Promise?
Summary: Robby leaves his wife in Pittsburgh for his sebbaticle. Luckily, his best friend will check in on her from time to time for him. Pairings: Jack Abbot x Robinavitch!reader Warnings/Tags: Pregnancy/Troubles concieving -> Reader has had miscarriages in the past and at times worries she will lose this pregnancy but she does not (mentions of past miscarriages throughout the story), Sucidal Ideation -> Reader and Jack are both worried about Robby's fragile mental state (nothing graphic happens on page), age gap (M - early 50s, F mid-late 30s), eventual affair, medical inaccuracies (author has google and a dream), canadian shirley temples have orange juice, reader is an at home baker Notes: If you have any concerns about the warnings, please feel free to ask me Word Count: 7.5K
Masterlist | Jack Abbot Masterlist
Just check on her for me and make sure she's okay? Promise?
The last words Robby said to Jack echo through his head as he rings your doorbell. He’d left for his sabbatical 2 weeks ago, and Jack was making good on his promise. You don’t answer right away so he rings the doorbell again. He checks the window that looks into the garage. Robby’s truck is parked furthest from him, your car next to it and the empty spot for Robby’s bike on the other side. He walks back up the steps and rings the bell once more. Maybe you’re sleeping, he’ll call you tonight. He turns to leave.
Promise?
With a heavy sigh, he finds the spare key Robby gave him before he left, slotting it into the lock and pushing open the door.
“Hello?” he calls out your name, “It’s Jack. I was just - I wanted to see if you were doing okay.”
He hears shuffling from upstairs for a moment before you come to the landing in front of him. Your eyes are rimmed red and a bit swollen. You stand at the top of the stairs, wearing what he can only presume is one of Robby’s hoodies by the way it drapes over your body.
“How’d you get in my house?”
He holds his key ring up, shaking it so they clank together, “Robby gave me a key. Thought he told you, sorry.”
“He hasn’t been telling me much of anything lately,” you sniffle, wiping the corner of your eye with your sleeve.
Jack shakes his head. It’s one thing for Robby not to return his texts, but to ignore his own wife?
“He hasn’t called you at all?”
You shake your head, “The only reason I even know he’s alive at all is because he sends me one good morning and good night text a day. I don’t even know where he is, he hasn’t told me. Did he message you?”
You sit down on the top step, patting the one beneath you. Jack follows, climbing up the stairs and sitting next to you with a groan.
“Nope. But he’s not married to me.”
“Could have fooled me,” you jest, sniffling again, tapping your knee against his arm.
He returns the gesture, “Any particular reason why you’re crying or just miss him?”
You pause, pursing your lips, “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell him, okay?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
You shake your head, “You do TEMS for fun, swear on something else.”
He’s a little offended, but has no rebuttal, “On Lucille’s grave, I will not tell him whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”
You take a deep breath, putting your hand in your pocket and pulling out a small plastic stick. You angle it towards him.
Pregnant - the little stick reads.
“Oh?” he clears his throat, thinking about his next words, “How do…you feel about it?”
You laugh, “Like God is playing some sick fucking joke on me. We tried for years to get pregnant. Finally made our peace with it not being in the cards for us and then, finally it happens when my so-called husband is backpacking through America like an angsty teenager.”
“Any idea how far along you are?” Jack asks, unsure of what else to say.
“Period’s always been weird,” you say with a shrug, “and this past month or so I’ve been pulling out all the stops to try and get him to stay. I’ll book an appointment with my OBGYN once it starts to feel real.”
"I’ve got a portable ultrasound in my truck if you want to find out now.”
You stare at him, “Why the fuck do you have a portable ultrasound in your truck?”
He stands, offering you a hand, pulling you up when take it, “For when my buddies’ wives need to find out how far along they are in their pregnancies, obviously.”
About 10 minutes later, you’re laid back on the couch, hoodie rolled under your breasts to reveal your bare tummy along with worn out shorts that have your alma mater’s logo on them. He’s kneeling next to you, angling the screen in your hands so you can both see it.
“Alright, little bit of cold gel and then let’s see if we can find this guppy.”
Your brows scrunch together in confusion, “Guppy?”
“Yeah, like the little fish,” he says as he starts to move the wand around your abdomen, "technically, this is a veterinary grade ultrasound, but the baby's tiny right now. It’s not chick or kitten-sized yet and a guppy is the smallest thing I can think of right now - stop laughing. I can’t find the baby if your stomach is moving.”
