Simon Riley's smoking sets off an asthma attack on his girlfriend and he feels guilty (and she suffocates a bit) | Words: 1.5k-1.6k
They barely registered her first cough.
With a hand on her thigh and a cig in the other, she honestly didn't know how Simon managed to drive.
Was he driving a bit poorly? Sure, but that was true even when the man had both of his hands on the wheel.
She didn't dwell much on those thoughts, however, instead enjoying how carefree he looked after only three days back from deployment.
On the night he arrived, Simon looked dead on his feet, with bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath his eyes, still wearing his skull balaclava, his shoulders heavier than usual, and every movement seemed to take an effort.
Now, after only three nights of good sleep, with her hugging him tight at night on their bed, showering him with soft kisses on his cheeks, neck and chest while he fell asleep, and doing casual, normal life activities, nothing like what he dealt during his operations, Simon seemed almost like a different man.
As he gave a light squeeze on her thigh, she grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips and kissed. At this point, she believed she was addicted to kissing this man. God, how she missed him during those past weeks.
Which should set off alarm bells in her head since they've been dating for only a little more than a year by now, but she felt attached to the man in ways she never experienced before in her life.
She kissed his hand three more times before putting it back on her thigh. Strangely, the action of repeatedly kissing his hand made her short of breath.
He loved the kisses, she knew it. Even without seeing his face, with the black hoodie and the black surgical mask right under his mouth â so he could smoke â she noticed how he sighed quietly with each kiss and how his head dropped on the headrest.
She kept staring at her boyfriend, her head turning towards him as a tightness began to creep into her chest, and, with a sinking feeling, she recognized it. The cough, the shortness of breath, the chest tightness. Fuck, her asthma.
Cig's smoke had triggered it in the past, but it had been a while, her condition was under control for years now and she never had an attack next to Simon before.
But she noticed he was smoking more on this leave. She found him a couple times smoking on her balcony, and when they went out for breakfast or lunch he always seemed to have a cig in his hand. And maybe it was too much for her fucked up lungs.
She coughed again, harder this time, and Simon turned to her.
"You alright?"
She turned her head towards the passenger-side window and rolled the glass down manually, since only his window was down at the moment.
As she coughed again, Simon watched her hand coming to press on her chest, breathing turning rapid and labored. He could not see her features as she was facing now the open window.
"Y/N?" Simon could hear the growing concern in his own voice.
"Simon, I think-" she gasped for air, her voice thin, strained â his stomach dropped "I need my inhaler."
Then the sound hit him. A faint wheeze.
Fuck.
She mentioned once being asthmatic, but never showed any symptoms.
The dots on his head connected â the cig on his hand suddenly heavy and he became hyper aware of all the smoke surrounding them.
Bloody hell, the fuck did I do?
The cig went out the window in a sec and, on the next, he was parking the car into a parking spot he was pretty sure didn't actually exist.
"Fuck. Hang on, luv."
She never displayed any symptoms, she never complained about the cigs, never asked him to stop, but he knew. She told him, early on their relationship, that she was asthmatic and he paid no attention whatsoever to the information.
You stupid bastard.
"The inhaler. Where is it?"
She continued to cough, her face turning red and redder at the moment, and just pointed with her thumb at the back seats.
Her bag.
Simon hurriedly grabbed the bag, searching for the inhaler.
Fuck, did she carry their entire apartment on that bag??
"Fuck, fuck." He muttered under his breath.
"Simon." His girl wheezed.
"I know, luv, fuck, i know, in a moment..." Simon felt his heart hammering in his throat. He didn't remember the last time he panicked this way. A gun on his head, a bomb about to explode close to him, being surrounded by enemies â none of those things made Simon half as tachycardic as he felt at that moment, looking for that bloody inhaler as he heard her rapid breathing at his side.
Calm down, you bastard, don't you dare to panic right now.
"Here." Finding the inhaler, he didn't waste any second in bringing it to her lips.
She took two puffs and he kept scanning her eyes, wide and teary, closely listening to her breath, looking desperately for the smallest signs of improvement.
"It's alright, just keep breathing, slow breaths, with me, aye, just like that."
But the smoke on the car was still too much, Simon noticed, being hyperaware now of how it infested the air around them.
"C'mon, let's take you out of here now." Simon exited the car in half a second and, in another one, he was opening her door and taking her out of there, getting them closer to some trees nearby.
Holding both her arms with his hands, the man observed as her breaths slowed down.
"It's getting better, Si." Her voice was still weaker than normal, but thankfully missing the wheezing.
"Good, but don' try to talk, just breathe for me." His thumbs went up and down on her arms as he watched her face with the entire force of his focus.
The rest of the world faded into the background while Simon's focus remained solely on her, monitoring the way her breathing was slowing down, the panic gradually left her eyes and each breath came easier than the last.
After one or two minutes, she finally looked like herself again. Her eyes focused on his once more and she reached for the hand that was still holding her arm, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"I'm alright, babe."
"You weren't."
"Simon-"
"Don't." His tone was short, not opening room for debate, as he engulfed her with his arms, dropping a kiss at her forehead and hugging her tight.
"Should we go to the hospital?" She could still hear the worry on his voice.
"No, Simon, I'm fine now, really."
Her voice did sound normal, he thought to himself.
Y/N slipped out of his arms.
"I think we should just avoid smoking next to me that I will be fine." She said in a soft and careful voice, like she was trying not to touch a sore spot.
Simon huffed.
"I'm never touchin' that shit again." His voice was grumpy, making her laugh a bit.
"Well, that sounds extreme, you're always with a cig on your hand these days, babe."
Yeah, he was, wasn't him? Even though his girl was asthmatic, he kept smoking that fucking thing up and down without giving a second thought. Idiot.
But he was done with it.
"Not as extreme as you dying because you couldn't breathe." Now, she laughed out loud.
"I wouldn't go that far. I'm fine, I always have my inhaler with me and it always works. There's nothing to worry about."
Simon didn't see it that way.
"Now let's go back to the car." She said, noticing how his eyes widened a little at that.
"You stay here, I go first to see if the smoke's still in there." His hands went up to her shoulders, firm, as to keep her there.
In the end, Simon made them wait some good fifteen minutes outside the car, with all windows rolled down, until every trace of smoke was gone. In his mind, he was already planning to buy some nicotine patches and gums.
She couldn't help but notice how he kept looking at her with wondering eyes, as if monitoring her.
Once they were back in the vehicle, on their way to their apartment, Y/N said with a light smile:
"Guess this is one way to get you to quit smoking."
Simon looked into her eyes, thinking how red, teary and panicked they looked not even half an hour ago.
"Bit of an expensive lesson."
In the stuffy, musty barrack where they were all having some tasteless ration packs for dinner, Price handed Ghost a cigar, but the man quickly dismissed his captain with a short shake of his head.
"Quit it."
The three men looked at him, surprised.
Price just retrieved his hand, with a small grin on his bearded face.
"Good for you, mate." That was Gaz. "So how's that going?"
Ghost made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat.
"Like fuckin hell." Gaz snorted.
Soap was merely staring at him, and Ghost could see engines turning inside his head. After a beat, something knowingly flashed across his eyes, realization settling in.
black smoke seeped through the oven and the machine beeped dramatically. You rushed over to switch it off, coughing as the smoke weaved through your lungs.
The chicken was ruined, making you stare at it for a minute.
Completely burnt.
You almost laughed, as the smoke still curled lazily toward the ceiling.
Almost.
Because after everything that had gone wrong tonight, the blackened chicken felt less like a disaster and more like an insult.
The candles had melted hours ago. The flowers were beginning to droop. The fancy dress you'd put on at six o'clock had been exchanged for sweatpants sometime around nine.
And Simon still wasn't home.
No text, no call, nothing. As if he had totally forgotten about you.
You checked your phone again, 11:47 PM. " where are you simon..." you mumbled to yourself.
An unsettling ache settled in your chest and.....disappointment. Not because he late, not because he'd missed dinner but because the day meant something to you.
And now it was over.
You sank into one of the dining room chairs, staring at the untouched plates sitting across the room. Waiting, just like the plates were.
A lump formed in your throat. You grabbed a napkin and scribbled a note.
Three words.
Maybe next year.
You left it beside his plate and went to bed, still clutching your phone in one hand. just in case.
Simon got home at 3:16 in the morning. His shoulders slumped with something more than tiredness. his stomach sank the moment he entered the apartment.
The mission had gone sideways. Communication had gone down. His phone had died. All of them excuses.
Because none of them changed the fact that he'd missed it, again.
Simon made his way to kitchen but stopped right in his tracks. he stared at the set dining table, the candles which were now reduced pools of wax, the faint smell of something burnt and a note.
"Christ", he whispered to himself. Something twisted painfully in his chest as he picked up the note.
Read it once.
Then again.
Maybe next year.
The disappointment hurt worse than he could imagine. He let you down, and he hated himself for that.
Simon lowered himself into the chair opposite the empty one. The chair that should've been his. The chair you'd probably stared at all evening.
Waiting.
The realization made him feel sick as his eyes drifted toward the kitchen. The burnt food, the dishes, the effort. Every little detail you'd spent hours preparing.
For him. And he'd never shown up.
A sharp ache settled behind his ribs, the familiar kind. Guilt.
You blinked awake as bedroom door creaked. For a moment you thought you'd imagined the sound. Then you saw simon standing awkwardly in the doorway, still wearing his gear and looking exhausted and guilty.
Relief hit first, at least he was home. Then the anger followed, as heat crept up against the back of your neck. You turned away, trying to hide the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes and pulled the blanket higher.
"I'm sorry.", Simon whispered, sounding truly sincere. And you hated that cause it made staying angry so much more harder.
"Phone died."
"Mission got extended."
"I tried.", he said finally ,voice breaking slightly.
Your throat tightened. "Do you know how many times I checked my phone tonight?", you accused him, on the brink of breaking down.
Simon didn't answer. Probably because he knew the answer didn't matter.
Eventually you sat up and the sight of him nearly stole the rest of your anger.
He looked exhausted, bruised and worn down. my poor baby. But that wasn't fair cause you were allowed to hurt too.
"I waited." ,you whispered as your voice cracked.
"I kept thinking you'd call."
"I kept making excuses for you.", you sighed.
"I know.", simon whispered.
You finally broke down, damn tears. "I just wanted one night.", you sobbed looking absolutely heart broken. Cause you were.
Simon looked like you'd hit him ,his throat bobbing up and down. Then he approached you, slowly.
Then Simon reached into one of his pockets and pulled something out with his shaky hands.
It was a small, battered envelope.
"What is that?", you sniffled, wiping your tears.
His eyes stayed fixed on it.
"The card.", he whispered.
"What card?"
"The anniversary card."
You frowned as you looked at the tattered piece of folded paper.
Simon gave a weak laugh. "I've been carrying it around for two weeks....just didn't have it in me love. I'm not as strong you think i am."
Your chest tightened as he handed it over.
The envelope was bent, creased and worn from being shoved into gear and pockets. Inside was a handwritten message, three pages long.
His arms came around to hold you in the tightest embrace ever. As if he was afraid his mistake would cost him you.
You stared at the letter and then back at him.
"You wrote three pages?", you looked at him with teary eyes.
His ears turned slightly red, "It's not the point."
A laugh escaped through your tears. Oh how you loved him.
The corner of Simon's mouth twitched at the tiny success. Then he reached over and brushed away a tear, his thumb lingered.
"I know I missed dinner.", The humour disappeared.
"And I know I ruined tonight."
"But if I get another chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
You stared because that sounded suspiciously close to a promise and Simon Riley didn't make promises lightly.
Eventually you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his shoulder.
"i love you", he whispered as he tilted your face up and kissed away your tears.
you always knew this day would comeâwhen someone would finally come looking for you. (ghost x f!reader, 18+, cw graphic violence)
he's always reminding you about consequences. there are deliberate choices that you make that set off chain reactions, whether or not you intended to.
one of your choices was choosing simon riley. terrible, horrifying, brute simon riley, who on paper was supposed to be dead, but in reality was still on the SAS payroll.
there were a lot of reasons not to let simon into your life. there were a lot of reasons to let him go.
he never answers his phoneâthe relic that it is. he comes and goes as the job demands; sometimes he's home for supper when he says, and sometimes you don't see him until three weeks too late. his entire family is dead because of the same job he leaves for, and he's never let you see his face.
yeah. definitely reasons to walk away; but there were too many other reasons to stay.
"oiâeyes 'ere, love."
your lashes flutter when his gloved fingers hit under your chin, angling your face up. he kisses you, masked lips pressing against your mouth, and you sigh as he runs his other hand down the back of your head, clutching the nape of your neck.
"come back soon," you whisper. "i-i...i know you can't promiseâ"
"'s olright," he murmurs. "heart's beatin' out of y'r chest, baby." he runs his nose along yours, shaking his head. "won't be long. this one's recon, nothin' else."
you close your eyes, reaching for his jacket. you clutch the front of it, standing on your toes, and he chuckles lowly. your mouth falls open when his hands cup you under your thighs, squeezing your ass as he drags you even closer and breathes out slowly.
"can you say it?" you ask.
"even though you know it?"
"just say it, simon."
"mmm." he grips your jaw tight with one hand, and it forces your eyes open. you look at him, trying not to smile, and you feel warmth spread in your belly when you see his eyes crinkle, indicating his own smile. "i love you."
you can't stop the giggle that leaves you. it feels so stupid sometimes, to feel this way. you never understood the metaphor of butterflies in your stomach, but fuck, what else could it be? how else do you describe it?
it's quiet when he's away. it's nothing but monotonous chores and waiting for him to come home. you go to work, you come home, and then you try to distract yourself from doing anything except think about simon.
simon in the field. simon in hostile territory. simon having to fire that gun. it follows you into your nightmares, and you think about it when you close your eyes.
it's why you can't sleep. it's why you hear footsteps on the ground floor of your house, and it's why you're awake when you know someone is here.
your hand reaches for the knife simon keeps under his side of the mattress. you slide out of bed, slipping your socks on, and you use them to keep your steps quiet as you go to hide by the doorway to your bedroom.
you peek around the edge, looking over the railing towards downstairs. you can't see much from this angle, but you do see a shadow pass by, and you know just from the shadow of it that it isn't simon.
you hug the wall again, closing your eyes. you squeeze the hilt of the blade in your hand tight, taking a deep breath.
keep your head on. you know what to do.
"negative. nothing downstairs. heading up-top."
you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. you hear a step creak, and you know that he's halfway up the stairs now. american accent. you grit your teeth, trying to commit all the little details to memory.
the clock reads 3 in the morning. there's a full moon tonight. it's cool outside. there's someone in your houseâ
you see the toe of his boot just before he comes into the bedroom. you wait until his gun has made it past the doorway before you make your move.
incapacitate. incapacitate. incapacitate.
you go for the thigh first. you swipe with all of your weight, catching him off-guard. you go for the warm spots that his gear doesn't protect, and you cut deep on his inner thigh. he stumbles forward, screaming, and you use his moment of weakness and shove the blade right up into his armpit. the gun skids across the floor as he screams again in agony, and you shove him hard into the dresser behind him before you run.
"you fucking bitch! i'm gonna kill you!"
not before i kill you.
you make your way downstairs, skipping the creaky step before making your way into the den. you pat a hand under the coffee table, mentally giving your assassin boyfriend a big, wet kiss when you find a gun secured to the underside. you slide it out of its holster, checking the chamber, where you see one loaded in already. you switch the safety off, the weight of it heavy, and you hurry to duck around a corner as you hear him limp downstairs.
"i'm gonna find you, you fucking cunt. i'm gonna find you and fucking bury you!"
you keep circling behind the walls as he makes his way further into the living room. he's stalking, swinging his gun around sloppily as he kicks the couch and flips chairs looking for you.
"i'm gonna make sure he sees what i do to you. he's gonna pay!"
when you see him sway on his feet, you know you have the upper hand.
you circle back into the kitchen, ducking to use the counters as cover. you tuck the gun under the sink before reaching for the skillet sitting there. stainless steel; the weight feels good as you hold it in front of you, and you creep to where he still is checking under the dining table.
he never hears you coming. he turns around for a split second, but you're already swinging.
"fucking bitchâ"
something cracks under the pressure as he crumples to the floor. you kick the gun out of his way, and you lick over your teeth as you inspect the damage. the lip of the pan caught the edge of his mouth, and a couple of his teeth lay on the floor behind him. he coughs, blood splattering, and you drop the pan as you go for the duck tape in one of the kitchen drawers.
it takes a considerable amount of effort to hoist him up onto a dining chair. he's all bulk and gear, but you manage to sit him there, and you carefully tape each wrist and leg to the chair before securing him with zip-ties and spare rope. you use the remaining bit of rope to fasten it around his mouth, not even stopping when he howls from the broken teeth he's still spitting out.
you go for the bookshelf in the living room, keeping an eye on him the entire time. you feel for the right book, pulling it off the shelf before reaching for the satellite phone hidden inside.
you dial the only number on it.
it only rings a few times before you hear someone pick up on the other line.
"this is price."
you swallow hard, toes curling as your hands tremble just a little.
"uhmâ" you close your eyes for a second as you rack your brain. "we're geronimo."
the other line is quiet for a few moments before you hear a deep sigh.
"i read you, love. how many?"
you squeeze the phone to your ear, sniffling.
"just one. i think."
"you think?"
"just...just one."
you hear some interference, and then he grunts.
"stay low. stay quiet."
"waitâ" your voice shakes. "he...he knew. he knew who was supposed to be here."
"mmm," price curses under his breath. "roger tha'. you stay put. don't answer the door for anyone, and don't leave. do not open the bloody door unless i call this phone, do you read me?"
"y-yes."
you flinch as the phone call gets cut. you wobble on shaky legs as you take a seat on the couch. your eyes are wet and watery as you keep staring at the back of the man's head, not willing to look away in fear that he'll get loose.
you wait hours. you're still in your pajamas; just a big shirt to sleep in and fuzzy socks, your hair in all directions and on the cusp of totally freaking out as you guard the intruder to your house. he can't talk; he tried for awhile, screaming and spitting over the rope, but he gave up after awhile, and now he sits with his head slumped over and his chin to his chest.
when the satellite phone rings, you count to three before answering it. the sun is high now; it must be close to noon.
"hello?"
"open the door, baby."
as soon as he crosses the threshold, you're in his arms. forearm hooked around the small of your back, masked face buried in your neck as he hoists you up onto your toes and hugs you to his chest. you bite back a sob as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him back tight as you let all of the tension melt off your body.
all the fear. all the worry. all the guiltâhe takes it all.
"i...i-i did what you said, simon, iâ"
"did so well, baby," simon mutters. "y'r perfect. you 'ear tha'? perfect."
he pulls away, cupping both of your cheeks and making you look at him. you sniffle, letting some tears fall finally, and he catches them on his gloved thumbs and brushes them away.
"oi," simon shakes his head. "i'm proud o' you. y'r mine, yeah? oll mine."
you nod, stepping forward, and he wraps and arm around your shoulders as you bury your face in his chest. you cling to him, digging your nails in, and he stands up straight before opening the door wider.
three men file into your home. you've never met any of them, but you recognize the mohawked one from a picture simon showed you once. when the three of them make it into the kitchen, you hear a low whistle and a few curses.
"bleedin' christ," one laughs. "ye look like right shite!"
you're holding simon's hand when you follow him into the kitchen. simon sighs, narrowing his eyes as he gets a good look at your trophy. he's bleeding in your kitchen, eyes watery as he looks around the room. he's terrified; he doesn't try to fight, and he averts his gaze as quickly as he looked up.
"bloody hell," simon mutters.
the one in the beanie is definitely in charge. he looks much older, a few greys sprinkled throughout his hair, and when he speaks, you recognize his voice.
"this your work, simon?" he asks, nodding towards where you stand. you squeeze simon's hand, and he squeezes back.
"it's mine," you say.
"is that right?" he raises a brow. "simon didn't teach you how to subdue a bloody target this way, is that it?"
"well, not exactly," you hide a little behind simon's arm. "i took some...creative liberties."
"i can see that."
simon ushers you upstairs, kissing the back of your head through the mask as he watches you climb them. he gave you the go-ahead to start packing your things, and you just nodded and made your way up. simon lingers at the bottom of the steps as gaz sticks a bag over the guy's head.
"price," simon says lowly, and his captain turns his head to look at him.
"got somethin' to say?"
simon looks back to where you just disappeared into the bedroom.
"do wot you will with the bloke." simon's grip on the railing nearly splits the wood. "but you leave the last of 'im to me."
Where the reader gets a small tattoo inspired by Ghost and doesn't know how to tell him | Words: 1.9k-2k
He wouldn't dare to verbalize it to anyone, but he was as excited as he, Simon 'Ghost' Riley, was capable of being.
After eight weeks, he would see her again.
Although they were both SAS operators, they rarely served together, often being assigned to different units and task forces.
This time, she deployed and returned first, while he deployed later and had only just arrived, resulting in eight weeks not only without seeing one another, but with no contact whatsoever, since they had to be off the grid during their respective operations, unable to text or call each other â not that they called or text each other much on their day by day lives.
Coming back to the base and accessing his personal phone, Simon saw she had left a message, three weeks prior, letting him know where she would be staying. And it happened to be the base he had come to.
After a quick shower and no rest, not even going to the infirmary first (there wasn't any injure on his body right now that was serious enough to justify not seeing her as soon as he could), he hurried to her room, keeping his steps and overall posture slow and casual, not to draw any attention.
Her unit quarters were blissfully empty, no sign of her colleagues, as Simon swiftly made way to her door and knocked twice.
"Y/N?"
He heard steps and, in mere seconds, her door opened and he got inside the room.
Her bright smile while looking at him made Simon's chest painfully tighten, which he observed and did not appreciate.
"Simon." Her voice was soft and he could hear her smile in its tone. When he had become Simon to her, instead of Ghost, he did not remember.
Before any of them could say something else, Simon removed his balaclava, put it on the empty television table next to him, walked towards her in large steps, cradled her face in his hands and pressed their lips together, wasting no time in invading her mouth with his tongue. Their usual conversation could wait â him feeling her taste again, being inside of her again, couldn't.
Her hands made a quick path from his chest, to his shoulders, to his hair, grabbing and pulling it with enough force to hurt just a little, and to lift all the small hairs on his nape.
Her body seemed to melt on his, and her lips merging with his, her tongue fighting against his own.
God, he missed her taste. More than he should have. He wouldn't admit it, he barely admitted it to himself, but he missed this, holding her in his arms, having her mouth on his, more than anything, and it scared the shit out of him. He was profoundly fucked and he knew it. He had been fucked since whatever this was started over a year ago but it seemed to be getting progressively worse over the past few months. He shouldn't miss her as much as he did every day they were apart.
They had known each other for years now, Simon had admired her strength, her abilities, her work ethic for a long while, and, in the few missions they served on the same unit, they worked pretty well together. They were good colleagues and he liked her, liked serving with her. Their prolonged silences felt natural, their banter and conversations were easy.
Whatever this was started after a specially draining operation, one that had them staring at each other's eyes in a way that felt heavy and, at times, hungry, something unusual to their previous few missions together.
And, surely, it started as a mistake, as something that should never even have been considered, but as a way to unload all the stress, the weight of their line of work. Not as something more, as a... relationship.
But each time they slept together, each time they talked, for hours, after fucking, it felt more and more like it meant something.
As their mouths parted, she started to trace his jaw and neck with open mouth, wet kisses, and Simon could swear he felt each and every one down to his groin.
"Fuck..."
He dropped his hands to the hem of her long-sleeved shirt and started to lift it, exposing her stomach, while her mouth stayed connected to his neck, kissing, biting and sucking.
When the shirt was about to pass her breasts, Y/N suddenly froze, her body tensing up and her lips leaving his skin.
"Y/N?"
She took a step back and removed his hands from her shirt altogether.
"Simon, wait." Her eyes met his for barely a second before diverting her gaze. Her jaw was locked up, her shoulders were tense. She looked... embarrassed? Guilty? He wasn't sure.
A chill ran down his spine as he got a bad feeling about this.
"What is it? Are you alright?"
"No. Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I just... need to tell you something."
He felt himself frown. Of course she needed to tell him something. And nobody ever said that to announce good news.
"Ok."
Her eyes met his, again, and immediately looked away, again, but no words left her mouth as he waited, growing worried.
"Did anything happen during your op? Are you hurt?"
"What? No, I'm not. It's not about the mission, or work related. It is... Shit." Shit?
Not work related...
"Did something happen with your family? Outside? Or-"
"No, no. It's nothing like that, Simon, just let me speak." He closed his mouth and waited, now, besides worried, growing impatient.
He tried to analyze her posture and expressions. She didn't look hurt or scared. She look guilty, definitely guilty. Which eliminated some options and created others. Something unpleasant settled on the bottom of his stomach.
She took some more seconds before speaking again.
"I had a weekend off and left the base. To drink with some colleagues." She got silent again and looked in his eyes.
"Ok." He said, as in 'go on'.
"And I... did something stupid. While drunk."
Silence.
Yeah, that reduced the possibilities to approximately a few hundreds.
Simon forced his expression to remain untouched and his breath to stay steady as the possibilities crossed his mind, one scenario worse than the previous one, and he suddenly missed how nice her lips felt on his two minutes ago.
"And I'm not sure how to tell you." Her voice was unsteady. Y/N looked unsure, nervous, quite uncharacteristic for her.
"Right."
Again, no words.
'God, just tell me", he wanted to bark, but Simon tried to force a calmness he did not feel onto his head.
"Just... promise not to get mad."
His body went still as a rock, and he did not answer, just stared at her. The 'promise not to get mad' did not help. In fact, it worsened everything considerably.
"Simon? Can you promise me that?"
"No."
"Simon!" Her breath turned labored, chest rising and falling more rapidly.
"No, I can't promise that. It depends on what you did."
Fuck, now the scenarios on his mind were the worst possible. What could someone do while drunk that would make their partner mad?
Although... was Simon her partner? They never talked about this before.
"I don't like that look, Simon."
"What look?" He realized his voice was getting lower every time he opened his mouth.
'He looks like a stone, per usual' she thought, but she could definitely...
"I can see in your eyes that you're already irritated."
"I'm not. But that's not how you start a conversation if you want someone calm." He sighed. The silence that followed only lasted a couple seconds, but felt much longer.
"I'm sorry, I just don't want you to get mad at me."
Was he ever mad at her before? He didn't think so, therefore, he could only assume something pretty bad was going to come out of her mouth.
He didn't say anything, though, just waited.
"Ok. I'm just going to show you." Show? "You're going to think its stupid." He almost said that, at this point, stupid would actually be great.
She took a deep breath and he held his, waiting, expecting the worse. Her hands went to her left sleeve (left sleeve?) she lifted it and...
There was something in her arm, on the top of her forearm, down her elbow.
It was a...
A small ghost drawing, those floating sheets one, holding on a leash a even smaller ghost dog, with dropped ears and a little smile.
Oh.
"That's it?" Relief washed over him.
"That's it? What do you mean 'that's it'?"
"This is what you've been panicking about?"
"Simon!" She looked exasperated.
"I thought you'd done something actually stupid."
Silence. They looked each other in the eyes. He looks at the tattoo again, and back at her.
"I mean, you did."
"Simon!" She slapped him in the chest, with no real strength in it.
He suddenly felt in a good mood again, in a great mood.
"Wait, let me see it." He grabbed her arm to look closely at it.
At the small ghost with the small ghost dog.
"Am I the ghost?"
"No. You're the dog." A huff left his mouth. And she didn't look as mad anymore as she watched the almost-smile on his face.
"Who's the ghost?"
"Me, I'm the ghost, Simon."
"So why are you holding me in a leash?"
She pressed her lips tight together to suppress a laugh.
"It looks like I'm being taken on a walk."
"Well... you are."
He brought his face closer to her arm, to the tattoo.
"They look like marshmallows. I look like a marshmallow."
"A tactical marshmallow."
Simon gave a little "hm" while seemingly analyzing the tattoo.
"At least the dog looks dangerous." He said.
She was watching him, her eyes glued on his features.
"Did you... did you like it?"
"It's not bad."
"Simon!"
"I said it's not bad."
"That's not a compliment!"
The tattoo was ridiculous. Objectively ridiculous.
He loved it. Fuck. He couldn't take his eyes off it, it made his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest.
"Simon."Â She called him.
He looked at her.
"Did you look... relieved, when you saw the tattoo?" Moments ago she could feel the irritation emanating from him, and, in an instant, all the tension left his body, his mood was great, he seemed happy, even.
'Shit', Simon thought as he stilled. He seemed at a loss for words. Well, he didn't have many words usually, but as a choice. Now, he looked like he didn't know what to say.
"Simon?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, you looked nervous."
"And?"
Fuck, she looked suspicious, her eyes squinting.
He looked at the ghost. At the ghost dog. At her. And, right now, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her and take her thoughts out of wherever they were.
