Summary: A pregnancy complication rattles both of you, and Robby has to come to terms with how much you mean to him.
Warnings/Tags: light angst, fainting, arguing, accidental pregnancy, unspecified age gap, boss!robby, resident!reader, baby daddy!robby, day shift crew is there, Dana is a baddie, possible medical inaccuracies (I’m not a doctor), female reader (she/her), no use of y/n
Word count: 2.6k words (the longest chapter so far)
A/N: Robby is a dick in this, but it’s not directed towards the reader. Even though he’s an asshole to Langdon, I’m a Langdon lover lmao. Trust that this does not reflect my feelings about him. I had a great time writing some angst for this series, but it is relatively light. There will be a chapter with much heavier angst coming up. I apologize in advance.
Previous Part | Unexpected Series | Next Part (coming soon)
It was a rare occasion when both you and Robby had the day off. Since the man doesn’t know to relax, the two of you were doing laundry. He was folding his own clothes while you did yours. The two of you worked in silence before Robby spoke up. You’d been so focused on your task that you hadn’t seen him staring at you.
“You doing okay, sweetheart? You’re looking a little tired.”
Naturally, you took that negatively, and you raised an eyebrow. You adjusted to get comfortable on the couch and sighed softly. Not that you wanted to admit it, but you’d been feeling drained lately. That came with being twenty-eight weeks pregnant, though.
“Just haven’t slept great. Still adjusting to the night shift.”
“Hey, that wasn’t a dig. I was just checking on you.”
You weren’t intentionally being standoffish; you were just exhausted, and the emotional fatigue was getting to you. You and Robby were in this constant state of push and pull. One minute, he looked like he wanted to mount you, and the next he was avoiding any “unnecessary” conversations. It was impossible to figure him out. You didn’t dare complain, though. Exhaling slowly, one of your hands rested on your baby bump, and you apologized.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I feel like my soul has been ripped from me. Growing a human is fucking exhausting.”
The raw fatigue in your voice made Robby’s chest ache, and he wanted to help. He wasn’t sure what all he was allowed to do, but he could encourage you to rest. Reaching over, he gently squeezed your hand and nodded towards your bedroom.
“Go back to bed and take a nap. When you wake up, I’ll bring you dinner.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can finish the laundry.”
You contemplated his offer for a moment and considered being stubborn. It wasn’t a bad idea, though. There was no question that you needed the extra sleep. After some deliberation, you nodded and squeezed Robby’s hand back.
“Alright. Thank you.”
“Of course. Rest up.”
Robby watched as you lifted yourself from the couch. You took two steps before you swayed, and your body crumpled forward. Thankfully, you’d somehow landed on your side, but you were still unconscious. He leapt from his seat and rushed over to you. His fingers instantly pressed against the side of your neck, and he let out a breath of relief when he felt your pulse. It was thready and too slow for his liking, but it was there.
He didn’t even realize that his hands were shaking. Robby’s priority was waking you up. He gently patted your cheek and spoke frantically. He’d seen syncope hundreds of times in the ER, but this was you - the mother of his child.
“Sweetheart, c’mon, wake up for me.”
To his dismay, you weren’t rousing. Robby let out a low curse and grabbed his phone. The last thing that you’d want is to go to the hospital, but he wasn’t going to take any risks when it came to you or your daughter. While he explained the situation to the 911 operator, his hand rested on your belly and counted the seconds before the baby kicked again. It took almost a whole minute, but he was overwhelmed with relief.
The operator informed him that the EMTs were five minutes out, and he ended the call. Robby brushed some hair from your face and tried again to wake you.
“C’mon, baby. I’ve got you.”
His voice was oozing with desperation, and Robby could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The possible complications that you could be experiencing made him feel sick. He hated seeing you struggling. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed your small gasp and the fluttering of your eyelids. You were about to move when Robby’s strong hands gently held you in place. He was less panicked when he spoke again.
“Don’t move just yet. You fainted, but you took a while to come around. I had to call for an ambulance, and they’ll be here any second.”
At the mention of an ambulance, your eyes shot open, and you stared up at Robby. His face was slightly scrunched with worry, and you hated it. Despite working inside a hospital, you hated being a patient. You weakly shook your head and attempted to plead with him.
“No, no, no. No hospitals, please.”
You sounded terrified, and it broke Robby’s heart. He wasn’t going to give in, though. You needed to receive the proper testing and care to get to the bottom of this. In an attempt to soothe you, he ran a hand through your hair. The closer you got to your due date, the more physically affectionate Robby allowed himself to be. Neither of you permitted yourselves to dwell on that.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You need to be seen. You’re a doctor; you know the tests that need to be run. Do it for the baby.”
The last part sounded like he was guilting you into going, and that added to your frustration. You pushed his hand away and went to sit up again. Despite your objections, Robby helped pull you into a sitting position and propped your back against the couch. Your hand immediately went to your belly, and he could see the way the baby’s soft kicking reassured you. He was about to speak again when the paramedics knocked on the door.
Getting your stubborn ass into the ambulance had been quite the battle, and Robby kept apologizing to the EMTs. They were used to it, though. Doctors made the worst patients. It wasn’t like you were being rude, just obstinate. The ride was mostly silent because you refused to speak to your baby daddy. To add to your anger, Robby would only allow you to be seen by your fellow staff at the PTMC. He didn’t trust the other hospitals to properly care for you.
He wanted to hold your hand, but the two of you weren’t physical at work. Not to mention, you were still angry with him. Robby was going to ruminate on the way you’d rejected his touch for days to come. He was still thinking about it when the ambulance doors opened, and it was time to go.
Being wheeled into your place of work felt absolutely mortifying. You knew it wasn’t a big deal. Most of your coworkers had to be treated in the ED at least once in their careers. That didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing, though. Robby trailed behind your gurney as you were brought inside. You were trying to avoid any prying eyes, but you looked over when Dana called your name. She rushed over to Robby and waved in your direction.
“What happened to our girl?”
Running a tired hand over his face, Robby exhaled heavily and tried to focus on Dana’s question. All he wanted was to talk to you, but you weren’t meeting his eye. He sounded drained when he answered her.
“She passed out after getting off the couch.”
“And the baby?”
“Oh, baby girl is fine. They’re both stable. She just took a minute to come to.”
You weren’t a huge fan of the way the conversation was happening around you, so you broke your silence.
“Robby’s being a little dramatic. Pregnant people faint sometimes.”
“You’re not just any pregnant person.”
Of course, Robby had to say that. Your head was already swimming with mixed emotions, and now he had to be sweet. It was juvenile, but you held onto your irritation. You huffed and rolled your eyes. He ignored it and redirected his attention to Dana.
“I want to get a CBC done. She already had an ECG in the rig, and it was normal.”
“Robby, you can’t treat family. You know that.”
“We’re not—"
Robby abruptly cut himself off when he realized the truth in Dana’s statement. The two of you may not be together, but you are family. You were carrying his daughter. He looked dumbfounded, and it made Dana smirk. You were too busy reeling from those words to find any amusement in Robby’s reaction. He floundered for a second before choking out a question.
“Who—who's going to treat her?”
That’s when Langdon appeared, and the tension in the room doubled. God, this was the last thing either you or Robby needed. You loved working with Frank, but Robby still held resentment towards him after he learned about the young resident stealing drugs from the hospital. His mere presence set your boss off.
“No fucking way. He’s not touching her. Not after what he did.”
Frank was about to speak when you cut him off, and the annoyance in your voice was jarring. You were pregnant, stressed out, and over Robby’s shit. Now, it was not the time for him to be acting like this, and you were pissed.
“Robby! Take a fucking walk.”
You’d never raised your voice at Robby like that before, so his brain momentarily short-circuited. He was still too amped up to realize that he was being an asshole, and he wasn’t about to admit that he was wrong. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out. You threw your hands up and let Dana go after him.
Robby didn’t want to be too far from your room, so he’d angrily planted himself by the nurses’ station. Dana soon joined him. He huffed softly when he saw her walk over, and he prepared himself for a lecture. Her tone was slightly bewildered when she addressed him.
“The hell was that, Robby?”
“I-I don’t want him treating her or my baby.”
That was petty, and Robby knew that. He just didn’t care. Dana shook her head in exasperation and laughed incredulously. Her friend and colleague was acting like a child. She wasn’t about to let him continue this behavior.
“Langdon is a competent physician, and he was a good friend of yours. You should be thankful that your girl is being taken care of.”
He wanted to grumble and argue that you weren’t actually his girl, but that was pointless. The adrenaline from watching you hit the living room floor was slowly leaving Robby, and he was wiped. He sighed and mumbled back.
“I don’t trust him anymore.”
“I know, but he has paid his dues. Langdon is the one in charge of her care, and you need to accept that. Would you rather her be passed off to one of the med students?”
While Robby didn’t trust Frank, he was much more capable than this year’s med students. If this debacle had occurred a year ago, Langdon would’ve been the doctor that Robby requested. That was before the shift from hell. Dana was right, though. He needed to accept this.
Before he made it back to your room, Dana pulled him aside one last time and made sure that she was getting through to him.
“Robby, you need to focus on her and the baby. That’s your priority.”
“It always has been.”
He didn’t realize it, but he was close enough to your door that you’d heard that. Those simple words sent you spiraling. Where the hell did you stand with this man?
With a pat on the back from Dana, Robby steeled himself to face you and entered the exam room. Frank was already onto the next patient and you were receiving IV fluids. You looked smaller in the hospital bed, and it made something in him squeeze uncomfortably. Usually, you were loud and full of sass. He sat in the chair beside your bed and cleared his throat. An apology was long overdue.
“I’m sorry. I was being an ass.”
That wasn’t good enough, and Robby could see it on your face. Why should you be satisfied with a carbon copy of the apology he was always making? He shifted uneasily in his seat and braced himself to be more vulnerable. His voice was uncharacteristically strained when he spoke again.
“Seeing you hit the floor like that scared the fuck out of me, sweetheart. All I could think about was something horrible happening to you and the baby. I-I don’t know what to do with that fear, and it usually comes across as anger. That’s not an excuse, though.”
Shocked that Robby had not only admitted that he was in the wrong but had also confessed to being afraid, your blinked up at him. Who was this man, and what had he done with your boss? Well, he hadn’t actually been your boss since you switched to the night shift a few weeks ago. It was just hard to shake that air of authority. You sat there for a second before responding.
“Thank you. I know that it’s hard for you to talk about those things.”
Hearing you acknowledge that it was difficult for him to express those feelings, his eyes stung with tears and he blinked hard. One escaped and rolled down his cheek. You were about to wipe it when Langdon came into the room. Robby immediately pulled it together and used his shoulder to swipe away that pesky tear. The other man was about to apologize for interrupting when Robby cut him off.
“You ran a CBC, right? Are her results back?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Wanting to ensure that you were included in your medical care, Frank turned to you and pulled up the chart. You were also a doctor, so he passed you the tablet that displayed your lab results. He still took the time to verbally explain the results.
“As you can see, your thyroid is normal. I know you were concerned about that. Your hemoglobin and hematocrit, however, are pretty low. With a hemoglobin of 9.9 g/dL, that would classify as moderate pregnancy anemia. That’s why you passed out.”
These weren’t the results that you were hoping for, but it was reassuring that your thyroid was normal. Your mother had issues with her thyroid, so you were always conscious of yours. You were still processing the results when Robby spoke up. Of course, he had questions.
“What was her serum ferritin?”
“It was 29 ng/ml. It’s a little lower than we’d like, but nothing dangerous. She definitely has an iron deficiency.”
“What’s your treatment plan?”
It was hard to tell if Robby was quizzing Frank from the standpoint of a mentor or if he was just being an ass again. You rolled your eyes and kept reviewing your own chart. Your fellow resident took the questions in stride and answered calmly.
“I’m going to prescribe her an iron supplement, recommend that she take it with vitamin C, and add some more spinach and red meat to her diet. Probably best that she reduces her Taki intake.”
The way that Langdon said that like it was some inside joke between the three of you made Robby want to groan. He resisted the urge for your sake. Biting back a scoff, he readjusted in his chair and turned in your direction. His voice was noticeably softer when he spoke to you.
“You got all that?”
“Robby, I am also a physician. I could’ve come up with that plan myself.”
Amused by your attitude, Robby laughed softly and shook his head. It was good to see that you felt up to teasing him. He checked the clock and turned back to Langdon. All he wanted was to get you home and resting in your own bed.
“When will she be discharged?”
“I’ll sign the papers right now.”
A few minutes later, the discharge papers were signed, and you were ready to go. To your annoyance, Robby insisted on wheeling you out to the parking lot where Jack was waiting to pick you guys up. Judging by the look on his best friend’s face, Robby was going to have quite the debrief once you were in bed.
thinking abt mean!abbot… like the guy is nice (sure) but he’s also kind of a fuckboy?? & you're his problematic midlife crisis.
[part one here] [18+ // MDNI // age gap, breeding kink, edging, cream pie, car sex, fingering, piv]
thinking thinking abt fb!abbot who pays for your uber every time he makes a booty call. only to get you to his house tho… to go back to your place you’re on your own. sure you can leave whenever you want. or you can stay and get fucked all afternoon (too bad you had shit to do, now you don’t).
the man does love taking his time ruining you. jerking off on your tits, your ass, your face, like a nasty dog marking up his territory. he loves to see his seed all over your body, the liquid beads that adorn your skin before melting and staining the sheets. one day he even snapped a pic of your ruined face (with an old polaroid, vintage, and you wondered how many girls sat in your place, smiling with his cum all over their cheeks). he called you pretty, he called beautiful. he keeps the pic in his wallet, in a small pocket, barely hidden. the white corners of your shame peek every time he reaches for a dollar.
speaking of disgusting habits, you quickly discovered that fb!abbot loves to fuck you raw just before leaving for the hospital, perfectly knowing that you don’t have spare underwear… well it’s not his problem. you’re gonna have to spend the night with his cum pooling in your panties, soft cotton drenched with his load, feeling him every time you move. and mayyyybe he likes that you still feel him inside, maybe he likes to fill you up, maybe he likes too much fucking you with his fingers on your break, his cum from several hours ago still spilling out of your cunt. he never makes you come tho, whispering in your ear that you have to be a good girl for him, that you have to earn it… and maybe if you behave he’ll let you come to his house again after your shifts. or, more likely, he won’t have time for your little self, and he’ll fuck you in his car in the parking lot, body bent in impossible angles, head pressed against the leather, your cunt and clit abused in whatever manner he deems most fitting at the moment.
fb!abbot who is generous only when it suits him—he'll keep his distance all night until suddenly he decides to be too close, in your space but not really, “accidentally” brushing against your hand or back, toying with you, fucking with your head and faking disappointment when he manages to distract you. but don’t worry, he’s here to help. cause abbot is not like robby right? everybody knows that, abbot is the kind one, he’s only here to help (but first he has to make you a liiittle bit dumb and helpless).
fb!abbot who also loves quizzing you in front of everyone on a subject he helped you practice the day before… knowing perfectly well that he fucked you so good that when you think about the dosage of piperacillin and tazobactam for pneumonia you only think about being on his lap, about him pinching your nipples, his thick cock inside of you, his hands creeping on your neck, body desperately chasing an orgasm that he denies you and you can’t remember a thing?? the bastard just loooves to see you scramble—he’ll always wait until you answer something, forbidding anyone to help you. “i know she knows.” and he’s looking at you right in the eyes, as if you need that famished look from him that goes straight to your cunt. “come on doctor, don’t leave me hanging…” and once the torture is over, once you spit some bullshit answer, he pulls you to the side, and whispers in your ear that you should meet him after your shift, cause you clearly need another study session.
arts degrees r so funny because you go in class and theyre like What Is A Poem? we dont know for sure... and then moral of the story is we don't know what a poem is. and then the worst part of it is that theyre right
The Pitt men (Robby, Abbot, Park, Shen, Langdon, Jesse, and Whitaker) when you show up in their lives again...with a child that looks a lot like them.
Series Warnings: 18+ MDNI. There are sex scenes in the parts. There is angst in all parts. Pregnancy. Pregnancy symptoms (including vomiting). Fluff. Kind of hurt/comfort.
A/N: The taglist is open if you want to be added! Just comment below.
synopsisrobby's going away and he's very worried about his two singular house plants and mail, so he's asked you to house sit. he gave you keys and the lay out of the neighbours, he maybe just forgot to mention one tiny detail. the cameras in almost every room
warnings, perv robby! watching through camera's SMUT MDNI, masturbation (f! and m!) language, dom robby, dirty talk, robby watched reader masturbate through cameras and gets off to her. please do not read if pervy behaviour makes you uncomfortable.
authornote this is super super pervy but listen, it's been in my head for ages. and this gif does things to me!!!!! please don't read if pervy behaviour makes you uncomfortable and remember this is all made up and fictinioal things about fictional characters. That being said, dr robby i am free on thursday, thursday i am free if you want to hook up on thursday, the day im free
pitt masterlist. another robby fic!
Perhaps Robby should've mentioned the camera's he had installed around his house, perhaps it just slipped his mind.
They were security measures, really they were. He'd had a break in a few years back when he had a serious lack of things to steal. Since then he'd collected a few things that he wanted to keep a hold of so he installed some security cameras and had it linked to his phone.
Robby wasn't one for strangers in the house, or co-workers or anything of the sort so he'd almost forgotten they were there.
Until of course he asked you to house sit and suddenly he was painfully aware of every corner he'd installed them in.
It was Trinity Santos's fault, really.
As all things typically were.
Or maybe it was Robby's for taking an interest. He'd asked her about her home stuff, noticing some things he wanted to iron out before he went away for three months.
“Whitakers kind of weird, but you know, she helps iron it out,” said Santos, gesturing behind Robby.
You stood with Mohan, laughing at something she said, neck tilting back, cheeks red. That sort of laugh. Even by noise and without looking, Robby would have known it was you.
He'd memorised the way a room shifted when you entered it, or the soft patter of your steps, the gentle feel of your presence at his side. He hadn't even tried not to. You'd come in, straight out of medical school and Robby was hooked like a fish.
But you were younger than him, ambitious, hopeful in making a change in the world.
Robby kept it professional.
Most of the time.
“That's when she's home, anyway.”
Robby looked back to her. “What's that?”
“Oh she's been seeing this guy for a few months or something,” said Santos off-handily. “He was the brother of a patient that came in with Sepsis, had to lose a portion of his leg. The guy really liked her.”
“The patient?”
“No the patient's brother. She's been seeing him, but...” she trailed off with a sigh, fingers going down harder on the keys of the computer.
Robby edged closer. “But?”
Was something wrong? He had no idea you were seeing someone which made all his advances you hadn't bat away scandalous.
Santos glanced at you. “I dunno, he's a bit older than us and just seems... controlling I guess?”
His jaw ticked. “Controlling?”
“Maybe it's just me, I'm seeing things that aren't there,” she said, dismissing it. But Santos was a keen doctor, or would be. She looked too close and sadly usually got the nail on first go. If she thought something was going on with you then there was something.
“I'll have a word,” said Robby, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter.
“Hey, your call.”
He turned, leaning his back on the counter and stared at you, rather openly.
Dana had moved to your side, ipad at the hip where it usually was glued. She was directing you to a patient and, as usual, you took it with a smile and darted off.
He watched the way you walked, eyes following you and trying to find a tell in the way you moved if there was someone. Did you walk with a limp from how good this guy friend of yours fucked you? Were you trying to hide any part of you?
After the patient Robby found you. He couldn't make himself productive if he tried, not with the nagging feeling that he had to talk to you eating at his vocal chords.
You were in the lounge, stirring away at the coffee you'd just poured. “Hey,” you greeted as the door closed behind him.
It was just you and him. And a dummy to practise CPR on.
He jerked his head up in response as he let the door close behind him.
“Want some coffee?” you offered as he slid into a seat at the table.
“Always.”
You poured him a cup, black, as you knew he liked and slid it over to him.
“Hey, sit down a minute,” said Robby, stretching himself out, legs wide, resting back. Giving to all the world a sense of at ease he did not feel.
Though hesitant, you did. “Okay.”
“You're an empathetic soul,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I'm not finished.”
“Oh.”
“You're a good doctor,” he continued. “You want to be there for your patients?”
“Don't you.”
“Shhh.”
You blushed. “Sorry.”
Robby didn't mind. A secret part of him loved ordered you around, different than he did the others. He didn't bark orders so much, but told you what to do. He got a kick seeing you carry out those orders so well and got a belt in the stomach when you rewarded him with a smile and thanks.
“So this relationship that you're having with this guy,” he said, looking to you. He realised he hadn't even got the name from Trinity.
You took your turn to speak but you lowered your head down. “Shawn?”
“Yeah, Shawn.”
“Santos talk to you?”
He shrugged. “Well she's worried, I'm worried.”
You sipped your coffee. “There's nothing to worry about. We've just been a couple of dates, you know. His brothers really struggling to come to terms with his new life after losing his leg and he takes it out on Shawn sometimes, and...”
“Does he take it out on you?” asked Robby.
“No, no!” you said at once. “It's nothing like that. He just... I dunno, I'm not that interested anymore but it's like kicking a puppy when he's down, you know.”
“So he's not telling you what to do?” he judged.
You looked up at him, an amused smirk to your lips. “There's only one who can tell me what to do and that's you, boss.”
The words shouldn't have effected him as much as they did. Heat crept into his body, invading his senses. He glanced down and pulled at his scrub pants just to make sure the rush of want that coursed through him didn't manifest in his cock.
Robby didn't know what he was thinking, asking you to house sit. It was going to go to Abbott originally, then he thought Langdon if it weren't for all the shit going on there. Maybe even Whitaker but he was sat in front of you and the words were out before he realised.
“Hey, you want to house sit for me while I'm gone?” he asked.
You straightened up. “What?”
“You'd be doing me a favour. Nobody else is up for it-” lies, he hadn't even asked anyone else. “- save you a bit on rent. Have a place to yourself for a change.”
“Really?”
“No smoking, no parties, no babies, no pets, no boyfriends.”
“I don't- I don't have a boyfriend.”
Good, he thought. “Then the place is yours.... or I can ask around.”
“I'd- yeah- that'd be great,” you said with a smile. “As long as you're sure? I mean I don't smoke and I don't really have time to just have friends around.”
“Santos can come visit if she likes,” suggested Robby. He liked you but he wasn't trying to isolate you. “So long as she doesn't bring Garcia.”
“Deal,” you said.
“Great,” he said.
The two of you sat in the quiet of the lounge a moment longer, the outside world waiting.
Robby pushed himself up, brushing your hand on the table as he did. “I'll find you before you I go, give you the keys and security code.”
“Thanks. Great.”
When he left he realised he'd be travelling for three months, leaving you in an apartment that was him. It was his dream and hell all in one.
The thought of you in Robby's apartment had him contemplating cancelling his trip all together, but that would give you no reason to stay and he did really need a break. Not even seeing you everyday could dampen what the Pitt did to you after a time.
He found you at the end of the day at the lockers, already supporting his bag over his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked. He could almost imagine this was his life. The two of you working around each other, stealing glances with promises of what time alone would hold. Coming to fetch you at the end of the day, rubbing his hands at the tired spots on your shoulders and coaxing you into his arms.
“Yeah.”
Robby was stealing time, stealing distractions from everything. “I'll give you a ride down.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, fetching your bag from the locker. “Don't you want to get on the road?”
“The road will still be there, besides it's not far, I just wanna show you,” he said, taking your bag from your hand with an almost unconscious mind as he led the way out.
When you were both down the ambulance bay, standing in front of his bike he got busy securing your bags to the back of it.
“Oh,” you uttered.
“What's up?”
“I've never ridden on one before.”
Robby hid himself in his bike a moment longer, banishing the dirty thoughts. He was past a fifty year old man, he didn't need to be hanging on every one of your dirty words like he was sixteen discovering sex for the first time. “I'll do all the work. You just have to sit there and hold on tight.”
“But you only have one helmet?”
“You wear it.”
You frowned. “But isn't that kind of un-safe?”
Yes, it was. But Robby wasn't trying to get himself killed like everyone thought. He just wanted a break. He wanted you in his apartment, knowing you respected him enough to not break the rules and bring a boyfriend you did or didn't have.
“I'm about to be wearing a helmet for thirty six hours. C'mere.” Robby took his helmet and gently propped it on your head. He tightened the straps under your chin and gently brushed back any hair that was peaking out.
You watched him but Robby was concentrating on where his hands your chin.
It was still a little big on you and still had his heart soaring.
“There we go, hop on.”
Robby had a motorbike because it was a hobby. He knew what others thought about middle aged men and motorbikes. He'd never done it to impress before... until now.
He revved the bike at the chances he got and relished in the feel of your arms around his waist. When he took corners or passed by a car your arms squeezed and it went straight down to the place it shouldn't.
At stop signs or lights he checked in with you, getting a glimpse of your wide grin when he did.
By the time he'd pulled up in front of his apartment building, your body was practically buzzing against his and you stood up on shaky legs.
“How does it feel to have your motorcycle virginity taken?” he asked, helping you up and your helmet off.
You shook out your hair, laughing. “I feel like a changed woman.”
Robby chuckled.
He gave you the security code at the door and led you to his place. The building, practically full of old people (he told you as much) was practically dead when he got home from work, only the faint buzzing of TV's through doors could be heard.
He told you there's a good thai place on the corner, some take out menus he had. He told you he didn't have much food in as he was going away so he'd been chucking it out.
When he opened the door to his place he tried picturing it through your eyes. Was it too sparse? Were the walls to plain? Was it clear a sad, old man lived here?
But you didn't say anything other than 'nice place.'
He showed you the kitchen, the living room, all neat and tidy and empty when he looked at it again. He gave you codes that you'd need, a spare set of keys on the table. He showed you the wi-fi.
“This is the spare room,” he said, nudging open a door. “Bathrooms down the hall. It's not so nice in here, I don't have many people around. Usually just Abbott but he doesn't sleep.”
It was al grey walls, heck the bed wasn't even made up. Just sheets piled up, all greys and whites and probably scratchy because he only cared enough to get the cheapest set.
“My room's down here,” he said, leading you down the hall. His room was lived in. Green sheets rumpled and his jacket hanging of the chair at his desk with books and some old framed pictures of his grandparents. “There's an ensuite but the choice is yours.”
He wasn't gonna force you into sleeping in his bedroom. But he was going to hope you did.
“Thanks, Robby, I promise the place will still be standing by the time you get back,” you said, now walking him out his place like you lived there.
“I'll hold you to that.”
Robby fished out his wallet and left some cash on the table. He'd taken some out to help him on his travels but he couldn't leave you with no food.
“Oh, Robby, you don't have to-”
“I am,” he said. “Get some food in, order some take out, I don't want a dollar left on my counter by the time I get back.”
You were resigned to argue but you always did what Robby said. “You got it, boss.”
The first time Robby checked the camera's was when he remembered he had them. And it wasn't his fault.
If anything it was yours.
He'd already made his home at his first stop, trying his best to think good things and not text Dana to see how it was all going. He was pushing himself to find the beauty of the mountains and the lakes.
That was when his phone alerted him. An odd notification he didn't have the words for.
He checked in while on a walk and was met by the sight of his apartment.
Fuck, the cameras!
He really had forgotten all about them.
Through the cameras he saw the kitchen and you frantically waving a tea towel up high at the smoke alarm.
At first Robby was worried but then the alarm stopped and he focused enough to see you. It had only been a week and he hadn't gone a day without thinking of you but this was different.
This was you, in his kitchen, wearing only a baggy shirt and panties.
Any other time the shirt would have been too long to see anything but you were jumping around, waving away the smoke and even through the camera Robby could see the panties.
His body went rigid.
He turned channel on the camera. It was wrong to watch but so far... he hadn't, right? He hadn't watched. He'd seen you in a 'delicate' state and switched.
The living room was pretty much the same. An extra med text book on the side and his blanket scrunched up.
Then, just to check, he went into the other room. The spare room. The same as he left it with the bedding piled up.
So that meant.
“Jesus,” he mumbled to himself, feeling the tightness of his pants as they pulled over his crotch.
Your overnight bad and suitcase was in his room, pressed up against the wall. His green sheets were a mess and there was a pile of discarded scrubs on the floor.
You were sleeping in his bed.
Robby didn't mean to- really, his finger slipped- but he checked in on the kitchen again. You were back to bustling around, taking whatever you'd burnt out the oven and moving around quickly, trying to salvage what you could of your food.
You bent over to the oven and though the island blocked most of it he got a grainy and all too far away shot of your backside.
He turned his phone off and hid his face in his hands.
He wished he could say that was the only time.
It wasn't.
At first he told himself it was just to check in. Knowing when your shift ended he'd log into his phone, checking the app connected to his cameras and making sure you got in safe. Of course there was never an issue. Sometimes you were home later, so exhausted you fell asleep on the sofa.
It was like falling asleep on call to someone, except, he fell asleep with the sight of you sleeping soundly. It calmed him, in a way. He told himself it was nice to see his place so looked after, lived in. He didn't question if that was the real reason why.
Robby was almost tempted to text at times, asking if you were sleeping well, asking if the place hadn't burnt down, or when he saw you do something he just wanted you to know he was there.
But wouldn't it be creepy?
You'd shared texts, sent him pictures of envelopes that you deemed looked important. Sometimes he text random things like 'sometimes the wi-fi plays up, let me know if it does,' or 'hope the neighbours aren't being too loud' (which was stupid considering half of them were deaf)
You were so polite and quick in your responses.
Robby never knew how to keep the conversation flowing. Not over text. Not when all he wanted to say was how pretty you looked in the mornings, rolling out of his bed and stretching like you'd had the best sleep.
Somewhere in his head he knew it wasn't right but maybe he'd been so de-censored to everything that nothing felt like crossing the line.
There weren't camera's in the bathroom, obviously but it didn't matter.
You changed in his room.
When Robby could spot you were about to change he forced the phone down. He didn't log out the app but he at least stepped away to give you some privacy. Privacy you didn't know he was invading.
This was wrong, so wrong.
Only once he caught a glimpse or your skin and curves of your body. Your back was to the camera but he saw the towel drop, saw the flex of your body as you pulled on scrubs for the day.
Robby had dragged his hand down his face and ignored the desperate ache in his cock. The want had made its home in his pants and hardly ever left him.
He remembered Jack telling him to call if it ever got dark but this, Robby was sure, wasn't the sort of darkness he was talking about.
In two weeks on his trip Robby had spent more time watching you then anything else.
It was a random Tuesday when he got another notification- having turned them on for any goings on alerted in his apartment.
He was out in a diner he found on the side of the road, dragging himself out of the hut and his up building un-healthy habits. His phone buzzed next to him and he logged into the cameras as if logging into emails.
You and Santos were in his place. You held open the door for her, leading here in. “Home sweet home.”
Robby tried to imagine it again, if that really was your home. If he was.
Coming home together at the end of the day, Robby could use you for all his pleasures and frustrations. He could have you on his island counter, on his sofa, on the rug, in his room and the spare room. He could spread you out and love you right, have you wake up sleepy in the mornings. He could turn up to work late with you on his arm and everyone would share a sly smirk, knowing just why they were late.
He watched, and imagined while he was thousands of miles away.
Robby watched as you showed Trinity around, marvelling as you laid out his apartment and everything you knew.
“He left me some cash if you want to order a pizza,” you said.
“God, he's so whipped,” Santos chuckled.
“Stop it.”
He figured what 'whipped' meant and you were trying to defend him when there was really no point. He was whipped. He was wrapped around your finger and you didn't even know.
“Is this his room?”
Robby didn't know if he liked Santos in his room but he liked that you showed it to her, liked that you moved around it like you'd always slept there.
“The spare room is colder and his room has the ensuite.”
Santos sat on the edge of his bed. “I can't believe you're sleeping in our bosses bed.”
You groaned, falling next to her. “Don't, I feel so bad. I'll get the sheets washed and everything before he's back.”
No. He didn't want the sheets washed. He wanted to be able to smell you on him when he returned, sleeping in your ghost.
You guys chatted some more and Robby finished his dinner, ordering himself a scotch as he kept his phone low, hoping it looked like he was just checking in on some reality show to anyone that looked hard enough.
“You know, bedside draws can tell a lot about a person,” he heard Santos say.
When he checked back on his phone you were scrabbling on the bed after her as Santos opened the top draw of his bedside table.
Robby wasn't ashamed. Sure, maybe he was angry that Santos thought she had the right to look through his things but then you were at her side, not encouraging the behaviour but not slamming them shut either.
Had you not snooped before? If he was in your shoes it would be the first thing he did. You were so good, so polite.
He didn't want you to be.
There was a couple medical articles he knew shoved in there, the sort he always said he'd get around to and never did. There was an old pack of contact lenses he never used and a broken pair of glasses too.
“Someone's been getting lu-cky,” said Santos in a teasing voice as she pulled out a scatter of lose condoms.
“Trin, c'mon, this is private.”
Santos gasped as she looked at them. “Large, large, large, extra large.”
You finally chuckled and Robby peered closer. There was a faint dusting of pink at your cheeks.
Robby was big, as a young man he liked to brag but as he got older he didn't feel there was that much to brag about. Did you like to think of him big? Did you like the idea that he was large?
Fuck the very idea of you rolling a condom onto him had his abused cock aching again under the table of the grotty diner.
He imagined you sliding the condom on before looming over him, holding him steady as you teased your entrance that would be so wet for him. Your hand would wrap around the base, maybe teasing his balls as you slowly sank down-
He downed the last of his scotch, readying himself to make a quick escape to his cabin.
Robby knew this was wrong to watch but so far he hadn't touched himself to the sights of you, he thought that was something he had to give himself credit for because he was so, so, so desperate.
And he was being so good not touching himself to the thought of you.
“Robby is freak-y,” said Santos, next finding his lube and the little pills he kept when he needed a hand.
“How the hell are you going to look him in the eyes after this?” you asked Santos.
“How are you? You're the one who's been sleeping next to this.”
Robby placed a couple bills on the table bidding night to those working before slipping through the door.
It was then that you started to strip out your scrubs in his room with Trinity still rummaging through his stuff. Clearly you had no problem with changing in front of her, you were housemates after all.
It was at that moment, just as he watched you pull your top off that his phone decided to die.
He pressed down on the black screen of his phone furiously. “Fuck.”
By the time Robby got back to his place and got his phone on charge Trinity had left you alone in his place and all the lights were off in his house.
You were readying yourself for bed.
As if this was a shared routine Robby did the same. He left his phone charging as he changed out of his clothes, leaving himself in his boxers. He ran cold water down his face, let the droplets roll down his neck and chest to cool the heat that lived in him.
By the time he got back to bed, leaving the curtains open for the sun to wake him early, you were in bed too.
Robby tried to read, really he did. He'd brought a book with him that had been sitting on his shelf abandoned for months. He'd managed a total fifty pages before he looked back at you.
You slept in the over sized night shirt, flicking through your phone.
Robby wasn't sure when it started but at some point your knees pulled up, taking his covers with you and your hand disappeared under his covers.
He sat up, alert.
This was where lines were drawn. Where he went from curious to damned old man.
But he was damned a long time ago.
You watched your phone closely, your hand undoubtably moving under his covers between your thighs.
“Oh,” Robby muttered to himself.
You, in his sheets, getting yourself off.
He could just about hear the pornographic moans coming from your phone when he turned the volume up. His sheets twisted and moved as you enjoyed yourself, slowly.
“Oh my god.” His hand crept his his boxers.
He just needed a small release. Just a squeeze, just a little bit of relief.
If you were doing so in his bed surely he was allowed to in return.
His cock answered his squeeze, swelling in his hand.
Robby imagined himself there, sitting on the edge of your bed and asking you to 'show me how you like it.' Your fingers would work inside of yourself, slow. You'd drag out your wetness to your bundle of nerves.
Were you relishing it in his sheets? Did they smell of him and was that helping you?
Robby had no choice- really no choice- as he freed himself from his boxers. He was leaking profusely. Wrapping his fingers around himself, he watched your next move.
You moaned through the camera. It came out crackled.
Robby's eyes were glued onto you.
Your eyes were fluttering shut, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as your back arched, body moving in waves as you tried to focus on your phone.
What porn were you watching? Was it hard? Was it soft? Was it an older man? Did you want a younger?
Were you dreaming of that fucking Shawn?
You kicked the sheets back and Robby could see where your fingers disappeared in your panties.
Robby licked his lips and spat into the palm of his hand. There was no denying it, he was hard watching you get off, in his bed, in his room. He worked his palm up and down slowly, wanting to last as long as you did.
“Moan,” he uttered to himself. “Moan baby.”
If he were there he'd push you into his sheets, make you turn your head and smell him there. You wouldn't have to work for anything. He'd have his fingers filling you up, have you wither on his tongue before he even thought about his cock.
Would he come back with his sheets smelling of you?
God, he hoped so. He hoped you never washed the sheets.
A noise slipped from you and Robby stilled, squeezing his cock again.
He sunk into the sofa. “Again.”
You ditched your phone at the side of you, some porn video playing as your other hand wound under you shirt.
You quickly discarded in and Robby got a eyeful of your chest.
“Oh my god,” Robby worked himself up and down.
He'd imagined your body before but never like this, laid out for him.
What he would do to smother himself in your breasts.
“So beautiful,” he said, sweeping his thumb over the head of himself. “Fuck.” He worked himself faster as you pushed yourself into your own hand.
“Please,” he heard you utter.
“Yeah, baby, yeah.”
Your mouth was agape in silent moans.
Robby wondered if anyone let you moan allowed, if living with Santos and Whitaker you had to be quiet.
You were alone, he wanted to tell you. He wanted you to be as loud as possible.
“C'mon... c'mon...” he mumbled working himself harder.
You gasped, legs moving around under his sheets and twisting them up. You were trembling, making a mess of the place he slept with no shame. The hand that wasn't working yourself into pleasure grasped in his sheets.
“Robby...”
He stilled, his hand flying away from his cock and eyes widening.
Did the camera work both ways? Could you hear him? Did you know he was there?
A thousand panic thoughts ran through his mind before he realised none of that was right.
You were just moaning out his name while touching yourself.
“Robby,” you gasped, body withering. “Fuck, Robby.”
He smirked to himself. “Oh, baby girl, moaning for me.”
You moaned, head thrown back onto his cushion.
“Say it again,” he begged, pumping himself as fast as he saw the imprint of your own hand move. “Say it.”
You kicked off the sheets as your legs moved, unable to stay still in fits of pleasure. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah you like that.” He didn't know what you liked but he'd try and give you anything.
“Miss you Robby, miss you so much.”
Robby groaned low he might've growled. What a fool he was for waiting so long, for running away. He'd left you in such a state. “Jesus, baby, this is torture.”
He stroked himself hard, squeezing till his tip was read and leaking over his hand.
“Robby please.” He watched one of your hands come up and wrap around your neck.
Robby smirked. “Dirty girl.”
Your legs began to shake and you couldn't even gasp out his name.
“Robby... Robby... please.”
He groaned and moaned with you, turning up the volume blindly as he heard your high pitched moan
He didn't know which one of you finished first. He burst all over his hand, his release spilling over in white ropes over his hand. He groaned out your name, jerking himself till he got every last drop and couldn't move his hand anymore.
When he looked back at the camera you were still,, only the rise and fall of your chest letting him into your climax. You turned off your phone, lying there.
With the hand that had your fingers inside you he watched as you ran your hands over his sheets, as if you wanted to mark your spot in his bed.
