A/N : Holy shit people. I really can not believe I let @cryingwriter convince me to post this. This is my first time ever and I mean EVER writing daddy kink. So if that is not your thing do not fucking click on the read more. It's light, but its there.
This story is really personal. I live with chronic pain every day. So I thought, why not write a story for the girlies that also feel pain every day. We deserve love too :). So please be kind. I don't have the heart for hate . Not edited. Be warned. Header by @cryingwriter 💙
Pairing: husband!Jack Abbot x female!Reader
Word count: 2,956
Warnings ⚠️: smut, p in v sex, soft daddy kink, mentions of chronic pain/chronic illness, unprotected sex (wrap it up), some descriptions of hair, some mentions of female bodies, use of nicknames like baby and sweetheart, use of the word "daddy"
I tried hard not to be too descriptive with the reader. Yes I used first person, but there are no mentions of names. But again this fic was originally directed at me and @cryingwriter so again read at your own risks.
From the very moment I open my eyes that familiar uncomfortable discomfort settles into my bones. As I try to get up my hips are stiff and I can barely stand on my feet. The walk from our bed to the bathroom is slow as I work the tension out of my back and legs. It was a constant state of being for me, but today was worse than normal. Perhaps it was the constant rain outside, the way I slept last night, or how bent up my husband had me last night before he went to work. The cause was unclear, but the constant throbbing was there.
I lean against the counter as I enter the bathroom using my hands as a prop to keep myself steady. My face contorting with pain as I try to stretch and ease the pain but it doesn't work. If anything it might have made it worse. This was the unfortunate reality of being chronically ill. Constant pain that often came out of nowhere and you never knew what triggered it.
I take a deep breath and run the water, cupping some in my hands I bring it up to my face. The coolness refreshes my senses as I wake up. I knew that today would be less than thrilling as I navigated the flare up. After doing my business I slowly went down the stairs to the kitchen so I could make something to eat. Much to my surprise there was something pre-made in the fridge. A note signed J on the top of it. A small smile spreads across my lips despite the pain. My ever thoughtful husband takes care of me even in his absence.
As I heat up the food I watch the birds in the birdbath outside. Remembering how I had begged Jack to let me put it out there. He had grumbled about it being unsanitary and messy, but ultimately he gave in and did exactly as I wanted. The thought of him made me warm and made me smile like an idiot to myself.
After breakfast I try to tend to the house chores I usually do, but I was in far too much pain this morning to do so. Instead I head into the bathroom downstairs and grab the Tylenol from the cabinet. A constant must have in our home, as well as ibuprofen. Jack always cautioned about taking too much and the effects it has on your body. Which I understood, but he also understood the reality of living in constant pain and sometimes needing relief.
He would be home in a little over 2 hours and to say I needed him was an understatement. The pain often made me needy and whiny and only he could make it better. Which he knew after all this time together. Though I often didn't tell him when I was in pain, and that always frustrated him. He'd always give me that stern doctor look when I waited until it was unbearable to come to him.
I decided to take it easy and sit on the couch telling myself the house chores could wait until I felt better. The time slips away from me and I fall asleep on the couch. Which is usually a very bad idea.
My senses come alive again when I feel a soft brush of warmth against my forehead. A soft groan escapes my lips as I try to sit up. “Jack?” I call softly.
His warm hands wrap around my wrists gently pulling me up before my eyes register his presence.
“Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” He asks softly. His voice sent shivers down my spine as it always did.
I grumble and lean forward resting my head against his chest. He hums softly, his warm hand coming up to cup the back of my neck as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Daddy,” slips from my lips easily.
“Shh, baby. You hurtin?” He asks, strong fingers kneading the back of my scalp.
I simply nod, still unable to lift my head and look at him properly. Only wanting warmth and presence instead of talking properly. He knew then what I needed and what I wanted. Jack carefully guides me back against the couch cushion, his hands moving to my shoulders as he does so.
He squats down in front of me, his hands resting on my thighs squeezing softly as he looks up at me. My eyes finally flutter open as he sits waiting. My gaze sweeps over his face, taking in his tired expression and feeling guilty.
“Don't look at me like that.” He warns. His voice was stern but soft.
I put my hand palm up on my thigh. A quiet plea for contact. His fingertips trace over my hand as he looks at me. I hold his gaze.
“Talk to me.” He commands softly.
“Hurt, everywhere.” I murmur, closing my eyes again.
His eyes soften, and he moves up onto the couch beside me. The cool metal of his prosthetic pressing into my left calf. He pulls me into his chest holding me tighter than before. A soft sigh escapes his lips. I knew he was worried.
“Come on,” he instructs, pulling me up with him.
I let him guide me through the living room and up the stairs. His hand is warm in mine as he leads me to our bedroom. My right side throbs as I walk behind him. I try to take deep breaths to ease the pain, but it doesn't help.
When we reach our room I nearly collapse onto the bed. A soft groan escaping my lips as I do so.
I hear Jack's soft chuckle as I snuggle into his side of the bed. The bed dips when he sits beside me.
He pushes my shirt up slowly exposing my back. I can feel his fingers begin to slowly knead the muscles along my spine and I let out a soft whine. It hurt, but also felt amazing. I feel his lips brush against my spine and I shiver a needy sound escaping my lips.
“Tell me what you need, baby.” He encourages softly.
It killed me when he did that. Always making me speak up and ask for things. I sigh, my body relaxing further into the mattress.
“A massage. Please.” I mumble, my voice muffled by the pillow.
He presses another gentle kiss to my spine before shifting. Jack pulls his prosthetic off to get on the bed with me and throws his leg over my hips straddling me from behind. I awkwardly pull my shirt off my hair covering my face as I do so. Jack unclasps my bra, pushing it off my arms.
“Right side.” I murmur into the pillows.
His firm hands press into my skin applying gentle pressure at first and gradually getting harder. A soft groan escapes my lips as he hits one particularly tender spot.
“Good baby?” He asks, his lips brushing the back of my neck. His hands moved to gently squeeze my ass.
I nod my eyes closing.
“Use your words.” He whispers against my ear. His voice sent shivers down my spine again.
I internally groan. “Yes, daddy.” I whisper.
He kisses my neck again. “Good girl. Let me run you a bath. I'll be right back.”
The weight of his body lifts from mine and I let out a soft sound of resistance. I didn't want him to stop touching me. He steps into our bathroom and turns the water on. The sound fills the room and my eyes droop. I was still hurting, but I felt better.
I roll over onto my back pulling my bra the rest of the way off and throwing it on the floor. Jack returns a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He stands quietly, watching and observing as I lay spread out on the bed. My breasts are on full display with no shame. As if there ever could be with Jack.
“Come on.” He instructs softly.
Slowly I sit up and slide off the bed. Walking over to him I stop in front of him once again pressing my face into his chest. His rough palms glide over my back as he rubs soothingly.
“So needy.” He muses, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Don't make fun of me.” I pout.
He grips my shoulders pushing me back so he can meet my eyes with his own. “Watch your mouth.” He warns playfully.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him again. “Sorry.” I murmur.
He reaches up and cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he leans down and kisses me softly. His scruff scratches my cheeks in that delicious way I love. Even when I was in pain. My fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck as I kiss him back, almost desperately.
When he pulls away I whine softly. “Why'd you stop?”
“Because you need to get your ass in that tub.” He states, his hands sliding down my hips and squeezing my ass again.
“Go.” He says giving a gentle smack.
I do as I'm told and go into the bathroom. Jack comes up behind me and carefully pulls my pajama shorts down along with my panties before helping me into the tub. When he doesn't join me I look up at him with furrowed brows.
“Why aren't you coming in?” I ask.
He presses his thumb between my brows, smoothing away the furrow. “Sh, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He assures.
I sigh softly, but listen leaning back against the tub and closing my eyes. Jack sits on the edge of the tub and watches as I soak in the warm water. I lean my head on the edge of the tub looking up at him. He runs his fingers through my hair, tucking some of it behind my ear.
I could see it in his eyes. The worry about the pain I was currently in. He didn't want to hover or ask too many questions because he knew at the end of the day with chronic pain it could happen at any time. Jack would often experience similar things with his leg.
“Are you sure you're okay?” He asks softly. The concern is real and genuine
I nod softly, reaching up and grabbing his hand in my hair bringing it to my lips.
His gaze softens and he presses his thumb against my lips. I press a kiss to the pad of his thumb and let go of his hand. Closing my eyes I rest my head on his thigh as I continue soaking in the tub.
“I need you.” I murmur softly.
Jack's thigh tenses beneath my cheek.
“No.” He says firmly.
My eyes open wide at his denial.
“No?” I furrow my brow.
“Yeah, no. We aren't having sex. Not with the pain you're in.” He states, his tone final.
I sat up then. “Jack.” I whisper. The slightest bit of heartbreak in my voice.
He never denied. Ever. His eyes held mine as he crossed his arms over his chest. A true sign he wasn't going to budge on his decision. A sense of betrayal flashed through my eyes.
Jack sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, you're in pain. What if I make it worse.” He asks, genuine concern in his voice.
“Then it gets worse. You know you're the only thing that makes me feel better Jack.” I told him.
He watches me for a long time, silently warring with himself on whether or not to give into what his wife wants.
“If we didn't have sex when I was in pain we'd never have sex Jack. I'm in pain every day. Every single day. You are the only thing that makes it bearable.” I state.
He crumbles. “Jesus, baby.” He whispers.
“Don't make me beg you for sex.” I whisper. “Please.”
His demeanor shifts. “Alright. But I swear to god if it hurts too bad you fucking tell me.” He states, grabbing my chin firmly.
“I will.” I smile.
When he releases my chin he grabs my hand and pulls me up out of the water. He takes my towel and wraps it around me as I step out of the tub.
“Go sit on the bed.” He instructs.
I do as he says and walk back into the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. I felt like a scolded child and mentally laughed at myself.
When he comes out of the bathroom he's naked. My eyes trace over his body shamelessly. He stands still for a moment letting me get a good look. A soft smile appears on my lips as I take in his prosthetic. Finally, my eyes meet his and only then does he close the distance between us. When he reaches me he cups my face with both hands and kisses me deeply.
I could taste the worry on his lips as his fingers moved to grasp my hair. My hands find purchase on his thighs as he stands in front of me kissing me. They move on their own, inching closer to his cock as he deepens the kiss. When my fingers wrap around his cock he jerks a soft hiss falling from his lips.
“Eager.” He groans against my mouth.
“For you.” I pant as I kiss him again.
I begin stroking him and he stands up straight allowing me better access. My other hand squeezes his thigh. He groans as I lean forward and lick at the tip of his cock.
“Behave.” He rasps.
My eyes flicker up to meet his as I take him into my mouth. He lets out a breathy moan, his head tipping back.
“Fuck, baby. Doing so well.” He praises, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I stroke and suck his cock until his legs shake. Finally, he pushes me away. “Enough.” He rasps.
He reaches for my towel and practically rips it off.
“Which position?” He asks, gently squeezing my breasts.
“Prone.” I state, looking up at him.
“Get on your belly.” He instructs, pushing me back softly.
I do as I'm told and get on my stomach. He grabs a pillow and pushes it under my hips. My legs spread to accommodate him from behind. But it's far less strain than being on my back and legs spread. Missionary was great until my hips hurt and I could barely lift my legs.
He presses against my slick entrance from behind. Rubbing my arousal on his length before easily pushing inside. We both moan and I press my face into the mattress. He held still for a moment, gaining strength not to bust immediately after I blew him. His chest presses against my back as he lays over me for a moment. Pressing gentle kisses to my back and neck as he holds himself deep inside of me.
After over a minute of waiting I was getting impatient. My pussy clenches around him wet and needy. “Daddy, please.” I whimper. He lets out a soft groan.
“Shh, daddy's got you.” He practically moans in my ear as he rocks his hips pushing deeper.
My pussy makes a wet sound and he moans. “Fuck you're so wet.” He praises.
A whimper escapes my lips as he still hasn't moved. I squirm beneath him and he grasps my hips.
“Not uh.” He huffs.
“Please.” I beg.
“Please what?” He pants in my ear.
“Please, daddy. Fuck me.” I whimper. No shame in how desperate I was.
“Good girl.” He hums in my ear.
Slowly he pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in all the way. Over and over he goes at this torturous pace. Never fully stimulating, only enough to leave me wanting more. My pussy dripped around his cock as he slowly fucked me.
“I won't break. I need more. Please.” I pant.
He nips my earlobe and starts moving faster. His hips hitting mine with a wet smack from our combined arousal. A moan escapes my lips as I finally get what I want.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?” He growls in my ear. “Daddy's cock buried deep?”
A pathetic mewl leaves my lips and he chuckles. His hand grips my shoulder as he begins to move harder. His cock pounding into me. Dragging against my g-spot with every thrust. A whine escapes my lips as my pussy flutters around his cock.
“Close aren't you.” He chuckles. “So obsessed with it.”
My vision blurs from pleasure. I was so close. My toes curled and my legs began to shake as he pounded into me harder. Every moany breath he let out brought me closer to the edge.
“Gonna come.” I whine.
He grips the back of my neck. “Come for me.” He demands.
I moan as the dam breaks and I come. Clenching desperately around him as he continues to fuck me through my orgasm. He doesn't stop until he comes inside of me with a groan. Pressing kiss after kiss to the back of my neck as he stayed there.
“So good for me.” He murmurs between kisses. “Love you so much.”
Despite the earlier pain I felt so good it wasn't funny. Just something about my husband's cock always made me feel better. I smile at the thought.
Eventually he pulls out of me and rolls me gently onto my back. He kisses me softly and deeply, pouring his heart into it.
“I love you, sweetheart.” He whispers against my lips.
Summary You are a pastry chef, and after a nasty incident in the kitchen, find yourself in the ER, with Dr, Jack Abbot patching you up. As a thank you, you invite him to your restaurant, and so the story begins.
Tags No use of Y/N for reader insert, mentioned injuries with a knife, fluff, flirting, eventual smut, slow burn (not that slow just not yet lol), reader is tough but also a lover yk, irritating kitchen dynamics, age gap (late 20s/late 40s)
Author's Note Okay yeah I listened to Shawn's Quinn audio and yeah I was a little triggered and conflicted because I am a chef and it did awaken something in me like a sleeper agent. I don't know shit about shit in the medical field but I know how to write food!! So consider this a Grant Riley/Jack Abbot mishmash. This is a multipart series as I have already written like four chapters. Self indulgent. Enjoy.
xoxo
“Hey Chef?” Trina, the young server rounds the pass and peeks her head down the line.
“Hm?” you barely look up from the dish you're plating. Carefully unmolding the mousse over the caramel sauce, and grabbing the right spoon for a quenelle of Chantilly cream.
“There’s a guy at the bar asking for you.” Trina’s eyebrows raise slightly, treading lightly, like she’s not sure how this is going to be taken.
You let out a breath, pulling the perfect quenelle and laying it on the plate. “I’m a little busy at the moment. Service,” you set the plate up on the pass before grabbing another.
“And I did tell him that. But he says he knows you and that you invited him here.” Trina says, the edges of her words lifting. “Very hot, intense eyes.”
This is what makes you finally stop. There’s only one person you invited to the restaurant at all recently. And it was a joke, almost. In the way that if he didn’t want to come, you wouldn’t take it personally. But you would really want him to come. And now he’s here.
You take stock of the tickets on the board, dwindling after a slight rush, and recalibrates. “Just, uhm, give me a minute. Tell him he’ll have to wait.”
Trina’s eyes widen. “Holy shit you do know him.”
“Trina, please,” you bristle.
Trina backs away, her eyes not leaving you reddening cheeks. “Oh, we are totally talking about this after.”
“Bye Trina.”
The young server bounces away, an extra swing in her ponytail after learning something that you didn’t want to share.
It takes a second, but you regain your composure. The heat coming up your neck is surely due to the heat of the kitchen. It takes just a few minutes for you to knock out the next few tickets before starting on the last one. The dish you will deliver yourself. You take stock of your prep, what you have left over and what you can put together. You barely know the man, and now your trying to put a dish together that you think he may possibly like. But after a deep breath, you're in it again. This is your world. And you're good at your job.
A slice of vanilla bean Basque Cheesecake, plated with cherry compote and crushed salted almond brittle. Simple, but elegant. Something he could dig his fork into.
“Taking fifteen,” you nod to the Garde-Manger chef. He’ll watch your station while you step away. You remove your spare towel and apron, smoothing down the flyaways that have surely formed. On your way out, you catch your reflection in the metal door. You wipe under your eyes, trying not to look totally exhausted, and step out into the dining room.
There are eyes on you immediately. Hard not to notice the whites, pristine and folded at your elbow, and sticking out in the dim lighting and lively chatter. You make your way to the bar, and it takes all of about three seconds to see him. Broad shoulders, cinnamon sugar curls. He’s chatting with the bartender, who is completely enamored in their discussion.
You slip the plate in front of him and take the stool next to him. “I hope you didn’t already order dessert. This seat taken?” you ask.
Jack Abbott’s eyes drop to the dessert in front of him, but quickly find your face. His eyes find yours immediately, and his smile softens, “All yours.” You can feel your ears redden. Thank God for the dim dining room lighting.
“Thank you, Louis,” you nod at the bartender, “I hope this gentleman didn’t take up too much of your time.”
“Nah,” Louis shakes his head, “this guy has some crazy stories.”
“I’m sure he does,” you reply, but your eyes don’t leave Jack’s.
You wait for Louis to step away, taking care of someone else down the bar. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” you lean back in the stool.
“I think I should be asking that,” Jack nods down at the plate. “What do I have here?”
You tell him about the dessert. “Not on the menu, by the way. Chef special.”
A smile pulls at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “I’m honored.”
“I’m surprised to see you here, what with you working nights and all.” you shrug.
“I do get days off, you know,” Jack raises an eyebrow. “And I’m not one to turn down an offer for a great meal.”
“Well, it is because of you that I can even still make any desserts,” you wiggle your fingers at Jack.
On your left hand are two scars that make a perfect line across your middle and ring fingers. A late night and an intense argument in the kitchen, because when are they ever not intense, and a careless mistake with your best knife landed you in the ER in the middle of service. It wasn’t deep enough to nick the bone, but enough for you to have to sit out of service for almost a week, saddled with limited prep, and your Executive chef still won’t let you live it down.
“How are you holding up?” Jack asks, reaching for you. “No lingering pain, I hope.”
You let him take your hand and turn it over in his, inspecting his handywork. His hands are warm and calloused, and his grip is gentle, as if the already healed scars will burst open again at any moment.
“No pain,” you muse, watching him, “thank you.” Jack releases his grip, much to your dismay. You prop your head up with your other hand.
You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a hand at your back before you can start. “Chef, I’m sorry to interrupt.” It’s Casey, a long-standing server. He nods at Jack and gives a strained smile. “There’s a really big table with a birthday, and no one in the kitchen will write on the desserts.”
You deflate a little, your head sagging in your hand. You groan. It took less than 5 minutes for your 15 minute break to be cut short for something that you know the guys in the back are capable of. Writing “Happy birthday” with melted chocolate in a squeeze bottle is not rocket science, they just don’t want to do it. So they sent Casey- sweet, kind Casey, who would never be on the receiving end of your ire- to fetch you.
“Okay, Case, I’ll be right there,” you nod and the server is gone as quickly as he appeared, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as he leaves.
“Duty calls?” Jack asks.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you groan, sliding off the stool.
“No, don’t be,” Jack assures you. “You’re working. I have no doubt if you came to visit me during a shift at the hospital, it wouldn’t look much different.”
You chew on your bottom lip, contemplating. It’s not terribly late, and he did come all the way out to see you. “Tell you what,” you start, leaning against the bar, “service is going to end in like an hour. It’ll take me a little bit to clean up my station after that. If you want to wait, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. If you don’t want to, no harm. Leave your number with Louis and I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”
“Deal,” Jack smiles, and you notice a dimple on one of his cheeks. Your stomach flips. “Besides, I’ll be busy here for a minute, dessert’s just been served.” He pulls the plate closer to him.
“Right, I’ll make sure to get your feedback after.” you smirk. You flag down the bartender, “Louis! Make sure Dr. Abbot is taken care of over here, as long as he’d like. On me.”
“Heard,” Louis gives you a knowing grin, that you promptly ignore.
With one last look, you push away from the bar and head back into the kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly busy night, even for a Wednesday. You continue to push out the last few tickets, while half of them don’t even have dessert, motivated by just the possibility of ending the night with Jack.
Thirty minutes later, Trina comes bouncing back to your station, a grin plastered on her face. “The hottie at the bar would like to send his compliments on the dessert.”
Without looking up from your plate, you nod, “Thank you, Trina.”
“So, like, who is he?” Trina leans in.
“Thank you, Trina,” you say, firmer.
“Boo, you’re no fun.” Trina pouts and turns away.
But the compliment sends heat up your neck, and you fight back a smile, instead chewing on the inside of your cheek. You hope you don't have to explain yourself to the guys who definitely all heard that exchange.
It doesn’t take you long to clear the tickets, and you start cleaning your station immediately, cater-wrapping leftovers and storing sauces and garnishes. You wipe down the stainless steel surfaces, trying not to think about Jack, and if he stayed, which ultimately ends with you thinking about him anyway.
“Damn,” the Sous Chef stops by your station with a sanitation bucket, not caring how it sloshes everywhere, “you got some place to be?”
“Get lost, Miller,” you deadpan.
Scottie leans his hip on your station, crossing his arms. “I’m just wondering if your incredible speed and attention to detail tonight has anything to do with the guy waiting around at the bar for you.”
You try not to give anything away, but you stiffen, just slightly. Jack waited. He stayed at the bar for over an hour, just waiting for you.
Scottie notices. “Gentlemen!” He hollers to the rest of the kitchen, “We've got a hot date over here tonight!” The kitchen erupts in hoots and laughter, and completely inappropriate questions ranging from who is he to have you fucked yet.
You remove your spare towel and apron, throwing them in Scottie’s face. “Just because you are in a bout of involuntary celibacy, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”
Scottie tosses the linens on the floor. “Hey, if you’d bother to bring any of your lady friends around-”
“Sorry, my friends like to orgasm when they have sex,” you scrunch your nose and push passed him, and the rest of the kitchen lets out a string of ‘ooohs,’ laughing and shoving Scottie back to his station.
It’s jokes, mostly. You have grown accustomed to the inappropriate and invasive atmosphere of the kitchens you've worked in. There’s another woman on the crew, Rose, but your shifts hardly ever line up, with one of you on prep during the day and the other on service at night. So you try to blend in in the ways you can, and be better in every other way. Wittier, smarter, faster. Don’t give them a reason to think you're the weak link.
“I’m out,” you call, walking towards the locker room. “See you losers tomorrow!”
In the locker room, you hang up your whites, and slip a crewneck on over your tank top. It’s not sexy, but it beats the dingy, worn straps of the camisole. You slide off your bandana and try to tame the flyaways it produces.
There’s a fine line between looking like a complete slob, and looking like you're trying way too hard, and you aren't sure how to stay on it. After fiddling with your appearance for way too long, you grab your bag and push yourself out into the dining room.
Sure enough, Jack Abbot is still waiting for you. He’s scrolling through something on his phone when you approach. Louis is nowhere to be found, probably refilling syrups.
“You waited,” you smile, coming up next to him.
Jack’s gaze immediately snaps to you, and his shoulders drop, like he’d been nervous about something. “Hey, yeah,” he smiles. “I’m a night owl, obviously. Had I gone home, I probably wouldn’t have gone to sleep, anyway.”
“Well, this place is just about closed,” you nod to the lingering guests, the servers gathered around a table, rolling silverware for the next day. “Would you want to head to a bar and grab a drink?”
“Yeah, I’d love to,” Jack slides off the stool.
The cool breeze is a balm to your flushed cheeks and nervous energy. It’s late August, so the nights are finally becoming cooler in Pittsburgh. The two of you walk to a bar that’s less than a block away. Your arms bump together as they walk, but neither of you overcorrects to stop it from happening again.
It’s not a bar that you have been to often, but whenever you need a drink without the watchful eye of your own staff, you head here. The bartenders are to the point, not bothering you with stories and questions when you clearly just want to zone out, and you tip well, so it’s mutually beneficial. You and Jack slip into an empty booth, each with a cold beer.
“So, Dr. Abbot, if I may call you that-” you settle into the booth, dropping your bag on the worn vinyl.
“Jack, please,” he interrupts, with a grin on his face.
“Jack,” you roll his name around in your mouth. “Have you been a doctor long? And always in the ER?”
Jack takes a long sip of his beer before answering. “I’ve been an attending for about 20 years, give or take.”
“Wow,” you raise your eyebrows slightly, “20 years. Long time.”
“Alright, alright,” Jack laughs, raises his palms towards you in surrender, “get the age jokes out now.”
Even though you are doing the mental math to try to figure out his age, you shake your head. “No, not in like, an age way. I just can’t imagine having the same job for that long. I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than 3 or 4 years. I was starting to think I was cursed.”
“What’s the matter? Commitment issues?” Jack eyes you, teasing.
“Ha, no.” you deadpan. After a moment, you shrug, “I don’t know, it’s the nature of the industry, I guess. There’s not a high overhead in restaurants, and a pastry chef is often let go first when things start to go south. They decide that they’ll just start getting shitty cakes from the restaurant service groups instead. And then there’s the egos, the tempers…”
You hate explaining this part, it always comes out wrong. You try to find the right way to explain that it’s not a lack of loyalty, but the never ending search for something better. “I’ve learned something in every kitchen I’ve ever worked. But when I feel like I’ve absorbed all I can, I move on.”
“All in Pittsburgh?” Jack asks.
“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not from here. I’ve, uh, moved around a lot. Been that way since I was a kid, so I guess it carried into adulthood.”
“Military brat?”
You purse your lips, “Yeah.”
Jack nods, considering. “I was a combat medic. Before. I understand the lifestyle.”
“But,” you try to save yourself, “I’ve been here for like 8 months, and I really like Pittsburgh. I like working at Brindle Bay. I’m hoping this is it, at least for a while.”
“Me too,” Jack smiles. “Otherwise, Pittsburgh would be woefully deprived of your creations. And that is a crime.”
“You’ve tried one of my desserts, Jack. I don’t know that you have a good frame of reference. Besides, it’s not like I’m saving lives, if anything I’m sending people to an early, sugary grave,” you let out a chuckle.
“Oh, I beg to differ. The cheesecake had me seeing God. In a good way. That is life saving,” Jack shoots back.
“You liked it?” you scrunch your nose. You can’t help yourself.
“Loved it. I sent compliments back, didn’t I?” Jack replies. He’s having fun watching you squirm, clearly.
“You did, but- ugh. You’d think I’d be better at hearing people talk about my food by now, but it’s still hard to do face-to-face.” You could go on about how a cheesecake is totally not hard to make, especially a Basque cheesecake, or how a child could make a cherry compote. But fighting that self-deprecating urge is what got you here in the first place. Owning your talent is how you made it this far.
“I’m usually a very downhome guy,” Jack presses his palm to his chest. “Give me a slice of chocolate cake, I’m good. But that cheesecake was incredible. You clearly love what you do, and you’re very talented.”
“What about you?” you ask, looking at him from down the beer bottle as you take a sip. “You still enjoy being in a doctor after 20 years?”
Jack sighs. He has this look in his eyes, and for just a brief moment, you can tell that he’s a million miles away. “You know, it has its moments. There are times when I think I want to leave it behind, but I just can’t stay away. It calls me back.”
“I think I know what you mean,” you nod. “I’d probably go nuts if I slowed down enough to leave the restaurant. I already need a million hobbies to keep my mind busy.”
“I volunteer as a SWAT medic in my off hours, keeps me busy."
Your jaw drops. Literally. “Seriously? Fuck, you are a glutton for adrenaline.”
“I’m good at it,” Jack shrugs. But he’s grinning, because he knows exactly what it sounds like.
“No,” you shake your head. “People are good at knitting. People are good at gardening. You pick a hobby that could get you killed. Like a crazy person.”
“You and my therapist would get along very well,” Jack retorts, not unkindly. It’s your turn to watch him squirm.
The conversation continues, and when the beers run out, you order another round. You tell Jack about all the places you've lived in your life, and Jack shares some of his most interesting medical cases. His eyes light up when he talks about near misses and good saves, and you can see why Jack just can’t walk away. There’s a passion in him that could never be satisfied doing anything else. It’s really hot.
Eventually, you come back to yourself long enough to notice that the already sparse crowd in the bar has all but disappeared, leaving the two of them and the closing bartender. You check your phone, 12:30 am. You’ve been sitting, lost in conversation for two hours.
“Shit,” Jack mutters, noticing your phone and checking his watch. “It is late. You’re probably exhausted.”
Even after all of these years working in the kitchen, the shitty floor mats still do nothing for your feet, which feel like rocks at the end of your legs. The weight of the day catches up to you all at once, and as much as you want to keep the night going, you're not sure how much fun you'll be in another 20 minutes.
“Yeah, I should probably head home. Take a long shower, you know.” you grab your bag, slipping out of the booth.
Jack leaves some cash on the table, and the two of you receive an appreciative nod from the bartender. Jack’s hand hovers over your back, just at your waist, and they slip out into the crisp night air. Even though it’s barely a touch, you can feel the warmth of his hands through your crewneck, and you start to think about all the other places you'd like Jack to put his hands.
“Where’s your car?” Jack looks down the street, and you snap right back out of your head.
“Oh, it’s fine-”
“Nuh-uh,” Jack furrows his brow slightly, teasing. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk back alone in the middle of the night.”
You don’t argue, just lead the way. “Thank you again. For tonight. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure if you would take me up on it. Coming to the restaurant, I mean.”
“I told you,” Jack nudges your shoulder with his own. “I am not one to turn down a good meal from a beautiful woman.”
“Uh, no,” you smile. “You conveniently left out that last part.”
“Thought it was implied,” Jack shrugs, that stupid grin on his face. His eyes seek out your, and you tug your bag closer.
When you reach your car, you round to face him full on. “This is me,” you nod back.
“I can see that,” Jack shoves his hand in his pocket. He fishes his phone out and hands it to you. “Maybe we can see each other on a day that neither of us has to work.”
“I think that sounds great.” you enter your number in and when you hand his phone back, your fingers brush for longer than could be considered a coincidence.
You are not one to deny yourself. You indulge in your pleasures, and go for what you want. Which leads you to step just a hair closer to Jack. Almost too close for normal conversation. “I’m going to say something.”
Jack follows suit, stepping closer. Definitely too close for normal conversation. “I’m sure I’d love to hear it.”
You hesitate for a moment, giving yourself an out, and promptly deciding that you don't want it.
“I really want to kiss you, Jack,” you are a breath away, your gaze dropping down to Jack’s mouth, and back up to his hazel eyes.
“Thank God,” Jack smiles. His voice is low and thick. “I thought it was just me.”
Jack’s hands settle in a firm grip on your hips. When you kiss, you bring your hands up to his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek and stubble. It’s a grounding, full kiss, that spreads heat through your entire body. Jack’s hands move over your back, pressing you fully against him. When you pull back, he still doesn’t let go.
“You say goodnight to all of your patients like that?” you bite your bottom lip.
“Just the ones that make really good cheesecake,” Jack teases, brushing his nose against yours.
“Right, cheesecake.” you wink and step out of his grasp. You step off the curb and slide into your car. Jack watches you, his hands flexing at his sides. “Goodnight, Doctor.” you call.
“Goodnight, Chef,” Jack nods. He steps away from the curb just as you pull away.
You can see him in your rearview mirror, watching you drive away. You can’t help but giggle to yourself and press your fingers to your lips, still remembering the way his felt.
“Know I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad
Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph
I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back
I'm always on my own.”
-All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. i’m normal and can be trusted with noah kahan’s discography. this fic was supposed to be crossposted on ao3 at the time of post but ao3 crashed and i lost all of my tagging and uploading process so im saving that. for later. when it is POSTED it will be linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist
“Your family’s in town?”
You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries.
You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.
“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”
“Dinner circuit?”
You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”
“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”
You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.”
“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”
“So your fucked, basically.”
Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.”
“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”
“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”
You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”
He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”
“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”
“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”
“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”
“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”
“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”
“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”
Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”
“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.
“Mom?”
“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”
“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“
She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.”
“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“
“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”
You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”
“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“
“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”
“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Jack.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures.
Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.
“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.
“You work with my daughter?”
“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”
Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke.
She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.
“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.
“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“
You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.
Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.
“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.
“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.
The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.
“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“
“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”
“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”
He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”
You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”
“Are those desired outcomes?”
“Mostly.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”
It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack.
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”
“You could.”
“Wipe out my entire family?”
“Take me to dinner with you.”
Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious.
“Are you joking?”
He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—
“No.”
You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“
“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”
What. The. Fuck.
“No.” You gape, incredulous.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“
“Jack.”
You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“
“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”
“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”
“In the ED, obviously.”
“How long have we been together?”
“Month and a half.”
“Why are we even dating?”
“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.
“Have you… thought about this?”
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”
“Are you rich?”
There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile.
“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”
You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”
“But you do?”
“They’re my family.”
Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere.
You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?”
“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”
“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”
“Beats drinking beer in the park.”
You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.
“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”
“Flowers?”
“Naturally.”
“You pay?”
“For every meal.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Navy blue. Mine?”
You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.
“Will she really be that upset about it?”
“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”
Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”
“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”
“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.
“Deal.”
—
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.
You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go.
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—
“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.
“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.
“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”
You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”
“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.”
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You could swap me with someone else?”
“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”
“Touché.”
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”
“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.
“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”
“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”
“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”
He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“
“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.
“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”
“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”
Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”
He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.
“You smell good.”
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.
“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”
You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.
(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”
“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”
“Fair point.”)
By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.
At least, that’s what he says.
“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”
“Singing your praises, of course.”
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable.
The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying.
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.
You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:
“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“
You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well.
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.
“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place.
“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”
Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”
Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.
“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“
“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”
Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”
Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”
You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.
“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.”
Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.
“How’d I do?”
You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.
To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:
“Do you really wanna do this right now?”
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for.
“So. Dr. Abbot—”
“Just Jack is fine.”
“—How long have the two of you been dating?”
“A month and a half.”
“Why’d you start dating?”
You take a generous gulp of your wine.
“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in.
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.
That’s going in the mental folder.
“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”
“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear.
“Mr. Abbot—“
“Either Doctor or Jack works.”
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.
But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.
This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.
“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?”
Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot.
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.
“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.”
For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way.
He’s perfect.
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look.
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide.
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.
“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”
Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead.
“Jack?”
“They didn’t even talk to you.”
You blink.
“What?”
“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”
You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.
“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“
“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”
Oh.
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”
Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”
“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”
“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”
Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?”
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
“Of course I remember.”
There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present.
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone.
Jack just keeps looking at you.
He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.
“You’re so much more than them.”
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.
“What?”
“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.”
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.
“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“
“No.”
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.
An old habit.
Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.”
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“
“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.”
“Jack—“
“Please.”
You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain.
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.
“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”
You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?”
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.
(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.
You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better?
“You have that look on your face.”
You frown. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
“It’s freaky when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You always know what I’m thinking.”
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?”
“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.”
“Oh.”
It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad.
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.
Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger.
“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?”
The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it.
He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.”
“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”
“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”
“Maybe I‘ll—“
“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.”
You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.
“Goodnight.”
He gives you a little smile of his own.
“Goodnight.”
—
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you.
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.
“This really isn’t a good time—“
“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.”
“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”
“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.
“She fight back at all?”
“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.”
“Christ.”
“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”
“Fuck. Do you think—“
“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.”
“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?”
“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”
Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”
“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.
“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”
“It’s different.”
“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”
“You lost me on that last one.”
“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Bit late for that.”
“You could pull back.”
“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”
“She is a grown woman.”
“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.
“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”
Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.”
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.
“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”
“Worse than you expected?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”
“Fuck no.”
“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.”
“I save lives too.”
“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”
“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.
—
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.
It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest.
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:
“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?”
And:
“What’s Jack like on a date?”
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him.
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.
(“…I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”)
It’s all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.
But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else.
It’s how they treat you.
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too.
But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different.
It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal.
“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?”
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
“I’m not hiding from you.”
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”
“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.”
“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.
You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing.
It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen.
“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing.”
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”
He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give.
“I’m just worried.”
“You? Worried? No.”
You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”
“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.
“Why do you care?”
The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place.
You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do.
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.
“Why do I care about what?”
“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.”
It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for.
He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight.
“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”
“But why?”
“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?”
You snort. “Guilty as charged.”
Now it’s his turn to sigh.
“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”
You frown. “It is.”
“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.”
You scoff. “So this is about my family.”
He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“They are.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“It’s not a competition.”
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“Because it’s a big deal to you.”
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you.
It’s Jack who speaks first though.
“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.”
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.
“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.”
“We will?”
“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out.
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him.
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head.
“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself.
That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.”
He would. He totally would.
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
–
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years.
The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.
It’s as frustrating as it is hot.
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment.
It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out.
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.
At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like.
“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.”
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.
“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”
Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."
“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.”
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.
“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.”
He smiles thinly. “None taken.”
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.
So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?”
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.
“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.”
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.”
Your blood runs cold.
Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”
It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”
“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning.
Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”
Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t.
“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.”
Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.
“He cheated on me with my best friend.”
At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.”
“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.”
Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”
Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.”
“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.”
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.
By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.
“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?”
“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.”
“Oh. That was nice of you.”
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.”
“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.”
“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.”
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.”
“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.”
You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”
Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.”
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same.
“And what about me?”
Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmm. Nope.”
“How come?”
"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.”
“You think you’re wrong?”
“Still can’t figure you out.”
“And how can I show you that I mean it?”
That’s. Hmm.
“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?”
“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”
“Competent?”
“That’s the word.”
If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it.
“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.”
“Are you like Bob the Builder?”
“I’m a doctor, so no.”
“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.”
“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”
“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?”
“No.”
‘Then yes.”
“You sure? I wasn’t lying.”
“I know. But I like your cooking.”
You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.”
It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation.
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.
His gigantic apartment.
“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.”
“Its not that big.”
“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.”
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober.
“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”
“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.”
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
“Only if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.”
Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.”
Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.)
Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.
“Looking at the sparkles.”
“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”
“You made vodka pasta?”
He shrugs. “You said you liked it.”
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.”
Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not.
“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.”
“M’ not fallin’ asleep.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
“What’re’you’ making?”
“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.”
“Oh. How come?”
“Because I don’t want you to throw up.”
“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.”
“You drink often?”
“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.”
“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?”
“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.
“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.”
“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.”
“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.
“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”
“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”
“It won’t be when you wake up.”
You whine, curling away from him.
He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”
“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”
“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”
“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”
“I like sleeping on couches.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.”
You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”
Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”
“It’d be weird to wake up here.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.”
“What would we even do in the morning?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re my guest–”
“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?”
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.
“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.”
Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.”
The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–
“You okay there?”
“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.”
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest.
“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.”
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.
Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”
His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.
“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Good. Like man.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.”
“Why do you call me sweetheart?”
“Because you’re a sweetheart.”
“I am?”
“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.”
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.”
“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.
It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.
“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.”
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.
He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say.
You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.
–
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit.
You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place.
“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”
“Okay. No need to rub it in.”
He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.”
“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.”
Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?”
“...Yes?”
“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?”
You’d nodded.
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.”
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.
The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with.
He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.
“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.”
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.
“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”
Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.”
“True. But what if?”
“I’m not going to help you spiral.”
“Why not?” You whine.
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.”
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.
Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.”
“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”
“But–”
“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.”
Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face.
He looks up when the door opens. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation.
Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.
It can’t just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.”
“So it is.”
“Guess I owe you big time, huh?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.”
“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.”
You lapse into silence.
Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”
“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.”
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.
“What if I’m wrong?”
“You won’t be.”
A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.”
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.
“You do.”
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you.
“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.”
“You think,” He drawls, “I might.”
“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry.
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.
“Come here.”
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.”
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”
“More than a little?”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.”
“Use your words.”
“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning.
“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.”
You frown. “And how would you have put it?”
“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.”
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.
You frown.
Wait.
“Have you known I liked you this whole time?”
Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”
He’s known since the second week?
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.”
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.
“Can you take a compliment?”
“No.”
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.”
“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.”
“How kind of you to share my bed with me.”
“I have been told I’m kind.”
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.
It’s just like your dream.
Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back.
Summary: After your anatomy scan, you and Jack spend one quiet morning at home with the ultrasound photo, married toast, and the growing suspicion that your son has inherited Jack’s entire face. At work, your Child Life coworkers already know about the baby. The ED does not. Not yet. But when you get called downstairs for a scared little girl with a broken arm, your son decides he has absolutely no respect for timing. One kick, one accidental sentence, and suddenly, PTMC learns the second secret. Everyone knew you and Jack were married. No one was ready for Tiny Abbot.
Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, pregnancy symptoms/discomfort, baby kicking/fetal movement, anatomy scan/ultrasound mention, food mentions, emotional overwhelm, happy tears, soft husband Jack, brief pediatric injury/broken arm mention, child life specialist Reader, workplace reveal, found family, fluff, no angst.
Author’s Note: This chapter is probably the softest one so far. I wanted the pregnancy reveal to feel less like a dramatic secret being exposed and more like private joy becoming shared joy. Reader and Jack have been holding this baby close, and now PTMC gets to love him too. Also, yes. Tiny Abbot is canon. Jack is fighting for his life against that nickname and losing badly.
The newest ultrasound photo had been on the fridge for less than twenty-four hours, and you had already stopped in front of it seventeen times. Maybe eighteen. You had lost count somewhere between brushing your teeth, making coffee, forgetting what you had walked into the kitchen for, and standing barefoot in front of the refrigerator with one hand beneath your stomach while Jack pretended not to notice you staring at the same black-and-white image again.
He noticed.
Jack noticed when a patient’s breathing changed from across a trauma bay. He noticed when your ginger ale went untouched for too long. He noticed when your socks left tiny indentations above your ankles and when you were pretending the ache in your back was merely decorative.
There was no universe in which Jack Abbot did not notice you standing in front of the refrigerator like it had become a religious site.
He just had the good sense not to comment right away.
The photo was tucked beneath the little Pittsburgh magnet Robby had bought you as a joke three years ago and then acted offended when you used it. Your grocery list sat beside it, normal and ordinary and safe, with coffee, bread, honey, and paper towels written in Jack’s neat handwriting.
No proposals this time. Just groceries.
Still, the list made your chest warm every time you looked at it. But the ultrasound photo was the thing that kept pulling you back.
Not the first one.
The first one had been a blur of static and possibility, a tiny bright shape you loved before it looked like anything at all. The kind of picture people smiled at while secretly admitting they needed the ultrasound tech to point out where the baby actually was.
This one was different. This one had a profile. A forehead. A nose. A mouth.
Your son, still grainy and shadowed in black and white, looking briefly like someone the world had not met yet.
You were trying to be reasonable about it.
Truly.
You understood that an ultrasound was not a portrait. You understood that black-and-white medical imaging was not the same as seeing your son’s actual face. You understood that medical science would probably have several calm, boring things to say about image angles, shadows, and fetal positioning.
But you also understood something deeper.
Older. Instinctive.
You had made a Jack clone.
A tiny, curled-up, twenty-week version of your husband was currently living beneath your ribs, and you were holding out fragile hope that maybe he would at least inherit your eyes.
Or your smile.
Or your ability to enter a grocery store without declaring war on the parking lot.
Jack stood at the counter behind you, making coffee with the quiet efficiency of a man who had learned your current tolerance for morning conversation was directly related to how soon he could get caffeine-adjacent hope into your hands. Real coffee for him. The good decaf for you. The bag he had brought home after night shift sat beside the coffee maker, already clipped closed with the little metal clip he had found in the junk drawer after watching you struggle with the bag for three seconds.
He had not said a word. He had just taken it from you, clipped it shut, and put it where you could reach it.
Emotionally devastating maniac.
You stared at the ultrasound photo. “He looks like you,” you said.
Jack looked up from the coffee maker. “It’s black and white.”
“I know.”
“We haven’t seen him out yet,” Jack added.
“I know that too.”
Jack leaned back against the counter, one hand braced beside his mug. “Then how are you making this assessment?”
You looked at the photo again. His tiny profile. His little nose. The frankly suspicious set of his brow. You sighed. “Because I made a clone.”
Jack stared at you. “A clone.”
“A tiny Abbot,” you said mournfully.
His eyes narrowed. “Do not start that.”
You sighed louder. “I’m just hoping he gets something from me.”
Jack’s expression softened. He did not move right away. He only looked at you across the kitchen, morning light catching in the silver at his temples, coffee still dripping steadily into the pot behind him.
“He will,” Jack said.
You looked at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His mouth moved faintly. “He already has your stubbornness.”
You gasped. “That is slander.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “And your dramatic sense of injury.”
You frowned. “I am injured.”
“By an ultrasound,” Jack replied.
You pointed at him. “By genetics.”
Jack’s smile almost got free. Almost. You turned back to the fridge, trying to keep your expression dignified while wearing one of his sweatshirts and standing barefoot in front of a baby picture you had already stared at eighteen times. Maybe nineteen.
“He has your face,” you said.
Jack stepped closer. You felt him before he touched you. The warmth of him at your side. The soft brush of his shirt against your shoulder. The way the kitchen seemed to get smaller when he came near, even after all these years.
“He has a face,” Jack said.
You smiled. “Your face.”
Jack looked at the ultrasound. This time, he did not argue as quickly. His shoulder brushed yours. His eyes stayed on the picture, and for one quiet second, the practical line of his mouth softened into something you did not think he meant to show.
“You really think so?” he asked.
Your heart turned over. There it was. Not skepticism. Not entirely. Hope, carefully disguised as disbelief.
You looked up at him. “Yeah. I do.”
Jack swallowed once. Then he looked back at the photo. “Poor kid.”
You elbowed him gently. “Beautiful kid.”
His mouth softened. “Yeah,” he said. “That too.”
Your son shifted beneath your hand. Small. Lazy. As if he had heard the assessment and decided to participate only enough to remind everyone he was present.
You breathed out a laugh.
Jack’s gaze dropped immediately. “Again?” he asked.
You nodded. “Small one.”
