On Duty 🩷 - When Agent Gawain and Merlin get sent on undercover surveillance as man and wife for the millionth time, something in the Quartermaster snaps
Taskmaster
Greg Davies
Can I Crash Here? 🩷 - At Ed’s blowout party, a surprise guest who you’ve been harbouring a hefty crush on seeks solace in your company
There's Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You... 🩷 - You and Greg have been secretly dating for a while. He thinks it’s finally time to tell your brother-in-law and his best friend, Little Alex Horne
Department Q
Carl Morck
Working it Out ❤️🩹 - When you get transferred from Inverness, you and Carl immediately get off on the wrong foot. But they say there’s a thin line between love and hate…
Chapter 1 - First Impressions
Chapter 2 - Road Trip!
Chapter 3 - Nice To Each Other…ish
Ted Lasso
Ted Lasso
My Love, Mine all Mine 🩷 - When Rupert makes passes at you at Rebecca’s gala, Ted steps in. The tension builds, feelings come out, and your lives are changed forevermore
The Avengers
Bucky Barnes
The Cat that Got the Super Soldier 🩷 - When you and co-worker Bucky Barnes bump into each other outside of the Avengers tower, a kinship develops. An even deeper kinship develops between Bucky and your cat, Alpine. What happens when your decidedly friends with benefits relationship starts weighing on you?
The Pitt
Jack Abbot
Friends of Mine 🩷 - When Jack finds out you’ve been moved to day shift for the weekend, he’s upset you’ve abandoned him. What he doesn’t expect is to see you hours after you left while he’s on shift. Reader’s best friend’s bachelorette night out, and you end up back in the ER with a member of the bridal party when she slips in the bar and wounds her head, and Jack can’t stop staring at you in your going out outfit ;)))
Synopsis: When Jack finds out you’ve been moved to day shift for the weekend, he’s upset you’ve abandoned him. What he doesn’t expect is to see you hours after you left while he’s on shift. Reader’s best friend’s bachelorette night out, and you end up back in the ER with a member of the bridal party when she slips in the bar and wounds her head, and Jack can’t stop staring at you in your going out outfit ;)))
disclaimer: i know nothing about medicine, and this is wildly and dangerously inaccurate! ❤️
2.5k words
embarrassed to say i listened to this on repeat and (for all of my Rivals RCB and Declan O’Hara dilf enthusiasts) it reminds me of sexy old men okay!
You were sat in the desk chair that now felt like concrete, eyes blearily roving over one of your last charts of the shift, when you saw a hulking figure place their weight on the desk in front of you.
‘Since when did you move to the dark side, sweetheart?’
Jack Abbot. The older man you’d had a crush on since you started as a senior resident at the Pitt months ago.
In your defence, your age gap wasn’t as egregious as what the two of you talked in hushed tones about whatever Robby and Whitaker had going on.
He was in his signature tight black tee, stretched taut across his broad chest and shoulders, showing off his well-trained biceps, skimming across his belly into his baggy camo trousers. You could take the boy out of the army, but you couldn’t take the army out of the boy.
You dragged your eyes from what had become a mere scrawl of type in front of you, squinting as you adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lights of the ER, and greeted Abbot.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. ’Since my idiot best friend decided to get married.’
He gave a knowing chuckle, ‘he a nice guy?’
‘Annoyingly nice.’
‘I must say, I don’t follow what he has to do with you abandoning me.’
‘Its her stupid bachelorette weekend, so I had to take the day shift today so we can go out tonight.’ You smirked, looking up at him properly now, meeting his eyes sparkling with humour and curiosity. ‘And then I have the weekend off.’
Abbot dropped his jaw in false upset, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss his favourite senior resident over the next few days.
‘You lucky thing. Where you off to tonight, then?’ He raised a brow and swivelled his head like an owl, following you with his eyes as you stood from your chair and rounded the desk to stand beside him, stopping to stretch.
‘Uhhh, I think that bar downtown that does really cheap cocktails.’ You stood facing him, hip pressed against the back wall of the desk, watching as he shifted his weight away from his prosthetic leg.
His eyes widened with sarcasm as he replied. ‘You sound excited,’ referencing your less than interested tone.
‘I’m not much of a drinker, and honestly I don’t know many of the other girls. There’s three of us who went to school together and a bunch of her work friends, and some of her fiancé’s side, but I haven’t met most of them.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, you’re great at this sort of stuff.’ He placed a warm, calming hand on your shoulder, squeezing to ground you. It made you tingle all over.
‘Yeah,’ you laughed, ‘when I’m talking to an elderly man who fell off a ladder into a rosebush, Jack, not fifteen drunk thirty-somethings.’
Now he was laughing, his head tipped back revealing the thick, freckled column of his throat. You were enchanted watching his Adam’s apple bob back and forth.
‘Hey, it’ll be fun not to just be drinking beers in the park after a shift with me and Ellis.’
‘I love drinking in the park with you and Ellis, this is a different ballpark.’
‘Since when were you such a Debbie downer? Go on, get out of here and have some fun, kid!’ He mimed brushing you away, pushing you out of the door.
You laughed, ‘Okay, okay, but I look forward to being back on the night shift!’ Shouting as you exited through the double doors into the setting July sun, getting a last glimpse of Jack’s salute and tight smile.
Two hours later you had had far too much to drink, maybe more than you’d ever drank. But you had a cute outfit on, and had actually done your hair and makeup, rather than raking it into a ponytail and giving a half-assed attempt at concealing your dark circles, only to destroy your work when you fought your scrubs on over your head. For once, you were wearing heels, a mini skirt, and a black cami, with your hair cascading over your shoulders, a glossy lip and sparkly eye to make it feel done-up enough to celebrate a bachelorette.
You were, truthfully, having a fantastic time. All the girls were super friendly, and seemed fascinated with your job. They asked about your love life, where you lived, where you got your top, what you were drinking, if you wanted to take selfies in the bathroom, and why you hadn’t met before. It restored your faith in your life outside of the Pitt, and that the upcoming wedding events weren’t something to be dreaded. After all, you were celebrating your best friend. The only thing that made you feel bad was the spinning in your head, both from copious drinking and severe lack of sleep from switching to the dayshift. You needed it so the next two days of beach activities and day drinking could be accounted for, but god you wished you’d had a nap.
Unfortunately, you got your wish, when the other girl you’d gone to high school with slipped on a spilled drink and hit her head on the bartop. You’d never been more sober in your life, kicking into action and controlling the situation. Demanding people passed you wet towels and spare pieces of clothing so her hair didn’t mat with blood, sooner than you realised you were in the ambulance on the way back to the Pitt, a mere four hours after you’d left.
As the ambulance pulled into the bay and you hopped out, the double doors parted for you, and helping to push the gurney, and shouted for Jack.
He was at your side immediately, taking in your debrief, and what you thought the course of action should be, but he was only half listening.
He’d never seen you like this before. Sure, you’d been on staff nights out before, like for Javadi’s 21st, but never had he seen you so dressed up. If he was in public, staring at you with his mouth agape, someone would probably have socked him in the jaw for being a creep. He realised he’d never seen such beautiful legs before, and in such high heels? Your skin looked almost glossy, shimmering in the harsh lighting as you walked. Your chest, shoulders and arms definitely shimmered, covered in a misting of body glitter and the way your hair obscured your eyes as you looked down to check on your friend made him want to tuck it behind your ears and kiss you.
Jack shook himself out of his trance and forced you to sit in the comfy chair beside your friend’s bed, only looking at you once in a while as he stitched up the gash in your friend’s head. He figured out her name was Sarah, and he could see the two of you being peas in a pod. He yearned to hear her stories of you in high school, and see you in a different context to the ER, with the people you held closest.
Eventually, with the alcohol, adrenaline, and pain meds being pumped through her system, Sarah fell asleep. You let go of her hand and gently opened and closed the curtain, looking for Jack who was long gone at this point, knowing you could take care of her yourself.
However, Shen found you first. As you walked up to the desk to ask Lena where Jack was, Shen gave a low whistle from behind you.
You spun slowly on your impressive heels, giving him a sly and embarrassed smirk, saying nothing as he came to join you at the desk.
‘I bet Abbot nearly fell over when he saw you.’ Shen’s shit-eating grin did not fill you with confidence.
‘What? Why?’
Lena, always one for a commotion, chimed in, making the three of you burst out in laughter, slicing the quiet of the late-night ER in half. ‘Because you look sexy as hell, girl.’
You give a coy look to both of them. ‘Thanks, guys. I feel like shit.’
They give a sympathetic, tight-pressed smile in return, understanding exactly what you meant. Almost everyone, especially the nightshift lot, had dealt with dragging their loved one through the doors during their time off due to drunken falls or exhausted knocks on the head. It was, after all, a revolving door.
Lena’s sympathetic smile broke into a beaming one, cracked across her face like sunlight through the curtains which she tried, failed, to suppress as she saw Jack emerge from a room directly across from her, clock you stood at the desk in your beautiful outfit, and scrub a calloused hand over his face.
You had your ass sticking out, leaning on your elbows across from Lena, displaying your long legs almost up to the crease where hamstring met buttcheek, mini skirt shifting upwards. Usually you’d be insecure about being so sober and so naked, but the people you worked with had seen you covered in every single bodily fluid multiple times, and Lena had even bathed you when you came down with food poisoning on shift and had the cold sweats. You had nothing to hide.
As you and Shen noticed her eyeline, you both followed it, and Jack was there, swaggering over to you, almost stopped in his tracks as you gave a beaming smile over your shoulder, flicking your hair back.
‘Just the man I was looking for!’ You trotted over to Jack, making sure he didn’t need to walk for further than he had to, and changed his path towards Sarah’s room.
Once you made it to her room, you flopped down on the chair, letting out a huge sigh. Jack stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. ‘You okay, sweetheart?’
He was looking down at you with such earnestness, another tight smile directed your way, and at his genuine care for you, you snuck a look at Sarah making sure she was still out cold and jumped out of your seat into his arms.
Against his chest you sobbed, and as he realised what was happening, he moved his arms around you, one around your waist and the other stroking your hair gently. He cooed in your ear, and recognised the classic symptoms of adrenaline wearing off. All of the emotions you’d really been feeling had been pushed down by having to jump into action, and when you were finally not needed, you cracked.
The warm bulk of Jack’s embrace calmed you, and, still in his grip, you leaned back and chuckled, rubbing one hand underneath your eyes to dry your tears, and looked up at Jack.
‘I got glitter on your shirt.’ You say, swatting away the sparkly particles on his t-shirt.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ His lack of matching your jokey post-cry embarrassment caught you off guard, forcing you to meet his eyes. ’As long as you’re okay.’ He moved his hand from the back of your head to sweep some glitter from your cheek that had cascaded down with the flood of tears, and shifted some hair behind your ear. He looked at your lips, once, twice, almost thrice, but you beat him to it, craning your head up less than you would ever have to, your heels bridging the gap, and pressed your lips to his.
You felt him smile, as you were too scared to move, and he pecked you back, feeling his stubble against your face, then moving away as he stroked your hair again.
‘You know how long I been waiting to do that, pretty girl? Can’t believe you beat me to it.’
‘Seriously? I’ve had a crush on you since the day I got here!’
The two of you laughed again, and jack let the rough pad of his thumb rove across your face, feeling your damp cheeks and still-glossy lips, a feeling he’d yearned for for ages, wondering how soft your skin would feel in his touch, your face in his hands.
You were pleased he hadn’t deepened the kiss, not wanting anything to escalate on such a terrible night as tonight, wanting to discuss your feelings more. But Sarah broke the sweet, intimate moment of you two looking deeply at each other without insecurity, as she woke from her stupor.
‘Is that your hot boss you keep telling us about?’
Your jaw dropped as you went bright red, words failing you, wanting the ground to swallow you up. Pretending you simply did not exist, you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling heat continue to flood your face. Sarah’s eyes were merely cracked open, and her voice was rough and ragged; you felt Jack jolt next to you, not expecting her to speak.
‘He’s hotter than you said.’
All you could do was groan.
Jack moved to her bedside, unperturbed as ever, and took some vitals as you sat down in the chair and used a piece of dampened tissue to clean your face. He decided she needed some more pain meds and more hydration, and told her to get some more sleep as he left to get a nurse for the order. At his absence, you sat on the side of Sarah’s bed, covering your eyes and laughing self-deprecatingly at her catching you in the act, then made sure she was okay and told her she was in good hands, soothing her off to sleep.
When Jack returned, he cleared his throat quietly as to not scare you, and watched as you hypnotically palmed across Sarah’s sweaty forehead. She only had a surface wound, but the combination of the amount of blood in the bar and alcohol you’d consumed made you prepare for the worst.
He sat down in the chair you’d occupied all night and shimmied it closer to where you were sitting on her bed. Your feet were dangling off the side, and he couldn’t watch you wear what looked like a medieval torture device for much longer, despite how good you looked in them.
‘I don’t know how you’re still wearing those things,’ he croaked in a hushed voice, nodding to your shoes at your furrowed brows.
‘Oh, I didn’t really think about it.’
‘C’mere.’ He held a hand out, and you reluctantly placed your feet in his lap, relaxing as he unbuckled each shoe with great care and placed them beside his own shoes.
‘Better?’
‘Much.’
The two of you fell into comfortable silence, just the beeping of the monitor beside Sarah and the infrequent commotion outside the curtain as background noise.
When you and co-worker Bucky Barnes bump into each other outside of the Avengers tower, a kinship develops. An even deeper kinship develops between Bucky and your cat, Alpine. What happens when your decidedly friends with benefits relationship starts weighing on you?
Hi guys this is my first Bucky fic!!! I’ve been a longtime lover of him but never got around to writing about him. I’m not sure he’s accurate here but nevertheless I’m happy with it ❤️🩹 hope you love x
Truthfully, you’d been friends with the consistently friendly Steve and Sam first, and through them, Bucky had warmed up to you, but he’d always been on the cooler side. That was until you ended up in an elevator at one of Tony’s parties that led to your little entanglement.
It didn’t help that you lived across from each other. Bucky had chosen to live in a non-Stark-funded apartment in Brooklyn, something about wanting more of a work-life balance, but his rundown one bed meant he was operating in the same rent grade as you, and had been for months without your knowledge, until you’d crashed into him. Bags of groceries piled on top of one another impeded your vision, and you were almost at your door when you hit a huge, solid lump of man. Immediately everything had toppled to the floor, and it was only when you saw the mop of brown hair and distinctive metal arm collecting your belongings from the floor did you realise it was Bucky.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ You tried to return your eyebrows to their normal position, but no luck - they were planted firmly in your hairline even as you hunkered down to meet Bucky’s eyes. You figured he must be keeping tabs on you, for intelligence safety or something of the sort. Steve had stayed a few nights at your place before during breaches which could’ve meant intelligence staff - especially you who was on top of the scale of trust with the Avengers - being targeted in their own homes.
‘Uh. I live here.’ Bucky’s own furrowed brows and general sheepish demeanour made you back off immediately, but you had much to think about.
‘Why?’
You were met with silence, and the valley between his brows deepening as he handed you the groceries you hadn’t collected from the floor.
‘Thanks. I mean, why don’t you live in the tower with the rest of your team? I thought it was, like, luxurious as hell, and you’re living in this hellhole?’
He chuckled, something you always liked to elicit from him, watching the upward motion of his lips and the white teeth peeking out beneath, creasing his eyes into bright blue slits of light.
‘I love Stevie, but he snores like hell.’
‘Oh, don’t I know.’ A look, a flash of questioning in his eyes. He thinks you’ve slept together. A pang of panic over the misunderstanding shocks you in your gut. ‘He’s stayed here for intel protection, get your mind out of the gutter, Barnes.’
He merely smirks. ‘I wanted to be away from work, and this is where I lived with my Ma back in the day.’ He gestures to help you into your apartment with the groceries he’s still holding.
As the key clicks against the lock, you can hear a whining meow from your cat inside. You swing open the door and Alpine immediately throws herself against your leg, then jumps back, realising you’ve got company. The resounding, harsh footsteps of Bucky’s heavy boots make Alpine retreat to the couch where she can observe without being in his immediate circle. She watches him with intent as he follows you across the room to the kitchen island, putting your grocery bag on the surface and putting milk in the door of the fridge as if he lives there. Your own shock registers before you feel something like butterflies erupt in your stomach. Batting them away, you go to coo at Alpine as her ears are pinned against her head.
You pick her up from the couch arm, cradling her like a baby. ’Aww, its only Bucky. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, baby.’
Bucky stands watching the scene, a smile being hidden by the hard press of his lips together. Even Steve sometimes forgets to see Bucky through the Winter Soldier, the 1940s young man who dreaded having to enter combat, who was terrified of spiders but would always put them under a cup and release them from his smog-covered window. How did this woman he hardly spoke to see him better than his very best friend?
He moves towards you, watching as Alpine hisses, chuckling along with you. He puts his flesh index finger near her nose, allowing him to become accustomed to his scent, and when she doesn’t bite or bat him away, he scratches the top of her head.
‘See, nothing to be frightened about.’ You soothe Alpine, then look up to Bucky, who was obviously close because he’d just pet the cat you’re holding, but only by looking at him did you realise he was almost flush to your arm. ‘Try your metal hand, if you want. It’s your dominant one, right?’
‘Right.’ He was nervous, you could tell, but Alpine was typically much meaner to men, and you thought if she was entertaining him at all, he might as well show her his worst parts, especially if he lived in the building. He reached out the cool metal of his prosthetic index finger, far more gingerly than his other. Before he could even reach Alpine’s head, she brushed her face against his finger, scratching herself on it. Bucky visibly relaxed, sighing out a laugh as you looked up at him again, locking eyes. His relief was palpable.
‘She really likes you.’
‘Really?’ He seemed almost excited, lit up like a Christmas tree, but then stiffened. ‘Even with the arm?’
You laughed, ‘I think it’s the arm she likes. She usually hates men.’
At that moment, Alpine squirmed out of your arms, and walked off to her scratching post, clearly uninterested with the small talk.
You took a step back, putting a little distance between you and the mountain of man in front of you. ’So what number are you?’
’38. Right across the hall.’ His intense eye contact made you gulp.
‘Huh. How long have you lived here?’
‘Since I joined the Avengers, I think. Spent maybe a week in Stark tower then moved back to Brooklyn.’
‘You’ve lived here over a year longer than I have, and yet we’ve never managed to bump into each other?’
‘Weird, but I work strange hours. Lots of night missions with Sam. Nice to know who owns the noisy cat I’ve been complaining about to him now though.’ He had a wry smile on his face as he turned to look back at Alpine making a racket on her scratching post.
‘How he hasn’t put together that it’s Al is shocking, he knows I have a cat and live in this building. Maybe he thought you knew it was me all along.’
‘Or maybe,’ he leaned in like he was about to bestow a juicy secret, ‘he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.’
‘Hey, I’ll tell him you said that if you keep complaining about my precious Alpine.’
‘You have a deal.’
Almost exactly a month later, you and Bucky, drunk beyond belief, had made out viciously in an elevator at one of Tony’s parties, and ended up in his bed. Thus your little arrangement began, and nobody seemed more pleased than Alpine.
You and Bucky were strictly no-feelings, and very much friends with benefits, if you could even truly call yourselves friends. You were more like friends-in-law, both friends to Steve and Sam, even Natasha, but until you’d dropped everything you owned on top of him at your front door, you really had no relationship at all.
Perhaps the subway rides to work had formed your little alliance, or the way he’d bring over leftover baked goods on the weekends, or maybe it was when your car broke down before a lunch with friends and he whizzed you across town on the back of his bike, to much questioning from your girlfriends. Truthfully, it could be a million tiny things, but you and Bucky had adopted a little rhythm before you started sleeping together. The time between the hallway incident and elevator incident had allowed you to become part of each other’s community.
Fast forward six months, a few dinners, a few very public makeouts at Tony’s parties, and one argument over Bucky being interrogated by Steve about your relationship, you were struggling to keep it together.
It hadn’t been a big decision to keep it no-feelings, it just felt better with the dangerous nature of Bucky’s work and the way you didn’t know each other very well at all. But things had changed now. Bucky came over on weekends with cake and a treat for Alpine. He had a key to drop off groceries you’d asked him to get if you had a late shift. He’d sleep over often, even on work nights. You would go to his apartment and he’d ask you to bring the very noisy cat he’d complained about, and would collect her from his couch so she could sleep between the two of you. When he came over for sex he would greet her at the door, picking her up and kissing her all over, and she would jump on his knee when you made out on the couch. He would gently remove her from his vein-rippled thigh and kiss her, saying he knew she wanted kisses too. He was never upset if she bothered you two in intimate moments, the two of you collapsing into laughter, skin on skin. You were, frankly, falling in love with him because of how he treated your goddamn cat. It was kind of ridiculous, but when this super soldier with a metal arm becomes his true self because she only saw him for his kisses and treats, it was hard to not fall, and fall hard.
You were sat on the couch with Alpine sleeping in your lap, forefingers applying too much pressure to your eyes as you grappled with this issue, as you heard Bucky’s key click in the door. You didn’t move, but Alpine did, immediately wide awake and leaping to the door to greet him.
He chuckled as he placed the bag he was carrying down, collecting Alpine in one white, fluffy lump in his huge arms, before turning his attention to you. What greeted him was you, in the foetal position, hands scrunched up on top of your eyes.
‘What’s going on with you?’ He said as he came to sit next to you, placing Alpine back into your lap, petting her, as if willing her to lie down and sleep again.
Bucky pried your hands from your face, making you smile slightly which you tried to fight against, but the presence of a smile at all gratified Bucky nonetheless. ’Mm. Just stressed.’ He didn’t seem convinced by your answer.
He got up from the couch and walked over to his forgotten bag of groceries, allowing you to sit in silence once again. You did feel bad for ignoring him, or not asking about his day, but you had decided to be cold towards him to attempt to stave off your feelings. His behaviour did not help. As you looked over to the kitchen counter where he had unloaded the groceries, you saw he had a bouquet of flowers, and was beginning to work his way around the cabinets to cook. Bucky had cooked at your place before; you’d had breakfast many times, but never was it out of nowhere like this - he had always slept over the night before - and never were there flowers involved.
You tried to add a lilt in your voice, pretending the pit in your stomach from the idea that he had another beau didn’t exist. ‘Who are those for?’ You asked, nodding towards the flowers on the counter.
‘Wha-oh, those? They’re for, uh, you.’ He had a sheepish smile on his face, otherwise you’d think he were lying, but he always looks all of twelve when he’s telling a slightly embarrassing truth.
You made your way over to the island so you could sit and look at him tinkering on, as you often did. ‘You trying to woo me, or just some home decor?’ You were immensely glad they were for you, but you were worried he didn’t feel the same, and that this escalation would only break this arrangement up altogether. You didn’t want to lose Bucky, hence why you’d never confessed how you truly felt.
He turned, dropping whatever food he was preparing, and looked directly at you. His brows were furrowed slightly, shadowing the usually bright blue eyes beneath. ‘I’m worried about you.’
You laughed, in disbelief and panic. ‘What?’
‘You don’t come over uninvited anymore, you don’t text on weekends asking if I’ve baked anything you can have, you hardly even want to sleep with me anymore. Are we done?’ His hands were on the surface of the counter, he was squared towards you, and his intense gaze was burning your face.
You sat back, and a huge breath escaped your lungs. ‘Bucky. God, I’m sorry.’ You got up from your stool, and turned away from him, looking out of the window towards the Brooklyn skyline. ‘I’ve just been having…a change of feeling.’
