pairing; Jack Abbot x Reader (implied to be socially awkward)
warning; mild angst, lowk self-sabotaging, depression, self-isolation, reader is oblivious and an overthinker, Abbot tries his best!! NOT PROOFREAD!!!
It first started small.
Losing interest in your hobby. Maybe it got boring, you thought. Maybe it was time to change things up a little!
And then, feeling like every nights rest lasted 20 minutes max despite sleeping for 10 hours. Some days youâd call sick for work just to sleep longer. When you were back there, in the ER building. Where the lights were so bright youâd think they were screaming at you. The smell so sharp it cut through all the thoughts you brought to the table.
You never really knew why you changed over to Night shift. It just came as an opportunity so sweet you couldnât miss it. Sleeping all day and working all night. It sure sounded fulfilling to you, depressing to others. Who needs to know that detail though? Learning as you go, theyâd tell you youâll make an excellent doctor.
Yeah right. Who wants a Doctor that makes educated guesses and not really having an idea? Luck you called it. Thatâs what it is, getting far with luck. You didnât pass those exams with full scores, just enough to be a passing grade. âWhatâs the point of a full score anyway besides it looking good?â
Something you told yourself during med school anyway. Maybe to keep yourself sane from all the studying. But being an average type of smart in a room full of people above average left a sour taste in your mouth. You knew it was silly, youâre a doctor. All doctors are smart. But what if it was luck that made you pass? Maybe you were faking it? Faking knowledge? Thatâd surely make you a fraud!
âScrapsâ,
they called you. It was Dr Robby who started with it, back when you were still doing days. It came from picking up the cases most people dreaded and filling up your plate. It was a term of endearment, so they say. It didnât take long for it to become your second name. You never said anything. It was annoying but at the same time you didnât really care about it.
âItâs just a wordâ youâd repeat to yourself. Words have no meaning. Not to you at least. People always say things to talk. Whether itâd be to fill silence, make conversation, tease and or explain. Actions on the other hand had a physical impact on you. Theyâd truly scar.
Then there was your night shift attending, Dr. Jack Abbot. He never made you feel stupid nor did he use that nickname. You couldnât tell if you liked him because he was nice to you or because heâd actually made an impact.
You liked Parker. She was honest and didnât beat around the bush. You didnât like people edging things on and making you act like a detective listening in on conversation just to make an opinion on someone. You didnât mind her calling you âScrapsâ she said in a teasingly way, that was better than Robbyâs condescending tone.
You sometimes wondered how sheâd react once she found out you were a fraud. Maybe sheâll look at you with her signature smirk and say âWe all knowâ or maybe sheâll react angrily and tell you to let HR know. Maybe sheâll react understanding? Maybe even sympathetic?
You didnât talk to anyone else as frequently as you did to those two. Conversation didnât come easy when it was with Mckay or Santos. Not that you disliked them. You just were unsure of what to say.
However, Jack Abbot clearly had a thing for you and it was obvious to everyone but you. He himself felt uncertain at times by your reaction, he thought maybe the feeling wasnât mutual. Or that he had scared you off on the days you werenât at work.
To you, your relationship with Abbot was strictly professional. He was only interested because you were the type to use methods that were rather creative than mere textbook.
Lena would reassure him that you were just shy and still getting used to the environment of the ânight crawlersâ as he called it.
Jack Abbot argued against that. Clearly you had no problem talking with Shen or Parker. He had even made a move on you when you came to the ER without your scrubs because you were simply retrieving something you had misplaced that shift!
That day, you called sick but to your dismay you left your charger there. After contemplating for about 3 hours if it was worth it to go back there and grab it you decided to put on your big girl pants and just go and retrieve it.
You wore anything you could find whilst trying not to look too messy. Youâve even done your make up to look a bit presentable.
.
.
.
The worst part was actually entering the building. You were yet again stuck in your car trying not to chicken out and drive back home. Logically, none of the night shift people were in anyway!! They wouldnât know you werenât working that dayâŠâŠ
But you simply couldnât get out of your car! As if a phantom force pulled you down and yelled at you that embarrassment would be waiting for you behind the doors. Despite your inner conflicts you managed to leave your car. So anxious that if someone were to touch your hand they might have gotten frostbite
It was going so smoothlyâŠyou were so proud âŠuntil you saw him.
Of course he had gotten in early today, of course.
He was the first to notice too, greeting you and simply saying
âyou look prettyâ
All you could do was give him a thumbs up before scurrying to grab your charger from your locker and with the same tempo going back to your car avoiding everyone.
Safe to say you were mentally beating yourself up over your reaction. Who gives a thumbs up to a compliment!? Now I look like an asshole!
Seaweedâs comment â> Thatâs it for now, maybe Iâll make this into a series if people like it !! Could you tell that Iâm sad ALSO I COULDNT MAKE IT AESTHETICALLY PLEASEUNG BC FORMAT NOT SUPPORTED BOOđđđ
pairing; Jack Abbot x Reader (implied to be socially awkward)
warning; mild angst, lowk self-sabotaging, depression, self-isolation, reader is oblivious and an overthinker, Abbot tries his best!! NOT PROOFREAD!!!
It first started small.
Losing interest in your hobby. Maybe it got boring, you thought. Maybe it was time to change things up a little!
And then, feeling like every nights rest lasted 20 minutes max despite sleeping for 10 hours. Some days youâd call sick for work just to sleep longer. When you were back there, in the ER building. Where the lights were so bright youâd think they were screaming at you. The smell so sharp it cut through all the thoughts you brought to the table.
You never really knew why you changed over to Night shift. It just came as an opportunity so sweet you couldnât miss it. Sleeping all day and working all night. It sure sounded fulfilling to you, depressing to others. Who needs to know that detail though? Learning as you go, theyâd tell you youâll make an excellent doctor.
Yeah right. Who wants a Doctor that makes educated guesses and not really having an idea? Luck you called it. Thatâs what it is, getting far with luck. You didnât pass those exams with full scores, just enough to be a passing grade. âWhatâs the point of a full score anyway besides it looking good?â
Something you told yourself during med school anyway. Maybe to keep yourself sane from all the studying. But being an average type of smart in a room full of people above average left a sour taste in your mouth. You knew it was silly, youâre a doctor. All doctors are smart. But what if it was luck that made you pass? Maybe you were faking it? Faking knowledge? Thatâd surely make you a fraud!
âScrapsâ,
they called you. It was Dr Robby who started with it, back when you were still doing days. It came from picking up the cases most people dreaded and filling up your plate. It was a term of endearment, so they say. It didnât take long for it to become your second name. You never said anything. It was annoying but at the same time you didnât really care about it.
âItâs just a wordâ youâd repeat to yourself. Words have no meaning. Not to you at least. People always say things to talk. Whether itâd be to fill silence, make conversation, tease and or explain. Actions on the other hand had a physical impact on you. Theyâd truly scar.
Then there was your night shift attending, Dr. Jack Abbot. He never made you feel stupid nor did he use that nickname. You couldnât tell if you liked him because he was nice to you or because heâd actually made an impact.
You liked Parker. She was honest and didnât beat around the bush. You didnât like people edging things on and making you act like a detective listening in on conversation just to make an opinion on someone. You didnât mind her calling you âScrapsâ she said in a teasingly way, that was better than Robbyâs condescending tone.
You sometimes wondered how sheâd react once she found out you were a fraud. Maybe sheâll look at you with her signature smirk and say âWe all knowâ or maybe sheâll react angrily and tell you to let HR know. Maybe sheâll react understanding? Maybe even sympathetic?
You didnât talk to anyone else as frequently as you did to those two. Conversation didnât come easy when it was with Mckay or Santos. Not that you disliked them. You just were unsure of what to say.
However, Jack Abbot clearly had a thing for you and it was obvious to everyone but you. He himself felt uncertain at times by your reaction, he thought maybe the feeling wasnât mutual. Or that he had scared you off on the days you werenât at work.
To you, your relationship with Abbot was strictly professional. He was only interested because you were the type to use methods that were rather creative than mere textbook.
Lena would reassure him that you were just shy and still getting used to the environment of the ânight crawlersâ as he called it.
Jack Abbot argued against that. Clearly you had no problem talking with Shen or Parker. He had even made a move on you when you came to the ER without your scrubs because you were simply retrieving something you had misplaced that shift!
That day, you called sick but to your dismay you left your charger there. After contemplating for about 3 hours if it was worth it to go back there and grab it you decided to put on your big girl pants and just go and retrieve it.
You wore anything you could find whilst trying not to look too messy. Youâve even done your make up to look a bit presentable.
.
.
.
The worst part was actually entering the building. You were yet again stuck in your car trying not to chicken out and drive back home. Logically, none of the night shift people were in anyway!! They wouldnât know you werenât working that dayâŠâŠ
But you simply couldnât get out of your car! As if a phantom force pulled you down and yelled at you that embarrassment would be waiting for you behind the doors. Despite your inner conflicts you managed to leave your car. So anxious that if someone were to touch your hand they might have gotten frostbite
It was going so smoothlyâŠyou were so proud âŠuntil you saw him.
Of course he had gotten in early today, of course.
He was the first to notice too, greeting you and simply saying
âyou look prettyâ
All you could do was give him a thumbs up before scurrying to grab your charger from your locker and with the same tempo going back to your car avoiding everyone.
Safe to say you were mentally beating yourself up over your reaction. Who gives a thumbs up to a compliment!? Now I look like an asshole!
Seaweedâs comment â> Thatâs it for now, maybe Iâll make this into a series if people like it !! Could you tell that Iâm sad ALSO I COULDNT MAKE IT AESTHETICALLY PLEASEUNG BC FORMAT NOT SUPPORTED BOOđđđ
pairing; Jack Abbot x Reader (implied to be socially awkward)
warning; mild angst, lowk self-sabotaging, depression, self-isolation, reader is oblivious and an overthinker, Abbot tries his best!! NOT PROOFREAD!!!
It first started small.
Losing interest in your hobby. Maybe it got boring, you thought. Maybe it was time to change things up a little!
And then, feeling like every nights rest lasted 20 minutes max despite sleeping for 10 hours. Some days youâd call sick for work just to sleep longer. When you were back there, in the ER building. Where the lights were so bright youâd think they were screaming at you. The smell so sharp it cut through all the thoughts you brought to the table.
You never really knew why you changed over to Night shift. It just came as an opportunity so sweet you couldnât miss it. Sleeping all day and working all night. It sure sounded fulfilling to you, depressing to others. Who needs to know that detail though? Learning as you go, theyâd tell you youâll make an excellent doctor.
Yeah right. Who wants a Doctor that makes educated guesses and not really having an idea? Luck you called it. Thatâs what it is, getting far with luck. You didnât pass those exams with full scores, just enough to be a passing grade. âWhatâs the point of a full score anyway besides it looking good?â
Something you told yourself during med school anyway. Maybe to keep yourself sane from all the studying. But being an average type of smart in a room full of people above average left a sour taste in your mouth. You knew it was silly, youâre a doctor. All doctors are smart. But what if it was luck that made you pass? Maybe you were faking it? Faking knowledge? Thatâd surely make you a fraud!
âScrapsâ,
they called you. It was Dr Robby who started with it, back when you were still doing days. It came from picking up the cases most people dreaded and filling up your plate. It was a term of endearment, so they say. It didnât take long for it to become your second name. You never said anything. It was annoying but at the same time you didnât really care about it.
âItâs just a wordâ youâd repeat to yourself. Words have no meaning. Not to you at least. People always say things to talk. Whether itâd be to fill silence, make conversation, tease and or explain. Actions on the other hand had a physical impact on you. Theyâd truly scar.
Then there was your night shift attending, Dr. Jack Abbot. He never made you feel stupid nor did he use that nickname. You couldnât tell if you liked him because he was nice to you or because heâd actually made an impact.
You liked Parker. She was honest and didnât beat around the bush. You didnât like people edging things on and making you act like a detective listening in on conversation just to make an opinion on someone. You didnât mind her calling you âScrapsâ she said in a teasingly way, that was better than Robbyâs condescending tone.
You sometimes wondered how sheâd react once she found out you were a fraud. Maybe sheâll look at you with her signature smirk and say âWe all knowâ or maybe sheâll react angrily and tell you to let HR know. Maybe sheâll react understanding? Maybe even sympathetic?
You didnât talk to anyone else as frequently as you did to those two. Conversation didnât come easy when it was with Mckay or Santos. Not that you disliked them. You just were unsure of what to say.
However, Jack Abbot clearly had a thing for you and it was obvious to everyone but you. He himself felt uncertain at times by your reaction, he thought maybe the feeling wasnât mutual. Or that he had scared you off on the days you werenât at work.
To you, your relationship with Abbot was strictly professional. He was only interested because you were the type to use methods that were rather creative than mere textbook.
Lena would reassure him that you were just shy and still getting used to the environment of the ânight crawlersâ as he called it.
Jack Abbot argued against that. Clearly you had no problem talking with Shen or Parker. He had even made a move on you when you came to the ER without your scrubs because you were simply retrieving something you had misplaced that shift!
That day, you called sick but to your dismay you left your charger there. After contemplating for about 3 hours if it was worth it to go back there and grab it you decided to put on your big girl pants and just go and retrieve it.
You wore anything you could find whilst trying not to look too messy. Youâve even done your make up to look a bit presentable.
.
.
.
The worst part was actually entering the building. You were yet again stuck in your car trying not to chicken out and drive back home. Logically, none of the night shift people were in anyway!! They wouldnât know you werenât working that dayâŠâŠ
But you simply couldnât get out of your car! As if a phantom force pulled you down and yelled at you that embarrassment would be waiting for you behind the doors. Despite your inner conflicts you managed to leave your car. So anxious that if someone were to touch your hand they might have gotten frostbite
It was going so smoothlyâŠyou were so proud âŠuntil you saw him.
Of course he had gotten in early today, of course.
He was the first to notice too, greeting you and simply saying
âyou look prettyâ
All you could do was give him a thumbs up before scurrying to grab your charger from your locker and with the same tempo going back to your car avoiding everyone.
Safe to say you were mentally beating yourself up over your reaction. Who gives a thumbs up to a compliment!? Now I look like an asshole!
Seaweedâs comment â> Thatâs it for now, maybe Iâll make this into a series if people like it !! Could you tell that Iâm sad ALSO I COULDNT MAKE IT AESTHETICALLY PLEASEUNG BC FORMAT NOT SUPPORTED BOOđđđ
Everypony there was this jack abbot x reader fanfic where the reader got shot and almost died and it was based on s02 ep07 AND I CANT FIND IT ANYMOREđđđ I think about it dailyđ
( gif from this beautiful set by the lovely @jackrrabbot ! )
†â SOLDIER BOY ! ; jack abbot
summ. It's the first time you see Jack in fatigues. It may or may not also be your last.
pairing. jack abbot / f!reader
w.count. 2k!
a/n. Watched 2x07 & had the itch to write Abbot doing what he does best (with a lil' PTSD, angst & religious imagery, kinda) because him in uniform is. WHEW!
â â â â â â â â â â YOUâRE ALRIGHT, SAYS the Saint donned in full-gear fatigues. He recites it akin to pious scripture. I got you. I got you.
Youâve been settled against the frosted cornerstone of a building. Itâs rough, bites a chill against your back. Your vision is lulling, but you can feel fingers tuck your loose hair away to gently lean your head back upright.
âAbbot?â you realise, blinking hazily. âHuh. Hello there, soldier boy.â
You canât hear what he says. A stream of static is eruptingâ itâs chatter, you piece, coming from the radio attached to his plate-carrier. Darling girl, you think you can make out, Youâre gonna be okay.
âDarling girl?â you parrot, letting out a wet laugh. Itâs difficult to speakâ let alone breathe, or move. Something thick is collecting in your lungs, drowning you from the inside out. âWhat is this, the forties?â
He holsters his sidearm and musters an amused smile. Itâs tense, you can recognise it in the dent of his cheek: the kind he flashes his patients with when theyâre rolling into the ED, nervous out of their mind and asking if theyâll be okay.
âWell, you started it,â he says, deceptively calm as he thumbs at your carotid: itâs weak. Too weak. Abbot wills away the reflexive dread from taking over him. âBesides, Iâm a classic kind of guy, yâknow?â
âTake me home, then,â you murmur, delirious. The world flickers like a lightbulb on the fritz. âIâm⊠tired.â
âNo, no, hey.â He breaks through your dizzy spell. âNot yet. We havenât even gone out on a date yet, right?â
Groggily, you can see him sling his rifle aside and dig into his vest as he keeps an eye out. âYou flirting with me, Jack Abbot?â
âHave been for the past year, sweetheart,â he hums, tearing a QuikClot packet with his teeth and ducking down towards you. ââBout time you caught onââ
You cry out.Â
A sudden bolt of lightning has rippled through you, and you catch yourself fisting at his sleeves out of blind instinct.Â
Easy, easy, I know, he apologises, still packing the gushing wound as tightly and quickly as he can.Â
The burst of white-hot pain has you jolting back into reality:
The street team. Routine outreach. Youâd been right beside Whitaker when a thunderclap echoed through the winter air, sharp as the pop of a starting pistol. Then everybody had scattered in shrieks, and before you knew it you were looking skyward at the clouds, watching the snowflakes flutter down, down, down, to meet you.
â..itaker,â you choke, eyes bright with alarm, âWhitaker.â
âSafe,â he promises, ripping through a sterile dressing and pressing it over your bleeder. The dump of adrenaline wonât last you more than a few minutes at the rate youâre losing blood. âHey, listen to me. Listen. EMS is coming, then weâll get you to PTMC.â
You can hardly hear him through the battledrum in your ears and the firefight taking place only a street away from you. Gang-violence, you realise. Thatâs why Abbot is here with the SWAT team in full gear.
Youâre gonna be fine, yâhear me?
âIâm bleeding out,â you slur, finally looking down at your torn scrubs, where Abbotâs gloved, red hands are coming away sticky; drenched up to the seams of his camo with cruor thatâs too dark and too much andâ
You remember now. You had taken a round straight through the gut.
What is it he told you, once?
Nipples to navel is no manâs land.
âOh god,â you shiver, feeling your breath give way as the reality set in, âIâve been bleeding out. Thatâs why youâveâ thatâs why youâre being so sweet. Iâm dyââ
âNo one is dying,â Abbot cuts to the quick, chasing to meet your drowsy gaze. His voice is a low, fetching timbre. âHey, hey. Look at me. Thatâs it. How does dinner sound?â
What? you say. Atleast you think you do.
He reaches up to touch your cheek, but hovers over the thin of it instead when he realises how bloody his palms are.Â
âDinner. At a restaurant.â He spares a glance past the corner to where his unit has begun closing back in. âSomewhere classy, so we can dance, yeah?â
Gossamer. Periphery vignetting.Â
Okay, you agree. Iâll wear my finest.
The world tips like a cradle into a gaussian blur.Â
ââŠeetheart. Hey. Hey!âÂ
You blink. Suck in a pained breath.
âDonât close your eyes,â Abbot reminds, jostling you with a start. âYou gotta stay awake, okay?â
Had you closed them? You didnât notice. All you can tell are sirens blaring closer, and you imagine the ambulance, skidding in somewhere off in the distance.
âI canât dance,â you admit, taking whatever precious time you have left to look at him; to carve into your memory the profile of his face, the colour of his eyes and the dimple whenever he speaks.
( Abbot looks different like this. Battle-worn and stalwart. But the light breaking through the snow behind him is casting a silver halo over his head, softening his rough edges. He looks likeâ
Like an avenging angel; armed to the teeth with nothing but gunpowder bullets and his healing hands. )
âMe neither,â Abbot soothes. âJust, just stay with me, can you do that?â
âOkay,â you say. âOkay. I will.â
Attagirl.
â â â â â â â â â â He doesnât shake. He never allows himself to do so in times like theseâ itâs what had made him a good combat medic. Clarity in crises.Â
He doesnât shake. Not when heâs forced to switch out between his medkit and his sidearm to return fire until Hiro had him covered; Not even when heâs forced to collar you a little further into safety, and it slashes a terrible, sickening dragpath of your blood across the glittering snow.
âYouâll be alright,â heâs saying. Ordering. Itâs half for him and half for you. The firefight had long since passed and been handled, and he has you safe in his arms. The whole ordeal since heâd slid over to your side and carried you off had only been five minutes at best.Â
âI got you. I got you.â
When EMS hauls you both in and tears away, he doesnât shake.Â
When they hook you up to drugs and bag you, he doesnât shake then either.Â
Abbot mightâve even been mistaken for the calmest of the entire EMS crew as they wheeled you into the PTMCâs ambulance bay, where everyoneâs already been prepped and waiting for your arrival.Â
Lateral transfer is smooth. They whisk you into Trauma-1.Â
Abbot gives a rundown of the situation; of mechanism of injury. He reports when and lists whatâs been administered en-route to the trauma centre, and asserts that you ââŠwonât be stable for long, not unless we do something about her bloodloss and collapsed luââÂ
Something blares from the monitors.
Jackâs heart seizes.
He reckons your vitals in a blink. OÂČ is dropping, Jesse declares, and the bay runs more amok as other numbers begin to tank into catastrophe. Youâre crashing. He has to move. He has to do something. Heâs a doctor. Heâ
âgrabs your limp hand; Feels your radial pulse deteriorating, thready with little life.
âYouâre cold,â he announces, uselessly. It subsides into a whisper of âNo,â and âSweetheart,â and âDidnât you say youâll stay with me?âÂ
Robbyâs gaze snaps to Jack.
In a flash, someone is rushed in and is prying his fingers apart from you.Â
It takes Jack a moment of stubborn resistance to realise itâs Dana, tugging him aside.Â
âListen to me. We gotta let âem work,â she avers. âWhy donât we patch you up too? Robby is on the case. He knows what heâs doinâ, you know that.â
Robby. Right. Robby is a good doctor. An excellent doctor. Heâs competent; not shakingâ When did Jack start shaking? He never does.Â
âŠNot until now. Not until you.Â
( No amount of combat couldâve prepared him for this. No field manual ever said anything about witnessing your proverbial heart bleeding out in your arms, while you lie to their face that they would be fine. You just have to stay awake. Stay withâ )
Like a good soldier, he has enough sense to let himself be led out and away from the fray despite his instincts clawing against it. But, âIâm not letting her out of my sight,â he says.Â
Heâs shocked to find his voice fraught with desperation.Â
âDana,â he startles. Itâs his adrenaline, crashing. âDana, Iâ I canâtâ I canât let her out of my sightââ
Something in her fractures along with the crack of his wavering voice.
âI know. I know, Jack. Itâs alright,â she overrides in a hush, and like the clever woman she is, reasons with: âLook here. We can watch her from the Nurses station. How âbout we park you there, and you can keep an eye on her while we stitch your shoulder up. No rooms or beds, I promise. Sound like a plan?â
Yes. Good. Okay, he moves, since words are betraying him. Thereâs a ball in his throat heâs not sure how long heâs been swallowing down, and thereâs a burn licking up the back of his eyes. He hadnât even noticed he was clipped until it was mentioned.
Dana peels his gloves off. Theyâre slippery with your blood. Sheâs regarding him with that same, gentle look she spares for her most doleful patients. Then, once more like the clever woman she is, distracts his mind by turning its wheels as Perlah makes quick work of the wound on his shoulder:Â
She tells him that his SWAT team is safe and his unit is right behind him, ETA-5; that the rest of the hospital street team had made it out safely and were being treated too for minor injuries. That the menâ gangstersâ responsible for this whole shitshow in the first place are being apprehended as they speak.Â
Jack is grateful for her, in spite of however much of what sheâs said almost certainly coming through one ear and out the other. Itâs kept him, successfully, from spiralling into an anxiety attack.
He bristles, paces, hovers impatiently, until his adrenaline grinds to a stop. When they finally stabilise you and sweep you upstairs for emergency surgery, he tails you, helpless, where Walsh ends up having to step between him and the threshold of the doors leading towards the OR.Â
Abbot doesnât argue.
Just stands outside at attention again until an hourâ maybe several, he couldnât tell anymoreâ had passed; and Dr. Shen must have come in already for the nightshift, because Robby is here now by his side to tell him the procedures heâd done on you in the trauma bay, and is pleading him to Stop doing guard duty, Jack. Stand down. Itâs alright. The fight is over.
âIs it?â he cuts. Youâre fighting for your life on a table right now, he canât bring himself to say. And I never got to tell you that Iâ
âRobby,â he resigns, after a long while, âI wonât survive this.âÂ
He had been picturing everyone heâs ever had taken from him since your gurney disappeared out of sight.Â
Thereâs Afghanistanâ Curly and Vega and Yeti during Kandahar; Pope and Genie and Milo during Helmandâ who heâs lost to the dogs of war. Thereâs his deceased MVC vet Raymond Orser who he coded for two hours straight to no avail, and thereâs the ghastly weight of his wedding ring from when he lost his wife, and jesus fucking christ now heâs going to be losing you next, andâ
Robby squeezes his good shoulder.
âI canât. Not again,â Jack confesses. âI wonât survive it.â
It.
âSheâll pull through,â Robby insists, because thereâs nothing more defiant than saying that at the face of Death; and lets his dearest friend cry at long last, lets him lean into him for a settling embrace.Â
The dayâs events have caught up with them: they were anguished, and exhausted.Â
â â â â â â â â â â You wake up with the sun, an induced coma later.
Blearily, you make out what can reasonably be a rainbow of cardsâ is that a balloon?â and fresh flowers clogging your bedside, poking between the beeping medical paraphernalia thatâs pumping drugs through countless lines. It feels like being a puppet with tangled strings.
You vaguely recall this isnât the first time you may have been conscious as you recovered, but the first time fully awake and oriented.Â
Thereâs the ghostly warmth of a hand clasping yours you can still feel, after all, and the memory of muffled murmurs around you as you were sleeping.
Despite being sluggish, though, you manage the call button once youâve gathered enough strength. A nurse materialises into your room, who briefly catches you up until your ICU doctor arrives with surgical consult: Itâs Garcia, looking unimpressed with her pager pointed accusingly at you.
âYou bitch,â she bites, without heat. âYou scared the shit out of all of us the past week, yâknow that?â
You make a face as you sip your cup of water. âOof. Oh god. Donât make me laugh.â
Then, not a split-second later:
âOh, hello there,â you greet, to the Saint stunned at the doorâ
âAnd Abbot has to physically steady himself, out of the sheer overwhelming relief in his marrows.Â
âSoldier boy,â you finally call out. Your radiant smile, weak as it is, still washes over him like pure, incandescent sunlight.Â
âDarling girl.â His heart sighs at last. âI owe you a dance.â
Everypony there was this jack abbot x reader fanfic where the reader got shot and almost died and it was based on s02 ep07 AND I CANT FIND IT ANYMOREđđđ I think about it dailyđ
Summary: Five months after a patient assault nearly kills you, recovery proves far more complicated than any surgery. As you fight to reclaim your life, your career, and your sense of safety, Jack refuses to let you face any of it alone.
Word count: 9k+
Warnings: fluff, recovery, trauma, angst
A/N:
read part 1 here
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
You finally understood why doctors were the worst patients.
Recovery was miserable.
Not the dramatic parts at first. Not the pain, or the surgeries, or even the physical therapy sessions that left your entire body aching for hours afterward. You could handle pain. You had spent years watching people survive worse every single day inside the emergency department. Pain was familiar. Predictable. Pain could be measured, treated, explained.
What you could not handle was helplessness.
That was the part nobody warned you about.
You hated how long everything took now. Something as simple as sitting upright in bed became a carefully planned event involving medication timing, strategically placed pillows, and enough determination to make your physical therapist visibly concerned. Showering exhausted you. Walking exhausted you. Sometimes even holding a conversation for too long left you needing a nap afterward because the concussion still lingered stubbornly in the background, stealing pieces of your energy whenever you weren't paying attention.
You hated needing help more than anything else.
More than the pain. More than the restrictions. More than the endless parade of specialists, surgeons, therapists, and follow-up appointments that seemed determined to remind you how badly injured you had been.
You hated reaching for a glass of water and realizing your shoulder couldn't manage the movement. Hated waking up in the middle of the night and having to ask for assistance instead of simply getting up yourself. Hated the way people watched you now, always a little too carefully, as if they expected you to break apart in front of them.
For the first week after surgery, getting out of bed required someone nearby.
The realization humiliated you more than it should have.
You were used to being the person helping. The person lifting stretchers and running trauma activations and staying three hours past the end of a shift because somebody else's emergency mattered more than your own exhaustion. You were the person people called when things got difficult, the one who always figured out a solution, always kept moving, always managed to carry a little more than everyone thought possible.
Now people looked at you the way you usually looked at patients.
With concern.
With patience.
With that careful gentleness reserved for people who were hurt badly enough that nobody wanted to make things worse.
It made your skin crawl.
The bruising around your throat lingered for weeks afterward.
Dark fingerprints faded slowly enough that every accidental glance in a mirror felt like being punched directly in the chest. Sometimes you would catch sight of them while brushing your teeth or washing your face and suddenly find yourself back inside Trauma Two again. Back beneath fluorescent lights. Back on the floor.
Hands around your throat.
Air disappearing.
The cabinet slamming into the back of your skull.
The overwhelming certainty that your body was beginning to fail you.
You never stayed in front of mirrors very long anymore.
Mostly, though, you hated being a patient.
You spent nearly three weeks in the hospital altogether, long enough to memorize the overnight ICU staff by voice alone. Long enough for nurses to start sneaking you extra pudding cups because apparently near-strangulation combined with jaw fractures meant surviving almost entirely on soft foods for a while. Long enough to become familiar with the strange rhythm of hospitalization.
The four a.m. lab draws.
The endless vital sign checks.
The quiet conversations nurses thought patients couldn't hear from the hallway.
The way sunlight crawled slowly across the floor every afternoon before disappearing again.
Long enough to watch Pittsburgh weather change endlessly through narrow hospital windows while your own department continued functioning without you somewhere several floors below.
That part bothered you more than expected.
The emergency department was still open. Traumas still arrived. Residents still complained. Patients still needed help. Life continued moving forward whether you were there or not, and for the first time in years you were stuck watching from the outside.
Rationally, you knew the department would survive without you.
Emotionally, it felt different.
You had spent so much of your life inside those walls that part of you had started believing your place there was permanent. Necessary. The thought of everyone continuing without you left a strange hollow feeling in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.
Sometimes you found yourself staring at the tracking board app on your phone just to feel connected to something familiar.
Sometimes you missed it so badly your chest physically hurt.
Jack practically moved into your hospital room by the third day.
Not officially, but everyone knew.
His hoodie stayed permanently draped across the back of the chair beside your bed. Empty coffee cups accumulated along the windowsill no matter how many times nurses threw them away. Half the overnight staff stopped questioning why Dr. Abbot somehow appeared in your room at two in the morning every single night.