His hand hovered near your stomach, not touching yet. Even now, even here, he still asked without words. That always got you. The care in it. The restraint. The way he treated your body like it was still yours, even when he loved the person growing inside it so fiercely he sometimes forgot how to breathe around the evidence. You covered his hand with yours and brought it to your stomach. Jack’s palm settled carefully against the curve beneath his sweatshirt. Your son did not move again. Jack waited anyway.
The sight of it made your throat tight. “He knows your voice,” you said.
Jack looked down at his hand. “Maybe.”
“He does,” you insisted.
“He could be reacting to anything,” Jack murmured.
You turned your head and stared at him. “Jack.”
His mouth twitched. “Pattern needs more data.”
“Oh my God.” You looked back at the ultrasound photo. “You are not evidence-basing our son’s love for you.”
“I’m not.”
You rolled your eyes. “You absolutely are.”
Jack’s thumb moved once against your stomach. “I’m being reasonable.”
“You’re being emotionally avoidant with a control group,” you corrected.
His eyebrows lifted. “That feels unfair.”
“It feels accurate.”
Your son shifted again. Small, but definite. Right beneath Jack’s palm. You looked down immediately. Then you looked up at him. “Data.”
Jack’s mouth opened. Then closed.
You smiled. “Data.”
“That is not—”
“Data,” you repeated.
Jack looked down at his hand, and whatever argument he had been preparing seemed to lose momentum somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Your son moved once more, as if he had decided to make your case for you.
Jack went still. Not trauma-still. Not clinical-still.
Father-still.
You watched the way his face changed. The way all the controlled, practical edges of him softened under the weight of one tiny movement from a person he had not met yet.
“You love that,” you said.
Jack did not look up. “What?”
“That he knows your voice.”
His jaw shifted once.
You smiled gently. “You love it.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on your stomach. “I might,” he said.
It was the smallest concession. Barely one at all. But his hand stayed exactly where it was, and his thumb moved again, careful and reverent.
Your chest filled. “A mother knows,” you said.
Jack’s eyes lifted to yours.
For a second, you thought he might tease you. Say something dry about data or ultrasound accuracy or the legal admissibility of mother’s intuition.
He did not. He only looked at you. Soft. Private. A little undone.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Your throat tightened. “Yeah?”
Jack’s thumb shifted over your stomach. “Yeah. She does.”
That got you. Not enough to cry. Not today. But enough that the kitchen went a little blurry around the edges for one dangerous second. You blinked hard and looked back at the ultrasound photo. Your son’s profile.
Your tiny Abbot.
The Jack clone currently using your bladder as a rental property and responding to his father’s voice like he already knew exactly where home was.
Then your stomach growled. Loudly. Not delicately. Not romantically. A full, undeniable announcement from the digestive portion of your anatomy.
Jack looked down. You looked down too. Your son gave one more tiny shift, like he wanted to formally distance himself from the sound.
You closed your eyes. “Oh my God,” you said.
Jack’s hand stayed on your stomach. “What?”
“I’m hungry,” you murmured in awe.
His attention sharpened immediately. “Yeah?”
You nodded, excited. “Like, actually hungry.”
Jack looked at your face, then toward the counter, already recalculating the morning around this new, fragile miracle. “What sounds good?” he asked.
You opened your eyes. The answer arrived fully formed. Not from logic. Not from nutrition. From the deepest, most sacred part of your pregnant soul.
You looked him dead in the eyes. “I want married toast.”
Jack stared at you for one beat. Then his mouth twitched. “Married toast.”
“With Irish butter,” you said.
“Obviously.”
“And the good honey,” you added.
Jack nodded. “Farmers market?”
“The one that tastes like flowers and sunshine.”
Jack’s expression softened in the way that still made your chest ache, even after years of knowing what it felt like to be loved by him. “Toast is doable,” he said.
You lifted one finger. “Married toast.”
Jack’s mouth moved faintly. “Married toast is doable.”
You smiled, triumphant and starving.
Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead, his hand still warm against your stomach.
“Sit,” he said.
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounded like husband tone.”
“It was breakfast tone,” Jack replied.
You shrugged. “Same thing.”
His mouth moved again, closer to a smile this time. You stepped away from the fridge and toward the kitchen island, one hand still under your stomach. Behind you, Jack opened the bread. The house smelled like coffee and morning, and the first real hunger you had trusted in days. You lowered yourself carefully onto the stool and looked back at the ultrasound photo on the fridge.
Your son’s little profile stared back in grainy black-and-white.
Jack’s face.
Your stubbornness.
Maybe your eyes, if genetics had any sense of fairness.
And the whole fragile, impossible thing still belonged mostly to the two of you.
For now.
Jack set the bread in the toaster.
You watched him move around the kitchen like this was the most ordinary thing in the world. Bread. Butter. Honey. Coffee. His hand checking the edge of the plate before he set it down, like he was making sure it would not slide. His thumb brushing a stray crumb from the counter. His body still close enough that you could reach for him if the moment got too big.
It almost did.
Then the toaster clicked.
Jack plated the toast with the kind of care he would deny under oath. Irish butter melted into the bread. Farmers market honey drizzled in a thin, golden line over the top. He set the plate in front of you.
Married toast.
You looked up at him. “I have never loved you more.”
Jack pointed one finger at you. “Do not start ranking again.”
“I’m just saying,” you replied with a smile.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You said the decaf won yesterday.”
You nodded seriously. “The ranking system is fluid.”
Jack leaned one hand against the counter. “That seems rigged.”
“It’s pregnancy.”
“That is not a legal defense,” Jack replied.
You clicked your tongue. “It should be.”
Jack poured your decaf and set the mug beside the plate. You picked up the toast and took one careful bite. For a second, the kitchen went quiet. The toast was warm. The butter was rich. The honey tasted like flowers and sunshine.
And your body, miracle of miracles, wanted it.
Your eyes closed.
Jack watched you from across the island. “Good?” he asked.
You nodded, mouth full, possibly emotional.
He grinned softly, “Words.”
You swallowed carefully. “If I speak, I might cry.”
His face softened.
You pointed the toast at him. “Happy cry.”
He sighed, “Still.”
“I’m fine,” you added.
Jack held your gaze. “Yeah?”
You looked at the ultrasound photo. Then, at the man in front of you. Then down at your stomach, where your son shifted faintly, quiet now but there. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.
For once, he let that be enough.
He picked up his own coffee and came around the island, stopping beside your stool instead of across from you. You leaned your shoulder against his side. Jack’s hand settled gently on the back of your neck, thumb brushing once beneath your hair.
Neither of you said anything for a while.
The toast cooled by degrees.
The coffee steamed.
The ultrasound photo stayed tucked beneath the magnet on the fridge, grainy and impossible and still mostly yours.
A tiny Abbot.
Your tiny Abbot.
Still held inside the quiet of your kitchen.
Still safe beneath your sweatshirt.
Still nameless to the rest of the world.
Jack’s thumb moved once at your neck.
You closed your eyes and let yourself have the moment.
No texts. No questions. No highlighted lists.
No one asking for drawer lore, wedding photos, or explanations.
Just your husband beside you.
Your son beneath your ribs.
And married toast on the plate in front of you, tasting like butter, honey, and the kind of ordinary life Jack had once written a proposal into because he knew exactly where he wanted forever to begin.
By the time you got to PTMC, your son had kicked twice in the car, once in the elevator, and once while you were trying to unlock the Child Life office door.
You stopped with your badge still in your hand and one palm pressed low against your cardigan.
“Bud,” you murmured, “I am trying to work.”
Your son shifted again. Small. Busy. Unbothered by your schedule.
From the other side of the office, Brie looked up from the sensory bin cart. “Active today?” she asked.
You glanced over at her and smiled. “Very.”
Brie’s face softened immediately.
She knew.
Everyone in Child Life knew.
Not because you had made some dramatic announcement with cupcakes or a tiny onesie folded into a gift bag. Child Life knew because Child Life noticed everything, and because hiding a pregnancy from people trained to recognize coping behaviors, body language, and emotional overload was a doomed enterprise. They knew because Sarah had covered a prep session for you during your first OB appointment. They knew because Brie had found you in the supply closet at twelve weeks, crying over the smell of banana-scented markers. They knew because Abby had quietly started stocking ginger chews in the top drawer without saying anything about it.
They knew because they were your people.
Here, upstairs, you did not have to stand at a strategic angle or pretend ginger ale was a personality trait. You could sit behind the shared desk with your patient list open, one hand resting openly under your stomach, and let yourself smile when your son moved as if he were trying to rearrange the furniture.
Sarah rolled her chair back from the computer beside yours. “He still doing the Jack voice thing?” she asked.
You looked down at the spreadsheet you were pretending to update. “Unfortunately for Jack’s ego, yes.”
Abby grinned from near the supply shelves. “He knows his dad.”
“He knows dramatic timing,” you said.
Your son gave another small roll beneath your hand. You looked down at your cardigan. “I am literally trying to update the patient list.”
Brie leaned against the sensory cart, smiling. “Maybe he has notes.”
“He is twenty weeks old,” you said. “His notes are bad.”
Sarah clicked her pen. “Strong opinions, poor handwriting.”
You laughed, and the sound came easily. That was the best part of being up here. The ease. The lack of performance. The simple relief of being around people who knew and did not make you feel like your body had become public property. Downstairs, the ED knew you were married. Up here, Child Life knew you were pregnant.
Both truths were yours.
Just not in the same room yet.
Your smile softened as your hand curved over the small swell beneath your cardigan.
You were going to have to tell the ED soon.
Pretty soon, the cardigan strategy was going to stop being strategy and start being comedy. Your body had started keeping fewer secrets than you did, and now that everyone downstairs knew about Jack, they were watching you both too closely to miss things forever.
It was not that you did not want them to know.
You did.
Eventually.
You wanted Cassie’s happy tears, Mel’s soft smile, and Santos’s offended list-making. You wanted Javadi’s unfiltered joy. You wanted Robby’s smug, impossible uncle energy and Dana’s practical, quiet warmth. You even wanted the inevitable moment someone called your son Tiny Abbot, and Jack looked personally betrayed by the entire department.
You just wanted one more day where he was not a topic beside the medication room.
One more shift where he was still yours in the quiet way.
Your son kicked again. Firm. Low.
You paused with your hand over him.
Sarah noticed first. “Still going?” she asked.
You nodded. “He has been like this all morning.”
Abby tilted her head. “After the scan?”
“Yeah,” you said.
Brie’s smile softened. “Maybe he knows you saw him.”
That landed somewhere tender.
You looked down at your stomach, at the place your son had been making himself known all morning, and thought of the grainy black-and-white profile still tucked beneath the magnet on your fridge.
Tiny forehead. Tiny nose.
Suspicious little Abbot brow.
Your chest went warm. “Maybe,” you said.
Then you reached for your phone. “I have the new picture,” you said.
Sarah’s chair rolled back immediately. “Oh, absolutely.”
Abby crossed the room before you had even unlocked the screen. “Show us.”
Brie came around the sensory cart, her smile already soft. You opened the photo and turned the phone toward them. For a second, no one joked. The office went quiet in that gentle way Child Life spaces sometimes did. Not empty. Not heavy. Just careful around something small and important.
Sarah leaned in first. “Oh,” she said softly. “Look at his profile.”
Abby pressed one hand to her chest. “That’s a whole little person.”
Brie’s expression warmed. “He’s beautiful.”
Your throat tightened. “Thank you,” you said.
Sarah tilted her head, studying the screen. Then her mouth curved. “Oh, my God.”
You looked at her. “What?”
Sarah glanced from the ultrasound photo to you. Then back to the phone. “He looks like Jack.”
You pointed at her immediately. “Thank you.”
Abby laughed. “You’ve been saying that?”
“All morning,” you said. “Jack keeps telling me it’s black and white.”
Brie leaned closer to the screen. “No, he definitely looks like Jack.”
You let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
Sarah grinned. “That little brow is very attending physician.”
Abby nodded gravely. “Tiny chart-review energy.”
You looked back down at the photo and sighed. “I made a tiny Abbot.”
Brie’s eyes sparkled. “You did.”
“Maybe he’ll get my eyes,” you said.
Sarah smiled. “Maybe.”
Abby looked at the phone again. “But he got Jack’s whole face.”
You closed your eyes. “I know.”
Your son kicked again, as if he had heard the verdict and agreed.
You lowered the phone and looked down at your cardigan. “You know,” you told him, “you could at least pretend to be on my side.”
Brie laughed softly.
Sarah rolled back toward her computer, still smiling. “He’s on your side. He just brought Jack’s face with him.”
You sighed. “That is exactly the problem.”
Abby leaned against the supply shelf. “It’s a cute problem.”
“It is,” you admitted.
Because it was.
You loved that he looked like Jack. You loved it so much that it made your chest ache in ways you were not remotely prepared for. You loved the little profile, the tiny nose, the thoughtful shape of his mouth. You loved that some part of the man you loved was already visible in the son you had not met yet.
You were just holding out hope that somewhere in there, beneath all that unmistakable Abbot structure, there was something of yours too.
Your phone buzzed on the desk before the thought could make you too emotional.
You glanced down. ED consult request. Four-year-old female, possible forearm fracture after fall from playground equipment. Scared, crying, refusing X-ray. Parent overwhelmed. Child Life support requested. You sighed softly and pushed your chair back.
Brie’s expression shifted into work mode. “ED?”
“Broken arm,” you said, reaching for your bag. “Four-year-old. X-ray is currently the enemy.”
Sarah rolled back toward the supply shelves. “Bubbles?”
“Bubbles,” you said. “And Dr. Pickles.”
Abby grabbed the small container from the shelf and tossed it to you.
You caught it against your chest. Your son kicked. You looked down at your stomach. “Sir.”
Brie laughed. “He wants to consult.”
You shook your head. “He is not credentialed.”
Sarah smiled. “Legacy hire.”
“Nepotism,” Brie added.
“Absolutely not,” you said, sliding your bag onto your shoulder.
Your son shifted again, busy and insistent. You pressed one hand beneath your stomach and looked down at him through the soft fabric of your cardigan. “We are going downstairs,” you told him quietly. “You are going to behave.”
He kicked once. Firm. Disrespectful. You frowned down at your stomach.
Abby lifted her brows. “That looked like an answer.”
“It was the wrong one,” you said.
Brie picked up the patient list you had abandoned and slid it toward Sarah. “We’ll finish updates.”
You looked at her. “You don’t have to.”
Sarah was already clicking into the spreadsheet. “Go defeat the X-ray.”
Abby nodded toward your bag. “And take your uncredentialed consultant with you.”
You smiled, one hand still under your stomach. “Thank you.”
Brie’s face softened again. “Text us if you need anything.”
“I will.”
You headed for the door with your Child Life bag on your shoulder, bubbles tucked inside, Dr. Pickles peeking out of the side pocket, and your son apparently determined to make himself known before you were ready.
By the time the elevator doors opened onto the ED, you had accepted two things. The four-year-old with the broken arm needed you. And your son had no respect for timing. The little girl’s name was Maisie, and she had already decided the X-ray room was haunted.
Not scary. Not bad. Haunted.
There was apparently a difference, and she was very committed to it.
By the time you reached the ED, she was tucked against her mother’s side in bay four, face blotchy from crying, one arm held carefully against her chest. Her wrist was swollen, her little fingers curled around the edge of a stuffed rabbit that had clearly been through several life events already.
Santos stood near the nurses’ station with Javadi beside her, both of them looking toward the room like they were trying to decide whether they were allowed to be helpful or whether the four-year-old had declared all adult intervention illegal. Robby was at the board. Dana was half-listening while signing off on discharge paperwork.
Mel looked up the second you walked in. Her eyes flicked once to your cardigan, then to your face, then to the way your hand had settled low beneath your bag strap.
She smiled gently.
You smiled back and pretended that you did not feel like being seen through a wall.
Santos spotted you next. “Child Life,” she said. “Good. The X-ray room is haunted.”
You nodded solemnly. “That happens.”
Javadi looked at you. “Does it?”
“For four-year-olds?” you said. “Frequently.”
Santos pointed toward bay four. “She also said the camera is mean.”
You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder. “That one is also common.”
Javadi’s eyebrows lifted. “The camera has been accused before?”
“Many times,” you said.
Your son shifted low beneath your cardigan. You kept your face calm through sheer professional practice. “We are working,” you murmured under your breath.
Santos’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
You looked at her. “Nothing.”
“That sounded like something,” Santos said.
“It was a Child Life prayer.”
Javadi nodded, like that made sense.
Santos pointed one finger at you. “I still have questions from yesterday.”
“I know,” you replied.
“Highlighted questions,” Santos added.
You sighed. “I remember.”
“You fled,” Santos said.
“I was employed elsewhere,” you said.
Santos’s eyes narrowed. “You used children as cover.”
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “Again, that is the job.”
Dana’s voice came from the discharge stack. “It is, unfortunately, a strong defense.”
Santos turned toward her. “You are always on her side.”
Dana looked up from the chart. “I am on the side of people doing their jobs.”
Robby glanced over from the board. “That explains so little about your tolerance for me.”
Dana’s expression did not change. “It explains everything.”
You smiled despite yourself. Your son kicked again. Not hard. Enough. You shifted your weight and pressed your bag a little closer to your front. Mel noticed. Robby noticed. Santos noticed that you had moved, but not why.
Maisie cried harder in bay four before Santos could say anything else, a small, breathless sound that cut through the ED noise and pulled your body toward the room before your brain had fully decided to move.
Your son shifted again, as if startled by the sound. You set one hand briefly against your cardigan. “Okay,” you whispered to him, then stepped toward bay four.
Maisie’s mother looked up when you came in, tired and worried in that specific way parents get when fear had been stretched too thin.
“Hi,” you said softly, crouching a few feet away instead of moving too close. “I’m with Child Life. I heard the X-ray room might be haunted.”
Maisie’s tear-wet eyes lifted from the rabbit. “It is,” Maisie said.
“That is very important information,” you said.
Her lower lip wobbled. “They want to take a picture of my bones.”
“They do,” you said. “And that sounds really weird.”
Maisie nodded hard.
You opened your bag slowly enough for her to watch your hands. “I brought someone who knows a lot about weird hospital pictures,” you said.
Maisie sniffed. “Who?”
You pulled Dr. Pickles from the side pocket. The green squishy dinosaur emerged with as much dignity as a squishy dinosaur could manage. Maisie stared at him. Her mother exhaled through a watery smile.
“This is Dr. Pickles,” you said. “He has had his bones photographed many times.”
Maisie looked suspicious. “He has bones?”
“That is between him and radiology.”
Her eyebrows pinched together. Then, despite herself, she looked closer.
You took that as a win.
You kept your voice quiet. Calm. Steady. You explained the X-ray like a camera with a special job. You let Maisie help Dr. Pickles practice holding still. You let her decide whether the bubbles were for before or after the picture, and she chose both because she was injured, not foolish.
Your son kicked twice during the explanation. The first one made you pause between sentences. The second made you lose half a breath.
Maisie noticed. “Are you scared too?” Maisie asked.
Your chest softened. “No,” you said gently. “Just surprised.”
“By the ghost?”
You smiled. “By something else.”
Maisie considered that. Then she held Dr. Pickles closer. “I can be brave if he comes,” Maisie said.
You nodded. “He is very good at X-rays.”
Maisie looked down at the dinosaur. “Even haunted ones?”
You smiled. “Especially haunted ones.”
That was how you ended up walking beside a four-year-old with a possible broken arm, her mother, one X-ray tech, and a squishy green dinosaur who had apparently become essential medical staff.
By the time Maisie was calmer, the X-ray room had been downgraded from haunted to suspicious. By the time the pictures were done, it had become kind of loud. By the time you returned to the ED, Maisie had informed Santos that Dr. Pickles was brave but lacked good shoes.
Santos looked down at the dinosaur in your hand. “That feels actionable,” Santos said.
“He is a dinosaur,” you said.
“Still.”
Javadi leaned against the counter, smiling. “Does he have a union?”
You grinned. “He has stickers.”
Robby looked up from the board. “Strong benefits.”
You tucked Dr. Pickles back into your bag and reached for the ginger ale you had left near the workstation. The moment you took a sip, your son rolled low and firm beneath your cardigan.
You closed your eyes for half a second.
Mel’s voice was gentle from the workstation. “Do you need to sit?”
Santos turned immediately. “Why would she need to sit?”
You smiled too quickly. “Because my feet hate me.”
Robby’s gaze flicked down. Dana’s pen paused. Mel did not move.
Santos looked at your shoes. “Your feet hate you?”
“They’ve been rude lately,” you replied.
“Rude feet,” Javadi repeated, like she was trying to decide whether this was a diagnosis.
You lifted one shoulder. “It’s a lifestyle.”
Robby lifted his coffee. “A tragic one.”
You leaned against the counter and tried to look casual. The baby moved again. Busy. Insistent. Like he had taken your quiet request to behave as a challenge.
You set your ginger ale down and placed one hand on the edge of the counter instead of your stomach. Careful. Always careful now.
Santos watched you for a second, then lowered her voice a little. “You good?”
The question surprised you. Not because Santos could not be gentle. She could. She just usually disguised it as an accusation.
You looked at her.
Her face was still sharp with curiosity, still armed with questions, but the edge had softened around concern.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’m good.”
Santos studied you for another beat. Then she nodded once, accepting it.
For now.
The ambulance bay doors opened before she could say anything else. Jack stepped in with coffee in one hand, dark scrubs neat, badge clipped at his chest, his hair still slightly damp from the shower he had taken after sleeping. He looked like he had gotten exactly enough rest to function and nowhere near enough to enjoy being questioned by Santos again.
His eyes found you immediately. They always did. Face. Shoulders. The hand on the counter. Ginger ale. The line of your cardigan. Back to face.
You felt the assessment like a touch.
Your son shifted.
Your whole mood lifted before you could stop it.
Santos saw your face. Her mouth curved, just a little. “You’re doing it.”
You looked at her. “Doing what?”
“Looking at him like that.”
Jack had almost reached the counter when you smiled. “Hello, husband.”
Javadi’s eyes widened.
Cassie, coming around the corner with a chart in hand, stopped dead. “Oh,” Cassie said softly. “I love that.”
Jack stopped beside you and looked at Santos. “No.”
Santos lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was,” she admitted.
You smiled up at him. Jack’s eyes came back to yours. For half a second, the ED softened around the edges. “Hi,” Jack said.
Then he stepped closer and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. His hand settled at your side. Familiar. Automatic. Just above the place where your cardigan curved over your stomach.
Your son kicked. Hard. The biggest one yet. You gasped softly.
Right beneath Jack’s hand. Jack felt it. You knew he felt it because his whole body went still.
Not trauma-still. Not clinical-still.
Father-still.
His hand stayed exactly where it was. His eyes dropped. “That was a big one,” Jack said, surprised and soft.
Javadi blinked. “What was?”
You were still looking at Jack when you answered. “The baby kicked.”
Robby exhaled like he had been waiting for this since the moment Santos unfolded her highlighted list. “Finally.”
Dana smiled. Small. Satisfied. Like she had watched a timer reach zero.
Javadi and Santos turned at the exact same time. “THE BABY????”
The ED went silent. Not quiet. Silent.
Your brain caught up one second too late.
Oh.
Right.
They did not know.
Cassie’s mouth fell open.
Mel’s expression softened into something warm and unsurprised.
Robby closed his eyes like he had wanted this to happen with slightly more warning and had also known better than to expect it.
Dana turned one page with suspicious calm.
Santos stared at you. Then at Jack’s hand. Then, at your cardigan. Then back at your face.
Jack’s hand stayed warm at your side.
You looked up at him. He looked back at you, steady now, asking without words. Your call.
You took a breath. Then you set your ginger ale on the counter, unbuttoned your cardigan, and slowly pulled the edges apart.
The loose fabric fell open around the soft curve of your stomach.
There it was.
No longer hidden by layers and clever angles.
Small, but undeniable.
Twenty weeks of secret tucked beneath hospital-friendly clothes.
Your hand settled over the bump before you could stop it. “Our baby,” you said.
Cassie’s hands came to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
Javadi’s eyes went shiny immediately. “You’re pregnant?”
You glanced down at the bump. “That is the working theory.”
Santos lowered herself onto the nearest stool like her legs had stopped accepting new information. “You’re having a baby,” she said.
Her voice was quieter than you expected.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Santos looked down at your stomach again, all the sharp edges of her outrage blunted by wonder.
“Okay,” she said. Then, softer, “Wow.”
Dana looked up at last. “You asked the wrong questions,” she said.
Santos looked at her. For once, she did not argue. Robby made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost something else.
Santos turned toward him, but even that was softer than usual. “You knew.”
Robby looked at you. Then at Jack. Then back at Santos. “Yeah,” he said.
Santos’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Of course you did.”
Robby’s mouth curved. “I’m family.”
Jack’s head turned slowly. “Don’t make it weird.”
Robby lifted both hands. “Too late for that.”
Cassie stepped closer, eyes still bright. “How far along are you?”
“Twenty weeks,” you said.
Javadi’s expression softened. “Halfway.”
The word settled over you. Halfway. Halfway to holding him. Halfway to meeting the tiny profile on your fridge. Halfway to seeing whether he really did have Jack’s face.
Jack’s hand moved from your side to your back, steady and warm.
Cassie smiled through tears.
Javadi’s voice softened. “And everything is okay?”
That question made the whole moment gentler. It cut through the shock, the comedy, the list, the noise. You looked at Jack. His eyes held yours.
You smiled. “Everything looks good,” you said.
The words settled over the nurses’ station differently than everything else had. Softer. Careful. Cassie breathed out like she had been holding the air for you. Mel smiled. Dana’s pen paused, just for a second. Robby looked down at his coffee, then back at you with his mouth pressed into something too gentle to tease.
Santos did not say anything for once. Neither did Javadi.
The kindness hit you harder than the shock had.
You had expected noise.
You had expected questions.
You had expected Santos to become a one-woman investigative committee, Robby to make himself impossible, and Cassie to cry. You had expected Dana’s dry comments and Mel’s quiet warmth and Javadi’s wide-eyed disbelief.
You had not expected the room to go this tender.
Not all at once.
Not for Jack.
Not for you.
Not for your son.
Your throat tightened fast. Too fast.
Jack felt it before you said anything. His hand firmed at your back. “Hey,” he said quietly.
You shook your head, already smiling because nothing was wrong. That was the problem. Nothing was wrong. Everything was suddenly too good.
“I’m okay,” you said.
Jack’s eyes searched yours.
You could feel everyone watching, but it did not feel like being exposed. Not exactly.
It felt like they were seeing something true.
Jack shifted closer, just enough that your shoulder brushed his chest. “Breathe,” he murmured.
You let out a laugh that sounded dangerously close to a cry. “I am breathing.”
“Barely.”
You pressed your lips together.
Jack lifted his free hand and touched two fingers lightly beneath your chin, gentle enough to guide your eyes back to him without making a spectacle of it.
The ED went quiet around you. Not awkward. Not nosy. Just watching. Seeing.
Jack kept his voice low. “Look at me.”
You did. His face was calm. Soft. Yours. “There you are,” he said.
That broke something open in your chest. A tear slipped free before you could stop it. Cassie made a tiny sound behind you.
Jack’s thumb moved once at your back. “You’re okay,” he said.
You nodded, laughing softly through the tears. “I know.”
“Happy?” Jack asked quietly.
You nodded again. “So happy.”
His mouth softened. “Good,” Jack said.
The word was simple. Steady. Enough.
You breathed in. Then out.
The room came back slowly. The monitor sounds. The phones. The movement beyond the nurses’ station. Cassie wiping beneath one eye. Javadi still looking stunned and soft. Mel’s expression warm. Dana looking down at her paperwork with suspicious focus. Robby watching you and Jack with an expression he would absolutely deny later. Santos holding the highlighted list against her chest like she had forgotten it was supposed to be evidence.
Jack’s hand stayed at your back. He did not move away. You did not want him to.
For the first time since the parking garage, it occurred to you that maybe letting people know did not mean losing the privacy of what you and Jack had built.
Maybe it only meant the circle got bigger.
Maybe it meant your son was loved by more people than you had allowed yourself to imagine.
The thought made your eyes fill again.
Jack saw it. His brows drew together by half a degree.
You laughed and wiped carefully beneath your eye. “I’m fine.”
His mouth curved. “Pregnancy fine or regular fine?”
Javadi laughed. The tension broke. You looked around the station, still a little teary, and the love in the room landed all over again. Robby’s crooked smile. Dana’s almost-smile. Mel’s quiet joy. Cassie’s wet eyes. Javadi’s wonder. Santos’s offended tenderness.
Jack beside you, steady and warm.
You swallowed. “I just realized something,” you said.
Jack’s hand moved once at your back. “What?”
You looked down at your stomach. Then back to the room. “He’s really loved.”
No one made a joke. Not even Santos. For one impossible second, the ED held that truth carefully.
Then Cassie nodded, voice thick. “Of course he is.”
Javadi smiled. “Very.”
Mel’s eyes softened. “Already.”
Dana looked up at you. “Obviously.”
Robby cleared his throat and looked toward the board. “Kid never stood a chance.”
You laughed.
Santos blinked hard, then pointed at Robby. “Do not make me emotional. I’m already behind on questions.”
The ambulance bay doors opened before anyone could say anything else. Shen came in first, pulling on his badge with one hand and holding a chart in the other. Ellis followed behind him, coffee in hand, already mid-sentence. Cruz came in last, shrugging into his jacket and looking toward the board.
The night shift arrived in pieces.
Then stopped.
Because day shift was gathered around you like something sacred had happened in the middle of the nurses’ station, and Jack was standing beside you with one hand at your back and the other hovering near your stomach like he was holding himself back from touching the whole miracle in front of them.
Ellis slowed first. “What happened?” she asked.
Cruz looked from Santos’s face to Cassie’s damp eyes. “Is everyone okay?”
“Everyone’s fine,” Santos said, still emotional enough to sound offended by it.
Javadi pointed toward you and Jack, smiling now. “They’re having a baby!”
Cruz blinked. Then his eyes moved to your open cardigan and softened with instant understanding. “Oh,” he said.
Shen’s gaze moved to you. Then to Jack. Then to the soft curve beneath your open cardigan.
His expression changed. Not much. Enough. “Congratulations,” Shen said.
The word was simple. Sincere. No joke beneath it.
Jack went still for half a beat. Then he nodded once. “Thanks.”
Ellis stepped closer, her expression changing as the pieces landed. “You two are having a baby?” she asked.
You nodded, suddenly aware of the ultrasound photo waiting on your phone. “Yeah.”
Ellis looked at Jack. Her whole face warmed. “Oh, Abbot,” she said softly.
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” Ellis said, but her smile had already gone tender. “I’m happy for you.”
Something in Jack’s face changed. Tiny. Almost hidden. But you saw it. So did Ellis. So did Shen. So did Cruz.
Maybe that was the thing about night shift. They knew how to read small changes in terrible lighting. They knew what Jack looked like when he was annoyed, focused, exhausted, furious, amused, and worried. They knew what he sounded like when he was about to take over a room. They knew the shape of his voice over alarms. They knew the stillness that came right before he moved.
And now they were getting to see him loved.
Getting to see him as someone’s husband.
Someone’s father.
Cruz stepped closer, his eyes moving from your bump to Jack’s face. “You’re having a kid?” Cruz asked.
Jack’s hand stayed warm on your back. “A son,” Jack said.
The word changed the air around him. Not because he said it loudly. He did not. Jack said it as if he were still learning its shape in his mouth.
Cruz’s expression softened immediately. “A son,” he repeated.
Jack nodded once.
Cruz smiled, small but real. “That’s really great, man.”
Jack looked at him. For a second, he did not seem to know what to do with all of it.
The congratulations.
The softness.
The fact that night shift had walked in expecting work and instead found this piece of his life standing open in the middle of the nurses’ station.
“Thanks,” Jack said again. His voice was rougher this time.
Ellis glanced down at your phone. “Do you have pictures?” Ellis asked.
You looked at Jack. His eyes came to yours immediately. Your call.
You smiled, then opened the ultrasound photo and turned the phone toward them.
“There he is,” you said.
Ellis leaned in, careful and close, her expression going softer with every second she looked.
“Oh,” Ellis said. “Look at him.”
Cruz stepped beside her and looked at you. “About twenty weeks?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Shen moved closer last. He did not crowd. He only stood at Ellis’s shoulder and looked down at the grainy black-and-white image of your son. For three full seconds, no one joked.
Not Santos. Not Robby. Not even Cruz.
The nurses’ station, somehow, became quiet around the little shape on your screen. Tiny forehead. Tiny nose. Thoughtful little mouth.
The profile you had stared at on your fridge all morning, now reflected in the faces of people who knew Jack as their attending, their leader, their steady center in the worst hours of the night.
Ellis looked from the photo to Jack. “He’s beautiful,” Ellis said.
Jack’s eyes dropped to the screen. His expression went still.
Cruz studied the photo. “He looks like Abbot.”
Your head snapped toward Cruz. “Thank you.”
Jack closed his eyes. “It’s black and white.”
Cruz looked at him. “Still.”
Ellis smiled. “No, I see it.”
Jack opened his eyes and looked at her. “You do not.”
“I do,” Ellis said. “The profile.”
Shen looked at the photo a second longer. Then he looked at you. “You’re correct,” Shen said.
Your whole body filled with vindication. You pointed at him. “Thank you.”
Jack stared at Shen. “You too?”
Shen’s mouth barely moved. “Pattern recognition.”
Robby made a pleased sound. “Oh, that’s brutal.”
Santos looked between Shen and the ultrasound. “Wait. Even Shen sees it?”
Dana turned a page with great care. “Everyone sees it.”
Jack looked at her. “Not helping.”
Dana shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to.”
The smile faded from Cruz’s face, replaced by something more sincere. He looked at the ultrasound again.
Then at Jack.
“That kid’s lucky,” Cruz said.
Jack’s eyes lifted. “What?”
Cruz shrugged, but his voice stayed steady. “He’s got you.”
The ED quieted. Jack did not move. For a second, he looked like Cruz had hit something he did not know how to protect.
Shen’s gaze moved from Cruz to Jack. “He’s right,” Shen said.
Jack looked at him.
Shen’s expression stayed calm. “You’ll be good at this.”
That was what did it. Not the reveal. Not the congratulations. Not even the ultrasound photo.
That.
Jack went still. Not trauma-still. Not clinical-still. The other kind.
The kind where something had gone too deep for him to move around it.
You knew.
Before anyone else did.
You turned toward him, your hand leaving your stomach to settle over his wrist. “Jack.”
His eyes came to yours. They were wet around the edges. Barely.
Just enough.
Enough to make your chest ache.
Enough to make the room go quiet. You softened your voice. “Hey.”
His jaw shifted. “I’m good,” he said.
“I know.” Your thumb moved over his wrist. “Too much good?”
His mouth moved like he might laugh. He did not.
“Yeah,” Jack said roughly. “Too much good.”
You knew what he meant. Not because he said it. Jack would not say all of it here.
Maybe not ever in a room this full.
But you knew.
You knew the shape of the losses he carried. The rooms he had walked out of changed. The people he had not been able to save. The versions of his life he had quietly stopped expecting.
You knew that some part of him had never really believed he would get this.
You.
Your son.
His team, smiling at an ultrasound photo and telling him he would be good.
A future standing right there in the middle of PTMC, loud and impossible and real.
You stepped closer.
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.
The crew watched. Quiet. Gentle. Getting to see, maybe for the first time, that your marriage was not only Jack steadying you.
It was this too.
You knowing where to put your hand when the joy went too deep for him to hold alone.
You keeping your voice soft enough for him to hear beneath the noise.
You standing close enough to remind him that this was not a dream he had to wake from.
“He’s not even here yet,” Jack said.
You smiled through your own tears. Jack looked down at your stomach. As if on cue, your son shifted beneath your hand. Jack’s breath caught. Not much. Enough.
Santos’s voice came softer than you had ever heard it. “Abbot.”
Jack looked up. She was still holding the highlighted list, but it had lowered to her side. Her eyes were shiny.
“We’re really happy for you,” Santos said.
Javadi nodded quickly. “Really happy.”
Cassie smiled through tears. “For both of you.”
Dana looked at Jack. Her expression was calm. Practical. Kind. “You deserve this,” Dana said.
Robby looked down.
Jack stared at Dana for one second like he had no defense at all.
Then he nodded once. “Thanks.” His voice barely held.
You tightened your hand around his wrist. Jack looked back at you. You smiled. There you are, your eyes told him.
His mouth softened. There you are, his answered.
For one impossible second, the ED held that too.
Then your son kicked again. Small. Insistent. Apparently unwilling to let his father have an emotional crisis without offering commentary.
Jack looked down. You did too. The room followed.
Robby cleared his throat. Then, softly and with devastating sincerity, he said, “Hi, Tiny Abbot.”
Jack exhaled. It was almost a laugh. Almost a sob. Almost both.
He looked at Robby.
Then at your stomach.
Then at the ultrasound photo still glowing on your phone.
a/y: been binge-watching the pitt and damn do i regret not watching it sooner.
"The only thing that got me through today was the idea of ending it with my head between your thighs."
Giggling, you looked down as Jack spoke. He was exactly where he wanted to be, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he curled his index and middle finger deep inside you before latching his lips onto your clit.
"Fuck, Jack...,' you moaned and hooked your fingers into his curls and bucked your hips against his face.
Jack groaned and started moving his fingers rapidly inside you while his tongue flicked back and forth on your clit.
"Fuckfuckfuck!!!" you cried out as his fingers deep inside you brought you swiftly to climax, your body convulsing and hips twitching as your juices squirted out of you, soaking down his face.
"Fuck...," Jack hummed with delight as his mouth devour your pussy, licking up every last drop of arousal from your pussy to your inner thighs. "So fucking delicious."
Chest heaving rapidly, you panted as you looked down at him, seeing his hand wrapped around his leaking cock and firmly stroking it as he continued to lick your pussy.
"Come here," you said out of breath, a grin on your face as you beckoned with your finger for him to come up from between your legs. "I want you to fuck my mouth."
Jack looked up from between your thighs, his eyes sparkling with interest when he realized your idea.
Crawling on top of you, he grabbed the headboard as he straddled your face and aligned his cock with your lips.
You stared at his cock twitching above your face and opened your mouth, salivating with eagerness at the sight of his aggressively red and pulsing hard dick.
Jack lowered his hips and pushed inside your open mouth, the length of his cock sliding across the meaty flesh of your tongue.
"Fuck, baby...," Jack exhaled, his eyes fluttering close at the sensation of your throat constricting and opening up further, trying to take all of him. "Feels so fucking good."
Jack opened his eyes and looked down as he started thrusting, watching as his cock moved in and out between your lips, the sound of your gags with each thrust sending a ripple of pleasure through his core.
He drove his cock hard and unrelenting, each thrust hitting the back of your throat, deep and unforgiving. He kept at it, fucking your mouth with a rhythm that was brutal and efficient, and you gagged, the sound raw and choked. Your eyes teared up with each thrust, saliva gurgling up with bubbles from your mouth around his cock and soaking down your face.
Jack moaned, the sound spurring him on, pushing down your throat harder, deeper. You ended face buried in his pubes, your nose pressed into the coarse hair, the weight of him heavy against your chin.
"Fuck!" Jack grunted and held you there, firm, unyielding as he shot his load down your throat until your body shuddered and you choked on his cum as it filled your mouth. Jack pulled out of your mouth and you gasped for air, spluttered as you swallowed all of his cum.
"Shit, are you okay?" Jack gasped as he flopped down next to you. All you could do was nod and give him a satisfied grin as you still were catching your breath.
Jack chuckled softly and smiled down at you. "I love you so fucking much."
Biting your lip, you crawled on top of him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you more."
Growling, Jack grabbed your hips and rolled over so you ended underneath him, his lips nibbling on the sensitive skin on your neck. Smiling, you closed your eyes and grabbed his neck, knowing you were in for a morning filled with pleasure.
summary : you and jack get caught steaming up some car windows
word count : 4.6 k
warnings : workplace romance, secret relationship, SMUT, MDNI, p in v, semi-public sex, hung!jack abbot, dirty talk, praise
a/n : not proofread !! based on this rq !!
The automatic doors of the Pitt slide open and closed as shift change tears through the emergency department.
You are exhausted. Twelve hours on your feet. More charting than should be legally allowed. Three trauma activations. A headache brewing behind your eyes. And somehow, despite all of that, your attention keeps drifting toward the ambulance bay entrance.
Toward Jack Abbott.
Night shift is arriving in waves. Nurses exchange reports. Residents rush between stations. Monitors beep endlessly in the background. Then Jack walks through the doors. The second you spot him, your stomach flips.
Six months.
Six months of secret dates, late-night phone calls, and carefully planned schedules. Six months of pretending there is absolutely nothing going on whenever anyone from work is around.
Usually you're good at it. Usually.
Jack makes his way toward the nurses' station, coffee in one hand. His eyes find yours immediately. Of course they do.
"Long day?" he asks. You let out a tired laugh.
"Catastrophic." His mouth twitches.
"Sounds about right." Nobody notices the way his gaze lingers. Nobody notices the tiny smile you fight to suppress. At least, you hope they don't.
Jack reaches for a chart you're holding. Your fingers brush. The contact lasts less than a second. It shouldn't mean anything. Instead, it feels like striking a match.
You glance up.
Jack is already looking at you. His jaw tightens. A dangerous look.
One you know very, very well. You should let go. Instead, your thumb drags lightly across his knuckles. A terrible decision. His eyes narrow immediately.
"Really?" he mutters. You blink innocently.
"What?"
"You know exactly what." You grin. Unfortunately, a nurse appears beside him before he can say anything else. The moment breaks. The tension doesn't. For the next twenty minutes, every glance feels loaded. Every accidental brush of shoulders feels deliberate. Every second spent near him becomes its own form of torture. By the time you finish charting, your shift is officially over. You are gathering your things when a familiar voice speaks beside you.
"Come with me." You look up. Jack is standing there. His expression is calm. Too calm. Which is exactly how you know you're in trouble.
"Jack—"
"Now." Your heart skips. You follow him through the employee exit and into the cool evening air. The hospital noise fades behind you. The parking lot is mostly empty. Jack keeps walking. You keep following. Only when he reaches his truck does he stop and turn toward you.
"I've wanted to see you all day." He hums, his eyes softening. Your chest clenches and you look around fearfully.
"Jack.." You mutter, smiling softly. His hand reaches out and he drags you towards him, your bodies pressed tight against each other as he leans on his truck. His expression shifts immediately. That look. The one reserved only for you. Not the one he gives patients. Not the one he gives coworkers. Not even the one he gives friends. This one is different. Warmer. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely different way. A laugh escapes you as you plant your hands on his chest to try to push him away.
"You know we're standing in the hospital parking lot, right?"
Jack glances around.
"Pretty sure."
"Anyone could walk out here." He shrugs, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips trail down your cheek, to your jaw. His hands slide down to softly grasp at your ass through your scrubs, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch as his hand cups up to cup the side of your face.
"I missed you today.." He hums against your skin. "Bed was too empty. Couldn't sleep." He says, his voice rough. You hum, nodding softly. Your whole body is on high alert.
Your boss could walk out. Your boss, aka Jack's best-friend.
Your friends could walk out. God, Trinity would never let you live this down. Dana would probab;y burn you at the stake.
But the feeling of Jack's lips on your skin sends you reeling.
He spins you around pressing you against his truck, groaning against your skin. His body cages you against the cool metal of his truck. The hard surface at your back contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his chest. Jack's hands move with purpose, one sliding up your side while the other remains firmly on your hip, holding you in place. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as his lips find that sensitive spot below your ear.
"We have to stop." You rasp. "You have to work. I have to- I have to go home." Jack chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. Jack's mouth crashes against yours then—hungry, demanding, desperate. The kiss tastes of coffee and exhaustion and something that is uniquely Jack. One of his hands moves from your hip to your lower back, pressing you even closer against him. The other tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Jack rests his forehead against yours.
"Get in the truck."
"Jack—"
"Just for a little while," he interrupts softly. "I need to hold you properly, not like this." You glance around the parking lot again, your professional warring with your personal desires.
"If someone sees—"
"They won't," he promises, though you both know it's a risk. "Everyone's busy inside. We'll be quiet." His thumb traces your bottom lip. "Please?" You stare at him for a long moment. Then you groan.
"You're impossible." A grin immediately breaks across his face.
"That's not a no."
"It should be."
"But it isn't." You roll your eyes. Unfortunately, he's right. Again. Jack opens the passenger-side door before you can change your mind.
"Five minutes." You point a finger at him. "Five."
"Five."
"Jack."
"Five." You narrow your eyes suspiciously. He places a hand over his heart.
"I am deeply offended by your lack of trust." You laugh despite yourself.
"Get in the truck."
"You are the worst."
"Get in the fucking truck, baby." The inside of the truck is blessedly quiet. Away from the bright lights of the emergency department. Away from the endless noise. Away from the constant demands of the day. The moment the doors close, the world seems to exhale. Jack settles into the driver's seat. Then immediately reaches over and drags you int his lap, making you climb over the console. Like he's been waiting all day to do exactly that. Maybe he has. His head buries itself in your neck, one hand crawling on the small of your back, pushing you into hik. For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn't awkward. It never is. It's comfortable. Easy. The kind that comes from knowing someone inside and out.
"Tired?" he asks quietly into your neck. You laugh weakly.
"Is that a serious question?"
"Fair."
"I'm pretty sure my soul left my body around hour nine." Jack snorts.
"You should go home."
"I know."
"You need sleep."
"I know."
"You need food." You open one eye.
"Okay, rude."
"I've known you long enough." Unfortunately, he's right. Again. A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, hospital staff move in and out of the building. Ambulances come and go. The Pitt keeps running. It always does. Inside the truck, though, everything feels still. Jack leans back slightly to look at you. His expression softens.
"You know what sucks?"
"What?"
"I get here right when you're leaving." You smile.
"The tragedy."
"I'm serious."
"I know." His gaze drops to your joined hands. "I don't like missing you." He tugs you closer, closer still, until your knees straddle either side of his lap. He's smiling with a softness that undoes you completely, a patient, stubborn smile that says he always knew you'd cave.
"You could always switch to nights," Jack offers, his voice gentler than it has any right to be at this hour. His knuckles graze your thigh, just barely, but it's enough. You feel your skin erupt in goosebumps.
