A small, helpless smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”
Jack’s expression changed. Not enough for anyone else to call him out on it, maybe, but enough for you to feel warmer than the medication could explain. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “That’s you.”
Robby looked at Dana. Dana kept her face neutral. “Therapeutic,” she said.
Jack did not look away from you. “Do not note that.”
Robby shrugged. “I have a whole mental chart now.”
“Delete it,” Jack shot back.
Robby grinned. “HIPAA doesn’t apply to my thoughts.”
Dana raised the bed before Jack could answer. The motion sent your shoulder into a hot, mean pulse. Your good hand tightened around Jack’s. “Nope.”
Jack stepped in closer immediately. “I’ve got you.”
“Nope,” you said again, sharper this time. “I changed my mind.”
Robby’s voice stayed steady from your side. “You can hate it.”
“I do hate it. I hate the concept. I hate whoever invented Cunningham,” you groaned.
Robby nodded once. “Probably fair.” You went on, “I hate that his name is Cunningham.”
“It is a useful medical procedure,” Robby replied.
You turned your glare on him. “Don’t defend Cunningham to me right now.”
Jack leaned into your line of sight. “Look at me.”
You looked at him. Mostly because he was very close. Also, because the T-shirt was still doing hateful things across his chest. Jack’s eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew exactly where your attention had gone.
“My face,” he said.
You sighed. “Your face is also a problem.”
Robby glanced at the monitor. “Problem appears effective.” Jack turned his head a fraction. “Robby.”
“Data,” Dana said.
Jack gave her a betrayed look. Dana’s brows lifted. “I report it.”
Robby slid your injured hand carefully toward his shoulder. The second your arm shifted, pain sparked bright and fast down your side.
“Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, fuck that.”
Jack’s free hand came to your cheek. Warm palm. Steady fingers. No pressure, just contact. “Hey.”
You shook your head. “No, Jack, I really don’t—”
“I know.”
Robby paused, his hands still supporting your arm.
Jack’s thumb moved once beneath your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart.”
You opened your eyes. His face was right there. Close enough to blur at the edges. Worried in that contained way that made your chest hurt. Soft in the places no one else knew to look.
“I don’t want it to hurt,” you whispered.
Jack’s expression gentled. “I know.” Your throat tightened. “I’m being so stupid.”
“No,” he said immediately.
Robby’s voice came from your side, quieter now. “You’re not.”
Dana’s hand stayed light near your shoulder. “You are allowed to be in pain, Mrs. Abbot.”
Your mouth trembled. That was rude of her, honestly. Using the name like that.
Jack watched your face, and something in him settled. “Be mad,” he said softly. “Swear at Robby. Insult Cunningham.”
Robby lifted one hand. “I would like to opt out of one third of that.”
Jack ignored him. “But keep looking at me.” You swallowed. “You’re bossy.”
“I know.” Jack smiled softly.
You narrowed your eyes. “You like being bossy.” His mouth curved, barely. “With you?”
Your eyes widened a little. Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek. “Yeah.”
The room went dangerously still. Robby’s face brightened. “Oh, that was good.”
Jack’s eyes cut toward him. “Do not grade me.”
“I’m not grading. I’m appreciating the technique.”
Dana looked at the monitor. “Heart rate improved.” Jack exhaled through his nose. “Good Lord.”
You stared at him, caught between pain and medication and the unfair fact of him. “Sexy doctor husband.”
His jaw flexed. “Apparently.” Robby moved your elbow another careful inch. You tensed immediately.
Jack’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. “Eyes on me.”
You tried. You really did. Your gaze dropped to his mouth first.
Jack noticed. His mouth twitched. “My eyes, trouble.”
“I’m trying,” you groaned.
He smirked. “You’re doing terrible.” You made a small, offended sound.
Jack’s thumb stroked lightly at the base of your skull. “But you’re very pretty while you do it.”
A giggle escaped you before you could stop it. It came out wet, shaky, and ridiculous.
Robby froze. Dana glanced at the monitor. Princess made a tiny sound near the computer.
Santos looked like she might need to sit down. Jack’s eyes softened. “There she is.”
You frowned at him. “You’re flirting medically again.”
“I am not,” Jack replied.
Robby adjusted his grip on your elbow. “You are.”
Jack kept his face angled toward you. “No one asked you.”
“I did,” you said.
Jack looked back at you. “You did not.”
“I spiritually asked,” you said with a sigh.
Robby pointed at you. “She gets me.”
Jack’s hand tightened carefully at the back of your head. “That is what worries me.”
The laugh that tried to leave you broke into a gasp when Robby began working at the muscles around your shoulder.
Pain rose again, deep and threatening. “No,” you said, voice thin now.
Jack’s teasing vanished. Just gone. His face steadied. “Breathe with me.”
“I don’t want to breathe.”
He raised a brow. “Do it anyway.” You frowned. “That’s mean.”
“I know,” Jack agreed.
“Fuck, Jack.”
His eyes held yours. “I’ve got you.”
Robby’s voice came low and focused. “Good. Just like that. Try not to fight me.”
You turned your eyes toward him in outrage. “Try not to fight you?”
Jack’s hand at the back of your head guided you back. “Me.”
You sucked in a breath. “Robby is saying stupid things.”
“I know.” Jack nodded.
“I can hear you,” Robby said.
Jack’s thumb swept once under your eye. “Ignore him.”
“He’s touching my shoulder,” you said, miserable.
Jack tilted his head closer to you. “Because he’s fixing it.”
“I don’t like him,” you said with a frown.
Jack smiled softly at you. “You love him.”
“Not right now,” you said, brows furrowed.
Robby nodded without looking up. “Temporary friendship suspension. Accepted.”
Dana looked at you. “Hold still, Mrs. Abbot.”
The name hit exactly where it had before. Your breathing hitched, but this time it hitched softer.
Jack saw it. Robby saw it. Dana absolutely saw it. Robby looked at Dana. “You’re good.”
Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “I know.” Jack leaned closer. “You’re doing good.”
You stared at him. “I am?”
“Yeah,” he replied.
Your eyes burned. “I’m making this difficult.” Jack nodded once. “You’re scared.”
“I’m swearing,” you continued.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”
“I told everyone about our wedding crimes.” Your lower lip wobbled.
His mouth moved like he was fighting a smile. “That one we’ll discuss later.”
“You got slutty.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Not now.” Robby’s shoulders shook once.
Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not laugh during my wife’s reduction.”
Robby’s expression snapped back into focus. “Guilty.”
Pain flared again, sharper this time, and your whole body tried to pull away.
Jack’s hand held steady at the back of your head. Not forcing you. Keeping you with him. “Look at me.”
You blinked away tears. “I am.”
“No.” His voice dropped. “Really look.”
You did.
His eyes were dark and close and worried. His thumb moved against your cheek, slow and sure.
“There you go,” he murmured. “Stay right there.”
Your breath shook. “This fucking sucks.”
“I know,” Jack murmured.
You went on. “Cunningham is a bad man.”
“Probably.” Jack nodded with a soft smile.
Robby glanced up. “Cunningham did not personally do this to you.”
You glared at him through tears. “He knows what he did.” Robby nodded. “I’ll allow it.”
Jack’s mouth brushed the edge of a smile.
You caught it. Even through pain. Even through fear. Even through the medication making the room swim around the edges. “You’re laughing.”
“I’m not,” Jack replied.
You glared at him. “You are.”
“Only because you’re mean on drugs,” he said, smiling softly at you.
You inhaled sharply. “I’m allowed to be mean right now.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, impossibly soft. “You are.”
Robby’s hands shifted. The pressure changed. Your body knew before your brain did.
You went rigid. “No.” Jack’s face sharpened. “Baby.”
“No, no, no, I don’t want—” You shook your head despite the pain.
His hand cupped your face more firmly. “Look at me.” Your eyes found his. “I am looking.”
“Good,” Jack said, his voice low and steady.
Your eyes burned as you stared up at him. “Jack.”
His hand stayed firm at the back of your head, fingers threaded carefully into your hair. “I’ve got you.”
You swallowed hard, trying not to pull away from Robby’s hands. “I hate this.”
“I know.” Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek.
Your breath hitched, half pain and half panic. “I hate your stupid face for helping.”
His mouth curved just enough to ruin you. “Use it.”
“What?”
“My stupid face.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “Look at it instead of your shoulder.”
You stared at him. “I hate that that works.”
“I know,” Jack murmured.
You glared at him. “Your face is medically annoying.” Robby murmured, “Groundbreaking terminology.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Not now.”
Robby’s hands shifted again. You felt the pressure build. Slow, careful, awful.
Jack saw you brace. Of course he did. His voice dropped. “Be good for me.”
Your face went soft immediately. “Oh, that’s unfair.”
Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye. “I know.”
“You’re cheating.” You tried to glare at him, but the medication and his hand in your hair made it a weak attempt.
His mouth curved, barely there and deeply unrepentant. “I know.”
Robby, without missing a beat, said, “Cheating is medically allowed right now.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “Do it now.”
For one suspended second, there was only Jack’s face, his hand in your hair, his thumb on your cheek, and Robby’s steady pressure on your arm.
Then the joint shifted. Not violently. Not with a dramatic crack.
Just a deep, sickening slide, followed by sudden release. You gasped.
The wrongness vanished all at once. Your whole body folded toward Jack on a broken little sob.
He caught you carefully, one hand still cradling your head, the other braced at your good shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he said immediately. “I’ve got you.”
Robby exhaled. “Shoulder’s back.”
You breathed hard against Jack’s white T-shirt, your face pressed into the warmth of his chest, tears leaking more from relief than pain now. “Holy shit.”
Jack’s mouth brushed your hair before he seemed to remember there were witnesses. “Yeah.”
“That was awful,” you breathed, tears falling.
Jack kissed your head. “I know.” You turned your face enough to look up at him. “You were helpful.”
His expression softened. “Yeah?”
You nodded, still floating, still furious, still very much on drugs. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Robby pulled off his gloves with great satisfaction. “For the record, Cunningham with targeted husband exposure: wildly effective.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Document that and die.”
Robby smiled. “Brother, this is medicine now.”
You blinked up at Jack, wet-eyed and dazed. “I picked that one.”
The room went quiet around the softness in your voice. Jack’s thumb moved once along your cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”
You stared at him for another long, drug-soft second. “I picked good.”
His face changed. Not a lot. Enough. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. “You did.”
Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “I need everyone to know I am handling this with incredible maturity.”
Dana looked at him. “You are not.”
“No,” Robby agreed. “But I almost did.”
Jack’s hand stayed against the side of your face for another second before he seemed to remember the rest of the room existed.
“Post-reduction films?” he asked, glancing toward Robby.
Robby pulled his gloves off and dropped them into the trash. “Already ordered.” Jack nodded once.
Robby gave him a look as he stepped back to your injured side. “Neurovascular was intact before. Checking again now.”
“I know you are,” Jack said.
Robby lifted his brows. “Do you?” Jack’s mouth flattened. “I’m standing right here.”
“Great,” Robby said. “Then stand there husbandly and let me be her doctor.”
You turned your head slowly against Jack’s palm. “You’re both doctors.”
Robby leaned closer, careful as he checked your hand. “Only one of us is currently allowed to practice medicine on you.”
You looked at Jack. “I vote that one.” Jack closed his eyes. “Baby.”
Robby did not look up from your fingers. “Your vote has been received and rejected by the ethics committee.”
You frowned at him. “I don’t like the ethics committee.”
“The ethics committee is me,” Robby said.
You blinked at him. “That tracks.”
Santos made a tiny sound near the foot of the bed. Dana glanced at her. Santos pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.
Robby touched your fingers gently. “Can you wiggle these for me?” You wiggled them.
Robby nodded. “Good. Any numbness or tingling?”
You stared at him, still dazed. “Just in my dignity.”
“That is not innervated by the axillary nerve,” Robby said.
You blinked. “Show-off.”
Jack’s thumb moved over your cheek again. The motion was small. Your body noticed anyway.
Robby saw that too, because of course he did, but for once he did not comment.
Dana adjusted the sling on the tray beside the bed. “We’ll get her immobilized once Robby’s done checking you,” she said. Jack’s attention shifted to the sling. His jaw tightened by a fraction.
You saw it even through the medication. “You’re doing the face.”
Jack looked back down at you. “What face?”
“The face,” you said.
Robby glanced over. “Oh, I know the face.” Jack did not look at him. “No one asked you.”
Robby’s voice stayed light, but not careless. “It’s the face he makes when he wishes he could make it easier for you.”
Jack went quiet. So did you. Your fingers tightened around his. “You did,” you said.
Jack looked down at you. “What?” Your smile was small and drug-soft. “You made it easier.”
His thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah?”
You nodded, eyes glassy and sincere. “Yeah. Because you’re hot. And a doctor. And smart. And sexy. And my husband. And I love you.”
The room went very still. Jack’s face softened all at once.
Then you added, very seriously, “And you’re hot.”
Robby’s mouth opened. Dana looked at the monitor like it had become essential to her survival.
Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Is that all?”
You blinked up at him, exhausted and earnest. “No.” His mouth curved. “No?”
You shook your head once, barely. “But I’m tired and drugged.”
Jack’s expression warmed into something painfully fond. “Okay, baby.”
Robby pressed a hand to his chest. You swallowed, the edges of the room still warm and watery.
“And Eli?”
Robby’s expression gentled before the joke could get there.
“Megan called down while we were getting the films ordered. He’s okay.”
You stared at him. “She told him?”
“She told him,” Robby said. “His mom told him. He knows you’re not mad.”
You blinked hard. Jack’s hand tightened around yours.
Robby leaned a hip lightly against the counter, his voice quieter now. “He drew you a picture.”
Your throat closed. “He did?”
“Apparently it’s you with a cape,” Robby said.
Princess smiled from the computer. “And a very large arm.”
You made a sound that tried to be a laugh and almost became something else. “Is it anatomically correct?”
Robby looked at Princess. Princess shook her head. “Not even close.” You closed your eyes. “Good.”
Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles.
Your eyes burned again, but softer this time. “He doesn’t think I’m mad?”
Robby shook his head. “He thinks you’re a superhero.”
You went very still. Jack felt your hand tighten around his. Then your face crumpled. “Oh, no.”
Jack leaned in immediately. “Baby?” Your eyes filled too fast for you to stop them. “I’m leaking.”
Jack’s expression softened all at once. “You’re crying.”
“I know.” Your mouth trembled. “I don’t want to.”
“That’s okay,” he murmured.
You shook your head. “It’s embarrassing.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jack replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
You sniffled. “It is in front of the day shift.”
Robby’s face softened from the counter. “Day shift can handle feelings.”
Santos looked suspiciously focused on the floor. Princess turned toward the computer, blinking too much.
Dana adjusted the sling on the tray without looking up. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said evenly, “day shift has seen worse.”
Your smile wobbled through the tears. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”
Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it reached your cheek. “Yeah, baby.”
You looked up at him, wet-eyed and overwhelmed. “He thinks I’m a superhero.”
Jack’s face changed. Not a lot. Enough to make you cry harder. “He’s right.”
Your chin trembled. “Jack.”
“He is,” Jack said, voice low. “You protected him.”
A tear slipped hot down your cheek. “I scared him.”
“You helped him.”
The words landed so gently that they hurt. You made a broken little sound and tried to wipe your face with your good hand, but Jack caught your fingers before you could tug at the IV.
“I’ve got it.” He brushed another tear away with his thumb.
You sniffed. “I’m leaking a lot.”
His mouth softened. “I know.”
You exhaled. “I hate this drug.”
“No, you don’t.” He smiled gently.
You thought about it, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “I kind of love this drug.”
Robby nodded from the counter. “There she is.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Let her leak.”
Dana smiled gently. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, crisp and even, “I’m going to help support your arm while we get this situated.”
Your eyes opened the rest of the way. A smile pulled at your mouth immediately, even through the tears.
Jack looked down at you. “There it is.” You blinked at him. “What?”
He brushed one knuckle lightly along your jaw. “That smile.”
You looked toward Dana, pleased and hazy. “She called me Mrs. Abbot again.”
Dana did not look up from the sling. “That is your name.”
Robby pointed at her. “You’re doing it on purpose.” Dana kept her hands steady. “I am doing my job.”
“You are weaponizing legal marriage,” Robby said.
Dana fitted the strap carefully behind your neck. “I am supporting patient cooperation.”
You sighed happily. “It is working.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Clearly.”
Dana adjusted the sling around your injured arm. “This may pull a little.” Your smile vanished.
Jack saw it instantly. “Hey.”
“Nope,” you said.
His hand found your good one again. “Look at me.”
You frowned. “I already did that.”
“Do it again.”
You looked at him.
His eyes stayed steady on yours while Dana adjusted the last strap. There was a brief tug, a hot little spark of discomfort, and then your arm was held against you, supported and still.
You exhaled shakily. Jack’s thumb brushed once over your hand. “There you go.”
You swallowed. “I swore a lot.”
Jack’s mouth softened. “You were allowed.”
You leaned and whispered poorly. “In front of Dana.”
Dana stepped back from the sling. “I’ve heard worse, Mrs. Abbot.” Your smile came back immediately.
Jack glanced at Dana. “Therapeutic.”
Dana picked up the chart. “Accurate.”
Robby checked the sling with a quick glance, then nodded to Dana. “Looks good.”
Dana stepped back. “It’ll do until ortho tells her the same thing in a more expensive voice.”
Princess laughed under her breath. Santos rocked back on her heels.
“So she’s going home?” Santos asked.
Jack looked at Robby before Robby could answer, the same question reflected in his eyes
Robby lifted his brows. “You asking as her husband or as the night attending who has forgotten he is not on shift?”
Jack stared at him. “Husband.”
Robby smiled. “Good choice.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “Robby.”
“We’ll watch her a bit after the follow-up films, make sure pain is controlled, then yes,” Robby said. “Home. Ice. Sling. Ortho follow-up. No lifting. No heroic catching of children for a while.”
You frowned at him. “That feels targeted.”
“It is,” Robby confirmed.
Your frown deepened. “Eli was falling.”
“And you caught him,” Robby said. “And now your shoulder is in a sling.”
You looked away. Jack’s voice softened. “You did good.”
You looked back up at him. “I broke myself.”
Jack shook his head. “You protected him.”
You pressed your lips together. “That sounds like something you say when I broke myself.”
Jack held your gaze. “It can be both.”
You considered him through the medication. “You’re very pretty when you’re reasonable.”
Robby made a wounded sound. “Not this again.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Thank you.”
Your smile went soft. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack lowered his head for half a second like he was gathering strength.