Sometimes you woke up to find him asleep beside your bed, neck bent at an angle guaranteed to cause problems later, one hand still wrapped loosely around yours like he needed physical proof you were breathing. Other nights he didn't sleep at all.
You would wake sometime around three in the morning and find him sitting quietly in the darkness, laptop forgotten beside him, staring out the window with an expression that always made something uncomfortable twist inside your chest.
Whenever he noticed you awake, he smiled immediately.
Every single time.
The smile never quite reached his eyes.
That scared you more than you wanted to admit.
Because Jack had always been good at hiding things. Better than most people. Years of emergency medicine had taught him how to compartmentalize fear and grief and exhaustion until nobody could tell what was happening beneath the surface.
The fact that he wasn't hiding this meant it was bigger than either of you wanted to acknowledge.
You tried returning to work conversations by day six.
Jack shut that down immediately.
"I'm serious," you argued from the hospital bed while attempting to maneuver yourself upright one-handed. "I can do consults at least."
Jack looked up from the chair beside your bed with an expression so deeply unimpressed it almost offended you.
"You got strangled, fractured your jaw, dislocated your shoulder, cracked two ribs, and had a concussion severe enough to put you in the ICU for three days."
You frowned.
"When you say it like that, it sounds dramatic."
"It was dramatic."
"Iâm just saying that it sounds worse when you list everything."
"Because the list is bad."
You opened your mouth to argue and immediately regretted it when pain shot sharply through your jaw.
Jack noticed, of course he noticed. He always noticed.
Without another word, he stood and crossed the room. By the time you managed to formulate a protest, he was already adjusting the pillows behind your back, carefully supporting your injured shoulder before helping you settle into a more comfortable position.
The movement was practiced now, almost natural.
Weeks ago you would have hated needing the help. Now you hated how grateful it made you feel.
"You are not stepping foot back into the ER until you're fully cleared," he said firmly. "And before you argue with me, Robby agrees."
"That's because Robby enjoys ruining my life."
"No," Jack answered flatly. "That's because Robby watched you almost die."
The words landed heavily between both of you.
"I did too, by the way."
Silence settled over the room immediately.
Jack's hands slowed against the blanket before becoming still altogether.
You felt your chest tighten.
Because there it was again. The thing neither of you had figured out how to talk about yet.
The attack wasn't over. Not really.
Neither of you talked about the nightmares much either, even though they started almost immediately after the ICU. Yours usually involved hands around your throat and the horrible realization that Leon did not recognize you anymore. Jackâs were quieter. You noticed them mostly because he stopped sleeping deeply afterward. Some nights you woke up and found him sitting awake at the edge of the bed staring at absolutely nothing while his prosthetic rested beside him on the floor.
Neither of you knew how to fix the other.
So instead you stayed close.
After discharge, recovery became its own strange routine. Orthopedic follow-ups. Neurology appointments. Speech therapy for the lingering jaw pain and throat damage. Physical therapy twice a week where a woman named Denise slowly taught your shoulder how to function properly again while you swore creatively enough to make her laugh almost every session.
And therapy.
Real therapy.
Therapy turned out to be harder than physical therapy.
At least with physical therapy there was a clear objective. Denise bent your shoulder until it hurt, assigned exercises you hated, and measured progress in degrees of motion and strength. There was a finish line somewhere. A point where the joint would function again, where the muscles would remember what they were supposed to do, where the pain would eventually become manageable.
Therapy with Dr. Feldman didn't work like that.
There were no measurements. No imaging results. No charts proving you were improving. Just a quiet office with soft lighting, a bookshelf full of psychology texts, and a woman who somehow managed to see directly through every defense mechanism you had spent years perfecting.
You hated her almost immediately.
Not because she was unkind. The problem was that she was patient.
The first appointment consisted mostly of you sitting rigidly in your chair with your arms crossed while answering questions with as few words as possible. You approached the entire thing the same way you approached difficult conversations with patients' family members in the emergency department: polite, cooperative, and emotionally unavailable.
Dr. Feldman noticed within fifteen minutes.
"How have you been sleeping?" she asked.
"Fine."
She looked down at her notes briefly before looking back up.
"You were hospitalized for nearly three weeks after a violent assault. Most people aren't sleeping fine."
You shrugged.
"I've had worse schedules during residency."
A small smile tugged at her mouth.
"That's not what I asked."
You hated that answer.
The second session wasn't much better. Every time she asked about your emotions, you redirected toward medicine. Every time she asked how something felt, you explained the physiology behind it instead. You could discuss post-traumatic stress responses, hypervigilance, sleep disruption, conditioned fear responses, and trauma recovery pathways in meticulous detail. You could explain exactly what was happening inside your brain.
What you couldn't do was admit how any of it actually affected you.
Halfway through the appointment, Dr. Feldman finally set her notebook aside.
"You keep describing trauma," she said.
"Because we're discussing trauma."
"No," she replied gently. "You're describing symptoms. You're explaining mechanisms. You're talking about yourself the same way you'd talk about a patient."
The observation irritated you immediately because it was true.
"I'm a doctor."
"I know."
"It's how I think."
Dr. Feldman smiled slightly. "I know that too."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room settled into a comfortable silence that immediately made you uncomfortable. Years in emergency medicine had trained you to fill silence quickly. Silence usually meant somebody was waiting for an answer, waiting for bad news, waiting for a conversation to become more painful than either person wanted it to be. Dr. Feldman, however, seemed perfectly content to sit inside it.
Eventually she leaned forward slightly in her chair.
"But you're not my doctor."
The words landed harder than they should have. You looked away immediately.
"You don't have to explain this to me clinically," she continued gently. "You don't have to convince me that you understand trauma. I already know you do."
A humorless laugh escaped you.
"That's easier."
Of course it was easier. Explaining symptoms was safer than feeling them. Discussing hypervigilance was safer than admitting you were afraid. Turning yourself into a case study allowed you to keep a comfortable distance between yourself and what had actually happened. If you could reduce the attack to diagnoses and recovery statistics and neurological responses, then maybe it felt less personal.
Dr. Feldman's expression softened.
"Of course it is."
Something about the kindness in her voice made your chest ache unexpectedly.
The sessions continued after that. Week after week, you showed up and slowly learned that recovery was a lot harder when someone refused to let you hide behind medical terminology. Sometimes you left feeling angry. Sometimes exhausted. Occasionally embarrassed by how much energy it took simply to sit in that office and answer questions honestly. There were appointments where you spent nearly the entire session arguing with her, and others where you spent the drive home replaying a single observation because it had landed uncomfortably close to something you weren't ready to examine.
The breakthrough happened during your fourth appointment, though neither of you recognized it immediately.
The conversation had shifted toward work, which should have felt safe. Work was familiar. Work was predictable. Work was the one area of your life where you still understood exactly who you were.
"Have you thought about going back?" Dr. Feldman asked.
"Obviously."
"You miss it."
The answer came instantly.
"Every day."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"What do you miss?"
You didn't even have to think about it.
"The pace. The people. The chaos. Being useful."
As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how much truth was hiding inside them. You missed the noise of trauma activations. You missed residents interrupting each other during presentations. You missed arguing with consultants and complaining about impossible patient loads. You missed the organized insanity of the emergency department. You even missed things you used to hate.
Most of all, you missed feeling like yourself.
Dr. Feldman watched you quietly for a moment before asking, "And what worries you about going back?"
The question should have been simple.
Instead, something tightened immediately in your chest.
You looked down at your hands.
"I don't know."
Dr. Feldman didn't respond.
The silence stretched.
You hated that she knew exactly how effective silence was.
Eventually you sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across your face.
"I know what you're trying to ask."
"Then answer it."
The response almost made you laugh.
Almost.
Instead, you stared at the floor and tried not to think too hard about why your pulse had suddenly picked up. Images surfaced anyway. Hospital curtains closing. Empty treatment rooms. The sharp beep of a monitor. A patient moving unexpectedly. A hand reaching toward you.
Your stomach twisted.
And suddenly you understood exactly why you had spent weeks avoiding this conversation.
"Sometimes I think about being alone with a patient," you admitted quietly. "Sometimes I think about walking into an exam room and closing the curtain behind me, and immediately I start planning exits. I start calculating how quickly I could get out if something happened."
The confession felt awful. Humiliating, even.
You couldn't bring yourself to look at her.
Because suddenly this wasn't about trauma responses or coping mechanisms or anything clinical at all. It was about fear. Real fear. The kind you had spent years helping other people survive.
Your fingers tightened together in your lap.
"I'm afraid of being alone with patients."
The words hung heavily between you.
For years, you had been the person other people relied on when they were afraid. You were the doctor walking into emergencies, not the person avoiding them. The calm one. The capable one. The person who always seemed to know what to do when everyone else was panicking. Building a career in emergency medicine had required a certain level of confidence in your ability to function under pressure, and somewhere along the way that confidence had quietly become part of your identity.
Now the thought of being alone with a patient made your heart race.
The contradiction sat heavily inside your chest. It wasn't just fear that bothered you. It was what the fear seemed to say about you. Every time your pulse spiked walking into an exam room, every time you found yourself unconsciously identifying exits, some stubborn part of your brain interpreted it as weakness. You knew that wasn't fair. You would never judge a patient that harshly. You would never expect someone who had survived what you survived to simply get over it.
For some reason, you expected it from yourself anyway.
Dr. Feldman seemed to recognize that immediately.
"Why does that feel embarrassing?" she asked.
The question caught you off guard. You frowned slightly, searching for an answer that made sense.
"Because I know better."
"Know better than what?"
You gestured vaguely, frustration already building.
"Than this. Than being afraid all the time. Than having panic responses I can literally explain from a neurological perspective."
Dr. Feldman remained quiet for a moment before responding.
"You were strangled. You suffered a traumatic brain injury. You genuinely believed you might die."
The words settled heavily between you.
Hearing the facts presented that plainly made something uncomfortable twist inside your chest. You spent so much time viewing the attack through a clinical lens that it was easy to forget how terrifying it had actually been. In your own mind, the event had gradually become a collection of injuries and recovery milestones. Fractured jaw. Concussion. Shoulder dislocation. ICU admission. Physical therapy. Follow-up appointments.
Medical facts.
Medical facts were easier to live with than memories.
"And now you're judging yourself for being afraid," Dr. Feldman continued gently.
You looked away.
The worst part was that she was right.
When she phrased it that way, the cruelty of it became obvious. Not cruelty from anyone else. Not from your coworkers or Jack or your friends. Nobody in your life expected you to recover faster than you already were.
The pressure was entirely your own.
"I know the psychology behind trauma," you said quietly.
"I know."
"I know why my brain is reacting this way."
"I know."
The frustration finally surfaced.
"Then why does it still feel like this?" You rubbed a hand across your face, suddenly exhausted. "Why do I understand exactly what's happening and still feel like I'm losing my mind sometimes?"
For the first time since sitting down in her office, your voice wavered.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough that you heard it. Enough that she heard it.
Dr. Feldman didn't answer immediately. She let the question exist for a moment before speaking.
"Because understanding pain isn't the same thing as healing from it."
You stared down at your hands.
The answer should have been obvious, instead it felt devastating.
For months you had approached recovery the same way you approached every problem in medicine. Gather information. Understand the mechanism. Create a treatment plan. Follow the evidence. Somewhere deep down, part of you had believed that if you understood trauma well enough, you could control it.
As if knowledge could somehow exempt you from being human.
"You've spent years helping other people survive terrible things," Dr. Feldman said softly. "You've sat with grieving families. You've treated victims of violence. You've helped patients through experiences most people can't even imagine. But throughout all of those situations, you were standing beside the trauma."
Your throat tightened.
"This time, you were the one living through it."
The words landed harder than anything else she had said.
Suddenly you weren't sitting in a quiet office anymore.
You were back in Trauma Two, staring up at fluorescent lights while your lungs desperately searched for air. You remembered the growing certainty that something was terribly wrong. The helplessness. The fear. The horrifying realization that all of your training, all of your experience, and all of your medical knowledge couldn't change what was happening.
For the first time, you remembered the attack not as a physician but as the person who had survived it.
The memory hit hard enough that tears blurred your vision before you could stop them.
At first you felt embarrassed. Then tired. Then overwhelmingly sad.
Not only because of the attack itself, but because of everything that followed. The surgeries. The nightmares. The panic attacks. The months spent measuring your recovery against impossible expectations. The constant belief that you should somehow be handling all of this better because you were a doctor and doctors were supposed to understand these things.
Dr. Feldman didn't interrupt. She didn't hand you a tissue or rush to make you feel better. She simply sat there with you while the reality finally settled into place.
For months, you had been describing the attack the same way you described everything else in medicineâclinically, objectively, through symptoms and recovery timelines. You had translated the most frightening experience of your life into a language that felt safer, convincing yourself that understanding it might somehow make it easier to carry.
But trauma wasn't a chart.
It wasn't a diagnosis.
And it wasn't something you could analyze until it stopped hurting.
For the first time since waking up in the ICU, you stopped trying to explain it away. You stopped trying to justify your reactions or convince yourself that understanding the psychology behind trauma should somehow make you immune to it.
The truth was much simpler than that.
It hurt.
Doctors made terrible patients because knowing the science behind something did not magically stop it from hurting. Understanding trauma responses did not prevent nightmares. Being able to explain hypervigilance did not stop your pulse from spiking whenever somebody approached too quickly from behind. Knowing exactly which parts of your brain were responsible for fear and survival instincts did absolutely nothing when those same instincts decided a harmless moment was dangerous.
Some days were easier than others after that. Some mornings almost felt normal until a mirror, a monitor alarm, or an unexpected reminder dragged the memory back to the surface. The bad nights were harder, especially when nightmares left you gasping awake before reality had a chance to catch up.
On those nights, Jack would reach for you almost immediately, often before either of you fully opened your eyes. Somewhere along the way, he had learned the difference between you shifting in your sleep and you waking from a nightmare. He would pull you closer without a word, one hand settling against your back while both of you waited for your breathing to slow again.
Slowly, though almost painfully slowly, life began stitching itself back together around the damage. The nightmares became less frequent. The panic lasted minutes instead of hours. Physical therapy hurt a little less each week. Recovery never arrived all at once; it came in tiny pieces that were easy to miss until you looked back and realized how far you had come.
By the time nearly three months had passed, most of the visible evidence of the attack had finally faded. The bruising around your throat disappeared first, though sometimes you still caught yourself staring too long at your reflection, expecting to see fingerprints there anyway. Your jaw had mostly healed, leaving behind only occasional pain when you talked too much or forgot yourself and laughed too hard. Physical therapy slowly returned strength to your shoulder until Denise finally cleared you to stop glaring at resistance bands like they had personally offended you.
Physically, you were doing well.
Emotionally was harder to measure.
Because no amount of therapy fully prepared you for walking back into the emergency department for the first time.
The second the automatic hospital doors opened that morning, your body betrayed you instantly.
Your heartbeat spiked so suddenly it almost made you stop walking. Your chest tightened. Every sound felt too loud all at once. Ambulance radios crackled overhead somewhere down the hallway. Stretchers rattled across tile floors. Somebody laughed in the distance. A monitor alarm sounded briefly before being silenced.
The familiar chaos of the emergency department wrapped around you immediately.
For years, these sounds had meant comfort. Work. Purpose. Routine. The constant noise of ambulance radios, ringing phones, overhead pages, and monitor alarms had become so familiar that your brain barely registered them anymore. They were part of the rhythm of the place. Part of home.
Now, your body reacted differently.
Before your brain could catch up, every muscle had already tightened. Your chest felt too small. It was as though some deeply buried part of you had mistaken familiarity for danger.
You slowed without meaning to.
Jack noticed immediately.
His hand tightened around yours before you had even fully stopped walking.
"Hey."
The word was quiet and gentle. When you looked up, you found him watching you carefully. Not because he thought you were about to fall apart, and not because he was panicking. He was simply paying attention. Somewhere over the past few months, Jack had become remarkably good at noticing the things you tried not to show anyone else.
"You okay?"
The question wasn't casual.
You could hear the concern beneath it immediately. The concern had softened over the months, but it had never fully disappeared. Even now, Jack seemed capable of noticing the things you tried not to show anyone else long before you admitted them yourself.
You took a slow breath.
"Yeah."
Jack's eyebrow lifted immediately.
The look alone told you he didn't believe that answer for a second.
Despite yourself, a small laugh escaped.
"Okay," you admitted, exhaling heavily. "Maybe not completely."
"That's a more believable answer."
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
What struck you wasn't the teasing so much as the absence of everything else. There was no judgment in his voice, no frustration, and no expectation that you should somehow be over this by now. Months had passed since the attack, but Jack had never once acted as though recovery came with a deadline.
His fingers tightened around yours.
"You don't have to be okay immediately."
The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest because they felt less like reassurance and more like permission.
For months, you had been quietly frustrated with yourself for not recovering faster.
Jack never seemed to share that frustration.
Not once.
You looked at him for a moment before nodding.
This time, when you took a breath, it came a little easier.
And when the two of you started walking again, you realized you weren't quite as afraid as you had been thirty seconds earlier.
Jack stood beside you in black scrubs, one hand still wrapped around yours while the other adjusted the strap of his bag. He looked calmer than he had in weeks, but not entirely relaxed. Some part of him still carried the memory of what happened here, even if neither of you talked about it very often.
Without saying anything else, he squeezed your hand once more before guiding you further inside.
The emergency department looked exactly the same.
Monitors still beeped overhead. Residents still rushed through presentations too quickly. Dana was already arguing with somebody in radiology over the phone near the nurses' station. Santos appeared to be stealing crackers from somewhere while simultaneously talking over three different people.
Life had continued here without you.
Standing there again, that realization hit harder than you expected. After everything that had happened, some irrational part of you had expected the place to feel different. Instead, the department had done what it always did.
It kept going.
Then somebody noticed you.
The shift moved through the department almost immediately. Conversations slowed. Heads turned. Even Santos stopped talking for a full second, which honestly felt medically concerning on its own.
"There she is."
Dana's voice carried across the nurses' station before you could fully prepare yourself. Something about hearing it made your stomach tighten unexpectedly.
You smiled awkwardly.
"Hi."
The word came out far more nervous than you intended.
God.
You had handled mass casualty incidents with steadier composure than this.
Santos recovered first.
Before you could react, she was already crossing the department toward you. A second later, she wrapped you in a careful hug, avoiding your shoulder with surprising precision while somehow still managing to squeeze hard enough to make your eyes sting unexpectedly.
"You look significantly less dead."
A surprised laugh escaped you.
"Thank you."
"No, seriously."
She stepped back and looked you over carefully, her eyes moving across your face as if she were unconsciously searching for evidence that you were actually okay.
"I'm glad you're back," she said quietly. "It sucked here without you."
The words landed harder than you expected.
Because you knew Santos.
You knew how much effort it took for her to say something sincere without immediately burying it beneath sarcasm.
The department seemed quieter after that.
Not because anyone felt awkward.
Because everyone remembered.
Nobody talked about it anymore, but the memory still existed beneath the surface of the room. They remembered the safe word over the intercom. They remembered Jack sprinting toward Trauma Two. They remembered the shouting, the blood, the uncertainty afterward.
Standing there surrounded by familiar faces, you suddenly realized that while you had been recovering, they had been carrying pieces of that experience too.
Whitaker approached next looking deeply uncomfortable.
"We missed you."
The words came out almost too quickly.
Your throat tightened immediately.
Not because the statement was dramatic.
Because it was honest.
The emergency department had always been dysfunctional and chaotic and emotionally repressed in exactly the way trauma departments usually were. Nobody openly talked about how much they cared about each other. Instead, they brought extra coffee. Covered shifts. Saved each other the last decent muffin in the break room and made fun of one another relentlessly.
That was how affection worked here.
But they had missed you.
And standing there looking at people you had worked beside for years, a realization settled heavily into your chest.
For weeks after the attack, these people hadn't known whether you were going to survive.
While you were unconscious in the ICU, they had still shown up for work. They had still walked past Trauma Two. They had still waited.
Somehow, understanding that hurt more than you expected.
Your eyes burned suddenly.
Immediately, Jack's hand settled against the small of your back.
Grounding.
Steady.
A reminder that you weren't standing here alone.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
Only you could hear him.
You nodded a little too quickly.
Jack's expression made it abundantly clear he wasn't fooled for a second.
Before he could say anything else, Robby appeared.
"Alright. Enough vulnerability before somebody bursts into flames."
A few people laughed immediately.
The tension eased.
Robby pointed directly at you.
"Half shifts for the next two weeks. No trauma rooms alone. No heroics. No staying late. No pretending you're invincible."
You blinked.
"Robbyâ"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
"It sounded vaguely suggestive."
"It wasn't."
You crossed your arms as much as your shoulder currently allowed.
"I'm sensing hostility."
"I'm sensing paperwork if you reinjure yourself."
Several nurses immediately nodded in agreement.
Traitors.
"And if I catch you overworking yourself, I'm personally calling your physical therapist."
You gasped dramatically.
"That feels threatening."
"It is threatening."
Despite yourself, you laughed.
A real laugh this time.
The sound felt rusty after months away, but hearing it surprised you almost as much as feeling it. For a second, the knot that had been sitting in your chest all morning loosened.
And when you glanced toward Jack, you caught the expression that crossed his face before he could hide it.
Relief.
The realization hit you then with surprising force.
This morning hadn't only terrified you.
It had terrified him too.
Because returning to the emergency department meant more than walking back into work. For you, it meant facing the place where your life had nearly ended. For Jack, it meant returning to the place where he had found you bleeding on the floor and thought, for one horrifying moment, that he was already too late.
Your eyes drifted instinctively down the hallway toward Trauma Two before you could stop yourself.
The curtain was open now. The room sat empty beneath fluorescent lights, looking exactly like every other trauma bay in the department.
But your body remembered anyway.
The back of your neck tightened. Your breathing faltered.
Jack noticed immediately.
Without saying anything, his hand found yours again. His fingers threaded through your own with quiet certainty, grounding you before the panic had a chance to grow into something larger.
This time when he squeezed your hand, you squeezed back.
Life slowly started feeling like yours again after that.
Not all at once. Healing never happened dramatically the way movies liked pretending it did. There was no singular moment where everything stopped hurting and the fear disappeared. Recovery arrived quietly instead, through ordinary moments that barely seemed important at the time.
The first time you walked through the hospital parking garage alone without your pulse skyrocketing. The first night you slept six uninterrupted hours. The first time Jack touched your throat absentmindedly while kissing you and your body didn't flinch before your brain caught up.
Those moments mattered more than any clean CT scan ever could.
The victories that mattered most were often the ones you barely noticed at first. One day you realized an ordinary hallway no longer made your shoulders tense. Another day you found yourself laughing without pain or hesitation. Eventually, you stopped thinking about every breath, every movement, every reminder of what had happened and simply existed again.
Your body slowly began feeling like home.
The bruises faded completely after a while. Physical therapy eventually became frustrating instead of humiliating, which Denise informed you was actually progress.
A few weeks later, she watched you complete an exercise without compensating for pain for the first time since surgery.
"There she is," Denise said immediately.
For the first time in a very long time, you believed her.
The nightmares faded too.
Not entirely at first.
Some nights still dragged you backward into Trauma Two with terrifying clarity. You would wake with your heart hammering against your ribs while panic clawed briefly through your chest before reality slowly settled back into place around you.
Those moments used to feel endless.
Eventually they became manageable.
Partly because Jack was always there.
Sometimes he woke before you did, reaching for you automatically the second your breathing changed beside him. Other nights he simply pulled you closer without either of you speaking, one hand moving slowly along your spine while your heartbeat gradually returned to normal.
Neither of you talked much during those moments because you didn't need to. There was something strangely intimate about surviving trauma beside somebody who understood exactly what silence meant.
No explanations.
No reassurances.
Just the quiet certainty that neither of you had to carry it alone.
The attack had changed both of you.
There was no pretending otherwise.
Then one afternoon, almost five months after the attack, Leon reached out.
You had been sitting on the couch answering work emails when the notification appeared. At first, you barely paid attention to it. Over the past few months your inbox had filled with department updates, physical therapy reminders, scheduling changes, and occasional messages from coworkers checking in on you. It looked no different than any of the others until your eyes landed on the sender's name.
Leon Carter.
The reaction was immediate.
Your stomach dropped hard enough that you physically sat back against the couch, staring at the screen while your brain struggled to process what you were seeing. The name itself looked strangely ordinary sitting there in your inbox, which somehow made it worse. Nothing about it suggested surgeries or ICU stays or months of recovery. Nothing about it suggested panic attacks or nightmares or the long process of learning how to feel safe again.
It was just a name.
But it was attached to one of the worst days of your life.
You didn't open the email right away. Instead, you found yourself staring at it while memories surfaced faster than you could organize them. You remembered the rain and the interstate. You remembered climbing into the ambulance and finding a frightened man who talked about his daughter and thanked you for helping him. You remembered the trust he had placed in you simply because you were a doctor and doctors were supposed to know what to do.
Then the memories shifted.
You remembered Trauma Two. The confusion in his eyes. The moment recognition disappeared and something went terribly wrong. You remembered fear. You remembered pain. You remembered waking up in the ICU days later with only fragments of the attack and everybody else's horror to fill in the gaps.
The problem was that none of those memories existed separately anymore.
When you thought about Leon, you thought about all of it at once.
The patient.
The victim.
The man who nearly died in a car accident.
The man who nearly killed you afterward.
For several long seconds, you simply sat there looking at the email while your pulse climbed higher and higher.
Across the apartment, Jack looked up from where he was working on his laptop at the dining table. He noticed the change in your expression immediately.
Five months later, he still seemed capable of reading your mood before you spoke a single word.
"What happened?"
The question sounded casual, but you could already hear the concern underneath it.
You swallowed, glanced back at the screen, and slowly turned the laptop toward him.
Jack's eyes moved across the screen, and the change in him was immediate.
His entire body stiffened before he'd even finished reading.
"No."
The answer came so quickly it startled you.
"Jackâ"
"No."
His voice wasn't loud. If anything, that made it worse. Every muscle in his jaw tightened, and something flashed across his face so quickly it was difficult to identify. Anger, certainly. But fear too. Fear disguised as anger. The kind that had become familiar over the past few months whenever conversations drifted too close to what happened in Trauma Two.
"You do not owe him anything."
The words settled heavily between you.
You knew that.
Nobody expected you to answer. Nobody expected forgiveness. Nobody expected anything from you at all. The problem wasn't obligation. The problem was that part of you already wanted to know what Leon had said.
That night, long after dinner and after the apartment had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, you finally opened the email. Jack didn't try to stop you. He simply sat beside you on the couch while you read.
The message wasn't long.
What struck you first was what it didn't contain. There were no excuses. No attempts to justify what happened. No requests for forgiveness. Leon explained that pieces of the attack had only recently been explained to him fully after months of neurology appointments and psychological rehabilitation. He remembered the accident. He remembered the rain and the ambulance ride. He remembered talking to you and trusting you to help him.
After that, there was nothing.
The seizure had fractured his memory completely.
The next thing he remembered was waking up days later and learning that he had violently assaulted the doctor who stopped on the interstate to save his life.
You felt your throat tighten as you continued reading.
Leon wrote that he was horrified by what happened. He wrote that he understood if you never wanted to hear from him again. He wrote that he thought about you every day and hoped you were healing. He explained that he was finally receiving treatment for both the neurological aftermath of the seizure and the psychological trauma surrounding the accident itself.
At the very end, there was a simple apology.
And somehow that made it harder.
By the time you reached the last line, several minutes had passed. The apartment felt unusually quiet around you. When you finally looked up, Jack was watching carefully from the other end of the couch. He wasn't pushing for an answer or trying to influence your reaction. He was simply waiting.
"What are you thinking?"
You looked back down at the screen.
For a moment, you weren't entirely sure yourself.
"I think he's telling the truth."
Jack's gaze dropped immediately. You could practically see the conflict moving across his face.
"He almost killed you."
The words came out rougher than he intended.
You shifted closer until your knee brushed his.
"I know."
Jack looked toward the apartment windows instead. The city lights reflected faintly against the glass while silence settled between both of you.
Eventually, Jack let out a quiet laugh and rubbed a hand across his face. There wasn't any humor in the sound. If anything, he looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with carrying something for too long.
"You know what the worst part is?"
Your chest tightened immediately.
"What?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. He just stared out toward the apartment windows.
"I know it wasn't his fault," he said finally. "I know what postictal aggression is. I know what brain injuries do to people. I know he wasn't himself."
His jaw tightened as he spoke, and you could see the conflict written all over his face. Jack understood the medicine. He understood the neurology. He understood all the reasons why what happened wasn't really Leon's fault.
But understanding something and making peace with it were two very different things.
"I know all of that," he continued quietly. "But every time I hear his name, I still see you on that floor."
The honesty of it hit harder than you expected because there was no anger behind it. No blame. No attempt to argue with the facts. It was simply the truth.
You reached for his hand immediately.
His fingers closed around yours before you had fully touched him, as though some part of him still needed the reassurance. As though, despite the months that had passed, there were moments when his body still remembered the terror of almost losing you.
"He didn't remember hurting me," you said softly.
Jack nodded.
"I know."
"He wasn't trying to hurt me."
"I know."
His thumb moved slowly across your knuckles before his gaze dropped toward your joined hands.
"That doesn't make it hurt less."
Your eyes burned unexpectedly.
"No," you admitted. "It doesn't."
Silence settled between the two of you after that, not uncomfortable but heavy with the kind of truth neither of you could argue with. Leon had been a victim. You had been a victim too. One reality didn't erase the other, and accepting that was probably the hardest part of all.
Eventually, you answered the email.
Not because you were completely healed, and not because you had somehow stopped being afraid. There were still days when memories surfaced unexpectedly and moments when certain sounds made your pulse spike before your brain could catch up. There were still shifts where you caught yourself avoiding Trauma Two without consciously realizing it. Healing had never been linear, no matter how badly you wanted it to be.
But you also understood neurological trauma. You understood how quickly a person could stop being themselves inside catastrophic moments. More importantly, you understood what it felt like to wake up after trauma wishing desperately that something terrible had never happened.
So you accepted his apology.
Much to Jack's absolute dismay.
"You're too forgiving," he complained several days later while the two of you carried groceries up three flights of stairs.
You snorted.
"Says the emergency physician."
"That's different."
"It literally isn't."
"It is when it's you."
The answer arrived so quickly that it stole the rest of your argument.
Jack stopped halfway up the stairs, grocery bags hanging forgotten at his sides. For a moment he simply looked at you, and suddenly you could see all of it again: the fear, the exhaustion, the months he had spent pretending he was coping better than he actually was.
"You almost died."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The quiet certainty in it somehow made the words hit even harder.
"I don't think you understand what that did to me."