So, he did exactly that and closed their lips together.
Y/N only seemed hesitant for a second before melting on his arms.
Her left arm, the one with the stupid â beautiful â tattoo, went behind his back.
And Simon knew he definitely shouldn't be feeling this much happiness.
Months later:
For the first time, Simon was staying at her house, that was definitely better than his. Both of them had days off and decided to spend that time together.
It had been four days, now, and it almost felt like he was a normal person, in an actual relationship (they still hadn't defined anything about it), living a normal life.
And he didn't hate it.
He was watching football on the sofa, sipping a glass of whiskey, when he heard her voice from the kitchen.
"Babe!"
Babe, that was new.
"Where are my keys?"
"I don't know." And because he couldn't keep his mouth shut with her "Maybe the ghost dog ate them."
"Simon!"
> hii, never posted here before, only on ao3, so i had a hard time editing this, hopefully there aren't problems or mistakes
can someone pls pls pls write about the bennet sisters and the bennet mother finding out that mary from the other bennet sister is going to get married? pls đ
synopsis: jack abbot is obsessed with you and he's going to make it everybody else's problem
- or -
5 moments the night shift (and co) observes between you and jack + the 1 they don't
contains: bsf night shift crew!! dana & the pittlings cameo, he fell first AND he fell harder, age gap (reader is in her 20's), suggestive at times, everyone calls reader sweets, no use of y/n, jack is probably ooc but i refuse to believe that man does not yearn deeply and he is written so, and most importantly: NIGHT SHIFT SUPREMACY
note: first fic for the pitt because i think i might have actually read my way through every fic on here and i crave more pls be nice to me :') this started off as a completely different fic and then it became this instead so there's a half written part 2 (and a part 3 âŚ) if anyone really wants it. yes i did write this instead of the giant piles of actual work i have to do i hope you enjoy <3
dividers by @uzmacchiato <3
1. The Crush
Itâs been exactly one week since you joined the night shift. Six days, twenty three hours, and thirty one minutes technically speaking but who was counting.Â
In that time youâd made yourself indispensable. You were one of the most competent nurses to ever walk through the doors of the PTMC. You were practically hard wired to thrive in the absolute chaos of the night. And, best of all, youâd become Shenâs caffeine addicted partner in crime. Five out of your last seven days youâd dragged him into a pre-shift coffee run and he always complied with your demands.Â
The night shift wasnât easy for just anyone to take to. It was hard and yet here you were, doing it all flawlessly. And Jack couldnât look away. Not that heâd ever want to.Â
Itâd taken no time at all, about five hours into your first shift, for him to become borderline obsessed. All it took was one conversation in the ambulance bay just after midnight. A joke cracked under the light of the full moon, one that broke through the stern expression heâd had on with no hesitation at all, for Jack to want to know every single little detail that made up who you were.Â
In a normal way of course.Â
Now here he was. Watching. Eyes following you as you walked into the ED beside Shen, both of you carrying trays piled high with various hot and iced drinks. He canât imagine how much even one of those things cost.Â
Within moments most of the drinks are gone, taken by Ellis and Lena and whoever else had placed their order with the two of you the night before. Jack, for just a moment, regrets not having done so. Not that he even likes the sugary sweet monstrosities you always chug your way through before midnight, always somehow armed with another one to get you through your second half of the night.Â
Heâd pretend though. Especially if it meant youâd stop and smile at him and maybe even talk to him for just a couple seconds about something not medicine related before diving into the mayhem.Â
âHey!â Your voice isnât a hallucination, Jack determines when he sees you walking up to him with a smile.Â
He tries not to look too surprised. Or flustered. Or excited. âHi.â
Nailed it.
âI brought you something.â
Jack thinks he might melt into the floor.Â
You hold out a drink, one clearly meant for him. Itâs green on top and pink on bottom with strawberry slices floating above the ice.Â
âYou didnât have to.â He takes it from you and relishes in the brief moment that his hand touches yours. You need to calm down, he thinks to himself.Â
âI know, I wanted to. Itâs on me.â You say it so easily and Jack thinks now might be a good time to excuse himself and go jump off the roof because he can feel his whole body warming in a way it shouldnât be at the sentiment.Â
Youâd thought of him. Part of him wonders how long youâd been doing that for and if it was for as long as heâd been thinking of you. Day and night. Hour after hour. In ways he definitely shouldnât be.
âI just figured you could use a little caffeine that wasnât the stale black coffee in the break room for once,â You shrug like itâs nothing but it means everything to him. âAs a certified drink specialist I thought you might like this one. Shen said I was crazy for picking it but I spent every minute I was awake looking through the cafe's menu debating and I think I finally narrowed down something to live up to your incredibly high standards.â
Jack had stopped listening as soon as you looked up at him. Wide eyed and a little nervous but with that sweet smile he was maybe just a little bit obsessed with already. âWhat is it?âÂ
Frankly, he didnât really care. Heâd love it no matter what because youâd been the one to hand it to him. Youâd put effort into finding something you thought heâd like and that was more than enough for him.
âAn iced strawberry oat milk matcha. Itâs not too sweet but definitely a step up from a black coffee. I,â You stop yourself for a second, hesitating a little. One look from him though, one that practically begged you to continue, and you kept going. âI see the face you make when you drink it even when itâs fresh so I thought weâd switch it up a little.â
Youâd noticed him. He was one more observation away from imploding. He swirled the drink around to distract himself from the fact and then took a huge gulp.Â
âHoly shit,â His eyes went wide as he took a second to savor the drink. It was good. Really good. He had no clue how youâd figured him out so perfectly. Part of him was hopeful enough to think that you just knew him. Saw him. He took another sip.Â
âYou like it?â You were beaming at him now, satisfied and proud of yourself.Â
He couldnât be more obsessed with you if he tried. He was tempted to propose marriage right then and there. Instead all he said was, âThis is phenomenal.âÂ
Jack couldnât help himself. He looked directly at you and hoped that maybe these abilities of yours to read him perfectly well extended past the drinks and youâd be able to look into his head to see what he really wanted to say. Youâre phenomenal. I like you. Probably more than is healthy. Never leave me, actually.
âOh youâre kidding,â Jack had almost forgotten where he was until Shen walked over, handing you a half drunk iced coffee along with a fresh one for later, just like usual. âHe liked it?âÂ
âJust like I said,â You held up your hand for a high five, which Shen gave you despite dropping his head and groaning. âWhich means youâre buying for me tomorrow.â
Jack rolled his eyes at the sight of the two of you. His smile pushed through the serious facade he was trying to put on. Nothing could ruin his mood right now he was positive of it.
âIs it that surprising?â Jack held his drink a little tighter and held back the urge to take another sip of it. He was seriously already starting to understand your guys' shared obsession with always having some kind of drink on you.
âNo, itâs just,â Shen paused for a moment and it hit him all at once. Abbot was in a good mood. And all itâd taken was a personal delivery straight from you. He was wearing a smile, a genuine one. Best of all, his eyes kept straying back to you. Like you were some kind of magnet pulling him in against his will. Oh yeah, heâs obsessed. âIâm glad you found something you like.â
Jack heard it. The tone. His eyes snapped back to Shen and narrowed the slightest bit. All he did in response was wink at him and take a sip of his first coffee of the night.Â
He could see right through him.
2. The Confession
It had been three days of this and every time Jack saw you he felt the question at the tip of his tongue. And every time something else came out instead. So here he was. Two weeks into your time here and he was obsessed with you. That much he could admit.Â
If he wasnât he wouldnât be lingering by the nurses desk, pretending to look at a stack of papers he was pretty sure were blank. Every few seconds he glances up to where you were deep in a conversation with Ellis and Walsh. The three of you had gotten yourself partnered on the same case and were taking advantage of the fact that your patient was doing perfectly after surgery to actually talk about something normal while you could since you found yourselves with a little downtime.
âYou donât have to hover, you know.â
Jack freezes.Â
He thinks he mightâve actually stopped breathing. He knows exactly what Lenaâs talking about though and heâs determined to lie his way through it.
âWhat?â
Okay, maybe not the best start. He doesnât look up from where heâs pretending to flip through whatever papers were in front of him. Definitely not eavesdropping.Â
âOh, please,â Lena rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair. âSheâs not gonna disappear into thin air. You can get work done and I promise sheâll be there after.â
âI donât know what you mean.â Jack betrays himself when he glances back over in your direction. He smiles to himself when he sees you laugh, a beaming grin on your face. When he looks back towards Lena sheâs already staring at him with her arms crossed.
âI think you just might be the world's worst liar,â Lena leans forward conspiratorially. Her voice drops when she asks, âSo when are you gonna ask her on a date instead of moping around?â
Jack freezes again, âWhat are you talking about?â
âSeriously?â She lets out a disbelieving laugh at his bad attempt at faking innocence. âYouâre worse than a kid with their first crush, itâs a miracle she hasnât noticed yet.â
Okay so maybe she had a point, Jack could admit that much. He remembers the first time heâd seen you here clearly. Heâd felt some kind of pull towards you the moment you entered the PTMC just over a year ago. Itâd been easy to ignore then, though. Youâd just graduated and had been doing an emergency medicine residency program under Dana during the day shift and it was only every now and then heâd be there at the same time too. Yet every time he did happen to work with you, even for a fleeting moment, it was like the entire place shifted a little bit.
Dana had even stopped him one time, so casually that he hadnât even questioned why she was calling him. âYou better watch yourself, Abbot. Thatâs my girl, best one to come through here in ages. Last thing she needs is you distracting her.â
Heâd scoffed at the statement at the time, claiming that it wasnât like that. It had been exactly like that, though. He knew that now. Youâd been easy to avoid when you were on day shift but now you were here all the time and he couldnât imagine not finding every reason he could to stick to your side.Â
âSheâs not one of yours, you know. Sheâs one of mine,â Lenaâs voice brings him out of it. Thereâs an I told you so look on her face that he rolls his eyes at. âIâm just saying, the paperwork will be a lot easier to fill out.â
âArenât you a romantic,â He knows he can trust Lena, though. If it was really a bad idea sheâd tell him so with zero hesitation. So finally, hesitantly, he says, âIâll think about it.â
***
Jack barely needed time to think about it. He had made his choice quickly and it was eating him up inside. It was just past 7 AM and he could hear the day shift and night shift looking for you both. His time with you was running out and fast. It was just the two of you alone in the room, your patient had just miraculously gotten a bed upstairs and youâd been there to ensure a smooth transition. Maybe that was his sign that youâd say yes.Â
He stops you before you can pull the curtain open to let them know the room was now open. He reaches for your hand, grabs your waist, and spins you around to look at him in a single swift move. âWhen can I see you again?âÂ
The question doesnât phase you.
âIn about twelve hours.â You answer him with a teasing smile, choosing to stay just a little bit too close to him instead of stepping back.Â
âYou know what I mean, honey.â
And then you look at him in a way thatâs new. Your smile turns less teasing and falls a bit. It makes you look a little more vulnerable. He watches your eyes flicker across his face and he knows youâre trying to see what heâs really made of. If he really means it. He wants to shout the truth to you in that moment. That he canât get enough of you.
âSay it,â Your voice comes out soft and he wonders briefly if you can read his mind. You step a little bit closer to him. âTell me what you really want from me.â
Jack is painfully aware of the voices and footsteps coming closer. Theyâll walk in any moment now, he knows it. He glances towards the door and when he looks back he can see you about to step away, thinking he wasnât going to tell you the truth. He blurts it out before you can.Â
âEverything.â He says it so easily that it makes your breath hitch a little bit, he can see it happen. âI want to take you on a real date again and then take you home with me because you will not believe how hard it is to sleep without you next to me. When I wake up I want to just lay there looking at you for a little bit wondering how the hell you agreed to all of that. And then I want to do that over and over again until you get sick of me.â
You donât say anything after his confession. A few seconds pass where you just let the words sink in and then, âOnly if your plan includes taking me to that cute little cafe down the street too.âÂ
âWhenever you want.â Jackâs never agreed to anything so fast in his life.
âRight answer,â You finally will yourself to step away and swing the curtain open. Before you walk away you look at him again and the teasing smile is back. âIâll meet you outside in a bit?âÂ
He walks towards you again and heâs really pushing it when he stands so close you can feel the heat of him. âOdds we can sneak out of here before they can stop us?âÂ
âAbbot!â Dana's voice.
You laugh at the way he groans as his head falls onto your shoulder briefly. âNot likely.â
3. The Kiss
Itâd only taken a month for everything the night shift knew about Jack to change. It had also been a month since youâd joined them. The two things had to be related. They just couldnât prove it yet.Â
âHey,â Ellis whispered as she practically ran to where Shen and Lena were deep in a conversation. There was an uneasy look in her eyes as she looked around, as if she was expecting someone to overhear what she was about to say. âIs he being weird?âÂ
They look towards where she had subtly nodded and found Jack. He was in an exam room laughing with a patient as he finished stitching him up. Laughing.Â
Night shift chief attending Dr. Jack Abbot was in a good mood. For the first time maybe ever, as far as they knew. At least publicly in a good mood. He was never like this at work, always opting for serious and stoic with his patients because he needed to be at a job like this.Â
But this was his third patient in a row now that he made easy conversation with. It was a lot more than pleasantries and small talk, it was real conversations. Questions about themselves and their lives and jokes traded back and forth. It was unsettling, frankly.Â
âThank you! I told you something was up with him,â Shen slams a hand down on the counter before looking at Lena and leaning forward the same way Ellis was, mocking concern. â Have we tested him for any substance use lately?âÂ
âAlright drama queens,â Lena rolls her eyes at them and leans back in her chair. âWhy canât he just be having a good night?âÂ
Ellis shakes her head at that, nose scrunching as she disagrees, âNo, I think he might actually be physically incapable of that.âÂ
âWell what do you think it is then?âÂ
âI think he got laid,â She says it confidently and with zero hesitation at all. Shen chokes on his drink and Lenaâs eyes go wide as saucers. âWhat? Heâs all glowy and shit, there is literally no other explanation?â
âExplanation for what?â Your voice comes out of nowhere and Ellis and Shen nearly jump out of their skin.Â
âFor,â Ellis recovers faster and quickly glances at Lena and Shen, neither of which provide any help. âFor why Shenâs guy in south 18 is really concussed.â
âOh heâs having an affair with his neighbor for sure,â You set your tablet down and swipe your badge along the card reader at one of the computers. âThis guy shows up with his pants backwards, shirt inside out, and his left shoe missing and he expects us to believe he just tripped while on a late night walk?â
Itâs at that moment that Shen notices it. Thereâs no iced coffee in your usual place. Itâs always right there, tucked in the corner of the desk Lena sits behind. You always reach for it every time youâre nearby, itâs how you make your way through it faster than almost anyone else. He watches carefully as you reach in that exact direction subconsciously before pulling your hand back. Empty.
âWhereâs your drink?â He blurts the question out suddenly and you glance up at him.
âWhat?â
âYour drink,â He glances at Ellis and Lena and they can see the real question in his eyes. âYou always leave it right there. Itâs barely nine, thereâs no way youâve had enough downtime to finish it already.â
âOh,â You go back to the computer screen and shrug. âI just woke up late, didnât have time to stop.â
âRight,â Shenâs eyes narrow at you but he doesnât say anything else. Thatâs when he notices Jack leave his patient's room and walk in the direction of the break room. âHey, my second one is in the fridge if you want it?â
You sit up instantly and immediately a little bit of life fills you again. So maybe you both had a little bit of an addiction. âSeriously?âÂ
âYeah, donât worry about it.â And thatâs all he has to say before youâre making a beeline to the break room, steps faltering just the slightest bit when you see Jack disappear through the door. Then you glance back at them, smile, and disappear in the same direction.
âNo,â Shen shakes his head immediately. âIt's a coincidence. Thereâs no way.â
âAnd what makes you so sure?â Lena, admittedly, is invested now.Â
âUh, because Sweets is my best friend in the whole wide world and would have told me obviously,â He rolls his eyes like it's obvious. âPlus thereâs no way Abbot would admit how deep he is in his feelings already. Heâs due for at least another couple weeks of yearning from afar.â
âI donât know, he mightâve,â Lena shrugs as she recalls all the little things sheâs witnessed the last few weeks. âThis is intense, even for him.â
âBesides, look who weâre talking about,â Ellis points out the fact that they all know is right. You were sunshine personified. The piece they didnât even realise the night shift was missing. And it was just like Jack Abbot to want you all to himself. âHeâd be crazy if he didnât.â
âWait,â Lena pieces it together first. The missing coffee. The good moods. The hesitation before your smile, the one that was just a little bit different than usual. Softer. âDidnât they walk in together today?â
Thereâs a moment of silence as they all realize the same thing at the same time.
âFirst one to find out pays for the others drinks for the next two weeks?â
âDeal.â
âYouâre on.â
***
âYouâre insane.âÂ
Jack only grins at you as he locks the door of the supply closet behind him. He wastes no time at all and immediately wraps you up in his arms, skipping all formalities and letting his mouth fall to your neck. âI thought thatâs why you liked meâÂ
He knows now how easy you are to distract. One glance at you and how your eyes have fluttered shut already confirms that. You let out a content little sigh as you pull him closer to you, âAmong other reasons.â
The noise that fills the pitt disappears and suddenly all you know is Jack. His hands wandering underneath your shirt. His mouth on every bit of skin he can reach. The way he cages you in between his body and the shelf behind you and holds you like heâs afraid youâll disappear.
âJack seriously,â It takes every bit of your self control to pull yourself back and attempt to look at him for real. âWe canât do this here.â
âWe're alone, honey. No one has to know,â He doesnât even look at you, eyes trained on your lips instead. He slips your scrub top over your head leaving you in just the thin, see-through, white undershirt. You're both quickly losing all sense of rationality.Â
âSomeoneâs gonna come looking for usâ
âI'm their boss, I'll make them go away,â One of his hands tangles in your hair this time and he pulls your head back so he can look into your eyes. Blown out pupils, breaths falling heavy, lips swollen from how youâd been biting them in an effort to keep quiet. He groans a little bit at the sight. âJust this once, baby, I swear,â He kisses you. Really kisses you. Long and slow and deep. Enough to make your thoughts go blurry and your knees weak. He pulls away the slightest bit and smirks when you chase the feeling of him. âPromise.â
âYou know, somehow I donât believe you.â He laughs then, pretending he doesnât notice you start to push his own shirt up little by little. Your hands are cold on the warm, bare skin of his chest and he shivers a little bit, smiling even wider. He's addicted to you, he thinks.
âCan you blame me?â Another kiss, this time picking up where he left off before. âYouâre perfect.â
Someone pulls on the door seconds later, just as his hands start wandering lower.Â
âWhy is this door locked!âÂ
You slip your scrub shirt back on in record time and Jack pushes you behind him when he goes to open the door as Ellis starts pounding on it. âI swear to god I -â
She doesnât see you when he opens it. Not at first.Â
âCan I help you?â Jack asks the question like nothing is wrong in the slightest.Â
Ellis looks around for a second, trying to determine if anyone else was seeing this or if she had finally entered a state of hallucination. âI just need -â
Thatâs when she sees you. Tucked behind Jack, clothes a little crooked on your body and a little more disheveled than before. Youâre smiling at her, only the slightest bit shy but mostly looking a little pleased. âI - hi?âÂ
She doesnât know what else to say to you.Â
âHi,â You smile at her and step around Jack. âWhat did you need to grab?â
âI just - I just need a suture kit.â
You grab one off the shelf next to you and step around Jack, stopping for just a second to shoot him a smile. She watches him return the smile, absolutely noticing the way he reaches for you. His fingers barely skim against you when you step just a little too close to him, like even that feather light touch will get him through the rest of the night. You turn back towards her like nothing happened. âDo you want any help?â
âUh, yeah. Sure.â Ellis tries not to stare when Jack grabs your hand for real, pulling you back and kissing you again, modestly this time. On your forehead as he whispers something to you that she canât hear.Â
Itâs not until youâve walked further away from the storage closet that she leans a little closer to you. âHey, are you twoâŚyou know?âÂ
You laugh a little bit at the question. âDating? I thought it was kinda obvious after that.âÂ
âI didnât want to assume.â Ellis laughs along with you and shakes her head, leading you in the direction of one of the rooms. Then she notices Shen and Lena out of the corner of her eye again and stops. âHey, can you get started? I need to check with Lena about some lab results real quick.âÂ
âYeah, go for it! Take your time.â
Ellis watches you pull the curtain of the room closed. Then she waits until Jack has disappeared into another room on the other side of the ED, the most smug looking grin on his face, before she practically runs to the nurses desk. âTheyâre dating, I told you so.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âAnd weâre just supposed to believe you? How do you know?âÂ
âI asked,â She pauses for a moment before leaning closer. âAnd I found them both in the supply closet with the door locked, you connect the dots.âÂ
Shenâs face scrunches in disgust. âEw.âÂ
Lena on the other hand only lets out a sigh. âWeâre gonna have to keep an eye on them aren't we?âÂ
âProbably.â Ellis looks incredibly pleased as she starts walking back to the room youâd gone into. âIâll send you guys my drink order before next shift.â
4. The Reveal
The day shift doesnât usually notice when the night shift starts to trickle in. You remember it clearly, the way it feels like every single person with every single ailment known to mankind seems to congregate in the pitt all at once right before itâs time for shift change. Thatâs something you donât miss. By the time you guys come in it feels settled. Or maybe you all just like to think so.Â
Either way, they definitely donât notice when you and Jack walk in together, your bag slung over his shoulder. Theyâre too distracted by the drinks Shen and Lena walked in with, relegated to delivery service after losing some bet to Ellis.Â
All the noise is forgotten quickly. This, the rare quiet moment in the staff locker room where it feels like the whole world comes to a stand still, is Jackâs time to breathe. He watches you throw all your things into his locker, somehow getting to the point of sharing custody of one now in the last couple of weeks.Â
He knows youâre saying something. He can hear the sound of your voice but youâre also tying your hair up so itâs out of your way for the night and he loses all ability to think straight. Some kind of pavlovian response overtakes him and this feeling fills him up inside and suddenly he canât help himself.Â
He stands up and it's like his hands move on their own without him meaning for them to. They set themselves firmly on your hips and pull them back, completely flush against him. He bunches the scrub top up and settles his hands underneath the long sleeve shirt youâre wearing under it. Your skin is warm under them and the little noise he lets out is perfectly content.Â
âCan I help you?â He can hear the smile youâre wearing when you ask the question and he can picture it perfectly.Â
âNo,â Jack shakes his head a little and kisses your cheek. It lingers for a second before he starts moving down the expanse of your neck. âIâm fine. What were you saying?âÂ
âYou're so needy, you know that?âÂ
âAre you complaining?â He doesnât get a response from you. Instead your arms settle over his and you relax into his hold. He smirks. âThatâs what I thought.âÂ
You donât get very long to escape into the moment.Â
âThere you are. Robbyâs looking for - woah,â The exhausted look on Santos' face turns into a shit-eating grin in a fraction of a second. âWhatâs going on here?â
Jack frowns when you wiggle out of his hold to turn to look at her.Â
âHey,â You smile at her like she hadnât just seen what she clearly just did. She shares a look with both Javadi and Whitaker whoâd walked in with her. âHow was your shift?â
âUh, I'm sorry,â Javadi laughs in disbelief a little as she looks between the two of you. You, smiling brightly at her in the way she misses seeing so much on the day shift, and Jack, who looks like heâs never hated three people more. Sheâs pretty sure heâs committing their murders in his head. âWhat is this? When did this happen?â
Jack all of a sudden feels protective in that moment. Over your relationship that very much fuels his will to live and over you. Part of him is surprised you hadnât told them yet. The first friends youâd made here, probably some of your closest, clearly had no idea about you and him. Then he remembers your opposite schedules and the constant cycle of work and being completely enveloped by the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship he thinks might actually never end.
âWait, did I not tell you guys?â Youâre trying your hardest to trace back every moment of the last few weeks. Jack takes it upon himself to hand you your drink and grab his before shutting his locker, taking a second to just listen. One of his arms wraps around your waist again.
âYou did not, sweets,â Santos shakes her head and speaks slowly, trying to push through her absolute shock at this revelation. And trying very hard not to stare at the casual display of affection from Jack Abbot of all people.
Whitaker is the one who recalls the last real interaction youâd had with them fastest. Somehow heâs the least surprised. âYou spent all of breakfast the other day telling us about that kid you patched up with Ellis. The one who slipped off the fire escape trying to sneak into his girlfriend's room."
âYou told Mel, Samira, and Langdon," Jack says it in between sips of his matcha like itâs nothing. âWhen you had them over for dinner at yours your last night off. You sent me a picture of their reactions.â
âRight!â You try your hardest to hold in a laugh at the recollection. Samira had shouted into a pillow. Mel had asked a lot of questions, incredibly excitedly. Frank had decided he needed to take a walk to process and stood on your balcony for ten minutes. âI guess I forgot, everything kinda blurs together. They didnât tell you?âÂ
âSweets, I think you told the three least nosy people in the ED,â Santos makes a mental note to yell at all of them for keeping this from everyone else. âOf course they didnât.â
Then your attention slips from Jack completely when Javadi prompts Whitaker to tell you about something that happened earlier. He stops listening completely, now perfectly distracted by the excited look in your eyes and the way you smile at them. And okay so maybe heâs a little bit clingy.Â
Jack wraps himself around you from behind again, arms now fully circling your waist. He does not hesitate in the slightest to pull you flush against him again either. He does exercise a little bit of self control though. Thereâs no kiss this time. Instead he let out a soft sigh and let his head fall onto your shoulder, chin resting against it silently as you talk.
He doesnât notice the way Javadi covers her mouth with one hand to hold back the comment she wants to make out loud. Instead she points at the sight as subtly as she can and mouths âoh my god!â you only grin at her. You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at Jackâs display, but you settle back into him anyway.
He also doesnât notice the way Whitaker stares at him, eyes narrowed in his direction and head tipped to the side curiously, debating to himself whether or not Jack was actually in the room with them. Physically or mentally.
Santos, ever curious, is the one who finally cracks and breaks him out of his self induced trance. âOkay, I have to know. How did this even -â
âHey!â Ellis cuts in before she can even ask the question all the way. She pops her head in the door, eyes skipping past everyone until they land on you and Jack. She doesnât look phased by the sight in the slightest. She nods at you with a smile in greeting before looking at Jack. âIf you donât get out there in the next five seconds for hand-offs, Robby might just track down a guillotine and use it on you.â
âAlright, alright,â Jack rolls his eyes and takes his time standing up straight again. He lingers for as long as humanly possible. Another kiss, to your forehead this time, before he very begrudgingly lets you go one arm at a time. âIâll see you out there.â
Jack keeps holding your hand as he walks out of the room, not letting a single second go to waste. He holds on until he takes a step too far and lets it fall out of his own. An absolutely devastating moment in his eyes.Â
âLater, kids.â He just barely glances at Whitaker, Javadi, and Santos, saluting them with two fingers before taking another sip of his drink and walking out of the locker room with Ellis, who hands him a tablet.
The silence sinks in around you. In those few moments your friends realize that Abbotâs whole little display is evidently very much normal for the night shift. And then -Â Â
âSince when does Abbot drink matcha?â
5. The Declaration
It was bordering on 2 AM when the trauma came in. A young girl, whoâd just wanted some pancakes and coffee while pulling an all nighter studying for her upcoming SAT exam. Sheâd been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the diner and was in rough shape.
The room was already tense. Sheâd coded in the ambulance and theyâd only just managed to get her stable. Every single one of you held your breath as you all did everything in your power to try to save her.Â
It was really with no hesitation that everyone else took a backseat to you and Jack moving easily around each other. The two of you were the girls best bet at surviving, a well oiled machine at this point. In every sense of the phrase. You could anticipate what he was about to do before he even said it. All heâd have to do is give you a look and you just knew, youâd hand him whatever he needed, or ask someone else if your hands were full, and you were right every single time.Â
âHonestly I think the rest of us can go home,â Walsh, whoâd been paged to consult and make sure the girl was stable enough for surgery, said from where she stood on the other side of the hospital bed from you and Jack. She was watching closely and honestly, was more than a little impressed. Especially when you pointed something out to Jack that heâd missed right before she could. âOur sweet little angel face over there has this whole place locked down.â
âIncluding Abbot,â Shen watches from beside Walsh, looking on curiously at the silent understanding between the two of you. âItâs like they have some freaky mind meld thing going on.â
âYou think its contagious?â Walsh puts up her side of the bed railing, seeing that Jack was just about done.Â
âHopefully not,â Shen makes a face at the thought. âI'm more than happy letting her be the one to keep him too busy to yell at the rest of us.âÂ
Neither one of you notice their conversation in the slightest, too involved in each other even in a trauma room. Itâs almost unsettling. The small little smiles and the bedroom eyes and whispered comments passed between the two of you. The way Jack pauses for just the briefest moment mid procedure to turn and send you a wink that makes you roll your eyes and grin back at him.Â
Walsh watches the whole interaction, positive the two of you have forgotten everyone else is the room. âThis can't possibly be normal. Are they like this their whole shifts?âÂ
Shen thinks for a moment before shaking his head, âItâs usually worse. Boarding on an HR violation is their normal.âÂ
A moment passes where Walsh realizes that yeah, that kinda tracks considering the moments sheâs been witness to up until this point. Then, to Shenâs horror, she smiles. âHey, do you wanna see something funny?âÂ
His eyes narrow at her but ultimately his curiosity gets the better of him. âIâm not taking responsibility for your funeral expenses if this goes badly.âÂ
That only makes her smile wider.
