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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
4.5k
. . .
ten: thirty
. . .
I DON'T NECESSARILY ENJOY BIRTHDAYS. Maybe I should rephrase. I don't necessarily enjoy my birthday. I am a summer baby, so when I was younger, most of my friends were either out of town or on vacation whenever I tried to have a party. Plus, having two dead siblings makes it extremely hard to celebrate anything, really.
Eleven birthdays without Carmen and one now without Silas.
The day before my birthday, I had work. Kiara and Dylan decked out our office with a sign that said 'Happy Birthday' strung up just above the window. A paper chain made out of colorful construction paper crisscrossed on the ceiling as well.
"You didn't have to."
"We wanted to," she hugged me tightly, "You deserve it."
I smiled, "Thank you."
Downstairs, the staff had also thrown a little something together. Day shift lingered just long enough to wish me a happy birthday and grab a slice of cake before funneling out. Parker practically restrained me as our colleagues sang to me. Shen filmed me as I blushed an uncomfortable amount and tried to hide behind my hands. Honestly, that part was one of my least favorite traditions. And that's coming from me.
After being force-fed the vanilla sheet cake, I jokingly told everyone they had patients to see. Hugs were given. A card signed by everyone was placed in my hands while words of encouragement and jokes were tossed around.
Turning thirty was an odd feeling.
I wanted nothing more than to crawl out of my own skin and retreat for the rest of the day.
Luckily, tonight wasn't too strenuous. Mostly unhoused individuals. Louie, one of our frequent flyers, heard it was my birthday and sang to me. His voice serenading me didn't irritate me nearly as much. He was very sweet and complimentary.
"Enjoy your day, Alba Mae."
"Will do."
"Have a drink for me," he chuckled.
"I think you have that covered for both of us, Louie."
Barely two hours into the shift, Jack appeared with an inquisitive look, "How you holding up?"
"Is that a trick question?"
"Shouldn't be," his mouth twitched as his eye narrowed, "You looked a bit overwhelmed in there earlier."
I followed his eye line to the staff lounge, where the decorations still hung up.
"Ever the observer, Doctor Abbot."
"Some would take it as a compliment," he replied, his body now leaning forward on his forearms.
He was on the opposite side of the counter, a little less than arm's distance at this point.
"I don't like being perceived," I half-joked while tugging my cardigan a little tighter around my chest.
"Since when?" Jack asked, disbelieving.
"Since today." I sucked in a sharp breath through my clenched teeth.
My feet pushed the chair I was in away from the desk, and I stood. Crossing the distance between us, I poked a finger into his bicep.
"Who's being nosy now?"
"I can be nosy," he shrugged me off, "I can also be concerned."
It was kinder and softer than I think even he intended. Jack turned to face me, one arm still bearing some of his weight on the counter.
"Stop avoiding the question, Alba."
The way he said my name sounded a little serious. His brows rose, waiting for me to give a smart remark or answer truthfully.
"I am okay," I spoke slowly, "I will be okay."
"Okay."
His face sobered, asking for honesty. I liked it when Jack looked at me; it was fun and caused a lot of things to stir... but I hated it when he peered a little too far.
"I'm surrounded by people who love and care for me and yet—"
I took a second, trying to gather the words to properly express the painful hollowness in my chest.
"I feel undeserving of it. I will be thirty years old tomorrow, and somehow I still feel lost and unsure of my life. I miss my brother. I miss my sister. I miss being able to get out of bed in the morning and my joints not hurting."
Jack chuckled dryly, "That last part only gets worse."
I forced a humourless laugh, my face retreating into my hands for some comfort. My palms ran down the length of my face before falling limply to my side. My contacts blurred slightly under the pressure. I blinked a few times until my vision cleared.
Jack was still looking at me.
"As for the other parts, you're allowed to feel the pain. That being said, they'd want you to enjoy yourself. Be happy."
"I know."
My hands pushed up my sleeves, and I crossed my arms as silence briefly yawned between us. With a lighter heart, I tried to focus on the good.
"Will you be going out with us tomorrow?" I asked.
"Why?"
Jack rose to his full height and mirrored my stance. His eyes peered down at me while keeping his chin up, "So you can get me drunk and take advantage of me?"
I scoffed, "Who knows what a cigarette and alcohol will drive me to do?"
He shook his head. "That wasn't intended to be a challenge."
"I must say, Doctor Abbot," I moved to walk past him, "I have been known to flirt under the influence of tequila."
"That's interesting," his pointer finger tapped at his chin, "You tend to flirt even without the influence of tequila."
"I'm shameless," I shrugged and responded flatly, "What's your excuse?"
"My excuse?" He asked, amused.
"Yeah, you're a flirt too."
"Oh, I don't flirt. That's just my charm."
"Right," I nodded, "Your charm."
"What can I say... I'm irresistible."
I rolled my eyes, and that must have been the reaction he wanted.
"More like irritable."
"You are a very frustrating person," he spoke bluntly but not rudely.
"So I've been told," I smiled, almost proud.
—
The morning of my birthday, I opened my front door to a flower arrangement. I smiled, already knowing who sent it.
Derek hadn't missed a single birthday since coming into my life. Every year, he'd send me a bouquet of lilies accompanied by a card.
This time it read Happy Birthday, Alba Mae. Miss you and love you always, kiddo. Love, Derek.
When Carmen passed, we made a promise with Derek to keep him in our lives. He was family. I honestly couldn't remember a time without him in my life. A secondary sibling I didn't know I needed, much like Jemmie.
We got lucky with him.
Derek has a girlfriend now, and her name is Lizzie. I haven't met her yet, but if Derek likes her, I'm sure she's amazing. They have been together for a little over a year now, and in truth, I was only a little worried the flowers would stop. But that wasn't like him. Derek was and forever will be ingrained in our lives. One last gift bestowed upon us by my sister.
My chest warmed, and a smile split across my lips as I pulled out my phone to text him.
ALBA:
Love you. Miss you. Thank you.
D:
You deserve nothing but the best, Mae. Call me when you can. We need to catch up.
ALBA:
Is now okay?
D:
All yours.
I put him on speakerphone and went about my morning routine. He had adopted a puppy recently, and she was very chaotic and rambunctious. Apparently, she had already torn some of the sofa and broken a few flower pots. I joked with him, saying CiCi was the same way. Except it was a vase shattering on the tile when she turned around too quickly, and the fairy wings she had on clipped it.
He asked me to tell him more about CiCi, my new job, if I was making friends, and how I was liking the apartment he helped me find.
I told him about how CiCi is getting taller and truly developing a personality, "Her heart reminds me of Carmen's."
I told him about work, about Parker, Shen, and Jack. I could hear the smile in my voice.
"I'm building a group of my own. It's small, but they're good people."
"I'm happy for you, kiddo."
I asked him about Lizzie, and he shared as much as he felt comfortable with. Derek knew I wanted him to be happy, but I also knew talking about Lizzie with me might have felt... complicated for him. He loves my sister even still after all these years. He told me a part of him will always belong to her.
I reassured him countless times that she wanted this for him— love, happiness, a prosperous life for him that wasn't haunted by her memory but uplifted by it.
Lizzie was good for him; I could see and hear it in the way his voice and face suddenly looked younger. A spark was coming back. I encouraged him to pursue her, to chase that light, just as long as he promised to still check in.
"Alba Mae, no one could make me stop loving you and your family."
I trust people too fast; it's hurt me one too many times before, but when Derek made a promise to me, I knew he'd keep it.
We chatted for an hour longer about life, about slowly settling into a post-Silas world, and about finding my footing in Pittsburgh. A new chapter, a new start.
"Take care of yourself, Mae."
"I will do my best," I answered truthfully.
"Stay hydrated tonight, have fun, celebrate."
"Sir, yes, sir."
He chuckled, "M'kay, kiddo. Love you."
"Love you too."
When I hung up the phone, silence deafened me. A longing opened up inside, wide and raw. I hadn't realized quite how truly lonely I had been feeling. The apartment seemed too big and empty, too many hidden echoing memories bouncing in my head. I was surrounded by people who loved me, and yet the ones I wanted most weren't here.
My chin turned up to the ceiling, and I released a heavy sigh, "I miss you guys."
No response. Just an honest confession, hoping someone or something somewhere heard it and held onto it for me.
I changed and got ready for the day. My phone buzzed with birthday wishes from new and old friends. I was momentarily thrown off guard when Jack's name appeared on my screen. Why was he calling? I unlocked my car door with one hand while swiping my thumb across my screen to answer.
"Should I be worried?" I asked, very amused.
"Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday," he reasoned casually.
"You know, most people in this day and age just send a quick text," I remarked as I tossed my purse in my passenger's seat.
"I'm horrible at texting," he countered, "Besides, what's so wrong with calling people?"
"Nothing," I hummed, "Younger people fear it, I think cause they didn't grow up with a landline. I don't mind calling; it's easier than having to type everything. Everyone's just more inclined to shoot a text rather than call. It's the new way of the world."
"It's harder to avoid a call if you're persistent enough."
"And who are you persistently calling?" I asked, my brow quirking up.
"My deli guy," he answered blandly, "Anyway, we are getting off topic here."
I set my phone on its stand and started up the car.
"And what topic would you like to be on?"
It came out a little lascivious and teasing. Something in the back of his throat grumbled, and I swear I could hear his eyes roll in his tone, "The topic of this conversation is ending. I regret calling."
"I'm sorry. And no, you don't," I laughed, "Thank you for calling me, Jack. I appreciate it. Seriously. I like hearing your voice."
"I would hope so." He cleared his throat, "I like hearing your voice too."
We sat with the confession for a few seconds. I turned my AC on and buckled up before pulling out of my parking spot.
"See you later tonight, right?"
"Yeah," it was gentle, "And I am expecting a rematch, Ruiz."
"Ahhh," I hummed through a grin, "It will be a brutal loss. I was holding back before, Abbot."
"We'll see," he snickered low and deep.
He redirected the conversation after a bit, asking me where I was.
"In the car heading to see my family," I flicked my turn signal on to go left, "Then grabbing lunch with some friends who can't make it out tonight before heading home to get ready."
"Busy day."
"Very much so," I said, "We are planning on meeting at the bar around 9, if that's not past your bedtime."
"Wow, I expect that talk from Shen... but not from you," he feigned hurt.
"I apologize." A laugh sputtered out of me.
"See you then."
—
Pool balls cracked across red felt tables, and laughter spilled from the cluster of doctors, nurses, and non-work friends who had claimed two pushed-together tables near the back of the pub. It was, in fact, the same bar where Shen had his birthday a few months ago.
My work friends mingled with the people I met through my brother at the VA. It felt odd to have both worlds collide. Jade and Sana, nurses from the VA, pulled me away to take a shot of tequila. The liquid burned, and I hissed as it went down a little unforgivingly.
"That is the last one," I declared after a deep inhale.
"Not by a long shot. This is the pregame, baby." Jade rubbed at my shoulders, "Lots of dancing in your future, we need you loose."
Princess and Perla pulled me aside so we could do a beautiful, albeit slightly off-key, version of Silver Springs together. The karaoke only continued when Claire, Sana, and Jade serenaded me with Super Trooper.
A brief moment of reprieve came when I chugged a small plastic cup of water.
"Didn't know you had those kinds of pipes on you," Jack seemingly emerged from thin air.
Proudly, I bowed at the waist.
"Oh yeah," I cheerfully remarked, "I used to be in a band."
Jack huffed into his drink before taking a sip, not the least bit surprised.
"Of course you were."
His smile only encouraged mine to grow.
"Yup, back in high school. We mostly played covers... I think we tried an original once, but sadly, our star burned too bright and fast."
The green in his eyes looked darker and closer to brown in this lighting. His lashes were heavier tonight, weighed down by alcohol and the late hour, I'm sure.
"We were called the Maraschinos."
"Like the cherry?"
"Exactly."
I drifted closer to him. For a long moment, neither of us says anything. Music started up again, and someone started to sing.
"Wanna come sing? Or dance?"
It came out slow and sweet. My nose scrunched at the playful offer.
Jack shook his head softly. "I'm okay with admiring from afar."
"Do you do that a lot? Admire from afar?"
"Would it bother you if I did?"
The question made my skin grow hot. I formulated what to say back in my head, but the words stuck in my throat. If I were being honest in that moment, I didn't care about whether or not he was watching the party as a whole or me. I was very much distracted by the way his muscles flexed when he crossed his arms over his chest and the way his lips pressed to the rim of his bottle.
I was distracted by the way his eyes dove right into mine as he held my gaze. Something earnest grew between us. For a moment, I considered following the heat that started in my stomach and spread to my chest, but I didn't want to drift too far.
"No," I answered truthfully.
My feet carried me just half a step closer, and Jack inhaled deeply. It had been a while since my space had been invaded to the point of breathlessness. Jack didn't say anything; he just watched me tilt my head to the side, examining him.
"Alba!" A voice shouted from behind us.
Parker had her phone out and pointed at the stage as Shen bounced on his feet. The mic hung loosely in his hand as he prepped for his song. NSYNC blasted through the speakers surrounding the stage.
I turned back to Jack. He cocked his head, mirroring mine.
"I'm being summoned." My thumb jerked over my shoulder to the gathering group.
"Go," he gestured with his bottle, "I'll be here."
His eyes momentarily flicker up and down my body. I self-consciously adjusted the plunging neckline of the bodysuit and waited until his gaze found mine again.
"Keep admiring from afar." A coy smile tugged at my lips.
I pried my eyes open and joined Parker, very much feeling flushed. An arm looped around my shoulders; it was Claire. She sang along with Shen, her beer-occupied hand swaying in the air.
"You're smiling," Claire pointed out knowingly after a few seconds."
"I always smile," I reasoned, willing the warmth to go away.
"This smile is different, though." Her eyes ticked over to the bar briefly. "This is a smitten smile. This is a is-the-cute-greying-doctor-I-spend-every-Wednesday-with-staring-at-my-ass kind of smile."
"No comment." I hummed, doing a piss poor job at hiding my blush.
"See," she poked at my side, smiling smugly.
The blonde pulled me toward her and handed me her drink. She primped my hair and adjusted my bra. She slapped my ass and held up two thumbs.
"Go have fun, sexy."
"Trouble," I playfully scolded as I took a sip and handed her back her drink.
Once Shen finished, Jack and I naturally found each other again. His expression was soft until we started playing our aforementioned rematch game.
Tipsy me began to pull out most of my pool tricks.
Jack was one to stare, yes, but his gaze never wandered. He was very respectful and mindful in that way. However, tonight he watched me. I caught the way his eyes diverted from mine the second I caught him staring at my chest when I bent over to sink a ball into the pocket diagonally for me.
The tips of his ears went red. My lips split into a grin that worsened the pink hue that was crawling up his neck. I kinda loved that I distracted him.
I almost regretted not stretching out the game longer. The sly glances and lighthearted taunting were more intoxicating than any of the alcohol I consumed all night. Brief touches masked as playful chiding were truly the nail in the coffin.
"Over before the game even began, Jack." I offered my mock condolences, "I did warn you."
He bowed his head and let out a self-deprecating laugh, "You did."
I set my cue aside and felt Jack's heat behind me as he did the same. My chin turned toward the ceiling to meet his eyeline. I shifted on my feet and deeply inhaled. I felt lightheaded. The tequila and the closeness make my skin warm. Too warm.
"You put up a fight," I offered, only mildly teasing him.
"Did I?" He laughed.
The air around us is dense, thick with unspoken glances and unlabeled attraction. It descended on us like a bubble into another world. I needed to get some air, to breathe, to cool off from whatever this feeling was.
I should walk away... friends don't invade others' skin like this. I should pretend the feeling isn't there. Shouldn't I? I would if it meant nothing changed... if it meant that this good person that came into my life would stick around, then I would.
Instead, I asked if he wanted to join me outside.
"Lead the way."
Jack's fingers briefly touched my back in a guiding motion. Dangerous. Red flashing lights blinded me behind my eyes. Don't. Don't do that.
I need a cigarette. I need air. I need this heady feeling to leave me alone.
Jack maneuvered his way in front of me and held the front door open. We sidestepped a few people as they passed us.
My hand rummaged through my purse until it found the disposable pink lighter I had thrown in there earlier today.
"Just so you know, I haven't made this a habit. Drunken cigarettes don't count."
I wordlessly told him to hold my lighter as I dug through my purse for the same pack I had on the roof. An 'ahah' fell from my lips when I found it buried near a compact and lipstick.
I held up the carton, hoping that he'd notice that only the one was missing from the lineup. My fingers fished one out and placed it between my lips.
Jack held up the lighter, and it flickered to life.
"Trust me, I'm well aware of the dangers," I mumbled.
"Hey, I'm not one to judge."
When the tip began to smoke and glow, I inhaled.
"Thank you."
We stood in silence for a bit, just enjoying the night air and the other's proximity—neither of us rushing to end the brief moment of quiet.
"Thanks for inviting me tonight," Jack said as he tucked his hands into his front pockets.
"Thanks for coming," I smiled.
I hated the giddiness that he sparked in me... it felt like I was a kid again waiting for my crush to notice me and confirm the feelings are mutual and not just a figment of my imagination.
"Have a good time tonight, okay? Call me if you need anything."
My head turned. "You thinking about heading out already?"
"Yeah, I'm not one for goodbyes," he shrugged, "I much prefer an Irish exit."
I nodded, "Sounds like your speed."
"Figured you deserved a goodbye, though."
"Wow, what an honor."
My eyes brightened. There's that look again between the two of us. The one from before, in the kitchen, in the staff lounge, across the hub, hell, the one from the bar a few minutes ago.
Hazel eyes swam with some sort of emotion I couldn't really pin down. Maybe, if I weren't as tipsy, I would've seen it as infatuation. But, no. It's just... nice. Jack likes to take care of people. He showed up for Shen's party, too. Platonic. Strictly platonic...
Before I could overthink it, I closed the remaining gap between us, leaned up on my tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. Quick and sudden. The stubble against my lips was a pleasant surprise.
Shock. Both on his end and mine. I could feel it in the air like another presence. Fuck. I shouldn't have done that. Why did I do that? Jack stood there, intrigued and delighted, hand brushing his cheek. A slow smile spread across his face, and he simply nodded his head.
"I'm gonna go back in now before I do another impulsive thing." I gestured frantically behind me, turned quickly on my heels, and stomped out my cigarette, "' Kay bye."
I didn't really allow him to do or say anything back. My feet were already carrying me back into the crowd, back into the heat of the bar, and back into the swell of bodies and music.
The night continued in a blur of drinks, dancing that would surely leave me sore in the morning, and drunken conversations shared amongst friends.
I wasn't completely sure how I made it home. Intoxicated Alba had somehow managed to brush her teeth, remove most of her makeup, and strip out of her clothes just to leave them haphazardly tossed on the floor.
Hungover Alba managed to wake up diagonally, sleeping amongst tousled bed sheets. My contacts were dried up and stuck to my headboard, with my phone not quite making it onto my charger.
God, what time was it?
I stretched for my glasses and instantly regretted how fast I was moving. Slow is best. Very slow. Half a water bottle sat on the dresser as well. My free hand reached for it, and I had it down in no time.
With clearer vision, I checked my phone. My battery was red and extremely low. Yup, nine percent. Sounds about right. It was also nine in the morning. I think we managed to get home around two, if I wasn't mistaken.
My body protested my movement, begging to stay in bed just a little longer.
Buzz. Buzz.
JACKASS:
Did you make it out alive? Or should I send out a search party?
A chuckle slipped out from my chapped lips. I instantly regretted it. Slowly, I moved to lie on my back. Disheveled hair gathered around my head and spread out amongst my pillow. I tugged my duvet just below my chin and took a picture. It wasn't flattering by any means, mascara still clung to my lashes and smudged onto my eye bags.
I hit send and attached a quick message, Proof of life.
A response came a few moments later.
JACKASS:
The land of the living humbly welcomes you back, Sleeping Beauty.
ALBA:
I think I need the last rites read to me. I don't think I'm making it out of this one.
JACKASS:
Dramatic. I have a breakfast sandwich and some tea coming your way from a spot I like. Eat it, take a shower, enjoy your time off.
My chest tensed, and I nervously rubbed my feet together.
ALBA:
Jack, you didn't have to do that.
JACKASS:
Wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to.
ALBA:
You do this for all your hungover coworkers or just me?
My eyes crinkled shut, fuck... don't mention the cheek kiss. Don't mention the stupid kiss.
JACKASS:
Just the ones that beat me at pool.
Thank god.
ALBA:
Thank you. You are a lifesaver.
JACKASS:
These hands of mine are healing.
I snorted, "Oh, I'm sure they are capable of more than that."
ALBA:
From your lips to God's ears, Doc. Thank you again. I appreciate you.
JACKASS:
Anytime.
I let my phone drop to the mattress, only slightly relieved he didn't bring up the stupid cheek kiss. It just delayed the inevitable, I suppose, but for now, I let myself enjoy the feeling of being thought of for a little while longer.
For those curious about her
30th birthday record:
#30
( the playlist. )
You Are My Sunshine . . . Jonny Cash
Groovin' . . . The Young Rascals
Make Your Own Kind Of Music . . . Cass Elliot
Brown Eyed Girl . . . Van Morrison
Songbird . . . Fleetwood Mac
Tiny dancer . . . Elton John
Can't Take My Eyes Off of You . . . Ms. Lauryn Hill
You Are The Sunshine Of My Life . . . Stevie Wonder
Just A Little Bit Of Rain . . . Stoney Poneys
As Long as You Follow . . . Fleetwood Mac
Hay Unos Ojos . . . Linda Ronstadt
Heart of Gold . . . Charles Bradley
Dancing In The Street . . . The Mamas and the Papas
Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy . . . The Tams
In My Life. . . The Beatles
previous part. | next part. | masterlist. | pinterest.
( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
6.0k
. . .
nine: five times
. . .
IT STARTED WITH THE LITTLE THINGS. First, it was a to-go cup silently slid across the desk as I charted.
"And what did I do to deserve this unprovoked kindness?" I asked, amusement dripping from my words.
Jack frowned nonchalantly, "Had a few extra minutes before work. I was grabbing a coffee, figured you'd like a tea."
"Hmm," I hummed and used the tip of my pen to push the hanging tea bag up— Earl Grey.
"Plus, I've gotten a few compliments on my hair, so," Jack shrugged.
He took a sip from his own cup before continuing his path elsewhere.
"Who's complementing you?" I asked. It wasn't disbelief, but rather a more delightful intrigue.
"People."
"I see," I marvelled, "Anyone I should be worried about?"
As he walked away, he held out his cup, "All of them."
"Told you I wouldn't interfere with the rugged-grumpy- doctor- silver-fox thing you got going on," I laughed, "I don't take away, I only amplify."
Jack flipped me off, and before I could react further, he was out of my eyeline. My face warmed.
After a few seconds, I took a sip and sighed—a splash of milk and some honey. I'm not sure when or where he learned how I liked making my cup, but he got it spot on. He had a habit of that— being a little too good at peering into others… including me.
I hated him. I'm deciding that now. If for nothing else than coming into my life and incessantly observing every minute detail.
The second time happened by accident. Jack overheard me asking Parker if she could help me hang up some stuff at my place. I needed a second pair of eyes to make sure nothing was off-center or crooked.
"Sorry, babes, I can't. I have an eye doctor appointment, and I gotta get my oil changed before my shift."
"Boo."
"On behalf of my aging eyes and car, we apologise."
She patted my head before leaving to check on a patient. Jack seemed to manifest out of nowhere.
"Apologise for what?" He asked as he used his badge to log onto a computer.
"I asked if she could come over and help me hang some stuff tomorrow before her shift. Sadly, she cannot."
He nodded. A beat of silence passed before he spoke, "I can help."
I eyed him curiously. Was this how he felt when I offered to cut his hair?
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I'm off." He shrugged, casually offering, "I'd like to think I'm pretty handy."
"That would be extremely helpful." I stood and walked toward him. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
His eyes met mine once I was in his line of sight. It shouldn't have made my stomach feel weightless, but it did.
As promised, Jack showed up on Friday. To my surprise, he had a bag of takeout and some beer. He helped me hang up my curtain rod as well as put up the gallery wall near my door. He even reinstalled the lamp I had poorly hung up myself.
Whether we intended to or not, a routine was born. So far, for two weeks straight, Jack had come over one night a week with takeout and a helpful spirit. He fixed the broken shelf in my bathroom and helped me install my Ring doorbell.
During the most recent visit, I had color processing when he arrived. Not an extreme change, just a little more red to highlight undertones that were already there. I don't know if I was imagining things, but he was staring just a little more than he normally did after I washed it, and it had fully dried.
"Got something to say?" I teased.
I made a grabbing motion towards the salsa, and he passed it my way.
"It looks good on you."
"I hope so." I scooped a hearty amount onto my chip.
"Do you dye it often?"
I rocked my flat palm back and forth, "Kinda. Mostly when I was in college, I guess."
I took another bite of my chip.
"I was blonde sophomore year, that was a horrible decision. Then junior year, I went the complete opposite and dyed it dark brown, almost black. Then I mainly just kept it my natural color in grad school. But I remember begging my mom to let me have a blue streak in my hair in middle school, and she let me have it for the summer, but once school started, we dyed it back."
Jack hummed in understanding, "Why the change now?"
"I don't know, turning 30 in a week will do that to you, I guess," I thought for a second, "My therapist would say it's because my life is so chaotic and I struggle with control issues, and my hair is something I solely have control over, and that's why I want to change it. A little deep and psychological for me right now, so whatever—" I waved it off, "I just thought it would be fun."
Some nights, we talked. Other nights, we watch TV together for hours or listen to my extensive record collection. Somehow, we had firmly worked one another into each other's routine. If I thought about it for too long, I'd have to confront the thoughts I had been suppressing for the better part of two months. And I wasn't ready for that talk.
The third time happened on the day from Hell.
Night shifts truly had a way of swallowing time whole.
One minute it was just after midnight, the next I was staring at the clock, wondering how it was already pushing five in the morning. There was barely any time to sit down.
A housing consult turned into a psych hold. That psych hold turned into a family dispute. Then that family dispute turned into a discharge plan that took entirely longer than it should have.
I was updating my chart when Lena's voice cut through the air. We had incoming. A fifty-seven-year-old male, David Vassar, with cardiac arrest, was found unresponsive and en route. Everything began to shift, and people moved faster. Wally and his partner, Anshika, came hurtling through the door with a man motionless on the gurney. Mira was applying chest compressions as they wheeled him into Trauma One.
My eyes found the terrified barefoot woman trailing behind them, eyes wide with panic, still in her pajamas, hair disheveled, with a robe barely hanging on her shoulders.
She shouted, "David— David— Please—"
Her voice broke as she tried to follow behind them. Bridget clocked her just as I did. Quickly, I abandoned my task and rushed over to help.
"Ma'am— ma'am, I need you to come with me, okay?" Bridget guided her gently with a steady hand on the frantic woman's arm.
As she redirected, I came up to her other side. She fought against us when we told her she couldn't go in.
"That is my husband of thirty years. I am not leaving. Do you understand me? I am not leaving!"
I nodded my head, not wanting to aggravate her further, "I understand that. I'm sorry, ma'am. We need to give the doctors space to work... we can stand out here, but I can't let you go in just yet." I told her.
We let her watch from just outside the glass doors, not too far, but close enough that she could see them working. Forcing distance anymore would have made it worse. Her hands gripped onto Bridget and me, bracing herself as they prepped to shock him. She flinched, her knees giving out slightly.
Bridget stroked her hair gently, "We got you, hun. Breathe with us, okay?"
With practiced ease, she told the wife to match her. In, hold, out.
"Do you want to sit?" I asked.
Mrs. Vassar shook her head, "No. No— I need to see."
Minutes stretched, each one agonizingly heavier than the last. I had seen enough codes to notice when the energy in the room shifted to last-ditch efforts. Jack stepped back after his last attempt. His shoulders lowered just a fraction. The room went still. Compressions stopped, and heads bowed.
Mrs. Vassar's breath caught, and her body gave out. We caught her instantly, and a string of nosleft her slack-jawed. She crumbled into us, and we held her tighter. The noises she made sounded all too familiar. They were guttural and broken.
Just as Bridget was whispering something to her, I glanced up and met Jack's eye. Apologetic and exhausted. His lips pressed hard together, and he let the weight of the room settle onto him before turning back to his staff.
"I need to see him." She hiccupped, "Please... I need to tell him I love him. I need him to know I love him."
"Okay," I spoke gently, "Okay. We can do that."
Together, we guided Molly into Trauma One. The urgency in the room was gone, monitors were silenced, and equipment was moved aside. David lay still on the bed, peacefully in a way that looked like he was simply sleeping.
Bridget had a stool waiting for Mrs. Vassar to sit on. She collapsed into it immediately and reached for his hand.
"David." It was small.
Her fingers curled around his, and tears streamed freely down her face. One hand cupped his head, drifting to his cheek. The back of her hand rubbed against his stubble before she leaned down and kissed him gently.
"I'm not ready for this," She whispered, "Oh god."
One by one, the staff filtered out. Giving space and privacy. Jack and I remained. We stood close to one another, his shoulder bumping mine. He held his hands behind his back, looking disciplined and stoic. Mine rang in front of me anxiously.
Jack took a step forward after a minute, "Mrs. Vassar—"
"Molly," She spoke.
He nodded, "Molly."
She looked up, eyes red and searching.
"We did everything we could."
As Jack did his best to explain what happened, I tried my damnedest to ignore the growing buzzing in my ears. My fists opened and closed tightly, my nails leaving half-mooned imprints on my palms.
At some point, I heard Molly mumble a thank you and saw her nod weakly. When he turned, Jack's chin met his chest. As he walked past me, his hand squeezed my arm as I had done for him frequently. Warm, grounding, steady.
I stayed with her. Because this was the ugly part of my job. I wasn't responsible for running codes or pushing medicine... I was in charge of handling the aftermath.
I gave Molly time. Let her cry. Let her talk to him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. There was no rushing this part.
Eventually, I stepped closer when I sensed her winding down.
"Molly," I spoke softly. Glassy eyes met mine. "We're going to need to move David soon."
Her grip tightened on his hand.
"Where?"
"A private area," I explained gently, "From there, you'll have time to decide on next steps."
She shook her head slightly, "I don't know what to do."
"That's okay," I said, "You don't have to decide everything right now."
I crouched slightly beside her, keeping my voice calm and mellow, "Do you have family we can call?"
"My daughter," She whispered, "She's... she's out of town. She lives in Portland."
"Okay. We can call her together if you want."
She nodded faintly, and her shoulders shook. "I was just making coffee."
I squeezed her hand.
"I thought he had gone back to sleep or gotten in the shower. He was fine— then he was on the floor—"
I listened, and sometimes that was more important than trying to fix or offer a solution. When Molly was ready, she held onto my arm as we left the room. It was slow and unsure, like her body didn't quite know how to exist without him beside her. There was no clean ending to a moment like that. No neat transition from one thing to the next. Just... movement and forcing yourself to go through the motions. Because while her world came to a stop in that room, the busyness outside of it was a painful reminder that things kept moving with or without you.
