synopsis: when youâre late for work, everyone worries. safe to say everyone worries more when you show up, just not to work. youâre rushed to trauma 1 as a patient. (characters included/mentioned: m.robinavitch, t.santos, y.garcia, d.evans, j.vanhorn, c.jefferson, & j.kwon)
cw/s: car accident, injuries, care of injuries, altered mental state, unstable mood, potential medical inaccuracies.
a/n: set during the same month as s2 (july), just not the same day (july 4th). some plot points and history between characters will be elusive, but thatâs intentional as it will be clarified as the fic progresses. hence the name, All Over Again. slow burn if you squint. no use of y/n, y/l/n, y/n/n, or anything of the sorts and absolutely zero use of ai to write/edit. searching the pitt set floor plan is recommended if youâd like (extremely helpful with visualizing paths characters take and the layout of the rooms). reblogs are always welcome and appreciated! thank you. indulge.
Everything was loud as you began to wake, almost too loud, reverberating through your skull. You winced at the sensation, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room.
âSheâs becoming conscious.â A feminine voice noted aloud, full of worry and relief.
âOw,â you hissed.
âI see that.â A masculine voice responded. âLetâs start her on morphine.â
âPotential distal radius fracture, from the looks of it.â Another feminine voice chimed in. âGonna need an X-ray.â
âHey,â a woman came into view, saying your name. Her voice sounded like the first one you heard when you woke. âWeâve got you, okay? We all do.â
âWhere am I?â you managed, barely opening your eyes wider. The lights were cruel to you, but thankfully bright enough to where you could make out what her badge said; Trinity Santos. Trinity looked up from you and across the room to a man, who after a few painful attempts to see his badge, you figured out was Michael Robinavitch. His face was stoic, hiding any emotions he felt whereas Trinityâs was wholly concerned.
âYouâre in a hospital. Any idea on which one that might be?â Dr. Robinavitch leaned forward a bit, meeting your gaze. When you didnât verbally answer, your face did for youâconfusion, anywhere and everywhere.
âThatâs alright. Do you have any idea on why youâre in a hospital right now?â He continued to question you.
âNo.â you answered quietly. Your eyes darted to Trinity as she interlocked her hands behind her head, visibly in distress.
Your attention was now back on Dr. Robinavitch as he spoke.
âTake a minute if you need to, Doctor Santos, otherwise get yourself together if youâre staying.â He glanced from Trinity to you, asking more questions. âDo you know your name?â
You quickly recited your name and everyone, including those you hadnât fully acknowledged yet, relaxed a bit.
âGood. And todayâs date?â
You were suddenly back to answering no.
âOkay,â he began, eyes moving from your face to your torso that was clothed by bloody scrubs. âand what about when I touch your rib area? Any-â
You sucked in a sharp breath as Dr. Robinavitchâs gloved hands gently pressed upon you.
âThatâs a yes if Iâve ever heard one.â The second feminine voice you recognized from earlier spoke up again. âPossible rib fracture or contusion.â
âLetâs reel in the commentary unless itâs important and not obvious, Doctor Garcia.â He averted his attention to her, beckoning her to follow him with a swift jerk of his chin as he hastily removed his gloves, the two meeting near the corner of the trauma room.
âWhat happened?â you finally ask, despite your bone-marrow-deep fear of knowing the answer.
Trinity, who had managed to cool herself down enough to speak again, answered your question. âYou got into a car accident on your way here.â
âOn my way here?â
Trinityâs face fell all over again, the efforts she made to remain calm and collected completely dissipating. âJust a second.â She said before she left your side, huddling in the corner amongst Robby and Yolanda. âShe doesnât even know why she would be coming here. Robby-â
Robby ran his gloveless hands down his face with a deep sigh. âI know. Letâs keep all this talk of her current state within this room and psych for now, alright? One panicking doctor is enough. Iâll inform everyone else when we know everything.â He grumbles. âCourse of action, Doctor Santos?â
Trinity closes her eyes, trying to find her focus. âX-ray for her wrist, CT for her head and chest.â She described before opening her eyes, now looking at Yolanda. âThink surgery is in her future?â
Garcia shrugs, crossing her arms. âHard to tell now, with the swelling. Iâm thinking reduction, though. So, anesthetics either way.â
âAgreed.â Robby nods, pursing his lips. âOh, and can someone get a hold of Jefferson, please? We need someone from psych down here. Preferably sooner rather than later.â
Observing their rigid demeanors as they spoke, you quickly got sick of not being able to hear what they spoke of. Deep irritation flooded every crevice of your being. You looked at the man who lingered nearby, clearly focused on eavesdropping in on their conversation. âHey, excuse me? My head hurts, any chance I can get something else for that?â you tried to keep a level tone, but you were agitated and afraid.
He approached, a small smile on his face. âYeah, of course.â
âThanks, Jesse.â you tried for politeness.
His smile dropped to mild surprise and an air of hope. âYou remember?â
âOh, uh, no⊠I just read your badge, sorry.â you paused. âShould I remember?â
He blinked a couple of times. âIâm gonna go get you some Tylenol, okay?â
Jesse left your bedside and informed Robby on your request, getting the stamp of approval. The second he got said approval, he was out of the trauma bay, leaning over the top of the hub. Dana looked up at him, glasses on the bridge of her nose. âShe stable?â
He nodded. âYeah, but disoriented and irritable. Need psych down here. Also, Robby wants to keep this under wraps until we know what exactly is going on, so no telli-â
âI know, I got it.â Danaâs voice was strong and comforting, as usual. âIâll get Caleb down here.â
Jesse drummed his fingers against the countertop before heading to the Pyxis machine to grab you Tylenol.
Back inside Trauma 1 where you reside, you ache not only physically but emotionally as Robby informs you of what happened, the suspected specifics based on your injuries. You felt as if your emotions were going through the motions of the wreck itself, going from entirely anxious and sad to incredibly agitated and confused next.
âI know this is a lot to take in, especially since you donât seem to recall the accident or what came before it, but youâre in good hands, I assure you.â It felt weird to Robby to reassure you like that. You of all the patients in here should know that you are in fact in good hands, but here you wereâŠclueless. âItâs with the uncertainty of your memory and recollection that I feel compelled to call a psychiatrist down here to speak with you. His name is Doctor Caleb Jefferson, and he is one of our best. Now, if he gets here within the next few minutes, that consultation can happen, but should it take longer, Iâm going to have to advise that we go ahead with the X-ray and the CTs and go from there, resulting in a potential extended wait time to get in contact with him. CTs are going to be to check for potential rib fractures and the extent of your head trauma to see if there is something going on that we may not notice right now. X-ray is going to be for your wrist. It appears to be a distal radius fracture,â he lifts his forearm, going to point to the area, but you stop him in his tracks.
âI know.â you add and his expression softens. You seemed to remember long-term things, so that was good, but he couldnât be sure yet. You oozed impatience.
âRight.â Robby smiled to himself. âSo, with that, if it is the fracture I think it is, I believe a reduction is necessary, but if the X-ray shows something different or more complex than what meets the eye, surgery may be required. With the head trauma you just endured paired with the fact we donât know the severity yet, I donât feel one hundred percent comfortable with sedation. So, I believe the best route for your comfort and safety is what we call WALANT, which means-â
âWide-Awake-Local-Anesthesia-No-Tourniquet. Iâm okay with that, if thatâs what you believe is the safest route. Whatever doesnât cause further misery for me would be great.â you were already unlucky enough that it was your dominant hand, you really didnât want to take on more healing time.
Robby angles his face towards the linoleum floor of the room, fighting his expression. He feels not only immensely hopeful, but proud of you. Your knowledge of anatomy and medical terminology still being intact thus far is the closest reminder that youâre still in there heâs seen yet.
âThat is correct. Youâre smart.â he notes, finally looking back up to meet your gaze. He knows he shouldnât try and pry your memory right now, not without Caleb here, butâŠâYou a nurse? Doctor?â
âFourth year medical student, just looking for a place to begin and work towards PGY-1. Plant my feet somewhere.â
âThere you go.â he said encouragingly, though his voice betrayed him, wavering ever so slightly. While seeing a smile tug at your lips as you talked about your medical career made him glad, it was what you said about it that made his heart drop. You did find a place to begin your work as a student doctor, to plant your feet. Here. With him, with everyone. In the Pitt. Nearly a year ago. You were a doctor now, a title you accomplished just this month alongside someone you started withâWhitaker. It made his gut churn, thinking of the possibility that youâd have to start the year over, relearning how PTMC and its staff operate and how you operate within its walls. You just got to the goal. He couldnât imagine you, a year from now, stuck finishing a year you already went through when you should be entering your second year of residency. That would be devastating.
As if the walls could hear his thoughts and told someone to break the tension, Jesse came inside, Tylenol on deck.
âHereâs this. Sorry that took a bit, got yanked every which way.â he sighed, handing you the meds along with a tiny paper cup of water. It was true, he was getting pulled in every direction. Those who knew you were here were checking on you through him.
âYouâre totally fine. I understand how hospitals can get sometimes, especially the ED.â you assured him. Robbyâs brows raised slightly, the mood swings giving him whiplash.
âGuessing the pain didnât get much worse while I was away? You look a bit smug.â Jesse smiled at you and Robby.
âOh, yeah. This one was just telling me about how sheâs in her fourth year of med school, looking forward to working into residency. Just has to find a place.â he restated what you previously said as a way to inform Jesse about your memory without actually telling him. They exchanged a glance that went unnoticed by you as you took water into your mouth, swallowing the Tylenol.
âReally? Thatâs a big achievement, you should be proud.â Jesse said with a casual humor that he shouldn't exhibit but naturally fell into. Itâs you, for fucks sake.
âYou guys seem cool so far, everyone's been nice. ReallyâŠsympathetic,â you said, remembering the look on Trinityâs face. âMight try and work for my residency here, if youâre lucky.â You joked, suddenly feeling comfortable to do so with them.
Both Jesse and Robby laugh at that, exchanging yet another look. Personality seemed to be intact thus far, despite the switch up. Great sign.
A knock was now at the door and Robby went to see who it was, being met with Caleb. Robby opened the door, stepping outside of the room for a moment to update him on what a conversation with you entailed in the past ten minutes.
âI hope weâre lucky.â Jesse spoke. You quirked a brow and he continued. âI hope weâre lucky and you apply here. Youâre funny, we could use more funny people around here, heaven knows.â
You huffed a laugh that was cut off by a wince. Boy, did your head and chest hurt. Your wrist hurt too, of course, but it was easier to ignore it when you didnât move itâwhich you havenât since you woke.
âThough right now I think we need one less funny person. I donât want to cause you more pain, you know?â he shrugged casually. âIâll see myself out.â
âHumble.â you croaked, fighting another laugh as Jesse opened the door, letting Robby and Caleb in as he left.
âHello,â Caleb began, saying your name. âI-â
âHello, Doctor Jefferson.â
Caleb glanced up at Robby. Post-trauma, your short-term memory seemed to be performing well. You remembered Robby informing you of who the psychiatrist youâd be speaking with would be.
âYes, I am Doctor Jefferson. I would explain why Iâm here, but I believe itâs safe to assume you recall that, too?â he began, leaving it open-ended, leaving you wiggle room to elaborate on what you remember.
âBasic stuff, just checking on what's up with my nogginâ.â You say it as a joke, though it comes out humorless.
âSomething like that, yes.â
Robby glances between the two of you. âAlright, seems like you two are acquainted and ready to go. Iâll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off out there in the chaos, if you need me.â His eyes met yours. âTalk soon.â
âWait-â you interjected. âCan youâŠturn the lights off? Theyâre sort of killing me.â
âSure thing.â Robbyâs voice was smooth and full of empathy as he approached the door, turning the lights off.
âThanks, Doctor Robinavitch.â you tossed out as he excused himself. He hid his cringing expression, opting to distract his anxious hands with hand sanitizer the second he was out of the room. Dr. Robinavitch? Really?
Dana caught his gaze from where she stood in the hub and he reluctantly began to approach.
âAny updates?â she pried as they both looked up at the names of other patients.
âMemory is patchy, ribs might be broken, wrist might be broken.â Robby kept his volume to a low grumble, wanting to keep the info between him and Dana alone. âGot a scalp laceration on her hairline too, bled on her face. Once Caleb is done assesing, gotta get her cleaned up again. Dried blood and dressings-â
Dana took a breath, he was beginning to ramble on nervously. âRobby, I know. Memory, how patchy are we talkinâ?â
He blew raspberries at that. He didnât want to say it, it made it too real, but he had to. âWhen she woke, she didnât know where she was or why, didnât remember the dateâŠâ he cleared his throat. âDoesnât show memory of ever working here and doesnât remember any of us sheâs seen, so far. I hope Caleb pokes around and she remembers, butâŠâ he shook his head, glancing at Dana.
âYeah, thatâs not great, but sheâs a stubborn girl.â
âI just hope she-â
Joy popped into the hub for a second. âDoctor Robby, Whitaker needs you at thirteen.â
He was frozen for a solid ten seconds before Dana put a hand on his shoulder. âGo, kid needs ya.â
He shook himself out of it, going to follow Joy. âAnd donât-â
âLips are sealed, I know.â Dana pretended to toss a key behind her back with a friendly wink. Her smile promptly faded the second Robby was out of sight, eyes drifting to Trauma 1.
