Here's another Abbot fic. This has been rotting away in my brain and then I left it in my notes (Image is not a depiction of reader)
Warnings: Hurt/comfort | emotional vulnerability | mentions of therapy, therapists | bitches be eavesdropping | Abbot assuming things | Communicate ppl | implied/established relationship | Implied age gap (reader mid/late 20's) | not beta'd,(we die like real men)
W.C: +2,500
Please Don't Repost Somewhere Else, Reblogging is welcome
Therapy was a winding road, somedays you felt fine—better than fine even. Some days you felt broken—more broken than you'd ever felt. But it always echoed in your mind, the words your therapist gave you on one particularly bad episode—
You are not broken. You don't need fixing. You are healing. Healing takes time, it's not linear. Same days will feel worse, and some days you'll feel perfect, but you are not broken.
This whole week you'd felt… off. Like something was chipping away at you slowly. Like the world was going to open up and swallow you whole. And secretly you wished it would. Your therapist, Ms. Tina opened your hour long session with a "How are you doing? How have you been feeling?"
And after a minute or two of silence, you spoke. Not clearly at first, the words jumbling in your mouth as you tried to string together something coherent. You always scheduled your calls with your therapist when Jack was at work. He was facing his own battles, he didn't need to worry about yours. At least that's what you told yourself.
There were many things Ms. Tina told you, most of them always phrased as "when you're ready to…" but you almost never felt ready. You didn't feel ready to tell Jack about all the shit you went through growing up, how a lot of your insecurities stem from people you thought loved you, how you were scared to love, how sometimes you didn't know what love was—but you sure as shit knew what it wasn't. But he was trying to heal himself, he shouldn't have to deal with your insecurities… they weren't his problem to solve. Right? You were scared, 'what if I tell him and he leaves?' The thought of him leaving buried an ache so deep in your chest, it made your body swell and brain fog.
"You're really quiet, but I can hear those cogs turning… What's on your mind?" Ms. Tina spoke softly, pulling you from your mental spiral.
"I-I uhh… I wanna talk about something that came up again…" You muttered, your hands fidgeting with a worn hair-tie, "I-I- Jack said 'I love you'."
"He did? How did you feel about that? Did you have a response?" Her questions were simple, open, like a test question with a write-in answer.
"I froze… I wanted to say it back… I got scared…" Your eyes glued to your lap before you spoke again, faster, "But he didn't mind-at least he told me I didn't have to say it back. That he wanted me to know how he feels about me."
"Why don't we explore why you froze? Are you comfortable with that?" You gave a quick nod, "So you and Jack have been together for how long?"
"Almost a year now," A small smile growing on your face. You still remember when you first mentioned him to your therapist, the way she seemed apprehensive about the age gap but never outright judged you or tried to steer you away from it. She always made sure to check-in with how you felt about any possible imbalances, but there weren't any. Sure Jack was older than you, but he treated you like a partner, not a kid (even though that's what he called you sometimes). Which always ended up confusing you because you have that decrepit voice inside trying to rot away any foundations you had.
"And have you been able to open up with him about your fears, or trauma?"
"No-Not that I don't want to… I mean." I heavy sigh left your lips. You were so caught up in your session, earbuds in talking to Ms. Tina that you hadn't heard the door lock click and latch.
Jack was walking in, ready to begin his next few days off with you. Robby had teased him endlessly during handover about being happier than usual, how seeing him smile more was almost unsettling—in an uncanny valley sort of way. Which lead Shen into saying something about Jack being body-snatched and an imposter. Jack was hoping you'd still be in bed, so he could lay himself right beside you and trap you under the covers with him for the next 8 or 10 hours.
He set his bag down gently on your couch, not wanting to wake you. You were not an early riser, you were a bona fide night owl. Your remote job allowing you the convenience of setting your own hours. He got right in front of your bedroom door, hand hovering over the doorknob when he heard your voice, clear as day, "… he scares me…" He paused. He knew it was wrong, an invasion of privacy, but he wanted—needed—to know who.
Your voice carried through the door again, "I don't want the marriage-the relationship my parent's had…"
"I don't know if it's love…"
"…I don't deserve this…happiness. He doesn't deserve me."
