Could you write a fanfic where a castle maid adores Rhaenyra but worries when Rhaenyra gets pregnant for the first time? The reader—the maid—is excited about it, of course, but doesn't understand pregnancy because she cannot conceive herself; still, she wants to ensure the safety of her queen, the rightful heir to the throne. The reader helps Nyra bathe, brush her hair, and walk around the castle. You can make it NSFW if you like, or keep it SFW; sorry for any grammatical errors.
❝ devotee ❞ ⎯⎯ featuring . . . rhaenyra targaryen
pairing. rhaenyra x fem! maid! reader
summary. failure to conceive has led to a misty confusion of pregnancy as a whole — when your queen announces she’s with babe, the shock of the pregnancy suddenly shifts your perspective, leading you to fiercely devote yourself to her.
content. fluff/smut. rhaenyra is pregnant with jace. domestic fluff (bathing, dressing, feeding). reader is infertile (never explicitly mentioned in that manner). soft sex. bottom! rhaenyra. slow sex. cunnilingus. fingering. body worship. breast play. reader refers to rhaenyra as 'your grace' and 'my queen' though she is not the queen yet (obvi). reader is slightly motherly but age is not said. rhaenyra is dragon like. pre rhaenyra the cruel obvi so yes she's happy and smiles easily.
✉︎ anna’s letters. cute req! thank you! I was a little weary because usually I don’t feel skilled enough to write pregnancy fics, but thank you for challenging me!
you had never understood the process of birth.
you weren't stupid by any means, you knew man and woman and then baby of course, but the fact that it could hit certain people and avoid others, like a fickle god choosing whom gets the 'blessing' of having a child. you were one whom couldn't. this was told to you after your first blood, and following that you accepted a simple position as a maid for the Targaryens - as it was that or become a whore in the brothel.
but now you hear, through words passed secretly between maids and workers through a conspiratorial air - that your queen had been seeded with babe, and her stomach was swelling lightly. her bed maiden had noticed when dressing her in the morning, and she - like everyone around your queen - had told her business to the entire staff. by the time it reached you, you'd been just outside her chambers - listening to two passing guards murmuring about it.
you'd grit your teeth at their ignorance, and accidentally entered your queen's room with a scowl.
her face warm a gentle smile, eyes tracing you as you entered. "why do your brows furrow so?"
"this entire castle is full of rats," comes your scoff, as you lower and rest a simple wet rag against her head. rhaenyra presses slowly into the touch, squinting as you continue. "news of your...pregnancy has spread."
"ah." rhaenyra speaks simply, nodding. "yes, well, luckily it was meant to be announced soon anyway."
her head tilts slowly taking you in as your eyes drift wearily to her stomach, knitting faintly. she softens and blinks slowly at you, raising her chin slightly when words fall. "you are distraught."
a low hum escapes your lips. "truthfully, your grace, I do not understand...how one swells with a babe."
rhaenyra's brow raises. "surely you jest? yes? education on sex is common tongue-"
"not that," you shake your head quickly, clearing your throat. "your grace." eyes sweep over her stomach again, and her hand naturally rests there - rubbing slowly. "I am not able to carry. I suppose I've always been interested in who the seven bless with child. though, it figures it would bayou, my queen."
rhaenyra gives a playful smile, pinching your arm. "you mustn't call me that, sweetling. anyone could hear."
you hum along, though she has an inkling her words enter and leave in seconds as you watch her tracing hand slowly. rhaenyra breathes out slowly. "it is not laenors."
your eyes snap up to hers - almost to protest for her slipping the knowledge to you.
"don't," her face scrunches weakly. "you are different and you know that. I trust you to stay quiet for me."
a slow exhale through your nose. "the court will find out soon. lady alicent-"
"will see when the babe is born," her hand comes to cradle her stomach again, and you soften immensely at the naturally maternal action. yes, you think, your queen was a natural made mother. "for now my babe will be perceived as anything but what it truly is."
your lips purse. "it is yours. that is true."
"suppose it is." her violet eyes twinkle. "mine."
you look again to the small bump resting against her silks, and gebntly you reach - peeling the wet rag off of her forehead, dapping the slow droplets up. a low breath escapes her, as her eyes slip shut - face twitching under your touches. your heart tugs. your queen required moments like this. yearned for it. and you would give it to her, and she would give it to her babe.
yes, this was why you were not given the ability to swell with child.
your role was here.
---
"does it hurt so?" you ponder gently, glancing down at the slow swell of your queen's stomach as your fingers card through her silver strands. rhaenyra, now a two full months pregnant, hums very gently as she leans back into your touch - eyes slipping shut.
"it doesn't yet," rhaenyra speaks gently, sighing as her head tilts under your touch. "though, I've heard from alicent that it will start in a month or so. sharp pains, she says. and I've been told if the pain is great, and I weigh heavy - it shall be a boy."
you smile at that, combing slowly through the locks. "an heir. do you long for a boy?"
beneath you, the Targaryen simply sighs. "I long for a child to love and nature, no matter his nor her gender. I would be grateful for either," she hesitates, looking back at you. "...did you desire children so? despite being.."
the carefulness for which she treads to not offend you grants a smile to your lips. "no, my queen. I think I did not. children would hinder my work for you."
rhaenyra chuffs at that, simply shaking her head as her lips quirk. she looks straight again, as you begin to braid slowly. and after a few long moments again, she whispers. "...you are kind to me, as if I am your babe."
"am I?"
"you are."
"truly..?"
"do not jest."
"aye," you chuckle, catching the glimpse of a smile she tries to bite away. "for whatever reason, you have become my...inspiration." you search for a better word, coming short and sighing. "I devote myself to you, and thus your babe, but mostly you as of now, my queen."
she shoots you a glance at the title.
"you and your words will find trouble someday," though she adds; "you believe I shall sit upon the throne someday, then? or one of my kin?"
"I do not believe," she looks up at you. "I know."
rhaenyra huffs.
"you are a pain."
"I am not your babe."
"he has yet to cause pain as you."
a shared chuckle.
---
"your grace," you huff slowly, hands grabbing her arm to steady her as she stands from the dinner table. one of the last to leave, and therefore you didn't mind speaking her faux title. rhaenyra merely gives you a weak look, resting her weight into you as you quietly lead her out of the room. three slow months had passed, and her stomach was swelling gently now - the news having been announced to her family and the public long ago.
your steps echo silently through the halls - your queen huffing with every ten or so steps, making your brows pinch in confusion as she shushed you.
"it is just slow to move," speaks rhaenyra as she gives you a weak tilt of her lips. "I am not useless yet."
"nor shall you ever be, my lady," your arm slinks gently with hers as you lead her along, ignoring the lingering eyes of guards and other maidens who stick their noses up yet keep their comments til behind walls. "...why am I scrutinized so?"
rhaenyra's head whipped in the maids direction, a scowl so strong on her face it made their heads duck quickly as they fled.
"there," she looked forward, leaning into you for support. your heart thumped lazily at that, a slow smile forming on your lips.
"that was naughty."
"quiet, you."
once you reach her chambers, rhaenyra sighs as she slips onto her bed, waving you closer. "undress me." a simple command that you knew all too well as your hands slid up her waist, meeting her corseted dress top and undoing the laces with an efficiency that made your queen give a pleased rumble.
"you sound like syrax."
rhaenyra mused. "you think?"
"I do."
she hums again, the sound low in her tummy. dress is slowly stripped and tossed away, small clothes following - leaving your queen bare for you. your eyes slip modestly across her, noting the sweet swell of her tummy, and the way her breasts seemed slightly larger now. "your body changes quickly," you comment, tilting your gaze like that of a cat - an action that makes rhaenyra smile faintly. "...goodness."
rhaenyra chuffs, standing - with your quick aid, and holding her tummy. "fetch my silks, silly girl."
your on your feet soon, moving and grabbing the simple silk robe, and sliding it over her shoulders - sighing it light enough so that she can breathe, but tight enough so that it may not slip during tossing. her body sighs in comfort, hardened peaks pressing easily against the silk, tummy poking out slightly. you sigh sweetly, hand brushing her stomach in a way that makes your queen smile, pressing into your touch.
"it is magic, is it not?" rhaenyra whispers. "to grow...life like this."
"it is," you nod along with her words, gently tracing the swell of her stomach. "...you are the magic."
rhaenyra's cheeks heat faintly, and without thinking - she leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. you stutter, yet lean in, eyes slipping shut as her lips slowly kiss against yours - moving slowly as her hands raise to cradle your face slowly. and after a long moment, she pulls back to murmur. "...help your queen sleep, won't you?"
you're nodding before you can fully comprehend, and when you come to again?
your head is slowly being guided down between her legs, and rhaenyra is laying back against her bed with a comfortable sigh. your lips meet her thighs in faint kisses, but sensing the urgency, you lean - kissing her budding pearl at the head of her sex, before opening your jaw softly and allowing your tongue to slowly begin to lap at her folds.
rhaenyra sighs appreciatively, rubbing your head slowly, nails scratching faintly at your scalp as your tongue parts her most intimately.
tonguing her clit slowly, you flick the ball back and forth - hands rubbing her thighs sweetly, occasional shifting to brush back the damp white bristled tuft on her mound so your tongue can glide more easily up and down. after a moment, it eases down to her slickened entrance, and you weakly pull back.
"will it hurt the babe?"
rhaenyra, lost in the ecstasy of your reverent sucks, takes a moment to come to her senses before sighing gently and whispering. "no, darling, the babe will be fine."
nodding, and wanting so desperately to please your queen (as well as draw her heady taste back to your lips) you lean down, tongue swirling her entrance again before slowly pushing in, feeling her walls clamp naturally around the intrusion.
she sighs aloud, head dipping back and hand gripping your hair a bit as she drags you in for more, smothering you in a mirage of her sticky slick and heavy scent. though you don't complain, eyes slipping shut as you guide your tongue back and forth inside of her, rubbing the warm, wet texture of her velvet walls, feeling each way her breaths roll unevenly throughout her body.
rhaenyra gasps, easing into you more as another low ripple of a moan escapes her pinkened lips. "..right there, sweetling, right there.." she bucks wantonly, and you huff at her movement - annoyed even when she isn't walking around, clearly. it makes rhaenyra smile through her haze - the fact that you care so deeply making her drip even more onto your chin.
your tongue continues it's caress of an assault, hand raises to slowly rub her clit, egging her along to her finish as your tongue brushes a specifically spongy part of her, making your queen gasp and buck up into you. "oh-!"
in a moment, she squirms gently, warm liquid slipping past your lips, which you drink slowly as you rise, rubbing her thighs gently. "easy, my queen, easy.."
rhaenyra's pants soften, her eyes shutting for a few long moments, before she simply pushes out. "thank you.."
"naturally, your grace," you rise again, this time off of the bed as you calmly clean your lips and adjust her bed, before bowing respectfully. "I shall see to you in the morning, yes?"
"mmhm..yes." rhaenyra's voice is now long sleep ridden.
you smile, shaking your head and leaving the room - her taste still heavy on your tongue.
---
"fuck," a low curse from you queen as she's lowered into the bath. month five hit like a dragon's slash, the pain unbearable for your dearest as she rested back against the walls containing her water, sighing weakly. "thank you."
"of course my queen," you murmur, lowering to your knees and rolling your sleeves up. "take slower breathes, breathing so sharply must hurt more."
rhaenyra nods along, forcing herself to follow as she leans back against the tub, sighing again.
you lean in, wetting a simple sponge with carved soap and the water of the tub, before easing close and slowly rubbing it across her back and her arms with ease. you take precaution with her now sensitive breasts, easing their weeping with slow rubs of the soft sponge. her breath hitches, but she allows you, feeling you sweep under her breasts and clean her thoroughly.
"..they are more..sensitive," she gasps, eyes slipping shut. "...fuck."
you glance up to her, softening. "do they ache?"
"a bit," whispers rhaenyra, her soft violet gaze finding you and silently pleading.
you nod along, gently letting the sponge float off as you lather the carved soap to your palms, leaning in and slowly cupping her heavy breasts, kneading them gently and watching as your queen groans - a soft white substance leaking form her peaks and slipping down your hand. you pay it no mind, helping her squeeze it out slowly with each intimate brush of your fingers.
your thumbs meet her nipples, rolling them slowly, making them cry for you as you gingerly pluck them and pinch out their tears again. "there we go," you whisper, watching as she faintly relaxes more and more overtime.
and after a few moments, she releases a breath. "...thank you, dearest. I no longer ache."
your hands move off, and you grab the sponge, giving a small affirmative nod as you resume your washing of her body. "you are most welcome, my queen."
---
her labor, when it happens, is naturally a mess of screams and pushing and - for a moment you wish to leave the room - but you don't, staying beside her and letting her squeeze your arm tightly as her healthy baby boy is born. your heart warms at the sight of him, though caked in mess and blood, he cries in a loose wrap. the maesters deliver her drinks and such, her maidens leaving, and for a moment, it is just the two of you.
"he has your face, I think," you speak, gazing over the babes soft expression, his pale body topped with a tuft of brown hair upon his head. "...good job, your grace."
rhaenyra hums, her thumb softly stroking his cheek.
"have you decided on a name?"
"...jacaerys," whispers your queen as she moves the babe close to her breast, the act intimate and soft. your eyes melt a fraction. "he will be jacaerys targaryen."
you sigh through your nose. "...I think I will call him Jace."
rhaenyra snorts. "not a fan of Targaryen names, are you?"
"...only yours." you slowly slink to your knees beside her, gently rubbing off the sweat of her forehead, and wiping her hair back. "I will prepare a bath, if you wish."
"no, not now, but in the hour yes." she strokes Jace's small head as he suckles sleepily. "...he is mine. despite it all, and what shall come, he is mine."
you nod. "that is true."
the doors to the room peak open, a frazzled laenor entering. "you've done it, then?"
rhaenyra gives a soft nod, and laenor sighs. "the queen demands to see the babe, as soon as you're willing and able," his eyes glance over to you, and he regards you with a simple nod. unlike others, ser laenor had long known your entanglement. "...shall we?"
a low sigh escapes your queen as she leans to you, kissing your head. "help me over."
and dutifully, you stand, eager to help your queen - and now, eager to help her babe too.
you've been enamored with dr. walsh since you started working at the pitt. one day, she praises you, and you can't find the will to not get off in the bathroom. she hears you, and invites you to her apartment.
wc: 3.2k
cw: MDNI!!!!!! praise, sub!reader, dom!Walsh, semi-public masturbation, reader masturbates to Walsh, mean-ish Walsh, oral (r!giving), fingering (r!giving & receiving), nipple sucking, humiliation maybe? a little?, bad medical jargon, i literally do not know a single thing, sorry!!
The crush you had on Dr. Walsh was not something you would ever admit to anyone— ever. It was humiliating to find her attractive when all she did was boss you around. She had awoken something in you that was borderline feral. And you hated it. Of course, you knew you liked women, but this was something different. Everytime she was in the room, you felt like you were going to lose your mind. Her snarky comments, her hands on her hips, it all drove you mad. The way she talked back to everyone like it was nothing, like they were too dumb to see what she could, even though that wasn’t true. It made your brain fuzzy.
You’re dealing with a broken leg when she walks in, nothing serious. They put you on the case alone. The patient is knocked out cold, so you’re able to do your examinations without fuss.
“What’ve we got?” Emery asks, putting on a pair of gloves.
“Um, young female, twenties. She was drinking and got on a table to dance and fell. It looks to be broken in three places and a snapped ACL. She’ll need a workup. Maybe a transplant.” you don’t make eye contact.
The monitor beeps loudly after your statement, sending you and Emery flying into action.
“Fuck, her heart rate is slowing. You said she was stable.”
“She was, two seconds ago, she was when she came in. I don’t understand.”
She shakes her head and you feel dead dumb. Like you should be laying on the table being assessed for brain injuries. “Did you even assess her chest?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Tell me what it could be.” Emery’s voice quips up at the end of her statement, like you already should've been telling her what was happening.
“Um, maybe it’s the alcohol! Maybe it’s slowing from drinking too much. Blood loss. Uh—”
“What medications is she on?”
“I don’t know, she was out cold when she came in. It could be a drug, we’re still waiting on her tox screen.”
You don’t know why another attending hasn’t come in. Shen must be busy with another code. The nurses are flying around the room, but all you can focus on is the woman in front of you.
“Um, what if it’s sleep apnea? Nothing wrong with the patient, but she’s been passed out for a while. If she doesn’t have her machine, and she was drinking, it could make it worse. Maybe she just needs to wake up. She might not even know it happens.”
“Good.” Is all Dr. Walsh says, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads onto your face.
“Push atropine, one milligram, it’ll help speed up the heart.” you say, proud of yourself for catching it.
The medicine works, the patient’s heart speeds back up.
“Alright, I’ll take her up to ortho.” Emery says, “You know, I think you’re my favorite emergency resident. You always do what I ask.”
You feel like you just got hit by a truck. You’re sure if they were to hook you up to a heart monitor, the beeping would be so fast they would need to sedate you. She doesn’t even look like it phased her. Just like it was another day. Even though she wasn't an ED specialist, you wanted her approval more than anyone else’s. She was so cool, so smooth. She knew what she had to do, always. She worked like her hands had a brain of their own. She didn’t even have to think before doing a procedure. You couldn’t count the times you had imagined her in your bed. You would go home from your shifts, so frustrated— so needy.
For her.
You would walk into your apartment and immediately get into bed, grabbing the small bullet vibrator from your dresser. It was borderline unethical. Every night, you’d see her, and assess cases, and every morning, you would rush into your apartment, replay the moments you saw her, and cum with her name on your lips.
But, she didn’t need to know that. No one did. It was better to stay a crush. Emery almost existed entirely in your mind. She buzzed on your brain all day long. You even started to look nicer at work, maybe throwing on a little makeup when you knew you’d work a shift with her. You tried to study up on surgical procedures to impress her. But, it might be all for nothing. She was so strict with everything, making a move was probably for nothing. And to be honest, she was far too intimidating for you to do so.
Tonight though, you couldn’t wait to get home. After your broken leg patient was stable. You excused yourself to the bathroom. Luckily, it was a single stall. You pressed your back against the door and sighed, you pushed your hair back, cleaning it off your forehead. You washed your hands, and then got to work.
Your hand slowly sneaked down your underwear, and you were already wet. The praise from her went straight from her mouth to your cunt. It was like you were pavloved. And it was all your fault. Spending the end of every shift masturbating to her has caused a reaction in your brain when you actually see her. And her voice, God, her fucking voice. It was like she owned you. Like you were already her’s. You stood at attention when she spoke. It was different then listening to your boss. It was like listening to a God. Like you needed to worship her. You sharpen your ears when she starts speaking, like if you miss anything, you’ll be sent to hell.
But tonight, you were her favorite. Her favorite, out of everyone. She liked you; she said it. And that was enough to get you going. It felt like you hadn’t come in six years when your hand reaches into your pants. She had you pent up from one sentence. You focus on her voice, so calm and steady. So conniving, so sarcastic. She was a know-it-all in the best of ways. Because she was usually right. She followed the rule book, she didn’t like when people broke it. She especially didn’t like when people didn’t listen to her.
But you wanted to listen. You wanted to be good for her. You wanted to let her do whatever she wanted to you, and take it. You wanted to continue being her favorite. You wanted her to praise you again. You wanted to be hers. You felt like you already were.
Your back is pressed against the door, and you can’t help the small noises that come out of your mouth when you come, and you don’t stop her name from tumbling off your lips. You know it’s risky, but your body has gotten so used to it, you can’t fight it off. You come with a shiver. You take a moment to regain your breath before washing your hands. You try to fix your hair as best as possible. But you can’t hide the fucked out look in your eyes.
The collected version of you is ruined when you open the door and see Emery not even a foot away from the door, with a small smirk on her face.
You don’t even say anything. You don’t smile. You can’t even break the intense eye contact she’s holding. You feel small– you feel stupid.
“I’ll see you when the shift is over.” is what she says, below a whisper, so only you can hear it.
You check the clock, an hour left. Sixty minutes of terrified torture at the hands of Emery Walsh. Doctors were supposed to heal, surgeons were supposed to fix. But you felt like she had broken you apart.
You spent the rest of the shift reeling, scared out of your mind. You tried to focus on charting, because you didn’t know how you were supposed to speak to anyone after she had heard you. Shen lets you get away with it because a dayshift doctor came in early, so you’re able to get all your work done.
When it hits 7 A.M., Emery is right downstairs with you. She meets you by the lockers while you’re gathering your stuff.
“We’re gonna go to my place.” she walks away before you can answer.
Obviously, you follow. You didn't know whether it was curiosity, or the need to follow her orders. The walk was silent. You held your hands together in front of you, twisting your fingers together from anxiety. You still felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest.
Emery didn’t live far from work, much like most of the doctors. Her apartment had dark blue walls, marble countertops, a nice black couch with a long sectional. It was spotless, of course. Everything was in order. As if on cue, she toyed with a vase of flowers, moving it slightly to the right so that they faced the sun more.
You shift on your feet, waiting for her to speak. But she doesn’t, just stares.
She wants you to say it, to tell her what she heard. “I’m so sorry if what you heard was, um, uncomfortable. It was completely out of line to do something like that at work. And it won’t happen again.”
“Do you think I would bring you back here if I was uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know,” you mumble, suddenly looking away from her.
“What was it that did it for you? That was so enticing that you had to go masturbate in the bathroom." The vulgarness of her words makes you cringe. Even though that is what you were doing, hearing her say it was another story.
“I’m really sorry, Dr. Walsh. I don’t think this is a good idea.” you want to bury yourself in a hole.
“But, we’re here now. So, tell me.”
You still want to impress her— you still need to feel her praise. Deciding it’s better if you sit for this, you go and take a seat on her couch. “You said I was your favorite.”
She nods, like she already knows. Like she can smell it on you. The need for praise radiates from your chest. You breathe heavy, like you just ran a mile.
“I mean, I knew you were desperate, but c’mon. In the bathroom?”
You don’t say anything back, you hate that her words still send a wave of arousal through you.
She steps over to the couch; squats down in front of you so you’re forced to meet her eyes. “If you wanted me to fuck you, you should’ve just said so.”
She stands and you follow her head up. She still has that smirk on her face, the one that never seems to leave. It’s like she finds everything entertaining. She crawls on top of you on the couch, you adjust your body so that you can both lay flat.
She's quick to kiss you. It still takes you a while to kiss back, she goes slow. Emery moves with precision, gives you time to warm up to her on top of you. It’s like she’s slowly pushing in morphine, like the pain killing drug is her lips. Emery’s tongue swipes your bottom lip, asking for permission.
You open your mouth a little wider, giving her the access she wants. She slowly grinds her hips down into yours and your eyes roll back. She moves down to your neck and sucks, hard. You realize it’ll leave a mark, but you don’t know if you care. She’s like a vampire, feasting on you. She doesn’t ask what you want, she just knows. It feels nice to give up control. To not think– just react.
You make a small noise when she sucks the spot behind your ear. You feel gross and dirty from your shift. Never in your wildest dreams would sex with Walsh be like this. What you imagined was a nice dinner out, maybe a drink at a bar after. But this was raw, and more real. This showed you that she was pent up too, that she didn’t want to wait.
She pulled herself off of your neck, “Wanna show me how good you can be?”
You nodded before her words even registered in your head.
She got up and so did you, both stripping quickly. She lays down flat on the sectional, spreading her legs. You feel hungry– you feel like you have something to prove.
You climb on top of her, but she’s still in charge. You start at her chest, sucking gently at her nipples, tugging them lightly. She has a hand cradling the back of your head to stabilize you. She lets out a soft hum and you shiver; excited to make her feel good. You trail down her stomach, peppering soft kisses as you go. She smells clean still, somehow. Not musky, not like she had been doing surgeries all day long. She smells like antibacterial soap. Like hand sanitizer. Clean, surgical– a faint floral smell, like the get well soon flowers her patients received rubbed on her.
You come face to face with her heat, and you can’t help but peer up at her, waiting for permission, “I’ve had a long day, please don’t waste my time.” her hand is still on the back of your head, anchoring you to Earth.
Her words are all you need before you dive in. You’re nervous, even though you’ve done this before. But this was different, Emery was different. You had always wanted to do a good job with your partners, but you wanted to impress Emery. You needed to, you needed to show her how well you could do.
“Good, yeah, that’s it.” she says as you lap at her.
It doesn’t even sound strained, it sounds like she’s coaching you through a procedure. She doesn’t moan, just lets out a small huff of air, a soft grunt here and there when you hit her clit just right.
You tease a finger at her entrance, looking up at her again. She gives a stiff nod and a hum, telling you to go ahead. The dominance that leaks off of her is intoxicating. You feel like you took a hit of a blunt. She takes down her hair and shakes it out, still looking down at you. Her movements seem like they’re in slow motion. This is worship, you realize. But Dr. Walsh has granted you access to Heaven instead of Hell.
You recognize she’s getting close by the way her brows furrow. The noises get more common and you work harder, making sure your pace doesn’t falter, even though you’re getting tired. She makes you feel woozy, you are intoxicated off of her pussy. She tastes so sweet, you can’t get enough.
She cums without warning, like she doesn’t even realize it’s happening until it is. You work her through it, lapping up all that she gives you. Emery finally moans, a long strained out moan, and you feel pride swell in your chest.
She pants as she comes down, “Well, I think you deserve something in return.” she uses her pointer and middle finger to signal you to come on top of the couch with her.
She settles you on her lap, and swipes the same two fingers through your folds. “Didn’t know eating me out would get you so wet.” she looks like she wants to laugh, it makes your face go hot. You feel like a horny teenager, like the second she puts her hands on you you’re gonna come.
She lines the two fingers up before thrusting them in quickly. Your brows furrow, her’s shoot up. Her mouth is slightly open. She still has that fucking smirk, her teasing look makes you clench around her fingers. Your premonition is correct, you feel a knot in your stomach before you can stop it, and she doesn’t slow. Her hands do know what to do. They know which spots to hit, where to go to send you reeling. You throw your head back and a loud moan comes out without your permission.
“God, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” her voice makes you whine, you’ve spent so long imagining her talking to you like this. “You’ve always caught my eye, I could tell you wanted to be bossed around a little. Or, maybe a lot.”
“Please,” you mumble.
“Please, what?”
“Keep talking, let me come, I don’t know. Just please don’t stop.”
She huffs out a laugh. “I can tell I turn your brain to mush when you see me, you get this look in your eyes that you don’t get for anyone else. It’s cute, it made me want to take you. I never would’ve done it in the bathroom at work, though.”
You look out the window instead of at her, embarrassed by your own neediness, “But hearing you moan my name, damn. There’s nothing else like it.”
That’s what does it for you, the knot in your stomach unravels. It feels so good it brings a tear to your eye. You can’t stop making small noises, overstimulated from her fingers still being inside you.
She pulls them out gently, the most gentle she’s been all day. Emery lets you fall into her, you put your head in the crook of her neck and she runs her hand over the back of your skull again. She shushes you when she gets up, but you realize she’s just grabbing your water bottle you brought with you, she slowly brings it to your lips, urging you to take a sip.
She doesn’t talk much as she starts the shower and leads you both to it. She shows more than she tells. She knows this is a time to be gentle, and she knows that her snark knows no bounds. She doesn’t want to say something offhand. She needs to be soft, and her mouth is the opposite. But she wants you to know she cares. She washes your body for you, and you do the same for her. Scrubbing her back with a small rag. The hot water feels relaxing, and you suddenly realize how tired you are.
Once you get out of the shower, you rub your eyes and yawn, “C’mere,” Emery whispers.
You follow her lead still. She takes you into her bedroom. She has beige walls, medical books on her dresser. Her comforter is soft. It’s sage green, and fluffy, slightly cold from being unused. She slips one of her old t-shirts over your head, and you both crawl into bed. She lays on her back, you crawl onto her chest. It’s the most peaceful you’ve felt in a long time.
The memories of the day replay in your head, and you become embarrassed.
“What’s up?” She asks, reading you. Her voice is thick with fatigue, and you feel bad for keeping her up.
“I just still feel embarrassed you heard me.”
She hums, “Well, if I hadn’t heard you, we wouldn’t be here. It’s fine, I know I’m hard to resist.”
You giggle at the cocky words.
“Get some sleep, we’ll talk when we wake up.” she says.
You let yourself fall into a slumber, cuddled up against her. Dealing with it in the morning sounds like a good plan to you.
content: mentions of wounds and stitches, kinda suggestive (?)
This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go.
It was all Emery’s fault honestly. Without her you couldn’t sleep, and when you couldn’t sleep you started rearranging furniture. You only succeeded in moving one table before the love seat sliced your hand open.
You stayed calm, getting a small towel to press against the wound despite how badly it hurt. You got in your car and started driving to ptmc— hoping Emery was in surgery.
You didn’t have to wait long in chairs because Jack saw you checking in and just brought you on back. Something about Emery having his head if he kept you waiting, which was probably true.
“Please just don’t tell her. Especially if she’s in surgery.” You asked of him, wincing as he removed the kitchen towel off your hand.
Jack began to disinfect the cut. “I don’t know, kid. I think she’d want to know about this.”
You sighed, watching him prep a numbing shot.
“Just let her find out naturally. You gonna stitch me up?” You asked. Jack shook his head.
“Teaching hospital remember? Dr. Santos will do it, she doesn’t get the opportunity often.” You furrowed an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that like bad?” Jack chuckled, giving a reassuring pat to your shoulder.
“She’s awesome, you’ll be in good hands.” He assured you.
This Dr. Santos showed up a little after Jack left.
You watched her prep the needle and thread. “Walsh huh? That’s the last name of one of our surgeons here.” You smiled, grateful she was offering some small talk.
“Oh, yeah, she’s my—”
“I’m her wife. And you’re not doing her stitches.” There she was.
You knew she was pissed. She probably thought you were sound asleep at home, and now she finds out you’re here? Through the grapevine at that.
Santos stammered, “uh, Dr. Abbot told me to do her stitches.”
“I’ve only ever seen you do them a few times, my wife isn’t your test subject.” She doubled down. “Now give us the room.”
You shot her a look that said “be nice.”
“Please.” Emery added. Dr. Santos set down the needle and left.
Emery took her spot, sliding up closer to you. “You should’ve called me, texted me, something.” Her voice was low. She had every right to be upset honestly.
“I just knew you’d freak out— you do the whole calm on the outside going crazy on the inside.” You watched the needle pierce your skin and the thread loop the two sides together.
“But I am sorry. I know you were worried.” You apologized, bringing your uninjured hand up to stroke the loose strands of hair that fell from her ponytail.
Emery looked up from your hand, a more loving and concerned look on her face this time.
“Very. The fact you didn’t call made me think the worst. But I see you were trying to avoid my attitude.” You smiled a little, knowing you were still in the hot seat.
“Yeah, true. I am happy to see you though, I couldn’t sleep without you, which resulted in this whole mess.” Your words put a smile on Emery’s face this time.
“I’m coming home with you now. No need to try to cure your insomnia with stupid shit.”
You rolled your eyes. “No. I know you have work to do, I’m fine by myself.” Emery shook her head, her decision was final and you knew that.
She cut the remaining thread from your stitches. “Park can pick up my slack. I need to get my things from my locker, then we’re going home.”
And went home you did. Emery let you get in bed while she showered and scarfed down the food you cooked.
You felt a warm body slip in behind you, Emery wrapped her arms around you, slightly pulling you closer. You smirked when you realized she felt a little too bare.
You chuckled. “Are you naked, Em?”
“What’s it to you? Go to sleep before you hurt yourself blinking.”
You scoffed under your breath— this was clearly Emery’s way of punishing you for giving her a scare, but you could take it like a big girl. Just wait till morning.
“Don’t care if you got another cause tonight I’m your only lover”
Warnings: Smut & language.
Word count: 2.6k
Summary: You and Richie have done well to keep your relationship under wraps—until now.
The hum of the fridge is the only sound in Richie's house as he kicks the front door shut behind the pair of you. It's quiet, not in a heavy, haunted way but in that off-kilter, post-shift kind of silence, like the restaurant is still buzzing under your skin.
You hadn't planned on ending the night here. Not again. Not like this.
Not when you both promised no more fooling around after work. Especially considering you both started early again the following day.
But here you are. Shoes kicked off. Apron stuffed in your bag. Richie's shirt stained with tonight's sauce and the telltale signs of a night that almost got away from both of you.
There's an empty LaCroix can on the counter, a Sox cap on the table, and the smell of leftover lasagne in the air. Richie hasn't even taken off his shoes. He's pacing like he's still fighting someone on the line or maybe himself.
"You didn't have to show me up in front of everyone," he says, finally.
You lean against the wall, arms folded, a smirk playing on your lips. "You were about to serve a pork chop raw, Richie."
"I was testing it, babe. I had a system!"
You raise a brow. "Yeah? Was your system salmonella?"
He shoots you a pointed look, but it's not angry. Not really. There's a spark there. Something amused. Something warm.
"This is why we said no more work talk after ten," he mutters, tugging off his jacket and tossing it on a chair. "We start with pork chops, and next thing I know, you're calling me a dumbass while we're naked."
"That happened once."
"And yet... it’s pretty unforgettable."
Richie finally turns to face you fully, and for a moment, the energy between you shifts, softens. Like he's about to say something honest. Something real.
But instead, he takes a step closer, tilting his head.
"You keep lookin' at me like that," he says, voice low, "I'm gonna forget why I was mad in the first place."
You laugh, but it comes out more like a breath. "I'm not sorry for calling you out. But I am sorry that it happened in front of Tina and Fak."
He snorts. "You know Fak's been rooting for us since day one. You think he doesn't know?"
You hesitate. "You think he does?"
"Babe. Fak's got, like, sixth sense relationship radar. He probably saw us make the smallest amount eye contact and started shopping for wedding gifts."
You roll your eyes, trying not to grin. "So much for secretly dating."
Richie shrugs. "I mean, we haven't exactly been subtle."
You step closer, toe to toe now. "So what, Richie? You want to tell everyone?"
He looks at you and for a second, something flickers in his eyes. It's not fear. It's something quieter. Something like hope.
"Yeah," he says softly. “One of these days, it’s gonna be out there. No hiding it anymore. I’m actually fucking kinda ready for it."
You nod, your lips twitching up. “Okay."
Richie breathes out like you just took a weight off his chest. Then he smiles, that half-cocky, half-earnest grin that makes your stomach twist.
And then, suddenly you're kissing.
It's not slow. It's not careful. It's Richie. It's messy and warm and fast, and he kisses you like he's waited all night to feel your mouth on his again. Like he's never had anyone love him this way and he's terrified it's going to end.
Your back hits the wall, but it's more playful than anything. His hands are on your waist, tugging you closer, your fingers already tangled in his shirt.
"You're like the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, you know that?" he says into your mouth. "And I'm still somehow always tryna screw it up."
You pull back just enough to look at him. "You haven't screwed anything up."
"Yet."
"Then stop thinking about the 'yet.' Just... be here."
He nods, pressing his forehead to yours. "Yeah. Okay. I'm here."
And he is.
He touches you like he means it. Like he's still amazed you let him do this, that you want him. Clothes fall off in record time, more laughter than finesse. He trips over his own pants trying to kick them off and nearly knocks over a lamp. You both burst out laughing before falling back onto the couch, half-naked and flushed.
It doesn't stay very funny long.
Once you're straddling him, once he's kissing down your jaw and murmuring your name in that reverent, quiet way he never uses around anyone else, it shifts. It always does.
"You good?" he asks, brushing your hair back.
"Better than good," you whisper.
And you mean it.
He holds your waist like he's grounding himself, guiding you down onto him with a sharp breath. The stretch pulls a moan from your throat, and he stills, letting you adjust.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "You killing me over here."
"You love it."
"God help me, I really do."
He moves inside you with a steady rhythm not rushed, not frantic. Like he's savoring it. Like every second is a gift. His fingers trail up your spine, into your hair, pulling you down into another kiss that's all tongue and heat and unspoken things he's too scared to say out loud.
You whisper his name. He groans your nickname into your shoulder. And when it builds, when it crests, it's not fireworks. It's a wave. A quiet crash. Like coming home.
Afterward, the room is thick with warmth and quiet. Richie's arms are wrapped tight around your back. You don't move. You just stay there, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist.
Eventually, he speaks. Muffled. Soft.
"You think we're gonna fuck this up eventually?"
You look down at him, running a hand through his hair.
"We already are. That's the whole point."
He laughs for real, full, unguarded. And then pulls you down into his chest.
You settle there, hearts thudding out the last of the tension.
"He grins into your neck. "God, I'm so lucky. You like me, even when I talk too much."
"I love you," you correct. "Even when you talk way too much."
And for once, Richie doesn't say anything clever.
He just holds you tighter.
You're still lying on his chest, skin damp and flushed, when he breaks the silence again.
"Can I ask you something?" Richie murmurs, his voice quieter now, like he's not totally sure he wants to say it out loud.
You shift slightly to look at him. "Always."
He hesitates.
"You ever think about... I don’t know.Kids?"
The question lands soft but weighted, like a pebble dropped into still water. Not hard, but the ripples travel deep.
You blink slowly. "Are you serious?"
He nods, eyes not quite meeting yours. "Yeah. I mean — not, like, now. Not tonight. Obviously. Jesus. But, like... I don’t know. Just wondering if you've thought about it. Ever."
You take a shaky breath, slightly surprised by how fast the answer comes.
"I don't think I want them."
Richie's eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, you brace for it — the discomfort, the shift, the subtle judgment you've learned to expect from people who don't understand why a woman might say no to that idea.
But he just nods. Like it makes perfect sense. Like he already knew.
"Yeah?" he says, voice even.
You nod. "Yeah. I mean... I've thought about it. I've really thought about it. But it's just not something I see for myself. Not now, and maybe not ever."
There's a long pause.
Then Richie exhales, smiling softly. "Honestly? That's kinda a relief."
You marrow your eyes. "Really?"
He shrugs, resting his head back against the pillow. "I love Eva more than anything in the whole goddamn world. I'd jump in front of a train for her. But... it's hard. And I think I messed it up, a lot of it. Being a dad, it's like—" he pauses, squinting toward the ceiling "—it's this thing I keep trying to grow into, and I don't always know how and I don’t ever think I will.”
You press your hand to his chest, fingers over his heart.
"You're a good dad, Richie."
He gives a half-smile, a little crooked, a little sad. "I try. But the idea of doing it again, starting all over? With someone I love this much?" He turns his face toward yours. "That's scary as fuck."
Your throat tightens at that. "Because you don't want to lose it?"
"Yeah," he says, almost a whisper. "Exactly."
You lean in, pressing your forehead to his. "Well, you won't."
He kisses you, soft, lingering. No heat, no rush. Just gratitude. Just you and him.
You sigh into it, letting yourself settle deeper into his arms.
"I like us how we are," you say quietly. "I don't need anything else."
Richie nods. "Yeah. Me too. You're already more than I thought I'd ever get."
The room is still and golden in the low lamplight. Outside, cars speed by like background music for your very weird, very wonderful life.
Eventually, he tucks you closer, murmuring against your hair.
"Can we stay like this for a while? Just... like this?"
You smile. "We've got all night."
And you do. Just the two of you. No screaming tickets. No line cooks. No fake-outs. No pressure.
Your life together isn’t perfect. It’s a little messy, the way the kitchen counters are always cluttered with coffee mugs and takeout menus. The house smells like late-night Chinese food and your lavender candles, you’d somehow convinced Richie to keep. There’s the Saturday mornings spent arguing over who gets the last pancake, the lazy Sundays wrapped up in a blanket on the couch binge-watching old movies. It’s the kind of life that’s full of noise and chaos and laughter, but always full of each other.
The room settles into a soft quiet, the kind that follows everything the laughter, the kisses, the honest talks. You lie tangled in each other, warmth settling like a soft blanket.
Richie’s fingers trace circles on your arm, but his voice breaks the silence again, low and hesitant.
“Can I ask you something else?”
You hum tiredly, still pressed against him.
“If Eva’s okay with it... maybe you’d want to meet her?”
You smile, heart squeezing softly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
He smiles back, his eyes bright. “Me too.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The following morning the morning sunlight cuts across the prep station like a spotlight. The Beef smells like bleach, lemon zest, and burnt toast classic and everyone's still dragging from last night's double shift.
Everyone but you and Richie.
You're humming under your breath, sleeves rolled up, hands deep in a bin of herbs. Richie's at your side, close enough to brush elbows, rattling off a joke to Marcus that doesn't even make sense, but everyone's too tired to call him out.
You lean over to grab a container from the lower shelf. Richie moves behind you, his hand automatically sliding to the small of your back as he passes.
It's instinct. Casual. Familiar. Too familiar.
He doesn't even notice. He doesn’t even hesitate and keeps walking toward dry storage like his hand belonged there.
Tina pauses, mid-chop, eyes flicking up from her green cutting board. Ebra squints from the other side of the kitchen like he's solving a complicated math problem. Sydney goes still.
Marcus looks up from the mixer. "Wait. Did you see that?"
"See what?" you say, far too fast.
Sydney narrows her eyes. "Okay, now I know something's up."
Richie's already back a second later, reaching over you for a knife and doing it again, his hand grazing your spine like he's tuning a radio.
He still doesn't notice.
Sydney drops her spoon.
"Okay," she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear. "What the actual fuck is going on?"
You blink. "What?"
"That's the third time he's touched your back in like ten minutes. Is that, like, a nervous tic? Muscle memory? Or is this, I don't know... foreplay?"
You cough.
"I touch a lot of backs," Richie says defensively.
"That's worse," Tina mutters without looking up.
Ebra nods. "Deeply concerning, cousin."
"It's spatial awareness," you try weakly, but your ears are already burning.
Fak appears from the walk-in just in time to catch Richie's hand resting both casually and intimately on your hip. He stops in his tracks, mid-chew, holding what looks like a very expired granola bar.
"Wait. Wait. WAIT—" Fak points, his voice rising in excitement. "OH. MY. GOD."
"Fuck," you mutter.
"I knew it!" Fak cries, triumphant. "You guys are together! You've been secretly banging this whole fucking time!"
Marcus peeks over a stack of baking trays. "But you said they weren't."
"I was misled by their Oscar worthy acting," Fak says dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like he's winded.
Sydney crosses her arms, smug. "I've known for weeks. Richie's been weirdly... soft. I thought maybe he had a brain injury."
"I don't do soft," Richie snaps, but his cheeks are red now.
"You rub her back like you're burping a baby," Sydney fires back.
Richie points at her, opens his mouth... then closes it. "Okay. That's fair."
Tina leans against the counter, smirking. "I knew something was going on. You been humming this morning, girl. Nobody hums at this job unless they're in love or on some really good drugs."
"I thought they were just co-dependent," Ebra adds. "You know. Like most people here."
"You're all being so dramatic," you protest.
"You kept it from us!" Fak gasps. "You kept it from me! I was gonna make you friendship keychains!"
"We weren't hiding it," you try to explain, glancing at Richie.
"We just... didn't say anything," he finishes, sighing.
"Didn't say anything?" Sugar repeats, appearing in the doorway with a clipboard. "Richie, are you serious?"
"Oh for fucks sake," Richie mutters. "Not you too."
"You kept this from me?" Sugar demands, pointing between the two of you. "Me?"
"I knew you'd react like this!" he shoots back.
"And you—" she spins to you, eyes wide "—you could've said something."
You shrug. "You could've asked and I may have told you."
Carmy, of course, chooses that exact moment to stroll out from the office, towel over his shoulder like a chef poster boy, calm as ever.
"I thought it was obvious," he says casually, walking past the group.
The room freezes.
"You what?" Sugar blinks.
Carmy shrugs, already halfway to dry goods. "I mean... Richie's been a extremely normal lately."
Richie scoffs. "I am never normal."
"Exactly," Carmy says without turning around.
Everyone loses it.
"Okay," Marcus says, through a grin. "Now I do feel betrayed. I thought we were your friends."
"You are," Richie says. "That's why we didn't want to subject you to my very real and terrifyingly powerful sex aura."
"Richie," you groan, wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and die.
"What?" he shrugs. "Babe. You knew what this was."
"Do not call me 'babe' in the kitchen," you warn — but you're already grinning from ear to ear.
And then as if to hammer the point home, Richie's hand returns to your back again. Not thinking. Not performing. Just him. Just something he does without realizing. A soft, grounding rub between your shoulder blades.
It's not a secret anymore.
But somehow, it still feels like something private. Something just yours.
Sydney raises an eyebrow. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... I think I ship it."
Richie beams. "You hear that, baby? We're canon."
"Right I’m leaving," you say, flatly.
"I'm proud of you," Fak says, placing a solemn hand on Richie's shoulder. "Our little guy's in love."
"I will kill you," Richie says, playfully smacking his hand away.
Summary: After breaking up with your awful ex, you follow your dream of opening a little coffee shop in Chicago. Falling in love with the chef who owns the restaurant down the street, however, was not part of the plan.
Themes: Coffee shop AU, takes place a few years after S2 and Carmy has been to therapy, friends to lovers
Series warnings: Previous emotionally abusive relationship, frequent food mentions, swearing
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The series is non-chronological and blurbs are listed here in the order they were posted in. You can request blurbs set at any point in the story you like!
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Carmen Berzatto is your best friend—well, was. You’ve begun to distance yourself from him, and he is determined to figure out why. When he finally confronts you, he finds it’s not quite what he thinks it is.
Contains angst, depression, 18+ only.
🧸 Ten years ago 🧸
It went on for months.
You took the same class at different times, or maybe different classes altogether. You weren’t quite sure. All you knew was that the first week of senior year, someone in an earlier class began inscribing little doodles onto your desk. The word “doodles” didn’t do them justice. Not in your opinion, anyway. Whoever this person was, they were a much better artist than you. The amount of detail they were able to create using just a pencil on a wooden desk was downright impressive.
You hated to ruin them, but out of sheer boredom, you began to add onto the drawings. A bit of foliage here, a butterfly or two there. The first time you did so, you were delighted to find the next afternoon that the culprit added onto your doodles. Not only that, they seemed more than happy to continue obliging you when you erased and replaced them.
You had no clue who your anonymous “pen pal” was, but you began to look forward to whatever they would come up with next. You eventually started to make specific requests.
Can you draw a surfboard?
And they would.
Can you draw Jupiter?
And they would.
Can you draw a birthday cake? (It’s my birthday today)
And they did—this time, with a little happy birthday! message and a smiley face along the side.
One day, you got up the nerve to ask the question you’d been dying to ask.
Do you know who I am?
Your heart skipped a beat as the girl who sat next to you excitedly ushered you over to your seat the following day. On your desk was a small, simple sketch. Basic but well done, and very obviously in your likeness.
You had to know.
Who are you?
The next day, you were disappointed to find that they hadn’t responded to your inquiry. Maybe they were absent that day. You underlined the question this time, struggling to sketch a giant, three dimensional question mark underneath.
Days passed.
The lack of response left you with a strangely intense feeling of disappointment. You kept underlining the question, adding more and more question marks to the background of the sketch. And then one day, you got fed up and erased everything.
Maybe they had dropped the class. Maybe they got expelled. Or maybe you ruined it. Maybe they preferred to remain anonymous, and you messed things up by being nosey.
You decided to throw in the towel. You erased the question and drew a very squiggly looking olive branch, tired of waiting. Beneath it, you wrote I’m sorry. None of my business. Truce?
The following afternoon, you were surprised to discover a new doodle. They were back! Your old friend had not abandoned you, after all.
A bear. A bear beside two houses parallel to one another, one marked with an X.
Take a guess.
X marks the spot.
_ _ _ _ _
Your brow furrowed as you stared down at it.
Bear.
Bear?
And then it hit you.
Berzatto.
An image of the shy boy who lived across the street from you flashed through your mind.
You smiled to yourself as you etched out the name.
C A R M Y
💌 Present day 💌
If you viewed anger as a denial of reality—a deeply held frustration with life as it truly was—it was safe to say that Carmen Berzatto was a pretty angry person. Downright miserable, in fact. Carmy simply could not accept the present circumstances. He simply could not accept that you—his best friend since high school—wanted nothing to do with him. It started with a few unanswered calls here, a handful of canceled plans there. And then came the final nail in the coffin: a three word text message, barely even a sentence.
That was really all your friendship was worth to you? Three little words?
Leave me alone.
He proceeded to call you in a panic. Not once, but twice. He then sent several texts, including but not limited to:
Call me.
Please tell me what’s wrong.
If I did something, I’m sorry.
If you need space, that’s fine. Just please tell me what’s going on.
If you need me, I’m here. Alright?
Fine. I get it. I’ll leave you alone.
He didn’t exactly make good on that promise. As the weeks passed by, slowly but surely turning into months, he would send you little texts here and there. If anything, just to remind you that he was still there.
Sorry to bother you. I just saw this and it reminded me of you.
I know you don’t want to talk to me, but Syd invited us all out. She told me to tell you that you’re welcome to come.
Richie is acting like a total asshole tonight. Nothing new or surprising, just thought you should know.
Happy half birthday 🎉
…sorry. That was stupid.
Can you please call me? I miss you.
Sug asked me about you today. She said she hopes you’re doing okay.
The most he would get in response was a heart reaction to his messages, if that. He felt pathetic, continuously reaching out to someone who so obviously didn’t want to hear from him. But he couldn’t just stop. Because, well.
It was you.
He spent an unhealthy amount of time wracking his brain for answers as to why you suddenly despised him. He replayed the last night he saw you in his mind over and over. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed off. You had a drink together at your favorite restaurant, then spent some time together at his apartment; talking, watching tv. As always, you somehow managed to get him to crack a smile. Several, actually. This was just part of what made all of this so much worse, so much more painful. You were one of very few people that could cheer Carmy up when he was feeling sad or anxious, which had pretty much become his baseline mood the past several years.
Not to mention, he was absolutely in love with you.
Everyone seemed to know about Carmen’s little (or more realistically, massive) crush on you. Richie mocked him mercilessly about it.
“Cousin, it’s so fucking obvious. You act like a little puppy or something whenever you’re around her. Drawing her all those weird little pictures.”
Everyone except you.
Or maybe you did know. Maybe that was why you were avoiding him. Maybe he made you uncomfortable without even realizing. He cringed at the thought.
When you didn’t answer any of his calls or texts on your birthday, that was when he finally had enough.
Hey, happy birthday.
Nothing.
I know we haven’t talked in a minute, but I got you something.
Nothing.
Can I maybe come drop it off?
Nothing.
This isn’t like you. Please just tell me what I did wrong.
Carmy was very self-conscious and could be sensitive to rejection, that much you knew to be true. You figured that would be enough for him to stay away. But what else did you know to be true?
When your best friend dedicated himself to something, he refused to give up.
And there were very few people Carmen was more dedicated to than you.
🐻 Ten years ago 🐻
“Who taught you how to do this?” you asked, flipping through the pages of the sketchbook. Carmy’s fingers twitched as you did so. He was allowing you to see his artwork, albeit reluctantly. With each page you turned, he felt increasingly more anxious. He felt the need to scoot closer towards you and peer over your shoulder, all so he could justify himself.
I was having a bad day when I drew that. That’s why the linework is so shaky.
That was just for fun. I wasn’t being serious.
I used charcoal for that. I wasn’t used to working with charcoal. That’s why it turned out a little messy.
“Do what?”
“Do this,” you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who taught you how to draw?”
He shrugged. “Myself, I guess.”
“Really?” you asked. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I know they’re a little rough—”
“The best artists are always self-taught.”
You smiled at him as his cheeks turned red, shoving him slightly.
“Don’t let it get to your head.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a small book of your own, passing it to him. “It’s only fair, right?”
His eyes widened as he opened it. He flipped through each page slowly and carefully, as if he was holding something made of glass.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ve got a question for you.”
You raised your eyebrows, amused.
“Who taught you how to do this?” he asked.
Irrespective of talent, drawing was a shared interest of yours. But in your eyes, your art couldn’t compare to Carmy’s. You were alright, sure. But his illustrations were sharper, clearer, more detailed. He saw the world differently than other people.
His brow furrowed as he turned to a page in your sketchbook, a page you’d forgotten about. It was one of your moodier drawings. A woman screaming, caught in the center of a tornado of letters—words.
NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
Your stomach dropped.
He paused for a moment, then turned to look at you.
“You can tell me things, you know,” he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t judge y—”
“It’s just a drawing, Carm,” you said simply, pulling the book from his hands.
And you feigned a smile.
💌 Present day 💌
It was never fun to be on the receiving end of a Carmen Berzatto meltdown.
Carmy was a fairly mild person on an average day. Endlessly anxious, sure, but subdued. Shy, even after all these years you had known him. But every once in a while, he had times where everything became too much, and he’d snap and fall apart. He would completely unravel at the drop of a hat, lashing out at whoever was closest to him. It wasn’t difficult to tell where he’d gotten it from. His childhood had been utter chaos. And so, he’d done this to you a handful of times. Yelling, screaming, talking with his hands.
Tonight, at approximately 9:35pm on your 28th birthday, was one of those times.
You were outside your apartment smoking a cigarette when he approached, flowers in hand. Violets. Your favorite. You couldn’t avoid him if you wanted to.
And god, did you want to.
It had been a little over a year since you’d last seen him.
It was nothing personal. Not really. You were in the thick of it, battling the most intense depressive episode you’d ever had. Over time, you began to slowly isolate yourself from the ones closest to you. Your parents, your sister, your friends. Carmy was just one of many casualties. No one was safe. It was too painful to be around him, to be around anyone. Because in your eyes, you didn’t deserve to have friends. You didn’t deserve to have anyone. You simply weren’t good enough.
Of course, you had no idea how to explain this to him.
And so, just as soon as you saw him, you were scrambling back towards your front steps.
“Hey!” he called out, a touch of anger in his voice. “Hey!” You started to speed walk, avoiding eye contact.
That was a mistake.
He ran out in front of you, preventing you from going back inside. You got a good look at him as he stood there. Carmen. Your Carmen, with his messy hair and dark undereye circles. He looked tired. Weathered.
It wasn’t at all unusual for him to appear stressed, but it felt different this time. Because this time, it was your fault. You were causing him to feel this way, and you knew it. You of all people. His supposed best friend, the one who used to cheer him up when he was sad. The one he used to cook for, make drawings for. The one he shared his secrets and innermost thoughts with. You felt a sharp stab of guilt as he came closer towards you, a pang of dread. Carmen was sensitive. You knew you hurt him, and for that, you felt terrible.
“Are you serious right now? What, you’re just gonna run back inside? Seriously?”
“I–I didn’t see you,” you stuttered, eyes wide.
He scoffed. “Right. You didn’t see me walking right in front of you. What the fuck?”
“I didn’t see you!”
“Bullshit!”
“Jesus, Carmen. I’m sorry, okay?”
Your apology only seemed to escalate him further. “Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry? Do you wanna know how long it’s been since I last saw you? Over a year. You’ve been avoiding me for over a year.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you!”
Another mistake.
His face began to turn red. “No? What exactly have you been doing, then?”
You stared at him for a moment, lost for words. Because you had been avoiding him, and you had no clue how to tell him why. It was too…big. Too embarrassing. Too scary. The words raced through your mind.
Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.
“I need to talk to you.”
“It’s late, Carm.”
“I don’t care!”
You shushed him. “I have neighbors,” you said, keeping your voice low. “People can hear you. You want to talk? Fine. We can talk, but it’s going to be just that. A talk. But if you don’t stop screaming, this conversation is over.”
He rubbed his hand across his face, taking a deep breath.
“Alright?” you pressed.
He sighed. Nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”
You sat down on the porch steps. He shot you a look, eyeing the door as if to ask why you weren’t inviting him in, but quickly regrouped and sat down next to you.
You broke the silence.
“Cigarette?”
He shook his head. “I quit.”
You raised your eyebrows. “You quit? You?”
“A few months ago. You would know that if you—” he stopped himself, taking another deep breath. You moved away from him slightly, recoiling. Preparing for the next blow. He sighed and nodded again. He didn’t like upsetting you. “Yeah. I’ll have one.”
“Trade?” you asked, motioning towards the bouquet wrapped in plastic. He chuckled in spite of himself, taking the cigarette and lighter from you as he gently passed you the flowers.
He cut straight to the point. “You gonna tell me what I did wrong now?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you sighed.
He scoffed. “Alright. So this is what we’re gonna do?”
“What?” you asked, confused.
“No. No. You always do this,” he said, his voice cracking. “You always do this!”
“Always do what?” The plastic in your hands made a crackling noise as you gripped onto the bouquet.
“Why can’t you ever just say what you need to say?”
Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.
You had to get him to go away somehow.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Fuck you!” you said, raising your voice.
“I thought you said you wanted to talk,” he snapped.
A neighbor opened his window, yelling. “We can hear you, you know!”
You were both quiet, waiting for the window to close. He sighed when it did, putting out his cigarette and standing up. “You want to keep avoiding me? Fine. It’s already been a year, why not aim for another?”
“Carmen—” you said, eyes filling with tears.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong, you know where to find me,” he snapped. “Happy birthday.”
And then he walked away, taking your lighter with him.
🐻 Ten years ago 🐻
Even before you and Carmy became friends, you weren’t unfamiliar with the annual Berzatto family Christmas party. You had lived across the street from them all your life, after all. There was typically screaming involved, loud enough where you could hear it from your upstairs window. You envied that level of chaos, in a way. Holidays were particularly lonely in your household. Cold. Your parents’ quiet disdain for one another became especially apparent during the most wonderful time of the year. The Berzattos may have been noisy when they argued, but you knew from experience that silence could scream just as loud.
When you did finally become friends, you came to learn that Christmas was your and Carmy’s least favorite time of year, for both similar and different reasons. In a nutshell, you hated the holidays as a direct result of your families.
Christmas Eve of your senior year was particularly memorable, on account of how empty it was. There was no tree. There were no lights, no decorations, no gifts. Your father passed out on the couch, having drank an entire 12 pack in less than five hours. Your mother was holed up in her room, sleeping the day away—not uncommon for her—and your sister had opted to go to her boyfriend’s house.
And so, you were alone.
You decided to funnel your energy into cleaning your bedroom, angrily rearranging your furniture. And then you saw it: across the street, the upstairs window lights turning on and off, on and off. You paused, taking a break from dragging your desk across the room to stare outside. You squinted for a moment, confused. And then you laughed.
Carmy, sending you an SOS.
You turned your own lights on and off in return. You received a text just a few seconds later.
Come outside.
He wound up crossing the street to meet you, standing at the edge of your driveway. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket.
“Whoa. Aren’t you cold?”
He rubbed his hands together for friction. “I would’ve had to go through the living room to get to the coat closet.”
“And?”
"There’s people in the living room. A lot of them.”
You laughed. “Ah. So you dipped.”
“I did, yeah.“
"Sneaky.”
“Looks like you had the same idea.”
You ran a hand through your hair. “Not quite. I doubt anyone’s noticed I’m gone.”
He dug into his pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “What were you doing up there, anyway?”
“What, in my bedroom?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t you be downstairs with your family?”
“My family’s not downstairs. Well, I mean. My dad is. But he’s asleep. I was cleaning.”
“Cleaning?”
You nodded.
“Were you really cleaning your room?”
“Sure was,” you said proudly. “Rather furiously, might I add. Hey, can I have one?”
He shook his head.
You scoffed. “Come on. Why not?”
“You don’t smoke.”
“But I’m stressed.”
“It won’t help. It’s a bad habit to get into.”
“Then why do you do it?”
He shrugged, taking a second to think about it. “Gives me something to do with my hands, I guess.”
“Come on, please?” you begged. “It’s Christmas.”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me,” he said, shuffling his feet. He looked at the ground for a few moments, then back up at you.
“Yo, Carm!” a voice called out, loud and clear, making you both jump. Carmy’s older brother, Mikey was standing outside on the front porch, whistling at him. “What’cha doin’ over there?”
“You have a good night, alright?“ Carmy said. "Merry Christmas.” He began to walk away from you and you gave him a small wave, but Mikey quickly came up behind him, putting his arm around his shoulders and stopping him in his tracks.
You didn’t know much about Michael Berzatto apart from the fact that he was a few years older than Carmy, he worked at a restaurant downtown, and he had a very loud voice.
“What’s goin’ on over here?” he asked. “Carm, what the fuck? It’s freezing out. Where’s your jacket?” And then he smiled at you. A warm smile. Genuine. “Hiya.”
“Hey,” you said shyly.
“Merry Christmas,” he said. He turned to look at Carmy, jabbing him in the side. “C’mon.”
Carmy sighed and pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, passing one to his brother.
“What, you’re not gonna offer her one?” he asked.
“She doesn’t smoke.”
“No?” he asked. “Listen. Did you know that everybody in our family smokes?”
“Yeah, well thank god she’s not part of our family,” Carmy snapped. “She thinks it’s gross.”
“Do you now?” he asked. “Really? How come?”
“Because it is,” Carmy said, frustrated.
“I don’t think it’s gross,” you chimed in.
“See, Carm? She doesn’t think it’s gross. Why would you say she thinks it’s gross? She doesn’t think it’s gross.”
“She doesn’t smoke!” Carmy repeated, his voice louder this time. Insistent.
“Yo!” another voice yelled out.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Carmy mumbled under his breath, running a hand through his hair. His face was turning red. He groaned. “Cousin, go back inside!”
“Richie, my man. Come join the party! You want a smoke?” Mikey yelled.
“Oh, boy, do I!” the man yelled back sarcastically, jogging across the street. When he reached you, he gasped. “Hold the fucking phone. It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Richie, go back inside,” Carmy said.
“Yup. It is. It’s you. You’re the one in all the pictures.”
You tilted your head, confused. “Pictures?”
“Oh, god,” Mikey chuckled. “Here we fucking go.”
“Shut up, Richie,” Carmy said.
“You’re the girl in all his weird little drawings,” he said, lightly smacking Carmy in the head. “You’re in ‘em. Like, all of ‘em.”
“Come on, it’s not that many,” Mikey said, but he was visibly trying not to laugh. “I counted four.”
“When was the last time you were in his room, then? There’s a lot more than four. There’s like, seven. You’re his…ah fuck, what’s it called?”
“Richie—” Carmy tried to interrupt, his face turning even redder.
“Muse,” Mikey said.
“Muse! Yes. See, Carm. It’s weird, but it’s not that weird. Artists have muses.”
“Yeah, artists have muses,” Mikey echoed. “And you just so happen to be his, princess.”
💌 Present day 💌
He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he’d stormed off. Not really.
Not consciously, anyway.
Even still, your early morning text made him glad he did. He was relieved to hear from you. After last night’s meltdown, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t.
Do you have my lighter?
Not just any lighter. It was an antique, one of your most prized possessions. He had gotten it for you for Christmas a few years back. Oh, how times had changed. He used to discourage you from smoking. But as time went on, he realized he couldn’t stop you.
You were always pretty determined to do what you wanted to do.
Carmy clicked it on and off, making the flame disappear and reappear over and over again. He ran his thumb along the front, tracing the delicate pattern there. He had seen you whip out this lighter on many occasions over the course of your friendship. It was there through good times and bad, a constant. Before everything went to shit, you shared many a smoke break together.
Carmen knew he was the one that first introduced you to the joys of smoking, albeit guiltily and reluctantly. He felt terrible that you picked up his habit, but he had to admit he found a great deal of solace in the moments you shared over cigarettes. Your nicotine addiction became a valid excuse to take a breather during crowded parties, and of course, Berzatto family functions he invited you to as emotional support.
It took him a little while to craft a response. His emotions were all over the place. He knew if he let himself go there—really go there—he would end up texting you a mortifying paragraph he would just regret sending later. So, like with most important things, he thought it was best to keep things simple.
Nope.
It wasn’t like he felt good about this. He knew he was in the wrong. He knew he shouldn’t take things that didn’t belong to him, but he couldn’t help it. If he was never going to see you again, he had to have something to hold onto. The little text bubble popped up, letting him know you were typing. Popped up, disappeared. Popped up, disappeared. Popped up, then disappeared again.
You sure?
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He could practically hear your voice through the screen. He could picture you, highly skeptical. You loved that lighter. You were no idiot, and he didn’t have the heart to steal from you. Especially not after such an aggressive confrontation. He didn’t want that to be the last memory you had of him. And, as a matter of fact, this presented him with another opportunity to fix things, or at the very least, to see you again.
Sorry. Just checked my pockets. I have it.
You were typing and deleting messages again. Typing and deleting, typing and deleting. He raised his eyebrows. Maybe you were just as anxious about this situation as he was.
He decided to take initiative.
You want me to drop it off?
No, I can come pick it up.
He was more than a little surprised at that. He’d half expected you to ask him to mail it to you, or to leave it on your front steps.
When are you free?
🧸
Carmy had spent a good portion of his life pacing, a habit he’d gotten into from the time he was a child. He mainly did it when he was stressed (not an uncommon occurrence) in order to let off steam, to burn off excess energy. That was where he found himself now, pacing back and forth in his bedroom, waiting for you to arrive.
You said you’d be at his apartment “by 5:30ish,” whatever that meant. 5:30ish? Did you mean 5:00, or 5:15, or 6:00? What was 5:30ish? It was 5:46 about to be 5:47, and you still weren’t there. Why were you torturing him like this?
And then, clear as day: the doorbell ringing. 5:47. There you were.
A strange mixture of dread and relief flooded his senses, making his head ache. Typically the prospect of seeing you instilled him with a feeling of nervous excitement, like a puppy meeting someone new. But after your last interaction, he was just left feeling dejected. He wasn’t particularly proud of the way he acted, nor was he prepared to justify his behavior. He hadn’t meant to show up at your place like that, much less yell at you.
He opened the door to find you with red-rimmed, puffy eyes, wearing a familiar old hoodie and a navy blue baseball cap, shivering as rain pelted down on you. You looked pitiful, in a way. Your hoodie was soaked. You must’ve walked.
Back before you started giving him the silent treatment, you used to love walking to his apartment. You said so, anyway. He didn’t love the idea. He just wanted you to be safe, and it was a solid fifteen minute walk. You used to put on your headphones and meander through the city, finding excuses to shop for things you didn’t need along the way. You would bring him little gifts sometimes. It helped clear your head.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, Carm.”
“You wanna come in?”
You paused for a moment, contemplating. He knew that face. For a second, he wondered if you’d just ask him for the lighter and leave, barring any chance at conversation. But deep down, he knew a part of you wanted to talk. He could feel it. And then finally—finally—you nodded. You stepped inside and he closed the door gently behind you, strolling into the kitchen.
“You, um. You want some coffee?”
🧸
You had spent the night crying.
You weren’t sure why you showed up.
You could’ve easily asked him to just leave the lighter in your mailbox, or asked someone else to come pick it up for you. You could’ve done anything but what you were doing now, anything to continue avoiding him.
But when you saw him the night before—when you got a good look at him after an entire year apart—something in you came loose. Seeing him had rattled you, it had weakened your resolve. You had seen that look on his face many times before, but not because of you. Never because of you. You felt the urge to say something, to say anything. To explain yourself, or at least make up some excuse as to why you cut him off, even if you looked stupid doing it. You felt the urge to apologize, and to mean it.
He just looked so hurt.
And you secretly wanted an excuse to see him. You missed him, more than anything.
