summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
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masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“They’re raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.
Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
Hiiii pilates anon!!!! Jack being sooo obsessed with reader about to head to pilates in her cute and sexy pilates outfit and Jack can’t keep his hands to himself :)))
pilates princess
jack x shy reader! | authors note: you like jack x shy! reader? find more in my masterlist <3
ANON TY FOR RE-SENDING UR REQUEST I FELT SO BAD WHEN I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT WHILE I WAS ON THE TRAIN
—
jack was almost finished with his charts. a long day at work soiling into his evening because he decided to catch up on some much needed charting while robby was out on his wild sabbatical.
he types away while hangers are sliding from where she stood in the closet. his one leg was stretched out across the bed while his amputated one was elevated— resting on one of the pillows she decorated their bed with.
"babe?" he questioned.
“yeah?” her voice was much quieter than his.
he checked the time on his laptop screen, “pilates today?" he asked absentmindedly.
"mhm." her voice traveled out sweetly. "so, um.. i'll be gone for about an hour." she called as she slid her alo socks on.
"mkay” he hummed as be clicked through another patient chart.
he glanced up as she walked out of closet, her hips swaying as she tied up her hair— making her way into the en-suite bathroom.
jack pressed his lips together. fingers stopped moving. he watched her walk back out and move past him like she wasn’t strutting around in her pretty little getup.
she stood in the bedroom doorway adjusting the hem of her white zip-up. her beige leggings hugged her shorter legs perfectly while her matching sports bra peeked out.
she was hyper-focused on clipping in her earrings— the new ones he had given her on her birthday last week.
she oblivious of course, to the fact that her boyfriend had closed his laptop and move to sit at the edge of the bed.
"what?" she finally said as she caught him from the corner of her eye.
he didn’t respond.
she moved to look over at him completely and he was still staring.
"w—what?" she demanded.
he blinked at her, with that signature sideways smirk making her blush deeply.
"s—stop. are you..serious?"she said timidly, looking down at herself self consciously.
"what?" he wanted to know.
"jack" she wined as he shoved the closed laptop off of his lap and stood from the bed.
"w— what are you doing?" she laughed as she slowly strode towards her, his chest puffing out making her cover her lips with her freshly manicured fingers.
he moved dangerously slow.. like he was trying hypnotize her. he bit his lip as his eyes racked down her figure, watching her grin widely and move backwards.
"jack."
"hm?"
"w—why are you looking at me like that?" she said as he placed his hands on her hips, squeezing them causing her to yelp.
"dunno." he shrugged.
"wa— yes, you do!” she laughed.
"noo” he dragged as he pulled her into his chest, his hands immediately finding their place to rest on the backs of her thighs.
"i actually don't… don’t know what to do with myself. you’re in this pretty little thing."
she laughed softly, shaking her head as he pawed at her hips.
she struggled to get out of his teasing grip. "c’mon! it’s a workout fit. i wear this all the time.”
"i know." he smiled, letting his head fall so his lips could cling onto the soft of her chest.
he trailed wet kisses around the necklace that was sprawled across her collarbone.
"so.. so why are you acting like— ah..” she gasped as he nibbled, “..like you've never seen leggings before?"
"cuz baby.. f’me these are my least favorite."
she immediately frowned. her heard dropped so far down that she gulped loudly as she placed her hands against his cheek, motioning him to look up at her.
"really?“
"i mean, they make me miss you before you've even leave." he said wiggling his brows.
she couldn't help but scoff. “oh wow, that was smooth."
"it wasn't supposed to be." he winked hands moving from her waist and up to grip her neck softly.
"jack..."
"what?" he hummed, letting the pads of his thumbs press down lightly making her eyes close. he gripped his jaw as he watched her prefect lashes flutter closed.
"i—i have to leave." she whispered.
"I know." he bent slowly, placing his lips against hers causing her to shiver in his arms as she wrapped her arms around him.
his hands falling to the small of her back while she giggled into lips.
"baby, please." she pleaded. "i have class."
"fuck class." he tutted, smacking her bum playfully.
"eep!” she yelped a “m-my instructor is going to yell at me."
"i'll apologize." he said causing her to snort.
"oh, so you'll apologize?"
"mhm." he nodded.
"you don't even know her." she fought.
“baby, i’ll figure it out." he smirked as she tried taking a step toward the door.
but was quick to follow her. his arms still wrapped around her.
"get off!" she yelped.
"i'm not on you.” he said like it was obvious, his eyebrows shooting up in mock offense.
"jack! you know what i mean!"
"i really don't, honey.”
"jack!" she yelled now.
he sighed resting his chin into her shoulders as he smiled against her hair. "i missed you today." he croaked.
"babe you've been home for forty minutes. we literally showered together when you got home." she rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face only grew. “you’re being so clingy."
"it’s fine. you like when i’m clingy." he huffed out, wrapping his arms tighter around her just to annoy her as she tried peeling one of his hands away.
“oh.. my gosh!!” she yelped out in frustration. "i need to go!"
"yeah.. i know." he sighed.
"so let me!" she galled her fists into his shirt as he moved them back towards the bed making her give him that look.
"in a minute." he smiled as the back of her legs hit the mattress.
"i swear to god" she turned in his arms just enough for him to loosen his grip. "if i miss my class because of you, i’m not gonna talk to you for the rest of the night. "
"my girl is feisty today."
she poked his chest. hard.
"they charge me if i’m a no-show."
jack's eyebrows lifted. "they do?"
"yes."
he sighed dramatically. "fine." but instead of letting her go— he leaned down and stole one quick kiss. then another. and one more for good measure.
she giggled into him before pressing a hand against his chest as he finally loosened his grip.
“bye.”
she took exactly two steps toward the bedroom door but before she could escape— his large calloused hand caught onto her arm.
she looked back her eyes in slits as she scowled at him.
jack gave her the most unapologetically sappy smile she'd ever seen.
“one more hug?”
she signed but walked right back into his arms. "you're lucky you're cute."
"oh yeah?" he hummed as she hugged him tightly for another few seconds before patting his back.
“go finish your homework." she teased, as he pulled away, pointing toward the bed.
he nodded obediently.
"and i’ll go strengthen my core." she smiled making him scoff.
she made it all the way to the bedroom door as he scoffed, “i could have done that for you.” he said making her gawk at him.
“oh my god you’re such a child!” she groaned as she made her way down the stairs. “love you!” she called as she reached for the front door.
jack peered up from reopening his laptop. "love you more."
he started out into the hallway for a minute after he typed in his code to get back onto his laptop. he read the same sentence three times before he finally, sighed and took off his glasses.
“to help her strengthen her core,” he scoffed “i’m right fuckin’ here.” he muttered to himself.
wc: 22.5k
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, no age gap, reader in her mid to late forties, rivals to lovers, med student flash backs, parental death, suicide, suicidal ideation, cat dad!robby, sabbatical!robby, biker!robby, motorcycle accident (minor injuries), whump, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, so much domestic fluff, discussions of mental health, complicated parental relationship, like literally so much domesticity it's sickening, robby nicknamed reader bambi back in med school, mostly used in flashbacks, reader has a tattoo
synopsis: michael robinavitch was practically your sworn enemy in med school. your sworn enemy that you'd slept with, regretably, once. then twenty years passed and back in pittsburgh, you see one michael robinavitch on hinge. ever the hopeless romantic, you can't help the curiosity that leads you to match with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't remember you.
a/n: this one is for all my fellow hopeless romantics. it's so romantic and dramatic it borders on cringe but whatever. i had a ton of fun writing all my deepest romantic and domestic fantasies. welcome to my dream house, i tried to paint it as cozy as possible. <3 -syd
Your favorite part of being called in to the hospital on a Saturday was the peace and quiet of the lab. Doubly so today, because you were called in during the night shift.
Pathology didn't really have "night shifts" or even weekend shifts so the lab was completely empty when you arrived. Immediately, you set up your space, your speaker, pulled out the iced coffee you'd made at home, unscrewing the cap on the Ball jar.
Originally, you'd planned to spend the night on the couch with your tabby cat, Brutus (named in such a way so when he inevitably destroyed your furniture or knocked your favorite mug off the table you could at least find some whimsy in crying "Et tu, Brute?" theatrically), and a movie that you'd heard would make you cry. You'd been meaning to cry for a while now, but hadn't been able to find the time. You supposed you could push it to another night, depending on how long you ended up being in the hospital tonight.
You hummed along to the playlist you'd started on your speaker as you prepared a blood smear from the sample you'd been called in for.
Jack Abbot was the attending on shift in the ED this evening. You had only met him in person once or twice, but you were glad it was him and not Michael. Or, Robby, it seemed he was going by these days. You hadn't yet run into him since being back at PTMC, but you were not eager to reminisce with him, especially since it was becoming more and more clear that he had no recollection of you.
It shouldn't have bothered you so much. It had been two med school rotations and one extremely disappointing hookup when you'd both gotten too drunk after shift. But he had been instrumental in you picking pathology for residency. At the time, the decision had been full of complicated emotions, resentment, a complete misunderstanding of who you were and what you wanted. But now, well, you thought maybe you owed him your gratitude.
Your phone pinged while you were prepping your slides and you eyed it and found it was a notification from Hinge.
From Robby.
You inhaled slowly and looked away as your screen went dark. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing, chatting with Robby on a dating site. You told yourself you just were curious when your thumb tapped the heart on his profile. Middle aged looked really really good on him, you wouldn't deny that, but you still saw the baby faced, skinny rod of a med student when you looked at him. And when he'd first initiated the chat, you realized very quickly he didn't remember you.
You found yourself preening under his attention, how he complimented your photos and your mind through conversations. The both of you established early on that you didn't want to discuss work beyond confirming that you were both doctors working in PTMC. But you repeatedly dodged his attempts to meet up and grab a drink. You weren't sure how long you could keep it all up without admitting that you knew him already. Intimately, even.
You suspected soon enough, he'd get tired of trying to get you to meet up with him and move on to the next thing. But thus far, he'd been persistent, going on weeks now.
But you didn't have time for him right now so you turned your attention back to your slides. Slipping one beneath the microscope, you focused the knobs slowly, letting your world narrow to the blood sample, the blood cells.
This was why you loved your job. How easy it was to slip outside yourself and into whatever sample you were looking at. There was always a clear answer hiding in the shape of the cells, just beneath the surface. There was always a clear path to diagnosis, to treatment, to healing. Everything made perfect sense under the light of a microscope.
And this sample, as always, made perfect sense after just a few minutes. You sighed, "Shit."
You couldn't risk just sending this back via the online portal for whenever the doctor deigned to check the chart next so you picked up the phone. It rang and rang and rang.
You shook your head and put the phone back on the receiver. As quickly as possible, you documented the chart, still trying to get ahold of someone, but no one was picking up the phone. What the fuck was going on down there?
Impatient, you decided to head down yourself after saving your changes in the chart. You walked briskly towards the elevators, rocked on your heels as you waited.
The second the elevator doors opened you were knocked practically on your ass by the noise and the chaos of the ED. It was rare you came down here at all and every time you did it felt like being thrown back to med school rotations. Suddenly you were again the floundering med student constantly being expected to be on the lookout for the daggers of the other students as well as practice medicine efficiently.
But you were an adult now, not the twenty year old naive kid genius walking around on wobbly legs. Pushing your shoulders back, you shook it off and headed for the hub. Luckily, Dr. Abbot was right there.
"Your phones not working down here or something?" You asked without preamble, hands on your hips.
Abbot looked up at you slowly and then over to the phone. You followed his gaze and saw that the phone was lying off the receiver, "Ah, shit, sorry." He put the receiver back on the hook, "What could be so urgent it coaxes path from the comforts of the cave upstairs?"
You smirked, "Your patient has TTP."
He sighed and picked up an iPad, "Fuck," he muttered when he pulled up the chart you'd just updated, "Okay, um," He shook his head, "I don't think we have the resources down here to start TPE."
You frowned, "Okay… Admit to ICU, then."
He laughed, "Yeah, right. Good luck getting the charge to agree to admit a patient on a Saturday night."
You bit your lip, and then sighed, "Alright, give me… fifteen minutes and I'll be back down here with an apheresis machine, I'll run it."
He raised his eyebrows, "Really? You'd do that?"
You shrugged, "I could run apheresis in my sleep."
Slowly Abbot nodded and smirked at you, "Alright, great. Thank you."
Later, you sat in the hub of the emergency department after setting up the patient for TPE and finally opened your messages from Michael—Robby, you corrected yourself.
What's my favorite homebody up to this evening? Any way I can convince you to grab a drink?
You stifled a smirk and typed back, I'm on call tonight. Sorry, cowboy.
"Hey," You looked up to see Abbot leaning over the counter to look at you, "Seriously, thank you for staying."
"No problem," You eyed the chaos around you, "Seemed like you guys could use the help."
"Always." He laughed and nodded, "Listen, some of us in the ED are getting together for a poker night next Friday, would you… be interested in coming?"
You blinked up at him, unsure of what to make of the offer. Was he flirting or just being nice? You'd heard that Jack Abbot flirted with everyone, so likely he didn't mean anything by it at all. While you were trying to figure it out, your phone pinged again. Robby. You flipped your phone facedown on the workstation desk.
"Why not?" You said and smiled up at him.
"Great," He unlocked his phone and handed it to you, "Here, put your number in and I'll text you the details."
Having entered your information, you returned his phone to him and then he was off. Sighing, you turned back to your phone to open Robby's latest message.
They're working you too hard. I thought path was supposed to be easy?
You rolled your eyes at this, but were unsurprised. For as much as you remembered him complaining about surgeons during your rotations, that they had a superiority complex, he had the same issues. And so had you, once upon a time, but you had grown out of it.
Having a work-life balance doesn't make the whole specialty "easy."
Almost immediately, a reply was on your phone: Sorry, I didn't mean to diminish your specialty. The ED would cease to function without collaboration from path, I know that. And your diagnoses have saved our asses on multiple occasions when we were busy chasing zebras.
Well. That was new. An apology without hesitation that seemed to drip through with humility and sincerity.
Though, it also was not lost on you that he had incentive to be nicer to you in the context of a dating app considering he'd been trying to fuck you for the last few weeks.
Apology accepted, you texted back, I know your true frustration lies with the inability to have your way with me tonight. You stifled a smile after hitting send. It reminded you of being in college, the casual flirtation. You hadn't had time for this sort of thing in med school or residency, doing your best to just survive. Then, when you were finally an attending, you were so burnt out you remembered practically sleep walking through the first couple of years. By the time that was all over, you felt so out of practice you'd mostly isolated yourself until now.
You'd had a few one night stands since creating a Hinge profile, but since you and Robby had begun chatting he had taken up all of your mental space. This irritated you greatly on top of the fact that he didn't seem to remember you.
And here I thought I was doing an excellent job at concealing my desperation.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head, Could you show me just how desperate you are for me?
You fidgeted with your fingers anxiously as you waited for his response, wondering for just a few moments if you had been too brazen, too forward—The phone pinged.
You slid open your phone and felt lightheaded as you took in the photo he'd sent you. His fist was wrapped around the considerable length of his very erect cock, dark tufts of hair at the base of his fist. You had both been pretty drunk the time you'd hooked up in the darkness of Robby's messy studio apartment and as he'd had trouble maintaining an erection that night, you'd never gotten a good look at it. Not like this.
There was a lump in your throat and you swallowed hard as another message came through: The photos you sent in that pretty lingerie set will have to do for tonight.
You felt your cheeks heat and blinked the steamy feeling from your eyes. Locking your phone, you placed it face down in front of you and stared off into the distance for a while.
And after a minute or so of this, when your galloping heart slowed and lucid thinking began to ease its way behind your eyes again, you had only a single thought:
Oh, no.
***
An unseasonable heat wave had domed around Pittsburgh the last couple of days and so when Robby headed to Jack's place for poker night that Friday, the sun had gone down, but the residual heat warmed him enough that he didn't need a jacket.
He had been waffling back and forth on whether or not to skip the night all together. The week had been crushing him, slowly, a boulder rolling incremently into a brick wall, an unstoppable force.
There had been a few patients they'd lost that really stuck with him this week. They'd been short on residents which meant he'd had to do a bit more hands on care than usual.
And more and more when he found things growing particularly dark, he'd reach for you. You, with your gorgeous smile and silly cat and constant, almost oppressive optimism.
He'd tease you about it, but really he admired it. How no matter how bleak of a day you had, he had, you'd find a way to turn it on its head.
Sure, you'd had to stage the breast cancer of a woman in her thirties and the news wasn't good, but you'd gotten to hold her hand and tell her about all the ground breaking treatment that was available to her. Sure, you'd cried about her for days later, but she'd sent you a card the next week thanking you for the simple act of holding her hand. Of showing her kindness. And maybe you'd get to see her through to remission as you'd done for countless others.
That was your favorite part, you'd tell him. Diagnosing sucked, but treatment plans and seeing people through to the other side, sliding biopsies under your microscope to see healthy tissue. Remission.
"That's why you're so miserable down there," You'd told him, "You mostly see people on their worst days, you don't get to celebrate with them when they make it to recovery. You don't get to see the returns."
He craved your perspective, wanted desperately to have it himself. But he wasn't sure it was possible for him the way it was for you. With your nine to five and weekends off and time to date—though apparently, not time for him.
He had thought at first that you were simply waiting him out, waiting to see if he'd lose interest. You'd been open about the fact that your time on dating apps had largely led you to become disillusioned with the possibility of a real, fulfilling relationship. He felt the same, mostly. The only thing the apps had ever been good for was a night or two to fill the oppressive silence of his house.
But he continued trying with you, which had led to the two of you sexting and him being as open as he could remember being in recent years about how badly he wanted someone. Still, you avoided him.
He'd texted you earlier to see if you were around tonight and you had left him on read, so begrudgingly, he'd be going to poker night instead. Anything other than being alone with his thoughts tonight after they'd lost a woman with eclampsia and her baby.
But when he walked into Jack's living room, a beer in hand, he was stunned to see you sitting on the couch, immersed in conversation with Mckay and Al Hashimi.
Your eyes darted to his and then quickly away, but he saw the way your eyes widened and your chest swelled. You didn't know he was going to be there.
"Hey man, you made it," Jack clapped Robby on the shoulder, "Glad you came."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you, "You invited path?"
Jack followed his gaze, "Oh, yeah, she helped us out last weekend with a TTP patient. Figured it was only polite. Honestly, I didn't think she'd come. Why, do you know her?"
With effort, Robby tore his eyes away from you, "Wha—? Oh, no. No more than you do, you know, the rare occasion path comes down."
Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, "Right," he said slowly, "Okay. Well, can I interest you in a round of Blackjack?"
Robby chuckled and shook his head, "No thank you, learned my lesson years ago not to play cards with you."
Jack smirked and watched as Robby's gaze flitted back to you, "I think she's too well adjusted for you."
Robby's head whipped back around, a hot flush crawling up his neck, "Excuse me?" He said through nervous laughter.
Jack shrugged, "I'm just saying, she seems like she wouldn't tolerate your bullshit and you'd probably get bored at how… normal she is."
Robby blinked at him, "Who said I'm interested?"
Jack rolled his eyes, "Please, don't insult me, brother. The last time I saw you look at a woman like that was the first time you met Heather. And you'll recall she also was unwilling to put up with your bullshit."
He knew Jack was mostly being playful, but it stung nonetheless, the thought that someone else besides himself thought he was incapable of being in a healthy and loving relationship. That no one in their right mind could want to stay with him.
For just a second he was eight years old again wondering if he was such a terrible, rotten son that it'd pushed his mother to end her own life—The thought rushed up against the dam in his brain and just as quickly receded. He wouldn't think about that. Not now. Not here.
He forced a smile for Jack, "You don't need to remind me. I remember."
After a moment Jack squeezed his shoulders, "But what do I know, hm? Go shoot your shot."
Robby rolled his eyes, "You have far too many Gen Z staff on your shift."
But still, Robby wandered over to you eventually, surprised to find that he was a bit nervous, "Is this why you didn't answer my text earlier?" He asked quietly as he sat down.
You turned just a bit towards him, "I didn't think you'd be here, honestly. It doesn't seem like your scene."
He laughed, "Meaning?"
"Meaning it's too… jovial," You teased.
He ran a hand over the back of his head, "Well, I'm glad I came. It's nice to finally meet you in person."
You grimaced, "Yeah, we've met before, Michael."
He frowned and turned fully to you, "What're you—? No we haven't."
You nodded slowly, "We have, yeah. We went to med school together. Did rotations together."
For a moment he paused and tilted his head, turned your name over in his head, "No… No, you're too young to have gone to med school with me—" His eyes caught on your wrist as your fingers tapped lightly against the glass of your beer bottle. A tattoo in looping scroll that read As you wish. With a dagger beneath the words. The feeling of nostalgia almost violently overtook him. There was only one other woman he'd ever met who had that tattoo of a quote from The Princess Bride in that exact spot.
"Bambi?" He asked, sounding almost breathless.
You wrinkled your nose and turned away from him, "I always hated that nickname."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you. There were a million thoughts running through his head as suddenly images flashed behind his eyes, the two of you twenty years younger and constantly at each other's throats, desperate to prove you were better than the other. But the first thought that he blurted out of his mouth was, "You went into pathology?"
You laughed and shook your head, "I knew you didn't mean it when you said you respected my specialty—"
"That's not what I meant—"
"What else could you have meant by the condescension dripping from your tone right now?"
He opened and closed his mouth before hanging his head, "I'm just… Surprised, is all. You were… a force in the ER. You could have had your pick of any emergency medicine residency in the country, surely."
You stared ahead for a few moments, tightlipped and eyes glossy, "Emergency medicine nearly burned me out just at rotations, I imagine I would have been… a shell of myself had I stayed. And at the time, you certainly agreed."
He huffed in indignation, "That is categorically false, I thought you were brilliant."
"Well you sure had a funny way of showing it. Talking over me, talking down to me in front of attendings, basically celebrating every mistake I made—"
"Everyone else practically worshiped you. I was just trying to make sure I wasn't overlooked. You know how cutthroat it was down there—"
"Exactly," You nodded, "Which is why I'm actually grateful for the way you treated me. It wore me down enough that I knew if I couldn't get through even a rotation or two, there was no way I'd make it through a residency. Not in that environment."
He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands, "Look, I'm… I apologize… For how I spoke to you back then, I was a stupid kid, I was just trying to survive as best I knew how. It's not an excuse, I just. I'm sorry."
You didn't seem upset as you looked at him, eyes gently passing over his face. You lifted the beer bottle to your lips and he watched the lights refract off the glass.
"It's fine," You said eventually, "You were far from the only reason I went into path."
"Why didn't you say anything? When we—When we started talking? Why didn't you tell me?"
You shrugged, "I thought maybe you'd forgotten me altogether. Or worse, that remembering me would mean you'd no longer be interested."
You carefully avoided looking at him when you said this, but screwed your mouth down to the side as you chewed your cheek.
Robby sat back and took a sip from his own beer, "It seems like I should have been the one to worry about that. Since I was the one who treated you so horribly."
You cleared your throat and turned back towards him. He was struck again by a sense of nostalgia at the intensity in your gaze. He had nicknamed you Bambi all those years ago because of your skittishness, the way that everything seemed to terrify you. Despite how smart you were and how clearly gifted a doctor you would become, you were easily startled and easily overwhelmed by the din of the emergency room. It hadn't been all that uncommon to find you in the ambulance bay after a hard case, slouched on the ground against the wall, hands trembling as they cradled your face.
But it had also been the intensity in your eyes, how every emotion was always so clearly reflected in their glossy pools, that had been the real inspiration behind the nickname. He had never intended it to be cruel, though it appeared that's how you'd interpreted it. It was something he had admired about you, the ease with which you'd connected with your patients because the empathy was so clear on your face. Of course, he had never told you that. Afraid to let on to any perceived weakness around you.
He suspected, though, that you hated the nickname because he had also used it as a weapon against your naivete. He remembered the ways he'd called attention to your age and when the Bambi nickname had spread there had been no way for you to escape it.
Now, though, your eyes were glossy again and he felt bowled over by the way you stared at him, a wistfulness in your expression, "Are you actually sorry or is it just that you think I'm hot now?"
He was so surprised by your question, he gave out a short laugh, "Please, I thought you were hot then, too."
You snorted, "Well, now I know you're lying."
"The nickname Bambi, if nothing else, implies that I found you adorable at the very least."
You rolled your eyes, "Even if I agreed with that assessment—which I don't—it was very clear from that one time we slept together that you were uninterested—"
"Woah—woah—woah— back up. When we slept together?"
You looked at him blankly for a few moments, "Oh my God," You said quickly, seemingly embarrassed as you looked away from him, "You don't remember. It was so bad you don't even remember."
Robby's brain was still working overtime to catch up with you, "Hold on—I would remember sleeping with you."
You stood up from the couch, and he remembered this about you—You had been spooked, you were about to dart back into the woods, never to be seen again. But he stood at the same time, towering above you, "Don't go," he said quietly, "whatever happened was twenty something years ago, it doesn't mean anything—"
"It does to me." You said firmly, "Excuse me," And you forced your way past him.
Robby watched you walk away for a moment, then turned his head to see Jack shaking his head, a slight smirk on his face. A very blatant I told you so if Robby'd ever seen one.
"Shit," Robby muttered under his breath and hung his head.
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Michael was being very touchy that evening and overly kind, paying for your drinks and wrapping an arm around you in the booth. It was making you shy. Despite the way he talked to you, at you, over you, there were cases every now and then when you caught him looking at you with what looked like awe or reverence. But just as quickly, it'd dissipate and you'd be left wondering if you'd imagined it.
"Let me walk you home," he said, slurring only a little, his words just slightly stumbling into one another like dominos. He wrapped your jacket around your shoulders as he spoke.
"I'm fine," You smiled at him, "I think you're the one who needs to be walked home."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a boyish grin on his face, "You got me. I do need to be chaperoned home if you would be so kind."
You rolled your eyes, but secretly you were pleased. You wanted to be his friend, wanted him to respect you so you didn't have to keep having panic attacks alone in the bathroom. You were still very much like a scared little kid in that way, just wanting at least one other person to just see you, truly.
So you allowed Michael to swing his arm around your shoulders as he directed you towards his place. It was just a couple of blocks from the hospital, but when you got to the building, a rundown, brutalist slab of concrete, you frowned, "You live here?"
"Now, don't sound so disgusted, princess," he teased and pulled you along behind him inside the building, "Not all of us have wealthy parents to fund our gorgeous apartments in buildings that have doormen."
You felt your cheeks heat, "That's not—That's not entirely true." He looked at you dubiously, eyebrows raised, and you furrowed yours, "I pay for my utilities," You grumbled.
He chuckled and ran a hand over his jaw before sliding his key into his door.
"If it's not too revolting to you," He said softly as he pushed the door open, "You're welcome to come inside for a drink."
Something changed in the tone of his voice and as you tried to place it, you saw the way his eyes roved down your body.
You had never had sex with anyone before, had never had the time. You were in college by the time you were fifteen and because you were so young no one really wanted to hang out with you. You didn't get invited to parties or study sessions (unless someone was trying to inadvertently get you to do their homework). Once you got to medical school, you were still only seventeen, still too young for any of your peers to show much interest.
When you turned twenty one, the shift had been subtle. But suddenly, you were being included to go out for drinks. Then people raised their eyebrows less when you said you were in med school. The stares lingered longer and traveled farther.
And now Michael was looking at you like that, too.
Maybe you should've thought it over more, said goodnight and gone straight home. But you were so painfully lonely. You should've hated him for the way he'd treated you, but it only spurred you on. You were used to having to compete for scraps of love from people who seemed to not like you much. Had been doing it since you learned to talk.
So you followed him inside.
It was freezing inside his apartment. So cold, in fact, your breath was beginning to cloud in front of you.
"Jesus Christ, Michael, is your heat broken or something?"
"Uh, no," He said from the kitchen. You heard the sound of glasses and bottles clinking before he reappeared, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other, "Just… trying to conserve. But we can turn the heat on for you, princess." He said with a wink.
You sat on his couch with your arms crossed and felt your lip jut out in a pout, "I'm not spoiled, you know. I just—It's just as cold outside as it is in here. Can't be good for you. Or the pipes."
"Many of us," He said as he poured you each a glass, amber liquid sloshing up the sides, "Had to learn to live without. I didn't grow up in a mansion like you."
You scoffed, "I'm not the sort of rich you think I am, I grew up in the suburbs. My parents still have to work for a living. Yes, it was comfortable, but we're not fucking millionaires. We don't have, like, a fucking second house in the Hamptons."
He nodded, "Still seems pretty rich to me."
You rolled your eyes, "Well, what do your parents do then?"
That insufferable smirk finally fell from his face and for a second you felt vindicated.
"If you must know," He started, staring intently at the liquor in his glass, "I don't know who my father is, never met him. And my mother killed herself when I was eight. I found her swinging from the rafters one day when I got home from school."
You stared at him, stunned, while he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another, "My grandparents took me in after that and then when I was sixteen, my grandfather died. When I was twenty, my grandmother joined him. So now it's just me."
He raised his glass, forced smile on his face, "May their memories be a blessing." He said, and tossed back the entirety of his drink in one go.
"Michael," you said softly, reaching for him when he began to pour more whiskey, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Not unkindly, he pushed your hand away, "You know, I've been thinking that I want people to start calling me Robby."
You frowned, thrown by the change in subject, "What?"
"Yeah, I just, people have trouble with Robinavitch. And Adamson asked me, if he could call me Robby. And I—I really like him and I want him to like me so I think—I think I'm just gonna have everyone call me Robby. It sounds friendlier, don't you think? Once I become a doctor? Doctor Robby."
You felt a sort of tenderness towards him now, after he'd revealed so much of himself to you. You had the distinct urge to hold him, cradle him to you, tell him it was all going to be okay.
"I like Michael," You said quietly, "If it's alright with you."
Finally he met your gaze again and his eyes softened just slightly. Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, he reached a hand out to cup your cheek. When you leaned into his palm, he stroked his thumb against your cheek bone.
"Sure, Bambi. You can still call me Michael."
You couldn't say which of you closed the distance first, just that the next thing you remembered, his warm, wet mouth was on yours.
At first, the kisses were slow and hesitant. You remembered it was you who deepened it, a whine clamoring out of your throat and into his mouth.
Before you knew it, you had climbed into his lap and pushed him down into the couch. You felt him harden against you and it felt instinctual, the way your hips ground down against him, chasing the friction.
"Fuck," he breathed into your mouth, his hand cradling the back of your neck, "This good?"
You nodded fervently, "Do you have a condom?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure?"
You nodded again and so he pushed his hand between you, pushing his hand into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a foil packet.
You blinked, "Were you… planning this?"
"No," He said and teared the packet open with his teeth, "But I like to be prepared just in case."
Rolling your eyes, you pulled back to allow him to push his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung up between you and you felt your breaths grow shallow as you watched him work the condom on.
Carefully, you hiked your dress up to your hips, hoping he didn't notice the way your hands shook. His eyes stayed on yours as you shifted your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself onto him.
"Oh, God." He sighed, sounding just a breathless as you felt at the stretch of him. It burned for just a moment, almost pleasantly, "Look at me," He said and your eyes locked back on his.
You leaned your forehead against his as you slowly moved your hips along the length of him, "Is this—Is it good?" You asked, your voice small and uncertain.
"Yeah," He said quickly, pushed his mouth up into yours, "So good," he whispered into your mouth.
But less than a minute later, the sensation changed. It was difficult to move against him, in fact, you weren't even sure he was inside you anymore, "Did you—I mean—Are you—soft?" You could hear your own panic and desperation in your voice as your hips slowed.
