so i’m imagining jack with a retired police k9…one who’s not very old but maybe his original owner passed away/he was just a little too anxious to be in the force for too long.
jack has no intentions of getting a dog, but the second he sees a post about him on facebook, looking for a new home, jack’s done for. the dog is his by the weekend. he keeps his name, it’s probably like apollo or ranger or something.
the second that dog is home, he’s attached to jack at the hip. the people jack picked him up from had said ranger was very good at his job; strong and stubborn. didn’t care about people very much, just listened the way he was trained to do, but was a good dog. a little anxious, but with jack? he’s completely different.
ranger’s anxiety is ten times higher any time jack is gone, standing alert at the door waiting for him to come back. sometimes he whines a little, but was otherwise trained not to. he follows jack every time he gets up. even if he just laid down & got comfy. if jack is getting up & moving, so is ranger. he trails a few inches behind him everywhere he goes.
the kitchen? ranger is there by his feet, looking up at him with those big brown eyes.
the bathroom? ranger’s in the doorway.
the bedroom? ranger’s at the end of the bed, shifting on all four feet & whining a little until jack invites him up. every. single. time.
don’t even bring up jack leaving for work, that dog is completely lost. to the point jack has put up a camera in his apartment to keep an eye on him. asks his neighbors & robby to stop in & check on him.
ranger becomes 100% a baby after settling in with jack. the blanket jack got him for his dog bed is drug around the house in his mouth, toys scattered everywhere. the armchair closest to the window is his.
jack ends up nicknaming him ‘sarge’ when he’s being dominant/determined in getting what he wants. like pushing jack around with his nose at the back of his knee for food or to steer him a certain direction. he laughs and puts his hands up in defeat; “ok, ok, i’m coming. whatever you say, sarge.”
jack gets him certified as a service animal, he is a vet after all. it happens after ranger grounds him one night after a bad nightmare without even being trained or told to. jack’s ptsd is flaring; & ranger just…pushes him down gently with his nose, forcing jack to lay on his back. jack doesn’t even get a ragged word out before ranger is laying completely on-top of him, chin over jack’s shoulder & lightly bumping his cheek with his wet nose every few minutes.
jack would never admit it, but ranger has helped with his anxiety & ptsd SIGNIFICANTLY; & maybe jack has helped ranger’s a bit too.
ranger tags along on SWAT missions with jack sometimes—he can sniff out drugs & bombs, etc.—only if jack thinks he’ll be really useful, otherwise his pup is retired. he lets his boy rest, he’s worked hard in his life.
ranger is absolutely adored by the Pitt-crew, to the point people start getting more excited to see him than jack & greet him before their own attending; much to jack’s dismay. faux-hurt & dramatic performance on display every time. jack will bring ranger to see kid patients that are waiting or upstairs in a room after being admitted.
dana’s an absolute sucker for ranger, there will always be pieces of food snuck from various things in the break room pulled out her pocket when she thinks jack isn’t looking.
“that old man’s keeping you too skinny, not feeding you huh? it’s ok, we won’t tell him a thing.”
but jack catches her every time; “dana—he’s not skinny he’s fit.”
“i can see his ribs.”
“you’re supposed to be able to see dogs’ ribs.”
but secretly at home? jack will slip him a piece of steak or meat from his sandwich at lunch or whatever he’s ordered to eat that day. he also gets plenty of treats.
they start running together in the park sometimes when jack goes, getting up right before the sun & stopping for breakfast on the way back. they go hiking sometimes too; ranger in his own camp harness that matches jack’s backpack if he’s not in his SWAT one.
at night when he can’t sleep, ranger has half his body weight over him, helping him stay in the room & not float away in his thoughts. that dog is 100% his. it’s even better when you come into the picture, & ranger lays draped across both of your feet, keeping an eye on both of you to make sure everything is as it should be before he lets himself go to sleep too.
so yeah, maybe jack had no plans on getting a dog, but he’s sure as hell happy he did.
after your engagement ring causes a small injury, you seek comfort from your favorite doctor
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted
PAIRING: jack abbot x reader
WARNINGS: alluding to past sexual content, minor MINOR injury, reader being incredibly dramatic, the mildest hurt/comfort, teasing, fluff, established relationship, engaged, PDA doctor/patient roleplay
PROMPT: here!
WC: 0.8k
“Need my doctor.”
You extend the hand not occupied by your drink, doing that little opening and closing thing, an absent-minded gesture you’ve practiced without realizing, like a baby bird begging for food.
The diamond ring refracts prismatic rainbows scattering across the bar, making your little palm injury look even more silly. One tiny scratch in the grand universe of human suffering, hardly deserving of sympathy.
Jack regards it silently for a moment, that telltale flex of his jaw showing his hand, the usual internal crossroads he possesses around you: deciding if your smallest inconvenience warrants his indulgence or a scold.
Eventually, kindness wins, as it always does with him, and he wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, thumb smoothing over the veins there.
“Honey, this doesn’t exactly qualify as a medical emergency.”
“Didn’t say it did. Just said I needed my doctor,” you clarify, wrinkling your nose.
He exhales, already humoring you despite the unimpressed set of his mouth.
“I see,” he hums. “Cause of injury?”
You nod downward, the diamond sparkling prettily under the lights. “Your taste in jewelry, actually.”
Jack lifts your palm closer, squinting his eyes to examine the cut with exaggerated importance. “Ah. So the patient blames the doctor’s impeccable taste, rather than acknowledging her own lack of coordination. Interesting.”
You narrow your eyes in return, sticking your tongue out. “So mean.”
“The meanest.” The adoration dripping from his tone like honey undermines whatever faux-stern reprimand he might’ve intended.
You’re fairly sure Jack isn’t the least bit surprised by the ring’s little attack.
Honestly, it’s too large to be trusted, a glittering monument to extravagance sitting pretty on your finger. You didn’t even want to bring it on vacation, too scared of losing it.
Jack’s idea of moderation, at least when it comes to you, has always been skewed. Nothing smaller could have matched what he felt; he told you so himself once.
The downside, of course, is that a diamond that size is also designed to cause minor bodily harm.
Jack’s seen its wrath too, after all.
His cheekbone marked by a tiny red crescent when you yanked him down for an overeager kiss; his arm grazed by a bright scarlet stripe when your hand reached out for him clumsily in the pitch dark; his thigh bearing a faint, stinging mark when you were using him for balance while on your knees sucking him off.
He didn’t mind it too much then.
“Let me see,” you murmur, bringing your palm toward your face as if it’s some delicate artifact of terrible significance. Which it is.
Jack releases a breathy laugh. “I think you’ll survive, baby.”
You lift your gaze to meet his, playing wounded, eyes big and imploring through lowered lashes. “But doctor, it hurts badly. Are you sure you’re taking this seriously enough?”
He pretends to weigh it. “Would you prefer I call in a second opinion? I’m sure Dr. Robby wouldn’t mind examining you.”
You laugh. “Absolutely not.”
Jack chuckles, hooking one foot around the leg of your chair and drawing you closer until the gap between you is gone. His fingertips glide in a slow, feather-light path down your forearm, leaving goosebumps behind, before finally settling on your hips.
“Had a feeling.” His thumb strokes idly along the bone there, tracing invisible shapes as he holds your gaze. “But I suppose, if you promise to be extremely brave, I might be persuaded to kiss it better.”
You perk up at once, leaning toward him slightly, as if the idea had only just occurred to you. “I promise.”
You lift your hand up between you both, palm upturned. A solider seeking a medal for bravery.
Jack takes your wrist again, pressing his lips against the tiny mark, an apology of sorts for his earlier teasing. His eyes never leave yours, each subsequent kiss placed higher along your palm, moving up and up and up.
They finally meet your wrist, seeking out the rhythmic fluttering pulse beneath your cool skin and following it. Each kiss seems to intensify your heartbeat.
Amazing how he still has such an effect on you.
“Better?” he murmurs against you, nose nudging the sensitive skin there.
You smile softly, free hand sliding up his chest to curl into the collar of his shirt.“Almost.”
He smiles into your wrist, lips moving once again, this time to your forearm then elbow. His teeth graze ever so often, enacting shivers all over your body.
Once he’s near your ear, he whispers, “How about now?”
“Closer,” you breathe back, voice trembling in a way you try to disguise.
He sighs, shaking his head even as he dips back toward your face this time.
“Always my most demanding patient,” he mutters hoarsely, lips barely brushing yours. “Luckily, I happen to love complicated cases.”
He kisses you earnestly now, everything abandoned for something more consuming. His tongue slides forward to taste and claim.
Coworkers and bar-goers be damned.
Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer.
Eventually, he retreats back just enough to break the kiss, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His thumb slides along your lower lip, swollen from his attention, and he smiles.
“Still hurting?”
You shake your head. “I—, uh, I think you cured me.”
Jack’s grin deepens as he takes your hand and kisses your palm once last time. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!
SUMMARY: When Jack offers his company in the form of a date to celebrate your book release, he gets to understand the inner workings of your mind a bit more. Unfortunately, it does leave him with an ache he has to tend to using nothing but his own imagination.
WARNINGS: some flirting, mentions of alcohol use, swearing, sexual themes when discussing readers new book, kissing, dry humping and male masturbation LOL promise to give you real smut soon <3
A/N: this part took me longer to write than expected, probs bc i finally finished outlining the rest of the series and i was eager to write other scenes as i was drafting them but it's here!! This series can now also be found on Wattpad as well as Ao3 :)
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.8k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack doesn’t call you.
Not the following morning. Or the morning after that. In fact, for the first three days after the kiss, you’re met with nothing but radio silence.
There’s no frantic run-ins in the lobby, or accidental indecent exposures in the ED. For those initial three days, you stewed on every interaction you shared that night. Talking on the balcony, sneaking him beer, the kiss at the door that you swear still lingers on your lips now.
But more than that, your mind has burrowed a deep and dark hole under the pretense of it being a mistake. That despite him kissing you, despite him reassuring you that Bella is not who he’s interested in, he’s actually come to the realization that neither are you.
You festered on the thought for three days straight. Torn over the idea of calling or texting him yourself. But you’ve never chased a man before and you refused to start now.
In hindsight, it was one of your better decisions not to go off the handles about it. Because on the third night, Jack had texted you a flurry of apologies. There were no excuses for his silence, just a simple explanation that the ED is swamped under new temporary management and he’s only been home for a few hours at a time to nap or shower or feed his cat.
Which was a revelation in itself. Jack has a cat named Sally.
Originally, you had explained that you understood, that it was okay and he had a very important job he had responsibilities for. But Jack had seen that as an easy cop out he refused to take. Promised you that he was not avoiding you, that he did not regret a single second of that night and more convincingly, that he very much wants to do it again.
And for the past week, Jack’s been nothing but present and attentive. Not physically, the ED has still had him entirely swamped of time. But any free moment he gets, he’s texting you, or a quick call to ask about your day, to ask about Phoebe.
He sends photos of random things. A pretty sunrise when he manages to steal a moment to catch it from the ambulance bay. Drawings that children have given him that he’s cared for. And quite a few of someone you’ve learned to be John Shen who likes iced coffee more than you do.
You’ve offered him the same. Photos of your breakfast or coffee when he asks what you’re having. Snapshots of Phoebe when he checks how she’s doing. Pictures of a messy kitchen island when you admit you’re struggling with outlines for your new book.
And on the odd night, when it’s late enough for you to barely keep your eyes open and it’s calm enough for Jack to steal a moment alone, he’ll call to say goodnight. You tell him about your day with Phoebe, he tells you about his craziest patients.
Over the last week it’s become somewhat of a routine. Calls, texts, captures of one another's life if fleeting moments. It’s been nice. Exciting. You find yourself reaching for your phone more often than before, feeling butterflies twist in your stomach every time his name lights up on your screen.
So when the week passes and you wake up at 6 a.m. on the dot, your screen already has a message from Jack waiting for you, buried beneath the emails and texts and social media notifications under your pen name accounts.
You ignore them all in favor of Jack.
Happy release day, sweetheart ❤️
The nickname he’s taken upon himself to give you sets your skin molten. The first time he casually called you that was over the phone one night, and the gentle form of endearment had almost burned you from the inside out.
It’s with sleep-crusted eyes that you unlock your phone and re-read the text over and over again before sending off your reply with a grin.
Good morning and thank you!! How is your shift going?
Despite his text being sent over four hours ago—likely during a rare lull on the night shift—typing bubbles form at the bottom of the texting thread, like he’s been waiting for you to rise from your slumber.
Long. Gotta stay a couple more hours, huge collision pile up on the interstate. Stay away from Parkway West if you can help it.
What are your plans to celebrate?
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Still blinking through the groginess, you roll your back, arms bent to hold your phone above your face.
Will do! And just lunch with my parents this afternoon. Phoebe is at Tom’s tonight so probs wine, takeout and drafting for the next instalment.
You wait a few moments for a reply. Which turns into a few minutes. In true fashion, Jack’s likely been pulled away, so you force yourself to get up and start your day.
A very quick shower, a big cup of coffee and then you’re gently waking Phoebe with a tender hand to her back. Her eyes blink open with an immediate frown and she reaches to pull the covers over her head before you can stop her.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” you laugh gently. “Time to get up for school.”
“I don’t wanna,” Phoebe grumbles, shifting until her back is to you.
You stand with a sigh, let your hands rest on your hips. “Okay, guess I’ll just have banana pancakes and listen to Phil Collins on my own then.”
Her head whips round to you at that, peeking from under the covers. She holds nothing but a stony expression and you can’t help the raise of your brows at the sight.
“You wouldn’t.” She accuses with a squint.
You shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. The second you take a step away from her bed, she’s throwing the covers off her in a fit of annoyance and clambering to her feet. Her hair is a matted mess, pyjama top twisted and pant legs scrunched up to her knees.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer you anything more than an unimpressed look before walking past you and making her way to the kitchen. You watch with quiet amusement as she climbs the stool to sit at the island, takes a long gulp of the cup of water you already made her.
And when you turn to begin making the pancakes, you hear her demand Alexa to play Easy Lover with more attitude than any four-year-old should possess.
It’s when you’re sitting together and singing with mouthfuls of banana pancakes that your phone chimes with a text from Jack.
In that case, how would you feel about some company?
The music becomes a dull noise beneath the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears. You stop chewing as you read the text over and over, lungs seizing on a breath you haven’t fully expelled. You haven’t seen Jack since that night. Texting and calling has been exciting, has become a norm. But finally seeing him again?
The thought is just as thrilling as it is terrifying.
You’re not working tonight?
His response is immediate again.
Not at the hospital. But I’m more than happy to put some hours in as a ghost writer. In fact, I insist.
The grin that spreads across your face is almost maniacal. It stretches so wide that your eyes crinkle and your body buzzes. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to how smoothly he flirts, how easily your body reacts to a fucking text message from him. Your fingers move across the screen quickly.
Well, I can’t say no to that.
The bubbles appear again for no more than a few seconds before they're replaced with another text.
There we go. It’s a date. I’ll see you at 7
You choke on a noise that sounds similar to a squeal and you can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. You don’t trust yourself to type a reply, so you react to his message with a heart instead.
“Who are you texting?” Phoebe’s tone is accusational and a very sobering sound that snaps you from your little bubble.
You flinch, unintentionally and quickly place your phone screen down on the island, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
“No one!”
She watches you with a conspiratorial look, and for a moment you forget that she’s the kid and you’re the parent. Her suspicion morphs into a shit-eating grin.
“Is it Jack?”
You squint at her. “Shut up and eat your breakfast before we’re late.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Dana’s been watching Jack like a hawk for the past thirty minutes.
A lightness in his expression that increases every time he checks his phone. An ease to his movements, a fluidity in his steps despite how long he’s been on his feet.
She keeps a curious eye on him as he strides from trauma room to trauma room, notices the upward tilt that’s been pinching at his mouth since her shift started an hour ago.
She’s not the only one.
Shen stands beside her, slurping at the very last remnants of his vanilla frappe. The sound grates on the charge nurse’s ears but she lets it slide in favor of gossip.
“What’s he so chipper about?” She mutters to John, eyes still tracking Abbot’s movements.
He uncurls his lips from the straw, observes his fellow attending for only a moment before shrugging and bringing the straw back to his mouth. “Maybe he finally got laid.”
Dana smirks to herself at that, shakes her head in something like amusement and fondness. It’s ten minutes later when Jack approaches the central hub and drums his palms on the desk like he’s waiting to find something else to do.
“Your shift ended an hour ago, Diva.” Dana doesn’t lift her gaze from the tablet in her hand as she speaks, but she doesn’t need to for her to know the way Jack’s looking at her.
He huffs out a grumble, but it sounds more fond than annoyed. “Not you, too.”
She shrugs, finally lets her eyes land on him. “What can I say? It suits you.”
There’s a playful roll of his eyes when she grins.
And Dana just can’t help herself. She juts her chin to him just slightly, holds the tablet to her chest as she crosses her arms around it. “What are you so smiley about, anyway? Mania kicked in already?”
Jack considers her for a moment, a subtle tick in his cheek, an involuntary clench in his jaw. With a sigh, he leans his forearms on the high part of the desk, chews on his lower lip.
“I have a date tonight.” He keeps his voice low enough, the words only meant for a dear friend's ears. But the walls listen in PTMC. When people brush past, the breeze carries the whispers of secrets not meant to be shared.
It’s Joy that this secret reaches first. Before Dana can even react.
She stops still beside the desk, brows raising above the rim of her glasses. “Old people still date?”
Jack’s slightly too offended to consider that his quiet admittance will now become floor gossip. “I’m not that old.”
It’s Santos it reaches next.
Eyes wide, jaw slack. And a shriek of astonishment and accusation. “Oh my God! Is it your neighbor? It’s totally the pelvic chick, right?”
His head whirls to the foghorn of her voice, brows pinched tight. Partly at her volume, the other part at the mention of you—of how she refers to you.
“The pelvic chick?” He screws his face up, less than pleased.
Joy shivers at the memory of it, the slip of tongue her attending gave still haunts her at random moments.
“I’m sorry, how do you even know about that?” A familiar presence brushes past his arm, the scent of jasmine and linen.
“People talk.” Al-Hashimi murmurs the words softly, amusement dripping at the edges of it but she doesn’t outright poke fun at him.
It takes Jack a moment to comprehend her mutter, to cast his mind back to the night you came into the ER, the night he accidentally got an eyeful of you in the one way he never imagined he would.
Joy isn’t the type to gossip. Ogilvie won’t want anyone to know about his scolding. So that only leaves…
Fucking McKay.
“Hey,” Dana calls him softly, “I think it’s great. About time you got back on the horse. Robby thinks so, too.”
Jack cocks a brow as the others disperse to their patients. “You talked to him?”
Dana hums, leans closer to keep the conversation private. “Yeah, he called me the other night. He sounds… not like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”
Jack laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. You know Robby. The novelty of things wears off pretty fast for him.”
She listens, of course. And as much as Dana loves and respects Robby, there’s only so much talk of him that she can handle before she’s considering sabbatical for herself. So she turns to lean against the desk, angles her body to face Jack’s.
There’s an easy smile on her face. One that’s more than a smirk but less than a grin. A softness to her eyes, a genuine curiosity.
“What’s she like?”
He knows who she’s talking about immediately.
Jack lets out a sigh, one that’s a little shaky, struggles to fight the curl in his mouth. If Jack’s honest, he could sit for hours and talk about you. Your interests, your personality… but a selfish part of him what’s to keep that to himself. “She’s…gorgeous, obviously. Smart, kind, very funny. Comfortable, you know? Hard not to like.”
Dana nods, catches the fondness in his tone, the reverent look that seems to clear his eyes. She knows there’s more he wants to say, knows he’s also already shared more than he’s truly willing to.
“And her daughter?” The question is asked softly, carefully.
Jack doesn’t tear his gaze from her. Defensive, in a way. But he knows there’s no need to be. There’s no threat or judgement in Dana’s tone, no warning. Just quiet curiosity. A silent question that seeps into what she speaks.
“I know what I’m signing myself up for.”
Her smile stretches just a little bit wider at his answer. And with one hand wrapped around the tablet, she reaches to pat Jack on his shoulder as she walks past him. “I’m rooting for you, Abbot.”
He exhales slowly when she leaves.
“Yeah, me too.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Outlining scenes and dialogue is usually your favorite part of drafting.
Little moments that make no sense without context, but integral to the story nonetheless. Usually, you’re riddled with moments and conversations; ideas that come to you during the most mundane of tasks.
Showering, eating, cleaning, dreaming.
But for the past week, your thoughts have been far too occupied with something else. Someone else. Jack seems to hide in every crevice of your mind. His texts, his calls, the taste of his lips on yours. You don’t remember the last time you felt so wrapped up in another person, and now, it’s starting to affect your work.
The blank screen stares blankly at you, barely a few incoherent bullet points at the top of the document. When your inspiration dries up like this, it makes you feel like a fraud.
You should be taking every free moment you have to get your plan sorted, to understand the trajectory of the final instalment to the trilogy. Instead, you’re clasping at straws and trying not to freak out when your phone chimes with a text.
It’s almost seven and it’s not Jack, so the relief is instant that he isn’t cancelling at the last minute.
Your moms contact lights up the screen. A simple two sentence text.
Hope the date goes well! Told Tom you’re busy and to text me if Phoebe needs to go home ;)
The innuendo of her text has a blush forming at the apples of your cheeks. She was like this at lunch, too. Suggestive smirks when you finally admitted you and Jack have been texting, a fat grin when you very quickly muttered out that he kissed you.
Your dad, on the other hand… not so excited about the revelation.
For the entire lunch, he had made his viewpoint clear. That he likes Jack, thinks he’s a nice and noble man. That he respects what he does and has done, but that his age is a factor that you need to consider.
Your mom had scolded him for it, but you understood his reasoning. The insecurities he held himself for his age that he doesn’t verbalize outloud. All you could do was remind him of two simple things. You’re a big girl and it’s only a date. Not marriage.
You shoot off a quick reply of: Stop winking at me, it’s weird (but thank you), and drop your phone to the marble counter with a thud at the same time your doorbell rings.
Forcing yourself to gulp down a breath, your hands involuntarily smooth your hips as you stand. Your mind is racing, heart pounding in your chest at the thought of Jack standing on the other side of the door.
The reminder that you’ve texted and called and FaceTime’d more times than you can count over the past week does nothing to quell the nerves. Because seeing him in person is a lot different than through a screen.
When you open the door, your breath becomes lodged in your lungs and Jack drinks you in with an intensity you’ve never quite seen before.
His eyes linger on yours, fall down to your lips where they hover, before tracing the outline of your body. Cataloguing the brown halterneck top, the long frilly skirt, your bare feet and painted toenails.
You do the same. Drink in the salt and pepper curls, the tick in the corner of his mouth, the white knitted shirt with the two top buttons undone. You catch sight of his silver chain as you go down, the dark wash jeans and boots tucked beneath.
His hands, still ringless. One holds a bottle of white wine, the other holds a beautiful bouquet of summer blooms that oddly match the color pallet of your latest book.
You tilt your head at him, purse your lips in a futile attempt to hide your smile. Jack doesn’t offer the same restrains and grins, catches his bottom lip between his teeth before it can spread too wide.
“Wine and flowers, huh?” You tease in greeting.
He glances down at them both before returning that molten gaze back to you. “The wine—and dinner—are to congratulate, the flowers are to apologize, again, for my radio silence.”
You huff a laugh at that, open the door wider and step aside to allow him into your apartment. “I told you already, it’s fine.”
Jack moves close, lets you close the door and when you turn, he’s almost chest to chest with you. Your breathing stutters at the unexpected proximity, but he grins down at you, the wine and flowers the only thing separating your bodies.
“Not fine. Don’t argue with me on it.” His tone is light when he leans closer, words drifting into a sweet whisper.
Jack dips his head lower, lets his lips brush against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, bracing yourself for the touch of his mouth meeting yours. But it doesn’t. Your breaths mingle until he moves, stubble tickling gentle at the corner of your lips until he kisses your cheek.
He doesn't pull away at first, like he’s considering giving in to temptation, but his self restraint is stronger than you’d like it to be. When he finally moves, it’s not far. Still remains close like he’s missed your presence more than he’s let on.
“Pheebs at her dads?” he asks quietly, eyes still on you.
You’re a little mesmerized, nodding blankly. His words register, just barely. It feels like his eyes are sucking you into a warm abyss that you’ll never be able to claw your way out from.
The idea doesn’t sound just metaphorical, either.
You swallow around a dry throat. “Uh, yeah. Until she decides she wants to come home. But, my mom told him to call her.”
Jack hums, a small smile kissing the edges of his mouth. There’s a slight movement between you, the paper wrapping the flowers crinkly as he shakes them slightly.
“Do you have a vase for these?”
Your tongue wets your lips and you nod, guiding him into the kitchen and it’s completely innocent how your hips sway a little more than they usually would.
Jack watches, of course. He’s only a man. But he’s gentlemanly enough to avert his gaze when you bend over to look inside a cabinet. Busies himself with gently tearing the paper around the bouquet.
“I asked the florist to cut the stems, they’re good to just go in some water.”
It almost makes you pause.
The florist.