As you stood in the center of the kitchen, awkwardly waiting for Carmy to finish making coffee, you looked around at the apartment. Not dirty, but messy. Cluttered. His hair was a little longer, and he had gotten a few new tattoos since last year, but some things never changed.
The silence that stretched on between the two of you was an awkward one, incredibly so. It felt strange and unnatural, being that silent in his presence. Just one year ago, no one could get you to shut up around Carmy. Now you were crossing your fingers, praying that he’d be the one to talk first so you wouldn’t have to. And finally, he did talk.
Thank god.
“So,” he said, setting a cup of coffee down in front of you. Your chest hurt when you realized he’d made it just the way you liked it. His voice was soft, quiet. Tentative, like he was afraid you might lash out at him if he spoke too loud. He didn’t sit down across from you, but instead opted to remain standing. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“It’s alright, Carm.”
“It’s not. I didn’t mean to get loud, or to just show up like that. I just…didn’t know what else to do.”
You were quiet for a moment, running your fingertips over the sides of the mug. You took a sip of coffee and cleared your throat. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.
“I told you to leave me alone.”
His face fell. He hadn’t expected that. “It was your birthday.”
“But I told you t—”
“I know what you told me, alright? Or I should say, I know what you texted me. Y’know, since you didn’t think to tell me in person.”
Your stomach lurched. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You wanted more than anything to give him a hug, to break down and tell him everything, but your need to apologize and provide an explanation was being overtaken by your nerves.
How were you supposed to explain that you had been avoiding him because you felt like a burden to everyone you knew, including those closest to you? How were you supposed to explain that for the past year, you could barely get out of bed to go to work most days, much less talk to anyone? How were you supposed to explain that you didn’t feel good enough to spend time with, to spend time on? How were you supposed to explain any of it?
You spoke before thinking.
“Do you have my lighter?” you asked.
He sighed, running his hands over his face.
“Do you have my—”
“I just want to know what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Clearly, I did. Why else would you ask me to leave you alone?”
You were quiet, taking another sip of coffee. He pulled your lighter from his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of you.
“Carmen—”
“Y’know what? Fine. You’re free to go. Obviously you’re eager to get out of here.”
“I know you’re angry—”
“You think?” he snapped. “Ten years of my life, ten years of our lives just down the drain. Over. Nothing. Radio silence. And you won’t even tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything!”
“Then what is it? Why have you been avoiding me?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation!”
“Seriously? I don’t fucking deserve this!”
“I don’t fucking deserve this!” you snapped.
He was quiet for a moment, breathing heavily. His expression softened. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to raise my voice. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t mean to sound entitled. That’s not…that’s not how I’m trying to come across. I just miss you and I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and I—”
“No! You don’t understand, Carmen. I don’t deserve this.”
“I know, okay? I know, and I’m sorry.”
“No! This! This! All of this,” you said, tears blurring your vision. “Your friendship. Your time. Everything.”
He stared at you, confused.
“I don’t deserve it. That’s why I stopped talking to you. That’s why I asked you to leave me alone. Because I don’t deserve it.”
His brow furrowed. “Don’t deserve what?”
“You, Carmen! You. I don’t deserve you.”
“You don’t deserve me?”
“No. I don’t.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Because I’m not good enough. I wake up every day and I feel like I don’t deserve the things I have. I don’t deserve to have someone like you in my life.”
He stared at you in disbelief. He walked towards you and took a seat across from you. “I came to your house and yelled at you on your birthday. If anything, I don’t deserve you. What are you saying?”
“It wasn’t just you. I stopped talking to everyone. My friends, my sister, I barely even speak to my mom anymore.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m sad, Carmen.”
“You’re sad?”
“I’m sad.”
“So you’re depressed? That’s what this is?”
“It’s…I think it’s a little more complicated than that. But yes.”
“What, you think you’re the only one? We’re all depressed. I’m depressed, Richie’s depressed. My mom is always fucking depressed. What does that matter? Why ignore the people you love because of that?”
“Because I’m not—”
“Don’t give me that not good enough shit. You are good enough. You are. This isolation thing, it doesn’t help. It only makes things worse. I would know.”
The waterworks were in full effect, to the point where you were starting to feel tired. Your eyes hurt from crying, but you couldn’t stop. You were imploding.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were feeling like that? I would’ve…there are so many things I could’ve done.”
“I didn’t want to burden you.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t!” he snapped. “You don’t get to say whether or not you’re burdening someone. You’re not burdening me. You’re not burdening anyone. How long have you felt like this?”
“For as long as I can remember, but it got worse this year for some reason. Don’t ask me why. You’ve been so stressed with the restaurant, with your career and your life and I just thought…”
He stared at you, eagerly waiting for you to finish your sentence.
“You just thought…?”
“I just thought maybe you’d be better off without me.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“How?”
“Because!”
You flinched, and he took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s because you’re…”
“What, Carmen? What?”
“Because you’re…” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Jesus,” he said under his breath. “This is mortifying.” And then he locked eyes with you.
“You’re fucking everything.”
The words hit you like a truck.
Everything?
What was he talking about?
He stood up from the table and walked back over to the counter, turning to grab a small book. He set it down gently in front of you.
“What are y—”
“Open it,” he said.
“What is this?”
“Just open it.”
You thought back to Christmas of your senior year of high school.
It had been a pretty miserable day, up until you met up with Carmy out in your driveway, and Mikey and Richie proceeded to royally embarrass him.
“Artists have muses,” Mikey had said. “And you just so happen to be his, princess.”
You were aware that Carmy had drawn you on a few occasions, but you weren’t the only one. It wasn’t like you were special or anything. He drew portraits of almost everyone in his life, Mikey and Richie included. But as you sat in his kitchen that morning, flipping through his sketchbook—something he hadn’t allowed you to see in years now—something felt different. Wedged between pictures of food, buildings, landscapes, other people, were portraits of you, one dated as recently as last week.
You counted a total of twelve.
Twelve.
“How many of these did you draw?” you asked.
“One for every month,” he sighed.
“Carmy, this is…”
“Weird?”
You were quiet for a moment. “I was gonna say surprising.”
“I know that. I know. I know it’s weird, and it’s strange, and it’s fucked up but I didn’t know how to stop. It was the only way I could feel close to you. This is embarrassing and I know I might regret it later, I just…I need you to know you’re not a burden to me. You’re not a burden to anyone.”
You ran your fingertips along one of the portraits, illustrated from a picture of you he’d taken last fall at the park. You hated that photo, but for whatever reason, Carmy said he liked it. “You just look so happy,” he had said.
He liked to see you happy.
“I missed you,” he said simply.
“Carmen—”
“I know you’re probably really freaked out right now, and I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. But I need you to know that I love you, okay?”
You stared at him, wide eyed. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“And not just like…not as my friend. I don’t love you like a friend should. I never have. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Because you’re everything. And you deserve everything. Everything good. You deserve everything good in this life, anything that you want. Everything that you want. And I’m sorry no one ever told you that before, I’m sorry I never told you that before, and I’m sorry you don’t believe me, because I know you don’t. I’m so fucking sorry.”
It was a lot to process. He loved you. He loved you?
“How long have you felt like that?” you asked.
“Since we were eighteen. Since I started drawing you those stupid little pictures on your desk. Maybe even before that. That’s why I drew them in the first place, because I wanted you to notice me. I thought maybe if I could get you to notice me, we could…I could get to know you better. We had been neighbors our entire lives, but we never talked. I thought maybe we could be friends. I would’ve settled for that, and I did settle for it for a really long fucking time, but you’ve been gone for an entire year now and I—I couldn’t handle it. I can’t handle it, and I just…I just need you to kn—”
synopsisJack and you have always been ying-and-yang and until a few months ago, the love of each others life. but when thing start shifting and you start drifting from Jack for the worse he doesn't know how to stop it, until he can stop it in the most brutal way possible (request) (7.9k words)
warnings this is heavy, heavy angst, it deals with mental health, not necessary suicide but also a not caring to live. reader has a dnr. so heavy angst with a HAPPY ending. language. typical hospital stuff. not accurate medical things. blood. stabbing mention, death. younger reader, age not specified.
authornote this is heavy angst but with a happy ending. i really liked the request and wanted to explore the idea of dnr's and stuff but if your sensitive to death please don't read (but nobody dies!)
the pitt masterlist! another jack fic!
It was a good day if you were working, Jack had decided that a long time ago.
It was the sort of rule he lived by. Like reading at least one hundred pages of a book a day kept him intelligent, his yoga in the morning kept him calm and limber. A shift working with you, was a good shift.
Most of the day shifters had gone home, but you were still at the nurses station, talking with Lena.
“Hey,” said Jack. It was the first word he'd said to you, un-able to do hand offs with you when Shen decided it was his turn to be at your side, throwing a testing grin in Jack’s direction. “Aren't you going? Here- take this for the road, you might need it.” He was all but forcing a granola bar in your hand. The special ones he reserved for you.
You took it. “Sorry to disappoint, Ellis had a concert she really wanted to go to, I said I'd cover. Beyonce.”
Jack leant over the counter at you, peering through squinted eyes. “Disappointment? I think you've just made my night.”
There was a blush on your cheeks as you looked away, studying the Pitt to find something to distract yourself with.
“You might regret that. We've got a lorry car collision, ETA ten minutes out,” you explained, dropping the granola bar into your scrub pocket. “I might just be your bad luck charm.”
Jack loved working with you. He loved getting your opinion on cases that didn't need a second opinion. He liked the quiet moments in the night shifts you covered where it was just the two of you and the night sky. He liked being able to make you blush, to make you laugh in the middle of the darkness.
Because there was a darkness lingering in you. The sort only the Pitt could latch onto a person.
He'd seen it in Robby.
He despised seeing it in you.
There were some nights you covered- because you were always the first to volunteer to do a double- you started with a sparkle in your eyes and ending the night in despair, dragging yourself home. You'd return hours later, not at all long enough to have had a good sleep.
Jack worried, but he liked having you around to keep an eye on you.
Jack shook his head. “Nah. The bad luck is this place. You're the good.”
You laughed, hesitantly.
Lena patted your arm, kindly, the way a mother did. “I'll go get the guy from trauma two moved.”
“You want some help?” you offered.
“No, sweetie, I got it.”
You looked around like you needed to make myself busy. Like you couldn't be alone with Jack. He'd seen it in the ED many times, even in the military, the need for people to stay busy instead of succumbing to a sort of numbness.
It had been him some years back before he managed to deal with his demons.
“Any interesting cases in the ED today?” Jack asked, following you around with his hands behind his back, restraining himself from guiding you through with a hand on your back.
“Well, we had a woman who didn't realise she was eight months pregnant who gave birth today. A priapism-”
Jack seethed. “Ouch.”
“- and a man with a toothbrush stuck up where the sun don't shine.”
“Double ouch,” he said, checking the side of you. “So you had quite an interesting day, huh?”
“You could say that,” you mumbled. “There's also a girl in five with Fancomi anemia. She came in four hours again and we're still waiting to hear from her parents. She has a half sister half way across the country that might be a bone marrow candidate that they've never tried.”
Jack nodded, listening and catching the far away look in your eyes. “You're doing everything for her,” said Jack. He didn't even have to ask to know you would be doing everything possible for the girl. Even if it meant exhausting yourself.
Jack nodded to himself, debating with himself if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. The devil and angel arguing on his shoulders. “A little birdie told me you had a date,” he said, the both of you knowing the little birdie was, in fact, Robby. “How'd it go?”
You sighed and stopped in the middle of the corridor.
He cut you off before you could start. “I'm just asking to check you're okay. That... that he was nice.”
You nodded slowly, not meeting his gaze as your hands rested at your hips. “He was- he was fine.”
Jack ignored the wince of pain as he crouched to get a look at you. “Just fine?”
If Jack couldn't have you, he loved you enough to just want you happy.
It was only four months ago you'd broken up with him, after seven months of beautiful moments. Of coming home to you in his sheets, making a coffee and waking you up to it. He wanted to steal every moment with you, choosing sleep when you went to work, spending the morning just watching you get ready. The lunch dates where he'd turn up to the ED, the place he could never escape, with a delicious home made lunch for you and sometimes extra for Robby who kicked up a fuss that he got nothing and had known Jack longer.
Jack missed the kisses in the night and the morning. He missed holding you when he had a night off. He missed when you'd think he was asleep and map his freckles, tracing I love you into his skin.
Because the tender moments were always there, yet gradually they began to hide themselves in the cover of night, when you thought he was sleeping.
Jack knew things weren't perfect. With both your schedules it was hard to balance but you tried to make it work. Then the light in your eyes started to fade and when you told him it isn’t working anymore, I love you, I'm sorry, he hadn't thought to keep your relationship alive. He'd just been fighting to keep you.
He was terrified he'd lose you.
Then what would he do?
He wouldn't survive it.
“Just fine?” he asked again.
“Don’t sound too pleased.”
“I’m not,” he denied but bit back a smile.
You looked up to him, shuddering a deep breath. “He was just... whatever.”
“Just a whatever kind of guy?”
“Why are you asking so much?” you asked, mildly annoyed.
Because he still loved you? Wasn't it painfully obvious? Weren't you just trying to act like you didn't know he was helpless for you to spare him embarrassment.
“Just, checking in on you.”
You looked down at your shoes, scuffing them on the floor. “It- he was nice but... I dunno, not what I wanted.”
Jack hummed. “No?” did you still want him? He'll be honest, he didn't think he'd hear about you going on a date. Least of all with some guy from Pedes. When you'd broke up with him he expected it had something to do with you wanting to focus on you. Rest up. The sort of stuff like that. Then he had to hear from Robby that you were going out for dinner.
There was only a small bite of anger before Jack felt sorry for himself.
“No,” you sighed.
There were deeper circles under your eyes than usual, sharp half moons dark in colour lingering there. Your eyes were dark and lifeless, scrubs hanging off you.
“Is there anything else going on?” he asked, tugging at your arm slightly to hide yourselves at a corner.
You looked up to him, lips pulled down in a frown as you shook your head. “Nope.”
His brows rose, eyes looking at you, pleading. “You can talk to me if there is, h-” the pet name he had no right to almost slipped from his lips. He gulped it down and felt it sting down his throat. “You can tell me.”
“We're...” you hesitated. “We're not together anymore, Jack. You don't have to do all this chivalry thing.”
“Can't help it,” Jack shrugged. “Not when it's you.”
Your hands wrung together and Jack looked down. There was flakes of dry skin on along your fingers. He knew the sanitiser in the ED could be harsh on your skin, but he also knew he'd replaced your hand moisturiser in your locker just two weeks ago and that you should have plenty. It was a nervous habit you had, to rub your hands together like so.
Jack remembered it from your first date. He’s used it as an excuse to reach over and take your hands.
“I'm just tired,” you mumbled.
Jack nodded, slow and listening. “That it?” he prodded gently.
He'd heard countless doctors slip those words out in answer to the everything okay type questions. He'd seen Robby break as the words chocked in his throat. You said them without emotion. Without even trying to prove your lie.
“Why don't you go home? Get some rest-”
“Ellis is-”
“- we'll manage,” he insisted. His hand had un-consciously started to move up and down your forearm in comfort.
You winced as you turned your head aside, thinking about it.
Jack didn't know how much he really wanted you to go home. He wanted you to rest, yes, but preferably in the family room with a blanket thrown over you where he could drop by and check in on you. Check you were okay.
Check you weren't doing something stupid.
He knew that not everyone felt like a ticking time bomb. That not everyone's mind would wonder as dark as his did sometimes.
But he feared you weren't far off.
“Go rest-”
At the same moment Jack spoke the ambulance doors were pushed open and two bodies were pushed through on gurneys, bloody and broken. Stats were yelled out and Jack was called for.
At the same time, Matteo popped out of five, calling for you.
“She's crashing!”
You rushed over, falling into the room with the young girl and Matteo.
With a heavy sigh, Jack followed the other path of emergency responders and doctors.
He and the team worked on them. A father and son involved in a lorry crash that ploughed right into the side. The kid was only seventeen with a broken leg and collapsed lung. The father was much better off. The boy would need surgery and Walsh was already down and wheeling him up.
It was all done in a quick blur of thirty minutes. He took care of it all clinically like ticking through a to do list, not looking to close at the kid to remember shades of hair or lines of the face.
By the time Jack was stepping out the trauma room, Crus at his side, you still had not returned to the floor of the ED.
“How does she seem to you?” Jack asked Crus, the two of them pulling off their gloves and gowns. He said your name in clarification.
“Hot!” said Crus with a shit-eating grin.
Jack glared at him. He should have known not to expect a serious answer from Henderson. Or at least he hoped that wasn't the serious answer.
“I don't know man, how do you want her to seem?” asked Crus.
“She seems tired. For a while now,” Jack noted.
“Aren't we all chasing sleep?” he asked him, leaving his side with a pat on his back.
Jack found himself at the nurses station, leaning over.
Lena's glasses slid down her nose, a chart in hand and her red hair messily pulled back. She ditched all efforts to seem busy however when he beckoned her over. “She's been in there the last thirty-five minutes,” she told him. “The little girl she'd been looking after crashed.”
“Nothing back?”
Lena shook her head.
Jack shook his head. “Shit.”
With a heavy heart he dragged himself to room five, already hearing the stillness of the monitor, the hard breathing and orders.
“Push another round of epi and charge to two hundred.”
The room smelt of septic cleaning products and the faint aroma of sweat. There was a faint burn smell from the defibrillators that had apparently already been charged and used.
Jack lingered in the doorway.
Your body was curved over the small girl, knees denting into the crappy hospital bed that hadn't been updated in years. Your hands were cupped over her chest, pumping down as Matteo pushed another round of epi. Catching Jack's eyes, he shook his head.
Jack tutted, quietly to himself. “Hold compressions, check for a rhythm.”
It took you a second but you stopped, looking to the monitor in hope.
There was nothing but a flat line.
Jack didn't tell you to resume compressions but you did anyway.
“Charge to three hundred,” you said to Matteo.
He was caught in the middle, looking toward Jack for confirmation.
Jack nodded and Matteo got the paddles, warming them and handing them to you.
Your grasped them in an all too familiar hold. “Clear!”
The small girls body lurched before flopping back on the bed. Everyone in the small room waited for a rhythm. There was nothing in answer.
Jack had no time to tell you not to carry on before you were. He took a slow step in, patting Matteo on the shoulder, in a silent gesture to have him leave.
The nurse gave a sad look before leaving, closing the door gently behind him.
There was Jack and you over the girls body.
He said your name, slowly.
You didn't react.
“Honey, come on,” said Jack. “She's gone.” He could see the tremble in your arms from the compressions you hadn't given up on.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Her parents aren't even here,” you said. “They didn't even pick up their phone when Dana called. We-we left a message. They deserve to see their daughter one last time.”
Jack nodded. “They will.”
You glanced up at him. “Alive.”
He clocked his head to the side. “That's not gonna happen. It's been forty-five minutes. She's gone.”
Losing kids were the hardest. Losing anyone was hard but kids weren't supposed to be found in hospital beds, tubes poking out of them. If they had to be found in a hospital, they deserved loved ones around them. Not strangers in black and blue.
Jack knew you were trying to do the right thing. Sometimes there was no right thing to do.
“Come on.” Jack was slow in moving around the bed to your side. He gave you time to slow down, to feel the exhaustion in your arms. His own hovered over you. “Come on.”
You shuddered when his arms fell over you, holding you softly as you slumped back into him, falling from the bed on feet that weren't ready to catch you. His arms were; strong where you were weak.
“It's okay, it's okay,” he mumbled into your hair, peppering kisses there. “You did everything you could.”
Neither of you knew how long you stood there in his embrace. Somewhere between the consoling you and you slowly leaving his arms- like it was paining you physically to do so- Jack called the time of death so you wouldn't have to, pulling the plug on the monitor to kill the sound of dying.
When he turned back you were stuck at the door, eyes downcast as if you couldn't bring yourself to look at the small body he pulled the cover over.
He returned to your side, hand gentle on your arm. “Go take some time in the family room.”
You shook your head, a tear betraying your words. “I'm fine.”
Jack reached up and cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand. He looked at you like you were still his whole world. You were. To him. His thumb delicately wiped the tear away as your gaze reached his. “Ten minutes, please. For me.”
It took some time, some great mental calculations sparring inside of you but you nodded and Jack led you from the room, closing the door behind him.
His hand was a gentle breeze against the small of your back as he led you out, giving a gesture of a nod to Lena about the room. It was enough for her charge nurse bells to go off as she nodded and sent someone over.
“Take all the time you need, okay?” Jack whispered to you.
You nodded, stepping out his hold and slowly walking to the family room.
Jack waited and watched closely, marking every step you took to the room. He only let out a sigh when he saw you close the door behind you.
“Everything okay?” asked Lena as he slouched over the counter.
His face scrunched up as he fought his own pain. Pain for the little girl but a greater pain chocked at him as he closed his eyes and pictured the heartbreak marring your face, taking over your entire body. He sniffed back his own grief. “No. No, not really.”
Slowly he explained the situation to Lena. He re-encountered the break up that had took the night crew by shock. They were all so sure it was happy ever after for the two of you. When Jack had to slowly explain the break up (he lied and said it was mutual, it was very much not) there were distraught faces as if the night-crawlers were all going through a parental divorce. He told Lena he knew something was going on with you. He told her about the girl that had just died.
“And I just-” said Jack, chocking on a cry that threatened to escape the lodge in his throat. “Sometimes when I see her, it feels like I'm gonna be seeing her for the last time.”
“Hey,” Lena whispered and reached for his hand, squeezing it. “None of that. She'll be okay.”
Jack nodded, repeating the words to himself. “Yeah, she'll be okay. Keep an eye on here?”
“Already on it.”
By the time Jack next had the spare moment to check his watch he found thirty minutes had flickered by since he last saw you. When he passed by the family room you weren't there. Instead Caleb was, talking to a family.
Jack went in search of you, checking the board for your initials. He didn't see anything up on there, nothing that jolted his heart with the usual sparks.
“Shen!” he called in passing. “Have you seen her?”
“Er, no, sorry.”
Jack cursed. He was turning around the ED, spinning on his heel and looking around every corner for you. You weren't by the lockers, weren't out in the ambulance bay. Trauma one was empty and trauma two had a large team in there already, devoid of you.
His heart beat like a drum in his chest, growing louder and louder, the thud of the bass growing the more time went on and he couldn't find you. Had you gone home without a word? Were you hiding away somewhere else?
Jack was losing hope, running on anxiety when he pushed back the curtain to fourteen hard enough to almost tear the thing.
You looked up at him from your place on the stool next to your patient, a middle aged woman with an ankle not as it should be.
“You're here,” he said, breathless.
“Er, yeah?” you said with a small chuckle. “I'm just telling Mrs Greene here about the surgery to reset the bone in her foot.”
Jack nodded, looking from you to your patient.
He wasn't an idiot. Your eyes were scratched and red, cheeks flushed. Yet you'd tried to put yourself back together. You'd scraped back your hair in a neater pin up, had clearly splashed cold water on your face, maybe even dunked your face in a bowl of it. You sat with your hands in your lap, a leg kicked over the other, caving in on yourself.
As soon as you left the room, chart in hand, Jack was hot on your heels.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
You startled, looking at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?”
“You lost a patient,” Jack reminded you, a small frown pulling at his lips. “It's tough on all of us.”
You glanced down to the chart, lifting your shoulders. “We lose people all the time. It's the job.”
He surveyed you as you slid into a seat, logging into the computer in front of you. No eye contact, distractions pulling at you. Jack knew your tactics; they were everyone else's. Ignore the pain till it went away before mounting up and crashing down at the worst time possible. Heck, he was chair of the club.
“Sure,” he mused. “Doesn't make it any easier.”
You sighed, pulling your lips up into a strained smile. “Jack, seriously, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me.”
Jack leant over the counter. “Well, you want to know a secret?”
“What?”
“I'm always worried about you.”
“I don't think it's much of a secret,” you said, moving your fingers quick over the keypad.
He wondered if your hands were steady. Or even if you were writing anything with meaning, or just trying to occupy yourself. “If you need to go home-”
“- I don't-”
“- take some time-”
“- I don't want to take time,” you huffed.
“You’re starting to sound like Robby.”
“Now that’s insulting,” you huffed. There was a moment were you fell silent, your body slumping under the weight of the argument. You dragged your hands down your face. “Jack, please.”
When you're a kid they teach you that manners are an important basis in the human condition. A show of respect. A nicety. They don't tell you the effects the simple words hold when used on the tongue of a loved one. When someone you love is begging you to leave them alone, even against your better judgement.
Jack never liked to hear you beg as it was.
He hung his head in surrender. “I'm staying close.”
“You'll be loitering.”
“Observing,” he corrected.
He loitered around you the rest of the night. He checked your name on the board every time he passed. When the parents of the young girl arrived five hours later Jack spoke to them, he didn't even tell you they had arrived but somehow you knew. A silent nod of thanks was passed. The sun started to rise and Jack had counted three coffee's, two over your usual. The granola bar he'd handed you was left abandoned at your station and before Jack could find you to make sure you eat the rest, Crus had taken it in one bite.
Six am was a blessing. The night hadn't been full of patients, no more than usual at least but it had been more stressful to Jack.
Every time you moved and he couldn't find you he was worried. Even if it only lasted a minute or two. It was the same blind panic he'd felt the day Robby left for his sabbatical, yet the relief when he saw you didn't last.
Jack had left to go to the bathroom in the morning. When he came back Robby was there, fleece pulled up and talking to you. He couldn't tell what was going on, only that Robby's hands were clasped together in a prayer like motion.
Then he saw you nod and Robby sigh before giving you a high five and leaving.
“What was that?” Jack asked, falling at your side.
“What?”
“What were you and Robby talking about?”
“Er,” you hesitated. “Langdon can't make it, there's something at home, I don't know his kids are sick or something, Abbey's away visiting family.”
Jack was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “So?”
“He's asked me to stick around for a bit, help him out-”
“You've just pulled a double,” Jack snapped.
“It's only a few hours,” you shrugged, as if you weren't the walking definition of sleep. “Beats going home.”
“I'll cover.”
“Then you'll be pulling a triple,” you pointed out. “I'm younger, more spry.”
His jaw pulled tight, hands falling on his hips. “I'll talk to Robby.”
“I've told him I'll do it,” you said, firmly. “I don't want to go home and sit with this, I'd rather be here.”
“For how long?” he asked. “You gonna stay here forever now? You can't run away from this.”
“I can't sit with it either,” you snapped back, heat rising up your neck. “I'm not like you, Jack. I can't leave the shift at the door and go home and just sleep it off. I need to... I need to do something.”
Jack stood and listened. He knew you all processed things differently. He knew that you were never good at staying still, always rising early in the mornings even if you weren't working, cooking before he'd even said he was hungry. Siting still and thinking didn't work for you.
You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. It took you a couple moments to drag your eyelids open. “I'm gonna go sleep through hand over. I'll see you soon, okay?”
Jack didn't bother saying anything as he watched you go.
Your place was taken up by Robby. He looked down the way you'd walked.
“You had no right to ask her to stay,” Jack argued.
Robby chuckled low in his throat. “You have no right to be mad that she said yes. She's not yours anymore, Jack.”
“She's exhausted!” he grit.
“Then she wouldn't have said yes.”
“She wouldn't have said no, either!”
Robby grit his teeth and backed up a step. “Brother, I know you care about her. I'm only asking a couple hours to figure things out. She's a grown up. She knows what she's doing. I don't think you do.”
Robby walked off then, leaving Jack to it.
The worst part was, Jack knew he was right. He had no idea what he was doing.
It was two days later and Jack wasn't even supposed to be in.
It was only three in the afternoon, he had at least three more hours of snooze time, lying back in his bed, counting the flecks of paint in his ceiling- if he hadn't been out on the SWAT team.
A bunch of boys- punks really- were holding hostages for a total of six thousand dollars and a PS5. Considering the wars and losing his leg and the shoot outs it was a relative easy thing to deal with. Still, when the larger one of the trio took a run at him and landed his shoulder square in the chest, pushing Jack to the floor, it still hurt.
He'd pulled up his shirt, caught a glimpse at the bruising and thought it better safe than sorry. Best to get it checked out by your hands.
Any excuse really to feel your hands touch him.
“Hey,” he greeted, walking through the ambulance doors.
It was like walking into a morgue.
Dana and Javadi were at the nurses station, both turned to look at him in shock. “Jack, honey, what are you doing here?” she asked without her usual smile.
Jack clocked his head aside. “I took a tumble, thought I could get a look at, you know.” He was hoping she'd catch just who he wanted examining him without saying your name.
Javadi gasped at her side, hands flying over her mouth. “Oh my god.”
Jack looked to her. “What?”
He glanced around the Pitt.
Princess and Perlah were in the corner, talking in Tagalog quietly while glancing at him. Others were looking at him but Robby wasn't. He wasn't around. He counted: neither Samira, Whitaker, Santos or McKay were there.
Nor were you.
Dana slowed around the counter, lifting an arm to him. “Why don't we get some coffee? I can take a look at you-”
But Jack had already found trauma two, where all the doctors he was looking for were.
Robby stilled, gloved hands and gown covered in blood. At his side Samira was much the same, behind him Whitaker too. “Jack! Get out!”
It took him a minute to realise why everyone was looking at him, why the ED had felt colder than usual. Why you'd been missing from the floor.
The blood surrounding everything was yours.
“Jack!” Robby yelled.
You were on the gurney too still, so un-natural for you. Had he not been complaining you wouldn't take a break just forty-eight hours ago?
Jack looked to each face that was frozen, wondering what to do. Whether they should work on saving you or work on getting rid of him.
Jack made their choice for them, throwing off his jacket and pulling on latex gloves over the sweat of his palms. “Talk to me!” he yelled to anyone in the room.
Robby gave one un-impressed shake of his head and a groan. “We found her in the bathrooms. Stab wounds to the left chest, two to the belly, right and left upper quadrants.”
Jack was over you know, looking down.
You were pale, eyes dark and closed and not opening as he pressed a hand to the top of your head, feeling around just to be able to touch and know you were there. It was a relief to know as much as it was a nightmare to see you. He inhaled but it was shaky.
“She- she was stabbed?” he asked.
“We think it was a patient,” said Santos from behind him. “Or-or a relative of a patient, we don't know.”
Jack shook his head, brows creasing. “Oh god.”
“Pule ox eighty-two!” called out Donnie.
Jack snatched the central line tray away from Robby, lying it out and doing it all himself. He looked at you and saw a patient. For the sake of your life he was looking at you and cutting you open like he didn't love you. “Call- call someone,” he said.
“What?” asked Whitaker.
“Robby,” said Jack. “Call- call her emergency contact. A friend. A family, I don't know just get her someone! She-she doesn't like patients being alone so for gods sake, call someone!”
Robby was adamant to argue. It was evident in the lines in his face and the frown on his lips but Jack heard the sharp tug of elastic and the sound of him giving up.
He remembered how distraught you'd been when the little girl had no family with her. You weren't going to die- you weren't. But Jack wanted someone you trusted to be with you.
“BP's ninety over fifty!”
“Okay, c'mon, c'mon, honey,” said Jack as he carefully and skilfully intubated you, the bag going on. “Don't do this to me.”
Robby had pulled over the computer, logging in and typing away.
“Pulse ox is dropping!”
“Belly is distended,” said Whitaker. “Probably an intra-abdominal bleed!”
“Get four more units of O-neg in here!” ordered Jack.
“Pressure's down to sixty!” yelled Samira.
“Oh... god,” Robby uttered, staring intently at the computer screen.
There was a harsh beeping screaming through the room and everyone looked.
“We've lost her pulse!”
By the time Mohan had finished announcing it Jack had already climbed up, compressing down on your chest.
“No. No,” he said, harshly. “You are not doing this to me. You're not! Push a round of epi!”
There was another beeping that would haunt Jack for the rest of his life.
“She's in V-fib!”
Jack grunted. “Charge to one hundred!”
“Stop!” Robby called out. His head was hung low between his shoulders, one hand held up. “Stop.”
Jack did not stop pushing down to your chest. Over you, Donnie did not stop pressing down on the bag. Nobody was stopping. “Robby, What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he snapped.
Robby was pale, his eyes down cast as he turned his body to the room but didn't have the strength to look at anyone. He rested a hand on his hip, the other stretched out to the cart with the computer to steady himself. “Her chart. She's DNR.”
Jack didn't hear him, not right away. Or he did but didn't want to. He knew the letters DNR. Sometimes a mercy for the elderly that had lived a long, good life and wanted to go out on their terms. For the terminally ill who didn't want to live the rest of their life in pain.
You were young. You were healthy. You were not dying.
“What?” said McKay.
“You're kidding,” said Denis.
Robby shook his head, spinning the computer to them.
“Doctor Mohan!” Jack called, a silent plea for her to take his place. With steady hands, she did and Jack stumbled down next to Robby.
He stared at your name, your birthday. Your file sat there staring at him, the DNR mocking all the love he held for you.
“She's DNR, Jack, I'm sorry,” said Robby, a hand on his shoulder. “We have to respect that.”
His fingers moved around the keyboard till he highlighted the DNR.
You'd signed a DNR. You'd never said anything. Why had you signed a DNR?
Jack moved around on the keypad and did the only reasonable thing. Everyone behind him waited with bated breath.
Jack dragged his finger to the bin icon and deleted your file.
Robby stared at him in shock.
Jack looked away from the now empty computer screen and didn't so much as glance at Robby as he returned to your side. “Charge to one hundred.”
A wave of shock rippled through the doctors and nurses as Jack marched back to your side. There was disbelief that you, someone so young, would ever be a DNR. That Jack- who they'd all argue was a little bit more responsible than their own Doctor Robby- would erase a file!
Jack looked around at them all. “Charge to one hundred, now!”
Santos and Whitaker were the first to jump to attention, charging and handing over the panels.
“Clear!”
The waiting room was colder, quieter and whiter than Jack was accustom to. He was used to working down in the Pitt, with its white walls and ghosts but there was always noise. Always monitors going off and names being called, usually there were wails or cries of relief.
In the waiting room there was nothing.
Only lines and lines of chairs, a fish tank that last time he'd counter had a dozen or so goldfish and a clock that ticked by every second you lay under the knife.
Every second ticked away and nobody came to fetch him, to update him.
Every second Jack was left alone to guess why you'd have a DNR order.
The door creaked open and the only other waiting woman and child in the room looked up. As did Jack.
Robby walked in, boots shuffling, lips tilting up into an apologetic smile as he raised a hand to the mother and daughter. He found Jack. “Anything?”
He shook his head. He learnt almost two hours ago not to trust his voice from shaking anymore.
Robby settled in the chair next to Jack, stretching out his legs. Not to impose but just to press his boot next to Jack's and assure him he was there. It was a small move but none the less appreciated. “The guy was only came in for a headache,” he explained quietly in the silence. “We were waiting on a psych consult from some erratic behaviour-”
“- he should've been restrained,” said Jack, through eyes that were heavy in tears. He knew that most patients came in erratic, that they didn't always have to be tied down but he still he remembered your blood all over the trauma room, your blood on everyone's gloves.
Jack had to get a change of scrubs from the lockers just to get out of his clothes stained in your blood but as he looked down at his boots he found a spec of your blood.
“The guy had no infection, we've no idea how he got the knife. He ran after the attack. Word is he's at Westbridge being treated for schizophrenia.”
“How long?” Jack asked, a shake in his voice as he angled his head down to Robby. He gulped. “How long do you think she was lying there, alone, bleeding to death before anyone found her?”
Robby's own inhale was shaky, his body wracked with it. “I don't know.”
Jack's breath shuddered. He hunched over himself, resting his elbows on his knees.
Had you been conscious? Aware of the fact litres of your blood were leaving without being able to call for help. Were you trying to call for help but un-able to find your voice? The thought had Jack's stomach churning.
“What if-”
“Don't-” warned Robby.
“What if she doesn't make it?”
“She will.”
Jack tried to imagine a world without you but he couldn't. He tried to picture walking into work and not finding your face, smiling or on the verge of collapse. He imagined not being able to text you just to say he was thinking about you and for you to just reply, don't. He couldn't imagine the last photo he'd have of you on his phone was the morning you broke up with him, when you were sleeping and he thought you looked so beautiful and at peace that he had to capture the moment.
He wanted to tell you there'd be no peace on the other side. Not if you left him.
“Two stab wounds to the belly,” Jack sniffed. “Could've been the spleen.”
Robby didn't try to sugar coat it. He only nodded and listened. “It could.”
“It could've got the heart, she was stabbed in the chest.”
“Maybe.”
They sat in silence.
Jack saw Robby watch the clock for an entire minute.
“Do you know why?” asked Robby. “Why she had a DNR?”
Jack winced at the memory. The stamp standing out to him. It was offensive to him, that you'd do such a thing. He rested back in his chair. “No. She.... she never said anything about it, not to me.”
Jack didn't need to ask what he might have meant. They knew it better than most.
Maybe it wasn't a want to die, but an indifference to live.
Yet, a DNR wasn't an indifference. It was a choice that if anything happened to you you'd never want to come back from it.
“I can't do it,” said Jack, looking down to his boots. He struggled to put the rest of it into words. “I can't... without her- I can't. And I want nothing more than for her to wake up. But... I'm so angry she's done this.”
There was grief, despair also behind that anger but the fury masked it.
“So am I,” said Robby. He was the closest thing to a mentor you had, someone to look out for you when Jack wasn't around. “When she wakes up-”
Jack shook his head. “We don't know that.”
Robby's body hunched over, focused on Jack. “When she gets out of that OR you get to argue with her first.”
Jack dared to hope in the silence that paraded between them. “You think she knows?” he asked. “That we brought her back?”
It seemed Robby didn't even have to think about it.
“She knows.”
There was another tick of the clock before the door opened again.
“Doctor Abbot.”
He shot up at the call of his name, pushing through the door with Robby following behind. Out in the hallway the lights radiated a ghostly white and Jack felt haunted already.
Garcia stood there, a mask lose around her neck.
“How-how is she?” he asked.
Garcia looked between them. “Recovering. There's a long road ahead of her, but she's stubborn. Far more stubborn than the two of you combined. She's going to make it.”
Jack let out a shudder of a breath of relief, his entire body curling. He felt the need to throw up all the words he'd wanted to say to you and hadn't. That coil in his stomach released and his last good leg trembled.
He felt Robby's hand on his shoulder and dully heard him and Garcia talk about what had gone on in the operating room but it was as if Jack was under water.
A score of surgeons started to wheel you out, pushing you into recovery.
Jack saw you in a new gown without blood, bandages around you. You were still asleep but that's all it was, a sleep. Your skin was still pale but there was the smallest bit of life in your cheeks. You moved so slow, or maybe that's how he was seeing you, trying to slow it down to memorise you.
When you disappeared Jack came back to with enough time to thank Garcia and rush off after you.
By the time you woke up Jack had gone through his mind a thousand times, trying to think of a way to approach the topic of you seemly wanting to die without coming off as angry and afraid as he felt.
You woke slowly with flutters of your eyes and your hand coming up to rub at the sleep only to be held down by the IV in your hand.
Jack jerked at the movement, claiming your hand and holding it in his, squeezing. “Hey. Hey, you're okay, it's okay,” he said, coaxing some comfort into you.
You turned to find him, eyes groggy as you blinked at him. Your lips parted, dry and chapped, just barely mumbling his name.
“Yeah, yeah, it's me,” he said with a watery smile as tears sprung to his eyes. “It's me, you're okay, you're safe.”
You glanced around the room in post-op. The blank walls with cards about various health hacks, at the monitors all around you, then down to yourself in a gown, the blanket that Jack had asked Robby to bring from his place gently tucked close to you. Selfishly, he'd wanted to keep just one thing when you left. You gulped. “What-what happened?”
Jack steadied himself. “You were- you were stabbed, one to the chest. Tw-two to the belly.”
You blinked, taking in the information. Slowly, your free hand rose and rubbed over your heart. “My-my chest-”
“Does it hurt?” asked Jack, ready to begrudgingly let go of your hand and rush to get someone.
You shook your head, closing your eyes and resting your head back in the cushions. “It... aches, a little.”
Jack knew the pain from other people winces. From the jutting of chests when they were shocked to the burn marks left there after. He'd seen your wince on hundreds of other patients, often described as a pain like being kicked in the chest.
He wondered if his heart breaking was a similar pain.
“Your- your heart stopped. We lost your pulse. We had to bring you back,” he said slowly, studying your face for any sign of grief. “We had to shock you.”
He waited.
You only slowly closed your eyes and opened them again. “Oh.” Your hand gave his a little squeeze.
Jack gulped down his troubles, shuffling closer and resting his arms on the bed, caressing your hand close to his chest. “We had to go against the DNR. Your DNR.”
You looked at him, a small knot of confusion between your brows before it quickly smoothed over. He watched you slowly avert your gaze, turning away to stare at the ceiling instead. You didn't cry- in rage or relief- you didn't say anything for a while leaving Jack to guess if you wanted him to bring you back.
“Why?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “Honey- why was there a DNR order on your file?” deep down he knew he should have been letting you rest, taking care of you and whispering soothing words but he couldn't see past the order on your file. He couldn't forget the way he watched your body lie still and bloody without breath and the dread that filled his chest when he found out you didn't want to be brought back.
You blinked a tear. “I don't know.”
Jack shuffled closer still, his knees digging into the bed. “Baby... honey, please. You-you can tell me,” he begged, holding the back of your hand to the stubble growing in stress. “Please, honey. I... I thought I was gonna lose you forever.”
His salty tears rolled onto the back of your hand and like it was acid, you cried, the sort that had your bottom lip jittering.
“I-I really don't know,” you uttered. “I guess I was young and-and stupid. I didn't want to die... didn't care much about living either. I just put there as a.... as....”
Jacks thumb slowly soothed your hand, resting it on his cheek as he listened. “As a what, honey?”
You glanced his way before your expression turned pain and you stared down at the blanket instead. “A failsafe. I didn't think anything would happen to me... but if I did I guessed it was life's way of telling me to be done.”
Jack took a deep breath that didn't reach deep in his lungs, it sat and burned. He knew it wasn't about him and he wasn't trying to make it so but he'd had a long time to think about life without you while waiting for you to come out of surgery.
Who else was he supposed to talk to if he didn't have you?
Who else was he supposed to laugh with if you weren't there?
Who else would take up all the love he had if you didn't have it?
“I did it ages ago, Jack, I swear, I forgot about it. Things were different, when-when I was with you. I just... I...”
He nodded, trying to hide his tears. He turned his head to wipe his cheek against his shoulder.
You squeezed his hand again.
“You didn't- you never said anything,” he mumbled.
You lips parted and hung open lamely. “I'm sorry.”
Jack shook his head again and looked at you with his best, un-stable, smile. “I just don't know what I would've done without you.”
Your finger tapped his hand, almost pityingly. “You'd have been okay.”
He scoffed. “Like fuck I would have,” he said, looking at you. “Do you realise how scared I was when I saw you in trauma? Do you realise what my life means without you? Nothing. Nothing, it means nothing.”
You frowned. “But I... I broke up with you?”
Jack shrugged. “So? You think I was gonna stay away long?”
You looked down at the blanket again, the one you'd picked up at a store- Jack couldn't even remember what store- he just remembered you'd seen it and said it would look good at home. At his. It was the first time you'd said his place as home and the first time he realised it could have been just that. “I dunno, I'm kind of a mess.”
Jack looked at you like you were the stars in the sky. “So am I, baby. That doesn't change anything.”
He thought to how sad you'd looked breaking up with him, like you didn't want to. All the extra shifts you'd been carrying, the silent pain. “You can't carry on like this. Being distracted, running from the pain. You have to... talk about it, face it.”
You swallowed, bitterly, as if even thinking about doing just that was the last thing you wanted to think about.
“If I hadn't been there today, I... I don't even want to think about what could've happened,” he admitted, quietly.
“How- how did you do it?” you asked. “Go about the DNR?”
Jack looked up sheepishly. “I deleted your file from the records.”
There was the smallest hint of a smirk on your lips.
“Gloria's not gonna like that,” you warned, pulling at his hand.
Jack chuckled to himself. “Gloria can kiss my ass.”
You laughed. It was small and pained but it was the first laugh from you Jack had heard in months.
He smiled at the sound.
“Jack?”
You pulled on his hand, beckoning him closer.
Jack hovered over you, checking where he could rest as to not hurt you. He rested his arm over yours, gently stroking back your hair while keeping your hand in his, resting it over your chest where the firm and promising beating of your heart lay.
“Thank you,” you said. “I don't... I don't think I'd want to have died. I know I act like it some times with... with all the work and the distance-”
Jack nodded along. It was a good start, a fresh one that he could build with you.
“But I want to be alive. With you.”
“Well that's good,” he said, tasting the own salt of his tears on his lips that were bitten down on in anxiety. “Because I want you to be alive. With or without me.”
You smiled up at him.
Jack stroked back your hair again. “But I'd prefer with.”
“So would I.”
Jack kissed you gently and slow, letting you set a pace of push him off. You did neither. Your lips puckered and were light against his but he grew solid then, an un-moving block at your side.
And you'd start again with each other, gentle and slow.
if you need help or related to the dark ideas in this fic, please talk to someone!
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summary: you have to go home for a wedding. jack comes to support. you think it's the end of your relationship, he proves it's not.
pairing: jack abbot x fem! doctor! reader, carmen berzatto x fem! sister! reader, sugar berzatto x fem! sister reader, richie jerimovitch x fem! cousin! reader, etc.
warnings: regular themes of the bear, regular themes of the pitt, jack was abused as a kid, reader was lowkey abused as a kid, talks of suicide, talks of death, talks of depression and addiction, talks of jack's PTSD, stevie is annoying, LOTS OF CURSING, fear of abandonment, lots of crying, non-sexual nudity, spoilers for the wedding episode (based on episode 7 'bears'- season 4 of the bear)
a/n: yall, this is 13k words. good luck.
banners from my good friend @no-144444 !
Everything was on fire. His leg, well, his lack of leg had been at him all night. His back was killing him from all the fucking leaning he’d been doing. His eyes were bloodshot from the double he’d unintentionally pulled. Fuck, he just wanted to go home. The last few hours had been a blur. Mass casualty events hit just a bit too close to home, reminding him of his time in the military, which was never really a good idea. He hated it, the screams he couldn’t forget, the wounds he couldn’t treat, and the faces forever etched into his memory. He hated it because he couldn’t watch fireworks, or watch any of those documentaries you so loved, or function properly sometimes. Sometimes the PTSD took over and the nightmares dragged him back, dragged him away from you.
You were always so patient. Always waiting for him, ready to pick up the pieces.
Shit, where were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the shitshow everyone had just endured.
He slid up against the nurse’s station, leaning against the desk as he gained Dana’s attention. “Know where my girl is?” he asked casually. You two had given up keeping it a secret months ago, specifically after Shen had made a powerpoint about how perfect you two are for each other and left it playing in the breakroom for a full night and day before either of you noticed. It had an AI image of you two kissing which looked far too real.
She let out a sigh, leaning in closer. Alarm bells went off in his head, but he kept calm. It’s probably fine, he told himself. She’s alright. “She’s getting some air, apparently,” She raised an eyebrow, putting a hand over his. He stiffened. He hated how often you followed his tradition of going up there for some air. Mostly he contemplated what the fuck he was doing with his life. You went up there to stop him. “Brought her phone, it was ringing. She answered it.” She shrugged and let go of his hand. That terrifying expression on her face, the one that meant she was worried. Not many things can make a charge nurse worried. More alarm bells than he’d enjoy to admit started ringing. You hated phone calls, it was just a thing with you. You texted, you listened to voicenotes, but you didn’t pick up your phone. It used to piss Jack off because calling is so much easier than texting, but he slowly understood it’s just something you didn’t enjoy, and he adapted.
The elevator was never fast enough for him, and neither was how long it took him to get up the stairs. The cold air hit him as he walked out onto the roof, your figure on the safe side of the railing. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Slowly, he approached. He caught words. No. Can’t. Mom. Sugar. Carm. Bear. Sydney. Tiffany. Frank. He didn’t pry. He leaned against the railing, and he waited.
“Rich, I’m not going,” you rolled your eyes as he kept fucking talking. “Yes! Yes, I fucking understand, thank you so fucking much for reminding me of what a terrible child and sister I am, I’m well aware, thank you!” You scoffed and the voice on the other side just got louder. “Is that Neil? Neil’s listening to this? Are your fucking joking me right now Rich?!” You gripped the railing with your free hand, a bruising grip around the cold metal. “Yes, hi sweetheart, I-I’m good… alright thank you sweetheart, bye. Fuck you Rich, no, no, seriously, fuck you. Get fucked, genuinely,” you sighed, eye closing, shoulders tense. Jack didn’t think he’d ever heard you curse so much. You rolled your shoulders and spoke again, brow furrowing. “What? I know she’s your ex-wife, but seriously? Fuck the wedding! I’m not driving for 7 hours to attend a wedding of a woman I literally don’t fucking know! Oh wow! That’s really fucking mature Rich, yes I know I’ve been living in Pittsburgh, thank you so much for fucking reminding me…- oh my god are you seriously still not fucking over that?! I had to leave! Oh, I’m so sorry did Donna try to kill you? Exactly, you fuckin’ jag-off,” you shouted over the phone, and finally made eye contact with Jack, realising he’d been standing there. Your voice evened out. “I have to go- I get it, alright, I fucking get it! Jesus, good-fucking-bye! Yeah fuck you too, alright? Love you Rich, I’ll think about it- alright, bye.” You were both quiet for a moment, just letting the energy of that call dissipate.
You pushed yourself off the railing, and turned to him. You let out a breath. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Who’s Donna and why did she try to kill you?” He asked, amusement laced in his tone. It quickly faded when that sad chuckle left your lips. You shook your head and pushed your phone into your pocket, then walked over to him and fell into his chest.
“She’s my mom and she hates me,” you shrugged as he wrapped his arms around you. He had to find out how fucking insane your family was eventually, right? “You alright?” You asked, pulling back to look at him. “Shouldn’t you have gone home already?”
He tucked a bit of hair behind your ear and shook his head. The fact that you’d glossed over the fact that you mom hates you made his heart hurt a little bit. You never talked about family or how you grew up, all he knew was that you were from Chicago, you had a sister and two brothers, and you never wanted to go back. He didn’t push, much like you didn’t push with his upbringing after he’d told you about it. “Waiting on you,” he smiled softly. “You did great today,” he cooed. “I’m proud.”
You nodded and offered him that tired smile he’d grown so used to, and he just had to lean in and kiss you. Soft lips meeting his, a gentle kiss, and a real smile on both your faces as you walked back into the ED. Dana sent you a look that you ignored, and you slipped away from Jack for just a moment to find Gloria.
But you didn’t tell him that.
The drive to Chicago was miserable, it always was. Nearly 7 hours of open road, an empty car, and a playlist that no matter how loud you turned the stereo, you still couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and the thoughts in your head. You had told Jack you were sick and to avoid your apartment lest he felt the need to be consumed by the flu. He seemed to be staying away effectively, so you were going to be homefree for the weekend. The fucking wedding though, that stupid guilt trip Richie had somehow convinced you to attend, just for him. You’d see Sugar, and Carmen, and Richie, and your Mom, and everyone else you wanted to forget. You’d notice the space where Mikey should be. You’d see the empty glass that should be in his hand. You’d see the lack of floppy brown hair and stupid jokes that should entertain you all night long, and act prouder than anyone ever had. Well, maybe Mikey’s pride in you was rivaled by Jack’s, but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself.
A phone call came in, and you rolled your eyes. Still, you answered it.
“Where are you?” Jack’s voice was harsh, annoyed, angry. You fumbled with your phone for a second, debating on whether to crash into another car, or just tell him the truth.
“The highway,” you finally answered, deciding that maybe vehicular manslaughter is a bad idea, and insurance fraud is just stupid to go to jail for. “I’m going home for the weekend.”
He huffed out a sigh, and you heard something thump down on a table. “I’m at your apartment. Was going to take care of you this weekend,” he admitted, and your heart squeezed. That voice in your head that sounded a little bit like your mother’s chimed in. God, you don’t deserve him. You’ll never deserve him. Why would you think he’d ever stay with you? Not when you’re this broken. “How far are you?”
You took in a sharp breath and started. “Jack, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want to rope you into this shit and seriously, you’d thank me if you knew them-”
“How far are you from your apartment?” He asked, enunciating every single word with that terrifyingly calm voice. The one he used with combative patients and med students, the one he’d never used with you.
“45 minutes.” You gulped.
“Turn around, come get me, I’m coming with you.” He said finally, and he hung up. The pit in your stomach only grew. You turned around. Maybe it was the selfishness of not wanting to be alone this weekend, maybe it was the fear that you would lose him if you didn’t, maybe it was just because he’d asked you to.
You were parked up outside your apartment in 35 minutes thanks to quick traffic. Jack was waiting on the curb, a suitcase, crutches, and his waterproof prosthetic beside him. With that hardened look on his face. Determination. You had seen it so many times before. Boyfriends insisted they wanted to meet your family, despite what you’d told them. You would just have to watch as the night went on. They’d go quiet, sorry, not quiet, fucking silent. They’d shrink, become less and less enthused by the idea of a future with you as they watched the past you’d had to deal with play out in front of them. A week later, you’d get some excuse about why it wasn’t working. Sometimes they were brave enough to admit it was the family baggage. Others ghosted, and others just didn’t give a reason. He opened the boot of your car, shoved his things beside yours, and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. You stared at him, and he stared back at you.
“Well you’re not driving,” he said it like it was obvious. It was to him, considering driving had never been a favourite pastime of yours. You rolled your eyes but jumped out of your seat and swung around to the passenger. So, he wasn’t completely livid with you, that was good, right? Well, he had every right to be, you had lied. “I’m not mad,” he explained as he started the car and drove off for Chicago. “I just want to understand why you felt like you couldn’t tell me. Or… bring me.” He cleared his throat after that last part, but his vulnerability had been visible anyway. Your heart sank, he couldn’t really think you didn’t want to bring him because of him, god no.
You turned to him, putting a hand over his. “God no, Jack. Please don’t think I was trying not to bring you because of anything other than the fact that my family is fucking crazy,” you practically begged, squeezing his hand. He didn’t glance in your direction. You let out a sigh and cleared your throat. “Jack, fuck, my mom’s an alcoholic, my dad died, my eldest brother blew his brains out in 2022, my twin brother is like the most mentally unwell but functioning human being, and my sister just had a baby. My cousin who’s not really my cousin-” you tried to explain it as best you could, hoping he didn’t notice the wobble in your voice. “His ex-wife is getting remarried and he’s showing up for her and their daughter, and he asked me to come, and since I haven’t been home in ages, everyone is going to be on my ass, including everyone from the Bear, and all the fucking Faks, and it’s just- it’s going to be a shitshow!” Thankfully, you were stopped at a redlight, and he could finally look at you. Notice the lip-bite that was stopping you from losing it. Notice the quick breathing. Notice the fear in your eyes, the kind that screamed ‘please don’t leave me now’.
“What’s a Fak?” He questioned, and the genuine confusion in his tone made you laugh. He was always good at that, giving you moments of light in your darkest times. Like that time you had to code a little boy who eventually didn’t make it. He’d brought you up to the roof and made some dumb joke about something Robby had done, and you laughed. You laughed until you cried, and he held you. He didn’t complain, just stroked your hair and back, and held you. Like you were precious and worth-it, and not a complete burden. Maybe that’s why you fell in love with him. “And what’s the Bear?”
You huffed, sitting back in your seat, groaning. “The Faks are more cousins, kind of, and the Bear is my brother’s restaurant. It used to be my older brother’s sandwich spot, but he’s turned it into this fine-dining fuckery thing,” you scoffed, and he sent you a look. “I curse when I go home.” You shrugged.
“Noted.” He nodded.
It was past midnight by the time you and Jack pulled into the Berzatto-Kasinsky home. Ringing the doorbell seemed risky, so you just texted Pete that you were outside. The door was open in a matter of seconds, with a very happy looking Pete.
“Hey Doc-! And…?” He searched for his name (which you’d never told anyone back home).
“Jack,” you filled in. “Jack Abbot, Peter Kasinsky,” you introduced them and they shook hands. You skillfully evaded Jack’s eyeline as you both walked in. “Is Sug up?”
Pete smiled, nodding. “She’s just with the baby.” He was glowing with pride for both of them, you could tell. When Natalie first introduced Pete to the family, you’d been so confused. You were just a med student back then, but you had been so shocked that she’d picked someone so outside of the norm for Berzatto women. Now, you could see exactly why, because you had your own Pete, who yeah, maybe was a bit more rough and tumble occasionally, but he was soft. Soft when you needed him to be, kind always, and constantly there. It was nice.
“Fucking finally back in Chicagoland?” God, she sounded too much like your mother sometimes. It gave you chills. “Where have you been, Doc?” She pulled you into a hug before you knew what was going on, and you just accepted it graciously, hoping it would be over soon. “Oh my god, is this the boyfriend? I thought you were never going to bring him home?” She stared at Jack, who just waved, poorly concealing an awkward smirk. “You do know mom is going to be there tomorrow, right? She’s going to have something to say-”
You gently pushed her off. “Yes, Sug, I know. She always has something to fucking say. This is my boyfriend, Jack Abbot, meet my sister, Natalie Berzatto.” You introduced them, and she shook his hand graciously before turning her attention back to you.
“Everyone’s going to be looking for you tomorrow-” “I know.” “Have you heard about what’s been happening?” “No, Sug.” “Have you updated mom or Carm on anything recently? Because you know they think you’re mad or dying, or both-?”
“Obviously fucking not, Sugar,” you scoffed, dropping your bag on the ground (probably far too loud for the current audience). “And as you can see, I’m alive. Jack takes great fucking care of me, and as for Bear and Mom, I plan on avoiding the fuck out of both of them, all fucking weekend. Thank you for the questionnaire, but we’re both completely exhausted, and we’d love to get some sleep before tomorrow’s shitshow begins. Thanks.” You took Jack’s hand and led him downstairs to their basement guest room, and shut the door of the bathroom without a word.
You put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your sobs as you showered the day off you. God, you hated Chicago. You hated how much Mikey haunted everything. You hated how little everyone talked about him. You hated that Jack was here, getting a front row seat to your slow breakdown, and the insanity of your family. You hated how you already felt like you were losing him.
Knock knock.
The door was unlocked, but of course he would give you that space, give you a chance to refuse. You didn’t. “Come in.”
He was in the shower and holding you before you really knew what was happening. The tears came unexpectedly too, but he held you through them anyway, taking his time as he washed your hair, and washed your body. The words started falling from your lips. Might as well tell him now so when he breaks up with you, he’ll have all the facts. “I did some of my early residency at Rush hospital. It’s a 13 minute drive from State Street Bridge. Mikey shot himself in the head on the State Street Bridge. Someone had reported a body in the water, and when his body was fucking fished out they brought him to our coroner. I was on my second round of placement, and it was my first week of mortuary. He got wheeled in, and I knew right away. I didn’t even have to lift the sheet, I just felt it. He was meant to be picking me up from my shift, but he hadn’t been calling me to come out like he usually did when I was finished my shift, fuck Jack, he used to call me all the time,” you sobbed into his chest as he held you. “Then I had to call my mom, and Nat, and then I called Carmen but he was in New York, and when I told him, he just hung up. He just fucking hung up at me, and he didn’t fucking come to the funeral, and he’s all fucking great now, and that’s awesome. But I’m not great. I’m fucking awful, and I miss my brothers!” Your sobbing had become uncontrollable, and your words unintelligible, so he just let you cry into him, held you up when your body nearly gave out, and helped you into some pyjamas and into bed.
He was quiet. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it without it being a big deal. He was just surprised you’d never told him before, not exactly hurt, but not exactly alright with it. He’d told you everything, his war stories, his wife, his family. He’d unloaded everything of his, and yet you hadn’t so much as skimmed the surface with yours. He wasn’t mad, he just… wanted to be there for you in the way you were for him. It was only fair.
You took his silence as regret, as it had been with every other boyfriend. You lay, staring up at the ceiling, and debating how your life would look without him in it. How you two would work together despite the breakup. It filled you with a sense of rage. Not even at him. Just… at the situation. You’d grown up in a terrible home, and you had to subject him to it, then watch him leave. You lost him in every fucking scenerio. Your brain turned that idea of him leaving (idea without any probable cause) into a certainty. Then turned it into his ‘ploy to break up with you’. Your brain convinced you, in a matter of moments, that Jack had really been using this trip to break up with you. “Fuck, this is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” you let out in a hoarse voice. “A fucking reason to end things.”
He shot up from his spot on the bed, confusion pulling at his features. Even in the dark you could see how offended he was. “What?”
You scoffed, turning over. “Just forget it.” You brushed his hand off your shoulder and tried to just focus on getting some sleep for tomorrow.
“No, I will not just forget it, what are you saying?” He challenged, exasperated. He turned you over forcefully, making you meet his eyes. “I love you. I love you. I don’t give a fuck if your family are crackheads, or fucking murderers. I’m not here for them, I’m here so you don’t have to go through this weekend alone. That’s all I care about. I care about you getting back to Pittsburgh in one piece. I care about you being happy. I don’t care about your sister, or your twin, or your mother. I care about you, because you’re mine to protect, alright?” He affirmed, hands cupping your face like you were the most important thing to him. He brushed away the few stray tears that had slipped out. “Alright?”
You nodded, surging forward and capturing his lips in a ;ess than gentle kiss. You were pouring all your gratitude and apologies into it, as he poured all his affection and care. You pulled back, nodding. “Alright.”
He smiled. You fell asleep against his chest.
You woke up with a bang. A literal bang. Well, a car horn. Richie’s stupid fucking car horn. Beside you, Jack stirred and tightened his grip on you. You groaned into your pillow and wrapped a hand around Jack’s wrist. “I’m sorry about today.” You frowned. He cracked a smile.
“It hasn’t even happened yet.” He chuckled, taking your hand and bringing it to his mouth. He peppered kisses along your skin in that effortlessly romantic way he did everything. Sometimes you wanted to throttle him for it.
“Exactly, have to get it in early,” you gave him a grim smile, and got out of bed, though not without a struggle. The noise of the front door opening filled your ears. “Don’t come upstairs for a while, wait till I call you. Or wait till I start screaming.” You called after yourself as you climbed the stairs.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he nodded sarcastically, rolling back over in bed, pulling on his reading glasses, and turning his phone on. “It’s fucking 9am. Crazy people” He said to no one in particular before opening up the Wordle.
Upstairs, you were already being inundated with information from Sugar about what was going on with the wedding, hearing from Neil about how the restaurant is going, watching as Sammy Fak fumbled with the fridge door, staring as Teddy Fak tried to work the kettle, trying to understand the quiet introduction coming out of Sydney's mouth, and holding a baby. Somehow, still more chill than the Pitt. You continued on your journey for coffee as you introduced yourself to Sydney, while Sugar screamed at Neil.
“No, you fuckin’ bitch, I fuckin’ told you not to fuckin’ invite her and me to the same fuckin’ thing, and you fuckin’ invite her!” Sugar groaned as Neil stood there looking far too guilty. “She’s a backstabbing bitch!”
“It’s not my wedding!” He argued, faking innocence like a toddler caught with his hand in a cookie jar. You finally reached the coffee machine. Richie was already trying to talk your ear off about the wedding. Both Sammy and Ted sent you a very enthusiastic hello, swallowing you up in a too-tight hug that you barely peeled away from.
“Look, I’m glad you came, thank you, cousin. Means a lot,” He smiled tentatively. You nodded, acknowledging his gratitude. “I don’t know how I’m goin’ to fuckin’ do this.” You realised you’d mistaken anxiety for tentativeness while you watched him play with his tie. Shit, since when did Rich wear suits?
“You wear suits now?” You questioned, pouring yourself a mug with one hand. You bounced the new baby in your other arm and smiled down at the sack of soft bones, and even softer skin. If you hadn’t been an ER doctor, you would’ve been an ob-gyn. You like kids, but you love taking care of them when they’re newborn and can’t talk back. To your left, Sammy nearly opened a door in his face, but you reached out a hand to stop him, as Sugar called Francine a cunt repeatedly.
You smiled. “I know,” part of you wanted to spill it right then and there. Tell him that the only reason you looked healthy at all was because your attending-turned-boyfriend made sure you took breaks at, and from work. Tell him that days spent at overpriced farmer’s markets and in his apartment were your favourite days. Tell him that a guy you jokingly called grandpa was your favourite person. Tell him that Jack was your first real piece of happiness since Mikey passed. Tell them that while you weren’t over it, you were finally starting to build on top of it, and realise that grief doesn’t go away, it just gets less loud. You shook it off. “Who’s she talking about?” You questioned, taking a sip of your coffee and looking to Pete for an answer. He grimaced. “Don’t tell me it’s Francie-?”
Sugar whipped around faster than lightning. “Do not speak that name in my fuckin’ house!” She pointed a vicious finger at you, and you held up a hand in mock surrender. Pete offered an apologetic smile which you acknowledged, then handed his baby back. Sugar continued on her rant as Richie watched, and Sydney pretended that she cared to be there.
“Hey, I know we haven’t met before, but I’m Sydney,” she held out her hand to be shook and you took it. You quickly told her your name, and turned your attention back to the coffee. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
You grimaced. “Oh yeah? Did Carmen tell you about the time I shaved his head in his sleep or…?” You asked, afraid of the things he’d said about you. Granted, there was much worse, but still, over a decade later, the last time you checked he was still butt-hurt about the fact that you’d shaved his head in his sleep.
She laughed. “No, surprisingly, but I have heard you’re an ER doctor?” You nodded. “Great! Cause’ I’m seriously going to need you to sedate me today or something, considering how bad everyone is making it sound.” She chuckled awkwardly. You smiled. She was sweet. A little awkward, very funny, and calm. You had no idea how she got into business with Carmen, but you hoped she had good mental health resources.
“Whatever you’ve been told about these things, people always get better with age. Some of us are still reeling from the disaster of the seven fishes from a few years ago, so don’t expect anything like that. I seriously doubt Tiffany would take it-” It was pretty hard to have a conversation over the sound of the coffee machine, Sugar’s breakdown, and whatever song Pete was humming to the baby, but you two somehow did it. You watched as Pete blessed himself when you mentioned that seven fishes dinner. Fucking forks man.
“Oh, so now you know Tiff, huh?” Richie scoffed, crossing his arms. “Where was this energy two weeks ago?”
“I don’t know her. I just know she didn’t put up with your shit, so I seriously doubt she’s putting up with the family’s.” You shrugged before picking up another mug to fill it for Jack, when Richie practically barked.
“Two mugs?” He questioned, eyes wide. Everything in the kitchen stopped. Sugar was the only person you’d told about Jack. You knew anyone else would’ve spilled it to your mom, and it would only be a matter of time before she started calling you and begging for you to bring him home. Even the thought alone made you shiver. You sucked in a deep breath.
“Two mugs,” you nodded. “I brought my boyfriend with me.”
You would’ve thought you’d just told the room you had gained the ability to fly. The three Faks dropped their jaws, and Neil started yapping, Teddy started complaining, and Sammy started congratulating. Sugar stopped her rant to watch the reaction coming out of Richie, which, granted, wasn’t great. He stared at you for a minute.