"You can't just— Jack, we're in the middle—"
"Of the parking lot. Yeah." Despite the steady, reasonable words, his hands are mapped out under your scrubs, palms broad and certain, heating the bare skin of your waist. For one long moment, he just looks at you—really looks, the way you never let anyone see. It's a miracle you haven't combusted yet. "Hey," he murmurs, thumb brushing circles over your ribs, "you're safe here. I'm not letting anyone see you like this. Just me." You want to tell him it's a bad idea but the words tangle behind your teeth, undone by the gravity of him, the rare silence, the rare privacy. Instead you groan as he kisses you with bruising finality. Jack’s hands slip under the hem of your shirt, detouring up your back, unhooking your bra one-handed like he’s done it a thousand times before. You shiver as callused fingertips graze your spine, the low drag of his mouth setting your every nerve alight. You rock unconsciously forward, desperate to erase every inch of distance between you. He moans like it’s church, like you’re something sacred. You barely keep up as he lifts your shirt, stripping it over your head, stashing it behind you with one arm never leaving your waist. He maps your skin with his mouth, trailing kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts. Each brush of his lips makes the heat coalesce low inside you, makes your thighs tense around his hips. You scrabble at his scrub top, yanking at it until he laughs—deep, unapologetic, full of mischief—and helps you peel it off, leaving his chest bare and golden beneath the tinted dome light.
“Greedy,” Jack teases, voice taut. The word stokes something reckless in you. You dig your nails into his shoulders and grind down against him, feeling the hard line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.
“Gonna tease me, or are you gonna let me ride you?” you whisper, nose brushing his. Jack’s eyes go black. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, kneading bruises into your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “please.” He scrambles for his fly, cursing a little when your hands get there first and help, and the two of you manage, in a mutual chaos of limbs and laughter, to free him. You shuck your own pants and underwear, grateful for the cover of rain-smeared windows and the blanket he keeps stashed in the cab. You climb back onto him, legs shaking as you nestle knees on either side, your bare ass sliding against cool vinyl. Jack’s attention is molten, fixed on your mouth, your throat, your chest, his palms guiding you as you lower onto him slow, so fucking slow, fighting the urge to rush. He leans his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You’re so tight, baby. Christ.” His words stroke pleasure up your spine, make you arch into him. You stretch around him, pulse thumping muggy-hot. The fullness burns, but you keep sinking, inch by inch, until your bodies lock together just right. Jack’s hands hold you steady, fingers shameless where they spread your thighs wider.
“Just like that,” he says, voice barely more than a gasp. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking good.” You hide a whimper in the base of his throat, teeth scraping gentle. He bucks up, just barely, testing you, and you flinch at the jolt of feeling. But it’s not pain, not really. It’s the promise of relief, the bright pressure of him inside you, desperate and thick. He rocks you up and down, slow at first. You find the rhythm, bracing your arms on his shoulders, riding the push and give of his hips. Every time you lift and slide down, he groans, low and open, like he planned to worship you right here under the sterile hospital floodlights.
“That’s it, angel. Good girl. You like that?” he pants, lips grazing your ear, and you nearly sob at the endearment. No one has ever made you feel anything like this. Like the world is distilled to the backseat of a Chevy, and your body is the only urgent matter left on Earth.
“Yes,” you choke, clinging to him, heart hammering. “Yes, Jack, yes—” He leverages you up, thrusts in a little sharper. “Say it again. Want to hear you.” You do. You say it for him, say it for yourself, every word punched out on the ride of his cock. It gets easier, the wet glide, the pulse of want. He slides one hand to your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, his eyes so honest you struggle to hold his stare.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jack croons. “Best thing I’ve ever had.” Praise hits you raw, makes the ache inside impossible to control. You ride him harder, abandon the need for quiet. The truck starts to rock, subtle at first, then not—suspension groaning, windows fogging, metal biting at your back as you get lost together. Jack’s face dissolves to soft around the edges, pleasure making his lashes flutter. He helps you, of course he does, thumb finding the spot at the top of your clit, circling it in time with the pace of your hips.Every stroke is dizzy, electric. Jack’s too big for you, always has been, and he knows it—knows how you love being pressed full, stretched open, helpless to the pace he sets. He talks you through every second of it.
“That’s it, babe—” One palm on your hip, the other splayed wide across the small of your back. “You look so fucking pretty dripping on my cock.” He bites your shoulder, playful but sharp. You gasp and grind down, greedy for more, and Jack steadies you, hips working a small circle that makes your toes curl. He pets your hair, voice low and deeply satisfied.
“You’re taking it so well. God, I missed this. Missed you.” You dig in and move faster, head thrown back. His hands frame your face, thumbing away the sweat, stroking your cheek like you’re something deserving of reverence or maybe just up-close study. “There she is. Perfect. Perfect for me.” You’re losing yourself, deliciously so, chasing the high he has always offered so easily. Jack’s words tumble over your skin, a feverish litany of praise: good girl; baby, you feel like heaven; can’t get enough of you. The truck rocks harder beneath you, the air thick with sweat and rain and skin. You’re sure you’ll leave the cab smelling like fuck, and the thought of it almost unspools you completely.Jack’s face goes slack with pleasure, the line of his jaw working as he watches you fuck down onto him. You match his rhythm, making the truck bounce on its shocks, the whole world boiling down to the heat where you’re joined, the sweat running from your hairline, the feral edge of your pulse. You want to be quiet—god, you want to—but every time he hits the end of you, a raw little sound tears from your throat, and Jack answers with a grunt, more helpless each time. Your hands dig into the damp muscle of his shoulders, sinking your balance there. He lets you set the pace—the depth, the pressure, the angle—like he knows exactly how much you need to take control. His own body barely stays contained, all of him trembling under the thin veil of restraint.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He groans, nipping at your neck. His praise unravels you, makes you whine as you bounce on his cock, thighs burning. “Atta girl,” he says, “just like that, Jesus, just like that.” He meets you on the upstroke and it hits perfect, a whiteout, and you clench around him like you might never let go. Jack is nothing if not strong; he lifts you to change the angle, guiding your hips so you crash down harder, deeper, again and again. The stretch is sharp, and you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks you slow and full, savoring every inch.
"Shh," he soothes, running his thumb down your spine. "You’re almost there. Let me hear you, angel." You can't quite control the desperate little noises that escape. He kisses your ear. "You can take it. Doing so good for me." You’re moving fast now, wild, Jack’s hips rising just enough to punch deeper every time you take him. Every inch of skin is electric, a live wire zapping your brain blank. Your orgasm builds dizzy and tight, faster and meaner than you expect. Jack catches your jaw, turning your head so you have to meet his eyes. You shudder, a hot burst of light behind your eyelids. He keeps you steady as you come, clenching tight around him. Jack groans, curses, and thrusts up into you as you milk the finish out of him, swallowing every shiver, every desperate noise. He holds you there, buried deep, for a long moment after, greedy for the afterglow. You collapse forward, boneless. Breathing each other in, foreheads pressed tight. He doesn’t let go—won’t, can’t. The whole ER could be on fire and you think he’d still have you sealed up in his lap, heartbeat sync’d to yours.
“There she is.” His voice is a blanket, the gentle drag of his hands up and down your back more soothing than the best sedative. “You okay?” You nod, unwilling to move.
“Gonna pass out,” you mumble. He laughs, wiping the hair from your face.
“We’ll just stay here,” he promises, amused. “I’m good with that.”
You shake your head.
“Jack, your shift-”
“I can be a few minutes late. Lemme hold you for a sec.” You do just that, sprawling across his chest with your pants around one ankle, everything sticky and sweet. Jack pets you absently, tracing lazy circles over your spine as you drift through the delicious aftershocks. The world is a muffled, infinite cotton ball. If time stopped, you might thank it. Maybe you even pray, a little, in the hush that follows, your heart finally un-clenching for the first time in twelve hours. The windows are fogged so thick you could sneak a corpse out of a hospital and no one would clock it, but you're not here to think about bodies or work, only Jack's hand splaying gentle wide over your ribs, the low hush of him in your ear. You almost fall asleep. And then there’s an unmistakable staccato rap on the passenger window. You freeze. For a second your brain decides it’s a hallucination, some ghost of a Code Blue haunting the concrete outside. But it happens again—a sharp, rhythmically certain knock, followed by a muffled cough. Beneath you, Jack tenses, but his laugh—muted and helpless—vibrates through your cheek and into your bones.
"Don’t look," he whispers, which of course makes you look. You squirm upright but can’t find your top, can’t find shame either; you’re still impaled on Jack, legs numb and boneless and absolutely not prepared to deal with social reality. Jack finds your shirt one-handed and holds it out, the other locked across your hips. You squirm to pull it on, body full of glowing aches. His cock softens inside you as you wriggle, but you know he’s still hard as hell everywhere else: his eyes, his voice, the way he grins as if it’s all a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding. He rolls down the window a crack, like maybe it’s just a pizza delivery or one of his patients looking for their missing nurse. Rain pings the outside in fitful spatter.
Standing in the parking lot, arms crossed, is Dana.
And right behind her- Trinity. Dennis. Robby. Mateo. Princess. Perlah. Mel. Langdon.
Oh god.
Every single one of them. For one horrifying second, nobody moves.
Nobody speaks. The entire parking lot seems to fall into stunned silence. Dana's expression is completely blank. Which is somehow worse than if she were angry.
Trinity, meanwhile, looks like Christmas came early. Dennis is staring at the truck like he's trying to decide whether this is actually happening or if he's suffered some kind of stress-induced hallucination.
Mateo's mouth is hanging open.
Princess looks deeply entertained.
Perlah looks seconds away from bursting into laughter.
Mel has both hands over her face.
And Robby—Robby looks directly at Jack.
Then at you. Then back at Jack.
"Oh." The single word somehow carries the weight of six months of secrets. Beside you, Jack closes his eyes. Slowly. Like a man accepting his fate.
"Jack," you whisper.
"I know."
"Jack."
"I know." Trinity immediately points.
"I knew it." The parking lot explodes.
"I told you."
"You absolutely did not," Dana shoots back.
"I literally did."
"You guessed every person in this hospital."
"And I was right eventually."
"Oh my God," you groan. You bury your face in your hands. You may never recover from this.
Ever.
Jack, apparently, has reached the same conclusion. Because he simply leans back against his seat and sighs. The sigh of a man whose life is about to become significantly more difficult. Robby rubs both hands over his face."For how long?"
Neither of you answers. Robby points.
"That silence is making me nervous."
"Six months," Jack says. The entire group erupts.
"What?"
"Six months?!"
"Six months?" Dana looks personally offended.
"Six months and nobody told me?"
"To be fair," Princess says, "that is objectively hilarious."
"It is not hilarious."
"It is a little hilarious."
"It is not." Trinity is practically vibrating.
"I need everyone to understand how validated I feel right now."
"You accused Jack of dating three different people."
"Details." You risk a glance toward Jack. To your surprise, he's smiling. Not embarrassed. Not annoyed. Smiling. The soft kind. The one that's been directed at you all evening. Robby notices immediately.
"Oh, that's disgusting." Jack laughs. Actually laughs. And suddenly everyone starts talking at once. Questions. Accusations. Celebrations.
A truly unreasonable amount of yelling.
The secret is officially dead. Gone. Destroyed. Burned to ashes in the employee parking lot. You should be mortified. You should be panicking. Instead, as Jack's hand finds yours beneath the chaos, a strange sense of relief settles over you. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more carefully timed exits and secret glances. Just the truth. Finally. Dana points at both of you.
"We are discussing this later." Trinity immediately points too.
"I have approximately four hundred questions." Mateo raises a hand.
"I also have questions."
---------
The first morning back at The Pitt after the parking lot incident feels different.
Not quieter.
Never quieter.
Just… louder in a very specific way. You don’t even make it past the locker room before it starts.
“Ohhh, it’s her,” Dana calls the second you walk in. You freeze.
“Please don’t start.” Trinity appears behind her like she’s been summoned by gossip itself.
“Oh, we’re starting.” You groan and shut your locker a little too hard.
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Trinity says cheerfully. “You’ve just been promoted.”
“To what?”
“Main character.” Dana points at you with zero hesitation.
“Six months.” You bury your face in your hands.
“Can we not say that out loud in public areas?” Robby walks past and doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“I, for one, support this development,” he says.
“You would,” you mutter. Down the hall, you hear it before you see it. Jack’s laugh. Low. Amused. Infuriatingly calm. He rounds the corner holding a chart, coffee in hand like nothing in your entire life has been fundamentally altered. The second his eyes land on you, something shifts. Softens. Like it always does. But now everyone sees it.
“Oh my God,” Dana whispers immediately.
“Stop,” you hiss.
“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I’m observing science.” Trinity leans in.
“He’s looking at you like that again.”
“Like what?”
“Like he wants to fuck you in his truck again.” You make a strangled noise. Jack walks over without hesitation. Of course he does.
“Morning,” he says, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like six months of secrets didn’t explode into chaos. Like the entire hospital didn’t witness your downfall.
“Morning,” you manage. His gaze flicks over your face.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Did you sleep?” You narrow your eyes.
“You’re not my attending.” He smiles slightly.
“I can still ask.” Behind you, Dana makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like choking. Trinity is absolutely vibrating. Jack leans just a little closer.
“Did you eat?” You sigh.
“Yes.” A pause.
“Liar,” he says immediately. You glare at him.
“You don’t even know that.”
“I do.”
“How?” He glances at your locker. Then back at you.
“You didn’t pack anything.” You hate him. Deeply. Fiercely. Romantically. All at once.
“Go away,” you mutter. His mouth twitches.
“Not yet.” That does it. Dana slams a chart onto the counter.
“I cannot do this.”
“You’re not involved,” you say.
“I am emotionally involved,” she snaps. “I was lied to for six months.” Trinity raises a hand.
“I was correct for six months.”
“That’s not a personality trait,” you say.
“It is now.” Jack finally steps back, but not far. Never far. Just close enough that his presence is still there. Still grounding. Still impossible to ignore. As the shift starts, it only gets worse. Because now everyone watches. Every brush of your shoulders in the hallway. Every time he hands you a chart a second too long. Every quiet check-in that sounds suspiciously like affection disguised as medicine.
“Are you sure you’re okay to take trauma bay?” Jack asks during rounds.
“I’ve taken worse,” you reply automatically.
“I know,” he says. Too soft. Too familiar. Behind you, someone drops a pen. Hard.
By midday, it’s unbearable.
You’re charting when Robby leans over your shoulder.
“So,” he says casually, “how’s domestic life?”
“I will transfer departments.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”
“You absolutely will not,” Dana calls from across the desk. Trinity slides into the seat beside you.
“So do you two argue? Or is it just intense staring and violation of hospital policy?" You slowly turn your head.
“I’m going to start requesting new coworkers.”
“You’d miss us,” Trinity says confidently. You open your mouth. Then Jack appears behind her.
“Stop harassing her,” he says mildly. Trinity spins around immediately.
“Oh, now you’re protective?”
“Yes,” he says simply. That shuts everyone up for exactly half a second. Then Dana goes,
“Oh my God.” And everything falls apart again. By the end of the week, it’s official. You are no longer a person at The Pitt. You are a storyline. If you walk into a room, conversations stop mid-sentence. If Jack walks in after you, someone says “Aww” at least once. If you so much as stand near each other for more than ten seconds, Trinity starts narrating it like a documentary.
“You see here,” she whispers loudly, “the couple in their natural habitat. Dangerous. Unsupervised.”
“I’m going to file a complaint,” you say.
“To who?” Dana asks. “HR? About you dating your attending? Be serious.” Jack, of course, makes it worse. He starts showing up with your coffee without being asked. He fixes your ID badge when it flips backward. He quietly takes over your charts when you look like you’re about to pass out. Every single time, someone sees. Every single time, someone comments. And every single time, Jack just shrugs like he doesn’t care.
Which is almost worse.
One afternoon, as you’re escaping to the supply closet for exactly thirty seconds of peace, the door shuts behind you. Jack is already inside. You stare at him. He stares back.
“You followed me into a closet,” you say.
“I missed you,” he replies.
“It has been twelve minutes.”
“Exactly.” You groan.
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” He steps closer.
“No,” he says simply. Then, softer— “But I’m not really trying to.”
summary: a collection of their first times together. connected to my other shy!reader fic, but can be read as a standalone!
content: explicit 18+ MDNI. smut, oral (f receiving), tad of dry humping, unprotected p in v. brief mention of sexual assault (a patient, not reader), reader is a SANE.
wc: 8.9k
notes: thank u for the love on my first fic!! i thought id write a lil extra fic of this dynamic bc i also adore them.
masterlists
First Date
Jack is a traditional man, you’ve come to realise.
After the kiss, the invisible boundary stopping him from taking care of you the way he wanted had been broken, and he promises to care for you to the fullest extent, for as long as you’d let him.
Your schedules never seemed to align to both have a day off, and Jack was getting antsy at the prospect that he had kissed you days ago, but couldn’t take his girl out for a date.
A particularly stressful case one evening broke his patience.
An MVC trauma case had rolled in just before his shift was about to end, the man was in his late-thirties and the crash seemed to have paralysed his lower limbs. He worked to treat the most imminent problems, but Jack could tell the man knew what had happened to his legs, and was grieving silently.
Not long after he’s finished treating the man, a tall, blonde woman rushes into the trauma room just as Jack was about to exit, and the look on her face was fear followed by complete devastation. He watches her sob as she rounds the table to sit next to her partner, moving strands of hair away from his face so she can lean in and press her forehead against his.
Jack stands off to the side watching the scene unfolds, and his breath hitches as he hears the couples’ cries, their pleas of love for one another, the fear that she had almost lost him; lost him before they could finally get married, he overhears.
The woman promises that nothing could ever change the love she has for him, begging to scrap the big, fancy wedding they’d planned, wanting to elope, not bearing to waste another day of not being married to him.
Something twists low in his chest, patience wearing thin and excuses himself from the room, desperately needing to find you.
He couldn’t wait.
Jack’s shoulders are tight when he exits the trauma room, shaking his head and searching for you, hoping you hadn’t left for the day.
───
You’re zipping your bag up where it rests on your chair, when a low, familiar voice startles you from behind.
“What are you doing right now?”
“Uh, going home and sleeping. You should try it sometime, y’know–” You begin to tease back, turning to look at him, but his face is serious, tight, making you falter. You’re about to ask what had happened, never having seen him so disturbed.
He speaks before you can ask, shaking his head and commanding,
“No. C’mon, we’re grabbing food.” His voice is gravelly as he grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before picking up your coat holding it out for you to slip into it. Your heart warms at the sweet, domestic gesture. Nervously, and heavily blushing, you turn, and let him drape you in the coat. You move to take the bag from Jack, but he shakes his head, holding it tighter.
“Let’s go.” His voice is low, and you feel his hand rest on the small of your back, guiding you to the exit. You almost just let yourself fall into the comfort of allowing Jack to take over, enjoying not having to think for once.
“Jack– hold on.” You say a little flabbergasted. Shen and Lena give you both an amused look as you pass, clearly they seem to know what’s going on whilst you’re left in the dark.
“We’re exhausted, I look a mess right now– we just finished a 12 hour shift!” You try and reason with him as he hurriedly leads you to his truck.
“So?” He gives you a look that implies what you said has no grounds for protest, whatsoever.
You scoff, completely taken aback, and swivel to face him once you reach his truck, searching his face for an inkling of an idea as to what’s up with him.
“Jack–” You try, but he just leans past you, and opens the truck door for you, nodding his head signalling for you to hop in.
“First of all. You ain’t a mess, sweetheart.” He says, almost offended by the notion.
Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you watch as he reaches for the seatbelt and buckles you in, and before pulling away, he rests his forehead on yours and whispers, “You looking fuckin’ amazing all the time.”
You can't help but let out a flustered whine at his praise, blush covering your face as you meet his intense stare. His expression begins to soften once he looks you over, realising you’re finally here with him. He softly brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
“Diner food okay, doll?”
───
You feel the car come to a stop across the street from a 24/7 diner downtown, it’s cutesy, it has a retro feel to it. You go to open the door, but his hand gently catches your wrist mid-movement.
“Ah ah. Stay.” He commands with a soft-but-stern tone, willing you to obey.
You smile to yourself as you watch him round the hood of the truck, you’ve never received this kind of princess treatment, and your heart clenches. You thrum with anxiety as you wait for him to open your door, begging yourself to not make a fool of yourself and somehow faceplanting out of the truck.
Checking that no cars are passing, he opens the door and holds his hand out for you to take. You can’t stop your smile from growing or the heat covering your face, utterly touched by his gentlemanly gestures.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know?” Your voice is quiet, but slightly teasing as you hop out of the truck, holding his hand. “I already like you.”
Jack sighs when looks down at you, wrapping an arm around you to rest on your hip before moving you to the inner side of the sidewalk, away from the road.
“I ain’t doing this to impress ya.” He grumbles out, bringing his lips to your temple. “It’s how you deserve to be treated, honey.”
You’re speechless.
He needs to stop making you blush, you’re already flustered and overwhelmed by all of his actions within the short span of time you’ve left the ER, and the date has barely begun.
You’re barely able to focus or think straight, which is why when you reach the doors to the diner, you mistakenly make a move to open the door, and Jack almost hangs his head in soft frustration
“Sweetheart, c’mon.” He says in disbelief. You look up at him with a confused expression, watching as he enters your space, and opens the door for you. God, he’s so traditional. Your grin is wide as you stare at him, unable to keep it off your face as you enter the Diner.
You let him order first, as you stare up at the menu above the counter. You’d heard him order a savory dish, something with eggs. It’s healthy, and though you’d wanted something sweet like pancakes you start overthinking, not wanting to look unhealthy or childish in front of Jack, completely baseless worries.
He turns to look at you, seeing your brows are furrowed and a worried look paints your face as you’re trying to decide. He reaches back, squeezing your hand tilting his head. “Honey, get whatever ya want, yeah?”
Your smile is tight and shy again when you order the pancakes, nerves wracking your body for no good reason, just another moment anxiety seems to spike randomly.
“Will that be separate or together?” The cashier asks about payment whilst finishing up the order, and both you and Jack speak at the same time.
“Separate–”
“Together.”
His tone is final as he looks at you with an incredulous expression that you even tried to offer to pay on your first date. You begin to shake your head, feeling guilty about making him pay for you, but he taps his card and gives you a stern look.
While you’re waiting for the food he wraps you in his arms and whispers into your hair.
“Let me take care of you. Please.” His voice is gentle but pleading.
Your heart clenches as you look up at him from where you’re wrapped around him, face touching his chest. Vulnerability flickers in your eyes, unsure if you should admit to Jack just yet, how hard it is for you to let go and be cared for.
But he just smiles, patting your hair, and silently, you think he already knows.
Grabbing your food, you look for a place to sit, but you notice Jack is… walking out? You frown again, catching up to him with confusion painting your face. Did he not want to eat together? Had you completely misinterpreted this as a date? Maybe he just wanted to grab food before going home.
He snorts at the confusion, back tracking a little and cupping your face with one hand, a thumb stroking back and forth across your cheek.
“You think I was gonna take ya to a diner for our first date?” He croons, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Jesus, kid, who have you been hanging around with before me?”
───
What you hadn’t expected was for him to bring you to a remote spot that overlooked the city. It was still early in the morning, a fresh spring fog coating the city from above as you sat on a bench and had breakfast.
You’re too in your own head, you know this. But you can’t stop. You’re painfully aware that this is a date, you want to act the right way, say the right things, be charming, be funny. But it inevitably leads to complete silence from you and jumpy eyes darting around focusing on anywhere but him.
Sighing, he sets his takeout container on the bench beside him, before scooting closer to you.
“Hey, what’cha worrying about over there?” He nudges his knee with yours. He meets your eyes and finds insecurity and so much shyness. He tilts your head up using his fingers on your chin, making sure you really hear him when he speaks.
“You still get me so nervous.” You breathe out shakily, laughing a little at the prospect knowing he’d already kissed you stupid days ago.
“You got no one to impress, yeah? S’just me.” He teases a little, recalling your words from earlier.
“Plus, I already got a taste of those lips, doll.” This raises a shy laugh from you and you groan while you nudge his knee back playfully, clearly calming down. He has a way of easing you, making you comfortable around him like no one ever has. You lean your head down against his shoulder, bringing your hand to trace patterns on his scrubs.
In the comfortable lull between you both, you break the silence.
“What happened today? Why were you so… worked up?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment by bringing up negative emotions.
Jack pauses, you feel him tense beside you. But he places a hand on your thigh and rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly, searching for the right words.
“I just… didn’t wanna waste any time.” He admits softly, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“I know what I want, and we’ll go as slow as you want– but I’m not waiting around to miss key moments with you.” He leans down to where you rest on his shoulder and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a moment after his admission.
Your breath hitches at his intensity, realising how serious he is, that he really wants this, wants you.
“Now,” he pauses, using his hand to lift your head off his shoulder. “I’ve been dreamin’ about kissing you again for days.” His rough voice whispers, searching your eyes for permission, any indication you want this as much as he does.
You don’t give him time to find it.
Immediately, you lean in and crash your lips to his, faster and passionate than your first.
Jack is genuinely taken aback by your little show of confidence, and he makes a surprised whine at feeling your lips again.
You pull back, wide eyed and shocked at what you had done. “Fuck–”
He growls at you having broken the kiss. You don’t get time to sit with embarrassment at how desperately you’d kissed him, you notice how blown out his pupils are and he immediately cups your face bringing you back in.
He had so effortlessly taken over, comforting you and pleasing you with one kiss that your worries dissipate, your body relaxes into him, and you let yourself feel it.
For the second time, Jack had kissed you stupid.
First Personality Shifts
Slowly, but surely, Jack was getting you to come out of your shell. He was discovering parts of you he hadn’t known existed, and loved it.
He was encouraging you to grow, to flourish, which is how he discovered how sassy you could get.
The night shift were working overtime, wrapping up cases here and there, during a particularly brutal shift. You’d been working around 15 hours now, exhausted but powering through.
You and Emma, a day shift nurse, were assisting a trauma case led by Jack and Dr. Robby, much to the dismay of Shen and Ellis. It was a particularly tricky case, you’d all been in that room for ages, holding your breath during a risky procedure as the room stays silent.
After a while, you watch Jack and Robby step back from the patient, letting out a breath of relief before Robby raises his thumbs, signalling everything went perfectly. You see them smile, their eyes crinkling from under the mask.
Small cheers and laughs filter through the room, the tension easing out.
“You’ve still got it, man.” Jack praises Robby.
Robby almost looks reluctant to accept the approval.
“Nah man, that’s all you.” Robby retorts, his hand patting Jack’s back whilst Robby went to leave the room.
“Take the compliment, Robby.” Jack raises his voice to reach where Robby was leaving the room, knowing how his friend gets. Robby pauses in the doorway turning to face Jack.
“No, seriously, brother. Everyone could learn a thing or two from you.” Robby says loudly enough so his residents can hear, making it a point.
You hear them go back and forth for a while, your brain is finally slowing down from exhaustion, they do this all the goddamn time, which is why you don’t even process it when you blurt out your next sentence.
“Careful, Jack’s ego is inflated enough as is.” Your voice is somewhat quiet, you really meant it for just Robby and Jack.
The room erupts in small giggles, Robby’s eyebrows lifting in surprise and smirking at Jack. He can’t help but let out a laugh.
“Oof, damn girl.” You hear Ellis joke from behind you.
Your wide eyes shoot up to meet Jack’s, your tired brain catching up and afraid you’d offended him. But he’s stood there, completely still, and grinning so hard. He almost looks proud.
Jack didn’t think he could fall for you any harder.
He was wrong.
───
You had finally gotten comfortable enough to ask for his comfort.
Before you met Jack, you couldn’t imagine asking for help for the littlest of things, afraid of inconveniencing people. Jack had reassured you, time and again, that he wants to be the person you go to when you need help.
So you do.
At first, it was adorable for Jack trying to get you to ask for help. Being a slight tease about it, encouraging you to use your words.
You’d had a rough shift, you weren’t meant to be going to Jack’s place after work, but god did you need him today more than ever.
You’d been in the room for a few trauma cases, neither of which had ended with the patients pulling through, one being a pediatric case. You’d also opted to do an evidence collection for a sexual assault patient, knowing how busy Lena had been tonight, the floor needing her more than ever, so you’d taken over for her.
Safe to say, by the end of the night, you were a wreck. You felt on the verge of tears for hours, like the littlest thing could set you off. You were emotionally depleted, you wanted to just switch off, and you knew Jack could help.
So you approached him quietly, anxiously, your hands fidgeting. He was grabbing his bag out of his locker, so you slid in next to him, your back against the lockers next to him searching his face, checking if he’s too tired, because you wouldn’t want to be a burden.
“Hey, baby.” He smiles at your appearance next to him, glancing over at you.
“Everything okay?” He says gently after noticing your stature. He can tell you’re anxious. He pauses from where he’s gathering his stuff in his lockers, turning to face you fully now. You’re staring into his eyes, you’re hesitant.
“Talk to me.” He commands gently, his hand coming to yours to break apart your nervous fidgeting.
You swallow the lump in your throat, asking for help always ended with tears for you and you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now.
“Jack.” You just whine, silently begging that he’d understand what you need without you having to vocalise it. Your eyes water slightly, needing his comfort desperately.
“C’mon, baby, use your words.” He coaxes, his hand cupping your cheek. “You can do it.” His thumb brushes back and forth across the apple of your cheek, catching any tears if they fell.
“I need you.” Your voice is shaky, broken. It’s all you can manage without completely breaking down at work.
“Yeah?” His voice is so gentle, like he’s trying not to spook you, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Atta girl.” His praise causes an involuntary, but quiet whine to leave you.
He’ll stop the teasing for tonight, he sees how much you need him and the fact you had even verbalised your need for him was progress. He’s so proud of you.
“You need me, baby? C’mere.” He opens his arms for you, beckoning you into his hold. You’re a little embarrassed as you hug him, worried someone will find you like this, all vulnerable and mushy.
“You did so good, baby, asking me for help.” He strokes your hair, comforting you. “C’mon. I’ll bring you home.”
A protesting whine escapes you before you realise, the idea of him dropping you home alone upsetting you. You had just said you needed him, hadn’t you?
“Hey, hey.” He says quickly, needing to settle you down before you get more upset. “I meant home. Our home. You’re mine, baby. Imma take care of you now.”
───
However, one particular night, he uncovered an unexpected, but one of his favourite sides of you.
It’d been a rare evening where most of the night shift were off for the day, well at least those fun enough to drink with.
You and Jack hadn’t even bothered to try and hide your relationship around your coworkers, they knew too much. It wasn’t much of a problem anyways, not that either of you were overly affectionate at work.
Lena supported you, but continued to encourage you to err on the side of caution, worried you’ll get hurt. Shen, however, lived for teasing you both.
With a few drinks in your bloodstream, you had shuffled closer to Jack within the booth, searching for his touch. Shen, sitting opposite you both kept giving you knowing looks. It’d started with your thigh against his under the table, a gentle, grounding presence. But drink after drink, it hadn’t been enough. You wrap your arms around his forearm, your head on his shoulder now.
You’re definitely feeling the drinks, tipsy if not drunk, and you’re practically all over Jack. It's like you wanted to crawl into his skin. He’s definitely enjoying how clingy you’re being tonight. He leaves soft kisses in your hair from time-to-time, not trying to go full on PDA in front of his friends. But you were making it very hard for him to keep his cool.
The drinks get to your head, making you both loose-lipped and a little sleepy.
Your eyes fall to his hands. His fingers idly trace around the condensation on his glass as he politely listens to a story Ellis is telling. Truthfully, you hadn’t been clocked into the conversation for a while now, Jack occupying so much space in your mind. Jack. Jack. Jack.
His hands just looked so good. They were so big and veiny, and his fingers were so thick. You don’t know what had gotten into you, but you were so incredibly entranced by his hands.
Without thinking, you slide your hand that rested on his bicep, down his arm until it landed on his hand, gently pulling it away from his glass. He lets you, doesn’t even look down to see what you’re doing, assuming you wanna hold his hand. But you just turn his hand over, palm facing up, and reject his attempt at intertwining your hands together.
You let out a small, short whine in protest. Keeping his hand laying flat on the table while you take your nails and gently trace your fingers in his palm, up his fingers and back down. They were so worn, tough. Nothing like your soft hands.
This touch from you makes him shiver, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. He glances down at your face, your eyes are glazed over and you seem completely infatuated by his hand. He watches you turn over his hand again, and you begin to trace his veins, like you’re completely hypnotised.
His breath comes out shakily, now completely zoned out of Ellis’ conversation.
“What’ya doing, honey?” He whispers quietly into your hair, ensuring no one else can hear him.
You peek up at him from where you rest on his shoulder. God, you’re drunk. He’s so beautiful.
“Your hands are realllyyyy hot.” You blurt out, drunkenly as you continue to toy with his hands. By the power of the universe, the table had erupted into laughter at Ellis’ story at the same time you’d blurted that out, such that no one heard.
He stills at your comment and almost barks out a laugh. He holds it in, not wanting you to get all shy on him. Not when his shy girl has gotten so confident.
“Is that so, baby?” He practically growls into your ear, lifting a drink to hide his smirk.
“Mhmmm.” You hum in affirmation. Your focus shifts from his arm to wrapping both hands around his bicep, it flexes slightly as he brings his drink to his lips. “Y’r arms too. Soooo big. Wanna bite ‘em.”
He genuinely chokes on his drink at that, something possessive stirring in his chest. His shy, sweet girl, completely fawning over Jack.
He blinks around, making sure no one heard what you said, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else hearing your desired rambles for him. Looking up, he notices Shen’s cocky smirk as he glances between the two of you. Jack’s about to tell him to mind his own business, but you beat him to it, by doubling down.
“Like it's unfairrrrr.” You mumble into his bicep.
“Unfair?” Jack asks, confused.
“How are you sooo– ugh!”
He tilts your chin to look at him, wanting to know where all this flattery is coming from, and you have a lovestruck tired expression.
You pout as you take him in, his curls, his scruff, his face.
Oh.
Something more present and aware flashes in your eyes the longer you stare at him, like you’re realising you spoke the words out loud. Your eyes widen slowly, mortified, and heat rushes to your face as you stare at him silently, replaying everything you just said. In public.
You dart your face around the table and make eye contact with Shen who's laughing under his breath. Oh fuck. You probably just embarrassed Jack and yourself.
You detach from him so quickly it gives him whiplash.
“Oh my god, I’m so–” Your voice is incredibly apologetic, horrified, and you won't even look at him in the face.
“No, hey. none of that.” Jack’s voice is firm. He brings his hands to cup your face, making you look into his eyes. “I like you like this, cheeky, confident.”
You want to be happy at his words, but you can’t help but feel guilt and nausea stir in your stomach. Your drunk brain is making it very hard to think straight. You bite your lip anxiously.
“Do you…” You hesitate, looking into his eyes. “Do you wish I was more like that?” You have to ask. Maybe sober you wouldn’t feel so insecure, but you’re tired and your mouth is still feeling braver than your brain.
“God, no, honey–” He pauses trying to find the right words, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. “I mean– Don’t apologise for this. I want you, every version of you.” His tone is pleading. You calm down a little at his words, feeling silly at how quick your mind jumped to the worst case.
“Want you even when you’re drunk outta your mind and thirsting over me like this–” He teases which gets cut off by a groan from you. You can’t help but smile as you hide your face into his neck again.
First Time
You’d been dating Jack for a little while now, but you still hadn’t had your first time together. Jack waited for your signal, he wouldn’t push, he’d wait until you were comfortable enough to be with him.
Which you were. You wanted to be intimate with Jack for so long, but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your brain, stopping you from initiating.
Your past relationships, as Jack had slowly realised, weren’t exactly the best. You weren’t ever cared for like you are with Jack, which extended to sex. Sex had never really been about you and your partner, it’d always been about his pleasure, his needs.
And now you’re with the most perfect guy, you don’t know how to navigate being intimate in a way that isn’t focused only on him.
This thought was really getting to you one evening. You and Jack were at his place, just having finished dinner, and now you sit on the couch with your legs in his lap as you absentmindedly watch TV. His hand is giving you gentle strokes up and down your leg, and you can’t stop thinking about needing to warn him about your relationship with sex.
“Jack?” You ask gently. He doesn’t look over, he continues stroking your leg whilst humming in response.
You bite your lip anxiously.
“Um– I need to tell you something.” Jack’s hand falters his motions on your leg and he turns his head quickly, concern flashing on his features. Your tone, so nervous and anxious, had worried him, his chest twisting.
“Baby, what’s going on?” He coos, but he’s definitely on edge.
“It’s nothing, really. Um–” You pause, realising you hadn’t thought about a way to approach this with him. “I just really wanna have sex with you–” You blurt out.
Oh for fuck’s sake. You wince and close your eyes in embarrassment. That’s definitely not the right way to do this
Jack’s face is even more confused, amusement flashing his features.
“Right. Baby, I’ve been waiting for you…” He reminds you gently.
“No, no, I know.” You huff frustrated. “I– it’s about that. I just– fuck.” Your frustration builds at yourself for not being able to articulate your words well.
Jack sits up now, sensing your discomfort. He brings you closer to him, leaning on his shoulder now.
“Honey, focus, you’re okay. You can tell me anything.” His voice is immediately grounding. You breathe out shakily.
Silence hangs between you both, before you finally admit it.
“I can’t finish during sex.”
Silence continues to permeate the room. You’re so mortified. You don’t turn to look at his face. You can’t.
“You mean– you haven’t or you can’t?” His voice is gentle, a hand coming to stroke your hair. He’s definitely suspicious of your confession.
“I dunno… both, I guess. I’m not saying this to make it a challenge– people have done that before and it just makes it worse. I’m just warning you beforehand my body is wired differently and I don’t want you to feel bad if you can’t make it happen–”
“Oh, honey, is this why you’ve been hesitant to have sex?” He asks softly, interrupting your rambling.
You just hum in affirmation, embarrassed.
Jack mulls over your words, he won’t argue and tell you he will make you finish but he seriously thinks this is a product of your previous boyfriends being inattentive and careless with you. Anger twists in his chest thinking about you thinking you’re somehow inadequate when it was your boyfriends who just took and took.
“Listen to me, baby.” He tilts your face to look at him now. “I don’t care about that y’hear me?” He watches your expression falter, eyes full of vulnerability.
“If you can’t? Fine. I don’t want you any less, I just wanna make you feel loved, baby.” He can tell you’re still hesitant, but you nod.
You smile shyly and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his lap as he plays with your hair.
The days following your conversation you think over his words more, and a few days later, you tell him you wanna do it– be with him.
He checks in multiple times throughout the day, making sure you’re okay, that you’re absolutely sure. But you also notice how much more often his touches linger. You can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, but you can’t stop thinking about him. Everything about him that day is so much more gentle and careful with you.
That evening, when he leads you onto the couch your body is thrumming with anxiety. You know what's about to happen, he knows. Why are you so scared? You’ve never been more tense, more afraid of something going wrong. This is the man you love.
When you both sit on the couch, cuddling like you always do, he doesn’t make a move. Maybe he’s waiting for you. Your leg shakes as you try to figure out what’s meant to happen, what you’re supposed to do.
Before you can overthink it, you drape yourself over his lap and crash your lips to kiss, a hungry desperate kiss.
He returns it, a grunt of surprise before melting into it. Hands coming to gently rest on your face. The kiss is almost rough, your tongue intertwining with his. You can do this, you can make him feel good. Your brain already slips into making sure he’s pleased, unable to shake the habit from the past.
You move against his lap, and he groans in pleasure. The noise he makes thrills you, wanting to hear it again, you’ve never heard him like this. You try to grind again but he pulls away breathless, shaking his head.
“Baby, slow down.” He practically laughs caressing your cheek. He can’t lose his cool already, not when he plans to make you feel good.
Fuck.
Shame floods your chest and your cheeks heat, climbing off of him and curl up next to him. You somehow messed this up, you want the couch to open and swallow you up.
“Oh, my sweet girl. C’mere.” He coos, turning to face you. He realises how his words may have come across like a rejection, and that’s the last thing he wants you to think.
“I don’t wanna rush this” He places a hand on your thigh, dipping his head trying to find your eyes. He can tell how nervous you are, how much you’re overthinking this. “Lemme take over, yeah?” He asks softly.
You meekly lift your head to meet his eyes before nodding. His eyes are blown out, he looks hungry. But there's an edge of restraint, he's holding back.
You don’t even have time to feel guilty before he cups your face and brings your lips to his again, slow, passionate.
He leans forward, crowding you back against the couch until he’s lying over you. Your heart jumps at the closeness, the position you’re in.
You become breathless, almost gasping for air between each kiss.
Jack moves from your lips, placing sweet kisses down your jaw. Your body erupts in goosebumps, you’re practically shivering at the contact. You don’t even register your hand lifting to comb through his hair, pulling him down onto your jaw for more.
You feel his lips twitch into a smirk.
“That feel good, baby?” He rasps. The low grumble of his voice has you bucking your hips into him, desperate for him. You get completely lost in his kisses–
“Words, baby.” He commands pulling away to look into your eyes. He smirks smugly as he sees how wrecked he’s made you with just his kisses.
You blink processing his request, breathless and annoyed he’s stopped kissing you.
“Yeah– please, Jack. Don’t st– ah!” You’re cut off by his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck, just below your ear. You whine as he sucks on your skin, for sure leaving a mark. Your body shivers again with the thought of him marking you that you involuntarily tug at his hair, which provokes a growl from Jack.
He detaches from your neck breathlessly dipping his head like you’ve just wrecked him with a simple tug.
“Do that again.” He commands low, before hungrily returning to your neck sucking more spots over and over.
A surge of confidence fills you knowing you have the capacity to make him feel just as wrecked as he does you. You continue to rake your hands through his curls, tugging occasionally loving his whines, as he sucks spots lower and lower down your collarbone and chest.
His hand trails under your shirt, his cold hand making contact with your tummy and you tense involuntarily. He pauses looking up from where his head rests on your chest.
“You need to slow down?” His tone is so soft, gentle, it almost makes you cry.
“Nononon– please keep going,” you almost beg “Your hand was just cold.” You laugh embarrassed while stroking his hair.
He smirks at your neediness trying not to tease you more.
He holds eye contact while his hands trail up your torso, goosebumps erupting throughout your body once again. You get flustered as he stares so intensely and you try to look away.
“Eyes on me.” He coos, bringing his fingers to tilt your head back to face him. Heat rushes in your face, your body practically shakes with anticipation.
He lifts your top off so slowly, that you almost just beg for him to hurry up, for him to touch you. His hand slowly slides up from your hips up to your breasts, a hand coming to cup you over your bra as he returns to sucking spots at your collarbone. You get lost in the sensation once more, not noticing his other hand working at removing your bra. Once you peel it off he just stares. You almost go to hide, feeling self-conscious under his stare.
“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans before directly leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth.
Your hands grip the couch roughly and your back arches into him involuntarily.
“Fuck– ohmygod–” you whine at the sensation of his tongue swirling your nipples. You feel jack smirk against your breast, cocky fucker, before returning to suck on them hard.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good, you had no idea kisses and touches like this could wreck you.
His teeth unexpectedly grazes your nipple and you moan. Your body shakes with overwhelm, you bring your hands to cup jacks face needing him to pause.
His lips detach from your nipple and his pupils are black. He looks like a man starved. He tries to go back to sucking but you hold his face steady.
“Need– fuck– need a break, feels too good.” You pant.
Jack blinks and his cocky smirk returns.
“Oh yeah?” He rasps, with a mock condescending tone.
You want to even the playing field a bit so you paw at his shirt, needing him to take it off, which he complies by ripping it clean off so quickly you barely register it. He leans down to capture your lips again, but you push your body upwards into his to manoeuvre you both into sitting position. You’re on top of him now, your turn to wreck him.
His eyes narrow and smiles at your little show of dominance, and he’ll let you think you have the upper hand, for now.
You lean down to return the kisses he gave you. You test out his sensitive spots, kissing and sucking spots along his neck whilst raking your nails along his biceps, his back, his chest.
His breathing is shallow and you hear him whine.
Bingo.
You continue sucking in that spot on his neck, one hand tugging in his hair and another raking nails on his bicep. You love the sound of him falling apart.
You feel his hips involuntarily buck into your and you know you have him under your finger. It’s your turn to smirk against his neck, peppering small kisses up his jaw before locking eyes with him and grinding down straight into his lap.
His hands jolt to your waist, not roughly, but a firm presence. He holds you down as he groans loudly, coming to rest his head on your chest. You try to move again but his hands on your waists prevent it, and he sounds destroyed.
Your smug, cocky victory is short lived.
His hands are on your thighs in an instant and you’re suddenly jolted upwards, your legs wrap around his torso as you let out a startled yelp. He’s carrying you.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease, baby.” He murmurs into your neck as he carries you towards his bedroom.
You’re plopped down onto his bed and you bounce a little. You don’t even get time to speak before he’s on you again, his kisses desperate.
His hands paw at your bottoms, sliding them off in one quick go before he cups your panties.
“You enjoy almost getting me to blow my load in my pants, hmmm?” He teases feeling how wet you are already. “Making me feel like a fucking teenager again–” He growls before latching onto your breast again.
His hand slides your panties off as he sucks you, and it all feels too good you whine as you paw at his belt, wanting him to take his pants off too, to be on equal playing ground.
Groaning, he reluctantly detaches again before quickly working at his belt. The sound of the clink and him sliding it through the loops has your stomach flipping as you breathlessly stare at him from the bed.
As soon as they’re off he’s on you again, his fingers coming to your clit, spreading the wetness from your folds up and making small circles. You jolt a little at the feeling, not expecting his touch there.
“Jack– fuck– what’r you doing? You don’t have to–” You begin to tell him to not waste his time on you, you already know you won't be able to cum.
“M’working you up, baby.” He coos, not slowing his motions. “No pressure to finish, yeah? Just wanna make sure it doesn’t hurt.”
You hesitate, staring into his eyes and you realise he’s being sincere. You swallow a lump in your throat, feeling extra vulnerable at the lengths of care you feel he’s taking for you. You nod before falling back against the bed, just letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his touches.