âI already answered all of these questions with Doctor Robinavitch earlier.â you snapped, sighing. âSorry, I justâŠâ you trailed off, not knowing what to say.
Caleb noted that you recalled being asked these questions already. âAlright,â he nodded as he listened to you. âWell, Iâll tell you thisâfeeling confused and frustrated, flip-flopping between the two? Normal in cases of head injury. Anything new and or notable you feel could be connected to it. What youâre describing is not irrational in the slightest, especially when it comes to realizing you donât remember certain things. Itâs best to try and focus on having patience with yourself rather than focusing on what you donât remember.â
âEasier said than done, butâŠIâll do my best.â
Caleb began to wheel himself backwards. âI donât doubt that, but please focus on the patience aspect. Best not to push yourself too hard.â
You gave him a small wave with your uninjured hand, muttering a thank you. Your eyes relaxed for a moment, staring down at both hands now. The injured one lookedâŠrough, to say the least.
Then, a knock was at the door, stealing your attention.
âHi hon, Iâm Dana.â She came into the room quiet and gentle, hands rubbing together as the hand sanitizer did its job.
âHi.â your voice melted away from the rigid nature, going into something softer at her mere presence.
âHow are we feelinâ?â She was moving around the room with swift expertise, gathering supplies. Saline, gauze, gloves.
âHonestly? Hard to tell.â You watched as she set up beside you, placing everything where it needed to be before cleaning her hands again.
Putting on gloves, she spoke. âThatâs okay, and understandable. Iâm not here to bug ya hon, just to get you dolled up again. No stitches or staples, Doctor Robby said. Looking at the HAT method, since itâs not that bad.â She smiled at her own words, wetting the gauze with the saline. âThat alright?â
You nodded slightly so as to not irritate your head.
âAlright then, Iâm just gonna make sure the dressing isnât too stuck to ya.â she explained, beginning to gently dab the wet gauze against it. âOnce itâs up and removed, Iâm gonna clean that dried blood off as well, then replace the dressing and-â
Dana continued to explain everything she was doing, and even though you already knew what she was doing and why, you didnât feel the urge to inform her that you knew. Something about the way she was saying it felt as if she wasnât informing you, rather just walking you through it. To keep you in the know, to keep you feeling safe. That appeared to be all you focused on the entire time because it felt like you blinked and she was done, finishing off the dressing with a gentle swipe of her thumb at the corner.
âAll done.â Dana said, disposing of everything and practicing hand hygiene with, yet again, a swift expertise. âShouldnât be too long now until you get your X-ray and CTs, okay? Do you need anything in the meantime? Food, waterâŠspace?â
At her words, you huffed out a small, pathetic laugh. âIs it that obvious?â
She shook her head, waving you off with a playful scoff. âNo, no. It can get overwhelming here real quick, thatâs all. I wouldnât blame you.â
She gave you a small smile before leaving the room as quietly as she came. Being around her was refreshing and comforting to you. She didnât make you feel like a wounded puppy who needed extra treats and loving to get by.
As Dana made her way back to the hub, she observed Robby and Calebâs demeanors as they spoke. Pensive, not a good sign.
âGossiping about me while Iâm gone?â she eased the moment as she approached. âWhatâs the verdict?â
Caleb sighed. âPost-injury, long term memory seems to be sporadic, short term memory seems to be secure. She remembers core things; her name, birthday, birthplace and what not, but thereâs still blank spots. I believe it could be mTBI or TGA. All things considered, her memory loss aligns with retrograde amnesiaâretrograde aligning with mTBI and anterograde aligning with TGA, but the mind works in wondrous ways, so it could still be TGA. But as I said, so far, she doesnât exhibit difficulty with memory retention, rather recollection. Which is promising. Letâs hope Iâm right and itâs mTBI, as it tends to resolve over time with exposure to things and people forgotten. Overall though, that is a one time observation, so Iâd definitely like to keep her here overnight to see if her memory strengthens over time, or not, to confirm which it could be. Regardless, it looks promising. And Robby, night shift is just as equipped as me, so donât stress. I know you pick favorites.â
At that, Robby laughed in slight embarrassment and disbelief. âYou are funny, Doctor Jefferson.â
âWhat can I say? Comes easy. Get her head CT, talk to me then.â he smiles cockily before heading on his way.
Dana crosses her arms. âAlright. I heard the words âresolveâ and âlooks promisingâ.â
âThat you did- Oh, shit.â Robbyâs face pales when he spots Joy looking up at the trackboard, Dennis not following far behind as Joy says âIs thatâŠ?â
âWhat?â Dennis smiled in confusion, meeting Joyâs side and craning up his own neck now. Those who knew you were here also knew it was a matter of time before Dennis checked the board and spotted your last name, age on the board matching yours. They just hoped they had more time, more information, before that happened.
There it was. That look on Dennisâ face, just as imagined. Fear and betrayal, all at once. He very clearly had a lot to say, but you were more important. He sprinted for Trauma 1âfor you.
âWhitaker!â Robby hollered, going after him. Dana followed not too far behind.
Suddenly, your room was bright as the lights turned on, a guy coming in with a quickness. You bit back a hiss of pain as you tried to sit up, alarmed. âIs something wrong?â
âIs something wrong?â The man echoed. âOf course somethingâs wrong, youâre in here.â he gestured around the room.
âWhitaker,â Robby spoke firmly as he trailed in from behind him, voice full of restrained warning.
What the hell is going on?
âAre you okay?â The man, who you now know as Whitaker, sauntered closer to you, eyes full of worry.
âWell, no. Like you said, Iâm in here.â Your tone was clipped. Robby caught it. You were overwhelmed.
Dana finally made her way in, going to meet your bedside, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
âHow can you be joking right n-â Whitaker (or rather, Dr. Dennis Whitaker, your eyes caught on his badge) was cut off as Robbyâs hands gripped his shoulders tightly, pulling him out of the room.
Dana was quick on her feet, shutting the lights back off. âCheese and rice.â she sighed sharply. âYou okay, hon?â
Your focus was on the men outside the room, whom you couldnât hear in general, but heard even less as Dr. Robinavitch dragged him away.
âCalm down, right now.â Robbyâs voice was full of venom.
âC-calm down? Calm down? She is here as a patient and you want me to calm down?â
Robby cocked his neck in stress as he peered into B2, ensuring it was empty before he dragged Dennis inside. âStop. Look at me, I need you to listen very carefully right now. Can you do that?â
Dennis nodded. He had many choice words for everyone who knew you were hurt and didnât tell him, but fear of what Robby was going to say outweighed it all.
âShe was late because she got into a car accident.â
He was silent for a moment. âI-I shouldnât have said yes to carpooling with Trinity. I shouldâve stayed with-â his voice caught.
âDonât do that to yourself, kid.â
âNo, b-because itâs true. I shouldâve said no and- and just drove me and my girlfriend to work like I usually do. Shit. The one day I say yes to carpooling with a friend and this happens? I-â
âDennis.â
âIs she going to be okay?â
âYes, but-â
He laughed out of shock, a cry threatening to come along with it. âBut?â
âShe hit her head pretty hard.â
âAnd?â
âAnd her memory is unclear right now. I already had Caleb come down from-â
âW-what about her memory?â Dennisâ hair began to stick to his forehead as he began to sweat and spiral.
âShe doesnât remember the accident or where she was going and, so far, she doesnât appear to remember any of us sheâs seen yet, either.â
Then, it all hits him. Your face when he came into the room, the way your body language was guarded, the way you spoke⊠you didnât remember him, did you? And what about all the hard work you put in to getting to your residency? To getting the title âDoctorâ? Was that all dust in the wind now? Would you have to restart? What did this mean for your relationship and your career?
âWhitaker.â Robby urged, but got no response.
Dana came in then, expression pathetically sympathetic.
He only spoke then. âIs she okay?â
âSheâs calm. Confused, but calm. Sheâs getting her X-ray right now.â
âX-ray? Jesus- Why didnât anybody tell me anything?â
âNo offense, kid, but look at ya.â Dana said, though her voice wasnât sarcastic at all. It was heartfelt. âWant me to get Jefferson back down here so he can answer all your questions the best he can?â
He sighed deeply, breath quivering in the process. âYeah, yeahâŠThatâd uhâŠt-that would be nice.â
âCâmere, letâs go to the family room. Iâll get Santos to cover your patients for now.â
He followed Dana as she guided him out of B2 and through the chaos that ensued around them. He glanced up once, spotting Trinity at the hub, wearing a look of immense guilt that shouted âIâm sorryâ without her saying a word. All he could do was blink. What was he supposed to do? Continue to work his shift knowing you never got to yours because of a car accident? Carpool with Trinity until he somehow lumped up the funds to fix your car? And on top of that, what was he supposed to do around you? His partner, whom he lived with. Who didn't remember him.
âHey, weâre here.â Danaâs voice coaxed him back to the present moment. He nodded, stepping inside. She stayed in the doorway, eyes fixed on him.
âIâll get him down here A-S-A-P, you got it?â Dana made sure he was paying attention as she spoke. âAnd Iâll keep you updated on everything to do with her, alright? Sheâll be okay.â
âYeah, thanks.â Was all he managed. As Dana closed the door and left, he was swarmed with his thoughts. You were okay, and he was incredibly grateful for that fact. But, selfishly, he wonderedâŠwill we be okay?
You two worked togetherâŠdid everything together, as a team.
Team. That is what he would focus on. You two had an agreement to be there for each other no matter what. It would be tricky to uphold that, given you probably donât remember the declaration if you didnât remember him, but⊠he would be there for you, through it all. As long as you wanted him to be. And God, he wished with everything in him that you wanted him to be.
hug me. console me. slide those big hands up my neck and constrict it until im gagging from lack of oxygen but in my last breaths before i pass out. i hiccup out his name in garbled morse code and the goosebumps on my clammy cold skin spell out âi love youâ in braille.
if i see one more person blaming Amy, a woman whoâs husband died right before she gave birth, instead of Whittaker and his terrible boundaries, i am going to FLIPâŠ.
like yeah, ofc it would suck and hurt her if he said âthis is inappropriate, iâm sorryâ etc and put up a boundary, but she is not making him drive to the farm or help out. he is actively feeding into an unhealthy dynamic bc of his people pleasingâŠâŠâŠ.HELLOOOOOO?!?!?
the babygirlification of men in fandom spaces needs to be studied bc i cannot stand the misogyny (like why did i see someone hoping that Amy would die�?????)
Langdon asking Dennis if he's been working out because he looks like in shape and bigger LIKE YEAH BABE TRUST WE'VE ALL BEEN LOOKING AT HIS ARMS THE ENTIRE SEASON
summary: your five year old sister needs stitches and thinks youâre in love with your coworker. she might not be wrong.
dennis whitaker x fem!reader, so awkward omfg, hospital things mentioned, they both like each other, maybe pt 2đ€đ€đ€
word count: 900
a/n: first time writing whitaker kinda nervous⊠also ignore if there are incorrect things abt this, like trauma two being a curtainđŁ anyway yea not proof read so this is ass !!!!!!!!!
âhey we got a patient asking for you, trauma two.â robby came up behind you as you exhaustingly typed your charting.
âme? whatâs the issue?â you stand, confused, grabbing your stethoscope and draping it over your shoulders.
ânew admit, head lac, no older than five years. came in with a teenager about forty-five minutes ago.â confusion washes over you as the patients he describes sound awfully familiar. dennis rounds the corner who earns a call from robby.
âwhitaker, join her on this case.â this makes your heart flutter slightly knowing that the cutest r2 is joining you. robby gives him the whole speil he gave you and finishes just in time of reaching the curtain. robby turns towards you âoh and by the way, they have your last name. thatâs why they needed you.â
completely confused, your heart drops thinking of the worst. your five year old baby sister who was brought in by your fourteen year old sister is in the ER for a laceration on her head. you pull the curtain back and rush to your sister in nervousness and almost anger.
âwhat are you doing here?!! oh my god how did this happen? are you hurt too? where are mom and dad? how did you get here??â youâre just word vomiting questions while hugging your baby sister. your younger sister stands quickly, startled. all of this caused you to forget that right behind you was dennis whitaker, standing off to the side as to not interrupt this surprise family reunion.
ây/n itâs okay, slow down!â the teen said. you force yourself to breathe. you can panic later. right now, youâre her doctor.
âiâm sorry, let me start over.â you gesture to dennis who waves at the girls. âthis is dr. whitaker and weâll be taking care of you. what happened to your head? how did you girls get here?â
your baby sisterâs eyes are still watery, cheeks flushed from crying. she sniffles as you and your other sister talk. âshe fell down the stairs and i was too scared to call mom so i walked her here.â
âwalked?!! oh my god i canât believe you. let me take a look.â you exclaim and examine her head. itâs a pretty deep cut, most likely needing stitches of her forehead.
âdo you mind if i look?â dennis steps up and gently takes ahold of her chin to tilt it to check her head. âiâm gonna take your vitals and letâs do a ct head scan to make sure youâre not concussed.â he says that last part at you, almost as if asking for your approval. âyea thatâs a good idea. let me go grab you a gown, do you girls need anything?â
you turn to leave after they both shake their heads when a small voice perks up. âsissy, come kiss my booboo please!!â the âpleaseâ drags out a bit as she does the cutest pouty face.
your face burns red with embarrassment. you take the walk of shame back to the toddler in the chair way too big for her, glancing over at dennis whoâs trying to muffle his smile as you lean over and kiss her forehead.
