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Routine Examinations Pt5 - Jimmy Keene - Black Bird Imagine

Hi there, this story is loosely based off the Black Bird series starring Taron Egerton as James Keene. Although the series is based off real events, this story is not and deviates from the show’s plot.

Summary: You’re a doctor working with the FBI, your new patient: Jimmy Keene.

Word count: 5746 (its a long one!)

Pairing: Reader x Jimmy Keene

TW: angst, prison environment, mention of insulin injection, assault, SA, use of knife, panic attack, blood.

The guard hasn’t even reached the door when his radio starts going off in a frenzied panic. He’s not Nelson nor is he Carter. I don’t ask his name because he’s definitely introduced himself before, but I can’t remember it for the life of me.

“Ma’am is it okay if I step out for a moment, something’s going on at the guard station,” there’s an uneasiness to his voice as he stares down at the radio attached to his belt. Multiple voices yell out code numbers to each other and despite having worked here long enough that I should know at least some of them, I don’t.

“Of course,” I smile politely. It saves me the awkwardness of asking him to leave. The officer doesn’t shut the door tight on his way out but it’s closed enough that I don’t bother to fix it. I’m already sitting in front of Jimmy anyway.

“That’s a little strange don’t you think?” He’s on edge. How could he not be after yesterday’s beating and Carter threatening to flag him as a snitch.

“Every day is a strange day in here,” I reassure him. The cuts on Jimmy’s face already look better. The night at the infirmary did him well. The bags under his eyes have shrunk and he looks more awake. Don’t get me wrong, he still looks like hell, but at least more rested.

“I guess,” he mumbles.

“Let me see your neck. After yesterday my main concern is making sure the wound doesn’t reopen,” Jimmy shuffles closer to the edge of the chair so I can get a better look at the scar. His knee rests between my legs as I sit on my rolling stool. As I lean in to get a closer look, his leg accidentally presses against my inner thigh. I try not to think of it as I check the butterfly bandages. Then, I lightly dab a salve onto the area to ensure it doesn’t dry out.

When I pull away, I notice Jimmy isn’t looking at me. Instead, his gaze is cast downwards at our intertwined legs. I allow myself half a second to indulge in the same view, but then the movement of his head draws my eyes upwards. He finally meets my gaze. It’s heavy and when he presses his knee harder against my thigh, I know that there was no accident. His touch has been intentional from the start.

But neither of us gets the chance to say anything. Jimmy’s head darts up when someone sprints past the door, their heavy steps thundering down the hall.

“Was that a C.O?” he asks. I turn to the door, having missed them fly by.

“I don’t know,” something starts to buzz in the back of my mind. It’s been almost ten minutes and the officer in charge of Jimmy still hasn’t come back. I break our contact to peek around the cracked door. The guard normally posted at the front of the infirmary is gone. Jimmy was right.

“Was it?”

“Yeah,” my mind wanders to the different possibilities. It must be urgent because he is never supposed to leave his post without a replacement. Now four inmates are left unguarded out there. Although they’re heavily injured and cuffed to their beds, so they won’t be going anywhere.

I twist the lock on the door handle and head for the landline. Jimmy watches as I call both guard stations and neither pick up. My lips purse in frustration.

Nevertheless, I head over to Jimmy again.

“You haven’t shared much about Hall these last few days,” I start.

He ignores my prompt. “Something’s wrong, Emma,” Jimmy’s voice is tight. “I think you should hide somewhere, in the supply cabinet, under your desk. Somewhere.”

“Jimmy, do you know something?” I ask.

“Why would both guards leave?” he emphasizes. “Something isn’t right.”

“It’ll be fine,” I say, but just as the words leave my mouth a new pair of footsteps run down the corridor to the infirmary. They’re different from the guard’s: lighter, quicker. Two excited, muffled voices carry through the brick walls.

Then, there’s a knock at my door. It’s polite and innocent enough. But, it’s not how a guard knocks. No gruff voice follows, announcing they need to take an inmate back to their cell. Instead, a heavy silence takes over the room. Each side of the door patiently awaits a sign of life from the other side.