Emotion caught painfully in your throat before you could answer.
Because maybe, for the first time, you finally did understand.
Five months ago, you probably wouldn't have. A year ago, you might have called his fear irrational. Doctors saw trauma every day. People got hurt. People healed. Life moved on. That was the unspoken agreement everyone in emergency medicine made with themselves in order to keep functioning. If you stopped to consider how fragile everything really was, if you allowed yourself to think too hard about all the ways an ordinary day could become a catastrophe, you would never be able to walk back into work.
So you learned to accept uncertainty without dwelling on it. You learned to tell yourself that terrible things happened to other people.
Then it happened to you.
The attack forced you to confront something years of emergency medicine had never fully taught you. None of it was guaranteed. Not the next shift. Not next year. Not even the next ordinary Tuesday that began like every other day and ended with your entire life divided into a before and after.
Standing there on the staircase, looking at Jack, you finally understood what he had been carrying all those months. It wasn't just the memory of the attack. It was the memory of almost losing you. The memory of walking into Trauma Two and finding the person he loved lying on the floor. The memory of not knowing whether you were going to survive.
You stepped closer until the grocery bags bumped awkwardly against both of your legs and wrapped your arms around him.
Jack held on immediately.
Not desperately. Just instinctively.
Like he always did now. Like some small part of him still needed the reassurance that you were really there, standing in front of him, alive and breathing and stubborn enough to argue with him about everything.
For the first time since the attack, you didn't just recognize that instinct.
You understood it.
And somehow that realization hurt almost as much as it healed.
After a while, life settled again anyway.
Not because everything was suddenly fixed. Not because the memories disappeared or because the attack stopped being part of your story. Life simply did what it always did. It kept moving forward. Shifts accumulated. Seasons changed. New patients arrived. New crises demanded attention. The world refused to remain frozen around a single terrible day, no matter how much that day had changed the people who survived it.
Eventually, you returned to full shifts.
The first one felt impossible.
You remembered standing in the locker room beforehand staring at your reflection for longer than necessary, scrubs folded over one arm while anxiety twisted quietly beneath your ribs. Part of you had been convinced something would go wrong the moment you stepped back into the rhythm of a normal day. That you would panic. Freeze. Forget how to be yourself.
Instead, the shift began.
Then another patient arrived.
Then another.
Hours passed.
You assessed injuries. Ordered imaging. Argued with consultants. Drank coffee that had been sitting out too long. Somewhere around the middle of the afternoon, you realized you had gone nearly three hours without thinking about the attack at all.
The realization almost made you stop walking.
Because for the first time, the emergency department felt like work again instead of a place haunted by memory.
It wasn't immediate after that. There were still difficult moments. Days where entering certain rooms made your stomach tighten unexpectedly. Cases that lingered a little too long beneath your skin. But gradually, almost invisibly, the fear loosened its grip.
You stopped hesitating before entering trauma bays. Your hands stopped shaking after violent cases. The emergency department slowly became home again instead of the place where something terrible happened to you.
And through all of it, Jack remained exactly where he had always been.
Beside you.
Some nights after difficult shifts, the two of you still sat together in the parking garage for a few extra minutes before driving home. Neither of you usually spoke much during those moments. You simply sat in comfortable silence while the adrenaline of the shift slowly drained away.
Sometimes Jack still reached for your hand automatically in crowded hallways. Sometimes you caught him scanning rooms without realizing he was doing it. Occasionally you would glance across a trauma bay and find him already looking at you.
The expression never changed.
It wasn't worry anymore.
Not entirely.
It was something softer.
Something that looked suspiciously like gratitude.
Like some part of him remained quietly amazed every single day that you were still alive to look back at him at all.
One night, after an especially exhausting shift, the two of you found yourselves briefly alone at the nurses' station while the rest of the department dealt with varying levels of chaos farther down the hallway.
Jack was finishing a chart.
You were pretending to finish one.
Neither of you had enough remaining brain cells to be particularly successful.
Without looking up from the computer screen, Jack reached over and laced his fingers through yours beneath the desk. The movement was so absentminded that he probably didn't even realize he'd done it. You looked down at your joined hands and felt something settle quietly in your chest.
There was nothing remarkable about the gesture anymore. That was what made it matter.
Over the past year, that hand had reached for yours so many times that you had stopped noticing most of them. It had found yours in hospital rooms when you woke up disoriented and hurting. It had found yours in therapy office parking lots when neither of you really wanted to talk about what had been discussed inside. It had found yours in the middle of nightmares, in crowded hallways, during difficult shifts, and in countless ordinary moments that would never make it into any dramatic retelling of your recovery.
When you thought back to everything that had happenedâthe surgeries, the panic attacks, the nightmares, the endless appointments, and the exhausting process of slowly rebuilding yourself from the inside outâone truth remained painfully clear.
You would not have survived any of it without Jack.
Not because he fixed it. Nobody could have done that. He hadn't magically erased the pain or made the recovery easier than it was. The nightmares still happened. The fear still existed. The damage had still been real.
What Jack had done was stay.
Every time recovery became ugly or frustrating or unbearably difficult, he stayed. Every time you pushed people away, convinced yourself you were fine, or became angry at your own limitations, he stayed. He sat beside hospital beds and physical therapy offices and bad days without ever demanding that you become easier to love.
Sometimes, during the quietest parts of overnight shifts, you still found yourself thinking about the version of yourself that had existed before all of this happened. The woman standing beside a wrecked car on an interstate in the pouring rain. The woman who ran toward emergencies without hesitation. The woman who believed understanding trauma and surviving trauma were basically the same thing.
You missed her sometimes.
More than you usually admitted.
There were days when you missed how uncomplicated she had been. How certain. How convinced of her own resilience.
But not as much as you expected to.
Because surviving had changed you. Not dramatically. The changes had happened quietly instead, carving themselves into habits and instincts before you ever noticed them. They lived in the way your body still stiffened slightly at raised voices, in the way Jack checked your breathing in his sleep without realizing he was doing it, and in the way both of you had learned that silence could mean comfort instead of distance.
There were still difficult moments. Violent patients occasionally made your pulse spike before your brain could remind you that you were safe. Cold Pittsburgh mornings sometimes left your shoulder aching where scar tissue still lingered. There were nights when Jack woke from dreams he never fully explained and reached for you before he was even awake enough to realize what he was doing.
But there were good days now too.
Real ones.
Days where laughter came easily again and the emergency department felt like home instead of a crime scene. Days where you caught yourself standing inside Trauma Two without remembering to be afraid first. Days where entire hours passed without thinking about the attack at all.
Healing had happened quietly. Not through dramatic breakthroughs or grand victories, but through ordinary moments accumulating so gradually that one day you looked back and realized your life belonged to you again.
And maybe that was why you loved Jack so much in the end.
It wasn't because he had saved you, although in a lot of ways he probably had. It wasn't even because he stayed when things became painful and complicated, though that mattered too. You loved him because he never once asked you to heal faster for his comfort. He never treated your recovery like an inconvenience or your fear like something that needed to be fixed. He simply sat beside you through every ugly part of it with the same stubborn steadiness, loving you exactly as you were while you figured out how to become yourself again.
One night near the end of your shift, long after life had started feeling normal again, the two of you found yourselves standing outside the hospital watching snow drift softly across the parking lot.
Jack stood close enough that his shoulder brushed yours through both of your jackets.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
The air smelled like snow and cold pavement, and you simply stood together watching flakes drift through the glow of the parking lot lights. It was an ordinary moment. So ordinary, in fact, that a year ago you probably wouldn't have remembered it.
Now it felt important.
Without looking away from the snowfall, Jack reached for your hand automatically. The gesture was so familiar that neither of you really thought about it anymore. You simply threaded your fingers through his and felt his grip tighten instinctively around yours.
Somewhere along the way, that had become home.
Standing there beneath fluorescent lights with your hand wrapped safely inside his, you found yourself thinking about everything that had happened over the past year. The attack had changed your life. It had left scars, taken things from you, and forced both of you to rebuild parts of yourselves you never expected to lose.
But it hadn't taken everything.
Because when the fear finally stopped feeling so sharp and the dust settled enough for you to see clearly again, one truth remained.
The worst thing that had ever happened to you had also shown you exactly who would stay when everything else fell apart.
And somehow, standing beside Jack in the falling snow, that knowledge felt stronger than the fear ever had.
Everypony there was this jack abbot x reader fanfic where the reader got shot and almost died and it was based on s02 ep07 AND I CANT FIND IT ANYMOREđđđ I think about it dailyđ
You can find Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here!
40.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Angst, discussions of being shot and the shooting, anxiety about partnerâs safety, emotions, Robby is sad and has a bad day, discussion of Robby, Jake and Leah (Pitt-Fest happened before Reader and Jack got together), panic attack, anxiety, pretending the Buhl Planitarium is open late, alcohol, vague discussion of Jackâs time in the military, unprotected PIV sex (BC implied with committed relationship), some voyeurism-ness if you really squint hard, oral sex, dom Jack briefly, manhandling briefly, FLUFF, Myrna, Reader: can bake, will take Jackâs last name, struggles with body confidence, is not scared of horses, gets drunk, enjoys prehistory, Author: copped out of writing a lot of sex sorry, half assed the sex she did write sorry again, is terrible at summaries; did not proofread or editÂ
Summary: Normalcy is shattered. You and Jack recover and have some fun.
AN: Nobody is judging 40.5k harder than I am. I genuinely feel bad about the word count because I know it can make it harder to read, especially at once, but it gets really hard to cut it into shorter parts sometimes. So please know I really appreciate you taking the time to read it all and then interact with it. Likes and reblogs and comments and your guys thoughts mean so much to me and really do inspire me. I am short on serotonin and all the interactions give me a little burst of it, genuinely. That all said, we start off pretty heavy but after the first scene things get much fluffier and happier for the most part so it's 100% a much, much lighter read than Part 3. I should have Part 5 out by the end of the week! And again, thank you so much for reading.
You and Jack fall back into a routine, back into normal. Things are really starting to actually feel better. But all it takes is one thing to upend it all.Â
You werenât looking forward to this Monday. Neither was Jack. Both of you were simultaneously surprised and unsurprised the day even came. Both of you were also aware that the fragile normal youâd just settled into was shattered, even if only temporarily and even if you knew it was coming. Both of you hated it.
Trial.Â
The shooter wouldnât plead. So you and Jack find yourselves standing outside of the Westmoreland County Courthouse. The case had unsurprisingly been moved from Allegheny County and you were grateful for that. It would have been another level of fucked up to have to confront the man that shot you in the courtroom he shot you in. Even in the same courthouse would have been bad.Â
Itâs the first day. Jury selection. Jack told you that you didnât need to be here every day, that it was okay to only come on the day you had to testify. You knew he was right but some part of you needed to be there for the whole thing. Itâs not like it was going to be a super long trial. But long enough and emotional enough to destroy normal. Both you and Jack have to take a week off work, stay in a hotel so you donât have to constantly drive back and forth. The trial shoves it all right back in your faces again.Â
You hate how easily normal is obliterated. How easily that man is stealing normal away from you again.
âYou sure about this?â Jack asks as he squeezes your hand. Heâs not questioning you or your decision, just asking if youâre okay and ready.Â
âNo. But also yes.â You look over at him. âYouâll be here every day with me, right? I know itâs a big ask, and that itâll be just as hard for you as it is for me at times and I feel bad about asking you to put yourself through that for me but I just need to be here. I have something to prove to myself even if I canât figure out exactly what it is.â
You look down once youâve broken apart, canât bring yourself to look him in the eyes for your next question. You already know the answer to it but you just need the reassurance. âIf this, being here more than I have to be makes me slide back or get worse again. You⊠You wonât get mad, right? At me for kind of causing it in a way?â
Jack knows why youâre asking the questions, knows that your use of right at the end of the first is because you already know the answer and just need reassurance. Heâll give it to you as much as you need.Â
âNo. I wonât be mad at you. I wonât be mad at all. Healing isnât linear,â he reminds you, âand thatâs okay.â You give him a little nod and one of his hands finds your chin and he hooks a finger under it, pulls up gently to see if youâll move your head, he would never force you. You let him pull your chin up and look at him. âAnd Doll, even if you do slide back, it is not because of you. You wouldnât be causing it. Okay?â
You look at him for a moment, really try to fully believe what heâs saying, before giving him a small nod. Jack kisses your forehead before releasing you and lacing your fingers together again for the walk inside.Â
You sit in the back, off to the side. It gives you your own little bubble but you can still see everything. Everyone. Him.Â
At the beginning before voir dire starts the Judge reads out all of the charges. Itâs obvious when he gets to the count number that represents you. Youâre the only person heâd shot that day who lived. So youâre the only attempted murder. Itâs difficult for you to hear yes, to cope with the reality that someone tried to murder you. To hear it spoken about that way. Youâd spoken with the district attorney about it though during witness preparation so you had your head wrapped around it a bit.Â
Hearing it levels Jack. It takes a second because heâs in some weird denial about it but Jackâs brain finally lets him accept it and think about it. That was you, that count represents you, attempted murder, someone tried to murder you. That man tried to murder you and take you away from him. Thereâs a few seconds where Jack thinks he might be having a heart attack because it gets so hard to breathe at the thought. Rationally he knew thatâs what it was, thatâs not really a realization for him. Itâs just hearing it phrased like that. Attempted murder.
Being there is hard. Hearing it all. Seeing it all when security footage gets played. You knew the video was coming. Theyâd showed you it during witness preparation. Jack knew it was coming too because you told him, but he didnât realize how much it would impact him, having to see it all play out, even when the video isnât of where you were on that day. More will be played when youâre on the stand. The video of you. Where youâre so clearly visible and whatâs happening is so clearly visible.Â
During a recess on the first day while the defendant is still in the courtroom Jack pulls you a little closer to him. âDoll,â he says lowly, not quite a whisper, but low enough to keep it just between the two of you. âI know itâs hard. I know I donât even know how hard it is for you but I need you to look at him for a second, please. Just a second.â You turn your head and do as he asks as much as you donât want to. You know he wouldnât ask you for no reason. âI know you still feel guilty and like my feelings are your fault, like you caused all of this, that our need to heal and recover is somehow on you, somehow your fault. But itâs not. Itâs his fault. Itâs on that man sitting in that chair. Nobody else. I want you to try and remember that.â
You get a bit teary and donât say anything for fear of bursting into tears, just nod and turn into him. His arms were already open and waiting, hand finding the back of your head and holding you close. You bury your face in his neck, take in deep breaths through your nose to smell him, let him overwhelm as many of your senses as possible right now to keep you from crying.Â
You cry when you get to the hotel that night. And the next. You hate it, you tell Jack, because it means youâre going to end up crying on the stand and you donât want to give that bastard the satisfaction. Jack holds you and reminds you itâs okay to cry up there if you need to. You wonât be the first or last, but that he understands. And he thinks youâre stronger than you give yourself credit for.
Then the day comes. Your name gets called and then youâre up there sworn in and testifying. The DA plays the video of it. Itâs the first time Jack sees it. He didnât even know there was video footage of the courtroom, of where you were actually shot. He didnât know there was video footage of you being shot, even if you canât really tell when it happens from the video. It destroys a little piece of him, completely rattles him. But he knows that right now he has to be strong for you.Â
You surprise yourself but not Jack. You donât cry on the stand. Donât give him the satisfaction. You completely and totally wall yourself off. Shut down emotionally. Make yourself deliberately numb. Itâs just what you have to do to survive this. When youâre asked to identify the man who shot you youâre able to pretend to be cool, unbothered, even, as you describe what the man who shot you is wearing.Â
Jack on the other hand does cry a little. Because itâs hard, itâs really fucking hard to hear this. Yes, heâs heard it before because you guys have talked about it, but itâs different hearing it here in front of all of these people, seeing and watching you react to the video. Itâs hard to watch you totally shut down emotionally because he can see it in your eyes, but he understands why you have to. Itâs hard watching you get cross-examined and needlessly grilled like there isnât clear video showing it happening.Â
Itâs hard to watch the fucking video. To finally have a visual of what happened to you that day. To know that at some point during the video you get shot. It makes him nauseous, so nauseous at points he worries heâs going to face the choice of being sick right where he is or having to run out of the courtroom on you. He never does though, is pretty sure itâs knowing you need him that keeps it from getting to that point. He hates it. All of it. And he feels so selfish thinking about how hard this is for him when youâre the one up there on the stand.Â
When youâre finally finished you walk back over and sit next to him, give him a small smile that falls a little when you see his red eyes. Youâre completely out of it and not truly present and he gets it, doesnât try to pull you back. Instead he gives you a little smile back, pulls you close and whispers in your ear how fucking proud of you he is, how much he loves you.Â
You grab dinner at a place across the street from the courthouse after the trial adjourns for the day. Neither of you say much but Jack is happy when you actually eat a fair amount. The car ride back to the hotel is also largely silent. Jack knows you need it to be, need just the background hum of the radio playing. Both of you know that if you start talking now youâll fall apart and you really donât want to fall apart in the car. You want to be able to fall apart in Jackâs arms.Â
You make it into the hotel room and hear Jack lock the deadbolt before you freeze. Youâre not sure what it is about the hotel room that suddenly makes walking or doing anything seem impossible. Maybe itâs the knowledge that youâre finally in a safe place where you can break down in Jackâs arms at war with how badly you donât want to break down at all. Maybe you feel like if you do nothing, if you donât move or speak or do anything, then you wonât break down and you wonât have to feel everything youâve been keeping down today.Â
Jack knows. Even with your back to him and unable to see your face he knows youâre stuck. He walks up behind you and rests his hands on your hips, gives them a gentle squeeze.Â
âDo you want to shower?â he murmurs.
It takes you a moment to fully process what he says and formulate an answer. âNo,â you whisper.Â
âOkay,â Jack whispers back, kisses your temple. He squeezes your hips again and pushes on one and pulls on the other gently to get you to turn around so he can help you get in the bathroom. He puts the toilet seat down and gets you to sit on it.Â
He gets his teeth brushed, stands close enough to you that you can lean your head forward and rest your forehead against his side while he brushes. Once heâs done and has washed his face he turns to you.
Heâs silent as he grabs one of your makeup wipes and tilts your head up with one hand before he starts cleaning your face with the other. Heâs so careful around your eyes getting your mascara off it makes tears stream down your face.Â
Jack doesnât comment on them, just tosses the wipe and gives you a kiss and a thigh squeeze before offering you his hands. You take them and let him pull you up and get you standing in front of the sink face to face with him. He grabs your headband and pulls it on, secures the rest of your hair the way you usually do to keep it from getting wet. He makes eye contact with you for a second and while youâre present enough, he knows youâre not going to take it from here. He grabs an extra towel and drapes it over you to cover your front. Itâs not much but at least something. He uses his foot to slide over the shower mat so that itâs between the two of you.Â
Jack gets a washcloth wet with warm water and uses it to wet your face, grabs your face wash and puts some in his hand, starts to rub it together and then on your face. He sees your lip tremble for a second but you donât let yourself cry. He turns the water back on, grabs the washcloth in one hand and gets it soaking, a towel in the other. He squeezes the washcloth over part of your face to rinse it, holding the towel just below to catch the water. He repeats it over and over, soaking the washcloth, shifting to a new part of the towel until your face is completely rinsed. He pats your face dry with a hand towel then wrings out the washcloth and hangs it and the towel heâd been using up to dry.Â
You track him with your eyes, something about watching him and the strong grace he moves with soothing you. He gets your toothbrush wet and toothpaste on it. You open your mouth a little automatically for him and let him brush your teeth for you. It is one of the most intimate and loving things Jack has ever done for you. And you love it.Â
But you hate that you canât take care of yourself, start to wonder how long Jack will be willing to take care of you like this, like youâre a child. You know itâs one night and that youâd do it for him forever if you needed to, but it feels different for you. He holds your face so gently as he brushes your teeth for you. When heâs done he turns the water on and puts some in a glass for you, hands you it. âI canât do this part for you Doll or you know I would.â
You force yourself to sip from the glass and spit in the sink, rinse your mouth a few times. You give the slightest nod when youâre done and Jack wipes your lips with a towel, rinses the sink out before getting you back to sitting on the toilet.Â
He grabs the first product in your nighttime skincare routine and smooths it out over your skin. He gives it a second to absorb like you always do and then he grabs the next product. Your lip and chin tremble harder than they have all night at it and you have to shut your eyes and look down for a moment. He knows your whole routine. Just from observing you. Just because he wants to know so heâs prepared for this, for the time you canât do it for yourself. You know he knows your morning routine and shower routine too.Â
You open your eyes and tilt your face back up for Jack, the two of you looking at each other for a moment before he starts rubbing the next product in. Thereâs no hesitation in his eyes, no irritation or annoyance that heâs having to do this, no frustration or anger, no sadness or pity. Just love and adoration and pride. You werenât expecting to see pride. He gives you a little smile and then starts rubbing it in and the way his eyebrows come together and eyes narrow slightly in concentration makes your heart flutter because heâs so adorable. He finishes your routine in perfect order, gets your headband off and hair back as you like it and puts some lotion on his own face and then holds his hands back out for you again.Â
You take them again and he leads back to the main room, carefully strips you and gets you into your pajamas before helping you slide into bed. Heâs quick to change and turn all the lights off except for the lamp on his bedside table. He sets an alarm for the morning and gets his prosthetic off. Itâs still fairly early but he knows itâll be a while before you sleep. He also knows youâre not leaving this bed tonight.Â
He turns and arranges some pillows so he can be propped up a little against the headboard. Once he slides in and gets settled on his back you move closer to him, lay on your side and cuddle into him, your top leg hooking over the top of him as you roll into him and get as close to him as you can, head on his chest.Â
âThank you.â You whisper it so softly itâs barely audible.Â
âNothing to thank me for, Doll.â Jack has his arms wrapped around you tightly, pulls you into him a little more, shifting himself at an angle just slightly so you can get closer. âYou know my routine and would do the same for me.â He feels you shake your head slightly. He knows youâre not saying that you wouldnât, but that itâs different, he can hear you saying it, and trying to explain it really is because his routine is shorter. Jack also knows that you need to let yourself do this, let yourself cry and feel everything from today. He hates it, hates how much it will hurt you, but he knows itâll hurt more and for longer the more time you wait to do it.Â
âI love you.â He leans his head down and nuzzles his nose in your hair, kisses the top of your head. âAnd I want you to know how fucking proud I am of you. For having the strength to get up there and watch what happened to you all over again in front of the man who did it. For doing what you wanted and I knew you could do, not crying and giving him the satisfaction. For being here for the full trial and going back again tomorrow and the next day and until thereâs a verdict. Iâve got you, okay? Always. Unquestionably. So whenever youâre ready.â Heâs trying to give you subtle encouragement, let you know that he knows what you need and is here for you. You start to shake a little and he knows youâre at the edge. Jack whispers your name.
Thatâs what does it. His whisper of your name. You fall completely apart in Jackâs arms, sobbing into him as he hugs you tighter, doesnât let any of the pieces slip past him. All you can do is sob for a couple of minutes, choking on air and your tears every time you try to say something. As much as youâre weeping because youâre sad itâs more panicky this time. Jack can tell from the way you shake and cling to him.Â
âI, I h-hate this Jack, I hate it!â You finally manage to get out after several minutes. Your hand fists at the front of the t-shirt heâs wearing to sleep in. âI hate that I let him get to me like this. I hate how, I hate, I hate how scared he made me feel.â
Itâs been a while since Jack has seen you this worked up, panicking more than crying. Itâs hard for him not to step in, but he knows you need this. âAll I could think about was, was watching him point a gun at me and shutting my eyes and I heard, I heard the gun go off, but I didnât feel anything, I didnât and I thought I was okay, I really did Jack, I promise, I promise I wasnât trying to lie in the, in the t-trauma room.â
âI know,â he whispers into your hair, âyou were in shock and had so much adrenaline you didnât feel it.â He kisses at the top of your head, runs his hand up and down your back and keeps one holding the back of your head. âIâve got you. Youâre safe here.â
That makes you cry harder because you know you are. You always feel safe with Jack. Sometimes the only place you feel safe anymore is when youâre with him. âI know, I know, I just wasnât,â youâre interrupted by a wracking breath, âI just wasnât with you, wasnât with you on the stand and I, I was scared and kept thinking what if he had a gun again somehow.â Jack shuts his eyes at that, clenches his jaw tight. Seeing you like this breaks his heart, causes him physical discomfort and hearing how scared you were, how you thought you might get shot again makes him feel the familiar pressure and rush behind his eyes of tears forming. But Jackâs wrong. You werenât thinking about getting shot.
âI didnât even,â you sniffle a couple of times, âI wasnât even thinking about, about what if I get shot again, I was thinking what if he turned and shot you Jack, what if it was you, what would I do, what was I supposed to do and and how would I go on if you died, and, andâ you take in a couple of hiccuped breaths and the tears Jack felt forming start to slide down his face because you were worried about him. Not yourself. âAnd then it made me feel worse because what if I had died, what wouldâve happened to you? You would have been, been so sad Jack and I wouldnât have been there to help you and I hate, hate thinking about you being that sad J-Jack and donât ever want you to hurt like that.â You take a huge choked breath in. Jack knows you need to let this out but youâre getting close to a point of him intervening because of how hard youâre starting to panic, escalating quickly the more you talk. Hearing this kills him and his tears fall harder even as he keeps his focus on you. âThen I felt bad, felt guilty because of what I said to you in the hospital about if I had died, and wishing I had, and you could grieve, grieve properly and move on because just thinking about it.â You take in another breath but itâs shallow, blown out quickly as you start to hyperventilate. âJust thinking,â a breath in and out, âabout it, I could never,â more hyperventilating, ânever move on from you and I, I,â you start to feel a little dizzy, âI said that to you and made you, made you think it.â
âOkay, Doll.â Jack knows youâve tipped over an edge and have said enough and need help calming down and regulating. âYouâre going to make yourself pass out, I need you to follow my breathing, yeah?â Jack grabs one of your hands and brings it to his chest even though your head is already there. He adjusts his breathing to deep breaths in and out and feels you trying to follow him through your tears and hiccuped breaths. âFive things you can see, please. If you can.â He knows with the tears and swelling of your eyes it might be hard.Â
You wipe at your face a little with the sleeve of your shirt. âThe sheets, pillows, your shirt, your arm, the wallpaper.â
âGood.â He kisses the top of your head. âFour you can feel.â
âYour shirt, your hands on my back, how warm you are, my face throbbing.â
That last one hurts Jack a little and he has to fight from sniffling and making you aware heâs crying. He doesnât want you to start taking care of him and he knows you will. He clears his throat and hopes you wonât think anything of it. Heâs sure if he doesnât heâll sound like heâs been crying. âThree you can hear.âÂ
You take in a deep breath, breathing calming and starting to match his. âThe AC, your heart and your breathing.â
âTwo you can smell. Again, if you can. I know your sinuses are probably swollen.â He gives you another kiss to the top of your head.Â
You try to take a couple of breaths in through your nose. Itâs not completely in vain. âYou. Your body wash and you.â
âAnd one you can taste.â
âMetal. The adrenaline.â Heâs the one who taught you that. âItâs fading though.â
âGood, Iâm glad.â Jack kisses the top of your head again and can feel you go to speak. âDonât apologize for anything, but especially not the shirt.â It pulls a little laugh from you which makes him smile. Heâs conflicted, wants to kiss you so badly but knows youâll be able to tell he was crying and he doesnât want you to feel responsible. He reaches over and hits the button on the lamp on his table. The darkness provides cover. âLet me kiss you?â
You nod, move your head back and lift up a bit as he leans down to you, gives you a couple before you both settle back. And then you sit in a comfortable silence. There are words at times. Most from Jack, quiet reassurances, he loves you, heâs got you, heâs so so so fucking proud of you. Some from you, apologies he tells you not to give, thank yous and you love hims. Eventually you fall asleep in Jackâs arms and he lets you. He doesnât wake you to try and get to some resolution of your feelings tonight. Thatâs not what you need. You need sleep.
Jack stays awake a bit just holding you and studying your face. Your eyes and lips and nose are all swollen, lashes still a bit clumped from your tears. You snuffle more in your sleep because of how swollen your sinuses are. And he loves you, so fucking much. And he hates seeing you like this, hates seeing you struggle despite how human it is.Â
Jack knows all too well that life breaks parts of you sometimes. But it doesnât mean youâre broken, it means youâre human. Life forces you to learn that all humans have pieces of them theyâve had to try and fuse back together. That to be human is to break at times.Â
He knows that in grieving and healing, you pick up the pieces and tape them back together, and when they fall apart again because the adhesive of the tape wears away you glue them back together. Each time you put the pieces back together the bond used to do so is stronger because youâve grieved and healed a bit more. So when something hits just right and the glue fails, you pick the pieces back up and weld them together.Â
But Jack knows all too well that even whatâs welded together rusts. Metal corrodes and holes form on welding seams. Because no bond is ever perfect, ever strong enough to keep together something whole thatâs already been in pieces. Grief never goes completely away. He knows this will never go completely away. Not for him and not for you. And he accepts that, the way you accept that the things that have happened to him and resultant grief will never go completely away.Â
That doesnât stop Jack searching for the perfect thing though, the perfect thing to do that will make it like this never happened. The perfect words to tell you or the perfect look to give you or the perfect kiss to give you or the perfect way to hug you to bond everything back together permanently so that youâd never have to hurt over this again.Â
Neither of you wake until the alarm Jack set goes off in the morning. Youâre in the same position you fell asleep in, both of you out hard. You stir on Jackâs chest and he shifts you both so that your face is next to his, pulls you further out of sleep with kisses to your face and neck. You donât talk about your panic attack much, he checks in with you, makes sure youâre okay and asks if you want to talk about it. You tell him you donât, you just needed to get that out and if you talk again youâll break down again and you just want to finish the trial and talk about it once youâre home. Jack respects that and doesnât push, just gives you a kiss and says okay.