“Shut up- shut up shithead!” He shouted at the Faks, who complied pretty easily and went back to their pottering. “Boyfriend? Since when have you had a boyfriend?” He gawked.
“Since a year and 2 months ago,” you admitted. His jaw didn’t drop into a long lecture about lying (like you would’ve expected from him a year ago), it set back, genuine shock filling his features. “He’s an ER doctor like me, and he’s here to meet everyone and support me. And possibly save Francine’s life if Sug decides to kill her.” You tried to sneak in the joke to break the ice, but Richie’s face just hardened.
“You kept that for a year and 2 months?” He questioned.
You nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“Carmy know?” He had that dangerous look in his eye, the one where you really couldn’t tell if he wanted to run out of there and never look back, or hang onto you and never let go. Fuck, his eyes were piercing through you. Still, you stood tall, firm in your choice. Jack was your one good thing. Jack was your everything.
You scoffed. “He doesn’t know anything about my life. I don’t even think he knows I live in Pittsburgh.” Not the greatest thing to admit, but it was the truth. Carm didn’t reach out and neither did you.
Richie swallowed the lecture he wanted to give you about sand and stones, and nodded. “Where is he?”
“Downstairs, in bed. I’ll bring him up when we’re dressed, alright?”
You didn’t wait for an answer before running down the stairs, seriously wondering if you’d made the right choice by coming home, and moreover, bringing Jack. Some of the anxiety settled as you watched Jack pull on his suit jacket, the one he filled out so well, with a little bit of a grumble.
“Alright there, old man?” You teased, dropping his coffee on the dresser in front of him. He grunted in response, taking a sip. He loved this, the quiet back and forth you two were so accustomed to. Though, there were still things to be addressed from last night. You’d gone nearly three years without admitting that your brother killed himself. Even more, you’d gone nearly three years without asking for his help. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him as you let out a small laugh. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you raised a hand to run through his hair gently. You two fit together, more than anyone else had.
“You wanna talk about last night?” He asked, his breath hot against your skin. There it was, the simple, no nonsense question. But this was nonsensical. It was emotional, it was unregulated, and it was a lot. It was too much for you to deal with most of the time, and Jack had his own baggage that he had to worry about, he didn’t need to start taking yours on. As if by magic, he opened his mouth again and gave you exactly the reassurance you needed. “Don’t worry about this being ‘too much’. I’m here for you. Literally, I’m in Chicago for you, but also emotionally. And I’m not leaving you.” He smiled, proud of his little unintentional pun.
You let out a half-huff, half-chuckle, and nodded. His arm around you fell as you pulled away to start getting ready for the wedding ahead of you. “It’s a lot.” You admitted. He nodded.
“So was my stuff. Neglectful parents, war, dead wife, PTSD, anxiety, etc,” he shrugged, crossing his arms as you started on your makeup in the mirror. God, he looked handsome. If it were any other day and you hadn’t just spent 10 minutes being surrounded by Faks and Berzattos, and Richie, you would’ve jumped his bones. “I’m also an emergency medicine doctor who has a habit of taking on too much from a patient perspective.”
You chuckled. “Molly tell you that?” You questioned, asking about his therapist. You and her were pretty friendly, especially after the few months of sessions where Jack asked you to join him so he could explain a bit about his past without shutting down. She was great for him, and he really liked how their work together made him feel. You were happy for him, glad he could work through it. He nodded with that ‘trying not to smile’ smile, and walked over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Immediately, you could feel the heat of his hand through your (his) hoodie, and it just drove you insane. He waited patiently for you to start talking. “My mom used to drink a lot. My dad didn’t care, and he drank worse, and then he died, so I guess it wasn’t much different. We weren’t close, he was always off with Mikey. Everyone loved Mikey,” a teary smile invaded your features, but you pushed it down. You wanted Jack to understand. You wanted to be vulnerable. You wanted him to stay. “My mom drank more. She got more uncontrollable. More upset. More… rageful. I was 9 when she threw a plate at the floor that shattered and a piece lodged into my arm,” you pointed out the scar with an almost disinterested gaze, and he noticed. Of course he did. His lips pursed into a line, the thought of a little 9 year old you, just playing on the floor, getting a piece of fucking ceramic in your arm for no good reason, just because someone else couldn’t control their temper, it boiled his blood. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the raised skin. You stiffened under him, but kept speaking. “Richie got mad at her, started shouting, she shouted back. Carmen got the piece out. Sugar cleaned it up. Mikey just watched it all play out. Sometimes he got like that.” You shrugged, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice.
“Like what?” He asked, continuing to press soft kisses to your shoulder and neck. He knew how to calm you. First, just letting you talk. Second, he’d kiss you all over. Third, he’d start running his hands up and down your sides. It was weirdly comforting.
You knew the medical definition for it. He dissociated. You knew the full definition, able to read it off like a script from your week long stint in the psyche ward when you were still choosing a specialty. Dissociation is a mental process where a person disconnects from their thoughts, feelings, memories or sense of identity. He’d just sit there, staring off into space. Now, you knew there were other things going on in his head, but then, you just thought your big brother didn’t care, and you got angry. You’d ice him out for days, sometimes a full week. Now, that thought made your stomach turn. “He’d…” You still couldn’t say it. It felt too impersonal to diagnose him post-mortem.
“Dissociate?” Jack filled in. You nodded. “I see.”
“My mom only got worse. More passive aggressive. More regular-aggressive,” you rolled your eyes, shaking off the emotion from before. “Everyday there was a fucking fight, and it was always my fault. When family came over, things got worse. She’d shout at us in front of people, and they wouldn’t stop her because they felt bad. She’d married an abusive drunk, and they couldn’t fault her for being upset. Got worse again when Mikey left home. He was only living in the city, and we were in the suburbs, but God, you’d think he’d moved to fuckin’ Hong Kong. She talked about him like he was dead. She’d be on her best behaviour when he was coming around, so that was good. Carmen was a real anxious kid though, and everyone just told him he needed to toughen up. He used to draw. He’d draw these incredible pictures at lunch in high school, and some dickward would just come over and rip it up. Drove me crazy,” you shook your head, remembering the fear in Carmen’s eyes, and the pride in the bullies. “I got in so many fucking fights for him. Nearly got me kicked out of school. When I couldn’t deal with the kids, Rich and Mikey would. They’d scare the shit out of them, fake jump them or something. Carmen and I used to be super close.” You explained almost dreamily, finishing off your makeup and moving onto your hair.
“What changed?” he asked, helping you with the straightening iron. He’d made you teach him how to do various hair tricks with it so he could help you if needed. It took a bit of trial and error, and a lot of being burnt with the iron, but he got the hang of it. It nearly made your ovaries explode, watching him brush your hair.
You sighed. “When Mikey died, I kind of… lost it, just a little. Mikey was my big brother and I was taking care of him, trying to get him clean, using all my spare time, which was barely anything, to help him with the restaurant, or with anything he needed. I obviously was the first one to know, and I had to call everyone. I called Carmen. I told him. He hung up. I call him a hundred times, left him voicemails until his was full, and he didn’t fucking call me back. I begged him to come to the funeral, or at least text me back so I knew he was alive. I spent 4 nights calling New York ERs to check that he wasn’t dead. Mikey's funeral came around, and I was alone. Carmen didn’t come. My mom was on the verge of losing it every five seconds. Richie was still trying to fix his marriage. Sugar had Pete. I had no one. I expected him to be there, because he always promised me that if I asked him to do something, he’d move heaven and Earth to get it done. He let me down. So, I flew to New York, called him a bad brother, a coward, and a selfish bastard. I ambushed him outside of his work, and all he said was ‘I have to get back inside’. No sorry. No dropping everything and coming back home to help pick up the pieces. Nothing. He just walked back inside. He came home four months later, and by then I was already in Pittsburgh.”
Part of him wanted to just crawl into a hole and die. His heart broke for you. Everything you’d endured, everything you’d kept silent for so long, everything you’d swallowed. He cleared his throat and made eye contact with you through the mirror. “I’m sorry.” He practically whispered, but you heard it. It hit you square in the chest, and squeezed your heart. He was good at that.
“My mom doesn’t like me in general, but she specifically can’t look at me because I look the most like Carmen and Mikey. You’ll probably see her there today, wine glass in her hand, spewing nonsense,” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. He nodded, pretending he didn’t notice the tremble in your shoulders. “And you’ll see Carmen.”
“I can introduce myself, if it makes it easier?” He offered, finishing off your hair.
You shook your head. “Ideally, I won’t leave your side today.” You admitted, standing up and kissing his cheek, before heading into the bathroom.
The tightness in his chest had eased, and the insecurity had subsided. You had opened up, even though it was hard, and you’d told him. You explained a fair bit of what happened before he knew you, and he almost felt a little giddy that you trusted him, but any happiness was soon crushed by the realisation of what happened to you. He couldn’t help but think of a younger you, with smaller features and less medical knowledge. That scared little girl he caught glimpses of occasionally, much like the glimpses you caught of the boy he used to be. The skinny one with freckles and bruises all over his skin. He liked to think you two could’ve been friends, if there wasn’t the age gap, or distance. Maybe he would’ve helped you fend off Carmen’s bullies, and you could’ve held him when he cried like you were so talented at doing now.
“What do you think?” You asked, stepping out in a gorgeous blue dress. The corners of his mouth rose, and he felt his boxers get a little tighter. You quickly spun around, and he captured your waist in his hand. God, you constantly took his breath away, whether it was the shitty scrubs from the machine, or a beautiful dress like this, or just lying in bed in one of his hoodies, he had no idea how he got so lucky.
“Beautiful.” He whispered before swallowing your lips in a kiss.
Walking upstairs was slightly awkward. Everyone was waiting, staring at you and Jack as you emerged from the basement. RIchie clenched his jaw, Sugar smiled a little too strangely, Pete was just Pete, Neil was already rushing over to introduce himself, Sammy had an eyebrow raised, Teddy was simply staring (and whispering to Sammy), and Sydney just gave you that awkward smile.
“Neil Fak.” He smiled, holding his hand out. Jack took it, and smiled.
“Jack Abbot.” He nodded. Neil kept shaking his hand, unrelenting as he stared at the man in front of him. Jack pretended it wasn’t awkward.
“Wow, you’re handsome,” Neil blurted out before he could stop himself, and you literally faceplanted as Jack tried not to laugh. Richie finally walked over and put everyone out of their misery, moving Neil out of the way as he tried to explain himself. “I mean like, objectively, he’s a very handsome guy-!?”
Richie ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah, yeah Neil, we fuckin’ get it. Richie Jeromovitch, nice to meet ya,” next, he shook Jack's hand. He fell into his easy ‘italian’ charm, cracking jokes immediately. “Doc here treatin’ you good? She can be a real fuckin’ handful.”
Jack smiled and squeezed your hand harder. “She’s stubborn but so am I.” He beamed, and you rolled your eyes.
“Alright, since all the introductions are introduced, let’s go,” you led the charge to the front door with Jack trailing behind, and the rest of the group followed. “God, they are so fucking embarrassing.” You sighed as you started your car. “It’s actually painful to be around them.”
Jack laughed. “I like them.” He shrugged, fiddling with the radio.
You rolled your eyes again. “You ‘like’ them because Neil called you handsome.”
He chuckled. “Definitely helped.”
You scoffed, and focused on driving. These streets you hadn't seen in so long but knew so damn well. Millenium Park. Your old college campus. Your old hospital. All those silly little restaurants your parents would drag you out to. All those streets you’d walked a thousand times before, Mikey by your side making some wise-ass comments about anything. God, you missed it, missed him. Even the suburbs reeked of him, and he rarely lived at home for much of your remembered childhood. The sidewalks you played on, the playground he chased you in, everything. It was all Mikey and Carmen and Sugar and Mom, and you wanted to puke.
Thankfully, the drive ended rather quickly, and you were outside Tiffany’s new home.
Unfortunately, Richie started spiraling.
Sydney stepped in, standing with him while you made Jack walk in with Sugar and Pete, then you came right back out to help. So much for not leaving his side. “Just… take your time,” she instructed as he chain-smoked like a fucking train. “You’re good.” Shit, so much had changed. Richie was actually starting to get in-touch with his emotions? Unheard of. Maybe Mikey dying had done something good.
He let out a weird strangled groan. “It’s gonna be fine.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself too, which he clearly was. You nodded.
“It’s gonna be fine.” Sydney parroted, nodding her head along with yours. Richie turned to the both of you.
“Is it, right?” He asked, taking yet another drag of his cigarette.
She jumped in before you could make a joke about a meteor hitting the house, or that nothing could be as bad as February 22nd and the week that followed. “Think so.” She offered him a soft smile. God, you almost forgot that some people hadn’t been told to push everything down until you explode.
“Everything in life is just for a while.” You added, trying to be of any assistance. Both their heads snapped to you.
“Says who?” Richie asked, offering a cigarette to you, which you took despite the voice in the back of your head (Dana’s voice) insisting that it would kill you.
You faltered for a moment, lighting the cigarette with shaky hands. “Philip K. Dick.” You explained, taking a drag. God, you knew it was awful for you, but you missed smoking, especially on days where everything is going wrong in the ED and you have to just keep going. A smoke on the roof would surely fix all your problems.
Sydney nodded and shrugged. “Well, he’s right. Y’know everything… ends, eventually.”
“That’s the truth,” Richie pointed a finger at you, and you just nodded, enjoying the cancer stick between your lips. God, Jack would fucking lose it if he saw you smoking this. Richie doubled over, trying to get more air into his lungs. “God- fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?” He questioned, standing back up. “God,” he breathed out. “What the fuck?” He stared at the building to his left, the tall redbrick structure in the nice part of town. It must’ve at least cost a million, or close to it. Richie turned back to Sydney. “How’s your dad?” he asked, desperately trying to distract himself from the ongoing anxiety attack he was clearly having. “That’s real shit, I’m being a little fuckin’ asshole.”
You looked to Sydney. “He’s much better. Thanks. Resting. Got five days off of work which he’s loving and also kinda hating.” She explained. You guessed he probably had a heart attack, you had a weird knack for guessing heart attacks. She seemed relieved that he was alright, which you always love to see from patients' families.
“Good, that’s good. Fuck!” Richie groaned. “Fuck! Fuck guys, everythings…” He trailed off, starting into this half-groan, half- cry thing that made you violently uncomfortable. You’d held parents when their children died. You’d held mothers when their baby died coming out of them. You’d held siblings and friends who watched their sibling or friend die. You’ve held husbands who lost their wives, and wives who lost their husbands. You’d held husbands who’d lost their husbands, and wives who’d lost their wives. You’d held children who were orphans. You’d held your own fucking friends and family of the Pitt when people were lost, or people were hurt. Yet, you couldn’t fathom being there for when anyone here broke down. Everyone here was meant to swallow it, and let it fester until they either died of old age, or blew their brains out off the side of a bridge.
“Hey,” Sydney had such a soothing voice. “It’s okay to be… nervous.”
“Good, ‘cause I am.” Richie breathed out. You puffed out another cloud of smoke.
“I get it,” Sydney let out. Richie asked if she was nervous too. “I mean, not about this, obviously, but…”
“What are you nervous about?” He asked, his voice trembling despite the way he was trying to keep himself calm. She looked like she was trying to make a decision that seemed impossible. You let out another puff of smoke.
She smiled softly. “Tell you later?” She offered.
“Promise?” “Promise.”
“Fuck, Doc, will you hold my cigarette for a second, I think I’m about to throw up,” he announced, doubling over again. Sydney started to back away, repeating no over and over again. “Please?” He pushed it in your direction, and you sighed and took it.
You knelt down to meet his eyes. “Richie, I am fucking terrified to walk into that house because I know what I’m going to find. Bitchy comments and strange looks from people who used to know me, yeah?” He nodded along, spitting out some saliva at your feet. “But everyone in there knows you. They love you. Even if they don’t, there’s at least one person in there who does, and that’s Eva. She needs her dad in there, because everything in her life is fucking changing, and she needs you to be a constant, alright?” You cupped a hand on his cheek as he nodded. “Also both me and Sydney are wearing open-toed shoes, so, don’t fucking vomit.” You stood up again, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it under your heel.
He stood back up, flailing his hand for a second. “I think all this shit is really fuckin’ me up and that’s why my pre-service speeches have been such fuckin’ shit, they-fuck-suck-SHIT!” He spoke almost too fast to be understood, but both you and Sydney called his name a few times to bring him back down. “I’m just a fuckin’ man! Being a fuckin’ baby!” Sydney called out his name one last time, and he finally looked at her. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth a few times, and he copied her. Hell, you fucking copied her.
“Let’s just get through this, yeah?” She said, not expecting anything. You were already impressed by her. Completely calm nature, logical thinking, and emotional intelligence? She must hate herself to have gotten into business with Carmen Berzatto.
Richie walked up to her and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for coming with me,” he breathed out. He then turned to you. “Thank you for coming with me,” he hugged you too, and you almost pushed him away because he reminded you of Mikey. Same bone-crushing hug, same fucking coglone, same fucking cigarettes. You didn’t. You hugged him back and nodded. “Let’s do this shit.”
“Fuck yeah.” She breathed out, following behind him.
You wanted the Earth to swallow you up as you walked in behind them, discarding your cigarette just outside the door. The house was beautiful, immaculately decorated with clean white walls and artistic wall hangings on every fucking flat surface. You hated people who had their life together. Your and Jack’s apartment had paint-test strips on the wall and pictures on the floor neither of you had even thought about hanging yet. You sought out Jack first, seeing him standing beside Pete as he recounted another old law story that Jack was half-listening to.
Fuck, he did look handsome. Crisp baby blue shirt with an even paler blue blazer and matching pants. He looked stunning. You caught his eye almost immediately and he smiled as you walked up, inserting yourself beside him.
“Richie alright?” Sugar asked, coming up beside Pete, interrupting him.
You nodded. “He’s fine. Sydney calmed him right down. She’s great, by the way, I really like her.”
Sugar smiled. “Everyone likes Sydney,” she rolled her eyes. “Have you seen-?”
“Not yet.” You gritted out. Jack squeezed your waist, a common sign of affection from him. It says everything. I’m here. I’m sorry. I care. You loved it. Just then, because of course you’re that lucky, Carmen walked in the door in a blue shirt and navy blazer, eyes wide with anxiety, and he hugged Tiff. You thought back to the last time you’d seen Carmen.
You’d made a rash decision and booked a flight to New York, planning on making him explain himself. It was the least all of you deserved, you just couldn’t understand why no one else saw it like that. He’s grieving in his own way, everyone told you. Yeah, so were you. You stayed up late and sobbed for hours. You had a panic attack any time you walked by the morgue in your hospital. You picked up emergency medicine. You researched hospital residency programs hours away. You stopped eating sandwiches. Carmen was functioning just fine, especially if you were going off of the fucking New York Times article that had just been released about him. He was the biggest up-and-coming chef in the world, and everyone clearly wanted a piece of him. You wanted to shove his head into a vat of acid, hopefully it would wake him up from whatever stupid fucking trance he was in.
You showed up at his job (probably not the greatest choice), and you waited by the back door, cigarette box in hand. You smoked the whole pack before he came out, twitching and blinking like he was on heroin. For a moment, you accepted that as an answer. You felt guilty for the messages you’d sent him about how he always ran away from things the second they became difficult. How he constantly let people down and ran away because he was scared of actual communication and confrontation. How he’d broken his promise of protecting you, and always being there when you’d call. Then you remembered his deathly fear of needles, and all your sympathy was gone.
“You fucking prick!” You screamed, shoving his chef-whites-wearing ass against the back wall, dumpsters to your left. For a second, his hands went to your throat, eyes wide and almost ready to fucking kill you. Then you saw the recognition, the adrenaline still there, but aware of the lack of threat. His hands dropped. “Where were you!?” You shouted, completely uncaring of what would happen if someone found you out here with him, with him like this.
His mouth parted like he was going to say something, but nothing came out. Those stupid fucking blue eyes you shared, the ones you’d grown up beside, wild and uneasy. “Doc, come on-”
“Don’t fucking ‘Doc’ me, not now, you fucking coward!” You shouted, slamming your hand down on the metal dumpster beside you. “Explain yourself. Make me understand why you couldn’t show up for Mikey, or Mom, or Sugar, or Richie. Explain to me how you couldn’t even show up for me. Even after all the fucking times you begged me to believe your promises. After all the other times you didn’t show up.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice was breaking. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t start crying, that you couldn’t give him that. But of course you did. The image of Mikey in a fucking hospital gown with no back of his head. The image of tagging him, with your residency friends holding you up so you wouldn’t collapse. The image of his fucking funeral, him lying in that stupid fucking casket, completely lifeless. No more smart jokes or stupid fucking points about shit that didn’t matter. Just nothing. The image of your mom’s house the day you’d told her. You and Sugar had swung by, and the place was in shambles. Pictures torn down off the walls, plates broken in the kitchen, Donna curled up in his bed, holding a picture of her baby, and sobbing. You thought you would lose her too.
He didn’t have an answer. He showed up, but he couldn’t walk in there. He could believe Mikey would do this, and put him in this position. He loved his brother. He loved his sister. He loved you. He didn’t have the answer you were looking for, so he didn’t speak. His mind snapped back to the kitchen, back to Chef David, and how fucking behind he already was. The words left his mouth before he thought about them. “Doc, you have to get out of here, I’m at work-”
A hand met his cheek. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have done that, but it felt damn good in the moment. “Work is always more fucking important than me, right? You and dad are the same selfish bastard in a new fucking skin, y’know that? Y’know what I’ve had to deal with for the past fucking three weeks? Mom, calling me at all fucking hours, drunk out of her mind, and just crying until I go or Sugar goes and finds her, completely inundated with grief. Sugar has been fucking impossible to fucking talk to, because she just sees Mikey when she looks at me. She just sees you when she looks at me. And you didn’t show up,” you sniffled, tears streaming down your face. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t break. He didn’t do anything. He just… stood there. Acting like this wasn’t the end of the world. Acting like your life hadn’t completely fucking changed. So you accepted it. Not prettily. Not happily. But you accepted it. “You’re a coward, a bad brother, and a fucking selfish bitch, Carmy. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t fucking come home. I won’t be there.” You pushed off him, and walked away, breaking for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Sorrow and grief swallowed you for a night in the city that never sleeps. You found a bench somewhere, and you just questioned why any of this had to happen.
He should’ve reached out and begged for forgiveness. He should’ve grabbed onto your arm and asked what you meant, making sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid. He didn’t. He straightened out his chef whites, and he walked back inside. He didn’t think about what you’d said. He didn’t think about Sugar back home, inconsolable. He didn’t think about Richie drowning his sorrows and ruining his marriage. He didn’t think about you or your residency program or how hard you were trying to hold things together when they were crumbling.
He turned inside, and he went back to the kitchen.
Your mind snapped back to the party in front of you, the sight of Jack explaining something medical to Pete, while he listened intently, and the hilarity of Sugar’s terrifying glare being used on Neil. You didn’t look at Carmen again. You didn’t want to. You smiled at the man who made you happy everyday. The man who carried your favourite protein bar in his car, jacket pocket, and cargos. The man who made you take breaks and openly admitted you were his favourite. The man who loved you, wholley. God, you hoped you weren’t losing him.
Carmen looked up from his conversation with Tiff, and he stared. His heart stopped, he was sure of it. You were back in Chicago. Since that night in New York, he hadn’t heard from you, or even about you. He didn’t know where you were. He didn’t know what you were doing. He didn’t know if you wanted to talk. He didn’t know anything. Quickly, he started to walk. Not away, not like he used to. No. He walked towards you, until he was in front of you.
You and Carmen always had the same piercing blue eyes. It used to unsettle people, how bright they were. He cleared his throat, stopping the conversation happening between Sydney, Jack, and Pete. Sugar had her eyes set on the two of you. His tunnel vision had blocked out the rest of them, just focusing on you. You looked different. Different hair, different clothes, different you. You looked older. Prettier. Happier. “You’re… here.”
You nodded slowly, face unchanging. “I am.” God, since when was conversing with your own twin awkward. This was so awful.
Carmen fiddled with his fingers just a bit, straightening his spine. “You left.” He said it like he still didn’t believe it, like it hadn’t been the truth for years.
You nodded again, hand gripping your glass just a little tighter. “I did.”
He tried to steady his voice, and Sydney started her deep breaths beside you, which you followed, trying desperately to hold onto any semblance of calm you had. Think nice thoughts, you told yourself. Takeout with Mel on a Thursday during shift change. Drinks out with Trinity and Yolanda, dragging an unimpressed Jack with you. Friday night date night where you got fucked into oblivion in your bed. Heads Up in the break room during slow moments with Ellis and Shen. Making saves. Helping people. He opened his mouth again. “W-where did you go-?” Just then the fucking Faks burst in, stealing Pete from the situation, trying to convince him to fund yet another one of their terrible ploys. The commotion was just enough for you to slip away, pulling Jack behind you.
Once you’d made your way outside of the main house, you pulled Jack by his collar, and smashed your lips against his. This wasn’t a nice kiss, it wasn’t kind either. It was serving its purpose, grounding you, reminding you that there was a world outside of Chicago, and that you lived in it every other day of the year. He pulled back gently, warm hands on your waist, and a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t,” you sighed, pulling a cigarette out of your bag (you might’ve stolen Richie’s pack inside). “And don’t fucking lecture me right now.” You pointed a finger at his chest, then turned back to lighting your cigarette. You could feel the disapproval from his fucking breath, but he didn’t lecture.
He just ran a hand up and down your back, sighing. “It’s pretty full-on in there, eh?” He questioned, pressing a kiss to your neck. You nodded as you let out a puff of smoke. “Can I do anything?” He asked, like he fucking always did. God, you didn’t deserve him. He was so good, so kind. He was always asking you what he could do for you. It drove you insane because he was so thoughtful.
You shook your head. “Don’t leave me?” You added, a pitiful attempt at humour. His jaw clenched and he physically turned you to look at him.
His heart broke, you thought he’d leave you? Insane. I couldn’t ever. “I’m not leaving you. You hear me?” He asked, a hand cradling your jaw as he stared at you with those impossibly brown eyes. You nodded. “You’re too fucking important to me, alright? I can’t live without you, yes?” He asked, forcing eye contact. You had no idea how he fucking did this, saying the most vulnerable things and keeping (forcing) eye contact.
“Yes.” You agreed, even if you didn’t believe him. You brought the cigarette back up to your mouth, but he snatched it before you could take another drag. He threw it on the floor, crushing it under his shoe. You rolled your eyes, and he gave you that look.
A voice you knew all too well came up behind you. “Can’t hide from me forever, can you?” Claire.
You both went into emergency medicine at the same time. She stayed in Chicago, you went to Pittsburgh. You lost contact mostly, sometimes she’d comment on your instagram, or you’d send her some ER meme.
“Claire,” you whipped around, smiling at her. “How are you?” She looked good, a little older, a little wiser, just as beautiful as before.
She swallowed you up in a hug. “Jesus Christ, it’s been so long!” She beamed. “I’m good, thank you. How are you?” She asked, pulling back. “And who is this?” She turned her attention to Jack, who smiled back.
“I’m good, thank you. Really good, actually,” you were lying through your teeth, but she didn’t seem to notice. When you were home, back in Pittsburgh with a few days off, you were really good. Right now, stuck in shitty Chicago with all your ghosts, you were feeling terrible. “This is Dr. Jack Abbot, my boyfriend.” You introduced and he shook her hand. She sent you a wink, and a mouthed ‘he’s hot’ that Jack definitely didn’t miss. He stifled a laugh behind his hand as you and Claire just looked at each other.
“I read one of your papers, actually,” she admitted, rocking back and forth on her heels. “The one on gender disparity in the ER and how women are often misdiagnosed?” He nodded. “It was great,” she smiled giddily. “I showed it to all my colleagues. They all loved it.”
“Well, thank you,” he smiled. “You should really read Y/n’s newest paper on-” you cut him off by literally covering his mouth with your hand, making both him, and Claire giggle.
When would this hellish conversation end? “Enough about me!” You announced. “What about you? Anything new for you? Friends, boyfriends, family?”
She smiled, laughter easing. “Well, yeah, actually. Carm and I actually dated for a little while,” she confessed, messing with a ring on her index finger. “Nothing serious, a-and we broke up pretty quick. Nothing much since then. Well, until a few nights ago when he came to my house and told me he loved me, which was kinda… a lot,” a nervous chuckle left her lips, as your own jaw was close to being on the ground. Claire and Carmen. What the fuck? She was logical, she always had been. Methodical. Clean. Calm. He was completely the opposite, and not to mention, she was entirely out of his league. “But we’re good now. Over, for sure.” She clarified.
You didn’t know if you were going to be sick, or reach over and shake her. How did she end up with Carmen? How? “Oh. You and Carmen-?” You were going to explode into a very long lecture, and subsequent questionnaire, when Neil came up, jabbering about needing you for something to do with Eva. You turned to Claire before setting off. “We will revisit this.” Claire nodded, holding a thumbs up as you and Jack followed Neil
“Is she alright?” Jack asked, trailing behind the two of you. “Did she fall? Did she hit her head? Is she on fire?”
Neil looked horrified. “No! NO! Nothing like that! God, is that where your mind went? Jesus Christ. No, she’s just… she’s under the table, and she doesn’t want to leave. And now Frank and Richie are freaking out, like on the verge of a panic attack-”
“She’s the fucking cunt-!” “No she’s the fucking cunt!”
“Is that Sugar?” You questioned, eyes wild as you searched the room for her blonde hair. You found it, screaming at Francine. “Shit, alright, umm… Jack, you stay here and try to talk Richie and Frank out of their fucking panic attacks, I’ll be right back,” you decided, walking off to try and pull the women away from each other. Jimmy was standing beside them, looking like he would rather be slingshotted to the moon than be between them. You stalked over, trying to have your voice heard over theirs. It was times like these you wished you had the capacity for volume that Robby did. “Ladies! Let’s just fuckin’, no, Francine, I swear to fuck I will rip your hair out of your head if you so much as try to bite me one more fuckin’ time. Sugar- Sug- Natalie! Stop acting like fuckin’ schoolgirls- ohhh, do not fuckin’ piss me off right now. Is this how adults act-? No! I didn’t fuckin’ think so! Francie, lovely to see you, stay in the fucking house. Sugar, lovely to see you, stay in the fucking tent. Problem solved!” You clapped your hands together definitively, one of the Faks taking Francine away as Sugar stood in her place, rage radiating off of her. You grabbed a glass of champagne from a table nearby and handed it over to her, irritation rushing through your veins. “Grow up,” you scoffed before cheersing your glasses together. “Cheers!” You fake smiled before rushing off back to Jack and the boys. God you hated this fucking family. If you weren’t already so frazzled, you would’ve noticed the three people trailing you. You didn’t, you only stopped when you found Rich and Frank standing beside a table, with the hilarious image of Jack’s legs sticking out from under the table.
Behind you Stevie, Carmen, and Tiffany all stood. You genuinely jumped, tripping over Jack’s prosthetic leg, and falling on top of him. “Oh shit, sorry baby,” you sighed, rolling up his trousers and reattaching his leg the way you’d done a thousand times before. “You alright in there?” you practically whispered.
“All good.” He responded as you stood up, turning back to the trio in front of you.
“Is he a pirate?” Stevie smirked, that stupid smirk you’d always wanted to slap off his fucking face. You sent him that look, the one Dana called your ‘scary dog look’, and he nodded. “No jokes about the leg, got it. So, how are you?”
“Great, thanks Stevie,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, mostly because that was the only language he understood. “How’s your lavender marriage?” You shot back, smoothing out your dress.
He laughed. “Hoo-ho! You got me there! Maybe we should ask Carmy here how many times he heard me and Michelle fuck while he was staying with us in New York, shall we?” He turned his head to Carmen, who was just staring at you.
He shook his head. “No, we shall not.”
You changed your focus to the beautiful bride in front of you. “Hey Tiff, congratulations,” you smiled, pulling her into a hug. You didn’t know her well, but you knew Richie, and when they started going out, he beamed. Even when they got married and things got hard, he was so fucking in love with her. “This place is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. She was always so sweet. “How are you? How’s Pittsburgh?”
“Pittsburgh,” Carmen parroted. “You moved to Pittsburgh?”
“Yes, Carmen, PTMC had a great residency program,” you sent him a death glare, then turned back to Tiff. “I’m good thank you, yeah, Pittsburgh’s great. My boyfriend and I-” you pointed out Jack, who was still under the fucking table. “-are living together now so, yeah, it’s great.”
“Boyfriend, wow!” She beamed, holding your hands in hers. “That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, and yeah, I’m so happy for you too,” you smiled. “And thank you for inviting me, that was more than kind.” You added, still feeling Carmen’s eyes on you.
“Oh, of course. We’re still family, right?” She smiled.
“Right,” you agreed. “So what’s going on with you-”
Carmen stepped in closer, eyes wild. “You moved to Pittsburgh and you didn’t tell me?” He asked, voice cracking like it did when he was upset. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Stevie smirked at the sight in front of him, he loved getting to watch the drama unfold. Tiff just watched, then took a silent step out, mouthing a ‘good luck’ in your direction. Frank and Richie were too busy bro-ing it out to realise the shitshow in front of them.
“You didn’t seem to care about me in New York,” you shrugged, crossing your arms. “And PTMC had a great residency program. I was thinking about my future-”
He let out a strangled laugh. “S-so you can show up to my work, my future, and scream a-at me to come home, but you didn’t fucking tell me where you went, and what, I’m just supposed to fucking take that becuase it’s about ‘your future’? What bullshit is that, Doc?”
You let out a sharp breath. “I’m sorry I did that, it wasn’t the right thing to do. I was just hurting, and I wanted you to understand but I didn’t know how to say it, so I just… I had to hurt you too. In hindsight, I’ve no doubt that you were grieving in your own way, I just… I couldn’t see it, and I’m sorry.” You fiddled with your dress, wishing all of this could just be over, that you could just teleport back to your apartment in Pittsburgh with Jack.
He stared, eyes fixed on your face. He nodded, quickly. He blinked. “T-Thank you, for apologising. I-I’m sorry too.”
You were shocked at that. Your eyebrows jumped up into your hairline, mouth dropping open slightly. You just nodded, mouth dry and throat burning with unshed tears.
“I think she just doesn’t want to dance,” Jack shrugged, standing up. “I think you need to be okay with that,” he explained to Frank. He stood up to find Carmen and Stevie in front of you, your shoulders clearly trembling. He wrapped a hand around your waist, and pulled you into him, squeezing your hip. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice gruff and low.
“Yeah, I’m-”
“Wow,” Donna’s voice cut through the noise in your head, and your heart dropped into your stomach. She sounded dreamy, like she was remembering a young set of twins that she hadn’t yet ruined. Stevie fell away, not wanting to be anywhere near Donna and you together. “Both my babies are right here.” She smiled, pulling Carmen into an awkward looking hug, and then turning to you with open arms. You couldn’t do it. You ducked out, rushing out of the tent as you felt bile rise in your throat. You sat in the garden for a while, train-smoking some cigarettes as you waited for the inevitable bomb to explode in your face.
Inside the tent, Carmen was staring at Jack Abbot like he didn’t know what to do with him, and Donna was looking at him like she had a thousand questions to ask.
Carmen cleared his throat. “You’re her boyfriend?” He asked, his voice wavering. Jack nodded his head with a soft smile. He decided to give you a bit of time on your own, especially when he could ensure you wouldn’t be bothered by your twin or mother for at least a little while. “How is she?”
Loaded question, he thought. He pursed his lips together. “She’s the best doctor I have on my staff, she’s one of the kindest people I know, and she misses you,” he shrugged. “She loves her job and she dedicates almost too much of herself to it. She’s the most popular doctor in the Pitt, and she deserves every piece of praise that she gets.”
Carmen nodded, then walked off, his breaths erratic and shallow. Jack cleared his throat, taking another sip of his water.
Donna smiled at him, a curious glint in her eye. “Do you like working there? At the Pitt with her?” She asked.
He broke out into a proper smile thinking about all the time you two had shared there. From your first day where you performed a perfect crike and central venous catheterization within 30 minutes on your first shift, to the day he kissed you for the first time on the roof, to the days now, where the only good thing in that building is you. “I do, very much so.” he grinned. She nodded.
“I always wanted to be a nurse, y’know,” she smiled that tight-lipped smile he was getting more used to. He saw the similarities in features, just when she tilted her head the right way.
“Oh really?” he coaxed, wanting her to talk more so that he didn’t have to.
“Yeah, I did. I did a course back in high school about CPR and everything, and I was… wow, it was a lot,” she chuckled. “I have no idea how you guys do it.”
He nodded, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah, it’s… it’s still a lot sometimes, even for us.”
“I don’t think that ever changes,” she shook her head, playing with the ring on her finger. “So, she’s… she’s good?”
There it was, the question he was waiting for. “She’s… yeah. She’s great. She’s an attending now, she did her exams a few months ago, so… yeah. She’s great. I love her a lot,” he confessed, trying to keep a little bit of the pride out of his tone. “She’s so smart, and so quick, and… she was just made for it. She really cares about the people who walk in everyday, and she, she always knows what to say. She’s always trying to make things better for everyone else, including our staff. She just… she cares a lot. She’s nice to med students and new interns which is shockingly rare,” he chuckled, thinking of your relationships with Whitaker and Santos and Javadi, and how close you got with Mel. “She’s just… she’s so special. All her patients rave about her, all her collegues rave about her, hell, I fucking rave about her. What she does is special. Obviously, there’s moments where it’s hard, especially because she’s so hard on herself, but she’s incredible at what she does, and half of that is how she speaks to people. She just… she cares,” he shrugged, his heart swelling with pride. “She is just incredible and we are more than lucky to have her. I’m more than lucky to have her.”
She let out a fond laugh. “Really?” She pleaded, hoping what he was saying was true. He nodded. “That’s wonderful! I always knew she would be a doctor. She always wanted to fix things, that’s why we all call her Doc, because she was always bandaging scrapes and helping out Carmy with his…” she trailed off. “And how did you two meet?”
“I was her attending at the same hospital while she was finishing out her residency and we became friends, and then it just turned into more,” he shrugged. He knew this would come up, especially with the age difference and everything. She nodded. “We live together now, which is great. She's, unsurprisingly, a great cook.” He chuckled.
She was quiet for a moment, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Wow. You really… you really see her, don’t you?”
“I try to,” he breathed out. “She doesn’t always want to be seen.”
She shook her head, covering his hand with hers. “You see her, just like Mikey did. You understand her,” she smiled, one stray tear falling down her cheek. “That’s special.”
He smiled back at her, and nodded.
“Take care of my girl, alright?” she asked, voice breathy and full of emotion. He nodded, a solemn promise he’d made over a year ago, to himself. “Thank you.”
And she left. So he left and found you outside with a half-empty cigarette box, and tears streaming down your face. He helped you up, warm hands on your waist as he guided you through the party to your car, forgoing any and all proper goodbyes or thank you’s. You needed space. You needed time. He buckled you up into the passenger seat of your car, and set off for Sugar’s house.
“Thank you.” You whispered out, eyes already droopy after your very emotionally draining day.
He shook his head, squeezing your thigh in his hand. “Always.”
That was it. He’d always be there for you.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you’re an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
⊹ ࣪ ˖ word count: 147k┊complete┊(blurbs will be written sporadically)
⤷ CHAPTER INDEX:
⚕one.┊two.┊three.┊four.┊five.┊six.┊seven.┊eight.┊nine.┊ten.┊eleven. ┊twelve.┊thirteen.┊fourteen.┊ fifteen. ┊ sixteen.┊seventeen.┊eighteen┊ nineteen ┊twenty ┊twenty one ┊twenty two ┊twenty three
⤷ BLURBS INDEX:
⚕ long shift
⚕ halloween
⚕ the q-word
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series anymore. follow @s-writing-s-fics to get notified when i post a new blurb <33
dr robby x f!reader
read on ao3 | the bug collector masterlist
content: 18+ mdni, reader is mikey berzatto's widow, discussions of suicide, suicidal ideation, death and grief, domestic violence (verbal, emotional, physical), discussions of pregnancy/fertility/conception, substance use disorder, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, smoking, mental illness, minor age gap? i would say reader is in her early forties, robby's in his fifties, dysfunctional family, reader is orphaned, berzattos something like found family, reader's nickname given by berzattos is bug, brief mention of unspecified child abuse, likely medical inaccuracies, broken heart syndrome, swearing
words: 13.5k
synopsis: wracked with guilt and shame that could rival that of a devout catholic's after your husband ends his life, you decide to follow in his footsteps by abandoning the life you've built together. packing up your things, you flee to pittsburgh, leaving behind both chicago and the only family you'd ever known. but grief cannot be outrun, robby knows that better than anyone. one day, maybe you'll stop running long enough for him to show you.
a/n: well. i said i would do it, didn't i??? anyway this one is super niche who knows when i will finish it if ever this is mostly just the set up ahhhhh idk why i'm so nervous about this when i know no one is going to read it lmao. i'm having fun with it though and i really love writing the bear characters! mind the tags pleaseeeee and take care of yourselves. if you like this one please let me know or i fear it will be abandoned <3 syd
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, for grief is proud and makes his owner stoop. To me and to the state of my great grief, let kings assemble; for my grief's so great that no supporter but the huge firm earth can hold it up.
[Throws herself on the ground.]
Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
-The Life and Death of King John, William Shakespeare
The morning of the day the world ended, you were thinking about leaving Mikey again, for probably the hundredth time. You'd pulled out your suitcase from under the bed, unzipped it, sat on the floor, and stared at it for over an hour.
Mikey had been sweet the last few days, but that wasn't uncommon. He could usually sense when you were thinking about leaving, when you got tired of begging him to come home. When you didn't engage in the fights he stoked. When you stopped going through his things so you could flush the drugs down the toilet.
The last few days, as he normally did when he sniffed out your thoughts, he was kind to you. Did the things he always had in the beginning stages of your relationship, like make you coffee, kiss you goodbye, made sure he was in the bed with you at night when it was time to go to sleep. He hadn't been sober for much of it, but there was almost nothing on this earth that could make him want to be sober for more than an hour in that last year.
And so, much like every other time you had planned to leave Mikey, you sat staring at an open suitcase wondering if you were making the right decision.
But then the phone rang and you tore your gaze away from the suitcase to see Natalie calling. Part of you was tempted to ignore it. The Berzattos had taken you in like you were practically their own long before you and Mikey had even thought about dating. Leaving Mikey wouldn't just be leaving Mikey, it'd be leaving the only family you'd ever known. Natalie, the only sister you'd ever had.
Wracked with guilt, you stared at her contact photo long enough that it almost went to voicemail.
"Hey, Nat, what's—"
You remembered thinking as Natalie screamed almost unintelligibly into the phone that it was a joke. A prank. You were already thinking about the long speech you'd give Mikey, Richie, and Fak, surely the perpetrators of it.
"Natalie, slow down." You stood up, still calm and in denial, although just one finger on your free hand trembled as you walked toward the safe where Mikey kept his gun. Your gun, you knew, was exactly where you'd left it. In its own safe tucked away in your nightstand. You had just checked for it this morning, because sometimes Mikey took it without asking and if you were leaving you wanted to take it with you.
But that morning, you walked with purpose toward's Mikey's "office," if one could call it that. It was a single folding table and more papers and boxes than you could understand. Scattered throughout it were the occasional photo in frame, like your wedding photo.
Your eye caught sight of it as you walked over to his safe on the lone bookshelf. There was a crack down the middle of the glass of the frame. Mikey had thrown it a few weeks ago. Not at you, you'd maintain, just towards you. You'd been meaning to get around to replacing it.
As Natalie sobbed frantically in your ear, you unlocked the safe and—
No gun. Just a single, folded piece of paper that read: BUG in messy scrawl you'd know anywhere.
Distantly, you knew Natalie was calling your name, but you put the phone down with a shaking hand and then reached for the paper.
You unfolded it, smoothed out the wrinkles, and there were just three sentences written out.
I'm sorry. Carmy will take care of everything. I love you.
And then the world ended.
***
When the world ended, you ran. Mikey seemed to have had everything figured out before he blew his brains out on the State Street Bridge and so there was no use for you. He left you with nothing. Except the house, which you had put up for sale within weeks.
"Bug, hold on—hold on—I don't know why he left me everything," Carmy was saying frantically as you were packing your things into your pickup, "He was fucked up, he wasn't thinking straight, obviously, or he would've left the restaurant to his fucking wife."
"Carmy," You sighed, "It's fine. I never wanted the Beef anyway."
"Okay, but, I could use your help. Where the fuck are you going anyway? Does Richie know you're leaving? Natalie?" At the look on your face he leaned his back against your truck and dug around for his cigarettes, "Fuck," he muttered, "You're gonna make me tell them, aren't you?"
You hadn't seen Carmy for a couple of years by the time Mikey ended it, but he looked worn out since the last time you saw him. He'd lost some weight and the bags under his eyes were heavy. It had been cruel for Mikey to strap him with a fucking floundering sandwich shop when Carmy had been working at one of the best restaurants in the world. He idolized Mikey. You knew immediately he'd never get rid of it like Natalie asked him to.
And so the cycle would continue. The Beef would curse Carmy next—No, that was terrible to even think, to put out into the universe. Carmy was different. He'd be fine.
"You don't need me, Carm," You said quietly, accepting a cigarette from him, "You have Richie."
He scoffed, "Richie's a fuckin' idiot, he doesn't know how to do shit."
"Richie knows more about that place than I do. Fuck, he probably knew Mikey better than I did at the end."
You felt Carmy's eyes on you, but didn't turn to meet them.
"That's not true." He said finally, "You knew him better than anyone."
You hummed, "He was planning this for weeks and weeks and I had no idea. Not a fuckin' clue," Finally you turned to him, "So what does that say about me, Carm? About our relationship?"
You weren't sure what it was you wanted from Carmy. Reassurance that he didn't blame you? For someone to say out loud that it wasn't your fault? That even though you'd been revolving around Mikey like he was the Sun for practically your entire life, how could you have been expected to notice when his light dimmed?
Carmy didn't say any of that and he wouldn't because you both knew it was bullshit. If it was anyone's job to notice that Mikey was well and truly slipping, it was yours.
And maybe you had been so busy thinking about yourself that you hadn't noticed. Or maybe you hadn't wanted to notice. The implication was the same and if they wouldn't condemn you for it, then you'd do it yourself.
"If you won't call Sugar, you should at least call Richie." He said quietly, "He's been a fuckin' bastard lately and he hates me right now so please don't make me be the one to tell him that his only other friend has left town without a trace."
You couldn't talk to Richie. You hadn't been able to look him in the eye since the day it happened. If anyone would be able to see right through you to the truth of it, to see your failures, it'd be Richie.
"Why's he mad at you?"
Carmy shrugged, "Think he's just pissed Mikey left it to me. Doesn't matter how many times I've tried to tell him I never fuckin' wanted it. Not without Mikey."
Ah, yeah, that sounded like Richie. You hadn't wanted the Beef either, but you understood the resentment anyway. The truth that came with it, that Mikey had never really seen the two of you as family.
"He'll get over it," You said swallowing, "You're family."
Carmy didn't say anything to that, "Could you at least tell me where you're going?"
The youngest Berzatto, you'd always had a softness for Carmy. It was you who'd intervened on his behalf whenever Mikey and Richie were being too hard on him. When he left for Paris and then Copenhagen and finally New York, Mikey was proud of him, of course, but you identified the resentment. That Carmy had been able to get out. The same bitterness that had simmered below the surface and led you to drop out of NYU and come back to Mikey.
That seemed like lifetimes ago, now.
Sighing, you dug around in the cab of your truck until you found a pen and a notepad. Quickly, you scribbled down the address of the apartment you'd be renting and then handed it to Carmy.
He squinted at it and then up at you, "Pittsburgh? What the hell is in Pittsburgh?"
Nothing. Nothing and no one who knew you. A one bedroom that didn't have any traces of Mikey in it. Not a single soul who knew who the Berzattos were or what a Chicago Beef was. Well, maybe they'd know what a Chicago Beef was.
You dropped your cigarette and crushed it beneath your boot before walking back around the truck to the driver's side.
"You should sell the Beef," You said, climbing into the truck.
"Are you ever gonna come back?" Carmy asked, leaning into your window as you started the truck.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat and turned to him, "I feel him. Constantly," You said softly, "Like a fucking weight on my chest. I just need to be somewhere where his ghost isn't suffocating me."
He nodded and pushed off the side of your car, "Well, we'll miss you here. Don't know how we're gonna do it without you."
You felt the muscles of your face soften. Carmy could be both so much like Mikey and nothing at all like him, "Carm, you're gonna do so amazing," You nodded reassuringly and lowered your head to force eye contact with him, "Mikey knew it. I knew it. Everyone in this city knows it."
"If he knew it why didn't he ever bring me home to run it with him, huh?" There was the heat back in his voice, the classic rage only a Berzatto could carry, pulling behind him like a boulder on a rope, so used to its presence he sometimes forgot it was there. Until now. Until forced to examine all the ways in which we'd let him down. "Instead he left me with a—a fuckin' failing restaurant with no money and—and the only living person who was fuckin' keeping it afloat's leaving too."
"Carmy—"
"No, just—just fuck off then, alright?"
Your eyes burned. You didn't want to leave things like this, but you knew he'd be upset. You had planned to leave without telling anyone to avoid all of this mess, like a coward, but Carmy had shown up out of the blue, planning to ask for your help. Instead, he'd been confronted with you packing your life away. Running. Leaving him the same way he felt like Mikey had. Didn't you know what that felt like? So easily you'd perpetrate the same violence against him if it meant escaping its echoes yourself.
"I'm sorry." You said weakly, not knowing what else to do or say. You were sorry. But you weren't sure you'd survive another second under the suffocating weight of the grief.
Carmy wasn't looking at you now. Hands on his hips as he stared off into the sunset. A police siren wailed in the distance.
"Don't expect me to keep it from the family." He said finally, "When they ask, I won't lie for you."
There had been a time when Carmy would have lied for you as easily as the river flows down the bank. It was amazing the things Mikey could continue to take from you, even from the grave.
You swallowed and nodded, "I understand."
He stood there stoically as you started the truck. Your eyes filled as you looked at the house you and Mikey had shared for twenty years in the rearview mirror. The rose bushes you'd tended to by the stoop. The stubborn crack in the foundation that Mikey attempted to fill himself every few years. The beers you'd shared and cigarrettes you'd smoked with Richie and, later, Tiffany in the backyard. You couldn't imagine that anywhere else would ever feel as close to home as those four walls and the laughter and screaming and crying that settled in the foundation like mold. It would have collapsed one day anyhow, even if Mikey hadn't been the one to issue the final blow.
"Carm," You called over the roar of the engine. You saw the moment he hesitated, when he stubbornly wanted to deny you the desire to look into his eyes, but he looked up. "I'm sorry he left such a mess, but you don't have to be the one to clean up after him. If you don't want to."
He nodded, seeming to consider it, then, "You know that's not true," He said, squinting against the light of the setting sun, "I begged him to let me work at The Beef for years so he gave it to me," He grinned sardonically, "Fuckin' bastard."
You did know it wasn't true. Carmy would clean up any mess if Mikey was the one to make it. But you had to say it anyway.
"Take care of yourself, Carm," You shifted the car into drive, "I love you, bear."
When he looked back at you, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. Eventually he nodded, "Love you too, bug."
With that, you pulled off the curb for the last time and watched the Chicago skyline fade in the rearview mirror.
***
As long as you could remember, you always wanted to be married. It wasn't as if you'd diaried about the wedding you'd throw, the type of dress you wanted. You didn't create long lists of baby names to one day share with your future spouse. You didn't imagine the life you'd share or the house you'd one day live in.
To you, it was the one sure way to ensure you belonged to someone. That you mattered to someone. The fantasy of being loved and wanted and adored and taken care of by someone. You had always hated being alone. As you were passed from foster home to foster home, some of them the source of recurring nightmares over the years, the best ones where you were treated with cold indifference, it was this fantasy that kept you going.
It was Uncle Jimmy who had introduced you to the Berzattos. You were living at one of the very bad foster homes at the time, suffering through the fourth grade, your marks were tanking and you barely spoke to anyone at all. You had taken to not going home after school, instead, wandering the streets of Chicago until the sun rose again in the morning. Sometimes people took pity on you, assumed you were homeless and bought you a meal. You spent a lot of time in the library during this period. But even libraries closed at night.
And so you'd walk and walk and walk. Up the river, down the river, along the pier, through the park. On one night, you were particularly tired. You hadn't been back at the house in about three days. You were hungry and your feet hurt and you were starting to smell from the lack of a shower. The streets were usually quiet at night and this night you made the mistake of walking out across the road without checking for cars.
You remembered the squeal of the brakes and the smell of burnt rubber against asphalt—And then the yelling.
A heavyset man climbed out of his car, red in the face and started bellowing at you about looking both ways before crossing and didn't your parents teach you how to cross the street safely?
The lack of sleep had you irritable and on top of that, you were frustrated that he hadn't hit you. You hadn't intended to be hit, but your immediate thoughts were that if you had been hit, you could have at least gone to the hospital and been doted on. You'd have a safe place to sleep and something to eat. But the hood of his car had barely grazed you.
"You think if I had parents I'd be walking around in the middle of the night, dick wad?" You'd shouted back.
The man quieted and took a closer look at you. Then, he looked around at the empty streets, checked his watch to see what time it was, then sighed heavily as he looked back at you. His eyes traveled from your dirty sneakers, up to your face, streaked with dirt and hair that hadn't been combed or washed in many days. His nose wrinkled in distaste, but you weren't embarrassed. You would happily take being hungry and dirty and smelly over being in that house.
"Get in the car," He said finally with a jerk of his head.
Finally, you had the good sense to revert from rabid dog back to scared child, "Wh—What?"
"Get in the car," He said slowly, "I'm not gonna hurt ya, kid. Are ya hungry?"
At the mere mention of food, your mouth watered. You nodded.
He nodded, "Thought so. Come on, get in. I know a place."
Reluctantly, you climbed in the car. Looking back on it, you thought you'd been smarter than getting in a car with any stranger. But you hadn't slept in days and the ache in your chest that longed to be taken care of by an adult, any adult, twinged at the man's offer.
You were quiet as he drove through Chicago to River North and didn't take offense when he rolled down the windows, assumedly to air out your smell.
You remembered vaguely that he took the car ride to lecture you about how it was unsafe for a girl your age to wander the streets at night like that. But you only sat quietly, the exhaustion fully setting into your bones now that you'd sat down.
He parked along the curb across from a home that had a single light cutting through the dark of the night and unceremoniously got out of the car, gesturing for you to follow. It took a lot of effort for you to pull yourself from the safety of the car, but you managed, trailing after the man like a sick puppy.
You had only known him less than thirty minutes, but you clung to his pant leg as he spoke to the adults who answered the door—another man who had the same mannerisms as the man who almost hit you, whose name was apparently Jimmy, and a very heavily pregnant woman behind him who watched you with a gentle expression on her face. More gentle than you could recall anyone looking at you before. Uncomfortable, you averted your gaze.
Jimmy turned back to you and crouched in front of you, "You see the nice lady behind me?"
You looked over your shoulder to the woman again, who was still looking at you with a soft smile on her face. You nodded.
"She's gonna let you shower and get you some food, okay?"
"What're you gonna do?" You asked immediately, afraid he was already intent on abandoning you.
"I'm gonna have a beer with my friend over here—" He nodded towards the other man, "—and make sure you're looked after."
You swallowed, "You'll still be here when I get out?"
He nodded, "Promise."
You had been lied to by many adults in your life and so your instinct was to distrust him. You couldn't explain why as you looked over the planes of his face, the bags under his eyes, the ginormous glasses that framed them, and the wrinkles beside them, you trusted him. You allowed the woman—Donna—to coax you down the hall.
As she led you to the bathroom, you remembered at the end of the hall, a cracked door and two eyes illuminated by the hallway lights, watching you. Donna, following your gaze, had sighed and said, "Mikey, back to bed. Now." And then the door had closed. That was the first time you laid eyes on Mikey Berzatto.
Later, freshly showered and stomach full of baked ziti, Donna led you back to Jimmy, who smiled at your wet hair and clean clothes (later, you'd learn the clean clothes were Mikey's).
"Feeling better, kiddo?" Jimmy asked.
Yawning, you nodded. You were feeling better, though you were on the verge of falling asleep. Jimmy took you home that night, telling you stories about the Berzattos as he drove. At first when you got back in the car, he'd intended to take you back to The House, but after you refused to give him the address to the point of tears, he'd sighed and began to drive to what you presumed to be his own house. You realized as he drove that you were in the same neighborhood as The House, but you didn't mention it to him, afraid he'd insist on taking you back.
That night, he let you sleep on his couch and at your insistence, he slept in the recliner across the room.
A lot could be said about Donna Berzatto and Uncle Jimmy, the people they became, the people they hurt, but you would always have a soft spot for them for this day, if nothing else. You felt, and you'd tell them for many years after, that they saved your life that night.
You understood the issues Mikey, Sugar, and Carmy had with their mother. You'd witnessed first hand her near violent mood swings and the unforgivable way she'd spoken to them. You'd joke with the siblings for many years after that the only reason she'd been so sweet to you that night was because she'd been pregnant with Sugar. But despite it all, nobody could say that Donna didn't love her children. She hadn't been able to love them the way they needed, and at least in the case of Mikey, you hypothesized it led to his demise, but she had loved them nonetheless. And this was more love than you had witnessed at any time up until that point.
So it was no surprise then that you dug your grubby fingers so deeply into Unc and subsequently, the Berzattos.
And since it had been what you'd wanted so fiercely for as long as you could remember, the decision to drop out of Tisch at NYU, giving up your free ride to come back home to Mikey when he proposed your sophomore year had been an easy one for you to make. Even when Jimmy gave you hell for it.
"I know that I gave you shit for fuckin' going to school for performing arts," He filled the phrase with disdain, "But it's still an education. For free. And you're just gonna throw it away for that fuckin' idiot kid—"
"Will you give me away?" You asked, interrupting his spiel. You had always intended to ask him, but it was easiest to ask now, when you could distract him from all the ways in which you were a disappointment. You weren't his kid, but he had always treated you like it. Before you'd accepted the free ride to NYU, he'd offered to pay your full tuition to any university you wanted.
"Fuck," He'd sighed and ran his hands over his face, displacing his glasses, "You're fuckin' killin' me here, kid."
You grinned, sensing a retreat, "So that's a yes?"
"I just don't understand why it has to be right now. Are you pregnant?"
You rolled your eyes, "I already told you, no. I can pee on a stick for you if you want."
He waved you off, "Then there's no reason this can't wait until graduation, huh?"
You sighed, you didn't want to explain to him the childlike fear that if you didn't marry Mikey right now, he'd lose interest by the time you came home. This felt like the one chance to get everything you wanted. Namely, the Berzattos, legally by contract. And Mikey. The only boy you'd ever loved. You could always go back to school or go to school in Chicago. You might not get another chance with Mikey.
"Jimmy, please."
He stared at you for a few moments and you felt it when he gave up. His shoulders drooped and the muscles in his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head, "Alright, kiddo. Fine. But I'll only walk you down the aisle if you promise me one thing. You listening?" You smiled and eagerly nodded, already thinking you'd won, "You don't let Mikey handle the money."
You frowned, "I don't understand."
"I mean, you can let him handle the money, or what he thinks is the money. But I need you to promise me that you'll keep your own money that he won't have access to."
"Unc, what the fuck are you talking about?"
He looked down at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table, "You know I love Mikey. I love the Berzattos, his father was always a good friend of mine… But the fact of the matter is that they've never been good at business. And now that The Beef is Mikey's and you intend to marry him, that means it'll be yours, too."
You frowned, "Yeah, okay. I know that."
He nodded slowly, "And you understand that if something goes wrong, any money issues will also fall on you. Any debt. This could ruin you—"
"Everyone loves The Beef—"
"The best restaurant will not survive a mismanagement of money, sweetheart. I know you understand that."
You set your jaw stubbornly and sat back against your chair, "So, what, you want me to bet on my future husband's failure and create a secret escape fund?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do."
You rolled your eyes, but he grabbed your hands across the table, "Listen to me. I know you're smart. You're smarter than him and at his worst I think he'll come to resent that—"
You didn't want to hear this, "Jimmy—" You tried to pull your hands away, but he squeezed tightly.
"At his best, Mikey is a good man. He'll make a good husband. But when things get hard—and they will get hard—I just need to know that you are capable of taking care of yourself. Promise me."
It was scaring you, this talk. You knew what he was really saying underneath it all. You'd had many conversations about the Berzattos with Jimmy over the years. He was like a father to you and so you'd always kept whatever he'd told you under lock and key. Even from Mikey.
He did love Mikey. He loved Donna, loved Mikey's father, loved Nat and Carmy. But he had also seen the family at their worst. And you knew he worried that you'd truly become a Berzatto, and everything that came with it. The mental illness, the substance abuse, the disappearances, the often violent endings. The circular curse of being a Berzatto in this town.
You swallowed, "I promise," you said quietly, "Am I just gonna be another Berzatto to you now, Unc? Just a lovable pain in the ass?"
He chuckled, but shook his head, "No, sweetheart. You've always been a Kalinowski to me anyhow. You'll die a Kalinowski."
You thought about this conversation twenty years later in your new Pittsburgh apartment, sitting in the open window with a lit cigarette in your mouth and an open Peroni beside you. The apartment was empty, just hardwood floors and a mattress on the floor. Your valuables scattered across the floor and in boxes. Your gun in its safe by the head of your mattress.
Everything else you'd gotten rid of. Mikey's presence too consuming. You'd barely been able to convince yourself to take your clothes, able to look at every piece and identify a memory with Mikey, both good and bad.
That was the dress you wore to your twentieth anniversary dinner. There's the shirt he nearly ripped apart in his rush to get it off you and fuck you against the wall when he got too drunk three years ago after a night out with Richie. These are the jeans with the tear at the knees from when he shoved you down the porch steps after you talked back to him in front of the family—
Your phone was ringing again. You'd made a game out of trying to guess if it'd be Natalie, Jimmy, or Carmy. The fact that Richie hadn't tried to call you told you enough about where he stood. You knew he blamed you for Mikey, could see it all over his face at the funeral. That was fine, you thought it was your fault too.
You had a running theory that following Jimmy's advice, squirreling away cash every month into a secret bank account, had cursed your marriage and Mikey. Right now you felt that it was Jimmy calling. He tried calling you more often than Carmy, but less than Natalie. Natalie's voicemails were always the hardest to listen to.
You watched the phone screen as it rang and rang, then signaled that voicemail was picking up. New Voicemail - Uncle Jimmy.
Immediately, you picked up the phone to listen to his message. You didn't like to admit it, but you still liked to hear the sound of his voice, you found it soothing.
"Hey, kid, it's me." He sighed into the receiver, "Carmy says you've gone to Pittsburgh. I don't know what the fuck is in Pittsburgh, but I'd appreciate it if you'd pick up the fucking phone so I know you're alive. Or at least… Look, I—I know how hard it must be for you right now with Mikey—Well, I guess I don't know. Not really. But you could at least let me try...To understand." He paused for a few moments and then sighed, "If you could just text me proof of life, I won't bother you. I get it, you don't wanna talk, message received. I just… Wanna make sure you're okay. Alright?" There was another pause, a longer one this time, just the sound of his breathing, "I love you, kiddo," He said finally, "Call me back."
You put the phone down for a few minutes and looked out at the sunset. The apartment you'd rented was fine, but you'd rented it for the view alone. You could see one of the big bridges that crossed the Allegheny. Being close to the river reminded you of home. Sighing, you picked up the phone again and took a picture of the view, tangerine sky warm and inviting as it stretched across the bridge.
Opening your text thread with Jimmy you attached the photo and typed simply Alive. Then hit send. Jimmy liked the message—something you had taught him how to do. You watched the speech bubble pop up and disappear repeatedly. Then, nothing.
You would call Jimmy again eventually, just not today.
Today, you watched the sun set over Pittsburgh and then fell asleep on your bare mattress in the middle of the room, ambulance sirens lulling you to sleep like an old friend.
Later in the night, you'd wake and reach for Mikey's warmth only to grasp at the empty mattress. Blinking your eyes open, you'd remember where you were and that he was dead. Staring at the ceiling, your lower lip wobbling, you'd commence your new nightly routine of sobbing and wailing into your pillow. Both cursing Mikey and murmuring that you loved him until your body collapsed with the fatigue of grief.
***
It took months to get the book truck up and running. First, you had to find the perfect truck within your budget. Then, you got busy gutting it and building shelves into the walls. You were very slow and very bad at this and got easily frustrated whenever you remembered Mikey could've had this done twice as fast as you.
You ended many of the days in the beginning crying with splinters in your hands and itching to call Richie. He wasn't as handy as Mikey, but he was close. And he'd probably know how to make you laugh while he helped you anchor the shelves to the walls.
But you couldn't call Richie. You were hours away and he didn't wanna hear from you. You felt more alone than you'd felt since you were a child and Jimmy coaxed you into his car.
It was nearly February again, nearing the anniversary of the day the world ended when it was ready. You'd gotten enough inventory, you spent nearly all your savings getting it up and running while you worked in the meantime as a barista at a local coffee shop.
But once it was ready, when you'd outfitted it with a mini fridge and a Breville so you could also sell coffee, once you'd gotten all the correct licenses, you drove out and picked a nice spot near the river to set up shop for the day.
No customers the first day, but that was expected you supposed. It was cold, a brisk breeze coming in off the river, bare trees bending to its will.
But then there were no customers for weeks. People would stop and look, like you were a zoo exhibit. You sold the occasional coffee, but your inventory remained stagnant.
And then as winter was beginning to thaw into spring, a tall, bearded man approached your table. At first you didn't notice him, Shakespeare's King John in your hand, spine bent in half as you murmured one of Constance's monologues to yourself. A local theater would be putting it on later in the summer and at your therapist's urging you were auditioning later that week.
You hadn't been on a stage in something like twenty years, but your therapist reminded you it was just for fun. And a way to excise your grief.
"King John?" She asked when you told her about the audition.
You nodded, "You know it?" It was about the only Shakespeare you didn't know.
"Yes," She said and then stared past your shoulder at nothing, "Yes, let me know what you think of Constance."
When you got to her monologue where, lost in her grief she swears she's not mad, though she wished she was for that would be better than the hell her grief had wrought, you were sold. You would not and could not play anyone else.
So you were lost in her monologue, muttering under your breath when the tall, bearded man approached. For a moment when you noticed him you thought you had done such a fantastic job of getting lost in the bottomless well of your own grief, you'd conjured Mikey.
And so, you must have uttered his name because now the tall, bearded Not Mikey was frowning at you, "Sorry… Have we met?"
You blinked, "Oh, no, sorry I—I thought you were someone else. How can I help you?"
He peered behind you at your van—truck—whatever you wanted to call it, then back at you, "I haven't seen you here before."
You sighed and sat back in your chair, "Look, I can show you the licenses if you want, I'm allowed to park here—"
"Oh—No—" He laughed nervously, "Not what I meant, just—I'm pretty familiar with most of the vendors around here. I was just wondering if you're new to the area?"