A scarlet flush was creeping up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to avoid your gaze, "Yeah, I—I think so. S'probably whiskey dick." He finally opened his eyes and maybe sensed your impending humiliation, "Hey—hey—it's not you," He cupped your cheeks with both hands, "It's not you, I swear, you're perfect."
He pulled your face down to his again and you allowed yourself to get lost in the taste of him again, "It's me," he murmured between kisses, "I'm fuckin' defective, it's my fault."
"Michael—"
"Come up here, sit on my face," He said abruptly.
You raised your eyebrows, "Wh—what?"
"Please," He said, sounding desperate, "Please, I wanna taste you. Lemme take care of you."
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, "You don't have to, like, make it up to me—"
"I want to," he said again, "If you do, too. Please."
You couldn't deny that the idea of it had embers of arousal stirring in your belly. You hadn't prepared for the possibility of someone's mouth on you like that, but you didn't want to admit that to him. You didn't want to have to explain the depth of your inexperience lest it kill whatever remained of his desire.
So, you swallowed and moved your way up his body, let him position you, his arms wrapped around your thighs and pulling you to his mouth.
You were immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, gasping and whimpering when he moaned against you, your whole body twitching as it reverberated through your core.
But again, it wasn't long before things slowed, and then—stopped completely. Blinking, you looked down and saw that Michael had fallen asleep.
No, he couldn't have—could he? You leaned in a bit closer, leaning back to fully pull yourself off his face. Oh my God, was that drool on the corner of his mouth?
Mortified, and at a loss for what else to do, you carefully and quietly climbed off him, grabbed your things, and slipped out of his apartment. Heels in hand, you paused outside of his door and exhaled in relief.
You left his apartment feeling even more conflicted about him than before and also feeling a bit dejected. This was the guy who had once tripped you up in a trauma and then said "Don't worry Bambi, it's normal to be a bit wobbly on your legs when you're still just a fawn."
It shouldn't have surprised you at all that he found you unattractive, that obviously he had only allowed you to initiate because you were sat in front of him, willing and able. Like an idiot. Like the naive little kid he had told everyone you were.
You felt stupid and humiliated. And God knew you didn't believe in the fucking patriarchal construct of virginity, but you couldn't deny it made you feel a bit bitter that you had wasted it on Michael Robinavitch. You wouldn't make such an idiotic decision ever again.
He could say a lot about you, but you'd never made the same mistake twice. You didn't intend to start now.
***
Robby watched you through the glass, leaned over Jack's balcony with your arms wrapped around yourself.
This had to be a new record of how quickly he could fuck things up with a potential romantic partner. Once he'd recognized you, he'd felt stupid that he hadn't recognized you immediately when he saw your profile. And maybe there had been some familiarity there, something he'd mistaken for instant attraction and chemistry.
That said, he had wracked his brain and the two of you sleeping together he was near positive had never happened. Or at least, for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. And yes it was true he'd always given you a hard time, but he had also always been enamored by you. Honestly, he'd thought it'd been obvious, especially towards the end of M4.
So he found it hard to believe that he wouldn't remember that. But he also didn't think that you were a liar.
Carefully, he slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The night had cooled significantly since his arrival and as he got closer to you, he saw goosebumps along your arms. You didn't startle when he came up next to you and positioned himself at such an angle as to shield you from the breeze.
"I'm sorry that I don't remember," He said softly after a few moments, "But I'd like you to tell me about it, if you're up for it."
You shook your head, "It's not your fault. It was really horrible, I don't blame you for not remembering."
He groaned, "You know, you could say a lot of shit about me and I wouldn't blink, but hearing I'm bad in bed is a new one for me and I'm not a fan."
You laughed and turned to him, "Oh yeah? You've become something of a casanova in your old age?"
He winced, "Not that old."
You hummed and turned back towards the treeline, "What was it? That made you finally remember me tonight?"
"The Princess Bride tattoo."
You looked at your wrist, "Huh. I would've thought this was one of the things you picked on me for behind my back. Called it childish."
He shook his head, "Nah, The Princess Bride's a classic. I actually always really liked it, thought it was romantic."
You rolled your eyes at that, as if you didn't quite believe him, but didn't comment further. After a moment you sighed, "It was during MS4. We were almost done with our last rotation in the ER and some of the residents invited us out for drinks."
"Oh," Robby said, frowning, "I do remember that. I got really drunk and you walked me back to my apartment."
You nodded, "Right."
"But we didn't… I invited you in for a drink and…" He trailed off. He was drawing a blank, "Did you come inside? I just thought… You never liked me, I thought for sure you declined. I don't remember anything after that."
You narrowed your eyes at him and then sighed, "Well, you did down something like three fingers of whiskey in quick succession once we got in your apartment so I guess it's possible you blacked out."
"You always made me nervous so it's no surprise I drank so much."
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, but then shook your head quickly, "Yeah, I guess that was it."
"Then what happened?"
You sighed, "We really don't have to rehash this—"
"Please," he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, "I want to know."
You shook your head and then shrugged, "Fine. About a minute after you put it in, I was riding you and you went soft. So then you… you asked me to sit on your face instead. Which I did. And a minute or two later you… fell asleep."
Robby was silent for a moment as he processed what you'd said. You were deliberately looking away from him, running a hand nervously over the back of your neck.
"Wow," He said finally, "And you still liked my Hinge profile decades later?"
You gave a short laugh, "I was curious if anything had changed, I guess."
He hummed, "A lot has changed, I would say." He ran a finger lightly over the back of your arm and watched as goosebumps spread—But you didn't move away, not even when he bent to your ear and said lowly, "I'd like a chance to make it up to you."
You swallowed and then turned to face him, your faces impossibly close, "Have you ever been married, Michael?"
He frowned and pulled away marginally, "Um… no? Have you?"
You shook your head and looked off into the distance over his shoulder, wistfully, "I got close, once." You sighed, "Listen, I'm too old to be doing this… friends with benefits, situationship, whatever, bullshit. Sex is great, but I have plenty of vibrators that do the job just fine and without the emotional turmoil. So I'm not interested in casual sex. I'm looking for a partner, not a dildo. If you want me you'll have to romance me and mean it."
Robby's eyes roved over your face. Maybe it was your shared memories or the fact that you knew him before he was broken beyond repair, but he felt a tender ache in his chest looking into your eyes. Just as warm and inviting as he remembered.
There were few people these days who could entice him to commit to anything. A real relationship meant having to open himself up to someone else. Allowing them to see the ugliest parts of himself and hope they didn't leave. It usually ended in him lashing out instead so at least he had some semblence of control over the end of the relationship.
Or at least, that was the hypothesis of his last therapist, who he still wasn't entirely sure wasn't full of shit.
But either way, when he thought about pursuing a real, full relationship with you, he didn't feel his usual urge to run. Instead, he felt a curiosity. The need to take you apart, to learn you like he would a medical procedure.
Maybe he wasn't broken after all. Maybe he could have full, healthy relationships like everyone else.
He brought one of his hands up to your neck, watched how you tried to stifle the urge to lean into his touch—Good, you were touch starved, just like him—and his thumb lightly toyed with one of the hoops hanging from your ear.
"'As you wish'." He said softly, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward.
"What? You don't believe me?" He tilted his head downward to force eye contact with you, "I've been the one begging you to go on a date with me for weeks."
"A date?" You raised your eyebrows, "They're calling a drink at the bar before taking someone to bed a date now, are they?"
He scoffed, "What, so you want a string quartet and a night out at the ballet?"
You furrowed your brow, "And so what if I did?"
He stared at you for a moment and then chuckled, "Then I'd tell you to wear your favorite dress."
You narrowed your eyes, but then shook your head, "Just dinner would be more than enough."
He nodded, "I can do that. Would you allow me to cook for you?"
You smirked and ran your hands up his forearms, "Sure, but it has to be at my place."
He grinned, ran his thumb back and forth across the skin just below your ear, "Friday night?"
You tilted your head a bit, "You're serious about this?"
"Yeah," He said softly, eyes heavy lidded from both alcohol and desire as he looked into your face, "Are you?"
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes, assessing. You still didn't quite believe him, he could tell. You had always been distrustful, convinced everyone was out to hurt you to a nearly paranoid level. The decades it seemed had done nothing to smooth that over.
But still, you nodded and leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek, "See you Friday, Michael."
He watched as you walked back inside, conscious of the heat that pulsed against the skin where your lips had been just moments before.
***
"What do you think, Brutus?" You asked, your cat sidling between your legs as you looked at yourself in your floor length mirror. You had chosen form fitting, but simple clothes. A ribbed black sweater and your favorite pair of jeans. "Do you think he'll like it?"
Brutus trilled and stood up on his hind legs, stretching his front paws against your legs, a very clear request to be picked up. You looked down at him and smirked, "You're gonna get cat hair all over my sweater."
He mewled again, claws gently pricking at your jeans before quickly receding. You sighed, already defeated. You could never say no to him. You bent to scoop him up to your chest, pressing your nose into his face as he immediately began purring, "I know you don't like guests, but you have to be on your best behavior tonight, okay? No knocking glassware over if I'm not paying attention to you," You peppered kisses all over his head, "It's not polite."
The doorbell rang and you quickly lowered Brutus back down, running your hands over your sweater in an attempt to brush off the cat hair.
Sliding across the hardwood in your socked feet, you took one deep breath before pulling your front door open.
There in your doorway stood Michael Robinavitch in a button down and jeans, one hand holding a thermal bag you assumed was full of groceries, the other a bottle of wine.
He grinned when you opened the door, his eyes trailing lazily down your body, giving you a once over before meeting your eyes again.
"Hi," You said and stepped to the side, "Come in."
You watched him take in your home as he walked in, kicking off his shoes by the door without you having to ask.
Without a partner to appease or children you'd spent a lot of time creating a calming, beautiful space just for yourself. It resulted in a lot of warm lighting and soothing colors. Lots of windows and cozy nooks. The kitchen was big and open with huge bay windows looking into your backyard behind the sink. As you padded gently behind Robby, you watched him take stock of the sun setting through those windows.
"This is gorgeous." He said, eyes on the fresh tulips that sat in a vase on the island.
"Thank you," You said, and took the wine bottle from his hand, "It's my favorite place in the whole world."
He smirked as he placed the groceries on the counter, "Now I understand why it's so hard to get you to leave."
You took wine glasses down from your cabinet and opened the wine he'd brought, pouring you each a glass and bringing his over to him as he began unpacking the groceries he'd brought.
"What're you making?"
He pulled out a loaf of Challah bread and offered you a piece as he spread everything else out in front of him, "Um, some salad, roast chicken, and potato kugel."
You hummed, "Where'd you learn that?"
He began prepping the veggies and you watched his hands. You remembered from med school you had always been enamored by watching skilled hands at work, especially in the ED. Watching him now you had that same feeling as the wine began to warm you from the inside out.
"They're my grandma's recipes. She used to make this every Friday for Shabbos dinner."
Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise and immediately, you felt touched, "That's… really lovely, Michael. I'm honored that you'd share them with me."
He looked up at you for a moment, smiling, but shrugged his shoulders, "It's the only meal I really know how to cook well because she taught me. I don't do much cooking these days."
You tried not to let his dismissiveness disappoint you, "Do you still… I mean, are you observing Shabbos this weekend?"
He shook his head, "No, no, if I was I'd already have broken the rules," He jerked his head towards the bay windows, where the sky was beginning to bruise, "No cooking after sundown. I don't really practice anymore, but I sometimes go to synagogue on High Holidays."
You let a few moments pass in silence before speaking again, "Can I help?"
He shook his head, "No, you just sit there and look pretty."
The two of you made small talk about work, discussing funny patients or over eager med students, until he put his dishes in the oven.
"Do you want to sit on the porch?" You asked as he washed his hands.
"That sounds lovely," He said, drying his hands on your dish towel before following you outside with his glass of wine.
You tucked your legs underneath yourself as you sat on the love seat, the chill of the spring night had you reaching for the throw blanket. But Robby got there first, gently draping it over your legs and then his own lap. You pretended not to be flustered when he pulled your feet into his lap, tenderly kneading his fingers into the arch of your foot as he sipped his wine.
Over the years, you'd brought men to your place many times. You'd even had the occasional relationship that grew to the point of your partner moving into your place, because it was a nonstarter for any partner to suggest you sell your house, something you were always clear about at the start of the relationship. Maybe it would be the reason you never had a lifelong partner, but you had put an enormous amount of work into this house to create a sanctuary of sorts. It was where you were happiest. You had no desire to live anywhere else. You doubted you'd ever love anyone as much as you loved this house.
But Robby being here, it felt different than it had felt with all others. It felt natural to have him here, like this, cooking dinner in your kitchen, sitting on the porch with you while you told him about the study you'd just been awarded a grant to start. After residency, you'd sworn off dating doctors all together. But there was something refreshing about discussing renal cell carcinoma with Robby and him asking follow up questions that were more complex than "what's a renal cell?"
It felt like he fit here with you, like he could slot into your life effortlessly. But you supposed that could just be the forlorn romantic in you desperate for anyone to desire you again.
"Where'd you go for your residency?" Robby asked.
"Chicago," You said, "Northwestern Memorial. What about you?"
"New Orleans. Big Charity Hospital."
You opened and closed your mouth, thinking silently for a few moments. Trying to remember what years the two of you had gone off to residency and when you would have finished. And the realization of when had your stomach slowly sinking. "Wasn't… Wasn't Katrina during residency?"
He wasn't looking at you, staring off into the darkness of the trees behind your house. His face was partially lit by the candles you'd brought outside. When he nodded, you couldn't get a good read on his expression, but it suddenly felt very cold around you. As if the ghosts had lowered around his shoulders.
"That must have sucked," You said softly, "I'm sorry."
He cleared his throat and looked down at his wine glass, "It was a long time ago."
One thing that had changed about Robby was his openness. Years ago, in med school, you only needed to get him a single beer deep before he was pouring out his most intimate thoughts. Obviously, the time you'd slept together, that had been the most he'd ever revealed to you. About his parents and grandparents. But even before that, he'd opened up to you about his insecurities as a doctor and even when he was having trouble with significant others.
Now, he seemed to be dismissive of his troubles. Never wanting the focus on him for too long. He used to be what your mother would call a peacock, charming to an almost offensive degree. He was impossible to dislike and had everyone thinking they were his best friend. That had all changed. You could feel the barrier he'd put up between you. What had happened to him between then and now to have changed him so drastically?
Likely, you supposed, it started with Katrina.
Another reason you had decided against going into emergency medicine had been that you knew you were too soft for it. Just the rotations had been so detrimental to your well being. You had thought you loved it while you were in it, but the second you were out of it, you realized you had been in survival mode the entire time. Outside of it, you cried for weeks straight, grieving every person you'd watched die and especially the ones that had died on your watch. The heaviness of that responsibility was too much. A lifetime of it would've broken you.
It would break anyone, you imagined. And as you watched Robby curiously, you realized for the first time since reuniting with him just how haunted he had become. You had thought with his easy charm and smile that he was still the same kid, but he had changed. The years had slowly eroded him, smoothed some edges and sharpened others.
A timer went off a few moments later and Robby flashed you a quick smile, carefully removing your feet from his lap, "You hungry?"
"Starved," You said, allowing him to take your hand and gently pull you to standing.
The food was delicious. You caught Robby staring at you more than once over the candles when you licked your fingers or groaned in pleasure, mischief in his eyes.
You had to fight him to let you do the dishes, insisting it was only fair since he had cooked. He protested for a bit until you sternly repeated that you'd be doing the dishes and since he was a guest here, you demanded he relax on the couch while you cleaned up. Eventually, he gave up, sighing heavily and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, "Thank you," he murmured, sounding bone tired.
When the last dish was loaded in the dish washer, the cookware washed, the counters wiped down, you found Robby nearly fast asleep, stretched out on your couch. Brutus had come out for the first time since he'd arrived and was now hesitantly sniffing at his hand which hung over the edge of the couch.
"What d'you think, Brutus?" You whispered, "Is he good enough to eat?"
A chuckle rumbled deep in Robby's chest and Brutus scampered off, sufficiently frightened by the sudden movement. Robby cracked an eye open to look up at you, reaching with both arms towards you, "C'mere before I eat you."
You hesitated for just a moment before crawling over him, sighing contentedly as his arms wrapped tightly around you, your ear pressed to his chest.
You were reminded again of that one night with him decades ago, you atop him not unlike this, trying to warm yourself with his body in the frigid apartment.
"It's strange," you said softly, "I don't really know you anymore, but I feel like I understand you more now than I did then."
He hummed, "That's funny. You're still just as much a mystery to me as you were twenty years ago."
You lifted your head from his chest so you could see his face and felt his breath fan your cheeks, "I'm an open book, you just have to ask."
"Why pathology?"
You pursed your lips, brow furrowed in thought, "I liked the simplicity of it. That there were rules and structures and always a correct answer. There's always a clear path to and from diagnosis."
He shook his head, "I know you applied to the emergency medicine residency at Big Charity. I was the second choice, they wanted you."
You felt your cheeks heat, "I—It was so long ago, it doesn't matter—"
"No, you're right, it doesn't matter anymore," He ran a soothing hand down the back of your head to your neck, "It certainly mattered to me then. I was so pissed off at you those first few weeks of intern year when I found out. I tried calling every emergency medicine department in the country I could think of to find you."
You smirked, "You looked for me?"
He nodded, "Never crossed my mind that you would've gone into a different specialty. And pathology even? I never would have guessed. You were so good in the emergency room. A natural. I bet if I threw you in my ED now you'd do just as good as most of my residents."
You gave a short laugh, "Absolutely not, I don't even remember most of my rotations. Honestly, they were so hard for me I think part of my brain blacked it out."
He narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, they're hard for everyone, it's the emergency department."
You nodded, "I know. And I didn't want the rest of my life to look like that."
"Look like what?"
You opened your mouth for a moment and then sighed, "Like I was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of constant compounding grief."
He shook his head slowly, "I remember those rotations, you helped save a lot of people."
You nodded, "At the expense of my sanity, yeah."
"You don't think it would be worth it?"
You tilted your head slightly, "To martyr myself? Do you?"
He sighed and looked away from you, "I used to think so, yeah."
Robby used to come alive in the emergency department, as you recalled it. You knew he was empathetic and had his own struggles because he'd told you on occasion and because you'd seen it. Maybe he hadn't broken down visibly as often as you, but you recalled finding him at least a couple of times out in the ambulance bay, eyes red rimmed and wet.
But you had never doubted that he would thrive in the emergency room. You had been so busy feeling like an imposter yourself and he had made everything look so easy, it had never crossed your mind that maybe he had been struggling the same as you. He just hid it better, even from himself.
"You've lost a lot," You said softly, "the last twenty years, haven't you? Not just patients."
His eyes floated slowly back to yours and it didn't matter what he said, it was sitting there in his eyes as he looked at you. All the ghosts that haunted him, clawing to get out just behind his eyes. He looked tired. He looked shattered.
After a few moments he brought a hand up to your face, brushed the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "I don't want to talk about that tonight." When he spoke, his voice hitched just slightly, but you politely acted as if you hadn't noticed.
It was a first date, after all. He didn't need to crack open his chest for you tonight, though part of you wished he would. You had never been one for small talk and you were always all in long before anyone else was. You were used to this, being the one kept at the perimeter, debating whether to ignore the Beware of Dog sign and hop the fence.
But he looked so tired and sad. You could be patient for now. Maybe befriend the dog while you waited, tossing treats through the hole in the fence, whistling gently on the wind.
"Okay," You pushed yourself up so your face was closer to his, "We don't have to talk."
A moment passed, two. Your eyes stared longingly at his mouth until his hand slipped to the back of your neck and pulled you to him, mouths crashing together.
You sighed at the feel of his lips on yours, simultaneously soft and rough from the scratch of his beard. It chafed against your chin, but still you pushed yourself closer, the new, but still somehow familiar taste of him intoxicating.
He still kissed the same, teeth digging desperately into your lower lip, tongue stroking against yours almost sweetly. But it was more refined, somehow. Like he'd perfected the art of kissing over the decades.
You'd had many lovers over the years, but few who would make out with you like this for very long without it quickly escalating. Robby's hands, hot and needy, worked their way beneath your shirt, thumbs stroking just below your breasts. Then, one of his hands slid down until it was on your ass, squeezing and groping over your jeans. It was at this point that he whimpered into your mouth and you felt yourself clench instinctually around nothing at the sound.
It had been a long time since you'd been touched like this and longer since you had enjoyed it this much. Usually, it was other partners that acted impatient, that were already tugging at your pants when you were nowhere near warmed up yet, but now it was you who had started grinding on his thigh, searching for friction. You who was frantically pulling at the buttons on his shirt, trying to get it off. You who was now fumbling for his belt when Robby finally stopped you.
"Mmm—Hold on—Wait." Easily, he secured your wrists in his hands and pinned them to his chest which was rising and falling rapidly as you both attempted to catch your breath.
"Are you—Are you sure? I don't want you to think—I'm happy to just end the night like this. I can go home right now—"
You pressed your mouth to his again, kissing him deeply before playfully nipping at his lip, "Do I seem unsure to you?" You asked, nudging your nose against his.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "No," He said and kissed you again, fervently.
"Do I… need to beg you to fuck me?" You asked, sucking lightly on his neck as you spoke, "Because I can do that."
Robby sighed and gripped your ass tighter, "Fuck."
You dragged your center across his thigh, "Not an answer."
His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You would beg for me?"
You weren't exactly thinking straight as you looked at him, wild with want. You would have done anything he asked in that moment, you were sure of it. But still, looking at him now, you were dragged back twenty years to his icy apartment. To the way he'd opened up to you and then swiftly rejected you. He denied it now, chalked it up to alcohol, but somewhere in you was still that dejected girl, begging for any scrap of affection.
It'd been a while since you felt her, small and weak, at the edges of your consciousness. She'd been shortsighted and easy, pan handling for love on the side of the road. You still loathed her, felt she was pathetic. Robby could still pull her out of you. It felt easy to slip into her and her wants. You remembered insisting to yourself after that night with him that you'd never let him that close again.
And yet you found yourself tangled in him yet again. You were different, you assured yourself, lied to yourself. In reality, he already had you wrapped around his fingers. He could break you with a single word, a change of expression.
You pushed all that out of your mind, suffocating it with your mouth on his, his all consuming taste in your mouth, "Is that what you want?"
"I want," He said, hand still firm on your neck, kissing you between his words, "Whatever you want. Just want to make you feel good."
You sighed, "Then take me to bed."
Quickly, he sat up, keeping you in his lap. He kissed up the column of your throat to your earlobe, sending chills down your spine, "Lead the way, sweetheart."
On your bed, he undressed you carefully, taking his time in a way you weren't used to. After the way you'd been talking over texts and swapping photos back and forth, you thought he'd be ravenous. And he was, you could tell from his groans and whimpers, but still, he remained steady and patient.
Once you were topless, both of you kneeling across from each other on the bed, you reached to unbuckle his pants before he could get to yours. Robby had been competitive as you remembered it, but in bed it seemed he was fine with handing over the reins. He watched you with heat in his eyes as you spat in your hand and reached down his pants to fist his cock.
As your hand stroked his shaft down to his balls, his eyes rolled back and he swore. You were on fire watching him, his desire seemingly contagious.
"Please," He whimpered after a minute of so of this, "Please, can I… Can I suck on your tits?"
Your belly somersaulted at the thought and immediately you were nodding, scooting closer to him.
As his lips puckered and pulled at your nipple, he was whining more loudly than you were with each stroke of your hand. He muttered praises and pleas into your breasts, heat bubbling up at the sound from your belly to your chest to your neck.
Looking down at his cock in your hand, you noticed the small amount of precum beginning to leak. You leaned down to lick it off, but Robby stopped you before you could.
"No—Wait. Need to take care of you. Please." He was breathless and flushed pink. Needy and desperate to please. You weren't sure that anyone had ever been this desperate to please you.
You gave him a short nod and released him. Immediately, he kissed you, the momentum pushing you flat against the mattress.
As he crawled over you, you opened your eyes to look up at him. There had been times when you were students that he had been vulnerable with you, but that had only been under the heavy influence of alcohol. Mostly, he had been very guarded. And still, earlier this evening you'd sensed the same guard up, though it had been reinforced throughout the decades.
But now he was looking at you with a gentle, almost tender look on his face. Before you could fully digest what that meant, he had leaned back down to kiss along your jaw, rough fingers gently grasping your chin to kiss down your neck.
He kissed all the way down your body, looking up at you occasionally through heavy lids whenever you made a noise he particularly liked.
Down at your waist now, he carefully unbuttoned your jeans and wriggled them down, you lifting up your hips to assist.
In just your panties now, you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he looked at you, ran his rough hands over your soft thighs, kissing and nipping gently at your hips, "So, so pretty for me." He murmured into your skin.
The man in front of you now so at odds with the boy you had imagined was revolted by you. Now he worshiped your body with lips and tongue and teeth. He kissed you now over the fabric of your panties, slowly and methodically, until you felt the fabric begin to soak, both from his saliva and your arousal.
You whined and tried to lift your hips, but he quickly braces an arm over your thighs, "Michael, please." You whimpered.
He groaned against your cunt, sending shockwaves through your body.
"Sorry, baby," He murmured and began tugging your panties down your hips as well, "You need my mouth on you properly, is that it? Need my tongue inside you?"
You nodded, a burning in your eyes from embarrassment or pure desperation, you weren't sure.
Panties out of the way, he ran a finger down your slick folds to separate them. As he sighed, your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack.
"Gorgeous," he murmured, fingers running slowly and gently around your entrance.
It didn't feel like teasing, but admiring. Your hips jumped when he pressed a chase kiss to your puffy clit. You had barely begun to whine again when he licked, long and slow, from the bottom of your entrance up to circle your clit.
The sensation was dizzying as he continued to repeat the motion, moving faster and applying slightly more pressure each time.
"Okay, sweetheart," He said breathlessly, your juices glistening all over his beard, slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside you, stroking the spot deep inside you that had your abdomen tightening in anticipation, "Think you can finish for me?"
Unable to form coherent words, you writhed against him, whining until he relented and lowered his mouth back down to your clit.
It was over quickly after that, though his tongue kept working you until you lightly tugged at his hair, pulling him off you. He wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm and crawled back up to you, pressing kisses all over your sweaty face.
Without preamble, you reached for his cock with the intention of lining it up with your entrance, but he pulled away, "Not yet." He said mildly, propped up on one elbow as he looked at you, his free hand stroking the backs of his knuckles gently against your cheek, "I'm not done with you yet."
You were still a bit dumb from the aftershocks of your orgasm and you blinked blankly at him, "What?"
"I figure I owe you at least three orgasms before I get to cum, that should wipe the previous horrendous encounter from your memory, no?"
A slow, sleepy smile spread across your face and he traced his thumb across your lips, "It's gonna take a while for me to cum again, never mind twice more."
He nodded, "That's why I'm giving you a break, sweet girl."
Flustered, you looked away from him. Who would have thought one man had the potential to be both your best and worst sex?
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Your eyelid was twitching as you sat at central, a phone receiver pressed to your ear as you listened to your mother drone on. As she spoke, your eyes drifted to a fresh blood stain on your white sneakers from the man who'd died maybe an hour or two ago from several gunshot wounds to the chest.
"I hear you, I just—" You tried and failed to scrub the bloodstain out with a wet wipe from behind the desk. The grueling twelve hour shift had ended something like forty five minutes ago with you crying into your hands in the ambulance bay. You were exhausted. "I just don't think now is the time for this conversation—"
"Well," Your mother huffed, "Maybe if you ever answered your phone at home we wouldn't need to have this discussion now."
You ground your teeth together, "I appreciate all the support you and dad have given me—"
"You know, I don't think you do. We clawed our way through law school with no help from our families, started our own firm, saved thousands just so you could be as educated as you wanted without having to struggle like we did—"
"—And I'm immensely grateful for that privilege—"
"Then why would you throw it back in our faces by choosing pathology, essentially a glorified lab technician—"
"That's not what it is at all—"
"You should be in neurosurgery."
You had had this argument what felt like a thousand times over the last few weeks when you had first admitted interest in applying to path residencies. Your mother's insistent argument that she knew best and neurosurgery would provide you with the best career and would utilize your strengths—an excruciating attention to detail and laser-like focus—in a way no other specialty could.
But you disagreed. And what you could never admit to your mother was that your emergency medicine rotations had proven to you that you would crumble under that sort of pressure.
"Hey, Bambi," Michael leaned over your desk, "Get off the phone and glove up, incoming MVA in two minutes."
You gave him an incredulous look, "Our shift ended almost an hour ago."
"Okay…" He said slowly, pulling on a clean pair of gloves, "So you're gonna let me just take this one myself? What if it requires intubation? You're gonna pass up that opportunity? You still haven't done one by yourself."
You were so burnt out and frustrated and once again on the verge of bursting into tears, you didn't have the energy for this, "So, what, you're keeping tabs on my procedure log now?"
He pretended to think about it, furrow between his brow, "Yeah, guess I am."
Neither of you had spoken about the night you'd slept together—if you could even call it that—and Michael had been acting like it never happened. Occasionally he'd reference the night it happened, but always before you went home with him. This was fine with you, it saved you from the embarrassment. Though, sometimes, it had you wondering if maybe you'd somehow hallucinated the entire thing.
"Who are you talking to?" Came your mom's tinny voice in your ear.
You hurriedly said that you had to go and hung up the phone, knowing it would lead to more phone calls later, but you had taken to leaving your phone off the hook when she began calling repeatedly like that. Which was often. It was the only way to ensure you got enough sleep.
Normally, you would jump at any opportunity to try to show up Michael in a trauma, but you were barely holding it together right now. The thought of watching another person die on the table today had you fighting back the instinct to dry heave.
You rested your elbows on the table in front of you and kneaded lightly at your temples, "You can have the MVA, I'm going home."
"That your mom on the phone?" Michael asked, leaning forward and apparently ignoring what you'd just said, "Is she waiting at home for you with a fresh meal and a warm bath?" He taunted, "Bambi needs to be pampered? The ER is too rough for the princess?"
Slowly, you tilted your face up to look at him, "You jealous that I still have a mother who takes care of me, Robinavitch?"
If you weren't as tired, you wouldn't have said it. As it was, your stomach churned when the smile melted off his face. Yes, he had taunted you and teased you and tortured you for most of both MS3 and 4, but you shouldn't have sank to his level. Really, you had sunk below his level, you thought. Even with how cruel he could be, he'd never mocked you when he found you crying out in the ambulance bay. On occasion he'd actually silently stood next to you or offered you a cigarette.
Your relationship was strange as he could be downright abusive in front of attendings or other colleagues, but when it was just the two of you it was like being on hallowed ground. He had only ever been nice to you when it was just the two of you with no one else around to hear. Something you struggled to reconcile. And now you had weaponized one of the only times he had opened up to you.
He shook his head, but otherwise didn't say anything, ducking away from you, "Michael—Wait—"
"It's fine, Bambi," He called over his shoulder, "Go home. As you've so astutely pointed out, not all of us have one of those."
Later, after you'd crawled into bed and couldn't sleep despite your exhaustion for the guilt that wracked you, you picked up the phone next to your bed and dialed Michael.
It rang for a while and you thought he might let it go to voicemail, but when he finally picked up his voice was rough with sleep.
"Hello?"
You hesitated, then breathed softly, "Hi."
A moment of silence passed, "Bambi?"
"Yeah."
"It's… late."
You sighed, "Yeah, um, sorry. Did I wake you?"
You heard him stifle a yawn, "You did, yeah." Silence again, but for the sound of both your breathing, "Um, did you need something?"