Dana picked up the chart. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”
Santos closed her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.
Princess turned toward the computer, shoulders shaking. Robby looked between Dana and the monitor.
“Therapeutic and preventative.”
Dana’s eyes flicked to him. “Exactly.”
Jack gave her a long look. “I don’t know whether to thank you or be concerned.”
“Both is usually safest,” Dana said.
A little while later, after the films confirmed what Robby already knew, after Princess brought discharge paperwork, after Santos was banished from asking any more questions about the wedding, the room finally thinned out.
Dana left with one last check of your sling and one more calm, devastating, “Take it easy, Mrs. Abbot.”
You smiled so hard your eyes closed.
Jack watched Dana go, then looked down at you. “She did that on purpose.”
You leaned into the pillow. “She likes me.”
“She likes making me suffer,” Jack said.
You nodded solemnly. “People contain multitudes.” Jack huffed a quiet laugh.
Robby came back with the discharge papers and a pen. “Okay,” he said. “Because apparently I am the only person in this room still committed to medicine.”
Jack was sitting beside your bed now, his sweatshirt back on but unzipped, one hand wrapped around yours. “You loved every second of this.”
Robby held up the paperwork. “I loved several medically relevant seconds of this.”
“You called me Magic Mike,” Jack said.
Robby nodded. “In a medically relevant context.”
“You threatened to chart targeted husband exposure,” Jack added.
“I still might,” Robby said.
Jack stared at him. Robby smiled. “I won’t.”
“You better not,” Jack warned.
“I’ll save it for the group chat,” Robby said with a shrug.
Jack’s expression went blank. “There is no group chat.”
Robby looked at you. “He thinks there’s no group chat.”
You turned to Jack, horrified. “You think there’s no group chat?”
Jack looked between you and Robby. “I hate this family.”
Your smile went dreamy. “You said family.”
Robby’s expression softened before he covered it with a cough.
Jack looked down at your joined hands. “I did.”
The air warmed around that. For one second, nobody ruined it.
Then Robby clicked the pen. “Anyway,” he said. “Sling stays on. Ice twenty minutes at a time. Pain meds as prescribed, not as creatively interpreted by the patient. Ortho follow-up within the week. No work until cleared.”
You opened your eyes. “No work?” Jack’s hand tightened.
Robby looked at you. “No work.”
“But peds is short,” you replied.
“Peds will survive,” Robby said.
You frowned. “You don’t know that.”
Robby leaned closer, his sarcasm gone soft around the edges. “I know you cannot care for children with a freshly reduced shoulder.”
You looked at Jack for backup. Jack shook his head. “No.”
“You didn’t even let me ask,” you said, brows furrowed.
Jack just gave you a look. “I know where you were going.”
“You always know where I’m going,” you sighed.
Jack shrugged. “Usually because it’s somewhere you shouldn’t.” Robby nodded. “Marriage.”
You sighed again and let your head fall back against the pillow. “This is oppressive.”
“This is discharge planning,” Robby said.
“Oppressive discharge planning,” you mumbled.
Jack stood slowly, keeping hold of your hand. You looked up at him. “We’re leaving?”
He nodded. “Soon.”
“Are you taking me home?” you asked, hopefully.
His expression softened. “Yeah, baby.”
Your whole face relaxed. “Good. I want that one.”
Robby pressed the paperwork to his chest. “She’s still doing it.”
Jack took the papers from him. “She’s on medication.”
He folded the paperwork and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
Robby watched him for a moment, the humor easing out of his face. “You good to get her home?”
Jack looked at you. You were blinking slowly, exhausted now, the adrenaline finally draining out of your body.
His voice gentled. “Yeah.”
Robby nodded. “Call me if anything changes.”
Jack met his eyes. “I will.”
The two men looked at each other for half a second longer than the words required.
You noticed even through the fog. “You two are having feelings.”
Robby looked down at you. “We are absolutely not.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “No feelings.”
“Lies,” you murmured.
Robby pointed at you. “Pain meds have made her too powerful.”
Jack helped you sit up carefully. The room tilted as soon as you moved. You made a small sound and grabbed for him with your good hand.
He was already there. One arm came around your waist, careful not to jostle the sling, his body solid beside yours. “I’ve got you.”
You leaned into him. “I know.”
That seemed to hit him somewhere. His hand spread warm at your side. Robby stepped closer, but Jack had you steady.
“Slow,” Jack said.
“I am slow,” you grumbled.
The room tilted. You caught Jack’s shirt with your good hand, and his arm came around your waist before you could wobble any farther.
His mouth twitched. “That’s why I said go slow.”
You rolled your eyes. “Smartass.”
Robby nodded from beside the bed. “Fair assessment.” Jack shot him a look.
“Supportive environment,” Robby said.
Jack eased you carefully off the bed. Your knees felt uncertain, and the room stayed too bright, but his arm held you steady.
Dana reappeared at the curtain like she had sensed movement. “You good?”
Jack nodded. “I’ve got her.”
Dana looked at you. “Mrs. Abbot?”
Your smile came back, sleepy and immediate.
“I’m good.”
Dana’s mouth barely moved. “Clearly.”
Robby narrowed his eyes at her. “You did it again.”
Dana checked the hallway. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You absolutely do.”
Jack adjusted his hold at your waist. “Can we leave before anyone learns anything else about my wedding?”
Princess, still at the computer, lifted one finger. “I have follow-up questions.”
“No,” Jack said.
Santos leaned against the counter. “I have several.”
Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Robby grinned. “I have photos.”
Jack went still. You gasped softly. “You have photos?”
Robby’s grin widened. “And videos.”
Jack pointed at him. “Delete them.”
“Never,” Robby responded immediately.
“You have videos of the dance?” you asked, unable to contain your excitement.
Robby gave you a look. “You think I would witness neurological history and not document it?”
Your eyes went glassy again. “Can you send them to me?”
Jack looked down at you. “Baby.”
“What? I was there. I should have them,” you defended yourself.
Robby tapped his phone. “Already sent.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”
Your phone buzzed somewhere in the plastic belongings bag.
You looked up at Jack, delighted. “Brain chemistry.”
Dana held up one hand before Santos could speak. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”
Santos sighed. “I didn’t even say it.”
Dana looked at her. “You thought loudly.”
Jack shook his head and started guiding you toward the hallway. “We’re going home.”
You leaned into him, warm and sore and still floating enough that the ED lights looked like stars smeared across glass. “Home with you?”
Jack glanced down. His face softened. “Yeah.”
You smiled. “I picked good.”
This time, there were no monitors beeping too loud, no hands at your shoulder, no room full of witnesses waiting for the next outrageous thing you might say.
Just Jack’s hand at your waist, his body steady beside yours, his voice low near your ear.
I have met someone. Someone so unexpected that her happiness supersedes my former life's pursuits. I want to give her everything. Be everything for her. She is my how, and she is my why.
pairing: jack abbot x f!reader
warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], touch starved!jack, loneliness, slight sub!jack, clingy!jack, call girl!reader, male moans/whimpering, dry humping, making out like handsy/horny teenagers, jack's a mess and makes a mess of you, cowgirl, jack begs, dirty talk, desperation, squirting,
word count: 5585
summary: in which jack's loneliness causes him to reach out to someone he's surprised is very understanding
author's note: further continuation of this piece. i took so long to write this because i didn't want it to be rushed. i wanted to do his character justice and i hope i achieved that. i hope y'all enjoy
oneshot | masterlist
It started with a phone call, like always. New clients had to be screened, they had to form a working relationship with you.
You’d had your fair share of sketchy clients. Some who had tried to push you past your limits, others refusing to pay. You’d made a new rule that they always had to pay half upfront, and show they had the rest of the cash on them when you met them. If they wanted to extend the booking, they had that option, but the charge always varied depending on what they wanted to do.
Some wanted to cuddle, engaging in pillow talk. Some wanted to prove they could make you finish again, if only to gloat. Some simply wanted the time to shower together, helping you to clean up.
Nothing was ever free.
There was one client you had who simply liked to talk. The company of watching a movie together, of talking about his day.
Needless to say, Jack had become one of your favourite clients. You looked forward to his texts, asking for your availability. You always made sure to get a nice hotel. Somewhere with a comfy sofa, a huge bed, and a spectacular view.
Jack always praised the view.
At first, you’d assumed it was a compliment for you. He’d said it while staring out the window, watching the sun set over the city. Still, he’d looked at you—looked through you—in order to stand in front of the window.
You stood alongside him. Muttering something about the city and the night, the peace it brought you, and the smile that had tugged the corners of his mouth had been worth it.
One of the first things you’d noticed about Jack was that he wore a wedding band. Most of your clients weren’t as obvious with their cheating, opting to take it off, but the tan line was still there. Jack had seen you staring. Hell, he saw everything you did. He was always watching, always paying attention. He hadn’t mentioned it, but you had.
“She passed away a few years ago,” he had confessed quietly, voice thick and gravelly like he wasn’t used to talking about her. “Can’t bring myself to take it off.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” you had assured him softly.
Something about him told you everything you needed to know. The faraway look to his eyes, the weight he carried on his shoulders. From the initial phone call, you hadn’t been sure what to make of him. Now that he was in front of you, it looked like he needed a friend more than anything else. So you’d suggested a movie, something easy to watch, and he’d joined you on the bed.
Jack had sat upright for most of the movie, and you’d made yourself comfortable lying beside him. Head near his lap, his hand aimlessly playing with your hair—like it was muscle memory. His fingertips had scratched your scalp and you’d sighed, enjoying the feeling. The comfort. The familiarity.
Over the next few months, your meetings had been much the same. Sometimes he made a few comments, thinly veiled jokes to break the tension. Most of the time, he preferred the quiet. Knowing someone was there with him when he was stuck in his head.
You never pushed for him to talk. Never made him feel guilty for needing a friend to sit with him, even if that friend was being paid to spend time with him.
You enjoyed it. The break from the norm. The ease you settled into once he picked a movie to watch.
One time he brought dinner. Something he’d made earlier in the day. He’d been chatty that day, something you noticed he did when he didn’t know how to process what was going on in his head.
“It’s her birthday,” he’d told you. The weight of his words, the anxious fiddling with his wedding band, the meal. It all made sense.
He’d watched you pick up the phone to call room service. You’d ordered a bottle of bubbles with three glasses, as well as three slices of cake. You did it so effortlessly that he got a little choked up. No hesitation, no awkwardness, just a patient understanding. Acknowledging the woman he was still in love with, with grace and poise.
He’d seen you in a new light that day. Over the toast you’d made to his wife, and the care you’d shown him. The understanding that grief was a process. Healing was a process. That you saw him as a friend, not just a client.
Jack started to talk a little more with each meeting. About his day—you’d learned he was a doctor. About his wife—his smile was always a little brighter each time. About your day—you tried not to reveal too much, but talking to him was easy. He didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Didn’t push for details like some men did. He let you tell him what you were comfortable revealing.
Hell, you’d even told him how you got into your line of work. He’d never passed judgement, or made you feel like you deserved better. He never suggested a change in career, but you’d told him you were taking classes and hoped one day to become a licensed child psychologist.
“You’d be good at that,” he’d said with a smile. “There’s something about you that puts me at ease. That’s not an easy thing. Those kids would thrive with your guidance.”
“You really think so?” You’d asked.
“I do.”
There was no doubt in his voice. It was firm, assertive, reassuring. Something you’d needed to hear but didn’t know how to go about getting it. And the fact that it came from Jack meant a lot more than you were willing to admit.
Your body ached as you lowered yourself into the bath, iPad sitting on the tray hooked over the sides, along with a large glass of wine and some snacks. You pressed play on the screen, the intro to your comfort show starting within seconds.
You didn’t have much time for simple pleasures these days, so you basked in the opportunity. Bubble mixture and rose oil added to the tub, the hot water soaking your aching muscles. The wine going down a treat, and the snacks curbing your hunger.
The second episode had just started when you got a message from Jack.
I know this is late notice, but can I see you tomorrow morning when I finish my shift? I need something to look forward to.
I don’t have anywhere booked. Is a café okay?
You’re comfortable with that?
Absolutely, are you?
I finish at 7am. Will you find us someplace nice?
I’ll have coffee and breakfast waiting for you.
You sent him the name of the café you liked to frequent. You knew he worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, and it was only two blocks away. It was also nearby your campus, and you had two classes tomorrow with the first one starting at 10. You didn’t think meeting Jack would be that long, but you’d at least be able to get some study done for a paper you had due.
The bath worked wonders. You felt relaxed, a little tipsy, and had something to look forward to in the morning. Setting an alarm for six, to give yourself enough time to get ready and pack your study bag.
By the time the morning came around, your alarm pulled you from your sleep, and you made an effort while getting ready. A little touch of makeup to feel put together, hair styled just the way you liked, and a comfy coat that tied your outfit together. You packed your bag, and then you were off. Making your way to the cafe with a few minutes to spare, knowing Jack sill hadn’t finished work yet, but that he would be there shortly.
Coffee and food was ordered, and you took up a seat at a comfortable little table near the back. Grabbing your phone to see if there were any new messages from Jack, and being delighted to see a text he’d sent half an hour ago.
Might be a little late. Had a rough night. Looking forward to seeing you.
Take your time, I’ll see you when I see you.
You sipped your coffee when it arrived, having put a hold on the food for the time being. Waiting until Jack said he was officially on his way to the cafe before you asked the staff to start on breakfast.
Jack walked through the doors a couple of minutes later, backpack hanging off one shoulder, still dressed in his dark scrubs from the hospital. He wore a soft smile when he saw you, one you easily reciprocated.
“Hey,” he greeted easily, looking like the night had tested him one too many times. Still, he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat opposite you.
“Hey,” you replied. “You’ve looked better.”
“Ouch,” he chuckled. “Thanks for meeting me, I know you don’t do this.”
“I had time,” you said simply. “You need a friend or a therapist today?”
Jack exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat and reaching for his coffee. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”
You nodded sympathetically. “Do you want to talk?”
“Not about me,” he admitted.
“You can be my sounding board for my research presentation later this week,” you decided, pulling your iPad out to flick through your notes.
Jack looked more settled opposite you, and thanked the waitress for your meals. You gave her a polite smile, picking at a tomato before wasting no time starting your speech.
You showed different graphs on slides to reiterate your point. Every now and then, Jack gestured to your plate, prompting you to pause and eat, but otherwise listened completely. He nodded along with facts and statistics, asked the odd question to continue along with your line of reasoning.
When you were finished with your speech, he clapped politely, a smile gracing his face.
“Any pointers?”
“Look more at whoever you’re giving the speech to,” he said. “Otherwise it was very good.”
You grinned as you packed your iPad away, reaching for your coffee and finishing it. Jack gestured to the empty mug.
“Another?”
“Please.”
The remainder of your omelette had grown cold, but it was still good. When Jack rejoined you, you were finishing up your last bite.
“So,” you started. “Bad night, huh?”
Jack sighed, scraping at the dusting off stubble along his jaw. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed with a half-smile.
“Are you okay?” You asked softly.
“Yes.”
“Don’t lie to me,” you replied, giving him a pointed look.
He sighed. “No. We lost a vet. Young guy, did two tours overseas no problem, then gets hit by a drunk driver when he comes home. Just…hit a little too close to home.”
You nodded. He hadn’t told you much of his time with the army, but you knew that he had a history serving.
“Shit,” you cursed. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been pretty early in your shift?”
Jack nodded. “Spent a few hours trying to contact the family. Eventually got in touch with his sister. It’s just…the worst news to receive over the phone, you know? It’s supposed to be done in person, but she won’t arrive until later today.”
“Will you be going back to speak to her?”
Jack shook his head. “I wrote a letter instead. Gave it to the dayshift to read on my behalf. That’s why I was running late; contemplating life and existence from the roof of the hospital.”
“Just don’t jump, yeah?”
He cracked a smile at that. “Would be rude, wouldn’t it?”
“That, and I don’t really have time in my schedule for a funeral,” you said, earning a genuine laugh.
“Robby said something similar.” He wore a smile. “Dayshift attending.”
“A friend?”
“A brother.”
“I’m glad you have someone who gets it,” you told him. “Thank you,” you said to the waitress who brought your coffees over. “How’s everything else going? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”
“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It’s been a bit existential.”
You didn’t say anything, giving him the time to decide if he wanted to. Instead, you sipped your coffee and watched him spin his in the saucer.
“Had a breakthrough with my therapist,” he said. “I guess I’ve been a little caught up in it.”
“You’re allowed to be,” you replied. “You look tired, Jack. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Just a crazy shift, is all,” he told you. “I’ll go home and sleep soon.”
“Good.” You smiled.
“Are you free tonight?”
“For you, I can be.”
There was a slight tinge of colour that blossomed on Jack’s cheeks. “If you already have plans, I get it.”
“Jack, I don’t have any plans,” you assured him. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll book the usual room, but I’m not watching Mission Impossible again.”
“Understood,” he said, chuckling softly.
Your day had been busy. Between your two classes, you’d attempted to record your presentation to see how long it actually was. You’d done some shopping for this evening, a little care package you’d decided to put together for Jack.
It was what friends did, right? Something nice for each other when someone was feeling down?
You hoped he’d appreciate it. Some nice skincare products, nothing too extraneous. Something soothing, for the days his leg hurt. Something hydrating, for the excessive hand-sanitising he does working at the hospital. Some nice chocolates from the bougie shop in town, since you knew he had a sweet tooth. A knife, because you could never have too many. Lastly, a set of cotton pyjamas. Something soft that wouldn’t irritate him, or get too hot in the warmer months.
The basket sat on the bed of the hotel, all ready to give to him when he arrived, as you watched the news, waiting to hear back from Jack. He’d gone back to the hospital, despite it being his day off, to help with the shooting that the news was reporting. Several casualties had already been reported, with a lot of critical patients being routed to PTMC.
From the coverage you knew it was bad. You knew he was doing the right thing by going in to help. His friends, his colleagues, would need the extra set of hands.
So you waited anxiously, already a glass of wine deep amidst the devastation being reported, and hoped everyone who made it to the hospital survived.
Sorry to make you wait. Have you eaten? I’ll grab something. On my way.
Food is a good idea, grab anything you feel like. In our usual room. Did you think of a movie to watch?
No, but I need something lighthearted or funny. Your choice. I’ll see you soon.
The School of Rock was waiting for you to press play by the time Jack arrived. For the second time today, he looked exhausted, and was still dressed in his dark scrubs.
Surprisingly, he brought you in for a hug, holding you tightly, as if he needed to know you were real. You rested your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Not thinking twice about the unexpected hug, or that he took a few shaky breaths.