“Sorry,” you say, unable to stop, “I just didn’t expect you to use your veterinary equipment on me.”
“Do you want me to find the guppy, or are you going to keep making fun of me?”
You put your hands up in surrender, eyes falling back to the screen. It takes him a minute - fetuses this small always give him trouble.
“Aha!” he yells out triumphant, “There’s your little guppy.”
You squint at the screen, “Where?”
He points.
“That’s a blob.”
He nods as he takes his measurements, “And that blob is your baby. It’s still early so we can only see your gestational sac right now, but guppy is well on their way to becoming a baby. Measurements put you at around 7 weeks, but your OB will be able to get you more accurate information and due dates and all that jazz.”
Something about the mention of 7 weeks makes a tear spring to your eye, a small smile creeps on your face, “7 weeks?”
“Give or take. This ultrasound’s kinda old, might not be the most accurate.”
A tear rolls down your face. Jack doesn’t think before he reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb.
“He should be here,” you whisper.
“You can call him, you know.”
“No!” your head whips over to him, “You can’t tell him either, Jack. He has to come back for me, not the baby.”
"I won’t. I promise I won’t.”
And so, Jack ends up in your kitchen, dicing an onion while you sit across from him, sipping on the Shirley Temple he made for you with a bowl of mini pickles that you're crunching on one by one. He'd remember Robby mentioning your love for dirty shirleys while he was he passing by the orange juice and did another lap to get the rest of the ingredients for the mocktail version.
"Taste okay?" he asks.
You nod your head, "It's so good Jack. You really didn't have to."
"I made a promise," he waves a dismissive hand, "How are the pickles?"
"Weird, but I can't stop eating them."
Jack laughs, turning back to his cutting board. With his attention occupied, he misses the way you're entranced by his fingers. The way your eyes narrow as they continue their precise movements to chop it in neat little cubes before moving on to crush the garlic under his thick fingers.
You shake your head, snapping yourself out of your reverie.
"When'd you become a chef?"
"Liked cooking in the army when I had time," he says, moving to turn on the stove.
You scrunch your nose, “I’ve seen army rations, I think I’d rather have my boxed mac and cheese.”
Jack rolls his eyes, sauteing the onions on the pan and turning down the heat when they sizzle with too much intensity, “I can season.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, white boy.”
Turns out this white boy does have game in the kitchen.
You moan around your fork as the first taste of his homemade baked mac and cheese passes your lips.
“Told you I knew what I was doing,” he says with a little smirk as he takes his own bite.
“I’m sorry for doubting you,” you respond as you shovel another heaping pile into your mouth, “In my defense, when it was Robby’s turn to cook dinner it was usually take out."
Jack huffs, “Well, I’m not Robby.”
You smile at him as you take another bite, "How's everything at the hospital? Everything implode without him yet?” “The world keeps spinning.”
You groan, “Don’t you get all existential on me too. If you leave me too then I really am pregnant and alone.”
“You’re not alone,” he reassures you quickly, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be here ‘till he comes back.”
“If he comes back,” you say softly.
Jack takes a steadying breath, “Has he said anything to you?”
“He’s been sending me money every Monday to ‘help around the house’ which isn’t necessary. We have a joint account I have access to and we each have our separate ones too, but part of me of me thinks that he’s doing it so that I’ll know when he…stops.”
“Well,” Jack clears his throat, “until he’s back, I’ll be here for you.”
Jack yawns, shaking his head to snap out of his post-shift fog as he waits for you at the door.
You open the door, eyes bright.
“Hi!” You must have come home and started baking. Your clothes are worn, faded with time and accessorized with flour on the torso, “I hope you’re hungry.”
His stomach growls as the smells of the kitchen flood his nose.
“You didn’t have to make all of this,” he says, as he piles chicken breast onto his plate trying not to let the drool seep out of his mouth.
"I was excited when I came home,” you say with an extra bounce in your step, “I was kind of on edge about the whole thing with Robby being gone and also feeling like this might slip away from me, but I have a due date. An actual due date! I’m letting myself be excited about it - I’m not telling anyone else until 3 months, but I’m excited.”
Your joy is infectious, and Jack is unable to keep his own smile off his face, “Yeah? When can we expect guppy to arrive.”