"I—Yeah, I, um… I couldn't sleep."
"Okay," He drew out the word, long and smooth, "Have you tried… Counting sheep?"
You huffed a laugh, "No, I—I can't sleep because I feel horrible about what I said to you earlier. About—about your mom. I'm so, so sorry, Michael. It was awful and—and it was unacceptable and unprofessional."
He was quiet for a moment, then, "It's alright, Bambi. I've said worse to you. You didn't know about—It was just a lucky shot."
Your mouth fell open slightly, confusion clouding your brain, "What?"
"You—What you said earlier hit a nerve, but you couldn't have known. I've—I've never spoken about my mother to anyone."
You stared at the popcorn ceiling of your apartment, mouth still agape. Did he not remember?
And you were nothing if not a coward, so you kept quiet. Didn't correct him. The fact was, what you said was so much worse knowing what you knew. And he didn't even know you knew.
"Right," You said, swallowing, "Well either way, it was a really shitty thing for me to say. So I'm sorry."
"I appreciate it and I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."
You exhaled slowly and closed your eyes, "Thank you."
"Think you can sleep now, princess?" Despite the nickname, his tone was playful, almost gentle in your ear. You had the insane thought that you'd like to hear him talk you to sleep.
"Yeah. Goodnight, Michael."
"Goodnight, Bambi."
***
Robby shot up in bed, his skin tacky with sweat and his chest heaving, lungs struggling to fill. Nightmares were common for him, but what was so disorienting this night was that at first, he wasn't sure where he was. The bed sheets were unfamiliar to him where they stuck to his skin. They felt more expensive than what he had at home, reminded him of hotel sheets. The mattress was softer as well.
And then there was the soft sigh the came from the pillow next to him. His eyes followed the noise and he saw you laying beside him, fast asleep. At the sight of you, his panic began to recede just slightly. He was in your bed. Had shared a lovely dinner with you and slept with you and spoke in hushed whispers across pillows until you'd fallen asleep.
When he had nightmares at home, he would often get out of bed, crack open a beer or smoke a cigarette, unable to properly fall back asleep. But looking down at you, he feared he'd wake you if he did that. The last however many hours he'd spent with you had been the most at peace he'd felt in recent memory. Even with the nightmare, he already felt his heart rate slowing, just watching the even rise and fall of your chest.
He sank back down into the mattress and laid his head down on the pillow, his forehead nearly touching yours.
Unable to help himself, he rested his hand against your neck and ran his thumb over your cheekbone. You mewled and then your eyes began to blink open.
"Sorry," He said immediately when your eyes opened into his, "Didn't mean to wake you."
You gave him a sleepy smile and nudged your nose against his, "S'okay… It's almost nice to wake up in the middle of the night when there's someone else here."
Lying close to you, he allowed himself to believe that he deserved love like this. That he deserved a life like this. That you could love him and stay despite the ugly parts of him he'd try like hell to keep from you.
He kissed you then, to avoid thinking about all the ways in which he was bound to disappoint you if this continued. And you kissed him back, pulled him closer, your hand at the nape of his neck and he catalogued it—the feeling of your gentle fingers stroking the back of his head.
"Mmm," You hummed and pulled away from him slightly, your brow furrowed, "Is it raining?"
Sure enough, as both of you stilled, there was the sound of rain tapping against the windows, "Sounds like it."
You grinned at him, "Would you like to drink tea and watch the rain from the porch?"
You seemed already giddy by the idea so he couldn't say no, not that he wanted to. It was so simple, really, the act of watching the rain. But you stood outside wrapped in a throw blanket, your hands warming a mug of tea, and looking out into your yard with awe as the sun started to stretch over the horizon, lighting up the storm clouds from behind.
He wanted to see the world like that. To be enamored by simple pleasures, the way you were.
"You seem so happy," He said into your ear.
You hummed, "I am."
"Is this what it's like being you? In this stunning house? Just a cup of tea while it rains can bring joy?"
You turned slightly in his arms to see his face and he recognized it when you scanned his face: You were trying to gauge if he was making fun of you. Old habits died hard, he supposed.
Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't mocking you, you turned back toward the rain, "It's a lot nicer when there's someone to share it all with."
You said it casually, but he heard the note of sadness in your tone, "You've been alone for a while?" You nodded, "What about family? Your parents?"
You stiffened in his embrace and he almost regretted it. He knew what happened when you got like this, if someone moved too quickly or suddenly—you bolted.
But after a moment, you softened, "We don't really talk much anymore."
"Oh," He said softly in surprise, "Sorry, I thought—You always seemed close when we were in school."
"You mistook financial support as love. And even if it was, they promptly cut that off the second I moved to Chicago."
He frowned, "You haven't spoken since residency? Why?" In the silence that followed, he sensed your hesitancy, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I don't mind," You said softly, "I just haven't thought about it in a while. We have talked since, but sporadically. It's mostly just happy birthday texts now." You sighed heavily, "The short answer is that they wanted me to go into neurosurgery and treated me going into pathology as some personal affront to them. It felt like they only ever saw me as some sort of investment instead of their kid."
Robby had been guilty of assuming that you had it all. After thinking it over more, he'd come to the conclusion the way he treated you had had more to do with jealousy than anything else. You always seemed so put off by talking to your parents, your parents who took care of everything for you. What he would have done to have anyone like that in his corner when he was in his twenties. He felt you were ungrateful.
But now, having done a lot of growing up himself and watching residents with all sorts of parental issues come and go through his ER, he understood that just throwing money at a kid was no way to raise them.
"I'm sorry," He said again and leaned down slightly to kiss the back of your neck, "You deserved better than that."
You turned in his arms to face him, "Do you really believe that? That what I do is just as important as what you do? Or neurosurgery?"
"Yes," He said immediately, "If it was me I might be… bored out of my mind, but we need pathologists. The ED needs them, surgery needs them, oncology needs them, hematology needs them, you're absolutely vital to all of us. But that's not what I meant. I meant that you deserved better parents."
Though you had changed over the years, not so skittish and quiet, there were things about you that remained. Your anxious state, bordering on paranoia the way you worried that others would betray you. Your quiet but desperate need of approval—of love. Your empathy, the way you felt everything so deeply and openly, even when you tried to hide it.
Right now, you were scared. Of him, of his ability to hurt you. He was also scared of his ability to hurt you. Terrified, really.
But still, you swallowed and looked away from him, "Thank you," you said quietly and tugged his arms tighter around you.
Bambi—his fawn—now stable on your own two feet. It'd be you that would have to keep him steady now, keep him from running.
***
When Robby was at work now, when the shifts got bad, he excused himself for just a moment and closed his eyes. He'd conjure your home in his head, your cat Brutus, the sound of your laugh, watching rain from your covered porch while drinking coffee, waking up to the smell of your shampoo on the pillow, movie nights on your couch, long showers and your hands on his skin.
It had been weeks now since your first date and things had moved quickly. It hadn't been discussed explicitly, but Robby spent most nights at your house now. The simple domesticity of it, of having someone to come home to, had felt nearly life changing. You often asked if he wanted you to stay at his place for a change to which he always turned down.
He loved everything about your place, from the way it always smelt like something delicious, to the fact that Brutus was always there, to just how lived in it felt. Just last weekend the two of you had spent entire days digging up the garden beds so you could start planting vegetables and fruits and herbs. You talked about cucumber salads and fresh baked pies and it all felt so… domestic. Mundane. And it was the only place he felt peace.
Today's shift had been horrible. And so after calling time of death on a patient that he'd worked on for far longer than was clinically appropriate, he told Dana he'd be outside for a few minutes. In the ambulance bay, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, he tried to slow his breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he willed the images of the woman away, of her child. Instead, he pictured you, the sleepy smile on your face when he woke up first in the morning, whispered in your ear that he was going to make pancakes. He pictured you fast asleep on your couch, a paperback abandoned in your hand and Brutus snuggled up on your chest. He pictured you spinning around your backyard in the rain, green rain boots up to your knees and your wild laughter.
As his breathing slowed, the sound of the ambulance bay doors sliding open had him turning his attention to the doors to see Abbot walking toward him.
Silently, Jack stood next to Robby and crossed his arms, "Your girlfriend's down here looking for you."
Robby sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "She's not my girlfriend."
"Sorry, your pathologist."
Robby huffed a laugh, "I guess she is sort of my girlfriend."
"Well, you better watch out because I hear all the nurses warning her about your… 'seven week itch' I think they're calling it."
He shook his head, "She's not the type to listen to rumors."
Jack hummed, "She might start if you keep her waiting much longer."
"Alright, alright," He sighed and pushed himself off the wall, "I'll go find her."
"'Atta boy," Jack said and clapped him over the shoulder, the two of them walking back into the Pitt.
Robby's eyes found you almost immediately, talking to Dana, and you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up to meet his. There was concern all over your face and Robby didn't even have the time to properly wonder if Dana had filled you in about the terrible shift they'd had before you were marching over to him.
You were apparently so intently focused on him, you didn't notice the puddle of water on the floor and before Robby could warn you, you'd slipped.
Your feet went up over your head and your back hit the ground—hard.
Instantly, Robby was there, a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you tried to sit up— "Hey, don't move, don't move."
"Ow," you groaned and tried to push him out of your way, "I'm fine, Michael."
"Did you hit your head?" His penlight was already out, ready to assess.
You sighed, "I don't know, I don't think so."
"Dana," he called over his shoulder, "What's open?"
"Central 11."
"I just wanna go home," You said softly, "I'm fine, I swear."
But seeing you fall like that after the shift he'd had, he couldn't seem to slow the spiral he was beginning to fall down. What if you had a concussion? A brain bleed? Untreated one could lead to irreparable brain damage and the other, death.
"It'll be quick," He said, "Promise. Just… Please, it'll make me feel better."
You tilted your head slightly, doe eyes out in full force. Like you were concerned about him. But you nodded anyway, conceded to him, even when he insisted on a wheelchair to transport you.
When it was just the two of you and he had started your exam, you continued to watch him carefully.
"Did something happen today?" You asked softly, "During shift?"
He hummed in question, gently turning your head this way and that, "What d'you mean?"
"You're being… hypervigilant. I'm just wondering if something happened today to trigger that."
The two of you had discussed covid and Adamson. You had been back in Pittsburgh at that point, but at Westbridge. Robby had felt a pang of resentment at first, thinking that you likely hadn't had to be on the front lines like he had.
But then you told him about the autopsies. How there were so many bodies that you, who had built a career off studying cancers and blood, had had to assist with autopsies. You told him how you hadn't really done an autopsy since residency, but now with how many you'd had to do during the pandemic, you could do them with your eyes closed.
"It fucked with me," You'd told him, "I saw those bodies everywhere, even if I wasn't in the hospital. I could smell them no matter how many candles I lit at home. I dreamt about them for weeks after. I cried for months."
And when you'd divulged that, the flood gates had opened for him. He told you everything, from covid to PittFest. When he got choked up, he found himself instinctually reaching for your hand, needing you to anchor him. Without hesitation, you practically pulled him into your lap, cradled his head to your chest and whispered soothing words in his ear.
So then it shouldn't have surprised him that you would catch on so quickly. For being so young when you went through med school, he had assumed upon first meeting you that you'd have no idea about anything. But it had struck him immediately how emotionally intelligent you were, how you had from the very beginning been able to read even the most closed off of patients.
Still, he felt himself recoil at your assessment, "You fell," He said, "I'm just making sure you're alright."
"Well I'm also a doctor and I'm telling you, I'm fine. There's no tenderness at the back of my head, no nausea, no dizziness—"
"I'm ordering you a head CT."
Your mouth fell open, indignation in the tug of your lips. After a moment, you scoffed, "I don't want that so please get me the AMA forms to sign, if you don't mind."
He raised his eyebrows and finally met your eyes, "Really?"
"You're exposing me to unnecessary radiation when I have zero symptoms—"
"You don't remember if you hit your head—"
"Robby?" He whipped his head around to see Dana in the doorway, "The cops are here, they wanna talk to you about the boy and his mother who—"
"Yeah, okay, I'll be there in a minute."
Dana left and he hung his head, braced his hands against his legs, hoping they didn't shake, "I would really appreciate it… if you could please stay for a CT."
He felt your gaze even as he avoided it, "Why are the cops here?"
He sighed, "A kid's here with no parental guardian."
There was a pause, then, "What happened to his mother?"
"I really can't talk about this right now—"
"Then I'd like the AMA forms, please."
He made an exasperated groan and looked up at you, tried pleading with his eyes, but you stayed firm, expectant, until he sighed, "A woman was brought in today with her ten year old son who'd found her unresponsive in the bathtub when he came home from school today. She'd slashed her own wrists. We couldn't get a pulse back." He ran a hand along the back of his neck, "The kid doesn't have anyone else."
In a moment, you were on your knees in front of him, his hands clasped in yours, "You worked the resuscitation?"
He nodded, and to his surprise salty tears fell onto your clasped hands. Embarrassed, he tried for nonchalant as he spoke, "It's uh—It's been a long day, but that happened almost first thing this morning. I don't know why I can't shake it."
"Well… That's unsurprising." You said slowly, "Considering your childhood."
His entire body stiffened and he pulled away, "What'd you say?"
You opened and closed your mouth, still lowered to the ground in front of him. He watched as you seemed to calculate your misstep too late and then rush to correct, "I just, um, I remember you telling me once that… that your parents weren't really… present in your life."
Robby shook his head, "I never told you about that."
You bit your lip for a moment and then shrugged, "You told me… everything, Michael. The night we slept together in med school. You were very drunk."
He bristled and scoffed, "Right, we got drunk, I told you that my mother killed herself, and then we fucked?"
It seemed absurd. The truth that he was so ashamed of, that he'd held so close to his chest, that he hadn't allowed anyone to know, he had told you. His grandparents had been the only other people to know and when they died they took it with them. He had assumed he would do the same. But here you were, this contradiction to the one fundamental truth he'd had. That no one would ever need to know the ugly truth that the single person on this Earth who was supposed to love him unconditionally had abandoned him with such violent permanence.
You seemed a bit embarrassed at his hostility, lifting yourself back up to your feet again, "Look, you don't have to try to humiliate me just because you don't believe me. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just trying to let you know that I understand why that case was difficult for you."
"Yeah, well, it's not your fucking place."
He thought he saw you flinch, but just as quickly, you became stoic, "I think it's time for me to go and I'd prefer it if you stayed at your own place tonight."
You left without waiting for him to respond and immediately, the anger left him in a rush, replaced with shame. When he walked back towards central, you were gone, Dana looking at him now with a question in her eyes, "Your girl left in a rush, I thought you were leaving with her?"
He sighed, ran both hands over his face, "Where's the kid?"
"BH1," She said and leaned closer to him, "It's her birthday today and you let her leave here without you?"
Fuck. "It's her birthday?"
Dana nodded, "You don't know your own girl's birthday?"
"She's not—How do you know it's her birthday?"
"She told me about ten minutes ago."
Unbelievable.
"Well," He said, fingers interlaced at the back of his neck, "I don't think she'll want to spend it with me now."
Dana watched him for a moment, "Tell you what, Baran's still here, I'm sure she wouldn't mind handling the police. You should go. Get her a cake and flowers and apologize. You had a hard day, she'll understand."
You had understood, but he thought you'd likely be heaps and bounds less understanding now.
But hadn't he promised himself, when he first agreed to date you, seriously, that he'd be different this time? That he wouldn't fall back into old habits? That he wouldn't push people away when they got too close?
You already knew the worst of him, apparently. Had known it for decades it seemed and still, you wanted him. And as always, he'd hurt you anyway.
So, he was really prepared to grovel when he finally got to your place, a bouquet of tulips and white bakery box in hand. He knocked gently on the door and waited until he heard the twist of the doorknob, and then saw you. You were in sweats and a tank top and you crossed your arms over your chest when you saw him.
"Hi," he said softly.
"I thought I asked you not to come here tonight."
"I know, and I'll go, I just, Dana mentioned that it was your birthday so I got you a cake and some flowers and I just wanted to say that I'm—I'm really sorry. I just, I've never told… anyone about her, or so I thought, and it just caught me off guard. But, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, you were only trying to help."
You stared at him for a few moments, mouth twisted to the side and bounced on the balls of your feet, "You got me a birthday cake?"
His mouth twitched into a smirk, but he fought it, "Yeah, but I didn't know what sort of cake you like so I—I got you funfetti cake. It reminded me of you."
Now it was you fighting a smirk, "Funfetti cake reminds you of me?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you're bright, colorful, pretty, happy—You're everything. Funfetti."
You uncrossed your arms and interlocked them behind your back instead, "You can come inside."
Ten minutes later, you both sat on the couch with a slice of cake, "No one's ever gotten me a birthday cake before."
Robby balked, "What?"
You shrugged, "My parents were always too busy to celebrate my birthday. I think they forgot most years. And I didn't have many friends growing up. And then when I got to be an adult I just… stopped telling people when my birthday was. To avoid being disappointed."
He felt an ache in his chest for the child he saw in his head, the kid he used to know. How lonely you must've been. "Why'd you tell Dana?"
"One of my students is a bit of a kiss ass and found out it was my birthday from the internet. Got the whole class to sign a card for me. Dana just happened to see it."
He sighed, "I'm really sorry if I contributed to your day being shitty."
You shook your head, "I really don't even think about it much anymore, truly. And anyway, it sounded like you had a much harder day than I did."
"That's not an excuse."
You put your plate on the coffee table and turned your attention fully to Robby, taking his face gently in your hands, "You came here and you apologized," You said softly, "And I've forgiven you. So enough with the self flagellation, hm?" You stroked your thumbs gently over his cheekbones, "And why don't you tell me about the mother that came in today."
Again, he felt the involuntary raise of his hackles at the suggestion that he discuss today. But there was warmth and tenderness in your eyes. Your fingers ran through his hair and scratched at his scalp gently, and his eyes fluttered closed, hackles falling.
And so the words flowed out of him. He recounted the horror and fear that reverberated through him as the woman was rolled in, her son shaking and sobbing at her side. How difficult it was for him to focus on anything other than this boy, this baby, now alone in the world. It was frightening, really, to come face to face with the boy he used to be. How young he was when his mother had passed, something he'd been unable to appreciate at the time.
He'd done a lot of work to forgive her for leaving. Had studied up on suicidality and bipolar depression. In his career he met many people who reminded him of his mother and his empathy had stretched and grown and while he'd thought he'd forgiven her, there was still just a kernel of bitterness deep in his chest.
He had never been confronted with himself, with the child he used to be, until today. How his heart bled for that child. He could recall every memory of that day, every smell, every sound, every touch. The world had fractured and reassembled for that boy today, much like it had for him so many years ago. And he'd had to listen to his colleagues all day, talk about that boy as if he was the one who had died and it pissed him off. That they could so easily written off that kid's future because of a single day, because of the choices his mother had made.
But then came the small, nagging voice at the back of his head, But wasn't it true? Aren't you broken beyond repair? Isn't that the one truth you've been running from all this time?
"You're not broken," You said softly to him when he'd finished speaking, still holding him tightly to you, now with one hand beneath his shirt and running your nails soothingly up and down his back.
You repeated it to him like a mantra until he leaned up, captured your soft, warm mouth with his. And whenever he opened his eyes to look into yours, he knew you didn't believe your own words. Walls that you had begun to deconstruct over the last few weeks were now built back up. Now, barbed wire adorned the walls like vines.
He had the distinct feeling that you'd never allow him to see over the walls again.
***
"Well I heard from Edith who heard from Sam who sometimes has lunch with Dana that Robby's been staying late and picking up more shifts again, since he bought that motorcycle… You know what that means."
"The seven week itch has struck again. That motorcycle's a breakup motorcycle if I've ever seen one."
You sighed heavily as you adjusted your microscope, "You guys are not being as quiet as you think you are."
Your students giggled at your admonishment, "Sorry, the drama is just way more fascinating in the Pitt than it is up here."
You were silent after that and their whispers died down, but never completely. You had never paid much attention to rumors around the hospital until you and Robby started seeing each other. The women in the hospital loved gossiping about him. And more and more it ate away at you.
Things hadn't been quite right between you since your birthday. You had forgiven him for how he'd acted, but still there was a cold dread in your stomach that seemed to intensify every time you saw him. You felt yourself overcompensating, looking for reassurance. You had convincingly kept up the illusion of confidence, but now it waned.
You had the feeling he had sussed it out, how desperate you were. Before, for any companionship. Now, specifically, for his. You were frightened by the way your heart squeezed when you woke up to him beside you in the morning. The way he had slipped into your routine so effortlessly. Helping you out in the garden on the weekends. Putting the kettle on at exactly 9PM for tea before bed. Trying all your desserts even after insisting he needed to watch what he ate. Recently, he'd began reading your well-worn, tattered copy of The Princess Bride aloud to you, using character voices that got more and more ridiculous until you were crying with laughter. More and more regularly, he fell asleep on the couch, glasses askew and Brutus on his chest.
It was terrifying how easily he slotted into your life. This was what you'd wanted, what you'd always wanted, had wanted so badly at times you'd forced relationships you knew would never work.
And you kept waiting, day after day, for him to leave and not come back. The day he'd been short with you in the ER, you'd been flung back to an earlier relationship. Remembered in vivid details the ugly fights you'd had.
"You're not listening to me!"
"Maybe I just don't like the sound of your voice."
It didn't matter how he apologized after, the words had burrowed deep in your head. They stuck with you from relationship to relationship and you'd heard similar disdain from Robby that day.
So with all of this, you were already struggling before the rumors and before the motorcycle. You felt him pulling away from you inch by inch and you clung to him harder, certain if you just enticed him the correct way he'd want to stay.
And for a while, you thought it was working, until dinner one day on the porch. The vibrant strawberry sky was beginning to bruise with dusk as you each sat in silent after cleaning your plates.
Then Robby cleared his throat, "You know how I've been fixing up the motorcycle with Duke?"
You nodded. You knew the fact that you were jealous of a sixty year old biker spending time with your boyfriend was not healthy. You were glad he had picked up a hobby outside of the ER, it was good for him. And still, you couldn't help the way dread curdled in your gut every time he spoke about it. What it really felt like was an escape plan. No matter how you tried to convince yourself it wasn't, you couldn't stop the constant spirals. The souring of your mood whenever he stated he was going to Duke's or he couldn't make it tonight because he stayed too late at Duke's so he'd just sleep at his own place. You knew he noticed the shift in energy whenever the motorcycle was brought up, but he never commented on it.
"It's finished," He gave you a wry smile, "It's rideable now, in really good shape."
"Oh," You said, "That's… great."
Again, he ignored the uneasiness in your tone. Or maybe he truly was oblivious. Because next he said, "I was thinking about taking some time off from work and doing a cross country ride."
"Oh," You said again, feeling dumb at your sudden lack of vocabulary, "For how long?"
"I don't know," He avoided looking at you as he said, "Three months?"
The pain in your chest was spectacular. Again and again you were reminded of how unlovable you were. You tried so hard and it was never enough, not for your parents, not for friends, not for every other partner who left quickly and quietly. Your eyes burned as you pushed back from the table and picked up your plate, "You don't have to flee across the country to get rid of me, you could just break up with me like a mature, grown man." You said bitterly and walked back inside.
Assumedly shocked at your outburst, it took him a minute before following you back inside, "This is not about us," He said quietly over your shoulder as you dropped the dirty dishes unceremoniously into your sink.
"Frankly, it doesn't matter if it isn't," You said turning to face him, "If you leave for three months our relationship is effectively dead. And you know this."
He scoffed, "Three months is not that long—"
"Three months is not that long when you've been in a relationship for a decade, it's everything when you've barely even been together that long."
He watched you and slowly shook his head, "It doesn't have to be. You could come with me."
You laughed and pushed past him, "What, and bring Brutus as well? Let my garden wither away? You don't really want me to come, you're just offering out of guilt."
"That's not true, I—I want to be here with you, being with you is the only thing that feels right in my life right now. I don't want to lose that."
"Then why are you running away?" You asked, exasperated and humiliated when tears began to blur your vision.
You were sitting on the couch now and he crouched in front of you, looked at you with his big wet, brown cow eyes. Eyes you adored, crow's feet you wished to sink into, freckles you'd counted and memorized over many nights.
"I feel like…" He said slowly, "Like… if I don't get out of that hospital, of this city soon that I'm a ticking time bomb."
You nodded and sniffed, pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes, "And I feel like if you leave I'm never gonna see you again."
He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow furrowed and watery eyes studying you. You waited and waited for him to say it wasn't true, but he obviously couldn't. Instead he cupped your cheeks in his hands and gently brushed away your tears, "C'mon sweetheart, don't cry. It's okay. I've got you."
Leaning in, he gently kissed your forehead, the tops of your cheeks, your nose, then your mouth, his beard scratching the soft skin of your face. Stifling the cries that attempted to crawl up your throat, you kissed him back fiercely, wondering if it would be the last time you got to do so. He matched your fervor, groaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss—and then his hands were everywhere.
He hoisted you up and around his waist and walked you to the bedroom, a path he knew well at this point, could do it with his eyes closed. He placed you down and then crawled over you, arms bracketing your head as he kissed your lips swollen and raw. The smell of him, the taste of him, had become so comforting to you it was agony to imagine a time when you couldn't have them whenever you wanted. That he would be so far away from you, your house lonely and empty once again. And it was this thought that had you burst promptly into tears.
"Wh—What's wrong? Sweetheart—Do you wanna stop? We can stop—"
"No, no," You said quickly through hiccuping sobs and opened your eyes into his, "Please—Please don't stop, Michael, please—"
"Okay," He kissed all over your face again as your sobs began to quiet, "Okay, baby. I'm right here—" In response to his words, you pulled him closer until his weight was almost fully on you, "I'm right here." He repeated.
When your tears dried, he slowly undressed you, his kisses painfully tender and eyes that melted you. It took everything in you not to rush him along. The need to have him inside you, to fill you up, felt almost primal. You needed to be close to him, as close as you could be. Soon he'd be gone and all you'd have was the ghost of a feeling.
He leaned his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside you, both of you sighing into one another, "So perfect," He murmured and kissed you, "Feel so perfect, baby."
"Please," You kept saying over and over as he pushed himself in and out of you. You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, for him to fuck you? For him to stay? For him to love you?
Pulling out of you, he turned you onto your stomach, positioned your hips until you felt him press into you again, his belly against the small of your back and the cold chain around his neck falling against your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine.
The feel of him inside you was exquisite, like nothing else you'd experienced before. He pushed his hand beneath your belly until his fingers found your swollen clit and this coupled with the way he filled you up was too much, the sensation overwhelming. You were coming before you even had the chance to warn him, unraveling as he moaned and kissed the back of your neck when he felt your walls pulse around him.
The pleasure was so overwhelming and the feel of him so stifling, it was almost involuntary when you blurted out, "I love you, Michael, I love you."
With your face partially obscured by the mattress, you hoped he hadn't heard it. But his hips stuttered for a second and panic seized in your chest until— "Oh, God, fuck—" he came inside you.
His skin stuck to yours as he caught his breath, still inside you as he softened. You laid like that for a while in silence, spooning in your bed. The sun had still cast shadows in your room when you first came in here, but now it was nearly pitch black.
"You're still leaving?" You asked, voice steadier than you felt, unwilling to hope.
He was quiet for long enough that you wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then came the soft, "Yes," in your ear.
You said nothing else that night. Neither of you spoke about what you'd confessed during sex and when you woke in the morning, he had left. There was no trace of him left in the house. He'd taken his toothbrush, his beard trimmer, his duffel of clothes and other toiletries. All gone.
He left a single t-shirt—by accident or not, you couldn't say—draped over your hamper. When you picked it up and brought it to your face, it smelt like him.
You sank to the floor of your closet like a child and cried.
***
Robby saw you everywhere and in everything. He thought about you most mornings when he put on a pair of pants and noticed how they were a bit too snug—Having regular meals most days at your place had meant he'd put on a few pounds while dating you. He thought about you and Brutus whenever Trinity showed him pictures of her new kittens. Whenever he had a cookie or a slice of blueberry pie, he remembered the sweet buttery smell of your house whenever you were baking.
He missed you with a devotion that felt almost religious, but he never picked up the phone. After having made you cry and then hearing you admit that you were in love with him, he'd been absolutely certain he couldn't have you. He'd thought in the beginning, he'd been able to delude himself that he could have someone like you. That he deserved someone like you, so sweet and gentle and loving. But despite his precautions, you'd still crumbled to dust in his hands.
He was terrified that if he didn't leave he'd repeat his mother's mistakes and leave you even more devastated than you were now.
But when you looked at him and said you didn't think you'd ever see him again, he'd wondered if you'd understood. If you'd understood his fears and instead worried that if he did leave he'd become his mother.
He didn't want to think about that and so as he packed up his gear and clothes and whatever else he thought he might need onto his bike, he tried and failed to stop thinking about you.
As he left town, he rode by your house knowing you'd be at work. He rolled slowly, memorized every detail he could of the house, the only place he'd ever felt at home besides his grandparents' house. In a last minute decision, he pulled out his phone and took a quick photo.
This was when he saw Brutus in the window, watching him, tail swishing back and forth. He'd miss that little rascal, too, even if he had broken his favorite mug. He gave a quick salute to Brutus and then he left before he could change his mind.
For a while, being on the road felt as freeing as he hoped it would. Everyone before he left seemed so worried he was about to kill himself, but honestly, with new air in his lungs, he felt great. For around four hundred miles.
He was a few days into the trip, having only driven something like a hundred miles each day, and closing in on Chicago when the fatigue really began to set in. Every part of his body ached. He had been very careful not to let his mind wander to you since he'd left, but it wandered anyhow. Now he thought of the Epsom salt baths you insisted on whenever he had aches and pains. He wished more than anything that you'd be there in Chicago, waiting by the hot bath, pretending to resist when he coaxed you in with him. You'd sit between his legs, back to his chest as you told him about your day as he gently kneaded your shoulders with his thumbs. You'd talk about the study you were working on. Or, since it was a Saturday, maybe you'd spent time in the garden, pulling weeds as you listened to an audiobook for a new mystery novel.
Robby was so immersed in the fantasy, he didn't register the oncoming headlights until it was already too late. Still, as the car crossed the double yellow line into his lane, on instinct, he jerked the bike away from the oncoming collision.
He was able to avoid the car, but lost control of the bike, skidding off the road and into a guardrail. He felt it when the gravel tore through his pants, then his skin, the weight of his bike pinning him to the ground as he came to a complete stop.
Robby was so used to watching other people die, he thought he knew what it'd be like when his time came. Stupidly, he thought he'd made his peace with his own mortality, his inevitable demise. But in the split second it took for him to see the oncoming headlights and jerk his bike out of the way, he understood immediately and with complete clarity that he didn't want to die.
As he felt his skin being torn up and his leg being crushed, time slowed, and he saw your face. Heard your voice tell him you loved him. The sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo.
And just as quickly as it happened, it was over, and the pain exploded throughout his body.
Pain, glorious pain, and as he categorized it all he understood it meant he was alive and he laughed, wildly. The paramedics that showed up afterwards and told him how lucky he was likely thought him insane as he laughed and laughed.
He was alive. He was fucking alive. And the realization filled him with indescribable joy. Logically he knew most of this was due to the adrenaline rush, but he couldn't help but feel like this had to have been some divine intervention. And soon enough, as the adrenaline fled him and the pain meds kicked in, he couldn't stop crying.
The nurses and doctors looked at him with sympathy and one nurse, Angela, asked gently, "Is there anyone we can call?"