You feel the way his fingers move slow circles against your clit, how they adjust every time your breath hitches, as he’s searching for the right tempo and pressure to make you feel good.
You can hear how wet you are, you almost feel embarrassed how his fingers glide through your folds so easily. He continues to pepper gentle kisses down your neck as his fingers stroke you, they move lower and lower until they reach your entrance.
You gasp as he pushes his fingers inside you, feeling full.
You let out small whines of pleasure as he thrusts his fingers inside you. He shushes you by placing his soft lips to yours, continuing to mumble sweet words.
“Just let go for me, baby.”
“Thaaaats it.”
“Rub your clit for me.”
You reach down to add pressure to your clit and immediately jolt at the feeling. It feels different. The pressure from his fingers inside you, curling upwards and continuously thrusting at a consistent pace is getting to you.
Your lower stomach twists, he sucks on your neck as he rubs against the spongy spot inside you, you realise the pressure feels good. That the way you’re rubbing yourself as he thrusts into you while whispering is working. You try so hard to keep it there. Keep rubbing. Keep focused on the feeling. Focusing on his words–
It disappears.
“Fuck!” You huff frustrated, tears welling in your eyes. He pulls his fingers out immediately, worried he’s hurt you and you curl up into yourself. “I can’t do it.” Your voice is wobbly as you berate yourself, wiping a tear off your face.
“Hey, easy, baby.” He soothes by rubbing a hand on your back. His heart clenches at the sight of your teary eyes.
“M’sorry, Jack,” you sniffle. “You spent so much time on me and I couldn’t–”
“No. Hey.” He stops you, firmly. “No apologies. M’not mad, not upset.” He coos, moving your hair away from your face.
“I did all of that because I wanted to. You didn’t ruin anything, y’hear me?” He cups your face making you look into his eyes.
You nod shyly, but you’re still feeling low about it, he can tell.
“Jack– It’s okay if you wanna just fuck me now. M’ready. I want it too.” You whisper looking up into his eyes, still on the verge of tears.
He’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence.
“No.” His tone is final.
He has an inkling that you’re in your own head too much, putting too much pressure on yourself to perform even when he told you there’s no expectations. He can feel your frustration, just wanting to fix this for you. An idea lands in his head.
“I’m not done with you.” He says gently whilst moving down your body again. “If you’ll let me, I wanna try something else, yeah?”
“But–” You begin to protest, feeling guilty he has to try so hard on you.
“It’s for me. Not for you. Humour me, okay?” He asks so politely, you don’t wanna deprive him of something he enjoys. So you nod.
“Lay back for me completely, baby.” You oblige, breathing heavily.
You feel his fingers in your folds again, they linger on your clit before he gently thrusts them back inside you. You lie back, continuing to feel the pressure but you can’t shake the guilt.
You feel his hot breath ghost over your mound. You jerk your head up, he’s staring directly at you before he places his lips directly on your clit and sucks.
Your body jolts, arching your back off the bed, your hand landing in his hair once more. You were not expecting this.
“Jack– ohgod.” You breathe as he simultaneously works his fingers inside you and tongues your clit. He smirks at your reaction.
“That feel good?” He’s cocky, but he’s also checking in on you. You nod fervently and guide his head back down. He obliges wordlessly and gets back to working your clit. You’ve never been made to finish with someone else's fingers, but no one has ever tried this.
He hears your small whines and it takes all the restraint in his body to keep focused on you, as much as he wants to just take his cock and slide it inside you, to watch your eyes widen as he fills you up, he wants you to feel good.
You feel the familiar pressure build in your lower stomach.
You start squirming, your lower half somehow both chasing his mouth but trying to get away from it. You’re getting overwhelmed, your body experiencing too much at once, and this is where you usually tap out, where it dissipates.
Jack senses it. He feels you clenching around his fingers. Feels your whines becoming more high pitched and breathless. He doesn’t want you to think too much about finishing, can’t have you waiting for the build because it’s gonna drive it away.
He doesn’t change his pace, his fingers continue thrusting, and his tongue doesn’t speed up on your clit, he keeps everything consistent.
“Jack–” You whine, feeling overwhelmed but knowing it’s not going to work, edging towards overstimulation.
He glances up to meet your eyes but doesn’t stop his motions, searching your face. He can see you’re wrecked. He’s desperate for you to fall off the edge, you’re right there.
So he distracts you.
In one smooth motion, he removes his mouth. You almost whine in sadness before he replaces them with his fingers, eliciting a stronger reaction from you, and he says, in the most casual tone:
“You finish your charting?”
What?
“My– Jack– what?” You huff out breathlessly but he doesn’t slow his fingers from toying with your clit and thrusting inside you
You try to answer his question, racking your brain.
But you can’t think.
It feels too good.
Your mind goes completely blank.
And you let go.
You fall apart completely. You clench around his fingers and your legs shake involuntarily.
“Fuck–!” You moan loudly. Jack continues to work you through your orgasm, not stopping for a minute.
He pulls the pleasure from your body, the only thing you register is the waves of pleasure crashing down on your body. Your back is arched off the bed and your eyes are squeezed shut as Jack manages the impossible.
You didn’t know it could feel this good.
You finally start squirming trying to get away, and he eases his fingers out of you. You’re practically shaking, breaths coming out heavily as you lay on the bed completely destroyed.
You feel him slide up the bed, tucking himself under you so your head rests in his lap and he just strokes your head, moving strands of hair out of your face from where they’ve stuck to you as you’ve gotten sweaty.
You slowly calm down, coming back to yourself and shyly open your eyes. He’s already staring down at you, smiling so wide.
Despite yourself, you blush. Like he hadn’t just made you completely fall apart.
“My sweet girl.” He coos, stroking your cheek.
You try to hide your face in your arms, feeling impossibly shy at his words.
“Oh, c’mere, baby.” He coaxes you out of hiding. “Y’getting all shy? After I just made you cum so hard?” He teases gently and you groan, turning around to sit in his lap, resting your head in his neck.
“Jaaaaack.” You whine.
“Okay, I hear ya, baby. No more teasin’,” he rubs a hand down your back, then his tone gets impossible quiet, like you’ve never heard before. “That was okay, right, sweetheart?” His puppy dog eyes meet yours.
You can’t help but laugh.
“Okay?” You scoff.
“Jack, that was– everything.” You tell him, kissing his cheek.
He settles down a little after that, the brief shyness leaving him.
“My turn, please.” You beg whilst reaching down to his crotch where you can feel the erection poking through from where you’re sat above him.
He grabs your wrists as you touch the waist band of his shorts, stopping you, you frown.
“Darlin’, believe me. Any other night, absolutely,” He pauses stroking your cheek. “But I need you so bad right now, need to be inside you.”
“Oh.” You whisper, a shy smile coating your face as you realise how wrecked he is. Rising from his lap and allowing him to remove his boxers, you settle back down onto the bed. He’s on top of you in an instant. “Jack– I can get on top, wanna ride you.” You say shyly.
“Fucccck,” he groans. “Baby, I want that, but I’m not gonna last. Next time. Let me feel you this way. Please.” He begs while positioning himself between your legs.
You wrap your legs around him as the tip of his cock slides through your folds. Your breath hitches when it nudges against your clit, the feel of your wet folds sliding against his cock makes it twitch against you, and he lets out a low groan at the feeling. Jack repeats the motion a few times before bringing the tip to your entrance.
You instinctively brace, knowing how painful it always is. Jack sees this, leaning down to kiss your neck and calming you down, relaxing you.
“S’okay, relax.” He coos before dipping his head into your neck, and pushing in.
He pushes in slowly, so slowly he’s losing his restraint.
But it doesn’t hurt.
He’d worked you open so well, kept you so relaxed, you just feel full.
You moan as he bottoms out, a hand tugging at his curls and the other gripping his bicep. You nod fervently,
“You can move, please, move–” You don’t even finish your begs, your permission is all he needs to start letting go and thrusting into you.
You swear you’ve never felt so good in your life, the level of intimacy is unmatched.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” He whines
His eyes meet yours as he thrusts, and as always his stare is intense. His pupils are blown and he looks destroyed.
He fits so perfectly inside you, you’re so full, you can’t help but moan.
You’re clenching around him so perfectly, your breasts bouncing with every thrust and he can’t take his eyes off you.
“You’re doing so good f’me.” He praises even though he looks like he’s on the edge.
Holding himself up on one arm to continue his movements, he brings a second to your clit.
You don’t expect his touch once more, so lost in how full you feel, how heavenly it all is, that you hadn’t realised how close you were again, and his simple touch pulls a second orgasm from you.
You fall apart even more, gripping his hair, nails leaving marks on his bicep as you shake around him, clenching.
That’s all he needs to finish.
Your beautiful moans, the way you don’t break eye contact, the feel of you coming undone on his cock, he’s gone.
His thrusts stagger, becoming more desperate and frantic, his hold on your waist tightens as he grips onto you bringing you down onto his cock. His head lulls next to your head, hot breath in your ear as he groans, his seed spilling inside you.
He’s completely wrecked, his last few after-orgasm thrusts jolt you, overstimulating. He lets his body go and completely crashes down onto you like a weighted blanket, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.
You’re both breathing so heavily, he’s still inside you as your aftershocks move through you, clenching involuntarily, but he seems to enjoy the feeling even as sensitive as he is.
“Y’were perfect for me, baby.” He whispers into your ear.
Your heart clenches at his words, how soft he’d been with you the whole time. He was so caring, so focused on you, praising you throughout the whole thing, he never took, he just kept giving and giving. He made sure it didn’t hurt. You realise that you’ve been accepting subpar treatment your whole life and just brushing it off.
In your post-orgasmic blank brain, you can’t process the emotions and a few silent tears spill from your eyes at the complete overwhelm of emotions.
Your sniffles are what alert Jack, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His heart drops into his stomach, panic flooding him.
“Hey, hey, talk to me.” His tone is so soft you feel guilty for worrying him. He moves to pull out, but you’re not thinking straight and you lock your legs around him, not wanting him to leave.
You just reach around and koala-bear hug him. He settles a little knowing he hasn’t hurt you, that you still wanted him touching you.
“Gotta talk to me, baby.” He pleads, cupping your face.
You’re not silent for much longer, calming down enough to stop his worry.
“You– felt so good.” Your voice is high pitched, almost shy. “You cared for me.” You sniffle.
Jack’s heart practically breaks.
“Oh, baby.” He coos, bringing you into his chest. Peppering many kisses into your hair. “M’always gonna take care of you.” He says so gently you can’t help but let out another tear, but you’re smiling now.
“I love you.” You whisper, eyes full of tears, him still inside you.
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Baby you got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.” He kisses you, soft, passionately.
Summary: Jack returns home and finds his girlfriend making him breakfast. It all leads to some emotional confessions and passionate sex.
Warnings: suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide attempt, bad mental health, grief, explicit sexual content.
a/n: perfect mix of fluff and smut lol
If you're currently struggling or have struggled with bad mental health in the past. I see you, you're not alone and I'm proud of you for fighting. <3
Likes & reblogs are appreciated. Don't be shy to comment because I love hearing from you!!
Hope you enjoy reading,
kisses.
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The house is filling up with the smell of eggs and bacon as you’re preparing breakfast.
Jack is about to return home from his night shift and you know he likes to eat something before going to bed. The coffee machine is pouring and the fresh orange juice you squeezed out is already in a jug on the kitchen island.
While preparing the food, you’re dancing along to some music that’s playing through your phone. It’s become this little ritual of yours, making breakfast while dancing throughout the kitchen. A great way to start your day, it’s like a serotonin boost.
Jack Abbot arrives home after fourteen hours on the job, he’s exhausted and absolutely worn out. However, when he walks inside the apartment and catches you dancing around the kitchen.. a smile grows onto his lips. He quietly places his bag down at the front door, taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes while his eyes never leave you.
It’s not the first time he has caught you like this when he got home from work, yet.. the sight still makes his heart melt.
Never in his wildest dreams he imagined he would have this again. Something so domestic.. a partner waiting for him to get home, cooking him a meal. After the passing of his wife, he thought he’d never find happiness again. It took him a few years but then he found it, in the shape of you.
“You should’ve become a dancer instead of a social worker.” Jack speaks up, making you jump a little as you turn around to face him.
“Damn it,” you give him a playful glare. “You always do this.. sneak up on me.”
“It’s fun,” Jack smirks softly as he walks closer towards you. “I like watching you when you think nobody’s watching.” he says.
“Creep,” you throw the kitchen towel his way.
A chuckle escapes Jack’s lips as he catches the towel with ease, eyes glimmering with affection as he approaches you. Before you know it, he has made a loop with the towel so he could throw it over your shoulders and pull you closer to him that way.
“Who you callin’ a creep, huh?” he teases, face hovering over yours.
A smile grows on your lips as you look up into his eyes, arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him close. “Hi baby,” you mumble before moving up on your tip toes so you could press a quick kiss to his lips.
Abbot’s quick to chase your lips for another kiss, eyes closing as he takes his time with it. A soft hum escapes you as you move your arms up to wrap around his neck, head tilting to deepen the kiss some more.
“Careful,” he mumbles against your lips. “You’re gonna make a man want to forget all about the food you made him and take you back to the room.” he says.
“Hey.. no way,” you say as you pull back and look into his eyes. “I worked hard on that breakfast.”
“Hmm..” Jack takes a look at what you made and he can feel his stomach grumble, he hasn’t eaten in a while and is awfully hungry. “Looks good.”
“Sit,” you instruct him before walking over to the stove to retreat the pan you made your scrambled eggs in.
Abbot gives your ass a quick pat before he moves to sit himself down at the kitchen island, facing you. His eyes roam over the way you’re moving through the kitchen, one of his shirts hanging on your body and your hair up in a messy bun. He loves you in the mornings before you get yourself ready for the day, something about your face without make-up makes him all warm inside.
“Here you go,” you say as you place a plate in front of Jack. Some eggs, bacon and a few slices of an orange lay on it.
A soft smile tugs on Abbot’s lips as he turns his head to look at you. “Thank you..” he leans in to press a kiss against your lips. “You’re the best, y’know that?”
“Tell me something I don’t know, handsome.” you playfully send him a wink which makes him chuckle as he watches you move back into the kitchen.
After pouring Jack and yourself a glass of orange juice, you take your plate and move to sit down beside him. You feel how he moves his hand and lays it to rest on your thigh as you have a piece of bacon.
“So.. how was your shift?” you ask Jack after swallowing your bite.
“Draining.. long, some awfully weird cases again to prove how chaotic the night shift truly is.” he tells you between eating some of his eggs.
“But that’s what you like about it.” you say after having a sip of your orange juice. “The day shift would just bore you now.”
Jack turns his head to look into your eyes as he hums in agreement. “Yeah.. you’re right.” he nods, squeezing your thigh before pulling back his hand so he could pick up his glass of orange juice. “How about you? Busy day today?” he asks.
“I need to be in at nine,” you tell him. “I have a few cases I need to follow up on and that meeting with management about those free health classes I want to provide for our street program.”
“Hmm.. busy woman,” Abbot says after having a sip. “If they don’t want to go on board with your idea that’s just because they’re idiots. Don’t let them make you think your ideas are not good enough.” he tells you, making a chuckle leave your lips before nodding. He truly is your biggest supporter.
“I’ll catch some sleep and then I’ll go get groceries. I’m gonna make dinner so you’ll have something to eat when you come back home.” he tells you, a smile growing on his lips as he catches your eyes.
“Sounds good.” you give him a smile back before leaning in and resting your head against his shoulder.
Jack’s heart flutters as he leans down and presses a kiss onto your head. He really likes the life he has going on with you.. which is something he used to dream of having but would’ve never admitted to anyone. Not until now. He’s not ashamed, he’s proud to have this, to have you. Which is something his co-workers can attest to as he isn’t able to shut up about you at work.
“Why are you smiling like that?” you ask as you catch the look on his face.
Abbot wakes up out of his day dreaming and looks down at you, noticing that he was indeed smiling while sunken into thought. He shrugs softly but then catches sight of your curious eyes and knows you won’t let this go.
“Just.. I really like the life we have.” he admits, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Never thought I’d have this again.” he says as he looks into your eyes, heart overflowing with love for you. “You make me excited to live again.” Jack says. “I can never thank you enough for that.”
A soft smile tugs on your lips as you hear his words, they make you emotional so you bury your face into his chest some more so he wouldn’t see the tears burn in your eyes. It pains you to know how much he’s struggled in the past.
“Can’t help but think.. you know, that she had something to do with it.” Jack tells you which makes you look back up into his eyes. "At least that’s what I like to think.” he chuckles softly. “Comforts me in some way.”
“M’sure she’d be extremely proud of you.” you tell him, referring to his late wife. “It hasn’t been easy for you, you’ve found joy in living again and that’s hard work. You can’t give me all the praise.”
A smile tugs on Jack’s lips as his eyes turn glossy, your words tugging on his heart strings. “For a long time.. I thought that if she was looking down at me, she’d hate what she’d see.” he says, the expression on his face falling as he tries to hold back tears. “I was so lost in myself.. in hatred for the world, drinking or working was all I did.” he explains.
“No.. she’s wouldn’t-”
“She would though.” Jack cuts you off. “Told me so herself when she was still alive.” he says before a smile grows on his lips as the memory replays in his head. “Told me that she loathed those types of men.. ones that hate the world and therefore destroy themselves with booze and everyone around them with how they act.”
A sympathetic smile tugs on your lips as you listen to his words, allowing him to speak. You’ve always given him the space to talk about his late wife, you realize it’s how he keeps the memory of her alive and that’s something you don’t want to take away from him.
“One night.. I was so lost and I just-” he chokes up for a moment, tears pooling in his eyes. “I didn’t see a way out anymore.” he admits softly. “I had made my way up to the roof of my apartment building.. self-determined that the only way I was going down was by jumping."
Hearing his words is like a blow to the chest. It hurts you to know that this man who you love so dearly, almost killed himself because he was in so much pain.
While his tear filled eyes and heavy words make you want to sob, you stay strong. Because you want to be there for Jack. You want him to know that he can share his darkest moments with you, that they don’t scare you off.
“Before I could jump-” Jack’s voice fills up the space between you again. “My phone made a noise as a text came in.” he says, eyes tracing over the features of your face. “It was you.” he smiles as tears pool in his eyes. “Explaining how you got my number from Dana and wanted to thank me for the great job I did on that foster kid case with you.”
You nod at his words, still able to recollect how nervous you were to send him that text. You had not had many chances to work with Abbot at the time, considering he’s on the night shift and you’re there during the day, but.. that didn’t mean you didn’t know who he was.
After you had the chance to work together with him on the case of the foster kid that was his patient and showed signs of abuse, something shifted within you. He was no longer just the handsome attending, he was the guy you wanted.
“I was actually pacing in my living room, like a teenager who just sent her crush a text and was awaiting an answer.” you chuckle which makes Abbot laugh through his tears as well. “You made me even more nervous by not replying instantly.”
“I was rereading your text like a hundred times. I couldn’t believe you thanked me for something that in my mind was just my job.” Jack tells you.
“Trust me.. after working with many doctors on cases, I can tell you that it’s not just because it’s your job that you actually care.” you say. “I remembered being really impressed on how you handled the situation with so much care, even before I got called to it.”
Jack smiles softly at your words, hearing your praise does something to him. He values you so much as a person, that the thought of you thinking about him like that is enough to make his heart melt.
“That night.. I like to believe that it was her who saved me by sending you into my life.” Jack explains, that smile resting on his lips.
“I like that theory.” you smile back at him.
Jack leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead, eyes closing as he silently thanks his late wife once more. He knows that there will never be real evidence about his theory, but believing in it is enough for him.
“I appreciate how you allow me to talk about her. Means a lot.” he tells you, chin resting on your head.
“Ofcourse..” you answer and lean in some more as you hold onto him. “She was a big part of your life, that’s not changing just because she’s gone.”
“Yeah.. s’just,” he mumbles. “I was somehow afraid that a new partner would be jealous or not keen on me talking about her.” Jack admits.
“Hmm.. I get it.” you nod softly.
“M’happy you’re not like that,” Jack tells you, pressing another kiss on the top of your head.
His words make a smile grow onto your lips, you lean back a bit so you could look at him and let your eyes trace over his face. The story he told you earlier comes back to mind and you find it weird how you never heard it before, the two of you have been together for some time now.
“Why have you never told me that story of the roof before?” you ask him, breaking the silence.
“It’s not something m’really proud of.” he mumbles back at you, looking down to avoid eye contact.
“Hey,” you move a hand to cup his cheek and make him look back into your eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” you tell him. “You fought for a long time and you were tired, it’s normal that the thought of giving up crossed your mind.” your thumb brushes against his skin and you feel him leaning into your touch some more. “But I’m so fucking proud off you that you didn’t give up.”
A bashful smile covers his lips as he hears your words, they make tears burn back into his eyes. Being this open and vulnerable with you isn’t easy, if it wasn’t for all that therapy.. he probably never would’ve been able to open up to you like this.
“I love you,” Jack says before he leans in to press a kiss against your lips. “So.. so.. much.” he mumbles between kisses.
“I love you too.” you smile against his lips.
Once he pulls back, a pleasant silence falls over the two of you as you get back to having breakfast. The scraping of forks against plates, food being swallowed and the music that is still leaving your phone is all that is able to be heard.
“That was a heavy ass conversation for this early in the morning.” you are the first to break the silence.
A chuckle leaves Abbot’s mouth as he nods at your words. “Sorry ‘bout that.” he tells you.
“No need to be sorry,” you say as you stand up to put your empty plate in the sink. “Susan is going to be so proud of you.” you tell him, referring to his therapist.
“She will,” Jack chuckles as you mention the middle aged woman who has been his therapist for more than four years now.
You check the time on your phone and realize you’re gonna need to get yourself ready or you’ll be late to work. After picking up your phone, you rush past Jack but he’s quick to snatch you by wrapping an arm around your waist.
“No..” you pout as you realize what’s about to happen, it’s something he always does.. it’s the reason why you’ve stopped telling him you’re going to get yourself ready.
“Haven’t even said anything yet,” Jack chuckles as he pulls you closer to him.
“But I know what you’re about to do,” you tell him while looking into his eyes. “You’re going to seduce me because you want to get laid before I go.”
“Hey,” a smirk tugs on his lips. “I’d never force you, m’just suggesting a little get together in the bedroom before you head off to work.”
“Yeah.. exactly,” you frown. “I can never say no when you look at me like that.” you say as you watch him stare at you through hooded eyes, clearly giving you ‘the look’. He knows it makes you weak. “Your little get togethers makes me late to work every damn time.”
“I mean.. is that a no?” he arches a brow as the smirk stays present on his lips.
“Oh.. you know it’s a yes.” you give him another glare before moving over towards the bedroom.
Jack can only smirk wider as he moves up from the stool he was sitting on, he puts some pep in his step and quickly catches up to you. A soft shriek leaves you as you feel him pick you up with ease, a giggle following as he lays you over his shoulder.
“I hate you..” you tell him with a smirk on your face.
“Sure you do,” Jack gives your ass a smack as he moves further into the bedroom. “But you won’t after I make you come twice before nine a.m.” he says before slamming the door shut behind him.
Another giggle leaves you as Jack lays you down on the bed, quick to take off his own shirt which gives you a view of his broad chest and shoulders.
“Hmm.. sexy,” you say as your eyes travel over his torso.
Jack chuckles at that before motioning towards the shirt you’re wearing. “Don’t be shy now, take it off.”
You sit up so you can take off the shirt that was on your body, the cool air makes goosebumps grow on your skin as your nipples harden. Jack takes in your bare chest, the sight going straight to his cock that is already getting hard.
“Fuck me..” he mutters under his breath. “You’re so beautiful.”
A blush forms on your cheeks at his compliment, no matter how many times you heard him tell you that.. it still makes you all giddy inside. You watch as Jack proceeds by sitting on the side of the bed, that way he can take off his prosthetic before going any further.
You wait patiently, crawling up behind him and placing some kisses on the back of his neck and down to his shoulder. Your sweet touches make Jack shiver, he loves how gentle you are with him, even more how you give him time to handle his prosthetic.
You know he’s uncomfortable being intimate with it on, he told you once and ever since then.. you never rush him, you always give him the space to take it off before you get on with being intimate.
Jack turns a bit, after removing his prosthetic, capturing your lips in a kiss. You let out a soft hum against his mouth as your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close to you.
You let him push you back onto the bed, watching as he moves to place kisses up your legs and on your thighs. His fingers slowly travel towards your hips and curl around the lining of your panties. Every touch of him wakes even more desire for him in your body.
“My pretty girl,” Jack tells you as he watches how your back arches into his touch.
Once your underwear is off and discarded on the floor, he presses a few kisses onto your lower stomach and hip bones. You bite down on your lip, looking down and watching how close he is to where you want him most.
“You gonna be good for me?” Jack asks, mouth hovering over your core, the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you shiver.
“Yes-” you answer him, looking at him with nothing other than need for his touch.
“You always are..” Jack smiles softly before leaning down and pressing a kiss against your pussy. “Such a good girl for me, huh?”
The only answer you can give him is a nod because once you want to open your mouth to say something, he dives in with his tongue and makes a whimper escape you.
Jack holds onto your hips, keeping you close and right where he wants you. He’s sucking down on your clit, sometimes his tongue comes into play as well which makes you moan out. He’s feasting on you like a starving man.
“Fuck-” you moan out, moving a hand down into his curls.
One thing about Jack is that he knows how to please. Whenever he goes down on you, he gives it his all. In your past relationships you sometimes had to beg your partner to eat you out, but not with Jack.. no, the man loves nothing more than pleasuring you.
“Oh god-” you moan out, squirming beneath his touch but he’s quick to take better hold of you so you can’t move your hips anymore.
“Does that feel good, baby?” Jack asks, taking a breather to look up at you.
“Yes,” you give him a nod.
“Want my fingers as well?" he questions, already knowing the answer he’s going to get.
“Please-” you beg, which goes straight to his cock.
Jack moves back in, sucking down on your clit while two fingers curl up inside of you. A moan leaves you as your back arches into his touch, head thrown back on the pillow.
It doesn’t take that long for you to feel that bubble of pleasure building up inside of your gut, his fingers keep hitting that sweet spot as he’s sucking down on your clit. You let out a soft whine, tugging on his curls as you feel yourself getting close to tipping over the edge.
“M’gonna-”
“I know, baby..” Jack mumbles against you, eyes looking up at the expression on your face. “Come for me.”
It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers before you reach your high. Your body tightens up and once that bubble bursts inside of you, soft cries leave your lips as your body trembles.
“Atta girl,” Jack keeps his fingers moving, guiding you through it.
“Ugh,” you let your body relax on the mattress again as you feel the waves of pleasure slowly washing away. “Fuck.. that was good,”
Jack smiles at your words, he loves whenever he’s able to pleasure you. He takes pride in it. He moves up so he could press his lips against yours, you are quick to kiss him back as you hold him close to your body.
“I need to thank the universe more for sending me an eater like you,” you mumble against his lips which makes Jack laugh.
“All real men are eaters,” he tells you, brushing some strands of hair out of your face. “But out of all those men, I sure am the best.” Jack says, which makes it your turn to chuckle now before nodding your head.
“You sure are..” you say before pressing your lips back against his.
The two of you share a passionate kiss which doesn’t help Jack with wanting you any less. You can feel his erection straining against his boxers as his hips brush into yours.
“Is there enough time left for me to fuck you..” Jack mutters against your lips, making you turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your nightstand.
“If you can get me to come in ten minutes, yeah.” you answer him.
“Pfft.. easy,” Jack scoffs as he moves his boxers down his hips. “I only need five max.”
You chuckle at that before feeling him kiss you again, it makes you wrap your arms around his neck to hold him close. Jack hums against your mouth, enjoying the feeling of your body against his.
After you helped him with removing his boxers completely, he settled back between your thighs. Jack takes hold of himself and traces his tip against your entrance, his eyes lock with yours before he slowly makes his way inside of you.
Your lips part in a silent gasp as you feel his cock spreading you open. “God.. you feel good-” Jack grunts out as he feels how wet you are.
“Mhmm..” your hands travel over the muscles on his back as your legs hook around his waist.
Jack presses another kiss on your lips before resting his head in the crook of your neck. He’s moving inside of you with controlled strokes, balls deep each time.
“Hmm yes,” you moan out, nails digging in his shoulders where you’re holding onto him.
“Yeah.. use your nails on me,” Jack whispers, he loves whenever you do that.
You drag your nails down his back, the feeling of you leaving soft scratches on his skin is enough to make him come. However, he holds back. Jack’s determined to get you there first.
“Fuck yes,” you whimper out as you feel him move his hips, changing the angle in a way he hits that sweet spot inside of you. “Right there.”
“Yeah?” Jack loves seeing the pleasure in your expression as he finds the right spot, knowing it’s usually a done job whenever he’s found it.. only a few more strokes before he has you coming.
Your moaning is echoing through the room as Jack lets out a groan from time to time. He has pushed your legs up to your chest, allowing him to move even deeper inside of you. That pit in your gut forms again and you know you’re close to tipping over the edge.
“M’so close..” you whine out, making Jack even more determined.
“Come on my cock, baby.” he tells you, while his hips keep moving inside of you with the same intensity.
Your body tightens up, back arching of the bed as you grip onto his arms. “Yes.. oh god, Jack..” you cry out before you come, feeling pleasure burst inside of your gut and traveling all throughout your body.
As soon as you reach your orgasm and Jack feels you clench your walls around his cock, he’s done for. Grunts escape him as he comes, coating your insides before his body goes limp and falls down onto yours.
“Mhmm that was fucking good..” you tell him, enjoying the bliss of your orgasm that’s still washing over you.
“It really was,” Jack says with trembling breath, moving up so he could look you into your eyes as a lazy smile tugs on his lips.
You smile at him and plant a soft kiss on his mouth before turning your head and catching a glimpse of your alarm clock. Those ten minutes are more than past by now.
“Shit!” you curse out before pushing against Jack’s chest so he’d roll off of you. “M’gonna be fucking late again.” you say as you realize that you still need to get yourself ready and drive over to the hospital.
Jack can only chuckle as he watches you nearly trip over a pair of shoes on your way towards the bathroom. He won’t ever tell you, because he knows you’ll get mad, but Jack thinks you’re adorable whenever you’re pissed off and in a hurry because he made you late for work.
“Ugh, damn you Abbot!” you call out, hearing the soft sounds of his laughter. “Asshole!”
“Love you too!” Jack calls out before letting his head fall down on the pillow beneath him, a satisfied smile resting on his lips.
Welcome back sports fans, I hope you’re ready for a whole lot of YELLING! As ever, I live for your reactions so if you enjoy, please do let me know - comments are love 🤍 Thanks as always to my beta reader and bestie in crime, @peakyscillian for all her help! xx
Summary: After the disastrous end to their weekend, Steve and Bella return to school. But if they thought things were bad already, they are about to get much, much worse.
Warnings: themes of drug addiction and infidelity.
Word count: 10,894 PART 8 | SERIES
9. Resignation
It took a long time for you to recover enough to be able to tell Celia what had happened with Steve. You hated smoking in the house - it always reminded you of your mother - so, wrapped in coats against the coolness of the evening, you sat in the back garden and smoked your way slowly and deliberately through an ill-advised chunk of your remaining cigarettes, while giving her the edited lowlights of the day, your words coming in fits and starts as waves of emotion stole your ability to speak time and again.
"Fucking hell…" Celia murmured as you finally lapsed into an exhausted silence. "I can't believe… but he's a headmaster?? How is that even possible?"
You shrugged, lighting a fresh cigarette, offering the dwindling pack to her, which she declined with a flick of her scarlet manicure. "He's not completely wrong when he says it's under control, I suppose. He knows how much he can take without anyone being able to tell. Even I couldn't tell…"
"But still…" Celia shook her head with a sigh, reaching for the packet after all, sparking one to life. "Did you really mean it about handing your notice?"
Nodding tightly, you sucked hard on your cigarette, holding onto the smoke until it burned.
"I can't stay there, not after this," you whispered, the words cloudy in front of you. "How am I supposed to go to work with him every day after..?" A sob caught in your throat and you covered your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking. Celia dragged her seat even closer, wrapping her arms around you.
"You shouldn't have to lose your job because he's a fucking druggie. You should report him," she mumbled against your hair.
"I can't do that to him," you hiccuped. "I love him."
She pulled back, covering your free hand with hers, studying you as she smoked.
"But what are you going to do?"
You'd been asking yourself that since the M4 when the doubts about your circumstances had begun to whisper in the back of your head. But unfortunately you hadn't yet managed to come up with a compelling response.
Avoiding her worried eyes, you tapped your ash into saucer on the table. "I don't know," you whispered.
***
Lying in bed that night, Helen's soft, rhythmic snores beside him, Steve wasn't sure which was worse: the fact he'd come home higher than he'd ever been around his family, or the fact that Helen hadn't even seemed to notice. She'd wrinkled her nose at the vague smell of smoke on his clothes and he'd fumbled an excuse that people had been smoking in the conference he'd told her he was at. Another event to promote what they were doing at Stanton.
I can't do this…I'm sorry…
Your words plagued him as he lay in the dark. He couldn't stop picturing the look in your eyes in the moment you had decided it was over. Like you'd looked into him and knew he was beyond help. Or worse: that you had finally understood that he didn't deserve your kindness, or your love. Not after what he'd done.
But it still burned all the same. As the excessive amount of oxy he'd taken in the car began to wear off and the pain seeped back in, the aching loss of you was raw in his chest. How was he supposed to just carry on like everything was normal? How was he supposed to be without you? The very idea of it sent something like panic flickering through him, not as intense, but not unlike the feeling that morning when he couldn't find his pills.
My resignation will be on your desk in the morning…
It had barely been a year but he couldn't remember what life at Stanton had been like without you. Being without you, being without being able to hold you, to touch you, was going to be bad enough, but how was he supposed to keep turning up at work without knowing you were there?
And there were the lads to think about too. For all their teenage bravado, he didn't like to think what the damage it would do to them if you left suddenly. They trusted you, relied on you.
No, it simply couldn't be allowed to happen. He had to change your mind. If not about him, at least about leaving Stanton, for the sake of the boys.
And if you were still there, then at least maybe…maybe…there was a chance for him too.
Pressing his fingers deep into his eyes, he tried to block out the events of the day. If he tried hard enough, maybe it would all just turn out to have been a bad dream. Maybe he was about to wake up beside you in Wales and everything would be how it was supposed to be. He'd roll over and there you'd be; lying on your side with that sleepy smile you gave him in the mornings, before reaching out to tuck yourself against his chest. The warm weight of your body on top of him in the soft silence of morning, movements slow, unhurried, because you had all the time in the world.
Despite the pain in his back, and the misery of facing life without you, he was hard as a rock. Sliding out of bed, he padded towards the door, intent on taking care of the problem in the spare room.
"Y'ok?" Helen mumbled, and he shifted so she wouldn't be able to see the tent in his underwear, even though he knew she probably couldn't anyway in the dark.
"Just my back playing up after the drive," he whispered. "Go back to sleep, I'm fine."
***
The next morning you were like a zombie. Despite your exhaustion from the day you'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, finally giving up the fruitless attempt at sleep to write your resignation letter. Trudging into the building, it was like a lead weight in your bag. Or perhaps more accurately, like a time bomb primed to explode. Pausing outside the office, you gripped the handle and sucked in a deep breath to steady yourself. But he wasn't there, just like he said he wouldn't be, and you couldn't decide if it was actually a relief or not.
"Busy weekend?" asked Amanda as you practically downed a full mug of the terrible staff coffee, immediately filling it again. "How was your sister?"
If you didn't know better, you'd have described her tone as 'pointed'. But perhaps she was just narked that you'd had a whole weekend to yourself when she'd been left to manage the lads without Steve to share the load.
"Yeah, just… a lot. It was hard work. She was ok though. How was it here?"
"Oh you know, idyllic," Amanda yawned, pouring coffee for herself. "Can we have a word later on?"
"Uhh…" you stammered, anxiety bubbling in your stomach, "yeah of course. I don't think I have a free period until after lunch though."
She waved this away airily but her eyes were steely. "Not to worry, I'll find you."
***
The building hummed with the usual sounds of Stanton when Steve got there shortly before lunch. Down the corridor he could hear you raising your voice, laughter punctuating what was probably an attempt to restore order. The office was empty when he let himself in, but his relief at this fact was fleeting when he saw the envelope on his desk, his name in your neat, cursive handwriting. Bag thumping to the floor, he eyed it as he rooted automatically in his desk drawer for the box he'd so foolishly left behind for the weekend. Popping out a pair of tramadol, he threw them back, before eyeing the little pack of oxy.
If he was going to get through this, he thought, he needed all the help he could get, and one tiny white pill followed the other two a moment later.
Dropping down into his chair with a sigh, he lifted the envelope carefully, turning it over between his hands, as if weighing its contents. For a second he considered just tearing it up and denying all knowledge of its existence, but it would be no good. You'd just write another one. Tearing it open, bracing in the same manner one might when ripping off a plaster, he unfolded the single sheet of paper that nestled within.
Dear Steve,
It is with regret that I must give notice of my intention to leave Stanton Manor due to unforeseen family matters. I appreciate my contract requires one full term's notice and I do not wish to put you, or the students, in a difficult position. However, my personal circumstances are complex and urgent, so if it was possible to enable me to leave more quickly, I would greatly appreciate you help in doing this. I will, of course, be available until a replacement can be found.
I'm deeply sorry for the difficulties this will bring. My time at Stanton has been the highlight of my career so far and I will carry it with me always.
Yours,
Staring at the page, he found himself somewhat caught by surprise in seeing your real name signed across the bottom. As if this was all happening to someone else, that this letter was from some other, unfamiliar, woman. Not you. Not his Bella.
Letting the page fall to the tabletop, he covered his face with his hands, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare he'd somehow stumbled into.
"What's that?"
Amanda's voice made him jump, spinning the chair towards her as she closed the door. "Nothing," he said quickly, stuffing your letter quickly back into the envelope. "Is everything alright?" he added, frowning when she twisted the lock. It was a rare occurrence that they kept the office just for themselves.
"Good weekend away with Helen?" she asked as if he hadn't spoken, coming to rest against the side of the conference table, her arms folded.
"I…uhh… yeah, not bad. Y'know what those things are like. Loads of people you only ever see at weddings, christening and funerals."
"Still," she said, her eyes trained on him with an unusual and uncomfortable intensity, "nice to get away just the two of you, without the girls."
He swallowed. "Yep… yeah. Makes a change." Clearing his throat, he forced a chuckle and immediately wished he hadn't, the sound ringing hollowly between them.
"Yes, always nice to have an excuse for a dirty weekend," she continued, laughing when he inhaled sharply. "Don't look so shocked, isn't that what it was?" Her lip curled without amusement as she slowly set a little tape recorder on the table beside her.
Cold trickled down his spine. "It's not really something I'd want to—"
"No, me neither," she snapped before he could finish. "But unfortunately I wasn't given the choice."
Pressing play on the device beside her, a voice filtered reedily into the room, immediately recognisable as yours:
"You're such a weirdo. Why can't you just leave her a written list like normal people?"
Why did he remember you asking him that..? When had you..?
"How dare you, a simple list can't possibly convey my many, many, important and detailed thoughts."
He was sitting right here, making a tape for Amanda and you came in and... oh… Oh, FUCK!
"Faster though."
"Amanda…it's not…"
There was a strange thud and when they carried on, the voices had retreated but were, unfortunately, still entirely audible.
"I prefer taking it slow." On the recording, you let out a light hum he knew so well, and he pushed himself out of his chair, face burning.
"Alright, that's enough…"
"That's a shame…because I was kinda hoping you might be interested in something hard and fast."
His past-self groaned from the tape recorder and he lunged to switch it off but Amanda got there first, glaring at him furiously.
"You unbelievable fucker," she hissed.
"It's not…I can explain…"
"I don't think you need to fucking explain why you - a forty-eight year old man - might want to fuck our very lovely English teacher, Steve. It's fairly fucking self-explanatory."
Pinching the bridge of his nose he avoided meeting her thunderous stare.
"The bigger question is why someone as clever as her would risk her whole career for the sake of sleeping with her boss."
"It's not like that…" he mumbled.
"You were with her this weekend weren't you? All that fucking song and dance about her sister moving house… it was all just cover so she could get the weekend off so you could have a fucking dirty little weekend, wasn't it?"
Hanging his head, he didn't reply and she banged the tape player off the table, making him jump.
"Wasn't it!!"
"Yes," he whispered.
"How long has it been going on for?"
He shuffled his feet, not looking at her.
"Answer me!"
"Since the Christmas party."
She gasped, clutching her head between her hands.
"Since Christmas!? Jesus fucking Christ, Steve!"
"We didn't mea—"
"How could you do something like this to Helen?? To your family??"
Caustic laughter began bubbling up within him, rising higher, forcing its way out against his better judgement.
"Do you think this is fucking funny?!"
But he didn't reply, mirth still spilling out between his lips.
"How can you stand there and fucking laugh when your wife—"
He slammed his hand so hard on his desk the pain ricocheted from his palm to his shoulder to his spine.
"My wife wouldn't even notice if I brought Bella home and fucked her in front of her," he hissed. "I could go home tonight and tell her everything and she'd barely fucking look up from whatever else she was doing. So don't you stand there and fucking judge me when you don't know a single fucking thing about my marriage!"
Amanda stepped closer, glowering at him as she slapped away the finger he had pointed at her and prodded him firmly on the chest.
"Said exactly like a man who's trying to justify sleeping with another woman. I don't care how disinterested your wife might be in you - you don't get to go around fucking whoever you like. And especially not when the whoever you like also happens to be our fucking employee! You could lose your fucking job! You both could! And then where would we be?!"
Grabbing the envelope from where he'd dropped it when she arrived, he shoved it at her.
"You don't need to worry, it's already over," he snapped.
"What's this?" she asked even as she tugged the letter from inside and unfolded it. Eyes scanning quickly down the page, she looked up, open-mouthed.
"Are you fucking joking me? She's leaving?!"
He dropped heavily into his seat, scrubbing a hand down his face as he nodded.
"And all this guff about family trouble is just a lie, is it?"
"I think so, yes."
"Fucking hell…" Your letter crumpled slightly in her fist. "Fucking hell, Steve! She's the best fucking teacher we've had here and you just had to go and fucking ruin it, didn't you?! Christ, I could kill you with my own hands. Do you have any idea what this'll do to the boys?!"
"I tried to change her mind…"
Amanda scoffed, stuffing the letter back into the envelope. "Not hard enough, clearly."
"I'll talk to her again later, it's all happened very suddenly."
"No, she can answer to me about this."
"Amanda, just leave it. Let me talk—"
But it was already too late, the lock clicking as she flung open the door, storming off down the corridor just as the bell rang for lunch.
***
"Just a second!" you shouted, having to raise your voice over the scraping of chair-legs against the wooden floor of your classroom. "Take one of these on your way out and I want answers on my desk on Friday."
The boys groaned in near-unison but you stood by the door with the pile of handouts and refused to let them pass until they'd taken on.
"Oi!" you said, grabbing Riley by the collar as he tried to bounce out past you without a copy.
"Bellaaaa…" he whined but you blocked the doorway, holding out the page towards him.
"Fucking hell, Riley, just take it before Jamie eats all our lunches," grumbled Benny, still stuck behind him with a few of the other lads.
With a huff that suggested you'd asked him to sit down and pen his own hit Shakespearean play, Riley took the page and you smiled as if the ordeal hadn't happened.
"Friday, ok? You know where I am if you have questions."
The others filed past, taking their sheets with only minor grumbles of discontentment and as they disappeared towards the dining hall you leaned against the door frame, eyes slipping closed in exhausted relief at having made it through class.
"Bella!"
Amanda's sharp tone startled you into straightening up, seeing her marching towards you.
"Everything ok..?" you stammered, walking backwards and she shooed you into the room, slamming the door behind her.
"Is everything ok? Is everything OK!? What the fuck do you think you're playing at!"
"I— what?? I don't know—"
"Oh don't give me all that wide-eyed innocence shit," she snapped. "I know you've been fucking Steve."
You froze, half-formed words still on your lips.
"Don't insult me by trying to deny it."
"How did you..?" you breathed, panic crackling up your spine, tightening around your chest like a band.
She slapped a small tape recorder down on the nearest desk.
"Maybe next time you sleep with your boss on school property, you should make sure he's not fucking recording it."
You stared at the little device in horror. "No…"
"Trust me, yes. I've heard things I will never be able to unhear."
You sat down - involuntarily - on the nearest chair, your legs turning to jelly.
"How could you?? He's your boss. He's married!"
"I don't—" You studied your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, you head cloudy with shock. "It wasn't supposed to be…"
"Wasn't supposed to be what?"
"Nothing," you murmured.
"Did you even think about the fact he has a wife? A family??"
"Of course—"
"How could you be so selfish."
Your head snapped up, the clouds parting to allow angry to ride in between them. "Right, I see. I'm the whore, aren't I? I did think about his family but y'know what? They aren't my family. I didn't make him do anything he didn't want to. If he chose to cheat on his wife with me, that's his business."
She stared at you, mouth agape. "You can't really think that. You're better than this."
"Apparently I'm not."
She shook her head, brows drawn. "No... no. You're not this stupid. I know you and you love this job, you wouldn't risk it over something so trivial. So come on, tell me: what did he promise you?"
"Nothing." You cleared your throat roughly. "I am that stupid. It was just sex… and now it's over."
"He told you he'd leave her, didn't he??"
You shifted in your seat and she sighed heavily.
"Oh Bella…"
"It doesn't matter. It's over," you mumbled.
"Yes, so I gather." She set your resignation letter on the desk beside you. "But only cowards run away from their mistakes, Bella."
You stiffened. "I am not a fucking coward."
"Really? Because this looks a lot like a little girl running away from her problems to me."
"Fuck off, Amanda! You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm doing this for the best."
"The best for who though, Bella?? What's for the best for the lads who depend on you every day, eh?? If you had any guts, you'd stay and face the mess you've made. At least until the end of the school year."