“Hey,” you greeted softly, only pulling back when he did. You didn’t notice he’d been balancing a pizza box in one hand, too wrapped up in the hug to register it. “Come in.”
Jack excused himself to the bathroom. He left the door open, splashing some water on his face, while you sat back on the bed and flipped the pizza box open. You were halfway through a slice when he joined you, dropping his backpack by the door and taking his shoes off.
“Got you something,” you told him, gesturing to the basket you’d moved to the desk under the tv. Jack turned his attention to it, pulling it towards him. “Felt like you needed a pick me up, and that was before you went back into work.”
He chuckled softly. “Are those pyjamas?”
“Yeah. It was that or a teddy bear with some corny phrase embroidered onto the stomach,” you replied, earning another laugh. “You can shower if you want…change into them?”
“Later,” he promised, the smile still on his face. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
He doesn’t judge the movie you picked. In fact, he’s grateful for the choice. Settling in beside you on the bed, the pizza box between you. Slices slowly disappeared while it was still hot, and silence washed over you as the movie played.
Jack shuffled around to move the near-empty box, and you watched him remove his prosthetic and massage the stump as if it pained him. Brows drawn together, eyes closed, as if he did this all the time.
Of course, it was the first time he’d done it in front of you.
You reached for his free hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, it—”
“Leave it off,” you told him. “If it’s bothering you, leave it off.”
He stared like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Like he was in over his head. Out of his depth. And maybe he was, just a little bit. It was you, after all. Always understanding. Always supportive, never judgemental.
Maybe he did see you differently. Maybe the months of friendship had caused something to build—something real. He certainly felt like it, but the nagging voice in his head told him this was your job. That he was only a client to you.
He hadn’t seen you for two months because the last meeting you’d had, you’d refused to take his money.
“We’re friends, Jack. Friends don’t charge each other for their time,” you’d told him.
There’d been no mention of money this morning. No talk of what tonight would cost him. You were throwing him off his rhythm. He felt uneasy, but not in a bad way. In a way that had his heart rate spike whenever he thought of you.
The same way he felt when he first met his late wife.
Jack swallowed thickly, trying to overcome the lump in his throat. “Okay.”
You smiled that sweet smile and patted the spot on the bed next to him. The spot that he shuffled towards, leaving no space between you. And still, you moved his arm to drape it around your shoulders, hand settling on his thigh, just above his knee.
His pulse thundered in his ears, and he was looking at you. Still. Like you might disappear in front of him at any second. Like this was easy for you, comfortable, and yet you weren’t anywhere near as nervous as he was.
Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it had been too long since he’d held another person, that he was seeing signs that weren’t there.
The thoughtful gift—he was a client after all. Maybe you did that for everyone when they were having a tough time of it.
The ease you displayed physical affection—again, maybe he was still only a client to you. Maybe this was all just part of the services you offered.
Jack was tense. He felt like he couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy this for what it was. His brain was telling him to be reasonable, to not make this a bigger thing than it was, but his gut told him to take the leap. Even if it didn’t pay off, he would then have a definitive answer.
The tapping on his leg was distracting, but it was working. You knew what he needed and did something to distract him. To pull him back to the present after getting lost in his head.
“Is that Morse code telling me to breathe?”
Jack’s bewilderment was genuine and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.
“Yeah. Figured talking might spook you,” you replied. “You went all tense and stopped breathing for a second.”
“Really? Sorry,” he replied, making a point to exhale loudly. “Army brat?”
You hummed. “High school wasn’t challenging enough, so I taught myself to read braille and communicate in Morse code.”
“Nerd,” he commented, earning a small laugh.
“Shut up and watch the movie,” you muttered, playfully pinching his leg.
You saw his smile soften in the corner of your eye, but he didn’t immediately turn back to the tv. You tapped out w-e-i-r-d-o on his leg, only for him to tap back on your shoulder I-k-n-o-w.
He only turned his attention back to the tv when you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, his fingers trailing aimlessly up and down your arm. It was comfortable. It felt good—natural. It made him feel warm inside. And that wasn’t something that happened often, so he allowed himself to enjoy it, if only for a moment.
Jack’s hand found its way to your head, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp.
“Keep doing that and I’ll start panting,” you mumbled. “It feels good.”
He hummed, making no sign of stopping. You sighed softly, contently, and snuggled a little closer to him. Hand flexing against his leg as you shifted.
He smiled at you cuddled into his side, and was pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he did it all the time.
“You always smell so good,” he spoke softly, resisting the urge to take a huge, obvious whiff.
“You smell like hospital.”
“What’s that smell like?”
“Sanitizer. And sandalwood, but I think that’s just your cologne.”
He tucked his chin, sniffing his chest. “That’s sandalwood?”
“That’s delicious,” you replied with a laugh.
“Delicious, huh?”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tsk’d, fighting back a smile.
Jack hummed. “Too late.”
He was tapping out a message on your arm before he lost the nerve.
I-w-a-n-t-2-k-i-s-s-u
You were turning to look at him before he finished his message, hand cupping his cheek and turning his head towards yours. Your gaze dropped to his lips, gasping as he cupped the back of your head and met your lips with his own.
There was an urgency to his kiss, a desperation that leached into you. Your hand on his thigh gripped it a little tighter, your eyes closing at the rush that washed over you. The relief.
You twisted a little more, trying to get a little more comfortable. Swinging your leg over his waist, his hand settled on your hip, aiding your movement as you straddled him.
He groaned appreciatively, sinking deeper into the kiss. Into you, like you were a lifeline. You gasped as he tugged your hair, a sultry moan rumbling in your chest. His lips turned up, smiling against yours, only for him to gasp as you rolled your hips.
Wicked, he thought. Struggling to gain composure as you did it again, nipping at his bottom lip.
“Fuck,” he cursed, parting his lips so his tongue could meet your own.
You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed you like this. Like the tension had built so much—grown so hot—that you felt frantic. Kissing Jack was as thrilling as you thought it would be. The way he cupped your head, tugged your hair. The way he gripped your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh as he guided your movements.
And he was just as into it as you were, his erection pressing against your core, straining against his scrubs.
You wanted him to be the one to initiate things further. He hadn’t mentioned any specifics, but from how raw his grief was about losing his wife, you assumed this was the first time he was even kissing another woman. You didn’t want to do anything to spook him—he deserved to be comfortable—to not be pushed, even if your body was begging your brain not to listen to itself.
“I want this to last,” Jack mumbled. “Fuck, it won’t if you keep this up.”
You giggled, cupping his face as you kissed him slowly. “We have all night, Jack.”
You slowly, deliberately, rolled your hips, watching his eyes screw shut as he groaned. Both hands settled on your hips, anchoring you in place, stopping your oh-so-sweet torture.
“God, you’re the devil,” he said breathily.
You hummed, sliding your hands down his chest until you were tugging at the hem of your own shirt. You were more than comfortable being the only one naked—or semi-naked. Jack watched with hooked eyes and bated breath as you pulled the material over your head, throwing it somewhere across the room.
You’d find it later, or you wouldn’t. Maybe Jack would take it home as an excuse to see you again. That thought made you almost giddy.
Jack moaned your name, hands skimming up your sides. Thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.
“Jack.” You sounded desperate even to yourself, but he looked at you so hungrily, so ready to devour, that you lost your train of thought.
“Say my name again,” he pleaded.
You slowly rocked your hips, placing your hands on his and moving them to cup your breasts. “Jack,” you repeated, feeling your nipples harden under his palms. He looked like he was going to pass out, fingers squeezing your breasts, head dipping to capture a nipple in his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Jack.”
He growled lowly, the vibration sending shivers to your core. You stilled, legs squeezing either side of his waist, hands flying to his hair to tug it as his teeth grazed your nipple.
You hissed as he lightly bit down, back arching your chest further towards him. He closed his eyes and hummed, lightly raking his nails down your back. You shivered, skin prickling at the sensation.
Jack smiled as you tugged his shirt, hitching up the black scrub tee, as well as his pale undershirt. Your fingers trailed over his abdomen, his lips seeking yours once more as you worked his shirts higher. Jack groaned, briefly breaking the kiss to tear the shirts over his head.
His chest was spotted with freckles, a mixture of dark and light. You trailed your fingers over his collarbones, fingertips tickled by the hair covering his pecs. He leant back against the pillows, watching you curiously explore every protrusion, every defect. Evidence of his time in the military was more than just the prosthetic leg, but also the shrapnel scars and muscles.
God, he was magnificent—so fucking beautiful.
Your breath hitched as you felt his hips flex, cock straining desperately against his scrubs.
“Tell me what you want, Jack.”
It was a simple request, yet one you weren’t sure was going to be answered. You thought for sure this was all that would happen, that his mind would win out and put a stop to this. You desperately didn’t want that to happen, but the ball was in his court—it had to be.
Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to process your words. Your hands settled around his head, fingers twirling his hair, scratching his scalp.
“You,” he eventually breathed out, like he was afraid of his own answer. “I want you.”
He sought your lips, slower this time—more calculated, like he wasn’t afraid to want. The desire still burned beneath your skin, one that was more intense, yet every bit as frantic—as dangerous.
The temperature in the room felt like it had been dialled right up. Perspiration dotted at your temples, Jack’s body just as hot beneath your touch. You rocked your hips slowly, gasping as he pinched one of your nipples, his hips rocking up to meet yours.
“Jack.”
Sinful, that was the only way Jack could describe it. The way you touched him, the way you kissed him. God, he was in over his head and about to cum in his pants like a starving teenaged boy.
“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, watching you put distance between the two of you.
“I’m not,” you assured him, taking a second to tenderly cup his cheek. “I’m getting a condom.”
Jack felt stupid, laughing deliriously as you grabbed a condom from your bag. His chest rose and fell heavily, watching your tits sway with each step. How they hung when you bent over, and how good your ass looked in your pants.
The foil packet was taunting him as you walked back to the bed. His cock strained agonisingly against his pants, desperate for relief. He lazily palmed himself, watching your eyes drop to his lap.
You bit your lip and he groaned as he watched you tuck your thumbs into the side of your pants, slowly wiggling them down your body.
“You’re killing me,” he panted.
Jack watched you crawl towards him on the bed, hand roughly squeezing his cock as he took in your soft, supple body. Each dip, each mark, all signs of a life lived.
You reached for his pants, untying the drawstring that kept them cinched tight at his waist. Jack exhaled heavily through his nose, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Any sign that this wasn’t something you wanted.
He didn’t see it.
He felt your soft touch ghosting over his pelvic bone. He lifted his hips, helping you remove his pants, before he was pulling you into his lap again. You grinned as you straddled his waist, nothing between you now as you rolled your hips.
Jack was a goner. The heat of your cunt wrapped around him, the way you kissed along his jaw. His fingers flexed against your waist, digging into your flesh, as your arousal coated his hard length.
“Fucking hell,” he cursed lowly, desperately trying to gain some self-control. He felt way too close to the edge, too far gone, but you were everywhere. You were everything. “Please.”
“Please what, Jack?” You asked softly, nipping at his ear. You hummed as he gripped your hips a little tighter, an arm snaking around your lower back and holding you still. Body flush against his own.
“I need you.”
His voice sounded foreign to him. So husky, so distraught, so wildly aroused, but you looked exactly how he felt. Horny, needy, desperate. God, and here you were, sitting in his lap, bare pussy sliding against his cock, and he couldn't think—couldn’t breathe.
Your lips found his, frantic. Teeth clashing, mouths bruising, tongues tasting like there was no time left. Like this was the pinnacle—the crux—his be all or end all.
You fumbled with the foil wrapper, Jack’s arm snaking around your waist to keep you still–pinned against him.
“God, listen to you,” he said. “So fucking wet.”
Sinful. Jack couldn’t even think straight.
“Jack,” you whined.
He took the condom from you. You shuffled back, drawing him in for a kiss as he rolled the rubber onto his length.
His fingers sought the spot between your legs that was drenched. The sloppy wetness was like music to his ear, reiterating that this wasn’t just one-sided. That you were as far gone as he was.
He raised you, hands firmly gripping your ass as he held your gaze. Your hands locked behind his head, bottom lip taken between your teeth as his tip nestled at your entrance.
When you lowered yourself onto him, neither of you dared breathe. The air felt electric, your bodies anchored together.
Jack’s groan rumbled in his chest, rippling up his throat. “Fuck, baby.”
Your head was swimming. You inhaled raggedly, pressing your lips to Jack’s in an effort to ground you. But he was moaning, a delicious sound that had you clenching down around him.
“Fuck, move. God, please,” he begged, voice strained as he desperately tried to hold his orgasm at bay. “Baby.”
You rocked your hips, pushing him back further into the pillows so you could raise your hips and sink yourself down onto him again. Hand splayed against his throat, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. He cupped the back of your head, the other arm still wrapped tightly around your lower back. His own hips bucked, desperately seeking your thrusts.
You gasped, cradling his head to your chest as you rose to your knees and he fucked up into you, the sound of his balls slapping your slick cunt flooding the room.
“Ja-aa-aack,” you moaned, a desperate giggling falling past your lips. “I’m so close.”
“Shit,” he cursed, hips stilling as the hand that cupped your head slid between your bodies. Thick fingers circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come for me, baby.”
You were there. You were seeing stars, and Jack was relentless. His fingers, his cock, his words. Your head swam as you moaned, as your body reached its breaking point and he pushed you over the edge.
Your body was a cacophony of euphoria. The tightness in your abdomen that snapped. The moans rippling from your chest from the man you cradled in your arms. The way he held you, even with your tidal wave of arousal surged from you. Unprepared. Unrelenting. Unwavering.
“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he held you tight, bodies joined together. And still, you throbbed around him. Body overcome with aftershocks—convulsions. The way you squeezed him just right as he spilled inside the condom, clinging to you desperately like he could lose himself if he dared let you go.
It took a minute, maybe a couple, before your breaths calmed. Synchronised. His hand tenderly stroking your hair, bodies completely spent.
B-a-t-h you tapped on his shoulder.
Y-e-s he tapped back, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but neither of you making the effort to move just yet.
So, some people in the notes are looking at this and thinking the point is that the new image is showing how much more polluted the atmosphere is, because the new image is duller, with less cloud cover. Please be reassured that the new image is duller because it's the night side of the planet, while the old image was taken on the day side! The point of the two images together is likely because Apollo 17 was the last time NASA sent a crewed mission to the Moon.
I suspect people might be primed for the comparison to be showing ecological decline because of a post that's been around for years, showing a satellite view of North America from two different decades, with the older image being more vibrantly green than the newer image, and people thinking it was showing ecological decline (I can't remember if the text contributed to that idea), when it was actually showing summer versus winter.
There are also people bringing up the possibility of the new image being fake
I got this from a USA Today article--the NASA FB is, at the moment, so overwhelmed by activity right now that it's not functioning
pairing: Jack Abbot x lawyer!reader
summary: Victoria calls you for help when Mateo is unlawfully detained. Jack gets a chance to see you in action — and he reacts to it in a very unexpected way. (or, alternatively: Jack finds out he has a competence kink)
warnings: 🔞 one racist cop, lots of legal talk (more like arguing bc ACAB. let’s pretend it’s accurate); Jack is horny and feral AND in love, hence smut (oral, fingering, piv); domestic fluff and a shameless amount of softness / words: 12K/ author’s note: based on this blurb. idk why I’ve been so nervous to post this, but I hope you’ll love these two just as much as I do ♡ READ ON AO3 \ MASTERLIST
The recipe called for four tomatoes. Jack knows because he double-checked. Then triple-checked, since he hasn’t followed any recipes in years, and this one seemed fairly simple. A no-brainer. Which didn’t actually mean he shouldn’t use his brain — he knows that now. He may have needed to realize that sooner.
Not maybe; definitely.
For one, when he didn’t pay attention to the cooking time (four hours). Then failed to notice the number of servings (six) (he was supposed to cook for two). Then kinda-sorta-accidentally bought double the amount of tomatoes (they were on sale!) (he got irrationally scared he wouldn’t have enough). It’s one of these mistakes — or maybe all of them combined — that got him to this. This abomination of a meal. Jack stares inside the cooking pot with pure anguish, like something died in there. It surely looks like it color-wise: instead of deep brown, the sauce is unmistakably, blood-bright red. Even if not dead yet, his confidence is definitely wounded. And what can be a fatal blow is him creeping into suspicion that it’s not nearly as spicy as it’s supposed to be.
Jack covers the culinary crime scene with a lid, a low groan stifled in his mouth. Diagnosis: dumbassery. Or color blindness? He hopes it’s either or. He contemplates his options. One: use his skilled hands (he is still working on being humble) to carefully scoop out the excess sauce with a spoon. Two: admit defeat and order takeout.
But Jack Abbot is notoriously incapable of giving up.
He rummages through shelves and drawers, selecting cutlery like it’s surgical tools, and in the noise — of metal clinking against metal, of his own anxious thoughts — he misses it: the sound of your key. The key he gave you just two weeks ago. Jack stops his fussing just in time to hear the front door close, to catch your footsteps, quiet like a cat’s. He feels his heart skipping a beat. He doesn’t turn to face you, because then comes his favorite part: you press yourself to him, your chest against his back, your arms wrapping around him tightly. Jack momentarily stills. He cannot help but close his eyes, eagerly soaking up your warmth; you smell of green apples and ocean, fresh like the waves washing across the beach at dawn. He used to dream about this: your scent, your arms, you coming here, to his apartment. Sometimes he can’t believe his dream came true. You plant a kiss between his neck and shoulder, and it does help to make this feel more real.
“Hello, handsome,” you murmur. “Can I get a sneak peek of dinner?”
His back tenses in agitation. Begrudgingly, he lifts the pot’s lid.
“It’s for birria tacos,” Jack says, pensive, like he is having doubts. “That’s not how it’s supposed to look, is it?”
To his relief, you don’t immediately break up with him. Instead, you smile, your lips brushing his cheek. “It looks like meat stewed in sauce. And I think it’s very appetizing.”
“It looked a little better in the picture,” he sighs, his tone letting the frustration in. “And by a little, I mean hell of a lot, and I —”
You put your finger under his chin to turn his face to you — and kiss him. And all Jack’s worries burst like soap bubbles. It has become his cure for everything: the soft, unhurried movement of your mouth against his, your hand that traces soothing patterns on his back, the tenderness that leaves him breathless. You smile into the kiss, too. He loves it — that small twitch of your lips as their corners curl up, like he is making you so happy, you can’t help it. He could kiss you all day.