As in, he went inside a flower shop and asked for flowers. Not some cheap, premade bunch from a supermarket. You don’t think anyone but your parents has ever gotten you flowers from a florist.
You fill the vase with water, thankful your back is to him to hide your grin, give yourself some time to get your stupid butterflies and ovulation under control.
When you turn back to him, Jack’s already approaching you, gently handling the delicate flora by the stems and he eases them into the narrow neck of the glass. Watches you admire them for a moment, bring them to your nose to smell the freshness of them.
The heat on your cheeks makes him nervous. Makes him feel young again.
His wife was the last person he dated. Hasn’t cared about anyone enough to want to pursue something more than the odd one night stand. But you. You make his heart rate pick up just enough for him to notice a change, make his palms a little sweaty when he makes a joke in case you don’t laugh.
But you’re grinning at the flowers like it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever received. And while it’s an incredibly beautiful sight, it’s also slightly painful.
Are you not used to receiving flowers from guys you’re dating?
No, you’re not. No one's ever really cared enough to do the small things.
“They’re beautiful, Jack. Thank you.”
His smile is warm when you look at him a little sheepishly and Jack realizes that you’re just as nervous about this as he is. He knows he hasn’t dated since his wife, but he wonders if you’ve dated since Tom. If you've cared enough about anyone else since you lost your fiance.
The answer is a resounding no.
He doesn’t tell you that you’re the first woman he’s brought flowers for since his wife. Instead, he keeps the smile on his face and averts his gaze to the mess covering the kitchen island. His brows raise. Books everywhere, notepads and highlighters, a half empty glass of wine and a laptop screen with an almost blank document.
Amusement shines in his eyes. “Hows it going?”
A groan escapes you immediately and the nerves begin to dwindle. You reach for a glass, take the bottle from Jack’s hands mindlessly and pour him a drink as you sit on the stool.
“It’s like I’m back in writing school and can’t think of a better word for ‘said’.”
He chuckles at that, takes the glass and sits himself on the stool beside you. His eyes skim the laptop screen.
Kade and mary
cheese
Lost keys???????
“You into grave diggers, baby?”
Someone has to put their finger in the dogs ass
“Necromancer? Aint that someone who fucks corpses?”
– “no thats a necrophiliac”
Dez rimjob scene (at circus)
Lubed up chorizo slap scene
Marys mom is a cougar
Asshole character UNNAMED with toms personality
Ground beef in the trifle
Strip club or orgie scene — undecided
Jack’s eyes blink profusely as he reads over the bullet point outline for your third book. It causes a tightness in his jeans at the thought of you imagining and writing some of these scenes. Reminded of the fact that you’ve told him about your very vivid imagination.
“This how you outline all your books?” he asks with a rough voice.
It's then that your eyes widen with realisation at what he's read. You laugh nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck as you sit beside him.
“It normally goes something like this. Not usually as brief, though. I’ve hit a bit of a block.”
Jack hums, takes a sip of his wine before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Well, what if we order some food? See if a bit of energy gets that pretty head of yours conjuring something up, hm?”
You don’t know how he does it—makes his flirting seem more playful than blatant. It’s enough to make your cheeks burn, to form a curl at your lips that you have no control over. So you nod, tell him what Chinese food you like and pretend to busy yourself looking at your paper notes while he raises the phone to his ear and smoothly lists off the order.
As excitable and nervous as you are, Jack’s presence is also strangely…comforting. He makes your home feel warmer, safer. His strong stance relaxing in your space, not taking it up.
For the forty minutes you’re waiting for dinner, you get through a bottle of wine between you. You try to ask Jack about work, which is something he’s very quick to brush off.
“That hospital is the reason I haven’t seen you. Believe me when I tell you it's the last thing I want to talk about tonight. I want to hear about you, and Pheebs.”
He makes your head spin, how open and genuine he is with the statement. You tell him all the mundane things you’ve gotten up to over the past week. And even though he already knows from the brief phone calls or facetime’s, Jack listens all the same.
Intently, carefully. Like every word you speak is sacred. Like he genuinely cares.
He laughs when you tell him some of the things Phoebe has said, his posture stiffens when you recall the two times Tom let her down in the past seven days, and he stares at you in pure wonder when you admit your book is already viral within the first 24 hours of release.
When the food comes, Jack pays in cash; gives you a look that suggests he’d be incredibly offended if you even offered to pay half, so you don’t.
You’re both well on your way to tipsy when you get half way through the second bottle of wine, haphazardly shoving your notebooks to the side to make room for dinner.
Your stools are closer together now, takeout boxes littering the kitchen island, your laptop screen still blinking an almost blank page. There are no first-date etiquettes as you both eat. Hunger and comfortability ruling over the nerves and self-conscious need to eat slowly and politely.
Maybe it’s the wine that has you swiping soy sauce from the corner of Jack’s mouth. Maybe that’s what loosens his inhibitions enough to hand feed you a dumpling you admit you’ve never tried before.
And perhaps it’s the sheer familiarity in one another’s souls that has you snorting loudly into your glass of wine. That has Jack gripping onto the edge of the kitchen island to save him from falling backward off the stool.
Your home is used to the sounds of laughter. It’s used to shrills and shrieks bouncing off the walls. But Jack's hearty chuckles don’t do that. His laughter curls into the crevices of the apartment. They don’t linger there, they make home. Seep into the wood and brick and metal until it’s wedged into the very foundations of the building.
It takes you both an hour to finish your meals. Too caught up in laughter and side-tracked conversations that take your attention away from the task. It’s cold when you finish the last bite, and you push the container away in favor of your half-full glass instead.
Jack mirrors your movement, shuffles his stool closer to yours. But instead of reaching for his beer, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a pair of glasses instead.
“Alright, got my readers. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Your lashes flutter at the endearing term he’s given them, at the way he gently opens the arm and hooks them over his ears. Your attraction to him grows tenfold at such a simple act, the smallest of adjustments.
Yet you can’t help the ache that forms between your thighs, can’t stop your teeth from pinching your bottom lip. There’s something far too enticing about the black frames that sit on the slope of his nose. The stubbled jaw that clenches, the bob of his throat when he swallows.
And those fucking dangeous lips that twitch when he notices you staring.
For hours, there’s a tightness to both of you as you struggle to write and Jack struggles to help. He was right about the food for energy but right now, Jack’s presence is nothing but a massive fucking hindarance to your writing abilities.
Not your imagination, no. Your overactive mind is doing well with conjuring up explicit scenarios in your head of him fucking you raw and hungry with those fucking glasses on. Thoughts of your ankles resting on his broad shoulders, his beefy arms wrapping around your body, that short stubble burning your inner thighs.
Jack can feel your eyes on the side of his face as he reads over the next page on the doc. He’s had years of training to observe from his peripheral and not lose focus on a task, and yet, he’s not really taking in a single word he’s reading.
That is until he skims over a paragraph that does capture his attention.
Kade’s breath is hot against Mary’s inner thigh, and despite the warmth, it awakens goosebumps across her flush skin. His hand reaches for her first, allows himself to touch her silkiness, to inch closer to her cunt. With his other hand, Kade brings the vibrator between her legs, teases the pulsing toy against her inner thigh—right where his touch started.
Jack swallows thickly, hips shifting briefly in his seat on the stool. The movement breaks you from your little trance and your eyes flick quickly to the screen, realizing the passage he’s stumbled across.
When your eyes flick back to Jack, he’s turning to you slowly with a playful squint, sinful mouth kicking up in a lopsided smirk.
The look does something carnal to you. You can’t tear your eyes away from his lips, can’t calm the hammering of your heart against your ribs. If you look away from his mouth for a moment, you’ll notice when his flicks down to yours. How they linger for far too long.
Your mouth parts just enough for your tongue to wet your bottom lip, and the movement is enough to make Jack give in. The small distance between you is closed when he takes his readers off with one hand and caresses your jaw with the other.
Jack’s lips are on yours in an instant, soft and sweet and careful. So careful that he’s allowing you to lead the pace and tempo of it.
You feel your body relax into the taste of him, your shoulders drooping as he swallows a sigh that slips from you. A small noise follows, one of need and contempt. Jack's hand reaches between your parted thighs, his fingers hooking beneath the seat of the stool. He pulls you toward him, the scrape of metal legs on hardwood echoing but you pay no attention.
Your knees bump as you adjust them to fit between his widely parted thighs. Your hands find his face, sneaking to the back of his neck to snake your fingers through his curls. Jack kisses you harder, his tongue massaging at your bottom lip in a silent request for access.
Something that you give him quickly, swirling your own against his.
He tastes like wine, food and the promise of something you’re not allowing yourself to think too much into. Jack’s hands remain on your face, fingers hidden beneath your hair, palms cupping at your jaw. He lets out soft pants of breath, quiet moans that feed the slick that’s forming between your thighs.
It’s intoxicating, how Jack kisses. Like every emotion he doesn’t verbalize is poured into it. His hands begin to roam in a respectfully needy way. One moves to tangle into your hair, the other slides down the warm skin of your neck, to the bare flesh on your back.
His palm splays against the skin, tender in every aspect you can imagine. Neither of you come up for air, neither of you want to pull away.
You’re shifting to the edge of your stool when Jack’s hands abandon their previous positions to land on your waist. The feverishness of his touch makes your head spin. Makes you slip from your stool so you’re standing between his parted thighs. Makes you tug at his curls as he tips his head up to meet your kiss.
When you nibble on his lower lip, Jack loses his restraint. His hands slide back to your waist, down to your hips until they’re cupping the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to climb into his lap. You don’t know how he makes the movement so fluid, how you don’t tumble into him, how he doesn’t lose his balance.
Your lips stay connected in a searing kiss throughout the movements, only breaking when Jack begins to migrate his lips to your jaw, licking and biting and kissing. Further down, until he’s at your neck and your hips are moving down on his crotch on their own accord.
Your blood burns, so does his. And Jack has never felt so young and alive. So electric and feverish for another touch.
Your head lulls back, eyes fluttering closed as your chest heaves with every breath. His salt and pepper stubble scratches deliciously at your skin. You can’t help but grind harder into him, the thought of that sensation further down almost enough to make your brain short circuit.
You feel the wetness of his tongue as Jack licks a stripe up the column of your throat. One hand leaves your hips to rest on the back of your head, to tangle in your hair and angle your face back to his as his lips take yours with even more need and hunger.
Your head is spinning. Your hips are erratic. If you don’t stop now, you won’t stop at all.
“Jack.” Your voice is nothing more than a whimper into his mouth, but you don’t stop kissing him.
Jack hums, grunts, moans—it’s a noise you can’t place but one you can’t get enough of. You whimper his name again, breathless and shaky as you detach your mouth and rest your forehead against his.
He’s panting, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
“I don’t—” you swallow in a heavy breath. “I don’t want to rush this.”
He nods, doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more. Jack’s hands caress your jaw, his thumbs stroking calming patterns across your cheeks as he catches his breath, reins himself in.
“I know.” His voice is guttural enough that you almost consider fucking off your previous statement. “I don’t want to rush this either.”
For a few moments, you remain in the same position. Eyes closed and foreheads pressed. Jack's hands keep their hold on your face, his thumbs continuing their soothing ministries across your plump skin.
He’s the one to pull away first. Moving his head back just enough so that when he opens his eyes, he can look at you. Big, heavy eyes. Swollen lips. Flushed skin.
His jaw clenches at the sight, a heavy breath audible through his nose. But Jack looks no better. His curls are mussed from your fingers tangling into them, his lips are plumper and a slight smear of your lipgloss tints them pinker.
And his eyes. It sends a shudder through you at the sight of them. Pupils almost blown, hooded and focused on yours.
His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he’s moving closer again to brush his nose against yours. Your breath mingles, lips ghosting. It’s like he’s at war with himself. That if he rewards himself with even one more taste of you, he won’t be able to stop.
“I should go.” It’s with pure agony that Jack utters the words.
His voice is both rough and whiny. Like it’s the last thing he really wants to do. But you want to take it slow, so does he. You’re both well aware that if Jack stays for a moment longer, the night will end the way you want it to. Just not in the way either of you need it.
Not like this. Not on the first date. Not with Phoebe in the picture. Not with his beloved wife’s memory to consider.
You nod, clearing your throat as your forehead bumps against his.
“Yeah, okay.” You’re breathless when you agree, voice slightly pained at the notion. But you both know it’s for the best.
You half expect him to kiss you, at least once more. But he doesn’t.
Jack pulls away to avert his gaze, silently helps you clean up the takeout boxes. You don’t tell him he doesn’t need to, don’t tell him you know he’s trying to prolong actually leaving.
You bask in the final few moments together before walking him to the door. He hovers over the threshold, stopping short in the hall. Turns to you as you lean against the doorframe and it’s a mirror image of the night a week ago. At Phoebe's birthday. When he kissed you. Then went silent for three days.
Jack seems to share the same sentiment on the memory because a breathless chuckle escapes him as he moves closer like he did before, as he presses his lips against yours slowly. Savoring the taste of you, the feel of your plump lips against his.
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
You can’t help the sarcastic look on your face as he utters those same words. His grin morphs into something wider, eyes rolling at your silent tease.
“I promise. No more radio silence after a kiss from me ever again.”
You hum with playfully squinted eyes. Jack mirrors your expression, leans in to kiss you again and you melt into him. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. Of him.
“Okay. I believe you.”
He hums against your lips at your words until he finally tears himself away from you. Jack licks across his bottom lip, tugs it between his teeth. The sight almost cripples you.
“Get some sleep.”
You nod once, fighting off your grin. “Goodnight, Jack.”
His eyes soften, smirk dwindles into a soft, secret smile. Until he winks at you, leans in to steal yet another kiss that rips a laugh from your throat.
When he pulls away again, Jack’s got a boyish beam across his face. “Night, gorgeous.”
You’re left breathless once again as Jack retreats down the hall. You don’t watch him go, don’t trust that you won’t chase after him and drag him back into your apartment. So you close the door, back pressed against it as you squeeze your eyes shut in pure excitement, gnawing painfully on your bottom lip, but it’s no use hiding your grin.
You carry the smile through your bedtime routine. You miss a few steps, too caught up in your head; replaying every word and kiss and look. Thirty minutes later, when you finally get into bed, your phone is still lighting up with notifications from fans.
And in between them, lies a message from Jack.
You don’t mean for the somersaults in your stomach to start kicking. But you do mean to ignore every notification but his as you unlock your phone.
Jack: Not sure on the dating etiquette these days when it comes to waiting to ask you to go out with me again… but are you free to get breakfast tomorrow morning?
You: miss me already dr. abbot?
Jack: Yes.
Jack: Breakfast tomorrow morning? My treat.
You: dinner was your treat, isn’t the next one meant to be my turn?
Jack: I don’t know what guys you’ve dated in the past. But, fuck no.
Jack: I’m asking you out. I’m paying.
You: hmm
You: i’ll go to breakfast with you. on one condition
Jack: What’s your condition, sweetheart?
You: a pic of sally
Jack: [sent an attachment]
Your grin drops at the photo. A fucking selfie. Jack lays in bed, propped up against his pillow with a gray t-shirt clinging to his skin. Sally lays curled beside him, but she’s the least of your concern right now.
You stare at his arms, the thick muscle and bulging veins as he angles the camera up above him. Crisp white sheets, his other arm curled around the cat with his hand buried into her fur.
You swallow, let your eyes move along to the expanse of his throat and you find yourself regretting not kissing him there like he kissed you. Further up, his mouth quirked at the side in a smile, salt and pepper stubble somehow catching the light.
But it’s when you look at his eyes that you forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s got his fucking readers on, his eyes squinting playfully at the camera through the lenses. Even through a fucking screen his stare is intense. Bores through to your soul and winds it around his fingers.
You feel warmer when you take a moment to realize just how intimate the photo really is. How vulnerable and honest.
Maybe that’s what makes you send a photo back.
You: [sent an attachment]
Jack opens the message and freezes.
A photo. Of you. In your bed.
You’re almost mirroring the one he sent you. But there’s no cat and you aren’t wearing any readers.
No, you’re laying instead of sitting up. Your hair is an unruly mess across the pillows. Your eyes are tired but glistening with mirth. Your smile is crooked, almost shy, and your cheeks are flushed. Jack’s blood roars in his veins.
He lets his eyes dip further down the photo. You’re also not wearing a gray t-shirt like him.
Instead, you’re wearing something tight but flimsy. Spaghetti straps slipping off your pretty little shoulders. The swell of your breasts is far too prominent when you’re lying on your back, and Jack swallows thickly when he notices the pebbling of your nipples.
Jack: You are so beautiful.
You ‘heart’ reacted to a message!
You: goodnight jack, see u in the morning <3
Jack: Goodnight, gorgeous x
He watches the little read receipt appear beneath his message, but no bubbles form at the bottom of the screen. Jack’s eyes flicker back to the photo, finding his thumb clicking on the screen to enlarge the sight of you.
His checkered pyjama pants feel tight against his crotch. He’s not stupid. He feels the blood rush south, feels the discomfort and ache of a neglected erection. Jack sighs shakily, stares at his screen again. He should not be looking. It’s not what you sent him the fucking photo for.
But despite how much he tries, he can’t tear his gaze away. Your soft skin, your supple breasts, your pouty lips.
Sally moves from her position curled against him, blinks beady eyes in his direction before padding her way to the foot of the bed and jumping off to leave the room.
Jack swallows, closes his eyes and practices those military breathing techniques for exactly thirty-four seconds before his eyes are peeling open again.
A soft groan sounds at the back of his throat. It’s an inner battle with his mind. A fight of what he wants and that he shouldn’t.
But he grows harder and more frustrated as the seconds pass and he doesn't have a hand around himself. His eyes squeeze shut, head tilts back against the headboard. Like a silent prayer, a beg for forgiveness.
Then, he’s giving in. Reaching into his nightstand drawer for a bottle of lotion. Squeezes a pump into his hand, drops the phone on his stomach and reaches into the hem of his pyjama pants.
Jack shifts on top of the mattress, lifts his hips to pull the pants down mid-thigh and releases himself with a sigh. One hand reaches for the phone, the other cupping the lotion. He brings his fingertips close to his wrist, skillfully warming the cream until his entire palm is covered with it.
It’s hesitant when he wraps his fist around his cock, a whimper slipping from his lips as he stares at the photo of you on his screen. Your neck, your tits, your lips…
“Oh, fuck.” The whimper escapes him breathlessly.
One pump. Two. Twisting his wrist and tightening his grip. Jack’s chest is heaving with barely contained restraint, eyes locked on the pebbled nubs beneath your shirt.
He lets his mind wander as his pace quickens, lets him imagine himself in bed with you. How he would kiss and lick up your neck again, how your tongue would taste on his.
How Jack wound tug your shirt down for your tits to spill out. How he’d wrap his lips around your nipples, bite them gently, suck them.
“Fuck, baby. So good.” His voice is wrecked, nothing but a guttural whine as he moans.
Jack thinks of how soft they’d be. How he’d knead your breasts in his palms, pinch your left nipple while he sucks on your right. Thinks about how your fingers would tug on his curls, how your hips would buck.
A broken, desperate sound escapes him when he thinks about dipping his hand down your shorts. The slick he’d find, the heat.
The thought of sinking two fingers deep into your pretty little cunt has Jack’s hips spluttering. His fist grows tighter, moves faster. His lungs are struggling to swallow down a real breath.
And he’s coming, embarrassingly fast and needy. Hot white ribbons of arousal that spurt from him desperately, coating his hand.
“Ah, fuck. Baby, oh fuck!”
Jack’s head is thrown back against the headboard, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as his release hits him like a freight train.
Thoughts of burying his face between your thighs. The taste of you staining his tongue for days.
And when he finally comes down from his high with a sticky hand and burning lungs, Jack can’t help but fucking laugh at himself.
He’s so, so fucked.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
OKAY I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST LOL BUT HERE IT IS, i know jack's lil scene was brief but i promise i have so many smut plans to make up for it!!!! also i wanted the focus to be on the date rather than him jerking it off for 1k words LOL next chapter shit hits the fan and we get into some real juicy stuff HAHAHA
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
After reading your pope and jack fic, I was wondering if you could do one where reader is a student doctor at the Pitt but is married to Pope who in this case could be like..jack’s nephew or smth..and he just gives off such Doberman energy when he comes to pick her up at the end of her shift oh and and you best believe he kind of just stares Robby down cos he knows how mean he can be to his wife in shifts.
Also I think Dana would be such a nice person to pope.
A good husband protects without biting
tags: andrew cody x fem!doctor reader, jack abbot x cousin-in-law!reader, jack and andrew are cousins, doberman energy andrew, guard dog andrew, andrew cody doesn't mess around, mean robby, protective jack, the pitt doesn't think andrew exists, 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you @mei-vis for requesting! I hope I did this ask justice! I chose for jack and andrew to be cousins instead of an uncle/nephew since I believe they look a bit too similar for that familial relationship!, like always if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment here! please enjoy!
word count: 2.6k words
The end of your shift couldn’t come soon enough.
In the span of twelve hours, you’d been doused in bodily fluids twice, hit on by a creepy old drunk who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, passively dismissed by Robby after he deemed you “too slow” for a trauma (when in reality, the med student next to you was the one who wouldn’t hand you the damn tube), and had your lunch stolen when it clearly had your name written on it—four times might you add.
To top the whole very bad day off, your husband hadn’t responded to the messages you had sent hours ago asking if he’d be back in time to pick you up because the forecast called for rain, and like all bad days had gone, your car basically gave up the ghost the moment you parked it in the employee lot.
So, you were almost scrub-less, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and so starving you almost thought about paying an insane price for a small Uber-ed meal before you also realized that the app hadn’t saved your information and your card was currently sitting on the kitchen counter.
Just what you needed.
The groan, along with the rumbles of your stomach, caused many heads to turn.
“Is there a stampede in here? Or is your stomach in the process of eating itself,” Dana asked, though her eyes didn’t leave the nurses’ board.
Your head landed next to the keyboard with a loud thunk. “I think my stomach tried to eat itself a couple of hours ago before realizing that it was completely empty.”
“I saw you brought lunch. Where’d that go?”
If glares could put someone six feet under, the one you were giving your computer should have imploded it. “Currently being digested in the stomach of a med student.”
“Good Lord. You poor thing.”
“Tell me about it. I’d been dreaming of those leftovers since last night!”
Dana gave you a knowing look. “Did your husband cook it?”
“Yep.” Your chair squeaked as you leaned back. “And I didn’t even get to enjoy it for the second time. He’s going to be pissed.”
“Who’s going to be pissed?” Trinity asked, already leaning on the counter like getting closer to you would make the gossip flow over. “Cause if you’re talking about Dr. Robby, that ship sailed around 2:30.”
You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your face. “Trust me; I already know he’s pissed off at the world. I’ve been on the receiving end of that way too much today.”
She gave you a sympathetic wince. “I heard about that.”
“Who hasn’t,” you muttered with a harsh snort.
That was the other thing that had added to your humiliation. Robby hadn’t just quietly dismissed you or corrected you after the trauma, no, he rather loudly decided to spew his personal thoughts about your work ethic in front of not just your coworkers but also the patient’s family who were there for moral support. Blatant strangers had a front seat to watch your attending rip into you all while it hadn’t even been your fault.
Just thinking about it brought another heated flush up your neck.
“To answer your question, her husband’s the one who’s going to be pissed,” Dana filled her in while rewriting a name. “He’s very particular about who gets to eat his food.”
Another groan rumbled your chest. “Med student didn’t even return the Tupperware. Now he’s going to be extra pissed at that.”
For a small second, Trinity looked almost nervous. “Will you be okay?”
Her concern made a small feeling of comfort and pride bloom in your chest. If there was one person you could count on other than your family and Dana, it was Trinity, never hesitating to step in if she even thought someone didn’t feel safe. You shot her a grateful smile.
“Oh, I’ll be perfectly fine. He’ll be mad sure, but not at me. We’ll just pray that he won’t spot the student that did it.”
“Amen to that,” Dana muttered. “He’s like your personal guard dog.”
“Are we going to add that guy who tried to touch your ass earlier?” Trinity teased, and your eyes widened.
“Definitely.” You nodded along. “Might as well add Robby to it too. My husband isn’t that fond of him already. I just wish he’d respond to my messages.”
Dana gave you a knowing look. “He at work today?”
“Yeah. There was a problem with one of the houses a few hours out, and he left before I was even out of bed. Said there was a contract breach, kissed me good morning, and drove off.”
“That’s oddly sweet,” Trinity added.
You couldn’t help the fond smile that grew on your face. “Even made my coffee for me. I found it with one of those little post-it notes stuck to it.”
“Didn’t know he was into doing stuff like that,” Dana said with a small laugh.
“You know how he is,” you replied. “The man’s love language is acts of service.”
Trinity smiled. “What does he do for work?”
Your fingers found the keyboard again while you answered. “He’s a relator and contractor. Usually, he works from home, but like today, he sometimes has to go out and inspect the houses or make sure the paperwork is in order.”
“Sounds like you got yourself a stay-at-home husband.”
You couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah. He actually really likes to do the house work. Plus, when I’m home, all I’m doing is sleeping.” Your eyes caught your wedding band. “He’s really good to me. Plus, he’s Jack’s—”
“Ladies, if we have time to chat, we have time to work,” Robby’s voice interrupted the conversation, loud and on the very edge of condescending. “Especially you, Dr. Cody. Let’s focus on getting patients in and out instead of sitting around, yes?”