“Yeah, it's all yours baby girl.”
The next day, Robby was filling up his tank and coming home to you.
summary: you're spending quality time with your boyfriend, jack. things are comfortable as usual, but end up taking a spicy turn all because of one simple tiktok.
contains: experimentalist! bf! jack abbot, shy! sexually confused! reader, fem! reader, established relationship, implied age difference, reader discovers something new about herself, jack is literally down for anything as long as he gets to do it with you, slight? petplay... but not really? idfk., oral sex, p in v sex, cowgirl position :3
note: i'm really sorry if this seems awkward- i've never written anything like this before and am feeling quite like the reader in this situation (annoyingly flustered) LMFAO
word count: 2.7k
you'd just arrived home from work, finding your crazy hot doctor of a boyfriend doing the dishes in the kitchen. he was sitting in that same plastic chair he always used, posted right in front of the sink. you'd previously questioned why he'd never let you take care of these kinds of chores, but he'd always dismiss your worries. if he had a day off, he'd catch up on whatever the two of you had missed throughout the week.
you notice crutches resting a couple feet away, resting against the countertop. walking over to stand behind him, you slowly slide your hands over his shoulders then down his chest. he lets out a shameless groan in response, clearly already in a teasing mood. he'd never say it out loud, but he got really bored at home all day without his girl. you lean over and press a gentle kiss to his stubbled cheek.
"there's my pretty lady. let me finish up here and then i'll give you a proper greeting, yeah?"
he smirks, bringing one of your hands up and kissing your knuckles. you nod and walk off toward the bedroom to get out of your work clothes. after a few minutes, you walk back into the hallway, spotting jack who was now resting on the couch. his legs were spread wide, as per usual, allowing your gaze to focus on the way his sweatpants hugged his meaty thighs.
"looks like you've been having fun without me, huh?"
you chuckle, plopping right down next to him and immediately snuggling into his side. his arm wraps around you snugly, hand finding its place on the side of your thigh. he gives it a gentle squeeze, looking over at you and admiring your gorgeous features.
"this place is empty without you, sweetheart."
he places a kiss to your forehead before pulling you in for a real one. his free hand gently caresses your cheek as his lips press against yours. he always had that way of making you melt in an instant. so damn domestic that it made you never want to walk out the front door for work again.
"how was work?"
he gently pulls you in closer even though there wasn't any room left between you. he reaches for the tv remote and scrolls through a couple streaming platforms before deciding on a show you two had already binge watched a couple months ago.
"same shit, different day. realizing once again that i don't get paid enough to deal with half of that bullshit."
he smirks against your hair, knowing how trying work could be for you, especially when others were in a bad mood. you were the first person they'd take it out on, but you have to take it so you won't get fired.
"sorry, baby... wish we could get you out of there."
"i just find it funny that only certain people are the problem, yet management still keeps them around. i've found more useful things on the bottom of my fucking shoe."
he was really trying to behave at this moment, but he couldn't deny how sexy it was to see this spitfire side of you. he just continues to rub circles into your thigh until he feels you relax in his hold. you pull out your phone and start scrolling through tiktok. jack would always end up watching them with you over your shoulder. tonight was no different as he adjusts you slightly to get a better view of your phone.
he watches as you slowly start to unwind from your long day, laughing at the stupidest videos he's ever seen. it wasn't until you scrolled onto a video where it was showing images of a golden retreiver and a black cat sat next to each other. the text in the video read us? (black cat x golden retriever in some ridiculously fancy font.
"what does that mean? us... but it's just a dog and a cat?"
he asks you curiously, causing you to giggle. he really was becoming more well-versed with shitty brainrot lingo, but there were just some trends you hadn't been able to introduce him to yet.
"well... it's kind of like this power duo or couple thing that people like."
he raises an eyebrow, still completely lost. you turn your head, taking in his expression and gently pat his thigh before continuing.
"golden retrievers are supposed to be super friendly and charming in a way... so they're meant to represent a person who has a warm personality."
he nods, listening intently because he was waiting for an excuse to make this relate to your relationship.
"black cats are more chill and laid back, they take a lot longer to warm up to people. so they basically represent a person who's a little more introverted."
"okay- i think i'm getting it. so it's like a duo where one is shy while the other is outgoing?"
you nod with a soft smile, almost able to hear the gears turning in your boyfriend's head.
"would we be one of those duos?"
he asks curiously, watching your face to gauge your reaction.
"ehh- i think we're more of a doberman and orange cat duo."
confusion spreads across his face once again, questioning if he even wants to ask what this duo is supposed to represent. one step ahead of him, you alread begin to explain.
"you're the doberman, protective and calm when it counts. i'm the orange cat, bit of a menace with too much energy, but still lovable."
he quickly nods in understanding, seeing how that pairing fits the two of you a bit better. he's now wearing a soft smile as he thinks about those random moments where you get bursts of energy and start talking a mile a minute or dancing to get the jitters out. he wouldn't trade you for the world, in fact, he really did find himself feeling extra protective over you when you had all that energy.
"lucky me, i managed to find a really cute and feisty kitty."
his overtly teasing words didn't register with you for a few seconds, but when they did, you couldn't help the way your face went beet red. jack feels you tense slightly in his arms, trying to examine your expression. he notices the furious blush on your face and the way you frantically swipe at your phone and try to distract yourself.
"... what's this about, huh?"
he smirks, pulling your phone out of your hands. you were already completely embarrassed at the fact that you were getting wet from being called 'kitty' of all things. but of course, jack never lets this last for long. he was going to get you to admit it one way or another.
"come on, sweetheart. just tell me."
he coos, pulling you into his lap. he helps you slot your thighs on either side of him, holding your hips as he gazed up into your eyes. you desperately try to look away, but a hand flies up to immediately grab your jaw. he turns your face back toward him, feeling himself get hard beneath you as he takes in your flustered face. you both knew jack was up for anything with his beautiful girl, but especially when it came to discovering something new that made you feel good.
he could tell just from your body language that you were damp in your panties, so his hand that was originally on your hip starts to move towards your front. you squirm as his hand gets closer to your aching center, which confirms his suspicions.
"tell me what's got you worked up and i'll touch you."
you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, letting out a heavy sigh. you were seriously trying to get the words out, but you were flustered beyond belief. everything about the past minute, including the stupidly smug expression on your boyfriend's face causes you to choke on your words. he was trying to work with you, thinking of all the things that might have gotten you in this state. you can visibly recogize when the realization dawns on him.
"i see what's got my kitty so embarrassed now."
he gets an immense feeling of success as he watches you pratically writhe above him at his words. he wasn't really sure what you had to be embarrassed about, since it was just a little nickname that he'd absolutely make use of from now on.
"yeah? are you into that? being my good kitty?"
the sultry tone in his voice has you feeling ready to explode. now you just might as his hand finally slips past the hem of your sweatpants and starts to rub against your covered slit. you moan softly, hips buckling slightly against his hand. you look down at his face, his eyes are completely zeroed in on your expression. he hadn't seen you this worked up since the beginning of your relationship when he'd made you sit on his face for the first time.
"fucking beautiful when you get like this."
he groans, the sensations of you grinding against his hand also rubbing off on the growing tent in his pants. he removes his hand from your pants and helps you slide them off, tossing them to the side somewhere. his hands return to your hips, slowly but firmly grinding them against his own hips.
"you wanna show me? show me how worked up my kitty really is?"
you nod hesitantly before he lets go of your hips and lets you have free reign. you continue to grind against him on your own, hands resting on his shoulders for stability as you quicken the pace. his head tips back against the soft cushion of the couch, soft grunts coming out as he can feel a wet spot forming on his sweatpants.
"atta fucking girl... look at you."
he chuckles, lifting you off of his lap for a moment to get rid of his own pants. an idea comes to his head right before you can straddle him again. he rests a firm hand against your thigh, holding you in place.
"stand up for a second."
you shoot him a confused look, but nod and follow his directions anyway. you stand there, feeling a bit awkward and self-conscious as he... lays on his back on the couch. oh fuck... that only meant one thing. you start to protest as he grabs at your thighs to bring you closer.
"jack- i don't know if i can-
"sure you can. now come sit on my fucking face like a good kitty."
your knees wobble slightly as you reluctantly close the distance between the two of you. as soon as you're within enough reach, he's hoisting one of your legs over the side of his head. he was doing this for you whether you were ready to accept it or not. as soon as your steady, he's pulling you down, not willing to let you even attempt hovering. he plunges his tongue into your slick folds, lapping greedily at your generous amount of slick.
"fuck- you really do like this... you're soaked, baby."
he mumbles against your cunt, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts to suck on your clit. you were completely overwhelmed now, head falling back as uncontrolled moans rip from your throat. he starts to glide your hips back and forth, thighs twitching slightly every time your clit would graze the tip of his nose. you were already close, hands moving down to his salt and pepper curls, tugging harshly.
he loved every second of it, you falling apart on his face.
"taste so good... could eat you all night..."
every vibration from his voice got you closer and closer to the edge until you finally succumb to all the pleasure he could bring you with just his mouth. he groans against you as you come all over his face, slick coating him from his nose down to his chin. he doesn't stop licking until you're completely spent and threatening to toppple over.
as soon as his hands move, you scramble off of him. he chuckles as he watches you almost tumble to the floor. if it weren't for his stupidly sexy and big hands grabbing you, you would have eaten shit. he sits up against the couch, pulling you closer. leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your lower stomach, gazing up at you.
"don't have to be so shy about what you want, kitty."
he won't even try to hide the smirk this time as he drags you back into his lap. without a second to waste, he pulls his aching cock from his boxers and lines it up with your entrance. you wince as he lowers your hips just enough to where the tip is inside. for him, it wasn't so much the length as it was the girth that really stretched you out. he knew to take it easy on you when first starting out.
however, you seem to have other things in mind as you manage to wiggle your hips enough that he's completely bottomed out inside you within seconds. you moan loudly, and so does jack, as his fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips.
"so eager for this cock, aren't you?"
he loosens his grip ever so slightly as you start to take control. you're bouncing on his cock like your life depends on it. all he can do is sit there and watch the way pleasure makes your face contort in the most beautiful ways. he loved when you took what you wanted because it showed him that you were comfortable and really feeling good.
"what other dirty secrets is my kitty hiding from me, huh?"
he teases, feeling the way you clench around him at the nickname. if you thought that he was through with the teasing, you were dead wrong. suddenly, he's grabbing your hips and pressing you firmly against him so you couldn't move. you whimper in protest, trying desperately to move your hips in any way.
"don't worry, baby, i'll let you keep going. but i need you to tell me something first."
"please... i'm so close-"
you pant, your brows furrowed as you're forced to sit still. he doesn't miss the way your eyes are starting to glisten, so he knows that he'll get you to crack rather easily.
"i know, shh, i know. all you have to do is say that you're my good kitty and i'll let you ride this cock to your heart's content."
you squirm against him, the familiar flush creeping back up your body once again. you roll your eyes at him, which earns you a swat on the ass.
"i didn't say bad kitty, did i? because if you want to be a bad kitty, you're not coming anywhere near it."
you struggle against his hold for a few more seconds before finally giving in.
"i-i'm your good kitty..."
you mutter under your breath, which clearly wasn't good enough for jack as his grip tightens on your hips.
"say it like you fucking mean it."
"i'm your good kitty."
you say with a bit more volume, your voice breaking slightly as he rams his hips up into you. you moan loudly, gripping onto his arms.
"yeah, you are. such a good fucking kitty. now take what you want."
you don't hesitate, already back to bouncing on him as your eyes roll to the back of your head. your fucked out expression has jack realizing that he's close too. he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close against him, lifting his hips to meet your own.
"that's it, baby. come on this fucking cock."
he grunts out, just barely holding back until you come undone around him. no more than two seconds later, he's coming too, shooting his load deep inside you with a ragged moan. he holds you close as you tremble from the aftershocks of your orgasm, panting against his shoulder.
"such a pretty kitty... you know how to take it, don't you?"
he smirks against your cheek, kissing it softly. you pull back, enough to meet his gaze with a slight frown.
"you're insufferable sometimes, babe."
"says the cutie that just fucked herself stupid on my cock."
filthy smug bastard and his even filthier words... fuck, you loved him.
a/n: HOLY FUCK??? i have never written anything quite like this before... in the meantime, i have seriously discovered something new about myself. wowowowowow, i need that old man so bad i might just explode. AS ALWAYS, THANK YOU SM FOR READING, LOVE YOU LOTS, AND STAY SEXAAAYYY!!!!!! <3333
taglist: @nyxmoretti @popecodysgirl @justreadinghere7
if you wanna join my taglist, click here!!
divider creds: @/saradika-graphics and @/dollywons
Warnings⋆˚࿔: violence, murder, SMUT (fingering, implied threesome), general suggestive content), I'm labeling this at dubcon but not really, fem!reader wears makeup, swearing, but otherwise apperance is not specified, no use of Y/N, medical jargon (def not accurate). do NOT read if this made you uncomfy, MDNI, lmk if i missed any other tags
w/c⋆˚࿔: 5k
a/n: hiii here's part one, I'm looking of for some inspo for a part two so feel free to share ur thoughts, NOT proof read, likes n reblogs r appreciated, comment to be added to the taglist
“All students and young adults are advised to obey the curfew set in place to avoid falling victim to this brutal crime.”
The news reporter drones on as you continue to study in the diner, your iced coffee has melted, and the snack you ordered sits heavy in your stomach. You have been studying nonestop for your first boards exam as you near the end of your second year of med school when the top student in your relatively small cohort was brutally murdered in their apartment the week before.
Kendra Wallace was going to be a doctor someday, she had all the time in the world to study for her boards, all the money in the world for tutors, and all the influence that her last name had to get matched into her first choice for residency, nobody doubted her ability to succeed. That’s what made her story national news, not just being brutally murdered, but being brutally murdered while a white rich medical student. You never really interacted with her, but you still felt sympathy for the poor girl and her grieving family, especially because her absence meant that her spot at the top of the class was now occupied by someone else, pushing you into second rather than your humble third. The guilt you had because of it was heavy in your stomach.
You sighed to yourself and continued with an active recall of your cardiovascular pathology flash cards.
After a few minutes of working you hear a book drop on your table for dinner. You look up to see Jack and Robby, two of your classmates. You met them both during your M1 year after being assigned as partners in your cadaver lab. You had been friendly with them ever since, mostly because one of them held your hair and the other rubbed your back after you threw up once the first dissection day was over. After that, you felt bonded with them. Always trading notes, debriefing after exams, and occasional movie nights. They made themselves home at your table, calling the waitress over and ordering their receptive usuals. You guys studied together here often.
“Hey babydoll, how long have you been here?” Jack asks while taking a fry off of your plate.
You rolled your eyes and pushed the plate towards them, knowing you were too nauseous to eat anything with the guilt and stress from the USMLE step one and Kendra’s death combined.
“After about four hours, I’m starting to feel a little sick from everything that’s going on though. How are you guys so normal?” You responded
“Eh, I was just gonna cram the week before the exam like I usually do. It's served me well so far.” Robby lazily replied with a mouth full of your fries.
“I’m talking about the murder not the fucking boards.” You snapped at him.
“Oh that.”
“I heard that they cut off her fingers and fed them to her.” Jack said with a wicked smirk.
“Gross” you learned over the table and shoved him back. “Don’t about her like that, she was our classmate, you freak”
Jack and Robby both burst into laughter.
“We’re just messing with you sweetheart. I thought you would be happier that we’re all moving up in the ranks with her gone.” Robby said.
“She’s still dead though. I feel guilty about it, like I didn’t earn her spot.” You said with your mouth pressing into a line. Jack slid into your side of the booth and rubbed your back, pulling you into his side.
“You have a right to her spot. You worked hard and if anyone deserves it, it’s you.” You tried to smile at that but you only mustered a slight raise of the apples of your cheeks.
“Let’s just get back to work.” You said with a groan, dragging your hand down your face, slightly smudging your mascara. Robby leans over to wipe it off. You continued your flashcards, as they worked on their respective lab reports and assignments.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
“Hello” Daniel Anderson said exasperatedly while tapping his foot.
“Hiya Daniel, what’s your favorite scary movie?” The rough baritone voice responded.
“Who the hell is this?” Daniel said.
“What’s your favorite scary movie? I asked you a question unless you’re too pussy to answer.”
“What the fuck, dude. I don’t even know who you are. I’m hanging up.”
“JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION” the voice billowed and Daniel jumped out of his skin at the sudden change in tone.
“Okay, Jesus. I guess maybe Se7en I don’t know, the one with Brad Pitt. Happy now?”
“Very. Is that your ex’s favorite too?”
“What?”
“You know, that sweet girl you fumbled so badly last month. It was laughable how you tried to get her back with voice notes of you crying like a little bitch.”
“Listen, dude, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck this.” Daniel hung up the phone, kicking himself for even picking up from an unknown number anyway. It was probably just you and your friends having a sleepover and he refused to be your entertainment. He unlocked his apartment door and put his phone down.
He had a slight chill and he noticed the window by his fireescape was open. He didn’t remember opening it before he left, but he just assumed that he forgot due to the stress of breaking up with you and his exams. He closed and locked it before turning on the TV and scrolling on tinder to find a hook up. He knew he should have deleted it after you caught him with it while you were together, but he enjoyed the ego boost he got from it too much.
His phone rang again, from another unknown number, he figured he should just pick up and tell whichever one of your friends to fuck off.
“Hiya Daniel. You hurt my feelings when you hung up on me like that.”
“Oh my God. Fuck off. I know it’s you, I said I’m sorry, move on.”
“It’s not who you think, Daniel, sweetie. Though I should have known you were fuckin’ stupid when you thought you were alone. In this big apartment. Nice pajamas by the way.”
At that moment the line went dead. Silence filled the apartment, Daniel’s blood went cold.
A large crash came from the front closet, a masked figure clothed in black robes sprung out holding a large hunting knife. The figure stumbled around its leg seemingly stuck in a shoebox. It was almost comical watching the figure shake its leg free. Daniel would have laughed if he wasn’t frozen in fear.
He tried to back away when he backed into another figure behind him. Its arms immediately come to pull Daniel into a headlock with another large hunting knife at his neck. Daniel couldn’t stop the warm trickle of liquid down in between his legs, making a massive stain on his hello kitty pajamas that matched with yours.
The figure in front of him freed himself from the show box and gave a hearty laugh. The burner phone he was holding was discarded on the floor. The figure's voice was familiar, but in his epinephrine induced haze, Daniel couldn’t place it. He knew the figure holding him was several inches taller than the other one. The shorter figure looked at him and made a gesture to the one holding him in place.
“So should we kill him now orrrr?”
“What just happened? You can practice your Y-shaped incisions.” The taller one sighed
“Well I got to do it last time so I’m just tryna make it even, bro.”
“Yeah but I'm better at surgical incisions, yours are janky as hell.”
“Are you sure man?”
“Of course, bro.” At this point, Daniel was shaking and squirming against the taller one’s hold.
“Let’s knock it out and maybe we can practice a cardiac ablation cause I definitely am gonna fail that section of the boards.” The taller one swiftly hit Daniel at his chin with the butt of the hunting knife, causing a mastoid ecchymosis.
“You’re the best, man.” was the last thing Daniel heard.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
You get a call from your best friend at 9:00am, two mornings later. She called saying that she was coming over and for you to stay on the phone with her. You assumed she failed a practical for her nursing program and she needed support. You were also half asleep from a long night of studying. You had turned your phone into a custom flip phone style where the only apps on there were the call and pictures for the past two days, to maximise studying.
When she arrived ten minutes later, she brought you breakfast and coffee from the boba place you both frequented. She sat you down on the couch with a serious look on her face.
“I have something to tell you, and I think it’d be good to hear it from me.”
Now you were really starting to panic, your head got hot, and your heart jumped into your ears.
“What’s going on?” You responded.
“Daniel was killed. They think it was the people who killed Kendra, the girl from your class.”
She held your hand and you processed the news. Sure you and Daniel didn’t end on great terms, but you knew that you were just looking for a reason to leave, you didn’t wish any harm to him.
You didn’t register the tears coming down your face until she pulled you into her arms and held you. You both stayed like that for who knows how long. She put one Hello Kitty and Friends to have some background noise while she stroked your hair until you eventually fell asleep, cried out and exhausted.
Your friend woke you to eat and drink some water to replenish the amount of calories you burned both crying and studying when a knock at your door came. The detectives on the case had come to interview you as a formality when the family said they had heard you and Daniel ended on less than ideal terms. You had a rock solid alibi, studying your usual diner, when the detective asked you a question that made you pause.
“And you were with Jack Abbot and Michel Robinavitch? When we interviewed them along with your other classmates, they said they were with you.”
You didn’t remember for sure, you had studied there with them hundreds of times, so it was possible they were there and you were too focused to remember.
So you agreed, not wanting to accidentally involve them in a murder case by making a simple mistake. Many of the times you studied together your memory of who were with blurred together.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
You spent the next two weeks focusing on your studies, wanting to score the best you possibly could for the board exams if anyone asked. In reality it was because you wanted to avoid all the grief and pain that’s been accumulating throughout the past weeks after Daniel and Kendra’s deaths. You were very empathetic and felt things very deeply, it was one of the reasons you wanted to be a doctor, to help others. But it was also a reason your profession of choice may wear on you over time.
You still had anxiety and grief manifesting into your body. There was another idea that kept creeping into the back of your mind; that you were next. Kendra had been at the top, then Daniel, and now you. Everything scared you. You jump at sudden noises, panic at sudden touches that catch you off guard, and in general avoid the general public unless you go to class or work.
BUMP
A book slammed on the picnic table you were studying at. A loud giggle erupted behind the book when you looked up. Jack sported a shit-eating grin.
“Wow babydoll, you are stressed.” he chuckled.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” You snapped.
“Oh you know Robby, always doing something. Think he’s at his Grandma’s making cookies or something old people like him do.” You chuckled at that. Robby was two years older than you and Jack, having taken a gap year in between high school and college, then another one between college and med school.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. You've been hiding? Afraid you’re next on the list?”
Your eyes widened slightly and Jack almost felt bad at the implication. Another part of him enjoyed the way you squirmed in your seat and looked around anxiously.
“What are you yapping about, Jack? I’m trying to study.” You said exasperatedly.
“Because you’re in the top spot now. Honestly you should be thanking whoever did it because now you’ll have the pick of the litter for residency.”
You felt sick at the implication. Not just because you didn’t necessarily earn the spot, but because it might cost you your life.
“...Jack,” You said in a small voice after thinking for a minute. “I don’t want to joke about that. It scares me.”
Suddenly all of the pain and fears that you’ve been pushing down for the past few weeks came bubbling up into the surface. Your eyes watered and a lump swelled up in your throat. Jack noticed the sudden distress and moved to sit on your side of the table. He pulled you into his chest as he stroked your hair.
“I’m sorry…”-hic-”...I don’t know why I’m crying.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, mainly to save your pride from being vulnerable to him.
“Hey, I’m sorry for upsetting you, Babydoll.” Jack said as he held you tighter and dried your tears with his sleeve.
“Nothin’s gonna happen to ya. You need to relax a little, okay?”
“But what if-” He stopped you with a hush.
“Me and Robby got you, you know that.” His other hand rubbed your back as your sobs subsided. “Can’t have anything happen to our favorite valedictorian. Yeah?”
“I’m scared.” you mumbled.
“How about if you have anything that scares you or you feel unsafe, you call me or Robby? We live on the floor above you so we’ll be right there.” He said it in a gentle voice that you haven’t heard before. Akin to coaxing a deer in the woods.
“Okay?” He prompted a response.
“Alright” You said.
“Let’s get some food for you. You get all cranky when you’re hungry.” Jack scrunched up his face which made you giggle. You wiped your nose and turned away from him.
“Fine. But you’re paying.” Jack started packing your textbooks in your bag and putting your laptop into its protective sleeve.
“Nah, we’ll put it on Robby’s card. He’ll sugar daddy us.” Jack replied cheekily.
You gave a laugh and something fuzzy bloomed in Jack’s chest. He almost felt bad for what they did to Daniel and Kendra because of the distress it caused you, if it weren’t for the fact that you let him keep his arm around your shoulder as you walked to your favorite diner. He could get used to this.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The phone rang with a shrill, waking you up with a start. You were on your couch dozing while watching TikTok and scrolling instagram, getting in your daily doom scroll. It was an unknown number, but you always enjoyed answering for funsies. The worst that could happen was they called you about your car's extended warranty despite the fact that you definitely did not own a car or have a driver's license.
“Hello.” You answered professionally (what if it was a future employer?).
“Hello Miss” The voice said your name, it unnerved you slightly. The baritone settles deep into your gut.
“Who is this?”
“So, you gotta boyfriend?” You laughed, thinking it was just some middle schoolers at a sleepover.
“Why…You wanna ask me on a date?”
“Well, you’re a pretty girl.”
“Oh yeah? How would you know?” You giggled, twirling your hair, ironically lying on your stomach on the couch, and laying your feet.
“Because I’m looking right at you, Babydoll.” Your blood ran cold. You hung up the phone and were immediately greeted by another call from the same UNKNOWN. You declined it, and it continued to call back. You tried to ignore it but the phone kept ringing. Thanks to your apple ecosystem, the shrill ring! Wouldn’t stop echoing throughout your apartment.
You picked up the phone once more and were met with a deep,
“YOU HANG UP ON ME AGAIN, YOU DIE LIKE YOUR CLASSMATES!” You let out a sob at the implication. You didn’t know how to respond.
“Listen man, I DO have a boyfriend! TWO of them! And they’ll fucking beat your ass if you dont stop calling!” You were really just saying nonsense at this point, but you were too scared out of your mind to rationally think.
“Oh I’m sooooo scared.” The phone line went dead after. You continued crying, almost slobbering. You called your best friend. She didn’t pick up the phone, so she couldn’t come over. You remembered she had another practical to study for anyway.
After weighing your options, you called Jack, who didn’t answer either. After leaving him a voice note because your hands were too shaky to type, you called Robby who answered on the first ring.
“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” he said. You let out a sob.
“Robby, can you come over?” You said through tears, voice cracking. “If you aren’t busy!” you quickly added.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’m on my way down.”
Five minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You looked through the peephole and saw Robby’s lanky figure sporting a shy smile and red pajama pants. You immediately collapsed into him as he wrapped his arms around you. You continued to cry as he walked you back to the couch, sitting you down almost on his lap. You were too caught up in your fear to notice.
“Shhhhh, I’m here, sweetheart.” he cooed at you, stroking your hair and running his large palm down your back.
“Robby”-hic’-” I was so sc-scared!” You barely managed to get out. “He said he was looking at me! And he said I would die just like them!” Robby nodded his head against your hair as he continued to comfort you. You calmed down a little bit as you followed his steady breaths. He wiped your tears with his sleeves.
“Hey, you know me and Jackie got you.” He said assuringly. “Tell me you know that.” When you didn’t respond, he grabbed your chin gently, pulling your face out of the crook of his neck.
“Go on, say ‘I know Jackie and Robby will take care of me.’” He said the last bit in a higher-pitch voice. You giggled at that.
“I know Jackie and Robby will take care of me.” Your voice was still a little shaky, but the tears left exhaustion in its place. Your eyes were heavy, but you were too scared to go to bed and leave the couch.
“Where is Jack? I tried calling him.” You asked, deciding to change the subject. Hoping to get your mind off of it.
“He picked up a night shift. He likes the darkness or something mysterious.” Robby wiggled his eyebrows. You smiled in response and exhaled through your nose.
“There she is.”
It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to leave Robby overnight while he worked as a night security guard at a local hospital for extra cash. You had no idea how he did it, functioning off of three hours of sleep and a celsius during your shared morning lectures before napping the rest of the day.
You wanted to sleep so badly, getting a headache from your tears, but you were so scared. You thought that if you went to sleep, Robby would leave and you would be alone in your apartment once again. Robby noticed your dilemma. He shifted slightly to move your legs off his lap so he could face you.
“Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll sleep here and stay. You look so tired, sweetheart.” You didn’t really have the energy to argue and Robby was being so kind and understanding, you couldn’t help but feel safe with him. You nodded at him.
“I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow.” You said.
Together you made the couch in your cramped apartment into a bed, adding sheets and several pillows. Then you led Robby into your room, it was a tradition that anytime someone slept over, you let them pick a stuffed animal to sleep with. He chuckled softly at you.
“I don’t really sleep with stuffed animals so I’m not really sure what I should pick. Maybe you should pick for me” Robby said, trying to humor you.
“Okay.” You picked up your Percy Penguin jellycat and handed it to him. It smelled like you, so he wasn’t going to complain. You showed him where your extra toothbrushes were, and excused yourself to finish your night routine. Showering off the sweat and stress of the day and doing your skincare. Robby swore he could smell your lotion from the living room.
Robby couldn’t lie if you asked him if he was enjoying this. Shamefully growing half hard at your tears in the doorway, he felt so close to you as you cried. The fear on your face had scrunched up your features, he wondered if you would look similar under him, crying out in pleasure instead of terror (maybe both). Stroking your hair and rubbing your back. You smelled so good, too. He enjoyed the feeling of your fat tears wetting his neck and the weight of your legs over his lap, it took everything in him not to pull you on top of him and make you grind and writhe on his bulge while you shook and screamed about the call. He pushed his face into the fucking penguin, it smelled just like you. He had to remind himself that you were only a thin wall away, trying to sleep off the scare (he) someone had given you. He drifted off into sleep.
You had settled into your soft pajamas, a thin tank top and a pair of boyshorts. You always run hot at night. But, no matter what, you couldn’t fall asleep. You tossed and turned, but to no avail, your mind wouldn’t slow down. You tried scrolling, when an ache between your legs at the thought of Roby being so protective of you, holding you tightly and genuinely listening attentively. You were terrified to look at the windows, in fear of someone watching you. You tried to reach into your boyshorts to relieve the ache, but after a few strokes on your clit, you had the unmistakable feeling you were being watched. Shame burnt your cheeks as you hastily wiped your fingers on the covers crept out of the safety of the covers towards Robby, towards comfort.
“Robby, are you asleep?” You asked meekly.
Robby rose up from his position lying down. He beckoned you over and slung his arm around your shoulders.
“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled. You tried to ignore how good he looked with messy hair, his pajama pants with his shirt discarded on the arm chair. His voice was thick with sleep.
“What’s wrong, baby? C’mere.” He held you tightly, voice quiet, he said. “Can’t turn that brain off, huh?” You shook your head. He kissed your bare shoulder, right next to the strap of your tank.
“Got scared..” You whispered.
“Let me take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll make it allll better.” He turned your head as you leaned in to kiss him. He ran one hand around your waist and the other through your hair. You pulled away slightly,
“What about Jack?” You whispered.
“Don’t you worry about Jackie, sweet girl, he won’t mind at all.” You simply nodded, brain fuzzy from the gentle kiss. He kissed you again, a little harder this time. His tongue is dipping into your mouth. You reached up to tangle your hands into his messy hair.
“Robby?”
“Yeah?”
“Take me to bed.” At that he pulled away to look at you, with a face that asked ‘are you sure?’ you nodded. He moved his hands to your waist, tucking his hands under your bottom, lifting you up to carry you back to the safety of your pink sheets. You felt safer with Robby with you. The idea of someone watching became less creepy and more erotic.
He laid you down on the bed setting you back against the pillows and gently pulled your boy shorts to the side. Two of his thick fingers running up your slit. You let a small gasp out at the sensation. You pawed at his pants. His other hand came to grab yours.
“Baby, you had a rough night. I’m not gonna take advantage of you.” You whined in response. “But I need you!” Robby chuckled at that.
“I’m gonna give you my fingers, and you’re gonna go to sleep after.” He mumbled against your hairline while his fingers ghosted over your clit. You whined once again.
“I need you Robby, please.” You were desperate. At that he smiled and stuck a finger into your cunt. You groaned into his shoulder. He could feel how tight you were, likely from the stress you’ve been dealing with. You’ve been pent up because of it. He began massaging your clit in tandem with his finger moving in and out of your sweet cunt. He added a second finger and you moaned, yanking on his hair for him to move down to kiss you.
“Robby,” you exhaled.
“I’m right here, baby.” he kissed the corner of your mouth and moved to kiss your neck.
He added a third finger, still stroking your clit with his thumb, skillful hands making you moan. His fingers were precise and as methodical as a surgeon's, you vaguely think about the time you felt hot after watching him practice an intubation, his hands flexing and moving with precision. He mouthed at your neck. You let out a quiet moan.
“Jack,” he chuckled darkly at that.
“You thinking ‘bout jack when i’m knuckle deep inside you?” Your face flushed. You opened your mouth to apologize for your slip. Face red and looking like you wanted him to just suffocate you with a pillow right there.
“S’okay baby. I’m thinking about him too.” He paired that sentence with a curl of his fingers, the sensation becoming too much. You whined once more.
“You thinking ‘bout his thick fingers, sweetheart?”
“Thinking ‘bout you, Robby!” You whimpered.
“Tell the truth, sweetheart.”
“Just miss ‘im. Still love you.” you moaned, forehead scrunched in pleasure as he curled his fingers deliciously once again. You clenched around him.
“You gonna cum for me, baby?” He continued playing with your clit and curling his fingers against your g-spot. You could only nod your head, eyes closed.
“You gonna cum for me while you're thinking about Jack? Huh? Go on then, do it.” at that the coil in your tummy snapped and you whimpered. Your slick covering his palm. He made eye contact with you as he brought them into his mouth to clean them off. You moaned at the sight. He used his free hand to slide your boyshorts back into place. He gave your sweet cunt a gentle pat over the thin fabric.
“S’sensative,” you squealed.
Robby moved to hand you the water at your bedside table.
“Take a few sips f’me, okay? I’m gonna get a towel. I’ll be right back.” Your eyes shot open.
“No! Don’t leave me alone with him!” You grabbed his arm and looked at him with pleading eyes. He just nodded and didn’t question it, just moved so you could lay your head on his chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. You would have noticed that if your brain wasn’t still so fuzzy from the mindnumbing orgasm he just gave you. No doubt better than any Daniel had given you throughout your short relationship.
“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You just nodded, unable to form an answer.
“Yeah you are, just needed to get your panties sticky, huh?” Your cheeks flushed. Robby seemed to enjoy making you squirm from his vulgar words. He kissed your forehead.
“G’night Robby.” you managed to mumble before drifting off while counting his heartbeats.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The next morning, you woke up to the smell of burnt eggs in your small kitchenette. You got out of bed and noticed your boyshorts and cotton panties had been replaced with clean ones. You padded your socked feet out of your room to see Jack sitting at your counter top with a disappointed look on his face as Robby held the burnt eggs in the pan towards him.
“Morning, Babydoll, guess I missed all the fun, huh?” Your cheeks flushed as Jack moved his arm around your waist as you walked toward him, standing next to where he sat on the high top chairs. Robby smirked and cheekily winked at you.
“Told you he wouldn’t mind, sweetheart.” You were confused but you couldn’t help the warm ache that settled back into your cunt.
“You’re okay with it?” Jack just grinned, you loved his toothy smile, you couldn’t help but reciprocate.
“‘Course babydoll, what kind of friend would I be if I made you choose? That is if you want me too of course.” You flushed once again. Looking down at your Brandy Melvile heart socks. You nodded shyly. Jack didn’t let you off that easily.
“Nah uh, you gotta use your words, babydoll.”
“I- I want you both.” You finally said after a few seconds. Jack smiled and pulled you down towards him in his seat with the hand on your waist. You met his lips and smiled into the kiss. He was gentler than you expected. You had heard all of his past sexual experiences and conquests to the intimacy of the kiss was a welcome surprise.
After you pulled away, Robby appeared right behind you, you put your hands on his chest and leaned in to give him the same kiss as Jack. After you pulled away to salvage the mess that was Robby’s attempt of making breakfast, you watched as Jack yanked Robby by his shirt down to give him a filthy kiss in comparison to yours. You flushed and turned away toward the sink. Robby noticed.
“S’okay sweetheart, we want you to watch.” He said in a gravely voice.
if u use my work to train ai a puppy dies. tags⋆˚࿔: @tojisasscrumbs, @qpiiee,@chikisreads, @loki-miss-a, @4ria790, @girljusttrying28, @theory-saturn, @em1ly57, @persephone-reblogs, @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf, @supersonicoxo, @boldlyherdream, @17th-sector, @spectersgf, @peaches-roses-sins, @navs-bhat, @tigol-bitties15, @actuallyhisangel, @writtenbyhollywood, @mademoiselle1917, @deathbyvexs, @in-the-comet, @yiiiikesmish, @lexi2000, @skagelynn, @topsecretsweethearttt, @tellmealovestory, @babysoft-domination, @fangirl-dot-com, @thisisjustmyface, @writing2sirvive, @madicropp, @msmetallicareeves, @sameoldbaby, @itzpixiebabe, @im-ok-mj, @moonlitmaureder, @peachiestevie, @bookgirllstuff, @yournewstepmom8765, @durazzznosconcrema, @whatupbuttercup2019,
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ after returning from your sabbatical and in the aftermath of the pittfest shooting, things were returning to a new normalcy. jacks mood had improved with you around, and you were visibly better than when you had left. whilst trying to figure out what you want for the new year, an unexpected surprise comes to find you at the hospital.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, mentions of reader having an older sister & a brother, age gap (reader is mid thirties), discussions of grief & loss, discussion of mental health, medical trauma, past trauma (PTSD), slow burn, fluff!!, workplace romance, angst w/ happy ending!, hurt/comfort
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ wow wow! i didn't expect my first work on here to receive so much attention. im grateful for it all. i was actually excited to expand more on this pair, so here is a part two!
in case you missed it, you can find part one here!
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 19.5K
“You should let me help. I still have two hands.” Jack pointed out, presenting you with his two very lively limbs.
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, causing you to lean forward. Bracing a hand on your chest, you waved him off. “I can move a mattress on my own, thank you. Plus, I'd hate to put that strain on your one good leg.”
Having any assistance to move into your new memory foam mattress would be helpful, especially if it came from Jack. Even if for the past couple of months you had been back, Jack was acting like your dog, following you every time you stood from the couch. The very sight of you moving away pulled Jack in your direction.
Magnets, Dana commented once. A north and a south pole that can’t help but chase one another.
Jack groaned lightly, squaring his shoulders. “I’m pretty active for a man my age. Nothing I haven’t done to myself on my days off.”
“Somehow, that’s not as convincing as you think.” You commented, staring up at the patient board.
Your shift was coming to a close. After doing rounds with the residents, you met Jack in the middle, catching up with Robby. You noticed his constantly tense behavior after the PittFest incident. He floated around the ED, going through the movements, letting the training take over his hands. You two were close enough to consider each other friends, but the times you did interact seemed fewer and fewer.
Jack had mentioned what happened that night. Watching Robby’s back face him as he stood scarily close to the edge of the hospital rooftop. He had described the same fear he experience that day when you walked towards the oncoming traffic, and you understood how rough Jack took that sight.
You never feared whether Jack would walk away. When you had dared, he was reeling you back with every force in his arms. Having returned to Pittsburgh and the PTMC, you saw with clear vision how much Jack wanted you around. As a friend, surely.
“Look, I just helped you with your car a couple of weeks ago. A mattress is easy work.” Jack shrugged, confident in his ability. If there was one thing about Jack, he could find a way to be attractively smug about anything.