“I’m telling you, it looks great,” you reassure him, pads of your fingers caressing his jaw. “And I really appreciate the effort.”
Jack hums, calmed and contented, the sound muffled by your mouth when you peck him on the lips again. One of his hands settles at your hip.
“Not sure the spice level will be to your taste, though,” he chuckles.
But you can tell by his studying gaze that it’s an actual concern of his. It’s something you are still getting used to — him putting so much care into everything, without question, all the time. Your fingers travel up to brush through the grey curls at his temple.
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m looking forward to not seeing you cry into your plate,” you tease.
“I didn’t cry,” he argues, not aggravated but abashed. “That curry thing was spicy. They labeled it with four out of five hot peppers on the menu.”
“Vindaloo,” you recall. “The waitress thought you were about to have a heart attack.”
Jack huffs a laugh, then tugs you closer with both hands. You watch a hue of pink spreading over his freckled cheeks.
“I was trying to impress you,” he tells you, voice raw with sincerity that warms your heart.
“Your dedication was impressive,” you bite your lip to bite down a giggle at the memory. “But I would prefer you not to suffer.”
A corner of his mouth twitches up. With barely covered amusement, with an uncovered gratitude: he hasn’t had a single bad day since you two started dating. His own happiness is sometimes overwhelming. (He’ll gladly suffer through a thousand more spicy dishes just to hear you laugh).
“Your wish is my command,” he isn’t even trying to be subtle with his feelings. He never is — he wants you to know. You do. It would be impossible not to.
“Then I’m wishing for a taste test,” you say, your gaze mellow, your whole body relaxing against his.
Jack’s hand only leaves you for a few seconds — to grab one of the spoons he laid out. You take it, enthusiastically leaning over the pot to carefully scoop up a piece of meat and bite right into it.
He takes this moment to get a better look at you. (His girlfriend; the word makes his blood rush).
His eyes catch on your blouse — a dark, deep red, the same silk that you like, the fabric hugging your upper body just the way he likes. His gaze glides up, over the dip between your collarbones, over your neck, the bowed lines of your lips — a drop of sauce glistens in the corner of them while you’re chewing —
Then, you moan. The sound low, drawn-out, very satisfied.
“Oh, this is good.”
Jack feels his face flush. “You can’t be serious.”
“When it comes to food? I always am,” you retort cheekily, and he uses his thumb to wipe away that oily drop. A smile tugs at your mouth when he reluctantly removes his finger. “Gonna start telling everyone I’m dating a doctor and a chef.”
“Says Gordon Ramsay,” Jack mumbles, fully aware that his cheeks now likely match your blouse. It’s something he is still getting used to — you being generous with praise, with kindness, with showing him appreciation. All the time.
“Exactly,” you insist softly. “Since I’m Gordon Ramsay, I know what I’m talking about. So your objections are overruled.”
There’s barely any space between you — his hands back on your waist, your body half-turned but still touching his, your shoulder to his chest, two ribcages leaning into each other. Jack fixes his gaze on your lips.
“I think I want a taste test too,” he says, barely a warning. More of a confession — before he moves to close the distance between your faces.
You meet him halfway.
There’s more intention and way more intensity: it’s in the eagerness he kisses you with, in how you snake a hand into his hair, and Jack hastily pulls you flush up against him. He can taste it — the burning flavour on your tongue, the heat of cinnamon, cumin, coriander, chiles. (To be fair, he only knows the names because he added them). He savours it: you and your softness, pliancy, desire that overtakes you two shamelessly fast. You don’t fight it; you kiss him until your lips are wet and tingling, until you have to stop to gulp some air.
Jack doesn’t move away — instead, his mouth moves to the side, under your cheekbone, then to that small spot behind your ear that makes you breath heavy.
“This was supposed to be the part where we build the tacos,” you whisper as his kisses (predictably, much to your delight) start shifting lower.
“I’ll be quick.”
“You never are.”
He grins, his words tickling your neck. “And you never complain about it.”
That’s true, you don’t — you can’t, not when he’s so adept at touching you exactly where you want to, and your body is already heating under his hands. His lips find your collarbone, his fingers readily unbuttoning your blouse. Button by button. And that sweet, dizzying anticipation hums under your skin, in tact with your heartbeat, a low and rhythmic buzzing —
Like a phone’s. Yours.
“Someone is calling,” you mutter. You both turn to the sound of the device persistently vibrating on the kitchen counter.
The caller is unknown — it’s just a number on the screen, without any name or photo, but you don’t hesitate to take it. You swipe right and pick up the phone, freeing yourself from his embrace so you can focus better. Jack feels a little smug about being the reason you can’t think straight.
He keeps an eye on you as you answer the call. It takes about three seconds for your features to relax.
“Oh, hi, Victoria! Of course I remember —”
But it’s cut short — your greeting first, then your tranquility, and Jack watches your smile disappear. You listen closely to what the caller has to say, with that same concentration you shift into when it comes to work. For a long moment, nothing in you moves, nothing betrays your thoughts or feelings. But Jack knows what to look for — and so he can discern it in your face, as if you mentally flip a switch: your gaze hardens as your brows pinch together, lips thinned into a straight line.
This isn’t just concentration, this is you planning, strategising, picking criminal code articles to use. To weaponize. This is the look that tells him it must be something bad.
“Victoria, I need you to stop,” you tell her with an even tone. “Now, please take a deep breath for me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
Your fingers move to button up your shirt. You take another step away from Jack. Without thinking, he closes the pot and puts it off the stove.
“Tell me, are you safe in there? Were you hurt?” you delicately choose your words. “Okay, that’s good. Can you walk me through the events again? I don’t need all the details, just the basics will do.”
You rush out of the kitchen to grab your bag and take out your laptop, tapping away at the keyboard as you look something up — names, profile pictures, streets on a city map. Jack watches you in worry, in a helpless wonder. And it takes an embarrassing amount of seconds for his mind to throw him a hunch: Victoria. That’s not Javadi, right?
Jack catiously taps you on the shoulder, then whispers her last name to you — unsure, like a question. You simply nod. The furrow in between your brows stays.
“Yes, they absolutely cannot do that,” you tell her, chest rising on a long inhale, like you’re holding back a sigh. “Do you know which room he’s in right now? I need you to put me on speaker and then walk into that room. Don’t knock and immediately tell Mateo to stop talking. After I’m done, walk out, don’t speak to anybody and wait for me somewhere nearby. Alright?”
Jack stands close, his fingers carefully working on fastening your last two buttons. He wants to somehow make it better, easier for you; he can’t. That thought stings like a thorn.
You take another deep breath. You wait. Your free hand curls into a fist you put behind your back. But when you talk, your voice comes out unfazed.
“This is Mr. Diaz’s attorney, and I’m very curious why you didn’t allow him that one call he has the right to make. Mateo, did they explain your rights to you?”
You roll your eyes at the reply. Jack figures it’s a no.
“Which means anything he says or has already said is inadmissible in court. Are there any injuries I need to be aware of, apart from a possible nose fracture?... Well, I hope it stays that way. I’m twenty minutes away, I’ll be there in fifteen. Which interview room?”
You end the call without any pleasantries to spare. And you can feel Jack’s stare, so you spill it all out before he even puts the words into a question.
“Some inadequate patient was pissed that they didn’t fix him in record time, so he threw a fit, got his ass kicked out of the ER — and didn’t think of anything better than to wait for Victoria outside. Apparently, to share more of his dumbass complaints. He grabbed her,” your voice wavers — a tiny giveaway of how upset you actually are. But you push the emotions down. “I don’t know what his plan was, but thankfully, Mateo showed up. They got into a fight. The cops were driving by, and for some stupid reason, they decided Mateo was the one to blame. So they took him in. Ignored all of Javadi’s explanations. The other guy got away.”
Jack frowns. “How the fuck is that legal?”
“It’s not. It’s just how cops do their job,” you huff, grabbing a blazer you left hanging on a coat rack.
“What was it about a fracture?” Jack looks for his car keys.
“The guy clocked him on the nose, Javadi said it wasn’t that bad. But then one of the cops slammed Mateo face flat against their car. And I suspect that kind of impact can break bones.”
He can’t stop an involuntary grimace as his mind paints that picture; you are correct in your suspicions.
“Can they arrest him?”
“They will not,” you say, certain, unwavering. With just a bit of anger peeking through. “They are stalling and trying to intimidate him into a confession of some sort. They have no legal grounds to even hold him there.”
Jack goes to take his jacket; there is no question that he’ll drive you. But then he absentmindedly looks at his watch, and what stings him this time is guilt.
It’s 9 pm.
This was supposed to be your first evening together in the last five days. He thinks about the excitement you brimmed with when you came in.
He also thinks about the meat that’s getting cold, about your hectic schedules that never align, with him being on nights and you being so busy you sometimes forget to eat. He leaves you voice messages that serve as a reminder. He sneaks protein bars and fruits into your bag, he learns to cook for you, something that would bring you joy after an exhausting day. It is the only goal, it’s at the core of everything — to get to see you, smiling, happy. His. Your face relaxing only when you fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you.
He hoped that his apartment would be the only place where you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.
“I didn’t give your number to anyone at the hospital,” Jack tells you quietly. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this off the clock.”
You shake your head and look at him, eyes softening for a brief moment as you reach out a hand to caress his arm, a touch that says there’s nothing to be sorry for. “She knows I’m Cassie’s lawyer, so she called McKay for help. I am actually glad she did.”
You give yourself a look-over in the mirror: everything still sits impeccably, no crinkles on the fabric of your clothes, no stray hair, nothing to give away just how long of a day you’ve had. And you’re unusually quiet, which Jack finds unsettling.
“Glad why?”
“The police station Mateo is at has a reputation. That cop who dragged him into the car, I think I know who that is. Wasn’t his first misconduct. Hopefully, it will be his last.”
That almost puts a smirk on Jack’s face; it doesn’t feel appropriate, so he stays serious. He asks you for the station’s address to be useful.
“It’s less than ten minutes away,” Jack muses. He can make it there in eight.
“I love a good old element of surprise,” you say, matter-of-factly, already texting someone, feet moving toward the door. But then you pause and glance at him again. He can almost see the wheels in your head turning fast, faster. “Any chance you’ve got a pair of scrubs at home?”
He doesn’t have to ask why.
You two don’t talk during the ride — you make calls and send messages, gaze mostly focused on the screen, only short sentences leaving your mouth:
Yes, got it. Just send me the whole thing. No, I don’t think so, not today. But please look up the chief’s number. And text me when you reach the hospital’s security.
Jack figures it’s your secretary on the line. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling nervous. Also a little bit protective. He knows Javadi — a 4th-year medical student, smiley and sometimes clumsy, that wide-eyed girl who’s capable of outsmarting half of the ER. He likes her, Robby likes her, there is a solid chance she’ll get a job offer at the PTMC. He’s trying not to think what could’ve happened if Mateo wasn’t there to help her. He keeps his focus on the road.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack also watches you.
He’s seen you angry — in that uncovered, fervent kind of way, when the emotions spill out of you, and he’s allowed to witness it, because he’s earned your trust. He doesn’t ever patronize or pity you, he loves it — that you are caring, empathetic, tenacious in your pursuit of justice. He’s also painfully aware of how unjust the system is. He has been witness to that too: self-righteousness people in power use to cover their prejudice, the poison of which still slips through — it’s in the cruel treatment and harsh words, in the belief that certain skin color and gender grant you impunity and liberties the others can be stripped of. And it’s not easy appealing to the law when your opponent doesn’t believe in human rights.
So Jack is glad he will be there for you to offer some support. He also cannot help but feel a bit of pride: whatever are your feelings, you don’t have any trouble keeping them in check. He knows you’re fucking good at this. He’s dying to see you in action.
Your ride only takes seven minutes. Jack quickly parks, opens the door for you, fixes the badge clipped to his chest and grabs his first-aid kit. All the police stations are the same to him: greyed out walls, the smell of sweat and beer, the never-ending echoes of footsteps and voices. You lead the way.
The cop at the front desk — seemingly fresh out of the academy, a little chubby, visibly bored — stops slouching in his chair when he sees you. He tries to act cool, tries for his voice to sound more solemn. His act barely lasts a minute.
“You are here for that nurse guy?” he asks while checking your ID. “Damn, they roughed him up.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m coming with a doctor,” you note, merely polite. “I thought you guys also had one?”
“Yeah, our doc is here... Somewhere. But they were in a rush to question your client, I guess. Just gave him a few paper towels to stuff into his nose, he had to walk all the way up to the interview room with his head tipped back to stop the bleeding. It was painful to watch.”
“It surely sounds painful. Also, isn’t that use of force a little extreme?”
“Tell that to officer Nordwin,” the guy huffs.
“I plan on doing exactly that,” your voice stays steady, but now there is an edge to it. A coldness. And your promise doesn’t sound empty.
The guy looks up at you from his computer and drops his smile immediately. It dawns on him that maybe he told you too much. He only gives Abbot’s ID a glance, then points you in the right direction, with not very concealed concern.
You don’t waste time on pointless goodbyes, and now you move with purpose, a bit quicker. Jack has to keep up — still, he is opening the doors for you, and his eyes scan the corridors for threats, out of habit.
You spot Javadi from a distance: she’s all alone on some cheap-looking beam seating, hands clasped together, one foot nervously tapping on the floor. She looks unharmed but pretty shaken up. The second you come up to her, Victoria springs to her feet.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” she babbles, her words frantic, eyes glistening with fear. “My mom doesn’t know that Mateo and I are a thing— I mean, dating,— and she would go freaking ballistic if she finds out, because I’m supposed to be focusing on my studies, and my residency, and if I call my dad, he will tell her, and that is the last thing —”
“Deep breaths,” you remind her, keeping your tone quieter, softer. “You don’t have to worry about anything, now that I’m here. Did they take your statement?”
“No,” she tells you on a long, shuddering exhale. “I kinda feel like they forgot about me. Is that bad?”
“It means you get a chance to have me by your side when the time comes. Which is good,” you reassure.
Her repose barely lasts a second — before her eyes go woeful and teary. “They were so rude with him, so harsh,” she whispers. “One of the cops in particular, I didn’t catch his name. He didn’t even let either of us explain, just grabbed him, and I think— I’m pretty sure he broke Mateo’s nose. I did my best to stop the bleeding on our way here, but they were rushing, and the car kept bouncing on the road, I couldn’t see anything back there.”
“They made you ride in the back of the police car with him? In the cage?” you clarify, your voice veiled with the same steeliness Jack’s only now discovering.
“I don’t have my own car, and they didn’t want to wait, they just shoved him in there. And I couldn’t leave him alone. I think— I’m not sure, but I think they are mistaking him for someone else. But he didn’t do anything bad, he—he just tried to help me,” Victoria insists, already bordering on desperation. Because her prior explanations clearly fell on deaf ears.
“He did the right thing. You’ve got yourself a hell of a boyfriend,” Jack steps in, lowering his head a little so he can catch her gaze. He waits for her to register his words, to realize he means it. “I’ll check his nose, make sure it’s nothing serious, alright?”
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” Victoria breathes out, a wobbly smile on her lips. She wipes her nose and moves back a little, then points toward the row of doors down the corridor. “They took him in the last room on the right.”
You turn your head to find what room she means. And narrow your eyes at the number written on it.
“That’s where he is?” you ask, gaze boring holes into the wooden door, like it offended you somehow.
Javadi nods. Then hesitantly asks: “Should I go with you?”
“There is no need. You stay here, maybe get yourself some water from the cooler. I’ll try to make it quick,” you promise, and she lets out a small sigh of relief.
You turn to Jack, eyes meeting his — and under the bright fluorescent lights, he picks out new shades of you: you are decisive, steadfast, cool-headed. And he gets a peculiar inkling: maybe you didn’t bring him for support. Maybe you will not need it.
“I don’t want you talking to them,” you explain hastily. “You are only coming in to check on Mateo. You are allowed to take your time and do whatever’s necessary. I want it confirmed that he was hurt, and they didn’t do anything about it.”
“Got it,” Jack says and follows after you.
But what he thinks — playfully, holding back a smile — is that he likes you bossy. He also can’t help but appreciate the way your hips sway as you walk. He clears his throat and clears his thoughts just as you push the door open.
The interview room’s got no windows and no air conditioner, stuffy and small. Your eyes instantly find Mateo — he’s sitting at the table with his hands cuffed, half of his t-shirt stained with blood, red streaks of it dried under his nostrils, all over his chin. He smiles at the sight of you and winces; his nose is definitely broken.
There are two cops standing with him — one in plainclothes, older, a police badge secured on his belt. The other wears a uniform, blond hair slicked back, his tan clearly fake, too orange.
“This is officer Nordwin, and I’m detective Harrelson,” the older man reacts first, a bit surprised. He goes for a handshake. “We didn’t expect you for another few minutes, that was fast.”
You do not shake his hand, don’t even glance at it. Your gaze lands on his face — your words land like a punch:
“This is a negotiation room number five. You can’t count to five? Or is there another reason you gave me the wrong number?”
Jack freezes at the door.
Mateo’s brows shoot up at your remark.
There’s an immediate shift in the room. Like someone just brought a bazooka to a gunfight. Except, these men didn’t expect a fight at all. Neither did Jack.
The younger cop is quick to take offence. “Hell of an introduction. How about you tone down your attitude, and then we can talk,” he bristles, his body leaning just a little in your direction.
Jack tenses up. He has to fight that dog-like instinct to interfere any time he thinks you are in danger, or mistreated, or someone just looked wrong your way. But you stay calm as ever. Your tone is polished down to civil when you say:
“I simply don’t want us to start on the wrong foot. Anyone here has a law degree?”
They don’t. And you are very well aware — because in just a second, you’re back to being firm and unapologetic:
“So it’s just me. Which means I will do the talking. You need —”
“Maybe I should repeat myself,” Nordwin sneers. “I don’t think —”
“I’m sorry no one ever taught you that it is rude to interrupt people. Never too late to learn,” you cut him off, then quickly pull up an empty chair and sit down next to Mateo. “Take off his cuffs.”
The cops share a look. You keep eye contact with the older man.
“Is Mr. Diaz under arrest? Is he posing a threat? The answer to both of these questions is no. So you need to uncuff him,” you insist. “Or you can give me the keys, and I can do your job for you.”
Harrelson studies you for a few seconds. At last, he goes to sit across from you and gives the other man a nod. Nordwin does very little to hide his scowl. You make a point to keep your eyes on him, like he’s a toddler who may need your guidance. The cop hates it. You find his reaction satisfying.
Mateo rubs his wrists once they are freed, and you notice that he is breathing through his mouth.