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, eyes trailing to where he had a badge clipped to his hoodie. An emergency medicine doctor at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Michael Robinavitch. Michael. Mikey. A shiver ran down your spine and you crossed them in front of you. It was an incredibly common name, you reminded yourself.
Looking back up at him, you rescanned the lines of his face, found softness in his creases and warmth in his eyes. A bone deep exhaustion that you recognized in the way he held himself, as if he were right now leaning against the boulder he'd been pushing up the hill.
Growing up with the Berzattos and Jimmy had always given you a healthy skepticism of authority, which included doctors, but something about him, the way he carried himself, made you feel like you could trust him.
Or maybe it was just the visceral reminder of Mikey.
You swallowed, "Sort of, yeah. I moved here almost a year ago."
He nodded, "From whereabouts?"
"Chicago."
He raised his eyebrows, "Well, Pittsburgh must seem pretty quaint comparatively. How long were you there?"
The strangest things could trigger the grief. For example, the way the sun was shining in this stranger's face with Mikey's namesake, for just a moment his broad chest was Mikey's. His beard the same one you'd run your fingers through. His lips the same ones that you'd kissed for decades. It felt like a punch to the gut and you physically recoiled.
Politely, he acted like he hadn't noticed, waited patiently for a response to a question you could barely remember him asking.
"Um," You said slowly and pulled your eyes away from him, "My whole life."
"Why'd you leave?"
You pulled your gaze back to him and noted all the ways he was different from Mikey. Different nose, shorter hair, more freckles, slightly taller. Cataloguing them put you more at ease. Your shoulders relaxed and you sat back in your chair, "Trying to outrun a ghost." You said honestly.
You expected him to laugh or mock, but he did neither, only nodded and offered you a soft smile, as if he understood. Clearing his throat he asked, "Do you have coffee?"
You nodded, "Just an espresso machine. I can make you an Americano, a latte, or just a shot."
He requested an Americano and you were back with it in just a couple of minutes. He handed you some crumpled bills and then began to back away from your table, "I hope you're done running."
And then he was gone. You frowned after him, unsure what to make of his cryptic message, but after a moment simply shook your head.
You forgot about him for a while, the stranger with Mikey's name, but it wouldn't be long before your paths intersected again.
***
Natalie had been calling you repeatedly for hours. You weren't sure why you were still avoiding her, still avoiding all the Berzattos and Richie and Jimmy. It just felt like once so much time had passed since you last spoke the scarier it became to break it.
I'm calling for your own good, She texted when you continually denied her calls, In a couple of hours you're gonna wish you'd picked up the phone.
You frowned at the message. What could she possibly mean by that? But you had left your phone in another room and so were seeing the text hours later. As you thought about dialing her or texting back, there was a knock at your door.
"What the fuck?" You muttered quietly to yourself as you got closer to the door and heard the familiar sound of arguing outside your door.
Looking through the peep hole, you saw Carmy and Richie, between them, a Black woman you didn't recognize. She had a baby face, clearly younger than Carmy even, her braids tucked away beneath a silken scarf tied at the nape of her neck. Small hoops dangled from both her ears and she appeared to be trying to mediate an argument between the two men.
For a moment, you considered slowly backing away from the door and pretending you weren't home. Carmy being here was a mild inconvenience. You didn't know who the other woman was, but she seemed to be some sort of new addition to the fucked up Berzatto circus, unaware that any attempt at mediation between Carmy and Richie would just lead to her becoming collateral.
It was Richie you most dreaded seeing. Richie who you couldn't quite bear to look in the eyes.
But as you backed away, there was more aggressive knocking on the door and Richie's voice raised over the cacophony, "Bug, open the fucking door, I know you're in there I can smell those fucking hippie-dippie flower sticks burning."
You glanced back at your table where your incense stick was indeed burning, the scent of citrus and florals drifting through the apartment.
"Shit," You murmured, and then Richie was banging again.
"Bug, I swear to God—"
"I'm coming, shut the fuck up!" You shouted and then blew out a long breath between your lips before walking back over to the door and opening it.
All three people on the other side quieted immediately upon seeing you. Carmy and Richie stared open mouthed at you as you stared between the two of them, none of you knowing what to say before the woman between them thrust her hand towards you.
"Hi, I'm Sydney. I'm Carmy's business partner. It's nice to meet you, finally."
You took her hand, warm and soft in your own, noticed the way Richie rolled his eyes behind her back. Carmy watched her with a sort of quiet reverence, like he was afraid she was too good to be true. You wondered if he was aware of the way he looked at her.
She had a sweet smile, had an eagerness to her that you instantly found endearing, "Hi, Sydney," You swallowed, "Wanna tell me what these doofuses are doing at my apartment?"
She opened her mouth as if to explain, but then the two men immediately started talking over one another, words climbing in volume until they were again shouting over each other.
You rubbed a hand over your eyes, "My God, shut the fuck up!"
Just then, a loud banging could be heard from the wall next to your apartment. You sighed. It was a noise you'd become intimately familiar with over the last few months whenever your elderly neighbor, Mrs. McGraw, was displeased with you. She'd take her cane and bang the rubber bottom of it against the wall three times. Sometimes more, depending on how egregious your offense was.
"Sorry Mrs. McGraw!" You called and then turned your attention back to Richie, Carmy, and Sydney, "If you can manage to keep your voices at an indoor level you're welcome to come inside. Otherwise, you can get in the car and drive back to Chicago."
Carmy and Richie stared blankly at you and Sydney's eyes darted nervously between them before she smiled at you and leaned forward conspiratorially, "Please don't make me get back in the car with them." She whispered.
The corner of your mouth twitched, but before you could say anything else, Richie shoved Carmy lightly, "Well, you heard her, Bobby Flay, get in there."
Carmy turned around to face Richie, "Cousin, I swear to God, you put your hands on me one more fuckin' time—"
"What're you gonna do, huh? Run and tattle to Natalie again?"
Sydney sighed next to you, "I miss Natalie."
Your stomach twisted painfully as you thought of her texts this morning. In a couple of hours you're gonna wish you'd picked up the phone.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat, "Me too."
Once everyone was inside the apartment, you closed the door and then turned to face them, leaning your back against the door, "Well? What're you doing here?"
Carmy and Sydney stared at you quietly, but Richie couldn't seem to look at you. It was expected, but it still made you feel sick. It had been Richie who had nicknamed you Bug, all those years ago. You'd resented it then, but hearing him say it again had warmth spreading through your chest.
"Um," Carmy looked off at Richie and then back at you, "How… are you?"
You scoffed, "You came all the way down here to ask me how I am?"
"You don't answer your phone," Richie said quietly, looking down at his feet as he ran a hand over the back of his head.
You rolled your eyes, "And how would you know that? You've never called me."
He shrugged, "Why bother when I know you won't pick up?"
You clenched your jaw, "This is not all on me."
"Really?" He laughed, still barely able to meet your eyes, but when he did his gaze seemed to burn holes in you, hot and accusatory, "Only one of us packed up her shit and crossed state lines, ran like a fuckin' coward, abandoned the only family she ever knew when they needed her most—"
"You didn't fucking need me!" You shouted indignantly, "You couldn't even fucking look at me—"
"Both of you, shut the fuck up!" Carmy interrupted. Sydney stood wide eyed behind him, arms crossed over her chest. She may be Carmy's business partner, but it was clear she hadn't yet adjusted to the Berzattos, "This is not what we came here for," He said firmly, turning his attention to Richie, "Right, cousin?"
Richie shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning away from you. And it hurt. You didn't think you could feel much of anything after Mikey. It had felt like free falling when you found out, the pain constant and never ending. Every morning you woke up, you still forgot for those few precious moments of delirium. So truly, Richie's obvious disdain should have felt like a tap on the shoulder in comparison. But it stung.
Richie had been your first friend. He would deny this, but it was him who convinced Mikey to let you hang out with the two of them when it was clear you weren't going anywhere. He would say you hadn't given him much choice, but you knew it was something else, something deeper. The Berzattos, for all their issues, at the bottom of it all there was always love. It was the reason kids like you and Richie, who had never known any kind of affection, latched on to them.
And you knew he recognized it in you—the desperation, the longing—the same way you saw it in him.
So now the pain ballooned in your chest knowing he didn't feel that same sense of comradery anymore.
"Why are you here, then?" You asked sharply, "I told you I'm not coming back to Chicago."
After a moment of silence passed, Carmy cleared his throat, "Cousin, do you wanna tell her? Since it was your idea?"
Richie sniffed, nose scrunching up his face, "Nah," He said, and walked towards the door, "I'm going out for a smoke."
He left you, Carmy, and Sydney standing alone in your apartment. You felt you must have been visibly struggling to conceal the effect Richie's rejection had on you, but neither of them acknowledged it.
You cleared your throat, "Carm, could you please just tell me why you're here?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his curls, "We're redoing The Beef, we closed for renovations except for a sandwich window. It's gonna be a real restaurant."
You softened immediately. This was what Mikey had always wanted. To make a real restaurant with Carmy by his side. It was a shame he'd never get to see it, "Carmy, that's amazing."
He nodded, "It's gonna be called The Bear."
Your chin wobbled, but you stiffened your jaw and nodded, "Mikey would've loved that." You said softly.
Carmy looked away from you and cleared his throat, "Anyway, Uncle J, Syd, and I have been talking about franchising the sandwich part of the operation. And since you have a ton of experience running The Beef, Richie suggested the guinea pig should be opened here. In Pittsburgh. With you essentially running it yourself."
At first, you thought maybe you'd heard him wrong. But he stared at you expectantly. Your brow furrowed and you scoffed, "No."
Carmy opened and closed his mouth, "I don't understand, I thought—I thought you were upset Mikey hadn't left you anything and—And I wanted to make that up to you—"
"That's not your responsibility and I told you I never wanted The Beef. Mikey knew that."
You felt the panic beginning to flood your chest. If Carmy had talked about it with Jimmy already that meant they'd probably already put money into it, money you knew Carmy didn't have because Mikey had driven the place into the ground towards the end. A common fight you'd had in the last few months was you asking why there was so much money missing when you sat down to reconcile the books.
He shook his head, "Bug, we did all this for you. We already picked a location—"
"Well you should've fucking ran it by me first!" You shouted, your chest tightening painfully in response. Subconsciously, you brought a fist up to your sternum and rubbed firmly, "Who the fuck buys a sandwich shop without first talking to the person you want to run it?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise!" Carmy shouted back, "And you haven't exactly been easy to get in touch with!"
Suddenly, you felt the walls closing in on you. You had given up everything to make sure you wouldn't be stuck at The Beef. The place you felt had killed Mikey, your best friend, the love of your life. The Beef had stolen a lot from you, from Mikey. It had destroyed your marriage, it had taken away your education. The stress of it and the importance Mikey and the Berzattos attributed to it had led you to turn to alcohol and drugs on more than one occasion. You could not and would not go into business with the Berzattos again. You loved them, but you knew it would kill you. You'd sooner disappear a second time, this time across the country. Maybe fake your own death, change your name.
These thoughts raced through your brain and the edges of your vision were beginning to go fuzzy. This was when you realized both that you were struggling to breathe and that Carmy and Sydney were both in your face, concern in their expressions.
You were on the floor—How did you get on the floor? Weren't you standing just a second before?
Then it was Richie in your face, Richie's hands on your cheeks and then helping you back to standing. You thought he might be shouting, at you or Carmy, you weren't sure, but in your disoriented state, you happily leaned into him when he wrapped your arm over the back of his neck, holding your weight with the side of his body.
"Thanks… Richie…" You mumbled, but were too preoccupied by the the intense pain in your chest and the feeling that you were slipping far away from yourself.
You thought as you slipped away again, you heard his voice, "Come on, stay here, Bug. I need you."
But the harder you fought the darkness, the stronger it became until inky black shadows consumed you.
***
Robby had always been as careful as possible not to cross any lines with patients. Everybody could repeat the ethics of it, knew it was a big No-No. But nobody had warned him how difficult it would be as a thinking, feeling, human being not to think or feel too much about another human being on the worst day of their life.
In your case, when Robby met you, it wasn't the worst day of your life. Not exactly. The way you'd describe it to him later was that the worst day of your life had stretched and expanded over months like warm taffy and when you met him it was like it was finally tapering off. Like coming down from a bad trip. But that came with its own set of issues. The reality of it had begun to truly set in for you.
Nobody had warned him that, in practice, keeping a professional boundary would prove near impossible when he came face to face with you. With someone who had faced what to many others would seem insurmountable tragedy, but to you what seemed like the inevitable conclusion of your marriage to which you shrugged your shoulders and tossed up the middle finger. Packed up your things and began running from the grief.
What you hadn't expected was that your life would follow you here, to Pittsburgh, no matter how you tried to shake it.
And what he hadn't expected was seeing that mess play out in front of him and deciding he wanted more of it.
That day when Richie wheeled you into his emergency room, his eyes widened upon seeing you, "Oh," He said, "It's you."
You had managed a smirk that turned into a wince, "Nice… to see you again… Dr. Robinavitch."
The man behind you eyed him suspiciously, "You two know each other?"
Before he could answer, you had chimed in, "Yes, Richie, I'm not a recluse. I am capable of making friends."
Your tone was so aggressive, he didn't have the heart to correct you or explain to this man that you had only ever met on one other occasion.
"I know you can make friends, you just suck ass at keeping them."
You were insisting you were fine and that you wanted to leave even as he watched McKay set the EKG up on you. Even when she listened to your heart and noted the irregular rhythm.
Your troponin levels were slightly elevated, but not at the level they'd typically see after a heart attack, even though all your symptoms seemed to point in that direction. And when they did the coronary angiogram, there was no evidence of any blockage.
"What're you thinking?" Robby asked McKay quietly and she frowned.
She shook her head, "No idea. I was hoping you would know. Everything points to heart attack, but her arteries all look clear."
The truth was, Robby had a hunch, but wasn't quiet sure yet.
"Can you walk me through what happened again if you don't mind?" He asked you, lowering himself to the stool at your bedside.
You seemed irritated, but indulged him nonetheless.
"Well, I was trying to enjoy a peaceful Sunday morning before these bozos—Not you, Sydney—Interrupted and tried to dump a sandwich shop franchise on me—"
Richie scoffed, "You can't act like this came as a surprise when you and Mikey had been talking about it for ages—"
"Yes!" You wrang your hands as Robby watched your heart rate climb, "When we were desperate for money! And then he went and killed himself instead!"
"Well believe it or not him offing himself has done fuckin' squat to improve our financial situation so we're back at franchising—"
"And that's fine! But I don't want any part of it!"
"Woah woah woah—" Robby put up his hands to quiet the room, "I'm sorry… Who's Mikey?"
Richie frowned and turned to you, "Thought you said you were friends?"
You glared at him stubbornly, "Believe it or not, Richie, telling everyone I meet that my husband blew his brains out isn't exactly a great icebreaker."
Robby sat, stunned for a moment as you and Richie stared each other down. The other man, with brown curls and startlingly blue eyes, watched them with the annoyance and boredom of a younger sibling, leaned over his knees. The woman who had come in with them sat anxiously next to him, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"Doctor," The younger man started after the silence fell, "Could you just tell us if she's gonna be okay before they kill each other?"
Robby clasped his hands together and turned his attention back to you, "Was today the first time you've noticed any symptoms like what you experienced today?"
You opened and closed your mouth, then looked around in thought, "I've never… lost consciousness like the way I did today. But… the chest pain and shortness of breath… Started happening when my husband died."
Robby rubbed at his beard and looked at you, "You are showing signs of heart damage, but not a heart attack. You don't have any blocked arteries which, along with the obvious signs of heart damage, we'd need to diagnose a heart attack. Now, as I've said there's damage that appears to be isolated to your left ventricle. McKay, when do we usually see damage isolated to the left ventricle?"
There was a lengthy pause behind him and then, slowly, "Takotsubo… cardiomyopathy?"
Robby nodded, "Exactly, or you might know it as broken heart syndrome."
Everyone in the room stared at him blankly, "Well, what the fuck does that mean?" You asked finally.
"McKay?"
"It means you're gonna be fine," McKay said, flashing you a reassuring smile as she walked over to the computer to chart, "Onset of broken heart syndrome symptoms typically appear immediately following an extremely emotionally or physically stressful event. Left untreated, it can continue to cause damage if the stress isn't mitigated properly. We'll order you some medications to improve your circulation and reduce inflammation and we'll monitor you for a few hours while we wait for a room to open up upstairs. You'll need to be admitted for monitoring for two to three days so we can make sure we got the diagnosis correct and that you're improving. Robby?"
Robby nodded, "That all sounds good. Your symptoms should improve pretty immediately once the medications start working. We'll also have you come back in a few weeks to make sure the damage is healing properly."
"Sorry," Richie said and then scoffed, "Are you saying she literally has a fuckin' broken heart? I coulda fuckin' told you that."
Robby smiled, "No, it's just the name due to the cause."
"Why don't you guys go back home?" You said softly and then forced a smile, "Sounds like you have a lot of work to do."
Carmen ran a hand over his face, "No, we'll stay until you're okay to leave."
You sighed, "Carmy—"
"Look, you can up and move yourself to another state, but you fuckin' piss me off with the—The implication that you're no longer a Berzatto because Mikey's dead. You were a Berzatto long before you ever married Mikey and you'll continue to be until we're all dead. You understand?"
Despite his harsh tone, you softened at what he'd said and slowly nodded, "Ok, Carm."
Robby cleared his throat for a moment, "Um, I can show you guys to the cafeteria if you'll be staying—"
Richie snorted, "Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, Doc. We'll figure something else out. None of us will be eating hospital food."
You smirked, "Sorry, Richie, I don't think we have any Michelin star restaurants in the neighborhood."
"No," Richie said and went to stand behind Carmy, clapping him over the shoulder, "You have something better. Your own personal Michelin star chef."
"Cousin," Carmy shrugged out from under Richie, "What did I say about not fuckin' touching me?"
"You know, we really are behind on menu…" The woman next to Carmen, Sydney, said softly.
"Yes, Chef," Carmy said tiredly with a sigh, "Heard."
"Here," You said, fishing in your bag for your keys, "You can at least use my kitchen."
"I told you, we're staying."
You nodded, "I know. I'm only a block away, the hospital will call if anything happens," You turned to Robby, "Right?"
He nodded, "Absolutely."
"See?" You looked back at Carmy, "Go on, I'll be fine."
Carmy stared at you for a few more moments before giving in, taking the keys from you and kissing the top of your head as he did. Sydney followed him out of the room, waving awkwardly as she left, leaving you and Richie and Robby.
Robby busied himself with finishing the charting McKay had left after putting in her orders, glasses perched on his nose, he pretended not to be eavesdropping.
"I'm gonna pack up your shit in your truck for you," Richie was saying, "And then we can drive you home when you're ready."
You laughed harshly, "The fuck you will. I'm not going home. This is my home now."
"Your home is with your family. When will you get that through your thick fuckin' skull—"
"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't blame me for Mikey?" Richie went quiet. Robby felt like it was time for him to exit the room, but he found himself glued in place. The two didn't seem to notice him.
"I blame myself." Richie said finally.
You scoffed, "I was planning to leave. When I found out I was packing a suitcase." You swallowed, "Richie, I was so busy thinking about how I was going to leave I didn't even notice. I didn't hear him take his gun. I don't even remember where he told me he was going. I've—I've wracked my brain over and over trying to remember what we did that morning, before he left, and I can't—"
"Okay—" Robby interjected as the alarms started going off to indicate your rising heart rate, "I'm really sorry, but I have to advise that you avoid, for a while at least, conversations that you think may upset you."
Richie cleared his throat, "That's alright, doc, I need to step out to make a call anyway."
"Richie—" You called, but he was already gone, leaving just Robby alone with you.
"He hates me," You said, sounding dejected.
Robby opened and closed his mouth, "He's grieving, I imagine. Same as you." He paused for a moment, then, "I'm sorry for your loss."
You took in a slow deep breath before meeting his eyes, "Thank you. And I'm sorry."
He frowned, "For what?"
"For bringing my trainwreck of a family into your ER."
He smiled, "Believe me, I've seen much worse. Besides, you did warn me that you were running from ghosts. It seems I met a few of them today."
You stared off into the distance for a few moments, "I love them, I just… Can't stand to look at them when I know—" You stopped yourself and looked down at your hands.
Robby didn't know you well enough to talk you down from this. To say it wasn't your fault and have you believe it. So he didn't try. Instead, he again sat at the stool next to your bed.
"If you're up for it, I'd love to hear about him. Your husband."
You smiled at him with watery eyes and sniffled, "We were high school sweethearts. He was my first crush, my first boyfriend, my first everything. My second friend, after Richie. He was my best friend." You swallowed, "He was so funny, he was the sun in every room he walked into. Everyone revolved around him, his light. He would've done anything for me, for the people he loved.
"When I was in college in New York, I once called him up sobbing telling him I didn't have enough money for food and I was ashamed to ask anyone for money. He hung up the phone, cooked a fridge's worth of food for me for hours and then immediately got in the car and drove to me."
"Sounds like he really loved you," Robby said softly.
You nodded, "Yeah, I think so. Most of the time. But I think I failed at loving him. At the end."
Robby slowly shook his head, "I doubt he'd agree with you."
You smiled kindly, but he could tell you didn't quite believe him. Clearing your throat, you reached for your phone on the table next to you, "Sorry, but do you mind if I make a call?"
He shook his head and stood, "Not at all. I'll be back to check on you soon."
***
Alone, you took a deep breath and dialed Natalie's number, anxious and biting at your cheek.
"Well, it's about fucking time," She huffed as soon as the receiver clicked over.
"Hi Nat." You said softly, closing your eyes at the sound of her voice.
"I wanna be pissed at you, but Carmy said you're in the hospital."
The corners of your mouth twitched upward, "I'm okay, permission to be pissed granted."
She was quiet for so long on the other end of the line, you thought maybe she'd hang up on you, but when her voice came through on the other end again it the devastation in her tone broke your heart, "How could you just leave like that? I needed you. I thought we were sisters."
Your eyes burned and you sniffled, "We are, Sugar."
"I expected it from Carm, you know? The isolation, the refusal to pick up his phone. But not you. And then I have to find out secondhand you left the state?"
"I know," You nervously toyed with the rough hospital blanket, "I'm sorry."
Her breathing wavered, "Are you ever coming home?"
You pressed your lips together and looked outside the door to your room. Watched Robby pass, his eyes meeting yours briefly through the glass as he continued walking. Something about him soothed you. You thought maybe it was his unflappable demeanor, something he had to have working in this place you imagined.
"Bug?" You were pulled back by Natalie's voice.
"I don't know." You said finally and took in a shaky breath, "I miss you." You said honestly. She said nothing for a while and you worried you'd really upset her again, "Nat?"
"I'm pregnant." She blurted out.
You sat stunned, mouth open for a few moments, "Natalie, that's… Congratulations." You said, trying to stifle the ache in your chest. You could be happy for her, you told yourself. You didn't have to make it about you and Mikey. But still, you were glad she couldn't see your face as you felt something crack in your chest.
"I want you to be her godmother."
You fought tears as you stared up at the ceiling, "I would be honored," You said, swallowing past the lump in your throat.
You talked for a few more minutes, promising that you'd make it home at some point, if only to visit, and hung up the phone.
It took only moments for you to dissolve into deep, hyperventilating sobs as the memories of desperately trying to conceive flooded your memories. How besides Mikey, the only thing you'd wanted most in this world was to be a mother. The way towards the end, when it was clear you'd never successfully carry a child to term, you could feel the resentment from Mikey. Another string between you frayed and snapped. Yet another way you'd let him down.
You felt the familiar constricting in your chest as your breathing began to become irregular and labored. Then the alarms were going off and before you knew it Robby was above you again, face flooded with concern. His voice came in and out as he tried to talk to you and then to the doctors and nurses around you until your vision grayed out again.
When you woke next, Richie was pacing in front of your bed.
"Stop that," You said, voice scratchy, "Making me dizzy."
He stopped his pacing and turned his attention to you, "Would you stop fuckin' passing out?"
You smiled, "Sorry."
"Doctor said you took a phone call and then you went down again."
It came back to you slowly, but this time, when the wave of grief hit you, you breathed through it, "I called Natalie. She told me she's pregnant."
Richie had been a good friend to both you and Mikey when you were going through the challenges and heartbreak of infertility. But when you'd found out Tiff was pregnant, it'd been hard to be around them. And you knew it was hard for them, too, not being able to celebrate with their friends. You wished you'd been better.
But Richie's face softened, "M'sorry, Bug. I know how badly you wanted that."
You shrugged helplessly, trying to be dismissive, but dissolving into a weepy mess anyhow.
Being in that hospital for two days surrounded constantly by Richie, Carmy, and Syd—who you easily grew to adore as well—you cried more than you had since you moved. And the more they resigned to the fact that you weren't coming home with them nor would you be running a sandwich shop up here, the easier the interactions became.
The hospital staff grew to like Syd and Carm specifically because they began bringing extra meals for your favorite doctors and nurses. They'd even gone back downstairs to the ER to give Robby a couple meals.
Which was how Robby ended up back in your room upstairs during your last night here.
"Hey," He said, knocking his knuckles against your doorframe, "Can I come in?"
"Of course," You said, trying to stifle the immediate feeling of safety that flooded you at the sight of him.
"I, um, was hoping to see Carmen and Sydney to thank them for the food." He said as he grabbed the stool and pulled up to your bedside.
It shocked you, the way disappointment rushed in with the realization he wasn't here for you, "Oh," You said, hoping you hadn't visibly deflated, "They just left, they'll probably be back in a bit."
"Also wanted to check in on you." He said, smiling, "Have they convinced you to go back to Chicago?"
You shook your head, "No… No, I like it here."
He exhaled, "Well that's a relief, where else am I gonna get my Americano on a walk by the river?"
You grinned, "One day, maybe I'll even convince you to buy a book."
He smiled and nodded, "I'd like that." Then he stood, took a step away from your bedside, "I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Thank you for your help."
"'Course," He said, and began backing out of the room, "I'll see you around."
See you around. It sounded like a promise, one you hoped he intended to keep.
***
The next time you saw Dr. Robby was for your follow up appointment. You were seeing your cardiologist, but Robby poked his head in when you'd been there only ten minutes.
"Hey," He said, whole face lighting up at the sight of you, "Heard you were here, wanted to see how you're doing."
Your cardiologist looked vaguely annoyed as he stood up from his stool, "She's fine, Robby," Then he looked back at you, "No more smoking, please," He said earnestly, "Or drinking."
You winced, "Yeah, sorry."
As your doctor left, Robby walked towards you, an amused smile on his face, "You experienced something resembling a heart attack not two weeks ago and you've been smoking and drinking?"
You drew the curtain closed, Robby just on the outside so you could change, "I've been smoking and drinking most of my life, started when I was eleven. I quit for a while, when we were trying to have kids." You swallowed past the lump in your throat, "But I figured I deserved to take it back up again when Mikey killed himself."
You pulled the curtain back and sighed, "Sorry, I need to figure out a… gentler way to say that."
He shook his head, "You don't have to censor yourself for me."
Huh. That was… pleasantly surprising. You tilted your head slightly, "There's a look people usually give me. When they find out about Mikey. I can never tell if it's because they think I'm damaged or they assume that it was my fault. But you've never looked at me like that."
He scratched the back of his head and turned his head away from you, "I had someone close to me… end their own life. I suppose I… understand the feeling that comes with it better than most."
You were gathering your things, but stopped to look back at him, "I'm sorry for your loss, then."
He shrugged, "It was a long… long time ago." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I actually wanted to see how your house is… If you're prepared for the storm we're getting in a few days."
You noted the quick subject change, but snorted, "You afraid of a little rain, Robby?"
He huffed, "It's not 'a little rain'. They think the rivers are gonna overflow. They're projecting a lot of flooding and damaging winds. Do you live alone?"
You narrowed your eyes and gave him a teasing grin, "I'm not sure you're supposed to ask a widowed woman that."
He flushed a deep crimson and you almost felt badly for teasing him, "If you're comfortable, I could take a look around. Maybe board up your windows. Friday night?"
You opened and closed your mouth, felt yourself panicking. Was this a date? It'd been a year since Mikey and Lord knew your relationship had long been over before then. Even if the love had never quite left. Even though it still lingered in every breath, in every crack and crevice and beat of your heart.
And then you remembered—
"I—Sorry, I can't Friday. I have rehearsal. I'm—I'm in a play down at PICT."
He raised his eyebrows, "Oh! What show?"
"Uh, King John. Shakespeare."
He nodded, "I'm familiar. Who are you playing?"
"Constance."
He almost smiled, then nodded, "Yeah, I can see that. How about Saturday?"
"Sorry?"
"Saturday? To stop by your place? Help you prep for the storm?"
"Oh—" You had already forgotten, "Sorry, um, yeah—Sure, okay."
He pulled his phone out and handed it to you and you put your number in, hesitating each time, hearing Mikey in your ear as you did.
Look at you, Bug, he taunted, like I was never even here.
The guilt stirred your stomach the whole way home, his ghost on your shoulder all night, never letting you sleep, "He's just being nice," You whispered, but it sounded like you were begging the silence.
"He's being neighborly," You pleaded with the darkness.
There was no reply.
When you grew impatient, tossing and turning on your mattress, you crawled out onto the fire escape and lit a cigarette.
***
There was a moment, nearly a year before Mikey died, where your fights changed.
For most of your lives, there had been a familiar cadence to them. You accused him of something, he'd deny it, try and laugh it off. The more you'd insist, tone raising in pitch, he'd get mean. He'd jab his knife repeatedly between your ribs and you'd foolishly grip the hilt and pull it out over and over, never noticing that it allowed him to twist the knife repeatedly.
But in those last few months, something changed. You couldn't put your finger on it exactly, what changed in you, why you started allowing the knife to stay where he thrust it the first time, stemming the blood flow. Never giving him the chance to stick his fingers in the open wound. You used to be all bark, no bite, but lately you had begun to snarl when he got too close.
Maybe it was that by that point you'd packed up your things on three separate occasions, even stayed elsewhere a night or two. Not that Mikey noticed, too high to note your absence.
The week before, the week that had you sitting on the floor of your bedroom again the day they found his body, had come close to finding you both in repeated cycles.
He came in late that morning having been out drinking and taking God knows what drugs and you were at the sink washing dishes. He sidled up behind you, slipped his arms effortlessly around your waist and kissed the back of your neck. He reeked and you tried not to flinch away from him.
"Let's go to bed baby—Aren't you ovulating?"
You lightly pushed his arms away, "I'm not doing anything with you until you take a shower."
"Looook," He whined, pulling his phone out of his pocket to show you, "I track your cycle, I know it's time—"
"It's not, actually," You said, probably a little harshly, and walked away from him.
After a moment, he followed you, "What d'you mean?"
You could feel it already, even though you hadn't yet told him what you knew would send him off the deep end, you could feel the air around you crackle and pop as he walked behind you.
"I'm not ovulating anymore." You said slowly, still refusing to look at him, "I'm on birth control, I asked my doctor to put an IUD in a few weeks ago."
The silence felt dangerous. You did your best not to seem afraid, but truth be told, you were. There was no telling what Mikey would do these days. How he would react when he didn't get his way.
When he laughed, you flinched, then chastised yourself for it internally.
"Very funny, Bug."
"What's funny?"
"It's a funny fuckin' joke. That you would do somethin' like that without talkin' to me first."
You clenched your jaw, "I don't need your permission to regulate my own body."
When you finally turned to him, his own jaw clenched, mirroring your own.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet, deadly calm, in a way that unsettled you, "We've been tryin' for a baby for… for months… for years."
You nodded, "And lately I find myself grateful to not be carrying the child of a deadbeat addict."
You regretted it immediately, didn't recognize the words as they left your mouth, their only purpose to wound and maim. You weren't sure you recognized yourself anymore.
But before you could even open your mouth to tell him this, to apologize—white hot pain stung, biting into your cheek. It took you a few seconds to realize that Mikey had slapped you. The skin of your cheek burned hot as you clutched it beneath your palm.
When you looked up at him, your vision blurred with tears, he looked just as stunned as you, "B—Bear?" You whispered, voice hoarse and confused.
"Baby, I—" Mikey looked down at his hands as if they'd betrayed him, "I'm so sorry, I don't know—" He shook his head helplessly, falling to his knees in front of you, "I didn't mean it, Bug. Please, I didn't mean it."
He sobbed, hugging your legs like a child. What am I doing? You wondered, not for the first time, What are we doing to each other?
Still, you felt an aching tenderness for him. You could still remember the Mikey who could make you laugh when you were crying, who carefully removed bugs from your first apartment instead of killing them. Mikey, who'd vowed to love you in sickness and in health with tears in his eyes in a cheap banquet hall when the two of you were still twenty one and dumb. Mikey who made love to you in the bed of his truck, in a field miles and miles out from town, and then pointed out the constellations to you later as you laid on his bare chest. Mikey who had always made you feel like the most important person in the room.
Mikey had always been a bit rough around the edges. He'd never been the same after his father left, but he'd still been Mikey. Up until a beer a night turned into a six pack turned into a few bumps of cocaine on the side.
But in this shell of a man who crumpled at your feet, you could still see the boy you fell in love with. Still, even though you were beginning to understand there was something that had broken beyond repair between you, you couldn't help the urge to mend.
You sank to the ground beside him, running fingers through his hair and pulling him to you. Whispered that it was alright, that you knew he didn't mean it. Calmed him enough to get him into the shower and into bed where he slept for the whole day.
It was the first time he laid a hand on you, but it wouldn't be the last. Up until the end, you still tried to convince yourself it could be salvaged.
Mikey was always remorseful, but he could never seem to accept that he needed help. And on the rare days he could admit that something was really wrong, you couldn't convince him that he was capable of change.
In the end, it became obvious to you that he didn't love you enough to get help. Not only was he intent on self destructing, he seemed to want to take you down with him.
You loved Mikey. You would always love Mikey. He was the love of your life, your soulmate, your best friend, your husband. Nothing would ever change that.
But you couldn't deny that along with the seemingly unending devastation, his death brought you a morsel of relief. And you weren't sure you could ever forgive yourself for that.
notes hate to love (but i won’t call it enemies to lovers), fierce and feral reader, mentions of violence and bullying, ultra possessive and dominant neteyam 🤭, reader has a bad male friend, rough smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving), secret relationship, , someone sees them going at it 🙂↔️
synopsis for years, you and your friend have made it your lives’ work to rile neteyam up and make him unworthy of his birthright. but somehow, neteyam only ever gets riled up by you and completely ignores your friend’s existence.
word count 20.5k
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“What is it, Sinto?” you asked, not looking up from the obsidian arrowhead you were scraping against a stone.
The lanky boy stepped into your space, blocking the sunlight filtering through the canopy. Sinto was your only friend in this village, your bond forged in shared grief more than genuine friendship. Both of your parents had died on a raid gone wrong under Jake Sully’s command. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t strictly the Olo’eyktan’s fault, because war was war, and the sky people spared no one, but logic did nothing to soothe an orphaned child left with a hollow heart. Both you and Sinto decided that both of your parents were dead because of Toruk Makto’s bad decisions.
It gave both of you a quiet reason to hate the legendary family who walked around like royalty.
In a clan that prized strength, two orphans had to stick up for one another. If you didn’t, you’d get eaten alive by the older kids and a highly competitive warrior culture that had no patience for the weak.
Around you, the atmosphere near the training ground was thick with tension. The upcoming sparring matches were a massive deal for the aspiring hunters, of which Siton was included. It was where you showed your teeth, where the clan decided if you were worth noticing. And currently? Neteyam was leading the ranks and obliterating everyone in his path.
“Look at them,” Sinto spat, his voice dripping with venom as he watched Neteyam effortlessly pin another boy into the dirt. “They look at him like he is the real deal, none of them even sees the obvious that he is only leading in the ranks because he is being taught by the Olo’eyktan himself. He is learning from the best, of course he wins.”
“The best?” you echoed. You snorted, looking up at Sinto with a sharp, cynical smirk. “It is always subjective, Sinto. My father was the best in a hand-to-hand combat, too, and he learned from Jake Sully. You can beat Neteyam if only you work as hard.” You rolled your eyes, returning to your arrow.
Sinto’s bitter expression melted into a slow grin. He knelt beside you, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s what I like about you, Y/N. You see through the illusion.” He leaned closer. “I have a plan... but I need you.”
You paused again, your eyes snapping to him. This wouldn’t be the first time Sinto asked something from you. You two have quite the reputation, and you are fine with it if it meant you wouldn’t be ganged up on when you were alone. You and Sinto only had each other, and if he needed you to help him take what he believed he deserved, you wouldn't hesitate. You were loyal to him to a fault. Like you believe he is to you.
“What do you want me to do?” you asked.
“The final match will happen soon. Neteyam will go against Litkir. If he misses it, he is disqualified,” Sinto whispered, his eyes gleaming. “The only thing that can peel him away from his focus is his family. Go find Kiri. Distract him through her.”
“Kiri? She is older... And she never did anything bad to me,” you frowned, your nails digging in your palm.
Sinto sighed loudly, his face turning into a deadpan. “I’m not telling you to make her bleed. Just a little scuffle. Nothing permanent. Enough to make him look like a failure of a brother.”
You looked at him before nodding, sheathing your dagger, and standing up. Sinto has come in your defense for most of your life, he protected you from your bullies and taught you to fight back. Showing up for him whenever he needed it is the least you can do.
Tracking Kiri wasn't difficult. You found her near the riverbanks, laughing with one of her friends. The sight of her, so untroubled, so heavily protected by the status of her family, ignited a bitter spark in your chest.
You stepped out from the foliage, blocking their path. “You are a long way from your brothers’ shadow, Kiri,” you taunted, your arms crossed as you sauntered toward them.
Kiri’s smile vanished, her ears pinning back. “What do you want? We are not looking for trouble.”
“Too bad. Trouble found you,” you scrunched your nose, stepping forward to shove Kiri back.
Her friend gasped, trying to pull Kiri away, but you lunged, grabbing the girl's arm to drag her away from the path. In the chaotic scramble, the girl panicked, tripped blindly over a slick root, and fell hard into the mud, a sickening pop echoing from her foot.
She let out a piercing shriek of pain, clutching her ankle as tears immediately mixed with the mud on her face. Kiri lunged for you, tackling you to the mud and grabbing at your braids. It is obvious that she isn’t really used at being violent because her grabs weren’t as painful as that of the older girls you grew up with.
Even her clawing at your skin wouldn’t bleed much, you know from experience. You didn’t fight back, allowing her to grab at your braids and smear mud on you.
“Kiri?! Rinyal?!” you heard another girl’s voice and your head snapped to the bushes.
The girl jolted in fear, her eyes wide. A huge, predatory grin cut at your lips, but before you could even move, Kiri shouted, “Call Neteyam!” And then she realized what today is for Neteyam. “Or Lo’ak! Call Lo’ak!”
You bursted out in laughter. “Call Neteyam! Call Lo’ak!” you mimicked to mock her.
Your hands grabbed at her shoulder so you could shove her backward, tackling her into the mud, knowing her brothers will come soon and you want to treat them to a good view. You turned when the bushes burst open, seeing Neteyam charging into the clearing, eyes wild with panic. When he saw his sister pinning you down to the mud and her crying friend, his gaze locked onto you.
His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving as he took in the scene. Neteyam was known across the clan for his gentle nature, his endless patience, and his calm demeanor. But right now? The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated fury.
“What is wrong with you?!” Neteyam yelled, his voice cracking with a rare, explosive anger as he rushed forward.
Lo’ak came running after him, dragging you away from Kiri. You shoved him away, standing on your feet. You saw Neteyam dropped to his knees beside the sobbing Rinyal, checking her ankle.
“She attacked us!” Rinyal cried out, pointing a trembling, muddy finger at you. “We were just walking and she came out of nowhere, Neteyam!”
Neteyam looked up at you from the dirt, his golden eyes burning into yours, waiting for an explanation, a defense, a shred of remorse.
You stood your ground, crossing your arms loosely. You didn't even blink. “I didn't even push her,” you said plainly, rolling your eyes. “She sprained her own ankle because she is clumsy!” you pressed, looking at the girl. “Rinyal, next time you try to get in the way, make sure you are strong enough.”
Neteyam’s scowl deepened. He stood up slowly, stepping toward you. The sheer malice and indifference radiating from you made something snap inside him. To be so cruel, and to not even be sorry for it, it was beyond his comprehension.
“She is hurt, Y/N. She cannot walk,” Neteyam hissed, his already deepening, adolescent voice dropping to an even lower octave. “You have no honor at all, do you? You’re not even sorry.”
“Why should I be?” you spat, wiping some mud on your face.
Neteyam’s hands trembled with a rage he had never felt in his entire thirteen years of life. But Rinyal’s painful cries pulled him back to reality. He had to take them back to Hometree and you know that by now, he would have been delayed for the match.
He scooped the injured Rinyal into his arms, casting one final, dark look over his shoulder at you. “You will face consequences for this,” he vowed.
And because he chose to carry them back, Neteyam missed his final sparring time slot. He was officially disqualified from the matches. When Sinto found out, he practically glowed with triumph, praising you for a job well done.
“That’s great,” you said, your skin back to its pristine, mud-free state, sporting a different loincloth.
“By the time his father does something about it, I will have been ahead of him in the ranks,“ he told you.
But the victory was short-lived. Later that evening, one of the senior warriors spoke up during the evening debrief. “Neteyam did not flee from a fight,” the senior pointed out to the council. “An aspiring warrior such as he is chose to protect and help the vulnerable who are in need when our warriors have failed to do so. That is the exact trait a future Olo’eyktan must possess.”
“Damn them!” Sinto furiously said after dinner, pacing the wide branch overlooking the council longhouse on which you are both perched to listen to the meeting. “They speak as if he will surely be Olo’eyktan one day.”
“Well, he is the Olo’eyktan’s firstborn,” you pointed out, walking away from the branch and jumping down to a lower one.
“It shouldn’t be that way though. What was in his blood that proved he is worthy? It should be determined by merit,” Sinto said, following closely behind you.
You turned to him. “He is leading the ranks,” you reminded him.
You understood that Sinto was furious. He had worked in the past years since he became aspirant to compete with Neteyam who obviously doesn’t deem him threatening enough to compete with. Both of you stepped back into the clearing where most youth were gathered for the senior warriors’ announcements.
You watched as the senior announced, that by order of the council, Neteyam was reinstated into the matches. His friends cheered for him, pushing against his shoulder and jumping around him. But as you watched him from the shadows, you noticed his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed squarely on you.
It sharpened in an instant, a look of pure, unadulterated disgust as he remembered your cruelty. Rinyal seriously injured her ankle, but you’re here, standing with Sinto who is equally as malicious as you are. Your head tilted and he looked away with a scowl on his face. He may be back in the running, but he had absolutely not forgotten your transgression.
And neither had Kiri.
Mostly her friends, actually. Rinyal was still struggling to walk after a few weeks, and they knew they couldn’t let what you did slide so easily. One day, when you were foraging alone, a snare snapped shut around your ankle. You were yanked upward, dangling upside down. You gasped, catching sight of three girls emerging from the brush, their faces grim. Following behind them was Kiri who was looking up at you more in worry than in anger.
“Drop her on her head!” One of the girls said.
“What? What if she dies?” The other panicked.
“But we can't let her go! She's feral. She’ll attack us!”
“Oh, I will!” You groaned, struggling against the thick vine biting into your ankle.
“See?!”
“Lower her down, I'll bash her head with a rock!”
“Vrixa?!” Kiri called out. “She is only eleven!”
“So is Rinyal, Kiri, and this demon broke her ankle!” Vrixa reasoned. “Lower her down!“
You were lowered just a little and when Vrixa neared you, you attacked her. She panicked and hit the side of your forehead with the the rock she was holding. You groaned, clawing at her legs until your sight blurred a little from the pain on your forehead.
“Vrixa!” Kiri called again, panicking now, her eyes on you as yoir weakened state was lowered down. She gasped at the blood on your forehead, her view blocked by Vrixa and the two other girls who dragged you to the nearest tree.
They tied you firmly to the tree, the vines biting into your midriff, arms, and legs. Then, they began to throw mud. Thick, stinking peat and river slime coated your face, your hair, your loincloth. They laughed, a sound that felt like needles in your ears, remembering the laughter of the other girls that made your life a living hell growing up.
“That is enough,” Kiri said, wrangling her clean fingers as she watched you weakly leaned against the bark of the tree.
The other three stopped, looking at you with satisfaction, murmuring about you being weak when you’re alone, before before disappearing into the path of the river. You squeezed your eyes shut. You don’t even want to open your mouth because you might taste the mud. You tried to wipe it off your shoulder but your shoulders were also muddied.
You groaned, struggling against your tight binds, to no avail. You were tied there for hours. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the bioluminescence of the forest began to glow, mocking you with its beauty. You wondered if Sinto will come once he notices you were gone for too long, but you couldn’t really count on him on that, not when he’s probably busy socializing with his fellow aspirants, playing the role of the grieving orphan and the ambitious youth.
You craned your head when you heard footsteps crunching on the loam. You tried to struggle against your binds again, fearing that it might be a stray palulukan or viperwolf, but you stopped when a figure emerged from the gloom. You pulled your lips back, baring your fangs, but your eyes lost a little of its sharpness when you saw Neteyam. He stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable. He stepped closer, trying to get a look at your face through the layers of dried mud.
“Get away from me!” you shrieked, snapping your teeth at him.
Neteyam hissed at you through his teeth, his eyes landing on a deep gash on your forehead where Vrixa had hit you. “You look pathetic.”
“Go ahead! Laugh!” you said, your head trying to reach him so you could bite him. “Once I’m freed here, I’m coming for your sister and her friends!”
He mockingly huffed, “How is it that I got here first before your friend? I can leave you here. We’ll be lucky to still find you whole tomorrow, but a palulukan at night is as hungry as a Na’vi breaking fast.”
You sniffled, glaring at him. “Leave me here then. I always knew you were a shitty person.”
He stepped forward, his knife flashing in the dim light. Your mouth clamped shut, genuinely afraid for a moment that he’d finish the job Vrixa had started. With a few swift movements, he carelessly sliced through the bindings. You collapsed in a heap, your muscles numb and cramping, making you hit the floor hard,
Another set of footsteps approached and you lifted your head, seeing Sinto appear, his expression shifting instantly. It is obvious that he merely followed Neteyam out and was surprised to see you in this condition, probably only ever remembering you now that he saw you. The outraged concern on his face was no doubt only born from the fact that Neteyam was involved.
“What happened?” Sinto demanded, rushing to your side. He looked up at Neteyam, his voice loud enough to carry through the trees. “Did you do this?”
Neteyam stood still, his chest rising and falling. He had overheard Kiri’s friends laughing over you earlier, doubling over the look on your face when ‘you were hanging upside down’. Sure, he dislike you to a certain degree but you were bleeding, muddied, and defenseless right now, and you didn’t deserve this as much as Rinyal didn’t deserve her ankle injury.
He knew Kiri and her friends did this, but he couldn’t tell anyone that, not when he would be admitting she had committed an act of cruelty, which would compromise her standing and his father's reputation. He watched Sinto haul your body up in his arms, hurriedly going to the direction of Hometree.
He followed Sinto, the steady, heavy thud of his footsteps trailing like a drum behind you. Your head was throbbing with a brutal, pulsing agony, and the pain only intensified with every step Sinto took. He was practically hoisting you like a political trophy, his calls for help echoing with an exaggerated panic as he climbed the winding ramp up the communal clearing.
“Help! Someone help her!” Sinto’s voice cracked, taking everyone’s attention.
When he finally broke into the wide clearing, the evening chatter of the clan had already died, replaced by a heavy, shocked silence. You were a horrific sight. Caked in layers of dried mud, the deep gash on your forehead weeping fresh crimson that carved bright paths through the filth on your face. Your limbs and midriff were crosshatched with angry red welts where the tight vines had chewed ruthlessly into your skin.
“What happened to her?!” one of the older weavers cried out, dropping her basket.
“It’s Neteyam!” Sinto yelled immediately, his chest heaving as he carefully laid your shivering, weak body onto the woven matting. He spun around, pointing a furious finger at the boy who had just stepped into the light. “He was mad at Y/N for what happened to Kiri and Rinyal weeks ago! He cornered her alone in the dark, retaliated, and did this to her!”
A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the crowd. Their eyes snapped from your bleeding form to Neteyam. He stood perfectly still, his frame still tall and unyielding, though his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the hilt of the hunting knife in his hand.
Neytiri stepped down from the dais, the crowd parting before her like water. Her fierce eyes took in your broken state, and a rare look of pure disbelief crossed her features. She looked at her firstborn.
“Neteyam?” she uttered, her voice a low, trembling whisper of horror. “Did you do this?”
Neteyam looked at his mother. For a second, the mask of the perfect soldier slipped and a flicker of anxiety crossed his features. He looked up to his mother, the thought of her fearing him or believing he was capable of such senseless brutality cut to him quickly.
“No,” he said, his voice steady despite the pressure. “I did not.”
“Then who did?!” one of the senior council elders demanded, stepping forward. “Violence against our youth cannot be tolerated! Who brought this shame upon our clan?”
“Neteyam, do you know who did this?” Neytiri urged, her eyes pleading for an answer that would clear his name.
Neteyam’s golden gaze drifted down to where you lay. Your eyes had closed against the harsh glare of the fires, but the dark blood from your forehead had begun to seep anew, rolling down your temple. He disliked you, sure, but as he looked at the raw, bloody cuts on your skin, his jaw tightened. He would hate to put Kiri in a compromising situation, but he could not, and would not, let a pack of cowards hide behind his name while a girl bled out on the floor.
His eyes scanned the murmuring crowd until they locked onto Kiri and her circle of friends. Vrixa, who had been laughing so raucously about what they did to you hours prior, now looked like she had swallowed ash. The other two girls were visibly trembling, shrinking behind Kiri’s taller frame. Neteyam’s eyes met his sister’s. Kiri looked at you, then up at her brother, and gave him a subtle nod. She wouldn't let him take the fall.
“Vrixa,” Neteyam voiced, his tone cutting through the clearing like a cold wind. “Would you like to tell them, or should I?”
Vrixa’s eyes widened in sheer terror as every head in the clearing snapped toward her. Under the crushing weight of the clan's scrutiny, she cracked instantly. “It—it wasn’t just me!” she stammered, her voice high and panicked as she turned on her accomplices. “They helped! They said we couldn't let her go because she’s feral!”
Within minutes, the girls dissolved into a crying mess of mutual betrayal, the truth spilling out into the open, how they had snared you, tied you up, and how Vrixa had ultimately bashed the side of your forehead with a rock when you fought back. Neteyam’s face crumpled at the brutal details.
An elder turned his sharp gaze back to Sinto, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “And what of your serious accusation against the Olo’eyktan’s son, boy? You swore he did this.”
Sinto stood straight, refusing to back down, smoothly pivoting his strategy. “He had every cause to do it! I found him standing over Y/N’s bound body. Y/N told me herself weeks ago that Neteyam vowed she would face consequences for what happened to Rinyal. How was I to know it wasn’t him?”
“That is not a legitimate cause, boy, and you need to be careful with your reckless tongue,” the elder scolded sternly. “Vrixa, Weyan, and Parey will all face severe consequences for this dishonor. This cycle of violence ceases tonight.”
But Sinto wasn't finished. He had to take this opportunity, uncaring that you had literally slipped out of consciousness now. He took a bold step forward, gesturing grandly toward Neteyam, his voice ringing out across the entire canopy.
“He could barely even speak to defend himself, knowing his own sister was involved in the crime!” Sinto shouted, his eyes flashing. “Is this truly the kind of leadership we want for the Omatikaya? An inherited power that protects its own while the vulnerable are left to rot in the mud? I propose to the council that the position of Olo’eyktan should not be a birthright! It should be determined by merit, not blood. Let the young men compete for it. Let the strongest and the most just lead us into the future!”
The elders immediately scoffed, others grumbled angrily about tradition, structure, and the laws of Eywa, several of them loudly scolding Sinto for his blatant disrespect.
But from the dais, a deep, commanding voice cut through the noise.
“The boy has a point.”
Jake Sully stepped forward. He looked at Sinto, then at his own son.
“Ambition isn't a crime if it's paired with merit. Times are changing. We need the absolute sharpest blade to lead this clan. We will establish a series of trials over the coming years. The leadership of the Omatikaya will be earned.”
Neteyam looked at his father in admiration, even though everyone looked at him expecting him to not like this. Little did they know, that deep down, Neteyam thrived on the idea. He also didn’t fault Sinto for the suggestion. He was born as the firstborn son of Toruk Makto, the grandson of Eytukan, but that didn’t mean it automatically earned him the right to lead the people.
If the people wished to see him fight and work hard for the right to lead, then he would.
As the years bled into one another, Neteyam’s confidence proved justified. By the time he turned twenty, he was obliterating every milestone set before him. He claimed his ikran on the first try, his hunting parties brought back the largest kills, and he remained firmly at the absolute top of the warrior ranks. Sinto’s grand plan to open the competition had backfired, though he would never admit it. All it did was give Neteyam a grander stage to prove his undeniable superiority.
“Neteyam doesn’t care about you, Sinto, that much was clear,” you said, drawing the bowstring back to your jaw and lifting your chin a little as you adjusted your stance.
You released the arrow and before it could even hit the target, you felt a stinging slap behind your thigh. You jumped in surprise, turning to Sinto who playfully smacked it. You were about to hiss at him when you caught sight of Neteyam walking down the pathways with a senior warrior.
You wouldn’t have bothered looking at him for longer than a second if only his eyes weren’t trained on you. There was a deep scowl on his face and he looked like he had smelled something rotten, his eyes narrowed and full of judgment as per usual.
You stood straighter and crossed your arms to properly glare at him, but his attention was also immediately snagged by the warrior he was talking to and he looked away so smoothly he didn’t even look like his attention was temporarily taken by Sinto smacking the back of your thigh. You smirked, watching the muscles on his broad back flex when he circled his shoulders.
Pretentious bastard, you thought. Acting like he hadn’t smack a girl’s back side before.
You watched him disappear down the pathway, his stride long and effortless. You feel annoyed at how the passage of time had generously treated him. None of the boys your age, not even Sinto, was treated as nicely by puberty as he was. At twenty-two, he had completely grown into the clan’s ultimate golden boy. He was massive, bigger, broader, and taller than almost every other young warrior in the Omatikaya. Just the mere presence of him was enough to place every other male in the village on the sidelines.
Yet, for all his physical perfection and the giggling trails of young women who followed him with their eyes, you had never heard a single rumor of him getting involved with anyone. No late-night rendezvous, no shared hammocks, no stolen glances by the cooking fires. He was practically a saint.
But as you stared at the empty path where he had just been, a cynical thought crossed your mind. It’s impossible that he hasn't laid with anyone. You snorted quietly to yourself. No male with a body like that, muscle packed tight over a towering frame, lived like a monk. He was probably just incredibly secretive about it, hiding his desires behind that infuriating mask of the perfect soldier and dutiful son. Or maybe he really was just as stiff and rigid as the wood of his own bow.
“What is it?” Sinto’s voice cut through your thoughts. He had caught you staring somewhere, his eyes narrowing as he tried to follow your line of vision. But Neteyam was already completely out of sight.
You smirked, adjusting yoir grip on your bow. “Nothing.”
You turned your back around, nocking an arrow, drawing it back and releasing as you walked. It slammed directly into the center of the target with a satisfying thud. Sinto grinned, murmuring something about your form, but your mind was already elsewhere, still irritated by the lingering memory of Neteyam’s judgmental scowl.
Sinto stood up to walk toward you, conveniently standing behind you to adjust your stance. You rolled your eyes, shrugging his hand off but his other hand remained on your hip.
“I’m a huntress, Sinto. I know how I should stand,” you said as you draw your string back.
You focused on the target, but your eyes slithered back to the pathway when a sharp shift in the shadows distracted you.
It was Neteyam. He was walking back alone this time, his stride unhurried and graceful despite his size. The moment you spotted him, you realized he had already been looking at your direction.
But as soon as your eyes collided with his, a deep, heavy scowl marred his handsome face. It was instantaneous, like a physical reflex. He looked at you with a cold, irritated intensity, as if he utterly hated the fact that you were in his line of sight, and hated himself even more for letting his eyes wander to you in the first place. His gaze dipped for a fraction of a second, taking in Sinto’s hand still resting familiarly on your hip, and his jaw clenched so hard you could see the sharp line of his muscle twitch from yards away.
You held his gaze, refusing to look down. With a slow, deliberate smirk, you turned your head back to the target and released the arrow. The arrow slammed dead-center, splitting the wooden shaft of your previous shot. Sinto let out a low chuckle, clapping your shoulder and squeezing your hip.
“Beautifully done, Y/N. You're getting too fast for these targets.”
You didn’t hear him. Your eyes darted back to the pathway, but Neteyam was already marching away, his tail whipping behind him in an agitated motion. A quiet, smug satisfaction bloomed in your chest. For someone who claimed to despise you, who acted like you were nothing but an irritation to the peace of the clan, he sure spent a lot of time watching you.
It wasn't the first time you’d caught him. In the common area during meals, during the hunting briefing circles, or even when you were simply crossing the suspension bridges, you would look up and find his heavy gaze already anchored to you from across the crowd. Scowling and judging, but always looking.
“Come on,” Sinto said, pulling you back to reality as he gathered his things. “Let's get to the grounds before the hunters crowd it.”
“You go ahead,” you replied, sliding your bow over your shoulder. “I have to report for dusk patrol.”
You turned around and jogged to the command tent to check in with your patrol leader, only to slow down as a sour look rested on your face. Standing there, leaning over a tactical map bathed in the cool glow of the hanging firepot, was Neteyam.
The firelight flickered across the intricate stripes of his skin and the heavy, braided cords of his hair. Because of his rank and his status as the leading warrior in the leadership race, he held a position of authority over the hunting parties. Technically, he was your superior. He could order you around, and he knew it.
As you approached, Neteyam didn't even look up from the map, but you saw his ears twitch, tracking your footsteps.
“Ah, Y/N, perfect timing,” your patrol leader said, nodding to you. “You’ll be taking the eastern route tonight.”
Before you could even acknowledge the command, Neteyam calmly reached down and tapped a spot on the map, far beyond the eastern canopy.
“Actually,” Neteyam voiced, his deep, smooth baritone cutting through the humid air. He finally lifted his head, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a cool, deliberate challenge. “The southern ridge has had reports of unstable ground and minor viperwolf pack activity. The younger hunters shouldn't be sent there alone. Send Y/N to clear the outer perimeter of the southern ridge first, then she can double back to her original route.”
Your ears pinned back instantly. A low, defensive hiss threatened to bubble up from your throat.
The southern ridge was brutal, what will all the thick mud and thorny bushes. Adding that to your dusk patrol meant you wouldn't return to Hometree until well after midnight.
“The southern ridge is a two-person job, Neteyam,” you said, stepping forward, your voice dripping with sweet venom. “Are you sending a partner with me, or are you just hoping the viperwolves do your dirty work for you?”
Neteyam slowly straightened to his full, towering height, looking down at you with that maddeningly calm, self-righteous expression.
“You are a capable huntress, Y/N,” he said, his tone deceptively soft. “I'm sure the great, fearless Y/N doesn't need her hand held to walk a ridge. Unless, of course, you're admitting you can't handle it.”
Your jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. He was doing this on purpose. He was pulling rank just to make your life miserable. The worst part is that you knew this would happened the moment you saw him here. Your brain has been accustomed to knowing that there will be an added task specifically for you whenever you see him.
Usually, you two managed to exist in entirely separate spheres. You could go up to a full moon without ever having to cross paths or speak a word to one another, which suited you just fine. But whenever Neteyam did choose to acknowledge your existence, it was only ever for two reasons: First, to make your life miserable by casually burying you under the most tedious, exhausting labor, giving you the worst patrol routes, or assigning you to clean the hunting gear.
Second, to play the hero. He swoops in every time you happen to fight with your fellow hunters, or huntresses mostly, to defend the poor, fragile huntresses from your “evilness”, entirely blind to the fact that those very same girls had just spent the last twenty minutes trying to ambush you.
“I can handle it just fine,” you spat, stepping right into his space, refusing to let his height intimidate you. You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Just make sure you’re this diligent with everyone else’s duties, Commander. It would be a shame if the people realized your leadership style only means fucking me over.”
A spark of genuine, volatile heat flashed in Neteyam’s eyes, his tail snapping sharply behind him. For a split second, his perfect, patient facade cracked, revealing the raw, explosive temper that only you seemed capable of pulling out of him.
His jaw tightened as he gestured toward the forest. “Go. Before I decide to double your perimeter run.”
You let out a mocking huff, spun on your heel, and marched out of the tent, leaving him standing in the firelight, his eyes burning a hole into your back. He didn’t even know why you had become a big deal to him in a way Sinto had never been, even though it was obvious that your friend had a special life mission of provoking his ire.
To Neteyam, Sinto was a fly buzzing around him. Insignificant and entirely unworthy of his energy.
But you? You were a completely different story.
Neteyam knew himself to be level-headed. He could handle Lo'ak's reckless stunts with a sigh or Sinto's pathetic taunts with total indifference, but the mere sight of you sauntering about the village like a tyrant was like lighting a fuse on a keg of black powder. Around you, he was a ticking bomb, his calm completely shattering into a raw fury that no one else in the village could ever provoke.
You were sharp-tongued, volatile, and fiercely combative. You were constantly picking fights, cornering huntresses by the training grounds or the archery targets, acting like you owned the forest. You haven’t changed at all from the eleven-year-old girl who brought trouble to his sister for the fun of it.
What he doesn’t know was the reality behind all of it. After the incident with Kiri and Rinyal years ago, the majority of the girls in the village had completely ostracized you. It would have been better if they only ostracized you and left it at that, but they don’t, they gang up on you. They would wait until you were alone in the thickets, cornering you three or four at a time, but you were never one to run away. You fought like a cornered viperwolf, and because you were strong, faster, and meaner than them, you usually won.
Neteyam never saw the beginning of those fights. He only ever walked in on the aftermath.
He would happen upon a clearing to find two girls crying on the ground, and you standing over them, dusting yourself with a mocking smirk on your lips.
“What is happening?!” he would always say, stepping between you and the other girls, furious and self-righteous, his broad shoulders tensing as he shoved you back. “What is wrong with you? You feed on the weak like a predator!”
You glared at him, sniffling before steeling your expression. “Maybe if your precious little clan members spent less time gossiping and more time training, they wouldn't end up face-down in the dirt,” you would taunt in a scalding voice, your eyes flashing before shoving back against him and walking away.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“He gave you the southern ridge again?” Sinto hissed when you returned to Hometree long after midnight, your skin thoroughly mapped with shallow cuts from the thorny brush and your feet caked in heavy, black mud.
Sinto was waiting for you by the lower roots, leaning against the bark with his arms crossed. He looked at your exhausted state, his eyes glowing with a calculating glint. Over the years, Sinto had realized that while he couldn’t get under Neteyam’s skin, you could. Neteyam’s absolute obsession with policing your behavior was a weapon Sinto loved to use.
“I wonder what you did this time,” he asked, putting down the water basin from the root pools.
“I have no idea. He likes surprising me,” you said, wetting a woven cloth to wipe the grime from your neck.
“He didn’t even punish you like this when you disrupted his archery class two weeks ago,” Sinto pointed out.
“Perhaps he thought delaying the punishment and serving it when I least expect it would be funnier,” you muttered, aggressively rubbing at a streak of dried mud on your collarbone.
“He’s trying to break you,” Sinto whispered. “Everyone knows no one could break at his facade better than you do, and he’s using his authority to subdue you.”
“He’s not breaking anything,” you rolled your eyes, washing your legs now. You were too tired for his political speeches. “I cleared the perimeter. The southern ridge is quiet.”
Sinto’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. He leaned in, his hand sliding down to grip your shoulder, his fingers pressing a little too firmly into your aching muscle. “Good. Because the next phase of the Olo’eyktan trials is coming up. The grand hunt. If Neteyam is distracted looking for you, he won’t be looking at his prey.”
You frowned, tilting your head away from his touch. “What are you planning, Sinto?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Sinto murmured, his yellow eyes flashing. “Just do what you do best. Keep his eyes on you. Keep him angry.”
Loyal to a fault, you didn’t push further. Sinto was the only one who had stood by you when the rest of the village turned you into a pariah. You had no other friends, but he does and he still hangs out with you. If he needed you to be Neteyam’s target so he could get ahead, you would play the part. You had been playing it for years anyway.
The day of the trial hunt arrived, a massive test where the young warriors were split into competitive tracking parties to bring back the largest hunt. It left the atmosphere thick with excitement and the scent of ceremonial paint and the nervous energy of the hunters.
Neteyam was in his element. He stood at the head of his party, his longbow slung around him, his chest painted with the bold, sweeping stripes of a lead tracker. He was calm, focused, and utterly in control, until his eyes swept across the clearing and landed on you.
You were leaning against a weapon rack, lazily spinning a hunting dagger in your hand, wearing a smirk that was directed entirely at him. Across from you, Sinto gave you a subtle nod before slipping away into the brush with his own party.
The hunt began. Neteyam’s party moved like a shadow through the deep canopy, tracking a herd of yerik. They were closing in, their movements silent and synchronized, when a sudden, sharp cry echoed from a parallel ridge, the distinct call of a huntress mocking her prey.
Neteyam froze. His ears twitched, recognizing the pitch of your voice instantly.
He signaled his party to halt with a raised fist, his brow furrowing. You weren't supposed to be on this side of the hunting grounds. Your party’s designated zone was miles to the west.
Then came the rustle of leaves, deliberately loud, crashing through the brush just ahead of them. The herd bolted, scattered by the sudden noise, their heavy hooves thundering away into the valley. A morning’s worth of careful tracking, completely ruined in a single heartbeat.
Neteyam’s jaw tightened, his eyes trained on the thicket where the noise had come from, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His hunting party had erupted in sharp curses as the empty trail stared back at them.
“Neteyam?” one of his trackers whispered, startled by the terrifying, dark aura suddenly radiating from Neteyam. “Should we double back?”
Neteyam shook his head, his golden eyes fixed on the shadows. “Hold here. I will check the perimeter.”
He stalked toward the bush, pushing through the dense foliage, his long legs eating up the distance until he burst into a small, secluded clearing.
There you were. You were sitting casually on a thick, mossy branch, swinging your legs, a half-eaten fruit in your hand. You looked down at him, your eyes sparkling with a wicked light.
“Looking for something, Commander?” you taunted, taking a slow bite of the fruit. “You seem to have lost your prey.”
Neteyam stopped at the base of the tree. He didn't have his mask on today. He was completely, utterly unhinged. The sheer volume of his rage was palpable, vibrating in the humid air between you. He looked up at you, his chest heaving, his hand gripping his bow so tightly his knuckles were white.
“You did that on purpose,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a gravelly, predatory register that made the hairs on your arms stand up. “You deliberately crossed into our boundary to scare the herd.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” you lied smoothly, leaning forward, resting your chin in your hand. “I was just tracking a smaller trail. It's not my fault your precious herd are so easily spooked by a girl.”