You swallowed down an annoyed sigh, instead choosing to stand up without a word. Hating the way you felt under Robby’s glare almost made you want to put in a two-week notice and move departments. However, emergency medicine was your life; it was the sole reason you met the people who quickly became your family, the reason you met your husband. Your fingers quickly found your wedding band, specially made of the number of diamonds that symbolized how long you and your husband had been dating before he proposed.
Grabbing another tablet quickly, you forced yourself to hold your head up high as you passed him. Robby wasn’t worth your fear or submission. Plus, it wasn’t like he never talked around; you’d caught him and the hospital’s case manager making small talk way too many times to count. The man was a hypocrite that couldn’t see past his own faults and projected them onto his employees.
By the time you rounded the corner, and Robby had vacated the station, Trinity leaned in toward Dana a bit more.
“Is there any way to contact her husband? She mentioned her car died, and it’s raining.” Trinity looked in the direction you had disappeared down. “If I were married and my boss talked to me like that, I’d want my partner to know.”
Dana had already picked up her personal cell after Trinity’s first question. “Oh, I’ll make sure he knows.”
_______________________
When you exited the patient’s room, you paused a few feet into the hallway, rubbed your eyes, and continued to stare at the nurses’ station.
Dana being there with Trintiy and Dennis was nothing out of the ordinary. However, the added presence of Jack Abbot and your husband was. You hastily crossed the gap between you and the station, concern etching itself in your eyebrows and lips.
“Andrew?” you called out. “What are you doing here?”
At the sound of your voice, Andrew Cody turned his head so rapidly that it added another wave of worry that he might have pulled something. He stayed still, even when you stopped in front of him, as your hands gently ran up his arms and stopped at his face all while the small group watched on with small smiles (from Jack and Dana) and genuine curiosity (from Dennis and Trinity).
“You’re supposed to be in Altoona right now. Did you get hurt?” you questioned when your eyes couldn’t find any visible injuries.
He stayed silent while his hands quietly found yours, fingers threading between the gaps and holding you steady.
“I’m fine,” he finally said, hazel eyes boring into yours. “Just missed you.”
A relieved exhale escaped from your lips. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second.”
His crooked teeth poked through a smile. “I could tell.”
You softly pushed him before taking his hands again. “Shut up. You went hours without responding and just show up at the end of my shift. God forbid I’m concerned for my husband.”
“See, man, I told you she’d do this,” Jack grumbled, patting Andrew slightly on the shoulder.
“Um, not to interrupt, but did Dr. Cody marry someone who looks exactly like Dr. Abbot?” Dennis squeaked out a question, obviously trying not to step over a boundary.
But like a sister, Trinity nudged him harshly with her elbow. “Use your brain, Huckleberry. It’s obvious they’re related somehow.”
The two continued looking between the Pitt’s night shift attending and your husband who looked like Jack if he were ten years younger.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you early, Trinity,” you said. “My husband is Jack’s cousin on their moms's side. Andrew, this is Dennis and Trinity.”
Andrew didn’t reach out to give them a handshake, but the appreciated nod he gave them was somehow enough. “She talks about you two a lot.”
Trinity looked smug by the news. “All good things I hope.”
“Definitely,” he answered. “I can tell she likes working with you two.”
“Which is more than he can say about Robby,” Dana muttered.
The change in Andrew, just by mentioning Robby, was so visceral that Trinity and Dennis were both shocked.
In the few moments, the two could see how soft this hunking-fridge-of-a-man was for you. They saw it in the way he was quick to hunch over slightly when you looked him over with worry. They noticed it in the way he held onto you when he reassured you that he was only there for her and not because he had gotten hurt. They noted the way his soft smile was only for you and not even for when his cousin jested with him.
Dana’s words from earlier rang in Trinity’s mind as she watched Andrew’s muscles tense beneath his polo.
He’s like your personal guard dog.
Andrew shifted his weight, shoulders now seemingly broader than they had been. “Did something happen today?”
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “It was nothing. He’s just being Robby.”
Surprisingly, Andrew’s eyes flitted over to Trinity like he knew she’d tell him exactly what he wanted to know. “What’d he do?”
Trinity looked at you once, and when you looked toward the floor, she answered. “He blamed her for a med student’s slow pace. Practically yelled at and belittled her in front of the other doctors in the trauma room and the patient’s family.”
Even Jack couldn’t hold back the wince splashing across his face at the news, mind already knowing that in five seconds, his cousin might be on a war path for his friend. However, all Andrew seemed to do was take in a deep breath and hold onto your hands like a tether.
“All right,” he finally said, body still tense. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”
“Someone took her lunch,” Dana added, drawing your eyes from the floor to her, hues flooding with betrayal.
Et tu, brute?
“Dana,” you hissed.
Andrew’s grip on your hands tightened.
In an almost attempt to throw more gas onto an already raging fire, Trinity ended with, “And she had a patient try to grope her earlier this morning.”
Andrew’s eyes closed slowly like he was bracing for a fit of rage to overtake his senses, his mind already racing with the fact that you probably hadn’t eaten, because when he stopped by the house to change, he saw your forgotten card. Add in you almost getting assaulted, and he was one wrongly pulled Jenga block from collapsing.
You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already feeling the brunt of the day push down on you. They only fluttered open when Andrew didn’t move, his chest the only thing heaving in an out and in motion. Somehow, that didn’t ease the queasy feeling bubbling beneath your skin. And at that moment, Robby decided to round the corner. Like most men, you guessed that he hadn’t picked up on the tension cloud that was currently circling around the station and—more importantly—Andrew’s head.
When Robby walked into his field of view, you swear you saw the lovely hazel of his eyes darken. It should have scared you how quickly Andrew could go from your sweet and doting husband to a very possessive animal, but instead, the change had you relaxing and relieved. If there was someone you could count on for anything no matter what, that person would always be Andrew.
And maybe (finally) Robby sensed enough tension, because his body went stiff after he looked up from the tablet in his hands and met Andrew’s eyes.
Trinity and Dennis really thought that your husband was going to stalk over there, throw a punch, menacingly bark curse words and insults at Robby (a man who had a few good inches to tower over Andrew), and walk back over like nothing happened. But when he stayed put, only giving a beady stare that never wavered, they realized that he didn’t even have to talk to Robby or punch him for his words to get across.
They knew that Andrew was making Robby uncomfortable by the way Robby shifted, the way he broke eye contact first, and the way he left the station looking like a dog with a tail between its legs.
Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, that never gets old.”
Dana smirked. “He ever use that on you?”
“All the fucking time.” Jack scoffed. “Do you know how many family gatherings I spent trying to get away from those eyes.”
“We have the same eyes, asshole,” Andrew grumbled.
“But yours are scary as hell,” Jack shot back. “Might be a good time to say that my night shift needs another resident.”
“Fuck no,” Trinity instantly said. “You can’t have her, or we’d be left with him.”
Dennis nodded. “I’m in full agreement.”
Jack looked over at you expectantly but visibly deflated at the apologetic look you were giving him.
“Sorry, Jack, but I enjoy getting to spend my evenings at home.” You paused and smirked. “I know Samira’s been looking for a change of scenery if you want to ask her.”
The small crowd couldn’t help but smile or chuckle at the now vivid flush across Jack’s face as he tried to sputter out an answer.
“All right, get out of here kids before it looks like you’re staging a mutiny,” Dana said with a wave of her hands.
“Aye, aye, captain,” Trinity responded with a salute of her own.
Andrew grinned widely, finally showing the smile around more people than just you. “If we’re turning into pirates, Jack already has the missing-leg thing down.”
“Hey!”
You giggled loudly while Andrew wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into his side. Your hand gently rested against his chest as you hugged him back. He felt your body melt into his after he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.
“Ready to go home?” he quietly muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Dana already gave me your bag.”
“Yeah,” you breathily sighed. “Let’s go before a trauma comes in, and I’m stuck in here until I wither away.
Andrew hummed. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“Absolutely not. I still want to have leftovers at least one more time before I’m buried. And this time, I’m putting a padlock on the container.”
Summary: John Shen brings you a 48-ounce Dunkin' iced latte; fake marriage paperwork is discussed; and Jack Abbot discovers his girlfriend has a work husband.
Warnings: Established relationship, workplace teasing, jealous-but-not-really jealous Jack, Shen, and Reader being absolute menaces, fake marriage pact, excessive Dunkin, one deeply offensive sweet coffee beverage, no real angst.
Author’s Note: This is pure nonsense, and I love it. Jack is secure in his relationship, but unfortunately, his girlfriend and her work husband have paperwork, annual reviews, and a beverage vessel. Pray for him. Thank you @jennataurus for the idea!
Xoxo, Del
Jack saw Shen before he saw the drink. That was his first mistake. Shen walking into the emergency department was not unusual. Shen walking into the emergency department with that particular expression on his face was.
Too calm. Too neutral. Too deliberately innocent.
Jack narrowed his eyes from the other side of the nurses’ station.
Then he saw what Shen was carrying.
For one brief and terrible second, Jack thought it was medical equipment.
Then he saw the ice. Then he saw the straw.
Then he saw your face light up like Shen had walked in carrying a diamond ring, a rescue puppy, and a winning lottery ticket.
“Oh my god,” you said, already abandoning your chart. “You got it.”
Shen set the container on the counter with the solemn care of a man presenting evidence in court. “Blueberry Cobbler Iced Latte. Forty-eight ounces.”
You pressed both hands to your chest. “John.”
Jack looked at the bucket. Then he looked at Shen. Then he looked at you.
“No,” Jack said.
You turned toward him, smiling. “You don’t even know what this is.”
“I know enough,” Jack replied.
“It’s the bucket,” you said, like that explained anything.
“It is not a bucket,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “It absolutely is.”
“It’s a beverage vessel.” Shen corrected.
Jack stared at him. “It has a handle.”
“That doesn’t make it a bucket,” Shen grumbled.
You leaned over the counter and kissed Shen’s cheek. Jack went still. Shen went very still, too, but not because he was nervous.
No.
Because he knew.
Jack watched Shen’s mouth twitch once before he smoothed his expression back into something infuriatingly calm.
“Thank you,” you said sweetly.
Shen nodded. “Of course.”
Jack pointed between you and Shen. “Don’t love that.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“The cheek kiss,” Jack answered.
Shen looked down at the drink. “It was a gratitude kiss.”
Jack’s eyes shifted to him. “Dunkin.”
Shen’s brows lifted. “Is that me?”
Jack nodded once, “It is now.”
You pressed your lips together. Jack knew that face. He loved that face. He also knew that face meant you were about thirty seconds away from making his life worse on purpose.
“Jack,” you said gently.
“No,” Jack said. “You don’t get to ‘Jack’ me when Dunkin just walked in with forty-eight ounces of sugar and got kissed for it.”
Shen glanced down at the container. “It does have two straws.”
“That makes it worse,” Jack replied.
You picked up one of the straws with reverent fingers. “It’s for sharing.”
“With your boyfriend?” Jack said, jerking his head in John’s direction.
You smiled. “With my work husband.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. There it was. Shen took one small, thoughtful step closer to you, like a man approaching a live wire just to see what would happen.
Jack watched him do it. He watched you notice. He watched both of you decide, silently and instantly, to be problems.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Your what?”
“My work husband,” you said, very seriously.
Shen nodded once. “It’s an administrative title.”
“Administrative,” Jack repeated.
“Very little romance involved,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “Very little?”
You touched Jack’s chest. “Jack, be fair. John and I have survived a lot together.”
Jack looked between the two of you and inhaled slowly through his nose.
He was a grown man. A physician. A professional. He had handled trauma bays, impossible calls, mass casualties, and patients who thought WebMD had more authority than medical school. He was not going to let two adults and a container of dessert coffee dismantle him in the middle of his emergency department.
You slid the bucket toward Shen. “First sip goes to the provider.”
Jack’s head turned. “Provider?”
“He provided the bucket,” you said.
Shen took the straw with grave dignity. “I accept this responsibility.”
Jack watched him take a sip.
You leaned in, eyes bright. “Well?”
Shen considered it for a moment. “Sweet.”
You nodded. “Expected.”
“Artificial blueberry,” Shen said.
“But fun artificial?” You asked.
Shen took another sip. “Aggressively fun.”
You pointed at him. “That’s what I thought.”
Jack stared. “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
You gave Jack a look, “I know John’s palate.”
Jack went still again.
Shen lowered the straw. “You walked into that one.”
“I did not walk into anything,” Jack said.
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Are you jealous of John’s palate?”
“No,” Jack replied immediately.
Shen tilted his head. “He seems jealous of my palate.”
Jack pointed at him. “You are on thin ice.”
“Appropriate,” Shen said, glancing at the bucket. “Given the beverage.”
You made a sound like you were trying not to choke.
Jack looked down at you. “Do not laugh at that.”
You covered your mouth. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Jack said.
You pointed to Shen and said, “I’m being supportive of my work husband’s humor.”
Not yet, he told himself. It is too early in this shift to ask God for intervention.
When he opened them, you were holding the straw toward him.
“Try it,” you said.
Jack shook his head, “No.”
“One sip.” You implored.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “I already know I’m going to hate it.”
“That’s not very scientific,” Shen said.
Jack didn’t look away from you. “Dunkin, I am not discussing the scientific method with you over a bucket of sugar milk.”
You lifted the straw another inch. “For me?”
Jack looked at your face. That was unfair. Everything about your face was unfair. He sighed like a man accepting his own execution, leaned down, and took the smallest sip possible. His face changed immediately.
You brightened. “Well?”
Jack swallowed with effort. It was worse than he expected. It was sweet in a way that felt personally aggressive. It tasted like someone had taken a blueberry muffin, drowned it in melted ice cream, panicked, and added more sugar.
Jack looked at both of you. “Well, that’s horrific.”
You gasped. “Jack.”
Jack grimaced, “It tastes like someone liquefied a blueberry muffin, panicked, and added more sugar.”
Shen took the bucket back and considered that. “Not inaccurate.”
You pointed at him. “Do not side with my actual boyfriend against me.”
Jack’s head turned. Actual boyfriend. That helped. He hated that it helped.
He was not jealous of John Shen. He was not jealous of the drink. He was not jealous of the cheek kiss, the work husband title, or the fact that Shen apparently had a detailed working knowledge of your coffee preferences. Jack was simply opposed to nonsense.
That was all.
You smiled up at him. “Yes. Actual boyfriend.”
Shen lifted one hand. “Work husband acknowledges the hierarchy.”
Jack looked at him. “Temporary husband.”
Shen blinked. “I don’t remember agreeing to temporary.”
“You don’t need to agree,” Jack replied.
Shen frowned, “I feel like I should.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jack said.
You took the bucket back from Shen. “For legal accuracy, the arrangement is currently suspended.”
Jack looked down at you. “The arrangement.”
You nodded solemnly. “Until further notice.”
“Or forty,” Shen added.
Jack’s gaze moved slowly back to him. “Excuse me?”
Shen took a careful breath, like he was about to present lab results. “If neither of us is married by the time we are forty, we’ve agreed to enter a mutually beneficial domestic partnership.”
You nodded. “For practical reasons.”
Jack stared at you.
“Tax benefits,” you said.
“Shared expenses,” Shen added.
“Emergency contact efficiency,” you said.
“Mutual tolerance,” Shen added.
Jack looked between you. “You rehearsed that.”
You and Shen said, “No,” at the exact same time.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. You smiled. Shen sipped the drink.
Jack looked toward the ceiling.
Dear God, he thought, then stopped himself. Not yet. He could still handle this.
“You’re not single,” Jack said.
You patted his chest. “I know.”
“So the pact is void.” Jack continued.
Shen lifted one finger. “Suspended.”
Jack pointed at him. “Void.”
“Suspend—”
“Void.” Jack cut him off.
You sighed softly. “This is a difficult day for the marriage.”
Shen nodded. “We’ll need time to heal.”
Jack stared at the two of you. “Marriage.”
“Future potential marriage,” you clarified.
Jack frowned, “Not better.”
Ellis, who had been pretending not to listen from two feet away, slowly lowered her chart.
“Do I want to know?” Ellis asked.
“No,” Jack said.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him, bright and delighted and absolutely unrepentant.
Ellis’s eyes landed on the bucket. “Is that coffee?”
“Allegedly,” Jack said.
Shen lifted the container. “Blueberry Cobbler Iced Latte. Forty-eight ounces.”
Ellis blinked. “That sounds disgusting.”
Jack pointed at her. “Thank you.”
You gasped. “Ellis.”
Ellis glanced at Jack’s face, then at Shen, then at you. “Why does this feel like I walked in on something personal?”
“Because you did,” Jack said.
Shen shook his head. “It’s not personal. It’s a product review.”
Jack looked at him. “You announced a suspended marriage pact.”
Ellis looked delighted. “What else is in the paperwork?”
Jack pointed at her. “Do not encourage them.”
Shen cleared his throat. “There is the intimacy clause.”
Jack went completely still. Ellis’s chart lowered another inch.
“The what?” Jack asked.
“The intimacy clause,” you said, very seriously.
Shen nodded. “One night of passionate lovemaking per calendar year to maintain the marriage.”
Jack stared at him.
You nodded along solemnly. “For the health of the union.”
“And morale,” Shen added.
Jack’s head turned toward you. “Morale.”
“It’s important,” you said.
“Vital,” Shen agreed.
Jack pointed at the bucket. “Dunkin.”
Shen blinked. “Yes?”
“Never use the phrase ‘passionate lovemaking’ in a sentence about my girlfriend again.”
Shen considered him. “Would ‘annual intimacy maintenance’ be better?”
Jack looked at him, “No.”
You pressed your lips together. “Less romantic.”
Jack looked down at you. “You are not helping.”
“I’m grieving the clause,” you said.
Jack stared at you.
Ellis made a strangled sound behind her chart.
Shen took a slow sip from the bucket. “This is difficult for all parties.”
Jack closed his eyes. Dear God, grant me patience, Jack thought. Because if you grant me strength, Shen is not making it out of this emergency department.
Then Shen set the bucket down and hooked an arm around your shoulders. You did not miss a beat. You slid your arm around Shen’s waist and leaned into his side with a grave little nod. “Privacy would be appreciated during this difficult transition.”
Jack opened his eyes. Ellis’s mouth opened slightly.
Jack pointed between you and Shen. “Separate.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“Immediately,” Jack said.
Shen looked down at you. "Our bond threatens him.”
“I am threatened by nothing,” Jack said.
You patted Shen’s stomach. “It’s okay. He’s processing.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “You have three seconds.”
Shen’s arm stayed exactly where it was. “Before what?”
Jack smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
Shen removed his arm.
You removed yours too, biting your lip hard enough that Jack could see the fight not to laugh all over your face.
“Smart,” Jack said.
Shen picked up the bucket again. “For the record, that separation felt hostile.”
Jack looked at him. “Good.”
You let the moment hang for exactly one second. Then you slid right into Jack’s side, your body fitting against his like that was where you had meant to be the whole time.
Jack’s eyes dropped to you.
Your smile went soft and wicked at the same time. “Better?”
Jack held your gaze. He was still annoyed. He was still trying not to look pleased. He was still failing.
“Marginally,” he said.
You hummed and smoothed your hands over his scrub top. “Only marginally?”
His hand settled at your waist before he could pretend he wasn’t going to touch you. “You’re pushing it, sweetheart.”
You grinned. “Don’t worry, Jack. You’re hotter than him.”
Shen’s head lifted. “Rude.”
Jack didn’t look away from you. “Dunkin.”
“Yes?” Shen replied.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Drink your muffin soup.”
You laughed into Jack’s chest. His mouth twitched despite himself, and his hand tightened gently at your waist.
“Better,” he admitted, quieter this time.
Ellis finally gave up pretending she was working. “Can I try the divorce coffee?”
Jack’s eyes shifted to her. For the first time since Shen walked in, Jack looked almost pleased.
“Divorce coffee,” he repeated.
You brightened. “Oh, that’s good.”
Shen nodded. “Accurate, but emotionally painful.”
“It is not emotionally painful,” Jack said. “It’s legally clarifying.”
Ellis held out a hand. “So can I try it?”
“Don’t,” Jack warned.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him, bright and delighted. Jack looked at the bucket. Then at Shen. Then at you. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Okay,” Jack said.
You blinked. “Okay?”
Jack nodded toward the other end of the nurses’ station. “You’re coming with me.”
Your mouth fell open, offended and delighted at the same time. “What?”
“I have been very patient,” Jack said.
“You have,” you said solemnly.
He continued, “I tried the muffin soup.”
“You did.” You agreed.
“I tolerated the cheek kiss,” Jack added.
You nodded, “You did.”
“I tolerated the work husband,” Jack said, almost with a grimace.
“Barely,” Shen said.
Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Temporary husbands do not get commentary.”
Shen nodded. “Understood.”
Jack looked back at you. “And now I’m taking my girlfriend ten feet that way so I can remember why I love her without Shen making tax comments.”
You glanced back at Shen, then at the bucket in his hand. Your face went dramatically mournful.
“No,” you whispered. “My husband. My coffee.”
Jack went completely still. Ellis made a sound behind her chart.
Shen looked down at you with grave sympathy. “I’ll miss you.”
Jack’s head turned slowly toward him. “Dunkin.”
Shen lifted one hand. “Right. Sorry.”
You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking.
Jack looked down at you. “You are walking away with me, or I am confiscating the coffee.”
Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would,” Jack replied.
You frowned, “You hate it.”
“I hate many things about this situation,” Jack said. “That has not stopped me yet.”
Shen hugged the bucket closer to his chest. “For the record, I object to seizure of communal property.”
“It is not communal property,” Jack said.
“It’s divorce coffee,” Ellis said.
Jack pointed at her. “Helpful.”
Ellis smiled. “Thank you.”
You slid your hand into Jack’s. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Jack’s fingers closed around yours. “Thank you.”
“But under protest.” You added.
Jack nodded once, “Noted.”
“And I want visitation rights.” You said.
Jack looked at you. “To Shen or the coffee?”
You looked genuinely torn. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“The coffee,” you said quickly.
Shen nodded. “Hurtful, but wise.”
Jack tugged gently on your hand. “Move.”
You let Jack lead you away, still laughing under your breath. Halfway down the nurses’ station, you glanced back over your shoulder.
Shen mouthed, I miss you.
You coughed to hide your laugh.
Jack stopped walking. You froze.
He looked down at you. “What did he do?”
You replied quickly. “Nothing.”
Jack turned. Shen looked immediately busy with a chart, one hand still wrapped around the bucket.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “Dunkin.”
Shen did not look up. “Yes?”
“Do not make me come back there.”
Shen nodded, still not looking up. “Of course.”
Jack stared for another second, then turned back to you. You smiled up at him, innocent and hopelessly pleased. Jack shook his head, but his hand squeezed yours.
“You’re trouble,” he said.
Your smile brightened. “You love me.”
“I do,” Jack said.
You stepped closer, sliding your free hand up his chest again. “And I love you.”
Jack’s irritation loosened instantly. He hated how fast it happened.
No, he didn’t.
He loved it. Loved the way you could tug him out of himself with three words and one hand on his chest. Loved the way you smiled at him like he was exactly where you wanted to be, like Shen and the coffee and every ridiculous thing you had said were only funny because Jack was there to react to them.
“Even if John brings me forty-eight ounces of coffee,” you said.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“Even if he’s my work husband.” You continued.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Former work husband,” you corrected.
Jack nodded once, “Better.”
You smiled and rose onto your toes, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re my actual everything.”
Jack went very still.
Behind you, Shen called, “Rude.”
Jack didn’t look away from you. For once, he didn’t even answer Shen. His hand slid more firmly around your waist, and his voice dropped low enough that only you could hear it.
“Yeah?”
You nodded, still smiling. “Yeah.”
Jack’s expression softened completely. Then he dipped his head and kissed you, quick but warm, like he couldn’t help it. When he pulled back, he looked almost annoyed with himself for melting so fast.
You grinned. “Better?”
Jack exhaled, thumb brushing once at your waist. “Much better,” he said.
Series Summary: Jack Abbot takes you, your baby, and your dog in when you finally leave your abusive boyfriend.
Chapter Summary: You make it perfectly clear to Jack that the feelings are mutual.
Tags/Notes: Established friendship, friends to lovers, first time together, love confessions, lots of making out, fingering (f), piv (unprotected, discussed), cumming inside, breeding/impregnation kink if you squint
Content: breastfeeding kink/lactation during sex, clogged milk duct and resolution, postpartum reader
A/N: half of this is the very first thing i wrote for this story and the other half like violently flowed out of me in a six hour sprint today
Word Count: 3.6k
The moment you have Jack inside the house, you’re on him. He doesn’t even have time to kick off his shoes or put his keys down before you’re pressing him up against the door with an enthusiasm that has him rock hard within seconds. For the first time, the two of you are giving in, and Jack can barely handle it. His hands grab at your tiny velvet dress, bunching it up so that he can feel your bare thighs. His hand roves up and over to your ass and he groans, low and primal, when he feels how bare your skin is. “Are panties this small even legal?”
