Summary: Jack Abbot is your best friend in the entire world, until one day he isn't.
Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, age gap (approximately 20 years), quite a bit of discussion of Jack's prosthetic/residual limb. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), multiple orgasms, squirting.
Having a best friend is totally normal. Having a best friend that's older than you--also normal. Having an opposite gender best friend that's technically old enough to be your father--perhaps a little out of the ordinary.
But that didn't stop you from befriending Jack Abbot the second you met him on your first day as an intern at PTMC. Technically, you befriended nearly every single person you met--something about that bubbly personality of yours made it impossible to resist.
Jack would know better than most. After all, he tried to resist your charms. He lasted about an hour and a half before you'd managed to pull him into your orbit on a permanent basis.
Fast forward four years and he was now your closest confidant, your staunchest supporter, and your absolute all-time favorite human being. If someone asked him what he thought of you, he'd spend 20 minutes talking about how brilliant, competent, kind, beautiful--every positive adjective under the sun--you were.
You'd been asked countless times why you'd selected a man almost 20 years your senior as your best friend and your response never changed, "He sees my flaws and doesn't run". To be fair, Jack would never acknowledge you had any flaws to begin with, but the deeper meaning remained true--he loved the darkest parts of you no matter what. That's what friends do.
As far as you were concerned, your friendship with Jack was just like any other--the only difference was his age. Neither of you gave a damn, so it was never really a topic of conversation or concern.
Other people, however, loved to comment on it. Especially when you went out together. The initial assumption was always that he was your dad, but once that was dispelled the automatic next conclusion was that he was a creepy old sugar daddy. While he did often pay when you went out, there was certainly no arrangement--caring for people was simply Jack's love language.
He'd buy you drinks without a second thought, pay for meals regardless of how expensive, and buy you gifts when he saw something that made him think of you--it was just his way.
There was obviously nothing going on romantically between the two of you, as evidenced by the number of suitors you managed to date in all the free time you definitely didn't have.
You were more likely to swipe right than left these days, as you were convinced there had to be someone for you out there. You'd told Jack you had to take a chance on some of these guys or you'd end up dying alone. He'd been hilariously offended at the implication--as if he would ever allow you to die alone. You were best friends, after all.
It wasn't uncommon for you to waltz into the Pitt still wearing whatever outfit you'd chosen for a date, but it was extremely uncommon for you to have anything positive to say about the date itself. Everyone wanted to hear the updates as if they were living vicariously through you. Even some of the day shift staff would hang around to get the latest scoop.
"He spent an hour talking about his sneaker collection. An entire hour," you whined to Trinity as you tossed your bag into your locker.
"And you wonder why I like women..."
You rolled your eyes. "Because you were born that way?"
She laughed as she tugged her backpack over her shoulders. "That and men are so weird."
"All men?" Jack joked as he appeared beside you.
"All the ones I've gone on dates with in the past month," you confirmed with a wry chuckle.
"Honey, you've got the worst taste in men I've ever seen." He shot you a playful wink. "You can do way better than those apps."
"You try meeting someone these days outside of an app," you grumbled. "It's literally the only option."
Jack laughed and leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know I'm single too right? I've gotta suffer those apps just like you do."
"Jack Abbot you're about as likely to be on a dating app as Robby is to get married."
Jack laughed even harder, shaking his head ruefully. "You've got me there. I didn't even really know how it worked until you showed me."
"Well you are 140 years old," Trinity mumbled under her breath.
"But I'm not deaf," he sassed with a wink.
"If you're gonna flirt at least do it in front of Garcia. Maybe you'll make her jealous."
They both glared at you, but the expressions held no real malice.
You grinned ear to ear and grabbed your scrubs. "I'm gonna go change, then we can revel in the brilliant chaos of the nightshift, my beloved comrade in arms."
Jack matched your grin and Trinity just shook her head. "You guys are so weird."
"That's why we're on the nightshift, kid."
"Yeah, yeah. The rest of us want some semblance of a normal life."
"Why do that when you could experience the wilds of the night?" Jack joked, stretching his arms out to gesture around him. "This is where the fun's at." He backed up towards the nurse's station, grin never faltering.
Trinity just shook her head again with a chuckle. "Weirdos."
When you came back out dressed in your scrubs, you found Jack leaning against the nurse's station chatting with Lena.
"So how bad was this one, sweetheart?" Lena asked sweetly as you approached.
"I think I said a grand total of six words the entire date. The rest was him talking about the merits of Nike versus Adidas sneakers."
Jack wrinkled his nose and Lena chuckled with a shake of her head. "How do you manage to find so many strange men?"
"Honestly, I think it's a gift," you grumbled with a shrug.
"Or a curse," Jack muttered under his breath.
You smacked his chest affectionately. "Hey!"
"Ow. Rude."
Lena rolled her eyes at your antics. "Okay, both of you get to work before Shen comes over here and regales us with his latest story."
"Aren't you in charge?" you joked, elbowing Jack in the side.
"Yeah--you can't tell me what to do."
Lena raised a brow, a small smirk on her lips.
Jack stood up straight and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."
You shot Lena a wink and she shook her head at you, but her smile widened. God you loved the nightshift.
A few hours later, you and Ellis were chatting instead of catching up on your charting.
"Maybe we should go out on our next night off," Ellis suggested.
"To a bar?"
"Yes, a bar."
You groaned. "I hate picking up men in bars."
She shrugged. "Pick up a woman instead."
"I'm starting to think you and Trinity are trying to convert me."
Her lips spread into a grin. "I'm just saying, if you ever wanna try something new..."
You laughed loudly enough to draw Jack's attention from the other side of the room. He smiled when his gaze landed on you, affectionate evident to anyone who cared to look.
"I promise you'll be the first to know." You shot her a wink as you stood up. "And maybe we should go out. We can drag Jack with us. I'm sure he needs to get laid too."
"Ew. I so do not need to think about our boss getting laid."
"Why not? He's a human man, Parker. He's got needs." Your teasing voice didn't stop the look of disgust from crossing Ellis's face.
"And I repeat: ew."
"What're we 'ew-ing'?" Jack asked from behind you.
"Parker suggested we go out to a bar--have a little fun, pick up some guys or gals." You shrugged. "I simply said you should come too because you need to get laid."
A look of pure shock crossed Jack's face for a split second before he burst out laughing. "Jesus, sweetheart."
"What? I'm just saying. It's been ages."
"I don't think Ellis wanted to know that."
"I truly did not."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of! We all have needs," you insisted.
"I'm not ashamed."
"You're just so...old fashioned about it. We can talk about sex without it being awkward."
Jack groaned loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "Just because you're comfortable talking about your escapades doesn't mean we are."
"Escapades?" You gave a mock gasp. "You're making it sound like I'm out whoring around."
"I so did not say that!"
You grinned and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I'm kidding. You've heard all my failed date stories. I haven't even seen a man's penis outside of a medical context or an unsolicited dick pick in over a year."
Ellis's jaw dropped. "A year?!"
You shot her a glare. "Yes, Parker. A year. I'm a celibate monk. It's my new thing."
"Girl. You need to get properly dicked down."
"Jesus," Jack muttered, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks.
"You know," you leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've never even come during sex. Not once."
"Okaaaaaay," Jack muttered. "And that's my cue."
"You're no fun!" you called after him.
Laughter echoed from behind him as he walked away, a strange feeling settling in his chest. You'd talked about your dates, your exes, even sex with Jack a hundred times, but lately he's begun to feel differently about it.
He couldn't identify exactly when the shift started to happen, but the last month or two had been different for him. Two months ago, after a night out with you, he'd come home and stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. Longer than he'd done in years.
He'd made a realization that night. One he hadn't been sure he'd ever reach. It had been weeks since he'd thought about his wife, months since he'd missed her so much it hurt. He would always love her, but it no longer hurt to think about her. He didn't feel lost. He didn't feel broken. He didn't fall apart on her birthday or their anniversary. Somehow, some way, his heart had healed.
He'd looked down at the wedding band on his finger--the one he'd never taken off. For the first time since she passed away, he slid the ring from his finger. He stared at his left hand in silence, processing what it meant. He'd placed the ring in a box in his safe and locked it. It felt like he was closing one chapter of his life and finally allowing himself to step into a new one.
You'd noticed the very next day.
"Jackie, where's your ring?"
He glanced down at his hand. "I took it off."
"Yes...I can see that. But why?"
"I think it's time for me to move forward with my life."
You'd wrapped him in a tight hug and pulled him close, somehow knowing he needed that hug--needed to feel the closeness of another human being. Neither of you had really discussed it since, but he finally felt like he was ready to date--to meet someone new.
Sometimes, when he laid awake unable to sleep, he'd let his mind wander. Let it explore possibilities he'd never acknowledge outside the four walls of his bedroom.
He'd imagine building a life with someone new. He'd picture meeting someone, letting himself fall in love all over again. What he would never admit, never acknowledge, was in those moments, in the darkness of his room, he always pictured you.
You were the woman he imagined building a life with. The one he wanted to fall asleep wrapped around, the one he sometimes dreamed of marrying. On his worst days, he'd even let himself picture having a family--kids--with you.
He would never tell you. Never even admit it to himself in his waking hours. You were his best friend--he couldn't break your trust by falling in love with you.
But it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Like today. When you made jokes about your love life and Jack couldn't help but think to himself that he would treat you right. Or when you joked about not getting laid and all he could think about was worshipping your body--pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a satiated mess beneath him.
He hated himself for thinking those things. Each time the thought crossed his mind, he felt like he was betraying you. You were friends and that's why you shared things with him. He had no right to imagine anything with you, but he couldn't bring himself to create distance between you either. You were his best friend as much as he was yours.
He let out a groan as he sunk into a chair beside Lena.
"Leg bothering you?" she asked gently.
"Just tired."
The look on her face made it clear she didn't believe him, but she made no further comment. If he wanted to open up, he would.
"Maybe I'm just getting old," he muttered.
She chuckled dryly. "You and me both."
And there it was. The other thing he hated himself for. He was old enough to be your father, yet here he was fantasizing about you. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it wasn't just sex he dreamed about--but of actually being with you. It was enough to make him wanna put his head through a wall.
Being friends was perfectly acceptable. Perfectly normal. Perfectly reasonable. Wanting you, on the other hand--loving you--was not. He didn't wanna be one of those creepy men that liked younger women for whatever pervy reason their deranged brains came up with. He sure as shit didn't want you to be uncomfortable and he would rather die than lose your friendship.
The first four years had been easy. The thought of crossing a line had never occurred to him. Friendship was all he wanted from you--and it's all you wanted from him. The last two months, however, had been hell. He spent every waking moment wishing you were his, and every sleepless day dreaming of you.
So if you told him you wanted to go to a bar and find some random dude to hook up with, he'd go with you. He'd make sure whoever you went home with wasn't a total creep and he'd support you in whatever way you needed--even if it killed him.
"Jackie, can I borrow you for a second?"
He looked up, meeting your slightly nervous expression. "Sure, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
"I need your opinion on this patient, please."
He suppressed another groan as he stood up and followed after you, listening as you described the patient's symptoms. Back to work he went.
**********
"Okay, how 'bout this one?" You came out of your closet in yet another dress option you were modeling for Ellis and Santos.
"Maybe something a little sluttier?" Ellis suggested. "We are trying to attract a man here."
"What's wrong with this one?" you whined, looking down at the black dress.
"It's boring," Trinity groaned. "Let me look."
She jumped up and dove into your closet, digging through the dress options until she found one she liked. "Put this one on."
You paled slightly at the dress she held up. You'd bought it on a whim, but never wore it. It was short--like whole ass gonna hang out if you bend over short--and extremely low cut. It was a deep burgundy color that looked gorgeous on you, but it made you insanely nervous to wear it in public.
"I can't wear that."
She frowned. "Why'd you buy it then?"
"I thought it looked hot in the store!"
"It looks hot from here too," Parker commented with a grin.
You shot her a glare over your shoulder.
"Just try it on. If you hate it, you don't have to wear it," Trinity insisted.
You groaned as you grabbed it from her. "Fine."
You stepped into the closet and pulled the dress on. It was just as short as you remembered, but you'd forgotten how perfectly it hugged your curves. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, admiring how good your body looked in the dress.
"You coming out or did you get lost in there?" Parker called.
You rolled your eyes before stepping out. Both women fell completely silent as they stared at you. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously as you waited for one of them to speak.
"Fucking christ," Trinity swore under her breath.
"You're good," Parker commented, sticking out her fist for Trinity to bump.
"Damn right I am."
"So...this is the one?" you asked.
"Obviously."
"Clearly."
"It's not too much?"
"I'd argue it's too little," Parker teased.
Trinity smacked her arm. "She's self-conscious."
Parker stood up and crossed the room. "You look gorgeous, okay?" She gave you a hug. "Now let's go find you a man."
"Is Jack meeting us there?" Trinity asked.
You shook your head. "He's picking us up. He's the DD tonight."
"Bless him," she muttered.
You grabbed your phone to see if he'd texted you. Unsurprisingly, you had an alert for a text from him.
Jackie: I'll be there in 10 minutes, sweetheart.
You: See you soon! <3
The three of you were waiting in the lobby when you heard the rumble of Jack's truck as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex. You straightened your dress, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous for Jack to see you. What if he thought the dress was too slutty? Would he judge you? Say something about it?
You couldn't quite put your finger on why the thought of him hating the dress bothered you so much, but you tried to push the concern away.
"You alright?" Parker asked.
"Mhmm."
"Hey." She turned you toward her. "You look beautiful, okay? Take a deep breath."
You breathed with her, relaxing as you did.
"Excellent. Now let's go give Jack a heart attack."
You groaned, but both girls laughed. You shook your head at their antics as you followed them into the parking lot.
Unsurprisingly, Jack was standing outside his truck, waiting on the three of you. He was always such a gentleman--he never let you (or any woman for that matter) open the car door.
He opened the rear passenger door for Santos and Ellis to climb in before turning back in your direction. As soon as he did, his entire body went rigid.
You swallowed thickly as you watched him take in your appearance. His gaze traced down and back up your body, but he didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Instead you felt a surprising heat settle low in your abdomen--a heat you hadn't felt in a long time.
"You look..."
You bit your lip as you waited for him to find the adjective he wanted.
"Stunning," he breathed.
A dark blush crept into your cheeks. "Thanks, Jackie. You look handsome as always."
He rolled his eyes fondly, opened the passenger door, and helped you inside.
You hadn't been lying. He did look good. He always looked good, but you especially liked him dressed down. He was wearing dark jeans, a slightly too-tight black t-shirt, and boots. A simple outfit, but on him it might as well have been couture.
You sometimes joked about the woes of having a hot best friend. You always told him you'd have to beat the ladies back with a stick, even when he was still wearing his wedding ring.
"How much trouble are you three planning on getting into tonight?" Jack asked as he started the truck.
"That depends," Trinity answered.
"On?"
"How quickly we find (Y/N) a suitable lover for the night."
"Oh my god," you muttered under your breath.
Jack laughed loudly. "Jesus, Santos."
"What? We established that was the goal for tonight!"
"Maybe we don't word it quite like that in front of Jack," Ellis chided with a small grin.
"Thank you, Ellis. Decorum." Jack's voice was light and teasing, but you swore you heard a little undercurrent of strain.
"Decorum? Really? Sounds like we need to get you laid too."
"Fucking hell," he muttered with a laugh. "Were you pregaming, kid?"
Santos grinned wickedly. "You bet your ass I was."
"I'm so glad you're not on the nightshift." He shot you a wink and you smiled in return.
That smile stole his heart for the thousandth time. It was his all-time favorite look of yours. He'd kill to see it every day for the rest of his life.
When you arrived, the four of you immediately gathered at the bar, ready to get some liquid courage--or maybe that was just for you. You ordered a drink and dug into your small bag for your credit card to open a tab.
Before you could even get it out, Jack was sliding his card across the bar. "I've got it, sweetheart."
"I was gonna start a tab."
"And?"
"Well, I don't know how much I'm going to drink."
He gave you an odd look then turned back to the bartender. "Put all her drinks on my card for the night."
"Jack--"
"Don't complain about free drinks," Trinity muttered from your other side.
You sighed. "Fine, but I'm only having two drinks."
"Suit yourself," Ellis said with a smile. "I plan on having at least four."
Jack got himself a water and leaned back against the bar so he could look around. You were holding your small bag in front of you, hands fiddling with the strap nervously. "Gimme your bag, sweetheart. I'll hold onto it for you."
"You sure?"
He held out his hand in response and you handed him the bag. Neither Ellis or Santos had brought one, but Santos did slip off her jacket and hand it to Jack.
"Go dance and have fun, ladies. I'll be over here if you need me."
Ellis and Santos made their way to the dance floor without argument. You, however, turned to face him, concern etched on your pretty face. "Is your leg hurting?"
Jack hated how well you knew him sometimes. "It's a little sore, but I'm alright." Just one more thing he wished were different. One more reason he wasn't good enough for you.
You stepped toward him, hand coming to rest on his forearm. "Jackie..."
"I'm fine, sweetheart," he assured you softly, placing a hand on top of yours and squeezing it. "Go have fun."
"I want you to have fun too."
"I'm here with you. What could be more fun than that?"
You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes. "Cheesy as hell."
He merely grinned and waved you off. "Go on. Santos looks like she's two seconds from stomping over here to get you."
You looked over your shoulder and both women waved at you enthusiastically. "Alright...if you're sure?"
"Very. Go."
You gave him one last look, expression soft but unreadable. Then you were walking away and it took all of his self-control to not stare at the sway of your hips as you crossed the room.
The same could not be said for most of the other men in the bar. Several were eyeing you like you were prey--and they were apex predators. Jack didn't like the way their eyes on you made him feel, but he pushed the feeling down deep.
He told himself you were a big girl and you could take care of yourself, even if all he wanted to do was take care of you himself. His protective instincts had always flared up when you were around, but lately they'd risen to a new level of intensity.
It drove him crazy watching one guy after another approach you, but you turned each one away. Some of them took it well, others looked more than a little annoyed. Ellis and Santos never strayed too far from you, and Jack felt confident they would defend you if you needed it.
About 30 minutes later, you made your way back toward the bar, assumedly to get another drink, but to Jack's surprise, you eased your way to him.
"Having fun, sweetheart?"
You shrugged. "It's not as fun without you."
He chuckled in an attempt to cover the tightening in his chest. "I'm not a very good dancer on the best of days anyway."
"Maybe not, but your presence is always a welcome one."
"You've had plenty of potential dance partners come up to you," he teased softly.
"Yeah, but none of them are--" You bit your lip, stopping yourself mid-sentence. You'd been about to say 'none of them are you' when your brain caught up with your damn mouth. You'd had one drink--what the hell had gotten into you?
Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but you waved him off. "I'm gonna get another drink."
"Use my card!" he called as you stalked off toward the bartender.
Jack wondered what you'd been about to say when you cut yourself off. He knew what he wanted you to say, but odds were not in his favor. You were probably just not interested in any of the men who'd approached you thus far, and that was just fine. Hell, a big part of him hoped none of them interested you. Ever.
As the night went on, you had a couple more drinks, but you were still mostly sober. Certainly too tipsy to drive, but not too intoxicated to make decisions.
At some point, you'd lost track of Ellis, but you weren't worried. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was her. Trinity was still close by, but you could tell she was a little off.
"Trin? You okay?"
"I texted Garcia."
You groaned. "We talked about this--"
"I know! I know. I just--I miss her."
Before you could say anything, her phone lit up. You knew by her facial expression exactly who it was.
"She's asking me to come over."
"Trinity..."
"I won't go if you don't want me to leave."
Honestly, you didn't want her to go, but that was more for her own heart than any needs of yours. But you couldn't bring yourself to tell her to stay. "Do you wanna go?"
She shifted on her feet--an answer in and of itself.
"Alright, fine. Go."
"Are you sure?"
"Go before I change my mind." You gave her a tight hug. "Be safe and text me when you get there."
"I will."
You watched her make her way through the growing crowd. You still had no idea where Parker was and you could no longer see Jack sitting at the bar. You decided to start in the direction you'd last seen him when someone bumped into you from the side.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry!"
You looked up at the man who'd run into you, jaw slackening slightly as you took him in. He was tall, incredibly handsome, and quite fit. You were sure your body should be responding to his attractiveness, but you felt nothing. No heat. No desire. Nada.
"That's alright," you said with a smile. "It's crowded."
He smiled back at you. "Yeah, a bit." He stuck out his hand for you to shake. "I'm Tyler."
You took it and offered your name.
"Could I buy you a drink?"
You debated it for a moment before deciding it couldn't hurt. "Sure."
His smile widened and he gestured for you to walk with him to the bar. He ordered himself a drink and then one for you. While the bartender made them, he turned his body toward you and began asking questions.
"You here with anyone?"
"Yeah, a couple of my friends." You glanced around. "They're somewhere in here."
He nodded. "Celebrating anything or just out for fun?"
"Just fun."
"It's my friend's birthday, but he's making out in a booth with some chick he met, so we've all kind of dispersed."
You chuckled, feeling slightly annoyed with yourself. The whole point of tonight was to get laid, and a perfectly attractive man was buying you a drink and chatting you up, but you felt absolutely nothing. Not even the hint of attraction.
"I saw you dancing earlier," he commented. "You've got moves."
You let out a genuine laugh. "Now you're just full of shit."
He laughed too. "I'm serious!"
You rolled your eyes with a smile. Your lips parted to make another joke, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of gray curls across the room. You felt your chest tighten as your head swung in that direction, instinctively drawn to him.
Your eyes landed on Jack as he was leaving the bathroom, weaving his way through the crowd back to his spot at the bar. You noted the slight limp in his step and your whole body ached for him. You hated seeing him in pain--you'd do anything to ease it. Anything.
Unbeknownst to you, your drink had arrived behind you, and Tyler was still chattering away. But from across the room, Jack's hazel eyes met yours and you felt your body awaken for the second time tonight. You inhaled sharply as his keen gaze swept over your face before he offered you a tight smile. You returned the expression, silently confirming you were okay.
"Your drink, madam."
You turned your attention back to Tyler and smiled as you took the drink from his hand. "Thank you."
You lifted the glass toward your lips, only to stop when you heard a sharp voice yell, "Don't drink that!"
A girl you didn't know appeared beside you and snatched the drink right out of your hand. You gasped in surprise. "Sorry?"
"He put something in your drink," she said with absolute certainty. "I saw him."
You looked up at Tyler and knew without a doubt the girl was correct. He looked angry, but beneath it was a shred of guilt you could just barely make out.
You took the drink back from the girl's hand and splashed it directly into Tyler's face. "Sick fuck," you snapped.
Tyler lunged at you, but a guy behind him pulled him back. The commotion got the bouncer's attention as well as Jack's, both of which moved toward your location with surprising haste.
The bouncer grabbed ahold of Tyler and pulled him away just as Jack reached your side. "Sweetheart--you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." You looked toward the girl who'd saved you. "Thanks for that. Seriously."
She gave you a small smile. "Happy to help." She eyed Jack warily. "You know him?"
For the first time in a while, a genuine smile spread across your lips. "Yeah. I'm safe with him."
She nodded and gave you a squeeze on the arm. "Stay safe."
"Thanks. You too." You watched as she walked off to rejoin her friends.
"What the hell happened?" Jack asked, bringing your attention back to him.
"Can you take me home?"
He looked slightly startled. "Of course." He flagged down the bartender. "Let me close out and we can go. Grab the girls, okay?"
"Trin left to go meet up with Garcia. I don't know where Parker is."
"She's over there." He gestured off to the left past the dance floor. "She was making out with some girl the last I saw."
"Okay, let me see if she's still over there."
Jack nodded and watched you weave through the crowd. His adrenaline had spiked when he heard the girl yell and again when he saw you splash your drink in some guy's face. He knew you were okay--but he still couldn't quite get his heart rate to return to normal.
You saw Ellis sitting in a booth, chatting with a very pretty woman. "Hey, Parker, Jackie and I are gonna head out. Do you wanna come?"
She turned to you and offered a warm smile. "I'm alright, (Y/N/N)."
You nodded. "Text me when you get home. Trin went to Garcia's."
She groaned and shook her head. "Of course she did." She stood up and gave you a tight hug. "Love you, be safe."
"I'll be with Jack." As you said it, you realized it was true--Jack was safe. More than that, Jack was your safe space, the place you went when the world felt unbearable. He'd protect you with his life--you wouldn't even have to ask. No one had ever made you feel as protected as Jack did.
A surge of heat blossomed in your stomach and you finally acknowledged the feeling for what it was--desire. You wanted Jack Abbot. Badly.
Parker was watching your face as realization sunk into you. "If you're done being an idiot, I suggest you go and get your man."
Your jaw dropped. "What?"
"Oh please. The two of you have been running circles around each other for months. It's high time one of you makes a damn move."
"How the hell did you know I wanted him before I even knew?!" you asked incredulously.
She shrugged. "It was obvious to everyone but the two of you. Shen and I talk about it all the time. We both noticed when you two stopped being best friends and became something more--even if neither of you knew it."
You were shocked straight down to your core. Absolutely floored. How did you have no idea you wanted him when everyone else could see it? "I-I have to go."
She laughed and gave you another hug. "Yeah I know. Get moving."
You squeezed her tightly before turning and practically bolting back in Jack's direction. How could you have been so stupid? So blind? Everything you'd ever wanted had been right in front of you.
You were so in your head you didn't even notice he was physically in front of you until you ran directly into his strong chest.
"Woah, easy there sweetheart." His hands gripped your arms to steady you.
"Can we go? Please?"
"Yeah, c'mon." He edged his body ahead of you to make a pathway to the door.
You followed along behind him, thinking about how incredible this man was. All the small things he'd done for you over the years, all the ways he made you feel understood, all the times he'd been there when you needed him.
You couldn't identify the exact moment things had changed for you, but tonight had been eye-opening. You didn't even know when you'd fallen in love with him--all you knew was that you had.
"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked softly as he held the passenger door open for you.
You hadn't even realized you'd made it outside--too lost in your thoughts to register anything in the real world. "I'm good, Jackie. Really good."
He eyed you for a moment before nodding his acceptance. "C'mon pretty lady, get your behind in the truck."
You laughed, taking his outstretched hand as he helped you in. You inhaled deeply when he shut the door, taking in the scent that permeated the truck--his scent.
Jack climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Seatbelt," he prodded gently.
"Oh!" You fastened it quickly, and he stared at you for a long moment before pulling out of the parking spot.
"Did you have too much to drink?"
"I had four drinks."
"You sure that's all?"
You shot him an amused glare. "Yes, Jack. I'm sure."
He chuckled, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. "You're acting strangely, that's all."
"Well I did almost get drugged."
"What?!"
"Yeah, the dude I tossed my drink on--he put something in it."
"Jesus Christ." He ran a hand over his face. "That's why that girl told you not to drink it."
"Yeah."
"Fuck." Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I shoulda been there."
"It's okay. Nothing actually happened."
"But it could've. If you'd gotten hurt--if that son of a bitch had done something to you..." he trailed off. "I-I don't know what I would've done."
Jack did know what he would have done. He knew exactly what he would have done. He would've broken his oath to do no harm, but he could guarantee that guy would've never hurt another girl again.
You reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "I'm alright, Jackie. Nothing happened."
He glanced over at you and his heart ached with the need to hold you. He needed to feel it for himself--to know for sure you were okay. You were unharmed. You were safe.
"I'd do anything to protect you, you know," he murmured softly.
"I know."
The rest of the short ride to your apartment was silent. When he pulled into the parking lot, you decided to take the leap.
"Will you come up?"
Jack turned to you in surprise. "It's late--you sure you don't wanna go to bed?"
You shook your head. "Please?"
"'Course, sweetheart." He pulled into a parking spot and hopped out.
You knew better than to even try to get out before he opened your door. You'd made that mistake a grand total of one time early on in your friendship and you'd gotten an earful for it.
When the door opened, you slid out and adjusted your dress. "Thanks, Jackie."
He merely grunted quietly and shut the door. He walked beside you in silence, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what was happening in that pretty head of yours. He knew something was up, he just couldn't figure out what.
The moment the two of you crossed the threshold of your apartment, you turned to face him, eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"Do-do you wanna sit down?"
He shook his head. "Just tell me, sweetheart."
For a long moment, you said nothing. A moment so long, he began to feel real fear. Did you somehow figure out how he felt about you? Were you mad at him? Was the friendship over? Was he about to lose the only thing in his life that truly mattered to him?