Walsh maneuvers her way to your other side, taking the place of one of the other nurses that was there. Shenâs eyes go wide when she looks at him again. She speaks before he can shake his head to stop her, breaking you and Jack out of the little bubble youâd put yourselves in.
âYou know youâre really good at this, Sweets,â Walsh grins when you look over at her instead and Jack hesitates for just a second. âWhen can I steal you to help me in the OR? Youâd be amazing in there.â
âAnytime,â You meet her smile easily. âIâm always down for a change in scenery.âÂ
âPerfect,â She smirks a little at your answer. âName a day and time and I'll steal you all for myself.â
âDone,â The other side of the railing snaps up, maybe a little more harsh than it needs to be. Jack looks up, not a hint of the smile heâd been using with you left when he looks at Walsh. âYou can go now.â
Walsh looks more than pleased by his reaction. She looks at Shen whoâs trying his absolute hardest not to laugh giddily at what he just witnessed.Â
âDown, boy,â She unlocks the wheels of the hospital bed and smirks even wider when Jack removes his gloves and loops his fingers into the hem of your scrub top, pulling you back into his side. Itâs completely subconscious, she realizes, when neither one of you seems to even notice it happens. âEven when I steal her from you for my OR youâll still get to take her home at the end of the night.â
âWait, hang on, thatâs where I draw the line,â Shen unlocks the wheels on the other side and starts wheeling the bed out with her. âYou are not taking our best nurse all for yourself. Especially not when sheâs the one who also brings us our caffeine every shift.âÂ
âYou know, youâre only giving me more reasons to steal her.âÂ
Neither one of them notices that you donât follow. Instead, the room empties out and then itâs just you and Jack. The silence settles between you as Jack unties the back of your surgical gown. When you turn to face him again he speaks softly.
âYou could go, you know. To the OR. If you wanted to.â Jack says it before you can say anything about it. âWalsh is right, youâd be a natural up there.âÂ
âJack -âÂ
âYou donât have to stay here forever. I mean, Shen is also right. Weâd miss you down here. It hasnât even been a couple months yet and it feels like you were made to be here with m- with everyone -âÂ
âJack -âÂ
âEven if you just wanted to try it out. I think you should. I mean itâs-â
You kiss him. Not in the storage closet or the locker room or in an on call room or behind a curtain like usual. Right there in the middle of a trauma room, windows wide open and the ED buzzing all around you.Â
Jack melts into you immediately. Hands moving to your hips to pull you closer before one moves to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. A small groan leaves him when you pull away, the sweetest, most innocent smile on your lips.
âYou talk too much,â A moment passes where you just stare at him, making sure heâs really listening to what youâre saying. âIâm not leaving the ED,â and then you add a little quieter, a little more shy, âYouâre here.â
âI love you.â
Jack doesnât know what possesses him to say it out loud here and now of all places for the very first time. But he feels it and he acknowledges it and thereâs no way he can hold it in after that. Thereâs a need that settles deep in his bones and he knows heâs never going to want anything less than you right there with him always. Forever. He doesnât know how heâd survive otherwise.Â
It takes a moment for what he said to sink in. You can see the intensity in his eyes, how much he feels it and means it. You really wish you were anywhere but the ED right now. Maybe if you wished really really hard you could somehow will everyone and everything to slow down long enough for you to sneak away with Jack for just a little bit.Â
Jack Abbot who loves you. The knowledge of that fact makes you feel warm all over.Â
âI love you too.âÂ
+1. The Move
Jack is obsessed. He knows that for sure now.Â
With the way you kiss him and how you look at him after. With the way you let him be as attached to you as he needs to be at any given moment and you donât mind at all. With the way you hold his hand and pretend not to notice when he moves his fingers to rest on your pulse point out of instinct. And especially with moments like these.Â
Itâs pushing ten am and the two of you have only just left the hospital. A morning rush hour pileup meant that not only was there an influx of traumaâs coming in right before 7 but also that a good chunk of the staff were stuck behind the backed up traffic.Â
Despite the fifteen hour shift, youâre still happily nodding your head along to the soft music that fills Jackâs car. He watches you out of the corner of his eye. Youâre mumbling the words to the song playing and taking sips out of the drink heâd just bought you, your third one of the day. His drink is sitting the cup holder. His second one, your habits had rubbed off on him.
The song switches once and then twice. By the time it switches a third time heâs watching you frown as you reach the bottom of your drink.Â
âHoney, donât take this the wrong way,â He looks at you for a moment before looking back at the road. âBut I think you might have a problem.âÂ
âI do not!â You feign offense and turn towards him in your seat. âGod forbid I treat myself to something nice after a long day.âÂ
âWhat were the other two for then?âÂ
âA treat for going to work and a pick me up for halfway, clearly.â
âClearly.â Jack shakes his head as stops at a light. Silently, he drops one hand from the wheel and sets it palm side up on the center console. Almost immediately youâre placing your hand in his, the exact way he was craving.Â
The light turns green and he makes the split second decision then. He turns right, the direction thatâll let him turn around to head towards his place, instead of continuing straight, the direction that would take him to yours.Â
You watch as he does so, driving further and further away from your apartment. âJack, what are you doing?âÂ
He kisses the back of your hand. âTaking you back to mine since youâre clearly not planning on sleeping after all that caffeine.âÂ
âOkay, one,â You turn to face him again, even while heâs driving. âIâve built up a tolerance. This is nothing. And two, I've been out of clean clothes for like a week. I can only wash the ones I have there so many times.â
âSo steal some of mine.â Jack shrugs and maybe the thought of you in his clothes is a little bit for him too.
âBad idea, cause then neither of us will ever have clean clothes again.â
âIâll buy you new ones then.â
âNot if I donât let you.â
âGood luck stopping me.âÂ
Heâs winning and you both know it. So instead you say, âI have to stay at my place sometimes, whatâs the point of even having it if I give in and always let you win these fun little arguments.â
The stop is sudden. Jack pulls over into the first empty spot he sees on the side of the road and turns to face you fully before you can ask him what heâs doing.
âYou know what, honey? Youâre right,â He leans towards you, fully leaning on the center console until heâs close enough to kiss you if he really wanted to. âThereâs really no point in you paying for an apartment youâre barely ever in so I think itâs the perfect time for you to let me move you in with me.â
For a second youâre not sure if you heard him right. Maybe he was right and the cocktail of caffeine and sleep deprivation was finally making you imagine things. âWhat?âÂ
âMove in with me.âÂ
So you definitely heard him right.Â
âYouâre not serious.â
âWhat makes you think Iâm not?â
âItâs barely been three months,â You shake your head as if that should explain everything. âAnd we havenât even technically been dating for that entire time.â
âWhat can I say, I know what I want,â Youâre still looking at him in disbelief so Jack takes your hand again and he sounds more serious when he says it plainly. âWhat I want is you. Every morning, every night, every shift, every minute youâll let me. If youâll have me.â
âItâs too fast.â Youâre only trying to convince yourself at this point.
Jack smiles at you, softer than before. âYouâre forgetting Iâve been pining over you for more than a year now.âÂ
You catch the implication immediately. It went way further back than just three months. All the way back to the day you walked through the doors of the PTMC halfway through him going through shift change. Heâd lingered a lot longer than necessary and you had thought it was just normal for him.Â
âYouâre crazy.âÂ
âThatâs why you love me.â
And heâs right. Itâs the reason why you finally give in. âWill you at least let me split the rent with you?â
âI own the place.â Jack shrugs and you know for a fact that heâs not sorry in the slightest.Â
âMortgage then.â
âAlready paid off.â
âBills?â
âPaid in advance for the next three months.â
âGroceries?â
âNot a chance.â
â50 50?â
â90 10.â
You huff a little and pout at him. He doesnât fall for it, only pausing for a second to kiss the look off your face. âAre you ever going to let me win one of these arguments?â
âNot unless itâs in your best interest.â
âYouâre insufferable.â
âAnd you love me for that too.âÂ
Jack finally thinks for a moment and thatâs when his eyes land on the drinks in the cupholder between the two of you, his half full one and your empty one. âHow about I let you pay for my drink every time we stop for one?â
You light up at his proposition. âWill you let me pay for mine?â
âOnly after the first one. First one Iâm paying for,â He leans in a little bit closer, knowing heâs got you on his side now. âConsider it a compromise.â
âWorks for me.â
âYou can pay for Shenâs too,â He adds quickly before you can agree. âI refuse to fund his addiction, heâs worse than you.â
âDeal.â That makes you laugh and you finally lean in and kiss him, sealing everything in place.Â
He can taste the sugary vanilla drink that still lingers on your tongue and it makes him smile against your lips. âWill you let me take you to our home now?â
âOkay,â You kiss him again. You really canât help it. âTake me to our place.â
summary: jack abbot never gets jealous; that is, until he finds out that you have a whole lot of history with the handsome radiologist from upstairs that everyone else is fawning over. (3k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, nick barker / ex!reader, dr. al-hashimi, jack abbot, princess dela cruz
contents: secret relationship, friends with benefits, grump!reader, jealous!jack, fluff, humor, so much sexual tension
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
âI was thinking Italian for tonight,â Jack says in lieu of a greeting as he falls seamlessly into step with you down the busy hall of the emergency department. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his fitted black tee as he reaches to hold either end of his stethoscope. âOr burgers, maybeâ but Iâm not picky. What about you?â
His heavy head swivels slowly to face you. The bright white fluorescents overhead cast a greyer tint over his curls and light eyes, which glimmer faintly with amusement as a knowing half-smirk tugs slowly at his lips.
You look up from the clipboard in your hand with a squinted look of mild annoyance, despite the quiet smile that threatens to pull at your own mouth.
âVery subtle, Dr. Abbot,â you croon in a dry monotone.
âWell, I can be less subtle, if you want,â the man shrugs, side-stepping to walk backwards ahead of you. He ambles carefully into the central work station with a wider, smugger smile. âGo out for dinner with me tonight⌠I promise Iâll make it worth your whileâŚâ
âOh, really?â you hum and slide your clipboard back onto the chart rack. âDo tell.â
âWell, Iâd get into the details and all, but⌠There are kids around, soâŚâ
Your eyes cut to the crowd of young residents gathered by the dry-erase board, now acting as a makeshift monitor for the time being. You scoff an emotionless laugh in response. âTrust me, whatever Santos and Garcia are getting up to is far more scandalousâ And donât even get me started on Whitaker and that farmerâs widow of his.
âI wasnât talking about them,â Jack quips, but makes a mental note to ask you about all that later. âI was talking about Robby.â
He nods to the front desk, where the man himself scribbles at the chart laid crooked before him. Robby flashes Jack an unenthusiastic look from over the top of his glasses at the sound of his name.
âDonât drag me into this,â he deadpans.
âInto what?â Jack scoffs.
âInto whatever the two of you are flirting about.â
âHave you seen Dr. Al?â you blurt, if only as a desperate plea to change the subject.
He points aimlessly over his shoulder, and you follow his thumb across the room. You leave Jack behind without a second thought and make a beeline for the curly-haired woman on the opposite side of the station.
âHey, Dr. Alâ Have you figured out what weâre doing about the CT films? Because Iâve got a patient with an ankle injury thatâs already been sitting for hours.â
âYep,â the woman smiles, flipping through the yellow order slips in her hands. âI have them right here.â
You freeze in place just ahead of her, glancing at the papers between her fingers and the chaotically organized desk beside her with wide eyes. ââŚWhere? Have they been miniaturized?â
A laugh sputters from her mouth as she shakes her head. âNo, I meanâ Radiology is getting backed up upstairs, obviously, so⌠I brought radiology to us.â
She motions behind her, and only then do you notice the portable machine sitting on the other side of the circular desk. A crowd of grey-scrubbed nurses helps adjust the station to make room for the bulky device. When Jesse moves the long arm of the X-Ray machine, a familiar face comes into view that makes your skin flare beneath your black scrubs â though youâd sooner blame it on the sweltering summer heat blowing in from outside.
Because, just when you think the day canât get any worse than a heat wave and a potential cyber attack, your ex-boyfriend shows up out of nowhere.
Nick Barker smiles kindly at you with all of his pretty white teeth, swiping a veiny, sun-kissed hand through his dark, pushed-back hair.
âHey, Professor. Long time, no see.â
You meet his warm grin with a wavering smile of your own, though it looks more like a grimace when your eyes widen at the old nickname his family had given you some years back â when you graduated high school early and became the youngest med student in your class.
It was not working with your ex that was the issue â youâve already been doing it for years at this point â but youâre realizing now that he was much easier to stomach when he was upstairs, totally out of your line of sight.
âDr. Barker,â you greet, with your voice an awkward octave higher and trembling with a palpable panic. âHiâŚâ
âOhâŚâ he winces playfully. âIâve been demoted to last-name basis, huh?â
You muster an artificial smile in response and wring your clammy hands together as you amble slowly to his side. He tilts his scruffy chin to keep your gaze, though you refuse to meet the big brown eyes he looks at you with.
âHave you gotten the order slip for Adebayo? A-D-E-B-A-Y-O?â
âUhâŚâ he trails off and turns away to glance at the files on the desk beside him, organized by alphabet and urgency. He skims his manicured pointer finger down the list and taps on the clipboard when he finds the patientâs name. âYep. Right. Iâll get right on it.â
âGreat,â you sigh and take a step back to walk away. âThank you.â
âBusy day, huh?â Nick hums distantly, half-distracted as he taps at the keyboard of the heavy machine before him. Heâs as kind and casual as you remember him being â not nearly as fazed by your presence as you are by his â which is why you falter so desperately at the innocent small talk.
âYepâŚâ you nod with an apologetic grimace. âWhich is kinda why I have to run right now, soâŚâ
âRight. Yeah,â Nick chuckles. A rogue strand of silky black hair drapes effortlessly over his forehead as he shakes his head at himself. âThat was aâ stupid question, right? Look at this place.â
You fake a laugh at his laughing and turn on the heel of your sneaker to walk away.
Your smile ebbs the second youâre out of his sight, contorting into a pained sort of wince as you slide past Jack â who leans on a desk some feet behind you, hardly trying to conceal that heâd been watching you. (He hadnât thought anything of it until he saw you get all embarrassed; because you never let anyone see you embarrassed, least of all a man.)
âWhat the hell was that about?â he murmurs lowly, falling into step with you once more. His squinted eyes dart between your profile and the vaguely familiar radiologist across the room â until you duck behind the oversized dry-erase board like youâre hiding from something. Some-one. âYou know him or something?â
âUh⌠Yeah?â you shrug, trying and failing to be casual, as you uncap a black marker with a sharp pop. âKind of⌠I guessâŚâ
âKinda?â Jack echoes with a scoffed-out laugh, further disturbed by your sudden diffidence as you update the patient board with anxious hands. âWhatâ Did you guys screw around together or something?â
âDonât be crude,â you scold with your features twisted in disgust â mean all over again, and not at all how you were with Dr. Barker. âWe just⌠used to date⌠A long, long time ago.â
âYeah? For how long?â Jack presses, brows raised to his hairline.
âNot long,â you shrug. âJust a⌠better part of a decade, thatâs all.â
âThatâs all?â he repeats, a little louder than he meant to. He cowers at the strange looks he gets in response and takes a step closer to you behind the towering board. âWhatâs next? Youâre gonna tell me you were engaged to the guy?â
He chuckles until you flash him a weary look in reply.
His shock returns.
âHoly shitâ You were engaged?â
âWe were high school sweethearts going into medicine togetherâ getting engaged was just on par with how cliche we were,â you ramble with your gaze pointed at the organized board before you.
âOh, donât tell me you got married to the guy,â Jack huffs. âI donât think my heart could take all that.â
You sigh in annoyance but answer him honestly anyway. âNo⌠We never made it that far.â
âWhy not?â
âI donât know,â you shrug, half-detached in reminiscence. âWe just⌠We werenât good together, you know? He was⌠way too niceâŚâ
Jack blinks owlishly at you. âYou broke up with him because he was⌠nice?â
âItâs a long story,â you sigh.
âWell, I got plenty of time,â the man tells you, crossing his strong arms over his broad chest. âItâs not like weâre on the cusp of a cyber attack or anything.â
âOkay⌠We got into this crazy fight one night,â you murmur, stepping closer to him like youâre telling him some sort of secret. You tilt your chin to keep Jackâs gaze as you gesture with the marker in your hand. âSort of. âCause I was the only one that was madâ But I was trying to push him into an argument because I started to notice that he never got upset with me. Like, ever. And he just⌠wouldnât budge, you know? Everything I told him he was doing wrong, he just⌠agreed with me. And promised to work on it.â
âWowâŚâ Jack monotones. âHe sounds like a real psychopath.â
âI know heâs a good guy, alright? Thatâs not the point,â you tell him. âHe was just⌠dreadfully boring.â
âOh, yeah?â
âYeah, heâs likeâ missionary personified,â you ramble. âHeâs great and reliable and he gets the job done, but⌠Sometimes you wanna spice things up, you know?â
âDo you?â Jack teases with narrowed eyes.
âIt was a metaphor,â you deadpan.
âWell, I promise that if you ever feel like fighting it out, I will always be there for you, sweetheart,â he lilts.
âDonât tell me youâre jealous, Dr. Abbot,â you croon drily.
âJealous?â he scoffs. âIâm not jealous.â
âWho are you convincing hereâ You or me?â
âWell, between me and Dr. Barker only one of us got shot at today, soâŚâ Jack trails off with a lazy shrug. âYou canât exactly call me boring, honey.â
You cap the marker and set it back on the rack with a nod and a knowing smile. âWell, we never exactly had trouble in the boring department, did we, Dr. Abbot?â
He ambles slowly after you as you walk off in the opposite direction.
âWhat did I say about talking dirty to me while weâre at work?â
Nick still smells the same, you realize, when he calls you to his side to show you the newly produced film. You recognize the cologne on his navy button-up almost instantly â the soft, vanilla musk cologne youâd gotten him for his birthday when you were still in med school.
Something about it makes your chest feel funny; the acknowledgment that, in many ways, the two of you are still tied together. Youâd stolen a collection of band tees from his closet back in college, and even now you swear that theyâre the coziest shirts to sleep in (though youâd never tell Jack exactly where you got them from.)
You slouch in the cushioned swivel chair at his side with your heavy head propped on your fist, blinking slowly as he flicks through the various X-Rays on the monitor ahead of you.
âLooks like the ankleâs negative for fractureâŚâ he mumbles.
âNo, that canât be right,â you murmur to yourself, lifting your head to motion at the blue-white image before you. âLookâ The tibiofibular clear space is enlarged. And the overlap seems reduced, no?â
âHmâŚâ he hums. âMaybe a little.â
You reach blindly for the clear ruler at your side and press it to the screen, aligning it with the x-rayed ankle. You trace the ridges with your pointer finger. â8 millimeters dilated, and⌠3 millimeters overlapped. Which would mean thatââ
âThereâs probably a tear in the sydesomatic ligaments,â Nick finishes for you, clicking at the ink pen in his right hand. âYeah.â
âWhich needs surgical fixation, which means I need you to put in a request for an MRI, which means I can free up another bed,â you ramble with an exhausted sigh as you slouch back into the cushioned seat.
âOn it,â Nick nods with a quiet laugh. âWhen did you learn so much about radiology, Professor?â
âWell, we were kinda together for a long time, Dr. Barker,â you answer like itâs obvious. âI guess I just picked up a thing or two over the years.â
âWell, Iâve heard you complain about a thousand surgeries, but that doesnât mean I could do one,â he scoffs with a lopsided grin that wouldâve made you swoon five or more years ago.
âSounds like a skill issue, Barker,â you joke with a shrug.
âNo, I think youâre just smarter than you give yourself credit for,â he grins. âWhy do you think my mom still calls you Professor?â
A laugh sputters from your mouth before you can stop it. âWhy is your mom even still talking about me?â
âAre you kidding?â Nick chuckles. âShe loves you! Iâm pretty sure sheâs still holding out hope that weâre gonna get back togetherâŚâ
âYou just need to date another doctor, thatâs all,â you shrug. âThen sheâll forget all about meââ
âIâm a nurse!â Princess volunteers from the nurseâs station, behind the portable machine. She chirps like a songbird, with a hopeful grin and a pair of sparkling eyes. âThat counts, right?â
âArenât you married, Princess?â you laugh.
Her smile turns into a frown in a flicker.
âThanks for blowing my cover,â she deadpans and turns away.
âSorryâŚâ you grimace.
Nick laughs, dark eyes crinkling at the edges. You fight the urge to cower at the melted chocolate look in his gaze when he turns back to you. âYou havenât changed at all, you know that?â
âYou have,â you retort.
âReally?â
You nod, eyes squinted in observation. âI realized you fixed that chip in your tooth.â
âI didâŚâ Nick lilts with a slow nod, instinctively running his tongue over the bottom of his front tooth, which heâd chipped in a fall during a particularly drunken 4th of July party some years back. âI forget sometimesâ Most people donât even notice.â
âWell, I notice everything,â you quip.
âHence the reason we still call you Professorââ
Ahem. Someone clears their throat from just behind you. The two of you turn in tandem to glance over your shoulders, where Jack looms like a storm cloud with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an emotionless look on his scruffy face that would seem almost intimidating if you didnât already know him so well. Maybe thatâs why Nick cowers at the sight of him.
âSorry to interrupt, guys,â Jack greets in a gritty monotone. âIâm just checking on my patientâs scans. Nameâs Reeves.â
Nick swallows hard at the older manâs unwavering stare and turns to the order slips on the desk ahead of him. âUh, yesâ Reeves is still in the wet read, but Iâll come get you when theyâre done, Dr. Abbot.â
âSounds good,â the man hums with a slow nod, warm and cordial again in a flicker. His light eyes flit back to yours as he says, âDr. Al-Hashimi wants to talk to you about your patient. Adebayo.â
âDr. Al?â you echo, but rise from your chair despite yourself. You donât think twice about it as you follow the manâs footsteps across the station. âI took the case from Robby. Why would Dr. Al wannaââ
âShe doesnât,â Jack answers without looking at you, when Dr. Barker is finally out of earshot. âI just didnât like what I was looking at back there.â
You slow to a stop in front of the chart rack, where Jack pretends to survey the list of patients there. Your eyes narrow into a challenging squint. âI thought you said you werenât jealous, Dr. Abbot.â
âWell, in my defense, Iâd be a lot cooler about it if I didnât know the two of you were literally engaged,â he whispers sharply, as if itâs some deeply held secret. âAnd if I didnât know that the only reason you broke up with the poor guy was because he was too nice to you. I mean, what the hell does that say about us?â
âUs?â you scoff. âI didnât know there was an us.â
âOf course, thereâs an us,â he squints. âBut if you broke off an engagement because he was too nice, what does that make me? An asshole?â
You look him up and down, smacking your lips against your teeth. âKinda. Yeah.â
Jackâs frown deepens. âI usually find your tendency to deflect with humor incredibly hot, but unfortunately, I am trying to be serious right now.â
You huff and roll your eyes. âYouâre nice, Jack. Obviously. But youâre also a little bit of an assholeâ And you argue with me about stupid shitâ And I wake up every day excited about what youâre gonna do to piss me off nextââ
âWellâŚâ he quips drily, despite the sudden flaring in his chest as he fights the urge to kiss you. âIf thatâs not love, I donât know what is.â
âIâm not talking about love,â you retort in a monotone.
âOh, yeah? Then what are you talking about?â
âI donât knowâŚâ you trail off, narrowed eyes glimmering. âIâm still figuring that outâŚâ
âWanna figure it out tonight?â he wonders with a newfound grin, as smug as ever. âOver pasta and/or burgers? My treat?â
âYouâre still on that?â you deadpan.
âYep,â he nods, popping the p. âAnd I promise to start an argument with you over something meaningless if itâll make you wanna come with me.â
ââŚFine,â you roll your eyes, and poke him in the chest as you tell him, âBut weâre ordering takeout. Pasta. At my place.â
âMy place,â Jack corrects with a pair of squinted eyes.
âItâs your day off, Jack, and Iâm the one who has work in the morning,â you argue. âAnd if we eat at your place, that means I canât stay over, and last I heard, you were supposed to be making it worth my while, Dr. Abbot.â
âToucheâŚâ he nods slowly with a sly smirk. âWell played, Professor.â
You shake your head and smile as you turn on your heel and walk down the adjacent hall. He never takes his eyes off of you â not even when Robby appears at his side to return a clipboard to the rack.
âShe really keeps you on your toes, huh?â the older man murmurs.
âYou donât know the half of it, brotherâŚâ Jack mumbles lowly. âNo way that Barker kid knew what he was doing with herâŚâ
Robby only scoffs. âYou say that like you do.â
author's note: wrote this one in response to this lovely ask i received earlier today:
"Omg but like, the reader being so flirty with jack all the time (secretly is in love with him) amd he just smiles and shakes his head but he loves the attention from her then one day she sees him ask dr al hashimi for beers and she assumes he asked her out on a date and she backs off and stops flirting and barely even looks him in the eye because if she does she'll fall apart and abbot doesn't understand why she stopped flirting and tries to give her openings for her usual flirty lines but she doesn't bite anymore and just the she fell first, he fell harder stuff it's soooooogoodđđ"
thanks so so much to the lovely @stuffingbuttsandshit for this message (i fw your username sm) and i hope i did it justice. please never be afraid to send me a request, and thank you for all the support, it means the world !!! also, i'm back into my teaching job tomorrow, so this will be the last of what you'll hear from me for a couple days <3
pairing: jack abbot x resident! reader
word count: 4.1k
warnings: miscommunication/misunderstanding trope! medical inaccuracies, reader is a resident but no mention of age, no specific phsyical attributes to certain gender mentioned, also not proofread!
songs i listened to while writing this: so easy (to fall in love) by olivia dean, easy by the commodores, purple by wunderhorse, when we are together by the 1975
description: You flirt with jack every shift like that's what you spent years in med school studying for. When you overhear a conversation between him and another attending, you decide to pull yourself together and face the music - no amount of one sided love would ever change your relationship. At least, that's what you think.
It started out as a joke at first.
It wasn't a calculated one. Not even a particularly brave one. It was a way to find a bit of fun in the middle of a 12-hour shift that tested every line of the Hippocratic oath that you had taken against your better judgement. It was the kind of dumb thing that slipped out of your mouth during a long shift that should have died an embarrassing death right then and there.
It was harmless flirting. Something to take the edge off. Maybe you should have taken a less, well, serious victim.
"Careful, Dr Abbot," you'd said lightly, half leaning against the nurses station while he was in the middle of catching up on charting. "If you keep looking that good under fluroescent lighting, people are gonna start accusing you of witchcraft."
Jack had looked up from the keyboard he was typing away at with that familiar flat, unreadable expression and the smallest hint of amusement at one corner of his mouth. The entire nurse's station had gone quiet, and if you hadn't known any better, you might have thought an elephant had waltzed into the room and taken his seat in trauma room one. You watched as Mel looked up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, which is what made you realise you may have taken it too far, because to be honest, Mel usually passed no heed on your usual antics.
Jack had lifted his eyes to yours, studying you for exactly two seconds, then given one slow shake of his head.
"I could do with a check-up on our food poisoning patient in room 4, doctor y/l/n."
That had been it. No scolding, no shutdown, no sharp reminder of professionalism. You ran the image of that twitch in the corner of his mouth over and over again in your head that night like a teenage girl with a crush on her best friend's brother. Or in this case, more like her best friend's dad.
So naturally, because you were a glutton for punishment and loved the thrill of tethering on the edge of something hopeful, you did it again.
And then again.
And somehow, over the next few months, flirting with Jack became a part of your regular shift rhythm, as natural as grabbing gloves from the wall or stealing sips of stale coffee between traumas. You called him handsome under your breath while passing in the hall. You leaned into his space during chart review just to watch his jaw flex. You told him he was ageing like your favourite bottle of red, which had earned you a long, suffering stare and a low, "Jesus Christ."
You did it at first because it was fun. A way to pass the time. But as the months went on, and you moved from junior to senior resident, the truth behind your incessant flirting became a lot more embarassing than you ever wanted to admit.
You were smart. Too smart. Educated and graduated at the top of your class, saved countless lives on the daily and still had time to feed your tabby cat at the end of it all. So there was no reason why your stupid, dumb brain had decided to fall in love with your attending.