"I don't want him to be alone," She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"He won't be," I reassured her, "He is with good friends of mine. They'll get him cleaned up and ready for you to see him again in a viewing room."
She nodded again. We called her daughter, Scarlet, together. More explaining, more tears, more heartfelt I love yous. Once that was done, we made our way to the dimly lit viewing room. I left her alone with him for the first time. "I'm going to give you some privacy, Molly."
The moment I stepped into the hallway, I exhaled. My shoulders dropped, and I pressed my hand lightly to my chest. Okay. Breathe. You are here. You are strong. Take a second. Breathe—
"Albs."
I turned. Parker was walking towards me, an iPad tucked under her arm.
"Hey," She started slowly, "You okay?"
"Yeah," I ran my hands through my hair, "My body just feels really heavy."
"You handled it really well."
"Thanks, P." I took a beat, then straightened my shoulders. "What do you need?"
She smiled apologetically, "I've got a 21-year-old in room seven. Charlotte Liem. I need you to do a screening on her. I think she might try to hurt herself when she leaves."
"Has she said anything yet?"
"Not much, just withdrawn. Her friend came in with her. She is very concerned."
"Got it."
A small, grateful look crossed Parker's expression, "Thanks, Albs. I owe you a drink."
"Make it ten."
After Molly and Charlotte, the rest of my shift did not let up. My brain was fried, and it felt like I was running on fumes. I checked in with Parker briefly to update her on the assessment, discuss next steps, and make sure a psych consult was in motion.
Then I sat with Molly again, answered all her questions, helped her fill out paperwork, and made sure she understood what to do next.
The moment the door clicked shut, I felt the wave hit. The wave of nausea and exhaustion. The weight of grief and the pain of understanding what she was going through. Everything all at once. My chest tightened.
Maybe my parents were right... It might have been too soon for me to go back to work. To this... helping people when I could barely help myself.
The sisters from a few weeks ago who lost their dad.
Molly.
Charlotte.
The teenager from earlier today is waiting for a CPS.
The elderly patient whose ride hadn't shown up yet.
The single mom of three who couldn't afford her bill.
The discharge plans I had yet to finish documenting.
I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. Don't fall apart. Not here. Not yet. I pushed off my leaning position and kept moving, room to room. Patient to patient. Checking in, giving updates, reassuring, and answering questions. Each one was slowly chipping away at the carefully crafted exterior I was trying so hard to maintain.
At some point, I passed the hub. Caught a glimpse of Jack. Ever the strong anchor in the room.
By the time I circled back to my original cases, my feet ached, my chest pounded, and I was pretty sure I hadn't had food or water in hours. But the work wasn't done, so I wasn't. It never really was, to be honest. Everything just kept rolling.
I continued to move through the floor, holding everything together on sheer will alone, and I realized something. This wasn't just a shitty shift; this was indeed the shift from Hell. Because somewhere between seeing if psych had come down to talk to Charlotte and answering a few more of Molly's questions, I got pulled into another room. Another family, another deep and disruptive type of grief. This one was quieter. More stunned than loud. A father sat rigid in a chair, and a mother clutched her son's jacket.
Twenty-four years old.
I sat with them, explained next steps like I had done tonight already, answered questions that didn't have real answers, and stayed with them until their breathing steadied just enough for me to step out. Across the hall, I saw Parker waiting. Her posture told me everything I needed to know. Another death. Nineteen. Alcohol poisoning. I joined her in the family room to deliver the news. Their son, a freshman in college and their youngest, was dead. It felt like I was watching from a distance, like my body was in the room, but I was watching everything from above. Not completely there. I saw the moment land, when reality hit, and all the air was sucked out of the room.
Parker stayed steady, assuring them they did everything they could. She was good at that part, the levelheadedness and honesty. Of course she was. She always did. When it felt appropriate, I bowed out. There was nothing either of us could say in that moment that would help them grieve, so we excused ourselves and let them soak up their new normal.
I checked on Molly one last time. It was quiet again. Still.
I let her know I was leaving soon and that Kiara would help her with anything leftover. She nodded slowly. She was absorbing and handling everything really well. I didn't linger long, but before I could leave, she spoke, her voice a little stronger, "Thank you, Alba."
"Of course."
"Despite everything that I've been through today, you've been a real angel, honey."
My throat tensed, and I felt tears stinging my eyes. "I'll be thinking of you. Both of you."
"Thank you. For your patience and kindness," the older woman's lip quivered, "I mean it. I do."
I knew she was telling the truth, because I remember being her. Except she was processing everything in real time, allowing herself to ask as many questions as she needed, and overall rolling with the punches thrown in her direction.
didn't speak for like two days after Silas passed. Which was a sharp contrast to Carmen's. I was angry, crying, and screaming. With Silas, I was stuck in the in-between. Completely frozen in what came before and after. It was definitely shock... refusal to believe what had happened and that he was, in fact, gone.
Jennie and Meredith. One for my sister and one for my brother. The two kindest case managers I will literally never forget.
"We won't forget you," Mrs. Vassar whispered through a deep breath, "I'm not sure if you're religious, but I think my David sent you. He and my angels. They knew I'd need someone to help. Not many are as patient... we've spent our fair share of time in hospitals, dear. And you are the first person to have listened to me."
A tear released from my eye, and I quickly batted it away. With the same hand, I pressed my palm to my chest. "That means a great deal to me, Molly."
She drew her lips into a sad smile and stood, "Is it inappropriate of me to ask for a hug?"
"Not at all."
I was drawn into her arms and squeezed tenderly. Maternal hands tapped my shoulders and rocked me gently before pulling away.
"Thank you, dear."
"I wish you the best," I hummed, "I do."
She didn't respond; she just gently pushed a few strands of hair from my face and lifted my chin. "Go get some rest."
When I stepped out, the day shift was mingling with our night crawlers. Fresh scrubs and less tired eyes. I went through handoffs very mechanically— telling Kiara who needed follow-ups, who was waiting on placements, and who still needed to be assessed. While my voice and demeanor remained professional and steady, I was about ready to keel over. Inside, the buzzing and swelling felt slightly out of sync.
My eyes blinked, attempting to regain control over the tunnel vision that began forming. The air was too thin, there were too many people, and the lights were too goddamn bright. Everything was all too much.
I stepped away from the hub, weaving through the chaos like I had done all night, but this time I needed a quiet space. Somewhere I could silence the uncontrollable buzzing.
My chest tightened, and my breathing got choppier. I couldn't breathe. If I could get to the elevator, maybe I could make it to the roof. If I could just get my bearings—
I looked up, and Jack found me. Maybe anyone else would have looked away, but he didn't. I needed to get air.
Quickly, I ducked into the nearest empty family room just beyond the ER doors. The second the door shut behind me, it flooded in all at once. Hard, unforgiving, and ugly. My hands started shaking, and my breath stuttered. Breathe. It wasn't working as quickly as I would have liked.
The buzzing intensified, and the walls felt closer, suffocating.
Knock, knock.
Then the door opened before I could respond. Jack stepped in. Quiet and steady. He didn't say anything; he just locked the door behind him. He leaned his body against it, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me. Not crowding or rushing, just a reassuring presence. Safe.
Something in me snapped, and I broke. Tears rolled down my face, and I began speaking in fragmented thoughts.
"I can't— I can't. I shouldn't have come back. I knew it would be hard... I just didn't think—"
My voice cracked. Jack didn't interrupt once. He just let me get the frustration out. I could feel myself getting hot, so I raised my arms and let them rest on my head. I lamented about everyone, all the death, all the grief, all the aches, and pains. Loved ones forced to go too soon and too unexpectedly.
"It's just not fair." My voice shook, "It's never fair."
I felt hollow, empty, and numb. I needed sleep. God, I needed sleep. Eventually, my breathing evened out, the buzzing faded, and the room came back into focus. I wiped at my face, not embarrassed but frustrated that he saw me like this for a second time.
"I swear I am a professional," I joked wryly.
I composed myself as best as I could. Then, finally looked up. Jack was still there, his posture soft and eyes kind.
I stepped towards him without thinking really, and wrapped my arms around his middle. I nuzzled my head once against his chest. It took a second, but I felt his arms hug me back— protective and secure. I exhaled.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't", it came out low and even.
I could feel it vibrate in his chest, "Never apologize for feeling for your patients."
I nodded my head. We stayed like that for a moment longer. Quiet and anchored in one anothers presents. I forced myself to step back. Jack smoothed a hand over the back of my head. It was easy, intimate. Intense hazel eyes pinned me to the floor.
"Ready?"
I took a breath, "Yeah."
Jack unlocked the door first, stepped out to check the hallway, then moved aside. I followed back into the noise and hum of the ER.
I'm pretty sure I got home that night on autopilot. I barely had enough energy to kick off my shoes in the doorway before dragging myself to bed. My phone buzzed. Parker.
PARKER:
You okay? I didn't see you leave?
I smiled faintly, tiredly.
ALBA:
Yes. Thanks for checking in. Just decompressing. Going straight to bed.
A few seconds and three dots later, her response came through.
PARKER:
Proud of you
ALBA:
I should get depressed more often if I get compliments like this
PARKER:
Go to bed, weirdo
ALBA:
Kay, you too
I set my phone down and collapsed into my comforter. Tired eyes were relieved once I took out my contacts and set them on my nightstand. Exhaustion quickly to hold.
Knock. Knock. Disant and faint. I blinked, very disoriented. My Ring app didn't go off... fuck, that's right, it died. I need to charge that. I reached for my glasses and forced myself up. My feet dragged to the door, and I begrudgingly opened it.
No one was there. Just a plastic bag sitting neatly on the ground. I frowned and picked it up. A DoorDash receipt taped on the outside, they must have dropped it off at the wrong— I stopped. The name on the order was Jack.
My heart tensed. I carried it inside, set it on the counter, and opened it slowly. A Diet Coke, a pint of chocolate and cherry ice cream, and Oreos.
I laughed, tired and stunned. This fucker was about to make me cry. I grabbed my phone and texted him quickly.
ALBA:
You shouldn't have, but thank you.
I grabbed a spoon and the rest of my goodies and went back into my room. By the time I sat down and crossed my legs, my phone buzzed.
JACKASS:
Anytime.
I hummed; the warmth of being remembered flooded my chest. I'm not sure how or why, but it felt nice to be seen and taken care of by him.
Then, for some reason unbeknownst to me... I felt the need to do the same. The fourth time I noticed was a few days later.
Like most doctors, Jack had a habit of running around and not eating. The first portion of our shift was busy; the day shift had their hands full, so the night crew was in charge of organizing their mess. It slowly began to wind down around 3 am, and the first round of caffeine in everyone's system faded away. Ellis and I noted the shift in his demeanor, a little grumpier than usual. I had attempted to offer him half my orange in passing, but he politely declined before ducking into another patient's room.
Bridget tried to pawn off a protein bar on the stubborn doctor yet again, less than an hour later, but he said he was okay.
After a few more attempts, I said fuck it and went upstairs to my office. I grabbed the turkey sandwich I had made earlier and went back down to the ER. Jack was running low on his cup of coffee, and when he went back into the breakroom to refill, I took the opportunity to corner him.
"Think fast."
Jack quickly looked over his shoulder. His stainless steel travel mug clanked softly as he set it down and just barely had enough time to look at me, puzzled, before I chunked the bagged sandwich at him.
"Any particular reason you're throwing—" He gave the contents of the bag a once-over, "Deli meat at me?"
"You need to eat." I placed myself between the door and him, the rounded table in front of both of us.
"I'm fine."
"Take 10 and eat."
"Ruiz, I'm just gonna grab a bite later." He turned around and filled up his coffee mug.
I crossed my arms over my chest and placed most of my weight on the back of my heels— unmoving. When he turned back around, my deadpan expression met his.
"Is this yours? What are you going to eat?"
"Kiara made some chicken she wanted me to try last night, surprised me by leaving some in the fridge upstairs. Eat the damn sandwich, Jack."
"You're being serious," his brows lifted, "And bossy."
"Pot calling the kettle black," I pointed at him, then at the empty chair, "Sit. Eat."
Jack walked dramatically slowly to the unoccupied table and dragged out the chair. He sat and opened the ziplock bag without breaking eye contact with me.
"So what?" he asked mid-bite, "You just gonna stand there and watch me eat?"
"Yup."
"Have you eaten today?" He turned the conversation to me.
"I will," I glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, "In twenty minutes."
"That's specific."
I shrugged, "I figured ten minutes in here to make sure you ate something and ten minutes with Shen's patient to give some resources, then back upstairs enjoying my boss's home cooking."
"And I get a lousy turkey sandwich."
"That was made with love," I countered his dryness.
"And spite," he said with a mouthful of bread, meat, cheese, and lettuce.
I swear he downed it in four bites. Jack quickly stood, dusting off his hands and tossing the now-empty bag. With his mug in hand, he moved to side-step me and reach for the door. My back straightened with the closeness, and he chuckled. Genuine gratitude crossed his face, and he smiled, "Thank you."
"Anytime."
His eyes left mine briefly to look down at his watch, but he found mine a second later, "Look at that. I managed to give you an extra 4 minutes back."
I snickered, but stopped when I felt a kiss to the side of my head. Oh, that was new. Jack opened the door and was gone.
The fifth time happened not long after. Jack and I stood in the elevator, tiredly waiting for the cart to arrive on our designated floor. Heat clung to the concrete garage like a scared child clings to their mother's leg. I was already dreading the upcoming summer humidity.
Slipping on thin-rimmed sunglasses, I walked through the now-open doors. Jack inclined his head, silently asking which direction my car was in.
The sudden need for food, and also not wanting to go home to a quiet apartment, stopped me mid-stride.
"What'cha got planned after this?"
"Why?" His eyes narrowed slightly.
"I need a pick-me-up, something horrible in theory but not half bad when you're actually doing it."
Jack's face screwed into a confused but intrigued expression, "I think I need more context."
"Wanna go to the gas station with me?"
"Now I definitely need more context."
I snorted and tugged at his backpack strap, telling him to follow me. He obliged, maintaining a close distance down the stairs and onto the street.
"My brother and I used to do this on road trips when we were younger. It annoyed the shit out of my parents, too. But the concept is simple. Get a slushy or soda and add some candy to it."
"None of that sounds appealing to me in any way," he shook his head, appalled by just the thought of it.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, it's bad most of the time, but it's so interesting that you can't stop drinking it."
"It sounds like a cavity waiting to happen."
"Most definitely, but the sugar high afterward is insane."
"I doubt you need it."
"Nope, but the rush will get me home in time for the sugar crash after. I'll sleep like a baby."
Jack blinked, "I'm sure there are other remedies for sleep that involve way less sugar."
"There definitely are, but none that are this fun." I pointedly held up a finger.
On the outside, it looked like he was dragged here against his will, but knowing him, if he didn't want to be here, he wouldn't, so that gave me some peace of mind.
Luckily, the gas station wasn't too far from the hospital. Jack begrudgingly followed me as I found the candy aisle. Peach rings were secure alongside some nerds.
"Do you want to share or each get one? It's your first time, so I'll let you pick."
Jack's brows pulled up, "How kind. You shouldn't have."
My hand slapped his chest. "I'm serious."
"We can share if that's alright with you," he said through an exaggerated sigh.
I pumped every fruit-flavoured slushy into my cup while intermittently sprinkling the candy in. The cashier rung us up, and before I could pay, Jack placed cash down and told the woman with braided pigtails to keep the change as a tip.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Oh, but I did," Jack began, sounding matter-of-fact, "Your dental bills must be through the roof—"
"Asshole." I laughed.
"I try," he shrugged.
I rolled my eyes and sat down on the curb right in front of the store. "Okay, Jackass, you get the first sip."
"What an honor," he said dryly, thanking me.
Jack joined me, one knee bent and the other straight out.
"This has Shen written all over it."
A laugh sputtered out of me as Jack questionably moved the straw up and down in the multicoloured concoction.
"This drink is the reason why my family calls me peaches."
Jack turned to me, silently telling me to go on.
"We were on a road trip from our house to a relative's up north near the Austin area. We stopped around halfway for a bathroom break, and my brother and I ran inside to get our road trip slushies. Except this time I got the largest cup and went a little overboard—"
"You? Never." Jack sarcastically interrupted.
"Long story short, we got in the car. I downed an entire package of Peachie-o's along with my slushy, already containing a pack of nerds, and proceeded to get horribly sick. The nickname "Peaches " was then born."
"Well, that doesn't bode well for me."
"Just try it."
Jack's face puckered. Laughter sputtered out, and I used my hand to cover my mouth. Yup, nothing like a cup full of sugar at 8 am to wake up the senses.
He swallowed roughly and handed me the cup, "That's a monstrosity alright."
I scoffed and took a sip of the concoction masquerading as a drink. The second the grainy sugar mingled with the slushy in my mouth, I was instantly brought back to my childhood. My shoulders shook at the acquired taste, and a chill ran down my spine.
"That'll take paint off of a car," I told him as my lips smacked.
"You've lost the privilege to make suggestions," Jack confirms after going in for a second sip. His head shook furiously, as if he was internally punishing himself for attempting to give it a second chance.
"The candy," he chewed, "is just a nasty texture."
"Oh, for sure," I nudged the straw in my direction and followed suit with another swig.
"Please tell me you don't do this often?"
"I've only done it twice since Silas passed. Three times now, actually."
It was quiet for a moment. I let my eyes shut and inhaled deeply. I think Silas would have liked Jack. He definitely would have enjoyed his humor. My heart ached with the idea of my big brother never meeting anyone new again... I mourned the idea of anyone ever getting to meet him again. From now on, they'd only ever get to meet him through me-- and that is an insane amount of responsibility, but at the same time, a beautiful honor
When my lashes fluttered open, sunlight flooded in. Jack's shoulder swayed to bump mine, and he took another big gulp of the slushy.
"Oh dear God, please don't drink anymore," I cringed and moved to grab the cup.
Jack hummed, looking at it quizzically, "It's kind of growing on me."
"Right? It's the weirdest thing," I stood and tossed the remaining sludge, "Let me not corrupt you further."
I wiped my hands on my slacks and offered Jack a hand to stand. His palm lingered against mine for a second longer than expected. It was odd, seeing him in daylight, bathed in the morning sun. It looked good on him. It was easy to hide in the dark and disappear into the headache-inducing numbness of the fluorescent bulbs in the ER; I'm sure Jack probably felt the same way.
But in this light, it was harder to ignore just how green his hazel eyes could get, or the way freckles dotted most of his skin. I paused for a moment, took in the sudden warmth I felt not only from Jack's firm hand but the morning sun too.
"Wanna get real food?" I offered, hoping my invitation wasn't too forward, "Unless you would just rather go home and—"
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
5.0k
. . .
eight: just a trim
. . .
I REALLY DID NOT THINK I WAS A MESSY PERSON... but today proved me wrong. I'm not sure what changed between living in Texas and Pittsburgh. But, seriously, did I really move here with all this shit? I needed to declutter again.
I had spent most of the day cleaning, doing laundry, and attempting to reorganize my belongings. I finally got around to hanging two picture frames that had been occupying the floor beside the couch, and I even changed a light bulb. That was a big one for me.
Jack had texted and said he would swing by around 5:30 pm for his haircut, which meant I started cleaning at 7:30 am. Selena carried me through most of sweeping and swiffering, while Stevie Wonder accompanied me as I deep-cleaned the kitchen. I was lucky enough to have two back-to-back off days. Both a blessing and a curse, truly. I might never know a regular sleep cycle again.
I straightened the coffee table books and lit a candle that smelled like fresh linens. I figured it was the most neutral smell. Why was I so nervous? I had seen Abbot outside of a work setting, yes, but not to this capacity. This was my home-- my safe zone. When I cut Shen's hair, we chatted while watching a baseball game and caught up with Parker afterwards, before their shift started a week or so ago at this point.
Nerves encouraged me to change a few times-- well, I don't want to get hair stuck in the fibers of this sweater, this jacket has stains on it, what is that? Toothpaste? Fine, Fuck it. A T-shirt that said Texas across the chest and a pair of thin cotton lounge pants would do. I stood staring at my reflection for probably the fifth time in ten minutes.
It wasn't like this was a date. It wasn't. He was coming over for a haircut. Coworkers. That was it. A completely normal, casual, not-even-remotely-romantic situation. Right? Right. I'm just lonely and slightly horny. That's what I am chalking this up to. I smoothed my shirt down anyway. The letters were faintly cracked, and the dye on the shirt bled a little on the white lettering. Should I change?
Knock, knock.
I frantically held my hands out and did a quick spin to make sure no underwear was left out anywhere it wasn't supposed to be, things that needed to be hidden were hidden, and my coasters were out, ready to be used if needed. A good coaster was the mark of a true hostess. Mine were cherry-themed.
Luckily, my apartment—thankfully—looked like it belonged to someone who had their life together. It was small, but cozy. Warm and hopefully inviting. I loved it when people's places had character. Every surface held something— a crocheted blanket draped over the couch, little tchotchkes I've collected over the years hung out on my TV stand, stacks of books half-organised, framed photos lining the walls. My record collection took up an entire corner, proudly displayed like it was its own shrine.
It felt like me. Fuck, did I take too long to grab the door? I winced and yelled, "Coming!"
I took a breath to calm down. I nearly tripped over my rug as I tiptoed towards the door. I opened it with a smile. Jack stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a grocery bag. I blinked.
"Hello," I drew out my greeting.
"Hey."
I glanced down, confused, "You brought... groceries?"
He lifted the bag slightly, "Supplies."
"For?" I asked, very curious.
"Dinner."
That threw me. My expression triggered a response rather quickly; he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "As payment. I figured a meal is better than one lousy tea."
I stared at him for a second. Then smiled, softer than I meant to, "Okay." I stepped aside, "Come in."
He took in the apartment quietly as he stepped inside. Not in a judgmental way. Just noticing and observing like he always did.
"Nice place," he said.
"Thank you." I made it a point to smile at him, teeth and all.
I closed the door behind him. "It's small, but—"
"It works," he said simply.
"Exactly."
He set the bags down on the kitchen counter while I hovered nearby, suddenly very aware of him being in my space. Without saying anything, he handed me a cold bottle of Diet Coke. My mouth hung open. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched. "Take it."
"You're too kind." I cracked open the cap and took a swig— crisp and metallic. "Thanks for fuelling my addiction."
Jack snorted and waved me off. I set aside my drink and clapped my hands, "Okay! Quick house tour," I said, gesturing around. "Kitchen, living room, bedrooms that way. Bathrooms to the right."
He huffed a quiet laugh, "Efficient."
"I try." I moved toward the record shelf almost instinctively. A grid of my most listened to albums hung proudly, while dozens of vinyl were neatly stored away.
"This," I said, "is my pride and joy."
Jack followed, his eyes scanning the collection, fingers brushing lightly over the spines.
"You weren't kidding."
"My dad owned a record shop for over 20 years in Houston," I said. "Then, almost 10 years here. So this is... years of accumulation."
He paused. Then tilted his head slightly. His finger ran along the spines of a few that were labeled by numbers, "Are these custom?”
I lit up instantly, "Yeah." I stepped closer, pulling one out carefully.
The one in my hand had a picture of me on the cover when I was a teenager. It was taken from behind in the threshold of our front door as I was sitting by myself on our porch. My silhouette was shadowed as I leaned on my knees and rest my head on my propped up arm. Written in my dad’s handwriting along the top was “Feliz cumpleaños, mija. Con todo mi vida.”
“My dad started this tradition when I was fifteen. Every year on our birthdays, he'd make us a playlist—songs that reminded him of us or ones we liked at the time—and then he had a buddy of his press them."
Jack turned the record over in his hands. "That's... actually incredible."
"It is," I said softly. I smiled down at it. It sat comfortably in its own box, now accompanied by my siblings' records. Their collections stopped at ages 34 and 37, respectively.
"My favorite is age seventeen," I pulled myself from the sinking thoughts.
"Why seventeen?"
I slipped it out of its sleeve, "Because it feels the most like me."
I lifted the plastic dust cover and set it on the turntable. The needle dropped. Music filled the room—warm, familiar, and nostalgic. The first song that played was Edge of Seventeen.
I handed the sleeve to Jack, and he read out the first few tracks, "'Wild Child,' 'Chiquitita,' 'Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing, ' 'Little Lies'... you got some good ones on here."
"I thought so." I smiled proudly.
My eyes glanced at him and I gestured my arms around the space, “All my IKEA-fueled nightmares paid off, huh?"
He smirked faintly, "Yeah. Place looks good."
"Between me hauling this fuck ass couch from Facebook marketplace up here with Parker and almost stabbing myself with some nails, it's better."
We moved back toward the living room, where I had set everything up. I pulled up one of my barstools, the full-length mirror I normally kept by the doorway, a black cape, and my tools, laid out neatly like I knew what I was doing. I even had barbicide.
Jack stopped short, giving my table a once-over, "This looks legit."
I crossed my arms, feigning offence, "You doubted me?"
"I'm just saying—it's thorough."
"My mom's a cosmetologist," I reminded him. "She taught me everything I know."
He nodded once, "I'm in good hands then."
"You are," I gestured to the chair, "Take a seat."
I draped the cape around him, securing the Velcro at the back of his neck.
"Alright," I said, stepping in front of him. "What are we thinking?"
"Just a trim," he said. "Nothing too short."
"Got it." I grabbed the spray bottle, misting his hair lightly.
My fingers ran through the damp, greying curls, gauging the length. It was softer and thicker than I expected. I loved it when men grew out their hair. Nope. I swallowed the thought and reached for my shears.
For a moment, it was quiet. Just the soft sound of the music and the snip of scissors. I was very much used to the weight of Jack's gaze and the trained distance we followed at work. Something about being this close to him felt different from what it did at the bar when we first met and any proximity we had at work. It made my neck warm, and anxiety prickled in my stomach. Choosing to ignore the flutters, I narrowed my focus.
"You're very serious about this," he said, cutting through my thoughts.
"I have a reputation to uphold, do I not?" I replied.
He huffed softly, "You don't want any bad reviews."
"Now you're getting it. Can't have my establishment shut down. Been running this shit since I was eighteen."
I shifted around him, continuing to cut.
"You know, some of the best conversations I've ever had have been in a barber chair."
"Really?"
"Mmhmp," I flipped my shears, "College decision making, family drama, lamenting about boys, work gossip, literally anything and everything."
I shuffled around the chair and ran my fingers through his curls briefly. "After school, my older cousin would drop me off at my mom's salon, and I'd just sit and watch. While I was doing homework, the ladies would put rollers in my hair, do my nails, and use me as their little doll. It was fun."
I caught Jack's eye in the mirror and stopped, "Listen, I know I'm a talker... I can't help it. I'm an over-sharer."
"I don't mind," he chuckled, "You're very animated."
"Good. I pride myself on that. The art of small talk is a Southern staple."
He frowned in agreement. Gently, I used my fingers near his chin and the base of his neck to adjust his head.
"You know, I feel like I'm always talking about myself," I hummed after a moment, "Tell me something about you."
He paused for a moment, his eyes tracking me as I worked, "That so?"
"Yeah," I said, "Your turn in the hot seat."
"Alright, I'll bite. What do you want to know?"
"I don't know..." I shrugged lightly. "Mother's maiden name, where you grew up, favorite color, ice cream—little things."
He straightened a bit, rolling his shoulders back like the idea of talking about himself required effort.
"My mother's maiden name is Wilson. I have a sister—Emily—and a nephew named Alex."
I moved behind him, trimming carefully. As the water dried, his salt and peppery waves became more defined.
"I grew up in North Carolina. Favorite color is navy blue. Green's a close second."
"Good choices," I murmured.
"I like coffee-flavoured ice cream," he continued. "Sometimes pistachio."
"'M pleasantly surprised with that answer," I chuckled, mildly intrigued by those being his ice cream choices.
"I drink my coffee black. Strong. Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, AC/DC, Steely Dan—those are my go-tos."
I smiled faintly, "Classics."
"I don't dance in public," he added, "And I've only sung in front of people once. I was nineteen and very drunk." His nose scrunched slightly as he tapped my elbow, "Your turn."
I laughed softly, "Okay, okay. Twist my arm."
My free hand dusted off trimmings from his shoulder before continuing the trim, "My mom's maiden name is Rivera. Favorite ice cream flavor is dark chocolate with cherries."
He made a small approving sound.
"I had an older sister—Carmen— and a brother, Silas. Melita and I were 15 years apart, and Silas had 10 years on me." My voice softened slightly, but I kept going, "Just the one niece. Cecilia. She goes by CiCi."
I pursed my lips in thought, "I'm very competitive—as you know. Never played sports, though, I preferred books. I cheat at crossword puzzles, and hate sudoku."
"Not surprised."
I fought the urge to swat at him. I settled for a deadpan exchange in the mirror reflection, "My favorite colors are red, green, and orange. I can't pick one."
I stepped in front of him again, adjusting a section of hair, "Music is also tricky—Linda Ronstadt, Stevie Nicks, Selena, Joan Jett."
"As evident on this record."
"Precisely. I'm a tea girl," I added. "I prefer pool to darts. The beach is one of my happy places."
I paused, "And I fully support dancing and singing in public."
That earned a real smile from him, "Of course you do."
"Oh—and I have two tattoos."
His eyebrows lifted, clearly intrigued, "Really?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"Where?"
I felt heat creep into my cheeks. "That's a discussion for another day."
"That bad?" He mused.
"No. Not exactly," I said quickly. "Just... hidden."
I tapped near my right ribs, "One's here. A ladybug roughly the size of a dime. Freshman year mistake with my roommate, Zoey."
"And the other?"
"Elsewhere."
He looked at me through the mirror, "Elsewhere?"
"As I said," I smiled. "Another day."
The conversation dipped into a comfortable quiet after that. Music filled the space— switching from Linda Ronstadt to Joan Jett. Up close, Jack smelled like something woody and warm. Freshly showered, probably. My hands moved instinctively, trimming, shaping, adjusting.
I moved behind his chair and looked up at his reflection, ensuring everything looked even. His eyes caught mine in the mirror. For a second, neither of us looked away.
It was different. I'm not crazy. At work, everything felt quick. Passing glances, sharp words, easy banter. It felt slower now. Quieter...more deliberate.
I broke the moment first, stepping around the chair to face him head-on again, "Almost done," I said softly.
"Take your time." He gently responded.
I adjusted some front pieces, fingers brushing lightly through his damp curls and skin hesitantly. His knee shifted and brushed mine. Just slightly, but enough to straighten my back. He had to feel it too, the shift in the air. Goddammit. I must be starting my period soon cause boy, was it hot in here.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. I was very aware of how close we were. Jack looked at me— really looked.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hi," I whispered back.
It broke the tension just enough. This was stupid. I was being dumb. It's Jack. I exhaled softly.
"One more second," I said. I moved behind him again, finishing the last details before stepping back.
"Okay," I said, pulling the cape free, shaking off any hair onto the floor. "You're done."
Abbot stood, moving toward the mirror, studying it up close for the first time. He turned his head slightly to get different angles.