“February 14th, mark the date.”
“Valentines Day? That’s fun.”
"Well, actually it’s the 18th, but I’m hoping maybe she’ll come early.”
“She? You think it’s a girl?”
You tilt your head to the side, “I think that’s the first time I’ve given her a gender. I guess so. Wanna bet on it?”
“No ma’am,” he shakes his head, “I want whatever you want since you’re gracing me with this delicious meal.”
“I’m thanking you for the other night. If you hadn’t come over, I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for at least a week,” you give him a friendly shove as he passes you by on his way to the dinner table, “Save room for dessert. I’ve got chocolate chip cookies."
Jack grunts as your finger digs into his ribs, waking him with a start.
“I’m up, I’m up,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “What’s wrong?”
“Easy, soldier,” you say, rubbing a soothing hand along his back, “everything is fine. You fell asleep on the couch. I was just trying to tell you that I’m going up to bed now.”
“Yeah, okay,” he nods, stifling a yawn, “Did I leave my keys on the counter?”
“Jack, stay in the spare room. It’s late and you just worked a full shift.”
“No, I’m okay,” he shakes his head, “Just give me a minute to wake up properly.”
“If you die because you fell asleep at the wheel, I would never forgive you for leaving me here alone,” you jest, offering a hand to him, “Come. I’ll get you some of Robby’s pjs.”
He's passed out in the guest bedroom 15 minutes later.
Jack understands why Robby used to complain that he could never lose weight now. Your baking business had really taken off in the last year, and the smell of fresh brownies in the oven will always cause his stomach to rumble.
"Almost done?"
He can't see you given that half his body is inside of your dryer to figure out why your dryer no longer spins and if he needs to take you out shopping tomorrow.
"Just about," he grunts, trying not to get distracted.
"I have been baking all day and my back is hurting, so I'm ordering pizza. I hope that has enough nutritional value for you, doctor."
"It doesn't," his back cracks as he carefully maneuvers himself out from your dryer and stretches, "But I'll give you a pass because I also don't feel like cooking right now. You free tomorrow? You need a new dryer."
"No, I'm frosting the cakes and the cupcakes I made. They're picking up in the evening, so everything needs to be done by 4 pm tomorrow."
"I get back in 4 days, let me know when you've got time."
You nod, holding up your phone to show the food delivery app, "Any preferences for toppings?"
"I'm not picky."
"Barbeque chicken it is. It'll be here in 45."
By the time Jack finishes gathering his things, you're pulling something out of the oven that smells intoxicating to his empty stomach.
"And chance I can steal a slice of that?" he jokes.
"Not unless you want to ruin a teenage girls life by eating her birthday cake," you say, setting the hot tray down on a trivet before grabbing a pan full of batter and holding it up for him, "These brownies are yours though, they'll be ready soon.
"Oh, you didn't have to. If I'd known you were baking all day, I wouldn't have asked."
"Please, it's the least I could do. You just have to make sure to eat it all."
"If I must."
For the 3rd time in as many weeks, Jack finds himself sitting on your couch in front of the TV as you scroll through movie options.
"What are you in the mood for?" you ask, taking a bite of your pizza.
"I'm not picky," he shrugs.
"Don't do that. If you don't point me in a direction then I'm gonna be looking through the catalogue until midnight."
"Something funny," he says after thinking for a bit.
"You ever seen 'Monsters Inc.'?"
He shakes his head.
"Well, get used to watching kids movies, Uncle Jack."
Halfway through the movie, Jack turns to you.
"I said 'something funny'."
"You were laughing the entire time!"
"Her door is destroyed! He can't go visit her again, what part of that is happy?"
"Just watch the movie, Jack."
He turns back to the screen.
He watches the final scene, Sully placing the last piece of Boo's door, opening it and hearing the little girl scream "Kitty!" before the credits roll.
He feels your hand rub his arm, "See! Happy ending."
"You could have told me it was going to be sad in the middle."
"All kids movies are secretly tragic. This is one of the better ones," you laugh at him.
He looks at his watch, "I should head out before you traumatize me more."
"Just stay. It's late. You can be my taste tester tomorrow while I frost things."
He mulls it over, in his head. With the TV off your the lamplight casts a warm glow over your bronze skin and soft smile. Your thumb skirts along his knuckles, "Fine, but you're not always going to win me over with sweets you know."