“Dr. Abbot?” you call out. Nonchalantly, two syllables of his last name stripped off of any warmth you usually address him with at home.
Both cops turn their heads to him. And by the looks on their faces, Jack realizes: they didn’t even notice him before. Because all their attention has been drawn to you. He can’t really blame them.
Abbot snaps into a doctor’s mode: he puts the gloves on, then takes a penlight out to check Mateo’s nasal septum. Then does the hand examination. It is too quiet in the room for him to talk, so he just gives the nurse a wink. He also cannot stop himself from glancing at you, which you ignore completely.
Nordwin’s now seated too. He watches Jack suspiciously. “I didn’t know lawyers now play dress-up.”
“He’s an attending physician at the PTMC’s emergency department. Look for a big plastic card clipped to his chest, it’s hard to miss,” you deadpan. “Do you happen to know the symptoms of a deviated septum or septal hematoma?”
The corner of Mateo’s mouth curls up in an unvoiced approval. Both cops shake their heads no.
“Neither do I, and that’s why he does need a doctor. A pity that you don’t have one here.”
“We do,” Harrelson retorts, albeit reluctantly. “The precinct put new protocols in place this year.”
“So it was a conscious choice to refuse him medical care? Good to know.”
The old man exhales sharply through his nose. His gaze flicks to Mateo and stays on him, like he’s assessing damage and weighing their options. Whatever his conclusion is, he decides to play it nice.
“Listen, it was an honest mix-up with the room number,” Harrelson gives you a tight smile. “And we appreciate that you were able to join us on such short notice. Now, how about I lay out all the facts, so you can... get the drift of things.”
Your jaw shifts. Barely. Followed by a movement of your brows — up, quick. This is a new expression Jack is yet to find the meaning of. He somehow instantly knows he doesn’t want to ever get that look from you. His thumbs lightly press on the sides of Mateo’s nose. His tension doesn’t ease up.
Harrelson takes your silence as agreement.
“Officer Nordwin and his partner were on patrol this evening. We had to bring in a few extra cars because there’ve been reports of car thefts in the neighborhood. The officers heard sounds of a struggle and obviously had to check it out. As their duty requires,” he notes with just a touch of condescension. “Upon approaching the hospital area, they saw two men involved in a physical altercation. And one of them, as per officer Nordwin’s recollection, matched the description of a suspect in a recent theft. The decision was made to take him for questioning. Mr. Diaz, unfortunately, did sustain an injury, but it was clearly not life-threatening.”
Nordwin chimes in to argue. “Wasn’t even a real injury, it was nothing. He just —”
As if on cue, Mateo yelps. Jack mumbles an apology and grabs an instant ice pack to put over his nose. Both cops are startled, both staring at the nurse.
You don’t even flinch. “Doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”
Harrelson’s confidence falters a little. He moves his eyes to Jack. “Pushed the bone back in its place, doc?”
“That I did,” Abbot replies through gritted teeth while wiping the dried-up blood off Mateo’s face.
“Any of you ever got your nose broken?” you ask coldly.
Nordwin nods, all smug, like it is something he takes pride in. “I did, actually.”
“That makes sense,” you say without even sparing him a glance. “I take it, compassion isn’t one of your job’s requirements. But you clearly aren’t qualified to make statements regarding the severity of someone’s injury. Unless you’ve got a medical degree, which I sincerely doubt.”
His nostrils flare at your reply. A treacherously bright redness creeps up his neck and ears. You couldn’t care less about his anger.
“What’s the description of the suspected thief you mentioned?”
Harrelson shoots the younger cop a glance. Nordwin forces out:
“Male, in his thirties. Around 5' 11", medium build, dark hair at shoulder length.”
“Half of my Facebook friends match that description,” you tell him, unimpressed. Then you start firing off your question with no concern for his growing discomfort. “Any chance your forensic artist did a better job?”
“We are still working on the identikit.”
“Based off what?”
“Video footage. He was caught on CCTV.”
“Any DNA on the crime scene? Partially recovered fingerprints? Eyewitnesses?”
The silence hangs in the air, way more uncomfortable than the swelter of the room; you do not let it stretch.
“So, to summarize, you have no detailed description and no sketch, no real forensic evidence and no witnesses. Which begs the question, why exactly you thought to connect two absolutely unrelated incidents.”
This is a tone Jack’s never heard you use — uncompromising, sharp, commanding. And weirdly enough, he’s latching to your every word. What’s even weirder is that Abbot — who’s worked in pitch dark, under fire, in all weathers and all hours of the day — has trouble focusing on anything but you. The tension coils somewhere in his stomach.
“I also find it interesting that you prioritized the unproven connection over the very real threat a man posed to a defenseless woman. And the two dutiful officers just let that man go,” you punctuate, and this time, you’re looking straight at Nordwin.
He’s only able to hold your gaze for a few seconds before averting his. He is not winning this staring contest. Or this argument — you’ll make sure of both.
“I’d like to get my facts from each party involved,” you turn to face the nurse. “Mateo, how about you tell me what actually happened.”
Not tell us, just you, Jack notes. He closed his med kit and took off the gloves, now standing just a step behind you, not to draw attention. His gaze keeps coming back to you — to trace lines of your profile, down from your focused eyes to cheekbones to lips. He’s always found you beautiful, but in this moment, something makes his undeniable attraction grow tenfold.
The orange-faced cop chuckles dryly. “I’m sure he will be unbiased.”
“I don’t think your name is Mateo. So I’m not talking to you,” you easily dismiss him. Your eyes stay on the nurse, and you give him a nod to prompt him to start talking.
Mateo tells everyone what Jack already heard from you. About the impatient man who came in with an unspecified chest pain, then got progressively annoyed, lashed out at a couple of doctors and was escorted by the security and —
Jack’s only catching pieces of his story. From where he’s standing, he can catch the scent of your perfume. He also notices that you are leaning slightly against your chair, one hand tucked into your pants’ pocket, the other lying on the table. There is no stiffness in your body, nothing that would suggest you’re nervous or unsure. Instead, you flourish under pressure. Jack finds it hot. He finds it hard to look away.
“— He got out his car keys, and I didn’t want that asshole to just get away, so I grabbed 'em—”
“Speaking of the connection,” Nordwin points out. “The man yelled that he was trying to steal his car.”
“That’s not true!” Mateo eagerly protests. “He yelled that street theft was all us latinos are good for, and I said I didn’t need his damn car, but I won’t let him just drive off like nothing happened. And that’s when you walked up to us.”
You cast the cop an openly disdainful glance. “A man holding someone else’s keys to stop that person from escaping made you think he steals cars for a living?”
Nordwin grows redder, but he cannot come up with a reply. The older cop side-eyes him. The look on Harrelson’s face suggests he does not think too highly of his colleague.
You gesture for Mateo to continue and listen to him talk, despite already knowing all of it. You want to show him that his story matters. You want him to speak up the truth. You only get distracted when your phone vibrates — you take it out to read a message on the screen. Then take a moment to ponder over it.
Nordwin tries poking at you. “Bad news?”
“Not for me,” you counter, looking at him like a rottweiler would look at a hysterical lap dog. And you keep looking while you ask, “Mateo, when officer Nordwin tackled you, did you or Victoria try to explain the reason for the fight?”
“We did,” he answers, obviously displeased. “Multiple times.”
“Did he have any questions for the other man involved in the fight?”
“No.”
“Did he check on Victoria or show any concern for her well-being after she got assaulted?”
“No.”
“Okay, I get it,” Nordwin snaps. “He’s your client, and you are on his side. But you and I both know that in the end, it’s his word against mine.”
“No,” you state simply, your stare unblinking, your restraint unmatched. “It will be your word against the surveillance footage from the parking lot.”
The cop’s annoyance ebbs a little, eclipsed by his surprise. “They have cameras at the parking lot?”
“Yes, it’s where they park those big white cars that cost up to three hundred thousand dollars each,” you explain coolly. “I sure hope you aren’t up for a promotion with that lack of critical thinking.”
There is no comeback he can think of.
Jack almost wants to laugh. But then he feels that his own face is burning, and his heart rate went up, fluttering warmly in his chest. The tension that’s been building in him forces the realization out — the molten truth that rises to the surface, like magma from the depths of Earth:
he isn’t watching you out of worry, or in anticipation or amusement.
Instead, Jack is extremely, unspeakably turned on.
He takes a breath and takes a step toward the wall, so he can use it for support, pressing a palm to it. To something cold and steadying. But this new spot grants him a better view — of the curve of your lower back, your hips and thighs. That look so good in those tight pants you’re wearing. He briefly squeezes his eyes shut, he makes an effort to stop staring at your ass.
The cops, thankfully, are busy worrying about their asses. You give them enough reasons to be.
“The hospital security is looking through the footage as we speak. But I can give you a quick summary of what’s in there: an aggrieved man approaches a med student half his age. He starts harassing her, not only verbally but also physically, grabbing her by the arm. He is then interrupted by the student’s boyfriend, who tries to resolve the situation, but also gets assaulted by that man. The fight attracts the attention of the patrol car. Instead of trying to de-escalate the conflict or make any attempts to understand what’s going on, one of the officers decides to detain the boyfriend, while also using excessive and unnecessary force to do so,” you stare Nordwin down as you speak. “My favorite part is when the offender walks away, and the police do nothing.”
There is a ringing silence. Almost as loud as Jack’s heartbeat. Nordwin is seething, red all over; and yet, he doesn’t meet your gaze. Harrelson tries to mitigate their failure. “We are already looking for that man.”
“Define looking.”
“Excuse me?”
“That was just two words, which one do you need me to explain? Define?” you aren’t making this into a joke — you talk to him like he is actually stupid. “Because it seems to me that you are definitely not looking for the person who assaulted two health workers. The man you targeted instead is one of the victims, who did nothing wrong.”
“He is so innocent, he had to get his attorney involved?” Nordwin quips.
A pause falls in the room, and he can’t help but gloat, thinking he caught a gap in your defence. Thinking it is his chance to finally walk over you. Instead, he walks into a trap.
“His girlfriend called me. You know, the one that was attacked,” you tell him sharply. “And what exactly is she guilty of?”
You sit up straighter. There’s danger in how swiftly your whole body moves, in how your eyes bore into him, in just how easily you own the room.
“Please, don’t be shy, I really want to know your reasons,” you push, throwing each word at them like daggers. And you don’t miss. “A man walks in on his girlfriend being assaulted. What do you think he should’ve done? Watch her get beaten? Raped? Should’ve just given you guys a call and patiently wait for someone with a badge to show up. Since the policemen would never let the attacker get away, right?”
Wrong, your tone implies. Your gaze confirms. Both cops stare at you, dumbfounded and speechless.
“But hey, the police did show up. And the two officers present at the scene failed to assess the situation, didn’t identify the real perpetrator, didn’t bother questioning the third person, who was both a victim of the attack and a witness to the fight,” you list, unbothered and unyielding. “Instead, they wrongfully presumed my client guilty and detained him by force, which was criminally disproportionate to the nature of his presumable offence.”
Mateo turns his face to Abbot and mouths “wow”. Jack manages to give him a small nod. He knows that he’s not winning any arguments if you ever decide to talk to him like that. He’d be too stunned to speak. Just like he is right now.
You stand up from your chair abruptly. Nobody else moves.
“Let’s cut the crap. You had no real grounds for detaining him and not a single damn reason for using force. The mere insinuation that he’s complicit in some theft is not only unfounded, but also defamatory and will be treated as such,” you put your hands on your hips, your blouse red like fire, your eyes and words burning no less. “So let me save us all some time and tell you what happens next. You will let Mr. Diaz go, drop your ridiculous allegations, own up to your fuck-up and apologize like men. Or I will sue you, your station, and the whole police department for — let’s see,” you hold up your right hand and start counting on your fingers. “Failure to intervene in misconduct, use of excessive force, racial discrimination, slander, failure to provide medical help, intentional infliction of emotional distress and mental anguish... And that’s what I just came up with on the spot. When I wake up tomorrow after a good night of sleep and have my morning cup of coffee, I will double this number,” —
and then you lean over the table, your palms pressed flat against it as you look Harrelson dead in the eye,
“Are you catching my drift?”
Jack thinks that never in his life has he wanted to kiss someone as much as he wants to kiss you. Here, now, when you’re arguing and harsh and fuming, with deadly gaze, sharp on the tongue. His eyes are helplessly fixed on your mouth. His want doesn’t stop there — it’s only spreading, it’s abyssal.
And he would gladly kneel in awe between your legs.
Jack’s thinking of how your voice will crack when he’s eating you out, of your leg muscles tense and shaking while you ride his face, of how your slickness will drip all over his tongue —
A chair creaks against the floor. Abbot snaps out of his daydreaming to see that Nordwin’s glaring at you.
“Is that a threat?”
“That is a promise,” you say with simple, cold-blooded assurance.
You pull back and stand by Mateo’s side. The young cop’s trying very hard — his neck vein bulging, his mouth smirking — to be intimidating. “You think you can handle me?”
You could’ve laughed at him (you should — he’s looking really fucking stupid, Jack notes). Instead, you let him feel the weight — of your words and your confidence that’s built on crushing men like him:
“I charge nine hundred dollars an hour because I’m very good at handling things. And you better believe I do deliver on my promises.”
His smirk fades. Nordwin opens his mouth — then closes, failing to master a reply. Before he tries again, Harrelson puts his hand up (which very clearly reads as “Please, keep your mouth shut”). The old man looks like he is mentally composing his resignation letter. Still, he picks a conciliatory tone:
“Alright, point taken. We’ll get in touch with the PTMC’s security and ask the hospital to give us that patient’s name. Typically, you would need someone to report the incident first, but since the officers actually saw the fight,” he sends Nordwin a disappointed glance, “That is enough to start the investigation. We’ll obviously need a witness statement from Mr. Diaz and his girlfriend.”
“Once they receive medical evaluation and get some rest,” you emphasize, you tone brooking no argument.
Harrelson doesn’t bother holding back a sigh. He’s got no wish to argue. “Yes, of course. It’s been an eventful evening,” he’s mostly looking at Mateo’s nose as he adds, “Mr. Diaz is free to go.”
You gesture for him to get up. But your eyes stay on the detective. Your looming presence forces the old man to meet your gaze. You pull a white paper rectangle out of your blazer’s pocket with two fingers — and throw it on their table.
“Here’s my card. Don’t even think about contacting my clients directly,” and then your mouth stretches into a smile. Teeth-baring, bright, only a tad mocking. “Apology means verbal acknowledgement of failure, in case that word wasn’t in your vocabulary. But you’ve got enough time to practice until tomorrow.”
You let Mateo walk out first, your head held high as you stride out of the room behind him. Jack has to summon all his self-control to keep his eyes up as he follows you. His girlfriend — fierce and competent and nothing short of perfect. That image of you is a revelation. It makes his blood rush.
It makes desire spread through his whole body like a blaze.
The walk to his car takes barely a minute. Victoria keeps checking on Mateo, her hand carefully wrapped around his arm, her eyes two pools of adoration. He keeps smiling at her, despite his broken nose. You’re on the phone with Robby, who is still on shift. Jack lets the lovebirds take the back seat while he waits for you. He puts his hands in his pants’ pockets to fight the urge to touch you.
“Robby will meet them, he wants to do the evaluation. Apparently, the cops are already trying to contact him,” you let out a chuckle, turning off your phone. The sunset drapes a veil of violet over the blushing sky. You can hear chatter, cars honking, the noises of the city full of life. But your remark is met with silence.
“...Jack?”
His face expression is unreadable. He blinks and looks up from your blouse to meet your gaze.
“Um, yeah,” his voice is quiet, almost... strained. “Let’s get out of here.”
He walks to open the car door for you, but it feels like he keeps some distance. You sit and watch him go around to take the driver’s seat, his gaze purposefully rooted to the ground. Something is off about him.
“I can’t believe you made them apologize,” Victoria gasps, in equal parts shocked and pleased. “You weren’t afraid?”
“They weren’t the worst people that I’ve dealt with. And I only asked them to,” you correct her. “You both are yet to hear those apologies. Seems like the bare minimum after the way they treated you.”
Jack starts the engine. Out of habit, his hand moves to the side to check your fastened seatbelt. He feels it briefly with his fingers. But he doesn’t look. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable with other people in the car.
“Will they do anything about that Nordwin guy? Like, put him on suspension?”
“He should’ve been suspended months ago,” you note, although you do not plan on giving her the details.
She’s had a rough day as it is, and you know that she only needs a long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep. Everyone in this car does. Your gaze involuntarily flits to Jack. The broad canvas of his black t-shirt tightens a little with his every breath, his hands both on the wheel.
“He’s done it before? So it’s not a one-time thing,” Mateo muses. “It should at least raise some questions if there is a pattern.”
“Of course, there is a pattern. He looks like a guy who’d fuck his cousin to make sure his kids are the right shade of white,” you comment, not meaning for your words to bite. They do. It does earn you a glance from Jack. It also makes him grab the wheel tighter.
“I think we’re paying that man too much attention,” you add, calmer this time. You turn a little in your seat to look at them. “Robby said Mateo needs a head CT, but they will try to speed it up. Just hang on for a little bit, an hour tops.”
Mateo nods, his arm resting on Javadi’s waist. He cocks his head at you. “Speaking of paying.”
“No, don’t.”
“I’m serious,” he tells you, with naive and sincere stubbornness. “You saved my ass out there. Feels fair to cover your hour fee.”
“Mateo, I know your heart is in the right place, but I need you to think with your head. You’re telling me you don’t still have student loans to pay?” you get your answer when he drops his gaze. You give him and Victoria a small smile. “Better spend your money on the things that matter. I can afford to help people out for free. You owe me nothing.”
Javadi whispers a timid “thank you”, her hand rubbing Mateo’s leg. You notice just how fast the colors of the city flash behind the windows. It feels like Jack is speeding.
“If you have extra money, order some takeout tonight. There’s a nice Indian place on Eloise Street,” you mention, eyeing Abbot. “Be careful with the spicy dishes, though, they aren’t for the faint of heart.”
You only catch a flicker of his mouth, an almost-there smirk. It’s not enough to put you or him at ease, and you are still left clueless about whatever troubles him. He stays out of all your conversations and runs a yellow light three times.
When you reach the emergency department, Robby is already waiting outside. Jack stops the car right next to him, and he yanks the closest rear door open.
“Jesus Christ,” he frowns when he sees Mateo’s face.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the nurse tiredly chuckles as Robby helps him out.
“Wish I could say it’d get better in the morning,” Robby’s brown eyes immediately move to Javadi. “You alright, kid?”