He nodded in approval, "You did great."
Something warm grew in my chest. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it."
I grabbed the broom I had set nearby and started to sweep up the hair on the floor. Behind me, I heard movement in the kitchen.
Jack began unpacking the groceries. Getting started. I dumped the trimmings in the trash and carried the dustpan toward the hall closet.
The second I was out of sight, I froze. What the fuck? I mouthed it to myself as well as shouted it in my head. Is he really cooking me dinner? I pressed my back lightly against the wall, staring at the ceiling for a second. Would it be weird if I offered wine? Is that too much? It's just dinner. Just dinner. Right. Right?
I took a breath. Then pushed myself off the wall. I'm overthinking. The sound of something sizzling pulled me back into the kitchen. It smelled like veggies.
After hanging the broom back up, I tried to walk back into the room casually. That went out the fucking window the second I saw Jack moving around my kitchen like he'd been there before.
It was... distracting. Very distracting. In both a good and bad way. I wanted to reprimand myself with the spray bottle for staring. Speak— literally say anything.
"You want anything to drink?" I asked, leaning lightly against the counter.
He glanced over his shoulder, "Got wine?"
I smiled, "Always. Red or white?"
"Red," he said. "It'll go better with this."
I nodded, already crossing the kitchen entrance to the bar cart.
"Look at you, pairing meals and everything." I teased; I was enjoying this very much.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm impressed," I corrected.
With the neck of the bottle held by my thumb and forefinger, I balanced two wine glasses by the stems in my other fingers. With my free hand, I reached for the bottle opener, placed it between my teeth, and grabbed the decanter.
Like a well-oiled machine, I uncorked the bottle and poured it into the decanter to breathe. Jack watched with amusement, saying I could have asked for help. "Oh, trust me, I have this down to a science. You can ask Parker. I can carry so much shit. It's like a special girl skill."
Jack chuckled. I handed him the vessel to smell. He frowned his approval and tossed a kitchen towel over his shoulder, "I like dryer reds."
"Me too."
I waited for a few minutes, then poured an even serving for both of us. He took it with a quiet, "Thanks."
I lifted mine slightly, "To even trades."
He clinked his glass gently against mine, "Even trades."
I settled onto the stool at the kitchen island, tucking one leg under me. Very grateful for the counter's distance between us, I watched him cook.
And I mean watched.
Because, yeah, there was something undeniably attractive about someone cooking for you. He was so focused. Who could blame me, a girl could look.
"Spices?" he asked without looking away from chopping potatoes.
"Second cabinet to your left." He found it immediately, "Olive oil?"
"It's kinda hiding behind the toaster by the stove."
"You're a good assistant."
"I aim to please."
He huffed softly. I took a sip of my wine, letting myself just... be in the moment. But not before grabbed my phone and quickly typed a text to Parker because I couldn't help myself.
ALBA:
Jack Abbot is in my kitchen cooking for me rn
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
PARKER:
SHEN OWES ME MONEY!! I need details. WHAT?!
I bit back a smile. Jack glanced up. Quickly, I set my phone down innocently.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm."
He didn't press. Just went back to cooking. Conversation came easily. It surprised me.
Or maybe it didn't. Maybe it was my nerves telling me this was the same guy I spent most days with, and to relax.
"Why medicine?" I asked, swirling my wine slightly.
He paused for a second. Then shrugged, "Practical answer?"
"I'll take any answer."
"I needed a way to pay for school," he said. "Military covered it."
I nodded slowly, "Makes sense."
He stirred something in the pan, and I leaned over to get a better look: butter and fresh herbs.
"Stayed with it after. Seemed... useful."
"That's one way to put it."
He shrugged again, "You?"
I leaned forward slightly, resting my chin on my hand, "Short or long answer?"
"Whichever you are willing to give."
"It sounds silly, but I genuinely like people," I reasoned, "Sometimes all you need is someone to listen, to be in your corner, someone to look at you and say I see and hear you. Maybe it's because I've been exposed to social workers for so much of my life that it just felt right. It was a way for me to channel all the love I had for both my siblings into one thing. Into helping other people on their worst days, too. In any way possible."
Jack nodded, "You're good with people— patient. You listen, I mean really listen."
I could feel myself getting warmer. "Thanks,"
I tilted my head like a curious puppy, "Was that a compliment?"
"Take it how you want."
I smiled into my glass. After a while, the record ran its course, so I stood to switch it out. Thumbing through a few options, I asked Jack over my shoulder what music he wanted to hear. Surprise me, he said.
I placed a Chet Baker vinyl down. Jazz was safe, right? It could be suggestive... depending on the company. Fuck it. I dropped the needle and put the dust cover back down.
"Tell me about your nephew," I said after a moment, "Is he as feral as my CiCi?"
Jack snickered to himself, then gestured into the air with his knife, "Alex is like a little tank. That dude will take a nasty fall and get up as if nothing happened."
"Trouble, right?" I asked, imagining the way CiCi whips around on her bike.
"Constantly." He huffed a quiet laugh, "He's into everything right now. Sports, dinosaurs, space... he's really getting into wrestling at the moment."
"Sounds about right." I laughed, shaking my head. "CiCi is a menace," I said fondly. "I swear she's gonna run her own fashion house one day. Smart, sassy, always negotiating for something."
"Sounds familiar."
"Yeah, stubbornness definitely runs in my genes."
He nodded, a quiet understanding there, "Never would have guessed that." He mumbled sarcastically as he sprinkled some diced potatoes on a sheet and coated them in oil and spices.
"I keep everyone on their toes."
"Never a dull moment."
"Nope!"
By the time dinner was ready, the kitchen smelled incredible. He plated everything with ease. I got the table ready and refilled our glasses. We sat, knees occasionally brushing under it without either of us acknowledging it.
Jack waited for me to take my bite first. I immediately melted, "Oh my god."
He glanced up, his fork stabbing a sliver of his own steak, "Good?"
"That's an understatement—yeah, it's fucking good."
He nodded once, satisfied, "Glad you approve."
"I more than approve," I said, taking another bite.
Conversation flowed just as easily at the table. It was strange how quickly and firmly someone could settle themselves into your life. Without even trying, really. Your coworkers really become friends— family. Especially in a place like the ED, where looking out for one another becomes second nature. Maybe that part of me, the part that loved quickly, hadn't been quite stamped out by all the years of grief and loss.
"Were you always causing trouble?" Jack asked while rolling the stem of his glass in between his fingers.
I sucked my teeth and winced, "Oh yeah. I was the youngest; my parents had such big gaps between kids that they got relaxed with me, so I stole any opportunity to be a terror."
"A cry for attention?"
"Oh, very much so."
I told Jack about the time I had gotten to school early one day in middle school and dyed all the soap in every bathroom green. Everyone's hands were stained, and yes, while it washed out, it would still leave a tint.
"It took them like two weeks to figure out it was me."
I proceeded to tell him how a friend and I stole only the left shoes of her ex while we were at his frat's party one night. Also, how we managed to get kicked out of most of the bars on Dirty Sixth after having our fakes taken away more than once.
"There was one bouncer who loved Zoey, so he let us in most nights. His buddy was also a DJ, so more often than not, we ended up on stage. Then I got a job at Coyote Ugly during my junior year. Had to break up a fight once. That's how I got this scar near my hairline."
"I can't figure out whether you find the trouble or the trouble finds you?"
"Honestly, not sure," I sighed into my wine, "All I know is I've made questionable after questionable decisions, and I'm still alive to tell the tale."
"Hopefully, you've mellowed out?"
I pinched the air between my forefinger and thumb, "Just a little."
Jack raised his nearly empty glass and shot back the remainder. I snickered, "Top you off?"
"Sure."
The last of the wine trickled out of the green bottle. "Dare I open another?" A lascivious smirk pulled at my lips.
"Go for it," Jack said, and started clearing off the table.
"My birthday's coming up," I said, almost absentmindedly.
He looked up, "Yeah?"
"Two and a half weeks." I turned the key until it dug far enough into the cork.
"Big one?"
I nodded, "Thirty."
He dipped his head slightly. And I saw it. That flicker of awareness. I didn't have a definitive answer, but I knew Jack was well into his forties. It didn't bother me; we were both adults.
The cork released with a pop.
"Is this something you are looking forward to?" Jack asked as he set our dishes in the sink.
The water turned on, and he rinsed them.
I hesitated, and the familiar prickle of emptiness bubbled in my chest. "Not really."
A thread of anxiety wrapped itself around my lungs and pulled taut, "Birthdays are... weird for me."
The water shut off. He didn't interrupt or try to fill the silence. He turned his back to the sink's ledge and leaned against it to watch me. His arms crossed over his chest, silently telling me to go on.
"They remind me of my siblings," I said quietly, "I miss them the most on big days."
He nodded slowly.
"With Melita, I've had years to work on my prep... I know how to regulate and compartmentalise when needed. I know that the days before and after are the worst. But with Silas... It's like I'm having to relearn all that shit again."
A pause. Jack's gaze dropped momentarily. I could see the thoughts behind his eyes weigh down his expression, "I get that," he said.
"My wife passed six years ago," he added, "I struggle with holidays too."
Oh. My breath caught, and my chest rose slowly. Of course, he got it. I recognised the faint tendrils of guilt, confusion, and frustration in his eyes. Having known loss and dragged through its deepest, most painful pits.
Something softened in my chest.
"I've got a few traditions now. Things I do to... keep her part of it."
I smiled gently, "That's nice."
More apprehension. He rubbed at his earlobe nervously. Hesitation gripped his posture, unsure if he should continue, maybe. I handed him his now refilled glass and gestured for him to follow me back into the living room. We sat on the couch, opposite each other but still close.
"Do you want to talk about her?"
It was a gentle invitation— soft. Something behind Abbot's eyes flickered, and he smiled faintly. I knew that spark... the excitement to talk about someone you loved who is no longer here.
"Her name was Josie."
I leaned in just a fraction. He chuckled to himself as he shared just enough. Some big things like how they met in high school and got married soon after, and how she passed from cancer. Then the little things, like the way she laughed, the music she liked (she had wonderful taste), her strong disliking towards clowns (followed by a story depicting a fairground incident), and how she managed to make a room feel different just by being in it.
I listened and admired the way he spoke about her. And when I felt him start to pull back—just slightly— I didn't push. Didn't pry. Just smiled softly and said, "She must've been very lovely."
He met my eyes, "She was."
A beat passed. He cleared his throat and took a longer sip from his glass.
Eventually, the music stopped, and we turned on the Pirates game against the Mets. The soft glow of the TV filled the space. Neither of us is fully paying attention. Just content to be here in each other's company.
We talked in between plays, letting the night stretch. The game ended, and Jack checked the time.
"I should probably get going."
Something in my chest dipped slightly. "Yeah," I said, standing. "Of course."
I walked him to the door. He grabbed his keys. And just before he stepped out— I rose slightly onto my toes, reaching up to grab a piece of lint stuck in his hair.
"Hold on," I murmured.
My fingers brushed lightly through the front and picked the small dust bunny from a few strands, and adjusting a few stray curls back into place. He let me.
I smiled, my hands retreating to my sides, nervously, "My handiwork looks good on you. You wear it well."
For the first time since I'd met him, Jack avoided eye contact. Just for a second.
"Thanks, Albs." He cleared his throat slightly, flipping his keys in his hand, "When do you get back?"
"Saturday."
He nodded, "Alright."
I opened the door, "Drive safe, Abbot."
"Will do."
He stepped out. And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut, and I turned the lock. I stood there for a second, processing tonight's events.
A long, heavy breath left my lungs. "What just happened?"
I didn't even wait. I grabbed my phone and hit call, "Parker, you better pick up."
Because there was absolutely no way I was processing this alone. She answered after two rings.
"Parker—"
"Tell me everything."
. . .
( author's note.)
For anyone curious, here is the track list for Alba's #17 record made by her dad:
Edge of Seventeen . . . Stevie Nicks
Little Wings . . . Stevie Ray Vaughan
Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing . . . Stevie Wonder
Love and Happiness . . . Al Green
Slipping Through My Fingers . . . ABBA
I Love You (For Sentimental Reasons) . . . Nat King Cole
Before the Next Tear Drop Falls . . . Freddy Fender
Silver Threads and Golden Needles . . . Linda Ronstadt
A Teenager in Love . . . Dion and the Belmonts
Dancing in the Moonlight . . . King Harvest
Paper Roses . . . Loretta Lynn
Cherry Bomb . . . The Runaways
Wild Child . . . The Doors
Vienna . . . Billy Joel
Blueberries For Breakfast . . . The Mamas and The Papas
Golden Lady . . . Stevie Wonder
Beautiful . . . Carole King
I Have the Moon . . . Lush
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
3.7k
. . .
seven: rooftop
. . .
IN MY SHORT TIME AT PTMC, I HAD BECOME GREAT ACQUAINTANCES WITH THE ROOF. After my third night shift, I wandered up there to catch my breath. It had become somewhat of a ritual.
Certain aspects of working in the ER never got easier. Watching children lose a parent was a very hard pill to swallow.
Two tiny bodies clung tightly to one another in a room downstairs. Seeing Lucy gently stroke her sister's hair as she held her on a hospital bed isn't something I think I'll ever forget. I couldn't look away as Lucy looked completely broken beside Amelia.
The older sister had long dark hair like Melita had before the cancer. Big brown eyes, too. Amelia reminded me of CiCi. It was nearly impossible not to see your loved ones in patients. Building distance and having walls to protect yourself was key. A solid self-care routine was a plus.
The sinking feeling in my stomach had yet to go away. I was typing something on the computer when Jack and Ellis approached me, their faces remorseful.
“The dad didn't make it.”
“Shit.”
I ran my hands over my hair, stopping at the nape of my neck to rest my forearms on my shoulders, "Mom?"
Jack's eyes trailed to the room housing their unconscious mother, "She's on the ropes."
Another deep inhale, "Okay. We should tell Lucy."
Parker agreed, and we excused ourselves from Jack, but not before words of encouragement came our way. Ellis did most of the talking, informing the scared sixteen-year-old of her parents' conditions. I did my best to help her understand the best I could, offered her a shoulder to cry into, and held her as she broke down.
It terrified me how quickly she was able to compose herself, "Can I tell my sister? She should hear it from me. She— she won't believe it or understand if it comes from someone else."
“We will be there with you," I told, "You are not alone in this."
She nodded weakly.
I think telling Amelia is what broke me. It was like when we had to tell CiCi about Silas. They are young, they can grasp what is happening, but the finality isn't something that sticks until later on. When Parker explained what had happened, it was her sister's words that made it true. Amelia processed it as expected— confused, sad, exhausted.
Little faces stared at ours, looking for a lifeline. And that was truly the scary part. I am the adult they look to in the room, when in reality, I feel like one of them. Lost and confused, too.
I couldn't turn my brain off.
When 7 am rolled around, I left a note on Kiara's monitor telling her I would be back in ten. That was twenty minutes ago.
My phone buzzed.
KIARA:
I heard it was a rough night. Get some air, then meet me when you can.
The first time I had gone up to the roof was to catch some fresh air away from where anyone could see me. I liked feeling the warmth of the morning sun on my skin and staring up at the night sky.
Today, there was no sun... just clouds, a pack of unopened cigarettes, and every heavy and ugly emotion that goes along with losing your siblings.
With my eyes closed, I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed tightly. In times of distress, I responded well to physical pressure. Apparently, it helps regulate your sympathetic nervous system. Whatever it did, it helped, so I didn't question it.
The loud, obnoxious buzzing grew into a high pitched wine. Please stop. Please just stop. My chest tensed, and my breathing grew shallow. Fuck. This isn't how I wanted to end this fuck ass twelve-hour shift. Please. Pull yourself together for another thirty minutes. Thirty minutes. We can make it thirty minutes. Enough time to walk Kiara through hand-offs, then get the hell out of here to sink and whither away in my bed. You can do it. Just—
"Not to state the obvious, but those things can kill you," Jack's voice cut through the noise.
Of course, he's here.
I glanced down at the cigarette carton in my hand with the plastic still on. Tempting and taunting me.
I scoffed lightly, not looking at him, "Oh, I'm well aware." My fingers fiddled with the cellophane. "You ever smoke?"
I heard his footsteps before I saw him, approaching cautiously, seemingly aware of my uneasiness.
"In college. But it was more of a social thing if others were doing it... some on deployment but never regularly."
I nodded, the information barely registering as it passed through the fog in my head. My brain was running slower than usual.
"I started my freshman year of college. My older sister freaked when she found my stash. She came to visit and threatened to tell our parents."
A small, sad smile pulled at my lips. I remember parents weekend for the organization I was apart of freshman year. Carmen had gotten there a few days before mami and papi. She then proceeded to spend the entire visit eyeing me and whispering tight-lipped warnings anytime I threaten to step out of line or back talk to them.
"She didn't. But, God, she never let me forget it. She always harped on me to quit."
My thumb ran along the carton before setting it down. I bent at my waist and finally sat. The concrete was cold and ever so slightly damp.
Jack watched quietly, and eventually he joined me on the ground wordlessly. I felt his warmth immediately; it was comforting. I lifted the cigarette again, picking at the corner of the packaging. I figured it was better than pulling at my hangnails.
“My first 'last' cigarette was after she died," I told as I stared ahead, "I was a junior at that point."
The wrapper began to give, "My second 'last' cigarette was when my niece was born."
I inhaled sharply, fighting the knot in my throat, "My third 'last' cigarette was when my brother passed."
Silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable. Just... there. He already knew it wasn't about the cigarette.
I hesitated, then ripped open the package and pulled one out. My throat tightened as I placed it between my lips, hands moving on autopilot as I flicked my lighter.
With my free hand, I shielded the flame from the wind. When it caught, I inhaled... deep and slow. Letting the burn settle into my chest, the taste reminded me a lot of my hardest years. Like bad decisions. Like grief, I hadn't quite let go of.
Jack stayed quiet. No judgment or lecture.
I wasn't sure when the tears started. Just that, suddenly there was a warm droplet sliding down my cheek, landing on the back of my hand.
"I was angry for a long time," my voice was rough, "My sister died while I was in undergrad. I acted out a lot."
Another inhale. Then a shaky breath.
"Almost didn't graduate. But I knew she would kill me if I didn't. So I whipped my shit into gear, got into a good internship, and applied to grad schools. Got into UCLA. Stopped smoking."
The corner of my mouth twitched, "Pretty ambitious of me."
The ember at the end glowed as I took another drag, "When Silas passed, it was like both their grief had caught up to me at the same time. I hadn't allowed myself to fully process her death, so I was—" I gestured vaguely, "—drowning in his. I don't even know how to describe it. It was just this endless pit of hatred and immense grief."
I laughed under my breath at the memory that came to mind. Marcelo.
“My poor boyfriend at the time. He put up with some shit. That's for fucking sure. I put him through the wringer, man."
My head shook, and the emotions and memories began to resurface, whether I wanted them to or not.
"I got really drunk one night. We were out bar hopping. I was so wasted— like plastered. We were waiting to cross the street. Busy intersection. I could feel the wind on me as cars drove by and I just... stepped forward."
My eyes were focused ahead, like I could see it playing out.
“Marcelo pulled me back. Then, I started laughing. Uncontrollably, and surprised that I just did that. I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. Uncontrollably sobbing. And he just held me."
I swallowed roughly. A cold hand rubbed over my heart. It squeezed tight and didn't let go. I remembered the next part of the story. The hard part is admitting. The part that only Marcelo and I knew. The part where I almost let grief swallow me whole.
Jack must have noticed my stillness, the way my fingers bit into my skin. He was looking at me, gaze fully and firmly on me, like I was a skittish animal he'd startled and didn't want to dart away.
I made my fingers relax with no small amount of effort, slowly uncurling them and tucking my hand that didn't have the cigarette inside my jacket, before going on.
"For a split second, I thought it would take the pain away. That it would be easier to just keep walking. That maybe if I were gone too, my parents wouldn't have been stuck with me and my fucked up brain."
The world fell out from beneath my feet, and all that I had kept locked away in the deepest recesses of my heart lurched free. The past clawed up my throat and planted itself in the forefront of my mind.
I inhaled shakily, needing to catch my breath. Ash built up on the end of my cigarette, and I flicked it before taking another inhale. Jack shifted slightly, turning so he was facing me more directly.
“After my wife died," he began quietly, "Like a month or so, I was driving back from visiting her burial site."
I glanced at him. His gaze was distant.
"There was a dead end in front of me that just went straight into trees and bushes. I think there was a ditch on the other side."
He spoke calmly, but by the tension in his jaw, I knew this was just as hard for him to talk about as it was for me.
"I just thought to myself, what if I just keep driving? What if I didn't hit the brakes and just kept going? So I did. At the last minute, I hit the brakes and jerked the car to a stop. For a split second, I thought it would take the pain away."
His eyes met mine, and something settled between us. Not relief, not resolution, just understanding. A deep unspoken honesty. I took one last drag before crushing the cigarette out against the concrete.
We sat in silence for a while. The kind that didn't need filling. Eventually, Jack spoke again.
"You got someone to talk to?"
I huffed softly, "I did. Back in Texas. Her name is Trish."
"Did?"
A groan slipped from me, "She offered Zoom sessions."
“And?"
"I've been avoiding her. But I have been talking... too much, some might say."
Jack huffed a quiet laugh, "As good of company as I am," he said, "I can only help so much."
“I know." I leaned forward and placed my chin on my bent knees, "Still," I glanced at him, "Thanks for listening."
His response was immediate, "Always."
We stayed there. Side by side. Not fixing anything. Not solving anything. Just existing in it together. Somehow, that made it a little easier to breathe.
—
"Alba, get in the fucking car."
"No."
"Alba Mae Ruiz."
"Full name me all you want—"
Silas muttered a string of curse words in Spanish that I couldn't quite make out.
“Alba, it's two in the morning. It's gonna rain. Get. In."
"I'm surprised they sent out a search party."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Normally, it takes them until they wake up to realise I'm gone. Then they just assume I'm at Mia's house or Taylor's."
"'Cause they don't think you'd be stupid enough to get yourself in trouble."
"Oh, they don't think that highly of me, and you know it."
"Alba— where is this coming from?"
“Notice how you are the one out here. Not them... It's never them!"
“Alba," Silas pressed on the gas just enough to get him a little further ahead of me.
He put the car in park and slammed the door shut.
"Alba," Silas stepped in front of me, "Stop. Just stop. What has gotten into you?"
"I just—"
Tears prickled in my eyes. Exhaustion finally took over the second his hands touched my shoulders, and I gave in.
"No one sees me. It's like they're too worried about you and Carmen that there isn't enough worry for me."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's stupid."
"No, it's not. If it's enough to get you this worked up, then it's not stupid. Tell me."
"They didn't show up."
"What do you mean?"
“It was stupid," I huffed, "We had our first gig. It was small at Franklin's down the street. But Mami said she'd be there. And she wasn't. At the end of the night, Mia, Daisy, and Taylor were dancing with their parents. They just all looked so happy."
I wiped at my cheeks, smearing the water lines, "When I got home, mami didn't even realise I was gone. She just assumed I was at a friend's house."
My shoulders hunched, and I had gotten much smaller.
“She forgot."
Saying it out loud hurt.
"Sure, she was sorry, but she wasn't there. Papa was in Mexico visiting abuelo, so he couldn't come. I just thought that maybe she would show up for me."
"Alba," Silas sighed, "I'm sorry. They're doing their best. I'm not excusing her actions, but it could have been an honest mistake. Mami isn't always perfect; she has her own shit going on."
"I know, Silas. I give her so much grace and keep forgiving her... but it hurts me. Her being her hurts me sometimes."
He sat in the silence with me before pulling me into a tight hug. I cried into his chest, and he rocked me back and forth. He held me for a long while before saying, "I would have danced with you."
I snorted, "I know you would've."
I woke up feeling hungover. I wasn't actually, but the pulsating headache that gripped my brain mirrored one to a T. My eyes shut, recalling the last bits of that memory.
Silas laughed at me, asking me where my shoes had gone. I left them when I ditched the party, and the cops showed up. He plugged his nose and said I smelled like tequila and that he was gonna hose me off before going inside the house.
I remember thanking him profusely the next morning for not ratting me out. I briefly recall him speaking with Mami and Papi, telling them that I needed them in my corner and to be more present... but I was eavesdropping, so I only heard bits and pieces of that one.
Heaviness set in again.
I reached for my phone and immediately opened my voicemails. The first one I clicked was from Melita.
“Hey, Mae, I know you're in class right now, but I thought I'd call anyway... figured I'd get your voicemail."
She was in the car with her fiancé, "Derek's here too, say hi, Derek."
Derek's voice chimed in, "Hi, Albie."
"I know finals are coming up, babygirl, you got this. Mami was telling me you aren't eating enough, so I sent you and Zoey a goodie box full of snacks and some Red Bulls. Don't tell Mom about the last part. Anyways just wanted to say I love you. Call me back when you can, sweets. Bye-bye."
My sister's voice always made me smile. It was calming and sweet, set higher in her register. If it wasn't for the videos and voicemails, I probably would have forgotten it by now.
Most of my life, I had been compared to her. We had the same laugh, smile, and hair. They were my mami's too... but I was Carmen's baby. She had always wanted a sister. She loved Silas, but she wished for me. Someone she could dress up and dote on. I was her baby girl, her Albie, her Mae, her sweets.
We had fifteen years between us. Carmelita was only in my life for nineteen of her thirty-four years. We didn't get nearly enough time together.
I was lucky enough to spend five of them with her under the same roof. Albeit I don't remember most of them, she did her best to visit.
She stayed local, went to college in Houston, still within driving distance of our house in the suburbs, but had her own apartment. When she could, she'd come and pick me up from school, have lunch with me, or take me away for the weekend.
Eventually, she did move to Chicago. She wanted a change, and her work allowed her to switch branches. Chicago was good for her. She met Derek, thrived in a place that actually experienced seasons, and loved the pace.
She came around less, yes, but she called nearly every day. Just to chat... check in. We'd stay on the phone with each other while doing chores; most of the time, nothing was said, we just liked knowing the other was there. She has spent fifteen years of her life waiting for me, and I was lucky enough to be born in a world that already had her in it.
I missed the way she'd cup my cheeks and kiss my forehead, how she would read me bedtime stories when I was younger, and how she always gave me the M&M's in her trail mix.
One of my biggest accomplishments and proudest titles in life was... is having the privilege to call such a wonderful person my sister, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to deserve it.
My finger pressed the next voicemail. I also listened to it a lot when I felt like I was forgetting the sound of his voice.
"Hey, Peaches. Sorry, I missed you. We can't seem to get our times right, huh?"
My chest tightened.
"It's almost seven your time, and I couldn't remember if the movie started at seven or ended at seven. I knew seven was involved somewhere."
He loved to ramble.
"Jemma and I just wanted to let you know that we went to the doctor today and the baby is healthy and growing strong. He or she is roughly the size of a peach... thought you'd like to know that. Jem also sent you a list of potential baby names. She and her mom and convinced we are having a boy, but I'm still holding out for a girl. Give it a look when you can. Call me. Love you, peaches."
I did, in fact, give the names a look. Eventually, they narrowed it down to Mateo for a boy and Cecilia for a girl.
Then, Cecilia Carmen Ruiz was born.
Every little nugget of her father and mother beautifully combined to create one of my favourite humans. Despite my flight being delayed, I had managed to get to the hospital just in time. Jemma delivered CiCi ten minutes after I got my visitor's sticker.
I remember holding CiCi and trying so hard not to cry when they told me her full name.
Carmelita was there in spirit. She wouldn't have missed it.
Jemma was another blessing entirely. I didn't know I needed another sibling until she came into Silas' life. So smart and kind. She never had siblings, so she was equally, if not more, excited to bring me into her life.
I'm glad I have her.
As if she could sense my uneasiness, I got a text from Jemmie. It was a picture of CiCi wearing a pink polka dot raincoat with red rain boots that took up most of her legs.
JEMMIE:
She wore this to the grocery store yesterday and insisted I send you the photos. Love you!
I smiled and sent back a quick response
ALBA:
Stunning. No notes. 10/10!
JEMMIE:
Wanna come over for dinner before your shift? I have extra chicken?
I debated with myself. It would be easier to just sink into bed and rot until I absolutely needed to get up and leave. But I needed to get up, shower, and eat something before having to go back to work. Might as well do it with my girls.
ALBA:
I'd love to. Be over around 5:30?
JEMMIE:
See you then!
Eventually, I was able to drag myself to the bathroom. I rinsed my hair and body before converting the shower into a bath. Vanilla-scented Epsom salt and some bubble bath did wonders.
My laptop was haphazardly propped up on some towels, playing Pride and Prejudice, the 2005 version of course, when my phone buzzed.
A wet hand emerged from the soapy water, and I did my best to wipe it before looking at the notification. It was an unknown number.
Are you free on Friday to cut my hair?
I hadn't had a chance to add Jack's number to my phone like I said I would earlier in the day. Completely forgot, but who could blame me after the fucking shift I just had.
ALBA:
Yeah, I'm off
JACK:
Okay. 6 sound good?
ALBA:
Sounds great!
JACK:
See you then.
I let my phone fall back to the floor and shut my eyes. Buzz. Buzz. When I picked it back up, Jack had texted a follow-up.
JACK:
You handled today very well.
I smiled. He reached out. That's nice.
ALBA:
Thanks, Jack. You were very kind.
JACK:
Don't get used to it.
ALBA:
Careful, Doc, people might think you're getting sweet on me
JACK:
You can't see it, but I just rolled my eyes.
ALBA:
Oh, I'm sure
Three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear a few times again.
JACK:
Get some rest, Ruiz. See you later tonight.
ALBA:
I'll do my best. The same goes for you.
The conversation was left at that, and I hummed quietly to myself, choosing to ignore the heat I felt in my chest.
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
3.9k
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six: smartass
. . .
DATING IN YOUR LATE TWENTIES IS ACTUAL HELL. Dating apps led to nothing but existential dread from the questionable men you matched with. Everyone's dating goals are very different— why say you are looking for a committed relationship, then two days later, say you just want sex, no strings attached. Both options are fine, just fucking make up your mind!
When you try to meet men organically out in the wild, the guys are either creepy or unable to carry on a conversation that isn't over text. Oh! And you should consider yourself very lucky if you even move out of the talking phase before being ghosted.
With all that being said, I was very much so regretting agreeing to go on the date with Eli.
I had spent the better half of the day getting ready for the date. My everything shower had me crawling out dehydrated and red, but smooth and smelling like tropical vanilla. Body oil and lotion had me walking around my room like Patrick Star until they both fully absorbed into my skin. Music blasted simultaneously as I watched Derry Girls, all while applying eyeliner.
By the end of preparations, half my closet was on the floor, shoes were everywhere, and nothing was where it was supposed to be. My room looked like my six-year-old niece's playroom.
I FaceTimed Claire for outfit advice.
"No blue dress, no black top and jeans, yes to the red polka dot dress. It's cute, but not too casual, easy to dress up or dress down, and sexy without being overly slutty. Unless you want to be slutty then I can make something work. Do you still have that pink dress with the cut-outs?"