âokay iâll be right back, heâll get you all patched up and ready for your scan, be kind to dr. whitaker.â you joke at them, trying to clear the air. you hear him let out a quiet, pitying laugh as you close the curtain behind you.
you walk to your desk to call your mom and dad and inform them of your surprise guests at work. still thinking about dennis, youâre completely mortified that you acted how you did in front of him, of all people.
dennis walks out as you wrap up the call. you donât notice him until heâs leaning up against your desk right in front of you.
âyouâre really good with her.â
you shrug it off, embarrassed, and he adds, ânot just as a doctor.â
âoh thanks, yea growing up the oldest you kinda learn to parent them. were her vitals okay?â
âyup, perfectly normal. just waiting on a lab to open up for a ct. hey how come i never knew you had sisters?â he shifts his weight against your desk, like heâs trying to keep it casual.
âoh uhm youâve never asked.â god could you be any more awkward?
âyea⊠thatâs on me.â he smiles a little.
thereâs a beat before he adds,
âyour sisters seem to like me though.â
you groan, dropping your head into your hands. âoh no, what did she say?â
he laughs quietly. âoh nothing, only that she thinks you like me. she made it very clear that iâm a common topic among your conversations.â
âdid she really say that? sheâs five, she has no idea what sheâs talking about.â you try to play it off as nonchalantly as possible. youâre almost positive your face is burning red.
âuhh⊠iâll check if theyâre ready for her ct now. â
âyeah, okay.â you mumble, head down, suddenly very interested in whatever paper is on your desk.
he pushes off the desk, but pauses for a second.
âfor the record,â he says, glancing back at you, âi donât think sheâs completely wrong.â
your head snaps up. âoh my god.â
he just smiles, quick, a little shy before turning and heading back down the hall.
you look back up, just in time to see him smile to himself. you donât even try to hide your own.
plsplspls reblog and like if you enjoyed !! donât be scared to send requests đ«¶
summary: the spaceship seems to be malfunctioning and you are forced to sleep in your crewmates quarter. in the same bed. obviously.
warnings: ship malfunction
word count: 2.1k
a/n: ofc i had to write same bed trope for ryland i mean who else would i be.........
MASTERLIST
You are forced to stop your research, because of an unexpected noise beeping into your ears.
Itâs a low, persistent hum - slightly off from the usual rhythm of the systems, just enough to make you stop mid-step and frown at the wall like it personally offended you. You listen for a second longer, tilting your head, trying to place it, but before you can, Rylandâs voice cuts in over the comms.
âOkay, quick question,â he says, far too casually for someone who definitely found the same issue you did, âhow attached are you to your current sleeping arrangements?â
You freeze.
ââŠDefine attached.â
Thereâs a pause. You can practically hear him deciding how honest to be.
âHypothetically,â he continues, âif I told you that one section of the crew quarters has decided to become⊠not livable for a bit - purely temporarily - would you be open to, say, a roommate situation?â
You close your eyes.
Of course.
âRyland.â
âYes?â
ââŠWhat did you break?â
âI didnât break anything,â he says immediately, which is exactly how you know he did. âSomething broke. Near me. While I was being completely responsible.â
You pinch the bridge of your nose. âThatâs not reassuring.â
âIt shouldnât be,â he agrees. âBut good news! I fixed most of it. Bad news: your room is currently part of the âmostâ that is not fixed.â
You stare at the wall for a long second.
ââŠYouâre kidding.â
âI wish I were. On the bright side,â he adds, and you can hear the grin in his voice now, âmy room is perfectly functional. Very comfortable. Plenty of space for-â
âRyland.â
â-two people,â he finishes anyway.
You exhale slowly, already regretting every life decision that led here.
âFine,â you say. âTemporarily.â
âTemporarily,â he echoes, far too pleased about it.
His room is, unfortunately, exactly as functional as he promised.
Clean. Organized. Slightly too neat in a way that makes it obvious he tried to make it look like he didnât prepare for this possibility. Thereâs an extra blanket folded on the side, and you immediately narrow your eyes at it.
âYou planned this.â
He looks up from where heâs pretending to adjust something on the console. âWow. Accusations already? Weâve barely started living together.â
âI am not living with you.â
âYou are currently standing in my room with your stuff,â he points out. âThat feels like living with me.â
âItâs temporary.â
âMm-hmm.â He nods like he believes you. He absolutely does not.
You set your bag down on the chair, glancing around. Itâs⊠fine. Smaller than your quarters, but manageable.
Then you notice it.
You turn slowly.
âThereâs one bed.â
Ryland, who had been very deliberately not looking at you, finally glances over. âAh. Yes. The bed.â
âThe one bed,â you repeat.
âThe singular bed,â he confirms.
You stare at him.
He stares back.
ââŠYouâre enjoying this,â you say flatly.
âA little,â he admits. Then, quickly, âBut I am also a gentleman. I can take the floor.â
You look down at the very obviously not floor-sleeping-friendly metal surface.
âYou will not survive the night on that.â
âI have survived worse,â he says, placing a hand over his heart. âI am resilient.â
âYou complain when your coffee is too hot.â
âThat is a valid complaint.â
You cross your arms. âYouâre not sleeping on the floor.â
He tilts his head. âSo what Iâm hearing is⊠we share?â
Your heart does something extremely unhelpful.
âWe⊠manage,â you say carefully.
âManage,â he repeats, like itâs the best word heâs ever heard.
The first hour is awkward.
Painfully awkward.
You sit on opposite sides of the bed, pretending to go through notes, both of you very aware of the fact that you are, in fact, sitting on the same bed. Ryland clears his throat approximately every thirty seconds. You flip through the same page three times.
âSo,â he says finally.
âSo,â you echo.
âThis is normal.â
âCompletely.â
âVery professional.â
âIncredibly.â
A pause.
âYouâre sitting really far away,â he adds.
You blink at him. âWe are on the same bed.â
âYes, but thereâs a clear⊠emotional distance.â
You stare. âRyland.â
âIâm just saying,â he shrugs, âif weâre doing this, we could at least commit to the bit.â
âWe are not committing to anything.â
âWow,â he says, mock hurt. âThatâs devastating.â
You try not to smile.
You fail.
Night makes it worse.
Of course it does.
You both go through your usual routines - brushing your teeth, pretending this is normal, avoiding eye contact like itâs a dangerous experiment. By the time the lights dim, the tension in the room is thick enough to be its own atmosphere.
You hesitate beside the bed.
Ryland gestures dramatically. âAfter you.â
You climb in, carefully staying on your side, pulling the blanket up like itâs some kind of barrier. He follows a second later, settling in on the other side.
There is space between you.
Not much.
Too little.
âOkay,â he says into the darkness. âGround rules.â
You sigh. âThere are ground rules?â
âOh yeah. Very important. Rule one: no kicking.â
âI donât kick.â
âEveryone says that until they do.â
âI donât.â
âNoted. Rule two: if I snore-â
âYou snore?â
âI donât know,â he admits. âBut if I do, youâre allowed to⊠gently wake me. No violence.â
You huff a quiet laugh. âGood to know.â
âRule three,â he continues, voice softer now, âif this gets weird, we just⊠pretend itâs not.â
You glance at him in the dim light.
âItâs already weird.â
âYeah,â he says. âBut like⊠manageable weird.â
You relax a little, staring at the ceiling.
ââŠOkay.â
A beat passes.
Then another.
Youâre just starting to think maybe - maybe - you can actually fall asleep like this when-
âYouâre still awake, arenât you?â he murmurs.
âYes.â
âSame.â
Silence again.
Then-
âYouâre really close,â he says.
You turn your head. âI have not moved.â
âI know. Thatâs the problem.â
You stare at him.
ââŠDo you want me to move?â
âNo,â he says immediately. Then, softer, âNo, youâre fine.â
Your heart stumbles.
Neither of you moves.
For a while, neither of you says anything.
The lights are dim, the steady hum of the ship filling the silence, and the space between you - small as it is - feels like something youâre both very aware of without wanting to acknowledge it too directly.
You try to focus on sleeping.
It doesnât work.
âYou always this bad at falling asleep?â Ryland murmurs after a minute, voice quieter now, like the dark has softened him a little.
You huff softly. âOnly when Iâm sharing a bed with someone who wonât stop talking.â
âThatâs fair,â he admits. âI bring a certain⊠energy.â
âThatâs one word for it.â
He shifts slightly beside you, the mattress dipping just enough for you to notice. âOkay, but in my defense, this is new. Usually I get the whole bed to myself. I can spread out. Exist dramatically.â
âExist dramatically?â you repeat.
âYeah,â he says. âYou know. Starfish position. Peak comfort. Maximum presence.â
You snort quietly, turning your head just enough to look at him. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âAnd yet, here I am, sharing my tragic lack of space with you.â
âYou offered,â you remind him.
âTrue,â he says, and thereâs a hint of something softer under the humor now. âI would offer again.â
Your chest tightens, just a little.
You look away first.
A few minutes pass.
You close your eyes again.
Still not asleep.
âYouâre still awake,â he says.
âYou are too.â
âYeah, but I asked first.â
You roll your eyes, even though he probably canât see it. âGo to sleep, Ryland.â
âIâm trying,â he says. âYouâre just⊠very distracting.â
You blink in the dark. âIâm literally lying still.â
âExactly,â he says. âSuspicious behavior.â
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âCorrect.â
Thereâs a pause.
Then, softer-
âHey.â
ââŠYeah?â
âYou comfortable?â
The question catches you off guard a little. Thereâs no teasing in it this time, just something simple and genuine.
ââŠYeah,â you say after a second. âI am.â
âGood,â he murmurs.
Another pause.
ââŠYou?â
âYeah,â he says. âBetter than I thought, actually.â
Your heart does that small, annoying thing again.
Somewhere between one quiet breath and the next, things shift.
Itâs subtle. Barely noticeable.
You move - just slightly - adjusting the blanket.
The space between you gets smaller and your arm brushes his.
âSorry,â you whisper automatically.
âDonât be,â he says just as quickly.
Neither of you moves away.
The contact is light. Barely there.
But it stays.
âYou ever think about how weird this is?â he says after a moment.
You let out a quiet breath. âAll of it? Or just this part?â
âThis part,â he says. âThough, to be fair, all of it is weird. Space, saving the world, sharing a bed with someone who definitely judges my life choices.â
âI do not judge your life choices.â
âYou absolutely do.â
âOnly the bad ones.â
âOuch.â
You smile into the darkness. âYouâll recover.â
âDebatable.â
A small silence settles again, but this one is different. Easier.
Quieter.
âHey,â he says, voice softer now.
âYeah?â
âIâm⊠glad itâs you.â
Your breath catches.
ââŠWhat?â
âFor the roommate situation,â he adds quickly, but not quite fast enough to hide it. âCouldâve been worse. Couldâve been someone who actually enforces rules or something.â
You huff out a quiet laugh, but it doesnât quite cover the way your chest tightens. âYeah. That wouldâve been terrible.â
âExactly,â he says. âYouâre⊠youâre easy to be around.â
That does it.
That stupid, simple sentence lands harder than any of his teasing ever has.
You turn your head slightly, looking at him in the dim light.
ââŠYou too,â you say quietly.
For once, he doesnât joke.
At some point, you fall asleep.
Youâre not sure when.
Everything just sort of fades - the quiet hum of the ship, the tension, the awareness - until thereâs nothing but warmth and stillness.
You wake up slowly.
Warm.
Thereâs a moment where you donât move, still caught halfway between sleep and awareness, trying to figure out what feels different.
Then it hits you.
You are very, very close to Ryland.
At some point during the night, the careful distance you both maintained has completely disappeared. Your arm is tucked against his, your shoulder pressed lightly into his side, and-
You freeze.
His arm is around you.
Just⊠there. Resting, like it ended up there without permission and neither of you noticed.
Your heart immediately starts racing.
Okay. Okay. You could fix this. You could move. Very carefully. Very slowly.
Like it never happened.
You start to shift.
His arm tightens slightly and you stop breathing.
ââŠDonât move,â he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
You go completely still.
âIâm not,â you whisper, even though you definitely were.
âGood,â he says, barely awake. âThis is⊠comfortable.â
Your brain short-circuits.
Comfortable. Right. Of course. Totally normal.
You stare at the wall, trying to ignore the fact that you are very much still half tucked against him, his arm still loosely around you, his presence warm and solid and entirely too distracting.
After a second, he exhales softly.
ââŠWait,â he says.
Oh no.
âAre we-â
âYes,â you say immediately.
âOkay,â he says.
A pause.
ââŠOkay.â
Neither of you moves.
âThis is⊠new,â he adds after a moment.
âVery.â
âNot bad,â he says.
You swallow. âNo. Not bad.â
Another pause.
âShould we⊠move?â he asks, like he doesnât actually want to.
âProbably,â you say, equally unconvincing.
Neither of you moves.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, finally lifting his head slightly. âWow. We are handling this with incredible professionalism.â
âAbsolutely,â you agree.
âTop-tier astronauts,â he says.
âScientists,â you correct.