The only person he wanted to call right now was you. His bike was totaled and he found he didn't even care. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to play chess on your porch while it rained. He wanted to play hide and seek with Brutus while you giggled from the sofa, watching him. He wanted to let you pick a movie for movie night only to have you unceremoniously fall asleep in his arms less than ten minutes in. He wanted to beg your forgiveness. He wanted to tell you he loved you, was in love with you, like he should have before he left. He wanted to go home.
But he shook his head, wiped his eyes and asked if he could have his phone. He would be waiting a while for imaging on his leg. The thought for sure something was broken and based on what he felt when he went down, he concurred with that opinion. He thought it possible he might even need surgery, though they hadn't said as much yet.
Angela returned with his phone and a smile, repeated as he looked at his cracked screen that she'd be happy to call, but he thanked her and waved her off.
His phone seemed to be working fine and he immediately scrolled over to his photo album where he pulled up photos of you. Photos of the two of you together, you making a silly face at the camera and him with a toothy smile on his face as he looked down at you. Happy.
He felt suddenly very stupid for how he'd handled everything. Wished he'd listened to you when you asked him why he seemed to be sabotaging the one good thing in his life.
The answer was that he didn't think he deserved anything good, least of all, you. He was destined to a miserable life and a miserable death and he had no desire to bring you down with him.
But looking at this photo, it was becoming more and more clear to him that you had changed him. He thought he was destined for tragedy, but you'd rewritten his ending. Only he'd been much too stupid to see it.
Eventually, he worked up the courage to call you, not expecting you to answer. As the phone rang he could picture you in your pajama set, sleepytime tea on your nightstand and Brutus curled up in your lap as you stared at the caller ID with rage in your eyes.
But you surprised him. You picked up after just three rings.
"Hello?" You sounded a bit breathless and a lot confused.
"Hi."
"Michael?" He closed his eyes at the sound of his name, always so sweet from your mouth, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Why are you assuming something's wrong?"
"Because I haven't heard from you in weeks," You said bitterly, "And I can hear beeping monitors in the background and I know you're not at work because Abbot told me you left for your sabbatical days ago."
"So you've been asking about me?" He said, teasing lilt to his voice.
You sighed, "Michael, so help me, I will hang up this phone—"
"Alright, okay, sorry, sorry, you're right," He ran a hand over his face, "I'm sorry—I—I'm in an emergency room in Chicago and I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Why are you in an emergency room?" He could tell you were fighting to keep your voice level from how slowly you asked the question.
"I totaled the bike," He scratched at his beard, "I was driving too late and I was tired and a car drifted into my lane and I swerved and went into a guardrail."
"Oh my God—Fuck—Are you—Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I have some pretty bad road rash and think maybe my leg's broken—" He heard movement on the other end of the phone, "What're you doing?"
"Packing." You said matter of factly, "If I leave now I should get to Chicago by morning."
He felt his eyes burn immediately. That after everything you'd still go to him without hesitation. Again, he felt that pang in his chest, that overwhelming ache that said he didn't deserve you.
"You shouldn't drive this late," Was all he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
"Please," You said dismissively, "Do you need anything from your house? I can stop on my way."
"Sweetheart, I'm—I'm so sorry for leaving. You were right, you're the only thing that matters and I thought I didn't deserve it—Deserve you and so I ran away. I'm a coward. And I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll beg for it anyway. I love you so much and I just want to be with you, if you'll still have me."
There was silence on the other line and then a soft sigh, "You're on so many drugs right now, aren't you?"
"What? No—Well, yes, but that's not why—"
"We can talk about it in a few days when you're not high out of your mind. Do you need anything from your house?" You repeated it like you were talking to a petulant toddler and he felt stupid again. He hadn't considered what this would look like to you. And yes, his accident had forced him to confront what he was actually doing and feeling, but that didn't make it less true. He'd known he loved you long before he left, long before you even said it. He thought he'd likely been a little bit in love with you since med school.
Your caution was understandable, though, so he wouldn't push.
"No," He said finally, "No, thanks. But would you mind sharing your location with me since you insist on driving through the night? Would make me feel better if I can follow along."
"Sure," you said, and he heard the way your voice softened at his concern, "Goodnight, Michael."
For a moment, time seemed to crunch like an accordian and he was back in med school, your voice in his ear in the middle of the night, asking for his forgiveness. He felt a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Goodnight, Bambi." He murmured and his phone slipped from his hand.
***
Michael was asleep when you got to the hospital and had been admitted to Ortho upstairs for surgery.
Your emotions were all over the place, but seeing him in a hospital bed, a bit bloodied up and hooked up to monitors, you felt your defenses falling. You wanted to be angry with him, but how could you be? When you had been so close to losing him for good?
As you got closer, you noted that he'd let his beard and hair grow out a bit longer since the last you saw him. It made him appear softer. You had been pleased before he left when his cheeks began to fill out a bit having made him eat properly since you began dating. That weight was still there, if not as obvious as before.
The rush of affection that filled you upon seeing him was nearly suffocating.
As you pulled up a chair to his bedside, he began to wake and you smiled at him with watery eyes, "Hi."
He smiled back and reached a hand out for you which you immediately took and brought to your lips.
"I'm sorry," He said immediately, but you dismissed him with a shake of your head.
"What did the doctor say? Why do you need surgery?"
"It's… shattered. The bike fell on it, crushed my leg. Have to screw it all back together."
You frowned as he grimaced, "Are you in pain? Let me go get a nurse—"
You stood to go, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, "No, no, don't. I asked them to… take me off the meds."
You stared at him, mouth agape, "Why would you do something like that?"
"So that I could tell you how in love with you I am with a clear head."
You nearly laughed, "Michael Robinavitch, have you lost your goddamn mind?"
"You said we should wait," He shook his head, "I don't want you to go another second thinking that I don't love you."
Your eyes watered, but you shook your head, "It's gonna take a lot longer than you saying it once for me to trust you again."
"I know that," He grimaced again, "I just wanted to say it now."
You brought a hand to his cheek and scratched lightly along his jaw, "Can I go grab a nurse now if you're done with the dramatics?"
He smirked and nodded and you hid a grin as you stood and walked from the room.
It was a day or two after surgery that Robby was finally cleared to go home with you. On the way home, high on pain meds, Robby read The Princess Bride to you in his silly voices to keep you entertained.
At home, you set him up in bed with strict instructions to Brutus to keep him company while you made him food.
And slowly, the two of you settled back into the usual rhthym. He told you he loved you many times a day. Even when he didn't say it, he'd run his fingers over the tattoo on your wrist, or say something just to make you laugh. He watched you with an expression on his face that you'd never seen before and when you asked if something was wrong, he shook his head, said "Everything's perfect."
As he got back on his feet, you took slow walks to and from the park, fed the birds. Robby even downloaded an app on his phone that could identify the birds by thsid song. His face would light up with joy whenever the app told him a bird he didn't recognize was around.
Life was quiet and peaceful and love found a way to fill every crack and crevice in each of your hearts.
A year later, when Robby's leg had healed entirely, when the only pain was used to predict the rain, was when he asked you.
"Sweetheart?" Your head was in his lap on the sofa, you watching TV while he did a crossword. You hummed in response so he knew you were listening, "I've been thinking and I think it's time I put my house up for sale."
You sat up slowly and looked at him. Your eyes instantly scanning for deception.
Robby was a great roommate. He was pretty handy and so could usually fix most minor wear and tear problems without having to call in an expert. He took care of Brutus and the plants. He loved gardening with you. He never let the chores go too long without being done. Always washed the toilet because he knew it was your least favorite chore.
You had no qualms about living with him. But you always assumed, even though most of you had grown to trust him again, that he'd keep his house as a backup plan. It was realistic, you told yourself. Relationships all had expiration dates.
"Really?"
He nodded, "The last year I've only ever gone home to to make sure nobody's broken in. I've moved everything I use here already. My clothes, my toiletries, my tools, my books, my records—everything's here. It's a waste, don't you think?"
You opened and closed your mouth, ran your fingers absently over the tattoo on your wrist, "What if… What if we fight and you want space?"
He shrugged, "I don't think that would happen, but I could always get a hotel for a night. I still have the cabin in the mountains."
You swallowed and looked down at your hands, "If we break up you'll hate me because you sold your house."
You felt the couch shift as he sat up and took your hands, "If we broke up, I could never hate you. Besides, this is my decision. You didn't pressure me into it. I also figured this way it was only fair that I start helping out with the bills here. Now, if me permanently moving in feels like too big of a step to you—"
"No," You said quickly, "No, I want you to. I love having you here, it's been…" You shook your head, "It's been the best year of my life."
He smiled and brought your hands up to his lips, "Mine too."
And as the two of you talked over a bottle of wine about the logistics of moving the remainder of his things into your house and calling realtors and what you should do with the extra money (Should you travel? Put it into retirement?) it was like the final piece of your previously shattered heart was glued back into place.
Before Michael, you often wondered if you were too picky. If your standards were too high as your mother loved to tell you and that's why you'd end up a spinster. Alone and bitter, always denied the one thing you wanted and craved most in the world: love and companionship.
But as you and Michael talked late into the night and fell asleep in each other's arms, you knew you'd been right to wait.
You couldn't rush soulmates and you would've waited forever and a day if it meant you got to know love like this. Luckily for you, you'd only had to wait twenty something years for Robby to realize he was in love with you. In the face of forever, it was a blink of an eye. And for that, you'd thank the sun and the moon and all the stars every day for the rest of your life.
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that's what i'm here for (3.8k) [angsty] [fluff]
pairings: jack abbot x fem!gf!reader, the pitt x reader
summary: after pissing off your boyfriend in the late hours of night before his shift, you decide to bring him a nice big lunch during said shift. except not one of his coworkers knew you were actually real, let alone oh so gorgeous and sweet!
warnings: age gap (40/20s), teasing, physical descriptions of brown girl reader since i’m brown 😛, flirting, oblivious!reader to her looks (pretty girl), mentions of past arguing, kisses, shorter!reader, not proof read
a/n: i have been sucked into yet another fandom! and boy am i loving these old guys 😛 sorry it’s so short
the night before jack’s shift had consisted of the usual between you two. kisses in the shower, a few massages to his back as he took off his prosthetic, dinner which was an interesting affair when you tried teaching him to cook indian, catching up on eachothers days which primarily consisted of yours since you knew jack would rather not talk about the er, and then watching something to lull you both to sleep. which was usually paired with soft whispers and clinging to one another like a life line.
except this night consisted of a petty argument and silent treatment towards him on your end.
you knew it was childish of you to be ignoring jack. your heart ached every time you heard him upstairs in bed whilst you had decided to drink wine and sulk downstairs. he valued communication with you, trusting his sweet girl to come to him with whatever issues were troubling you.
but he also understood that you were younger than him by a mile. so perhaps, you still found gratification in trying to prove your point in stubborn ways. such as not joining him to watch your favourite tv show in bed.
at night you slept with your back turned to him, another new addition to your usual night routine. most nights consisted of being entangled with one another, or your head resting on his broad chest.
the pang in your chest after the argument amplified at the sight of a full breakfast awaiting you once you got downstairs and checked the fridge. a little sticky note with a simple, all the favourites, for you, rested atop the saran wrapped dish. you wished to choke on the paper. it was already late in the morning, jack had gotten up and made you breakfast before he left.
yep, you officially felt like shit.
jack abbot was nothing but sweet. of course that side didn’t shine through immediately with a glance at the older man, but in subtle gestures such as the note.
they way he cleared space around his place for you, only a few months into your relationship. he brought some plates and glasses down from the cabinets above your head to rest in the kitchen island drawers which were level with your legs. jack consistently switched his tv shows to yours when you got home later than he did. opens the door, stocks up on any hygiene products without asking, your favourite snacks.
and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to admit you may have been wrong in a silly argument. it wasn’t irregular for you to complain about not having a boyfriend or any real men existing when you were single.
but you had one now.
you closed the fridge with more force than required before bolting upstairs, an idea brewing in your mind. around 1pm you decided to get dolled up, but subtly. mascara, a little bit of deep coloured liquid blush, lipgloss and lipstick, a little bit of highlighter.
the reflection staring back at you was adorable. with an approving smile to yourself, you sprayed jacks favourite perfume of yours behind your neck and a few spritz made their way to your hair. to balance the cute makeup, you chose to don a red halter top and black jeans with a skinny belt.
on your way to jack, you made sure to grab some of his favourite takeaway to try and curry favour with your ever so handsome boyfriend.
beating out the traffic, you parked, grabbed the food, your phone, and your purse before making your way to the emergency department. you’d never really visited since yourself and jack had only been together for five or so months. where was the front desk? did you have to enter through the emergency room sliding doors or the waiting room?
deciding to not be intrusive, you made your way to the waiting room only to find yourself mixed up with a big group of strangers with problems. coughing, yelling, discomfort. in the back of your mind, you felt pity for those around you. waiting in an uncomfortable, packed room just to have a second of care. then get billed like a bitch if you were unfortunate enough to have no healthcare.
an older woman sat behind bulletproof glass, her fingers tapping away at the deteriorating keyboard infront of her. your own fingers drummed against the strap of your purse, “excuse me? what’s your name?” the sound of your voice seemed to draw the woman away from what she was doing on her computer, “hey sweetheart, my names lupe, can i get your name and what you’re here for? then you’ll be able to sit and wait for your name to be called when our team is able to receive and help you.”
it seemed you may have blanked and forgotten to tell her that you weren’t here for help. “oh no! i- i don’t need to be checked out. i was actually hoping to visit one of the doctors here? last name abbot, first name jack?” lupe’s eyebrows squished in closer to eachother, the confusion was etched into her face.
“i’m his girlfriend.” you waved the takeout bag in your other hand.
the pitt was worse than jack’s description. you could not recall the last time you had experienced so many things at one time. bright lights, beeping, walking, talking, a little bit of yelling, tvs droning on, patients groaning and crying.
heavier in your hands now, you adjusted the takeout bag for better grip before approaching an older blonde nurse. “excuse me, dana is it? i’m looking for jack abbot?” perching her glasses on the top of her head, the older woman took in the young girl infront of her.
“and what would that be for doll?”
“just trying to feed my boyfriend.”
silence.
she stared back at you with obvious shock painted on her face at your casual admittance. “girlfriend huh? way to go abbot. i’ll grab him for you, why don’t you take a seat?” not wanting to distract her any longer, you waltzed over to a free seat where a woman in a wheelchair sat handcuffed.
the loud groan of her wheelchair alerted you to her attention focusing on you, “and what’s in the bag sweetcheeks?” you scoffed at the odd nickname before opening the takeaway bag for her to inspect.
“myrna what did we say about harassment?” dana reprimanded the intrusive lady. myrna huffed and proceeded to sink back into her chair, “what? i can’t talk to no one anymore? i don’t bite, not with these cuffs on.” shaking her head, dana simply wheeled myrna away from you.
“baby?”
your head snapped upwards to the sound of your boyfriend, bloodied and tired. noticing the concern in your eyes, jack swiftly moved to take off his gloves and protective wear. “what happened? are you hurt? why didn’t you call me before coming? you know—,” with a hand to his chest, you calmed him down with the reassurance of not having any injuries.
“i just wanted to bring you food. nothing else. i- i’m sorry about last night, i don’t know why i was being stubborn. the last thing i want is to make you upset or have you going to work that way. you need a clear head here, not my pettiness. even after fighting you got up and still made me breakfast. i’m way too lucky to have you and i’m an idiot if i let my emotions get in the way of how amazing you are to me. so please, take my food and my apology.”
your hands had made their way to threading themselves into his hair, a soft tug to angle his head downwards, meeting your watery eyes. “c’mere,” jack drew you into his arms, the familiar position helping your shoulders release their prior tension.
“i know baby, thank you for apologising. just promise me, anytime you’re angry or upset we talk it out. not ignore eachother, it killed me.”
the cooing and aww’s sounding out from behind his girlfriend caused jack to glance over your shoulder now, breaking away from your eyes. there stood santos and whittaker. “are they your—,”
“they’re pains in my ass right now that’s what they are,” jack shook his head at pair. “let’s go say hi,” you held his hand and dragged your boyfriend so that he could introduce you.
“hi! you guys must be…” with a quick glance to their badges you smiled, “oh good! trinity and dennis? i’ve heard so much about you guys, you’re amazing.” trinity’s lips stretched into a small smirk, “nice to know you talk about us. we’re amazing huh?” jack shook his head, “take the compliment and don’t ask.”
dennis seemed a bit nervous so you took initiative to give him a little hug, having heard the stories from jack about the younger doctors made you feel close to them already, “you’re even more cute in person.”
his nose twitched at the compliment, “i- thank you. so are you! pretty, i mean, not that i’m trying to hit on you.” trinity elbowed him to shut up.
“well i should get going,” your hand seized jacks bicep with a squeeze, “please eat when you can.” jack turned to face you fully, his broad back blocking you from trinity and dennis’s view. “will do sweetheart.” he hummed at the kiss you placed on the corner of his mouth. “there! now we kissed and made up.”
you walked back to the chairs you’d been sitting at to grab the takeaway bag only to find nothing.
“what the— robby!”
you crossed your arms in annoyance as the older man sat unboxing the food. “hey, it’s my favourite too.” robby held his arms out as you rolled your eyes before embracing him, “i know, it’s why i got extra.”
“okay is it just me or she’s way too cute for abbot?” trinity whispered to dennis as the man shrugged, “i think as long as they’re happy no?”
“which i am.” abbots hands came down to grasp trinity and dennis’s shoulders, “and since you two would rather spend time gossiping, there’s a lady in the hall in desperate need of relief, in the bathroom.”
the two young doctors groaned as he led them to the sick woman. picking up your bag, you blew a kiss to him. when he got home that day, you both fell back into your usual routine, but with a new found silent understanding. you’d try your best to communicate your feelings to one another.
since you both knew there was nothing better than the other.
synopsis: jack abbot is obsessed with you and he's going to make it everybody else's problem
- or -
5 moments the night shift (and co) observes between you and jack + the 1 they don't
contains: bsf night shift crew!! dana & the pittlings cameo, he fell first AND he fell harder, age gap (reader is in her 20's), suggestive at times, everyone calls reader sweets, no use of y/n, jack is probably ooc but i refuse to believe that man does not yearn deeply and he is written so, and most importantly: NIGHT SHIFT SUPREMACY
note: first fic for the pitt because i think i might have actually read my way through every fic on here and i crave more pls be nice to me :') this started off as a completely different fic and then it became this instead so there's a half written part 2 (and a part 3 …) if anyone really wants it. yes i did write this instead of the giant piles of actual work i have to do i hope you enjoy <3
dividers by @uzmacchiato <3
1. The Crush
It’s been exactly one week since you joined the night shift. Six days, twenty three hours, and thirty one minutes technically speaking but who was counting.
In that time you’d made yourself indispensable. You were one of the most competent nurses to ever walk through the doors of the PTMC. You were practically hard wired to thrive in the absolute chaos of the night. And, best of all, you’d become Shen’s caffeine addicted partner in crime. Five out of your last seven days you’d dragged him into a pre-shift coffee run and he always complied with your demands.
The night shift wasn’t easy for just anyone to take to. It was hard and yet here you were, doing it all flawlessly. And Jack couldn’t look away. Not that he’d ever want to.
It’d taken no time at all, about five hours into your first shift, for him to become borderline obsessed. All it took was one conversation in the ambulance bay just after midnight. A joke cracked under the light of the full moon, one that broke through the stern expression he’d had on with no hesitation at all, for Jack to want to know every single little detail that made up who you were.
In a normal way of course.
Now here he was. Watching. Eyes following you as you walked into the ED beside Shen, both of you carrying trays piled high with various hot and iced drinks. He can’t imagine how much even one of those things cost.
Within moments most of the drinks are gone, taken by Ellis and Lena and whoever else had placed their order with the two of you the night before. Jack, for just a moment, regrets not having done so. Not that he even likes the sugary sweet monstrosities you always chug your way through before midnight, always somehow armed with another one to get you through your second half of the night.
He’d pretend though. Especially if it meant you’d stop and smile at him and maybe even talk to him for just a couple seconds about something not medicine related before diving into the mayhem.
“Hey!” Your voice isn’t a hallucination, Jack determines when he sees you walking up to him with a smile.
He tries not to look too surprised. Or flustered. Or excited. “Hi.”
Nailed it.
“I brought you something.”
Jack thinks he might melt into the floor.
You hold out a drink, one clearly meant for him. It’s green on top and pink on bottom with strawberry slices floating above the ice.
“You didn’t have to.” He takes it from you and relishes in the brief moment that his hand touches yours. You need to calm down, he thinks to himself.
“I know, I wanted to. It’s on me.” You say it so easily and Jack thinks now might be a good time to excuse himself and go jump off the roof because he can feel his whole body warming in a way it shouldn’t be at the sentiment.
You’d thought of him. Part of him wonders how long you’d been doing that for and if it was for as long as he’d been thinking of you. Day and night. Hour after hour. In ways he definitely shouldn’t be.
“I just figured you could use a little caffeine that wasn’t the stale black coffee in the break room for once,” You shrug like it’s nothing but it means everything to him. “As a certified drink specialist I thought you might like this one. Shen said I was crazy for picking it but I spent every minute I was awake looking through the cafe's menu debating and I think I finally narrowed down something to live up to your incredibly high standards.”
Jack had stopped listening as soon as you looked up at him. Wide eyed and a little nervous but with that sweet smile he was maybe just a little bit obsessed with already. “What is it?”
Frankly, he didn’t really care. He’d love it no matter what because you’d been the one to hand it to him. You’d put effort into finding something you thought he’d like and that was more than enough for him.
“An iced strawberry oat milk matcha. It’s not too sweet but definitely a step up from a black coffee. I,” You stop yourself for a second, hesitating a little. One look from him though, one that practically begged you to continue, and you kept going. “I see the face you make when you drink it even when it’s fresh so I thought we’d switch it up a little.”
You’d noticed him. He was one more observation away from imploding. He swirled the drink around to distract himself from the fact and then took a huge gulp.
“Holy shit,” His eyes went wide as he took a second to savor the drink. It was good. Really good. He had no clue how you’d figured him out so perfectly. Part of him was hopeful enough to think that you just knew him. Saw him. He took another sip.
“You like it?” You were beaming at him now, satisfied and proud of yourself.
He couldn’t be more obsessed with you if he tried. He was tempted to propose marriage right then and there. Instead all he said was, “This is phenomenal.”
Jack couldn’t help himself. He looked directly at you and hoped that maybe these abilities of yours to read him perfectly well extended past the drinks and you’d be able to look into his head to see what he really wanted to say. You’re phenomenal. I like you. Probably more than is healthy. Never leave me, actually.
“Oh you’re kidding,” Jack had almost forgotten where he was until Shen walked over, handing you a half drunk iced coffee along with a fresh one for later, just like usual. “He liked it?”
“Just like I said,” You held up your hand for a high five, which Shen gave you despite dropping his head and groaning. “Which means you’re buying for me tomorrow.”
Jack rolled his eyes at the sight of the two of you. His smile pushed through the serious facade he was trying to put on. Nothing could ruin his mood right now he was positive of it.
“Is it that surprising?” Jack held his drink a little tighter and held back the urge to take another sip of it. He was seriously already starting to understand your guys' shared obsession with always having some kind of drink on you.
“No, it’s just,” Shen paused for a moment and it hit him all at once. Abbot was in a good mood. And all it’d taken was a personal delivery straight from you. He was wearing a smile, a genuine one. Best of all, his eyes kept straying back to you. Like you were some kind of magnet pulling him in against his will. Oh yeah, he’s obsessed. “I’m glad you found something you like.”
Jack heard it. The tone. His eyes snapped back to Shen and narrowed the slightest bit. All he did in response was wink at him and take a sip of his first coffee of the night.
He could see right through him.
2. The Confession
It had been three days of this and every time Jack saw you he felt the question at the tip of his tongue. And every time something else came out instead. So here he was. Two weeks into your time here and he was obsessed with you. That much he could admit.
If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be lingering by the nurses desk, pretending to look at a stack of papers he was pretty sure were blank. Every few seconds he glances up to where you were deep in a conversation with Ellis and Walsh. The three of you had gotten yourself partnered on the same case and were taking advantage of the fact that your patient was doing perfectly after surgery to actually talk about something normal while you could since you found yourselves with a little downtime.
“You don’t have to hover, you know.”
Jack freezes.
He thinks he might’ve actually stopped breathing. He knows exactly what Lena’s talking about though and he’s determined to lie his way through it.
“What?”
Okay, maybe not the best start. He doesn’t look up from where he’s pretending to flip through whatever papers were in front of him. Definitely not eavesdropping.
“Oh, please,” Lena rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair. “She’s not gonna disappear into thin air. You can get work done and I promise she’ll be there after.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Jack betrays himself when he glances back over in your direction. He smiles to himself when he sees you laugh, a beaming grin on your face. When he looks back towards Lena she’s already staring at him with her arms crossed.
“I think you just might be the world's worst liar,” Lena leans forward conspiratorially. Her voice drops when she asks, “So when are you gonna ask her on a date instead of moping around?”
Jack freezes again, “What are you talking about?”
“Seriously?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh at his bad attempt at faking innocence. “You’re worse than a kid with their first crush, it’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed yet.”
Okay so maybe she had a point, Jack could admit that much. He remembers the first time he’d seen you here clearly. He’d felt some kind of pull towards you the moment you entered the PTMC just over a year ago. It’d been easy to ignore then, though. You’d just graduated and had been doing an emergency medicine residency program under Dana during the day shift and it was only every now and then he’d be there at the same time too. Yet every time he did happen to work with you, even for a fleeting moment, it was like the entire place shifted a little bit.
Dana had even stopped him one time, so casually that he hadn’t even questioned why she was calling him. “You better watch yourself, Abbot. That’s my girl, best one to come through here in ages. Last thing she needs is you distracting her.”
He’d scoffed at the statement at the time, claiming that it wasn’t like that. It had been exactly like that, though. He knew that now. You’d been easy to avoid when you were on day shift but now you were here all the time and he couldn’t imagine not finding every reason he could to stick to your side.
“She’s not one of yours, you know. She’s one of mine,” Lena’s voice brings him out of it. There’s an I told you so look on her face that he rolls his eyes at. “I’m just saying, the paperwork will be a lot easier to fill out.”
“Aren’t you a romantic,” He knows he can trust Lena, though. If it was really a bad idea she’d tell him so with zero hesitation. So finally, hesitantly, he says, “I’ll think about it.”
***
Jack barely needed time to think about it. He had made his choice quickly and it was eating him up inside. It was just past 7 AM and he could hear the day shift and night shift looking for you both. His time with you was running out and fast. It was just the two of you alone in the room, your patient had just miraculously gotten a bed upstairs and you’d been there to ensure a smooth transition. Maybe that was his sign that you’d say yes.
He stops you before you can pull the curtain open to let them know the room was now open. He reaches for your hand, grabs your waist, and spins you around to look at him in a single swift move. “When can I see you again?”
The question doesn’t phase you.
“In about twelve hours.” You answer him with a teasing smile, choosing to stay just a little bit too close to him instead of stepping back.
“You know what I mean, honey.”
And then you look at him in a way that’s new. Your smile turns less teasing and falls a bit. It makes you look a little more vulnerable. He watches your eyes flicker across his face and he knows you’re trying to see what he’s really made of. If he really means it. He wants to shout the truth to you in that moment. That he can’t get enough of you.
“Say it,” Your voice comes out soft and he wonders briefly if you can read his mind. You step a little bit closer to him. “Tell me what you really want from me.”
Jack is painfully aware of the voices and footsteps coming closer. They’ll walk in any moment now, he knows it. He glances towards the door and when he looks back he can see you about to step away, thinking he wasn’t going to tell you the truth. He blurts it out before you can.
“Everything.” He says it so easily that it makes your breath hitch a little bit, he can see it happen. “I want to take you on a real date again and then take you home with me because you will not believe how hard it is to sleep without you next to me. When I wake up I want to just lay there looking at you for a little bit wondering how the hell you agreed to all of that. And then I want to do that over and over again until you get sick of me.”
You don’t say anything after his confession. A few seconds pass where you just let the words sink in and then, “Only if your plan includes taking me to that cute little cafe down the street too.”
“Whenever you want.” Jack’s never agreed to anything so fast in his life.
“Right answer,” You finally will yourself to step away and swing the curtain open. Before you walk away you look at him again and the teasing smile is back. “I’ll meet you outside in a bit?”
He walks towards you again and he’s really pushing it when he stands so close you can feel the heat of him. “Odds we can sneak out of here before they can stop us?”
“Abbot!” Dana's voice.
You laugh at the way he groans as his head falls onto your shoulder briefly. “Not likely.”
3. The Kiss
It’d only taken a month for everything the night shift knew about Jack to change. It had also been a month since you’d joined them. The two things had to be related. They just couldn’t prove it yet.
“Hey,” Ellis whispered as she practically ran to where Shen and Lena were deep in a conversation. There was an uneasy look in her eyes as she looked around, as if she was expecting someone to overhear what she was about to say. “Is he being weird?”
They look towards where she had subtly nodded and found Jack. He was in an exam room laughing with a patient as he finished stitching him up. Laughing.
Night shift chief attending Dr. Jack Abbot was in a good mood. For the first time maybe ever, as far as they knew. At least publicly in a good mood. He was never like this at work, always opting for serious and stoic with his patients because he needed to be at a job like this.
But this was his third patient in a row now that he made easy conversation with. It was a lot more than pleasantries and small talk, it was real conversations. Questions about themselves and their lives and jokes traded back and forth. It was unsettling, frankly.
“Thank you! I told you something was up with him,” Shen slams a hand down on the counter before looking at Lena and leaning forward the same way Ellis was, mocking concern. “ Have we tested him for any substance use lately?”
“Alright drama queens,” Lena rolls her eyes at them and leans back in her chair. “Why can’t he just be having a good night?”
Ellis shakes her head at that, nose scrunching as she disagrees, “No, I think he might actually be physically incapable of that.”
“Well what do you think it is then?”
“I think he got laid,” She says it confidently and with zero hesitation at all. Shen chokes on his drink and Lena’s eyes go wide as saucers. “What? He’s all glowy and shit, there is literally no other explanation?”
“Explanation for what?” Your voice comes out of nowhere and Ellis and Shen nearly jump out of their skin.
“For,” Ellis recovers faster and quickly glances at Lena and Shen, neither of which provide any help. “For why Shen’s guy in south 18 is really concussed.”
“Oh he’s having an affair with his neighbor for sure,” You set your tablet down and swipe your badge along the card reader at one of the computers. “This guy shows up with his pants backwards, shirt inside out, and his left shoe missing and he expects us to believe he just tripped while on a late night walk?”
It’s at that moment that Shen notices it. There’s no iced coffee in your usual place. It’s always right there, tucked in the corner of the desk Lena sits behind. You always reach for it every time you’re nearby, it’s how you make your way through it faster than almost anyone else. He watches carefully as you reach in that exact direction subconsciously before pulling your hand back. Empty.
“Where’s your drink?” He blurts the question out suddenly and you glance up at him.
“What?”
“Your drink,” He glances at Ellis and Lena and they can see the real question in his eyes. “You always leave it right there. It’s barely nine, there’s no way you’ve had enough downtime to finish it already.”
“Oh,” You go back to the computer screen and shrug. “I just woke up late, didn’t have time to stop.”
“Right,” Shen’s eyes narrow at you but he doesn’t say anything else. That’s when he notices Jack leave his patient's room and walk in the direction of the break room. “Hey, my second one is in the fridge if you want it?”
You sit up instantly and immediately a little bit of life fills you again. So maybe you both had a little bit of an addiction. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” And that’s all he has to say before you’re making a beeline to the break room, steps faltering just the slightest bit when you see Jack disappear through the door. Then you glance back at them, smile, and disappear in the same direction.