You didn’t doubt him. Although you were on standby, ready to take over for Jack when it came to changing the radiator in your car. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t figure out by searching it up on the internet, but Jack had persisted. He had practically begged you to let him help. A dog asking for a bone performing tricks in circles around you. How could you say no?
“Which is exactly why I can’t have you coming back so soon.” You joked offhandedly, arms crossing over your chest. You could no longer continue indebted to him.
You tried to hide the fact that you knew Jack was staring at you. Charming, warm eyes that he knew tended to work in his favor–which was part of the reason you had let him help with your car.
When you started the move to your new place, Jack was a part of it all. From house hunting to renovation. He helped you pick paint and fix piping issues in your kitchen. You were running out of ideas on how to pay him back. He wasn’t accepting anything of monetary value. I love being useful, he joked. He agreed to help simply for the sake of having a pastime.
If ever you called, he dropped everything. Robby had mentioned that he stood him up at his house, where they agreed to watch the Penguins first game of the season. Guiltily, you apologized on Jack’s behalf. Robby laughed, a knowing smirk on his face. His words have echoed in your mind since then.
You have Jack running laps around you, even with one foot. If you didn’t before, you do now.
You hadn’t said anything back, not that you knew what to say. Not without trying, you had tried to brush off Jack’s help. Since before the sabbatical, you noticed the effort Jack was putting in. From picking up a heavier workload for you to spending all hours of the day attached to his phone, in case you called, you could never forget his sacrifice.
He was making your life easier, and you couldn't help but feel like a burden.
“You’d be giving me a good hobby. Especially since you don’t like the whole S.W.A.T. physician gig.” Jack pointed out, eyebrows raised as if he won with the fact alone.
Jack smiled when he saw the playful glare you gave him. You couldn't help but crack a smile too. Making your way around the nursing station, you pointed a finger in his direction. “That is an unfair argument to make.”
“How so?” Jack questioned teasingly, hands folded behind his back as his eyes tracked your movement.
With the rim of your coffee cup, you were able to hide most of the blush from your cheeks. Screw Jack and his incessant magnetism. You were starting to feel you had lost restraint, or he somehow became too insatiable for you to deny.
Tossing the cup into a trashcan, you shook your head. “You know this ultimatum is hardly fair. That's like choosing between worrying about you being wheeled in here or having you continuously bug me about security in my house.”
“Which, the offer still stands.” Jack remembered with ease, walking towards you with focused attention. “I could install some cameras after we move in your mattress.”
You scoffed, preparing another excuse why it wasn't necessary at all. Donnie came from around the corner, eyes set on you. He approached you both, causing you to furrow your brows. He sighed out your name, “A woman is looking for you in chairs.”
Jack looked at Donnie, then at you, quietly curious. You crossed your arms. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Do you know who?”
Donnie shrugged, hands falling to his sides. “Something Morris. She said you treated her a year ago, was asking to speak with you.”
Jack easily recognized the chilling shiver that ran down your spine. He didn’t miss the spasm in your muscles, tensing with the epiphany of the information. A year ago—patient with the surname Morris. That's when Jack would say all the dominoes started to fall.
Eyes landing on Jack, hesitation about facing the reality of the situation, you took in a sharp breath. Your heart thumped louder, and it was probably the only thing you could hear. Donnie stared at you expectantly, looking over to Jack, who equally waited.
Quickly shaking your head, you offered Donnie a smile. Jack knew it was a facade. He could see the small tremble from up close. “Could you take her to the family room? I’ll meet her there.”
Donnie nodded, offering a tight smile. If he could see the discomfort of what he shared, he didn’t speak about it. Turning on his heel and disappearing to the waiting room, your hands flew to your face, covering your eyes. You heard footsteps coming behind you and a hand landing on your shoulder.
“Are you sure?”
The question was simple. It was probably the one thing you asked yourself the entire time you were gone. You hadn't been stuck with your own thoughts before that. It was a test of your instinct and trust in yourself. Listening to Jack’s voice, endearing and firm, eased a bit of the tremors in your hands.
They traveled down to your hips, staring down at your feet. You exhaled shakily, “Yeah, I need to do this. If not for me, for her. There’s a reason she’s come all this way.”
Jack’s hand squeezed your shoulder. The solid nod confirmed his support. He watched your face for a moment. His silence welcomes any moment for you to share your hesitations or fears—letting you back away clean without any additional questions.
“I can meet you at your place after, to talk." Jack offered, his voice quiet as nurses passed by. You were too distracted and stuck in your head to care how they interpreted the statement.
You nodded, even if a part of you was elsewhere. Jack's body sagged, his hand ghosting your arm. Before he could pull away and let you adventure the moment on your own, your hand grasped his.
Fingers clammy and shaking, he gripped onto most of your fingers, which were the easiest to grasp. He froze in his place, hand immediately holding on to you. Tethering you to a place that was safe and grounding. Jack would keep you in a hug until you were home and warm if you asked.
Yet, that was selfish.
He stared at you, open eyes, waiting for your movement. You gave him a firm confirmation, a sad smile, then let his hand drop graciously. Jack's hand ran cold immediately. His body sensed the disconnect like a part of him, deeper than his soul, had stripped away.
The coldness in the department was oddly stronger. He hadn’t felt that way since your return, and he didn’t like the sensation it brought him.
“Got any plans tonight?” Robby asked casually, taking a hasty sip of his coffee. He peeked at the patient board, internally contemplating how soon was too soon for a second cup of coffee.
Jack shrugged, turning to Robby with his arms crossed. This was the umpteenth time he had asked the question. It was like his closest friend had been replaced with a broken record that just kept skipping.
For the past two months, most of their conversations consisted of Robby distracting Jack. Sudden plans for dinner on his nights off or a random home project Robby suddenly wanted to commit to on his days off. One thing was certain: Robby wasn’t doing it for himself.
It had also been two months since you left for your sabbatical. It was humid out in the June heat, and he was hoping you had a better time than they did.
He overheard Ellis showing photos of you to Shen, somewhere out with family. Jack did the one thing he told himself he shouldn’t do—and he looked. Wide smiles, tank-tops, and shorts. You were definitely enjoying the change of weather. Robby knew he was suffering from withdrawals, and he was making everyone else miserable in turn.
“Some of the day-shift staff were planning to head to Ruggers after.” Robby smoothly mentioned, but Jack was shaking his head with a small grin. “First rounds on me.”
“Look, man. I know why you’re doing this.” Jack stared at Robby through his eyelashes, who was entertained by the direction of the conversation. “I can be trusted alone. I’m not going to lose it.”
Robby laughed, hearty from his chest. Offended, Jack raised his eyebrows at him. “I would believe that if you hadn’t spent the first week of her being gone on the rooftop.”
Shaking his head, Jack leaned against the nursing station. He crossed his real foot over the prosthetic. “I just needed some fresh air to think.”
Unconvinced, Robby scoffed. He scanned his friend, watching the distant look in his eyes. All Jack thought about was the worst of the entire situation. Everyone was confident you’d come back from the sabbatical; no one had any reason to doubt it. Jack knew more than he let on, and when he told Robby, he thought Jack was blowing it out of proportion.
He spent an entire week consoling Jack on the rooftop during shift change. Robby listened to him ramble about a case or patient that made him, consequently, think of you. Robby would stand quietly, while Jack would laugh as he recounted one of the many night shifts the two of you had.
“About how you’re going to try and survive another three months with her gone?” Robby rhetorically questioned, putting his mug down on the nursing station.
Robby faced the opposite direction, turning his head to stare at the side of Jack's face. The small grinding of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed by him. He had thought about that every night since. It was the only thing he focused on—staying distracted, enough to forget there were three months left.
Robby nodded solemnly, “I’m just trying to keep you afloat till then. It’s the least I can do.”
Jack sighed, reluctantly agreeing with the effort. It was a worthy distraction. Drinking did sound like a good idea, but he also missed the fact that his favorite drinking buddy would be missing.
“Ma’am, you’re going to need to use our main entrance.”
Ahmad's voice rang loudly enough for the two attending to hear in the trauma rooms. Jack looked over his shoulder, finding a blonde middle-aged woman by the ambulance entrance, blocked from passing any further by the department’s security.
She was dressed in a gray lounge set, her blonde hair tied in a braid. What really stood out to Jack was the cane she held onto. She didn't look like the typical age group to utilize the equipment. From the nursing station, he overheard the women say a name. Your name.
“I just would like to speak to her if she is available.” She explained politely to Ahmad, who was standing firmly in her view.
Jack had made his way around the desk, eyebrows furrowed as he examined the woman. He didn’t seem like anyone you might know. Most of your relationships came from the hospital, and even then, they certainly would know you had skipped town.
Ahmad felt the solid pat on his shoulder. Looking behind him, he saw Jack give him a silent signal. Ahmad took a step back letting Jack stand at the forefront of the woman. “Hi, what’s going on here?”
The woman sighed, sparing Ahmad a careful glance. She whispered your name meekly, hand gripping the cane. “I came to see if she is available.”
Jack offered her a polite smile. His lip flinched as he processed her request. “She’s currently on vacation. Is there a reason you’re looking for her?”
“She treated my family and me last year after a car accident.” The woman explained. Her voice was breathy and trembled. She shook her head, scavenging courage.
Jack listened intently, realization dawning on him. He hadn’t recognized her from looks alone. What he did see of the women before him that night was an unconscious body lying on a gurney. Nameless and unable to put a string of words in a sentence. You had witnessed it all and kept that’s shivering memory hidden away until you left.
Jack nodded to Ahmad, who stepped away back to his office, still keeping an eye on the situation. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he stepped closer to the women. “I’m Dr. Jack Abbot, and I work alongside her. I was just about to head out, but we can sit and talk, if you’d like.”
The woman stared at his polite smile, posture relaxed yet poised, like a doctor. Sighing, she tried to match his open attitude. “I’m Andy Morris. I don’t want to take up too much time. I was just hoping to find some closure.”
Jack had started to cautiously lead her deeper into the Pitt. He looked around for Robby, spotting him still at the nursing station. With a subtle affirmation, Robby gave him a nod before turning around to speak with Dana. Jack kept in pace with Mrs. Morris, “That’s understandable. I was working that night, and I am sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
Mrs. Morris tittered, obviously new to the sympathies. Jack frowned, memories of his early days as a widow flashing before him. The jitters around the sympathies were undoubtedly detectable. He led the two around a corner. “I’m still not sure how to respond to that.”
She glanced at Jack, who was already looking at her. A small encouraging smile graced his face, “I’m a widower as well. It took me almost two years to be able to speak of my late wife in past tenses.”
Mrs. Morris’s face faltered, brows creasing deeply. She pressed her lips tighter, restraining the stronger emotions. Jack gradually led her around the bustling morning staff over to the stairwell, where their family room was. Opening the first pair of double doors first for her. She quietly thanked him, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Jack paused for a moment, silently staring at her. The door closed behind him, and he rubbed his hands. “Thank you.”
When the pair walked into the family room, Jack waited for her to take a seat on one of the sofas first before sitting down. Sitting diagonally to each other, Jack saw the small scars around her face. Faint, but present. Mrs. Morris cleared her throat—hands merely smoothing her clothes. “Did you and your wife have children?”
“No, we never got around to settling on children,” Jack explained, hands wiping on the sides of his thighs. “I am an army veteran. I traveled for work, so we agreed to wait.”
Mrs. Morris stared at Jack with a somber look. When he watched her expression, he worried that she’d cry from the mention of children. Mrs. Morris sadly shook her head, “Do you regret that?”
The question came out in the sound of your voice. You had asked him that one night, at your apartment, over a plate of waffles. He had come over before one of your sessions, and he had opened up about his late wife. His marriage during his service and what it became after returning home indefinitely.
You had been curious about grieving a significant other. Although you retracted the question immediately, Jack answered you earnestly. When he broke down into a blubbering mess, you held him on his couch, reminding him he didn’t have to feel shame in being sad over his late wife.
“I miss not seeing my late wife.” Jack started slowly, readjusting his posture. Consciously aware of the prosthetic, he stared down at his feet, wiggling his toes. The reminder of the decision of ultimately waiting—to start a family or walk away from the war. “I wondered who they’d be if we did, sometimes.”
“My daughter looks like my husband.” Mrs. Morris stated, eyebrows knitting together. She swallowed thickly, “Everyone always says how alike they are. From the way they laugh to how they eat their burgers.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, her hands clutched onto the fabric of her sweatpants. Jack saw the tension in her hands. She let go with wobbly fingers. “I stopped by because I needed to know they didn’t suffer. I needed to hear it for myself.”
Jack pensively studied her face. He knew the desperation of answers. He spent six months praying he saw some light at the end of his dark tunnel. There was no explanation for the death. At first, he thought he had prepared himself better for that lesson in the army. When his wife passed, he faced how unprepared he truly was.
Your name slipped from your mouth, bringing a smile to his face. The spirit of his memory of your name had his ears turning red. “She was the primary physician for your and your family's care. She would be happy to hear you're doing well.”
“I’ve been in and out of rehab. I’m still doing physical therapy.” Mrs. Morris turned her head to the cane resting beside her leg.
Jack remembered rehab. It was a gruesome process. He only survived it with the help of his wife, who encouraged him to strengthen his body as much as his mind. As if on cue, the soreness of his leg from the shift prickled. “It’s a long process, but you carry yourself with grace.”
Mrs. Morris’s cheeks flushed, which warmed Jack's heart. He knew if you were here, you’d gush about how healthy she looked in the aftermath. Despite the exhaustion and grief in her eyes, her body seems strong. Jack half-smiled, “I’m sure your husband and daughter would be proud to see you now.”
Wobbly lips and tightly shut eyes—she agreed. The shaky sigh that escaped her rattled Jack’s core. He thought that maybe he had said the wrong thing. You were always more sophisticated with words. “My parents came after, spoke to the doctor.”
Mrs. Morris softly said your name, like pressing a pushpin on a cork board. Puncturing deep through the surface layers. “They told me Sophia was gone while in the ambulance.”
With Jack's wordless confirmation, he heard her choking on her breath. She took a moment, pressing a hand on her chest. “And my husband? They found him alive?”
“Yes. He was brought in after you, due to where the impact of the car was.” Jack explained methodically. His brain thought of the clinical aspects of the case. Medical jargon that would only confuse the grieving widow and mother more. He vowed to keep it simple so as to not overwhelm her. “Sadly, he suffered too much internal bleeding from the delay of transport and care.”
“We—“ Jack cut himself off. He corrected himself, saying your name much louder this time. “She attempted everything she could. His condition was severe, but she exhausted every option.”
“Is it true?” Mrs. Morris’s eyes were now wet with tears brimming on her waterline. “He asked for Sophia?”
Jack's nose twitched, all the restraint in him, crumbling slowly. He had seen combat wounds, soldiers bleeding out in dirt and grime. While working at the PTMC, he saw brutality outside a war zone. When he thought the world could settle into a peace-like state, news of another school shooting or random act of violence in the street was a brutal reminder of the opposite.
Yet, no memory haunted him like the death rattle that came from his wife. The last moments of her precious life felt like his. The joy and love that tethered him down after discharging from the army had been pulled from him in an instant.
“From my understanding. Sophia was the last thing your husband saw.” Jack confirmed his voice was quieter as he tried to distract himself from breaking down in front of a grieving widow and mother.
Mrs. Morris broke. The sobs she had contained turned into a wail. The truth was killing her, but Jack knew it was the first step to healing. The five stages of grief were a consistent pattern. It was accurate to a fault.
Jack bowed his head, hands gripping onto each other. When Mrs. Morris’s cries quieted to sniffles into her hands, Jack spoke up. “Your husband died with the knowledge that your daughter was safe at the hospital. He was granted the opportunity to hold your daughter.”
Now composed despite frazzled, nodded with the truth. She mustered up enough to smile at Jack, earnestly and with open gratitude. “Thank you. For letting my husband have that with her.”
“I’m not the one to thank.”
Jack offered a forgiving smile, shaking his head. It was the truth, after all. You, who had resiliently put on the bravest face you could, remaining calm enough to fool most of the department. You should receive all the praise for that, not him. He wouldn’t compare his work to that of what you did for patients
“Right,” Mrs. Morris nodded, apologetically smiling. She stared at Jack, stricken by a thought. “Are you two close?”
The question sat in the room for a minute. If she had asked that question over a year ago, he would have confidently said yes. The endless inside jokes and simultaneously shared ideas made it hard to deny.
Nowadays, Jack wasn’t sure how to describe it. ‘Complex’ was the first thing that came to mind. He was the holder of some of your intimate secrets, as you were his. There was no way that from the hours you two worked together, basking in the privilege of working the night shift, you couldn’t become closer than two colleagues running the same department.
“You seem to care for her.” Mrs. Morris pointed out—an observation one would typically keep to themselves. She realized that as well, shaking her head in slight embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jack quickly assured, shaking his head.
He supposed if a stranger could see that through the way he talked about you, there was no point in denying it anymore. With the mere thought of you, Jack couldn’t restrain the instinctive reaction in his chest.
“I do.”
The flustered laugh escaped Jack, and for once, he didn’t have some charming remark to throw. You were deserving of much more than his punchy jokes or smooth deflection. When he thought of you, he remembered the goodness you brought him. It made him feel worthy of seeing another day, and even the bad ones, you shouldered with him.
“She’s too good to put into a few words.” Jack simply said, but Mrs. Morris felt the weight of the message. “I’ve worked with her. Laughed and cried, and after five years, I don’t want to spend those good moments alongside anyone else.”
He furrowed his brows; the automatic chord for you revealed what he hadn’t been able to admit to himself inches from mirror—or in the security of his own mind.
The constant turmoil in his gut and mind, the times you sat in his dining room laughing over childhood memories (despite how much older he felt when you both reminisced about cartoons). His lightheadedness when you stared back at him while everyone else walked around in their own worlds. Everyone was too absorbed to notice when you were trying to swim to shore, but not him. He couldn't ignore you, even if danger was ten feet in front of him, because you had never forgotten him.
Mrs. Morris hummed approvingly, like she was reading his future from the lines on his palm. He entertained the distraction. He’d pay just about anything to try to alleviate the pain he was in years ago, and even now, in your departure.
“I met my husband at the state courthouse,” Mrs. Morris sighed, wistfully staring elsewhere as she breathed in the memory. “I’m a stenographer, and he is a prosecutor.”
Jack's smile widened. When he was younger and casually dating, his last thought was to look in the workplace, but when a cute girl with wide eyes and dimples walked into his summer job at the yogurt shop, he couldn't help himself. After that, there was no point in looking at anyone else. After his wife passed, he was certain he would remain a widower, letting the ghost of her memory warm his bed.
Right now, he couldn't promise on his wife’s grave that he could take it to his grave.
“We had run into each other on the courthouse steps. He likes to pretend it was all coincidental after working on half the same cases.” Mrs. Morris playfully rolled her eyes. When Jack looked down at her hands, she was fiddling with a pair of gold wedding bands.
The engagement ring had an elegant, classy, oval diamond at the center of a dainty band. It was undeniable how much care was put into the ring, still shining after years of use. Jack’s hand instinctively went down to his own solid black wedding band, turning it clockwise on his finger.
The wistful sigh she let out was lighter than before. She bit down on her lip that once trembled, overcome with sadness; instead, she appeared like a lovesick girl falling in love for the first time. “He wouldn't let up until I agreed to go on a date with him.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying.” Jack shrugged, personifying himself in that very position. A drastically younger version of himself, leaning over the counter, trying to convince his late wife. Both foolish teenagers trying to play hard to get.
Mrs. Morris sat up straighter, grabbing her cane. She eased herself into a standing position. Jack matched her action, watchful eyes on her grip and balance. At full height, she was looking up to him, and he couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of mischief in her eye. “No, but you can blame a man who doesn’t try at all.”
Jack furrowed his brows, a teasing smile on his face. They both knew what she meant between the lines. With his hands in his pockets, he could hide the clamminess and the sudden need to tighten and relax his fingers. Maybe this was his divine intervention.
Her coming into the ER that one fall night had convinced you of finding help to pull you out of the deep hole you thought had no way out. And with her standing in front of Jack, full of some mystic wisdom about his own romantic life, which he thought had dried out, seemed like appropriate timing.
“If there is anything I learned from my husband, it was to never wait too long for the moment.” Mrs. Morris bowed her head solemnly, honoring the memory of her husband and daughter. If there was something she’d want to do for them, it is to help someone in the way she was helped. “He believed in seizing every aspect of your life, even when you're afraid of taking the first step.”
Jack listened with understanding. He had let ample opportunities pass. In five years, he had convinced himself he wasn’t slightly enamored with you after the first couple of shifts since working with you. He watched you treat children with the biggest smile on your face, comforting them during frightful times with adoration. The compassion you extended to loved ones grieving their losses filled gaps in heart. He craved every careful attention you shared with everyone else for the sake of being able to feel worthy.
He qualified you meritoriously as the greatest good the world could provide. If he were an astronaut, you would be the moon he was working his way to reach. A grand satellite, he was small and insignificant in comparison.
“I know it’s not my place to say, Dr. Abbot,” She said softly, respectfully allowing space for him to stop her intrusion. “But your heart knows more than your mind. It knows what it wants; you just have to permit yourself to accept that.”
The smile she extended was proof of that sentiment. She had followed the hand of a man openly welcome to being a fool for her, and even if it ended abruptly, she still thought of him kindly. He hadn’t lost you completely, and per Mrs. Morris, he better not let it happen any time soon.
“See, I wasn’t too bad.” Jack's voice echoed from upstairs walking out of your guest bathroom. The thudding of his feet padded through the halls, making their way over to the kitchen.
Against all your objections and assurances, Jack didn’t budge. You had come home from the hospital, more wiped than expected, to find Jack sitting on your porch steps. When you checked the time, you realized he had been waiting around two hours.
You smiled to yourself, pushing the eggs from the pan into a plate. The least you could do after Jack almost single-handedly moved both your mattresses in and out was a plate of breakfast. Before turning back to the stove, you caught a glimpse of Jack turning the corner, wiping his hands together.
“You sure?” You teased, putting the pan on the stove, double-checking each burner was off. With your back turned, you didn’t notice the small roll of his eyes. “I swear I saw you breaking a sweat back there.”
“All in a day's work.” He casually replied, situating himself on one of the bar stools.
You moved around your kitchen gracefully, accustomed to the new space. It was definitely better renovated and lit compared to your townhome. More counter space than you were used to, but you were enjoying it. Even Roxie, your newly adopted Labrador, was enjoying the bigger space.
It was especially useful when entertaining house guests. You had always lived alone since moving to Pittsburgh, so you always enjoyed any occasion to have people over. Jack had been satisfying that need, possibly spending more time at your place than his own.
A warm mug of coffee was placed in front of him, utensils clattering on the marble counter, while his steaming breakfast was pushed in front of him. Jack stared down with an appreciative smile, “You didn’t have to do all this.”
You stared at him, dumbfounded, with a cold glass of iced coffee opposite him. You opted to stand to get a better look at him, preferring to see all of him instead of being in close proximity. “Jack, you're making it impossible for me to repay you for anything.”
“Because I don’t need it,” Jack chuckled, stuffing a piece of egg into his mouth. He hummed as he chewed the soft, hot food. Perfectly salted and cooked to perfection. Promptly swallowing, he shook his head. “But, I can’t say this isn’t damn good.”
Matching his eagerness, you dug into your own plate, your appetite hitting you suddenly. For a moment, the two of you were able to bask in the silence of post-shift decompression. It felt rare to be able to have a hearty meal and healthy habits. Jack did so more for your sake than his, knowing you both needed to keep each other in check.
The silence also gave you a chance to digest the conversation you had with Mrs. Morris. When you walked into the family room, you didn’t know what to expect. You were pleasantly surprised to see her physically capable of standing to greet you. Partly gripping onto the armrest of the chair to assist, she remained safely balanced on her own two feet, and that sight alone almost brought you to tears.
Sitting down with her in front of you felt surreal. For an entire year, all you saw was the sight of her unconscious on a gurney, and the flashing nightmares of her husband and daughter postmortem followed. You weren’t even sure if she was real until she started talking and smiling.
She instantly noticed how nervous you were, from the way you twiddled with the badge on your scrub pants. With her steady hand placed on your knee, you finally released the breath you had held in before meeting.
The conversation lasted over an hour, and when Robby found you gathering your bags from the nursing station long after your shift ended, he immediately texted Jack.
“How did it go?” Jack asked after summoning the necessary courage. You hummed, eyebrows raised, as you stared at him through your wispy lashes. “With Mrs. Morris.”
Truth was, Jack worried he was more nervous than you were. The unsettling concern settled with him as he sat on your porch, breathing in the natural escape. The long awaited reunion and you were greeted with you biggest upset since leaving.
You slowly nodded, chewing the last of your bacon while putting your fork down. Wiping your hands together before resting on the counter. “It was definitely not how I expected my morning to go.”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Jack reminded you, always respectful in your process of healing. He would remain curious from a distance if you needed it.
You softly smiled at him, “It’s okay. It just went better than I expected, that's all.”
“What did you expect?” Jack questioned hesitantly, finishing the last of his plate. He moved over his coffee, cradling the handle with one hand.
You shrugged, hands subconsciously running along the edge of the counter, the smooth countertop pressing against the pad of your finger. “Worst case scenario: she’d hate me for being unable to save her husband and daughter. Curse me out and tell me how horrible a doctor I am.”
“And what's the best-case scenario?”
“Whatever happened today.” You sighed out, a nervous laugh escaping you. Furrowing your brows, you bit the inside of your cheek. It still was hard to wrap your head around, let alone speak about it so casually, like you were catching up with a friend.
Except, she wasn’t your friend. She was a patient you gravely disappointed in more ways than one. Yet, she never made you feel that way the entire time you spoke.
“That’s good, isn't it?” Jack asked hopefully, eyes crinkling in the corner as he tried to read your face.
When he saw you approaching him from your car, you definitely were deep in thought, but your resolve was mostly intact. You were caught off guard by him sitting on your porch waiting to move in the mattress (that you had explicitly turned down his offer).
“Yeah, better than I deserve.” You meekly commented, still undeserving of a kind nature. You were working on it, but it was a long process. It would be a lie to say all Mrs. Morris' kindness was something you could humbly receive.
“I don’t think she sees it that way.” Jack leaned back in the stool, crossing his arms over his chest. You had started fiddling with the ends of your hair, staring deep in thought.
Jack watched, and he couldn’t help but want to know what was going on in your head. “So, what did you two talk about?”
You glanced at him, your forehead creasing, as you thought over the conversation for the tenth time that hour alone. “We talked about after the accident. Park had told her she may never walk without a walker, but he had hope.”
The smile that beamed upon you was heaven to his eyes. It was full of pride for a stranger you met during the worst day they might’ve lived yet. Anyone would have assumed you took personal responsibility for your patient's care with the way you emoted strongly as you spoke. “She beat against all odds.”
“That’s wonderful,” Jack added, unable to hold the smile you brought on his own lips. He kept his words minimal. He hadn’t exactly been completely honest about how things were while you were gone.
He wasn’t sure he could explain how Mrs. Morris sought a comfort you weren’t in the head space to provide. Or the fact that the two of them spent the majority of the time talking about his illicit feelings for you.
Jack turned away, the guilt slightly gnawing at him the longer he omitted the fact. He glanced over to the window above your sink, looking out to your yard. You had strained your neck a little to get a better look at his face.
“Strangely enough, she did bring up the fact she had tried to visit me back in June.” You started slowly, carefully testing him for a reaction. His head had turned oddly quick at the mention, eyebrows shot up with mocking surprise.
“Did she?” He questioned, his voice jumping an octave.
With a satisfied hum, you nodded your head. “Yes. When I asked her who she spoke to, she told me about a ‘silver foxed’ doctor who very kindly sat and spoke with her.”
Jack tried to hide the grin on his face. He had to admit something in his stomach turned when he heard you say those words with so much pride, it bounced off the walls of your home. You expectantly raised an eyebrow at him.
He leaned against the counter, arms flexing. You discreetly took a look at the black shirt that hugged his biceps, trying to remain stern in your gaze. “Are you sure she meant me?”
You huffed out a breathy laugh. He loved to hear every sound that escaped your lips. It made his heartbeat so much louder. Your eyes softened, lips pressing into a tight smile. “How come you never told me? That she had come by already?”
The silence that fell in the kitchen was thick, but peaceful. You had every trust in Jack to be honest with you, or at least act reasonably on your behalf. You weren’t mad, but you would’ve liked a warning. Jack could’ve offered you that, but he also thought about your well-being in the grand scheme of it all.
“I didn’t think she’d come back, honestly,” Jack responded with no hesitation. “I wasn’t sure if you felt ready to face that again. Plus, I didn’t want you to panic or worry about what she thought of you.”
“You should’ve told me.” You stated, no malice in your voice. It was a simple reminder. Listen and learn for next time.
He agreed, embarrassed, offering an apologetic smile. His eyes widened impossibly, and you could never find it in yourself to be overtly upset over his considerate efforts.
“Can I show you something?” You asked, quietly. He was a bit taken back from how mousy your voice sounded, almost afraid to let him in completely.
When you got his silence confirmation, you moved around the counter, disappearing behind him. He craned his head, looking past his shoulder to the entryway, where you had your backpack hooked on the wall. Opening the small pocket in front, you pulled out a white envelope. You guarded it in your hand, making your way back to Jack.
Stopping on the edge of the counter to his right, you extended the envelope to him. With his eyes, he asked for permission, only opening the flap once you gave him a firm nod.
He reached his hands in, still glancing at you with measured precision. His fingers grazed against a glossy film, and when he pulled out the thin material, he noticed they were photos.
It was from a photo booth, four polarized shots displayed vertically. He recognized Mrs. Morris easily, her smile easy and carefree. Beside her was a dark-haired man, leaning his head against hers. In the closest range of the frame was a young girl with wide eyes and a crooked smile.
“They took that on her daughter's thirteenth birthday, at the same photo booth her and her husband stopped at on their first date.” You gleamed as if this were a personal memento of yours. If he hadn’t known, he’d have guessed they were related to you from how tenderly you stared down at the image.
“It was taken a week before their passing.”
Jack's heart sank. It was a precious memento. Suddenly, the weight of the photos sat heavier in his hand. It was the same type of heaviness he felt when every anniversary was like clockwork; he’d reminisce over the box full of mementos his wife had collected in his years of marriage. Photos, trinkets, and sweet letters. It was hidden in the corner of the top shelf in his closet.
“She wanted me to have that.” You mentioned, nodding your head to the photo. Emotionally vulnerable, you couldn't help but stare at your feet. Jack was watching you, pushing the photo on the counter towards you. “She wanted me to have a reminder of ‘my goodness’.”
“That's kind of her,” Jack mumbled, nodding with assurance that you should be convinced.
If Jack had to run a poll on how many people felt the same way as Mrs. Morris, the numbers would be sky-high. There was no one plausible who would disagree. He may sound overconfident in that way so self-assuredly, but he’d bet against any odds over that.
“Too kind.” You sounded slightly bitter, like the sweetness was suddenly too tart for your liking. He saw the slipping of your mask, being overshadowed by the part that still argued you were good or deserving or worthy.
Jack called your name, a bit worried by how melancholic you sounded. You shook your head with an apologetic gaze. “I mean, she thanked me for everything I did.”
“Even if she lost her husband and daughter, she’s content with the quality of life she has now.” You admitted, puzzled, like this was some trick. The longer you thought it over, the more paranoid you became. If it were any other person, she would’ve told them to take the words with grace. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, but she couldn’t follow that within herself. “I don't know if I could be as optimistic in her place, or even grateful.”
You chuckled, shaking your head as you held the photo in your hand. “She reminded me a bit of my older sister.”
Jack hadn’t met your family yet, but from the curl of your lips, he imagined it was a good thing. He did find something oddly familiar himself when talking with Mrs. Morris. His eyes couldn’t help but soften as you admired the photo over. “What do you plan to do with this?”
With a mischievous grin, you walked over to your refrigerator. From the corner, you grabbed a blue round magnet made from a comically large button. With careful precision, you placed the photo on the gray, sleek door, with a small thump.
You took a step back, and when you turned to Jack with the pride of a child demonstrating a piece of art they worked tirelessly on. He almost fell from his chair from how honored he was to see it. “I want to be able to see it and remember why I do what I do. Remember I’m loved, needed, wanted even.”
Jack couldn’t have put it better himself. The singular photo brought a humble glory to your new home. When you first moved, you thought you had acted impulsively, trying to run from your last residence, as it brought painful memories of living there since moving to Pittsburgh. When you decided to start fresh, giving yourself an honest shot at improving your mental decline, moving had been on you debated.
However, what Jack saw from the sight of your room was a vase of flowers on your bedside, framed memories on top of any available counter, and the new edition on the fridge; it acted like an antidote you didn’t know you needed.
“I have some other photos I took when visiting my family.” You pointed out, hands resting in your scrub pockets. “One of my New Year’s resolutions is to start a collage of sorts.”
“That sounds like a nice resolution.” Jack's voice sounded distant, his eyes glued on the image.
Loved, needed, and wanted. It was like you were looking into every fold of his brain, and Jack almost worried you had. Since that June, Jack had contemplated the basis of your relationship. It had started as two physicians progressively sharing personal details as they found themselves passing the time during their shifts. But was that all it was now?
“You got any resolutions for the new year?” You hummed, grabbing both the empty plates and dishware to bring to your sink.
The sound of the running water managed to fill in the quiet. Jack could rattle off the few resolutions he repeated every year (because he never accomplished them). Going on a vacation of some sort or investing in a hobby that didn't require his physical effort or dramatic sacrifice. He could say he would finally start venturing out to find companionship–outside the people he worked with, aptly called the ‘night crawlers.’
Companionship. He teetered on the idea. Would it be betrayal when his wife had been gone for over a decade? Would his sacred marital vows still hold now, even when another contented his heart?
When he stared at your back, making jabs about the moonlighting he did with S.W.A.T., he could see the vision more clearly. Domesticity in a home where he didn’t wake up cold or sleep in solitude. Not a physical residency with a roof and a lock on the door. A companion who provided the shelter he sought out, like a man starved and deprived.
He could have that, he thought. And he only wanted that with one person–a girl too kind and too humble for his heart to devour.
You let out a heavy sigh, finally relaxing in one of the office chairs. Your body succumbed to the stiff cushion of the office chair, completely slumping back. You shut your eyes, head tossing back as you lightly turn the chair from side to side.
With the changing of the weather and the holiday season slowly creeping up, hospital visits were at an all-time high. You have seen more seven-year-olds come in with the flu and broken limbs from snow-related injuries today than ever. You enjoyed working with kids, but it was the parents who sometimes drove you mad.
Ellis called your name off from a distance. You sensed her stride in your direction from a mile away. You groaned, sitting up like a cadaver rising from the dead. Through hooded eyes, you turn your head to your third-year resident. “I have the mom of Central 12 asking for the Ortho consult.”
“Right,” You punctuated, standing as you took the chart from Ellis. Spinning on your heels, you spotted Lena across the central hub, “who’s on call for Ortho, Lena?”
“Dr. Jennings.” She answered promptly, barely lifting her head from her tablet. When she did look up, she had a knowing smirk on her face. “Do you want me to drag him down?”
You shook your head, immediately walking over to one of the office phones. “No, I’ve got it.”
Ellis raised her eyebrows at you, a small grin on her face. You quickly dialed the number, putting the phone on speaker. Leaning onto the desk, hand sprawled out, pushing back into your feet, you waited. The ringing barely lasted until the call picked up from the other end. “Ortho, this is Jennings.”
“Mark,” You mused, a small smile on your face. Ellis was making herself comfortable watching the exchange, leaning forward with eagerness. “We have the mother of an 8-year-old boy who is still waiting for an Ortho consult.”
“I thought one of the residents came down?” He questioned, considerably too concerned for the situation.
You peeked at Ellis through your lashes. You may have been preoccupied, but not too much as to ignore the skeptical, narrowed eyes and curled grin. She shook her head. Looking back down at the phone, you sighed dramatically. “Well, one of my residents just told me otherwise. Anything you can do to help?”
“I’ll be down there in five,” Jennings responded with no hesitation. From Ellis’ perspective, if she had to describe the scene before her, she’d say there was definitely something going on.
Except that, she knew you. If anyone was as work-driven as Jack was, it was you. She’d argue you had more interest in a healthy work-life balance, but she saw you at the hospital more often than not. She wouldn’t be idiotic enough to assume she knew everything about you either (even if you kept very little to yourself), but it was obvious that something no one had noticed yet.
“Thanks, Mark.” You dragged your words, smiling, widening with triumph. Once the call dropped, you stood up, your attention back on Ellis. “There’s your Ortho consult.”
Ellis continues staring at you, humming with an interested look. She was attempting to read between your sweet smile and dreamy voice, as well as Dr. Jennings's susceptibility to your request. You raised your eyebrows at her while her silence worried you. “Everything good?"
“Yeah.” Ellis casually stated while retrieving the tablet from your hand. She hummed, fingers tapping the back of the device with a calculated thumping. “Dr. Jennings seemed pretty available for you.”
You gawked at Ellis, a bit shocked by her forward comment. With arms crossed, you stared at her, dumbfounded. “What does that mean?”
Ellis shrugged nonchalantly. With hooded eyes, she smiled wider. “Whatever you want it to mean.”
“Parker, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so vaguely.” You teased, making your way around the nursing station. While Ellis pretended to be more interested in a patient’s chart than her continuous vague torture, you still started her down.
The grin on her face, which she did not hide from you whatsoever, affirmed your belief. “I just think you need to figure this out yourself.”
Standing in front of her, you craned your head lower to better distinguish the amusement from her expression. “I would love some insight as to what you think I need to figure out, Dr. Ellis.”
When she looked up at you, she raised an eyebrow: a question testing your certainty. With little regret, you playfully challenged her, chin lifted. Ellis sighed, chuckling. “Alright. You know Jennings has a massive thing for you, right?”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head in unison. Jennings? It was unbelievable that Ellis could make that assumption from a two-minute phone call. Cringing, you visibly disagreed. “You’re wrong.”
“The man might just reprimand some poor resident for not responding to a house call from his favorite ED attending,” Ellis explained slowly, as if she was attempting to put the idea through your skull. “I don’t know what you call it, but it sounds like he just might like you, blackbird.”
You rolled your eyes at the toss of Jack’s nickname for you. It was no secret how often he threw it around call for your attention in the bustling department or in the middle of a trauma, passing on the baton to you. No one questioned it, how trained you two were to treat cases like operatives. Although you two barely spoke about how to treat, a steady rhythm existed when you two were in the same space. It limited the need to waste time explaining everything to one another.
“One, don’t ever call me that again,” You emphasized, cocking your head to the side as you attempted a serious, stern voice. “Two, Mark and I have known each other since our fellowship days.”
Which was true. Running through adjacent pediatric fellowships, you two co-mingled more often than not. While you worked the same night shifts, you tried to make sure the other remained awake and oriented enough to last until sunrise, sharing snacks and secret stashes of energy drinks.
“I don’t get along with my co-residents like that.” Ellis snickered, impressed by your deniability. How could you not see it?
“It would be an HR violation if you guys were flirting in the workplace.” You had spared her a look before stepping back to look up at the patient board.
“No one seems to say anything when you and Jack do.”