“I’m fine. This one got the worst of it,” she sighs and steps out of the car, readily clinging to her boyfriend.
Mateo pulls her closer, his fingers caressing her shoulder. “Oh come on you guys, it’s just a nose. I will survive, no need for coddling.”
“Me, coddling? Just wait until you see Evans. She may try and strap you to the hospital bed,” Robby cackles and waves at you. You wave back and roll down your window.
Mateo asks him in a hushed voice, clearly touched. “Dana stayed too?”
“Of course she did. Better not keep her waiting,” Robby then pats him on the back and motions for them both to go inside.
He keeps an eye on them for a few seconds before turning to you. The brunet has to lean down, poking his head inside the car. He’s grinning.
“I think you should know that I just got off the phone with Chief Burgess. He wanted to apologize on behalf of the police department,” Robby crinkles his brow at you. “What the hell did you do in there?”
You shrug. “My job?”
Robby can’t stop a laugh, eyes glinting with amusement. “Jack patched up one of their guys after Pittfest, they all praised Abbot as a hero. And then you come out of nowhere and stir things up, so much so that they had to get the chief involved. You two make quite a couple.”
Jack doesn’t look amused. He stares at Robby from his seat, his gruff tone hinting that he’s in no mood for talking. “Any more sentiments you feel the need to share?”
But Robby doesn’t take offence. He takes a step back, still smiling, his gaze darting between you two, like he sees something you are yet to notice. “Gonna go check on our local Zorro. Enjoy the rest of your evening, guys.”
And Abbot hits the gas without another word.
He keeps his eyes front, taking the turns on autopilot, taking deep breaths that somehow feel too shallow for his lungs. His heart is hammering. His muscles taut like strings. And now that you’re all alone, you cannot help but ask:
“Are you okay?”
By every definition of okay there is, he’s very far from it. And Jack’s always believed he could rein in his feelings, but clearly, you challenge that belief.
Your palpable confusion is quickly turning into guilt.
“I know it took longer than planned. I’m sorry —”
“No, don’t be. You did great, I just —” Jack takes another breath (he is just trying not to fuck you right here in his car). “Want to get home faster.”
He has to stop at a red light. His jaw ticks. And then his hand moves to your leg, in an attempt to offer you some comfort. (In hopes that it will also ground him). But under the thick fabric of your pants, there’s the same tension that’s been tormenting him. Unwittingly, he makes you nervous, he can feel it. He also knows what he can do to make it better.
The ride back passes in a blink.
He parks the car. He takes you by the hand once you are out. He leads the way — into the lobby of his apartment building, into the elevator; his fingers tightly intertwined with yours. You watch him, searching for some hints, waiting for him to talk to you when he finally locks the front door from the inside.
Instead, Jack drops the keys on the side table in the hallway and darts into the bathroom to wash his hands. You’re left guessing. You know he’s usually open to any conversations, but you aren’t sure how to start this one. You hear that he turns the water off. You have your questions at the ready: is he upset about something? Is he feeling worn out?
Jack is on you before you can utter a word.
His lips crash into yours, hot, eager, unquestionably hungry. It is the kind of hunger he can no longer curb: he grabs you by the waist, his touches desperate as his hands move to cup and squeeze your ass. It makes you gasp. But you meet him with zero hesitation — your fingers curl into his t-shirt to pull him close, two wild heartbeats colliding when your chests do. You kiss him with the same amount of need and desperation. Until your lungs burn, and you pull back to suck in a shaky breath.
“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Jack rasps, his mouth already on your neck.
Your mind stumbles over your thoughts as his lips find your pulse point. Someone should study the way his kisses lower your IQ. Belatedly, you guess what’s going on:
“The legal talk turned you on this much?”
“You have no idea,” he mumbles as he untucks your blouse, his fingers back to working on the buttons, way more impatient than last time.
“And here I was worried—” your voice trembles when his tongue traces your collarbone. “Worried that I went too far.”
Jack lets out a short laugh. “I didn’t even know you had it in you,” his tone is warm and teasing. “You just walked in and tore them into pieces. Never seen cops looking so dumbstruck.”
The gloom around you is diluted with a faint golden glow, a small lamp on the wall being the only source of light. Its glimmers sneak into his silver curls.
“I thought about apologizing for dragging you into that mess,” you tell him as his hands move to the waistband of your pants.
Jack stops. He locks his gaze with yours. His eyes are a dark shade of green, a restless sea that’s churning with emotions. He moves his face closer to you:
“I thought about fucking you at the police station,” he tells you in a low voice, dragging your pants down to your hipbones, “And in the car,” his fingers brush your naked stomach, “And at the parking lot.”
When you pull him into another heated kiss, you know that you won’t make it to the bedroom. Jack proves you right: he blindly sweeps things off the table with one hand — then pushes you to sit on it, lips never leaving yours. He shoves your pants down to your knees, and then you wiggle your legs out of them, the piece of clothing falling to the floor. You catch his lower lip between your teeth, pushing a groan out of him. Jack hooks your panties with his fingers, and his thumb slides to caress the inside of your thigh. It’s hard to choose between the need for air and your need for him.
Jack makes the choice for you when he pulls back. Barely a fraction of an inch. Your hand keeps grasping his t-shirt, your noses touching.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he whispers vaguely.
And then he rips your underwear off, thin lace torn into a few useless pieces. You are still struggling to catch your breath, you’re watching in a daze — how Jack is sinking to his knees, how he pushes your legs apart, his big palms gliding up your thighs, his gaze fixed on where you are already wet and wanting.
“This is what I’ve thought about the most,” Abbot avows. And he is ready to devour.
He glides two fingers through your folds and parts them, making your hips jerk forward, smirking appreciatively at how responsive you are. Without a warning, Jack leans in and licks a broad stripe up your slit.
“Fu-uck,” you breathe out, one hand immediately coming down to grip his shoulder.
His tongue moves firmly from your entrance to your clit. Then back down and back up, repeated motion that allows him to taste your wetness, to drag more sounds out of you. He loves you vocal, loves you loud, he loves the stutter in your voice that comes when he is making you feel good. He knows exactly how to.
Jack seals his lips around your clit, making the pleasure jolt through you, so sudden that your head falls back, hitting the wall. He hears you wince. He flicks his tongue over your bundle of nerves, then gently sucks on it — turning your wince into a moan. And Jack starts lapping at your cunt, obscene wet noises filling the hall, while his forefinger rubs small teasing circles at your weeping hole. He does not push in, doesn’t yet need to: your hips already buck into his mouth, your nails digging deeper into his shoulder — until his steady efforts throw you over the edge. Your legs shake, your walls clenching around nothing as your arousal coats his tongue. He doesn’t find it satiating.
“One more,” Jack mutters hungrily between your legs.
His hands come up to pull you closer to the table edge, to him. He leaves a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh. “Lean back on the wall, don’t want you to hurt your head again,” and then he glances up at you — your chest heaving and face blissed-out, so he taps on your knee. “Sweetheart.”
“Yeah-yes, leaning back,” you echo incoherently, your shoulder blades pressing against the stable surface.
Jack gives your other thigh a kiss. He keeps his gaze on you as he moves his two fingers up and down your leaking cunt — before pushing them both in, one fluid motion, up to the very knuckles. Making you cry out his name. His pace is slow at first as he stretches you open, letting your orgasm build again, letting you put a hand into his hair as your hips move to meet his thrusts. And then he expertly curls up his fingers to hit that spongy spot that makes your vision blur.
“Wasn’t planning to,” he grins against your thigh. “C'mon, honey, want you to soak my face.”
Jack fucks his fingers faster into you as he drinks up the sight: your eyes are half-lidded in pleasure, the red blouse open, and breasts ready to spill out of the bra. He adds a third finger — and barely a second after, he sucks hard on your swollen clit. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, hand tugging sharply at his curls. He doesn’t care that it hurts, and he doesn’t let up, his lips and hand working in tandem to make you come undone. It only takes four — five more quick flicks of his tongue — and you are trembling all over, his mouth’s flooded with your release. Jack doesn’t miss a drop. He licks you clean, shamelessly groaning at the taste, waiting for you to come down from your high.
“T-too much,” you tell him breathlessly, your fingers caressing his scalp as he pulls back. His mouth and chin are drenched, but Abbot doesn’t bother wiping them.
He has to lean a little on the table to get back on his feet. Jack thinks you need a moment — of silence and reprieve — but your hands tug him closer by his t-shirt. You pull it up and over his head, and then the softness of your lips touches his chest. Jack feels his heart leap. Warmth spreading through his bloodstream. Your kisses slowly travel higher, to his neck, over his throat and jawline.
“We really need to take this to bed,” you press a teasing whisper under his ear.
He doesn’t answer you with words — instead, Jack hoists you up, one of his hands secured under your ass, the other pulling you into a kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist. This kiss is slower, the tenderness woven into your shared breaths, the space around you growing dim as he brings you into the bedroom.
The night already slinks in through the floor windows, with glittering streetlights under the indigo sky. You lose his t-shirt and your blouse somewhere along the way. Jack lowers you on the bedcovers, and you impatiently pull down both his pants and boxers, his body flinching when you brush his cock. He’s hard, painfully so, he’s been like that ever since he kissed you in the hall. You know. You’re trying to be gentle as you marvel at him — flushed, thick and leaking in your hand — you give him a slow stroke, and then another one, watching his stomach muscles tense —
Jack stops you.
“Don’t,” he says huskily, closing his fingers around your hand to move it away. “Tonight’s about you.”
He dips his head down, bringing his mouth back to yours, his palms cradling your ribcage to lay you down on the bed. He skims his fingers up your sides, then finds your bra strap with ease. The piece of underwear flies somewhere on the floor. The air is cooling against your heated skin — Jack’s lips paint it with goosebumps. He leaves kisses between your breasts, unrushed featherlike teases, and then he seals his mouth over your nipple. One, then the other. And he is relishing the way you’re arching into him, the way your body instantly reacts to light strokes and firm touches of his hands (he’s very skilled in that, indeed). Jack moves to take the condoms from the nightstand —
“I’m on the pill.”
His breath catches. You can tell — his chest just freezes on the inhale. You reach a hand out to him, gliding your fingers up his arm.
“Been on it for a couple of days, just didn’t know when to mention it,” you explain quietly, watching him take your words in, watching astonishment bloom on his face. Your voice drops to a whisper. “I missed you.”
It seems like your confession gives him air: his lips part as he takes a breath, his gaze on you. His hand catches your wrist. He leaves a kiss on the inside of it. You use that same hand to draw him closer, his muscles countroured by the moonlight as he comes back, as he holds himself over you, his eyes shiny and filled with adoration.
“Missed you too, missed you so much,” Jack murmurs.
He lays his forehead against yours, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, he wants to see your face — when he nudges your legs open, shifting his hips to drag his cock through your soaked folds. He watches the desire swell in you as you spread your thighs wider, your arms looping around his neck. And you both shudder at the contact.
You hold your breath when he starts pushing into you, inch by agonizing inch — and your walls suck him in. Wet, tight, heavenly. Jack sinks his teeth into the lower lip, the sharpness of the bite helping him hold on for a little longer. Until his cock is fully seated in you, bare for the first time. Jack makes a choked sound.
This is the closest he has ever been to awestruck. This is the closest he can be to you. And you feel absolutely perfect, just like he knew you would.
“You’re so warm,” he says, his voice already wrecked. “I need to— just give me a minute.”
He hides his ragged breath in the crook of your neck, nudging his nose against the spot where your pulse is trashing under your skin. The rising of your chest suggests your breathing is equally unsteady. Because you have been wishing, aching for it, too — this fullness, and this intimacy, and nothing in between you two. He feels your walls spasm around him. His long exhale skates across your shoulder as he looks down, his gaze moving to where you’re joined together. Jack can’t help but pull back — only a little, only to catch a sight of his cock glistening with your arousal. And then he snaps his hips forward, back into your heat.
“Fuck, this feels—” so good, too good, a tipping point he doesn’t know how to come back from; Jack can’t find the right words.
“I know,” you say, your own voice tremulous. Your palm skates up from his neck to his cheek to make him look at you, and your words are a plea:
“Want you to move, please, I just— Please, Jack.”
Your wish is his command.
He props himself up on both elbows and leans closer, covering your lips with his — to drink the whimpers that escape you as he starts moving. Jack knows he won’t last long, but he is trying not to rush it: he sets a steady rhythm, his thrusts measured as he fucks you deep. And you lose all your self-restraint with him. You kiss him back, mouth desperate and open to let your breathy moans out, your nails scraping down his back, your hips pressing against his.
And Jack is losing himself in the feel of you.
“You’re squeezing me so tightly,” he growls, pumping in and out faster, harder. And watching as your head falls back against the pillow, the dim light sparkling on your sweat-covered skin. His hot breath trails up your throat, his voice a low rasp tucked behind your ear. “Perfect, you feel fucking perfect.”
He can tell that you won’t be able to hold off much longer.
It’s in the way you cling to him, supple and surrendering, your mouth opening to gasp for air and to breathe out his name. It’s something he can almost see — a radiant, intense heat that mounts up in you, unstoppable and all-consuming. He sneaks a hand between you two, thumb firmly circling your clit.
“I need you to cum,” Jack mouths at your skin, “Cum for me.”
He feels you pulse under his thumb, and then the orgasm ripples through you, making your body shiver, your juices dribbling down his cock. And he can’t help but follow right behind. Jack’s hips stutter, breath hitching as he fills you up, a little dizzy from how overpowering this new sensation is — of your warmth, of your walls milking him. He can’t remember if he’s ever cummed this hard.
Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, waiting for his heart and breath to steady. He feels your hand brushing his elbow, signaling for him to lie down. Which he is grateful for (he doesn’t want to pull out just yet). Jack shifts his weight a little to the side so he won’t crush you, draping an arm across your hips, head resting at your chest.
The silence settles for a fleeting moment. You run your fingers through the damp grey curls that frame his face.
“So,” he hears you say, mirth in your voice. “You have a competence kink, huh?”
Jack breathes out a laugh. He doesn’t even ask if competence kink is a thing — his own reaction is proof enough of that.
“Guess so,” he leaves a kiss under your collarbone, before his gaze darts up to yours, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Only when it comes to you.”
You smile at him, so brightly that his heart swells. And Jack feels himself smiling back. Because you’re making him so happy, he can’t help it. His gaze moves to your mouth, his face’s about to follow it —
Your stomach growls. You groan.
“Would it be a bad idea to have tacos this late at night?”
“It’s bad to go to bed with your stomach growling, that’s for sure,” he moves closer, meaning to peck you on the lips. But it inevitably turns into a proper kiss, because he is too eager for you, too comfortable in your embrace. He pulls back only to whisper softly, “Let me clean you up.”
“No, you stay here, you’ve been on your feet all evening. I’ll be quick.”
He slips out of you, and your body slips from under his as Jack moves to the side. You hastily get out of bed, keeping your thighs together, so nothing drips onto the covers. He doesn’t bother holding back his smirk as he watches you hurry in the direction of the bathroom.
His smile fades as he wonders when was the last time you ate.
Jack sits up, stretching his arms and legs, no tension pulling at his muscles, his whole body warmed up. He grabs his briefs and puts them on, catching the sound of your approaching steps. You leave the light on in the hall. You come back with a glass of water — and wearing his t-shirt. It is the view he’ll never get tired of: your hair down and your face softened, your curves barely covered by his clothes. That now will smell of you (at least, that’s what he hopes for).
“Want me to bring your crutches?”
Jack shakes his head and leaves the emptied glass on the nightstand. “I’m good,” he leans forward a little to rest his forehead against your stomach. “I was thinking, I can switch to days next week. And then on Friday we will get off work around the same time,” his arms wrap around your legs. “I still owe you a date.”
“Technically, we’ve been on a few already.”
Judging by technicalities, he’d argue that what you mean weren’t exactly dates. It first happened one random evening, when he decided to give you a ride home, and you excitedly asked him to pull over next to some street food truck. You told him it was the best jerk chicken in the city (you were right — it was so good, Jack licked his fingers clean). You two soon made it into a habit to grab a bite on his days off or when you’re free from work. You go to places that he hasn’t heard of — some tiny cafes, food carts and family-run stalls, bolivian, korean, mexican, ingredients and dishes he could barely pronounce. And Jack, who’s never had the appetite for something new, is suddenly so keen on trying all of it. With you.
Your fingers trace unknown shapes on his upper back. “This can be a date, too.”
“Tacos at my apartment? That doesn’t sound very romantic,” his words are hushed as his lips ghost over your navel.
“I’d take this over any fancy place,” he can discern a smile in your voice. “I also know that dates usually start with food and end with sex, but I’m okay with the reversed order,” you add, running your fingers through his hair.
You feel his mouth moving higher, stitching a kiss into the cotton fabric, right below your heart. “Then we can start at a restaurant and finish here.”
“You don’t actually have to pick anything expensive,” you say quietly, with the sincerity that almost sounds like concern.
And Jack is thankful for the darkness of the room that hides his heated cheeks. Okay, so flying you to Paris on the weekend is a no-go. Noted.
“I hope to pick something you’d like,” he tells you just as honestly.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll like any place if you’re there with me.”
Jack tilts his head back, chin pressed against your stomach, eyes looking up at you like you’re his source of light. He lets himself enjoy this moment, save it in his memory, another snapshot in his mental album. He hopes to get at least a million more.
He stands up, slowly, palms following the contours of your legs to settle at your lower back. “How does Friday at 9 sound?”
“Sounds like a plan,” and you are smiling when you kiss him. You taste like happiness; it takes you two a while to pull apart. “Now I just need to find a dress. But first, we need to eat.”
And as you tug him by the hand to lead toward the kitchen, he thinks he needs to ask Shen about the new restaurant that he keeps bringing up.
Jack also needs to find the words and the perfect moment to tell you that he is in love with you.
✧ FYI: I was inspired by a scene from “Landman” that YT recommended me (I haven’t watched the show; that scene deals with SA, beware if you wanna look it up);
✧ this oneshot is a second part of my mini series:
part 1: mad about you;
part 3: love-filled (WIP);
(I will probably post the series masterlist soon bc I need to keep things in order lol).
✧ dividers by ME, @/omi-resources and @/cafekitsune;
✧ the ULTIMATE birria tacos recipe 👌
✧ MASTERLIST ♡
✧ English isn’t my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any mistakes. reblogs and comments are very appreciated!
”with our ai chatbot you can talk to your ocs!!” Dumbass. I’m already talking to them. In my head. “B-bbut what about your favourite charac-“ skill issue. In my head as well. get fucked.