“No,” Shen shakes his head immediately. “It's a coincidence. There’s no way.”
“And what makes you so sure?” Lena, admittedly, is invested now.
“Uh, because Sweets is my best friend in the whole wide world and would have told me obviously,” He rolls his eyes like it's obvious. “Plus there’s no way Abbot would admit how deep he is in his feelings already. He’s due for at least another couple weeks of yearning from afar.”
“I don’t know, he might’ve,” Lena shrugs as she recalls all the little things she’s witnessed the last few weeks. “This is intense, even for him.”
“Besides, look who we’re talking about,” Ellis points out the fact that they all know is right. You were sunshine personified. The piece they didn’t even realise the night shift was missing. And it was just like Jack Abbot to want you all to himself. “He’d be crazy if he didn’t.”
“Wait,” Lena pieces it together first. The missing coffee. The good moods. The hesitation before your smile, the one that was just a little bit different than usual. Softer. “Didn’t they walk in together today?”
There’s a moment of silence as they all realize the same thing at the same time.
“First one to find out pays for the others drinks for the next two weeks?”
“Deal.”
“You’re on.”
***
“You’re insane.”
Jack only grins at you as he locks the door of the supply closet behind him. He wastes no time at all and immediately wraps you up in his arms, skipping all formalities and letting his mouth fall to your neck. “I thought that’s why you liked me”
He knows now how easy you are to distract. One glance at you and how your eyes have fluttered shut already confirms that. You let out a content little sigh as you pull him closer to you, “Among other reasons.”
The noise that fills the pitt disappears and suddenly all you know is Jack. His hands wandering underneath your shirt. His mouth on every bit of skin he can reach. The way he cages you in between his body and the shelf behind you and holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Jack seriously,” It takes every bit of your self control to pull yourself back and attempt to look at him for real. “We can’t do this here.”
“We're alone, honey. No one has to know,” He doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on your lips instead. He slips your scrub top over your head leaving you in just the thin, see-through, white undershirt. You're both quickly losing all sense of rationality.
“Someone’s gonna come looking for us”
“I'm their boss, I'll make them go away,” One of his hands tangles in your hair this time and he pulls your head back so he can look into your eyes. Blown out pupils, breaths falling heavy, lips swollen from how you’d been biting them in an effort to keep quiet. He groans a little bit at the sight. “Just this once, baby, I swear,” He kisses you. Really kisses you. Long and slow and deep. Enough to make your thoughts go blurry and your knees weak. He pulls away the slightest bit and smirks when you chase the feeling of him. “Promise.”
“You know, somehow I don’t believe you.” He laughs then, pretending he doesn’t notice you start to push his own shirt up little by little. Your hands are cold on the warm, bare skin of his chest and he shivers a little bit, smiling even wider. He's addicted to you, he thinks.
“Can you blame me?” Another kiss, this time picking up where he left off before. “You’re perfect.”
Someone pulls on the door seconds later, just as his hands start wandering lower.
“Why is this door locked!”
You slip your scrub shirt back on in record time and Jack pushes you behind him when he goes to open the door as Ellis starts pounding on it. “I swear to god I -”
She doesn’t see you when he opens it. Not at first.
“Can I help you?” Jack asks the question like nothing is wrong in the slightest.
Ellis looks around for a second, trying to determine if anyone else was seeing this or if she had finally entered a state of hallucination. “I just need -”
That’s when she sees you. Tucked behind Jack, clothes a little crooked on your body and a little more disheveled than before. You’re smiling at her, only the slightest bit shy but mostly looking a little pleased. “I - hi?”
She doesn’t know what else to say to you.
“Hi,” You smile at her and step around Jack. “What did you need to grab?”
“I just - I just need a suture kit.”
You grab one off the shelf next to you and step around Jack, stopping for just a second to shoot him a smile. She watches him return the smile, absolutely noticing the way he reaches for you. His fingers barely skim against you when you step just a little too close to him, like even that feather light touch will get him through the rest of the night. You turn back towards her like nothing happened. “Do you want any help?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ellis tries not to stare when Jack grabs your hand for real, pulling you back and kissing you again, modestly this time. On your forehead as he whispers something to you that she can’t hear.
It’s not until you’ve walked further away from the storage closet that she leans a little closer to you. “Hey, are you two…you know?”
You laugh a little bit at the question. “Dating? I thought it was kinda obvious after that.”
“I didn’t want to assume.” Ellis laughs along with you and shakes her head, leading you in the direction of one of the rooms. Then she notices Shen and Lena out of the corner of her eye again and stops. “Hey, can you get started? I need to check with Lena about some lab results real quick.”
“Yeah, go for it! Take your time.”
Ellis watches you pull the curtain of the room closed. Then she waits until Jack has disappeared into another room on the other side of the ED, the most smug looking grin on his face, before she practically runs to the nurses desk. “They’re dating, I told you so.”
“What?”
“And we’re just supposed to believe you? How do you know?”
“I asked,” She pauses for a moment before leaning closer. “And I found them both in the supply closet with the door locked, you connect the dots.”
Shen’s face scrunches in disgust. “Ew.”
Lena on the other hand only lets out a sigh. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on them aren't we?”
“Probably.” Ellis looks incredibly pleased as she starts walking back to the room you’d gone into. “I’ll send you guys my drink order before next shift.”
4. The Reveal
The day shift doesn’t usually notice when the night shift starts to trickle in. You remember it clearly, the way it feels like every single person with every single ailment known to mankind seems to congregate in the pitt all at once right before it’s time for shift change. That’s something you don’t miss. By the time you guys come in it feels settled. Or maybe you all just like to think so.
Either way, they definitely don’t notice when you and Jack walk in together, your bag slung over his shoulder. They’re too distracted by the drinks Shen and Lena walked in with, relegated to delivery service after losing some bet to Ellis.
All the noise is forgotten quickly. This, the rare quiet moment in the staff locker room where it feels like the whole world comes to a stand still, is Jack’s time to breathe. He watches you throw all your things into his locker, somehow getting to the point of sharing custody of one now in the last couple of weeks.
He knows you’re saying something. He can hear the sound of your voice but you’re also tying your hair up so it’s out of your way for the night and he loses all ability to think straight. Some kind of pavlovian response overtakes him and this feeling fills him up inside and suddenly he can’t help himself.
He stands up and it's like his hands move on their own without him meaning for them to. They set themselves firmly on your hips and pull them back, completely flush against him. He bunches the scrub top up and settles his hands underneath the long sleeve shirt you’re wearing under it. Your skin is warm under them and the little noise he lets out is perfectly content.
“Can I help you?” He can hear the smile you’re wearing when you ask the question and he can picture it perfectly.
“No,” Jack shakes his head a little and kisses your cheek. It lingers for a second before he starts moving down the expanse of your neck. “I’m fine. What were you saying?”
“You're so needy, you know that?”
“Are you complaining?” He doesn’t get a response from you. Instead your arms settle over his and you relax into his hold. He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
You don’t get very long to escape into the moment.
“There you are. Robby’s looking for - woah,” The exhausted look on Santos' face turns into a shit-eating grin in a fraction of a second. “What’s going on here?”
Jack frowns when you wiggle out of his hold to turn to look at her.
“Hey,” You smile at her like she hadn’t just seen what she clearly just did. She shares a look with both Javadi and Whitaker who’d walked in with her. “How was your shift?”
“Uh, I'm sorry,” Javadi laughs in disbelief a little as she looks between the two of you. You, smiling brightly at her in the way she misses seeing so much on the day shift, and Jack, who looks like he’s never hated three people more. She’s pretty sure he’s committing their murders in his head. “What is this? When did this happen?”
Jack all of a sudden feels protective in that moment. Over your relationship that very much fuels his will to live and over you. Part of him is surprised you hadn’t told them yet. The first friends you’d made here, probably some of your closest, clearly had no idea about you and him. Then he remembers your opposite schedules and the constant cycle of work and being completely enveloped by the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship he thinks might actually never end.
“Wait, did I not tell you guys?” You’re trying your hardest to trace back every moment of the last few weeks. Jack takes it upon himself to hand you your drink and grab his before shutting his locker, taking a second to just listen. One of his arms wraps around your waist again.
“You did not, sweets,” Santos shakes her head and speaks slowly, trying to push through her absolute shock at this revelation. And trying very hard not to stare at the casual display of affection from Jack Abbot of all people.
Whitaker is the one who recalls the last real interaction you’d had with them fastest. Somehow he’s the least surprised. “You spent all of breakfast the other day telling us about that kid you patched up with Ellis. The one who slipped off the fire escape trying to sneak into his girlfriend's room."
“You told Mel, Samira, and Langdon," Jack says it in between sips of his matcha like it’s nothing. “When you had them over for dinner at yours your last night off. You sent me a picture of their reactions.”
“Right!” You try your hardest to hold in a laugh at the recollection. Samira had shouted into a pillow. Mel had asked a lot of questions, incredibly excitedly. Frank had decided he needed to take a walk to process and stood on your balcony for ten minutes. “I guess I forgot, everything kinda blurs together. They didn’t tell you?”
“Sweets, I think you told the three least nosy people in the ED,” Santos makes a mental note to yell at all of them for keeping this from everyone else. “Of course they didn’t.”
Then your attention slips from Jack completely when Javadi prompts Whitaker to tell you about something that happened earlier. He stops listening completely, now perfectly distracted by the excited look in your eyes and the way you smile at them. And okay so maybe he’s a little bit clingy.
Jack wraps himself around you from behind again, arms now fully circling your waist. He does not hesitate in the slightest to pull you flush against him again either. He does exercise a little bit of self control though. There’s no kiss this time. Instead he let out a soft sigh and let his head fall onto your shoulder, chin resting against it silently as you talk.
He doesn’t notice the way Javadi covers her mouth with one hand to hold back the comment she wants to make out loud. Instead she points at the sight as subtly as she can and mouths “oh my god!” you only grin at her. You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at Jack’s display, but you settle back into him anyway.
He also doesn’t notice the way Whitaker stares at him, eyes narrowed in his direction and head tipped to the side curiously, debating to himself whether or not Jack was actually in the room with them. Physically or mentally.
Santos, ever curious, is the one who finally cracks and breaks him out of his self induced trance. “Okay, I have to know. How did this even -”
“Hey!” Ellis cuts in before she can even ask the question all the way. She pops her head in the door, eyes skipping past everyone until they land on you and Jack. She doesn’t look phased by the sight in the slightest. She nods at you with a smile in greeting before looking at Jack. “If you don’t get out there in the next five seconds for hand-offs, Robby might just track down a guillotine and use it on you.”
“Alright, alright,” Jack rolls his eyes and takes his time standing up straight again. He lingers for as long as humanly possible. Another kiss, to your forehead this time, before he very begrudgingly lets you go one arm at a time. “I’ll see you out there.”
Jack keeps holding your hand as he walks out of the room, not letting a single second go to waste. He holds on until he takes a step too far and lets it fall out of his own. An absolutely devastating moment in his eyes.
“Later, kids.” He just barely glances at Whitaker, Javadi, and Santos, saluting them with two fingers before taking another sip of his drink and walking out of the locker room with Ellis, who hands him a tablet.
The silence sinks in around you. In those few moments your friends realize that Abbot’s whole little display is evidently very much normal for the night shift. And then -
“Since when does Abbot drink matcha?”
5. The Declaration
It was bordering on 2 AM when the trauma came in. A young girl, who’d just wanted some pancakes and coffee while pulling an all nighter studying for her upcoming SAT exam. She’d been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the diner and was in rough shape.
The room was already tense. She’d coded in the ambulance and they’d only just managed to get her stable. Every single one of you held your breath as you all did everything in your power to try to save her.
It was really with no hesitation that everyone else took a backseat to you and Jack moving easily around each other. The two of you were the girls best bet at surviving, a well oiled machine at this point. In every sense of the phrase. You could anticipate what he was about to do before he even said it. All he’d have to do is give you a look and you just knew, you’d hand him whatever he needed, or ask someone else if your hands were full, and you were right every single time.
“Honestly I think the rest of us can go home,” Walsh, who’d been paged to consult and make sure the girl was stable enough for surgery, said from where she stood on the other side of the hospital bed from you and Jack. She was watching closely and honestly, was more than a little impressed. Especially when you pointed something out to Jack that he’d missed right before she could. “Our sweet little angel face over there has this whole place locked down.”
“Including Abbot,” Shen watches from beside Walsh, looking on curiously at the silent understanding between the two of you. “It’s like they have some freaky mind meld thing going on.”
“You think its contagious?” Walsh puts up her side of the bed railing, seeing that Jack was just about done.
“Hopefully not,” Shen makes a face at the thought. “I'm more than happy letting her be the one to keep him too busy to yell at the rest of us.”
Neither one of you notice their conversation in the slightest, too involved in each other even in a trauma room. It’s almost unsettling. The small little smiles and the bedroom eyes and whispered comments passed between the two of you. The way Jack pauses for just the briefest moment mid procedure to turn and send you a wink that makes you roll your eyes and grin back at him.
Walsh watches the whole interaction, positive the two of you have forgotten everyone else is the room. “This can't possibly be normal. Are they like this their whole shifts?”
Shen thinks for a moment before shaking his head, “It’s usually worse. Boarding on an HR violation is their normal.”
A moment passes where Walsh realizes that yeah, that kinda tracks considering the moments she’s been witness to up until this point. Then, to Shen’s horror, she smiles. “Hey, do you wanna see something funny?”
His eyes narrow at her but ultimately his curiosity gets the better of him. “I’m not taking responsibility for your funeral expenses if this goes badly.”
That only makes her smile wider.
Walsh maneuvers her way to your other side, taking the place of one of the other nurses that was there. Shen’s eyes go wide when she looks at him again. She speaks before he can shake his head to stop her, breaking you and Jack out of the little bubble you’d put yourselves in.
“You know you’re really good at this, Sweets,” Walsh grins when you look over at her instead and Jack hesitates for just a second. “When can I steal you to help me in the OR? You’d be amazing in there.”
“Anytime,” You meet her smile easily. “I’m always down for a change in scenery.”
“Perfect,” She smirks a little at your answer. “Name a day and time and I'll steal you all for myself.”
“Done,” The other side of the railing snaps up, maybe a little more harsh than it needs to be. Jack looks up, not a hint of the smile he’d been using with you left when he looks at Walsh. “You can go now.”
Walsh looks more than pleased by his reaction. She looks at Shen who’s trying his absolute hardest not to laugh giddily at what he just witnessed.
“Down, boy,” She unlocks the wheels of the hospital bed and smirks even wider when Jack removes his gloves and loops his fingers into the hem of your scrub top, pulling you back into his side. It’s completely subconscious, she realizes, when neither one of you seems to even notice it happens. “Even when I steal her from you for my OR you’ll still get to take her home at the end of the night.”
“Wait, hang on, that’s where I draw the line,” Shen unlocks the wheels on the other side and starts wheeling the bed out with her. “You are not taking our best nurse all for yourself. Especially not when she’s the one who also brings us our caffeine every shift.”
“You know, you’re only giving me more reasons to steal her.”
Neither one of them notices that you don’t follow. Instead, the room empties out and then it’s just you and Jack. The silence settles between you as Jack unties the back of your surgical gown. When you turn to face him again he speaks softly.
“You could go, you know. To the OR. If you wanted to.” Jack says it before you can say anything about it. “Walsh is right, you’d be a natural up there.”
“Jack -”
“You don’t have to stay here forever. I mean, Shen is also right. We’d miss you down here. It hasn’t even been a couple months yet and it feels like you were made to be here with m- with everyone -”
“Jack -”
“Even if you just wanted to try it out. I think you should. I mean it’s-”
You kiss him. Not in the storage closet or the locker room or in an on call room or behind a curtain like usual. Right there in the middle of a trauma room, windows wide open and the ED buzzing all around you.
Jack melts into you immediately. Hands moving to your hips to pull you closer before one moves to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. A small groan leaves him when you pull away, the sweetest, most innocent smile on your lips.
“You talk too much,” A moment passes where you just stare at him, making sure he’s really listening to what you’re saying. “I’m not leaving the ED,” and then you add a little quieter, a little more shy, “You’re here.”
“I love you.”
Jack doesn’t know what possesses him to say it out loud here and now of all places for the very first time. But he feels it and he acknowledges it and there’s no way he can hold it in after that. There’s a need that settles deep in his bones and he knows he’s never going to want anything less than you right there with him always. Forever. He doesn’t know how he’d survive otherwise.
It takes a moment for what he said to sink in. You can see the intensity in his eyes, how much he feels it and means it. You really wish you were anywhere but the ED right now. Maybe if you wished really really hard you could somehow will everyone and everything to slow down long enough for you to sneak away with Jack for just a little bit.
Jack Abbot who loves you. The knowledge of that fact makes you feel warm all over.
“I love you too.”
+1. The Move
Jack is obsessed. He knows that for sure now.
With the way you kiss him and how you look at him after. With the way you let him be as attached to you as he needs to be at any given moment and you don’t mind at all. With the way you hold his hand and pretend not to notice when he moves his fingers to rest on your pulse point out of instinct. And especially with moments like these.
It’s pushing ten am and the two of you have only just left the hospital. A morning rush hour pileup meant that not only was there an influx of trauma’s coming in right before 7 but also that a good chunk of the staff were stuck behind the backed up traffic.
Despite the fifteen hour shift, you’re still happily nodding your head along to the soft music that fills Jack’s car. He watches you out of the corner of his eye. You’re mumbling the words to the song playing and taking sips out of the drink he’d just bought you, your third one of the day. His drink is sitting the cup holder. His second one, your habits had rubbed off on him.
The song switches once and then twice. By the time it switches a third time he’s watching you frown as you reach the bottom of your drink.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way,” He looks at you for a moment before looking back at the road. “But I think you might have a problem.”
“I do not!” You feign offense and turn towards him in your seat. “God forbid I treat myself to something nice after a long day.”
“What were the other two for then?”
“A treat for going to work and a pick me up for halfway, clearly.”
“Clearly.” Jack shakes his head as stops at a light. Silently, he drops one hand from the wheel and sets it palm side up on the center console. Almost immediately you’re placing your hand in his, the exact way he was craving.
The light turns green and he makes the split second decision then. He turns right, the direction that’ll let him turn around to head towards his place, instead of continuing straight, the direction that would take him to yours.
You watch as he does so, driving further and further away from your apartment. “Jack, what are you doing?”
He kisses the back of your hand. “Taking you back to mine since you’re clearly not planning on sleeping after all that caffeine.”
“Okay, one,” You turn to face him again, even while he’s driving. “I’ve built up a tolerance. This is nothing. And two, I've been out of clean clothes for like a week. I can only wash the ones I have there so many times.”
“So steal some of mine.” Jack shrugs and maybe the thought of you in his clothes is a little bit for him too.
“Bad idea, cause then neither of us will ever have clean clothes again.”
“I’ll buy you new ones then.”
“Not if I don’t let you.”
“Good luck stopping me.”
He’s winning and you both know it. So instead you say, “I have to stay at my place sometimes, what’s the point of even having it if I give in and always let you win these fun little arguments.”
The stop is sudden. Jack pulls over into the first empty spot he sees on the side of the road and turns to face you fully before you can ask him what he’s doing.
“You know what, honey? You’re right,” He leans towards you, fully leaning on the center console until he’s close enough to kiss you if he really wanted to. “There’s really no point in you paying for an apartment you’re barely ever in so I think it’s the perfect time for you to let me move you in with me.”
For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. Maybe he was right and the cocktail of caffeine and sleep deprivation was finally making you imagine things. “What?”
“Move in with me.”
So you definitely heard him right.
“You’re not serious.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“It’s barely been three months,” You shake your head as if that should explain everything. “And we haven’t even technically been dating for that entire time.”
“What can I say, I know what I want,” You’re still looking at him in disbelief so Jack takes your hand again and he sounds more serious when he says it plainly. “What I want is you. Every morning, every night, every shift, every minute you’ll let me. If you’ll have me.”
“It’s too fast.” You’re only trying to convince yourself at this point.
Jack smiles at you, softer than before. “You’re forgetting I’ve been pining over you for more than a year now.”
You catch the implication immediately. It went way further back than just three months. All the way back to the day you walked through the doors of the PTMC halfway through him going through shift change. He’d lingered a lot longer than necessary and you had thought it was just normal for him.
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s why you love me.”
And he’s right. It’s the reason why you finally give in. “Will you at least let me split the rent with you?”
“I own the place.” Jack shrugs and you know for a fact that he’s not sorry in the slightest.
“Mortgage then.”
“Already paid off.”
“Bills?”
“Paid in advance for the next three months.”
“Groceries?”
“Not a chance.”
“50 50?”
“90 10.”
You huff a little and pout at him. He doesn’t fall for it, only pausing for a second to kiss the look off your face. “Are you ever going to let me win one of these arguments?”
“Not unless it’s in your best interest.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me for that too.”
Jack finally thinks for a moment and that’s when his eyes land on the drinks in the cupholder between the two of you, his half full one and your empty one. “How about I let you pay for my drink every time we stop for one?”
You light up at his proposition. “Will you let me pay for mine?”
“Only after the first one. First one I’m paying for,” He leans in a little bit closer, knowing he’s got you on his side now. “Consider it a compromise.”
“Works for me.”
“You can pay for Shen’s too,” He adds quickly before you can agree. “I refuse to fund his addiction, he’s worse than you.”
“Deal.” That makes you laugh and you finally lean in and kiss him, sealing everything in place.
He can taste the sugary vanilla drink that still lingers on your tongue and it makes him smile against your lips. “Will you let me take you to our home now?”
“Okay,” You kiss him again. You really can’t help it. “Take me to our place.”
punching above his weight...or is he? - dennis whitaker x f!reader
summary: once your relationship is no longer a secret, the emergency department starts to see just how perfect you and dennis are for each other, and they realize that you may not be as far out of his league as they initially thought.
aka dennis can fucking PULL okay.
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
word count: 4.2k
cw/tags: swearing, no use of y/n, typical pitt warnings (blood, intubation, depictions of a motorcycle crash victim), you're (affectionately) nicknamed 'hot shot' by most of the department, dennis is obsessed with you, you're obsessed with him, what more could you ask. you have hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. light inappropriate conduct in the workplace but it's all in good fun and no one's feelings are hurt!
more dennis x hot shot guys i told you i couldn't be stopped! inspired by this ask and @libbyqypu :)
secure chat for anyone who doesn’t know is basically a messenger system that is patient privacy compliant and integrated into the charting platform!!
MASTERLIST
OTHER PARTS HERE :)
TAGLIST(S)
Victoria’s killing a bit of time in the main foyer before her shift starts one day when the two of you arrive.
Dennis pulls the door open for you, as usual, holding it while you walk inside. He does the same with the inner door, despite having to speedwalk in order to get there before you. She notices that he’s carrying your backpack, the strap slung over the opposite shoulder from his own. He reaches out as you walk towards the elevators, fingers pinching the side of your shirt, gently pulling you closer to him. It’s subtle, and Victoria’s certain she’s the only one who notices that your hands now brush against eachother’s as you move.
“You coming up?” You ask, reaching forwards, hitting the button.
He checks his watch, then nods. “Still got time.”
You bite back a smile as you step into the elevator, doors closing behind you, blocking you from Victoria’s probing eyes. The ICU floor is much quieter than the ED, especially since it’s still early, most of the patients still sleeping as the hospital starts to wake up. You swipe your badge against the sensor, and then step through the double door together, like you always do.
Dana’s standing at the central desk when you come in, talking to the charge nurse there, trying to get some boarders moved before dayshift officially takes over. She clocks both of you immediately, her sentence coming to a stop when she hears your soft laughter. She turns around, watching as you approach, smiling at her.
“Dana,” You greet. “Are you finally leaving the ER to join us up here?”
“You wish,” She says, looking past your shoulder, where Dennis is waiting a half-step behind you. “Whitaker, fancy seeing you here.”
The ICU charge scoffs, laughing a bit. “What do you mean? He’s up here every morning.”
Dana raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on her face. “That so?”
He shrugs, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, both bags on his back lifting with the motion. “Pretty much, yeah.”
You, wanting to save him from any further embarrassment, turn around and give him an opening. “I can take my bag, you can head downstairs.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “I got it, I’ll be right back.”
He walks over to the locker room, his figure disappearing through the door. One of the nightshift RT’s comes out of a room, and Dana doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. He ignores everyone else at the desk as he approaches, saying your last name with way too much enthusiasm for six-thirty in the morning.
“You should’ve seen this patient last night,” He starts, diving into the story as soon as your eyes are on him, a small smile on your face as you genuinely listen.
Dennis comes back out of the locker room just as he takes your wrist in his hand, turning your arm so your palm faces the ceiling, gesturing to your forearm as he explains the IV situation the patient had. He mimes the action of fluids spewing, retelling the moment it came loose as he was in the middle of intubating.
Your face scrunches, but you’re still smiling, and he’s pretty sure you say ‘oh, gross!” before slowly pulling your arm away, tucking both hands into your pockets. He comes up behind you, setting your stethoscope and water bottle on the desk. The other RT loses all steam at the sight of him, and he immediately takes a step back, stuttering over his words for a second. You feel a single finger twist into your waistband, making you look over your shoulder, seeing Dennis and your belongings.
“Thank you,” You say, fully spinning around. He drops his hand back to his side, nodding.
“Yeah, uh, no problem,” He says. “I’ll see you later?”
“Hopefully,” You say. “Good luck down there.”
“You too,” He says, then he heads back through the doors and down the hallway. You loop your stethoscope over your shoulders and put your water bottle by your workstation before returning to the nightshifter, a tablet in hand now.
“Catch me up,” You say, the rest of his story long forgotten.
Dana follows Dennis out, still smirking, putting both hands on his shoulders as she comes up beside him.
“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?"
Around eleven that morning, the higher-ups send donuts down to the ED as a ‘thank you’ for all their hardwork. Robby’s in the breakroom when Dennis walks in, admiring the spread, trying to decide if he actually wants one or not.
“Anything good, boss?” He asks, stepping closer to the tables, looking for something specific.
Robby shrugs. “Would be nicer if they could just pay my staff what they deserve.”
“Oh, definitely,” Dennis says, spotting what he’s looking for, grabbing one of the napkins nearby. “Gotta’ take advantage though, right?”
He picks up a donut, setting it neatly on top of the napkin and putting it down on the table. He opens the fridge, pulling out his lunch and unzipping the bag. Robby watches as he places it on top of whatever’s in there, then puts it back in the fridge, brushing his hands off and closing the door.
“Worthy of saving for later?” Robby asks, slightly teasing. Dennis lets out a small laugh, already halfway out the door.
“Yeah, uhm, trying to be optimistic about getting a break today,” He jokes, stumbling over the words. He’s still getting used to joking around with his boss.
Robby shakes his head, following him back outside. “Oh, you know better than that by now, Whitaker.”
They step out just as the ambulance bay doors open, revealing two paramedics wheeling a gurney in. They both rush over as Dana directs them to an open trauma room, examining the patient while one of the paramedics gives handover.
“Twenty-three year old male, motorcycle versus guardrail,” She says. “Helmet off at the scene, significant facial trauma, breathing on his own for now, but it’s not pretty.”
They swing the door to the trauma room open. Nurses flood in behind them, taking their usual spots around the room, clicking monitors on and hooking them up to the patient.
“Hey, can you open your eyes for me?” Dennis asks, shining his penlight into them when he gets no response. “Pupils equal and reactive, GCS six.”
“Sats eighty-seven and falling,” Mateo says.
“Bag him,” Dennis instructs, setting his stethoscope against his chest, moving it around. “Decreased breath sounds bilaterally.”
“This is gonna’ be a complex airway,” Frank says, having come in a moment after them. “Let’s get respiratory down here.”
You’re adjusting some vent settings for one of your patients when your pager goes off, making you pluck it off your scrub pocket, glancing down at the tiny screen.
EMERG. DEPT. TRAUMA #3 - STAT PAGE
You shove the pager back into place, already running out of the room, calling for the other RT on shift to finish with your patient as you fly by. You take the stairs down to the ED, shoving the door open at the bottom, gripping your stethoscope in your hand so it doesn’t fall. You grab a pair of gloves before opening the trauma room door, trying to assess the situation as best you can in a few seconds. You can’t even see the patient from how many people are in there, crowding around the bed.
“Sats down to seventy-nine,” Perlah says. Garcia already has sterile gloves on, holding her hands up and shaking her head as she looks over Dennis’ shoulder. He’s holding the laryngoscope, watching the monitor, trying to get a good view of the anatomy.
“We need to crike,” She says.
“Woah, hey, I’m here, what’s going on?” You say, grabbing a gown, shifting towards the head of the bed. You look towards the patient’s face, or what’s fucking left of it, exhaling sharply. “Jesus.”
“Motorcycle versus guardrail,” Frank says. “His jaw’s completely unstable, we couldn’t get a seal with the mask, he’s bleeding like crazy.”
“Move, please,” You say, kind but firm, needing to get a closer look. Dennis pulls the tool out, stepping back, his hands up so they don’t get caught on any of the IV lines. Mateo holds the suction as you do your exam, running through options in your head. He’s already using the biggest suction that he can, and the patient's sats are still falling.
The room seems frozen around you as you think, everyone waiting on your next move. You nod to yourself when you decide on the best course of action, a small way to hype yourself up.
“I’m going in through the nasal passage,” You say.
“Blind?” Frank asks. “That’s-”
“No, not blind,” You correct. “I need a lubricated three-point-five.”
The tube is placed into your hand five seconds later. “I’m gonna’ try and advance just past the tongue, see if I can use it as a guide.”
You glance up, making eye contact with Frank, then Robby, waiting to see if either will object to your plan. Robby gives you an affirmative nod.
“Do it.”
You look to Dennis, who’s already watching you. “Could you listen for breath sounds please, Dr. Whitaker?”
“Oh, Dr. Whitaker,” Garcia repeats. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shoot back, smirking.
“Behave,” Robby says, but you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s fighting a smile. Dennis gets into place as you use your free hand to put your own stethoscope in, settling the diaphragm against the patient’s neck, moving it around until you hear what you’re looking for. Then, you slowly advance the tube through the nostril, eyes flicking towards the chest every few seconds to check for rise.
You start to get some resistance at fourteen centimetres, and the chest twitches. You hear a small amount of air pass.
“Minimal movement,” Dennis says, focusing on what he’s hearing.
“Bag it,” You instruct, and Jesse does, squeezing. The patient’s chest rises again, and Dennis looks back at you, nodding, confirming that he can hear at least some remnants of breath sounds.
“Sats up to eighty-five,” Perlah announces.
You shine your penlight into his mouth, studying the passage that the nasal tube is barely revealing, committing the location of his tracheal opening to memory each time the suction clears enough blood for you to see it.
“I can intubate now,” You say.
“Are you sure?” Frank asks, taking a look himself, seeing nothing but blood and a small clearing where the tube sits. “You still can’t visualize most of the landmarks.”
“I don’t need all the landmarks,” You counter. “Do you want a real airway or not, Dr. Langdon?”
Dennis’ breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. You’re looking at Frank expectantly, waiting for a decision. He steps back, nodding. Garcia smirks, speaking before he can.
“Blade to hot shot, please.”
You take the tool in your hand, turning on the light and sliding it into place. You don’t bother looking towards the monitor, knowing that you won’t be able to see where you’re going.
“Seven tube,” You say, reaching for it once it’s passed over, positioning it where the nasal tube already sits. You wait for the suction to expose the clearing again, not hesitating when it does, sliding the tube into the airway. You’re almost certain that it’s in the right place based on how it feels as it clears the epiglottis. “I’m in.”