You donât know it but once the trial is over and thereâs a conviction Jack asks the DA for a copy of the tape that was played while you testified. The DA, rather inexplicably, agrees and gives him a copy of it.Â
And Jack becomes obsessed with it.Â
He goes to bed with you. Some nights he waits until youâre asleep to slip out of bed and go watch it at the kitchen table on his laptop. Other nights he falls asleep and wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to watch it. Over and over and over again.Â
You notice that he seems more tired than usual. You ask him about it and he chalks it up to getting used to being back at work after being off. You believe him but thereâs a certain part of you that has a little doubt. You donât push it though, know sooner or later itâll come out or heâll come to you.Â
Jack doesnât get the opportunity to come to you about it. Because one night after heâs slipped out to go watch it at the table you wake up, have a moment of panic when heâs not next to you. But his side of the bed is warm and when you open your bedroom door and walk out in just his t-shirt a faint glow from the kitchen reassures you. He must be getting a drink.Â
You pad to the kitchen and are confused to see him sitting there, headphones in, watching something on his laptop. You feel bad because thereâs no great way to get his attention without startling him. But as you get closer you get a glimpse of what heâs watching and ice floods your veins.Â
âJack?â You call loudly, hoping heâll hear you, and he must, just enough to make him glance to see if youâre really there or if he made it up.Â
He knows by the look on your face that youâve seen what it is heâs watching. He pauses the video wordlessly, pulls off his headphones. The two of you watch each other for a second. âWhere did you get that?âÂ
Jack looks away from you, back at the laptop. âDA.âÂ
You nod slowly. âJust gave you a copy?â Jack looks back at you, defensive. You hold your hands up. âI believe you, Iâm just⊠surprised I guess. That they would do that.âÂ
He shrugs. âWell they did.âÂ
You shift on your feet a little as you try to think of how to progress the conversation. You donât want to force him to talk to you but you need to know what this is about. âIs this why youâve been tired? How long have you had it Jack?â
âDoes it matter?â He fires it back just a little too quick, a little too acerbic. You furrow your brows and let your lips pull down a little. âNo, fuck-â he sighs, runs a hand through his hair. âIâm sorry. That was defensive. I shouldnât have spoken to you like that.â You nod at him, a silent acceptance of his apology, give him time to collect his thoughts. âI got it a few days before you started noticing I was more tired than usual. Week or so ago, maybe.â
You take in a little breath and let it out. Youâre mad at yourself for missing it, for not pushing him more on why he seemed so tired. Mad at yourself for letting him suffer alone because of you. You catch yourself. Youâre internalizing his feelings into guilt. You think back on what your coupleâs therapist has taught you both to stop. Or at least to try to.Â
âWhy?â you ask delicately as you walk a bit closer to him. âWhy did you want it?â
Another shrug. Itâs unlike him. Very unlike him. âI donât know.â He glances back at it again. Heâs still a little defensive. âI just wanted to see what happened.â You donât say anything, just tilt your head a little. You can tell he wants to say more. âI wanted to see what happened to you. Up close. I thought maybe it would help me relate or understand better.âÂ
You can tell heâs being truthful, you know he is, that he would never lie to you. But you can also tell heâs still trying to figure out how to tell you the whole truth. âWhy alone? Why not watch it with me, talk to me about it?â
âI didnât want to put you through that just because I wanted to try and understand more.â Heâs too stoic. His face too emotionless.Â
âHoney, if youâve been watching this for a weekâ you let out a sharp breath as the realization of it really hits you. âIf youâve been torturing yourself by watching this for a week, I⊠You should have come to me. Did I do something? Is there a reason why you didnât want to?â
He lets out a little huff. His façade is starting to crack. âLike I said,â itâs a touch snippy, and you know he feels bad about the way it comes out the second he says it, can see it in the way his eyes narrow just slightly. âI didnât want to put you through it.â
âJack-â
âBecause how was I supposed to watch it with you?!â Itâs not yelled, his voice isnât raised, not as such. He just says it with a certain force, not of anger but of sorrow. âHow was I supposed to watch it with you?â Jack repeats, voice cracking as tears make his eyes glassy. âHow was I supposed to sit here and watch it with you?â Itâs whispered. His whole jaw trembles as he clenches it to try and keep the tears away, shaking his head a bit. Jack lets out a breath through his nose and looks at you.Â
âIâm a doctor. I take away peopleâs pain, I make them better. And I canât take away your pain now or make you better, mentally or physically, and I couldnât when you got shot or when you were in a coma or any of the times youâve panicked or sobbed into me and I am just so fucking aware of it. Of how I fail you. Iâm not saying this to make you feel bad or because I want to make your struggle about me or to make you feel guilty for leaning on me. I want that. I need it. You need it. We need it. Itâs not your fault, at all, itâs his, and I donât want this to make you feel guilty even though I know it will, but I still want to talk to you about it as selfish as that sounds maybe.â Jack stops to take a breath in. You both know itâs not selfish. Â
âIt kills me that the thing I do, the thing I do well, I get to you, the most important person whose pain I could ever take away and make better and I just canât. Youâre the only person that matters. Fuck everyone else. And I canât use my skills and knowledge to make you better. Iâm failing you, I feel like I'm totally failing you, and sometimes I get so in my head and sit and start worrying about the day youâre going to realize Iâm failing you and just how badly Iâm failing you and leave. The day you realize that Iâm able to take away everyone elseâs pain and make them better but not yours, not you. The day you realize how unfair that is and how totally fucking shitty of me that is.â He lets a shuddery breath out.
âAnd so I watch this video like itâs going to give me answers.â He shakes his head a little as a few tears slip down his cheeks and he takes a breath in through his teeth. âItâs like I think if I can identify the exact moment you got shot somehow thatâll give me all the answers and Iâll know exactly what to do and how to take away your pain and make you all better so that this never hurts you again. Iâll know the perfect way to hug you and hold you and kiss you and how to look at you and know what you need to hear and then Iâll do it all and put all the pieces back together just like that,â he snaps his fingers, âso that youâre better and arenât in pain.â More tears stream down his face. âBecause thatâs what I do. I take away pain, I make people better. But not for you. Not for the most important person, the only person who matters.â
Jack sniffles and wipes some of the tears off his face. âAnd I know itâs stupid, and itâs not how the world or healing or grieving or any of it works but I have to try. I have to try everything, just in case maybe the world and healing and grieving will work like that for this, and this will be the rarest outlier case that makes no sense but somehow is real.âÂ
âOh sweetheart,â you murmur as you walk over to Jack, lean over him and run your hand down his chest, kiss at his neck. Jack leans his head in against yours, hands coming to clutch at your forearms. âItâs not stupid. Itâs not stupid at all.âÂ
âI just hate it,â he whispers. He turns his head into yours more and you understand, turn yours to so you can kiss him, let him take whatever he wants and needs from you. âI hate that I canât make this better and take away your pain. I hate seeing you hurt and being so useless and helpless. And I hate how Iâm making it about myself.â
âI know you do. But youâre not making it about yourself. This happened to both of us,â you say against his lips. You let your hands run over his chest for a moment. Itâs one of those moments where how much you love and adore and need him overwhelms you. You never thought youâd ever have anyone who would sit alone at night and watch a traumatizing video over and over for weeks just to try and figure out how to help you. And as much as you wish he hadnât because you donât want him hurting himself, the fact remains that he did and that means something. It means a whole lot. Â
The feelings make you want to cry not from sadness but just from the overwhelm and a bit the frustration of knowing youâll never be able to tell him how much you love him. âI love you so much. Come back to bed with me?â
âOkay. Love you too,â Jack whispers and nods before stealing one more kiss from you. He lets you lead him back to your room and into bed. You turn on your bedside lamp so that you can see each other better, both of you leaning against the headboard and turned towards each other a bit. You grab one of his hands and start to play with it.Â
âItâs not stupid,â you repeat. âAt all. It is sweet and loving and yeah, a little heartbreaking for me, but thatâs okay. You are allowed to feel what you feel. And I am so glad that you told me, okay? Feeling how you do is valid and it makes so much sense to me.â You bring the hand youâre playing with up to your lips and kiss each of his third knuckles before looking back up at him, getting that true eye contact that he loves.Â
Jack shrugs. âStill.â His fingers play with yours. âIâm a doctor. I make people better and I canât make this better for you.â You nod at him, think on your feet and decide to run with it since heâs fixated on the idea right now and you know itâll get through to him better.
âYou are. You are a really really fucking good doctor Jack. One of the best. But you donât send every patient home in perfect condition, completely pain free and fixed and all better, with no healing left to do or pain to experience do you?â You let it linger just a second to make the point. âNo. You can only heal them so much sometimes. Probably most of the time because healing takes time and is more than what you as a doctor can do for anyone. People have to do some of the healing on their own. So you admit them to a service. Or you send them home with pain killers and discharge instructions,â you give him the smallest smirk at that which makes him huff a little and his lips twitch upward. âAnd you set them up with follow up appointments and sometimes you give them casts or braces or stitches or sterile dressings or crutches or a sling or whatever else.â You tilt your head at him. âYou, Peter, are all of those things for me.â
Jackâs eyes water again a little bit at your statement, eyebrows furrowing inward and up a bit, asking if you mean it. You nod.Â
âYou say that you canât take my pain away or make me better but you do Jack. You do. Just by being here. By showing up for me every day no matter how bad I am, how sad or how grumpy or how quiet or anxious or numb or whatever. Just by kissing my forehead in the morning and saying you love me as you walk out the door and filling up my drink when you get up and making sure some part of you is always touching some part of me when weâre sitting on the couch together. Youâre always here. Even when youâre physically not. I know for a fact I could call you at work and say I needed you, fuck I wouldnât even have to say it, youâd hear it in my voice as I said your name and youâd be on your way. I could call you anywhere and youâd show up. You know how much pain that kills? You know much better that makes me? Just to know I have you? Just to know you love me? To know Iâll never have to sit here alone in the grief and guilt and sadness? To know youâll always sit here with me in it if thatâs what I need? I donât know where the fuck Iâd be with all of this without you Jack.â You lean in and kiss his forehead, rest yours against his after a second.Â
âYou are not failing me. You are healing me, Jack. Helping me heal. Helping me get better. You take away my pain, even if some days itâs not completely. Thereâs some pain even the strongest drugs canât get rid of completely. But you make it so that itâs always bearable and hold my hand and me while you do it.â You pull your head back, run your hand through those salt and pepper curls you love so much. âI know that you think you need to find the perfect thing to say or do to make me better and pain free from this forever, but we both know thatâs not real life, just like I canât find those perfect things to make you better or pain free from all of this forever. Every kiss and hug and smile and I love you and pat on the ass and cheeky boob squeeze when you walk by me in the kitchen or wherever and cuddle is perfect, and puts me back together a little tighter so that it hurts a little less. Yeah, there are some bad days where I feel like Iâve taken seven thousand steps backwards, but you know who the person taking those backwards steps with me and holding my hand and helping me take the first step forward again is?â You give him a soft smile with slightly crinkled eyes you can only hope reflect how much you love him. âYou.âÂ
Jack reaches for you, pulls you up against him in a tight hug. He doesnât really know what to say in the moment, feels like words have run out. âThank you.â You can feel him shaking a little and it makes you squeeze him tighter, kiss at his chest wherever you can reach.Â
âAny time. Always.â You know he wishes he could say more but that he canât, not as he processes it all, especially with how exhausted he is. And youâre okay with it, more than. He doesnât need to say anything as long as he heard you and tries to take what you said to heart.Â
His hands slip under his shirt that youâre wearing just to seek out more of your skin, just to help ground himself a little further. You pull back a little and his hands are already moving to get the shirt off you and tossed to the floor. You settle back on his chest in a close hug.Â
âIâm sorry for not saying anything. And for keeping the video from you. I know I should have talked to you about it, I just really wanted to find the answer on my own and I became convinced it was somewhere in that video.â Jack nuzzles his nose into the top of your hair. âIâm not saying that as an excuse either.âÂ
âI know youâre not. And I forgive you, to the extent there even really was anything to forgive. I understand Jack, I really do. But itâs going to be okay. Weâre going to keep getting through this together.â You move your head from his chest to capture his lips in a couple of sweet kisses. âAnd now that trial is over weâre getting back to normal again and weâve got France soon. What happened isnât going to define our lives or our life together, Jack. Weâre not going to let it. Thereâs just going to be hard moments.â Thereâs a few minutes of comfortable silence as you just hold each other.Â
âDo you feel guilty? Because of what I told you? Like youâre somehow responsible?â Jack murmurs, keeping your faces close together, hands running up and down your back.Â
âHonestly? A little.â You nod as you make the admission. âBut Iâm thinking about what weâve learned in coupleâs therapy and trying to use the things weâve talked about and so itâs not so bad. Not like it would have been if we hadnât started going. You feel guilty?â
Jack nods into your neck before kissing you there. âA little, yeah. Like you said though. Not like it would have been.â He slides his hand up your neck as he moves his head back, holds your face. âWeâll delete it tomorrow,â he nods. You nod back at him, bite the tip of his nose, making him fake scoff and shake his head.Â
âLetâs go back to sleep?â You scratch at his scalp and Jack leans into it, eyes fluttering closed.Â
âMmm,â he hums, nodding and rolling you over so that youâre on your back. His hands find the waistband of his pajama pants. âThereâs one more thing I think Iâd like to do. You know. To make us both sleepy.â
You bite your lip and giggle as he starts taking his pajama pants off. âOh yeah?â
Once the pants have joined the shirt on the floor Jack looms back over you, presses his body against yours, hips grinding against yours just enough to pull a little gasp from you when you feel him. He nods as he leans in and kisses you. âYeah.â
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It comes up fairly early on, while you and Jack are both still at home and chatting about wedding stuff one night. Youâre on the couch with your head in Jackâs lap, attention split between the show you put on TV, listening to Jack think out loud while he does the crossword and scrolling Pinterest.
âFour words lead to this declaration.â Jack has the crossword on the armrest of the couch, his left hand intermittently resting gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, or on your arm. He clicks his pen in thought. Because of course he does the crossword in pen. âThree letters. Nothing filled in.â You hum in acknowledgment at him, your way of saying youâll think.
 âPennsylvania recognizes self-uniting marriages. We could just marry ourselves,â you suggest.
âWe could, yeah.â You turn your head and look up at Jack after he says it. Thereâs something on his mind. âFive letter word for blowhard.â
âStorm,â you both say at the same time, share a little laugh about it. You sit up and Jack makes a little noise of discontent.Â
âIâm staying right here, donât worry,â you tell him as you curl up next to him and wrap your arms around his left upper arm. âYou donât want that.â Itâs half question half sentence. Youâre trying to give him the space and opportunity to say what heâs thinking about who heâd like to marry you.Â
âI, no. Itâs not that I donât want that or that I wouldnât love that.â He shakes his head.
You give him a second. âBut youâd prefer something else? Someone else?â An imperceptible nod.Â
âItâs going to sound stupid.âÂ
âI sincerely doubt that.â You give him an encouraging smile.
Jack clicks his pen a couple of times before turning to really look at you. âI was thinking, what if we asked Robby? I know heâd have to do the whole getting ordained online thing, butâŠâ Jack trails off for a second. âHe just, before you, before I had you, Michael saved my life more than once. Metaphorically speaking. And heâs saved your life. Literally. And heâs my best friend and I donât know. It just felt like maybe it was right.â
A slow smile pulls up on your face, all gooey and in love. âI think that feels perfect.â
âReally?â Jack raises his eyebrows at you. Heâs not really shocked per se, itâs just one of those moments where it falls out of his mouth.Â
âReally.â You nod. âI know how much he means to you. He means a lot to me too. You know the whole saving my life thing.â You lean in and give Jack a kiss on the cheek.Â
âOkay,â Jack nods with you. âWeâll have to find a time to ask him, decide how I guess.â
âI have confidence that we will figure it out. We have time.â You squeeze Jackâs arm and then pull away, start to go back to the position you were in.Â
âI do,â you say as you settle your head back on Jackâs lap. Â
âA little premature, but I love to hear it.â Jack smirks at you as you look up at him.Â
âThe crossword clue.â You playfully roll your eyes at him. âFour words lead to this declaration. The answer is I do. The four special words are âwill you marry me.ââ
You end up deciding to do it at the Pitt one day.Â
You considered planning it and asking to do dinner and make it a thing but that all felt a little too formal and almost pretentious. It didnât fit. Doing it on the fly while he was working felt right.Â
âCan we talk to you?â Jack asks Robby, you standing next to him holding his hand. Jack just finished his day shift at eleven thirty in the evening, had you come to the hospital around seven just in case he got off on time. You chilled in the break room the last four and half or so hours, chatting with people as they came and went.Â
Robby looks between the two of you. âThis feels ominous.âÂ
âYes or no question Michael.â Jack deadpans.Â
âJack!â You chide him a little, but your smirk belies you.
âIâm sorry,â Jack mutters, âcan we please talk to you?â
Robby rolls his eyes at Jack calling him by his real name. âYes. I suppose you can.âÂ
âThanks Robby!â You smile at him.Â
Robby thinks itâs odd. You seem almost nervous and so does Jack, but Jack is harder to read at the moment. The shift he just finished was the last on his run and he didnât get off within four hours of when he was supposed to a single one of those three shifts. Plus this shift was particularly trying. Between all of that and him still adjusting to being back heâs exhausted. It makes him even harder than usual to read.
âIn here,â Jack nods, opens the door to the family room.Â
âOkay, you guys are kind of freaking me out because this is ominous and now youâre taking me into a room where we tell family members their loved ones have died.âÂ
âItâs not bad, I promise.â You try to smile at him reassuringly. Robby nods at you like he doesnât quite believe you as he sits down in one of the chairs, you and Jack taking the two across from him.Â
âSo.â You clear your throat. âObviously you know weâre getting married.â You hold up your left hand and flash the ring at him, which pulls a little smile from Robby.Â
âRobby,â Jack starts. But he stops. He looks emotional, like this is a hard conversation to have but not because itâs bad but because it means something. Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. âMichael,â he starts again, earning a slight eyebrow raise from Robby because of the tone, âwe were wondering if you would consider getting ordained and officiating our wedding. If you, if youâd marry us?â
Robbyâs head lolls forward a little and his eyes widen, brows raised as he looks at Jack and then you and then back at Jack and then away from you both as he leans back. âWow,â he breathes out and laughs a little. âHoly fucking shit you guys! I thought you were bringing me in here to tell me one of you had some terrible illness.â
You and Jack laugh a little, your hand finding his and squeezing.Â
But itâs then that your words really hit Robby. He looks back at the two of you. Heâd deny it if anyone asked but his eyes are a little glassy. âYou want me to marry you?â He has to clear his throat of some emotion. âReally?â
âPlease,â you nod.Â
âSeriously,â Jack says quietly.Â
Robby still looks a bit stunned but a huge smile pulls onto his face. âI, fuck, wow, yes. Yes, of course. I would be honored.â He stands and you follow, let him pull you into a big hug. âYouâre sure about this?â
âOf course.â You smile at him as he releases you. âNobody else weâd rather have do it.âÂ
Jack stands up behind you and you step to the side, let the two embrace.
âThanks brother,â he says quietly to Robby.Â
âI mean it Jack. Itâs an honor.â The two step apart and you lean into Jack, all three of you smiling at each other.Â
You exit out of the room and walk by the lockers so Jack can grab his backpack and you guys can leave. You wait by the desk, chatting idly with Robby and Samira until Jack walks up behind you.Â
âReady Doll?âÂ
You can hear how tired the poor man is. It almost makes you feel a little bad about sharing the thought you just had. Almost.Â
âYou know, I just realized that everyone up on the altar will have seen my boobs!â Your lips turn up and turn into something between a grin and a smirk.Â
You hear Jack take in a big breath and release it as a breathy, âOh my god.â He just shakes his head and finds your hand with his, laces your fingers together. âCome on, you, weâre done here.âÂ
Jack starts walking towards the doors, tugging you along with him and you just giggle.
âOh so youâre just leaving me here to explain that?â Robby calls after you. It just makes you giggle louder.Â
âIâll show you my tits if itâll make you feel better, Fruitcake,â Myrna offers Robby from her wheelchair, suddenly right behind him, as she raises her eyebrows at him and goes for the hem of her shirt.
âJesus!â Robby nearly jumps. âWhere did you even come from? When did you get here? Stop lifting your shirt up!â
You turn around a little and look back over your shoulder and wave. âBye! Thanks again Robby!âÂ
Beside you Jack lets out a tired and huffed laugh because he loves you so much. When you turn back around he slips his hand out of yours and winds his arm around you, making you do the same. Jack pulls you a little closer to him and presses a kiss to the top of your head as you walk out the doors. âI love you Doll.âÂ
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
âYou okay?â Jack asks, squeezing your thigh and interrupting your thoughts.
It takes you a second but you look over at him. âHow could I possibly be anything less than okay right now, Peter?â
âHey,â he laughs quietly, âI was just checking. You seemed a little zoned out.âÂ
The trial finished about a month and a half ago, just long enough for you and Jack to heal from all the emotions it stirred up and settle back into your routine so that things were normal when you had Robby drop you at the airport earlier tonight. You had been concerned for a bit that the trial might shortly after your trip. Neither of you wanted that because then it would be all either of you were thinking about during the trip.Â
âMe too.â Jack nods. âIâm ready for some time alone with you, truly alone and away from all the bullshit. Iâm glad I decided weâd start with a couple of days in Nice. That was very smart of me.â
You giggle and roll your eyes at him. Heâs right though, it was. âItâll be very nice to have some time to just lay out on the beach and relax before making our way up the country.â You pull the armrest up and lean into Jack who wraps his arms around you. âIâm ready to nap on the beach with you under an umbrella.â
Jack yawns at the word nap. âYeah Iâm going to need a nap on the beach alright.â Heâd booked you a red eye, leaving at almost midnight Pittsburgh time so that you get to Nice in the morning and can maximize your time in France. You both know the first day will be a lazy one though and youâre both more than okay with it. Napping on the beach together being an option and all.
âYou should sleep,â you encourage him.Â
âYou should too.â He raises his eyebrows at you a little.Â
âI donât sleep well on planes.â You shrug.Â
âYeah, but you sleep well on me.â He cocks his head at you and gives you a bit of a lopsided smile.Â
You laugh silently through your nose, shaking your head at him. âYouâre pretty slick sometimes, you know that?âÂ
âI just speak the truth, Doll.â Jack pulls you a bit closer to him and grabs the traveling blanket youâd brought with you from the seatback pocket where heâd put it earlier. You help him spread it over the both of you and then snuggle into him as much as you can in airplane seats. Jackâs breathing evens out pretty quickly. It takes you quite a bit longer to find sleep, but once you do Jack is right. You sleep pretty well.
Nice is gorgeous and relaxing and so what you and Jack need, some lazy time together to focus on each other and nothing else. Your hotel is stunning and right on the beach giving you easy access to it. Youâd spent your first day at the beach too given how tired you were and how nice it was to just lay in the sun together and relax. Youâd walked around Nice your second day and picked up the car youâd be driving through the country in. Youâd taken a little drive to Grasse, and looked around, gone to Fragonard and done the museum before you and Jack decided on a perfume for you and cologne for him.
And now you and Jack are spending your last day in Nice back at the beach all day.Â
Youâre both laying out on towels on the sand currently, your stuff on top of the shaded lounge chairs youâve claimed. Jackâs wearing the beach leg he got so that he can be in the sand and sea. The softness and warmth of the sand is relaxing against your backs. If you and Jack werenât intermittently talking youâd probably fall asleep.Â
There canât be much more than a foot between you and during a lull in conversation Jack blindly feels for your hand. He plays with your fingers once he finds it. You sit up and take a moment to admire him.
âFrance looks good on you, Dr. Abbot.â Your eyes trail up and down his body appreciatively. With the time youâve spent out in the sun Jack is unfairly tanned, skin glowing. It makes his freckles pop even more which is something that drives you insane. Youâd really noticed it yesterday when the two of you showered together.
You dragged him out of the shower quickly and to bed so that you could try to kiss and count each one while telling him how hot and gorgeous he is, how unfairly so and that you canât believe heâs given himself to you, that youâre the one that gets to see him like this and have him. Youâd spent the rest of the night loving on him.
And apparently youâre not ready to be done.Â
âOh yeah?â He turns and smirks a little at you.Â
âYeah.â You lay back and roll on your side, put your elbow in the sand and rest your head in your hand.
âI love your hair like this.â You run your free hand through it. He didnât get a chance to get it cut before you left. It honestly canât be more than a centimeter longer, but itâs just enough to show off his curls a little more, especially when theyâve dried from the seaâs salty water. âJust a little longer. Gives me a little more curl to enjoy.â You hum for a second. âTo pull on.âÂ
âReally?â Jackâs basking in your attention and love
You pull your eyes from his hair down to his face. âYeah, really,â you nod.Â
âYou want me to keep it this length always?â
âWould I like that? Absofuckinglutely. But itâs your hair. And I love it shorter too, like when we met. So you should keep it how you like it.â You scratch at his scalp a little. âI will love my salt and pepper curls no matter their length.âÂ
âYours?â Jack raises his brows and gives you a teasing grin.
âMhm.â You nod. âMine.â You roll a little more and lean your head towards him. âJust like these are also mine.â You kiss at the freckles on his shoulder and chest, PG enough for the beach but with enough of a lingering edge and a nip to make him feel it in his groin.  Â
âYeah?â
âAnd so is this.â You drag your nails down his happy trail, stopping just short of his cock. Obviously you couldnât rub it here to make your point as much as youâd have liked to.
Jack lets out a harsh breath through his nose. âCareful, Doll.â He can feel himself starting to get hard.Â
âWhat?â Itâs all fake innocence and pout. âAll of you is mine. Isnât it? Just like all of me is yours?â
âOf course.â
âSo let me have you tonight. Let me appreciate whatâs mine, focus on you.â You grab one of his hands and bring it to your mouth, kiss at his fingertips. You give the tips of his ring and middle fingers the quickest kitten lick. âBecause your face twisted in pleasure, and the groans I pull from you, and the way you say my name and look when you come are also all mine.â
Jack has to sit up and bend his knees at that. His heart is beating much faster now, lust and need coursing through his veins. Heâs hard and thatâs a problem in these swim trunks.Â
You follow him, sitting up and leaning back on your hands. âUnless you wanna go back to the hotel room now?â
âYes,â he breathes, a frustrated edge to it.Â
You smirk. âLetâs go.âÂ
âWe have to wait a minute.âÂ
âOh?â You raise a single brow at him. âWhyâs that?â
Jack huffs. âYou know exactly fucking why.â
âI swear, I have no idea what you mean,â youâre giving him your most innocent doe eyes, the subtlest hint of a smirk at the corners of your mouth, âDr. Abbot.âÂ
Jackâs jaw clenches hard, eyes searing into you. âGet up.âÂ
You do as he asks, start to collect your things. Your movements are hurried, youâre just as desperate as him, swimsuit sticky already with how wet you are for him.Â
You go to grab your towel but Jack stops you. âYeah, yeah, I got the towels, thank you very much.â You furrow your brows together for a second in genuine confusion before Jack stands up and quickly drapes your towel over the arm heâs holding against his lower abdomen and grabs his and does the same so that the towels hang down and cover what would otherwise be his very obvious erection.Â
âOh dear,â you tut, finally letting a self-satisfied grin pull on your face. âThatâs why we needed to wait?âÂ
âGo.âÂ
âYes, sir.âÂ
He tries to stay stoic but you donât miss the way he clenches his jaw again and rolls it, how he shifts on his feet just slightly. You widen your smile and kiss his cheek before throwing the last few things in your bag and taking his hand.Â
You giggle as you walk back. With how much bigger Jackâs steps are than yours and how fast his desperation for you is driving him to walk youâre almost having to jog a little to keep up with him.Â
Once youâre back in the hotel room and have literally just dropped all of your shit and the towels and get to the side of the bed you try to push Jack back onto it but he doesnât let you, uses your motion to push you back onto the bed.Â
You whine and try to get up. âNo. You can have me tonight like you said.â Jackâs hand comes to your chest and pushes you back down.
âJack!â You whine. But you can feel your heartbeat in your clit, have to rub your thighs together a little, which doesnât escape Jackâs notice.
âYou really thought you were going to get me painfully hard in public and call me Dr. Abbott and sir and get away with it?â Large, strong and dizzyingly warm hands make quick work of your swimsuit and toss it aside.
âI thought youâd let me focus on you.â You push your lips out in a little pout. Â
Jack leans over you, caging your head in between his arms. He ghosts his lips over yours. âYou thought wrong.â
He pulls up and starts taking off his swim trunks. You make a high-pitched noise of protest as he gets off you. âNot even a kiss! You wonât let me have you like I want and you wonât even kiss me when you were right th-â Â
âStop talking.â Itâs firm. Heâs hit order territory. It makes you shiver. You like it when he gets like this. This edgy kind of dominant thatâs distinct from other times heâs dominant. Just a little rough at the right moments. Manhandling you however he wants. Using you for his pleasure.Â
You could reply in one of two ways, both of which would rile him further, just in different ways. But right now the choice is clear.Â
That makes you smirk and arch a single brow at him. Jack already knows what youâre about to say. âMake me.â
Jack hums a dark laugh and smiles at you. âWith pleasure Doll.â
Youâre a little confused when he walks around to the foot of the bed and grabs under your arms and yanks you further onto the bed. The suddenness of it makes you shriek a little. âJack!â
He moves your lower body so your legs are out in front of you comfortably facing the head of the bed and then pulls you down further so that your head is hanging off the bed. Jackâs a little rough shoving his fingers in your mouth to open it and get them wet. You know whatâs coming when he pulls them out.Â
Jack lets out a slightly strangled sigh of relief at the feeling of your mouth around him. âThere we go, hm, Doll?â He leans over you, shoving himself further into your mouth but not too far, he controls the angle of his hips. You realize he didnât just move like that for himself when the two fingers wet with your saliva come to circle your clit and slide down, tease your entrance. You already know heâs going to edge you like this.Â
You swallow your whine when he pulls his hand away and then are choking around him from the shock and pleasure when his hand comes down to smack your clit. âLook Iâm even being so nice,â Jack coos at you, âgiving you what you wanted. Because this is what you wanted right? To be choking on me?â
Jack pulls out of your mouth so you can answer. You take a couple of breaths before you do, mostly to prepare yourself. âI donât know. Is it?âÂ
âHm,â Jack laughs again, smacks your clit before pinching at it, pulling another little shriek from you and a moan of pleasure that he can see you fighting to keep down. He likes when you make him work for it. âBe careful what you wish for, Doll.â
After dinner that night, which you were actually a little surprised you were able to walk to, Jack does let you have like you talked about on the beach. Heâs a man of his word and itâs quite the opposite of a hardship.
From there you head to NĂźmes, and then on to Carcassonne. You spend the later part of the day looking around the town before heading to the hotel youâre staying at. Carcassonne leads you up to Rocamadour.Â
All of France is beautiful, but thereâs something about the way the town is literally built into the side of a stone cliff that really stuns you both. Itâs just so incredible and makes you feel so small in a way for some reason. Itâs hard to comprehend the reality of it.Â
âI could spend so much money here,â you whisper to Jack. The two of you are browsing in the most incredible leather store youâve ever been in, and probably your favorite shop of the trip so far.