You had no idea he was panicking as you tried to find the right words to say. Everything that came into your mind sounded wrong. At some point, you realized it didn't matter what you said--you needed to just say something.
"I'm in love with you," you blurted, shocking Jack to his very core.
"You-you, uh-you're what?"
Panic settled deep in your chest and you wondered if you'd just made a terrible mistake. Had Ellis been wrong? Did Jack not feel the same way you did? Did you just blow up four years of friendship?
"I, um-I--"
Jack's body moved of its own volition, taking a step toward you. His brain caught up and the most intense surge of desire he'd ever felt swept through him. "Say it again."
Your lips parted in surprise, but you complied. "I'm in love with you."
Jack took another step, leaving less than six inches between you. He reached out and placed a steady hand on your hip, tugging you closer. "Say it again, baby," he whispered, sounding absolutely wrecked.
Your heart skipped a beat as your panic subsided. You reached up and cupped his face as you leaned into his toned body. "I'm crazy, madly, deeply in love with you."
There was no fanfare. No cheering. No fireworks. Just the purest of emotions easing something inside both of you--and tying you together forever.
He was the first to move, yanking you so close your body was flush against his. His lips dropped to yours in a hungry kiss, filled with years of affection turned to love. He kissed you like his very life depended on it--like he would cease to exist without the feeling of your lips on his.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it with the softest groan. His hands were hot against your hip and back as he held you--it was a feeling you'd never stop craving.
Eventually, he was forced to break the kiss to breathe, but he didn't move away. "It's wrong. It's quite possibly insane. But I don't give a damn anymore. I'm fucking crazy about you, (Y/N/N). I'm so in love with you it hurts."
You lifted one hand to brush through his curls. "Jackie..."
"I couldn't tell you, baby. I couldn't--" He exhaled heavily. "It felt so wrong to love you like this, to need you the way I do."
"There's nothing wrong with this," you whispered.
"People will talk."
"Let them."
"You're still a resident."
"I don't give a damn. I've only got four months left."
"I'm old and broken--"
"You're not broken," you insisted. "And just because you're older than me doesn't mean you're old."
He rested his forehead against yours. "Are you sure you want this?"
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
"Baby, I need you to be a thousand percent sure. If we do this, I'm in it for the long haul. I don't do casual. I don't do no strings. I'm all in. If you want this, you get all of me."
You lowered your right hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath your palm. "I want everything with you, Jack."
He exhaled a shaky breath before pressing his lips to yours a second time. He loved kissing you. He loved feeling your body against his. He loved the soft sounds you made. He loved everything about you.
His hands slipped lower, cupping your ass slightly. "Jump f'me."
"Jackie--"
"I said jump."
His tone left no room for discussion, so you did as he asked. He caught you with surprising ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to your bedroom, ignoring the pain pulsing from his prosthetic. He'd be damned if he couldn't at least carry his girl to bed.
When he lowered you to your bed, you pulled him in with your legs, wedging him between them as you kissed him.
He groaned lowly as his hands traveled over your soft curves. "I fucking love your body."
You whimpered softly as your hands drifted under his shirt. "Wanna see yours."
He obligingly tugged his shirt off, allowing you an unobstructed view of his toned chest.
"Fucking hell, you're hot," you whispered.
He couldn't help but laugh at the awe in your voice. "So are you."
"Shhh. This is about you." You placed your hands on his chest and slowly caressed him, feeling every ridge, muscle, and divot on his torso. "I love your freckles. They're so pretty."
He was quiet as he let you explore, but he couldn't take his eyes off yours. You were observing his body with a reverence he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He was proud of the shape he was in, but when you looked at him like that? He felt like the sexiest man alive.
Your hands brushed against his shoulders before starting down his biceps, a soft sound of need escaping your lips. "I've always liked your arms," you admitted. "You're so strong."
He felt his cheeks darken as a wave of embarrassment hit him. "Well I don't know about all that--"
"You carried me. So shush."
He couldn't help the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "I love you."
You looked up at his face and smiled. "I love you too."
"Any chance I could see you now, pretty girl?"
You shifted slightly, head cocking to the side as you thought about it. "No. I haven't seen enough of you yet."
Your gaze immediately dropped to his pants, eyes widening when they landed on his very hard and very large erection straining against his jeans.
"Ho-ly fuuuuck..."
He laughed softly. "See something you like, sweetheart?"
"I'm about to," you muttered as you quickly undid his jeans and tugged them down. "Off. Take it all off."
He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."
He tugged his pants off first, then his boxer briefs. The moment his cock sprung up against his abdomen, your mouth began to water. It was the only thing you saw--the only thing that mattered to you in the moment.
It wasn't until you looked up to meet his heavy gaze that you realized he was nervous. "Baby? You okay?"
He nodded, but you weren't convinced.
"What's wrong?" He shifted slightly and you realized what it was. "Your leg?"
His cheeks darkened further, the red blush spreading down his neck. "I-I know it's not exactly attractive--"
"I love every part of you, Jack Abbot. Every part."
"I can't do as much as someone with both legs," he choked out. "I can't-I can't fuck you the way I want to."
You stood up then, bringing yourself a little closer to eye level with him. "I'm a doctor, Jack. You think I don't know that you come with some restrictions? Don't you dare think for one second I give a damn. I love you. I want you. I don't need tricks or theatrics. I just need you."
He melted against you, lips pressing up against yours in a desperate kiss of love and appreciation. He hadn't been with more than a couple women since his wife's death, and all of them had been one-night-stands. He didn't really care what they thought of him, not the way he cared about your opinion.
He didn't really know how badly he needed your affirmations until he heard them. His obsession with you only deepened in that moment, and his need for you increased tenfold. "Sweetheart, we gotta get this dress off. I need to see you."
You gripped the bottom hem of your dress and pulled it off over your head in one quick motion. You were incredibly thankful you'd worn a cute lace set--you had been hoping to get laid tonight after all.
Jack's eyes swept over the black lace covering your breasts with a barely concealed hunger. His eyes drifted lower, taking in the black lace covering your core and not much else. "Spin around f'me, baby."
You blushed slightly, but you obeyed, turning away from him.
"Slower."
Your body heeded the order immediately, even before your brain processed it fully. You could feel his heated gaze on you, even if you couldn't see him, and it made your skin prickle--you felt so incredibly alive.
"Can't believe you were hiding all this," he muttered to himself. "It's a shame to hide such perfection under clothes."
You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped at his compliment, a small smile firmly planted on your face as you turned back to face him again.
"Can I take this off?" he asked softly, running a calloused hand over the lace shielding you from his gaze.
You took your bottom lip into your mouth as you nodded, feeling slightly nervous for him to see all of you--completely and utterly bare.
He brushed his thumbs over your nipples through the lace, feeling them harden for him. "Use your words, pretty girl."
"Yes, Jack."
"Good girl," he murmured as he dipped his head down to mouth your nipples through the lace. His hands slipped behind your back to unhook your bra, letting your heavy breasts spill out as he dropped the garment to the floor.
"Christ have mercy." He cupped your breasts in his large hands, groaning at the feeling of their weight in his palms.
A soft gasp met his ears as he spun you around and pulled you firmly against him. His hands settled right back on your breasts as his lips pressed wet kisses into the curve of your neck.
"Jack--"
"What is it, baby?" he murmured against your skin, fingers rolling your nipples between them in an attempt to pull more of those sweet sounds from your lips. "What'dya need?"
You wiggled your ass back against him, feeling his cock press up against you--so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away. "More."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna give you more," he promised, lips never leaving your sensitive skin. "Just gotta be patient f'me."
You whined desperately, reaching behind you to thread your fingers into his hair. "Please Jackie."
"Patience, sweet girl. Let me take my time."
Every brush of his lips against your skin, every squeeze of his hands, and every subtle shift of his hips felt incredible--but it wasn't enough. The ache between your thighs, the pulsing need, was becoming unbearable.
"Jack, need you to touch me," you pleaded.
He chuckled lowly as his teeth grazed your shoulder. "I am touching you."
You whined again and gripped his hand in yours, trying to pull it down to where your soaked core yearned for his touch.
"Didn't I just tell you to be patient, sweetheart?"
"I can't," you whimpered. "Need you, Jackie. Waited so long. Please."
"Hmm," he hummed. "You have waited a long time...and you've been so good...maybe you do deserve a reward."
"I've been so good, Jack--so good. Please."
He chuckled. "Alright sweet thing. I've got you."
He nipped at your pulse point before laving his tongue over it to soothe the bite. His hand trailed lower, sliding down over the soaked lace.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned in your ear. "You're soaked."
You shifted your hips, desperately seeking friction against his hand.
"Uh-uh, don't move. Let me do the work."
His fingers pressed down on the lace, pushing it between your folds as he deftly sought your clit. The second he brushed against it, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, pulling a moan from deep in your throat.
Jack's cock throbbed painfully when he was pressed against you, that sweet little sound you made shooting right through him. "Shit."
His fingers dipped beneath the lace, pushing it to the side so he could feel your perfect pussy. He dragged his fingers through your wetness before slowly circling your clit--the pressure was too soft, too light. You tried to grind down on his hand, but he pulled it away with a soft 'tsk'.
"I promise I'll make you feel good, baby. Just let me." He kissed your neck as he dipped two of his fingers inside of you. "Jesus, you're tight."
You gasped at the intrusion, pulsating around his fingers as he stretched you out. "Jackieeeee. More."
"You want more? Hmm?"
You nodded rapidly.
"Tell me what you want."
"Faster."
He obliged, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers as he pressed firmly against your g-spot. Your legs began to shake, but he held you upright, keeping you pressed against his chest.
Jack placed open-mouth kisses everywhere he could reach, no longer able to keep his own need under control. "You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my fingers?"
You squirmed in his hold, breathless moans and gasps the only sounds you could manage. Your nails dug into his forearm as you held on tightly, using him as support to remain standing.
"Go on," he murmured, thumb rubbing against your clit just the way you liked. "Let go f'me."
Your jaw dropped into an 'O' as the first pulse of your orgasm hit you. Your head fell back against his shoulder as he worked you through it, whispering sweetly into your ear.
"That's it, baby. I've got you."
His fingers only slowed as you started to come down from your high. You clawed at his arm and tried to squirm out of his grip, so he relented, pulling his fingers out of you and directly into his mouth.
You turned your head so you could watch him suck them clean, a little moan of enjoyment breaking from him as he licked them.
"Oh now I need more of that," he murmured. "C'mere."
He turned you around to face him and maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed. He gripped your underwear and tugged them off before dropping to his knees between your legs.
"Wait, Jack--no, your leg--"
The look he gave you silenced you instantly. "I'm fine, baby. I'm right where I wanna be."
"But--"
He silenced you by licking a fat stripe from the bottom of your pussy up to your clit. A moan escaped you as you tilted your head back in pleasure.
The position was uncomfortable for him, but it wasn't painful, so he pushed it aside and got to work eating your pussy like it was the one thing on earth he lived for.
"Oh my god, Jack." Your fingers tangled in his curls as your hips surged forward to meet his mouth.
He gave your hip a swat before laying a strong arm low across your lap to keep you in place.
The room filled with the sounds of him feasting on you--slurps, sucks, and muffled moans--mixed with the sounds of pure unadulterated pleasure escaping your open mouth.
Jack wanted to hear those sweet sounds for the rest of his life--he wanted to be the only one who ever heard them again. Those were his sounds, coming from his girl, from pleasure only he could give.
"Jack, please please--don't stop."
He groaned into you as he continued his ministrations. He had no intentions of stopping, certainly not now that he knew what you tasted like.
Your nails scraped against his scalp as your moans became louder and more frantic. He knew you were close, could feel it as certainly as if it were his own.
He wanted to beg you to come for him, to let him feel you, but he didn't dare stop.
"Oh god, oh god, ohh-ohh, Jack!"
His name was the last thing he heard before you tipped over the edge, pussy gushing juices into his waiting mouth, thick thighs wrapping around his head as he continued to lap up every drop you gave him.
"'s too much--" you whined, tugging on his hair as you tried to wriggle away from his mouth. "Jackieeeee."
He moaned into you, not wanting to leave his new favorite place. He only relented when you tugged so hard on his hair he worried you'd pull some out. He lifted his head and gazed up at you, a smug smirk settled firmly on his face.
"You taste fucking amazing, baby."
You released a breathy chuckle and shook your head.
"I would like to spend a few hours trapped between these pretty legs--but that can wait for another day."
Your eyes widened. "A few hours?"
He grinned wolfishly. "Sweetheart, I'd let you smother me with those perfect fucking thighs. I don't need oxygen--I just need you."
"You're insane," you whispered incredulously.
He pulled himself up with a groan of discomfort he tried to suppress. "Maybe a bit."
The pained sound had your expression softening instantly. "Baby--come up here and relax." You patted the bed beside you, urging him to join you.
He knew you were right and he was more than a little embarrassed by how quickly he collapsed onto the bed beside you. He watched in shock as you slid off the bed and placed a soft hand to his leg just above the prosthetic.
"Honey, what're you doing?"
"Let me take this off," you murmured sweetly. "Want you to be comfortable."
He felt the familiar embarrassment creeping up and filling his chest. No, no, no--you shouldn't have to do this--you shouldn't have to see him like this.
He reached down and grabbed your hand, stilling it before you could unfasten the socket. "Let's-let's just leave it on."
You cocked your head to the side, concern evident in your gaze. You knew it was uncomfortable, perhaps even painful, and he most certainly shouldn't be wearing it during sex.
You opened your mouth to say as much, but closed it when you caught the pained emotion in his hazel eyes. You realized there might not be anything you could say to convince him you didn't care--but you could show him.
You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the hand covering yours before lifting it and giving it a firm squeeze. You held his hand in your non-dominant one and used the other to unfasten his prosthetic.
His entire body tensed and his breathing became labored as you slowly removed the prosthetic. You released his hand and took the residual limb into both of yours, leaning down to press a kiss just above the liner.
Tears filled his eyes as he watched you, unable to fully grasp what was happening.
You slowly removed the sock, followed by the liner, soft hands massaging his irritated skin as you went. You knew residual limbs could be extremely sensitive, so you were incredibly gentle. Each touch was feather light and achingly sweet.
It filled his heart with an unnamable emotion, making his chest ache with each gentle pass of your hands.
To his utter surprise, you lowered your head again and began to place the gentlest of kisses to what remained of his lower leg. You were so incredibly reverent, so gentle, it hurt to witness.
"Baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Baby, come up here."
You looked up at him, chest tightening at the sight of tears staining his cheeks. "Jackie..."
"Please," he begged. "I need to kiss you."
Your heart hammered in your chest as you ran your hands up his strong thighs, using them as leverage to stand up.
"C'mere." He pulled you into him and kissed you deeply.
This kiss was different from all the ones that had come before. He poured every ounce of love he had for you into the kiss, along with gratitude and appreciation for what you had just done.
For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot felt whole.
"I need you," he murmured against your lips.
"You have me."
He knew it was true--knew it always would be--but right now, he needed the physical manifestation of your love. Needed it like he needed air to breathe.
He pulled away from you so he could move himself back onto the bed. Once he was comfortably situated against the headboard, he beckoned you toward him.
"C'mere sweet girl. Let me make love to you."
The smile that crossed your face was painfully soft, but he could see the hunger hidden beneath it.
You crawled across the bed before climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him.
He moaned into the kiss when you slid your wet folds up the length of his cock, mixing with the soft needy sound you made.
He felt your hand wrap around his cock, gripping it tightly as you lined him up with your entrance. He gasped into your mouth as you began to slowly lower yourself onto him, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your body stretched to accommodate his size.
"Holy fuck, you're tight," he groaned lowly once you were fully seated.
You shifted your hips, preparing to ride him, but his grip on you tightened.
"Wait--wait. Just-just give me a second."
"Are you okay?" you asked worriedly.
"I'm about to embarrass myself by coming too fast," he admitted. He groaned when your pussy clenched around him as you stifled a laugh. "It's not funny. You just feel so goddamn incredible."
"It's kinda funny," you teased.
He smacked your ass affectionately, but with a little bit of a warning. "For that, I'm getting two more out of you."
Your eyes widened dramatically, the look almost comical. "Jack, I-I've never--"
"Come during sex? Yeah, baby I know."
"I don't really think I can," you admitted quietly.
"Bullshit. You've just never had someone willing to try."
The dark blush that crept up your cheeks solidified his resolve.
"I'll fuck this pretty pussy until I pass out if that's what it takes to make you come," he growled.
"Jack," you gasped, eyes wide once more.
"It might take me a little time, but I'm gonna learn this perfect little body inside and out--I wanna know everything you like, and I'll give you everything you need."
You bit your lip as your heart skipped a beat. "I love you."
He grinned warmly. "I love you too, pretty girl. Now why don't you move those hips, hmm? Let's see how quickly I can make my girl come."
He tapped your hip affectionately for emphasis and you started to move. You lifted yourself up and down, finding the right rhythm for both of you.
Jack's head leaned back against the headboard, but he kept his eyes locked on you. He was gauging your enjoyment, learning what made you whimper and what made you cry out. He was determined to prove to you there was nothing wrong with you.
He pulled your torso forward slightly, changing the angle his cock entered you with each downward motion. Your face changed instantly, mouth dropping open in a gasp.
Your hands grasped for purchase on his chest as the most intense wave of pleasure you'd ever felt crashed through you. "Oh, fuck--Jack!"
"Yeah? Right there?"
"There--there, there, there," you cried out. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease."
He did what he could to thrust up and meet each of your downward thrusts, gritting his teeth at how tightly your pussy squeezed him and pulsed around him.
"I've got you, baby. Just let go, okay?"
"Feels s'good, Jackie," you whimpered.
"I know. You're doing so good f'me. Just breathe. Let it happen."
Your body started to shake and you began to lose your rhythm. Jack gripped your hips tightly and helped you keep up the pace.
"Oh god-oh god-oh god--Jack!" Your head dropped back in a silent cry as your pussy spasmed around him.
He kept the pace as steady as he could, prolonging your orgasm as long as possible.
"Jack--I-I can't--"
"You're alright, baby. I've got you."
You collapsed on his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around you to hold you in place.
"Did so well for me." He rolled his hips. "So, so good."
You breathed heavily against his chest as you placed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat.
Jack's own orgasm was steadily approaching, but he was desperate to feel you come on his cock one more time. It very well may have been his favorite feeling in the world.
He rolled his hips up into you in a steady rhythm. He couldn't pound up into you the way he wanted, but he'd be damned if he didn't make you feel as good as he could.
"Can I try something, honey?" he whispered.
"Mhmm. Anything."
He chuckled softly, your trust in him warming something deep in his chest. He kissed the side of your head and rolled you over as best he could.
You giggled sweetly as you arranged yourself beneath him, allowing him to properly hover over you. He grabbed a pillow and wedged it under his leg, hoping to give himself some more stability.
He thrust back inside you and your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him even farther into you.
"Fuck," he groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "How're you even tighter like this?"
You blushed and tried to duck your head into his arm.
"Uh-uh, nope. Lemme see that beautiful face."
You turned back to him and he grinned, leaning in to kiss you sweetly.
"There she is."
He started to thrust into you properly, the pillow beneath his leg giving him the extra leverage he needed to keep up a proper pace.
"Tell me how it feels, baby," he begged softly.
"So good, Jack," you moaned. "You're so big."
His chest puffed out with pride, hips snapping forward with more speed and force. "Yeah? Filling up your perfect pussy better than anyone else, huh?"
"Yes!" Your back arched up into him, a desperate moan clawing its way out from deep in your chest.
"Yeah, you were made for me. Made to take my cock."
He glanced down to where your bodies met and his eyes widened slightly. He could see his cock bulging out in your lower belly with each thrust.
"Holy fuck, baby," he groaned. "You see that? My cock is so fuckin' deep."
He pressed down on your lower abdomen and you cried out as the feeling of fullness increased.
"Please, Jack!"
"Please, what baby? Tell me what you need."
"Touch me-touch me."
"Where, honey? Tell me where."
You whined, barely able to form a complete thought in your head, let alone a sentence. You grabbed his hand and shoved it between your thighs. "Please!"
Jack was so desperate to feel you come again he didn't make you say what you needed. He started to massage your clit rapidly as he continued to thrust into you.
"Don't-don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."
He was true to his word, hips never faltering, thumb moving against your clit with precision just the way you needed.
You felt the familiar tightening low in your belly, but it felt different this time--more intensity, more pressure. You suddenly weren't sure if you could have another orgasm--it felt wrong, like it was just too much.
"Jackie, I-I don't--"
"Don't what, sweetheart?"
"I-I can't."
"Come on baby, you can do it," he urged. "Just relax f'me. Let go."
"It's too-too much!"
"Shh, I've got you. Let me feel it, baby. C'mon."
Something about the way Jack coaxed you had you falling apart beneath him with a strangled cry of his name. He felt the warm gush of liquid splash against his abdomen and he realized with smug satisfaction that you'd just squirted.
"Oh fuck, yes, baby. That's it. So fucking good f'me," he praised as he chased his own high. "God, you're so fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make you mine."
"Yours," you whimpered breathlessly.
"Fuck," he groaned as his pace faltered and his hips began to stutter. "Gonna come--fuuuuuck."
One, two, three more thrusts was all it took for him to fall apart. Hot spurts of his cum painted your walls as he continued thrusting, desperate to keep as much of it inside you as possible.
As his high began to fade, he collapsed on top of you, whispering your name like a prayer into your bare chest.
Your brain took several minutes to fully process the intensity of the last several minutes, slowly coming back to yourself as his weight grounded you.
You felt warmer than usual between your legs--significantly wetter too. In fact, you were fairly certain you were lying in a puddle of liquid. That had certainly never happened before.
"Jackie."
"Hmmm?" he hummed against your skin.
"I--why am I so wet?"
Jack's responding chuckle reverberated through his chest and into yours. "That'd be because you squirted, my love."
"I-I what?!" Mortification slammed into you as your brain processed his words.
He could sense your embarrassment so he lifted himself up just enough to see your face. Your cheeks were burning and your head was tilted away from him. You looked like you were about ready to crawl into a hole and never come out.
"Hey. Hey, sweetheart. C'mon. Look at me."
You turned your head toward him, but your eyes didn't quite meet his.
"You went from never coming during sex, to having two orgasms and fucking squirting. Do you know how fucking proud that makes me feel? I did that. I made my girl squirt."
"Really?"
"Fuck yeah, baby. Now I've gotta make it my mission to get you to do it again."
Your blush deepened, but a little smile had softened your features. "You really think it's hot?"
"It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Now you're just full of shit."
"Nope. I'd chop off my other leg to see it again."
"Jack Abbot!" You smacked his chest, but the laughter that bubbled up was undeniable.
"Not even kidding. This body of yours was made for me."
Your expression softened. "The feeling's mutual, Jackie."
He brushed the hair off your forehead and offered you the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. "I love you, baby."
"I love you too, Jack."
"What'dya say we get cleaned up, hmm? Take a nice shower and maybe get a snack?"
"That sounds nice."
"I'll help you change the sheets too."
You smacked him affectionately. "I hate you."
He grinned. "No you don't."
"You're right. Not even close."
He kissed you again and you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips against yours. You still had plenty of things to discuss, but they could wait. For now, all you needed was his arms around you and the knowledge that no matter what happened, you had each other.
Thank god you'd finally stopped calling it friends, and acknowledged the relationship for what it had become--love.
Summary: This is to (hopefully!) fill an anon's request. You are a starving artist in Paris and Titus Danforth's next obsession. So what if you're poor? He'll do whatever he must to obtain his latest fixation.
My apologies to the French people.
(This exists outside of the ducky/titties dickforthverse, just a one-off for an anon.)
Rating: 18+ MDNI
WC: 7.5k
CW: Titus uses some very unkind words for sex worker in this and I'm sorry, praise kink, possessive love, dark romance, Titus Danforth is a freak, dirty talk, Titus is down bad, control, dominance, dom/sub, breast play, fingering, the chase, age gap, dubcon, power play, manipulation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, moderate drinking, rich jerks doing rich jerk things, power imbalance, financial coercion.
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âSheâs very good.â
Ursula stared with resigned impatience at her brother. A frequent occurrence, perhaps even a default stance. âSheâs got a great pair of legs, Titus. Thereâs a difference.â
Titus shrugged. âPotato, potato,â he said.
He liked the way the studio smelled, faintly chemical, oily, astringent, a smell that hadnât changed in hundreds of years. Maybe the pigments were slightly less toxic, the fire safety protocols vastly improved, but there was still enough lingering turpentine to make his nostrils flare lightly every other minute.
âYouâre the one who dragged me here,â Titus pointed out, hands tucked behind his back as he perused the wall of paintings. âIâm just endeavoring to enjoy myself.â
âFather says we must be painted.â That was Ursulaâs way of defending herself.
âWeâve been painted a hundred times.â
âHe says it must happen again. You still have your ginger hair in the last one.â
Titus did not give her the satisfaction of a snarl. He corrected her with a single, calm word. âCopper.â
âItâs out of date,â Ursula barged on. She had come to the studio wearing a little beret, which was infuriating. It made her look like a sunken child. He could see Jean Pierre trying not to snicker at it. Titus had pleaded with her to remove it in the car over, but she insisted it was Paris and she was allowed to wear whatever she wanted and if Jean Pierre had a problem with it, they could throw money at someone else for the portrait.
They had come to see the master painter, but JPâs young student had grabbed Titusâs attention instead. You had grabbed his attention.
Some of your work was displayed in a corner, a dusty, tiny corner, which felt like a concession on the master artistâs part, a scrap thrown to a mutt. Your paintings could have been colorful fingerpaint swirls and the Frenchman probably still wouldâve chosen you, and Titus understood, in a poisonously horny, red-blooded way, why. You were practically angelic in the summer light, your easel positioned near an old bay window with cracked paint on the trim, and you were there because the Paris heat was intense and just a whisper of a breeze floated in. The window overlooked a hilly twist of Montmartre, and you were currently painting people seated outside at a cafĂŠ across the street. A manâs white button-down shirt, worn to gauzy thinness, fluttered down over pale, cropped denim shorts that showed just about everything.
You were perched on a stool, facing the canvas, your body facing Titus, your bare feet dangling down, one resting on a rung of the stool, the other just barely touching the paint-splattered hardwood floor. Titus broke away from Ursula, wandering closer. Inspecting. Your toenails werenât painted. He couldnât remember the last time he had lusted after someone unpedicured.
âThe lady first, dâaccord.â Jean Pierreâs voice was one more Gauloises away from throat cancer. He scratched out another request for Ursula to follow him into the add-on where he had set up his own easel and a curtained, velvet tableau. Ursula had begged Father to let their portraits be separateâit was getting creepy that all of their paintings and photos featured the twins standing elbow to elbow.
Sheâs striking out on her own, Titus had teased. And it only took fifty years.
âJust a study today, and I can work from that, mademoiselle, I know your time is precious.â
Ursula skewered him a murderous glare. âBehave yourself brother,â she warned.
Titus lifted his brows, mouth slack; such admonishments were lost on a soul as innocent as his. Ursula and the painterâs voices grew distant as they retreated into the add-on. It wasnât total privacy, but close enough. Titus circled back toward you like a hawk flying spirals above a mouse. He calculated his approach carefully. He stared at your mouth; he wanted to bite it.
You were doing a masterful job of ignoring him. It only made him more curious. Nobody ignored Titus Danforth. Maybe JP hadnât adequately informed you of who exactly would be visiting the studio. The heat was impossible. Titus removed his blazer, hanging it casually on an empty easel not far from your position. He undid the buttons on his cuffs and slowly, methodically, rolled up the fabric to reveal his steel-corded forearms as he finally drifted toward you.
Your eyes remained fixed on your work.
Titus smiled. He appreciated that you wanted to make this fun for him.
âYouâre very good,â he said, close enough now that his Shumukh cologne would start to work its intoxicating magic on you. Just a cool million a bottle. Agarwood, sandalwood, Turkish rose. Most women found it irresistible. He only ever used a miniscule amount, just a dab behind the ears. The sweat collecting there activated the scent, mingling it perfectly with his pheromones.
âThank you.â
Titus dipped his hands into his pockets, eyes widening at your accent. He had expected a Parisian, but you werenât local. âHints of early Renoir, Monet, CassattâŚâ
You daubed your brush into a fat glob of French ultramarine and sighed.