“Do not play stupid with me, Y/N!” Neteyam roared, the sudden blast of his voice echoing through the trees, startling a flock of syaksyuk from the canopy. He took a step closer, his tail thrashing violently behind him. “You are sabotaging the hunt! You are risking the safety and the sustenance of this clan for whatever pathetic, bitter game you and Sinto are playing!”
Your smirk faltered slightly at the mention of Sinto, but you quickly recovered, sliding down from the branch to land gracefully on the floor, just feet away from him.
“Oh, are you upset?” you mocked, tilting your face up to meet his furious gaze. “Are you going bend me over and teach me a lesson for ruining your perfect little record?”
Your words hung in the air, heavy and sharp as a poison dart.
Neteyam froze. The explosive anger that had been building in his chest died instantly and you saw the pupils in his eyes dilate so rapidly they nearly swallowed the gold.
Are you going to bend me over and teach me a lesson?
The incredibly graphic nature of what you had just spat at him made him lose his focus. His mind, which he worked so tirelessly to keep disciplined and worthy of a future leader, betrayed him with terrifying speed.
It raced to the dark, quiet corners he tried so desperately to ignore. It dragged up a vivid image of doing exactly what you just said, shoving you against the nearest tree, pinning your hands, and bending you over to force that mocking, arrogant smirk right out of you.
He used to hate being so bothered by you that his mind would frequently take a different route. He had suppressed too many fantasies a thousand times over by now, but what you said supplied such a brutal, intensely hot image in his mind that he nearly choked.
A sudden, fierce heat rushed from his chest straight down to his loins. Under his loincloth, he felt himself harden, thickening with a sudden, humiliating rush of blood. He took a sharp breath between his gritted teeth that fortunately sounded like a furious hiss.
He burned with a fresh, twice-as-deadly fury not just at you, but at himself. “You—” Neteyam choked out, his voice cracking, thick with a dangerous mix of rage and sudden, raw lust. He took a threatening step toward you, his chest practically touching yours, his tail thrashing like a cornered predator. “You are so—”
“What? Are you going to insult me about being indecent and immoral again? Or that I hide behind Sinto because I’m too weak to stand on my own feet? I am twice the warrior any of your fragile little friends will ever be,” you taunted.
Neteyam’s eyes dropped to your lips. For a terrifying split second, he thought he was actually going to grab you by the nape and kiss you. He wanted to do it so bad his hand on his bow trembled so hard that the wood creaked. He wanted to actually teach you a lesson. He wanted to slide his hands over your hips and tear those mocking words right out of your throat.
And that was exactly why he had to get away from you. Like a coward.
“Then prove it,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a gravelly register. He looked at you with a gaze so hot, so utterly consuming, it felt like a brand. “Stop these wicked games, this sabotaging, before I have you stripped of your weapons and banned from the command tent.”
You let out a harsh, breathless huff, your heart hammering against your ribs from the dangerous rush of having him this close, this completely consumed by you. “I'd love to see you try,” you whispered back, your eyes dropping to his lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to his eyes.
His lips pulled back tightly to reveal his gritted teeth, his sharp fangs on display. “Go back to your zone. Now.”
You rolled your eyes and bit onto your fruit before turning on your heels and sauntering back into the foliage, your tail still flicking with excitement. Behind you, Neteyam closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool bark of the tree you had just occupied. He let out a long, ragged exhale as he fought down the humiliating, tight ache between his thighs.
Later that night, the communal clearing buzzed with the celebratory noise of the successful hunts. Sinto’s party returned victorious, dragging back a massive beast, and although Neteyam’s group came back with a sufficient haul enough to feed the families, it is still far from the legendary catches he usually secured.
Neteyam himself wasn't even bothered about the results, or angry, because he knew it went that way because of your sabotage. He had always had an accepting view of the trials, he knew he wouldn’t always come out on top of every single challenge because the other young men competing are also doing their best. He was cool about it.
Until he looked across the communal fire.
In the corner of the clearing, he saw Sinto approaching you, and as if someone had put blinders on his head, he couldn’t look away. He watched with an extreme focus as Sinto casually pulled you close... and kissed you right there in the open.
Neteyam’s lips parted for a moment before he pressed them into a thin line, his teeth clenching so hard he thought at least one of them would crack. Sure, he hadn't felt like a loser for bringing home the second-best hunt of the day, but looking at you in Sinto's arms, he felt like a loser for a completely different reason: for the first time since Sinto had started competing with him, he wanted something Sinto had.
For years, Neteyam had been entirely indifferent to Sinto. He was never threatened by him, never envious of him. But now, his chest felt like vines had wrapped around his heart and his lungs. He remembered the casual way Sinto had smacked your thigh the other day and how it had drove him to an anger so irrational he pulled rank on you and added weight on your dusk patrol.
He had never truly considered the possibility that you two might be lovers, he had simply assumed you were two wicked, bitter friends who stuck together out of spite. And now, as Sinto pulled you away from the crowd and into the darker pathways outside the clearing, Neteyam felt like he was going to explode.
Hidden in the shadows of the woven pathways, away from the prying eyes of the feast, Sinto backed you against a broad branch and kept kissing you.
You let him, but your heart wasn't in it. You made out with Sinto from time to time, but you never let it go any further than a simple kiss. To you, it was just a physical distraction, something to do for fun. But the truth was, you didn't even like the way he kissed. Sinto was sloppy, selfish, and always expected you to do the work.
And whenever he tried to push your boundaries, urging you to be more physical, you always rejected him. You didn't even like his kisses, and there was absolutely no way you were going to let him fuck you.
“Y/N… come on,” Sinto whispered, his hand sliding heavy and demanding down to your waist, trying to pull your hips flush against his. “I won the trial tonight. Let’s celebrate properly.”
You placed both hands firmly against his chest and pushed him back, your expression instantly flattening.
“Be serious, Sinto,” you said, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “I don't want to go there with you. I told you that already.”
Sinto scoffed, his ego taking a brief hit, but he quickly masked it. He raised his hands in mock surrender and flashed his easy, manipulative smile. “Alright, alright. Let’s just go back to the feast.”
You rolled your eyes and followed him back. If you wouldn't give Sinto what he wanted, he would simply find other girls in the clan who would and you didn't give a single fuck.
But Neteyam, apparently, did.
The weeks bled by and you knew these are one of those weeks, or sometimes even a moon, where you won’t even catch a glimpse of the end of Neteyam’s tail. He had probably decided that your constant interaction weeks ago were enough.
You did your part of avoiding, too, practicing your marksmanship late into the afternoons when the archery grounds were mostly empty.
You stood alone at the range, drawing back a heavy longbow, aiming for a distant target. You released the string, watching the arrow fly, only for a chaotic commotion to shatter the quiet of the grounds.
You snapped your head toward the heavy murmurs, your eyes widening at the sight that welcomed you.
Neteyam was marching toward you, his chest heaving, his face twisted into a mask of pure, unbridled rage. He was manhandling Sinto, dragging him by the nape of his neck. Sinto was a complete mess, his face was bloodied, his nose broken, and his swollen eyes were barely open as Neteyam hauled him across the dirt.
With a final, furious grunt, Neteyam threw Sinto violently at your feet. Sinto collapsed into the dirt, groaning weakly as he clutched his bruised side.
You stared down at your childhood friend, your lips parting in sheer disbelief. Neteyam had spent years ignoring Sinto’s pathetic attempts to get under his skin. Yet now, Neteyam had beaten him into a bloodied, pathetic pulp. It was completely ridiculous, but looking at Sinto writhing on the ground, you felt a strange, forbidden burst of satisfaction.
“That bastard is cheating on you!” Neteyam roared, pointing a furious finger down at Sinto.
You blinked. Sinto? Cheating? A small, incredulous laugh escaped your lips as the idea sank in. You shook your head, looking from Sinto up to Neteyam’s chest, which was rapidly rising and falling with his heavy breathing.
“Let him do what he wants,” you said plainly, resting your bow against your hip. “What? Are you policing what he does now, Commander?”
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, his pupils shrinking as your utter indifference pushed him past his limit. Somehow, your response made him even angrier than before.
“Are you serious?” Neteyam hissed, taking a heavy step toward you, his voice cracking with raw, defensive fury. “You are allowing yourself to be disrespected this way? You let him touch you, and you don't even care that he touches others, too?”
You smirked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, completely ignoring the small crowd of people that had gathered around the perimeter to watch the spectacle.
“I don't care, really,” you said softly, your voice dripping with easy amusement.
Neteyam stared at you, his chest heaving, a look of profound disgust and utter bewilderment washing over his face. He looked at you like you were some kind of creature he couldn't comprehend.
“Both of you are so sick,” he spat through his teeth.
He turned on his heel and stormed away, his steps heavy and furious, his tail lashing violently behind him.
You watched him go until he disappeared into the thick foliage of Hometree. Beside your foot, Sinto let out a weak, rattling laugh, spitting blood onto the grass.
“He was so mad,” Sinto wheezed with a bloody grin.
You looked down at him, nudging his ribs lightly with the toe of your foot to check if Neteyam had cracked anything, and he did. You looked at your arrow, Neteyam’s furious face flashing in your mind’s eye. You tried to rack your mind for any possible reason why he could be so mad about Sinto cheating on you.
“What were you doing anyway?” you asked, setting the arrow and raising your bow.
“Making out with Fxeyka behind the weapon sheds,” Sinto muttered, wiping blood from his lip.
You scoffed, pulling the string back and locking your eyes onto the target. “He cannot even mind his own business,“ you muttered, releasing the arrow and smirking when it slammed dead-center into the target.
Just like that, the story of Neteyam beating Sinto to a bloodied pulp became the lifeblood of Hometree’s gossip circles for weeks. Sinto made sure to utilize every single opportunity to taunt Neteyam, trying to pretend his broken nose and shattered ego were nothing. But indeed, they were nothing, especially when he could parade his bruised face and paint Neteyam as a mindless brute.
That’s the thing, too, Neteyam was never mindless. He was never a brute, either. So, why had Neteyam reacted that way? When has he ever given a single thought to Sinto's existence? And more confusingly, why did he care about Sinto cheating on you, a person Neteyam had openly detested for years?
As for Neteyam, he remained uncaring of the gossips and the suffocating weight of the village’s stares trying to see when’s the next brawl will be. His fellow warriors and hunters didn't dare ask about it either, even though they were there when he gave Sinto the beating of his life. Only Jake Sully, of course, had the gut to ask. He’s heard about it from the elder warriors, apparently his firstborn had gone berserk.
So when he asked to know what had prompted the explosive violence, Neteyam sat by the cooking fire, his body vibrating with a tightly coiled anger at the mere reminder. He didn't even know what was more maddening anymore, the fact that Sinto had dared to treat you like a disposable toy, or the fact that you had stood there and laughed in his face, entirely indifferent to the disrespect.
He had simply expected more from you. He thought you had more pride.
“He was cheating on Y/N,” He casually told them.
“Y/N? The huntress under Likya?” Neytiri asked, her sharp eyes alight with an intense curiosity. She chose the safest, most neutral words possible, though she knew you well, mostly for your unique ability to rile her eldest son past his incredible patience.
“Yes, Mom. That’s her,” Kiri said in a thoroughly amused hum, leaning over to elbow Neteyam in the ribs. “Why do you even care, brother? I heard Y/N doesn’t even give a damn.”
“It’s good you care for her, Neteyam,” Tuk piped up, speaking with a mouthful of roasted root.
“What?” Lo’ak asked, letting out a loud, disbelieving laugh. “For Y/N? No one triggers Neteyam’s anger better than her!”
Tuk shrugged her small shoulders, fiercely defensive. “She’s kind to me. She defended me once when the older boys didn’t want me to join their play.”
Neteyam’s ears twitched sharply, his eyes snapping up to his youngest sister. “Defended you how?”
“She threatened to cut off their tails if they didn't let me play,” Tuk said matter-of-factly. “They always make me join now.”
Neteyam’s jaw dropped and the entire family went entirely still, astounded by the sheer, unhinged protective streak you possessed. Only Jake had the gall to let out a booming laugh. Neteyam took a sharp, slow breath through his nose, rubbing his temples. You were utterly impossible.
Yet, looking back, he realized he didn't regret a single strike he landed on Sinto’s face. What’s confusing to him though is how even with the talks of his violence streak, he still inadvertently became a hero among the women for defending you for being cheated on, even though you were the village outcast. Everywhere he looked, women threw him shy glances and batted their eyelashes at him, even more so now.
Meanwhile, you weren’t faring well. But that has always been your normal.
The whispers followed you even by the riverbanks, where the rush of the water usually drowned out the noise you wanted to escape.
“Look at her,” a voice said, filled with a malicious kind of pity. “Still working on Sinto’s arrows. She thinks if she labored for him enough, he’d actually be contented to her.”
The girls giggled, a grating sound that made your ears twitch violently. You kept your back turned, your fingers wrapped around the rock you were using to sharpen the Sinto’s arrows, your knuckles turning pale.
They had everything entirely wrong. They thought you were a lovesick fool, desperately clinging to Sinto’s scraps because you had no one else. You didn't do things for Sinto out of love, you did them because you were fiercely loyal to the only person who had stood by you when you were being bullied as a kid. And now, he was the only one who hadn't turned his back on you when your peers cast you out after what happened with Kiri yeats ago. If the price of his companionship was enduring his carelessness and cleaning up his messes, you paid it willingly.
He was your only friend.
“Maybe if she begs him, he'll let her sit at the edge of his mat tonight,” another girl taunted, tossing a pebble that caused a splash your way.
Your jaw clenched hard, debating with yourself is you should rip your hunting knife from its sheath and show them exactly how desperate you were. You wanted to silence them the only way you knew how, with teeth and claws.
But you forced yourself to stay still. You took a ragged breath through your nose, letting the cool water numb your burning palms. Let them talk, you told yourself, though their words were clawing its way deep under your skin, targeting a spot your pride used to be. You were used to the isolation, but the humiliating narrative that you were a pathetic, weak-willed girl begging for a boy’s attention was a bitter poison you could barely swallow.
And Sinto wasn’t even doing anything to clear things up to defend your honor. He rarely ever does when it concerns his public image.
And so when the next trial for the Olo’eyktan race was announced, a freezing realization caught on you. Something that had never even crossed your mind before. The day before the trial, Sinto dragged you into the deep shadows of the communal clearing’s alcove. His usual easy charm was completely gone, replaced by a frantic, desperate edge.
“Neteyam is still leading the race far ahead of me,” Sinto whispered, his grip on your arm tight enough to leave a deep bruise. “If he wins tomorrow, he will create an even bigger gap, and we are stuck at the bottom of this clan forever.”
He pulled a small, tightly sealed vial from his loincloth. You recognized the foul, pungent stench immediately. It was a concentrated oil made from crushed seed pods. When smashed near water, its scent perfectly mimicked a fatally wounded animal, drawing any nearby predators into a hyper-aggressive, bloodthirsty frenzy.
“I need you to climb the high ridges directly above Neteyam’s designated tracking path,” Sinto commanded, shoving the vial into your hands. “Crush these on the wet rocks. It will draw the viperwolf packs right down on top of him. It’ll ruin his tracking time, maybe get him injured seriously enough that he drops out.”
You stared down at the vial, then out at the dark, dense woods. The sky was turning a heavy, bruised violet, a massive downpour was coming.
“No,” you said softly, taking a firm step back. “The mud on the high ridges is completely unstable in the rain, Sinto. If the viperwolves attack him there, getting slowed down is not what’s going to happen. He’ll lose his footing. Neteyam could die out there.”
Sinto stared at you, his features twisting into an ugly, unfamiliar sneer. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh that made your stomach turn.
“Who cares if he dies?” Sinto snapped, lunging forward to invade your personal space. “When did you start caring about that self-righteous bastard? He’s the one who makes your life miserable, remember? You owe me this, Y/N. Who stood by you when those pathetic huntresses threw you out of the circles? Who is the only reason you’re even allowed to carry a bow with your nasty reputation? Me.”
The words hit you like a physical blow to the chest.
You owe me.
In the sudden, heavy silence, the fragile illusion of your entire youth shattered. The memories of the last few years flashed before your eyes in a horrifyingly clear, agonizing light. You remembered the vicious fight with Kiri and Rinyal years ago—the one that had cemented your isolation. Sinto had been the one whispering in your ear, instigating the fight, using you to target Neteyam's family.
You remembered when Vrixa and her friends had ambushed you behind the tanneries. Sinto had been “conveniently” late to help. If Neteyam hadn’t come out and checked the woods, no one would have known that you were in trouble. And surely, Sinto only came out after him to see what he was up to. Even then, he had spinner a narrative that Neteyam had orchestrated the bullying.
He had isolated you on purpose. He kept you friendless, angry, and defensive so that you would have nowhere else to turn, using your fierce loyalty into a weapon he could point at Neteyam whenever he needed to clear his path.
“You know what, Sinto?” you whispered, the realization washing over your skin like ice water. “If you cannot beat Neteyam without these underhanded tactics which we have used a hundred times over the years, and yet he still lands on top, then who is to say you deserve to lead more than he does? You’re not doing this so we won't be left at the bottom. You’re doing this entirely for yourself. And you don’t care who dies for it.”
Sinto’s eyes narrowed into slits, realizing he had lost his grip on your leash. The manipulative smile died completely. “If you won't do it, then you are entirely useless to me.”
“I won't do it,” you spat, tossing the vial into the dirt at his feet. “Whatever happens in the trial, it is on your own merit. Beat him clean for once, Sinto. Prove yourself.”
But of course, Sinto won’t let it slide that quickly. Enraged by your defiance, he sent his latest woman your way, whispering vitriol that you were trying to force him into a mating bond. Riled into a frenzy, the girl and her friends ambushed you by the training grounds. You fought back like a cornered viperwolf, but you emerged with deep, nasty scratches marring your jawline, neck, and arms, your braids a complete mess.
On your way to the river to wash, you crossed paths with Neteyam. You kept your eyes locked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him, but his sharp eyes instantly caught the angry red welts on your skin. He took in a sharp, furious breath through his nose. He didn't want to care, but the sight of you bleeding made something inside his chest twist violently.
He pivoted on his heel and followed you, his large hand shooting out to grab your elbow, pulling you to a halt.
“What?!” you hissed, spinning around defensively.
“What happened to you?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
You huffed a bitter, breathless laugh. “What always happens. I bullied a bunch of innocent girls and they fought back. The perfect version of the story you prefer, Commander.” You smirked before aggressively wrenching your arm from his grip and storming away.
Neteyam’s eyes darkened, his chest tightening with a sudden, heavy wave of shame. You were right. He had spent years assuming the absolute worst of you. He always expected you to be the catalyst of the petty fights that happen in the training grounds, letting his prejudice blind him to the fact that it was always a bunch of girls against you.
And you were always so alone.
He followed you to the river from a distance, staying hidden within the thick foliage. He watched as you knelt by the water, washing the dirt from your scratched arms. Then, he heard a sound that seized at his chest and caused his face to crumple in frustration. A small, choked sniffle. You were crying.
He saw your shoulders shaking but he heard no following sounds. You were crying in silence, refusing to even sniffle so you could breathe. Your breath was so even that the shaking of your shoulder stopped, and if he didn't hear a choking sound of you struggling to breathe, he would assume you had stopped crying.
Everything was so practiced, so professional. You were good at this... At hiding that you were crying. And even when you thought you were alone, you still chose to not sob earnestly. He heard you take a shuddering breath before plunging entirely into the cold river.
He waited, but the silence stretched too long. Panicking that you weren't coming up for air, Neteyam stepped out of the bushes onto the bank, trying to see your form under the water. When you finally broke the surface, you were already glaring at him, as though you knew he was standing over the water. You hauled yourself out of the water, ignoring his presence entirely as you pushed past him.
“Is that what you do?” he asked, his voice rough as he followed you, trying to rile you up. “You attack those girls and then you come to cry at the river like a loser?”
You stopped dead in your tracks, turning on him with a murderous glint in your eyes. “Don’t piss me off more than I already am, Neteyam. You might not make it to your trial tomorrow,” you gritted out through clenched teeth before walking away.
He watched you walk away, his gaze on your back until you were out of sight.
The next day, the tracking trial commenced. You forced yourself not to care, but your chest was tight with a sickening anxiety the entire day. Sinto was desperate, and a desperate Sinto was lethal. You keep wondering about what he could do to Neteyam and you’d had the urge to throw up for about thirty times in the last few hours.
When the horn finally blew, signaling the return of the victor, Hometree erupted into deafening cheers. You pushed through the crowd, your breath catching when you saw Neteyam. He was covered in mud, but a massive, triumphant smile split his face as his brothers-in-arms hoisted him up.
His eyes scanned the crowd and landed squarely on you. You saw his smile softened, but almost as instantly, you turned around and walked away, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. Sinto had lost. Cleanly. And a huge part of you waa delighted about that. For the first time in your life, you are happy for Neteyam. You are glad that he had won.
But without Sinto, you don’t have anyone to sit with in the feast. That was the only thing you were a little bit sad about... You wanted to be there.
Desperate to escape the loneliness despite the boisterous celebratory feast, you volunteered for a late-night perimeter run on the eastern boundary and received an approval immediately, considering that no hunter would want to go out there while everybody’s having fun.
You were already deep into the bioluminescent brush when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed behind you. You spun around, scowling deeply as Neteyam materialized from the shadows.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you snapped.
Neteyam raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking with an infuriating calm. “I’m walking the perimeter. The senior hunters wanted a second pair of eyes out here tonight.”
“The senior hunters didn't send you,” you hissed, stepping directly into his space, pointing a sharp finger at his painted chest. “I volunteered for this run specifically to get away from the feast, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for a shadow. You just won the trial. Go back to Hometree and let the clan kiss the dirt you walk on. I do not want you here.”
Neteyam’s eyes dipped briefly to the scratches on your neck before snapping back to yours. “You’re walking into the deep woods alone at night while you’re clearly not at your best. You look like you can barely hold your bow straight. You seem so alone out here—”
“What did you just say?” you cut him off, your voice cracking with a genuine, burning rage. “Is that what this is? The great, righteous warrior taking pity on the village outcast? You think because Sinto is rotting in his corner and I’m out here by myself, I need your pathetic charity?”
“I didn’t say that,” Neteyam's jaw tightened, his perfect composure fracturing a little.
“You didn’t have to! You’ve spent years looking down your nose at me, judging every breath I take, assuming the worst of me every single time a girl stubs her toe!” Your hands clenched into tight, trembling fists. “You don’t get to play kind now, Neteyam. You don’t get to follow me into the dark and pretend you give a damn. I have survived every single day without your pity, and I sure as hell don’t need a pretentious bastard policing my space!”
“I am only making sure you won't accidentally—”
“I don’t care what you’re trying to do!” you shrieked, shoving your palms violently against his broad chest.
It was like hitting a solid wall of stone. Neteyam didn't even move an inch. Instead, the physical contact snapped the final thread of his control. Before you could even draw breath to yell again, Neteyam’s large hand shot out, wrapping firmly around the back of your neck, his fingers tangling deep into your braids. He lunged forward, his massive frame completely overtaking yours, and slammed his mouth down onto yours to violently cut off your words.
You gasped in pure shock, but he used the moment to deepen the kiss, his other hand coming down to grip your waist with a bruising, desperate force that yanked your hips flush against his rock-hard thigh. His tongue pushed past your lips, letting out a low groan that vibrated through your chest.
Your first instinct was to push, your palms sliding over the warm skin of his chest, trying to wrench your head away. But he followed you ruthlessly, stealing your breath until a sudden heat surged through your veins, making you shiver against him.
The anger was still there, but it mutated into a desperate, starving need. You stopped pushing, your fingers curling into his muscled shoulders, pulling him closer. You wanted to win. You wanted to dominate this moment, to show him you weren't just some subordinate to be ordered around.
You shifted your weight, trying to pin him, but Neteyam was entirely too strong. He groaned into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated hunger. Moving frantically, his hands mapped the curve of your waist before reaching up to squeeze your breast. You moaned against his lips, completely overcome by the blinding heat as he backed you hard against the nearest tree.
In one fluid motion, his large hands clamped behind your thighs and hauled you up. You let out a muffled shriek as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist. He carried you deeper into the dark woods, away from the path, his mouth never leaving yours.
When he lowered himself to his knees on the soft moss, his fingers hooked into the knot of your loincloth. With a single, demanding tug, he stripped you bare, leaving you completely exposed to the cool night air. You felt like you had gone completely insane. You were naked, and between your legs was Neteyam, stripping his own loincloth while he watches you darkly.
His body looked magnificent in this angle... when you're beneath him. His shoulders were incredibly broad, his chest heavily muscled, his arms far bigger than an average warrior's. You bit your lip, your eyes tracking up to find him watching you watch him.
When his loincloth fell away, your eyes snapped down. He was terrifying... His cock was thick, pulsing, and standing proud. You had experimented with wooden phallics in privacy before, but nothing prepared you for the sheer, imposing size of him.
“Scared?” he asked with a humored tone, his hand grabbing your thigh and squeezing hard, catching the flash of panic on your face.
You glared at him through the dark. “No. Bring it on,” you challenged.
He huffed a dark laugh, pushing your knees back almost to your chest before guiding his broad head against your wet folds. You breathe deeply, but before you could fully complete the inhale, he drove into you in one single, powerful thrust. He stretched your pussy past anything you had ever felt.
“Ah!” a sharp cry of pleasure and pain tore from your throat. You arched your back, the sheer fullness of him leaving you gasping for air. Reflexively, your hand flew out, slapping his cheek hard.
“Tsk,” Neteyam’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing as you moved to strike him again. He caught your wrist in a vice-like grip, pinning your hands securely above your head. He lowered his face, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, raspy promise. “I’m going to fuck you.”
Your breath hitched. Your body instinctively clenched around his massive girth, the overwhelming fullness intoxicating your senses. It felt so... good. You decided right then and there that you loved the feeling of being completely filled by him. You looked at him, your eyes clouded with lust and defiance.
“You talk too much!” you bit out.
Neteyam let out a guttural laugh. “So impatient,” he kissed you softly.
He began to move, dragging his cock slowly through your tight warmth, creating an intense, searing friction that made your toes curl and moan softly. Moans that turned into screams when he began pounding into you with a forceful intensity, driving you deeper into the moss.
He released your wrists only to cup your face, his fingers digging into your jaw, forcing you to look into his blown-out pupils.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice raw. “Know who is doing this to you. Know whose cock is filling you up.”
You huffed, reaching up to grip his sharp jaw. “Where’s the perfect, golden boy?”
“In you?” he replied, raising a brow.
You burst out in laughter, but it quickly became a loud moan when his thrusts came down harder and faster. He groaned, slamming his mouth over yours to drown your moans. The wet, loud squelching sound of your fluids being churned by his relentless thrusting made your skin flush with embarrassment.
“You are so beautiful...” he murmured, sloppily kissing your chin as he relentlessly pounded into you.
“Shut up...” you whimpered, your head tossing back.
He accelerated, his thrusts becoming frantic, driven by a primal need to completely claim you. As the pressure in your gut coiled to a breaking point, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before moving down to catch your breast in his mouth, sucking and licking with a ferocity that sent you violently over the edge.
Neteyam let out a long, shuddering groan as he came, his entire body stiffening as he pumped his hot seed deep inside you. Your internal muscles pulsed and clenched around him in desperate, rhythmic waves. You squeezed his large, muscled arms, your nails digging deep into his skin as the orgasm crashed over you.
For a few moments, the only sound was your synchronized, heavy breathing. But when Neteyam slowly pulled out, the sudden absence of him left you feeling cold and hollow. The reality of what you had just done crashed down on you. You really just let Neteyam claim you like that.
You aggressively pushed his chest away, rolling onto your side and pushing yourself up onto shaky elbows. You were on your hands and knees, crawling toward your discarded loincloth, when you felt it. Large, heavy hands clamp securely onto your hips. Your breathing hitched when you felt his hand circle your hips and touch your drenched pussy.
His fingers caressed your inner thigh, scooping his come that oozed out of you. “Let’s put it all back in you...” he murmured, pushing his come back into your hole.
“Ah...” you whimpered, fisting on the grass and trying to pull away from the overstimulation. You fucking love it, though.
With a sudden jerk, he pulled your hips right back against him, your ass hitting his muscled thighs. He lowered himself down until his massive frame enveloped you from behind, his chest pressing flush against your back.
“Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous against your neck. “We're not done yet...”
One of his hands traveled upward, kneading your breast with a possessive, heavy grip. You whimpered, a violent tremble running through your body as the heat returned, twice as intense. You couldn't believe you were surrendering to him like this, allowing the man you had hated for years to dominate your body.
You felt his hardness pressing against your entrance once more, and in one singular, devastating motion, he drove into you from behind.
“Ah, Neteyam!” You cried out, the force of the entry knocking the wind from your lungs. You tried to pull forward, but his grip on your hips was an unbreakable shackle, locking you in place.
The pounding began immediately, more relentless and more focused. He drove into you with a raw, animalistic power that made your vision blur. His pleasured grunts and the low, rumbling sounds in his throat made your knees buckle, while your loud, uninhibited moans only seemed to fuel his desire, driving him to thrust deeper.
He lowered himself fully, his lips grazing your shoulder. “Fuck, Y/N... You feel so good... so fucking tight,” he groaned.
“You can,” he whispered against your skin, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, hitting your sweet spot with a terrifying precision.
He came again, his body shaking violently as he sucked hard on the skin of your neck, intentionally leaving a dark mark that would last for days. He wished people could know who put it there. Your arms finally gave out, and you collapsed onto the moss. Neteyam cushioned your fall, hugging you tightly from behind as he continued to pulse inside you. Because he hadn't pulled out, the angle shifted, burying him impossibly deeper.
He kissed your shoulder softly, his hand caressing your body, helping you endure the aftershocks before finally withdrawing. Effortlessly, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his weight.
Your eyes lazily opened to find him staring down at you. His golden eyes were incredibly gentle now, glinting with a soft, postcoital delight. He lowered his face, nuzzling his cheek against yours, brushing his nose against yours. Your heart warmed so intensely it felt like you were being lit up from the inside.
You had never felt this close to anyone. This connected.
But panic suddenly seized you, freezing the warmth he had started. You pushed against his chest, breaking the spell. He looked down at you, confused. You didn't want the vulnerability, but you didn't want to leave either. So you stopped pushing.
Instead, your hand reached up, clamping onto the nape of his neck, and you pulled him down into a deep, proper kiss before he could question you. He hummed against your lips, his hand fondling your breast, his thumb sweeping over your nipple.
“I was going to let you rest for a while...” he mumbled against your jaw.
“I’m wondering if you actually spent the whole day doing that trial,” you said, your voice hoarse. “You’re not even tired.”
He chuckled, nipping at your jawline as his cock pressed against your entrance for a third time. “Even I have top priorities...”
The succeeding hours were a blur of agonizingly slow, precise coupling. He watched your eyes, listening to the hitch in your breath, ensuring every single movement was designed for your maximum pleasure. He filled you again and again, completely blurring the boundaries between hate and desire.
Yet, despite the consuming intensity, you still managed to wake up before him. He was heavily draped over your body, his limbs tangled with yours, his face buried in your neck. Quietly, you worked your way out of his hold. He was exhausted, the weight of the trial and the relentless energy he had spent fucking you until your lights gave out finally catching up to him.
You grabbed your loincloth, looking down at his serene, sleeping form. A dangerous warmth blossomed in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to curl back into his arms and wait for him to wake. But you violently caught yourself. It was just sex. You were both caught up in the heat of the moment. There was an unspoken agreement that this madness ended when the sun rose.
Wrenching your eyes away, you quietly fix yourself. Your body was incredibly sore, a soft groan escaping your lips when you felt a sharp sting in your pussy as you parted your legs to put on your loincloth. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the memories reminding you exactly why you were sore. Neteyam was completely insatiable.
If you hadn’t been so sleepy after hours of going at it, he would do you until dawn. And what's crazy is that you know that you would let him. You limped toward the river, submerging yourself in the cool water, using sweet-smelling sap to aggressively scrub his scent off your skin. You reeked of him so heavily you couldn't even smell yourself.
You wanted to slap yourself for this, trying so hard to drag the part of you who would have hated this so much into the surface but there was none. You wanted it, you wanted him, and you wanted to go back there to snuggle against him. This was an added complication in your life and you shouldn’t want this.
For the next two days, you successfully avoided him, feeling like a terrified yerik constantly watching your back. But eventually, your luck ran out. You entered the command tent to report for patrol duty during a time you knew he was supposed to be out tracking with the younger hunters.
But as you were speaking to Likya, a massive figure darkened the entrance. You turned nonchalantly, only to nearly choke on your own breath when you saw Neteyam standing there, his eyes dark and his jaw tightly clenched.
You looked away immediately. “Thank you, Likya. I will take my leave now...” you said quickly.
“Will you leave us for a moment, Likya?” Neteyam interrupted, his deep voice gravelly, his eyes locked entirely on you.
Likya didn’t even flinch. He was so accustomed to you and Neteyam fighting over the years that he simply assumed it was another one of those days, quietly exiting the tent. You scowled, hating the way a fierce heat rushed up your neck. You could still feel the pressure of his girth inside you even after days now.
Meanwhile, Neteyam was enduring a completely different kind of torture. He had woken up to a cold, empty bed of moss. For two days, he had looked for you in every corner of Hometree, but you were a sneaky, elusive thing. Unlike you, who had scraped his smell off at the first opportunity, Neteyam had worn your scent like a prized reward. He had reeked of you so strongly during training that the young hunters had looked at him in confusion, though only Sinto would have recognized it, and Sinto was too drowned in his own misery to notice.
“What?” you asked curtly, standing rigidly on the opposite side of the strategy table, using it as a physical shield.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, his eyes tracking the faint, healing purple bruises on your neck and chest.
You huffed. “Why would I? Hometree is massive. We don't always cross paths.”
“I always see you around when I was avoiding you,” he said, taking a heavy step forward, forcing you to instinctively shift to keep the table between you. “But now, I am specifically looking for you, and you are nowhere to be found.”
“Looking for me? Why?” your voice snapped.
“You left me,” he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, tilting your chin. “Well, what do you want? That we cuddle or something?”
His eyes sharpened to lethal points. “Do you intend to act as if nothing happened?”
Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. What did he want from you? “I don't know what you want, Neteyam. We had sex. I believe we both enjoyed it,” you whispered cautiously. “But I don't think we should dwell on it. We are two consenting adults. It was good, but it doesn't mean anything.”
Neteyam took a sharp, painful breath through his nose. “Is that really what you think?”
You shrugged, masking the tremor in your hands. “Yeah. Can I go to my patrol now?”
He gritted his teeth so hard the bone clicked. He had a thousand things he wanted to say. He wanted to pull you across the table, cage you in his arms, and force you to admit that it did mean something. He wanted to hear your complaints at the end of the day, he wanted to look into your eyes while he kissed you softly. He wanted to be with you.
But a crushing weight settled on his shoulders. He realized he was the one who had driven you to this. He had spent years judging you, acting superior, treating you like a plague. It was entirely ridiculous to expect you to suddenly trust him, or want to be with him, just because of what happened. He was too stupid to believe it would have changed things between you.
You were at the archery range days later when Sinto unexpectedly approached you. To your surprise, he offered a quiet, humbled apology for the vile things he had said to you in the woods. What surprised you even more was that you found that you didn't even hold a grudge. You were entirely too indifferent to him now.
You realized you didn't need his toxic presence to survive. In fact, without him whispering poison in your ear, you had actually begun talking to other clan members, finding them far more welcoming than Sinto had ever allowed you to believe.
“Forgive me?” Sinto asked, his hand settling onto your waist with a practiced, comfortable ease.
In the past, you wouldn't have thought twice about the contact. But now? It felt incredibly wrong to have his hand on your skin.
“Whatever,” you said, stepping away under the guise of adjusting your stance to draw your bow. Your breath hitched mid-inhale when your eyes flicked to Neteyam standing a short distance away, watching.
Sinto stepped forward again, chuckling as his hands found your hips from behind. “Are you still mad about what I said? I was under so much pressure, Y/N,” he whispered against your ear.
You violently shoved him back, turning on him with an icy glare. “I am not mad, Sinto. But I am letting you know right now: I will never be involved in any of your schemes again.”
He raised his hands, flashing his easy smile. “Of course. I would never ask it of you again. We’re good, right? You're still my best friend.”
You rolled your eyes, and he chuckled, pulling you into a brief hug from behind. You dug your elbow sharply into his ribs until he let go. “Go away. I am trying to focus.”
“Alright. Dinner later? I’ll save you a seat.”
You shrugged, nocking an arrow and using the motion to glance back toward the walkway. Neteyam was gone.
That evening at the communal fire, you sat at Sinto’s table, surrounded by his loud, arrogant friends whom you had never liked and never liked you, too. Across the clearing, Neteyam sat with his own circle. They were more boisterous, laughing loudly, and during a bout of playful teasing, a stunning huntress named Mitxi leaned in, sweetly resting her chin directly on Neteyam’s shoulder.
Neteyam craned his head away slightly as his friends cheered, but he didn't pull his shoulder back. That would have been rude, and the oh so ever gentleman Neteyam would never do that.
A massive, suffocating lump formed in your throat. A toxic wave of discomfort washed over you, and you absolutely hated it. You hated the sight of her touching him. You felt a savage urge to march across the clearing and drag Mitxi away by her hair, but you did nothing. Like a coward, you abruptly stood up, vacating your seat, and stormed out of the clearing.
You walked briskly along the dark, woven pathways, desperately needing fresh air, wanting to laugh at your own pathetic jealousy. You silently groaned when you heard footsteps behind you. “Sinto, I want to be alone—”
A large, calloused hand clamped around your elbow, spinning you around and pulling you hard against a stone-solid wall of muscle. Your wide eyes snapped up to find Neteyam staring down at you, his chest heaving. You shoved against him, but his strong arms only tightened around your waist, trapping you against him.
“Why are you leaving?” he demanded.
“Why do you care?” you snapped, shoving his chest again. “You seemed to be doing just fine back there. Why don't you go focus on Mitxi instead? She looked like she’d love for you to do to her exactly what you did to me.”
Neteyam watched the fiery, furious display on your face and a slow, dark satisfaction melted his scowl away. He loved how fiercely annoyed you were. His hands gently caressed your waist, trying to soothe the tension out of your muscles.
“Well, I couldn’t have done what I did to you to anyone else,” he whispered, his eyes darkening to amber in the shadows. “I have never been as crazy about anyone as I am about you, Y/N...”
Your eyes remained sharp, but the fire keeping your defensive scowl intact was rapidly dying. Your palms, which had been pushing him away, slowly curled into fists against his chest. “It’s only because of the sex,” you smirked with a malicious glint in your eyes. “That does drive men mad. I thought the perfect warrior would be immune.”
“Oh, it absolutely drove me mad,” he murmured, the corner of his lips tugging upward. “I think about your moans every hour of the day. I think about how you feel against me, how incredibly tight you wrap around me... it makes me so hard I had to excuse myself from the young hunters’ training just to find a release—”
“For someone who parades himself as a golden prince, you are incredibly crass!” you said in a biting tone, your face burning.
“I want you to know every single thing I am thinking,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you, but he pulled away immediately. “It’s not just the sex, Y/N. I wouldn't have touched you like that if I weren't already ridden by thousands of fantasies of what I wanted to do to you the moment I finally got to hold you. I only acted on years of buried desire.”
You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Liar.”
“I have never lied to you,” he said softly, nuzzling his cheek against yours before pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. You didn't pull away. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of a quiet delight. “It is the truth. You put me through an unimaginable torment, Y/N.”
“You’re being dramatic,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but you bit your lip to hide a smile.
He chuckled, his lips pressing against yours with far more pressure this time, devouring your breath. “Give me a chance...” he mumbled against your mouth. “I will prove myself to you.”
“There is no need for that,” you replied, your hand finally sliding up to clamp around the nape of his neck, pulling him down into a deep, consuming kiss. “We both want pleasure... and we’ll get it from each other.”
Neteyam’s brows furrowed slightly at your stubborn insistence on keeping it purely physical, but as your hand grazed down his muscled abdomen, a heavy groan tore from his throat. His hands tightened on your hips, lifting you slightly as he pressed you into the shadow of the trees.
“I want you...“ you mumbled against his neck. “I want you, Neteyam.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, already guiding your steps out of the paths, his large hand splaying over your midriff, his lips kissing your temple continuously. You held his hand tightly, both of you knowing exactly where you were going. You were crossing the threshold into the dark again, only this time, you knew exactly what you were walking into.
The following weeks were filled with Neteyam practically perching himself at your side, so you made sure not to let him see you in public because he doesn’t seem to care that people might be looking. Once, he even approached you on the archery range in broad daylight, uncaring that there are young hunters working on their archery, too. You were practicing your mid-range forms, your skin slick with sweat, when a heavy wooden sparring staff clattered against yours, nearly knocking the bow from your hands.
You spun around, your ears flattening as Neteyam stood there, a cocky, infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He was stripped down to his loincloth, his broad shoulders glistening under the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy.
“Your stance is too narrow,” he taunted, spinning his staff with an effortless, practiced grace. “Sinto might let you get away with sloppy footwork, but I won't.”
You rolled your eyes, “I am a hundred times better than Sinto in this.” You jolted when you felt his hand on your waist. “Neteyam, we’re in public!” you whispered-shouted.
He snorted. “It's just the kids and they won’t care,” he murmured, nipping at your ear.
You groaned, still stepping away. “If you want to touch me so much, we should probably just work on my combat skills,” you turned to him with a smirk. “Teach me what you know?”
He raised a brow. “Between us, you had more experience in combat. What with your stints with the girls,” he said in a humored tone.
You chuckled and shoved against his chest. “You’re an idiot.”
He grinned, pulling you close by the waist. You elbowed him to gently push him away. “I’ll follow you in 10.”
“Five,” you insisted just to argue.
He shrugged, giving your waist a lingering caress and biting his lower lip. “You’re the boss.”
You smoothly rolled your eyes, spinning on your heels to walk away, the tip of your tail teasingly touching his lower abdomen. You heard him groan and you pursed your lips, continuing to saunter away from the range to go deeper into the woods. Sticking to your words, he didn’t even give you five minutes, he showed up after you in an instant.
His ears were perked, his golden eyes scanning the secluded spot behind a curtain dense vines and ferns until they locked onto you. “Secluded,” he raised his brow, his lips twisting.
“I don’t want them seeing us together,” you said, grabbing your staff.
“Drop that,” he ordered and you looked at him.
“No weapons?” you asked, rotating your wrist.
The side of his lips curled up in a slow and dangerous manner. “You said hand-to-hand.”
“Alright,” you mumbled as you lunged, driving a lightning-fast jab toward his jaw.
Neteyam snapped his head back, dodging the blow by a fraction, but you were already pivoting. You threw a sharp, snapping kick aimed straight for his ribs. His forearm came down, blocking the strike with a force that vibrated up your leg, but instead of backing off, you pressed even more, throwing a vicious left hook.
He caught your wrist in his palm, his grip like an iron shackle. “Too predictable,” he grunted, using your momentum to twist your arm and try to force you to the ground.
You snarled, using his own leverage to leap, throwing your weight forward and driving your elbow hard against his collarbone. The impact forced a sharp gasp from him, and his grip slipped. Before he could recover, you delivered a stinging palm-strike directly to his chest, pushing him back a full three paces.
Neteyam stumbled, his hand coming up to touch his chest where your palm had landed. A low, feral growl rumbled in his throat, his eyes darkening from bright gold to a deep, predatory amber. The playful smirk was entirely gone, replaced by a raw, competitive hunger that made your blood run hot.
He moved, closing the distance to pin you, but you threw your leg up, catching him around the neck and using a desperate scissor-kick to violently flip him over.
You both crashed into the dirt, rolling frantically. Finally, you managed to scramble on top of him, straddling his waist. You pinned his large wrists into the dirt on either side of his head, your chest rising and falling violently as you glared down at him, your hair completely wild and your skin flushed..
“Yield,” you panted, your teeth bared in a victorious grin.
Neteyam lay beneath you, his muscled chest slick with sweat and dirt, his heart hammering a frantic, thunderous rhythm. He didn't even look like he was defeated, he looked like a predator that had let himself be caught just to see what you would do next.
“No,” he rasped.
In a split second, he wrenched his wrists free, his large hands shooting up to clamp securely around the back of your neck. He violently pulled you down, his hips bucking upward to reverse the pin, throwing you flat onto your back in the deep moss while he completely overtook your frame.
Before you could even draw breath, his mouth slammed down onto yours.
The transition from violence to pure, unadulterated lust was instantaneous. The kiss felt like a continuation of the brawl, a desperate struggle for dominance. His tongue pushed past your lips with a bruising force, letting out a deep, guttural groan as he humped against your clothed crotch.
Your hands slid up his slick shoulders, your nails digging deep into his skin, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you. The anger, the competition, the heat, it all melted into a starving, blinding need.
Neteyam tore his mouth from yours, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as his lips tracked a burning path down your jawline, nipping sharply at the sensitive skin of your neck. You tried to push his face away.
“Neteyam, I’m sweaty...” you whined.
His large hand slid down your stomach, his tongue licking a swipe on the hollow of your neck up to your jaw. “So what?” His calloused palm was heavy and possessive when it hooked into the crotch of your loincloth. With one swipe, he pushed it aside.
“Neteyam—” you whimpered, your fingers tangling frantically in his thick braids as he shifted his weight down, settling between your legs.
He growled against your thigh, his voice completely ruined by lust as he licked the soft skin of your inner thigh. He grabbed your knees, forcing your legs wide apart and draping them over his broad shoulders. He looked up at you once, his blown-out pupils dark and wild, before he slid his large hand between your thighs.
You gasped, your back arching off the moss as his fingers found your dripping center. He began to stroke you with a cruel, agonizing rhythm, his thumb circling your nub while his fingers slid deep inside your tight warmth. The contrast of his rough skin against your wet, sensitive folds made you whimper, your hips helplessly rolling against his hand.
“Aww, look at you...” he mused, his fingers driving deeper, churning your fluids until a loud, wet sound filled the quiet clearing.
“Please...” you choked out, your hands clawing at the dirt, your head tossing back as the tension in your gut began to coil to a breaking point.
Instead of slowing down, Neteyam lowered his head. Your breath completely hitched as his mouth replaced his fingers.
The first touch of his tongue against your swollen core sent a violent, electric shock straight up your spine. You let out a loud, uninhibited cry, your hands flying down to grip his shoulders, trying to either push him away or pull him closer, you didn't even know anymore. Neteyam ignored your trembling hands, his strong hands locking around your inner thigh as he used his tongue to relentlessly devour you.
He sucked and licked with a primal, terrifying ferocity, his fingers sliding back inside you to stretch you wide while his mouth drove you insane. Every stroke of his tongue was precise, heavy, and dripping with a possessive dominance.
“Neteyam! Fuck, I can't—” you screamed softly, your toes curling as the blinding heat rushed to you.
His tongue only flicked faster, his fingers pulsing inside you in perfect synchronization until your body completely gave out. A shattering orgasm crashed over you, your internal muscles clenching around his fingers in desperate waves as a long, breathless wail tore from your throat.
Neteyam stayed right there, drinking you in, holding your trembling hips firmly in his grasp until the last of the aftershocks faded. When he finally crawled up your body, his face was flushed, his lips wet and glistening with your taste. He pinned your hands above your head, caging you beneath his heavy frame, a beautiful, dark satisfaction melting his sharp features.
“On the side note, I do like secluded places...” he brushed his nose against yours, his cock pulsing thick and hard against your thigh. “More chances of getting you to scream.”
You looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, a breathless, defeated laugh escaping your lips as your hand weakly reached for his hard cock. “Show me more?”
Over the following moons, a quiet shift occurred between you two. What you intended to keep as a strictly physical arrangement began to deepen into something completely out of your control. Neteyam had a definitive goal in mind though and it is to truly, completely have you, and he pursued it with the same relentless discipline he applied to everything.
You two are together almost every day, something Neteyam had made sure of. Meanwhile, you made sure it is only an almost occurrence. He was too comfortable with you now that he’d often approach you in public or drag you to his table during communal meals. He’d been acting too normal with you around his friends. Though the warmth of it reaches the coldest, loneliest parts of you, the fear of him being associated with you, a village pariah, beats any of your desires to belong.
Behind the dense thickets, though, you indulge him. You would often find yourself pinned against mossy banks, both of you eager to experiment with the limits of each other's bodies until you were both gasping and painted in each other's sweat.
You heard Neteyam’s breath hitched completely. His hands came down to rest on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin with a bruising grip as you leaned forward. You swirled your tongue over the crown around the thick base of his length, guiding the broad, leaking head against your mouth.
Neteyam groaned, a low vibration that started deep in his chest. His hips gave a slight, involuntary twitch forward, his tail flicking wildly beneath him.
“Y/N...” he rasped, entirely ruined.
You took him in slowly, the sheer fullness of him stretching your mouth, your throat tightening as you slid deeper down his shaft. You used your hands to stroke the remaining length, your thumb tracing the sensitive seam underneath while your tongue swirled around his ridge with every upward stroke.
The wet, loud sounds of your mouth devouring him echoed in the quiet. Neteyam was entirely at your mercy, his large, muscled body trembling as his hands traveled from your shoulders to tangle deep into your loose hair, his fingers anchoring you against him. You moaned in pleasure when he gently pushed your head down, controlling your pace and using your mouth for his pleasure.
“F-fuck,” he choked out, his eyes closing as you sucked harder, your hand moving frantically at his base. You took him deeper, letting his thick girth slide down your throat until your nose brushed against his pubic bone, the scent of him intoxicating your senses.
He began to move his hips in a slow contrast to your mouth, guiding himself inside your tight warmth, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“Eyes,” he commanded, his voice a raw, breathless whisper.
You tilted your head back just enough to look up through your lashes, your mouth still completely wrapped around his shaft. His sharp features were tight with extreme pleasure and lust, his golden eyes burning down into yours with an expression that was terrifyingly possessive. The hand on the back of your head moved to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your stuffed cheek.
“You are so good to me, baby...” he mumbled.
You accelerated, your hand churning the moisture at his base while your mouth worked relentlessly, pulling on him with a fierce, starving suction while Neteyam’s hips began to move faster, his thrusts becoming short, frantic, and deep. He let out a loud, shuddering groan, his fingers tightening so hard in your hair that it made you moan.
“I'm going to— Fuck! Shit,“ he growled, his entire body going rigid.
He didn't pull out. In one final surge of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt in your mouth as his hot, thick seed erupted deep down your throat. You swallowed the heavy, burning waves of his release, your hand continuing to stroke him as he pumped into you again and again, his chest heaving as if he had just run a lethal trial through the mountains.
He dropped heavily to his knees on the moss, his face burying in the crook of your neck as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest with a fierce grip. He was shaking, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. He pressed his wet lips to the skin of your shoulder, inhaling the scent of you as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.
“You are mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick and stubborn. “Do you hear me, Y/N? You belong to me.”
The most dangerous moments, however, were the quiet ones. After hours of making love, you would lie tangled together on the soft moss, talking about nothing and everything. You were entirely unaware of how tightly your souls were intertwining, but Neteyam knew. He was weaving himself into your fiber.
Neteyam’s large hand was tracing idle patterns along the curve of your spine, his touch light, almost reverent. The intensity of what had just passed between you still hung thick in the air.
“You have a scar,” Neteyam murmured, his voice vibrating against your collarbone. His thumb pressing gently into a jagged ridge of raised skin just above your hip. “Right here. I notice it every time, but you always pull away when I touch it.”
You went rigid for a second, the instinct to deflect, to crack a joke or push his hand away, flaring up instantly. But the exhaustion of keeping your guard up for so many moons had finally caught up to you.
“I got it when I was seven,” you said softly, keeping your eyes trained on your fingers. “The longhouse is a tough place for a child. The other orphans... They are not the nicest people.”
Neteyam’s thumb stopped stroking. “Who did it?”
A bitter, humorless smile touched your lips. “I’ve long since gotten my revenge.”
His eyes burned in a dark admiration. “What did you do?”
“Broke his ankle. He doesn’t deserve to be a warrior,” you mumbled.
His head tilted. “Ferkil,“ he said. Though you didn’t confirm, his face was still overcome with a silent fury.
“I remember sitting there for hours, the thorns hooking into my skin, crying until my throat was raw. The other children stood at the edge of the brush. They didn't help. They just watched, whispering that the forest was punishing me because I was bad. By the time I crawled out myself, I had decided I would never cry where anyone could see me again.”
You swallowed hard, your chest aching with the sudden, raw vulnerability of the memory.
“Sinto... He helped me at some point. He defended me and stood by me. He said no one will stick up for us if we don’t stick up for each other,” you said in a small voice, looking at Neteyam, your eyes brimming with tears. “He lied to me.”
Neteyam didn’t blink. At the mention of Sinto, a possessive, dangerous heat flared in his eyes. But as he looked down at the tears threatening to spill from your lashes, the anger melted into something fiercely protective.
He leaned over you, his large hand sliding from your hip to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping away a stray tear before it could drop.
“He is a coward,” Neteyam murmured, his voice low, steady, and grounding. He pressed his forehead against yours, forcing you to feel the heavy, unyielding rhythm of his breath. “He defended you to keep you small, to keep you relying on his scraps. But I will change that.”
He kissed your eyelids, then your nose, before capturing your trembling lips in a soft, deeply reassuring sequence.
“I will make the people see you how I see you,” he whispered against your mouth, his grip tightening around your waist as if anchoring you to the earth. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
You reared your head back. “Neteyam...” you said in a warning tone.
He bit his lip and nodded, “I understand, baby. But this can’t be like this forever,” he said solemnly. “I want you to be my wife.”
Eventually, the inevitable arrived. As you lay against his chest one night, tracing the glowing bioluminescent freckles on his skin, Neteyam cleared his throat, his hand wrapping securely over yours.
“I want to begin a formal courtship with you, Y/N. I want to be your mate.”
You froze, your fingers going entirely still against his skin. You pulled away, sitting up as a cold wave of reality flooded your chest. “I... I don’t know. Kiri detests me. Your family... What will they say? I am completely unsuited for you..”
“You are not unsuited,” he said fiercely, sitting up and grasping your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “I see you, Y/N. love you. You are my choice, and no one, not even Kiri, my parents, nor the elders, will ever change that.”
You looked away. “I don't know, Neteyam...” you let out a breathless, humorless laugh, tears suddenly pricking the corners of your eyes. “The clan... I am not favored here. And you want me to be their Tsahik?”
Neteyam stared at you, his features a mix of agonizing defeat and unyielding determination.
“None of their opinions matter to me,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. He reached out, taking your trembling hand and pressing a tender kiss directly into your palm. “Y/N, you are my heart. I am already fighting for the chance to lead, if they want me to fight for the chance to be your mate, as well, I would do that, too. I love you, Y/N. So much. And I won't let you walk away just because you think you are unsuited. You are the only one for me.”
You stared at him, utterly silenced by the sheer magnitude of his devotion. A tear slipped down your cheek. With a breathless huff, you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a desperate, consuming kiss. He cupped your jaw, devouring your mouth as he lowered you back onto the mossy ground.
You spread your legs for him with a practiced, fluid grace, completely surrendering your heart to him.
Little did either of you know, a pair of dark, venomous eyes were watching from the thickets. Sinto stood hidden in the brush, his fists clenched hard. He watched in absolute, stomach-churning betrayal as Neteyam knelt between your thighs, entering you with a powerful thrust that made you throw your head back and cry out his name in pure, unfiltered pleasure.
“Oh, Neteyam!” you gasped, your fingers clamping onto his massive biceps as he hovered over you, his hands anchoring your waist as he pounded into you.
“Fuck, baby...” Neteyam groaned, kneading your breasts.
Sinto’s mind reeled. He didn't know when exactly this started, but he knew when you had first refused to help him sabotage Neteyam. You had laid with the enemy. You had given the perfect golden boy the one thing you had ruthlessly denied Sinto for years. A monstrous wave of bitterness consumed him.
Neteyam always gets what he wants. Even you.
But Sinto vowed it would end at the final trial. He would take the Olo’eyktan title, and then, he would take you. He was even willing to overlook the fact that you had laid with Neteyam and allowed yourself to be sullied by his hands, as long as he could tear everything away from his rival.
When you finally returned to Hometree later that night, Sinto was waiting in the shadows near your pod.
“Took you long enough, for a simple patrol,” he said, his voice dripping with a cryptic, icy venom.
You stopped in your tracks, your defense mechanisms instantly snapping into place. “I had an added task from the seniors.”
He huffed a dark, mocking laugh. “Let me guess. Neteyam once again put you in a very hard position... and you just had to stay there and take it?”
Your eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. You knew Sinto was manipulative, but he had never shown such raw, undisguised contempt toward you. Your blood ran cold at the realization. You didn't know how, but you know that he knew.
The next morning, the training grounds were packed with a group of young hunters that Neteyam was putting through a rigorous bow drill. A few warriors stood near the perimeter, including Sinto, helping when needed.
When Neteyam stepped to the back of the line to observe, Sinto casually sauntered over, standing beside Neteyam in silence, his skin radiating a foul, seething malice. Neteyam didn't even spare him a glance, treating him like an invisible speck of dust, only managing to piss Sinto off effortlessly.
“Does she feel good?” Sinto began, his voice low.
Neteyam slowly turned his head, his eyes cold and unbothered. “Excuse me?”
“Y/N,” Sinto purred, relishing the way Neteyam’s calm facade instantly crumpled into a mask of lethal fury. “Her pussy. Does it feel good? I saw you two out in the brush last night. You looked like you were having the absolute time of your life fucking my woman.” Sinto flashed a sickening, triumphant grin.
Neteyam froze, his mind calculating a hundred different ways he could tear Sinto apart. The sheer, protective rage vibrating through his veins was enough to kill the man.
“Enjoy it while it lasts, brother,” Sinto whispered, leaning in closer. “Y/N will come crawling back to me eventually. We stick up for each other. You’re an outsider to her and you always will be. So don’t you ever think you successfully took her from me just because she lets you fuck her. Honestly, I didn’t mind watching last night. At least now I know exactly what makes her scream like a—”
Neteyam didn't let him finish. He lunged, his fist crashing into Sinto’s jaw with the force of a falling boulder. At this time, you were at the target grounds across the clearing, helping younger children with their archery form, when Tuk came sprinting toward you, her eyes wide with terror.
“Y/N! Y/N, come quick! Neteyam and Sinto are killing each other!”
You dropped your bow and ran, your heart leaping into your throat. When you burst into the training clearing, a massive crowd had already formed. Neteyam and Sinto were locked in a feral brawl. Neteyam looked completely demonic, his eyes wild with a homicidal rage, while Sinto was putting up a desperate, pathetic fight, taunting Neteyam even as his face was painted in his own blood.
It took five heavy warriors to finally wrench Neteyam away. Sinto collapsed into the dirt, laughing hysterically through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. Neteyam was heaving, his muscles straining violently against the arms of his friends who were dragging him back.
As they hauled him out of the clearing, Neteyam’s eyes found yours through the crowd. The terrifying, murderous fury in his gaze subtly faded, replaced by a quiet, profoundly apologetic look. He hated that you had to see him like this.
You didn't break eye contact, giving him a subtle nod. You both knew exactly where to meet.
The crowd watched you walk away, their whispers following you. A brawl over the leadership was one thing, but everyone knew Neteyam had never given a single damn about Sinto’s competitiveness. The only times the perfect commander had ever lost his absolute composure, it had been because of you.
You sprinted to your hidden clearing in the woods, finding Neteyam already waiting. He crossed the distance in a single stride, pulling you against his chest. Your hands flew up to cup his jaw, your heart breaking at the deep purple bruise forming on his cheekbone and the nasty split across his lip. You stood on your tiptoes, pressing a tender kiss to his wounded jaw.
“What happened?” you demanded softly.
“He saw us last night. He was watching us,” Neteyam said, his voice trembling with a terrifying anger.
You blinked, gently caressing his arms to soothe the tremors out of his muscles. “I knew it. He threatened me last night.”
“Do not let him come near you,” Neteyam growled, his grip tightening on your waist. “I swear to Eywa, Y/N, I will kill him if he lays a single finger on you.”
You looked up at his furious face, pulling him down by his neck to kiss him deeply, pouring all your warmth into him until his rigid posture finally melted against you. “What did he say to you to make you so mad?”
Neteyam blinked, shaking his head, refusing to let Sinto’s disgusting words defile the space between you. “Nothing that matters. He’s nothing.” He cupped your face, kissing you with a desperate, starving intensity.
You kissed him back, whispering against his lips, “Whatever happens, you have me, Neteyam... I am yours. Completely.”
A low groan escaped his throat, hugging you so tightly you could barely breathe. He desperately needed to hear those words. He knew how deeply Sinto had been rooted in your life, how he had manipulated your loyalty for years, and for a moment back there, he had been so scared Sinto was right.
You both lay down on the soft moss, and you gently traced the glowing lines on his chest, kissing the soft skin of his shoulder.
“Sinto is incredibly dangerous, Neteyam,” you said softly, looking into his golden eyes. “You need to be careful during the final trial. He will stop at nothing to surpass you. Ever since we were children, he wanted to tear you down, and... I helped him do it. I don't think I can ever make it up to you. For sabotaging you, for putting you and your family in danger at some point just to help him win...”
Neteyam hushed you softly, shifting his weight to nuzzle his nose against yours, kissing you with a profound tenderness.
“You were loyal to the only person you thought you had, Y/N. We all played a role in pushing you to him,” his features crumpled with a deep, genuine distress. “I was harsh, judgmental, and cruel to you after what happened to Kiri. I allowed the bully behavior of girls toward you by always siding with them, leaving you entirely alone in the dark. I will always be sorry for that,” he breathed heavily. “No one protected you from Sinto... and I failed to truly see you.”
You looked at him, a breathless, tearful huff escaping your lips. “I detested you for so long, too, Neteyam. I believed Sinto deserved to win, and I helped him cheat you at every turn,” a slow, playful smirk formed on your lips as you traced his sharp jawline. “And even then... you kept winning over him anyway.”
He smiled, a genuine, beautiful sound escaping his chest as he leaned down to kiss you. “Would I still be here if I hadn’t?”
You burst into a bright, genuine laugh, pulling him down into your arms. “I would probably be making fun of you if you were at the bottom of the ranks,” you admitted cheekily. “But since you would still be... hot, and sexy, and handsome...” you traced his features. “Gallant and kind... yes, you’d still be right here.”
The morning of the final trial arrived, and the atmosphere in Hometree was the exact opposite to what you are feeling. The council of elders had prepared brutal, unforgiving obstacles designed to test the absolute limits of the aspirants’ endurance, agility, and spirit.
The trial began with a grueling footrace from the roots of Hometree to the base of the Hallelujah Mountains, a path littered with loose rocks and mossy roots that instantly claimed two runners. From the base, they had to scale the vertical rock walls of the floating mountains to reach the highest peaks where their ikran awaited. From there, the race would take a lethal plunge into the canopy of a series of hollowed-out, pitch-black floating islands filled with razor-sharp chalice plants and swarms of deadly hellfire wasps that were easily disturbed by the tiniest of sounds.
The final leg of the trial required them to retrieve Eytukan’s ceremonial knife from the highest, most perilous cliff face of the mountains and fly it back.
The clan scattered across the peaks to watch. You stood on one of the primary floating platforms, your longbow slung securely over your shoulder, your eyes burning as you scanned the mist.
Vrixa, noticing your rigid stance, sauntered over with her usual sneer. “What’s the matter, Y/N? Got your bow ready to shoot Neteyam out of the sky so your pathetic boyfriend can win? We all know Sinto can’t beat him fairly.”
You didn't even look at her, your voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “I’ll shove this arrow down your throat to shut you up if you breathe another word. How about that?”
Vrixa paled and you rolled your eyes, focusing instead on the figure breaking through the mist below. It was Neteyam, climbing the vertical vine walls with an effortless agility, leading the pack. But directly beneath him was Sinto, lagging behind, his movements frantic.
The crowd held its breath as Sinto reached out, violently grabbing Neteyam’s ankle to drag him down. The Omatikaya roared in disapproval, shouting for Neteyam to kick him off, but Neteyam ignored him, focusing entirely on the summit.
That was when Sinto’s hand slid down to his hip, pulling his hunting knife from its sheath, aiming it directly at Neteyam’s thigh.
Your blood turned to pure fire. In a single, seamless motion, you ripped an arrow from your quiver, nocked it, and drew the heavy longbow back until the string bit into your cheek. You didn't hesitate. You released.
The arrow sliced through the winds, its heavy tip striking Sinto’s thick leather armband squarely, pinning his forearm deep into the thick, wooden vine. Sinto let out a distant sound of frustration, his knife tumbling into the abyss below.
The surrounding Na'vi gasped, turning to stare at you in utter, slack-jawed disbelief. You ignored them, watching as Neteyam hauled himself over the final ridge, completely unbothered, and let out a piercing whistle for his ikran. A warrior, one of Sinto’s closest allies, marched up to you, his face twisted in a furious snarl. “Why the hell did you do that?!”
You turned on him, your eyes flashing with a terrifying, predatory rage. “Because you are all blind!” you shrieked, gesturing furiously at the cliff face. “Sinto was going to stab him in the leg!”
The warrior went entirely still, his jaw clenching.
Your head tilted, a cold, dangerous realization settling in. “You knew. You are helping him cheat.”
“Don’t play the hypocrite, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath. “We all helped him cheat Neteyam at some point over the years.”
“That stops today,” you spat, stepping into his space. “If Sinto needs to mutilate Neteyam just to survive a trial, do you honestly think he is worthy of leading this clan?”
The warrior’s ears flattened against his head, unable to meet your gaze, and he silently turned away. You turned back to the sky just in time to see Neteyam’s massive banshee soar into the clouds, its wings cutting beautiful lines through the atmosphere. Sinto, finally wrenching his arm free from your arrow, whistled for his own beast, without truly climbing to the summit like Neteyam did.
Vrixa and her friends tried to open their mouths to taunt you again, but Kiri stepped into their path, little Tuk flanking her side with her arms crossed.
“I suggest you clear out before she practices her marksmanship on you next,” Kiri said, her voice dripping with humor.
Incapable of talking back to the Olo’eyktan’s daughter, Vrixa and her lackeys quickly scurried away. You turned back to the horizon, refusing to acknowledge Kiri, your pride still fiercely intact.
“Y/N! You saved him!” Tuk chirped, jumping up and down at your side, entirely oblivious to the heavy tension between you and Kiri.
You looked down at the little girl, a small, genuine smile softening your features. “That is what a warrior does, Tuk.”
But inside, your chest ached. One good deed couldn't erase years of sabotage. You didn't feel honorable.
“I knew you liked my brother!” Tuk giggled, grinning up at you. “He likes you too, Y/N! He watches you all the time! Did you know that?”
You bit your lip, a fierce, burning heat rushing up your neck. You quickly turned your eyes back to the jagged, stalactite-ridden grotto where the riders had flown.
“The child sees clearly,” Kiri’s voice echoed beside you. You snapped your head to look at her, ready to snap, but Kiri only offered a soft, knowing smirk. “Sister.”