His defeated voice came from behind you, much less assertive as his assumptions only a few seconds ago. ‘So we are done, then?’
You whirled around, immediately wishing to patch up the wound. ‘No, not like that.’
‘Then how, why do you keep pulling away from me? I hardly see you at work anymore. Is it because you think I prefer Alpine, becaus-‘
You had to laugh, and walked slightly closer to him, resting your hip on the counter. ‘No, I love Al too, don’t be silly.’ You put your head in your hands, and in one, self-deprecating chuckle, admitted your worst fears. ‘I think I’m falling for you. I know our arrangement is strictly no feel-‘
You were cut off by Bucky laughing in what sounded like relief. ‘What are you laughing about?’
‘I’ve been wanting to tell you that for months. I regretted saying that we should be no-feelings almost as soon as I said it, I just didn’t want my line of work to hurt you if something happened to me.’
‘I cant believe the Bucky Barnes has a crush on me.’ You walked towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso as he reciprocated, resting his head on yours.
‘Hey, don’t spread that around, I have a reputation to uphold.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you big softie. Can’t wait to tell Steve and Sam.’
‘Steve already knows.’
After a few hours, you, Bucky, and Alpine were watching a movie on the couch. In truth, the movie had been quickly abandoned as you interrogated Bucky on what he had told Steve. The food Bucky had planned on cooking had also been abandoned, and an empty pizza box sat on the coffee table which your feet rested on, and you were unsure he’d ever leave your apartment again as he planted a kiss on your hair.
summary: good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.
wc: 14.5k (i have no idea how that happened)
tags/tropes: age gap (duh), slow burn with an insane amount of tension, lowkey very emotionally rife, hurt/comfort, not-so-unrealistic amounts of crying, langdonmel in the background if you squint (you don’t have to squint very hard i love them so much guys im sorry) vaguely referenced but not subtlety implied bad childhood, gratuitous and frankly ridiculous medical inaccuracies because i took a lot of creative liberty, reader is an ode to Matilda by Harry Styles and You’re Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan, Pitt Crew becomes reader’s family :)
a/n: this was supposed to be a sort-of drabble for @leeknowpegger. idk what happened. pegger i’m sorry i’ve been so dead recently (always) will you take this as an apology. If you’d like more cohesive tags, more context, extra details, and more in depth warnings, this fic has been cross-posted on ao3, and will be linked below :]
NOT-SO-FRIENDLY-PSA: Any comments asking me to write more, post another chapter, or anything of the sort will be deleted. Please do not send an ask into my inbox either. Screaming in my inbox (not about wanting more, general screaming) is totally fine though!
ao3
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۫ ꣑ৎ
You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.
Five months of being the untouchable, “perfect” intern. Robby’s newest addition to his growing list of “work-wards.”
Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.
Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that you’re not fit to be a doctor.
Tonight isn’t the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isn’t even the first time you’ve been removed from a case. It’s not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve made a mistake.
You’re an intern. It’s your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. That’s what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. They’d ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasn’t meant for you, but hell if you don’t say it to yourself every night like a prayer.
But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. You’re stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.
The patient isn’t dead. Despite your mistakes, they didn’t die. There’s really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.
And yet, here you are.
Your first mistake wasn’t terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern who’s drilled sterile protocol into her head until it’s muscle memory.
For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.
And, well. There’s no time to re-scrub, so there wasn’t a need for you in the triage room anymore.
Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if you’d focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.
It was a test. Not your first.
And you ripped the fucking purse strings.
Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until “you get your head back in the game.”
And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who can’t handle some criticism and correction. You’re a hard worker. You’re good at this. You have to be.
So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.
You’ve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)
You’re just so upset with yourself. You’re better than this. You know you are. You’ve proven that you are. You don’t drop scalpels. You don’t break the sterile field. You don’t rip purse strings.
But you did tonight. And maybe one day you’ll laugh, but today is not that day.
You just don’t get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. You’re on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robby’s respect.
But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.
You can’t be burning out, right? That’s not how burn out works. There’s like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but that’s because you work in medicine. And you’re an intern. You’re supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe you’re not? You do enjoy your work, and it’s exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this can’t be burn out. You don’t burn out. That’s not you. Right? No. Of course not.
You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.
Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you don’t quite hear the door open.
You do, however, hear the quiet “Oh.” that’s mumbled a few moments later.
Of-fucking-course.
You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you weren’t just crying on the ground.
“Dr. Abbot! I’m so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise I’m still working on it—“
He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.
“Just needed some four by fours, kid.”
Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.
“…Those are three by threes.”
Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.
“Right,” You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. “I’ll just get out of your way. Sorry.”
You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.
“Look,” Dr. Abbot starts. “You’re one of Robby’s adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?”
“That is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.”
His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)
You don’t know what to do. He’s looking at you. Your boss doesn’t fluster you. You’re chill. You’re normal. You’re cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.
“Robby doesn’t adopt interns lightly. Don’t let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.”
You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.
The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.
Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.
“What, it doesn’t happen to you?”
A jolt of panic stabs your chest. “No! Of course it happens to me, I didn’t mean to imply that I’m like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at all—“
Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. You’re a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.
Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. He’s got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldn’t be hot, but he’s got his hand on your shoulder and you’re having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?
“Usually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you don’t get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesn’t mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.”
He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost don’t notice because he said you do good work.
Abbot gives you another grin. “And I didn’t stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.”
“But I ripped the purse strings,” You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, “Like an idiot.”
“You ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.”
“I practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didn’t happen!”
He tilts his head, almost cat-like. “Did you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?”
“…No?”
He snorts. “Exactly. Dr. Garcia probably won’t hold it against you. She’ll give you shit for it, but it’s not like she’s never going to give you another chance.”
You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbot’s reassurances echoing in your head.
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I don’t usually do that.”
Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. “Wouldn’t judge you if you did, kid.”
—
Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.
He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because he’s always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.
Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now he’s an attending. Night shift lead.
He started to get restless again.
He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didn’t sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.
And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.
And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.
That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasn’t him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jack’s stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.
Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasn’t tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didn’t actually know cats could snore like that.
Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.
Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shift’s conclusions. He’s picked up a very special language of gauging what he’s getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest intern— a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. He’d heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.
Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.
He’d watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because it’d fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks ‘Oh.’
And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks ‘Well, there’s something to do.’
Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how you’d looked at him when he’d assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.
He tells himself that he’s just going to keep an eye on you. For Robby’s sake. He’d do the same for Whitaker.
The next time you have a night shift, you’re clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.
When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where you’re diligently filling out a chart.
“That one yours, then?”
Jack shakes his head. “It’s not like that. You make me sound like a creep.”
Another raised eyebrow. “Sure it isn’t.”
“She’s Robby’s intern.”
“Mhm.”
“She’s way too young.”
Parker shrugs. “She’s good.”
“She is.”
The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. “Think she’ll burn out?”
“Maybe.”
Parker crosses his arms. “Are you gonna let it happen?”
“She’s not my intern.”
Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.
“It’s an HR nightmare.”
Parker shrugs. “You just said she’s not your intern.”
He narrows his eyes. “You know what I meant.”
“Do I? It’s been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.”
“Parker.”
“Jack.”
He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. “You’re the worst.”
Parker just laughs. “Sure I am.”
To your credit, he doesn’t find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesn’t last.
You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isn’t far enough to account how you’re shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.
Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what he’s not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.
Jack blinks, and in the next second he’s in the room, standing in between you and the patient.
“Excuse me, what the fuck is going on here?”
Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.
“I said I want a real doctor, not this fucking—“
“Get the fuck out of my hospital.”
Shen peaks his head in. “Security’s on their way.”
Jack reaches behind him to where you’re still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jack’s never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled “I’m fine, really, he just surprised me.”
Thankfully, security doesn’t take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, he’s out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before he’s beelining for it.
When he opens the door, you’re sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like you’ve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
“Dr. Abbot!”
Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics don’t lend to much mobility and he’s too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, there’s a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.
He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.
“Can I…?” Jack’s voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble that’s seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.
You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.
“He had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didn’t really notice until I got here.”
“Parker and Shen didn’t notice?”
You look at your lap. “I told them I was fine… And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. It’s just a little cut.”
Jack’s fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.
But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.
Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.
His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesn’t look that bad either.
But there’s still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.
“If I leave you here so I can get supplies,” He starts, voice a little rough, “Can I trust that you’ll stay here and not do anything stupid?”
“Uh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?”
Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. “That’d be preferable.”
Later, when he’s at home in his bed, he’ll assure himself that the night shift wasn’t truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while he’s busy.
No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.
What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack who’s got a thing for fixing.
He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. It’s something he’s generally very good at —which is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at all— but you’re looking up at him and there’s something really dangerous in the air and it must’ve gotten into your blood stream or something cause it’s swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.
He decides he could at least tone it down. You’re an intern. Robby’s intern. So what if you’re bleeding all over the break room? Jack’s just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. That’s all.
“Tilt your head up.”
He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so there’s no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he can’t get the sound of the slap out of his head and it’s all just kind of a lot.
He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like you’re burning up.
Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.
He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.
“Did you walk to work today?”
You wince. “My car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didn’t just leave my car in the middle of the road.”
He blinks.
“Your car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didn’t tell anybody?”
You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.
“Yeah? I carry a knife and I’ve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.”
There’s… a lot to unpack in your answer.
“Kid,” He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, “What was your plan to get home?”
“Walk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so I’m probably going to text her.”
Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didn’t think to let your boss know that your car broke down and you’d be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.
God.
“It’s really fine though,” You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. “My place isn’t that far, and it’s not the first time my car’s died. The battery’s kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and it’s like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. I’ve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.”
He wishes you’d stop talking so he’d stop hearing things that make him want to do things he can’t and shouldn’t do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.
Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.
“I’ll drive you home. If you’re fine with that.”
Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.
“Oh no, you really don’t have to. I promise I’m—“
“Please stop saying you're fine,” He begs, “You don’t have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think you’re coming down with something.”
The smile that’s seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.
“Well,” You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, “Things certainly aren’t… great, but I’ll survive. I’m not like, incapable, or anything.”
Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.
He hums. “Is that what you think? That I or someone else here will think you’re not competent or that you’re weak if you take a break or ask for help?”
Your face falters again. “No, no, of course not I just… I don’t know. I’m an intern. It’s my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just don’t want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I need— internships are competitive. They’re competitions, really. And I want to win.”
Jack Abbot knows what it’s like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that you’re capable and strong and unfailing.
So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.
“You’re a smart kid,” He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, “And you’re going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.”
He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. “This industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you don’t take care of yourself. I get it. We’re doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. It’s okay to… not be okay for a minute.”
You huff a watery laugh. “Isn’t that what energy drinks are for?”
He shakes his head. “What, trying to die faster?”
“Anything to shake those student loans. Can’t be in debt if you’re dead.”
“Don’t they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?”
“I don’t think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think it’ll hold up in court.”
Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isn’t sure.
He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.
“I gotta get back out there,” He jams his thumb towards the door, “But feel free to take five. No one’s judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, I’m telling you to take a break.”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For the…”
You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. “…And for the advice.”
He shrugs, like taking care of you hasn’t become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesn’t matter, like he’s just doing his job.
“Offer for the ride’s still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.”
And with that, he’s out the door.
It’s the end of shift, and you’re staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.
You’re not exactly rushing out the door.
You’re clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that it’s been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?
The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.
“Still raining out there?”
“Yep. Looks worse now.”
“Not great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.”
“Mhm.”
“Did you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?”
“No. I didn’t want to wake her up.”
Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.
“Come on, kid.”
The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesn’t think it’s awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.
He’d been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and it’s only thanks to Sabrina Carpenter’s voice that you don’t feel like completely freaking out.
You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.
“—I get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy—“
“—Treating me like you’re supposed to do, tears run down my thighs—“
By the time you’ve realized that perhaps this isn’t the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and who’s car you’re currently riding in, the words “I get wet” have already left your mouth so there’s no real point in stopping.
On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.
Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. You’re considering changing the radio station because god.
“So,” You start, just to say anything that drowns out “knee-deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?”, “Did you… have a good shift?”
That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?
Dr. Abbot snorts. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
Ah. Right. The Incident.
“I told you I’m—“
“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying that?”
Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?
He continues. “Fine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didn’t leave a mark, that’s still shitty.”
“Have you been hit by a patient before?”
He huffs. “Hell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. It’ll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.”
“Sorry you had to step in. I’ve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.”
“Oh yeah?”
You nod. “It was during my Pedes rotation, actually. I’ve always known working with kids probably wasn’t going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.”
“What, did she slap you too?”
“Nope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.”
“Fucking hell, kid. What’d you do?”
You shrug. “Kept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.”
Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. “Always the patients you least expect.”
“The importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.”
The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.
Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.
Your last thought before falling asleep is that you don’t remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.
Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.
“What?” You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: “Whamfgh?”
Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. You’re absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.
Oh right, your apartment.
“Oh,” You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.
Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.
You rub at your eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Little over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.”
“It doesn’t take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.”
Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.
“Did you just… park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?”
He just shrugs. “Like I said. You looked like you needed it.”
Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.
“Sorry. You didn’t have to wait.”
“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have.”
Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isn’t nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.
Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet “hey” you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.
It’s a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbot’s. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. It’s nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an intern’s budget.
“For the next time your car dies,” He clarifies, as if the jacket’s purpose is the thing that’s stupefied you, not the fact that he’s the one giving it to you, “In case of rain.”
“You really don’t have to,” your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, “I mean, I can just buy my own—“
“First of all,” He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, “Do I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I don’t want to? And second of all…”
He tilts his head, gaze sharp. “Are you really going to buy one for yourself?”
Your mouth goes dry.
“I was planning on looking online—“
Dr. Abbot interrupts you. “Now you don’t have to.”
Like it’s that easy. Does he want it to be?
“Dr. Abbot, I—“
“Jack.”
His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.
“Jack,” you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. “I can take care of myself. You don’t need to give me your jacket. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
“Kid—“
The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.
“Don’t call me kid like I’m stupid.”
Dr. Abb— Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.
He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.
“I don’t call you kid because I think you’re stupid. I don’t think you’re stupid. You’d know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. ‘Kid’ is a…” He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, “…Nickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but it’s not derogatory.”
Jack holds up a second finger.
“You have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldn’t have a low grade fever, and you would’ve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. You’ve been surviving. There’s a difference.”
Shame burns white hot through you— all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.
Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’d be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents don’t do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?”
“That depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Exactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesn’t actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.”
He nudges the jacket on your lap. “So just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.”
Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.
“You worry about me?”
Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.
“I worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.”
Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. It’s not like Jack actually likes you or anything.
You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jack’s car.
“Well. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.”
“No problem, kid.”
And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, that’s no one’s business but yours.
—
From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.
Whether it’s something he’s doing on purpose or you’ve just developed a heightened sense to his whereabouts— it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didn’t choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, he’s there.
You’re being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.
Working a double isn’t horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jack’s solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, you’re quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.
Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.
Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe it’s the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) It’s probably both of those things.
But there isn’t really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.
You’re distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.
Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.
“Hey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to have… bled through.”
If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.
“Fuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,” You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”
In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.
“To tie around your waist,” He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.
You don’t actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you don’t particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldn’t be working here. Robby wouldn’t let that kind of thing slide.
So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.
What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.
The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this time— a tiny bag of pretzels.
She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.
“Bad shift?”
“Bad life,” You grumble. “Dr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesn’t know what pad sizes are for.”
Dr. King nods thoughtfully. “He asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and he’s a doctor.”
“Here here,” You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. “How did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?”
“We’ve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,”
She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. “But to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasn’t an option. Which. Probably isn’t helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something that’s nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so it’s just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?”
You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasn’t Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.
Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in various… situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldn’t be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.
Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like you’re going to explode and die if you don’t have someone to confide in right this very second. You haven’t heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.
“Mel,” You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, “Can I tell you a secret?”
She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. “Um. Sure?”
“Have you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?”
Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. “Is this about Dr.—“
“I have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think it’s ruining my life.”
The words burst out of you all at once, and Mel’s expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.
“Ah,” She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. “Um. Well I personally don’t have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.”
You bury your face into your hands and groan. “It’s awful. It’s so cliche. It’s so fucking Grey’s Anatomy.”
“I’ve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.”
Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.
“Have you… acted on it?”
“No!” You snap your head up. “I mean. No, I haven’t. I’m not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. He’s an attending and I’m an intern.”
She leans in. “But…?”
“But sometimes… I wonder? I don’t know. I’m probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, that’s normal, right?”
Mel nods. “Fr— Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we don’t. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?”
“Right. Yeah.”
She takes the pretzel bag back. “Is there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?”
Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.
“He gave me his rain jacket. To keep.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.
“I’m honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. I’ve been told I can be… dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.”
You shrug. “You’re a great listener, and you haven’t steered me wrong in the past.”
She brightens. “That’s good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with your… particular situation.”
Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. “I’ll let Robby know you’re taking ten, so don’t worry about someone looking for you while you’re changing.”
“You’re the best. I love you.”
The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.
—
Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? “Hey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?”
Additionally, she’s kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohan’s work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.
After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.
“Hey!” She jogs up to you as you’re walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.
“Sorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?”
“Right!” You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think you’re capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like she’s the only expert around. “Yes. That. It’s a really normal question, you know.”
Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. “Uh, sure?”
There’s a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.
“This is about Abbot, isn’t it?”
You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. “Am I that obvious?”
She laughs goodnaturedly. “No. Probably not. You’re just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.”
“He’s so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like I’m dying.”
She makes a noise of sympathy. “He is. It’s fucking annoying, at a certain point.”
“Thank you!” You shout, “Like it’s just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead I’m just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.”
“Have you ever seen Grey’s—“
“Yes. I know. I can’t be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?”
Mohan purses her lips. “Well. You did just say you felt like you were dying.”
“I know,” You sigh. “It makes me feel… shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“On my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.”
She winces. “Oh. That’s not… great.”
Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. “He found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.”
Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think it’s a right of passage. And as for that second part…”
She shrugs. “Abbot gives credit where credit is due, but he won’t coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.”
“That’s what he said. It just didn’t really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.”
Mohan actually looks taken back.
“Okay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?”
“Whenever I have a spare twenty dollars.”
She grins. “I happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?”
“Yes please.”
Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samira’s is much more enjoyable than you expected— considering the fact that you’re an intern and she’s a resident. She confides that she doesn’t have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have “real girl-time”.
She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.
You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.
Maybe everything will be okay.
—
Everything is not okay.
You’re now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, you’ve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.
Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.
You shoot her a look. “Supportive as ever, Dr. Santos.”
“I try.”
You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.
It doesn’t help much.
There’s a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because you’re still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.
Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and it’s one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.
The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.
You’re just… having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. It’s the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while you’re awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.
A vacation. A week off. You’re describing taking a week off work. It’s comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.
You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, you’re the only liability he has to really worry about.
Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while you’re charting.
“You’re flagging.”
Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. “I’m fine. I just need a Redbull or something.”
He slides the tablet out of your hands. “Part of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Can’t be a good doctor if you’re falling asleep during the exam, right?”
“I would never fall asleep during an exam.”
He shrugs. “I’ve seen it happen.”
Jack jerks his head towards the break room. “Take five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.”
“Yes sir.”
He rolls his eyes. “Get going.”
Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patient’s doctor fantasy.
Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.
Your shift ends with little fanfare. It’s honestly a miracle you survived. You’re exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.
Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, it’s fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, it’s dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.
“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that he’s already texted.
Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.
And that’s just the last straw, really.
You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samira’s contact through blurry eyes. When you think you’ve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.
The phone rings for a bit, and you’re about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.
“Hello?”
It’s not Samira who answers. It’s Jack.
You sniffle. “Why are you answering Samira’s phone?”
“I didn’t. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?”
“Oh,” You decide to ignore his question, “I meant to call Samira. Sorry.”
“Wait,” Jack’s voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, “Answer the question. Are you okay?”
Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.
“The power’s out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power won’t be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but it’s cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever won’t go away.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
Always a man of action, Jack is.
You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he can’t see it. “I was supposed to call Samira and see if she’d let me sleep on her couch.”
“I have a guest bedroom.”
The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jack’s encouraging advice, Jack’s steady presence, Jack’s warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“What’s your address?”
The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. It’s just that kind of day.
You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jack’s apartment as directed.
It’s… fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.
The actual building itself isn’t very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so it’s not exactly surprising that Jack’s apartment is the penthouse. It’s just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt you’ve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.
Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.
If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesn’t hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldn’t have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.
His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.
He makes a low noise in his throat.
“Oh, you poor thing. Come here,”
Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying ‘come inside’ but the dam breaks the moment he says “poor thing” and you don’t have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than “Jack=Comfort and Safety".
Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then you’re crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.
Jack doesn’t react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe you’ve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.
“Poor girl,” he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, “They been running you ragged?”
You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut open— like you’ve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you can’t stop it.
“I’m so tired.” You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything that’s happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you don’t talk about that happened before.
“I know sweetheart, I know,” Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. “How about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?”
At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.
“Sorry,” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I got snot on your shirt.”
“Trust me kid, it’s seen worse.”
He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.
It’s nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesn’t, actually, look the inside of a dentist’s office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctor’s office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when you’re a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.
Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.
There’s a feeling under your skin you can’t place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light you’re watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if he’s got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.
But that’s a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.
Jack is— inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.
“By the way,” Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? “I have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably won’t come near you, but be warned, he’s an asshole when he wants to be.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.”
“That explains a lot of things.”
His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you don’t care to parse through at the moment.
“Um,” You start, feeling a bit unsteady, “Is— Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feel… grimy. Your apartment seems clean and I’d hate to get my hospital grime on anything.”
Jack just chuckles. “One, I wouldn’t care if you got ‘hospital grime’ on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?”
“I might’ve forgotten to grab those.”
Another huffy laugh. “That’s fine. You can borrow some of mine. I’ll leave them on the bed.”
That’s like. Wow. Yeah. You’re just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. You’re going to shower in Jack’s shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.
“I already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?”
Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.
“Yeah,” You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, “Yeah that’s fine. Thank you.”
Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. You’re not sure if there’s an intention behind the word choice.
Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. There’s a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and it’s not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.
Maybe that’s your problem. You haven’t felt like anything is in the right place in years.
You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jack’s water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.
They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.
Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholic’s is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you don’t feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.
(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)
The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. You’d read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But he’s dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.
Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon he’s stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.
He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.
“Feeling better after your shower?”
You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.
“Isn’t it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?”
He shrugs. “It’s dinner for us. Or, well, me. I’m not sure your body knows what meal it is.”
He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. “Any word from your landlord?”
“No. Sorry for… all of this. I know you’re tired.”
“I wish you’d stop apologizing for things I don’t mind doing for you.”
You don’t really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.
You clear your throat. “I can call Samira whenever. She’d probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Don’t feel like— I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.”
“Do you want to leave?”
You wish he’d stop asking questions you don’t want to answer.
You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robby’s kid, through and through.
“Well, I can’t have you getting sick of me. You’re the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesn’t pan out.”
Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. “Who said I’d get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.”
“Do you?”
You ask the question before you’re aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But you’ve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.
Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesn’t look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like he’s disappointed that you had to ask.
“Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”
“I don’t know,” You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, “I don’t want to assume anything.”
“You’ve already assumed quite a bit.”
You scrunch your face. “That’s different. Those are safe assumptions.”
“Are they?”