Titus straightened, that puff of breath like a horn sounding the hunt. I beg your pardon? Your shirt probably cost four francs at a flea market, if it wasnât fished out of a basket of hand-me-downs from JP. Nobody with unmanicured toes was allowed to scoff at his compliments. He wanted to be repulsed, but the twinge in his pants told him he was far from that.
âWhat?â he asked, stark.
âIf I had a dollar every time a man rattled off French impressionists at meâŚâ You cut yourself off with a shake of your head.
Titus smirked. âYouâd what?â
âWell, I wouldnât be living in a shoebox in Bagnolet, thatâs for sure.â
âI can change that,â Titus said. Cold. Flat. Your paintbrush stilled briefly on the canvas, then swished again as you made another sound of dismissal and refused to glance over your shoulder at him. âHow much do you want for this?â
âThis?â You laughed, your first. It was a free and easy sound, uncomplicated, a wildflower shoving up through concrete. Titus had sat through a dinner at Passione the night before where not a single woman laughed, not like that, with their whole body. You shook a few strands of hair out of your face, but the perspiration shining on your forehead and temples made them stick. Titus shifted toward you, pulling one hand out of his pocket to gently push those strands where you wanted them to go.
You shuddered and jerked away. Finally, your eyes met his. âWhat are you doing?â
âIt was bothering you.â
Your eyes burned into him. âDonât do that again.â
Titus backed away, hand up in surrender. âEnjoy your afternoon,â he said.
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An envelope of cash wider than your thumb was waiting on your easel the next morning. JP had warned you about it when you got in, bright and early. He was still hungover at noon, slung across a couch meant for their expensive clientele, a hair-of-the dog bottle of Kronenbourg dangling between fore and middle fingers, his other hand covering his eyes. All of the curtains were closed.
âWhatâs this for?â you asked, opening the unmarked envelope, your heart beating faster at the wad of cash inside. You had already slipped off your sandals and left them by your easel on the balcony. JP groaned and waved you away.
âThat Danforth prick wants your cafĂŠ study.â
âOh my God,â you muttered. It didnât make any sense. A man like that could have anyone he wanted. He smirked like he had invented it and smelled like the gates of hell. Sinful. Scorching. He had touched your face like it already belonged to him, like everything belonged to him. Your phone buzzed in the back pocket of yesterdayâs shorts. You opened the lock screen to a message from an unknown number.
The message contained a series of real estate listings.
7th Arrondissement or 6th? 6th seems more your style.
Damnit, he was right. Your heart clenched at the pictures of an apartment on Rue de Tournonâhistorical building, parquet floors, tall ceilings, beautiful windows that would let in so much gorgeous fucking light for painting⌠Your eyes watered at the price tag. Six million euro. Jesus Christ, these people were insane.
You pushed the envelope flap back into the body, hiding the cash. Closing your eyes, you commanded your hands to stop shaking, took a pencil from your kit and scribbled something on top. JP was already buzzed, so it was easy to get the information you needed. The bored little errand boy who chain smoked outside your building was happy enough to help you for the promise of free lunch.
âTake this to the Rosewood Hotel de Crillon,â you told him. âLeave it at concierge for Titus Danforth.â
You deleted the messages in your phone, opened the curtains in the studio, to your masterâs groaning disappointment, and got to work.
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Titus stared down at the returned envelope, his heart growing three sizes. Which perhaps meant it was now spiritually the size of a walnut, but miracles must be recognized.
âShe thinks youâre disgusting, by the way.â Ursula. Ursula in that fucking hat.
Titus had sealed off every entrance that led under his skin. His twin had no idea that this was exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he craved. Everyone gave in so easily these days, even the quarry on their property only had the good grace to beg for, what? Five minutes? Before slumping into the wet leaves and waiting for death.
âSheâs laughing at you,â Ursula added.
They were meant to be sharing a companionable en suite breakfast, but she always found a way to be shrill and unpleasant.
âThe more you try to ruin this for me the more Iâm determined to pursue it.â
Ursula sat back hard against her chair, crossing her arms, pouting.
Titus grinned down at the envelope that was now beside his plate. Even your handwriting was cute.
I CANâT BE BOUGHT
Ordinarily, Titus would have disagreed, but nobody suffered a living situation and commute as bad as yours unless it was for the love of the game. He believed you. What a fascinating creature.
âDonât piss off JP,â Ursula said, picking up her coffee cup with both hands and squinting at him over the top. âFatherâs paying too much for this portrait for it to turn out ugly.â
Titus ordered a girl to his room later that afternoon when Ursula was out shopping. He had stipulated to the madame that she look as much like you as possible. The girl that showed up was tolerable but dead in the eyes. She didnât have your fresh beauty, your spirit. But needs must. He sat in an overstuffed chair and paid her to choke on his cock. It felt like nothing, but if he blurred his eyes, it was you kneeling between his thighs and that was an image he could beat off to later, belt tightened around his neck just enough to heighten the kick.
When she was done and her tits were back in her dress, Titus escorted her to the door. Sometimes he enjoyed playing the gentleman, performing normalcy.
âHow do you seduce a woman who doesnât want anything?â Titus asked her, deadly serious when she giggled and spun to look at him.
Her expression blanked at the sight of his, and she nervously lowered her shoulders, glancing away. âNothing.â Her French accent was pretty, but he wished it was your voice coming out of almost your face. âYou stay away.â
Titus nearly rolled his eyes but stilled. Maybe the whore had a point.
âYou make her come to you,â she added. âCan I go now?â
Titus made sure she was tipped handsomely, for her services, sure, but more for her weirdly sage advice. The next day, the twins returned to the studio for their next appointment with Jean Pierre. You were there, of course, painting out on the balcony. The study of the cafĂŠ hung in your forlorn allowance of a corner, but Titus walked right by it. He didnât acknowledge your existence, he simply waited his turn, sat for the master artist, bullshitted about vineyards and restaurants, and left.
On his third trip to the studio, he noticed a price tag had been added on a card beside your cafĂŠ study. It was a laughably small amount, but likely a fortune to you. He could feel you watching him as he stopped to appraise the painting again. Softly, he scoffed at the price, and casually strode away.
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Exactly nine hours later, you returned home to find your shitty apartment had flooded. All of your treasured, worn, precious belongings were ruined. Almost nothing had escaped the water. You managed to salvage a few pieces of clothing from a sheltered corner of your closet, and the cooking equipment was sturdy enough to be saved, but your laptop had been steeping in murky liquid like an electronic tea bag for hours. The real heartbreaker was your in-home âstudioâ which was just a pile of art supplies in a corner, thrifted brushes and paints, a stack of canvases, some finished, some yet to be paintedâŚ
Your landlord was extremely annoyed and French about it. He didnât live on site and yours was the basement unit, so it had taken all day for anyone to notice the problem. A friend let you crash for the night, but she lived on the other side of Paris and the trains had stopped; by the time you got to bed, it was 2AM.
JP was predictably unsympathetic about it. What did you expect, slumming it in that horrible rat hole? C'est un truc de ouf. I told you to move out of there months ago. You did not point out that your apprenticeship paid a pittance. You calmly dressed in the only clothes you still had, pretended your life wasnât in shambles, and took the bus to Montmartre.
You needed a hug. You needed a new place to live. What you didnât need was Titus Danforth showing up in a pair of loose linen pants and a black cashmere t-shirt. It was the last day the twins were scheduled to appear for their sittings. Titus had brought a bottle of champagne for JP as a thank you. You tried not to hear their conversation while you mixed your paints for the next study. Working at a window or outside, normally the solvents didnât go to your head, but from the stress, the lack of sleep, you were faintly dizzy.
âMais, this is too fine by far,â JP was saying, though you knew he would never actually refuse the gift. Youâd be lucky if he offered you a thimble of the stuff, a bottle that was worth more than what you spent on rent in two years.
âItâs nothing,â Titus assured him, hands in his pockets, relaxed, king of the fucking world. The light hit him like a laser beam, igniting the glowing silver in his hair and stubble, lightening the flat black of his eyes until you could see that they were actually a rich, complex hazel. He must have felt you looking, his gaze traveling across the wall to where you sat, veering south to take in your form starting at your feet. By the time he got to your face, you were subtly trembling.
Concentrate.
His voice cut through you at heart height. âWhatâs up with her today?â
Iâm right here, I can hear you, you fucking asshole.
âOh, mais, un petit dĂŠsastre.â JP clucked his tongue as if you had stubbed your toe on the way in, not lost a vast majority of your earthly possessions. âSome flooding at her apartment, I believe. It is an old, bad building.â
Iâll show you an old, badâ
The tears were building in force and heat just behind your eyes. It felt like your head was going to explode. You had and could tolerate many things, but being condescended to was not one of them. The paintbrush in your hand snapped suddenly from your spiking anger.
âFuck,â you muttered under your breath. You were using JPâs brushes. That would come out of your already pathetic allowance. To make matters worse, Danforthâs manic scream-laugh of a sister breezed in from the front door, a jaunty beret perched ahead of her blonde bun, three Cartier shopping bags swinging in her right hand.
âSorry, Iâm late,â she said, greeting JP with three air kisses. âDiamonds make me lose track of time.â
You wrestled back a helpless sound, a sob. Diamonds! JP waved off her apologies, carrying the champagne with him as he escorted Ursula away and to the annex. That entire time, from the moment he sensed you regarding him to now, Titus had fixed his attention on you. It never wavered. It felt like living under a spotlight, like a distant lighthouse had swiveled toward you and stopped, pinning you in place.
And now you were more or less alone together.
His hands never left his pockets as he sauntered over. You put your back to him abruptly, turning toward the canvas and the front of the balcony that overlooked the street below. If you looked at him, if you had to smell that fucking cologne on him again, you would break, ask for something you shouldnât. You steadied your hand, rolled your shoulders back, and gave him nothing as he hovered.
You hadnât showered. You probably smelled like the knee-high water you had waded through to assess the true horror of your situation. If Titus noticed your disheveled state, he didnât comment on it. A hand slowly appeared in your field of vision, leaving behind a crisp, white card on the edge of your easel. You clenched your jaw and waited until curiosity won out, eyes flicking down to see the name of a fancy hotel. Not his, but nice.
âThere will be a room there for you,â he said softly, then removed himself a few steps, giving you space. When he did, it was easier to breathe. âFor as long as you need it.â
âI donât need your charity.â
âI think you might. And anyway, Iâm sure youâll find a way to repay me.â He lingered, watching you. His eyes scraped the back of your neck, and you shivered. He didnât even need to touch you. âLike I saidâyouâre very good.â
You made it two more days at your friendâs place. She was lovely, but the screaming matches with her quivering mustache of a boyfriend meant you hardly slept. The card Titus had placed on your easel languished at the bottom of your bag, and you fished it out with shame hammering your throat closed. You shouldâve just thrown it out, but something had stopped you. Desperation was a fickle master.
The lobby of the hotel smelled like honeysuckle. You could feel the staff picking you out as a normie. One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesnât belongâŚ
You had no idea if the room was still on offer, or if the Danforths were even still in Paris. You didnât know which outcome you hoped for as you presented yourself at check-in and slid the card across the marble counter to the very chic, very smiley woman on the other side. The card worked like the finger of God descending from the clouds. The atmosphere around you changed. Someone appeared to help with your extremely light, extremely manageable bag. Did mademoiselle require anything? Champagne? Laundry service? Spa appointments?
âJust the room,â you told the small army that had assembled around you. âPlease.â
With a mad drumming in your chest, you actually assumed Titus would be there when you got to your room. It did not seem beyond his capabilities. Six people could have comfortably stayed in the space allotted for just you. It made you feel covered in slime. Ungrateful, maybe, but the ostentation was stomach-turning. You couldnât imagine actually living like thisâso much waste, so much excess, and for what? Still. You waited until the staff had left, unpacked your six things, and used the bath. You soaked yourself until you were a fabulous-smelling prune.
Near the king-sized bed, you discovered a mobile phone on the nightstand. Your blood froze at the sight of it. Carefully, as if it might grow teeth and attack, you picked up the phone and opened it.
There was precisely one contact saved.
You didnât trust your voice, so you texted instead.
Thank you. The room is very generous.
A few moments later, he responded, inexplicably respecting your boundary by messaging instead of calling.
Expect a delivery in one hour. Paint me something. Iâll be by tomorrow evening to collect.
Cold. Transactional. It actually soothed you. You didnât want this to be a debt. You didnât want to owe this man. He didnât text anything else. The supplies arrived via concierge just as he promisedâa crate of paints, solvents, rags, brushes and an easel, all from Magasin Sennelier. There were a packet of charcoal sticks and a sketchbook included in the haul, and with a deadline looming, you took those and wandered down to the lobby cafĂŠ to people watch and sketch. You noticed a woman who had broken the strap on her expensive shoe and was staring around trying to decide who to blame for her misfortune, and her mean little face called to you, so you sketched it and went back upstairs to set up your easel.
Conscious of the setting, you found a newspaper on the front table by the hotel room door and flattened it out, laying down a protective barrier by the window before securing a canvas to the easel and opening paints. Dinner arrived at eight oâclock sharp. You hadnât called down for anything, but food appeared all the same, room service complete with a vase of dewy white roses. You didnât want to admit how hungry you were. The staff disappeared without showing you a receipt or asking for a signature.
Pan-seared halibut with lemon. Heirloom tomato salad with burrata dressed in a light shallot dressing hiding under a fistful of fresh, green herbs. A chilled, unpretentious bottle of Chenin Blanc. Not Titus Danforthâs idea of luxury, yours. No lobsters drowning in butter, no gels or vapors orâGod help usâfoams. As you poured yourself a modest glass of wine paid for with his money, you began to understand how truly dangerous he was. You had spent almost no time together, just a handful of unremarkable moments, and somehow, he understood you already. The light in the room was blue and strange; you held out the glass of wine and studied your own hand--the skin looked different in this light, mottled, dead, like you were already a specimen speared and displayed in a collectorâs frame.
The following evening, you paced the length of the room, anxious, waiting for Titus to arrive. Instead, a text came through. Apologies. Something came up. Keep painting, Iâll be in touch.
The first feeling that came up was relief, but it was chased with disappointment.
âHeâs not my type,â you said, as if vocalizing it made it true.
Two weeks later, your landlord called to say that your place would be ready in about six days. Hearteningly, insurance would cut you a check for what was damaged, but you would never get back the paintings that were destroyed or the pictures and memories on your laptop. At least you could imagine your regular life againâyou wouldnât need to rely on Titusâs generosity for much longer.
Like clockwork, he texted every night to apologize and encourage you to keep painting. On that fourteenth night, your patience for the pattern thinned. It wasnât like you wanted him to come see you, but it was strange that he kept rug pulling, promising and then withholding.
Youâre going to have enough of my work to open a gallery, you told him finally.
His reply made your mouth dry up. Would you like that? A gallery of your own.
The period on the end of that phrase disturbed you. Not a question, a reality to be. And you knew, with a sinking feeling, that if you asked, even offhandedly, Titus would do it for you. Breakfast and dinner arrived every day, annoyingly to your taste, with random treats appearing with no explanation but plenty of innuendo. A new bathrobe. The weather turned, three days of rain pelting the city, and lo and behold, a simple Dior raincoat was there in your room. Well before your landlord got in touch to let you know the timeline, a trunk of clothes was delivered.
Crisp white shirts. Denim shorts. Sandals.
The cream-colored sheer bralette and panty set was the one thing you could tell was improvisation. Not your taste, his.
That you loved the way it looked on you was entirely beside the point.
You painted every night. You were determined not to owe him a penny. You ignored the impulse to run the math, tally up what the extended hotel stay and the meals and the gestures must have cost. Technically, your paintings were worth whatever you said they were worth. The phone in your hand felt like a lead weight. The message hadnât magically changed since you last looked at it. Would you like that? A gallery of your own.
What sort of game are you playing with me? you asked.
You expected him to deflect or maybe ignore the message altogether.
Why? Are you having fun?
Panic fluttered up your throat.
Oodles. Shame it has to end. My place will be ready next week.
You could practically hear Titusâs dry laugh. I see. You should really have it inspected for mold.
He was right. Not that you cared.
Snob.
Iâm a snob for caring about your safety?
Your thumbs stilled as you considered how to respond. That fear threatening to strangle you chilled into a guilty shiver. Shit, shit, shit. Were you being unreasonable? After a single night in the hotel, you had expected Titus to strut through the door and demand sex for all of his chivalrous deeds. But if anything, he seemed suddenly allergic to your physical presence. That single bra and panty set was the sole outlier. A bra and panty set, by the way, you were wearing under your clothes. You hadnât been raised to be so ungracious. So, the painfully handsome billionaire was worried you were about to marinate in black mold and rat feces and he was the asshole?
You closed your eyes tightly. Fuck.
Your fingers moved across the screen before you could stop them. Where are you right now?
Le Cinq with Viraj.
So, he was still in Paris. Still in Paris but avoiding you. Or giving you space. OrâŚ
You sighed. Viraj was like Madonna or Beyonce or Elon. Everyone knew Viraj Rijan. It made you laugh out loud that you had received a text message with those words in that order. Three weeks ago, you had overdrawn your bank account buying a baguette.
When you didnât reply immediately, Titus hit you with: Should I come over?
The words felt like a portent. Like destiny. You looked at the canvases lined up against the wall drying. You considered the untouched bottle of Chenin Blanc still in its silver holster of ice. You deflated slightly, realizing the only people you had consistently seen lately were fucking JP and the nice guy who brought your meals to the hotel room.
What about Viraj? you asked.
Fuck Viraj.
You didnât know he could be funny. That was a problem. It stirred your reckless impulse to be funny back at him.
But how does he look in a cream bralette?
Not as good as you.
Your breath snagged on the way down. Butterflies. Fuck. Fucking butterflies. You insisted that it was normal to flirt with a considerate older gentleman. Painters had worked with patrons since the dawn of the profession. This was justâŚMedici stuff, Parisian stuff, notâgagâsome kind of illicit arrangement. The lie just made your stomach buzz harder.
You couldnât possibly know that.
No, Titus texted back. Iâm not that lucky.
You waited fifteen minutes and congratulated yourself for making it that far.
Come over.
âšâËâ§ď¸ľâżâŕ¨á°ŕ§ââżď¸ľâ§Ëââš
Part of him was beginning to believe you would never cave. Titus would get over it, of course, and this silly detour would just become another extravagance for his accountant to figure out. It tickled him that you had held out for two weeks, which had given him adequate time to play the doting benefactor, to be thoughtful yet benign and casual.
But now your guard was down. You were making flirty jokes about bras and panties. He knew, he already knew, that you were certainly wearing that charming number for him. You wanted to be good for him, it just took you a moment to realize, to let that feeling in, let it chip away at the admirable but futile wall of independence you had constructed around your life.
Titus called his man in Paris on the way over to your hotel and told him to put a down payment on that Rue de Tournon place, heâd be needing it after all. You would be needing it just as surely as you needed him. And he would make sure that the need you felt was so consuming, so terrifying, you would never again question whether you had the courage to confront it.
Viraj had been annoying about this abrupt departure, but Viraj was annoying about everything.
âIâve got a live one squirming in the trap,â Titus had informed him, paying for half the bill even though he was ditching before the last three courses appeared.
You answered the door shower fresh. Titus smiled. Oh, little bird, you can stop squirming now, Iâm here. He hadnât come empty-handed. He had remembered, in fact, your simmering, stiff-shouldered fury the day he presented Jean Pierre with a twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne. That same brut rose was in his grasp now, canted toward you with a sly lift to his brow.
âHere I am,â he said, tilting his chin up slightly. âDid you miss me?â
You accepted the champagne, stepping back to let him inside. He hadnât dressed specifically for the occasion, having no way to know this would be the night you finally admitted defeat. But that was all right. He doubted you knew the difference between a crisp Tom Ford jacket and a more traditional Gucci wool. What mattered was that you liked it when he removed his coat, slung it over the rack, and rolled up his sleeves. He saw your eyes glow brighter at the sight of his bare skin, the freckles, the hair, the cruel strength of his fingers and wrists.
âYouâre staring,â he said mildly, watching you blush. Watching you squirm.
Fuck, sheâs right where I want her.
Poor little bird, cooped up in your lovely cage. The hotel room had a warm, lived in feel, and he could smell you in every corner of it. He liked you here, but heâd rather be paying the bills on an apartment, less room for error. People came and went at a hotel, someone sweet and young and giving could take the suite next to yours and cause problems. Once you were in that apartment, he would have a full list of your neighbors, and given the price tag on the building, they wouldnât be strapping young competition.
âSorry, I love to paint hands,â you said, leading him through the room to the romantic table by the balcony. You had tipped your paintings along the wall, a mini gallery, and Titus dragged his eyes away from you to admire them as you passed. You had been busy. Such a good, busy, industrious girl, hard at work to please him. âEveryone says hands are the worst thing to draw and paint, but I enjoy it.â
âYouâre like me. You appreciate a challenge.â Your ears turned a bitable shade. Titus plucked some flutes from the cart near the table, not that they would be required, but he still wanted you at ease. âWould you paint mine if I asked?â
Solicitous. Careful. Your gentleman.
For now.
âIâd like to,â you said, abdicating the bottle to the table. You rushed to pull your hands away as if terrified of breaking it or spilling. âBut how much longer are you in the city?â
Titus whipped a cloth from the cart, cradled the champagne, popped the cork deftly into the muffle of the doubled fabric, smiling at you all the while. Never a hitch. Never a strain. âAs long as I want to be.â His voice lowered, rough, almost needy. âAs long as I have a reason to stay.â
You stilled, your hands curling into loose fists. âTitusâŚâ
Too fast. Sheâs spooked.
He put down the champagne bottle on the table while you went to the curtains guarding the balcony, fussed with them, opened them. A sweet, night breeze swirled in, ruffling your collar, making you sway. âCan we dispense with the modesty? You deserve this.â
You studied the street outside, still clinging to that delicious determination. That was fine. That was allowed. You shook your head, laughing at seemingly nothing. He rounded the table, not encroaching, just offering his presence. Your eyes swallowed him up, ticking once from obvious nerves. âWhatâs funny?â he asked.
âIâve justâŚIâve never even said your name. And nowâŚâ
Titus let that And now float for a while. He slid his hands into his pockets and noted the way your body relaxed, responding to his patience. Your gaze cut from his face to the champagne to his pockets to the floor and back to his face. He inched closer, pulled one hand free, and used it to mimic the first touch he ever gave you, settling stray hair behind your ears; when you didnât flinch, his thumb settled over your chin, then outlined your lower lip.
Your eyes flamed against his, so ready, so begging, it made his cock stiffen against his thigh.
âI like the way my name sounds on your tongue,â he murmured. Your throat dipped as you swallowed. The war raged in your gaze, and he could tell the moment of victory; you swayed again, lashes fluttering, cheeks blossoming with fresh heat. âWould you like to say it more?â
You inhaled on a faint moan. âYes.â
Titus didnât smile, he simply nodded, almost grim. Then, he leaned down, pressing his mouth against your right ear, still holding your chin, holding you in place. âYouâre very good.â
That was the test. You passed with flying colors. Your breath came faster. You dodged into his touch, against his face, rubbing yourself against him like a friendly kitten. He laughed low in his throat and pulled you into his orbit, hands anchored on either side of your head as he kissed you, gently at first, experimenting, still finding you parameters. When he broke the kiss, you chased after it, fingers fisted in his shirtfront.
Panting.
âYou like being good for me, donât you?â Titus asked in a rasp. He nodded toward the wall and the line of paintings there. It was a temporary out, a single toe dipped into a raging river. You could say yes in a professional way until you meant it in the depraved way. âLook how good youâve been for me already.â
He kissed you again, gifting you the stall, letting you chew over your answer while his tongue was plunging into your mouth, fucking it. This time, you broke the kiss, pushing him away, gasping for air. âTitusâŚâ
Still not completely sure. Still hedging.
Titus pursed his lips, softening his expression until you turned to goo in his arms, laughing at yourself and shaking your head again. âItâs okay, baby,â he told you, placing you just a few inches away. The distance settled you again, and that hungry shine returned to your eyes. Perfect. He put his hands back into his pockets, admiring, assessing. When the silence became too heavy to bear, he tipped his head to one side. âYouâre wearing them, arenât you.â
Not a question.
You paled, looking down at your own body guiltily, as if your tits and puss had spontaneously clothed themselves, like you had nothing to do with it, couldnât be held responsible. You gave the sweetest little nod of confession.
âShow me.â
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Iâve completely lost my mind.
Your fingers tangled in the top button on your shirt. Titusâs eyes had gone the removed, flat black of a shark. You couldnât tell where his pupils began and ended. And he kept doing that maddening thing, hiding his hands in his pockets, keeping his distance, advancing and then retreating, the whole dizzying dance keeping you constantly off-balance.
But you were an adult. You had chosen to put on the bra and panty set that morning. Nobody had put a gun to your head even if now it felt like you were in the presence of a loaded weapon. His kiss was addicting, hard and hot; when you came to Paris, you had anticipated many such kisses with passionate Frenchmen who could talk about art and life and love, but the Tinder offerings were no better than what you had dealt with at home. Everyone wanted to fuck, nobody wanted to feel.
One button. Two. Three. When the fabric flounced open across your breasts, revealing a hint of the pearly clasp keeping the cups in place, Titus flinched. It felt good to make this powerful man wince just from a clumsy striptease. You were proud enough to be honest with yourself, to admit he frightened you, and still you wanted to fuck him, or rather, be fucked by him. You werenât naĂŻve enough to believe you were the one in control. He stood there like he owned the place. Maybe he did, who fucking knew? You reached the last button on your shirt, trembling, awaiting further instruction because, technically, you had done what he asked.
The bra was visible. You had shown him.
His eyes slid between your breasts to your hips to issue a silent command.
You like being good for me, donât you?
It felt weird standing there in your open shirt, so you reached up and pushed it off your shoulders, letting it whisper to the ground. Titus pressed his lips together. The cold air conspired, just another of his subordinates, a cold gush of air pebbling your nipples, hardening them under his demanding gaze. You unzipped the fly on your shorts, then wiggled out of them, letting the fabric drop and pool around your feet. His eyes followed. You could tell right away what he was seeing, what you knew, what was now evident to both of youâthere was a dark, damp spot revealing exactly how much you wanted him.
Titus closed the distance between you, removing his hands from his pockets to take you firmly by the waist and urge you against the table. You hitched one leg up until you were half sitting on it. He clamped his left arm around you, firm. âHold still,â he whispered.
Taking hold of the champagne bottle, Titus tilted it, the cold shocking you, a bracing slosh of chilled wine pouring down your chest. You gasped and surged against his grasp, but he wouldnât budge, chuckling before dipping his head down to lap at the bubbles tickling over your collarbone. You gasped his name, arching, digging your fingers into his forearms to steady yourself as he licked lower, his hot tongue an aching contrast to the goosebumps rising across your skin.
What about the carpet? What about the mess? What about the cost of the god damn bottle ofâ
His head shifted lower, his mouth closing over your nipple through the sheer fabric and sucking until every concern, every raised question dissolved. He poured more champagne down your chest, aiming for his own mouth, bathing your nipple in it until you shuddered and bucked, until he guzzled the excess and scraped the wet fabric down with his teeth, catching your swollen nipple in the drag, biting lightly until you thrashed in his grasp. He suckled you again, then let go with a noisy pop.
âOther side?â he teased, starting before you could object. âOther side.â
You stopped fighting against him, now just thrusting yourself into his touch. There was steel and desire in his hand as it molded around your hip, keeping you right where he wanted you. Just naturally, just from the hard arch of your back, you began to topple over the table, ass sliding up and over it. Titus followed you, never letting contact break, never releasing his pulsing, vampiric suction on your breast. He groaned against your tits, sucking and then releasing, biting, sucking, releasing, rubbing his nose back and forth against the bud until you grabbed his hair and wrenched it closer, wordlessly urging him to latch on again. He did, laughing at you, soaking up your naked desire for his attention.
âBaby, I could do this all night.â His eyes crawled up your tits to your neck, higher, ensnaring you. Now he was just holding you, letting you buck and thrash against nothing, your body clenching, pleading. If you didnât have something inside you soon you would scream. It felt like a life and death absence. Titus slammed the bottle down next to your head, using that now free hand to sweep a ghostly touch over your sodden panties. He stroked across the fabric like he was afraid it might tear. âUnlessâŚâ
UNLESS.