You gasp as he snaps it against your thigh, making you giggle, “In some jurisdictions.”
“God bless Pennsylvania,” he chuckles darkly. He mouths down your neck, tongue dragging along the off-the-shoulder velvet strap across your collarbone. “And god bless this stupidly small dress.”
At the sudden flood of hormones, a stab of pain goes through your chest and you wince.
Jack notices immediately, his expression turning to concern. Heart pounding underneath your hand on his chest, Jack catches his breath and asks, “What is it, sweetheart?”
You’re reluctant to tell him that your chest is agonized on one side from a clogged duct that’s been bothering you since yesterday when you forgot to pump on Riley’s usual feeding schedule. So you just sigh and say, “Just, um, we need to put a pin in this for, like, half an hour, okay?”
“Everything alright?”
“Everything is really, really good,” you correct seriously, leaning forward to nip him with another kiss. “I want you so bad, Jack, I swear.”
“But?”
“But I- I need to pump.” You roll your eyes and then your shoulders, wincing a bit at the discomfort in your chest. “Riley’s not here and it’s getting uncomfortable and if you’re going to be touching my boobs and don’t want me leaking all over you then-”
“It, um, it wouldn’t bother me if- if you did end up-” Jack stares directly at his shoes, definitely not prepared to reveal that he would kill to have you leaking all over him and has fantasized about exactly that more than once, and quickly rephrases: “I mean, I’m not going to judge you for any, ah, anything like that.”
“Thank you, Jack, you’re so sweet, but I have this fucking clogged duct right now that I’ve tried everything for already and my lactation consultant texted me that I should try to keep pumping and give it time even though it blows and-
“I, ah, I could help with that, actually.”
As your lips fall open in surprise, you realize that you’ve never seen Jack’s face so red. “Are you- are you offering to-”
“If you’ve already tried out the more, um, traditional remedies, having another person suck out the blockage is incredibly effective. Doctors recommend it all the time.”
“Most of the time they recommend husbands do it, though.”
He rolls his eyes and laughs, “I can guarantee the relationship between sucker and suckee doesn’t change the effectiveness or strength of mouth suction.”
You screw your face up in skepticism. “What if it turns me on?”
He snickers, blush fading at your relatively equal level of embarrassment. “What if it does? I was trying to turn you on a second ago anyway.”
“Well, succeeding, yeah, but-”
“It’s not like I’d be able to tell,” he points out. “I’m the one with the visible equipment here.”
You tease, “Then what if it turns you on?”
“It probably will, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. Basic biological reaction to stimulus.” He cups your face in his hands and searches your eyes. “Look, sweetheart, we’ll go as fast or as slow as you want physically, alright? There’s no rush on my end. We can go on dates and we can talk and none of it’s ever going to feel wrong for me because it’s you.” He kisses you softly and insists, “Just let me help with this today; I know I can, and I hate the idea of you hurting when I can do something so simple to fix it.”
It’s impossible not to believe him. Not with such honesty in his beautiful eyes. “Okay. I’ll try anything at this point.”
“Good girl,” he replies easily, like that’s not the hottest thing he could’ve possibly said. While you’re reeling from it, he offers, “How about I put some towels down on my bed and we figure this thing out together?”
You nod slowly and follow Jack to his bedroom, where he strips his shirt off nonchalantly, tucks into the closet briefly, and reemerges in a pair of athletic shorts. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen him without a shirt – in fact, you see him half-naked or fully naked more days than not – but all of a sudden it feels very different. He’d look awfully pretty with bite marks all over his pecs.
Jack’s clearly entered doctor mode, which is as comforting as it is even goddamn hotter than before. There’s something so sexy about the way his eyes change when he goes from wanting to clinical, especially wearing nothing but shorts and beckoning you to join him on his bed. He takes out a few of his dark blue towels from the bathroom and lays them over the covers. Then he sits back against the headboard on top of one, legs crossed (have his calf and thighs always been this muscular?), and waves you over. “C’mere, bird, let’s get this thing handled so we can go back to making out.”
With a chuckle and a deep breath, you shimmy out of your dress and sit on the bed in front of him in only your bra and panties. Jack’s eye contact is full of restraint and tenderness even though he absolutely could be eye-fucking you right now.
His shaky fingers hover above the front clasp of your strapless black bra. “Alright if I take this off ?” When you nod hastily instead of giving him verbal consent, he reminds you, “If you’re uncomfortable, all you have to do is tell me to stop. I’ve got you.”
“I know, Jackie,” you breathe. “I trust you. You can skip the whole ‘don’t forget I’m a doctor’ speech.”
He smiles a little and undoes your bra, guiding it off and placing it on the bed next to you so you can easily grab it after. And he doesn’t say anything about your quick shaky breathing, raggedly turned on and embarrassed at the same time. You’re trying to remind yourself that there’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about here, but it’s not easy.
Your breath hitches as soon as Jack’s hands touch your chest. His fingers are nothing but professional as he gently massages over your breast to locate the offending duct, but there’s an inherent affection that comes just based on the fact that it’s you and him, not patient and doctor.
His thumb drags over the mildly painful, hard bump just above your nipple. It’s really, really difficult for him not to say anything about how fucking pretty your tits are. Doctor mode. Not ‘I wanna fuck you so back’ mode. He confirms, “Right here?”
You nod and cringe. “That’s the bastard.”
“You haven’t felt feverish at all, have you? Chills, sweating?”
“Nope, mostly just annoyed.”
“Good. It’s not red or swollen, so I think we’re good to take care of this here.” Then Jack takes a deep breath, places one hand on the curve of your waist, and says tentatively, “I think this would be easier if you got into my lap.”
You don’t wait for him to give you the ‘if that’s okay with you’ segment because your letdown reflex is starting, tingling and building, after him massaging your breasts, and you need to get moving before it becomes overwhelming. You scoot forward and straddle him as he straightens out his legs to get you into a better position. Both of you pretend not to notice the intense heat radiating from between your legs, undoubtedly creating a blotch on his thigh.
Jack closes his eyes as he suckles, slow and short, getting a feel for it, tasting the first sweet drops as your body adjusts to him. It takes a few tentative sucks for the clog to move forward.
You groan, “Just like that.”
Of course, that particular order goes straight to Jack’s cock. He savors the next pull from your breast, knowing it might be his last, until the small clot falls on his tongue. He grabs a nearby burp cloth and spits it out, folding it away. Immediately, he stops letting himself look at your chest, focusing on your flushed face instead. “Feel better?”
“Jesus, so much better.” Then you take a deep breath and admit, sounding whinier and needier than intended, “You have to finish the job, though, Jackie. I’ll be uncomfortable if I can’t get everything out and it’s already started now. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I can go and get my haakaa thing set up, but-”
“I’ll take care of it, sweetheart,” Jack interrupts. His voice is closer to a growl than you’ve ever heard it, restraint slipping away by the second. "I'll always take care of you.
Sighing in relief, you murmur, “Thank you.”
He nods like a soldier, the way he does sometimes when he’s giving himself reassurance. He readjusts slightly beneath you and you can tell it’s not because he’s uncomfortable. In fact, you can feel his cock growing to full attention beneath you.
This time, when he wraps his lips around your nipple, it feels entirely different. Combining a storm of oxytocin with your raw desire for Jack has created the perfect cocktail of arousal. A moan leaves your throat when he presses his hand to your lower back to hold you closer, long draws of his tongue emptying your fullness.
At your outburst, Jack pulls back right away, milk dribbling over his lip. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, it’s- ah-” You offer a shaky smile and tell him, “What was that thing you said? Basic biological reaction to stimulus?”
He stares up at you with big hazel eyes that absolutely burn through your resolve. There’s a moment – agonizingly long – where you’re both saying so much without saying a word. You wonder if he can see your heart beating under your ribs. You feel his cock twitch even between both your layers of clothing.
Jack reminds you gently, “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“We both know it means something.”
“I don’t want it to feel like I’m taking advantage of the moment.”
“The thing is, though, Jack,” you breathe, voice low and soft and careful, “I’m so in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Jack’s heart grows so big so fast it bursts into light that shocks through his veins. “You love me?”
You laugh and kiss him, holding his face between your hands, pressing your foreheads together and making searing eye contact. “How could I do anything else?”
“Then I guess I should finish what I started here, huh?”
Rolling your hips against him, you beg, “Please.”
Without dropping the eye contact, Jack drops his mouth to your other breast and sucks. No hesitation, no pretense. And his right hand goes to the other side to roll your nipple again and you shiver as happy chemicals flood your brain. You’re embarrassed by the mess cascading out of you but it’s really, really fucking hot the way he wants you, the way he’s literally devouring you, the way his hand is- Oh, god, fuck, his hand is going between your legs.
Your thoughts turn off completely. Every insecurity, every fear, every anxiety goes out the window when Jack’s big hand cups your pussy through your thin cotton underwear, so wet they've become translucent. His thumb toys with the waistband and he comes up for air to kiss you. You taste your own sweetness on his tongue as his hand goes beneath your panties, millimeters from your clit. Against your lips, he breathes, “You sure?”
And you honestly want to cry because he’s asking. You kiss him hard and knot your fingers in his curls and tell him, true and real, “This is the first time in my life I’ve been completely sure I want to have sex with someone.”
“Oh, my love,” he murmurs. He kisses along your cheekbones soft as butterfly wings. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
You whimper his name again and kiss him hard. Then, in response, you slide off him and onto your back, guiding him to come with you, and reach down to take off your underwear.
Jack props himself up on his side and strokes his fingers down from your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach without any judgment, and then into your pubic hair. “I need you to tell me if anything hurts; I know you haven’t done this since you had the baby, so I don’t want to assume-”
“I’ll tell you, I promise. Stop worrying.” You place your hand over his and guide him lower, pushing your hips upward slightly so that he can feel your gathering wetness. Your voice is breathy and needy. “I trust you.”
Jack kisses your temple as he parts your lips, dipping into you, dragging the pads of his middle two fingers back up to your clit. “Say that again.”
“I trust you, Jack,” you repeat, tilting your head to the side so that you can kiss him again. Your tongues trace each other. Your hand traces the line of his jaw and you go on, “I trust you and I love you. I’m yours. You’re stuck with me now, babe.”
He smiles into the kiss. “No place I’d rather be.”
Then Jack adds pressure to his fingers and it’s exactly what you need. It’s been so long that you’ve been touched like this – you haven’t even masturbated since Riley was born – that you’re worked up ridiculously fast. Your back arches upward and it takes everything in you not to clamp your thighs shut and grind against his hand to get yourself off in a matter of seconds.
Jack catches on quickly and chuckles at your desperation, “You really need this, don’t you?”
“So bad,” you mewl pathetically, chasing him until he kisses you again. “I’ve needed you for so long. Longer than I realized. Keep- Fuck, fuck. Keep doing- Jack.”
“There you go,” Jack murmurs, low and sweet. High-pitched moans, more like squeaks, trail from your mouth over and over, unstoppable because of his insistent touch. His lips stay with yours for a while, firm and seeking, as he keeps the pace around your clit consistent. But when he speeds up, eager to get you to make more of those delicious sounds, his mouth goes down your neck. His kisses turn from adoring to desiring. No, to claiming.
Jack stops just long enough to strip his shorts off and readjust so he’s pinning your thigh down between his knees. He plunges two fingers inside of you and you gasp out in a way that makes him want to check in, but you follow the sound with a needy string of ‘yes, yes, yes’ that turns it to a laugh instead. And you can’t get your eyes off his cock. Of course Jack Abbot has a perfect dick, curved just right, thick but not intimidating, absolutely leaking for you.
At your fuck-drunk expression and constant squealing moans, Jack chuckles, “You’re so fucking cute, you know that?”
You giggle and cover your face with your forehead, unable to stand the adoration in his unwavering gaze in combination with his fingers working you open. “I don’t think I’ve been called cute in a decade, actually.”
“That ends today,” he coos, dropping his other hand down so his thumb can work your clit as he finger fucks you, curling back toward himself deep and hard, “because you are the goddamn cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You’re thrashing beneath him now, thighs twitching and hips squirming and noises getting so pathetically cute Jack can hardly stand it anymore.
“Yeah, you definitely need more compliments if that’s how you’re gonna react, makin’ those pretty sounds for me.” His eyes go from your face to between your legs, total attention trained on the way your walls are gripping him over and over, reacting to his every pulse and stroke. “God, look at this cute little pussy taking it so well. Those cute fuckin’ tits bouncing. You’re perfect.”
Then his voice goes gravelly and wanting as you drop into silence, legs tightening and breaths racing. “Fuck, you gonna cum for me already, sweetheart? I can feel you clenching down on me. All I’ve ever wanted is to make you feel good, to have you spread out in my bed like this. Let go for me, gorgeous, please.”
And how could you possibly deny it when he’s asking so damn nicely? You couldn’t hold back if you tried. Your pleasure boils over and your pussy practically eats Jack’s hand alive with the force of your orgasm. It’s been so long that it’s like months of orgasms are ripping through you at once. When you look up at Jack’s downright gleeful expression, you swear he’s got an angelic glow around his silver and auburn curls because he’s making you feel so damn good.
Jack works you through it slow and steady, memorizing every single second of your rapture until you’re a sweaty mess who can barely breathe.
Your glassy, horny eyes rove up to meet his, happy to find his pupils blown dark, overtaking the hazel. You wrap your legs around his hips and tug him close to your body, close enough that you can rub your drenched sex along his hips and his perfectly hard cock. Every glorious muscle in his stomach and chest clenches at the sudden erotic contact. He throws his head back a second and feels you. Then you bring him back to earth by asking, “Do you wanna fuck me?”
“Honey, I definitely want to fuck you.” Jack grabs your thighs and frots up against your clit, letting his head bump into your pleasure center for a few seconds just to hear your overstimulated panting. He stills his own motions but doesn’t stop yours as he goes on, “And I’m not necessarily saying no here, but I don’t have any condoms and I don’t wanna assume anything. Not exactly been getting a lot of action for the past, ah, while.”
“I’m not ovulating,” you rasp, grinding your slick folds unapologetically along his shaft. “I finished my period, like, a couple days ago. Need you inside me, Jack.”
“There’s always some level of risk,” he groans, struggling to stay clearheaded at the intoxicating thought of having you exactly as he wants right the fuck now. “Is- is that- Do you-”
You still your hips, look him dead in the eyes, and say, “If by ‘risk’ you mean Riley getting a ginger little sister, then I’m telling you, clear and sober and in my right mind, that I want you to fuck me.”
Jack’s heart pounds in his chest as he looks down at you. That’s definitely not just your cunt talking; you want him. All of him. Always. He holds onto your hips and thrusts into you at a pace that makes your toes curl. Your name falls off his lips and plays in harmony with your moans. He practically collapses forward with the need to be kissing you again. You’re safe between his arms, holding his surprisingly toned ass beneath your fingernails to encourage him to drill into you as deep as he needs.
Fucking Jack is so different than fucking anyone else you’ve been with. You can taste the love in his every kiss, can feel it in every thrust, can smell it in the sex scenting the whole bedroom. Tears bite at your eyes when you feel his body flush against yours, as much of you touching as possible. You wrap your fingers in his hair, pull him close, and whimper against his ear, “I love you.”
“Thank you,” he whispers into your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours. He’s kissing your face everywhere he can as his balls start to tighten up. “Thank you so much. I love you.”
Before he can ask, you meet his eyes and breathe, “Inside, Jackie. It’s okay, I promise. Cum inside of me.”
It shudders out of him. Years of his love, so quiet and so loud, always in the background and bursting to the forefront, all consuming, spill into your body. A tear does manage to break through your shared ecstasy, streaming down your cheek before you can stop it. Jack doesn’t say anything about it; he understands. He’s overwhelmed with it too. He kisses the tear’s track as he softens inside of you and shakes his head and laughs with pure delight.
There’s nothing to say.
Nothing more has to be said.
Jack holds you so long that you start to drift to sleep. You get the sense that he’ll never be the person to break the hug first. Then he cleans you off with a warm cloth and throws the towels in the wash. As you play with his hair and kiss along the top of his back, he doffs his prosthetic and can’t stop smiling. You tug on one of his shirts and nothing else. He curls up behind you in only his boxers.
Series Summary: Jack Abbot takes you, your baby, and your dog in when you finally leave your abusive boyfriend.
Chapter Summary: The day before & of your ex's sentencing hearing, Jack never lets you falter. And, for maybe the first time, you really see him next to you.
Tags/Notes: established friendship, mutual pining, friends to lovers, flirting, domestic/family fluff, first kiss (waaah)
Content: anxiety, ongoing discussion of domestic abuse, courtroom stuff
A/N: everyone be nice i love this chapter
Word Count: 3.4k
The day before Alex’s sentencing hearing – a perfect summer Sunday – you’re beyond anxious. Riley’s going to stay with Jack’s sister, who’s an absolute saint, for a couple of days so you have the emotional space to process whatever happens. Since it’s your first time away from him overnight, you wake up way too early to spend an hour packing and repacking his things, triple and quadruple checking everything. Then you walk around the house, absently cleaning and rearranging things just to have something to do with your hands.
Jack and Maggie watch it all from the couch, their gazes following you like a tennis match. When Maggie gives an antsy whine, Jack looks at her and mutters, “I’ll handle this, kid.”
Following you over to your bedroom, Jack catches your restless body and stares you down with his hands on your shoulders. “Okay, mama, you’re making us crazy with all this pacing. We need to do something to get your mind off tomorrow.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you pout. He’s obviously right given the whirlwind going on in your brain, but the buzzing underneath your skin doesn’t want to admit it. “Like what?”
Jack runs through a rolodex of every activity he can imagine to distract you. “How about the farmer’s market? Get out of the city a little bit before we take Riley over to my sister’s. They might even have actual good fruit now that it’s summer. Maybe we can have a nice fresh breakfast tomorrow morning before court.”
The thought makes you smile. It’s hard to get really, truly ripe strawberries in Pennsylvania until the heat of summer unless you go to local vendors. So you agree, “Yeah, that sounds really fun. We all need to soak in the sun while we can.”
“Perfect.”
Half an hour later, Riley’s zonked out on milk and you’re dressed to go in more of your new clothes. You fiddle with the hem of the high-waisted jean shorts and smooth out the embroidered crop top that has a deep enough neckline that it’ll be easy to whip a boob out if Riley needs a feed – and, selfishly, which makes you feel pretty darn sexy. You’re trying to find a style that blends the old you – fun, carefree, young – with your motherhood and your domesticity and this outfit feels like it’s almost there. But you still can’t help noticing the changes of your body, the looser skin of your stomach and the stretch marks across your thighs.
You aren’t ashamed of any of the changes, necessarily – it’s fucking incredible that you grew an entire human being all by yourself – but it’s still strange being in a body that feels foreign, especially wearing new clothes you picked out to fit it. You emerge from the bedroom biting your lip. Wearing soft shorts, a linen button down, and a Pirates cap, Jack’s got Riley strapped into a chest carrier and it’s impossible to ignore how sexy he looks. Nobody’s immune to a buff guy holding a cute baby, not even you, and especially not when it’s your cute baby and your dream guy.
Slinging your tote over your shoulder, you ask, “Do I look okay?”
Jack looks at you with greedy eyes. He can read the nerves in your expression even if he doesn’t understand them since, by his estimation, you’re the most lovely being walking the earth. He has to bite back telling you how fucking hot you look. Usually you’re cute and cozy, but the outline of your cleavage and the inch of your exposed stomach and, damn, the length of those shorts barely covering your ass have his mind reeling with the familiar desire that he tries so, so hard to suppress 99% of the time. The desire he only lets out late at night when your name tumbles from his lips as he spills over his own fingers.
All things considered, Jack has to avoid looking at you too long so he doesn’t risk a bulge in his soft shorts. He assures right away, “You look great. Total hot mom vibes.”
You snort. “Who told you that you could pull off saying ‘vibes’?”
He chuckles and follows you out to the truck. “Dana’s daughter was teaching us all slang in the spring when she came for Take Your Child To Work Day.”
You can’t help but ‘awww.’ “I totally forgot that’s a thing; imagine Riley following you around with a big old stethoscope once he knows how to walk and talk.”
Jack smiles at that – not the (albeit very cute) image of Riley, but at you inadvertently calling Riley his child. Because he knows it’s true. After the ED picnic, Robby had cornered him during shift change and said, hushed and fast, “I’m telling you, brother, she loves you. Just give her time.”
Robby is a lot of things, but he’s rarely wrong.
So Jack’s just waiting on you now, accepting your pace, knowing that the best he can do is be right here by your side during everything.
As you stroll through the busy market, Jack’s hand rests on your lower back half the time, creating a physical barrier between you and anyone who might bump into you during the crowded morning. You don’t even notice anymore; his presence is as familiar to you as the swing of your arms and step of your feet in your sandals. You’ve already collected a loaf of crusty sourdough, honey butter from a local creamery, and a handmade bandana for Maggie. With Riley strapped to Jack’s chest, you’re free to roam between the stalls and put things in your oversized bag. He’s more than happy to follow the breeze of your honest, relaxed smile.
When you reach the extensive produce vendors, you beeline for pints of ripe fruit. The grin you send Jack’s way has him dizzy with delight. He stands right behind you as you select a container of strawberries, one of sweet cherries, and another of blackberries. You hold them up like they’re spoils from a great heist and show them off. “Look at these beauties.”
“Absolutely gorgeous,” he replies with a laugh, definitely talking about you and not the fruit. Then he observes, “You don’t usually eat cherries.”
“I know, but as soon as I saw them, I remembered this chocolate cherry cake my grandma used to make in the summer.” You muse with a nostalgic smile on your pink lips, “I think I have the recipe written down in that box of my old stuff. Bet I can dig it out, maybe make it tonight and we can split it tomorrow to celebrate.”
Jack tries not to mention how big of a deal that is. He knows that your grandmother was the one positive adult figure in your life growing up and you missed out on her death and funeral because of Alex estranging you from family. You avoid that chest of your personal memories – a few photo albums, recipe cards, your grandmother’s jewelry – like the plague, habitually keeping your distance from anything you weren’t allowed to keep close during your relationship with Alex. Jack doesn’t want to stress you out one way or another, so he just says, “That sounds amazing.”
As Riley begins to stir awake, reaching up for Jack’s ears, the three of you head over to the closest person manning the table. Jack kisses the top of Riley’s head with a laugh and then digs a fifty dollar bill from his pocket, handing it over to a lady with silver hair who’s smiling affectionately at the baby. She takes the money and collects his change, at which point Jack says, “Keep that, please.”
She glances down at more than thirty dollars in her hand. “Are you sure?”
He nods over to you and assures, “You made her smile on a really stressful day; that’s worth a little extra to me. Have a wonderful afternoon.”
Once you have the fruit carefully packaged in your back, the woman smiles so gently and tells both of you, “I just have to say: You three make such a sweet family. It’s beautiful seeing people so in love and happy together.” She reaches forward and brushes Riley’s hair gently, like a grandmother would, and then chuckles, “You’ll have to give this one a bunch more siblings; the world needs more happy families.”
Jack looks at you, hazel eyes full of mischief and adoration. He pulls you close by the waist and teases, “What do you say, wifey? Think we could handle few more little Abbots running around?”
Your cheeks turn pink and it’s not from the sun on them. But, because he’s just being so goddamn cute, you can’t resist. “Maybe a couple of girls to balance things out.”
Jack’s eyes soften so much you almost feel guilty. “I’ve always wanted daughters.”
The image takes root in your mind. Jack seriously attending make-believe tea parties, getting his nails done by messy toddlers, learning to braid hair for picture day. He’s already so good with Riley – explaining things to him like he can understand, picking out matching outfits, reading every book under the sun – and you can imagine him so clearly with a whole mess of children. You almost get choked up thinking about it – especially thinking about it happening with anyone but you.
“In that case, I think I can give you a few.” You nudge his hip and say, “You should tip her a lot more for that, by the way.”
That night, Jack’s watching you with an exceptional softness as you sway lightly in the kitchen, humming along to an oldies playlist, working through your grandmother’s ancient cursive recipe on weathered yellow paper. You’re wearing a scalloped red apron you found in the box of your grandmother’s things and it’s making Jack’s insides twist in a hundred different directions. You look so calm, so domestic, so content. You look like you feel safe. That matters to him. A lot.
“God, you have to try one of these,” you moan and lick your fingers after finishing off another cherry you pitted with the intention of setting it aside for the batter. You move over to the island and offer up the bowl of fruit. “C’mon, have one before they go in the cake.”
Jack’s nose wrinkles. “I’ve never liked cherries.”
“These are sweet cherries,” you point out, lilting your voice with temptation. “You’ll like them. I promise.”
Skeptical, he lifts a half cherry and hovers it near his lips, unsure about taking the plunge. He’s a habitual eater, not an adventurous one.
You roll your eyes and pick up the other half. “Here. I’ll do it with you. Good practice for when we have to get Riley to eat vegetables.”
Jack nods solemnly. Together, you let the sweetness burst over your tastebuds. When you laugh at his pinched up, unsure expression – exactly like a kid who just had to try broccoli and isn’t so sure about it – a little juice spills over your lip.
Then.