The cuff is inflated, and Jesse moves the bag from the nasal tube onto the new one, nodding. “Yellow on end-tidal.”
“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds.
“Sats up to ninety-four,” Perlah says. The tension in the room fades as you look at Dennis, failing to contain a grin when you make eye-contact. He gives you a tiny, proud smile and a subtle nod, silently saying ‘nice work.’
You don’t realize that everyone else catches it, too.
“I’ll get him up to CT,” Garcia announces. “Glad you were here, hot shot.”
“Excellent work,” Robby says, followed by your last name. The patient is wheeled out of the room, and you’re all left behind, pulling off gowns and gloves.
“Thanks,” You say. “It’s what I’m good for.”
Dennis holds the door for you as you leave, exhaling once you’re out. Frank holds his fist up.
“Sorry for doubting you,” He says. You smile, tapping your knuckles against his.
“No harm, no foul,” You insist, waving him off. The adrenaline of the trauma starts to wear off as you move towards one of the computers, wanting to get the charting out of the way before you go back to the ICU—as long as none of your patients crash. Goosebumps splinter over your arms, despite the long-sleeve you’re wearing under your scrub top, making you shiver.
Dennis is shrugging his fleece off before you even sit down, handing it to you, already focused on the board to figure out where he should head first. He’s about to walk away when he remembers, spinning back around and leaning towards you over the desk.
“Oh, hey, there’s something for you in my lunch,” He says, voice quiet, but everyone in the vicinity hears him. They started watching the second he passed you his jacket without a single word. “You can grab it before you head back up, if you want.”
You close your hand around his fleece, trying to get your brain to function again. All work is abandoned by the people around when, for the first time possibly ever, you’re speechless. Not because this is unusual behaviour, just because he’s never done it so…publicly before.
“Okay,” You finally say, the single word breathy and faint. “Thank you.”
Everyone is staring at the two of you like it’s their favourite TV show.
“Yeah, ‘course,” He says.
He walks off, you take a seat, pulling the fleece over your head and sticking your badge to the front pocket before logging on to the computer. Your heart is racing, but you do your best to hide it from your colleagues.
“You ever wonder how they ended up together?” Frank asks, watching the interaction from afar, the question aimed at Mel, who has no idea what he’s referring to.
“Who?” She asks, barely looking up from her tablet.
“Whitaker and Hot Shot,” He clarifies. Mel looks up now, still confused.
She says your real name like it’s a question. Frank nods.
“Yeah, Hot Shot,” He emphasizes.
Mel shrugs. “I didn’t know everyone called her that, I thought it was just Garcia.”
“Doesn’t matter,” He says, moving on. “Labs back for twelve yet?”
Trinity comes back into the department twenty minutes later, having gone outside for a breather, stopping just behind your chair as she walks by. She squints, realizing that you’re definitely wearing Whitaker’s quarter-zip, the one he wears pretty much every single day once it starts getting colder. She goes straight to Victoria, who’s talking to Cassie while they wait for one of their patients to get back from CT.
“He gave her his fucking fleece,” She says, eyes drifting towards you. Victoria and Cassie look over.
“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Victoria says, pouting slightly. “He’s so sweet to her.”
“Have you seen her?” Trinity asks, rhetorical. “He’s got to be in order to keep her around.”
Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s probably just because he loves her.”
“Or he knows he’s punching above his weight,” Trinity counters. “I love the kid, but she’s practically a supermodel.”
“Well, maybe that’s what drew her to him,” Victoria suggests. “You know, she’s so used to people tripping over themselves to impress her, maybe she liked the fact that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself to get her attention.”
Trinity thinks about that for a second, cocking her head slightly as she looks at you. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.”
“Has no one considered the idea that she just thought he was attractive?” Cassie asks. “He’s a good looking guy!”
Victoria shrugs. “Doesn’t matter either way, they clearly love eachother.”
You barely even realize that your head’s starting to hurt before a pill cup and your favourite donut are placed on your desk. You tug your eyes away from the screen, almost done with your charting, blinking a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. There’s two ibuprofen tablets in the cup, and you see Dennis standing beside you, holding his water bottle out. Robby watches from his workstation a few feet away, smiling, remembering how he watched Dennis set that donut aside a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for him, it was for you.
"Headache?" He asks.
“How…?” You ask, taking the bottle from him and opening the lid.
“You’re blinking more than usual,” He says, as though anyone would’ve picked up on it.
“Oh,” You say. “Yeah, it's not too bad, though. Thank you.”
You take the pills and a few extra sips of water before passing it back to him. He sets it on the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back.
“You should eat something,” He suggests.
You nod. “I’ll eat this in one second, thank you so much, Denny.”
Robby looks towards Dana, mouthing ‘Denny?’ to her, and she mouths ‘I know!’ back.
Dennis nods, taking a seat at one of the computers across the hub. You finish your own charting a few minutes later, standing up and walking over to one of the nearby sinks, washing your hands thoroughly. You pick up the donut when you get back to the desk, tearing it in half, holding one side out towards him.
He’s so wrapped up in his work that he barely glances up when he takes it, then he does a double take, brows furrowing before he looks at you. He’s about to protest when you give him a look, one that let’s him know that you’re well aware he hasn’t eaten since his shift started. He keeps his half raised up, tilting it towards you, and you tap your own portion against his. You both take a bite at the same time, and Princess raises an eyebrow.
“Did they just…cheers with a donut?” She asks.
“You haven’t seen ‘em do that before?” Dana asks. “They do it with everything—granola bars, apple slices, sandwiches. It’s sweet.”
“I saw them do it with goldfish once,” Mateo says, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Pretty sure they made them kiss.”
You stretch your arms above your head a few minutes later, leaning against the back of your chair. A few people glance over, hoping to get a glimpse of something, but Dennis’ fleece keeps everything covered. You gather a portion of your hair in your hands, reaching towards your wrist for a hair tie.
It snaps when you go to loop it around, making you frown.
“Ow,” You murmur, dropping your hair. Victoria goes to offer you a new one, but she’s cut off by Dennis pulling one off his own arm, slingshotting it across the hub, a solid twenty feet or so. You catch it in your palm like it’s second nature, sticking it between your teeth, smoothing your hair back again.
She malfunctions for a second, trying to see if anyone else witnessed that. Most people have gone back to work, eyes focused on screens or notepads, including Dennis.
“I…how did you do that?” She asks.
Dennis doesn’t even look over. “Do what?”
“The—the hair tie thing,” She stutters. He shrugs.
“She’s always losing them,” He says, as if that remotely answers her question. She’s close enough to see his screen, catching a new secure chat rise to the top of the list that he’s working through answering. It’s your first and last name followed by ‘RRT,’ the profile photo you in scrubs, standing against a white wall.
heading back up
She glances over at you, still sitting across the hub. You’re looking at your computer, scanning some new orders for your ICU patients, face neutral as you mess with your necklace. She looks back at Dennis’ screen.
He signs the note he's working on before opening the conversation.
Come here a second
You log off of the computer, pick up your stethoscope and walk over to him. It’s casual—comfortable. His hand lifts from the keyboard once you’re close enough, reaching over and flipping the collar of his fleece out from where it’s folded in on itself. You raise an eyebrow as he pats it twice, the simple touch of his palm to your collarbone intoxicating.
“How long has that been bothering you?” You ask, teasing and quiet. The volume has picked back up in the department, so Victoria shuffles a bit closer to try and hear the conversation.
He pretends to think, glancing at his watch. “How long ago did you put it on?”
You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”
“Yeah, you should probably be more careful,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Are you warm enough? I think I have a long sleeve in my bag if you want it.”
You do want it, but not because you’re still cold.
“No, I’m okay, thank you,” You say, trying to get your feet to move, but his presence is sucking you in. You’re tempted to wedge yourself into his side, knowing that he’d probably respond automatically, arms wrapping around you and his lips brushing your temple like they would at home.
“Okay, just come grab it if you change your mind,” He says. Your pager beeps from your pocket, and you grimace, face scrunching up in disappointment.
“I will,” You say, checking it quickly before putting it back. You’re still hesitating, not taking a step away from him. He smiles.
“Go,” He insists, softly. “They need you.”
You look at him for another second, pursing your lips. “Yeah, alright, going now, Dr. Whitaker.”
Victoria’s eyes widen as she rereads the same line on her tablet for the millionth time. A blush blooms on Dennis’ neck, and he brings a hand up to try and cover it immediately, his blue eyes following you as you get closer to the doors, filled with adoration.
He gets another secure chat five minutes later. Victoria squints to see what it says.
made it :)
don’t work too hard while im gone
He types back right away.
Yes ma’am
Victoria gasps. Dennis glances back at her.
She brings her elbow up to her face, pretending to cough a few times, clearing her throat once she’s done with the performance.
“Sorry, dry in here today,” She says, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He nods once, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press her on it.
Her own secure chat lights up.
TRINITY SANTOS, MD
smooth, crash
Seven finally rolls around, signalling the end of your shift. You go back downstairs, waiting outside the ER, like usual, backpack on and changed out of your scrubs. Dennis comes out ten minutes later with Trinity and Victoria trailing behind, his eyes softening when he sees you.
“Hey, ready to go?” He asks, making you look up from your phone. You nod, greeting his friends before falling in step beside him, bumping your shoulder against his.
“Oh, gross,” Trinity says, frowning at the heavy rain that’s pouring outside. “You want a ride, Crash?”
“Yes, please,” Victoria says, already bracing herself as Trinity opens the door, turning back to you and Dennis for a second. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” You both say, giving her a tiny wave as they step out into the rain, running to Trinity’s car.
Dennis pulls his keys out of his backpack, squeezing your wrist quickly. “Stay here.”
You smile. “I know.”
He goes outside, rounding the corner and speedwalking away from the doors. You stay inside, waiting, until you feel someone stop beside you.
“Waiting for Whitaker?” Robby asks. “I swore he left a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, yeah, he did,” You confirm. “He went to grab the car.”
Robby hums, chuckling. “Of course he did.”
You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “He just really loves you, is all.”
Your chest and neck start to heat up, making you look towards the ground, scuffing your shoes against the floor. “Yeah, he does.”
“Well, have a good night,” He says.
You smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”
He walks off just as Dennis pulls the car in front of the doors, shifting it into park as he leans over, gripping the inside handle of the passenger side door. You tense up the moment you’re outside, rain pelting against you, thankful that you still have his fleece on as you run to the car. He opens the door right before you make it so you can just jump inside, slamming it shut behind you, wiping some water off your face.
You’re both soaked, him more than you, obviously—but he doesn’t care. He leans over the centre console, hand looping around the back of your neck and pulling you close, kissing you. You kiss him back, smiling into it, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He kisses your forehead after, then pecks your lips again for good measure.
“Love you,” He says.
“I love you,” You echo, still smiling.
A/N - i love that u guys love dennis and hot shot bc i think about them constantly
warnings‼️: canon divergence + a few john walker scenes () + mutual pining (reader is a scaredy cat afraid of rejection & peter is a daft fellow afraid of fucking up the friendship).
Like listening to a song and anticipating your favorite part. You become still to listen, to hear everything.
It started a while back. The team gathered around for a mission briefing, and your eyes drifted unassumingly towards him.
His questions and suggestions were suddenly of interest to you.
“Have you guys seen Raiders of the Lost Ark?”
You wondered how he thought of such things. His intellect became the eight wonder to you.
A memory among the many favorites includes that time your throat dried in the dead of night, and you met in the dimmed kitchen with an awkward smile.
The words just came stumbling out of him. “You know how water tastes different?”
You blink your bleary eyes awake at his random query. “Oh, um… yes.”
“This water tastes so good. Like, I can’t ever go back to drinking the water bottles from Kroger.”
You chuckled softly at his words, understanding it was his exhaustion that made him so easygoing.
You were wrong.
Peter was sleepless in Seattle the moment he sensed you coming close.
His “Peter tingle” includes alerting him when you’re around. He can feel you before you make your presence known.
He just couldn’t help himself from talking. Really, he’s tried. His mind just short-circuits when you’re in view and his rambling knows no better.
Peter’s heart damn near leapt out when you smiled and laughed.
You smiled, for him? Laughed, with him?
He was so starstruck, it was beyond comprehension.
The boy stared as you walked to the fridge. The elegance in your stride, the straightness of your spine, even your hairography was off the charts.
He’d realized long ago your otherworldliness, but to witness it firsthand in a domestic setting was truly an experience.
“I agree.” You nodded as you filled up your cup.
And he stared with soft eyes and a bleeding heart, like the human; mortal he is.
Before you realized, you navigated towards him; like he was the sail anchoring the ship of your heart.
Your energies matched perfectly and the both of you sought each other subconsciously.
You were thinking about going downtown when the thought of asking him if he’d like to join you crossed your mind.
Your body was ahead of your mind, giving you no time to overthink the proposal.
You were turning the lobby, lowly half-singing, half-humming a song when you saw him at the turn.
Peter looked like a deer in headlights, pupils dilated to the max and a faint red hue to his cheeks. He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “…Hi.”
An automatic smile lined your lips. “Hey.”
He tripped over himself (not literally, his stuttering was already embarrassing enough for him) agreeing to go downtown and you were one happy gal.
Soon, you traded numbers and started texting. Memes, asking what happened on the days you or he missed meetings or training, and TikTok references that'll be in your daily vocabulary.
You learned a lot about him through texting. What he likes, dislikes. What music he’s into, what your next movie watch should be.
The messages then converted to conversations of your lives. What it means to the both of you to be an Avenger, what motivates you two to wake up everyday, etc.
He isn't that shy, intimidated kid he was when he first saw you. That was a couple of years ago.
He understands your personality better now. Peter soon realized your kindness, wicked fast wit, and strong heart to be his favorite attributes of yours.
You learned his reason for being Spider-Man; it was simply his responsibility to carry out his duties with the strength he has. For good.
“It’s admirable.” You said. “Why you do what you do.”
Peter’s heart thrummed with pride and he tried his absolute best to conceal that.
“It’s rare to have a strong moral compass and to be as self-sacrificing as you are.”
“Thanks.” He murmured.
With your body feeling on fire, you uttered a quiet “You’re welcome.”.
Peter felt the need to compliment you, in a way that wouldn’t give away his crush but would still keep this friends slash co-workers thing going.
“…I think you’re really awesome.” He said, finally.
Your expression was that of someone receiving a love confession. Eyes soft and fleeting, lips fighting a grin so bright— it’d rival the stars.
He learned of your responsibilities. Asgardian duties regarding royalty and being the goddess of truth, justice, and power.
There was nothing more of interest to him than understanding who you are. He wants to be native to you.
“Wait, so, you can speak every language because of the All…speak, that’s how you say it?”
You nodded.
“Even though, technically, you’re responding in English; the person hears it back in their language.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Peter couldn’t believe what he heard. How could someone be fluent in all languages, even those not of Earth?!
“Wow.” He exhaled. “That is seriously the coolest thing ever.”
His words made you feel shy. Like you were a bashful little girl trying to keep it together as your crush glazed you to infinity.
Your friendship progressed to running errands together, training together, going to the movies, and playing lighthearted pranks on the members.
Obviously, everyone took note of the sudden yet strong companionship established. Sam was just the first to ask out loud about it.
“When did they start hanging out?”
Bruce looked up from his light-reading and followed Sam’s line of sight and said, “About a month ago.”.
Sam’s eyes widened and he looked at the scientist, perplexed. “Say, what?”
You and Peter are in your own little world, oblivious to the fact that you’re the topic of conversation.
“Ten bucks if the boy folds first.”
Alexie eyes Walker for a second before an obnoxiously loud chuckle rumbles from his chest.
“Little Asgardian has more balls than the supposed spider "man"." He commends you as he puts air quotes around the word, ‘man’.
Bucky raises his brows and purses his lips in contemplation before chiming in, “Agreed.”.
Tony walks by, sighing as he rubs his forehead tiredly. As he’s filling up a glass of water, he looks up to spot you and him.
Peter sneaks in a glance when you’re not looking, a shy smile on his face.
You pretend you can’t feel it, your stomach in a frenzy from the adrenaline swirling around.
Tony is no expert on love, but he’s sure there’s an unspoken, shared truth between you both.
“Hey, buddy?” He calls out to the god of thunder next to him, fixing a sandwich.
“Yes?”
Tony looks on, eyes blinking to adjust to the scene in front of him. “How long has your kid been hanging out with mine?”
Thor looks to see what he’s talking about and sees you both laughing. He smiles when he hears your laughter.
“Quite a while. Why do you ask?”
“Nothin’. Just thought the kids are getting acquainted pretty well with each other.” Stark stares on, mirth in his eyes at the thought of you two together.
Thor takes in this new vision.
He wants his child to be happily in love, but he never thought a mortal to be capable of giving her that.
He knows the kid to be good, smart, selfless.
Worthy.
Thor believes no one to be truly worthy of his daughter but if there ever were to be such a person, he figures Peter comes pretty close.
He thinks about his friend's words and finds a strange feeling entering his heart. It's not sadness or anger, more so a tightening of the chest that echoes you knew this day would come.
“I had not noticed.” He murmurs softly.
It's been exactly two days since the tin man's words, and truer words have never been spoken.
The Norse god took it upon himself to test out said tin man's claim and would you look at that. He's right. Again.
Thor wouldn't call it spying simply because it isn't. He's just studying observing you and the spiderling interact.
So far, he's only made mental notes to find out more “tiktok” as you and he quote many nonsensical, odd-sounding phrases from it.
Currently, he's in the kitchen and pretending to look for a snack when in reality; he's going for the snack he knows and loves. Thor's in the process of placing his third pack [within the hour] of pop-tarts into the toaster when—
“Dude, how many of those are you going to eat?”
Thor freezes in place, his eyes wide and face hot. He looks up to find the source... coming from inside a vent?
“H—” He clears his throat. “Hello? Who's there?”
“It's me.” The voice shows its face to be a familiar one. “Clint.”
Thor's utterly confused face doesn't phase the Avenger. “I'm doing a drill with Kate.”
Now he's even more confused. “Part of the your training... is in the vents?”
“We all have our own ways.” Clint dips his chin to get an angle on you and Peter.
Thor looks back at the two of you and at him. He's not convinced but lets it go for now. “Right, sure.”
“Father, who are you talking to?”
Thor turns around on a whim and puts on a fake smile. “Oh, uh...” He turns back but Clint is gone. Replaced with air and the soft whirring of the vents.
“Clint. In the vents.”
Peter brings up the humorous notion of something else running around in the vents. “Can you imagine if there were rats in there.”
You laugh at the thought, your hand coming up to rest on his shoulder out of habit.
Thor's eyes widen comically, even his false eyeball has some reaction.
He watches as the two of you walk away, deep in conversation and wonders if maybe he's due for a talk.
“Stark was right.” He says to almost no one.
“Don't let him hear you say that.” Wanda jokes, making her sudden appearance.
The redhead watches as the powerful son of Odin yelps in distress, a hand flying up to cover his mouth.
She grants the mercy of silence for a moment before breaking it. “You good over there?”
He sniffles then clears his throat, palms straightening out non-existent wrinkles in his robe. “Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you.” He rushes out in a hushed tone.
The Scarlet Witch walks right by, grabbing a drink from the fridge.
She hesitates to leave, stuck between wanting to say something but making it awkward.
Thor takes the risk for her. “Can I ask you something?”
Wanda blinks, a bit surprised by his sudden forwardness. “Yeah, sure.”
He sighs deeply, wrinkles decorating his forehead. “What do you think about Peter?” He asks carefully with a click of his tongue.
She picks up fast. “I think he's a good kid. Respectful, follows the rules, stays out of trouble.”
The Scarlet Witch has a soft spot for kids, so it didn't take much for her to be rooting for the ones who are most deserving of it.
“The perfect boy scout, you know?”
“I'm not sure what a 'boy scout' is but sure.” He says with a serious nod.
Wanda takes her drink and walks towards the counter, filling her glass with the herbal tea. “So. Why ask me about Peter?”
Thor huffs out an imitation of a good laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just, you know, making conversation.”
She smiles in turn, lightly chuckling.
“Why haven't we talked before?” He asks mildly.
Wanda hums in thought. “I don't know.”
He nods, content with the answer and ready to leave it at that.
“Thor.”
He stops in step and turns swiftly on his heels. “Yes?”
A fond look overtakes her features, mellowing her completely from the inside. “Y/n's still my favorite.”
Every memory of you flashes before his blue eyes at the mention of your name.
“Of course.” He mused humbly, a newfound confidence in his stride.
MEANWHILE, WITH TONY & BRUCE
Bruce hands Tony a cup of freshly brewed hot coffee before getting comfortable.
“Thanks.” The Stark sighs tiredly, taking a sip.
“So, you were saying?”
Tony snaps his fingers. “Right. So,” He exhales. “You don't have any kids that we don't know of, correct?”
Bruce buffers, eyes blinking confusingly. “Wait- where is this coming from?”
Tony clicks his teeth together. “I'll tell you where this is coming from, Peter is technically my first experience at handling a kid.”
Bruce stares with raised brows and a mouth open with half a question prepared, utterly befuddled.
“And I've never actually said that out-loud till just now, so, I'm kind of feeling a little... I dunno, responsible, I guess? Is that the right word?” He then gulps down the remaining coffee before continuing his tangent.
Bruce watches in amazement and figures he should probably tell his pal to slow down and take a breath but when has a Stark ever done that.
“And he has this great thing going, really good thing with Point Break's kid.”
Bruce blinks like he’s loading to compute the information. “What?”
Tony stands with a pressing sigh while making his way to the Keurig. “It's not official, more in the process of getting there but that's the problem. He's too in his head to see she's totally into him!”
“Too in his head, huh. That sounds familiar.” Bruce quips.
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“I still don't understand what the point of this is.” He says with a shake of his head.
“The point is,” He pauses his tangent to collect all of his thoughts together.
He thinks about his time with the kid, the short period where he allowed himself to be a mentor and allowed that once fifteen year old to make room in his life (and heart).
Tony remembers how it felt to lose him, he felt the weight of the world succumb to dust in just a matter of seconds.
He also understood that Peter made him realize which part of the equation of what was missing in his life.
“I just want to get it right this time around.” He confesses.
Bruce nods in understanding, sympathizing with him.
“You don't wanna come off as overbearing, but you want him to know that you're here.”
Tony sighs through his nose, letting all his words die on his tongue and his friends' words come to bring him some solace.
“You want my advice?”
He nods slightly.
“Let the kid come to you on his own.”
Tony looks as if he's running the idea through his head, then stops when he realizes what he's doing.
“If there's one person who's validation he'll always seek, it's yours, Tony.”
The Stark feels a bit lighter now, more adequate to handle himself.
He looks up at his science bro in gratitude, pursing his lips as if it’s awkward to smile. “Thanks.”
Bruce shrugs, patting his back. “That's what science bros do.”
BACK TO YOU & PETER
You sat atop Peter’s bed with snacks laid out while he searched for a movie.
“Have you seen When Harry Met Sally?”
“I’ve been meaning to.” You answer truthfully.
His jaw drops. “What?” He laughs. “This is a cult classic, literally in my hall of fame.”
You shrug and say how you just haven’t gotten the chance to sit down and watch it when he decides this movie is the winner.
“Well, now you’ve got the time.” He slides the DVD into the player and sits next to you, his knee touching yours.
You don’t move and neither does he, and it stays that way the whole duration.
You pay acute attention to the film and find it to be enjoyable. It helps when Harry and Sally remind you an awful lot of Peter and yourself.
Two people who didn’t start out as friends, eventually become friends and develop a romantic relationship that further deepens their connection. The quintessential friends to lovers story.
Except for the initial dislike they had for one another, you’d say this movie depicts your dilemma perfectly.
Unbeknownst to you, Peter was taking mental notes on how to translate this movie into real life.
Harry and Sally made it work, so surely he can too, right?
He watched closely, taking into account the mutual yet unspoken interest. Peter allowed himself to wonder if you like him too. It’d be a dream come true.
Then came the part when the main characters have a brief sexual encounter and discuss whether a girl and a guy can still be friends without letting sex get in the way.
Not so relatable now, huh.
You feel Peter lean over to you, talking in a hushed tone. “I think it’s possible, do you?”
You keep your eyes on the screen and tilt your chin in his direction. “Yeah but I couldn’t do it.”
“Same.” He whispers. “Too intimate, you know?”
A faint smile lines your lips at his words. Nice to know you share similar ideologies. “Yeah, I know.”
Peter was anticipating the famous new years confession, easily in his top twenty confessions of all time.
That speech is both straightforward and thoughtful. The formula is timeless and works just as well in today’s time as it did back then.
And when they kissed, you felt so relieved.
You were subconsciously smiling, because they served as an example of you and how in the end, they still got together.
Peter let himself get a glimpse of your smile before turning away, not wanting to be caught like an idiot.
“So, I take it you like the movie?”
“Like? I love this movie! We should watch it every year at this time.” You gush.
Peter hopes to reach the end of that movie with you before this time next year.
And so do you, which is why you consult with the council (your girlfriends), but your insecurity is hellbent on sabotaging the meeting.
“At least tell him before New Years.”
“Or before you grow old and are filled with regrets.”
Kate doesn't disagree with the former widow there. “She's right.”
You stare at the two women you call your best friends and contemplate for a moment.
“Would we even be compatible? I mean, it would be better long-term if we both ended up with someone on our level, right?”
It doesn't take a genius to know you're hinting at your biggest fear: being too much for people.
You know Peter wouldn't be so insecure to feel like you emasculate him or you're superior to him, but the thought of you being with someone like him is laughable to many.
Yelena immediately interjects. “Nonsense.” She says as she shakes her head. “You're out of his league— yes— but he would be lucky to have you regardless.”
“While what she says is true, people break up for way less.” The archer offers an encouraging smile. “Who cares if he's not a demi-god or has a freakishly large Lego collection?”
“Anyone with a mind to resist capitalism, actually.”
Kate ignores the assassin. “If he checks off all of your boxes, then that's all that matters.”
You understand what your friends are telling you, you really do. There's just one thing they haven't taken into account.
“But do I check off all his boxes?”
“I'm sorry,” Yelena scoffs, though not indignantly. “Have you seen yourself?”
You roll your eyes mildly at her answer. “That doesn't sound very encouraging.”
“Yeah, neither does whatever else we're standing here telling you, but we're still doing it.”
She wears a bored expressions as her eyes stare into yours. You squint your eyes at her but she's relentless.
“Fine.” You admit.
Kate pats your back sympathetically. “I'd say to drop hints but...”
“If he can even take a hint.” Yelena voices.
You know they're right. You know it's not practical to keep crushing on him hoping one days things will change.
But you're also afraid of rejection, so you reject it first.
“Thank you guys, seriously. But, I’ll think about it.” You offer a smile but it doesn't give.
Kate gasps, turning to her blonde friend with a rousing energy. “I knew you liked that show!”
“I only said it because the timing was right.” The ex-Widow crosses her arms defensively.
“Right, right. Sure.” The archer wears a smug expression whilst the assassin rolls her eyes and throws her head back in a groan.
You chuckle at the sight, allowing yourself to be in reality and not the made-up one inside your head.
MEANWHILE, WITH PETER & JOAQUIN
Today was supposed to be the day Peter and Joaquin hit their workout goal together, but Peter had other plans.
“It was like watching my life in a movie, except for the parts that won’t happen.”
Joaquin doesn’t respond, focused on finishing this rep.
“Regardless, she’s perfect, man. Absolutely perfect.” He narrates dreamily as lay belly-up on a bench. “She's so cool, the coolest girl ever. I can't believe she's my friend. The friends to lovers trope isn't cliche now, right?”
He looks over at his friend who just nods once and exhales harshly through his nose, pulling the bar up and down, up and down.
Peter nods to himself, satisfied with Joaquin's response. “I just don't wanna mess this up. I can't mess this up.” He sighs.
Joaquin grunts, setting down the bar and deciding to take his break now.
He bends down to drink some water and Peter stares at him expectantly, waiting for some wisdom to fall out of his lips.
After what seems like forever, he speaks. “You will.”
Peter feels punched in the gut. “Okay, wow. Thanks.”
Joaquin rolls his eyes. “You're over here stressing about how you don't wanna lose her and how she's so perfect, when there's the possibility of an actual man—”
Peter perks up at the mention of potential competition.
“—walking up to her, letting her know what's up, and getting shit done.”
He stares at his friend, telling it to him how it is and wonders what if he's right.
“She's not just gonna go for the first guy who tells her what she wants to hear.” Peter scoffs as he crosses his arms.
Joaquin smirks, leaning on some equipment. “Maybe not, but she'll still feel some typa way.”
Peter squints, not picking up what he's putting down.
“I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“Wha- I am smart! I was the Valedictorian of my class, alright?”
Joaquin shakes his head, scratching his forehead in mild annoyance.
“And what's with all the hostility? I thought you were my friend.”
Peter doesn't mean that last part but it does make his coworker/friend chill out a bit. He runs his tongue across the walls of his cheeks, thinking of all the ways you'd reject him.
You'd do it nicely, softly. Let him down gently because the truth is, he's already made up his mind. Peter has let himself believe that you could never be with someone like him. Someone nerdy, dorky. A loser mortal.
You can have anyone, so why would you want him?
“She belongs with someone on her level.” He utters. “And that's just not me.”
If Joaquin wasn't agitated before, he certainly is now.
“God,” He scoffs. “You are such a loser.”
Peter looks up at him in confusion. “What?”
“I mean, seriously. Giving up and accepting defeat is not your style but hey, there's a first time for everything.”
Peter gives him an offended look. “What the hell, man.”
“That's what I'm saying. What the hell, Pete, you can't be this dense.”
The latter is unfortunately still not reading between the lines.
“Deadass? Jesus, man.” Joaquin sits down beside him, a look of total disbelief on his face. “You're the guy she willingly hangs out with outside of work. You're the guy she feels comfortable talking to about literally anything. She even gets all your references, dude.”
The latter thinks about it and realizes, he's right. Apart from a very annoyed Tony and a quietly amused Bucky, you're the only person who'll not only understand, but also quote something back.
Joaquin looks at his hopeless friend tellingly and puts a telling hand on his shoulder. “You are the man, Pete. You.”
Peter feels uplifted. “That was nice. Why couldn't you give me this speech earlier?”
The Falcon sighs, feeling somewhat apologetic. “I have to clown on you before having your back. It's essential to your growth.”
Peter rolls his eyes, smiling when Joaquin playfully pushes his fist into his shoulder.
“Okay, but for real, though. I don't want to hear about her unless you've made your move. Shit gets old after a while.”
Peter's smile drops. “Wait, seriously?”
It's the week before christmas and everyone has more gifts than they can take into account. Perks of having your coworkers as family.
As always, Tony throws a party for the team. Yes, even the Pym's are invited. And Scott.
“Hey, Tony!” Speak of the devil. “Amazing party, tell me— how do you do it?”
The Stark, ever so humbly replies, “Oh, you know. It helps to know everyone and have so much money, you don't know whether to bury it or burn it.”.
Scott's smile visibly shrinks. “No, I... don't think I know the feeling.”
Rhodes is telling his infamous story to people who are genuinely intrigued.
Some guests try lifting Mjölnir, of course to no avail. Thor sat back and allowed everyone a fair chance, getting reminded of that time his friend threw a victory party all those years ago.
Stephen is convinced there's some kind of Asgardian magic tying it down. “There's definitely some kind of enchantment or binding spell. How else would you be able to explain no one being able to lift this? Out of everyone here?” He shakes his head, puzzled.
Thor just shrugs, repeating his words from the past. “I have a simpler theory,” He waltzes over and picks it up. “You're all not worthy.”