A metaphor for vast physical or emotional distance, used to explore themes of loneliness and longing in an estranged relationship, with the Atlantic Ocean symbolising separation.
Jack Abbot has had a terrible eighteen months. Truly one for the books. Losing his mother, and then you, sometimes he wonders what the point is. If things will ever look up. Until you turn up at the Pitt, with a little girl who looks exactly like him.
warnings: this blog is 18+, mdni! this fic deals with grief, difficult births, depression, anxiety, and canon medical gore. it will also eventually contain explicit sexual content
Summary: What happens when someone sees the weeding ring you were trying to hide? Who will win the bet about your mysterious husband?
Content: Jack and reader being married and kept a secret, Dana, Robby, Perlah, Princess, Santos, Lena, Shen, Ellis and Ahmad are in this one too— mentions of others. Reader being called Sunshine, no use of Y/N, betting grid, patient being violent towards reader, attending reader, reader's age not mentioned, Jack being overprotective, idk what else.
A/N: This one is more general, not so much of Jack and reader but I liked it!! I love when betting grids are used in fics!!Also, I made a poll about how I should call reader since I don't want to use Y/N, you picked Sunshine but Petal was the second most voted and I quite liked it!. Feedback and ideas are always appreciated! I'd love requests for fics and I write (try) for the characters that are listed in my masterlist!!!
w/c: 3.9k words
Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language so this may as well be written with my eyes closed and half delusional brain. Hope you enjoy it!
Tapping away in a computer at the nurses station right when you arrived seemed like a good idea, until Shen noticed your wedding ring, the same one you have forgotten to take off and put on the chain you wear around your neck.
“Woah, is that a wedding ring?" Shen asked you, his eyes open in surprise.
shit
"I- uh,” you stuttered, seemingly being caught. "Yes, it is”
"You're married?”
"No, I just liked the ring and I bought it” you rolled your eyes "I think the ring means I'm married”
“Who’s married?" asked Jack, joining the conversation.
"Apparently, Sunshine is” said Shen, his usual cup of iced coffee— almost empty— in his hands.
Jack turned his gaze to you, assessing you. "You're married?”
You groaned "I think we've already established I am”
Jack raised his hands in innocence “I was just asking"
“How long have you been married, hon?" Lena— night shift's charge nurse— asked you.
You smiled at her “Two years"
"What? Girl, how's that possible? We've known you for almost four years” Ellis, who had just been listening, said from her chair, now very interested.
You shrugged “I'm a very private person"
“No shit" laughed Ellis “I cannot believe you!"
"What's his name?” Lena asked you.
You shook your head, "Not telling. He's nameless” you sealed your lips shut.
As you turned to go check on your patients, you winked at Jack discreetly.
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
Days later, you were called in early, something about needing extra hands since various people had called in sick.
“Oh, hello, hon." Dana looked relieved to see you.
“Dana, rude of you to call me in early, I need my beauty sleep" you said playfully while leaning against the counter of the nurses station.
“We needed more hands on deck, chairs are hell, too many patients and too little doctors" she sighed heavily
You brushed her off “No worries, I'm kidding. I'll go to the lockers and then I'm your obedient servant"
She laughed, shaking her head “Of course, hon. Good to have you back on the days, even for a few hours"
You winked at her before walking to the lockers, quickly changing into your scrubs.
Walking back to the nurses station, you decided to check your texts and to no surprise Jack was the one texting you.
Jack
Made it okay?
You
Yes.
You should be asleep
Jack
Can't. Miss u.
You
Miss u too, baby.
Now sleep
Jack
okay, bossy.
You chuckled, shaking your head as you made your way to Robby.
"Hey! Sunshine, you are honoring us with your presence?"
“Indeed. Dana called"
He glanced around “Yeah, today's chaos in here"
"Where do you want me, boss?”
"Central 15 is all yours”
You nodded "Aye, aye”
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
Two hours or so later the work had winded down a little, allowing you a respite. You made your way to Ahmad's post, wanting to see what the new betting grid he was running was about.
"Doctor Sunshine!” he greeted, "coming to place a bet?”
You chuckled, shaking your head "I'm merely curious about the recent bet you have going”
"There's two” he nodded towards the white board in his post.
You glanced at it from outside, reading the bets.
Residents/ interns changing shifts. Who? Why?
$20. Santos. Avoiding someone — Perlah
$30. McKay. Night shift vibes. — Shen
$30. Ogilvie. He thinks he fits in there — Princess
$40. Mohan. Wants to try it. — Dana
$10. Whittaker. By the end of the year. Loses a bet to Santos — Santos
You chuckled softly before turning to Ahmad. “I'll take $50, none of them."
He shook his head, impressed “Bold bet" he said, pulling his sticky notes to write your bet.
You shrugged, handing him the $50 bill “I know them Pittlings, they wouldn't last on night shift" you hummed “Well, maybe Joy would fit perfectly but I'll take my chances with my bet”
"Good”
You tilted your head "What's the other—?”
"Nah, that one is not for you” He moved, blocking your gaze from the other one.
"Ahmad”
"Fine,” he murmured, moving away.
Dr. Sunshine’s marriage. Real? Fake? To whom?
$20. She wears the ring to avoid being asked out — Whittaker
$20. He's a hottie but it's just his boyfriend — Princess
$30. He doesn't work here, very real — Ellis
$20. Fake — Garcia
$40. Real. Someone who doesn't work here —Perlah
$30. Attending here. Very real — Santos
Your mouth was open in surprise. “You're betting about my love life? Ahmad!"
He raised his hands “Don't blame the player, blame the game"
You huffed “You're on my list now"
“Care to tell me who's won, then?"
“No"
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
Closer to 4 p.m., you decided to text Jack.
You
You wouldn't guess the new bet Ahmad has running.
His reply took a few minutes.
Jack
The resident to night shift? I put $40 on Joy
You
I put $50 on none of them.
I'm not talking about that one, though.
Jack
Bold.
Idk about any other bet.
You
It's about my marriage and whether it's real or not.
Jack
That's hilarious. I'll place a bet.
You rolled your eyes, of course he would.
You
See u in a few.
Love u
Jack:
Love u too
You shook your head, pocketing your cellphone. You couldn't believe your colleagues were to the extreme of betting about your marriage— or rather you could— but they were unbelievable.
You also wondered how oblivious they could be, you had been married to Jack for two whole years and the only ones who knew were Dana and Robby. Robby was the best man, of course, and Dana, well she's Dana, she knew you liked Jack before you even knew. You were beyond grateful they were discreet— and that you and Jack had managed to pull it off this long— it wasn't you didn't want to shout the world you love Jack, it's just you loved to be only the two of you.
At first, it was just a keep it secret to see if it works out when you started dating. It soon became marry me? but we'll keep it a secret still because you had enjoyed your relationship without people mending in. The years passed and you still managed to keep it a secret— it wasn't that much of a secret, you and Jack were pretty joined to the hip, but they haven't connected the dots. Until you screwed up by not taking your ring off.
You knew your secret would be uncovered sooner or later, it was going to be amusing to see all of them trying to find out.
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
You were checking something on a tablet when you felt a presence next to you.
“So…” Santos said casually — or so she thinks.
"So?”
"You're married”
You nodded, not lifting your gaze from the tablet "I am”
"Does he work here?” She asks again trying to sound casual.
"Trinity, I know about the bet”
"Damn it!” she huffed but quickly changed her expression, giving you her best puppy eyes "Help me win! Just tell me if he works here, I need the money, I'm a broken R2”
You chuckled, shaking your head "Nope, not telling”
She gave you a look, she was going to start pestering until you told her.
You were quicker, though “Dana?"
“Yes, hon?"
“Is there a patient for Dr. Santos?"
“Yes, South 12, knee laceration. It's not pretty"
“Thanks, Dana" you smiled at Santos, giving her a pat on the shoulder “You heard Dana, c'mon"
She didn't say anything, just stomped her way to see her new assigned patient.
Dana shook her head, chuckling softly “How much longer do you think you can keep it up?"
You shrugged “We'll find out"
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
Hours later you were still checking on patients, working every waking moment. Your real shift was set to begin in an hour, the night shift already arriving, ready to go through the hand-offs.
As you were checking the boards, you felt eyes on you, without turning to them, you hummed.
“Perlah, Princess" your eyes kept scanning the board “is there something in my face?"
Seeing an opportunity to talk to you, they got closer.
“We were wondering…” Princess said.
"If you'd talk to us about your husband?” Perlah finished, a hopeful smile on both their faces.
"He's alive and well. Handsome too” you grinned at them, not giving them what they wanted to hear.
"Who are we talking about?” another voice cut through. Jack.
"Sunshine's husband” Princess quickly informed
Jack turned to look at you, an amused smile on his face “Oh, your husband"
You hummed “Yes, they want to know about him"
“Interesting. I want to know too, after all, I just put $50 dollars on who he might be" Jack crossed his arms in front of him, looking at you with a teasing smile.
You rolled your eyes “You all shouldn't be betting on people's lives" you chided all of them.
"Does he work here?” Princess whispered, expectantly looking at you.
"No, I'm not helping you win the bet” you said firmly "I'm taking five before my real shift starts” walking away, you ignored their frustrated groans.
You made your way to the staff lounge, taking a seat and thinking about ordering some food, you were hungry.
"So, this husband of yours…”
You have Jack a grin "I'm not talking about him in my workplace”
"Oh, c'mon. He's a catch” he said teasingly, you were alone, sitting across from one another.
"Says who?” you raised an eyebrow at him.
"Someone who knows him very well”
You rolled your eyes "Well, you could ask him if he wants some food before his shift, I'm about to order”
He stood up, walking to the fridge and taking a container with your name in it "No need, he sends you this”
You gasped, he had brought your favorite.
"Oh, I love that husband of mine"
“He loves you too," he said, glancing at the door, checking if no one was coming in before pressing a soft kiss on your head. “Eat, I'll go to take care of the hand-offs"
You winked at him, standing up to heat your food “Yes, Cap"
He chuckled, shaking his head before leaving the staff lounge.
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
“If you ask me again, I'm requesting all holidays off and you'll be stuck working, Shen" you threatened him, tired of his interrogation.
He bit the straw of his ice coffee “Please, Ellis said if I help her win the betting grid she'll give me a cut”
You smiled at him as scary as you could "Keep asking and I will give you a cut”
He raised his hands innocently "Point taken”
"Good”
Hours later, it was a fairly decent shift, the waiting room was swamped as usual but you were working fast and efficiently.
Your next case was a kid with a broken arm, divorced parents and they didn't look happy with each other. You steeled yourself to handle the case as best as you could given the circumstances.
"Hello, what do we have here?” You said, entering the room with a gentle smile, introducing yourself.
The little 7 year old boy looked at you with teary eyes, sniffling softly. The parents were on opposite sides of the room, not even glancing at each other.
"He broke his arm” said the child's mother "because of this drunken excuse of a father!”
"That is not what happened–” they started bickering.
You looked at the nurse who was assisting you, Annie, and shook your head. Those cases were impossible because of the parents.
"Enough!” you said loudly, they both stopped. "My concern right now is treating this little one, if you keep bickering you'll be escorted out” you said firmly.
"Alright” "Fine” they both answered
You took a deep breath, moving to assess the child's arm. "Does it hurt here, Dylan?” you said, making a quick exam.
He winced "Yes, it all hurts”
You hummed "Okay. Did you hit your head or was it just your arm?”
“Just my arm" he answered shyly, his tearful eyes looking at you.
“Alright, we're already giving you something for the pain and now we need to know how it's your arm so we'll send you to an x-ray" you looked up at his parents “One of you can go with him"
“I'll go" said the little one's mother
You nodded “Okay. Annie, would you show Mrs. Michaels where she can wait while little Dylan is on the x-ray?"
She nodded “Of course, follow me"
As they left the room, you were left with the father. “I'll come in and check with you when the x-rays are back, Mr. Michaels. Is there something else you need?"
“No" he said gruffly, he was noticeably drunk.
“Alright, I'll be back"
You made your way out of the room, taking a deep breath, you despised divorced rude parents. Arriving at the nurses station, you addressed Lena “Hey, could you make sure security keeps an eye on the parents in Central 15? They don't get along, quickly escalate on bickering and the father is drunk"
She gave you a smile “Of course, doll. I'll inform them"
“Thanks, Lena" you sighed, looking at the board “I'll go check on other patients, let me know when the x-rays are back, please?"
She nodded “You got it"
You smiled at her before going to check on some other patients. 30 minutes later you were back with the kid, checking his x-rays.
“Alright, it's a clean fracture so it's something we can simply fix with 6 weeks immobilization with a cast"
“Oh, thank God" the mother said, caressing the little one's head.
“Could you hurry up? I want to get the hell out of here?" the father snapped at you.
“Of course, sir" asking for the supplies you needed, Annie quickly went to gather it, while you stayed with the parents.
You were talking with little Dylan, trying to lift his mood while the father— still very much drunk— was growing impatient.
“How hard is it to do your job!" he snapped.
“Sir, it just be a little moment more—”
"Calm down, all of this is your fault!” the woman snapped at him.
"My fault?”
"Yes! If you hadn't been drinking as always, he wouldn't be here!”
“He fell!"
"You were supposed to be watching him!”
"It's not my fault he's as stupid as his mother!”
Things were escalating quickly, and the child was growing restless, afraid.
"Okay, that's enough—” you said, getting closer. They didn't listen, still arguing.
“That's enough!" you said louder, getting closer to them, trying to separate them.
It was the wrong move because at that moment the man intended to hit the woman, —and you moved to separate them, causing you to be hit.
You felt the hit, your ears ringing and your vision blurry. He hit you hard.
"Security!” you slurred as you could, since the pair kept fighting.
Your brain felt sluggish. The rest was just blurry, security separated them, you were ushered to the nurses station. Your head felt underwater, you could hear someone talking to you but you couldn't make any of it.
Lena, Shen and a few others were around you.
"Call Abbot!” someone said, causing you to shake your head, insisting that they didn't need to.
You knew Jack, you knew he'd flip out and he'd uncover your secret. Besides, you didn't want him to worry.
"I'm okay” you tried to reassure them.
"You're not, doll” said Lena, the ringing in your ears was easing up. "Let Shen take a look at you, Abbot is with an emergency that arrived a few minutes ago”
You nodded, glad that Jack was occupied at the moment.
It all passed in a blur, Shen informed you that you had hit your head. When? it was all a mystery, so now you were waiting for the results of a CT in a room, practically hiding from Jack. You knew it was a matter of time before he found out.
Shen entered your room after a few moments, checking something on a tablet.
"CT looks normal. You're good but you do need rest”
You hummed "What about Dylan? The little kid with the broken arm?” you asked, still worried about your patients.
"He is—” Shen was interrupted by a presence storming into the room.
"Why did I just overheard you were attacked?” Jack growled "and you didn't think to call for me?”
shit, shit, shit
"Jack—”
"Do you know,” he cut you off "how I felt when I heard someone say my wife had been attacked by a patient?”
"It was the patient's dad—” he gave you a look that shut you off.
Shen, who was very much in shock, still in the room, cleared his throat. "CT came back normal, she's good”
"Thank you, Dr. Shen” Jack said, he was grateful that at least someone checked you out. "Now, would you let me alone with my wife?”
He nodded "of curse”
Once Shen was out of the room, Jack walked to your side "Why didn't you call for me?”
"I knew you'd overreact,” you murmured.
"Overreact —” he took a deep breath, saying your name in that firm manner he used the few times you managed to drive him out of his cool composure "You were attacked by a patient's parent. A man double your size, you should've call me”
You sighed, knowing he was right "I know”
He shook his head, his anger evaporating, leaving just your worried lovingly husband “I hated that I had to hear it from someone else, baby"
Feeling like a scolded child, you nodded "I imagine”
He took your hand in his, taking a seat in the hospital bed "I am glad you're okay and you are pressing charges. That man assaulted you, plus he's drunk and apparently, an irresponsible man”
Your lips twitched, you were not comfortable with taking a man away from his child.
"Don't do that. He is not a good influence on the child. Besides, his ex-wife is going to testify against him too, apparently, he used to beat her”
You sighed “Alright, alright. I'll press charges"
“Good" he said, caressing your face.
“You know you just told Shen I'm your wife?"
“Yes. Secret is out" he shrugged.
You smiled softly “I'm curious about who won the bet"
He kissed your forehead “I'm just glad you're okay"
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
Jack forced you to stop working the rest of the shift, claiming he had you on observation until he could take you home. Of course, Shen and his big mouth made everyone in the Pitt know about who your husband was. It spread like wildfire, even the day shift knew now, some of them texting you— while they should be asleep— to know if it was true or not.
You successfully convinced Jack to let you hang out in the nurses station, leaving the room open for potential patients. So now you were watching it all from the sidelines, sipping on water while staying next to Lena (Jack's orders). He even brought you a sandwich and a water bottle.
Ellis approached you, leaning against the counter in the nurses station, peeking at your sitting form on the other side of it.
“I don't like you," she said.
“You do like me, Parker." you hummed, eating your sandwich.
“I don't. Why didn't you tell me you were married to Abbot?"
“Because I didn't tell anyone" you shrugged softly.
“You made me lose money"
“I didn't tell you to bet on my life" you smiled at her.
“You could at least give me a hint" she recriminate you
“Parker, it's not my fault you're all oblivious"
She huffed, not happy with having lost.
“This is not over, I'm still mad at you" she said before walking away. You didn't take it at heart.
“She's mad about having lost, huh?" Jack asked, taking Ellis's place.
“Yep" you said.
“How the head?"
“10/10. All good." you shrugged softly.
“That's good. Just two hours left of shift then we'll go home"
You pouted “No, I want to see who won the bet"
He tilted his head in amusement “I thought you were mad about the gambling about your life?"
You shrugged “I was, that doesn't mean I don't want to know who won"
He hummed, thinking for a moment “Does it count as cheating if I placed a bet and I was right?"
“I think it does, seeing the fact that it was a bet about who my husband was and you are said husband"
He shrugged “I'm still collecting my money"
You rolled your eyes “Of course you are"
He leaned in, taping your forehead between your eyes “Stop that, you're gonna get a loose eye if you keep that up"
You swatted his hand away “Do that again and you're sleeping alone"
“Yes, ma'am"
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
It was 7 a.m., time for hand-offs. You were patiently waiting for Jack while he took care of that while observing Ahmad take in the news and going through his post-its to see who won. Surprisingly, Santos won, along with Jack.
“Yes! I knew it" Santos said, jumping in excitement at the money she was about to receive.