Unthinking, or maybe thinking way too much, Jack reaches across the island. His forearm flexes and his eyes flick down to your lips. He brushes the juice from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, eyes never leaving your softly parted lips. And, after touching you so lightly, he brings his thumb to his tongue and sucks the cherry juice off it. You’re awestruck, standing there like an idiot, wondering if that really happened and, if it did, if it meant anything.
Jack swallows hard and takes another cherry from the bowl, toying with it between his fingers like there isn’t electricity crackling in the air between you. He says seriously, “You were right. Delicious.”
Of course, Jack takes the next day off to accompany you to the courthouse (and the day after for no reason other than Riley won’t be home and he’s selfishly craving time alone with you). He’s expecting to be on comfort duty, expecting you to be a nervous wreck like you were yesterday morning, expecting absolutely everything but what he gets.
When you emerge from your bedroom, you’re glowing. And you’re wearing a form-fitting, mid-thigh black velvet dress with a devastating red lip. Jack grins and says in lieu of greeting, “You’d better not be about to ask me if you look okay.”
“I know I look good,” you giggle. That makes Jack’s heart soar, but you still shrug modestly as his eyes rake over you. “Kind of my personal Princess Diana revenge dress moment. Alex should know exactly what he’s missing.”
“This is what I believe Dana’s daughter would call ‘baddie behavior,’” he chuckles. Gesturing to his white button down and jeans, he says, “I feel underdressed now.”
“Definitely not.” Without letting yourself overthink it, you run your fingers through his hair, enhancing the curls, arranging it nicely. His eyes close in ecstasy at the effortless intimacy of the gesture. You smooth over his collar and smile, so thrilled that he’s going to be there with you today. “You’re perfect.”
Looking closer at you now, Jack touches your pearl drop earring, finger brushing your cheek lightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen these before.”
Your soft smile is a little sad, then. “I found them with my grandma’s things. She’d like me wearing them today, I think. I’m putting myself and my family first for once.”
Jack picks up his car keys and shakes his head affectionately, letting out a slow breath. “Like I said, baddie behavior.”
Alex’s hearing is in the middle of the court’s docket, so the viewing area is packed with people waiting on the outcomes of other cases. You and Jack squeeze in toward the back, near the door. You listen absently to the judge as he doles out fines and prison stays, not retaining anything until you see Alex being brought forward by a bailiff. Maybe it’s messed up, but it feels fucking good to see him cuffed. Jack holds your hand. You squeeze his fingers way too tight, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
The prosecutor and his public defender both make final statements in favor of particular sentences, but none of that makes it through your haze. You don’t even hear the victim impact statement that you wrote up for the prosecutor, knowing you couldn’t handle reading it yourself. All you can focus on is the judge, listening closely, flipping through papers at his podium. You wonder, briefly, if Alex’s mom is here somewhere. Probably at the front, ready to sob on her knees to save her baby boy, not caring about the actual baby whose life Alex would’ve ruined if you hadn’t called the cops that night.
The judge’s voice breaks through your wandering mind. It’s procedure to him, another line in a series, but to you it’s slow-motion. It’s everything. “I will now read the sentencing in case DV-031797. The defendant, Alexander Coleman, has been convicted by a jury of his peers on one count of second degree domestic assault with a child present, one count of disturbing the peace, and one count of disorderly conduct. Weighing all mitigating and aggravating factors, Mr. Coleman is sentenced to a maximum of eight years, serving a minimum of five before parole eligibility with credit for time served. The sentence will be carried out in SCI Pine Grove starting immediately unless the Department of Corrections makes adjustments.”
Then, after a pause, your hand painful now around Jack’s, he delivers what you’d been hoping for.
“Mr. Coleman will also forfeit all parental and visitation rights to his child with the victim. Finally, the court has put in place a permanent protection order on behalf of the victim and child. If Mr. Coleman wishes to appeal any of these decisions, he has the right to do so via his legal counsel through the appropriate channels. Unless either side has pressing matters for the court to hear, Mr. Coleman will be remanded to SCI Pine Grove.”
Both lawyers nod their assent.
And he’s gone.
You let out the longest breath of your life. The next one is so deep and uninhibited it feels like you’ve grown a second set of lungs. Have you been holding your breath your entire life? Jack guides you to your shaky feet and wraps you in a hug that feels like freedom. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”
Unable to think through the shock of it all, you whisper, “Thank you.”
You drift through the halls of the courthouse hand in hand. You haven’t been able to drop his fingers; they’re the only thing holding the balloon of your body to the earth. The bodies are blurring by. It’s strange that they’re all living the same day as you, not knowing how significant it is. Every once in a while, you feel the pulse of Jack squeezing your palm. Reminding you that you’re a living being.
On the courthouse’s long marble steps, it hits you all at once.
There aren’t any clouds in the sky. The sun is bright and hot. Blue stretches on forever and ever, beyond the city, over the rivers, out to the horizon. It’s one of those days that makes people feel like anything and everything is possible at once.
Alex is gone from your life. Your ex husband is gone from your life.
You’ll never be hurt again.
It washes over you. It’s a baptism.
You. Will. Never. Be. Hurt. Again.
It’s you and it’s Riley and it’s Maggie and-
And there’s Jack.
There’s Jack.
You stop walking and look back at him. Your eyes are watery and adoring and confused. Disbelieving. Softly, you say, just loud enough to share with only him, no question mark on the end of the statement, “I did it.”
His hands are on the sides of your arms, now, and his eyes are searching yours. “Yeah, bird. You did it. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
He goes to move again, but you catch his hand. Your voice is secretive. Small. Certain. “Jack, hold on. Wait a second.”
You can’t stop looking at him. Have his eyes always had a thousand rings of gold and green and brown like a whole forest in harvest autumn? Have his lips always been that tender shade of pale, pale cherry blossom pink? Has his voice always sounded like a crackling campfire to warm your hands on?
There’s Jack.
There’s you.
And you have to kiss him.
There’s no choice, really. You lean up onto your toes and tangle your hand in his curls and feel your heartbeat – steady today, rhythmic, no panic in it – beneath your fingertips on his cheek. His surprised lips yield to yours slowly. You don’t linger, too afraid of shattering the utter perfection of him. When you pull away, his eyes are wide and bewildered.
Familiar anxiety bubbles up in your throat when you look at his face. “Shit, I’m- Oh god, I’m sorry, I just got caught up in the moment and-”
Jack shuts you up by kissing you back.
Actually, he doesn’t just kiss you. He realizes you. His fingers splay protectively over the small of your back and his other hand goes into your hair and his lips part against yours and you think you might pass out from how right it feels. How perfect. How knowing and truthful and intimate and real.
You deepen the kiss, chasing and following. One of your hands slips into his back pocket and the other holds the side of his face. His mouth tastes of epiphany after epiphany. It tastes of self worth after decades without any. This is wonder. This is revelation. This is lust.
You break the kiss only because you need a thousand more. Heat rises in your cheeks as you look at his mouth, which has been totally overtaken by a smear of your bright red lipstick, feathery at the edges, a total disaster. Quietly, you say, “I got my lipstick all over you. Sorry about that.”
Jack’s fingers lift up to his mouth. He’s tracing the echo of the kiss, wondering how long he’ll feel the miraculous aftershocks of it. Wondering how soon he can get more of you. When he looks down at his hand, he smiles stupidly at the lipstick left behind. “Oh. Huh.”
You laugh and touch his cheek carefully. “Still with me, Jackie?”
His eyes trail up your body. From your ankles, over your calves, up the swell of your thighs and hips and stomach, to the niche of your waist, along your full breasts, across your lovely neck, all the way up to your face. He murmurs, “We should go home and eat that cake.”
“Yeah.” You match his smile. You’re sure there’s lipstick all over your teeth, now, and smudged around your mouth. But nothing in the world matters beyond Jack’s lovestruck expression. “We should.”
the townhouse smelled like fresh paint, cardboard boxes, and lavender from her essential oil kit she set up as soon as they arrived.
the morning sunlight poured through the tall front windows, stretching across the hardwood floors that she had admired for months.
the rooms echoed when they laughed with one another, not because they were empty but because they hadn't been lived in yet.
there were boxes stacked against every wall.
the kitchen.
the living room.
the bedroom.
the bathroom.
even the staircase. the one that she’d always imagined decorating with framed photographs was crowded with labeled cartons.
jack stood in the middle of the organized boxed, hands resting on his hips.
"so." he sighed, rubbing his rough hand over his scruff.
she turned toward him, the hair in her ponytail bouncing as she replied, “sooo." she dragged.
"we own a lot more books than i remembered."
that earned a giggle from her, "well most of them are mine." she pointed.
"oh, i know." he chuckled, playfully scowling.
"hey! you still let me bring them."
"this place has built-in bookshelves." he shrugged, “i knew what i was signing up for." he winked.
she crossed the room, smiling timidly up at his towering figure as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
"mm i love you."
jack looked down at her, smiling in that quiet way that always made her heart flutter.
"i love you too, petal.” he said as he leaned into kiss her.
she pulled away first, smiling as she walked away. she didn’t get too far before he playfully smacked her bum causing her to yelp.
—
by mid afternoon, they had unpacked exactly three boxes and she insisted it was because they kept getting distracted.
of course, he insisted it was because she kept stopping to admire every room.
"i can't help it." she blabbed, spinning slowly in the middle of the kitchen. "i still can't believe this is ours."
jack leaned against the island, folding his arms.
"i was hoping you'd say that."
she looked over.
"why?" she gave him a look.
"because every time you smile like that,” he shook his head. "it reminds me that i made the right decision."
her cheeks warmed immediately.
"you always know what to say."
"nah." he tutted, walking towards her, "i just tell you the truth."
—
around lunchtime, they ordered from their favorite thai food restaurant, which was now much closer to them.
they ate sitting on the floor of the living room because they hadn't unpacked the dining table yet.
she stole a broccoli from his plate and he pretended not to notice. but when she reached for another one, his fingers caught her wrist.
"baby leave some for me i beg you."
"i don't know what you're talking about."
"you've eaten half my broccoli, baby.”
"i was testing them to make sure they were cooked to your liking. i know how picky you are when it comes to broccoli.” she blushed at her own joke.
"oh” he hummed, “so for my benefit then?”
she nodded very seriously.
"of course… doctor. abbot"
he laughed under his breath.
"so selfless." he said grabbing a broccoli and holding it towards her lips. “c’mon” he ordered.
she obliged.
her eyes staying directly on his as she took it in her mouth.
—
after lunch— more unpacking.
well, at least that was their intention!
she carried a box labeled kitchen toward their new dark green cabinets.
she reached onto her tiptoes but before she could lift it higher, the weight disappeared from her hands.
jack had already taken it.
"h—hey! i had it."
“i know."
"jack." she whined.
"i didn’t like the way you were holding it. you could have torn something, s’all baby."
—
as afternoon melted into evening, the townhouse slowly transformed.
colorful books filled the shelves.
their mugs lined the kitchen cabinets.
her pastel throw blanket found its place on the couch.
his old army photographs sat beside framed pictures of the two of them.
their lives... blending together.
not just his and not just hers.
theirs.
she skipped upstairs while jack carried the last empty box to the garage while she pushed open the bedroom door.
the bed had finally been put together, thanks to her stint and hardworking man.
the fresh white sheets were screeched neatly across the mattress while their comforter was folded at the foot of the bed, waiting for be put in place.
she smiled softly because it looked like home.
she heard footsteps behind her.
then warm hands settled around her waist causing her to gasp softly as she felt him rest his chin against her shoulder.
"what're you thinking about?"
she leaned back into him. "that this doesn't feel real."
"no?" he hummed.
she shook her head.
"i used to point at this house every weekend." a tiny laugh escaped her. "and now..."
she looked around the room. "i'm standing in our bedroom."
jack's arms tightened around her, his nose caressing her neck causing her to fold into him as he rasped, "our bedroom."
she giggled as he held her in place, his lips pecking her skin.
"i— i like the way that sounds." she gasped.
"so do i" said hotly.
she reached up, intertwining her fingers with his as she spun to face him, "you know..." she said quietly, “you changed my life."
"baby." jack frowned.
“you did.” she pressed. "jack, you listened to something i said in passing."
he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"it wasn't in passing."
"it felt like it." she argued.
"i remember everything you tell me." he said, moving then back towards the duvet. her legs hit the edge of the bed.
jack cupped her face gently, biting his lip as he felt her tremble with anticipation under his touch. even after all this time, she was still so shy. so innocent.
"you happy?" he wanted to know.
she nodded slowly, “i’m so happy, jack.”
she rose onto her toes and kissed him, slowly and unhurried. like there was nowhere else either of them needed to be.
jack smiled against her lips.
"i’ve been wanting to do that all day." he growled.
"you've kissed me all day." she giggled, pulling away.
"not like this."
she laughed softly before kissing him again and this time, his hands settled a little more firmly at her waist, drawing her closer until there wasn't an inch of space left between them.
she could feel his smile.
she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.
he pulled away first, their chests moving fast as they caught their breaths. jack rested his forehead against hers.
"so..."
she looked up innocently.
"mm—so?"
he glanced toward the bedroom door, then back at her.
"you're not interested in unpacking the last box tonight, are you?”
her gaze lingered on his lips before looking toward the lonely cardboard box sitting just outside the room.
a grin tugged at her lips.
"i think it'll still be there tomorrow." she shrugged.
"i had a feeling you'd say that." he said, his hands trailing down to grasp into her hips.
she looped her arms around his neck.
"what did you have in mind instead, dr. abbot?"
a slow smile spread across his face—the kind that made her stomach flutter every single time. she knew how he’d fall apart every time she called him that.
"i was thinking..."
he brushed another lingering kiss against her lips.
"...we should properly christen our new home."
her cheeks flushed instantly, gasping slightly as she felt his scruff against her skin.
“o—oh?"
"you know. strictly for sentimental reasons."
she let out a scoff. “mhm, yeah okay."
"i take home ownership very seriously." he said, his eyes dark.
she laughed, hiding her face against his chest.
"you're impossible."
"so I've been told." he hummed.
he kissed the top of her head, his voice dropping into that warm, rumble— the one that made her knees go weak.
“does this mean we need to christen every room?” she asked looking up. giving him that pretty little smile.
“every. single. room. even the stairs.” his eyes met hers, “and that’s a promise.” he said dipping his head down. his lips fanning over her collarbone.
she gasped as his hands traced the lining of her jeans. he tugged on the belt loops causing her to bite her lip.
she leaned up to kiss him and he immediately moaned into her lips as she sucked onto his bottom lip, biting playfully.
she turned them around and guided him to sit on the bed. he groaned as she unraveled herself from his arms as he tried to pull her into his lap
“be right back.” she whispered.
he watched as she walked backwards to nudge the bedroom door closed with her foot before she slowly pulled off her top to reveal the black laced bra she’d been hiding from him all day.
shy!reader x jack abbot | mdni | this is part two! find part one here
authors note: you guys!! thank you sm for the love on part one. i woke up early to write this because i just couldn’t stop thinking about them. ugh! xoxo
—
the next few weeks became torture in the sweetest way possible. because now jack had a mission and when he had a mission he was dead set on seeing it through.
he noticed how she tucked her chin down whenever he looked directly at her as they passed each other in the hallways.
he noticed how her hands fidgeted with her sleeves while waiting for the elevator. he even noticed how she’d smile at everybody’s dogs before their owners.
and most of all… he noticed she never believed him when he flirted with her. “morning, sweetheart.”
she would blink up at him all confused like who, me?
she was driving him insane.
-
on this rare occasion he was off on a friday evening and she was crouched in front of her apartment door struggling to find her keys in her tote bag as she placed her shopping bags on the floor beside her.
so when jack came up the stairs after working out in the gym in their apartment complex, his eyes immediately landed on her.
he called her name as he came up behind her, “what do we have here.” he clapped, “how much stuff did you buy?”
she jumped out of her skin so badly she wanted to just roll away. “oh my god!” she yelped. jack was quick to bend and balance her before she fell over “woe easy, there.”
“sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment.
“why are you apologizing? i’m the one who startled you outta your shoes ” he chuckled.
“…i don’t know.”
“sorry.” he said earnestly making her smile up at him in response.
he bent down beside her before she could protest, grabbing two of the heavier bags like it was nothing. his forearm flexed under the sleeve of his black compression shirt and her brain basically did a short-circuit turning into mush as she noticed freckles painted against his perfect skin.
“i got it.”
“oh, wait! you don’t have to—”
“i know.”
they played this game before.
jack looked down at her then, his eyes narrowing “i’m happy to.” he shrugged.
her mind went blank. she thought she might actually pass out. jack definitely noticed. because a tiny smirk pulled at his mouth. not mean or anything… just pleased and maybe a little cocky.
-
once they arrived inside her apartment, she rushed around clearing space on the counter while he set everything down.
“thanks,” she said softly. “again… we’re always meeting like this” she let out an awkward chuckle.
jacks heart tightened at that. he hadn’t felt this way about someone like this since his wife. he knew he was walking into murky water, but he felt that it was time. it was right. “you always this nervous around me?”
his low teasing voice made her feel hot all over. she pressed her hand against her check as she glanced around her tidy apartment to play off her feverish blush.
“no. i don’t know what your talking about” she scoffed.
“sweetheart.” he laughed under his breath. “you can’t even look at me… it’s cute.” he mused, trying the waters.
her face went molten. she pinched her arm to confirm that this was actually happening.
oh god, this is actually happening.
jack leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching her carefully because he wasn’t teasing her anymore. suddenly he looked almost curious. cautious as he thought of what he was going to do next.
is this okay? he thought.
“has nobody told you you’re cute before?”
her mouth fell open. then closed. then open again before she finally let out a strangled sound, “not like that.”
jack’s entire expression changed. he looked at her like she’d said something completely unbelievable because how could men her age not understand the gravity of her being.
“are you serious?”
she shrugged awkwardly, looking everywhere but at him “i mean… not really.”
jack stared at her for a long beat before pushing himself off the counter, walking closer as he body twisted over hers. she wanted to shrink away and hide but the excitement in her stomach kept her feet grounded to the hardwood floor.
“c’mere.” he said causing her heartbeat to quicken so fast she was scared he might hear it.
she moved slowly so she was right in front of him, close enough that she could smell his cologne and the undertone of sweat that stuck to his clothes.
one of his fingers hooked gently under her chin. “can you look at me?”
she did as he asked, biting the inside of her cheek as jack’s gaze softened so much it almost hurt to look at him. the was floor disappearing from right under her feet as his touch electrified against her skin.
“pretty girl,” he said quietly like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you really have no idea, huh?”
-
one month later..
it happened on a thursday night.
the elevator opened on their floor just as she was coming back from taking out the trash, and there he was waiting to down and meet his friend robby for a pep talk.
jack was in dark sweatpants and a hoodie. he looked impossibly cozy and she couldn’t help but let her eyes travel down his body.
his eyes landed on her instantly. shock glittering his features. “oh hey, sweetheart.”
there went her ability on being a human being.
“hi, jack.” she smiled.
she stepped out of the elevator, his gaze lingering on her face as she crossed her arms for support while he looked like he was thinking for something.
jack sighed quietly to himself. he contemplated this for weeks, battling with the idea of going through with this. he wasn’t trying to replace his late wife. never. but he wanted to find connection again, and he just had a feeling about y/n.
trust your gut he said to himself.
“okay.”
she blinked. “okay?”
“i can’t keep doing this,” arms flying out beside him as he spoke.
panic. terror, earth shattering anxiety stampeding toward her at full speed.
“doing what?” she asked blabbed.
jack looked at her for a long moment before laughing softly under his breath. he couldn’t believe how sweet she was. how kind. how innocent. he wanted more. he needed to explore her in every way possible.
“you keep getting nervous every time we see each other,” he said.
her face burned hot enough to melt through concrete. “i’m sorry!” she said quickly, her hand flying onto grasp at his arm. her way of motioning that she felt horrible for making him even bring it up.
he took a step closer, allowing her hand to take grip of his hoodie as he shook his head at her, “don’t be sorry.” he cooed.
“i keep trying to get your attention and subtly dropping hints. but i don’t think you’re fully grasping my intentions here.”
she gulped. eyes zoning onto his while he craned his neck down, creating their own little bubble. as if he didn’t want to scare her off or loose his nerve.
“so i’m trying something else.” he finished.
she could hear her own heartbeat.
jack shoved one hand into his pocket, watching her carefully now. way less cocky than usual.
making the air even more serious. more charged.
“there’s this little deli a few blocks over,” he said.
“it’s been there for longer than you’ve been alive.. probably.” he said with a smile, “it’s open all night. shitty coffee. decent sandwichs.”
she stared at him and he stared back intently.
“carson’s deli?” she questioned, eyebrows raising
jack scoffed in surprise, “yeah, but—”
“they have good parm—” jack gaped at her. she was something else.
he laughed deeply making her stop and chuckle out a “what?”
authors note: a little self indulgent imagine. i hope my fellow shy girls enjoy <3 [ due to popular demand: find part two here ]
—
she was crouched in the hallway outside her apartment at eight in the morning, trying to pick up the contents of a ripped grocery bag.
“are you serious right now” she groaned.
she moved into the building about a month ago and already felt too awkward. everyone here seemed polished and so certain of themselves, living their fabulous lives while she still hesitated before speaking in shared elevators.
then came the heavy sound of boots down the hall.
“jesus,” a rough voice muttered. “you got jumped by a whole foods?”
she looked up too fast. her eyes widening, mouth going dry at the sight of him.
the man standing there was devastatingly handsome. large broad shoulders under a dark tee shirt, a hospital badge still clipped onto it. his face was worn like he was exhausted but in a way that made him even more gorgeous.
his eyes landed on her like she was something that caused her heart to skip a beat. he was looking at her like he actually saw her.
heat crawled up her neck as she spoke timidly, “the bag broke.”
stupid. obviously he can see that.
“yeah..” he hummed. hands on his hips as he peered down at her.
suddenly he crouched beside her without hesitation, large calloused hands collecting apples before they rolled away. his elbow brushing hers once as she nearly stopped breathing.
“new neighbor?” he asked.
she nodded. “mhm.. i’m actually across from you.”
“that explains it.” he hummed, bringing his lips into a sideways smile.
“what does?” her curiosity getting the better of her.
“i haven’t seen you before.” his gaze flicked toward her, steady and unreadable. “would’ve remembered.” he shrugged.
her stomach flipped so hard it almost hurt. men never say things like that. not to her.
growing up, she had always felt slightly out of frame beside other girls. too quiet. too nervous. too soft in the wrong ways. boys liked her friends, of course, they were the confident ones, the loud ones, the girls who knew how to flirt without blushing.
meanwhile she spent most of her life shrinking herself before anyone else could do it first.
but jack looked at her like none of that existed. like she was actually worth noticing.
“what’s your name?” he asked, struggling slightly with the weight of his body resting on his prosthetic.
she told him her name, earning a hum in response as he handed her the last can from the floor, fingers lingering for half a second. “i’m jack.”
she swallowed. “uh.. i know.”
his eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “oh yeah?”
breathlessly, she let out, “the walls are thin.”
that made him laugh, deep and low and surprised. and for some reason, that manly sound settled something nervous inside her chest causing her to smile bashfully.
oh my god?! why would you say that?!
jack stood, taking two grocery bags from her hands before she could protest. “come, i’ll walk you in.”
panic dripped into her veins, what was he doing?? he can’t do this! “you don’t have to—”
“already doing it.”
-
inside her apartment, she rushed to clear a couple of unopened boxes off the counter while he set the groceries down. her place was a homey delight, the caramel heugh coming from her sunset lamp creating a warmth that engulfed them as they stood in her kitchen in silence.
she braced for embarrassment.
instead, jack slowly looked around the apartment, then at her. “it suits you.”
her heart stuttered as she let out a chuckle, “you don’t even know me.” she said, a small smile plastered across her face as she gripped onto the island counter.
“don’t gotta know everything.” his eyes held hers again. they were intense enough to make her butterflies flutter. “can tell plenty already.”
no one had ever looked at her like that before. like she was soft in a way worth protecting. like her quietness wasn’t something to apologize for.
she looked down quickly, suddenly shy beneath the weight of his undivided attention. jack noticed, of course he did.
his voice softened. “you always avoid eye contact like that?”
a nervous laugh escaped her. “how- i… yes.”
“why?” he wanted to know.
because people don’t usually like what they see she wants to say.
because no one had ever made her feel beautiful before.
because wanting to feel desired felt embarrassing when you spent your whole life feeling forgettable.
but of course she didn’t say any of that.
jack stepped closer anyway, not crowding her but still enough for his presence to wrap around her.
“well,” he said quietly, “you should stop.”
she finally looked up and there it was again…that devastating look.
the one that made her feel warm, feminine and wanted, like every hidden ache she carried in her head had suddenly been placed in someone else’s careful hands.
jack’s jaw tightened slightly as he looked at her. “pretty little ladies shouldn’t hide.”
her breath caught at that. her heeks going pink and her head all fuzzy as she looked up at him.
because somehow she has an inclination that he meant it.
It's nearly nine when Jack walks behind Trinity and Dennis at the hub, peeking at whatever they're looking at on her phone—a post of some trendy commodity that’s gone viral for the month.
He stops in his tracks and chuckles, “Oh, my wife loves those.”