“Obviously, it’s safer to assume that you don’t want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do I’ll bother you and I want you to—“
You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. It’s not hard to figure out what you were going to say.
I want you to like me.
Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then he’s rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him —never turn you back, never let your guard down— and then he’s standing in front of you, over you, and you’re not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.
It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing. It’s impossible to ignore.
(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)
He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you don’t, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.
It’s cleaning the cut from the slap, it’s a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.
Unlike that day in the break room, there’s no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.
It’s just you and Jack, in Jack’s apartment, wearing Jack’s clothes, and pretty soon you’re going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.
And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and you’d make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.
He doesn’t. He starts talking.
“I like knowing that you’re safe. That you’re taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because I’m the one making sure of it.”
Your breath hitches in your chest.
“That’s kind of a lot of work, though.”
He hums. “It is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.”
Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so it’s not surprising that you start crying again.
Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything he’s been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.
“You don’t have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”
There’s the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?
Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.
Jack said you don’t have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you don’t do something you’re going to be sick with everything that’s swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jack’s perfectly decorated walls.
That would be something, wouldn’t it.
You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jack’s back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesn’t talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like he’s making sure you’re still there.
Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so there’s no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.
There’s a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.
You start crying again, in earnest.
“I’m sorry,” You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m— I don’t know. I don’t know.”
You’re hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.
Your life hasn’t been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Hey, hey hey hey, shhh,” Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isn’t Jack. “You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re okay, I got you.”
He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesn’t tell you to stop, or to calm down, or you’re being too much too fast.
“You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
—
You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.
You wake up in Jack’s bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. There’s the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.
Holy shit. What the fuck.
Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of what’s around you.
In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jack’s handwriting on it.
Kid-
I’ll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.
Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably won’t leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.
The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. It’s not ideal, but you’re wrung out and don’t have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what you’ve heard, Langdon isn’t really in a place to say anything.
On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isn’t too terribly awful.
Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.
Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdon’s general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.
You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.
“There are more of you here then there’s supposed to be,” You grumble, scrubbing at your face. “Why are you all here?”
Mel is the first to speak.
“It was Frank actually!” Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, “He figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didn’t tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!”
Wow, okay, that’s. A Lot.
You squint. “That doesn’t explain why you’re all here. I mean it does, but only like, why you’re here physically.”
Robby frowns. “We heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.”
Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.
Robby shoots her a look, but continues. “We care about you. We— I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.”
Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. “Jee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.”
Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.
"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."
Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.
–
At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.
It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:
Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.
Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.
–
When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.
He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.
And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.
You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.
"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'
You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."
You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."
Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.
Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.
Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.
The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.
Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.
"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"
He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.
"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."
He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.
"Why did you put it on?"
You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.
"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."
The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.
"How come?"
"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."
You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."
"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."
You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."
Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.
"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."
Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.
He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.
He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.
"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.
"Hmm?"
"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are you— I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortable—"
"I want to kiss you."
Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.
He continues when you don't speak.
"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."
"Oh."
"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."
You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.
"I thought I was just reading into things!"
"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"
Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.
"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"
He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.
"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"
For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.
"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
A/N: I genuinely thought i posted this chapter months ago 🫣 SO SORRY!!! anyway here’s Carl having a little wobble
Having a warm shower seemed to cure all of your ills, eking out every last bit of the frosty day you’d had. You soaked in the heat, steaming the whole room up, dissolving the cold in your bones from the wind on the ferry whipping around your face, and the stress of your new job. You stood under the scalding water remembering the facts of the case, thinking of what clues you needed, channelling your intuition into what you believe happened to Merrit Lingard. You could sense she was somewhere, agreeing with Akram that she was alive, but the more you tried to hold it in your head, the idea that she had been abducted or ran away from her old life, the more it drifted off like a light summer breeze, slipping easily from your hands almost without a trace.
Dragging yourself out of the shower, you got ready for bed, slipping on the plush white robe from the inn’s closet, and began to make a cup of tea. Finally, after a long, drawn-out day of dealing with Carl and battering your brain with clues, you slid into bed and flicked through the well-loved book you’d brought as an afterthought in the event that you had any free time. An unlikely prospect the more you got to know Carl, ambushing you with texts and calls whenever he had an epiphany, dragging you off to an island, and even when he napped in the office he snored like a freight train.
As you finally began to fall asleep you heard a commotion across the hall. You squinted, then realised that didn’t help, your sleep-addled brain messing up your senses. Breathing deeply, purposefully, you softly walked – bare feet making no noise on the plush carpet – towards the door of your room, knowing that it was Carl across from you. You opened your door, stepping tentatively out, glancing down the hallway to determine the source of the noise, then pressed your ear against Carl’s door. You could hear whimpers and ragged breathing even through the ancient oaken door that separated the two of you.
‘Carl?’ You knocked on the door. No answer.
‘Carl?’ You said a little louder, knocking a little harder. You heard something moving closer to you from inside.
‘Carl, are you alright in there?’ This time a pained, breathy whimper came from much nearer the door.
‘Right, you’re going to have to let me in or I’ll find a battering ram, okay?’ Mercifully the door swung open, but the sight you were met with was nothing you were expecting.
Carl was in the blue jumper and black jeans he’d been wearing all day, though without his shoes, on the floor next to the door, pained with the effort of having to open it for you. He was drenched in sweat and had tears running down his cheeks. One of his arms was out of his jumper, revealing the soaked grey t-shirt underneath, and his struggle to remove the garment in his panic. He was breathing quickly, shallow and difficult.
You dropped to the floor in front of him, closing his door to allow you the room. He was splayed out on the floor against the wall, legs and arms spread as if he’d been dropped from a great height. His odd position allowed you to crouch between his legs and cup his face, feeling the sodden, rough hairs of his beard. By instinct you were taking deep breaths, and were telling him to do as you did. ‘Just breathe, Carl. Follow my breathing.’ You put a hand to his chest beneath his jumper, and clasped one of his wrists, feeling his pulse. It was quick, but definitely not a heart attack. ‘You’re having a panic attack, Carl. You just need to breathe, okay? You’re fine.’ His eyes were dark, darker than usual beneath his furrowed black eyebrows, knitted with fear. You looked into his eyes, trying to connect to him on a deeper level than his fear could reach, pleading. You’d never seen anyone like this, let alone the seemingly unshakeable Carl Morck, a fact which worried you immensely, feeling fear in yourself about whether it was the Lingard case that had launched him into this state, knowing you’d not deal with it half as well as he could. You’d learned about his fifteen years on the murder squad from Akram who felt he should share everything about Carl with you for team building purposes, but right now it just made you feel worse. What on earth could have caused such a man to be diminished to this?
After what you presumed to be mere minutes, though it felt like hours, Carl’s breathing steadied somewhat. You moved to sit more comfortably, but it put him on edge again, as he grasped your wrist in a desperate plea. You squeezed his shoulder whilst you moved yourself, applying pressure you hoped was grounding, assuring him of your constant presence. You moved to sit between his legs, crossing your legs over one another. You still had to look up at him to be at eye level, even with you both on the floor. You were rubbing your thumb back and forth on the back of his hand, the hand he’d used to pull you back, attempting to soothe him. You brushed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead, wiping it with your hand in long, gentle motions, never ceasing your deep, soothing breaths.
Eventually he sat up slightly, and the first thing he croaked out was ‘I’m sorry.’ If your adrenaline wasn’t so high you’d have laughed in his face in disbelief. But, thank God you didn’t. You took a second, looking into his eyes, and saw the sheer fear that he was still overcome by.
‘Don’t be silly, Carl.’ You brushed another lock of drenched hair from his forehead, and then moved to take off his jumper that he’d attempted to remove before you’d even got there.
‘Trying to get me naked already?’ Though he was still evidently shaken, he still knew how to be a prick.
‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’ He allowed you to take his jumper off for him anyway, clearly weak and limbless. Once off, you just sat there, enclosed in the brackets of his legs, on the floor. You started to fall asleep, dropping towards Carl before you caught yourself. He let out a lazy laugh which told you he was much better than when you’d found him.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Your gaze dropped down towards his torso, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, knowing he hated being questioned. He just grunted in acceptance.
‘Have you had a panic attack before?’ This time you did look him in the eyes, far brighter than they had been just a few minutes before.
‘Yeah, actually, on live telly, thanks for asking.’ His lip quirked in mirth, but his voice was still raw and croaky from his struggle to breathe earlier, taking your question as a deliberate attack.
‘I hadn’t seen it. I’m sorry.’ You hoped he knew you were being truthful, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked. ‘Did anything cause this one?’
Carl responded by inclining his head towards his bed. You got up and grabbed the file scattered across his covers. Leith Park. ‘Fucking hell, Carl. No wonder.’
‘Those morons on the case don’t know what they’re doing.’ He was attempting to get up, so you moved towards him in case he needed any assistance, though he’d be loath to ever ask for it.
‘That might be true, but this is why you’re not allowed to solve your own fucking shooting. You’re torturing yourself for fucks sake.’
‘And you care, why?’ He gave up with trying to get up, and just looked up at you from his post on the floor, knees pulled into his chest.
‘Because you’re a part of my fucking team and I, shockingly, don’t want you having a panic attack every night because you’re too stubborn to let them do their bloody job.’ You dropped, once again, into a crouch in front of him.
He said nothing. Usually in a situation like this, with Carl so close, his eyes roving over your face, especially when you’re so inflamed with anger and fear, you’d feel intensely insecure and look away, but you felt as if you’d already bared your soul to him.
Apparently you’d passed his test, so he began speaking again, though not without difficulty.
‘I couldn’t sleep, so I just had a glance through, started having flashbacks.’
You had the urge to cradle his face, smooth your hands over his cheeks and kiss his hair. You brushed it away. ‘Do you want to go through the Lingard file again, and then I’ll fuck off?’ You weren’t sure he should be left alone quite yet.
He nodded, acquiescing. You left him on the floor to get him a wet flannel and then disappeared to your room to close the door and grab your keys and phone so you didn’t get robbed. When you came back, he was hunched over the bathroom sink in nothing but his jeans, splashing cold water over his face, neck and torso. He inevitably heard your quick inhale at the sight, glancing in the mirror to see that you’d returned, smirking.
He’d made a fairly swift recovery and could see you needed sleep more than he ever did after a few minutes of looking through the case in silence. Your head kept bobbing as you fended off sleep, and he just watched you as you finally gave in to it. He presumed that all of the adrenaline from helping him had worn out, and you slowly descended onto the pillows on his bed. Carl weighed up his options. He could sleep in the chair next to the window, but at his age it’d wreak havoc on his neck and back. He could also slip into bed next to you, but you were on top of the covers and smack bang in the middle, so it’d be an impossible task. He finally decided to take you back to your own room, despite the odd feeling it gave him. One he’d have to unpack another time.
Putting a stopper in his door, he removed your keys and phone from your robe pocket, opening the door and placing both on the bedside table. He then scooped you gently up from his bed, ensuring you remained asleep, and put you into your own bed. He swept the unruly hairs from your face, and, knowing he wasn’t being watched, took a final look at you sleeping peacefully as he closed your door and returned to his own room.
Synopsis: When Rupert makes passes at you at Rebecca’s gala, Ted steps in. What unfolds throughout the evening reveals feelings and secrets neither of you thought would ever come to light.
tags/tropes: fake/pretend relationship, yearning, confession (angryish. if you squint), jealous!ted, physio!reader, workplace relationship, ted can dance?? (new hc just dropped x), everyone realises before they do, Beard is weird but like in a canon accurate way, literal sickening fluffy domesticity, I'm talking teeth-rotting stuff guys, warning: rupert mannion, no beta we die like men, no beta we die like earl, rip earl
Inclusivity: reader is female, mentions of hair, clothing and height (shorter than Ted), use of she/her pronouns, use of ‘woman’ etc.
Warnings: canon-accurate Rupert being a douchebag. he’s a prick, what’s new?
8.8k words
Finally, the night that Rebecca had been planning, organising, and mostly stressing over had arrived. Tonight was the annual fundraising gala, and you, despite not loving huge events like this, were uncommonly excited. Perhaps it was the fact you’d be with the team you loved the most, or that you’d be surrounded and supporting your closest friends, or maybe it was the fantasy of dancing with a certain moustachioed coach who’d caught your eye the minute you joined the club. Who’s to say?
Becoming Richmond’s newest physio was the best decision you’d ever made. You’d made some lifelong friendships, and experienced laughter like never before. Of course you’d worked at football clubs before, but there truly was no place like Richmond.
You were reflecting on your time there, gazing out of the wall to wall windows in Rebecca’s office, half watching training on the pitch outside as she huffed and puffed, weighing up her options for tonight’s gala.
‘I can’t believe you don’t plan your outfit in advance, Rebecca. You’ve been doing this how many years?’ You said as you made your way to the middle of the room, standing behind her.
‘I’ve always done it like this, and it’s always been fine.’ She turned from her clothing rail to face you, holding up a shimmering streak of silk on a hanger, thrusting it towards you. ‘What do you think of this?’
You lit up as you looked at the golden silk dress she was holding in front of your face. ‘You absolutely have to wear that. Yes.’ Though your tone was meant to instil confidence, you met her eyes which were decidedly less so, her face scrunched up.
‘Rebecca, it’s beautiful, you have to wear it. You need to outdo all of us, remember? You’re the hostess.’
You figured you must have won her over, as she returned it to the rail and dropped down to look at her shoes, changing the subject. ‘What are you wearing, anyway?’
You huffed a laugh from your nose, having prepared yourself for that inevitable question, but you were saved as Keeley came running through the door, with such force you were shocked it was still on its hinges.
‘Rebecca, I-. Oh, hi babe,’ She was flushed and windswept, clearly in a rush to speak to Rebecca, but her eyes lit up nonetheless when she saw you. ‘Excited for tonight? Can’t wait to see you all glammed up.’
‘Actually, I was just asking her what she’s going to wear.’ You paled as the two most stylish women you’d ever met centred their attention solely on your outfit for tonight. You produced your phone from your pocket, showing them a badly taken photo in a terribly lit changing room of you in a floor length navy dress. You were pleased to hear them both gasp.
‘Babe, you are gonna look so fucking FIT!’ Keeley squealed, squeezing your arm.
‘What’s the back like? We’re not finished with you yet.’ Rebecca knew you’d be eager to see the boys after training, but was too nosy to let you go just yet.
You slid along in your camera roll, showing a photo of the dress from the back. It was backless, with only the high halterneck at the top, and the low V at the back leading into the skirt, the image of which produced another squeal from Keeley, and Rebecca’s signature sly smirk.
‘Is it too revealing? I was a bit worried so I’ve got a little shawl just in-case.’ You confided in the women, but by the looks on their faces, your fears were unfounded.
‘Absolutely not. I look forward to seeing you in it. Now training has just finished, and I believe a certain Coach Lasso wanted a word from you, so you’re off the hook for the shoe talk.’ Your boss said, freeing you from discussing any more clothing options which you’d done all morning.
‘See you later yeah?’ Keeley shot you a wink as you hustled out of the door and downstairs into the locker room.
You were relieved to see Trent, a man you’d become inseparable with since starting at Richmond, loving that there was someone else looking from the outside in at the beginning. He was, as always, looking decidedly fashionable, and after your talk with the girls, you just had to ask what he was wearing tonight.
‘Oh, darling that’s a secret.’ He looked like the cat that got the cream, knowing the anticipation would irritate you. ‘You’ll see me when I pick you up, alright?’
‘I look forward to it, Mr Crimm.’ He raised his mug to you as you slid through the dividing door of the two offices, almost walking straight into Roy because you couldn’t take your eyes off of Ted, and for good reason.
Ted was stood facing the pyramid poster which he was using as a makeshift mirror, as he trimmed his moustache in its reflection. He had his shirt and jumper off, with only his white beater covering his top half. It took Roy elbowing you to come back to the present.
‘Is anyone in this building doing any actual work today, or are we all just getting ready for Rebecca’s gala?’ you asked the near silent room, noises only coming from Trent’s pen scratching across his notebook, and Beard’s humming.
The blank looks you got from the three men in front of you told you the answer was that absolutely no work had been done, nor would get done, for the rest of the day.
‘Oh, hey there, I was just gettin’ cleaned up for tonight.’ Ted said as he finally brushed the chopped hairs off his beater and sent a dazzling smile your way. ‘I needed to ask you somethin’ actually.’
‘Rebecca said. Hit me.’
‘Well the coaches and I were wonderin’ what table you’re gon’ be on tonight. I hope it ain’t table four.’ He said with a slight chuckle. You noted that for later, whatever that could possibly mean.
‘Uh, table twelve I think, why?’
‘Same as me and Coach Kent here! I was just thinkin’ it’d be nice to sit with someone different this year, so maybe Rebecca’s finally separated me and Beard.’ Beard looked like he could not have cared less, as long as Jane was with him.
‘Oh, yeah that’s great, you’ll be with me and Trent then.’ You said, earning a huff from Roy who was still harbouring some resentment towards the journalist and your dearest mate.
You could see in Ted’s eyes that he was gearing up to ask another question, see the cogs turning in his head. You watched as Beard’s eyes met his, shooting him something of a warning look, so you decided to make yourself scarce and head back to the treatment room incase any of the players needed you, though it wasn’t uncommon for them to find you in the Coach’s office anyway. As you got halfway down the corridor, you heard Ted’s distinctive footsteps making their way down there with you, though he didn’t accost you until you were in your desk chair and settled.
Ted knocked gently on the door, poking his head around the gap he’d created as he opened it. You motioned for him to sit on the massage bench, and smiled as he hopped up there.
‘You okay, Coach? What can I do you for?’
‘Well, I was just wonderin’ if you had a date to tonight’s gala. You see, last time I had no date, which is fine, and I know it’s late notice, but I was just thinkin’ maybe you’d like to go with me, if you don’t have one. Not that I’d assume you don’t, of course. Pretty lady like you, but you know, I just thought I’d ask.’ At the end of his spiel, he finally met your eyes, and inevitably saw the soft blush creeping across your face.
‘I’m sorry Ted, I do have a date. He’s picking me up, too, so it’s kind of a done deal.’ You gave him a sympathetic smile, one you hoped was hiding your disappointment that he hadn’t asked you before Trent, because you might’ve been spending your evening very differently if he had.
‘Well, I shoulda known. Mind me askin’ who it is?’ You could tell he was slightly embarrassed, but in classic Ted fashion, it was almost impossible to detect.
‘Of course, it’s Trent. We’re going as friends. I know he’s not a plus one or anything, but who wouldn’t want to be on his arm for a gala, right?’ You laughed as you said that last part, knowing Ted saw Trent for the stylish and handsome man you’d all gotten to know the true heart of. He laughed along too, nodding in agreement, but you didn’t expect the relieved look that crossed his face. Had you imagined that?
At 8pm sharp, Trent Crimm was honking the horn of his classic Mercedes outside your house, and subsequently pressing the bell of your front door. He was an excellent timekeeper, ever prompt. He repeated pressing the bell, causing you to shout out of the window, getting a split-second glimpse of the man looking up at you from the front stoop. He looked breathtaking.
You grabbed your bag, a silver clutch, and stamped your feet a few times to ensure your strappy silver stilettos had been tied correctly, and snatched the navy tulle shawl at the last minute to shield you from the breeze that had arrived within the last few hours. At the front door, you took one last look at yourself, hair impeccably styled, allowing your backless dress to shine, and the makeup that you’d been working to perfect over the past few days. After a final spritz of perfume, you unlocked the door, locked it, and then finally set eyes on your date, whose mouth was thoroughly open and lost for words.
‘Speechless Trent Crimm? Surely there’s an award for that.’ You mused as he took your hand, leading you to the frankly fabulous car, and opening the passenger door for you. ‘Wait, Trent. Give me a good look at you.’
He obliged, removing his hand from his pocket and fluffing his hair slightly, allowing you to fully survey him.
He was dressed impeccably, tailored perfectly to the last millimetre in a mesh, flouncy black shirt peeking out from a black blazer embroidered in twirling patterns of gold and silver, paired with black velvet high-waisted trousers, and a heeled boot.
‘Trent, you’ve outdone yourself. All of the players are gonna want you for themselves.’
‘I could say the same about you darling!’ he shouted, rounding the car and stepping in.
Being around a man like Trent at events like this made you feel so much more confident. He carried himself so well, with his fantastic outfit, always perfect hair, and glasses that belied the huge intelligence within. Trent was catlike, serene and sauntering, and you hoped that having you on his arm would make him feel even more relaxed, having a friend in close confidence throughout the night.
As you made your way into the venue, the two of you took red carpet photos, Trent’s hand resting warmly on your bare back, and when he took his leave, he took your shawl with him, motioning for you to turn and get the back of your outfit photographed.
Because of your hurrying making you and Trent late for your already fashionably late arrival time, basically everyone was already inside, and Trent was talking to the three Coaches, Higgins, Rebecca and Keeley when you walked in. Keeley’s scream was bloodcurdling as she wrapped you in a crushing hug and thrust a glass of champagne at you, leading you towards the gaggle of Richmond’s nearest and dearest who were now all looking at the two of you. You were too focused on Trent giving you the shawl back to notice that Ted looked thoroughly starstruck.
An hour later, three martinis and one Rupert Mannion showing up unannounced, the evening was unfolding into something of an eventful one. You were sitting by yourself at the bar, gazing into the bottom of your dredged glass when a sharp dressed man sidled up to you, brushing your arm with his hand. As you tore your eyes from the empty glass, you saw it was Rupert, and, trying to play the ‘kill em with kindness’ game that Rebecca had instilled in you if such a situation was to arise, you stilled yourself from jumping at the sight.
‘What’s a pretty lady like you doing all alone?’ His tone was sumptuously sweet, far too charming to be a true representation of his character. You played along nonetheless.
‘Deciding if four martinis in an hour is too many.’ You batted your eyelashes at him, trying your best to play the part, but it was clearly working as he motioned for the bartender to get another two martinis sent your way.
‘Certainly not enough martinis, I’d say.’ He chuckled, handing you a fresh one and sliding your empty glass to the awaiting hands of the bartender, brushing his fingers with yours as he did.
You entertained him for a while with nothing but mindless, uninterested flirting and empty small talk, and were more than relieved when Ted made himself apparent, standing behind you as you perched on a barstool, with his hand possessively on your bare upper back.
‘Hey there Rupert, I see you’re keeping this one company.’ He shot you a glance, a question of whether he needed to get you the hell out of there, but your returning look told him you could hold your own. Ted was nonetheless irritated, and went through several stages of realisation as he processed why he felt that way. Maybe Beard had been right all along. Huh.
‘She’s fantastic, Ted. I wonder where you got her.’ Rupert’s signature uncanny laugh rang true in your ears, the presence of Ted making you note just how irritating it was, especially when the man you really wanted was holding you so defensively. He was being an excellent sport regardless of the harboured hate you knew he had, as much as harbouring hate was possible for a man like Ted.
Ted chuckled, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes, you saw as you gazed up at him. ‘Well, I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you, wouldn’t I?’
You laughed along to Ted’s dad joke, unsure of which direction the conversation could go after this.
‘I just feel like I’ve never seen such a pretty woman in my life, like you’ve been keeping her secret, Teddy.’ Rupert was smiling heartily, but his tone was threatening. You needed to wrap this up.
‘Thank you Rupert. That’s so kind, and thanks again for the drink, but I’m gonna have to dash to the loo.’ You hopped off your stool, giving Rupert a tight and polite smile, almost falling into Ted as you stood.