The Sorcerer Supreme isn't impressed. “Right.”
The god takes a sip of his special Asgardian liquor when a true champion walks in.
Carol watches in amusement, a playful smirk on her face. “Can I try?”
Your dad laughs heartily, letting her have a go. “Finally, a worthy contender.”
You’re chatting with Cassie, not having seen the girl in a while. “How’s college?”
“Good, it’s good. Just got done with finals.”
“That’s great, Cassie. I'm sure you did exceedingly well.”
She smiles. “Thanks. So, how’s it going with spider-boy?”
You look down at your glass, finger tracing the rim. “I see you’ve been talking to Kate and Yelena.”
Cassie giggles and denies the notion but you know it's just harmless teasing.
Bucky's arm wrestling with Alexie they turn it into a game.
“Hey, no fair! Metal arm gives you advantage.” Alexie frowns.
“Maybe your people should've thought about that before performing the surgery on me.” Bucky clapback's wittily.
Sam whistles. “Don't hurt em now, Buck.”
Clint is wrangles all the money together from placed bets. “Step right up folks, don't be shy. Pick your winner; the old, washed up Santa or congressman Barnes.”
Everyone’s having a great time, and that's how it should be at this time of year.
You just wish some people could be here to experience this with you. It's during the holidays when you miss Natasha and Steve a little extra.
Feeling stuffy, you excuse yourself to the balcony. The moon kindly casts her ethereal glow onto the many faces of New York. There's a calm breeze that sends chills down your arms but you invite it, better than the feeling before.
“Well, what are you doin' out here all by yourself?” A familiar voice you've come to love chimes.
You dip your head down to hide your grin, replying in your best transatlantic accent. “I suppose it’s because we can finally have something to ourselves.”
He laughs. Peter knows you're only playing along but he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't jump at the thought of you saying that for real.
He notices you're not wearing a jacket and immediately moves to offer his own. “You're not freezing?” He questions as he drapes his suede jacket across your form.
Your throat closes up at the action, your affection for him growing tenfold. “...I don't get cold so easily.” You mumble, fingers tightening around his jacket to pull it tighter.
“Oh, yeah. Right, something about your anatomy prohibiting you from illness, right?”
You nod, cheeks warming from his ability to remember the littlest things. “Right.”
He nods to himself, feeling awkward. Out of all the things you could have said. Joaquin’s right, I am a loser.
It’s quiet for a moment but not the awkward kind, despite the boy’s internal struggle. More of a comfortable silence.
You both stare off into the skyline and marvel over the lights.
You decide to speak first, unable to hold back your thoughts any longer. “It’s so pretty.” You say above a whisper, regarding the the Rockefeller christmas tree.
The boy next to you sets his sight on a better view, turning his chin towards you subconsciously.
“Yeah.” He whispers.
You feel him staring, your gaze lowering steadily as you turn to meet his eyes.
Your heart thunders and suddenly your nerves turn over, softening as the river of your blood flows evenly.
Everything blurs into a muted scene, nothing strikes you more than this moment. Right here, right now.
An overbearing fondness exudes from him. It shows in his eyes and the delicate curve of his mouth.
He’s completely enamored with you, and he can hide it no more.
“I have to tell you something.” He finally says in a hushed tone.
This is it you believe. The moment we’ve all you’ve been waiting for.
Peter fills his lungs with the crisp winter air feels rejuvenated. Those warm, doe eyes reach out to you once more. “I…”
You lean forward without thinking. “Yeah?”
He gulps, his hands clammy and heart like the wings of a hummingbird. “I, um…”
You nod, coaxing him to continue. “Take your time.” You snort softly
He clicks his tongue. Peter exhales harshly through his nose, determined to get this off his chest. “Y/n,” He starts, using your eyes as a mirror. “I think you’re the coolest girl I’ve ever known.”
Your breath is caught on a golden hook.
“You’re so smart and brave and funny.” He continues strongly. “I’ve never met a girl like you.”
You’re speechless, lacking incredibly in words as this moment has finally come along. Peter takes your silence as his cue to finish up, feeling proud of coming this far.
“What I’m saying is… I like—”
“There you are!” Someone exclaims, followed by a Russian term of endearment you’ve grown fond of hearing. Just not this time.
Damn Alexie’s timing.
You and Peter look like a couple of troublemaking kids with the way nobody moves a muscle.
The Red Guardian furrows his eyebrows suspiciously. “You two aren’t out here doing drugs, no?”
The two of you dispute that outrageous claim all at once.
“What?! No, man.” Peter whines incredulously.
You stare at him, jaw dropped. “How drunk are you?”
Alexie keeps the expression for a moment longer before bursting into a fit of laughs. “I’m just joking! You should have seen the looks on your faces. Ha!”
You and Peter side-eye each other before nervously laughing along.
“Ah, ha. You got us.” Peter chuckles dryly before looking at you.
“Yeah, that was… funny.”
“Come on! You’re missing all the fun.” And with that, he’s walking back inside but not before bumping into the glass door. “Oh, excuse me!” Followed by a string of slurred curses.
Peter hangs his head back and sighs, dejectedly, covering his face with both hands.
You stand there for a second, gathering your thoughts when a sudden wave of heat hits your ears and face.
“…We should probably go.” You urge, not wanting him to see you like this but not wanting to abandon him either.
How badly Peter wanted to say No, stay. Forget about the party. But his courage vanished the moment a third party entered the environment.
He nods, looking down at his shoes and chewing his lip over how close he was to rid himself of the yearning he had for you.
Perhaps it’ll never truly go away.
The past week went by unbearably slow.
Things were suddenly awkward. Your impromptu run-in's with him were cut short, with little to no words at all.
Training was the only time it felt natural to converse but even then, were cut short because someone calls out for him or someone needs your attention with a sparring technique.
Texting wasn't as frequent as you would like, it felt forced and almost like a chore. You're afraid you're a bore for him.
Clearly, this was noticed by everyone. It's embarrassing enough for you to pretend like everything's fine, they gave enough mercy to act like they don't know a thing. Well, not to each other.
“Man, something serious must've went down.” Sam hushed as he eyed you leave the premises as soon as Peter entered.
The boy's morose face is taken into account by all that are present.
“They'll get over it.” Bucky said confidently.
And he wasn't the only one to bet on it. When all hope seemed lost, they had faith.
Thor was utterly disappointed. How is he supposed to be rooting for Peter when he couldn't even get the words out?
“He needs to be a man.”
“Oh, don't tell me what he needs.” Asserted Tony. “Now I'll admit he screwed up but can you blame him?”
Thor crossed his arms with narrowed eyes. “Are you saying this is my daughter's fault?”
“I'm saying he's a meek guy with zero sense on how to approach a lady, and that's on me.”
Your father sympathized with the man. “Come now, Stark, that's not your fault.”
“Isn't it?” He scoffed, annoyed with himself. “I could've reached out, talked to him. Given him a heads up— you know, somethin'.” He sighed. “They would've been on their honeymoon by now.”
Thor ignored that last part. “Not all is lost on you.”
“Meaning...?”
“I'll talk to mine, you get yours.” He planned a last ditch effort to get you to reconcile with him.
That's if you even want to.
Part of you was angry, feeling falsely ignored. What had you done for him to desert you this way? The least he can do is owe you an explanation. The other part of you felt despondent, rejected.
Serves you right, huh. Getting rejected for once rather than doing the rejecting. Rejecting change, rejecting anything outside of comfort, rejecting anything that doesn't serve you well. Now look at you; rejected.
You groan and fall back on your bed, your fingers coming up to hide your closed eyes as you wallow in self-pity.
A knock sounds on your door. “Honey? May I come in?”
“Yes.” You say, feeling less than enthusiastic.
Thor enters your room and almost turns around on his heel to slap Peter silly when he see's how dejected you are.
You gave up lying to your father about your feelings long time ago, it's just no use.
In traditional dad fashion, a sound between a sigh and groan emits from him as he lies down next to you, his head now parallel to yours.
Despite not saying a word, you can hear him thinking.
You break the silence first. “Whenever you're ready.”
He hums, pleased to see you’re not completely shut off. “How’s your day going so far?”
You stifle a laugh. “Good.”
“Good.” He nods.
You turn your head to look at him. “And yours?”
He looks at the ceiling as if trying to find words to articulate his thoughts. Then, he anticlimactically says, “Yeah, good.”.
You can’t help the giggle that tumbles out of your lips, and he can’t help his smile.
“Dad.” You say through the laugh. “Did you come here to hang out?”
“I can’t just hang out with my daughter?”
“You can.” You say, even though you don’t believe him. You think it’s sweet. “Everyone boring you?”
He turns on his side, angling his elbow to rest his head on his hand. “Not quite.”
Deep down in your gut, you know what that means.
A gust of air leaves your lips and you turn to face him.
He’s understanding, no doubt about it. “You know, your mother was asking about you the other day.”
“Did she?” Your tone isn’t mocking, like you don’t speak to your mother at all. Of course you do, she’s your mother. You just wonder why not come to you directly.
“She wanted to know how you were doing, then asked if I had any plans in the evening.”
Oh.
“So, she was using me as an excuse.” You tilt your head playfully.
Thor didn’t see it that way, though he wouldn’t have minded if that were true.
“We had a wonderful dinner by the water and we spoke of you.”
“All good things I hope.”
“That's just it.” He says. “We've raised a wonderful daughter.”
You're not an emotional person, you don't cry easily or carry someone's burden as yours so often. But words, words seem to carry much more emotion than you'll ever convey.
“You think so?” You ask, doubtful. It's just that recently, you've been so occupied with what's happened that you forgot about everything else.
Thor sits up fully now. “I know so. You're brilliant, Y/n. The perfect child I have the privilege to call my own.”
You know he means well, no one is a perfect child; not even you. But you never love anything in the world they way you love your first child, and no one understands that better than he.
You smile into his shoulder, feeling oddly sentimental. “Thank you for seeing me that way.”
Your father kisses your head and wishes to say more, the overwhelming urge overriding his mind before he can change it. “By the time I knew I wanted to be with Jane, it was too late.”
You hold his hand, heart heavy with the memories of her.
“I was a fool. And I never blamed her for anything. With me having to leave her side all the time... I'd leave me, too.”
“Don't say that.” You muster. “It's not your fault.”
“Maybe, but I had control over what I could have done.”
You don't argue there.
“I could have spent more time with her. I'm not the only hero this planet has and I wasn't then.”
Thor recalls all the times he and Jane argued over Fury or another crisis that cut into their personal lives.
“Your mother and I had our differences and thought it best to keep them far away to raise you and give you the love we once shared.”
That makes you smile. Your parents ended on good terms, better than most separated couples.
“She's still my greatest friend.”
“I know.” You say.
He lets out a deep breath, turning to meet your eyes. “...Sometimes, we're given a choice; whether to continue to pursue what we want or to understand that some things are outside of our control and to let go of those things.”
“...What if I want something I may not be able to keep?”
It hurts to break the veil of fantasy and reveal what is reality, but it's his responsibility as a father to do so. No matter how badly he wants you to attain anything your heart desires.
“Is it in your control to keep this thing?”
You shake your head reluctantly.
“Will you try your hardest to do so?”
You want to, by the gods you do. It's special to you, it still means something.
“Yes.” You answer, determined.
“Then by all means, don't wait.”
You feel better already, your father tends to do that to you.
With arms around his shoulders in a warm hug and lifted spirits, you thank him. “How do you always know what to say?”
Thor mirrors your smile, his hands coming up to hold your wrists. “I try.”
MEANWHILE WITH TONY & PETER
“You screwed up, kid. Big time.” Tony's words snip the air, cutting the thick air.
Peter couldn't feel any more ashamed. “I-I know.”
“You had one job. Just the one.” The older man rubs a hand across his face in exasperation. “What made you think creating distance was the solution, anyway?”
“I...”
Why hesitate? Why walk around eggshells?
Tony waits for him to get it together and spit out, a half-amused look on his face.
“I chickened out.” Peter can't look him in the eyes as he says this embarrassing fact out loud. Who would?
Tony presses on. “You chickened out and got embarrassed so you pushed her away, you mean.”
Peter winces. “Not on purpose.”
“You still did it, kid. Own up to it.”
The guilt cuts deeper.
Peter never meant to pull away and make things awkward, he wanted the opposite.
But that night changed him, forced him to conform to his cowardice.
“Losing her is the last thing I want.” He says quietly, like admitting of a secret wearing him down.
This makes the Stark cut him some slack. He sits next to him, an almost muted grunt escaping him.
They sit together and share the silence.
“I'm getting old.” He says offhandedly. “I forget to take out the trash and I've left Morgan in the lab one too many times.”
Peter’s lost, but he isn’t not used to an ADHD speech progressing into a heartfelt one.
“But I know what you’re feeling. And… I know it’s scary but you’ll always be stuck wondering what could’ve been.”
The younger male listens, the words of his mentor providing a sense of inspiration.
“It took me years before I realized Pepper was the one, and when I did; I only waited like,” He tilts his head up in thought. “Eight years(?) before putting a ring on it. Anyway, don’t do what I did.” He points a finger into Peter’s chest. “You’re too young to be afraid and fight the chemistry you so obviously have.”
Peter’s lips form an ‘o’ shape, eyebrows raised and feeling wrongly scrutinized. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tony rolls his eyes. “Come on, kid, did you really think your puppy eyes and wagging tail went unnoticed by the rest of us?”
His eyes are blown wide now, tongue sputtering to his defense. “What—!” A disbelieving chuckle. “I-I don’t… Wait, are you saying I’m like a dog around here or something?”
“Or something, he says.” A ghost of a smirk on Tony’s lips. “It’s not a bad thing to be head over heels but have some class, man.”
Peter has so much to say but can’t form any words.
“Lost for words, I know, but don't be so lost when the time comes.” He says with a pat on his shoulder.
Peter nods, set on getting this right. “Okay.”
You love Love. She's your shadow, your lifeline. The perfect baby angel the gods could bestow their gift of life upon.
There's nothing you wouldn't do for her.
“The blue eyeshadow looks good on you, sissy.” She compliments you sweetly, with her adorable smile and kind eyes.
You tilt your head and smile. “You think so?”
She nods, folding her lips inward in concentration as she gently moves the makeup brush along your eyelids. “Mhm.”
“Thank you.” You say with closed eyes.
“You're welcome.”
She continues with her makeover, dusting your cheeks the brightest pink known, curling your hair with a pencils.
“What color lippy should I do?”
You give yourself a once over in the mirror, thinking a nice blend between pink and red would be nice.
She agrees. “I was thinking that, too.” She says with an excited gasp.
Morgan looks over then back at her own model.
“Am I pretty?” Peter bats his twinkling eyes at the young artist.
Morgan is quiet, studying her work before coming to a conclusion.
You peek an eye open, watching the two interact.
Even though shit is still kind of awkward between you and him, it feels nice babysitting together.
“More glitter.” She confirms, turning around to gather the silver sparkles.
He opens both eye and waits patiently, a slight smile on his face. He hesitantly looks over in your direction but you close your eyes and straighten your back.
You don’t see his smile grow nor do you catch the way his eyes stay on your face for as long as he does.
“Hey, eyes closed.” Speaks the younger voice, prompting Peter to quit his ogling and resume his previous position.
Love notes it all.
“I’m thirsty.” She says.
You immediately move to get something. “You want the strawberry Ramune I got you?”
Your baby sister sports a toothy grin, nodding excitedly at the mention of the drink.
You affectionately rub chin, a smile of your own spreading as you stand to get it.
Peter tilts his chin to watch you leave, causing Morgan to protest. “Hey, I’m not finished.”
He feels an urge to follow you. “I’m just gonna go get a drink, too. I’ll bring you back a soda, okay?”
Morgan hums, nodding coolly. “Coke.”
He smiles, pointing at her. “Coke, got it.”
Peter practically trips over himself catching up to you, a squeak from his feet giving away his presence.
You look up, surprised to see him. “Hey.”
He takes a breath. “Hi.”
You open the fridge to grab the drink, thinking this is the end of your conversation but he has another idea.
“I, um, have been meaning to try that drink.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”
He blinks tightly, cringing at his approach. “Uhh, yeah…? Yeah, yeah, I-I’ve heard,” He scratches his ear in search of words. “Good things.”
You nod. “This one’s the only flavor I’ve had but it’s good I like it.”
“No, yeah, I’m sure it’s great.”
The both of you wait for the other to speak, the silence growing awkward and making you antsy just as fast.
A click of your teeth. “We should head back.”
Those words, they bring back the memory of that night you brought up that same idea, and it pains him.
He watches you turn away but you don’t get too far.
“Wait.”
And you do. Your back is still turned to him.
He takes your non-responsiveness as a sign. “Can we talk?”
You turn around, not looking him in the eye to avoid raising your hopes.
Peter walks over to you, nervous at your quiet state. “Before we do anything, I want to tell you how sorry I am.” He wrings his hands. “I didn't mean for us to stop being... us.”
You peer at him, slightly relaxed now.
“It's all my fault, with the way things ended that night and the fact that I'm a coward.”
You're a little confused but you listen regardless.
“But I'm here now, manning up to admit how wrong I was for that.“ He sighs deeply through his nose. “And I'm sorry.”
You stare back at him, your expression unreadable to him and making him even more anxious.
“As far as apologies go, that wasn't... terrible.” You finally say.
He blinks, cheeks lifting faintly at your sentence.
“But I'm still going to need more than that.”
“I know.” He nods in determination. “And I'll tell you, but...”
“But what?”
He gulps. He can't make you promise your friendship, this isn't middle school. If risking your friendship is the cost of owning up to his mistakes, then that's the price he has to pay.
“Nothing.” He murmurs. “Remember the night of Mr. Stark's party?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
“I was going to say how... you make me feel.”
Oh. Oh.
You blink, feeling that hope return to you once more.
He takes a few steps towards you, finding the strength to continue when you look him in the eye. “You're really pretty when you laugh and I love it when you send me the most random TikTok's late at night.”
Your heart flutters as he talks, feeling so seen by the one person you've wanted nothing more from.
“I don't want to say I have a crush on you because that sounds really childish,”
You laugh softly at that and he chuckles too, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.
“But I do. And I'm sorry for being such an idiot about it.”
You soften up, and how could you not? This is everything you've wanted, and more.
“I could've saved a lot of trouble from your dumbass if I would've known earlier.” You tease slightly.
Peter hangs his head low in embarrassment. “I know, I know. And I'm really sorry, Y/n. I'll say it as much as you want.”
The desperation in his voice touches your heart. He really, truly wants you to know just how much of a sorry fool he is.
So you test him out. “Say it again.”
“I'm sorry.” He murmurs. “I'm truly,” He takes another step. “Very” One more. “Sorry.” Peter's eyes look between your own, the honesty in them is clear as day.
“You really are an idiot.” You say softly, watching his cheeks pull up as he snorts.
“I am.” He agrees.
Despite your playful teasing, you can't help but still feel unsatisfied. “Am I a bad friend if I said I still feel kind of bad?”
Peter immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no. You're not. I'm kind of surprised you're still my friend.”
“What?” You look at him bewildered. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“Because I just admitted to having romantic feelings for you and you don't feel the same.” He poses that as a rhetorical question but for some reason, expects an answer.
“You really are an idiot.”
You look up, startled by another voice speaking.
What stares back at you both are the eyes of your best friends and baby sister, plus one Morgan Stark.
Peter is beyond horrified. “What the f—”
“Ay! Language.” Yelena scolds as Kate does her best to cover the little kids' ears.
You can't believe this. “What are you all doing up there? And how did you two get up there?!”
“Please don't be mad.” Love .
Yelena sighs, annoyed with how fast this situation derailed. “Forget about us, just continue.” She makes a shooing motion with her hand.
Kate smiles encouragingly and gives you both a thumbs up.
You scoff with squinted eyes and Peter debates killing himself but he has to know one thing before he does so.
“So, does this mean you...” He tilts his chin downwards, raising his eyebrows in suggestion.
You look back at him, feeling your nerves on fire. “...Yes.” You quietly admit.
“What was that?” Yelena asks very obnoxiously loud. “What did she say, I can't hear them.”
Kate puts a hand to her mouth and the kids follow, all of a sudden very invested in the scene unfolding before them.
“Yes?” He asks excitedly, a toothy grin on his face.
“Yes.” You repeat, endeared by his childlike expression.
The attic erupts into cheer, claps and whistles reverberate from the slits of the vent.
You laugh at your friends and Peter allows himself to smile as well, feeling very lucky this christmas.
“Kiss her!” Morgan yells emphatically.
Love's eyes widen at her friends' bold statement, her hands covering her breathy giggles.
Kate and Yelena share a knowing look. “Kiss her. Kiss her.” They softly chant, prompting the little ones to join in.
“Kiss her. Kiss her.”
Peter's heart speeds up, not having anticipated this at all.
Your own head was spinning out but you refused to give in. This is ridiculous.
“You don't have to do this.” You assure. “We can do things at our own pace.”
“Noooo.” They whine.
You roll your eyes and are about to scold them when you feel something delicate press against your cheek.
Love and Kate gasp softly in awe as Yelena and Morgan look at each other in shock.
Unbeknownst to the small communion, a much larger group is gathered just outside and is just dying to voice their own opinions.
“Get off me.” Bucky's forehead wrinkles in disgust as Walker leans against him, trying to see.
“Sorry.” He whispers, avoiding eye contact.
Everything's muffled and in slow-motion as you turn to face him. He's pink in the cheeks but you deduce that to be the blush Morgan painted him in.
A red lipstick mark is stamped vivaciously on your cheekbone and it burns at the touch.
Time catches back up to you and everyone is more than happy.
You look up at him through your eyelashes and he smiles, hands covering his eyes as he groans at the rousing of those in the attic.
You suddenly gain the courage to grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him down to stamp your own kiss-print onto his cheek.
Alexie roars in excitement and chest-bumps Banner, the two riled up at the scene.
Bucky begrudgingly fishes out ten bucks from his wallet and places it in Walker’s palm.
“It's like watching my team make the playoffs.” Sam comments.
Thor's eyes shine in the light.
“Are you... crying?” Tony asks accusingly.
The former sniffles. “What- no.” He denies as he wipes at his eyes. “I am not.”
Tony offers a handkerchief to his dramatic friend, to which he accepts and blows into, humbly.
“You better burn that after you're done because I'm not taking it back.”
You and Peter smile at one another, like a secret only the two of you know and will cherish forever.
summary: being in and out of the hospital all the time has never been an enjoyable experience. But after meeting a certain ED doctor who you can't seem to get away from, things just might start looking up.
warnings: probably inaccurate medical procedures (i’m usually unconscious or incapacitated when they do this stuff to me) past medical gaslighting (not from Jack ofc) Javadi is ur roommate idc that it’s inaccurate, unresolved sexual tension cause i don’t write smut
a/n: abbot said “is anyone gonna take care of her?” and didn’t wait for an answer. anyways me and my oomfie @leeknowpegger came up with this in the comments of one of my posts cause we both are in desperate need of this man
──────────────────────
"I’d rather take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You’re too sweet for me.”
—Too Sweet, Hozier
──────────────────────
Being a frequent flier in lots of places gets you perks. Free coffee, rewards points, stuff like that.
Being a frequent flier in a hospital is just depressing.
You’re only about three or four months into your recent move to Pittsburgh when you get sick. And you’re one of those, special, lucky people who has the immune system of an un-vaccinated Victorian orphan, so despite having several hours worth of college assignments waiting for you, you’re currently lying on your bathroom floor, face smashed against the cool tile.
It is, genuinely, the only comfortable place in your shitty apartment. (At the moment.)
You pull the thermometer out of your mouth and slowly blink at the reading:
100.2 degrees.
Like you usually are. Just barely outside the normal range. Well, normal range can eat bricks because there’s no way having a mild fever is making you feel this bad. And you’re not being dramatic. Your throat genuinely feels like it’s on fire, and every breath is laborious and agonizing. Your face and head feel like they’re about to explode, and you’re pretty sure someone or something is stabbing you over and over again in your legs and lower back (which also feel like they’re on fire.)
Time passes in a weird way on the bathroom floor. Not really slow, but the pain and discomfort of each breath keeps it from moving too quickly.
You recognize, distantly, that you’re really sick. Really sick even for you.
There usually comes a certain point in the common cold that never fails to absolutely destroy you when it faces a fork in the road: get better or get much, much worse.
It’s fairly obvious which path your immune system decided to take.
There’s a large puddle of drool wetting your cheek because swallowing hurts too bad, and it’s not like you can breathe through your nose anyway. You don’t even have the energy to be grossed out.
You never really do.
Being sick is all about distracting yourself from how much pain you’re in until the worst of it passes, but right now you’re only getting worse. You can’t keep anything down, not even water, which means you’ve just been digesting snot for the past two hours which is bound to make you throw up (again.) No matter what kind of sickness you get, you always end up throwing up.
You measure how much time has passed by how large the puddle of drool grows. When it surpasses hand-sized, you attempt to haul yourself up, maybe take some more ibuprofen (you really shouldn’t, your liver is honestly toast at this point) but upon making an effort, you find that you can’t.
It feels like executive dysfunction. You want to get up. You need to get up. You cannot get up.
You’re so tired.
Alarm bells are ringing in your head. The same alarm bells that went off the time you had walking pneumonia and genuinely came to terms with dying in your sleep. It’s a spike of panic in your chest, a small dump of adrenaline and cortisol that’s just barely enough for you to haul yourself upright.
The action takes more energy than it feels worth, and you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest.
You kind of feel like you’re dying. And honestly, with how bad you feel, you wouldn’t mind going to sleep and not waking up.
And that isn’t a usual thought to have when you’re sick, not to level of sheer apathy and exhaustion you’re feeling now, so you think that maybe it’s time to go to the Emergency Room.
You come to that conclusion about the same time that your roommate, who you aren’t quite friends with, comes into the bathroom and promptly screams when she finds you lying on the floor. (You don’t remember lying back down.)
“Hey,” She says, kneeling down and shaking your shoulder, “I think you need to go to the hospital.”
—
On another day, maybe when you don’t actually feel like death warmed over, you might be thankful that there is at least someone to take you to the hospital, to grab your hospital bag (you’d had to tell her where it was when you first moved in, and being a medical student herself, had understood your need for it) and to already have the route to the ED memorized. Probably because she currently works there.
“You’ll be fine,” Victoria rambles as she pulls into the parking lot with practiced ease, “I’ve worked with the night crew before, they’re great. They’ll make you feel better.”
Unlikely, you think.
Maybe you look particularly awful, or maybe it’s not that busy in the ED, or maybe you get some sort of special treatment as the roommate of a medical student, but before you know it, you’re shivering in a triage bed, still drooling uselessly into a wad of paper towels Victoria had been kind enough to shove into your hands.
It’s weird being in a hospital that doesn’t know you.
Nurses come and go, asking questions you barely answer and poking and prodding and you think, probably, that you should communicate that while on the worse end of the spectrum, this is still fairly normal for you. Being this sick from the common cold.
You think Victoria is talking to whoever is working on you, and then you’re in a wheelchair, and then they run more tests you don’t remember and then you’re in a bed.
“Dr. Abbot is gonna come see you,” Victoria tells you, looking mildly uncomfortable in a chair to your left.
She's honestly been so nice for this whole thing. Like, way too nice, considering that you guys aren't really friends (yet?)
“You should go home,” You tell her, speech really only possible because of the Toradol they gave you a few minutes ago, “You have work in the morning.”
She purses her lips and looks like she’s going to argue, so you painfully swallow and speak again.
“Go. I’ll be fine here. You said it yourself.”
It takes a few minutes to get the words out, and you have to pause more than once, which probably isn’t very reassuring, but logic seems to win out because she makes sure that you have everything you need before heading out.
And then you’re alone.
You attempt to pass the time by sleeping, to no avail. Discomfort, ever the unwanted companion, makes itself incredibly known. The Toradol helps, but since it’s basically just ibuprofen in IV form, there’s only so much it can do.
You’re just about to slip into a doze when a knock on the door frame rouses you. As the current pulls back, you have exactly one thought:
Victoria could’ve warned me that Dr. Abbot is insanely fucking hot.
“Hello there,” The man says, grabbing some hand-sanitizer which only served to extenuate the rippling muscles and veins of his forearms and biceps, “I’m Dr. Abbot. Javadi told me you weren’t feeling so good?”
Okay, focus. He can definitely see the heart-rate spike on the monitor. He’s just another doctor. You’ve had hot doctors before.
(Not like him.)
You shrug with the non-chalance of a twenty-something year old who has designated hospital clothes.
“Been better.” Kind of.
“Well, let’s see if we can’t get you better.”
He asks the same series of questions that Javadi helped you answer before since your brain still feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, but Dr. Abbot is patient and listens attentively while you stumble through answering every single one.
“Any pre-existing conditions?”
“Yes and no.”
He raises an eyebrow, finger hovering over the tablet in his other hand. “That sounds like a story.”
You wince. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult.”
“You’re totally fine,” He immediately soothes before you can continue, voice rich and smooth like high-quality chocolate, “You’re actually the nicest patient we’ve had so far tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yep. No screaming, no cursing, you haven’t asked a billion and one questions or needed anyone to explain every single thing we’re doing.”
He grabs one of the spinny-stools on the other side of the room and wheels it over, sitting down with his tablet in his lap.
“Now. About those pre-existing conditions?”
You slowly and painfully explain your situation— very obviously chronically ill to pretty much everyone except the doctors you need to diagnose you.
Dr. Abbot doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t defend the doctors you’ve seen, just dutifully jots down everything you tell him.
“Any history of heart issues?”
You nod. “I went to a cardiologist last year and did a few tests. Second degree AV block, um, I think Mobitz one? And mild diastolic dysfunction.”
Another eyebrow raise. “And your cardiologist didn’t decide to move forward with any sort of treatment plans?”
“Just diet and exercise. He told me to drink more water.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Your eyes widen. “Sorry?”
He sighs, looking up from his tablet. “I apologize, that was unprofessional of me. I agree that Mobitz one is normally benign, so long as you’re asymptomatic or old. But coupled with that ‘mild’ diastolic dysfunction and the fact that, from you’ve told me, you are experiencing symptoms means it’s something that should be addressed.”
Oh.
Dr. Abbot barrels on. “I’m going to give you a referral for a cardiologist I know. She’s good.”
“Thank you so much,” You croak, barely able to believe what’s happening. "I don't know how to thank you. Um. Other than saying thank you."
He gives you a tiny grin, like this interaction is some sort of secret you're sharing. Is he not aware of the effect he has on patients? On you?
"Don't worry about it, kid. Call it duty of care."
Kid.
The way he says it doesn't make it seem condescending or pitying. It's an acknowledgment.
It makes your skin feel hot.
(That might be the mild fever.)
He breezes through the rest of the preliminary examination, questions all answered and typed into his tablet, which just leaves the physical examination.
He has gloves on, stop freaking out. And there's like, no way he isn't married, and he's literally your doctor for crying out loud. Don't make this weird.
No amount of internal begging to keep your rampant issues under control actually keeps said rampant issues under control. At the very least, you hope it isn't too noticeable when you bask in the feeling of his blissfully warm (you're already running a fever, so really, it should be uncomfortable) hand as it palpates here and there. Checking for internal bleeding, probably. Or an inflamed appendix. Or something like that.
Palpating is likely one of the least sexy touches a human being can experience, and yet, presumably due to the fact that hospitals are actually nostalgic to you and palpating is an experience you go through more often than most other people, and, you know, your issues, you genuinely manage to get a little... hot under the collar.
Like, his hands are right there. Gloved, sure, and he's not actually touching your skin, just the battered band t-shirt you've been wearing since you got sick three days ago, so again, really not hot circumstances, but his deliciously freckled and really enticingly well-muscled forearms are right fucking there.