If the ER weren’t unnaturally chilly, you’d think it were freezing with the sudden rise of goosebumps on your skin. You understood the humor in her teasing when she spoke about Dr. Jennings. But, Jack? Surely, she didn’t interpret your interactions as flirtation.
You two joke, and although at times they bordered on teasing, you never assumed it was flirting. You two had joked about how much of a brooding bachelor he was; too busy to consider dating and gestures for potential romantic contenders. If you had been wrong on those assumptions, you would’ve seen it by now.
You nervously laughed, arms tightening. Your hands gripped the sleeves of your jacket. “What do you mean?”
Ellis stared at you, examining the sudden overcast on your face. When she realized you were seriously dumbfounded, she scoffed, equally surprised. “I can’t believe you’re my favorite mentor.”
“Nice flattery.” You deadpanned, taking a step closer to Ellis, who was shaking her head in disappointment. “Now, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on.” Ellis' one free hand dramatically fell to her side, giving you a sideways look. “We all know Jack has a soft spot for you. Or at least I thought we all knew.”
“And you think that is equivalent to flirting?” You questioned, forehead creasing as you failed to see her point.
Ellis was grinning, shrugging her shoulders in a coolness you could never contest. “No, that just happens to be a plus, if you want it to be.”
When you glanced behind Ellis, you saw in the distance Dr. Jennings stroll around the corner. He wore the departmental royal blue scrubs, his dark brown hair combed perfectly to one side. He was the perfect image of the Ortho jocks Shen and Ellis made fun of from time to time. “Perfect timing, Dr. Jennings. I was just discussing with Dr. Ellis about checking in with our 8-year-old.”
“I’m sorry about the mishap. My resident seems to forget about promptly answering consultations.” Dr. Jennings flashed a bright, charming smile to both you and Ellis. She seemed less impressed compared to you as you reciprocated the pleasantries.
“You’re here now. Dr. Ellis will take you to the patient.” You smoothly transitioned, catching the knowing look from your resident. She stared at you as she brushed by, intentionally bumping shoulders.
Dr. Jennings took one step forward before stopping to turn to you. His hands went to his pocket, his smile softening to something beyond niceties shared between colleagues. “It’s nice to have you back, by the way. Missed seeing you around.”
The breath caught in your throat almost made you choke. You hadn't expected such honesty, and the softness in his voice towards the end. Stifling the shaky exhale you almost let escape, you nodded, one hand reaching to scratch the back of your neck. “Thank you, Dr. Jennings.”
When Dr. Jennings turned his back towards you, the glare you shot Ellis was as sharp as knives. She held in the chuckle as she started explaining to Dr. Jennings the chief complaint that brought the 8-year-old.
Finally left alone from the teasing and awkwardness, your shoulder slumped a bit. You spun in your heels and immediately caught Jack staring at you. He had his eyebrows raised as he leaned over one of the computers. You tried to ignore the questioning glances as you moved back behind the station, pretending like you had a patient chart to look at.
“What was that about?” He asked, turning away from the computer to see you leaning against the counter adjacent to him.
“What do you mean?” Your voice sounded casual initially, but he knew there was a different cadence from your usual peppiness. There was a strain towards the end, and he knew you were actively hiding something.
If anyone bothered to look in your direction, they would have noticed how Dr. Jennings stared at you up and down, drinking in your entire presence. Or how, when he first came around, his body naturally gravitated to face your direction. Regardless of whether all those nuances were intentional or not, he didn’t do a good job at hiding them.
Jack couldn’t tear his eyes away from the entire interaction. He was prepared to jump in, instantaneously coming up with a list of excuses he could use to pull you away. He found himself in his position when he realized you weren’t uncomfortable with the situation.
From behind, you straightened your back, standing with the usual poise you had, but you smiled a tad wider and gazed at Dr. Jennings longer, like two friends reuniting. The contraction in his chest was evident as he grimaced, but you were too busy avoiding him to notice. “It sounded like he was flirting with you.”
That made your head fly up, staring at him with a questionable look. Did you think he wouldn’t notice? Your tight smile felt dishonest, like he might’ve caught you in a lie. “He was just being polite. I was gone for half the year.”
Jack eyed you carefully, his stare coming out cold. He was trying to hide the fact that he was displeased and offended that you were putting in so much effort to deflect the observation he made. Were you flirting? He would assume that much from how Ellis kept staring between the two, too excited to be interrupting the subtle conversation in the form of eye contact.
“Didn’t realize you two were close since before then,” Jack noted, arms crossing over his chest.
You had caught on to something, because you suddenly tilted your head to the side, tickled by the sight. He appeared almost grumpy from the frown and down turned eyebrows. “What are you trying to say? Are you surprised I have friends?”
Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“So what? Worried I’ve replaced you as my confidant?” You teased, a smirk on your face as you brushed past him. The scent of the perfume you sprayed had lingered on your skin even after 12 hours. He couldn’t help the way his head and nose followed the direction of the aroma.
Worried? Has it been that obvious? If Robby were here to see him now, he would agree with that unknowing observation you made. Robby always said he had a sixth sense for when an interested man lingered around you too much, like a hound protecting its treat.
“So, you are close with him?” Jack followed up without missing a beat.
You spun around, still moving too far away for his liking. You were escaping the root of the conversation, barely providing any solace as to why one of the Ortho jocks was comfortable with you. “He’s not the one I’m hanging out with on Christmas.”
Jack couldn’t contain the proud smile on his face as he watched you walk away to who knows what patient. Maybe it was the nature within all mammals to claim their property (not that Jack would refer to you as such), but he felt fragile by the idea of someone ripping you away from him.
Young, tall, muscular, and easily charming enough to do so. Jack wasn't your romantic partner. He didn’t have the clearance of a ‘boyfriend’ to stake claim and insert himself as such. Yet, the instinct to do so was buzzing in him. Would it be so wrong?
“So, when do you finally plan to do something?"
Jack whipped his head so quickly that Lena retracted a bit from the movement. Starting down at her, he noticed the look she gave him above the rims of her glasses. She shook her head, “You’re not getting any younger, and she won't do it for you.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. Did you have intentions? Had he missed all the signs? Had he been so clueless as to keep you waiting around for a guy like him? Menial and mediocre. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”
Lena let out a hearty laugh, her smile lines creasing that much deeper. “Come on. You can’t act clueless around me.”
Jack bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t keep anything from Lena. She was as perceptive as Dana and all-knowing. He paused, honestly reeling over the question. “She’s not interested in me.”
The thought was intrusive, an affirmation to himself. He only saw himself in the light he assumed you saw him. You, who had remained meticulously focused on your work, had never demonstrated any interest in him. You offered extreme kindness to everyone.
Nurses and doctors alike. He had caught you offering hugs to Shen and Robby on occasion, not that he felt intimidated by them, but it was hard to not be indifferent to the sight. Robby always thought it was funny, but for most of Shen’s residency, Jack worried Shen was crushing on you from the close proximity you two worked in. Jack realized it was meaningless, but nonetheless.
“You are as blind as you are old, Dr. Abbot.” Lena sang lightly, keeping her voice low for only his ears. She saw the not-so-subtle, annoyed glare. “You don’t have to be a genius to see that girl is waiting oh-so-patiently for the silver-foxed doctor to man up.”
“How do you know this?”
“Call it motherly intuition.” Lena shrugged, turning away as she heard Shen call her name from a distance.
Even in the bustling department, he could hear his thoughts like a train horn. Motherly intuition never proved Lena wrong. If anything, it was like she knew everyone by the back of her hand. You trusted Lena as if she were your mother, although your mother lived back in your hometown. She brought you treats when you needed encouragement or hugs when you needed comfort. Since she was like a second mother, she wouldn’t be telling Jack lies.
Jack watched as Shen spoke to Lena, something about a patient, to which she nodded along. As Shen walked away, sipping on his Dunkin coffee, Jack casually moved in the same direction. Shen was young and perceptive, much closer to your age than he was. He was also close to you, as you mentored him through most of his residency. Your recommendation letter for him spoke highly of what you thought of him.
Shen noticed the new bodily presence as he made his way to the break room. Taking a hasty sip, he craned his head to look at Jack. “Dr. Abbot, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need some advice.”
Shen’s eyes widened. He was a newly turned attending, only halfway through his first year. There wasn’t anything he assumed he knew more than Jack did to have him crawling to him. Shen nodded, “What’s up?”
Jack glanced around, as if he were ashamed to speak in public. He warily watched his surroundings, which only confused Shen. Jack walked with a certain air of presence. Shen was casual and cool, so he was told. You were bubbly without the effort, always lightening up every room you walked into. Jack commanded control, although he spent most of his time charming patients; you knew not to mess with him.
When the two men walked into the break room, Jack carefully closed the door until it clicked. Shen suddenly felt too cold, like he was awaiting an intervention he wasn’t aware of. His hand gripped the handle of the fridge. “Are you okay?”
Jack stared at Shen, suddenly aware of how ghastly he must appear. He shook his head, hands moving to his hips. “It’s nothing about you. This is a personal issue.”
Shen chuckled nervously, opening the refrigerator to put the last quarter of his coffee away. “If this is about a script for Viagra…”
“Not that type of issue, John.” Jack huffed out, abruptly shutting the idea down before Shen said something else outrageous.
The door closed with a thump, leaving Shen empty-handed. He matched Jack’s stance, nodding in understanding with pursed lips, “So, what is it?”
What wasn’t it about would be a better question. At this point, Jack wasn’t sure whether cornering Shen to shush his internal concerns was a good idea. It wasn’t professional and almost unbecoming of him. Jack never showed worry. He was always the anchor of the night shift.
Shen took a step closer, giving Jack a lopsided smile. “Dude, come on. It can’t be that bad.”
Jack paused to look at Shen, shifting nervously on his feet. He gave him one firm nod, military precision. Then, he sighed out your name, his body shivering from the cold plunge it felt his body took. Shen, who was still confused about the weight of the subject matter, shrugged, “What about her?”
Shen squared his shoulders, bracing himself for whatever Jack had to say next. Shen was too peaceful to pick a fight, especially with someone with Jack’s muscle mass, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to defend your honor. Jack’s hands fidgeted, nervously crossing over his chest. “Has she ever mentioned being interested in someone?”
“Like, romantically?”
Jack felt like he might puke. The turmoil in his stomach didn’t ease, and Shen’s continuous questions kept dragging this further than it needed to be. “Yes, romantically.”
Shen stared at him with an unreadable expression. Jack was sure he was preparing to tell him his worst fears. Maybe you had a boyfriend—you very wisely kept from him and everyone. The minute anything regarding your love life came out, it would have spread like wildfire around the department.
Shen exhaled dramatically, shaking his head in disappointment. “Yeah, she’s been secretly married for five years, and we all told her she could do better.”
Jack glared at Shen, who could no longer maintain the act. He busted out laughing, leaning forward from the hips. Shaking his head, Jack mumbled something under his breath that fell on deaf ears as Shen kept laughing. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Forget what I asked.”
“No,” Shen called out, slowly straightening his back, letting out the last laugh with a chuckle. “Sorry, this is serious.”
“Not anymore, it isn’t. Thanks to you.” Jack deadpanned, swiveling to walk out of the break room.
Shen, more agile and limber, beat him to the door, grip on the hand. “Look, my bad, alright?”
With reassuring eyes, pleading for Jack to hear him out, Shen remained guarding the door. Jack took a quiet step back, staring at the new attending. When Shen felt comfortable with the distance, he peeled his hand from the door. “Just answer me this: Why are you asking now?”
Jack readjusted his posture, stretching his neck from side to side. Here goes nothing. “Because Lena is sending me these signals and I need to make sure I’m not about to do anything humiliating.”
Shen’s controlled nods had Jack shuffling more than before. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Shen lifted his hands, hoping to ease his fellow attending. “Look, Jack, you should only do something if you want to.”
“John, that’s not—“
“Just listen,” Shen commanded, his voice the loudest that Jack had ever heard. He retracted his head, eyes wide at John, taken aback by the authority. He must have been learning after you. Shen inhaled sharply, composing himself again. “You didn’t hear the following from me, but Lena isn’t wrong about whatever she told you.”
Digging into his scrub pocket, Shen fished out his phone. His fingers moved gracefully, sliding and tapping on the screen. He sighed out your name, gripping the phone, debating his next choice. “She texted me during her sabbatical and swore me to secrecy.”
The phone was handed to Jack, who looked down at the illuminated screen. He saw the gray and blue text bubbles, the date falling at the end of August—only a couple of weeks before you’d come back. Shen pushed the phone further towards Jack, who was left with no choice but to read the private conversation.
Jack’s eyes skimmed the screen, bringing the screen higher to read it better. Shen watched the moment play out like a scene from a drama. The furrow in his brows to the open-mouth-shocked final act—revelation. The onslaught of realization that dawned on Jack had Shen bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Shen pressed his lips firmly, analyzing every movement he could read from Jack, after what felt like five very long minutes. Jack looked up at Shen, face blank and possibly worse off than before he read anything. Carefully, Shen took the phone in his hands, like he was holding a living heart. His eyes remained on Jack, who silently processed all of it.
“So, now you know,” Shen mumbled, sticking the phone back in his pockets, along with his hands.
Jack nodded like a man having an out-of-body moment. If anyone were to walk in, they’d assume he had seen a ghost. Shaking himself awake, Jack offered Shen a tense smile, surprisingly, patting Shen on the shoulder. Without uttering another word, Jack brushed past Shen, opening the door and slipping away as quickly as possible.
Shen stood alone in the break room, the weight of his phone similar to a pouch full of rocks. He shut his eyes, cursing himself. What did he just do?
“You’re acting like a teenager for a man well into his fifties,” Robby spoke through the phone, his voice airy through the microphone. Jack could hear the remnants of Robby’s self-amusement, and he imagined the wide grin he had. He’d be glaring a dagger at him if he were sitting in front of him.
“I’m barely fifty,” Jack grumbled as he pulled off yet another shirt. He tossed it onto his bed, stomping back to his dresser.
He placed the phone he was carrying around his bedroom aside, methodically sifting through the different yet boring shirts he had. Everything and nothing seemed appealing all at once. He groaned to himself, heading in the direction of his closet. Maybe a button would suit the occasion.
“Beside the point.” Robby chuckled much louder with less shame. From the speaker, Jack could hear the bustling of the ER in the background.
It was well past 7 am. Shift change had occurred, you and the rest of the night shift were probably miles from the hospital, and all Jack could do in the middle of an existential crisis was call Robby. “I thought you just said it was breakfast. Why are you psyching yourself out?”
Maybe because it was Christmas, and although you both spent Christmas last year together, he has been a new man since then. He had realized that every moment was another he could collect and dream about in bed. How he didn't just want to spend collecting moments like crumbs and scraps, hoping for an opportunity for more.
Seizing his life, right?
“I’m not psyching myself out.” Jack countered, although there was nothing assertive in his tone.
He was psyching himself out. If his therapist were sitting in his room watching him decompose, he’d probably admit him on the spot. His feet moved furiously, and his mind was moving much faster. Battling between what he was about to do and if he should do it at all was burning holes into the carpet. His prosthetic was starting to rub uncomfortably on his skin.
“Who are you trying to convince of that?” Robby asked, amused, and Jack fumed from the grin he could hear through the phone. With Jack’s silence, he knew he wasn’t in the mood for jabs and jokes. This was serious.
Robby sighed, “Jack, she just got done working a holiday shift. She will probably barely notice how nervous you are. No more than she usually does, at least.”
“Not helpful.” Jack gritted through clenched teeth.
“I’m just saying.” Robby chuckled, his microphone picking up the slight breeze of the wind outside the ambulance bay. Jack was cringing every time it obscured Robby’s voice. “The girl is as oblivious as you. I’m honestly surprised you just found out she can exist in a reality greater than just your friend.”
Jack stared at the mirror hanging on his closet door. He never used it, but he was glad he had it now. He had put on a black polo shirt, fixing the collar flaps down. His hands absentmindedly brushed the fabric. “I didn’t think she saw me as anything but a friend.”
“Oh, yeah? What made you change your mind?” Robby snorted, seemingly amused, but he did notice the dissonance in his friend's voice. He had succumbed to his internal monologue again.
All Jack had been thinking about was the sudden disconnect he felt. He had an idea set up in his mind. He could want you close to him all he wanted, but that was about as far as that could go. He could never pass the invisible lines written in the sand for the sake of not ruining what was so perfect. Why couldn’t he be content with what he had?
He might’ve convinced himself it was possible, with some time and space; but after talking with Shen, his walls came crumbling down. The blue light of messages kept him awake. The words he memorized turned repeatedly as if he were decrypting a message.
You 1:26 am
All I can think about is Jack. Does that make me crazy?
Shen 1:29 am
Have you thought that maybe you consider him more than just a friend?
You 1:32 am
Of course, I have.
Shen 1:37
And, what are your thoughts on that?
You 1:51 am
Maybe that is why it hurts me to hear him hurting without me.
Maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about seeing him again.
God, the squeezing in his chest never went away after that. Albeit you were slightly intoxicated from the previous messages he read, there had to be some truth to that. Jack would never downright say he was miserable by the end of August, but Shen and everyone else had noticed.
“Consider this my starting early on my New Year’s resolution.” Jack groaned as he stretched his arms in the shirt. If it wasn’t his abdominal region, it was his arms. He was typically all right with his figure, but suddenly all his flaws were blaring at him.
“I didn’t think you still believed in that.” Robby teased, and Jack continued looking through the clothes in his closet, the hangers scraping against the wooden dowel. “Is that your therapist doing or are you suddenly hopeful?”
Jack was starting to go nuts over the simple act of putting on clothes. Why did it have to be so difficult? He kept flipping through the same couple of shirt sleeve buttons he kept. He was sure he had donated them a couple of years ago.
Before he knew it, the doorbell rang. He instinctively checked the time on his watch. It had been almost half an hour since you said you were home, freshening up before heading to his place. He had been so overworked about what to wear that he let time pass him by. He felt like the biggest idiot now.
Jack rushed to his phone, checking for any new messages from you. “I’ve got to go,”
“Don’t forget to use protection,” Robby advised with the biggest self-satisfaction in himself.
Jack didn’t entertain Robby, scowling as he hung up the call. When he reached the threshold of his bedroom, he suddenly felt winded. Why was he like this? He had hung out with you casually before. He always felt comfortable being with you, even in the silence of his or your living room. He should be able to act normally or pretend to at least.
Shaking himself out, he walked over to his front door, head bowed as he whispered affirmations to himself. When approaching his entryway, he put on the most charming smile he could, opening the oak door wide.
You stood there, handbag hanging on your shoulder and a tray of coffees in your hand. He had seen you in casual clothing, and despite most of your outfit being obscured by your coat, he was left more breathless than usual. The red blouse peeking through suited the holiday season with dark blue washed jeans cinching the lower half of your body. Your hair was pinned back from your face, and he couldn't help but notice the rosiness on your cheeks.
With a bright smile, you held the tray up lightly, capturing his attention. “I’m sorry if I’m late. I had to stop by for coffee.”
Jack grabbed the tray immediately, stepping aside to let you in. There was no need to be formal. You had a key to his place for emergency purposes, but something felt different this Christmas. With an easy smile, he led the way to his kitchen. “It’s okay. You could’ve let yourself in, by the way.”
He heard your small laugh behind him, and he couldn't resist looking back over his shoulder. “I usually use the doorbell.”
Placing the coffee on the counters, he read the inscriptions on the side of the cup, recognizing the simpler order as his. You typically added syrups or sweeteners that appealed to your palate. He carefully removed your cup, placing it down. “How did last night go?”
You sighed, a typical sign that told him you would rather not relive it. You tugged off your coat, tossing it on the chair beside you with your bag. “It wasn’t entirely horrible, but I refused to wish another person a ‘Merry Christmas.’”
Chuckling lightly, he sipped his coffee appreciatively. With your coat off, he could also admire how your blouse hugs your body perfectly. He knew you had an affinity for the color, and he had to admit it did look good on you. “You didn’t have to come. I know you must be tired.”
“Jack, I’ve had this in my calendar since I got back. I knew I was working a holiday shift.” You furrowed your brows, shaking your head at his comment. Cradling the warm cup in your hand, you briefly sipped it before putting it down. “Plus, I want to be here.”
Jack felt strings tugging at his heart. He pushed for a Christmas breakfast, mostly because that was the tradition you two had grown most accustomed to. Working on the night shift made it hard to adjust to dinners or late outings in the city. Breakfast had become an intimate replacement for such occasions.
Leaning onto the island, he nodded softly. His smile must have eased you enough as he saw you relax in his home, as it had all the times before. He turned over to his refrigerator, busying his hands to pull out groceries. “Well, this isn’t entirely a grandiose Christmas feast, but I can make some decent waffles.”
“At this point, I’d take a wet sandwich if you gave it to me.” Your voice rang behind him.
Jack set the packs of bacon on the counter, biting his lip to hold back the laugh threatening to escape him. “Hopefully, this satisfies you more than a protein shake.”
The refrigerator doors closed with a soft thump. Jack wiped his hands together, walking around the kitchen to grab plates and pans. You sat silently, drinking coffee. It wasn't until Jack grabbed the big mixing bowl, placing it down on the island, that he saw you staring at his midsection skeptically. “Is that a new shirt?”
Jack stared down at the shirt, hands extended a bit. He regretted leaving the thing on. “I’ve had this old thing in my closet during my golf phase that died quicker than my tennis phase.”
Which might be dethroned by his inability to engage in normal conversation with a coworker he definitely hasn't been pinning years over, he thought. Glancing between his shirt and your face, he grimaced. “It looks weird, right?”
“No, nothing like that.” You shook your head, rolling your shoulders back. You drank up his appearance with your eyes. When they stopped on his face, you scrunched your nose, letting out a nervous laugh. “I actually like it. Makes me feel a bit under dressed.”
“You could never look bad.” Jack instinctively rebutted. He scoffed at the idea.
With all your youth and energy, it was hard to look unattractive. Whether it was the cute blouses, scrubs, or PPE, you never seemed to miss. Whatever the occasion, Jack found no moment of yours ugly. If anything, he thought you became prettier with each day. Somehow, the stress of your career hasn't affected your physical appearance. Youthful and flawless skin never went unnoticed by him.
“You’re kidding, right?” You questioned, intensely watching him as he immediately started putting ingredients into a bowl with the familiarity of a recipe in his mind. Your palms lay flat on the island, completely baffled by the comment. “By the end of some shifts, it feels like I fought half the patients I treated.”
“Wrong. I’m pretty sure half of them flirted with you or asked you out to dinner.” Jack pointed out with a knowing look in your direction. He paused, reconsidering his steps before grabbing the whisk. “Minus the kids. Their dads make up for that.”
Jack would need two hands to count all the interactions he’s witnessed or heard you recount about some patient making a move. It didn't matter to them whether they were inebriated or disoriented–if he could talk, he would try. Jack almost restrained a patient when he saw him attempt to move his hands towards your arms.
“Don’t remind me.” You groaned, rolling your head back. He briefly stuttered in his movements. Alarmed by your choice of words, he watched you from the corner of his eye. “I had a single father come in after surprising his son as Santa Claus led to a contusion to the head. I’m still debating if the entire cheesy pickup line was the concussion or his usual technique.”
From the small quirk of your lip, Jack played it cool, laughing a bit to sell it. You shrugged, “I feel bad for anyone else he’s flirted with.”
“He didn’t try anything more?” Jack casually asked, bringing the bowl to the counter behind him. He had already heated the custom waffle skillet on the stove. This gave him the perfect excuse to hide the tension in his jaw.
“Thankfully not.” You responded, unbeknownst to the relief it brought him. That didn’t totally clear the guy from earning a glare from Jack if the two ever met. “He was pretty out of it. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been too hard to disengage.”
Jack cocked his head to the side, focused on pouring the perfect amount of batter on the skillet. There was a small sizzling sound as he clamped the sides together. “Still. Better safe than sorry.”
“Calm down, Dr Abbot.” You teased, entirely aware of his assertive protective nature. If only you knew why. Jack rolled his eyes as you threw the title in his face. Honestly, he savored the way it rolled off your tongue. “No need to get all worked up about it.”
The small screeching of the chair alerted him. He turned around, eyebrows shot up as his eyes tracked you moving over to his side. You went straight for the carton of eggs, moving it onto the island. “What are you doing?”
“Helping?” You punctuated, motioning your hands in the direction of the eggs.
“Sit down.” Jack directed, firmly but with the utmost respect. His body was facing you, arms crossed, with his head tucked down. “You just got off working a holiday shift, plus you’re making me look like a bad host.”
“Jack, there’s no one else here.” You playfully turned around, eyes narrowed as you looked around the rest of the space. When you saw the crack of a smile, you reached over to one of the cupboards, grabbing a bowl to mix the eggs in. “And at this rate, we’ll be having this breakfast on New Year’s.”
Jack mockingly mimicked your laugh, returning his attention to the waffles. Once the two of you built a rhythm similar to that the two of you fell into when in the Pitt, Jack almost admitted out loud how easy it was for the two of you. Both your bodies recognized that of the other, enough so to gracefully maneuver around to work in the same space like two figure skaters.
He had realized then that he could live a life like this. The two of you, coming home from a shift, doing something as domestic as making breakfast or having coffee. Even without living in the same residence, there were bits of the place where your presence or scent lingered. In the midst of your cooking session, you had turned on a random holiday playlist, humming to every note and beat.
Jack had embarrassingly become distracted enough to almost burn through half the waffles he made.
When you sat at his kitchen island, talking and laughing over the perfect American breakfast, Jack couldn’t imagine spending any other holiday morning differently. He stared at your face, basking in the warmth of the kitchen and the scent of batter and grease like you were always meant to be in his life.
The sound of your laughter cut through his current daydream of replicating this moment in the near future. You shook your head, helping the soft waffle go down your throat with your coffee. “That reminds me of the time we took my brother to the hospital after he chased down our dog five blocks away. "
“Before he knew it, Scout was turning directions and wiping him off his feet. Dislocated his shoulder and scraped most of the left side of his body holding on to his tail.” You brushed the tears of joy slipping from the corner of your eyes.
Jack coughed lightly, trying not to choke on the food he was in the midst of eating. Leaning your body onto the counter, you sat closer to him. Positioning your knees in his direction, he felt the brush of the denim material against his legs. “I just got hold of the Christmas photos we took that year with half his face swollen. Immediately displayed it on the fridge.”
“About that, how’s that coming along?” Jack asked, pushing around the leftover egg on his plate.
You hummed, hands folded on your lap. “I’ve gone through most of the photos I took back home, plus whatever I brought back with me.”
“You still have space for more?”
With the curious tone in his voice, you raised your brows at him, silently questioning his intention. Jack bit his lip, nervously glancing down at the ground. “Don’t move.”
He couldn’t wait to slip off the stool, disappearing deeper into his house. You spun around, staring at the hallway he disappeared into. “Jack, where are you going?”
“Just stay there!” Jack called out. Even from a distance, you couldn’t miss the sound of his proud chuckle. You rolled your eyes, ear perked in the direction of the hallway; you even attempted to quiet your breathing to hear him better.
It took about five minutes for you to hear the thumping of Jack’s footsteps approaching you again. You sat up straight, waiting with eagerness as to what could make him so secretive as to hide something behind his back. Deeply knitted eyebrows, you pursed your lips. “You’re going to make me feel bad if you're about to hand me a present.”
“Then don’t,” Jack shrugged his shoulders as he stood at the edge of the counter. He maintained his hand behind his back.
You glared at him playfully, shaking your head. “Not cool, Jack. We agreed on no presents.”
“I never said this was a present.”
“Jack–”
Jack held out one hand, still hiding the item behind his manly stature. “This is just me contributing to your New Year’s resolution.”
With that, you remained quiet, possibly more confused and intrigued than before. Jack waited for a beat, mostly to control the unsteady rhythm of his heart. He was shivering with anticipation, but the overwhelming brewing of his stomach was overpowering everything else.
Slowly and calculated, Jack brought his one hand in front of him. Staring down, you gawked at the black, instant camera in his hand. You recognized the device as a similar one you borrowed from a cousin. In his hand, it looked considerably smaller. You marveled at the modern and new device, at how shiny it still looked.
Jack watched every emotion hit you at once. When you looked back up at him, the softness in your eye that led to the small squint had his heart palpitating in ways he’d never undergone. He held it out to you, putting on his most charming grin to hide his anxiety. “Okay, so it’s a present, but it’s a practical one. It hardly counts.”
“Right.” You dragged out, playfully nodding along to his words.
He noticed the hesitancy in your movements, hands resting on the islands while your fingers gripped onto each other. His soft nod brought you assurance. This was for you, unapologetically. Jack only let go once it was in your grasp, letting you play with the weight and examine all its attributes. From the lens at the front of the camera to back where you peeked through the viewfinder.
“Thought it’d make it easier to add photos to your collage.”
The vulnerability in his voice made your lip quiver. You had been given gifts before, especially from Jack; but something about the significance of this gift hit the depths of your heart more. He knew of your personal mission and made it his own to see it through with you. He didn’t need to be asked, because he’d be the first to volunteer each time.
“I appreciate it.” You said softly, holding it with greater reverence.
At this moment, he was sure Mrs. Morris walking into that hospital in June was divine intervention. Maybe there was still a greater authority looking out for him to place you in his path.
When he had thought all hope was lost for him as a fifty-year-old widow, traumatised by the sight of combat and grief, the last thing he would have expected was the ability to feel something tumultuous to combat it. So when you gushed over the camera, pleading to take a photo to add to your growing public collection, Jack felt the conviction that there was no time to waste on being afraid of love (if the continuous thumping of his heart was telling him anything of that sort).
Jack had to learn to conquer his appetency for this life, and now, nothing more stood in his way.
There was nothing more ruinous than fireworks and booze. If the ER had taught you anything, it was that every holiday was one more lesson of what you should stay away from. Not that every day didn’t teach you some new, inventive way civilians were finding ways to spend over six hours in a waiting room, or being escorted on the back of an ambulance; but New Year's offered a newer and stranger perspective on that idea.
It wasn’t even midnight yet, and you had lost count of the firework-related incidents to come into the Pitt. It didn’t help that some of them included blown-off fingers or third-degree burns to the face—children and adults.
You leaned over the gurney where a scared, African-American boy lay back, wide-eyed and shivering under the trauma room lights. He stared at you with a profound trust that came from your constant reassurance as you and the rest of the ER staff, including the surgery evaluated his fingers. “You are in great hands with Dr. Walsh. She seems tough, but she is all gooey inside.”
“Don't ruin my reputation,” Dr. Walsh announced from the other side, giving you a sideways look. The boy’s head turned to Walsh, who sighed as she saw the sweaty, nervous mess he was. She pressed her lips in a firm, yet soft smile. “But, you should trust her. She has a knack for always being right.”
“That's true.” You affirmed, hands pulling up the bed rails, locking them firmly.
The boy threw his head back, relaxing his breathing as he stared at the ceiling. You watched as they wheeled him through the double doors to the elevator. Walsh stood back, letting the nurse and the boys parents go through first with the patient. She crossed her arms, standing beside you. “You know, I was hoping by midnight you night crawlers wouldn’t send me a case.”
“Why? Looking forward to seeing the fireworks?” You questioned, hands crossed behind your back. You leaned back and forth on the balls of your feet, alleviating pressure.
Walsh shrugged, heading in the direction of the double doors to tail behind the patient. “So much for that.”
You chuckled under your breath, turning promptly to walk out the opposite doors. The Pitt continued moving around you, hustling through the holiday shift. After pumping hand sanitizer, rubbing your hands in circular motions, you peeked at your watch.
Only a quarter till midnight.
If you had any desire to celebrate the New Year with alcohol and glittery outfits, you would have taken Jack’s suggestion to take the night off. Sometimes, you miss having the energy just to say you had fun outside work, but you felt a greater need to be at the hospital.
Fireworks didn’t just bring physical harm to the bodies of users; it also afflicted the minds of those previously scarred. Jack hadn’t been in the active military in years. That didn’t mean he had never thought of his service since then.
He had worked on the nightmares and the guilt of what he brought home from his deployments. He and his therapist monitored his progression, and he was making great strides in that department–but there were some things that he couldn’t forget.
Jack had offhandedly admitted that he worked the night shift to avoid having night terrors. If he slept through the day while remembering all the awful things, maybe it would be easier to ask and receive help. It also meant he would be in a safe place if an episode occurred.
When he recounted all the testimony fellow veterans gave in support groups when he was recently discharged, what stuck with him was their experiences assimilating into civilian life. He had happened to join during the Fourth of July season, and everyone had a story about the fireworks.
Waking up in cold sweats or shivering in the corner of their bedrooms, awaiting a response from an enemy they would’ve encountered in the Middle East. Jack didn’t know what to expect. So, when he resorted to staying up as late as he could on his couch–accidentally dozing off to sleep–the last thing he expected was rolling off, dragging himself across the floor.
Looking down at his recently amputated leg, he was back in the combat zone, searching, and scanning for help. The silent plea in his eyes and the unforgettable stench and stickiness of blood and grime never went away. His wife had awoken with the thud of a body hitting the ground from their room, and when she rushed out to find him, he army crawled six feet towards the doorway.
Jack remembered sitting on the ground, pleading for her to forgive him. For being a burden–a mess of a man who didn’t see a future where he wasn't affected by it all. She never made him feel lesser for it, but he never forgave himself for dragging the weight of it home to her.
You walked over to Lena, standing at the nursing station, speaking with Vivi. With a bright smile, you clapped your hands. “Is it bad luck to say I feel good for the New Year?”
Lena chuckled, giving you a lopsided smile. Her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose had her looking at you over the rims. “Not if you share it with the rest of us. I think I saw Dr. Ellis dragging her feet around here somewhere.”
“She’s always miserable when she has to work a holiday shift.” You pointed out, stuffing your hands in your scrub pants.
“Who isn’t?” Lena scoffed, gently dismissing Vivi as she approached one of the workstations. Her fingers tapped the keyboard with efficiency. “Minus you and Jack, I suppose. I will say, he’s a lot chipper than I thought he’d be.”
“Speaking of Jack, have you seen him?” You asked, instantaneously looking around the department floor for any signs of life. The last time you saw him, he was working with a patient presenting symptoms of alcohol poisoning.
Lena hummed, “Have no clue, honey.”
You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking long and hard about where Jack could’ve disappeared to. Your silence must have been deafening for Lena to halt her task and look at you with concern. “Did you need him for something?”
Shaking your head, you let out a tired sigh. “Nothing like that. I was mostly hoping there’d be an attending to cover so I could sneak to the rooftop for a better view of the fireworks.”
The corner of her mouth quirked higher, and you couldn't help but feel she had something up her sleeve. She nodded her head, “Go ahead. We should be able to survive for a few minutes.”
With a giddy smile and without wasting time, you brushed past the nursing station, attempting to keep your head down and draw little attention to yourself. As you made your way to the staircase that led to the rooftop access, you couldn't stop yourself from peeking in patient rooms for any signs of Jack’s gray curls or burly muscles.
When you passed through the double doors, you immediately pulled out your phone from your pocket. You opened Jack’s contact, simultaneously typing while jogging up the stairs.
You 11:49 pm
Where are you?
The blue bubble stared at you as you continued staring down at your phone. You weren’t overtly worried, but considering he hadn’t even mentioned needing to step away, it did give cause for alarm.
Your grip held onto your phone as you made your way into the maintenance staircase, much dimmer and gloomier composited to the wide grand staircase. When you checked the time, you saw the message come through.
Jack 11:53 pm
Waiting for you.
What did he mean by that? You pushed through the rooftop access door, letting the cold air hit your face. Your hands went to your under top, adjusting the gray sleeves lower. When you turned to where the guardrails were at the edge of the roof, you saw the back of a black scrub top, leaning over the metal railing.
The sight you released was the anxiety escaping you all at once. You pocketed your phone, approaching Jack as he kept his head pointed forward. Right as you were settling beside him, the boom of a firework set out, red and blue sparks illuminating the dark sky.
Without looking, you sensed the small jump that came from Jack. His body jolted from the sound and the slight scare. You apologetically smiled, hands in your pockets, turning from side to side lazily. “I guess I wasn’t the only one who thought of catching a private seat to the fireworks.”
“We think too much alike.” You joked, watching Jack shake his head at the suggestion.
“Don’t let Robby hear that.” He warned playfully, stretching up to his full height. He let one hand grip the metal tube, leaning some of his weight onto the limp.
You shrugged, watching another firework shoot up into the air. This time it was purple and the sparks glittered for a moment longer than the one before. “He wouldn’t be wrong.”
“That’s the problem,” Jack chuckled, cocking his head to one side. He tried to contain his breathing. As the silent night air was the only thing you two could hear in-between scattered fireworks.
He knew you would safely assume it was from the uneasiness of the loud explosions. Each one was different in proximity or sound and to a certain extent, a bit of it was. He couldn’t exactly hide the small flinches from those particularly louder shots, but really, he was trying not to panic about being alone on a rooftop with you.
It was almost romantic. Two ER attendings admiring the sight while waiting for the new year to ring in at midnight. One of them hopelessly pining after the other. Jack wouldn’t mind it whatsoever if the guilt of wanting to do something so selfishly weren’t eating him alive.
He had thought repeatedly all the extravagant ways to profess his undeniable feelings towards you. It felt like every chance he should’ve, he had chickened out and let it continue simmering in his stomach. It was a pot reaching its boiling point, simmering over in a point of no return. He knew if he wanted things to change or a chance to explore the opportunity, he needed to do it now.
He saw you glance down at your watch, bouncing with the excitement of a child awaiting the fireworks. You spared him an excited smile, “Less than five minutes till midnight.”
The sparkle in your eye had him hunching over, as he laughed, suddenly too giggly and impaired without alcohol. “So, how are you feeling about the new year?”
Your hands rubbed against one another, preserving warmth, as the temperature settled at its lowest for the night. You dramatically thought, pursing your lips. “I think there’s a lot waiting for me that I don’t know about, but I feel perfect where I am now.”
“Yeah?” Jack whispered his voice breathy as he continued drinking up your entire face. The chilly air brought color to the apple of your cheeks and he felt the same rosiness swimming over his textured skin.
You nodded with a confident assurance without uttering a word. If the person you were a year ago could see you now, he’d hope she’d be proud of what you’ve become. He was beyond amazed by the change. It was inspiring and just one more thing to adore about you.
“How about you? Anything you’re looking forward to?” You casually posed the question, opening your stance so your foot stood closer to him.
A small wave of fireworks burst in the air and Jack couldn’t help it. The solid minute of sparks flying reflected the current emotions in his chest and gut. The unflinching eye contact would intimidate everyone else, but you basked in his undivided attention. He knocked his knuckles against the railing, still combating his decision. This was now or never.
Jack nervously laughed, finally tearing his attention away, subtly shuffling closer. “Making good on my resolutions for once.”
“What’s that?” You pushed a teasing smirk on your face.
“To stop pretending I’m not in love with my coworker.”
The beating of his heart stopped for a moment. The shaky breath he let out almost felt like his last as he expectantly looked at her with a shy smile. His lips trembled from the nerves along with the rest of his body. His sweaty palm grasped the railing with all the might to hold him up.
Your wide eyes stared back at him, mouth slightly agape. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat. When another minute passed with your silence, eyes searching him for any sign of deception, dread began to fill the depths of his chest. Was this all a mistake? If so, was there still enough time for him to play it off and take it back.