Your head jerked up as if you had been electrocuted. âTitusâŚâ
âUnless you want to be good for me.â His eyes flashed, gleaming with predatory refraction in the darkness. âIs that what you want?â
There was nothing left in you that wanted to resist. You nodded, biting your lip. âYes. Yes, I want to be good for you.â
He smiled the smile of a wolf who could eat the world. One bite. One snap. âOpen your legs for me, baby. Show me how good you can be.â
The leftover champagne on your skin was turning sticky. The cold night air rushed in, reminding you of the open curtains, the open balcony doors, and your body on display, wet and shivering and greedy. Titus climbed off of you, drawing a whimper from your throat. He smirked down at you, splayed across the table, then tore both shirts over his head, and undid his buckle with a crisp, final clack. The sound of his belt whipping through the loops as he pulled it free almost made you moan again.
As Titus stepped back up to the table, between your thighs, you spread them further apart for him. Shameless. Presenting like nothing more than a hole in heat. Titus licked his lips, scrunched his nose, pulled his thumb across the wet stain on the panties he had bought for you. âI can smell your whore pussy,â he hissed, unzipping his fly. You flushed and looked away. âNo, no, no, baby, keep your eyes on me. Thereâs nothing to be ashamed of. Your whore pussy is ready for me, thatâs what good girls do, they get ready, they open their legs.â Titus withdrew his cock, showing it to you, thick and long and furious, weeping and red, as exposing of his desire as your surprise little whimper had been of yours. âFuck, youâre so fucking wet.â
He tore the panties off of you, a single motion, flicking the scrap of fabric away with visible impatience. âAre you my good, filthy girl?â he asked.
âYes.â You couldnât believe yourself, couldnât understand yourself⌠But your world had narrowed to the pleasure of his thumb seeking through your folds, circling your clit, playing it with the skill of a practiced lover. He dipped his thumb into you, tasted it, swigged from the champagne bottle and offered you some. It was awkward with the angle, but you craned your neck up, letting him pour twelve-thousand-dollar champagne right into your throat until you gagged and spat.
Titus laughed and hurled the bottle across the room. As it splintered against the wall, he sank into you, merciless, steady, coaxing his dick all the way in with a single dedicated thrust. Not fast but not gentle, deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch. He leaned down as he drove you against the table with his hips, licking the champagne from your lips and chin, kissing you with his sloppy, open mouth.
You wrapped your legs around him, hooking one ankle over the other.
âGood girl,â he whispered into your mouth, then your throat, easing back out to shove himself back in. Fuck, he wasnât wearing a condom. You werenât thinking. He grabbed your waist, setting a snapping rhythm, making sure you felt him on the downstroke. âYouâre very good,â said Titus.
synopsis: Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differ.
warnings/notes: Hanahaki AU and everything that entails. mentions of Jack's late wife. I'm kind of in love with this. Flangst, my beloved.
wc: 5.9k
Jack Abbot knew a great many things.
He knew how to trach in the field under active fire. He knew how to run an emergency department efficiently and effectively. He knew how to make an omelet and fix a sink and change the oil in his car. He knew what it felt like to lose the greatest thing heâd ever held and he knew what it felt like to love. Or so he believed until a random Tuesday in June.
It was nearing the end of his shift when Jack felt it again. That hitch in his breathing that signaled the arrival of a deep, rattling cough that heâd been dealing with for weeks now. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Just a lingering cold, he told himself. Or allergies maybe. Nothing some water and cough drops wouldnât fix.
Except the tightness in his chest had gotten worse. And the cough drops werenât doing a damn thing. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, it felt like an invisible band was squeezing his lungs. His voice had taken on a rougher edge and heâd start wheezing if he tried to say more than few words at a time.
âYou look like shit,â said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned to find Robby standing there, coffee in hand, ready to start his shift. âGood morning to you, too. Some of us have been up all night.â
Robby hummed. âAnd some of us are clearly coming down with something. Seriously, Jack, you donât look good. Are you okay?â
Jack waved a hand through the air in dismissal. âFine. Just a little under the weather.â
âIs that why youâre breathing like you just ran a marathon?â Robby took a step closer. âYouâre wheezing and Iâm not the only one that noticed. I got three texts from night shift.â
âItâs just a cold.â Jack tried to take a deep breath to prove his point but it caught in his throat, triggering another coughing fit. This one was worse than the others and had him gripping the edge of the counter for support.
When the coughing subsided, Robbyâs gaze was stern. âThat doesnât sound like a cold to me.â
âItâs nothing,â Jack insisted, though the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. âProbably just moved to my chest is all.â
Robby sat his coffee down and crossed his arms. âThat is not nothing. I want labs and a chest x-ray.â
âChrist, Mike. Itâs not that big of a deal.â
âIâm not asking, Jack. Youâre a doctor. You know better than to ignore stuff like this.â His tone left no room for argument.
Jack recognized the look his friend was giving him. He wasnât getting out of this. He sighed. âFine. One x-ray. Then Iâm going home to sleep.â
âDeal,â Robby said, already putting in the order for the portable chest x-ray into the system. He glanced at Dana who hadnât even pretended she wasnât listening.
âEightâs open.â
âA room, man? Come on,â Jack complained but headed in that direction.
âQuit complaining,â Robby said as he trailed behind him, signaling the radiology tech with the machine to follow him. âShirt off, Abbot.â
âBuy me dinner first,â Jack snarked even as he did as told. He laid down and the machine was positioned over the top of him.
âTake a deep breath and hold it,â Marcia the tech instructed.
The first time he attempted to follow instructions, he devolved into a coughing fit. âSorry,â he apologized once he caught his breath.
âItâs fine. Just do the best you can.â The tech took three shots from different angles.
Robby slid on his glasses and stepped up to the machine while Jack put his t-shirt back on, forgoing the scrub top since his shift was over anyway.
âLet me guess. Nothing but a little inflammation. Can I go home now?â
âLeave us for a minute,â Robby said to Marcia, voice low.
Jackâs head snapped up, his gaze darting from his friend to the screen he was looking at and back again. âWhat is it?â
Robby turned the screen toward Jack so he could see for himself. Even from across the room, he could see the large white mass shadowing his right lung.
He swallowed hard. âThat could be pneumonia. Or an abscess or something.â
âIt could be,â Robby agreed but his tone suggested he didnât believe it. âIâve sent it up to pulmonary.â His phone rang before he could say anything else. He glanced at the screen. âThat was fast.â
Jack shifted his weight as he listened to Robbyâs one-sided conversation with pulmonary. When he hung up, he turned to look at Jack.
âDr. Tanaka wants to see you immediately.â He paused and looked at Jack as if the name should mean something to him. It didnât. After a moment, Robby took a breath. âHeâs sent an order to CT. Youâre to report there and then head to his office.â
âRight now?â Jackâs voice was little more than a whisper. The words having to be forced past the lump in his throat. This was all happening too fast. One moment heâd been dismissing his persistent cough and the next he was being scheduled for immediate appointments with pulmonary. âItâs probably nothing. Just a weird artefact in the imaging or something,â he said more to himself than Robby.
âIâm sure youâre right,â Robby agreed, but the worry in his eyes said something else entirely. âBut youâre going to get checked out thoroughly just to be sure.â
Within half an hour, Jack was laying on the table in a gown as the CT hummed around him. The contrast dye made him feel warm and vaguely nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the cold fear settling in his stomach.
The tech entered the room. âAll finished. By the time you get changed and to his office, Dr. Tanaka should have the images.â
Jack cleared his throat. âThatâs fast.â
âYouâre a VIP patient today, Dr. Abbot.â
There was nothing Jack wanted to be less. He didnât want to be here. Didnât want to be doing this. He wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened.
He made his way to the pulmonary floor trying to prepare himself for whatever Dr. Tanaka might say. Heâd delivered bad news to patients and their families plenty of times, but he hadnât been on the receiving end since Mari died.
The waiting room was empty when he arrived, the early hour meaning most patients hadnât arrived for the appointments yet. The receptionist smiled as he approached. âDr. Abbot? Dr. Tanaka is ready for you. Third door on the right.â
Jack took a deep breath, or tried to, and headed down the hall. Whatever was waiting for him, he would face it like he did everything else. Head on. Even if, for the first time in years, he was truly afraid.
When he entered the room, Jack was surprised to find himself in an office instead of an exam room. Tanaka rose to greet him. âDr. Abbot,â he held out a hand to shake Jackâs.
âJust Jack,â he said with a nod before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.
âVery well. Jack, then.â Tanaka stayed standing and pressed a couple of buttons on his computer and the large screen behind him lit up with an image of what Jack assumed were his lungs. He pointed at the mass that seemed to branch out from the right lung. âDo you know what youâre looking at here?â
Jack studied the image noting the abnormal density, the way it seemed to branch through his lung tissue like the roots of a plant. The mass was larger than it had appeared in the x-ray, more defined.
Jack swallowed. âA tumor. Probably malignant given the irregularities and the rapid growth.â Heâd seen the symptoms enough in his patients to recognize the pattern. The cough, the tight chest, the fatigue. Classic presentation for lung cancer.
Tanaka shook his head. âI had my suspicions from your x-ray but the CT confirms.â He used a finger to indicate several areas on the scan. âDo you see these fine lines extending from the main mass?â
Jack leaned forward. Now that the doctor pointed it out, he could see delicate lines spreading through his lung tissue. âVascularization?â he guessed.
âNot exactly.â Tanaka took a seat at his desk. âWhat youâre seeing is consistent with the presentation of Hanahaki disease.â
Jack physically jerked back in his seat. That wasnât⌠âThatâs impossible. I want a second opinion.â
âYou are certainly entitled to one, but I am the leading expert in Hanahaki in the state.â He wasnât bragging, just stating a fact.
The look Robby had given him when heâd said the name suddenly made so much sense. âIâve only ever loved my wife, and sheâs dead. Has been for years.â
Jack had seen Hanahaki before, of course he had. The condition was rare and still not well understood. Unrequited love manifesting physically with the growth of flowers in the lungs. But it was something that happened to young romantics or the occasional middle-age yearner, not to someone like him. Not to an old, broken ER attending whoâd buried his heart with his wife six years ago.
âIâm sorry, but the blood tests confirm.â He clicked on his screen and Jackâs results populated the screen.
Jack shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. âRun more tests. There has to be a mistake.â
âDr. Abbot, Jack, we can run additional tests, but given your symptoms and the findings, Hanahaki is our working diagnosis.â He paused, studying Jackâs face. âI suggest you do some soul searching. Youâre in love whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.â
Jack opened his mouth to argue but another coughing fit seized him, doubling him over. His lungs burned as he struggled to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he was surprised to find Tanaka standing in front of him holding a tissue. Only when he took it did he understand why. Delicate pink petals filled his palm.
âJesus Christ,â he whispered, staring at the evidence in his hand.
âThatâs confirmation enough for me,â Dr. Tanaka said quietly. âThe small petals are consistent with early stage Hanahaki. Theyâll become larger and more numerous as the disease progresses, until you are expelling full blooms.â
Jack couldnât tear his gaze away from the petals. Each one was perfect, like theyâd been plucked from some unseen garden growing inside him. And he supposed in a way they had. âHow long?â he managed to ask.
âHard to say without knowing how fast itâs progressing. Weâll do another scan in a week and go from there.â Tanaka paused then added, âI assume you are aware of your options.â
Jack nodded once. âSurgery orâŚdeath.â He had to force the last word past his lips. Heâd engaged in reckless behavior, volunteering for SWAT, standing on the edge of the roof while he thought about how easy it would be to just not have to deal with it all anymore. To not be alone every fucking day of his life. But now that the very real possibility of his death was looming in the shadows he suddenly found he didnât want it.
âAs you are aware, the surgery would remove any feelings for the person in question. You may forget them entirely though that is very rare. There is also always the possibility that the person you love will return your affections. Then no intervention would be needed,â Tanaka said, voice soft. âThe matter would resolve on its own. Itâs quite remarkable really.â
Jack looked down at the petals again. The idea that his body had somehow conjured flowers from a love he wasnât even aware of seemed impossible. Yet the evidence was literally in his hand.
âYou have a lot to think about,â Tanaka said, standing. âIâll schedule another scan for next week and we can talk about options.â
âThank you,â Jack said as he stood as well.
âYou should take it easy until then. The coughing may worsen, particularly if youâre stressed or physically exerted. Iâd recommend time off work.â
âIâll think about it,â Jack said, but the thought of sitting alone at home with his thoughts was not one he wanted to contemplate at the moment.
Dr. Tanaka seemed to sense his turmoil. âThis is a lot to process. Many patients find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist or a family member. And I suggest a discussion with the personââ
âThere is no person,â Jack cut him off sharply. âMy wife has been dead for six years. Thereâs been no one since.â
The other man didnât argue, but his expression made it clear he wasnât convinced. âIâll see you next week. Call if you have any questions or concerns before then.â
âThank you for seeing me on such short notice.â Jack turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall, he pressed his back against the wall. He took the deepest breath he had since entering the office. The tightness in his chest reminded him of the flowers blooming where they had no right to be.
Love.
The word echoed in his head. Heâd buried that part of himself when Mari died. The idea that his body had somehow betrayed him, had grown flowers for someone elseâŚIt was too much. He couldnât accept it. Wouldnât.
He pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator. One foot in front of the other. Thatâs how heâd gotten through the worst days after Mariâs death and thatâs how he would get through this.
Jack made it back to the ER on autopilot, his mind still reeling. Day shift was in full swing. Jack just stood for a minute, trying to orientate himself, feeling oddly disconnected from the familiar chaos.
âJack!â
He turned to find Robby hurrying toward him. His face was creased with worry, eyes scanning Jackâs features as if searching for visible changes.
âWell? What did he say?â
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. How did he possibly explain he was coughing up petals for someone he was supposedly in love with? It was stupid. Ridiculous. And just the sort of thing that would happen to him. Of course it was.
âItâs not possible,â he finally forced out. âItâs notâŚMike, IâŚâ His voice cracked, another cough building in his chest.
âOkay, okay,â Robby said, his tone shifting from urgent to soothing. âLetâs sit down, huh? You look like youâre about ready to fall over.â
Before Jack could protest, Robby led him through the department toward the breakroom. He deposited him in a chair at one of the tables, then turned to fill a cup with water. âHere, drink,â he instructed as he sat it in front of Jack.
Jack obeyed mechanically, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. The simple act centered him somewhat, anchoring him to the present moment.
Robby pulled out a chair and sat down. âNow, what did Tanaka say?â
Jack stared at the cup in his hands. âHanahaki,â he said finally.
âShit. I thought it might be when they said Tanaka wanted to see you.â Robby sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. âHeâs the best, so thereâs that at least.â
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât make any sense, man. I havenât been in love with anyone since Mari died.â
An expression he couldnât place flicked across Robbyâs face before shifting to disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
Jack frowned. âWhatâs with the tone? Why are you making it sound like Iâm stupid?â
âBecause you are,â Robby said without hesitation. When Jack just stared at him, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. âYou really donât know?â
âKnow what?â Jack demanded, irritation briefly overriding his confusion.
Your name was the only thing that left Robbyâs lips.
Jack blinked and repeated it like a question. Like your face hadnât just appeared in his brain. Like he didnât instantly think about your smile, hear your laugh.
âYes!â Robby threw his hands up in exasperation. âThe woman youâve been staring at with a besotted expression for the past eight months? The one you look for anytime you enter the department? The one whose coffee order you have memorized?â
No, no. That couldnât be right. âBut sheâsââ
âBrilliant,â Robby stated. âFunny. Kind. Beautiful. Should I continue to list off everything you said to me the last time we went out? You talked about her all night, man.â
âI meanâŚI respect her.â The words felt inadequate even as he said them. Images of you flashed through his mind. The way you laughed at your own jokes even if no one else did, how you always remembered small details about people, that furrow that appeared between your brows when you were concentrating.
âSheâs dedicated,â he continued. âCompassionate. She doesnât take shit from anyone, but sheâs never mean about it. And sheâsâŚâ He trailed off, suddenly realizing he could continue talking about you for the rest of the day.
âSheâs what?â Robby prompted, a knowing look on his face.
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât matter. I donât love her. I canât.â
âWhy not? Because you loved Mari? Loving someone else doesnât erase what you had with her.â
âItâs not that simple,â Jack argued, though he couldnât have explained why if someone pressed.
âIt actually is,â Robby replied, not unkindly. âYou loved your wife. She died and it broke you. For a long time, I wasnât certain youâd ever put yourself back together. But you have. And against all odds you found someone who makes you feel something again. Instead of being grateful, instead of grasping it with both hands, youâre literally making yourself sick denying it.â
âItâs notâŚI havenâtââ
âYou have,â Robby interrupted. âEveryone knows youâre in love with her except you and her, apparently.â He sighed and ran a hand down his face. âJust think about it, okay? Really think about it.â
As if on cue, another coughing fit seized Jack, this one stronger than the last. He doubled over, hand braced against the table as his chest contracted painfully. When it finally subsided, he found his palm filled with more petals, the edges tinged with blood.
âHoly shit.â Robby stared at the evidence in front of him.
Jack closed his hand around the petals, as if hiding them from view would make them cease to exist. âI need to get out of here. I need to go home.â He pushed himself to his feet. The room titled slightly, his vision blurring at the edges.
âYouâre in no condition to drive,â Robby said standing as well, typing on his phone. âLet me have someone run you home.â
âIâm fine,â Jack insisted though the wheeze in his voice undermined his claim. âI just need some sleep. I need to rest.â He needed to get you out of his brain.
âYou need to figure this out, Jack. Finding out you have Hanahaki would throw anyone for a loop, especially when you didnât even realize you were in love. But this isnât something you can ignore. It wonât just go away, it will only get worse.
Robby was right, Jack knew he was. Heâd been ignoring what was happening for weeks, dismissing symptoms, making excuses. And now he was paying the price.
âI know. Iâll think about what you said. I promise.â
âGood. Thatâs a start. Now get your things together. Your ride should be here in a minute.â
Now, when Robby said ride, Jack assumed he meant an intern. An uber perhaps. What he did not expect to see when he stepped through the doors was you. Youâd pulled your car to the side where it wouldnât impede any ambulances and you leaned against it. It took him longer than heâd admit to realize you were waiting for him.
Jack spun on his heel to glare at his former best friend. âWhat the fuck did you do?â he hissed.
Robby gave him a look of feigned innocence. âGot you a ride.â
âYou asked her?â
At that he grinned. âActually, I sent a message to the group chat. She volunteered.â
âOh.â He looked over to find you in the same position, your gaze moving between the two attendings. He lifted a hand in greeting and to let you know heâd be right there.
You nodded, waved at Robby and got behind the wheel.
âWhat do I do?â Jack asked, suddenly at a loss.
Robby rested a heavy hand on Jackâs shoulder. âYou donât have to do anything, brother. Just let her take you home. Think about how you really feel about her. Thatâs all.â
âYeah, yeah, I can do that,â Jack agreed with a nod of his head. âIâll see you later.â
âNot tonight you wonât,â Robby corrected. âYouâre off until Friday at the earliest. Doctorâs orders.â
Jack didnât bother to argue. Knew there would be no point. And honestly, he could use a few days to get his head straight. He held up a hand in goodbye as he made his way to your car, his mind churning. What if Robby was right? What if heâd fallen in love without realizing it, what then? You had never given any indication you felt the same. The idea of confessing feelings that might not be returnedâŚ
Another cough built in his chest as if his body was responding to the thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. One problem at a time. First, he needed to get home. Then he needed to figure out if Robby was right.
As if sensing Jack was lost his head, you didnât attempt to make conversation after your initial greeting once he got in the car. When you arrived at his house, he finally turned to look at you. âThanks for the ride. I would have been fine driving but Robby insisted.â
âI didnât mind, Jack. However, Iâm afraid you canât be rid of me just yet.â
His brows shot up into his hairline. âExcuse me?â
âBossman said, and I quote, âget his ass inside and into bed with a glass of water and trashcan nearby.â So thatâs what Iâm going to do. Letâs go.â You climbed out of the car and waited for him to exit before locking the doors.
âI assure you that his is not necessary,â Jack argued. More than that, it could be catastrophic. Having you in his house, where heâd now be able to picture you clearly instead of relying solely on his imagination? That sounded like a horrible idea. Not that heâd ever pictured you in his house. Sitting across from him at the table, nestled into his side as you watched TV. That would be absurd.
You took his bag from his loose hold and ignored his protests as you carried it up to the door. Jack stared at you hopeless for another moment before sighing and following after you. âKeys are in the front pocket.â
You pulled them out and handed them over. He unlocked the door, leaving it open for you to follow after. He gestured at the hooks just inside the door. âYou can hang the bag there.â
You did and kicked off your shoes, nudging them to line up against the wall. âRobby didnât exactly say what was wrong with you.â You paused, but Jack didnât offer any clarification. No, that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. You cleared your throat. âAre you hungry? I could make you something.â
âNo, sweetheart, Iâm fine.â The endearment slipped out without thought. He suddenly wondered when the first time was he had called you that. And when had that become the norm instead of your name? Christ. He wiped a hand down his face. âIâm fucking exhausted. I just want to go to bed.â
You nodded. âSure. Let me get you that water at least.â
Jack just nodded and headed down the hall toward his bedroom to fish out something to change into after his shower. You stepped into the doorway just as he finished taking off his leg. He froze and swallowed. âSorry. Forgot youâd be coming back here.â
You smiled and Jack had to glance away. âItâs your home, Jack, and Iâve seen you without the leg before. Itâs not like you were nude. Here.â You sat the glass on the nightstand. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
âNo. Iâve got it. Thank you.â You had seen him without the leg precisely once when it started rubbing wrong on a shift and youâd made him sit down and get an exam. Youâd also bullied him into supervising from a wheelchair for the rest of the night when you saw his red, raw flesh by threatening to call Robby and tattle on him.
Your gaze ran over him, assessing. He could feel it. âAre you sure youâre okay?â
His eyes found yours again but he said nothing.
âYou just seem off.â Worry shone in your eyes and he forced himself to look away once more.
âIâm fine. Just tired.â
After a moment, you stepped toward the door. âCall me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.â When he only nodded, you added, âPromise?â
âYeah.â He cleared his throat when he heard the gravel in his voice. âPromise.â
âOkay. Bye, Jack.â And with that, you left without waiting for a response.
Tension immediately flowed from Jackâs entire body. Jesus, Robby couldnât have found literally anyone else to bring him home? He pushed thoughts of you from his head as he finished stripping. Using his crutches, he moved into the shower, ready to rinse the night off so he could get some sleep.
Not thinking of you lasted approximately two and a half minutes after he turned the water on. Heâd turned the temp up on the water hoping it would help clear his lungs. His chest ached with each breath, a constant reminder of the flowers blooming in his lungs.
Flowers.
For you.
It was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed working with you. You were competent, smart, quick to smile and to make others laugh. You had a way with patients that made even the most difficult cases manageable. And so what if heâd noticed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, or that you tapped your fingers when you were thinking?
But that didnât mean he was in love with you. Love was what heâd had with Mari. All consuming, life-altering, the kind that left you devastated and broken when it was no longer yours. What he felt for you wasâŚappreciation. Admiration, perhaps. Friendship. That was it. He loved you like a very dear friend.
Except friends didnât keep mental lists of your favorite foods, or notice when you changed your shampoo, or come in on their nights off because you were working. Friends didnât feel their mood lift the moment you walked into a room or find themselves replaying conversations long after theyâd ended.
Jack groaned, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair. This was insane. He was a grown man, not some teenager with a crush. Heâd been married, for fuckâs sake. He knew what love felt like.
Or he had once. Before Mari died, leaving him hollowed out and certain he would never feel that way again. Heâd adjusted to his solitude. To the bed being too big and the house too quiet.
But latelyâŚ
He sucked in a shaky breath as he finally admitted to himself that heâd been pursuing you without even realizing it. No wonder Robby had looked at him like he was an idiot. He was.
âIâm fond of her,â he said aloud, testing the words. âThatâs all it is. A fondness.â It couldnât be love, because if it was that meantâ
His chest contracted sharply, another cough building. This one came on faster than the others, stealing his breath before he could prepare. He curled forward, one hand pressed to his sternum as his lungs spasmed. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, each breath harder than the last, until finally, blessedly, it subsided.
When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see dozens of petals swirling toward the drain. Proof, if heâd needed it that Tanaka was right. That Robby was right.
He was in love with you. For far longer than he cared to admit.
Tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks as his shoulders shook in a silent sob. Heâd fallen in love with you and hadnât even realized because it was so subtle, so quiet, compared to what heâd had with his wife. Heâd lost out on so much time with you because he was too afraid to examine his feelings. To admit to himself what everyone else had known all along.
But what difference did it make really? Because even if he loved you, what then? Youâd never given any indication you felt the same. No lingering looks or soft touches. Nothing to suggest you saw him as anything more than a colleague.
And why would you? He was damaged goods. A widower with a missing leg and more baggage than most people would want to deal with. You were vibrant, fully engaged with life in a way he had long forgotten. You deserved someone whole, someone who could love you without reservation or complication. Someone who didnât still wake reaching for a wife that would never be there again.
Jack closed his eyes and took another shaky breath as he turned off the water. As he dried off and headed for bed, he considered his options. Heâd meet with Tanaka and schedule the surgery. But he should talk to you first. He knew he should. But he was so fucking scared.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. Youâd told him to call if he needed anything, but what if he only needed you? He could hear your voice, ask you to come back. He could tell you everything and hope maybe you felt the same.
He moved to the call button, then stopped. He needed to sleep first. Needed to be fully about himself before he decided how to approach this. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally found rest, but even that was fitful.
He glanced at the clock when he woke to find it nearing seven. At least heâd managed a few hours. You were working, so his grand confession would have to wait. Maybe he could meet you after shift and take you to breakfast.
He was so lost in his head when he opened the bedroom door that he almost disregarded the rich aroma filling the air and the soft sounds from his kitchen. He frowned and moved into the other room, calling a soft âHello?â as he went.
As he stepped into the doorway, you glanced at him over your shoulder and he sucked in a breath. You were here. In his home. Making dinner.
âYou stayed?â he asked, voice rougher than intended.
You shrugged and turned back to the stove. âYou didnât look okay. I wanted to be close, crashed on the couch. I hope I didnât overstep.â
He swallowed down the words that rose in his throat. No. Never. Stay the night. Stay forever. âDonât you have to work?â
âBossman gave me the night off. Told me to take care of you if I was that worried. I wasnât going to argue with him. Thought Iâd make you some soup.â You didnât look at him, but he could hear the concern in your tone, the worry that he would be upset with you for taking care of him.
He just watched you move in his space like you belonged there.
Finally, you glanced at him again and gave him a small smile when you found him watching. âWhereâs your bowls?â
âIâll get them,â he said, suddenly desperate to do something.
It was a simple task but before he could even open the cabinet, he was seized by another violent coughing fit. He bent over the sink, bracing against the edge for support. His chest burned and his vision blurred at the edge. He vaguely registered you saying his name and a hand landing on his back, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
When the fit finally subsided, he was horrified to see the petals that littered the sink.
You went completely still beside him. âJack, are thoseâŚâ
âItâs notâŚâ he started then trailed off. There was no explanation he could give you beside the truth.
âOh,â you said softly, your fingers curling in as you removed your touch from his back. You took a step away. âWho is it?â You sounded resigned, maybe even a little hurt.
The question hung between you. Jack remained braced against the sink, unable to look at you. âWhen my wife died, I thought I would never love anyone again. That it would be impossible. So, when it happened, I didnât even realize it. Or I suppose itâs more like I ignored it.â He risked a glance at your reflection in the window above the sink. âI guess my body didnât like that. Itâs making me face it.â
âThat wasnât my question, Jack.â Your voice was smaller than heâd ever heard it.
He turned to face you then, his hip leaning against the counter to take his weight. âDonât you know, sweetheart? According to Robby, itâs obvious to everyone in the department that Iâm crazy about you.â
Jack watched your face for your reaction. Anything. But your expression remained carefully blank aside from a slight widening of your eyes.
âMe?â you finally said, the word barely audible.