âRight. Even worse.â
You finally shift, just enough to create a little space, though itâs less than before. He lets his arm drop back, but slowly, like heâs not entirely sure he wants to.
You sit up, running a hand through your hair, trying to regain some composure.
ââŠSo,â he says.
âSo,â you echo.
âWe survived our first night as roommates.â
âBarely.â
âSpeak for yourself,â he says. âI slept great.â
You give him a look. âYou were using me as a pillow.â
âI was not-â he pauses. ââŠOkay, maybe a little. But in my defense, excellent pillow. Ten out of ten. Would recommend.â
You laugh despite yourself.
He grins, clearly pleased.
ââŠWeâre doing this again tonight, arenât we?â he asks.
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
ââŠLooks like it,â you say.
His smile softens, just slightly.
âGood,â he says.
And somehow, that one word lingers a little longer than it should.
â three times jack abbot flirted with you without you realizing, and the one time you realized !!
jack abbot x fem!resident!reader 5k+ word count warnings: medical inaccuracies (i researched the best i could), age gap (not specified), reader may come across as âdumbâ, but sheâs just overwhelmed!! note: first jack writing!! heâs my dream man btw. also, i refer to the characters as i think of them in my headđ some are first name basis, others are strictly last name because i cannot remember their first names for the life of me.
{ ONE }
the emergency department at two in the evening feels like a beehive someone kicked. monitors chirp in uneven rhythms, stretchers rattle past with loose wheels that squeal against the tile, santos and langdon argue for the tenth time in an hour, and you stand right in the middle of it with a big smile.
youâve always loved your job. even when it meant eight straight years of school. nights spent bent over anatomy textbooks while your roommates got dressed for the bars. even when med school felt like someone had taken your brain out of your skull and wrung it dry. you loved it. you loved the moment something finally clicked. the way a diagnosis stopped being a puzzle and started making sense.
now youâre a second-year resident and technically a doctor, even though sometimes the word still catches in your throat when someone says it out loud. the emergency department is exhausting and overwhelming and perfect.
âno, look,â you insist, tapping the chart with the end of your pen. âif his potassium was actually that high, heâd look way worse than this. always check for hemolysis before you panic.â
ogilvie blinks from across you. he runs a hand through his tousled hair and nods curtly. âoh,â he says faintly, internally freaking out because he was the top of his class at whatever school he went to and he wasnât supposed to mess up.
you grin, knowing that feeling all too well. âhey, donât get down on yourself. with time comes wisdom. youâll get used to it.â you promise, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. you scribble something quick on the chart and hand it back to him before he scurries off.
youâre already turning back to the computer when you pat the counter beside you automatically, searching for something that isnât there. your hand lands on the cold desk and you frown. ââŠdamn.â
dana glances over. âwhatâs up, kid?â she tilts her head, looking above the top of her glasses.
âforgot my coffee this morning,â you sigh, already pulling up another chart. âi was already here before i realized.â
ârookie mistake.â she tsks, already looking up at the patient board again.
âi know,â you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. âthis shift might kill me.â you say casually, fingers clicking against the keyboard again.
three feet to your left, jack abbott hears every word. heâs leaning against the far counter pretending to review a chart he finished five minutes ago. his eyes lift the second you say forgot my coffee. he continues watching youâlike always. youâre talking again now, explaining something to a student doctor javadi, gesturing with your pen, hair slightly messy from the start of a long shift. you laugh at something perlah says and the sound carries toward him.
jack used to feel guilty for observing you. it would curl up the nape of his neck and plant itself there every time he realized heâd been watching you for longer than necessary. you were one of the best residents heâd ever seen, so naturally, like any other attending, he kept an eye on you (even though you technically were under dr. robby). still, the first few times he caught himself leaning against a counter across the department, eyes following the way you moved from patient to patient, heâd look away immediately. like heâd been caught doing something he couldnât quite justify.
now itâs just routine. jack walks into the department and his eyes find you automatically. across the room, down the hall, wherever youâve planted yourself in the middle of the noise. he tells himself itâs habit. just keeping track of a resident. but the truth is simpler than that.
âabbott.â he looks over, snapping out of whatever trance overtook him. robby, his longtime friend and coworker, raises an eyebrow. âyouâve been staring at her for likeâŠthree minutes. blink, brother.â
jack glances back at you. youâre still talking, still smiling, still completely unaware. ââŠwas reading the chart,â he grumbles, scratching the back of his neck.
robby snorts, fingers drumming against the tabletop. theyâve known each other long enough to call bullshit. âwhatever keeps you going.â
jack sets the chart down with a huff and pushes off the counter. he taps his pocket, feeling the cold weight of his phone, and murmurs, âgonna make a call.â
robby stifles a laugh, shaking his head briefly before assisting dr. mckay with her patient.
~
about twenty minutes later, youâre halfway through typing a note when a paper coffee cup slides quietly into your line of sight. you pause, blinking like itâs a figment of your imagination, before looking up.
dr. jack abbott stands on the other side of the station, one hand braced on the counter, the other nudging the coffee toward you. heâs wearing a black scrub top that squeezes his juicy biceps, and acting pretty casually for someone whoâs not supposed to be working yet.
your eyes flick between the cup and him. âdid someone get this for me?â you ask, fluttering your lashes at him subconsciously.
jack stares at you. his mind runs blank. behind you, princess slowly swivels her chair to watch. jack drags a hand down his face. âyeah,â he says flatly. âsomebody did.â
you nod thoughtfully. you should ask who or where it came from, but youâre running on fumes. âokay.â you pick up the coffee, pressing your lips against the lid and taking a generous sip. jack watches you drink it like a man waiting for a verdict, his finger tapping against his thigh. your shoulders relax instantly. you hum quietly. âthis is really good.â
jack exhales through his nose. âglad you approve,â he murmurs, biting back a smirk. call him a creep, but heâs the only person in the department that can get your coffee order correct down to a T.
you finally glance up again, eyebrows lifting like youâve only just remembered he exists. âwait,â you say. âyouâre here early.â
jack tilts his head slightly, pursing his lips. âthat bother you?â his voice is lower than before, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.
âno,â you say quickly, ignoring the tingly sensation in your stomach. truth be told, youâre never bothered to see him. âyou just usually come in later.â
he shrugs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. itâs a losing battle to keep your eyes on his. âcouldnât sleep.â
dana snorts from behind you, shaking her head while dialing a number on the phone. she bites her tongue, choosing peace for once. jack doesnât take his eyes off of you, ignoring danaâs antics entirely.
you groan sympathetically. âthatâs the worst. i always have melatonin with me if you need it.â
jackâs mouth twitches. a flush forms from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. still, his gaze stays glued on you. âiâll keep that in mind.â
with a smile, you turn back to the computer, already clicking through charts again, and attempting to calm your nerves. you grip the poor coffee cup, hoping jack doesnât notice your skin is hot to the touch.
finally, he begrudgingly leaves to assist on a patient down the hall. when heâs out of sight, dana, who stands besides you, leans closer. âyou know he bought that for you, right?â
you frown at your chart. âabbot?â you glance up at her, brows furrowed. she nods her head, widening her eyes like âwasnât it obvious?â you glance over your shoulder toward the hallway he disappeared down. âyeah, but heâs just nice. heâd do it for anyone.â you insist, scratching the top of your head.
dana stares at you like sheâs trying to solve a complex neurological condition. âsureâŠâ she finally says.
you just shrug, taking another sip of your coffee because that has to be the reason. right? why else would he buy you the coffee? you close your eyes, shaking the thoughts out of your head becauseâŠno way. meanwhile, somewhere down the hall, jack abbott is absolutely losing his mind.
{ TWO }
hour five is always the worst, in your opinion. close enough to the middle of your shift that you should feel motivated, but not quite there. not enough to push you through. just enough time for the exhaustion to settle in your bones and stay.
youâre in bay four with a chart tucked under your arm. the elderly woman on the stretcher looks small under the hospital blanket, silver hair falling loose around her shoulders. her ankle is already swelling beneath the thin sheet and she keeps apologizing every few seconds for something that wasnât her fault.
âhey,â you murmur gently, crouching slightly so she doesnât have to crane her neck to see you. âno apologies. gravity gets the best of all of us.â
she laughs softly at that. âi tripped on the rug,â she explains again. âmy daughter keeps telling me to get rid of it.â her lips pull downward as she continues. âbut itâs just so beautiful.â
you nod while carefully pressing along her ankle, fingers gentle but firm as you check for tenderness. ânothing wrong with enjoying art,â you say lightly. your thumb presses along the swollen joint and she winces just a little. you soften your touch immediately. âeven if it occasionally decides to fight back.â she smiles in response.
behind you, jack stands close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours when you shift. robby got pulled into something more serious ten minutes ago, and jack (who once again is here before the start of his shift) stepped in without much explanation besides a quiet, iâll help you with this one. you didnât question it.
jack watches the way you explain each movement before you touch the patient. the way your voice softens slightly when she winces. the way your hands move with that careful confidence that only comes from repetition. youâre good at this. he already knew that, but still.
âalright,â you say after a moment, straightening slightly. âiâm gonna order an x-ray just to be safe, okay?â
the woman nods, commenting something about you being a doll. then, her eyes flick between you and jack. a slow smile spreads across her face. âarenât you two just the sweetest together.â you both freeze. âsuch a nice couple,â she continues warmly. âworking side by side like that.â
your brain stutters. âoh-â you start, laughing nervously. jackâs mouth twitches, but he doesnât flinch. you shoot him a quick look before turning back to the patient. âweâre not-â
the woman waves her hand dismissively. âno need to explain, dear.â
jack lets out a quiet chuckle behind you. itâs low and amused and extremely unhelpful. you clear your throat, suddenly very focused on the color of your pen ink. âwe just work together.â
the woman hums like she heard you and chose not to believe it. well,â she says sweetly, glancing at jack, âhe looks at you very nicely.â
your face heats instantly. you pretend to adjust the blanket around her ankle so you donât have to respond. jack goes very still beside you. the room stays quiet for a beat before you say, a little too brightly, âokay! weâll get that x-ray and see whatâs going on.â
you scribble something on the chart and step toward the door. jack follows. the second youâre out in the hallway, you exhale like youâve been holding your breath. âoh my god.â jack laughs softly in response. you glance at him. âyou couldâve said something.â
âabout what.â he feigns innocence.
âthe couple thing.â
jack shrugs, hands slipping casually into the pockets of his scrub pants. âdidnât seem necessary.â
you stare at him. your eyes are wide and mouth agape. âit was embarrassing.â
jack tilts his head slightly, studying you for a second longer than necessary. then he says, voice low and teasing, âi didnât mind playing your boyfriend for a few minutes.â
your brain stalls. you stare at him like he spoke a different language. jack watches the exact moment the words land. the faint color climbing up your neck. the way the floor tiles suddenly call your attention. his mouth curves slightly.
you clear your throat once again. he definitely didnât mean it like that. jack abbot is many things, including a vigorous flirt. heâs just trying to fluster you. âiâm sure youâd do it for anyone,â you say weakly, turning toward the nursesâ station, âi-i,â cough, âhave to, to go do something.â
jack moves to the side, motioning for you to walk. âgo ahead,â he murmurs, but heâs smiling.
{ THREE }
the ambulance bay doors swing shut behind you with a hollow metallic clang. outside, the air is colder than it looked through the glass. it slips straight through the thin fabric of your scrubs, raising goosebumps along your arms almost instantly. your hands brace against the cool metal railing and you stare out into the dark parking lot like it might answer the questions still bouncing around your head.
the case had gone bad fast. too fast. one minute the patient had been talking. the next minute the room filled with voices and hands and alarms screaming over each other. someone calling for another unit of blood. someone else pushing meds. robby barking orders across the bed. youâd done everything right.
your shift ended an hour ago. by now, you shouldâve been cuddled up with a hot cup of tea and your favorite fluffy socks and maybe a nice book. but afterâŠthatâŠyou couldnât leave. you offered to help the transition into the night shift and assist with some cases. it was enough to keep your mind off of it until now.
your jaw tightens. you take another slow breath, trying to push the noise out of your head. the ambulance bay door opens again behind you, but you donât have the strength to turn around. heavy footsteps approach, steady and familiar, until someone stops beside you.
jack rests his forearms on the railing beside you. for a second, neither of you speak. he glances sideways, taking a deep breath. the brisk air burns his throat. youâre staring straight ahead, shoulders tense, lips pressed together like youâre trying very hard not to let the thoughts spill out.
jack knows that look. heâs spent way too long memorizing it. âhey,â he says quietly, bumping his shoulder against yours. you hum in response, which is about the most energy you can spare. jack watches you for another moment. âyou did good in there.â
you shake your head slightly, inhaling sharply. âwe lost him.â
jack sighs, nodding. âsometimes we do.â
you stare harder at the parking lot. âthat doesnât mean it doesnât suck.â you mutter, tears pooling at your waterline.
that pulls the faintest huff of a laugh out of him. âyeah,â he says. âthatâs the official medical term.â you shake your head, a small smile threatening at the corner of your mouth before it disappears again.
the wind picks up slightly. you shift your weight. jackâs eyes fall to your arms. theyâre crossed loosely over your stomach, bumps covering every inch of skin. your shoulders hunch just a little to tell that youâre shivering. he straightens slightly. âhold on.â he says with a tight-lipped smile.