Jack stops walking and flicks his head a little, staring at a spot on a table a bit down from you before looking down at all of the things heâs carrying in leather bags youâre getting. âI think you are spending so much money here, Doll.âÂ
He doesnât mean it in a bad way, isnât complaining about it at all. Heâd buy you the whole store if it would make you happy and he feasibly could. Heâs happy to spoil you, though heâs well aware thereâs going to be a fight when you go to checkout about whoâs paying.Â
You look back at him and stick your tongue out a little at him. He rolls his eyes at you and does it back as you walk over to him and show him a little cosmetics bag youâve picked up before adding it to one of the bags heâs holding. Jack nods at it appreciatively. âItâs not all for me.â Thatâs true. Youâre getting quite a few gifts here for all the people in your lives. âThe leather is just so beautiful and well priced.â
âIt is.â Jack picks up a nice leather wallet and looks it over. âAnd not everything weâve got here is something you picked out, Iâve added my own stuff.âÂ
âWhat?â You look up at him with mock offense. Jackâs eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head, bunching his shoulders up. âAnd you havenât been showing me?â
Jack looks at you for a second. âNo?â You give a little scoff, but itâs teasing. âI didnât realize I was supposed to?â
âWell, you are,â you say matter of factly. âSo show me.â You nod when he doesnât move, smiling at him. Youâre adorable when youâre this excited. âI want to see! I like seeing! Thatâs half the fun of shopping!âÂ
âOkay! Okay! Give me a minute to dig it all out!â Jack laughs a little, shaking his head at you. A wave of love and adoration for you crashes into him and he gets a little overwhelmed by it as he goes through the bags to pick out what heâs put in. He just loves you so fucking much. He shows you and you love all of them, take another spin through the whole store before checking out.Â
You leave Rocamadour then and head to Lascaux II. Youâre particularly excited for this one. Youâre in awe the second you get down into the replica cave. Jack almost wants to record you in Lascaux II because of how fucking precious and cute youâre being and how completely fucking oblivious to it and how itâs affecting him you are.Â
âThis is so incredible,â you say for probably the tenth time. âLook at this Jack. I couldnât do this now. Imagine them doing it 20,000 years ago. Thatâs just⊠I donât even know. Itâs making me bizarrely emotional.âÂ
âAw, baby.â Jack breathes through a little laugh, pulls you close to him. He gives you a little squeeze and kisses your forehead before you step away to go back to chatting with your tour guide as everyone looks around this room. He knows it defeats the purpose of the visit for him and that youâd lovingly chide him if you knew, but Jack doesnât care and spends more time smiling and watching you take it all in and chatter away with the guide than he does looking at the cave paintings. He never wants to leave.
The tour, however, does come to an end and you look around everything else and the gift shop and leave Lascaux, head to Limoges to spend the night and tour tomorrow. From there you tour ChĂąteau de Chambord and then Amboise, where you go wine tasting and get quite tipsy together before making your way back to your hotel room with the both of you in a fit of giggles.
In the morning, you and Jack leave Amboise and drive to Ohama Beach and the Normandy American Cemetery. Itâs not sad as such, just kind of somber, which makes sense.Â
You and Jack walk through the rows silently, hand in hand with Jack reading name after name. It gets to him a little. Makes him feel kind of bad. Here he is all the way in France on vacation doing this and thinking about people he doesnât even know. He lives less than four hours from Arlington and hasnât been back since the last funeral.Â
He thinks about the rest of his unit, the ones still alive. Theyâd all moved across the States, settled different places where they or their spouses had family or just wanted to live. They kept in touch though, texts and calls. He went to a couple of weddings, knows each time someone welcomes a baby. All but one are coming to the wedding and the only reason heâs not is because his wife is due only two weeks later.Â
Heâs told you some about them. He realizes in the moment though that heâs told you more about what happened when he lost his leg. You know pretty much everything, everything he can remember at least. It took him a while to open up about it, not even so much because it was hard to talk about, talking to you about it was actually not easy but not as hard as he thought it would be because he knew you had him and would really be listening and there for him if he fell while talking. It was more he struggled with the idea of you having to know, having to carry it around similar to how he does, less so obviously but still. He didnât want that for you, felt it was like a burden almost, a cross to bear with him. But heâd spoken with his therapist about it and been able to see it wasnât.
âYou know if you ever want to take a trip to Arlington Iâm there with you, yeah? You donât have to go alone unless you want to.â You squeeze his hand.
Jack smiles to himself and nods. You would know what heâs thinking about right now. âI know.â He squeezes back. You donât say anything else, know that you donât need to.Â
âA couple, yeah. From weddings after or photos of new babies or pregnancy announcements.â You give him a small smile and tilt your head. âYou donât have to show me or tell me anything, you know?â
âI want to,â he nods as he pulls his phone out. It takes him a minute to find them, but when he does he scrolls through them and tells you the context, points out who everyone is. Tells you who was lost, little things about others, where they are, if theyâre still in.Â
One he shows you is old, from when he first joined. âOh my god, youâre a baby!â You take his phone from his hand as he laughs. âLook at you! How old were you here?â You look up at him. Jack tells you and you look back down at the phone. âWow,â you breathe, âdo you have more of you younger?â
âYeah.â He takes his phone back from you and scrolls. Heâs a little bit older in these ones. âRight before I deployed on my first tour.â He swipes. âThis was taken the day we arrived over there.âÂ
You bite your lip to try and hide your smile. You know itâs maybe not appropriate in a way, but you only do so because of how young he looks. Youâve never really seen him this young before. Itâs always been much younger, baby photos, middle school, high school graduation.Â
Jack bumps your shoulder with his. âYou got any of you this age?â
You grimace at that and shake your head. âI mean, yeah, but you donât want to see them, trust me.â
Jack barks a laugh at that. âI trust you on everything Doll, but not that.â
You deepen your grimace as you look at him. âYou should.âÂ
He shrugs. âProve it then.âÂ
You groan at the challenge. âFine,â you mutter, âbut I expect a âyouâre right Iâm so sorry for doubting youâ and you take my âI told you soâ without comment or a look.â
Jackâs giving you a look already because he knows youâre full of shit and heâs going to love them. âIf thatâs warranted then I promise I will. But I know it wonât be.âÂ
You drive into Paris in the late afternoon early evening, get checked into your hotel. Jack did good. Jack did real fucking good. Your room has a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower and a big jacuzzi tub. Itâs just large enough but is still small enough that itâs cozy and romantic. You look around with big eyes and a look of disbelief.
âJack, this is so beautiful.â You open the balcony door and walk out onto it. Youâre almost a little speechless. Not even from how beautiful the room is and the view and the tub but from the fact that he chose this hotel and this suite for you. Because you know the only thing he was thinking of when he booked it was that he wanted to spoil you and make you happy and see you smile. âItâs incredible.â You murmur it but you know heâll hear because you can feel that heâs standing right behind you even if the noise of the city covered his footsteps. You recognize his presence.
Jackâs hands find your hips and his chest presses into your back as he kisses the top of your head. âI didnât order the champagne.â Thereâs a very nice bottle sitting in a bucket of ice for you, two flutes on the table itâs next to.Â
You turn, shaking your head at him. Jackâs hands opening and settling back on your hips once youâve turned all the way. âThatâs not what makes it incredible.âÂ
Jack gives you a little knowing smile and nods. âAnything for you, Doll.âÂ
You lean up and kiss him, again and again until youâve managed to maneuver the two of you so that Jackâs pressed against the balcony wall as you makeout. âYou know this is very unfair,â you whisper against his lips when you break apart for air. Jack flicks his eyebrows up at you. âYou get to plan the honeymoon too. When is it my turn to plan a vacation and spoil you?â
Jack laughs softly, catches your lips in another kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth for a second. âYou can have the next one, okay? After the honeymoon.â
âOkay, good.â You kiss until youâre breathless again and then pull apart.Â
âWhat would you like to do before the Tower and river cruise tonight?â Jack asks you with a little tilt of his head. âChampagne and a little moment on the balcony?â
âIâd like to start,â you take a step back so that he can walk past you and into the room, âwith you getting on the bed. Fully clothed.âÂ
He cocks his head further. âYou donât have to do anything to thank me. I wanted to do this for you. Wanted to see the smile you gave me when you walked in and looked around.â
âI know I donât,â you reassure him with a nod. âBut I want to. I want to suck your cock for you and see the smile you give me right after youâve come.â Hands squeeze your hips a little harder. âSo please. Get on the bed.âÂ
Jack looks at you for a moment, genuinely wanting to make sure you know you donât have to and he didnât do this so that youâd take him in your mouth once youâd seen the room. When your eyes and expression convince him he nods and does as you ask.
Once Jackâs finished and recovered you decide to head out and walk around, just soak in the City some before you go to your reservations at the Eiffel Tower.Â
Jack thinks he could live here and spend every day for the rest of life watching you and the look of wonder as you lead him through Paris.Â
Itâs his phoneâs wallpaper before you even disembark.Â
The next morning you start with Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle before heading to the Louvre.Â
âI think itâs this room.â Jack nods towards one.Â
You take a cursory glance at it and keep walking. âItâs not. It must be further up.âÂ
âYou didnât even look!â Jack catches back up with you in two strides.Â
âI promise you that when we get to the room you wonât need to ask if itâs the room.â You look up at him and try to give him a convincing smile. He narrows his eyes at you but nods.Â
You guys walk up a bit more and come to another doorway off the side of the hallway.Â
âAh,â Jack clicks his tongue. âI understand now.â You share a look with him but donât say âI told you soâ or even give him that specific look.Â
You only have to glance at the room to know itâs the one housing the Mona Lisa. The huge mass of people making it difficult to even get through the doorway makes it quite obvious. You and Jack slip in and stay off to the side. You manage to get a good opening and are able to work your way in a little bit to see it before you quickly get out of the room, overwhelmed and done with all the people.Â
âItâs smaller than I thought,â Jack comments as you walk down the hall a bit away from the room.Â
You stop walking and look up stoically at the wall in front of you before looking at him as he keeps walking for a minute before realizing youâre not next to him and spinning. âDoll?â
âIf only you had someone who told you that it was going to be smaller than you thought before you even stepped foot into the country.â You tilt your head at him. Youâre not mad or annoyed, just playfully teasing him. The smirk pulls up on Jackâs face just a little too quick. He said it to fuck with you. âYou asshole,â you mutter, narrowing your eyes and shaking your head as you walk ahead again.Â
Jack chuckles as he catches up with you. âSorry, Doll, I couldnât resist.â
You shake your head, have to laugh with him for a second. âItâs not even you doing it, itâs the fact that it fucking worked on me.â
âI can be very convincing.â Jack laces his hand with yours and squeezes.Â
You slow to look at a painting but look at Jack first. Heâs already looking down at you, smiling, shoulders tensed just slightly in a way that tells you heâs about to lean down and kiss you. âYes you can, Dr. Abbot.â
That earns you a little twitch under his eye before he leans in and kisses you.Â
You spend the next day at Versailles. âGolf carts?â You furrow your eyebrows but smile.Â
Jack lets out a bitten back laugh. âYou know it doesnât scream Jardins du ChĂąteau de Versailles, but with how big the gardens are I get it.â He looks around. âThey have a little train too.â
You and Jack have finished touring the palace proper and have walked out to see the gardens and trianons. You shake your head. âOh no. No, no. We are so renting a golf cart.â
âYeah, I know.â He grabs your hand and starts walking towards the booth you rent them from. âI knew the second you said golf carts.â
âAre you saying Iâm predictable?â You bring your other hand across you to poke the side of his tummy.
âOw!â It doesnât even hurt, it was just more unexpected. âIâm not saying that at all, believe me, Doll, you never fail to keep me guessing. Iâm saying that wanting to rent a golf cart to drive through the gardens of Versailles is so you that itâs like they decided to do it just for you.â
You smile a little at that. You like knowing you keep him guessing but that he thinks things are very you at times. âIâm driving.â
Jack nods. âKnew that too.â
The day after Versailles you do more of Paris. Youâre walking around the Palais Garnier headed towards the gift shop, your tour of the opera house having just finished.Â
âWe could do a Phantom of the Opera roleplay.âÂ
Jack breathes out a laugh that makes it clear how much that is not what he expected to come out of your mouth. âWe could do a Phantom of the Opera roleplay,â he mutters, shaking his headband bowing his chin to his chest for a second. He looks back at you. âWe could, yes.â
âIt would be very hot.âÂ
Jack laughs. âAny roleplay would be very hot with you, Doll.â Youâre both keeping your voices low enough for only the two of you to hear.Â
You stop walking and smirk at that. âOh yeah?â
âYeah,â Jack emphasizes the word as he nods.Â
âYouâve thought about it before?â you simper, resuming walking.Â
âYou havenât?â Jack shoots back with a smirk of his own.Â
âWhat have you thought about?â You need to know now, need to know if they match your own fantasies and if you could taxi back to the hotel right now and act one out, tour of the Catacombs be damned.Â
âWe can talk about it at dinner. Or after dinner.â He squeezes your hand and keeps walking you both towards the gift shop.Â
âOr we can talk about it now.âÂ
Jack knows this is a battle heâll lose and heâs honestly okay with that. âCan we at least do the gift shop and then grab some food and talk while eating? Iâm hungry.âÂ
âYes. I can live with that, but canât live with you being hungry.â You let go of his hand as you walk in the gift shop so that you can look at things. âIâll be speedy.âÂ
The rest of your trip passes too quickly for either of your liking. Before you know it youâre walking into your hotel room for the last time. Youâre back a little earlier than usual but youâd decided to come back after dinner to spend the night together in your room and in the tub and on the balcony just focusing on each other. Neither of you are looking forward to having to go back to work. Back to being apart. Itâs going to be hard going from being together 24/7 to only having mornings and nights except for the weekends if Jack has it off.Â
Youâre both ignoring it, donât want it ruining your last night here. There will be plenty of time to be sad about it tomorrow at the airport and on the plane.Â
You order a bottle of wine and bring it to the tub with you, sit and soak across from each other while giving each other foot massages and talking about your favorite parts of your trip.Â
âThis isnât a very fair deal, you know.â You can hear the teasing in his voice.Â
âI canât help that my hands are smaller and not as strong as yours! Iâm doing my best!âÂ
Jack laughs. âThatâs not what I meant, you give the best massages.â You raise your eyebrows at him and shake your head to ask what then. One of Jackâs hands falls from your foot to find the other one underwater. âThis,â he pulls it up and puts it next to your other foot, toes sticking out of the water a bit, âis what I meant.âÂ
âOh my god,â you roll your eyes at him and flick some water at him. âYou are so full of shit, Jack Abbot. You know for a fact that once youâre done with my other foot Iâm going to get closer to you and massage your leg. If anything, itâs nice for you because my hands get a break and arenât as tired so I can go longer.â
Youâre correct. Jack does know that for a fact, he just likes to fuck with you sometimes. âDid you just flick water at me?â
Your head shrinks back a little at the question because it is not what you were expecting. You let out a laugh. âAnd what if I did?â
Jack tightens his lips together and nods his head at you once quickly. âThen I would have to do something about that.â You stare at each other for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you try and figure out what his move would be.
âDonât.â You try to stay serious but laugh a little. âYou will send water everywhere.â You know he isnât just going to flick water back at you or even send a wave at you. The playful look in his eye tells you that heâs going to lunge for you which will force the water forward with him and out of the tub just so he can grab you and pull you close to him.Â
Jackâs smile widens. âWe have lots of towels.â
âJack.â You try so hard to stay serious but his adorable goofy grin makes it nigh on impossible. âI donât want to spend our last night in Paris mopping up the bathroom floor.âÂ
âYou should have thought of that before you flicked water at me.â He shrugs.
You scoff in shock and gape at him. âHow was I supposed to know your reaction to a small flick of water was going to be to want to attack me at the opposite end of the tub and make a fucking tsunami in the procecss?â
âThatâs just a risk you take with me Doll.â Jack clicks his tongue and shakes his head with mock solemnity.Â
You stare at him. Heâs going to do it. âYouâre cleaning it up.âÂ
âYouâll help.â Jack smirks.Â
You both know heâs right. âFuck you.â
That makes Jack grin at you and lunge.
You find yourselves sitting on the balcony now. Youâre dry from the tub and wrapped in the big fluffy towel robes the hotel has. Jack had at least managed to angle his lunge so that most of the water was pushed toward the tile wall behind the tub and not on the floor. It hadnât taken long to mop up with towels.Â
Itâs getting later, closer to time to go to bed. As much as youâd done a good job of ignoring the reality that your trip was ending, itâs harder to now, and some of that sadness is in the air. It grows a bit with the small lull in conversation.Â
Jack glances down at his watch. He leans back in his chair a little, appreciating how deep the seat is. He stands and moves his chair so that itâs just inside the balcony door. Itâs a good height, his feet are flat on the ground when he sits in it. He grabs the small table and drags it to be what he estimates is the right distance from the chair.Â
âPeter?â Your heavy confusion is evident in your voice.Â
Jack sits back in his chair and beckons you. âCome here, sit on my lap.â Youâre never going to turn that down, so you do without really thinking about it. But before you can sit, âRobe off. I want to feel you. You can put it over you like a blanket.â It makes you pause for a second but Jack opens his robe so that it wonât obstruct your skin from touching and so you do as he asks, then sit. âGood girl.â Itâs whispered low and right at your ear.Â
He adjusts you so that your back is against his chest as you pull the robe over your like a blanket as he suggested even though youâre back in the privacy of your room. Your feet instinctively find the edge of the table to rest on and help you balance since you canât reach the floor like this.Â
âI love you,â he murmurs, slips his arms from his robe and wraps them around you under yours.Â
You swallow hard. âI love you too,â you whisper.Â
You stay like that for a couple of minutes, Jack holding you on his lap and you resting your head back against his chest. Jack slips a hand down to your thigh and squeezes to get your attention. âSpread your legs.âÂ
Your heart rate picks up just at his words. âWhy?âÂ
You ask the question but do as he says while you do. âGood,â he praises you again. The hand that had squeezed your thighs dips between your legs. âSo I can do this.â His finger circles your clit once and then slides down. He smiles at how wet you are. âAlways so ready for me,â Jack murmurs against your ear.
âJack,â you breathe out his name, hand wrapping around his wrist, not to stop him but to anchor yourself. You can feel him growing hard behind you and you grind into him a little.Â
It makes him grunt a âFuck.â Jackâs other hand slides up and grabs one of your breasts, squeezing at it before rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger at the same time he slips a finger inside you.Â
âOh,â you moan. âMore! Please,â you pant. Heâs quick to listen to you and slip another finger inside of you with how wet you already are.Â
Jackâs breathing harder too, cock fully hard and aching with each wiggle of your ass as he makes you squirm. âIs that enough?â You shake your head against him, try to roll your hips in time with his fingers drawing in and out of you as they curl perfectly so that heâll slide even deeper. âThatâs not an answer.âÂ
âNo!â The word shakes as you cry it, Jackâs hands already winding you tight.Â
âAnother one?â Jack slides another finger into on this pass and you keen for him, wiggling so much he groans from the stimulation and how itâs not enough. Once you settle again he resumes, works his fingers in and out of you, spreading them inside you sometimes. Youâre letting out the softest high pitched moans with each breath you pant out. âThis is enough?â
âNo,â you shake your head hard. âNo, no, I need your cock. Now. Please. Iâll be so good,â you start to babble just a little, âso good for you.â
âYou already are being good for me.â His hand stills with his fingers buried in you. âMy sweet good girl.â Jack lets out a harsh grunt at how tight your cunt squeezes his fingers at that. âHow could I ever say no to you?â
He slowly pulls his fingers from you and brings them up to his mouth to suck clean. âYou taste so fucking good,â he almost growls. âMakes me want to get you on the bed and just eat you out all night instead.â
You whine at that, torn between the thought of his tongue and his cock as grind yourself back against him. You shake your head. âNeed you. Need your cock, please Jack. Tongue later if you want, later.â Jack laughs softly at your conflict and then the desperation with which you ask for his cock. âCock first Jack, please.â
âShh,â he soothes you, using one arm to lift you up a little and adjust you into a position that will work to get him inside of you. âIâve got you Doll. Iâve always got you.â Jack shifts a little. âHelp me, yeah?â
Your hand is there almost immediately to help guide him inside of you. âFuck Jack, fuck fuck fuck.â Every word is moaned out as Jack moves his arm and helps you lower yourself onto him.Â
The groan Jack lets out once heâs bottomed out in this position is strangled and almost pained. âYou are so fucking tight like this Doll,â heâs panting hard now and he hasnât even started to actually fuck you, âholy fuck.â
âI know,â you whimper, shaking a little from the pleasure already. âYou feel even bigger, I feel you everywhere.âÂ
Jack starts to thrust up into you. With the angle thereâs not a ton of movement but thereâs just enough for his head to rub that spot inside you over and over and over again with every thrust. Your robe eventually falls off but neither of you give the slightest fuck, youâre in the room anyway and plenty warm.Â
Your hands cling to him, one at the side of this thigh and the other at the upper part of the arm he has diagonal across your chest and tummy, fingertips ghosting teasingly over your collarbone and making you shudder, every so often running along the bottom of your jawline.Â
Both of you are already panting and struggling to form coherent sentences, when the top of the hour hits and the Eiffel Tower starts sparkling.Â
âOh,â your panted breath catches in your throat.Â
âThought you might like that,â Jack grunts out as he keeps fucking you. He slows a little though, wants to draw it out.Â
Jackâs hand slips under the back of your neck and he shifts you to the side a bit so he can see your face better and you his. Itâs now his breath that hitches as he takes in you in, eyes roaming your face and chest, greedy and unabashed. The glittering light falling all over your face makes you look unreal, ethereal and divine and how on earth are you his? âGorgeous,â he rasps between heavy breaths. âYouâll never fucking- fuckâ Jack throws his head back for a second as a heavy wave of pleasure rushes through him at the way you clench even tighter at his words before looking back down at you, eyes burning into you hotter than they ever have before, âyouâll never fucking know how perfect you are to me.âÂ
Coupled with the way heâs looking at you as he says them, Jackâs words fully steal your breath for a moment as you stare back at him, go beyond making it harder to breathe. You have never felt more loved or more beautiful than you do right now. And you know that Jack isnât just saying it solely because heâs in the throes of passion and that heâs not just talking about your looks. He means it all of the time, he thinks it all of the time. Youâre always perfect to him, in every way.Â
âBreathe for me baby,â Jack coos at you through a panted breath out.Â
The reminder has you taking a shuddery gasp of air in. âJack, I, I.â You shake your head a little as pressure builds behind your eyes, tears starting to form. You donât even know what youâre trying to say, thereâs no real words, just Jack. He nods at you to soothe you and tell you he knows.
You somehow get your voice steady enough to whisper to him. âYouâre beautiful, Jack.âÂ
His hips stutter at the compliment. Jackâs not sure heâs ever been called beautiful before. Thereâs a little shake of his head that you catch as the Tower stops sparkling. Heâs not disagreeing with you, heâs trying to explain he doesnât know what to say.Â
âSâokay, you donât have to-â Youâre cut off by a gasp as Jackâs hips shift. âOh Jack!â you mewl, âJack, Jack, Jack. Donât stop, please donât, please.â Your reaction tells him heâs found the perfect stroke and so he keeps it. Doesnât stop or slow down or speed up, just keeps it and revels in the way one of your hands finds his hair and tugs, the other clawing and surely bruising his thigh just above his knee. âYou donât h-have to say anything,â you finally choke out as tears of pleasure hit your eyes, âjust know you are.â Â
Jack holds your eye contact, always does whenever possible. You watch as they grow glassier with every stroke. You talk to each other through looks, thank you and I love you and I canât believe youâre mine and what did I do to deserve you and you feel so fucking good.Â
Jack finally breaks the silence with a low âI love you,â like he hasnât been telling you how much he loves you with his body and eyes this entire time.Â
âLove you too,â you breathe on a pant out, âlove you so much. Please, Jack.â
Jackâs hand finds your clit, starts working you perfectly. He has you memorized and you know it. Thereâs no lead up, no working his way into the touch you need to come. Heâs just there with that touch immediately. Because he needs you to come.
âFuck Jack!â you moan, jolting at his touch and how direct it is, how heâs so desperate thereâs no lead up. âIâm gonna come.â
âI know,â he pants. âCome for me.â With how tight you are Jack knows that seconds after you come heâs going to follow. âPlease Doll.â Jack can feel how close you are, rubs at your clit just a little faster as his hips get sloppy. âNeed it, Doll. Fuckin need it. Make me come, please.â Theyâre all choked out and broken with how out of his mind on you he is. He keeps winding you tighter, so tight you still and go silent, become convinced your muscles are going to break all your bones with how deep the pleasure has you clenching them. âPlease. Love you so m-much. Need it sweet girl, please.â The last please is cracked and pure desperation. Jack rarely begs but he is right now.Â
It shatters you.Â
Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and searing every nerve in your body with unbridled bliss. Itâs dizzying, has you clawing at Jack and tugging his hair even harder as you struggle to breathe through it, tears finally sliding down your face as you sob a little, almost unaware of how Jackâs name drips off your tongue so fast they slur together.Â
Jack is mere seconds behind you, coming with a broken shout of your name. He shakes from the ecstasy of it, from how fucking good you make him feel, wave after wave of pleasure making him breathless as he struggles to cope with the rapture. âDoll,â he groans, over and over, âfuck, youâre so good,â his words are strangled, caught in his throat and forced out because he needs you to hear them, âfeels so good, love you, love your pussy, fuck.âÂ
Jack is completely pussy drunk as he fucks you both through the crest, doesnât still his hips or his fingers on your clit. He drags it out of you, never wants it to stop for either of you, never wants to leave this moment. Â
But once he feels it ebbing for you he moves his fingers off your clit, leans over you to reach your lips and kiss you. Itâs sloppy and breathy and there are moments where he can barely kiss you back with how overrun with pleasure he is. You keep sighing his name, keep whimpering it as tears keep slipping down your face.Â
His hips keep thrusting as he works himself through it, sloppy and even less movement hunched over you to kiss you but it doesnât matter. It and how tight you are and how youâre fluttering around him as you try to come back down is enough to drag it out of him and keep him coming.Â
âAre you?â you breathlessly giggle at him.
âYes, fuck!â Jack hisses. âYouâre too good, pussyâs too good I canât,â he pants, almost sounds pained by the pleasure, âstop.âÂ
You deliberately clench at his words and it pulls another groan from Jack, pulls a little more cum from him, and a grunted âFucking shit!â as he stills his hips but pushes up to grind against you a bit.
Jack stops grinding after a few seconds because it becomes too much, rests his forehead against yours as you both shiver with aftershocks for a few minutes. Eventually he brings his head up and rests it against the back of the chair with his eyes closed as he pants and readjusts you, both of you hissing at the movement of him inside you as he does. He wraps his arms around you tighter, and you exchange murmurs of sweet nothings as you both attempt to come back to earth. Â
âOh fuck,â Jack pants after a few minutes, still trying to catch his breath. âYouâre fucking unreal.â
You giggle at him. âMm, Iâm very real, Peter.â Itâs a little slurred.Â
He just hums at you, words still hard. You sit like that for another couple of minutes, Jackâs hands starting to rub and down you as your fingers draw soft circles in the crease of hips. âI want to get us to bed so we can cuddle properly but Iâm not sure if I can walk.â
âI know I canât,â you laugh. âCum is going to get everywhere.â Itâs already leaking out of you, always does, but with how long and how much he just came itâs going to be worse.Â
âIâll get you to bed and eat it out of you,â Jack mumbles. He means it too, as tired as he sounds. Heâs not really tired as much as he needs more time to recover.Â
âI might actually cease to exist if you do,â you tease.Â
Jack chuckles at that. He knows heâd have to wait too long to give you time to not hit a more painful than pleasurable hypersensitivity the second he started. âCanât have that.â Jack doesnât have to say more, doesnât have to reassure you heâll take care of you and clean you up. You know he will. He takes in a big breath and lets it out. âAlright, I can feel you getting cold, weâre gonna do it.âÂ
You nod against him and take your feet off the edge of the table and fall forward a bit, Jack slipping out of you in the process, little moans from both of you at it. Jack keeps strong hands on your hips as you stand up, legs just a bit wobbly. He follows you up and gets beside you, wraps an arm tightly around you. Itâs actually not as bad as either of you thought, you recovered better than you realized while sitting with each other. Getting to the bed is pretty easy, all things considered.Â
Jack shuts the patio door and then grabs a washcloth, gets it a little wet with warm water before coming over and cleaning you up. He takes it back to the bathroom and rinses it, leaves it to dry with all the other towels, shaking his head slightly at the sight.Â
And then he finally climbs into bed with you, rolls on his side and starts pulling you close to him at the same time you move towards him. Once you settle he smiles as he looks at you, his eyes flitting about your whole face before settling on your eyes. âThere she is, my pretty girl.â
âMy handsome man.â Your voice is rough, a bit ragged from the moaning, but not as bad as after the second proposal.Â
Jack leans in and kisses you. Just because he can and he loves you and heâs in bed with you in Paris and youâre marrying him.Â
You look sad when he pulls away, maybe itâs more a preemptive forlornness. âIâm going to miss this,â you murmur.Â
âI know. I am too.â Jack nods. Because he is. He hates seeing you upset but he wants you to know that he hears you and your feelings are valid before he tries to distract you. âWeâll always have Paris.â He fails to hide the smile that wants to grace his face, corners of his lips twitching up a little.Â
âOh my god,â you laugh, shaking your head. âI canât believe you just said that.â It worked. Youâre smiling now, distracted.
âWhat?â Jack sings the word a little. âYou were supposed to be impressed I can quote Casablanca at will.â
âI donât think one needs to even have seen Casablanca to know that line.â You love him, him and the way he validates you but coaxes you into a better mood when itâs right.Â
âOkay but I have.â He waggles his eyebrows at you. âHave you?â
You smirk. âWe said no questions.â A little challenge for him.Â
Jack nods, presses his lips together and pulls them down, raises his eyebrows at you. âHereâs looking at you, Kid.â
âAha!â you laugh, âyou really have seen it and you remember it!â A bigger smirk pulls on your face. You want to see how far heâll go. âPlay-â
âIâm not singing As Time Goes By,â Jack cuts you off.Â
You gape at him a little, smiling as you do. âI love you so much.â
âDid you mean for that to be a quote?â He smirks.Â
Your jaw slackens a little bit as you smile. âI-â you shake your head. âNo. No I did not.â
Jack laughs softly. âI love you more, Doll.â
You shake your head at him, lean in to kiss him, to taste him and consume him and be consumed by him. And then you blink and itâs morning, and blink again and youâre walking back into your apartment together.Â
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
âHawaiÊ»i is always a good option, especially if you donât want to go international.âÂ
You and Jack are out on a date. Heâd planned it, chosen a nice restaurant where you currently find yourselves, your favorite cuisine, of course. Youâre doing something after but he wonât tell you what yet. Itâs the weekend after the string of anniversaries. Your second anniversary together which you spent together out doing your favorite things together and getting a coupleâs massage and having sex.Â
That anniversary was followed a month later by the anniversary of the shooting and when you went septic and when you came home. There had been a lot of emotions with these three, but you and Jack got through them together. You didnât try to ignore the meaning of the day as such, but you did try to take the days back, especially the day of the shooting and the day you went septic. So you spent the days together doing fun things both out and at home and enjoying each other and your time with each other and laughing and being close and having sex and yes, sometimes crying. Jack had thought a date the weekend after the last anniversary passed would just be a nice little thing to do, so heâd planned this.