âYeah.â Jack pushed off from the counter, using his crutches to move over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. He kept his gaze on anything but you. âBut I donât expect anything. You donât owe me anything. I have options. Iâll be fine. I see the doctor again next week and I can get the surgery scheduled.â
 âJack Abbot, if you have that surgery, I will never forgive you.â Your sharp tone had his head immediately snapping over to follow you as you stepped toward him.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause it is completely unnecessary, you idiot. I have been in love with you for ages.â
Time seemed to stop. Jack stared at you, certain heâd misheard. âWhat?â
You came to a stop in front of him. âIâve loved you for months, probably longer. I just didnât think that you would everâŚthat you could everâŚâ
The rest of your sentence was lost as Jack pulled you forward into his arms, one hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb traced your lips as your eyes searched his. He leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His lips found yours hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty as you responded. He laughed against your mouth as you turned and sat sideways in his lap. When he finally pulled back completely, the first thing he noticed was your wide smile and the joy in your eyes.
The second was, that for the first time in weeksâin six years, reallyâhe could finally, simply, breathe.
synopsis: Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differ.
warnings/notes: Hanahaki AU and everything that entails. mentions of Jack's late wife. I'm kind of in love with this. Flangst, my beloved.
wc: 5.9k
Jack Abbot knew a great many things.
He knew how to trach in the field under active fire. He knew how to run an emergency department efficiently and effectively. He knew how to make an omelet and fix a sink and change the oil in his car. He knew what it felt like to lose the greatest thing heâd ever held and he knew what it felt like to love. Or so he believed until a random Tuesday in June.
It was nearing the end of his shift when Jack felt it again. That hitch in his breathing that signaled the arrival of a deep, rattling cough that heâd been dealing with for weeks now. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Just a lingering cold, he told himself. Or allergies maybe. Nothing some water and cough drops wouldnât fix.
Except the tightness in his chest had gotten worse. And the cough drops werenât doing a damn thing. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, it felt like an invisible band was squeezing his lungs. His voice had taken on a rougher edge and heâd start wheezing if he tried to say more than few words at a time.
âYou look like shit,â said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned to find Robby standing there, coffee in hand, ready to start his shift. âGood morning to you, too. Some of us have been up all night.â
Robby hummed. âAnd some of us are clearly coming down with something. Seriously, Jack, you donât look good. Are you okay?â
Jack waved a hand through the air in dismissal. âFine. Just a little under the weather.â
âIs that why youâre breathing like you just ran a marathon?â Robby took a step closer. âYouâre wheezing and Iâm not the only one that noticed. I got three texts from night shift.â
âItâs just a cold.â Jack tried to take a deep breath to prove his point but it caught in his throat, triggering another coughing fit. This one was worse than the others and had him gripping the edge of the counter for support.
When the coughing subsided, Robbyâs gaze was stern. âThat doesnât sound like a cold to me.â
âItâs nothing,â Jack insisted, though the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. âProbably just moved to my chest is all.â
Robby sat his coffee down and crossed his arms. âThat is not nothing. I want labs and a chest x-ray.â
âChrist, Mike. Itâs not that big of a deal.â
âIâm not asking, Jack. Youâre a doctor. You know better than to ignore stuff like this.â His tone left no room for argument.
Jack recognized the look his friend was giving him. He wasnât getting out of this. He sighed. âFine. One x-ray. Then Iâm going home to sleep.â
âDeal,â Robby said, already putting in the order for the portable chest x-ray into the system. He glanced at Dana who hadnât even pretended she wasnât listening.
âEightâs open.â
âA room, man? Come on,â Jack complained but headed in that direction.
âQuit complaining,â Robby said as he trailed behind him, signaling the radiology tech with the machine to follow him. âShirt off, Abbot.â
âBuy me dinner first,â Jack snarked even as he did as told. He laid down and the machine was positioned over the top of him.
âTake a deep breath and hold it,â Marcia the tech instructed.
The first time he attempted to follow instructions, he devolved into a coughing fit. âSorry,â he apologized once he caught his breath.
âItâs fine. Just do the best you can.â The tech took three shots from different angles.
Robby slid on his glasses and stepped up to the machine while Jack put his t-shirt back on, forgoing the scrub top since his shift was over anyway.
âLet me guess. Nothing but a little inflammation. Can I go home now?â
âLeave us for a minute,â Robby said to Marcia, voice low.
Jackâs head snapped up, his gaze darting from his friend to the screen he was looking at and back again. âWhat is it?â
Robby turned the screen toward Jack so he could see for himself. Even from across the room, he could see the large white mass shadowing his right lung.
He swallowed hard. âThat could be pneumonia. Or an abscess or something.â
âIt could be,â Robby agreed but his tone suggested he didnât believe it. âIâve sent it up to pulmonary.â His phone rang before he could say anything else. He glanced at the screen. âThat was fast.â
Jack shifted his weight as he listened to Robbyâs one-sided conversation with pulmonary. When he hung up, he turned to look at Jack.
âDr. Tanaka wants to see you immediately.â He paused and looked at Jack as if the name should mean something to him. It didnât. After a moment, Robby took a breath. âHeâs sent an order to CT. Youâre to report there and then head to his office.â
âRight now?â Jackâs voice was little more than a whisper. The words having to be forced past the lump in his throat. This was all happening too fast. One moment heâd been dismissing his persistent cough and the next he was being scheduled for immediate appointments with pulmonary. âItâs probably nothing. Just a weird artefact in the imaging or something,â he said more to himself than Robby.
âIâm sure youâre right,â Robby agreed, but the worry in his eyes said something else entirely. âBut youâre going to get checked out thoroughly just to be sure.â
Within half an hour, Jack was laying on the table in a gown as the CT hummed around him. The contrast dye made him feel warm and vaguely nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the cold fear settling in his stomach.
The tech entered the room. âAll finished. By the time you get changed and to his office, Dr. Tanaka should have the images.â
Jack cleared his throat. âThatâs fast.â
âYouâre a VIP patient today, Dr. Abbot.â
There was nothing Jack wanted to be less. He didnât want to be here. Didnât want to be doing this. He wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened.
He made his way to the pulmonary floor trying to prepare himself for whatever Dr. Tanaka might say. Heâd delivered bad news to patients and their families plenty of times, but he hadnât been on the receiving end since Mari died.
The waiting room was empty when he arrived, the early hour meaning most patients hadnât arrived for the appointments yet. The receptionist smiled as he approached. âDr. Abbot? Dr. Tanaka is ready for you. Third door on the right.â
Jack took a deep breath, or tried to, and headed down the hall. Whatever was waiting for him, he would face it like he did everything else. Head on. Even if, for the first time in years, he was truly afraid.
When he entered the room, Jack was surprised to find himself in an office instead of an exam room. Tanaka rose to greet him. âDr. Abbot,â he held out a hand to shake Jackâs.
âJust Jack,â he said with a nod before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.
âVery well. Jack, then.â Tanaka stayed standing and pressed a couple of buttons on his computer and the large screen behind him lit up with an image of what Jack assumed were his lungs. He pointed at the mass that seemed to branch out from the right lung. âDo you know what youâre looking at here?â
Jack studied the image noting the abnormal density, the way it seemed to branch through his lung tissue like the roots of a plant. The mass was larger than it had appeared in the x-ray, more defined.
Jack swallowed. âA tumor. Probably malignant given the irregularities and the rapid growth.â Heâd seen the symptoms enough in his patients to recognize the pattern. The cough, the tight chest, the fatigue. Classic presentation for lung cancer.
Tanaka shook his head. âI had my suspicions from your x-ray but the CT confirms.â He used a finger to indicate several areas on the scan. âDo you see these fine lines extending from the main mass?â
Jack leaned forward. Now that the doctor pointed it out, he could see delicate lines spreading through his lung tissue. âVascularization?â he guessed.
âNot exactly.â Tanaka took a seat at his desk. âWhat youâre seeing is consistent with the presentation of Hanahaki disease.â
Jack physically jerked back in his seat. That wasnât⌠âThatâs impossible. I want a second opinion.â
âYou are certainly entitled to one, but I am the leading expert in Hanahaki in the state.â He wasnât bragging, just stating a fact.
The look Robby had given him when heâd said the name suddenly made so much sense. âIâve only ever loved my wife, and sheâs dead. Has been for years.â
Jack had seen Hanahaki before, of course he had. The condition was rare and still not well understood. Unrequited love manifesting physically with the growth of flowers in the lungs. But it was something that happened to young romantics or the occasional middle-age yearner, not to someone like him. Not to an old, broken ER attending whoâd buried his heart with his wife six years ago.
âIâm sorry, but the blood tests confirm.â He clicked on his screen and Jackâs results populated the screen.
Jack shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. âRun more tests. There has to be a mistake.â
âDr. Abbot, Jack, we can run additional tests, but given your symptoms and the findings, Hanahaki is our working diagnosis.â He paused, studying Jackâs face. âI suggest you do some soul searching. Youâre in love whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.â
Jack opened his mouth to argue but another coughing fit seized him, doubling him over. His lungs burned as he struggled to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he was surprised to find Tanaka standing in front of him holding a tissue. Only when he took it did he understand why. Delicate pink petals filled his palm.
âJesus Christ,â he whispered, staring at the evidence in his hand.
âThatâs confirmation enough for me,â Dr. Tanaka said quietly. âThe small petals are consistent with early stage Hanahaki. Theyâll become larger and more numerous as the disease progresses, until you are expelling full blooms.â
Jack couldnât tear his gaze away from the petals. Each one was perfect, like theyâd been plucked from some unseen garden growing inside him. And he supposed in a way they had. âHow long?â he managed to ask.
âHard to say without knowing how fast itâs progressing. Weâll do another scan in a week and go from there.â Tanaka paused then added, âI assume you are aware of your options.â
Jack nodded once. âSurgery orâŚdeath.â He had to force the last word past his lips. Heâd engaged in reckless behavior, volunteering for SWAT, standing on the edge of the roof while he thought about how easy it would be to just not have to deal with it all anymore. To not be alone every fucking day of his life. But now that the very real possibility of his death was looming in the shadows he suddenly found he didnât want it.
âAs you are aware, the surgery would remove any feelings for the person in question. You may forget them entirely though that is very rare. There is also always the possibility that the person you love will return your affections. Then no intervention would be needed,â Tanaka said, voice soft. âThe matter would resolve on its own. Itâs quite remarkable really.â
Jack looked down at the petals again. The idea that his body had somehow conjured flowers from a love he wasnât even aware of seemed impossible. Yet the evidence was literally in his hand.
âYou have a lot to think about,â Tanaka said, standing. âIâll schedule another scan for next week and we can talk about options.â
âThank you,â Jack said as he stood as well.
âYou should take it easy until then. The coughing may worsen, particularly if youâre stressed or physically exerted. Iâd recommend time off work.â
âIâll think about it,â Jack said, but the thought of sitting alone at home with his thoughts was not one he wanted to contemplate at the moment.
Dr. Tanaka seemed to sense his turmoil. âThis is a lot to process. Many patients find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist or a family member. And I suggest a discussion with the personââ
âThere is no person,â Jack cut him off sharply. âMy wife has been dead for six years. Thereâs been no one since.â
The other man didnât argue, but his expression made it clear he wasnât convinced. âIâll see you next week. Call if you have any questions or concerns before then.â
âThank you for seeing me on such short notice.â Jack turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall, he pressed his back against the wall. He took the deepest breath he had since entering the office. The tightness in his chest reminded him of the flowers blooming where they had no right to be.
Love.
The word echoed in his head. Heâd buried that part of himself when Mari died. The idea that his body had somehow betrayed him, had grown flowers for someone elseâŚIt was too much. He couldnât accept it. Wouldnât.
He pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator. One foot in front of the other. Thatâs how heâd gotten through the worst days after Mariâs death and thatâs how he would get through this.
Jack made it back to the ER on autopilot, his mind still reeling. Day shift was in full swing. Jack just stood for a minute, trying to orientate himself, feeling oddly disconnected from the familiar chaos.
âJack!â
He turned to find Robby hurrying toward him. His face was creased with worry, eyes scanning Jackâs features as if searching for visible changes.
âWell? What did he say?â
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. How did he possibly explain he was coughing up petals for someone he was supposedly in love with? It was stupid. Ridiculous. And just the sort of thing that would happen to him. Of course it was.
âItâs not possible,â he finally forced out. âItâs notâŚMike, IâŚâ His voice cracked, another cough building in his chest.
âOkay, okay,â Robby said, his tone shifting from urgent to soothing. âLetâs sit down, huh? You look like youâre about ready to fall over.â
Before Jack could protest, Robby led him through the department toward the breakroom. He deposited him in a chair at one of the tables, then turned to fill a cup with water. âHere, drink,â he instructed as he sat it in front of Jack.
Jack obeyed mechanically, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. The simple act centered him somewhat, anchoring him to the present moment.
Robby pulled out a chair and sat down. âNow, what did Tanaka say?â
Jack stared at the cup in his hands. âHanahaki,â he said finally.
âShit. I thought it might be when they said Tanaka wanted to see you.â Robby sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. âHeâs the best, so thereâs that at least.â
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât make any sense, man. I havenât been in love with anyone since Mari died.â
An expression he couldnât place flicked across Robbyâs face before shifting to disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
Jack frowned. âWhatâs with the tone? Why are you making it sound like Iâm stupid?â
âBecause you are,â Robby said without hesitation. When Jack just stared at him, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. âYou really donât know?â
âKnow what?â Jack demanded, irritation briefly overriding his confusion.
Your name was the only thing that left Robbyâs lips.
Jack blinked and repeated it like a question. Like your face hadnât just appeared in his brain. Like he didnât instantly think about your smile, hear your laugh.
âYes!â Robby threw his hands up in exasperation. âThe woman youâve been staring at with a besotted expression for the past eight months? The one you look for anytime you enter the department? The one whose coffee order you have memorized?â
No, no. That couldnât be right. âBut sheâsââ
âBrilliant,â Robby stated. âFunny. Kind. Beautiful. Should I continue to list off everything you said to me the last time we went out? You talked about her all night, man.â
âI meanâŚI respect her.â The words felt inadequate even as he said them. Images of you flashed through his mind. The way you laughed at your own jokes even if no one else did, how you always remembered small details about people, that furrow that appeared between your brows when you were concentrating.
âSheâs dedicated,â he continued. âCompassionate. She doesnât take shit from anyone, but sheâs never mean about it. And sheâsâŚâ He trailed off, suddenly realizing he could continue talking about you for the rest of the day.
âSheâs what?â Robby prompted, a knowing look on his face.
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât matter. I donât love her. I canât.â
âWhy not? Because you loved Mari? Loving someone else doesnât erase what you had with her.â
âItâs not that simple,â Jack argued, though he couldnât have explained why if someone pressed.
âIt actually is,â Robby replied, not unkindly. âYou loved your wife. She died and it broke you. For a long time, I wasnât certain youâd ever put yourself back together. But you have. And against all odds you found someone who makes you feel something again. Instead of being grateful, instead of grasping it with both hands, youâre literally making yourself sick denying it.â
âItâs notâŚI havenâtââ
âYou have,â Robby interrupted. âEveryone knows youâre in love with her except you and her, apparently.â He sighed and ran a hand down his face. âJust think about it, okay? Really think about it.â
As if on cue, another coughing fit seized Jack, this one stronger than the last. He doubled over, hand braced against the table as his chest contracted painfully. When it finally subsided, he found his palm filled with more petals, the edges tinged with blood.
âHoly shit.â Robby stared at the evidence in front of him.
Jack closed his hand around the petals, as if hiding them from view would make them cease to exist. âI need to get out of here. I need to go home.â He pushed himself to his feet. The room titled slightly, his vision blurring at the edges.
âYouâre in no condition to drive,â Robby said standing as well, typing on his phone. âLet me have someone run you home.â
âIâm fine,â Jack insisted though the wheeze in his voice undermined his claim. âI just need some sleep. I need to rest.â He needed to get you out of his brain.
âYou need to figure this out, Jack. Finding out you have Hanahaki would throw anyone for a loop, especially when you didnât even realize you were in love. But this isnât something you can ignore. It wonât just go away, it will only get worse.
Robby was right, Jack knew he was. Heâd been ignoring what was happening for weeks, dismissing symptoms, making excuses. And now he was paying the price.
âI know. Iâll think about what you said. I promise.â
âGood. Thatâs a start. Now get your things together. Your ride should be here in a minute.â
Now, when Robby said ride, Jack assumed he meant an intern. An uber perhaps. What he did not expect to see when he stepped through the doors was you. Youâd pulled your car to the side where it wouldnât impede any ambulances and you leaned against it. It took him longer than heâd admit to realize you were waiting for him.
Jack spun on his heel to glare at his former best friend. âWhat the fuck did you do?â he hissed.
Robby gave him a look of feigned innocence. âGot you a ride.â
âYou asked her?â
At that he grinned. âActually, I sent a message to the group chat. She volunteered.â
âOh.â He looked over to find you in the same position, your gaze moving between the two attendings. He lifted a hand in greeting and to let you know heâd be right there.
You nodded, waved at Robby and got behind the wheel.
âWhat do I do?â Jack asked, suddenly at a loss.
Robby rested a heavy hand on Jackâs shoulder. âYou donât have to do anything, brother. Just let her take you home. Think about how you really feel about her. Thatâs all.â
âYeah, yeah, I can do that,â Jack agreed with a nod of his head. âIâll see you later.â
âNot tonight you wonât,â Robby corrected. âYouâre off until Friday at the earliest. Doctorâs orders.â
Jack didnât bother to argue. Knew there would be no point. And honestly, he could use a few days to get his head straight. He held up a hand in goodbye as he made his way to your car, his mind churning. What if Robby was right? What if heâd fallen in love without realizing it, what then? You had never given any indication you felt the same. The idea of confessing feelings that might not be returnedâŚ
Another cough built in his chest as if his body was responding to the thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. One problem at a time. First, he needed to get home. Then he needed to figure out if Robby was right.
As if sensing Jack was lost his head, you didnât attempt to make conversation after your initial greeting once he got in the car. When you arrived at his house, he finally turned to look at you. âThanks for the ride. I would have been fine driving but Robby insisted.â
âI didnât mind, Jack. However, Iâm afraid you canât be rid of me just yet.â
His brows shot up into his hairline. âExcuse me?â
âBossman said, and I quote, âget his ass inside and into bed with a glass of water and trashcan nearby.â So thatâs what Iâm going to do. Letâs go.â You climbed out of the car and waited for him to exit before locking the doors.
âI assure you that his is not necessary,â Jack argued. More than that, it could be catastrophic. Having you in his house, where heâd now be able to picture you clearly instead of relying solely on his imagination? That sounded like a horrible idea. Not that heâd ever pictured you in his house. Sitting across from him at the table, nestled into his side as you watched TV. That would be absurd.
You took his bag from his loose hold and ignored his protests as you carried it up to the door. Jack stared at you hopeless for another moment before sighing and following after you. âKeys are in the front pocket.â
You pulled them out and handed them over. He unlocked the door, leaving it open for you to follow after. He gestured at the hooks just inside the door. âYou can hang the bag there.â
You did and kicked off your shoes, nudging them to line up against the wall. âRobby didnât exactly say what was wrong with you.â You paused, but Jack didnât offer any clarification. No, that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. You cleared your throat. âAre you hungry? I could make you something.â
âNo, sweetheart, Iâm fine.â The endearment slipped out without thought. He suddenly wondered when the first time was he had called you that. And when had that become the norm instead of your name? Christ. He wiped a hand down his face. âIâm fucking exhausted. I just want to go to bed.â
You nodded. âSure. Let me get you that water at least.â
Jack just nodded and headed down the hall toward his bedroom to fish out something to change into after his shower. You stepped into the doorway just as he finished taking off his leg. He froze and swallowed. âSorry. Forgot youâd be coming back here.â
You smiled and Jack had to glance away. âItâs your home, Jack, and Iâve seen you without the leg before. Itâs not like you were nude. Here.â You sat the glass on the nightstand. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
âNo. Iâve got it. Thank you.â You had seen him without the leg precisely once when it started rubbing wrong on a shift and youâd made him sit down and get an exam. Youâd also bullied him into supervising from a wheelchair for the rest of the night when you saw his red, raw flesh by threatening to call Robby and tattle on him.
Your gaze ran over him, assessing. He could feel it. âAre you sure youâre okay?â
His eyes found yours again but he said nothing.
âYou just seem off.â Worry shone in your eyes and he forced himself to look away once more.
âIâm fine. Just tired.â
After a moment, you stepped toward the door. âCall me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.â When he only nodded, you added, âPromise?â
âYeah.â He cleared his throat when he heard the gravel in his voice. âPromise.â
âOkay. Bye, Jack.â And with that, you left without waiting for a response.
Tension immediately flowed from Jackâs entire body. Jesus, Robby couldnât have found literally anyone else to bring him home? He pushed thoughts of you from his head as he finished stripping. Using his crutches, he moved into the shower, ready to rinse the night off so he could get some sleep.
Not thinking of you lasted approximately two and a half minutes after he turned the water on. Heâd turned the temp up on the water hoping it would help clear his lungs. His chest ached with each breath, a constant reminder of the flowers blooming in his lungs.
Flowers.
For you.
It was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed working with you. You were competent, smart, quick to smile and to make others laugh. You had a way with patients that made even the most difficult cases manageable. And so what if heâd noticed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, or that you tapped your fingers when you were thinking?
But that didnât mean he was in love with you. Love was what heâd had with Mari. All consuming, life-altering, the kind that left you devastated and broken when it was no longer yours. What he felt for you wasâŚappreciation. Admiration, perhaps. Friendship. That was it. He loved you like a very dear friend.
Except friends didnât keep mental lists of your favorite foods, or notice when you changed your shampoo, or come in on their nights off because you were working. Friends didnât feel their mood lift the moment you walked into a room or find themselves replaying conversations long after theyâd ended.
Jack groaned, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair. This was insane. He was a grown man, not some teenager with a crush. Heâd been married, for fuckâs sake. He knew what love felt like.
Or he had once. Before Mari died, leaving him hollowed out and certain he would never feel that way again. Heâd adjusted to his solitude. To the bed being too big and the house too quiet.
But latelyâŚ
He sucked in a shaky breath as he finally admitted to himself that heâd been pursuing you without even realizing it. No wonder Robby had looked at him like he was an idiot. He was.
âIâm fond of her,â he said aloud, testing the words. âThatâs all it is. A fondness.â It couldnât be love, because if it was that meantâ
His chest contracted sharply, another cough building. This one came on faster than the others, stealing his breath before he could prepare. He curled forward, one hand pressed to his sternum as his lungs spasmed. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, each breath harder than the last, until finally, blessedly, it subsided.
When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see dozens of petals swirling toward the drain. Proof, if heâd needed it that Tanaka was right. That Robby was right.
He was in love with you. For far longer than he cared to admit.
Tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks as his shoulders shook in a silent sob. Heâd fallen in love with you and hadnât even realized because it was so subtle, so quiet, compared to what heâd had with his wife. Heâd lost out on so much time with you because he was too afraid to examine his feelings. To admit to himself what everyone else had known all along.
But what difference did it make really? Because even if he loved you, what then? Youâd never given any indication you felt the same. No lingering looks or soft touches. Nothing to suggest you saw him as anything more than a colleague.
And why would you? He was damaged goods. A widower with a missing leg and more baggage than most people would want to deal with. You were vibrant, fully engaged with life in a way he had long forgotten. You deserved someone whole, someone who could love you without reservation or complication. Someone who didnât still wake reaching for a wife that would never be there again.
Jack closed his eyes and took another shaky breath as he turned off the water. As he dried off and headed for bed, he considered his options. Heâd meet with Tanaka and schedule the surgery. But he should talk to you first. He knew he should. But he was so fucking scared.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. Youâd told him to call if he needed anything, but what if he only needed you? He could hear your voice, ask you to come back. He could tell you everything and hope maybe you felt the same.
He moved to the call button, then stopped. He needed to sleep first. Needed to be fully about himself before he decided how to approach this. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally found rest, but even that was fitful.
He glanced at the clock when he woke to find it nearing seven. At least heâd managed a few hours. You were working, so his grand confession would have to wait. Maybe he could meet you after shift and take you to breakfast.
He was so lost in his head when he opened the bedroom door that he almost disregarded the rich aroma filling the air and the soft sounds from his kitchen. He frowned and moved into the other room, calling a soft âHello?â as he went.
As he stepped into the doorway, you glanced at him over your shoulder and he sucked in a breath. You were here. In his home. Making dinner.
âYou stayed?â he asked, voice rougher than intended.
You shrugged and turned back to the stove. âYou didnât look okay. I wanted to be close, crashed on the couch. I hope I didnât overstep.â
He swallowed down the words that rose in his throat. No. Never. Stay the night. Stay forever. âDonât you have to work?â
âBossman gave me the night off. Told me to take care of you if I was that worried. I wasnât going to argue with him. Thought Iâd make you some soup.â You didnât look at him, but he could hear the concern in your tone, the worry that he would be upset with you for taking care of him.
He just watched you move in his space like you belonged there.
Finally, you glanced at him again and gave him a small smile when you found him watching. âWhereâs your bowls?â
âIâll get them,â he said, suddenly desperate to do something.
It was a simple task but before he could even open the cabinet, he was seized by another violent coughing fit. He bent over the sink, bracing against the edge for support. His chest burned and his vision blurred at the edge. He vaguely registered you saying his name and a hand landing on his back, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
When the fit finally subsided, he was horrified to see the petals that littered the sink.
You went completely still beside him. âJack, are thoseâŚâ
âItâs notâŚâ he started then trailed off. There was no explanation he could give you beside the truth.
âOh,â you said softly, your fingers curling in as you removed your touch from his back. You took a step away. âWho is it?â You sounded resigned, maybe even a little hurt.
The question hung between you. Jack remained braced against the sink, unable to look at you. âWhen my wife died, I thought I would never love anyone again. That it would be impossible. So, when it happened, I didnât even realize it. Or I suppose itâs more like I ignored it.â He risked a glance at your reflection in the window above the sink. âI guess my body didnât like that. Itâs making me face it.â
âThat wasnât my question, Jack.â Your voice was smaller than heâd ever heard it.
He turned to face you then, his hip leaning against the counter to take his weight. âDonât you know, sweetheart? According to Robby, itâs obvious to everyone in the department that Iâm crazy about you.â
Jack watched your face for your reaction. Anything. But your expression remained carefully blank aside from a slight widening of your eyes.
âMe?â you finally said, the word barely audible.
âYeah.â Jack pushed off from the counter, using his crutches to move over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. He kept his gaze on anything but you. âBut I donât expect anything. You donât owe me anything. I have options. Iâll be fine. I see the doctor again next week and I can get the surgery scheduled.â
 âJack Abbot, if you have that surgery, I will never forgive you.â Your sharp tone had his head immediately snapping over to follow you as you stepped toward him.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause it is completely unnecessary, you idiot. I have been in love with you for ages.â
Time seemed to stop. Jack stared at you, certain heâd misheard. âWhat?â
You came to a stop in front of him. âIâve loved you for months, probably longer. I just didnât think that you would everâŚthat you could everâŚâ
The rest of your sentence was lost as Jack pulled you forward into his arms, one hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb traced your lips as your eyes searched his. He leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His lips found yours hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty as you responded. He laughed against your mouth as you turned and sat sideways in his lap. When he finally pulled back completely, the first thing he noticed was your wide smile and the joy in your eyes.
The second was, that for the first time in weeksâin six years, reallyâhe could finally, simply, breathe.
Summary: Three surgical residents find friendship in the halls of PTMC, and two of them also happen to find love.
When your father died and left your childhood home in Pittsburgh in your name, the last thing you expected was to end up where you are.
The house itself felt too big after the funeral. Too quiet. Every room still carried traces of him and the last few yearsâ coffee mugs left in cabinets exactly where he liked them, old jazz records stacked beside the living room stereo, the dent in the hallway wall from when you crashed your bike into it on Christmas morning at nine years old.
You couldnât bear the idea of selling it. But you also couldnât afford to keep it on a surgical residentâs salary.
You took the surgical residency at PTMC and upon looking for roommates to subsidize the cost of the new house as well as your nearly zero dollar income, you stumbled upon Emery Walsh and Brendon Park, your fellow surgical residents.
Em couldnât afford anything in the city and Brendon had been dying to get out of his parents house.
The arrangement was supposed to be temporary. Just a practical solution between three exhausted residents drowning in student debt and eighty hour work weeks.
But somewhere between overnight trauma rotations, takeout containers piled in the kitchen, and collapsing together on the couch after thirty hour shifts, the three of you became something dangerously close to a family.
You became inseparable in and out of the hospital. You were a dynamic trio, people often feared you all in the OR due to your cut throat attitudes and lack of emotions. You were all shaping out to be the perfect surgeons.