"The fact that there is only half the pan brownies left says otherwise."
Jack ignores the insistent buzzing against his thigh while he works on the patient in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's worried something has happened to you - you're the only person that really texts him regularly now. But he shoves the rising panic away for now until he can give you his full attention.
He nearly drops his phone at the sheer amount of notifications - all from you. He tells Dana he's stepping out and to refer everyone to Mohan or Ellis for now.
"Hey," he says as soon as the line connects, "What's going on? Everything okay?"
Your sniffle makes Jack contemplate running to his truck immediately.
"Sorry, I-I didn't mean to bother you while you're working but I, um, started spotting a while ago and I googled - which I know I shouldn't have - and now I'm thinking worst case scenarios."
The waver in your voice makes his chest ache.
"How much? And when did you start?"
"Um, about an hour ago. And not a lot - but that's how my other…losses started. Not a lot and then a lot."
"Come in," he says immediately, "Some spotting before 12 weeks is normal and I'm sure everything is fine, but I want to get you checked out anyways okay? I'll send an Uber."
"I can drive," you sniffle again.
"No, I don't want you driving when you're like this. I'll send you the details, okay?"
"Okay," your voice is quiet.
"I'll see you soon. Lupe will send you back as soon as she sees you."
He pulls Samira aside as soon as he sees her.
"I can trust you to be discreet, right?"
She frowns, "That's entirely dependent on the situation. Patient care, of course. Hiding a body, absolutely not."
"That won't be necessary," he chuckles, "Though, I suppose it's good to know not to ask you to help me if I ever commit a crime."
"So what do you need?"she says with a smile.
"Robby's wife is pregnant, about 10 weeks along now, had some light spotting which started about an hour ago. She's had some miscarriages before so she's coming in to make sure everything's okay."
She nods along at the information, "Is Robby also coming? I didn't realize he didn't go on his motorcycle trip around the world."
Jack grimaces, "That's the thing - he doesn't know and she doesn't want to tell him. I'm not gonna get into it, but that's why I'm asking you to keep things under wraps while she's here. And if anybody recognizes her, just don't feed into any rumours."
"Of course."
"And I haven't forgotten about your letter of recommendation yet. I was going to start it tonight, so this is the perfect opportunity to show me your skills for the obstetrics fellowship."
"I won't disappoint," she's about to leave when she turns back to Jack, "Oh, if you're worried about people recognizing her, ask Dana for the new hire nurses. They started last week. They won't know who she is."
"That's why you're my favourite resident," he chuckles, "don't tell Ellis."
"Your secret's safe with me."
Dana rushes you into a room as soon as you get there, practically ripping Jack away from where he's supervising Javadi's sutures and commanding Mckay to do it instead.
"Why is Robby's wife telling me that she's pregnant and you know?"
"Because she is. And I know."
"Does he?"
"Not my business."
Dana pinches the bridge of her nose,"You didn't think this was the chance to get him back here in one piece."
"What I think means nothing. And you're not telling him either. She's now officially a patient and communication back to Robby becomes a HIPAA violation."
"You gonna report me?" she scoffs.
"No," no point in lying, "But if she doesn't want to tell then she doesn't have to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to attend to my patient."
With Samira in tow, he knocks on the door. You look so small on the gurney. You've already changed into your patient gown, eyes rimmed red as you stare off at the wall.
"Hey," he says quietly, "This is Dr. Mohan, I'm sure you've met before."
"We have," you nod.
"She'll be doing your ultrasound today, if that's alright."
You look at him with glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill more, "You're not going to do it?"
"Technically I'm not allowed to treat you because we're friends," he walks to stand by the bed, "But don't worry. You're in the best hands, other than me of course."
He lets out a small sigh of relief when you roll your eyes at his joke.
"So, Mrs. Robinavitch, I undestand you've been experiencing some spotting. About how much blood loss would you estimate?"
"Um, not enough to fill a pad. But I've had - I've had miscarriages before."
"Any cramping?"
"A little."
"We're waiting for your blood tests, but because of your history, I'd like to do a transvaginal ultrasound instead an abdominal one to get a clearer view."
"Do you-," you wipe the tear that rolls down your face, "Do you think it's ectopic?"
"It could be. And if it is, we want to catch it early," Samira says, voice soft, "It could also be something fixable or nothing at all."