"The mess I've made?? So it's not his fault at all then, is it?? After all, he's only the one who's older and more senior than me at work. Yes, I can see how you'd think the power all lies with me."
Amanda faltered, dropping into the chair at the desk across from you. "He's been through a lot these last few years."
"That doesn't make this just my fault. He's a fucking adult, Amanda. He made his choice. Which, by the way, included him pursuing me."
"I'm sorry…" she sighed, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. "For what it's worth, I'm livid with him too."
You chewed at the side of your thumb, eyeing her carefully. "Are you going to tell the Trust?"
She studied you and you struggled not to squirm under the scrutiny.
"No," she said eventually. "You're both so fucking stupid I could kill you, but telling tales to those twats won't fix anything. But you can't just leave, Bella. We need you."
"I'm sorry, I know it's terrible timing…but I can't stay here. Not now."
"If you weren't prepared to handle it like adults if it ended, why did you start it at all?"
Her words stung like a slap and your retaliation was out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.
"You really don't know him at all, do you? How much of a fucking mess he is?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Covering your face with your hands, you groaned quietly.
"Bella?"
"I just mean that he's not alright. He's not coping."
"His back—"
"Is an excuse," you said firmly. "I'm not saying he's not in pain - he undoubtedly is - but it's more than that, isn't it?"
She avoided your eyes. "We're all under a lot of strain…"
With a frustrated huff, you got up, unable to keep still a moment longer.
"He's drowning, Amanda. He's drowning right in front of us."
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you see it?? What am I saying… I couldn't see it and it was right in front of my face. But you've known him years, surely you can see that he's not ok??"
"How can you expect him to be ok after what he went through, Bella? Of course he's not ok. And this place puts us all through hell, but none moreso than him. But he gets on with it, like we all do. Because he has to."
You stared at her, fingers curling into your palms as you fought to keep your voice steady.
"But he's not just getting on with it, Amanda. You have to open your eyes and really see him. He's—"
You cut yourself off, chewing your lip and she frowned.
"He's what?"
"I—" You silenced yourself, fingers to your lips. "No, I shouldn't. It's not mine to tell. You'll have to ask him."
"Tell me right now or I'll go and report you both for fucking on school property."
You stared mutinously at her but her stony expression remained unmoved.
"Bella."
"Fucking… alright fine!" You threw up your hands in defeat. "You want the truth? Fine. He's an addict, Amanda."
Her mouth dropped open. "You fucking what?? No he's not."
"Yes. He is."
"Bella, my love, listen to me. I know it looks like he takes a lot of pills but—"
"Yeah! He does! You think it looks like a lot?? You don't even know the half of it! And they don't even all come from his fucking doctor! So don't talk to me like I'm five years old, Amanda, it's insulting. Particularly because when I actually was five years old, I probably already knew more about addiction than you do sitting there today."
She followed your pacing with a narrow-eyed stare, forehead puckered in confusion.
"What do you mean they don't come from his doctor? Where the fuck else would they come from??"
Coming to an abrupt stop, hands on your hips, you fixed her with a withering look. "Where do you think those kinds of drugs come from when they don't come from a doctor? The magic opioid fairy?"
"No…" she whispered. "That's no possible. None of this is possible… you're…" She floundered, shaking her head, eyes darting as she appeared to struggle to find the words. "Are you making this up because he finished things with you? You want him to get fired, is that it??"
It was your turn to stare incredulously. "You think I'm lying?? You think I could lie about something like this just because what? Because I'm a bitter little bitch? A woman scorned?? Are you serious??"
"I don't know, Bella. Are you?" she asked coldly.
"Fuck you, Amanda! Get out of my classroom! I've done things I'm not proud of but I own those, and I'm not going to let you sit there and accuse me of telling lies. Why don't you go and ask him about yesterday, when I had to go and score him drugs because he left his stash at home. Why don't you ask him where he gets his oxycodone from. All those fucking pills in his desk. Then we'll see who's fucking lying around here!"
You stalked to the door, dragging it open, and waited for her to leave but she didn't move from her seat.
"Close that."
"No, we're finished here. You don't get to call me a liar and then we just carry on."
"How long has he been…" She trailed off, eyes on the open door, the racket from the boys echoing from the dining hall, the familiar sound jarring in the tension of the room. "Please, Bella. I apologise."
Slowly, you let it swing shut again, the usual sounds of Stanton disappearing once more.
"I'm not sure. A long time, I think. The more he takes, the more he needs to feel normal."
"Are you saying he's high at work?"
You watched your fingers twist together, guilt beginning to twinge in your guts as the anger subsided, but there was no going back now.
"I'm not sure he's ever not high."
Amanda swore softly, covering her face with her hands.
"But he's high-functioning," you continued. "It's not like he's getting off his face. The fact that none of us could tell shows he has it vaguely under control." You swallowed, the irony of his words coming out of your mouth in his defense not lost on you. "I only knew there was a problem because I spent more time with him than any of us ever do. And he got sloppy around me. He's very, very good at hiding it."
"You swear to me you're telling the truth?"
"I wouldn't lie about something like this. I—" You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to continue. "Addiction has been a problem in my family since I was born, Amanda. This isn't something I'd ever joke about. And for the record, he didn't break up with me out of some chivalrous attempt at saving his marriage, I ended it. Because of all this. Because he won't even admit he has a problem and I can't try and fix another addict, I just don't have it in me."
Amanda pushed herself to her feet with a small groan of exhaustion and slowly made her way to you, resting her hands on your shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Bella. Truly."
You shook your head briefly, curling your nails into your palms as you pushed down the ball that was building in your throat.
"What are you going to do?" you asked hoarsely.
"I'm going to make him tell me the truth."
***
The moment Amanda left the room he threw back another pair of tramadol, tucking the slim packet of oxy into his shirt pocket. Really, he should stop her confronting you. He could leave the room right now and catch her, tell her to leave you alone. That this was his mess, his mistake, not yours.
Instead, he slipped back into his chair and stared, unseeing, at the stack of paperwork that was waiting for his attention. The minutes ticked by and she didn't return. He should go and help with lunch duty, give Owen and Andy a break but he couldn't seem to move. Had it not been for the fact he had a science lesson to teach after lunch, he might have stayed, rooted to his office chair, for the rest of the day.
The afternoon passed blurrily; Jamie was being particularly disruptive but he hardly did anything to stop him, and sensing his weakness, the others joined in, the class falling apart completely about twenty minutes before the bell rang. Admitting defeat, he sent them back to the common room and left the building, making a bee-line for his car.
Tucked underneath the passenger seat was the small cardboard box you'd given him yesterday.
Gathering it up, careful not to jostle its precious glass cargo, he draped his jacket over it and went back into school, slinking in through the caretakers entrance, well away from the busy mayhem of the boys. Following the corridors down to the laundry room, he let himself in and rested against the closed door.
The last time he'd been in here was with you and the memories hit him so hard in the chest that he could scarcely breathe. He could practically smell you, feel the plush heat of you pulsing around his fingers, the taste of your skin as he dragged his tongue over your neck and your hands locked in his hair.
With effort, he propelled himself back into motion, scanning the room for a suitable hiding place, eyes alighting on the tumble-dryers to the left of the door. An alcove was blocked in by the ancient machines, creating a small void behind them. Leaning over, trying not to topple headfirst into the space, he peered down in the gloom and cobwebs, spotting what had once upon a time been a mop-bucket but had long since ceased in providing viable service. Well now he had a new commission for it; flipping it over, he set the little box on top.
He couldn't just leave it like that though, out in the open for anyone to find. Hauling himself back to his feet, he pinched a hand towel from the racks above and leaning over again, his back making its displeasure known, gently dropping it on top of the box. Cocking his head, he took in the tableau; to the casual observer it would look as though the towel had simply fallen off the machine and been forgotten to time.
Nodding quietly to himself, he pushed himself vertical once more and dusted down his shirt. The little packet of oxy crackled cheerfully in his pocket and before he knew that he'd done it, a little pill was sailing down his gullet, bound for his bloodstream.
Oh well, too late to take it back now.
Heading back up to the main part of the building he heard the commotion before he got there.
"Where the fuck have you been?" snapped Amanda, holding Tarone by the scruff of his jumper, blood seeping from a cut above his eye.
"I— I just…what's happened?"
"Jamie lamped him with a textbook. He nearly took his fucking eye out."
"Which textbook?"
Amanda fixed him with a cold stare and he cleared his throat.
"I'm taking him to get fixed up, you can deal with Jamie. They were supposed to be with you anyway."
"Yep…yeah, ok."
"And I need to speak to you later."
"Ooooh, Steve's in trouuuuble," Nabz teased in a sing-song voice and the other lads who were still hanging around - never ones to miss the aftermath of a brawl and see someone who wasn't them getting told off - laughed and joined in.
He coughed again, his guts slithering at her tone, and nodded. "Right. I'll see you in a while."
She disappeared with a still dripping Tarone, the boys continuing their impression of jeering budgies.
"Alright, give it a fucking rest!" he shouted and, to his immense surprise, they stopped. "Jamie, get the fuck up to your room, I'll be up in a minute. The rest of you have places to be, so move it."
The room cleared with only a minimal rumble of complaining and as they disappeared to their various classrooms, he rested his forehead against the doorframe and sighed heavily.
"Steve?"
He looked round to see Owen hovering in the corridor near the office.
"You alright, boss?"
"Yeah… yeah I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm just going up to deal with Jamie. Can you tell Sarah to just hang on in the kitchen and I'll be down as soon as I can?"
***
"Bella..? Are you alright?"
Shy's soft voice made you jump and you grabbed another tissue from the box on your desk, dabbling hurriedly under your eyes.
"No— I mean yes, I mean… I'm fine. What do you need?"
He frowned at you, still lingering nervously in the doorway. "We have tutorial time?"
Fuck…
"Of course we do, sorry," you said, blowing your nose quickly and trying to pin a smile to your face.
"We don't have—"
"Ah no - no way you get out of it that easily."
He cracked a lopsided smile and sloped into the room, taking the empty seat beside your desk.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"Why was Amanda yelling at you?"
Closing your eyes for a second, you wished the floor would swallow you whole. When you opened them, he was staring expectantly at you.
"She wasn't yelling at me."
"Sounded like she was."
"Oh you know Amanda, her bark's worse than her bite."
"She sounded pretty pissed off."
"Well, working with you lot will do that to a person," you shot back, forcing a chuckle and he rolled his eyes. "Come on, books out, let's make a start."
"Have you listened to the tape yet?" he asked quietly as he dragged his battered copy of Shakespeare out of his backpack.
"I have! It's great! Thanks again for making it for me."
"Are you lying?" His eyes gleamed teasingly.
"Do I look like I'm lying?"
He shrugged, fiddling with his headphones that hung around his neck. "Thought it might be too hardcore for you."
You shook your head, shuffling papers on your desk. "I'm not as pathetic as I look, y'know. Now come on, let's talk about Hermia and Lysander."
***
Steve had successfully managed to avoid Amanda until the boys went for dinner but with Owen and you there he had no excuse when she appeared at his elbow and drew him away to the office.
Once again the door was locked.
"Good news is it?" he muttered darkly, settling in his chair, bouncing a tennis ball repeatedly off the floor.
"Stop that," she snapped and he did.
"Amanda, whatever she's told you—"
"How many pills have you had today?"
He sat back in his seat. "What?"
"You heard me. Answer the question."
"The same I always have. What's this about?"
"Where do you get the oxy…oxydone? Oxy…something 'own'?"
"I don't even know what that is, Amanda."
She shook her head at him. "You're lying, Steve."
"How am I lying?? You don't even know the name of the drug you're asking me about!"
"Show me your pills."
"Why?" he snapped, his heart beating much too fast, hammering against his ribs so hard it was a wonder she couldn't hear it. "Why are you suddenly so interested—"
"Since you had Bella meeting with a fucking drug dealer to get your fix!"
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dryer than the desert. "Is that what she told you?"
"Unlike you, she had no reason to lie about that."
"Unlike me?? Jesus fuck, Amanda. How long have you known me?? How long have we worked together? Do I look like a fucking smackhead to you??"
She stared at him, unmoved. "If you've nothing to hide, show me your pills."
"Amanda, c'mon…" he said, almost laughing with the absurdity of it all.
"Fine," she snapped, marching over to where he sat and dragging open his desk drawer, rifling through its contents.
"Oi!" He was on his feet in a heartbeat, trying to move her without actually manhandling her. "It's none of anyone's fucking business!"
But it was too late; she'd found another little packet of oxy buried under some permission slips.
"Oxycodone! That's exactly what she said you'd have," she crowed, waving them in his face.
"Having fucking painkillers isn't a fucking crime! I'm in pain!"
"And you didn't these from some scumbag drug dealer in town then?"
"Bella's having you on, Amanda. We broke up and she's afraid you'll tell the Trust and she'll be out of a job—"
"She's already fucking quit!"
"But if the Trust found out we'd been sleeping together - on school property no less - they'll probably make sure she doesn't get a very good reference, won't they?"
"Tell me what happened yesterday."
"Nothing happened…"
"Well something must have happened otherwise you two wouldn't have gone from sneaking off for a dirty weekend to having split up in the space of forty-eight hours."
He sat down again, pulling a hand down his face with a heavy sigh.
"Alright, ok. We had a fight. And I'd stupidly forgotten to bring enough medication to last the weekend so I was awful to her because I was in agony. She finished with me and she's angry, so she's making things up to get back at me."
"I thought you just said she was worried I'd tell on her? Now she's making things up to get back at you? You want to get your story straight, mate."
He swallowed, feeling colour climbing from his collar to his cheeks.
"I don't know why she's saying it, I'm just guessing."
"Just tell me the truth: where did you get these?" she said, shaking the flimsy little slip of plastic at him.
"From my GP," he replied, holding her eye.
"And you promise me that's the truth? You promise me you don't show up here high every single day?"
"I take the pills I need to get by," he replied sharply. Which wasn't technically a lie.
"And those pills are the ones your doctor says you should be taking every day, are they?"
"Amanda, I can't even believe you're asking me this. We're friends. You really think I'd have been able to lie to you for what? Fucking, years?? Do I look high to you?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you're telling the truth then that means Bella is lying and I'm not sure I believe that she was."
"She comes from a family of addicts and drug dealers. Trust me, she's got all the experience she needs to make it sound believable."
Amanda rubbed tiredly at her forehead. "She was very convincing."
"Well then I suppose it all comes down to who you're going to believe. The woman you've known for less than a year who has a much more colourful background than we knew when we hired her or me, who you've known for over a decade."
She nodded slowly, eyes cast down, turning the little packet over and over between her hands.
"You're right," she said, slowly looking up at him, her eyes cold. "I believe her."
He froze, the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding still trapped in his lungs.
"No…" he mumbled finally, the word spilling out of him in a desperate low rush of air. "No. You can't seriously— Come on, Amanda, this is ludicrous."
"After everything you've been through, I can see how you might have got here."
The air cracked with his cold burst of laughter. "This is a nonsense!"
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it actually makes a lot of sense."
"I'm not a fucking drug addict, Amanda!!"
"Then tell me once and for all: what happened yesterday? Did you ask her to get you drugs?"
"No!" he said firmly, dropping into his seat, head in his hands. "No."
"Steve…"
"I forgot my pills, alright?! We were in the middle of fucking nowhere in Wales and I'd left my pills here. I was a mess and there was nowhere we could go to get replacements that would give me them, or not take twelve fucking years to do it, and I'd promised Helen I'd be home."
"Jesus fucking christ," she muttered, pulling up her own chair.
"We had no other choice. Bella's brother is a dealer for some nasty piece of shit from round where she grew up and she called him and asked him to help. Just as a temporary fix." His fingers locked together in his hair, his eyes screwed shut against the memory of you by the river, tears rolling down your face. "And she's convinced I have a problem so she broke things off afterwards."
"And that's the first and only time you've been to a dealer to get pills?"
Tugging hard on his hair, he didn't reply.
"Steve?"
"I have it under control."
"Fucking look at me and say that again."
Lifting his head slowly, he met her stony stare. "I have it under control, Amanda, I promise you. You've never worried about me like that before, have you? Have I ever seemed like I'm not myself?"
She got up, pacing restlessly around the room, whispering curses as she moved.
"Amanda…"
"Don't! Don't say another fucking word. Don't even breathe!" She whirled around to face him, pointing an accusing finger. "You sat there and said that girl was a fucking liar! How dare you!! She puts herself on the fucking line for you - she's leaving a job she fucking loves because of you!"
"It's not—"
"I said shut up!" She covered her face and let out a furious groan. "I can't even fucking look at you. I should report you to the Trust right this fucking minute."
He stood, light-headed with panic, taking tentative steps, his hands stretched out towards her. "Please, Amanda… please. I'll lose my job. I'll never get another one, not with that on my record. My kids…"
She glared at him, eyes burning. "Don't you fucking dare bring your kids into this. You've been cheating on their mother for months and you clearly didn't stop to consider the damage that would do to your kids if it came out."
"This isn't having an affair though…I'll never work again if you tell them. How'll I look after them?"
They stared at each other, the silence as taut as every sinew in his body.
"Please," he begged in a whisper.
Finally, her shoulders slumped and she covered her face with her hands for a moment, a great sigh sliding from her but he held his breath.
"Fine," she said wearily, dropping her hands to look at him. "I won't do anything tonight. But I want to sleep on it. I can't believe you've put me - all of us - in this position. You're a fucking selfish prick."
"Thank you," he grovelled, shame oily in his throat. "Thank you. I understand, I'm so sorry—"
"Bella was right to break it off with you." His apologies dried on his tongue and he stared slack-jawed at her as she headed for the door, turning the lock. "She deserves much better than you."
Wrenching the door open, she disappeared back out into the building, the noise of the lads rushing into the space she'd left behind. Wilting down into his chair, he cradled his head in one hand, the other rooting into his breast pocket before a small, white pill landed on his tongue. For a second he paused, allowing the acrid chemical taste to fill his mouth before, finally, he swallowed.
***
"You told her about the pills??" asked Celia when you related the conversation later, a bottle of wine and a fresh packet of cigarettes between you. Even though spring was allegedly coming, the weather had turned even colder, a frosty wind driving horizontal rain towards your windows and you'd lifted your self-imposed 'no smoking in the house' ban, just for the night.
Or maybe the week.
"I had to. She said she'd report us for the affair if I didn't," you replied glumly, the guilt weighing heavily in your stomach. You'd heard them yelling at each other in the office that evening as you passed to leave for the day, their shouts only just drowned out by the hollering coming from the common room as the lads played a particularly vicious table-football tournament after dinner.
"What do you think she'll do?"
"I don't know… they've been friends a long time but something like this? I'm not sure. She might be forced to tell the Trust." You hunched forwards, hissing a curse as your free hand pushed into your hair. "I shouldn't have told her."
Celia reached across to squeeze your arm. "You did the right thing, darling. He's working with kids while out of his tree, I'm not sure he shouldn't lose his job."
"He's not out of his tree," you argued, warming under her disapproving stare at your defense of him. "He's not… he's not ok, but he's functional. No one's in any danger under his care." You reached for a new cigarette, flashing it to life. "The only person he's a danger to is himself."
"Oh well I suppose that makes it all ok then," she replied, rolling her eyes as she tapped ash into the saucer between you. "What are you going to do, Frenchie? I completely understand wanting to get out there, but how are you going to afford to stay here without a job..?"
Under the table, your knee jigged anxiously. "I'll figure it out."
"I mean, I can help for a bit. I could still pitch in for next month—"
"No, no, no, I can't let you do that. You and Mark need to save for the wedding."
"It's ok, we can—"
"No, Cee," you said firmly, gripping her hand. "Please. I'll be fine. I have some savings, and Ash will be here—"
"Ash?? You mean the lad who's only allowed to move in if he stops selling drugs? What kind of money do you think he's going to have??"
"I don't know!" You tugged your hand free of hers, pushing it through your hair again, with a sigh. "I don't know. But I do know that I can't stay there until I find something new. I'll stack shelves or whatever if I have to until I find another teaching job. Me and Ash both will."
Celia spluttered a giggle at this and you smiled; you weren't looking forward to breaking that particular piece of news to your baby brother.
"But, look, it's not immediate crisis stations, I'm not leaving just yet. I have to work at least some of my notice and I promised I'd wait until they'd found someone new."
"Just promise me you'll ask for help if you need it, ok?"
Taking the hand she had stretched towards you, you smiled and nodded, with the absolute certainty that you never would.
***
It was inevitable that you'd have to face him after your betrayal, but you had hoped you might at least make it to break-time before the shouting started.
"Bella, can you hang on a minute?" he said briskly as the morning meeting broke up and you all prepared to go your separate ways to man the barricades.
Or, teaching, as it was more commonly know.
Amanda was the last to leave, catching your eye as she lingered in the doorway; apart from the basic necessities of setting everyone up for the day, she and Steve had barely exchanged one word since you'd arrived.
It clicked shut and you were left alone with him. If this had been last Tuesday, you'd have been taking the opportunity for a sneaky fumble on his desk.
But not today. Today he was standing, taut with rage, his eyes like two chips of ice.
"You fucking told, Amanda?!" he hissed.
You were forgoing with pleasantries then apparently.
"She made me."
He scoffed derisively. "'She made me," he mimicked in a mean, high voice. "You're not usually this fucking pathetic, Bella, own your fucking actions."
"What? Like you do, you mean??" you shot back, voice raising. "You're the one who gave her a fucking tape of us having sex!"
He glanced at the door. "Keep your fucking voice down, someone will hear you."
"She said she'd report us to the Trust if I didn't tell her, so yeah, I did tell her. And frankly, I should have told her anyway because you need fucking help, Steve."
"Oh I see, throw me under a fucking bus to save your own skin, is that it? Jesus christ, you really aren't who I thought you were."
Hurt, frustrated tears pressed behind your eyes and you balled your hands into fists.
"Yeah?? Well same here, I suppose."
You stared furiously across the room at each other, the air thick between you.
"Is she going to tell them?" you mumbled, caving first.
"I don't know," he replied flatly, raking a hand through his hair. "She wanted to sleep on it."
"She won't tell," you said with more confidence than you felt. "You're her friend. She hates the Trust… she'll come round. You just need to take more care of yourself."
"What do you care about the care I take of myself," he spat, but his face spasmed guiltily a second later when you just stared silently at him.
"Of course I care," you said quietly.
"Not enough to stay though. I got your letter."
"Yeah, I know."
"You don't have to do this. We can make it work."
You raised a brow at him. "You mean like today? Because I'd not say we're getting off to a very promising start."
"That's not fair and you know it."
"We can't do this Steve," you sighed, "it won't work."
"But you're not even giving it a chance," he said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "You can't stand there and tell me that on Saturday you were in love me and ready for us to be together - for me to leave my wife - and today you feel absolutely nothing."
"That's precisely why it won't work!" you exclaimed and his eyes flicked nervously towards the door. "I can't stay here and watch you self-destruct because I care about you too much to do that. But I can't stay here and stop you from self-destructing because…well, you know why."
"I am not self-destructing," he replied hotly, glowering when you simply snorted in reply. "I'm not! I was doing fine - you didn't even know there was anything to worry about until—"
"So you finally admit there is something to worry about."
He narrowed his eyes. "No. Look, I understand why you'd think that but I told you. I have it under control. So what that I need a bit of extra help? Do I look out of control to you?"
"No, but—"
"See! I'm fine, Bella. You have nothing you need to do for me except love me."
You cocked your head at him. "I thought this was just about me staying at Stanton?"
"I— yes, it is. Of course it is."
"Because it's over, Steve. I can't come back from what I had to do for you on Sunday."
"I understand… just please, don't leave…"
"How can you ask me to stay?" you said softly. "Can you honestly say that would be any good for either of us?"
He closed the space between you, hovering just out of reach but close enough you could feel the warmth of him spilling towards you and everything in you yearned to pull him closer.
"I don't want to come to work everyday and you're not here," he mumbled.
"You lived without me for ages before I got here."
A half-smile tugged at his lips. "You know it's not the same now."
"No," you murmured, dropping your head to avoid his eyes.
"And the lads really need you, Bells. They'll be lost without you."
"You'll get someone else. Someone good."
"But we don't want someone good, we want you," he replied and when you looked up he was smirking slightly.
"Fucker."
"I'm not sure that's really how you're supposed to speak to your boss."
"Yeah, well you're probably not supposed to go on dirty weekends or score him drugs either."
Pink tinged his cheek as he bit the end of his tongue. "Probably not, no. Definitely not something we can put in the 'essential criteria' section of the job ad anyway."
Despite yourself, you laughed and he reached for you, solid fingers warm on your neck, thumb tracing a path across your cheek.
"Don't," you whispered.
"Stay. Please?" he replied, not moving his hand, the familiarity of his touch causing an unbearable pressure to build in your chest until you had to step back to put space between you.
"I can't. This - that - is why. We can't go back, not after everything. It'll be better for us both when I'm gone."
His hands curled into themselves at his sides until his knuckles turned white, his eyes no longer filled with cold fury, instead their soft blue was filmed to glassy pools. Clearing his throat roughly, he nodded.
"We'll get started with the recruitment on Monday. Take the weekend and think it over. Make sure it's right."
***
He was pulled from pillar to post all morning and it wasn't until well into the afternoon before he managed to get Amanda on her own, spotting her having a smoke out near the lake. Seeing him coming, she shook her head and tuned away.
"Amanda…"
"Oh do fuck off, Steve. I'm trying to have two sodding minutes of peace before I have to go back in there."
Huddling deeper into his coat, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Please, I'm sorry, but I need to know what you're going to do."
She turned towards him, drawing slowly on her cigarette. "And you don't think hounding me about it might make me less inclined to cover for you?"
"Mate…"
"Don't you 'mate' me. Not when you're asking me to lie for you. Twice!"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, staring at the ground, last year's leaves still damp and mulchy underfoot.
"Yeah, me too," she sighed, dropping the end into the leaves and squishing it with her toe before picking up the butt. "I can't believe you'd keep something like this from me. Sleeping with Bella I can understand, but this?? I could have helped you. Does Helen know?"
He shook his head quickly. "I took too much on Sunday after Bella—" he cleared his throat roughly, "—Helen didn't even notice."
"And how often do you take too much?"
Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he smiled wryly. "I don't. That was a one-off. It was a very… testing day."
"We have a lot of very testing days here. How can I trust you when you've lied to me for so long?"
"I'm not lying to you, I swear on my girls."
"Don't… don't do that. Don't use them when you can't—"
"I mean it, Amanda. I promise you - I'm always careful. I'd never put anyone any risk. I'm not even taking that much more than I have done in the past, right after the accident."
"Steve, you were practically bed-ridden for months after the accident, this isn't the same. There was nothing and no one you could hurt being on that much morphine back then."
"I swear it to you: I'm fine. I'm not doping myself up to the eyeballs, I'm taking enough to let me do what I need to do. To do this, here, with all of you."
She compressed her lips, arms wrapping around her middle, though whether in comfort or against the cold he couldn't say.
"I want to know every time you take something from now on. All of it out in the open. And I want you to start reducing down to whatever your doctor thinks you should be taking."
"My doctor doesn't—"
"Don't argue with me! If something happens and the Trust finds out about this and it comes out that I knew and covered it up - which it will because it always does - then we're both for it. I am not going down for you, do you hear me? I am not going to let you ruin the career of everyone here who works so fucking hard to keep this place afloat because they'll be tainted by association with you. So I won't rat you out, but you're going to get yourself help. Get yourself back on the straight and narrow and so help me, Steve, if you ever do something like this again, I don't stay quiet."
"Ok," he mumbled, dizzy with relief. "Thank you. I'll do my best."
She nodded firmly and let out a deep breath. "Right, I have to get back."
"Can I have one of those before you go?"
Squinting at him, she pulled the packet out her coat pocket, plucking the lighter from inside it. "Have you been drinking?"
"What?? No—"
She cracked a smile as she handed him a cigarette and let him light it.
"You going to take up smoking instead?"
"You gonna report me for that?" Her amusement dried up in an instant and he stammered an apology.
"Too fucking soon, Steven."
Heat climbing his face, he nodded and she set off back towards the school.
"Oh, and Steve?"
He turned towards her, cigarette poised halfway to his lips. "Yeah?"
"You ever fucking sleep with one of our staff again and I'll cut it off, do I make myself clear?"
He cleared his throat and tried to force a chuckle. "Abundantly."
"Good," she snapped, marching on on her, and he turned slowly back towards the lake releasing long sigh of relief, the smoke mingling with the iron-grey skies above.
***
Wednesday's nightshift was unbearable. The freezing weather howling through the crumbling old building and all the boys were grumpy and unpleasant with the cold, complaining about how it whistled past the old single glazing in their rooms. It look an age and extra cups of tea and hot chocolate to get them to settle down for the night. Exhausted, you traipsed downstairs where Owen was locking up.
"Are they all in or do you need me to go and bash heads?" he asked with a grin.
"Finally," you yawned. "I'm going to make a brew and then turn in, do you want one?"
"Please, it's fucking baltic in here."
He followed you into the kitchen, grabbing mugs as you filled the kettle.
"Did you hear Steve and Amanda knocking seven bells out of each other on Monday?"
Setting it on the burner, you hoped he didn't see how your hand wobbled.
"Yeah, I heard them as I was leaving."
"What d'you think's going on?"
"No idea," you replied quickly, fetching tea bags from the enormous caddy on the side.
"Andy reckons they've been having an affair. Trouble in paradise and all that."
You spluttered a laugh. "Seriously??"
"I don't see it myself." In the distance the office phone began to ring. "Who the fuck calls a school at half eleven at night," he muttered. "I'll get it, you make those."
The kettle was slowly burbling towards the boil when you heard Owen shout your name.
"Bella!" he shouted again and you set off at a jog, almost colliding with him in the hall.
"What's the matter??"
"The hospital's on the phone for you."
"The hospital..?" A cold fist wrapped around your heart and you dashed towards the office. You were always telling Gran she needed to be more careful in the cold.
"Hello??"
"Hello? Is that…umm… Birdie?"
You swallowed. "Yes, that's me. What's happened?"
"I'm Suki from the Royal. We've had an Ashley admitted to A&E, he asked us to call you."
"Ash?? No you mean my Gran? Nellie Jennings?"
The woman on the other end of the line paused. "Your Gran? No, I'm calling about Ashley, Birdie. He says he's your brother? He's hurt."
You sat down heavily in Steve's office chair, clutching the phone.
"Ash? What's happened?"
"We're not sure exactly but it looks like he's been beaten up. He's sustained some quite severe injuries and is bleeding internally. We need to take him up for surgery shortly."
"Surgery…" you whispered.
"I'm sorry, I know this will be a shock."
"Please tell him I'm on my way."
"Of course."
You mumbled goodbye and the line went dead. Looking up, your thoughts swirling too quickly to catch, you saw Owen hovering at the door.
"Is everything ok?"
"No… I have to go to the hospital. My bother's been in an accident."
"Just go, I'll look after things here."
Dragging your hands over your hair you blinked hard, trying to get control over you racing heart and thoughts.
"No, if something happened…"
"It's fine, I'll call Steve."
"I'm not allowed to leave you on your own, Owen."
"Bella, go and get your stuff and I'll call him now."
His instructions finally gave you a purpose and direction and you took off upstairs to get your bag, stuffing your belongings back into it from around the little staff bedroom. As you clattered back down the corridor towards the stairs, Shy's bedroom door cracked open.
"Bella?"
"Go back to bed, Shy."
"Are you ok?"
"Just do as your told!" you shouted and his eyes widened, the door slamming shut a second later.
But you didn't have time to think about that now, racing down the stairs two at a time.
"He's coming. He said to sit tight."
"I need to call my Gran," you said, pulling on your coat.
"Bella…" Owen gently rested his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, look at me."
"He's got internal bleeding," you whimpered, tears beginning to slip down your cheeks. He bundled you into a bear hug and held you tight.
"Just take a breath, ok? Come on, do it with me. Nice and slow in… good girl. And out again… that's it, nice."
With each shaky breath your heart rate began to slow and he pulled back, smiling at you.
"Call your Gran, Steve'll be here in a minute."
Dialling with a shaking hand, you let the line ring and ring but there was no answer. Hoping that meant she was already on her way to the hospital, you called Celia instead.
"Hello?"
"Mark?"
"Alright French." You could hear Celia's mutter of surprise in the background and the phone being dragged away from him.
"Frenchie? What's the matter? Aren't you at work?"
"Cee, it's Ash. Something's happened to him… I don't know… he's in hospital. He's going for surgery." The tears began to leak from your eyes again. "I can't leave here until someone comes to replace me."
"Fuck that! I'm on my way to get you. Don't move, I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
***
Both Steve and Celia must have committed a plethora of traffic violations to reach you in the time they did, both screeching into the car park within in minutes of each other. Steve got there first, rushing into the hall where you were waiting, clutching a soggy tissue, your bag at your feet.
Without thinking you rushed to him, letting him wrap you in his arms.
"Shhhh… hey hey, don't cry, it's ok. What's happened??" he soothed into your hair, stroking your back.
"Her brother's been rushed into A&E. It sounds bad," said Owen and when you peeled yourself away from Steve he was looking between you with undisguised interest.
Another thing you didn't have time for tonight.
"I have to go," you mumbled. "Thanks for taking over."
"No, I'll take you there myself. Owen'll be fine, they're asleep."
"But the protocol says—"
"Fuck the protocol, Bells," said Steve, catching your face between his hands and you covered them with your own. "I'm taking you, let's go."
"She's not going anywhere with you."
Celia marched in, somehow looking as shiny and put together as she always did even though she must have been half-way to bed when you called. If looks could kill, Steve would have been dead on the spot with the daggers she was shooting him.
"Cee," you murmured, rushing to her and she hugged you.
"Come on, darling, let's go," she said, ushering you towards the door, stopping to grab your bag that Owen proffered towards her.
"I can take her—"
She whirled towards Steve, stepping closer, tall enough that he had to lift his chin to meet her eye.
"You stay the fuck away from her, do you hear me? You've done more than enough damage already."
"Cee," you whispered, shivering at the main door.
"I'm sorry, Bells," Steve said hoarsely as Celia stalked towards you, slipping an arm around your shoulders. "I hope he's ok. Will you let us know in the morning?"
You looked back towards him just before you left, standing there with Owen behind and undoubtedly some awkward questions to answer, when a shadow moved in the background.
"Shy?" you mumbled, but the flash of green hoodie was gone almost as quickly as you'd seen in.
"Come on, French, we need to go," Celia said, gently tugging you by the arm and you let yourself be led out the door and into the freezing night air.
Eeeeeep! How we doing team?? Come scream at me in all the usual ways. If you need inspo, Laura’s primary comment during beta reading was ‘SHUT UP STEVE, DICKHEAD’ 😂 It’s hope you enjoyed as much as she did 🤭 xxx
summary: once dating life is off the table, you still desperately want a child with someone. you decide to turn to your friend for help.
content: friends to lovers, probably medical inaccuracies, pet names, fluff, praise, comfort, no use of y/n, night shift and a little of day shift
word count: 5k
author’s note: just got out of a relationship with a very insecure/emotionally unstable man so i’m posting this draft as a come back post! i know it’s shitty, don’t hate me!!
offer
“and why not you?” you proposed to jack, making him almost spill his beer out of his mouth.
“me?” he repeated to make sure he didn’t hallucinate what he just heard.
you were looking through profiles of sperm donors the hospital gave you, so you invited your friend to help you choose the father of your future child. it felt like it was too important to do it alone.
“i really thought i’d be okay with a stranger, but i can’t do it. what if he’s a horrible person and gives the genes to my kid?”
he chuckled at the crazy scenario before thinking about what you just said. “i’m not sure that i’m up for it, honestly.”
“okay, but can you think about it? we get along really well, and you’d have some sort of legacy.”
“i’ll think about it, but if we do that, i have a condition.”
you furrowed your brows, intrigued to learn what it was.
“i want to be a dad, not a sperm bank.”
“so we would coparent?”
“yes, we could share custody,” he suggested, being a little too obvious about the fact that he’d like it.
you paused for a moment before continuing. “i have an oil change to do on my car monday. you’ll give me a ride to work, and we’ll talk about it.”
he nodded in agreement to your plan. he’d think about if he really wanted a child with someone who wasn’t his deceased wife, and you’d think about if you wanted to coparent.
──୨୧──
jack and you met when you transferred to ptmc after moving to pittsburgh. it was closer to your family, and you needed their support after a long relationship that disgusted you from the dating life forever.
there was a spot for a nighttime attending in pediatrics that waited for you. you felt honored to be chosen, and you took your job very seriously.
one night, you got called to the emergency department. you hated going there in person. it was lacking the colors of your floor, and it looked way too crowded.
however, you had to put your feelings aside and focus on the child who needed urgent help. he thankfully got stabilized after intense minutes of work on him.
you were always feeling down when you had to perform those big surgeries on tiny humans who didn’t ask for any of that. it was probably noticeable because dr abbot came your way to praise your skills. he was wondering who you were.
“are you new?”
“yes, i just moved back here after a long time away. everything changed so much.”
“i know some nice bars if you need a friend to visit the new spots with,” he proposed with a smile. one of his fingers had a wedding band that encouraged you to believe he didn’t mean more than what he said.
“i’d love that,” you accepted, returning the grin he gave you.
since then, jack and you have become good friends. you invited him over when you had a bad shift, and he did the same.
──୨୧──
it was 6 p.m., and instead of finishing your day of work like most people, you were just starting it.
you received a text from your friend, informing you that he’ll arrive soon. you decided to go breath the air of spring and come outside directly. you needed to find a way to distract yourself and calm your stress. you haven't really talked to him since this last conversation about having his kids.
he parked his car in front of you, and you got in. instead of an awkward moment, he directly started talking like he had rehearsed this moment.
“i thought about it a lot, and i want you to carry our child. i always wanted to have kids, and my life feels pretty empty right now; i could use the space with a little one. if you’re still up for it, of course.”
“yes, i looked into it. we would need a lawyer and a lot of conversations about how we organize our coparenting, but i could work. you’re a great friend, and you’d make an even better father.”
“you’ll be a good mother too. i’ll talk to the hospital’s attorney to get a recommendation for a good lawyer.”
“okay, we’ll have to put in the contract that i want the nursery at my place during the first months.”
“your place is it,” he happily agreed.
reveal
you really wanted it to work on the first try, especially knowing that jack insisted on paying for the whole thing.
you tracked your menstrual cycle very closely and got inseminated with his sperm. he was there for every single appointment with professionals. no matter how tired he was, he’d come to support you.
you officially finished the whole process, and you had to take a test. you went to jack’s place to do it after work.
“okay, it says i need to wait two minutes before looking at it,” you said, reading the instructions to make sure you weren’t missing any step.
“so we wait.”
“i’m really scared it won’t work,” you admitted to him in a small voice.
“worst case scenario, we just do it another time. don’t sweat about it. everything will be okay.”
you flinched when the alarm on your phone announced the end of the wait. you turned the test to reveal two lines.
jack immediately hugged you tightly.
you cried tears of joy. you weren’t in a relationship, but you felt like you were supported enough to go through it all.
first trimester
jack didn’t tell anyone about your plan. the only person who knew was robby. he found the plan admirable. maybe that he would’ve loved to have children in another life.
your breast were so sore all the time that you had a hard time wearing a bra. that’s when dana became the second person in the emergency department to know.
“first trimester?” she asked while looking at the paperwork she needed to complete.
“how did you know?”
“enlarged breasts and practically no bump. i had the same with my first, but the second gave me a bump as soon as i got pregnant," she began, remembering the cherished moment. “who’s the lucky guy?”
“it’s jack. we did this thing called iui. we want to coparent together.”
she looked quite surprised at the news but quickly transformed her open mouth into a grin. “well, i’m glad if it works out!”
“what do you mean by that?”
“pregnancy is a long and intimate process. i’m just saying that feelings could get tangled in there.”
“they won't; dating is out of the window for both of us. i’m not putting myself through that ever again.”
“do what your heart feels like, sweetheart,” she smiled, quietly returning to her paperwork.
you nodded and tried to find jack. he called you to know if you could take someone in pediatrics, but something came up, and he hung up before having the chance to present the case.
he was always coming with you to the doctor appointments you planned every week and checked on you over texts once in a while. other than that, he let you space. it’s not like you were dating or anything.
“hey, you came down? i could’ve called you back.”
“well, you weren’t, so i came,” you dryly replied. “sorry, i’ve been told i’m on edge.”
“it’s common; don’t worry about it,” he immediately reassured before logging on to a computer.
it was a 9-year-old girl, with severe asthma exacerbation. they gave her oxygen, albuterol, and prednisone to stabilize her enough, but she’d need to stay in peds one to three days for monitoring, treatments, and iv meds.
while you read, a nurse opened a tupperware with her lunch, and you got nauseous with the strong smell.
“yeah, we’ll take her,” you mumbled while urgently going to the nearest bathroom.
second trimester
the second trimester came with some perks. you could finally discover the gender of the baby, and your nausea stopped.
every single ultrasound was filled with excitement at the possibility of knowing if it was a girl or a boy.
“i hope it’ll show for this one. some can tell at 18 weeks, and i’m at 20. it’s not fair!” you complained while you rested a hand on your bump that started showing.
“the baby wasn’t positioned well,” he reminded you with one arm on the steering wheel as he drove to the hospital.
the ob-gyn greeted you with a smile. you were a little nervous, so jack couldn’t stop touching you. he had his hands on your nearest shoulder while you lay on the chair with your shirt up. they went to your forearm and your hands too when the doctor took a little too much time talking about how normal it is to not know the gender yet.
“today is the day!” the ob-gyn announced with a smile on her face.
jack looked at the screen with furrowed brows. your face lit up when you saw it. “it’s a girl!” you exclaimed with joy.
he hugged you tightly while peppering kisses on the top of your head.
“we’re having a girl,” he whispered to you with the biggest grin he could physically make.
you left the department together and went to the peds to see your coworkers and friends to tell them the good news. the father of your baby girl stayed behind with a smile plastered on his face. for the biggest flirt of the hospital, jack wasn’t looking at your coworkers much. he mostly looked at you while the girls of your department jumped in excitement.
“oh my god, she will be so cute!” one said while two others were touching your belly.
“i know!” you responded and reached out for jack’s hand to get him closer. “i’m really hungry, so we will go, but thank you for being here.”
they all agreed to let you go and you went to the pitt in the elevator.
“i need a cheeseburger,” you thought out loud with a hand rubbing your belly.
“i’ll get it for you. do you want to go to a restaurant?”
“yes, but i want to go see dana and robby first.”
“don’t overwork yourself, mama. do you feel like seeing them?”
“yes, i want to. we’re having a little girl!”
as the doors of the elevator opened, you both noticed that the er was almost empty.
“what happened?” you asked in surprise at the rare sight.
“i have no idea; it’s either a good or a bad sign.”
dana saw the two of you and yelled at robby to come. the two men dapped up while the nurse leaned on the wall.
“so… do you have good news?”
“we’re having a baby girl!” you happily cheered.
“that’s amazing!” robby said before looking at his friend, who only had you and the baby in his vision.
jack concluded the conversation quickly to get you the cheeseburger you were craving.
he stopped at a fast food place you liked, and you let out a yawn. “can you go in the drive-through? i’m tired.”
“no problemo!” he answered like it was the last of his worries.
he ordered what you wanted and parked in the parking lot for the two of you to eat comfortably.
“so, how is the second trimester treating you?” he wondered after swallowing a bite of burger.
“i’m living my best life. the bump is cute, i don’t get nauseous anymore, and i get horny all of the time.”
he froze at the last part but gathered himself in no time. “well, it’s a common symptom…”
“makes you understand why it’s a thing you do as a couple. i literally cried myself to sleep last night because of how lonely i felt.”
“you feel lonely?”
“yeah, my feelings are all over the place. that’s an annoying part.”
“they’re heightened, not different,” he said before taking fries from his meal. “call me if you need someone. i’m always there, you know?”
third trimester
the final weeks before giving birth were the worst. you were feeling enormous, you were exhausted all the time, and everything was hurting.
jack tried to be more present by texting more, but he was afraid of being overbearing. he never imagined having his first child with someone he wasn’t dating. there was no textbook on how to behave with a friend who was also carrying the daughter he had dearly wanted.
from time to time, he’d come to your place after a shift to help you out with anything you needed.
tonight, he could feel you weren’t feeling well at the hospital, so he invited himself to your place by pretending that he had more decorations to do in the nursery.
you accepted, too exhausted to refuse free labor from him. you could take a nice shower while he prepares a good meal like he usually does.
you got out of the steamy bathroom in your pastel pajama set to eat, but jack’s gaze lowered on your breast. you immediately knew what it meant, and you whined.
“i’ll get you another shirt.”
he headed off right away while you whined. he continued talking from your bedroom as he looked through your drawer to find something new for you. “the hot shower might have stimulated the fluid to leak. is there blood?” he asked with a new pajama shirt in hand.
you stretched out your top’s collar to check the milk leaking out. “nothing bloody, doctor,” you announced before taking the shirt he held. “you know you’ll have to bring some clothes over so you can stay with me when she’s a newborn.”
he nodded, and you simply turned around to change. it’s been a long day; he probably saw many naked women in his life, and you were very close to crashing out over all the discomfort your body was experiencing. once you were completely topless, you felt his gaze piercing through you. even if you focused on the task at hand, it made you feel good in a way to be looked at like this when you felt like a whale.
you looked behind to confirm what you thought. his eyes were on your back.
“why are you staring?” you asked with your new pajama shirt on.
“i can’t look at the woman carrying my baby? harsh, mama,” he teased while fidgeting with his ring.
“you weren’t looking; you were staring. it’s different.”
“you have a nice back,” he finally admitted before placing his hands behind him and straightening his back slightly.
you probably shouldn’t have noticed that, but you saw him assume the same position he just made when he was ordering risky procedures in the er. it was a pose that gave him a certain confidence, maybe.
“shut up, i feel like i’m a whale,” you corrected, showing your swollen hands.
“you’re not; you're beautiful, okay?”
you paused at the compliment. it was known that jack was a flirt. you should’ve joked it off with a quick remark, but you were too stunned to think of one. that’s when you realized that you didn’t need one. he wasn’t trying to make you laugh or even flirt. he just told you because he felt like it.