"…He gets mad, and I feel like I'm burning on the inside. Like any minute I'm gonna feel it all over again…" Those last words stopped him, pulled his hand away from the door and had him backtracking towards the front door. He'd lost his temper once in front of you, it wasn't your fault, it was stupid. But the look in your eyes when he finally looked at you, told him what you hadn't—what you wouldn't. Someone had hurt you, and he in that moment reminded you of that person. After that moment he took the sign you unknowingly fed him and he minded his temper, his tone, his volume. He never wanted to see that glassy look in your eyes, especially not because of himself. He took the extra step to explain his frustration, that it wasn't you—it was never you.
The words jumbled in his head, did you really feel that way? He had told you he loved you because his therapist was telling him to communicate and express his feeling with you, to be more earnest, that there was nothing wrong with feeling it. He told you he loved you and wasn't expecting a response. He knew how he felt about you, but…how did you feel about him.
He moved before he finished a coherent thought. His hand landed on his bag and he walked out of the apartment. Something in his head reached down to his chest and yanked hard, a new sense of fear pulling him away from you. 'She was right—you don't deserve her.'
"Have you given any thought to talking with him about how you feel? From what you're telling me it sounds like it's getting serious. I have a feeling he'll understand…" A part of you felt like there was truth behind her thinking.
It was coming up to the end of your hour, and a few tears were shed, a laugh was heard, because "If you don't laugh about it you'll cry about it." You flipped over your phone, and saw a few new messages from Jack.
Hey I got pulled in to cover a shift early tomorrow.
I'm gonna stay at my place
I'll let you know when I'm off.
Something about the messages had felt off, but you didn't want to pry. You waited for a minute, thumbs hovering over your phone screen trying to come up with a response that wouldn't make him feel guilty. You were an expert at 'faking it', doing it over text was no problem. You were already missing him, and your talk with Ms. Tina was the nudge you needed to be honest with him. You typed back a quick;
Awe, ok.
I'll miss you, and remember to eat something pls
It had been two days. Two days and nothing more than a;
I got asked to cover another half
I'll text you when I'm free.
And then silence. You had responded with;
Oh, alrighty, well, make sure you get enough rest.
I miss you
That was 18 hours ago, surely he must've gotten off… Maybe he was too tired to come over, he probably just went straight home. But my apartment is closer to the hospital…
You were huddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled of Jack. You were wrapped up like burrito, only your eyes and nose sticking out from the pile of fluff. Old reruns of a show you loved played on the tv, but it was mindless background noise you used to shatter the silence. If it got too quiet the sweet little voice in you would start to whisper louder and louder. He doesn't love you. He doesn't love you. He realized he's better off without you.
You could feel your eyes getting heavy, sadness was morphing into sleep, but you wanted to be awake when or if Jack got back. You wanted to keep the courage in your chest alight, tell him about the haunted ghosts that littered your insides and manifested as insecurities and fears. The heaviness in your eyes evaporated when the door latch clicked, and it released from the frame. You sat up a little straighter, still wrapped up when Jack walked into the room. He looked exhausted.
"Hey you. Do you wanna eat something? Or do you wanna sleep first?" You asked, something about the way he stood put you on edge, "Is… everything ok?"
He didn't give you a response, dropping his bag against the wall, "Jack… what's wrong? Did something happen?" You stood quickly, stumbling over the blanket that was tangled between your legs. Jack reached forward, grabbing a hold of you to steady you on your feet. There was a tension in your muscles that felt ready to pop and Jack looked like he was dreading opening his mouth.
"Hey… talk to me, please?" There was a softness in your voice, you were hoping he couldn't feel how tense you were.
He closed his eyes, one of his hands leaving your waist to rub the back of his neck, "I'm sorry. I've been avoiding you…" He sighed.
"What?" His admission threw you, "…W-Why? D-Did I do something? I-"
"I heard you the other day." He blurted out, pulling his steady grip from you and cutting off your rambling. He must've read the confusion on your face, "I came by after my shift and I shouldn't have-I heard you." He pauses, taking a deep breath.
"What?" You asked, more confused than you thought possible, "Jack seriously-"
"You said I scare you." His tone sounded harsher, like the words hurt for him to say, but his eyes brewed with pain, "I wanna understand what's going on, I just need you to explain."