Jack shut his eyes, refusing to see rejection in your eyes. He turned his head away, immediately preparing to retract himself. “Sorry, that was—“
“Jack,”
“I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Jack rambled, barely registering your voice that called out his name. His hands landed on his hips, squaring his muscles to put on a brave face.
“Jack.”
The volume of your voice finally cut through his bustling, self-absorbed breakdown. He tightened his mouth, his nose flaring as he breathed heavily. You looked up at him, an endearing softness in your eyes. Your hands instinctively went to his biceps, holding him in place. The firmness of your hold grounded Jack and forced him to look down at you, the faint ghost of your breath tickling his face.
Your laugh rang beautifully in his ears. His eyes fluttered as you shook your head, “It’s almost midnight.”
Jack nodded, engrossed with the proximity of your lips to his. He realized that you were inching closer, one of your hands crawling up to cradle the back of his neck. “Traditionally, you’re supposed to kiss someone you love once the clock hits twelve.”
“Is that so?” Jack breathed against your face, his hands enveloping your waist with practiced ease. His nerves were more alive than the fireworks shooting into the sky. The electrical shocks shooting up to his heart didn’t compare to the impression of your body heating radiating off on him.
The silent nod gave him the surge of courage he needed, and when the combustion of fireworks lit up the city sky to celebrate a new phase in life, Jack celebrated by pressing his lips firmly into yours. The soft plumpness of your lips kissing him rid his mind of any hesitations and doubts. The reverence in your hands shifted to the back of his head, fingers weaving into his curls.
It was more than he could ask for. You didn’t mind his slightly cracked lips, which could easily be resolved with the leftover moisture of your own. With your head slightly tilted, both your breaths mixed with one another. The intoxication was more than what any drug or alshool could provide.
In seconds, the sweetness was overpowered by the hunger of the years Jack spent pining and waiting for his chance. Fate had been a concept he foolishly gave in to. Now, the few times he fought the ideas, it worked out in his favor and led him to you. Jack felt his body advancing in your direction, your neck craning back as the kiss grew hurried and sloppier. He could never grow tired of the sensation of your lips searing into his.
Even in his daydream, he felt the tapping of your hand on his shoulder, your stifled giggles halted by the desire to never stop kissing you. Reluctantly, Jack pulled away, allowing you both a moment to catch your breath. Your head fell onto his chest, laughing into his scrubs with an ecstasy neither of you could describe but shared.
“Sorry,” Jack blurted into your hair, sniffing the aroma of your shampoo. His hands rubbed up and down the length of your spine, bringing you impossibly closer to him.
“Don’t be.” You whispered back, gently peeling yourself off him; you looked up with glossy eyes. Adoration. Safety. Love. Your hands gripping the front of his scrub stayed there, possessively owning him even on the privacy of the rooftop. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to do that.”
Jack chuckled, amused with the brightest smile on his face. “You and everyone else it seems, sweetheart.”
“You know there's been another betting pool since early November.” You looked at him with a mischievous grin.
Jack groaned playfully as he swayed with you a bit. He felt the shiver from under your scrub top, attempting to bring up your body temperature with his large hands. “I don’t care. Everyone knew before us anyway.”
You stood on your toes, briefly kissing his lips. He could never forget the sickening fluffiness of you in his arms, especially if he’ll be able to bask in this from here on out. “Never change, Dr. Abbot.”
The colors illuminated the sides of each other's faces, hues of red, blue, and purples. The technicolor emotions exploding within yourselves were vibrant in the way stars light up the sky. In the silence, Jack couldn't have picked a better occasion to finally let it all out. The truth set the parts of himself he banished as a future impossible for a man like him. Yet, with you unabashedly exuberant, the truth found a home to settle in. Where you both were loved, needed, and wanted.
bonus scene:
Trinity hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. With the exhaustion dragging her body down, the bag was another pound of unnecessary weight that she’d eventually drag out the Pitt on the floor if it kept slipping. She ran her hands through her hair, alleviating the soreness from the previously unkempt hairdo.
She peeked at her lock screen, screening the notification she had received in the past three hours she needed to respond to. Emails, bills, and messages from Whitaker about dinner. Swiping up, she moved as quickly as her tired fingers would let her. Maybe they could have that Thai place they tried the previous weekend.
As she was approaching the ambulance bay, she happened to glance inside Ahmad’s office. From the doorway, she caught a look at the collection of colorful post-it notes hidden under papers of evacuation plans and emergency protocols. The betting pool had managed to survive till after the Christmas and New Year holiday.
Stopping abruptly, she leaned her head in, noticing Ahmad typing something on his phone. “Hey, nothing yet?”
Ahmad lifted his head, following her gaze to the direction she nodded her head to. He tsked, lips pressed in a firm line. “No one can get a thing out of those two. The pot has reached over six hundred dollars already.”
Santos rolled her eyes, “I bet Robby knows something. He probably won’t say anything so he can earn a bigger keep.”
“Keep for what?”
Santos jumped back, hand gripping onto the door frame as she stared wide-eyed at Jack. With the biggest grin on his face, he stared humorously between Trinity and Ahmad. Trinity opened her mouth before shutting it just as quick. She watched Ahmad through the glass who was standing awkwardly in place.
“What are you two going on about?” Jack pushed, hands stuffed in his pocket. The smug look on his face was off-putting for Trinity, like she was too exposed without having to say a word.
Trinity debated being honest, maybe then they all could have some closure as to where you and Jack stood. Mostly, she wanted to win so she could buy dinner and beers for the night. Right as she made up her mind, Jack slipped into the security office. “I know about the betting pool.”
Ahmad took a step aside, watching Jack leaned forward curiously to take a peek at all the guesses. Who confessed first, how long until the rest find out, and when were all noted down in various handwriting along with the monetary additions they made.
Jack snickered under his breath as he read some of them. Trinity, peeking her head, casted Ahmad a puzzled look. He shook his head, lifting his hands in retaliation. Trinity sighed, “Yeah, we made bets on your love life.”
“Since you’re here, anything you’d like to share with the class?” The question came out boldly, but if she could resolve all their desperate anticipation before she left, the better.
“Dr. Santos, has anyone ever told you how brazen you are?” Jack teased, casting her a look over his shoulder.
She incessantly tapped her foot, watching carefully as he picked some of the guesses and tossed them onto Ahmad’s desk. Trinity watched his reaction to gauge who had a greater probability of winning. It was cruel watching him rip them off the board one by one.
She noticed Jack’s fingers hover over the purple post-it she was sure was hers. Gnawing at the inside of her cheek, she felt the pit of her stomach open as his finger moved over to the light red post-it right beside it. He held it close, examining the excellent penmanship, before smiling to himself.
He turned to Ahmad, holding it up for him to read. “Looks like you got yourself a winner.”
Ahmad took the paper in his own hands, reading the winning guest. Instantaneously, Trinity watched as a defeated look painted his face. Ahmad confirmed with Jack one more time, doubtful of what he was reading. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Trinity questioned, already aware she blew sixty dollars on her punitive guess of a Christmas confession with lots of sickening love.
Ahmad’s hands fell to his side, begrudgingly approaching a locked cabinet. He moved efficiently with the key, pulling out an envelope. Jack was the first to walk out the office, and when Ahmad followed his eyes scanned the Pitt from where he stood.
Trinity tried to make out what she could from the back of the thin paper that Ahmad still held in his hand. Too busy to notice, You were walking from out of the trauma room, rubbing the sanitizer in your hands. Trinity interest was piqued when Ahmad called you over. No way.
You stared skeptically between the intern, security guard, and Jack, who seemed the most pleased of the bunch. Hesitant steps, you laughed awkwardly. “This feels like an ambush.”
Without any explanation, Ahmed held the envelope in your direction. “I’ll send you the other two hundred later.”
When the realization hit, you grinned, sparing Jack a look as you stopped in front of him. With the money in your hands, you ran your thumb through the stack, skimming through to roughly count the bills.
Before Ahmad could wallow in his office, she snatched the paper. Her eyes read over the guess and she should have known from the red stationary.
Jack. New Years. 2 weeks. $150.
Trinity scoffed, lifting her head to catch you already staring at her. “Isn’t this considered an unfair advantage?”
You shrugged, eyeing her and the paper in her hand. “I made that bet once the pool opened. I had no idea it would play out exactly as I predicted.”
Sparing her dignity, she simply nodded in your direction before turning around in her heels and aiming straight for the ambulance bay. The two of you watched as she tossed the paper in the nearby trashcan.
You stifled a laugh, turning to Jack and waving the envelope triumphantly. “Looks like I’m buying breakfast.”
Shamelessly, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, dragging you away. Tucked into side, almost. united as one body, Jack placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “This is why I love you.”
Summary: Welp.. like the title said, a girl who's hungry for her hunk of an older boyfriend.
Warnings: sexual content ahead, daddy kink, age-gap relationship.
A/N: Lowkey the first time that my smut writing has been this in depth, feeling kind of nervous about it lol.
Anyways.. feedback is always welcome :).
If you have any one-shot ideas or fantasies about Jack Abbot that you want written out, let me know. Always down to make your delusions come true ;).
Hope you enjoy!! <3
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The delicious smell leaving the kitchen is drawing you in, checking up on Jack who’s making you dinner.
Coming to a halt in the door opening, you spot your boyfriend standing behind the stove. He’s stirring in a pot, the muscles in his back flexing as he does. You always find it extremely attractive whenever he takes care of you, like when he cooks you a meal, but now he’s doing it shirtless and oh.. it makes the whole scenario about ten times hotter.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Jack says after taking notice of you standing there. “Making your favorite, pasta bolognese.”
“Oh.. I’m hungry alright.” you tell him, eyes taking in his broad form before resting on his big biceps.
You’re ovulating.. which means it makes you absolutely feral. It’s not like you normally have a low sex drive, you and Jack are fucking nearly every day. However, when you’re ovulating.. you become even more horny then you usually are.
“Don’t give me that look,” Jack tells you, whipping the kitchen towel over his shoulder before grabbing his crutch that was resting against the counter. He leans on it as he turns his body a little to face you more. “Put those ‘fuck me’ eyes away.”
“Why?” you pout slightly, taking some steps forwards.
“This morning wasn’t enough for you?” Jack asks, referring to the two hours you spend messing around in bed before getting up.
“No,” you tell him, the way he’s standing there with his broad chest and shoulders on display is not helping your case. “You know m’ovulating. I can’t help it.”
A chuckle escapes Jack as he shakes his head softly at your words. Don’t get him wrong, he loves whenever you’re ovulating, it turns you feral and there’s nothing he enjoys more than taming you. “I made food, sweetheart. Can’t let it go to waste.”
“It won’t go to waste.” you are quick to say. “You can finish making the sauce, then we can reheat it later while boiling the pasta.” you explain.
“Are you serious right now?” Jack cocks a brow. “Can’t wait till after dinner?”
“No,” you take some steps forward, which closes the space between you and him completely. “S’your fault.. shouldn’t be looking this good,” you mutter as your hands roam up his arms and rest on his shoulders.
Jack lets out a soft sigh, looking down in your eyes as he takes hold of your chin. “You’re something else.. y’know that?” he tips your head back some more. “Gonna be the death of me.”
“Why’s that?” you tilt your head a bit to the side. “Because you’re an old man?”
“Oh?” Jack moves his hand lower, wrapping his fingers around your neck. “I’m an old man, now?”
“Uh-hu,” you give him a teasing nod. “One that can’t keep up with a young thing like me."
Jack lets out a bitter laugh, you know just what to say to drive him crazy. It makes his fingers tighten their grip on your neck a little. “Enough.” he says. “Go to our room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
An excited giggle leaves you before you rush out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. You can’t help yourself with teasing Jack, it’s just so fun to rile him up. Also, he fucks you even better whenever he’s slightly agitated by your teasing.
Anticipation is filling up your body as you lay yourself down on the bed. You’ve taken off the oversized shirt of his you were wearing, leaving you bare chested. There’s just a black thong that’s still covering you.
Jack moves into the room, he doesn’t like wearing his prosthetic around the house so he usually moves around on his crutches. The sight of you laying on the bed is going straight to his cock, the desire he feels for you almost unbearable.
“Old man, huh?” Jack lets his crutches drop to the ground as soon as he has reached the bed. He takes hold of your legs before pulling you closer to the edge. “I’ll show you old..”
He’s quick to curl his fingers around the lining of your panties, pulling them down in a swift motion and discarding them on the floor. Jack lets his eyes trace over your body in awe, sometimes he still doesn’t believe how someone as beautiful as you could want a man like him.
“God.. you’re fucking perfect,” he mutters,
Those words, spoken out in that husky voice, go straight to your core. You can feel the ache for him grow between your legs, it makes you bite down on your lip as you look up at him.
“You need me, baby?” Jack asks you, leaning down some so he could be closer to you.
“Yeah..” a soft nod leaves you. When he gets close enough, you place a hand on his cheek and pull him into a kiss.
A hum escapes Jack as he feels his lips on yours, his eyes flutter close and he’s quick to kiss you back. At first, it’s tender.. but it’s quick to turn more passionate as the desire takes over. His tongue is playing a dangerous game with yours, taking in the way you taste.
Jack is the first to pull back, looking into your eyes as his hand moves up to cradle your face. “M’gonna fuck you so good.” he tells you, voice hushed, the feeling of his breath against your skin makes you shiver.
“Please-” a whine leaves you, making a smirk tug on his lips.
“You need it that bad, sweet girl?” Jack asks you, thumb grazing over your bottom lip.
“Uh-hu..” you nod at him, the ache for him pooling between your legs.
“Show me how bad.” Jack tells you.
Your lips part and you’re quick to take two of his fingers in your mouth, your tongue roaming around his digits before sucking down. Jack mutters a soft curse under his breath, the feeling mixed with the sight of how needy you are is making his cock only harder for you.
“You’re so filthy for it, aren’t you?” he says after seeing you coating his fingers in spit before sucking down on them again.
The nod of your head is not the reaction Jack wants out of you. “Use your words, baby.”
“Yes..”
“Yes, who?” Jack guides you to the answer he wants to hear.
“Yes, daddy.” you tell him, looking into his eyes.
God.. he loves it whenever you call him that. It’s something he didn’t know he was into until you came along. The first time you called him that while he was making you come, changed the entire way the two of you would dirty talk from then on.
“Atta girl,” he moves a hand down and fondles your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers which causes you to whimper out.
Jack lets his hands roam down your body, the feeling of his calloused fingertips against your skin turns you on even more. He presses another kiss against your lips before moving his head to leave a trace of kisses down into your neck.
A whimper escapes you at his actions, the feeling of his fingers moving further down combined with his lips on your skin is driving you crazy. Your body feels like it’s on fire with desire for him.
“Jesus.. you’re already dripping wet,” Jack observes as his fingers move down between your thighs. A soft moan escapes you as he touches you where you want it most.
The sight of your back arching before him, a gasp leaving you as he moves two fingers inside of you, it’s beautiful to Jack. You grip onto his arm, grounding yourself as his digits start pumping inside of you.
“Gonna make you come as much as I can.” Jack whispers, moving his head up to peck your lips. “Let’s see how you can keep up.” he mocks your words from earlier.
It doesn’t take long before the first knot starts forming inside your gut, you start squirming beneath his touch and it lets Jack know you’re close. He takes pride in how fast he can make you come, he was literally beaming the first time you told him that no other man had ever made you come that quickly.
Your orgasm ripples through you, a whiny moan escaping while you coat his fingers with your juices.
The look in Jack’s eyes turns darker, the lust nearly all consuming. He lets you ride out your high before removing his fingers, making eye contact as he puts them in his mouth so he can taste you.
“Want you, daddy.” a needy whine leaves you, hands on his arms.
Jack is quick to grab you by your waist, lifting you higher onto the bed. He takes off his sweatpants, letting them fall to the ground together with his boxers before following you, climbing on top. He holds himself up by resting on his elbows, face inching closer. Before going any further, he connects his lips back to yours.
A soft hum leaves you as your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close as the two of you kiss. When you feel his tongue trace your bottom lip, you open up your mouth a little so he could find his way inside. Your tongues are playing a heated game of exploring one another. The way you’re making out is passionate, you can feel his erection straining against your skin and it causes that ache to form back between your thighs.
“Ready for me, baby?” Jack questions, taking hold of his cock so he could brush his tip through your folds.
“Mhmm.. yes,” you nod eagerly, looking into his eyes with nothing other than desire and lust.
The sight of you so worked up is enough for Jack to want to wreck you. However, he holds himself back as he’s planning on teasing you some more. Payback.
A soft whimper leaves you as you feel him trace his cockhead back between your folds, so close to giving you what you want. You hate whenever he teases you, you’re so impatient and especially when you’re in a state like this. Eventhough you hate it, it also turns you on like crazy.
“Beg for it.” Jack tells you, hearing the needy sounds that are escaping you.
“Please..” you say as you look up into his eyes. “Please, daddy.”
“Gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks, flicking his tip against your clit which makes a soft whine leave your lips. “Tell me.”
“Yeah..” you nod at him. “M’gonna be so good, please-”
With one sharp trust, Jack makes his way inside of you. A gasp escapes you as your hands take hold of his shoulders. “Fuck-” your nails dig into his skin as you feel his cock spreading you open.
A soft groan escapes Jack’s lips as he watches you take him, back arching so beautifully for him. He takes hold of your thigh, lifting it up and making you wrap it around his waist. After placing a kiss against your lips, he starts moving his hips and thrusting inside of you.
A moan leaves your lips as he does, hands moving to his back so you could hold onto him. “Mhmm..”
“Yeah.. that feel good, baby?” Jack watches you nod and it makes a feeling of pride grow in his chest, he loves nothing more than pleasing you.
He hits you with deep strokes, his cock gliding through your gooey walls with ease. Jack’s on a mission to make you come at least two more times before he finishes himself. And everybody who knows Abbot, knows he’s determined once he’s set his goal in place.
As soon as you feel his fingers move down to your clit, you know it’s game over. He’s thrusting in and out of you with no mercy, hitting the right spot while his digits stimulate your clit. The moaning escaping you is like music to his ears, god.. he could listen to it forever without growing bored of it.
“Oh yes,” you whimper out, that bubble of pleasure building up inside of you and you know it’s about to burst at any moment.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” Jack moves his fingers faster which only makes you more sensitive, hips bucking up against his movements. “Like that?”
“Fuck yes,” you whine out, spreading your legs some more so Jack can easily keep his hips moving while his fingers work against your senstive nub.
“Come for me,” Jack spurs you on, eyes focused on the expression on your face.
A whine escapes you as your body tightens up, walls clenching around his cock which makes him curse out under his breath. Jack keeps going until you tip over the edge, cries leaving your lips as your body trembles slightly when pleasure flows through it.
“Atta girl,” Jack holds onto your legs as he watches you come down from your high, the blissful look in your eyes causing that sense of pride in him once more.
When he leans down to bring his lips back to yours, you let out a hum and close your eyes. Your lips move against his, kissing him back softly. “Thank you,” you mumble.
“You’re welcome, baby.” Jack smiles before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Ready for one more?”
“Yeah..” you give him a soft nod.
Jack holds onto your legs, moving them up so he could place them over his shoulders. His actions make his cock move deeper inside of you, a whimper leaving you as your nails dig into his shoulders.
After kissing you once more, Jack starts thrusting back inside of you. A moan rolls over your lips as you feel him move deeply. You hold onto his shoulders, grounding yourself as you take every stroke he gives you.
“Mhm.. daddy,” you whimper out. “Feels so good.”
A groan escapes Jack as you call him that, he looks back into your eyes and picks up the pace at which his hips are moving.
The room fills up with the sounds of you moaning out and Jack’s skin slapping against yours. He’s pounding into you, balls deep, hitting the top of your cervix with every thrust. You’re a mess, already sensitive from coming twice so you know it won’t take long before he gets you there again.
“Fuck-” you cry out softly as a shift of his hips makes him hit the spot perfectly. “Right there,”
“Yeah?” his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he holds you still, hitting that spot over and over again.
“Oh my-” your eyes roll to the back of your head as the feeling gets nearly overwhelming.
“You feeling it, sweetheart?” Jack grunts out. “Don’t hold back, want to feel you come on my cock.”
It doesn’t take much longer after that before your body tightens up, so close to getting that intense feeling of pleasure. Jack leans in some more and sucks down onto your nipple, giving that final touch which makes you come undone.
Soft cries fill the room as pleasure bursts inside of you, holding onto him as your body trembles.
“Good girl,” Jack plants a kiss against the side of your head and slows down his strokes. He guides you through the waves of your orgasm that’s slowly washing away.
A trembled breath leaves you as Jack wipes some sweaty strands of hair out of your face, he gives you some time to collect yourself together which is much needed. The way he turns sweet after he makes you come will always melt your heart, his soft touches and kisses make you feel so loved every time.
“Think you can give me one more?” Jack asks as he looks into your eyes, thumb brushing against your jawline.
“I think so,” you give him a nod while smiling which makes him give you a smile back.
“Good.. because this one is going to be intense.” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips before positioning himself again.
You watch as he folds your legs over your head, leaning over and working his hips. His thrusts hit deep, your sensitive core aching as it’s hyper sensitive from previous orgasms. Jack doesn’t give you much time to get used to him, pretty soon he’s back to pounding himself inside of you.
“Fuck..” you whine out, nails digging into his back which makes him groan out.
“Feel how deep inside of you I am, baby?” Jack asks you, voice husky and eyes dark as he stares into yours.
“Yes,” you let out a whimper and feel his hand wrapping around your neck again, pushing you deeper into the mattress.
Soft cries fill up the room as Jack keeps on pounding into you, you’re so sensitive from his earlier actions that you can barely take what he’s giving you. You grip onto his shoulders as your moaning mixed with Jack’s grunts are filling up the room.
“Oh my god-” you cry out softly, so sensitive that you can hardly take it anymore. “I can’t-"
“You can, baby.” Jack presses a kiss to your lips before lifting up your chin so you’d look in his eyes. “You’re so good for me, always are.. you can take it,” he tells you, following that up with another kiss. “Just a little more.”
A whine rolls over your lips as Jack pushes even deeper inside of you, keeping hold of your face so you’d look him into his eyes. It doesn’t take long before you feel that pressure building up inside of your gut, a whimper escaping you.
“M’gonna come again, daddy..” you cry out softly.
“I’m close too,” Jack grunts out as he tries to hold himself back, needing to feel you come before he does. “Come for me, baby.”
“Mhmm..” your body tightens up and you grip onto his arms before you feel pleasure explode, moving through your entire body which makes you cry out and tremble.
As soon as Jack feels you clench your walls around him, he’s done for. A deep groan escapes him as he spills himself inside of you, holding onto your trembling legs.
“Fuck..” his body falls onto yours, completely spent. “That was good.”
“Tell me about it,” you sigh out, legs still trembling softly from the intensity of your orgasm. You move a hand up to cradle the back of his head, holding him close to you as your other arm wraps around him. “I take back my words.. you can keep up with me just fine.”
Jack lets out a chuckle as he moves his head up and looks you into your eyes. “Told you.”
wc: 22.5k
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, no age gap, reader in her mid to late forties, rivals to lovers, med student flash backs, parental death, suicide, suicidal ideation, cat dad!robby, sabbatical!robby, biker!robby, motorcycle accident (minor injuries), whump, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, so much domestic fluff, discussions of mental health, complicated parental relationship, like literally so much domesticity it's sickening, robby nicknamed reader bambi back in med school, mostly used in flashbacks, reader has a tattoo
synopsis: michael robinavitch was practically your sworn enemy in med school. your sworn enemy that you'd slept with, regretably, once. then twenty years passed and back in pittsburgh, you see one michael robinavitch on hinge. ever the hopeless romantic, you can't help the curiosity that leads you to match with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't remember you.
a/n: this one is for all my fellow hopeless romantics. it's so romantic and dramatic it borders on cringe but whatever. i had a ton of fun writing all my deepest romantic and domestic fantasies. welcome to my dream house, i tried to paint it as cozy as possible. <3 -syd
Your favorite part of being called in to the hospital on a Saturday was the peace and quiet of the lab. Doubly so today, because you were called in during the night shift.
Pathology didn't really have "night shifts" or even weekend shifts so the lab was completely empty when you arrived. Immediately, you set up your space, your speaker, pulled out the iced coffee you'd made at home, unscrewing the cap on the Ball jar.
Originally, you'd planned to spend the night on the couch with your tabby cat, Brutus (named in such a way so when he inevitably destroyed your furniture or knocked your favorite mug off the table you could at least find some whimsy in crying "Et tu, Brute?" theatrically), and a movie that you'd heard would make you cry. You'd been meaning to cry for a while now, but hadn't been able to find the time. You supposed you could push it to another night, depending on how long you ended up being in the hospital tonight.
You hummed along to the playlist you'd started on your speaker as you prepared a blood smear from the sample you'd been called in for.
Jack Abbot was the attending on shift in the ED this evening. You had only met him in person once or twice, but you were glad it was him and not Michael. Or, Robby, it seemed he was going by these days. You hadn't yet run into him since being back at PTMC, but you were not eager to reminisce with him, especially since it was becoming more and more clear that he had no recollection of you.
It shouldn't have bothered you so much. It had been two med school rotations and one extremely disappointing hookup when you'd both gotten too drunk after shift. But he had been instrumental in you picking pathology for residency. At the time, the decision had been full of complicated emotions, resentment, a complete misunderstanding of who you were and what you wanted. But now, well, you thought maybe you owed him your gratitude.
Your phone pinged while you were prepping your slides and you eyed it and found it was a notification from Hinge.
From Robby.
You inhaled slowly and looked away as your screen went dark. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing, chatting with Robby on a dating site. You told yourself you just were curious when your thumb tapped the heart on his profile. Middle aged looked really really good on him, you wouldn't deny that, but you still saw the baby faced, skinny rod of a med student when you looked at him. And when he'd first initiated the chat, you realized very quickly he didn't remember you.
You found yourself preening under his attention, how he complimented your photos and your mind through conversations. The both of you established early on that you didn't want to discuss work beyond confirming that you were both doctors working in PTMC. But you repeatedly dodged his attempts to meet up and grab a drink. You weren't sure how long you could keep it all up without admitting that you knew him already. Intimately, even.
You suspected soon enough, he'd get tired of trying to get you to meet up with him and move on to the next thing. But thus far, he'd been persistent, going on weeks now.
But you didn't have time for him right now so you turned your attention back to your slides. Slipping one beneath the microscope, you focused the knobs slowly, letting your world narrow to the blood sample, the blood cells.
This was why you loved your job. How easy it was to slip outside yourself and into whatever sample you were looking at. There was always a clear answer hiding in the shape of the cells, just beneath the surface. There was always a clear path to diagnosis, to treatment, to healing. Everything made perfect sense under the light of a microscope.
And this sample, as always, made perfect sense after just a few minutes. You sighed, "Shit."
You couldn't risk just sending this back via the online portal for whenever the doctor deigned to check the chart next so you picked up the phone. It rang and rang and rang.
You shook your head and put the phone back on the receiver. As quickly as possible, you documented the chart, still trying to get ahold of someone, but no one was picking up the phone. What the fuck was going on down there?
Impatient, you decided to head down yourself after saving your changes in the chart. You walked briskly towards the elevators, rocked on your heels as you waited.
The second the elevator doors opened you were knocked practically on your ass by the noise and the chaos of the ED. It was rare you came down here at all and every time you did it felt like being thrown back to med school rotations. Suddenly you were again the floundering med student constantly being expected to be on the lookout for the daggers of the other students as well as practice medicine efficiently.
But you were an adult now, not the twenty year old naive kid genius walking around on wobbly legs. Pushing your shoulders back, you shook it off and headed for the hub. Luckily, Dr. Abbot was right there.
"Your phones not working down here or something?" You asked without preamble, hands on your hips.
Abbot looked up at you slowly and then over to the phone. You followed his gaze and saw that the phone was lying off the receiver, "Ah, shit, sorry." He put the receiver back on the hook, "What could be so urgent it coaxes path from the comforts of the cave upstairs?"
You smirked, "Your patient has TTP."
He sighed and picked up an iPad, "Fuck," he muttered when he pulled up the chart you'd just updated, "Okay, um," He shook his head, "I don't think we have the resources down here to start TPE."
You frowned, "Okay… Admit to ICU, then."
He laughed, "Yeah, right. Good luck getting the charge to agree to admit a patient on a Saturday night."
You bit your lip, and then sighed, "Alright, give me… fifteen minutes and I'll be back down here with an apheresis machine, I'll run it."
He raised his eyebrows, "Really? You'd do that?"
You shrugged, "I could run apheresis in my sleep."
Slowly Abbot nodded and smirked at you, "Alright, great. Thank you."
Later, you sat in the hub of the emergency department after setting up the patient for TPE and finally opened your messages from Michael—Robby, you corrected yourself.
What's my favorite homebody up to this evening? Any way I can convince you to grab a drink?
You stifled a smirk and typed back, I'm on call tonight. Sorry, cowboy.
"Hey," You looked up to see Abbot leaning over the counter to look at you, "Seriously, thank you for staying."
"No problem," You eyed the chaos around you, "Seemed like you guys could use the help."
"Always." He laughed and nodded, "Listen, some of us in the ED are getting together for a poker night next Friday, would you… be interested in coming?"
You blinked up at him, unsure of what to make of the offer. Was he flirting or just being nice? You'd heard that Jack Abbot flirted with everyone, so likely he didn't mean anything by it at all. While you were trying to figure it out, your phone pinged again. Robby. You flipped your phone facedown on the workstation desk.
"Why not?" You said and smiled up at him.
"Great," He unlocked his phone and handed it to you, "Here, put your number in and I'll text you the details."
Having entered your information, you returned his phone to him and then he was off. Sighing, you turned back to your phone to open Robby's latest message.
They're working you too hard. I thought path was supposed to be easy?
You rolled your eyes at this, but were unsurprised. For as much as you remembered him complaining about surgeons during your rotations, that they had a superiority complex, he had the same issues. And so had you, once upon a time, but you had grown out of it.
Having a work-life balance doesn't make the whole specialty "easy."
Almost immediately, a reply was on your phone: Sorry, I didn't mean to diminish your specialty. The ED would cease to function without collaboration from path, I know that. And your diagnoses have saved our asses on multiple occasions when we were busy chasing zebras.
Well. That was new. An apology without hesitation that seemed to drip through with humility and sincerity.
Though, it also was not lost on you that he had incentive to be nicer to you in the context of a dating app considering he'd been trying to fuck you for the last few weeks.
Apology accepted, you texted back, I know your true frustration lies with the inability to have your way with me tonight. You stifled a smile after hitting send. It reminded you of being in college, the casual flirtation. You hadn't had time for this sort of thing in med school or residency, doing your best to just survive. Then, when you were finally an attending, you were so burnt out you remembered practically sleep walking through the first couple of years. By the time that was all over, you felt so out of practice you'd mostly isolated yourself until now.
You'd had a few one night stands since creating a Hinge profile, but since you and Robby had begun chatting he had taken up all of your mental space. This irritated you greatly on top of the fact that he didn't seem to remember you.
And here I thought I was doing an excellent job at concealing my desperation.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head, Could you show me just how desperate you are for me?
You fidgeted with your fingers anxiously as you waited for his response, wondering for just a few moments if you had been too brazen, too forward—The phone pinged.
You slid open your phone and felt lightheaded as you took in the photo he'd sent you. His fist was wrapped around the considerable length of his very erect cock, dark tufts of hair at the base of his fist. You had both been pretty drunk the time you'd hooked up in the darkness of Robby's messy studio apartment and as he'd had trouble maintaining an erection that night, you'd never gotten a good look at it. Not like this.
There was a lump in your throat and you swallowed hard as another message came through: The photos you sent in that pretty lingerie set will have to do for tonight.
You felt your cheeks heat and blinked the steamy feeling from your eyes. Locking your phone, you placed it face down in front of you and stared off into the distance for a while.
And after a minute or so of this, when your galloping heart slowed and lucid thinking began to ease its way behind your eyes again, you had only a single thought:
Oh, no.
***
An unseasonable heat wave had domed around Pittsburgh the last couple of days and so when Robby headed to Jack's place for poker night that Friday, the sun had gone down, but the residual heat warmed him enough that he didn't need a jacket.
He had been waffling back and forth on whether or not to skip the night all together. The week had been crushing him, slowly, a boulder rolling incremently into a brick wall, an unstoppable force.
There had been a few patients they'd lost that really stuck with him this week. They'd been short on residents which meant he'd had to do a bit more hands on care than usual.
And more and more when he found things growing particularly dark, he'd reach for you. You, with your gorgeous smile and silly cat and constant, almost oppressive optimism.
He'd tease you about it, but really he admired it. How no matter how bleak of a day you had, he had, you'd find a way to turn it on its head.
Sure, you'd had to stage the breast cancer of a woman in her thirties and the news wasn't good, but you'd gotten to hold her hand and tell her about all the ground breaking treatment that was available to her. Sure, you'd cried about her for days later, but she'd sent you a card the next week thanking you for the simple act of holding her hand. Of showing her kindness. And maybe you'd get to see her through to remission as you'd done for countless others.
That was your favorite part, you'd tell him. Diagnosing sucked, but treatment plans and seeing people through to the other side, sliding biopsies under your microscope to see healthy tissue. Remission.
"That's why you're so miserable down there," You'd told him, "You mostly see people on their worst days, you don't get to celebrate with them when they make it to recovery. You don't get to see the returns."
He craved your perspective, wanted desperately to have it himself. But he wasn't sure it was possible for him the way it was for you. With your nine to five and weekends off and time to date—though apparently, not time for him.
He had thought at first that you were simply waiting him out, waiting to see if he'd lose interest. You'd been open about the fact that your time on dating apps had largely led you to become disillusioned with the possibility of a real, fulfilling relationship. He felt the same, mostly. The only thing the apps had ever been good for was a night or two to fill the oppressive silence of his house.
But he continued trying with you, which had led to the two of you sexting and him being as open as he could remember being in recent years about how badly he wanted someone. Still, you avoided him.
He'd texted you earlier to see if you were around tonight and you had left him on read, so begrudgingly, he'd be going to poker night instead. Anything other than being alone with his thoughts tonight after they'd lost a woman with eclampsia and her baby.
But when he walked into Jack's living room, a beer in hand, he was stunned to see you sitting on the couch, immersed in conversation with Mckay and Al Hashimi.
Your eyes darted to his and then quickly away, but he saw the way your eyes widened and your chest swelled. You didn't know he was going to be there.
"Hey man, you made it," Jack clapped Robby on the shoulder, "Glad you came."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you, "You invited path?"
Jack followed his gaze, "Oh, yeah, she helped us out last weekend with a TTP patient. Figured it was only polite. Honestly, I didn't think she'd come. Why, do you know her?"
With effort, Robby tore his eyes away from you, "Wha—? Oh, no. No more than you do, you know, the rare occasion path comes down."
Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, "Right," he said slowly, "Okay. Well, can I interest you in a round of Blackjack?"
Robby chuckled and shook his head, "No thank you, learned my lesson years ago not to play cards with you."
Jack smirked and watched as Robby's gaze flitted back to you, "I think she's too well adjusted for you."
Robby's head whipped back around, a hot flush crawling up his neck, "Excuse me?" He said through nervous laughter.
Jack shrugged, "I'm just saying, she seems like she wouldn't tolerate your bullshit and you'd probably get bored at how… normal she is."
Robby blinked at him, "Who said I'm interested?"
Jack rolled his eyes, "Please, don't insult me, brother. The last time I saw you look at a woman like that was the first time you met Heather. And you'll recall she also was unwilling to put up with your bullshit."
He knew Jack was mostly being playful, but it stung nonetheless, the thought that someone else besides himself thought he was incapable of being in a healthy and loving relationship. That no one in their right mind could want to stay with him.
For just a second he was eight years old again wondering if he was such a terrible, rotten son that it'd pushed his mother to end her own life—The thought rushed up against the dam in his brain and just as quickly receded. He wouldn't think about that. Not now. Not here.
He forced a smile for Jack, "You don't need to remind me. I remember."
After a moment Jack squeezed his shoulders, "But what do I know, hm? Go shoot your shot."
Robby rolled his eyes, "You have far too many Gen Z staff on your shift."
But still, Robby wandered over to you eventually, surprised to find that he was a bit nervous, "Is this why you didn't answer my text earlier?" He asked quietly as he sat down.
You turned just a bit towards him, "I didn't think you'd be here, honestly. It doesn't seem like your scene."
He laughed, "Meaning?"
"Meaning it's too… jovial," You teased.
He ran a hand over the back of his head, "Well, I'm glad I came. It's nice to finally meet you in person."
You grimaced, "Yeah, we've met before, Michael."
He frowned and turned fully to you, "What're you—? No we haven't."
You nodded slowly, "We have, yeah. We went to med school together. Did rotations together."
For a moment he paused and tilted his head, turned your name over in his head, "No… No, you're too young to have gone to med school with me—" His eyes caught on your wrist as your fingers tapped lightly against the glass of your beer bottle. A tattoo in looping scroll that read As you wish. With a dagger beneath the words. The feeling of nostalgia almost violently overtook him. There was only one other woman he'd ever met who had that tattoo of a quote from The Princess Bride in that exact spot.
"Bambi?" He asked, sounding almost breathless.
You wrinkled your nose and turned away from him, "I always hated that nickname."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you. There were a million thoughts running through his head as suddenly images flashed behind his eyes, the two of you twenty years younger and constantly at each other's throats, desperate to prove you were better than the other. But the first thought that he blurted out of his mouth was, "You went into pathology?"
You laughed and shook your head, "I knew you didn't mean it when you said you respected my specialty—"
"That's not what I meant—"
"What else could you have meant by the condescension dripping from your tone right now?"
He opened and closed his mouth before hanging his head, "I'm just… Surprised, is all. You were… a force in the ER. You could have had your pick of any emergency medicine residency in the country, surely."
You stared ahead for a few moments, tightlipped and eyes glossy, "Emergency medicine nearly burned me out just at rotations, I imagine I would have been… a shell of myself had I stayed. And at the time, you certainly agreed."
He huffed in indignation, "That is categorically false, I thought you were brilliant."
"Well you sure had a funny way of showing it. Talking over me, talking down to me in front of attendings, basically celebrating every mistake I made—"
"Everyone else practically worshiped you. I was just trying to make sure I wasn't overlooked. You know how cutthroat it was down there—"
"Exactly," You nodded, "Which is why I'm actually grateful for the way you treated me. It wore me down enough that I knew if I couldn't get through even a rotation or two, there was no way I'd make it through a residency. Not in that environment."
He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands, "Look, I'm… I apologize… For how I spoke to you back then, I was a stupid kid, I was just trying to survive as best I knew how. It's not an excuse, I just. I'm sorry."
You didn't seem upset as you looked at him, eyes gently passing over his face. You lifted the beer bottle to your lips and he watched the lights refract off the glass.
"It's fine," You said eventually, "You were far from the only reason I went into path."
"Why didn't you say anything? When we—When we started talking? Why didn't you tell me?"
You shrugged, "I thought maybe you'd forgotten me altogether. Or worse, that remembering me would mean you'd no longer be interested."
You carefully avoided looking at him when you said this, but screwed your mouth down to the side as you chewed your cheek.