you glance at him. âwha-â but heâs already pushing off the railing before you can finish. you watch him disappear back through the ambulance bay doors with a small frown. he probably got sick of watching you mope. you scoff, kicking yourself mentally because heâs the chief attending and youâre standing here burdening him with your emotional issues.
about a minute later the door swings open again. jack steps back outside to find you in the same position as before. this time, something dark is slung over his arm. you blink as he walks back over and holds it out. a gray zip-up sweatshirt lies in his extended hands.
you stare at it, not moving. âwhatâs this?â you ask, even though itâs pretty obvious. youâve never seen him wear the fabric. youâve only watched him saunter through the automatic doors, eyes intense, and sweatshirt in his hand as he prepares for the night shift.
jack lifts an eyebrow, motioning his hand toward you. âtake it.â his voice is low and raspy.
you hesitate. âiâm fine.â
jack gives you a look. the kind that clearly says youâre absolutely not fine. âyouâre shivering.â he simply states.
you glance down at your arms like you only just noticed. ââŠmaybe a little.â your hands rub up and down against your arms. jack doesnât move. the sweatshirt stays extended toward you. after a second, you sigh and take it. âthanks.â when you pull it on, the scent of musky cologne and him fill your senses. you breathe deeper, the smell like a drug. your brain catches up a bit later. âwaitâare you gonna be cold?â
jack snorts quietly. âiâll survive.â
you zip it up the rest of the way, the sleeves a little long over your hands. you fold your arms again, but this time itâs inside the sweatshirt. âthanks,â your voice is softer.
jack shrugs like itâs nothing. âdonât get used to it.â
you glance sideways at him. âyouâre very grumpy for someone doing something nice.â
âiâm always grumpy.â
âdebatable.â
jack looks at you. his eyes bore into yours, memorizing every detail he can of you. your shoulders have relaxed slightly. the tight line between your brows is gone. mission accomplished. âyou should go home now.â he starts softly. âthe day shift is all gone and we can handle the rest from here.â he urges.
after a moment, you clear your throat and nod. âiâll bring this back tomorrow.â
he shakes his head. âkeep it.â he says it like itâs no big deal. like heâs not your boss and heâs not lending you a sweatshirt in an oddly intimate way. before you can argue, he says, âyou forget things,â heâs already turning toward the door. âfigure this way youâve got a spare.â
you stare at him and just laugh. âthat seems like a terrible system.â your shoulders move as you giggle. after the night youâve had, this is the funniest scenario ever.
jack glances back over his shoulder. his mouth curves slightly. âworks for me.â he disappears back inside before you can respond. you stand there for another moment, wrapped in his sweatshirt, staring at the ambulance bay doors.
your fingers curl into the sleeves, fabric bunching around your hands, still warm from him. it sits heavier on your shoulders than it should. you exhale slowly, shaking your head to yourself, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips.
heâs probably just used to this. used to residents stepping out after bad cases, quiet and shaken and trying to hold it together. used to knowing exactly what to say, what to do. how to fix it just enough to get you back on your feet.
you huff out a soft breath, pushing yourself off the railing. âyeah,â you murmur under your breath, already turning toward the doors. âheâs just good at his job.â
{ + ONE }
the bar is loud. a different type of loud than youâre used to. instead of the sharp, frantic noise of the ER, itâs the warmth of conversation and light jokes. robby makes a toast, glasses clink, and drinks are tipped back. the day shift claimed a long stretch of tables near the back. someone dragged two together at some point. chairs are half pulled out, people shifting and talking over each other like no oneâs had a full thought all day and now they finally can.
youâre next to samira with one leg tucked under your chair, and your drink sweating in your hand. âiâm telling you,â samira says, covering her mouth to giggle before she even gets the words out. âdr. robby is hot.â
you gasp, choking on your drink before barking out in laughter. âi meanâŠi can see it.â you say quietly. she raises an eyebrow. you pause. âokâŠof course he is.â you rephrase. âheâs just not my usual type.â
beside you, perlah and princess chuckle, pretending that they arenât eavesdropping.
âwhat you mean is,â samira takes a swig of her drink before finishing. âheâs not jack abbot.â
you swear you almost drop your glass. âkeep your voice down!â you hiss, looking over both shoulders to see if anyone heard.
âitâs not like itâs a secret!â she argues, barely containing her laughter. âyou both like each other and youâre both too dense to see it.â
âi would know if someone liked me.â you insist, swirling your straw around in your glass. the ice cubes clink with each stir.
she rolls her eyes, nudging you with her elbow. âyet, youâre the only one who doesnât.â she huffs out a laugh, shaking her head.
the conversation shifts again after that. someone across the table starts complaining about charting, whittaker gets louder, joy says something dry that makes half the table go quiet for a second before laughing. this is the part of the job makes everything else feel worth it.
youâre sitting quiet, listening to the chatter of samira and the occasional arguments of the med-students when a cool breeze brings goosebumps in its wake. you shiver, peaking over your shoulder.
jack abbott steps inside, pausing just past the threshold. he wasnât planning on coming. itâs his night off. he told himself heâd stay home for once, maybe get a decent nightâs sleep. maybe do something that didnât revolve around the hospital. then robby mentioned called and drinks. then mentioned youâd be there, and here he is.
he scans the room once, finding you easily. he almost physically stumbles when he processes you. youâre laughing at something samira said, head tipped slightly back, hair down around your shoulders instead of tied up like it always is. you traded your scrubs for a pair of jeans and a simple top that fit you in a way that should be illegal.
jack exhales slowly. right. this was a mistake. he runs a hand over the back of his neck, debating turning around and walking right back out. instead, he straightens slightly and makes his way over. he doesnât go to you first. mostly because heâs nervous and heâs sporting a semi-hard that needs to go down.
he stops by the end of the table, nodding at everyone, and engaging in conversation with robby. dana gives him a knowing look that he pointedly ignores. âthought you had the night off,â she says, blatantly interrupting robby.
âi do.â he crosses his arms.
âand yet.â dana motions to the room and where he stands.
jack shrugs, casual. âheard there were drinks.â dana hums like she doesnât believe him for a second. she glances past him, toward you, and then back. jack pretends not to notice. he lingers there longer than necessary, letting himself get pulled into the edge of a conversation heâs not really listening to. how could he listen when youâre there looking like that?
heâs aware of you in a way that hinders his ability to interact. the sound of your voice cutting through the noise. the way you gesture when you talk. the way you lean into samira, laughing at something under your breath. he drags his gaze away, but it always comes back. heâs metal being pulled into your magnetic field.
finally, he pushes off from the end of the table. he circles the group until heâs right behind you. he can hear you clearly now, even smell your perfume.
âyou always this loud?â he asks, voice cutting cleanly into your conversation, âor is this a special occasion?â
you freeze. samiraâs eyes go wide for half a second before she bites her lip to keep from laughing. slowlyâslowlyâyou turn your head. up close, he looks even better than he did from across the room. you can see his features clearly. the stubble beard he bother shaving, his salt and peppered curls, and that hardened look that always melts you. could he be anymore perfect?
your brain stutters. âiâm not loud,â you retort, which is immediately a lie.
jack raises an eyebrow. âno?â he asks, voice low, amused. âcouldâve fooled me.â
samira lets out a quiet snort beside you. you shoot her a look before turning back to him, narrowing your eyes slightly. âmaybe youâre just eavesdropping.â
âmaybe youâre just easy to overhear.â
you open your mouth, then close it. you can barely breathe the way heâs still looking at you, never mind forming coherent sentences. you swallow. âwhat are you doing here?â you ask, tone lower.
jack shrugs, one hand settling on the back of your chair. your back brushes his fingers when you lean closer. âthought iâd see what you all look like outside the hospital.â
your stomach flips. samira makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like oh my god. âand?â you ask, lifting your chin slightly. âwhatâs the verdict?â
jackâs gaze drags over you in an antagonizing slow manner. it starts at your face, and dips before coming back up. your breath catches.
he hums. âundecided.â
samira chokes on her drink. âi need another round,â she blurts, already sliding out of her seat. she grabs princess and perlah by the wrist and drags the with her before you can even process what just happened.
traitors.
youâre suddenly very aware of the empty chairs beside you, and the fact that jack doesnât move away. if anything, he moves closer. âso,â you say, clearing your throat, trying to ignore the way your heart is picking up speed. ânight off?â
âyeah.â
âand you chose to spend it here.â
âseems that way.â
you huff a quiet laugh, glancing down at your drink (because if you donât youâll stare at him arms). âweâre honored.â
jackâs mouth twitches. âyou should be.â he lowers his voice to a gruff sound. that has to be his bedroom voice, you think. you look back up at him, rolling your eyes, but thereâs no heat behind it.
he watches you for a second longer than necessary before finally dropping into the chair samira abandoned like it was always his. your knee brushes his and neither of you move. you take a sip of your drink just to give your hands something to do. jack doesnât look away. he leans back slightly in his chair, one arm draped behind you like it belongs there.
you clear your throat. âso,â you say, glancing at him, âyou just haunt bars on your nights off now?â
jack huffs quietly. âonly the ones youâre in.â
your brain trips over itself for half a second. you recover fast. mostly. âthatâsâŠconcerning.â
âyeah,â he nods. âiâve been told.â
you shake your head, trying not to smile into your drink. the liquor warms your throat, giving you some much needed confidence. neither of you move. you glance down at your glass again, tracing the rim with your finger. âtheyâre short on night shift,â you say after a second. âagain.â
jackâs attention sharpens. he notes the way your voice lowers. you donât want anyone else at the table to hear. âyeah,â he nods, pouring himself a beer from the pitcher on the table. âwe are.â
you look up at him through your lashes and he has to adjust his pants. you stall, questioning if this is the right time or place to talk about this. finally, you exhale. âi was thinking about maybe switching over for a bit,â you continue, shrugging one shoulder. âjust temporarily. try something different.â
almost immediately, he replies, âyou should.â
you blink, stifling a laugh. âthat was fast.â
he doesnât even try to backtrack. âyouâd be good over there.â
you tilt your head slightly. âyou donât even know what iâd be like on nights.â
âyeah, i do.â
your brows lift. âyouâve never seen me on nights.â
âdonât need to.â
you bite the inside of your cheek to calm yourself. you feel tingly all over. âyouâre very confident.â you say, avoiding eye contact with him.
âiâm usually right.â
âdebatable.â
ânot about this.â thereâs a quiet certainty in his voice that makes it hard to brush off.
you shift slightly in your seat. âi just-â you sigh. âi donât know how robbyâs gonna feel about it. i feel like heâs gonna think iâm abandoning day shift or something.â you ramble. âand-â
jack leans forward now, thick forearms resting on the table. ârobby wonât be mad at you,â he interrupts with no room for discussion.
you glance at him. âyou say that like you speak for him.â
âiâve known him longer than you,â jack replies easily. âheâs not gonna hold you back.â you nod slowly, but your not convinced. âhe likes you,â jack adds.
your lips twitch. âhe likes everyone.â
jack shakes his head slightly. âhe admires you.â he corrects himself.
your eyes flick back to his. thereâs something in his tone that makes your chest tighten again. you look down quickly. âi just donât want it to be weird,â you say, softer now.
jack watches you for a second. then leans in just a little more. âit wonât be,â he says. heâs close enough that you can feel his breath fanning against your skin. your breath catches. after a moment, he straightens again. âwe can talk more about it over dinner.â he states in a matter of fact tone.
you nearly choke. your brain tries to file that under professionalâit doesnât match. ââŠwhat?â
jackâs mouth curves slightly. âdinner,â he repeats, like itâs obvious. like youâre the one lagging behind.
you stare at him. that didnât sound like just a friendly request. your heart starts picking up. âlikeâŠwith the team?â you ask, clinging to logic.
jackâs gaze doesnât waver. âno.â
your stomach drops. ââŠjust us?â
âthatâs usually how dates go, no?â he smirks. thereâs no hesitation.
everything clicks at once. the realization flashes across your eyes in series of memories. the coffee, the sweatshirt, the way he shows up early, and the way he watches you like youâre the only thing in the room. your breath catches. âyouâre asking me on a date?â you ask like you had to say it out loud for it to process.
jackâs smile deepens. âtook you long enough.â
your heart stutters. âwait-â you sit up straighter, staring at him. âyouâre serious?â
jack leans in slightly, voice low. âi asked you to dinner.â
your pulse jumps. âi thought you meant like talking about the shift-â
âwe can talk about the shift,â he nods, taking a sip of his glass. his eyes flick down to your lips for a split second before coming back up. âdoesnât have to be the only thing.â
oh.
oh.
your face heats. you look away, then back, like you donât know where to land. âyouâve been-â you shake your head slightly, almost laughing. âthis whole time?â
âpretty much.â
you huff out a disbelieving breath. âi thought you were just-â you stop yourself.
jack raises an eyebrow. âjust what.â
you groan, dropping your head into your hand for a second. âi donât knowâŠnormal.â
that actually makes him laugh real low. âthis is me being normal?â
you peek at him. âapparently not.â you lower your hand slowly, looking at him again. your heart is still racing, but you donât hate it. âyouâre bold,â you say quietly.
jackâs mouth curves. âonly when it counts.â
your stomach twists again. you shake your head slightly, smiling despite yourself. âand you just assumed iâd say yes?â
âno.â he shrugs simply.
the honesty catches you off guard. âthen why ask?â
jack holds your gaze. âbecause i wanted to.â he murmurs. âfigured you were worth the risk.â
you stare at him for a second longer, tilting your head like it might help you figure him out better. ââŠok.â it slips out before you can overthink it.
jack tilts his head slightly. âok?â
you nod, a little more certain now. âyes, iâll go out with you.â
a boyish grin takes over his face. it may have taken months of what he thought was obvious flirting, hundreds spent on overpriced coffees, and more self-control than heâd ever admit out loud, but he got there. now youâre sitting in front of him, cheeks warm, eyes a little wide, finally seeing him the way heâs been seeing you all along.