I went with the red dress.
Parker wished me luck over text. I thanked her and told her that if I texted a pineapple emoji, that was her sign to call me with whatever excuse she wanted to get me out. She took her orders very seriously and said she was on standby to press the panic button, but hoped I wouldn't have to use it. I told her this would have been a lot easier if I were able to drink. She said I didn't need the liquid courage, but I sure as hell did.
Dates were inherently awkward. I prided myself on being great at small talk... I love a little banter, a good yap, and fun chit chat. Nothing is worse than a dry conversationalist. Eli only seemed to have personality over text. He was very gentlemanly; he even pulled out my chair for me. But damn was he boring.
He asked all kinds of questions about my job, how I was settling in, if I preferred Pittsburgh over Texas, and he even asked about my likes and dislikes. He was a little younger than I expected, twenty-five. He worked for a law firm as a paralegal and seemed to enjoy it.
Don't get me wrong, he was cute, but his maturity just wasn't there. Normally, within the first fifteen minutes or so of a first date, I'm able to gauge whether or not there would be a second. My radar had yet to fail me because twenty minutes in, and I didn't get that...that let's-continue-this sort of feeling. I knew the difference between when I liked someone versus when I liked someone.
And from what I could gather, he was probably feeling the same way. Between him clearly not being over his ex and checking out the waitress's ass, I figured he wasn't feeling it either— there just wasn't a spark, no toe-curling chemistry.
I wasn't heartbroken, more just frustrated that the first date I had gone on in nearly two years had ended not with a bang but with a "Do you wanna split the check?"
—
The base from my music vibrated the car as I pulled into and parked my car in the parking garage for work. Brittany, Gaga, and Nelly Furtado truly did their best to drown out all the negative thoughts bumping through my head.
I leaned back in my seat, staring at the ceiling, "Fucking men."
I huffed out a small disbelieving laugh. Parker's voice echoed in my head— at least you got a free meal out of it.
"Wrong," I muttered.
A cute outfit wasted, my ass looked great too. I glanced down at myself. I still looked good, my hair managed to stay in place and not frizz out, and not a single smudge on my makeup.
Honestly, I don't know why I'm taking this so hard. I used to enjoy dating. It was fun getting to know someone new, even if it didn't work out romantically. People were interesting and weird. Maybe it had something to do with my brother's passing, realising how fleeting time really is, or the fact that I will be thirty in less than two weeks. I could practically hear the clock of my youth ticking away. Dramatic interpretation of my own thoughts and feelings, yes, but true nonetheless.
Begrudgingly, I reached into the backseat, grabbed my work tote and spare clothes bag. Steeling myself to switch gears and replace my mindset for work, I opened my door and walked out. Quickly, I opened my trunk and fished out my work flats and swapped them for my kitten heels.
"Ruiz?"
I froze immediately, of course. I shut the hatchback and turned to face the man attached to the familiar gruff voice.
"Dr. Abbot," I greeted.
Standing a few spots over, keys in one hand, while the other adjusted his backpack strap, Jack eyed me curiously. He looked me over—just briefly.
"You're wearing a dress." He pointed out, a small hint of being pleasantly surprised in his inflection urged me to lean towards it being a compliment. He must have clocked my uncertainty, "You look nice," he corrected.
"Thank you. Glad someone appreciates it."
A small smile tugged at my lips. I put most of my weight on the ball of my left foot and did a small spin. He nodded his approval.
After a second, his mouth twitched slightly. "What got you all dressed up?"
Jack gestured for me to walk with him, and I followed suit, "A date. It went poorly."
He paused briefly, then his brow lifted, "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I sighed. "He wasn't over his ex and kept looking at the waitress."
Jack nodded once, "That'll do it."
We neared the elevator, and I pressed the down arrow button. A beat passed before Jack asked, "Was the food at least good?"
I huffed a quiet laugh, "Yeah. Wouldn't pay that price for it again, though."
The lift arrived, we took it down to the concourse, then crossed the rest of the way to the main entrance. We fell into step together, comfortable and easy. I was very thankful for the reprieve.
"Long shift ahead," he said, "You didn't drink right?"
"No, I did not," I jokingly moped, "Just sober help from me tonight."
"Isn't it always sober?"
"Yes, but I'm feeling a little bitter tonight, so I'll do my best to rein it in."
"For all of our sakes."
"Oh, hush. I keep things interesting."
I pulled a hair tie out of my bag and quickly began braiding my loose hair as we walked. Jack walked beside me, silently impressed. I could do a French braid all the way to the ends of my hair in under three minutes. Honestly, one of my best skills to date.
Jack held the glass door for me, and I walked in after him. After a short walk, we stepped into the next elevator. I hit my floor, and he didn't. Instead, he leaned back slightly.
I glanced at him, "You want me to press it for you?"
"I'll ride up with you."
Okay... my palms began to sweat, and I felt my mind become very aware of myself. Thankfully, this elevator was fast, and the doors opened quickly. I stepped out and turned back slightly.
"See you downstairs?"
He nodded, "Yeah."
Before the doors slid shut, he added, "For the record, he's an idiot for looking at anyone else."
He said it in a gravelly, matter-of-fact tone. I swear to God, he probably saw my brain short-circuiting for a second or two. My body froze, and I opened my mouth to thank him, but the doors shut, and I caught the faintest hint of a smirk before he disappeared. Well, that was cheeky.
—
Shen caught me squinting at him. His brows furrowed heavily, "Did I do something? Should I apologize retroactively or preemptively?"
"Neither," I leaned against the counter, tilting my head to the side in puzzlement, "You're a simple man, aren't you?"
He frowned in thought, "Is that a statement or a question?"
When my face remained expressionless, he answered, "In most things, yes."
"Simple is easy. It can still be fun, unexpected, and surprising. Simple gets a bad rap. I'm so done with complicated, or men who think they are so complex and full of themselves."
"I take it your date didn't go well."
"Nope."
"Sorry, Albs."
I rolled my eyes, "It's fine. I'm blaming Parker. She convinced me to go on the date."
"What are you two plotting?" Jack asked as he grabbed a tablet.
"Don't poke the bear," Shen warned through the corner of his pressed lips.
"I heard that," I remarked flatly.
"I forget, you're young." John looked at Jack and motioned to my ears, "Good hearing."
"You're not that much older than me," I crumbled up my scrap piece of paper and threw it at him before he turned his back.
He caught the wad and threw it away in a nearby waste bin like it was a basketball, "Good luck with your vow to swear off men."
Jack's expression was a question mark, his fingers pausing midway through typing. Eventually, he nods, seemingly coming to his own conclusions.
"Not all men," I tiredly huffed, "Just those that suck at communication."
I mulled over my last thought for a second, "So all of them."
A beat of silence passed, and Jack nodded his head, resigned to my presence for the moment. My eyes watched him intently as he typed. It annoyed me how much I enjoyed his company. We didn't even have to talk most times; it was just a comfort to have him around. Sarcastic comments and dry humor alike. It was unfair. I hated the fondness he sparked in me. No. Absolutely not. Nope. Pushing that thought as far down as possible. Friendship is all I would seek from Jack Abbot.
"My vendetta against your gender aside, anything interesting happening for you lately?"
"Not necessarily."
"Nothing planned?"
"Oh, yeah, big plans," Jack said dryly. "Deep cleaning my house, sleeping, maybe run a few miles."
"Ambitious," I scratched at my chin.
He shrugged one shoulder, "I'll find something to keep me busy. I always do."
"Thrilling."
Jack closed out a chart and leaned back slightly, turning toward me, "I might get a haircut."
His curls. They were cute. Salt and peppery.
"If a trim is what you need, I can do it."
He looked over at me, the crease between his brows deep. His frown was skeptical to the highest degree, "What?"
"I can cut your hair," I repeated casually.
"Seriously?" He asked. I shrugged my shoulders like it wasn't a big deal, "You're serious."
"Very."
I crossed my arms, fully committing now.
"My mom's a hairstylist. I practically grew up at the salon. Learned how to cut hair pretty young, too. It's how I made extra money in college."
He raised a brow, "Yeah? And you just casually kept that skill?"
"It paid my bills in college," I said with a small grin. "I cut everyone's hair. People in my dorm, my friends... random acquaintances who heard I was cheap and decent."
"Decent," he repeated.
"I'm being humble."
He huffed a quiet laugh, "I don't know..."
"I even cut Shen's hair."
As if I had summoned him, John came back to look at the board.
Jack straightened slightly, "Since when do you two hang out outside of work?"
Shen didn't even look away from his task, "Since she cut my hair. Dude, keep up."
I rubbed at my nose, trying not to look too pleased with myself. Jack shook his head slightly, still processing, "And... you just let her cut your hair?"
Shen finally glanced down, "She did a pretty good job."
I leaned forward just a little, eyebrows raised.
"Pretty good?" Jack questioned.
"Better than whatever you've been doing." Shen pointed at Abbot's grown-out wisps.
Jack scoffed under his breath, "Ouch."
I straightened, pointing lightly at Shen before turning back to Jack.
"I told you. I'm good. I promise."
Jack studied me for a second— skeptical but amused, "I don't know if I trust either of you."
I gasped softly, placing a hand over my chest, "That's offensive." I playfully reprimanded, "I swear I won't fuck up the charming, rugged doctor look you got going on."
"I'm fond of my hair," Jack changed the subject.
"I am too," I smiled, "I'll be gentle."
Jack's gaze narrowed, and I continued to look at him sweetly. I even held up two fingers, "Scouts honor."
"Were you even in the scouts?"
"No, but I graduated with honours in college, so that counts for something, right?"
He snorted. I could see the debate he was having with himself mentally. With a deep sigh, he cracked his neck and gave in, "Alright," he said finally.
I blinked, my eyes immediately going owlish, "Are you being serious?"
"Don't make me regret it."
"You won't."
He leaned back slightly against the counter, "What type of payment are we looking at?"
I pretended to think about it, "You can pay me by buying me a tea before my next shift."
He exhaled through his nose, amused, "That's it?"
I nodded, "That's it. I used to make my friends pay me in groceries: tampons, oranges, pasta, condoms, Q-tips once—"
"Alright," he said. "Deal."
I held out my hand. He looked at it. Then shook it— firm and warm. His hands were rougher than I was expecting. I let his hand go and tried to brush off the warmth prickling at the base of my neck.
I held out an empty palm, "Can I borrow your phone?"
"My what?" Jack asked, sharper than he probably intended.
"Your phone?" I tried again with a slight chuckle, "So I can send you my address, and we can set a date for the haircut."
He shook his head clear and fished his cell phone out of his scrub pocket, looking at it dumbly before he handed it over. I handed it back, asking him nicely to unlock the screen for me. I laughed quietly and typed something in before turning the phone back around to lay in his palm.
He took a second to read the name I put as my contact.
SMARTASS (ALBS):
Hello!
I smiled, very much so amused. His eyes ticked up, his head tipped down, and he stared at me scoldingly under his brow.
"Creative."
"Clever," I pointed at him in agreement, "My phone is back in my office, so I'll text you later. 'Kay?"
"Looking forward to it." He dryly told.
—
4 am was loud, louder than it had been in a few nights. Multiple ambulances arrived within seconds of each other— sharp and loud. Police officers filed in and out, their radio chatter amplifying the overstimulation.
MVC, multiple victims routed to us in the late night or early morning. The parents took the brunt of the impact, while the kids in the back suffered less severely. According to the EMTs, they were doing an overnight drive to visit relatives a state over. Some guys swerved and hit them head-on; the drunk driver died on impact.
The second the family of four arrived, you could palpably feel the shift in the air. Abbot bounced from room to room, assisting the residents where he could.
A surgical resident who had been called down for a separate case took one look at the father and his labs and told the team they needed to rush him up to surgery immediately.
Jack coded the mom while Parker tried to wrangle the panicked teenager daughter in the next room over. I came in to help where I could. Lucy— I had learned— was 16 and sitting behind her dad while her younger sister, Amelia, sat behind their mom.
Lucy could see her mom's body through the glass doors to her left. She shouted, squirmed against Parker and the nurses, "Where is my sister? I need to see my sister. Please! Please—" she pleaded hoarsely.
Parker administered something to help calm her. I assured her that her sister was safe in the room just down the hall. She was getting a splint, bruised, and crying, but she'd pull through. Her eyes were swollen by thick tears, and she shook uncontrollably.
Through quivering lips, she asked about her parents, "Your dad's in surgery," I said carefully, "They're working on your mom." Her head turned against the bed to see them applying chest compressions to her limp body. I gently tried to guide her chin to face me, "Stay with me here, okay? They're doing everything they can."
She was scared— terrified, really. When Parker managed to get the girl's vitals stable and the initial exam was nearly completed, I stepped closer to her trembling frame. Lucy's hand reached for mine, and she sobbed.
"He came out of nowhere," she hiccuped, "Dad tried to get out of the way. Amelia wouldn't stop screaming. She was so scared— I- I need to see my sister. Can I see my sister?"
Her wide eyes found everyone's in the room, pleading with us. I patted her hand. Parker spoke first, "First, we need to get this glass out of you and run some labs to make sure there isn't any internal bleeding. You and your sister are in good hands, okay?"
"Alba, please," she begged.
"I'll check on her personally. See what I can arrange, but what matters now is that you and she get looked at properly. We don't want to miss anything, okay, Lucy?"
She nodded weakly, "I just want to know she's okay."
"I'll go find out for you, hun. Do you guys have any relatives in the area I should call?"
She closed her eyes, trying her best to gather her thoughts, "Uh... yes. My aunt Marnie. We were driving to her house. She's the closest we have. She'll worry when we don't get to her place on time."
I nodded, fishing out my pocket notebook, "Do you know her number?"
She shook her head, "My— my phone."
Lucy pointed to her left side, "Back pocket."
Parker turned the 16-year-old carefully and removed the device. The screen was cracked, but it still seemed operational. She told Parker the code, and she entered it for her. She opened her contacts and clicked on her aunt's icon.
"The first number."
I jotted down the 10 digits and confirmed her name was Marnie. When Lucy nodded, I stepped away. Parker clocked my eyes and nodded, "I got her."
Once outside, I exhaled slowly. My mouth went so dry, and the air around me felt heavy and suffocating. I couldn't help the thoughts that percolated deep in my mind. Silas must have been so scared. No. Breathe. Compartmentalise. We will deal with this later.
A sixteen-year-old and a nine-year-old needed me. After a few rings, their aunt picked up. I stayed on the line long enough to explain as much as I could. I did my best to reassure her, but told her she should leave as soon as possible.
When I went to hang up the phone, I noticed the tremble in my own hands. I balled them up tightly into fists and flexed them out as much as I could. I could feel that familiar sensation working its way up my feet. Anxiety, frustration, panic... whatever you wanted to name it... it was something I couldn't quite stop.
Because all I could see was my brother. Flashes of memories, the call, and the aftermath. I blinked hard, forcing myself back. Stay here. Stay present. You're okay. You are here. Breathe.
I continued to force movement into my body and took deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. When I looked back up, Jack was no longer performing compressions on their mom, and he had stepped out of the room. His eyes were glued to a tablet, his brows furrowed deeply. Parker tediously removed the glass from Lucy, and from what I could see, Shen was still in with Amelia.
Taking a moment, I leaned against the counter. My elbows propped up my upper half as my palms pressed into my eyes.
"Mija," it was my mom who told me. The way her voice shook, her breathing... I knew that reaction. That level of pain and anguish. My chest tightened, and I just knew something had happened— call it a gut feeling. I can't fully recall what she said to me. Most of it was covered in sobbing and whimpering. At some point, my papi took over, and that's when I finally allowed myself to let their words sink in.
Silas was gone. He was hit by a drunk driver. He died after hours of trying to save him. Something about a traumatic brain bleed, I honestly don't really want to know. I don't want to imagine what he looked like or what he was going through in his final moments. Thinking about him being scared and hurt made me sick. I didn't want his memory to be tainted, I wanted to remember him as I knew him— smiling, laughing, protective, and a little bit of an ass.
He deserved that dignity— to be remembered as he was, not what took him from us.
"Take a moment," it was hushed and gentle.
Jack.
When I didn't respond, his hand gingerly splayed out along my upper back, "You with me?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, "Yeah."
My hands dropped, and I finally met his eyes. Jack jutted his chin towards an empty hallway near the stairwell.
The hand he had on my back softly guided me in front of him. I pushed open the door and tried to hide the tears that welled in my eyes.
"I'm sorry, this isn't professional."
"Fuck professional," Jack's hand left my back, and his arms crossed over his chest, "Take a second. Collect yourself. Then go back in. We need you, but we need you thinking straight."
I nodded and immediately wiped away a tear that fell, "Sorry. I just need a second. It reminded me a lot of my brother."
"Stop apologising." It was firm, but not unkind.
Puffing my cheeks out, I exhaled again. My arms reached up and folded on my head, and I forced my chest open. I nodded finally at Jack's words.
"You got this," Jack made sure his eyes found mine, "Check in when you can," he said, "I gotta get back in."
"I will," it came out a little breathy.
He lingered for a second or two longer before heading back into the chaos. And I stayed— gathering and collecting my thoughts. A part of me would have loved to disappear from this situation entirely, but this was the reality of my job. People needed my help... these kids needed my help. I gave myself another minute before trudging back in.
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
3.1k
. . .
five: alba-alba
. . .
"SIR, YOU NEED TO STOP."
Mira, our timid night shift intern, raised her voice to an octave no one has heard before. Ellis and I stopped our charting and watched the clumsy scene unfold before us.
Peter Reid, a drunk middle-aged man, attempted to stand from his wheelchair. His legs swayed, and the tall man towered over the nursing staff that moved to help the floundering girl. Mira's desperate eyes pleaded with Parker, and she groaned.
"That's above my pay grade." I hummed as Peter tried to remove his gown.
"Unfortunately, it's not above mine."
Parker stood from her leaning position and took her stethoscope off her neck. She tucked it away in her pocket and walked closer to the agitated man.
"Sir," she commanded his attention with her voice alone, "What is the issue?"
He hiccuped, "I gotta take a leak."
"Then let's use our words, big guy," she pointed at the chair behind him, silently telling him to sit.
Nurse Bridget rolled her eyes and shook her head. Mouthing profanity to herself as she began rolling the agitated drunk down the hallway.
Parker returned a few seconds later. She leaned against the counter, inhaling deeply, "O-kay, where were we?"
"So the guy at the grocery store—"
"Eli," she recalled.
"We've been texting, and I don't know—"
"What's making you apprehensive?" She asked while leaning into her palms.
Parker was pretty good at reading me; anytime I took too long to respond or purposefully avoided a topic, she knew not to press further. Something in my expression must have silently told her the underlying reason.
She had come over the other night, I made sopa, and we drank some wine to debrief the week. As our talks always do, they evolved into something deeper than originally intended. She let me talk about Silas and Carmela— actually talk about them. And for a while, their memories weren't shrouded in sadness but in laughter. We cried, we laughed, we passed out on the couch, and watched morning cartoons from our childhood while making breakfast, as I had with my friends back in Texas. It was the first morning in Pittsburgh where breathing didn't feel like a chore.
"It's okay to let your life move on," Her voice quieted a little, and she nudged me back into my body.
"I know," I absentmindedly rubbed at my nail beds.
"It's just a date. It doesn't have to be anything crazy. It'll get you outta the house, give you an excuse to get all pretty, a chance just to say you did something for yourself."
"You're right."
"Of course I'm right," she smirked, "I'm always right."
"Bold statement."
"I'm a bold person."
"Dr. Ellis," Lena cut in, "Labs are back for your patient in 13."
"Duty calls," she hissed in a sharp breath, "Thanks. Lena."
Before she fully left, she pointed a finger at me, "We're not done with this conversation."
"Not done with what conversation?" Shen asked as he rolled up with two Dunkin' Donuts cups in his hands.
"None of your concern," I smiled sweetly at him.
John handed me an iced tea, and I thanked him, "How's the haircut holding up?"
He loosely ran his fingers through it, "Pretty good. No complaints."
"Great! And thank you for the payment." I held out my cup in a cheers motion. We bumped them together.
"Oh no, now there's two of you," Jack's voice came from behind us.
"Jealous?"
He scoffed, "Not the word I would use."
"Enjoy, I have a patient to check up on in nine. I may or may not need you, so stay close by." Shen playfully tapped my shoulder with the tablet as he walked past.
When I turned back around, Jack was no longer on the other side of the room. He had moved closer, much closer. Like hovering above the keyboard at the computer station, I was leaning on closer.
"How was going out with your friends?"
"You remembered?" I was surprised.
He nodded his response.
"It was fun," I thought back to the night Claire texted me to meet up with her and some friends at a bar not too far from my apartment. I remember tequila shots being fed to me, dancing with the gals, someone's shoe breaking, 2 Ubers canceling on us, and that was about it.
"I drank a lot of tequila and lived to regret it the next morning."
Jack hummed knowingly, "You and tequila seem to be a dangerous combination."
"Lethal, some might say. I'm in the last year of my twenties, so I figured I might as well test my liver's strength while I can."
His eyes ticked up to mine briefly, "Like I said, dangerous combination."
I laughed, "You're not wrong."
"How 'bout you, what have you been getting up to?"
"Oh, trust me, it's not as fun as tequila."
He continued to read over a chart, type, then open another document, all while carrying on our conversation.
"Tell me." I egged on, "and holy shit, you are great at multitasking."
"It's my job," he brushed me off in a sing-songy tone, "And nothing really."
"C'mon, there had to be something. What does Jack Abbot do in his free time?"
"What I do in my free time is none of your business," he playfully scolded.
"Someone's defensive," I poked my pen into his bicep until it clicked on and off.
Jack gently swatted at my hand, "Stop."
He tried to hide his smile, which made me smile more. I cocked my head to the side, pushing him just a little further, "What, do you put on a cape and fly around the city saving helpless individuals? Superman style."
Jack didn't say anything right away; he let the silence stretch between us, and amusement lightened my face.
"I'll neither confirm nor deny." He mumbled.
"You do look a little Clark Kent-ish," I vaguely motioned to his hair, "you know, with the curls."
"That's about as much as we have in common," Jack deadpanned, "Don't you have work you should be doing?"
"Buzzkill," I leaned forward, forcing his eyes to meet mine. He looked so disgruntled that it made me laugh.
Jack's gaze flickered between what he was reading and me staring at him. His furrowed brow softened just slightly, and I took that as a win.
"Don't kill my whimsy, Abbot. You'll miss it when it's gone."
"As long as you and your—" he used his fingers to mimic quotes around the word, "—'whimsy' get work done, I don't mind it."
"So you like my whimsy?" I asked, very much so, enjoying annoying him this early in the shift.
"I tolerate it," Jack logged out of the computer, finally, and leaned back.
"Geez, Scrooge, would it hurt you to say you enjoy my company?"
Jack stood, his arms crossing over his chest as if it were his default stance.
"I enjoy your company," it was calm and to the point.
I hummed, clearly amused by the drop in volume and mild irritation, "Was that so bad?"
"Like pulling teeth," he deadpanned.
"Ruiz," Shen called, "Need you after all."
"Saved by the bell," I stepped past the brooding doctor and into Shen's line of sight.
He mumbled something that I wasn't able to fully hear as I walked away. When I asked him to repeat it, he waved me off and shook his head.
"How can I be of service?"
John passed me the tablet with the patient's chart as he gave me a quick rundown, "Unhoused gentleman, Lance Thompson. Came in for a cut sustained from a trash can. The metal gashed his calf pretty badly. We got him patched up. He's been having trouble getting into some shelters. Think you can help?"
I huffed out a heavy breath through my cheeks, "I can try, but placement this late is gonna be difficult. I'll see who's on call at the shelter, maybe something by the morning."
"Anything you can do would help," John said, "Wanna talk with him?"
"Yeah," we stopped briefly to let a gurney pass, "It'll help me get a lay of the land."
"Great. He's in here," he announced to us before tugging open the yellowed curtain, "Mr. Thompson, this is our lovely social worker. Her name is Alba."
"Hi Alba-Alba."
The greying brunette repeated my name twice. His eyes bounced back and forth between me, the ground, and his hands. I smiled kindly, exchanging pleasantries with him again.
"Hi, Mr. Thompson."
"Your name is so pretty I had to say it twice," he smiled, his parted lips revealing a few missing teeth, "You can call me Lance."
"Okay, Lance-Lance."
His smile reached his eyes, and he nodded happily, "Nice to meet you, Alba-Alba."
The man sat quietly, shoulders hunched, a worn backpack at his feet. One shoe had a hole near the big toe, and the other was a completely different brand.
I grabbed the stool by the computer and sat down. I asked him how I could help. He had been trying to get into shelters for the better part of two months— no vacancy, no beds, just rejection after rejection. This part of the job was more logistics and playing the waiting game.
"Thank you for sharing with me, Lance-Lance. I'm gonna call some people and see what I can do. Is there anything else we can get you in the meantime?"
"Some juice?" He asked optimistically.
I smiled and scrunched my nose, "I'm sure we can swing that."
"Thanks, Alba-Alba."
As promised, I called around, checked openings, and coordinated transport options. He had no prior stays at any of the shelters I was aware of, which bodes well for him. Typically, shelters will flag people for bad behavior, so I was banking on possibly having somewhere for him in the morning. Everyone was full tonight, so for now, he could at least rest here. Shen agreed to keep him under the guise of needing to monitor his wound for a bit longer.
—
The night trudged ahead, it was a little more forgiving than most... but I didn't dare say that part out loud. Call me superstitious, or a little-stitious. It was now midnight, and I made my rounds, checking in on patients after doing some work on my end.
Eleanor Novak, age 81, came into the ER after she sliced herself while making dinner. She then hit her head when she tried to grab a bandage from the cabinet below her sink. After her workup, I called her emergency contact, her daughter Marianne. She was rightfully upset and said she was on her way to get her mother.
Ms. Novak was a very put-together woman. When I first spoke with her, she was awaiting a head CT. She had rollers in her hair protected by a scarf, a green handbag propped up beside her, and a waffle knit robe wound around her waist. Everything neat and nothing out of place. Now— she sat upright on the bed, her curls loose, rollers in a plastic bag beside her purse, and a small dressing on her hairline. Still very much put together, but a little less uniform.
"Ms. Novak," I said softly after opening her door, "I have news for you."
"Ah— Ms. Alba, I have a question. Do you have a middle name?" She redirected almost immediately.
Slightly thrown by the question, I tucked my small notebook into my back pocket, "Uh, I do. It's Mae."
"That's lovely," she gushed in the way most grandmas do, "Mine is Jean. Eleanor Jean Novak. My mother almost made my first name Jean, but my father preferred Eleanor. She called me Jeanie to get around his decision."
"My older sister liked Mae, and my brother liked Alba, so my parents used both."
"How wonderful," she reached into her purse and grabbed a compact and lipstick, all while talking, "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking. You are very young and seem very accomplished."
"I'm 29, ma'am. And thank you," I clasped my hands in front of me.
Before I could speak again, she asked me another question, her voice pressed as she gingerly applied pink lipstick, "I have a grandson who's 32. He's handsome, ginger, but attractive."
"As interesting as that prospect may be, Ms. Novak, I am more interested in making sure you get home safe. I spoke with your daughter, Marianne, and she is on her way."
"Oh, goodie," it was dryer than her previous tone.
"You sound," I searched for the right word, "Apprehensive?"
Ms. Novak huffed. She snapped her compact shut swiftly and aggressively put her things away, "I don't want to go home with that dreary daughter of mine."
I snickered, amused by her sudden pouty behavior, "Would you like to share why?"
Most of the time, older folks who come into the ED stick around just to have someone to talk to. I saw it all the time on the day shift; the nursing homes would send their tenants around 7:30 am each morning, and discharges never happened as quickly as they should have for that reason. Ms. Novak— Eleanor Jean, was no exception.
"I love my Marianne, but she worries too much," she sulked, "She wants me to go to one of those dreaded homes. I don't need a home, I have one. Mine. My late Quincy and I. Ours. She wants to uproot me and stick me there. Left to rot and wither away."
A little dramatic, but I understood her frustration. I smiled warmly and asked if I could join her. She told me to sit, and I did my best to de-escalate the crimson in her cheeks to a softer hue.
"Ms. Novak—"
"Eleanor," she corrected sweetly, already using a calmer tone.
"Eleanor," I matched her cadence, "I bet you Marianne is only suggesting help because she cares."
"Bullhokey, that's what that is," she turned up her irritation again, "She is just trying to get rid of me so she doesn't have to watch over me all the time."
"Is that what she has expressed, or is that what you are assuming?"
"Alba Mae, I like you," she warned, "Don't make me dislike you."
I chuckled, "Ms. Eleanor Jean, I want what is best for you. There are plenty of alternatives for senior housing that don't involve going to an assisted living facility."
She paused, her eyes really staring into mine. Reading and assessing me for honesty. Something in her gaze pleaded with me, begging me to understand without her actually having to explain what she was feeling.
"I know I'm old," she began, "But I think I've been doing just fine for 81 years."
I smiled softly. That earned me a gentler look, less accusatory, "You know assisted living isn't about losing independence. It's about keeping it... safely."
When she didn't have a witty response right away, I kept going, "You'd still have your own space. Your routines. But there'd be people around if you needed help. Especially after an incident like tonight."
Her shoulders softened just a fraction, "I don't want to be forgotten," she said quietly.
The woman in front of me, who took up so much of the room, looked much smaller than she had before. Defeat and embarrassment deflated her. I reached forward and grabbed her hand in mine. Perfectly manicured red nails cradled my much less presentable hands.
My chest tightened. "You won't be," I was firm. "If anything, it keeps you more connected."
Pensive green eyes met mine, wanting and longing for genuine acceptance and compassion. I see you, I hear you, you are not alone. It was silently shared between us. She must have believed me in some capacity because she squeezed my hand in hers, and a tear rolled down her face.
"Ms. Alba Mae, will you talk to my daughter?" she asked.
"Of course."
Eleanor reached for her purse and grabbed an embroidered handkerchief. She dabbed lightly below her eyes and asked, "Now, are you sure you don't want my grandson's number?"
—
2 am to 4 am were my least favorite hours of the shift. It's where dumb met dumber and where horrible met tragic. A two-hour stretch where it was either completely dead or so busy that everyone went into survival mode. Tonight started out relatively palatable, but the look on Jack's face when he gently tapped my elbow to get my attention made my stomach drop.
"Can I borrow you?"
It was quiet and direct. He seemed tense.
"Everything okay?"
"Need you in four." Again, it was quick and to the point
"Okay," I studied him quickly, trying to sense the energy of the room I was about to walk into, "What's up?"
"Veteran. Came in after a suicide attempt."
Oh. The air around us was heavy, thick, and sticky. I instantly reached for his arm, "You good?"
Jack squared his body towards mine, halting his movement, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. He just needs someone to talk to."
"Got it," I let his arm go and gestured for him to continue forward.
"Jaime Martinez, he's in his 40's. Ex-Military."
With the brief information, Jack knocked twice on the door before turning the handle.