Robby sat back and took a sip from his own beer, "It seems like I should have been the one to worry about that. Since I was the one who treated you so horribly."
You cleared your throat and turned back towards him. He was struck again by a sense of nostalgia at the intensity in your gaze. He had nicknamed you Bambi all those years ago because of your skittishness, the way that everything seemed to terrify you. Despite how smart you were and how clearly gifted a doctor you would become, you were easily startled and easily overwhelmed by the din of the emergency room. It hadn't been all that uncommon to find you in the ambulance bay after a hard case, slouched on the ground against the wall, hands trembling as they cradled your face.
But it had also been the intensity in your eyes, how every emotion was always so clearly reflected in their glossy pools, that had been the real inspiration behind the nickname. He had never intended it to be cruel, though it appeared that's how you'd interpreted it. It was something he had admired about you, the ease with which you'd connected with your patients because the empathy was so clear on your face. Of course, he had never told you that. Afraid to let on to any perceived weakness around you.
He suspected, though, that you hated the nickname because he had also used it as a weapon against your naivete. He remembered the ways he'd called attention to your age and when the Bambi nickname had spread there had been no way for you to escape it.
Now, though, your eyes were glossy again and he felt bowled over by the way you stared at him, a wistfulness in your expression, "Are you actually sorry or is it just that you think I'm hot now?"
He was so surprised by your question, he gave out a short laugh, "Please, I thought you were hot then, too."
You snorted, "Well, now I know you're lying."
"The nickname Bambi, if nothing else, implies that I found you adorable at the very least."
You rolled your eyes, "Even if I agreed with that assessment—which I don't—it was very clear from that one time we slept together that you were uninterested—"
"Woah—woah—woah— back up. When we slept together?"
You looked at him blankly for a few moments, "Oh my God," You said quickly, seemingly embarrassed as you looked away from him, "You don't remember. It was so bad you don't even remember."
Robby's brain was still working overtime to catch up with you, "Hold on—I would remember sleeping with you."
You stood up from the couch, and he remembered this about you—You had been spooked, you were about to dart back into the woods, never to be seen again. But he stood at the same time, towering above you, "Don't go," he said quietly, "whatever happened was twenty something years ago, it doesn't mean anything—"
"It does to me." You said firmly, "Excuse me," And you forced your way past him.
Robby watched you walk away for a moment, then turned his head to see Jack shaking his head, a slight smirk on his face. A very blatant I told you so if Robby'd ever seen one.
"Shit," Robby muttered under his breath and hung his head.
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Michael was being very touchy that evening and overly kind, paying for your drinks and wrapping an arm around you in the booth. It was making you shy. Despite the way he talked to you, at you, over you, there were cases every now and then when you caught him looking at you with what looked like awe or reverence. But just as quickly, it'd dissipate and you'd be left wondering if you'd imagined it.
"Let me walk you home," he said, slurring only a little, his words just slightly stumbling into one another like dominos. He wrapped your jacket around your shoulders as he spoke.
"I'm fine," You smiled at him, "I think you're the one who needs to be walked home."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a boyish grin on his face, "You got me. I do need to be chaperoned home if you would be so kind."
You rolled your eyes, but secretly you were pleased. You wanted to be his friend, wanted him to respect you so you didn't have to keep having panic attacks alone in the bathroom. You were still very much like a scared little kid in that way, just wanting at least one other person to just see you, truly.
So you allowed Michael to swing his arm around your shoulders as he directed you towards his place. It was just a couple of blocks from the hospital, but when you got to the building, a rundown, brutalist slab of concrete, you frowned, "You live here?"
"Now, don't sound so disgusted, princess," he teased and pulled you along behind him inside the building, "Not all of us have wealthy parents to fund our gorgeous apartments in buildings that have doormen."
You felt your cheeks heat, "That's not—That's not entirely true." He looked at you dubiously, eyebrows raised, and you furrowed yours, "I pay for my utilities," You grumbled.
He chuckled and ran a hand over his jaw before sliding his key into his door.
"If it's not too revolting to you," He said softly as he pushed the door open, "You're welcome to come inside for a drink."
Something changed in the tone of his voice and as you tried to place it, you saw the way his eyes roved down your body.
You had never had sex with anyone before, had never had the time. You were in college by the time you were fifteen and because you were so young no one really wanted to hang out with you. You didn't get invited to parties or study sessions (unless someone was trying to inadvertently get you to do their homework). Once you got to medical school, you were still only seventeen, still too young for any of your peers to show much interest.
When you turned twenty one, the shift had been subtle. But suddenly, you were being included to go out for drinks. Then people raised their eyebrows less when you said you were in med school. The stares lingered longer and traveled farther.
And now Michael was looking at you like that, too.
Maybe you should've thought it over more, said goodnight and gone straight home. But you were so painfully lonely. You should've hated him for the way he'd treated you, but it only spurred you on. You were used to having to compete for scraps of love from people who seemed to not like you much. Had been doing it since you learned to talk.
So you followed him inside.
It was freezing inside his apartment. So cold, in fact, your breath was beginning to cloud in front of you.
"Jesus Christ, Michael, is your heat broken or something?"
"Uh, no," He said from the kitchen. You heard the sound of glasses and bottles clinking before he reappeared, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other, "Just… trying to conserve. But we can turn the heat on for you, princess." He said with a wink.
You sat on his couch with your arms crossed and felt your lip jut out in a pout, "I'm not spoiled, you know. I just—It's just as cold outside as it is in here. Can't be good for you. Or the pipes."
"Many of us," He said as he poured you each a glass, amber liquid sloshing up the sides, "Had to learn to live without. I didn't grow up in a mansion like you."
You scoffed, "I'm not the sort of rich you think I am, I grew up in the suburbs. My parents still have to work for a living. Yes, it was comfortable, but we're not fucking millionaires. We don't have, like, a fucking second house in the Hamptons."
He nodded, "Still seems pretty rich to me."
You rolled your eyes, "Well, what do your parents do then?"
That insufferable smirk finally fell from his face and for a second you felt vindicated.
"If you must know," He started, staring intently at the liquor in his glass, "I don't know who my father is, never met him. And my mother killed herself when I was eight. I found her swinging from the rafters one day when I got home from school."
You stared at him, stunned, while he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another, "My grandparents took me in after that and then when I was sixteen, my grandfather died. When I was twenty, my grandmother joined him. So now it's just me."
He raised his glass, forced smile on his face, "May their memories be a blessing." He said, and tossed back the entirety of his drink in one go.
"Michael," you said softly, reaching for him when he began to pour more whiskey, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Not unkindly, he pushed your hand away, "You know, I've been thinking that I want people to start calling me Robby."
You frowned, thrown by the change in subject, "What?"
"Yeah, I just, people have trouble with Robinavitch. And Adamson asked me, if he could call me Robby. And I—I really like him and I want him to like me so I think—I think I'm just gonna have everyone call me Robby. It sounds friendlier, don't you think? Once I become a doctor? Doctor Robby."
You felt a sort of tenderness towards him now, after he'd revealed so much of himself to you. You had the distinct urge to hold him, cradle him to you, tell him it was all going to be okay.
"I like Michael," You said quietly, "If it's alright with you."
Finally he met your gaze again and his eyes softened just slightly. Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, he reached a hand out to cup your cheek. When you leaned into his palm, he stroked his thumb against your cheek bone.
"Sure, Bambi. You can still call me Michael."
You couldn't say which of you closed the distance first, just that the next thing you remembered, his warm, wet mouth was on yours.
At first, the kisses were slow and hesitant. You remembered it was you who deepened it, a whine clamoring out of your throat and into his mouth.
Before you knew it, you had climbed into his lap and pushed him down into the couch. You felt him harden against you and it felt instinctual, the way your hips ground down against him, chasing the friction.
"Fuck," he breathed into your mouth, his hand cradling the back of your neck, "This good?"
You nodded fervently, "Do you have a condom?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure?"
You nodded again and so he pushed his hand between you, pushing his hand into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a foil packet.
You blinked, "Were you… planning this?"
"No," He said and teared the packet open with his teeth, "But I like to be prepared just in case."
Rolling your eyes, you pulled back to allow him to push his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung up between you and you felt your breaths grow shallow as you watched him work the condom on.
Carefully, you hiked your dress up to your hips, hoping he didn't notice the way your hands shook. His eyes stayed on yours as you shifted your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself onto him.
"Oh, God." He sighed, sounding just a breathless as you felt at the stretch of him. It burned for just a moment, almost pleasantly, "Look at me," He said and your eyes locked back on his.
You leaned your forehead against his as you slowly moved your hips along the length of him, "Is this—Is it good?" You asked, your voice small and uncertain.
"Yeah," He said quickly, pushed his mouth up into yours, "So good," he whispered into your mouth.
But less than a minute later, the sensation changed. It was difficult to move against him, in fact, you weren't even sure he was inside you anymore, "Did you—I mean—Are you—soft?" You could hear your own panic and desperation in your voice as your hips slowed.
A scarlet flush was creeping up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to avoid your gaze, "Yeah, I—I think so. S'probably whiskey dick." He finally opened his eyes and maybe sensed your impending humiliation, "Hey—hey—it's not you," He cupped your cheeks with both hands, "It's not you, I swear, you're perfect."
He pulled your face down to his again and you allowed yourself to get lost in the taste of him again, "It's me," he murmured between kisses, "I'm fuckin' defective, it's my fault."
"Michael—"
"Come up here, sit on my face," He said abruptly.
You raised your eyebrows, "Wh—what?"
"Please," He said, sounding desperate, "Please, I wanna taste you. Lemme take care of you."
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, "You don't have to, like, make it up to me—"
"I want to," he said again, "If you do, too. Please."
You couldn't deny that the idea of it had embers of arousal stirring in your belly. You hadn't prepared for the possibility of someone's mouth on you like that, but you didn't want to admit that to him. You didn't want to have to explain the depth of your inexperience lest it kill whatever remained of his desire.
So, you swallowed and moved your way up his body, let him position you, his arms wrapped around your thighs and pulling you to his mouth.
You were immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, gasping and whimpering when he moaned against you, your whole body twitching as it reverberated through your core.
But again, it wasn't long before things slowed, and then—stopped completely. Blinking, you looked down and saw that Michael had fallen asleep.
No, he couldn't have—could he? You leaned in a bit closer, leaning back to fully pull yourself off his face. Oh my God, was that drool on the corner of his mouth?
Mortified, and at a loss for what else to do, you carefully and quietly climbed off him, grabbed your things, and slipped out of his apartment. Heels in hand, you paused outside of his door and exhaled in relief.
You left his apartment feeling even more conflicted about him than before and also feeling a bit dejected. This was the guy who had once tripped you up in a trauma and then said "Don't worry Bambi, it's normal to be a bit wobbly on your legs when you're still just a fawn."
It shouldn't have surprised you at all that he found you unattractive, that obviously he had only allowed you to initiate because you were sat in front of him, willing and able. Like an idiot. Like the naive little kid he had told everyone you were.
You felt stupid and humiliated. And God knew you didn't believe in the fucking patriarchal construct of virginity, but you couldn't deny it made you feel a bit bitter that you had wasted it on Michael Robinavitch. You wouldn't make such an idiotic decision ever again.
He could say a lot about you, but you'd never made the same mistake twice. You didn't intend to start now.
***
Robby watched you through the glass, leaned over Jack's balcony with your arms wrapped around yourself.
This had to be a new record of how quickly he could fuck things up with a potential romantic partner. Once he'd recognized you, he'd felt stupid that he hadn't recognized you immediately when he saw your profile. And maybe there had been some familiarity there, something he'd mistaken for instant attraction and chemistry.
That said, he had wracked his brain and the two of you sleeping together he was near positive had never happened. Or at least, for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. And yes it was true he'd always given you a hard time, but he had also always been enamored by you. Honestly, he'd thought it'd been obvious, especially towards the end of M4.
So he found it hard to believe that he wouldn't remember that. But he also didn't think that you were a liar.
Carefully, he slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The night had cooled significantly since his arrival and as he got closer to you, he saw goosebumps along your arms. You didn't startle when he came up next to you and positioned himself at such an angle as to shield you from the breeze.
"I'm sorry that I don't remember," He said softly after a few moments, "But I'd like you to tell me about it, if you're up for it."
You shook your head, "It's not your fault. It was really horrible, I don't blame you for not remembering."
He groaned, "You know, you could say a lot of shit about me and I wouldn't blink, but hearing I'm bad in bed is a new one for me and I'm not a fan."
You laughed and turned to him, "Oh yeah? You've become something of a casanova in your old age?"
He winced, "Not that old."
You hummed and turned back towards the treeline, "What was it? That made you finally remember me tonight?"
"The Princess Bride tattoo."
You looked at your wrist, "Huh. I would've thought this was one of the things you picked on me for behind my back. Called it childish."
He shook his head, "Nah, The Princess Bride's a classic. I actually always really liked it, thought it was romantic."
You rolled your eyes at that, as if you didn't quite believe him, but didn't comment further. After a moment you sighed, "It was during MS4. We were almost done with our last rotation in the ER and some of the residents invited us out for drinks."
"Oh," Robby said, frowning, "I do remember that. I got really drunk and you walked me back to my apartment."
You nodded, "Right."
"But we didn't… I invited you in for a drink and…" He trailed off. He was drawing a blank, "Did you come inside? I just thought… You never liked me, I thought for sure you declined. I don't remember anything after that."
You narrowed your eyes at him and then sighed, "Well, you did down something like three fingers of whiskey in quick succession once we got in your apartment so I guess it's possible you blacked out."
"You always made me nervous so it's no surprise I drank so much."
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, but then shook your head quickly, "Yeah, I guess that was it."
"Then what happened?"
You sighed, "We really don't have to rehash this—"
"Please," he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, "I want to know."
You shook your head and then shrugged, "Fine. About a minute after you put it in, I was riding you and you went soft. So then you… you asked me to sit on your face instead. Which I did. And a minute or two later you… fell asleep."
Robby was silent for a moment as he processed what you'd said. You were deliberately looking away from him, running a hand nervously over the back of your neck.
"Wow," He said finally, "And you still liked my Hinge profile decades later?"
You gave a short laugh, "I was curious if anything had changed, I guess."
He hummed, "A lot has changed, I would say." He ran a finger lightly over the back of your arm and watched as goosebumps spread—But you didn't move away, not even when he bent to your ear and said lowly, "I'd like a chance to make it up to you."
You swallowed and then turned to face him, your faces impossibly close, "Have you ever been married, Michael?"
He frowned and pulled away marginally, "Um… no? Have you?"
You shook your head and looked off into the distance over his shoulder, wistfully, "I got close, once." You sighed, "Listen, I'm too old to be doing this… friends with benefits, situationship, whatever, bullshit. Sex is great, but I have plenty of vibrators that do the job just fine and without the emotional turmoil. So I'm not interested in casual sex. I'm looking for a partner, not a dildo. If you want me you'll have to romance me and mean it."
Robby's eyes roved over your face. Maybe it was your shared memories or the fact that you knew him before he was broken beyond repair, but he felt a tender ache in his chest looking into your eyes. Just as warm and inviting as he remembered.
There were few people these days who could entice him to commit to anything. A real relationship meant having to open himself up to someone else. Allowing them to see the ugliest parts of himself and hope they didn't leave. It usually ended in him lashing out instead so at least he had some semblence of control over the end of the relationship.
Or at least, that was the hypothesis of his last therapist, who he still wasn't entirely sure wasn't full of shit.
But either way, when he thought about pursuing a real, full relationship with you, he didn't feel his usual urge to run. Instead, he felt a curiosity. The need to take you apart, to learn you like he would a medical procedure.
Maybe he wasn't broken after all. Maybe he could have full, healthy relationships like everyone else.
He brought one of his hands up to your neck, watched how you tried to stifle the urge to lean into his touch—Good, you were touch starved, just like him—and his thumb lightly toyed with one of the hoops hanging from your ear.
"'As you wish'." He said softly, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward.
"What? You don't believe me?" He tilted his head downward to force eye contact with you, "I've been the one begging you to go on a date with me for weeks."
"A date?" You raised your eyebrows, "They're calling a drink at the bar before taking someone to bed a date now, are they?"
He scoffed, "What, so you want a string quartet and a night out at the ballet?"
You furrowed your brow, "And so what if I did?"
He stared at you for a moment and then chuckled, "Then I'd tell you to wear your favorite dress."
You narrowed your eyes, but then shook your head, "Just dinner would be more than enough."
He nodded, "I can do that. Would you allow me to cook for you?"
You smirked and ran your hands up his forearms, "Sure, but it has to be at my place."
He grinned, ran his thumb back and forth across the skin just below your ear, "Friday night?"
You tilted your head a bit, "You're serious about this?"
"Yeah," He said softly, eyes heavy lidded from both alcohol and desire as he looked into your face, "Are you?"
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes, assessing. You still didn't quite believe him, he could tell. You had always been distrustful, convinced everyone was out to hurt you to a nearly paranoid level. The decades it seemed had done nothing to smooth that over.
But still, you nodded and leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek, "See you Friday, Michael."
He watched as you walked back inside, conscious of the heat that pulsed against the skin where your lips had been just moments before.
***
"What do you think, Brutus?" You asked, your cat sidling between your legs as you looked at yourself in your floor length mirror. You had chosen form fitting, but simple clothes. A ribbed black sweater and your favorite pair of jeans. "Do you think he'll like it?"
Brutus trilled and stood up on his hind legs, stretching his front paws against your legs, a very clear request to be picked up. You looked down at him and smirked, "You're gonna get cat hair all over my sweater."
He mewled again, claws gently pricking at your jeans before quickly receding. You sighed, already defeated. You could never say no to him. You bent to scoop him up to your chest, pressing your nose into his face as he immediately began purring, "I know you don't like guests, but you have to be on your best behavior tonight, okay? No knocking glassware over if I'm not paying attention to you," You peppered kisses all over his head, "It's not polite."
The doorbell rang and you quickly lowered Brutus back down, running your hands over your sweater in an attempt to brush off the cat hair.
Sliding across the hardwood in your socked feet, you took one deep breath before pulling your front door open.
There in your doorway stood Michael Robinavitch in a button down and jeans, one hand holding a thermal bag you assumed was full of groceries, the other a bottle of wine.
He grinned when you opened the door, his eyes trailing lazily down your body, giving you a once over before meeting your eyes again.
"Hi," You said and stepped to the side, "Come in."
You watched him take in your home as he walked in, kicking off his shoes by the door without you having to ask.
Without a partner to appease or children you'd spent a lot of time creating a calming, beautiful space just for yourself. It resulted in a lot of warm lighting and soothing colors. Lots of windows and cozy nooks. The kitchen was big and open with huge bay windows looking into your backyard behind the sink. As you padded gently behind Robby, you watched him take stock of the sun setting through those windows.
"This is gorgeous." He said, eyes on the fresh tulips that sat in a vase on the island.
"Thank you," You said, and took the wine bottle from his hand, "It's my favorite place in the whole world."
He smirked as he placed the groceries on the counter, "Now I understand why it's so hard to get you to leave."
You took wine glasses down from your cabinet and opened the wine he'd brought, pouring you each a glass and bringing his over to him as he began unpacking the groceries he'd brought.
"What're you making?"
He pulled out a loaf of Challah bread and offered you a piece as he spread everything else out in front of him, "Um, some salad, roast chicken, and potato kugel."
You hummed, "Where'd you learn that?"
He began prepping the veggies and you watched his hands. You remembered from med school you had always been enamored by watching skilled hands at work, especially in the ED. Watching him now you had that same feeling as the wine began to warm you from the inside out.
"They're my grandma's recipes. She used to make this every Friday for Shabbos dinner."
Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise and immediately, you felt touched, "That's… really lovely, Michael. I'm honored that you'd share them with me."
He looked up at you for a moment, smiling, but shrugged his shoulders, "It's the only meal I really know how to cook well because she taught me. I don't do much cooking these days."
You tried not to let his dismissiveness disappoint you, "Do you still… I mean, are you observing Shabbos this weekend?"
He shook his head, "No, no, if I was I'd already have broken the rules," He jerked his head towards the bay windows, where the sky was beginning to bruise, "No cooking after sundown. I don't really practice anymore, but I sometimes go to synagogue on High Holidays."
You let a few moments pass in silence before speaking again, "Can I help?"
He shook his head, "No, you just sit there and look pretty."
The two of you made small talk about work, discussing funny patients or over eager med students, until he put his dishes in the oven.
"Do you want to sit on the porch?" You asked as he washed his hands.
"That sounds lovely," He said, drying his hands on your dish towel before following you outside with his glass of wine.
You tucked your legs underneath yourself as you sat on the love seat, the chill of the spring night had you reaching for the throw blanket. But Robby got there first, gently draping it over your legs and then his own lap. You pretended not to be flustered when he pulled your feet into his lap, tenderly kneading his fingers into the arch of your foot as he sipped his wine.
Over the years, you'd brought men to your place many times. You'd even had the occasional relationship that grew to the point of your partner moving into your place, because it was a nonstarter for any partner to suggest you sell your house, something you were always clear about at the start of the relationship. Maybe it would be the reason you never had a lifelong partner, but you had put an enormous amount of work into this house to create a sanctuary of sorts. It was where you were happiest. You had no desire to live anywhere else. You doubted you'd ever love anyone as much as you loved this house.
But Robby being here, it felt different than it had felt with all others. It felt natural to have him here, like this, cooking dinner in your kitchen, sitting on the porch with you while you told him about the study you'd just been awarded a grant to start. After residency, you'd sworn off dating doctors all together. But there was something refreshing about discussing renal cell carcinoma with Robby and him asking follow up questions that were more complex than "what's a renal cell?"
It felt like he fit here with you, like he could slot into your life effortlessly. But you supposed that could just be the forlorn romantic in you desperate for anyone to desire you again.
"Where'd you go for your residency?" Robby asked.
"Chicago," You said, "Northwestern Memorial. What about you?"
"New Orleans. Big Charity Hospital."
You opened and closed your mouth, thinking silently for a few moments. Trying to remember what years the two of you had gone off to residency and when you would have finished. And the realization of when had your stomach slowly sinking. "Wasn't… Wasn't Katrina during residency?"
He wasn't looking at you, staring off into the darkness of the trees behind your house. His face was partially lit by the candles you'd brought outside. When he nodded, you couldn't get a good read on his expression, but it suddenly felt very cold around you. As if the ghosts had lowered around his shoulders.
"That must have sucked," You said softly, "I'm sorry."
He cleared his throat and looked down at his wine glass, "It was a long time ago."
One thing that had changed about Robby was his openness. Years ago, in med school, you only needed to get him a single beer deep before he was pouring out his most intimate thoughts. Obviously, the time you'd slept together, that had been the most he'd ever revealed to you. About his parents and grandparents. But even before that, he'd opened up to you about his insecurities as a doctor and even when he was having trouble with significant others.
Now, he seemed to be dismissive of his troubles. Never wanting the focus on him for too long. He used to be what your mother would call a peacock, charming to an almost offensive degree. He was impossible to dislike and had everyone thinking they were his best friend. That had all changed. You could feel the barrier he'd put up between you. What had happened to him between then and now to have changed him so drastically?
Likely, you supposed, it started with Katrina.
Another reason you had decided against going into emergency medicine had been that you knew you were too soft for it. Just the rotations had been so detrimental to your well being. You had thought you loved it while you were in it, but the second you were out of it, you realized you had been in survival mode the entire time. Outside of it, you cried for weeks straight, grieving every person you'd watched die and especially the ones that had died on your watch. The heaviness of that responsibility was too much. A lifetime of it would've broken you.
It would break anyone, you imagined. And as you watched Robby curiously, you realized for the first time since reuniting with him just how haunted he had become. You had thought with his easy charm and smile that he was still the same kid, but he had changed. The years had slowly eroded him, smoothed some edges and sharpened others.
A timer went off a few moments later and Robby flashed you a quick smile, carefully removing your feet from his lap, "You hungry?"
"Starved," You said, allowing him to take your hand and gently pull you to standing.
The food was delicious. You caught Robby staring at you more than once over the candles when you licked your fingers or groaned in pleasure, mischief in his eyes.
You had to fight him to let you do the dishes, insisting it was only fair since he had cooked. He protested for a bit until you sternly repeated that you'd be doing the dishes and since he was a guest here, you demanded he relax on the couch while you cleaned up. Eventually, he gave up, sighing heavily and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, "Thank you," he murmured, sounding bone tired.
When the last dish was loaded in the dish washer, the cookware washed, the counters wiped down, you found Robby nearly fast asleep, stretched out on your couch. Brutus had come out for the first time since he'd arrived and was now hesitantly sniffing at his hand which hung over the edge of the couch.
"What d'you think, Brutus?" You whispered, "Is he good enough to eat?"
A chuckle rumbled deep in Robby's chest and Brutus scampered off, sufficiently frightened by the sudden movement. Robby cracked an eye open to look up at you, reaching with both arms towards you, "C'mere before I eat you."
You hesitated for just a moment before crawling over him, sighing contentedly as his arms wrapped tightly around you, your ear pressed to his chest.
You were reminded again of that one night with him decades ago, you atop him not unlike this, trying to warm yourself with his body in the frigid apartment.
"It's strange," you said softly, "I don't really know you anymore, but I feel like I understand you more now than I did then."
He hummed, "That's funny. You're still just as much a mystery to me as you were twenty years ago."
You lifted your head from his chest so you could see his face and felt his breath fan your cheeks, "I'm an open book, you just have to ask."
"Why pathology?"
You pursed your lips, brow furrowed in thought, "I liked the simplicity of it. That there were rules and structures and always a correct answer. There's always a clear path to and from diagnosis."
He shook his head, "I know you applied to the emergency medicine residency at Big Charity. I was the second choice, they wanted you."
You felt your cheeks heat, "I—It was so long ago, it doesn't matter—"
"No, you're right, it doesn't matter anymore," He ran a soothing hand down the back of your head to your neck, "It certainly mattered to me then. I was so pissed off at you those first few weeks of intern year when I found out. I tried calling every emergency medicine department in the country I could think of to find you."
You smirked, "You looked for me?"
He nodded, "Never crossed my mind that you would've gone into a different specialty. And pathology even? I never would have guessed. You were so good in the emergency room. A natural. I bet if I threw you in my ED now you'd do just as good as most of my residents."
You gave a short laugh, "Absolutely not, I don't even remember most of my rotations. Honestly, they were so hard for me I think part of my brain blacked it out."
He narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, they're hard for everyone, it's the emergency department."
You nodded, "I know. And I didn't want the rest of my life to look like that."
"Look like what?"
You opened your mouth for a moment and then sighed, "Like I was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of constant compounding grief."
He shook his head slowly, "I remember those rotations, you helped save a lot of people."
You nodded, "At the expense of my sanity, yeah."
"You don't think it would be worth it?"
You tilted your head slightly, "To martyr myself? Do you?"
He sighed and looked away from you, "I used to think so, yeah."
Robby used to come alive in the emergency department, as you recalled it. You knew he was empathetic and had his own struggles because he'd told you on occasion and because you'd seen it. Maybe he hadn't broken down visibly as often as you, but you recalled finding him at least a couple of times out in the ambulance bay, eyes red rimmed and wet.
But you had never doubted that he would thrive in the emergency room. You had been so busy feeling like an imposter yourself and he had made everything look so easy, it had never crossed your mind that maybe he had been struggling the same as you. He just hid it better, even from himself.
"You've lost a lot," You said softly, "the last twenty years, haven't you? Not just patients."
His eyes floated slowly back to yours and it didn't matter what he said, it was sitting there in his eyes as he looked at you. All the ghosts that haunted him, clawing to get out just behind his eyes. He looked tired. He looked shattered.
After a few moments he brought a hand up to your face, brushed the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "I don't want to talk about that tonight." When he spoke, his voice hitched just slightly, but you politely acted as if you hadn't noticed.
It was a first date, after all. He didn't need to crack open his chest for you tonight, though part of you wished he would. You had never been one for small talk and you were always all in long before anyone else was. You were used to this, being the one kept at the perimeter, debating whether to ignore the Beware of Dog sign and hop the fence.
But he looked so tired and sad. You could be patient for now. Maybe befriend the dog while you waited, tossing treats through the hole in the fence, whistling gently on the wind.
"Okay," You pushed yourself up so your face was closer to his, "We don't have to talk."
A moment passed, two. Your eyes stared longingly at his mouth until his hand slipped to the back of your neck and pulled you to him, mouths crashing together.
You sighed at the feel of his lips on yours, simultaneously soft and rough from the scratch of his beard. It chafed against your chin, but still you pushed yourself closer, the new, but still somehow familiar taste of him intoxicating.
He still kissed the same, teeth digging desperately into your lower lip, tongue stroking against yours almost sweetly. But it was more refined, somehow. Like he'd perfected the art of kissing over the decades.
You'd had many lovers over the years, but few who would make out with you like this for very long without it quickly escalating. Robby's hands, hot and needy, worked their way beneath your shirt, thumbs stroking just below your breasts. Then, one of his hands slid down until it was on your ass, squeezing and groping over your jeans. It was at this point that he whimpered into your mouth and you felt yourself clench instinctually around nothing at the sound.
It had been a long time since you'd been touched like this and longer since you had enjoyed it this much. Usually, it was other partners that acted impatient, that were already tugging at your pants when you were nowhere near warmed up yet, but now it was you who had started grinding on his thigh, searching for friction. You who was frantically pulling at the buttons on his shirt, trying to get it off. You who was now fumbling for his belt when Robby finally stopped you.
"Mmm—Hold on—Wait." Easily, he secured your wrists in his hands and pinned them to his chest which was rising and falling rapidly as you both attempted to catch your breath.
"Are you—Are you sure? I don't want you to think—I'm happy to just end the night like this. I can go home right now—"
You pressed your mouth to his again, kissing him deeply before playfully nipping at his lip, "Do I seem unsure to you?" You asked, nudging your nose against his.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "No," He said and kissed you again, fervently.
"Do I… need to beg you to fuck me?" You asked, sucking lightly on his neck as you spoke, "Because I can do that."
Robby sighed and gripped your ass tighter, "Fuck."
You dragged your center across his thigh, "Not an answer."
His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You would beg for me?"
You weren't exactly thinking straight as you looked at him, wild with want. You would have done anything he asked in that moment, you were sure of it. But still, looking at him now, you were dragged back twenty years to his icy apartment. To the way he'd opened up to you and then swiftly rejected you. He denied it now, chalked it up to alcohol, but somewhere in you was still that dejected girl, begging for any scrap of affection.
It'd been a while since you felt her, small and weak, at the edges of your consciousness. She'd been shortsighted and easy, pan handling for love on the side of the road. You still loathed her, felt she was pathetic. Robby could still pull her out of you. It felt easy to slip into her and her wants. You remembered insisting to yourself after that night with him that you'd never let him that close again.
And yet you found yourself tangled in him yet again. You were different, you assured yourself, lied to yourself. In reality, he already had you wrapped around his fingers. He could break you with a single word, a change of expression.
You pushed all that out of your mind, suffocating it with your mouth on his, his all consuming taste in your mouth, "Is that what you want?"
"I want," He said, hand still firm on your neck, kissing you between his words, "Whatever you want. Just want to make you feel good."
You sighed, "Then take me to bed."
Quickly, he sat up, keeping you in his lap. He kissed up the column of your throat to your earlobe, sending chills down your spine, "Lead the way, sweetheart."
On your bed, he undressed you carefully, taking his time in a way you weren't used to. After the way you'd been talking over texts and swapping photos back and forth, you thought he'd be ravenous. And he was, you could tell from his groans and whimpers, but still, he remained steady and patient.
Once you were topless, both of you kneeling across from each other on the bed, you reached to unbuckle his pants before he could get to yours. Robby had been competitive as you remembered it, but in bed it seemed he was fine with handing over the reins. He watched you with heat in his eyes as you spat in your hand and reached down his pants to fist his cock.
As your hand stroked his shaft down to his balls, his eyes rolled back and he swore. You were on fire watching him, his desire seemingly contagious.
"Please," He whimpered after a minute of so of this, "Please, can I… Can I suck on your tits?"
Your belly somersaulted at the thought and immediately you were nodding, scooting closer to him.
As his lips puckered and pulled at your nipple, he was whining more loudly than you were with each stroke of your hand. He muttered praises and pleas into your breasts, heat bubbling up at the sound from your belly to your chest to your neck.
Looking down at his cock in your hand, you noticed the small amount of precum beginning to leak. You leaned down to lick it off, but Robby stopped you before you could.
"No—Wait. Need to take care of you. Please." He was breathless and flushed pink. Needy and desperate to please. You weren't sure that anyone had ever been this desperate to please you.
You gave him a short nod and released him. Immediately, he kissed you, the momentum pushing you flat against the mattress.
As he crawled over you, you opened your eyes to look up at him. There had been times when you were students that he had been vulnerable with you, but that had only been under the heavy influence of alcohol. Mostly, he had been very guarded. And still, earlier this evening you'd sensed the same guard up, though it had been reinforced throughout the decades.
But now he was looking at you with a gentle, almost tender look on his face. Before you could fully digest what that meant, he had leaned back down to kiss along your jaw, rough fingers gently grasping your chin to kiss down your neck.
He kissed all the way down your body, looking up at you occasionally through heavy lids whenever you made a noise he particularly liked.
Down at your waist now, he carefully unbuttoned your jeans and wriggled them down, you lifting up your hips to assist.
In just your panties now, you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he looked at you, ran his rough hands over your soft thighs, kissing and nipping gently at your hips, "So, so pretty for me." He murmured into your skin.
The man in front of you now so at odds with the boy you had imagined was revolted by you. Now he worshiped your body with lips and tongue and teeth. He kissed you now over the fabric of your panties, slowly and methodically, until you felt the fabric begin to soak, both from his saliva and your arousal.
You whined and tried to lift your hips, but he quickly braces an arm over your thighs, "Michael, please." You whimpered.
He groaned against your cunt, sending shockwaves through your body.
"Sorry, baby," He murmured and began tugging your panties down your hips as well, "You need my mouth on you properly, is that it? Need my tongue inside you?"
You nodded, a burning in your eyes from embarrassment or pure desperation, you weren't sure.
Panties out of the way, he ran a finger down your slick folds to separate them. As he sighed, your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack.
"Gorgeous," he murmured, fingers running slowly and gently around your entrance.
It didn't feel like teasing, but admiring. Your hips jumped when he pressed a chase kiss to your puffy clit. You had barely begun to whine again when he licked, long and slow, from the bottom of your entrance up to circle your clit.
The sensation was dizzying as he continued to repeat the motion, moving faster and applying slightly more pressure each time.
"Okay, sweetheart," He said breathlessly, your juices glistening all over his beard, slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside you, stroking the spot deep inside you that had your abdomen tightening in anticipation, "Think you can finish for me?"
Unable to form coherent words, you writhed against him, whining until he relented and lowered his mouth back down to your clit.
It was over quickly after that, though his tongue kept working you until you lightly tugged at his hair, pulling him off you. He wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm and crawled back up to you, pressing kisses all over your sweaty face.
Without preamble, you reached for his cock with the intention of lining it up with your entrance, but he pulled away, "Not yet." He said mildly, propped up on one elbow as he looked at you, his free hand stroking the backs of his knuckles gently against your cheek, "I'm not done with you yet."
You were still a bit dumb from the aftershocks of your orgasm and you blinked blankly at him, "What?"
"I figure I owe you at least three orgasms before I get to cum, that should wipe the previous horrendous encounter from your memory, no?"
A slow, sleepy smile spread across your face and he traced his thumb across your lips, "It's gonna take a while for me to cum again, never mind twice more."
He nodded, "That's why I'm giving you a break, sweet girl."
Flustered, you looked away from him. Who would have thought one man had the potential to be both your best and worst sex?
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Your eyelid was twitching as you sat at central, a phone receiver pressed to your ear as you listened to your mother drone on. As she spoke, your eyes drifted to a fresh blood stain on your white sneakers from the man who'd died maybe an hour or two ago from several gunshot wounds to the chest.
"I hear you, I just—" You tried and failed to scrub the bloodstain out with a wet wipe from behind the desk. The grueling twelve hour shift had ended something like forty five minutes ago with you crying into your hands in the ambulance bay. You were exhausted. "I just don't think now is the time for this conversation—"
"Well," Your mother huffed, "Maybe if you ever answered your phone at home we wouldn't need to have this discussion now."
You ground your teeth together, "I appreciate all the support you and dad have given me—"
"You know, I don't think you do. We clawed our way through law school with no help from our families, started our own firm, saved thousands just so you could be as educated as you wanted without having to struggle like we did—"
"—And I'm immensely grateful for that privilege—"
"Then why would you throw it back in our faces by choosing pathology, essentially a glorified lab technician—"
"That's not what it is at all—"
"You should be in neurosurgery."
You had had this argument what felt like a thousand times over the last few weeks when you had first admitted interest in applying to path residencies. Your mother's insistent argument that she knew best and neurosurgery would provide you with the best career and would utilize your strengths—an excruciating attention to detail and laser-like focus—in a way no other specialty could.
But you disagreed. And what you could never admit to your mother was that your emergency medicine rotations had proven to you that you would crumble under that sort of pressure.
"Hey, Bambi," Michael leaned over your desk, "Get off the phone and glove up, incoming MVA in two minutes."
You gave him an incredulous look, "Our shift ended almost an hour ago."
"Okay…" He said slowly, pulling on a clean pair of gloves, "So you're gonna let me just take this one myself? What if it requires intubation? You're gonna pass up that opportunity? You still haven't done one by yourself."
You were so burnt out and frustrated and once again on the verge of bursting into tears, you didn't have the energy for this, "So, what, you're keeping tabs on my procedure log now?"
He pretended to think about it, furrow between his brow, "Yeah, guess I am."
Neither of you had spoken about the night you'd slept together—if you could even call it that—and Michael had been acting like it never happened. Occasionally he'd reference the night it happened, but always before you went home with him. This was fine with you, it saved you from the embarrassment. Though, sometimes, it had you wondering if maybe you'd somehow hallucinated the entire thing.
"Who are you talking to?" Came your mom's tinny voice in your ear.
You hurriedly said that you had to go and hung up the phone, knowing it would lead to more phone calls later, but you had taken to leaving your phone off the hook when she began calling repeatedly like that. Which was often. It was the only way to ensure you got enough sleep.
Normally, you would jump at any opportunity to try to show up Michael in a trauma, but you were barely holding it together right now. The thought of watching another person die on the table today had you fighting back the instinct to dry heave.
You rested your elbows on the table in front of you and kneaded lightly at your temples, "You can have the MVA, I'm going home."
"That your mom on the phone?" Michael asked, leaning forward and apparently ignoring what you'd just said, "Is she waiting at home for you with a fresh meal and a warm bath?" He taunted, "Bambi needs to be pampered? The ER is too rough for the princess?"
Slowly, you tilted your face up to look at him, "You jealous that I still have a mother who takes care of me, Robinavitch?"
If you weren't as tired, you wouldn't have said it. As it was, your stomach churned when the smile melted off his face. Yes, he had taunted you and teased you and tortured you for most of both MS3 and 4, but you shouldn't have sank to his level. Really, you had sunk below his level, you thought. Even with how cruel he could be, he'd never mocked you when he found you crying out in the ambulance bay. On occasion he'd actually silently stood next to you or offered you a cigarette.