You suck in a breath, taking a moment, "Yeah. Okay, do whatever you need."
Her eyes flick over to Jack before looking back at you, "If you'd like, I can ask Dr. Abbot to step out."
"Oh no," you shake your head, "I'd like him to stay. Just, you know, stay north of the border please."
"Scout's honour."
Samira preps the ultrasound before telling you to put your legs in the stirrups.
"Alright, you're going to feel some pressure. Let me know if you need a break, okay?"
"Okay," you say. Your fingers twitch in our lap as you look blankly at the screen.
Jack reaches out to clasp his hand in yours. It's not until you fidget idly with his wedding ring that he realizes you're not wearing yours, and he tries to remember when the last time he saw you with it on. He doesn't have an answer.
"You feeling okay?" he asks.
"Peachy!" you narrow your eyes at him.
"Just checking."
Jack adjusts the screen ever so slightly and watches with baited breathe. He slumps in relief when the ultrasound shows that your baby is exactly where it's supposed to be.
"There we are!" Samira says with a smile, "Not ectopic. Baby is safe and sound in your uterus."
"Oh thank god," you breathe, "Is she okay?"
"From what I can see, everything looks normal, but we're going to take some measurements and other tests just to be sure. We'll listen to the heartbeat first."
She nods to Jack who reaches over and hits the button. A telltale thumping fills the room. Your eyes start to water.
"That's good," he says, turning back to you, "Strong. Exactly what we want to hear."
After running every test Samira wants - being married to the chief attending does come with a fairly good insurance package - she deems you and baby to be healthy enough to go home. Of course, it comes with strict instructions to come back if anything changes.
"I hope everything goes well with the rest of your pregnancy," she says when she's about to leave, "Take your time getting dressed. And, if you have any other questions, you can ask me or Dr. Abbot."
"Thank you, Samira," you respond earnestly, "Really, I couldn't have asked for a better doctor."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Jack grumbles good-naturedly, "I'm going to stick around here for a bit longer. Think you can keep Dana off my case till I'm done?"
"Of course! You are in charge of my recommondation letter after all."
After she leaves, you turn to him in confusion, "You're writing the letter? I thought she's worked with Robby since she was a med student. Or did he forget to do it before he left? I swear-"
"No, no," he shakes his head, "Her and Robby's relationship kind of…deteriorated towards the end. She felt more comfortable asking me."
"Deteroriorated how?"
"I don't know the full story but on his last day here, there was an incident that involved him…reprimanding her harshly in front of her peers."
You know your husband well enough to know what that means.
"Did he fucking yell at her in front of everybody? I swear to god, if he ever comes back-"
"Stop. Stop. Don't stress yourself out right now," he pauses, "And he will come back."
You pause.
"At this point, I don't know if I want him to," you mutter, "He's missing everything. I didn't get to do a cutesy pregnancy reveal, I have no one to make me hot chocolate at 3 in the morning when the baby won't let me sleep, and I bother his fucking friend when I think I'm having a miscarriage. He's gone, my husband is gone and all I ever get as a sign of life is a lousy text every couple days and a fucking allowance once a week. When I heard the heartbeat, it really hit me - I'm fucking alone."
He wipes the tear rolling down your cheek.
"You're not alone. You did good calling me, okay? You are not a bother, I will answer everytime you call - even at 3 am when all you want is hot chocolate. I'll be there. Okay?"
"Okay," you whisper.
"The machine in the break room is shitty, but I can make a cup right now for you and the little squirrel."
"Squirrel?" you frown.
"Yeah - 10 weeks, guppy's bigger. They graduated to squirrel."
"Little squirrel is sated for now," you say with a tiny smile, "I'd ask you to play her heartbeat again, but I feel like asking you stick that thing in me is crossing a line."
He shrugs, picking up the abdominal attachment, "You're far enough along that we might be able to hear it with this. No need to cross the border."
"Can you tell the gender?"
"Little too early for that."
"Okay good, 'cause I don't want to find out. And you're weak, you'd tell me."
"I am not weak," but he probably would if you asked him more than twice.
A few moments later, he hits the button again, thumping filling the room once more. You lay entranced on the screen, looking at the your little squirrel. He doesn't know how much time goes by before –
"He should be here," you whisper.
"He should."