Your eyes narrowed, your tongue momentarily paralyzed. Before you could even process the word, the entire mountain ridge erupted into a deafening, earth-shattering cheer.
You whipped your head around. Emerging from the heavy mist of the highest mountains, soaring high into the sunlight, was Neteyam. He held Eytukan’s ceremonial knife high above his head, its blade gleaming in the sun. The trials were over. Neteyam had won. This time, he wouldn’t be Olo’eyktan due to birthright alone. Everyone knew he had bled for it, fought for it, and conquered it.
Jake Sully stood at the center of the platform, watching his son with a fierce pride. Neteyam guided his ikran into a steep, breathtaking barrel roll, a magnificent display of victory that made the Omatikaya cheer
Neteyam’s eyes, bright and wild with adrenaline, scanned the massive crowd until they locked directly onto you.
You watched, your heart leaping into your throat, as Neteyam suddenly swerved, guiding his massive banshee directly toward the crowded platform where you stood. The clan members scrambled backward in a frantic, laughing hurry, clearing a wide circle as the beast touched down with a heavy, echoing thud.
Neteyam leaped from the saddle before the creature had even fully settled, marching straight through the parting crowd. His blue-and-gold war paint was smudged with dirt and sweat, his chest heaving with exertion. The sheer, intoxicating heat of his gaze sent a violent shockwave straight through your body. You took a half-step back, completely stunned by the raw, unhinged intensity in his eyes.
He didn't care that the entire clan was watching. He didn't care that his parents, the council of elders, or the people around were looking on.
Neteyam crossed the distance in three massive strides, his large, calloused hands slamming firmly onto your waist. Before you could even utter a single, defensive taunt, he hoisted you into the air, pulling you into his chest so fiercely your feet completely left the stone floor.
You gasped against his collarbone, the intoxicating scent of smoke, rain, and his skin filling your senses. And then, he tilted your chin up and kissed you.
It was a deep, violently possessive, and utterly breathtaking kiss, his mouth locking over yours with a starvation that made your knees turn to water. Neteyam poured every single ounce of his suppressed desire, his explosive fury, and his grand victory straight into your lips. Your hands, acting on pure, primal instinct, slid up his solid chest, your fingers tangling deep into his thick braids as you kissed him back just as fiercely, giving him everything you had hidden away.
The surrounding clan went completely silent, their jaws slackened. Only Tuk was jumping up and down, cheering wildly. It was blindingly obvious to everyone watching that this was not the first time your lips had met—and suddenly, your arrow through Sinto's armband made perfect, undeniable sense.
When Neteyam finally pulled back just a fraction, his hot breath fanned against your swollen lips. His hands remained heavily anchored to your hips, his eyes burning into yours with a quiet, triumphant smirk. He leaned down, pressing another hard, lingering kiss to your mouth, utterly insatiable.
“Neteyam...” you moaned softly against his lips, your hands resting on his chest. “The entire clan is watching us.”
He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his deep voice vibrating straight through your bones.
“I want them to,“ he whispered, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an unyielding promise. “I want every single one of them to know that you have always belonged to me.”
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The heavy, sweet aroma of roasted meats and fermented berries filled the central clearing of Hometree, but the true feast tonight was the gossip. Low murmurs rippled through the Omatikaya like wildfire, eyes flicked constantly toward the head table, where Neteyam sat with his family, his eyes rarely leaving the empty space beside him.
The pieces were finally falling into place for them. They wondered how they could have been so blind. Everyone was suddenly remembering the two brutal, unhinged fights Neteyam had picked with Sinto over the last few moons, fights that had left Sinto a bloody pulp. Back then, they thought it was just the fierce rivalry of two ambitious young warriors. Now, looking at the bruised knuckles Neteyam still possessed, they realized it had never been about the birthright. It had always been about you.
You kept your head down as you slipped toward the refreshment bowls, desperately needing a moment away from the suffocating weight of a hundred staring eyes that openly watched you when you were sitting on the dais. Vrixa and her friends glared at you from across the fire, their faces twisted in a bitter, humiliated defeat. Their lovesick-fool narrative had completely disintegrated in front of the entire village.
But their bitterness was nothing compared to the shadow that suddenly stepped into your path.
“Was switching teams at the last minute your plan all along?” Sinto hissed, cornering you against the massive, woven root of the beverage station. His face was still swollen from the trials, his eyes burning with venom. “To make sure you'd still end up as an Olo’eyktan’s mate? Because if so, I have to give it to you. It was a flawless performance.”
You stared at him, a cold, detached disgust washing over you. “What?”
“Don't play innocent,” he spat, stepping closer, trying to use his height to intimidate you. “You played me. You played the loyal friend until the prince offered you a better crown.”
“Sinto, you are unbelievable,” you said, your voice dripping with quiet scorn. “Do you truly believe you ever had a chance of beating Neteyam? You were never able to best him without cheating. I helped you rig those matches for years. I sabotaged his gear, I misdirected his tracks, I bet on the losing team for years all because I thought we were friends. I thought we were sticking up for each other because no one else would.” You took a sharp step forward, forcing him back. “But you were always selfish. You used me as a weapon against Neteyam, and right from the start, you should have known you'd never win.”
Sinto’s jaw clenched, his pride entirely shattered. His eyes turned dark and ugly. “You are so naive,” he sneered, a malicious grin cutting through his bruised face. “You're too stupid to realize I never saw you as a friend. The only thing I regret now is not pushing hard enough to fuck you first. It would have been pretty sweet to taunt Neteyam about having you before he got his hands on you—”
A sudden, violent force slammed into Sinto’s chest.
With a sickening thud, Sinto was thrown backward, crashing hard against the wooden tables. Neteyam stood over him, his massive frame shaking with an explosive, lethal fury. He didn't just look like a warrior; he looked like an apex predator ready to tear a rival to pieces.
“Neteyam, don't—” you whispered, catching his tensed arm.
Neteyam didn't look at you, his burning gaze pinned entirely to the trembling male on the floor. “You know what, Sinto? After your stunt with the hidden blade today during the final trial, I was actually willing to forgive you. I was going to let you stay in this clan.” Neteyam took a slow, heavy step forward, his voice dropping to a terrifying, guttural growl that made the nearby hunters freeze. “But I draw the line at the way you speak to Y/N. You do not deserve to breathe the same air as her, let alone stay in this clan.”
Before Sinto could scramble to his feet, Neteyam turned to the center of the pavilion, his booming voice cutting through the entire feast.
“Listen to me!” Neteyam commanded, his hand tightly finding yours and pulling you securely to his side. “Today, during the sacred trials, Sinto dishonored the ancestors and the Omatikaya. He broke the laws of combat. He hid a blade in his wrap and attempted to stab me when my back was turned.”
Murmurs echoed through the crowd, the people remembering what they had witnessed. Jake Sully rose slowly from his seat, his eyes narrowing.
“He speaks the truth!” another young aspirant shouted, stepping forward from the crowd of hunters. “During the second trial, Sinto deliberately cut my strap. He caused me to fall into the ravine so he could advance.”
“He did the same to me!” another voiced, and within seconds, the fragile wall of Sinto's reputation completely collapsed.
The elders stepped into the clearing, their expressions grim. Mo'at looked at Sinto with deep disapproval. “These are heavy accusations,” she spoke. “A dishonorable warrior cannot walk among us. The council will discuss your fate and go through the proper due process. But for now, you will be stripped of your title as a warrior and placed in the holding cells.”
As the guards dragged a cursing Sinto away into the darkness, the heavy tension in the room finally broke.
Neteyam didn't care about the whispers that followed Sinto out. He turned completely to you, his large hands immediately coming up to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the residual shock from your cheeks. The fierce, terrifying commander melted away in an instant, leaving only a man who clearly loves you very much.
“Are you alright?” he whispered, his golden eyes searching yours with a desperate, frantic tenderness. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” you breathed, a genuine, breathless smile finally breaking across your lips. “You got here right in time.”
Neteyam let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning down to press his forehead firmly against yours. “I was watching you the entire time, baby. But Dad really just had to talk to me—”
You laughed, kissing him. “Don’t blame your Dad, Neteyam,” you mumbled.
He sighed. “This won’t happen again. Ever. I won’t let anyone make you feel small again.”
You beamed, a rare sight to the Omatikaya around that some of them couldn’t stop staring at you. He took your hand, his long fingers intertwining with yours tightly, and led you back toward the head table. This time, you didn't pull away. You didn't look at the floor. As Neteyam pulled out the seat directly beside his own, the seat reserved for the future tsahik, the seat right next to Jake and Neytiri, you sat down with your chin held high.
The daylight had finally come, and for the first time in your life, the thorns were entirely gone. You were right where you belonged.
Hi cutie pies, this is my first time writing for Trinity, and I loved it. I've also updated my tag list to be inclusive of all and any Pitt fics I write for any characters. I hope you enjoy x
Word count; 3.6k
Content warning; explicit sexual content, female reader who has hair 18+ MDNI
Summary; Trinity Santos always makes her feelings very clear, until it came to you. Then she was very good at hiding them
There wasn’t ever a lot of time at work to think. Very few moments did you ever get to take a breath. But, in the rare moments where you were awarded a break, your thoughts always landed in the exact same place. Trinity Santos. But today, the thoughts landed differently.
She had corrected you in front of two interns, her tone sharp enough that you actually saw one of them wince. You hadn’t been wrong, you had simply taken a different approach than her, and that resulted in her speaking to you like you were a first year student who had wandered into the wrong department. With anyone else, you wouldn’t let it go. You would have defended both yourself and your clinical thinking. You were a good doctor who worked hard to get where you were, and didn’t allow anyone to tell you otherwise. But when it came to Trinity Santos, it was different. It was always different with her. You would always let it go. Each and every time she got short with you, huffed and rolled her eyes, dismissed you, you swallowed it down and tried to ignore it. ‘That’s just what she’s like,’ everyone told you. But you couldn’t help but notice how it always seemed to be different with you. The usual approach of grin and bear it wasn’t working, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
You found her a little while later, charting with such a look of disdain you debated leaving it alone. But, before you managed to talk yourself out of it for the third time in half an hour, you approached her.
"You got a minute?" You asked and she didn’t bother looking up at you.
“Not really.” She continued typing, and you thought about walking away. Apologising for interrupting, and leaving her to it. But that wasn’t going to get you anywhere.
“I need to talk to you Trinity, so can you make time?”
That earned you a glance. You thought perhaps you had been treading too carefully around her. She seemed to respond when you were straight to the point. Note taken.
"What?"
“You need to cut the attitude with me. It’s not professional, and it’s not fair.” You both seemed a little shocked at the words leaving your mouth, arguably her more than you.
"I don't have an attitude."
You gave her a look, and she sighed.
"Fine. Apparently I do."
“You’re tenacious, and it makes you good at your job. And I respect that, but sometimes your tenacity comes off a little harsh. And I don’t get it.”
She stared at you, expression carefully blank.
"You don't get what?"
“Why you’re so different with me”
"What are you talking about?"
You laughed once, mostly because the denial was almost impressive.
"I'm serious, Trinity."
She blinked.
"Ok."
"I respect you as a doctor. I think you're brilliant." She shifted awkwardly, like compliments physically pained her. "And I've always hoped we could actually be friends. And sometimes I feel like we’re getting somewhere.” Her eyes stayed on yours. "We joke around. We work well together. We have a good shift." She still didn't interrupt.
"And then the next day it's like three steps backward. You snap at me, you brush me off, and to be honest you’re just down right rude to me."
The words hung between you and you hated how honest they sounded once they were out in the open. Trinity looked away first.
"Sorry." It wasn't defensive or even sarcastic. Just quiet. She stood from the computer, tucking her chair in quickly before looking back at you.
"Can we just drop it?"
"What?"
"I said I'm sorry. So let's move on."
"No."
Her jaw tightened and she closed her eyes for half a second.
"I apologized."
"And I'm glad you did. But I still don’t understand.”
She exhaled through her nose. "You don't have to understand everything."
"I'd like to understand why one of my coworkers treats me like I'm perpetually inconveniencing her."
"I don't."
"You literally just asked me to drop it."
"Because this is becoming a thing."
"It already is a thing Trinity."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, and you could tell she was getting irritated, and you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad. She was finally feeling just an ounce of what you had felt everyday for the last six months.
"I said I was sorry."
"And then immediately tried to end the conversation."
She threw her hands into the air, anger bubbling in her laugh. "God."
"This," she said, pointing at you.
"This what?"
"This is why we butt heads."
"What?"
"You don't let anything go."
You opened your mouth.
"No, seriously," she continued, talking over you now. "Everything has to be dissected. Everything has to be talked through until you're satisfied. You're so uptight."
You actually laughed and the sound surprised both of you.
"I’m uptight because I don’t appreciate being disrespected and then brushed off like I'm overreacting."
"You weren't being disrespected."
"It certainly felt like it."
She groaned.
"I knew this was a mistake."
"What was?"
"Saying sorry."
"Why?"
"Because now we're psychoanalyzing me."
"I'm literally just asking why you treat me differently."
"You want the truth?"
"Yes."
She hesitated, and stared at you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. You had seen them all from Trinity, but never this one. She looked around the department as if she was conscious of the eyes on her, but no one was paying attention. Her eyes finally landed back on you.
"You are always," She stopped herself.
"Always what?" She hesitated long enough that you thought she might actually walk away.
"You're always there."
You frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," she gestured vaguely around the department. "Wherever I am, you're there."
Your confusion only deepened.
"I don't understand."
"I turn a corner, you're talking to someone." She kept going before you could answer. "I walk into a trauma bay, I hear you laughing." Her voice was sharper now, almost frustrated with herself. "I sit down to chart and somehow you're across the station smiling at somebody." She shook her head. "I can't get away from you and it's annoying."
The words landed like a slap and you felt your face fall. Trinity looked like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t. You realised you should say something, you had to. But the words were lost. What were you meant to say to that? You swallowed, trying to collect your thoughts, but they were rattling around so fast, you couldn’t.
You nodded once.
"Message received. I won’t keep trying.”
She looked genuinely confused.
"What?"
"You don't have to worry about trying to be friends anymore." Your voice stayed calm. "I clearly read this whole thing wrong. I’ll stay out of your way.” You turned before she could answer.
"Hey."
You kept walking.
"Hey."
Her voice followed you down the hall but you didn't look back.
It had been four shifts of carefully orchestrated distance. You were never rude, never cold. If Trinity asked for something, you got it. If she needed a second set of hands, you were there before she finished asking. You just stopped lingering. Stopped making conversation. Stopped looking for excuses to work alongside her. You gave her exactly what she'd wanted. Space, and apparently, she hated it. She caught you just after you had discharged your patient in three, stepping into your path before you could disappear back into the department.
"Can we talk?"
"About?"
She glanced toward the hallway.
"Come here." She said, grabbing your elbow and dragging you down the hall away from listening ears. The second you were out of earshot, she crossed her arms.
"What are you doing?"
"I’m working."
"You know what I mean."
"I actually don't."
"Yes, you do." She stared at you, shaking her head for a response. "You're avoiding me."
The accusation surprised you enough that you laughed.
"I'm giving you exactly what you asked for."
"I never asked you to avoid me."
"You told me I was always there." She opened her mouth, but you didn’t let her try and defend herself. "You said you couldn't turn around without seeing me. You said hearing me laugh annoyed you. You said my smile annoyed you."
"I didn't say your smile,"
"You did." You knew you shouldn’t have been embarrassed. Her issue with you was exactly that. Her issue. But the words had been ringing in your ears since she said them.
"That's not what I meant."
You felt your patience slipping, you didn’t want to rehash the same thing. It had been painful enough the first time.
"When I first started here," your voice was quieter now. "I didn't know anybody." She looked up.
"And I was scared, new job, new city, new everything." You hadn't meant to admit that.
"But I thought," you shrugged once. "I thought maybe you and I could be friends. And I kept trying and you kept pushing back.” You laughed softly, though there wasn't much humor in it.
"And honestly? It would've been nice to have someone." Your eyes met hers. "Instead, I spent months feeling like I was doing something wrong. And apparently I was.”
She looked genuinely pained, and the thought of her pitying you felt worse than her hating you.
"You don't have to like me, Trinity."
She flinched and you shook your head.
"If you don't like me, no problem." You took a step backward. "I'll stay away."
"I don't want you to stay away."
The words came out louder than either of you expected. You stopped, slowly turning back, your frustration finally boiled over. "What do you want from me?” She closed her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
You laughed, folding your arms. "First I'm everywhere, now you're upset because I'm avoiding you."
She stayed silent.
"What do you want? Because you don't get to have it both ways."
"I know."
"No." You stepped closer again, she looked trapped. “What do you want, Trinity?"
Her breathing caught and she stared at the floor. Then finally, "I don't know."
You were going in circles, and you laughed again frustrated, your hands combing through your hair.
"That's not an answer."
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she finally looked at you, all the fight had gone out of her.
“What do you want?” You were almost shouting now, but her response knocked the anger from your chest.
“You.”
The words were barely above a whisper and you didn't move.
"I," She swallowed. "I like you." Her laugh was short and miserable. "A lot, apparently, and I didn't know what to do with that." She rubbed the back of her neck, looking everywhere except at you. Your brain was still catching up. There was genuine frustration written across her face now, not with you, but with herself. The hallway suddenly felt impossibly quiet.
"I don't know how to," she shook her head. "I don't know how to do this. I kept noticing you. Everywhere. I'd hear you laughing before I even knew you were nearby. I'd see you talking to patients, to the nurses, " she sighed. "To everyone. And instead of admitting I liked being around you," a self-deprecating smile flickered across her face. "I convinced myself you were distracting. I was just distracted by you.” Trinity looked up cautiously. “I don't know how to act around you."
You couldn't help it, you laughed. It wasn’t funny, but at the same time it was the funniest thing you had ever heard. She liked you, and had been making you second guess everything for the last six months, because she liked you.
"Don't laugh."
"I'm sorry." You stepped towards her, feeling genuinely guilty.
"You see?" she said. "Now you're making fun of me."
"I'm not, Trinity I swear." You shook your head, smiling. Every conversation you had, every argument, every sideways comment. It was all shifting into place. You rubbed a hand across your forehead.
"I'm just trying to process this."
"I’ve freaked you out." She looked away. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"No." You stepped forward instinctively, gripping her hand to get her attention. Her eyes shot to your hands, then back to you.
"I'm not freaked out." You laughed softly, still trying to untangle your own thoughts. Trinity looked at you carefully, like she didn't believe you yet.
"The last few days I've been walking around convinced you genuinely couldn’t stand me. And now," you let out another breath. "Now you're telling me this."
She nodded once.
"It’s a lot to process." A small, nervous smile crossed her face. "Yeah."
You looked back at her. "But not because I don't feel the same." Trinity went still.
"What?"
Your cheeks warmed. For once, Trinity looked completely speechless. You smiled a little.
“Are you kidding? That's why this has all been so confusing."
You studied her for a moment and that was the part that got you. Not the confession. Not even the fact that she liked you. It was seeing Trinity Santos, who always seemed so certain, so controlled, so impossible to shake, standing there admitting she had no idea how to handle something.
“I realise that I made this all a lot harder than it needed to be.” She confessed, and you laughed and Trinity looked at you immediately. Not annoyed or frustrated.
"You like my laugh." You teased, and her expression changed. Only slightly, but enough.
"Yeah."
The honesty of it made your chest tighten. The two of you stood there in the middle of the chaos of the department, surrounded by noise and movement, and somehow it felt like the rest of the world had gone quiet. Then Trinity moved, before you could ask what she was doing, her hand closed tightly around yours.
"Trinity?"
"Come with me."
The certainty in her voice caught you off guard. She pulled you down the hallway, not quickly enough to draw attention, but with enough purpose that you knew she had made a decision. The second the supply cupboard door closed behind you, you turned toward her.
"What are you,"
Before you could finish her lips were on yours without hesitation. For a second, you were too surprised to move. Then you kissed her back. Her hand came up to your cheek, almost like she needed the reassurance that this was real. When she pulled away, she stayed close. Neither of you said anything. You were both still trying to catch up. Finally, you whispered,
"That was a very Trinity way to handle things."
A small smile appeared. "How so?"
"Ignore your feelings for months, make everyone's life difficult, then suddenly decide the solution is to drag me into a cupboard." You laughed softly before she pressed you against the metal shelving, her mouth claiming yours again with that familiar urgency. Her tongue slid against yours, hot and insistent, while one hand fisted in your scrub top. She kissed like she worked. Fast, focused, no wasted motion. Her teeth grazed your lower lip, then she sucked it between hers, drawing a soft sound from your throat. The shelves rattled when her hips pinned you harder, the sharp corner of a box digging into your shoulder blade. Neither of you cared. Trinity's free hand slipped under your waistband. Her soft fingertips traced the elastic of your underwear, then paused. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes searching your face in the dim light leaking under the door.
"You want this?" she asked, voice low and rough. Her fingers stayed still against your skin, waiting. "Tell me now if you don't."
When you nodded, she exhaled through her nose and kissed you again, slower this time. Her hand resumed its path, pushing past the elastic. She didn't tease. Two fingers found your clit and rubbed once, firm and direct, before sliding lower. She groaned into your mouth when she felt how wet you already were.
"Fuck," she muttered against your lips. The word came out rough, but her fingers changed. Instead of the quick, demanding rhythm, she slowed. She circled your entrance once, testing, then eased one finger inside you. Her thumb stayed on your clit, stroking in small, careful circles that matched the slow push of her finger. You felt the shift in her. The hard edges she carried through every shift softened at the edges. Her forehead rested against yours, breath warm on your face. She added a second finger, stretching you gently, watching your expression in the dim light leaking under the door. When your hips rocked forward, she matched the movement instead of forcing her own pace.
"That good?" she whispered. The question was quiet, almost hesitant. Her usual cocky tone was missing. She curled her fingers on the next thrust, searching, and when your breath caught she stayed right there, rubbing that spot with steady pressure. Her other hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking behind your ear.
"God, yes," you breathed against her mouth. “So good Trinity.”
She made a low sound of approval and shifted her attention to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. Her teeth scraped lightly over your pulse point before she soothed it with her tongue.
"I love your smile," she murmured against your skin, her lips moving over the spot where your pulse jumped. "The way it takes over your whole face.” Her fingers pushed deeper, curling just right, and you gasped, your hands gripping her shoulders. "Right there, Trinity. Don't stop.”
She laughed softly against your neck, the sound warm and genuine, then kissed the corner of your jaw. "I love your laugh too," she whispered. "I love that you always laugh at your own shitty jokes, I love the little ones you make when you're trying not to be loud. Like right now."
“Fuck,” you muttered, your voice breaking as her thumb pressed firmer against your clit.
Trinity kissed back up to your mouth, swallowing your words with a slower, deeper kiss. Her fingers worked inside you with that same careful attention, reading every twitch of your hips, every catch in your breathing. When you started to tighten around her she pressed her forehead harder against yours, grounding you, and whispered, "I've got you," like she meant it. Her fingers curled again, deeper, and she held you through it while you came around her hand, quiet and shaking in the dark cupboard.
For a few minutes, neither of you moved. Then Trinity eased her fingers out of you slowly, slick and glistening in the dim light. She brought them to her mouth without hesitation, sucking them clean while her eyes stayed locked on yours. Then she reached down, grabbing the waistband of your scrub pants and tugging them back up over your hips. Her hands were careful as she tied the drawstring, fingers brushing against your skin with each movement.
She leaned in again, capturing your mouth in another kiss, this one slower, deeper, less frantic than before. Her tongue slides against yours lazily, like she's savoring the taste. One hand cupped your jaw while the other rested at your waist, holding you steady against the shelving.
When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. The world outside the cupboard continued like nothing had happened. Footsteps passed, and yet, somehow, it felt impossible that you were supposed to just open that door and go back out there.
Trinity was the first to move, though only slightly. "We have to go back out."
"Ok."
But she didn't open the door. Instead, she stared at the floor.
"I don't know what happens now." She shrugged, but it wasn't her usual confident shrug.
The words shocked you, not because you didn't understand. But because it was Trinity. Trinity Santos who always had an answer. And now she was standing in a supply cupboard looking uncertain. It was uncertain. You watched her for a moment and you saw the thing underneath everything. The reason she had fought it so hard. Trinity wasn't afraid of liking you. She was afraid of not knowing what came next. You stepped a little closer.
"Trinity."
She looked up.
"You don't have to have everything figured out right now." Her expression didn't change much, but you could see her listening.
"I mean it." You smiled softly. "I have feelings for you." She went still. "And you have feelings for me." A tiny, almost disbelieving smile appeared.
"Yeah."
"So," you shrugged. "We'll figure it out."
She looked at you.
"That's it?"
You smiled. "That's it."
"No plan? No rules? No timeline?"
You laughed quietly.
"Trinity."
"What?"
"We are two people who spent months completely misunderstanding each other." That earned the smallest smile. "I think trying to make a detailed plan might be a little ambitious."
She looked down, but you caught the hint of amusement on her face.
"I like plans. I like knowing what happens next."
"I know."
"And this is," she stopped herself.
"Scary?" You asked.
She hesitated, then nodded.
"Yeah."
Your expression softened. "Ok."
She looked back at you. "Ok?"
"Yeah." You reached for her hand. For a moment, she just looked at your hand in hers. Like she still couldn't quite believe she was allowed to have this. Then she squeezed your fingers.
"You're very calm about this."
You smiled. "I'm not."
That surprised a laugh out of her. "You aren't?"
"No." You both smiled, giddy and a little dazed.
"We really have to go back." You said, but neither of you moved quickly, just taking another moment together. Then finally, she opened the door. The noise of the department rushed back in. When the next call came through and you both moved toward it without thinking. Nothing about the hospital had changed, but somehow, everything had.
“But a wolf in sheep’s clothing is more than a warning.”
pairing: jack abbot x fem! surgical resident! reader but honestly could be emery walsh x reader too if you squint
cw: slow burn, age gap (reader is mid 30s), no y/n, fairytale/disney references (like so many it’s actually sickening i don’t know how i let it get this bad), inappropriate workplace situationship, S1 & S2 of the pitt mentions! blood, gunshots, bleeding out, inaccurate medical lingo probably, i also am confused on fellowships and hierarchies so bear with me, suggestive but no smut, hints at garsantos
wordcount: 15.8k
To say you’ve only heard bad things about PTMC’s emergency department or “The Pitt” was an understatement. It was to no end, that your peers complained about the two attendings or “ringmasters” in charge of that entire circus of monkeys who only knew about medical malpractice and nothing on standard of care.
Garcia’s surgical consults had her coming up everyday complaining about a “Robby who raised a group of Pittlings just as evil and over-ambitious as him,” as you two got into your surgical gowns for the OR. While your attending, Dr. Walsh, who cursed about a “Dr. Abbot, who couldn’t tell a trauma room from a battlefield in the Middle East.” Even before you had clocked in one night, you had gotten onto the elevator to go to the surgery department and heard Gloria mumbling about “ER Cowboys…” under her breath.
You took your peers advice, even Park the Sharks’ from Ortho, to heart when they recommended staying as far as possible from “The Pitt.” You had stuck to your Cardiology collaborations and ICU consults for that Cardiology fellowship you chased after under Dr. Barrett and didn’t even think about clicking that button to the mysterious “Floor A” until September 5th of 2025…
You began the night early at 5:57pm, as you got dressed in your dark purple scrubs before Dr. Walsh came in looking eerily calm. “Well.. you’re early, that’s too bad. Early bird does not get the worm this time. Time to face the music, Little Red.” Walsh referred to the nickname the other surgeons had given you for the worn red hoodie you often took on your consults, stating you naturally ran cold.
You turned your head raising an eyebrow. “I know we love our fairytales up here but no riddles in the locker room please..” You begged, it was too early for cryptic language and three guesses after you aided in a LVAD placement up until 10am, yesterday.
“Mass casualty, active shooter at PittFest, 5 minutes out.” The taller woman said placing her hands on her hips. “Looks like Little Red’s going down to Wonderland where everyone’s mad, finally.” Walsh let the “finally” hit. After so many years of you dodging “The Pitt,” you were about to be down there… for the rest of the night… for a mass casualty… that wasn’t the greatest news.
You furrowed your brows. “I haven’t done emergency medicine since med student rotations. I’d be more useful in the OR.” You reasoned trying to squirm out of going down there.
Dr. Walsh scoffed. “As much as I don’t want you down there either. You won’t break a sweat. You’re one of our best, and you don’t play nice. Apparently neither does anyone down there, according to our huntsman.” Her lip curled, making for wolfish grin, joking as she slipped out into the hall.
“Just us two?” You asked putting on your red hoodie and badge as you began following her to the elevator.
Walsh shrugged clicking the button once they reached the elevator, Floor A. “I think the huntsman is already down there from her dayshift.” She said as the doors opened, as if on cue Garcia walked up to the elevator doors, freezing when she saw the two of you.
“I was about to go hunting for you two.” She smirked at the mini-reunion. “Red.” She acknowledged you, it had been quite some time since you’d taken a day shift with her and you smiled at the sight of your fellow surgeon. You’d be just fine with Yolonda here. You three began walking the halls of the PTMC discussing open ORs and any anesthesiologist who were on their way down.
A tall brown haired man with salt and pepper dusting his beard emerged from a trauma room with a red clipboard. Must be chief attending…. Uh ‘Dr. Robby’. You made out, finally putting a name to the face Garcia constantly cursed out.
“How’s it looking upstairs?” He pointed to Walsh with his clipboard.
“Should have all twenty-five running within the hour.” Walsh put her hands on her waist as she relaxed as you arrived at the center of “The Pitt.”
“We could be buried by then.” Robby muttered.
“Surgery’s ready.” Garcia confirmed. “We’re here, we’re ready.” Nodding to you and Walsh.
You scanned the entire area, taking note of the South, and North halls as well as the Trauma rooms, probably where you’d spend most your time, watching as they cleared the rooms of x-ray machines and other non-essentials.
Your eyes landed an handsome older man in black scrubs, fiddling with his tactical backpack, a frown as he pouted tugging at his bag. You instantly recognized him from the stories Walsh had told you, known for his army medicine and tendency to fly off the books, no doubt, this was Dr. Abbot. Fuck. Oh fuck. Walsh didn’t tell me The Abbot was GI Joe hot. I thought he was a Forest Gump.
With gray curls and cute stubble to match, his felt your stare and looked up to scan the area. His green eyes meeting yours, his grey brows furrowed in unable to recognize who you were.
“I am taking primary ER, who’s taking primary surgery?” He called out at your trio, raising a red binder, one for himself and for you guys. Walsh definitely didn’t complain about that rasp in his voice.. does that come with age or did he sound like that at my age?
He looked at you, raising an eyebrow, staring for an answer almost urging you to do it. You broke the intense stare to go look at your attending. In terms of staring, you’d lost the round.
No way in hell could you be the primary. You thought. Apparently Garcia had the same idea and both of you looked at Walsh, the votes were silently cast. She chuckled her mole resembling a battle scar unnaturally, “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Both you and Garcia feigned relief but you guys never really had a horse in the running as a residents.
“Dr. Walsh.” The older man’s voice cut through the surgical banter. “Anesthesiology?” He asked.
“Gladden will be down. He’s got four in place more on the way.” Garcia replied. Abbot nodded but curiously looked past her at you who had remained silent. Nonetheless, clearly surgery had their shit together.
“These are for you,” Abbot handed Robby slap bands while digging through his military go-bag.
“What’s in there?” Robby wondered curiously.
“A couple CAT tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, LMAs,” The shorter man began listing off, you glanced at Walsh. Wow you weren’t kidding. You said with your eyes. Walsh shook her head rolling her eyes at his “Butterfly Ultrasound.” No I really wasn’t. She seemed to say.
“Okay everyone listen up!” Robby clapped his hands together to gather attention. “This is how it’s going to work!”
You listened to instructions from the two older men as you and your surgeons helped one another into gowns. Walsh opened up the red binder, putting on the bright orange vest as the primary. As the two attendings of the ED listed meanings of the slap bracelets and the locations of patients.
“Trauma surgery and Neurosurgery will decide who goes to the OR immediately and who goes the ICU.” Robby clarifies pointing to your group which slowly grew in numbers slowly.
As Robby clapped, finalizing assignments, the large group dispersed. Walsh ordered you to Trauma Two and she’d take Trauma One and Garcia would be in the hall dealing with the mass since she had more experience down here.
You nodded splitting into your respective areas, you watched as Trauma One filled, fast, with two patients. A resident, you think bagged a kid, while Walsh guided her through getting him into the OR or ICU. It was only time before your room would mirror her’s.
When you turned around you were met by a flash of an orange vest, for an old man he was quick on his feet. “You. Stabilize for the flip.” He called out to you and you nodded silently, helping him, you noticed the wound on the both sides.
“He needs two chest tubes.” You called out, the older man nodded in agreement. “Need a hand?” You offered.
“Don’t worry, kid. I got two hands.” He shook his head shooting you a wink. You raised an eyebrow at his cockiness and rolled your eyes. Garcia was right about the inflated egos down here, you thought moving on to the next patient who was being brought in.
“Roll.” You called out for the nurse who brought in another patient on a gurney. As you checked the patients underside, you assessed, “an IO. Etomidate and sux, prep for intubation.” After a quick intubation, you glanced up through the glass, letting out a small sigh at the sight of Dr. Shamsi, some more hands thank goodness, before you could celebrate however…
“Looks like this one’s renal!” You heard behind you, Abbot exclaimed lifting the tube, filled with blood, out from a patients’ penis. You rolled your eyes at his immaturity for his age.
“That’s one way to get a golden ticket directly to surgery,” You stated, turning around with a sharpie to sign his wrist card. You called out to Walsh in the adjacent room to tell her you were sending one up to the OR.
“Three out of four ORs down.” You heard Robby urge your attending in trauma one, you frowned at his worrisome demeanor.
“Another four about to open and all twenty five will be ready by the time we need ‘em.” She struck back.
“We could be buried by then!!” Robby pointed out, you rolled your eyes to yourself.
“No you won’t. We’ll blast through these; tying off bleeders and slapping on vacuum dressings.” Walsh called out.
“And we’ll finish the job in a day or two when the dust settles.” You shot out, looking up to meet your attending’s confident gaze only to make eye contact with a different one, Dr. Abbot. He stood on the other side of the bed, he chuckled at your cocky statement, no doubt something you picked up alongside Walsh. You huffed in annoyance as he blocked your view onto the fight in Trauma One. You shot him a glare. “You make a better ER attending than window.”
He feigned a wounded expression not expecting to be the next one in your sights in but began nodding along. “How about an engine?” He asked as he pushed the gurney out of the trauma room to the elevator with the nurses, as you finished signing off on the man’s ticket to the OR.
You’d roll your eyes but the doors behind you to the pushed open. A male nurse came into Trauma Two atop a gurney giving compressions, “Unresponsive, had a weak femoral but lost it.” He stated.
“Two units.” You said, but you heard double, an older raspier deeper double. Your head swung making eye contact for what felt like the 50th time in 20 minutes with this man, as he reentered Trauma Two.
“No response call it.” You informed to the nurse, still holding a look with his green orbs. “No pulse, no OR.” You said and he nodded along like it was his idea. Prick.
“Gunshot to the head, through and through,” Robby called out and you two were snapped out of your shared trance. If anyone noticed, no one said so.
Abbot rushed to his side, feeling for a carotid. “He’s still got a strong pulse. This one can make it cause the intracranial can decompress through the bullet holes.” Abbot looked at you with those green grey eyes. “Neurosurgery in house?”
You opened your mouth to respond, automatically, but froze. You actually didn’t know the answer to that, you weren’t exactly the primary. Abbot tilted his head forward staring you down for an answer. You froze. If it was up to you, you’d get a head CT and a neurology consult when you had unlimited time and resources in the OR. But this wasn’t the OR and it had been ages since you were in emergency medicine and you never had been in it during a mass casualty.
Walsh rolled her eyes at his focus on you, waving her hand sarcastically to grab his attention, disrupting the moment “Yeah. Hey. Primary of Surgery here. Remember me? Send him to the neuro-crit ICU, they’ll triage from there.” Robby nodded getting ready to leave as you shuffled away embarrassed, returning to the patients rolling into Trauma Two. You heard someone follow you into the other Trauma room helping the inflow of patients. You already knew who and refused to look up at him in his bright orange vest as you tried to bring patients back from the brink of death. You didn’t want his help. You didn’t need it. When was the last time you felt like this? This challenged? You felt his eyes bore into your form from across the trauma room. Creepy old man. Another round of staring, point Abbot. Again.
With the help of three attendings, the two trauma rooms began to slow down enough for Robby to slip out and his fellow attending took over bouncing between the two. “Bring me and Little Red here, a few more before we get bored.” Walsh called to Robby as he pushed out the door while you and Dr. Abbot rolled out another GSW to the elevator. You looked up as the movement of his head caught your eye, he gazed at Walsh.
The confusion was evident on the old man’s face, his wrinkles creased deeper, more pronounced and he furrowed his eyebrow, puzzled at Walsh’s choice of nickname. Why would Walsh call him that? Was she calling him a little girl?
He looks like my grandpa trying to figure out facetime, you thought to yourself as he squinted in confusion. Then dots connected when he saw the red hoodie over your plum scrubs under your gown.
Oh. You were Little Red. Cute.
“Just sent another to the OR, bring me another red.” You heard Walsh call out from Trauma One to an older blonde woman in a orange vest in the nurses station.
You looked up at the older man and you shook your head, he frowned. His eyes almost pleaded with yours as the nurses pulled up the cloth over the patient’s face and you called it. “Time of Death: 18:37”
He began helping with rolling him out, calling out to the nurse. “Didn’t make it, going to pedes. Another red to Trauma Two.”
“Copy that.” The primary of nursing said.
You saw a blonde with glasses resident almost slip on blood and you winced before she caught herself gripping the counter “I need Raney Clips and a unit of O-neg.” She struggled out.
“Raneys will have to come down from the OR.” The platinum blonde nurse reasoned, your head shot up at the mention of the OR. Abbot noticed you perk up, as he turned back to the Trauma room that was beginning to fill again.
“I need them now.” You heard the resident desperately plead.
You stood up to jog to the hub but before you could, he grabbed your wrist, whispering in your ear. “Where do you think you’re going?” His warm breath hitting your ear.
“Raneys.” You muttered furrowing your brows, citing the nervous resident as the nurse tried to find a solution.
His chest rumbled with a laugh like you told a joke. “We need you here.” He gripped your wrist a little tighter, causing your heart to skip.
“I’m not skipping town, I’m taking a detour.” You furrowed your brows together. You tugged your wrist away, giving him a playful wink, “You’ll survive for 5 minutes, don’t miss me too much.” You moved, jogging out into the center. You could feel his stare burning into your back as you called out to the primary nurse. “I got you.” You spoke raising your hand, nodding at the resident and nurse.
“Good. Go.” The blonde nurse sighed in relief and ordered you away with her accent and you nodded dashing off into the stairway, patients needed the elevator not you.
But even as you passed the glass trauma rooms you saw Abbot's gaze follow you even as he worked on a patient. Walsh wasn’t oblivious to his staring as she worked on her own patient calling out, “Don’t worry. Even if Little Red Riding Hood stops for flowers, she’ll still make it to grandma’s house.” She teased as she began rolling a patient out.
“Before or after the wolf devours her grandmother.” He mutters under his breath, as he begins with a unit of O-neg blood.
You dashed up the stairs finally reaching the surgery floor which was eerily quiet, everyone must be scrubbed in or prepping an OR. You sped-walked for the supply closet. You opened the door grabbing a handful of Raney clips and other OR specialized equipment that could be useful down in that chaos.
Your feet ached but you pushed on, you left the supply closet and you read the list on patients in the OR board. Oh god, GSW that just missed the aorta. How you would’ve died to scrub in on that. You read the rest of the rest of the list, nodding along.
But right as you turned to leave, Dr. Shamsi came out the elevator pushing a gurney with a frown on her face. “Red, I need you to scrub in.” She ordered, relieved to see Walsh’s protege. You froze.
This was your chance. You didn’t have to go down to that hellhole. You could be in the OR for a few hours, your feet would stop aching and you could think in the quiet of an operating room. But then you saw his face. His mouth down turned, basically begging you to stay with those pleading grey eyes through the protective spectacles. We need you.
God. Your coworkers were right. You should’ve stayed far, far away from “The Pitt.”
“Who needed Raneys?” You called out to the mass of beds in the hallway.
The blonde girl perked her head up, raising her hand. “Oh me! Thank you.” You handed them to her but before you could leave, she spoke up. “Is there any word on Omar? He’s this woman’s deaf son. Teenage boy shot in the chest.”
You blinked thinking, you had scanned the OR list and you remembered him being in one of the first ORs prepped. “He should make it. Missed the aorta. Lucky.”
“That’s amazing! Well her name is Sylvia…” The resident replied finishing squeezing the O-neg bag pointing to the unconscious woman only in her bra. “Would you please tell her about her son when she wakes up?” Before you could ask about why she was in the pink area, the doctor was already leaving with the Raneys. You cursed under your breath, you needed to get back to the Trauma rooms.
Did I? Why did I need to get back to that old man who basically bore holes into my head. He and Walsh were in there. Two primaries in there.. and it wasn’t terrible if I was gone saving lives out here.
You brushed that aside and began focusing on the woman in front of you. You did your primary assignment with a light before leaving her with the O-neg bag, she seemed fine.
You turned around to another case being pushed on you with what appeared to be a middle aged man in desperate need of a chest tube. You moved next to the young girl gently. Guess, I’m staying out here. “Med student?” You asked politely as you took the scalpel from her shaking hands.
She nodded overwhelmed. “Victoria Javadi…” She mumbled her name.
“Oh… you’re Dr. Shamsi’s prodigal of a daughter…” You reminisced, remembering being invited to one of her 10th or 11th birthdays when you were a med student. She tensed at that. Guess she’s not a fan of her mother. “Sorry.” You winced at your comment, introducing yourself, as you cut an incision.
“Chest tube.” You called out to the male nurse with long curly hair tied into a bun.
“We’re out of chest tubes.” He sighed shaking his head as he returned from the cart.
You froze before shooting him a glare. “What? Why didn’t you say so? I already made the incision.”
“Well, I didn’t know..” he argued back.
Javadi offered you an ET tube. “What about this?” Shit. Well it’s a tube… and you were bound to run out of supplies. You thought. “If you inflate the balloon. It won’t pull out, right Matteo?” She offered a nervous smile and the male nurse, Matteo, offered her one back but you didn’t share their sentiment.
You huffed taking the ET tube. “Thoraseal.”
“Out of those too.” He shrugged.
You looked up angrily. “Oh you have got to be-“
“Urine bag?” The girl offered.
You huffed thinking about it, while running the procedure through your head, a major flaw become prevalent “How am I supposed to connect that?” You asked raising a eyebrow.
“Christmas tree adapter? It’ll work.” Matteo confirmed. You ran it through your head again, sighing when you realized it’d work.
“This is all very unconventional.” You cursed complaining. “Circus of monkeys…” your coworkers described them perfectly.
“Sounds genius to me.” You heard a raspy voice behind you. Shit. You turned around meeting Dr. Abbot with crossed arms watching with a raised eyebrow. “Five minutes, huh?” He provoked you.
“What are you my mother?” You sarcastically asked putting in the makeshift chest tube with almost practiced ease, ridiculous you thought to yourself about how it worked.
Matteo and Javadi looked at one another sharing a look, are they…? Before you two could continue your argument a loud female voice cut through the air.
“Listen up! Central seven, eight, nine is now the blood donor center. Anyone who’s O-neg or O-pos, we need you to donate now. Hands where I can see ‘em.” You heard a rustle of fabric behind you, and you willed yourself to look over your shoulder. Sure enough. Dr. Abbot had raised his hand.
“O neg? Really?” You asked, as you finished up with your patient.
“Yeah. What about you, Red?” He asked as he took off his gown, getting ready to go to the central rooms.
“AB pos. Sorry.” You smirked as you filled out the patients wrist card.
“Don’t be sorry. Universal donor, universal receipt. Sounds like we make quite a pair.” He shrugged beginning to back up, pointing to himself then at you as he disappeared into the other side of the central square.
“In your dreams, Abbot.” You called out shaking your head turning your head back, only to meet Javadi’s frozen open mouth gaze. You coughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be! You two must have known each other a while.” She panicked, as you two finished up with the assessment.
You chuckled awkwardly as you led her away shaking your head. “Uh. No. Not exactly. It’s my first day ever down here, normally I’m up the in surgery department.”
“Oh. Well, Dr. Abbot seems to like you. It’s my first day too.” Javadi nervously began rambling and you began to smile at her endearingly, she reminded you of yourself when you were younger. But you winced once you thought on her words. Jeez. Definitely, not your favorite pick for a first shift.
“God. You’re kidding…” You gasped knowing, she wasn’t. You dug a hand under your gown, pulling out a chocolate from your hoodie you normally kept for those shifts. You handed it to her with a smile. “Good luck. But based off your critical thinking back there, you’ll do great.” You encouraged, patting her on the back. She let out a wearily smile at your words but right as she opened her mouth to say something, a female voice rung out.
“Need some help with an airway!!” You rushed over, making eye contact with Robby in a trauma assuring him you could handle this with a nod. You met with a dark haired resident, waiting for her to present as you began a primary assessment. “GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy—can’t intubate him. Probably hit the carotid.” She stated, you nodded along.
“6.5 and bougie.” You ordered the nurses. They nodded, grabbing from the cart.
You heard him before you saw him. “I got the bleeder.” The soft rasp in his voice calmed you by just being there as you nodded. “Foley catheter with a 30 cc ballon.” You don’t know how he got out of the central so fast but you weren’t one to question it.
“Are you donating?” You heard the resident ask as you uncovered the 6.5 scalpel.
“O-neg, yeah.” You dared yourself to glance at him and saw a tube full of blood going up from his leg, well that makes sense then.
For umpteenth time, you thought: no boundary these Pitt doctors wouldn’t cross. Even a legally required blood screening.
You’d began to roll your eyes, you’d met these types of doctors before: adrenaline junkies. Got off on saving lives even at the risk of their own. But even you could admit.
Saving lives was the best kind of drug to be addicted to. Especially in somewhere wild like this. As you finished rolling your eyes, you noticed you had been caught as he raised an eyebrow to your expression. You shrugged him off as you wiped away blood from the neck.
“It’s too bloody for a bougie.” The resident protested.
“Not exactly.” You calmly answered, cutting an incision along the neck. Your fingers held the skin, a hairs away from Abbot’s as he blocked the bullethole to the left with his fingers. You stuck the bougie down the incision. You heard the inflating of the balloon next to you, a good sign undoubtedly. “Railroad in the tube.” You ordered as the nurse began shimmying it down. “Okay, bag ‘em.” These words felt foreign on your tongue. I rarely have to “bag” anyone in the OR usually they just came to you like that.
“Dressings off.” You heard the older man’s voice, your blue nitrile gloved fingers brushing against his warm ones, as he inserted the Foley. “Foleys in. Blow up a balloon.”
“30 ccs in.” The resident called out.
“Clamping.” Abbot replied as you heard the balloon blow up under his skin.
“Look at that, dry as a bone.” He smirked at you and you looked up to meet his eyes but you saw a flash of orange out the corner of your eye: Walsh. She wasn’t pleased as she shot you two a look for leaving her alone in two trauma rooms with a in-and-out Robby.
“Head and neck case. MCI-48.” You reported to her.
“16 ORs up and running we got room for one more.” She replied unhappily, she turned about to leave to go find another red.
Before she could, the blonde resident you saw previously called out. “Liver lac came back after second unit needs an ex-lap.” Fuck. Was that what that mother had? Why didn’t that resident tell you about the liver lac, you didn’t exactly have x-ray vision. You would’ve sent her up to the OR immediately.
“Turning over two ORs now. Send them up!” Walsh ordered turning back to the filling up trauma rooms, as she motioned to the upstairs and for you to follow. You followed her into the trauma rooms, but you saw the swivel of gray curls follow your movement as you did.
“I’m sorry-“ you started but she cut you off.
“Don’t be. Seems like you fit great out in Wonderland, maybe we should call you Alice?” You chuckled at her sarcasm, rolling your eyes, as you left for Trauma two. As you sorted through the patients, one was clearly bleeding out, you looked around at the nurses. “He needs blood, not saline.” You called out.
The nurse shook her head. “We’re out.” Oh. Duh. Why else had we opened up blood donations from unscreened staff. Fuck. Is this a hospital? Because it’s slowly just becoming a room with gurneys instead of medical supplies.
As if God heard you, Javadi came in wheeling a cooler. “Walsh said four units here?” Okay, so maybe Walsh was your god. Wouldn’t be the first time she’s saved your ass.
You nodded holding your hands out. “Give me one. Leave three.” The dark haired girl nodded and threw you one while leaving three in the hands of the nurses.
You peeked your head out from the trauma for another red, but instead you catch Dr. Robby prepare for a blind intubation with a number of cops watching. Shit if this didn’t go well. The men with guns wouldn’t be happy.
“Doing a crike?” You saw the orange vested man come up with his military bag in hand. “Got a tactical airway in my bag here, I can do these with my eyes closed.” He bragged, earning a laugh from Robby. He looked up at you, noticing your staring. He motions, inviting you closer. You looked around the trauma room other than this patient who was getting a unit, most the patients were just waiting for an OR upstairs.
He lines up the yellow piece with the cop’s neck, inserting it. “The knife leaves a trach hook behind.” He explained. “So you can’t miss.” He cuts horizontally and a nurse hands him another piece from the kit. “Slide in the introducer.” He narrates. “Feel the tracheal rings, good.” He says as he looks up at the ceiling to focus on feeling instead of seeing, you drool a little at his exposed neck. “Bob’s your uncle.” He states finalizing the task with a pull out of a yellow piece. Your brows furrowed at the uncommon phrase, old people... you think to yourself.
“That was fast.” You commented crossing your arms, curiously in awe of him. He blushed slightly, shrugging his shoulders trying to be nonchalant, Robby raised a brow at his fellow attending’s reaction. To anyone else, he would’ve looked like combat medic Dr. Abbot doing combat medic things. To Robby, Jack Abbot was flustered by a surgical resident.
After a few pumps of the breathing balloon, the nurse nodding “Yellow on end-tidal.” Abbot and Robby laughed in relief, assuring the police officer’s survival.
“Thank you, Doctor Abbot~” Robby said in a sing-songy voice as the rest of the SWAT and police celebrated the news. With Abbot fist bumping the patient’s partner, you snapped out of your star-stuck trance. That was a point to you, in your little staring game.
“I’ll pack the oral cavity with Kerlix and get him to Head and Neck, see how fast they can take him to up to the OR.” You assured the two men, moving with the gurney into Trauma Two. “What can you pull out of there, Mary Poppins?” You called out, looking up as you pushed the trauma doors open by backing into them.
“Ohh, just wait and see.” He grunted winking at you, as he left for the hub. Robby’s eyebrows raised at your banter, looking back between you and and the smiling silver fox. You shrugged at the attending’s curious look, as you were handed Kerlix by one of the nurses.
After a gun scare, you and Walsh had made it out of the piling up Trauma rooms to work in the hall. “You guys good out here?” Robby asked as he floated by.
Walsh brushed him off, while you didn’t even look up. “We got this.”
You snickered sarcastically stating, “Take a two hour lunch.”
“I’m gonna go check on triage.” He informed the two primaries, they nodded in response.
“We’ll save a spot for you.” Abbot called out. When he came back almost two minutes with a crying teen along with a girl on a gurney. You three shared a glance all knowning it wasn’t good. While Robby worked you saw the primary nurse swap out with another, as she opting to working on the girl.
Before long, another female doctor came in asking for an attending. Robby was tied up and Abbot was too as he and a resident pumped a breathing ballon “Gonna be a minute.” He gruffly cut her off.
“Dr. Walsh!” She called across the hub.
“Taking one up to the OR.” Walsh replied. You perked up, as you finished setting up a unit of O-neg. You checked with the nurses to watch your patient before jogging up to Walsh. “I can take her.” You nodded for her to go and she thanked you silently disappearing with the doctor down the hall.
“Don’t go getting lost again, Red.” Abbot called as you passed him to the elevator.
You rolled your eyes, as if treating patients was getting lost, “Then don’t tempt me, Dr. Abbot.” You called back as you moved with the gurney up towards the elevator. He smiled as he watched you go. He noticed you came more and more out of your shell the further you barreled through this mess.
When you returned Robby was still working on the girl, you came to Abbot’s side with a patient. “Well looks like Dorothy followed the yellow brick road.” He grunted but your focus was still on Robby.
“How many units?” You asked squeezing a breathing balloon as Abbot worked. He frowned when you didn’t give him your attention, he huffed.
“Two plus cell saver.” He gruffly stated. That’s over the instructed two unit limit. You wondered if this girl was that important, as you pumped oxygen.
Robby turned to you abruptly. You tensed thinking you’d said that out loud. “I got a femoral and carotid.” You rushed over leaving Abbot to pump the ballon himself, he frowned slightly with jealousy. You placed two fingers on the young girls inner thigh.
Nothing.
“I’m not feeling it.” You shook your head up at him.
“Check the carotid.” He said frazzled, you humored him and placed a gloved hand on her neck, checking numerous spots.
Nothing.
“Nothing, sorry.” You shook your head. You couldn’t in good conscious send this girl go up to the OR. Not without a pulse. As you turned to leave. Robby desperately chased after you; he ordered for them to resume compressions.
“No, no, we should take her up. She just had a pulse.” He said frantic, Abbot watched you two from across the hub, wary of his friend.
“Well she didn’t just now. Call me if anything changes.” You instructed him. You shook your head and taking on a new patient alongside Javadi, she smiled at you in relief. Before Robby could fight you on this, Dana motioned for Abbot to come help him.
He came and murmured to his friend, walking him through the situation. “Bullet tore through her heart. Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotomy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back. We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl.” He tried, but Robby shook his head, ordering Dana to push a TXA. One final push.
As you finished up with a patient, you began rolling them down the hall with Javadi’s help. “Need your help with a Rumel, Red.” Abbot voiced to you, causing you to pause. Javadi nodded to you assuring you that she’s got this.
You nodded to her as a thanks grabbing the umbilical tape. A male resident stood aside and watched as you cut open and dissected through the neck with practiced ease. You tried to open the umbilical tape but cursed as it got stuck. “I got it. I got it.” Abbot assured you softly in your ear, he leaned in close to you grabbing the umbilical tape from your hands. His gloved fingers brushed against yours, you could’ve sworn you felt his blood flow. You could smell the sweat and musk off him, past the blood and isopropyl.
He wrapped the umbilical tape around the carotid, holding it in place. He began tying the ends together, creating a wrapping around the vessel. He opened his mouth to say something, but you saw the opportunity before he even spoke. You threaded both ends of the tape through the tubing. “Toughest part is getting the umbilical tape through the tubing.” He narrated to the resident. You did it in one go. Finishing by pushing the Red Rubber Robinson through, hearing an impressed whistle from Abbot, you rolled your eyes.
“Clamps.” You called holding out a hand as the resident handed you a clamp and you snared the tourniquet closed.
The resident nodded impressed, "Very cool."
The familiar girl you had sent Walsh with came up, panicked. "Dr. Abbot, I have a retroperitoneal bleed." You two looked up at one another. He couldn't leave this injured carotid artery, yet. If he burst another clot and Abbot wasn’t here it might be over for him.
"I'm busy, Santos. Just push two units until I get there" He ordered, shaking his head as he looked down.
You perked up. "I can go. Send this one to the OR, once he’s stable." You ordered, leaning over pre-signing your name near the OR order, which was technically not allowed but you were sure Abbot had this under control. You let the tale male resident take over as you looked to Abbot. He nodded his approval, thanking you.
The woman, Santos, began leading you to the yellow zone, presenting the case. "Hypotensive pelvic bleed. A huge collection of blood near the bladder I think the bullet tracked north and hit the external iliac. Uncontrollable bleeding."
You nodded, "Prep for a REBOA." You grabbed a REBOA kit, taking off the tourniquet right as you arrived.
A white male doctor freaked out as the alarms started to blare, unfamiliar with your presence, "What’re you doing!?"
Santos laughed “Huckleberry, chill the fuck out” she said a smug giggle.
You introduced yourself as a senior surgical consult. As you exchanged greeting with the nurse and doctor, you continued placing a blue drape sheet over her thigh. "But won’t this cut off the blood supply to half her body. The doctor who you learned was Whittaker protested.
You shook your head. "Not if I only go in a few inches, zone three, below the kidneys, just until I can get her stable and up to the OR." You said as you inserted a syringe of anesthetic, Santos peeked over your shoulder excitedly.
"Okay, you're gonna need an ultrasound, X-ray." Whittaker accepted your explanation and panicked going over to the reach for a butterfly ultrasound.
You brushed him off, "I'll manage without." You said as you inserted another syringe.
"Have you done this before?" Donnie, the male nurse asked.
"Not without an x-ray..." You winced at how you sounded. The madness down here was getting to you... "It's a central line. I just need to hit the femoral artery…" You explained guiding the syringe through, taking out some blood. "..like that. All right, guidewire, then introducer sheath." You ordered from the residents. You felt like a surfer. After being wiped out once or twice by the fast-crushing waves, you finally found a wave where you could glide.
"I'm at 15 centimeters with 5 cc's of saline so far." You reported as the ballon continued inflating, Santos laughed in awe and Whittaker sighed in relief.
"A REBOA with, no ultrasound or attending? Are you shitting me?" Abbot’s voice carried through the hall as he jogged down it, with a blonde following him.
"It went perfectly. There was uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery. There was no other option." You argued back turning around to him. You were shocked by the look his eyes, his tone was harsh but his eyes were anything but. He looked at you like you hung the moon, and he was in an impressed awe. "Check pulse strength and mentation for BP." He muttered.
"Carotid's weak. Radial's barely there." Whittaker reported her status previously.
"3 cc's in the balloon." You and Abbot said at the same time as you turned back around to begin injecting it. You looked over your shoulder, making eye contact with him. He nodded, approvingly, and you looked back down to the REBOA, pushing in the final cc. You felt his eyes continue to bore into you.
"I'll try for palpable systolic." The blonde resident said as she scooted next to you pumping up the cuff. Abbot nodded putting his hands behind his back as he watched, fullying trusting the capabilities of the residents who filled up the central room.
Whittaker peeked over the side at the BP cuff. "Whoa. Uh.. radial's much stronger now."
"Lock the ballon. Check the wound. Go." Abbot ordered. You did so, locking the ballon in place, pausing the inflation it.
The blonde resident called out as Whittaker lifted the wrapping to the woman's leg wound. "BP's 110."
"Yeah, wound's dry. Barely a trickle." He called out, nodding.
"That's because there's no blood going to her legs." You commentated let out a sigh of relief. "Balloon can only stay up for an hour. I'll bring her straight to IR and Vascular on the case, try to get her to the OR ASAP." You assured the residents, turning around only for your chest to meet his orange vested one, you glanced up at him.
"Good job. That was pretty badass." He gruffly admitted, walking with you as you pulled out the gurney to get her to the elevator. You tried to stay humble and shrugged but your hands shook a little. They never did that, before. His hand shot out to your side of the gurney as the elevator doors opened, he squeezed hands that were tightly wrapped around the railings of the gurney. "You did good, Red." He encouraged you gave him a shaky nod and you heard Abbot's name being called, and he looked back at you, unsure.
"Go." You urged him. This floor needed him more than a senior resident who was going up with a stable patient, the fact that he even paused to think about it made your heart lurch. But you didn't want to think about it. You couldn't.
He helped you push the gurney in the elevator nodding. "See you around, Red." You meekly nodded back as he disappeared to the side as the doors closed.
When you came back down, you were calmer, you had seen all the saves on the OR board and knew you were doing some good. Clearly others didn't feel the same way as you heard Robby's voice boom through the halls. "Jesus, Gloria! The police are still looking. Why don't you go back to your micro-managerial ivory tower and let us get the fuck back to work?"
You came into the hub and saw Abbot run up to the taller man ordering him to go get some air. You came up to him with raised eyebrows, what was that about?, at the older man who stalked out into the ambulance bay. Abbot shrugged and you sighed. "I got Carmen to the OR, Vascular and IR was happy to take her,” you reported to him and he nodded taking it in.
The male resident who you worked alongside for the Rummel Tourniquet called out to you two, "Dr. Abbot, I got your carotid bypass guy up to the OR too. Vascular surgery says to give you two mad props." Abbot sent him a double thumbs up as you gave the male doctor a nod as a thank you.
You turned around to Abbot but he was gone. "Got any new customers I should take up with me?" You scanned the area, finding the grey curls, you followed him idly.
"Yes." Abbot called out simultaneously with another female doctor. "Yeah. This one looked like chest, but it was intra-abdominal." A woman with dark hair and olive skin raised her hand, you walked overlooking over the tube coming out of the side of the patient's chest.
You winced, "Nipples to navel is no man's land." You said as you leaned over the resident.
"Am I the only one who missed that day in medical school?" The resident asked curiously, looking around at you and Abbot. Your eyes flicked up to meet his and he shot you a smirk. You rolled your eyes, but another doctor came in with a teenager on a gurney who looked cartoonishly blue.
"I need high-flow O2, maybe BiPAP for this guy. Trauma rooms open?" You glanced up as the primary nurse shook her head.
"No, still getting cleaned. South 15 is avail." The nurse pointed to the open room.
"Okay, South 15 it is." Abbot called out left his patient to catch up with the resident. He looked back at you. "Find out if the ICU is ready for her." You nodded, he trusted you to take care of this.
"All right, get me a tech and an RT, and we'll take him up." You said before leaving the one patient to go pick up where Abbot left off with the other patient.
You came back down with Dr. Walsh after dropping off a patient at the ICU and one at the OR. After dropping off a patient to the OR, Dr. Walsh caught you and ordered you back down for a trauma with her. "How's it going upstairs?" Abbot smirked as the two surgeons bursted into the trauma rooms, chatting about patient statuses.
"Regular spa day at the OR. 42 ex-laps and thoracotomies." Walsh said as you two began gowning up and grabbing sterile gloves.
"Impressive." The familar dark-haired resident stated as she looked at the monitor.
"What do you got?" You asked as Abbot took off his stereoscope.
"GSW through and through the thigh, not arterial, now hypotensive and hypoxic." He responded. His brows furrowing in confusion as he side-stepped closer to you two, wanting a surgeon’s opinion.
"Sounds like blood loss-" Walsh said giving her professional opinion, you nodded along in agreement.
"No. Hemoglobin times two is stable. Vena cava is plump… it would be flat with hemorrhage." The resident shook her head and Walsh and you shared a glance, that definitely wasn't normal. You looked closer at the ultrasound, noticing something unusual, definitely not normal from the thousands of hearts you studied over ultrasounds and x-rays from your fellowship.
"It's a little too plump. Don't you think?" You leaned closer trying to get a look at the screen across the bed, glancing at your attending. Abbot took your word and reached over for the phased array probe.
Walsh shrugged as she felt the injury in the leg from the foot of the bed. "Any history of heart disease?"
The resident shook her head. "Not sure, but he's a strong guy. Got shot, strapped a T-shirt and a belt around his thigh and ran around helping people for a few hours."
"Holy shit. Check out the four chamber apical view." Abbot cursed out as he ran the phase array probe over the man's chest, a black bulge coming into view. Walsh squinted and walked over the opposing side of the screen to get a better view.
"Dilated right atrium and right ventricle. Right-sided strain with bowing of the septum." You called out, gaping at it, something was blocking blood flow to the lungs.
"Sounds like a PE. He throw a clot from having the tourniquet on?" The resident asked.
Abbot shook his head, "Way too soon for a DVT. Okay, let's get him in left lateral decubitus. One, two." He counted as he and the resident lifted the man turning him on his side. "Trendelenburg ASAP."
"What for?" The resident wondered.
"Intracardiac air embolism?” You wondered aloud, following his line of thought. He looked at you nodding, impressed by your deduction.
“All that running around introduced air into the femoral vein right up to the heart. Now it's blocking blood flow to the lungs." Abbot explained, sure of himself.
Walsh scoffed at his confidence as she walked to the head of the bed "Need a CT to confirm." She said gruffly. She refused a diagnosis without proper evidence.
"They're still backed up with other patients." You stated the obvious, shaking your head, looking at your attending, that wasn't viable and Walsh knew it.
"Well, maybe the cath lab can take them. They have fluoro." She shot out, sarcastically. "I'll go check!" She shouted aggressively. She muttered under her breath about "flying by the seat of your pants down here" as she begun out the doors.
"Yeah, good luck with that." The ER attending called out as the doors shut, glancing up at the monitor. He waited a moment for the coast to be clear as he looked up mischievously at the two of you. "I need a central line kit and a 5 French pigtail catheter." He ordered the nurse.
"He doesn't have a collapsed lung." You protested.
"Yeah?" He waited for you to continue as he leaned down, eyes running over the area.
You leaned over him. "So... what are you gonna do?" He looked up at you, standing to his full height. His grey eyes bore into yours as he looked at you with a signature puppy pout. How did anyone work around here with a man looking like that?
"I'm not gonna do anything. She is." You turned following his pointing finger to the resident behind you who matched your shocked expression.
The next few minutes were a blur as you tried to interfere once you heard this man wanted to pull air out from the right atrium, without any confirmation of this even being an VAE. You went back and forth with an old man almost double your age for nearly five minutes, while the man on the table was losing oxygenated blood. Fast. Never would Dr. Barrett or any cardiothoracic surgeon ever even dare to think of this.
The older man showed you and the resident some study on his phone from South Korea; which you could only scoff at, not only for its' obscureness but also the size of his phone text which been magnified no doubt for his aging vision. You let up only on the condition that you could supervise.
You leaned over the body as you watched the steady hands of the resident who you learned was Dr. Mohan place in the IJ. "What the hell are you doing?" You heard behind you. Shit. You were never seeing the inside of an OR, again. Not with Walsh, at least. You opened your mouth to answer but the older man beat you to it.
"Dr. Mohan is about to pull air from the right atrium and right ventricle." He narrated as he leaned over your shoulder to also watch as you shut your mouth focusing on the task, trying to not meet your attendings' eyes. You swear you could smell his excitement from behind you.
"With what?" Walsh raised an eyebrow at the idea.
"5 French pigtail catheter." You finished wincing at the idea, again, as you said it out loud.
"Inside his heart?" She protested, looking at you from the foot of the bed with disbelief as you helped put in a central line.
Abbot covered you as he leaned into her field of view, taking her intense gaze off you. "Multiple side-holes gives you a better shot at sucking out all the air." He explained to Walsh like she was a wild animal who needed calming down.
She called out to you regardless, "Red, you let this happen?" She looked at you, betrayed. She should’ve kept you out of the Pitt, they had corrupted you.
"Dr. Abbot showed me a case report from South Korea..." You began but trailed off as you heard youself. Oh my god. You had become one of the circus monkeys, all because of a greying silver fox. You looked up at your attending but was met with Abbot's asymmetrical smirk on his face at your statement. You muttered under your breath about him being a terrible window again which got a deep chuckle out of his chest.