"Jaime, this is Alba. I thought it'd be beneficial to have her sit with us while we talk."
Jaime's forearms were bandaged. His eyes drooped with a tiredness that went beyond physical exhaustion. I stepped in gently behind Jack and introduced myself. We took a seat and took things very slowly. The conversation started like most assessments, careful and direct but not too clinical. I did my best to sound understanding and approachable.
"You came in looking for help. That's a big step."
He eyed us with a faint wariness, but nodded eventually. I continued to build the entirety of him and his situation— the biological, psychological, and social aspects of his life. Allowing space for honesty. Neither of us rushed to fill any silence.
Jack didn't interrupt; he just sat there listening and absorbing. So intent and tuned in to the shaken man.
"It sounds stupid, man. I just feel like I'm drowning and I can't come up for air. It's a feeling I've never been able to fully shake... not since coming back," he admitted tiredly.
Jaime's palms dug into his eyes, and he leaned forward onto his knees, "It's been a rough couple of years, man. I haven't been able to hold down a steady job, my girl left me, I lost so many of my brothers to this shit, I just feel like I lost something out there. Like, a part of me died, man. I had a purpose out there, a family. Now that family is gone, the VA doesn't do shit, and I'm so tired. So fucking tired that I just wanted all of it to stop. I just... I needed something to feel different. To remind me that I was real. In my body, real. Cause for a while it's just felt like I'm hovering above my life, while something else steers it."
Jack shifted beside me, finally speaking after a prolonged silence, "How long have you been out?"
"8 years."
"What branch again?"
"Marines."
Jack gave a small nod and gestured to himself, "Army."
Jaime met Jack's eyes for the first time since I walked in. Something shifted, subtly, but noticeable enough that he sat up a little straighter. He studied him. Jack didn't shift or fidget under the evaluative gaze.
"What did you do?" He asked Jack.
"I was a medic."
"Gunnery Sergeant."
Another quiet beat passed between them. Then Jaime laughed dryly, "I don't feel whole, man, I don't even recognize myself."
"Yeah," he said simply, "I know the feeling. I came back and struggled to cope with everything I saw. I lost people, too, struggled to find my footing, and nothing about the transition back was easy. The real kicker was losing a leg."
Jack lifted his left pant leg just enough to reveal a metallic prosthesis. More silence, then a quiet respect. Jaime nodded once. Jack eyed him up and down.
"How are you sleeping?"
Jaime let out a humorless laugh, "I'm not."
Jack frowned in thought. His thumb wiped mindlessly at the tip of his nose, "Too quiet, right? Or too loud, it's overwhelming?"
The exhausted vet nodded, "Yeah."
"Nightmares?"
Mr. Martinez hesitated, "Sometimes."
"Me too."
Worn-down and bloodshot eyes pleaded with us, "I just don't know how to exist anymore, Doc."
Everyone sat with the confession. I observed Jack, monitoring his own expressions. He let Jaime's words sink in, and he seemed to teeter on the edge of saying something.
"You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Helping yourself is a process. But there are ways to make it better— not perfect, but better." He was quiet and focused.
I felt Jack swivel in his chair beside me, his knee bumping mine. Briefly, hazel eyes flickered up to me, mine. Jack whispered, "Do you have any paper?"
The notebook I shoved in my pocket earlier. I opened it and tore out a small piece of paper. His eyes silently thanked me, and he scribbled out a memorized phone number.
"I used to go to a support group," he began, "Buddy of mine runs it. He served too, so he gets it."
Jaime watched carefully. Jack folded up the paper and handed it over, "Call him. Text him. He's better at this stuff. Or don't. Just keep it."
Mr. Martinez took it. Turned it over a few times and put it inside his wallet.
"Did it help any?" Jaime asked, hesitantly.
"I wouldn't have kept going if it didn't do something."
A faint nod came from Jaime, "Okay."
We spent a few more minutes with him. I filled in the gaps—resources, safety planning, next steps. Made sure he wasn't leaving alone. Made sure he had options. Real ones, not just pamphlets or outdated websites.
When we finally stepped out of the room, the door clicked softly behind us, and I exhaled slowly. Jack and I stepped off to the side, the deafening silence from before now completely gone. The chaotic noise from the ER amplified and warped, before my ears adjusted properly.
Jack stayed quiet for a second. Then leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his jaw, "Thanks for that."
My arms crossed over my chest, "Anytime."
When he avoided my eyes and didn't offer anything further, I decided it was probably in my best interest to give him some space.
"You did great. I mean it. You gave him a perspective and assurance in a way I couldn't.
Jack shrugged, "Sometimes it helps hearing it from someone who's been there."
We studied each other for a moment. Something softer sat under the surface tonight, and I got the feeling he didn't show it often. While I had been under the weight of his gaze before, this was very different. I thought I would find him just a tiny bit more intimidating this up close and personal, but found the opposite to be true.
"I'm here if you ever need to talk," I said gently, "I've been known to listen."
As far as I'm aware, he's never looked at me this long, although I get the distinct impression that he's watched me for longer, observing me. I don't mind it. It's nice... feeling seen.
Jack simply nodded.
"I'm going to get some paperwork started for him," I stepped a little closer, reached out, and gave his arm a light squeeze as I moved past him.
He looked down at where my hand had been for half a second. Then back at me. He nodded, and I excused myself.
previous part. | next part. | masterlist. | pinterest.
( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
3.3k
. . .
four: grief and loss
. . .
UNFORTUNATELY, AT THE AGE OF TWENTY NINE, I WAS VERY INTIMATE WITH THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF. Depression, bargaining, denial, anger, and acceptance— all five never linearly felt.
At 19, I had lost my 34-year-old sister to an aggressive form of breast cancer.
I began grieving the loss of my 37-year-old brother at 27– courtesy of a drunk driver on I-376.
At 29, I grieved the life I had originally thought I was going to have. At any given time, I feel this immense hollowness that will probably never go away. And I don't think I want it too, because grieving them— missing them is the closest I have to having them again.
That unnamed pain and anger... It's a reminder of how much love I felt for them. It's a reminder of how much space they took up in my world. It's their way of reminding me to take care of myself, slow down... and appreciate the little things.
Anytime someone asks if I have siblings, I struggle with the answer. Yes, I do. Or did. Do you stop being a sibling once they are gone?
I don't think I ever allowed the reality of their deaths to sink in fully. In all honesty, I don't think I can. If I think about it for too long, I'm scared it'll swallow me whole. The thought that they will miss major milestones, conversations, and wisdom that'll never be passed down, moments they were supposed to stand beside me for.
I carry the guilt of laughing again, of planning my future, of living in a life they don't get to see. It was a tricky thing being the youngest, because while I didn't get to see them young while I was growing up... I at least thought we'd grow old together.
As a very sentimental person, I have a very difficult time throwing things away. I hoard, collect, and curate mementos and memories of loved ones. Ticket stubs, concert bands, pictures, and miscellaneous items clutter a box under my bed. Large loopy letters written in Sharpie label it: for when you want to remember.
An entire section of my jewelry box is dedicated to all of my sister's jewelry she owned, most of it was costume jewelry... things I'd never really pick, but I can't bring myself to throw them away.
My brother's sweatshirts take up a drawer in my dresser. They're thin, some with holes and others frayed at the seams, and still faintly smell like him. The flowers he bought me for my birthday last year are dried out and hanging in my bathroom. A baseball he got signed for me by Brad Ausmus and Jeff Bagwell sits in a case on my dresser. Memories to remind me of them.
I still feel it in my chest sometimes— the exact moment everything changed both times. Neither my sisters' nor my brothers' death was loud. They were silent and paralyzing. They were also very different. One was anticipated, expected, given a time frame of when and how it could happen.
The other was sudden and disorienting... a complete shock to the nervous system. Isolating. A reminder of how fragile and precious every moment could be.
Sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in those moments... reaching and waiting for them to tell me it wasn't real.
This morning was no different.
I was tired. Down to the middle of my bones, tired. Couldn't move, kind of tired. Weighed down by everything that I've suppressed and things I have yet to confront. Utterly exhausted.
My phone lit up with texts from my mama. The light was too bright, and I face planted back into the pillow. Only when it got too hard to breathe did I sit up.
The phone buzzed again.
MAMI:
Good morning, cariño 🌞
MAMI:
Can you please take the cookies today? I have to go in early. Thank you! I left them on the counter. Papa is already at work too. Besitos, mamá.
MAMI:
Can you also bring in the trash cans?
Another thing to add to the list. I groaned, willing my body to get up. Physically moving took me another 30 minutes. Forcing movement on myself, I stood and stretched. Tired feet carried me to the bathroom, and uncooperative arms lazily helped me get ready for the morning.
My parents' home was roughly 28 minutes away, then it was another 10 minutes away from the VA, and the VA was 20 minutes away from my sister-in-law's place. And there goes my whole day.
One scalding mug of Earl Grey and a mildly concerning amount of honey later, I was walking out of the apartment. Keys and purse in hand, I only realized my phone was still inside when I was buckled up.
Fucking shit.
I went back upstairs and grabbed the four other things I managed to forget in my morning haze: phone, birth control from the purse I just changed, a new pack of mints, and my room chapstick since my car chapstick turned into my work chapstick.
I paused, my body spinning in a circle to give the room one last once over. I think I had everything.
—
My parents have lived in their house for almost a decade now. They moved to Pittsburgh when my sister-in-law was pregnant with my niece. My parents wanted to be close, to help out. I was still in Texas for my undergrad, and my sister was in Chicago at the time, but I came and visited a lot.
After dragging the trash cans to the side of the house, I fumbled to separate the Star Wars themed key from the rest of my stuff. My dad had picked it out, claiming it was the only one left, but I honestly didn't mind it. Sadly, Princess Leia's face was almost completely worn off and practically silver.
With the door finally open, I made a beeline for the fridge and stole a Diet Coke. Two red-lidded Tupperware sat on the counter with a sticky note on top of the largest one, reading: thank you, cariño! I left you some on the side to take home. Enjoy. -mami
Every third week of the month, my mom would drop off some baked goods at the VA for the staff my brother used to work with. She did it before he died, and she's continued it long after. When I visited over the summers, that was my job. My payment then was leftovers and a twenty-dollar bill my brother would slip me before I headed back home. It was always some variation of empanadas, cookies, or cake. Continuing the tradition helps her with her grief, I think.
With the containers in hand, I locked up and plugged in the address to the VA on my phone for directions.
—
As I parked the car, my palms and feet began to sweat. My stomach hollowed out, and my vision narrowed. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in, followed by a long exhale.
I hadn't visited since he passed... honestly, I've kind of been avoiding it. His coworkers reached out, but I'd come up with excuses of either prepping for work or moving.
Just go in. The quicker you are in, the quicker you can get out. Avoidance is never healthy, but in this moment I could give two shits. And that was me prioritizing self-care.
Begrudgingly, I got out and made my way inside. I knew my way around the building pretty well, so it didn't take me long to arrive on the family medicine floor.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Alba Mae?"
I smiled, "Hi, Ms. Ashlee."
The elderly black woman stood from her chair and walked around to the front of the desk. She wrapped me in a hug and squeezed tightly.
"How are you settling in, hon?"
"Hanging in there. Started my new position over at PTMC."
She pulled back just enough to cradle my face in her hand, "Good, baby."
"How are you?" I threw the question back at her.
"Busy. Taking care of the grand babies and keeping this ship running," she took the Tupperware from my hands and gestured for me to follow her to the break room, "Is your mom here too?"
"No. Just me today. She got caught up at work, so you'll have to settle for me."
She huffed, mildly scolding me, "Settle? We've been begging her to make you come by."
Guilt prickled at the base of my neck, "Sorry 'bout that. It's just—"
"I know. It can't be easy." She sympathetically smiled.
"Is that Alba?" A familiar blonde woman practically charged me.
"Claire!" I laughed as she tackled me.
Tightly wound around one another, I suddenly felt a little more relaxed. I first met her three years ago when I was visiting my brother. She's a nurse here, close to my age. We got along very well, and she quickly became incorporated into my Pittsburgh routine.
"You left so quickly after Sila's funeral. I never got to say goodbye to you." It was muttered into my hair.
"I know. I'm sorry."
She backed out of the embrace and gathered my hands in hers, "Now you have to make it up to me." She smiled sweetly, the gap between her front teeth on full display.
"Oh, do I?" I teased.
"Uh-huh. I'll text you when and where. I need to go dancing soon."
"I'll hold you to it."
—
Around midday, I said my last goodbyes to my brother's coworkers and headed out to my sister-in-law's home.
It was an odd sensation, feeling uncomfortable in a place that once felt like a secondary home. Today was major exposure therapy.
Out of the car and in front of the door, I knocked twice. A tiny face peeked out from the living room window, "She's here!"
"Stink bug," I called out.
"Ti Ti!"
The door opened, and Jemma's relieved smile welcomed me. "She's been begging for you nonstop."
"Good thing I'm here now."
Jemma wrapped me in a hug. My hands rubbed up and down her back, "Hey, Jemmie."
"Albie." She kissed my cheek and tugged me in.
"Girls' day!" Cecelia announced while running to grab the contents of her scattered purse.
"Looks like someone started without me," I laughed as I helped pick up a whole lime, a broken hair tie, a few Cheetos, and a littlest pet shop.
"Someone had to get the party started," she reasoned as if it were a no-brainer.
Jemma shook her head, hiding her smile behind her palm, "That's all your brother."
"Yeah, you definitely have your hands full with her."
I handed the loose contents of CiCi's purse back to her. She bowed and quickly retreated to her room.
"Already being ditched?"
"We went shopping yesterday and wanted to wait until you got here to pick out her outfit. She is very pressed about the decision."
"Ahh," I nodded in understanding.
We collapsed on the couch, exhaustion weighing our limbs into the worn-in cushions. A few moments later, CiCi scurried out of the hallway wearing a fluffy princess robe, holding up two hangers: one with a pink dress with yellow flowers, the other was also pink but with orange polka dots.
"They're just so different."
She was dead serious. I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. With narrowed eyes, I stared at the choices, "What vibe are we going for, Stinky?"
"Cute. Something to wear with my boots," her tiny nail-polished finger pointed at the sparkly pink cowboy boots by the door, "Just casual, you know, a going-out look."
I looked down at my outfit, "If that's the case, I'm severely underdressed."
She took one look at my jeans and t-shirt, "I'm sure I have something you can borrow."
The 6, soon to be 7-year-old, spun on her socked feet and waved her hand for me to join her. Jemma and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"Go before she starts yelling. She runs a tight ship."
I stood, my feet slipping a little on the hardwood floor. CiCi did, in fact, shout my name when I didn't come quickly enough.
"Okay, Stinks, what'cha got for me?"
She now had a comically large gem ring on her finger. Pensively, she glanced around the room. Ribbon, clothes, feather boas, and fairy wings cluttered the colorful room. The funny thing is, Jemma texted me this morning that it took her forever to clean CiCi's sequence-infested room. To be fair, CiCi did enjoy deep cleaning... but only if she was in the mood and if Selena was playing. She also enjoyed cleaning other people's rooms; she is nosy and likes to snoop.
Earrings and scarves were thrown in my direction. I was directed to sit in front of her mirror. She held each item against herself, eyeing the reflection, before doing the same to me. Her nose either scrunched in disapproval or her eyebrows rose really high when she liked a combination.
"Here, Ti Ti, you can wear this one, it won't work with what I have."
She handed me a brown scarf with daisies on and I tied it on one of my belt loops. She handed me a matching pair of white daisy clip-on earrings, and I traded them for the hoops I had on.
I turned to her for approval, "Survey says?"
She pursed her lips and told me to stand, "Do a spin."
I did as I was told, and she nodded, "Better. How do you feel?"
A smile tugged at my lips, "Fabulous."
"Then that's all that matters." CiCi grabbed my hand and stared at our reflection again. She posed, her body swaying side to side.
My heart clenched as I willed away the tears that began forming. She had Silas's nose and eyes. People always say the firstborns look like their dads. I'm lucky to have this little piece of him at least.
"You okay, Tia?"
"Yeah, baby," I crouched down to her level. My hands smoothed over her wispy hair, "Just thinking about your papi."
CiCi's face morphed into something serious. Her hands reached up, little fingers adjusting my glasses.
"I do that a lot too," her voice sounded so small, "Mrs. Marjorie says it's good to do that. And that it's okay to cry."
Her thumb wiped over my cheek, and I didn't realize a tear escaped. My eyes clenched shut, trying to drown out the anxiety clawing up my throat. It was unfair, so fucking unfair. Not for me, but for her. My sweet Cici. Her touch grounded me— warm and soft. Before I could open my eyes, her small arms wrapped around my neck.
"Thank you, baby." I breathed her in. A beat passed before I recovered and said with complete honesty, "Mrs. Marjorie is very smart."
"She is. She is."
—
Jemma snuck out an hour later. She deserved the break. So, with CiCi strapped into her car seat, we made our way to my dad's record store. It wasn't too far from the park where we spent the past hour playing.
The sign that hung above the door was the original one from his first shop back in Houston— Hector's Records. It was sandwiched in between a coffee shop and a small dance studio.
Inside was much smaller than the one he had in Texas, but it was covered from floor to ceiling in cd's, band posters, and vinyls, of course. Amber lamps drenched the space in warmth, and the stained glass in the window made colorful shapes appear on the floor. He had those in the original store too; they were always my favorite. I'd play on the floor with my toys, my fingers tracing the contoured outlines. CiCi did the same thing.
Jaycee, one of Papa's shop hands, smiled as she saw us, already waving us to the back where Papa was setting up a new display. It was a 'staff picks' section. Above the colorful tags, I'm sure Jaycee had made a record with a brief description as to why they picked it. Papa picked Highwaymen by the Highwaymen, Jaycee opted for Cowboy Carter by Beyonce, Anya had Emails I Can't Send by Sabrina Carpenter as hers, and Miles picked a record with AC/DC's best hits.
When Papa finally saw us, his mustache lifted as he smiled, "Mis preciosas."
"Hola, papi," I kissed both his cheeks and hugged him tightly.
"Mi vida," he responded against my hair before pulling back.
My dad and I spoke mainly in Spanish to one another, especially when CiCi was around so she could practice. CiCi was swept up in his arms, and he nibbled at her head while tickling her. She yelped, and laughter instantly filled the room.
"Hi, Popo," she giggled.
"Hi, sweet pea."
He held her in his arms and whisked her away to pick a record to add to the display. Before he left, he told me to do the same. As they walked down the aisle, I sneakily snapped a picture of them and sent it to Jemma. She responded almost instantly with a heart.
I took my time, thumbing through different genres. First blues, rock, musicals, then hip hop and R&B. Fugees' The Score felt right for the moment. Two isles over in the kids section, CiCi held two finals in her hand, one the soundtrack to Cars, the other a medley of Disney songs.
"You want to do both?" Papa asked her.
"Yes, I can't choose just one."
Her voice always went up an octave when she spoke in Spanish, and it was the cutest fucking thing possible. She held both up proudly when she saw me, "Ti-Ti! Look."
"I see," I laughed at her enthusiasm.
"C'mon, let's go put them up. I'll have Jaycee make two more name tags."
"On it!" She announced from the other side of the shop, having overheard us.
CiCi asked if she could help, and Jaycee pulled a stool up at the counter beside her. Markers were pulled out of a bin just below the register. She had precut strips ready to go. CiCi was messy in most things she did, but she tried really hard when it came to her handwriting.
Still keeping her in my eyeline, I sat near my dad as he went back to his display. We didn't say anything at first. I just closed my eyes and let the music in the store numb me. The song switched, and Dad hummed softly to Ritchie Valens' Oh Dona.
If I tried hard enough, I was eight years old again in the garage listening to him sing. Back when our family was whole, and loss had yet to touch us. When things felt calm, nothing world-stopping had happened yet, and all I had to worry about was what I was going to wear to school the next day.
"You're quiet today, mijita."
"Just tired, papi."
A pause, a soft lull in the stillness, then a follow-up, "Is that all?"
My eyes opened, and I sat up. Soft eyes watched me with concern. I inhaled deeply and smiled softly, "just missing everyone."
"I understand," His morose expression sat heavy on his face, "Me too."
It was quiet again, both of us very aware of the hole, no, the chasm of unnamable emotions that come along with losing siblings and children. Made to mourn the person you were before them and forced to accept who you are after. Navigating that uncharted path with parents generations older than you, who were never raised to confront emotion or deal with pain.
Papi did his best. He listened, he comforted in ways only a person who's lost two children can. Mami isolated, she ignored, and she got angry. She forgot to check in and chose to cry on her own— putting on a mask of strength. Two sides of the same coin.
We did our best.
So, sitting on the floor of the record store my dad protected himself in, I watched him and my niece living and breathing in the moment— absorbing as much of them as possible. Remembering every little detail so as not to take for granted anything.
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
4.4k
. . .
three: famous last words
. . .
TONIGHT CONCLUDED MY FIRST WEEK ON NIGHT SHIFT. Three days on, two nights off, two days on again. A never ending cycle I sold my soul to.
By the end of my first week, I learned three things:
One: time is a weird construct we are all forced to subscribe to.
Two: a place can have a personality, and the ED was a prime example of that theory.
Three: caffeine in any form is a must.
It always took my body longer than I'd like to admit to adjust to any sort of time change. Between the move and attempting to rewire my sleep schedule again, rest in any form alluded me.
Running on pure adrenaline and snacks, I did my best to be as competent during business hours as I could. Parker, bless her, did her best to help. That included coming over for dinner before shifts and reminding me that functioning as a human outside of the hospital was possible.
The chaos came in waves instead of a steady stream. Moments of eerie calm followed by bursts of urgency that snapped everyone into motion. While working in the ED, you learned to read the room, to feel when something was about to happen before it actually did.
Assume benevolence, trust your gut, listen to your instincts, and lead with curiosity.
Lucia drilled that into me while I interned with her during undergrad. She helped armor and mold me to survive an emergency department. She also told me always to bring comfy shoes and a spare change of clothes. I already had to bust into that bag once this week.
Now, seated at the hub, I reread discharge notes, hoping my brain would compute it the second time around.
"Still alive?"
I looked up from my tablet to see Parker leaning against the counter, sipping a Red Bull.
"Barely."
She chuckled and must have caught on to my longing gaze, "Want a sip?"
"Yes, please," I winced, "Thank you."
I greedily took a sip and thanked her profusely afterwards.
"Chin up, baby cakes, we got 10 more hours of this shit."
"Fuck," I groaned softly and leaned forward on my elbows. My hands covered my eyes in an attempt to physically hold my sanity together long enough to get through this shift, "I need like thirty seconds."
"Take sixty then get back on the horse, Tex."
Ellis patted my shoulder sympathetically before leaving. My eyes thanked me for the brief relief away from the bright lights. My palms pressed lightly until I saw fuzzy white stars in the darkness.
Movement continued around me— chattering voices, shoes shuffling, wheels squeaking, the usual hum of the ER as we crept closer to midnight.
"Just cause you can't see us doesn't mean we can't see you."
Jack.
"If I ignore you, it's all the same thing," I muttered from behind my hands.
"Now, why would you ignore me?" His voice was gravelly, "I've been told I'm excellent company."
"Just a bucket of sunshine."
My hands finally dropped. Jack leaned on his forearms, observing as always. Calm and acutely aware of everything.
He dropped his voice, speaking quietly enough to make the conversation private, "We're barely two hours in. You gonna make it?"
"No choice."
"Rough day?" His brow wrinkled.
"Sleep and I are like oil and water," I clicked my pen absentmindedly, "Lanie is still out, so I'm the only case manager for tonight."
Jack frowned, tilting his head as he surveyed the room before returning to me.
"You got it."
He reached into his pocket and tossed something at me. I clapped it in between my hands and read the label—a peanut butter flavored protein bar.
"A peace offering."
My eyes silently thanked him as I ripped open the package and began inhaling the contents.
"Come up for air, no one's gonna take it from you."
I lightly tossed my pen at him. He caught it effortlessly and pointed it scoldingly, "Don't throw things in my ER."
"I'm getting my second wind," I said, pushing up from the chair and walking over to retrieve my pen. I held out my hand silently. His lips pulled to one side, and he placed it back in my palm.
"Famous last words," he added, eyebrow lifting.
"Mm-hmm." I turned, already walking backward toward the elevator, "Call me when you need me."
—
The night picked up as it always did around 10 o'clock. It was the odd in-between hour, people were just starting to go out and make stupid decisions, while others were tucking in for the night. I was sad I was not a part of the latter group.
Intakes, phone calls, and coordinating with transport teams all kept me busy. I just finished up a case with Shen and walked back to the hub to ask Lena a question.
I looked up from the tablet in my hand when movement caught my eye. An older woman waddled in from the ambulance bay, blood staining her shirt and streaking down her forehead in rivulets. She blinked slowly, looking around aimlessly. No one seemed to see her; everyone was caught up in their own tasks.
"Oh my god," I immediately walked over to the bleeding woman.
Her spacey gaze fell on mine, and she reached out her arms, "Español?" It was breathy, unsure.
"Si," I quickly switched my tongue and looked over my shoulder to see if anyone else saw her, "What is your name? What happened?"
She shook her head, trying to gain her bearings, "I'm Silvia. I- I was walking home from my shift at Superior Grocer a-around the corner. These men— they came out of nowhere and started hurting me. They took my purse and—"
"Okay, okay," I glanced around the room again, looking for literally any doctor. Jack stepped out of Central Six, and relief washed over me.
The woman gripped my arm, and her eyes rolled back. Her knees gave out. I moved quickly, catching her instinctively.
"Abbot!" I called sharply, "I need help!"
His head snapped in my direction, along with everyone else. He was beside me in seconds, yelling for a gurney.
Everything moved fast after that. She was quickly transferred. Jack asked Lena which room was open, "Central ten!" She directed quickly.
I followed them. After a few moments, she came to as they wheeled her into the exam room. Panic hit her almost immediately, and her chest rose rapidly. Her eyes darted around the room, stopping once they found mine.
"You're okay, you are at PTMC. You are safe. We are doing everything we can to help you," I quickly reassured in Spanish.
Leads were placed, monitors began beeping, and vitals were called out. I hovered, trying to calm her rising nerves. Jack worked quickly, every bit focused and efficient. Gently, he nudged me aside with his elbow, his eyes not leaving Sylvia, "You can stay, but I need you to stay back so we can work."
I nodded and retreated a few steps. Sylvia's pupils dilated, and it was like I could see the moment her adrenaline wore off. She cried out, and I called for her name, "Breathe with me. In. Out. I know this is stressful, but we need you to breathe."
I spent the next five minutes coaching her through different breathing patterns. Attempting to keep her eyes on me so she didn't totally freak out.
Eventually, her breathing slowed, and they were able to stabilize her. Mara, an intern, stepped in to clean and dress Sylvia's wounds. Jack's eyes met mine, his chin jutting towards the door. I told Sylvia I was going to step outside, but if she needed me, tell a nurse to come find me. She nodded her head and thanked me.
The ghost of Jack's hand nudged me along as we stepped out into the hallway. When the door shut, I released a long sigh, my hands running along my hairline.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm a big girl," I leaned against the wall, "it's just a little more action than what I'm used to."
Jack's lips ticked up in amusement, and his arms crossed over his chest, "You handled it well."
His eyes fixated on my body, a deep furrow set on his brow. My chin dipped into my chest as I followed his eyeline— blood.
"Cherry on top."
"Yeah."
"Fantastic," I muttered, defeated and unamused.
Jack huffed a quiet laugh, "Occupational hazard."
"I guess so. Well, I'm happy she's okay."
I looked back up, and he met my eyes, "She is," he said, "Thanks to you getting to her fast."
I smiled faintly. My fist balled up on my hips, and I straightened my posture, "Feels like I should be running this place."
"Go change," he cracked a smile. A genuine smile. Teeth and all.
"Yes, sir."
He rolled his eyes slightly at that. As I walked past, I gave his bicep a gentle squeeze. His eyes ticked down to my hand as I left.
—
A brief wardrobe change and half a Diet Coke from the staff lounge later, I was back on the floor.
The rest of the shift stayed busy but manageable by night shift standards. No major traumas, just a steady flow of work. Drunk guys, unhoused folks looking for a bed to crash in, a 24-hour diner worker vs a fryer, and a pregnant woman who gave birth before they could even get her up to OB. That one was crazy.
Somewhere in between drunk guy number 4 and the pregnant lady, my left eye began to sting. My fucking luck. When I went to inspect it in the bathroom, my contact ripped, and I didn't have a backup pair. Nice. Perfect.
So, another trip back up to the office and a good few seconds rummaging through my bag later, eventually had me putting on my glasses. It's not that I didn't like them, it's just I preferred contacts in the work setting. The ED was fast-paced, and I hate worrying about cleaning them and making sure they stayed in place.
I barely made it a few steps when Lena spoke, "Did the outfit change come with the lenses too?"
"Yup. My contacts decided they were ready to punch out before me so—" I gestured to the rounded brown frames on my face.
As I grabbed a tablet from the hub, someone placed one back. I could feel their heat behind me, and I turned to see who was invading my personal space. Jack.
He took a few steps back, his arms crossing over his chest. His lips pursed, and he tilted his head, "Nice glasses, Poindexter."
I scrunched my face to adjust the frames, "Lost my contact."
"Tragic."
"Devastatingly so," I mumbled as I pulled up the chart for the lady in twelve, "Did the police arrive yet for Sylvia?"
"Not yet, I'll keep you updated."
I looked back up, immediately pinned by Jack's eyes, "Boy, you love to stare, don't you?"
"Observing."
My head leaned to the side, "Judging is more like it. What are they too big? Too small?"
"No, Goldilocks, they fit just right." Without breaking eye contact, he leaned around me to grab his coffee cup.
"Is that a compliment?" I hugged the tablet to my chest, my eyes not breaking from his. I could play his game. It felt almost like chicken, who was going to break first.
"An observation," he repeated.
"Right," I pushed back on my left heel and propelled myself forward. I tapped my index finger in between my eyebrows, "Relax your brows, Abbot. You're always so tense."
"I haven't known a day of peace since meeting you, Ruiz."
"And your life's more interesting for it, aight it," I retorted as I turned to walk away.
"The patient in thirteen is still waiting for you," he changed the subject.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting to it," I waved him off, "Don't you have lives to save?"
"Smartass," it was more to himself, but I still faintly picked up on the comment.
"I do have a great ass," I started walking away, and Jack's mouth sputtered open.
His neck turned red, and he placed his hands on his hips, "That's not what I—"
"Say it louder and prouder next time, Doc."
—
4 am arrived slower than I would have liked. Parker and I went over a discharge plan with a patient in Central Four, sharing her insurance options. On the way out, we nearly bumped into an EMT as they left.
A familiar freckled face began apologizing before recognition silenced him, "Alba?"
"Wally?" I scoffed, genuinely shocked to see him. When I was close enough, he scooped me into a tight hug. Parker eyed me curiously after he set me down.
"Wallace," she nodded her greeting.
"Dr. Ellis."
"You guys are friendly," she observed.