“can you stay the night?” you blurted out like a teenage girl with a crush.
he answered in a heartbeat. “yes, of course.”
you nodded and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. whatever could help you escape this awful tension building between the two of you was worth it. however, he placed himself beside you with a towel to help you dry.
you gave him a wet glass, and your fingers almost touched. it’s not like you never touched him; you always did. this time just felt different. maybe it had been different for a while, actually, but you truly felt it at this instant.
his touch got you distracted, or perhaps he was the one who was because a plate fell and broke on the floor as you gave it to him.
he didn’t flinch, too used to the constant, sudden movements and noises of the emergency department. he was calm and unfazed.
“we’re down to three plates,” he stated with a small smirk before picking you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you outside of the kitchen. “i’ll pick it up- fuck, are you okay?”
you suddenly started to cry like a baby. he was so perfect and fatherly. it was so dumb to sob over that when so many women had to deal with the opposite.
you mumbled something he couldn’t really understand, so he just hugged you and rocked you gently to calm you down. “okay, shhh… take deep breaths for me.”
you did so, and he accompanied you by breathing slowly. after the third time, the only traces of your outburst were the tears on your cheeks and your clogged nose.
“i’m too emotional,” you joked off, wiping your tears with your hands at the same time.
“be kind to yourself. you’re going through so much. do you know how tough you are? you’re growing a human inside of you,” he noticed you looking down while he praised you, so it fueled him to continue. “you’re doing all of this alone, and i’m pretending to be useful by doing stupid chores and attending appointments. you’re the real superwoman here. i’m so proud of everything you’re doing.”
“don’t make me cry more!”
he chuckled and kissed your forehead. you leaned into his touch with your heavy eyelids closing for a moment too long.
it was no surprise that you went to bed while he cleaned up. he usually slept on the couch when he was at your house, but tonight he wanted to be with you.
he knocked on your door, unsure if you were sleeping. after all, insomnia was a common symptom during pregnancy.
“come in,” you mumbled with your eyes wide open in the dark.
“hey… i just wanted to know if you were fine. how’s your sleep?”
“bad. i can’t sleep at all.”
“do you know santos in the ed? she forced me to listen to sleepmaxxing content when she learned i was a swat physician in my free time.”
“she’s on the night shift?”
he shook his head. “no, you probably haven’t worked with her, but the point is that i know some tricks to make you fall asleep.”
he put on some white noise on your phone, closed the blackout curtains to let no light in, and adjusted the thermostat to a colder setting.
“is there something about not being alone in bed in sleepmaxxing?”
“could be; i didn’t watch all of the videos she sent,” he replied while approaching your bed. “would you like it if i joined?”
“yes.”
he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthetic before getting in and enveloping you in his arms.
you whined and mumbled something about him needing to be closer to you.
“don’t know if you noticed, but there's a baby between us.”
you rolled your eyes, which made him smile, and turned around so he could be closer to your whole backside in a spooning position.
he couldn’t notice the blush rising on your face, and you couldn’t notice his.
labor
you insisted on continuing to work through your third trimester. you felt useless at home anyway.
you got called in the emergency department again. once you came in, jack rushed to you.
“why are you here?” he asked, positioning himself in front of you to block your way.
“i got called in.”
“i called your department, not you. it’s too dangerous for you to come down here when we’re too busy.”
“don’t tell me what to do!”
“i will because one of my nurses got physically assaulted ttoday, and i’m not letting that happen again. especially not to you.”
“i’m already here; can you just give me the case?” you sighed with a hand rubbing your belly.
“it’s john’s case. he’s in trauma 2.”
you walked there, but you felt followed, so you turned around. “jack, i’m a big girl.”
“john probably needs my help; i should assist.”
you walked in and smiled at the other attending. “hi, mama,” shen greeted you when he saw you. “…and dada… you guys joined us when we stabilized him!”
“great, i’ll have to walk the stairs again. call me when he can be admitted in peds.”
jack took your shoulders from behind you to keep you in place. “take the elevator,” he ordered, leaving no room for discussion.
shen put his hands up. “okay! i’m going to leave the couple’s fight.”
“we’re not a couple!” you both yelled at him, projecting your anger onto the poor guy.
some nurses looked in your direction, but you ignored them.
“we’re like siblings,” you corrected, which earned you a disappointed look from jack.
what was he disappointed about?
john looked at your belly before raising his eyes back at you. “totally not incestuous. maybe consider some other labels,” he recommended before heading out of the room.
“oh, we didn’t do it-” you tried to say before he could leave butt got cut off by some contractions.
the two attendings locked eyes with each other as they noticed it.
“fuck, are you in labor?” jack asked while touching your belly.
“no, it’s braxton-hicks contractions. i had that for my whole third trimester.”
“really sounds like something you should’ve told me.”
“oh, did you want to know in detail my constipation issues too, while we’re at it?” you asked in a passive-aggressive tone before that john gave you an office chair for you to sit on.
“yeah, i could’ve helped, actually,” he replied, a little on edge at the attitude you’ve been giving him for days since you shared a bed.
“ok, well, it’s done now. i need to go pee.”
you made your way between the two men and went to the bathroom.
as you sat on the toilet, you had another light contraction before feeling liquid leak out of you.
it wasn’t the moment. you weren’t ready. it was too early for that. you wiped and washed your hands before going to see jack.
he was still in trauma 2, but the patient who was stabilized some minutes ago had doctors all around him.
“what’s happening?” you asked as you walked in.
“8-year-old male, bike vs car, was stable, now hypotensive, tachycardic, worsening abdominal distention, dropping gcs. we started fluids, and blood is coming,” shen explained to you quickly. “he’s in decompensated shock. keep transfusing and call the or. he’ll be clear to go.”
jack looked at nazely, who nodded and called the other department.
you weren’t focused at all because another contraction just hit you. you sat down on the chair john previously gave you. nobody cared; they were all up on the little boy.
“how much is in?” shen asked a nurse.
“first unit just started.”
“good, activate massive transfusion. get plasma and platelets ready,” you ordered, breathing slowly to avoid looking too pained.
no one looked back, way too concentrated on the patient. you looked at the clock on the wall to calculate your contractions. they were becoming way too close, but it wasn’t the moment at all.
lena opened the glass door and announced that the or was open. at this brief loss of focus, jack’s eyes drifted to you.
“fuck…”
john’s eyes widened at the sight. he quickly assigned an intern to stay with the kid upstairs before going in your direction.
“my water broke in the bathroom. my contractions are less than four minutes apart,” you blurted out, stressing the two men even more.
your contraction ended for a small moment, giving you enough attention span to listen to what jack had to say.
“okay, we need to deliver the baby now," dr abbot announced while shen came back with a wheelchair.
“i can’t have the baby now. it’s too early,” you complained as jack pushed your wheelchair to a room.
“active labor, where is she going, lena?” shen yelled to the charge nurse.
“north 5, i’m calling the ob.”
you lay in the bed, and nurses and doctors filled the room while john took charge. “emergency delivery. get me a delivery kit, a warm blanket, and someone to call for neonatal support.”
a nurse quickly undressed you and checked your vagina’s opening. “she’s crowning.”
john gently pushed jack to go to your side and support you. “okay, mama, i’ll deliver your baby.”
“no, not you,” you cried out, too exhausted to care about his feelings. “i want a woman doctor.”
“ellis, you’re up. i’ll be supervising.”
“jack, i need you,” you whined, taking his hand and holding it hard, earning a small groan from him even if he didn’t want to complain.
“okay, mama, the head is showing. when you feel a contraction, you push,” parker instructed, placing your legs in a better position.
john took a look. “control the head and check for cord.”
when you felt the contraction, you gently pushed to avoid any tears from your vagina.
“okay, don’t push too much,” jack cooed, keeping a hand on the top of your hair.
“i know, fucking dumbass!” you screamed while the whole team tried to keep a straight face at their boss getting harshly humbled.
“head’s out, no cord. we’re pushing on to the next contraction.”
you were sobbing between the contractions. “i didn’t want it to happen like that!”
“i know, but you’re doing great,” jack reassured, standing close.
“you’re so useless! you’re just standing there!”
“you’re right…”
“fuck you, i hate you!” you screamed out when another contraction came in.
“and i love you. can you push for me?”
“no, you can’t say that now. you can’t!”
“i’m here for you; squeeze my hand as hard as you can and give me another push.”
you pushed once more, and the baby came out. they dried her and did a quick check. jack gently removed your bra and lifted your shirt for them to place the baby on your skin. nurses covered her in blankets as she started sucking for milk.
“time of birth is 6:12 a.m.," shen stated after looking at his watch.
“you did amazing; i’m so proud of you,” jack whispered while smiling.
postpartum
abbot had never cared for you as much as in this stage. he insisted that you stay in bed while he did all the annoying things you didn’t want to do.
“jack, i can go,” you mumbled when the baby started to cry in the middle of the night.
“i got it; just continue sleeping,” he reassured from the hallway.
you felt so bad. he was sleeping on the couch, changing diapers, and barely getting any sleep.
“okay, but come here after.”
he accepted, and once he was in the nursery, he almost immediately stopped the noises the newborn made. you worked with kids all the time, yet you couldn’t make your own child stop crying like he could.
it sometimes made you jealous to see how quickly he could calm her, as if you knew her less than he did.
jack stopped at the door of your bedroom. he didn’t want to intrude on your space, especially when your relationship was so unclear.
“do you mind sleeping with me? i feel bad that you sleep on the couch.”
“your couch is fine. don’t worry about me; i’m a grown-up. how are you feeling, mama?”
“if i wasn’t feeling well, i would’ve told you before. please, take care of yourself instead and sleep in a proper bed.”
he offered you a lazy and tired smile before sitting on the edge of the bed. he removed his prosthetic and lay down so you could cover him with your warm blanket.
“you should probably use crutches during the night. you’d avoid putting on and removing your fake leg.”
“nah, i’m a new dad, not a grandpa,” he joked, letting go a small chuckle from you.
he turned to you, and that’s when you saw the full exhaustion on him. “sleep tight, okay?”
“yeah, you too…”
──୨୧──
the early morning was visible through the window when you opened your eyes. the baby was crying again. you tried to get up, but you felt two large arms around you. he was spooning you in a tight embrace, as if he were scared to let you go.
“jack…” you muttered to wake him as gently as possible.
“go back to sleep. i want to stay with you,” he whispered with his eyes still closed.
“the baby’s crying…”
“she always is… give it five minutes. i want to sleep more with you,” he admitted, wrapping his arms tighter around your chest.
if you weren’t fully awake before, you were now.
“jack what did you say?” you asked, already getting tired of the sounds your baby makes and sitting up on the bed.
he finally opened his eyelids and rubbed them in a fast motion to talk to you in a decided tone.
“go feed her, but i don’t want us to sleep in this bed as exhausted parents anymore.”
“what?” you asked with your mouth open in shock.
you mentally slapped yourself. did he have to spell it out for you to understand? he couldn’t be more straightforward, yet you had no idea how to answer or even take that.
“i want to go on a date with you or anything that will make us more than friends in your eyes. i know you don’t want it, but just give me a chance. i want to give it a try.”
his eyes were begging you to accept. he really wanted you to agree to this. anything you’d want to take from him to finally upgrade the friend status he’s been stuck with for years. it was all he ever desired before, but now he wanted something more.
he needed his daughter to believe in soulmates and in love. he wanted her to smile when she saw both of her parents at her recitals or be embarrassed when they kissed too long.
you must’ve thought the same because you nodded. “okay, let’s give it a shot… let’s go on a date.”
DESCRIPTION: At your cousin's baby shower, you're bringing a partner to meet your family for the first time. It turns out Jack Abbot is the perfect person to bring.
WORD COUNT: 3k
WARNINGS: FLUFF. TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. Age gap- not specified but big enough to be noticed. Established!relationship. Reader's family is slightly judgy at first. Jack Abbot gets baby fever. Talks of potential kids (though unlikely). Talk of marriage.
READ ON AO3! - MASTERLIST
It was an early morning. They had a long drive ahead of them to their first extended family function of Y/n’s. Jack buttoned up his polo shirt and did that little head tilt he did when he wanted clarification on something. His upper lip curled.
“Whose baby shower are we going to again?
She chuckled as she pulled up the straps on her little blue spring dress. Ornate flowers ran up and down the fabric. She had researched what to wear to a baby shower and figured this was nice enough without overshadowing the mother-to-be.
“My cousin Sandra, remember?”
His brows furrowed, “Are we… close to this cousin?”
She blushed at that. ‘We’. ‘We’ as in her family was his, and his was hers. Granted, he didn’t have much family left these days. But she appreciated him including himself. They had been dating for a little over a year now, and while he had met her parents, he hadn’t met any of her extended family.
“Not really, but I still wanna support her. Can you zip up my dress, dear?”
He chuckled a little to himself as he strutted over. His fingers hung on the zipper for a moment.
“I much prefer to zip it down.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, smart ass. We don’t have the time for that.”
“You’re underestimating how quick I can be.” He murmured but obediently zipped her up. He patted her hips, looking up at their reflection in the mirror that hung on her closet. “You look beautiful.”
Her face fully reddened, and she shook her head gently, “You’re crazy.”
His face contorted as if she had just said something so incredibly offensive. His hands glided from her hips to across her stomach, so she was more in a bear hug as he leaned his head against her shoulder.
“I’m not at all. I’m saying the truth.”
She gave him a pity chuckle and looked down at the floor. He turned to look at her now, not in the reflection. And his real-life gaze was much more intense.
“Hey… what’s got my pretty girl all like this?”
With a little scoff, she waved it off, trying to seem nonchalant.
“I’m fine. It’s just my cousins will all be there, and they’re… literally models. I mean it. Like one of them is as a profession. And they always bring their boyfriends, so this is the first year that I’m…”
“Bringing someone.” He slowly nodded. “Is there anything I should know, baby?”
She shook her head, “Just that they may be a bit judgy because of the… you know…” she put her face in her hands, worried to admit this.
“The age gap.” He chuckled, “Baby, I already expected this. And when it comes to your cousins being models, who cares? You’re so beautiful. Comparing apples to oranges.”
He planted a kiss on the crook of her neck and squeezed her hips reassuringly.
Walking up to the little blue house, Jack held the big gift bag, which carried a quilted play mat, and he held her shaky hand with his free one. The door was wide open, so they peeked their heads inside. The sound of chattering and laughter drifted from the backyard. Inside was covered in lacy, frilly decor. It looked as though the baby section of the department store had exploded. With blue bears everywhere, it was safe to say that it was going to be a boy.
At the sound of Jack shutting the door, Sandra walked through the kitchen holding her swollen stomach. Her eyes lit up.
“Y/N! My goodness, it’s been ages. You look fantastic!”
“I can say the same to you! Congratulations.”
Jack held up the present, “Where can I put this?”
Sandra’s attention drifted, and her mouth stayed ajar as she processed for a moment. She suddenly seemed to remember that it was rude to stare at the handsome older man in front of her.
“Oh- just on the dining table.” She made up for it with a smile.
Jack nodded with an awkward no-teeth smile and shifted through the entryway to place the gift on the table overflowing with tissue-papered presents. Sandra watched him, then looked over to her with wide eyes. She mouthed a quick ‘wow’ before going,
“Is this your…?”
She smiled proudly as Jack started making his way back over. “Boyfriend. Yes. This is my boyfriend, Dr. Jack Abbot.”
He chuckled and scratched his neck as he reunited with her side.
“Quick braggin, sweetheart.” He put his hand out to Sandra, “Hi. Congratulations.”
Her cousin shook it and looked between the two.
“A doctor! Wow, Jesus. Grandma’s gonna love him, huh?”
And in that moment, she realized that this wasn’t going to be bad at all. This was actually going to be so completely and utterly perfect. For the first time in her entire life, she was going to prove that she was just as beautiful and capable of having a perfect boyfriend as her cousins and relatives.
After some awkward introductions, Jack felt stiffer than usual. He tried his usual charisma, and it worked for the most part. Her grandma certainly was all over him. But there were a few weirded-out glares and stiff conversations from her older cousins and relatives. They all certainly fit her description. They had a ‘better than you’ air around them that would suffocate Y/n’s welcome until he showed up behind her like a guard dog. Then it would completely dissipate when he’d introduce himself and tell them he was a doctor. They were then left with an overall feeling of suspicious approval.
As he sipped a beer, he sat with some of her uncles who were closer in his age range, though still older than him. He managed to win them over a little more by discussing his military service. Though he refused to reveal his leg. It wasn’t that he felt embarrassed by it. But the attention was already heavily on him, and he’d rather not take any more of it. Though as they sat in the heat, he was starting to regret the choice of khaki pants.
The other men talked about the football season starting up in September, and Jack didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation. So instead of trying to pretend he cared, he let his eyes drift over to his girl sitting on a patio chair. She had been dragged by her youngest cousins to go play with them across the yard. He watched as she held a one-year-old girl in her lap while talking to a little boy who couldn’t be more than nine. She was a clear favorite, considering the kids didn’t seem to bother any of her other cousins, who were much too busy with their own boyfriends. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled and laughed at the boy describing a scribbled drawing to her, the construction paper crinkled. It was as if she was genuinely interested in whatever nonsense he was probably spouting.
His heart clenched. It had to be the baby shower theme. It had to be the decorations and the ultrasound pictures and the constant talk from the women in her family. But seeing her with the kids was making him feel something dangerous. He knew he couldn’t have kids. Not at 50. But Jesus, did the sight of her brushing that little girl's hair through her fingers make him want to change his mind.
Suddenly, she pointed at him, clearly distinguishing him to the kids in front of her. They were talking about him. He broke out of his thoughts and pointed to himself with raised brows. She laughed and waved him over to the other side. Part of him felt guilty for not excusing himself, but he wasn’t about to ignore this for some stupid talk about ESPN hosts.
He walked over and crossed his arms with a playful arch of his brow.
“My ears were burning. Now who’s talking about me?”
The little boy grinned and pointed to Y/n. “She was!”
She gasped, “Jax! You asked who he was. You can’t throw me under the bus.”
“Well, who am I then, Jaxon?” Jack asked lightly
He shrugged and knelt down by the patio table. He put his paper down and returned to a set of sprawled-out crayons.
“An old guy.” He said innocently
Ouch.
She lightly smacked Jaxon’s shoulder, “Hey. Be nice.”
The kid smirked, and the little girl on her lap gurgled a laugh. Suddenly, another little girl appeared. She had been slowly making her way over, wringing her hands in her dress. It was clear she wanted to be with her cousin, but was also hesitant about the older man there. Y/n waved her over.
“Hi, Janie.” She said in a much softer voice. A much different voice than she had with Jaxon.
“Hi.”
“Let me do introductions.” She said, looking between everyone, “This is Jaxon, Janie, and their little sister Judy.”
Jack smiled, “A lot of J names around her.”
Janie nodded and looked down at the floor. Jack decided the best course of action was to squat down and sit by the patio table as well. Though his good knee let out a slight crack as he did so. Janie looked at him, suspicious, but didn’t run away.
“Well… It’s nice to meet you guys. I’m Jack.”
Jaxon looked up from his paper with wide eyes, “YOU HAVE A J NAME TOO.”
“That’s right.” He nodded and snuck a look at the Transformer that the boy was drawing, “Look, I’m new here. So how about we make a J name pact?”
Jaxon’s face contorted, “What’s a pact?”
Y/n chuckled as she grabbed a small bowl of Cheerios to let Janie snack on in her lap.
“A pact is like a promise.”
Jack nodded, “Like a promise. That us J names have each other’s backs, alright? I need some protection. People watching my six.” He pointed to Janie, “You included. I need all the help I can get.”
Janie giggled at the idea of her protecting him. “I can’t help. I’m too little.”
“Sure, you can. You’re the toughest person here.”
The kids giggled, and Y/n smiled at the interaction. She didn’t know Jack was so good with kids. She knew he dealt with them at work time to time, but she had never witnessed him in action. And he was somehow charming her little cousins, who usually didn’t trust too easily.
Judy cooed and reached her hands out, and Jack gave her a little side eye.
“She’s a close second.”
Soon, the kids were all over him. He hadn’t realized that his girlfriend was basically the glorified babysitter at these events until now. Jaxon was clinging to his good leg (thankfully). And Janie was bossing them around on how to play this game, which Jack was having a hard time telling what the exact rules were.
Y/n sat busied with doting on little Judy. She watched Jack with a heart so full, knowing Jack was probably being drained a bit by the kids. Though he was doing the exact same to them, and their mothers would be thankful once they were napping on the car ride home.
Her aunt called the kids to eat some real food, and they begrudgingly started to calm down. Jack ruffled Jax’s head.
“Go eat. You need protein to beat the lava monster.”
With that totally sound logic, the kids practically booked it to grab a plate from their mom. And Jack limped back to his girl and sat next to her, Judy still in her lap. He winced and rubbed at the back of his prosthetic knee where skin met silicone.
She reached over and rubbed his shoulder, “Your leg bothering you?”
He shook his head in a ‘so-so’ manner, not wanting to worry her.
“It’s just sweaty, and when it sweats, it starts to chafe.” He grimaced a bit. “Just need to sit down for a bit.”
She laughed at that, “I’m sorry. My cousins are like that once they’re comfortable with someone… Or once they find a target that’ll play with them.”
Jack shook his head and looked down at Judy, who was biting her fist. He gently reached over and pinched the little rolls of her doughy arms.
“Don’t apologize. They’re great.” He looked down and made an overly excited face at Judy, making the baby squeal with laughter. Oh, that sound was like the bells of heaven ringing. “You’re great, huh?”
She bounced the baby on her knee, making her laugh more. “You wanna hold her?”
He didn’t drop his face, keeping it happy looking to entertain Judy, “Only if she wants to.”
Well, in convenient timing, the baby reached out and made grabby hands at Jack.
“I think she wants to.” She smiled and handed Jack the baby.
He made a little groan as he wrapped his hands around her tummy and quickly positioned the almost toddler onto his lap. Judy clapped her hands and looked around for approval. Y/n quickly started clapping and letting out a little ‘Yay!’
The baby let out a huff, and Jack looked down at her.
“Yeah. Long day, huh?”
That made the both of them laugh. Jack casually squeezed her little doughy arms and reached over to grab the small bowl of puff snacks on the table. He handed it to her, and Judy shrieked excitedly. Jack smiled, proud of himself for making his girlfriend’s little cousins happy.
“This is so so dangerous, sweetheart.” He murmured.
She smirked a little knowingly, “How so?”
“We’re too good at this.” He shook his head with a nervous smile, “Makes me think of things.”
Her eyes widened despite having put two and two together. The idea of kids was something they didn’t talk about much, but the general idea was that he was too old, and she liked her independence. She had always been that way. She liked being able to put herself first, and if she became a mother…she could never be selfish ever again. But the idea of kids with HIM? With Jack Abbot? For some reason, that was a lot more attractive. And more than attractive… it felt doable.
She shook off the thought and smiled with a blushing face.
“Yeah… Me too.” She admitted, watching Judy shove little star puffs into her mouth. “How about we revisit this when we’re…” She looked around at all the baby shower decorations. The little clothes and footie pajamas hanging around. The ultrasound pictures. The cutesy stuffed animals. “... more immune to propaganda.”
Jack chuckled, looking around himself. “I completely agree.”
A little later into the evening, it was getting close to leaving time, and all the adults sat at a long picnic table outside. The heat at least seemed to be settling down as the high noon sun set a little more. She and Jack had played a few of the baby shower games. Watched Sandra open presents with her beau. And did their best to get some time away from the little cousins.
One of her cousins squeezed her boyfriend’s hand, directing her half-lidded eyes to Y/n. “So… how did you meet Jack?”
She smiled, unfazed, “Our mutual friend, Dana, set us up.”
Jack scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah. Basically, a blind date, and I nearly passed out because Dana had failed to mention how freaking gorgeous you are.”
“Oh shut up.” She rolled her eyes with a smile, taking a sip of her drink.
“It’s true!”
Her aunt piped up and pointed between the two of them, “And you two aren’t bothered by the… well, by the age gap? I feel like I’d have nothing in common with someone like that.”
It was a bit of a sting, but the two of them were used to it.
She shrugged.
“We’re not really bothered. And it’s not like I’ve ever been overly trendy or anything. Honestly, I haven’t seen a big difference other than he’s more mature than any man my age.” At that, her older cousins looked at each other. It wasn’t meant to be a dig, but if the shoe fits.
Her aunt let out a little, “Huh,” and leaned back in her chair.
Suddenly, her grandma tapped the table, “Well, that just means you gotta get started on the grandbabies right away!”
Both her and Jack choked on their drinks.
“GRANDMA!” She laughed in shock as the rest of the table died in laughter, “Look, we’re not even married yet. Let that wait for just a bit more, okay?”
Under the table, she felt Jack reach down and squeeze her thigh. His grip a mix of fabric and skin. She flushed and bit her lip through her smile, trying to seem totally cool. Jack had been getting on her about getting married for the past month, so she knew she was in for the best kind of trouble when she got home.
Sandra rubbed her stomach, “Well, I wish you guys luck with everything. I’m sure whatever you decide will be best. Clearly, you’ve brought home a big catch.”
The table laughed again, and Jack raised his hands, waving them off.
“No, no… If anything, I’m the lucky one. Every day I wake up, and I can’t believe that a woman like your Y/n is with a guy like me.”
At that, all the girls swooned. The cousins. The aunts. They were all definitely won over by the handsome Dr. Jack Abbot. And she felt so completely satisfied.
“Thank you. You’re crazy, baby.” She chuckled and leaned over to give him a quick peck.
The kids watching from the end of the table let out a ‘EWWWWW’ and she shook her head with a laugh. Jack pointed to them.
“Hey, the J Name Pact. Remember?”
They giggled mischievously and returned their attention to their activity books. And with her whole family won over, she felt not only like she had made them proud. But that she was so incandescently happy to have Jack in her life and in her future, wherever that led.
TAG: @theariespov
Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of labor, birth, etc. If I forgot anything, let me know. Also, if anyone knows who this gif belongs to, let me know and I will add credit!
Author's Note: I proof read this but I am exhausted between college and work so pleaseu ignore typos or mistakes. I might have made Jack OOC but I needed to get this out of my head. For my bestie @josephs-quinns
By the time summer began to fade, neither of you could quite remember where it had gone. After the Fourth of July, life settled into a relentless rhythm of work schedules, nursery preparations, and endless lists that seemed to grow longer by the day. The anticipation of your baby’s arrival filled every corner of the house, leaving little room for you and your husband, Dr. Jack Abbot, to simply be husband and wife.
Much to your dismay, Jack had insisted you begin maternity leave weeks earlier than planned. The long twelve-hour shifts at PTM, once exhausting but familiar, were suddenly behind you. Trading the controlled chaos of the emergency department for quiet days at home had proven more difficult than you’d excpected. Nursing had always given your days purpose and structure. Yet every time you protested, Jack would simply smile, press a hand to your growing belly, and remind you that there was another job waiting for you now—the most important one you’d ever have: becoming a mother.
The excitement had only grown after you learned you were having a little girl. Suddenly, the spare bedroom became a nursery, shopping lists doubled in length, and every conversation seemed to drift back to the daughter you and Jack were so eager to meet.
It was late, the house wrapped in a comfortable silence. For once, Jack wasn’t working. Your due date was only a few days away, though you had a feeling your daughter had other plans. Between the occasional cramps, the relentless pressure in your lower back, and the way your daughter seemed determined to use your ribs as a jungle gym, it felt as though she might decide to make her entrance at any moment.
Jack stepped into the bedroom and immediately noticed the loon on your face. Your features were pinched with discomfort, one hand braced against the small of your back while the other rubbed slow circles over your swollen belly.
He couldn’t help but smile.
“What’s she doing now?” he asked, crossing the room and settling onto the edge of the bed.
As if she heard him, your daughter answered with a sharp kick that made you wince.
“Terrorizing me,” you muttered, shooting your stomach an accusatory look. “She’s running out of room. I swear she’s trying to claw her way out.”
A quiet laugh escaped him as he rested a hand against your belly, waiting to see if she’d offer him the same treatment. “Funny. She always seems much nicer when I’m around.”
“Because she’s already a daddy’s girl,” you sighed, settling father against the headboard.
Jack’s hand moved slowly across your belly, his touch gentle and familiar. The moment he spoke, the relentless kicks seemed to ease, as if your daughter recognized the sound of his voice.
You narrowed your eyes. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Smart girl.”
You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile followed. “She’s not even born yet and she’s already got you wrapped around her finger.”
“Can you blame me?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
Another flutter ripplied beneath his palm, softer this time.
Jack’s expression immediately softened. The teasing disappeared, replaced by the quiet wonder that still crossed his face whenever he felt her moved.
“Not much longer now,” he murmured.
The room fell quiet for a moment, both of you focused on the tiny life nestled beneath his hand. Only a few days remained until you finally got to meet the little girl who had already managed to completely change your world.
You let out a breathless laugh. “Easy for you to say.”
His brows furrwoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You hesitated, picking at the edge of the blanket.
“A few weeks before I went on leave, there was a woman who came into the ER,” you said quietly. “She was in labor. Everything was supposed to be routine until it wasn’t.”
Jack’s expression softened immediately.
You swallowed hard. “I still remember how scared she looked. How scared her hsuband looked. Everybody was moving so fast….” Your hand instinctively tightened over your stomach. “I keep thinking about her.”
The room fell silent.
“I’m the one who has to push her out,” you muttered after a moment. “The closer it gets, the more I keep thinking about everything that can go wrong.”
The admission hung in the air between you.
Jack shifted closer, slipping an arm around your shoulders.
“Hey.”
You looked over at him.
“I know,” he said softly.
You frowned. “You do?”
“Of course I do.” His thumb brushed gently over your shoulder. “You worked in that ER for years. You’ve seen people on some of the worst days of their lives. You know better than most how quickly things can change.”
Your eyes dropped to your lap.
“But that’s exactly why you’re scared,” he continued. “You’ve seen the exceptions. The emergencies. The cases that stuck with you because they went wrong.”
He waited until you looked back at him.
“What you don’t see are the thousands of deliveries that go exactly the wya they’re supposed to.”
You were quiet.
“Every appointment you’ve had has been good. Every scan has been good. Our daughter is healthy. You’re healthy. Your OB isn’t worried.”
His hand settled over yours on your stomach.
“Believe me, if there was something to worry about, you’d know. Neither of us would be able to stop your doctors from talking about it.”
A reluctant smile flickered across your face.
“That’s true.”
“Very true.”
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“I can’t promise labor will be easy,” he said. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt. But I can promise that you’re not walking into it unprepared. You’ve got a great medical team. You’ve got people who know you. And you’ve got me.”
His fingers intertwined with yours.
“I’ll be there the entire time Every contraction. Every complaint. Every time you squeeze my hand hard enough to break a bone, telling me you hate me for getting you pregnant.”
A small laugh escaped you. “And when it’s over?”
His eyes softened. “When it’s over, you’re going to be holding our little girl.”
The thought alone made your chest tighten.
Jack smiled, resting his forehead briefly agaisnt yours. “A few days from now, all of this waiting and worrying is going to be replaced by a tiny human who keeps us both awake at three in the morning.”
The time, your smile came easier.
“There she is,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “That’s the woman I know.”
You leaned against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder.
For the first time all day, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosened just a little.
Jack’s hand drifted lazily over your belly, his thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of your night gown. Beneath his touch, your daughter gave a gentle kick, as if reminding you both she was still there.
“You need some sleep.” he said softly.
You wanted to argue, but the exhaustion sitting heavy in your bones made it difficult. Between the constant discomfort, the endless trips to the bathroom, and your mind’s refusal to stop worrying, a full night’s sleep had become a distant memory.
“I’m not that tired,” you mumbled.
Jack raised an eyebrow.
The look alone made you huff.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“A little?” he repeated, amused.
You rolled your eyes.
Without another word, he helped adjust the mountain of pillows that had somehow become necessary for sleeping. Once he was satisfied, he patted the mattress beside him.
“Lay down,” he instructed gently. “Get comfortable.”
You shifted with a groan, settling onto your side as carefully as your very pregnant body would allow. The moment your head touched the pillow, you realized just how exhausted you truly were.
“There we go,”, Jack murmured.
His hand found your stomach again, rubbing smooth circles over the curve of your belly.
The room was quiet except for the ceiling fan.
“You know,” he said quietly, “ a few days from now, we’re probably going to wish we could get this much sleep.”
A sleepy laugh escaped you. “Speak for yourself.”
His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle.
You snuggled closer, your eyes already growing heavy.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Jack pressed a kiss into your hair.
“I love you too.”
With his hand still resting protectively over you and your daughter, it didn’t take long before sleep finally began to pull you under.
You weren’t sure how long it had taken you to fall asleep, or when Jack had finally drifted off beside you. At some point during the night, the two of you had shifted beneath the blankets, settling into the unconscious search for comfort that came with sleep.
A sudden wet sensation jolted you awake.
Your eyes flew open.
For a moment, you lay perfectly still, disoriented by the darkness and lingering haze of sleep.
Then you felt it again.
Your heart immediately began to race.
“Jack.”
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
Beside you, he stirred.
“Jack.”
This time it was sharper.
He sat up almost instantly, years of being in the army and being an ER doctor made him a light sleeper.
“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”
You pushed yourself upright, staring down at the damp sheets beneath you.
“I think….” You swallowed. “I think my water just broke.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted, suddenly nervous. “I was asleep then I woke up because everything felt wet.”
The baby shifted inside you, earning a hand pressed instinctively against your stomach.
Jack reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.
Your eyes met.
The reality of it hit both of you at the same time.
This was it.
The waiting was over.
Your daughter was on her way.
He glanced down at the soaked sheets before looking back at you. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Your water broke.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The words seemed to settle over the room.
Your water broke.
It was such a simple sentence, yet it changed everything.
Your hand drifted to your stomach as your heart began to pound.
“No, no, no…” you whispered.
Jack's eyebrows shot up. “No?”
You shook your head, tears unexpectedly burning behind your eyes.
“We're not ready.”
A soft smile tugged at his lips as he reached for your hand. “The nursery's done.”
“I know.”
“The car seat's installed.”
“I know.”
“The hospital bag has been sitting by the front door for three weeks."
Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you.
“I know.”
His thumb brushed across your knuckles. “We're ready.”
You swallowed hard.
A few hours ago, you'd been lying awake worrying about labor and everything that could go wrong. Now the moment was here, and somehow that felt even more overwhelming.
Jack seemed to understand.
He moved closer, cupping your face gently. “Hey,”he said softly. "Look at me."
You did.
His eyes were warm, steady, and reassuring.
“You've carried her for nine months. You've taken care of her every single day. You've done everything right.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“You can do this.”
Your lower lip trembled. “What if I can’t?”
His expression immediately softened. “Then I'll remind you that you can.”
Another tear followed the first.
Jack brushed it away with his thumb.
“You're not doing this alone," he said. "Not for a second. I'm going to be right there with you.”
You let out a shaky breath. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The baby shifted beneath your hand, earning a small laugh through your tears.
“Apparently she's ready,” you murmured.
Jack glanced down at your belly and smiled before placing his hand over yours. “Yeah.”
His smile grew softer. “I think she's tired of hearing us talk about her.”
That earned another laugh.
The tension in your chest eased enough for you to breathe again.
“Okay,” you said quietly.
“Okay?”
You nodded. “Okay.”
Jack stood and immediately slipped into doctor mode—not panicked, just focused.
“Let's get you changed out of those wet clothes.”
You watched him move around the room, grabbing your hospital bag from the corner and double-checking things that had already been checked a dozen times.
The sight made your chest ache in the best way.
This was really happening.
In a matter of hours, it wouldn't just be the two of you anymore.
Jack caught you watching him.
“What?”
You smiled. “Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
Your gaze drifted to your stomach before returning to him. “We're going to meet our daughter.”
The words stopped him in his tracks.
For the first time since waking up, his composure cracked.
Emotion flashed across his face, quick but unmistakable.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
He crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, we are.”
And suddenly, for the first time that night, the nerves were accompanied by something stronger.
Excitement.
The next few minutes passed in a blur.
One minute you were sitting on the edge of the bed trying to process the fact that your water had broken, and the next Jack was helping you change into dry clothes while reminding you not to rush.
"Slow down," he said for what felt like the tenth time.
You shot him a look.
"Easy for you to say."
“I’m not the one trying to sprint to the front door nine months pregnant."
“I am not sprinting."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
You ignored him.
A few minutes later, hospital bag in hand, you found yourself standing in the hallway.
The house was quiet.
Still.
For some reason, your feet refused to move.
Jack noticed immediately.
"What's wrong?"
You glanced down the hall. The nursery door was cracked open.
Without a word, you made your way toward it.
Jack followed.
The room was dark except for the soft glow of the nightlight plugged into the wall. Everything was waiting.
The crib. The rocking chair. The stack of books on the shelf. The tiny clothes folded neatly in the dresser.
For months, this room had represented the future.
Now it felt impossibly close.
Your throat tightened.
"The next time we're in here..." you began.
Jack's arm slipped around your waist.
You looked up at him.
"The next time we're in here," he finished softly, "she'll be with us."
Tears immediately filled your eyes.
"Oh, great," you muttered, wiping at them. "Now I'm crying."
"You've got a pretty good excuse."
You laughed weakly.
Jack leaned down and pressed a kiss against your temple. “Ready?”
You took one last look around the room.
The empty crib. The stuffed rabbit sitting patiently in the rocking chair. The blanket folded over the side.
Everything waiting for her.
For your daughter.
A deep breath filled your lungs.
This time when you nodded, you meant it. “Ready.”
The drive to the hospital was strangely quiet.
Not uncomfortable. Just quiet.
The roads were mostly empty at this hour, streetlights casting long stretches of gold across the windshield. You sat with one hand resting on your stomach and the other wrapped around a bottle of water Jack had insisted you bring.
Every few minutes he glanced over. "You okay?"
You nodded.
Three minutes later:
"You okay?"
Another nod.
A minute later:
"Jack."
"What?"
“You asked me that already.”
His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Sorry."
The admission made you smile. "You nervous?"
He laughed softly. "A little."
"A little?"
"Okay, a lot."
That earned a genuine laugh.
"You're an ER doctor."
"Yeah."
"You deal with emergencies every day."
“Yeah."
You watched him for a moment.
“You seem scared.”
His eyes stayed fixed on the road.
"I wouldn't say scared."
You waited.
After a few seconds, he sighed. "We're about to have a daughter."
The words settled warmly in your chest.
His voice softened. "I've wanted this for a long time."
You turned to look at him.
For a moment, he was quiet.
"When I was younger, I always assumed I'd have kids someday." A small smile crossed his face. "I thought there'd be plenty of time."
You knew exactly what he meant.
Life hadn't turned out the way he'd expected.
His late wife had gotten sick, and somewhere between hospital rooms, treatments, and trying to hold everything together, the future he'd imagined had slowly slipped away.
"I stopped thinking about it after a while," he admitted. "Or at least I told myself I did."
Your chest tightened.
Jack glanced over at you before returning his attention to the road. "Then you came along."
A tear immediately burned at the corner of your eye.
His smile grew. "And now here I am, in my fifties, driving to the hospital in the middle of the night because my wife is about to have our daughter."
Emotion thickened his voice just slightly. "I don't think I've ever been happier to be scared."
Your eyes stung.
Jack reached over and found your hand.
"I've wanted to meet her for months," he said softly. "I've imagined what she'll look like. Whether she'll have your eyes or my nose. Whether she'll hate my music and think I'm embarrassing."
You laughed through the tears threatening to spill."She definitely will."
"Yeah, probably."
His thumb brushed across your knuckles.“I just want you both okay.”
You squeezed his fingers. "We will be."
For the first time since leaving the house, some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.
A contraction rolled through your abdomen then. Not terrible. Just stronger than the ones before.
You sucked in a sharp breath.
Jack's head snapped toward you. “You okay?”
You laughed despite yourself.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The doctor."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
The contraction faded. You settled back against the seat.
A few minutes later, the familiar outline of PTMC came into view against the night sky.
Your heart skipped. This was it.
After months of waiting, worrying, planning, and dreaming—you were finally about to meet your daughter.
The moment Jack pulled into the hospital parking lot, everything suddenly felt real.
Not nursery-real.
Not baby-shower-real.
Not "we should probably finish packing the hospital bag" real.
Real.
You stared up at the familiar building as Jack parked the car.
For years, PTMC had simply been where you worked. Tonight, it was where your daughter would be born.
"You okay?" Jack asked quietly.
You nodded.
Then immediately shook your head. "I don't know."
A soft smile touched his lips. "That's probably the most honest answer you've given all night."
Before you could respond, another contraction tightened across your abdomen. Stronger this time.
You closed your eyes and breathed through it.
When it finally passed, Jack was already out of the car and opening your door.
The cool night air hit your face as he helped you out.
"You know," you muttered as you slowly straightened, "I used to walk into this place for twelve-hour shifts without a second thought."
“And?”
You looked up at the building. "I'm terrified."
Jack immediately slipped an arm around your shoulders."You’re not doing this alone, baby.”
Easy for him to say.
Still, you leaned into him as the two of you made your way toward the entrance.
The automatic doors slid open.
Within seconds, a familiar voice rang out.
"No way."
You froze.
Jack groaned.
A nurse from the emergency department looked up from the nurses' station and immediately pointed.
"Oh my God. It's happening."
Within seconds, it seemed like half the department had noticed.
The news spread fast.
A few nurses hurried over.
One of them immediately wrapped you in a careful hug.
"Look at you!"
Another glanced at your stomach.
"Finally. We were starting to think she'd never come out."
You laughed.
Jack sighed dramatically. “This is exactly why I wanted to sneak in.”
"You work here," one of the nurses said. "What did you think was going to happen?"
"You work here too," another added, pointing at you.
That only made everyone laugh harder.
A contraction interrupted before you could answer. Your smile vanished. You grabbed Jack's arm.
Instantly, the teasing stopped.
His hand settled against your back."Okay?"
You nodded through clenched teeth.
A familiar nurse's voice spoke up. "She's definitely in labor."
"No kidding," Jack deadpanned.
The contraction passed.
You let out a shaky breath.
The group immediately shifted from coworkers to professionals.
Within minutes, someone had called Labor and Delivery. Someone from transport appeared with a wheelchair despite your insistence that you could walk.
"Absolutely not," the nurse said.
"I can walk."
"Sure you can."
"I can."
The nurse pointed at your stomach.
"You are carrying an entire human."
You opened your mouth to protest. Then closed it. “Fine.”
"Smart woman." Jack looked entirely too pleased with that outcome.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto Labor and Delivery.
The atmosphere was completely different from the emergency department.
Quieter. Softer. Anticipatory.
You were guided into a labor room while nurses introduced themselves and began asking questions you'd answered a hundred times before.
Name. Date of birth. How far apart were the contractions? When had your water broken?
Through it all, Jack stayed beside you. Never more than a few feet away.
Eventually the room settled. The monitors were in place. The paperwork was done. The nurses stepped out to give you both a moment.
For the first time since arriving, silence returned. You looked around the room.
The hospital bed. The clear bassinet tucked beside the wall. The tiny pink hat folded neatly on a nearby counter with the white blanket.
Your breath caught. Jack followed your gaze. Neither of you said anything for a moment.
Then quietly: “That's for her.”
You nodded. A lump formed in your throat.
In a few hours—or maybe less—that bassinet wouldn't be empty anymore.
Your daughter would be here.
Jack pulled a chair closer and sat beside the bed.
Without a word, he took your hand.
The monitor continued its steady rhythm beside you. For a while, neither of you spoke.
You simply sat there together, listening to the sounds of the floor and feeling the weight of everything that was about to change.
Finally, you looked at him. "Nervous?"
Jack let out a small laugh. "Terrified."
You smiled. "Good."
"Good?"
"If I'm scared, you should be too.”
That earned a genuine laugh. The kind that eased some of the tension sitting between you.
Then his expression softened. He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. A simple gesture.
But one that said everything.
No matter what happened next, you wouldn't face it alone.
The room remained quiet for awhile. The steady beep of the monitor filled the space as Jack sat beside you, his thumb lazily brushing over the back of your hand. You were just beginning to relax when another contraction hit.
This one made you suck in a sharp breath.
Jack immediately straightened. "That one's stronger."
You nodded. “Yeah, a lot stronger.”
The contraction lingered longer than the others had. By the time it eased, you felt slightly breathless.
A knock sounded at the door before one of the Labor and Delivery nurses stepped back inside."How are we doing in here?"
You glanced at Jack. "Tired."
The nurse laughed knowingly.
"Well, unfortunately, I can't fix that part."
She checked the monitor before looking back at you. "Dr. Myers is on the way, but I'd like to see where we're starting if that's okay."
You knew exactly what she meant. A cervical check.
You nodded. "Okay."
A few minutes later, the nurse finished and stepped back.
"Well."
The single word immediately made your stomach drop.
Jack noticed. "What?"
The nurse smiled. It's not bad."
You stared at her. "That's not exactly reassuring."
She laughed. “You're four centimeters and completely effaced.”
You blinked. "Really?"
"Really."
Jack's eyebrows lifted.
For someone who spent his days around medical emergencies, he suddenly looked remarkably proud.
"See?" he said. "You've already done part of the work."
You rolled your eyes. "I hate when you sound optimistic."
"Good thing you married me anyway."
The nurse grinned. “I’ll let you two argue about that.”
After she left, Jack settled back into his chair. "You okay?"
You nodded. For now, you were. Still nervous. Still uncomfortable. But okay.
The reality was finally beginning to sink in. This wasn't a false alarm. You weren't getting sent home. You were having a baby.
Another contraction interrupted the thought.
You squeezed Jack's hand.
Hard.
His eyes widened slightly. "Wow."
"Don't."
"I'm just saying."
"Jack."
He immediately held up his free hand. "Not another word."
The contraction faded.
You leaned back against the pillows and closed your eyes. Exhaustion still clung to you.
It was sometime in the middle of the night—or maybe early morning by now. You weren't entirely sure.
Time felt strange. Minutes stretched. Hours disappeared.
At some point, Jack convinced you to drink water.
Then he convinced you to eat a few crackers.
Then he convinced you to stop apologizing every time you squeezed circulation out of his fingers.