They practically snap their necks to look at him, confused. “Your wife?” Trinity asks, incredulous.
Jack nods toward a vague direction in front of them, and their eyes lead to you, yawning your way through charting at a desk. In the middle of it, you put your head down to sneak a few seconds of shut-eye.
The two slowly turn their heads back to him, with Trinity squinting her eyes at his affectionate gaze to you.
“I thought you guys had only been seeing each other for, like, a month.”
Jack shrugs. “I’m, uh…what do you kids call it? Manifesting.” He pats Dennis’ shoulder. “Finish your charts and go home. It's late.”
He walks away, leaving them more confused than before. They watch him round your desk, kiss your head, and murmur something to you. You sigh and lift your head, visibly a bit lighter.
Trinity gags. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hey, I think it's nice!” Dennis nudges her with his elbow.
first time she pointed out the townhouse, jack didn't think much of it. he hummed in response, holding onto her smaller hand even tighter as a biker was passing them on the sidewalk.
they were walking back from their favorite coffee shop, paper cups warming their hands against the chilly pittsburgh morning.
she'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring across the street with that dreamy look she got whenever something captured her attention.
"ugh.” she swooned. “that's my favorite house," she'd said.
jack had followed her gaze.
it was a beautiful townhouse. it was about three stories of brick and black shutters with overflowing flower boxes beneath the windows. it was elegant without being flashy. it was lived-in without looking old.
he'd hummed his acknowledgment and continued walking.
that should have been the end of it.
but it wasn't.
because the next week she pointed it out again.
and the week after that… and the one after.
soon it became part of their routine.
coffee, pastries, the townhouse.
every single saturday morning and every single time they passed it, her pace slowed.
sometimes she'd admire the little balcony on the second floor, or the iron railings, even the huge windows that flooded the interior with sunlight. and other times she would just smile at it quietly before continuing down the block.
jack never teased her about it.
he just listened the way he always listened.
collecting and gathering every detail she offered without her realizing it.
it was like he was storing them away somewhere safe.
—
months later, she was standing in front of the pastry display at the coffee shop when jack casually mentioned the open house.
she looked up immediately.
"what.. really?" she said in disbelief. “i didn’t see a sign, though. are you sure?” she said in the middle of taking a bite of her banana loaf.
"yeah they’re showing the townhouse today.” he repeated with that signature sideways smile. “it’s a private showing.” he shrugged.
the excitement that lit her face was instant and for a moment, jack almost felt guilty because she had absolutely no idea…
when they arrived, the house was somehow even more beautiful inside.
sunlight spilled through oversized windows, warming polished hardwood floors and pale walls.
the entire place felt bright, open and comfortable.
it was a place that people built lives together and they could feel the warmth of a loved and cherished home.
jack spent most of the tour watching her instead of the house.
watching her wander into every room with wide eyes, watching her run her fingertips along the bathroom countertops.
watching her stand in front of windows and imagine things.
he knew she was imagining things because she'd always done that. her imagination was everything that made her into the dreamer that she was.
even in their tiny conversations, or while walking down the street.
she saw dreams everywhere and a beautifully bright future in every empty space.
"this kitchen is incredible." she mused, as she rounded the kitchen island and peered out the windows that rested right above the kitchen sink.
her voice echoed softly through the room as jack leaned against the doorway.
her shoulders sank as she peered into the lush backyard garden.
"It is." he said as he watched her in quiet awe.
she moved toward one of the windows, sunlight caught her hair. the sight of her standing there nearly stole the breath from his lungs.
because she looked like she belonged there.. with him. he nearly groaned at the sight of her. her hair falling behind her shoulders while she playfully pretended to wash the dishes.
he smiled wildly as she looked behind her at him and wiggled her eyebrows, causing them both to giggle.
it looked like she wasn’t visiting.
or imagining.
she was just belonging.
as if the house had been waiting for her this whole entire time.
the realtor eventually left them alone to explore.
that was when the trouble started.
because the more she saw, the more she fell in love with it.
and the more she fell in love with it, the more impossible it became for her to hide her disappointment.
by the time they reached the living room again, she was trying very hard to be realistic.
jack knew that look it was the one where she talked herself out of wanting something.
“it's okay," she said softly.
nobody had even asked a question.
jack raised an eyebrow as she laughed a little sadly.
"this place is just..." her gaze drifted toward the windows.
the fireplace.
the staircase.
everything.
"it's perfect." she hummed as jack placed his hand on the back of her small back. her words came out as barely more than a whisper as she looked up at him.
jack felt something squeeze painfully inside his chest.
because she wasn't being dramatic.
or materialistic, or unrealistic, she just genuinely loved this place.
the same way she loved old bookstores and small coffee shops and rainy afternoons cuddled with a good book.
she loved things completely, with her whole heart.
"a girl can dream, right?" she said softly to him. her smile small.
jack stared at her for a long moment— long enough that she did a double take when she wanted to pull him out and go back home.
"w-what?" she looked at him in confusion.
his hands slipped into his pockets, a nervous habit which was one she rarely ever saw.
then he nodded toward the room around them.
"good thing you don't have to." he nodded earnestly.
confusion flickered across her face. she laughed his name, "what are you talking about?"
"you don't have to dream about it, baby."
the silence that followed stretched before he finally said it.
"i bought it."
she blinked…once…twice.
the words clearly didn't fully register and he wanted to kiss her stupid as she gave him a look of pure confusion.
"i bought the townhouse, baby.” he said stalking closer to her, his shoes echoing throughout the room.
still nothing.
her mouth opened slightly.
closed it.
opened again.
jack fought back a smile because for someone so smart, she looked completely lost.
"you..." her voice disappeared.
jack nodded trying to get it out of her.
"i bought it." he said cocooning her into his arms as if to block her away from the rest of the world.
another heartbeat passed.
then another.
finally her eyes widened.
not a little.
a lot.
the kind of realization that arrives all at once. it was sudden and overwhelming and her heart was beating so fast she could have sworn that he could hear it.
"f-for us?" the question cracked in the middle.
jack's expression softened immediately.
"yeah." his voice was gentle, “so we can have somewhere that's ours."
the tears arrived instantly.
jack sighed.
because of course they did.
she slapped both hands over her face.
which somehow made it worse.
"sweetheart—"
"you bought me a house?”
his laugh filled the room. "i bought us a house."
"a whole house, jack."
"technically it's a townhouse." he teased causing her to let out a watery laugh.
then immediately started crying harder.
“i want you to decorate it however you want and i’m gonna help you.” he said softly, moving her hair behind her shoulders as she looked up at him. “we’re gonna make it ours.”
the next thing jack knew, she was throwing her arms around his neck as he wrapped his strong arms around her small frame.
of course he caught her automatically.
strong freckled arms wrapping around her waist as she buried her face against his chest.
the familiar scent of coffee and aftershave surrounded her instantly.
safe, comforting, home.
kack rested his chin on top of her head, holding her tightly. neither of them spoke for a while.
they just stood there in the middle of their future living room as the sunlight poured in around them.
the house quiet and waiting.
finally she tilted her head back enough to look at him.
her eyes were red and her cheeks damp.
beautiful.
"you remembered." the words were tiny they made jack frown.
"remembered what?" he wanted to know, as he wiped his thumb against her wet cheeks.
she laughed softly. "the windows."
his expression immediately melted because of course that's what she was talking about.
not the price, or the size and not even the investment of it all.
the windows.
the thing she'd mentioned months ago during a random walk.
"the balcony." her voice trembled.
"the flower boxes."
jack brushed his thumb against her bottom lip as it quivered.
"i remember everything you tell me." he mused.
and judging by the way her face crumpled, that might have been the most emotional thing he'd said all day.
—
later, after the realtor returned and paperwork was discussed and the reality of it all slowly settled around them, they found themselves standing on the little front patio.
the one she'd always admired and pointed out dozens of times.
jack handed her the key, simple and unassuming. yet somehow heavier than anything she'd ever held before.
she stared at it in her palm, then up at him, then back at the house.
their house. their future.
their home.
jack leaned down and kissed her forehead softly before giving her the smile that destroyed her every single time because it was the kind of smile he reserved only for her.
"what do you say we go back and start to unpack" he hummed.
and this time, when she looked at the townhouse, she didn't have to imagine anymore.
A/N: waaaah this is just a little chapter (by my standards i know) but i really felt it was an important one. fun fact the smoothie anecdote pretty much exactly happened between me and my spouse and that's when i realized we were in it forever.
Word Count: 2.1k
The second you’re in Jack’s truck after the picnic, you fall apart, bending over your knees and sobbing in big ugly gasps that wrack your body. “I’m s- so sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to- to make a scene in front of your friends. Oh god, your colleagues. I won’t do it again, okay? I’m really, really sorry. Just- just- I know you’re mad, but- please- please don’t hate me.”
“Hey, hey, love, breathe for me, okay?” Jack reaches over and rubs your shuddering back. He strokes his fingers through your hair and murmurs, “Just breathe for a second. You’re safe here. I’ve got you. Riley’s safe. We’re all okay.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots across the bench seat, suddenly thankful he insisted on taking his truck. As he wraps his arms around you, he tugs you close against his chest and says, “I’m not mat at you, bird. Don’t think that for a second.”
You blink hard and look up at him, still sniffling and hitching. “But I- I made myself look so stupid in front of your friends and I sh- should’ve acted better. I messed up.”
“What?” The strange tone in Jack’s voice – hurting for you but somehow amused – makes your tears roll again. This time, they feel different. Lighter. He takes your hand in his and kisses your knuckles. “I swear I’m not mad. Of course I’m not mad. A guy you don’t know reached toward your face. You’re a domestic abuse survivor. You got triggered. That shit just happens; we work on it, but we can’t control it. You know as well as anyone it happens to me plenty, too.”
Bewildered, you have to clarify again, “You’re not mad?”
“Not even a little,” he assures. “Would you be mad if I panicked during a fireworks show? Or freaked out because the ceiling fans look like helicopter blades all of a sudden?”
You nod, letting the idea settle around you like a blanket. “What about Robby? I didn't mean to make him feel bad.”
“Honey, it takes a lot more than that to make Robby feel bad; the man has an ego the size of a hot air balloon.” When you finally laugh, he lets out a slow, relieved breath. The worst is over. “And I’m sure none of them are judging you or me or thinking anything but how nice it was to meet one of my best friends and hang out with the coolest baby in the world for a few hours.”
You turn your body toward him and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling into his chest. “Love you, Jack.”
He kisses the top of your head. “Love you, too.”
It’s moments like this – challenging your expectations of how a man will treat you – when Jack heals you.
Making breakfast for the two of you one morning before his shift, the blender just…slips out of your hand. You must’ve put it together incorrectly because the whole bottom falls out. You try desperately to catch it and the blade goes straight across your hand, but you don’t even process the pain of it as you watch the disaster unfold, the sound of glass shattering waking Riley and sending him into wails.
“Shit. Shit shit shit.”
You bend down to the mess and start picking up pieces of glass, collecting them in your palm, not even thinking about yourself as they nick you and aggravate the existing cut. The baby’s crying and glass is pressing to your knees and all you can think about is how you deserve to be punished, how stupid you were not to double check the blender before picking it up, how you’re a burden and a failure and-
Jack runs out of his bedroom at the clattering and cursing. The sound of his prosthetic on the floor breaks you from your stupor. He’s half-dressed, not wearing a shirt, a bit of toothpaste clinging to the corner of his lip. At his presence, shame flashes hot in your cheeks. “Oh my god, Jack, I’m so sorry; I’ll get this cleaned up right now and then go and get a new blender and you won’t even-”
“Wait, slow down.” Jack takes a slow step closer and, concerned, says, tentative but firm, clearly intending to make you stop what you’re doing, “You’re bleeding.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” You frantically reach up to the counter to snatch up some paper towel, pressing it into the cuts on your palm to appease him before using some more sheets of paper towels to begin sopping up the smoothie. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing. I’ll handle everything. Go finish getting ready.”
“Stop moving,” he says, soft and quiet but stern. No room for argument. You do, looking back up at him with wild, fearful eyes. His expression is perfectly calm, no waiting storm behind it. He takes a step closer and says, “Stand up for me; don’t move your feet.”
You do as he says. Your whole body’s shaking, expecting him to yell at you, but you only find care in his hazel eyes.
Like he’s speaking to a wobbly baby deer, he says, “I’m gonna pick you up now and lift you over here, okay? You don’t have any shoes on and I don’t want you stepping on any of the glass. We’ll go to the bathroom, make sure that hand’s taken care of properly, and then clean this up together.”
You nod carefully but say, “Riley’s crying. I should- I should help him.”
“He’s fed and clean and safe in his crib; we don’t need to worry about him right now.” Jack reaches over the mess and wraps his hands around your waist. “Brace on my shoulders, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Trusting him with everything you have, you let him guide you out of the glass minefield, his strong hands keeping you in the air long enough to get you to safety. When your feet find the clean floor, you almost wish he’d keep holding you, helping you drift through the safety of the world without touching the ground.
Jack wipes the tears from your cheeks and murmurs, “Come to my bathroom. I’ve got a first aid kit in there.”
You shake your head and reply, “I can handle putting a Band-Aid on myself.”
“There might be glass in the cut,” he points out. “You’ve got a doctor at home; let me do my job.”
“You’ll be late for work.”
“Yeah,” he replies, “I will.” He takes his phone from his pocket and shoots off a text to Robby and Dana to let them know. “Come on. I’ll take care of you.”
You sniffle and try to understand even though you aren’t quite capable yet. “Okay.”
Sitting on Jack’s countertop as he uses sterilized tweezers to pull miniscule shards of glass from the meat of your palm, you wince and flinch but manage to stay still. With the hand that steadies yours, he strokes your skin with his thumb. “You’re doing great. Just a little more and we’ll be done.”
“Thanks for doing this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry about the blender.”
He shakes his head and sighs, taking out a roll of bandage to wrap around your hand. “You’re worth a hell of a lot more to me than that blender.”
Sniffling and starting to smile, you pout, “It was a Vitamix.”
He chuckles, a smirk forming on his lips while he finishes with your hand. “I don’t even know what that means, bird.”
“It’s a nice blender,” you explain, “like, restaurant quality.”
“Then it should be easy to replace.” He presses a soft kiss to your palm and meets your eyes. The morning light turns the flecks of gold in his to glitter. “There you go; all better.”
You realize that, back in the living room, Riley’s cries have quieted. You look at Jack with misty eyes. “Hear that? He self-soothed. God, he’s growing up so fast.”
“I know.” He shakes his head and laughs. “Fourteen fucking pounds already.”
“We really do need to stop cursing,” you tell him with a playful nudge to his leg with your dangling foot. “Three months is when babies start listening to everything, according to Dr. Reyes. I don’t want his first word to be ‘fuck.’”
His mischievous smile glimmers. “That’d be kind of funny though, wouldn’t it?”
“It would be extremely funny until he has to go to daycare with a potty mouth and CPS gets called.”
Jack wrinkles his nose. “Right, daycare.”
“I know; I don’t want to send him, either.” You rest your head on Jack’s shoulder and sigh. “One more week until I have to go back to work.”
Jack strokes your hair gently. “Have you thought about quitting your job? I can-”
You pull back and press a hand to the center of his chest. “Jack, please. Don’t.”
“Why not?”
You give him a serious look. “I can’t be financially dependent on a man who has no obligation to keep supporting me. Not with a baby to take care of.”
Jack bites back the urge to seriously offer marriage. He knows that would be fucked up, much as Teddy on Grey’s Anatomy appeals to him as a character. Instead he sighs and says, “I know. We’ll get it figured out.”
You give him a quick hug and hop off the counter. “We will.”
“Shall we go clean up the smoothie explosion now?”
With a nod, you follow him out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen. It really is explosive; pink is splattered up the counters, across the floors, even a few drips sent all the way to the ceiling. It's a real Jackson Pollock situation
Jack whistles. “This is, like, a sitcom-level mess.”
You cringe a little. “Yeah.”
Then he laughs. Actually laughs. He’s not making fun of you or judging you. It really does just look ridiculous, like something a kindergartener would bring home. “Alright, let’s get working. Be careful.”
You don’t even know what words have been said anymore. You’ve been bickering back and forth with Jack since you put Riley down after dinner, frustrated as you did the dishes together. It started with something mundane – scheduling or cleaning, you can’t remember anymore – but, all of a sudden, you’re spitting out something that cuts too deep. That goes too far. That pisses Jack off.
Anger flashes in his eyes.
When you see it, the world slows to a stop. Nausea tightens in your stomach and everything is made of ice.
This is the moment.
It always comes. Unrelenting. Cyclical.
Jack’s going to hit you.
Your body knows it, deep down, like it’s inevitable. You brace for it, shrinking back, raising up your arms. You hear Maggie trotting behind your legs, tuned into you. Needing to check in with you.
But what you thought was inevitable doesn’t come.
Jack just shakes his head, looks down at the ground, runs a hand through his hair, and sighs, “How about we call therapy rules here and stop for a second to cool down?”
Your heartbeat is loud and bloody in your ears, whooshing and pounding. Adrenaline dumps your system, sending your teeth chattering and your hands trembling. Your cheeks are so hot they could spark into flame. Maggie whines again and nudges your thigh with her wet nose, demanding your attention. You drop down to hug her, centering yourself and coming back into reality because of her presence. Rubbing her ears and breathing her in, you murmur into her forehead, “It’s okay; everything’s okay. Good girl.”
After a few long breaths with her, you realize you’re safe. In fact, you realize you were never in any danger at all. Maggie didn’t growl at Jack. She didn’t lunge or bark. She just wanted to comfort you, but there wasn’t a threat. And she always knows when there’s a threat.
After a while, you manage to breathe, “I’m sorry, Jackie.”
He gives a soft smile. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too. We’re both exhausted from Riley’s damn growth spurt. Cranky little goblin won’t let us sleep.” Then, carefully, he lowers himself to the floor, next to you and Maggie. “Can I hold you a minute?”
You nod slowly and lift up your arm for him to join, looking like a baby bunny eyeing up a rifle. When you fold against his chest, your breaths start to even out. With Maggie’s face between you, Jack holds you close, each of his breaths steadying yours. Tears crest over your waterline and darken his gray tee.
Jack pulls back just far enough to cup your face in his big hand. eyes searching yours. “You’re shaking. Do you wanna talk about it?”
“I thought- I thought-” You suck in a sharp breath that shudders and tell him, “Alex would’ve hit me. Just then. When I said that.”
Jack holds you tighter. “That’s because he’s a piece of shit.”
You can’t breathe as you whisper, “I would’ve deserved it.”
“No.” That’s all Jack says for a long time. That one syllable is heavy. It holds so much. So many truths and fears and promises. Then he’s deathly serious as he tilts your chin upward, eye contact intimate and knowing, and vows, “I will never put my hands on you or Riley. No matter how angry or upset I might get, I’ll always stop or walk away. That’s not the kind of man I am.” Then Maggie whines for his attention and he chuckles, dropping a hand affectionately to her head, “Yes, I’ve got you too, princess.”
And, seeing his smile lines scrunch as Maggie leans up to lick his late-night-scruffy cheek, you believe him.
A/N: i don't know why this chap took me so long to write, but im really happy with how it came out anyway
Word Count: 4.8k
After debating it for a long time, you knock tentatively on Jack’s door around nine. You’d eaten breakfast together early during one of Riley’s feeds and then he went back to get more sleep since it’s his day off and the ED picnic isn’t until the afternoon. But it’s also Riley’s two-month pediatrician visit, which has you beyond rattled. Looking down at his innocent chubby body imagining him getting poked with all sorts of needles for his vaccines makes your stomach turn.
Jack opens up his bedroom door looking gorgeous, not that you notice that kind of thing. His silver and auburn hair is ruffled from his pillows and he’s rubbing sleep out of his eyes much like Riley does after a long nap. He leans in the doorframe with the morning light behind him and asks gently, somehow not annoyed that you’ve woken him up, “Hey, you need something?”
You nibble your lower lip for a minute and then meet his eyes. You’ve been working up the confidence to ask him for days, gauging his reaction to every tiny request you manage to ask of him. Jack’s consistency and support is finally starting to unravel the knots inside of you from years with lesser men. Finally, you’re ready to ask him something that really matters to you.
“I was wondering if you’d come to Riley’s pediatrician visit with me.” Even though Jack was ready to say yes to anything out of your mouth, part of you still needs to over-explain when you ask for help, so you go on, “He has his big course of vaccines today and I’m a nervous wreck.”
Jack stills. This is the first time you’ve asked him to help with something real, something beyond passing you a fork or digging through the diaper bag. That knowledge sings through his nerve endings. With a shy smile, he nods and says, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.
Before you can lose your courage, you also squeak out, “And I was wondering if, you know- While we’re there, I’m gonna have to update our information, and- and we haven’t had an emergency contact on file before because god knows I wouldn’t trust Alex in an emergency, but I figure since we’re living with you, maybe it would be good if you were on there. If that’s okay with you.”
“Makes perfect sense to me.” He knows better than to make a big deal out of it even though softness is spreading through him. “I’ll get dressed and we can drive over together.”
Jack feels exceptionally weird entering the medical complex’s main entrance instead of through the Pitt. Everyone looks so…normal. So healthy. So not like their intestines are about to fall out. He walks in stride with you, holding Riley’s baby carrier tightly and protectively in his right arm. You won’t admit it, but it’s really nice having someone else to carry Riley around now that he’s getting heavier pretty rapidly.
As the three of you get on the elevator together, a nurse smiles at Jack, looks him up and down, and says, “Nice hot dad walk, Dr. Abbot. I didn’t even realize you’d gotten married.”
He turns to the nurse, cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. Before he can correct her, the doors are opening on the next floor and she’s gone. You’re smiling to yourself and not completely sure why. Maybe just because his blush is charming. It’s always cute to see the composed, serious doctor a little flustered.
On the pediatric floor, you check in while Jack sits down with Riley’s carrier on the floor between his legs. With his arms crossed over his chest in his casual clothes – a fitted black tee and medium jeans – he looks like Riley’s personal bouncer.
You sit next to him, rocking the carrier gently.
Eyes scanning the room like he’s preparing for an intruder drill, Jack asks, “Who’s your pediatrician?”
“Dr. Reyes.”
He nods to himself, making mental notes. “Good. She’s good.”
You snicker, “You spend a lot of time up in pediatrics, doc?”
With a modest shrug, he explains, “I know which doctors we send kids to for follow-ups and which ones we avoid.”
“Glad to get the tricks of the trade,” you tease.
The nurse calls you back and leads the three of you to one of the pastel vomit exam rooms. Riley stirs under the bright fluorescents, blinking hard and searching for you. Just as you go for his carrier, Dr. Reyes knocks on the door and joins you.
“Good to see the two of you again.” She smiles and shakes your hand, then Riley’s tiny one just to make him smile. Then, looking massively skeptical, she stares down Jack. “Are you Alexander?”
“God, no. Just the help; emotional support person,” he says immediately. Dr. Reyes relaxes; based on your stories, she hates Alex more than almost anyone. Jack offers her a handshake and introduces himself, “I’m an attending down in the ED, actually. Jack Abbot.”
“That name I definitely recognize,” she chuckles. “You’re the, ah, what is it the girls say? ‘ER cowboy’? The guy who does all those crazy procedures? You did that elevator C-section last year.”
You cut him an amused look as he smirks and replies, “That would be me, yeah. But today I’m just Riley’s second-biggest fan.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She gives you a look that manages to mix hopeful and suspicious at once. “I saw in your file that you had an ER visit a few weeks ago and that you updated your emergency contact. Is Alex…?”
“He’s no longer in the picture,” you tell her with a proud smile that Jack feels down to his core. Fuck, it feels good to say that out loud to someone. “Just waiting on the court to make the protection order official and sentence him so he can’t bother us ever again.”
“Kiara’s going to be thrilled to hear that.”
“She already knows what’s going on with me,” you assure quickly, knowing how important it is to show the social worker (and everyone in the system) how committed to Riley’s safety you are after a domestic violence incident. “She’s been amazing with checking in on us and keeping me updated on the case. I’ve made it very clear to her that Riley is my only priority now.”
Earnest and warm, she says, “I’m proud of you. Really.” Then she looks over at the baby in Jack’s arms, who’s looking around curiously, still sleepy from his nap. Jack hands him off and she maneuvers him toward the exam table. “Let’s get started. It’s a big one today, little man.”
You manage to keep it together, but Jack cries during Riley’s vaccinations, his spilling tears coming in time with Riley’s big wails as the needle pierces him. You think about teasing Jack for it, but then Riley looks up at him with watery eyes and he starts to calm down. Something about his big, masculine maybe-dad mirroring his oversized feelings soothes him.
When the vaccines are done, Jack swaddles Riley and holds him tight to his chest like they’ve just gone through a mass trauma in the ED together. Jack breathes deep and tells him, “You were so brave, little man. That was badass.”
You make eye contact with Dr. Reyes as your heart triples in size. She gives you one of those knowing looks between women that says ‘you’ve got a good one.’