‘Now, now, not so fast. How am I supposed to get a hold of you if you dash off like Cinderella at the ball, eh?’ Rupert had now gripped your arm, rendering you speechless, frightened like a deer in headlights, not having expected him to be so forward with someone working from Richmond, let alone in front of their manager.
‘Ahhh, she didn’t tell you, did she?’ You felt Ted chuckle from beside you, his arm having slid around your bare waist after your almost-fall off the stool. You were looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what on earth he could possibly be talking about. Rupert’s face was much the same as Ted leaned into him, readying himself to bestow a big secret. ’Now, we like to keep it private, so don’t go runnin’ your mouth, ‘kay, but me and this gorgeous lady right here,’ he made a gesture between the two of you, dazzling smile still plastered to his face, ‘we’re sorta an item, you catch me?’
Had he seriously just told Rupert you were dating? You could shout at Ted later, but for now you just felt a flood of relief as Rupert clapped him on the back.
‘Sorry about that, old chap. She didn’t mention a thing about you. Better keep her on a leash, eh?’ Rupert chuckled, raspy and lascivious, and shot Ted another wink, clapping him on the back again before he gave you a smile and disappeared without another trace.
‘Are you kidding me, Ted?’ you turned to face him, your bare back pressed against the cool, grounding metal of the bar-top. His eyes were still sparkling with the excitement and adrenaline of the ordeal, but shifted to concern when he saw your blanched face. He moved his hands up to rub your upper arms comfortingly, soothing you.
‘Hey, I know it wasn’t the cleverest idea, but he left you alone, and I should’a stepped in sooner. I’m sorry, I truly am.’ He looked it, too. His warm brown eyes sorrowful beneath his knitted eyebrows, shadowed by the single strand of hair that had escaped his immaculate coif. It was the first time you’d gotten a good look at him tonight. Up close, at least. You’d been looking at him longingly across the room all evening, not yet having gotten to your assigned tables.
‘Thank you.’ You couldn’t help but smile. There really was nothing to be upset about. He’d stepped in, saved you from a depth you now realise you couldn’t handle, and not harmed anyone in the process. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing the side of your face into his tuxedoed chest, and were relieved when he returned the gesture, resting his chin on top of your head.
‘I’m sorry I almost shouted at you, you’ve just saved me from that twat and I almost got mad at you! You saved my arse.’ You pulled out of the hug, but he still held you in his arms.
‘Anytime, sweetheart.’
You tried to ignore the hair on your body standing on end at the petname, focusing on the task at hand. ’Now what are we supposed to do about the rest of the night if Rupert thinks we’re a thing? How am I supposed to flirt with all the footballers now Ted?’ You joked, looking up at him. He knew the first half of your question was sincere, though, and pursed his lips as he thought about it for a moment.
‘Well, I’m in the bid, so you could just bid on me, play it off as sorta a joke and then he won’t suspect a thing.’ He beamed when he came to that conclusion. There was one issue though.
‘Won’t everyone we know get suspicious if I bid on only you?’
‘Good point.’ You’d stumped him again.
You and Ted went and sat at table twelve, too immersed in plotting your moves for the rest of the evening to notice your friends already getting suspicious that the two of you were indeed dating, without even having to lie to their faces about it.
Rebecca and Keeley were stood offstage, waiting for the bidding to start, as Rupert did some annoyingly stellar crowd work, once again hosting the bidding itself. ‘Do you think they’re a thing?’
‘God, I hope so. Ted mentions how pretty she is at girl talk at least twice a week. And they’d definitely make a good couple.’ Rebecca was stress eating the shortbreads that she’d stored away for the evening from her biscuits with the boss session the morning of.
They were too intent on watching you two scheme, whispering to each other closely, laughing and smiling to notice Roy arise from the shadows. ‘Is Lasso fucking our fucking physio?’ The two women jumped, not sensing Roy, or seeing him in his classic all black, blending in with the scenery.
‘Hi babe. We defo think they like each other, but you spend more time with both of ‘em, so what do you think?’ Keeley turned towards her boyfriend, wrapping an arm around his back.
‘Ted definitely talks about her more than he should. As long as she doesn’t tell him about my noises when she massages my hamstrings, I couldn’t give a fuck.’ They all gave a simultaneous shrug, realising they all felt the same way. As long as they kept it professional, what did it matter?
‘Yeah, it is exciting though, isn’t it?’ Keeley couldn’t deal with being so nonchalant about seeing two of her closest friends looking so in love.
‘Keeley is going to scream bloody murder when she gets it out of me, Ted.’ You had your head in your hands, laughing self-depreciatively, appreciating the warmth of Ted’s hand rubbing circles on your upper back as you slouched further down your chair.
Ted pried your hands from your face, but never let them go as he looked into your eyes. ‘Just don’t say it too easily, we have to make it believable otherwise Rupert’ll catch on and try and pursue you, alright?’
‘Ted, this is so silly. You know that. Also, Trent might just die.’ You chuckled, knowing it absolutely had the potential to send your best friend into cardiac arrest if he found out you’d been ‘seeing’ Richmond’s manager, and more importantly hadn’t told him about it.
‘I know. It’ll all be right as rain as soon as it’s over. Now I gotta go get bid on – by you hopefully – so sit tight.’ Ted got up from his chair, hearing the announcement that bidding was about to start, knowing he was one of the first, and wanted to be ready to go onstage. Clearly the adrenaline and absurdity of the moment captured him as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, disappearing to the front of the room.
You were taken aback, having to take a long sip of your drink to play it cool, but Trent crept up and sat beside you, and you knew you’d struggle lying to him.
‘You and Coach Lasso, then?’ Trent looked positively smug, investigative journalism written all over him, but his façade cracked immediately as he giggled like a teenage girl, smiling giddily at you. ‘I knew it would happen, I just wasn’t sure if you’d tell me, but I see tonight is a low key date night, yes?’ How wrong he was.
‘Yeah, Ted wants to go a bit more public tonight. I guess the gala and everything is making him a bit more confident in us.’ It felt weird lying to Trent, but the fantasy you’d constructed in your head flowed like honey from your mouth, as if there was some truth in it.
You thanked God that Trent wasn’t in a grilling mood, and that the bidding had started. Ted was third in the lineup, and you won a date with him for £7,000. You’d have to get that money off him by hook or by crook, but you guessed he deserved it for saving your ass tonight.
As he was stood onstage you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, but he was doing the same, other than when Rupert asked him something. It helped distract you from the almost predatory way Rupert looked at you when you’d bid, despite knowing you were spoken for.
Ted bounded his way offstage, and the whole room stood up to clap as they did for each round, though you were left standing as he was heading straight for you. He made it to where you were standing at the table, and you expected a hug, so wrapped your arms around his torso like you often did. Ted, though, was clearly feeling very confident, knowing the room’s eyes were on the two of you, especially Rupert’s, whose smug smile he could’ve punched straight off. He gripped your hips, pulling you flush to his chest, and kissed you.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but nor was it chaste. He held you there for a matter of seconds, but it felt like lifetimes, feeling him pressed against you, holding you in his arms, feeling the tickle of his moustache beneath your nose and against your lips, feeling the smile creeping onto his face through the kiss.
When he pulled away, he smoothly grabbed your hand, pulling you back down into your seat at the table, his hand hitting your thigh and staying there as you settled. You felt like you were underwater, with Rupert’s voice through the amps blurry and unclear. You could hear his stutter though, the shock of the kiss registering to him, and also the whole room.
As you came back to it, the grounding presence of Ted’s large hand on your thigh made you flush with warmth. He was talking to a fellow fundraiser at your table, acting like this was perfectly normal. When you turned to Trent, it was clear you weren’t dreaming. He had a wry smile plastered across his face, an eyebrow raised in question, but he didn’t say a word, turning back towards the stage like a cat leaning into the rays of sunlight in rapt attention.
Once the bidding was over, Rebecca introduced the musical act, for the second year in a row choosing a busker that Ted had put a recommendation in for. The musician went down a hit, and the dance floor was filled within minutes. You, Ted and Trent were still sat at your table chatting with a few elderly patrons, but before long Colin came over with his boyfriend to get Trent to dance. You watched the three of them dancing to the music, a popular hit which had everyone jumping, the venue almost shaking with the enthusiasm and joy on the dance floor.
You had your head resting on your hand, sipping at your drink and staring at Trent being the life and soul of the dance floor. You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at him waltzing with all of the women, being recognised for the catch he is, but your lilting laugh alerted Ted, breaking him out of his conversation with the couple to his left.
Ted’s hand on your thigh moved up to your shoulder, announcing his attention on you, and just as you turn to look at him, he smooths his knuckles down your arm, grasping your hand and taking you to the dance floor.
The two of you make it onto the hardwood of the dance floor, your heels amplified. As soon as you begin twirling to the music, the song fades and moves into a slow number. Ted looks at you, then glances over at Rupert talking at Rebecca to the left of the stage. He grasps the curve of your waist, hand splayed flat and possessively on the plane of your back, index finger curling into the dip of your bare spine. The way he gripped you forced you closer, allowing his foot to slip in between your feet and giving him further purchase to lead the dance. You felt safe knowing he knew how to lead a partner, having never danced properly before.
With your cheek pressed against his chest, you looked up at him, deciding to break the serene, swaying silence between the two of you.
‘Where’d you learn these moves, Coach?’ You couldn’t help but smirk, knowing he’d hate the title in such a casual and familiar setting.
It wasn’t audible, but your proximity allowed you to feel a laugh rumble through him, and the breath from his nose puffing across your cheeks. ’American High School taught me many tricks, Doc.’ Ted said, giving you a wink, suggesting many more tricks up his sleeve than he would ever let on. After all, Rebecca had told you about the darts incident the day you started the job, explicitly telling you not to underestimate the sunny demeanour of the manager.
‘I might just get Trent to go all investigative journalism on you if you say things like that, Ted.’
Ted spoke as he moved the hand not on your spine to hold your hand up, adopting a more effective ballroom hold. ’He can try all he likes, I’m like Pandora’s box sweetheart.’ It was like he could feel the music, knew it was about to swell. As the band became louder, he moved the two of you into a proper dance, trotting around the ballroom. His secure hold on you, and your focus on not falling flat on your face, meant you completely missed Trent and Colin standing stock still as Ted paraded you around the dance floor.
Trent had never seen you look so radiant. You had a beaming smile taking over your face, but he could tell you were concentrating hugely on learning the steps Ted was teaching you. Your dress and shawl were floating behind you with the speed of Ted leading you in a foxtrot across the floor, wisps of hair in your face as you laughed at the sheer joy of properly dancing, held securely and protected in Ted’s arms.
As the song came to an end, Ted twirled you, allowing you to catch your breath. You stood in front of him, hand pressed against his chest, his hand still on your back, both with smiles cracked across your faces.
‘Ready?’ He smiled down at you, a twinkle of anticipation glinting in his eyes.
You only had time to furrow your eyebrows in confusion before he tucked you into his side, dipping you low. It happened in slow motion as his other hand grasped your unsupported hip, giving you something to cling onto as he dipped with you. You let your arm drop from his, realising what he was doing as he slowly, agonisingly slowly, dragged his hand down your leg until his pinkie was in the crook of your knee at which he pulled it up, furthering the dip until he was close enough to whisper in your ear.
‘You think this is workin’?’
Oh yeah, it was working. He meant to put Rupert off the scent of your availability, but it was working to make your crush on him so much more suffocating.
All you could do was laugh as he safely returned you to vertical, hand once again still on your back, though this time it was just his knuckles brushing up and down the dip at your spine, all the way from the crook of your neck to the deep V where your dress began.
You were still giggling as you wrapped a hand around his back and walked in tandem towards your table, once again missing Trent’s speechlessness on the dance floor you’d left behind.
Throughout the rest of the evening, people kept coming to speak to Ted, though he didn’t move from his perch beside you once. You were sandwiched between he and Trent, therefore constantly entertained, but it was hard to fully concentrate on the evening’s proceedings as Ted was always touching you, holding you in some way. If he didn’t have his hand on your thigh, he had his arm draped across the back of your chair, or the flat of his palm pressed on the plane of your lower back, stroking the expanse where deep navy silk met skin.
You figured Trent bought it, whether it was because of the kiss, or the dance, or the easy intimacy between the two of you, or the strange ‘I knew it’ comment he made earlier. Either way, he made next to no mentions about this new relationship you were in.
Towards the end of the night, when patrons had begun to go home to bed, leaving the room full of Richmond’s staff and their loved ones, Beard came to ask Ted to have a ‘talk’ in a quiet corner. He did not look happy, but after a decidedly animated discussion near the bar, he returned Ted to your side with as much of a smile as you thought Beard was capable of.
Though Trent might not have been in a grilling mood, knowing he’d get it out of you eventually, Rebecca and Keeley - and Roy, though he’d never admit he took no convincing to join in - dragged you to the bar and asked for all the details. It was mostly you saying ‘I really couldn’t say’ much to their dismay, and internally dealing with the sinking realisation that you and Ted really had to have a good talk about this situation. You needed to go home with him tonight, you decided; it would add to the myth, specifically convincing Trent and Rebecca as neither you nor Ted would be needing a lift home from them, respectively, and would allow you to figure out a game plan into the wee hours of the morning.
As you were dutifully returned to your table by the sorely disappointed trio, you grasped Ted’s hand, pulling it into your lap, demanding his attention, and whispered fervently into his ear that you needed to go to his tonight. You missed the deep crimson on his face as he told Rebecca he was taking you home and wouldn’t be in need of a ride because as soon as you finished talking, you ran off in search of Trent.
‘Darling, of course it’s fine. If anything, I’m a little jealous.’ Trent’s mouth curled into a smile as he smoothed a wisp of hair behind your ear that had escaped your chignon. He was always making comments on how attractive he thought Ted was, so much so you couldn’t tell if he was joking sometimes.
‘Are you sure? I’m really sorry Trent, I should’ve told you before.’ Your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth tightening. To Trent, you looked sorrowful for leaving him, but to you it was guilt for lying to your dearest friend.
‘Yes! Enjoy your night with your amor, darling. We’ll catch up ASAP.’ He wrapped you in a hug and bid you goodnight, swaggering to his exquisite car. As the car roared to life he blew you a kiss which you caught, laughing, watching him drive off into the chilly night.
You stood on the steps of the beautiful venue alongside centuries old marble pillars, your arms wrapped around yourself, shielding yourself from the cold, until you felt the familiar silk of a blazer being draped around your shoulders.
Turning, Ted was behind you in only his shirt and tie, fidgeting with the collar of his blazer resting on your neck, making sure it didn’t catch on your dress. Once he was happy, he rubbed his hands up and down your arms through the fabric, a gesture you now came to realise calmed him more than you, then came to stand in front of you, gazing down at you.
‘I told Trent I was going home with you.’ You looked at him through your lashes, the guilt of lying once again creeping in.
‘How’d he take it?’ Ted’s eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed in waiting.
‘Annoyingly well,’ you laughed through your nose, ‘he really buys it, you know?’ You could feel the tension disperse as quickly as it had materialised between the two of you.
‘Wow, he’d make a terrible journalist.’ Ted laughed, a full, rumbling, warm chuckle reverberating through your bones. He reached into his dress pants’ pocket for his phone. ‘I’ll call us a cab?’
‘Actually, I’d like it if we could walk, if you don’t mind?’
“Course not, sweetheart.’ He said, returning his phone to its rightful place. ‘You need any loose ends tied before we go?’
‘Mhm, just need to say goodbye to Keeley and Rebecca, and the guys. I’ll be back in a minute.’ You made to go back inside, but felt Ted’s hand on your lower back on the other side of his silken blazer, and knew he was going nowhere.
Ted didn’t leave your side the whole time you bid your goodnights to the players, Beard and Roy, and more importantly, Keeley and Rebecca.
Keeley jumped about three feet in the air when she came bounding over for a hug, squeezing the air out of your lungs and squealing, before pulling you in to tell you she thought Ted was acting like ‘a little guard dog’ around you, but in a ‘cute way.’ You adored her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning to Rebecca, whose arms were waiting reverently for you, as a queen receives her people.
‘Ugh I’m just so pleased for you, my love. Especially seeing him rescue you from Rupert.’ She beamed at you, making sure Ted was in conversation with someone else before she spoke.
Your eyes widened, thinking you’d been caught out. ’You saw that?’
‘I see everything, which is why I’m shocked I didn’t figure it out sooner. You two have hidden very well from me.’ Her signature scrunched-up smile worked its way across her face, and she gave you one last squeeze on the shoulder before releasing you to your beloved players, not failing to raise an eyebrow at you wearing Ted’s blazer.
After about half an hour of saying goodbye to the boys, you and Ted were finally ambling back to his flat through the streets of Richmond. Your arm was looped through his, gripping his bicep, as you stepped in tandem, he in his dress shoes, and you in your heels.
He lived extraordinarily close to the venue, so it was only a five-minute stroll through the town in the cold air night. You were walking in companionable, comfortable silence before you started laughing.
‘Are you drunk?’ Ted chuckled, looking down at you with nothing but warmth.
‘No!’ You managed to breathe out in between fits of giggles, having to stop and fold at the hip to collect yourself somewhat. In fact, you were very sober, only really drinking throughout the first hour, and the ordeal with Ted having rendered you stone cold sober with adrenaline. You’re not sure he believed you, though.
‘What’s so funny then, huh?’ He stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting for you to join him once more to your usual programming, walking together, though he had a large smile cracked across his face, framed by his famous moustache.
‘How on earth,’ You breathed in, standing up and planting your hands on your hips as you collected yourself, regaining your ability to breathe and speak. ‘Did we get ourselves into this situation?’
Sat at Ted’s kitchen table, you were wiping sweat from your brow as he tinkered on with the thermostat.
‘Why is it a million degrees in your flat? It’s April in England, Ted, it should be freezing in here.’ You shouted, hearing him grunt at the clicking noise coming from the box in the hallway.
You made your way beside him to inspect the situation. Clearly he was still on American degrees because he’d set the thermostat to 40. No wonder it was sweltering. You grabbed the wheel, hearing a cry of protest from him before he realised what you were doing. Turning it to 18, Ted seemed to figure out what he’d done and scrubbed a hand across his face.
‘Man, why do you guys use celsius?’
The two of you walked back to the kitchen table, sitting heavily in the cool seats. ‘You’ve been living here for over two years, how did you manage that?’
‘Must’ve been in a rush before the gala, forgot I wasn’t in the states for a sec I guess.’ He sighed, resigned, taking a large gulp of the glass of cold water you’d placed in front of his seat whilst he was messing around with the thermostat.
‘Do you miss it, home?’ Your hands cupped the glass, fogging it up with your body heat, fidgeting to prepare yourself for the answer you knew would upset you. Curiosity killed the cat, you supposed.
It took a few moments for Ted to answer, collecting his thoughts, but when the truth came out, it looked like he wasn’t expecting it either.
‘Actually, not all that much.’ You figured he felt guilt for admitting that he preferred being here, in Richmond, than with Michelle and Henry. You did know, however, that he’d much rather Henry lived here, with him.
‘I was not expecting that.’ The relief that washed over you was immense as you got up to refill your glass.
Ted just shrugged, absorbing the truth he’d been unwilling to admit for some time now.
‘Enough talk about America, we need to get to business.’ Ted almost slammed his glass down, using it like a gavel to begin the discussion the two of you had been putting off all night.
After a while, it began to get a little heated. You and Ted had never truly argued before, at least not about anything personal, though you had come to blows before about making sure a player’s injuries were fully healed before they were allowed to play, allowing you to glimpse the fire inside of him when tested. This, though, was unlike anything you’d seen before.
You were sitting, one leg over the other, at his kitchen table whilst Ted paced, cup of coffee in hand, other hand scrubbing across the stubble growing in on his chin.
‘Ted, I just think it’s not clever to officially tell everyone we’re together when we’re going to have to break up in a few weeks.’
‘But we put that show on tonight for everyone to see,’ he took a sip of his coffee, calming himself, ‘we can’t just tell everyone it was a lie the next morning. It makes no sense.’
You scoff, looking down at your fingernails. ‘It wasn’t for everyone, Ted.’ Your eyes meeting his finally, now seeing the heaving of his chest ‘It was just for Rupert.’
‘Not for me.’ Ted starts pacing again, putting his hand in his pant pocket, shaking his head, hair escaping the gel. ‘Not for me it wasn’t.’ He sounded calm, but there was a grit, an edge to his voice as he spoke.
Once again you look up at him, intrigued by his attitude, and have to catch your breath when you see his tie is loosened, allowing a sliver of chest to escape, damp with the sweat from how hot it was earlier and how worked up he is now. Your eyebrows furrow as his words register in your head.
‘What?’
Once again, he scrubs his hand over his face, clearly at the end of his tether. If anyone from the club were to walk in, they’d think it were freaky friday, with their typically calm coach all fired up, and their frequently irate physio having completely swapped demeanours, you sitting as serene as ever, unaware of what Ted was on the cusp of admitting.
Ted walks, defeatedly over to the sink, leaving you in silence, and drains his coffee mug. He rinses it, then places it in the dish. He looks calmer, but his jaw shifts as he moves over to the opposite side of the table to you. He plants his hands on the surface, and makes sure he has your full attention when he lets out whats been irritating him for months.
‘I can’t stand seeing you with other men anymore, sweetheart.’
You’re sure your heart stops, if even for a split second. Your eyebrows furrow further, creasing above your nose as you look into Ted’s eyes, searching for an answer or explanation. He grants your wish.
He sits on the chair opposite you, arm resting on the surface of the table like he did with the back of your chair at the gala, stretching his fingers towards you, and cards his other hand through his hair.
‘I can’t take it anymore. Hearin’ about your shitty dates every Monday when you talk to Trent ‘bout your weekend. Seein’ how some of the team look at you, talk about you. Beard told me I’d get over you, that I shouldn’t have asked you out tonight, but I just couldn’t deal with it anymore, you know?’ He takes a breath, collects himself, runs his fingers through his hair again, and continues. ‘Then seein’ Rupert talkin’ to you tonight, I was already on edge, and then he grabs you like that? I saw red. ’N I’m real sorry if I’ve messed this all up, but I just can’t not say it anymore, sweetheart.’
Words fail you. Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Is this a dream? Everything you ever hoped he’d say, he’d just said, and yet you have nothing to say.
Clearly, Ted’s still not finished, and at your silence, he continues rambling. ‘See I felt real bad for makin’ you pretend with me, but then everyone started sayin’ how long it took us to get together, ’n how unsurprised they were, that they were happy for us, ’n I just thought maybe they saw something I didn’t think was possible, you know?’
For the second time that night, all you could do was laugh. This time, though, it was with sheer relief. You covered your face as you laughed, turning sideways on your chair, putting your head between your knees, tears running down your face with how much the laughter gripped you.
You heard Ted move, and before you knew it he was crouched down in front of you, once again prying your hands from your face. He smiled, realising you hadn’t gone completely insane, and brushed your tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
‘I’m sorry.’ Ted looked up at you, eyes full of sorrow.
‘You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that, Ted.’
You leant down and kissed him. Gently, full of meaning, full of love. The first real kiss you had with him, as a real couple.
When Ted woke up, you were gone from his bed.
You could tell he had started panicking that you’d up and left as he came sliding into the living room where you were stood gazing out of the window, laughing gently on the phone to someone, presumably Trent. You turned at the sound of him breathing a sigh of relief, and beckoned him over for an embrace.