âYou donât want to go international?â Jack asks.Â
âNo, no I never said that. Iâd love to go international. Iâd prefer to go international, honestly. I was just thinking out loud.â While you take a sip of your drink you make a little thinking face that Jack finds so adorable. âFiji looks beautiful. Or any of the Caribbean islands. Bali. Mexico.â You get another bite of your food on your fork but pause before bringing it to your mouth. âWe could go ziplining any of those places I bet. Ooh! Or horseback riding on the beach!â
Jack gives you an amused smile while you take your bite. âAnywhere else?â
You bob your head back and forward as you chew while thinking. âIâve always thought one of those Viking river cruises would be cool! They go a lot of places now I think, and that would be a really cool way to see a region of Europe potentially.â You hum. âA tour of Italy. Or Spain. Or Croatia maybe!â You realize youâve been doing all of the talking. âWhat about you? Iâve been the only one throwing places out there, sorry.â
âDonât apologize.â Jack shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. âI was having fun listening to you think of places and watching your face as you spoke about them. Youâre very cute.â You give him an almost shy shrug and Jack is tempted to end the date here and now and take you home to have his way with you. âI like all of those places. Ireland would be cool I think, especially if we got a car and drove around. Iâve always wanted to do Japan too. Kyoto and Osaka. But then Greece or Crete or Cyprus also sound amazing.â
You nod as he speaks, smirk a little. âYouâre going to have one hell of a decision to make, Peter.â
âI am,â Jack laughs softly. âReally depends on what we think weâd like to do on our honeymoon.â
âEach other, ideally. A lot.â
Jack lets out a huffed laugh, he should have seen that one coming. âWell, yes of course. There will be a lot of doing each other I have no doubt, Doll. But you know, do we want to do museums? Do we want to go look at historical sights? Do we want to just lay on the beach all day? Do we want a combination of all three?â
âNo, I know what you mean, I was just teasing.â You run your foot up and down his left leg under the table. âI would be happy with any of those, genuinely. I know thatâs not particularly helpful, but you could pick wherever you wanted and Iâd love it. As long as weâre together.â
Jack smiles at you. He knows how much you mean it and he understands because he feels the same way. You guys could stay at your apartment for a week on a honeymoon and heâd be content. Thatâs not going to happen on his watch, but still. He knows itâs about the person and to some extent the reason and not so much the place. âThatâs very sweet.â He lets his foot brush against the side of yours under the table. âItâs very unhelpful, youâre correct, but itâs very sweet too.âÂ
You playfully roll your eyes at his teasing. âI mean it. And you want to plan the honeymoon and do this as a surprise and I donât want you to feel like you have to pick a place I said or that we have to do any of the things I said. We have a whole life together to go see all the other places.âÂ
âI know,â he reassures you, âI donât. I just wanted to hear your thoughts and ideas.â
âOkay.â You nod and finish off your drink. âAs long as you know that the honeymoon destination that will make me the happiest wife is the one that you pick because you put the time and effort into thinking about it and picking it and planning it.â Â
Wife. You say it so nonchalantly but Jackâs brain glitches out and scrambles at the word. Of course he knows youâre going to be his wife, but hearing you refer to yourself as it leaves his mind fuzzy and reeling in the best way. It takes a second for him to process the rest of your sentence.Â
âJack? You okay?â
âIâm perfect, Doll. You okay?â The smile he gives you as he says it is so beautiful you curl your toes in your shoes to keep from screaming.Â
âYeah,â you nod, âbut what was that? Something happened there for a sec.â
Jackâs smile doesnât fade. He almost feels a little self-conscious in a way, being so affected by it. Sometimes it still fucks with his mind that you are going to be his wife. That you choose him. That heâs lucky enough to get to love you and be loved by you. But you are, and you do, and he is, and there is nothing in the world that makes him happier or prouder and so he doesnât fucking care that the word got to him.Â
âWife.â You raise both of your brows at him, raise your chin a little too in question. âYou said âhoneymoon destination that will make me the happiest wifeâ and my brain just got totally snagged on the word wife for a second.â You bite your lip and giggle at him. âDonât laugh at me!â Heâs laughing as he says it, no real meaning or force behind the statement because he knows youâre not really.Â
âIâm not! I just think itâs cute!â You tilt your head at him. Something about the revelation makes you emotional in a way because you get that way with him and the word husband. And you get that way because it hits you how lucky you are and how much you love him and how proud you are to be his and call him yours, and so the thought of him having those same thoughts about you makes you emotional. âYou say husband sometimes and the same thing happens to me, and so I just think itâs cute that it happens to you too.â You shrug a little. You seem almost flustered. âAnd, I donât know,â you shake your head slightly, âit just makes me feel good knowing the same thing happens to you when you hear me say wife.â
âOf course it does.â Jack gives you his own shrug. His smile turns a little teasing. âLots of things you say snag my brain sometimes.â
âOh? And what things-â Youâre interrupted by your waiter asking if he can clear your plates and if youâd like to see the dessert menu. âYeah, I guess weâll have a look, thank you.â You take it from him and help him collect your plates. Once heâs gone you look back at Jack to finish your question but heâs smirking and shaking his head. You know he wonât tell you.Â
âAnything look good?â He asks, nodding at the menu in your hand. You roll your eyes at him, but your smile makes it clear how you really feel.Â
You look over the menu, hum to yourself a bit as you do. âIt all looks good.â You hold the menu out for him to take. âLook, you can practice your decision making skills now and pick for us.â
Jack shakes his head and smirks. âI donât need the menu. I know exactly what Iâm having for dessert.â
âOh my god,â you mutter under your breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head. But again, your smile gives you away. You open your eyes back up and keep shaking your head at him. âI canât take you anywhere.â
âMmm,â Jack hums. âTechnically you didnât take me here. I took you here. On the date. That I planned.â You roll your eyes at him. âLetâs skip dessert here. We can get it after the next thing, okay?â
You narrow your eyes at him. âI want to know what the next thing is.â
âAnd so you will soon.â Jack flashes you one of those smiles of his that completely disarms you before turning his head and grabbing the attention of the waiter to get the bill.Â
Once you and Jack step out of the restaurant you lace your fingers with Jackâs and wrap your other hand around his upper arm. âSo do I get to know what weâre doing next now?â You shake him a little bit to show your excitement and emphasize how badly you want to know.Â
Jack smirks at you and cocks his head. âYou know I wasnât going to tell you.â You pout at that and he brings his free hand up and swipes his thumb over your downturned lip. âBut youâre so cute and adorable that I will.â Your eyes widen a little, sparkling in the street light. âWeâre going stargazing.âÂ
Your head tilts forward a bit, a confused smile pulling onto your face. âStargazing?âÂ
âStargazing.â He nods at you and gives you quite the self-satisfied smile at your reaction. Youâd told Jack early into your relationship that you found space and stars incredibly interesting, and that you like looking at constellations and learning about their meaning. He happened to see something in passing that reminded him about it and gave him the idea. âThat okay?â Your silence doesnât worry him, but he just wants to check.Â
You shake your head a little. âSo much more than okay. I love it, thank you.âÂ
âGood, and youâre welcome, the pleasure of setting it up was all mine, Doll.â He offers you his arm and it makes you grin and giggle like a love sick fool. You take it, looping your arm through his and letting him lead you to wherever it is youâll be stargazing together.Â
It requires a trip on the light rail and when you get off youâre even more unsure of what exactly Jackâs plan is. Youâre near the Steelersâ stadium. âAre we stargazing at the stadium? Are they like doing an event?âÂ
âNope.â Jack pops the âpâ a little and leads you down the street.Â
âIâm very lost, I donât think Iâve ever been down here at night.â You pause. âNot sober at least.âÂ
Jack chuckles softly to himself. âHold on, weâre almost there.â You guys walk a bit more and Jack stops. âWeâre here.âÂ
âThis is where weâre stargazing?â
Jack points to the building up just a bit in front of you. âThe planetarium.â You look where heâs pointing, the hand not holding his coming to rest over your lips. âI saw that they were doing late night programs and it made me think of you. You said you liked stars and space once, constellations. Iâd love to take you real stargazing, and I promise to one day, but I wasnât sure how long it would be until we could steal away to somewhere with a lot less light pollution. So I thought this was a nice compromise. I know we might not be able to talk as much as if we were out in the middle of nowhere, but at least weâll have someone explaining what shit is. Thereâs a couple different shows we can see too.â He thinks itâs ridiculous how his heart rate speeds up, how heâs engaged to you and seen you almost die and been with you for more than two years and heâs still nervous about whether you like his date idea.Â
âCompromise?â You laugh breathlessly as you turn back to him. âJack, this is⊠incredible. IâŠâ You close your mouth and laugh a little. âIâm kind of speechless. I had to have told you that back when we first started dating. I want to say I canât believe you can remember but fuck,â you shake your head a bit, âI think you just remember everything about me.âÂ
âI try to keep track of it all. Sometimes I get lucky and my memory gets pinged, like when I saw the poster for this.â He lets out a breath. âOkay, good. Iâm glad you like it, I got kind of worried there for a second.âÂ
âI more than like it Jack.â You slip your hand from his so that you can take his face in your hands. You smile at him and youâre sure it looks as gooey and in love as you feel. He knows that look.
Jack stifles a laugh. âYou wanna say it together?â You keep the smile but scoff a little. âWhat? You get a look. Itâs this very particular smile. I know what it means.â You squeeze his face a little and take a small breath in.Â
âYouâre a romantic, Jack Abbot,â you and Jack say in unison. He beams as he shakes his head at you, laughing softly and looking at you like you personally hung the moon and all of the stars youâre about to go see together just for him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the anniversaries pass you and Jack really start to focus on wedding planning. While you didnât want a two year engagement because you both just wanted to be married already, you knew it was the right call. You didnât want the first anniversary of the shooting to fall a month and a bit after the wedding, since youâd chosen your anniversary as your date. And you needed the extra year for that day to fall on a Saturday, so you both felt it was just meant to be.
The first thing you end up really doing for the wedding is your registry. You werenât even going to make a registry until Dana found out and convinced you that you should. Itâs a spur of the moment thing one weekend. You havenât done anything for the wedding really but you have a date and thatâs enough to start a registry so you decide to go do it even though it seems out of order. It makes a great date for the two of you that has you laughing and dreaming about your future together. Neither of you expect anything from anyone. You make a couple at different places, to give people options. And because itâs fun to do.Â
You and Jack browse Crate and Barrel. You donât know why the sight of him in Crate and Barrel makes you a little giggly, but it does. âAn espresso machine.â Jack cocks his head at it. âWhat do we need an espresso machine for?â he asks, scanning it in anyways despite his question.
âEspresso.â You offer no further explanation.Â
Jack stops walking and lets out a deep sigh, hanging his head for a second and then shaking it to himself. But you both know he loves it, the sass. âYou hardly drink espresso,â Jack points out. Â
You shrug as you keep perusing. âWell maybe I would drink more if we had an espresso machine.â
âYou really want someone to buy us an espresso machine?â
âNobody is actually going to buy us an espresso machine. People know us better than that. And if they donât then thatâs what returns are for.â You turn around and smile at him. Heâs shaking his head at you but wears a smile.Â
âAnd when whoever gets it for us wants to come over and doesnât see it out on the counter?â He raises his eyebrows in a little challenge as he walks closer to you and uses his free hand to squeeze your hip.Â
You contemplate for a second. âWeâll make a list of people we can never invite over. Or weâll keep the espresso machine.â
Shortly after making your registries you nail down a venue. Itâs fairly overwhelming trying to find one in Pittsburgh because of the sheer number of options. And thatâs just if you stay in Pittsburgh and donât consider the surrounding areas. âI donât know, Doll, Iâm not good with that stuff. With words.â You and Jack are driving around the city looking at different options today.Â
âI donât know, Jack, the speech you gave as you proposed was pretty damn good.â Jack throws you a look. âThey donât have to be flowery or some crazy level of poetic beauty or whatever. All they have to be are vows from you. From your heart. Iâm going to love them no matter what as long as they come from you. Itâs not like Iâm some poetic master.â You put your hand over his where it rests on your thigh. âIf you really donât want to, Iâm not going to make us I just-â
âNo,â he cuts you off because he doesnât want you to get the wrong idea. âItâs not that I donât want to, at all. I do want to. I donât want us to get up there and only say the traditional vows. I like the idea of personal vows, I want that.â He lets out a big sigh. âIâm just concerned about my ability to⊠execute.â
âCan you name a challenge you took on and failed to rise to the occasion and execute?â You trace random shapes on the back of his hand, wait for an answer. One never comes. âThatâs what I thought, because I know Iâve never seen it happen. Why donât we plan to do them, and if we get closer and youâre concerned then we can revisit, yeah?â
Jack shakes his head as he pulls into a parking spot at the next place. He turns to look at you once heâs parked. âWeâre doing them. No reevaluating. I want to do them. I have a lot to say to you, a lot to promise you.â
You beam at him. âI have a lot to say to you and promise you too.â You lean over the center console and push your lips out for a kiss that heâs happy to give you. âCome on. Maybe this will be the place we do all of our saying and promising.âÂ
This place will overwhelmingly not be where you and Jack get married. It is comically bad. You and Jack are both having to focus hard on not losing it with laughter.
The person showing you around is blissfully oblivious to your guysâ struggle. Itâs not even so much that the place is bad, itâs how different it is than the photos you saw online. Your brain is truly hurting trying to figure out where the photos you saw online were taken and how the spaces could have ever looked like the photos.Â
âI would love to know who took the online photos for them because they sure are talented,â Jack whispers as you follow the man into the reception room.Â
âSame, Iâd hire them for our wedding in a second.â You have to swallow hard right after saying it to keep from laughing.Â
You and Jack both walk around the space and pretend to be interested as the man continues to talk about all the various features of the room. You make the mistake of glancing up and over at Jack. Heâs not even looking at you, heâs standing behind the man showing you around who is somehow still talking about the features of the room staring at him with a look of concerned horror mixed with bewilderment.Â
You spin so that youâre facing a wall and neither Jack nor the man, hand flying to clamp over your mouth as you bite your lip hard to keep from laughing. You walk away a bit, standing over near a random swatch of carpet embedded in one corner of the dancefloor.Â
âOh, yes!â The man calls to you and you shake your head to yourself a bit, have to let out a small scoffed laugh just to ease some of the tension in you. âThe dance floor is great, isnât it! A great size and the flooring is beautiful.â Â
You nod. âYeah, itâs so pretty,â you force out, voice a couple of octaves higher as you hold in your laughter. You donât have to be looking at Jack to know his eyes snap to you, the shit-eating grin that pulls up on his face radiating off him even from across the room.Â
You already know heâs on his way over to you so you take a couple of deep breaths and pull yourself together. You focus on the wall in front of you. You know that if you look at Jack youâll break.Â
âEverything alright, Dear?â Jack asks in a whisper as he walks up to stand next to you all fake saccharine and concern in his tone. The man has launched into some tale about some famous Pittsburgh native who had their wedding here.
âIâm great.â You nod, swallowing hard. âIâm really great.âÂ
âYou sure?â Heâs smirking now. âYou canât even meet my eyes.âÂ
âIâm not looking at you. And you know why.â You shake your head, keep your eyes focused on the wall in front of you.Â
âBut I have a very cute face. You tell me so all the time.â You can hear his pout.Â
âJack,â you warn, lips twitching up.Â
âOkay! Okay!â The way he gave it up so quickly has you on edge.
âJack. I swear to god.â You do your best to sound stern but thereâs too much of a laughing lilt to your voice to be at all effective.Â
âI said okay!â he protests. Youâre still suspicious.Â
And youâre right to be. You and Jack move across the room and get a bit closer to the man, do your best to pretend youâre interested in the story and the space. You make the mistake of looking away so that Jack is no longer in even your peripheral vision. And thatâs when he makes his move, casually reaching his hand towards you and pinching your ass.
âJack!â You manage to keep your shrill laughed yell of his name at a relative whisper as you bat away his hand. The only thing that saves you from cracking up is your very smart choice not to look at Jack.
Not quiet enough though. The man turns around. âPardon?â
Youâre immediately grabbing Jack and turning him, pretending to point at something across the room. Your voice is still a couple octaves higher as you fight back the laughter. âOh, I was just pointing⊠that out to him.â You smile and nod at the guy. It evidently placates him enough because he launches straight back into whatever his current story is about.Â
âThat? That is what you came up with?â Jack whispers, finally looks like youâre making him struggle to keep from laughing.Â
âI couldnât pick one of the many fucking thats in the room fast enough!â This time you reach out to poke his side but heâs too fast, catches your hand with a smug grin. But youâve played this game enough times with Jack.Â
While he focuses on the hand he ends up catching youâre subtly moving your other hand near him. So the second that smug grin hits you poke his side, arching a brow and giving him his own smug grin back when he jolts and lets out half a laugh that he then pretends was a cough.Â
You look away from him and take a few steps away because itâs getting to be too much again. âJack.â Another warning as he comes up behind you again, still too much laugh in it for it to be particularly effective.
âI promise Iâll be good.â You believe him this time, can hear it in his voice. He presses his lips to your temple.Â
âYou better be,â you whisper. You can feel him smile and give you another kiss there before pulling away.Â
Mercifully, the man concludes the tour and asks if youâd like to come in to book a date and discuss options. Youâve recovered enough to let him know you guys are going to look at a few more just to be sure.Â
Both you and Jack are surprised when the guy appears to be fine with that and doesnât insist you come back to his desk for some hard sell. Youâre sure fucking grateful for it though because thereâs no fucking way you guys would have kept it together at a table with this man.
The man walks you to your car which you both find odd, but the look you exchange is an agreement that the move fits the vibe of the place.Â
You had both been doing so well, no longer on the verge of tears of laughter. But then the man tells you what weddings start at for the event and you both have to stifle laughs because there is no fucking way anybody is paying that much for this. You just nod at the guy and accept the second brochure he gives you as he tells you that if you guys decide to do the wedding here he can offer you a thirty percent discount.Â
Jack decides this is the perfect time to return to your little game.Â
âThank you very much, weâll be in-â Jack chooses then to pinch your ass again, making you blurt out half a laugh that you somehow manage to stop from devolving into the fit of laughter you have the urge to break into. You clear your throat. âWeâll be in touch, thank you.âÂ
You stand there frozen and smiling until the man is far enough away and then let out a long breath. Jack pinches your ass again.Â
âOh my god! Jack Daniel Abbot!â you shrill as you turn to him. âYou were so trying to make me come unglued in there and out here you asshole!â Itâs all bark and absolutely no bite. Youâre not mad or even really trying to chide him. You love it.Â
âOh?â Jack laughs. âWhisky on your mind, lover? Because I know my middle name isnât Daniel and I know you know that.âÂ
You huff and roll your eyes. âIt just came out okay! Itâs just what rolled off my tongue in the moment because Iâm so mad at you!â
âOh no, youâre not mad at me. Not even a little. You fucking love it.â Jack smirks, looking like the cat who got the cream. And heâs right and he knows it.âBut would you like to see what can roll off my tongue in the moment?â
For whatever reason thatâs what makes you crack. That comment. Within seconds youâre laughing so hard you canât breathe, and Jack is right behind you.
âThat was so bad,â you almost whisper through your laughter. You both laugh so hard you go soundless, laugh so hard it hurts and you both cry. You end up leaning into Jack to help stay standing because you canât stop fucking laughing.
âI canât breathe,â you laugh, keep laughing even after you say it, tears dripping from your eyes.
âIf you can laugh and talk you can breathe,â Jack manages to get out, wiping away some of his own tears of laughter.
âOh,â you give him a fake glare through your tears, âdonât you get fucking medical with me right now, Dr. Abbot.â Â
You both start to calm down, laughter trailing off and giving way to sniffles and coughs to clear your throats, the occasional giggle from both of you. Jack gives one last huff of a laugh. âCome on, Doll. Letâs get in the car.âÂ
Jackâs hand finds the small of your back and he leads you the little bit of the way left to the car, opening the passenger door for you and shutting it once youâre in. Youâve been together over two years now and him opening and closing the door for you still makes you melt. Itâs just so Jack in a way you donât know how to describe.
Jack gets in the car and closes his door and you both let out long breaths at the same time before spending a moment in a comfortable silence, both of you thinking back on that entire tour.Â
âThat was certainlyâŠâ you trail off, giving a long shake of your head as you look for the word.Â
âSomething,â Jack fills in for you. âThat was certainly something.âÂ
You and Jack burst back into laughter. It doesnât last anywhere near as long this time, but you both get a little teary again because the whole thing is so fucking absurd.
âIs it badâŠâ Jack trails off, sniffling and wiping some tears from his eyes as he laughs a little more. âOh god,â he sniffles again, âis it bad that itâs so bad it almost makes me want to get married there?â
You shake your head, laughing harder for a second. âNo. No, because I had the same thought for a second. It would be so bad it would be good. Itâs like The Room.â The thought makes your laughter pick back up for a second before you both finally start to come down.
âWeâre not going to actually do it though, right?â Jack asks as you both recover from all the laughing.Â
âNo.â You shake your head a bit as you sniffle and wipe the last of your tears off your face. âAbsolutely not, no.â
âAlright then letâs get out of here.â Jack leans over the center console and gives you a quick kiss.Â
âYes,â you type the next venue into your phone so the directions show on the carâs infotainment screen, âletâs.â Â
This time, you both fall in love with the venue almost immediately. Itâs perfect for the two of you and just the right size for your smaller and more intimate wedding. You and Jack wander up and stand at the place you think youâll set up the altar, turn to face each other and hold hands. âWhat do you think?â you ask him quietly.Â
âI think that this is where Iâm going to be standing the first time I see you in your wedding dress,â he smiles.Â
âYeah?â you breathe. âYou love it?â
âI think itâs perfect.â Jack wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. âWanna practice the best part?â You giggle as you nod and wrap your arms around Jackâs neck. Jackâs smiling as he leans in to kiss you. Itâs lingering but chaste. Jack pulls away from you and youâre immediately back to smiling at one another. He leans in for another kiss and this time he catches you by surprise when he dips you and you feel him laugh against your lips. He brings you back up, keeps holding onto you. âWe have a venue.â
You nod, still smiling, probably look like a love drunk fool but you donât care. âWe have a venue.â
The next item crossed off the list is a dress for you. You keep your group small, a friend from work and Dana, Heather and Mel, the Pitt crew youâve become the closest with through all of this.
You stand at the desk with the four of them, Robby, and Jack. Dana had put in for a half shift so she could attend and youâre collecting her on your way to the store. âYouâre sure you donât want me to come? Robby can handle it here by himself.â
âExcuse me? Have you looked at the board?â Robby points up to it.Â
âIâm sure.â You give Jack a knowing smile. âYou get to see it on the day when Iâm at the top of the aisle my love.â
âAlright, I just thought Iâd offer.â Jack holds up his hands. You know heâs dying at the thought a little. Itâs one thing for him to know youâll be getting a wedding dress. Itâs another for him to know you have a wedding dress and he canât see it.Â
âYouâll be fine Jack.â Dana swats at him.Â
âYou know I could come? If youâd like a male perspective,â Robby offers. âJack can handle it here by himself.â You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing, Dana not even trying to hide her snicker while your friend, Heather and Mel turn their heads.Â
âAbsolutely fucking not!â Jack hisses. âMichael does not get to see my wife in her wedding dress before I do!â
Nobody comments on his slip. On the way Jack just called you his wife. You bite your lip even harder at it and look to the side and exchange glances with Mel, who shoots you a wide eyed look of excitement and surprise at it.Â
You look over at Robby and smile. âI appreciate the offer Robby, but I think the five of us will make out okay. You guys ready?â You look at the group. When everyone agrees you turn your attention back to Jack, walk over to give him a quick kiss. âHave a good day at work, Peter.â
âHave fun dress shopping.â He kisses your forehead. âIâll see you tonight.âÂ
You nod at him and the five of you leave out the ambulance bay doors. Itâs not a long trip to the wedding dress shop you found, a short ride on the light rail and up a few blocks. Your consultant is nice, asks what youâre looking for. Youâre not really sure and not trying to box yourself into anything so youâre kind of open to anything. You tell her about the venue, the general feeling youâd like the dress to have, your budget and trust her to go pick the dress.Â
Itâs strange sitting in the dressing room. You think back on everything, your whole relationship with Jack, how much youâve already been through together. You fidget with the ring on your finger as you wait. He really did do a great job picking out a ring and you love that itâs bespoke and so yours alone.Â
Eventually your consultant returns with an overwhelming amount of sparkle and tulle and lace and chiffon and silk organza and taffeta in every shade of white and some blush tones. You start trying them on. You try on five or six, come out to show your party four of them. You all agree that none have been quite right. You get closer as you try on dresses but itâs hard not to feel a bit discouraged. You want to find the one so badly.Â
Once youâre out of the last dress your consultant runs back to the stockroom, tells you she thinks sheâs thought of the perfect dress. You take a little gasp when she walks in with it and shows it off to you. Itâs stunning just on the hanger. Just having it on before you turn to see yourself you already feel like itâs the one. The dress youâre supposed to marry Jack in.Â
âOh wow,â you breathe as you turn around and look at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room. Tears start to form but you do your best to blink them away. You head out to show the group and you arenât even conscious of it, but youâre beaming.Â
You get up on the pedestal and face yourself in the mirror. The dress highlights all the right places, the color goes perfectly with your skin tone and makes you look glowy. But most importantly it makes you feel good, which can be so hard for you to find. As you take yourself in you realize the dress makes you feel how Jack makes you feel when he looks at you. Special and beautiful.
âWhat do you guys think?â Your consultant helps you turn towards them.Â
âThatâs the one.â Dana smiles back at you.
âUnquestionably,â your friend agrees.Â
Heather and Mel agree as your consultant brings over some accessories including a beautiful veil for you to decide on. You turn back and look at yourself in the mirror all done up and are handed a tissue because you get so teary. Itâs perfect.Â
âYou guys think Jack will like it?â you ask.
All of them laugh a little at that and you half turn back around. âWhat?â You give a little laugh too because of the looks on their faces.Â
âHeâs going to love this. You look so, so beautiful.â Mel beams at you. âAnd gorgeous and stunning.â
âHeâs going to fucking lose it when he sees you,â your friend laughs softly, squeezing Danaâs arm as Dana leans into her a little to show her agreement.
âHeâll cry.â Dana nods, a little teary herself. You know she has a special relationship with Jack, that theyâve known each other a long time and she, like Robby, has seen him through some of the worst moments of his life, helped save him too.Â
âHe fucking better,â you laugh through a sniffle, blotting at your eyes. You look back at yourself in the mirror and get a bit teary again. âIt just makes it so real, you know? Weâre really getting married. Iâm getting married to him in this dress.âÂ
âSo youâre saying yes?â Mel asks, huge smile on her face.Â
âYeah,â you nod. âYes. This is my wedding dress.â Everyone claps and gets up to give you hugs. You take some photos of course and then get everything bought, get told to make sure you have your shoes by the time of your first alteration appointment. The five of you grab an early dinner and then you head home and wait for Jack.Â
Youâre chilling on the couch with your feet laid out on it, head propped up a bit with a pillow and the armrest, scrolling and watching tv. Youâre in one of Jackâs old oversized t-shirts and a pair of booty shorts. The way youâre laying on the couch though makes it seem like you have nothing on under them. You hear the sound of the door unlocking and Jack step in. âHoney, Iâm home!â he calls out teasingly as he drops his bag and gets his shoes off. âWell,â Jack drawls, voice lower than normal, walking towards the couch, âthis is a sight I could get very used to.âÂ
You laugh and affectionately roll your eyes at him as he starts to crawl up the couch between your legs. You drop your phone to the side and widen your hips to help accommodate him. âHi.â You smile at him and give him the kiss he seeks. Jack lowers himself so that heâs laying on you, chest to chest with his head resting to one side. He can hear your heartbeat and lets out a big sigh, shoulders sagging a bit. âLong day?âÂ
âYeah. Not a bad one, just long.â You start running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and it makes Jack hum, nuzzle into your chest. âThat constant kind of busy thatâs just draining some days.â He canât help but let out another hum of contentment as you let him lay on you and scratch his scalp and let him listen to your heartbeat and smell you. Let him become enveloped by you. Itâs always so relaxing. Sometimes he falls asleep and you stay like that until he wakes up hungry and realizing you both need dinner.Â
âI did, yeah.â He can hear the smile in your voice now. You donât say anything more, in part because you have nothing else to say and in part because you know heâs going to comment.Â
When you donât speak he fills the silence like you knew he would. âYou wanna show me? Give me something? A little hint?â
He can feel the vibrations of the quiet laugh his words pull from you. âNot particularly, no.â Jack makes a little noise of protest. âAlright. A trade.â Jack nuzzles into you again in acknowledgment. âYou can see me and the dress if I can know where weâre going for our honeymoon.â
âNo!â Jack says immediately. âI want it to be a surprise.â
His head moves with your chest as you laugh properly at that. âThatâs how I feel about my dress.â You let one of your hands come up to his face, brush your thumb over his cheekbone. âYou know Iâve never actually seen you in your dress blues, so really your dress blues are your dress.â
âIâll show you a photo of me in my dress blues if youâll show me a photo of you in your dress,â Jack is quick to offer as an alternative trade even though he knows itâs in vain.Â
âNope.â You pop the p. âIâll wait to see you just like youâll wait to see me.âÂ
You decide not to wait on wedding bands though, not to pick them out for each other and have them be a surprise for the other like some couples prefer to do. You guys want the experience of going in and doing it together.Â
You go, of course, to the local store where Jack got your engagement ring. The owner is thrilled to meet you and see the woman he helped Jack design the ring for. You talk about wedding bands and what youâre looking for. You guys walk around and pick a couple out and then the owner brings over more options, from simple metal bands to more intricate bands with diamonds for you, a couple of menâs options with diamonds too.Â
Jack picks one he likes and slips it on his finger. He looks down at it as he clenches his fist to see how the band thickness feels before straightening it back out. It hits him, how heâs really going to be married. To you. And seeing a ring on Jackâs finger levels you in a way you werenât expecting.Â
âWow.â Itâs a little breathy, the way you say it. It makes Jack look over at you. âI thought getting the dress made it feel real, but this, you with a wedding ring on⊠wow.â You look up at Jack and give him an equally breathy laugh.Â
âYeah,â he breathes back, clearly also a bit dazed. âPut one on,â he encourages.Â
You take your engagement ring off, pick one and slide it on, stare down at your hand. âI know youâve had a ring on but still,â Jack swallows thickly.Â
âItâs a wedding ring,â you murmur, staring down at your hand. You slide your engagement ring back on and hold your hand out again, the wedding ring you tried on sitting nicely underneath it. âThatâs so wild.â
Jack starts laughing because thatâs such a you thing to say. He leans into you and gives you a kiss on the cheek. âI love you,â he murmurs.Â
âLove you too,â you hum back. You both try on quite a few more. Itâs easier for the two of you to pick one for Jack than it is for you. Youâre overwhelmed by all the options. âIâm glad I didnât have to pick out the engagement ring,â you mumble.Â
Jack nods with you. âIâm glad I just saw the ring and knew it was almost perfect. And Iâm glad weâre picking this one out together.â
âI donât know how to decide. Theyâre all so pretty.â You wiggle your ring finger a bit so the diamonds catch the light as you evaluate the current option youâre wearing. You take it off and then look over the tray of rings you havenât tried. One catches your eye. Itâs over in the corner of the tray by happenstance so it was easy for you to overlook with all of the choices. You recognize it as one of the ones Jack had picked out when you were looking around. You slip it on and evaluate by itself. Itâs perfect. You slide your engagement ring on top and it remains perfect, the wedding ring complementing your engagement ring as though they were made to be worn together, even with their differences.Â
You hold your hand up again, wiggle it. âI really love that look,â Jack murmurs. âItâs beautiful.â
âIt is,â you agree. âItâs perfect.â You pull your eyes from the rings and look up at Jack whoâs already looking down at you with a soft smile. âThis is the one. This is my wedding ring.â You lean up and kiss him. You keep it chaste and short since youâre in public with the owner nearby. âYou picked it out, you know.â
Jack nods, eyes earnest and crinkling a bit at the corners with the small smile he wears. âYeah I remember. I had a feeling. But I didnât want to pressure you. And I promise I donât love it just because Iâm the one who picked it out.â
âI know, I never thought that.â You look back down at your hand and grab his left hand, place yours on top, fingers offset by one so that his wedding ring sits next to your engagement and wedding rings. âWe have our wedding rings.â
Jack grins at you, eyes sparkling like the gemstones surrounding you. âWe have our wedding rings.â
About five months out from the wedding you go catering and cake tasting. Jack loves to pretend he doesnât have a sweet tooth but you know he does. Itâs why you love baking for him so much, because you know he loves it and enjoys everything you make. You know his likes well by now. He likes sweet but not too sweet.Â
âThatâs alotta fucking cake.â Jackâs eyebrows are raised as he watches the woman bring the big tray of cake samples over to you.Â
âWell,â you have to fight back a laugh at the way Jack said alotta fucking cake. âWe certainly wonât be able to say we didnât have options.â The woman sets the tray down. Each small slice of cake has a number in front of it, and she hands you a piece of paper that describes each of the cakes as identified by their corresponding number. âWe need a whole ass pamphlet to explain what the options are.â Jack snorts at that, pulls his phone out and takes a photo quickly. âAn experience you donât want to forget?â
âIâm sending it to Robby.â He glances at you and you quirk an eyebrow at him. âHe wanted to come to the cake tasting so fucking bad.âÂ
âSo youâre showing him what heâs missing out on?â You smirk at Jack.