“Get under your desk,” Jimmy whispers. The urgency in his voice is clearer than ever.

I take his warning one step further by first sliding off my heels and then pulling a scalpel from my supply tray before finally crawling under my desk. I pull my office chair as close as possible to provide extra shelter. I’m covered from Jimmy’s perspective, but anyone who crouches down or walks behind the desk will see me plain as day.

There’s another knock, louder this time.

“Doctor, there’s an emergency! We need medical assistance as fast as possible at the guard station!” My stomach drops at the giddy, shrill voice.

“Don’t respond,” Jimmy’s voice is barely audible. But I didn’t need him to tell me that much.

The doorknob starts wiggling. A pit forms in my stomach as the quiet sounds of metal clinking on metal fill the room.

And then the lock pops and the door swings open. Two inmates stand in the frame. One of them, Moe, whom I treated two days ago for multiple stab wounds to his shoulder, was set to be released this afternoon. He stands short and stocky next to the lanky man beside him, Ralf, if I’m remembering his name properly.

Ralf holds himself as though he isn’t 100% human. He’s gaunt and almost looks like one of those praying mantis insects with their long limbs and beady eyes.

“Oh,” Moe mutters. “Why didn’t you say you were here?”

The question is directed at Jimmy as the stocky man pushes his way into the room. Ralf follows a few steps behind, but he doesn’t take much interest in Jimmy. No, Ralf is more interested in my medical supplies, specifically whatever might hide in my cabinets. He heads straight for the fridge by the door, but is going to be disappointed to find blood and stool samples.

“Thought you guys might be guards,” Jimmy deepens his voice, playing up the tough guy reputation he seems to have built for himself.

Ralf giggles to himself at Jimmy’s comment. “Nope, no guards around here anymore.”

“By yourself?” Moe mumbles.

“No,” Jimmy hesitates. “The doctor was here, but she went out almost at the same time as the guard. Something about disinfectant.”

‘Ohh,” Moe pauses for a moment, thinking about Jimmy’s answer. His feet scuff on the floor as he moves around the patient chair.

Ralf slams the fridge door shut, rattling the containers inside. He moves to the first of two cabinets. Inside are cotton sways, bandages, wraps, syringes, ointments, and disinfectant, but no pills, which I’m guessing is what he really wants. What little medication I keep on hand is securely in the cabinet behind my desk. In direct view of where I sit now.

“Ya know,” Ralf sniffs. “We didn’t see no doctor on our way over. Did we Moe?”

“Just a couple of guards,” Moe’s muffled voice bounces off the walls and rings in my ears. I feel my heart racing in my chest as if it’s going to take off and leave me dead on the floor.

“You said she needed disinfectant?” Ralf asks.

“She said it,” Jimmy’s tone is short. “Not me.”

“Funny,” his voice trails off. Ralf reaches into the open cabinet and pulls out a handful of disinfectant wipes. He drops them on the floor. “Looks like she’s got plenty of those,” he grabs another handful, tossing them onto the ground. Then another. The tiny packets skid across the floor. One slides under the desk right next to my foot.

“You calling me a liar?” the tension rises in Jimmy’s voice

“Ain’t calling you anything buddy,” says Ralf.

Moe leans in close to Jimmy, real close. Too much for someone he just met. Probably too close for someone he’s known for a while. The proximity makes Jimmy visibly uncomfortable as he leans away. “Do we have a problem? Why don’t you back up a bit?”

“Want your cuffs off?” Moe asks, once again mumbling.

“I don’t know man, what’s in it for you?”

“Just one thing,” Moe pauses, his voice clear for the first time since stepping into my office. “Where’d she go?”

“I just told you.”

“No, you didn’t,” says Moe.

“I can take another peek, but I’m pretty sure she ain’t laying beside those pigs out there,” Ralf chimes in. I can see the bottom of his shoes as he walks away from the cabinet. He carelessly steps on the disinfectant packets. The pit in my stomach grows. Does that mean they’re dead?