As to not disrupt your phone call, he folded his arms around your chest, placing kisses on the crown of your head. He was only in joggers, you wearing the t-shirt he’d abandoned in the night, the thermostat causing havoc on his temperature in bed, preferring to disrobe - as it were - rather than not have you in his arms.
He was trying to be quiet with his peppering of kisses across your hair, but Trent clearly heard, Ted registering a quiet, ‘Hello, Ted’ through the speaker on your phone from the other side.
‘Hey, Trent.’ You felt Ted laugh into your hair, moustache tickling your scalp as he moved to rest his chin on the top of your head. You put the phone on speaker, holding it out so the two of you could hear.
‘He knows everything, by the way.’ You filled Ted in that you’d spilled everything to Trent, not keeping the lie going for very long no matter how truthful it was now.
‘I should’a known. You keep that to yourself, Mr. Crimm, alright?’
Trent’s signature silky chuckle was tinny through the speaker, but it made you both smile, ‘Yes, Coach Lasso.’
At that Ted unwrapped himself from you and you watched him retreating to the kitchen, finally being able to savour staring at him without being caught. His lean back shifted and morphed as he busied himself making a pot of coffee and your mug of tea. You wrapped up your call with Trent, promising to have a real catch-up later in the week, and put your phone on the sofa.
You mimicked Ted’s earlier actions by wrapping your arms around him from behind, but your height meant your face was pressed into his back, and your arms encased where his chest met his stomach. You breathed in deeply, the scent of skin, of Ted, of his faded cologne from last night, and of your own scent, from spending last night wrapped around him as you slept. Ted turned around in your arms, facing you. You were expecting him to kiss you, so you closed your eyes, but he didn’t move. He just stared down at you, drinking in the sight of you in his arms. As you realised he wasn’t going to kiss you, you opened your eyes, but he protested, telling you to close them again. Once again, you waited in anticipation for his lips to press against yours, but instead you felt his moustache brush against your left eyebrow. Ted gently pressed a kiss to your left eyelid, then slowly moved towards your right eye, and did the same. He continued pressing gentle, almost featherlight kisses across your face, finally reaching your lips, at which he lingered, drinking in the moment.
‘I thought you’d left.’ Ted confessed.
‘After what I said last night?’ Your eyebrows raised in surprise. You didn’t expect Ted to be so insecure to think that, let alone admit it.
‘It just didn’t feel real, I guess. Thought I was dreamin’’ Ted smiled, moustache curling up as you reached your hand through the loop of his embrace to brush a stray hair out of his face.
‘I thought you had gone insane last night, Ted.’ You closed your eyes, laughing gently at the memory of his behaviour. When you opened them, smile still creasing your eyes, Ted’s look of confusion told you that he needed elaboration. ‘The lie to Rupert, the kiss. Jesus, Ted, the dance?’ You properly laughed, then, and were delighted to hear him laugh, too.
‘I probably wasn’t thinkin’ straight, that’s for sure.’ He tilted his head to the side, a dog trying to see something from another angle, analysing the details of your skin in the morning light. ‘Couldn’t help myself, when you were lookin’ like that.’
‘Hmm,’ you hummed in satisfaction, finally hearing him admit he liked how you looked last night in truth, not as a ruse. ‘I could say the same about you, mister. You scrub up well.’
Ted’s response was a simple laugh, unwrapping his arms from behind you with the air of a bird of prey unfolding its wings, turning to the fridge to cook breakfast.
As the two of you chatted about work, friends, family, the gala - anything - over breakfast, it occurred to you how easily the domestic side of being in a relationship had come to you. Sure, it had only been a few hours, but you wondered how you were going to spend mornings without Ted from now on. You pictured your life unfolding in front of you with him: markets on Sundays, slow weekend mornings, late nights by the light of the TV, taking Henry to games when he visited, cooking dinner, going home from work together, team bonding nights out, playing board games, falling asleep on the couch.
You were launched out of your reverie by Ted’s phone ringing.
‘It’s the boss’ he clarified, eyes widening in feigned fear as he lifted the phone up to his ear, turning up the volume so you could hear. You shifted into the chair beside him, rather than opposite, to improve your hearing, and were gratified when Ted placed his warm hand on your bare thigh, smiling at you as he listened to Rebecca vent about last night. You could hear her winding down as Ted muttered a multitude of ‘mhm’s, ‘yeah’s and ‘yes ma’am’s down the phone.
‘Anyway,’ Rebecca collected herself, ‘how’s the missus?’
Ted’s eyebrows immediately furrowed, clearly not knowing what she meant. ‘You know I don’t have a wife, Boss.’
You could practically hear her eyes roll through the phone. ‘Our beloved physio, Ted. Your secret girlfriend who went home with you last night. Ring any bells?’
He looked at you, smirking sheepishly at not catching the turn of phrase, ‘Ding, ding, ding! Loud and clear, Boss.’
‘So? How is she?’ Rebecca was prying for details, you knew from your weekly girl talk session, the one without Ted, but Ted once again missed her meaning.
‘Oh! She’s right here, you can ask her yourself, if you want?’ He was passing the phone to you, bright crimson, before Rebecca even got the chance to form the word ‘no’ in her mind.
‘Hi.’ You tried to seem jovial. You didn’t think it worked.
‘Hi.’ Rebecca countered. Riveting.
‘Your gala was beautiful, Rebecca, seriously.’ Your voice was earnest and steady as you bestowed your compliment.
‘Thank you, darling.’ You could hear her shifting, preparing for something, making you a little on edge. ‘You do know that you still technically have to date Ted, even if he’s your boyfriend. It’s contractual.’
You laughed, full of relief. ‘Yes, of course.’ You looked at Ted, listening dutifully. ‘My pleasure.’ Something else came to your mind before you passed the phone back to him. ‘I’m sure he’ll tell all at girl talk, don’t worry.’
‘Oh, he will. Me and Keeley always get it out of him. I’ll talk to you on Monday, okay dear?’
‘See you Monday, Boss. Here’s Ted.’
A/N: Thankyou all for all the love on my previous fics!! Wanna kiss you all on the mouth xx
This is a Ted Lasso fic i’ve had cooked up for a while that I unearthed recently and put some life back into, so here it is. Hope you love a fake dating trope as much as I do <3
Also, I may make this a series/expand on it but lmk what you think xx
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By the time Carl pulled his beaten-up red Ford into your street, you had managed to change out of your office wear into a jumper and jeans, and packed some essentials into an overnight bag. Given the freezing temperature of Edinburgh, you could only assume that Móhr would be worse, and packed all of the jumpers you owned, alongside some thermals and some warm pyjamas.
You jogged down the flight of stairs and dumped your overnight bag and coat into the boot alongside his own, ignoring the tightness in your chest that came from the sight of Carl with his arm above his head, holding open the boot for you, causing a sliver of pale skin to escape as his shirt rode up.
For being someone accustomed to violence, you were terrified by Carl’s reckless driving, especially through the city centre, careening around corners, driving on the wrong side of the road, and honking unceremoniously at other drivers who actually cared to follow the highway code. Once he got onto the deserted country lanes, however, you managed to start dozing off, resting your head against the cool window, your long hair acting as a pillow on the tough glass. There was a smattering of rain across the windscreen, soothing you further to sleep, and you noticed Carl turned the radio down once he clocked you nodding off.
Approaching the ferry port, Carl’s large frame in the tiny car kept distracting you. He kept getting in his own way, one knee hindering his access to the gearstick, and knocking his other off the bottom of the steering wheel.
‘Do you want me to drive?’
‘No.’
‘I mean, that can’t be comfortable.’
‘It’s not.’
‘Is this thing even road worthy?’
He ignored you, though his smirk was unmistakable, moustache twitching upwards.
On the ferry, the two of you immediately split up, not that Carl didn’t make it clear that he absolutely thought you’d get lost, despite you being Scottish and highly familiar with the island ferries. You desperately needed to be free from one another for a while though, especially if you were supposed to spend two nights with him in the arse end of nowhere. When you returned after a long walk around the belly of the ship, scoping out possible CCTV blind spots, you found him leaning against the railings on the upper deck, gazing into the abyss of sea and sky. You tapped him on the elbow and handed him a coffee.
‘Try not to spill it all over me this time.’
He turned to face you now, almost incredulous, eyebrows shot up to his hairline. ‘That was your fault.’ He said, sipping his coffee, looking back out into the dark and wild sea below.
The wind was similarly wild, blowing your hair into your face as you fought it back, attempting to take a drink, noticing Carl chuckling at your mishaps. He removed his black fisherman’s beanie from his head and handed it to you, expectantly holding out his other hand for your coffee. You looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
‘Just put it on.’
You did, ignoring his intent gaze as he watched you face towards the wind to attempt to tame your hair, then place the beanie on your head.
‘Is that better?’ He spoke to you like you were a child, though you could tell it was in jest, and couldn’t help the smile that crept to your lips at his gesture.
‘Better. Thanks.’ You said as he handed your coffee back.
You didn’t know either of them very well at all, but you had a good feeling that if Rose was here and had seen that exchange, she’d probably have fainted. Akram wouldn’t have budged an inch, but definitely would’ve given Carl a long, questioning glance.
The two of you walked along the upper deck, where the CCTV footage had shown William shoving Merritt four years ago. You, being a detective both by trade and by nature were not only enjoying analysing the case itself, but also the way that Carl worked. Akram was impossibly mysterious, and you knew he’d open up and reveal his layers in his own time, and that Rose would, probably on a work night out, tell all once she’d had enough to drink. Carl however, was something of an enigma. He wasn’t shy or quiet beyond reason, was easily angered, loud when poked, and easily spooked. You knew he had a troubled past, the scars on the column of his throat told you all you needed to know, but as to the real Carl Morck, he was inexplicable. Watching another detective at work was exciting, and watching his long, slender figure slope around the ferry, flashing his badge to operators was possibly the most intriguing aspect of your career yet. Not to mention the hat debacle, and his nonchalance with it.
‘So, we know this is where William pushed Merritt on the day of her disappearance, and that she later went to go and get his hat, because of the wind.’ Carl was leaning on another barrier, this time looking down into the car park, probably at the disgusting roof of his miniscule car.
‘And that was when she was either killed, or possibly kidnapped-‘
‘So you’ve got the same theory as Akram? That she’s still alive?’ He turned and looked at you, salt and pepper hair all mussed up from the weather.
‘-because that’s when all CCTV traces go blank. Yes, I think its as likely as your theory that she was murdered.’
‘But how did they get her from the ferry to wherever she might be now, given that she’s still alive, without any eyewitnesses or footage?’ His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed, concentration visible deep in the lines of his face.
‘Well she’s from Mòhr, and was last seen on a ferry to Mòhr. Maybe it was someone with contacts in the ferry company?’ You waited as Carl drained his coffee cup, then took it from his hand, and put both cups in the nearest bin, ‘That explains the complete lack of CCTV footage, especially when its only lost after she disappeared. Would’ve been less suspicious to just erase all of it from that day. Make it seem like a malfunction.’
‘That’s something we’ll have to look for on Mòhr. Come on.’ Carl made a start towards the car park below. You followed, both flashing your badges to the operator holding the chain, and watched as Carl scoped out all of the CCTV cameras on the boat.
You had to shout above the metallic din of the bowels of the ship, getting closer to the engine as you moved around the lower deck, struggling to avoid wingmirrors, not moving as swiftly and carelessly as Carl’s lithe, sloping gait.
‘Didn’t you check the cameras last time?’ He looked at you like you’d just shot him. You dreaded what form his revenge would take if he could find the bastard at Leith Park.
‘No.’ He drawled, sounding as if it was the stupidest thing you could’ve possibly asked. ‘We thought she’d been thrown overboard the last time, whereas now, she could’ve made it off the ferry.’
‘Alright, alright,’ you adopted the position of trying to calm a charging animal, hands pressing into the air in front of you. ‘I think you forget I’ve been on this case for one day.’
He ignored you, leading the way back to the tiny red car. It shook violently as you both got in. Immediately you took off the hat, offering it back to Carl.
‘No, no. You need it to tame that mane of yours.’
‘I’m blown away by your kindness.’ You said, rolling your eyes, replacing the hat to your head. You’d have flipped him the bird but by the size of the car you’d probably have just smacked him in the face. Too bad.
Once you landed in Mòhr, Rose greeted you, hopping in the back and directing you to the inn you were all staying at. Carl grabbed both of your bags, and didn’t thrust yours into your hands like you expected, just carried them both like it was completely natural. The three of you sat in the pub underneath the rooms, indulging in a pint despite being on the job, with you and Carl sat in the booth and Rose in a chair opposite, leaving the second chair empty for Akram when he arrived.
‘Is that your hat?’ Rose asked Carl, glancing between the two of you, face glowing with suppressed glee.
‘Yep. You should see the state her hair’s in underneath it.’ Carl said as he left to go to the loo, leaving you in the fallout.
Rose’s face was a picture of disbelief. You shrugged in return, being clueless on the matter yourself.
Akram arrived within minutes of Carl returning from the toilet, and as you were all discussing plans for the next couple of days, what questions you wanted answering, et cetera, you were having trouble concentrating with the warm heft of Carl’s thigh pressed into your own. His manspread was almost akin to his wingspan, but you’d be lying if you didn’t find it somewhat comforting. It was a freezing day in January, and the meek fire in the corner wasn’t doing enough to return your temperature to normal after being on a ferry for an hour, so the radioactive heat Carl was generating wasn’t completely unpleasant. You supposed he could probably feel the odd shiver that went through you when someone opened the door, letting a wave of frosty air come over you.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful when it came to clues. You went to visit the police, Rose saw her old pal Colin, and you vaguely flirted with his father, attempting to coax some better information from him than Carl, who despised him, could. You missed Carl’s increased fidgeting during this, but Akram decidedly did not. Once again, you looked in Ailsa’s caravan, which seemed unchanged from what the reports said last time, and then took a closer look at the Jennings’ house rubble. Finally the four of you trudged back to the inn, having another pint – except Akram – pulling Carl’s hat down low to block out the chill weather, and ate dinner together, discussing the remainder of the stay on Móhr. For the fact you’d only met them yesterday, it went as comfortably and smoothly as it possibly could, at least in Carl’s company. You each bought a round, and Carl bought the food, making it clear he’d claim it back from Moira as business expenses, and by the time you decided to wish Akram safe passage home, it felt like you’d been part of the team for a lifetime.
It was fascinating watching Carl in a more casual setting like a pub. He seemed so relaxed and comfortable in his own skin, though that might’ve been the superiority complex. He draped himself across the ancient furniture, talked and moved without any real urgency, and swore like a sailor. He was perhaps the first man you’d ever met quite like that: completely themselves, whether for better or worse. Unfortunately for you, he was not too bad to look at, all harsh angles and sharp lines. The long, sinewy lines of his fingers and arms, clear even when hidden by layers of winter clothing, and the hard planes of his back and torso visible underneath the scruffy dark jumpers he seemed to constantly occupy. Perhaps it was the attitude along with the look that intrigued you, for it told a story. His scruffy salt and pepper hair, both on his head and face, told you he saw self care as a necessary evil, beard sometimes obscuring the puckered, pink skin of his bullet wound scars. You wondered how he felt about those, whether he had a beard before Leith Park, or whether the obfuscation was deliberate. Whatever the truth was, whether it be an act or his true character, it was in your nature to uncover.
After establishing what you’d do for the rest of the trip, you decided to call it a night after saying bye to Akram, going to your rooms. Rose was at one end of the corridor, and you and Carl opposite one another at the other end. You bid your team goodnight and headed off to take a shower.
A/N:
Sorry this took so long to post! it’s been backlogged but i completely forgot. Thank you for ALL of the love on this fic, I have adored writing it and will continue to love it, hope you all enjoy!!
When you get brought into Dept Q. by Moira from Inverness, you didn't expect your boss to be such a prick. You and Carl, alongside Rose and Akram must work together to discover the truth, though that is easier said than done.
Enemies to lovers (ish...how far can I go saying that when Carl hates everyone?) trauma bondy fic with my classic longing glances and fleeting touches.
A/N:
EEEEK! My first ever chapter fic, and sort of first ever angsty fic!!!! :)))
I'm obsessed with Carl Morck and this started off as a hurt/comfort one shot but I found myself unable to stop.
As always, open to advice and lots of love.
I hope you love reading this as much as I love(d) writing it!
Words: 2,023
Chapter 1 – first impressions
Living in Edinburgh for the past week had been a dream. You’d secured a flat on the grassmarket, with a view of the castle – if you squinted from the attic window – with two floors, and you hadn’t had to sell your soul for rent, which was shockingly rare in the capital. It was a beautiful period property with built in mahogany bookcases and huge windows, a place which you’d already made your own, covering every surface in books and candles, warm lamps and collected trinkets. Over the week, with the exception of your first night in the flat, being sleepless, tossing and turning over whether you’d made the correct decision to uproot your life to Edinburgh, you’d had a thoroughly peaceful time. Hiking up Cockburn street in the early January frost to get to your new favourite coffee spot, reading in the waterstones café overlooking the castle, and wandering around the museums, your fears had been quelled, slipping gently and comfortably into a new routine, learning your way around the city.
This morning you’d woken early, filled with anticipation for your first day at work, slicing open the heavy velvet curtains of your bedroom across the frosty window. It was still dark, but the lights of the cafes and businesses on the grassmarket below told you it was time to get ready. You’d taken a steaming, long shower, washing your hair and doing a twenty step skincare routine to kill some time, blow dried and styled your hair, and meticulously ironed your outfit. Everything you previously wore to work at Inverness had been brought with you, assuming the office dress code was the same across the country for the police. Moira had of course sent you a long, winding memo, which you’d dutifully skimmed on your journey from the north on the train, your life in suitcases on the seats beside you.
Finally slipping into a sky-blue shirt and wide-leg charcoal trousers, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. You’d put on your everyday makeup, and added the final touches to your outfit, tucked your shirt into your trousers and buckled your belt, clasped your heeled mary janes tightly onto your feet, and wrapped your woolen trench around yourself, bracing for the cold. By the door, you’d grabbed your work bag and threw a scarf around your neck, then headed towards HQ, taking in one last deep breath.
Before long, you were sat opposite Moira at her desk, being briefed on what your role here in Edinburgh would be. You’d been told, both via email and by your old boss, that Moira had requested you specifically, but no real detail had been given, which both terrified and intrigued you. You knew it was a new, government funded department, but the specifics on what precisely it was had eluded you until now. The woman in front of you filled you in about the cold cases, and the need for better public perception of the police, mentioning that bringing in a new Detective like yourself from another region would demonstrate real action and funds being pumped into the department. She had, however, immediately remarked upon the bright blue of your shirt being marred by the large coffee stain dripping all the way from your collarbone to belt, which you’d quickly explained was not your fault, and that you’d truly hoped to make a better impression. Moira laughed, saying she’d seen the collision outside of the lift as it happened, muttering something about ‘Morck’ and then sent you on your merry way, instructing you to press the bottom button on the lift.
You had been distracted, fair enough, searching through your bag to find directions to Moira’s office after stepping out of the lift into the concrete and glass-lined space, which ended in you colliding with a large, bearded Englishman, spilling each of your respective coffees mainly down your shirt. The only way you knew he was English was through the barrage of insults that were thrown your way as he continued walking without so much as a look at you.
Getting in the lift opposite her office, you had a distinct feeling of doom, a pit in your stomach that wasn’t just from the long descent.
Eventually the doors cracked open, and as you made your way down the stairs of the supposed office, you saw three faces staring back at you.
‘So you’re our new recruit?’ A girl with tight, red curls darted to your side, her broad accent relaxing you, not to mention her enthusiasm. ‘I’m Rose.’ She extended her hand out to you.
‘Wow. Firm.’ You chuckled, flexing your hand after her crushing grip. Stating your name and rank, her eyebrows shot up at your mention of DCI.
Rose made her way back to her desk, nodding towards a vaguely familiar man across from you. ‘Carl’s not going to like having an equal on the team.’ She was partially kidding, you could tell, but it didn’t exactly settle your nerves.
‘What am I not going to like, Rose?’ His British drawl teleported you back to your meeting this morning; a suppressed groan fought its way out of your mouth, which had Carl’s lazy gaze sloping towards you. He’d looked at who’d entered the room but without much interest, going back to intently studying the collage on the board in the corner. Now though, he was piercing you, looking intently at you. You felt as though he could see right through you with that look, secrets and all.
You reiterated your name and rank, catching his eyebrow and mouth quirk at your rank, confirming Rose’s suspicions. His eyes darted down to your coffee-stained blouse.
‘Nice shirt.’
‘Thanks, it’s your handywork, DCI…?’
‘Carl Morck. So you’re the one who wasn’t looking where they were going earlier.’ He huffed, sounding more irate than you thought he had right to be, being the only one unscathed by your prior meeting.
‘I could say the same to you.’ The two of you shared a glance, fire in your eyes, jaws locked, when finally a moustachioed, sharply dressed man decided to step in.
‘I am Akram Salim, nice to meet you, madam.’ His deep brown eyes were friendly and inviting, and between he and Rose, you should’ve been quite relieved to be part of this team, but something about Carl set you on edge.
As you greeted Akram, you beamed widely, being more at ease than you had been all morning, and with your attention so rapt as he handed you his copy of the case file to flick through, you missed Carl’s gulp at your face cracked with a smile, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat.
The three of them filled you in on the case, how far along they were with it, and you and Akram spent the remainder of the day running through the files together, and moves to make next. You’d been sitting next to Akram all day, working diligently at his desk side by side, so by the time you attempted to set up for tomorrow, it was only you and Carl in the office, working in silence. You began packing your personal items up, and grabbed things you wanted to remain in the office to organise your desk before realising there wasn’t one set up for you.
Looking in a couple of closets, scaring the living daylights out of yourself in the dimly lit riot gear cupboard, you finally found a desk, but it weighed approximately as much as a bungalow. Dragging it from near the showers, you huffed and puffed, struggling to gain any traction with the combination of a tiled bathroom floor and your heels. Carl, you realised from his own swift breathing, was irritated, and it didn’t take long for him to make it clear, whipping his head around to see what on earth you could be doing to make so much noise.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ He had a hint of mirth in his voice, mocking and cold.
‘Trying to move this desk away from the showers, but apparently it was made to withstand the Blitz.’ You stopped dragging the heap of damned metal across the room, planting your hands on your hips, wondering if you could use one of those riot shields as leverage and trying to catch your breath.
Carl sauntered over to you, hands in pockets, a smirk threatening the corners of his mouth. ‘At least stop making such a fucking racket.’
‘You shouldn’t even be here to be hearing me make ‘such a fucking racket’,’ you made quotation signs with your fingers, ‘it’s seven pm. Don’t you have a home to go to?’ You kicked off your shoes, making a mental note to wear flat shoes from now on, and craned your neck up to look back at Carl who had moved to the opposite side of the desk, hands gripping the edge, bent towards you.
He just quirked an eyebrow in response, and silently swivelled around to the heaviest end of the desk, helping you shove it opposite his own, huffing as he gave it a final kick into place.
‘See you tomorrow.’ He grunted as he grabbed his own case file from his desk and jogged up the stairs, not taking a look at you for the second time today.
The following morning you were late, your alarm having failed to go off, and you knew Carl was going to give you a bollocking for it, already irritated by your presence which you could feel he felt unnecessary. When you made your way into the basement to see Rose wasn’t there, and Carl was taking a nap in his chair, feet on his desk, you felt a lot more anxious, having to spend more time alone with him, who obviously preferred anyone else’s company to your own, though you guessed he’d have preferred to work alone.