Your relationship was strange as he could be downright abusive in front of attendings or other colleagues, but when it was just the two of you it was like being on hallowed ground. He had only ever been nice to you when it was just the two of you with no one else around to hear. Something you struggled to reconcile. And now you had weaponized one of the only times he had opened up to you.
He shook his head, but otherwise didn't say anything, ducking away from you, "Michael—Wait—"
"It's fine, Bambi," He called over his shoulder, "Go home. As you've so astutely pointed out, not all of us have one of those."
Later, after you'd crawled into bed and couldn't sleep despite your exhaustion for the guilt that wracked you, you picked up the phone next to your bed and dialed Michael.
It rang for a while and you thought he might let it go to voicemail, but when he finally picked up his voice was rough with sleep.
"Hello?"
You hesitated, then breathed softly, "Hi."
A moment of silence passed, "Bambi?"
"Yeah."
"It's… late."
You sighed, "Yeah, um, sorry. Did I wake you?"
You heard him stifle a yawn, "You did, yeah." Silence again, but for the sound of both your breathing, "Um, did you need something?"
"I—Yeah, I, um… I couldn't sleep."
"Okay," He drew out the word, long and smooth, "Have you tried… Counting sheep?"
You huffed a laugh, "No, I—I can't sleep because I feel horrible about what I said to you earlier. About—about your mom. I'm so, so sorry, Michael. It was awful and—and it was unacceptable and unprofessional."
He was quiet for a moment, then, "It's alright, Bambi. I've said worse to you. You didn't know about—It was just a lucky shot."
Your mouth fell open slightly, confusion clouding your brain, "What?"
"You—What you said earlier hit a nerve, but you couldn't have known. I've—I've never spoken about my mother to anyone."
You stared at the popcorn ceiling of your apartment, mouth still agape. Did he not remember?
And you were nothing if not a coward, so you kept quiet. Didn't correct him. The fact was, what you said was so much worse knowing what you knew. And he didn't even know you knew.
"Right," You said, swallowing, "Well either way, it was a really shitty thing for me to say. So I'm sorry."
"I appreciate it and I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."
You exhaled slowly and closed your eyes, "Thank you."
"Think you can sleep now, princess?" Despite the nickname, his tone was playful, almost gentle in your ear. You had the insane thought that you'd like to hear him talk you to sleep.
"Yeah. Goodnight, Michael."
"Goodnight, Bambi."
***
Robby shot up in bed, his skin tacky with sweat and his chest heaving, lungs struggling to fill. Nightmares were common for him, but what was so disorienting this night was that at first, he wasn't sure where he was. The bed sheets were unfamiliar to him where they stuck to his skin. They felt more expensive than what he had at home, reminded him of hotel sheets. The mattress was softer as well.
And then there was the soft sigh the came from the pillow next to him. His eyes followed the noise and he saw you laying beside him, fast asleep. At the sight of you, his panic began to recede just slightly. He was in your bed. Had shared a lovely dinner with you and slept with you and spoke in hushed whispers across pillows until you'd fallen asleep.
When he had nightmares at home, he would often get out of bed, crack open a beer or smoke a cigarette, unable to properly fall back asleep. But looking down at you, he feared he'd wake you if he did that. The last however many hours he'd spent with you had been the most at peace he'd felt in recent memory. Even with the nightmare, he already felt his heart rate slowing, just watching the even rise and fall of your chest.
He sank back down into the mattress and laid his head down on the pillow, his forehead nearly touching yours.
Unable to help himself, he rested his hand against your neck and ran his thumb over your cheekbone. You mewled and then your eyes began to blink open.
"Sorry," He said immediately when your eyes opened into his, "Didn't mean to wake you."
You gave him a sleepy smile and nudged your nose against his, "S'okay… It's almost nice to wake up in the middle of the night when there's someone else here."
Lying close to you, he allowed himself to believe that he deserved love like this. That he deserved a life like this. That you could love him and stay despite the ugly parts of him he'd try like hell to keep from you.
He kissed you then, to avoid thinking about all the ways in which he was bound to disappoint you if this continued. And you kissed him back, pulled him closer, your hand at the nape of his neck and he catalogued it—the feeling of your gentle fingers stroking the back of his head.
"Mmm," You hummed and pulled away from him slightly, your brow furrowed, "Is it raining?"
Sure enough, as both of you stilled, there was the sound of rain tapping against the windows, "Sounds like it."
You grinned at him, "Would you like to drink tea and watch the rain from the porch?"
You seemed already giddy by the idea so he couldn't say no, not that he wanted to. It was so simple, really, the act of watching the rain. But you stood outside wrapped in a throw blanket, your hands warming a mug of tea, and looking out into your yard with awe as the sun started to stretch over the horizon, lighting up the storm clouds from behind.
He wanted to see the world like that. To be enamored by simple pleasures, the way you were.
"You seem so happy," He said into your ear.
You hummed, "I am."
"Is this what it's like being you? In this stunning house? Just a cup of tea while it rains can bring joy?"
You turned slightly in his arms to see his face and he recognized it when you scanned his face: You were trying to gauge if he was making fun of you. Old habits died hard, he supposed.
Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't mocking you, you turned back toward the rain, "It's a lot nicer when there's someone to share it all with."
You said it casually, but he heard the note of sadness in your tone, "You've been alone for a while?" You nodded, "What about family? Your parents?"
You stiffened in his embrace and he almost regretted it. He knew what happened when you got like this, if someone moved too quickly or suddenly—you bolted.
But after a moment, you softened, "We don't really talk much anymore."
"Oh," He said softly in surprise, "Sorry, I thought—You always seemed close when we were in school."
"You mistook financial support as love. And even if it was, they promptly cut that off the second I moved to Chicago."
He frowned, "You haven't spoken since residency? Why?" In the silence that followed, he sensed your hesitancy, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I don't mind," You said softly, "I just haven't thought about it in a while. We have talked since, but sporadically. It's mostly just happy birthday texts now." You sighed heavily, "The short answer is that they wanted me to go into neurosurgery and treated me going into pathology as some personal affront to them. It felt like they only ever saw me as some sort of investment instead of their kid."
Robby had been guilty of assuming that you had it all. After thinking it over more, he'd come to the conclusion the way he treated you had had more to do with jealousy than anything else. You always seemed so put off by talking to your parents, your parents who took care of everything for you. What he would have done to have anyone like that in his corner when he was in his twenties. He felt you were ungrateful.
But now, having done a lot of growing up himself and watching residents with all sorts of parental issues come and go through his ER, he understood that just throwing money at a kid was no way to raise them.
"I'm sorry," He said again and leaned down slightly to kiss the back of your neck, "You deserved better than that."
You turned in his arms to face him, "Do you really believe that? That what I do is just as important as what you do? Or neurosurgery?"
"Yes," He said immediately, "If it was me I might be… bored out of my mind, but we need pathologists. The ED needs them, surgery needs them, oncology needs them, hematology needs them, you're absolutely vital to all of us. But that's not what I meant. I meant that you deserved better parents."
Though you had changed over the years, not so skittish and quiet, there were things about you that remained. Your anxious state, bordering on paranoia the way you worried that others would betray you. Your quiet but desperate need of approval—of love. Your empathy, the way you felt everything so deeply and openly, even when you tried to hide it.
Right now, you were scared. Of him, of his ability to hurt you. He was also scared of his ability to hurt you. Terrified, really.
But still, you swallowed and looked away from him, "Thank you," you said quietly and tugged his arms tighter around you.
Bambi—his fawn—now stable on your own two feet. It'd be you that would have to keep him steady now, keep him from running.
***
When Robby was at work now, when the shifts got bad, he excused himself for just a moment and closed his eyes. He'd conjure your home in his head, your cat Brutus, the sound of your laugh, watching rain from your covered porch while drinking coffee, waking up to the smell of your shampoo on the pillow, movie nights on your couch, long showers and your hands on his skin.
It had been weeks now since your first date and things had moved quickly. It hadn't been discussed explicitly, but Robby spent most nights at your house now. The simple domesticity of it, of having someone to come home to, had felt nearly life changing. You often asked if he wanted you to stay at his place for a change to which he always turned down.
He loved everything about your place, from the way it always smelt like something delicious, to the fact that Brutus was always there, to just how lived in it felt. Just last weekend the two of you had spent entire days digging up the garden beds so you could start planting vegetables and fruits and herbs. You talked about cucumber salads and fresh baked pies and it all felt so… domestic. Mundane. And it was the only place he felt peace.
Today's shift had been horrible. And so after calling time of death on a patient that he'd worked on for far longer than was clinically appropriate, he told Dana he'd be outside for a few minutes. In the ambulance bay, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, he tried to slow his breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he willed the images of the woman away, of her child. Instead, he pictured you, the sleepy smile on your face when he woke up first in the morning, whispered in your ear that he was going to make pancakes. He pictured you fast asleep on your couch, a paperback abandoned in your hand and Brutus snuggled up on your chest. He pictured you spinning around your backyard in the rain, green rain boots up to your knees and your wild laughter.
As his breathing slowed, the sound of the ambulance bay doors sliding open had him turning his attention to the doors to see Abbot walking toward him.
Silently, Jack stood next to Robby and crossed his arms, "Your girlfriend's down here looking for you."
Robby sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "She's not my girlfriend."
"Sorry, your pathologist."
Robby huffed a laugh, "I guess she is sort of my girlfriend."
"Well, you better watch out because I hear all the nurses warning her about your… 'seven week itch' I think they're calling it."
He shook his head, "She's not the type to listen to rumors."
Jack hummed, "She might start if you keep her waiting much longer."
"Alright, alright," He sighed and pushed himself off the wall, "I'll go find her."
"'Atta boy," Jack said and clapped him over the shoulder, the two of them walking back into the Pitt.
Robby's eyes found you almost immediately, talking to Dana, and you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up to meet his. There was concern all over your face and Robby didn't even have the time to properly wonder if Dana had filled you in about the terrible shift they'd had before you were marching over to him.
You were apparently so intently focused on him, you didn't notice the puddle of water on the floor and before Robby could warn you, you'd slipped.
Your feet went up over your head and your back hit the ground—hard.
Instantly, Robby was there, a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you tried to sit up— "Hey, don't move, don't move."
"Ow," you groaned and tried to push him out of your way, "I'm fine, Michael."
"Did you hit your head?" His penlight was already out, ready to assess.
You sighed, "I don't know, I don't think so."
"Dana," he called over his shoulder, "What's open?"
"Central 11."
"I just wanna go home," You said softly, "I'm fine, I swear."
But seeing you fall like that after the shift he'd had, he couldn't seem to slow the spiral he was beginning to fall down. What if you had a concussion? A brain bleed? Untreated one could lead to irreparable brain damage and the other, death.
"It'll be quick," He said, "Promise. Just… Please, it'll make me feel better."
You tilted your head slightly, doe eyes out in full force. Like you were concerned about him. But you nodded anyway, conceded to him, even when he insisted on a wheelchair to transport you.
When it was just the two of you and he had started your exam, you continued to watch him carefully.
"Did something happen today?" You asked softly, "During shift?"
He hummed in question, gently turning your head this way and that, "What d'you mean?"
"You're being… hypervigilant. I'm just wondering if something happened today to trigger that."
The two of you had discussed covid and Adamson. You had been back in Pittsburgh at that point, but at Westbridge. Robby had felt a pang of resentment at first, thinking that you likely hadn't had to be on the front lines like he had.
But then you told him about the autopsies. How there were so many bodies that you, who had built a career off studying cancers and blood, had had to assist with autopsies. You told him how you hadn't really done an autopsy since residency, but now with how many you'd had to do during the pandemic, you could do them with your eyes closed.
"It fucked with me," You'd told him, "I saw those bodies everywhere, even if I wasn't in the hospital. I could smell them no matter how many candles I lit at home. I dreamt about them for weeks after. I cried for months."
And when you'd divulged that, the flood gates had opened for him. He told you everything, from covid to PittFest. When he got choked up, he found himself instinctually reaching for your hand, needing you to anchor him. Without hesitation, you practically pulled him into your lap, cradled his head to your chest and whispered soothing words in his ear.
So then it shouldn't have surprised him that you would catch on so quickly. For being so young when you went through med school, he had assumed upon first meeting you that you'd have no idea about anything. But it had struck him immediately how emotionally intelligent you were, how you had from the very beginning been able to read even the most closed off of patients.
Still, he felt himself recoil at your assessment, "You fell," He said, "I'm just making sure you're alright."
"Well I'm also a doctor and I'm telling you, I'm fine. There's no tenderness at the back of my head, no nausea, no dizziness—"
"I'm ordering you a head CT."
Your mouth fell open, indignation in the tug of your lips. After a moment, you scoffed, "I don't want that so please get me the AMA forms to sign, if you don't mind."
He raised his eyebrows and finally met your eyes, "Really?"
"You're exposing me to unnecessary radiation when I have zero symptoms—"
"You don't remember if you hit your head—"
"Robby?" He whipped his head around to see Dana in the doorway, "The cops are here, they wanna talk to you about the boy and his mother who—"
"Yeah, okay, I'll be there in a minute."
Dana left and he hung his head, braced his hands against his legs, hoping they didn't shake, "I would really appreciate it… if you could please stay for a CT."
He felt your gaze even as he avoided it, "Why are the cops here?"
He sighed, "A kid's here with no parental guardian."
There was a pause, then, "What happened to his mother?"
"I really can't talk about this right now—"
"Then I'd like the AMA forms, please."
He made an exasperated groan and looked up at you, tried pleading with his eyes, but you stayed firm, expectant, until he sighed, "A woman was brought in today with her ten year old son who'd found her unresponsive in the bathtub when he came home from school today. She'd slashed her own wrists. We couldn't get a pulse back." He ran a hand along the back of his neck, "The kid doesn't have anyone else."
In a moment, you were on your knees in front of him, his hands clasped in yours, "You worked the resuscitation?"
He nodded, and to his surprise salty tears fell onto your clasped hands. Embarrassed, he tried for nonchalant as he spoke, "It's uh—It's been a long day, but that happened almost first thing this morning. I don't know why I can't shake it."
"Well… That's unsurprising." You said slowly, "Considering your childhood."
His entire body stiffened and he pulled away, "What'd you say?"
You opened and closed your mouth, still lowered to the ground in front of him. He watched as you seemed to calculate your misstep too late and then rush to correct, "I just, um, I remember you telling me once that… that your parents weren't really… present in your life."
Robby shook his head, "I never told you about that."
You bit your lip for a moment and then shrugged, "You told me… everything, Michael. The night we slept together in med school. You were very drunk."
He bristled and scoffed, "Right, we got drunk, I told you that my mother killed herself, and then we fucked?"
It seemed absurd. The truth that he was so ashamed of, that he'd held so close to his chest, that he hadn't allowed anyone to know, he had told you. His grandparents had been the only other people to know and when they died they took it with them. He had assumed he would do the same. But here you were, this contradiction to the one fundamental truth he'd had. That no one would ever need to know the ugly truth that the single person on this Earth who was supposed to love him unconditionally had abandoned him with such violent permanence.
You seemed a bit embarrassed at his hostility, lifting yourself back up to your feet again, "Look, you don't have to try to humiliate me just because you don't believe me. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just trying to let you know that I understand why that case was difficult for you."
"Yeah, well, it's not your fucking place."
He thought he saw you flinch, but just as quickly, you became stoic, "I think it's time for me to go and I'd prefer it if you stayed at your own place tonight."
You left without waiting for him to respond and immediately, the anger left him in a rush, replaced with shame. When he walked back towards central, you were gone, Dana looking at him now with a question in her eyes, "Your girl left in a rush, I thought you were leaving with her?"
He sighed, ran both hands over his face, "Where's the kid?"
"BH1," She said and leaned closer to him, "It's her birthday today and you let her leave here without you?"
Fuck. "It's her birthday?"
Dana nodded, "You don't know your own girl's birthday?"
"She's not—How do you know it's her birthday?"
"She told me about ten minutes ago."
Unbelievable.
"Well," He said, fingers interlaced at the back of his neck, "I don't think she'll want to spend it with me now."
Dana watched him for a moment, "Tell you what, Baran's still here, I'm sure she wouldn't mind handling the police. You should go. Get her a cake and flowers and apologize. You had a hard day, she'll understand."
You had understood, but he thought you'd likely be heaps and bounds less understanding now.
But hadn't he promised himself, when he first agreed to date you, seriously, that he'd be different this time? That he wouldn't fall back into old habits? That he wouldn't push people away when they got too close?
You already knew the worst of him, apparently. Had known it for decades it seemed and still, you wanted him. And as always, he'd hurt you anyway.
So, he was really prepared to grovel when he finally got to your place, a bouquet of tulips and white bakery box in hand. He knocked gently on the door and waited until he heard the twist of the doorknob, and then saw you. You were in sweats and a tank top and you crossed your arms over your chest when you saw him.
"Hi," he said softly.
"I thought I asked you not to come here tonight."
"I know, and I'll go, I just, Dana mentioned that it was your birthday so I got you a cake and some flowers and I just wanted to say that I'm—I'm really sorry. I just, I've never told… anyone about her, or so I thought, and it just caught me off guard. But, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, you were only trying to help."
You stared at him for a few moments, mouth twisted to the side and bounced on the balls of your feet, "You got me a birthday cake?"
His mouth twitched into a smirk, but he fought it, "Yeah, but I didn't know what sort of cake you like so I—I got you funfetti cake. It reminded me of you."
Now it was you fighting a smirk, "Funfetti cake reminds you of me?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you're bright, colorful, pretty, happy—You're everything. Funfetti."
You uncrossed your arms and interlocked them behind your back instead, "You can come inside."
Ten minutes later, you both sat on the couch with a slice of cake, "No one's ever gotten me a birthday cake before."
Robby balked, "What?"
You shrugged, "My parents were always too busy to celebrate my birthday. I think they forgot most years. And I didn't have many friends growing up. And then when I got to be an adult I just… stopped telling people when my birthday was. To avoid being disappointed."
He felt an ache in his chest for the child he saw in his head, the kid he used to know. How lonely you must've been. "Why'd you tell Dana?"
"One of my students is a bit of a kiss ass and found out it was my birthday from the internet. Got the whole class to sign a card for me. Dana just happened to see it."
He sighed, "I'm really sorry if I contributed to your day being shitty."
You shook your head, "I really don't even think about it much anymore, truly. And anyway, it sounded like you had a much harder day than I did."
"That's not an excuse."
You put your plate on the coffee table and turned your attention fully to Robby, taking his face gently in your hands, "You came here and you apologized," You said softly, "And I've forgiven you. So enough with the self flagellation, hm?" You stroked your thumbs gently over his cheekbones, "And why don't you tell me about the mother that came in today."
Again, he felt the involuntary raise of his hackles at the suggestion that he discuss today. But there was warmth and tenderness in your eyes. Your fingers ran through his hair and scratched at his scalp gently, and his eyes fluttered closed, hackles falling.
And so the words flowed out of him. He recounted the horror and fear that reverberated through him as the woman was rolled in, her son shaking and sobbing at her side. How difficult it was for him to focus on anything other than this boy, this baby, now alone in the world. It was frightening, really, to come face to face with the boy he used to be. How young he was when his mother had passed, something he'd been unable to appreciate at the time.
He'd done a lot of work to forgive her for leaving. Had studied up on suicidality and bipolar depression. In his career he met many people who reminded him of his mother and his empathy had stretched and grown and while he'd thought he'd forgiven her, there was still just a kernel of bitterness deep in his chest.
He had never been confronted with himself, with the child he used to be, until today. How his heart bled for that child. He could recall every memory of that day, every smell, every sound, every touch. The world had fractured and reassembled for that boy today, much like it had for him so many years ago. And he'd had to listen to his colleagues all day, talk about that boy as if he was the one who had died and it pissed him off. That they could so easily written off that kid's future because of a single day, because of the choices his mother had made.
But then came the small, nagging voice at the back of his head, But wasn't it true? Aren't you broken beyond repair? Isn't that the one truth you've been running from all this time?
"You're not broken," You said softly to him when he'd finished speaking, still holding him tightly to you, now with one hand beneath his shirt and running your nails soothingly up and down his back.
You repeated it to him like a mantra until he leaned up, captured your soft, warm mouth with his. And whenever he opened his eyes to look into yours, he knew you didn't believe your own words. Walls that you had begun to deconstruct over the last few weeks were now built back up. Now, barbed wire adorned the walls like vines.
He had the distinct feeling that you'd never allow him to see over the walls again.
***
"Well I heard from Edith who heard from Sam who sometimes has lunch with Dana that Robby's been staying late and picking up more shifts again, since he bought that motorcycle… You know what that means."
"The seven week itch has struck again. That motorcycle's a breakup motorcycle if I've ever seen one."
You sighed heavily as you adjusted your microscope, "You guys are not being as quiet as you think you are."
Your students giggled at your admonishment, "Sorry, the drama is just way more fascinating in the Pitt than it is up here."
You were silent after that and their whispers died down, but never completely. You had never paid much attention to rumors around the hospital until you and Robby started seeing each other. The women in the hospital loved gossiping about him. And more and more it ate away at you.
Things hadn't been quite right between you since your birthday. You had forgiven him for how he'd acted, but still there was a cold dread in your stomach that seemed to intensify every time you saw him. You felt yourself overcompensating, looking for reassurance. You had convincingly kept up the illusion of confidence, but now it waned.
You had the feeling he had sussed it out, how desperate you were. Before, for any companionship. Now, specifically, for his. You were frightened by the way your heart squeezed when you woke up to him beside you in the morning. The way he had slipped into your routine so effortlessly. Helping you out in the garden on the weekends. Putting the kettle on at exactly 9PM for tea before bed. Trying all your desserts even after insisting he needed to watch what he ate. Recently, he'd began reading your well-worn, tattered copy of The Princess Bride aloud to you, using character voices that got more and more ridiculous until you were crying with laughter. More and more regularly, he fell asleep on the couch, glasses askew and Brutus on his chest.
It was terrifying how easily he slotted into your life. This was what you'd wanted, what you'd always wanted, had wanted so badly at times you'd forced relationships you knew would never work.
And you kept waiting, day after day, for him to leave and not come back. The day he'd been short with you in the ER, you'd been flung back to an earlier relationship. Remembered in vivid details the ugly fights you'd had.
"You're not listening to me!"
"Maybe I just don't like the sound of your voice."
It didn't matter how he apologized after, the words had burrowed deep in your head. They stuck with you from relationship to relationship and you'd heard similar disdain from Robby that day.
So with all of this, you were already struggling before the rumors and before the motorcycle. You felt him pulling away from you inch by inch and you clung to him harder, certain if you just enticed him the correct way he'd want to stay.
And for a while, you thought it was working, until dinner one day on the porch. The vibrant strawberry sky was beginning to bruise with dusk as you each sat in silent after cleaning your plates.
Then Robby cleared his throat, "You know how I've been fixing up the motorcycle with Duke?"
You nodded. You knew the fact that you were jealous of a sixty year old biker spending time with your boyfriend was not healthy. You were glad he had picked up a hobby outside of the ER, it was good for him. And still, you couldn't help the way dread curdled in your gut every time he spoke about it. What it really felt like was an escape plan. No matter how you tried to convince yourself it wasn't, you couldn't stop the constant spirals. The souring of your mood whenever he stated he was going to Duke's or he couldn't make it tonight because he stayed too late at Duke's so he'd just sleep at his own place. You knew he noticed the shift in energy whenever the motorcycle was brought up, but he never commented on it.
"It's finished," He gave you a wry smile, "It's rideable now, in really good shape."
"Oh," You said, "That's… great."
Again, he ignored the uneasiness in your tone. Or maybe he truly was oblivious. Because next he said, "I was thinking about taking some time off from work and doing a cross country ride."
"Oh," You said again, feeling dumb at your sudden lack of vocabulary, "For how long?"
"I don't know," He avoided looking at you as he said, "Three months?"
The pain in your chest was spectacular. Again and again you were reminded of how unlovable you were. You tried so hard and it was never enough, not for your parents, not for friends, not for every other partner who left quickly and quietly. Your eyes burned as you pushed back from the table and picked up your plate, "You don't have to flee across the country to get rid of me, you could just break up with me like a mature, grown man." You said bitterly and walked back inside.
Assumedly shocked at your outburst, it took him a minute before following you back inside, "This is not about us," He said quietly over your shoulder as you dropped the dirty dishes unceremoniously into your sink.
"Frankly, it doesn't matter if it isn't," You said turning to face him, "If you leave for three months our relationship is effectively dead. And you know this."
He scoffed, "Three months is not that long—"
"Three months is not that long when you've been in a relationship for a decade, it's everything when you've barely even been together that long."
He watched you and slowly shook his head, "It doesn't have to be. You could come with me."
You laughed and pushed past him, "What, and bring Brutus as well? Let my garden wither away? You don't really want me to come, you're just offering out of guilt."
"That's not true, I—I want to be here with you, being with you is the only thing that feels right in my life right now. I don't want to lose that."
"Then why are you running away?" You asked, exasperated and humiliated when tears began to blur your vision.
You were sitting on the couch now and he crouched in front of you, looked at you with his big wet, brown cow eyes. Eyes you adored, crow's feet you wished to sink into, freckles you'd counted and memorized over many nights.
"I feel like…" He said slowly, "Like… if I don't get out of that hospital, of this city soon that I'm a ticking time bomb."
You nodded and sniffed, pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes, "And I feel like if you leave I'm never gonna see you again."
He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow furrowed and watery eyes studying you. You waited and waited for him to say it wasn't true, but he obviously couldn't. Instead he cupped your cheeks in his hands and gently brushed away your tears, "C'mon sweetheart, don't cry. It's okay. I've got you."
Leaning in, he gently kissed your forehead, the tops of your cheeks, your nose, then your mouth, his beard scratching the soft skin of your face. Stifling the cries that attempted to crawl up your throat, you kissed him back fiercely, wondering if it would be the last time you got to do so. He matched your fervor, groaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss—and then his hands were everywhere.
He hoisted you up and around his waist and walked you to the bedroom, a path he knew well at this point, could do it with his eyes closed. He placed you down and then crawled over you, arms bracketing your head as he kissed your lips swollen and raw. The smell of him, the taste of him, had become so comforting to you it was agony to imagine a time when you couldn't have them whenever you wanted. That he would be so far away from you, your house lonely and empty once again. And it was this thought that had you burst promptly into tears.
"Wh—What's wrong? Sweetheart—Do you wanna stop? We can stop—"
"No, no," You said quickly through hiccuping sobs and opened your eyes into his, "Please—Please don't stop, Michael, please—"
"Okay," He kissed all over your face again as your sobs began to quiet, "Okay, baby. I'm right here—" In response to his words, you pulled him closer until his weight was almost fully on you, "I'm right here." He repeated.
When your tears dried, he slowly undressed you, his kisses painfully tender and eyes that melted you. It took everything in you not to rush him along. The need to have him inside you, to fill you up, felt almost primal. You needed to be close to him, as close as you could be. Soon he'd be gone and all you'd have was the ghost of a feeling.
He leaned his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside you, both of you sighing into one another, "So perfect," He murmured and kissed you, "Feel so perfect, baby."
"Please," You kept saying over and over as he pushed himself in and out of you. You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, for him to fuck you? For him to stay? For him to love you?
Pulling out of you, he turned you onto your stomach, positioned your hips until you felt him press into you again, his belly against the small of your back and the cold chain around his neck falling against your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine.
The feel of him inside you was exquisite, like nothing else you'd experienced before. He pushed his hand beneath your belly until his fingers found your swollen clit and this coupled with the way he filled you up was too much, the sensation overwhelming. You were coming before you even had the chance to warn him, unraveling as he moaned and kissed the back of your neck when he felt your walls pulse around him.
The pleasure was so overwhelming and the feel of him so stifling, it was almost involuntary when you blurted out, "I love you, Michael, I love you."
With your face partially obscured by the mattress, you hoped he hadn't heard it. But his hips stuttered for a second and panic seized in your chest until— "Oh, God, fuck—" he came inside you.
His skin stuck to yours as he caught his breath, still inside you as he softened. You laid like that for a while in silence, spooning in your bed. The sun had still cast shadows in your room when you first came in here, but now it was nearly pitch black.
"You're still leaving?" You asked, voice steadier than you felt, unwilling to hope.
He was quiet for long enough that you wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then came the soft, "Yes," in your ear.
You said nothing else that night. Neither of you spoke about what you'd confessed during sex and when you woke in the morning, he had left. There was no trace of him left in the house. He'd taken his toothbrush, his beard trimmer, his duffel of clothes and other toiletries. All gone.
He left a single t-shirt—by accident or not, you couldn't say—draped over your hamper. When you picked it up and brought it to your face, it smelt like him.
You sank to the floor of your closet like a child and cried.
***
Robby saw you everywhere and in everything. He thought about you most mornings when he put on a pair of pants and noticed how they were a bit too snug—Having regular meals most days at your place had meant he'd put on a few pounds while dating you. He thought about you and Brutus whenever Trinity showed him pictures of her new kittens. Whenever he had a cookie or a slice of blueberry pie, he remembered the sweet buttery smell of your house whenever you were baking.
He missed you with a devotion that felt almost religious, but he never picked up the phone. After having made you cry and then hearing you admit that you were in love with him, he'd been absolutely certain he couldn't have you. He'd thought in the beginning, he'd been able to delude himself that he could have someone like you. That he deserved someone like you, so sweet and gentle and loving. But despite his precautions, you'd still crumbled to dust in his hands.
He was terrified that if he didn't leave he'd repeat his mother's mistakes and leave you even more devastated than you were now.
But when you looked at him and said you didn't think you'd ever see him again, he'd wondered if you'd understood. If you'd understood his fears and instead worried that if he did leave he'd become his mother.
He didn't want to think about that and so as he packed up his gear and clothes and whatever else he thought he might need onto his bike, he tried and failed to stop thinking about you.
As he left town, he rode by your house knowing you'd be at work. He rolled slowly, memorized every detail he could of the house, the only place he'd ever felt at home besides his grandparents' house. In a last minute decision, he pulled out his phone and took a quick photo.
This was when he saw Brutus in the window, watching him, tail swishing back and forth. He'd miss that little rascal, too, even if he had broken his favorite mug. He gave a quick salute to Brutus and then he left before he could change his mind.
For a while, being on the road felt as freeing as he hoped it would. Everyone before he left seemed so worried he was about to kill himself, but honestly, with new air in his lungs, he felt great. For around four hundred miles.
He was a few days into the trip, having only driven something like a hundred miles each day, and closing in on Chicago when the fatigue really began to set in. Every part of his body ached. He had been very careful not to let his mind wander to you since he'd left, but it wandered anyhow. Now he thought of the Epsom salt baths you insisted on whenever he had aches and pains. He wished more than anything that you'd be there in Chicago, waiting by the hot bath, pretending to resist when he coaxed you in with him. You'd sit between his legs, back to his chest as you told him about your day as he gently kneaded your shoulders with his thumbs. You'd talk about the study you were working on. Or, since it was a Saturday, maybe you'd spent time in the garden, pulling weeds as you listened to an audiobook for a new mystery novel.
Robby was so immersed in the fantasy, he didn't register the oncoming headlights until it was already too late. Still, as the car crossed the double yellow line into his lane, on instinct, he jerked the bike away from the oncoming collision.
He was able to avoid the car, but lost control of the bike, skidding off the road and into a guardrail. He felt it when the gravel tore through his pants, then his skin, the weight of his bike pinning him to the ground as he came to a complete stop.
Robby was so used to watching other people die, he thought he knew what it'd be like when his time came. Stupidly, he thought he'd made his peace with his own mortality, his inevitable demise. But in the split second it took for him to see the oncoming headlights and jerk his bike out of the way, he understood immediately and with complete clarity that he didn't want to die.
As he felt his skin being torn up and his leg being crushed, time slowed, and he saw your face. Heard your voice tell him you loved him. The sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo.
And just as quickly as it happened, it was over, and the pain exploded throughout his body.
Pain, glorious pain, and as he categorized it all he understood it meant he was alive and he laughed, wildly. The paramedics that showed up afterwards and told him how lucky he was likely thought him insane as he laughed and laughed.
He was alive. He was fucking alive. And the realization filled him with indescribable joy. Logically he knew most of this was due to the adrenaline rush, but he couldn't help but feel like this had to have been some divine intervention. And soon enough, as the adrenaline fled him and the pain meds kicked in, he couldn't stop crying.
The nurses and doctors looked at him with sympathy and one nurse, Angela, asked gently, "Is there anyone we can call?"
The only person he wanted to call right now was you. His bike was totaled and he found he didn't even care. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to play chess on your porch while it rained. He wanted to play hide and seek with Brutus while you giggled from the sofa, watching him. He wanted to let you pick a movie for movie night only to have you unceremoniously fall asleep in his arms less than ten minutes in. He wanted to beg your forgiveness. He wanted to tell you he loved you, was in love with you, like he should have before he left. He wanted to go home.
But he shook his head, wiped his eyes and asked if he could have his phone. He would be waiting a while for imaging on his leg. The thought for sure something was broken and based on what he felt when he went down, he concurred with that opinion. He thought it possible he might even need surgery, though they hadn't said as much yet.
Angela returned with his phone and a smile, repeated as he looked at his cracked screen that she'd be happy to call, but he thanked her and waved her off.
His phone seemed to be working fine and he immediately scrolled over to his photo album where he pulled up photos of you. Photos of the two of you together, you making a silly face at the camera and him with a toothy smile on his face as he looked down at you. Happy.
He felt suddenly very stupid for how he'd handled everything. Wished he'd listened to you when you asked him why he seemed to be sabotaging the one good thing in his life.
The answer was that he didn't think he deserved anything good, least of all, you. He was destined to a miserable life and a miserable death and he had no desire to bring you down with him.
But looking at this photo, it was becoming more and more clear to him that you had changed him. He thought he was destined for tragedy, but you'd rewritten his ending. Only he'd been much too stupid to see it.
Eventually, he worked up the courage to call you, not expecting you to answer. As the phone rang he could picture you in your pajama set, sleepytime tea on your nightstand and Brutus curled up in your lap as you stared at the caller ID with rage in your eyes.
But you surprised him. You picked up after just three rings.
"Hello?" You sounded a bit breathless and a lot confused.
"Hi."
"Michael?" He closed his eyes at the sound of his name, always so sweet from your mouth, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Why are you assuming something's wrong?"
"Because I haven't heard from you in weeks," You said bitterly, "And I can hear beeping monitors in the background and I know you're not at work because Abbot told me you left for your sabbatical days ago."
"So you've been asking about me?" He said, teasing lilt to his voice.
You sighed, "Michael, so help me, I will hang up this phone—"
"Alright, okay, sorry, sorry, you're right," He ran a hand over his face, "I'm sorry—I—I'm in an emergency room in Chicago and I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Why are you in an emergency room?" He could tell you were fighting to keep your voice level from how slowly you asked the question.
"I totaled the bike," He scratched at his beard, "I was driving too late and I was tired and a car drifted into my lane and I swerved and went into a guardrail."
"Oh my God—Fuck—Are you—Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I have some pretty bad road rash and think maybe my leg's broken—" He heard movement on the other end of the phone, "What're you doing?"
"Packing." You said matter of factly, "If I leave now I should get to Chicago by morning."
He felt his eyes burn immediately. That after everything you'd still go to him without hesitation. Again, he felt that pang in his chest, that overwhelming ache that said he didn't deserve you.
"You shouldn't drive this late," Was all he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
"Please," You said dismissively, "Do you need anything from your house? I can stop on my way."
"Sweetheart, I'm—I'm so sorry for leaving. You were right, you're the only thing that matters and I thought I didn't deserve it—Deserve you and so I ran away. I'm a coward. And I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll beg for it anyway. I love you so much and I just want to be with you, if you'll still have me."
There was silence on the other line and then a soft sigh, "You're on so many drugs right now, aren't you?"
"What? No—Well, yes, but that's not why—"
"We can talk about it in a few days when you're not high out of your mind. Do you need anything from your house?" You repeated it like you were talking to a petulant toddler and he felt stupid again. He hadn't considered what this would look like to you. And yes, his accident had forced him to confront what he was actually doing and feeling, but that didn't make it less true. He'd known he loved you long before he left, long before you even said it. He thought he'd likely been a little bit in love with you since med school.
Your caution was understandable, though, so he wouldn't push.
"No," He said finally, "No, thanks. But would you mind sharing your location with me since you insist on driving through the night? Would make me feel better if I can follow along."
"Sure," you said, and he heard the way your voice softened at his concern, "Goodnight, Michael."
For a moment, time seemed to crunch like an accordian and he was back in med school, your voice in his ear in the middle of the night, asking for his forgiveness. He felt a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Goodnight, Bambi." He murmured and his phone slipped from his hand.
***
Michael was asleep when you got to the hospital and had been admitted to Ortho upstairs for surgery.
Your emotions were all over the place, but seeing him in a hospital bed, a bit bloodied up and hooked up to monitors, you felt your defenses falling. You wanted to be angry with him, but how could you be? When you had been so close to losing him for good?
As you got closer, you noted that he'd let his beard and hair grow out a bit longer since the last you saw him. It made him appear softer. You had been pleased before he left when his cheeks began to fill out a bit having made him eat properly since you began dating. That weight was still there, if not as obvious as before.
The rush of affection that filled you upon seeing him was nearly suffocating.
As you pulled up a chair to his bedside, he began to wake and you smiled at him with watery eyes, "Hi."
He smiled back and reached a hand out for you which you immediately took and brought to your lips.
"I'm sorry," He said immediately, but you dismissed him with a shake of your head.
"What did the doctor say? Why do you need surgery?"
"It's… shattered. The bike fell on it, crushed my leg. Have to screw it all back together."
You frowned as he grimaced, "Are you in pain? Let me go get a nurse—"
You stood to go, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, "No, no, don't. I asked them to… take me off the meds."
You stared at him, mouth agape, "Why would you do something like that?"
"So that I could tell you how in love with you I am with a clear head."
You nearly laughed, "Michael Robinavitch, have you lost your goddamn mind?"
"You said we should wait," He shook his head, "I don't want you to go another second thinking that I don't love you."
Your eyes watered, but you shook your head, "It's gonna take a lot longer than you saying it once for me to trust you again."
"I know that," He grimaced again, "I just wanted to say it now."
You brought a hand to his cheek and scratched lightly along his jaw, "Can I go grab a nurse now if you're done with the dramatics?"
He smirked and nodded and you hid a grin as you stood and walked from the room.
It was a day or two after surgery that Robby was finally cleared to go home with you. On the way home, high on pain meds, Robby read The Princess Bride to you in his silly voices to keep you entertained.
At home, you set him up in bed with strict instructions to Brutus to keep him company while you made him food.
And slowly, the two of you settled back into the usual rhthym. He told you he loved you many times a day. Even when he didn't say it, he'd run his fingers over the tattoo on your wrist, or say something just to make you laugh. He watched you with an expression on his face that you'd never seen before and when you asked if something was wrong, he shook his head, said "Everything's perfect."
As he got back on his feet, you took slow walks to and from the park, fed the birds. Robby even downloaded an app on his phone that could identify the birds by thsid song. His face would light up with joy whenever the app told him a bird he didn't recognize was around.
Life was quiet and peaceful and love found a way to fill every crack and crevice in each of your hearts.
A year later, when Robby's leg had healed entirely, when the only pain was used to predict the rain, was when he asked you.