You flirted, because you were in love with him. With Jack.
You had been for longer than you wanted to admit to yourself. Long enough that the whole thing had settled beneath your ribs like a live wire. It was warm, and humming, and a little dangerous. Long enough that it had stopped feeling like a crush and started feeling like something worse.
The problem was, Jack never really gave much away.
He liked the attention, you knew that. You weren't imagining that part. He never stopped you. Never looked annoyed in any serious or real way. There was always that familar tiny shake of his head, that almost-smile, that quiet tolerance that was so stupid adorable and somehow felt more intimate than an outright encouragement would have.
But Jack was Jack.
Steady. Closed off. Impossible to read unless he wanted to be read. So you flirted, and he let you, and you told yourself that that was enough for now. You were a resident, and he was your attending. You weren't naive enough to believe that he would ever take a relationship with you seriously.
And you know, maybe it would have been. If you hadn't caught him mid conversation with Robby's sabbatical replacement, Dr Baran Al Hashimi.
It happened halfway through a nightmare shift when you were running on little else but caffeine and instinct, and the Pitt had that strange, overstretched feeling it got when every room was full, and everyone inside them was talking too loudly. You were cutting through the hall outside the break room with a chart tucked to your chest, already halfway to Trauma Two in your head, when you heard Jack's voice from inside.
It was common to catch Jack in during the day shift, and you wouldn't have stopped if he'd been talking to anyone else. But you caught Al Hashimi's laugh first. Low, and brief, and then Jack saying, "You want to grab that beer later?"
Your feet stopped moving before your brain caught up. There was no hesitation in the question or audible awkwardness. No heaviness to it that made it sound work-related. It sounded easy, casual. Like asking someone out. You wondered if he was shaking his head in that way he did with you.
Al Hashimi said something you didn't fully hear, because by then your pulse had gone loud in your ears. You self-diagnose with mind-numbing tinnitus and prescribe yourself a huge dose of amitriptyline. The ringing grows louder as you watch her smile, small, but warm, and nodded once.
"Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."
And that was it. So, you kept walking before either of them could see you standing there. By the time you eventually got to trauma two, your face was perfectly composed and your stomach felt like it had dropped through the floor. It was ridiculous, really.
Jack had never promised you anything. He had never flirted back in the way you flirted with him. Never said anything you could hold up in your defence. He just let you tease him and seemed to enjoy it. That was not the same thing as wanting you. And Baran Al Hashimi was gorgeous, and strikingly intelligent, and better yet, an attending. You heard that she had worked overseas doing humanitarian work in Afghanistan. She was everything you weren't and more. Of course Jack would want her. God, you didn't blame him.
So, you stitched up a teenager's chin and reassured a frantic mother and signed off on discharge paperwork with steady hands, all while something sore and humiliating tore through your chest and the ringing in your eyes got louder.
Then, because apparently the universe had a cruel sense of humour, Jack found you by the supply closet twenty minutes later.
"There you are," he said.
You looked up automatically and cursed yourself. And there he was. The same broad shoulders, same tired eyes, same infuriatingly unreadable expression.
Usually, by instinct, you would have said something. Nice of you to finally show up, handsome. Missed me? Something stupid and teasing and light enough to keep the whole thing moving. To keep that little nugget of hope that lived between your ribs aflame.
Instead, you just held out the chart in your hand.
"Dana needs your signature on this."
Jack took it, but his eyes didn't leave your face.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine-
You cut in, begging to be finished with the conversation, and forced a small smile. "All good, really."
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. It was the first time in almost a year that you'd walked away from him without giving him something. And Jack, as it turned out, noticed immediately.
The following night, you called him Dr Abbot during rounds. It came out before you could stop it, a verbal guard you decided to throw up to protect yourself from more hurt that wasn't even his fault. Not Jack, not any of your usual easy little digs. Just Dr Abbot, flat and professuonal and wrong enough that his head lifted from the chart like you'd said something in another language.
He looked at you for a second too long.
Then he said, "You sick or something?"
You pretended to not know what he meant. "Nope."
"Then why are you acting weird?"
"I'm not acting weird?"
Santos, standing two feet away with a pen tucked behind her ear, visibly turned her whole body to watch.
Jack's mouth flattened, unreadable. Shocker. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
He looked like he wanted to say it outright, but with half the team standing around the nurse's station and Lena calling for updates across the room, all he ended up saying was, "Never mind."
But it wasn't never mind, because you kept doing it. You stopped leaning into his space. Stopped giving him those easy openings for banter. Stopped calling him old man, stopped telling him his curls looked good, stopped stealing sips from his coffee and dropping protein bars in his pockets when you passed him in the hall.
At first, Jack felt confusion, which quickly turned into a gnawing annoyance he couldn't shake. By the third shift, with no change from you, the whole thing had become impossible to ignore.
You were charting at the nurse's station when he came up behind you and set a fresh cup of coffee down by your elbow. A sleek, black takeaway cup that looked suspiciously like the one from the new bakery across the street you talked about going to with Santos before shift.
You looked at it, and then at him. Usually, this would have been an easy way in. What, no little heart on the lid? Starting to lose your touch, Abbot? Anything, anything would do.
Instead, you said, "Thanks."
Jack stared at you.
"Thanks?"
You blinked at him. "What?"
"That's all I get?"
You looked back at the screen where your chart lay half full. "It's coffee."
"It's your coffee. Two shots, and vanilla creamer. I made sure they used the barista oat milk you always rant on about."
You kept your eyes on the screen, even though every bone in your body was begging you to reach out and touch his forearm in thanks. "Oh, well, thank you very much, Dr Abbot."
He stood there for another beat, arms crossed, like he was waiting for the rest of it. When it didn't come, he muttered, "Right," and walked away.
Across the station, Santos leaned slowly towards Whitaker.
"This is sooo much worse than I thought."
Whitaker looked nervous. More than usual. "Should we..do something?"
"No," Santos smirked. "Absolutely not. This is premium entertainment."
Javadi, creating a circling motion with her hand towards the direction of you and Jack, said, "That looked like some form of attachment rupture."
Santos pointed at her while still looking over at you. "You are absolutely right."
You ignored them all and kept writing. Any acknowledgement and you'd have to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment and humiliation. You think that actually might be a better way to go then facing Jack again the way you just did.
Four days go by. Four days of you being perfectly pleasant and professionally distant and absolutely miserable about it. You felt like like a three year old kid sulking in the corner after being refused ice cream for dinner.
Jack still tried, in his own strange, increasingly irritated way, to hand you opportunities you no longer took. You didn't read them as openings anymore, couldn't let yourself slip again into the realm of hoping it meant anything more than trying to get through a shift in one piece.
By the end of the week, Dana got involved.
She caught you restocking suture kits in a supply alcove and leaned against the doorframe with the expression of a woman who already knew the answer and was just waiting for you to say it out loud.
"What'd you do to him, hon?"
You kept your eyes on the shelf. "Nothing"
Dana snorted. "Honey, I know I'm in day shift territory, but I have known Jack Abbot for too long to miss when he's sulking."
"He doesn't sulk"
"He absolutely does. He's just old enough to do it quietly."
You smiled despite yourself. If Jack was here right now, you'd make a joke about old dogs not being able to learn new tricks, or whatever that saying is.
"There it is," she said, poking an accusatory fingernail at your shoulder. "Tell me what happened, kid."
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the pack of gauze. Dana Evans had a way of dragging honesty out of people with nothing but eye contact and a gaze that reminded you of your mother. You make a mental note to call her after shift and apologise for every time you've ever talked back to her.
"You know Al Hashimi? Robby's stupidly hot replacement? I overheard him ask her out"
Dana let out a laugh - no - a cackle. Dana was cackling at you.
You frowned. "Dana! Seriously, I know, it's not like I'd have any chance with him, but I just thought, just maybe-"
"You are a total idiot."
"Dana."
"She was going to a trauma conference with one of his old friends from the military and he asked if she wanted to talk to talk about it over a beer."
Your grip loosened on the gauze, and you turned to stare at her.
"Sorry, what?"
Dana crossed her arms. âRobby asked him to get her thoughts on some presentations he's gonna miss on his sabbatical. He's tryna suss her out, you know."
Your stomach dropped all over again, but this time for an entirely different reason. If your first option was crawling into a deep, dark hole, well, this option would have to be something far worse. Like, being shot from a canon, butt naked, while every one of your ex-boyfriends watched.
Dana's expression softened just enough for you to recognise her natural maternal instinct taking over. "You really thought he was asking her out on a date?"
You nodded, slowly. You ran an exhausted hand over your face, hoping the ground would come and swallow you whole.
Dana shook her head then, taking your shoulder in her hand and rubbing softly, a comforting presence that took you out of your head. "Baby, that man has been halfway in love with you since before Christmas."
You didn't acknowledge it until she was already pushing off the doorframe, walking away with that irritatingly final air of hers.
"What?!"
That made everything worse. So, so much worse.
Because now, you had no excuse. Now it wasn't about Al Hashimi, not really. It was about the fact that if Dana was right, if Jack had wanted your attention all this time, if all those tiny almost smiles and deliberate little openings had meant what you'd wanted them to mean - then you had spent four days acting like a stranger because you were too scared to ask, and too damn immature to think of any other possible situation.
That night, you slipped into the stairwell in between consults to breathe for exactly thirty seconds and maybe lightly bathe yourself in peace. Then, the door opened, and there he was, filling the space with the same steady presence that always made it feel a little smaller, and a little warmer.
He shut the door behind him, and you waited for the onslaught of questions.
"You gonna tell me what the hell your problem is?"
You stared at him over the railing. There was no real heat in his voice, but there was frustration. And beneath that, something else, something tighter.
"Uh, nothing?" You cursed yourself for making it sound like a question you definitely knew the answer to.
"Try again."
"Shouldn't you be working?"
"Yeah," he said. "I should be. But instead, I'm here. Because you've spent four days acting like you don't know me anymore."
Of all the things you expected him to say, that one landed harder than you expected. You looked away. Embarassment was a feeling that you were getting far too used to.
Jack waited a beat, then came down two steps so he was closer, though not close enough to touch.
"You stopped flirting with me." You laughed at his bluntness. He continued.
"You won't look at me. You won't call me Jack. I spent fifteen minutes of my twenty minute break time arguing with a lady in a bakery the other day about how she had to use the milk I brought for your coffee, and all you could say was thanks?"
The obvious edge of offence in that almost undid you. Load the canon now, doctor!
You said quietly, "I heard you ask Al Hashimi for a beer."
Jack turned and blinked at you, and for one second, his face went completely blank. Then he stared at you like he'd just discovered the source of a leak that had been flooding his basement all week.
"That's why?"
You swallowed. "Um, yeah. I assumed, you know. You, gorgeous woman, a beer. Date territory."
"That wasn't a date."
"It wasn't a date."
"No." He let out a breath through your nose. "Robby wanted me to ask her about this conference. We were talking about work. He's cagey about her, taking over his ER and all."
"Oh."
"Yeah," Jack said.
He continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why would that matter, anyways?"
You laughed once, sharp, and utterly miserable. You were so far past the point of humiliation, you might as well get it all out now. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
You looked at him then, really looked at him. And you saw it, that he genuinely didn't understand. That whatever this had been to him, it had not included the possibility that you'd step back so quickly. That made it worse somehow. Better, too, But mostly worse.
You looked down at the stairwell floor and said, because apparently there was no salvaging you dignity now. Here goes, you guess. "Jack, I don't know how to say this without, just saying it. I-I'm, in love with you"
Then the words sat there. Plain, horrible, real. For a second, that felt like so much longer, neither of you moved.
Jack broke the silence, very quietly, "You're kidding."
Your head stayed staring at the ground. That was it, there was no going back now. You tried to ignore the intense stare you could feel burning two holes through your head.
"You're in love. With me?" he repeated.
Heat climbed your face, and you couldn't believe this was happening right now. Is this not an ER? Does nobody with a GSW want to come through and interrupt your lovely moment here?
"This is deeply humiliating, so, if you could not-"
"Jesus Christ." He laughed once, and your heart fell into your ass and ran fifty miles in the opposite direction.
Then he came down the last two steps and stopped right in front of you.
âYou thought that was one-sided?â
Your mouth opened. Closed.
âI flirt with you constantly and you smile and shake your head,â you said weakly. âWhat was I supposed to think?â
Jack looked at you like that was the most ridiculous sentence heâd ever heard.
âI never stopped you.â
âThat doesnât meanââ
âI wait for it.â
You blinked.
His jaw flexed once, like he was annoyed you werenât getting there fast enough.
âI know what time you usually get coffee. I know when your shift starts from the sound of your shoes in the hall. I know when youâre about to make one of those stupid little comments because your whole face changes before you say anything.â
Your heart was pounding now, hard enough to hurt.
Jack took one more step closer.
âWhen you stopped, the place felt wrong.â
That did it.
That cracked the whole thing open.
You looked at him and saw it all at once. Every quiet little allowance heâd made for you, every almost-smile, every opening heâd handed you on purpose just to hear what youâd say.
You whispered, âWhy didnât you tell me?â
He huffed out a humorless laugh. âI thought I was being obvious.â
You let out a wet, startled little laugh of your own, because of course he had. Of course Jack Abbot thought silently orbiting someone and letting them flirt without interruption counted as emotional transparency.
âYou are a disaster,â you said.
âSo are you.â
You smiled despite yourself.
His gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest second before lifting again.
Then, in a voice gone rougher somehow, he said, âSay something.â
âWhat?â
âOne of your lines.â
You stared at him.
Jack looked almost impatient now, but there was something fragile hidden under it too, something he would probably deny to the grave.
âYouâve had one ready every shift for 9 months,â he said. âSay it.â
A laugh caught in your chest.
Then, softly, because it felt different now and somehow still exactly the same, you said, âYou know youâre ridiculously handsome, right?â
Jack shut his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, there was that tiny head shake again, the one that had started all of this.
âJesus,â he muttered, and then he kissed you.
It wasnât tentative, or rushed either.
It was the kind of kiss that felt held back for too long, warm and sure and a little bit annoyed, like he was making up for the fact that both of you had apparently been idiots about this. Your hand came up to the back of his neck automatically. His slid to your waist, steady and firm, drawing you in until you had to grab the front of his shirt just to hold onto something.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours.
âYou done making assumptions?â he murmured.
You laughed softly, breathless. âMaybe.â
âThatâs not good enough.â
âOkay,â you said, smiling. âYes.â
âGood.â
You looked up at him. âYou loveeeeee me!"
Jackâs mouth twitched.
âDonât start.â
âYou do.â
He leaned back just enough to look properly annoyed. âYou really want to have this conversation right now?â
âYes.â
He sighed in that long-suffering way of his, but you could see the amusement sitting just under it now.
âYou realised it firstâ he said.
You grinned. âYeah, okay, but mine was slow. Yours was like, falling off a cliff into a stream of like, love crocodiles .â
Jack looked at you for a second, then gave in with a tiny shake of his head.
âYeah, okay â he said quietly. âShut up.â
Something in your chest melted completely.
You kissed him again before he could ruin it by pretending he hadnât said that. This one made him laugh against your mouth, just for a second, and then his hand tightened lightly at your waist and he kissed you back.
When you finally pulled away, there was a muffled voice from the other side of the stairwell door.
âAre they in there?â
Damn it Trinity.
You dropped your head briefly to Jackâs shoulder and groaned. âI hate this hospital.â
âNo, you donât.â
âNo,â you admitted. âI really donât.â
Jack tipped your chin up with two fingers.
âYou coming back down?â
âDo I have a choice?â
âNo.â
You smiled. âVery romantic.â
âIâm not here to romance you. Iâm here to stop you making yourself miserable over nothing.â
âWow.â
âYou started it.â
You laughed again, because there it was, that grumpy, teasing edge that somehow made everything feel more like him, not less.
As he opened the stairwell door, Santos nearly fell inward from where sheâd clearly been listening.
Her eyes went wide.
Then narrowed. Then widened again.
âOh my God,â she whispered. âI knew it.â
Jack looked down at her with profound irritation. âDonât you have a patient to bother?â
Santos, unfazed, looked past him at you and grinned. âSo I was right.â
Whitaker, standing three steps behind her looking mortified, asked, âAbout what?â
She pointed at both of you. âEverything.â
Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable and moved past her, one hand brushing your lower back as he guided you into the hall.
Not enough to draw attention.
Just enough that you felt it.
And this time, when you looked at him, he was already watching you with that same tiny, impossible almost-smile.
You smiled back. He shook his head once more, like he couldnât believe you. But he looked pleased.
summary: Jack's a good attending. He's nice to you. Polite. But he doesn't treat you like he does the others. He doesn't send you smiles. He never laughs with you, and he never seeks out your company. It hurts enough that you've decided to leave and take an attending position elsewhere.
tags: hurt/comfort, angst, coworkers to lovers, fluff, pining
word count: 3.4k
a/n: this was supposed to just be a short little thing, but oh well, here we are. hope you enjoy! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! (I've also decided not to have a tag list for the pitt in general, you can turn on notifications for my blog instead <33)
The Pitt | Masterlist
Main | Masterlist
It's not that you think Jack dislikes you. If anything, that would be easier to deal with. Dislike has edgesâsharpness and intentionâsomething you can point to and name.
This is different. It's quieter than that. This is the sense that Jack simply doesn't care, at least not in any way that reaches beyond professional obligation.
On paper, he's everything he's supposed to be. A good attending and a good teacher. He doesn't blatantly ignore your questionsâheâs never cruel or dismissive. When you speak, he listens, and he adjusts treatments when you suggest them. He also isnât shy to tell you when you've done a good job.
But in practice, there's distance. A careful politeness between you. He engages only when he must, and never more than necessary. He doesn't joke with you the way he does with the others. Where his praise to other residents might go into detail or be accompanied by a smile, his praise to you is vague and efficientâhe barely even smiles at you. The thing that, somehow, hurts the most is the fact that he never does his staring thing with you, the one that everyone else jokes about.
You tell yourself not to let it get to you. You try to accept that this is just how it isâthat not everyone clicks and that not every connection is meant to happen. Some people just pass through your life and remain professional acquaintances, and nothing more. You tell yourself those are simply the cards that you've been dealt with Jack.
But it still sucks. More than you want to admit.
Because he's the one that you gravitated towards when you started your residency at the Pitt. The one whose instincts you trusted without hesitation. The one you thought, somehow, you'd click with.
Watching him bond so easily with Ellisâwho's been there just as long as youâhurts in a way that still catches you off guard even now, with only months left until you're an attending. It's sharp and unexpected, a small grief you don't know what to do with.
And when new people arrive, it's even worse. You watch him warm up to them easily, watch how his walls come down for strangers while they stay firmly in place with you. Because even after years of knowing each other, he remains cold and detached around you.
You can't figure out what you did wrong. You've replayed conversations, moments, and expressions. Searching for a misstep. For anything. But there's nothing. Nothing he's done suggests you've failed in some obvious way. He speaks to you. He listens. He treats you fairly.
He just never seeks you out. Never sits next to you unless there's no other choice. Never chooses you first.
And somehow, that hurts more than outright rejection ever could.
"So, how about you? Any news? Please tell me you're staying?â Lena asks, shifting her attention from Ellis to you. She tilts her head slightly, glasses sliding down her nose to look at you directly.
You lean against the counter at the hub, letting your shoulders drop for a moment. Just a small breath before the ever-demanding Pitt craves your attention again.
"Not sure yet," you say, shrugging slightly. âIâm leaning toward Chicagoâor maybe Boston. I've heard good things about them.â
"Nooo," Lena groans, dragging out the sound as genuine disappointment fills the air. "How will I survive if you're both leaving?"
"Guess you'll have to make do with Abbot and Shen," Ellis quips, half-listening while she charts.
"Ugh," Lena grimaces with a teasing smile.
You chuckle, a soft but unconvincing sound, at least in your ears. "Well, if you play nice, I might change my mind," you say, offering her a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.
It's not that you don't want to stayâin fact, you'd love to stay. You've even been offered an attending position here, a stability you've been craving after years of residency, because it would mean you wouldn't have to move again or find new friends. But part of you knows it might be better in the long term to go somewhere else.
Anywhere else but here.
Because here... Here, it hurts. Being around Jack while he's warm with everyone else, watching him bond with new people, while you remain just another face in the crowd, is a constant, sharp ache you can't quite mask.
You glance across the hub, where Jack is talking quietly with Ellis now. His hands gesture softly as he explains somethingâhe's fully present, fully engaged in what Ellis is sayingâand you can't help the bitter sting of knowing he would never look at you like that. He would never seek you out to share a funny story or save that half-smile for you alone.
Mid-talk, his eyes flicker toward you like he can feel the burning heat of your gaze, but he looks away just as fast.
Lena notices the shadow crossing your features. "Hey," she says softly, tapping your arm with a gentle hand. "You okay?"
You force your face back into neutral, nodding at her. "Yeah, just thinking about a patient," you murmur.
You'd never tell her the truthâthat an overwhelming part of you is aching to stay so that you can be near someone who doesn't notice you the way you see him. That part of you wants a front-row seat to Jack opening up to everyone else but you. You're masochistic in that sense.
Lena frowns, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn't press any further, thankfully. "Well," she says, letting her tone brighten. "I'm going to hold out hope. We need you here. You make this place less terrible."
You manage to send her a small but genuine smile. "I'll think about it," you say.
But even as the words leave your mouth, you know part of you is already planning your exit. Not because you don't love this place, not because you don't like your team, but because staying means living with that quiet, gnawing longing. And maybe, you're not that into self-inflicted pain after all.
A fresh start somewhere new might hurt less in the long run. It might let you breathe without feeling like every laugh, every joke, every casual glance Jack gives to someone else is a reminder of what you can't have.
You take one last look at the hub, at the familiar chaos, at Jack leaning against the counter laughing with Ellis, and swallow the ache back down. You heave a soft sigh as you straighten up again and reenter the Pitt.
It's nearly seven in the morning, just the soft murmur of patients, the low hum of the fluorescent lights and a distant clatter of carts filling the otherwise semi-quiet ER.
You're sitting at the computer finishing the last of your charts, more than ready to go home and sleep for several hours. You're typing as fast as you can when a shadow falls across the keyboard.
"You're leaving?" Jack's voice is calm and measured, but there's a subtle weight to it that you've never heard before. He's standing behind you now, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the desk as he logs onto a computer. He doesn't look at you directly.
You glance up, trying to keep your tone neutral. "Yeah, m'just about finished."
"No, I mean... the Pitt?" he finally shifts his gaze, just barely meeting yours. It's only for a fraction of a second, but it's enough to make your chest tighten. That tiny tilt of his head, the slight pause in his rhythmâit feels like it should matter. Like he's going to say something more.
You blink, caught off guard. "Oh.. Uh, yeah, maybe. I'm not sure yet," you murmur.
He nods slowly, almost imperceptibly. Then he turns back to the keyboard, typing again. Sharp, precise keystrokes. His jaw clenches once, just once, but he doesn't speak again. Doesn't reach across the space between you. Doesn't ask you to stay.
That small flicker of hope in your chest sparks out again. The small hope that he'd maybe say, 'Don't go. Stay here'. The hope that maybe this quiet and distant man has noticed more than he lets on. But the hope fades as quickly as it appeared, extinguished by the steady thrum of his typing and the efficiency of his nod.
You force yourself to breathe evenly, to turn back to your screen, but your hands pause over the keyboard. The room feels heavier now, charged with unspoken dreams and hopes. Jack's just being polite. Professional. Exactly like he's always been. And yet, for the briefest, cruellest second, it felt like he could have changed your mind, like he could have made you stay, if he had just asked.
But he didn't.
So you return your fingers to the keyboard, continue typing as the decision solidifies in your chest. Chicago. Boston. Anywhere but here.
Anywhere where he isn't.
The week passes like it always does. Or at least, it kind of does. It's the same patients, the same fluorescent-lit hallways, the same stale coffee in the breakroom. And yet, something feels... off. Not wrong, but just different enough to keep you slightly on edge, like crackling air before a storm.
Maybe it's hope colouring your perception, but it feels like Jack is noticing you more. It starts small. Subtle things you could easily explain away if you wanted to. He pauses when you enter a room, just a sliver longer than necessary, as if recalibrating. He asks for your opinion more than he ever has during examinations, and digs deeper than he ever used to. When you speak, he listens diligently. Not the professional attention he used to give you, but something more focusedâmore intentional.
He also seeks you out in the halls now. Not obviously, but just enough that you start to see a pattern. Enough that you've started to notice how his gait slows to keep up with yours, and his arm brushes past yours more than it ever has in the years you've been here. A casual alignment of schedules that somehow places him beside you more often than not, with an almost excessive amount of check-ins when you're with a patient that feel unnecessary, especially because he never disagrees with you.
His praise is also different. It's not the usual generic approval you've become accustomed to. It's specific and thoughtful. He references things you said weeks ago, brings up details of patients you've treated months back, things you didn't realise he'd ever noticed.
He also meets your eyes now. Doesn't let it flicker away like usual, but lets it linger. As if he's hoping you'll see something in his eyes that he isnât saying out loud. Youâre almost happy he hasnât done this the entire time youâve been here because each time your breath catches before you can stop it, a flush creeping up your neck. Hiding a crush when you have such a visceral reaction to him would not have lasted long in this place.
You replay all these moments later at home, dissecting every word and action, trying to decide if they mean what you hope or if you're projecting meaning where there is none. Because is this real, or are you imagining it all because you've decided to leave?
You don't dare voice the thought or the silly hope that flickers back to life in your chest. Hopes and dreams this big, this sudden, are dangerous. They make you careless and make disappointment sharper when it eventually comes. And it will come. Because why would he suddenly be changing?
Just because he heard you might be leaving?
The idea feels ridiculous the moment it forms. An impossible wish. That's not a reason for him to change his behaviour. He probably hasn't even spared it more than a passing thought. You're overthinking, reading significance into coincidence, and you should really stop letting hope get ahead of reality.
Still, the thought refuses to leave.
Lena's comments also echo in the back of your mind throughout the week, playful nudges and gentle prodding, hoping to sway your mind. "We need you here, you know," she says one evening, leaning against the counter. "Things wouldn't be the same without you around."
You grin and shrug, deflecting as always. "I'm still thinking about it."
And you mean it. Because part of youâan increasingly loud and reckless partâis considering staying more seriously than you ever expected. Not just for the work, not just for the familiarity or the team, but for the unanswered question that now follows you through every corridor and examination room.
You tell yourself it's foolish. That you can't make decisions based on glances and half-smiles and moments that might mean nothing at all. But when Jack looks up from his seat as you pass, his expression softening just slightly at the sight of you, you feel the weight of the choice rumbling in your chest.
And how leaving doesn't feel as inevitable anymore.
It's an early morning once againâyet another night shift finished. You're at the lockers, one of the last to leave due to a difficult patient, but now, you're finally catching a hold of your backpack, more than ready for your four days off. You're rummaging through it, trying to locate your lip balm, when a voice cuts through your thoughts.
"You should stay." Jack comes to a stop in front of you, one shoulder leaning against the lockers.
You frown at him. "What? Do you need me to work a double?"
"No. I... Here. You should stay here as an attending." His tone is firm, a pleading lilt to it that youâre definitely imagining, but his eyes are steady on yours.
You shrug, looking back at your backpack, fingers finally grabbing onto the small tube. "Eh... You'll be fine without meâmaybe, you can convince Ellis to stay."
"I don't want Ellis to stay," he says bluntly, head tilting to try and catch your eye again.
You blink at the words, head snapping towards his without meaning to.
"I want you to stay," he adds, voice quieter now, but there's no mistaking the sincerity.
You can't hide the shock in your expression, eyebrows drawing up. "I⌠I don't understand. You don't like me."
There's a flicker of confusion on his face, as if he's struggling with how you've arrived at that conclusion. "I do."
You huff an incredulous laugh, pulling the straps of your backpack on and slipping the lip balm into your jacket pocket. "You don't have to lie to me. It's fine. I get it."
Jack stares at you. "I'm not lying."
Your locker snaps shut, and you shrug at him. "Honestly, it's fine. We don't have to talk about it. We're colleaguesâyou don't have to like me." You move to step around him, hoping you'll make it outside before he can see the tears that you can feel pressing behind your eyes.
But you barely make two steps before his hand grabs hold of your sleeve, forcing you to stop. You halt, facing the door, as his hand falls to his side again, like he hadn't meant to do that, just charged outwards to make you stay, instinct taking hold of him. He moves to stand in front of you again.
"I like you too much," he admits, his voice low and earnest. A confession you'd imagined so many times that it almost doesn't register as being real. Except you can hear how his breath quickens, see the vulnerability displayed in his eyes, and feel the distant heat of his body.
"What?" you whisper, barely daring to breathe.