“So, where’d she go?” Moe is getting impatient now. His voice is higher, tighter, I can hear the annoyance from across the room.

Ralf has nowhere else to check except for the last cabinet. I hug my legs closer to my chest as he approaches the doors. My fingers nervously twist the scalpel. The weapon is of little reassurance to my situation. If Ralf turns around now, I’m dead.

He pulls on the door and it swings open with ease. I forgot to lock it. I should be embarrassed I forgot to do something so important, but right now that's the only thing keeping his attention away from my desk.

“Bingo!” Ralf sings. He fills his pockets with pill bottles, carrying enough painkillers to take out a whole block.

“Is she still here?” Moe whispers to Keene.

Jimmy doesn’t respond, but that seems to be all the confirmation he needs.

“Ralf.”

“Just wait,” his pockets are bulging with bottles as he reaches for more.

“Where?” he asks Jimmy again, his voice low and eager.

Ralf turns to snap at him. That he just needs to wait another minute and they’ll check the supply room down the hall. But the words never leave his mouth, because when Ralf turns around to look at Moe, his eyes land directly on mine instead. And if I thought the grin on his face couldn’t get any larger, I was wrong.

“Guess,” he giggles.

Moe’s eyes widen as his laughter also begins to fill the room. My mouth runs dry and my heart feels like it stops beating completely. In the background, I hear what might be Jimmy’s handcuffs rattling against the metal bar. Moe rounds the corner of the desk to see if Ralf is telling the truth.

Ralf reaches for the arm of the chair to pull it away.

I don’t wait for them to yank me out screaming. I lunge at Ralf, scalpel ready, and plunge it into the hand wrapped around the chair. The blade cuts through his hand and into the foam underneath, but I don’t stay to see his reaction. In seconds I am sprinting for the door until I step on a pile of disinfectant packages. My foot loses traction as I slide and get knocked off balance. It doesn’t stop me, but provides just enough time for Moe to wrap his arms entirely around my body and yank me back towards my desk. I thrash against his snake-like grip but that only causes him to constrict his arms even tighter.

“Let go!” I scream at him. My voice cracks in desperation. I take a swing and land it square on Moe’s head but he acts as though I completely missed.

“You fucking bitch,” Ralf seethes as he approaches with the bloody knife in hand. Thick, red liquid flows from his hand, down his elbow where it drips onto the floor.

“Stop!” Jimmy shouts as he strains against his cuffs locked around the metal rail. He leaps from the chair and puts all the pressure he can on them in an attempt to break them.

Moe flips me around and pushes me onto my desk. Papers chaotically fly everywhere as he swipes them off the surface.

“Get off!” I spit at him. The sharp edge of the desk jolts into my back as he bends me over the top, leaving my stomach exposed.

“You’re going to fucking regret that you little bitch,” Ralf’s venomous words are filled with spite. His eyes bulge from his head as he leans in. I freeze in fear, too terrified to move. Meanwhile, Moe suggestively presses his groin into me as his heavy breathing turns to deep chuckles.

In the background, I hear Jimmy heaving against the chains. The large chair is anchored to the ground like the ones you’d see in a dentist’s office, but that doesn’t stop him from fighting it. The metal groans against Jimmy’s strength and all I can do is pray it’s enough.

“It’s been so long since the last time,” says Moe. Bile rises in the back of my throat at his words. A cold blade presses against my lower stomach. Ralf traces the knife along the hem of my blouse before he lands at the bottom button. Moe watches him carefully. “Do it,” he breathes.

“Is that what you want, doctor?” Ralf teases.

“Fuck you.”

“You will,” his shit-eating grin grows as he cuts off the first button. Then the next. And the next. Tears well in my eyes as more buttons follow and my top slowly falls away, leaving me exposed. In the background, I can faintly hear the groan of metal under too much stress. “There we go,” he says as the last button falls to the ground.

“Oh, boy Ralf,” Moe’s grimy hands wander up my stomach. “You always have good ideas.”