The ER picnic is the first time you’ve gotten dressed up since Riley was born. You bought a new dress and shoes (both a size or two up from pre-baby), nervous about making a good impression on Jack’s friends and colleagues who’d only ever seen you at your worst. Putting on something with actual shape boosts your confidence way up. Adding on a few of your favorite accessories makes you feel like yourself again.
Taking Riley out of the bedroom once you’re ready to go, you approach Jack, who’s leaning over the diaper bag, rearranging to fit it in the storage compartment of Riley’s stroller. You fuss a bit more with Riley’s wispy hair and ask, “Do we look okay?”
At the sound of your voice, Jack turns around and looks at you and Riley.
For him, time slows.
The sight of you in a charming yellow gingham sundress takes his breath away. It’s not about how your hips are defined or how he hasn’t seen you in a supportive bra in a year, although those facts are certainly taking some of his attention. It’s how warm you look. How sunny. Your shy smile is so perfect to him that he can feel his heart rate climbing as you wait for his opinion.
You’ve put Riley in a lightweight yellow and white striped short-sleeved onesie with a cute little polo collar, the two of you matching. With duckie-patterned socks, he looks stupidly cute. For a second, Jack’s throat is so thick with love he can’t speak.
At his hesitation, you bite your lower lip. “Too much for a casual thing?”
“No, definitely not too much,” he rushes out confidently. “You look perfect. Beautiful.”
You try to suppress the bashful smile that follows. “Thanks, Jackie.”
“It’s funny; I’ve got a shirt that looks just like Riley’s.”
You grin and bounce the baby on your hip. “Really? Show us!”
“Alright, alright, one sec.” Jack disappears for a moment and re-emerges from his bedroom in a soft yellow polo that makes the gold in his eyes stand out. He looks at you with a lopsided grin. “How about that? We can take some pictures together.”
“Aw, Jackie!” You squeal and tug him into a one-armed hug that could heal the sick. “You’re too cute.”
Jack pulls back and rubs Riley’s belly, soaking in his smile. “Not as cute as this one.”
“Well, yeah, but I might have a little bit of a bias there.”
Jack chuckles as he looks between the two of you. “Yeah, of course he’s adorable; he looks just like you.” Straightening back up, Jack checks, “Ready to head out?”
“Definitely.”
You follow him out to the truck, secure Riley in his car seat, and then help Jack with a few more trips inside. Jack got put in charge of non-alcoholic drinks, so he hauls two large coolers into the bed alongside a couple lawn chairs and Riley’s stroller. You try desperately hard (and fail, of course) not to ogle the strain of his biceps against his short sleeve. Once everything’s loaded up, you settle in the passenger seat with a pan of homemade brownies.
The whole way across the city to the park, Jack drives with his arm slung across the back of the bench seat, his forearm behind your head, so casual he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You do. But you don’t say anything about it. Jack makes you feel safe and you don’t want to overthink yourself out of that feeling.
It’s a small city park near PTMC, busy with families enjoying the summer afternoon. There’s a playground with colorful equipment, a white gazebo with a few bench swings, and a pavilion of picnic tables where Dana’s arranging platters of food while a woman you don’t recognize fiddles with a grill.
You’re a little late since you opted to do Riley’s afternoon feed at home so he’d be happy and awake for a couple hours to meet people before he passes out again, hopefully timing it to let you actually relax and eat a while. As Jack puts the truck in park, you take a deep breath and try to steady yourself.
Sensing your nerves, Jack reaches over and gives your bare knee a gentle squeeze. “Everyone’s gonna love you.”
A tall, broad man you recognize as Dr. Robby – whose first name you realize you don’t know – jogs up to the truck as soon as you pull into the parking lot near the pavilion. Jack hops out of the truck, gives him a bear hug, and then goes around to your side, opening up the door and offering you a hand because his truck is about eighty feet off the ground.
You practically fall into Robby’s arms as you trip a bit getting to the ground, his huge hand on your back to stabilize you. Then he extends the hand to you, sure not to touch you too long. “Michael Robinavitch. Call me Robby or Michael.”
“Or ‘hey, asshole,’” Jack teases as he opens up the back door, hoisting himself up to unstrap Riley. “That usually gets his attention.”
You shake his hand and nervously reply, “Oh, we’ve actually met already.”
He gives you a sweet, conspiratorial wino. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never met you before today.”
“Fair enough.” You smile softly and introduce yourself like you’re proper strangers. Jack transfers Riley into your arms from his car seat and you grin as he reaches haphazardly for Robby’s face. “And the little munchkin is Riley, who’s just figured out this week that he can move his own arms.”
Robby gives him a big, goofy grin that immediately endears you to him as he catches Riley’s eye, waving at him with a hand nearly the size of his body. “Ohohoh and look at that big ole smile! Aren’t you just the most handsome guy in the world?”
“Hurtful,” Jack pouts, unloading things from the truck bed. “Stop hogging the guest of honor and help me get all this crap over to the tables.”
Robby chuckles under his breath, “And here I figured I’d be the guest of honor since I’m everyone’s boss.”
After situating Riley and his things in his stroller, you walk with Robby and Jack over to the pavilion. Most of the Pitt staff are already here. You recognize a good amount of them from your visits to the ER, even if you don’t know their names yet. Insecurity inflates in your chest right away, realizing how pretty much everyone here has seen you vulnerable, battered, unlike yourself. Still, you try to frame that as a good thing. Alex stole parts of you that you’re finally getting back, and this is your chance to show off those parts.
Right away, Dana – who’s spent the most time with you at the ED besides Jack – walks up, waves into the stroller, and then gives you a warm hug that feels so much like a mom’s it makes you want to cry. “I’m so glad you decided to come out today; Abbot’s been talking about it non-stop.”
Popping open the cooler to expose the myriad of ice and bottles, Jack quickly defends himself, “That’s an exaggeration.”
“It’s definitely not,” Dana replies with a satisfied smirk. She looks Jack up and down over her shoulder; there’s a softness to her smile when she realizes he’s matching you and the baby. “And you even got him to wear a shirt with a collar. You’ll have to give me a lesson on your powers the next time we need him to meet with a hospital donor who expects better than cargo pants.”
With a touch of warmth in your cheeks, you reply, “I like his cargo pants. They’re very functional when you have a baby. He’s always got wipes and pacifiers stashed somewhere.”
Dana gives him an amused look. “Is that so, doctor?”
“I like to be helpful.” He shrugs modestly. Then, with everything he’d brought placed among the spread, Jack grabs himself a beer, loops his arm around your lower back, and beams, “Now c’mon, let me introduce you to everybody.”
The next half hour goes by in a blur of names and faces you try hard to commit to memory, paying particular attention to Shen and Ellis because you know they worked closely with Jack on the night shift. You also know he can’t stand Langdon (he’d called him ‘Dr. Ken Doll’ once and you can definitely see it) and has an affinity for one of the bright young residents, Samira, who you immediately like because of her observant eyes and quick smirks. She’s clearly not crazy about babies, though, because she’s one of the only ones who doesn’t immediately want to coo at and hold Riley.
It doesn’t take long for Riley to turn into a hot potato, passed between doctors and nurses who can’t resist pointing out his chubby cheeks and wide eyes as he takes in the world around him. He’s just old enough now to be interested in people’s voices and expressions, so he’s rapt at every new round of peek-a-boo and every conversation going on around him. Because they’re all medical professionals, there are a lot of questions about if he’s lifting his head on his own yet (yes), if you’ve got a good sleep routine going (kind of), even if you’ve had any issues with clogged ducts (not yet). Jack hovers nearby, occasionally reminding them to put hospital mode away and steering the conversation toward actually getting to know you.
Riley starts to fuss earlier than you’d expected, so you grab yourself a bottle of lemonade and steal him away to the edge of the pavilion, past the picnic tables, where Jack’s set up his lawn chairs. You kiss the top of his head, missing his newborn smell, as you rock him slightly. “It’s all a little overstimulating, huh, bud? That’s okay; the two of us can just hang out together a little while while da- Jack is a social butterfly. That sound good to you?”
Riley squirms and whines. You sigh, thinking that’s an awfully fair response to the whole situation. It’s only been an hour, but you’re already nearing your limit socially. Having an infant means a lot of time that’s just the two of you – and now just you and Jack – and you’ve forgotten a bit how to interact with other adults like normal, so you figure a breather is allowed.
Maybe five minutes into sitting alone with Riley, Robby walks up with a plate of different foods from the potluck setup and a beer. He asks in his rough voice, “Mind if I sit here in the introvert’s corner? The kids are getting a little loud over there for me.
You offer a nervous smile. “No problem.”
Being around Robby keeps you on edge. It’s nothing he’s done – he’s been either strictly professional or genuinely warm and friendly with you – but he’s still a man you don’t know. And, worse, he’s a man you want to think highly of you because Jack thinks highly of him. So, like Riley, you’re fidgeting in your seat under his heavy gaze.
Sipping on your tart drink just to have something to do with your free hand, you ask him, “Has it been good having Jack on day shift with you the last couple weeks?”
Robby finishes off a bite and says, “It’s great. Had to move a few residents to cover him on nights, but I’m never gonna complain about having Jack around.”
Your eyebrows push together as you look at him carefully. “Jack told me you needed his help.”
“Yeah, of course he did.” Robby rolls his eyes and sets down his empty plate. “Abbot doesn’t want you to feel guilty about how much he does for you.”
Heat like a gripped fist clutches your chest and throat. You fiddle with Riley’s outfit to avoid making eye contact with Robby. “What do you mean?”
You can feel his eyes on the side of your head. Too knowing. Too intense. “When he asked me for the shift change, he told me he didn’t want you to be home alone overnight. Said he wanted to make sure you got enough sleep.”
Your head spins. A part of you always knew Jack had switched around his schedule for you, just like he’s shifted around his money and his house and everything else. But you don’t know Robby well enough to know his intentions – if he’s just looking out for his friend with observations or if he already doesn’t like you. So, voice soft and unsure, you check, “Are you…trying to make me feel guilty about that? I never asked Jack to change shifts.”
“No, no, not at all,” Robby corrects quickly. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to ask him for things. He’s always going to do what he thinks you need. And you should be mindful of that.”
You bury your nose in Riley’s hair, wishing Maggie was here to apply pressure to your legs. “Trust me, Michael, I’m painfully aware of how much Jack does for me.”
A familiar voice sounds next to you, followed by a hand on your head. “Do my ears burn?”
You force a smile and turn to him. He’s holding a plate piled high with everything you’d been eyeing up earlier – which is to say sweets and carbs. “Hey, what brings you over to the introvert’s corner?”
“Had to make sure Robby wasn’t trying to whisk you off your feet,” he chastises.
“Only one man’s got my eyes these days,” you reply easily, placing a big smooch on Riley’s cheek. When he smiles, you start to relax. Jack chuckles and gives Riley a tender pat on the head. You ask him, “Sitting down to eat with us, doctor?”
Jack shakes his head and then offers you the plate of food. “Came to trade you the food for the kid. Your turn to eat while I babysit.”
“That’s alright,” you assure him with a wave. “It’s almost time for his afternoon bottle anyway; I can wait until we’re home.”
“Or I can give him the bottle so you can relax,” Jack argues.
You have to admit that the mac’n’cheese is really calling your name. Your stomach literally rumbles when you see it’s next to a hamburger he’s added a few extra slices of cheese to.
Jack inches the food closer to you, unrelenting in his quest. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast, sweetheart. You need to have a real meal ASAP,” he insists, hand protective over your bare shoulders, goosebumps rising beneath his fingers. “I’ll do his bottle and take him for a quick walk to get him to settle for a nap in the stroller, alright?”
You’d been hoping to get through this thing without crying, but Jack’s thoughtfulness and softness always takes your breath away. You swallow down the emotions that come up and take the plate of food from him as he snatches up Riley, greedy for time with the baby. “Thank you, Jackie. You’re the best.”
Robby’s eyebrows go up then. “Jackie?”
“If you ever call me that,” Jack tells him pointedly, “you’ll be getting a foot up the ass.”
Robby shakes his head, suppressing a laugh. “Real mouth on you for someone holding an infant, Jackie.”
Jack glares. “We’ve got a couple more months before he starts trying to repeat what we say.”
“Yeah, whatever, sailor.” He waves Jack off and orders. “Now scram, Abbot; we’ve got gossiping to do.”
Jack gives you a nervous glance and says, “Careful, bird, he’s awfully sensitive when I’m not there to protect him.”
You know perfectly well it’s actually a warning to Robby, but you both let it go as Jack leaves with the baby.
As you watch Jack feeding Riley, showing him off to Shen and both of them making funny faces, Robby eyes you carefully. You feel his gaze before you gather up the courage to meet it. His big, brown eyes are so human they’re difficult to look into. He’s like a walking x-ray machine. When he speaks, his voice is layered and soft, almost paternal. “Look, I just need you to promise me that you’re not gonna hurt him.”
You tilt your head to the side and set down your fork. “Jack?”
Robby leans back in his chair, hands worrying on the sides of his neck. He looks straight forward again, eyes trained on the way Jack looks so natural with your baby in his arms. “I watched him go through losing Rachel. I watched how that wrecked him – over and over, for years. I watched him get better. Not like his old self, but better. Started to think he was alright.”
For a long time, he pauses.
Jack slips Riley into the chest carrier and sets off on a walk around the park with Dana.
Robby goes on, “Then Alex sent you to the hospital for the first time. Then the next two times. And again a few weeks ago.” He shakes his head like the thought is making him physically sick. “I haven’t seen grief like that on Jack since Rachel.” You can’t help meeting his eyes then, feeling the intensity in them as he says firmly, “And I never want to see him looking like that again.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” you whisper back, even though you do. You absolutely do. That’s why you’re softly crying now, silent tears rolling down your cheeks, your breaths shallow but even. You’ve mastered the awful art of crying without drawing attention to yourself.
“He loves you. And he loves that kid.” Looking ahead now, Robby goes on, “You two make him happier than I’ve ever seen him. But you need to be all in with him or you shouldn’t stay around because it’s only going to hurt him.”
You can’t respond; you’re too choked by your own emotions. Then Robby hears the gentle hiccup of your tears even though you try to stop it from being audible. He turns to you and, right away, the gesture completely instinctive, moves to wipe them from your cheeks.
You flinch back – hard, fast, jerking – from his big hands. The terrified sob is launching from your throat before you can slap your hand over your mouth to stifle its sound. Shame floods you, hot and intense. Heads whip toward you and you scramble to your feet, turning away to cover your red face, rushing out, “Shit, sorry. Sorry, I’m okay, just- Sorry, one second.”
“Wait, hey, no.” Robby stands too, and walks around to get you to look at him. His hands are firmly in his pockets with no sign of moving. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I- I know your history; I shouldn’t have gone to touch you. Rookie screw up. You alright?”
Deep breath.
“Just- just- Yeah, I’m fine. Need a minute.”
Robby understands exactly what you’re doing.
Five things you can see. Your damp eyelashes at the edges of your vision. Your pastel yellow toenails. The mottled, mossy tree bark. Robby’s sad brown eyes. Ellis micromanaging the grill.
Four things you can touch. The hem of your sundress. The soft grass beneath your feet. The fine hairs on your forearms as you brush warmth onto yourself with your palms. The bristly fabric of the lawn chair brushing the back of your calf.
Three things you can hear. Conversations picking back up as you fade into the background once more, how you prefer. Robby’s deep breathing, as deep as yours, steadying himself, too. Jack’s only slightly uneven footsteps approaching.
Two things you can smell. The smoky grill. Jack’s laundry soap on all your clothes.
One thing you can taste. The salt of your evaporating tears.
And, as your nervous system relaxes, there’s Jack, hustling over at the first sign of your distress, handing the baby off to Robby, and focusing his attention on you. You barely even notice his arms wrapping around you, his lips on your hair, his pressure and warmth calming you completely. By the time you pull out of the hug, you’re feeling fine again, everything replaced by his comfort. His hazel eyes study you intently. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You nod hard, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, all good.” You give him a half-hearted smile and, knowing he understands, offer, “Stupid PTSD, right?”
He sighs and nods, too. He gets it. He’s the only one who’s ever understood this part of you. “What triggered it?”
You roll your eyes at yourself and let out a deep breath. “I was crying and Robby was trying to be nice and wipe the tears away.”
Jack’s eyebrows wrinkle together. He cuts a serious look at Robby like he’s thinking about smacking him. “Wanna talk about why you were crying in the first place?”
“Not right now,” you say softly. You touch his late-afternoon scruff with your thumb. “I’m okay, though. Promise.”
Then Jack wipes the tears from your cheeks. Robby’s been watching the whole exchange as he cradles Riley to his chest. His nerves rise when Jack reaches for your face the same way he had, but there’s no adverse reaction from you. If anything, you lean into his tender thumbs, trusting his hands better than your own. You smile up at him and all the tears are gone.
In the contrast of your reactions, Robby realizes the truth.
You love Jack, too.
You’re all in.
So Robby’s just gotta sit back and let the two of you figure it out on your own timeline.
With relief hitting him, Robby smiles to himself as Riley reaches for his beard with curious grabby hands. “You know, bud, your parents are pretty good together. I think you’ll all be okay.”
Series Summary: Jack Abbot takes you, your baby, and your dog in when you finally leave your abusive boyfriend.
Chapter Summary: Jack helps you get settled & you start to learn to accept his help.
Tags/Notes: starting over, established friendship, pining, protective jack, flirting, sugar daddy jack if you squint, found family, probably premature to tag this friends to lovers but you all know where it's going come on
Content: minor depiction of violence (pushing), ongoing discussion of domestic abuse, postpartum reader
A/N: so so happy you're all digging this fic!! it's definitely motivating me to actually draft out the rest of it
Word Count: 2.8k
Standing in Alex’s apartment – because that’s what it’s always been, really, never home even when you lived there – with Jack and Riley, it’s hard to grapple with how much you’ve let a man shrink you again. You realize, as Jack soothes Riley so you can sort through the place, that very few things are yours. By the time you’ve collected everything that you feel any ownership or attachment to, you’ve got two trash bags of clothes and shoes, one box of Maggie’s toys and harnesses and supplies, a suitcase of the rest of Riley’s stuff you couldn’t grab last night, and one single box of sentimental things from the rest of your life before motherhood. None of the furniture feels like yours; Alex's mom picked out everything.
While you sit down to nurse Riley for his mid-afternoon feed, Jack takes a trip to and from his truck with your things. Any other friend would at the very least bitch about the third floor walkup, but not Jack, not even with one leg and a night shift to work on minimal sleep in a few hours.
As Riley finishes up, you hear shouting outside.
All the blood drains from your body. You go white and green at once. One of the voices is Jack and the other is Alex, who should still be in jail from last night. The only reason you felt okay coming over for your things was the idea that Alex couldn’t possibly interfere. Once again, guilt at dragging Jack into the mess of your life strangles you.
Footsteps – harsh and hard – ascend up the stairs. Two sets. As your breaths and heart speed up, you stand and rotate Riley onto your hip, snatch his chest carrier, and begin to settle him so it’s easier to make a quick escape. Riley starts to fuss because he can tell you’re upset, so you bounce a little and shush him as the two men reach the apartment, mid-argument.
“-some asshole cripple coming into my house to steal my shit!”
“We’re not here to steal anything,” Jack says, his voice totally calm, as he skirts around Alex to keep a barrier between him and you. “She’s just collecting her own things to make sure the baby’s taken care of until all of this gets figured out.”
“And what exactly are you doing here, grandpa?”
“Just helping a friend.”
Alex’s eyes clap onto you and you can feel yourself shrinking beneath his gaze. He demands, “What, one little fight and you’re playing house with your knight in shining armor?”
Meekly, you reply, “It wasn’t exactly a little fight. I had to go to the ER.”
He shows off the gauze wrapped around his arm. “So did I! That stupid mutt of yours was gonna kill me.”
As he takes a few steps forward, now almost close enough to touch you, your hand goes protectively to the back of Riley’s head, the other wrapped around his body. His hiccupping cries fry your brain chemicals as you demand, “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” He scoffs and cuts back, “Mom bailed me out, so I’m coming back to my own goddamn place.”
Trying to keep your cool, you tell him, “We’ll be out of your hair in five minutes, okay? We just have one more trip to the car.”
Alex shakes his head and keeps closing the gap between you. “You’re not taking my son out of here.”
Jack warns him, “You should take a step back. I’m sure a condition of your release is staying away from them, right?”
“Stay out of this, Abbot; you’ve always tried to cause problems for us.”
Then Alex reaches toward the chest carrier. That’s the last straw for Jack, who’s been trying to stay calm and be supportive. In a blur of motion so fast you can’t process it, Jack’s on Alex, yanking him back by the shirt and then sending him flying into the wall, where he crumples on the floor, clutching a popped shoulder with wide eyes.
“Don’t try to get up,” Jack practically growls. You’ve never heard him sound so serious. So protective. “My foot’s made of titanium and I’m not scared of putting it through your kidney.” Using his body as a brick wall, he glances at you over his shoulder and says, “Take Riley down to the car. I’ll be there in two minutes with the rest of your stuff, alright?”
Your heart’s still thudding hard against your ribs and Riley’s crying has you on edge, but you nod and slowly make your way toward the front door. As you descend the steps, you hear the grunt of Jack setting Alex’s arm. Then he apologizes, saying he just meant to move him back, and gives him care instructions. Finally, he offers a stern, serious order to stay away from you and Riley until the courts have settled the matter.
Your chest burns. Even when Jack is fierce and protective, he’s human. He's a good man.
Riley’s still wailing as you get him situated in his car seat. He’s just cranky now, having his routine so harshly interrupted over the last day, so there’s really nothing you can do until you can dig through his things for his favorite distractions.
Jack shows up by the trunk, alone, and loads in your box. Then he walks around to the side of the van, surprised to see you waiting there instead of in the passenger seat. When you look at him, your eyes are red.
All Jack can do is open his arms to offer a hug. You can’t resist crumpling into him. He cradles you close, holding you the way you held Riley a few minutes ago. Keeping you safe. He murmurs into your hair, “You okay, bird?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie softly. Pulling back with a sniffle, you say, “I’m really sorry you had to deal with that.”
His hazel eyes search yours, intense and pleading. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you weren’t here alone.” Then he turns to Riley, who’s switched from wailing to just sniveling, and rubs his belly softly with his big hand. “Until you’re big enough, I’ll always help you protect your mama.” He bumps your hip with his, making you smile gently, and adds, “And after that, too, actually.”
“There’s just nothing in my budget that’s a reasonable distance to work,” you sigh heavily as Jack returns from his evening run with Maggie while you scroll through page after page of overpriced, gentrified apartments. Your things are sitting behind the couch in the living room and it’s starting to feel like you’re living in limbo.
“Really?” Jack gives Maggie her post-walk treats and then heads around to lean over your shoulder, looking at the screen with a furrowed brow. “You’ve got a good job. I know the economy’s different from when I bought my place, but damn. Nothing?”
“Not unless I want to share a studio with my growing son.” As you reach the final page of apartment listings, you snap your laptop shut and sigh heavily. “I’m lucky that I have paid maternity leave, but, once that’s done in five more weeks, I’ll have to factor in childcare, which is insanely expensive, and if Alex ends up in prison I don’t see myself getting child support payments.”
Jack reasons, “You know, the hospital has a free daycare.”
“For employees and their families,” you reply. “I don’t think roommates are covered.”
Jack flashes you a smile. “Marry me, then.”
You roll your eyes and huff, trying to ignore the blush that rises even at the joke, “You’re the worst.”
He leans over Riley’s Pack N Play and tickles him until he screeches out a giggle, stretching to be held. Jack hefts him up and swings him lightly, making him laugh hard. His gurgly infant laughs are so precious; just being in their proximity makes you melt. A whole swarm of butterflies takes off in your stomach watching Jack's strong back supporting your baby. Blowing a raspberry on Riley’s tummy, he beams, “At least let me adopt this little munchkin or I’m going to have to think about stealing him if you two move out.”
If.
You pretend not to notice.
Instead, you just laugh and shake your head. Both the boys look over at you, eyes equally curious for your attention. You wonder, briefly, how cute Jack must've been when he was a baby. Then you scooch to the other end of the couch to sit next to them and play with Riley’s hand, which wraps easily around your first finger as he coos. You sigh softly and tell him, “Looks like we’re staying with Uncle Jackie a little while longer.” Your eyes flick up to Jack’s and your voice drops. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Stay as long as you need.” He brushes a lock of your hair back, offers a sweet smile, and adds, “As long as you want.”
Silently, he amends, Stay forever.
You haul yourself off the couch and set up Riley’s baby monitor as Jack puts him back down. “Is it okay if I unpack some of our stuff, then?”
“Of course.” Jack stands up, too. His sweaty tee clings to his muscles. “I’m already gross; I’ll help move things around so you don’t have to.”
“Move things around?”
“Oh, yeah, ah-” he runs a hand through his sweat-damp curls “-I figure, if you’re going to be here a while, you could use my office for some of your things. It’s the closest room to you; I can put my crap in the empty room downstairs”
“What things? Everything I have just needs to be put in that big closet in my room. In the guest room, I mean.”
Jack isn’t quite prepared to acknowledge that he already thinks of it as your room. “Well, yeah, but don’t you want Riley to have a real crib and changing table and everything again?”