"I thought it was best to keep my distance. Avoid playing favourites accidentally, and make you a target for unwarranted rumours. I wanted your abilities to shine on their own, not let them be coloured by how much I like you. You're a fantastic doctor. Brilliant. So funny. Andâ" he pauses, swallowing as if the next word is spiny, tiny needles spiking his throat and tongue as it leaves his mouth, "beautiful. It wouldn't have been fair to jeopardise your career just because I liked you. So I kept my distance. I'm sorry if it came out wrong."
Shock drenches you from head to toe, an icy coldness that freezes you to the ground. "You like me? Like⌠like-like me?" you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.
His mouth twitches with amusement at the phrasing, but his eyes stay serious. "Yes. But that's not why you should stay. The department needs you. We work better when you're here. I⌠I work better."
You don't think your brain works anymore. Just loose wiring firing off into empty space. Because this canât be real.
"Think about it," he says, with a final lingering glance before he steps out again.
Uh huh. You'll think about it. You'll probably do nothing else but think about the next four days.
It's nearly midnight by the time the worst of the chaos is under control. You're sitting at the hub, sipping your barely lukewarm coffee, delivered by DoorDash earlier, after a mistaken belief that the chaos was over, only to have one sip before it was promptly left on the counter for longer than you'd hoped.
At least it's still somewhat hot. (It's really not, but you've spent money on it, so you're going to delude yourself.)
There's a soft shuffle of footsteps in the distance that eventually stops in front of you. You glance up to find Jack there, hands holding casually onto his stethoscope.
"Crazy night, huh," he says, voice low and hesitant. You've not had a chance to talk yet, both of you immediately pulled into the chaos when you arrived. And the brief respite youâd had was while he was still in trauma. But you've felt his eyes on you throughout it all, the rumour he's heard written all over his face but isn't sure he can truly count on, not until he's heard from your lips.
The rumour that you'd decided to stay.
Which you have, and somehow, it has already slipped out to the staff. Probably Lenaâs doing, or Dana's. The two charge nurses stick their noses in everything that's going on in the Pitt (said with the most fondness). And with how much Lena's been begging, you wouldn't be surprised if it were her.
"Yeah, but at least my coffee isn't completely cold," you reply, lifting your cup slightly.
His eyes crinkle, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, all too aware of how coffee is mostly drunk cold in these parts. "Still better than that iced crap Shen keeps bringing in. I will never get why you would purposefully choose to drink it cold. Coffee's meant to be hot."
You huff a laugh at his complaining and take another sip. "This is from that new place around the corner. It's good. You should try it sometime."
He nods. There's a pause. You can feel it stretching around you until he clears his throat. "I... I heard you're staying."
You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah. Iâum, I thought about it and decided this is a good place for me."
He looks you deep in the eye. "Really?"
"Really," you confirm, setting the cup down.
Jack exhales, a small, relieved sound, finally relaxing now that he's heard it from the source itself. "Good. That's... really good."
There's another pause, the two of you staring at each other. But it's not awkward, just warm.
You stand up, dropping the cup into a bin, but just before you pass him, you lean in and whisper, using every last bit of bravado you have (hoping sincerely he hasnât changed his mind). "I like you, too, by the way."
You see his brows lift, eyes widening just a fraction before a slow, real smile spreads across his face. Wider than you ever seen it aimed at you.
"Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee⌠and get to know each other? Maybe at that place you know?" he asks, voice careful, and almost shy.
"Yeah," you say, grinning just as wide. "I'd like that. After shift?"
"Yes," he says, the last remaining tension in his shoulders easing.
And for the first time in months, maybe years, you leave the hub with a lightness in your chest.
summary: an old bet has accidentally resurfaced and you question where you stand in your relationship with Jack.
warnings: hurt/comfort. insecurity. jealousy. misunderstanding trope-kinda. spoilers for the pitt s2 (especially ep 08).Â
note: gosh itâs finally here. thank you so much for all the love in the og draft! I can't believe it got over 4k notes???? thank you guys â¤ď¸
wc: ~4k
images by @wesandresons ; dividers by me lol
When you work in the ER, surrounded by life, death, sorrow, guilt, grief⌠itâs important to take joy in the moment when you can. Because you canât dwell too much on the patients you lose. You gotta learn to compartmentalize, no matter how small. And in the Pitt, you do bets. Ahmad is usually the one setting them up, and big or small, thereâs always something to bet on.
Today, on the 4th of July, the hot topic is whatâs causing Westbridge to divert their patients and how long will they close their ER?
You bet $30 on system overload for 4 hours.
And now, the betting pool only gets bigger.
âSo. System overload, huh?â Robby asks, stepping up beside you as he studies the board. âHowâd you come up with that one?â
You grin, âToo many medical dramas.â
âGod, you watch those?â Robby grimaces, shaking his head.
You shrug, âJack watches them, too. Actually, it was his idea.â
He chuckles. âIâm sure it was. Speaking of Jack, Iâm surprised you let him join SWAT today.â
Sighing, your shoulders immediately fall. Itâs a topic youâve argued with Jack several times. You donât understand why he wants to volunteer today. The job is dangerous, heâs retired from the army, you canât wrap your head around why canât he just work a regular shift. But at the end of the day, you still chose to support him. Because Jack has his demons, too. And maybe this is his way to face them. Whatever the outcome, your job is to be there when itâs over. To hold the line. To catch him if he falls.
âLet him?â You scoff, âNo, he does what he wants.â
âMaybe itâs an adventure thing.â
You hum sarcastically, âMm-hmm, like you and your bike?â
âWe all need some sort of therapy, right?â
âI guess,â You sigh again, âJackâs probably gonna stop by later at the end of the shift. Before you head off on your grandadventure.â
âYou know, youâre the only person today whoâs called my sabbatical an adventure and not a mid-life crisis.â Robby grins.
âNuh-uh,â You put up a hand, âI still think itâs a mid-life crisis trip. No helmet, Robby? Really? I saw you pull up.â
He sucks in a breath through his teeth and pretends to busy himself. âOh, would you look at that. Patients. Back to work, doctor.â
You just shake your head at him.
You spent the next hours moving nonstop. Treating patients, teaching med students and interns, spending some time with Baby Jane Doe. So far nothing has blown up in your face yet, which is a good sign, but itâs the 4th of July. Crazy things are bound to happen on this day.
You just finished taking care of a head lac, sanitizing your hands while you exit the patient room and checking your phone. Jackâs last check-in was a couple hours ago, and you didnât see it.
â Change our bet. Cyberattack. 5 hours.
Your brows raise, but thereâs a sigh of relief. How does he get intel like these?
Regardless, you make your way towards Ahmad. At least Jackâs safe.
âOh, I know that look.â Ahmad guesses, âChanging your bet? Gotta double it.â
âDouble??â You scoff, âCome on, man.â
âHey, I didnât make the rules.â He raises his hands in surrender, âSo whatâs it gonna be?â
You exhale through your nose, handing him the extra $30. âCyberattack. 5 hours.â
âInteresting,â He notes, âPrincess said the same thing.â
You shrug, analyzing the board for anything interesting. Thatâs when you notice a sticky note buried under several others. One corner sticks out just enough for you to catch the name written across it; âAbbotâ. A bet on Jack? What could it be about?
You reached up and picked it out. When you read the content, your face falls immediately.
'abbot <3 mohan. how? when?'
And you see several bets being placed on it.
$20 they makeout in the oncall room. end of month -princess.
$10 they fuck to relieve stress. after 4th of july -santos.
$30 abbot confesses first. before end of year. -donnie.
$40 never. jack wouldn't have the guts to do it. -robby.
$40 also never. mohan rejects him. -dana.
There are several others, but you can't read them anymore. You feel like your ears are ringing, you can't think straight, and you need to breathe.
Jack and Samira? Jack had something with Samira? Why didnât he tell you? Was it one sided? Does Samira know? Who won the bet? Did anything happen between them? Does Jack still feel something towards her now?
You shove the sticky note in your pocket, rushing out of the room to go somewhere you can breathe some fresh air. You run to the ambulance bay, but Robbyâs there right now and you cannot deal with that, remembering that he bet Jack wouldnât dare make a move on Samira. Which means he knew. No, everyone knew.
Fuck. Just how embarrassing is this? You joined PTMC a little over a year ago and fell in love with Jack. You were never shy about it, never hesitant to be seen with him, or to let people know you were together. And now youâre realizing you might not have been the actual woman he originally wanted like that.
Your stomach twists at the thought. It shouldnât matter. He had a life before you. You know that. He didnât owe you anything. Still, something about finding out this way makes you feel stupid, like you walked into an inside joke everyone else was already in on. And youâre the punchline.
You turn to a random patientâs room, pretending to check on them.
ââOur little secret.â
You manage to hear a voice before you open the curtains, and you see your Jack sitting on the bed with his shirt off, with Samira with her gloves on, standing behind him.
Your eyes widen and you stop in your tracks.
If you were being rational and logical, you would be able to make the connection that Samira is patching Jack up from a wound, but you're dealing with too much information too fast, and the twisting feeling in your chest only gets worse.
Jack can see it in your eyes. The way theyâre tearing up, how your chest is heaving, and how you canât really make eye contactâyouâre about to panic. Fight or flight. And he knows exactly what happens next if it hits full force: youâd shut down, youâd barely speak.
âSweetheartââ
âNo,â You say immediately, bringing a hand to your mouth because you feel like you could throw up, âDonâtâ I canâtââ
He stands up, already wanting to hold you, but you're already stepping away from the room to find somewhere you could be alone.
Are you just a rebound because he couldnât get Samira? Just a replacement? Did he settle for you? Was he just lonely, and you happened to be there at the right time, saying the right things, filling a space that was never really meant for you? Is he dating you just to get her jealous?
You walk as quickly and as calmly as you can out to the ambulance bay again, seeing itâs empty now.
You let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding, the cool air brushing against your face. Your chest isnât heaving anymore. The breaths you take are still short, but your head is clearer now. However, the tightness in your chest, the aching pain, they donât go away.
Your breath becomes a sob, and before you know it, tears are falling from your eyes.
âDamn it,â you mutter under your breath, wiping the tears with your sleeves.
Itâs a ridiculous thing to cry over.
You have Jack. Heâs yours. Youâre just being insecure. Jealous. Overthinking and overreacting. Thatâs all this is.
So why does it still hurt so much?
Thereâs no doubt that Jack wants to be with you. He shows it every day. But if Samira had reciprocated back then⌠if things had lined up differently⌠where would that have left you?
Fuck. No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.
Youâre not sure when youâve dropped to the ground, crouching while keeping your head hanging low. All you know is, youâve probably stayed too long out in the bay, because Robbyâs found you and he looks concerned. So you quickly duck back inside.
Youâre not trying to avoid Jack. Itâs just been incredibly chaotic ever since they announced the system was going offline to prevent a cyberattackâwhich also means you and Jack won the bet, yayâthat everyoneâs drowning trying to keep up with the paperwork.
Besides, you havenât really seen him ever since the little⌠incident you saw. Right now heâs occupied in a trauma with Robby and Whitaker, your eyes meeting for a fleeting second through the glass doors and you can see him fighting the urge to go to you before Robby calls him again.
You swallow hard. The sticky notes in your pocket feeling like it weighs a ton.
Right after youâve finished the discharge papers of one of your patients and ding the call bell, you feel his presence next to you, holding your arm and guiding you to the lockers.
He doesnât look happy.
Once the door closes, Jack lets your arm go, and youâre backed against the wall. His arms are in his pockets, but they might as well be next to your head with the way heâs looking at you.
âWhatâs going on?â
You open your mouth to speak, but you donât know where to begin.
I found out about you and Samira. Do you love her or me? What was that âlittle secretâ you guys were talking about? If she told you she loved you now, would you choose her? Why didnât you tell me?
Jack exhales through his nose, the tension clear. He turns to his locker to grab his things. âLook, I gotta go. Gotta sleep a bit before my night shift later. I know this isnât ideal, we donât have much time, but⌠Iâd rather we talk about some of it now than later.â
You close your mouth, nodding and understanding.
He softens slightly. âBaby, please. Tell me whatâs bothering you.â
You glance at your feet, biting your lip, pressing your nails to your palms to calm your nerves and finally gather the courage to ask: âDo you have⌠feelings⌠for Samira?â
Jackâs head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you. His brows are furrowed. His eyes are sharp and almost pointed at you, he definitely was not expecting that question.
âOr, did you?â You add, trying to correct yourself.
His hard expression hasnât changed, but heâs no longer looking at you. He closes his locker, fumbling with his bag.
And itâs his silence that breaks you.
âJack?â You ask, voice sounding like youâre in disbelief.
âNoââ He immediately answers, ââI donât. Sorry, that question just⌠took me by surprise.â
You donât look convinced.
âBaby,â Jack softens, stepping closer, âThere is nothing going on between me and Mohan. I promise.â
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to will the tears away. âAre you sure?â
His brows raise, because why would you ask him that? âYesâlook, where is this coming from? Baby, I promise what you saw earlier was just a coincidence, okay? I was gonna patch myself up but she was already there. There is nothing going on.â Heâs holding onto you now, looking deeply into your soul with concern.
Because he needs you to understand thereâs no one else in this world for him. His entire existence, his entire life, revolves around you now. He doesnât know how else to convince you, not when you look like heâs betrayed your trust.
Your lip trembles.
You should believe him. You know heâs probably telling the truth. But you canât help but feel thereâs still something heâs hiding from you. So you fish the wrinkled sticky note in your pocket.
âI found this buried behind the other betting notes,â You mutter, putting the notes in his palm.
Jack hasnât opened the notes yet, looking at you for an explanation first.
âI wouldâve understood if you had just told me in the beginning,â you continue, your throat tightening despite how hard youâre trying to stay calm. âI mean, itâs not like you owed me an explanation. I just⌠I donât understand why I had to find out like this.â
He finally unfolds the wrinkled notes, and his jaw clenches when he reads them.
He doesnât really react. Heâs not shocked. And that tells you what you need to know.
âOh my God,â you breathe, a hollow laugh escaping, the sadness and hurt simmering into disbelief. âYou knew about the bet.â
âWhoa, noââ Jack immediately interjects. âNot in the way you think. I found out about this a long time after it ended.â
Your eyes snap to him. âIt ended?â
âYesââ
âWho won the bet?â
âWhy does it matter?â Jack sighs but then answers anyway, âI donât know, honey.â
You bite your lip, trying to look anywhere else but his eyes, but you canât escape him.
Your mind is still so loud. It keeps going, keeps spinning, feeding you every worst-case scenarios where you're the one who loses. It's exhausting, living in your own head like this. And you don't know how to tell Jack that. How do you explain that your biggest fear isn't what did happen, but what could. That somewhere in the back of your mind you're terrified that if Samira changed her mind, you'd lose him without warning.
âHey.â His voice drops quieter. His hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. âLook at me.â
You do, reluctantly. And you hate how much just looking at him undoes you.
âI need you to hear me right now,â he says, his thumb brushing your cheek. âJust listen to my voice, okay? Not whatever your brain has been spinning all day. Me.â
âJackââ
âYes, I had a crush on Mohan,â he says plainly. âIt was nothing. It went nowhere because I didnât want it to. And then months later, you showed up, and I never thought about her ever since.â He shakes his head slowly. âYouâre the light of my life. First time I saw you, I knew youâre it for me.â
Despite yourself, a small, watery laugh escapes you. âWe were yelling at each other.â
âIn my defense, it was your first day and no one told me there was a new hot doctor in town. And we also made out right after, soâŚâ
You shake your head with a small smile. The ache in your chest hasn't fully gone yet, but is much more manageable now. You swallow hard after a beat passes. âYou could've told me.â
Jack nods, not making excuses of it. âYouâre right. I should have. I didn't think it mattered enough to bring up. And that was stupid of me. But I promise, it was never something I was hiding from you. Iâd forgotten about it. I didnât even think of it.â
You nod back. âWhat was the little secret?â you ask quietly. âWhat I walked in on earlier⌠what did she mean by that?â
He exhales and opens his mouth to explain, when the locker room door swings open and Robby comes in.
âYou guys better not be playing hide the zucchini,â Robby jokes, âJack, Howard is ready for transport. They need you out front.â
Jack's jaw tightens. He looks at Robby, then back at you, and you can see it in his face, the frustration of fucking terrible timing.
âGive me a minute.â He says.
Robby hesitates for just a second, then gives a small nod and lets the door shut behind him.
Jack turns back to you. His hand finds your face again, tilting up so you're looking at him. âShe was helping me with my wound on my back. A bullet grazed my vest. I wanted it to be off the books. That was the secret.â He gave you a summary.
He slings his backpack on his other shoulder and gives your forehead a kiss. âWeâll talk more later, okay? I promise you thatâs all it was.â
You nod, not fully trusting your voice.
He lingers a second longer than he should, thumb brushing your cheek, and then he's gone. And you donât like how everything feels too quiet without him in it.
One year agoâŚ
âAre they still at it?â Robby frowns, hearing the loud voices coming from the supply closet.
You and Jack only met moments ago. Itâs your first day in PTMC, and by some luck, you arrived on a stretcher, doing chest compressions on a patient. Robbyâs met you before, so though he was surprised, he didnât get in your way.
However, Jack, having never met you, immediately carried you off the patient, taking over the compressions himself.
âWhaâ Hey!â
âSomebody get her out of here!â
If it werenât for Robby finally explaining that youâre the new attending joining them and not a patient or visitor, Jack wouldâve probably dragged you out himself.
âSounds like it.â Dana confirms. âSheâs feisty. I like her.â
Robby hums, âReminds you of yourself, punchy?â
Dana chuckles, âYouâre lucky I havenât actually punched anyone, Cap.â
Your argument with Jack continues.
âYou didnât have to man-handle me like that!â
âI wasnât man-handling you, it was just easier to carry you rather than pulling you to come down! What if youâd fallen??â
âWell I couldâve fallen with you 'carrying' me anyway!â
Jack scoffs, âWhat, you think I'm not strong enough to carry you, princess?â
âDon't fucking call me that. And no, I don't think you are.â You step closer as if challenging him.
You stay like that for a second. Eyes glaring at each other, out of breath, bodies so close that you can feel each otherâs warmth⌠and with one glance at his lips, Jackâs resolve breaks. Youâre kissing him before you know it. His hand on the back of your neck, the other around your waist to feel your body press against him, while yours are bunched in his scrubs, pulling him closer.
You moan when you feel his tongue intrude your mouth. And Jackâs about to slip his hand under your shirt when thereâs a knock on the door.
âAlright guys, quit it.â Robbyâs voice booms from outside. âItâs gotten quiet so Iâm assuming youâre⌠doing something else. We got a trauma coming in. Letâs go.â
You push yourself off of him immediately. Wiping your mouth of his saliva and looking away despite your heavy breaths and flushed face.
Jack smirks, licking his lips and opening the door for you, signaling you to go first. You roll your eyes and walk first anyway, cursing on your way out.
âJack-ass.â
âBrat.â
The memory brings a smile to your face now.
Itâs definitely not the most romantic way to meet the love of your life, but you wouldnât have it any other way. And needless to say, youâre grateful Robby didnât report you to HR on your first day.
Youâve decided to work an extra couple of hours since things are still chaotic and the night shift would need help. Not to mention that you donât really want to go home to an empty house right now.
It only took you and Jack about a month before admitting that you wanted to be more than just friends who occasionally make out. And once youâve embraced the fact that youâre in love with him, everything became easier. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. You still argue, but none of it makes you want to walk away.
âHi, sweetheart.â
You feel Jackâs arm around you as he kisses your head.
You lean into his touch. âHi.â
He looks better now after a few hours of sleep, changed into another black t-shirt and dark cargo pants. He stands beside you, shoulders touching. He doesn't say anything right away, and neither do you.
Youâve had the rest of the day to think about what happened. Your feelings. Your relationship. And you have to admit, your earlier reaction was⌠a lot of anxiety and panic. Jack left you texts throughout the day, and his reassurances have calmed you down, and now youâre ready to talk to him.
âStaying for the night shift?â He asks.
âJust a few hours.â You say, then turn to him.
âCan we⌠talk?â
His hand finds yours, fingers slipping between yours. âCome on.â
He takes you to the rooftop, where itâs quieter and the chances of someone walking in is low. The rooftop was also where you and Jack managed to um⌠relieve some stress back then. It was a daring thing that you donât think you can do again.
The breeze hits your face and you take a deep breath, following Jack to sit a few feet from the edge. He knows you hate dangling your feet, you once told him itâs very dangerous because âwhat if your leg falls off??â. It puts a smile on Jackâs face just remembering it.
Silence stretches between you, and you know you canât delay it any longer.
âIâm sorry.â
Jackâs head snaps towards you, looking confused.
You continue anyway. âI saw the bet and my mind immediately assumed the worst. I guess it triggered an insecurity in meâŚâ
âHoneyââ
âNo, I⌠I need to get this out,â You take a deep breath, fidgeting with your fingers. âI hate that everyone knew you had a thing for Samira except me.â You admit. âIt makes me feel stupid. Most of them were rooting for you to get together and I⌠I feel like Iâm a replacement. Because you couldnât get her.â
You swallow the lump in your throat. You feel like crying but it seems like your tears have dried out. âAnd Iâm scared that you might leave me for her if she turned out to have reciprocated your feelings.â
Jack softens, scooting closer to you and taking your hands in his, kissing them dearly.
âYou shouldnât say sorry.â He says, âIâm sorry because I didnât tell you. Youâre not a replacement, sweetheart. You never were, you never will be. You're not someone I settled for because things didn't work out somewhere else.â He tilts his head, making sure youâre still with him.
âThat crush was just⌠admiration. Purely surface level. I wasnât interested in her that way.â Jack explains, âAnd I guess⌠knowing my staring problem, I probably wasnât sublte and people started reading too much into it. And you know gossip here spread like wildfire.â
You press your lips together, nodding while you listen to him.
âBut look,â Jack straightens, âI donât want to downplay your feelings. Theyâre completely valid, okay? If you told me you had the same thing with⌠with Robby, I wouldâve lost it. I shouldâve told you. Iâm sorry I didnât.â He repeats. âYou deserved to hear it from me first.â
You let out a breath of relief, nodding again and leaning your head on his shoulder.
Jack puts an arm around you, kissing your temple. âAnd as for Mohan, there is no scenario where I leave you for her. Or for anyone. You hear me?â
âMm-hmm.â You hum.
âThank you.â You say after a second, âfor understanding. For apologizing. For accepting me. I love you.â
Jack tilts your head to look at him. âNo thanks needed. I love you. I love every part of you.â
You smile at him, finally able to let go of the weight on your shoulders.
The silence that follows is different from before.
âI donât think you were subtle with me either.â You say after a while, chuckling.
âHoney, we snogged the first day we met. We donât do subtle.â
You groan, âMy God. Who says snogged anymore?â
âThis old guy.â Jack laughs. âNow come on. We should go down and talk to Robby before he leaves.â
You exhale, gathering the will to go back into the fray before getting up, then offering Jack your hand. âAlright gramps, letâs go.â
He snorts, shaking his head, but taking your hand anyway so you can help him up. âDonât push your luck, sweetheart. Youâre gonna be screaming this âgramps'â name tonight.â
You gasp, âEw! Jack! That sounds so creepy.â
âYou started it.â
Youâre both laughing as you make your way down through the elevator.
âHey,â Jack calls your attention, smiling and sending you a knowing look. âJust you and me, alright?â
You smile back, âyou and me.â
it's finally doneeeeeeeee â¤ď¸ thank you for supporting me and I hope you guys like it 𼚠the pressure is fr fr
Synopsis: You tell yourself itâs just a crush. Just proximity. Just long nights in the ED and shared adrenaline. But when a workplace incident ends up with you being accidentally sedated, your filter is stripped away, the truth slips outâand the man youâve wanted for months hears it all. You wake up embarrassed, determined to pretend it never happened, but he has other plans. In a department where gossip spreads fast, youâre forced to confront whatâs been simmering between you two all along.
word count: 2.6k
Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, age gap, medical setting, mention of drugs (ketamine), kissing, implied sexual content, non-graphic intimacy
The shift had already been teetering on the edge of chaos when the ambulance bay doors slammed open. The stretcher came in fast, wheels rattling over the threshold, paramedics talking over each other as they pushed.
âTwenty-eight year old male, altered mental status, possible head trauma. Combative on route. No known history.â
Saying he was combative was generous.
The patient was drenched in sweat, muscles straining violently against the straps. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused, jaw clenched so tight the tendons strained in his neck. He thrashed the second you stepped close, nearly catching a you in the jaw. The trauma bay lights were brutal overhead, all sharp white glare and humming electricity, making the blood at his temple look darker than it probably was.
âSir, we need you to hold still,â you said, keeping your voice steady, low, and nonthreatening. He responded by trying to tear himself off the stretcher entirely.
âThatâs enough,â Dr. Abbot snapped, already gloving up, moving to grab ahold of the patients thrashing legs. âWeâre sedating.â
Dr. Ellis moved in on the opposite side, bracing one forearm across the patientâs chest. âYou got that arm,â she muttered, nodding toward the arm thrashing closest to you.
You didnât hesitate. You grabbed the patientâs upper arm, fingers digging into trembling muscle. He was stronger than he lookedâadrenaline fuelled and panickedâand he bucked hard enough to nearly throw you off balance. Abbot swore under his breath as the patient tried to twist free.
âKetamine ready,â Dr. Whitaker called from your left. His voice had that tight edge to itâfocused but nervous. The syringe was already drawn, clear liquid catching the light.
âOn three,â Abbot said. âOne... twoââ
The patient jerked violently.
Your grip shifted just as Whitaker moved to inject the patient.
Before you realized, sharp pain exploded in your hand.
âOwâwhat the fuck!â
It was sharp and immediate, a hot, blooming sting that made you recoil. You looked down in disbelief.
The needle was buried in your hand not the patients arm, the plunger already fully depressed.
For a split second, nobody moved.
Whitaker went sheet white. âOh my GodâI didnât mean for that to happen! The angle changed right before and I-Iâm so sorry.â
âGet another syringe!â Ellis barked, not even looking up as she continued wrestling the patient down. âWe need to sedate the actual patient.â
A nurse was already moving, efficient and fast. The second injection went into the correct person this time, clean and precise. Within moments the patientâs movements slowed, then stopped entirely, his body going limp against the stretcher.
Meanwhile, the world had started to tilt.
The overhead lights felt wrong. They were too bright, too close. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, but your limbs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.
âOkay,â you said carefully, blinking hard. âSomeone get a gurney.â
Your words came out thick and slightly slurred. The floor shifted under your feet like you were standing on a boat. You tried to steady yourself by grabbing the edge of the stretcher.
âAnd please someone break my faââ
Your knees buckled.
And everything went black.
âââââââââ
Waking up felt like dragging yourself through syrup. The fluorescent lights overhead were blinding, stabbing through your eyelids until you groaned and rolled your head away from them. Your mouth was dry and your thoughts were slow, floating lazily out of reach.
âHello,â you mumbled, voice thick.
âHey there, kid.â
You knew that voice immediately.
You blinked several times until the blur focused into Jack sitting beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully.
âJack,â you whispered, smiling dopily. âIâm so happy youâre here.â
He let out a soft breath, tension easing from his shoulders. âYeah?â
You frowned slightly.
Something wasnât adding up.
You glanced aroundâthe monitor, the IV pole, the curtain pulled halfway around the bed.
âW-where am I?â
âAt PTMC. You were working on a patient and Whitaker injected you with nearly five hundred milligrams of ketamine.â
You stared at him.
âOh,â you said after a long pause. âThatâs not good.â
âNope.â
You shifted under the blanket and felt thin fabric against your skin. You looked down, and froze.
You were in a hospital gown.
âWhy am I in this?â you questioned. âIâm a doctor. I should be saving lives.â
Jackâs lips twitched. âWeâll need a raincheck on that. Weâre observing you until the medication wears off.â
You processed that slowly. âDid you put me in this?â
He leaned back slightly. âNo. Lena did.â
You rolled your eyes dramatically. âBoo. I was hoping you did.â You squinted at him, expression soft and hazy. âYouâre so hot.â
Jack blinked.
ââŚIâm sorry?â
âYouâre really hot,â you repeated matter-of-factly, then dissolved into giggles.Â
Jack's eyebrows launch up.
You poked your own cheek experimentally. âMy face feels like jello.â
Your fingers drifted upward and found the nasal cannula. You tugged at it lazily.
âNope,â Jack said immediately, gently catching your wrist. âThat stays in. Your O2 levels dipped earlier.â
You frowned at him like heâd personally betrayed you. Then your eyes dropped to the IV taped securely in your arm.
âOh no, they forgot to take the needle out,â you whispered, horrified, reaching toward it.
âThat has to stay in too.â
You huffed out in frustration, but then, for absolutely no reason, you started laughing again.
âWhatâs so funny?â Jack asked, a small smile making its way over his lips despite himself.
You looked at him very seriously, leaning slightly closer like you were about to share classified information.