"What the actual fuck?" She cursed in disbelief, pushing past the nurse on the other side to look at the three musketeers of malpractice, head on. "I just talked to cardiology. They want a CT scan. If it's showing air, then you need to dive him in the hyperbaric chamber." You didn't dare to look up, in fear you'd be turn to stone while you and Abbot's fingers worked on the IJ. Dr. Mohan looked up as Walsh filled her ears with the correct procedure. The procedure you had insisted.
"He'll be dead by then." Abbot shot back. You knew that too, you had already ran it through your head with rough estimates on waiting times.
"Not if you kill him first with this banana-pants proce-." Walsh exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips.
"We don't have time to wait for your fancy-pants machine. If we don't get the air out of his heart, he'll die." Abbot sassed back, cutting off your attending. He leaned in closer to you to see Dr. Mohan’s hands, in turn leaning closer to that area where your neck met your shoulder. You weren’t doing the surgery and still held your breath. Walsh’s brows furrowed harder as she looked up, glaring at him.
"This is not the standard of care." She arguing in disbelief, she looked like she was about to leap across the table and kill the old man.
"Oh, fuck standard of care. If we want to save him, we go in now." He cursed finally looking up at the surgical attending. You looked at Mohan, she'd been frozen for the past minute of the two attendings arguing.
"Maybe I should…" She started sweat dripping down, the shake in her hands becoming evident as her breathing became uneven. You panicked grabbing the line, steadying it for her. You gave her an encouraging nod but she had already gotten in her head, you could see it.
"Thread in the pigtail? Excellent idea, Dr. Mohan." Abbot encouraged her holding up the pigtail catheter, before she could take it a voice boomed over the beeping monitor.
"Hold on." Walsh's voice raised over the trauma room. Everyone froze, even Abbot. "If we're doing this stupid procedure. I want Red to do it. She knows the heart better than the back of her own hand." She jutted her chin to you.
"What? Dr. Walsh, I can't-" You froze like a deer in headlights finally looking up at her. She held that intense look in her eyes, believing in you over some “Pittling” as Garcia referred to them.
"The procedure with Dr. Barrett a week ago was five times harder than this. Consider this training for the Cardiothoracic OR." Walsh cut you off, challenging Abbot, as she stood up straight. You looked at him, hoping he’d say no.
“Fine by me, I’m sure all our residents are capable,” He shrugged, holding up his gloved hands, mindlessly waving around the French Pigtail Catheter. This greying old man was truly going to be your end.
"How could you know that? Plus, I studied that procedure a week before. And had an attending instructing." You began sputtering nervously, panicking, how could you do a procedure like this blind? You felt a warm presence to your back, as Abbot attending leaned into you; pushing into you, like a puppy reminding you he was there. His breathing steadied yours silently, you took in a deeper breath. I guess, I'm not going in totally blind with Dr. Abbot's instruction.
"Red." Walsh called out, snapping you out of it. "Thread the damn pigtail." She motioned for Mohan to move. The dark haired resident did with no qualms, removing her shaking hands as she breathed a sigh of relief. You took the pigtail from Dr. Abbot's hands as he nodded to you, full confidence in your skills. You looked at him unsure as you heard the door to the trauma close, wishing desperately it had been you.
“Go down to 24 centimeters," He instructed and you followed. "And then we'll confirm with X-ray." You kept pushing till you felt around 6 centimeters left in the catheter. "Good." He praised you and your normally cold body ran a bit warm for the first time.
"Think I'll stick around in case you need another set of hands to resuscitate your patient when he crashes." Walsh scoffed at the ridiculousness of this entire situation. She was handed a resuscitation kit, she tore it open with no mercy.
Once you got the X-ray back, the two attendings gathered by the machine to see where the position of the catheter. "Pigtail's in the right atrium, good position. Aspirate, see what you get." Abbot confirmed from the end of the bed.
You nodded, "Pulling back blood from the heart…" you confirmed slowly pulling back the plunger from the syringe. Abbot checked the monitor alongside Walsh who looked over his shoulder at the x-ray. "Along with some air." You noted in between some of the blood filling the barrel with some empty space.
"How about that?" Abbot cockily said walking past Walsh and to your side.
Walsh followed behind, "No improvement. " She shot back, noting on the constant 85 systolic BP on the monitor.
"Advance slowly into the right ventricle." Abbot looked at you, he looked like he was practically begging. You couldn't breathe. You used the PVCs to guide yourself into the right ventricle, something you had studied to prepare for your fellowship but never done.
“Nice job, finding your way, Little Red. Aspirate again. Run of three." He rasped more praise in your ear. You think you felt that down there. As you pulled out the plunger, more air and blood filled the barrel. It wasn't before long the alarms of the monitor started blaring.
"Run of five." He instructed. The alarm began filling your ears, you couldn't even hear yourself think over the alarm and your own rushing heart. You just followed the older man's orders he whispered into your ear like a robot. If he told you to push this syringe all the way in and kill the man, you probably would’ve.
You continued pulling back the plunger only getting red into the barrel now. "Mainly blood now." You noted over the loud blaring alarm.
"Charge to 200, he's deteriorating" Walsh ordered to the nurse on the other side who nodded, running across the trauma room, and grabbing the red crash cart.
Fuck. This patient was going to die in your arms; on a table you'd never worked on, in a department you had no business being in. His voice cut through the noise. "Pull the pigtail back to the RA." He spoke calmly.
"Step aside." Your attending ordered, on instinct you almost did, until you remembered this patient's life was in the hands you'd just tried to move away. Your head shot up to look at Walsh, she was surely going to save your ass again.
"Pull the pigtail, Red." He ordered louder, throwing his body in the way of her and the defibrillator pads.
You heard her from behind him. "Step aside!" Walsh tried to push against him but was weak.
He not only pushed against your attending’s way to the chest but also fought her for your line of vision as you glanced between then. He leaned in, "You got this," he encouraged softly. You shakily nodded, gently pulling out the pigtail catheter, as if on cue the alarm ceased.
"Normal sinus rhythm, 92. Pulse ox is improving. BP's 112 over 84." The male nurse confirmed as he read the monitor. Walsh rolled her eyes turning away. You and Abbot looked at each other, a proud smile creeped up on his face as you finally took a real breath. He nodded, smirk permanently etched on his face, turning to your attending.
"Not too shabby, huh, Dr. Walsh? I think we can admit him to General Surgery now." He smirked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hell, no." She brushed him off as she looked down at the patient. Abbot's smirk dropped. You almost snickered at how fast the upper hand had changed as you began to suture the hole closed.
"He's a gunshot victim." He argued.
"Admit him to the cardiac ICU. We'll consult from there." Walsh brushed him off, clearly holding a grudge for ignoring her consult.
"Well, you can admit him yourself, with Cardiology consulting." He offered, looking at Walsh at she double, tripled checked the monitors. "I thought you liked flying the plane." He teased cockily with a hint of condescension.
Walsh's head flicked back, taking a step closer, feigning a smile. "Not when it's gonna crash." She shot him a glare, looking behind him at you. She gave you a nod of approval before she stalked out of the trauma, leaving you to take care of this. You sighed in relief, surviving another day.
"Solid work." He shook his head in disbelief, turning to you with even more praise. You felt like you were drowning from his attention. You moved as you finished up suturing. You motioned for the male nurse to call up Cardiology.
"I couldn’t have done it without you, Dr. Abbot." You assured him, putting down the scissors and thread.
"Take the win, Red." He smiled at you as you bashfully avoided his gaze. You focused on crossing the room to the black phone on the wall, nodding in thanks to the nurse as you picked it up.
"Besides, it was a little too risky for me to do myself."
"What?" You whipped around to him with the receiver to your ear, but he was gone leaving the trauma doors swinging. The nurses only shrugged when you looked around for any trace of those grey curls. For an old man he was quick on his feet. You thought again.
"Hello?" You heard Doctor Barrett on the other side of the phone as you fumbled, jumping to attention on the task at hand after Abbot’s version of a hit and run.
"Uh. Hi, Doctor Barrett, it's me," You clarified over the phone informing him of patient, his history, and the procedure you had just pulled off.
“You did what? With who?” You heard in disbelief from the man you idolized, yelling over the phone.
“A catheter aspiration with Dr. Abbot. From the ED… But patients stable! Can we take him??” You sputtered, like a little child trying to keep a kitten instead of resident trying to admit a medical emergency.
“Fine. Bring him up.” Dr. Barrett gruffly replied. You sighed your 500th sigh of relief as you finally hung up the phone. You begun pushing the gurney towards the elevator with a male nurse, thanking him as the doors closed.
“You’re not needed in the OR?” Abbot asked Walsh with a mask over his face, after she offered stay in the trauma room until the IR was ready for a crushed pelvis with hemorrhagic shock. He looked around for Robby, concerned for his friend who was clearly out of it.
“Nah, it's ortho surgeries all night long now. Hey, is he OK? Walsh asked pointing to the direction Robby left.
“Yeah. He's just tired. I think we all are. That resident of yours, is she also stuck in those ortho surgeries…. Doctor…” He trailed off, realizing he’d never gotten your name. The entire three hours you worked alongside one another. Little Red.. was all he knew, and that you were after a cardiology fellowship. He softly smirked at the realization and mystery behind you.
Walsh looked up raising an eyebrow, Doctor Abbot wasn’t one to go digging for others. “From what I heard she scrubbed in with Dr. Barrett with that cardio case you sent up. Don’t tell me you’re trying to keep her, down here.” She rolled her eyes, seeing through his causal conversation.
The older man shrugged at Walsh’s insinuation, you didn’t make for a terrible ED doctor. “Just trying to get Little Red home.”
Walsh glared at the notion that you would ever come down here again. “That would make you her, grandma. Appearance-wise you fit the part.” She took the shot at the low hanging fruit, and he frowned in response. Walsh took over squeezing the breathing ballon. Nonetheless, she corrected him, “if anything you’re the Big Bad Wolf, trying to tempt her away from where she belongs.”
Abbot chuckled as he took off his mask and bloodied gown. “Careful, I kinda like the sound of that.” Rubbing at the stubble on his face, he thought about the idea of him preying on innocent little you. He began backing up towards the exit doors to the trauma room to go find Robby, slightly turned on by the thought.
“In that case, I’ll tell our huntsman you butcher your stomach wide open and fill you with rocks!” Walsh shouted out as she sent a glare to the retreating man. Abbot flashed her a smile and as he and the rest of the confused ED staff filed out, leaving Walsh alone.
You had spent 2 hours with Dr. Barrett patching up Brian Thomas’ heart for clots and left no evidence of a pigtail catheter ever being shoved up there, other than a small stitching in his right side.
After Dr. Barrett finally clocked out from his day shift, Park the Shark came in, pulling a double. Despite his no-nonsense demeanor, he guided you through the orthopedic surgery that was closing the bullet wound in Brian Thomas’ thigh. For another 5 hours, you two reattach the nerves and reconstruct the muscle.
It was four in the morning during your first “break” from an OR. You hadn’t wanted to touch another scalpel ever again, as you collapsed in the chairs of one of the break rooms. Walsh came in chuckling at the light no longer in your eyes. “Don’t give out on us yet. Red.” She chuckled pouring you a cup of coffee alongside her own, before she had dragged you into an ex-lap surgery of her own for 3 hours.
By the time you finished your surgery with Walsh, your shift had essentially ended. You sighed tearing off your blue surgical gown, mask and hair net as you left the OR. You closed your eyes, flashes of the 10 hours of surgery you had just undergone, after a mass casualty. Before you could get far however, you tripped on something; something metal. You cursed loudly, landing on the linoleum floor with a splat.
“Shit, my bad, kid.” You heard that familiar voice, a voice that definitely didn’t belong on this floor. But have it be your luck: the absolutely hot attending you’d thought you’d never see again, watches you eat shit.
Abbot’s warm hands rested on your back as you sat upright on the ground. You groaned as he shone a penlight in your eyes. You blinked once or twice before swatting it away and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Follow my finger. How’s the head?” He ordered you, as he slid his finger across your vision.
You rolled your eyes but did as he asked. His greenish greyish eyes bore into yours, worried with a frown, and checking your pupils. “Fine. Head’s little sore, but that was before the tumble.” You informed him.
“Well, you don’t seem concussed, but I want to get you a head CT.” He softly murmured, grabbing your head and tilting it down to look at your forehead. You could smell a scent of sugar and eggs on him as he brought you closer to his chest. That’s odd, you curiously furrowed your brows together.
You brushed him off, gently swatting his hands away. You groaned in both embarrassment and pain pushing his chest back, feeling his muscles under his scrubs, you tried to ignore them. “I do not need a head CT. Next time move your…” You trailed off looking behind you, curiously on what you had tripped on. It was a black metal prosthetic leg with a shoe on it.
Well fuck. Now you look like an asshole. “…leg.” You muttered looking back at a smug Abbot, who was waiting for your realization. “Sorry...” you murmured at your crudeness.
“Don’t be. It’s my fault for setting up camp outside an OR.” He shrugged as you leaned back grabbing his leg and handing it to him. He snapped it on with a resounding click, and stood to his feet, holding out a hand for you.
You sighed upon taking it, feeling his warm callous hands; you felt the blood return to your face. “What’s with the lost shoe, Cinderella? It’s way past midnight, and I heard from Walsh it’s your night off.” You asked, huffing in embarrassment as you crossed your arms.
He shrugged as he walked around you, grabbing a bag off the floor that was by the OR door. “Brought you breakfast, thought you might be up to your little red hood in surgeries.” He teased softly tilting his head down shooting you a flirtatious look, as he offered you the big bag. Your eyes softened— noticing his tired ones, you put the dots together along with his leg he had taken off for comfort.
“Please don’t tell me, you’ve been waiting for me to finish surgery.” You gaped at him softly. You took the bag and opening it, noticing an assortment of breakfast foods. Much too many for just you.
Abbot shrugged off your worries playfully, burying his hands in his scrub pockets that he hadn’t bothered to change out of. “Can I lie? I’m not exactly Pinocchio…” He jokingly asked smiling as he saw your shock. His lips pursed proudly admiring your expression. He could get used to that expression. “I didn’t know what you liked so, I got them all.” He explained, you gave him a smile. One he could’ve melted at. You thanked him quietly as you walked with to the locker room with him.
It was awkward at first, what could you say to a person you’d spent hours saving lives with. But when Abbot asked you how Brian’s surgery went and you’d begun talking about the past nine hours of the OR you’d seen, the awkward air cleared. He took the bag of breakfast foods off your hands as you talked, you barely noticed as you told him about how you had to place these metal rods in Brian’s leg to stabilize the fragments of bone. He gave you a small endearing smile with his grey scruff as he listened to you speak. You paused realizing you were rambling, before meekly asking him to wait here as you arrived at the women’s locker room.
As you turned however, you felt a resistance on your chest preventing you from fully turning. You instinctively looked down where his sun spotted hand was holding your badge, there was a smiling photo of a younger you with your name and position under it. He read your full name aloud, committing it to his memory, with his raspy deep voice with a hint of smugness. Holy shit. You’d give a week’s paycheck just for Dr. Abbot to say your name over and over. You nodded bashfully in response, before ducking into the locker room to hide your face that was heating up.
When you reemerged, you had your red hoodie wrapped up in your arms as you came out in casual clothes, rushing out. You scrambled, trying to get your purse on your shoulder; not wanting to keep him waiting again. He held a hand out for you and you tilted your head curiously. He gave you one of his chuckles, wordlessly, swiping two fingers under where your purse hung from your shoulder. He readjusted your purse onto his own broad shoulder and turned for the elevator. You were left speechless at the action and beyond flustered, as you jogged after him to the elevator. He waited for you with your bag around his shoulder as the double doors opened, and he clicked the button to the parking lot.
As the doors began to close, you saw out of the corner of your eye Abbot turn his head to look at you. "Hold the door!" You heard someone call down the elevator. You snapped out of your exhaustion and reached for the button, but at the same time Abbot reached out using his hand to stop the door. For a moment, you could've sworn the flexing was an attempt by his freckled bicep to break out of his constraining black scrubs. Fuck you almost choked on your spit.
You looked as the person revealed themselves. Your eyes widened as your attending entered the elevator with her normally tied up hair, let down. She looked up through her curly hair, in a heather grey 'UPENN' sweatshirt with her dead eyes looking more exhausted than normal, raising an eyebrow in recognition. "Well... well... well if it isn't Little Red and the Big Bad Wolf." She joked crossing her arms as she came in standing next to you.
Abbot acknowledged her with a nod, while you tensed up between the two attendings. Walsh rolled her eyes at the silence. "Nice purse, Abbot." She teased to lighten the mood and he chuckled, revealing his straight white teeth, as he flushed at her teasing. "Taking baked goods to grandma?" She wondered to the two of you, motioning to the bag of breakfast that emitted an aroma of sugar and syrup in his hands.
You nervously laughed, "Oh. Dr. Abbot wanted to bring me breakfast... after my shift..." you explained.
Walsh smirked at him looking over your head at Abbot as he watched you, nodding along. "Really? How kind of him." She smiled sarcastically, her mole making her smile look wolfish. "I can't recall a time; he's ever come up here on...." she trailed off thinking a funny thought popping into her mind. "pleasure".
Abbot's smile dropped as he nervously chuckled at her final word. "Well... uh I just wanted to congratulate your resident on how well she handled today." He said embarrassed, shooting Emery a look; her eyes lit up at the opportunity to tease. This was the longest elevator ride of his life. He let out a sigh, you glanced over at him curiously catching his eyes at his sigh. He shook his head, nothing to do with you.
The elevator dinged as you reached the parking lot floor. Walsh ran a hand through her curly hair as she took a step out with her backpack. "See you tomorrow, Red." She said in goodbye as she left for her car, shooting you a wave. "Abbot." She gave Abbot the bird as she disappeared into the night.
You waited for Abbot to leave but he let you go out first. You thanked him as you began to your car under his orders. "You really don't go up to surgery very often?" You asked him curiously, he pursed his lips and shook his head.
"Nah, not my scene. Too quiet and too busy down there." He shrugged, his downturn smile graced his face while your head turned in disbelief.
You snorted softly "I don't know how you can even think, down there, Dr. Abbot" Abbot chuckled at your words, as he escorted you to your car, which chirped open with a click.
“…Jack…” he said softly. He admired you as you kept walking to your car before you noticed a lack of a shadow who was significantly older than you. He held out his hand, holding out your purse to you. The veins on his muscled arms protruded just a little. The sun rose higher, it was later than sunrise but earlier than the morning. It was peaceful, barely any honking cars on the road, and the birds chirped softly.
The rising sun began to highlight his greying features as you glanced over at him. His eyes turned a green, under the warm light; you were awestruck by his appearance. Curse Walsh from hiding this from me.
You murmured softly, reaching out, your fingers brushed against his for the millionth time that night as you nodded. “Thank you, Jack..” He leaned closer and his eyes flickered down at your lips.
You leaned back, your back hitting your car, under his intense gaze. God you’d let this wolf of a man devour you. He stopped, brows furrowing as looked hurt for only a moment but he didn’t hold it against you. He stepped back awkwardly. You murmured a soft “Sorry.”
Jack shook his head, “Don’t be.” You meekly shook your head at his response, misinterpreting the entire thing, you had a feeling that happened a lot with him. You went on your tip toes kissing him on the corner of his mouth, his grey stubble tickled your lips. He smirked, raising an eyebrow, giving you a smug look as you pulled back bold actions. “What was that about?” He grinned down at you.
“Take me to dinner first, Abbot, and don’t kiss me after a traumatic mass casualty.” You smirked up at him, explaining your feelings. The entire idea caused a lightning bulb reaction of realization, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he nodded taking your advice to heart.
“Too knightly of me?” Jack smirked, putting a hand on the trunk of your car as he leaned over you, looking down at you, this time you didn’t tense up.
You snickered looking up at him, “Just a bit.” You teased shrugging, placing a hand on his shoulder you gently rubbed at his chest.
“Sorry, ‘m a bit rusty.” He grinned. The apples of his cheeks becoming prominent with their fullness under the sun, shining with a number of freckles you looked to kiss. You raised an eyebrow, curious on what he meant and in response he held up his hand, a gold band, prominent on his ring finger.
Your hand froze on his chest, you were about to shove him away. He was married? This entire time? “She passed. 2018.” He explained, you let out a sigh of relief. He raised an eyebrow at your reaction. No. Wait. Not like that. Your eyes widened, Jack laughed a deep throaty laugh; your hand shook along with his chest at your reaction. He placed a hand on your waist tugging you off your car closer to him, placing the breakfast bag on top of the trunk.
You murmured up at him, shaking your head ashamed. “I’m so sorry Jack, I…”
“It’s okay… I’ve been learning how to deal with it.” He admitted, nodding. “Picked up: therapy, a few hobbies here and there.” He shrugged looking down at you. “I think I wanna try again though..”
“Yeah?” You smiled up at the man almost twice your age. He bashfully nodded at his confession, smiling back at you with his cute teeth. “Well… maybe once I’ve gotten that fellowship.” You teased reaching a hand up to his face, feeling the rough hair on his face.
“Come down to the ED.” He looked you in the eyes, pleading you.
You smirked at his begging expression. “Not a chance in hell, Abbot.” You snickered, patting his cheek.
To say you’ve only said bad things about PTMC’s emergency department or “The Pitt” was an understatement. You and Garcia both complained about casual relationships with clingy Pitt doctors, much to Walsh’s dismay.
“I’m just trying to keep things causal, Red.” Garcia began complaining as she saw you waiting to take the patient she brought up, her final one of the night.
“What now?” You ask, taking the gurney, while putting your phone into your pocket. Jack hadn’t been answering your text, weird. He always found at least a minute or two to text you during his SWAT shift.
Garcia cringes, “She asked for me to come over and go see the fireworks…”
“Wow. Sounds like hell.” You sarcastically said. “Just admit you like the girl.” You teased as you helped her wheel the patient to an OR. Garcia scoffed at your statement.
Garcia scoffed you off, “Easy for you to say, you have an attending chasing after you. I have a R2. Oh great, speak of the devil.” She pointed down the hall at Jack jogging to you down the hall. You looked at Garcia. She gave you a dramatic roll of the eyes but the okay as she manned the gurney herself. You left to go meet him halfway.
“What’re you doing up here? I thought you never came up here?” You teased, the older man.
He had infact come up hundreds of times since the day of Pittfest, but usually it was at the end of your shift. Jack often waited outside whatever OR you were often working in for anywhere between 15 minutes or 2 hours, or when he was lucky found you in an empty patient room working on a case study for your fellowship. He always walked you to your car, and always asked when you were going to join The Pitt. To which you just scoffed and planted a kiss on his cheek as you left.
“Well I had an administrative meeting upstairs and came to visit on my way down. Been here since one,” He gruffly frowned, tense.
Your eyebrows lifted, “I thought you were out with the team, today. Are you working a double?” You muttered in surprise, opening your phone to check your text which you could’ve sworn said he’d be out volunteering.
He put a hand on your phone, gently pushing it back down. “Hiro was shot.” He started and you gasped, you had only heard stories of Jack’s volunteer SWAT team hobby. But from what you knew, Hiro was a sweet man with a sweeter wife who had wanted to meet you for a while.
Jack put his hands on your shoulders to calm you down, but it was almost just to touch you. “Garcia took him up a while ago, do me a favor and check up on him?” You nodded tabbing it in your chaos of a mind, which was running through a million questions. He read your worried face instantly, “What?” he smiled softly at your panicked face, you were so cute. Curse this man, as that look frazzled you more.
“Are you okay?” You blurted out, worried. He guffawed at your question, offering himself to you; holding out his arms. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, nonetheless you took it upon yourself to check him for injuries. And use this opportunity to finally feel him up. You circled him, touching his arms.
He sighed, as you left his vision and unable to lie to you. “Bullet grazed my shoulder. But Dr. Mohan patched me up.” He stated staring off into the distance of the surgical department, you sighed in relief at that. You let go of his bicep, which caused Jack to huff in disappointment silently. You trusted Dr. Mohan incredibly, remembering her actions during Pittfest, you did not need to see the wound yourself to know it was taken care of.
You glanced at his posture and took a guess, pressing a thumb into his right shoulder. You felt bandages under his black scrubs as he winced loudly, not expecting it, you snorted down a laugh. “Text me back, next time.” You scolded the stubborn old man.
He raised an eyebrow at you. “Cyber Attack. Right as I got in. I would’ve faxed you.” He rasped out shrugging like he was innocent. He turned around to face you, he put his hands behind his back as he looked down at you shooting you a fake glare of anger at your brattiness. Fuck I think felt I’m wet.
“Wow. Remind you of your resident days?” You teased his age You had heard that systems were off earlier as you clocked on in but didn’t know why, and you didn’t know Jack was even here.
He shook his head. “I wish. Wouldn’t have had to go to that useless meeting.” You snorted a laugh and he chucked admiring you.
You caught him staring with those grey eyes that turned green in your mornings together and raised an eyebrow. “So what? You’ve been running on fumes since one?” You prodded. Usually he took a nap after his SWAT shifts before clocking in.
“Nah. I had a nap, hitched a ride with a patient to Presby.” He shrugged off your concern, his hands wandering to your waist, under your red hoodie. “Can you check on him too? Howard Knox? Went up for an emergency open laparotomy?” He asked you, you could hear the worry he tried to mask in his voice. He cared so deeply for his patients, you loved that about him.
You nodded silently as you wrapped your arms around his neck, careful to avoid his shoulder, you hugged him. He brought you closer with a raised eyebrow, you weren’t one for PDA in the middle of the surgical department floor. “You worry me.” You simply said. You’d expressed your conflicted feelings about his “hobby” and in turn he’d told you ‘he’d think about it.’ He buried his face into the side of your head, sniffing your shampoo, relaxing as he smelt it. God he’d have to ask you what kinda you used.
“Red! You scrubbing in?” You heard Walsh call out as she came out of the elevator from the same administrative meeting as Jack, no doubt. Jack moved out of the way so he didn’t block you, he nodded to Emery as a greeting and she nodded back.
You replied as you let go, returning your heels to the ground, “Yep, Garcia already brought the patient up before clocking out.” Jack took his cue, kissing the top of your head, you hummed happily playfully pushing him off in front of your attending. He let you return to your element as he returned to his. You waved as he left and he waved back as the elevator doors opened. He watched you until you and Walsh disappeared into an OR— even when the elevator doors closed in his face as he turned back around. He smiled softly to himself, twisting at the golden ring he now wore around his neck with a chain. Jack Abbot didn’t fiddle much. But when it came to you he always found his mind and fingers wandering.
Little Red: hiro and howard are both making a healthy recovery in the icu!! hiro’s in 312 and howards in 367!
Wolfie Wolf: Great. Thanks, I’ll tell the guys so they can visit. Tell Dr. Garcia, I said “Thank you.” next time you see her.
Little Red reacted with a 👍 to your message.
“I can’t believe you two idiots aren’t dating.” Walsh said as you pocketed your phone, getting your surgical gowns and glove packets.
You scoffed softly “Well… I just don’t want the idea that he’s sleeping with a resident.” you explained as you two opened the packets letting them drop onto the sterile field.
“You’re not even in his department.” Walsh rolled her eyes, these all sounded like excuses to her. Her mouth twitched in frustration, putting on her mask, you rolled your eyes as you followed her.
“Doesn’t matter. People will say anything.” You said, shrugging. You’d already explained this to Jack one night on the roof as he finished covering a day shift and you were in early, maybe just to see him. He nodded in understanding telling you he’d wait, kissing your forehead before he left. He came back at 7am to drop off breakfast and walk you to your car.
Match Day. The day which would literally define the rest of your life, and you had accidentally taken a day shift. You loudly complained about your mistake to Jack about it as the date was announced while you were sitting on his couch. He rubbed your back to comfort you.
The good news was that when you told Walsh, she let you sneak out for 15 minutes to go check your results. You worried, refreshing the page repeatedly as you came up to the roof, zipping up your red hoodie. If you didn’t get this cardio fellowship, you really didn’t know what you could possibly do. Maybe jump from this roof.
I guess I could work in the ED, Jack would be happy to take me in. But would everyone think I slept with him to get there? Fuck. I haven’t even kissed him…
You refreshed the page once more, watching with bated breath. The page loaded and you almost dropped your phone off the edge, you panicked scanning over the page.
Congratulations, you have matched! Program Code: 2937310P9 Program Name: Cardiothoracic Surgery Institution Name: Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center
You think you almost went into cardiac arrest at those words. You fumbled with your phone taking a screenshot and posting it in all your family group chats. You rushed to call Jack, he should be in bed after his night shift, but you couldn’t wait to tell him the results.
You waited as it rung, suddenly you heard a muffled phone ringing behind you. You heard cursing as you curiously whipped around. Behind you the rooftop door opened as Jack Abbot came out fumbling with his phone, dressed in a suit with a bouquet in his hands. He looked caught red handed up at you, giving you an unprepared panicked smile; you’d never seen him like this in the past 15 months you’d known him.
“Hey, kid..” he opened his mouth chuckling awkwardly as he tried to hide the bouquet behind him. You smiled softly, tears welling up in your eyes as you ran to him, he opened up his arms as you hugged him. He smiled softly, patting your back and kissing your forehead. “Everything okay?” He wondered softly, unsure about your results.
You nodded, pulling back, crying like a baby as you looked up at him. “I did it, Jack. I got in.” You sobbed happily. He melted, dropping the bouquet and his phone as he gripped your face gently holding you in his hands.
“Great work. I knew you could.” He smirked down at you, showering you in praise as you met his gaze. He looked at you with those puppy eyes that shone green in the daylight.
You went on your tippy toes, wrapping your hands around his neck. “What big eyes you have...” You teased playfully, you both chuckled as your foreheads met, leaning into each other.
“The better to see you with…” he murmured softly admiring you, eyes flicking down to your lips in hunger. His mouth curled into a wolfish grin, his teeth in full display. It’s been months since he wanted to kiss.
You looked up at his grin, shooting that glance at his lips. “What big teeth you have.” You continued.
“The better to eat you with..” he said as he dove down, you met him halfway but he pushed you back. His lips devoured yours, wholeheartedly as he pinned you against the railing.
You pulled back out of breath but began to giggle at his outfit. “Care to explain the suit?” You laughed reaching for his tie pulling him close again.
“Too much?” He joked softly placing his hands on the railing beside you. “Was planning on taking you out after your shift.” He bashfully informed you.
You melted at that, your phone beginning to flood with congratulations and calls from your parents. “No it’s perfect. My very own prince.” You said as you shut off your phone, pulling him by his tie to kiss him again.
“I should go back down…” You told him as you stared out at the afternoon sky and snow, it’d had been nearly 20 minutes of replying to congratulations and kissing Jack. Jack nodded from stubble rubbing against your collarbone, it tickled.
He began showering your neck in kisses. “Jack…” You said warily as he started again and he smiled mischievously. You playfully shoved him back and he went to retrieve the bouquet he dropped of your favorite flowers.
He guided you down the stairs as he told you about recent accidents that happened with the snow. You gasped getting in the elevator as he reenacted what had happened when a sister covered a stone with snow during a snowball fight with her brother.
As you reached the surgical department floor you thanked him for coming all this way. “It was nothing, kid. Proud of you.” He shrugged and kissed your forehead as you stepped out with the bouquet, waving to him as the doors closed.
When you arrived to the break room with flowers, Walsh raised an eyebrow. “How’d it go?” She asked curiously.
You smiled excitedly. “Say hello to your resident with a cardio fellowship.” Walsh’s own rare smile flickered onto her face as she looked at the bouquet.
“Looks like Little Red made it to grandma’s house and got her flowers.” Walsh stated, nodding as she inspected the flowers already suspecting who they were from. “All she had to do was enchant the Big Bad Wolf.” Walsh smirked and put down the bouquet waving to you as she left for a meeting.
“We have Dr. Abbot on the line. Again.” The nurse stated awkwardly, clicking speakerphone.
You groaned as you continued. “Honey, please tell me it’s something important.” You complained, Jack had been calling more and more often. More specifically he’d been calling you. In the middle of surgery.
“I had a question regarding the heart, care to lend your expertise, Red?” You heard the older man’s voice over the phone, no doubt smiling.
“Google’s free.” You sarcastically stated, as you continued with precise hands for your incision. You could hear Ellis chuckle, apparently a slow night down in the ED.
You heard Abbot shrug, “Yeah but I’ve got you on speed dial.” He flirted and you rolled your eyes as the nurses in the room giggled. “Anyways I was calling to ask about dinner, still want to eat the leftovers from the weekend?”
You made a face. “What does this have to do with the heart?” you asked feigning annoyance. Thank god this was a call so Jack couldn’t see your blushing face.
Jack chuckled, “You might break mine, if you say no?” he offered you. You heard Shen give him a high five at that.
You sighed. “Fine. 10 minutes. I’ll be out this surgery in an hour, maybe?” You wondered as you finished up with the left ventricle.
“Sounds good to me, see you in an hour, Cardiothoracic Attending, Dr. Abbot.” He teased out your full title before hanging up. You sighed. Ridiculous. Your husband was ridiculous.
author’s note: finally done!!! sighing in relief. idk how romance or good the ending is tbh… the reader feels a bit two faced but i just wrote her like me. i also used the same like.. 6 verbs.. an e ways if u think im proofreading 15.8 words you’ve lost your mind!!! okay goodnight everyone, this is kia the kianess! Out! Until next time. Thank you so much for your support again!!! I’ve reached 20+ followers with only 2 post so here’s a celebration fic i guess!! Sorry if i missed anything in the content warning!!! okay going fr this time! Thank you again!!!!
summary: after samira has a private conversation with cassie about her plans for this weekend, she takes it to the group where they all firmly decide it’s time to pin you two together.
warnings: smut with plot (18+, mdni), fingering, oral, face sitting, mention of spit, age gap (reader is early 20s, cassie is 42), medical inaccuracy, everyone meddling as usual, tiny bit of angst if you squint, also I did proofread this late last night so there may be errors.
a/n: my first smut fic on here. lmk if it’s good and what i can do better. my requests are almost always open so don’t feel shy to share your thoughts or requests. also this definitely got away from me. i was genuinely concerned for my sanity when i saw how long this was.
It was awfully quiet for a summer day in the ER. Usually, by mid-morning they would be flooded with traumas. After the initial flow from nearby long-term care facilities, they were usually elbow deep until the quiet they usually have between two and three.
But today, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Nobody would dare to mention that out loud, though. They were a superstitious bunch. Sue them.
Cassie wasn’t in her normal groove today. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t in her solitude, her normal. She wasn’t in triage today, and it was fucking with her.
She was down in the trauma bay like almost every other person who worked in the pitt.
Regardless, it was messing with her. So maybe that’s why she blabs out whatever was on her mind to Samira. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep the night before, up too late thinking about her life choices. Thinking about you. But that’s something she would never say out loud. So maybe that’s why she says what she says.
“God, I can’t wait for this weekend.” Cassie leans over the nurses desk, running a tired hand over her forehead.
Even though it’s only nine, she feels like she’s been here since the night before. It was the lack of sleep, she decided. Not you. Never you. You were too young. Way too young.
“Do I even want to know?” Samira lifts her eyes from the computer, her eyebrow raising.
“I don’t have Harrison this weekend.” She offers up as if it was obvious. As if she and Samira had this conversation yesterday and she just blocked it out. “He’s with his dad this weekend.. it’s gonna be so quiet.”
“Hm.” Samira returns her attention to the computer, quickly losing interest. She never paid attention to Cassie much. That is, unless she mentions you. But that was very rare.
Samira was one of the two people you’d actually told about your crush. As your best friend it was in her best interest to keep her ears peeled for your name in any conversation. But specifically ones that involved one Cassie McKay.
The other person was Mel. That one being a drunken mistake. After a particularly hard shift you’d offered up an invite to anyone as pathetic as you who needed to forget. The only person who took you up was Mel.
Three shots in, you’d blurted out the only secret you ever held.
“I need to get laid.” Cassie blows out a rush of air, like it was weighing her down and she needed to get it out before her lung collapsed.
Samira’s head snapped back up. She wasn’t sure how much of the conversation she’d missed between her last remark and Cassie’s just now, but she was sure focused now.
Cassie must notice the surprise on Samira’s face because she responds back with, “Sorry. That was a little much, huh?”
“A little?” Samira breathes out, logging out of the computer so her full attention is on this conversation.
“Okay, a lot.” She presses her fingers into her dry eyes. She’s sure her eyes are red from lack of sleep. “Especially before ten.”
When Cassie looks up, she’s still met with Samira’s flabbergasted expression.
“Or ever.” Cassie lifts her head again. She hits the top of the desk slightly. “Alright, well, I better get back to work.”
Samira just nods, like she had an out of body experience. Unsure of what to do.
Does she keep this to herself? No. Definitely not. But who does she tell? She can’t take this straight to you. She debates it for a second, weighing the option in her head. It would mess with your groove for the rest of the shift. You’d be flustered and wobbly, and it wouldn’t result in anything but torture for anyone. She can just imagine you tripping over your own words, trying to look Cassie in the eye, but only lasting for a few seconds.
Okay, definitely not you. Maybe she takes this to Mel. The only other person who knows. After staring at the menu screen on the computer for way too long, she decides against it.
Mel’s too innocent, she declares. She wouldn’t be able to handle it on her own.
So she finds herself standing before she’s even thinking, finding the exact group she wants to find in the break room.
“I have a proposition.” Samira makes sure there’s no stranglers in the break room before she shuts and locks the door.
The group—Dennis, Victoria, Mel, and Trinity—stop their conversation before they turn their attention to Samira.
“And what is that?” Trinity turns with a mischievous smirk. “Is it trouble?”
“Possibly.” Samira says bluntly.
“Count me in.” Trinity shrugs, her bitter coffee cup steaming in her hand.
“Count me out.” Mel shakes her head, making a move towards the door before Trinity grabs her arm.
“Sit down, weasel.” Trinity pushes her to sit in one of the chairs. “Listen to what she has to say before you deny the action.”
“W— what is it?” Victoria asks nervously.
“Yeah, this isn’t gonna.. like.. get us in trouble, is it?” Dennis sways on his feet, debating if he’d make it to the door before Trinity catches him.
“Guys, let her speak.” Trinity rolls her eyes. “You were saying?”
“Okay, this might come as a surprise to most of you. And you cannot, under any circumstances, speak of this with anyone who is not in this room.” Samira speaks with her hands, clenching into fists.
“Okay..” Trinity says.
“y/n has a crush on McKay.” Samira lets out a sigh, much like the one Cassie let out before.
“Oh, well, we knew that.” Trinity laughs. “Was that supposed to be a secret? Because I swear I just had a conversation with Princess and Perlah about that this morning.”
Samira sighs, her eyes closing in annoyance.
“It’s supposed to be a secret.” Samira says.
“Then why are you telling us?” Victoria shifts on her feet. “I mean, isn’t this an invasion of hers and Dr. McKay’s privacy?”
“Definitely.” Mel looks uncomfortable. “But.. what does this have to do with us?”
“I say we..” Samira trails off, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She can’t figure out how to word this, so she just blurts it. It’ll definitely screw with Dennis, Victoria, and Mel, but she can’t think of a better way. “Look, McKay came up to me this morning basically yelling she needed to get laid.”
She doesn’t miss the way Victoria, Dennis, and Mel flinch. And she sure doesn’t miss the way Trinity's face stretches out into a grin.
“So.. what?” Trinity looks down and back up again, her smirk vibrant on her face. “You want us to set them up?”
“What? You think if we drop subtle hints they’ll take the bait?” Dennis wraps his arms around himself, not completely hating the idea.
“Well, yeah.” Samira states it as if it’s obvious.
“That would be easy.. except..” Mel trails off shaking her head.
“Except what?” Victoria asks.
“Expect that y/n thinks it’s one sided and that she’ll never have a chance.” Mel states, looking around to see the looks she’s getting. “What? y/n.. tells me things.”
“Okay, regardless, something needs to happen.” Samira waves her hand in the air. “Are you guys in or not?”
“Well, I already said yes before you came up with this plan. But after hearing it..” Trinity tilts her head. “Hell yeah.”
“I feel obligated.” Mel nods.
“Yeah— yeah sure.” Victoria smiles. “It’s kind of annoying watching her stare at McKay like she’s hung the sky.”
“I think the expression you’re looking for is ‘like she hung the moon.’” Dennis corrects, looking up to see all eyes on him. “What?”
“Well? Huckleberry?” Trinity raises her eyebrows, throwing her empty coffee cup in the trash. “You in or out?”
After a long stretch of silence, and a heavy sigh, “I’m in.”
“Great. I’m starting a group chat with all of us.” Trinity already has her phone out, tapping away. “Don’t speak of this outside of this room.”
“Woah, who’s controlling this operation? Me or you?” Samira frowns.
“We can..” Trinity stops talking, stuck on something happening on her phone. “do it together.”
“If anyone would co-captain this ship with me, it would be Mel.” Samira crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “We were the only ones who knew for sure before this conversation started.”
“I’m— I'm okay if Santos takes my spot.” Mel rocks back and forth slightly, her nerves taking over. “I’m more of a follower.. so.”
“Okay, that settles it then.” Trinity tucks her phone back in her pocket. “I made the group chat. Don’t open it around anyone. And definitely don’t tell anyone about this. Keep us updated.”
They start to retreat out of the room, Samira shaking her head and sighing.
Tuesday rolls around and the group chat is buzzing.
Trinity definitely took over the entire operation, and despite Samira’s annoyance, she’s gotten them further than she would have.
Granted, the only updates in the group chat have been short moments. You looking at Cassie a little too long, a lingering touch, an agreement on something that shouldn’t have been agreed on for a patient's care.
But late Tuesday evening, right before shift change, there’s a breakthrough.
Trinity: No fucking way.
Victoria: Yes way. Swear to God.
Samira: You’re sure? Like, 100%?
Victoria: Yes.
Mel: Well? What’s the proof?
Trinity: Yeah, come on. You can’t withhold vital information from us.
Dennis: You’re acting like this is a court case.
Victoria: Okay. My locker is right beside McKay’s, right?
Samira: Is that a question or a statement? I don’t keep tabs on people’s lockers.
Victoria: A statement.
Dennis: Keep going. I have to be back early tomorrow and I’d like to sleep.
Trinity: Please. You’re sitting on the couch watching TV.
Dennis: Shut up. Just trying to speed the process.
Victoria: Anyways, y/n finished changing and was leaving. And she passed by McKay, and I swear to God I saw her eyes on y/n’s ass.
Mel: Seriously?
Victoria: On my life.
Trinity: Oh. This is serious.
Mel: What if they are already dating?
Samira: No. She would’ve told me.
Dennis: You sure about that?
Samira: Yes.
Trinity: Okay, back to the most important part here.
Victoria: Anyways, she caught me staring and her face turned into a tomato! Like so red.
Mel: Oh my gosh. Guys, maybe we shouldn’t meddle in this.
Trinity: Mel, for the love of God.
Dennis: Mel, it’s fine, okay? We aren’t really doing anything.
Mel: Yet. What if they find out and are so mad they won’t talk to us anymore? I don’t like that idea. y/n is the closest thing I have to a friend.
Trinity: Hey!
Dennis: That’s mean.
Samira: We are all your friends, Mel.
Mel: Yeah, yeah, I know.
Victoria: Anyways, after she caught me staring she tried to come up with an excuse. Something about thinking y/n had something on her butt. She got so flustered and stuttered so much. She left right after that. Making it a point to go the opposite direction of y/n.
Trinity: Holy shit. This is big.
Samira: Well, now we have proof Cassie has a thing for y/n.
Mel: I wouldn’t say that determines she has a ‘thing’ for her..
Trinity: Hand it to Mel to bring down the mood. Well, later weirdos. Hopefully we have more luck tomorrow.
Wednesday, someone has the bright idea to pin you and Cassie in triage together. That someone obviously being Trinity.
Robby tried to put Trinity in triage, and she came up with the brilliant idea to ask you.
You, of course, agreed without a second thought. Asking if she was feeling well. Trinity came up with a lie, something about not feeling well and wanting to limit her patient number today.
You would do anything to spend time with Cassie, so you didn’t have a second thought.
“y/n!” Cassie’s face brightens when she sees you. “Thought you were in the trauma bay, today.”
“I was.. but Dr. Santos asked if I’d switch.” You scratch the back of your neck. “I enjoy triage.”
Cassie squints her eyes, “I don’t believe that. But I’ll let it go.”
You nod gratefully, following Cassie around before you two split off. Figuring the two of you would get the line through quicker if you worked separately.
She occasionally asks for consults from you, or just to be near you. She adores you, even though she shouldn’t.
You’re young. Like, twelve years too young. She shouldn’t think about you the way she does. Or when she does.
Like when it’s late at night and she’s all alone. The TV long turned off, her hand slipped under her shorts. The image of you in nothing but your bra and underwear getting her off quicker than her ex husband ever did.
She knows she shouldn’t. She knows it’s wrong. But she can’t help it. She needs you like air.
“Dr. l/n, could you consult me on something?” She peaks into the exam room you’re in, the curtain pulled around her shoulder.
“Of course.” You give a tight lipped smile. “Mrs. Chen, I’ll be right back.”
The woman rolls her eyes, telling her to take her time. As if she hadn’t been here all morning. You give your best smile and assure her you’ll be back as soon as possible.
“Eighteen year old boy, pencil through his ear.” She rubs her hands together, massaging the sanitizer into her hands. Your eyes trail to where her hands are rubbing together. Her skilled fingers run along her knuckles. You imagine what they would feel like caressing your back, her hands in between strands of hair as you— “Hey, eyes up here.”
She lifts your chin and your throat feels like it’s about to close up.
“S— sorry.” You take a deep breath.
“Did you hear what I said?” She tilts her head, eyes scanning your face.
“Eighteen year old boy, pencil in his ear. You want to put him under anesthesia to remove it. You think it’ll be an easy procedure.” You recite her word for word. Her mouth opens in surprise, her eyebrows raising.
“Good girl.” She smirks. “Now, come help me out.”
Her voice rasps in a way that makes your head spin. Your head takes you to an entirely different image in your head that has nothing to do with this patient and everything to do with the two of you alone.
“Are you still with me?” She frowns. “Are you feeling okay?”
She places her hand on your face, feeling for a fever. This only makes your face heat further.
“You’re a little warm.” Her frown deepens, and she looks at you with concern. “But nothing too serious.”
You let out a breath of relief quiet enough to keep to yourself.
Cassie clears her throat, clearly coming to her senses, “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
Later in the day, when triage slows down, Cassie moves into the trauma bay. She wanted to get her hands dirty, hoping it makes the day move a little quicker.
After her interaction with you this morning, she was feeling particularly uncomfortable. Her clothes felt too tight on her body, the heat between her legs never fading. Not as long as she’s in proximity with you.
She sits, finally, at around seven. She chews on a granola bar, silently charting. That is, until Trinity approaches her.
“Hey.” Trinity leans over the desk. “What you got there?”
“A granola bar?” Cassie says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She goes back to chatting before realizing Trinity still hadn’t moved. “Did you need something, Dr. Santos?”
“I guess I’ll get right to the point.” She rolls her eyes so hard, it almost looks like her eyes will get stuck.
“Please do.” Cassie doesn’t look up.
“What do you think about y/n?”
Cassie’s heart beats quicker, her teeth sinking into her cheek.
“She’s sweet.” That wasn’t the best response. And definitely wasn’t what Trinity was looking for. But Cassie can’t help but bite. “What, are you asking for you?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “She’s a sweet girl.” Trinity agrees, her eyes never leaving Cassie’s face. The slightest change in expression could make a big difference in their operation. “We aren’t very close, but I wouldn’t be against getting to know her on a deeper level.”
Cassie has to keep the rage bubbling in her stomach down. You weren’t hers. And you never would be. Maybe this was good. Maybe it would make her get rid of the feelings. Rid of the one thing she hates herself for.
“I say..” Cassie clenches her jaw. “go for it.”
“Really?” Trinity looks genuinely surprised. “You guys are so close. I figured.. maybe—“
“Maybe what?” Cassie snaps, nostrils flaring angrily. “What are you insinuating, Dr. Santos?”
“Nothing.” Her lips turn down, shaking her head. She has to suppress the smirk that wants to spread across her face. She had Cassie right where she wanted her. “Any words of advice? For when I ask her out?”
“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Santos. I suggest you drop this conversation before it becomes a problem.” Cassie knows she’s about to make a scene. But she doesn’t seem to care. She lowers her voice, “Bring this up again, and you will regret it.”
Cassie gives her a hard glare before she moves past Trinity, walking down the hallway.
“I’ll take that as a win.” Trinity smirks to herself.
Samira appears behind the other side of the desk, “I think that’s all the proof we need.”
“I think so, too.” Trinity nods.
“Now what, Captain?” Samira turns her head towards Trinity, Victoria, Mel, and Dennis meeting together.
“Now, we get them in the same room. Together.” Trinity smirks.
“But how?” Victoria shakes her head. “We can’t just.. set them up on a date. Can we?”
“No.” Mel declares. “That’d be too obvious. They talk. They’d figure it out in five minutes.”
“Then what?” Dennis asks.
“We’ll figure it out.” Trinity nods.
“Well it needs to be quick.” Samira insists. “The week is flying by. If we don’t do something now, nothing will happen.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Trinity repeats, this time sounding sure.
When Friday comes, the groups at a loss. They have no idea what to do, and their timeline is coming to an end. Friday marks the beginning of the weekend.
“I mean, what now?” Mel keeps her voice hushed even though they are the only ones in the exam room. All five of them, smushed together in the small area.
“Yeah, this marks the end.” Samira shrugs, her arms crossing over her chest. “We failed. We couldn’t do it.”
“Not necessarily. We still have time.” Victoria insists. “We know they both like each other. We’ve established that. We just need to get them somewhere. Together. Alone.”
“But how?” Dennis shakes his head. “It’s never gonna work. We don’t have an idea. And we’re on a time crunch.”
“I have an idea.” Trinity speaks up, squishing her bottom lip between her pointer finger and thumb. “It’s going to sound crazy, but I need you to listen to the entire thing before you say no.”
“I’m gonna hate this.” Mel mutters, staring at the ceiling.
“Okay, so, we know McKay has feelings for y/n. And that they are reciprocated.” Trinity counts on a finger.
“Yeah, Victoria just said that.” Dennis points out.
“So..”
“So what? It’s a lost cause. We should just give up while we’re ahead. Maybe they are in that situation where you really like someone but neither of them say anything so you push it down until it’s too late.” Samira rants.
“Something to share with the class, Mohan?” Trinity jokes.
“No. Just— no.”
“So. We need to prove to them that they like each other. Cassie has no clue and neither does y/n. We need to fix that.”
“But how?” Mel looks confused. “I mean, we can't just make them say it.”
“But what if we did?” Trinity says. “What if McKay did say it?”
“What? Like truth serum?” Victoria asks, giving her a weird look.
“No, Crash.” Trinity rolls her eyes.
“You saw what happened last time you tried that. It didn’t work. She could report you.” Dennis says, his voice lowering at his last sentence. “Maybe Samira’s right. It’s probably a lost cause.”
“No, you guys aren’t listening.” Trinity places her fingers into the corners of her eyes.
“Then explain.” Victoria attempts to hurry her. “We don’t have all day.”
“What if.. we took McKay’s phone?” Trinity looks around at the group, met with nervous, unsure expressions. “And before you say no, hear me out. She’s always losing her phone. I mean, she’s left it here overnight before. So, we grab it when she leaves it sit. We wait for them both to make it home before we send the message.”
“Who’s doing the grabbing? I— I don’t want any part in that.” Mel shakes her head profusely. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“I don’t know.. she might thank us after.” Samira nods. “I mean, she was practically begging me to find someone to have sex with her.”
“Exactly.” Trinity nods along. “I’ll do the phone snatching, don’t worry. And I’ll send the message. But we need to figure out what it says.”
“Something like.. come over?” Dennis shakes his head.
“No, that’s too simple.” Victoria bites her lip. “y/n won’t take it seriously. She’ll think she’s drunk, or something.”
“How about we start it like.. ‘I know it’s late.. and I swear I’m not drunk, but..’” Mel offers, trying her best not to shrink under the gaze of the others. “Can— can someone else add?”
“‘I’m not drunk, but.. I’m thinking about you.’” Dennis adds.
“‘It’s so quiet without Harrison here.’” Samira nods.
“‘Too quiet. It’d be nice to have a little company..’” Victoria smiles, shrugging one shoulder.
“This is really great guys. Keep going.” Trinity is typing the message in her notes app for later.
“‘Again, really sorry it’s late, but.. maybe you’d want to come over?’”
“‘I think about you a lot. Even when I shouldn’t.’”
“‘And I have the feeling you do too.’”
“‘I’ll be waiting. Come whenever.’”
“Double meaning.” One side of Trinity's lips turn up in a smirk. “I like it. This is perfect guys. I think we have what we need.”
“Okay. So, I’ll distract her right before shift change. She always leaves her phone on the desk right before she heads to the locker room. When she’s debriefing.” Samira nods.
“Perfect. Then Huckleberry and I will send the message a little after ten. Perfect amount of time for them to get home. Maybe even a little shower.” Trinity says.
And so they do just that. With the help of Mel’s rambling, they manage to keep Cassie distracted long enough for Trinity to grab the phone and leave. Dennis following behind her.
Victoria stands at the desk, speaking to all the nurses. Keeping them in the latest drama with a disastrous date she went on last week.
When Cassie returns to the desk, in search of her phone, Victoria attempts to help her. After a few minutes, she suggests maybe Cassie should just head home and get some sleep. Letting her know she’ll drop it by her house if she finds it.
With a hug, Cassie leaves through the double doors, headed for home.
Victoria sends a message saying it worked and that Cassie is heading home now.
And so the plan went with flying colors. Right before Trinity and Dennis get into bed, they send the message.
Cassie: I know it’s late.. and I swear I’m not drunk, but.. I’m thinking about you. It’s so quiet without Harrison here. Too quiet. It’d be nice to have a little company. Again, really sorry it’s late, but.. maybe you’d want to come over? I think about you a lot. Even when I shouldn’t. And I have the feeling you do too. I’ll be waiting. Come whenever.
They hit send together, shutting the phone off when your read receipt comes up.
“You don’t wanna.. see if she responds?” Dennis asks with a surprised expression.
“No.” Trinity sighs. “I think that’s between them.”
The message comes a little after ten. After you get out of the shower. You didn’t think you’d hear from Cassie for the rest of the night. Figured she was about ready to tuck into bed. But maybe you didn’t know her as well as you thought.
Cassie: I know it’s late.. and I swear I’m not drunk, but.. I’m thinking about you. It’s so quiet without Harrison here. Too quiet. It’d be nice to have a little company. Again, really sorry it’s late, but.. maybe you’d want to come over? I think about you a lot. Even when I shouldn’t. And I have the feeling you do too. I’ll be waiting. Come whenever.
You bite your lip, unsure whether you should go or not. You want to. You really want to. More than anything. But what if this changes everything? She’s your closest friend other than Samira, regardless of your feelings.
Fuck it, you think. You grab a sweatshirt and pull it over your head, grabbing your keys as you make it out the door.
You won’t lie, you went a little over the speed limit. But if Cassie texted, you would always come.
You knock on the door quickly, not wanting to waste any time. As soon as the door opens, your lips are on hers, not holding back.
She lets out a noise of surprise, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Her hands are running through your still wet hair, coming down to your neck to pull you closer. Her hands run down your back then, squeezing the plush of your ass between her hands.
“Jump.” She says between gasps of air. She lifts you with ease, pushing you back against the door, slamming it shut. She holds you with one arm, your legs wrapped around her waist.
Her other hand wraps around the side of your neck, your hands running through her hair now.
Cassie removes her lips from yours, a small whine coming from your mouth at the loss of contact. But her lips are back on your skin. Hot on your cheek as she trails down to your neck.
“Cass..” You lean your head back.
“I know, baby..” She sucks on the skin of your collar bone, low enough to be covered by your scrubs tomorrow. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”
She pushes off the door, making her way down the hall until she reaches her bedroom.
She lowers you onto the bed softly, lips never leaving yours. She slots her leg between your thighs.
Cassie reaches for the hem of your sweatshirt, waiting for you to break the kiss to pull it over your head. You do so, lips back on hers in a second. You weren’t wearing a bra, because you’d planned to get into bed, so you're bare chested in front of her.
“God, baby, you’re beautiful.” She leaves gentle kisses along your chest, occasionally leaving a bite, soothing it over with her tongue. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”
“Me either.” You gasp as her tongue swirls around your hardened bud. Her hand reaches up to pinch the other nipple.
“I bet you’re so wet, aren’t you?” She lets go of the nipple with a pop, her lips biting and teasing at the other one.
“Cassie.” You breathe out. “Please.”
“Please, what? Use your words for me. Be my good girl.” She is back to kissing your neck.
“Please touch me, Cass. I’ve waited so long.” Your words make her chuckle.
“It’s only been a few minutes.” She looks into your eyes, keeping your attention. “Where do you want me to touch you? Be specific.”
“Cassie..” You throw your head back, closing your eyes. “Don’t make me..”
“Look at me.” She moves your neck so your eyes are on hers. She looks so good like this—red cheeks, lips swollen, mused hair. Her hair was messy and you found it so hot. Her bangs were parted slightly, hair falling into her eyes.
Instead of saying it, you remove her hand that’s still pinching your nipple, and move it towards your heat. Under your leggings, right where you want her— no, need her.
You shudder at the contact, and Cassie groans, rubbing tight circles around your clit. She admires the way you writhe underneath her, leaving more bites in between your tits, marking her territory. As if you were ever someone else’s. She slides her finger down your slit, your slick gathering on her fingers.
But in her eyes, Trinity had a thing for you. It was evident. The way she approached her, asking for help. Asking what you liked, asking for help to ask you out.
It raged her. More than usual. Even though it shouldn’t have.
All the thoughts of why this shouldn’t happen, leaves her head when you gasp and buck into her hand. She needs you. Need to see you. Taste you.
She removes her hand from your leggings, a small breathy laugh leaving her throat when you whine and beg.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Her mouth reaches yours, a searing kiss as she hooks her thumbs underneath your leggings. She pulls them down and off your legs with ease. “We’re just getting started. Need to taste you. That okay?”
You nod your head quickly, “Please.”
“No underwear, either.” She makes a tsk sound. “You plan on coming over here, hm?”
“I—“ Your words quickly catch in your throat as her tongue makes contact with your clit. The sounds coming from her mouth are filthy, but it turns you on even more.
She flattens her tongue, moving her tongue too quick to be human.
“Oh, God.” You cry out, hands gripping her hair so you can see her face.
“Such a good girl.” She sucks on your clit, sinking two fingers into you. “So good for me.”
“Cass..” You whimper, overwhelmed with how good she's making you feel.
“So sweet.” She licks your clit one more time before moving her fingers in and out. “How have you been hiding from me this whole time? Could’ve had you every night like this.”
You moan at her words, the filth leaving her mouth making your stomach tighten. She lifts her other hand to your nipple, rolling the bud between her skilled fingers.
She spits on your clit, her thumb sliding over it with ease. She feels the way you’re clenching around her fingers.
“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” She’s looking at you, slick all around her mouth. Her words make you tighten around her fingers again, and she lets out a teasing laugh. “You like it when I talk you through it, huh?”
“Yes Cass—“ You let out a loud moan when she curls her fingers just right.
“You’re so close.” She picks up her pace. “I can feel you, baby. Why don’t you come for me? Make a mess of yourself for me.”
Your back arches, the coil in your stomach tightening more by the minute. She removes her fingers and has her mouth back on you. You finish in seconds, legs shaking, hand pressing her head closer against your heat.
“Fuck.” Cassie’s voice is muffled in between your legs. “So good, baby. Perfect.”
You need a minute to catch your breath, scratching your hand against Cassie’s scalp. You pull her towards you, her mouth on yours. Her tongue slides against your own, the taste of yourself on her tongue.
“Could’ve had you this whole time. Way better than any food I’ve ever eaten.” She whispers in your ear, your lips attaching to her neck. Without thinking you suck a mark way too high to cover with her shirt tomorrow.
“Oops.” You bite your lip when she moves her head to look you in the eye. Her eyebrows raise, and you can’t help but flush all over again.
“Oops?” She looks over your face. “You’re gonna pay for that, missy.”
“Fine by me.” You pull her face towards yours, needing more. “I think it’s your turn. I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, caressing her hand over your cheek. “Now I understand why your face was so hot the other day. You were thinking about me, weren’t you?”
“Stop deflecting.” You run your hand through her hair by her ear. “Want you to sit on my face.”
“You sure?” She looks at you, her eyebrows drawn together.
“Absolutely.”
You run your hands down her back until you reach the top of her sweatpants. You push them down, motioning for Cassie to lift her hips so you can remove them the whole way.
Her lips are back on yours, and you slide one hand down her stomach until you reach her. She’s soaked, your fingers slipping right over her clit. Her hips jut into your leg and she moans into your mouth.
“Fuck.” She shutters. “It’s been a while.”
You don’t say anything. Instead, you lay flat on your back, giving her the look that says ‘any time now.’
With a reluctant sigh, she lifts her body over your face, balancing on her knees.
“Tell me if I’m too heavy.” Her hands find your hair. “Or if it's too much. I’m serious.”
“I believe you. Now come on, I’m starving.”
She lets you wrap your arms around her thighs, pulling her onto your face.
“Oh God.” Her hands find the wall for any sort of grounding, but there’s nothing to hold onto.
She grinds her pussy onto your face, lewd sounds coming from her mouth as she gets close embarrassingly quick.
One hand slips under her shirt and to her tits. You grip the flesh, your palm grazing against her nipple just right.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Her legs shake around your head, your tongue moving faster. “Fuck, y/n. Just like that. So good. It’s so good.”
She comes a minute after that, grinding onto your face to ride out the climax. After taking a second to breathe, she climbs off your face. She lays beside you, facing towards you.
You turn on your side to look at her too, sitting in silence for a couple minutes.
“You okay?” She runs her thumb over your cheek.
“Better than okay.” You smile and she lifts her head to place a small kiss on your forehead. “I’m with you.”
She stays there for a moment, relishing in the feeling. Her lips planted against your head.
“Do you want me to go?” You ask in a soft voice, the newfound confidence from earlier nowhere in sight.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Stay, please.” She lays flat on her back, pulling you close to her, your head finding its home on her chest.
You lay there for a long time. You want to sleep but there’s a million thoughts running through your head. You think about how work will be tomorrow. About whether Cassie will talk to you or avoid you like the plague.
You wonder if she’ll be able to look you in the eye without blushing. Or if she’ll be cold and short with you.
You didn’t even know this was a possibility until about an hour ago. Always thought it was one-sided, unrequited. You’ve had the biggest crush on her for years. Never thinking it’d go anywhere.
Would she want to do this again? Want to do more than this? Would she want to date? Or would she just want no strings attached? It was hard with Harrison, you thought. It wouldn’t be an ideal arrangement, would only end in your heart breaking, but you’d do it if it meant you got to have Cassie like this.
You desperately hope she wants more than this. That she wants to lay in bed with you, take care of you when you’re sick, order gross takeout and laugh on her couch until you're way past your bedtime.
But you’d do no strings attached.
By the time Cassie speaks again, you're spiraling. Fully convinced Cassie doesn’t want a relationship—only sex.
“You know, I meant what I said earlier. I didn’t think this was an option.” She runs her fingers up and down your arm. “Us.”
Your heart beats in your chest, dropping to your stomach. She probably just meant sex, right?
“Me either.” You whisper, not trusting your voice.
“What’s on your mind?” You feel her tilt her head so she can get a better look at you. “y/n?”
You feel your heart rise back up to your throat, unable to say anything.
“Hey, look at me.” You manage to tilt your head up so she can see your face. Your eyes are glassy, and your chin trembles. It’s so small she almost misses it. But it’s there. “What’s the matter? Was it not good? Did I hurt you?”
“No, no.” You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” There’s nothing but concern for you in her eyes. “Talk to me.”
“It’s just..” You close your eyes, a tear escaping. She catches it with her thumb before it makes it too far. “I’m gonna talk a lot, and I just want you to listen before you say anything.”
“Okay.” She nods quickly. “Yeah, okay.”
“I don’t know what to think right now. There’s a million thoughts running through my head right now. I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I want to be with you again. Whether it’s dating you or just occasionally hooking up.” You maintain eye contact with Cassie, occasionally searching her face for any emotion, but you’re unable to read her. “I’ve had the most massive crush on you since I started at the hospital, and I just don’t know what to think. I want to date you, but if you don’t want that, I’m okay with just being fuck buddies every once in a while.”
She’s searching your face, she can see how hurt you are. She doesn’t want to be occasional. She wants you. In ways she shouldn’t. She knows it’s wrong. But she doesn’t give a damn. She wants—no needs you in her life.
“And if it’s not reciprocated— my feelings— just tell me. I—“
“Woah—“ She cuts you off.
“Let me finish. Please.” Your eyes are begging, and she can’t help but nod, giving you the go ahead. “I don’t know if it was just a moment of weakness for you. Like, if someone just threw themselves at you and you just went for it because of some pent up sexual desire or whatever. But I just want you to know that I like you. More than I should. And I never intended on doing anything about it, but then you texted me tonight and I just went for it. I don’t know.”
She wipes the tears that slipped out while you were talking. Not sure what to do first. She wants to kiss you, address everything you just said, and pull you into her further.
She lets out a shaky breath, “Okay..”
You bite your bottom lip, scared of what she’s about to say. For a full three seconds you’re convinced she’s going to let you down easy.
“First, it’s always been reciprocated. I’m pretty sure every single person who works at the hospital can attest to that.” Her hands cup your face. “Second, I did have some pent up sexual feelings, but that has nothing to do with what happened tonight. If I didn’t want you like that, I would’ve let you down and sent you away. Got that?”
You nod, letting her pull you in for a kiss.
“Third, I'm not the type to do a friends with benefits situation. Alright? I’m not even really the type to do a hookup unless I intend on having something with them.”
“Okay.” You let out a relieved sigh. “Okay.”
You kiss her again, but this time it feels different. More intimate. You pull back slightly, your lips brushing hers before you attach back onto hers. Your tongue slips past her lips and she touches it with her own.
Abruptly, she pulls back, “Wait.”
“What? Did I do something wrong?” You frown, and she can see you retreating back into yourself.
“No, no. It’s just that..” She looks like she’s recounting a memory. Like she forgot to do something. “You said I sent you a message?”
“Yeah. Something about Harrison not being here and that it was too quiet. You asked me to come over, remember?” You look confused.
“That wasn’t me.” She shakes her head. “I lost my phone at work. I don’t even have it. You sure you don’t have any other Cassie’s in your phone?”
“Pretty sure. And you’re definitely the only Cassie I know with a son named Harrison.” You remind her, a small laugh escaping your lips.
“True.” She laughs, flashing you her heart-stopping smile. Her dimples make an appearance. You run your finger over them before placing a kiss on both dimples.
“But.. then who sent me that message?” You pull back to look at her face.
“I have no clue.” She shakes her head. “Victoria tried to help me find it, but she suggested I just go home. Wait.. you don’t think she took it, do you?”
“Victoria?”
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” She tilts her head.