“You know," he said, adjusting the blanket over your legs, "most husbands don't get to watch their wives work this hard."
You opened one eye. "Most husbands are the reason their wives are working this hard."
A laugh burst out of him. A soft smile crossed his face.
"There's my girl."
Another contraction arrived before you could enjoy the victory. This one was different. Your breath caught.
The pressure was stronger. Sharper. You instinctively curled forward.
Jack was immediately on his feet. "Hey."
His hand found yours before you even reached for it. You gripped his fingers tightly as the contraction rolled through you. And kept rolling.
Longer than the others. Stronger.
Your breathing faltered. You squeezed your eyes shut.
Jack stayed close, one hand wrapped around yours while the other rubbed slow circles against your back. "That's it," he murmured softly. "I've got you."
You nodded, unable to speak. The pressure continued to build.
For a moment, frustration and exhaustion crashed into you all at once. Tears slipped free before you could stop them.
Immediately, Jack leaned closer. "Hey, hey."
His voice was gentle. "So good, sweetheart. You're doing so good."
You shook your head weakly. "It hurts." The words came out smaller than you intended.
His expression broke your heart a little. Not because he looked scared. Because he looked helpless. Like if he could take every ounce of pain from you himself, he would do it without hesitation.
"I know," he said quietly.
He brushed a tear from your cheek. “I know.”
The contraction finally began to ease.
You sagged back against the pillows, exhausted. Jack didn't let go of your hand.
Instead, he lifted it and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. A simple gesture. One he'd done a thousand times before. But somehow it felt different now.
More emotional. More meaningful.
Because in a matter of hours, the two of you wouldn't just be husband and wife anymore. You'd be parents.
“Ow.” The sound escaped before you could stop it.
Jack's expression changed instantly. That single word had sounded different. Like something had shifted.
The nurse must have noticed too because she appeared a few moments later.
“Talk to us, baby,” Jack breathed. “tell us what’s going on.”
You took a breath. "They're stronger. They hurt so bad.”
The nurse nodded. "Let's take another look."
Jack remained beside you while the nurse prepared for another exam. You tried to focus on your breathing, but your heart was already racing. The contractions had changed.
You could feel it. Everything felt different now.
The nurse checked your progress while you stared at the ceiling, waiting for some kind of answer.
At first, she didn’t say anything. Then her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Well."
Your stomach immediately dropped.
Jack leaned forward. "What?"
The nurse finished and pulled away, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"That explains why things are feeling more intense."
You looked at her expectantly. "How far am I?”
She glanced between you and Jack. "Take a guess."
You groaned. "Please don't make me guess."
The nurse laughed. "Fair enough."
Your heart pounded.
"You're six centimeters."
For a second, you were convinced you'd heard her wrong. “What?”
"Six centimeters."
You blinked.
"Six?"
"Six." she confirmed.
Jack looked just as surprised. "Already?"
The nurse nodded. "Already."
You stared at the wall for a moment, trying to process it.
Just a little while ago you'd been four centimeters. Now you were six.
Labor wasn't just happening anymore. It was moving. Fast.
A strange mixture of excitement and panic flooded your chest. Six centimeters. You were more than halfway there.
Another contraction began building low in your abdomen, and suddenly the number felt very real. You gripped Jack's hand as it intensified.
He immediately squeezed back. “You're doing great,” he said quietly.
You laughed breathlessly. "I don't feel like I'm doing great."
"Trust me.” he smiled. “You are.”
The contraction finally eased. The nurse adjusted the monitor before looking at both of you.
"My guess?" she said. "You're going to be meeting your daughter sooner rather than later."
The words settled over the room. Neither of you spoke right away. The nurse gave you both a knowing smile before stepping out to update the rest of the team.
As soon as the door closed, silence filled the room again. Your eyes found Jack's. His found yours. For a long moment, neither of you seemed capable of saying anything.
Because suddenly this wasn't some distant event waiting somewhere in the future. It wasn't a countdown on an app. It wasn't another doctor's appointment. It was happening. It was now. Your daughter was on her way.
Jack let out a slow breath and shook his head slightly, almost like he couldn't quite believe it.
"Six centimeters," he murmured.
You nodded. "Six centimeters."
A smile slowly spread across his face. The kind that was equal parts joy, disbelief, and awe. And for the first time all night, neither of you looked nervous. Just a mix of excited and overwhelmed.
The contractions became stronger. Closer together. Sleep became impossible.
At some point the nurses dimmed the lights. At another point, someone convinced you to drink water. Then came another contraction. And another And another.
By early morning, you had completely lost track of time. Another contraction began building, each one becoming more relentless than the previous. The nurse was in and out. So many times that you had lost count.
You gripped Jack's hand and focused on your breathing. The monitor beside the bed continued its steady rhythm.
Then suddenly—A different sound. A sharp beep. The nurse's attention immediately shifted toward the screen.
Your stomach dropped.
Jack noticed it too."What is it?"
The nurse didn't answer right away. Instead, she stepped closer to the monitor. The silence was enough. Every terrible thought you'd spent weeks trying to ignore came rushing back.
The woman from the ER. The fear in her husband's eyes. The way everyone had started moving faster.
Your heart immediately began to race. "What's wrong?" you asked.
The nurse looked over. “Nothing's wrong.”
But she was still watching the screen. Which wasn't exactly comforting.
A second nurse appeared in the doorway. Then a third. Not rushing. Not panicked. Just…there. The sight made your pulse spike anyway.
Jack's hand tightened around yours. “Is she okay? Is our daughter okay?”
Things were a lot easier when it wasn’t happening to you. In the ER, you both could remove yourselves from the situation. It wasn’t personal.
The nurse glanced between you both. "Her heart rate dipped a little during that contraction."
Your entire body went cold.
The nurse immediately continued. "Which can happen."
You stared at her. "Can happen?"
She nodded. "Sometimes labor puts temporary stress on the baby. We watch for it.”
The monitor continued to beep. A few seconds felt like a lifetime.
Then one of the nurses smiled. "There she goes."
Everyone's attention shifted back to the screen. The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The tension evaporated.
The first nurse looked back at you. "See? She's recovering beautifully."
You let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
Beside you, Jack did the exact same thing. He lifted your hand to his mouth to place a soft, reassuring kiss.
The nurse pointed gently toward the monitor. "Strong heartbeat. Strong recovery. She's doing exactly what we want her to do."
Your eyes immediately filled with tears. Not because something was wrong. Because for a few terrifying seconds, you'd thought it might be.
Jack leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead. "She's okay."
You nodded. "She's okay."
You were trying to convince yourself.
The nurse smiled. “She's already keeping all of us on our toes."
That earned a watery laugh from you. “Sounds like my daughter.”
"Definitely our daughter," Jack agreed.
The scare passed, but it left both of you quieter afterward. Every kick. Every heartbeat on the monitor. Every contraction. You noticed all of it.
As the hours passed, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. Another cervical check. Then another.
Until finally—"Nine and a half."
You stared. “What?"
The nurse laughed. "Nine and a half centimeters."
Jack blinked. "Seriously?"
He thought he might be hearing things or hallucinating…..maybe he needed his morning coffee. He wasn't a morning person after all.
"Seriously."
For the first time all day, the finish line felt real.
Not long after, the pressure changed. Heavier. Stronger.
The nurses noticed immediately.
One of them stepped back into the room and took a look at your face. "Feeling pressure?"
You nodded. "A lot of pressure."
The nurse smiled knowingly. "That's what I thought."
Jack straightened beside you.
You pointed at him.
"Don't."
“I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
His mouth twitched. “I was not.”
The nurse laughed. "You two are adorable."
You groaned before rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. “I’ve been in labor for twelve hours. I'm not adorable.”
Jack immediately shook his head. “For the record, you're still beautiful."
You stared at him. "Jack."
"I'm serious."
"I look like I've been hit by a truck."
"You look like the woman who's bringing my baby girl into the world."
The softness in his voice made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed across your hand. "And I think you're beautiful."
Heat crept into your cheeks despite everything. “You are unbelievably biased."
"Absolutely."
A little while later, the nurse checked again. You were getting more irritable each time. Jack could tell, giving your hand a gentle but reassuring squeeze. But then the nurse smiled.
"You're complete."
Ten centimeters. You were finally ready.
And before you knew it, the room became busier. Purposeful. Nurses brought in an infant warmer along with a tray full of tools. They were intimidating to see when you were the one about to give birth.
Your OB, Dr. Myers arrived.
Equipment was checked. The bassinet was moved closer. And before long, it was time.
Time became strange after that. Minutes blurred together. Contractions. Pushing. Breathing. Jack's voice.
The encouragement from the nurses. The pressure. The exhaustion. Part of you wanted everything to stop. But you knew you had to do this.
Every time you opened your eyes, Jack was there. Every single time.
At one point, your forehead rested against his. "I can't."
His eyes immediately met yours."Yes, you can."
"I'm serious, Jack.”
“So am I. You’re so close,” he breathed before kissing your damp forehead. “You’re almost done, baby. You’ve done so good.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. Frustration and exhaustion coming to a head. "I'm tired."
His expression softened. "I know."
His thumb brushed the tear away. "I know, sweetheart."
Then he smiled. The kind of smile that made your heart ache. "She's almost here."
The words settled over you. Your daughter. A real baby girl. A little girl who would call him Dad. A little girl who would call you Mom. Emotion tightened your throat.
For all the years he'd spent convincing himself fatherhood wasn't going to happen...He was only moments away from holding his daughter.
The nurse glanced toward. Dr. Myers. Then back at you.
"One more good push."
The next contraction built quickly. You pushed.
The room erupted with encouragement.
Then suddenly—
"Oh,” Dr. Myers smiled. "Look at that."
“What?” you breathed.
Jack had already looked. His expression changed instantly. Wonder. Pure wonder.
"Oh my God." Emotion cracked his voice.
"What?" you asked louder this time.
The nurse laughed. "She has a lot of hair."
A surprised laugh escaped you. Another push. Another breath. Another.
Then—Relief.
The pressure vanished. And a sound filled the room. Small. Sharp. Beautiful.
A cry. Your daughter's cry.
Everything stopped.
For one perfect second, the world stood still.
The tiny cries filled the room.
Your eyes immediately flooded with tears. "Oh my God."
Jack wasn't any better. He never cried. But today, he did. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at the tiny baby being lifted into the world.
For years he had dreamed about this. Wondered if it would ever happen. And now she was here.
Real. Healthy. Perfect.
A laugh broke through his tears. "That's our girl."
A few moments later, they carefully placed her on your chest. She was crying, obviously shaken up by her transition into the bright, loud world. No longer in her mommy’s warm, safe womb. Warm. Tiny.Perfect. The instant she touched you, everything else disappeared.
There was only her. Your daughter. One impossibly small hand stretched outward. Tiny fingers. Tiny fingernails. Tiny everything.
You stared. Completely overwhelmed. Nine months. Nine months of carrying her. Wondering about her. Dreaming about her.
And now she was here.
"Hi, baby girl,” you whispered.
Jack moved closer. His hand shook slightly as he reached out and touched her back.
Just one finger. Almost like he couldn't believe she was real.
Your eyes lifted to him.
Every dream he'd ever had of becoming a father was written across his face.
"She's beautiful," he whispered. “Just like her mother.”
The little girl shifted against your chest, letting out a tiny sound.
Jack laughed softly through his tears. "She definitely has your eyes.”
You smiled. “And daddy’s nose.”
A nurse smiled from across the room. “Have you decided on a name yet?"
You and Jack exchanged a look. The answer had been decided months ago. Still, saying it out loud suddenly felt monumental. Real.
You looked down at the tiny girl resting against your chest.
A smile touched your lips. "Lainey."
Jack's eyes immediately softened.
"Lainey Abbot,” he repeated. “My beautiful baby girl.”
The name sounded different now.
Not a name on nursery decorations. Not a name whispered during late-night conversations. It belonged to someone. It belonged to her.
You looked down at your daughter. At Lainey.
Jack leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. Then another against yours. His hand settled over both of you. His girls.
A quiet, emotional laugh escaped him. "Welcome to the world, Lainey."
And for the first time since she arrived, your daughter opened her eyes. As if she was saying hello right back.
Tag list: @generation-zero @nyxmoretti @rkentzler9 @robbyxabbot @kidd3ath @purplekitty2019
When a new EMT rolls into the Pitt, Jack can't get over it. He knows her. He just doesn't remember who she is. When the truth is finally revealed, Jack has to reconcile the past with the present.
CW: Fluff, Traumatic background with low detail, eventual smut.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Your eyes tracked the unfamiliar face the moment you walked into the Pitt. The man walking up to the patient with Shen was a new face. Dark hair. Tall. Sharp jawline. Cheekbones that could cut glass. Even as you made your way over to the nurses’ station, you could see his dark eyelashes beneath his protective glasses. You can’t help but observe him as he moves smoothly, calling out orders in a deep but warm voice. He exuded confidence and competence. It reminded you a little of how Jack held himself.
You turn to the nurses and are unsurprised to see them gossiping and watching the newcomer. “New attending?”
Dana nods, “Fresh meat.”
Whitaker appeared at your side. “Doctor Eli Morales. He started yesterday.”
“Former army medic, single, never married, and a dog person,” Princess rattled off like she was reading off a checklist.
“Why do you—ya know what, I know better than to ask,” you laughed to yourself.
Santos came up to your other side and raised her brow. “Don’t tell me that Dr. McSteamy over there has caught your eye, too? Don’t let Abbot see. You should just look longingly into my eyes instead.”
You shoved Trinity, laughing brightly at her playful flirting.
“Wait, she hasn’t noticed yet,” Whitaker said.
“Noticed what?” Javadi joined them.
“The badge reel.” Whitaker grinned.
“Oh, yeah. You like Pokémon, right? It looks like Dr. Morales is also a fan. Maybe you could trade cards or whatever it is you nerds do.” She teased you.
You squinted your eyes when Morales turned, and you spotted his badge reel immediately. It was a freaking Fidough. A Fidough. The cute bread dog. Not even Pikachu.
“You can see her inner nerd clawing to the surface,” Santos whispered to Javadi.
“He’s also got a Pokémon card in his phone case,” Whitaker added. “You’ll never guess which one.”
So far, Whitaker had been the only one to admit to a similar interest in the pocket monster hobby. A hobby you never really mentioned around Jack, except for when he shook his head at your binders when he was helping you move in.
“He’s a hot nerd,” Princess announced dreamily.
“Who’s a hot nerd?” Jack said, appearing before them. “Hey, Chip. You’re in early today. Have you eaten?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back.
Jack eyed you for a moment. “Come to the break room, I packed some of that apple granola shit you mentioned. You can’t go running around in an ambo on an empty stomach.”
His hand settled automatically against your lower back as he steered you toward the break room. Everyone at the nurses’ station exchanged looks.
“Who’s that?” Dr. Morales’s breathy voice asked as he approached the station. Everyone could see how his eyes tracked your form and how his lip twitched at the corner.
--------------------
In the break room, Jack pulled a portable parfait cup from his pack in the fridge and handed it to you.
“Jack, what about you?” You pouted.
“I have another one, and I bought more of that trail mix from Trader Joe’s. I’ll be fine.” Jack assured you, patting your head affectionately.
“Doctor Abbot, I was hoping for a consult on the patient in trauma one.”
Doctor Morales appeared at the break room door, hair perfectly coiffed. His smile was perfectly white and dazzling. There was grey hair at his temples, but otherwise it was thick and dark.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Eli Morales. I’ll be one of the new attending physicians here in the ED.”
His dark brown eyes, framed by dark lashes, were annoyingly captivating. You took his hand for a firm shake. You introduced yourself. “But don’t call me Chip.”
“Sure, but why not?”
“Only he gets to call me that,” you pointed at Jack, but laughed softly as you continued, “Santos will do it no matter what I say, though.”
“Chip?” He asked.
“Nickname. You want to tell me about the case?” Jack interrupted, stepping slightly between the two of you.
“Oh yes! Here I took some photos of the lesion.” Morales lifted his phone.
“No fucking way!” You gasped.
“Chip, what the hell?” Jack startled.
“Is that?” You pointed to the back of his phone, where a Pokémon card sat in the sturdy plastic.
He laughed, full-bodied and delighted. “You know cards? Yeah, it’s exactly what you think it is.”
“And you just walk around with it on your phone?” You took the phone when he handed it to you. “I can’t believe I’m seeing one in person.
“Oh, this is a Pokémon thing,” Jack chuckled. He looked over your shoulder and took in the card. It looked like two bird things doing the heart shape that swans make when they mate. It was cute.
“Jacky, this is like a holy grail card. I’ve wanted one forever.” You exclaimed.
“It’s a piece of cardboard.”
“It’s art!”
“It’s just two birds.”
“They are dragon types.”
“My mistake, two cardboard dragons.”
“Worth more than the teak chairs you bought me.”
“What–”
There was a knock at the door. You all turned to see Princess standing in the doorway. “Your partner is looking for you. Dispatch is calling for an ambo nearby, and you’re the closest.”
“Shit! Okay,” you handed Morales back his phone. “Thank you so much for letting me see it, Doctor.”
“Call me Eli,” he said warmly.
“Eli,” you smiled at him.
“You should head out, Chip,” Jack grumbled.
Immediately, you turn and hug him, “Thanks for the food. I owe you one.”
He pressed a kiss to your hair and then pushed you toward the door. “Go on. Be safe.”
“Sure thing, old man!” You winked, waved goodbye, and then were on your way.
“Come on then, Morales. Tell me about that trauma,” he commanded.
Morales nodded, “She seems nice.”
Jack didn’t reply as he headed out of the break room toward Trauma One, cracking his neck as he walked.
“Hustle up, Morales.”
The younger attending fell into step beside him.
Jack glanced at the ambulance bay doors as he headed in the opposite direction.
-----------------
“I swear to you, I don’t think she’s noticed,” Santos whispered heatedly to Javadi.
“Willing to bet on it, Trini?” Mohan challenged as she walked by.
Santos watched from across the ED as Robby walked up to you and Jack, taking the older man’s attention. Almost as if he was called, Morales appeared at your side, smiling charmingly and standing very close. You took an unconscious step back to lean against Jack’s back. Morales took a step closer.
“I’ll take that bet,” Trini called out to Mohan’s retreating figure.
—----
You were showing Eli pictures on your phone as you chatted about some ‘new release’ happening soon. Jack was far enough away to look like he was doing some charting, but still close enough that he could hear what was said.
“I have a friend who gets me ETBs at MSRP. Otherwise, I buy singles.” You said. Jack’s typing faltered when he realized he didn’t really understand that sentence. But it seemed like Eli did.
“I try to get to a card show once a quarter. Get it out of my system by buying packs to open later, and singles for sets I have planned. I haven’t been to one here yet.” Eli ran a hand through his stupidly perfect and shiny hair.
There is one at the end of May at the convention center. It’s a big one, so if you want to spend a ton there, it's the place to do it. Have any holy grails you’re looking for?”
On and on you went. You were supposed to be here having lunch with him. Instead, Jack was trying to finish up some charts while Eli kept you company. He tried to ignore the ease with which you and the new attending conversed. The man was friendly. Just yesterday, he and Jack had been talking about tennis during a slow night. He’d had fun. It wasn’t hard to like the guy. Morales was smart, experienced, and the same kind of unhinged that Jack was. They both knew the same shortcuts because of their army medic backgrounds. He could count on him during a heavy trauma.
The greatest flaw of Eli Morales was that he took your focus away from Jack.
“Hey, Jacky, the sandwiches will get cold.” You had appeared at his side, gripping his forearm familiarly. When you had time to stop by for lunch, you’d always bring sandwiches from a specific Italian spot you both loved. Then you’d eat it in his car, stepping away from the ED for a moment of calm while you chatted. “Should I just get them? We can eat them in the break room.”
“Sorry, Chip. I’m almost done.” Jack said.
“It’s ok. I’ll grab them from my car. Just meet us in the break room.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, Eli and I were talking about that con I told you about. I’ll have your sandwich ready. Don’t you dare skip your meal.”
Jack’s jaw clenched as he watched you disappear down the hall with Morales. Although silent, his reaction had not gone unnoticed. When he finally left the station to go to the break room, money was exchanging hands in the nurses’ station.
—-----
Jack could see the sweat dripping down the side of your face as the gurney was rolled into the ED. You were performing CPR on the young woman, and had been for the 20 minutes it had taken you to reach the hospital.
“Hey, you can switch. We got this,” Morales was already directing the bed to Trauma 2. “Sweetheart, you can come down.”
Jack buried the green flare in his chest and moved between you and Morales. His hand slid up your back until he squeezed your shoulder. “Chip, kid. You’re past the point of tired. Morales will take over.”
“I fucked up, Jack.” You choked out. “I didn’t see the bracelet. It had fallen off.”
“I know, chipmunk. But you gotta let us take over.” Jack’s voice was calm and low. He circled your waist with his arms. “Lean on me. We’re gonna pull away on three, then Morales will take over. Can you do that?”
You hadn’t stopped compressions. Tears were rolling down your face. Jack wasn’t even sure you could see what you’re doing. He held you close, letting your back press against his chest. In your ear, he spoke, “Chip, baby girl, you have to get out of the way if you want us to fix this.”
You sobbed harder, then finally nodded your head. Your voice was thick and rough, “O-on three.”
“One. Two. Three!” Jack pulled you completely off the bed, holding you up against him as your legs gave out. Morales was working on the patient the moment he had an opening. Jack held you tight and pulled you out of the trauma bay.
After they stabilized the patient, Morales asked Lena where you were. “Don’t worry, Doctor, she’s in excellent hands. Jack took the rest of the night off and is taking her home.”
The handsome doctor nodded, still looking worried, but continued to the next patient.
—------
“Heard the dynamic duo put on a bit of a show last night,” Robby said when he approached the nurses’ station in the morning.
Dana took off her glasses and nodded. “The patient had an allergy to painkillers that they gave her on the way to the hospital. Her allergy bracelet had fallen on the ambulance floor. By the time they figured it out, she was in cardiac arrest. Chips Ahoy was on top of her, doing compressions for nearly 30 minutes. Jack had to pull her off. Like, literally wrap his arms around her and convince her to count down so they could continue once they got her out of the way.”
Robby whistled. “How’s the patient?”
“Stable and upstairs in a room.”
“And they are?” He glanced around.
“Jack took her home and took the rest of the shift off.” Lena chimed in.
“I’m guessing Morales took over as shift lead?”
“Yep,” Santos said. She rolled over to them from behind a computer. “I got called in early. Poor guy. He’s trying so hard.”
“He’s doing great as a new attending,” Robby said, confused.
“No, she means he’s trying so hard to get close to our favorite EMT. Then this happens. Jack swoops in like Superman and takes her home.” McKay said. She had also come in early.
“You think Morales likes her?” Robby ran a hand through his hair.
“I insinuated once, and she laughed it off as if I were the crazy one. To be fair, I’ve heard her say she looks like a potato, so we can’t really trust her judgment on her date-ability.” Santos sighed. “She’s one of those who will never believe it.”
“Who won’t believe what?” Eli asked tiredly.
“Nothing.”
“No one.”
He looked at the group and just shook his head. “Keep your secrets then.”
Dana watched him walk away, “Does he not realize that she doesn’t know?”
Robby rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to know.”
--------------------
“Wanna grab coffee with me after shift? You and Shen have been hyping up that new place so much that it made me curious. I also gotta give you back those fishing poles I borrowed.” Morales said as they both grabbed their things from their lockers.
“Sure, man. Catch anything on your trip?” Jack chatted with him as they walked side by side toward the parking lot.
“Nothing too big. Enough for a few fancy dinners. Those poles came in clutch. Thanks for lending ‘em. I wouldn’t have booked the trip if I’d known mine were damaged in the move.”
It was an easily flowing conversation between two coworkers. Post shift jokes. Random questions. A little bit of complaining about patients.
Then it shifted.
“Jack, can I ask you something?” Morales seemed contemplative. He didn’t look him in the eye and fiddled with a napkin.
Jack knew already. How could he not?
“Is she seeing anybody?”
Jack paused. Furrowed his brow.
“You know, the Pitt’s favorite EMT. Is she single?”
“No.”
Morales blinked. “No, she’s not single?”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “No, she isn’t seeing anyone. And yes, she’s single.”
“Good.” Morales breathed out. Then a bright smile swept across his stupid, perfect teeth.
-------------------------
The first post-shift coffee turned into a weekly thing. Jack didn’t know why he let it happen. Despite his growing unease over Morales’ interest in you, he was exactly the type of guy that Jack got along with.
They’d lost family during and after their tours in the Middle East. They had both gone to the same medical school; he did it ten years before Morales did. They cheered for the same sports teams and kept up with each other intellectually.
But they rarely talked about you. Until Morales asked how you’d met. Jack had told him most of the story, wanting to make it known that his connection to you ran deep.
“You should be proud of her.” Morales took a swig of his beer. “Not a lot of former patients end up doing what she did. She even tracked you down. She wanted to make sure you knew you impacted her life.”
“Yeah,” Jack said quietly, “she’s pretty amazing,”
“I’ve got a patient who just sent me a graduation announcement. First kid in their family to finish college.” He shrugged and glanced at Jack. “Almost brought tears to my eyes. I don’t have kids, but I imagine it’s got to feel like that.”
Jack choked on the comparison. Is that what they thought? He could understand being seen as your mentor.
But a father figure?
Was he really that old?
Morales was only 10 years younger than him. Which still made him older than you.
Jack felt sick as Morales talked more about the kids he had helped and how they showed their appreciation.
You weren’t a kid anymore. He kept reminding himself, even as the doubt trickled in.
-------------------------
It was a late night in the ED. Slow as a snail, and Jack had been staring hard at the screen in front of him, unblinking, for nearly an hour.
Santos, having finally caught up with her charting, went up to him.
“What’s eating at you, boss? Missing our Chips Ahoy while she’s on day shift rotation?” She tried to coax him out of his funk.
Jack sighed. “Be honest with me for a second.”
“So honest they could make me a saint. What’s eating at you?”
“Do you think I give off ‘father figure’ energy?”
Santos blinked. “Uh. No, not really. I mean, you have the stern voice down, but that’s from being in the army. You do too much cool shit, like SWAT and risky procedures, while arguing with Doctor Walsh. It’s more like ‘cool uncle’ energy.”
“Still old though?”
“Age is relative. What are you too old for?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly. But ya know the pharmacists have a nickname for you.”
“Do I want to know–”
“Doctor Daddy.”
“Shut up, Santos.”
“So maybe ‘Daddy figure’ vibes.”
“I’m going to go drown myself in the break room sink.”
-------------------
You were hanging out at the ED on your day off. As crazy as that sounds. But you and Jack had been on alternating shifts for a few weeks and hadn’t been able to hang out as much as you would have liked.
Handover for the night shift had started when Eli pulled you aside. You were waiting for Jack, who was talking to a few residents while pointing at the board.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime, if that’s something you’d be into?” You could tell he was a little nervous. But he was genuine. Annoyingly handsome in his street clothes.
You still looked past him to Jack, who was obviously looking around the ED for you. Your eyes locked. Jack seemed to take in the scene; the proximity between the two of you.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now. Took a bit of time to build up the courage.” Eli diverted your attention. He looked like a puppy waiting for a command. Your eyes glanced towards the nurses’ station. Jack was gone, but everyone was pretending not to be watching.
If you said ‘no,’ then you’d humiliate him. He’d been so nice since he’d started there. He was objectively handsome. And he’d asked you out when Jack never had. You replied, “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”
—------
You sat together on your couch, like you always do on movie nights. You’re both off for the next few days, so you really wanted to milk this time with your favorite person. But the earlier exchange had turned the familiar setting into a minefield.
“Jack, what do you think about Eli?” You asked finally. You both knew you weren’t paying attention to the movie.
Next to you, Jack stiffened. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “He’s a good guy.”
You looked at him expectantly. “Go on. You two have been friendly. Give me the truth.”
Jack sighed, “He’s funny. Smart enough to keep up with you. You guys have that Pokémon thing as a mutual interest. So far, everyone likes him, including our patients.”
“He wants to take me out to dinner in a few days,” you explained.
“I gathered,” Jack said, leaning into the sofa with his arm along the back of it, tilting himself to face you. “He’s annoyingly perfect. I’d say he’s a catch, and he’s been into you for a while now.”
“Oh. I hadn’t really thought of him like that,” you admitted.
“You should give him a chance. He’d be lucky to have you. I also think you’d have fun making all the nurses in the hospital jealous,” he tried to lighten the mood, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” you felt your heart clench at his encouragement. “Princess might shun me.”
The sound of the TV filled the space between them.
“Hey, Chip?” Jack broke the silence.
“Yeah, Jacky?” You turned to him, big eyes looking up at him in the dim light.
“Ya know that shelf of binders. The ones you keep your cards in?” He said, gesturing at one bookcase he had assembled for you. The top shelf was filled with colorful zip binders of various sizes.
“You mean the ones you teased me about because they were ‘neurotically’ organized?” You frowned, but the lilt in your voice told him you weren’t mad.
“I stand by that observation,” he ruffled your hair affectionately. The tension broke. Jack stood and pulled down a dark green binder. “Why does this have my name on it?”
“Wait, no! Give me that!” You jumped up and tried to snatch the binder away from him as he unzipped it.
“It has my name on it!” Jack dodged you and vaulted over the sofa. You both dissolved into manic giggles as you chased him around until finally he collapsed back onto the couch. “I surrender! Jesus, Chip. Is there contraband in here?”
You took the binder and flopped onto the couch next to him, tucked against his side. The awkwardness of earlier had vanished. “If I show you, you can’t make fun of me.”
His arm came around you as he rubbed your shoulder. “I promise to be respectful.”
The boyish smile he gave you made your heart flutter. You averted your eyes and opened the binder. Jack pulled the binder into his lap as he took it all in. He’d seen the cards in some of your other binders, and they were all cute and thematic. One was filled with cute cat-like monsters. Another was filled with various rodents. But this one was filled with fierce dragon-like Pokémon. Some looked like they were made of rocks, while others breathed flames. Jack flipped through the binder, pointing out some of the ones that caught his eye.
“I know you aren’t really into it. But I’m a firm believer that you just haven’t found the kinds you like. So I put this together. I know it’s childish,” you explained.
“You picked all of these for me?”
“I looked for ones you might like. Like these,” you flipped to a page and pointed at the top row. “Geodude and all the evolutions kind of remind me of when you’re in your SWAT uniform. There’s a spread for the legendaries because, well, you’re just that cool.”
Jack flipped through the pages and stopped on a spread. “Who’s Brock?”
“Well, he studies to be a Pokémon doctor.”
Jack smiled. “Alright, what about all these pink ones?”
“Well, Chansey, Blissey, and Audino are basically nurses,” you replied.
“So this whole binder is full of cards that remind you of me?” Jack’s heart melted as he leaned into you, hugging you close.
“Yeah, I actually had to ask Eli for some more stereotypically ‘masculine’ cards because I only keep the cute ones.” Your mention of the other doctor was nonchalant, but you felt Jack stiffen. He pulled away, cleared his throat, and then closed the binder.
“I’m sorry I made jokes about your hobby before. I was being a dick.”
“Yeah, you were. But we can like different things. I wasn’t going to drag you to a card show or anything.” You took the binder and walked it over to a shelf.
“You could.”
“Or if things go well with Eli, we can go together,” you said, not turning back to look at Jack. You didn’t see the pained look on his face. He couldn’t see the wistful look in your eyes.
—-----------
It was so easy to talk to Eli Morales that you sometimes wondered if you shared a brain. You shared opinions on issues. You had the same sense of humor. He was gorgeous in fitted black pants and a dark purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He’d picked you up from your apartment and had the date completely planned. Dinner at a nice restaurant, but not too nice. Eli asked all kinds of questions about you. It was easy for you to do the same with him. He’d reached over and taken your hands a few times, and you’d let him.
The dinner was drawing to a close as you both sipped wine and nibbled on a shared dessert. Hours had passed, and the restaurant was dying down. You laughed as he finished up a story about a dog running loose through your last hospital.
“Oh my god! I have to tell Jack about this,” you breathed out between giggles. You froze, realizing what you said.
That thought wasn’t supposed to come out of your mouth. It was supposed to stay buried in your psyche like all the other little thoughts you’d had tonight.
Jack would love this place.
He wore purple. How did Jack guess?
I should take Jack here one of these days.
You were on a date with a good man. A really good date. But he wasn’t Jack.
Eli blinked slowly and looked away.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring someone else up,” you tried to explain.
“Hey, it’s okay. I get it,” Eli smiled sadly. “He’s important to you.”
“We were having such a nice time.” You dropped your head, annoyed at yourself.
Eli observed you for a moment, shaking his head. “And we still are. I knew when I asked you out. I figured since he said you were single that he wasn’t planning on making a move. I took my shot.”
“What are you saying?”
“You talk about him like he hung the moon and stars for you.”
“Then why ask me out?”
“I didn’t want to have any regrets.” Eli stood, “I’ll go pay off the tab. I’d like to stay friends. Who else am I supposed to be nerdy with?”
You took his hand. “I’m sorry, Eli.”
He leaned down and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t be. Just tell him the truth.”
You watched him walk away.
—----------------------
The light in your living room was on, but Jack was sprawled across your sofa, fast asleep. He’d waited for you like he did when he knew you were pulling a double. You kicked off your heels quietly and walked around to the front. There was a book lying open on his chest. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose.
Carefully, you perched on the edge of the cushion and looked down at him. In sleep, his laugh lines flattened, the furrow in his brow was less prominent, and his jaw was loose, making his teeth just barely visible. He was softness personified. You wanted to crawl into his chest and never leave.
A greying curl was falling forward on his forehead. He felt the featherlight touch of you brushing it back. Blinking awake, Jack stretched and closed the book on his chest.
“Hey, chipmunk,” he said, “how was your date?”
You bit your lip and sighed, “...good.”
Jack nodded, “Okay. Anything else?”
Your eyes roamed over his face. The eyes that had been a vision of comfort for so long were now looking at you with worry.
“Chip?”
You traced a finger up his forearm, averting your eyes from his intense gaze.
“What happened? Did he do something?” He was already on alert. Your hand on his forearm tightened.
You swallow thickly. “He told me I should be honest.”
Jack raised a brow and settled back. “Well, that seems like sound advice.”
“Yeah.”
“If you like him, tell him.” Jack’s voice was low. He was looking down at your hand on his arm. You could practically see him shuttering his feelings. You flipped your hand and entwined it with his.
“Jack, look at me,” you commanded quietly.
He didn’t move.
“Please look at me. Let me be honest with you.”
That caught his attention. Your eyes met. Your voice cracked. “Jack Abbot, it's always been you.”
“What?” Jack stared at you like you’d spoken a different language. But disbelief made way for understanding.
He whispered your name. Your real name, and for once, it felt like a blessing and not a curse.
For the first time, you saw desperation in his eyes. Desperation to understand. To know that your words were real. His eyes dilated and flicked to your lips. You surged forward, holding his face between your hands, and your lips met his in a firm kiss.
Jack didn’t respond. Your stomach dropped, and the icy, cold hand of rejection wrapped around your throat. You tried to pull away. Jack muffled a groan of protest by deepening the kiss. The slide of his lips and tongue made your knees weak. His hands found your waist, pulling you in close. You reached for him in return. Your nails dragged up the nape of his neck and into his cropped curls.
Jack’s strong arms pulled you onto his lap. The feel of his capable hands moving restlessly across your thighs, hips, and waist pulled a moan from your throat. You both came up for air, foreheads pressed tightly together. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing. In the dark of the living room, everything felt a little surreal.
You smiled when you felt his nose brush against yours.
He pulled back just far enough that he could look you in the eyes. “Do you really mean that?”
Your heart filled to bursting at the apprehension in his eyes. “Oh, Jack. I don’t think I’ve ever been more honest than I am now.”
A breathless whimper fell from his lips. His arms tightened around you while his kiss-bitten lips found yours again. Jack moved your arms to loop around his shoulders as he buried his face against your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin. His fingers found the hem of your dress and pushed it up to your waist.
“So soft, sweetheart,” he groaned.
You rocked against him, feeling his hardness through the grey sweats he wore. “I love your hands on me. I love it when you touch me.”
“Yeah?” Jack’s voice broke as you cupped his jaw and pulled him into a kiss, so filthy it left you both grinding against each other.
The heat was building. The desire overflowed. The hem of his t-shirt was found, and it soon fell to the floor.
“Jack,” you moaned, dragging your blunt nails down his chest and to his abs. Meanwhile, he’d pulled the zipper of your dress down your back. Your lips met again as you worked together to push the dress off your arms and let it pool at your waist. Your chest was bare only for a moment before Jack’s hands were on you, followed by the wet heat of his mouth and tongue.
He pressed his face against the swell of your breast, flicking his tongue across the stiff nub as he inhaled against your skin. “You taste so good. Smell so good. Feel so good.”
You rocked against him. “I need you, Jack.”
“Patience, baby.” The words were muffled against your skin. He palmed your ass, slipping his hands under your panties and squeezing your supple cheeks. Jack’s movements guided your rocking against the tent on his lap. You soaked through your panties and left a dark, wet spot on him.
You held his face to your chest, gasping when he brought one hand forward and cupped your wet pussy. Jack cursed, eagerly pushing your panties aside and gliding his fingers through your slick folds. “So wet.”
That strangled admittance had a dizzying effect on both of you. Your hands raked down his chest, fumbled with the tie on his pants, and then delved straight into his underwear. Jack kissed you in the same moment that he thrust two fingers into your welcoming heat, and you wrapped your hands around his cock, thumb grazing his tip.
“Fuck, Chip. Fuck. I haven’t done this in so long. I don’t know if I’m going to last if you touch me like that.” His head was thrown back against the sofa as he let you touch him. You were grinding down on his still fingers as you pulled his cock free from his pants.
“You won’t have to last, Jack. This is only the first night. We’ve got all the time in the world.” The whispered reassurances banished any insecurities that had cropped up. “Lie back and let me do this.”
Jack’s eyes were lazy with lust as they tracked your movements. You stood and stripped your dress and panties off. Then you helped him with his sweats while pressing teasing kisses to his exposed skin. When you came to the end of his leg, you remembered his prosthetic. “Oh, good. It’s already off, so you’ll be comfortable.”
The easy way you’d brushed off the glaring disability in favor of running your tongue up the length of his hard cock would have made him fall in love if he wasn’t already.
“Let me move a bit, then you can come up here, sweetheart,” Jack said. He shifted from leaning against the arm of the sofa to the back, planting his foot on the floor for leverage. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as he took your hand and guided you to straddle him.
You hovered over his thick shaft, rubbing your wet cunt along the length of it while your hands tugged at his hair and you nipped at his lips. The soft whimpers and groans Jack was letting loose were more than you could bear.
Catching his chin, you looked him in the eye. “Look at me, Jack.”
His hazel eyes were a storm of desire and affection. The familiar brow furrow appeared when you reached down and lined up his cock to your slick hole.
“Don’t close your eyes.” The breathy command came out in a deep growl as he suddenly pulled you down and thrust up.
You trembled at the fullness. Neither of you moved. His hands flexed on your hips, holding himself back.
“Kiss me,” you pleaded.
His lust softened, pulling you tighter against him as he leaned back into the sofa. Your torso was flush against his as you started to ride him. But Jack was far from passive. His hips rolled in time with yours while his hand buried itself in your hair, maneuvering you for a soul-deep kiss. You held on tight as you moved like it wasn’t your first time coming together like this. The pleasure built in an accelerating crescendo.
Your hands found purchase on the back of the couch as you rode him in earnest. The slap of damp skin on damp skin was loud in the quiet of your apartment. Jack was thrusting into you from below with quick, pointed strokes. Another flood of wetness wept around his cock as you neared your peak.
“It’s okay. You can cum, sweetheart. I’m barely holding on,” Jack growled into your ear. “Cum for me.”
You fell off the ledge a moment before he followed. Pleasure so overwhelming that you both kissed and sucked and fucked in a sensual dance, stretching your release until you collapsed against each other. You were both sucking in air like you had run a mile.
When the sweat had dried on your skin, and you’d been cuddled up for too long, Jack finally coaxed you to get up. “We should clean up and try to get a few hours of sleep in.”
You stretched like a cat against him, stole a kiss, then finally pulled away from him. You pouted a little at the loss of his heat.
“Fucking hell,” Jack groaned as he propped himself up. His hand was on his lower back.
You couldn’t help but giggle as he grumbled.
“You laughing at me, sweetheart?”
“You’re cute, old man.”
“True, but I’d prefer to be called ‘your man’.”
You shook your head in amusement as you crossed the room, still naked, and grabbed the crutch he kept in your apartment. You lay it within his reach.
“I’ll go start a bath for us. Take your time.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. Jack watched your swaying hips, reaching out for the crutch without a second thought.
==============
Your first day back on the job was standard until your first drop-off, when Jack was there to receive your patient now that he was on shift.
Jack was next to you in the blink of an eye as you followed the usual routine, listing off stats rapid fire as Santos and Princess came up to assist.
When you were done reporting, trauma two was in full swing. You moved out of the way. But not before sharing a long look with Jack. Trinity caught that look and gasped. Only to be scolded by Princess to focus on the intubation.
You stopped by the Pitt at the end of your shift, as usual. But when you walked through the doors, you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, even if they pretended not to be watching. You tried not to let it get to you as you found Jack.
“Is it just me, or is everyone looking at us?” You whispered out of the side of your mouth.
“Not just you,” he murmured, turning away from his tablet. “Give it a couple of minutes, Santos wants to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
“CHIPS AHOY! I cannot believe you chose him over me!” Santos practically slammed into your side, gripping your arm.
“Trini!” you gasped, surprised.
“And not only that, but I owe Whitaker thirty bucks because you two couldn’t hold out for one more week.” Santos pouted.
Whitaker laughed loud enough to make you turn your head. He was waving around a not inconsiderable wad of cash. “I told you that her going on a date with McSteamy would get his ass in gear.”
“Hey! I’m still your attending Whitaker!” Jack scowled.
“Aww, what gave it away?” You whined, turning to Jack.
“You had those ‘fuck me’ eyes earlier. But we confirmed it when Princess caught Jack texting you and calling you ‘baby’,” Santos answered.
“But the most damning? That was when Samira walked in on Jack changing his shirt and saw the scratches and hickies.” Javadi looked embarrassed as she said it.
Your hands covered your face in mortification. Jack looked unbelievably smug. “Yeah, but that could have been from anyone.”
“Nope! Nope! LALALALA. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOU IN BED, ABBOT. I’VE ALREADY PLAGUED MYSELF WITH THE COLLAR!” Santos screeched as she plugged her ears.
Jack looked mortified.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Whitaker sighed. He stepped away, but pivoted back to the two of you. Handing you each a couple of twenty-dollar bills, he smiled. “Thank you, and I’m happy you two figured it out.”
Jack looked at the money, shrugged, then pocketed it.
“On that note, I should head out. I just wanted to check in.” You smiled at Jack, but before you could move, he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.
The look he gave you afterwards and the bright smile that you wore as you walked out weren’t missed by anyone.
summary — loving jack always had a price. you just assumed you’d seen the worst of it.
warnings — 7.1k words. MINORS DNI!! explicit sexual content (unprotected piv sex), divorce, ex-spouses with a major case of unresolved feelings, toxic relationship dynamics, codependency, alcohol use, unexpected pregnancy, discussion of abortion and reproductive choice, crying, emotional distress, also the past relationship details are left vague
author’s note — whipped this up bc i could not stop thinking about this plot 😬 yk i love a gooood angst + this one should be multiple parts!!
If you knew your ex-husband was going to be at the bar, you would have gone straight home. The only point of getting drinks after a shift was to stop being a person who’d had that shift—to sit in a sticky booth with people who’d seen the same bad day and let it dissolve into something cheap—and Jack’s presence anywhere had the effect of making you more yourself, not less; a woman performing being completely okay for an audience of one who’d seen you cry over burnt lasagna on your two-year-anniversary and had the terrible indecency to remember it.
But you didn’t know. Dana had said a few of them were going to the bar after the night shift took over, and you’d heard it would only be a few of them and not done the thinking on who’d be working the night shift—you’d assumed him, because he was always there, always fucking there. So you walked in already loosened, your badge clipped to your waistband, and you were three steps into the warm beery dark before you saw the back of his head in the corner booth.
He was nursing a bourbon he’d probably make last the entire night and he was half-listening to Langdon tell some story, his leg stretched out into the aisle, and he hadn’t seen you yet. You had a second. You could have turned around and texted Dana some bullshit excuse of getting the full eight hours and walked back to the parking lot to go home to your dog and half your bed.
You never did, though. You told yourself afterward it was because the leaving would’ve told the table something. But the truer thing, the one you didn’t want to look at directly, was that an evening without Jack had started to feel like a room with the bulb burned out. You’d gotten that bad.
“There she is,” Dana said, twisting around in the booth, already sliding to make room. “Sit. I saved you the good side. It doesn’t wobble.”
You sat, and the good side put you diagonal from Jack, close enough that his stretched-out leg was a fact you had to arrange your own legs around under the table. He hadn’t acknowledged you yet. He was letting Langdon finish; Jack always let people finish, it was something that made patients trust him and made you, toward the end, want to put a plate through the wall because he’d let you get to the bottom of sentences you’d have killed to be interrupted out of.
But you watched the back of his neck change as his shoulders went from loose to aware. When he turned, his eyes found yours like a bad number on a monitor, faster than he could’ve chosen. For half-a-second, before his face caught up, he looked so completely undefended. Then it was gone and he looked at you like you were weather he'd been told about.
“Huh,” he breathed, picking his bourbon back up. “They let your department fraternize with the help now, or are you slumming?”
“Dana kidnapped me.” You reached over and took the lime off his rim. He’d never once in his life used it—he hated citrus in bourbon—and only got it because Marlene behind the bar had been putting it in each time. Jack had decided somewhere around your wedding that debating her on it was more than what the lime was worth.
You bit it and set the rind into his napkin where it went, where it had always gone.
His eyes tracked you as you did it without any comment. The better half of five years of the lime and he’d never once said anything, only bought you the garnish on his own drink.
“How was your floor?” you asked.