Attendings loved you because you were efficient. Patients trusted you because you were calm. Other residents avoided getting scrubbed into cases with the three of you because it always became a competition no one else could keep up with.
Emery was brilliant and terrifying under pressure. Brendon was meticulous, almost annoyingly precise. And you were cold in the way only someone desperate to prove themselves could be.
The three of you developed reputations fast.
Residents whispered that the PTMC surgical house never slept.
That one of you was always at the hospital.
That if all three of you were scrubbed into a procedure, the patient was guaranteed to survive.
And amongst all of you also started the tumultuous situationship you have been involved in with the one and only Brendon Park for the last four years.
It started off as these things usually do, a release. Both of you were stressed and too tired to find other sexual partners. So, you wound up down the hall in his bed.
The first time had happened after a brutal overnight shift during intern year. Youâd lost a patient. Brendon had found you sitting on the back porch at four in the morning still wearing your scrubs, staring blankly into the dark.
He sat beside you silently for almost ten minutes before offering you half of his sandwich and his beer.
You kissed him before he could even finish chewing.
After that, it became routine. It was unspoken and convenient,
Some nights he ended up in your room. Some nights you ended up in his. And by morning, everything reset back to normal.
Except somewhere along the line, lines blurred, as they normally do in these situations.
It happened quietly for you.
Not during sex. Not during one of the stolen kisses in supply closets or the nights he crawled into your bed after thirty hours awake. It wasnât during the lazy Sunday mornings where Emery would throw pillows at the two of you for monopolizing the couch either.
It happened on a random Thursday in February.
The kind of Pittsburgh morning that was all sleet and gray skies, where the roads looked wet even when they werenât and everyone in the hospital was already miserable before their shift started
You walked downstairs half asleep, still tying your scrub pants, mentally preparing yourself for the twelve hour pediatric reconstruction case waiting for you.
And Brendon was already in the kitchen. Because of course he was.
His hair was damp from a shower and he had his glasses low on his nose while he looked over scans on his iPad. The coffee was brewing and the smell was overwhelming in the best way.
Then you saw it. Your to go mug sat next to the pot, the creamer already filled to the exact level you like it.
He didnât even look up when he heard your footsteps.
âYou slept late,â he said casually, filling the mug, and sliding it across the counter toward your usual seat with the lid securely on.
You frowned. âItâs six fifteen.â
âExactly,â he said, finally placing the iPad down.
You rolled your eyes, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. He reached over absently and fixed the collar of your jacket where it had folded under itself.
The gesture was automatic but it was intimate in the smallest, stupidest way.
And that was the problem.
Because Brendon touched you constantly now. Not sexually. Just naturally, like it was easy.
A hand at the small of your back while passing behind you. Fingers brushing your wrist when handing you instruments. Pulling your hood over your head when it rained because you always forgot an umbrella.
Like loving you had become muscle memory for him⌠and the realization hit so hard it almost made you nauseous.
You were in love with him.
Not in the fun, messy situationship way where feelings stayed manageable because neither of you acknowledged them. No no no. You loved him in the terrifying way.
The forever way, the way you and Em fawn over in rom coms while Brendon complains about watching When Harry Met Sally again even though he likes it. The kind where you noticed he always ate around the pickles in his sandwiches and gave them to Emery. The kind where you could identify his footsteps in the hallway without looking up. The kind where seeing him exhausted after call physically hurt something inside your chest and made you want to fix it.
You stared at him over the rim of your coffee cup while he annotated scans like none of this was life altering.
And the worst part?
You suddenly realized he had probably been loving you for a long time too, but that couldnât be true, could it?
Brendon finally glanced up, brows pinching slightly. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
Your stomach flipped violently. And not because he totally caught you, but because you almost said it.I love you.
The words sat right there behind your teeth, dangerous and irreversible, yet somehow easy to say.
Instead, you took a sip of coffee and shrugged lightly.
âJust tired,â you shook your head.
His expression softened instantly.
âMm.â He stood, grabbing his bag before leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of your head like it was the most normal thing in the world. âTry not to commit homicide before noon today, okay?â
You snorted quietly, âno promises.â
He smirked and disappeared toward the stairs to finish getting ready for the day.
And you sat there alone in the kitchen afterward, staring at the spot where heâd been standing.
Somehow, without either of you noticing, this had stopped being casual a long time ago.
Ever since that moment, you noticed it all.
It became Brendon automatically making your coffee before your early cases because he memorized how you liked it.
It became you falling asleep with your head on his shoulder during movie nights with Emery.
It became his hand brushing against the small of your back in crowded elevators.
It became rushed kisses in storage rooms and seeking each other out to talk.
It became every person in the hospital assuming something was going on between you long before either of you admitted it to yourselves.
Still, neither of you said anything.
Because saying something would ruin it.
And losing him felt significantly worse than pretending none of this meant anything at all.
It was coming time to pick specialties, and with that it was coming time to pick hospitals.
Offers started appearing one by one.
Emery had already committed to trauma.
Brendon had always been dreaming of ortho.
And you had changed from general to pediatrics, which everyone expected (so they said).
The other two musketeers picked PTMC, but you were the girl who swore sheâd never stay in Pittsburgh permanently and you had New York calling your name again.
NYU Langone.
Prestigious. Competitive. Everything youâd dreamed about before life rerouted you back to Pennsylvania.
When you went to medical school in New York you swore you would stay, but your dad got sick and life changed. So you ended up in Pittsburgh for the last eight years.
And every time you looked at the acceptance email sitting in your inbox, your stomach twisted.
Because for the first time in your life, ambition and love were no longer pointing in the same direction.
âHave you told him yet?â Emery said, leaning against the counter besides you.
You scoffed, âwhy would I do that?â
The two of you were in the kitchen after another late shift. Emery sat cross legged on the counter eating dry cereal straight from the box while you pretended to focus on anything but the acceptance letter open on your laptop.
Emery laughed, âyou canât be serious?â
You raised your brows in response.
âHeâs in love with you? Does that ring a bell? God you two are so stupid,â she shook her head.
âEm. Please. We are not in love,â you said matter of factly.
This made her laugh again, harder, âall Iâm saying is, heâs going to be upset. And he should hear it from you.â
You nearly flinched at her words, because you knew she was right.
You hated how easily Emery saw through you.
Maybe because she had spent four years watching the two of you orbit each other like idiots.
âSeriously,â she added softer this time, âyou guys act like youâre casual but you look at each other like divorced parents trying not to reconcile.â
You rolled your eyes but your face burned anyway, âheâll survive.â
Emery gave you a look that practically screamed liar. âYou know what I think?â she said, hopping off the counter. âI think youâre terrified that if he actually asked you to stay⌠you would.â
There was a pause, she studied your face, âIâm not going to tell you what to do. But tell home before you leave, Kay?â
You nodded. She squeezed your shoulder as she walked passed you to go to bed.
So, you sat at your favorite bar that three of you typically drank too much at and got carried home from. But this time it was for a different reason.
âYou really want to go back to New York?â Brendon asked.
The question came quietly.
You and Brendon sat shoulder to shoulder at the small bar tucked a few blocks from the hospital, the same place you always ended up after difficult weeks. The air smelled like whiskey and fried food and rain soaked jackets.
You shrugged, âother than the house, I donât really have a lot here.â
That wasnât entirely true. You had Emery. You had the hospital. And you hated to admit it but you had him.
But admitting that out loud felt dangerous.
âThatâs not true, I donât think youâd be happy if you went back there,â he said.
âOh, cause you know me so well?â You were testing him, and he knew that.
He let out a breathy chuckle, âcmon donât make me say it.â
Your chest tightened instantly.
Because suddenly this wasnât flirting anymore.
You looked down at the drink in your hands, twirling it slowly.
âGive me a reason to stay,â you said it calmly. You turned your head so that you could face him from the barstool you were sitting next to him on.
Your eyes met his but you were met with complete and utter silence. And not the comfortable kind, the kind that swallowed you whole.
His jaw was slightly slack, like there were words right there that he was fighting to keep in.
You could practically see the war happening inside his head. The years of pretending this wasnât real catching up to both of you at the exact same time.
You sighed and knocked back the rest of your drink.
âGoodnight Brendon,â you grabbed your bag and stood up, âI have a flight to catch in the morning.â
Before he could respond, you turned and left without even sparing him a glance.
You heard him say your name once behind you. But he didnât follow and you didnât look back.
Sleep didnât find you, and when you finally crawled out of bed, you just barely made your flight.
You sobbed the entire one hour and twenty minutes from Pittsburgh to JFK.
The woman sitting beside you kindly pretended not to notice, which you were very thankful for.
You spent most of the flight staring out the tiny airplane window wondering why it felt less like chasing your dream and more like losing something.
By the time plan landed, you locked in.
You changed in the bathroom into your best suit, fixed your hair and makeup.
You pulled out your phone, the anxiety was starting to crawl up your throat. Your finger hovered over Brendonâs contact, before deciding to call Em.
âHey, you okay?â She answered worriedly.
âYeah, Iâ I made it.â You tried to hide the shake in your voice but you knew she could clock it.
You could hear her sigh, âhe told me about last night.â
You sniffed, taking a deep, shaky breath.
âBabe. Youâre going to go in there and crush this. Weâll be just fine,â she said firmly.
You nodded even though she couldnât see you, âokay.â
âI love you, okay?â She said softly, âI have to go okay? But call me after.â
âYeah, okay, I love you too.â
You hung up and stuffed your phone away. You took another glance in the dirty mirror, wiping your eyes.
Time to make this interview your bitch.
To say you crushed it would be an understatement. You stepped out onto first avenue, right outside the NYU building, the chief of surgery shook your hand and you thanked them for your time.
Youâd been sharp. Confident. Charmingâ when necessary. Exactly the new pediatric surgeon they wanted.
After they walked back into the building you couldnât hide the grin on your face any longer. You pulled your phone out of your bag and realized you were about to call him. Him who you left on the barstool last night. Your grin immediately faded at the thought. You stepped past the people on the sidewalk, reaching the curb to call a cab.
Because no matter how well the interview went, your first instinct had still been Brendon.
Just like when you got off the plane and couldnât calm down, your first thought is that he would know exactly what to say.
You decided you were going to at least try to enjoy the rest of your New York evening by meeting some med school friends for a drink.
Just as you lifted your arm to hail a car, one stopped short right next to you, so short it made you jump.
But then the back door slammed open, the rider was mumbling thank youâs and throwing cash at the driver before he slammed the door shut and turned around.
Brendon fucking Park.
Your jaw went slack with shock. You were suddenly frozen in place. His eyes found you and he hurriedly made his way towards you.
His dress shirt was wrinkled like heâd slept in it. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked windblown from sprinting through Manhattan.
He pushed his messy, ungelled hair back with his free hand, the other gripped a bouquet so tightly his knuckles were white. You loved his hair like this, the way it looked when he would roll over and plant a kiss on your lips in the morning.
âHowâd it go?â He asked breathlessly.
âReally well,â you said simply.
âYeah?â He asked.
You nodded in response.
For a second he just stared at you like he was reassuring himself you were actually standing there. Like heâd been terrified he missed you.
âDonât do it.â He said firmly.
Your eyebrows shot up, but he spoke before you could respond.
âTake the job at PTMC. Not this one. Take the attending position at PTMC and be with me.â
âBrendonââ
âNo, I mean it. Take the pedes position at PTMC. I know itâs not New York. Hut Em is there. Our house is there. Your favorite sandwich shop is there. Fuck it. Iâm there. And I love you. Iâve been in love with you for longer than I even realized. And last night I choked. I thought I was holding you back, I convinced myself that you were better off without me, but I canât live without you,â his eyes were glossed over and his chest was rising and falling.
You looked at him dumbfounded.
People moved around you on the sidewalk, cabs honked, someone shouted down the street, but all of it faded into background noise.
Because Brendon Park â emotionally constipated, terrifyingly composed Brendon Park â was unraveling in front of you. Publicly and without hesitation.
âDo you want me to get on my knees? Because I will, right here. I donât care what it looks like,â he slowly kneeled down, placing the flowers next to him, causing you to look around at the small crowd trying to act like they werenât staring, âwe are meant to be together. And if you donât realize that, I will try to prove it to you everyday.â
A woman walking by audibly whispered âoh my godâ to her friend. A cab driver leaned out his window to watch. You wanted to die and kiss him simultaneously.
He took both his hands in yours, now kneeling in front of you on the New York sidewalk.
âOkay,â you said quietly.
âOkay?â He parrotted hopefully.
You nodded, ânow please get up before I change my mind.â
Relief crashed over his face so intensely it almost looked painful.
He smiled, pulling himself off the ground, and before he could do anything else, he pulled you in by your waist and kissed you. It was far from soft, it was passionate and you melted into his arms without even trying to.
The people gawking from the sidewalk cheered and you felt like you were having a 90s rom com moment.
For the first time in years, neither of you were holding back. When he pulled away, you were both breathless.
You let out a breathy laugh.
âI love you,â he said with a smile.
âI love you too,â you brought your hands up to hold his face.
Brendon leaned into your touch instantly, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second like he still couldnât believe this was real. Then he kissed you again.
His hands settled carefully at your waist while yours slid into his hair, soft against the back of his neck. The city noise faded into nothing as he kissed you like he had spent four years waiting to do it properly.
Not rushed between shifts.
Not hidden behind closed bedroom doors.
Not pretending it meant less than it did.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours and he let out the smallest laugh.
You smiled despite yourself. âThis is very bold of you Dr. Park.â
âOh, I was fully prepared to publicly humiliate myself for you,â he said with a laugh.
He grinned, the kind that only ever appeared around you.
And somehow, against every plan you had ever made for yourself, Pittsburgh became home again.
Not because of the house your father left behind. Not because of PTMC. Not even because of the city itself.
Because somewhere between overnight surgeries, grief, takeout dinners, and four years of almosts, you had built a life there with Emery and Brendon.
The kind of life people spend their whole lives looking for.
Later, Emery would loudly claim she deserved credit for âbullying two emotionally repressed surgeons into communicating,â while you and Brendon argued over who had technically confessed first. Brendon would insist it was him. You would insist it only counted because you said okay.
And for the first time in a very long time, the future didnât feel terrifying.
The PTMC house would still never sleep.
One of you will still always be at the hospital.
And if all three of you were scrubbed into a surgery, the patient was still guaranteed to survive.
But now, when Brendon crawled into your bed after impossible shifts or kissed you in empty elevators or made your coffee before sunrise, neither of you pretended it meant less than everything.
synopsis: Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differ.
warnings/notes: Hanahaki AU and everything that entails. mentions of Jack's late wife. I'm kind of in love with this. Flangst, my beloved.
wc: 5.9k
Jack Abbot knew a great many things.
He knew how to trach in the field under active fire. He knew how to run an emergency department efficiently and effectively. He knew how to make an omelet and fix a sink and change the oil in his car. He knew what it felt like to lose the greatest thing heâd ever held and he knew what it felt like to love. Or so he believed until a random Tuesday in June.
It was nearing the end of his shift when Jack felt it again. That hitch in his breathing that signaled the arrival of a deep, rattling cough that heâd been dealing with for weeks now. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Just a lingering cold, he told himself. Or allergies maybe. Nothing some water and cough drops wouldnât fix.
Except the tightness in his chest had gotten worse. And the cough drops werenât doing a damn thing. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, it felt like an invisible band was squeezing his lungs. His voice had taken on a rougher edge and heâd start wheezing if he tried to say more than few words at a time.
âYou look like shit,â said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned to find Robby standing there, coffee in hand, ready to start his shift. âGood morning to you, too. Some of us have been up all night.â
Robby hummed. âAnd some of us are clearly coming down with something. Seriously, Jack, you donât look good. Are you okay?â
Jack waved a hand through the air in dismissal. âFine. Just a little under the weather.â
âIs that why youâre breathing like you just ran a marathon?â Robby took a step closer. âYouâre wheezing and Iâm not the only one that noticed. I got three texts from night shift.â
âItâs just a cold.â Jack tried to take a deep breath to prove his point but it caught in his throat, triggering another coughing fit. This one was worse than the others and had him gripping the edge of the counter for support.
When the coughing subsided, Robbyâs gaze was stern. âThat doesnât sound like a cold to me.â
âItâs nothing,â Jack insisted, though the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. âProbably just moved to my chest is all.â
Robby sat his coffee down and crossed his arms. âThat is not nothing. I want labs and a chest x-ray.â
âChrist, Mike. Itâs not that big of a deal.â
âIâm not asking, Jack. Youâre a doctor. You know better than to ignore stuff like this.â His tone left no room for argument.
Jack recognized the look his friend was giving him. He wasnât getting out of this. He sighed. âFine. One x-ray. Then Iâm going home to sleep.â
âDeal,â Robby said, already putting in the order for the portable chest x-ray into the system. He glanced at Dana who hadnât even pretended she wasnât listening.
âEightâs open.â
âA room, man? Come on,â Jack complained but headed in that direction.
âQuit complaining,â Robby said as he trailed behind him, signaling the radiology tech with the machine to follow him. âShirt off, Abbot.â
âBuy me dinner first,â Jack snarked even as he did as told. He laid down and the machine was positioned over the top of him.
âTake a deep breath and hold it,â Marcia the tech instructed.
The first time he attempted to follow instructions, he devolved into a coughing fit. âSorry,â he apologized once he caught his breath.
âItâs fine. Just do the best you can.â The tech took three shots from different angles.
Robby slid on his glasses and stepped up to the machine while Jack put his t-shirt back on, forgoing the scrub top since his shift was over anyway.
âLet me guess. Nothing but a little inflammation. Can I go home now?â
âLeave us for a minute,â Robby said to Marcia, voice low.
Jackâs head snapped up, his gaze darting from his friend to the screen he was looking at and back again. âWhat is it?â
Robby turned the screen toward Jack so he could see for himself. Even from across the room, he could see the large white mass shadowing his right lung.
He swallowed hard. âThat could be pneumonia. Or an abscess or something.â
âIt could be,â Robby agreed but his tone suggested he didnât believe it. âIâve sent it up to pulmonary.â His phone rang before he could say anything else. He glanced at the screen. âThat was fast.â
Jack shifted his weight as he listened to Robbyâs one-sided conversation with pulmonary. When he hung up, he turned to look at Jack.
âDr. Tanaka wants to see you immediately.â He paused and looked at Jack as if the name should mean something to him. It didnât. After a moment, Robby took a breath. âHeâs sent an order to CT. Youâre to report there and then head to his office.â
âRight now?â Jackâs voice was little more than a whisper. The words having to be forced past the lump in his throat. This was all happening too fast. One moment heâd been dismissing his persistent cough and the next he was being scheduled for immediate appointments with pulmonary. âItâs probably nothing. Just a weird artefact in the imaging or something,â he said more to himself than Robby.
âIâm sure youâre right,â Robby agreed, but the worry in his eyes said something else entirely. âBut youâre going to get checked out thoroughly just to be sure.â
Within half an hour, Jack was laying on the table in a gown as the CT hummed around him. The contrast dye made him feel warm and vaguely nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the cold fear settling in his stomach.
The tech entered the room. âAll finished. By the time you get changed and to his office, Dr. Tanaka should have the images.â
Jack cleared his throat. âThatâs fast.â
âYouâre a VIP patient today, Dr. Abbot.â
There was nothing Jack wanted to be less. He didnât want to be here. Didnât want to be doing this. He wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened.
He made his way to the pulmonary floor trying to prepare himself for whatever Dr. Tanaka might say. Heâd delivered bad news to patients and their families plenty of times, but he hadnât been on the receiving end since Mari died.
The waiting room was empty when he arrived, the early hour meaning most patients hadnât arrived for the appointments yet. The receptionist smiled as he approached. âDr. Abbot? Dr. Tanaka is ready for you. Third door on the right.â
Jack took a deep breath, or tried to, and headed down the hall. Whatever was waiting for him, he would face it like he did everything else. Head on. Even if, for the first time in years, he was truly afraid.
When he entered the room, Jack was surprised to find himself in an office instead of an exam room. Tanaka rose to greet him. âDr. Abbot,â he held out a hand to shake Jackâs.
âJust Jack,â he said with a nod before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.
âVery well. Jack, then.â Tanaka stayed standing and pressed a couple of buttons on his computer and the large screen behind him lit up with an image of what Jack assumed were his lungs. He pointed at the mass that seemed to branch out from the right lung. âDo you know what youâre looking at here?â
Jack studied the image noting the abnormal density, the way it seemed to branch through his lung tissue like the roots of a plant. The mass was larger than it had appeared in the x-ray, more defined.
Jack swallowed. âA tumor. Probably malignant given the irregularities and the rapid growth.â Heâd seen the symptoms enough in his patients to recognize the pattern. The cough, the tight chest, the fatigue. Classic presentation for lung cancer.
Tanaka shook his head. âI had my suspicions from your x-ray but the CT confirms.â He used a finger to indicate several areas on the scan. âDo you see these fine lines extending from the main mass?â
Jack leaned forward. Now that the doctor pointed it out, he could see delicate lines spreading through his lung tissue. âVascularization?â he guessed.
âNot exactly.â Tanaka took a seat at his desk. âWhat youâre seeing is consistent with the presentation of Hanahaki disease.â
Jack physically jerked back in his seat. That wasnât⌠âThatâs impossible. I want a second opinion.â
âYou are certainly entitled to one, but I am the leading expert in Hanahaki in the state.â He wasnât bragging, just stating a fact.
The look Robby had given him when heâd said the name suddenly made so much sense. âIâve only ever loved my wife, and sheâs dead. Has been for years.â
Jack had seen Hanahaki before, of course he had. The condition was rare and still not well understood. Unrequited love manifesting physically with the growth of flowers in the lungs. But it was something that happened to young romantics or the occasional middle-age yearner, not to someone like him. Not to an old, broken ER attending whoâd buried his heart with his wife six years ago.
âIâm sorry, but the blood tests confirm.â He clicked on his screen and Jackâs results populated the screen.
Jack shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. âRun more tests. There has to be a mistake.â
âDr. Abbot, Jack, we can run additional tests, but given your symptoms and the findings, Hanahaki is our working diagnosis.â He paused, studying Jackâs face. âI suggest you do some soul searching. Youâre in love whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.â
Jack opened his mouth to argue but another coughing fit seized him, doubling him over. His lungs burned as he struggled to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he was surprised to find Tanaka standing in front of him holding a tissue. Only when he took it did he understand why. Delicate pink petals filled his palm.
âJesus Christ,â he whispered, staring at the evidence in his hand.
âThatâs confirmation enough for me,â Dr. Tanaka said quietly. âThe small petals are consistent with early stage Hanahaki. Theyâll become larger and more numerous as the disease progresses, until you are expelling full blooms.â
Jack couldnât tear his gaze away from the petals. Each one was perfect, like theyâd been plucked from some unseen garden growing inside him. And he supposed in a way they had. âHow long?â he managed to ask.
âHard to say without knowing how fast itâs progressing. Weâll do another scan in a week and go from there.â Tanaka paused then added, âI assume you are aware of your options.â
Jack nodded once. âSurgery orâŚdeath.â He had to force the last word past his lips. Heâd engaged in reckless behavior, volunteering for SWAT, standing on the edge of the roof while he thought about how easy it would be to just not have to deal with it all anymore. To not be alone every fucking day of his life. But now that the very real possibility of his death was looming in the shadows he suddenly found he didnât want it.
âAs you are aware, the surgery would remove any feelings for the person in question. You may forget them entirely though that is very rare. There is also always the possibility that the person you love will return your affections. Then no intervention would be needed,â Tanaka said, voice soft. âThe matter would resolve on its own. Itâs quite remarkable really.â
Jack looked down at the petals again. The idea that his body had somehow conjured flowers from a love he wasnât even aware of seemed impossible. Yet the evidence was literally in his hand.
âYou have a lot to think about,â Tanaka said, standing. âIâll schedule another scan for next week and we can talk about options.â
âThank you,â Jack said as he stood as well.
âYou should take it easy until then. The coughing may worsen, particularly if youâre stressed or physically exerted. Iâd recommend time off work.â
âIâll think about it,â Jack said, but the thought of sitting alone at home with his thoughts was not one he wanted to contemplate at the moment.
Dr. Tanaka seemed to sense his turmoil. âThis is a lot to process. Many patients find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist or a family member. And I suggest a discussion with the personââ
âThere is no person,â Jack cut him off sharply. âMy wife has been dead for six years. Thereâs been no one since.â
The other man didnât argue, but his expression made it clear he wasnât convinced. âIâll see you next week. Call if you have any questions or concerns before then.â
âThank you for seeing me on such short notice.â Jack turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall, he pressed his back against the wall. He took the deepest breath he had since entering the office. The tightness in his chest reminded him of the flowers blooming where they had no right to be.
Love.
The word echoed in his head. Heâd buried that part of himself when Mari died. The idea that his body had somehow betrayed him, had grown flowers for someone elseâŚIt was too much. He couldnât accept it. Wouldnât.
He pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator. One foot in front of the other. Thatâs how heâd gotten through the worst days after Mariâs death and thatâs how he would get through this.
Jack made it back to the ER on autopilot, his mind still reeling. Day shift was in full swing. Jack just stood for a minute, trying to orientate himself, feeling oddly disconnected from the familiar chaos.
âJack!â
He turned to find Robby hurrying toward him. His face was creased with worry, eyes scanning Jackâs features as if searching for visible changes.
âWell? What did he say?â
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. How did he possibly explain he was coughing up petals for someone he was supposedly in love with? It was stupid. Ridiculous. And just the sort of thing that would happen to him. Of course it was.
âItâs not possible,â he finally forced out. âItâs notâŚMike, IâŚâ His voice cracked, another cough building in his chest.
âOkay, okay,â Robby said, his tone shifting from urgent to soothing. âLetâs sit down, huh? You look like youâre about ready to fall over.â
Before Jack could protest, Robby led him through the department toward the breakroom. He deposited him in a chair at one of the tables, then turned to fill a cup with water. âHere, drink,â he instructed as he sat it in front of Jack.
Jack obeyed mechanically, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. The simple act centered him somewhat, anchoring him to the present moment.
Robby pulled out a chair and sat down. âNow, what did Tanaka say?â
Jack stared at the cup in his hands. âHanahaki,â he said finally.
âShit. I thought it might be when they said Tanaka wanted to see you.â Robby sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. âHeâs the best, so thereâs that at least.â
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât make any sense, man. I havenât been in love with anyone since Mari died.â
An expression he couldnât place flicked across Robbyâs face before shifting to disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
Jack frowned. âWhatâs with the tone? Why are you making it sound like Iâm stupid?â
âBecause you are,â Robby said without hesitation. When Jack just stared at him, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. âYou really donât know?â
âKnow what?â Jack demanded, irritation briefly overriding his confusion.
Your name was the only thing that left Robbyâs lips.
Jack blinked and repeated it like a question. Like your face hadnât just appeared in his brain. Like he didnât instantly think about your smile, hear your laugh.
âYes!â Robby threw his hands up in exasperation. âThe woman youâve been staring at with a besotted expression for the past eight months? The one you look for anytime you enter the department? The one whose coffee order you have memorized?â
No, no. That couldnât be right. âBut sheâsââ
âBrilliant,â Robby stated. âFunny. Kind. Beautiful. Should I continue to list off everything you said to me the last time we went out? You talked about her all night, man.â
âI meanâŚI respect her.â The words felt inadequate even as he said them. Images of you flashed through his mind. The way you laughed at your own jokes even if no one else did, how you always remembered small details about people, that furrow that appeared between your brows when you were concentrating.
âSheâs dedicated,â he continued. âCompassionate. She doesnât take shit from anyone, but sheâs never mean about it. And sheâsâŚâ He trailed off, suddenly realizing he could continue talking about you for the rest of the day.
âSheâs what?â Robby prompted, a knowing look on his face.
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât matter. I donât love her. I canât.â
âWhy not? Because you loved Mari? Loving someone else doesnât erase what you had with her.â
âItâs not that simple,â Jack argued, though he couldnât have explained why if someone pressed.
âIt actually is,â Robby replied, not unkindly. âYou loved your wife. She died and it broke you. For a long time, I wasnât certain youâd ever put yourself back together. But you have. And against all odds you found someone who makes you feel something again. Instead of being grateful, instead of grasping it with both hands, youâre literally making yourself sick denying it.â
âItâs notâŚI havenâtââ
âYou have,â Robby interrupted. âEveryone knows youâre in love with her except you and her, apparently.â He sighed and ran a hand down his face. âJust think about it, okay? Really think about it.â
As if on cue, another coughing fit seized Jack, this one stronger than the last. He doubled over, hand braced against the table as his chest contracted painfully. When it finally subsided, he found his palm filled with more petals, the edges tinged with blood.