“Don’t you know it,” he drawls. “But I don’t think we’re done yet,” Ralf raises the scalpel again, this time pressing it to the skin just under my collar bone.

“Please don’t,” my voice cracks as he presses the blade harder into my skin. Blood spills down my chest as he cuts a long gash.

“Not such a bitch anymore,” Ralf smirks. Moe spreads blood around my chest as his hands grab at my skin.

“Please,” it’s barely audible as tears stream down my face. But then a sound off to the side of the room catches my attention. Something metal snaps in the direction of the patient’s chair.

Out of nowhere, Jimmy comes hurdling across the room. He throws fast, deadly punches at Ralf, causing blood to fly from his face as his nose snaps and his lip splits. He goes down fast as Jimmy relentlessly beats on him. Ralf wheezes as he takes hit after hit with no time to recover.

At the same time, I feel Moe’s hands tighten around me in panic. He doesn’t know what to do. But then in another split second, he is off of me and out the door in a panic. Moe leaves Ralf behind without a second thought.

“Jimmy,” my shaky voice does nothing to shake him from his violent trance. “Jimmy!” I shout.

He whips around. His face is red from exertion and there’s something different about his eyes. He straddles Ralf, who lies on the ground barely conscious. Blood covers the surrounding floor.

“Get him out of here,” I turn around to look out the window. I don’t want to see what Jimmy does with him but I can hear his body being drug across the floor. I feel awful. Ashamed. Exposed. Terrified. And I can’t stop the shakes from taking over. Fuck.

I jump as the door slams shut. Jimmy pushes the industrial metal fridge to block the entrance.

With the fridge securely pressed against the door, it’s almost impossible for anyone to get in. We’re trapped here for better or worse.

He rushes across the room to my side.

“Emma are you-” Jimmy reaches out, his arm beginning to wrap around my shoulder in an embrace.

“Don’t!” I shout louder than I meant to. I instinctively flinch away from him and even once I put a meter’s worth of space between us, it’s not enough.

“I’m sorry,” regret is evident in his soft voice. He didn’t mean to and I know that but I can’t help my reaction.

“It’s fine,” but I don’t feel fine. Nothing about me is remotely fine. My skin feels like thousands of fire ants have claimed it as theirs. I can’t get the feeling of the inmate’s forceful hands off my mind. Can’t clear my head of the unspeakable things that he planned to do. That he came so close to accomplishing.

My chest feels tight and my heart aches. It’s like the air I’m breathing isn’t making it to my lungs. My mouth feels dry. The type of dry that only happens when you’ve been working outside in the mid-August heat for hours with no water. The room feels ten degrees warmer than it was five minutes ago yet I’m shaking like it’s the middle of winter. I’m quick to jump to the conclusion that I’m having a heart attack but experience tells me otherwise.

My vision starts to go spotty as I head for the corner of the room. I just need to sit for a few moments. To clear my head. To breathe.

“Jimmy?” I’m almost gasping for air.

“Are you alright?” he asks with furrowed brows. “You’re really pale,” he steps closer but is overly cautious about invading my space.

“Can you get me some water?”

If he responds I don’t hear him. My vision is spotty, leaning on the darker side. I’m panicking and need to regain control before I cause myself to faint. My anxiety normally doesn’t get this bad but today hasn’t exactly been normal.

In the background, I hear the tap running. I press my head against the cool brick wall as I sit on the laminate floor with my arms resting on my knees.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” I mumble. “It’s just a panic attack,”

“Just,” he huffs in disbelief.

Jimmy watches me with worry etched on his face. I don’t want him to know how awful it feels. “I’ll be fine. Always am.”

“Do you need anything else?” He asks.

“Just some quiet.”

He takes a seat several feet away from me against the wall, copying my position. I slowly sip my water, paying attention to the feeling of it coasting down my throat. To the soft sound of the fan blowing in the corner of my office, sitting untouched by the intruders. I ignore the muffled crashing sounds that can faintly be heard through the brick walls, instead focusing on the warm light that shines through the windows casting itself on our legs. I listen to his breathing. It’s deep and strong and faster than normal. We’re both still recovering from what happened. But he’s otherwise completely quiet; respecting my wishes without any complaints. I have his immediate support.