“That’d be nice,” you sigh, “but I can’t afford movers to get his old stuff, which I don’t like anyway because Alex’s mom picked out everything, and I definitely can’t afford new stuff.”
Jack shrugs modestly. “I was thinking I’d get you guys some new stuff. Whatever you want.”
“That’s too much, Jack,” you tell him, trying to sound firm despite how appealing the idea is. A part of your brain – admittedly, a big part – wants nothing more than to fall into Jack’s warmth and let him take care of everything he’s offering to. But the part of you that’s learned never to trust what anyone else offers – the part that’s been proven right over and over again – resists. “I don’t want to be even more of a burden on you than I am already.”
“You’re not a burden,” he insists seriously. When you turn to face away from him with a wobbling lip, he touches your cheek to draw your focus back. “Hey. I’m serious. You’re not.”
You search his hazel eyes for any semblance of logic. “Why are you being so nice to us?”
Jack tries not to let that break his heart too much. He knows why you’re on guard with him. With everyone. So he just offers, “Can I be honest for a second? No filter, no bullshit?”
“Please.”
“Look, I’ve got a lot of money.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and stares down at his feet like it’s something to be ashamed of. “I own this house outright and I don’t have any debt and, y’know, I’m a single attending physician at a major metropolitan hospital. I don’t want to sound like a dick about it and I never want to make you feel like you owe me or like I control you or any of that, so I’ll drop it after this, but I swear I really do have plenty to spare. It just-” Vulnerability clouds his features suddenly while he realizes what he actually wants to say to you. “This is going to come out so lame, alright? So just prepare for that.”
You laugh as tears sting your eyes. “I’m prepared.”
“Before Rachel died, one of the last things she ever said to me was, ‘You need someone to take care of, Jack.’ She didn’t want me to be alone. I’m not- I’m not supposed to be alone. Not built for it. Y’know, I bought this stupid four-bedroom house for me and her. I thought- I thought we’d have a family here someday. Kids running around and everything.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You and Jack have spent years and years talking about grief, so you know the particular pain that comes from grieving the life you thought you’d have, not just the person you thought you’d have it with. Even when you’d left your ex husband, that was one of the biggest struggles. Not the upheaval in your life but the knowledge that nothing would ever be what you pictured. It felt like grief leaving him. This time, leaving Alex, it doesn’t. This time, it feels like hope.
And, in this moment, you're realizing that shift is thanks to Jack.
Jack sighs out for a long time and breathes deep and stares up at the ceiling, blinking back tears as he debates his words. Then he pulls you into the warmest, tightest hug you’ve felt in a long time as he gets out, “I know it’s not exactly conventional, but you’ve spent more time than my therapist listening to me over the years. You always make me laugh when I feel like shit and you stay on my case about taking care of myself and you just plain make my life better when you’re around. If that’s not family, I don’t know what is. So it- it feels right to me to help take care of you and Riley however I can.”
When he releases you from the hug, you go back in for another, burying your face in the smell of his sweat and laundry. “You’re too good, Jack.”
He kisses the top of your head and you finally let him go. Then, as you swipe the tears off both your cheeks, Jack reaches into his pocket, unfolds his wallet, and takes out a heavy black card. Without a word, he tucks it in the pocket of your pajama shorts. He tells you quickly, “I’ve got a few different cards because my accountant says it’s good for my credit. I don’t really pay attention to any of it. That one’s for you and Riley now, okay? I won’t bring up anything you pay for with it. Won’t even look. It’s on auto-pay and I promise there’s no risk of over-drafting unless you go off and buy a brand new Ferrari.” Then, when you take a breath to speak, he adds, “And I don’t want you to say thank you for any of it.”
“Fine,” you pout, a new kind of lightness taking hold in your chest, “but I reserve the right to shower you in home-cooked meals.”
“Deal.” He nods over to the office. “Let’s get sorting.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be getting to sleep?”
Sounding sheepish, he tells you, “I, ah, I'm actually switching over to day shifts.”
Your forehead wrinkles. Jack's worked nights as long as you've known him. He's always told you that the world only makes sense to him in the dark. “For how long?”
Indefinitely. “Just a little while.”
“Why?”
For you. He shrugs and tells a white lie, “ Some residents just rotated out of the hospital; Robby could use the help.”
You cringe at the mention of his other best friend. “Y'know, I hope I can talk to him sometime. Maybe I could make you guys dinner or something. I don’t want his long-term impression of me to be the pathetic version of myself I’ve been every time we’ve met so far.”
“Actually,” Jack offers tentatively, “the ED picnic is next weekend. You could come, if you want." Pretending it wouldn't mean the world and then some to him, Jack adds, "It’s important to get out of the house and see people now that you’re a few months postpartum.”
Bashful, you reply, “Come on, Jackie, you don’t want me around your doctor friends.”
He’s honestly confused by that. You’re pretty, you’re thoughtful, you’re easy to be around. He can imagine you matching wits with Dana, laughing at Shen's bad jokes, seamlessly fitting into his life. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Come on, Jack, you’re all smart and capable and I’m…me.” You avert your eyes and fiddle with the tie of your shorts out of habit. “I don’t have an advanced education and I make bad decisions all the time and I'm nothing compared to-”
“Bird, come on. You’re my favorite person,” he reminds you easily. It's true to him, which is the strangest thing in the world to you. “They’re not pretentious assholes. At least not all of them, but people seem to like Langdon anyway. Hang with me and Robby and we’ll introduce you to the good people. You’ll love some of the residents we have this year, I promise.”
You purse your lips, searching for any reason to say no. “But I’d have to bring the baby.”
“And then you won’t even have to watch him because you’ll be surrounded by free babysitters. Emergency medicine doctors love babies.” He sighs almost wistfully, “Try being surrounded by death and disaster all day and then looking into Riley’s eyes and not melting.”
You bite your lower lip and consider it. Riley’s just started smiling properly this last week, looking for faces and trying to interact in earnest. You know it’s important for him to meet new people while he's learning his very first social skills and you don’t really have close friends or family – besides Jack, now, your brain reminds you with buzzy soft tenderness – to bring him around. Side effect of partners controlling your life. As protective as you are, you know that nobody will be more careful with him than a bunch of doctors and nurses. So, tentatively excited, you say, “It’ll be good for us both to get out a bit.”
Jack grins. “Everyone will love you both as much as I do.”
Series Summary: Jack Abbot takes you, your baby, and your dog in.
Chapter Summary: It's not the first time you've shown up at the ED because of your boyfriend, but, this time, Jack Abbot's going to make sure it's the last.
Tags/Notes: starting over, established friendship, jack being good with babies and dogs, pining, breaking cycles, healing, ptsd/grief
A/N: posting this mostly to gauge interest i hope y'all like it bc im so nervous about posting series
Word Count: 3.9k
It’s the worst thunderstorm of the year, which means Jack Abbot has to mentally prepare himself for whatever’s going to happen at the ER. It’s no mass casualty, thankfully, but a thunderstorm means more car accidents, injuries from tipped candles, and all sorts of random injuries from people stumbling around in the dark. Once, he’d even treated a lightning strike victim during a very similar storm. Tonight, he triages a heart attack, stitches up a two-car pileup, and sets a broken arm from a tumblr down the stairs.
Just like every night, he’s ready for anything.
Except, of course, you.
It’s Robby’s hand on his shoulder that shakes him from the few minutes of relaxation he has in the break room, drowning in an extra large coffee as he scrolls absently through his phone. Gruffly, Jack informs him, “I’ve still got five minutes. Go get Shen.”
“I can’t get Shen for this one.” Robby’s voice is quiet and soft. Tender, almost. It’s not a voice he uses often with Jack, like he’s talking to a patient losing a loved one. “It’s her again.”
Jack’s head snaps upwards. He whips around, already standing, and begins chugging his lukewarm coffee. In between gulps, he clarifies, “Her boyfriend?”
“Yeah. It’s not pretty.” Robby sighs, takes Jack’s mug from his hand, and says, “I think this is the one, brother. I really do.”
Jack scoffs, “Don’t get my hopes up like that.”
“I mean it,” he insists. “She’s got all kinds of bags with her this time. Says the dog’s waiting in the car so we have to be fast.”
“And Riley?”
“He’s not hurt,” Robby replies, flooding Jack’s veins with relief, “but she won’t let go of him for anything. Not unless you’re the one treating them.” Robby gives him a sad sort of knowing smile and tells him, “Go take care of your girl. Trauma three.”
“She’s not my girl,” Jack mutters, the refrain familiar and aching, as he heads out of the breakroom and across the emergency department.
When he pulls aside the curtain, a piece of his heart breaks. It’s the same piece that’s been broken the last four times you’ve shown up at the ER because of Alex. This time, there’s blood streaming down your face; you have to blink it out of your eyes every few seconds. There’s a bulky gray baby carrier by your feet, but you grip still-tiny Riley to your chest anyway. He’s sleeping soundly despite the constant chaos around him. Jack hates the idea that he’s gotten used to sleeping through yells at only six weeks old.
Jack sighs. His smile is undercut by sadness. “Hi, bird.”
A couple of tears turn the streak of blood orangey pink on your cheek. “Hey, Jackie.”
Stepping further into the room, Jack offers, “Can I put Riley in his carrier so we can take care of that cut?”
You nod carefully. Jack’s the only person you’d trust to take your son right now. He handles Riley with such care that your tensed shoulders relax a little. Once the baby’s secure, still thankfully sleeping, Jack sits on a stool across from you. “That’s a pretty nasty cut. What happened?”
“Alex happened.” It’s flat. Calm. You’ve never admitted it before even though Jack’s always known. “I think it needs stitches. Won’t stop bleeding. I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise.”
“C’mon, you know you’re never bothering me,” he assures with a gentle voice. “Lean forward; let me clean this up.”
You do as he says, unable to make eye contact as he holds your chin with one hand to stabilize your head. With the other, he wipes off your face with a cloth and then dabs the forehead wound with antiseptic that stings. As you wince through it, you whisper, “I called the cops this time. I’m not letting Riley live with a man like that.”
“I’m proud of you.” Jack strokes your cheek with his thumb, like a reflex, and says, “This doesn’t need stitches, at least. I’ll do some glue and tape; it should heal up with minimal scarring.”
You flinch as he applies the thin layer of adhesive. “That’s good, I guess.”
With the bleeder patched up, Jack can see the harsh blotches of bruising across your cheek and nose. The split in your lip. Anger and sorrow flare at the base of his throat and he swallows them down. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
You grimace. “Just my pride.”
“That’s good. I mean, that you’re not hurt otherwise.” He’s reluctant to leave your side even if there isn’t really a reason to keep you at the hospital any longer. After an internal debate that lasts all of five seconds, he asks, “Where are you staying tonight?”
You pull your knees up onto the exam table and wrap your arms around them. Without making eye contact, you tell Jack, “I’m not sure yet. I, ah, I called my mom, but she didn’t want to hear from me since I didn’t let her in the room during my birth. My sister’s got four of her own kids already; can’t exactly give me an open bedroom. And, well, you know my dad.”
Drunk asshole loser, Jack reminds himself, like your boyfriend.
“I guess I’ll try to find a hotel or something,” you go on, the wheels behind your eyes turning. Your voice picks up panicky speed. “I’ll just have to do some research. Maggie’s in the car and she’s a Malinois, so there are lots of breed and weight restrictions. And I know lots of places don’t have pop-ups or cribs or anything on short notice and I wasn’t thinking about that when I-”
“Hey, hey, shh.” Jack takes your hand in his. There’s no force to his grip, just warmth and affection radiating from his strong fingers to yours. “I’ve got a comfortable guest room and this bassinet thing from when my niece was little. I told you that you could come to my place if you ever needed somewhere to crash years ago; I’m not taking it back now, bird.”
The use of his old nickname for you makes you roll your eyes, an honest smile parting your lips for the first time since you left Alex with the cops. “You haven’t called me that since before I got pregnant and now that’s twice in one night.”
“Haven’t thought about it.” He sighs and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “But you definitely remind me of it right now.”
That makes tears sting at your eyes.
Jack was helping you unpack on a night not unlike this one, a storm drenching the dark city. Your divorce had been finalized at last, which meant you could finally get your own place instead of crashing at your sister’s. You’d come running inside – not with a box but with a baby bird. Its broken wing stopped it from trying to launch itself into the air, trying and failing over and over. You spent a week nursing it back to health until you could find a wildlife rescue who’d rehabilitate the poor little thing.
After a month, Jack joined you with a representative of the rescue at a nature preserve outside the city. The three of you released the bird and Jack had squeezed you close to his side. “You’ll be flying soon enough, too.”
Tonight, you sigh, thinking of the moment, and tell him, “Right now, I feel a lot more like the bird with the broken wing than the girl who wanted to save it. I fell into the same pattern again, but this time I brought an innocent baby into it, too.”
Jack murmurs, “Well, I think you’re saving yourself.” Then he stands, picks up the baby carrier in one strong hand, and adds, “And Riley. Maggie, too. You’re keeping your family safe.” He nods for you to stand up so that he can lead you over to discharge. “It’ll take some time, but I’m sure you’ll figure out how to fly again.”
You sit in the back seat with Riley on the drive home, Jack taking over your minivan. Maggie’s settled in the hatchback, whining softly because she likes to be as close to you and the baby as possible. When Jack parks it in the driveway of his house on the edge of the city, your heart rate jumps way up. You know you don’t have any choice of where to go, but you still feel exceptionally stupid dragging someone as good as Jack into your mess.
As he runs inside to get the guest bedroom ready, you unclip Riley and begin collecting your things, Maggie patiently waiting like the well-trained guard dog she is. You’re heavily burdened in every sense. With your backpack on, you balance an over-stuffed diaper bag on your hip and hold another suitcase bursting at the seams. Your right hand grips the hard plastic handle of the carrier, visor protecting Riley from the rainwater and the pattering sound soothing him in his dreams.
Flinging the door open for you, Jack’s already taking things and ushering you inside. He grabs the suitcase and the diaper bag first, doing whatever he can to lighten your load as he blinks hard, processing the change in his night. On autopilot, Jack tells you, “I’ll go get Maggie, okay? You just sit here and breathe for a minute.”
You try to listen, but you feel too guilty to sit on Jack’s nice light gray suede couch, which you’d ruin with your soaked body. Even focusing, though, you can’t stop the tears that are constantly tumbling from your eyes, down your cheeks, and onto the clean wood floors. Jack’s too-big house that he only uses half of is always so neat and tidy and here you are with ‘messy complication’ practically tattooed on your forehead. Guilt holds you by the throat.
It doesn’t take long for Jack to return with the four-year-old black and brown Malinois with her pink collar and oversized ears, holding her leash loosely since Maggie always walks in perfect obedient heel, sticking close to his ankles. Right away, Maggie curls up by your feet, draping her head over the end of the baby’s carrier, nose pressing into his onesie’s foot.
Jack hefts your suitcase onto the couch, not giving a single thought to his upholstery, and asks, “You bring any clothes? You need to put on something warm and dry.”
“It’s all Riley’s stuff,” you sniffle as you stare down at your tiny son, who looks so innocent and soft, not knowing that his whole life has just been turned upside down by his shit-ass father. “I didn’t have a lot of time. I wasn’t thinking about what to grab beyond what I needed to keep him safe.”
“That’s okay,” Jack soothes. His voice is low like you’re a wounded child in his ER. “I’m sure some of my old clothes will fit good enough for now; grab whatever you want from the dresser. How’s a hot shower sound?”
“Really good.” Biting your lower lip, you check, “You don’t mind watching Riley for a few minutes?”
Jack scoffs, “You know I love hanging out with the little man.”
With a nod, you stand up. It takes you a few minutes of watching Jack and your son together for you to feel enough courage to leave them alone for your shower. You keep it boiling hot and scrub yourself hard and fast with Jack’s sandalwood body wash until you feel a little bit human. You towel off quickly and wrap your hair up, trying hard to ignore just how well-organized Jack’s home is. It’s all put together, simple, cool and collected. Like Jack. The exact opposite of you.
And you feel massively, horrifically intrusive opening up his dresser to take some of his clothes. So you don’t go digging around; you grab the top tee (gray with ‘Drexel University’ in bright blue across the chest) and a pair of boxers (red plaid) off their respective folded stacks.
When you return to the living room a few minutes later, Jack’s sitting on the floor, rocking the carrier with one hand and rubbing Maggie’s belly with the other. Jack’s the only man she’s ever warmed up to; he’d joined both of you on plenty of runs through the park since you got her, always impressed with your ability to train her. He’s lost the prosthetic, which leans against the couch behind him.
“Thanks for the clothes and everything,” you mutter as you join him on the floor. It feels a lot more appropriate than sitting on his furniture. “I promise I’ll try to be out of your hair before the weekend.”
“It’s no trouble. Seriously, it’ll be nice to have some company between shifts for once.” Trying to keep his concerned voice low, Jack asks, “Are you ready to talk about what happened with Alex?”
You’re quiet for a long time. Debating. Jack’s been your closest friend for years and years now, ever since you met more than a decade ago at a PTSD support group (him having attended since his discharge from the army and returning after his wife's death, you having just left an abusive husband). When you decided to keep your baby with the on-again, off-again boyfriend he’d never been a fan of, who was too much like your ex, Jack was the only person who didn’t tell you that you were throwing away your life. He understood the desire to be a parent when it felt like time was running out. He came to half your prenatal appointments when Alex was busy. Hell, he threw together an impromptu baby shower for you when you revealed nobody else cared enough to bother.
So you know Jack’s not going to rub it in your face that he was right about Alex.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to tell him.
“I got cleared to have sex at my follow-up today,” you start gently, keeping your voice soft. Maggie, sensing your distress, nudges her nose underneath your hands, getting you to unravel your wound-up body. You start petting her and let the action ground you. “But, ah, later on, when he wanted to, like, try to start things up with me, after I put Riley down, I- I told him I’m not ready. Y’know, I have a tear that still hurts, and my boobs are sore all the time, and I’m so fucking constipated that-” You snap your hand over your mouth. “Jesus, sorry.”
“I’m a doctor,” he reminds you softly. With a light tone that comforts you a bit, he adds, “I’ve disempacted more bowels than I can count and I’ve seen things happen to vaginas that would make a tear sound like a walk in the park. You don’t need to be insecure about standard postpartum concerns.”
“Thanks, Jack.” You offer him a meek smile. Then you sigh and go on, “After I told him no, we got into this huge fight and he said I had no right to turn him down and then he- he-”
Your voice fizzles into tears again. You stifle them with your hand, not wanting to wake Riley, especially not right now, and stare at the ceiling light until your body calms back down.
Jack’s eyes darken. “That’s when he hurt you?”
“He hadn’t hurt me since before I got pregnant. I- I was stupid enough to think the baby might change things.”
Jack whispers, “It’s not stupid to have hope.”
You nod, not believing him, and go on, “He threw this stupid expensive antique vase of his mom’s at my head. That’s what gave me the cut.” You rub the dog’s ears like they’re a comfort item as you tell him, “Maggie took a chunk out of his arm as soon as he started hitting me. He’s probably at Mercy getting patched up by now.”
Jack pats Maggie on the butt and praises, “Good girl.”
“She never liked Alex.” You shake your head at yourself. “I should’ve broken up with him based on that alone. She’s a good judge of character. Unlike me.”
“You’re just kind,” Jack replies. You think he’s always been too charitable with you, too forgiving, too willing to look past every bad thing about you. “Shitty people will always take advantage when someone’s kind.”
Jack gives your hand a soft squeeze, then, and seems to be on the verge of speaking again when Riley stirs at last. He scrunches up his legs and stretches his balled-up fists over his head as he blinks in the light. You lean forward and touch his cheek. “Hey there, bubba. Bet you’re ready for dinner, huh? Mama let you oversleep.”
Before you can stand to scoop him up, Jack asks, “Mind grabbing my crutches from the bedroom? I’ll get that bassinet set up while you take care of him.”
“Of course. Thank you, Jack. Thank you so much”
You wake up to warm light on your face after sleeping a full night. That alone is enough to make you jolt upright. With a baby only a few months old, something has to be horribly wrong for the entire night to pass in silence. The previous night washes over you as you spring out of the cozy, soft-linened bed, panic rising up in your chest. There’s no bassinet by the bed anymore and your head is throbbing.
You storm through the house in a frenzy, calling out, “Jack?! Where’s-”
In the kitchen, you stop in your tracks. Jack is standing there with your baby looking totally content in a belly hold over one muscular forearm while he scrambles eggs on the stove with his other hand. Maggie’s curled on the kitchen floor by his feet, but she perks up when you walk in.
“Morning, sunshine.” Jack gives you a soft smile as he takes plates from a cabinet. The clinking sound makes Riley squirm, eyes searching for his mom. “I was just about to get you up; Riley’s definitely waiting for his real breakfast. Uncle Jackie can only make a so-so bottle, apparently.”
You’re still in shock as Jack carefully transfers Riley into your arms. His familiar weight instantly makes you feel tons better. You've barely put him down for the last six weeks. “You…made a bottle?”
“I hope you don’t mind me snooping a little,” he says sheepishly as he creates a proper breakfast – eggs, toast, sausage, fruit – for both of you. “You looked really peaceful when I heard Riley stirring the first time and I figured I’d check to see if you brought formula with you in case I could let you sleep.”
“You changed him. And dressed him,” you observe as you give the baby a once-over, still processing. Of course, you trust Jack with your life – literally, as a doctor – but you’ve exclusively done all of the feedings and changings since Riley was born, so a full night’s sleep is making you as groggy as drinking ten beers. “How many times did you get up?”
“Oh, I just moved the crib into my room and stayed up with him the rest of the night. I was already up for my shift.” As your eyes widen, he shrugs and adds, “Now sit. You need to eat.”
“Actually, someone else needs to eat first,” you mutter. When Riley snuggles against your chest, you smell his sweet tuft of wispy hair. It relaxes you and the now-familiar fullness in your chest swells. As you shift uncomfortably, seeing Jack’s shirtless body out of the corner of your eye, you stammer, “I’ll, ah, I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes, okay? But don’t worry; I’ll microwave whatever’s left.”
Jack almost laughs at that. “Do you think I care if you breastfeed in front of me?”
Blush rises in your cheeks. “Well, I don’t want to just whip my boobs out in front of my friend without consent!”
“I don’t think it counts when you’re using them for their biological purpose and your friend has seen so many breasts in a clinical context they're barely sexual anymore,” he chuckles as he digs into his breakfast on the couch. He moves the pillow from the other side and gestures to it. “Obviously, do what makes you most comfortable, but I don’t care at all. And if you don’t want to do that in front of me, then I’m the one who’s leaving. You’ve gotta eat.” He averts his eyes, then, actually slightly blushing, as he notices wet patches growing at the front of your (his) tee. “And you clearly need to nurse.”
You curse under your breath but ultimately roll your eyes, sit on the couch next to him, and lift the shirt enough to tuck Riley underneath it. With a huff, you take a bite of fruit and grumble, “Alex always said it ruined the idea of my tits if he watched me breastfeed.”
“That’s a literally insane thing to say to the mother of your child,” Jack says with pinched eyebrows. Carefully, he asks, “Has he said anything to you since last night?”
“Radio silence. Guessing his prison call was to his mommy,” you sigh as Riley latches like a pro. But then you groan, annoyed as the let-down reflex has milk leaking from your other breast, too, a constant battle you’ve been fighting. You mutter to your own body, “Could you give me five minutes to eat in the morning before you start annoying me?”
Right away, Jack stands up and goes over to your diaper bag, which he’s clearly made himself comfortable with by now. He returns with your mesh pouch of reusable nursing pads. He tugs open the drawstring and offers, “Strawberry pattern or rainbow?”
And you’re crying as you reply, “Rainbow. Thank you.”
He settles on the couch again next to you and touches your thigh. “What’s wrong?”
“Just-” You fan your face once the pad is placed and take a deep breath as Riley’s tiny nails dig into your boob. “Less than twelve hours and you’ve already done more for us than his dad ever has.”
Jack nods slowly. He’s already worried that he’s massively overstepped by taking care of Riley over the night shift, so he goes with a response that’s honest but not too much: “It sounds like you two will be better off without him.”
“We will be,” you whisper as you gaze down at Riley, trying to make yourself believe it. Everything feels easier when Riley stares back up at you with his big eyes, still infant-blue, trusting you because he has no reason not to. Because you’re the whole world to him. You look back over at Jack and tease, “Especially with people like Uncle Jackie looking out for us.”
Jack smiles, careful not to reveal just how much it makes him melt – you looking safe and comfortable on his couch, feeding your baby, eating a meal he cooked. He gives the top of your thigh a quick squeeze. Friendly. Kind. Nothing more. “You know I’ve always got you.” Then he catches Riley’s kicking foot. “Both of you.”
Of course he does.
You could ask to stay forever and he’d let you.
Because the hard truth is that Jack’s been in love with you for as long as he’s known you.
He loved you when he listened to you talk in that support group and he loved you during every shared coffee before his shifts and he loved you when he watched you date man after man who wasn’t good enough and he loved you when you told him you were in labor – and, yes, he loves you today, right now, wishing you and Riley were his and for this to be real, not just something he gets to play at for a few days until you find yourself a new apartment to go with your new life.
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snowghoul
jacobvanloon
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