âHoly shit.â Robby stared at the evidence in front of him.
Jack closed his hand around the petals, as if hiding them from view would make them cease to exist. âI need to get out of here. I need to go home.â He pushed himself to his feet. The room titled slightly, his vision blurring at the edges.
âYouâre in no condition to drive,â Robby said standing as well, typing on his phone. âLet me have someone run you home.â
âIâm fine,â Jack insisted though the wheeze in his voice undermined his claim. âI just need some sleep. I need to rest.â He needed to get you out of his brain.
âYou need to figure this out, Jack. Finding out you have Hanahaki would throw anyone for a loop, especially when you didnât even realize you were in love. But this isnât something you can ignore. It wonât just go away, it will only get worse.
Robby was right, Jack knew he was. Heâd been ignoring what was happening for weeks, dismissing symptoms, making excuses. And now he was paying the price.
âI know. Iâll think about what you said. I promise.â
âGood. Thatâs a start. Now get your things together. Your ride should be here in a minute.â
Now, when Robby said ride, Jack assumed he meant an intern. An uber perhaps. What he did not expect to see when he stepped through the doors was you. Youâd pulled your car to the side where it wouldnât impede any ambulances and you leaned against it. It took him longer than heâd admit to realize you were waiting for him.
Jack spun on his heel to glare at his former best friend. âWhat the fuck did you do?â he hissed.
Robby gave him a look of feigned innocence. âGot you a ride.â
âYou asked her?â
At that he grinned. âActually, I sent a message to the group chat. She volunteered.â
âOh.â He looked over to find you in the same position, your gaze moving between the two attendings. He lifted a hand in greeting and to let you know heâd be right there.
You nodded, waved at Robby and got behind the wheel.
âWhat do I do?â Jack asked, suddenly at a loss.
Robby rested a heavy hand on Jackâs shoulder. âYou donât have to do anything, brother. Just let her take you home. Think about how you really feel about her. Thatâs all.â
âYeah, yeah, I can do that,â Jack agreed with a nod of his head. âIâll see you later.â
âNot tonight you wonât,â Robby corrected. âYouâre off until Friday at the earliest. Doctorâs orders.â
Jack didnât bother to argue. Knew there would be no point. And honestly, he could use a few days to get his head straight. He held up a hand in goodbye as he made his way to your car, his mind churning. What if Robby was right? What if heâd fallen in love without realizing it, what then? You had never given any indication you felt the same. The idea of confessing feelings that might not be returnedâŚ
Another cough built in his chest as if his body was responding to the thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. One problem at a time. First, he needed to get home. Then he needed to figure out if Robby was right.
As if sensing Jack was lost his head, you didnât attempt to make conversation after your initial greeting once he got in the car. When you arrived at his house, he finally turned to look at you. âThanks for the ride. I would have been fine driving but Robby insisted.â
âI didnât mind, Jack. However, Iâm afraid you canât be rid of me just yet.â
His brows shot up into his hairline. âExcuse me?â
âBossman said, and I quote, âget his ass inside and into bed with a glass of water and trashcan nearby.â So thatâs what Iâm going to do. Letâs go.â You climbed out of the car and waited for him to exit before locking the doors.
âI assure you that his is not necessary,â Jack argued. More than that, it could be catastrophic. Having you in his house, where heâd now be able to picture you clearly instead of relying solely on his imagination? That sounded like a horrible idea. Not that heâd ever pictured you in his house. Sitting across from him at the table, nestled into his side as you watched TV. That would be absurd.
You took his bag from his loose hold and ignored his protests as you carried it up to the door. Jack stared at you hopeless for another moment before sighing and following after you. âKeys are in the front pocket.â
You pulled them out and handed them over. He unlocked the door, leaving it open for you to follow after. He gestured at the hooks just inside the door. âYou can hang the bag there.â
You did and kicked off your shoes, nudging them to line up against the wall. âRobby didnât exactly say what was wrong with you.â You paused, but Jack didnât offer any clarification. No, that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. You cleared your throat. âAre you hungry? I could make you something.â
âNo, sweetheart, Iâm fine.â The endearment slipped out without thought. He suddenly wondered when the first time was he had called you that. And when had that become the norm instead of your name? Christ. He wiped a hand down his face. âIâm fucking exhausted. I just want to go to bed.â
You nodded. âSure. Let me get you that water at least.â
Jack just nodded and headed down the hall toward his bedroom to fish out something to change into after his shower. You stepped into the doorway just as he finished taking off his leg. He froze and swallowed. âSorry. Forgot youâd be coming back here.â
You smiled and Jack had to glance away. âItâs your home, Jack, and Iâve seen you without the leg before. Itâs not like you were nude. Here.â You sat the glass on the nightstand. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
âNo. Iâve got it. Thank you.â You had seen him without the leg precisely once when it started rubbing wrong on a shift and youâd made him sit down and get an exam. Youâd also bullied him into supervising from a wheelchair for the rest of the night when you saw his red, raw flesh by threatening to call Robby and tattle on him.
Your gaze ran over him, assessing. He could feel it. âAre you sure youâre okay?â
His eyes found yours again but he said nothing.
âYou just seem off.â Worry shone in your eyes and he forced himself to look away once more.
âIâm fine. Just tired.â
After a moment, you stepped toward the door. âCall me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.â When he only nodded, you added, âPromise?â
âYeah.â He cleared his throat when he heard the gravel in his voice. âPromise.â
âOkay. Bye, Jack.â And with that, you left without waiting for a response.
Tension immediately flowed from Jackâs entire body. Jesus, Robby couldnât have found literally anyone else to bring him home? He pushed thoughts of you from his head as he finished stripping. Using his crutches, he moved into the shower, ready to rinse the night off so he could get some sleep.
Not thinking of you lasted approximately two and a half minutes after he turned the water on. Heâd turned the temp up on the water hoping it would help clear his lungs. His chest ached with each breath, a constant reminder of the flowers blooming in his lungs.
Flowers.
For you.
It was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed working with you. You were competent, smart, quick to smile and to make others laugh. You had a way with patients that made even the most difficult cases manageable. And so what if heâd noticed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, or that you tapped your fingers when you were thinking?
But that didnât mean he was in love with you. Love was what heâd had with Mari. All consuming, life-altering, the kind that left you devastated and broken when it was no longer yours. What he felt for you wasâŚappreciation. Admiration, perhaps. Friendship. That was it. He loved you like a very dear friend.
Except friends didnât keep mental lists of your favorite foods, or notice when you changed your shampoo, or come in on their nights off because you were working. Friends didnât feel their mood lift the moment you walked into a room or find themselves replaying conversations long after theyâd ended.
Jack groaned, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair. This was insane. He was a grown man, not some teenager with a crush. Heâd been married, for fuckâs sake. He knew what love felt like.
Or he had once. Before Mari died, leaving him hollowed out and certain he would never feel that way again. Heâd adjusted to his solitude. To the bed being too big and the house too quiet.
But latelyâŚ
He sucked in a shaky breath as he finally admitted to himself that heâd been pursuing you without even realizing it. No wonder Robby had looked at him like he was an idiot. He was.
âIâm fond of her,â he said aloud, testing the words. âThatâs all it is. A fondness.â It couldnât be love, because if it was that meantâ
His chest contracted sharply, another cough building. This one came on faster than the others, stealing his breath before he could prepare. He curled forward, one hand pressed to his sternum as his lungs spasmed. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, each breath harder than the last, until finally, blessedly, it subsided.
When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see dozens of petals swirling toward the drain. Proof, if heâd needed it that Tanaka was right. That Robby was right.
He was in love with you. For far longer than he cared to admit.
Tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks as his shoulders shook in a silent sob. Heâd fallen in love with you and hadnât even realized because it was so subtle, so quiet, compared to what heâd had with his wife. Heâd lost out on so much time with you because he was too afraid to examine his feelings. To admit to himself what everyone else had known all along.
But what difference did it make really? Because even if he loved you, what then? Youâd never given any indication you felt the same. No lingering looks or soft touches. Nothing to suggest you saw him as anything more than a colleague.
And why would you? He was damaged goods. A widower with a missing leg and more baggage than most people would want to deal with. You were vibrant, fully engaged with life in a way he had long forgotten. You deserved someone whole, someone who could love you without reservation or complication. Someone who didnât still wake reaching for a wife that would never be there again.
Jack closed his eyes and took another shaky breath as he turned off the water. As he dried off and headed for bed, he considered his options. Heâd meet with Tanaka and schedule the surgery. But he should talk to you first. He knew he should. But he was so fucking scared.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. Youâd told him to call if he needed anything, but what if he only needed you? He could hear your voice, ask you to come back. He could tell you everything and hope maybe you felt the same.
He moved to the call button, then stopped. He needed to sleep first. Needed to be fully about himself before he decided how to approach this. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally found rest, but even that was fitful.
He glanced at the clock when he woke to find it nearing seven. At least heâd managed a few hours. You were working, so his grand confession would have to wait. Maybe he could meet you after shift and take you to breakfast.
He was so lost in his head when he opened the bedroom door that he almost disregarded the rich aroma filling the air and the soft sounds from his kitchen. He frowned and moved into the other room, calling a soft âHello?â as he went.
As he stepped into the doorway, you glanced at him over your shoulder and he sucked in a breath. You were here. In his home. Making dinner.
âYou stayed?â he asked, voice rougher than intended.
You shrugged and turned back to the stove. âYou didnât look okay. I wanted to be close, crashed on the couch. I hope I didnât overstep.â
He swallowed down the words that rose in his throat. No. Never. Stay the night. Stay forever. âDonât you have to work?â
âBossman gave me the night off. Told me to take care of you if I was that worried. I wasnât going to argue with him. Thought Iâd make you some soup.â You didnât look at him, but he could hear the concern in your tone, the worry that he would be upset with you for taking care of him.
He just watched you move in his space like you belonged there.
Finally, you glanced at him again and gave him a small smile when you found him watching. âWhereâs your bowls?â
âIâll get them,â he said, suddenly desperate to do something.
It was a simple task but before he could even open the cabinet, he was seized by another violent coughing fit. He bent over the sink, bracing against the edge for support. His chest burned and his vision blurred at the edge. He vaguely registered you saying his name and a hand landing on his back, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
When the fit finally subsided, he was horrified to see the petals that littered the sink.
You went completely still beside him. âJack, are thoseâŚâ
âItâs notâŚâ he started then trailed off. There was no explanation he could give you beside the truth.
âOh,â you said softly, your fingers curling in as you removed your touch from his back. You took a step away. âWho is it?â You sounded resigned, maybe even a little hurt.
The question hung between you. Jack remained braced against the sink, unable to look at you. âWhen my wife died, I thought I would never love anyone again. That it would be impossible. So, when it happened, I didnât even realize it. Or I suppose itâs more like I ignored it.â He risked a glance at your reflection in the window above the sink. âI guess my body didnât like that. Itâs making me face it.â
âThat wasnât my question, Jack.â Your voice was smaller than heâd ever heard it.
He turned to face you then, his hip leaning against the counter to take his weight. âDonât you know, sweetheart? According to Robby, itâs obvious to everyone in the department that Iâm crazy about you.â
Jack watched your face for your reaction. Anything. But your expression remained carefully blank aside from a slight widening of your eyes.
âMe?â you finally said, the word barely audible.
âYeah.â Jack pushed off from the counter, using his crutches to move over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. He kept his gaze on anything but you. âBut I donât expect anything. You donât owe me anything. I have options. Iâll be fine. I see the doctor again next week and I can get the surgery scheduled.â
 âJack Abbot, if you have that surgery, I will never forgive you.â Your sharp tone had his head immediately snapping over to follow you as you stepped toward him.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause it is completely unnecessary, you idiot. I have been in love with you for ages.â
Time seemed to stop. Jack stared at you, certain heâd misheard. âWhat?â
You came to a stop in front of him. âIâve loved you for months, probably longer. I just didnât think that you would everâŚthat you could everâŚâ
The rest of your sentence was lost as Jack pulled you forward into his arms, one hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb traced your lips as your eyes searched his. He leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His lips found yours hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty as you responded. He laughed against your mouth as you turned and sat sideways in his lap. When he finally pulled back completely, the first thing he noticed was your wide smile and the joy in your eyes.
The second was, that for the first time in weeksâin six years, reallyâhe could finally, simply, breathe.
happy 1000!! can you do âYouâre lucky youâre hot because wow, youâre annoyingâ with parker ellis pleeeease iâm so in love with her
pairing: dr. parker ellis x f!reader | rating: mature. mdni | wc: 378 | fluff
warnings: crazy exes, mentions of stalking.
a/n: i need this woman in such an unhealthy way. thank you for your request, sweetheart. hope you enjoy it! đ¤
âno!â
âwhy not?â
âbecause iâve played the fake couple thing before and all i got out of it was a black eye.â parker finally admits why she had been denying your request all day. âwhy do you want me out of all people to do that?â
parker and you have been next door neighbours for over five years now. she arrived a few months before you after transferring between med schools during her third year. she was the first person you met in the new city, the first one you befriended and also the first one you made out drunk and never talked about again for the sake of your friendship. you have also been there for the highs and lows of the otherâs relationships so, in reality, this is not that new.
âeloyse is going to the party too and, apparently, she has been telling everyone that she was the one to breakup with me, and that now iâm the one grovelling and basically stalking her every single day. when we both know itâs the other way around.â you sigh. âi just need her to see that iâm over her.â
âbaby, i love you, but no. that girl is insane. remember that month she thought you cheated on her with me?â
you do. it was the worst month of your life.
âplease?â you beg.
âno. why me?â
âbecause youâre the only person i trust.â also because i still have this massive crush on you and i just want an excuse to get closer to you. you think, but you donât say. âplease.â you beg again.
parker sighs and looks at you for a couple of torturous seconds. âfine, iâll go. youâre lucky youâre hot because wow, youâre annoyingâ
you squeal and run towards her to hug her. parker holds you tight in place and pulls her head back a couple of inches to say âbut iâm not doing this for free, you know?â
you look her in the eyes only to find them making their way to your lips and back to your eyes. âname your price, p.â
âyou and i are going on a real date after this. the one we should have gone years ago.â
with the biggest smile of your face, you say âdeal.â
domesticblisss 2026. comments and reblogs are appreciated. dividers by @/uzmacchiato
Hey :) First fic for The Pitt fandom, starting with a bang. I hope you guys like it! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated âĽ
This is a strictly no AI writing blog. Please do not feed my writing in any AI system either.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
Word count: 5,255
Series tags: mid-30s!widowed!EMT!reader, widowed Jack, basically spiritual spouses to strangers to lovers, idiots in love, age gap my beloved, slow ish burn, two emotionally stunned assholes soft for each other, reader and Jack have known each other for like 15 years and knew each other's spouses, reader had a rough/abusive childhood, no use of Y/N but reader has a determined last name through marriage (used like once), reader not described in terms of hair/eyes/skin but heavily implied to be physically quite strong/has apparent muscles, reader is very bisexual.
Chapter warnings: Reader is on site for the PittFest shooting, medical inaccuracies, blood (lots of it), language, injured reader, flashbacks not in italics, Robby is not doing great lol.
Chapter Summary: Your shift at the PittFest takes a turn for the worse (as did everybody's evening, to be fair), leaving you in a funny position of being both the care provider and the patient. High adrenaline and near death experiences make you rethink your relationship with Jack how you'd like to take it a step further.
Dr. Abbot glanced at his phone for the twentienth time in a minute, the pressure in his chest growing with every second he didn't see a new text, or a call notification.
The first injured from the PittFest shooting would arrive any moment now.
Despite the impulse to look one more time, he put his phone on silent and shoved in in his locker, wasting no time to rejoin Robby and the rest of the staff to prepare for the impending chaos.
He'd have to set his personal feelings aside and reconcile with the meaning of still not having heard from you after the mess is dealt with.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
Being a night shift EMT usually meant you were dispatched to the various festivals of Pittsburgh as on-site emergency responder.
The gig was simple, with most cases being dehydration and kids experiencing with drugs for the first time in an overwhelming environment. Sometimes your evening was even spiced up with stitches from a few unfortunate souls being accidentally kicked in the face in the pit, but the worst that really ever happened to you during those nights was being relentlessly puked on, which, at this point, didn't phase you anymore.
Needless to say, you hadn't planned your afternoon to turn so sour so quick until you heard the first gunshot from frighteningly too close for your liking.
Screams rose up like thunder as chaos erupted around you. Time slowed and your ears rang as you visually swept the festival grounds, realizing, much to your absolute terror, that the general movement of the crowd was moving away from you.
Despite your blood freezing in your veins, your emergency-trained brain took over and jolted you into action. With no time to think, you pushed the drunk girl you were attending to onto the ground and shielded her with your body as the next round of bullet rained upon you.
A sharp pain in your left arm sent ripples into your entire body, letting you know in no uncertain terms your had been hit. Despite this, your body pumped enough adrenaline through your entire system to keep you sharp and alert. Your uninjured arm shot up to quiet the whimpering girl under you until the gunshots began to echo farther away from you.
Once you were sure the shooter was far away from the med tent, you sat back up, watching in horror as both you and her were covered, covered in blood, so much that it couldnât just be yours. Your eyes quickly found the source of the leak, noticing the bullet that had hit you had gone through the girl's thigh.
Fuck.
Grabbing the first roll of gauze in your belt, you immediately began stuffing the bullet hole with your thumb, then did the same for the exit wound. You rolled the rest around her thigh as her crying quickly turned into syrupy whining, indicating she was losing too much blood too fast. Probably nicked her femoral artery.
âHey hey, stay with meâ Voice voice was like a whip in the chaos, loud and commanding. Her eyes blinked, meeting yours. She was scared and in pain, and entirely too aware death was near. âEyes on me sweetheart, don't look around, don't close âem, only on meâ
In nearly 15 years as an EMT, you had an impressive rate of patient being delivered alive to the ER, if only for your sheer stubbornness and indomitable will to find a way out of sticky situations. Today wasn't the day you'd make those numbers lie, even if the odds definitely weren't in her favor.
âMmm hurtsâ
âYeahâ You nodded as you secured the bandage that grew rapidly red. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Your hand reached for her discarded jacket, spinning it from one sleeve to make a long rope. âI need to slow down the blood sweetheart. I'll need to squeeze as hard as I canâ
She mumbled something you didn't quite catch, letting you know you were running out of time. You quickly set the makeshift tourniquet above the bullet wound and tied the sleeves together, tightening the knot as tight as possible until her screams returned to a loud, sharp wail.
The blood somewhat stopped as her vocals returned to a sustained whimper, but you were still concerned by how much of it was pumped out of her. You reached into your belt and put another bandage on top of the other one to soak up the blood as the first dispatchers reached the festival ground. Being around the med tent, they reached you first with a gurney.
âOne, two, threeââ
Without any other instruction, you worked with the paramedics to get the girl secured with the straps.
This small movement however triggered the blood flow.
âFuck, I'll need to hold pressureâ You said to the two paramedics as your hands clamped around her thigh, one hand on the entry wound and the other on the exit wound.
âAre you sure you can hold it until we arrive at he hospital?â One of them asked you as you moved toward the ambulance.
âPositiveâ You nodded as you kept pace with the gurney. You felt the adrenaline keep your arms in place like vices. âI'll hold as long as she needsâ
âYour armââ The other pointed out. âYou got hit?â
You barely glanced at it. âYeah, fuck that I'm fine, let's goâ The paramedics loaded the gurney in the ambulance while you climbed along with it.
The man got in the back with you while the woman went behind the wheel.
âYou sure you're ok?â He asked as strapped the gurney to the floor, then placed an oxygen mask on the victim. âIt's bleeding a lotâ
You sighed. âBandage it tight then. I'll deal with it at the hospitalâ
The man obliged as the ambulance lurched forward. A few seconds later, you were patched up as much as you could while holding pressure on a gunshot wound.
Between you squeezing the girl's leg like you where trying to smash it flat, the bumps on the streets of Pittsburgh and the paramedic dancing around administrating medicine and monitoring her vitals, you barely saw the ride to the hospital pass by, even though it must have felt like an eternity to anyone else.
You were greeted by a swarm of white-covered medics in the ambulance bay, who all rushed to you when they took in the amount of blood everywhere, slapping a red bracelet on the girl's wrist.
The paramedics yelled her vitals over the wails of the sirens, jogging along to the gurney being rushed into the ER. You felt the doctors trying to push you away, but you remained steady.
âGuys, I'm literally holding the wound closed, not a great idea to try and pry me off nowâ You snapped at the third attempt to make you back off. âI'm not letting go until we get in a trauma roomâ
Then, you heard your name being shouted over the noise, somewhat louder than the ambient chaos.
Your eyes followed the sound, landing on Dr. Jack Abbot and taking in the relief mixing through with the pure adrenaline coursing his body. In an instant, he was by your side, taking over this case.
âFucking hell, I thought you were deadâ
You huffed as Trauma 1 came into view. âAh, can't get rid of me so easilyâ
âTalk to meâ
âBullet through the thigh, through and through, fully out as far as I know. She's lost too much blood thoughâ Your words still carried through the noise of the machines. âBut she's not gonna die today Abbotâ
âAgreedâ He replied dryly as he gloved up. You moved aside as much as you could while he took position by your side, ready to take over. A new face came to your other side to take over holding the wounds, but you tuned out the various unfamiliar names been thrown around along with barked orders.
You focused back when you heard your name.
âLet go on threeâ
The countdown began.
One.
Two.
Three.
You pulled your hands, but your muscles didn't obey. A half second of silence passed over the room as you tried again, but it was like you were frozen in place.
âFuck meâ You swore. Your muscles refused to cooperate, so strongly holding the leg, yet so weak to your command. You felt like your body was slowly alienating itself from your brain, like the sheer amount of adrenaline was too much to handle. âI'm lockedâ
Instantly, a woman you've never met stood behind you and grabbed your wrists in a vice grip. The countdown began again, and on three, she pulled your hands and your whole body away. You stumbled back upon her, then regained your footing and faced her.
âThanksâ You breathed out. âDoctor..?â
âSantosâ
âDoctor Santosâ You nodded, chest heaving with deep breath of relief, giving her a thumbs up as she looked you over.
âYou good?â
You looked down too, taking in your blood covered arms and neck. Your tshirt and trousers were black, but the red stains were still obvious. You couldn't see the extent of the makeover, but you could feel it, sticky and congealing already, mixing with your sweat. With all of that blood all over you, you didn't notice how clammy your skin had become, or how the temporary relief of loosening your muscles didn't seem to ease off as the seconds passed.
âYeah, most of it is not mineâ
She didn't look convinced, but a call of her name drew her back to the girl on the table. With one last look at the army of doctors and nurses attending the girl, you nodded again and left the room, taking off your blue latex gloves and dropping them in the bin on your way out.
You didn't really notice where you were even going until someone grabbed your arm and began dragging you around.
âFucking hell kid, what happened to you?â
âDanaâ You greeted when your vision settled, not having noticed it even got blurry. Damn. âI'm fine, I'm fine. I gottaââ You hissed as you tried to refocus your mind. âGotta go back to the festival, people need helpââ
âOh I promise you're in no state to help anyoneâ She scoffed as she sat you on one of the free chairs. âYou look drunkâ
You shook your head slowly. âJus' a lil light headedâ You corrected, widening your eyes a couple of time to force your vision back under your control. âI just need five, I'll be good to goâ
She laughed dryly, completely devoid of humour. âNo, I don't think so. What you need isâ jesus christ did you get shot too?â
âJust a grazeâ You brushed off, feeling more and more tired by the second. You kept ignoring the fact that your breathing had not slowed down either, if anything, it had gotten faster and more shallow. âS'nothingâ
âLike hellâ She scolded, swatting your hand away when you tried to stop her from checking you over. She barely even looked at the hazardously placed bandage before she returned her fury on you. âAre you kiddingâ it fucking went through?â
âHuh?â You squinted, looking down at your left arm. That would explain a lot. The laugh that came out of you was as airy with dizziness and derision. âHa, can't catch a fucking break can I?â
âDumbassâ She grumbled before she stood up straight. âI need a doctor over here!â
âFuck off I don' need a doctorââ
ââBullet went through the arm, she needs patching up'ââ
ââOther people need it moreââ
ââGunshot⌠Losing bloodââ
ââI'm⌠fineâŚââ
You couldn't help but give in when the darkness came for you this time, going limp in the chair until you crashed on the floor like a log.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
The rain fell hard on the umbrellas like the skies themselves shared your grief. You stood quiet as the casket was lowered into the ground, the American flag neatly draped over the mahogany under. The sound of the trumpets were drowned by the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears as your husband, or whatever had been left of him, disappeared before your eyes.
You felt like screaming with the thunder, crying and wailing until your throat was raw, jump in there with him, but all you could do was stare.
The ceremony afterwards was beautiful.
You think.
Between the rehearsed thank yous and polite greetings, you had pretty much blacked out, wanting nothing else than to shut the world out and hibernate until the grief went away. You didn't even know it had been over until someone sat beside you on the porch's bench.
Your eyes remained fixed forward.
âThey wouldn't even let me see himâ
Jack Abbot wasn't often speechless, but this, this he truly didn't know what to say. He didn't think telling you that the pieces of man inside that casket wouldn't even look like your husband would help you. He didn't believe either that reminding you he was in this state because the kid had took a cluster bomb in the chest to save him would do anything to cheer you up.
âIt's for the bestâ He finally mumbled, resting his eyes on your twitching fingers. âBetter that your last memory of him be all of himâ
You nodded slowly. He was right of course. Always the voice of reason. It's why your husband looked up to him so much. It didn't hurt any less though.
You swallowed the dry lump in your throat as his hand reached yours and squeezed lightly. You finally allowed your eyes to meet his.
âIâŚâ You swallowed again. He didn't rush you. âI don't know if I can do it without him. If I even want to do it without himâ
Something you couldn't described flashed in his eyes. He almost broke eye contact as your own vulnerability hit him like a brick. His hand squeezed tighter.
âYou canâ He said, then clear his throat. âYou mustâ
âI'm not strong enoughâ
âYou areâ He said with such assurance that you almost believe him. âYou will be, for Damian. He'd want you to liveâ
Your chest tightened at that. Your husband would never forgive you if you were to let yourself fade away completely without him. Yet, he wasn't the one who'd have to do it alone.
You were about to spiral again when the wooden steps up to the porch creaked, drawing your attention to the sound. There stood Sienna Abbot in all of her grace and tact, making a beeline for you.
You hadn't known how much you needed a hug before she took you in her arms and held tight. No words needed to be said as she embraced you like a big sister, like a best friend offering to share the burden.
You had met her for the first time when Damian had completed his base camp and chose his specialization, then being sent to the unit Jack was mentoring. As quickly as Jack had taken to mentor your husband, you had gotten closer to Sienna. She became your best friend, your closest confidante, the only person you trusted as much as your husband.
You had countless dinners at their places, a handful of stay in holidays as well. When your husbands got deployed, she offered to room together for support, and to fight the loneliness. It felt like you had known her forever, when it had been a couple of years at most.
You pulled back from the hug first. You had a feeling she was waiting for you to do it of your own accord.
âYou're strong. You'll get through this. We'll be there for youâ She whispered. âC'mon, let's go home now. We don't need to linger hereâ
She gently guided you to Jack's car as numbness slowly took over you, sitting in the backseat with you. After some time, you realized the unfamiliarity of the landscape.
âMy apartment's not that wayâ
âWe're not taking you thereâ Sienna took your hand. âYou're not going through this alone, love. I want you to stay at our place until you get back on your feetâ
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
When you woke up again, chaos had considerable quieted down to a soft background noise. Not that you'd care either way in your state, as you couldn't really think of anything beyond your immediate vicinity.
What you saw in there, or rather whom you saw made a loopy smile stretch on your lips.
âRobbyâ
The man jolted at being called upon, looking up from the clipboard with most likely your medical information and what had been done to you in the last few hours.
With a tired, exhausted smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he put down the clipboard and turned to you. Just the way his body stood, you understood you might be the one coming out the most unscathed of the two of you.