Slowly my vision completely returns and the shakes seem to dissipate. The room doesn’t feel so hot anymore.

When I look over at Jimmy, he’s quick to meet my eyes. He was waiting for something, a signal of some sort to know I’m alright.

“More water?” he whispers.

“Please,” I hold out the paper cup. His index finger brushes against my pinky when he takes it from my hand. I could’ve gotten up and filled the cup myself, but he looks relieved to have a job.

When Jimmy hands me back the cup I notice the cuts on his wrist from the handcuffs. He strained so hard against the metal to break free that it scraped his skin raw. I can’t imagine how bad it stings right now.

The water is cool down the back of my throat. Jimmy doesn’t sit back down. He stands as he watches me finish the second cup.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“You should let me fix that up,” he motions to my collarbone. It had been the least of my concerns up until now. I didn’t even notice the thick trail of blood seeping from the gash. Now it throbs. The red heat seems to spread from the wound down my chest as the blood soaks my once nude bra and slashed blouse. My mind was too clouded before to notice how exposed they left me. A wave of vulnerability washes over me.

I divert my eyes and pull the other half of my top over my chest to cover my bra. “It’ll be fine.”

Jimmy catches on to my body language right away. “Here, I’ll give you my shirt, but you’re bleeding a lot. We should do something about that.”

He’s not even done talking when he slips the blue shirt off and passes it to me. The rough fabric’s warm in my hands.

“Thanks,” I say as he stands across from me now in his undershirt. The bruises from yesterday paint his arms and upper chest a variety of painful colours.

He’s right. I am bleeding a lot. And I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be here and how much more blood I’m going to lose. But Jimmy doesn’t need to be the one to patch me up, I can do that all on my own.

“Where do you keep those butterfly things?” he’s already searching around the room.

“The bandages?”

“Those.”

“They’re in the far cabinet,” I say as he moves to rummage through my supplies. I replace my torn blouse with the standard blue prison shirt. The bottom hem falls well below my waist and the already large neckline barely stays on my shoulders. It’s still miles better than what I had before. The fabric smells of the prison’s standard detergent, but it also smells distinctly of him: clean and masculine and of something earthier I can’t quite depict. It’s a comforting scent that now completely engulfs me.

“Here,” he speaks to himself as he pulls out a sealed bag of bandages and disinfecting wipes. When Jimmy turns around, he does a quick once over of the shirt, his expression almost completely neutral but I don’t miss how his shoulders shift as he deeply inhales.

He crouches down in front of me on the laminate, placing the packets just to the right. I tense at our proximity and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Jimmy,” I wait for him to look up. “I don’t need help. I’ll fix it myself.”

His brows furrow and he looks to the floor in search of an answer. The moment stretches on becoming borderline uncomfortable. He considers his words carefully. “I would never hurt you Emma,” Jimmy murmurs.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” I trail off at a loss for words. Because it is that. I know it’s an unreasonable fear because he’s done nothing but help to protect me. But at the same time, is it such an unreasonable fear after everything that has happened today? I’m scared of where it could go if I let him get that close. Of where I would want it to go.

“You’ve done so much for me already, I just want to return the favour,” earnest eyes are back on mine.

“You’re not in some kind of debt to me, Jimmy.”

“Please just let me help you. That’s all I want,” I search his blue eyes for any trace of deceit, but there’s none, only concern.

“Okay,” I nod.

We both let out a sigh of relief. The tension between us easing, just a bit.

He shifts to sit back on the floor, positioning himself so he has easy access to my chest.

“Will you hold these?” Jimmy asks as he passes me the disinfectant and bandages. I cup them in my palms on my lap so he can grab them any time. He clears his throat before asking “Emma can I move your shirt?”