"Sweetheart?" Your head was in his lap on the sofa, you watching TV while he did a crossword. You hummed in response so he knew you were listening, "I've been thinking and I think it's time I put my house up for sale."
You sat up slowly and looked at him. Your eyes instantly scanning for deception.
Robby was a great roommate. He was pretty handy and so could usually fix most minor wear and tear problems without having to call in an expert. He took care of Brutus and the plants. He loved gardening with you. He never let the chores go too long without being done. Always washed the toilet because he knew it was your least favorite chore.
You had no qualms about living with him. But you always assumed, even though most of you had grown to trust him again, that he'd keep his house as a backup plan. It was realistic, you told yourself. Relationships all had expiration dates.
"Really?"
He nodded, "The last year I've only ever gone home to to make sure nobody's broken in. I've moved everything I use here already. My clothes, my toiletries, my tools, my books, my records—everything's here. It's a waste, don't you think?"
You opened and closed your mouth, ran your fingers absently over the tattoo on your wrist, "What if… What if we fight and you want space?"
He shrugged, "I don't think that would happen, but I could always get a hotel for a night. I still have the cabin in the mountains."
You swallowed and looked down at your hands, "If we break up you'll hate me because you sold your house."
You felt the couch shift as he sat up and took your hands, "If we broke up, I could never hate you. Besides, this is my decision. You didn't pressure me into it. I also figured this way it was only fair that I start helping out with the bills here. Now, if me permanently moving in feels like too big of a step to you—"
"No," You said quickly, "No, I want you to. I love having you here, it's been…" You shook your head, "It's been the best year of my life."
He smiled and brought your hands up to his lips, "Mine too."
And as the two of you talked over a bottle of wine about the logistics of moving the remainder of his things into your house and calling realtors and what you should do with the extra money (Should you travel? Put it into retirement?) it was like the final piece of your previously shattered heart was glued back into place.
Before Michael, you often wondered if you were too picky. If your standards were too high as your mother loved to tell you and that's why you'd end up a spinster. Alone and bitter, always denied the one thing you wanted and craved most in the world: love and companionship.
But as you and Michael talked late into the night and fell asleep in each other's arms, you knew you'd been right to wait.
You couldn't rush soulmates and you would've waited forever and a day if it meant you got to know love like this. Luckily for you, you'd only had to wait twenty something years for Robby to realize he was in love with you. In the face of forever, it was a blink of an eye. And for that, you'd thank the sun and the moon and all the stars every day for the rest of your life.
Notes: Can I interest you in parentified eldest daughter falling in love with a man with some fucking whimsy
Warnings: Exes to lovers; Whump. Lots of whump; descriptions of Reader being sick multiple times (not super explicit); mentions of pregnancy (but no actual pregnancy); reader is a workaholic; cursing; flashbacks; complicated family dynamics; reader has named sisters - no physical descriptions; canon-typical medical situations; reader's age is unspecified, but she and her sisters are all adults
Summary: John’s hands hook onto the railing of the gurney, his eyes darting to your face every few seconds as your entourage of medical professionals steers you down the hall.
“So,” He offers, “Fancy seeing you here.”
And you so don’t want to let him make you smile, but you can’t help yourself.
“This is a bit much,” He adds as you’re wheeled onto the elevator, “I mean, I told you you could call and you show up at my job instead? I appreciate the effort, but you're coming off a little desperate.”
When you propel yourself out of bed, you’re blindly guided by two things: your instinctual knowledge of where your en suite bathroom is, and your stomach violently rejecting its contents.
You drop to the floor, knees roughly smacking the cold tile as you fumble with the lid of your toilet. Your body shudders as you heave, fingers gripping the cool porcelain desperately. When the sickness finally lets up, you lean back, blinking the tears from your eyes. You swallow thickly, drawing in a deep breath, then wincing as your stomach threatens to revolt again. You lean back, closing the lid and flushing the toilet as you fight to steady your breathing.
The knocking on your door makes you jump, and you raise a shaking hand to your chest, croaking,
“Yeah?”
“You okay in there?”
You nod, though your youngest sister can’t see you, then manage,
“‘M fine.”
“Can I open the door?”
“...Yeah.”
It’s a moment before Lisa’s opening the door and peering inside, her brow furrowed at the sight of you where you’re still sitting on the floor.
“Are you okay?”
“You already asked me that.”
“Yeah, but that was before I saw you looking like…Well, this.”
“Who taught you to be so sweet?”
“You did.”
You offer a wobbly smile, huffing softly as you push yourself up. “Asshole.”
“Uh-huh.” Lisa folds her arms across her chest. “What the hell, by the way?”
“I don’t know,” You grumble, pumping soap into your hands and scrubbing up along your arms where you were leaning against the toilet. “Probably something I ate last night.”
“Could always call your doctor friend and make sure.”
The mention of him has your stomach churning again. “Ha-ha.”
“He should be getting off-shift soon,” Lisa adds as you rinse with mouth wash, “Could invite him over for a check-up.”
You swish, spit, and shoot Lisa a glare couched in a sickly sweet smile.
“Thanks for all of your help, Li.”
Lisa snorts, pushing off of the door frame as she drawls, “Fiiine. I’m gonna get ready for class.”
“You need a ride?”
“No, Joey’s gonna come pick me up—don’t.”
“Hm.”
“Don’t start.”
“I wouldn’t have to start if you weren’t making bad choices.”
“You never like my boyfriends.”
“That’s because all of your boyfriends—” You cut yourself off, raising a hand to staunch a nauseating belch, “Suck.”
When Lisa doesn’t answer right away, you figure that she’s left—but as you straighten back up, you find her watching you in the mirror with a narrowed gaze.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” You nod, turning to face her. “I’m working from home today, anyway. We’ve got rice, we’ve got broth, we’ve got saltines. Honestly, that was probably it, nothing left in the tank. I’m fine.”
Lisa hesitates before she closes the space between the two of you, raising her hand and pressing the back to your forehead. You force a poker face, doing your best not to lean into the coolness of her fingers. Her brow wrinkles, lips screwing to the side, then—
“I have no idea what your forehead is supposed to feel like.”
“Go to class and learn.”
Lisa scoffs, finally turning away and slouching back to her room. You wait until her footsteps have faded completely before reaching out, quietly pushing the bathroom door closed again. You swallow, wincing at the slight ache in your throat.
You don’t feel like you’re going to throw up again, but there’s an pain in your side, one that you hadn’t noticed when you were stumbling your way to bed. You raise your hand, rubbing slightly over a spot on your right and wincing again. Christ, that hurts. Did you bang it when you were getting down to get to the toilet? That must be it.
Of course, it couldn’t hurt to ask a professional. You didn’t block him, he said the door was still open if you ever wanted to talk, so maybe you could just send a quick little question—
No. No.
You have broth, you have rice, you have Google. You can figure this out. Besides, it probably really was just something you ate.
--
“This is John, the guy I’ve been telling you about!”
The words were half-lost on the music being pumped through your best friend’s place, and the chatter of the other people crammed into her shared 450 square foot two-bedroom apartment. You had been tempted to dip out of the party nearly an hour ago, but your friend had sworn that not only was the guy she was setting you up with going to eventually be there (even though he was running late), but he was well worth waiting for.
You turned to face the mystery man, and you were, admittedly, caught off-guard. It was a combination of things: the scrubs he was wearing, the Dunkin cup in hand, and the fact that the guy was really, really cute.
“Hi,” You said, offering your hand and your name in tandem. He took hold of your hand, dipping closer and requesting:
“One more time?”
You hesitated before leaning in and giving him your name again.
“Nice to meet you!” He smiled before glancing around. “It’s a little loud in here. You wanna get some air?”
It was cooler on your friend’s fire escape, and so much quieter. You curled your arms around yourself, toying with your little plastic cup of wine before glancing over at John.
“Can I ask,” You nodded toward the Dunkin.
“Oh—You want a sip?”
“No, no,” You shook your head. “I was wondering why you brought a…Frankly massive Dunkin iced coffee to a housewarming. Seems like an odd choice.”
“I could only stop by for a bit before I have to go to work.”
“Jeez, what time do you start work?”
“Shift starts at seven. Twelve hours.”
“Explains how big the coffee is.”
“Sure does.” He raised it again, giving it a little shake, the ice rattling against the plastic. “You sure you don’t want a sip?”
“Uh—No. Thanks.”
John just shrugged, raising the orange straw to his lips and taking a deep pull.
“You know, I was curious about you,” He offered once he’d swallowed.
“Oh?”
“Mhm. Heard a lot.”
“Good or bad?”
“Good, I think.”
“Like what?”
“Like…You’re the oldest of three sisters, really family oriented. Have your life together, have very high expectations for yourself…And that you’re a stickler for punctuality.” His teasing smile made your belly flutter. “Even more surprised that you’re still here, considering I’m late for our little set-up.”
And you could have told him that your friend had to talk you out of leaving twice, that you had nearly called it when her roommate’s sleazeball of a boyfriend tried to hit on you. All of that was true. But—
“Maybe I was curious about you, too.”
John’s bright smile made staying all the more worth it.
--
According to Google, you have food poisoning, stage 4 stomach cancer, and your period all at once.
And while you could waste your time speculating about something that’ll probably just pass, you choose instead to focus on your job. All you know for certain is that you have two reports due, three RFPs, and a presentation draft due by EoD, as well as a meeting with your manager for your annual review. All of that means only one thing:
You do not have time to spend fucking around, half-asleep in bed, or throwing up the little bit of room-temperature water that you’ve been able to get down.
But that doesn’t stop your body from revolting against you.
You manage to get bits and pieces of your work done in five to ten minute intervals, with your belly betraying any little bit of liquid, nutrients, or hope that you manage to take in. You go through your recipes, your fridge—you just manage to stop yourself from going through your trash to double check the dates on the ingredients that you used to make dinner last night. But it couldn’t really be that, could it? You’d checked all of the dates before you’d cooked, even thrown out a couple of ingredients because they were just a day past their best-by.
It’s your period, it has to be. This doesn’t feel anything like the last time you had food poisoning—at least, what you’re pretty sure was food poisoning.
--
“How ya doin’ over there, champ?”
You glared down at your phone, lips twisted into a pout. “I feel like death.”
“You’re answering me, so definitely not death.”
“I said I feel like death, not that I’m dying—ugh,” You groaned as your lower belly gurgled, shifting where you’d been sitting on your toilet for nearly ten minutes, “God.”
“What are your symptoms?”
“I really don’t want to disclose that to you.”
“Oh, c’mon,” John chuckled, “I’m a professional.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It can’t be anywhere near what I see in the ED on the nightly.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Honestly? Couple’a days ago, we had a guy came in with a Darth Vader figurine stuck up where it shouldn’t have been.”
Your jaw dropped with a stunned laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah. He thought he’d be able to keep it from slipping in completely because the cape was triangular, but it went a little too far. He came in when he gave up reaching for the feet.”
“...Okay, this is one step below that.”
“Just one?”
The slight smile in John’s tone had a grudging one pulling at your lips. “Maybe a couple.”
“Uh-huh. Tell you what, I get off shift in twenty. I’ll swing by with a goodie bag.”
“I can’t handle goodies right now, John.”
“Not even if those goodies include animal crackers, broth, electrolytes, and pepto bismol?”
“I’m not going to be much of a conversationalist.”
“It’ll be a drive by. You buzz me up, I hand you the bag, I steal a couple of kisses, you go back inside.”
“You have a suspicious amount of this interaction planned out.”
“Well, this girl I’m dating has told me that she likes a man with a plan.”
Your smile stretched into a full-blown, lovesick grin, and you raised your hand to scrub across your eyes.
“Fine. Just…give me a five minute warning before you get here?”
“Sure. Hey, you might even find a surprise Darth Vader figurine among your goodies—”
“John!”
--
By noon, you’ve managed to polish off your notes on the RFP, but the presentation and reports have barely been touched. You message your manager reluctantly, warning that you’re a little under the weather, but still in a good place to finish everything on your plate by EoD.
And you do have every intention of finishing things off. You decide to take a half-hour nap, just give your body a little bit of a rest before getting back on the horse.
It’s a good plan in theory—but your head hasn’t been down for two minutes before you’re clambering out of bed, hardly making it to the sink before the singular sip of gatorade you’d taken twenty minutes ago is making a bid for freedom.
You groan, resting your forehead against the sink—and then whine when you hear your cell phone ringing. You straighten slowly, bracing your hand back against the wall and stepping back into your room, taking up the phone from your bedside table. Oh—god. Do you have the patience for this call right now?
You lower yourself to your bed, swiping the call acceptance and sticking it on speaker.
“What’s up, Lilah?”
“Holy fuck, Lisa wasn’t kidding. You sound like shit.”
You muster a weak smile, drawing your legs into the bed and pulling your blankets around your lap.
“Mom and dad did a hell of a job curating your manners.”
“Mm, but you’re the one who really honed them, generalissimo.”
You roll your eyes, resting your pounding head back against the wall of decorative pillows that you’ve piled up, and have been using to keep yourself upright for the last few hours. Growing up as the middle child, Lilah had always been the one raging against your de facto parental machine, where Lisa tended to push back a touch, but ultimately fell in line.
You pull in a steadying breath, catching on the sounds of school kids in the background on the other end of the phone. Must be recess.
“Whaddaya want, bean?”
“I can’t just wanna talk to my big sister?”
“Willingly? It would be a first.”
“Are you pregnant?”
The thought nearly triggers another heave.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” You snap. “Did Lisa tell you that?”
“No, but—”
“I’m on birth control, I have always used protection—”
“Those things aren’t always 100%, accidents happen—”
“And it’s been a while.”
“...If you’re sure.”
“John and I broke up months ago,” You remind her, “And even before that, we hadn’t been…” You wince. “Intimate.”
“Blegh, okay, we get it.”
“I’m just saying—”
“God forbid the two of you pushed the beds together.”
“Lilah, for godssake—”
“I still don’t understand why you broke up with that man.”
The comment stops you in your tracks, eyes unfocused on your dimming laptop screen. You’ve done your best not to think about John—your ‘how’s and ‘why’s and ‘what might’ve been’s. The closest you’ve gotten in the last few weeks is the brief flirtation with his contact in your phone that morning.
“...Okay,” Lilah finally concedes, seeming to take your silence in the spirit with which it’s meant. “Not pregnant.”
“It’s probably actually my period, anyway. You know I get queasy when I’m PMSing—and my cramps suck right now. I’ll be spotting by, like, 3pm at the latest.”
“And if you’re not, your uterus will hear about it.”
“Exactly.”
A moment of slightly tense silence, punctuated only by the odd giggle and screech of children from her end.
“Alright,” Lilah sighs, “The principal is giving me the stink eye, I should probably pay attention to the kids.”
“Lilah—!”
“Kidding! Jesus. Feel better.”
“Thanks.”
Lilah’s grunt is her only sign off before the call cuts. You reach out, drawing your laptop close and squirting at the screen for a moment before squeezing your eyes shut at the throbbing of your headache. Christ.
It isn’t as if you haven’t explained your break up to Lilah, because you have—at least twice. But you’ll tolerate her needling, her willful ignorance, it doesn’t matter. It’s not her relationship, it’s yours—was yours.
--
“I don’t think I’m gonna get Christmas off.”
“Aw, really?” You frowned, setting your planner down on the kitchen table and watching John reach for one of the two remaining Munchkins in the carton he brought over. “I thought you asked.”
“I mean, I did, but it was a little slammed when it came up—more of an informal request.” He raised his fingers to suck the powder off of them, adding through a full mouth: “I put in for it, but it’s up in the air.”
“Hmm. Well if you can’t, that’s alright. It’s just gonna be me and the girls.”
“What about your parents?”
You waved John off, shaking your head. “They’re going to be on a cruise.”
“Oof,” John sighed, slouching back in his seat, “You think you felt bad when you had food poisoning—”
“Okay.”
“Those floating buffet-laden crap shows.”
“Okay!”
“Nice scenery, though.”
You rolled your eyes, propping your chin up on your hand as you considered him.
“What’s your mom gonna do if you can’t get Christmas off?”
John’s lips pressed into a thin line, and your eyes caught on the bob of his Adam’s apple, the fidget of his fingers toying with the strings on his hoodie.
“...John?”
Another moment before he shrugged. “What she does when I usually can’t get the holidays off, I guess.”
You opened your mouth to ask, but he was sitting up before you could, shuffling his chair closer. “So what’d you get me?”
Your confusion melted to fondness, mind flashing to the smart watch you’d spent weeks researching and comparison shopping for, and you scoffed, “As if I’d tell you.”
“C’mon, gimme a hint. Is it black? Red? Lacey?”
--
Your manager only gets two minutes into your performance review before she ultimately cuts it short.
“You know what, why don’t we reschedule?”
You try to tell her that you’re fine to go through with it, but she waves you off: “I’ll throw some time on for tomorrow. Take a break.”
You manage a weak smile, an, “Okay,” and a, “Ping me if you need anything,” before you close out of the meeting. You lower the laptop lid with a sense of defeat, tears crowding your dry, tired eyes. When the urge to puke pops up again, you can’t make it all the way to the bathroom, instead lowering yourself to the floor and hunching over the trash bin by your bed.
It’s nothing but bile that devolves into dry heaves, and by the time you’re through, your pounding head is spinning. You brace your hand on the floor, trying to ground yourself, but it doesn’t hold, and there’s nothing more you can do as your world tilts.
--
The hand on your cheek, then your forehead, is so cold, and a distant, “Holy shit,” sounds so familiar. It’s chased by, “How long has she been like this,” and a frantic, “She wasn’t this bad this morning!”
You groan as you’re turned onto your back, wincing at the onslaught of bright light. It takes a moment, but the face that swims into view is comforting.
“Li-Li,” You smile, raising a hand to cup Lisa’s cheek. “How was school?”
“How long have you been on the floor?”
“Did that boy drive you?”
You hear a scoff, a grumble of, “On death’s fucking doorstep and still the captain of the morality police.”
“Lilah, shut up—”
“Bean,” You struggle to crane your neck as you look for Lilah. “Lilah, what are you—” You try to sit up, flounder, flop back and whack your head roughly on the nightstand, “What’re—”
“Christ, Lilah, call a fucking ambulance!” Lisa snaps.
“Where’s—” You raise your hand, patting along as much of your sheets as you can reach, “Where’s my work laptop?”
“Okay,” Lisa soothes, easing you to lie down fully, “Just relax, okay? We’re gonna get you help.”
Even in your confusion and fog, you can hear her panic, and you tut softly. “I’m okay, Li. Tell bean.”
“Lilah—”
“I’m on with the fucking operator—No, I won’t watch my language, we need a fucking ambulance here, like ten minutes ago!”
--
You do your best to answer the EMTs, but they’re only a few questions in before they’re loading you onto a stretcher, telling your sisters that you’re being taken to Pittsburgh General.
Lisa’s climbing into the back of the ambulance with you, and you only manage to request that someone grab your work laptop before the doors are being slammed shut and Lilah is out of sight.
The ride is hellish, bumpy and painful, and far longer than it should be when you wind up rerouted to PTMC.
--
“Can we talk about Thanksgiving?”
“Sure. Are we rankin’ sides?”
You shot a sidelong glance in John’s direction, eyes narrowed slightly.
“Trying to make plans, actually.”
“Ah,” He nodded. “Yeah, we can try.”
“My parents are probably going to be in town for it this year,” You shifted in your seat, trying to settle your nerves. This was normal, this was something that couples dealt with all the time. So why were you bracing yourself? “And…I mean, we’ve been together for a while, almost a year now, so I wondered if you wanted to…Meet them, finally.”
“You really think they’ll hold still long enough for me to make their acquaintance?”
And it was a fair question, but stacking that on top of your mounting nerves was nearly enough to send you over the edge.
“It’s a yes or no question, J. I mean, I know some of it will hinge on whether you can get work off or not, but—”
“If they’re the deep fried turkey type and I’m on shift, maybe you can bring them in. They can see me in action.”
You closed your eyes, taking a steadying breath in and shaking your head. “Forget it.”
“I’m kidding—”
“Not everything is a joke, John.”
--
There’s so much input at once. The ambulance was its own array of sound, but now you have doctors, nurses, EMTs chatting over you, underscored by the chatter and yelling of fellow patients—and somewhere, not far off, your sister’s panicked voice as you’re wheeled into a room.
“I'm gonna be okay, Lisa,” You mumble, but your promise is cut off by a surge of pain. You can’t help but cry out, trying to squirm away from the pressure that’s been applied to your right side.
“We’ve got rebound tenderness.”
“What’s that mean?” You hiss.
“That means,” A new voice in the room, but not a new voice to you, “That we’re looking at—”
You lift your tearing eyes to that all-too familiar face as he finally registers that it’s you in the bed, as it stops him in his tracks.
“Shen?” Someone urges, but he’s breathing out, “Shit,” eyes flitting to where Lisa is huddled nearby.
“You know each other?” That same voice presses, and John manages,
“I was—She’s my—”
“Okay,” Someone else steps up to the bed, leaning over you, “Ma’am, I’m Dr. Abbot—”
And you’re trying to listen, you are, but you’re also tracking where John is rounding over to Lisa, leaning in to ask questions, to talk, to reassure, you can’t tell—
“Do you understand?” Abbot tacks on, but no, you don’t. You didn’t catch a word, he said, so you shake your head. “Your appendix is on the verge of bursting, we need to get you up to surgery.”
“Surgery?” Lisa pipes up, “Like, now?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Where’s Lilah?” You whimper.
“Oh—Shit, she’s going to the wrong hospital!” Lisa’s out the door without a second glance, drawing her phone out of her pocket.
“Listen,” Abbot leans closer to hold your attention, “If we don’t get your appendix out, it could cause some serious problems. It’s still intact, but we need to remove it before it can rupture and cause you any more problems.”
“OR’s prepped,” Is mentioned somewhere behind you, and suddenly the bed is moving again.
“I’ll go up with her.” John’s at your side in a second, and he and Abbot are sharing a look that you don’t understand over your gurney before Abbot drops away completely. John’s hands hook onto the railing of the gurney, his eyes darting to your face every few seconds as your entourage of medical professionals steers you down the hall.
“So,” He offers, “Fancy seeing you here.”
And you so don’t want to let him make you smile, but you can’t help yourself.
“This is a bit much,” He adds as you’re wheeled onto the elevator, “I mean, I told you you could call and you show up at my job instead? I appreciate the effort, but you're coming off a little desperate.”
“John.”
“Appendix, too, you overachiever. Couldn’t you have broken your wrist, gotten a concussion, something easier?”
Your mental fog is melting to clarity, mingling with your panicked nerves, and the little laugh that leaves you makes the ache in your side twinge.
“I mean, come on,” He’s leaning against the railing now, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the looks that the nurses are giving him, “All of this, just to get my attention?”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“And you know what you’re gonna be full of if we don’t get that appendix out? Pus.”
“Ugh,” You wrinkle your nose, closing your eyes, “Stop.”
“Better pus than Darth Vader, though.”
You laugh again, and the pain swells, worse.
“Please stop making me laugh, it hurts,” You whimper, and he mutters, “Alright, alright,” as the elevator chimes. You pull in as deep a breath as you can, the full weight of panic weighing down your chest. You swallow roughly, mumble, “John?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure they give me the good stuff.” When you open your eyes, take in the sweep of lights haloing him as you’re guided down another hall, you find him smiling softly.
“For you? The best,” He promises. “I’ll tell them to check on your funny bone while they’re in there.”
Your laugh turns to a muted sob, the sound half-stuck in your thickening throat as tears spill over. But he’s reaching out before one can slip to the gurney below, swiping it away.
“I’m scared,” You whisper.
“I know. But it’s gonna be okay.”
--
“I like him.”
It was the last thing you expected to come out of Lilah’s mouth. You’d already known that she was miffed at you for taking so long to introduce you to John, doubly so when she found out that Lisa had met him nearly two weeks before she had (that had been an accident, though—Lisa had come home early from what was meant to be a romantic trip with her latest boyfriend, but had crashed and burned into a fight when she found out she was the other woman).
You didn’t answer, just watched Lilah from your end of the couch as she picked her nails. When she glanced toward you, she scoffed, “What?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For?”
“The punchline.”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “No punchline. I like him.”
Your brows rose at the insistence. “That’s a first.”
“Well,” She sighed, pushing herself up, “All of your other boyfriends sucked. I’m gonna raid your fridge now.”
You watched her go, processing for a moment before you followed. “What do you mean, all of my other boyfriends sucked?”
Lilah shrugged, eyes set on the inside of your fridge, scanning the shelves lazily.
“Just what I said.”
“They were all nice guys.”
“No, they were all assholes.”
You scoffed, “They were not all assholes.”
“Fine. They were mostly dickheads, with one or two of them crossing firmly into asshole territory.”
“They were all accomplished.”
“Yeah,” Lilah laughed derisively, “Especially that dude that got nailed for insider trading. How’s his prison sentence going by the way?”
You folded your arms tightly across your chest. “He was only fined and you know it.”
“Right, right.”
“Would you close the fridge door if you’re not gonna take anything? You’re letting all the cold out.”
Lilah raised her hands in surrender, allowing the door to slowly swing shut before she turned to your cabinet.
“As I was saying,” You added, “They were not all dickheads. I prefer to surround myself with ambitious people, and they can be…Difficult.”
“If by ambitious you mean rich, then yeah, you’re usually all over ‘em.”
“That is not what I mean—”
“Hedge fund managers, healthtech douchebros, morons who insist that they’re practically liquid when their entire net worth is in crypto.”
“That was one guy!”
“You know why I like John?” Lilah leaned back to face you, bag of chips in hand. “Cause it’s like you’re not dating with mom and dad in mind for once.”
It was like a slap. It rendered you completely speechless, sending heat creeping across your face, down your neck. And you couldn’t tell if Lilah knew the effect the comment had, but she pushed on:
“John’s ambitious, sure, he’s a doctor, but he’s also, like, genuinely a nice dude, you know. And you’re not trying to be perfect for him the way that you usually do for your dates, or for mom and dad. You’re not preening or constantly fixing your hair or checking your posture with him. You’re just, like…You. It’s good. Kinda freaky, but good.” She popped a couple of chips in her mouth, chewing slowly as you both mulled that over.
“Anyway,” She shrugged, pushing off of the counter, “Only a matter of time before you fuck it up, so. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
You rolled your eyes, following her back into the living room. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, bean.”
“Anytime, generalissimo.”
--
Coming to is slow, and uncomfortable. You’re propped up in bed, the room is bright, even with your eyes closed, and the beeping monitor beside you is starting to get annoying—but can you really begrudge something that reminds you that you’re alive?
You open your eyes, wincing into the light and allowing your vision to adjust. You can see a duffel bag on the chairs across from you, spot coats laying over the back of those same chairs. And when you let yourself glance around, you find someone at your bedside.
John is seated, folded over your bed with his head pillowed on his arms. His eyes are closed, and he’s breathing steadily. You can’t tell if it’s light outside with the shades closed, so you reach your IV-laden hand out, tapping on the face of the smart watch you got him a couple of Christmases ago. The screen flashes, but not in time for you to get a good look. You’re about to tap again, but—
“Are you snooping through my messages?”
Groggy, soft, warm—there’s that sleep-roughened voice you’ve missed so much. You smile a little.
“No. Trying to see what time it is.”
“Mm,” John pushes himself to sit up and proffers his wrist, scrubbing his free hand across his eyes as you get a better look. Nearly half past eight.
“Maybe a silly question, but is it AM or PM?”
“AM,” He chuckles, lowering his wrist.
“Shouldn’t you be home?” You ask. But before he can answer, the door to your hospital room opens, and Lisa and Lilah are trailing in with cups of coffee in hand.
“You’re up!” Lisa screeches, hurrying forward so quickly that some coffee sloshes over the side of the little paper cup. Lilah’s joining her a moment later, crowding in against you with leans, hugs, and carefully placed hands. You begin to reach for them with both arms, but wince when your IV pulls slightly. Lisa steps back, allowing Lilah to lean into you more closely.
“Did you grab my phone?” You ask, “And did you call…You know?”
“We didn’t,” Lisa winces, “We weren’t sure—”
“No, no. You did the right thing,” You soothe before glancing at Lilah. Her smile is watery, thin, and she seems to be opening her mouth to start to say something, but you have to ask:
“Did you bring my work laptop?”
That watery thin smile is gone in a second, mouth flat. Her eyes seem to glaze over, hands drawing back and curling into fists at her sides.
“I—No.”
“Lilah,” You groan, “That was, like, the one thing I asked you to bring—”
You barely get it out before she’s stomping out of your hospital room, Lisa hot on her heels, swearing, “I’ll get her.”
You close your eyes, sinking back in your bed. “Shit.”
“You shouldn’t be working right now, anyway,” John warns. You peek one eye open, frowning as he rounds the bed, pouring water from a pitcher on the bedside table. “Here.”
You take the cup carefully, though John keeps a loose grasp on it as you take a sip. He sets it aside once you’re finished, offering, “You want some more?”
“Nn-nn,” You shake your head. You perk up as the door opens again, but Lilah’s sweeping in and grabbing her coat without looking at you.
“Bean, I’m sorry—Hey!” You call out as she turns away again, “I’m not mad at you!” But your protests seem to fall on deaf ears as she rounds back into the hall. You close your eyes, tipping your head back against the pillows. “Great.”
“You want me to go get her?”
“No. Lisa’s gonna try to do that, anyway. And when she’s pissed at me, Lilah needs time to just…Decompress. Trust me,” You huff a laugh, “I’ve pissed her off a lot.” You tip your head to the side, wiggling your fingers toward his hand. And you expect him to just take it and hold on, but John is climbing into bed with you, carefully nestling against you. You sigh softly, turning your head and nuzzling against his neck. Neither of you speak for a few moments, the room falling into quiet, save for the beep of the monitor beside your bed.
“...Shouldn’t you be home?” You finally ask again.
“Mm…You want me to go?”
“No.”
“Then I’m right where I should be.”
And it’s so gentle, and firm, and certain. Your eyes well with tears again, and you try to squeeze tight against them, to hold them back, but they’re slipping before you can stop them. John doesn’t tut, tell you that it’s alright, that you’re okay. He just cuddles closer, intertwining your fingers.
“When I’m, um,” You sniffle, “When I’m less of a mess, can you explain what happened? Like, properly?”
“Using all of my big brain and science-y knowledge? Sure I can. Dr. Garcia will probably come to speak with you, too.”
“Did they do the surgery?”
“No, Dr. Walsh did. Case got handed over to the day shift, though.”
“Oh.”
“...So next time you want my attention, I’m thinking a kidney stone could be the way to go.” He keeps on over your quiet giggles—“Getting rid of those is way more fun than an appendix. Hey, when’s the last time you were on a roller coaster?”
--
It’s nearly ten by the time John is leaving your room with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to check in with you over the next couple of days. Lisa is back, but the two of you are speaking little. She won’t tell you where Lilah is, or what she said when she stormed out. You fall asleep around noon.
When you wake up around two, your work laptop is sitting on top of your duffel bag, and Lilah is nowhere to be seen.
--
You can’t remember the last time Lisa played nurse maid to you like this. You try to think of it, but you’re coming up with…Well, never. On the odd occasion you’ve gotten sick, you’ve always managed it yourself—but this isn’t just getting sick.
You can get around on your own, but it’s not the most comfortable. Lisa emails her professors, lets them know what happened, gets a pass to skip a couple of her classes so that she can stay at home and look after you for a couple of days. She helps you clean and change your wound dressing so that you don’t have to twist, or look at the little laparoscopic scars any more than you have to. She even offers to help you inject the prescribed blood thinner, but you insist on doing that yourself. It’s a way of taking back just a little bit of control after you’ve spent so much of the last 72 hours feeling helpless.
Besides, you’re usually the one doing the minding, so being minded makes you feel unbalanced.
Your manager gives you the week off to heal, tells you not to worry about the presentations and reports, commends you for the work that you were able to get done, and insists that if she sees your status active on your laptop, she’s going to have IT lock you out.
You try texting Lilah a few times, and she doesn’t answer, save to react or send lone emojis. You don’t try to call, or FaceTime. You’re not sure where you’d start if you did.
So when Lisa tells you the next day that Lilah’s at the apartment, and that she’s sitting on your unit’s balcony, it’s sort of a relief.
--
You know those things are bad for you.
It sits on your tongue, but you hold it there. The fact that Lilah is there at all is a boon, so you do your best to pointedly ignore the smoke curling from the end of her cigarette.
“I thought you were gonna die, you know?”
It cracks the air open, splits you down the middle, but Lilah doesn’t stop there:
“I’d never seen you like that. My superhero of a sister, on the floor, just…Laid out. When Lisa was getting into the ambulance with you and I stayed to grab some stuff like you asked, I was just like, on autopilot. Clothes, medication, phone, keys. The important shit, you know? And then I got to the wrong hospital and Lisa called, and I was like ‘well, shit. I’m not gonna get to say goodbye.’ And then you were in surgery, and then you were out, and then you woke up,” Her voice lilts with a hysterical little laugh, “And your first question was where your fucking work laptop was, and that was when I remembered that you asked for it. And I was like ‘well fuck. I fucked up again.’” Lilah quiets as she takes another drag from the cigarette, but for all the comments buzzing against your lips, you wait.
“You know what I think?” She exhales, “What this was? God or the universe, or fucking whatever—it’s telling you to slow down.” She turns her head to look at you finally, bloodshot gaze pinning you in place. “Because your first question coming out of major surgery should be what happened, how long was I out, what are the next steps, not where your fucking work laptop is—”
“I know.”
“Like that’s psychotic. And the worst part is you can’t even blame the meds, like, you’re just like that.”
“I know.” You pull in a deep breath, just managing not to wrinkle your nose at the scent of smoke. “I’m sorry, bean. I shouldn’t have said that—and you’re right, I can’t even blame the anesthesia.” You shift your seat a little closer, nudging her knee with yours. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“...Well, you didn’t. Your bitch-ass appendix did.”
You snort, looping your arm around Lilah’s shoulders and drawing her in.
“I love you, bean.”
Lilah sniffles as she huddles closer, tucking her head beneath your chin.
“I love you, too, generalissimo.”
--
“Saw Lilah on the way in.”
“Yeah?” You sit against the mountain of pillows still against your headboard, watch John unpack a few things from his bag onto your bed—gloves, gauze, tape, small scissors, alcohol wipes.
“Everything okay?”
“...Fine,” You concede, “She just has a shitty sister.”
You can feel John glancing toward you as you carefully wriggle out of your loose shirt, leaving you in a sports bra.
“Okay, let’s see what we have here.”
You hold carefully still as John peels back your wound dressing, leaning in to get a better look at the scars.
“How’s the pain been?”
“Fine, I guess. The gas pain in my shoulders sucks, though.”
“Yeah, that’s from the CO2 they use to inflate the abdominal cavity.”
“Hate the use of ‘cavity’ there.”
John’s lips quirk with a smile. “Wounds look good, no irritation or excessive redness.”
“Lisa’s been a very good nurse.”
“Mm.” John opens an alcohol wipe, carefully cleaning your wounds. “Has it been itchy at all?”
“Not really.”
“Good…A heating pad should help with those gas pains, by the way.”
“Okay.”
The two of you go quiet as he rebandages your wounds, then straightens.
“No fever, chills?”
“Nn-nn.”
“Appetite’s back?”
“Mostly.”
“Good.” John sits on the edge of the bed, removing his gloves and dropping the old dressing and alcohol wipe into the (now cleaned) bin by your bed. “When we were in the hospital, Lisa said you were sick all day. Why’d you wait so long to come in?”
“Just…” You shrug. “I thought it was my period.”
“Your cramps are that bad?”
“They can be.”
“Yeesh,” He mutters, tucking a few supplies into his bag. “When are you due back for your check-up, remind me?”
“Friday.”
“Okay.”
The two of you fall into quiet, and when you reach out for John’s hand, he slips it warmly into yours.
“...What’d your parents say?”
You focus on the press of his palm, trace the length of a vein on the back of his hand.
“I haven’t told them yet.” Your eyes flicker to his incredulous frown, and you shake your head. “It’s kinda too late now. I mean—I’ll tell them eventually. At this point they’ll just be upset that they weren’t invited.”
“Invited?” He scoffs. “It wasn’t a birthday party.”
“You know what I mean. I should’ve told them when I was on my way to the hospital, but I didn’t, and neither did the girls, so…Now this gets to be that funny story I tell them on New Year’s Eve in two year’s time, when they’re good and buzzed and less likely to get mad at me for not telling them right when it happened.”
“Sounds like you already have it all planned out.”
“I like a plan, remember?”
John smiles, thumb sweeping across the soft of your wrist. “I remember.” It’s a moment before he hedges: “Remind me, is that why we broke up? Not enough plans?”
You sigh softly, eyes dropping to your hands. “That was some of it. Other times, I just…I felt like you were making jokes of everything, all the time, or not taking things seriously. But honestly, after the whole,” You wave toward your abdomen, “You know, how chaotic it was, how scary…I kinda get it now. Why you’re so level.”
“...Doesn’t mean I should be doing it all the time. I’m sorry if I made you feel like we couldn’t just have a serious conversation.”
You smile. “I’m sorry I was so rigid. I should’ve been more understanding.”
“Hindsight’s 20/20, huh?”
“Famously.”
John gives your hand a little squeeze. “I should let you rest.”
“Okay…Can I selfishly say that I don’t want you to leave yet?”
“Yes,” He chuckles. “Tell you what. I’ll stick around for a bit, keep close. Make sure you don’t roll over in your sleep.”
“Oh yeah? You do that for all your patients, Dr. Shen?”
“Oh, all of them.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel spesh.”
John chuckles, nudging off the house shoes he’d worn inside and climbing into bed beside you, resting his hand on your hip. You tipped your head against him, relaxing into the warmth of his body as you had just a few days ago.
“Would it be selfish of me to say that I missed you a lot?” You mumbled.
“There’s that word again.”
“Hmm?”
“Selfish.” You feel John tip his head toward you. “Wanting things isn’t selfish. Neither is feeling things.”
You gnaw on your lower lip, letting your gaze drop back to his chest. He smoothes his hand over your hair, drawing you carefully closer.
“Tell you what,” He murmurs, “We’re gonna talk about this later—for now, you need your rest.”
“When are we gonna talk about it?”
“This weekend.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. You’re gonna get clearance from Walsh to resume normal food and activity on Friday, we’re gonna get coffee and go for a nice, easy walk on Saturday—”
“I see—”
“And we’re gonna clear up all this selfish talk.”
“And then what?”
“Oh, just you wait.”
“Do I get a hint?”
John tips his head down toward you, lips brushing your forehead.
“You thought that first go-around was something? I’m gonna date the crap out of you.”
You smile. “I’d rather our dating not have anything to do with crap.”
only soft for you brendon park who plants his fingers through your hair and massages your scalp in the staircase when he sees how overwhelmed you are from the day you’ve had. big brick built body hunched over you, cooing to you in a little voice while you hold his forearms, staring up at him like he’s the world.
“you run yourself a bath when you get home. i won’t be there immediately, but you just text me what you want to eat and use my card for it. you’re ok, you’re gonna be ok. hectic day, yeah? fuckin tell me about it.” he gets you to let out a little giggle through glossy eyes, which makes him smile small.
NO ONE in the ed would ever imagine the piece of shit could be so sweet to you. complete 180 in mood when he walks out after you
dededos
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