Can Toradol make you high? Are you having an allergic reaction to the fluids? Has the common cold finally decided to snatch your soul, leaving you the shuffle miserably off this mortal coil?
He glances up at the monitor.
"Bit of a heart-rate spike there."
Oh sweet mother of Christ.
Dr. Abbot gives you a little knowing smile, which does nothing but make you want to crawl in a hole and die, and finally finishes his palpating.
"So from the look of things, you really do just have the common cold--" He winces when you groan, "I know, I know. But you do have a touch of strep-throat, which I think might be contributing to your general awfulness and malaise. Your labs came back a little all over the place, so we're going to send you home with a prescription for some broad-spectrum antibiotics. Have you ever taken Azithromycin before?"
You shake your head no.
"The coarse is only for a week, and you'll take them twice a day. As for your cold symptoms, I'd have to recommend your basic over-the-counter cold medicine and lots of rest. Sound good?"
You nod. "Thank you so much."
Another heart-rate-spiking smile. "Anytime. I hope you feel better, but come back straight back here if you feel any worse, okay?"
You agree, and offer him another thanks and pretend like you're not going to be silently wondering if this is who your roommate works with every day.
—
A few days of antibiotics later, you're staring at yourself in the mirror after a late-night everything shower, and you think you might be cursed.
"Hey Victoria?" You shout through the door to where you know she's studying in the nearby living room. "What are the normal symptoms after taking Azithromycin?"
"Uh, none?"
"Thanks!"
Motherfucker. Who the fuck is even allergic to antibiotics? They're antibiotics.
You stare at the rash-slash-hives that's developed on your arms and legs (you convinced yourself it was razor burn the first two days) and wonder how life threatening it really is. Like, what could even really happen?
You skip lotion and throw on what was supposed to be a cute-pajama set, but now the striped tank-and-shorts combo serve to be functional— no fabric touching the sensitive skin where the rash covers and for ease of access, because of course you're going to run it by Victoria before you jump to any sort of conclusions about severity and allergic reactions.
Maybe this just one of those things. Like when doctors say "Just a little pinch" or "You'll feel some pressure" and then you go on to experience a level of agony previously only experienced by mafia traitors.
Like, maybe you won't even have to go to the ER. It might be a low-level twenty-four-hour-clinic type of deal.
—
So apparently between the rash, your flu-like symptoms (you thought you were just sick) and the fact that your heart rate has been all over the place since starting the antibiotics, Victoria does, in fact, insist that you go to the ER. Again.
At least this time you're lucid enough to drive yourself.
You've only just checked in, settling in the moderately-empty waiting room, cursing your existence when a familiar face walks in the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder and a cup of coffee in his hand.
It's pure coincidence that you happen to be sitting in like, the only seat in his direct eye-line as he glances down and then comes to a full-body stop. You shove down the shiver that threatens to overwhelm your body as a sharp, calculating gaze scans up and down your body before coming to rest on the visible rash on your legs.
He blows out a breath.
"Oh, kid."
Dr. Abbot leaves in the waiting room with the promise to return shortly after he clocks in and does his... whatever it is doctors do upon clocking into work. Rounds? Or is that a general medicine thing?
Before he walks through the door, he points a finger at you and says:
"Stay."
Like the loyal dog you are, you comply. First of all, where would you even go, (do patients jump ship often??) and secondly, like there is any universe in which you are arguing with that man.
YOUR DOCTOR, you mentally correct. HE'S YOUR DOCTOR. THERE ARE LITERALLY LAWS IN PLACE FOR THIS KIND OF THING. HE'S ALSO PROBABLY MARRIED. GET A GRIP.
It doesn't take him long to return to you, and like, isn't that unusual? Don't nurses and whoever usually get patients instead of like, the doctor on shift?
He gets the door for you (which is hot, even though he literally has to since it's only opened via staff-issued key-card.)
You feel kind of bad for skipping the line, cause there's other people in the waiting room, and surely some of them have more pressing medical concerns than your little rash?
You paraphrase this to Dr. Abbot as he leads you down the hallway towards one of the triage rooms, but he just snorts.
"You questioning my triage and risk assessment skills?"
Horror fills every aspect of your being.
"No no no no no, no, of course not, I didn't mean—"
Then he starts laughing.
"Relax, kid," He huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets, eyeing you from the side, "I was just poking at you. I think it's very... sweet, that you're worried about the other patients, even if it's unnecessary. I promise, if someone else had a more pressing medical concern, they would get seen first."
You deflate a little at his reassurance, though you still feel thoroughly mortified.
"Besides," He continues, pulling back a curtain and gesturing for you to take a seat in one of the large triage chairs, "You're having a fairly serious allergic reaction. I'm guessing this started after you started taking the Azithromycin?"
You nod as you situate yourself. "Yeah, sorry. Um, it started—"
He holds up a hand, and you cut yourself off.
"Respectfully," He starts, his hands clasped in front of his mouth. "What the hell are you apologizing for? And don't say being allergic to Azirthromycin."
"Um... For having to bother you again..? Right when you get on shift?"
"Kid," That shouldn't be hot, that shouldn't make your stomach flip-flop around, "Didn't I tell you to come back if you got worse?"
"Yes."
"And did you come back because you got worse?"
"...Yes?"
"Yes, you did. It was good that you came back," He says the second sentence slow and careful, like he's trying to cement it into your brain.
"It says on your intake form that you were experiencing fast and irregular heartbeats and dizziness accompanying the rash and hives, is that correct?"
"Yes. I thought I was just having a flare-up. And I kind of thought the rash and hives was just razor burn, but I don't shave my upper-arms, so."
He nods slowly. "...Right. I know that you've had a lot of unfortunate experiences with doctors and treatment in the past, but that's not going to fly with me, understand? There's a very real chance that if you'd ignored your symptoms you would've gone into anaphylactic shock. And while I trust Javadi to recognize the symptoms of a severe allergic reaction, I also know that she spends most of the day at the hospital or at lectures, meaning that if you had gone anaphylactic, there wouldn't have been anyone home to help you."
Dr. Abbot leans down when he notices you staring at your lap, sheepish, avoiding his gaze. "I don't say any of this to scare you. I just need you to understand the seriousness of your reaction."
He snatches the tablet off the cart. "You can't minimize your health issues. They're real. If you do, doctor's won't take you seriously. And you get enough of that without contributing to it or doing it yourself."
There's a few beats of silence while he types some things on the tablet and you digest his words.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."
He flashes you a grin, a little sharp. "Like I said before. Duty of care."
—
Victoria is happy that you had such a nice experience at the PTMC —"I told you they were great!"— and both of you are happy that the new antibiotics are working the last dredges of your cold are fading.
Since you finally feel (relatively) well, you decide to go to the coffee shop Victoria has been trying to convince you to go to for ages. Apparently, she loves their coffee so much she gets it there on hospital days and lecture days, despite it being much closer to the hospital than it is to the university. Thankfully, the apartment you share is fairly close to the hospital (a win both for your constant medical issues and for your roommates chosen career) so the coffee shop is within walking distance. Honestly, living in the city like this, there aren't a lot of things that aren't within walking (or bus, depending on the weather) distance.
You arrive to the cafe roughly around the time it opens, desperate to get as many hours studying and playing catch up as you can. Most of your professors were understanding when you explained your frequent health problems and the fact that you had to go the ER twice in the span of a week, and gave you extensions, but there's always a few no-nonsense hard-asses who think a 6,000 word paper can easily be accomplished from a hospital waiting room or bed, even when you explain how incapacitated you were. And to top it all off, in your endless wisdom, you hadn't thought to ask Dr. Abbot for a doctor's note that you could've held over the aforementioned hard-asse's head's, since they have to comply when you have actual evidence of illness, signed by a medical doctor.
So yeah. Lots of work, very little time.
You order yourself a gigantic coffee with several extra shots of espresso, heart-problems be damned, because there's no way you're accomplishing the amount of assignments you have without drugs, and since you can't do drugs, medically inadvisable amounts of caffeine is the next best thing.
Sure, the caffeine kind of makes your chest feel like it's floating, but the study work-flow you manage to accomplish is unparalleled.
With your headphones on and your eyes glued to your laptop screen your neck might as well be made of stone. Which means you don't really notice the man who's approached the table in the corner you've tucked yourself into.
"Do I even want to know how many shots you had them put in there?"
You jump, launching yourself backwards and straightening, causing your skull to crack rather unpleasantly against the wall behind you. You hiss in pain at the same time that Dr. Abbot says "Shit."
"Sorry," He rumbles, stepping forward. "Can I see?"
He really didn't have to ask. He could've just told you that he was going to look and you wouldn't kick up a fuss. You'd like it actually, if he told you what to do. What's that line from Fleabag? “I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about." Yeah. Dr. Abbot could do all of that for you.
Still technically your doctor you depraved lunatic.
You must've nodded or made a noise of affirmation or something (or maybe he got tired of waiting for you to respond) but he steps forward and. Well. Okay. You had this idea, in your head about what him 'seeing' actually entails, and conceptually, you understood that it involves him touching you, without gloves or a sterile, anti-septic wall between the two of you, but actually feeling his large, warm hands (is he always this warm, then? You remember how warm they were at the hospital) cradling the back of your head, fingers rubbing along your scalp, checking for a bump or scratch or whatever is a completely different ballpark.
If you thought the palpation was difficult to endure, it doesn't hold a goddamn candle to him leaning over you, dressed in his own clothes that smell like him, hands bare (!!) and actually touching you, skin-to-skin. There's no rumpled band tee or blue latex gloves between you now.
"No bump," He affirms after a few (unrequited and one-sided) sexually charged moments. "Sorry about that."
"No, it's not your fault. Coffee makes me jumpy."
His eyes skate down to the large, mostly empty cup next to your laptop. "And I'm sure the quantity was helpful."
You smile, more than a little embarrassed. He's charted your medical history. He knows exactly how stupid it is for you specifically to be drinking a twenty-four ounce iced cold brew with five extra shots of espresso. Realistically, that is an unhinged and borderline masochistic coffee order for a normal person.
"Enlighten me," He starts, his head tilted to the side, eyes once again looking you up and down. But this time, his gaze isn't clinical. Maybe you're imagining it, making things up to feed your delusions and issues, but right now, it's almost like he's looking at you like he's... hungry.
"Why would little-miss-mild-diastolic-dysfunction be drinking a concentrated heart attack?"
Jesus H. Christ.
"—Little-miss—“
This is genuinely becoming a very serious problem. You might have to leave Pittsburgh forever. Forget your master's program. Maybe your professors will understand that you ended up with a giant, overwhelming, unhinged, and slightly insatiable and completely inappropriate crush on the ER doctor you are definitely going to be seeing a lot of.
That's it. You can never come back to this coffee shop. Or go to the ER again. Ever. You'll just die next time you have a health problem, thanks.
Oh, fuck. How long have you been just staring at him?
He's smiling at you, all teeth and a knowing sparkle in his eyes and you know what, you actually hate him, he's such an asshole--
"You know I'm willing to bet I'd see a spike if you were still hooked up to that heart monitor."
"Oh, fuck you," You laugh, your shoulders relaxing.
"She does bite back," He says, humor clear on his features. "Was wondering if I should start concussion protocol."
You roll your eyes. "If you must know, I have a mountain of homework to do and very little time to do all of it, so."
You gesture to your coffee cup. "Caffeine it is."
"You know, as your former doctor, I'd have to advise you against finishing that. Please tell me you at least ate something with it?"
"... I had a pack of fruit snacks from the bottom of my bag?"
Dr. Abbot sighs, looks heaven-ward and mutters "kids" under his breath and, in a mirror of the week prior in the hospital room, points one finger at you and says:
"Stay."
Again. You're not sure where you would go and you are very inclined to listen. Probably too inclined to listen. Whatever.
He returns after a few minutes with a large iced water, a ham-and-swiss croissant on a plate, and another coffee, this one hot.
Then, smooth and confident, he moves your laptop back to make room, and sets the plate and water in front of you.
"Eat that," He points to the croissant, then to the water. "And drink that. All of it."
Your eyes widen. "Dr. Abbot, you didn't have to--"
"Jack."
"What?"
"We're not in the hospital. And I'm not your doctor."
Your face feels so hot. It has to be on fire. Are you on fire?
“I really can’t—“
“You can,” He assures, self-confident and jeez-us there is no way you’re not thinking about that in bed tonight. Or like, maybe forever?
You want to fight him on this, maybe push back a little, because there’s absolutely no universe in which this means what you want it to mean, but—
There’s a certain temptation to give in. Plus, who knows what other downright sinful things he’d say if you kick up more of a fuss?
“Okay,” You acquiesce (it feels a lot more like melting, though.)
Dr. Abb— Jack doesn’t say anything as you dutifully sip the water and take a bite, he just—
Watches. It’s almost worst than anything that could come out of his mouth.
“There we go,” Okay, you take it back that is a million times worse, “You’d better finish that, you hear me?”
“I will. I promise.”
Jack hums, then pulls a pen out of the pocket of his hoodie and scribbles something on a napkin. He hands it to you, then says:
“Call me.”
And then he just. Turns around, and walks out the door, coffee in hand.
What. The. Fuck.
—
Two things occur after your interaction with Jack in the cafe. Well technically, don’t occur, since the first thing is that you don’t tell your roommate that her kind-of boss maybe possibly flirted with you a teeny bit and gave you his number?
There isn’t really a way to bring that up organically, so you just. Don’t.
The second thing is that after an embarrassing long time about what to even name him in your phone (you settle on Dr. Jack Abbot, keeping the Dr. part as if you’re going to forget) you do not, in fact, call him. Or text him.
So yeah, actually, two things do not occur. There is no occurring. There is a severe lack of occurring.
It’s not that you don’t want to text him (you really do) you’re just not sure how to go about doing so? Like, what does that first text even look like?
‘Hey, thanks for not medically gas-lighting me, wanna get coffee? Except you probably don’t want to get coffee with me, because you’ve seen first hand how neurotic coffee makes me. So, drinks?’
No. Not happening.
You mainly just try to focus on staying busy. Which is easy, because master’s programs are so incredibly good at making sure you never have a waking moment to yourself. It’s so great. (You’re dying.)
Weeks come and go in a blur of late nights, intense study sessions, and minor breakdowns over your workload that turn into major breakdowns about your life (you are now the not-so-proud owner of homemade nose piercing, courtesy of you, Victoria, and two bottles of rosé.)
Soo the nose piercing probably wasn’t the best idea, but now you’re kind of too scared to take it out and honestly it doesn’t even hurt. Victoria made sure that everything was clean and sterile, and honestly she did an amazing job with the placement, so no complaints there.
You just now have a semi-permanent reminder of why not to get drunk when you’re having a bit of a breakdown. At least you didn’t tell Victoria about Jack. You might’ve given yourself bangs.
As it stands, though, the whole “don’t get drunk when you’re having a breakdown” apparently didn’t stick, because a dark Wednesday evening has found you at a bar Victoria told you was great, nursing a a third or fourth beer you really don’t have the money to be drinking.
(It was the cheapest thing the bar sold, anyways.)
You stare at the ring of condensation on the counter in front of you, thinking about the un-texted and un-called contact that’s currently burning a hole in your pocket. For some reason, no matter how busy you get, you never really manage to forget that it’s there.
“Call me.”
God, you think to yourself, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, the memory of the low timber of his voice and how warm and nice it felt to be the center of his gaze; the center of his attention.
The memory makes your skin flush, so you throw back the rest of your beer so you can blame the heat on the alcohol.
It’s an unconvincing lie and a miserable action.
“Didn’t know you were old enough to drink.”
You really need to stop taking Victoria’s recommendations. Or maybe remember where she works.
You don’t bother turning to face him, because he sidles up next to you at the empty bar seat.
“I’m legal,” You mumble, the tiniest bit buzzed from the beer.
Glancing over turns out to be a mistake, because he’s wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, which means that the arm he has propped on the bar is exposed in all it’s deliciously muscled and freckled glory.
And he’s looking at you. Eyes a little narrowed, tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
He’s a bad idea, is what he is. Just like the sparkling stud in the side of your nose. Except that tiny piece of jewelry doesn’t look nearly as fucking good as he does.
You might be a little more than buzzed, if how much you want to kiss him is anything to go off.
“You stare more than you talk,” Jack says, curling his fist to prop his head up, absentmindedly waving the bartender over. “Always looks like there’s a lot going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Cause I’m not sure you mean them.”
The silence between you too isn’t really silence. Not with the dull sounds of bar chatter and shitty bar music and Jack telling the bartender to pour him a drink.
Whiskey, neat.
Figures.
“I would’ve told you that I meant them,” He tosses back the whiskey, almost all in one go. Leaves a tiny bit at the bottom of the glass, swirls it around before continuing. “If you’d called.”
More not-quite silence.
“I wanted to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You turn your body to face him, newly mirroring his position, “…I almost did. A few times.”
“Why?”
“Why didn’t I?”
“Why did you almost call?”
You swallow, nearly choking on the sudden lump in your throat. “Um.”
Very eloquent, you are. Truly, a master of poise and class.
“Need some liquid courage, sweetheart?”
“I’ve been drinking beer all night,” You say, sheepish. Sweetheart. God. It’s like he’s trying to torture you.
Is he?
“That’s not real alcohol. Come here.”
The next chain of events are much too sexually charged to happen in a cheap bar with a man who used to be your doctor.
It happens anyway.
You don’t move closer— frozen stock-still in something like apprehension or fear. But not necessarily the unpleasant kind?
The ‘Come here’ must’ve been figurative or metaphorical or something, or maybe he knows that you’re too nervous to comply (even though something in you desperately wants to) because he moves.
Jack reaches a hand up— slow enough that you could back up or push it away if you wanted to.
You don’t. You don’t want to, anyways.
His fingers ghost up your neck before settling on the edge of your jaw, his thumb pressed firm against your chin. He tilts your head back, just a slight angle, and then—
He takes his glass, the one with that little bit of whiskey in it (oh god, did he plan this? Did he leave that whiskey in there on purpose?) and raises the glass to your lips, letting the rum rest heavy against your mouth.
“You ever had whiskey before, kid?”
You shake your head no. You probably have, at some point, but relaying that would require a certain amount of effort and speaking skills— neither of which you are in current possession of.
“It’s gonna burn a little. Swallow it quick.”
What the fuck? Is—
He—
Then he tips up the glass, and you really don’t want whiskey on your face, so you part your lips enough to let the amber liquid be poured into your mouth, and he’s right, it does burn, and it kind of tastes gross.
You screw up your face at the flavor, but do your best to swallow it quickly, feeling the burn of it lick down your throat before settling like a warm, heavy weight in your stomach.
Like that was a normal thing to do, like nothing out of the ordinary just happened, he sits back onto his stool, releasing your face and resuming his position propped up on the bar.
“So. When did you almost call me?”
You don’t drink often. It’s honestly way too expensive, you despise hangovers (you have headaches and migraines all the time, why induce one?) and you don’t much care for the taste of most alcohols.
All of that to say. You are an embarrassingly easy lightweight. A cheap drunk, if you will.
“First time was two weeks ago,” You mumble, maybe not loud enough for him to hear over the shitty bar music, “Got a tea instead of a coffee to study with. Wanted to text you a picture.”
Jack has this easy, warm, but also simultaneously shit-eating expression on his face, which you take to mean that he’s aware of your incredible intolerance for alcohol.
“And what reason did you whip up in that pretty head of yours as to why you shouldn’t?”
You shrug. “Thought you wouldn’t care. Like, maybe you just want to hookup.”
“I do not want to hookup.”
“Oh.”
He motions to the bartender, who pours him more whiskey. What is it with men and whiskey?
“And the other time?”
This one you don’t really want to tell him, but with the alcohol burning away in your stomach and Jack’s equally burning stare, you give in.
“… Wanted to call you and ask you to yell at one of my professors. Cause he’s a dick and doesn’t believe in giving extensions or allowances even if you go to the hospital.”
He snorts. “And why didn’t you?”
You let your head flop onto your arm, halfway on the bar halfway off. “Didn’t wanna bother you. Seemed stupid. Plus, I managed to catch up on all my homework.”
Jack finishes the rest of his drink, then nudges your head off the bar and back onto your arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t lay on there. It’s gross.”
You whine. Your arm isn’t as comfortable as the solid bar top.
He didn’t really respond to your explanation (at least not in any normal way) so instead you decided to amuse yourself by just staring at his face. It’s a nice face.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Did you get me drunk on purpose?”
“No.”
“Then how come I’m drunk?”
“Because you’re a lightweight and whiskey has a higher alcohol content than beer.”
“Oh. Was that flirting? With the—“
You gesture vaguely to his glass and then to your lips. He just raises an eyebrow.
“Do you really need confirmation?”
“Yes.”
His face makes a funny expression. “Yes, that was flirting. The thing at the cafe was too.”
“Oh. That’s good to know. I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure?”
“Yeah,” Your neck is starting to hurt from lying there, so you prop it up with your hand. It’s only mildly more comfortable. “People don’t flirt with me very often.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe they are and you just don’t notice?”
“I would notice.”
“Kid, you just asked me if hand-feeding you my whiskey was flirting.”
You shrug, jostling your head and nearly slipping. “I don’t come to bars like, ever. Maybe that’s normal bar etiquette.”
“If you don’t come to bars, then why are you here tonight?”
You arm is too tired to keep holding your head up and your vision feels like it’s processing at a lower frame rate, like an old video game, so you put your head back on the bar top. Jack does a funny little huffing noise, and sticks the palm of his hand under your head right before it lands on the table, so you’re lying on his hand instead of the bar.
“Your hand is warm.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
His eyes catch on the piece of jewelry now adorning your nose.
“When’d you get that?”
“Last week. Got drunk with Victoria— uhm, Javadi.”
“I know what her first name is, thank you sweetheart.”
“Right. Anyways, she had some nose jewelry from her mom, and kept drinking rosé and crying about our workload, I mean, hers is like, definitely worse than mine, you know, medical student and all, but we were drunk and we thought why not? Like, she’s a doctor, she knows how to sterilize stuff and keep it clean. She chickened out and wouldn’t let me give her one. Which makes sense. Cause I didn’t give myself a nose piercing. I had her do it.”
“You been keeping it clean?"
“Mhm. Twice a day.”
“Good girl.”
Jack sighs a little, the thumb that’s pressed against your temple beginning to sweep back and forth.
“You don’t belong in a place like this, kid.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay. I think I wanna go home.”
Jack just nods, still rubbing your temple. It feels too intimate for a bar, but it feels really nice, and you don’t really want him to stop.
“Do you have a ride?”
“No. Victoria went to sleep before I left. She has an early morning. She works really hard.”
He hums. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to,” You mumble, “I know you’ve got the. The leg.”
Some sort of unreadable look flashes across his face, the kind of look you probably wouldn’t be able to decipher even if you were sober and fully in possession of all your faculties.
“I know I don’t have to. But I’d feel better if I saw you get home safely with my own two eyes.”
You huff. “This isn’t some sort of sex thing, right? Like, you get me drunk so you’ll have to take me home, and then you know where I live, and then you take me to my room and then I’m drunk so i’m easier to coerce—“
“Fuck, no. Has someone ever tried that with you?”
“No. I’ve heard about it, though.”
“Look at me,” He raises your head a little with his hand, eyes searching your face. “You ever feel uncomfortable or unsafe, in any way, call me. I don’t care what time it is or if you think you’re bothering me. You’re not. Okay?”
That’s probably too intense for… whatever thing you guys have going on. But you’re not really normal, and it just sounds so nice, having someone to call.
“Okay.”
Jack nods again. “Alright. Let’s get you home. Come on, up we go.”
He manages to get you too your feet after a minor amount of stumbling on your part —“Jesus, kid, you are a lightweight”— and keeps one stabilizing arm around your waist as he helps you home.
“Your arm feels nice.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
He doesn’t talk very much except little mutterings here and there.
“Careful— there’s a big crack there.”
“Don’t walk into that trash can.”
“Keep your eyes open.”
“Almost there.”
The walk back to your house isn’t far, like most of the places you go to since moving to Pittsburgh.
“I can get up there myself,” You say, motioning to the stairs that lie in front of you and lead up to you and Victoria’s apartment, “Thank you, though. I’ll text you in the morning. I promise.”
Jack let’s go of you and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Don’t forget to drink water before you go to bed. At least a full glass.”
You clasp your hands behind your back. “Goodnight, Jack.”
“Goodnight, kid.”
—
Two days later finds you sitting at your tiny table, phone sitting face-up, Jack’s contact open and painfully empty.
You forgot to text him in the morning, because your hangover was fucking awful (You can’t even think about whiskey without getting nauseous again) and then you had school and… well. Now it’s been two days, and you still need to text him.
Victoria walks past you, two steaming mugs of coffee in her hands. She sets one down in front of you and sits down at the table.
“Still haven’t texted him?”
Apparently, Victoria had set an alarm on her phone to check if you’d made it home okay and ended up seeing you and Jack outside the apartment. She’d had the kindness to wait until the next morning before asking:
“So, you and Dr. Abbot?”
Vomiting had saved you from answering immediately, though you did end up telling everything that had happened after you finished worshiping the porcelain altar. Talking and throwing up don’t mix.
“No,” You answer her miserably. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“I mean, it’s pretty obvious that he’s into you. Based on,” She winces, “Past evidence. I doubt a text is going to put him off. Probably?”
“I told him I’d text him yesterday morning.”
“In your defense, you spent pretty much all day yesterday dying, so. I’m sure he figured that might happen.”
You take a generous gulp of coffee. “Should I just say hi?”
“I’m really not the person you should be asking for romantic advice.”
You take her by the shoulders. “You’re all I have, Victoria.”
“Um,” She sets her mug down. “Maybe something like, hello? Say sorry for not texting?”
You hum, typing out the sentiment, then slide the phone over to her. “Does that sound awkward?”
“Again. I really do not think you want to ask me.”
You chew on your lip, drink the last of your coffee in one go, totally burn the shit out of your tongue, then send the text.
You promptly stand, your chair screeching loudly as it nearly tips over, and run over to your fridge.
“Fuck. Do we have any of that rosé left?”
“It’s seven in the morning?”
“Desperate times, Victoria.”
She leans over, glancing at your phone, then gasps. “He’s typing!”
“Already?!” You screech, running back over to the table and hunching over your phone. Sure enough, the little bubble is on your screen, little dots jumping.
“What’s he saying?”
“I don’t know! You read it!”
Victoria snatches your phone and stares at it with the same amount of focus that you’ve previously only seen when she’s an hour deep into some medical textbook.
“Oh my god.”
“What? What?!”
She shoves the phone into your face.
Don’t worry about it, kid. Thought you might be hungover. You could always make it up to me, though.
“Oh my god,” You repeat. “Is it weird that I think it’s hot when he calls me kid?”
“Like, in the grand scheme of things? No. But probably.”
You pick absentmindedly at your hangnails. “I’m gonna text him back."
You type out a quick message and hit send before you can chicken out.
How am I supposed to make it up to you?
The dots reappear for a few seconds.
Let me take you on a real date.
You slam your hands (and phone) onto the table and whip your head to Victoria.
“He wants to take me on a date!”
The apartment becomes filled with the shrill squeals and screams of hysterical joy.
“Say yes!” Victoria screams. “You have to say yes. Please. For both of our sakes.”
“Shouldn’t I play hard to get? Don’t guys like that?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t you like, already unintentionally done that? Plus, Abbot is a pretty straightforward guy.”
“You’re right.”
When are you free next?
Tomorrow. You?
I have class until 3 :/
I’ll pick you up at 5.
You squeal again, practically jumping out of your seat and running to your room, throwing yourself on your bed.
Victoria follows a few minutes after, though in a much calmer manner.
“I can’t believe this is happening. You’re going on a date with my boss—“
“Oh my god, don’t say it like that.”
“So we’re ignoring the age gap?”
“No.”
“No judgement here, I know some people think experience is quite the kink—“
“Shut up—“
She laughs, leaving your room but leaving your phone on the nightstand by your bed.
You’re actually going to do it. You’re going on a date. With Jack Abbot. He wants to go on a date with you.
You only manage to stop screaming into your pillow when the downstairs neighbors shout for you to stop.
—
5 pm the next day arrives in a whirlwind of panic, about two million outfit changes, desperate makeup application, and way too much deliberation over what panties to wear for somebody who never has sex on the first date. Or like, ever, really.
By the time Jack has arrived (bearing a bouquet of flowers. Not roses, not the cheap dyed ones, but the kind of selection that takes time to make and time to choose) you’ve worked yourself into a frenzy about possibly being both under and over-dressed at the same time.
All Jack says, however, when meet him downstairs is a sort of winded:
“You look beautiful.”
And then you’re off.
The date itself is actually relaxing and easy, like being in Jack’s presence usually is. He asks about your schoolwork and classes and actually listens when you tell him what you’re studying. He doesn’t belittle your major or make himself seem self-important, like his job and career are better than yours. He actually says that he’s impressed that you manage to balance your health and workload so well, to which you respond by pointing at your nose stud and say “Not all that well.” which makes you both laugh.
He glares at you when you even glance at the check, which kind of makes you want to punch him and kiss him senseless.
He walks you home and, when you hesitate to initiate, pushes you against your apartment door and kisses you so hard your lips are tingling when he whispers a breathless:
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
After that, Victoria bans you from speaking about anything beyond talking or hanging out that happens on your dates, because: “I still have to look him in the eye at work, and I really don’t want to hear about how good my boss’s tongue feels in your mouth.”
You can’t exactly blame her for that.
One date becomes two which becomes three, then four, and then you start staying over at his place a couple times a week because it’s way nicer than yours anyway.
One of the adjustments of your boyfriend (can you call him that? Are you guys dating? Or just going on dates?) being a doctor, and also apparently caring about you as a human being on a fundamental level, is that he actually worries about your health. Like, always.
“Put the ibuprofen bottle down, you’ve already had five today.”
“Are you tracking my medication usage?”
“Yes. Who else is going to stop you from giving yourself liver failure?”
Or:
“What’s your heart rate average been today?”
“…One-forty?”
“So do you think having an energy drink for breakfast is a good idea?”
“…”
“That’s what I thought.”
In some ways, it’s annoying. But in a lot of other, overpowering ways, it’s so… relaxing, to have someone around to think of you. You don’t really understand why or how he gets fulfillment out of helping you manage your life day-to-day, but he does, and does anything else really matter?
There are, of course, hiccups. There is the awkward moment where a two-week long flare sends you to the PTMC because you faint at school and school protocol requires they dial 911, and then even after the paramedics arrive and you explain to them that your body just hates you, your heart rate won't lower from the low 120's so then they insist they take you to the hospital, where Dr. Robby gets to meet you for the first time. And the entire day shift. It's about as awkward as it sounds.
Sometimes Jack has bad pain days too. He gets a little waspish, a little snappy, because being the man that he is (and just a man, at the end of the day) he doesn't like acknowledging that not having a leg means he has limitations. But just like he doesn't pity you or make you feel incapable when you hate your body or get sick for the thirty-millionth time, you do your best to make sure he knows that you get it, and he's still the ridiculously hot doctor you wanted to bang even with a 100.4 degree fever.
"It was actually 101.4," He likes to correct from the bathtub, steam curling around his neck and shoulders. "Your heart rate would spike every time you looked at me."
You bear through the reminders of your own awkwardness for his sake. Plus, it's hard to hate him for it, especially when he's always coming up with new and inventive ways to thank you for taking care of him (even though you insist he doesn't have to, because he's literally been taking care of you since the day you met.)
And, you know. There are worse ways to spend one's time.