You moved quietly, putting your bag and coat on your desk, and crept up to Carl’s. Giving his trainers a mighty smack, he woke up unceremoniously in a shout, looking madly across the room until his eyes focused on you, sitting on his desk.
‘Morning, Carl.’ He ignored you, rolled his eyes and got up to go to the board.
‘You’re late.’ You followed him, standing beside him with folded arms.
‘You were having a nap.’ Carl took a sidelong glance at you, raising an eyebrow.
He turned to face you, his height in your flat shoes intimidating you slightly, especially with his dark eyes focused completely on your own. ‘You and I,’ he gestured between the two of you with his long, wiry index finger, ‘are going to Mòhr.’ His tight-lipped smile pissed you off.
‘What? Now?’
‘Yes. Rose is already on her way there.’
You knitted your eyebrows together, wishing he’d given you some time to prepare. ‘Why didn’t we all just go together?’
Carl pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘God, you do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’
‘Well if anybody fucking told me anything, I wouldn’t have to. Just tell me what we’re doing.’
Carl told you that Rose had gone early this morning to catch the first ferry, and to speak to Colin ahead of time. The three of you were going to spend a couple of nights on the island to scope it out, and hopefully coax some more information out of the locals, namely their police department and Merritt’s father. Akram would be mercifully joining you but only for the day, as ever the dutiful parent, though he’d be keeping in touch, and working from the office while you were away.
You stroked your hand across your forehead, soothing your irritation at the last-second plans. ‘If you’d have told me this last night, rather than letting me faff around with that bloody desk, I could’ve packed some stuff, Carl.’
‘We only decided this morning. Just go home and grab what you need, and I’ll pick you up in an hour.’
With that, you were darting up the stairs and mentally packing your bags as Carl watched you retreat into the lift.
When Greg turns up at one of Ed’s blowout parties, you never expected to form such a strange, comfortable closeness with the comic you’d just met. Lots of fluffy fluffy fluff! I love domestic Greg being quietly romantic EEEEKKKK
A/N: Here’s another Greg fic that’s been sat in my drafts for a while! i’ve really been enjoying writing lately, and have a Ted Lasso fic in the works ❤️🩹 hope you love!
Ed’s parties were your idea of hell, to put it lightly. He was making far more money than he ever needed to, and yet he hadn’t got a bigger house to accommodate the extortionate numbers of guests. The last time he’d had a big blowout like this, you’d ended up sharing a bed with at least three comics whose names you wished you could remember. The amount of alcohol provided by Ed and everyone that arrived coupled with his lack of guest bedrooms meant it was utter chaos, and a complete nightmare for you who was typically living at Ed’s house for up to a week afterward. Tonight was going to be no different, no doubt.
It was the height of summer, and you had been staying at Ed and Charlie’s for the past few weeks after months of promoting your new book, and were knee deep in house hunting. The London property ladder was no joke.
Your older brother absolutely adored having someone to host when he wasn’t on tour, and you and Charlie got on like a house on fire, so staying at theirs was never a chore, but his huge parties often made you regret ever deciding to stay at his. The singular guest bedroom basically belonged to you, decked out with a queen size bed, a small chair in the corner, and a huge bay window looking out into the garden. You’d filled every surface with books, and adored your slow mornings sat reading watching the sun come up, enjoying a sense of serene peace at their house unlike anything you’d felt anywhere else. That was a stark contrast to the way you knew your peace would be upturned tonight once the drinks started flowing.
At 7.30 guests would be arriving, so you went to go and buy your drinks and anything else Ed and Charlie asked you for after you’d gotten dressed. Walking down the street towards the nearby corner shop, you cracked yourself up at the sight you’d be right now: wearing sheer tights and a black, 70s style minidress paired with your slippers and a seemingly ancient hoodie from a long-ago ex-boyfriend, along with your makeup clad face and immaculately styled hair – it was an overall silly outfit, but perfect for the occasion. As you lugged your bags of wine, cocktail sausages and other various party foods back to Ed’s, you felt yourself feeling quite optimistic about tonight. It was the first house party you’d been to in a while where it hadn’t been abysmal weather or full of people you’d never met, so it seemed like all was looking good. You’d been keeping the company of the British comic circuit for the past couple of decades ever since Ed entered the fray, now being able to call some of them your very best friends, meaning this should hopefully be a good, friendly get-together, but something told you it might go awry.
As you stepped back into the house, you saw Charlie putting out food on the dining table and Ed stuffing as many crates of beer into the already packed fridge.
‘Christ, how many people are you expecting, or are the three of us just getting absolutely bladdered?’
Ed swung around, simultaneously laughing at your incredulous face and grabbing another crate of beer for the fridge. ‘Only about 100 people tonight,’ he said, immediately turning back to pack the fridge with cans.
He didn’t catch the fact you blanched at the statement, not expecting that many people, but Charlie came in from the next room and made you blush crimson almost immediately.
‘Yeah, Greg’s coming tonight, you know.’ She offered you a side smirk, and Ed let out a less-than-attractive chortle from his post at the fridge door. It had been an ongoing joke in the house that you had an attraction to the Taskmaster. The three of you would watch the show together, and from the very beginning they had watched you turn pink at Greg’s very being there. Despite he and Ed’s close friendship, you’d never actually met the man. He was at Ed’s wedding, but your duties as maid of honour had meant you hadn’t had the time to converse with anyone new, and by the time you could, the exhaustion and emotion of the day meant you went to bed as soon as possible. Ed and Charlie only meant it as a joke, but you had somewhat fallen for him through friends’ anecdotes, and his stupid despotic persona on Taskmaster. The fact he was 6’8 also helped, considering you were the same height as your brother and finding a man taller and not emasculated by that was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Trying to act nonchalant was not one of your strong points, so you just looked at Charlie and laughed ‘We’ll see how that goes’ and then excused yourself to finish getting ready.
As you touched up your hair and makeup, and strapped on your heels, the nerves in your stomach got worse and worse as you could hear people arriving downstairs. You’d brought a bottle of wine that you’d bought upstairs to your room for some Dutch courage and had already drank half of it, but it wasn’t making you feel any less nervous, especially knowing that Greg would be descending soon.
Eventually you bucked up your courage, aided by the knowledge you’d be able to eat and make some cocktails, and you made your way downstairs. Immediately you were met by Charlie, entertaining a hoard of female comics in the living room, and a subsequent swathe of compliments on everything possible. It made your nerves dissipate slightly, until Ed came and nudged you in the side, winking about when Greg might possibly get here, earning you more questions from all of the ladies in front of you.
It was sweet relief when you saw Lou Sanders stroll through the door, immaculately dressed and clutching two bottles of ice-cold champagne. You scooped each other into a hug and immediately the news about Greg came spilling from your mouth. You were expecting a sorrowful and understanding reaction, but instead in classic Lou fashion, you were met with a scream of ‘Oh my God! You’re definitely getting laid tonight!’ and then the resounding ‘Pop!’ of a champagne being opened and thrust into your hand. Any anxiety you had was replaced with excitement. You were immensely glad for Lou’s presence, making you feel confident rather than terrified.
The kitchen was completely deserted as the party was in full swing, but as you rounded the corner, breathing deeply to get some time to yourself after having non-stop small talk with people you hadn’t seen in years and introductions to people you’d never met, you didn’t have time to prepare for the inevitable meeting with Greg as you heard his voice reverberate around the quiet room in comparison to the thump of bass throughout the rest of the house. ‘You alright there?’
You hoped he didn’t realise you jumped when he spoke, but his slight smile told you he definitely did. ‘Overwhelmed. Why are you hiding in here?’ It was such an odd experience feeling Greg’s presence in person. Despite the casual nature of the meeting, you couldn’t help yourself blushing, and you were very grateful for the dim lighting to hide the crimson creeping to your ears.
‘I’m only here for the food, might as well stay where it is.’ He said, taking a long drink from his beer, lounging in a dining chair in the link between the two rooms. You were struggling to keep your eyes off him, half in disbelief that he was actually in a room alone with you, and at how good he looked in person. Distracting yourself with making a drink, you were kicking yourself for not continuing the conversation, but you needn’t have worried for long as he made his way over to the kitchen counter where you were mashing mint leaves inside of a cocktail shaker. ‘What on earth are you making?’ He was stood basically completely behind you, his height shocking you. Of course you knew he was almost a foot taller than you, but wearing your heels and feeling him essentially breathing down your neck was a shocking realisation, finally acknowledging just how attracted you were to him despite this being your first meeting. You were inevitably nervous, but the closeness between the two of you seemed to come easy, and distracting yourself by doing something with your hands made it easier to converse with him.
‘A Hugo Spritz.’ You continued mashing the mint leaves in the bottom of the shaker, sneaking a look behind you to see the expression on his face. The one you were met with made you laugh, his eyebrows furrowed closely together beneath his glasses, but with a slight smirk on his face. ‘It’s elderflower, gin, prosecco, lime and mint. Want one? Its nicer than that shit beer Ed bought in bulk, I’ll tell you that for free.’ You added, looking slightly disgusted as you glanced at the half empty amber bottle on the counter.
‘Alright, go on then.’ You could hear the questionable smile in his voice as he moved to your left, leaning his back against the counter and facing you, watching you somewhat intensely as you manoeuvred around the kitchen in search of ice and other ingredients. Eventually you presented Greg and yourself with two wine glasses filled with ice and adorned with a lime wedge and sprig of mint. He looked, once again, questionably at the slightly effeminate drink in his hand, but clearly he was in the mood for being a good sport, and looked down at you with bright eyes as he took a sip. He seemed pleasantly surprised by the cocktail you’d offered, and continued drinking as you cleaned up your mess. The two of you slipped into a reverie, him stood with his back against the island, and you sat with your legs dangling next to him, sipping at your drinks and gazing out of the French doors into the almost dark sky outside.
That was swiftly broken as Ed essentially stumbled through the door from the hallway, flooding the quiet kitchen with loud music and chatter, and Ed’s own drunken laughter, ripping you and Greg out of your companionable silence. The two of you shared a quick glance as you turned to look at Ed, and Greg’s face cracked into a huge smile as he embraced Ed.
‘When did you get here?’ a clearly incredulous Ed asked the man he seemed to be clinging on for dear life to.
‘Almost an hour ago, slipped in through the back door.’ Greg released Ed, and only then did your brother realise who had been keeping him company and hiding him from other guests all this time.
‘I see you’ve met my little sister.’ Ed said, slipping a wink towards you and clapping Greg on the back.
‘Yeah, mate. She’s made me a drink and not told anyone I’m here, so she’s kept me happy.’
‘I bet.’ Ed’s cheeky comment may have slipped past an uninformed Greg, but certainly did not slip past you as you once again turned crimson for the umpteenth time that evening.
‘I’m off for a smoke, I’ll see you boys later.’ You slipped through the French doors, both of the men watching your retreating figure disappear into the cold evening. You sat yourself on one of the sofas, sitting lengthways to stretch out your aching legs and feet from being stood in stilettos all evening. As you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply, the warm smoke filling your throat immediately relaxed you. Ed hadn’t said anything too incriminating, but staying in that conversation would have made it harder for you to speak to Greg like a normal person, and you weren’t feeling much less overwhelmed than when you snuck into the kitchen in the first place. After a while, once the immediate effects of your cigarette had passed, you realised you’d forgotten your drink.
You looked back into the house to go and collect it, and possibly a jacket from your room, enjoying the serenity of the garden much more than the house itself, but as you turned your head you saw Greg making his way towards you with both of your cocktails in hand. He walked around to the front of the seat, handing you your drink, and tapped your toes to signal he wanted to sit on the end of the sofa. You scooched back a little to allow more room, and adopted somewhat of a fetal position in the seat. When he’d settled himself and looked back to you, the sight made him laugh at how clearly uncomfortable it must have been.
‘Oh come on, that can’t be nice.’
‘I’m fine. Thanks for bringing my drink, by the way.’
‘Either take your shoes off or just stretch back out again, I don’t mind being a foot rest for a pretty lady like yourself. Anyway, I didn’t think you young folk smoked anymore.’
You tried not to acknowledge how excited his ‘pretty lady’ comment made you, trying to calm yourself down with the fact it was an offhand joke and get back to the actual conversation happening. ‘I’m 35, I’m not exactly doing my GCSEs am I?’
‘I mean I knew you were Ed’s younger sister, but I didn’t think you were that close in age. I thought you must’ve been about a decade younger.’
‘Nope, just over three years between me and Eddy. Obviously I’m the favourite child.’
‘Well I’ve only met you tonight and youre definitely higher on my rankings than Ed is.’
Greg’s flattering words gave you the confidence to stretch your legs back out onto his lap. It was only fair considering how enormous the width of his manspread was. You slowly removed one foot and then another from being flat to the wicker surface of the chair, moving almost like a stork to place one ankle on top of his suit-clad thigh, and then another, crossing your legs at the ankle. The warmth from his leg was almost radioactive, especially in the chilly breeze. It made you shiver, but then Greg placed an even warmer palm on top of your ankle, making you inhale quickly with shock. Once again, the immediate closeness and comfort the two of you felt was like nothing you’d ever experienced. The two of you got talking, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and shared dirty secrets about the comedy circuit before moving onto the far too intimate topic of exes.
‘Weren’t you with Acaster a few years ago?’ Greg asked you, now unafraid to make extended eye contact with the easiness of the conversation.
The liqueur had loosened you up enough to be fully expressive, and at the embarrassing memory of the papers catching you and James out for dinner made you instinctively pull your knees back into your chest and hide your face with your hand, but Greg’s hand was on your ankle, stopping you from hiding yourself. He was laughing along with your embarrassment. He could feel that whatever he’d read in the news about Ed’s sister had been a misunderstanding, but being the typical men they were, neither Ed nor James wanted to talk about it, and Ed got suspicious when Greg started to pry, so he had to back off. He’d be lying if he hadn’t felt a pang of jealousy over his younger friend’s dating of Ed’s sister. He knew it was ridiculous, even back then, to have a slight crush on a woman he’d never met, but most of his friends only had good things to say about you, and the mystery around your clandestine dating history intrigued him more than he’d like to admit.
‘Alright then, what went on, ‘cause I’ve clearly got the wrong end of the stick?’
‘God I can’t believe you of all people have asked me about this!’ You were properly laughing now, and you could feel Greg’s body moving with his own laughter, relaxing you further into telling the story. He tried to push the question of what ‘you of all people’ could possibly mean, but he focused on the task at hand. ‘He’d just been cheated on, I’d just been cheated on. We went for dinner, we’ve been friends basically since Ed got to know him, and that is literally it! I don’t know why everyone and their mother asks me about it!’ You were getting exasperated all over again, the memory of the buzz of news irritating you. You had been in precisely one scandal, and it was that one, and your agent had kept you from seeing the worst of it.
‘Because the paparazzi thought there’d be a comic royal wedding, apparently. And some other truly crass things I’d not be able to look you in the eye after saying.’ Greg confessed. Even in the darkness, you could see he was a little uncomfortable just hedging around it, but you were in too deep and too drunk and too confused to not ask.
‘What? Like what?’ You sat up a bit straighter, with Greg’s hand on your leg tightening slightly. It was keeping the two of you present and aware of precisely what was going on, despite how overwhelmed you both were that this meeting had finally happened and was going better than you could ever have imagined.
‘Just some crude things, and that you were the other woman for James. It was a really strange time for all the Britcom lot because it was so obviously not something Acaster would do, and Ed went round defending both of your honours. Usually if theres an awful bit of gossip going around, we all take the piss a bit, regardless of how bad it is, but this time it kind of struck a chord because the two of you are so loved in all of our circles, and I’m just so relieved nothing like that has ever come out again.’ Greg seemed to visibly relax as he finished talking, and was absentmindedly stroking his hand up and down your stockinged shin.
‘I mean, that’s not as bad as I was expecting. I’m glad I wasn’t a punching bag for the comedy circuit because I’ve stayed out of public bother for a reason, and that’s one of them.’ At the clear relief the two of you felt, you downed your drink and shivered, which Greg noticed as goosebumps appeared beneath his palm.
‘Are you alright? Do you want to go back inside?’ Once again, Greg’s furrowed eyebrows returned, and he released your legs to allow you both to head inside. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and cracked them open, handing you one and cheersing your bottle with a ‘clink.’ The two of you headed into the packed living room. For the fact Ed and Charlie’s house only had two bedrooms, the downstairs was perfect for entertaining. With an adjoining kitchen and dining room and a huge living room, it could host more people than it could ever hope to house, and as you entered the huge living room, everyone within a metre radius turned and looked at who had just snuck in. Lots of excited faces were lit up at the sight of Greg, but Ed, James, and all of your nearest and dearest friends were laser focused on the sight of Greg’s hand ghosting your lower back. You were immediately regretting re-entering the party, but Greg’s hand lightly holding your lower back made you feel less alone and less terrified, but you didn’t have much time to process those feelings as you were swept into a hug by James.
‘Where have you been hiding all night with Greg, eh?’ His eyebrows shot up and down rapidly, suggestively implying you’d been doing something devious, when the reality was far more boring.
‘We had a smoke in the garden, James. Nothing exciting.’ You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile snaking its way across your face as you gazed up at him in his tight embrace. He pulled you in closer, pressing your face into the corduroy of his jacket, feeling the warmth of someone who’d not been sat outside for the past hour.
It was nice being with your friends, and you missed spending quality time with them, especially when Lou dragged you into the kitchen to explain every single detail of your interaction with Greg, as she failed at hiding her disappointment that he hadn’t ravished you in the downstairs loo. The two of you went back to your group of friends once again in the living room, having catchups with Nish, Aisling and Charlie as it had been so long since all of you had been together. A sort of silence descended on your friends, however, as you felt a familiar hand holding your lower back once again. Greg had squeezed himself in, standing beside you with his right hand cupping your waist. Nish’s face was a picture, the classic image of complete glee and disbelief that he sometimes liked to break out when he was processing something groundbreaking. He was beaming up at Greg, having a vague conversation about how their lives were going since the last time they’d spoken, but his light eyes kept darting back to you, making you lose focus as you tried to remain engaged in whatever Aisling was telling you about. Nish seemed to become a teenage boy whenever anyone had an inkling of romance, especially you with your abysmal dating history, so his incessant glances made you blush.
A few more hours later of socialising and drinking heavily, there were people sleeping on couches and the party was clearly winding down. You had decided to start clearing up the kitchen, filling the dishwasher and stacking plates in the sink, and throwing out any discarded food so the overall clear up would be easier for you all in the morning. Typically those who had crashed would help put the place back into an orderly fashion, but it gave you time to wind down and prepare yourself to go to bed. You were organising the dishwasher when someone leaned over to slide a plate in, and you recognised the large hand and black blazered wrist immediately. Greg was clearly drunk, and as you stood up to close the dishwasher, he wobbled slightly, relying on the steadiness of the kitchen counter next to him for balance.
‘Do you know of anywhere I can crash tonight? The couch isn’t even long enough for Ed, nevermind me.’ Greg laughed, sounding slightly slurred, but soft and tired by the alcohol and the winding down of the party.
You leaned your hip against the counter and pursed your lips, thinking of what would be acceptable for a man of his height. Ed and Charlie had already gone to sleep, so their bed wouldn’t be any use, and none of the couches were long enough. Your bed was huge and it would only be you in it, but you didn’t know if that would cross a line. You’d have been happy taking the armchair in your room, knowing you’d wake early anyway, so the uncomfortable position wouldn’t be too much of a pain. The alcohol had loosened your lips and made you more confident, and you supposed you had nothing to lose.
‘Well, I’ve got a queen bed if you want to sleep in my room. I’m happy to take the chair if you’re okay with sharing a room.’
‘I mean, that would be great, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll show you the way now and you can freshen up.’
As you and Greg made your way up the stairs and into your room in tandem, you felt the pain of your feet throbbing in your shoes, and sat down in the armchair in front of the window to remove them immediately. Greg sat on the side of the bed closest to you, removing his blazer and shoes. An image of the two of you like this in your own home every night after returning home popped into your head, but you swept it out quickly, not allowing yourself to gain any false hope. As you sat back in the chair, tucking your feet underneath yourself, you saw Greg focusing intensely on you.
You chuckled ‘what?’
‘Is that the chair you plan on sleeping on?’ Greg looked quizzically at you, that half-cracked smile making its way across his face, wrinkling all the way up into the corners of his eyes.
‘Yeah, I’ll wake up early anyway so it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, here’s the ensuite. I’m going to let you sort yourself out and then I’ll be back in a bit. Make yourself comfortable.’
‘Right, I’m not letting you sleep in that child sized chair, Jesus Christ. We’ll just share, it’ll be fine.’ He clearly found your insistence on sleeping in the chair to avoid making either of you uncomfortable both very endearing and very funny, but you were too exhausted to really notice.
‘Only if you’re sure. I’ll be back in a minute. Get yourself comfy and I’ll be back in a bit and then we can figure this out.’ As you left the room you heard a soft chuckle, and then the sound of the bathroom light being turned on.
You’d made yourself a cup of tea and a plate of leftover party food to snack on as you got ready for bed, and then headed back upstairs untethered by your painful shoes. As you made your way into your bedroom, Greg was lying on top of one side of your bed reading the book on your bedside table, making sure to keep your bookmark in the correct page. He looked incredibly comfortable, lounging as if he lived there and appeared half asleep, clearly content in the space you found most peaceful. He had unbuttoned the top of his crisp black dress shirt, and as he noticed you returning to the room, he looked up and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
‘I brought us some snacks.’ You placed the grazing platter on the middle of the duvet, between where the two of you were inevitably sleeping based on the position Greg had adopted. ‘Do you fancy a cuppa? I can make you one if you like.’
‘No, I’m okay, thank you. I can’t in good conscience let you sleep on that godawful chair, so it’s either we share, or I’ll put a sleeping bag on the dining table. The choice is yours, sweetheart.’ With that, he slammed your book shut and got up to fill a glass with water, walking past you to the bathroom allowing you to get a waft of his cologne and a scent that was unmistakably his own.
‘Fine. We’ll share. I’m an early riser anyway.’ You heard a chuckle from the bathroom, and saw his face cracked with laughter as he emerged. You turned to rifle through the ancient chest of drawers next to your bedside table, focusing your exhausted eyes on the pyjamas you wanted. The exhaustion and preoccupation combined with the strange yet comfortable intimacy you and Greg felt immediately when in each other’s presence made you completely oblivious to the way his eyes refused to leave your back until you retreated into the bathroom. He guessed what you were doing as different sounds reached his ears: brushing your teeth, washing your face, going to the loo and then getting changed. You emerged from the bathroom looking more beautiful than ever, with hair piled on top of your head, fresh faced and bundled up in pyjamas despite it being the heat of summer.
As you clambered into bed, tucking yourself beneath the covers, you text Ed, knowing he’d see it in the morning, congratulating him on another great party. Greg silently put your book back on his side of the bed, and watched as you fell asleep. He could tell you were exhausted, and as soon as you’d text Ed, you were almost immediately asleep. Greg got up from his side of the bed, very slowly as to not wake you, and placed your phone onto charge on the bedside table. He closed the curtains, and pulled the duvet up further onto your shoulders, ensuring you’d be warm and comfortable. He then turned all of the lights and lamps off and got into bed, taking one last look at you breathing softly next to him.