âË⥠ma meillure ennemie | james moriarty x reader
âpairing: james moriarty x reader
âwc: 8.2k
âsummary: james and reader pose as an engaged couple to find a man who can lead them to solving a case.
âcontent: smut (minors dni), 18+, friends to lovers, fake engaged/dating, jealousyyyyy, humor, james is a total flirt, slow dancing, tension, reciting poetry??, everyone knows they're in love except them hehe
a/n: i think i blacked out when writing the freaky bits đ”âđ« i had wayyyy too much fun writing this and i really hope u like it! donal finn is a beautiful man so i had to do something about it
The carriage rattles on the dirt road. The golden gleam of the streetlights guide them away from Oxford and into a night that is pure dark, especially out in the country. Trees hang with their canopy of leaves over the road, grass meadows stretching for miles beyond the cobblestone walls on either side of the road. [Name] has never been in this part of the country before, but it seems lovely, even in the darkness.Â
Itâs a beautiful night, really: a cool spring air, the moon full and high. It lights the road ahead of them as [Name] occasionally glances up through the window as the horses and their driver push them on. With so much to see, it is hard to forget James beside her, rendered in outline in the shadows of darkness: his strong nose, the ever-mischievous tilt of his mouth. Much to her annoyance, she keeps looking over at him, but she tries not to linger long; heâll enjoy it far too much, and the last thing she needs is a cockier James Moriartyâif thatâs even possible.
[Name]âs thumb slides along the smooth, gold band on her ring finger. The simple diamond set in the band catches the moonlight. James claims to have bought it, but she knows him too well: surely he stole this lovely ring from some poor, unwitting individual. She can only hope that they donât miss it too much.
She fiddles with the ring as her hands sit in her lap, lost in thought. âWhat are you, again?â she asks.
James is straightening his cuffs, his suit jacket. Heâs in his black pinstripe suit with not a speck on him. Perhaps he stole the suit, too. One can never know when it comes to James. âA banker,â he says. His voice is low and rumbling, as biting as stone. He glances up like heâs pondering something. âPerhaps I took it over from my father.â
A shiver passes through her, undoubtedly from the night air. Sheâs squeezed into an evening gown that is only a shade darker than blood: itâs bold and it shows off her figure in a way she normally doesnât dress, but she has to stand out tonight. Her arms are bare and every breeze makes her shoulders hunch, which certainly doesnât help the corset she is tied into. She feels like a Christmas present, meant to be unwrapped.
Her chest, too, is bare with a scooping necklineâsave for a glittering necklace. This jewelry came from Sherlock, and he claims to have procured it from Mycroft. Again, she isnât sure if that is the truth, but being friends with James and Sherlock has made her come to expect that most things they darn her with have likely come to them through unfortunate circumstances. There is only so much they can throw together at the last minute.
âIs that how we met?â she asks.
James pouts, thinking. âSecretary?â
She scoffs and looks outside. âSo very original.â Through the trees, lights wink at her. They must be getting close to the manor.
âThatâs usually how it goes, darling,â says James, leaning towards her as he fixes his cuffs.
âIt is much too overused.â
âPerhaps thatâs what makes it so believable. Occamâs razor and all that,â he adds, waving a dismissive hand.
Persistent, she says, âIf we are to be convincing, James, we have to feel real. We havenât spent nearly enough time on our stories.â
âI do best when I improvise.â
She canât help the snort that escapes her. âYes, Iâve seen you improvising in the past.â
âWere you not impressed?â
âAre you referring to the time that you told that poor shopkeep that I was Sherlockâs wife whom you had stolen without his knowledge? All to find the owner of some hat.â
James shrugs a shoulder. âI thought you were ratherâŠstirred at the time.â
âMortified, more like.â The weathered stone of Whitby Abbey rises over the trees as they get closer and closer. There are more carriages ahead of them now, other guests waiting to be dropped off. âOnly God knows whatever will come out of your mouth next,â she says. âI donât think even He knows half the time.â
âI love to keep my captive audience forever on their toes.â
She shoots him a look that says Oh, I know you do. âI would at least like a hobby,â she insists after a momentâs silence. âSomething to make me stand out.â
It was the wrong thing to sayâespecially to James, of all people.Â
Before he can speak, she blurts out, âPerhaps I write poetry.â
That damned smile. Those teeth may very well cut her one of these days. âOh? Are you any good, mo chroĂ?â
âOf course,â she says, offended he even has to ask. James is smiling at her as she adds, âI can lift some Browning if Iâm questioned. I doubt anyone there knows a lick of poetry.â
Their carriage rattles as they sweep through the gravel in front of Whitby. The historic home sits with golden windows and the distant whisper of string music playing from within. There are many folks in their resplendent eveningwear wandering the groundsâsmoking their cigars, sharing whispersâwhile the rest vanish inside. Not for the first or last time, she wonders why she lets Sherlock and James convince her to do these things with them. Her life used to be so quiet and simple and she resented it, but these men are terrible influences, even if she does love life a bit more with them in it.Â
Sheâll never tell them that, though.
James sighs deeply, resting his head back against the seat until he is nothing more than a silhouette again, calling to mind a Roman marble bust: hard, strong lines. His Adamâs apple shifts as he recites in a rough voice, ââHow do I love thee? Let me count the ways.ââ
Staring up at the manor, almost wistful, she breathes, ââI love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach.ââ
Her voice is so soft that she thinks James didnât hear, but the silence is heavy. She turns and finds James looking at her, the smile lingering even if it doesnât quite reach his eyes. He looks to be somewhere else, dazed and a little distracted, and her immediate thought, for some reason, is Take me to wherever it is youâve just gone.
The carriage comes to a stop, and the door swings open, startling her. A small gasp and she spins around.
But it is only a valet in a tailcoat, a white-gloved hand extended towards her. âWelcome to Whitby Abbey, madame.â
âHow kind,â she says, a hand to her chest, still recovering, while the other slides across the palm of the valet. Her ring winks at her.
There she is, standing in her blood-red dress and similarly painted lips, a mere ant beside a home she has no right stepping inside of. In those handful of seconds, all she can think about is the little girl she used to be: so lonely, always on the outside. She had grown used to it, found comfort there. Lately it seems as if life has done what she can only compare to shoving her from behind the curtain and onto the stage.Â
The melancholy threatens to drown her, but then a hand slides across the small of her back and her shoulders rise, turning to find James. He smiles at her, and it is such an honest, familiar smile, one that she knows better than anyone elseâs, that when she smiles back, it is like their own little language.
âAre you ready, mo chroĂ?â
He refuses to tell her what that means. She only hopes it isnât some joke heâs sneaking by her. âLetâs.â
ââââââââ
[Name] hasnât been in a home quite like this before. They glide through the foyerâgray stone, curved archways, five-figure vases and marble bustsâand into the ballroom, which opens up before them like a cloudless sky. A neck-breaking ceiling with shimmering chandeliers, white-draped tables with elaborately arranged centerpieces: flowers and flickering candles. Thereâs a stage off to the right-hand side of the ballroom where a string quartet plays.
âFuckinâ hell,â mutters James, staring all around.
She was thinking the same thing. âSherlock will be here soon?â she asks.
âSo he claims.â He slips back his sleeve just enough to peek at a watch. He pauses for dramatic effect, then adds, âHim. And Mycroft.â
She can hardly hide her surprise. âMycroft?â The only reason he would possibly be coming along is if his hand was forced.Â
âHeâs the reason Sherlock procured our attendance. I believe he wanted to be here to make sure we donât humiliate ourselves.â
James, smiling like the cat that got the cream, tucks a piece of her hair back, his fingertips ghosting across the shell of her ear. Itâs a mere whisper of a touch, yet she almost forgets to listen as he says, âI gallantly offered to take the role.â
âWhy am I not surprised?â she asks, her voice breathy and trying to hide the very fact.
His eyes drift down to her painted lips, and she doesnât want to even imagine what is stirring behind those dark eyes. âWould you have preferred Mycroft?âÂ
âHe wouldnât have been so lascivious,â she says, her cheeks warming. Thank goodness her face is buried beneath so much makeup. âHe would have been a perfect gentleman about the whole thing.â
âAh, but thatâs the thing, darling,â says James, taking a step closer, and then his mouth leans into her ear, his hand slipping around to the middle of her back, caging her there. Just being near him, she can feel the warmth of him. Her eyes flutter, especially when his breath touches her ear: hot, ticklish. âI donât think you want a gentleman.â
When James pulls away, she glares at himâor what she prays looks like a glare. If she thought she was blushing before, she certainly is now. She resists the urge to stamp on his foot or some other such childish thing.
This may be the worst idea theyâve ever come up withâand thatâs truly saying something.
âHow about a drink?â asks James, and he winks.
Right then, a servant passes with a tray of whiskey. James sneaks two from the tray, his naturally quick fingers making the glasses vanish in a blink. He turns, handing her her glass, and he makes a point to glide his fingers over hers, reveling in the way she scowls. His hands are much larger than hers, calloused from his schoolwork, but soft still, like he takes care of them.
She tries to put any thought of his hands out of her mind as she sips the whiskey. Itâs harsh, but she relishes the way it helps her think more clearly.Â
âHave you seen Fontaine yet?â
Damn. Sheâs been so distracted by James and his games that she hasnât even looked. She does now, turning with her whiskey glass tucked against her chest, trying to cool herself down, appearing as if she is only taking in the sights. There are so many people, at least a hundred, and at times the voices rise right over the music, their own chorus. So many faces and smiles and laughs and beautiful clothesâand she doesnât see their mark.
âNot yet,â she says, still looking. She cranes her neck. How in hell will they find him in this sea?
As if reading her thoughts, James says, âDonât worry, love. Heâll find us.â
Moreau is a mere stepping-stone in their planâthey believe he is acquainted with a murderer and thief they are hunting down; they know they work together and he may have something on his personâbut tonight must work without a hitch if they are to get anywhere.
âShould we split up?â she asks.
James makes a doubtful sound. âIt would be best if we stick together, I believe,â he says. âWe have to be a convincing couple, eh?â
âThis wonât be enough to tip him off?â she asks, holding up her hand and showing off her ring.
James squints at her, his nose wrinkling as he leans close. âJust to make certain, darling.â He finishes off his whiskey as another servant passes, and he replaces his empty glass with a fresh one. He downs the new glass with his head tipped back and when he finishes that one, he asks, âCare for a dance?â
So they make their way to the floor. They slip in among the couples, careful to stay visible on the edge of the circle, and her heart trips as she nearly does when James reels her in, his hand falling to her waist as the other takes her own hand, holding her fingers so delicately. Her arm goes around his neck. Has she ever danced with James before? No, she realizes, because she wouldâve remembered this panic in her chest: like a bird in a cage.
James, of course, is a great dancer. How he learns all of the things he knows, she cannot begin to understand, but he seems good at everything he sets his mind to. Itâs incredibly annoying.Â
Whatâs more annoying is how their bodies move like water together. The space she has put between them shrinks as they step and turn with seemingly one mind. All the while James smiles down at her, like he has her right where he wants her.Â
âDo you try to drive me to madness, or does it just come so easily to you?â she asks.
James laughs, his cheeks and the lines around his eyes bunching. And most annoying of all is that James is handsome and he knows it. He has a way of making one feel special and he often directs this superpower towards her. She wishes he wouldnât, but she knows she would miss it if it were gone. She would never tell him any of these things; itâs embarrassing enough to think it in the privacy of her thoughtsâbut even then she wonders if he can see those, too.
âCanât a man just dance with a beautiful woman?â
âThere you go again,â she says, rolling her eyes as she looks beyond his shoulder. âAlways there with a comment in hand. Ready to flatter at a momentâs notice.â
âDo I flatter?â he asks. His breath whispers past her ear, stirring the hair. âOr do I tell the truth?â
âI think,â she says, looking him in the eye, âthat you show flattery to anything that draws breath.â
âIf it gets the job done,â he agrees.
She guffaws. âSo shameless!â
âHave I ever lied to you, mo chroĂ?â
âI would have no way of knowing, so Iâm inclined to say yes.â
James spins her underneath his raised arm. Her heart spins with her, weightless as a feather, and then she is reeled back in just as quickly, nearly collapsing against him. Her hand falls on his chest to steady herself.
âEvery word I say to you is true. I would swear my life on it.â
A little breathless, she says with a slight laugh, âYou have told me some rather incredible things, Moriarty.â
Thereâs a sudden sobriety in his eyes. âAs I said.â
She has only his word to take, and how good is the word of a thief? For she knows how good of a thief he is: he steals her heartbeat with a single look.