âNo, I am encouraging him to find someone so that he can have his own cake tasting. Iâm tempted to send it in the group chat with Dana so that she gets on his ass about it.â He looks so amused with himself you have to chuckle. Jack puts his phone back on the table next to yours. âSorry. Just had to do that. Iâm focused now.â
You laugh softly and lean into Jack a little, each of you holding the pamphlet with one hand. âLemon blueberry with tangerine icing is interesting.âÂ
âI bet itâs good, though. Refreshing. Oh, espresso ganache,â Jack has to hold back a laugh. âHow fancy.â
âI think youâre going to like that.â You point to a different one. âGinger-infused cake with cognac. I think thatâs the one that says fancy.âÂ
âEspresso ganache? You really think Iâm going to like that? I prefer my coffee black, my americanos black. Not with mocha or whatever else. Ginger cognac does sound fancier though. I bet itâs good.â
âI am quite certain youâll like it in the context of a cake.â You keep looking. âAlmond. I like a nice simple almond cake. Oh fuck, cannoli cake I bet thatâs so good, it has cannoli filling layers.â
âYeah but their almond cake isnât going to beat yours, so. Iâm not convinced about the ganache.â Jack shrugs. You smile to yourself at his compliment. âEnglish lavender with earl grey buttercream is probably good. Red velvet. But again, yours is so good. Glazed donut is interesting, but okay. Butterscotch bourbon, thatâs probably really good. Oh, hereâs the winner. Sultry chocolate cake. Not just chocolate cake. Sultry chocolate cake.âÂ
âIt sounds like something for the honeymoon suite. Imagine having to put that on the placard things or whatever that tell people what the cake is. Sultry chocolate cake. And you havenât tried the ganache yet, of course youâre not convinced.â You take in a breath and look up at Jack. âI think we just have to start trying. Unless there are any you want to eliminate right away.â
âWeâre here now with them in front of us. Might as well try them all.â Jack shrugs. âHow about starting with the strawberry champagne cake?â You nod and Jack grabs the slice and sets it in front of you. You each take a bite and make a little noise of appreciation at how good it is. You keep trying new flavors, some immediately being taken out of contention.Â
âLetâs try the glazed donut. I feel like itâs going to be kind of weird,â You say as you grab the plate and bring it in front of you both. âLike if you want the taste of glazed donut at your wedding just have fucking glazed donuts.âÂ
Jake takes a bite and hums in appreciation. Itâs not bad. âDonuts arenât as elegant.â
You fake roll your eyes at him as you take a bite. You shrug. âItâs not terrible, but I just come back to have donuts.â
âAgree, itâs not bad but also not going to be our wedding cake flavor.â Jack nods. You both look over the pamphlet and try a few more, a couple of which youâre really considering.Â
âCannoli next?â He knows this one will likely end up in the serious contenders section of the table, clears a spot for it. Jack grabs the slice and sets it in front of the two of you, takes a forkful.Â
âIâd always rather be your cannoli than glazed donut,â you hum softly as Jack starts to chew.
Jack chokes a little, managing to get the bite down in stuttering gasps, coughing and reaching for the bottle of water theyâd given you as you pat his back and bite your lip. You feel bad, you hadn't meant to make him choke. Once he settles you take a bite of the cake. Unsurprisingly, itâs really fucking good.Â
âWhat did you just say?â Jackâs finally able to whisper, voice a bit scratchy.Â
You furrow your brows in feigned innocence. âThat Iâd always rather have cannoli cake than glazed donut cake?â
âNo,â Jack draws the word out and gives a little laugh. âI donât think so.â You deepen the furrow of your brow in mock confusion. âI think you should admit it, lest you end up my glazed donut for a while.â
You snort. âPlease. You love filling your cannoli way too much. Iâd be your glazed donut maybe once before I was back to being your cannoli.â
âIs that a challenge?â Jack narrows his eyes at you.Â
âNo.â You pull your lips down and shake your head as you take another bit of the cake on your fork. You look back up at Jack. âItâs a statement of fact, Peter.â You finish bringing the fork to your mouth and take the bite while maintaining eye contact with him.Â
âOh,â he laughs out the word softly. âIs it now?â
âMhhhm,â you nod as you keep your mouth closed and chew. âAnd I love that fact about you so much, because like I said, Iâd always rather be your cannoli than glazed donut.â
âGood,â Jack nods, trying his hardest to seem unaffected and succeeding in relation to everyone except for you. âThank you for saying it.âÂ
âI think it should go in the serious contender area.â You flick your chin at the cake.Â
âI already made a space Doll.â Jack gives you a little smirk. âI know you and your tastes very well by now.âÂ
You try a few more, none of which either of you really cares for. Then Jack goes to try the cake featuring the espresso ganache. You look at him expectantly with a little smirk on your face. You can see him fighting to keep his face neutral as he tries it. âOkay. Iâll admit it. You were right, itâs actually really fucking good.â
âSee!â You poke at his tummy. âI know you and your tastes very well, Jack Abbot.â
âYeah, yeah.â Jack takes another bite. âI think this is actually one of my favorites. You could totally recreate this at home I bet. I could have it for every birthday or special occasion.âÂ
You consider it as you take another bite. You probably could. But then a slow smirk draws on your face and you look at Jack. You canât help yourself. âJack, my love. My darling. Love of my life. Do you know what making this at home would require?â Jack shakes his head while working on another bite. Your smirk grows. âAn espresso machine.âÂ
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can tell by the way he unlocks the door and steps in. He doesnât say anything as he locks the door behind him. Jack just drops his bag and looks at you.
âRough shift?â You grimace a little just from his expression. He looks demoralized almost, which is rare for him.Â
Jack walks over and sits next to you on the couch, leaning in to grab a kiss before answering. It feels a little different than his usual home from work kisses, lasts a little longer.Â
âYou could say.â He lets himself sink back into the couch. You wait, see if he wants to volunteer more. Jack shakes his head a little. âJust lost a few people, more than usual.â You reach over and squeeze his thigh, move a bit closer to him and lean on him a bit. You know feeling close to you can help.Â
âIâm sorry it was a bad day, Peter,â you murmur. You know that thereâs not much you can say that will help right now. This is one of those parts of Jackâs job that hits much harder some shifts than others and no words will take it away or fix it. All you can do is listen and be here for him and let him know he doesnât have to bear it alone.  Â
âNo kids.â Jack shrugs. âI guess at least thereâs that.â Jackâs hands grab your hand from his thigh, hold it between his.
Itâs a cover. Thereâs something about the way he says it, his tone and the particular mannerism of his shrug and the way he picks up and holds your hand between his. You nod to yourself slightly. He canât say it out loud. Either canât or doesnât want to. But you know.Â
âHow far away was the wedding?â you whisper.Â
Jack lets out a pained laugh. âFuck,â he mutters. He squeezes your hand and you know heâs saying thank you for knowing and seeing me and understanding and asking when I couldnât say it. âSix months.â You rest your other hand on the top of his and squeeze gently. âAnd now heâs going home alone with a funeral to plan and a wedding to cancel. God, and I feel so fucking selfish and like a terrible person for saying this with what that guy is going through but I really could have done without having to watch him slide her engagement ring off her finger.â The fingers of his bottom hand instinctively search for yours.Â
You wince at his words, heart aching at the thought of him having to watch that scene unfold. âThinking that doesnât make you selfish Jack, it makes you human.âÂ
âYeah, I guess.â Jack drops your hand and rubs his hands over his face. âI donât want to dwell. It was just a rough day.âÂ
You respect his wish, donât keep talking about it or try and get him to open up to you about it more right now. Heâs told you thatâs not what he needs. âCan I get you anything? Beer? I could go draw you a bath?â
Jack finally turns his head as it rests against the couch to look at you. âNo.â Jack reaches for you, grabs at one of your hips and thighs. You get that message too and slide yourself onto his lap so that you sit perpendicular to him. Jack rests his forehead against the side of your neck for a second and breathes deep before pulling back. âI just want to be here with you for a bit.â
âThen here for a bit is where weâll be.â You give him an adoring smile and lean in closer to him, cup his face with your hands. You kiss all over his face, but not in a flurry like you do sometimes. You take your time, plant each kiss deliberately and linger it for just a second to make sure Jack really feels it. You start at his hairline, move back across his forehead. You kiss each of his eyebrows and the space between them, his temples and then his eyelids, soft lashes fluttering against your lips. You kiss his cheek bones and the bridge of his nose, the apples of his cheeks and then the tip of his nose. You kiss the skin around his mouth, the bottom of his cheeks, and then his jawline and chin. And then you kiss his lips and Jack takes over.Â
You yield to him, let him take control and deepen it, your hands sliding down to hold onto his scrub top as Jack licks into your mouth and groans. Heâs needed this all day, all fucking day. Needed you. He doesnât even need more, he just needs you, in some capacity. Eventually the two of you are forced apart by the need for oxygen.Â
âIâm here,â you murmur.Â
Jack takes in a big breath and lets it out a bit shakily. âYeah,â he brings his hands up to cup your face, looks you in the eyes. âYou are.â You let yourself lean into Jack, rest your head on his shoulder as his arms wrap around you to keep you close. You just sit like that for a while, let Jack hold you and feel you and come down from work.
âSo I was thinking,â Jack starts.
You canât help yourself. âUh-oh, weâre in trouble now.â
Jack rolls his eyes at you and clicks his tongue, but heâs grateful for it, the way you help shift the mood. He needs it, to have a good night with you, the two of you just being normal together. âI was thinking that once weâre back from our honeymoon and have settled for a couple of months, what if we started looking at houses? Or a townhouse? Condo even, I guess. Something thatâs ours. That we own together. As the Abbots.â
You pull yourself up from resting on him and blink at him for a moment, brain processing what Jack just asked. Not in a bad way, in a holy shit you canât believe this man just asked if you wanted to buy a house together way. âYou want to buy a house with me?â
Jack bites back a smile. âI want to do everything with you, Doll. Part of the reason I asked you to marry me.â
 âNo! I know, I donât doubt that or you, Iâm sorry if I made it seem that way-â
âYou didnât,â Jack interrupts to quell your worry, one hand rubbing your back. âIt was a very adorable reaction.â
âOkay, good.â You let out a little laugh. âI donât know, I know itâs only like four months away, but sometimes I still canât believe Iâm going to be your wife and youâre going to be my husband. And weâre going to be the Abbots.âÂ
Jack squeezes your hip a bit at wife. âI get it. Sometimes I still canât believe it either.â He lets out a bit of a sigh. âYou know what would help me believe it more and make it even more real?â
âOh I have a feeling I do,â you mutter, eyes preemptively rolling.
âSeeing you in your wedding dress.â Thereâs the slightest edge of hope in his voice even though Jack knows youâre not going to say yes. Doesnât stop him from giving you his biggest puppy eyes though.Â
âThere it is.â You shake your head at him. âNot happening, sir.â You pause for a second. âBut I do think itâs kind of cute how you keep trying.â You boop his nose and he moves his head up to playfully try and bite your finger. âTo answer your question though, I would like that. A lot.âÂ
A slow smile spreads over Jackâs face. âYeah?â He nods once as he says it.
âYeah.â You nod too and lean in to kiss him. âI want to buy a house or something with you.â You run your hands through his hair and tug at his curls just slightly as you kiss him again, a little way you have of saying you love him.
âThat reminds me,â Jack breathes when you break the kiss finally. âDo you want me to keep my hair this length for the wedding or get it cut shorter like I kept it when we met?â
You shrug. âItâs up to you, itâs your hair. You didnât give me any input on my wedding hair.â
âWell no, but itâs a bit different.â
You give him a bemused smile. âI donât think it is Peter.â
âA little.â You go to speak again but Jack beats you to it. âYour preference? Please.â He gives you a little pout.Â
âJack,â your eyes dart around his face a little trying to read him before moving up to his hair, âyou know what my preference is. But I want you to be happy and feel good more than I want my preference.âÂ
âDo I?â He ignores the last sentence which makes you laugh slightly. You realize something in him just wants to hear you say it right now. That you love his curls, that you prefer it at the just slightly longer length he has it now because it shows more of his curls. Just to feel close and talk about the wedding without talking about the wedding given what happened today.
âI love your curls. I prefer it at this length because it shows them off a bit more, but youâre the most attractive and handsome man Iâve ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, let alone calling mine, however you have your hair.â You run your hands through it, smiling to yourself a little without even fully realizing it. Itâs a bit fluffier right now, the curls pulled out a bit from how much he must have ran his hands through his hair this shift. You love it so much. Love him so much.Â
âAnd I love the salt and pepper. God, Jack, I really fucking love the salt and pepper.â You shift on his lap slightly, roll your ass just a little. âI love it everywhere.â You look him in the eyes and lick your lips.Â
Jackâs eyes darken as his pupils dilate, cock starting to harden in his scrubs. Jack has started to go gray everywhere and you can both very easily and very clearly remember the night it first became visible enough for you to notice. He throbs just at the thought. âYeah?â
âMhm,â you hum as your hands find the hem of Jackâs scrub top and start pulling it off. You deliberately keep his undershirt on, love the way he looks in it alone, how tight it is against all of him. âAll of it drives me insane.â Jack lifts his arms and you finish getting his scrub top off, tossing it wherever. You nuzzle your cheek against his, stubble grown out a bit since he last shaved. âStubble too.â
You slide yourself off Jackâs lap and he whines a bit, tries to grab at your thighs to pull you back but you donât let him. âShh, let me do this for you, okay?â You coo at him as you move yourself to stand in front of Jack, his legs opening for you automatically.Â
âDoll,â Jack breathes as you sink to your knees in between his, one hand starting to rub at his now fully hard cock over his scrub pants. âYou donât have to do this-â
âOh I know I donât have to, Jack. I want to. Iâve been thinking about having you in my mouth all day. So please?â You push your bottom lip out for him. âLet me help you relax, Dr. Abbot.âÂ
âFuck,â Jack groans, eyes fluttering shut and head tipping back a little already. âYouâre so good to me.âÂ
âNo, I just treat you how you deserve,â you hum as your hands find the waistbands of his scrub pants and boxer briefs, eyes taking in the outline of his cock intently before you go to pull them both down at once.Â
âWait.â You pull your head back to look up at him and take your hands off his waistband. Jack grabs a pillow. âHere, put this under your knees. I know you like the bruises but you need to let the ones you have heal.â
âYouâre so good to me.â You mirror his words back at him, eyes sparkling with adoration as you take the pillow from him and put it under your knees. You smirk as you return your hands to his waistband. âJust makes me want to give it to you even sloppier, Jack.â
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
âThank you for having a late lunch with me and dropping me off at work,â Jack gives you a little smirk as you stop near the fire hydrant at the corner where the street turns into the ambulance entrance. Heâs working an odd mid shift today to help cover. 2 p.m. to 2 a.m. It kind of sucks because itâs a Saturday, but you at least made the most of the morning and had a nice lunch out together.Â
âAnytime, Peter. Thanks for asking.â You smile at him and set your hands on his chest as his come to rest on your hips. âDo you know what is exactly three months from today?â Your eyes sparkle as you say it.Â
âHmmm,â Jack hums, pretending to think. âThe best day of my life?â
You press your lips together and smile, tilt your head at him and grab at his scrub top a little. Your eyes get just a little bit glassy because you know how much he means it. âThat was really good,â you laugh.Â
âI thought so.â He gives you a self-satisfied grin. âItâs true too.â
âI know,â you nod, âitâll be the best day of mine too.â You slide your hands up around his neck and hug him, relish in the feeling of his hands sliding off your hips and around your back as he returns your hug, backpack hanging off one shoulder like always. âHave a good shift, okay?â
âIâll do my best,â he nods. âYou should just take an uber home.â You raise your brows at him. He glances up at the sky. âIt might rain. You donât have an umbrella. Itâs not a long walk home but itâll feel like it if it starts to rain.âÂ
Heâs right. The clouds do look threatening but when you looked at the weather earlier it said it wasnât going to rain until later. Hence why you didnât bring an umbrella. âOkay.â You shrug and pull out your phone. âIâll let you know when I get home. I love you.â
âI love you too.â Jack pulls you in for one last kiss, lets it linger before pulling away and squeezing your hand. He turns and walks down towards the ambulance entrance and you stay where youâre at while you order an uber.
Jack nods at Robby as he walks in, slows for a second when he hears a car honking. Itâs harder to tell this far away but itâs definitely coming from the direction he just came from. It stops though and he takes a couple more steps when the sound of screeching tires, crunching metal, shattering glass, the high pressured spraying of water and screaming draws everyoneâs attention. An accident right outside the ambulance bay. Good spot for it, Jack thinks until it hits him. The water. The fire hydrant.Â
Youâre standing on that corner.Â
No, no no no. This is not fucking happening. This is so not fucking happening. Itâs three months to the fucking day before your wedding. The universe cannot possibly be this cruel.Â
The problem is Jack knows it can be. That it often is.Â
And he knows that you were standing on that corner because of him. Because he asked you to have lunch with him and walk with him to work. Because he said you should just get an uber home and you listened to him instead of walking like you were going to. And now what? Heâs going to be left with a wedding to try and cancel and a funeral to plan and wedding rings you never got to give each other and a wedding dress he never got to see you in?Â
All that and a hope and a prayer Dana has a photo of you in your dress so he can see you in it just once.Â
All of these thoughts go through his mind in mere seconds. Jack is panicking. Silently and for the most part stoically. He looks up at Robby for a second and Robby just knows by the look in Jackâs eye.Â
Jack drops his backpack and takes off running out the door, multiple people following him. Theyâre all headed to help victims, anyone who might need help. Jack is headed for you and you only. He almost hopes he doesnât see you but he knows thereâs no way you got an uber and drove far enough away in the twenty or thirty seconds it took him to walk in.Â
But there you are.Â
Walking down from the corner towards him and calling his name and trying to reassure him already, holding your arms out a little for him as he gets to you, not sure what his instinct will be. As soon as shit had stopped flying youâd started walking quickly towards the ambulance entrance doors, taking a bit of an arc to avoid getting soaked. You knew Jack likely heard the accident and would be worried and out looking for you.Â
He says your name as he gets closer to you, panting less from the short run and more from the intensifying panic. âAre you hurt? Were you hit?â Slip of the tongue there that you both catch. His hands cup your face as he looks over your face. They drop quickly though to hold so that his eyes can trail unobstructed up and down your body almost methodically.
âIâm okay, I promise.â You grab his hands. âJack, Iâm okay. I wasnât involved and the crash wasnât even that bad, it sounded much worse, some guy drove straight into an empty and parked car and someone swerved to avoid him and hit the hydrant. I saw it coming and moved down the street.â
âNo offense Doll but Iâm okay is so the fuck not going to do it this time.â The way he says it isnât mean or snippy or angry. Itâs scared. Jack finally looks at you, really looks at you in your eyes. âYouâre coming in for an exam. You could have been hit by debris, a sharp piece of headlight plastic and youâre probably having an adrenaline rush so you might not feel it and youâre in all black so I canât get a good look at you and blood isnât obvious. So just, youâre coming in and Iâm going to look you over.â
You tilt your head a little and go to say something but stop for a second as you fully take in Jack. In addition to the sacredness in his voice you can tell heâs panicked by how he looks physically, pupils blown wide and chest heaving. He looks like he could be sick at any moment. While you know youâre genuinely fine this time you know that Jack doesnât and that he canât believe you as much as he trusts you, he just canât, not on this, not after what happened last time. You know Jackâs not going to be able to see another human being until heâs checked you over.Â
âOkay.â You nod at him.Â
âDoll, please donât argue, itâs not excessive or overdramatic-â
âJack,â you say his name and drop his hands so that you can hold his face with yours. âI said okay. Letâs go in and to a room, yeah?â
âOh,â Jack nods. He shakes his head slightly and itâs like he comes back to. âYeah, yeah, come on.â He wraps an arm around you as you walk towards the ambulance entrance like heâs trying to be prepared to catch you when you drop any second now. Because he is. Because Jack is convinced heâs going to get you in a room and find something wrong, some horrific injury thatâs going to leave you fighting for life again. Because Jack is right back to that day, the PTSD episode taking over his mind fast and gripping him like a vise.
He grabs his bag as you walk by it, catches Danaâs eye as he opens the door to central 6 and leads you inside. She gives him a knowing nod as Jack pulls the curtain to give you privacy since the door has a window. Â
You set your purse on the bed and turn to face Jack, grab the hem of your shirt and start to pull it over your head. Jack sets his backpack down and his hands find yours before you can.Â
âLet me,â he whispers, eyes still a bit crazed. You move your hands and nod, lift your arms when needed so he can pull your shirt off. He tosses it over your purse and looks at you, asks a silent question with his eyes.Â
You nod and Jack unhooks your bra, puts it on top of your shirt. His hands find the waistband of your pants and underwear and he kneels as he pulls them down. You rest your hands on his shoulders as you pick up one foot at a time for him to get them all the way off. Jack stands back up and sets them on top of your bra and shirt.Â
It feels like you should be uncomfortable or embarrassed standing like this, naked in front of a fully dressed Jack, even though heâs seen you naked a thousand times now, showers with you all the time, and has seen you in far more compromising positions than this. And in some sense it is because you donât have a ton of self confidence despite all of Jackâs constant praise and body worship. But itâs also not because itâs Jack and the way he looks at you and takes you in, even now for the reason he is, makes you feel like the most beautiful thing heâs ever seen and like heâs thinking to himself how lucky he is that youâre his and he gets to have you and see you like this. That you let him. And that is in fact what he thinks to himself.Â
Jack starts with your face out of habit of looking in your eyes. A hand gently trails behind his gaze, fingers running softly over your skin, pressing just a bit like theyâre looking for something. Jack just needs to feel you, feel your body and warm skin. He moves from your face down to your neck, covers it all before his eyes move to your shoulder and down your arm to your hand.Â
Itâs not clinical, the way he looks over your body. It could feel clinical easily given the setting and the fact that Jack is checking for injuries. But itâs not. Instead it just feels like the man who loves you is taking in every piece of you to make sure youâre unharmed. Like a man who is so in love with you that he wonât be able to function again until heâs made sure youâre uninjured is taking reassurance from you body. Like being loved.
His eyes and hand go up and down you slowly, methodically. He does the top half of your body first and then crouches to do the lower half. Not a scratch on you. Jack stands back up, kisses at a couple of your scars as he does and then your forehead and then your lips.Â
Neither of you have said anything since Jack whispered to let him and you havenât needed to, still donât need to. He grabs your bra first, helps you get it back on then does your shirt for you. He crouches again to help you with your pants and underwear, pulls them up with you as he stands back up. You adjust your clothes and smooth them out a little as you get situated again, Jackâs eyes still trailing over your body some.Â
Itâs then that he looks back into your eyes. Theyâre normal now, his pupils arenât dilated and he doesnât look so out of control with worry. Thereâs definitely still some worry there, but not like there was. Jack starts to move just a half second or so before you, stepping closer to you and cupping the back of your head with his hand. He pulls you into a hug like that, one you were already moving to give him. His hand stays on the back of your head, moving to the side a bit as he holds your head to his chest, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you tight. You wrap your arms around him, let him hold you as tightly as he needs to and hold him back just as strong.Â
Jack nuzzles his nose in your hair and smiles at the familiar scent. It helps ground him. He presses a couple of kisses to the top of your head, lets his lips linger with the last one. âIâm sorry,â he finally whispers. He releases you so that you can take a step back and look at each other. But his hands stay on your waist to keep you close, thumbs brushing back and forth absentmindedly, your hands rest on his chest. âIâm sorry if I was mean out there, I hardly even remember, I was just soâŠâÂ
âYou have nothing to apologize for. You werenât mean, I promise, Jack. You were just worried. Thatâs okay.â You slide your hands up his chest to his neck into his hair, scratch a little. You know he loves it. âDid it help?â
He wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you a bit closer again. âYeah, thank you. For letting me. I just needed to know and see with my own eyes that nothing had happened to you.â
You smile at him. âOf course, it was a pretty easy ask.â You try to give him a little smirk to see if heâll smile and he does, just slightly. âJack,â you tilt your head at him, encouraging him to speak to you but not demanding it. Heâs still way in his head even if heâs come down from the panic he was in.  Â
He lets out a long breath and sits in one of the chairs. âI was standing there and heard it and thought to myself that was a good place to crash. Right by an emergency room. And then it hit me that you were on that corner. And it was like the entire world was falling out from under me again. I was right back there in a way, it was like I was right back there.â He shakes his head a little and runs a hand through his hair. You know where he means.Â
You step closer to him and he automatically opens his legs so that you can stand between them. You rest your hands on his shoulders. âThat makes sense.â
Jack settles his hands on your hips and bows his head forward so that his forehead rests against your tummy. âMaybe, yeah.â
âNo, not maybe.â You move your hands, one rubbing the back of his neck and the other running through his hair. âIt does make sense Jack. It was a PTSD trigger even if the circumstance wasnât exactly the same. You feared for me and my life. Of course itâs going to take you back there. And I know itâs not my fault, but Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry that youâre going through this and feeling this way right now and hurting. And if there is anything I can do to help Peter, please tell me.â
Jack squeezes your hips and lifts his face a little to give your tummy a kiss. âYouâre already doing it,â he mumbles against you. âJust being here and letting me look you over and talking to me.â He pulls his head from your tummy and looks up at you, cocks his head slightly. âYou know?âÂ
âI do,â you nod. âBecause you do the same for me. You heal me just by existing in this world with me.âÂ
The two of you share a moment of eye contact before Jack pushes his lips out. You lean down and kiss him until he pulls away. âI should get to work.â
You nod. âProbably, yeah. I actually need to talk to Dana about my last fitting so itâs good I ended up coming in.â
Thereâs a comfortable silence as you share a look. Jack knows that you do need to talk to Dana but that itâs not the only reason youâre staying. Youâre giving him a little more time to come down with you still in his sight. âOkay. Just let me know before you go, yeah?â
âOf course.â You smile at him and give him another kiss before the two of you leave the room. After you speak with Dana you find a reason to hang around the Pitt for a while longer. You chat with everyone whoâs on and gets a couple of minutes to spare, hang around the desk without being intrusive or disruptive. You can feel Jackâs eyes on you frequently as he runs around from patient to patient, nurse to nurse, doctor to doctor. The two of you share a look at some point and you can see the gratitude in his eyes even as far away as you are.Â
Eventually though, you know you need to leave. You track Jack down to let him know.Â
âIâm going to head home, okay?â You smile reassuringly at him.Â
Jack stiffens just slightly for a second. When you rest your hands on his chest he relaxes a bit. âYeah,â he nods, âokay, that sounds good. Make sure you get some dinner, yeah?â
âI will if you will.â You give him a knowing look.Â
âYou know thatâs not fair.â
You give an overdramatic huff. âFine, but please try and have dinner if you can.â
âI promise you I will try.â He pulls you in for a hug and kisses the top of your head. âText me when youâre home, yeah?â
âOf course, Peter. Call if you need anything. Or text.â The two of you step apart and Jack walks you over to the doors. âI love you.âÂ
Jack leans down and kisses you. âI love you too.â
You try so hard to stay awake for Jack, but you slip asleep reading your book on the couch without even realizing it. You had told yourself when you laid out on the couch that you would end up falling asleep but you convinced yourself you wouldnât because you were at such a good spot in your book. Famous last words. The book is now face down on your chest rising and falling with your steady sleeping breaths.Â
Jack thinks itâs odd when he opens the door and the lights are on but you donât say anything. Youâd have heard the door. He drops his bag and takes a few steps in to see if youâre on the couch or just forgot to turn the lights off when you went to bed. Maybe you left them on for him deliberately.Â
He smiles when he sees you asleep on the couch, walks over and grabs your book off your chest and marks the spot for you. You stir awake at it, blinking rapidly to clear your eyes before giving him a sleepy smile.Â
âSorry, I tried waiting up for you.â
Jack smiles wider. He loves your sleepy voice. âI can see that,â he teases. âDonât apologize. Letâs go to bed, yeah?â
You nod and sit up. Once youâre standing Jack grabs you for a quick kiss. âDinner is in the oven staying warm for you, bring it to bed.â You yawn a little. You rarely have to do this anymore now that Jack works days but whenever heâs covering a night or mid if you make a real meal for dinner you always leave some in the oven for him with it set to warm. It is really such a simple thing but makes Jack feel so incredibly loved and taken care of and cared about and appreciated. âThe granola bar or yogurt or whatever you had stored away that you ate doesnât qualify as dinner.â You give him a knowing look, a little bit of the edge lost with how sleepy you still seem.