You chuckled from your place, happy she won. Jack joined you shortly after, observing it too.
“Seems I'm splitting my money with Santos" he said, amusement written on his face.
“You cheated," you pointed out.
"I still won,” he shrugged.
Ahmad made his way towards both of us, a handful of dollar bills on his hands.
“This belongs to you, though I consider that cheating, Santos agreed to split it"
Jack took the bills, you immediately took them from him.
"I think you still owe me money” Jack said to Ahmad, observing you while you counted his prize.
"I already gave it to you?” Ahmad said, confused.
Jack crossed his arms in front of him, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Joy just put her transfer to night shift”
"Oh, man!”
⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
When you were finally free, Jack guided you to his truck, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.
"You know,” he began "I'm surprised we managed to pull this up for as long as we did”
You hummed "Yeah, me too. It was nice to be just us for a while, though”
He kissed your forehead "It was. But I am glad we can stop hiding and looking over our shoulder constantly”
You smiled "Now I can say freely you're my husband”
Synopsis: A new night nurse starts in the pitt and Jack takes an instant interest in her, not in a good way.
Warnings: mean jack, age gap, reader is mid to late 20s, sunshine reader, shy reader, anxious reader, eventual smut, smut, 18+, MDNI, angst, fighting, slow burn, co-workers to enemies, enemies to lovers, blood, gore, medical inaccuracies, pittfest, panic attacks, mentions of suicide, PTSD, grief, widower jack, mentions of past military trauma, violence against medical staff, reader is described to be shorter than Jack, reader has hair past shoulders.
🦋 - fluff
🌧️ - angst
🔥 - smut
Can be read as individual, standalone blurbs, but will be written with a timeline in mind.
One thing you can count on in this crazy world: @dilfrobinavitch and her talent for beautiful mood boards!
Status: In Progess
Summary: A newly transferred trauma resident finds herself irresistibly drawn to her sharp-tongued, charismatic night-shift chief, Dr. Jack Abbot — a widower with a reputation for emotional unavailability. After months of flirtation, they finally give in to their chemistry, only for the night to end in heartbreak when he whispers another woman’s name in his sleep. Determined to stay professional, she’s blindsided when she’s promoted to work directly under him — just as the woman from his past arrives at the hospital. Now she must navigate ambition, jealousy, and lingering feelings while deciding if Jack is worth the risk.
Word Count: 3.4k
Author's Note: It's Jack's turn. If you'd like to be removed from the taglist just shoot me a message. :) *hits Post Now* *runs*
A03 Link: thegingerjameson
Jack Abbot is the bane of your existence.
He’s also the reason for the butterflies that show up in your stomach at the beginning and end of every single one of your shifts.
Unfortunately, the two things are not mutually exclusive.
The first time you’d laid eyes on him was at the end of your first shift at Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center just over six months ago. After almost fifteen years as an RN in your hometown of Chicago you’d decided, late in the game, to head to medical school, followed by two years in emergency medicine at a hospital in Philadelphia before transferring to the recently opened resident slot in the trauma center at Allegheny General for your final year. You’d completed your undergrad at UPenn and had always loved the vibrancy of both Philly and Pittsburg, so finding - and getting - the role had felt like a stroke of luck.
After a grueling 11 hours - more due to the struggle to become familiar with your new surroundings than any of the patients you’d seen that day - your boss and day shift Chief Attending, Dr. Robby, had called you over to introduce you to the night shift Chief Attending, and there he was.
“Dr. Jack Abbot,” he’d grinned, offering you a fist bump that you returned on impulse. “Welcome to the Pitt, soldier.”
“Thanks, Dr. Abbot. Pleasure to be here.”
“Give it time,” he deadpanned
“Christ, Jack, it’s her first day. Please don’t scare her away,” Dr. Robby groaned.
“Not my intention. She seems cool. Completely lacking in existential crises.”
“Don’t let appearances fool you, Dr. Abbot. I plan to go home post-shift and debate my life choices with a bottle of tequila.”
Jack raised an amused eyebrow at you, then turned to Robby. “A woman after my own heart. Can I keep her?”
“You are a walking HR violation. Also, no poaching.” Dr. Robby crossed his arms across his chest as if to emphasize his point.
“No promises.” Jack grinned over Dr. Robby’s shoulder at you.
That was all it took.
Well, that, and the adorably crooked smile, silver curls, gorgeous green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, quick wit, and the solid, competent way he carried himself. During handoff that night you’d glanced surreptitiously at his left hand only to find a solid gold band resting on his ring finger.
Of course.
The unfortunate fact of the matter was, however, that your crush had continued, seemingly spurred on by the delicious, angst-inducing state of his unavailable-ness, because apparently the agony of unrequited affection was deeply your jam. Who knew?
Shift changes had become your favorite parts of the day, when you’d get to walk the halls of the Pitt with Jack discussing cases. You’d save up patient and intern stories over the hours, collecting them to share during those few treasured moments. After a while, he started seeking you out to hear your latest anecdote or amusing intern fail of the day and it made your cheeks warm and your heart stutter every single time. And the nights when he’d accidentally graze your elbow or your shoulder with his? Game over.
Once, he’d teasingly thumb-wrestled you for rights to the last donut in the break room, and you stand by the fact that time had briefly stopped when his hand grasped yours.
God help you, you had it bad.
Dana Evans, the day shift charge nurse, quickly became one of your closest friends. She also missed absolutely nothing. The woman had the senses of a hawk circling its prey.
“So. Abbot, huh?” she’d grinned wolfishly at you one night over drinks at Lefty’s, the nearby watering hole for hospital staff post-shift.
“What about him?” you’d asked casually, but you could feel the telltale blush creeping up into your face.
“He’s easy on the eyes.” She peered over at you knowingly and you immediately caved, because it was Dana; she was your friend, but even if she hadn’t been, she had clearly already figured it out.
Please don’t tell anyone,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It is mortifying having a crush on a married man.”
“Jack’s not married,” Dana said simply, and your heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Jack’s a lot of things. Widower, ex-Army, serial “one-and-done”, but he’s definitely not married.”
Widower. So that’s why he still wore his ring.
“What happened?”
Dana’s expression turned somber. “She tripped over a laundry basket and fell down the stairs. She managed to call for help but they lived closer to UPMC at the time, so the ambo took her there. She bled to death internally while they focused solely on checking her for TBI.”
“Jesus,” you whispered.
“The man blames himself. He didn’t get there until it was too late to correct them.”
You paused to let the information sink in. “How long ago?”
Dana’s face scrunched up in thought. “Almost two years now? They were married for six before that. Love of his life, Natalie. Watching Jack live through that broke my heart.”
Dana’s reference to Jack’s wife landed like a physical blow, and the thought ran through your head before you could stop it: If he’s already met, and lost, the love of his life, what chance do I have at ever being important to him?
You immediately chastised yourself internally for being a thoughtless, insensitive, self-serving asshole and asked, “Also, what the hell is a ‘one-and-done’?”
“He never makes it past one date, or one night.” Dana shrugged, then smiled slyly. “Maybe you can change that.”
You grabbed a pretzel from the basket between you on the table and launched it at her. “Hilarious.”
“No, I mean it. Kid could use someone like you in his life. He’s overdue for some sunshine.”
“That would involve him noticing me as anything more than a colleague,” you’d sighed.
But the idea had already grown roots.
A few days later, Jack was grabbing coffee in the break room when you arrived for your shift, and he’d asked you if you were going to join the Pitt’s softball team.
“We have a softball team?”
“Yeah, we play once a year against Presby. Rivalry and team building at its finest. Plus, there’s beer.” He paused to sip his coffee and casually leaned back against the counter. “You ever play?”
“When I was a kid, but it’s been a long time since I’ve held a bat.” You immediately kick yourself for the fact that it sounds like you’re not interested, but thankfully, he persists.
“That makes you more qualified than most the team.”
You shoved the rest of your stuff into your locker and kicked it shut with a loud bang.
“Well then. Put me in, coach.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at you with a corresponding smirk. “Too bad we’re not playing soccer.”
The game the following Friday night against Presby, your natural - and biggest - rivals, had been preceded by an insane amount of shit-talking by both teams. When Trinity Santos, one of the interns, had commented - anonymous and untraceable thanks to a questionable background in IT - on one of Presby’s Chief Attending’s Instagram posts “Presby ED loves riding the pine and taking balls to the face”, hospital administration had hauled the entire Pitt staff into a mandatory HR meeting on appropriately representing the hospital on social media.
Jack had beamed at Trinity like a proud father the entire time.
The night of the game, you’d made your way across the street with the rest of the day shift; those of you who weren’t playing were joining to cheer the team on. It was a gorgeous, heady, late August night, full of mosquitos and the clean smell of grass and infectious, electric energy. Jack, along with Dr. Shen, had both taken the night off, and as impromptu coach Jack had put you out in right field. You held your own even despite the copious amounts of beer you’d been plied with throughout the game, catching an easy pop fly to end the 3rd inning and a wicked grounder you’d whipped to Jack at first base that had kept Presby from loading the bases in the 5th. He’d turned to you after the play with an impressed look and mimed shaking out the hand that held his mitt.
“Didn’t know you were packing heat, hotshot. You were holding out on me,” he called.
You mock-curtsied, then yelled back, “Can’t reveal all my secrets, Abbot. Gotta make you work for it.”
He cocked an eyebrow at that, his gaze lingering for longer than a moment before he turned back to prepare for the next batter, and your entire body warmed at the unexpected look in his eyes.
After you’d beat Presby 8-2, the group had headed to Lefty’s for celebratory drinks that turned into too many rounds of shots to count, purchased mostly by Dr. Robby and Jack. When you headed to the bathroom, Jack had followed discreetly, pressed you up against the wall, and kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. He tasted like scotch and the peppermint of his gum and he’d hissed when, emboldened by all the alcohol, you’d slid your hands under his shirt to drag your nails across his back.
“Come home with me,” he’d whispered gruffly as his tongue traced the column of your throat, until his mouth on yours rendered you incapable of forming words and all you could do was nod.
Finally, every cell in your body screamed.
It was the best - and most athletic- sex of your entire 43 years of life.
Afterward, nuzzling his lips against your temple, half-drunk and half-asleep, he’d whispered before passing out, “Love you, Livvie.”
Which was most certainly not your name.
Whatever you’d tentatively hoped might have been building came crashing down around you instantly.
Still, as an adult, you were no stranger to drunken hookups, so you carefully recalibrated your feelings, extricated yourself from his bed, and called an Uber so you wouldn’t have to do the walk of shame in the daylight hours. You knew that spending the rest of the night wrapped in his arms and in his bed wasn’t going to do your heart any favors.
You hoped that Jack hadn’t caught the death glare from Dana when he’d arrived for the night shift the next day and pulled you aside almost immediately.
“Hey, so…” he’d trailed off, running a hand through his curls. “Are you okay? I woke up in the middle of the night and you weren’t there.”
You smiled, too brightly. “I’m good! Just, you know. Early shift and all. Thought I might sleep better in my own bed.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours. “Listen-“
You’d cut him off before he could tell you regretted last night, before he could take away the one perfect memory you’d ever have of the two of you together.
“Jack, it’s good. We’re good. Adults and professionals and all that.” You waved a hand in an effort to emphasize your point.
“Okay,” he said slowly, hesitantly, so you fell back on humor to diffuse the situation.
“Unless you’re secretly in love with me, of course.”
His eyes widened in shock and you let him squirm for a moment before you burst out laughing.
“Holy shit, Jack, the look on your face.”
“Christ,” he muttered, but then he was laughing too, and the tension was gone from the air, and if you couldn’t have him, at least you could still have this.
“We’re good, Jack.”
“Okay.” He holds out his hands, offering you a double fist bump that you return. “Let’s round then, hotshot.”
I finally slept Jack Abbot and his response was to hit me with “the talk” followed by double fist bump. Jesus Christ.
One-and-done, indeed.
“He’s such a fuckboy,” Dana had said with disgust once you filled her in, and the unexpected Gen Z slang coming out of her mouth made you laugh so hard that tears started to run down your cheeks. Dennis Whitaker, another one of the younger interns, approached the Central Desk as he peeled off the gown and gloves he’d been wearing while attending to a head laceration in the room across the way.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just used ‘fuckboy’ in a sentence,” Dana told him proudly.
“Oh shit,” he grinned at her conspiratorially. “Who’s a fuckboy?”
“Abbot.”
“Definitely a fuckboy,” Whitaker nodded. “Usage deemed appropriate.”
“He’s got rizz, what can I say?” Dana shrugged.
“Oh my God Dennis, you have to stop teaching Dana Gen Z slang,” you wheezed.
Trinity Santos sauntered over from her charting to join the conversation. “He most certainly does not. We’re on a mission. Yesterday Dr. Robby told me, and I quote, “I think I’m just a walking beige flag” and I almost pissed myself laughing.”
“You kids are trouble,” you said, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m weak. No cap.”
Whitaker and Santos turned to grin at each other.
“Now you’re getting it,” Trinity crowed. You wanted to fist bump her, but you refrained.
You’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.
Things went back to normal after that, with you admiring Jack from afar while living for those moments between shifts when you’d banter and laugh and exchange inside jokes and when you could pretend that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than a colleague to him someday.
Then, not even two months later, Heather Collins, the senior resident on the night shift, put in her notice; she was pregnant, had decided to be a stay at home mom once the baby was born, and you were tapped as next in line to replace her.
Dr. Robby had pulled you into an empty trauma bay at the end of your shift one night to deliver the news.
“You’re an excellent physician, and you’ve almost finished your third year of residency. We’d love for you to consider moving to night shift to take her place,” he’d told you.
“Night shift?” Your stomach did a somersault. “I assume you wouldn’t want me to start until she leaves?”
Heather’s due date was two months away; it would give you time to prepare for the onslaught of all Jack, all the time, and to try and adjust your sleep schedule.
“Well, that’s what we have to discuss. There’s no question about your skills, but based on what I’ve observed, I recommended some additional development of your management and delegation skills.” Robby paused, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.
“It’s one thing to be able to care for patients; being able to direct someone else while caring them is another thing entirely. You’re quick to jump in and get your hands dirty, which is admirable. Now you need to practice hanging back and helping the residents and interns learn.”
You’d felt your face flush - he wasn’t wrong, but you’d never been good at handling criticism, even the constructive kind.
“Of course,” you’d smiled at him despite the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. “I’m just grateful I have you to learn from.”
Robby rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “As much as I’d love to be the one to support your professional growth, Dr. Abbot and I agreed that it might benefit you more to learn from him on the night shift. I’m concerned trying to teach you during the chaos of the day won’t allow me to give your development the attention it deserves.”
The door to the trauma bay slid open unexpectedly and Jack poked his head in, surveying the room for a moment before stepping in and closing the door behind him.
“Did you give her the good news?” he asked, grinning first at Robby, then at you.
“I was trying to,” Robby all but rolled his eyes.
“Dude, we’re going to tear shit up,” Jack crowed at you with all the enthusiasm of a kid unsupervised in a candy store.
“So - Dr. Abbot would be my new boss?” You raised an eyebrow at Robby in skeptical amusement while internally bracing yourself against the forthcoming I’m in unrequired love with my boss trope.
Robby sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “Yes, for better or for worse, Jack would be your new boss.”
“I’m standing right here, assholes,” Jack scoffed before focusing his attention on you, folding his hands in front of his chest in mock prayer.
“Say yes. I promise I will not rest until you are the best damn senior resident this hospital has ever seen. You’re already three-quarters of the way there.”
Forever cursed with being the only adult in the room, Robby added, “It’s okay for you to take some time to consider. We know it’s a big change.”
But you already knew your answer, even if it had just as much to do with the opportunity to spend more time in Jack’s orbit as it did with the fact that it was the right move all-around for your career.
“No need. I’m grateful for the opportunity and would love the chance to learn from Dr. Abbot.”
“Solid,” Jack grinned. “Double Trouble reporting for duty.”
This time, your raised eyebrow was directed at Jack.
“No? Bonnie and Clyde? Mary Kate and Ashley? Tator and Tot?”
“Walking HR violation,” Robby grumbled with a shake of this head.
“We’ll workshop it.” Jack glanced down at the pager on his hip that had started to alert. “Shit. Robby can you cover next steps?”
Turning to you, he mock saluted and said, “Welcome to the night shift, soldier” before ducking back out of the room.
“The man is a human tornado,” Robby sighed with a shake of his head.
“I’m honestly not even sure what just happened,” you quipped, and Robby’s responding chuckle made you smile.
“We’re certainly going to miss you on day shift. We just need you to head to HR tomorrow morning to go over the formal offer and shift change, sign some paperwork, nothing crazy.”
“When would you like me to start on nights?” you asked.
“Ah yeah, that would be helpful. As soon as possible, but we have to get a temp to cover your shift in the interim. Jack has a friend who is interested, we just needed to get an answer from you first, so it shouldn’t take long.’
“Someone from another hospital?” you asked, curious.
“Ah, no. She’s locum tenens, but Jack has known her since they were in the army together. Dr. Olivia Carter. Goes by Dr. Livvie.”
Livvie.
Time seemed to slow down and you heard the echo of Jack’s whisper over and over and over inside your brain: Love you, Livvie.
“Are you okay?” Robby was peering at you over the top of his glasses.
Swallowing hard, you’d nodded. “Yes. Thank you. Great. I’m great. So great. Just really appreciate this opportunity.
Robby’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. “Okay. Go home, get some sleep. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Dana frowned as you hightailed it past her desk to the empty staff lounge, collapsing into one of the chairs with a groan.
Livvie.
Dana joined you a few moments later. “You good?”
“Livvie’s coming here. To the Pitt.”
“Livvie? Like the Livvie?”
You quickly filled her in on your conversation with Robby and Jack.
“We’re focusing on the wrong part of the conversation. This is a great move for you.” Dana bent down to give you a hug, and you sighed against her shoulder.
“I know. You’re right. And I’m not some stupid lovestruck teenager.”
“Right,” Dana nodded as she straightened back up. “You’re a lovestruck adult.”
“Not helping,” you griped.
“You know,” Dana hedged, “I’ve seen the way that doctor up in Peds flirts with you every time he’s called down for a consult. Maybe you could use a distraction?”
You’d dated since you’d moved to Pittsburgh, had your share of fun, but nothing had stuck quite yet. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Dana patted your shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Celebratory drinks at Lefty’s. I’m buying.”
“Thanks Dana,” you’d smiled.
It’s time to move on, you’d thought to yourself.
You had no idea in that moment just how difficult that would prove to be.