âYou smell like cologne and money.â
Jack blinks, shifting slightly in his chair. âDo I?â
You nod and hold his gaze, eyes heavy but locked on him. âSometimes it makes me want to drag you into an on call room and lock the door.â
Silence.
Complete, stunned silence.
His jaw tightens. âThatâsââ
âIâve wanted to for months,â you add softly, like youâre commenting on the weather. âIts hard not, especially when you look like that.â Â
He just stares at you, visibly recalibrating, breath shallow now.
âYou donât mean that,â he manages. âYouâre high out of your mind.â
You opened your mouth to continue, but before the words could leave your mouth, the door to the trauma room opened, revealing none other than Whitaker.
âHuckleberry!â you say with sudden excitement, your smile widening instantly.
Whitaker gulps nervously and closes the door behind him. âIâI just wanted to come and apologize to you, for, you know⌠injecting you.â
âItâs okay, white chocolate,â you reply generously. âI forgive you.â
Whitaker winces immediately. âI see youâve been hanging out with Santos and Garcia.â
âYeah, theyâre funny ladies,â you giggle, completely unbothered. âIf it makes you feel better, I think the nicknames are cute.â
A wave of exhaustion crashes over you mid laugh. You yawn, blinking slowly as your eyes begin to droop.
âWe should let you rest,â Jack says, already beginning to stand.
âNo,â you protest immediately, instinctively reaching out and grabbing his hand before he can step away. Your fingers curl weakly around his. âI want you to stay.â
Whitaker shifts awkwardly, mumbling something under his breath, clearly aware heâs interrupting something he does not understand but definitely does not want to be part of.
âI have some patients to see,â Jack says gently, voice softening as he looks down at you. âBut Iâll come back in a little.â
âBut Iâm your patient,â you mumble stubbornly.
Before Jack can respond, your grip weakens. Your head tilts slightly to the side, mouth falling open as the medication pulls you under again, breath slow and heavy.
Jack stands there for a moment longer than necessary, still holding your hand.
Whitaker clears his throat quietly, slipping out of the room awkwardly.Â
Jack finally lets go, leaving to room.
âââââââââ
You woke up again, this time slightly more coherent and felt less like you were floating.Â
âGood morning, sleepyhead.â
Jackâs voice pulls you fully out of dreamland. His thumb brushes lightly over the apple of your cheek, slow and uniform, like heâs been doing it without realizing. When your eyes focus on him, he pulls his hand back.
You blink up at him. The room isnât spinning anymore, just a little foggy at the edges.
ââŚHow long was I out?â
âA couple hours,â he says. âItâs almost shift change.â
You push yourself up carefully. âThe patient?â
âStable. All scans were clean. You can relax.â
You nod, then your brow furrows.
âI remember you were here,â you say slowly. âAnd Whitaker came in.â
âHe did.â
You squint at him. âDid I say anything weird?â
Jack doesnât miss a beat. âYou were⌠chemically compromised.â
âThatâs not an answer.â
A flicker of something crosses his face, but itâs gone just as quickly. âWeâll talk later.â
Your stomach tightens. âJack.â
âLater,â he repeats calmly.
Before you can press him again, the door whips open.
âWell, look who's alive,â Santos announces, stepping inside like she owns the hospital. Garcia follows behind her with a coffee and a grin that immediately makes you nervous.
âOh no,â you mutter.
âOh yes,â Garcia says. âThe nurses have been talking.â
You sink back against the pillows. âAbout what.â
Santos gasps dramatically. âAbout how you were calling Whitaker dessert items.â
âI did notââ
âYou absolutely did,â Garcia cuts in. âWhitaker is currently furious that weâre spreading âwhite chocolate.ââ
You clap a hand over your face. âIâm never coming back.â
Despite yourself, you laugh. âI donât even remember saying that.â
Jack clears his throat quietly. Youâd almost forgotten he was there. Heâs standing now, composed, hands in his pant pockets.
âShe needs rest,â he says evenly.
Santos raises an eyebrow. âWeâre being gentle.â
Garciaâs gaze flicks between you and Jack, clearly noticing the tension. âWe also heard something about cologne and money?â
You freeze. âWhatâŚ?â
Jack looks entirely unfazed. âItâs time for shift change,â he says smoothly. âWeâll talk when you're fully sober.â His eyes meet yours briefly.
And then heâs gone.
The second he disappears down the hall, Santos leans in. âOkay. What else did you say?â
âI donât know!â you whisper. âI donât remember!â
Before they can dig any further, the door opens again.
âAlright,â Robby says, stepping in with a tablet in hand. âYouâre clear to go home.â
Relief floods you.
 âYou two,â he looks at Santos and Garcia. âOut. Patients exist.â
They groan in unison but shuffle toward the exit.
âWeâre not done with you,â Santos warns.
âWhite chocolate forever!â Garcia adds before disappearing into the hall.
"Garcia stop saying that!" Whitaker exclaims as he rounds the corner.
Robby shakes his head, amused, and starts disconnecting your leads. âHeard you had the trip of a lifetime.â
âIâm gathering that,â you mumble.
He peels the IV out of your arm. âVitals are good, you just need food and sleep.â
You hesitate. ââŚDid I say anything to Jack?â
Robby pauses, then gives you a look. âDepends,â he says. âDo you want the nurse version or the attending-approved version?â
Your stomach drops. âThe attending-approved version.â
He smirks slightly. âAccording to Jack, you told him he smells like cologne and money. Then you informed him youâd thought about what would happen if you both went into an on-call room.â
Your entire body goes rigid.
âI said that.â
âMhm.â
You stare at the wall in horror. âPlease tell me I stopped there.â
âIâm not sure,â he shrugs. âThatâs all he told me.â
âOh my God.â You drop your face into your hands. âI have to work with him tomorrow.â
Robby chuckles, handing you your discharge papers. âYouâll survive.â
âIâm never going to be able to look him in the eyes again.â
Unfortunately, this time you were completely conscious for the humiliation.
âââââââââ
It's been 22 hours and 30 minutes since you embarrassed yourself in front of Jack.
And you've been avoiding him all night.
Every time Jack stepped into a trauma bay, you found a reason to step out. When he rounded the nursesâ station, you disappeared into a supply closet. The ED had been mercifully slow, which made it easy to slip through the cracks.
You almost thought youâd succeeded.
Almost.
Youâre scanning a chart at the nursesâ station when you feel itâthat awareness. The shift in the air.
âWe need to talk.â
His voice is low as he leaned down to talk right in your ear.
Goosebumps ripple down your neck instantly.
Before you can even respond, his hand wraps around your forearmâfirm and controlledâas he guides you across the ED. Not rough, but not gentle either.
âJackââ you start.
He pushes open the break room door and ushers you inside. The door swings shut behind you.
You swear you hear the click of the lock.
Your heart stutters.
He turns to face you, jaw tight, eyes darker than youâve ever seen them.
âDo you remember anything you said yesterday?â
You swallow. âNo. Not really. Robby⌠kind of filled me in.â
And then it startsâthe rambling.
âIâm so sorry, I was high, and thatâs not an excuse, I justâI donât normally say things like that and I promise Iâm not unprofessional and I completely understand if that made you uncomfortableââ
He steps closer.
You keep going.
âI mean obviously I think youâre attractive but thatâs not the point, the point is I should not haveââ
His hand comes up suddenly, fingers warm against your jaw, thumb pressing lightly into one cheek, steadying you.
âStop.â
You freeze.
His other hand cups the other side of your face, forcing you to look at him.
âDid you mean it?â he asks quietly. âWhat you said last nightâwas any of it true?â
Your pulse is probably in v-tach.
You try to look away. He doesnât let you.
âAnswer me.â
You inhale shakily.
âYeah,â you whisper. âI meant it.â
Silence.
Then the smallest smirk touches his mouth. Before you can process it, he pulls you in.
The kiss is not tentative. Itâs deep and deliberate, months of restraint snapping all at once. Your hands fly up in surprise, but they donât push him away. They grip his scrubs tightly instead.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
When he finally pulls back, your breathing is uneven.
âIâve felt the same,â he murmurs against your mouth. âFor months.â
Your brain short circuits.
âJackââ
âI was trying to be responsible,â he says, thumb brushing along your jaw again. âYou made that very difficult.â
His mouth trails briefly along your cheek, your jaw, down to the curve of your neckâslow enough to make your knees weaken.
âYou wanted to know what Iâd do if you locked the door,â he murmurs.
Your stomach flips.
âI think youâre about to find out.â
And thenâ
BANG. BANG. BANG.
âWhat the hell?â Dr. Shenâs voice comes muffled through the door. âWhy is this locked? My coffeeâs in there.â
You and Jack jump apart like youâve been electrocuted. You scramble to smooth your hair. He adjusts his scrubs, clearing his throat.
You unlock the door quickly and swing it open.
Dr. Shen looks between you both suspiciously.
âMustâve locked automatically,â Jack says smoothly as he steps past him.
Shen narrows his eyes but grabs his coffee and mutters something about 'new facilities policies.'
You do not make eye contact with anyone as you speed walk away.
A nurse calls from down the hall, âCan someone come look at bed four?â
"I've got it," you latch onto that lifeline immediately and start walking towards to bed.
Jack catches up to you easily, falling into step at your side.
âCome home with me after our shifts over,â he murmurs, low enough that no one else hears. âIâll let you finish what you started.â
Your face burns instantly.Â
âYes,â you say eagerly. âI meanâsure, yeah sounds good.â
Jack gives you a knowing look, the corner of his mouth lifting before he turns around to go check on a patient, looking like the picture of professionalism.
By the time you reach bed four, your face is still burning. And you're painfully aware that heâs watching you from across the ED.Â
a/n: Unfortunately inspired by my embarrassing ER visit yesterday :(
summary: in the middle of the worst e.r. shift of your whole career, you catch your not-quite boyfriend, shirtless, in an empty room with another resident. (6.4k)
contents: established relationship/friends with benefits, jealousy (mohabbot take five real quick), angst, hurt/comfort, kinda canon divergent 'cause i wrote this when the spoilers dropped a few weeks ago cw for s2 spoilers, physical assault (a la dana in s1), panic attacks, mentions of blood and medical procedures, mentions of patient death, brief mentions of grief, brief mentions of not eating due to stress n sadness, allusions to smut 18+ (MDNI)
The lamplit room is filled with Jackâs exclusion from it.
You writhe beneath the mussed blankets, still buzzing from the remnants of your orgasm, and watch his shadow move beneath the crack of the bathroom door. Youâre still filled by him, still leaking a mixture of him onto the stained sheets below, and yet you find yourself missing him, anyway.
He does not seem as grieved by the distance as you are. He sobered almost instantly from his own orgasm and promptly slid off your body, without another word or a kiss of reassurance shared between you. Heâd slipped his prosthetic back on and made a beeline for the adjoining bathroom â where he has been for some minutes now, just pacing, and leaving you to stew in the worry of what you had obviously done so wrong.
âDo you wanna order food?â you call into the quiet, reaching for your phone on the nightstand beside you. You miss once, then twice, with hands still tingling from a soul-ascending pleasure. The screen fills the dim room with a blue-white light that makes you squint until your tired eyes adjust.
âWhat?!â Jack shouts back, muffled from behind the door. The hissing faucet shuts off to a slow drip.
âI said, do youââ You cut off your yelling when the bathroom door squeaks open. Jack appears in the doorway, now dressed in the t-shirt and jeans heâd arrived in. Heâs shadowed momentarily by the light behind him until he switches it off again â then heâs painted a dim golden color as he walks back into the bedroom for his shoe.
You hold the thin sheet to your bare chest and shift further up the headboard, bending your knees to accommodate his body when he sits on the edge of the mattress to tie his laces. Your eyes soften, waiting for him to look back at you.
He never does.
More quietly, you tell him, âI asked if you wanted to order food. âCause I donât really feel like cooking right now and, depending on what you want, we should probably wait to order âcause Love Island doesnât come on for another hour, andââ
Jackâs scruffy chin brushes the thin fabric of his shirt as he turns his head slowly to look at you. Thereâs a distance in his eyes that cuts you off, like youâre a quick fuck that doesnât know when to stop talking, like heâs waiting for you to stop so he can get away.
âI think Iâm gonna head out now, actually,â he tells you, then returns to knot his laces.
âOhâŚâ you hum, half-breathless, and pretend his foreign dismissiveness doesnât tear your chest in two. âAre you⌠Are you okayâ?â
âYeah,â he shrugs and rises from the mattress. âIâm fine. I justâ Need to get home.â
You follow him with wet eyes as he rounds the bed for the opposite side, where his phone and wallet sit on the nightstand and his branded rucksack rests on the floor. âWell, do you want me to wait to watch it with you? âCause then I have to text Princes and tell her not to spoil it for me in the morningââ
âGo ahead,â Jack shrugs, with a faint smile that doesnât reach his eyes, as he slides the camo strap over his broad shoulder. âI think Iâll survive a week without it.â
Your frown deepens at his joke.
âDid I do something?â you wonder in a meek voice that makes his chest ache.
âNo,â he scoffs. âOf course not. Why would you ask that?â
âI donât knowâŚâ you murmur shyly, shifting on the mattress and grimacing slightly when the sticky sheets cling to your thighs. âYou never leave right after we have sex, so Iâ I didnât know if, maybe⌠It wasnât good for your something, or if I said somethingââ
âNo, it was greatââ Jack interjects, but cuts himself off quickly thereafter, like he was about to say something he shouldnât.
The word âhoneyâ was about to roll off his tongue the way it always does when heâs talking to you, but it feels wrong to say it now, for a reason he still canât name that threatens to strangle him all the same.
âI just gotta go now. Okay?â
At a loss for what else to do, or what else to say that might make him stay, you just nod with a sad smile. âSureâŚâ
Jack leaves with a polite nod â like the sex was some sort of mindless transaction heâs thanking you for and not something youâve done quite regularly for the past several months. He doesnât speak another word to you when he walks out, and doesnât look back at you once when he shuts the door behind him.
You stew in his absence and forget to eat.
Your tired body functions the following day on nothing but heartache and half a granola bar.
You drown in the bustling emergency department, and in the void of the white screen ahead of you, where you try and fail to do your charting. You canât quite garner the strength to use your hands, much less use your brain to put letters on the screen thatâll just look like alphabet soup to you anyway. Youâre stuck idling in the emptiness inside of you, where your heart withers along with your stomach.
Robby watches from afar, studying you as he flits between patients and residents requiring his attention. He has, self-admittedly, quite the soft spot for you â because youâre the smartest person on this floor and the most sensitive, too, which makes for a great doctor but very often the saddest person youâll ever meet. He waits for you to correct yourself before he has to step in, and potentially make your day worse than itâs obviously already going.
You donât move for six minutes straight.
He timed it.
âWhat is going on over here?â Robby wonders slowly, leaning over the top of the desk and peering down at you with a pair of stern brown eyes.
You blink rapidly to clear the haze of rumination from your vision and shrink into your cushioned seat like a scolded child. âChartingâŚâ you answer with an unconvincing waver in your voice.
âLooks like it,â Robby scoffs with a hint of a smile that gets lost in his greying beard. He taps the desk with his palm and stands to full height again, nodding his head and urging you to follow him. âCâmon. Walk with me.â
He saunters off in the opposite direction of the work station, taking a tablet that Dana hands to him as he goes. It takes a long moment for his words to compute, and you scramble to your feet when he throws you an expectant look over his shoulder. You fall into step with the older man as he drags his glasses from the shirt pocket of his black scrubs.
Robby sets the black frames on the bridge of his nose and wonders aloud with his gaze turned to the screen in his hand, âWhatâs going on with you today, kid?â
âItâs nothing,â you shrug dismissively, sticking close to the manâs side as you weave within the crowded hall.
He flashes you an unenthusiastic glare in return. His eyes dart between your furrowed brows, to your anxiety-bitten lips (where your teeth dig into the delicate skin even now), to where you wrench the hem of your long-sleeved undershirt into trembling fists. Whatever it is, itâs very clearly not nothing.
âIâm not asking to be polite, kid,â the older man tells you, firm but not entirely unkind. âI can tell somethingâs wrong, and itâs affecting your work, soâ Just tell me.â
You swallow hard and struggle to find the courage to speak, or to meet the manâs gaze as your eyes dart everywhere but back at him.
âItâs about your friendâŚâ you confess in a sheepish murmur that gets lost in the droning of the bustling E.R.
It takes Robby a moment or more to catch your meaning.
âJack?â he presses, because he knew the two of you were seeing each other, but not that it was quite so serious to warrant the off-day youâre having now. He makes a mental note to ream Abbot out for it the next time he sees him â âcause he canât have any of his residents upset, least of all you.
You nod with an averted gaze. âHeâs just⌠been offââ
âHeâs always off,â Robby scoffs.
âWell, not with me,â you tell him, foreignly firm in your quiet argument. âAnd now heâs not talking to me, and I have no idea what I didâŚâ
âWell, knowing Jack, you probably didnât do a damn thing,â Robby concedes with a heavy sigh and flashes you a sympathetic look as you turn the corner. âJust give him some time, alright? Heâll come around. He always does. For now, youâve got a patient in 8 thatâs asking for youââ
Before you can make a guess on who it is â though you think you already know the answer â a strong hand wrenches suddenly around your wrist.
The manâs fingers are warm, calloused, and unwavering against your delicate skin. Your heart lurches into your throat at the sudden panic as your chin snaps towards the man towering over you. Heâs tall, bearded, rugged, and so angry heâs red in the face.
âI have been waiting out thereâŚâ the man starts, taut voice wavering with a withheld fire. ââŚFor four hours. When the hell am I gonna see somebody?â
âHow did you get back here?â is the first thing you think to squeak out, because you vaguely recall McKay sending him back to Chairs after taking his vitals some time ago.
Robby steps in then, cutting between you and the stranger to urge him backward and away from you. You rub at your tender wrist when the manâs brutal touch is gone.
âWeâre seeing the sickest patients first, sir. So count yourself lucky you arenât back here,â Robby explains in an even voice, sounding much calmer than he really feels. âBut touch anybody in here like that again, and you wonât be seen at all. Got it?â
The man caves with a heavy breath and with his weathered palms splayed in surrender. âI was just asking a question, manâŚâ
âIâll handle it, boss,â Ahmad cuts in, rushing towards the three of you after catching sight of the altercation from down the hall. He steps between the two of you and the angry patient and ushers him back toward the waiting room.
âDonât touch me,â you hear the man spit, but complying anyway.
âTrust me, man,â Ahmad quips. âI donât want to.â
It takes you a long moment thereafter to catch your breath.
It was certainly not the first time youâve been grabbed by an unhappy patient, and it would certainly not be the last, but you can never quite get used to the fear. The panic is slow to ebb from your veins, even as the man is escorted back to Chairs. You find him sneering silently at you when you catch his eyes, moments before the door shuts behind him.
Robby steps into your tunnel vision, ducking down to meet your gaze with dark eyes glimmering with worry. âYou alright, kid? Did he get you?â
âIâm fine,â you answer on muscle memory and muster a smile that doesnât quite meet your eyes. âIâve seen my fair share of assholes, Robby. Today, even.â
âWell, yeah,â the man scoffs playfully. âYouâre with Abbotâ Iâm sure youâre an expert at dealing with assholes by nowâŚâ
By all accounts, you were not supposed to have favorites at the PTMC. And you didnât really; everyone who stepped foot into the E.R. got the same level of medical care from you â even the assholes. But Louie Cloverfield was different, special. He was the first patient you ever saw as an R1, and when he kept coming in, and you kept picking up his cases, he became your patient.
If Louie was in, and you were on shift, you were the one tending to him. Always.
So, you stay by his side when he loses his pulse, even when the rest of the E.R. reduces to the inevitable chaos of the afternoon rush â even when you know the rest of your co-workers could probably use your help out there now â even when you know thereâs nothing more you can do for Louie to keep him alive.
Sweat beads on your forehead as you kneel at his bedside, pounding firmly at the manâs chest in a feeble attempt to keep his heart beating. Youâve lost feeling in your arms now â theyâve gone from aching, to burning, to utterly numb â but your attempt at resuscitation never stops, not even as dark crimson blood spits from his breathing tube; the clearest sign of blood in his lungs.
Robby watches from the back of the room, keeping a close eye on you and the bodies donned in camo outside the window â as the TEMS unit treats a trauma patient across the way, with Jack Abbot among them. He catches the man glancing around the crowded E.R. for a moment, peering over passing heads for a glimpse of you, before the work inevitably drags him away.
Robby knows you have not yet noticed Jackâs presence.
Youâve got the sort of tunnel vision you always get in a crisis, when you refuse to move on until youâve helped the person in front of you first â which has undoubtedly made you the very backbone of the PTMC patient satisfaction score, though at a detriment to yourself perhaps. Because you never know when to stop; and then, when you inevitably have to, youâll always find a way to blame yourself for it.
âThree minutes since the epi,â you hear Perlah say, over the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears.
âHold compressions,â Robby commands.
You stop on instinct, and feel the ache done into your bones. You exhale heavy breaths as you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your gloved hand, careful to avoid the drops of blood spotted there. You feel like your chest is tearing in two when that same, menacing beeping sound fills the air.
âGive me another amp of epiâ and more suction,â you say through panted breaths, situating your palms back over the older manâs sternum. You look past the rogue flyaways falling over your eyes and the nurses crowded around you, peering at Robby with a determined but no less pleading gaze. âWhat do we do? Should weâ Should we give PCC?â
Robby shakes his head with his arms crossed over his chest. âNo, itâs too late for thatâŚâ he hums sympathetically. âAnd heâs not an ECMO candidate, soââ
âWell, can you tell me something that we can do?â you snap, harsher than you mean to.
Robby only softens further, dark eyes going tender around the edges as he tells you, âThereâs nothing else we can do for him, kidâŚâ
âRobby,â you whimper, flinching like heâs hurt you, but never once stopping your compressions. âCâmon. Please, we canâ We can think of somethingâ We still have two more rounds of epi, maybe itâllââ
You exhale a punched-out breath, like not being able to save Louie hits you like a fist to the stomach. Your aching arms tingle with numbness when you part from the unconscious man. That wretched beeping fills the air once more, ringing through your ears and pounding skull.
â12:07,â you hear Robby announce the time of death, as Perlahâs soft hands grasp gently at your shoulders.
âCâmon. Iâll clean up,â the woman tells you, sniffling. âYou take a second.â
âIâm fine,â you shrug, half-strangled, as you slip the bloodied gloves from your half-numb hands. You blink back burning tears as you walk them to the trash.
âYouâre not,â Robby murmurs, head bowed to meet your averted gaze. âAnd thatâs okay. Just take a second.â
You remind yourself to breathe â in for seven beats and out for eight â as the muffled exam room breaks away into the chaotic E.R. The rest of it becomes a blur in your tunnel vision, and the calls for concern turn to inaudible slurs in your ears.
âWhoa⌠you okay?â you only vaguely hear Trinity ask as you storm past the work station.
âFine,â you squeak on instinct, despite the obvious.
âOh, yeah, he totally croaked in there,â Ogilvie murmurs, as though to gossip with her, but forgetting to be subtle about it.
âDo you ever think before you speak?â Santos quips. âOr is the stupidity genetic?â
Your heavy eyes search for an empty room to duck into, to at least muffle your screams before you cry in front of everyone. There is no patient in the bed in Central 15, so you burst into that one, still struggling to catch your breath.
Your much-needed inhale gets caught in your chest at the sight you find in the corner of the room â Jack Abbot, stripped off his shirt and wiping blood from his stomach, with Samira standing just behind him, tending carefully to the scrape on his back.
Your sneaker scuffs the tile as you still suddenly in place.
The sound of your sudden presence makes them freeze, too. Their heads dart in your direction, gaping with wide eyes and parted mouths as if youâd just caught them doing something terrible. In a way, it feels like you have.
It feels like youâve stumbled upon some achingly tender moment between them, of which you had been deprived for some time now â because even when Jack was with you, he was a thousand miles away. You wonder if, maybe, a part of him wanted to be here â with Samira, perhaps â and if thatâs why he had left you so abruptly last night, as if it had only occurred to him then that you were no longer what he wanted.
You wouldnât have blamed him for it, if that were the case. You just wish he wouldâve told you before now, so it would feel like less of a white-hot knife lodged into the center of your sternum to find him this way.
âSorry,â you just barely manage to choke out, though it gets lost in a whimper as you fight back the urge to cry.
Jackâs scruffy chest pinches with worry at the crack in your fragile voice and the visibly frazzled sight of you, all wild-haired and glassy-eyed. It hurts him far worse than the wounds burning red-hot on his pale skin now.
âWhat happened?â he asks, greying brows lowered in concern.
Samira stills with her soft fingers on Jackâs broad, freckled shoulder, touching him with a tenderness he hasnât let you give him in some time.
âAre you okay?â she wonders, soft with a worry that is always sincere coming from here, but finds you more like a slap in the face just now.
âYeah, Iâm fine,â you answer on muscle memory, then sniffle as you shake your head at yourself. âIâm not, actuallyâ I donât know why I said thatâ Louie just died. Pulmonary hemorrhage. And I was just looking for an empty room to cry in, I didnât mean to⌠to interruptâŚâ
âYou didnât,â Jack assures you, parting from Samira to take a step closer to you.
It takes quite a lot of strength from you to turn away from him, instead of leering at his shirtless form or cowering at the gentle look in his light eyes. âI-Iâll see myself out,â you stammer hopelessly. âSorryâŚâ
You just barely hear Jack calling your name before the heavy glass door shuts behind you.
With nowhere else to go, and not willing to face the embarrassment of walking back the way you came, you make a beeline for the ambulance bay. The automatic doors part for you, and the cool air outside takes your breath away a second later.
Your chest hitches as you inhale a sniveling breath, trying and failing to regulate your breathing. You stand at the edge of the curb with one hand balled into a fist and one hand clutching your aching chest. Your heartâs telling you that youâre having an embolism and youâre about to keel over at this very moment; your brainâs telling you that youâre just having a panic attack and you need to suck it the hell up.
âHey,â a man calls from further down the sidewalk.
Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice. You tense at the sight of the man who had grabbed you earlier, and your aching heart forgets to beat when you see him storming over to you. You find heâs wearing a smile on his bearded face when heâs close enough, but it looks more cynical than kind.
âYouâre the nurse who got me kicked out earlier, arenât you?â he asks.
You donât have the breath or the bravery to correct him now.
âIâm sorry, sirâŚâ you sniffle, wet-eyed, and turn away. âItâs just⌠Itâs been a long day, okay? I didnât mean for you to get escorted out. You just scared me, thatâs all. Iâmââ
You turn to face him again when heâs standing ahead of you. But before the words of an apology can spill from your mouth, his weathered fist collides with your nose.
You hear a sharp crack, a wet whoosh, and then the dull slap of your body hitting the pavement. You grimace when the back of your skull meets the concrete, and struggle to blink away the black spots from your vision.
The very first face you see is Langdonâs, though youâre not quite sure how long itâs been since your eyes have closed â a few seconds, maybe, or several minutes. Youâre still lying on the rough pavement when you come to, with Frankâs gentle fingers brushing the hair out of your eyes with one hand and shining his penlight into your eyes with the other.
âThere you areâŚâ the man coos. âWhat happened to you out here?â
You hardly hear him, like heâs speaking to you from underwater. You answer him with a question of your own, lifting your trembling fingers to the dull throbbing sensation in your nose.
âIs⌠Is it bad?â you wonder aloud, half-slurring. You grimace first at the wet feeling on your cupidâs bow, then at the bright scarlet blood staining your fingertips. You whisper, voice breaking. âOwâŚâ
âWhoa, careful thereâŚâ Mel wavers, rushing from behind Langdon to help you when you try to sit up on your own. She crouches down beside him and takes you by the elbows in a pair of gentle hands. She squints behind her glasses when your inhale rattles in your chest. âDid you fall on your back?â
âDid somebody hit you?â Langdon presses from her other side, bushy brows lowered in worry.
âWowâŚâ you mumble, blinking hard, and wincing when you taste blood in your mouth. âSo many questionsâŚâ
Mel and Langdon share a panicked look you donât see.
âYeah, câmon. Letâs go,â the older man sighs, urging you up by the elbows and steadying you when you sway softly in place. âCome with meâŚâ
âI can walk,â you protest through your ragged breaths, and through the blood dripping from your cupidâs bow and into your mouth. You pull your arm out of his grasp when the strength to do so returns to you, and stagger the rest of the way to the entrance until you regain your footing. âJust⌠Be normal, alright?â
âRightâŚâ Langdon scoffs and fights back the urge to laugh â because you obviously have no idea how you look right now, with the lower half of your face all covered in blood, as if youâve just been rescued from a bar fight. Thereâs hardly anything normal about that.
You try to be, anyway, as you stroll through the crowded E.R., hoping to be blanketed by the chaos inside. Everyoneâs too busy charting or rushing to patients to notice your being there. Youâre five or more steps away from making it to the bathroom when Robbyâs eagle-eyed stare locks in on you from behind his computer.