In the morning, Ed and Charlie were up unusually early for the night that they’d had before. Ed was used to waking up with a banging headache and feeling like he’d not drunk water in months, hearing the blaring speaker and clattering of dishes from you cleaning up in the kitchen. Typically he’d trudge down, squinting as the light got brighter in the kitchen, begging you to make less noise so his brain wouldn’t feel like it was two times too large to fit inside of his skull. This morning, however, was different. He made his way unsteadily down the stairs, and seeing the kitchen in the same state as last night, and the living room filled with his sleeping drunken friends, he checked the clock on the wall to make sure it wasn’t 4am and that he wasn’t dreaming. It was 9am, and you were nowhere to be found. Unheard of. Ed set off in search of you, heading back upstairs and knocking quietly on your bedroom door. Once he was a hundred percent certain there was no answer, he sheepishly opened the door and peered around it, almost jumping at the sight in front of him.
Through the cracks in the blinds and curtains where the early morning summer sun was pouring in, Ed saw you and Greg Davies sleeping soundly in each others arms. Greg was snoring softly, and had his arm around your back, breathing in the scent of your shampoo with every inhale, timed perfectly to your own. You had your head on his chest and an arm wrapped around his torso. The top of the duvet cover had moved down throughout the night, allowing Ed to see the configuration of the two of you. He thought some miracle must’ve happened, with his little sister sleeping past 7am, and sleeping in the arms of a man she’d fancied for years. Ed smirked, closed the door, ensuring not to make any sound, and went to spill the beans to his wife immediately, but not before snapping a photograph of the two of you entangled and soundly sleeping.
There's Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Greg Davies x Reader
Greg and his partner, Alex's sister-in-law, finally tell their nearest and dearest about their relationship.
It had been months since you’d had Greg all to yourself. He’d been off filming the studio sections of Taskmaster, and you were excited all week, knowing he was coming home on Friday.
You’d been talking to your sister, Rachel, a lot this week, knowing she was dealing with the same issue as Alex was away too, and knowing both your partners were coming home this weekend was an exciting prospect. She’d told you Alex was coming home later today, as he was homesick from the children, and all of the work had been done. He was happy to commute for the next few days, whereas Greg hadn’t said there’d be any change in his plans.
Rachel had known about you and Greg from the very beginning. Alex, however, was another story.
Alex was Greg’s best friend, closest confidante, and your brother-in-law. You’d met Greg plenty of times in passing, but after moving in with Alex and Rachel for a few months a couple of years ago, you’d seen a lot more of Greg intimately, more than you ever would have on the comedy circuit. You’d immediately been attracted to him, as it was rare to find a man taller than you, let alone one where you couldn’t look him directly in the eyes. He was older, wiser, funnier, and seeing him in close quarters with your nephews had made you fall for him. Alex had made it clear he knew Greg liked you, but what he didn’t know was that Greg had acted on it, and you’d actually been dating for the better part of a year.
Rachel had sworn not to say anything, knowing it was Greg’s decision of when to tell Alex, and you were thinking about this sticky situation you and Greg had found yourselves in as you walked home from work with a haul of shopping and a skip in your step. After moving out of the Horne’s, you’d found a small apartment nearby, but ended up basically moving into Greg’s townhouse, and living in it when he was away working made you feel safer than your small one bed in zone 6.
As soon as you kicked off your shoes in the hallway and dumped your bags and the day’s heaviness on the kitchen counter, you put the radio on and began cooking. It was a way to have some true ‘me time’ despite Greg’s absence, and having a dance in the kitchen was one of your biggest joys.
Wham!’s I’m Your Man was now blaring from the speakers of your countertop radio, and in your reverie of dancing and cooking, letting the day’s stresses and anxieties evaporate from your bones, you only just heard a deep, rumbling voice singing along.
Dropping your cooking utensils and spinning around, your ears recognised the voice you knew well, and you saw Greg’s smug, tight-lipped smile looking back at you, with his arms spread wide, waiting for you.
You almost sprinted, hopping from your post in front of the stovetop and throwing yourself into his arms, melting into his touch and embracing him tightly. An embrace that demonstrated three months worth of longing and excitement. To think he’d come home early and not told you!
‘How long have you been here?!’ you beamed up at your lover, still cradled inside of his grasp, incredulous at how he’d kept a secret. Clearly, he knew you loved surprises, and knew how much you’d missed him. He’d clearly missed you too if you were any judge of the misty look in his eyes behind his glasses.
‘I got home at lunchtime, I’ve been waiting here all day. Wanted to surprise you.’ He states, confirming your suspicions. His smile is now full and teethy, with his eyes crinkling at the corners. He cranes his neck down and places a kiss on your hairline, holding you closer. ‘Loved the singing, by the way.’ The cheeky bastard.
You give him a scrunched look, embarrassed but too pleased he’s home to truly be annoyed. ‘Did Alex know you were coming home too?’
‘Yeah, got the train back together.’ He states, peppering kisses across the crown of your head.
‘I’ll have to tell Rach, she’ll want to keep Al from turning up unannounced and seeing me.’ Your anxieties about Alex finding out about your and Greg’s relationship had worsened over the course of their respective absences, and Rachel being your only real confidante was becoming difficult to deal with. Your relationship had gotten a lot more serious over the last 5 or so months, and not being able to tell your parents and closest friends was making you feel guilty. You wanted to share your feelings and love with those you held closest, but with most of your close friends also on the comedy circuit, it was impossible, so you’d begun to rely on Rachel for support and advice. Her situation of wanting to keep your secret out of sisterly love was obviously her first command, but knowing it was mainly because her husband’s closest friend was nervous about the strange, intertwined nature of all of your relationships was taking a toll on her too.
‘Actually, about that…’ Greg pulled away from you, taking a seat at the dining table. The deep lines in his frown and forehead began to worry you. Was he breaking up with you? After coming home early to surprise you? A knot of anxiety tied itself tightly in your abdomen.
‘I think I should tell Alex. Tonight.’ His shoulders drop hugely, clearly relieved to have come to the realisation that this very committed relationship is no longer something he can keep from his dearest friend and your brother-in-law. The long, deep sigh that escapes your mouth makes him look up from his toes with worry, but that dissipates when he sees the look of sheer joy on your face. You’re beaming like the sun, and Greg doesn’t think he’s imagining the fact you’re glowing. He’d missed you, all of you. He’d missed having to drag you out of bed in the mornings, coaxing you up with toast and a steaming cup of too-sweet builder’s brew. He’d missed watching you run, half dressed, to and from the wardrobe to the mirror, deliberating your outfit choices every morning. He’d missed watching tv every night with you, having to pause it so you could spill your guts in secret to your sister. He’d realised that on the train home, sat beside his best friend, going home to his partner, he needed to be able to tell Alex everything.
He didn’t know why he was so terrified to tell Alex about your relationship. After all, Alex had been teasing him about the crush he had on you for months, ever since that first chance meeting at the Horne household. Greg had turned up with two bottles of wine to watch the first episode of the new season of Taskmaster. You had opened the door. He’d almost dropped the wine on the front step of Alex’s house. How had he never noticed how beautiful you were? He’d entered the house with a slack jaw and an empty mind, only delivering incoherent mumblings and vague gestures, handing off the wine to Rachel and sitting down heavily on the couch with glazed eyes. Only when you entered the room with an open mouth and a melodious laugh did he come to. Seeing you smile like that, he knew he was done for, and so did Alex.
‘Why now?’ You had no idea what Greg’s thinking had been, and in your opinion, nothing glorious or awful had happened to cause your little game to be over.
‘I just can’t hide it from him anymore. He knows how much I fancy you, I just needed to get a grip and tell him. I want you to be there when I do, though.’ He raised himself from the chair, grasping your hand and kissing it, caressing your hair. Releasing your hand, he moved his from where he’d dropped yours at your side and clutched your waist, pulling you in harshly for a kiss like a man starved. It was as if realising he needed to tell Alex had unleashed him. He was no longer scared to show you how much he loved and missed you, not afraid he’d have to break it off for fear of keeping it from his friend. You put your arms around his torso, trying to absorb as much of his warmth and scent as you could. If you could’ve melted into him, you would have.
Sitting at the kitchen table with the meal you’d began preparing earlier finished, nursing your glasses of wine, you and Greg were drafting out a game plan for this evening. Being a Tuesday in a suburb of London in March, getting a reservation for a restaurant was no issue. Getting Alex and Rachel there, and the two of you, without any suspicion or raised eyebrows was another kettle of fish, however.
‘Well he’s just got home, and Rachel was pre warned-‘
‘Unlike me, you arse’ you interrupt him, not letting his deceit go just yet. You were a dog with a bone.
‘Yes. Unlike you darling, Alex told Rachel, so the kids are at the grandparents. They’re both free tonight.’
‘And Alex knows you’re home because you came home together.’
‘Mhm.’ A beat. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head. ‘And Rachel obviously knows what’s going on here. Why don’t you text her, tell her everything, and she can tell Alex that…’
‘That I’m bored stiff and miss her. She can mention that when you ring him asking to have dinner, and…’ You were both thinking deeply now, looking like you were deep into a murder case, not just trying to organise a meal for four adults.
‘She can say she wants you there so I’m not third wheeling!’ Greg punches the air, feeling like he’s hit the jackpot.
‘And Alex will be completely on board because he knows you fancy me!’ Your eyes light up, and you clamber onto Greg’s lap, kissing him roughly on the cheek, feeling the harshness of his beard against your soft skin, inhaling his scent deeply.
‘Right, yep. 8pm. I’ll see you two there. Yes, and her. Okay, bye!’ Greg put down the phone and you removed your chewed fingernails from your mouth. ‘All sorted, we’ll meet them there at 8, they’ll be there early so we can be in the same cab and just pretend we bumped into each other.’
‘I can’t believe you’re actually going to tell him.’ You embrace Greg once again, savouring the feel of his body wrapped around your own, excited to not have to keep secrets from your brother-in-law, and to allow your sister to be honest with her husband.
You and Greg hopped out of the black cab, Greg giving you a helping hand and holding the small of your back as you walked to the restaurant. Despite it being an uneventful Tuesday evening in the middle of spring, the restaurant was fancy and the boys were celebrating wrapping Taskmaster, so you all dressed well. You were struggling to hold yourself together seeing Greg in an immaculately pressed all black suit. He was experiencing the same issue watching you sway your hips in a fitted dress and sky high heels. You entered the restaurant first, pleased to be out of the cold, and spotted your sister to which you winked. She returned your wink with a sly smile, standing up to give you a hug as if you hadn’t seen each other just last week. Alex did the same, and noticed Greg behind you.
‘Did you guys get here at the same time?’
‘Yeah, what a coincidence huh?’ Greg’s seemingly confident and nonchalant statement came out shakily and unconvincingly, but Alex let it go and sat down.
The evening went well, and after a few glasses of wine and ordering your food, Greg made it clear he had something to say.
‘Alex. I-we-I…’ He clears his throat. For such a boulder of a man, Greg sure was nervous regarding Alex’s opinion. He knew he’d be generous and accepting, but he had a niggle about the closeness of his wife to you, and was concerned Alex wouldn’t like the seriousness of the relationship. He was in too deep now, though. He had to get out with it. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
Alex visibly sobered up, becoming straight as a board and white as a sheet. He clearly expected the worst. His wife however, looked genuinely fizzing with excitement. Her eyes were sparkling, and she was fidgeting. She was so happy for the two of you, and her energy no doubt calmed Alex down to a degree.
‘Y/N and I are seeing each other.’ Both Alex and Greg’s body’s drooped with relief, and Alex finally turned to his wife, noticing her ear to ear smile.
‘I suppose you knew about this, did you?’ Rachel nodded in confirmation, grasping her husbands hand tightly. Alex dropped her hand however, standing up instead. Greg winced, preparing himself for a a strike to the cheek, but instead Alex just clapped him on the back. ‘I mean, I knew you were seeing someone, i’m not stupid. I just never thought you’d have the balls to tell her how you felt.’ Alex sat back down, this time grasping his wife’s hand instead.
Greg’s hand had been resting on your bare thigh all evening, providing a grounding presence in a situation where you could have believed you were dreaming. You and Greg told the Horne’s everything. How long you’d been together, how you’d basically moved into his house, how Rachel had known everything from the very beginning (to which Alex was not pleased).
‘But I just can’t understand why you didn’t tell me?’ Alex asked finally, bewildered.
‘I dunno mate, I just knew I was fucked straight away and wasn’t sure it was going to be serious so I didn’t tell you, and then it was serious and I was in too deep. I just felt like I couldn’t tell you because it had been so long, and with Y/N and Rachel’s relationship, it was an awkward place to be in.’
‘So why now, why decide to tell me now?’
‘It was when we both came home early today, with you wanting to go home early and see Rach and the kids, and I just realised how much I missed being at home…’ He turned towards you as he said his final part ‘with you.’
‘Bloody hell. I thought you were just shagging someone, christ.’ Alex’s genuine shock and disgust at Greg’s earnestness (and probably the fact you’d all had a few glasses of wine) had you all doubled over in fits of laughter, until Rachel piped up with something you’d been pushing to the back of your mind since you’d started getting serious with Greg.
‘How are you going to tell Mum you’re seeing the Taskmaster?’
‘God, don’t call me that outside of work.’
You chuckled, both at Greg’s comment and at realising you were going to have to introduce your boyfriend to his biggest fan and also mother-in-law. ‘She’s basically in love with you, she might try and steal you for herself.’
‘Well I’ve met her before, actually.’ Greg’s sly smile conveyed how he was clearly relishing this secret he’d kept from you.
Your gasp and large smile whilst scanning the table made you realise that of course Greg must’ve met her, being your brother-in-law’s best friend, so bumping into each other at family gatherings was probably commonplace. You had certainly met Greg in passing, and you remembered seeing him at Rachel’s wedding, but you’d been releasing a steady stream of books, and had been touring the country, so being there at every family gathering was simply impossible. Plus, you and your mother had no real need to discuss Greg, with you and your sister keeping the secret, and she’d obviously had no reason to bring up their meeting, but any excuse to give your partner a grilling was not an opportunity you were stupid enough to miss.
‘And why have I not heard of this meeting before, Mr Davies?’ you ask, conspiratorially turning towards him, wrapping your ankle around his beneath the table to put some mock pressure on him with your overbearing presence. For Greg, however, he was just basking in the fact that you were being this touchy feely in public with him, unafraid of having it leak to the public. He snapped back to reality with a dizzy feeling caused by your closeness.
‘Well, if you must know,’ Greg paused, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and smirking, adopting the guise of someone who was about to drop some seriously juicy gossip before he continued, ‘I met her at Rachel’s wedding, and we had a chat…’
At Greg’s trailing off, Rachel burst into laughter, and Alex looked halfway there. Greg’s face broke and you realised you’d been had. Greg had told the Horne’s about what your own Mum had said to your now partner at her eldest daughter’s wedding. Rachel and Alex’s wedding was only four years ago, but they’d been together for almost two decades, and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Greg was there, and he’s hard to miss in any situation with his towering height, but you’d certainly taken a fancy to him even back then, especially with his best man speech and how kind he was to Rachel. He’d looked fab, though he’d aged like a fine wine, and you were itching to know what your Mum had said to him on that day, especially knowing how badly she held her drink.
‘Oh, Y/N, you’re either going to love this, or you’ll want to kill all of us, especially Mum.’ Rachel breathed out through her laughter.
You went bright red, putting your head in your hands and tucking yourself further into Greg’s chest, struggling not to laugh at your own embarrassment.
‘Basically, she tried to set us up. Pointed at you and told me how beautiful you were. Stupidly, I paid no attention, and that’s why I acted like an idiot when you turned up at Alex’s that one time, but I told Rachel and Alex as soon as it had happened.’
‘To be fair to you Greg, she was very drunk. I wouldn’t have listened to her either if I were you.’ Alex admitted. He was very grateful for his mother-in-law, being a doting grandmother to her three grandsons, and an all-round lovely woman to be in the company of. ‘Actually, speaking of that, why did you not tell me about the two of you when I already knew Y/Ns own mother wanted you together, and I thought it was a great idea?’ Alex was clearly still grappling with why Greg had been so clandestine about his relationship. He was immensely happy for the two of you, and honestly very relieved, but still confused as to why he thought it would be such a tricky subject to breach.
‘I told you mate, I obviously wasn’t thinking straight. And I didn’t exactly think your Mum was being completely serious with the state she was in.’ He turned towards you now, rubbing his hand up and down your upper arm. ‘I should’ve listened to her though, should’ve sought you out.’
‘I mean I’m actually quite impressed that Mum knows me so well. You all know I haven’t been in a real serious relationship, and she’s not the overbearing type but making a proper effort to tell you that we should go out is interesting. At least I don’t have to dread telling her.’
‘Me and Alex are going to see her tomorrow, actually, to pick up the kids. You two could come, if you fancied?’ Rachel asked, hoping that it would take off the pressure if there were more people there.
You and Greg exchanged a look. ‘Yeah, that sounds good.’
The meal was wrapped up quickly after that. It was getting late and if you were going to visit your Mum in the morning, you’d be having an early start. The four of you drained the bottle of wine and cleared your plates, Greg covered the bill and then you split off into pairs to catch cabs back home, embracing each other in the chilly London air. Rachel caught you in a tight hug, one that told you how pleased and proud she was, how excited she was to see you so happy in a relationship for the first time in a long time.
You and Greg trundled home in the back of a black cab. He noticed you shivering despite the more than ample heating of the taxi, clearly still being affected by the chill of the air outside, so he silently slipped off his jacket and placed it gently on your bare shoulders, kissing your cheek for good measure.
As you trotted into Greg’s beautiful townhouse, a sight you were sure you’d never get sick of, you removed your shoes and rolled your shoulders, placed Greg’s jacket onto the back of a chair to avoid creasing it, and turned around to catch him in a hug. Your cheek pressed flush against his chest, he embraced you back, breathing deeply, inhaling the smell of cold from your hair, and the remains of your perfume which had weaned in intensity throughout the night. You both sighed deeply, pleased to be back home and feeling the weight of almost a year of secrecy and guilt removed from your shoulders.
The two of you showered together, washing off the stresses and emotions of the night, and crawled into bed together. Greg pulled you tight into his chest and kissed your face, pulling you up to kiss your lips, a sensation he’d been missing for the past months during the filming of Taskmaster. He was truly grateful for his job, and loved it immensely, being able to make a living by having a laugh with his best mate and some of the finest names in comedy, but he now understood why Alex was always so eager to have the studio portion wrapped up quickly. Greg had never been one for homesickness, had always felt vaguely unmoored; sure, he loved his mother with every fibre of his being, and adored his home, but he had never had anything he really missed when he was away. Now, that was different. Being away from you had changed everything, and he hoped he was showing you how much you meant to him.
You placed your chin on top of your interlaced fingers on Greg’s chest, gazing up at him through your eyelashes with a bashful and tipsy smile. You were so pleased he was home. You didn’t need to talk about anything meaningful, he didn’t need to make you laugh, you didn’t need to even be doing anything, simply being in his presence, having him near you, was enough to make you beyond content.
A thought popped into your head. ‘Does this mean we’re going to have to thank Little Alex Horne in our speeches when we get married?’ You asked, absentmindedly swirling little circles on the warm skin of Greg’s chest. You could feel him tense up as you did this, your question registering in his tired mind.
‘What do you mean, ‘when’?’ He’d tried to sound confused, and he figured he should’ve been, considering you’d not even been together a year, and had only just officially told his best friend, but it came out with a gleeful tone, and the smile on his face didn’t make him look any more convincingly baffled.
You gave a short, snorting laugh, puffing the air out of your nose swiftly, and gave his shoulder a playful smack. ‘I’m in this for the long run, honey.’ At this, Greg’s right arm came from his side and he splayed his hand across your back beneath your pyjama top, the contact making you shiver.
‘Good, cause I’m going to have to start drafting my apology to your Mum for not listening to her at Alex’s wedding.’
Despite the late hour, you knew your Mum well enough to be certain she’d be up, a night owl as always. You wanted to call her and let her know she’d be meeting your first real partner in the morning, despite how much you’d have liked to surprise her. She’d probably kill you if you turned up with your partner without giving her any notice to give the whole house a deep clean and cook enough food for a small army.
You were sat next to Greg in your bed with your book tented on your stomach. The TV was playing something neither of you were paying attention to, casting an ebbing glow across the room. Greg had his bedside lamp on, the warm light highlighting his profile in an orange halo. You could see he was fighting sleep, his eyes half lidded beneath his glasses which had crept to the edge of his nose.
He jolted slightly, the noise of your ringing phone waking him up, and you watched as he turned, almost catlike in his serene, relaxed movements, towards you with a growing smile. You pressed a finger to your lips and mouthed ‘calling Mum’ so he’d know to keep his mouth shut. He grasped for the TV remote to turn the volume down, and turned further onto his side to listen to your phone conversation with a deeper concentration, knowing it would be about himself.
‘Hi Mum!’
He couldn’t hear your mother’s side of the phone, but it didn’t sound like it was going horrendously by the cheery tone of your voice.
‘Well, Rach and Al are coming to see you tomorrow so I thought I’d join’
Greg watched as a soft pink blush crept across your cheeks, turning the tips of your ears a fierce crimson. He could see you transformed into the teenager he never knew, embarrassed to be discussing your love life with your mother, coy with a shy pride and nervousness.
‘I actually… Mum I’ve met someone.’
He heard a high pitched exclamation down your mother’s end of the phone that registered in his ears as ‘Oh Darling that’s wonderful!’ or something of that calibre, confirmed by the giggle that came bubbling out of your mouth.
‘We’re going to come to see you tomorrow. I just thought I’d give you some notice.’
The conversation dwindled as you got sleepier, and when you put your phone back on your bedside table after wishing goodnight to your Mum, you turned around to see Greg’s signature tight lipped smile, with his crinkled, warm eyes looking kindly up at you.
He hoisted himself up in bed and gently moved his arm around the top of your shoulders, pulling you into his chest and placing a kiss on your lips. You could feel his smile through the kiss.
He didn’t need to tell you what he was smiling about for you to know that he was buoyed by the joy of your newly public relationship, finally being able to bask in the domestic bliss you’d enjoyed for the past year without guilt.
You and Greg woke up early, the bright spring sun sending huge beams of light through the large window in the bedroom you shared. Despite the early morning and late night – not to mention the bottles of wine you consumed – you woke up feeling fresh, and were almost running down to the kitchen where you could hear Greg clattering around.
You perched yourself on one of the barstools at the island opposite the stovetop where Greg seemed to be absorbed in whatever he was cooking. There were two mugs in front of you: your milky and sweet tea, and Greg’s traditional black coffee. Very un-British of him, he should be ashamed.
‘Hello, love’ he chirped, despite still being utterly consumed by the contents of the frying pans on the hobs, ‘sleep well?’
‘Like a baby’ you beamed, feeling buoyed by a newfound optimism that coming clean to Alex and the prospect of telling your Mum had given you.
You gazed out of the window for the better part of five minutes, loving the comfortable silences that you had missed so much with Greg being away, but your reverie was broken as you noticed him start to plate up.
He turned and produced two plates of bacon, hash browns, and scrambled eggs. He had never been much of a cook during the course of your relationship, with you being passionate about the food you ate and cooked, and he was more than happy to let you take the wheel, but he absolutely excelled in breakfasts. It was the one thing you could never rival him on.
You sat beside each other, recounting last night’s antics and the behind the scenes of Taskmaster, munching away on your breakfasts and sipping your drinks. Greg already knew he wanted to marry you, not in a conscious way, but in that he felt a sense of belonging and home in you, but after his epiphany on the train yesterday, and your casual question last night, sitting here with you enjoying breakfast and basking in the more mundane aspects of his life, he realised he could see the rest of his life stretching out before him, with you in it.