“That’s fine,” I nod in response. He’s slow with his movements as if I’m an easily spooked horse. Jimmy’s large hand reaches up to the neckline of my shirt and gently pushes it off my shoulder. It falls effortlessly, already too big for me. The air feels cold on my exposed skin. I can’t control my heart rate from picking up again.

I study him closely. He sits with his legs crossed in a position that makes his posture look bad. With him closer, I get a better look at the injury on his neck. It’s healing, but the fight today probably tore at the bandages. The kind of strain it took to break the metal bar would’ve been immensely painful for him. Yet, his neck wound didn’t reopen which is a good sign.

The cuts on his cheek haven’t opened either but his lip isn’t so lucky. A small smear of blood tells me it was bleeding not too long ago but has probably stopped by now.

The bruises on his face are deep blues and purples and while his black eye isn’t nearly as swollen as yesterday, it could use some ice. It hurts just to look at him.

The veins in his forearm ripple as Jimmy reaches for the disinfectant in my hands. He rips open the packet to reveal the tiny white cloth. He uses the first cloth to wipe the fresh blood off his knuckles before grabbing a second packet.

His movements are hesitant. He knows what to do. It’s fresh in his mind after watching me yesterday. But Jimmy lacks experience in dressing wounds. He doesn’t know how to properly clean a cut or apply the butterfly bandages. His eyes shift between the gash along my collarbone and the cloth in his hands. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Jimmy’s unsure, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to help.

His strong hands are surprisingly delicate as he uses the disinfectant wipe to clean the area around the wound. His eyes are constantly flickering up to mine, ensuring he hasn’t hurt me.

I draw in a sharp breath when the alcohol touches the cut.

He pauses immediately. “You good?”

“Yup,” I muster through a clenched jaw.

Jimmy pulls on his bottom lip with his teeth in concentration. When he finally releases, blood rushes to the area turning it a dark pink.

I’m still staring at his lips when he asks how to apply the bandage. When I finally meet his eyes something in them darkens. The air is still and I can feel when he suddenly inhales deeper than before.

“Place one side of the bandage down before you pinch both sides of the cut together and apply the other half,” My voice is hoarse, quiet.

He reluctantly presses the first half of a bandage onto the skin just under the cut before leaning in real close to study the area. His cool breath fans across my bare shoulder and down my chest. Jimmy’s brows furrow in concentration. His eyes so focused, that they don’t notice anything but the soft skin under his calloused hands. Something in my stomach flutters as his gentle fingers pinch the wound together and press the other half of the bandage into place.

We’re both completely silent as he applies the second and third bandages.

“I think we’re done,” his voice is hardly above a whisper. Jimmy traces his thumb along my collarbone just above the wound, causing the small hairs on my arms to rise. His touch is light and careful. I watch his eyes follow along my bare skin until I’m staring into pools of blue. I involuntarily draw in a breath. My mind is humming and my body has awakened. The world is unmoving except for my heart hammering in my chest.

“Thank you,” I find myself at a loss for words. His fingers continue to lightly trace back and forth along the tender area.

“You don’t have to thank me. I owe you.”

“Not after today, you don’t.”

“I’ll always owe you, Emma, I’ll never be out of your debt for your kindness,” his eyes search mine. There’s a sense of urgency to his words. A desire to be understood.

“It’s just my job, Jimmy.”

“It’s more than that,” he’s right. From the moment he stepped through those doors it felt like more. As much as I’ve tried to remain professional our relationship has grown past that.

“Do you, uhm, want ice? For your eye?” I stumble over my words. “Or your wrist?”

“They’ll be fine,”

“Because there probably some still in the fridge, I doubt it’s melted yet,” he’s so close; my thoughts are getting twisted with his earthy scent.

“I don’t want ice, Emma,” he’s closer than ever before. I can feel the heat off his skin as his chest brushes against my own. Our breaths intertwine as the space shrinks and the tension grows thick. His hand brushes up the base of my neck, leading a trail of pleasure up to my jaw where he gently cups my face.

“So, what do you want?” I murmur, my eyes on his provocative lips.