You stopped for a moment, the cogs in your head turning. 'He overheard your therapy session.' There was a brief flicker of anger, but it was doused by the hurt that bubbled in your chest, "You-You heard that…" You took a tentative step towards Jack, but he countered with a step backwards.
"Jackie… It's not what you think. I-" You paused, inhaling as much air as you could, heat burning your cheeks, "I was talking about how-how I feel… about you, about us, about myself."
You glanced up at him, now he was confused, like the words you said hadn't affected his fears at all, "Jackie. You said 'I love you' and I didn't say it back because I have never felt this way for someone. I am so… I-I," There were tears building in your eyes, "I was scared. Scared of my feelings for you. I feel so… strongly about you. Everyone in my life this far, who told me they loved me… has hurt me. And I know you wouldn't but…" The confession felt like water in your chest, "I'm scared because I-I love you. And that scares me…"
He paused, the tears building in your eyes twisted something in his chest. "I heard you… you compared us to your parents, you said that… I didn't deserve you. You brought up my temper." There was a wince in his face, like he was remembering that day all over again.
"Please look at me," You sniffled, stepping closer to him and cupping his cheek with your hand, "I was talking about me. How you didn't deserve someone as broken as me, that I didn't deserve the happiness you brought me." The tears started streaming down your face, "My parents had a rocky, tumultuous marriage. I remember it all. I promised myself I'd never marry someone like that. I wanted-want a future with someone who genuinely cares for me."
"You don't scare me. I wasn't talking about your temper… I was talking about my father's. His temper is searing hot, it burns me from the inside because I know his temper is in me, because I remember what living under his roof was like, like it was yesterday… There's always this anxiety in me that at any moment I'm going to be that scared little girl again, asking how someone who says they love me, could hurt me…" You paused as the realization formed on his face, "I have never known what love is… Only what it isn't. You are everything to me, you show me what love can be… I'm scared that there's another shoe waiting to drop… and I'm working on that part of me."
There was a softness in your voice as you sniffled, "I want to be better for myself… and for you. I was waiting for you to get home so I could tell you all this. I didn't want to make my faults your problem." A sad smile growing on your face.
"…well…" Jack huffed, his eyes wide, shame building in his chest. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against his chest, "… That's what I get for eavesdropping. You've always respected my meeting, I should've done the same for you. I should've told you I was on my way…" He pulled back to wipe the tears from your cheeks.
"It's not your fault. I could've let you know I was meeting with her that day… And she was trying to get me to be honest with you about my fears… Guess it was the universe telling me to stop being a wimp." An embarrassed chuckle eased passed your lips, "Besides old man, you don't meet with your therapist virtually. You actually sit on their couch." You teased, trying to brighten up the mood.
"Pft. Old Man." He shook his head before planting a kiss at the top of your head, "Hey, you love this old man." He pulled back once more, his eyes a little more serious, "I love you, all of you, faults and all. And you're not broken, you don't need fixing. You've been hurt… and you're healing. You've been here for me, let me be here for you."
A smile crept it's way onto your face as he pulled you back in, fresh tears forming in your eyes, "I can do that."
When I was 12 years old, I took a 3 month Martial Arts class which was a mixture of everything from kick boxing to tai chi.
One of the first things we learned and something we had to practice everyday for at least 30 minutes was - how to fall.
People literally carried us and threw us on the ground (well, mat).
Initially, it was painful. I was always so afraid. I mean how could I just stand there knowing that the person in front of me was going to pick me up and throw me! And then stand up again so the person behind them could do the same. And then stand up yet again for another person to do that.
Of course I knew it was because we had to learn how to fall. It wasn’t just about the other people knowing how to throw people. It was more about us learning how we must fall. Or rather, how we must break our fall.
It’s there I learned that there’s a ‘correct’ way to fall.
It seemed so absurd to me! It seemed so unfair!
Why did we need to learn how to fall? Why couldn’t we just learn how to not fall instead?
But soon in life I realized, we don’t often get a say in whether we fall or not. Whether life picks us up only to brutally bring us down harder. However, that summer I did learn that we can choose to fall in a way that minimises the damage and the pain, because falling is inevitable and most times out of our control but how we fall and get back up is always up to us.