ââââââââ
People mingle amongst themselves, enjoying finger foods and drinks; others greet acquaintances and share stories, laughing together. Eyes catch on [Name] as she passes, some curious, others intrigued. She lets her gaze linger over themâall men. That feeling returns: a present to be opened.
Moreau is nowhere to be seen, though, and neither are the Holmes brothers. And she is boredâwell, as bored as she can be with James. He flirts and he flatters and she parries every word with an acuity that has become their custom.Â
At some point she wanders off, obtaining a little sandwich and a fresh gin, and when she returns to Jamesâonly ten minutes have passedâhe has found himself an audience. He stands there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding whiskey, and he waves the glass around as he speaks. When [Name] approaches, the crowd has just started laughing. He flashes a winning smile at them, and his eyes alight when he sees her. âAh, here she is,â he says, extending an arm.
Confused, she comes to him. His hand falls to the small of her back as he says, âDarling, I was just about to tell the story of my proposal to you.â
âOh, please do!â says an enthusiastic and very pretty redhead. The man at her side seems utterly bored. As a matter of fact, the women seem most delighted by James, while their men stand there, some looking rather angry at James for distracting their partners.
âYes. Do,â says [Name] with a sickly sweet smile.
âWell,â he begins, and they fall silent, only the string instruments accompanying his story, âI made sure to cancel any prior engagement she had, and I told her we were spending the day together. I took her on a tour of the city. With my job and her writing, we are so very busy. I wanted to treat her to a day of no obligation or worry. Anyways, I brought her to the university library where I read some Shakespeare to herââ The women coo, some clutching their chests; [Name] fights not to roll her eyes at him. ââand got into some business I would rather not share at the moment.â The audience laughs, gasping and scolding. [Name] wonders if perhaps she should vanish into a ghost about now.Â
âWe went to eat after, and then we went for a walk through the park,â he goes on. âI didnât tell her where we were going, but Iâm sure she could guess.â He looks down at her with such soft reverence as he says the words that she wonders, again, how he can be so good at lying. âThe gardens. I knew it was her favorite place in the city, so I made sure to end things there. There were butterflies, more than I had ever seen in one place, and they were of every color under the sunâand perhaps some new ones. The look on her face wasâŠâ Jamesâs voice drifts off, staring at her, seemingly lost in a memory that doesnât exist. All breathing seems to stop, waiting for him. âShe was beautiful.â James clears his throat. âWe hardly said a word as we walked through the flowers. I was scared to ruin the moment. But eventually we found a bench and I recited some of her poetry to her. I had found a piece she had written privately. I recited it from memory and thenâŠI asked her to marry me.â
The words flow from him as if they are real. How could he improvise such a story with so many eyes on him? Her face warms under the adulation they receive. The story is all a bit saccharine and certainly meant to flatter the audience, but itâs the sentiment that renders her speechless. How easily he toys with her and his flirtations.
Two can play at this game.
When a woman asks, âWhat was the poem?â [Name] jumps at the chance.
Turning to James, she warns him only with a devilish smile of her own as she recites, ââI love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.ââÂ
Somewhere in saying the words, her smile vanishes until she is just standing there, staring into James Moriartyâs eyes, and declaring her love to him.
She hardly hears the fawning of their captive audience with their hands clasped, mouths falling into perfect oâs. Itâs at this moment that some of the men slip away, tugging their wives along behind them, and there, just for a second, she sees him, watching with keen interest.
She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to Jamesâs cheek, which seems to leave him rather flummoxed, judging by the way his fingers dig into her waist. She whispers, âMoreau is here.â
ââââââââ
The battle wages on. For every flirtation that slips past Jamesâs lips, [Name] is shooting back. Itâs as if all of the months of dealing with James have bubbled over within herself. She is sick of being the business end of all of his jokes and teases, rendered speechless and flustered by his practiced advances. She hates the way he affects her, and she is determined to put him in his place.
All the while, Moreau is circling. The dress has done its job, but it was Jamesâ and her performances that caught him like a fish on a hook. He is here with his wife, but he lingers and he leers, trying to catch [Name]âs eye. She needs to encourage him to make the first move.
Thatâs when Sherlock and Mycroft arrive, looking utterly dashing in their spotless suits. Sherlockâs eyes roll practically to the back of his head when he sees Jamesâs arm around [Name] as they sit at their table. âTruly selling the part, are you?â asks Sherlock.
âAye. Itâs the best role Iâve ever played,â says James, beaming.
[Name] jumps up from her seat. Moreau has been staring at the foursome like a hawk; this is the perfect opportunity. âMycroft, would you mind sharing a dance with me?â
The elder Holmes pauses as he unwinds his scarf. âReally?â asks Mycroft.
âReally?â asks James, leveling his gaze.
âIâd love a dance,â she says, tucking her arms behind her back, her chest pitching forward.
Mycroft keeps his eyes firmly on her face, his mouth tight. He looks over her shoulderâat Sherlock? James? Whatever he sees there must help convince him. âIâd be honored.âÂ
As she takes his hand and leads him to the floor, she hears a chair scrape back and an Irish voice bark her name, but she doesnât dare look back.
There is a tinge of pink in Mycroftâs cheeks as he takes her into his arms. His touch is much more delicate than Jamesâs: James is firm and so sure of himself and what he wants, while Mycroft is the consummate gentleman, plagued with nauseating politeness and concern. She takes his wrist and raises his hand higher until he is right in the divot of her waist. The look he gives her is of pure shock. â[Name]?â
âItâs all a performance, right?â she asks, meaning to jestâbut it comes out drenched in quiet resentment.
âAre you well?â asks Mycroft. She nearly steps on his toe as they twirl around the floor.
âPerfectly fine, Mycroft,â she says. She smiles at him, and wonders if she is trying to convince him or herself. âAn evening spent with James Moriarty can fray the nerves.â
âI know exactly what you mean,â grumbles Mycroft. âSpeaking of, my apologies that we were so late. Sherlock got himself into aâwell, a bit of trouble, as he often does.â
âOh, goodness, what was it now?â
âWellââ And here he dives into a story of a night of errors, constant delays, and nonsensical trouble hindering their arrival to the party. Mycroft says it all with a straightfaced, despairing tone that makes her smile, basking in the pure enjoyment of having a friend that is so utterly himself. She laughs at some parts, and they shake their heads about the chaos of Sherlock, even if they love him.
âYour brother is a handful,â she says.Â
âI am well aware.â
âHe is a good man,â she says softly. Tucking her cheek against Mycroftâs shoulder, she is suddenly so tired. She stares at the couples dancing all around them, wondering what their lives are like. âIn his own crazy way.â
Mycroft breathes in sharply, his chest rising beneath her. âYes, he is.â He clears his throat and asks in a clearer voice, âHow is the business with that man going?â
âHeâs rather like a gnat: constantly lingering,â she says. She casts her head about, wondering if she can spot him. âIf he doesnât make his move, Iâll have to.â
âAre you so sure about all of this?â
âWhatever do you mean?â
âYouâreâŠwellââ The pink returns to Mycroftâs cheeks.
âLuring him in?â she asks. Itâs the kindest way of putting it.
Mycroft seems grateful. âYes,â he says through tight teeth.
âWell. There are some other ways Iâd rather spend my Thursday evening,â she concedes, âbut if it will save lives, Iâm willing.â
âDonât let these boys make you a martyr.â
She laughs. âI can handle myself, Mycroft.â
âOh, Iâm well aware,â he says, nodding to himself as he stares over her head.
âIâm sorry to involve you, Mycroft.â
He meets her eye. He really is very handsome; she wouldnât have minded playing as his betrothed. âItâsâŠnothing. Somewhat.â His mouth presses into a line. âThe less I know the better,â says Mycroft, but he smiles kindly. His eyes lift beyond her and into the crowd. âThose boys are trouble.â His brow knits, eyes narrowing. âGood God,â he mutters almost to himself, dropping his head. âIâm being glared at.â
âMoreau?â She forces herself not to turn; she doesnât want to look too interested.
Mycroft loosens his touch. âNot him.â
Oh.Â
Her eyes drop between their bodies, suddenly fascinated by the way her dress sways against the floor. Now that it has been pointed out, she can practically feel the hole being burned into her back. She wonât dare look. âYes, heâs been playing his role rather well all night.â
Mycroftâs mouth pinches. âHeâs always like this.â
She doesnât know she has her jaw clenched. âLike what?â
The look that Mycroft gives her can only be described as: oh, poor thing. âDear, he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive.â
She hates how those words move through her: in the way honey pours from a spoon; the way water flows through a river. But she knows James. He loves the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of winning. He knows he is handsome and he knows she finds him so.Â
She wishes she didnât.Â
âHeâs a cad,â she says, scoffing. Trying not to care. âHe would tire of me the moment he has me.â
Mycroftâs brow is tight. He stares at her, confused. âI donât thinkââ
A finger taps on Mycroftâs shoulder. The two of them turn and there is Moreau: heâs about Mycroftâs age, handsome enough, with slicked blond hair. His blue eyes donât leave [Name] as he asks, âMind if I step in?â
ââââââââ
All they know about Algernon Moreau is his notoriety in the art world: supposedly he is a highly regarded dealer. Their interest is his connection with Lucas Bernard, an antiquarian who works with a select fewâincluding Moreau. The two men and several others are all connected to an underground market. Bernard doesnât deal to just anyone.
They found a woman who spent some time with Moreau. She told them that Moreau has cards on him for all of the men in this little gang.
Youâll need to get him alone, Sherlock had suggested. They had stood around the table, looking at blueprints of Whitby Manor. He had his closed fist to his chin, staring down at the map as he pondered.
That should be easy enough, sheâd said. Would [Name] a mere year ago have been so willing to do any of this? Probably not. But getting tangled up with these two boys had brought out a piece of herself she never knew was buried within her.Â
Then what? asked James. He had looked across the table at her, hands buried deep into his pockets. He looked up at her through his lashes, his brow framing his suddenly serious face. She wasnât used to such a grim James Moriarty.
She had met his eyes like it was a challenge. Iâll get the card.Â
How, though? He said the words slowly, circling the table until he was standing beside her. He could be imposing when he wanted to be, and he was right then. Are you going to ask for it? Or do something else to convince him?
Whatever it takes.
Jamesâs stare was hard enough to cut a diamond. Without his eyes leaving her, he told Sherlock, Iâll follow them. I can take care of it.
Do you have no faith in me, James? She had a hip cocked, a hand resting on the table.
He looked her up and down. The opposite, actually. Thatâs what worries me.
She thinks of that night and Jamesâs faceâthe flickering candlelight, the low rumble of his voiceâas she dances with Moreau. Unfortunately for her, Moreau is a dreadful bore. It amazes her, sometimes, how men like this can secure such lovely women and reel them into their net. But she laughs and flatters like he is the most fascinating man in the world.
As Moreau blathers on about selling a painting overseas, there is James, waiting. He is sitting at the table where she left him. When their eyes meet, he gives her a small nod.Â
(I can take care of it.)
âIâm holding a few paintings here,â Moreau is saying. âThereâs an auction in a few days' time. Would you like to see them?â
Her eyes alight. âIâd love to.â
The pair separate from the dancefloor. Moreau lets his hand fall to the small of her back as he guides her through the crowds, an innocent enough gesture if she didnât know him.
[Name] holds her dress to keep from tripping as they mount the stairs.
âHow far is the art held?â she asks, suddenly realizing she will be alone with this man.
Moreau turns, looking down at her heels. âDonât worry,â he says, waving a dismissive hand. âYou wonât hurt your feet.â
She laughs. âIâd hate to have blisters.â
He tuts at her. A red and gold carpet softens their steps as they reach the second floor. Nobody is up here except for them, the music and voices dissipating with every step. âI saw you dancing all night,â he says. âThe stairs shouldnât be an issue.â
Boring and condescending. What dreadful company. Heâs walking ahead of her, so she lets her eyes roll. Then she softens her voice: âI know you saw me.â It mustâve been convincing enough because Moreau turns as he approaches a door, giving her a lingering look before opening the door.Â
Light spills out from the room. Across the way, a balcony door hangs open, a cool breeze wisping inside. There are about a dozen paintings of various sizes spread around the room, all of them in heavy gold-filigreed frames. These paintings must be hundreds of years old and even though she knows nothing about art, they are undeniably beautiful. She allows a gasp, not entirely fake, and steps into the room. He closes the door behind them with a soft click.
âOh, these are beautiful,â she says. She tilts her head, approaching the first one in front of her. Itâs a seascape with crashing waves, the whitecaps so realistic that she has to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. Moreau stands by her side, a little too close, with his hands clasped behind his back. âAbsolutely beautiful.â
âI thought the same.â
She finds him looking at her. Gross. But she feigns a blush, turning away as if to hide her reddening cheeks. âThese will be up for auction?â
âThis Sunday,â he says, nodding. âYou should come.â
âI donât know if I could afford these,â she says with a self-deprecating laugh.
âPerhaps a generous benefactor can lend aââ
Thereâs a knock at the door.
Moreau stops mid-word, his mouth hanging open. Casting her a look of confusion, Moreau goes to the door. Right as he opens it, he says, âHow may Iââ but unfortunately, a fist shoots out and meets his nose. Immediately stunned, Moreau collapses back and hits the ground with a thump that makes [Name] wince.
James steps over Moreauâs body. âFancy meeting you here,â he tells her.