“Yeah.. but.. she wouldn’t do that.” You shake your head, closing your eyes for a second before opening them abruptly. “But now that you say something.. they’ve all been acting weird this week.”
“Who?”
“You know, Samira, Mel, Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria.” You say as if it’s obvious.
Cassie makes a face when you mention Trinity's name. A mix of rage and disgust.
“What?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Nothing.” She dismisses.
“No. Tell me.” You hit her shoulder. You give your best puppy dog eyes, “Please?”
“Just.. Trinity came up to me the other day asking if she should ask you out.” She says with a disgusted face. “She asked for advice.”
“Trinity?” You bark out a laugh. “As in Dr. Santos? As in the intern who is practically drooling over Dr. Garcia?”
A look of realization crosses over her face.
“You’re too cute.” You throw your head back laughing, clearly finding this way funnier than she does. “You were jealous?”
“Yeah.. I.. I kind of snapped at her. She didn’t mention it?” She questions, not believing this.
“No. She did not.” You stay silent for a long time. Staring at her face, her small freckles that spread across her nose. You never noticed those before. Must be a summer thing. "So.. what? Do you think they conspired this? Like, they got together and planned this? Have a whole group chat without me?"
"I mean..." She presses her lips together in a straight line, thinking it over in her head. "Is it unbelievable?"
"No." You answer without thinking.
"But what started it?" She lets her mind race, trying to decipher the exact moment. She finally comes to the realization--Monday.
"What? Do you know?" Your eyes widen in excitement.
"Now that I think about it, I did mention to Samira on Monday that I wanted to get laid." She shrugs as if she just said it was sunny today.
"What?" You shriek.
"Don't worry, baby. You were the only one on my mind." She kisses your cheek, a small laugh leaving her lips when she pulls away and sees your face. "Now who's the jealous one?"
She pulls you closer into her, wrapping her arms around you. She holds you like that for a while. Until you both fall asleep. You sleep like a baby until your alarm goes off and you both have to get up.
You take a shower together, a heated makeout session to start the morning off. She makes you both a cup of coffee, both smiling at each other nervously over the ceramic rims. Flushed cheeks when she pulls you in by the collar of your sweatshirt for one more kiss.
When it’s too late to run back to your apartment, you realize you don’t have scrubs. Or a bra. After a freak out, Cassie offers you a pair of her scrubs, a little too big on you. She smiles at you, telling you how cute you look before pulling her phone out to take a picture.
When you get into your car to head for work, you pull up the group chat with you and your friends.
You: Trinity, just know that you’re next.
don't forget to like and repost! also, requests are always open, so feel free to spill your dirty thoughts or even fluffy pieces! my mind can only come up with so much..
Summary: After a life-changing injury, you and Cassie fight to hold onto each other as your family learns what recovery truly requires.
Word Count: 13.7k
Warnings: no use of Y/N, workplace violence, chronic pain, physical disability, PTSD, prescription opioid addiction, withdrawal, rehab, abandonment distress, and family conflict.
Masterlist
Harrison had been calling you from the kitchen for almost two full minutes before you understood that he wasn't asking for Cassie.
"I need an adult," he shouted again, his voice carrying down the narrow hall.
You stopped in the bedroom doorway with one of Cassie's socks caught between your fingers. The other had disappeared somewhere between the laundry basket and the bed, joining the collection of small domestic mysteries your household produced faster than any of you could solve them.
"Your mother is an adult," you called back. "She has a medical degree and everything."
"Mom said she's busy."
From the bathroom, Cassie raised her voice over the electric whine of her toothbrush. "I said I was brushing my teeth. Apparently, that means I'm dead to him."
"I heard that," Harrison answered.
You smiled as you crossed the hall. Cassie appeared long enough to lean out of the bathroom and bump her shoulder against yours. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and there was a pale stripe of toothpaste at the corner of her mouth. You wiped it away with your thumb without thinking.
"He wants you," she murmured around the toothbrush, her eyes softening as they moved over your face. "You're the favorite this morning."
"I'm always the favorite before seven. You become useful once he needs a ride somewhere."
Cassie caught your wrist before you could walk away and pressed a quick kiss to the center of your palm. It was a tiny thing, nearly lost beneath the sound of running water and Harrison opening too many cabinet doors. After six years together, your life with her was built from tiny things. It was built from a spare key that had become a shared lease, from one drawer in her dresser becoming half the closet, from learning that Harrison would eat eggs only if the yolks were completely firm and that Cassie would leave every light in the apartment on if nobody followed behind her.
It was built from being chosen, over and over, until choice had settled into routine and routine had become home.
Harrison stood in the kitchen in his school clothes and one sock, staring down at a bowl filled with something gray and lumpy.
"What happened?" you asked.
He held the spoon up as if it were evidence in a criminal trial. "The oatmeal said two-thirds of a cup, but I used the one-third cup twice, and now it looks like wet cement."
You looked at the bowl, then at the measuring cup on the counter. "Did you use two-thirds of a cup of oats or water?"
His expression collapsed. "Both?"
"Okay." You reached for the milk. "This is salvageable."
"Mom said that about her bangs in that old picture, and they weren't."
Cassie walked into the kitchen fastening her watch. "You were five when that picture was taken. Why are you still bullying me about it?"
"Because Grandpa saved it to his favorites."
"My father is a traitor."
Harrison laughed, and Cassie used the distraction to steal a slice of banana from his cutting board. He slapped lightly at her hand. She took another anyway, then came to stand behind you while you thinned the oatmeal. Her chin settled on your shoulder. One arm curled loosely around your waist.
"You working until seven?" she asked.
"Unless the Pitt spontaneously learns how to function with an appropriate number of nurses."
"So, until seven."
"Probably closer to eight. Dana asked if I'd help with next month's trauma competencies after shift."
You'd worked as a trauma nurse in the Pitt for almost a decade, long enough that Dana knew exactly which requests you couldn't resist and which tone would keep you from arguing.
Cassie's mouth brushed the side of your neck. "You're incapable of saying no to that woman."
"So are you."
"Dana's terrifying."
"Dana brought us soup when Harrison had the flu."
"The two aren't mutually exclusive."
Harrison made a gagging sound at the sight of Cassie kissing your cheek, though his grin ruined the performance. You set his repaired oatmeal in front of him and tapped the counter twice.
"Eat. Your mom and I have the same shift, and neither of us can afford to be late."
He took one doubtful bite, considered it, and nodded. "You fixed it."
"Of course she did," Cassie said. Her hand rested at the small of your back as she looked at him. "That's what she does."
The words were casual. Cassie had already turned toward the coffee pot by the time they lodged somewhere beneath your ribs.
You didn't know then how much of your life could change between one morning and the next. You had no reason to treat the kitchen as sacred or memorize the warm pressure of Cassie's hand. It was an ordinary Thursday. Harrison complained about school, Cassie drank half a cup of coffee and forgot the rest on the counter, and you left home believing you understood the shape of the life waiting for you when you returned.
The sound outside the staff entrance was too blunt to be mistaken for a dropped object.
You pushed through the door with one hand still curled around your water bottle. The late afternoon air struck warm against your face. For a second, the glare off the concrete flattened everything into color and movement. Then your eyes adjusted.
Dana was on the ground.
Her cigarette had rolled beneath the bench. One side of her face was already reddening, and an AMA form lay crooked near her shoulder. Doug Driscoll stood several feet away with his chest heaving, the rage that had kept him pacing through the waiting room all day still twisted across his face.
"Hey!" Your water bottle hit the pavement as you ran toward them. "Get away from her."
Doug looked at you. His hand flexed once at his side. "She put her hands on me."
"I didn't touch you," Dana said. Her voice sounded thick. She planted one palm on the concrete and tried to push herself upright. "He sucker punched me."
You moved between them before you had time to decide whether it was wise. At work, decisions often happened that way. A body needed pressure, a line needed access, a frightened family needed someone to meet their eyes. You moved first because someone had to.
"Go inside," you told Dana, keeping your gaze on Doug. "I'll call security."
"Don't turn your back on him," she warned.
Doug stepped closer. "I waited eight hours for nothing."
"That doesn't give you the right to hit her." You pulled your phone from your scrub pocket. Your fingers shook badly enough that you nearly dropped it. "You need to leave."
"I'm trying to." He shoved past you.
His forearm struck high across your chest. You staggered sideways, one shoe skidding on the loose gravel collected at the edge of the service drive. Your heel caught the curb. There was a breathless moment when you felt yourself falling and understood there was nothing within reach.
The back of your pelvis hit the low concrete parking barrier.
Pain burst through you with such force that the sky went white.
You heard a scream. It took several seconds to recognize it as your own.
Doug ran. Dana shouted after him, but the sound receded beneath the roaring in your ears. Your left leg lay at an angle that looked wrong even though nothing appeared obviously broken. When you tried to pull it closer, nothing happened.
"Don't move." Dana crawled toward you, one hand pressed to her swelling cheek. Her other hand landed firmly on your shoulder. "Stay down. Don't try to move."
"I can't feel my foot." The words scraped against your throat. "Dana, I can't feel my foot."
"I know. I hear you." She raised her voice toward the open door. "I need a gurney out here now! Get Robby!"
Footsteps thundered down the corridor. You stared at the bricks of the building because turning your head made the nausea worse. You knew the sequence that would follow. You'd performed it for strangers. Spinal precautions. Neuro checks. Trauma activation. Imaging. Blood work. Pain control. The knowledge offered no comfort when hands began to gather around your body.
Robby crouched in your field of vision. He'd pulled gloves on so quickly that one cuff was still folded under.
"Look at me," he said. His voice was calm, the same voice he'd used through codes, gunshot wounds, and parents begging him to save children he couldn't save. "Tell me where it hurts."
"Pelvis. Back. My left leg." Your breath hitched when someone touched your ankle. Pressure registered as something distant and wrong. "I can't move it."
"You can feel that?"
"Barely."
"All right. We're going to keep you still and get you inside."
"Cassie." Robby's eyes flicked toward the doorway. You followed his gaze as far as the collar bracing your neck allowed.
Cassie stood just beyond the gathering of staff.
Someone must have told her enough to make her run. A strand of hair had fallen free from her ponytail, and her face had gone so pale that even her freckles looked gray. She took one step forward before Robby lifted a hand.
"McKay, you can't be on this trauma."
"I'm not trying to be on the trauma." Her voice cracked with anger. "I'm trying to get to my partner."
"Then stay where she can see you and let us work."
Cassie's jaw tightened. She looked ready to fight him, the hospital, and every physical law that kept her from lifting you off the ground herself. Then her eyes met yours.
The anger fell away.
"I'm here," she said. She moved to your head when Robby allowed it and crouched low enough that you could see her. Her hands hovered helplessly over you until she settled for touching two fingers to your temple. "I'm right here. Harrison's with my dad. You don't have to worry about anything except breathing."
"It hurts."
"I know, honey."
"Something's wrong."
The fear in her face sharpened, though her touch stayed gentle. "They're going to figure it out."
"On three," Robby called. "One, two, three."
They rolled you just far enough to slide the board beneath you.
The pain tore a raw cry from your chest. Your hand struck blindly at the air, and Cassie caught it with both of hers.
"Look at me," she begged. "Look at me. I've got you."
You clung to her until the medication reached your bloodstream and the world softened at its edges. The last thing you remembered before the trauma bay lights swallowed the sky was Cassie walking beside the gurney, keeping pace until the doors forced her to let go.
The fractures crossed your sacrum and the back of your pelvic ring. One displaced fragment had damaged the nerves feeding your left leg. The surgical team could stabilize the bones. Nobody would promise what the nerves would do.
Cassie made Robby explain it twice.
You were still groggy from surgery when you opened your eyes and found her sitting beside your bed with her elbows on her knees. Her scrub top was wrinkled. There was dried blood near the hem that might have been yours. She had one hand pressed over her mouth and the other wrapped around your fingers.
"Harrison?" you whispered.
Her head lifted immediately. "He's with my dad. I talked to him. He knows you're hurt and that you had surgery."
"How bad?"
Cassie glanced toward the monitor, buying herself a second. You knew all her evasions. You knew the way she pressed her tongue into her cheek when she was deciding how much truth she could bear to give at once.
"The fixation went well," she said. "Your pelvis is stable."
"That's not what I asked."
She lowered her gaze to your joined hands. "They don't know how much strength you'll get back in your leg. The nerves were badly injured. There can be recovery over time, but nobody can tell us how much."
You tried to lift your left foot beneath the blanket.
Nothing moved.
Panic surged so quickly that the monitor began to complain. You pulled your hand from Cassie's and gripped the sheet. "No. Try again."
"Honey."
"I need to try again."
You stared at the shape of your foot beneath the blanket and sent every instruction you knew down through your body. Lift. Turn. Move one toe. The muscles in your thigh quivered. Your foot remained still.
"Why isn't it moving?"
Cassie stood and leaned over the bed. "The swelling is still severe. You're hours out of surgery. This isn't the final result."
"You don't know that."
"No." She swallowed, and you watched her choose honesty even though it hurt both of you. "I don't."
Your breath broke. Cassie cupped the back of your head as carefully as she could around the lines and pressed her forehead to yours.
"You don't have to make peace with anything tonight," she whispered. "You only have to get through tonight. I'll be here when morning comes."
Morning came with pain.
So did the next one.
Pain became the structure of your days. There was the deep ache of healing bone, the sharp pull of the incision, and the electrical burning that traveled from your hip to your toes, and you couldn't reliably move. Nurses who had once worked beside you now scanned your bracelet and asked you to rate it. You hated the scale. The number was never large enough to contain what your body had become.
Medication lowered it. At first, that was all the pills did.
They let you breathe deeply enough for therapy. They let you sleep for two consecutive hours. They allowed you to sit at the edge of the bed while a physical therapist guarded your knees and Cassie stood in the corner pretending she wasn't crying.
Harrison came four days after surgery.
He stopped inside the doorway when he saw the walker beside your bed. His backpack hung from both shoulders, and he was clutching the strap across his chest with white knuckles.
"Hey, Harri," you said.
He looked at Cassie before approaching. She rested a hand between his shoulder blades and guided him closer.
"You can hug her," Cassie told him. "Just stay above her waist."
"I know how to hug someone," he muttered.
He bent stiffly over the rail. The second his cheek touched yours, the stiffness left him. His arms tightened around your shoulders.
"You scared me," he whispered.
You closed your eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Grandpa said you're coming home."
"As soon as I can."
"Can you still make oatmeal?"
A laugh slipped out of you before turning into a wince. Harrison pulled back immediately, alarm flashing over his face.
"I can still make oatmeal," you assured him. "You might have to carry the bowl for a while."
"That's okay." He nodded with solemn determination. "I can do that."
Cassie turned her face toward the window. Her hand rose briefly to her mouth.
You reached for her, and she came without you having to ask.
For a while, the three of you stayed gathered around the narrow bed. Harrison talked about school. Cassie corrected him when he exaggerated. You listened to them and let the medication move warmly through your veins, easing every hard edge inside you.
At the time, relief still felt innocent.
You came home with a walker, a shower chair, a raised toilet seat, and six different medications arranged in a plastic organizer Cassie labeled in block letters.
The apartment looked familiar from the doorway. Inside, it had been altered around your absence. One end of the couch had been raised on furniture blocks. Rugs had disappeared. A temporary rail ran along the wall between the living room and bathroom. Harrison had taped a handwritten sign over the threshold that read NO SHOES, BAGS, OR RANDOM CRAP IN WALKER ZONE.
"Language," Cassie said when she saw you reading it.
"Random stuff didn't sound serious enough," Harrison explained.
You tightened your grip on the walker. The trip from the car had emptied you. Sweat cooled beneath your shirt, and the muscles along your lower back pulsed with every heartbeat.
"It's perfect," you told him.
He beamed, then remembered he was supposed to be careful and stepped backward to give you room.
The first weeks formed a blur of effort. Getting out of bed required a sequence Cassie could recite in her sleep. Roll to your side. Push with your arms. Wait for the dizziness. Bring the stronger leg down first. Let Cassie guide the weaker one. Stand only when the walker was locked beneath your hands.
Cassie woke for every movement. Even after she returned to the Pitt, she slept lightly enough that the smallest change in your breathing brought her upright.
"I can go to the bathroom alone," you told her one night when she followed you into the hall.
"You almost fell this morning."
"My knee buckled. I caught myself."
"On the dresser. With your face."
You stopped and closed your eyes against the frustration burning behind them. "I need to do something without an audience."
Cassie's expression softened. She stepped back, though every line of her body resisted it.
"Okay," she said. "I'll wait here."
"Waiting six feet away isn't privacy."
"It's the amount of privacy I can manage tonight."
"Cassie."
"I'm trying." She folded her arms tightly across her chest. "I see you hit the ground every time I close my eyes. I'm trying not to make that your problem, but I'm not good at it yet."
The anger went out of you too quickly to protect itself. You looked down at her bare feet on the hallway floor.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for wanting privacy." She moved close enough to kiss your forehead. "Go. I'll stand in the bedroom doorway where you can't see me hovering."
"I'll know you're doing it."
"That's marriage-adjacent commitment, baby. Loving you and being incredibly annoying about it."
You laughed despite yourself. She smiled against your skin, then let you continue alone.
Those moments carried you. Cassie learned how to help without grabbing. Harrison learned to ask before moving your walker. Dana visited with takeout and sat beside you without telling you how lucky you were. Robby called once a week, though neither of you acknowledged that the calls lasted longer than any normal check-in from a colleague.
The bones healed.
The pain stayed.
At twelve weeks, you could lift your left foot by an inch. At sixteen, you walked the length of the apartment with a forearm crutch and Cassie close behind you. At twenty, the surgeon told you the nerve recovery appeared to be plateauing.
"Plateauing isn't stopping," Cassie said in the parking garage afterward. "Nerves can keep changing for a long time."
You sat in the passenger seat with both hands around your left thigh, trying to quiet the burning under your skin.
"He said I need to adjust my expectations."
"He said we need a long-term management plan."
"You don't have to translate it. I was in the room."
Cassie flinched. She set your folded walker behind the seat, then came around to the driver's side without answering.
You made it halfway home before the pain climbed past what you could manage. You shifted against the seat. Then you shifted again. Cassie's eyes flicked toward you.
"When did you last take something?"
"Before the appointment."
"That was four hours ago. You can take the next dose."
The bottle was already in your bag. You found it by touch and shook one tablet into your palm. Cassie kept her eyes on the road.
You took two.
The choice lasted less than a second. The first dose hadn't carried you through the examination. Your hip felt like it was packed with ground glass. You needed enough relief to make it through the drive, the stairs, and Harrison asking what the doctor said.
You told yourself you would adjust the next dose.
You didn't.
The extra pills made room inside your body.
That was how you thought of it. Pain crowded everything else out. It took the space where patience had lived, the space where hunger should have been, the space you once used to listen to Harrison explain a video game you didn't understand. When the medication worked, some of that space returned. You could sit through dinner. You could answer a question without snapping. You could lie beside Cassie and feel the warmth of her body instead of the burning in your leg.
Your prescription had been written by people who knew exactly what had happened to you. The bottle had your name on it. The instructions included a range. For a while, you stayed inside it.
Then you started taking the next dose half an hour early.
You started saving one beside the bed in case you woke with your calf seized into a cramp. You kept another in the pocket of your old scrub jacket because the sight of it hanging in the closet could still make your chest ache. When the pain clinic lowered the number of tablets at your next appointment, you nodded through their explanation and went home terrified.
Cassie noticed the fear. She sat beside you on the bed while you changed out of your clothes, holding your ankle brace in her lap.
"We'll figure it out," she said. "There are other medications. Nerve blocks. More PT. We can ask about a different pain specialist."
"They think I'm drug-seeking."
"They think long-term opioids carry risks. That's their job."
You looked at her sharply. "Of course you'd say that."
Silence settled between you.
Cassie's fingers stilled on the brace. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"It didn't sound like nothing."
You pulled your shirt over your head and threw it toward the hamper. It landed short. Once, you would have picked it up without thinking. Now you stared at it on the floor and calculated the effort required to reach down.
"You hear opioids and stop hearing the rest," you said. "You don't live in this body."
Cassie's face changed. The hurt was quick, then carefully hidden.
"No," she said. "I don't."
She set the brace beside you and picked up the shirt. She didn't touch you again before leaving the bedroom.
You found her later at the kitchen table, helping Harrison with long division. Her chair was angled away from yours. She still made room when you came close. She still reached down to steady the forearm crutch while you sat. Love remained present between you, quiet and wounded.
You apologized in bed.
"I know you're scared for me," you whispered.
Cassie lay on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The lamp left a warm stripe across her face.
"I'm scared you're in pain," she said. "I'm scared every option they give you is another version of losing something."
"I can't do this without them."
Her gaze searched yours. "Then we make sure you're taking them safely."
You nodded.
At that point, you still believed the lie was small enough to keep from changing anything.
It changed you by degrees.
You began looking at clocks constantly. You knew how many hours remained until the next dose and how many tablets remained until the next refill. You stopped going to physical therapy on days when you didn't have enough medication to blunt what came afterward. When Cassie asked, you said the therapist had canceled.
You stopped sleeping with the bottle on the nightstand. Cassie had never counted your pills, but the possibility of her noticing how quickly they disappeared made your skin prickle. You tucked them into the pocket of a robe you no longer wore. Later, you moved some to the back of a bathroom drawer beneath expired sunscreen and Harrison's old children's toothpaste.
Your nightmares worsened. In them, you heard Dana shouting before Doug struck her. You ran outside again and again, but the distance between the door and Dana lengthened beneath your feet. Sometimes Doug turned toward you. Sometimes the parking barrier rose behind you like a wall. You always woke at the moment of impact, your body clenched so hard that pain ripped down your leg.
The pills quieted that too.
You took them for the pain in your pelvis. You took them because a car door slammed in the lot outside and your lungs forgot how to work. You took them before showers because closing your eyes beneath the water made you feel the concrete against your back. You took them before Cassie came home so she wouldn't see how badly you had spent the day unraveling.
The first time you ran out early, you told the pain clinic you'd dropped several tablets into the sink.
The second time, you said the pharmacy had shorted you.
The third time, they refused to authorize an early refill.
You spent the night sweating beneath the blankets, unable to hold still. Pain rolled through your pelvis. Your stomach cramped, and every nerve in your body seemed to vibrate. Cassie sat on the edge of the bed watching you.
"This isn't only a pain flare," she said.
You turned your face into the pillow. "Don't."
"When was your last dose?"
"Yesterday."
"You're not supposed to be out."
"I had bad days."
"How many extra did you take?"
"I don't know."
Cassie stood. She paced to the door and back, rubbing one hand hard over her mouth. You could see her fighting for control.
"I need you to tell me the truth," she said.
"I am."
"You know what I'm asking."
Anger gave you enough energy to sit up. "You don't get to turn this into your story."
She stopped moving.
"I'm not."
"You went to rehab. You lost custody. You built your life around being sober. I know. I've listened. I've supported you. That doesn't mean every person who needs medication is you."
Cassie stared at you. Her eyes shone, and the sight made you crueler because you couldn't bear what it asked you to admit.
"My pain is real," you said.
"I know it is."
"Then stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm already gone."
Cassie's face crumpled for one second. She looked toward the hall, checking that Harrison's door was still closed, then lowered her voice.
"I'm looking at you like I recognize where you are," she said. "That's different."
You reached for the crutch beside the bed. Your hand missed the cuff on the first try.
"I need the bathroom."
"Let me help you."
"I don't want your help."
"You're shaking."
"I'm in pain."
"You're in withdrawal."
The word struck like an accusation. You shoved the crutch upright and tried to stand too quickly. Your left knee folded before you had your weight centered.
Cassie caught you beneath the arms.
You fought her on instinct. "Let go of me."
"Stop." She braced her feet and held on as your body trembled against hers. "You're going to fall."
"Let me go."
"I can't."
"You always can."
The words left both of you frozen.
Cassie had been three years sober when you met her and was closing in on nine now. She'd spent your years together telling you that sobriety began with choices nobody could make for another person. You had sat beside her at anniversary dinners and watched her turn down wine without ceremony. You had listened when she spoke about the years before you, when addiction had hollowed out her promises until Harrison was taken from her. You knew the shame she still carried. You knew how fiercely she protected the life she'd built after rehab.
You used that knowledge to hurt her because she was holding you upright and refusing to pretend.
She got you back onto the bed. Then she walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
You heard her crying through the wall.
In the morning, Cassie called the pain clinic with you beside her. The clinician arranged a supervised taper and an urgent assessment. You agreed to everything. You even felt relieved.
For eleven days, you followed the plan.
On the twelfth, pain woke you before dawn. Cassie had already left for her shift, and Harrison was asleep down the hall. You opened the bathroom drawer and found the pills you'd hidden months earlier.
You took one.
Then another.
By the time Harrison called from the kitchen, your fear had quieted, and the floor seemed comfortably distant beneath your crutch.
"Can you pick me up after tutoring?" he asked. He was trying to fit a notebook into a backpack already swollen with papers. "Mom said she might get stuck late."
"Of course."
He looked up. "You sure? I can call Grandpa."
"Harri, I can drive. I was cleared two weeks ago."
"I know. I just meant if your leg hurts."
You smiled and reached out to straighten his collar. "I'll be there at four-thirty. Same place as always."
He studied your face for a moment, then leaned in and hugged you around the waist. "Okay. Love you."
"Love you too."
You meant it completely.
At four-fifty, you woke on the couch with your phone vibrating beneath your hand.
There were seven missed calls.
Two were from the school. Five were from Cassie.
Cold rushed through you. You tried to stand, but your leg was numb from the position you'd slept in. The crutch fell when you grabbed for it. Before you could reach the floor, the front door opened.
Cassie entered first. Harrison followed several steps behind her.
She'd left work so quickly that her hospital badge still swung from the pocket of her scrub top. Fury held her body rigid. Harrison's face was blotched from crying, and he wouldn't look at you.
"I fell asleep," you said.
Cassie closed the door with deliberate care. "Harrison, go to your room."
"No."
"Please."
"I want to hear what she says."
You managed to pull yourself upright against the couch. "I'm sorry. I took my medication and fell asleep. I didn't mean to miss it."
Harrison laughed once, a harsh sound that didn't belong to him. "You promised."
"I know."
"I waited outside because you always park by the fence. Then they made me go back to the office, and Mom wasn't answering because she was working."
Cassie put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.
"I thought you got hurt again," he said. Tears filled his eyes. "I thought you were dead somewhere."
The room tilted around you. "Harrison, I'm so sorry."
"Stop saying that."
"Go to your room," Cassie said again, her voice trembling. "I need to talk to her."
Harrison looked at his mother, then at the crutch on the floor and the indentation your body had left in the couch. His fear found somewhere to go. It hardened into anger.
"You said she was safe," he told Cassie. "You said she wasn't going to disappear."
Cassie's mouth opened. No answer came.
"She made breakfast and came to my conferences and said she'd always show up." His voice cracked. "She lied."
"I didn't lie to you."
"Yes, you did."
"Harrison."
"You're not my parent!" he shouted at you. His whole body shook with the force of it. "You're not, and you don't get to act like you are anymore."
The words emptied the room.
You felt them land in the tenderest place you had. Six years of lunches, fevers, school projects, scraped knees, birthday cakes, bedtime arguments, and waiting up for him after his first sleepover vanished beneath one furious sentence.
Cassie recoiled too. Her face went white in the same way it had outside the trauma bay. Harrison couldn't have remembered the worst years of her addiction clearly, but he knew about them. He knew there had been a time when a court decided Cassie couldn't safely parent him. The word struck every scar she carried from losing custody.
"You don't say that to her," Cassie said. Her voice was low and unsteady. "You can be angry. You should be angry. You don't get to erase what she's been to you."
"She erased it first."
He ran down the hall and slammed his bedroom door.
Cassie flinched at the sound. For a few seconds, neither of you moved.
Then her gaze shifted to the side table.
The glass of water was still there. So was the prescription bottle you had forgotten to hide.
Cassie picked it up. She read the label, tipped the empty bottle into her palm, and looked at the fill date.
"Where did these come from?"
You couldn't answer.
"This prescription was discontinued."
"I had some left."
"You told me you turned them in."
"I forgot about them."
"Where did they come from?"
"I just told you."
Cassie's fingers tightened around the bottle. "I need you to stop lying to me."
"I fell asleep. That's all that happened."
"You were supposed to be off these. You were alone with Harrison. You planned to drive."
"I would've been fine by four-thirty."
"You weren't awake at four-fifty."
"I made a mistake."
"This isn't one mistake."
She crossed to the robe hanging beside the bedroom door and searched the pocket. When she found nothing, she opened the bathroom drawer. The remaining tablets were tucked beneath the sunscreen exactly where you'd left them.
Cassie returned holding them in her shaking hand.
"How long?"
You looked away.
"How long have you been hiding medication?"
"I need it."
"That wasn't my question."
"My leg feels like it's on fire every minute of every day." You gripped your thigh, pressing hard enough to leave marks. "I can't sleep. I can't work. I can't take a shower without remembering the sound my body made when I hit the concrete. I can't walk from here to the bathroom without thinking about every step. Those pills are the only time I feel like myself."
Cassie's anger broke open. Tears slid down her face.
"I believe you," she said. "Your pain is real. Your PTSD is real. You also have a problem with opioids. All of those things can be true at the same time."
"Don't diagnose me."
"I'm your partner. I'm telling you what I see."
"You see yourself."
"Yes!" The word ripped out of her. She pressed both palms to her chest. "I see myself. I see the lies. I see you planning your entire day around a pill. I see the way you disappear while you're sitting three feet away from me. I see Harrison blaming himself for trusting you because that's what I taught him addiction feels like."
You hated her for saying it. You hated that part of you felt relief at hearing the truth spoken aloud.
"What do you want me to do?" you asked.
"I want you assessed today. I want you in medically supervised treatment, and I think you need residential rehab."
"You want to send me away."
"I want you alive."
"They're prescription pills, Cassie. I'm not dying."
"You don't know that." Her voice lowered. "I didn't know it either."
She sat on the coffee table in front of you, leaving space between your knees. Her hands rested open in her lap.
"My dad is coming for Harrison," she said. "He can't stay here while this is happening. I can't put him through that again."
"So you're taking him from me."
Pain twisted across her face. "I'm keeping him safe."
"From me."
"Right now, yes."
That answer cut through every defense you had left.
You reached for the crutch and stood. Cassie rose with you, but she didn't touch you.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
"You can't drive."
"Then I'll walk."
"You can barely stand."
"Stop telling me what I can't do!"
You swung the crutch forward too hard. The rubber tip slid on the floor. Your weak leg folded, and your hip struck the wall before Cassie caught your arm.
The impact wasn't severe, but your body didn't know that. The hallway vanished. You were outside again with the pavement rushing up and Doug's arm across your chest. A scream climbed out of you. You struck at Cassie's hands as she tried to lower you safely.
"Don't touch me! Get away!"
"It's me." Cassie knelt beside you. "You're home. You're in the hall."
"Get him away from Dana."
"Doug isn't here. Look at me."
You couldn't. You could smell hot concrete. You could hear the bottle hitting the ground and Dana calling for Robby. Your left leg burned. Your breath came in tiny, tearing pulls that never seemed to reach your lungs.
"I can't do this," you sobbed. "I can't be in this body anymore."
Cassie sat on the floor in front of you, crying openly now. She kept her hands where you could see them.
"I know," she said. "I know you're tired."
"Harrison hates me."
"Harrison is scared."
"He said I'm not his parent."
Cassie closed her eyes. When she opened them, the pain there was old and deep.
"He knew where to hurt you," she whispered. "Kids learn that from loving us. It doesn't make what he said true."
"You think it is. You're sending him away."
"For tonight." Her voice shook. "I need to know you're safe. I need to keep my sobriety safe. I need to protect him. I don't know how to do all three without help."
You pressed both hands over your face. Everything you had lost seemed to arrive at once. Your work. Your strength. The trust in Harrison's face. The uncomplicated way Cassie used to reach for you. You bent over your injured leg and wept until there was no dignity left to defend.
Cassie stayed on the floor.
She didn't promise the pain would go away. She didn't tell you love was enough. She waited until your breathing slowed, then slid your crutch within reach.
"Will you go with me?" she asked.
You stared down the empty hall toward Harrison's closed door.
"Will he be here when I come back?"
Cassie wiped her face with the heel of her hand. "I can't promise what he'll feel. I can promise we won't stop being a family while we figure it out."
It wasn't the answer you wanted.
It was the first one you believed.
"Okay," you whispered.
The treatment center took your shoelaces, your medication, and the small tube of muscle cream from the side pocket of your bag.
They let you keep the forearm crutches after an occupational therapist inspected them. The nurse at intake replaced the elastic laces in your sneakers and wrote FALL RISK on the whiteboard beside your room number. You watched each piece of yourself become a line on a form.
Opioid use disorder.
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
Chronic neuropathic pain.
Mobility impairment following pelvic trauma.
You wanted to argue with the first one. You wanted to tell them about the concrete barrier and the nerve studies, to pull up imaging and make them see that your pain had started somewhere visible. Nobody denied it. That somehow made the diagnosis harder to fight.
Cassie remained beside you through intake. She sat in a molded plastic chair with her hands locked together and answered only when you looked at her for help. Before the nurse took you back, Cassie stood and wrapped both arms around you.
For the first few seconds, you kept your arms at your sides.
"I'm still angry," you said into her shoulder.
"I know."
"I don't know if I forgive you for taking Harrison away."
Her breath trembled against your hair. "I know."
"I don't know if he wants me to come home."
"This is your home."
You finally gripped the back of her jacket. "Will you visit?"
Cassie held you tighter.
"As soon as they let me," she promised. "I'll be here Sunday."
You drew back far enough to see her face. "Don't say it if you can't do it."
"I'll be here."
The locked doors closed between you before either of you could say goodbye properly.
Detox was ugly and slow. Your treatment team transitioned you to medication for opioid use disorder while rebuilding your pain plan around options that didn't require you to chase relief every few hours. The new medication eased the worst of the withdrawal and some of the pain. It didn't touch all of it. Your leg still burned through group sessions. Your hip ached against the thin mattress. The muscles in your lower back spasmed after walks to the dining room.
For the first time, the goal wasn't to reach zero.
The goal was to get through breakfast without bargaining for oblivion. It was to identify a pain flare before terror turned it into a catastrophe. It was to learn that a nightmare could end without swallowing something from a hidden bottle.
You hated the lessons because you needed them.
Cassie called every evening during the first week. The calls were limited, and the telephone was mounted at an awkward height for someone using crutches. You balanced against the wall and listened to the sounds of home behind her voice.
"Harrison asked if you still have the blue sweatshirt," she told you on Tuesday.
"I do. Why?"
"He said you get cold in hospitals. I told him this isn't exactly a hospital, and he said that wasn't the point."
Your eyes closed. "Can I talk to him?"
The line went quiet.
"Not tonight," Cassie said gently.
"Did he say that?"
"He went to my dad's before call time."
You knew she was lying. Cassie was terrible at it when she wasn't using anger to hide.
"Tell him I love him."
"I will."
On Friday, Cassie sounded distracted. You could hear traffic and the rhythmic click of a turn signal.
"You're driving?"
"I'm parked."
"Where are you?"
"Outside a meeting."
Your grip tightened on the phone. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I picked up extra meetings this week."
"Because of me."
"Because this is hard, and meetings are how I handle hard things."
The directness of it stung. You shifted your weight off your weaker leg.
"Are you still coming Sunday?"
Cassie exhaled slowly. "Yes."
You held on to that promise through the weekend.
On Sunday morning, you showered early. It took forty minutes, two rest breaks, and help changing the dressing beneath your ankle brace where the strap had rubbed your skin raw. You put on the blue sweatshirt Harrison had remembered and waited in the common room twenty minutes before visiting hours began.
Other families arrived carrying paper cups and nervous smiles. The front doors opened. Names were called. Chairs filled around you.
Cassie didn't come.
You waited through the entire visiting period.
At dinner, a staff member told you there had been a voicemail at the desk. Cassie had been called into work. She would come the following Sunday.
When she phoned that night, you kept your voice level.
"You could've called me."
"I left a message."
"With the front desk. After I'd already been waiting."
"I'm sorry. It got complicated."
"The Pitt is always complicated."
"I know."
"Will you come next week?"
There was a pause you felt in your chest.
"I'll try."
"That's different from what you said before."
"I don't want to promise and disappoint you again."
"You already promised."
Cassie whispered your name.
You hung up.
The next Sunday, you didn't put on the blue sweatshirt. You told yourself you wouldn't wait in the common room. At two minutes before visiting hours, you carried your crutches down the hall and took the same chair beside the window.
Cassie didn't come.
This time, there was no message.
You called home during evening phone time. The call went to voicemail. You called again before the phones shut off. She didn't answer.
By Monday morning, you had built an explanation from every fear you owned. Cassie had decided the apartment felt safer without you. Harrison had told her he wouldn't come home if you did. She'd remembered what addiction had cost her once and understood that loving you was a threat to everything she'd recovered.
In trauma therapy, you were asked to separate what you knew from what your nervous system believed.
You knew Cassie loved you.
Your body believed you had been abandoned.
That night, the slam of a door down the corridor sent you to the floor beside your bed. Staff found you wedged between the mattress and the wall, one crutch several feet away. You knew where you were. You could name five things you saw and four things you felt. None of it stopped the terror. Your leg spasmed until your heel knocked against the baseboard. When someone reached toward you, you screamed.
The panic lasted nearly an hour.
You called Cassie the next day. She answered on the fourth ring.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I was on shift last night."
"Why didn't you come?"
Silence.
"Cassie, why didn't you come?"
"I couldn't."
"You said you would."
"I know."
"Did Harrison ask you not to?"
"No."
"Do you want me to come home?"
"Of course I do."
"Then tell me what's happening."
On the other end of the line, Cassie breathed in. You waited. The answer never came.
"I have to go," she said finally.
"Don't."
"I'm at work."
"You promised you wouldn't disappear when I got here."
"I'm not disappearing."
"I haven't seen you in three weeks."
"I call you."
"You stopped doing that too."
"I don't know what you want from me."
The exhaustion in her voice made you feel like a burden she could no longer carry.
"I wanted you to show up," you said. "You were the one who told me to come here. You took me away from Harrison, left me in a locked building, and now you won't even tell me why you can't look at me."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is this."
You ended the call before she could.
After that, something inside you closed.
You stopped asking when the phone would be available. You stayed in your room during visiting hours and listened to families move through the hall. You attended group because absence threatened your discharge plan, but you sat with your arms folded and gave one-word answers. Meals went untouched. Physical therapy became a series of refusals.
When your counselor asked whether you were thinking of using again, you stared at the floor.
"I'm thinking about leaving," you said.
"Where would you go?"
"Home. A hotel. I don't care."
"Do you feel ready to manage your medication and recovery plan outside this setting?"
"No."
"Then what would leaving give you?"
Your throat tightened.
"At least I'd know I was alone because I chose it."
The counselor was quiet for a moment. "You signed a release allowing us to speak with Cassie if your discharge became unsafe. I'd like to use it."
"She won't answer."
"Will you let us try?"
You shrugged. It was easier than admitting that one last attempt frightened you more than leaving.
The call reached Cassie in the Pitt's medication room.
You weren't there to hear it, but she told you about it later. She told you that Dana had to finish the count because Cassie's hands began shaking too badly to hold the receiver. She told you the counselor said you were medically stable and emotionally deteriorating. You had stopped eating full meals. You were refusing therapy. You no longer believed you had a home to return to.
Cassie said the counselor asked one question that stripped every excuse away.
"Does she know why you haven't visited?"
Cassie leaned against the counter and looked through the medication-room window at the department beyond it. Robby was speaking to a family. Mel hurried past with a blanket tucked beneath one arm. Dana stood at the central desk, watching Cassie with quiet concern.
"No," Cassie admitted.
"Why not?"
"Because she'll think I'm making her treatment about me."
"What does she think now?"
Cassie had no answer.
The center arranged a private call that afternoon. A counselor sat with you in a small office. Cassie joined by phone from her car because she couldn't make herself go into the apartment and have the conversation within earshot of Harrison's room.
For several seconds, all you could hear was her breathing.
"They said you wanted to explain," you said.
"I should've explained before you ever had to ask."
You stared at the rubber tip of your crutch. "Then explain now."
Cassie took a breath.
"I drove there the first Sunday. I got as far as the parking lot."
Your head lifted.
"You said you were at work."
"I lied." The admission was barely audible.
"Why?"
"Because when I saw the building, I couldn't get out of the car." Her voice shook. "It wasn't even the same facility I went to. It didn't matter. I smelled the disinfectant from the lobby when the doors opened, and I was twenty-eight again. I could feel withdrawal in my bones. I remembered signing over custody because I couldn't promise Harrison would be safe with me. I remembered wanting to use more than I wanted to go home."
You closed your eyes.
Cassie continued before courage left her.
"I sat there for two hours. Then I went to a meeting. I told myself I'd explain on the phone, but I heard how scared you were, and I couldn't stand being another thing you had to manage. The next Sunday, I got halfway there and turned around. After that, I was ashamed. Every time I avoided the conversation, it became harder to have."
"You were afraid you'd relapse."
"Yes."
"Because of me."
"Because I have a substance use disorder." Her answer came firmly. "My sobriety is my responsibility. You didn't cause that fear."
Tears blurred the crutch beneath your hand. "You made me think you didn't want me."
"I know."
"You promised."
"I know."
"I waited for you in the sweatshirt Harrison asked about. Everybody else's family walked in, and I sat there until they stacked the chairs."
Cassie made a broken sound.
"I'm so sorry."
"You don't get to cry and make me comfort you."
"You're right." Her breathing hitched, but she steadied it. "You don't have to take care of me."
You pressed your palm against your sternum. The pain there had no number.
"I came here because you asked me to trust you," you said. "I know I hurt you. I know I scared Harrison. I know you needed boundaries. I still needed you to tell me the truth."
"You did."
"I don't know how to believe you'll be there when I leave."
"I can start by telling you what I can actually do." Cassie paused. "I can't visit the facility. I want to, and I'm not ready. I can call at seven every night. I can write. I can meet with your treatment team by video. I'll be at discharge, outside the building, and I won't promise anything else until I know I can keep it."
Anger rose through your grief. "So you're still not coming."
"No," she whispered. "I'm not."
"Then this doesn't fix it."
"I know."
The counselor shifted beside you but didn't interrupt. You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of Harrison's blue sweatshirt.
"Seven every night," you said. "If you can't call, you tell the desk before six. You don't leave me waiting."
"Okay."
"And I want to talk to Harrison. Even if all he says is that he hates me."
Cassie's voice softened. "I'll ask him."
"Don't make him."
"I won't."
The call ended without either of you saying I love you.
Cassie called at seven that evening.
She called the next evening too.
On the third night, Harrison sat beside her. You knew because you heard the quiet creak of his desk chair and Cassie asking whether he was sure.
"Hi," you said.
He didn't answer.
"You don't have to talk. I just wanted you to know I'm here."
His breath crackled faintly through the speaker.
"Are you coming home?" he asked.
"When the doctors think I'm ready."
"Mom said you might be there another month."
"Maybe."
"Are you still taking the pills?"
"I'm taking different medication now. The staff holds it and gives it to me safely. When I come home, I'll have help managing it."
"So you won't forget me again?"
The question split something open inside you.
"I can't promise I'll never make another mistake," you said. Your fingers tightened around the phone. "I can promise I'm doing the work to make sure that doesn't happen again. What I did wasn't your fault. You didn't trust me wrong. I broke a promise, and I'm sorry."
Harrison was quiet for so long you thought he had walked away.
"I'm still mad," he said.
"You can be."
"I don't take back what I said."
Your eyes closed. "Okay."
Cassie drew in a sharp breath, but you spoke before she could correct him.
"You don't have to decide what I am to you right now," you said. "I'm going to love you while you figure it out."
Harrison sniffed.
"Mom wants the phone."
The handoff rustled through the line.
"You okay?" Cassie asked.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't push him."
"I won't."
You believed her.
It wasn't forgiveness. It was enough to get you to breakfast the next morning.
Recovery didn't make your body easier to inhabit.
That truth took longer to accept than the diagnosis. You had imagined treatment would reveal a clean dividing line between addiction and pain. If you followed every instruction, attended every group, and told the truth, you thought someone would identify which suffering was legitimate and remove the rest.
Your pain remained legitimate.
It also remained.
The treatment team adjusted your medication several times. Physical therapy helped you recognize which movements strengthened the muscles that were still responding and which only punished you for wanting to progress faster. Trauma therapy gave you language for the way your body reacted to footsteps behind you, shouting in hallways, and the sharp squeal of brakes outside. None of it returned you to the woman who had run through the staff entrance without considering whether her legs would hold.
One afternoon, you stood between the parallel bars in the therapy room and tried to lift your left foot over a foam obstacle. The brace held your ankle. Your hands clamped around the rails.
"Again," you said.
The therapist told you your leg was fatigued.
"Again."
You shifted your weight and dragged your foot forward. Your toe caught the foam. Your knee buckled, and the safety harness took enough of your weight to keep you from falling.
Rage flooded you.
You struck the rail with the heel of your hand. "Again."
The therapist waited until you looked up.
"What are you trying to prove?" she asked.
You wanted to tell her you were proving you could go home. You were proving you deserved Cassie, Harrison, and the trauma bay. You were proving Doug Driscoll hadn't taken the most useful parts of you and left the rest behind.
Instead, you began to cry.
"I don't know how to stop fighting my own body," you admitted.
The therapist lowered the harness until you were seated. She left you quiet while your breathing settled, then helped you plan a shorter session for the following morning.
That evening, you told Cassie what had happened.
"I used to think accepting a limit meant I was choosing it," Cassie said through the phone. You could hear dishes clinking at home. "Like if I admitted I couldn't safely have one drink or take one pill, I was agreeing to be weak forever."
"This isn't the same."
"No. Your leg isn't an addiction. I just know what it's like to believe anger can change a fact."
You leaned back against the wall beside the phone. "Does the anger ever go away?"
"Some of it. Some of it changes jobs."
"What does that mean?"
"I was angry enough to get sober. Later, I was angry enough to build a life nobody thought I'd manage. These days, I'm mostly angry at insurance companies and people who chew with their mouths open."
A laugh escaped you.
"Was that a laugh?" Cassie asked. "Should I alert the press?"
"Don't ruin it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The tenderness came carefully after that. Cassie sent letters even though you spoke every day. She wrote about ordinary things: Dana threatening to confiscate Robby's coffee, Mel reorganizing a supply cart because its labels had become inconsistent, Whitaker leaving his lunch in the staff refrigerator for three days. She wrote that Harrison had passed his science test and still refused to speak about you for more than a few minutes at a time.
She never asked you to forgive her in those letters.
You never told her the missed visits had stopped hurting.
Both of you learned to let love exist beside damage without using it to cover anything.
Harrison joined one call each week. At first, he stayed for less than a minute. Then he began bringing questions.
"Did they take your phone because rehab is like jail?"
"No. We have scheduled phone time because constant contact can get in the way of treatment."
"Can you leave if you want?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you?"
You looked through the common-room window at late sunlight spread across the lawn.
"Because wanting to leave and being ready to leave aren't the same thing."
He considered that.
"Mom said you have to use the rolling walker again when you come home."
"For a while. My crutches take more energy, and I need to save some for outpatient therapy."
"We still have the sign."
Your throat tightened. "The walker-zone sign?"
"Mom tried to throw it away because the tape got gross. I made a new one."
"Did you change random crap to random stuff?"
"No."
You smiled into the phone. "Good. It wouldn't sound serious enough."
Harrison didn't laugh, though you heard the beginning of it in his breath.
By the time discharge arrived, you had been away for seven weeks.
You stood in the lobby with your bag hooked over the front of the rollator. The doors opened each time someone approached, sending warm summer air across the polished floor. Your pulse climbed with every glimpse of the parking lot.
Cassie hadn't entered the building once.
She was waiting outside exactly as she promised.
You saw her through the glass beside the passenger door of your car. She wore jeans and the green jacket you'd bought her two birthdays ago, though the day was too warm for it. Her hands were shoved into her pockets. She looked exhausted.
When you crossed the threshold, she started toward you and stopped.
"Can I hug you?" she asked.
The question hurt. It also gave you something you hadn't known you needed.
You locked the brakes on the rollator. "Yes."
Cassie moved slowly enough that you could change your mind. Her arms settled around your shoulders. She kept the pressure gentle until you pulled her closer.
You breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo and held on.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against your temple. "I'm sorry I left you waiting."
"I know."
"I'm glad you're here."
"I'm scared to go home."
Her hand spread across your back. "I know."
For once, neither of you tried to turn knowing into a solution.
The drive took forty minutes. Cassie told you before every turn. She warned you when a truck was approaching too quickly from behind. When tires squealed at an intersection, your body locked. She pulled into a grocery-store lot and parked without being asked.
"You're safe," she said. Her hands remained on the steering wheel. "We're stopped. Nobody's behind us."
You pressed both feet into the floor, even though the left one gave you only a dull sense of pressure. The panic rose, crested, and began to loosen.
"I hate this," you whispered.
"I know."
"You can say something else."
Cassie's mouth twitched. "Traffic in Pittsburgh is a moral failure."
A startled laugh moved through you.
"Better?" she asked.
"A little."
She reached across the console, palm up. You put your hand in hers.
Harrison was at Neil's house when you arrived home. The absence was deliberate. Cassie had explained that he wanted one more night before seeing you.
You pretended it was a relief until you saw the new sign taped above the threshold.
NO SHOES, BAGS, OR RANDOM CRAP IN ROLLATOR ZONE.
Beneath it, in smaller letters, Harrison had added: THIS MEANS YOU, MOM.
Cassie stood behind you with your bag.
"He made me move my shoes before he left," she said.
You touched the edge of the paper. "Is he coming back?"
"Tomorrow."
"Because you told him to?"
"Because this is his home too."
You turned. Cassie set the bag down and came close without touching you.
"He might be angry for a while," she said. "You might be angry with me for a while. Coming home doesn't mean any of us skips that part."
"What if I can't fix it?"
"Then you keep showing up while it heals differently than you wanted."
The words settled between you. Cassie glanced at the rollator, then toward the medication lockbox on the highest kitchen shelf.
"We have rules," she said. "Your treatment team sent the schedule. I'll hold the backup doses for the first month, but I'm not your recovery counselor. I'm going to my own meetings. You're going to yours. We tell the truth before it becomes an emergency."
"Harrison doesn't stay alone with me yet."
Pain crossed her face. "Not yet."
You nodded. "Okay."
"You can hate it."
"I do."
"Okay."
That first night, Cassie helped you into bed and lay down on top of the covers beside you. There was too much history in the space between your bodies. You stared at the ceiling and listened to the air conditioner cycle on.
"Are we okay?" you asked.
Cassie turned her head.
"No," she said. "I think we're going to be."
You reached across the mattress. Her fingers closed around yours.
It was enough for one night.
Harrison returned carrying his overnight bag and wearing the guarded expression he usually reserved for adults who asked too many questions.
You were at the kitchen table with your morning medication arranged in a small cup. Cassie sat across from you with the treatment schedule open on her phone. Harrison stopped when he saw it.
"Hi," you said.
"Hi."
Cassie stood. "I'll put your bag in your room."
"You don't have to leave," Harrison said.
"I'm not leaving. I'm walking twenty feet down the hall."
He watched her go, then looked at the rollator parked beside your chair.
"Does your leg hurt?"
"Yes."
"Did rehab fix any of it?"
"They helped me find safer ways to manage it. It still hurts."
He nodded as though confirming something to himself. "Mom said it would."
"Your mom was right."
"She's annoying when she's right."
"Incredibly."
The corner of his mouth moved. He sat in the chair farthest from you.
"Are you going back to work?"
"Eventually."
"What if you get hurt again?"
You could have promised you wouldn't. The old instinct rose immediately. You wanted to give him certainty and watch his shoulders relax.
"I don't know," you said. "We're working on making my job safer. I'll be doing something different when I go back."
"Mom said desk duty."
"Mostly."
"You're going to hate that."
The accuracy of it startled you. "Probably."
Harrison picked at a loose thread on his bag. "I didn't mean that I never loved you."
You stayed very still.
"I know."
"I meant you weren't my parent because parents don't forget you."
From the hallway came the faint sound of Cassie setting his bag down. She didn't return.
"Parents can fail you," you said. "They shouldn't. It happens anyway."
"Mom did before."
"Yes."
"She told me."
"I know."
Harrison's chin trembled. "Then you did the same thing."
You folded your hands on the table to stop yourself from reaching for him.
"I did something that made you feel the same fear," you said. "I'm sorry."
"She got better."
"She did."
"Are you going to?"
The question held more hope than trust.
"I'm going to keep working at it."
"That's not yes."
"It's the most honest answer I have."
He looked toward the hall. Cassie stepped back into the kitchen only after he called for her.
Harrison stood and moved to her side. He let her wrap an arm around his shoulders.
"I'm still mad," he told you.
"I know."
"And you're not picking me up alone yet."
"I know."
"But you can help with my history project."
Relief hit so hard that you had to grip the edge of the table.
"I'd like that."
"It's due Friday."
Cassie looked down at him. "You've had three weeks."
"She's good at fixing things."
The familiar words landed differently this time. You couldn't fix what had happened. You could sit with him at the table, find credible sources, and stay awake until the final citation was in place.
"After dinner," you said. "We'll make a plan."
Harrison nodded once.
It was the first invitation back into his life.
You treated it with the care of something breakable.
PTMC cleared you to return five months after rehab.
The clearance came with restrictions that filled an entire page. No lifting. No patient transfers. No prolonged standing. No running. Immediate access to seating. Scheduled breaks for medication and mobility. Administrative assignment only.
Gloria Underwood called it a transitional placement during your meeting.
"There may be opportunities to reassess in six months," she said, hands folded neatly over the paperwork. "For now, Quality and Patient Safety can use your trauma experience."
You stared at the list of duties. Chart review. Incident tracking. Staff education. Committee support.
"This isn't nursing," you said.
Gloria's expression remained composed. "It's work that requires a nurse."
"It isn't patient care."
"It's the accommodation the hospital can support with your current restrictions."
The clinical phrasing made the decision feel finished before you signed anything. You knew enough about disability policy to understand what was being offered. You also knew your household couldn't remain on one resident's salary forever.
You signed.
On your first morning back, Cassie drove you to the employee entrance. She didn't tell you to be brave or promise it would feel good. She unloaded the rollator and waited while you adjusted the brace beneath your pant leg.
"Call me if you need me," she said.
"You'll be downstairs."
"I can still be called."
"Cassie, I can't start my first day by pulling you away from patients because I'm sad."
She rested one hand on the car door. "You can call me because you're sad. I might not be able to come immediately. Those are separate things."
You looked at her.
"That's annoyingly healthy."
"I paid attention in therapy."
"Show-off."
Cassie leaned in and kissed you. The touch was warm, unhurried, and familiar enough to make the parking lot recede.
"I'm proud of you," she said.
"Don't be yet. I haven't made it through the door."
"I'm proud of you for being in the parking lot."
Your eyes burned. You turned away before tears could fall and pushed the rollator toward the entrance.
Dana was waiting in the lobby.
Her arms were crossed over her scrubs. She looked exactly as she always did before a shift, capable of managing sixty problems while expressing patience for perhaps three of them.
"You don't work up here," you said.
"Neither do you, apparently."
The joke should have hurt. From Dana, it felt like permission to acknowledge the cruelty of the situation.
"I hate this already," you admitted.
"I know."
"If one more person tells me I'm lucky to have an admin option, I'm going home."
"You are lucky." Dana stepped beside you and matched her pace to the rollator. "You can also hate it. People act like gratitude and grief can't fit in the same person. That's because people are idiots."
You looked at her bruised memory of a face, long since healed. "You came back."
"Eventually."
"Was it hard?"
Dana stopped outside the elevator. The busy lobby moved around you.
"I still know where every exit is," she said. "I still watch people's hands. I came back anyway."
The elevator doors opened. She reached in to hold them.
"I'm not ready to go downstairs," you said.
"Then don't. Your office is on four."
"It feels like hiding."
"It feels like your first day. Let it be one thing at a time."
You rolled into the elevator. Dana pressed the button for four, then rode with you even though it made her late returning to the emergency department.
The office had windows, quiet carpeting, and a desk that adjusted high enough to accommodate your chair. Someone had placed a PTMC mug beside the computer. Your access badge opened electronic charts but no medication rooms. The first incident report in your queue described a nurse threatened by a patient's family member.
You made it until lunch before crying.
The tears came silently in the accessible restroom while you sat on the closed toilet and stared at your badge. It still said RN. It still displayed the same photograph. You felt like you were wearing another woman's credentials.
You texted Cassie.
I hate it here.
Her reply came four minutes later.
I know. Do you want comfort, solutions, or company when I get a break?
You stared at the message until your vision blurred again.
Company.
She found you twenty minutes later in a small courtyard between the administrative wings. You sat on the rollator with your untouched lunch beside you. Cassie dropped into a crouch in front of you, resting her forearms lightly on your knees.
"Tell me," she said.
"I heard a rapid response called overhead."
She waited.
"My whole body tried to stand up. I knew which elevator I'd take. I knew what supplies they'd need. Then I remembered I can't get there fast enough, and even if I did, I'm not allowed to help."
Cassie's thumbs moved gently over the fabric at your knees. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want to spend the rest of my career reading what other people did."
"Then don't decide the rest of your career today."
"Gloria said reassess in six months, but we both know my leg isn't suddenly going to work because a committee meets."
"Your leg might not change. Your job still can."
"Into what?"
"I don't know."
You looked away. "You're bad at inspirational speeches."
"I know." She squeezed your knees carefully. "I'm very good at sitting in courtyards and insulting hospital coffee."
"You didn't bring coffee."
"I came on short notice."
You laughed weakly. Cassie smiled and stood, bending to kiss your forehead.
"Eat something," she said. "Then go upstairs and finish one hour. After that, finish another if you can."
"And if I can't?"
"Call me. Tell your supervisor. Use the plan we made. Going home safely isn't failing."
You finished the day.
When the elevator opened on the ground floor, Harrison was waiting beside Cassie. He held a small paper bag and looked embarrassed by it.
"Grandpa brought me," he explained. "Mom said your first day might be bad."
"It was."
He handed you the bag. Inside was a hardened lump of oatmeal in a plastic container.
"I made it myself," he said. "It's terrible."
You laughed until tears gathered again.
"You used two-thirds of a cup of oats and two-thirds of a cup of water, didn't you?"
"Maybe."
"This can't be fixed."
"I know." He shifted from one foot to the other. "I thought we could get pancakes."
The invitation was quiet. You looked at Cassie. She nodded toward the doors.
"Pancakes sound perfect," you said.
Harrison reached for the handle of your rollator before catching himself.
"Can I?"
"You can carry the bag. I've got this."
He fell into step beside you instead.
The next year passed in measurements that would once have seemed too small to matter.
You measured time in therapy appointments, recovery meetings, and the thirty-day refills Cassie no longer needed to supervise. You measured progress in honest conversations. A craving named before it became a plan. A nightmare that ended with you waking Cassie instead of searching the bathroom for relief. A bad pain day when you called out of work without inventing a fever to make the absence respectable.
Your body settled into patterns.
You used one forearm crutch inside the apartment and the rollator for work. On days that required long distances, you used a wheelchair that the rehabilitation team had fitted to you. The first time it arrived, you cried in the bedroom for an hour. The first time you took it to Harrison's school, you discovered you could cross the entire building without arriving exhausted and shaking. Both experiences remained true.
Your left leg grew stronger without becoming reliable. The pain shifted with weather, sleep, and stress. Some mornings, it was a low electrical hum beneath your skin. Other days, it climbed until clothing hurt, and every step required negotiation. Your treatment plan helped you manage it. Management meant you could make choices inside the pain. It never meant the pain had disappeared.
The PTSD stayed too. You learned where it hid. Parking lots. Shouting men. An AMA form dropped on a desk. The smell of hot pavement after rain. You learned to sit with your back to a wall and to tell people before they touched you from behind. Dana began taking breaks with you in the enclosed courtyard where no one could approach unseen.
"We're a cheerful pair," she said once, scanning the door while you checked the path to the elevator.
"Very relaxed."
"Pictures of mental health."
You smiled and handed her half your sandwich.
Work remained complicated.
You never stopped missing bedside nursing. A chart couldn't squeeze your hand after you explained a frightening procedure. An incident report couldn't breathe easier because you walked into the room. Some days, the office felt like the place the hospital stored the damaged version of you.
Then Dana began sending nurses upstairs after violent incidents.
At first, they came because she ordered them to. You helped them document injuries, request medical care, and report threats without minimizing what had happened. You sat with one nurse who couldn't stop shaking after being cornered in an exam room. You didn't tell her she'd get over it. You didn't tell her the patient hadn't meant it. You believed her fear before she had to prove it.
The incident reports changed after that. They became evidence. You tracked rooms where staff were repeatedly trapped away from exits. You helped push for panic buttons, clearer security responses, and mandatory follow-up after assaults. Gloria still cared too much about the cost of every proposal. You learned how to arrive at meetings with numbers she couldn't dismiss.
The work mattered.
It didn't replace what you'd lost.
You stopped demanding that it do so.
At home, trust returned less visibly. Harrison started leaving his history assignments beside your laptop. He asked you for rides again after six months, with Cassie in the passenger seat the first several times. He began calling from school when he forgot his lunch because he knew you kept snacks in your office.
He didn't apologize for saying you weren't his parent. You didn't ask him to.
Then, one rainy evening, he dropped an emergency-contact form on the kitchen table while you were preparing your medication for the next morning.
"They need this back tomorrow," he said.
Cassie looked up from the sink. "Of course they do."
"I forgot."
"Shocking."
Harrison slid into the chair beside you. "Mom already signed the first page. You have to sign the second one."
You scanned the form. Cassie's information filled the primary-parent section. Your name had been written beneath Emergency Contact Two in Harrison's compact handwriting.
"Shouldn't this be your grandpa?" you asked. "He usually handles pickup if your mom and I are both working."
"Grandpa's third."
You found the line asking for your relationship to the student.
The word parent was printed there. You stared at it.
Harrison shifted beside you. "I can cross it out if you don't want it."
Cassie had gone motionless at the sink. Water ran over the dish in her hands.
"Do you want it?" you asked.
Harrison kept his eyes on the table. "You still came to my school when it was hard. You help with everything. You tell me the truth now, even when the truth sucks."
His fingers worried the corner of the form.
"And I said that because I knew it would hurt you," he continued. "I wanted it to. I'm sorry."
The apology entered the room gently. It didn't erase the afternoon he'd shouted at you, or the weeks he'd refused your calls. It reached across them.
You set the pen down because your hand had begun to shake.
"Come here," you said.
Harrison stood and moved into your arms. He was taller than he'd been before the injury. When he bent over you, his chin fit against your shoulder differently. You held the back of his sweatshirt and felt him grip yours.
"I was scared," he whispered.
"I know."
"I still get scared sometimes."
"Me too."
"Are you going to sign it?"
A laugh broke through your tears. "Yeah. I'm going to sign it."
At the sink, Cassie turned off the water and wiped her face with her wrist.
"Are you crying?" Harrison asked.
"No."
"You're really bad at lying now."
"That's generally considered progress."
Harrison returned to his chair. You signed the form and handed it back to him. He tucked it carefully into his folder instead of cramming it into his bag.
Later, after he went to bed, you found Cassie standing in the dark kitchen with both hands braced on the counter.
You approached loudly enough that she heard you. The crutch clicked against the floor.
"Hey," you said.
She turned. Her eyes were red.
"He put parent," she whispered.
"He did."
Cassie crossed the small space between you. Her arms came around your waist, and you leaned into her without surrendering the crutch.
"I thought I'd broken that for you," she said against your hair.
You pulled back. "Harrison said it."
"I took him away."
"You kept him safe."
"Then I left you alone in rehab."
The old hurt stirred. It didn't vanish simply because you understood her fear.
"You did," you said.
Cassie's eyes filled again. She nodded.
"I love you," you continued. "I understand why you couldn't go inside. I forgive you. I still wish you'd told me before I had to fall apart loudly enough for someone else to call."
"I wish I had too."
"We don't protect each other with silence anymore."
"No."
"And you don't promise what you can't give."
"No."
You touched the fine lines at the corner of her eye. "Then stop trying to punish yourself after the rest of us have started healing."
Cassie turned her face and kissed your palm, just as she had on the morning before the injury.
"I'm working on it," she said.
"That's the most honest answer you have?"
Her mouth curved. "Something like that."
She kissed you slowly. Her hand slid along your jaw, then settled at the back of your neck. The kiss held the full history of the year behind it: fear, anger, absence, return, and the many ordinary evenings when neither of you had run.
Your leg began to tremble.
Cassie noticed before you had to say anything. She drew back and reached for the rollator parked near the table.
"Sit," she murmured.
You lowered yourself onto the seat. A spasm tightened through your hip, and you breathed while Cassie crouched in front of you. She placed one warm hand over your knee.
"Bad?"
"Seven. Maybe eight."
"Heat or ice?"
"Heat. Then the rescue plan if it doesn't settle."
"Okay." She didn't flinch from the number. You didn't hide it.
Cassie warmed the pack while you checked the time and took the medication your treatment plan allowed. When she returned, Harrison shuffled into the kitchen, dragging a blanket behind him.
"Why are you awake?" Cassie asked.
"You were talking."
"We were whispering."
"You're both bad at it."
He took in the heat pack across your hip and the strain you hadn't managed to hide. His face tightened.
"Is it a bad night?"
"A little."
Harrison draped the blanket around your shoulders. Then he sat on the floor beside Cassie and rested his head against your uninjured knee.
"We could watch something," he suggested. "Until the medicine works."
"It's a school night," Cassie said.
"It's a family emergency."
Cassie looked at you. You raised one eyebrow.
"One episode," she surrendered. "Nothing with six seasons and a cliffhanger."
Harrison got to his feet and pushed the rollator toward the living room before remembering to ask.
"Sorry. Can I?"
"You can."
He guided it carefully while you kept your feet clear. Cassie followed with the heat pack cord and your water. In the living room, Harrison cleared his backpack from the walker zone, Cassie arranged the cushions beneath your hip, and the three of you settled into the couch in the untidy way you always had.
Pain still occupied part of the room. So did the memory of every time love had failed to make any of this easy.
There was space for other things now.
Harrison argued over what to watch. Cassie stole the blanket and denied it while holding half of it in her fist. You listened to them bicker, your hand resting in Cassie's and Harrison's shoulder warm against your side.
Home had changed shape.
It had widened around the rollator and the lockbox, the medication schedule, and the hard conversations. It held your anger, Cassie's fear, and Harrison's cautious trust. It held a body that hurt, a career that had become something you were still learning to name, and a recovery nobody could promise would be simple.
It held you.
When the episode began, Cassie leaned close and kissed your temple. "You okay?" she whispered.
You looked at Harrison tucked beneath the blanket, at your crutch resting within reach, and at the woman who had learned to stay without pretending she could save you.
"I'm here," you said.
Cassie's fingers tightened around yours.
For tonight, and for every ordinary night you still had to build, that was enough.