That night, he doesn't fight back when you ask him to stay over - he even snatched a pair of crutches from work in anticipation. The shower in your guest bathroom doesn't have a tub, thankfully, so he leaves the crutches on the wall as he slumps against the wall and hoses himself down with the shower head.
When he enters the bedroom, clean pajamas are waiting for him. He just barely manages get his shirt over his head before he's falling asleep.
He's always been a light sleeper, only exaggerated by his time in the army. It doesn't matter that you're trying to sneak around the kitchen quietly, he's rubbing sleep from his eyes and starts down the stairs.
"Did I wake you?" you ask, "I was trying not to make noise."
"I would have been up soon anyways. Internal clock's all messed up from switching nights and days a bunch recently. Sit," he nods to the chair.
"You're not wearing your leg. I can make it myself."
"Sit," he repeats, "I told you. I'll be here for you - even at 3 am."
He smells the cinnamon buns as soon as you open the door.
"Surprise!" You open the door with a bright smile, "Happy birthday!"
"Who told you?"
"Dana. She called to ask about me and the pregnancy, and let her know if I need anything and that whole schtik, and she just happened to mention that your birthday is today."
"Sneaky," he teases as he walks into your kitchen.
"How did you celebrate the big 5-0, old man," you give him a playful nudge in the ribs.
"Oh, nothing special. My sister called, and my niece and nephew sung on the phone which is always cute. And then I visited Lucille - got her some fresh flowers and all that."
"That's nice," you say with a smile, "How often do you visit her?"
"Once a month at least," he says, spinning the ring on his finger, "Sometimes more when I miss her."
"That's nice," you trail off.
"Hey," you look back at him, "You're not gonna be me, okay? He's coming back."
"I got my stupid allowance today," you roll your eyes, "So only 6 more days until we find out if I join you in the widows club, I guess."
"We meet Wednesday nights, bring cookies," he says before clapping his hands together, "Besides, it's my birthday and I am ready to dig into those cinnamon buns."
That seems to break you out of your thoughts, perking up at the mention of your most recent creation. You beckon him over to the stove where two trays await him.
"I got a little carried away - this tray is your traditional cinnamon rolls," you point to it before turning to the one right next to it, "but, little squirrel wanted strawberries, so there's also a strawberry cheesecake cinnamon roll fusion thing? I'm not sure how to explain it -just try it and tell me if it's good."
“Strawberry's the new fruit?” Every few weeks, your cravings seem to change. First it was pickles, then apples - Jack is still craving those apple turnovers, especially since the next fruit was raspberries and he’s never been fond of those.
“I guess so. I’m taking it as a good sign though. I had a hugs Sims phase when I was a teen and in that game, if you wanted your Sim to have a girl, you’d feed her strawberries and if you wanted a boy, you’d give her carrots. So far, I haven’t wanted anything remotely carrot related.”
He pauses, taking in the new information, “I never believed Robby when he said that you’re a bit odd sometimes.”
He fakes a wince as you slug him in the shoulder, rubbing his bicep dramatically.
“Fine, don’t eat my odd desserts then.”
“I never said it was a bad thing!”
Jack groans as the first taste passes his lips.
“Your husband’s an idiot,” he shakes his head, “He could have just sat here and shovelled your baked goods in his face all day for 3 whole months, and he chose to live off diner slop instead of this.”
The buns are still warm and gooey, melted icing dripping down his hands. He forgets you’re there for a moment, licking the stray drip from his wrist all the way up to his finger, cleaning it off with his tongue.
You’re staring at him with wide eyes.
He can feel his face warm. If his mother were here, she’d be appalled by his actions,“Sorry. They’re really fucking good - made me forget my manners.”
“It’s okay,” you clear your throat, “I-uh- have to admit these weren’t entirely altruistic cinnamon buns.”
“What does that mean?”
“I just booked my 12 week ultrasound for a couple of weeks. And if this too much or if it's crossing a line then aboslutely feel free to say no, but going to those alone really fucking sucks and I was hoping that you'd maybe you'd come with me?" you're swaying nervously on the balls of your feet.
In the logical part of Jack's brain, he realizes that he probably shouldn't. He's not stupid, he knows the lines of your relationship have become a bit blurred these past few weeks and he needs to find somewhere to draw the line between 'helpful friend' and 'surrogate husband'. On the other hand, not a day goes by where he doesn't wish he had this oppurtunity with Lucille.