"Yeah, he was friends with my brother, Silas. I haven't seen you in so long. When did you become an EMT?"
"A few months ago," Wally bowed his head, his hand rubbing at the base of his neck, "Listen, Albs, I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for the funeral."
"You had a good excuse, bud."
Appendicitis. He was stuck in the hospital during the funeral. He sent a gorgeous arrangement of flowers and a lovely note.
"Jem said you made the big move out here. You settling in?"
"Yeah," I rocked on my heels, "I'm getting there."
"You're blending in well," he gestured to my name tag, "I'm sure you're holding your own. You're a pro by now for sure."
"I won't say pro just yet, but I'm doing my best," I said, looking down modestly. More often than not, I still felt like I was drowning in the deep end, but I tried not to stress about it too much. It would all come in time.
"Well then, you've got them fooled. And me."
"Don't tell anyone," I joked, "They're only just accepting me as one of their own. No sudden movements and all that."
"Let's not startle the wildlife."
"Precisely."
Wally laughed, his eyes ticking back to his partner as she waited by the doors, "Listen, we need to catch up soon."
"Totally."
"I'll see you around, Albs. Don't be a stranger."
I saluted him as he scurried off, "Good seeing you, Wally."
"You too!"
A dizzying feeling hollowed out my stomach, and I fiddled with my necklace. I always welcomed little reminders of my brother, and seeing Wally was a perfect example of him, too. Energetic and friendly. Silas would have been proud.
—
6 am finally brought the first glimpses of daylight. With only one hour left, Shen pulled me for a consult with a 23-year-old woman suspected of being in a domestic abuse situation.
"Avery Powers, shoulder dislocation, multiple contusions." Shen informed me as we walked to the patient's room, "Said it was brought on by her boyfriend, but it was an accident. She's been in before, once with McKay and last time with me."
"Got it." He handed me the tablet, "I'll talk with her, then loop you in."
"Thanks, Albs."
I retreated to my office to gather some supplies. Afterwards, my feet automatically lead me to North 5. Outside of the room, I huffed and took a second to breathe and prepare. You got this. When I opened the door, she was sitting on the bed.
"Hi," I spoke softly, "Avery, right?"
She nodded, "Yeah. Are you a doctor?"
I smiled, "No, I'm a social worker for the ER. Alba," I offered my hand for her to shake, "Dr. Shen says you hurt your arm?"
"Yeah," she shifted uncomfortably, "Uh, I tweaked it. I was with my boyfriend when it happened. Just roughhousing, you know."
"Is roughhousing normal for you guys?"
She shrugged, "Not necessarily. We were just joking around. These things happen, you know."
"Do you and your boyfriend live together?"
"Yeah, we've been together for 3 years now." She paused, fidgeting with her hands, "We still behave like it's the honeymoon phase. I just bruise easily, you just touch me and I bruise like a peach."
I waited a moment, watching and gauging how she was approaching the conversation. Definitely closed off, a little defensive, but not hostile.
"I often speak with patients who are having difficulties in their relationships, which can include physical or verbal abuse. I see so many people that are in these situations, so Dr. Shen thought it would be worthwhile to come talk to you and see if that was in fact your situation, given the circumstances around your being here."
"Like I said, we were just roughhousing. He grabbed me harder than he meant to, and my arm twisted. It was my fault, really. I'm fine. It was an accident. I'm fine."
She was very adamant. I wonder who she was trying to convince more, herself or me?
"My main concern is your safety. As long as you believe you're going home to a safe place, that's all that matters to me."
Avery's hands stopped moving momentarily. She paused, a brief slip in the facade she was presenting. Then, a breathy chuckle fell from her lips as she shook her head, "Listen, I know how this looks."
"How do you think this looks, Avery?" I asked calmly.
"I've been in before, I'm just clumsy. I didn't mean to cause a fuss."
"Like I said, I'm only concerned about your safety. Hypothetically speaking, in case you didn't feel safe, and you needed to leave... do you have a plan? A safe place to go to?"
A distant look clouded her eyes. She blinked quickly to rock herself loose, "Hypothetically speaking, I could go to my sister's. It's not too far from here. But it'll never come to that. Really, I'm okay. I appreciate your concern, but truly, I'm fine."
"Okay, well in the event that something happens, it's good to have a safety plan in place. If you want, I can offer you some resources. You know, for any hypothetical situations that could come to fruition."
She shrugged her shoulders. I reached into the folder tucked under my arm and handed her a pamphlet.
"There's a domestic violence clinic nearby," I said. "They offer counseling, legal guidance, safety planning—everything at your pace."
She stared at the paper like it might bite her. I reached for the white pen in my pocket, "If you want something more discreet, this pen has a phone number on the inside if you twist here. It's a hotline, and you can speak with someone twenty-four hours a day. They can help you schedule an appointment."
"I don't know if I need all of that."
"That's okay," I said softly. "It's here if you need it."
I placed it beside her, "But you deserve to have the option."
Her eyes fluttered, "He said he was sorry after," she whispered.
I nodded, "I believe you." That seemed to surprise her more than anything, "he probably says he loves you too." I added.
A tear slipped down her cheek. I reached forward and squeezed her shaking hands, "But loving someone doesn't mean you have to accept being hurt."
Silence hung in between us. She hesitated for a long moment, "Have you... do you do this a lot?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said sadly. "I do."
"Do people listen?"
I frowned in thought, "Sometimes. It's up to the person to decide for themselves."
Avery let out a shaky breath, "How many of them do you see more than once?"
"More than you think. Sometimes when I see them again, it's too late."
She nodded slowly, her eyes ticking to the door, then back at me. We sat there for a while. Just talking. Not just about resources—but about her. She was from Kansas, the youngest of four children, loves to cook, just graduated college last fall, and wants to own her own pottery studio one day.
When I finally stood to leave, she reached for the pen, "You said I could keep this?"
"All yours."
"Don't take this the wrong way, Alba, but I really hope I never have to see you again."
I chuckled, "Me too."
—
I watched Ellis curiously as she scribbled on a Post-it note. Before I could question her motive for the sudden urge to arts and crafts, she ripped it clean off the pad and smiled proudly. It read: I survived my first week @ da Pitt!
"A certificate for your accomplishments."
I swooned and placed it on my chest, "What an honor."
"You're officially sworn in. How do you feel?" Lena chimed in from my left.
"Like I've found like-minded-masochistic-crazy-sons-of-bitches."
"I like your choice of words," Ellis held up her hand to high-five.
"A poet, if you will."
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence," Lena offered before shooing us away from her station, "Let's keep the theatrics in the theatre and finish hand-offs so we can all go home and get some sleep."
It was in jest, but weighted with true exhaustion and a need to be as far away from here as possible and in the comfort of our own homes. Ellis and I turned on our heels to go in opposite directions, but wound up running into each other. She pointed to her left, and I gestured to the left.
"I'll go this way."
"You go that way."
"Teamwork."
"Great compromising."
Just a few steps away, I backtracked quickly to Lena, "Oh, hey, one last thing. My mama heard your request, and she is more than happy to make you some empanadas the next time she makes a batch."
Lena's hands braced against the counter, "Best news all night."
I scrunched my nose, "It's how she shows her love. She's more than happy to share the wealth."
"Hell yeah," Shen joined in, "Love a treat."
"Shen has a sweet tooth?" Jack's voice sarcastically cut through, "Since when?"
"You're just jealous of my younger metabolism."
"Don't think that's it," Abbot argued without looking away from his charts.
"As lovely as today has been," I gathered my things, "I have charting to finish upstairs. If I don't see y'all before I leave, besitos. Until next time."
A chorus of groaned 'goodbyes' jumbled together as I walked towards the stairs and took the two flights up to the ED's administrative floor. I took a second to slump in my chair. The office did its best to muffle the outside world. The door opened, and a sliver of light disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
"Roadkill," Kiara announced.
"I feel like it," I removed my glasses to run at my nose, "Do I look it?"
She snickered, "Cutest roadkill I ever did know."
"That's comforting."
She quietly moved about the space with practiced ease: hanging her jacket behind the door, replacing my empty Tupperware in the fridge with her lunch, turning on the lamp that occupied the corner of her desk. She had her routine down.
"Alright, roadkill, let's get this handoff started so you can go to bed."
—
One of the most annoying things about being an adult was having to cook for yourself. Listen, I love to try a new recipe every now and again, but some days getting me to cook a proper meal felt like pulling teeth.
With that being said, I had to nourish myself, so I begrudgingly drove to the store after my shift. The basket I carried in my hand got progressively heavier as I added more nonessentials to it. It started out with the necessities: a Diet Coke, a pint of ice cream, some fish from the seafood counter, a bag of jasmine rice, some sandwich supplies, and some frozen veggies. My issues arose when I decided to deviate and get some granola... if I could fucking reach it. The bag taunted me, pushed all the way to the back.
I stepped on the bottom shelf to get some leverage, but my arm was still too short. I even tried to use the box next to it to try to knock it towards me. Not wanting to end up back at work for a stupid injury, I looked around the aisle.
To my left, a tall brunette with forearm tattoos quizzically looked at a box of protein pancake mix. He had headphones on, and I wondered whether or not to say anything.
I looked up at the shelf again. Maybe I should try again, I put this much effort into it—
"Need any help?"
Thank god.
"Yes, actually."
"Of course," he effortlessly reached up and pulled down the bag.
"Saved me from busting my ass."
"Glad I could help," he smiled kindly. Light brown eyes met mine— he was handsome. I glanced down at my basket, flexing my fingers to adjust the handle in my palm.
"Need help reaching anything on the lower shelves," I instantly regretted the bad joke.
"I think I'll manage," the stranger chuckled, "I'm Eli."
"Alba," I extended my hand, and he shook it.
"It's nice to meet you," he scratched at the base of his neck, "You from around here?"
"No, I just moved here a few weeks ago."
"Get out, where are you from? Do you like it?"
"I'm from Texas. And yeah, my family lives here, so that's made the transition easier," I smiled, "Any recommendations?"
"Depends what'cha looking for?"
I frowned in thought, "I don't know... cafes or restaurants?"
"There's a spot not too far from here. My buddy is a chef there. Great for dinner," he insisted, "Maybe we can go sometime."
"That offer does sound enticing," I smiled, "You're not one of those weirdos that pick up women at the grocery store, right?"
"I don't make it a habit, no. You're the first." He laughed. It sounded cute.
"Then in that case, I'm flattered."
"So dinner? If you're up for it," he shrugged, smiling boyishly, "No pressure."
I fished my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it, opened the phone app, and handed it to him, "Put your number in. I'll text you when I'm free."
"I can get behind that," he thumbed in his number and his name, Eli. Grocery store guy :) before handing it back to me, "And here is my number."
ALBA:
Alba. Granola girl :)
His phone chirped, and he held it up to display the notification, "And now I have yours."
Eli's smirk cut across his lips, "Looking forward to hearing from you."
"Me too. Have a good day," I took a few steps backwards before fully turning to head in the opposite direction.
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
4.5k
. . .
two: first day jitters
. . .
TWO DAYS PASSED FASTER THAN I EXPECTED. Somewhere between unpacking, attempting to familiarize myself with the local grocery store, visiting my niece, and texting Parker for advice, the reality of the big move set in.
Holy fuck.
And the ball didn't stop rolling. It definitely wouldn't from here on out.
Today was my official first day at PTMC. A day shift to acquaint myself with the job, shadow Kiara, and get administrative paperwork out of the way. According to Parker, my first shift being a day one would help ease me into the chaos— slightly less stressful but still unhinged. Very encouraging.
One extremely cute text from my niece and a strong cup of tea later, I was posing for my badge picture.
Afterwards, Kiara and I took the elevator down to the emergency department. She smiled supportively, "How are you feeling?"
"Anticipatory, nervous, but ready."
"You'll fit right in."
The elevator chimed once we hit our floor. The doors opened, and the noisiness from the ER immediately flooded in. Kiara led the way, her pace quick but not rushed.
"I'm not going to fully throw you into the deep end today. I want you to observe and see how we do things here. It's stuff you're familiar with, but I want you to get comfortable and acquainted with the resources we can offer patients. Maybe you'll take on a light case load or two, depending on how busy things get. You're very smart and capable. I have full faith that you'll catch on quickly."
I nodded. My eyes scanned the entirety of the room as we moved. The last two ED's I worked for all had a different pace and rhythm to things. Days varied from nights. The flow and hierarchy of everything. Everyone buzzed and hummed at a specific frequency. Learning that rhythm would take time. Regardless, every hospital was still loud and noisy.
In my experience, days were just slightly more predictable than nights. As we stepped into the emergency department, shift change was in full swing. Night shift was wrapping up while day shift filtered in.
"Start with the charge nurses first?" Kiara offered, as we were already walking in that direction.
A tall blonde woman and a shorter redhead laughed quietly to themselves as we approached. Kiara smiled warmly, and they softened, "What can we do for you, Ms. Kiara?" the blonde asked.
"This is Alba Ruiz. She's joining me on my service."
"Ah, the new blood. Welcome, kid."
"I'm Lena, I work nights, and she's Dana, queen of the day shift."
"Nice to meet you guys." I smiled, "I look forward to working with y'all."
"We'll see how long that feeling lasts," Dana chuckled, "You worked in an ED before?"
"I have. I worked in an ED in Austin, then in Houston."
"Ah, I guess you could say this isn't your first rodeo. Huh, Tex." Dana laughed at her own joke, and I shrugged my shoulders.
"Something like that." My hands clasped together, and I rocked on my heels slightly, "I'll do my best not to disappoint anyone. Not on my first day at least."
"Welcome to the Pitt, hon," Lena returned my smile.
"We're gonna get more introductions in," Kiara politely excused us, "Get used to seeing these faces," Kiara hummed, "Faces are easy to remember, names will come with time. If you have any questions, just ask. C'mon, let's go make some introductions."
I smiled tightly, nervous but not making myself small. A small cluster of doctors conversed over the nurses' station, trading off patients and exchanging pleasantries.
"Can I borrow a moment of your time?" Kiara asked softly. They instantly listened to her, and their eyes darted back and forth between her and me, "Everyone, this is Alba Ruiz. Newest social worker for the ED. It's her first day, so do her a favor and play nice. We're hoping she'll stick around for the long haul."
Warmth prickled at the base of my neck. Being under so many eyes felt slightly claustrophobic. My elbow bent and I waved, "I don't scare easily. Looking forward to working with everyone."
"Pleasure to meet you, Alba," the bearded doctor smiled, "I'm Doctor Micheal Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Robby. This is Dr. Heather Collins R4 and Dr. Cassie McKay R2."
"Hello."
"Nice to meet you."
Robby gestured to another man on a computer behind him, "Grumpy over there is Dr. Jack Abbot. He likes to bounce back and forth between sleep deprivation and pulling doubles."
Dr. Abbot looked up, and recognition was almost instant. He scoffed, a smirk pulling at his lips, "Ruiz."
"Abbot," I mimicked his candor.
"You two familiar?" Robby interjected, his eyes bouncing between us over the top of his glasses.
"We met at Shen's birthday," Abbot was now standing up with his arms crossed over his chest, "She's quite the pool shark. If she challenges you to a game, say no."
I smiled sheepishly, doing my best to read everyone's expressions, "I plead the fifth."
"He's just bitter he lost," Parker's familiar voice started behind me and eventually ended up to my left.
"Or that," I accepted her quick fist bump, "Don't let his disdain sway you. Please come to your own conclusions. I swear I'm nice to work with."
"His opinions hold no weight here, you're good," Robby remarked dryly, "Welcome to the Pitt."
He gave a small nod before returning to the monitor in front of him. Kiara nudged my Elbow, "Shall we keep moving?"
"Sure," I smiled in departure to Dr. Collins and Dr. McKay.
Ellis held up a thumbs-up, mouthing, "Good luck."
Jack's eyes tracked my movement just slightly above the top of the computer monitor. I noticed he wasn't trying to hide it. With a subtle two-finger salute, I forced myself to turn away and keep following Kiara.
The rest of the tour went relatively quickly. Familiar faces from the bar popped up here and there, nurses and doctors alike. With quick hellos, Kiara showed me where behavioural health was, followed by the family and viewing rooms, restrooms, pedes, triage, reception, and chairs.
I took it all in stride, absorbing the important information.
"You'll be pulled into a little bit of everything around here," she added while holding the door open for me, "ER social work requires a certain level of flexibility. As I'm sure you are very familiar with."
"I like flexible, it keeps me on my toes."
"Good. Hold onto that."
Eventually, we made our way back upstairs. Our office space was small-ish. Four desks and one window. To be fair, the inhabitants of the glorified broom closet did their best. String lights hung up on the ceiling, and tchotchkes littered the interior. It was homey and warm.
My eyes scanned over the binders full of resources, each one properly labeled for the situation, and the wall of printed out pamphlets ready to go. Kiara quickly slipped on a jacket and hummed, "Ready for rounds?"
"Yup," I followed behind her again as we made our way back down to the ER.
We met up with Sarah, a clinical nurse specialist, and Margaret, a nurse practitioner, to go through the patients to see if they needed our support in any way.
Our first stop was Mr. Steven Reynolds. 64, unhoused individual with mental health concerns and alcohol abuse. He also has diabetes. He's a bit of a frequent flyer, always kind and respectful of the staff."
I nodded as she pulled up his chart on her tablet before walking into the room.
"Kiara!" He announced excitedly.
"Hello, Mr. Reynolds. How's your Monday morning going?"
"Gettin' back on track," the man had what I would presume was a Louisiana accent, "My liver hasn't quite caught up with me yet."
He looked at me and smiled, "And you are darlin'?"
"Alba. I'm new here."
"Well, welcome, Ms. Alba. Where you from?"
"Texas, sir."
"My former neighbor to the west," he flashed me a wink, "between Monroe and Shreveport myself."
"I would be remiss if I didn't offer to call a few shelters for you, Mr. Reynolds. Would you like us to do that for you?" Kiara asked, redirecting the conversation to his needs.
"Eh," he waved us off, "You can try if you must, but they're probably more stuffed than sardines in a damn can. I'll be good sleeping under the stars."
"How about some hygiene products or clothes then?" Kiara asked.
"That I can do."
Before we left, she looked over her shoulder, asking if he was still staying around the corner of the old grocery store a few blocks away. He nodded and said it was home.
"Alright, Mr. Reynolds, we'll be back with some supplies for you, okay?"
"Okay. Take your time."
—
By the time the adrenaline from the first hour wore off, we had visited with three patients thus far. I popped to the bathroom with my brief downtime and attempted to find Kiara in the swell of the ER. Turning the corner, I nearly ran straight into someone. Apologies quickly rolled from both of us. The gruff voice was pieced together as I took a step back.
Clutching my tablet closer to my chest, I smiled awkwardly, "My bad. Still getting used to this place."
"All good," he adjusted the strap of his backpack back onto his shoulder.
"Weren't you supposed to be gone by now?"
"Trying to avoid me?" It was playful— a little jarring. I tilted my head slightly.
"Not necessarily," I took a smaller step back, suddenly warmer and very aware of how close he was, "Parker and Shen left an hour ago, so just curious."
His hand tiredly rubbed at his jaw, "Got stuck charting and wanted to ensure continuity of care on a patient."
"That'll do it," I rocked my weight back and forth.
Jack's eyes roamed over me quickly, evaluating and assessing, "You surviving so far?"
"So far. Haven't killed over yet."
He huffed out a laugh, "We'll see how you feel midway through your shift."
"That sounds encouraging."
"A warning. Drink plenty of water and pump your veins with caffeine. Eat snacks when you can. The first shift back after a break is usually tough."
"Well, thank you for the concern, Dr. Abbot," I nodded towards the hallway, "I gotta head back. Enjoy your beauty sleep, doc."
His brows knit together, "Does it look like I need it?"
I smiled and patted his arm as I moved past him, "Only a little."
A laugh rumbled in his chest, "See you on nights, Ruiz."
"Until next time, Jack."
—
By two in the afternoon, I was finding rooms without looking like a lost puppy. I also managed to remember a handful of names. Small wins. The caffeine pumping through my system also helped.
"Just the person I wanted to see, Alba, right?"
"Yes," I plugged in the tablet I had with me for a little over an hour and grabbed a new one, "Dr. Langdon?"
"Correct. I need a consult. You in?" He asked, his eyes scanning me for a response.
I looked over at Kiara, and she nodded, "Do this one on your own. I'll be nearby."
I turned on my heels and gave the tall, lanky doctor my full attention. "What are we looking at?"
"Possible domestic violence situation. A sixteen-year-old boy, Charlie Howl, presented with minor injuries allegedly caused by a fall down the stairs. Bruising on the upper arm and stomach. We are monitoring him to see if there is any further damage internally."
"And the parents?"
"Dad didn't come in, and Mom is being looked at by Collins and Perlah in room twelve. I figured it would be best to get his side of the story without any interference."
"Good call."
The tall, lanky doctor opened the exam room door for me and stepped aside. Charlie sat in the middle of the bed, his hands cradling his knees, with hunched shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the floor, focused on anything but us.
"Charlie, I brought in my friend Alba here to ask you some questions, okay?"
He didn't respond. I spotted a rolling stool and used my foot to drag it towards me, "Hi, Charlie. I'm Alba, a social worker here."
I sat quietly and approached him cautiously. After a few seconds, his eyes finally looked up at me. Exhaustion and frustration weighed down his entire face. I smiled softly, silently offering kindness.
"Charlie," He quietly introduced himself.
"Hi, Charlie. Mind if I ask you a few questions? It shouldn't take too long."
"Okay."
"Do you mind running me through what happened?"
"I already told the doctor."
I nodded, "I understand that, I just want to get it from your perspective."
He averted his eyes, "I fell down the stairs."
"Okay," I set the tablet in my hands down on my lap, "One of my jobs here is to ensure that when patients leave, they have a safe place to go. That includes you, Charlie. Especially since you're a minor."
He didn't verbally respond; however, his jaw tensed, and he took a shaken breath in.
"Do you feel safe at home?"
It was eerily still, especially compared to the controlled chaos outside the door. Scared green eyes locked with mine, "I don't want my mom to get in trouble."
I moved forward slightly, "I can't help if I don't know what happened, Charlie."
"I didn't fall."
My head nodded, and I encouraged him to go on, "Before we go any further, I want to let you know that if you were harmed by someone, I am required to report it."
Hesitation soured his face, and his palms covered his eyes. I could see the inner conflict as he huffed. Watery, red-rimmed eyes hid for a few seconds before he straightened up.
"I was protecting her."
"Who?"
"My mom," he swallowed roughly, sounding defeated, "She— her and my stepdad argue sometimes. The walls are thin, man. I never knew he was hurting her. I didn't know. I just thought they were getting along. I didn't know how bad it was."
"What did he do?"
"He was yelling, so I came downstairs to tell him to shut the fuck up. I saw him push Mom, so I got in the way and pushed him back. He grabbed me—"
Charlie lifted his arm to show the finger-shaped marks that began to bruise, "—and pulled me out of the way."
A well-practiced calmness and neutrality encouraged my face not to show how I was really feeling. This part was never easy, and I hope it never would be.
"When I got back up, he slapped her and punched her in the stomach. I didn't think; I just jumped on him. He elbowed me and then punched me when I fell on my back. Mom threatened to call the cops, so he freaked and ran away."
I exhaled through my nose, trying to minimize any reaction. I settled for nodding my head and hugging my tablet. My pause must have made him hyperaware of the reality of the situation. He grew antsy, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the door and me.
"You're safe here, Charlie." I smiled softly, "Thank you for sharing that with me. It couldn't have been easy. Has anything like that happened before?"
He flexed his hand to stop it from shaking, "Not to me. But as I said, I've heard them yelling before."
"Okay," Slowly, I stood, "Again, thank you for telling me. I'm gonna do my best to help you and your mother out."
He nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly. Exhaustion took over his expression once more, and he finally lay back.
I stepped out with Dr. Langdon, and we both released an exasperated sigh at the same time. It's always a hard pill to swallow when it comes to children in abusive situations, and I hate that my brain is hardwired now to think: this could have been worse. It's extremely hard for kids to escape childhood without encountering trauma entirely.
"Poor kid."
"Yeah," I ran my free hand through my hair, "I was recently reading a study that gave a conservative estimate that around 40 percent of children below the age of eighteen experience at least one potentially traumatic experience."
Langdon snorted, replying dryly, "Only 40?"
A hmph rumbled my chest, and I raised a brow, "Give or take, since most cases don't get reported."
"What a joyful, fun fact."
"I'm full of them."
Langdon's hands reached up to rest on his stethoscope, "Thank you for those pearls of wisdom. I got a patient in triage I need to check up on. Come find me when you're ready to proceed."
"You got it. I'm gonna go speak with the mom now."
"Good luck."
—
"Dr. Collins," I flagged down the elusive doctor. She was never in one place too long, quickly and efficiently moving from patient to patient.
"Alba," she smiled in greeting.
"I was working with your patient, Clara Howl's son, Charlie. He informed me that he, in fact, did not fall down the stairs and was assaulted by his stepfather."
Collins rubbed the tip of her nose with her knuckle, her head shaking slightly, "That explains the oddities in her story. She said she tried to help Charlie as he was falling, but her injuries don't match that."
"I need to get her side of things. Then, place a report for the abuse Charlie experienced."
She nodded knowingly, "Alright. I'll go introduce you."
"Thank you."
Heather took me to the exam room, holding Clara. Her fingers gently rapped against the door before opening it. "Clara, this is Alba. She's going to ask you some questions. Alright?"
The redheaded woman mirrored her son's exhaustion. Her gaze was empty, like she wasn't fully present. She blinked a few times rapidly before finally looking up at me. Her arms moved to hug herself.
"Oh, okay," she was slightly disoriented... shock perhaps.
"I'm Alba, it's nice to meet you."
"Clara. Clara Howl."
"I'm just checking in on you, making sure you're doing alright."
"I'll manage. How's Charlie?"
"Charlie is okay. He is in the other room. I think the nurses were giving him jello."
It was as if I could see the moment she stepped back into her body. Her chest rose sharply, "I should be going soon. My husband is going to worry. I should—"
"Mrs. Howl, I spoke with your son Charlie, and he brought up some very concerning issues regarding today's events."
She froze, her expression caught between remorse and defeat. Her eyes shut quickly, and tears instantly started rolling down her face, "God. This wasn't supposed to happen."
Her ragged breathing turned choppier, and she couldn't catch her breath. She gripped her chest, and both Collins and I instantly moved closer to her.
Heather gently guided her breathing, even offering her oxygen, "Clara, we are here to help you."
"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry," she whispered, "I'm not this person. I would never put my son in harm's way. Never."
"We know that, Clara," Collins soothed.
"Things escalated so fast. Charlie wasn't supposed to— I didn't want him to—" her voice broke. "David. He's never hurt Charlie before."
With my hand still on her forearm, I took a seat on the stool nearby.
"Has the abuse been going on for a while?"
Clara nodded, tears spilling over now, "David gets angry," she hoarsely whispered. "And I just... I try to manage it. Normally, I can rein him in."
My chest tightened. I reminded myself not to hold my breath, "But tonight was different," it was more of a statement rather than a question.
Clara covered her face with her hands. "Charlie stepped in." Her shoulders shook, "He shouldn't have to do that."
"No," I agreed softly. "He shouldn't."
She looked up, guilt etched into every line of her face.
"I feel like I failed him."
I instantly shook my head, "You didn't fail him. You're here. You're telling the truth. You're prioritizing yours and your son's safety. That's what matters. It's a step towards change. My goal isn't to take your son away or pull a fast one on you guys. What matters now is what we do to protect you and Charlie."
—
Kiara was a fantastic sounding board to bounce ideas off of. She was patient, an amazing listener, and a fantastic supervisor. Many of her mannerisms reminded me of my old supervisor Tanya, when I first started shadowing in the ER. Steady and unwavering, everything you wanted in a patient advocate.
So, I walked her through everything. Every detail, every statement. Kiara listened carefully, asking questions when they arose.
"Okay," she said once I finished. "So we have domestic violence, confirmed by both parties, with physical harm to a minor."
"Correct," I nodded in agreement, "I know I'm mandated to report."
"You are," Kiara confirmed after dumping the wrapper from her power bar into the trash. "And we will. But we also focus on immediate safety."
"I'll start with a safe discharge plan. See if she feels safe enough to go home, or offer shelter placement for both if they're open to it." I exhaled.
"You're handling it well," Kiara added. "Especially for your first day back on the saddle."
"Thanks," I smiled my appreciation.
After heading back down, I stopped by Clara's room again briefly to check in. With her consent, I was going to start seeing if there were any shelters that were willing to take them in until law enforcement could get everything settled. She thanked me again for my patience.
"Anything I can do to help."
In the hallway, I ran into Collins.
"Hey," Collins gave me a small, approving nod, "I've been meaning to tell you that you did well in there."
"Oh, yeah. Thank you."
"You were calm. Empathetic. Didn't push too hard."
I smiled faintly, "I used to volunteer at a women's shelter back in Austin. During undergrad."
"That tracks," Collins said. "You've got the instincts."
I shifted slightly, still processing the day, "That means a lot. New place, new coworkers, I just want to make a good first impression. I'm good at my job and I just want to be helpful."
Heather winked, "Believe me, you're starting on the right foot."
Just as she was starting to step away, she glanced back at me over her shoulder, "Good luck holding down the night shift. You'll be a good anchor."
I laughed softly, "I hope so. I'll try and do my best."
"Do or do not. There is no try," Collins quoted with a knowing smile.
"Yoda?" I questioned, amusement coating my face.
She nodded, "Just watched Star Wars with my nephew last night. Still fresh on the mind."
I lifted my hand in offering, and she quickly high-fived it. We went our separate ways, and I felt a little more comfortable.
—
The next few hours blurred together. There was no true pause or let-up throughout the shift. Just a constant redirection of energy from one patient to the next.
An unhoused man who needed placement for the night once he was out of triage.
A young girl was experiencing a rough panic attack as she neared her college decision.
A family trying to navigate insurance after a heart attack.
Each case was different, and my brain did its best to keep up. By the time seven rolled around, I was finishing up a consult for Dr. Robby. He was at the hub charting when I approached.
"All went well, we got a plan sorted out. So when you're ready, they're good for discharge."
His lips formed a tight smile, "Excellent. Thank you, Ruiz."
"No problem," I moved to the computer after plugging in my tablet.
It was quiet for a few seconds. Handoffs were already in motion. Voices overlapped as I gave the buzzing hub a once-over— observing, absorbing. Trying to keep up. My eyes lingered on Robby for a moment longer than necessary. He wasn't unkind... just not overtly warm either. He was very direct, efficient, really. He had the kind of presence that made everyone in a room stand up a little straighter.
It was quiet for a while, the space between us filled with my typing.
Without looking up, Robby spoke again, "So pool is your vice, huh?"
"One of them," I offered, "I swear I won't make it a habit to embarrass your staff, sir."
Robby's mouth twitched, "Relax, Ruiz. You can drop the sir."