For him, his life of celebrity and sensationalism was not one that he completely loved. He loved comedy, he loved his friends, and he was mostly happy with the fame and recognition, but he was a simple man, and realising he wanted a normal married life, settling down and enjoying the little things, was only a realisation he’d had after he’d met you.
When Merlin and Gawain get sent to share a hotel room by Harry, they are forced to realise their deep-seated feelings for one another.
Only one bed, coworkers, some meddling by the other Kingsmen, comfort, love confession, fluffy domesticity, f!reader (only uses of she/her, no genitalia descriptions) Not canon accurate! (Merlin’s death never happens in TGC, the nightmare is only nightmare!)
Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of nightmares (losing Merlin).
A/N: This is my first ever fanfic! Hardly any proofreading and very much self indulgent so apologies if it doesn’t truly represent Merlin! x
‘Again?’
The newly appointed Arthur, Harry, had just revealed that Agent Gawain and Merlin were expected to play happy families and share a hotel room once again.
'Yes Merlin, we need you two on surveillance for this mission, and with Gawain training as a second Quartermaster it would do her well to share with you again to be available 24/7, just incase things go awry.'
'Harry you know how I feel about this. I'll do it, but it's not fair on me or Gawain.'
Storming from the room, Merlin headed for his office, searching for something a bit stronger than an English breakfast tea, sick of having to share rooms, and more importantly, beds.
'Gawain, I need you and Merlin to check in as these two.' Harry said, passing you two facsimile passports and a stack of documents, containing information on your aliases.
'You know, Merlin's right. I'm okay with surveillance missions and working from a hotel but I don't understand why we always get shoved together.' Sighing, you plead for Harry to stop putting you with the man you'd developed quite a hefty crush on within your time as a Kingsman. 'Anyway that's besides the point, what actually is this mission?'
Harry explained the mission, nothing special, and you and Merlin were simply there to watch over the building, keeping your agents up to date on any outside threats. That made your most pressing issue the fact that you'd be cooped up inside a hotel room and sharing a bed with the man who'd ran from the room upon finding that out. Not ideal.
'At least make sure you put us in a nice room this time Harry. With a big bed. That motel from a few months ago was basically a cesspit, no wonder Merlin's done a runner.'
At this, Eggsy laughed, remembering the state of the single bed and muddy water you had to live in with Merlin for three nights after visiting the Statesman.
'I assure you, the hotel will be quite suitable, it overlooks the mission's venue. One of the best in London. Now can you go and collect my Quartermaster please, Gawain?' Harry said, getting up from his chair at the head of the table in the meeting room, as you left in search of your boss.
'I bloody well hope this works, Harry. Merlin looked like he wanted to quit on the spot' said Eggsy. 'I know you want them together but I'm not sure Merlin's as close to realising his feelings as Gawain is.'
'It'll work Eggsy,' Roxy, joining the conversation, 'I think he's just less clear with his feelings than Gawain; remember he's been in the business of playing the cold and unemotional agent a lot longer than she has.'
‘I hope you two are right. I’m sick of watching them gaze with heart eyes across the room at each other,’ muttered Eggsy, almost gagging at the memory.
Sat at his desk, nursing a glass of his strongest scotch, Merlin pondered how long he'd be able to cope with having Gawain in a bed that was not his own. She was so close, and yet so far away, and he'd been dealing with his feelings for such a long time, he felt it was almost like Harry was deliberately torturing him.
After Eggsy's wedding, Kingsman agents were almost encouraged to have a romantic partner. Especially now that Harry was at the helm and realised how important it was to have connections after his dealing with Valentine, Merlin knew that his feelings for Gawain were not in the way of his job, but he still felt that he was unable to engage in a relationship with her. Ruining the relationship they'd developed over the past years, growing ever closer, Merlin would rather leave it as it was than destroy something so good.
Harry's meddling made that very difficult, however.
'Merlin? God, there you are. I've been looking for you all over, thought you'd left after your reaction to Harry's mission.' Gawain arrived to his office, out of breath and looking almost nauseous. 'Harry gave me these' the passports of you and your husband, and a love story for the ages to go with it. Merlin could've thrown up there and then, but seeing you walk into his office after looking for him so diligently just made his heart swell with love.
Skimming the documents and then throwing them on his desk, Merlin removed his glasses and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. 'Do you still have our rings from last time?' he asked you, as you produced them from your trouser pocket, passing him the gold band, and showing him your own wedding and engagement rings. 'Yep, same as last time.' you laughed.
'We're here to check in. Mr and Mrs Miller' Merlin spoke, smiling at the man behind the front desk in the lobby of easily the most beautiful (and expensive) hotel you'd ever been in. 'Right this way Sir, Madam' said the bellboy as he walked towards the elevators, with Merlin on his tail, all of your luggage in his grasp.
Harry hadn't lied about the room either. A large room on the corner with floor to ceiling windows, draped in velvet curtains, boasting a gorgeous view of London's skyline. The bed was huge and covered in plush cushions, facing a modern shiny white bathroom. The whole room was decorated like a stately home, with vintage furniture and a clawfoot tub, it was right up your alley, and Merlin in his classic jumper and immaculately tailored trousers and oxfords, he looked at home in the room.
Placing down your bags, Merlin began setting up your respective laptops and tech equipment on the desk facing the window. 'I'll take the first shower' you said, heading for the bathroom with your personal belongings.
Letting the hot water wash over you was so soothing, especially with the thought of sleeping in the same bed with the man you were half in love with for the next few nights depending on how Harry wished to call the shots. It’s not that you and Merlin hadn’t slept in the same bed before, but you’d never felt this way about him, and he had never seemed this mad about it before. You hoped he was alright, and that it was just the stresses of the job, but a little niggle told you it was something to do with it being you he had to share the bed with.
Stepping out of the shower and drying yourself off with a plush towel, you dug through the overnight bag you’d brought for your skincare and pyjamas, as it was already 7pm by the time you’d checked in, and you had things to look over before you went to bed. Though no amount of digging could help when you realised you’d forgotten to bring any pyjamas at all.
‘Shit. Shit!’ you swore, realising you’d have to ask your dear Quartermaster if he had a spare shirt you could borrow to sleep in.
‘Everything alright in there, Gawain?’ you heard Merlin ask from beyond the door.
‘Mhm, just forgot a pyjama top’ you said as you cracked the door open and peered into the room, to find Merlin sat on the edge of the bed playing with his tablet. ‘do you have anything I can borrow? I completely forgot to pack anything.’
Getting up from his perch and making his way across to the dark wood dresser next to the desk he pulls out a large t-shirt, one that is clearly well loved by its faded colour and graphics. Merlin moves to hand it to you through the crack you’d made in the bathroom door, ‘Aye, here y’are, I don’t have any pants you can borrow but this should be big enough for you.’
‘Thank you Merlin. Seriously, you’re a life saver’ you beam through the door, as he turns and retakes his place on the foot of the bed. Retreating back into the bathroom you do your skincare and brush your hair, put on some panties and finally Merlin’s top. He’s not a large man but he’s certainly tall, and the t-shirt falls to below your bum, fitting you nicely as you spin in front of the mirror to see how it looks from the back. ‘Hm. Not too bad.’ you muse.
As you exit the bathroom carrying your overnight bag and trying to blow hair out of your face, you fail to notice Merlin’s eyes glance above his glasses from his tablet and rake up and down your form. He gulps at the sight of you in one of his favourite t-shirts, and how nicely it shows off your long legs, how well the colour compliments your skin, hair and eyes. He swiftly sits up, coughs ‘I’m taking a shower, then we can go over our aliases.’ His Scottish twang becoming more noticeable as he thickly swallows again, struggling to take his eyes off you.
You’re lounging on the bed, flicking through the documents regarding your aliases and looking at the facsimile passports laid out on the soft duvet in front of you, as Merlin exits the bathroom with a puff of steam. Only a towel slung low around his waist and water dripping from his shoulders, he wanders over to the chest of drawers and pulls out his pyjama bottoms, moving back to the bathroom. Seemingly in a world of his own, you get an eyeful of his toned torso, and attempt to dispel the less than holy thoughts that pop into your mind at light speed at the sight of him dripping wet. This was going to be a long night.
Merlin returns from the bathroom looking a lot less wet but no less naked, replacing the low slung hotel towel with a tartan pair of pyjama pants. ‘What happened to being fully dressed when we shared a room, eh, Merlin?’ you question, jokingly mentioning the rules the two of you had come up with years before when you’d first been forced into a hotel room together.
‘Might I remind you that you’re wearing nothing but my t-shirt right now, Gawain.’ Merlin smirked, looking at you sideways from his seated position on the other side of the huge bed, wrestling his socks on.
‘I guess you’re right, Sorry’ you smiled, remembering that he wasn’t in the best of moods. Reverting your attention back to the pile of papers strewn across the bed in front of you, ‘so, Mr Miller, what do you do?’ you asked Merlin as he scooted back to join you sitting against the headboard.
‘I work in finance and you’re my journalist wife. We met 6 years ago at a mutual friend’s wedding in the Bahamas and are staying here for a short weekend holiday to escape the January blues.’ Merlin muttered, clearly having memorised this better than you. ‘You’re Victoria Miller and I’m Archy, we’re filthy rich and very much in love, blah blah blah…’ he trails off after flipping a few of the papers over.
‘Archy.’ you laugh, ‘that’s so not you, Merlin.’
‘I know.’ he smiles ‘Not Scottish enough for me. Victoria is quite fitting for you I think, though.’
‘Huh, why?’
‘It’s classy, timeless.’ His eyes dart from the papers to yours, ‘Fits you well.’
‘Well, thanks; I prefer my real name though.’
‘Anyway, why does Arthur need us to be ‘married?’’ he makes little air quotations on either side of his face, which is scrunched up in confusion, ‘we’re not even in the field, just cooped up in this place. At least there’s a balcony.’
Jumping off the bed and ruffling all the papers in your wake, you run to Merlin’s side of the bed and stare at him quizzically. ‘There’s a balcony?!’ in both elation and confusion you look at him through his glasses, gazing into his light hazel eyes. ‘You kept that one quiet, Merlin. Where is it?’
‘We’ve got a whole ‘nother room, Gawain.’ He manoeuvres himself off the bed, swinging his long legs off and leading you through a set of tall doors into a living room with a kitchenette, and then left through a set of glass doors out into the cold January air of London. ‘Not sure how you missed the massive double doors on my side of the bed’ he questions, looking down at you as you place your forearms on the cool metal fence of the balcony, taking a long, deep breath in.
You begin to shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, as Merlin places himself next to you, leaning on the fence. His shoulder presses into yours and his goosebump riddled skin makes you shiver more. ‘Sorry’ he smiles, apologetic, turning to look at you. You smile back and close your eyes, breathing in deeply again, allowing him to take a good look at your face.
The winter has diminished your tan, but he can see specks of fading freckles. Hair tickles your face and your nose and cheeks are rosy from the cold winter night, and covered in goosebumps. Merlin can’t help but smile at the peaceful look on your face, despite being on duty and knowing that you have a long and stressful few days ahead of you. His eyes trail down to your plush lips and he forces himself to look away before you open your eyes, pushing himself off the fence and standing up to his full height, ‘c’mon it’s warmer in here, besides we need to go to bed,’ coaxing you back inside.
Shaking off the cold as you make your way into the living room you didn’t know you had, wandering into the kitchenette to browse the tea selection. Merlin closes and locks the balcony doors, rubbing his hands up and down his arms and following you over to make himself a cup.
‘Aren’t you freezing, no shirt and all.’ You ask him, flicking on the kettle and picking out a lavender tea blend for sleep, holding it up for Merlin to see when you sense him behind you.
‘Aye.’ A man of few words tonight, it seems. He moves closer to you, almost so that your back is flush with his chest, and places his palms on your cheeks, making you squeal with the cold as he laughs, moving back as you jump away.
‘Merlin! You bastard!’ You leap to the side to get his freezing hands off your cheeks, the flash of anger fading as you turn around and see him heartily laughing, hands in his pockets and torso tensed. The sight of the man’s full laugh and toned stomach tensed, combined with the domestic feel of the moment makes you smile and flood with warmth and emotion, turning back to concentrate on making your tea.
‘Sorry, love. Couldn’t resist.’ Merlin chuckles once more, the clicking of the boiled kettle bringing him back down to earth. Seeing you in his shirt in this beautiful apartment, and being so comfortable around him was not making his feelings any less prominent. He’s feeling not very talkative, and very tired, nervous for what tomorrow holds. He’s not himself when he leans forward and places his chin on the flat of your shoulder, gazing at the spread of teas in front of him and humming in contemplation at which brew he should have. He’s even less himself when he puts one hand on your waist for leverage, and uses the other to grab a herbal tea blend, plopping it unceremoniously in a teacup.
You gulp at the contact, but don’t want to scare him off, and allow him to touch you, savouring the contact. Taking a deep breath as he stands upright, removing his grasp on your waist and chin on your shoulder, you hope your voice doesn’t betray you when you ask ‘milk or sugar?’ despite it coming out a little shaky.
‘No, not for me, love.’ Merlin seems unfazed by the crossing of so many lines that just occurred, deftly pouring the water from the kettle and declaring that they each need three minutes to steep.
Ordering you to go back to bed, that he’ll deliver the tea, and that you should clean the papers off the bed so you can both get some sleep, Merlin allows himself to process what he just did, and the fact you didn’t smack him away. He smiles to himself, his foul mood lifting slightly at the idea that perhaps a relationship with his beloved Agent Gawain might not be so ridiculous a concept.
You fan yourself to dispel your fiery red cheeks, grappling with the papers on the bed and shoving them haphazardly on the desk as Merlin rounds the corner with two teacups with a contented smile on his face.
‘Here you are’ Merlin mutters as he passes you the steaming mug of lavender tea. You take a deep breath in through your nose, smelling the aroma of the soothing tea, as Merlin settles himself on his side of the bed, fighting with the sheets to get his long legs under. You can’t help stare at the way his long fingers grip the dainty cup, and how he effortlessly took care of the tea without a word. It makes you think of what life would be like with him, the night routine of brushing your teeth together and picking a tea out, fluffing the bedsheets and reading before bed, cuddling and falling asleep in his strong arms.
You’re ripped from your reverie as he removes his glasses, steamed up from the condensation, laughing at the sight. ‘How’s your tea? I hope it’s nice. Smells divine, you should be knocked out in no time.’ he jokes, alluding to the lavender.
‘You’re much chirpier than you were earlier, I hope you’re okay with this whole situation. You should stand up to Harry more if it really bothers you.’ you mutter, gazing into the purple tea in your hands, occasionally blowing on it, attempting to diffuse the tension you fear you’ve just caused.
Merlin’s silence draws on, and you take a breath to speak, to apologise before he finally speaks ‘Thanks, Gawain. I’m fine. Just sick of the aliases and hotel stays and Harry’s demanding of us to work remotely.’ He sighs, composing himself ‘I don’t understand why we can’t just work from the shop or the manor, surely we don’t have to be at every single mission site, right?’ He looks at you, almost pleadingly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
‘I don’t know. I sort of like the hotel stays. God knows my apartment isn’t as nice as this place’ you joke, once again hoping to diffuse the tension and try to lighten Merlin’s sullen mood.
‘I gathered. Your reaction to that balcony. Wow. You should’ve seen your face.’ Merlin muses, smiling to himself once again. ‘If you want, we can get up early and make breakfast tomorrow. Maybe eat it on the balcony?’
‘That’s music to my ears, Merlin. The way to a girl’s heart. Breakfast on the balcony.’ you joke, looking at him earnestly. ‘God we’re going to have to get up so early.’
‘Aye, let’s get some sleep,’ he says, draining the dregs of his teacup, as you do the same, ‘lots to do tomorrow.’
As both you and Merlin readjust your cushions and tuck yourselves into bed, you’re both thinking about the way he acted earlier in the kitchenette. He’s never touched you like that before, despite your close friendship. You flick off the bedside lights, both thinking of the person in bed beside you.
‘Goodnight, Merlin’
‘Goodnight, Gawain’
You’re stood in a dense rainforest, facing a highly guarded ancient ruin. Beside you is Eggsy and Merlin, both dressed in immaculate Kingsman suits, armed with their chosen weapons.
Everything is happening so fast: Merlin spraying the freeze on the land mine, shoving Eggsy off of it, the deafening ‘click’ of Merlin’s own shoe on it, his teary wink to you through the ferns as he begins to sing John Denver.
You’re crying now, watching as the man you love sacrifices himself for you and Eggsy to compete this mission.
‘Merlin, no! Please, don’t! Please!’ Your screams are muffled by choking sobs, and before you know it you can hear your name being shouted by him…
‘Gawain! Wake up! Gawain for God’s sake wake up!’ Merlin is almost shouting now, shaking your shoulder as he looks down at you in bed.
Groggily you come to, looking up at Merlin and allowing your eyes to adjust to the soft, warm glow of his bedside lamp. ‘Merlin’ you sob, throwing an arm around his naked torso.
‘It’s alright, Gawain, you’re alright. Tell me what happened. It was just a nightmare, it wasn’t real’ Merlin coos into your ear as you squeeze yourself into the crook of his neck, finally realising your sodden cheeks from the tears, sniffling into his wet shoulder.
‘It-it-y-you-’ you stutter.
‘It’s okay, just breathe, I’m here, you’re alright, Gawain’ Merlin soothes, rubbing your back as you sit up to pull yourself further into his arms.
After a while, your sobs slow down and your breathing calms, and you release your vice like grip on your Quartermaster. You sit back slightly, still remaining in his arms, but so that you can look at his face.
Seeing Merlin’s furrowed brows in fear and concern allows you to realise the truth that he is here, and that it was only a dream.
You laugh,realising the ridiculousness of the dream, and cough at a caught sob, but your laugh allows Merlin’s face to soften as he realises you’re okay.
‘What was it? Are you okay?’
‘It was you, Merlin. You’d-you’d stood on a land mine and… you know.’ He hums in acknowledgement, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back with his hand, the other managing to hold both of you upright in bed. ‘I just couldn’t believe you’d-d-died. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t told you I loved you.’ The words came tumbling out before the realisation hit you, sobering you.
Eyes shot wide in shock, you stared at Merlin, hoping that somehow he hadn’t heard, or had chosen to ignore you, or that you’d actually said nothing at all.
That didn’t happen though, he just pulled you closer, allowing you to feel his smile causing deep lines in his eyes and mouth against the side of your face. His hand gripped the back of your head and you tightened your grip on his torso, feeling the heat radiating from his bare skin despite the cold January night.
He pulled away, gently, and you saw his eyes searching for meaning in your face. ‘Did you mean that?’ he asked, pleading.
‘Mhm.’ Shyness took over, still worrying about his reaction, and reeling from the emotion of the dream.
His deft thumbs came up to wipe your tears from your face, and, still smiling, he placed two gentle kisses on your cheeks.
‘I think I love you too, Gawain.’ He whispers, finally placing a tender kiss on your lips.
Merlin wipes away your tears, tearing himself away from the kiss, and swipes the sweat-soaked hair from your face, combing it back with his fingers, all the while rubbing soothing circles on your back.
‘Okay, angel. We need to go back to sleep, we’ll talk about this in the morning.’ Merlin whispers gently as he slowly places you back down on the cushion, replacing the duvet over your shoulders.
You never take your hand off his side, and he takes that as a hint, sliding himself flush against your back and draping his arm over your middle, tucking his chin into the crook of your neck. Taking deep breaths of your hair, you both fall asleep.
You wake to the sound of Merlin clattering around in the kitchen, and remember where you are, and more importantly what happened last night when you feel your inflamed eyes and heavy chest from the high emotions.
Merlin hears you padding into the kitchenette, evidently feeling a little awkward about what transpired during the night. He, however, handles it as if you actually are married and that nothing untoward has happened. ‘Good Morning my love,’ he says, glancing behind his shoulder at you from his post at the stove, cooking up breakfast for the two of you, ‘didn’t want to wake you. Thought Harry and his bloody mission can wait.’ He laughed, encouraging some of your nerves to lift.
You take a seat at the desk whilst Merlin finishes up breakfast, flipping open your laptop and seeing if Harry has sent anything in. You see a message from Roxy asking about Merlin, teasing you about your crush so you snap it shut, giggling to yourself about how excited she’ll be when you both get back to the shop, hopefully sooner rather than later.
‘Gawain! Breakfast’s on the balcony, put some pants on it’s freezing!’ you hear Merlin call from the adjoining kitchenette, as you grab his forgotten pyjama pants, the early riser having already gotten dressed.
You join him on the balcony, taking in the sight of him sipping at his tea and gazing up at you, flushed by the chilly London morning. ‘You look good in my clothes.’ You were going to have to get used to this new, affectionate Merlin, but you certainly weren’t complaining.
Back in the boardroom of the tailors shop, you and Merlin stood side by side in front of the screen, with Eggsy, Roxy and Arthur sat in front of you at the table.
Champagne had been poured and drank, and Harry’s beaming face at his oldest friend’s newfound love was something you’d never seen before.
Roxy’s reaction to the news that you and Merlin had officially come to the realisation of each other’s feelings was nothing short of spectacular, so much so that Merlin and Eggsy came running into the staff lounge when they heard Roxy’s bloodcurdling screams. Thinking she’d been shot or injured or something of the like, but laughing in relief when they saw you squeezed into a hug, with Merlin having to pry you away so you could breathe.
‘Well, all i have to say is, finally.’ Harry spoke, with the same tone as he would announce a new Kingsman or as one would announce a couple husband and wife, knowing that the other Kingsman felt exactly the same way.
You and Merlin never took off the fake rings you wore on that one fateful mission, and sometimes Merlin would sit and spin his ring around his finger when nobody was looking, wondering how early was too early to exchange it for a real wedding band, and to treat you to a real engagement ring.
Much of life at Kingsman hadn’t changed despite the revelation. You and Merlin were fiercely professional, perhaps even moreso than before your relationship, but the keen eye (Roxy, mainly) could often observe Merlin’s hand on your knee at your adjoined desk, or a swift kiss on the cheek or forehead from Merlin when he was called away to Harry’s office. Eggsy mainly used you as a bargaining chip when he was in trouble for stealing and/or destroying Merlin’s equipment, warning him he’d tell Gawain that Merlin had been shouting at him; unfortunately this never worked for Eggsy, you trusted Merlin deeply and knew how careful he was with his equipment. Eggsy never got away with it.
The new recruits always loved teasing their stoic instructor when they noticed Agent Gawain hanging around or helping Merlin with tasks, noticing the gentle way he spoke to you, and the intimate closeness they could sense. Merlin’s height and intelligence was enough to scare the sense back into most straying recruits, and you adored watching him assert his quiet authority every time the Kingsman needed a new agent.
Mainly though, you loved Merlin. And he loved you. Being close to one another and finally being able to express the feelings you’d both kept so secret and suppressed was liberating. You basically lived at Merlin’s central London flat. After all, it had a balcony, and he had an excellent tea selection which he’d allow you to choose from before bed, cuddling in front of the fireplace in his period bedroom as he fought off sleep, engulfed by his work. Seeing Merlin in a domestic setting was something you’d looked forward to the most, and it had not disappointed, peppering you with kisses before bed and waking you up with breakfast and a hot bath, heading to Savile Row together most mornings.