"12 weeks? They can predict the gender then, but it's not always accurate."
"I told you I want to be surprised," you're absent-mindedly rubbing your hand over your lower stomach. You're not really starting to show yet, but it won't be long now, "So what do you say?"
No. It's not appropriate - you're my buddy's wife and I need to remember that.
"Of course I'll be there. Just tell me what time I need to pick you up."
"Cheetos?" you say with a smile when you open the passanger door to see the chip bag on his passanger seat, "I never thought I'd see this from the man who forces me to eat a pound of spinach."
"Folic acid is imperative for fetal development. You'll thank me when your baby comes out the womb being able to read at a 1st grade level."
You roll your eyes, about to hoist yourself into the truck when Jack stops you.
"Hang on a second, turn to the side."
You're wearing a slightly snug fitting black dress appropriate for the unreasonably warm September. From the side, he can see the starting of a your bump.
"You're showing."
"Yeah?" you perk up, running a hand over your bump, "I wasn't sure if I was just imagining it or not."
"It's there, mama," he pats the passanger seat, "Let's go get baby checked out."
In the car, you're uncharastically quiet. Jack has always found it difficult to start conversations, but he finds it's incredibly easy to talk to you. You'd usually tell him about your upcoming orders, ramble out updates or concerns with your pregnancy symptoms, or ask about his day. You haven't even opened the bag of Cheetos yet - and he specifically bought wet wipes so you wouldn't leave prints in his car.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you respond back, too quickly.
He rolls to stop at a red light and turns to look at you.
"Eyes on the road, Abbot."
"Stress isn't good for the baby," he says, turning back to the road in front of him, "And telling me will make you feel better."
"Robby called."
"Oh? Isn't that good?"
"He called to tell me he's extending his sabbatical. That he doesn't know when he's going to be home and that Gloria's already approved another two months."
"Two months?" Jack shakes his head, thinking about all the different ways he's going to throttle Robby when he sees him next, "What did you say?"
"I hung up on him. Immature, I know. But it was either that or call him every insult I could possibly think of - and I've come up with a lot these past few months. But hey! He sent me double my allowance this week."
Jack nods, sitting in silence for a moment.
"Are you…Do you think you'll tell him?"
You laugh, but there's no joy behind it, "I'm ready to keep him off the birth certificate. He told me he was in Montana - that's all I get after 3 months? I don't know what he's doing or who he's with. He could be calling me while naked in some cowgirl's bed for all I fucking know."
"He is not cheating on you," he reaches out and runs his thumb along your hand, "He just has it in his head that this trip is going to help him. And maybe it is, that's why he's extending his leave."
He turns into a spot in the parking lot of your OB.
"He's just been so different these past few years," you shake your head, eyes welling up like they do everytime you think about your currently estranged husband, "But he won't let me in. I was thrilled when he said he wanted to take 3 whole months off, but then he said he wanted to leave? Without me? I don't know if that's selfish but-"
Jack grabs a tissue from his centre console, lightly dabbing away your tears, "It's okay. You've tried to get him to accept your help; it's not your fault that he won't. Lord knows I've tried too. And it's not selfish to want him here when you need him."
You don't meet his eye, just take the tissue from his hand and check your appearance in the visor mirror. Satisfied, you close it and open the door without another word.
"Oh look, it's so big now," you coo at the screen 30 minutes later, "She actually looks like a baby, not a blob anymore."
"Look at the little chick," Jack chuckles, eyes glued to the screen, "she could fit in the palm of your hand."
"You said she!" You tip your head back to look at him, "You think she's a girl too."
"Or maybe you're just influencing me," Jack shakes his head exasperated but can't fight off the smile.
"So we're rooting for a girl?" Dr. Kaur says from her spot at your bedside.
"Healthy baby first," you say, "I guess I do kind of want a little girl. But I will be fine if it's a boy."
"A little to early to tell anyways," Dr. Kaur says before pointing to the screen, "But we can do our heartbeat check."
Baby's heartbeat is quick, rythmic. Strong. Jack feels his chest swell. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and grab ahold of your hand.
"It's louder than last time," you mumble.
"Because her heart is stronger," Jack mumbles before he can start, "she's got all her organs now, her digestive system is going to start flexing its muscles and practicing soon."
You groan, your head slumping against the chair, "Does that mean I'm going to have more heart burn?"