âJesus fucking ChristâŚâ the older man blurts, sliding off his glasses and rising from his chair. He abandons his work without a second thought and rounds the workstation to rush to your side.
âIâm okay,â you tell him with a dismissive wave of your hand, pressing onward even when you hear his footsteps nearing you. He stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and steps in front of you to block your path.
âWhat the hell happened to you?â he wonders aloud, looking past you to Langdon and Mel as he drags a pair of gloves from his scrub pockets.
âWe found her like this,â Frank shrugs.
âI told you to take a break, not get into a bar fight.â
âHa-ha,â you monotone, then flinch when it hurts to smile. âOwâŚâ
âWho did this, huh?â Robby asks, cupping your bloodied face in his gloved hands. He runs his fingers over the back of your head first, to make sure you have no wounds there, before pressing his thumbs gently to the apples of your cheeks. âIt wasnât that asshole from before, was it?â
âI didnât see him,â you lie through your teeth.
âAny trouble seeing? Any double vision?â
You shake your head against his hands, then inhale another rattling breath.
âDid you fall on your back?â he asks you then.
You nod once.
âWhat about a headache?â
âI always have a headache,â you answer. âIâm fine, Robby. I just need to get cleaned upââ
âLook at youâ Youâre not fine,â the man snaps. âNow, câmon. Youâre coming with me.â
You have no choice but to follow him when he wraps a firm, gentle hand around your arm, ushering you to walk ahead of him. You ignore the looks and calls of concern from the coworkers around you, except for Melâs voice, which comes from behind you.
âShould I find Dr. Abbot?â she wonders aloud.
Your head snaps over your shoulder to look at her, and it makes your vision swim.
âAbsolutely do not do that,â you answer, a little harsher than you mean to.
âO-kayâŚâ she stammers and trails off.
âIn here,â Robby urges, swinging open the door to the nearest empty room. He keeps a steady hand on your back to keep you stable and turns back to Mel before he follows you inside. âFind Abbot,â he tells her.
You lie on your back on the hospital bed while Robby does an impromptu exam. He presses the cold chestpiece of his stethoscope to your skin and listens to your breathing until it evens out again, from where the air had rushed out of your lungs after the fall. He finds your pupils both equal and reactive, and your nose free from swelling or cracking â âNothing that mother nature canât fix,â he says, and takes to cleaning you up instead.
âThese beds are so hard,â you murmur, shifting uncomfortably with an icepack pressed to your nose, which Princess had brought by some minutes ago. âWe should really get new ones in here. How are patients supposed to be comfortable in these?â
âYeah, Iâll go tell Gloria,â Robby scoffs, dabbing at your nose with a wet wipe. âIâm sure sheâll get right on thatâŚâ
He parts from you to chuck the red-tinted napkin into the bin at his side and waits for you to laugh at his stupid joke. You stay silent. You donât even give him a pity giggle, and you always, at the very least, give him a goddamn pity giggle. His brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and concern.
âCan I ask you a stupid question?â
âBetter than anyone I know, Dr. RobbyâŚâ
âHa-ha,â he deadpans, reaching for another wipe with a gloved hand. Itâs freezing against the burning skin of your neck as it dabs it gently there. âWhy didnât you want me telling Abbot about this, huh?â
âBecause he doesnât careâŚâ you mumble cynically, almost inaudibly so.
âOh, câmon,â Robby scoffs. âEven you donât believe that.â
You donât. Not really. You know Jack cares, if only because itâs in his blood to do so. His basic human empathy is what made him such a good doctor. You just arenât sure that he cares about you in the way you thought he did â in the way you wanted him to â and youâre not quite sure how to voice that to Robby now.
âHeâs busy right now,â you answer instead, still half-hidden behind the icepack. âToo busy for me, and I donât wanna bother him, so⌠Just drop it.â
Robby flashes you a sympathetic smile that you donât see as he swipes at the last bit of blood from your skin. âI know he may not act like it, kid, but he does care about you.â
âYouâre right,â you mumble. âHe doesnât act like itââ
Jack Abbot bursts into the room like a red-hot flame through a burning house. His broad chest heaves with panted breaths beneath the thin navy shirt he wears in place of his tactical gear, though his camo pants still sit heavy on his waist.
His wild eyes scan your form. âWhat the hellâs going on in here?â he blurts.
You glare at Robby from behind the icepack. âI hate you.â
âYeah, I knowâŚâ the man sighs, dropping the crumpled wipe into the trash beside him.
âWhat happened?â Jack presses, more firmly this time.
âNothing,â you murmur shyly, unable to meet his gaze when he towers at your bedside with his hands on his hips. âItâs not the first time someoneâs swung at meââ
âYeah, but itâs the first time itâs been this bad. Bad enough that someone had to come get me,â Jack argues, made a bit harsher with the concern pinching at his chest. His head whips over his shoulder. âWho the hell did this?â
âSome guy from Chairs, I think,â Robby shrugs. âNameâs Driscoll. Ahmadâs already handling it. Heâll deal with the police.â
âGood,â Jack nods, firm in a way youâve always adored about him. He was inherently resolute where you were perpetually indecisive. It mostly came in handy when you struggled to figure out what to eat for dinner, not usually in situations like this. ââCause weâre pressing charges on this asshole, alright?â
âHonestly, Jack, I donât care what you doâŚâ you sigh. âBut my head is really starting to hurt, and I really donât feel like handling this right now.â
âOn it,â Robby nods, taking the hint and stalking out of the room. He shuts the curtains after him and dims the light as he goes. The noise of the Pitt muffles again when the door closes behind him, leaving you and Jack alone in the not-quite-silence and the not-quite-dark.
âHere. Câmon,â the man urges suddenly, motioning with his chin. âMake room for me.â
âWhat?â you ask, eyes squinted in confusion as the man turns to sit on the edge of the twin-sized bed, adjusting his prosthetic to swing it over the side.
He gives you an expectant look over his shoulder. âScooch,â is all he says, in a strangely strong voice despite the very silly command.
You shift on the thin mattress despite your better judgment to make room for him. Jack urges his right leg up first, then his left one second. He settles in beside you and urges the railings up to keep him from falling off the side. You try to do the same, though you possess a lot less strength with only one hand than the man beside you.
Your breath catches when he reaches over you with a strong hand, helping you lift the barrier the rest of the way.
âThanksâŚâ you mumble, half-shy.
âDonât mention it,â he huffs politely, with one arm on his stomach and the other curled around your shoulders, keeping you close to accommodate both your bodies on the twin-sized bed. He smells of sweat and musky cologne and antiseptic. It takes everything in you not to melt into his warmth. You remain tense beside him, feeling slightly strange in his hold in a way you never have before.
âIâm sorry about, Louieââ
âYou donât have to do thisââ you blurt simultaneously.
His head snaps over to you. He has to jerk his scruffy chin back to look at you properly from the dwindling proximity between you. His eyes dart between your averted gaze and the slowly melting icepack you fidget with like a stress ball.
âDo what?â he asks.
âI didnât mean to walk in on you and Samira, okay?â you confess quietly, âcause any octave higher, and your voice will start to shake. âI wasnât⌠I didnât mean to make it a whole thing, you know? So you donât have to come in and pretend to be all nice just because you think Iâm upset, âcause Iâm not.â
(Your rambling is hardly convincing in the matter, but he makes no mention of it.)
âOkay. I hear you,â Jack murmurs gently, always so patient with your rambling, even though he can only halfway comprehend it a lot of the time. âBut Iâm still not sure what Mohan has to do with thisââ
Honey, he wants to say, but doesnât allow himself.
âIf you want to be with her, thatâs okayâ Or if itâs just because you donât wanna be with me, thatâs okay, too,â you explain in a strangely even voice. âBut I wish you wouldâve just told me, instead of bailing on me last nightââ
âI didnât bail on youââ
ââSo then I wouldnât have to catch you and Samira doingâŚâ you trail off, face screwed. âWhatever the hell you were doing back there.â
âCatching us?â Jack echoes with a laugh you can feel rumbling against your shoulder. âThat would imply we were doing something worth getting caught. She just walked in on me while looking for her patient, thatâs all.â
âYeah, wellâŚâ you hum, gaze averted to the icepack in your lap. âIt seemed pretty intimateâŚâ
âIt wasnât.â
âMore intimate than youâve been with me,â you argue sheepishly.
âWell, not to be crude here, butâŚâ Jack trails off with an audible smile in his voice. âWe literally had sex last night.â
âYeah, and you left,â you spit, turning to look at him for the first time since he stormed in. You wear a wet look in your glassy eyes and a bruise blooming on the bridge of your nose. âAnd I cried myself to sleep about it. Which means I didnât get to watch Love Island, which means I forgot to eat, which means Iâm running on fumes on what has arguably been the worst shift of my whole life.â
You take a much-needed breath when the words are gone from your mouth.
Jack does not jump immediately to defend himself. He knows he doesnât deserve it now. He just lets himself stew in your fiery words instead, so you know theyâll have a real impact on him before he responds.
âYouâre right,â he sighs after a few long moments. âIâm sorryââ
âDonât be sorry,â you shake your head at his apologetic tone. âJust donât⌠Donât be so mean, you know? If you donât wanna be with me anymore, why canât you just say?â
âBecause I do want to be with you,â he answers, weathered features screwed in offense. âHow would you ask me that?â
âBecause you arenât acting like itââ
âBecause I almost told you that I loved you,â Jack blurts suddenly, in a stern tone of voice that snatches the breath from your lungs. He swallows hard and continues. âLast night, I mean, when we⌠I almost said it⌠Because I felt it, but then I⌠I realized I hadnât said that to anyone since my wife passed, and it freaked me out.â
âButâŚâ you start in a broken whisper. âWhy does that have to be such a bad thing?â
ââCause it makes me feel guilty,â Jack answers. âThe way I love you makes me feel guilty, like Iâm abandoning her. And I⌠I donât know what to do with all that⌠grief.â
You feel your heart aching, for the third or hundredth time that day. You notice Jackâs right hand hanging on your shoulder, how his fingers fidget anxiously there, and how his left hand scratches at the rough fabric of his camo pants â made overwrought by his confession, and unsure what to do with it now.
âWhy donât you just give it to me?â you wonder quietly, then shrug at the confused look Jack gives you a second later. âYour grief, I mean. I can take it. You know, make it a little more bearable for you. So you donât have to carry it all on your own.â
The softness of your words knocks the breath from Jackâs lungs.
The corner of his mouth quirks in a wavering smile as he blinks burning tears out of his eyes. âJesus, we're a couple of goddamn sad sacks, arenât we, honey?â he scoffs a sad laugh and runs his free hand down his scruffy face.
Your lips twitch upward, feeling giddy but fighting it. âThatâs the first time you called me that in two daysâŚâ you observe distantly.
âWhat?â
âHoney.â
âYeah,â he sighs. âIâm sorry for that, tooâŚâ
âDonât be sorry,â you repeat, this time with a smile. âJustâ kiss me or somethinââŚâ
âGladly,â Jack says with a wider grin.
You tilt your chin up to meet him halfway when he leans down to kiss you. His nose bumps into the side of your bruised one, as your hand reaches for his wounded shoulder. You flinch against each other in tandem.
âOw,â you whimper.
âOuch,â Jack winces. âShit, honeyâ Sorry.â
âAre you okay?â you ask with a sympathetic scrunch to your features, cupping his scruffy face in your delicate hands. âI havenât checked in on you yet, I know youâre hurtââ
âIâm fine,â he assures with a shake of his head, leaning instinctively into your touch. âI got a little banged up, but⌠Iâm good now.â
âPromise?â you whisper, swiping an eyelash from his cheek with your thumb.
âI promise. I'll tell you about later,â he nods once and smooths his calloused fingers across your temple, looking at you with a tenderness youâve been craving all day. âWhat about you, honeyâ Are you okay?â
You inhale sharply through your bruised nose and nod on a slower exhale.
âI will be,â you answer honestly for the first time all day.
summary | bucky lets his relationship slip into the background for the sake of duty and public image. but when the distance starts to break them, he realizes heâll do anything to fight for the love he almost lost.
tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, soft!bucky, miscommunication, established relationship, mentions of mental health/trauma
a/n | I enjoyed writing this so much omg. an apology for my last angst fest fic, based on this request. just two emotionally constipated dumbasses in love.
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated â¨â¨
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divider by @cafekitsune
The first thing you felt was the drag of his mouth along your collarboneâhot, wet, unhurried.
Then his bodyâsolid, heavy, familiarâsettled deeper between your thighs, pinning you to the sheets like he belonged there.
Like he knew he belonged there.
âFuck,â Bucky rasped, hips rolling in slow, punishing thrusts that pulled gasps from your throat. âYou feel so goodâalways feel so fuckinâ goodâŚâ
Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into the curve of his ass, urging him deeper.
âYou gonna come for me, sweetheart?â he panted, forehead resting against yours. âCome on, I know youâre close.â
You could barely form words. Everything was heat and friction and the slow climb to a peak that had been building for days. Heâd been goneâmissions, briefings, whatever other bullshit Val had piled on himâand you hadnât had this, hadnât had him, in far too long.
Now, you were starving for him.
And from the way he was panting against your mouth, he was just as gone for you.
Buckyâs rhythm faltered for a secondâjust a split momentâas his cock pulsed deep inside you and he moaned, low and wrecked.
Thenâbzzzt.
The phone on the nightstand lit up.
The sound sliced through the heat like cold water.
You groaned, your hands clawing into his shoulders, nails dragging down the flex of his back. âIgnore it,â you muttered, voice thick.
He nodded without looking, mouth already on your throat again. âWasnât gonna stop.â
Bzzzt.
He hesitated. You felt the tension in his hips, the shift in his weight. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to grab itâlike his fucking conditioning made him twitch toward the sound.
âJames,â you growled, pulling his face back to yours. âFocus.â
He smirkedâflushed, wild-eyed, strands of hair clinging to his sweat-damp forehead. âYes, maâam.â
He rocked back into you, deeper this time, harder. You gasped, arching into him, fingernails biting into his arms.
âYouâre such a good girl,â he grunted, âalways take me soââ
Bzzzt.
The sound felt louder now.
Persistent.
You tensed beneath him, and he slowedâjust a fraction. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged.
You whispered, dangerously low, âJames Buchanan Barnes, donât you dare.â
He paused. Exhaled. âI wonât,â he murmured.
And he didnât.
Not when you kissed him. Not when your legs tightened around him again, pulling him back into that rhythm. Not when your hips met his in frantic, greedy movement, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.
But thenâ
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Buzzing. Relentless.
Like it knew it was ruining something.
His rhythm faltered again. Slower this time. His breath hitched.
And you could see itâfeel itâhis mind slipping.
âTwo seconds, baby,â he whispered, barely coherent.
Then he reached.
You froze. Staring.
He reached for the phone.
âFor fuckâs sakeââ You shoved his chest, hard enough to make him fall back slightly, the weight of him disappearing as you slid out from under him.
âWhat?â he asked, dazed, already answering the call. âWhereâre you going?â
You grabbed your robe from the edge of the bed, slipping it on in one fluid motion, not even sparing him a glance as you stalked toward the kitchen.
âTo make a goddamn sandwich,â you snapped over your shoulder.
And then Bucky was left there, shirtless and half-hard, with the call pressed to his ear and the echo of your frustration ringing louder than the goddamn phone ever did.
The quiet creak of the bedroom door broke through the stillness as you stood at the kitchen counter, barefoot, chewing slowly on the sandwich youâd slapped together out of spite and mild hunger. Your tiny silk robe hugged your hips, and the morning light from the window behind you cast a low, golden glow across your back.
You didnât look up. You didnât need to.
You could feel him watching youâfeel the apology radiating off him before he even spoke.
A few seconds later, Bucky padded into the kitchen fully dressed, freshly showered, dog tags glinting faintly beneath his shirt collar. His hair was still damp, slicked back lazily with his fingers.
Your stomach twisted.
He stopped beside you, hands in his pockets, jaw tense. âItâs the team.â
You nodded, still chewing.
You didnât need him to say it. Youâd known the second that phone buzzed three times in a row.
âIn the city?â
He nodded. âWatchtower. Just a briefing. Maybe recon. Shouldnât be long.â
You nodded again, finishing the bite and setting the crust on the plate. The silence stretched.
Bucky leaned in, crowding into your space slightly like he always did when he needed you to ground him. âYou angry?â
You sighed, licking a crumb from your bottom lip. Then you turned, finally facing him, and your arms slid easily around his neck.
He exhaled the moment you touched himâlike that one gesture released the tension wrapped around his ribs.
âNo,â you murmured, voice quiet but firm. âIâm not angry.â
His arms circled your waist, pulling you flush against him. âYou sure?â
You nodded into his shoulder. âI know what I signed up for. Youâre out there saving the world.â
He pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed, voice softer now. âStill. Doesnât mean I donât hate leaving.â
You looked up at him for a long beat, reading the guilt in his eyes. Then, deadpan:
âWell. You did spend the last ten minutes of our morning trying to ignore your phone while balls-deep in me. Iâd call that balance.â
He huffed a low, surprised laugh, forehead dropping to yours. âJesus Christ.â
You shrugged, lips twitching. âHey. You asked.â
He kissed you, slow and lingering, and whispered against your mouth, âWhat did I ever do to deserve you?â
You pulled back just enough to give him that classic stareâthe flat one that usually made Bob flinch.
âHonestly?â you said, voice dry. âJust the luck of the draw, hon.â
Bucky barked out a real laugh this time, low and raspy. âThat sounds about right.â
You smiledâsmall, realâthen leaned in and brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He didnât move. Didnât pull away. His hand trailed down your spine, fingers resting at the hem of your robe, his lips ghosting along your jaw now.
âI told them Iâd be there in fifteen.â
âMmhm.â
âBut the driveâs only ten.â
You hummed, finishing your sip of water, eyes moving to your sandwich.
âSo,â he murmured, mouth back at your ear now, voice dipping low, âtechnically that gives us five minutes to finish what we started.â
You turned your head, meeting his gaze under lowered lashes.
The look in his eyes was full of hope. And want. And a little desperation.
You kissed himâonce, slow and sultryâletting him feel your mouth move over his.
Then you pulled back, just enough to whisper against his lips, âMm. No.â
He blinked. âWhat?â
You turned, picking your sandwich back up and walking away toward the couch. âYou already finished once today. Let a girl eat.â
Behind you, Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. âYouâre evil.â
âAnd yet, here you are,â you called over your shoulder, settling down and flipping through the remote like your thighs werenât still sticky from him.
He watched you for a second longer, eyes lingering like he was committing you to memory. Then he sighed, picked up his jacket, and headed for the door.
The conference room in the Watchtower was, unfortunately, real. Sterile and over-lit with its polished black table and transparent display screens, it felt more like the waiting room of a tech-startup funeral than the nerve center of the New Avengers.
Bucky sat at the far end of the table, jaw clenched, half-listening as Val paced in front of a projected graph that looked like it was bleeding red. His phone buzzed once in his pocketâhis eyes flicked downâbut it wasnât you, and the hollow ache behind his ribs twisted a little deeper.
This was the thing that had pulled him away. Not a mission. Not a world-ending threat. Just PR bullshit.
Val tapped the screen with her manicured finger like it had personally offended her. âThe numbers are bad. Public trust in the New Avengers is declining, and fast. People donât like what they donât recognize. And right now, youâre a bunch of strangers with messy optics and zero cohesion.â
At her side, Mel nodded without looking up from her tablet. âEngagement down 22% week-over-week. Headlines are skewing nostalgic. Keywords trending: âwish Cap was back,â âwhereâs the heart,â and âvigilante vibes.ââ
Yelena lounged back in her chair like sheâd rather be anywhere else. Her feet were propped on the tableâs edge, one boot bouncing with slow, deliberate disinterest. âMaybe theyâre just mourning the glory days,â she muttered, twisting her gum around her finger. âOld team got shiny deaths and glossy documentaries. We get memes.â
Ava, seated across from her, gave a quiet snort. âWeâre not here to trend. Weâre here to finish missions.â
Val didnât even blink. âYouâre here to represent global security and inspire public trust. And without that trust, youâre nothing more than privately-funded vigilantes in almost matching gear.â
âI like our gear,â Alexei rumbled helpfully from the end, arms crossed over his chest like a stubborn bear.
Val spared him a look. âYouâre the closest thing we have to comic relief, Alexei. Lean into it.â
âIs that what they call ânoble heroismâ now?â he huffed.
Walker sat ramrod straight, jaw working, his suit perfectly zipped. âYou think Cap worried about popularity? Weâre not running a fashion campaign.â
âNo,â Val said flatly. âBut Cap didnât publicly decapitate someone with a shield on live television either.â
Yelena snorted. âYikes.â
Johnâs jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
âPoint is,â Val continued, âyou all need a rebrand. Yelenaâyour personality makes you relatable. Media loves you. Youâll handle most interviews.â
Yelena rolled her eyes. âGreat. Iâll practice my âGood Morning, Americaâ smile.â
âAva,â Val said, turning, âyour trauma narrative plays well. But lean into redemption. Soft lighting. No more disappearing mid-interview.â
Avaâs response was a flat stare. âIâll try not to phase through my own dignity.â
Val didnât even acknowledge the jab.
âJohn,â she said, and his head snapped up like a soldier awaiting orders. âLess cowboy, more Captain. Smile more. No threats on-camera. Pretend you like people.â
He scoffed under his breath, muttering something about âhand-holding and fairy tales.â
âAlexei,â she said, deadpan, âpeople like the Soviet uncle bit. Keep it up.â
Alexei beamed.
âBob, youâre doing fine. Stay polite. And no more jokes about punching through tanks, theyâre fact-checking you.â
Bob looked vaguely hurt. âIt was metaphorical.â
Val finally turned her gaze to Bucky, her expression shifting slightlyânot warmer, but sharper, more calculated. She paced a slow step closer to where he sat, hands clasped behind her back like a politician delivering bad news with a smile.
âYou, Barnes, are the key,â she said simply. âYouâre the most recognized face on this team, and not just because of your past as the Winter Soldier.â
She gestured toward the screen behind her, now displaying a montage of Buckyâs appearancesâpost-congressional interviews, old wartime footage, newer press photos where he stood stoically beside Sam.
âYou were a war hero before you were ever the Winter Soldier. Sergeant James Barnes, the Howling Commando, the man who fought beside Captain America during the most iconic conflict of the 20th century. And, until very recently, a U.S. Congressman advocating for post-snap veteran reform. Your file reads like a patriotic fantasy novel.â
Bucky didnât move. Didnât even blink. But something in his jaw ticked.
Val leaned in a little, her voice softening, but not with kindnessâjust control.
âWhat we need now is that Bucky. The leader. The charming, respectful, golden-era face people want to believe in. Friendly. Accessible. And most importantlyâŚâ
She paused.
âAvailable.â
That made Buckyâs eyes lift, expression tightening. âYou do know I have a girlfriend, right? Iâm in a committed relationship.â
Val didnât miss a beat. âOne the public doesnât know about. And doesnât need to.â
He sat forward slightly, steel entering his voice. âYouâre asking me to lie.â
âNo,â Val said, waving a hand. âIâm asking you to protect her. Think of it this wayâif no one knows who she is, no one can leverage her. No threats. No gossip. No crossfire. Itâs smarter this way.â
Mel tapped her tablet again. âWeâve already scrubbed mentions, just in case. Nothing linking her name to yours comes up in connection to the New Avengers.â
Bucky clenched his jaw. He hated this. Every inch of it.
âWhy is it so important that I look âavailableâ?â he asked flatly.
Valâs smile sharpened. âBecause people want to like you. And people like what they want. Itâs a psychological pull. You become more desirable, more approachableâsomeone they imagine they could know. That they could be with. It builds trust, makes you more likable. Marketable.â
He stared at her for a long beat.
âYou want to make me into a fantasy.â
âI want to make you into a symbol,â Val corrected coolly. âAnd symbols donât get girlfriends.â
Across the room, Yelena let out a low, mocking whistle. âWow. Thatâs not creepy at all.â
Ava shook her head. âWhatâs next? Tinder profiles and fan edits?â
John rolled his eyes. âItâs optics. We all knew this came with the job.â
But Bucky barely heard them. His mind was already driftingâto you, still barefoot in the kitchen, silk robe sliding over bare thighs, chewing your sandwich with zero interest in who he was to the rest of the world. Just who he was to you.
And now, he had to pretend you didnât exist.
He didnât respond. Just sat back in his chair and regretted every second he hadnât spent in your arms this morning.
The Watchtower always smelled like metal and over-sterilized air. You hated it.
Fluorescents buzzed overhead as you stepped off the elevator, holding a small, zippered pouch in your handâthe charger Bucky had forgotten, again, even though you reminded him three times before he left.
The place felt like a cross between a tech firm and a concrete bunker: all gray walls, touchscreen doors, and state-mandated potted plants.
The main floorâwhat passed for a communal living spaceâwas half chaos, half nap zone. Yelena was sprawled on one end of the sectional couch, flipping through something on her tablet and eating dried mango slices from a bag she probably stole from someone else.
Ava stood leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching the room like she was waiting for someone to step out of line so she could phase them through a floor. Bob was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a comic book held way too close to his face, murmuring what you assumed was commentary under his breath.
Alexei was telling a story. Loudly. And probably badly.
Bucky spotted you first. He was standing near the open kitchen area, talking with MelâValâs too-efficient assistant who always looked like she was plotting the next step of a corporate coup.
His entire expression changed when he saw you. The tension in his shoulders dropped a little, the corner of his mouth lifted, and for a second, he didnât look like the unofficial leader of a barely-tethered government strike team. He just looked like your boyfriend.
You handed him the charger without ceremony.
âYou left this.â
He took it with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck like it was the first time heâd ever been caught forgetting something (it wasn't). âThanks. Thought I had it packed.â
âNope,â you said, popping the âp.â
You didnât mean to stay. You werenât supposed to linger. But Bucky motioned for you to walk with him, and you didnât say no.
Up close, you noticed the tired edge in his face. Like whatever conversation heâd been having before you arrived had worn him down more than a mission ever could.
He told you about itâabout Valâs latest brainstorm. That the team needed to be more âmedia-friendly.â That they wanted him to lean into the good olâ days: Sergeant James âBuckyâ Barnes, WWII hero, former Congressman, the smile-that-could-end-wars poster boy.
You listened without interrupting, arms crossed, eyes squinting toward the ceiling as you tried to think through what he was actually saying.
When he finished, you just shrugged.
âWell,â you said, âsounds like when celebrities fake relationships before a movie comes out. Or pretend theyâre single to sell tickets.â
Bucky blinked. âHow do you even know that?â
You gave him a flat look, expression unreadable. âI was born in 1995, babe. Not the fucking 40s.â
Behind him, Walker snorted loudly. Heâd been pretending not to listen, but of course he was.
âDamn,â he said, leaning against the fridge like he was waiting for someone to ask for his input (nobody did). âMy wife wouldâve never let me get away with that.â
You turned to look at him. Not annoyed. Not even angry. Just blank. Like staring at a particularly ugly lamp in a hotel room.
âThatâs why sheâs your ex-wife,â you said, voice calm. âAnd good for her.â
Yelena, without looking up from her tablet, let out a noise that mightâve been a laugh. Ava smirked quietly. Even Alexei stopped mid-sentence to grin like someone had dropped his favorite sitcom back into rotation.
Bucky watched all of it happen with a complicated kind of amusement. But it didnât last.
Because then he had to say the next part.
He rubbed his hands down your arms, slow and hesitant, like bracing you.
âVal advisedâŚâ he started, then caught himself. âShe recommended that maybeâfor nowâyou donât come around the tower. Or get seen with us in general.â
He didnât say âhide.â He didnât have to.
Your face didnât change much. Not really. But he saw it. That tiny prickle of tension in your jaw. The slight shift in your eyes when you looked away from him for just a second too long.
You muttered something low. A lazy, âWhatever.â But the way you pulled your arms away said everything.
âI need to go anyway.â
Bucky stepped closer, voice soft but strained. âYou donât have to leave right away.â
You didnât answer right away. Just looked at him, eyes unreadable, lips pressed in that almost-smile that wasnât really a smile at all.
Then you leaned in and kissed his cheek, slow and warm, the way you always did when you were trying not to let the weight of something show.
âSee you at home,â you murmured.
Your voice dipped at the end, barely above a whisper as you pulled back. âIf youâre still allowed to come home, anyway.â
It wasnât angry.
It wasnât bitter.
It was worse.
It was tired.
Before he could answer, before he could say anything at all, you turned and walked to the elevator, the soft sound of your footsteps swallowed by the Watchtowerâs chaos.
A missed call here. A text left on âreadâ longer than usual. A two-day mission becoming a four-day stretch at the tower. No big fights. No yelling. No doors slammed.
Just quiet.