"Noted," I glanced up. He was looking at me, not in a bad way, but in a you're being evaluated kind of way.
He chuckled wryly, "Humiliated Abbot and Shen that badly, huh?"
"Parker and I swept them easily towards the end," I smiled sheepishly, "I have a reputation to uphold."
"Oh, I'm sure," Robby hummed to himself, "How much did you win?"
"$200," I admitted hesitantly.
"Solid earnings." He frowned in approval, "Should have gone for more."
I tsked my tongue in agreement, "And now I've lost the element of surprise."
Robby adjusted his glasses to sit higher on his bridge, "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."
His gaze flickered past me, then back. I followed his eye-line instinctively— Abbot. Of course, he must have slipped in while Robby and I were busy with our patient.
He was a few feet away, finishing up something on the computer, posture relaxed but alert in that way that made it seem like he missed nothing... like he had been here the whole time.
Jack's eyes lifted and caught mine. I cracked a smile, and he subtly nodded his head. After a second, I looked away, pretending to refocus on my notes like it didn't just get a little warmer inside.
I lowkey forgot Dr. Robby was still there. Right, He made a quiet sound beside me. His hand was resting against his cheek, observing quietly. His brows lifted, "Hmm."
I glanced at him, "Something on your mind, Dr. Robinavitch?"
"Nope," he said, his lips popping the p.
I narrowed my eyes slightly, but he was already standing and stepping away, patting my shoulder once as he moved back into the flow of handoff, "Good work today, Ruiz."
I blinked, a little caught off guard, "Thanks."
Robby melted back into the crowd. Not that it truly mattered, but it felt nice having his approval— to be seen and recognized for my work.
Focus, Alba. This is the home stretch. I did pretty well at keeping up with my charting throughout the shift. Kiara was taking on the bulk of cases today, so I only really needed to update a few charts.
"So, what's the verdict? Did day shift scare you away?"
Jack approached, his hands tucked in his pockets.
I smiled tiredly, "Not quite."
"You're still standing, so that's a good sign."
"I'm about ready to collapse." My hand tiredly wiped down my face.
He leaned his elbow on the counter, his head ducking to meet my eyes, "People have been singing your praises. So, you're off to a good start."
I raised my hands in a quiet celebration, "Yay! Think y'all can handle me on night shift?"
Jack shrugged, "They've handled worse."
I laughed, "Well, you have a day to prepare for my arrival. Do your best to survive until then."
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( summary. )
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
3.4k
. . .
one: fast friends and tequila
. . .
PARKER WAITED OUTSIDE THE BAR FOR ME, her hands tucked into well-loved jeans.
"C'mon," she held the door open and laughed, "You look so nervous."
"Duh, I've never met anyone here besides you."
"It'll be good. Look, birthday boys over there," Parker held up her hand to wave and flag down the man in question, "Alba, this is John Shen."
"Nice to meet you." I smiled kindly.
"Likewise," he extended his hand, and I shook it.
"Happy birthday, by the way."
"Thank you. We've all heard good things about you from Ellis. C'mon," he inclined his head, "Let's introduce you to some peeps."
Near the back of the bar, a group of people claimed what looked to be two tables dragged closer to one another. Chairs were half pulled out with bodies occupying most of the booth seats. Band posters overlapped one another on the walls, and stained glass art depicting different brewers and liquors decorated the tops of windows. The kind of place that had clearly been around for a while and felt lived in.
John and Parker seamlessly included me in conversation with some friends, doctors, and nurses alike, some friends from outside of work. Introductions blurred together. Names, faces, and kind greetings. All nice, but I'd definitely have to relearn in five minutes.
Obligatory small talk guided the chatter for a while, where are you from, what do you do, why Pittsburgh... the usual suspects.
A gossipy half-volumed rant about a radiology tech and some nurses swept the table before some rowdy laughter from the other end of the booth distracted me. Another round was had. Conversations carried. Eventually, it delved into who could beat who at pool and seeing who could guess whatever song was playing on the sound system.
"Wild Child, The Doors," I scoffed, feeling more at ease with a few drinks in my system, "Too easy."
"You're a walking Spotify dude." Shen clanked our glasses together.
"I'll take it as a compliment." A smile spread across my lips.
"You should," John continued to boast, "If it's not AC/DC, Brittany, or ABBA, I'd have no clue."
"Look who the cat dragged in. Didn't think you were gonna make it." Ellis called out to someone walking towards our group.
I turned, seeing a salt-and-pepper-haired man clapping Shen on the shoulder. He was taller than I— his shoulders squared off. His eyes scanned the group, a tight-lipped smile greeting everyone in one swoop.
"You're new." It was playful, in jest.
"Abbot, this is Alba," Ellis quickly introduced before returning to her conversation.
"Nice to meet you," I stood and shook his hand. His rough and weathered hand encased mine. Warm and steady.
"You too. You can call me Jack."
Around us, the song switched and Shen stopped what he was doing and looked at me, patiently waiting for me to name the artist, "Boogie with Stu. Led Zeppelin."
Shen held out his finger silently telling everyone to hold on as he waited for Shazam to load. His fist clenched and he gawked, nearly losing half his drink as it sloshed, "Dude, she hasn't missed one yet."
Abbot looked a little puzzled but intrigued, "Care to fill me in?"
"My dad owned a record store when I was younger. John's been quizzing me all night."
"Sounds like a killer party trick," he mused, his voice low and rough.
"I've had a bit to perfect it."
Beneath the dimmed lamp light, I began to see his features a little clearer. His hair had a little curl to it, and stubble lined his jaw. He was very easy on the eyes.
"I'm gonna get the birthday boy a drink," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "You want anything?"
A little thrown by the offer I frowned in thought, "No. I'm okay. You don't need to."
Jack's gaze flicked down to the nearly empty glass in my hand and back up to my eyes. His brows ticked up slightly and his hand touched his chest, "You sure? I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it."
I bit at the inside of my cheek in deliberation, "I'll take another beer. I'm not picky."
"You got it," he pivoted and walked towards an awaiting Shen at the bar.
My eyes lingered for a second, watching him as he walked away. He was nice. Amongst other things but I'm gonna chalk that up to alcohol.
"You done staring?" Parker smirked.
My heart jumped and I deadpanned at her, "I wasn't staring."
"Uh huh. Sure," she looped her arm in mine and tugged me towards her. I thanked the sudden proximity and leaned into the touch.
"Not that it matters, I'm asking purely for scientific and research purposes only," I asked, mild sarcasm guiding my tone, "But," I held out my left hand and wiggled the ring finger, mouthing, "He married?"
Amusement lifted her brows, and she poked at my side, earning a quick swat from me, "I think. His wife passed years ago. I don't know the full story, but yes, he's single. Also a huge flirt. Lives for eye contact. Could be fun for you if you're into that sort of thing. I haven't seen him make a move on someone in the workplace, but harmless flirting? Uh-huh."
"Noted."
The conversation turned to talking about our exes and everyone's horrible dating history. Cautionary tales drift from person to person. Princess, a day shift nurse, shared her most recent Hinge date and how it quickly went sideways when he wouldn't shut up about his ex.
"Ellis," John called from the bar, "Time to cough it up. You swore we'd rematch."
Parker looked to where Shen's alcohol filled hands were pointing. The pool tables. She didn't bother arguing. She tossed back the last of her beer and raised her eyebrows at me, "I need a second, you in?"
I glanced down at my drink, suddenly wishing there was something stronger in the glass, "I haven't played in a while."
"It'll be like riding a bike. C'mon, I can beat Shen any day, but Abbot will give me a run for my money."
I shrugged, it could be fun. Parker offered me her arm again and I looped mine around her elbow. Whispering lowly, I turned to her, "Are we playing for money?"
"The only way I know."
"Not to brag, but I'm really good at pool. I spent a lot of nights playing with my dad and tíos when I was younger."
"How good we talking?"
"I haven't lost a game since I was 19."
Parker's chin pulled down into her chest, proud and impressed. She subtly held up her fist and I bumped it with a giggle, "Play innocent, let them get comfortable and think they can win."
"Only way I know how to play."
"Let's hustle, baby."
"You two done plotting?" Shen interrupted. His free hand rubbed chalk on the end of his cue.
"I'm explaining logistics. She's a bit rusty." Parker argued with a wink in my direction.
"It's all good, Alba. Just remember you're in a room full of strangers and this is your first impression. No biggie."
"Get out of my partner's head, Shen," Parker grabbed a cue, "All talk from the peanut gallery," she said, blowing off his attempt at intimidation.
"'Lot of talk coming from the losing side of the table, Ellis." The taunts continued to roll off his tongue.
"Here, drink up. You look like you need it," Jack placed two beers on a nearby table, a slight cockiness to his words.
"You're right," I huffed before grabbing the drink, "I can't remember the last time I played."
I definitely could. It was back home at a local bar when my friend Daisy and her bandmates. We won and got to put our names up on the blackboard just above the bathrooms. One of my prouder moments.
The break went to Shen. Balls scattered across the felt and the birthday boy picked stripes. Parker "coached" me for a few shots. I missed one intentionally. She sank a few. Then I prepared for my turn again after John missed. Abbot hovered nearby, telling me to widen my stance and adjust my grip.
"That's why it didn't feel right." I glanced over at Ellis, and she nodded her head curtly. With her silent permission, I adjusted my hand placement from an open to a closed bridge. I adjusted my grip near the base slightly and shot through the ball.
The loud crack caught Shen's attention, and Jack stood up a little straighter. The cue ball finished spinning, and I picked the next solid to go for. Another shot. Then another. Clean, precise, and practiced. Parker giggled. And she was not the giggling type.
Behind me, Abbot whistled lowly and shook his head. His eyes narrowed, and he pointed his cue toward me, "Haven't played in a while?" He parroted my words back to me.
"Technically, I didn't lie." I tried.
"I'm drunk. I can definitely say that. But not drunk enough to not realise that this feels like a setup," Shen claimed.
"I think we're being hustled, bud," Jack spoke to Shen but kept his eyes on me.
I made my shot and shrugged sweetly, "You're in my spot."
Jack finally looked down at the nearly empty table. His nose twitched, then scrunched. I tried to place the expression, impressed maybe? One could hope. I gently nudged him aside with the tip of my cue. He took a few steps back, his palms facing upwards, "Please. By all means. Put us out of our misery."
Leaning over the table, I lined up the cue ball and the eight ball and fired. It sank right into the pocket. I stood, sheepishly smiling, "Beginner's luck?"
His mouth curled, "Amongst other things I'm sure."
"The beer helped." I thought aloud.
Warmth prickled my face and radiated out to the rest of my body. Under the weight of his gaze, I stepped just slightly closer, testing the waters out, "Rematch soon?"
"We'll see," Jack's eyes narrowed again at my coy smile, "Next time you're on my team."
"What makes you think I'd abandon Parker? She's a solid teammate."
"I'm sure I can think of something," he said, sidestepping me to return his cue stick to its place on the wall, his eyes lingering.
"My loyalty isn't easily earned."
Before he could respond, Shen bounced over, offering a congratulatory high five, "Well, Alba, it's not every day that I get hustled by a newcomer. And on my birthday nonetheless."
"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm a very competitive person, and I have to maintain my winning streak."
Shen crossed his arms over his chest, "How long of a streak are we talking?"
I sucked air through my teeth, slightly boastful but also apologetic, "Ten years."
"No way," Shen shook his head, very doubtful.
“It's true my tíos taught me how to play."
“Is it wrong that I want to break your streak?" John mischievously challenged.
"You can sure try." My brow rose cockily at the proposition.
Abbot clapped his hands together, "Alright, next round is on me."
"Need help?" I asked, my body already rounding the corner of the pool table.
Jack inclined his head for me to follow. I took advantage of the moment and let myself give him a full once over. He was muscular in a practical way, not overtly buff. His salt and peppery curls carried all the way around his head and freckles decorated the backs of his arms. He was decently tall and moved in a way that people noticed he was there.
After my initial assessment, I could confidently say that Jack was handsome, if not the kind of man that makes your head swivel or hands clam up after seeing him. My ex's or past hookups were prettier than him if that made sense. A news anchor or star athlete kind of attractive.
Jack was the other kind of attractive. He was more ruggedly handsome than any of my exes. Older, yes, but still within a socially acceptable range.
So far, it felt like he was the kind that makes you stand up a bit straighter, but still approachable enough to shoot the shit with. The kind that I could play a game of pool with until he suddenly gets a little closer than before and smiles in a way that makes me realize his hotness has, in fact, been there since the beginning, and I've been forcing myself to ignore it since he's my soon-to-be coworker.
Plus, he offered to buy me a drink more than once tonight alone, so that wins him major brownie points too.
Surely there has to be a better, more pragmatic way to ignore the surprising flutter of awareness in my stomach and between my thighs. It's been months since I last had sex... six to be exact... by no means a personal record, but a big enough dry spell for me to ask if this reaction was truly because he was attractive or just because I was lonely.
"You know, normally I buy a girl a drink before she hustles me."
Maybe a bit of both?
"Sorry 'bout that, I should've warned you." I chuckled.
"Great first impression," Jack gently guided me forward into the crowd. His hand gently nudged my shoulder, "You know what you want?"
"Are mixed drinks on the table?"
"Sure," he smiled, "If it'll keep you from bruising my ego."
"Doubtful. I can do that drunk or sober."
Jack's eyes closed briefly as his hand touched his chest, feigning hurt. Fuck, he was growing on me. My phone buzzed in my back pocket.
"Your pool shark buddies?" He inquired with a smirk.
"My sister-in-law." I corrected.
"What, you hustle her too?" He joked while leaning an arm on the bar.
"On occasion," I remarked, "she sent me a picture of my niece with the stuffed animal I bought her."
I tilted the phone for him to see, "She looks like you."
"For sure. She takes after my side of the family. She's six and already a handful. Allegedly we behaved the same at that age. Apparently, she obtained her sass from me."
"Allegedly?" He mused.
"Well, I can't remember that far back so I can't verify whether or not I truly was as bad as they say."
"Touché."
"What does she call you?"
"Tia, Ti-Ti, Albie, I call her stinky she calls me smelly."
"I've been known as Uncle Jack-Jack, Uncle Jack, and of course Uncle Doctor Captain Space Ranger."
"Care to explain?"
"No. It's exactly as it sounds." He chuckled and it rumbled low in his chest.
We made our way to the front of the small crowd that huddled in front of the bartender. Jack ordered three more beers, "And whatever else she wants."
"Tequila soda with extra lime, please." I smiled and leaned against the bar, "Again, thank you."
"Anytime," he mirrored my stance, his eyes giving me a quick once-over.
"So Texas right? Born and raised?"
"Yep," I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze meeting his piercing hazel eyes. He was closer than I expected. I smiled, curiously asking, "The accent gives it away?"
"A little," his nose scrunched, "Why Pittsburgh?"
"Family. My brother passed recently. Wanted to help out."
There was a pause. Heavy but not weighed down by awkwardness.
"Sorry for your loss. Couldn't have been easy." It was sincere, genuine. Not an ounce of pity in his cadence, just understanding.
"It wasn't— isn't I mean. But his people are out here. It was easier for me to make the move rather than having to uproot his whole family you know? He was stationed here, his home was here."
"He military?"
"Yeah."
"What branch?"
"Marines. He was a medic."
Jack gestured to himself, "Army. Medic."
"No shit."
"Yup."
Our drinks were set down, and Jack told the bartender to add them to his tab. I nodded my head in thanks and inhaled deeply, a little happy to have ended the brother conversation there for now.
"Alright. Lead the way."
Parker and Shen found empty seats at a high top beside the larger group. People floated around the tables, easing in and out of conversation. Drinks were given to their appropriate recipients as I sipped on my tequila. I felt a tap on my elbow. Jack inclined his head to two free seats at the end of the table, still close enough to Ellis.
"So, you're joining the dark side."
"I am. Mostly nights, but I'll fill in days when needed. My first shift is actually a day shift."
"When?"
"Monday. Honestly, I'm ready to get back. I've been out of work for three weeks now, and I'm kinda going stir crazy. I can't fathom building another piece of furniture."
Jack laughed before taking a sip of his beer, "IKEA blues?"
"Very much so." I squeezed one of the extra lines on my rim into my drink, "I don't do well with quiet. I think that's why I like the ED so much. Never a dull moment."
“We'll see how long you stick with that sentiment."
"Already jaded, Dr. Abbot?"
"Something like that," he mumbled his response, "I can't do quiet either. Gives me too much time to overthink. I like the fast pace and rigor of it all."
"Chaos junkies," I concluded with a tired, almost self-deprecating huff.
Jack's glass rose in a silent cheer of solidarity, "To finding comfort in the crazy."
—
By 12:45 am, the group started to dwindle. Some had morning shifts to worry about, while others were just ready to call it a night. Tabs were paid, and tips were left. The remainder of us shuffled out in a herd, getting in quick goodbyes before piling into Ubers or their dd's cars.
“Guess it's goodbye for now," Jack hummed as he held the door open for me.
"Don't sound too sad."
He snorted, his brow lifting in amusement, "I'm sure I'll find an excuse to buy you another drink."
"I'll hold you to it, Doc."
“Okay, I was able to add a stop to the Uber. It'll drop you off first," Ellis joined us.
"Sounds great."
"He's pulling up. Ready?"
Parker's eyes flashed briefly between Jack and me before chuckling to herself. Jack quickly averted his eyes, favouring the busy street to our left instead of watching whatever expression Parker's face was concocting.
"Until next time, Abbot." She initiated the goodbyes.
Jack nodded, and a tight lip smiled pulled at his lips, "Ellis."
A red Toyota drove up to the curb, and Parker grabbed my hand, leading me to it. I glanced over my shoulder back at the handsome doctor I spent most of my night chatting with, "Don't let the loss keep you up all night."
He playfully rolled his eyes, "I'll do my best."
We got in the car, and the second the door shut, Parker turned to me, "Girl."
"What?"
"Be so for real."
"What?" I asked, still buzzed and slightly confused.
"You're a shameless flirt."
I could feel myself growing warm, "I can't help it."
She buckled her seatbelt and used her knee to bump mine, "To each their own, I'm not here to judge. Plus, he was totally flirting back."
"You said that's just how he is, right?" I brushed off the claim.
"I mean, yeah, Abbot's always that way. But he was smiling a lot more than I'm used to seeing."
I jokingly slapped her arm, "Sure."
“I'm serious," she wagged her eyebrows teasingly, "Have fun. See where it could lead. I could use the entertainment."
"My sex life as entertainment?" I gawked, instantly hiding behind my hands, "I beg, I plead, that we find something more interesting to talk about."
"Alright, alright. I'll let it go," Parker looked out the window before mumbling under her breath, "For now."
"Parker," I dragged out the 'r' at the end of her name, wincing at the suggestion.
She held up her hands in surrender, and the car went silent for a few seconds before she threw in one final remark.
"Shen and I have a bet going for full transparency."
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
( word count. )
1.2k
. . .
prelude: new beginnings
. . .
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKIN' KIDDIN' ME."
Delayed. Yet again. I drank the last bit of my very watered-down tea and tossed the cup I had been carrying around since my original departure time of 4:30pm.
ALBA:
Delayed again. Departure time is now 7:30pm! I'll keep you updated :)
MAMI:
Okay, babygirl. Love you. I'll let you, Papi, know.
I locked my phone and wandered the concourse again. After months of meticulously planning, my move to Pittsburgh was actually happening. Or it would be if I could just get on the fucking plane.
My apartment of four years was officially empty and everything was boxed up as of yesterday morning. I got in all my goodbyes, bittersweet and emotional. This was a big change but one I think I needed. Or maybe I was just feeding into my delusions and hoping this move could fix some things. Only time will tell.
When my curiosity finally died down and my feet grew tired, I returned to my gate. My eyes scanned the very crowded terminal for an empty seat. I made brief eye contact with a woman who appeared friendly enough. Her dark hair braided, sneakers, an oversized hoodie, and the unmistakable look of someone who had been at the airport for far too long.
"Mind if I sit?" I asked.
"Please," she responded in kind.
As I sat down, a pin clipped to her backpack caught my eye. The logo read 'PTMC'. I hesitated for a second, not wanting to intrude but also not wanting to pass up the opportunity to get personal insight.
"Hey, sorry. I don't want to be a bother to you, but... do you work at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical?"
"Yeah. You know it?"
I smiled and offered my hand, "Alba Ruiz. I'm a social worker. I have a final interview lined up with them on Monday. It's between them and Westbridge."
She cracked a smile before shaking my extended hand, "No shit. I'm Parker Ellis."
"Nice to meet you. If I get the job, I'd be taking over for Kristen in the ED. Mostly night shifts, I think, but helping where I can."
"That's my department. I'm a resident in the ER."
"What are the odds?"
Just then, the gate agent's voice chirped above us again. The mousy older lady apologized before letting everyone know the flight was delayed another hour.
"Can I buy you a drink while I continue to talk your ear off?" I offered sheepishly.
"Can't say no to that." Parker stood, and I led the way to the bar I had passed four times while wondering, "So why Pittsburgh?" She asked.
"My brother was in the military. He was stationed there, met his wife, and then had my niece. But, um, he passed recently, so I'm moving to help out."
Parker's face dropped, sincerity widening her eyes, "Sorry to hear that."
I smiled awkwardly, attempting to alleviate the shift in tone, "Thank you. But yeah, family is the driving force for sure. And I don't mind the change of setting. I could use the shake-up."
"You ever work nights before?" Parker asked between us, taking a seat at the bar and ordering.
"Yes. A few years ago, when I was still under supervision." I laughed, remembering how intensely slow or extreme they could be, "Any advice?"
"I pretty much run off of coffee and spite."
"That'll do it."
"I just keep going. Night shift is a different beast. It keeps things interesting."
"Oh, I'm sure."
The bartender sent two glasses down, one tequila soda with extra lime and one beer. I squeezed the green wedge into my glass and bit at the pulp. The bitter tang did wonders for my tiredness. Parker raised her glass and motioned a cheers.
"To a fresh start," she offered.
"Precisely."
After taking a quick sip, I fiddled with the chilled glass in my hand. With a newfound warmth, I felt more at ease, "How about you? What brings you to Houston?"
Parker frowned, saying it wasn't anything too interesting, just that she was visiting family, "My mom and stepdad moved here a few years ago. I try to come see them when I can."
"That's nice. Were you here for a while?"
"Nah. A few days, just a quick trip."
"Still must be nice to get away from the chaos for a bit, right?"
She shrugged, "Yes and no. I like it, it's unexpected. It's—"
"Addicting?"
"Kinda yeah," Parker nodded, "It's weird."
"I share the same feeling."
Parker was great company. She was funny and actually carried on a conversation, though I quickly got the hint that she wasn't a fan of small talk. We bypassed the typical pleasantries and delved a little more into our personal lives without the need for fluff.
It was refreshing to be honest. In my job, I'm meant to gather as much as possible on a person and that means separating much of the filler from facts. It was nice to cut around all the bullshit and just talk.
By the time they called boarding, we had exchanged numbers.
"Text me when you land," Parker said.
"I will."
"And seriously—if you get the job, I'm claiming you as my friend first."
I laughed.
"Deal."
—
Parker and I became fast friends. By the end of my first week in Pittsburgh, it felt like we had known each other for years. She had taken me out to a sports bar she frequented to watch the Pirates play the Marlins.
Turned out that she went to UCLA for med school just around the same time I went for my grad program. Stories were shared and memories were recounted. Both of us had a habit of getting into trouble or rather trouble found us.
We met up again after my final interview. I told her I'd accepted the position and my first official day would be next Monday. We celebrated with tequila shots and pizza in my half-assembled apartment afterwards. It was easy talking to her. Maybe I should thank my lucky stars cause she's made this entire process ten times easier.
As my second week rounded to an end, she texted me on Friday night.
PARKER:
You busy tomorrow?
ALBA:
Depends. Why?
PARKER:
A co-worker is having a get-together at a bar. Super lowkey and chill. You should come
ALBA:
You sure I won't be imposing?
PARKER:
You won't cause I'm inviting you. It'll mainly be people from the ED
ALBA:
Exactly, I won't know anyone. I literally start in like two days
PARKER:
That's why you gotta come. Pre-game your coworkers
I laughed, she did have a point. My hesitation prompted a quick follow-up.
PARKER:
Girl, I know damn well you're just unpacking or doing laundry or whatever the hell else. Come! I'll buy you a drink 👀
ALBA:
lol you really know how to lure me in
PARKER:
I can be very persuasive ;)
ALBA:
Don't get a big head
PARKER:
So is that a yes??
ALBA:
Yes, but if I don't have any clean underwear from Monday it's your fault
PARKER:
Let her breathe girl!
ALBA:
Shut up. Send me the address before I block your number
IN WHICH Alba Mae Ruiz, a grieving social worker with commitment issues, meets Doctor Jack Abbot, a sarcastic night shift attendant.
Jack Abbot x OFC
masterlist.
pinterest.
( summary. )
ALBA RUIZ IS NEVER FULLY STILL. She is a control freak by nature and has the glorious inability to relax. She is constantly going, always taking care of things for everyone else, never wanting to be a burden, compromising where she can, and trying to just be a good person. Alba is like a shark in that way; if she stops swimming, she will drown. She's very aware of her own flaws; she can name them, too, but she chooses to ignore her hyper awareness and moves on. Not always the most effective, but effective for her nonetheless.
Silence and being idle are detrimental to who she is and how she operates. Organised chaos she can handle; she handles it better than most.
The only time sitting still and silence doesn't bother her is when she's with her patients. In that environment, she's the perfect image of calm and collected. People innately trust her. She prides herself on that— wears it like a badge of honor. Growing up, her sister always told her people would try to take advantage of her kindness: "Don't let them take it from you."
Throughout her life, she's held strong to her beliefs and continues to value human decency. People make people. Not the loss or tragedies that surround them. Pain and how people perceive those in pain isn't and shouldn't always be the determining factor that swings someone one way or the other on the morality scale. Love and truly understanding that those around you are trying should be a guiding light. Never fear or hate.
Social work and advocacy just felt right for her. Social workers have a larger impact than people very rarely recognise. Alba can recall every social worker who's helped her at some point in her life thus far.
Mr. Lance, her high school's social worker who encouraged her to join the field.
Jennie, the oncology nurse case manager who sat with her family when her older sister passed.
Meredith, the social worker at the VA who helped her sister-in-law with resources when her brother died.
Lucia and Tanya, her supervisors throughout her training.
Every one of them has helped shape her into who she is today. Grateful, she is beyond grateful for each of them. Alba can only wish to be that for someone else. To have helped, to have listened, to have done something good.
. . .
ALBA MAE RUIZ
social worker. albie. taurus. tea drinker. patient. talks. sun. warm. bakes. youngest daughter. cherries. rain. persistent.
THE INTIMACY OF BEING UNDERSTOOD AND SEEN
forehead kisses. acts of services. quality time. endless drive safe's. random pulse checks. hugs from behind. forearm squeezes. tenderness. observing.
. . .
( the playlist. )
Listen before I go . . . Billie Eilish
The Fear . . . Pulp
I'm so Tired . . . Fugazi
Drown . . . The Smashing Pumpkins
Matilda . . . Harry Styles
Clay Pigeons . . . Michael Cera
I Don't Want To Be Okay Without You . . . Charlie Burg
Waiting room . . . Phoebe Bridgers
I Believe in Anything . . . Wol Parade
Dear Soulmate . . . Laufey
To Be Loved . . . Adele
Rivers and Roads . . . The Head and The Heart
Landslide . . . Fleetwood Mac
I've Got Dreams to Remember . . . Otis Redding
St Augustine . . . Briston Maroney
La Lune . . . Billie Marten
Changes . . . Charles Bradley
Shake it out . . . Florence + the Machine
Open My Door . . . Alice Phoebe Lou
My Moon My Man . . . Feist
The Only Exception . . . Paramore
Like Someone In Love . . . Chet Baker
I Love You (For Sentimental Reasons) . . . Nat King Cole
Anytime . . . Eddie Arnold
Do I Wanna Know? . . . Hozier
Andante, Andante . . . ABBA
More . . . The Greeting Committee
When Will I Be Loved . . . Linda Ronstadt
Paper Roses . . . Loretta Lynn
She's a Rainbow . . . The Rolling Stones
Love You For A Long Time . . . Maggie Rogers
Sunshine On My Shoulders . . . John Denver
Bitter with the Sweet . . . Carole King
Coming Up Roses . . . Harry Styles
Poems, Prayers and Promises . . . John Denver
AN UNLIKELY GROUP OF MISFITS... that's what the Legends are. A group of nine individuals gathered together to defeat an immortal tyrant by the name of Vandal Savage.
Rip Hunter, a Time Master from the future, plucked Xiomara "Xo" Luna out of her timeline in order to recruit her for his brigade of misfits.
A team consisting of two crooks, troubled assassins, a shrinking man, a neurotic Englishman, hawk demigods, an egotistical scientist, a hotheaded kid, and a quick-witted A.l. all flying around the time stream to stop Savage from conquering the world.
What could possibly go wrong?
( word count. )
3.4k
THIRTY NINE.
RETURN
WAKING UP WITH ACHES AND PAINS WAS NORMAL. Soreness was a familiar friend, and exhaustion was an ex you just couldn't shake. When I rolled over, Mick was sitting in the armchair. A beer bottle was already in his hand, and five empty ones cluttered his feet.
"Did you at least try to get some sleep?"
The pyro grumbled, "Nope."
"Mick, you can't survive on beer and spite alone."
"It's gotten me this far."
My eyes narrowed, not at all approving of his poor life choices. Hell, who was I to judge? I had spent my fair share of nights at the bottom of endless bottles. It's one thing to do it to yourself, but it's another to see someone you care about go through it. Mick caught the disapproval and set aside the newly empty glass.
"Besides, who can sleep with you hogging all the covers?"
I scoffed, feigning disgust, "Oh, please, you never sleep with the covers on."
Mick bent down and pressed his knee into the mattress. He lay down on his back, his arm resting beneath my head just on top of my pillow. My body pulled into his, and his hands lazily pushed into my hair.
"First thing in the morning, and you're already giving me lip."
"You like it," I hummed as I nuzzled into his side. Mick melted into the touch and closed his eyes.
I did the same.
In truth, I didn't get much sleep either. Leonard's eyes, as we said goodbye, lingered in my vision. I imagine Mick was feeling that tenfold. When the day's tensions came to an end, and he stumbled his way half-drunk already into my room, I didn't pry or try to get him to talk.
I knew he felt uncomfortable anytime I brought up something emotional. Concern to Rory was like wearing an itchy sweater. He hated it. He despised pity in any form; it wasn't something he was used to giving or getting.
"Thank you," he mumbled after a few minutes.
"For what?"
He didn't respond. Gideon's echoey tone cut through the previous silence. The Waverider jumped to Star City in 2016, and everyone was to report to the bridge immediately. Lazily, and without rushing, we changed, and I blinked to the bridge, leaving Rory to walk off his bubbling hangover.
Rip rambled for a bit as we made our way to the cargo ramp and outside to the spot he originally picked us up at. Annoyed by the Captain's secrecy yet again, I asked why we were back in 2016.