“I think you know,” his voice is low. Every sensation feels heightened. All I want is to feel his skin on mine. “But only if you do too,” he searches for any sign saying otherwise.

“More than I should,” I lean in, brushing my nose against his. I long for a deeper connection with him, to know him entirely.

Jimmy dampens his lips. His eyes are darkened by desire. I graze my hand up his hard arm, over his broad shoulder, past the bruises and around the back of his neck. I don’t know who leans in first. It all happens so fast. Adrenaline floods my veins. His hands feel so good as they travel across my body, landing in my hair. His fingers lace through the strands as he gently pulls at the base of my roots.

He’s passionate and intense but takes his tantalizing time exploring my mouth. Jimmy traces my lips with his tongue before slipping it in. He pushes as I pull. Then we switch in harmony, the playing field completely even.

Jimmy presses his body into mine. The softness of my figure moulds against his sturdy frame. I feel so tiny in his arms. They’re solid and safe and I know if anyone were to break through that door, they would do anything to protect me. Jimmy wraps around me like a suit of impenetrable armour.

The world disappears as the lines between who is who blur. There’s something visceral about our desire, something so desperate and innate.

All I want is to disappear into him completely, but then he pauses.

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes as he pulls away. I know how awful a place like this can be. How isolating and dehumanizing. How lonely and deprived. Jimmy looks tired. He looks beat and drained. The job he’s tasked with is almost impossible.

My fingers trace along the bags under his eyes, up his cheekbones, and down his ear. A deep sigh escapes his swollen lips.

Jimmy parts his lips as if to say something, then changes his mind. He presses his forehead against mine with closed eyes. It feels so good to be this close to him. To feel his hands as they rub the side of my thighs for comfort. But I can tell in this state of vulnerability, that his mind has drifted elsewhere.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispers as his head moves to the crook of my neck.

“Don’t think like that, Jimmy,” I bring a hand to the back of his head, lightly petting his soft hair. “If anyone can, it’s you,” His heart pounds against his chest. I can feel the thrumming as my palm presses against his grey shirt. He doesn’t realize how strong he is.

“You don’t know that,”

“I do.”

He breaks away from our embrace in search of the truth. Am I just telling him what he wants to hear or is there any substance to my words. His eyes carefully examine my face. There’s not a single lie or half-truth to my words. I believe them fully.

I grab his large hand in both of mine. “I do.”

His shoulders soften when he sighs, nodding his head in acceptance. My words are enough, for now.

On the other side of the brick wall, a storm of footsteps approaches the infirmary. A loud knock thunders against the door.

“Dr. Green! Are you in there?” A commanding voice shouts through the door.

Every part of my body freezes. Jimmy’s eyes widen slightly. I can’t bring myself to respond to the man on the other side of the wall.

“Doctor, we will break this door down if we do not receive a response,” I hear the muffled voices of more men. I wonder how many there are?

I allow myself one last moment of uninterrupted silence with Jimmy. My palm cups his cheek, thumb lightly brushing across the day-old scar. His hand wraps entirely around my wrist. Jimmy guides my hand from his cheek to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine.

He presses one last tender kiss where my wrist connects to my palm. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His soft words vibrate against my sensitive skin as his breath fans down my arm.

I try to smile. To hide the disappointment I’m feeling. Not because of him or his actions, but because of our situation. If only things had been different. If only we met somewhere else. Somewhere innocent. When I look at Jimmy his eyes are sad. They’re longing for something more.

“Tomorrow,” I repeat.

I break contact. This is too much. It’s all too much right now. The only thing I can do is clear my voice and call back to the officers.

“I’m alright! I’ll unblock the door, just give me two minutes,” I don’t have a chance to attempt moving the fridge. Jimmy’s already on it. When it’s mostly out of the way he rushes for the chair, slipping his cuff back around the broken metal rail and adjusting it so the officers won’t notice it’s broken.

I’m about to let them in, my hand rests on the flimsy handle lock ready to flick it open. I steal one last glance at him.

Jimmy eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. He winks as if everything’s alright. And for a moment, everything is.