But that was the thing about quietâBucky had lived in it for too long. He knew its weight. Knew how it filled rooms like fog, hiding the way things shifted underneath.
Now, it was in everything.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the Watchtower, staring at the wall, phone still in hand from a message he hadnât sent. His thoughts werenât hereâwerenât in this too-bright room, or with Valâs next debrief, or on the press event they had the next morning.
They were in Brooklyn.
Your shared apartment. The one with the soft light and creaky floorboards, and the tiny espresso machine you swore was better than anything Bucky had ever tasted. That place was home. It smelled like your lavender detergent and your coconut shampoo and your weirdly specific collection of candles labeled things like âwet grassâ and âScandinavian night.â
His body ached to be there. Just... there. On the couch. Next to you.
He used to spend three days a week here, tops. Two, if he could push it. The rest heâd guard selfishly for youâdays spent sleeping beside you, cooking breakfast together, reading on opposite ends of the couch while your foot found his thigh and stayed there. Youâd talk to him, let the silence stretch and snap and re-stitch. You never pushed. You never pried.
You were his quiet. The right kind of quiet.
Now? Now he barely remembered the last night heâd actually fallen asleep next to you. Really slept. Not just crashed on the bed after some back-to-back PR gig that left him in a suit with aching teeth from smiling too much.
He hated it.
He hated talking to the press, hated the way they asked questions like they already had the answers written. He hated being told to laugh, to charm, to tell stories that didnât feel like his anymore. He hated Valâs smug reminders that likability mattered. That perception mattered.
Sometimes, he wished heâd never gone to Congress. That he hadnât let convinced himself into the platform, the speeches, the idea that he could do good with a microphone instead of a mission.
Sometimes, he wished heâd just⌠faded.
Found a quiet nine-to-five. Something with a routine. Something boring.
Something normal.
Like you had.
You worked corporate communications. You clocked in and out. You had a clean desk, ergonomic chair, sarcastic co-workers. You went for runs in the park on weekends, had lunch dates with your girlfriends, took yoga classes when you werenât too exhausted from the week.
You lived in the world like a real person.
And heâd wanted that so badly. Not for himselfâbut with you.
Because you were his normal. His constant. The stillness that didnât suffocate. The grounding heâd clung to after years of floating through someone elseâs chaos.
But now?
Now he didnât know how to reach for it without dragging it into the spotlight with him.
And every time he came home and found you already asleep, back to him, or out with friends instead of waiting, or just⌠quiet in a way that wasnât yours anymoreâ
The distance. His absence. The too-quiet apartment, the untouched half of the bed, the silence when your phone didnât buzz all day. It wasnât worth thinking about. People were dying in the worldâactual, breathing, bleeding peopleâand you were going to be pathetic about your boyfriend missing dinner?
No.
Absolutely the fuck not.
So you cleaned. You ran. You worked. You answered emails with snide internal commentary and booked your usual yoga class for Tuesday even though you hated the new instructorâs voice. You refused to call it coping.
It was just living.
And tonight? Tonight was fine.
It was Saturday. Heâd said heâd be back for dinner.
You didnât text to confirm because you didnât want to hover. Didnât want to be needy. Heâd said it, heâd meant it, and you would trust that. Like always.
So, you cooked.
Beef stewâslow and thick and comforting. Heavenly mashed potatoes, made with way more butter than youâd ever admit to aloud. Roasted vegetables, because Bucky needed something green on his plate or heâd sulk. It was all simmering gently on the stove while you lay curled on the couch in your oldest pair of yoga shorts and a hoodie, eating straight from a pint of mint chocolate chip.
It was fine.
Okay, it was your cheat day.
Okay, youâd had more cheat days than planned recently.
Youâd also bought a new pair of jeans in the next size up, but that was irrelevant. You were not stress-eating. You were just... adapting to your changing lifestyle.
Had Bucky noticed?
The thought came and went before you could kill it.
He hadnât said anything. Not that you needed him to. But still.
The sound of the TV murmured in the background, some fluff piece news channel youâd forgotten to mute while scrolling your phone. Something about the New Avengers. You tuned in just enough to glance at the footageâdrone shots of a crumbling government facility somewhere in Eastern Europe, flames curling up the side of a building like hands.
You recognized the team instantly. Yelena, tossing her baton mid-air like it annoyed her to carry it. Ava disappearing through smoke. John looking way too pleased with himself.
And thenâthere he was.
Bucky.
His tactical suit was soot-streaked, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, face streaked with ash. He was helping someoneâno, two peopleâdown the fire escape, guiding them through smoke with one hand steady on their backs.
Then it happened.
One of the womenâcivilian, blonde, maybe late 20sâturned and kissed him on the cheek. A hard, grateful kind of kiss. The kind that left a smudge of ash on his jaw.
She clung to him like heâd saved her life.
Maybe he had.
And Bucky? He smiled.
Not his press smile. Not the tight, practiced one. But something elseâsofter. Real.
You blinked.
Let out a breath through your nose. âJesus Christ.â
It wasnât like he kissed her. It wasnât like he meant anything by it. Sheâd probably thought she was about to die, and then Bucky Barnes dragged her out of a collapsing building, and she just⌠reacted.
You werenât jealous.
You were just being dramatic.
This was not about you.
But somehow, that one moment served to curdle the rest of the evening.
You changed the channel without saying anything, the ice cream melting slowly in your hands. The scent of stew floated in from the kitchen, warm and rich, but you didnât move.
It was past ten by the time Bucky stepped into the apartment.
The hallway had been dark. The front door had creaked louder than usual. And the only light inside was the kitchen, glowing soft and golden like a memory. It lit the space just enough to reveal the forgotten dinner plates covered in cling film on the counter, the quiet hum of the microwave keeping your meal warmâlike it was still waiting.
But you werenât.
His breath caught in his throat as he toed off his boots, silence wrapping around him like a punishment.
He said six.
Not âaround six,â not âif I can swing it.â Just six. Sharp. He said it with his hands on your waist and his lips in your hair the night before. Said it like he meant it.
And now it was 10:18.
He could barely look at the time. The guilt clawed at him, sharp and low and constant. Every second heâd spent at the towerâevery extra minute talking to reporters, doing damage control, smiling on cueâhad eaten at him like acid.
He was supposed to be here.
In your shared space. In this soft, too-warm apartment that smelled faintly like roasted vegetables and your perfume.
And the worst part wasnât just that heâd missed dinner. It was that he knew exactly what youâd done in his absence.
You wouldnât have texted. Wouldnât have called. You wouldâve made his favorite meal anyway. You wouldâve set out two bowls. You wouldâve eaten alone, probably on the couch, probably in silence. And you wouldâve told yourselfâitâs fine, itâs fine, itâs fineâlike you had any interest in believing it anymore.
The bathroom door clicked open.
He froze.
You stepped out, already dressed for bedâan oversized button-down, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Your hair was twisted up and pinned in the messy, practical way you always wore it when you were done for the day. Slippers scuffed softly against the floor as you walked into the hall, blinking slightly at the light.
You stopped when you saw him.
Both of you just stood there for a momentâfrozen in that strange tension where neither of you knew which role to play yet. He looked at you like he didnât know if he was allowed to speak.
Then he remembered how to breathe.
âIâm sorry Iâm late,â he said quietly, voice rougher than he meant. Like heâd been holding it in all night. âIâI got caught up. I didnât mean toââ
You didnât answer right away.
Just blinked at him. No surprise on your face. No anger.
Just quiet.
Then you gave a little shrugâsmall and tired, the kind of shrug that said what else is new?âand turned toward the kitchen.
âThereâs food in the microwave if youâre still hungry,â you said simply.
And then you walked past him.
No kiss. No touch. No sarcastic jab.
Just your scent, and the ache of knowing that he wasnât even sure if he was following you to the bedroom or to the guest room tonight.
The door clicked softly behind you.
And Bucky stood alone in the glow of a kitchen he didnât deserve.
It was almost midnight when Bucky finally walked into the bedroom.
Not because he was tired. Heâd been tired for hours.
He just needed to be sure you were asleep.
The microwave had long since gone silent. Heâd eaten half the stew in distracted mouthfuls, barely tasting it, then spent an hour sitting in the living room in the dark, elbows on his knees, forehead resting on steepled hands. The guilt gnawed at himânot loud or dramatic, just steady, like water dripping against stone. It never stopped.
He pushed open the door slowly, as if afraid it would creak too loud. The room smelled like your shampoo, your skin, your cocoa body butter. His sanctuary. The place he used to walk into and feel immediate calm.
Now it just reminded him of everything he was missing, even while it was still right in front of him.
You were already in bed.
Covers pulled halfway up. Lights dimmed. Hair pinned back in the soft way you wore it only at night. You slept with your back to the doorâback to himâand it made something inside him pinch.
He hesitated in the doorway, watching the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the way your fingers curled under your pillow. Still. Quiet. Entirely out of reach.
He stripped silently, down to boxers and a threadbare black t-shirt, and slid beneath the sheets with a care that bordered on reverent.
Thenâinch by inchâhe moved closer.
It was tentative. Like approaching a deer in the woods. Like if he moved too fast, you might flinch and disappear.
His arm slid around your waist. Cautious. Testing.
You didnât move.
So he let his chest press against your back, warm and slow. Let his knees curve behind yours, let his other hand reach up and tuck gently under your ribcage, pulling you flush.
Thenâfinallyâhe buried his face in the crook of your neck. Breathed you in like he hadnât seen home in weeks.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Still, you didnât stir. No tensing. No pulling away.
Just the soft, subconscious hum of sleep.
And thatâthat tiny, unconscious mercyâwas enough to let him exhale for the first time all night.
The apartment smelled like detergent and coffee. Morning light streamed in through the windows, dust catching in the gold. On the surface, it looked like a Sundayâpeaceful, slow, quiet.
But it wasnât.
You sat on the couch, folding laundry with the precision of someone who needed somethingâanythingâto occupy your hands. T-shirt, fold. Socks, fold. Hoodie, fold. The pile on the coffee table grew in neat little stacks, organized by drawer and category.
Bucky leaned in the doorway, watching you. Barefoot, hair tied up, one of his sweatshirts hanging loose around your shoulders. It shouldâve been comforting. Familiar.
It wasnât.
He moved to the kitchen, filled two mugs with coffee, brought yours over without a word. Set it down next to your knee. You gave a nod, murmured âthanks,â without looking up.
His stomach twisted.
He sat across from you, mug cradled in both hands, trying not to overthink it. Trying to act normal. Pretend that everything didnât feel like it was three steps left of what it used to be.
âSo,â he said, voice easy, like he was just easing into the day with you. âYou still going to that yoga class on Tuesdays?â
You didnât look at him. Just kept folding a pair of socks, thumbs pressing the fabric into place. âYeah.â
He waited for more.
Nothing.
âYou like it?â
You shrugged, moved onto a fitted sheet. âItâs fine.â
Bucky nodded slowly, feeling the distance like a cold draft under a closed door.
That was how you talked to people you didnât want to get stuck in a conversation with. To strangers. To coworkers who overshared. To the people you were polite to but had no desire to know.
He remembered how your voice used to sound when it was just the two of youâlow, dry, threaded with sarcasm and occasional sweetness you tried hard to hide. He remembered the way your eyes used to flick up mid-conversation just to check that he was still smiling. He remembered you saying, âI hate everyone but you,â with a hand on his chest and a smirk you couldn't keep down.
Now?
Now you sounded like someone tolerating him.
And it broke something inside his chest that he didnât know how to fix.
He took a sip of his coffee, staring into the steam, words catching behind his teeth.
You werenât angry.
You werenât cruel.
You were just... gone.
And it was killing him.
The silence had stretched too long. Not peaceful. Not content. Just tense.
Bucky watched you fold a hoodie and set it aside like it mattered. Like it was worth more attention than him. He had triedâcoffee, questions, anything to coax out that sliver of warmth you used to give him without thinking.
Now it was measured. Distant. Like he was on the other side of something neither of you had noticed building until it was too high to climb over.
He stared into his coffee like it might offer an answer. It didnât.
So finallyâquietly, but not gentlyâhe asked, âAre we okay?â
You froze mid-fold.
Your hands stilled, holding one of his long-sleeve shirts in your lap, fingers curled around the soft fabric.
And then, for the first time that morning, you looked at him.
Not a glance. Not a nod. You looked at him.
There was a frown on your lips. A deep furrow between your brows. The kind of look you gave when something was broken and you werenât sure whether to fix it or walk away from it.
âI donât know,â you said honestly.
The words hit harder than he was ready for.
You didnât know.
And that terrified him.
He nodded slowly, like he was trying to process it, but nothing quite stuck. His hands tightened around the mug in his grip.
You looked down again, slowly folding the shirt in your lap. Your voice dropped, softer now. Barely above the hum of the fridge.
âI try not to think about it.â
Buckyâs throat tightened.
You werenât trying to hurt him. But it hurt anyway.
Because that was the truth of it, wasnât it? Neither of you had talked about it. Youâd just lived in the quiet space between exhaustion and effort, pretending the love was enough to keep everything from shifting.
You still loved him. He knew that.
But love wasn't fixing it. Not when you felt like strangers in the same home.
âI miss you,â he said, voice rough. âEven when Iâm right here. I miss you.â
You didnât look up.
Didnât answer.
Just smoothed your fingers across the folded shirt like maybe if you kept them busy, the truth wouldnât get too loud.
He wanted to reach across the coffee table, wanted to take your hands, wanted to say something to undo it all.
But neither of you were good at this part.
You were good at sarcasm. At quiet nights. At sex in the kitchen and lazy Sundays with pancakes and him pretending not to burn the bacon.
You werenât good at asking for what you needed.
And right now, neither of you knew how to say what came next.
So the silence stretched againâthicker now, heavier.
The laundry was folded.
Thatâs what you clung to, bizarrely, like it meant something. Order. Control. You stacked the last shirt on the table and smoothed your palms down your thighs, blinking at nothing in particular.
You hadnât spoken since I miss you.
Not because you didnât want to.
Because you didnât trust what might come out if you did.
Across from you, Bucky hadnât moved much either. Just sat with the cooling coffee in his hands, elbows on his knees, staring at the place you used to lean into him without hesitation.
The silence thickened until it felt like breathing through gauze.
You stood up, grabbed your coffee, and walked into the kitchen. You werenât thirsty. You just needed something to do.
Behind you, Buckyâs voice broke the quiet.
âThis isnât what I wanted,â he said.
Your back tensed. The mug clinked slightly against the counter.
âI didnât want this either,â you said, not turning around.
âYou used to talk to me,â he murmured. âEven when you were annoyed. Even when you were tired. You still talked.â
You closed your eyes.
âItâs hard to talk,â you said, voice flat, âwhen youâre not around to listen.â
The armchair scraped back against the floor. Footsteps. Closer.
âI am listening,â he said, more desperate now. âI know Iâve beenâ Iâve been stretched. But Iâm here now. Just talk to me.â
You turned around slowly, coffee mug still in your hand. You looked at him, really looked. And something inside you crackedânot because you didnât love him.
Because you did.
That was the problem.
âI donât want to be another thing you manage, Bucky.â
He froze.
You shook your head slowly. âYou manage the media. You manage the team. You manage your image. I donât want to be another box you tick at the end of the day.â
âI donât think of you like thatââ
âI know,â you interrupted softly. âThatâs what makes it worse.â
He stared at you, helpless.
âI donât doubt you love me,â you continued. âBut I canât keep living in the spaces between your obligations. You show up late, you leave early. You touch me like youâre scared Iâll vanish. And maybe I will, because I donât know how much more of this I can take without losing myself.â
Your voice didnât shake.
Your hands didnât clench.
You werenât yelling.
But you might as well have torn your heart out and set it on the counter between you.
Bucky had never cared for formal events, especially not since becoming the public face of a team that didn't particularly want one. But tonight wasnât about optics. It wasnât about strategy or good PR.
It was about you.
The invitation had landed on Valâs desk a week agoâa high-profile charity gala for Clean Futures, an international organization funding mental health programs for post-Blip survivors. Your company had a long-standing partnership with the group, which meant youâd be there. Representing. Smiling for photos. Dressed to kill.
And you hadnât told him.
You didnât need to. He hadnât earned that kind of openness in weeks.
So Bucky had taken the opportunity and run with it.
He stood in front of the full-length mirror in the Watchtowerâs prep room, tugging at the lapels of the black suit that Mel had somehow sourced last-minute. The cut was sharp, classic, tailored to emphasize broad shoulders and trim waist. His hair was slicked back, jaw clean-shaven, cufflinks engraved with the new Avengers insignia.
It felt like armor.
It wasnât for the cameras. It wasnât for the team.
It was for you.
Because maybe if he showed upânot as a soldier or a symbol or a ghost of a man who couldnât keep promisesâbut as your man, he might finally break the wall youâd built brick by slow, exhausted brick.
"You look like a magazine ad for heartbreak,â Yelena said flatly as she passed him in the hallway, already halfway into a glittering black gown. âThat is not a compliment.â
Bucky didnât flinch. âYou know sheâs gonna be there?â
âDo I look like her personal assistant?â she replied. âYouâre the one who made Val jump through hoops to drag us into this.â
âIt's for a good cause,â he said.
Yelena narrowed her eyes. âUh-huh. Sure. Purely selfless.â
Ava walked by next, heels clicking. âYouâre nervous,â she noted, glancing at him sideways.
âIâm notââ
âYouâre sweating through a thousand dollars worth of tailoring. Thatâs nerves.â
He rolled his eyes.
Alexei, coming down the stairs in a tux that looked like it belonged to a different century, clapped him on the back. âYou want advice? Make her laugh. Women like a man who makes them laugh.â
âOr,â Bob said quietly, trailing behind them with his bowtie untied and suit wrinkled, âyou could just apologize. That works too.â
Bucky ignored them all as he fastened his bowtie and adjusted the cuffs one last time.
He didnât know if youâd speak to him.
But heâd be damned if he stood across a ballroom from you and didnât try.
The camera flashes started the moment the New Avengers stepped out of the sleek black convoy outside the grand hotel.
Reporters lined the ropes, shouting names and questions, bulbs flashing like strobe lights in a storm. Val stood smug just off to the side, soaking it in like sheâd orchestrated the whole damn thing.
Inside, the ballroom was already humming with rich voices, tinkling glassware, soft jazz echoing beneath a grand chandelier. Politicians, CEOs, heads of NGOs, tech royaltyâall of them looking to shake hands and write checks.
Yelena rolled her eyes as a photographer barked her name, whispering something to Bob, who stayed glued to her side. Ava immediately veered away from the attention. John lapped up the press like a plant under a grow light. Alexei was already loudly asking where the vodka was.
But Bucky wasnât looking at the cameras.
He wasnât smiling.
He was scanning the ballroom, eyes darting over sequined gowns and tuxedoed silhouettes with laser focus. Looking. Searching. Waiting.
And then he saw you.
It hit him like a sucker punch.
You descended the marble staircase on the far side of the ballroom, a vision in crimson. He hadnât seen the dress beforeâhe wouldâve remembered. The deep red clung to your body like it knew exactly where you wanted to be touched.
It shimmered subtly under the chandelier light, catching the gold in your skin, the delicate slope of your collarbone, the shape of your legs moving with slow, elegant precision.
You were talking to someoneâcorporate, probably. Networking. Smooth and composed, all polished charm and business poise. The person in front of you was smiling wide, laughing, but your expression was mild, professional. Exactly what it needed to be.
But thenâ
Like you felt him.
You turned.
Your eyes swept the crowd and locked on him like gravity itself had bent the light to make it happen.
Bucky froze.
Time narrowed.
The din of the gala dulled. His heartbeat went hot in his ears. All he could see was youâstanding there in that goddamn dress, looking like a memory he hadnât earned and a future he didnât deserve.
And for a second, just one second, your expression broke.
Just a little.
Recognition. Surprise. And something elseâsomething softer. Sharper.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
You turned back to your conversation, spine straightening, mouth curving into that polite smile you wore when you wanted to end something without causing a scene.
Bucky stood rooted in place, jaw clenched, hands curled at his sides.
Right.
Heâd told you not to be seen near them. Told you to stay away, for safety. For PR. For a million reasons that didnât mean a damn thing anymore.
And now?
He couldnât just walk up to you. Couldnât confess his love in front of the board members and donors and paparazzi. He knew you. Knew youâd hate it. Knew it would make you glare instead of melt.
So heâd have to find another way.
One that would mean something.
One that would be yours.
And Bucky Barnes had never been more ready to fight for something in his goddamn life.
Bucky spent most of the night like a man caught in the wrong timeline.
The team had dispersedâmingling, sipping wine, taking photos they didnât want to take. Yelena charmed a table of older donors by being blunt and hilarious.
Ava was already in a corner having a serious conversation about resource allocation. Bob, somehow, had gotten pulled into a group selfie with a senator. Even John had managed to slap on a half-decent smile and talk to two reporters without saying anything arrogant.
But Bucky?
Bucky stood there.
Dark suit, jaw clenched, drink untouched in his hand.
Watching you.
You moved through the room like you werenât breaking his heart a little with every step. Laughing politely at something someone said. Holding your glass just so. The fabric of that crimson dress whispering around your ankles as you walked.
Every now and then, your eyes flicked to his. Brief. Electric. Then gone again.
He didnât know what to do with himself.
And thenâheels clicking, voice like an ice pickâVal appeared beside him.
âYouâre up.â
Bucky blinked. âUp for what?â
Val gave a thin, dry smile. âSpeech. On behalf of the New Avengers. Seeing as the rest of your team has at least attempted to behave like functioning public figures, and youâve done nothing but stand here looking like an emotionally repressed Greek statue all night.â
He blinked again. âI wasnât toldââ
âYou are now,â she interrupted, already turning away. âItâs already been cleared with the host. Micâs ready. Try not to say anything too traumatic.â
And with that, she pivoted away, already bored of him.
Public speaking. God help him.
But then his eyes found you again.
Still glowing under the chandeliers. Still you.
And he thought, maybe this is it.
He walked onto the stage to the quiet hum of low conversation and the gentle clinking of glasses. The host introduced him with a few polite wordsâ"Representative of the New Avengers, veteran of WW2..."âand then stepped aside, leaving Bucky with the mic and a ballroom full of people who had no idea what he was about to say.
He gripped the podium tighter than he meant to.
Cleared his throat.
You were near the center, now seated at a table with your companyâs execs. And your eyes were already on him.
God.
He hadnât even started yet, and he was wrecked.
He cleared his throat. âGood evening.â
A few polite nods from the audience.
âIâm not⌠great at speeches,â he started, eyes sweeping the crowd onceâbut only onceâbefore settling back on you.
âBut Iâm honored to speak tonight. Because this cause⌠matters. Mental health support for Blip survivorsâthatâs not just a talking point. Itâs life-saving.â
People leaned in.
âIâve seen firsthand what coming back can do to someone,â he said slowly, carefully. âWhat it feels like to be displaced. Lost. Like timeâs moved on without you, and youâre just⌠dragging behind it, trying to catch up. And the worst part of that isnât the confusion. Itâs the loneliness.â
His voice was low, careful. This part, at least, he could manage.
âI think we talk a lot about the logistics of the Blipâpeople gone, people returned, the chaos. But we donât talk enough about what it did to the people who stayed. Or the ones who came back and didnât recognize the world anymore. People who survived, but didnât feel alive.â
You shifted slightly in your seat. His eyes never left you.
âAnd Iâm saying this not just as an Avenger or a veteran⌠but as someone whoâs been there. Someone who came back from the deadâtwice. And there were days I didnât know how to keep going. Iâve spent years working on being more than what happened to me. Iâve sat in rooms trying to explain why it still hurts. Trying to find meaning.â
A pause.
âAnd I wouldnât have made it if I hadnât had someone to come home to.â
Thatâs when the shift happened.
Eyes widened. A few murmurs from the crowd. Even Val froze near the back.
âIâm not⌠great with this kind of thing,â Bucky said, adjusting the mic slightly. âBut Iâm standing here in front of all of you, not because Iâm part of a superhero team, or because someone handed me a title. Iâm standing here because there is a woman in this room who keeps me tethered.â
He didnât blink.
Didnât glance away from you, not even once.
âSheâs my rock. My clarity. The only person who ever looked at me and saw something worth saving. She didnât ask me to be a hero. She just asked me to be me. And somehow⌠she still loved what she saw.â
A breath.
âShe is the reason I believe I deserve peace.â
Your eyes were locked on him, wide, unmoving.
Some of the audience was blinking. A few whispering.
But Bucky didnât care.
Because he wasnât talking to them.
He was talking to you.
âI was a soldier. Then a weapon. Then a politician. Now Iâm trying to be a man. And I canât be that without her.â
He swallowed, but didnât falter.
And for the first time in weeks, his voice felt steady. Because for once, he wasnât hiding. Not his love. Not his pain. Not what you meant to him.
He took a breath.
Then finished, simply:
âSo thank you for supporting this cause. Itâs not abstract. Itâs personal. For all of us.â
A pause.
Then the room erupted in applause.
But Bucky didnât hear it.
He was still looking at you.
And for the first time in weeks, he didnât feel the distance.
The applause was still echoing faintly through the ballroom, conversations blooming again like nothing had shiftedâbut Bucky knew better.
Something had shifted.
He stepped off the stage and straight into the tide of well-dressed bodies. Donors, board members, media peopleâshaking hands, smiling, complimenting him, dropping half-formed praises about âmovingâ and âauthenticâ and âgenuine vulnerability.â
But he didnât care.
He barely registered any of it.
His eyes were scanning the room. Looking for you. Like if he could just find you, ground himself in your orbit, maybe he could believe that what heâd just done was enough.
But you werenât by the bar. You werenât at the staircase. You werenât by the back exit or near the dance floor orâ
Then he felt it.
A handâyour handâsliding around his arm, fingers warm against the fabric of his sleeve.
He turned, heart already beating faster.
You didnât say anything.
Just gave him a look.
And gently, almost imperceptibly, tugged him away from the crowd.
Bucky followed without thinking, letting you lead him through a discreet side corridor, past a curtained alcove where the sounds of the gala dulled to a hum.
And when you stopped, when you turned to face him, he opened his mouthâ
But he didnât get a word out.
Because your hands were on his face, firm and sure, pulling him down into a kiss that knocked the breath from his chest.
It wasnât slow.
It wasnât cautious.
It was needy. Real. Like youâd been starving for weeks and finally allowed to taste again. Like he was something you couldnât help but want.
He melted into you with a sound that wasnât quite a sigh, wasnât quite a groanâjust relief. One hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair like he couldnât believe this was real.
When you finally pulled back, breath warm against his lips, you didnât let go.
Didnât step away.
You just leaned your forehead to his and whispered, voice tinged with a half-smileâ
âYouâre gonna be in so much trouble.â
He huffed out something like a laugh. âWorth it.â
Your fingers lingered against his jaw.
The soft glow from the hallway barely reached the small alcove where you stood, still tucked away behind velvet drapes and polished columns. The noise of the gala felt far-off nowâlike another world neither of you belonged to.
Bucky wouldn't let go of you. His hands still rested on your waist like he didnât trust the moment to last. Like if he blinked, you might fade again.
You leaned your shoulder into the wall, breathing finally steady. He looked at youâreally looked at youâand reached for your hand.
âIâm gonna try,â he said, voice low, steady in the dark. âI know Iâve said it before, but this time⌠I mean it. Iâm gonna try, really try. I donât care how many speeches they want. I donât care what the media says or what Val plans next. Youâre it. Youâre my whole damn life.â
Your lips parted, but he kept going.
âI love you,â he said. âAnd I know thatâs not always enough to make it easy. But I want you to know that if you asked meâif you looked me in the eye right now and said to walk away from the Avengers, from all of itââ
His hand cupped the back of your neck.
âI would.â
Your heart twisted, eyes burning in that way they always did when he got too sincere.
You reached up and cupped his cheek, fingers brushing along his clean-shaven cheek, thumb skimming the line of his jaw.
âI know,â you whispered. âBut you know Iâd never ask that.â
He leaned into your hand, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. âDoesnât change the fact that I would. You come first. You always do.â
You smiled, so gently he almost missed it.
âI donât need you to walk away,â you murmured. âI just need you to walk back. To us. To me.â
He nodded. âI will.â
You kissed him againâslower this time. Like a promise. Like you were giving him something he already owned but forgot how to hold.
And when you pulled away, his mouth curved, that old smirk creeping back into place as his hands slid subtly down your back.
âYou know,â he said, voice dipping, âthis is a pretty dark corner. Not a lot of foot traffic.â
You snorted. âJames.â
âIâm just saying,â he grinned, leaning in, âno one would see.â
You arched an eyebrow. âKeep it in your pants, Barnes.â
âWhat about when we get home?â
You kissed his jaw and murmured against his skinâ âWhen we get home, Sergeant.â
His grin bloomedâlazy, boyish, freeâand before you could say anything else, he kissed you again.