"Savage has a timeship, courtesy of the Time Masters. The timeline is unclear, given our destruction of the Oculus, meaning Savage is lost to history. Which is why I brought you all home."
"Missions not over, man." Jax countered almost immediately.
Ray piped in, agreeing and saying that while we've lost Savage before, we can find him again.
"Then what? We have no way of killing Savage, particularly now that Kendra and a Carter are in his possession, assuming that they're still alive, which is highly unlikely."
"So that's it? We— we just give up? Kendra and Carter deserve better than that." I quipped.
Avoidance was a skill our Captain had mastered at this point. Choosing to redirect the conversation, he told us he was on his way back to the refuge to get our younger selves and return them to the timeline. A collective disdain rolled over the group.
Sara spoke, "What, you think that we can just return to our old lives, and then pretend like none of this ever happened?"
Rip's lips pulled to the side, and he bowed his head slightly. Here came the catch. His guilty eyes glued to the floor, "That's the thing. I had to bring you back to May 2016, not January 2016."
Jax scoffed, "Great, so what you're saying is that for the last five months, my mom probably thinks that I'm dead. Thanks a lot, man."
"Why the change of plans, Rip?" I asked.
His gaze didn't budge from the ground. The sudden lack of eye contact and his allusiveness urged Mick to size up the Captain.
"If you're getting back on that ship, we get back on that ship," Rory poked his finger into the Captain's shoulder poignantly. As soon as Mick made contact with Rip, he glitched and momentarily became pixilated.
"In truth, I never left it."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stepped forward and flicked my thumb and forefinger. Another round of colorful lines consumed Rip's body as the WaveRider began to lift off the ground.
Shame and guilt battled for the forefront of Rip's words as he apologized, "I'm sorry for all that I've asked of you, and that it all came to nothing."
His hologram wished us well before completely disappearing. The WaveRider's engines roared, and for a second, I thought about jumping to the Bridge to slap the Captain for giving up.
That thought was squished when the ship blasted off and disappeared. Beside me, Mick grunted, "I never liked him."
"So now what?" Ray's palms turned upwards as he shrugged.
"We go our separate ways, Pretty," Mick suggested with a smirk.
Martin's jaw slacked, and he scoffed, refusing to give in to defeat, "This is preposterous. We are a team, for the Captain to think otherwise—"
"C'mon, man. Rip made his decisions as he always does, selfishly and on his own. I'm going to see my mom," Jax walked away, and the professor let his arms fall in defeat by his side.
"Marty? You off to Clarissa?" I asked.
"What other choice do I have?"
"Whoa. Don't make it sound like a chore."
"Of course it's not. I just mean. This can't be it. Can it?"
"Appears so, Professor. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." Mick stepped closer to me, and Martin excused himself. Ray quickly followed the Professor, suggesting they could all catch a ride into town together.
I turned, pressing my finger into Mick's chest, "Forever the instigator," my tongue tsked, "Bird, where are you off to?"
"Home, probably. I need to pay my family a visit. Maybe see what Oliver is up to," her hands stuffed into her back pockets, "We'll catch up?"
I nodded, "Of course. Enjoy their company."
She smiled, "Will do. I'll call if I need you. Go see your brother, Xo."
Sara squeezed my arm and headed off towards the main road.
"She's right. You should go see your brother," Mick's suggestion pulled me back to look at him.
"Given the circumstances here, I just thought that maybe I should—"
"Don't worry about me," he cleared his throat, "You need time with Danny. Don't worry about me."
I stepped forward, invading his personal space, "I can multitask."
Mick lifted his brows and attempted to suppress his smirk, "I'm sure you can."
I gave him a small, steadying look-- a brief checking in without words. He softened slightly, a look only reserved for us when we were alone.
"Go be with him. I'll be fine here."
For all his gruffness and blatant grumpiness, I could see the weight in his eyes. He'd of course deny any findings on my behalf.
"You sure?" I asked quietly.
He thought about it. A deep frown pulled at his lips, then he struggled, "Yeah. Go. I'm also gonna go do some stuff you won't necessarily approve of. I need to be alone. For now. Please."
Please. Mick Rory never really asked for things. And if he did, he never asked politely. I nodded. Gently, I pressed myself into his chest. Heavy arms draped around me.
—
A phone call and a quick Google search later, I blinked at Danny's house. The house was different than the image online. It was painted blue instead of yellow, and the rose bushes in front of the porch had more life to them. It was a cute family home. Prickles of nervousness stung my palms as I knocked on the door.
"Coming!" Danny's muffled voice called from a distant part of the house.
His face peeked through the window beside the door, a smile pulling at his lips. Locks turned, and he fumbled to turn the knob. Relief mixed with anxiety at the sight of him. Thankful to actually see him, no longer a fuzzy memory.
"Xo," he pulled me into a hug, "Come in!"
I quickly reciprocated, laughing into his shoulder. Flour transferred from the apron on his chest to my shirt. My brows knitted together, "Whatcha making?"
He quickly glanced down at the mess and brushed it off, apologetically ushering me inside, "Jas insisted on making cupcakes when she heard you were coming. Hence the flour. She's much cleaner than I am. Hey, Jas! She's here!"
I felt out of place. Suburbia and domesticity were so foreign to me. Their home felt lived in, memories coated the walls in pictures and Tchotchkes. Danny continued into the living room, kicking discarded socks closer to the couch and haphazardly folding a throw blanket.
A curly-haired, honey-skinned woman stepped out of the kitchen. She had kind eyes-- warm and inviting. A wide grin spread on her lips, "It's so nice to finally meet you. I've heard tons about you."
I reciprocated her excitement and joined them in the kitchen. They moved around each other with practiced ease and sat me down in their breakfast nook. Pride swelled in me; he deserved this.
"You want whipped cream frosting or buttercream? Jas can make both."
"Whichever you want. I'll gladly eat either."
"Whipped it is. It's my favorite," Her tone was light, inviting.
The prickling in my palms intensified. I just watched them interacting. It felt like I accidentally stepped into someone else's life— which I had, but it was an odd feeling since it was so parallel to mine. I wasn't a stranger to people watching; I was trained to observe, learn, and mimic. This hurt... seeing the life I was meant to be a part of.
Life kept moving for him in a completely different direction than my own. The version I knew of Danny was a sick child. A kid who wanted to be loved. Someone who loved toy cars, who always wanted a dog and wasn't allowed, someone who would have gladly eaten pizza every night if he could. A kid. Now, he's a grown man with a wife and a home to call his own. Healthy and alive. So far removed from the pain and suffering I knew firsthand. He made it through.
This version of Danny was softer. He smiled a lot. It was no longer an occasional reaction I'd have to pull out of him. He gave them away freely and wholeheartedly now. A strange mixture of pride and something heavier, something more fragile and private, coiled in my chest. I swallowed hard, feeling myself getting emotional.
"What's next for you?" Danny's questions tugged me from my suffocating thoughts.
"Not sure. I can see Rip's last attempts blowing up in his face. I doubt the Professor is gonna let this go, so... time will only tell, I guess."
"You know... You don't have to run anymore." It was a gentle suggestion, the beginning of a proposition. "You could settle down." Enjoy a quiet life for a change... stay here."
Danny finally sat down in front of me, "We've missed out on so much time together, Xo. I want to get to know you. Like, is your favorite color still red? Are peanut butter cookies still your vice? Do you still hate green beans?"
I took a beat to respond; his earnestness was appreciated. It was an olive branch... a reminder of the life I was meant to have before it was stolen from me. Why did I feel so out of place then?
"I still like red, peanut butter cookies are in fact still my favorite, and yes, green beans are horrible and should be avoided."
He smiled, "Good."
"How about you? Still avoiding the color orange?"
"Oh, at all costs. Hate it."
I returned his laughter, "Aquariums still your favorite?"
Disbelief tugged at his face, "Is that really a question?"
"Give me your hand."
A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. There he was. Danny called over his shoulder, "Jas, be back in a second!"
Without having to think much, I blinked us to a remote area of an aquarium in Georgia.
"I came here a lot while I was running. I didn't know why, but I always enjoyed going to different aquariums. It wasn't until I remembered that you liked them that it started to make sense. It let me blend in and just be around people without having to do much. The whale shark is around here."
"Shut up." Danny gladly followed my lead, "Xo."
I dragged him to the front of the massive tank. Blue hues dance around us. The water's movement warped and distorted the aquatic life moving within. Oddly calming. It was absurd how quickly the large tanks silenced my brain.
Beside me, Danny's eyes were wide, excited, and earnest; something about how juvenile he looked in an instant punched straight through me.
His hand squeezed mine. Firm and grounding.
I could feel my throat tense, and my eyes burn. Danny was here. Really here. Warm brown eyes hugged me.
"I'm really happy we found each other again." his words were sincere. Weighted like lead. Wishful thinking turned reality: "We made it."
The abruptness with which my emotions overwhelmed my practiced calm startled me. Danny so easily disarmed the walls I perfected.
A hot tear ran down my cheek, and I wiped it away. Slightly embarrassed, I cleared my throat and rolled my shoulders back. A quick smile masked the sudden swell of unnamed feelings, causing the ache in my chest.
"Me too."
We stood there for a few more minutes. Anchoring one another with each other's presence. While I was forced to forget Danny, he was haunted by the idea that I was dead.
Danny was my opposite in many ways. He was light. Literally and figuratively. Tall, charming, and likeable in every way. He'd manage to get the Cygnus guards to give us more food and transport us with a gentler hand. People just liked him. I had to earn that. I was prickly, whereas he was always soft. I tried to be like him— more gentle and kind. But kindness didn't help me survive.
"I love you."
The endearment was quiet, just for us. I could feel warmth growing from his palm to mine. Dim slivers of light glowed in our enclosed hands. He squeezed my palm, and I reciprocated the gesture.
"Love you too."
Across the room, two siblings looked at us in awe. One boy, one girl. They looked down at their own hands, seeing if theirs would glow too.
—
I was stupidly optimistic to think the team's sabbatical would last longer than a few days. Sara called, saying the boys had found a way to contact the WaveRider. They were going to meet up at the spot Rip had ditched us to try out the devices. She sounded curt; her voice was flat and matter-of-fact.
"Bird? You good?"
"No," There was no emotion behind her statement. It was flat and direct: "You need to get back to Star City now."
"Okay. But you gotta give me more info than that." I asked, suddenly aware of what that tonal inflection could mean, "What happened? What changed?"
"I just— I need to get back on that stupid ship. And I need you there."
"Wanna talk about—"
"—Noon. Be there."
The line went dead. Fuck. Behind me, in the threshold of the back door, Danny watches. Concern knit his brows together, "That was quick."
"I have to go back," it came out apologetic, "The team—"
"—Needs you. I know." He sighed, a knowing smile crossed his lips, "If you stayed here any longer, you probably would have gone stir crazy."
I wanted to disagree with him, but we both knew it was true, "Staying still isn't my strong suit."
"Go be a hero, Xo," he walked out into the backyard to join me in the sun, "We'll be here when you need a break."
"I'm sorry," it was truthful, painfully so.
"I know. But you do good when you're out there."
"I try."
"Better than most."
—
Goodbyes used to be easy for me; to be honest, someone should have considered themselves lucky if they earned one from me. I'm used to keeping them quick and simple, leaving all emotions out of it. Unfortunately, saying goodbye to Danny wasn't easy... it probably wouldn't ever be.
Promises were shared, and I blinked back to the empty parking lot Rip left us in. My arrival was a little later than anticipated, so by the time my black shadows melted into the ground, the ship whirled loudly above us.
"Just in time!" I shouted above the roaring engines.
"Xo!" Palmer greeted excitedly.
"Excellent timing, Ms. Luna," The professor agreed.
My eyes found Sara, stoic and mute. Just as my gaze landed on her, hers were piercing the man of the hour. Rip sauntered out of the ship already heated, "I thought I made my intentions perfectly clear."
"And we wish to be equally clear about ours," Martin declared.
Roughly, Mick shoved the Captain. He gawked at the burly pyro, "Do you mind?"
Rory grumbled, "Just checking to see if you're real this time."
I snorted. Jax interjected, corroborating his reasoning, "You're not ditching us again. When the mission's over, then we can all go our separate ways."
"And that mission is not over," Martin argued.
"Just out of curiosity, how has finding Savage on your own been?" I asked, mainly just wanted to see how bad he has been doing without us.
Rip huffed, answering rather quickly, "None. But neither have I got myself into bar fights in 1975 and the Old West, put dwarf star technology into the hands of terrorists, or gotten myself turned into a scary bird monster."
"We get your point," Mick's voice quickly put Rip's argument to rest, "Now get ours. Those ships are not taking off without us. You got that?"
Rip stopped, his head ticking to the side. He gave in rather quickly. I smiled, mildly amused by his noticeably darker circles and bags beneath his eyes. He needed us whether he wanted to admit it or not.
"What, Hunter? Cat's gott'cha tongue?"
"Funny, Ms. Luna."
Like ducklings, we followed Rip back onto the ship. I blinked into the parlor and waited for everyone to catch up. Rip's nagging continued, only stopping when Sara decked him hard across the jaw.
"Whoa," I stood up to my full height and immediately closed the distance between us.
Okay, clearly I was right about the vibes I caught earlier. I moved the flank of her left, quickly assessing everyone. Her knife pressed against Rip's throat, threatening. He swallowed roughly under her piercing stare.
"You knew." She bit out bitterly.
I took a step closer to her, wanting to assess the situation properly and keep a level head. That being said, I was all for punching Rip. Most of the time, he deserved it.
"You dropped us off five months later because you knew."
"Knew what, Bird?"
"You knew that Laurel was going to die, and now you're going to take me back. And I'm gonna save my sister."
Rip breathed heavily, "I'm afraid that that's—"
"You should be afraid."
Tension and silence gripped the room. She flexed her fingers, and the blade glistened briefly as it caught the light. Rip swallowed again, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Sara's.
"I can't allow—"
Sara smacked the wall behind the Captain's head, "I don't care about the timeline." Her declaration was sharp and clear.
Rip shut his eyes as she told him he was going to take her back. Ray spoke up, "Look, Sara, I'm sure there's a valid reason why Rip didn't—"
"Stay out of this!" She yelled at Palmer over her shoulder.
Before I could register what he was doing, Rip raised the inhibitor he used to knock people out. The electric blast blinded her, and she quickly went limp. I caught her body, shouldering her weight to sit more comfortably. The knife in her grasp clanged to the floor, and I kicked it towards Rip.
"Really thought you would have learned your lesson the first time around," if looks could kill, "Shame on me for assuming you were somewhat of a decent person. You're lucky she didn't stab you. I would have."
AN UNLIKELY GROUP OF MISFITS... that's what the Legends are. A group of nine individuals gathered together to defeat an immortal tyrant by the name of Vandal Savage.
Rip Hunter, a Time Master from the future, plucked Xiomara "Xo" Luna out of her timeline in order to recruit her for his brigade of misfits.
A team consisting of two crooks, troubled assassins, a shrinking man, a neurotic Englishman, hawk demigods, an egotistical scientist, a hotheaded kid, and a quick-witted A.l. all flying around the time stream to stop Savage from conquering the world.
What could possibly go wrong?
( word count. )
1.7k
THIRTY EIGHT.
NO MORE STRINGS
[ Vanishing Point, Oculus Wellspring ]
THE TIME MASTERS ARE ASSHOLES, especially Druce. He and a large squadron stood between the Wellspring and us. We had just disembarked from the WaveRider when he and his men appeared. Ray grumbled, stating that we had walked into a trap. Druce declared smugly that it was destiny.
Rip's forehead furrowed as he looked down upon his old colleague. He chastised him for all that he had done, "All your posturing. All your claims about doing what's best for the timeline, about protecting history, and it all comes down to cold-blooded murder."
"The difference between murder and execution is only a matter of authority. I have it. You don't. Kill them."
Weapons hissed alive around us, aiming to line their shots. Before they could unleash their rain of fire, a shadow loomed above us. Lasers danced around us and quickly disposed of Druce's men.
The jump ship landed, and out walked Jax. He smiled proudly and waved, "Hope I'm not too late!"
Beside me, Stein's entire body relaxed at the sight of his partner, "No, Jefferson, you're right on time."
Without missing a beat, their hands collided, and they merged in a swirl of fire and heat. Jax's cloudy white eyes met mine, and I smiled proudly, "Glad to have you back, kid."
"Good to be back."
"We need to get to the Oculus before reinforcements arrive!" Rip announced.
The captain led the way through a shadowed tunnel. The Wellspring sat in the center of the room with a small catwalk to its core. Ray strode up to a latch and opened it to reveal the inner workings of the device.
"It'll take about two minutes to figure out how to self-destruct this thing."
Rip eyed the group and split us up, "We'll buy you some time. You lot guard the door. Mr. Rory, you're with me."
I nodded in understanding and followed behind Snart, Sara, and Firestorm. Not having Kendra around felt odd, like we were an open wound waiting to be mended. We all functioned well separately, but we needed our team whole.
The second our feet touched the pavement outside, a wave of lasers fired on us. I grunted and waved a hand across my chest. A wall of black fog divided us from them. As Snart fired blindly into the void, I blinked Sara and I behind the unsuspecting men.
Our attacks were quick and brutal. Snart and Firestorm kept their distance and took care of stragglers. With one final smack to the back of the head with her batons, Sara knocked out the last of Druce's men.
"We're leaving!" Rip appeared, out of breath. He was alone and cradling his pocket.
"Where's Mick and Palmer?" I asked hastily.
"Ray is in my pocket, and Mick has elected to stay."
"What, why?" Snart questioned before I could.
"Because someone needs to be present to destroy the Oculus. Mick has elected himself."
Without hesitation, Leonard ran back into the warehouse. I quickly followed and blinked myself to the island above the Oculus. A new wave of soldiers arrived on Druce's behalf and flooded the other entrance. Mick and I dodged fire behind the console. A few seconds later, Sara and Snart began shooting back.
"What are you doing?" I asked with wide, confused eyes.
Through gritted teeth, Mick huffed, "I'm not going."
"Of course you are. C'mon." I moved to grab his shoulder, and he shrugged me off.
"I can't. I have to keep my finger on this thing."
"Why?"
"Palmer said so. Now go. Before this thing blows."
"Mick." I harshly whispered his name. His eyes finally met mine, and there was a sense of finality, like he had already come to terms with what was going to happen. This was ridiculous; there has to be another way. I took a second and quickly evaluated the components of the machine, "I can hold it."
"No," it was curt and immediate.
"Yes I can. I can hold it then jump back to the ship."
"It's too risky." His voice had dropped when I moved closer.
"Mick, I can-"
"No. The team can't risk losing you. You are a valuable asset; you hold them together."
"What about Snart? Huh? You think he'll forgive me if I let you do this?"
Just then, his winter coat-wearing partner's heavy footfall rumbled the ramp behind us, "Mick, it's time to go."
"Get out of here!" Rory grumbled angrily, his shoulder moving me aside.
"Not without you."
"Pretty boy says I have to hold the stick, so I'm holding the stick. I'm not going to say it again, leave!"
A laser blasted inches from my head. I whipped around and released a darkened coiled spiral of smoke from my hand. The assailant went down quickly, and the rest of the guards in the room began to dwindle out.
Thunk.
I quickly turned on my heels to see an unconscious Mick at Snart's feet. My heart dropped. Leonard now had his finger on the failsafe.
"Get him out of here!" He sharply told Sara.
His expression hardened, and her fist clenched, "No."
"Just do it."
For a second, there was silence, an understanding, then an acceptance. She stepped towards him, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Her hand gripped the inside of his arm, and they kissed. My gaze dropped until she moved away, to allow them a sliver of privacy. I crouched down by Mick's shoulder and turned him to lie on his back.
"Xo, we gotta go," Sara's voice was pressed as she spoke, like she was trying to hold back tears.
"You're kidding, right?" I looked straight past her and right into Snart's eyes, "This is ridiculous, there has to be another way."
"I'm not asking you to leave, I'm telling you to leave."
My lips formed a tight line, and I dropped my chin, refusing to come to terms with what this meant for everyone: "Mick needs you."
Leonard's eyes trailed over Sara and me as if he were memorizing something. Then, he looked down at his partner. Snart's throat bobbed as he took a deep breath in, "I'm not getting out of this one, Kitty."
A deep, heavy void weighed in between all three of us, and we sat in it for a second before more gunfire drew us back to reality. An absoluteness in Snart's eyes stared back at me and pinned me to the floor. There was no time to argue, he knew, and I knew.
It was a curiously odd feeling to see everyone fighting to be the one left behind. Not out of want, but a need to save the team. To spare everyone else. My eyes begged and pleaded with Snart.
"You've made up your mind," it came out as a statement rather than a question.
"I have."
"What do I tell him?"
"Mick will get over it."
"Snart."
"What is it you two are always saying? No more strings? Cut me loose. I can take it."
I quickly stood and closed the small distance between us. My arms wrapped around his middle and hugged him from behind. With a quick kiss to his cheek, we exchanged somber glances. I couldn't bring myself to speak; words were ceasing to form in my head, and I couldn't move... not until Sara's hand pulled me away.
Leonard Snart was a pain in the ass, but he was a member of this team. A good friend. My knees bent, and I bent down to grab Mick's shoulder. Without breaking eye contact with Snart, I reached for Sara's hand and intertwined our fingers. With a sharp nod towards our teammate, I blink the three of us away.
As we appeared back on the ship, the image of Snart imprinted in my vision and his outline lasted a few seconds before completely fading away. Sara watched the rapidness of my pupils, and she squeezed my hand, "Don't. Don't go back. I can't lose both of you."
My head bobbed up and down, and I pulled her into a hug, "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too."
I hated crying in front of others, but I couldn't stop the tears that fell from my eyes. They were hot as they streamed down my face. I could hear motion behind us. Martin and Jax asked where Leonard was. Sara stood and addressed the group as I moved back to Mick once again. He slowly came back to consciousness. Confused eyes looked around the room, and the second he remembered what had happened, he moved to stand.
"That bastard." He mumbled lowly.
"Mick."
"It was supposed to be me. Why would he do that?"
"I tried to stop him."
A jumble of different emotions contorted Mick's face. His heavy brows met, and he scowled, "We have to go back. We can blink him here."
As the suggestion rolled off the pyro's tongue, the ship shook with the explosion of the WellSpring. Mick stopped dead in his tracks, and his entire body went stiff. His expression dropped, and it mirrored that of Chronos. Hardened and shut off. Devastating silence blanketed the group.
"I'm sorry, I tried to get him out."
Nothing came from Mick in response. He turned his back to the team, and I cautiously stepped closer to him. Apologies quietly left my lips as I came closer to Rory. My arms wrapped around his middle, and I pressed the side of my face into his chest. He didn't hug me back, but he didn't push me away either.
Behind us, Ray spoke, "He traded his life for ours. He was a hero. Which I'm pretty sure is the last thing he wanted to be remembered as."
Hero. The word tensed Rory's lower back. He moved abruptly, his hand gently patting my arm, "I need to be alone."
"Okay."
I didn't question or follow after him. He needed to process, to wrap his head around the last thirty minutes. We all did.
AN UNLIKELY GROUP OF MISFITS... that's what the Legends are. A group of nine individuals gathered together to defeat an immortal tyrant by the name of Vandal Savage.
Rip Hunter, a Time Master from the future, plucked Xiomara "Xo" Luna out of her timeline in order to recruit her for his brigade of misfits.
A team consisting of two crooks, troubled assassins, a shrinking man, a neurotic Englishman, hawk demigods, an egotistical scientist, a hotheaded kid, and a quick-witted A.l. all flying around the time stream to stop Savage from conquering the world.
What could possibly go wrong?
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THIRTY SEVEN.
PAWNS AND PUPPETS
ACCORDING TO RIP, the Time Masters possess a thing called the Oculus. It allows them to morph and shape the future at their whim. The Captain told us about a possible future he was shown Ray was dying. Apparently, everything we've done up to this moment has been at the Time Masters will. Puppets and pawns... of course. Free will is simply an illusion.
"They have engineered our lives to move in a very specific direction. And we are playing out their script even now."
"So you're saying regardless of what we do, we are playing into their hand?" I argued.
"Well then, we need to do what they won't want."
"If the Oculus is what they're using to control us, then we need to destroy it."
"Then how do we do that if the Time Bastards are pulling our strings?"
The Captain pushed his coat open to place his hands on his hips, "Druce told me that the Oculus's ability to control our actions doesn't work in the Vanishing Point, most likely because the Vanishing Point itself exists outside of time."
Mick pressed his palms into Gideon's console as he thought, "Explains why we were able to escape."
"It has a weakness. We might be able to destroy it," Sara frowned in approval.
"If I'm gonna be someone's puppet, I'm gonna be the one who cuts his own bloody strings," Rip remarked.
"And I like blowing stuff up." Mick's eyes lit up with excitement
"I wouldn't mind stabbing someone," I answered, mild disassociation in my stare, "Sorry, should I have kept that to myself?"
Palmer's lips pulled down into a frown as he nodded his head, "Pushing the urge to stab aside, we set out on a mission to stop Savage and save the world."
Ray's attention swept over the group, his eyes intentionally making contact with everyone, "To become legends and change our fates. This mission hasn't changed."
"This is madness," Snart stood with a slight pep in his step, "I like it."
Rip inhaled deeply before asking Gideon to plot a course to the Oculus Wellspring. Afterwards, Mick and I found ourselves in the galley, drowning ourselves in sugar and beer. The best indulgence life had to offer... other than sex.
I threw a shot of tequila back and bit into a bitter lime. Mick downed his own cup before plopping into a chair. The legs squeaked backwards, and he released a tired huff. Conflict flickered in his distant stare before exhaustion blanketed the expression.
I moved to stand in between his legs, "You okay?"
"Tired with a killer headache," he grimaced.
My hand gently rose to caress the side of his face. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Resist their brainwashing?"
Mick fell quiet. A soft whistle came from his nose as he inhaled deeply. He breathed me in before prying open his eyes. A moment of honesty passed between us, "You. The team."
A smile broke out on my lips, "Look at you, being all sentimental."
His eyes shot open, and he rolled them dramatically. A gloved hand wrapped around my thigh and squeezed gently.
"Shut up," Mick grumbled as he pulled me into his lap. Needy lips kissed mine, and I slapped his shoulder playfully. "Go easy on me."
I laughed against his mouth, "Scared I'll hurt you?"
"Somethin' like that," his words were gruff like gravel coated with unsureness. Tenderly, Rory cradled my jaw. He didn't say a thing for a few seconds. He just stared at me, "I've never had feelings like this before. Lust, yes. But not like this."
My chest squeezed at the confession, "Me neither."
I kissed him again, "Terrifying, isn't it? Admitting you have feelings?"
Mick's brow rose in amusement, "Didn't think I could have those."
"For a while there, I wasn't allowed to have them." My finger ran along the length of his angular nose and along the scar parallel to it, "They were seen as a weakness, so they were weeded out of us. Sympathy was the enemy, and humanity robbed us of efficiency."
I thought back to how the League used me. My body was a tool for them to use... to kill, seduce, harden, and mold to their liking. Any indulgences I wanted were suppressed. It took a long time for me to even admit I wanted anything. Touch that wasn't abusive or violent was something i didn't really feel until after I left. Even then, I barely allowed myself to feel anything out of fear of attachment.
But here under Mick's touch, I gave in to whatever impulses my body wanted. Mick seemed to notice how I retreated into my mind, and he reached for the hand I used to trace his features. The touch anchored me back into reality.
"I didn't let them take anything. Those bastards don't deserve it." His hushed voice was breathy against my skin. I sank into the comfort of his embrace, and our foreheads touched.
I have no clue why I felt so safe around him. By every account, Mick Rory was a brooding asshole who cared about no one. Yet, here I was pressed against his body, feeling vulnerable and secure. Something in him recognized something in me, and we never questioned it. He understood all the bad that came with my good, and I did the same for him.
Heat flushed over me as Mick's teeth nipped at my bottom lip. His free hand moved to my ass, and he gently guided me closer. I cradled his face and melted into his movements. Need and desire crept up my lower back, "Mick. We can't. Not here."
"Why?" He complained after breaking his lips from mine to kiss along my neck.
"'Cause we're in the kitchen."
"That's what makes it fun." He grumbled behind my ear before biting my jaw gingerly.
Our lips reconnected, and I snickered after his tongue brushed mine, "Someone's gonna catch us—"
"Oh god. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to— I didn't see anything actually. God, I'm never gonna get that out of my head, am I?"
I jerked away from Mick's mouth at the sudden stuttering. Behind us, Ray practically jumped out of his skin. His hand was firmly covering his eyes, and he used his other hand to not run into the wall after he swiftly turned his back.
"Relax, Boy Scout, we still have our clothes on," Mick glared at a red-cheeked Palmer.
"I was just coming in for a snack. I didn't mean to interrupt anything. Sorry." He sputtered out again.
"Such a prude."
I removed myself from Mick's lap and a tight-lipped smile formed on my face, "As fun as this was... I'll let you boys chat."
They both opened their mouths to protest, but I blinked away as quickly as I could to avoid embarrassment anymore. I didn't give much thought to my landing point, so when I ended up outside of Martin's room, I found myself curiously peaking in.
"Hey Marty," I smiled sweetly.
"Xo," he returned the warm gesture and set aside his notes. Books and scribbled notes on pieces of paper were scattered around his tablet. A rigid breath rose his shoulders, and he tried to power through the ache, "What brings you here?"
"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd ask for a cup of sugar," I joked.
"Fresh out, I'm afraid. But you're welcome to join me."
My forehead tugged upwards at the offer, and I gladly plopped myself on the worn armchair beside his bed.
"How do you feel?"
"Not well, my dear. The separation from Jefferson is taking its toll."
My chin rested on my knee as I curled up in the seat. "Anything I can do?"
"I'm afraid not." A twinge of sadness dropped his tone. I hated feeling useless, but there wasn't anything I could do. Martin caught the disappointment that crossed my face, "I appreciate you checking in on me, though."
"I can be kind when I want."
Martin blew out a sigh before turning back to his project. I enjoyed watching him work... it felt like a privilege. I would never tell him that, though. His ego would get too big, then there would be no more room for anyone but him on the ship. His mind worked faster than his hands could keep up, so most of the time his notes were abbreviated chicken scratch. The scribbles were something only he could decipher.
There was one time I sat with him late into the evening. He couldn't sleep, and neither could I, so he explained to me over tea a dilemma he and Ray couldn't figure out. I didn't understand a lick of what he was saying, but I still provided insight where I could. It felt nice to just be included, which he tried to do often. I liked learning, and he enjoyed teaching.
"How's the rest of the team?"
"The Captain is held up in his parlor, Rory and Palmer are in the galley, and I think Snart is with Sara."
Silence weighed over us at the absence of two names. Kendra has yet to be seen since Savage took her and Jax... well, Jax was home safe from this flying metal death trap. Martin's pen stopped moving, and he inhaled deeply once more.
"I know. I miss him too." I whispered after a moment.
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