James hooks his arms beneath Moreauâs pits and drags the man farther into the room. Moreau is out cold, his mustache practically twitching with his snores. James kicks the door shut as he crouches, digging through Moreauâs pockets.
âI couldâve done all of this,â she reminds him, a hand on her hip.
James glances at her before returning to Moreau. He says nothing.
She smirks at the top of his head. âIt wouldâve been so easy toââ
âPlease stop speaking.â
Another knock. Her brow pinches, ready to panicâtheir plans never do go well, do they?âwhen the door opens and Sherlockâs head pops in. âDid youâoh my. So you did.â He slips inside and shuts the door, lazily leant against it. âWell done, [Name]. Anything of note?â he asks James.
James lifts up a wallet. âJust this.â He stands, picking through the sleeves. He pulls a note from the billfold and when [Name] scoffs, he shoots her a wink before pocketing the money. âIâll use it to get you dinner.â
âHow romantic.â
âThere,â says Sherlock, pointing at a card buried within the wallet.
James pulls out a stack of business cards. Heâs grinning as he picks through them, until finally he says, âHa!â Between two fingers, he holds a white card with a looping black script. The two men cock their heads as they read the card, slow smiles spreading across their faces. âGood work, folks. Weâve got the bastard.â
[Name] stands on her toes to look. James hands it to her, dropping back down to drag Moreau farther into the room. Sherlock stands before her with his hands on his hips, saying, âThis might just be our cleanest heist weâve everââ
Thereâs another knock on the door. Jamesâs head snaps up, still carrying Moreau, whose head lolls drunkenly. Sherlock stops mid-word. [Name]âs eyes widen, her hand coming to cover her mouth. Please be Mycroft.
ââEllo? Monsieur Moreau?â
Oh, no.
âSherlock,â hisses James. He nods his head at the body. âTake him.â
âWhere?â whispers Sherlock, spreading his hands. There were no secret passageways in their blueprints.
âTo the balcony. Hurry.â
The pounding on the door grows louder and more insistent. âMoreau? Moreau!â
As Sherlock drags Moreau away, grumbling to himself, James returns to [Name]. âMess up my hair,â he tells her. She hesitates for only a heartbeat before she ruffles his hairâsoft, so thick between her fingers, good lordâand he takes her face in his hand, cradling her jaw. Her breath ceases in her chest, wondering if he is about to kiss her, the knocking at the door long forgotten. Can he feel her pulse beneath her jaw? But he only smears his thumb across her bottom lip, spreading her lipstick onto her cheek. As he goes to open the door, he undoes a couple of buttons on his suit and rubs his thumb across his own lip.
James opens the door. He stands there with a drunken grin, leaning against the frame and looking rather ravished: his tousled hair and the open suit paired with a look of absolute lovesickness on his face. âEver heard of privacy, man?â
âWhatââ The man cranes his neck to look around James. The man is tall and lean, dressed in a nice suit like any other guest. Did Moreau have a guard they didnât think to keep an eye out for? âI thought I sawâIs there an Algernon Moreau in here?â
âI hope not,â says James, practically pitching forward. âJust me ân my girl.â
âYourâ?â The man sees [Name] for the first time. He turns away just as quickly, no doubt stunned by the state of the pair. âThatâs the woman I just saw with Moreau. Is it not?â he asks James.
âSheâs witâ me, mate,â says James, pointing at his own chest.Â
âHow did you two get in here?â
[Name] says, âThe door was unlocked, sir. Weâre very sorry.â
âGet out of here,â snaps the man, finished with them. âThere are absolutely no guests allowed in here.â James hooks an arm around [Name]âs waist and follows the man out of the room. The man pulls a key from his jacket pocket and locks the door. He pockets it again, staring them down. âBecause you two are so young, I wonât say a word. But you damned lovebirds better find somewhere else to doâŠwhatever the hell you were bloody doing.â
âWe will, we will,â says James, miming a drunkardâs slow nod. [Name] has to hide a laugh behind her hand. âCâmon, girl. Letâs leave the man alone.â
James seems to gain his sobriety the moment they hit the stairs, dashing hand in hand down the steps as they both fight to keep their laughter down. [Name] is practically shaking as they return to the party.
James rests his hands on his hips and looks back up the stairs, his teeth glinting as he raises a hand. âFuckinâ hell, Sherlock is stuck up there,â he says, and hardly finishes the sentence before he bursts out laughing. She tries shushing him, even as she trips over her own hysterics. Has she ever seen anything funnier than a ruffled James Moriarty, her lipstick across his mouth?
Some eyes land on them, shooting curious looks, so she takes his hand and runs again, holding her dress up as they run out of Whitby Manor, pushing past people. âWe have to find the balcony,â she says, giggling. She goes from dragging along James to hustling with him alongside her, their shoes crunching on the gravel the moment they step outside. The night air brings shivers, but she can hardly feel them through the heat in her chest.
They find the balcony after a few minutes of searching. âSherlock,â she calls, and James snorts. She elbows him before daring to shout louder. âSherlock!â
When his head pops out over the railing, James bursts into laughter again. He stumbles away, a hand on his chest, as she says, âSherlock, you got locked in!â
âYou donât say!â says Sherlock.
âIs there a way for you to get down?â
Sherlock hits his hands on the railing. âWell, there isnât a damn ladder!â
James regains himself enough to say, ââWherefore art thouâââ
[Name] reels on him, smiling despite herself. âYouââ
âJames, do you thinkââ But Sherlock stops, his eyes going wide before retreating from the balconyâs edge.
Sheâs about to call out his name when James shushes her, a hand on her bare arm. Goosebumps rise at his touch. âSomething tells me our dear friend has been found out,â he whispers. âItâs best we find somewhere else to be.â James slips his fingers into hers and they run deeper into the yard, towards the gardens.
ââââââââ
Moonlight leads the way. The trees around them seem to shimmer as if painted with silver. The golden glow from the windows beckons to them, but there is something oddly cozy about being on the outside looking in, trapped in their own little world. James doesnât let go of her hand as they stroll through the garden, accompanied by the occasional hooting owl or yip of a fox deeper in the forest beyond the property.
âDo you thinkââ
ââSherlock will be fine? Sure. Heâll give them some story,â answers James flippantly. âHe has his brother.â The moon casts shadows across his face, just as it had in the carriage. Was that really all tonight? The carriage ride feels like a thousand years ago. She only knows now, here, with James.
She feels drunk: she hasnât stopped smiling. She trips over her own feet, stumbling and knocking into James, and his arm comes around her like it belongs there, his own bashful smile so big and bright that her heart swells with warmth: theyâre so young and beautiful. James stares into her eyes for a long moment, teetering on the edgeâshe knows not whatâs at the bottom, but she knows she wants to fall.Â
âJames?â
âYes.â
âWhat does mo chroĂ mean?â After hearing those words in Jamesâs raspy, deep voice, they sound softer in her own mouth, timid and unused to shaping the sounds.Â
Has he ever looked so handsome? The moonlight sands down his hard edges. His soft black eyes and his just-as-black hair and his beautiful nose and the tilt of his roguish lips. And the way he looks at her. Has it always been right in front of her? She doesnât see James look at anyone the way he looks at her.
âMy heart,â he breathes.Â
Much too enticing.
[Name] kisses him with a desperation like she has been left without air. She holds his cheekâsoft, shavedâas she fits her mouth to his, and James meets her with equal enthusiasm, his hands circling around her middle and tucking her in until she knows nothing but the firmness of his body, his touch. Her fingers slip back into his hair, digging in and pulling him in as if he can get any closer. Jamesâs teeth brush her bottom lip, threatening to bite.
When she spreads her lips, the press of Jamesâs tongue is dizzying. She falls against him, her knees weakening. In a hurried, breathless voice, James whispers, âAbout fuckinâ time, woman.â She laughs against his mouth, her teeth brushing his lip, then his nose. James dives in to press his open mouth against her bared throat, and [Name] stares up at the stars and the moon, praying to be consumed.
ââââââââ
James kicks the door to his apartment shut, his hands never leaving her face. He kisses her like she is about to vanish. His feverish hands work at her skirts, shoving them off and out of the way. âDo you have any idea how often Iâve dreamt this?â he whispers against her lips. The excess fabric spills from her waist. Still in her corset and inner skirt, she feels even lighterâand James lifts her into his arms, carrying her to the table.
He lays her down after sweeping everything off of the surface with a sharp clatter. He buries his mouth against her neck, making her shiver with his hot breath. He is a man undone: his ruffled hair, the flush in his cheeks. He canât keep his hands off of her. His mouth traces down to her heaving chest, her breasts pressing against the corset. His teeth graze against the swell of her breast and she wriggles, begging, âJames.â
âPatience is a virtue, mo chroĂ,â he says with a villainous smile before burying his hands beneath her skirts, drawing them up around her trembling thighs. He kneels at the end of the table and sheâs blushing. âBe good,â James warns as he opens her legs, and then his mouth finds her aching, weeping cunt. The first touch of his tongue leaves her lightheaded, her lips falling open as she cries out. He gathers her wetness from bottom to top, licking her up so thoroughly that her hand claps over her mouth, moaning as her fingers find his hair and pull.Â
James groans against her cunt, which only makes it better. He blindly reaches up and pulls the hand from her mouth, holding it hostage by her side, burning bruises into her wrist. His noseâthat damn noseârubs so nicely against her clit and her hips move with a mind of their own, chasing the pleasure he provides her. His tongue is relentless, like heâs kissing her all over again. The very thought makes her face burn.
Never has she felt so good. Her fingers have never brought her such joy, nor has anyone else. It feels like James knows every inch of her and can read her every thought, knowing just what to do at just the right time to get her whining and moaning beneath him.Â
Without removing his mouth, James releases her wrist and slips free of his jacket, tossing the clothing somewhere in the room. She grinds up against his nose, relentless, as James undoes the buttons of his shirt, the fabric falling open to expose dark chest hair and firm muscle. The sounds of his mouth against her wet core would be humiliating if she didnât find it so provocative.
âJames,â she begs. She needs to be full of him. She has never wanted anything more in her life. A finger, his tongueâanything.
Her fake engagement ring shines with her hand in his hair.Â
James kisses her thigh before rising, the sudden loss of his mouth devastating. She gasps, hands reaching up to slip beneath his shirt, desperate for contact. His skin is hot enough to burn, but she pulls him in, greedy for more of him. She worries itâll never be enough.
He works at unlacing her corset as she pulls on his pants, slipping the button free and drawing the pants down. Her nails trace along his ribs as she loops her arms around him, forcing him nearer. James sheds his shirt. âYouâre beautiful,â heâs saying, his voice slurred, and when he kisses her, she tastes herself on his tongue.
[Name] sits up from the table, dizzy. She scoots to the edge of the table and loops an arm around his neck, fingers returning to his hair as they kiss, James slipping his cock from drawers. He falls hot and heavy against her thigh and sheâs already shaking, desperately impatient, and James laughs, the sound aching, before he lines himself up and presses into her.
They gasp, their kiss halted by the sudden intrusion. Their lips brush, open-mouthed, as she adjusts to the size of James, steadily pushing deeper and deeper. Heâs thick and long, stretching her open until every thought has left her. Her head falls back with a soft, âFuck.â James buries as deep as he can before stopping, letting them catch their breath.Â
Then he moves.Â
He rocks out of her before bullying his way back in, leaving her a trembling mess. She clutches his bicep as she meets his every thrust, the next somehow always better than the last. They move in a rhythm that comes naturally, like their bodies have waited an eternity for this. Like a dance.
âDoing so well,â he whispers. Heâs groaning at the slide of her. âJust made for me, darling.â
That fucking voice really isnât helping her regain her sanity.Â
With her corset loose around her middle, Jamesâs mouth lowers to her breast, catching a nipple between his lips. She moans, her thighs trembling, hardly able to think. He knows just what to do, how to undo her entirely. He smiles around her nipple, the pleasure blinding. She grinds harder.
James lifts her from the table and she gasps, clutching onto him. His cock stays in her as he carries her to and drops her onto the bed, the mattress creaking beneath their weight. His fingers clasp with hers and hold her hand beside her head as he fucks her harder, whispering in Gaelic the entire time. She flushes at his attention and the thunderous rumble of his voice. When he rubs her clit, urging her to oblivion, it is all too easy.
Her back arches and her nails dig into his back, leaving red marks as she squeezes him tight, moaning and crying out his name. James fucks her through the blinding pleasure, telling her just how good she feels, how beautiful she is. How long he has wanted her.Â
Tears slip down the sides of her head as James finishes moments later, a beautiful sound slipping from his mouth as warmth fills her.Â
She doesnât know if she has ever been happier.
They catch their breath for a couple of minutes, recovering. Jamesâs nose brushes against hers as he stares into her eyes, his own half-lidded, pleased and tired. His smile is lazy, and achingly beautiful. âWhat is it again?â His voice is a wreck. He swallows, clearing his throat. âââTo the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach.ââ
She wonders if her smile is just like his: besotted and dazed. âWait until I tell the world how much of a romantic you are, James Moriarty.â
His smile widens. The tip of his nose teases hers. âAye, but theyâll never believe you,â he says. âOnly you get to see me like this, mo chroĂ.â Brushing a fresh tear from her cheek, James canât help stealing another kiss.