“Slow.” He turned the glass a quarter-turn on the table, an old tell, the thing his hands did when he was trying very hard to keep his words scarce. “Knock on something.”
“But I like watching you suffer,” you drawled.
He huffed at that. “I know.”
That was it. He was good at letting things sit, it was the worst of his habits, the way he could absorb a thing you said and just hold it instead of returning it. Half your sentences to him used to end in a silence you'd eventually have to fill yourself. You'd forgotten how much work it was. You'd forgotten you used to do all the talking and call it conversation.
“You got Kevin this week?” Dana asked from beside you.
Jack, without a beat of hesitation, said, “She’s got Kilo this week.”
Javadi, the new and curious med student in the ER, looked between both of you with furrowed brows. “Sorry. Kevin or Kilo? Is that—are those two dogs?”
“One dog,” you said.
“Yup. One dog,” Jack agreed.
“Then why—” Javadi started.
“His name’s Kilo,” Jack said.
“No, his name’s Kevin.”
Javadi’s head went between you as though she was watching a tennis match. The table laughed because they’d heard this a hundred times and it never stopped being funny to them; the divorced two doing their oldest bit, the one argument that had outlived the marriage that spawned it.
“His papers say Kilo,” Jack said in Javadi’s direction.
Robby, who’d been completely invested in his own drink, said, “And your papers say divorced.”
“And we very much are, thank you,” you said, picking it up before the laugh had finished.
Jack stayed silent then. Robby, he’d have something for. But this was you saying it, easy and completely certain in front of everyone. The leg that had been stretched into your space this entire night drew back slowly, a small retreat nobody at the table except you could’ve felt. He turned the glass a quarter-turn.
You’d done it on purpose. You’d felt the whole night immediately tilting into the warm dangerous fiction of it and you’d reached for the one sentence that would shut it, and you’d swung it at the only person who’d actually feel the blade.
The facts of your divorce were no concern to anyone but the two of you at the table, but you could feel Jack flinch inwardly by the announcement that blanketed it all; that you now lived in separate homes, that the dog was scheduled like a custody hearing; that the word ‘we’ had a tense and it was past. None of it was news. He’d signed the same papers you had in the same flat conference room, with the same pen the mediator kept clicking until you'd wanted to scream. He knew the facts better than anyone. And still you'd watched him wince when you said it out loud.
He'd built a whole life on the difference between a thing being true and a thing being spoken; it was how he ran a trauma bay, how he told a family the worst news in the world in a voice that never broke, how he'd ended your marriage without ever once saying the words that would've made it real, just withdrawing by degrees until you were the one who had to say them for him. He'd made you do that too. He made you do all the saying. And now you'd said this, and he was sitting there absorbing it the way he absorbed everything, quietly, like he'd decided long ago that taking it without a sound was the least of what he had coming.
“Just fucking do it, Jack.”
And he did—finally, finally—push into you with a single long stroke that dragged a sound out of both of you, his coming out through his teeth, and yours into the pillow. His forehead came down between your shoulder blades. He stayed there for a second, breathing, one hand splayed wide over your hip and the other braced into the mattress beside your hips. His weight settled onto the left leg the way it always settled, a decision his body stopped having to make years ago. You could feel him shaking with the effort of not moving yet, of dragging it out, because he always did this, he always made you ask twice.
“Christ,” he breathed into your spine. “You feel—” he started, and let the words die as his teeth gently pressed into the bone at the top of your shoulder. It was then he started to move.
He fucked like he did everything else with his hands; he was methodical, attentive, and so devastingly present. He went in believing there was always a correct rhythm, and he intended to find it just to ruin you with it. He’d learned by repetition until it stopped requiring thought, until he could play you without looking, and the worst part—the one you’d never say out loud—was that it worked. It always worked. He knew the exact angle that made you stop being a person with opinions about him.
That long stroke dragged slow on the way out and snapped deep on the way back in, and your whole body misfired around him whether you’d given it permission to or not.
His palm slid up from your hip to flatten between your shoulder blades and pressed, folding you down into the mattress, taking the choice out of your spine. And the new angle had you gasping into the sheets because he’d done it on purpose; he always did everything on purpose, and now he was hitting that place that made your fingers curl and your thighs shake and a thin embarrassing whine climb out you that you’d have died before making it sober.
Jack felt the exact second your control went and he leaned into it, hips grinding deep and unhurried, holding you right there on the edge of too-much like he was reading everything under your skin.
“That’s it,” he drawled out, his voice low and even, the bastard, like he had all night, like he wasn’t already wrecked behind the voice. “Yeah, I’ve got you.” And he did. He had you exactly where he wanted you and you let him, because no one had ever taken you apart this precisely, this patiently, like your falling apart was the only thing on his list and he intended to do it right.
The dog tags swung forward and dragged close across your back when he leaned over you, then warm when they settled against your skin, and you thought—stupidly, with the part of your brain that should’ve been offline—that you used to fall asleep listening to that chain shift when he breathed. You thought there had been a version of this where afterward he stayed. You shoved that thought down. You arched your back into him instead and he made a punched-out noise, low in his chest, his grip going tight on you to leave the marks.
“Slow down,” he muttered more to himself than you, but he didn’t. His hips stuttered out of their careful rhythm because this was the one place his composure failed; it was the one place where the sealed-up, gallows humor, watching-you-over-the-glass version of him came apart at the seams.
You’d figured this out over the months. This was the only place Jack was honest. He’d never say the things across a table, in daylight, with his clothes on. But here, with his cock buried inside of you and his composure shot, the truth leaked out of him in fragments he wouldn’t be accountable for later.
“Missed this,” he got out, ragged, his mouth at the back of your neck now, words pressed into your hairline like he could bury them in there. “Missed you, fuck. You’ve got no idea, sweetheart, the things I—”
“Don’t.” You didn’t want it. You wanted it so badly your chest ached and that was exactly why you didn’t want it, because you knew what it was worth in the morning, which was nothing, which was a text about whether you’d remembered to walk Kevin. “Jack. Don’t talk. You can’t—” You let out a gasp as he pressed his hips completely flush against yours, chasing you to the hilt, as if he could physically expel the words out of you. “Can’t fuck me into being with you again.”
You felt him falter at the words, just for a beat, the rhythm catching like you’d reached back and put a hand flat on his sternum. He slowed, dragged himself almost all the way out and held there, trembling, his whole weight coming down over your back so his mouth was now at your ear and you could feel everything against the shell of it.
“I know,” he said, words ragged. “I know I can’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
His hand moved around the dip of your waist, and he pulled out of you slow, the loss making you bite down on a sound. Then he was rolling you, one palm flat and insistent on your hip, turning you under him onto your back like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“No—” You got an arm up, forearm against your own eyes, because you knew what he wanted, and you weren’t going to give it to him. The face, the looking. From behind, you could keep it what it was; turned over, you’d have to be there for it. “Jack, leave it. I don’t—”
“Hey.” He held your wrist, thumb working into the soft inside of it where your pulse was going stupid. “C’mon. Move the arm.”
“No.”
“You won’t even—” He let out a low laugh, disbelieving, almost wounded. “You’ll let me do every other thing but you won’t even look at me?”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah.” He went quiet for a moment, and his hand slid up the inside of your thigh, holding you open, patient as anything. He knew exactly what the looking was and exactly why you were hiding from it, and he was going to wait you out. “I know it is. Move the arm anyway.”
He braced over you on his arm, the other hand drawing slow idle circles high on your thigh, his cock notched against you and not pushing in, just there, the threat and promise of him, while he looked down at the arm over your face. You could feel him watching.
So you did move the arm, mostly just to spite him by giving him exactly what he wanted. His face was right there—jaw tight, eyes gone dark and fixed on you like you were the only lit thing in the room—and the second you met it, the slight smugness melted clean down the middle and there was just the wanting underneath, naked and his.
“Thank god,” he breathed before pushing back into you. His eyes tracked your face scrunch up at the familiar—too familiar—pleasure like he’d been starving for exactly this. His hand left your jaw and found your knee, hooking it up higher over his hip. He’d always known your left hip sat wrong, that this was the angle that didn’t ache after; the same way you knew, without ever being told, to take the weight off his right side, the two of you arranging yourselves around each other the way you always had. “Knew you were in there somewhere.”
“Don’t get sentimental, Jack” you said, breathless. “You’ll pull something.”
He huffed a laugh against your jaw. Your hand had gone to his left shoulder and you pressed your thumb into the knot that always sat under the blade after a long shift, working it slow while he moved in you. He groaned low and helpless at the unexpected mercy of it.
“Mouthy,” he managed to say. “Even now.”
“You’re so—so insufferable.”
His mouth found the corner of yours and his hand slid up your ribs so his thumb could catch the underside of your breast exactly where he knew; your back came up off the mattress for him. “You married me anyway. What’s that say about you?”
You got your fingers to his hair and scratched once at the base of his skull, the thing that used to put him to sleep in under five minutes, something you’d done about a thousand times in a bed you no longer shared. You watched his eyes go briefly unfocused with how much his body remembered it meant being safe. You hated that you’d done it.
The easy heat in him went somewhere graver, and his hand came up to cover yours where it rested in his hair. He pinned it there, keeping the touch on him, like he couldn’t bear for you to take it back.
“Why’d you—” His hips stuttered. “Why’d you have to go, huh?”
“Don’t,” you said quickly, and your hand came out of his hair—you made it come down, fighting the pin of his fingers—and you planted your palm against his chest to put an inch back between the two of you. “Don’t talk. Just—shut up. Jack, shut up and—”
He took in a breath, lips still parted like he wanted to talk. You’d expected it. Jack was fabulous at saying everything important while inside you or when he was halfway asleep.
“Yeah.” He nodded shakily. “Yeah. Okay.”
He got an arm under the small of your back and hauled you up into him, and the next stroke was just deep and selfish, like he’d stopped trying to make his point and now was only trying to get somewhere. The slow ruinous tenderness burned off into something with no thought left in it, and your body surged up to meet it—God—yes, this, you could do, this didn’t ask you for anything you’d sworn off. This was just the white-hot animal fact of him and you could be all the way in without losing a single thing.
“There,” he ground out, forehead dropped to yours, both of you breathing into the same inch of air. “There—fuck—there you go.”
Your mind went black. That was the mercy of getting it like this; the part of you that counted the times he’d said your name, that totted up what the morning had cost, went quiet, drowned clean in the simple overwhelming good of him. You grabbed at his back and pulled him in past where there was room and made a strangled noise.
His hand found yours where it was fisted in the sheet and laced through it, knuckles white, pinning it down beside your head—needing the anchor—and you gripped back just as hard. The bed was loud. Neither of you cared. You'd gone past the place where you could have stopped even if the smarter version of you had walked in and ordered it, both of you just chasing the finish now with a kind of grim mutual desperation, like if you got it done fast enough you wouldn't have to deal with what it was.
“Close,” you breathed. “Jack, I’m close—”
“I know. C’mon, let me feel it—” His hand let go of yours and dropped between you, fingers finding you without a second of searching, the muscle-memory of you deathly absolute. “Been thinking about this all night.”
He worked you up to the edge with his face buried in your throat and his hips snapping. The whole thing finally cresting into something neither of you could've talked through if you'd tried.
You went over first, the peak tearing through you with your nails dug into his back and your spine bowed clean off the mattress. He fucked you through every second of it, hips ramming, dragging it up past the point you could stand. And right at the end of yours his rhythm broke and went erratic, deep and grinding and graceless, and you felt the exact moment it caught him.
His arms hooked tighter under the small of your back and hauled you up into him so there was nowhere for him to go but deeper, like the thought of any distance between the two of you right now was a thing he couldn’t tolerate. Your legs wrapped around the backs of his thighs anyway, your heel pressed into the base of his spine.
“Gonna—” His voice came out shredded, into your throat. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna—fuck—”
With a low broken sound, his whole weight crushed down and his hips gave those last helpless grinding pushes, burying himself to the hilt, spilling into you with his face shoved into your neck and his hand fisted in your hair. He continued moving even then, small, greedy rolls of his hips, working himself deeper through the aftershocks, wringing every second out.
“God.” He shuddered out the word against your pulse, hips still flush, seated as deep as he could get. His arms came around you completely—there wasn’t any inch he wasn’t holding—and he stayed there long after he finished, unwilling to give up the last of it. Greedy even now, especially now. Jack would take every second he was handed and a few he wasn’t.
His heart slammed against your ribs. His breath dragged itself slowly back down. For a moment, you let him have it. You let him stay heavy on and inside you, and you stared at the ceiling.
After a minute—because that’s all you could grant him, a mere sixty seconds—you put your palm flat on his chest, over the spot where the dog tags had settled cold against his skin, and you pushed.
He came up on his forearms and he looked down at you. That was the hundredth mistake of the night, letting him be that close to your face with the lights of the street coming through the blinds in stripes across him. He looked at you the way he looked at you in the one place he ever did, like you were something he'd been allowed to hold and was already being asked to set back down, and the wanting in it was so total and so useless that you had to look at his collarbone instead.
Then his fingers came up to your chin, tilting your head up gently to meet his eyes again. “I wish you weren’t so cruel to me in front of people.” he said, voice coming out so rough.
You knew exactly which part of the night he was talking about. He’d carried it the whole way here—through the parking lot, through the drive, through all of this, your body still humming with him—and he’d held onto it the entire time, only to let it out now because now was the only time he could.
“It’s not cruel if it’s true,” you said. “Nobody thought it was cruel.”
“No, nobody thought anything.” He caressed your jaw just slightly, and you stilled under the grazing touch. “I still felt it.”
Maybe it was the hour, or the drinks still thinning in you, or just the unbearable fact of him looking at you. Regardless of what it was, the lid you kept on the old thing slipped, and you didn't get it back down in time.
“Don’t talk to me about cruelty, Jack,” you said quietly, holding his eyes even though you could feel your own burn. You could do it for once, because he was the one that looked like he needed a collarbone to fix his gaze on. “It was your cruelty that did this.”
His thumb stopped at your jaw. And then, instead of the stillness you’d expected, his hand slid back into your hair and his arm came around you and he pulled you in, the whole weight of him bearing down. His face went into your neck.
You froze under him, suddenly hating him all over again for making this harder and harder each time.
“Go home,,” you said, and it came out lower than you’d wanted it to.
He let out a shaky breath against your skin. “I’d like to stay with you for one night. If you asked.”
Your hands came up to his shoulders. You gently pushed. “I’m asking you to go.”
He came up off you slow, by degrees, and the cold rushed into every place he’d just been. He never argued; he only gave you offers where with the condition of you having to ask welded into them. He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to you and reached for his shirt off the floor.
People at the hospital had a word for you and it was ‘difficult.’ You’d made peace with it years ago. What you didn’t have a word for was the tired. You’d been tired before; this had a different grain to it, bone-level and sitting-behind-your eyes. Twice this week the floor had gone soft and far away when you stood up too fast. You’d put a hand on the counter and waited it out and told no one.
You hadn't eaten, either. The granola bar was still in your bag. So when you stood up from the workstation to walk the corrected units down yourself, the room didn't gray at the edges this time. It dropped. The whole thing tilted bright then dim, your hand reached for the counter and missed it by an inch, and the next clear thing was the floor being closer than it should be and a hand hard around your arm.
“Okay—I’ve got you. Sit.” Dana, you recognized. Of course it was Dana; she had a sixth sense for the exact second a person stopped standing upright. She steered you down to a chair before you’d finished falling. “Head down. Between the knees. You’ve told a hundred people to do this—do it.”
“I’m fine,” you said, voice coming out depleted. “I just got up too—”
“Yeah, you’ve been getting up fast a couple times this week.” " Her hand was on the back of your neck, two fingers at your pulse, and she wasn't looking at your face, she was looking at her watch, counting, and the professionalism of it—the way she'd switched you from colleague to patient without asking your permission—made something cold go through you. “When’d you eat, hon?”
“I ate.”
“When?” When you stayed silent, she said, “That’s what I thought.”
She straightened up and you heard her turn. “Hey! Somebody grab Robby. No, he’s not—just grab him.” She turned back to you, and gentler than you wanted, in a way that told you exactly how bad you looked, she said, “We’re gonna put you in a room. Don’t make a face. We’re gonna put you in a room, run some fluids, check a couple things. If it’s nothing—thank god—then it’s nothing, and you can be insufferable about it for weeks. But you went down, sweetheart, and I’m not arguing with you about it.”
You wanted to argue; you wanted to refuse the chair and go back to work instead of occupying a bed at work. But you were so tired. You were tired, and some animal part of you had already known that for two weeks and had been waiting, with a patience that frightened you, for someone to make you stop.
So you let Dana walk you to the room. You let her pull the curtain. You sat on the edge of the gurney in a department you'd worked in for over a decade and let a colleague put a line in your arm, and you stared at the corner of the blood pressure cuff and did not let yourself think the one thought that had started, very quietly, somewhere underneath the tired, to assemble itself, and would not finish assembling until Robby came in twenty minutes later with your labs and a look on his face you couldn't read, and asked you, carefully, like a man stepping onto ice, when your last period was.
You’d seen him tell a people about death with more steadiness than he was managing right now, standing at the foot of your gurney with a tablet he wasn't looking at, asking you about your cycle like the answer was already on the screen and he was just giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.
“Why?” you asked flatly.
“Just humor me. Tell me.”
You told him and he had no reaction, and that was how you knew. Robby’s face had gone completely neutral.
“Okay,” he said, setting the tablet down. “Your labs came back. Everything’s—the anemia’s mild. That’s the lightheadedness and not-eating. We’ll sort that out.” He paused, took a breath in, and the cold thing that had gone through you on the floor came back and sat down in your chest and stayed. “Your hCG’s elevated.”
You felt your body run cold then.
“That’s the pregnancy hormone,” he said gently. He was a teacher before anything, and that reflex was still on, even with you.
“I know what hCG is, Robby,” you said, the words coming out sharp, voice cracking the last word in half. You saw him nod sharply as he decided to ignore it. “I—I know what it is.”
“It’s early,” he said. “Numbers are consistent with early, which means you’ve got time. That’s what I’m saying. You’ve got time to think about whatever you need to think about.” He was being so careful. “I didn’t put it into anything yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”
Early. You’ve got time.
He picked the tablet up—done being a doctor about it now, the official part handled—and leaned a hip against the counter, and his voice changed, going off-duty.
“Hey,” he said. “Congratulations.”
You nodded, your mind already distant.
“You gonna tell Jack?”
Your mind sharpened. For a second, you genuinely didn’t understand the sentence. Your brain refused it wholly, turned it over to look for the trick. There was no way Robby knew—there was no way anybody knew—because you’d been so careful, the whole thing happened in the dark precisely so it wouldn’t seep into the light, so nobody could say a sentence like that. Your stomach dropped through the gurney.
“Huh?”
Robby looked at you, then shrugged. “I just figured, because you two still talk. He’d want to know. Big life thing.” Then, he added softer, misreading your face completely, “I guess it’s really over between the two of you then?”
You felt your breath hitch in your throat. That was what people would think when it got out, that the door has finally shut. They’d think you were getting clear, a baby with somebody new means the Jack-of-it-all was finally done, mercifully done. That you’d moved on and met someone, that you were building a thing past the divorce you survived. This was supposed to be proof of it. The sad civilized arrangement nobody named, ended at last by a life you were starting without him.
Robby had it exactly backwards and he had no way to know it. It was the furthest thing from over. It was likely the most permanent thing that had ever happened to you, and it had Jack’s name and only Jack’s name. The thing Robby believed to be your way out was the thing that could mean there’d never be a way out. Not anymore, if you chose to have this child. Not ever. You’d be tied to Jack Abbot. A year and a half of getting clear by inches.
You realized Robby was still standing there and that he’d asked you something. He was waiting for an answer you didn’t have the throat for.
“Can you give me a minute?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Just—a minute. Please. And don’t put it into anything yet. Just—don’t let anyone know.”
Robby nodded, probably thinking you needed a beat to let the good news settle, to feel something private and large before the world got its hands on it. “Course. I’ll hold the room, keep people out. Take your time.”
His hand found your shoulder on the way past, squeezing, and then the curtain rings scraped along the rod and he was gone.
It all came up at once, fast and without warning. Your hand was flat on the edge of the gurney and you watched it shake, and you made it stop. You could always make your hands stop. What you couldn’t do was make the rest of it stop. The rest of it was the thought you wouldn't think of, thinking itself anyway, and the worst part was the voice it came in, your own, flat, professional, the one you used to walk a frightened patient through their options without ever letting it shake. You could end it. It's early. Numbers consistent with early. You knew exactly how early early was. You knew the window, the way you knew the shelf life of a unit of platelets down to the day. You knew how clean it was, how legal, how completely nobody's business but your own. There was a door. Right now, there was still a door.
There was a door. There was, right now, still a door; it was the realest door, the one that actually led all the way out that would let you walk back into the life where you got clear of Jack Abbot for good and never had to share a child or a custody calendar or a name with him. He would give you Kevin, you knew that. Over would mean over, for good, where in five years you’d be a woman the hospital remembered being married once, to the ER’s night shift attending, you know the one.
You could take that door. It was yours to take. Nobody even had to know.
You sat in the small bright room and made yourself look directly at the door and waited to feel the relief of it, yet it didn’t come. What came instead, rising up under the grief like a second tide, worse than the first, was a thing you had no word for and no right to and could not, would not, look at straight on, was that it was Jack’s.
You wished you could see it as a curse, and somewhere in the last thirty seconds it had turned over in you and come up as something else; a small, traitorous, and warm thing. It was the exact warmth that had locked your ankles around him, the same warmth that had opened the door for him every night. A piece of him you could get to keep, that no amount of divorce could put back in its box. The one version of forever you two were going to get. And a part of you, a part you despised with everything you had, wanted it. More than the baby in the abstract. His, specifically and unforgivably.
You put your hand over your mouth as you felt it all come up, and you cried—the real way, the way you hadn’t since the lawyer’s office. You cried a cry that came up from the root and shook you apart, alone, in a place where you worked, with only a curtain covering you.
You couldn’t have heard the shift change happen on the other side of the curtain. The hospital had kept turning around your little curtained box, that somewhere out there it had ticked over into evening and the day people were handing the floor to the night people. You hadn’t heard any of it.
You hadn’t heard Dana catch him at the board, and she would have—you know she would have tried—put a hand flat on his chest the second she saw which way he was moving. You only heard the curtain rings scrape against the rod.
You looked up—ruined, mid-breath, your hand still pressed over your own mouth with your face holding an expression no one had ever seen you do. And there was Jack with one hand still fisted in the curtain he'd thrown back, stopped dead in the gap of it.
He’d come in braced, almost with the same register he came in when there was a level 1 trauma, except this one was a case of lightheadedness. His sleeves were shoved to his elbow, jaw already set, and he’d walked in expecting to find blood or something else equal to that, a thing he’d be able to clean up and fix. He had a hand half-raised for it, and it stayed there, hovering, for it had nothing to fix.
You knew his face better than your own; there’d never once been a thing he could’ve kept from you, not even when it felt like he was hardly your husband, especially then. You watched the readiness dissipate off of Jack’s face, watched the doctor leave him by degrees until what was left standing was just Jack.
Just Jack had no protocol for this; there was nothing he’d been taught to do with his face when you were crying because you didn’t cry.
He of all people knew so. He’d sat at a conference table with you while a mediator clicked a pen and you signed your name with a hand that was too steady. He’d carried his own boxes down to the truck while you watched from the upstairs window, dry-eyed, because tears would have made it all real and you refused—out of spite, out of the last thing you had—to make it real where he could see.
His mouth opened, and his throat worked around words, any word. When he finally spoke, it was just your name, and it came out cracked down the middle, like a plea and a prayer.
He had no idea. It made you sob slightly louder than you would’ve liked, the realization that he was standing there gutted with fear for you, scared past the edge of himself, and he did not know. Jack could not have known that he was the answer, that you were the answer. If he’d asked you what had happened, the whole truth would have been his name and your own; it would have been the thing you’d done together in the dark a couple dozen times and called nothing.
“I hate you,” you said, because the only thing you’d been capable of doing was throwing up a wall, driving him out with your own two hands. And it didn’t work, because the words had come out between sobs, wet and wrong, the cruelty falling apart on the way out.
He didn’t argue it. He never argued the ones he thought were true. He just took it the same way he’d taken every other blow you’d ever landed, without ever lifting a hand to stop it, as though he’d decided a long time ago this was the least of what he had coming.
Still, something moved through him when the words hit, a flinch, a wince that started behind his eyes and pulled his whole face down with it.
He came the rest of the way to you anyway, and your hand came up between you—far from a hit, there was nothing left in your arm to make one, just the heel of your palm landing against his chest, more sob turned outward than strike. It pushed against nothing. Jack didn’t even rock with it. And then your fingers were curling into the fabric over his sternum instead, gripping when you’d wanted to shove, the same failure of your hands as two weeks ago; pushing him away and hauling him in, your body unable to decide which.
“You—” Another blow, glancing off his chest. “Why did we have—”
“Okay.” He let you continue, letting the first ones land, face stricken and bewildered as he absorbed the blows for a crime he couldn’t name. “Okay. Okay, hey—”
You drew back, and when your hand closed in again, his own came up and closed around your wrist. You could’ve pulled free—he’d left you room for it—but you let him keep holding it there against his chest where you’d been striking him.
“What happened,” he said, words coming out quietly, not even a question. “Whatever it is. Talk to me. What happened?”
He started to move into you, closing the space between you by inches, his other hand coming up to your face, your shoulder, somewhere, anywhere, his whole self trying to fold into your orbit the way it always had. “Just tell me,” he said, closer now, voice dropped lower, into a register it stayed it when it was only the two of you. “Let me—”
“No.” You twisted your wrist in his hand and turned your face away from the one coming toward it. “You can’t just—I won’t let you—”
His forehead had dropped down to hover over your temple, the warmth of him crowding into every place you’d been trying to wall off. “I’m not. I’m not doing anything. I’m just here—let me be here.”
Here. He’d said the word so softly, with so much surety, like it was a small thing to ask, like it had been a place he’d ever once been. The wall you'd been holding with both hands didn't come down so much as it went out from under you, the way the floor had two weeks ago, all at once and without your permission.
You stopped twisting away. You felt him feel the fight going out of your wrist under his fingers and felt the new alertness move through him.
“You want to be here,” you said into his chest, where your fists were still knotted in his shirt, the words coming out muffled aimed at the fabric. Then, through a disbelieving laugh devoid of any humor, you said, “You want to be here?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Fucking—” The laugh that tore out of you was anything but one. “Congratulations, then.” Your forehead pressed down hard against his sternum, your eyes squeezed shut, because you couldn’t say it and knew you were going to anyway. At least you wouldn’t have to watch. “Fuck—You’re gonna be a father.”
Everything that had been moving stopped all at once; the hand at your jaw, the thumb that had been working slow along your wrist, the whole restless warmth of him trying to fold into you went motionless. For a second, he didn’t even breathe.
You forced yourself to look up. You wanted, somewhere mean and small and ten years old, to see it touch Jack. You wanted to finally watch something get all the way through.
You got it, and it was worse than you’d let yourself imagine.
The first thing that fell of was the part that told you he was ready to fix this, fix you. It fell clean off, his brows furrowing in worry, a tell that looked too tiny for something this large.
For a second—less than that, before he could pull the reins on it—something that had no business being there moved under the fear. You knew it because you’d felt the exact same thing only a few minutes ago, alone, the warm traitorous thing rising up under the grief. It was there, on his face—unguarded, naked, wanting—and you watched him catch it. You watched his whole face wilt as he understood, in real time, that he wasn't allowed to feel it, that the wanting was obscene standing next to your wreckage, and you watched him put it away. He got it back behind the wall fast, the way he got everything back behind the wall.
Only his hands gave him up. The one at your jaw had started to shake.
He let out a choked sound, like he was trying to lift the words out of his chest but they kept getting stuck halfway.
“You’re—” He stopped himself and swallowed, not being able to get the back half of a sentence out of his own throat. “We’re—?”
“Yeah.”
His fingers around your wrist pulled it closer to his chest, as if he could press it through his body and into wherever the words wouldn’t come from.
“Let me—” he said, and stopped. Every possible word was too big to get a mouth around. “Just—let me.” His forehead came down against yours, and his eyes shut, and you felt the whole of him shaking now, not just the hand. “Please.”
Summary: You've noticed that Jack's been lifting weights a lot more often recently. Unbeknownst to you, he's been preparing himself for something new he wants to try in the bedroom.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, established relationship, kissing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v and cursing.
Word Count: 569
It started slow at first, Jack had bought a pair of twenty pound and thirty-five pound weights and began using them everyday before and after work. Which seemed a little extreme to you but you didn't think much of it, assuming he wanted to build more muscle. And you definitely weren't complaining, you loved his muscles. But little did you know, he'd been lifting more because he'd been wanting to try fucking you while standing up and even though he was strong enough to lift you, he needed to make sure he could hold you the whole time without his arms getting tired. And after a month or two of building more muscle, he decided to tell you one night while you were cuddling in bed. He started by passionately kissing you, slowly trailing these kisses from your lips to your neck in a way that made you gasp and grasp his hair in your hands, pulling him closer.
He pressed a few light kisses to your chest and looked up at you, his eyes already making you want to say yes to whatever he was about to say, "I wanna try fucking you while I hold you. Is that alright, baby?" he suggested and you were instantly nodding, the idea of that making you wetter than you already were. "Yes." you answered, knowing he preferred your verbal consent over a nod. He grinned up at you and swiftly began to undress you as quickly as he could before he got you ready for his cock with his fingers. And once you'd fallen apart on them and his tongue, he undressed himself and put his prosthetic back on, his heart pounding with excitement while you waited with a needy look in your eyes. In the blink of an eye, Jack scooped you up, your ass now resting in his large hands, and his lips resumed their attack on your own as you lined him up with your entrance.
He slowly slid in, roughly squeezing your ass while you moaned into his mouth. And once you'd adjusted to his length, he started thrusting at a ruthless pace. To see how much stronger Jack had become only turned you on even more, it was so sexy to see him fuck you in this position without a hint of weakness or exhaustion. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder, your soft moans floating up to his ear. He pressed another kiss to your neck, "You like that, baby? You like seein' how strong I got for you?" he muttered through gritted teeth. You weakly nodded, "Yes, feels so good." you babbled, feeling completely overwhelmed by his strength and cock. He sped up a little more, "I'm so close, Jack." you mumbled a few minutes later, everything bringing you closer to the edge much quicker compared to when he fucked you on your bed. He briefly readjusted his hands, leaning back against one of the walls of your bedroom, "Yeah? Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel how good I'm fuckin' you." Jack instructed and within seconds, you came on his cock, your pussy squeezing him in a way that caused his grasp on you to falter for just a second. But he didn't dare to let go. "God, I love this pussy. Fuck, you feel so good." he muttered, his own orgasm washing over him.
working nights in the morgue means you’ve gotten used to being overlooked. quiet ones always are. but dr. jack abbot notices you anyway.
he notices your careful hands, your lowered eyes, the way you fluster when he says your name. and somewhere between late-night charting, fluorescent lights, and exhausted confessions whispered in empty hallways, jack realizes he wants something he probably shouldn’t.
CHAPTER ONE — NINE ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ completed ❪ 18.9k words ❫
⊹ ࣪ ˖ act one follows the reluctant tension-filled evolution of jack abbott and a quiet, anxious morgue tech. it begins with exhaustion, mutual annoyance, and an unfortunate first impression. it ends ( temporarily ) in confessions, broken rules, and hands brushing too long by the trauma bay sink and a single earth shattering kiss. best read in descending order for understanding!
⟢ cold and predictable
⟢ cold storage
⟢ a cold shoulder
⟢ too cold to touch
⟢ cold cut
⟢ caught in the cold
⟢ cold hands
⟢ left out in the cold
⟢ let in from the cold
CHAPTER TEN — NINETEEN ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ongoing ❪ tbd words ❫
⊹ ࣪ ˖ act two follows post-confession. you’ve admitted too much. jack’s heard too much. and yet neither of you knows what to do with the silence that follows. you keep pretending. he keeps showing up. the hospital keeps getting hotter. best read in descending order for understanding!
⟢ heat source
morgue notes - 001
⟢ heat on contact
morgue notes - 002
⟢ after the heat
⟢ heat in your hands
⟢ the sound of heat
morgue notes - 003
⟢ held in heat
⟢ heat flash ( coming soon )
⟢ heat bitten ( coming soon )
morgue notes - 004
⟢ heated words ( coming soon )
morgue notes - 005
⟢ heat of the moment ( coming soon )
morgue notes - 006
morgue notes - 007
morgue notes - 008
˚₊‧ 𐙚 THE APPENDIX ⊹ ࣪ ˖
⊹ ࣪ ˖ NIGHT SHIFT — MORGUE NOTES
˚₊‧ 𐙚 *part one
˚₊‧ 𐙚 part two
˚₊‧ 𐙚 *part three
˚₊‧ 𐙚 *petnames from jack
˚₊‧ 𐙚 *petnames for jack
him and reader are exes but are not over each other. they broke up on good terms but he’s determined to win her back
stranger in you: part 1
summary: years ago, she wanted a sort of connection that jack wasn't ready for. to this day, he feels the deep ache of regret in his chest when he thinks of the night of the breakup. now that they're working at the same hospital, he wonders if forced proximity will allow him to win her back now that she's had years to heal.
content warnings: f!reader/afab, angst galore, happy ending, the cutest dennis whitaker x reader friendship -- SOLELY platonic!!, a lil bit of hucklerobby😄, flashback(s), endless yearning, reader is depressed and it's mentioned like once (but will come up more in later chapters), jack's a bit of a dick in the flashback, age gap (jack is 49, reader is 29 in present day. jack is 47, reader is 27 in flashback), y/n used, NOT proofread
author's note: i fear this may become multiple parts! i LOVE writing angst. part 2 here... -> coming soon!
2 years ago...
"what?" your voice was quiet, louder than a whisper but softer than a typical conversational volume. the disbelief in your tone was clear as day, even to jack, whose stomach lurched when he was forced to repeat the phrase he'd just tossed out mid-argument.
things were heated. snapping tones, biting remarks, your cheeks flushed with the heat of anger. the softness of your small "what?" broke that tension, and jack couldn't tell if that made this worse or better.
"i said," he repeated, "maybe its about time we split up."
your chest hit you with that deep, near-painful ache once again. "i- like, you're breaking up with me? right now?"
he sighed. "i didn't say that, baby-"
"no, you did," you replied. "you just suggested we split up! jack, no way..." your voice trembled with the tears of panic and desperation that were slowly crawling their way up your throat. "no, no, no..."
millions of thoughts ran through your mind. where am i going to live?--with trinity and dennis, maybe? how am i going to cope with my depression? a breakup will surely make it harder... am i going to have to start seeing my therapist again?
"yes, y/n. we're clearly not working out. i don't know how you can't see that."
you took a deep breath. "we were working out just fine, jack, until i asked you a few weeks ago how you felt about marriage. ever since then, you've been really weird."
"i don't want marriage," he muttered tersely.
"yes, jack, i know that now," you bit out through gritted teeth, frustration coursing through your veins. "lets not distract from the fact that you just tried to break up with me!"
before jack could mull the words over in his brain, he spit them out. "not tried to," he corrected. "i did. break up with you, that is."
your face fell, and jack swore to himself at that very moment, that the look on your face would haunt him forever. "you... oh." you swallowed a few times, pushing down the lump in your throat. "have you.. did you lose feelings for me..?" you couldn't help but ask.
jack thought for a moment. did he? he couldn't deny the fact that he loved you, but not enough for marriage, not enough for anything bigger. or maybe he was just scared and wouldn't admit it.
"at some point, yes. i think i did," he replied, making an effort to keep his voice flat and stoic. to not give off any emotion.
"so you don't love me anymore?"
"..." he thought briefly. "i don't think so."
he wouldn't realize how badly he'd lied straight to your face when he said that, not for another 2 months or so.
the tears which immediately pooled in your eyes made him want to take it all back, to reverse the past few weeks if he could. that way, marriage wouldn't come up. he wouldn't've shut down slowly over weeks' time. you would've still been y/n and jack, jack and y/n. the attending and the R1.
that night, so much changed in jack's life.
an hour after the breakup, he had to listen to you on the phone with dennis through your bedroom door, crying to him and asking for a place to stay.
jack knew you and dennis were close. you'd gone to med school together, became best friends, then completed med school at PTMC. you both went on to intern in the ED as R1s and plan to stay for a long time.
"i'm sorry, den," jack heard you sniffle. "i know it's last minute, and with you and trin already in the apartment it'll be crowded but-"
"y/n," he could hear dennis chuckle through the phone. "you're okay. you're not burdening us or anything, if that's what you're thinking. i'll change my sheets for you; you take my bed and i'll take the couch."
2 hours after the breakup, jack had to watch you begin to pack your things. you'd wandered into the kitchen for a brief moment to inform him that you'd take your important stuff with you to dennis' tonight and you'd be back for the rest later that week.
"i'll make sure to text you that i'm coming before i do," you'd muttered. jack felt like he was already losing you; you were treating him like a stranger, and it'd only been mere hours. god, how would you treat him in a week? two? in a month? a year?
"y/n-" he'd started, but you'd already shut the bedroom door behind you. he blinks back the tears that burn his eyes. he's not allowed to cry over losing the best thing in his life, not when it's all his fault.
to be courteous, you left for dennis' once jack was already gone for his night shift at the ED, that way he didn't have to see you leave. you were heartbroken, but not cruel.
you drove to dennis' in silence. no music, no humming, none of jack's talking to keep you sated.
you took a deep sigh. this really was your life now. no jack. no boyfriend. no love. just... you and yourself.
present day...
"dr. y/l/n," robby calls as you pass him. you quickly do a 180, smiling at your attending.
"robby," you greet. "to what do i owe to pleasure?"
he chuckles. "always so theatrical... uh, i need a favor," he cuts straight to the chase, scratching at his scruffy beard.
you arch a brow. "does it concern dennis? because yes, i know that a sock on the door handle means your bus-"
"no, no!" he rubs his face. "y/n, no... god." he chuckles again. "no, i need to ask.. if you'd take a few night shifts.." he mutters the last bit quietly, knowing you'll be upset. because, of course, your first thought is jack.
"robby!" you scowl, arms crossed. "no. absolutely not! you know why i don't do nights."
"yes, i know. but they're short-staffed, i like you, and i trust you most out of all my residents..."
you roll your eyes. "liar. you trust and like dennis the most. why don't you just ask him to take up nights?"
robby sighs. "i mean, you can ask whitaker to take your spot, if being on shift with abbot is really that debilitating-"
"robinavitch! shut up!" you hiss, looking around to make sure nobody heard.
"what? he and i are friends, y/n," robby laughs. "we talk. but anyway, yes, i suppose you can grovel to dennis and ask him to cover for you."
he steps closer so that he can lower his voice. "though--as a friend and not your senior attending--i think it'd be good for you and abbot to have some time near each other."
you swat his chest. "goodbye, michael," you grumble, immediately searching for your huckleberry. "DENNIS!"
it took some convincing, but after offering to pay for all of dennis's drinks at the bar on friday, he was finally moved.
"seriously?" you snort, leant against the counter standing face-to-face with your friend. "those are the terms you agree to?"
he smiles proudly. "yes; since you're paying and i'm not, i can finally drink without a worry at friday bar night," dennis says happily, reaching out to slide your lip gloss further into your scrub top pocket before it falls out.
you giggle. "what a dork you are, den. why did i choose to take you in, hm?
he scoffs, all niceties gone. he swats the back of your head. "take me in, huh? you little shit."
you laugh loudly, knowing he isn't really offended or angry. "oh, huckleberry. i love the fuck out of you."
he shakes his head, biting back a smile. "you're just un-fucking-believable, you know that?- oh, shit.." his face drops, and he moves to stand on the other side of you, as if to block your vision from something.
you frown. "what? what, what is it?" you try to look around him, but he moves with you, keeping your view blocked. "dennis, what?"
you hear dana's voice before you see him.
"oh, dr. jack abbot!" she exclaims from the front desk in her familiar pittsburgh accent. "the one and only adrenaline junkie. what're you doing here during day shift, huh? shouldn't you be with SWAT?"
your pale face looks to dennis, who's already looking down at you sympathetically. "no..."
he nods. "yep..."
trinity, in passing, pats your arm. "keep that head up, sister." instinctively, you lift your chin up a bit. leave it to trinity to make you feel better.
you peek around dennis to see jack, dressed in a casual grey, long-sleeve henley and cargo pants, and your chest aches greatly at how stupidly good he looks.
you watch as he lens against the counter, chatting in a little circle with dana and robby. you used to be a part of that circle, once upon a time. you'd always be leant against jack and/or (usually and) holding his big hand in yours.
then, just to make matters worse, his eyes flicker to you. once. then a second time, as if it hadn't registered in his head before who exactly he was looking at. you hate it, the way his face softens. he doesn't deserve to look at you like that, not when he left you like he did.
"hold on, you guys, i'll be right back," he murmurs to dana and robby, and before you know it he's making his way to you and dennis.
"alright, brother. whitaker! cmon, take this case with me!" robby calls.
your eyes snap to dennis's, heart plummeting to your ass. "no... den-"
he sighs, patting the top of your head sympathetically. "sorry, bud. duty calls."
you frown, chest aching with anxiety as he gloves up and joins robby, leaving you no choice but to face the older man approaching you.
you stand there for a bit, rigid but hands still shaking. he stops a bit in front you, and while you don't meet his gaze, that doesn't mean you can't feel it.
minutes must pass before he speaks. "you look tired."
you scoff. "wow, abbot, what a way to start a conversation."
his heart aches at the way you address him. abbot. not jack, not jackie, not baby or honey or sweetheart. abbot. as if you're merely just colleagues, if even that.
"i'm serious, pumpkin. your under-eyes are so dark. why're your hands so shaky? did you eat breakfast?"
"pumpkin? seriously?" you arch a brow, tone defensive and unimpressed. he knows you loved that stupid name; that and 'sunshine' were always your favorites, next to 'sweet girl' (bonus if it was 'my sweet girl').
his heart clenches even though he knows exactly what you're doing. he knows you were hurt one too many times growing up, that your immediate response to pain and distrust is defensiveness. he doesn't blame you, but it still hurts.
"sorry, old habits."
silence falls over you both once again. he watches you pick at your nails, and his fingers twitch to stop you.
you sigh, wanting any excuse to get away from him. you love him still, but you also hate him. it's a painful game of push-and-pull. "i should probably find a case to hop on," you murmur, reaching for a pair of gloves.
"y/n, wait-"
"gotta go, bye!" you call in a flat tone, deciding to take an incoming GSW wound to get your mind off things.
he runs his hands down his face, staying in that spot you previously occupied, watching you move around the ED like it was your second home.
what-ifs course through his mind as he admires your pretty, pretty self. what if i had been more open about why i opposed marriage? what if i hadn't broken her heart? what if i hadn't let her walk out two years ago? what if she still trusted me, still loved me?"
he's snapped back to reality by the knock of robby's knuckles against his temple. "jesus, man, fuck off," he swats robby's hand away, grumbling.
robby laughs, "grouch. i was just checking the gears were all turning properly in there, cus ya spaced out for a good two minutes. staring at a special, 29 year-old R3..."
jack glared at him, "someone needs to keep a few rolls of duct tape around this damn ED. y'know, for your stupid mouth."
robby shakes his head. "you and her, man. you're both 2 sides of the same coin."
jack scoffs. "meaning?"
"meaning you're still in love with each other but neither of you want to admit it and instead turn to being defensive, snarky, stupid pieces of shit who're scared of vulnerability. so stubborn."
jack gives him a hard, nasty glare. "she's not in love with me."
robby makes a noise, resembling that of a loud "WRONG" buzzer. "she is. i'd know. i catch her in the hall at least, i don't know, 8 times a shift, staring up at that plaque of you on the wall. y'know, from when you--somehow--won attending of the year last year?
jack smacks his arm.
robby laughs before turning serious again. he and jack stare up at the patient board, swaying side-to-side in tandem. until jack stops, because it hits him that you two used to that when you stood together.
"seriously, though, i've already had to call her back into the ED twice, and shift only started a few hours ago. it's like she can't help looking at that photo. maybe it gives her comfort."
"why would she need comfort?" jack spits before realizing how shitty it sounds. he knew you needed comfort for so, so many reasons. your depression being the main one. add that to working in a job where you watch people die by the hour and are expected to just move on. having no close family to talk to.. he knows you need comfort, he used to be the source of it.
he'd never admit to robby how many nights he's lied awake, worried sick about how you're handling your mental health. when you were with him, you stopped needing therapy because his being there was enough. but now that he was gone out of your life, were you seeing your therapist again? he could only hope.
robby shrugs. "she lost a patient today, only 45 minutes into the shift," he explains. "4 year-old girl who died in an MVA. parents lived with a few broken bones, but y/n just couldn't save the kid. she broke down in the break room, then went out to go look at your picture."
jack's insides feel like lead. "no way she went to look at that for comfort," he scoffs, still in denial. "she hates my guts-"
"she doesn't hate you-"
"she so does-"
"jack, for fucks sake, man!" robby snaps, sighing. "that girl is still so in love with you and it amazes me that you can't see it. she feels lost without you. she looks for guidance, even when you're not there. y'know, you're still her wallpaper on her phone. it alternates between some photo of her with whitaker and you, but you're still there, man! your contact still has a heart next to it, and i've seen her thumb hover over the call button whenever she finishes with a hard case.
"but for some reason you're both so painfully stubborn that neither of you can tell how badly you need each other back," he finishes. "and this is me saying this, man. i don't usually do this shit."
jack sighs. "did she ever agree to switching to nights for a bit?"
robby scowls, giving him the don't change the subject look, but indulges him anyway. "no, she didn't. because she was too scared to have you as her attending, let alone interact with you at all. she got whitaker to cover for her instead."
"dammit," jack sighs. his one attempt to get you near without directly asking you, failed. now what?
"you'll have to try something else," robby says. "like, i don't know, actually talking to her instead of talking to her through me. oh, and do it without psychoanalyzing her."
to be continued...
eeek! i hope this is good.. :) i'm hoping to expand this into a series because i really wanna make it a slow burn and i enjoy writing it.