"Not necessarily," Dr. Kaur chuckles, "Though studies have shown that the old wives tale is true - mothers with bad heartburn often have babies with full heads of hair when they're born."
"At least I'm suffering for something then."
"Hopefully, baby gets some of those beautiful curls like you and your husband."
Jack freezes, unsure of what to do. His wedding ring suddenly feels very heavy on his hand.
"Oh, this isn't my husband," you say sheepishly.
"Sorry," Dr. Kaur clears her throat, "I didn't mean to assume-"
"It's fine," Jack barks, face uncomfortably warm, "reasonable mistake."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he's back at your house later mixing up veggie stir fry on your stove, you're still gushing at the ultrasound photos.
"She has my nose, don't you think?" you hold the printed photo up to your face.
Jack looks over his shoulder, "Oh yeah. But those are Robby's eyes for sure."
"I hope not," you shake her head, "you've seen those puppy dog eyes. I'd never be able to discipline her."
"Sucks for you," he says, adding the crispy tofu on top before taking out your plate, "Perks of being the fun uncle: I get to fold and give her everything she wants. Bon appetite."
"Your dryer is supposed to come on the weekend, by the way. I'll be here when they drop it off."
He's already looked ahead in his schedule and swapped some shifts around.
"You don't have to."
He shrugs, "Where else would I be?"
Once again, he finds himself dozing off on your couch at the end of the night, awoken by your soft hand on his arm.
"Jack," you call sweetly, "Let's go to bed, sleepy head."
He cracks open his eyes, stretching on the couch, "I'm up. I think I'll head out."
"C'mon, we don't have to keep doing this - just stay over."
He yawns as he shakes his head, "I gotta shower."
"Believe it or not, there is a shower in your bathroom. You're welcome to use it whenever."
"My shower's all equipped for my leg", he waves his stump at you before reaching to grab his liner off the floor, "I can use yours if I need, but mine's got a bench for me."
"Oh shit, yeah, sorry, I didn't even realize."
"Don't worry about it," he waves you off as he slips his leg back into the socket of his prosthesis, "You'll be okay on your own tonight?"
"I'll be fine," you say, offering a hand.
He takes it, using you to escape the clutches of your stupidly comfortable couch. He grimaces as he takes the first step, leg sore from the day.
"You okay?" you ask, head tilted in concern as he makes his way back to the entryway.
"No need to worry about me, kid, just a little sore is all. I've got all my cremes and salves at home."
"If you ever want to bring them over, I give a mean massage."
"I might actually you up on that."
You're leaning against the wall, watching him get his shoes on. He stands, doing one final stretch before he unlocks the door.
"Jack," he looks back at you, "Thank you, by the way. For today - and for everything really - you've been doing a lot for me. and I don't want you to think I'm taking you for granted or anything. I really don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."
"It's nothing, really," he responds. Suddenly, he's very aware of how good your perfume smells when he's standing this close to you, "I like spending time with you."
"You're not half-bad yourself, old man," you say, tipping your head up.
He doesn't know when it happens, but he finds himself leaning in. You're millimetres away from him. He can feel your breath on his lips, the warmth radiating off your body. He wants so badly to pull you in by your waist, to give in and kiss you like you want - like he wants.
"Stop," he whispers, "We can't
Your eyes fly open as you jump away from him like his proximity burned you.
"Sorry," he can see tears welling up, threatening to spill over. His entire body is screaming at him to wrap you in his arms and kiss you until you're both breathless, "I'm sorry. You're married. To someone who's like a brother to me."
"N-no, I'm sorry. You were just being nice and I've been lonely and sad, and I read the signals wrong a-and, " you take a deep breath, "I shouldn't have done that. Can we just forget this ever happened?"
Jack opens his mouth to say that you haven't gotten your signals wrong, that he was just as close to kissing you as you were to him, but he knows that will only do more harm than good at this point.
"Forget whatever happened," He unlocks the door, "I should go."
"Yes, you should."
He sits in your driveway, arms braced on his steering wheel for far too long. He contemplates going back in there - to kiss you or do damage control, he's not sure yet.
He curses himself for being a coward as he pushes the ignition button, making his truck roar to life. Fuck, for the first time in his life he's finding himself lamenting the strict moral code his mother raised him to follow.
Part 2 coming soon