âThank you, Doll.â You just nod at him, wait for him to grab it. You both change and you sit on the bed with him while he eats, chat a bit about his shift.Â
âYou want to talk?â He knows youâre referencing what happened earlier today with you. âNeed to?â Jack also knows youâre not pressuring him, just genuinely asking and reminding him that youâre here if he needs.Â
âIâm okay, honestly. Being busy at work helped,â Jack explains once he swallows the bite heâd taken.Â
When he finishes the two of you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, wash your faces and get ready for bed. You curl up together once youâre both in bed. You wind up with Jackâs head on your chest, tangled together in the perfect position thatâs comfortable for you both. âYouâll wake me if you have a nightmare?â Youâre half asleep already when you ask.
âI will, promise. But I think Iâll be okay.â Jack nuzzles against your chest a little, telling you without words that the sound of your heart beating in his ear seems to keep them away. âI love you.âÂ
âGood. I love you too.â Your words are all sleep slurred and Jack chuckles a little. âSleep tight Peter. Less than three months now.âÂ
And itâs just under two months until the wedding when Jack pushes open the trauma room door and raises his eyebrows at Robby. Itâs nearing the end of their shift. âWhatâs up?â Heâs a bit confused why Robby called him in. Itâs an MVA victim and the patient, while critical and in need of further stabilization, diagnostics and treatment, isnât circling the drain. Robby can handle this with his eyes closed. He has a great team running it with him too. So Jack is confused why Perlah came running to grab him. âYouâve got this-â
âJack, itâs Leahâs sister.â Robbyâs voice shakes as he says it.Â
âOh fuck.â Jack doesnât need Robby to say anything more. He goes to grab a gown and gloves and jumps in, displacing a new intern.Â
âWe canât lose her Jack, we cannot fucking lose her.â Robbyâs shaking his head as he finishes intubating her. âI canât talk to her fucking parents again.âÂ
Jack finishes off a chest tube and after a minute Jesse yells out a new round of vitals. Theyâre strong as she stabilizes further, strong enough that Jack can take a second.Â
âRobby,â Jack calls to him but Robby doesnât look over, just starts moving to do something else. âMichael!â That gets Robby to look up and Jack catches his gaze. âWeâre not going to.â Robbyâs frenetic anxiety has made the entire room far too wired. âOkay everyone stop!â Jack isnât mean about it, but itâs firm. Thereâs no room to argue or do anything but stop. âSheâs stable for now so everyone take a breath.â Jack is still looking Robby in the eyes. Everyone takes a breath and lets it out. âAlright,â Jack nods, âletâs go.âÂ
Jack is right. They donât lose her. She stabilizes nicely and gets admitted and taken upstairs. Robby tries to talk to her parents but Jack doesnât let him. Heâs not sure where Robby went off to, but he can guess.Â
He calls you first quickly. You answer on the second ring. âHi! Sorry I was turning the bath on to soak, so it took me a sec to get to my phone.â
Jack smiles to himself at you explaining as if you needed to. âYou have nothing to apologize for, Doll. I just wanted to let you know that Iâm finally fucking off but itâs going to be a bit still.â
Thereâs an edge to Jackâs voice that concerns you. Itâs almost like heâs had a bad day but not quite. âAre you okay? Did something happen?â
âIâm okay, I promise.â He lets out a sigh, rubs his free hand over his face. âRobby had a MVA victim today. Leahâs sister.âÂ
âOh fuck.â You walk over and turn the bath off.Â
Jack lets out a little laugh at that. âYeah. Robby called me in and told me it was her and I said the exact same thing. She made it. She should be fine, sheâs admitted upstairs. I spoke with her parents this time.â
âRobbyâs not though.â Your heart aches for him. Itâs around that time of year too. You werenât around for Pitt Fest, but Jack has told you pretty much everything at some point or another.Â
âRobbyâs not though.â Jack confirms. âIâm pretty sure heâs up on the roof. Iâm going to go talk to him and then some people are going to the park now, Iâm going to try and get him to go to see how he is.âÂ
âOkay, Peter,â you murmur.
Jack knows the sadness lacing your voice isnât because heâs just called you to let you know heâll be home even later than he already texted you heâd be. Itâs because youâre sad for Robby. That empathetic heart of yours is something he loves about you so much, but he knows it means you feel real emotional distress at times. âHeâll be okay.â
âNo, I know, I just⊠wish I could make it better for him.â
âI know you do Doll. I do too. Iâll text you, okay?â
âYeah.â You nod even though he canât see you. âJack?â You say it before he can start to say goodbye,
âYeah?â
âIâm sorry. I know itâs really hard watching your best friend hurt. Iâm here, okay?â You chew on your lip a little. You know it hurts Jack to see Robby struggling and vice versa.Â
âI know you are. Thank you.â You can hear the smile in Jackâs voice. âI love you and Iâll let you know when Iâm on my way home.â
âOkay, love you too.âÂ
Robby is exactly where Jack expects to find him. âYouâre not allowed to jump off the roof,â Jack calls to Robby as he walks over to where he stands beyond the guard rails.Â
âWe donât have to do anything. But you knew I was going to come up here to find you,â he says pointedly. Robby tries to shake his head at first but ends up giving him a nod. Jack can tell Robby really doesnât want to come apart here again. He gets it. âIâm serious. Canât have my officiant jumping off the roof. Especially not this close to the wedding.âÂ
That at least gets a huff of laughter from Robby. He lets out a long breath and shakes his head. âI donât know Jack.â Robby turns and ducks back under the guard rails and stands next to Jack. âIt was years ago,â Robby laughs and runs a hand through his hair, âbut right now it feels almost like that night.âÂ
âYeah,â Jack nods slowly. âThatâs PTSD for you.â
âI recognized her.â Robby looks over at Jack. âThey looked so alike. But I couldnât place her. And then someone was going through her stuff and read her name and it hit me at the last name. Leahâs sister. I felt fucking awful that I didnât recognize her. I should have. Shouldn't have forgotten. And then it was just like I canât lose her. I canât do that to her parents again. And I should be over it, and it shouldnât fuck with me this much still.â
Jack lets the words hang there for a minute, in part to see if Robby will say anything else. âFirst,â he starts, âshould is a stupid word.â That earns him a look from Robby that Jack waves off for later. âSecond, she wasnât Leah. You shouldnât have recognized her. They looked similar, yes, but still. Youâd never seen her before, had you?â Robby shakes his head. âThen how would you have known? I get the not losing her thing. And even if you hadnât called me in you wouldnât have. Youâre a good doctor, Michael. Leah was effectively DOA, you know that.âÂ
Robby takes in a big breath and lets it out. âYeah.â He shrugs. âStill.â Itâs whispered and Jack knows Robbyâs getting close to his limit.Â
âI know. Come on, letâs go to the park. Even just for one.â Robby grimaces at Jack. âItâll be good for you.â
Robby gives Jack a look that says he doesnât believe him but nods anyway and they head down, sit on their usual bench. Itâs much livelier than it had been when Jack thinks back on the night of Pitt Fest. More people.Â
Everyone chats and laughs but Jack can read Robby and knows itâs all fake, all forced and shallow. Itâs unsurprising but Leahâs sister hit him hard. Jack wonders when the last time he spoke to Jake was.Â
After what can only be five or so minutes Garcia smirks and looks over at Jack. âYour girl decided to join us?â
Jackâs brows furrow together in genuine confusion before his eyes follow Garciaâs. Sure enough, there you are, in leggings and one of Jackâs oversized sweatshirts youâve stolen. Jack tilts his head as he gets up and walks towards you, reaching you before you hit the group. His heart rate ticks up a little.Â
âHey,â he calls to you before he reaches you, his hands wrapping lightly around your upper arms when youâre close enough, eyes starting to move over you. âYou okay? Did something happen?âÂ
You melt a little inside. Heâs so protective and caring. You know some of it stems from trauma but he was like this with you before you were shot. You bring your hands up and squeeze Jackâs forearms softly. âIâm okay, promise. I didnât come for Pitt services.â
Jack believes you but he canât help the way his eyes give you one last scan. The way they linger at your torso doesnât escape you. âOkay, good.â He releases your arms and you his as he pulls you in for a hug, kisses the top of your head. âSo why are you here? Not that Iâm not thrilled to see you or that you canât come see me randomly.â
You separate a little so you can look at each other. âI donât know. I couldnât shake the feeling that maybe Robby shouldnât be alone. As long as youâre okay and donât need my undivided attention.â Your eyes flit around Jackâs face as you look for any signs he does. âI love Robby, but you always come first.âÂ
Jack smiles at you and shakes his head slightly before leaning in to give you a kiss. Itâs chaste, thereâs no tongue or real movement, he just lets it linger to communicate how much he loves you and appreciates you. âIâm okay.â He looks you in your eyes like he loves. âI promise.âÂ
You nod. You believe him, know he is. âGood.â The two of you exchange small smiles and agree on the plan without speaking a word of it. Itâs just intuitive. Jack swallows hard because youâre so good not just to him, but everyone in his life.Â
Jack laces his hand in yours and walks you over to the bench with him. You greet everyone, smile and nod at Robby as you sit down by Jack. You arenât there long before Robby stands up and says heâs going to head out, starts walking.Â
âYou ready?â Jack asks you. You nod at him, both of you saying your goodbyes.Â
You donât wait for Jack though as he finishes saying goodbye. Instead you walk quickly to catch up with Robby.Â
âRobby!â You call out as you get close. He stops of course, turns to look at you, is about to ask if something is wrong. âCome to ours.âÂ
He raises an eyebrow and takes a deep breath in as he gives a single nod, grimaced smile pulling up on his face. Jack told you at some point. Heâs not mad about it.
âThatâs very kind, but Iâm fine. Iâll be okay.â He starts to turn to walk again but you follow beside him.Â
âI donât know that I believe you that you are fine, and itâs okay not to be.â You give him a little look when he looks over at you. âEven if you are, you donât have to work towards being okay alone.âÂ
Robbyâs steps slow. âItâs okay, honestly.â He sounds much more emotional now but also like he doesnât know what to do with the offer for some help. âIâm sure Jack would like some alone time to decompress.â Heâs trying to deflect.Â
âI spoke to Jack before I offered, heâs okay with it.â The two of you are standing again. âWell itâs less of an offer at this point and more me telling you. You shouldnât be alone and I know you well enough at this point Robby to know that you donât want to be. So come to ours.â You grab a fistful of the sleeve of his sweatshirt. You know you have him and donât need to say more but you give him another reason. His favorite thing you bake. âLetâs go. Iâll make you white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies.â
You donât wait for him to say anything, just tug at him by his sleeve and turn around, start walking over to a waiting Jack. Robby doesnât protest, walks by your side.Â
âSheâs persuasive isnât she?â Jack smirks as you approach.Â
âShe grabbed my sweatshirt and started pulling, Iâm not sure if thatâs persuasion.âÂ
âI said Iâd make him white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies,â you tell Jack as you release Robbyâs jacket and lace your fingers through Jackâs outstretched hand.Â
âYou better,â Robby huffs as he smooths out the creases your hand had caused in the sleeve of his jacket. The attitude is all fake.Â
âOr what, you wonât marry us?â you fire back, largely to distract him.Â
âHa!â Jack laughs loudly which makes you join in. Even Robby has to as much as he tries not to.Â
âI am a woman of my word, thank you very much. I will make you the cookies.â Â
Itâs not a long walk to your and Jackâs place. You kick off your shoes and walk in as both men drop their bags and get their own shoes off. Youâre in the kitchen by the time they come to find you, assembling supplies and ingredients.Â
You glance up at them as they walk in. âShower. Both of you. If you want. But also do it.â You look at Robby. âThereâs a clean towel on the guest bed for you, and I put a pair of Jackâs pajama pants and a shirt on the bed for you too. There should be stuff in the shower but just yell if you need something that isnât in there.âÂ
Jackâs standing a little behind Robby and staring at you. Itâs one of those moments where he really thinks youâre too good not just for him but for the world. You did all of this after getting off the phone with him, planned for it, came to see him, yes, but also to check on Robby and silently ask Jack whether Robby needed this, to not be alone. All because Robby is his best friend. You and Robby are close in the sense that heâs Jackâs brother effectively and so you know him well and most everything about him and love him like family, but youâre not best friends. This is something youâre doing for Robby, yes of course, but also for Jack and he knows it. Jack catches your eye and mouths he loves you. The smile you give him says you love him too.
âI will, uh. Thank you.â Robby gives you a small nod, both he and Jack walking down the hall to their respective rooms.Â
While they shower you order a pizza and start on the cookies. The dough doesnât take too long to make and you have it blast chilling in the freezer and grab the pizza from the delivery guy and have it on the counter by the time Jack comes out and finds you in the kitchen. âHi.â He wraps his arms around you from behind and hunches a bit so he can kiss at your neck.
âHi.â He can hear the smile in your voice as you tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. âYou okay? Nice shower?â
Jack lets his lips stay against your neck. âIâm good, Doll. And it was okay.â He kisses his way up to your jaw. âWould have been better if youâd been in it with me.âÂ
You giggle, turn your face more so that you can share a real kiss. âTomorrow. I promise.â Jack hums, loosen his grip around you when you go to turn all the way. You run a hand through his still wet hair. You really do love that heâs keeping his just slightly longer now all the time. âI love your hair,â you sigh, tilt your head at him. Ever since France heâs been keeping it that centimeter or so longer. He doesnât have a huge preference and youâve made it clear just how much you love it like this. And he does too with how feral it can make you and how it lets you tug on it even harder when heâs got his between your legs or is fucking you.Â
Jack lets out a laugh through his nose. âYou know Iâve picked up on that.â You tell him you love his hair all the time, play with it all the time, run your hands through it. You love his curls and the salt and pepper. He teases you all the time that youâre the reason for the increasing amount of salt.Â
âIâm jealous.âÂ
âPicked up on that too,â Jack laughs. âYou got us pizza?â
âMhm, I knew the chances of either of you having eaten something substantial were slim to none.â You give him a soft smile.Â
He loves you so much. The way you anticipate his needs, seem to think of everything. Heâd love you as much as he does even if you didnât, but you do. Jack tilts his head and leans in for a kiss, this one far less chaste than any youâve had since parting for the day much earlier this morning. Jack starts to deepen the kiss even more, push you into the counter a little as he gets closer and you let him, scratch at his scalp to make him groan.Â
The shutting of the guest room door startles you both and ends the kiss. Jack whines softly as he leans his forehead against yours. âEat, Jack.â You poke his tummy softly. He grumbles a little but kisses your forehead and walks over to the box of pizza, grabs a slice. âYou too,â you tell Robby once he walks back into the kitchen. âEat.â
Robby looks over at the pizza and nods. âThank you.âÂ
Jack opens the fridge once he finishes his first slice and pulls out two beers. âDoll?â He raises his eyebrows at you.Â
âNo, Iâm okay but thank you for asking.â He nods at you and takes the tops of both, hands Robby one and grabs another slice of pizza, as does Robby. Youâre all mostly quiet as they eat, grabbing more slices when they finish one, and you take the dough out and scoop it out onto some cookie sheets. You give both of them a look when they each grab a little dough out of the bowl to eat.Â
Jack and Robby move into the living room while you finish and get the cookies in the oven, a timer set. You follow them into the living room, just for now. Youâll give them some time together once the cookies are done.Â
The two sit at opposite ends of the couch, both leaning on the armrests a bit. You sit right next to Jack, feet curled up almost under you and lean back into him a little. âTell her what you said on the roof.â You look back over your shoulder with your brows slightly furrowed at Jack. âYouâll see, just wait.â Robbyâs brows are even more furrowed than yours. He has no idea what Jack means or what part of the conversation heâs referring to. âAbout being over it.âÂ
âOh,â Robby runs a hand through his hair and looks at you. âI should have recognized her and I didnât. I should be over it. It shouldnât fuck with me this much this far out. And normally it doesnât, but today it sure fucking did.âÂ
You nod as soon as he says the word, squeeze Jackâs hand. âShould is a stupid word.âÂ
Robby lets out a little laugh. âSo Iâve been told.âÂ
âI didnât tell him the rest,â Jack informs you. âI think hearing it would benefit him though.â
âYou could have told him.â
âYeah, but I like hearing you say it. And it seemed like something that would be more convincing tonight coming from you.â Jack runs his hand up and down your thigh now.Â
You nod, look at Robby, catch his eyes so that youâre really looking at each other. âShould is a stupid word,â you repeat. âNothing should or shouldnât be. Things just are. And itâs okay for them to be as they are. Itâs okay for this to be as it is. Itâs still going to fuck with you, Robby. Some days more so than others. And no fucking shit it did today. It was her sister, in your trauma room. Youâve gotta give yourself some grace.âÂ
Robby is quiet, has to look away from you as he thinks. But you saw how glassy his eyes grew, how close to tears he was before he looked away. Jack knows he isnât sure how to respond to that. So he moves the conversation forward a bit. âWhenâs the last time you talked to him?â
Robby takes in a deep breath through his nose and holds it for a second before letting it out as he shakes his head. âCouple of months. Four or five maybe.â He clears his throat to try and get rid of some of the emotion, takes a sip of his beer. Jack shifts slightly so heâs a bit more turned, can rest his hand on the top of your thigh. âHe just doesnât want to talk. Heâs still mad. I think at least. Sometimes I feel like itâs something else but can never figure out what. Talk about it in therapy every now and then, but thereâs not much left to say.â Robby swallows thickly, sets his beer down.Â
You and Jack are both quiet for a moment. Youâre trying to read both Robby and Jack, trying to see if further input from you is wanted or if this is a shut up and listen moment, or something Robby is telling Jack for later, when theyâre alone.Â
Jack can damn near hear you thinking and squeezes your thigh. Heâs sure Robby needs to hear whatever it is you have to say. You shift down the couch a little, sit a bit closer to Robby, fully facing him on the couch with your legs crossed under you. You grab his hand and hold it. Not like you hold Jackâs but like you hold the hand of a friend youâre comforting.
âSometimes you donât think heâs mad anymore. Sometimes you convince yourself heâs not mad anymore. I think, maybe, instead you think heâs over it, or as over it as heâll ever get and heâs just done with you.â You let out a small breath as Robby squeezes your hand hard. All three of you know that youâre right. âYou think he has gotten used to you not being there, has moved on from you and doesnât want you to be in his life anymore. You think heâs no longer angry and grieving and confused and struggling. You think he just doesnât need or want you. And the thought that he just doesnât need or want you hurts much more than him blaming you for her death ever did. Because heâs a son to you. And so the thought that he just doesnât need or want you anymore is the pain of losing a child in a way, Michael. Youâve gotta try and let yourself feel that.âÂ
Robby looks at you. âHoly fuckin shit.â Heâs stricken and you know itâs an uncomfortable realization but if life and therapy have taught you one thing itâs that sometimes having words, knowing how to say what youâre feeling, is helpful, makes it better, no matter how hard those words are to say or hear. âYou⊠IâŠâ Robby drops his head, takes his hand back from you so that he can hold his face in his hands.
âI know,â you murmur. You scoot just a bit closer and wrap your arms around him from the side, rest your head on the back of his shoulder and just hold him in the hug as he finally starts to cry.Â
Robby drops one hand from his face and holds onto your arm thatâs across his chest, just as something, someone to ground him. He never has this, never has someone with him when heâs like this except for maybe occasionally his therapist and every so often Jack. And youâre offering him this platonic affection and comfort of a hug and so Robby lets himself have it.Â
You donât say anything or move. Just hug him silently. Jack watches the two of you and thinks about how funny it is that heâs always thinking thereâs no way he could love you more and then you do something, something like this, and somehow he does.Â
The timer for the cookies goes off around the time Robby starts to calm down so you take your arms back and get off the couch, give Jack a quick kiss before going to the kitchen. You get the cookies on the cooling rack and fan at them a bit so they set up enough for you to get them on a plate, take them into the living room.Â
Robby and Jack have sat quietly together while youâre gone to give Robby some more time to collect himself. You set the plate on the middle of the couch between them. âIâm going to bed, but come get me if you need anything. Thereâs more cookies in there too, if you run out.âÂ
You step a little closer to Robby off to the side and lean over, run a hand over his hair and hold the back of his head while you kiss the top of his head off to the side. You move over to Jack, stand between his legs and lean down for a proper kiss, hold his face in your hands. âI love you,â you murmur against his lips, smiling.Â
âI love you more.â He wraps his hands around your wrists and gives you another kiss, another few, honestly, Robby still so out of it he doesnât even make a comment or fake a gag. You giggle a little and give him one last one before pulling away and heading into bed.
âSheâs right,â Robby admits once your bedroom door closes. He grabs a cookie, so does Jack.
Jack takes a sip of beer and nods. âShe usually is.â
Robby shakes his head and rubs his face with his hand, takes in a deep breath. âI never know what to think with him, Jack. Sometimes we text and it feels so normal. Other times it feels like heâs sending answers because he feels he has to and like itâll end the conversation faster. Sometimes we do frequently, a couple of days in a row and then this. We go months.â
âWhenâs the last time you spoke on the phone? Or facetimed or whatever?â
Robby has to think about it, grabs another cookie while he does. âHis birthday. He answered when I called. It was short, but he answered. That was like nine months ago.â
Jack raises his eyebrows to himself as he grabs another cookie. Nine months is a long time. Heâs not judging Robby, at all. Itâs just a long time and he knows how much it must kill Robby.Â
âShe got married,â Robby says quietly.Â
âJaney?â Jackâs kind of surprised by the news but he doesnât really know why.Â
âYeah.â Robby shrugs. âSo he really doesnât need me,â Robby tries to laugh, âhe has someone else, someone who didnât kill his girlfriend.â
âYou didnât kill his girlfriend Robby. And I have a lot of doubt that some guy his mom married when he was over 18 has replaced you.â Jack finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the end table. âJake loves you, a lot.â Jack shakes his head as Robby starts to interrupt him, grabs a cookie and shoves it at him to try and keep him from talking. âNo, donât tell me he doesnât. I saw him that day before he left, I saw how he looked at you. He might have been mad at you, might have hated you in a way, but he loved you when he left the hospital Michael.â
âI donât know if that makes it better or worse,â Robby sniffles. âEven if he loves me and I havenât been replaced and even if he needs me,â Robby shrugs. âHe still doesnât want me. And not wanting me wins over the rest and I donât know what to do with that.â
Jack sits up a little and lets out a breath. âHave you tried asking him if he wants to do something together, in person, since he started talking to you again?â It had taken six or seven months for Jake to respond to Robbyâs texts after Pitt Fest. He gave Robby the coldest of shoulders at Leahâs funeral, almost looked mad he was there.
âNo. Why would I? He doesnât want to and then it just makes it awkward for him to have to try and find a way to say no.â Robby shakes his head, finishes his own beer and sets it to the side. âI donât want to put him through anymore than I already have.â He grabs another cookie.
âBut maybe he does want to, Robby. Heâs still a kid, even though heâs over 18 and it happened when he was 17.â Jack catches Robbyâs gaze. âMaybe he doesnât know how to text or call first or maybe he doesnât know how to ask you to do something or be back in his life and have things be like they were before Pitt Fest because he thinks he hurt you too bad and doesnât know how to apologize and canât imagine you ever forgiving him. Maybe he thinks you donât want him. Maybe heâs hurting just as bad as you are and maybe he misses you just as much as you miss him.â
Robbyâs gaze falls from Jackâs and Jack can tell heâs thinking. Jack can tell heâs hoping.Â
âI donât,â Robby starts but then stops, shakes his head a little. âYou think?â
Jack shrugs. âI think itâs a possibility, yeah. Wouldnât surprise me.â
Robby nods. He grabs another cookie and Jack sits with him in silence.
âI think I need to sleep on it,â Robby finally says.Â
Jack nods. âThatâs a good plan.â Jack knows thatâs also Robbyâs somewhat subtle way of ending the conversation. Jack stands up and grabs his bottle, holds his hand out for Robbyâs. âYou taking those to bed with you?â
Robby rolls his eyes as he stands up and grabs the plate and follows Jack into the kitchen. âNo, just a couple.â Jack snorts a laugh as Robby grabs some and a paper towel. He gets the rest of the cookies and those left on the plate in a ziploc and sets them on the counter in front of Robby. Robby tilts his head at him.Â
âShe made them for you. So theyâre yours.â Jack shrugs as he walks out of the kitchen towards your room. âI hope you donât get too many nightmares tonight,â Jack calls back to Robby. Itâs his way of saying sleep well because Jack more than most people understands what sleeping is like after a PTSD episode.
Youâre asleep on Jackâs pillow when he walks in, heâs just able to make out your form in the darkness. He heads to the bathroom and quickly brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed.Â
Jack slips in behind you, bare chest pressing into your back as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you even closer. You stir, push yourself back into him as you take in a breath. âHi Peter,â you mumble. Your sleepy voice is so precious and adorable Jack swears he has to stop himself from biting your shoulder.Â
âHi Doll, I didnât mean to wake you,â he whispers back, kisses the side of your face.Â
âWasnât sleeping hard, trying to wait for you. Didnât work,â you let out a little sleepy laugh that turns into a yawn. You can feel the vibrations of Jackâs chest when he chuckles at you.Â
He squeezes you a little for a second and then fully settles behind you. âThank you. For doing this for Robby.â
You hum softly. âCourse. Robbyâs family, you donât need to thank me.â
Jack nuzzles his nose against your neck and kisses there. âYouâre not just anything.â Hearing you say youâre his always gets to him and he can feel himself filling out a bit, especially with your ass pressed back into him. âBut you are mine, yes,â Jack confirms. He feels your breathing start to slow and even out as you fall back asleep. âAnd Iâm yours.â
A week later you and Jack are laying in bed reading and intermittently chatting. Itâs Friday and it has been a long fucking week for you. Working late and going in early and barely taking lunch and just constantly busy. And itâs all been particularly emotionally draining.Â
âAre you having anyone walk you down the aisle?â
That question makes you pause, sit up a bit stiffly and look up from your book. Somehow during all of the planning it never occurred to you. âI⊠donât know I guess.â You shake your head as you look over at Jack.
He shrugs. âI just wondered. You donât need to have it figured out right now, thereâs still time.âÂ
âYeah.â You nod to yourself. But you stay sitting up and stiff. Jack watches you out of the corner of his eye and glances at you every now and then, hoping youâll relax and go back to reading. He hadnât meant to upset you or cause you stress or anxiety, but he realizes now with how exhausted and emotionally zapped you are from the week your brain has been looking for a reason to spiral and he just unknowingly at the time handed you one.Â
He sets his book down on his lap. âHey.â You look over at him and Jack can almost see the dizziness youâre feeling in your eyes from how fast your thoughts are churning in your head. âYou donât need to know right now, okay? You donât need to decide tonight. Thereâs seven weeks still. You have time.âÂ
âNo, I know.â You nod at him. And you do know. Jack watches you carefully. âIâm just thinking now.â You slip out of bed and start to pace. Jack chides himself mentally for his comment even though he knows he didnât deliberately give you something to spiral about, he still hates the fact that he did. âItâs going to be so much attention on me. On us.â You look up at him as you pace. âAt the altar. Walking down the aisle, like everyone is going to be looking at me and what if I fall? And then the first dance and cutting the cake and like we have to say our vows in front of everyone and what if I just like forget how to read.â It would be funny if it werenât causing you such real distress. Jackâs eyes stay on your face so he can try to read your expression as you pace at the foot of the bed. âMaybe we should downsize the wedding, maybe that would be better and then there wouldnât be so many people.âÂ
âDownsize the wedding,â Jack repeats, very obviously confused to an extent because youâd discussed this together when you started planning and were deciding how big you wanted your guest list. Heâs about 95% sure this is anxiety and exhaustion talking, but he wants to hear you out of course, wants to help and that means listening and asking questions so he fully understands you. âIn what way?âÂ
âYeah, like what if we just didnât have a big wedding? Just like a handful of people, maybe less.â You walk over and sit facing him on the edge of his side of the bed. âOr like you know,â you shrug, âwhat if we just flew to Vegas tomorrow and eloped?â
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know thatâs like a little baby kind of cliff-hanger but I felt like I had to keep it interesting Iâm sorry! đ I hope it was otherwise okay! I did not feel particularly great about any of this but it's hard to know if that means something or is just how I always feel lol. Part 5 and the wedding will be here soon!!
If you made it this far, seriously thank you, I know it's a lot to read and I appreciate you taking your time to read, I know how precious time to yourself can be so I am very grateful. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments!
Want more Jack? Check out my masterlist here!
Want to be added to my Jack tag list? Interact with this post!
But main take aways - you write trauma and the healing process so beautifully. Sprinkle in all the healthy coping mechanisms and lessons from therapy about communication so Doll and Jack are always so in tune with each other? Ugh. While this whole series has some pretty heavy topics, it's so well written and the things they learn to help are so artfully woven in and I just....your mind is a wonderful thing to be able to churn this out. Jack and Doll deserve that kind of care taken with their story and I can't wait for the wedding in part 5.
Also, Doll is totally valid at the end there. I've had several friends that eloped for various reasons before having a big wedding too, and all of them have said if they had to do it over again, they'd do it same way cause it took so much pressure off them for the big wedding. And then they could have their really personal vows be just them or with just a couple people they trust most. I can see her and Jack maybe doing that to take some of the pressure off if needed, but can see them just talking things through so they know it's just her spiraling cause she's exhausted and stressed from work.
And, cause I ran out of space in the tags, I can't wait for Robby to be crying during the wedding while trying to officiate. Cause I know he will, even if they don't see it at the time cause they're too lost in each other and saying their vows and everything.
For real though, I think I'm gonna save her "should is a stupid word" speech to refer back to when I need it cause that hits hard in all the right ways, and I love you so much having written that.