âLook what we have hereâ He said as he rubbed his eyes. âHow are you feeling?â
âGrrreeeatâ You beamed. âI feelâŚ. fantasticâ
âThat makes one of us at leastâ
âYou holdin up ok?â
Your drunken concern was unexpectedly touching, and before he knew it, he allowed himself to vent a bit. You'd most likely forget everything by the time you sobered up.
âNot really, Sweetsâ He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. âIt's going really fucking badâ
You did not reply, but your attention, or whatever of it was currently available, was on him.
âI lostâ I couldn'tââ He shook his head. âI can't, I can'tââ He took a deep breath, stopping himself from spiralling again.
âRobby. Robby listen to meâ You said, and surprisingly enough, he listened. That's a first. âYou're the best damn doctor in the world. No, no, don't try to say noâ You are. If you couldn't save themâŚ. nobody couldâ
He scoffed, leaning on the bed's rail and letting his head drop down. âYou're the second person to say thatâ
âWell, it's rightâ You nodded. âAnd you know what too? You've been here too long. Go to sleep Robby. I'm the doctor now. I've got itâ
He couldn't help but chuckle at that, pushing back the tears in his eyes. Maybe it's why he decided to randomly check up on you after his breakdown, imploring the universe that you'd wake up and give him just the little bit of strength he needed to finish this shift. And as usual, you answered the call, as you've always done in the more than ten years he's known you. Very high, very slow, but always truthful and helpful.
âDid you patch me up?â The change of subject was a welcome one.
He shook his head. âOne of our resident, Santos, was hot on your trail after you went down. She's the one who took care of youâ
You slowly blinked once, then did it again. âCoolâ
There was a moment neither of you said anything.
âHeyâ
âYea?â He replied.
âYou're a tall glass of water Robbyâ You parted your ancient wisdom upon him, making him cough an unexpected laugh. âNever forget thatâ
âPromise I won'tâ He chuckled.
âHey Robby?â
He hummed, raising his eyebrows. His shoulders were already a little lighter.
âI need your professional medical opinionâ
He nodded shortly, inviting your to continue.
âDo you think Jack and I have a shot?â Your words came slow, yet they still felt blurted out. âI don't know if I'm just high but damn. I don't know if I can keep pretending I don't want to ffffff-kiss himâ
Sober you would have never said that, especially not to Robby. High you, however, had no such reservations.
âWoah Sweetsâ He exaggerated a grimace, but you could see his little grin come through. âYouââ He pointed a finger in your direction. âAre definitely high off your rocksâ
âMmmyeahâ You seem to accept the situation well as you already leaned back in the bed and closed your eyes, ready for the morphine to take you back. It was like you hadn't even been aware of what you had just said.
Robby observed you for a moment, at first with fondness for your surprisingly peaceful bluntness. But then, the more he looked, the sadder he became. He felt something break in his chest, leaving a hollow echo behind that he couldn't help but try to patch.
Today had been hard enough, too many losses, too many close calls, too many unhappy endings. He stepped closer to where your head was rested on the pillow and leaned forward. âYou still with me?â
You smiled. âYeaâ
He swallowed hard. âI know you're not gonna remember most of this but if you doâŚâ He hesitated, the went for it. Too many unhappy endings. âTell him. Stop dragging this along and tell him how you feel before you can't anymoreâ
You were gone again by the time he was done speaking.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
The sun had been oppressing on that day.
Suffocating.
Batting down with scorn the small crowd reunited around a beautifully crafted cherry oak casket covered in flowers and pictures.
It was too bright, too hot, too much.
Jack could barely stand it or the people trying to talk to him.
It had been a car accident, so violent and so quick that she didn't even suffer for a second. Most likely, she didn't even see it coming at all before it killed her.
He didn't know if it was a comfort, or if the knowledge there was nothing he could have done to save her would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He was weary to the bone and people wouldn't stop. The respectful chatter around was too loud. The sun was too bright, his black suit was too tight. He had to get out of here.
And then, a hand slipped in his.
A blanket of quiet surrounded him, grounding him in reality. A shield from the unforgiving sun, and anchor steadying him.
No word needed to be said.
You stood beside him, taking his burden on your shoulders too, to let him breathe.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
When you woke up again, gone was the euphoria of the morphine, leaving place to a throbbing headache, pain in your arm and light sensitivity making both even worse.
âTake it easyâ
You groaned at that, throwing your good arm over your squinty eyes until Dr. Abbot gently but firmly brought it back down. Slowly, your eyes opened to take in the environment aroundâyou had been placed in a quiet, out of the way hallway away from the chaos of the Pitt. They usually don't place patients there as it was the gateway to the five minute timeout corner, and no one wanted a frustrated patient to catch them going for a breather.
âHey Docâ
âHow y'feeling?â
âHm.â You huffed. âI'm ready to roll. What time is it anyway?â
He checked the time on the board over the nurse station. âAlmost eleven. Just cleaned up the messâ
You nodded very slowly. âGotta discharge me now so I can sleep. Got an early shift this afternoonââ
He laughed, short and dry. âNo I don't think soâ
âYou're not the boss of meâ
He smirked, crossing his arms against his chest and looking around for something he knew damn well wasn't there. âActually, I amâ
You made a dismissive noise with a half-hearted wave of your hand, which seemed to amuse him more.
âI'm fineâ
âYou are?â He raised his eyebrows, then made a show of picking up the clipboard on the bed. âLet's go through it together, yea? Let's see, well, got shotâyou knew thatââ He paused, eyebrows raised as he intently stared at you, then dramatically flipped a page. âMajor blood loss, dehydration, light concussion, and it seems your wrist is sprained tooâ
You frowned, grimacing. âMy wrist?â
âWhen you collapse on the ground from all the aforementioned issuesâ He clarified with a smug little tilt of his head. He then poorly mimicked a wrist bent out of shape. âFell right on itâ
You rolled your eyes at how he shamelessly mocked you, even if it hurt doing it. Damn concussion.
âSo I'm signing off on a medical leave for youâ He leaned in to whisper, âAnd I'm not afraid to renew it as many times as it takesâ
You sighed. âCruel bastard. I hate youâ
He chuckled. âOh I knowâ
He seemed satisfied with your compliance for a second, then seriousness slowly but steadily washed all traces of his amusement. His hand found yours as he took a beep breath, tracing the wrist brace with his fingers.
âFor a second there I thoughtâŚâ
You looked at the side of his face, a softer look replacing your combative one. He took another breath, shakier this time. You let him recompose himself, not mentioning the fleeting show of emotions, not now and not to anyone else.
âI assumed the worstâ He admitted. âWhen you didn't text. I should have known you couldn't, but I couldn't focus right until I saw youâ
You recognized it took a lot for him to admit thisâhe probably wouldn't have if he hadn't been worn out to the bone. You squeezed his hand as much as you could with your brace.
There was a lot of things you wanted to say at that moment, reassure him, tell him you'd always come back for him, that you were in this hell together and no rogue bullet would be able to take you away from him.
The part of your brain that processed speech decided otherwise.
âCan I have my phone?â
A small jolt went through his body and he frowned in confusion, finally looking back at you. He definitely wasn't expecting that to be your reply.
Well, neither did you to be fair.
Carefully, he reached in his pocket and handed it to you, despite the questioning tilt of your head. You thought it would have been on the pouch attached to your bed, but Jack had kept it safe from sneaky opportunists with his own stuff.
Ignoring how it made you feel proved to be incredibly hard.
Holding the device certainly was a struggle with one arm sending thousands of tiny electric bolts every time you slightly moved and the other restricted with the brace, and on top of that, the bright screen hurt your eyes like it personally hated you, but you finally managed to do what you needed. Not a second later, you turned the screen off and dropped it face down on the bed.
âThereâ You said, âI turned on location sharing with youâ
The question marks in his eyes only grew tenfold.
â24/7. Anytime you need, no need to requestâ You explained. âYou'll see where I am. If I'm moving. If I'm away from the hot spotsâ
âWhat? I can'tâ I don'tââ It took a moment to string his words together. âI don't want you to think you have to do this, I don't want to seem like I need to knowââ
âHey,â You cut him rambling off. âI want that. For my peace of mind. And beside, I trust you with itâ
Something passed over his eyes, but was gone as quickly as it came. He nodded slowly, breath catching his shoulders on the way up. He nodded again in lieu of a verbal answer, but you knew him enough at this point to know it was just as meaningful as his words.
âJack?â
His eyes snapped up to meet yours again.
âThe girl I brought in..?â
The fact that he didn't immediately shut down was encouraging.
âStable, for nowâ He began, and you knew that word to be neither a positive not a negative. âShe lost a lot of blood, butââ He chuckled, looking down and shaking his head. âDo you still believe in fate?â
Your expression became hesitant for a second. â⌠Sometimesâ
âShe had an emergency bracelet on her wrist with he medical information. Blood type AB positive. She didn't have to wait for O negâ
âShit, okay, that was luckyâ You mumbled.
âLucky you sayâ He repeated to himself, then frowned. âI am most certain she survived because the bullet was deviated and slowed down by something, for some reasonâ
It took a second of your brain thinking his words over before you slowly looked down to your bandaged left arm. You winced, whispering, âOhhhh I think that something was meâ
His gaze followed yours until they landed on your injury. He pointed at it like it had been the key to the whole thing.
âMakes sense nowâ He mumbled, eyes fixated on it. He had seen enough gunshot wound to understand how bullets made their damage in the human body, and how speed and angle mattered for survival rate. He had spend a bit too long thinking about the girl's wound, trying to reconstruct the events leading to it. With your information, he had a much clearer picture of it all.
âIf the bullet went through you first, it likely slightly changing its trajectory. I'm pretty sure a direct hit would have sliced that artery clean. She would have been dead before you even began bandaging it. As it is, it seems the bullet only damaged part of the membraneâ
Your eyes widened. âWhatâ
He nodded. âOr at least I think that's how it went. Slower bullet makes for messier entry and exit wounds, messier everything actually, but this time, it might have saved her lifeâ
You scoffed in disbelief, a small, cautious smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
âShe's still not out of the woods yet, we still don't know if her heart will be able to recover from the blood lossâ He warned. âButâŚâ
You let your head gently fall back on the bed. âHoly shit⌠Yeah, I still take that as a victoryâ
âYou shouldâ He agreed. âGood job out there. If she makes it through, it'll be because of youâ
You gave him a smile, which turned a bit sad. Before you could even say it, Jack fended you off.
âDon't startâ He scolded. âDon't even think about itâ
He was right of course. Has he even been wrong? You, and him for that matter, often forgot that saving even one life was colossal. It was easy to think you could always do more, save one, two, three more live if you just pushed through. You had spent the last few years taking turns reminding the other of it.
Tell him how you feel.
You almost frowned at the thought echoing in your mind like a distant memory. Bits and pieces came to you, you knew you had been told that. Told by whom? You did recall talking to Robby while high, but had no clue about what. But why would Robby ever talk about that?
âYou okay there?â
âHm?â
You must have suddenly looked deep in thoughts, because Jack was suddenly looking quite concerned.
âYou blanked out for a momentâ
You gave him a smile. âProbably just whatever's left of morphine in my systemâ
He didn't look convinced, but didn't press it either. âWe're about to go grab a beer in the park. I'll discharge you on my way back and we can go home, ok?â
âSureâ You nodded, replacing yourself on the bed as comfortably as you could. âEnjoy, you guys deserve itâ
He smiled, gently patting your shoulder. âThanksâ
oh, friends. You get my middle of the night tirade.
Someone on wattpad attempted to educate me about how petty and spiteful I was to take out my dislike for one woman on all content creators.
Because i said I didn't want HP on my dash and would be unfollowing whoever made it appeared there. (for those that don't know wattpad now has a "social feed" where you are forced to see any book someone you follow adds to a list or any comment they make on something they are reading. I hate it.)
I am beyond livid. I deleted their comment and blocked their ass. Then I posted this:
Listen, I am very well aware that not everyone shares my views when it comes to HP stuff. I have actively disengaged with her IP on all platforms. My trans friends and readers knowing that my area is a safe space for them is more important.
If you are still writing for her IP you are supporting her. Full stop. You are keeping the property alive which she actively uses money from to harass and harm others. Period. I deleted all content I had created for HP including three series I was working on to post. It's not hard to choose people over a fandom.
If you want to unfollow me, unfollow. If you want to block me, block me. But do not come onto my page and attempt to "school" me. It will get your comment deleted and you blocked. Me not wanting to see things on my dash (which wattpad has now forced) has nothing to do with you really. I only posted as a curtesy in case someone noticed I unfollowed and wanted to know why.
Summary: You loved Robby enough to build a life around him once. The kind of life you thought people only talked about. Then things changed slowly, and then all at once, until the man beside you no longer felt familiar. Time apart was supposed to make things easier. Instead, a series of circumstances forces the two of you back into the same room, where everything left unsaid is still waiting.
Pairing: Husband! Robby x Wife! reader
WC: 6.5k
Warnings: 18+, smut, stressful work life, mentions of depression, not accurate lmao, strained marriage, arguments, lying, toxic dynamics, inappropriate workplace behavior, jack and mckay are two of readerâs close friends, mentions of a previous miscarriage, mentions of langdonâs addiction, fade to black at the end.
(this was my first robby fic, i hope i captured him well lol)
Working in the Pitt was its own kind of hell, a hell where life was sucked out of you. No fun, no laughs, only stress.
Before Michael, all you knew was work, home, and the few hours of sleep that you allowed yourself after your shift.
It was a cliche thing to say, but you always swore that your life brightened some when he came into it. He had a way about him, a way about him that made you feel at ease.
How the hell your marriage ended up in a spot where you were heavily considering divorce was beyond you. It had been another night of you trying to be there for him, but it turned into a fightâ it always did. Your words were always wrong and rotten, no matter how softly they were spoken or how sweet they were laced.
Robby was a ticking time bomb and you werenât going to let him drag you down with him. It was so unfair, because he acted as if you didnât struggle tooâ like you didnât also have a lot on your plate at work. It was all about him and his feelings.
The thought of your marriage being at that point was foreign, ridiculous even. You loved him and he loved you, how could things sour when that mattered most? How could you give up on him?
Robby was the man that couldnât see yourself without, the one that made you smile at work, the one that would drop anything to be there for you.
Why would you abandon him when he just needed help?
God, you felt so fucking guilty for even considering it. The guilt gnawed at you every time you thought about it, you were being unfair.
He just needed space, is what you told yourselfâ hoping that it would turn out differently.
When the two of you got together it was with the help of Jack, he kept giving hints about how youâd do well together and how you two were looking for the same thing. How both of you had been alone for quite some time.
You brushed him off, because you werenât looking for anything or anyone. You were okay with being by yourself and you had been okay with that for a really long time.
When you finally caved and said yes to the âblind dateâ, Jack joked that it would be it â youâd never be single again. Robby would be the one for you, the one that would make you change your mind.
You would roll your eyes and mock him, but he was right.
âFuck.â You whined, your ass bouncing on his cock.
He smacked your ass, biting his lip.
âThere you go, sweetheart.â He coached.
It had been so long since you had been touched, Robby was only the second person that you had ever slept with. It felt so fucking good, but youâd told yourself beforehand that it wouldnât go that far. You didnât plan to fuck him after the third date, you just couldnât help yourselfâ he was so charming.
âIâm gonna cumââ
âFuck, Robby.â You rasped, your pussy clenching around his cock.
âThatâs it baby.â He groaned, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you again.
You kept riding him, riding out your orgasm while his cock twitched inside you.
âIâm so fucking close.â He panted.
You loved this, every fucking moment of it. âYou can cum inside me, Iâm on the pill.â
He looked at you, âyou sure?â
You nodded.
It didnât take long before Robbyâs deep, guttural groans filled the airâ his cum coating your walls.
The two of you stayed in each otherâs arms, falling asleep together and waking up together the next morning.
You knew then that Jack was right, Robby was it.
A year later the two of you were married, married at the cathedral that youâd picked out.
It was perfect in every way imaginable and you had smiled more than you ever had in your life. The way that Robby looked at you, held your hand through every moment, whispered cute things into your earâ he was your soulmate.
Your wedding wasnât big, but it had everyone who mattered there. It was exactly what the two of you had envisioned and talked about on numerous occasions.
Shortly after the wedding, the two of you started house hunting. You both sold your houses and wanted a space that was picked by both of you, something where you could potentially start a family.
Having children was something that you never considered, something that you had written off years ago. I mean, the Pitt was your lifeâ it was all that you had time for. However, experiencing love and being loved made you feel differently about it.
Before you got married, the two of you were also on opposite shiftsâjust barely able to spend time together. With a little persuasion, you joined the day shift, which made things ten times easier for both of you.
Years laterâŚ
You took the empty chair at the nurses station, wanting to rest your feet. The emergency room was buzzing with patients, talking, and machines beepingâ you could barely hear yourself think.
âDonât go to sleep on us.â Dana spoke, nudging you as you blinked slowly.
You wanted to cry internally and externally, âI couldnât even if I tried.â
The entire day had been more non-stop than usual and you were exhausted, truthfully beyond exhausted.
You glanced at your watch and stood up from the chair, dragging yourself to the next taskâ going to the bathroom for peace and quiet. On the way to the bathroom, you caught Robby once again grilling Samira for being too slow.
You watched as she walked away, looking like a bit more of her confidence had been shaved off.
Robby walked out of the room, putting hand sanitizer on his hands.
Things between the two of you were already tense, but you were going to say somethingâ you had to. Not just because he was your husband, but his behavior and attitude was getting ridiculous. The low point in your marriage was an all new low, lower than it had ever been. You believed that it was something every marriage went through, something your marriage would overcomeâ but as the nights passed your confidence dwindled. Your patience for his treatment of you and everyone else thinned.
His behavior at home had been carried with him at work, the one thing he always warned everyone about. It was downright embarrassing to you and him.
He was losing himself right before your eyesâ snappy with everyone, sleeping less, and talking less. You were losing your husband and you couldnât stop it. You wanted to guide him through it and be there for him, but he only pushed you farther away. It had gotten to the point where you drove your own car to work and that you could barely work with him, without arguing.
He was affecting you and your career, he was ruining you.
You walked beside him, âcan we have a word?â
He scoffed, the lines near his eyes deepening.
âHere we goââ
âAgain.â He muttered.
You walked in front of him, halting his steps and trying not to let his words make you angry.
âRobby, you cannot keep treating Samira that way.â You gently reminded him.
âDr. Mohan.â He corrected you.
Your brows furrowed, a confused look on your face.
âWhat?â
He pressed his hands together in front of him, his lips pursed and brows slightly raised.
âShe is Dr.Mohan. We are professionals and she is not your friend, she is Dr. Mohan.â
You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.
âWe are professionals, youâre rightâ but that isnât a lesson that I need.â
He pulled his shoulders back in offense, pointing his finger at himself.
âAre you trying to say that I need a fucking lesson in professionalism? Thatâs rich.â
âRobby.. what Iâm saying is thatââ
âYour treatment of her, constantly nagging and knocking her down a peg.. is unprofessional and comes off sexist.â You stammered.
He stared at you in disbelief.
âYou, my lovely wifeâ are unbelievable.â
âI only say this out of concern, Michael. I love you, butââ
âJust because we are married does not mean that you can talk to me this way, I am still your superior. You need to remember your place and get back to work, we do not have time for bullshit.â He gritted.
You were admittedly startled by his tone, it sent shivers down your spine. The way that he so casually brushed you and your concern off, the way that he pulled the authority card.
It was as if the rose colored glasses that you had on and the excuses for him instantly vanished, that was itâ the final straw. It wasnât something big or catastrophic like you had imagined, it was that.
Your eyes watered as you stared at your husband, the eyes of your coworkers on both of you.
Robby stared at you and you didnât even recognize him, his eyes no longer held the sanctuary that you used to get lost in.
You leaned close to him, making sure that he could hear you perfectly.
âI canât do this anymore, Michael.. I thought that I could and that I could tolerate your cruelty, but I canât.â
His brows raised, âmy cruelty?â
âYou need to get your shit out of the house and be gone by the time that I am at home.â You added.
Your words were sharp and short, no more apologies and excusesâ just straight to the point.
He feigned a smile and nodded, walking away without saying anything.
You turned around to see everyone staring after, considering it was obvious the two of you were arguing.
âWhat the fuck is everyone looking at?â You yelled, tears finally falling from your eyes.
Dana stared at you a moment longer, before averting her gaze.
âSheâs right people, this isnât a zooâ get back to work!â
Although you appreciated her effort to keep eyes off of you and your failing marriage, everyone knewâ it was obvious. Everyone noticed how things between the two of you seemed strained, how easily Robby snapped, or how it seemed like your light dimmed.
You loved him, but this was ridiculous and it just couldnât continueâ not this way.
After your shift, you went home and he was goneâ along with his things. He didnât even hesitate.
You stayed later for charting, hoping for anything from himâ but there was nothing. You didnât know what hurt worse, him not trying or him treating you that way.
When you got home, you realized that you still had a vial in your pocket and needed to return it. You drove back to the hospital, hoping to be in and out.
âBack so soon?â Dana questioned as she prepared to walk out of the door herself.
You held the vial in your hand, showing her. âI needed to return this.â
Dana stopped you in your tracks as you went to walk past her, her hand on your shoulder and her eyes giving you a look that you knew all too well.
âWhat was that with Robby earlier?â
You fidgeted with the vial, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall from your eyes again.
âHeâs.. uh, just having a dayâ I guess.â
She leaned in closer to you, her brow slightly raised.
âHe shouldnât be like that with you, that isnât okay and you donât deserve it.â
You nodded, biting the inside of your lip.
âTell me about it.â
Dana rubbed your shoulder and gave it a pat before she continued on her way while you continued on yours.
It was embarrassing, embarrassing that your marriage couldnât even struggle in privateâ that everyone knew.
The emergency room had quieted some from earlier, but not by much. Dr. Abbott and Mateo were approaching the desk when you walked by, your mind completely focused on the task at hand and nothing else.
You were in the middle of returning the vial when Jack came to the side of you.
âWhat are you doing back here?â He asked.
You took a deep breath, your eyes red from crying and hands unable to stop shaking.
âI just brought back that vial, I realized I still had it in my pocket.â
He stared at you, his eyes raking over you and your appearance.
âTalk to me.â
Your brow raised, âabout?â
He leaned against the wall, glancing around and making sure that the two of you were alone.
âIâve heard about it, I mean everyone hasâ tell me what happened.â
You wiped your mouth, a sigh of defeat escaping your lipsâ your eyes sore from crying.
Jack grabbed your hand and guided you into a nearby empty room, shutting the door behind him.
âHeâs just.. heâs slipping. I donât know whatâs going on, but nothing I say is right or okay. Heâs an asshole most of the time, like I donât even recognize him.. my own fucking husband.â You stammered.
Jack watched you, he watched how you also looked like you were falling apart and how you seemed completely alone.
âWhy did he argue with you in front of people? What brought that about?â
You wiped your tears, shaking your head.
âHe was scolding Dr. Mohan again. Itâs like heâs always on her ass about one thing or another and sheâs trying, sheâs fucking trying.â You choked.
Jack tilted his head slightly and walked closer to you, pulling you into a hug.
âHey, heyâ itâs going to be okay. Heâs going to be okay and so will you.â
âIâll talk to him.â
You pulled away, sniffing.
âDonât, this isnât your mess to clean up and I donât want him getting upset over this too.â
âI donât like him treating you this way. I wonât tolerate it.â
âItâll be fine, just trust me.â You pleaded.
He rubbed your arm, âare you positive?â
You nodded, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to blow your nose.
âHave youââ
âHave you told him about the medical emergency that you had?â
You turned to Jack, your mind clouded by the hum of the light overhead and everything else.
âOh, the miscarriage?â
He folded his arms, leaning against the counterâ his brow raised.
âNo.. no. I just didnât think heâd handle it wellââ
âYou shouldnât have had to go through that alone, that is not okay.â Jack interrupted.
You shrugged, your lips pursed.
âI didnât go through it alone, I had you and McKay.â
âYou needed your husband, not just us. He shouldâve been there, he wouldâve wanted to be there.â
âWhat was I supposed to do, Jack? Hmm?ââ
âTell my already suicidal husband that during his own meanness and selfish worries, I had a miscarriage. The baby that we once talked about, I lost?â
He nodded, âyes.â
You laughed in disagreement, âthat totally wouldâve gone well.â
âMaybe, it wouldâve changed things for himâ made him actually seek out help.â
âIt wouldâve just changed how soon heâd put a gun in his mouth.â You digressed.
âHe will get through this, he will.â Jack spoke, his voice coming out softer for reassurance.
âI told him to pack his things after earlier.. I told him to be gone before I got home.â
âWell, was he gone?â Jack questioned.
âYeah, most of his things were gone.â You sighed.
âIs that what you wanted?â
You threw your hands up in defeat, âI donât know. I donât know what I want anymore, Jack. I am just tired of the back and forth, of this, of..â
You stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence, but both of you knew what it meant.
Mateo opened the door, interrupting the conversation.
âI need you right now.â
Jack looked at him and back at you, âIâll be right back.â
Once he left, you took a few minutes to calm down before driving back homeâ but you left before he came back to the room. You were tired and wanted to go home. You needed to go home.
When you got home, you took a shower and practically collapsed. You didnât have the mental capacity or energy to think about Robby. You barely had the capacity to think about yourself.
The next morning you had overslept and were running behind. You glanced at your phone as you rushed to get ready.
Two missed calls from Robby and three texts from him.
Is everything okay?
Where are you? They said that you didnât call out.
If I donât hear from you in the next twenty minutes, Iâm leaving work and coming to the house.
You were more flustered about being late than anything else, so texting Robby back was the last thing on your mind at that moment.
You rushed in, your eyes still red and puffyâ your voice hoarse.
âThere she is! We were worried.â Dana smiled.
You set down your tumbler on the desk. âI overslept, I didnât mean to.â
Langdon looked up from his chart, staring at you and how you looked. He wanted to ask if you were okay, but you were already walking away before he could.
You were walking to the bathroom, hoping to pee quickly before diving in. Robby appeared out of what seemed like thin air, leaning against the bathroom door in front of you.
âYou were late.. an hour late, what happened?â
You scratched your brow, âI overslept.â
He bit his lip, âis that all? Or is there something that youâre not telling me?â
You rolled your eyes, signaling for him to move from in front of the door.
âFor Christ sake, Michael lâ I just overslept because I was exhausted. I was sad and exhausted, nothing more.â
Robby nodded and moved out of your way, walking back the other direction.
Dealing with him and the stress of what he was dealing with was making you snappy, making you act ugly towards other people. You werenât being yourself.
When you came out of the bathroom, you bumped into Mckay.
âAre you okay?â
You scoffed, âwhat do you think?â
âThatâs fair. If youâre interested, I need your assistance with this patient. She accidentally almost cut three fingers off.â
You agreed, putting hand sanitizer on your hand as the two of you approached the room.
After observing the wounds yourself and talking with the patient, you pulled your gloves offâ standing up from the stool.
âCan you have Yoyo come check this out? Iâm certain that itâs going to need more than just stitches.â You spoke to Cassie.
She nodded, picking the phone up from the hook on the wall near her.
You exited the room, putting on more hand sanitizerâ your thoughts interrupted by Santos approaching.
âCan I talk to you?â
âSure, whatâs up?â You replied.
She glanced around, her hands in her pocketâ âprivately.â
The two of you went into an empty room and you didnât know what to expect, quite frankly you were a little afraid.
Santos stood there, hesitant to open her mouth and tell you why she needed to talk.
âEverything okay?â You questioned, staring at her and her lost expression.
âI think that Langdon is stealing drugs from the hospital.â She blurted.
Her words threw you for a loop, like a prank was being played.
âLangdon?ââ
âFrank?â
She slowly nodded, âyes.â
You crossed your arms, your eyes blinking more in that minute than they had since youâd woken up.
âWhat makes you say that? Thatâs a serious accusation, Santos.â
âThere have been a few discrepancies with benzos on two cases of his.â
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
âYouâre absolutely positive?â
âYes.â
You sighed. âOkay, Iâll handle it from hereââ
âThank you for reporting it.â
She stood there a minute longer before exiting.
When she left, you started to laugh. It wasnât due to anything being humorousâ but it was the cherry on top. Robbyâs star pupil was potentially stealing drugs from the hospital and you were going to tell him, it was the last thing that you needed.
Robby was busy, so you sat down and did the notes on a chart. You were so overwhelmed from the information that you could barely think straight.
Time passed with more people coming into the ER, so you had been too busy to talk to Robbyâ too busy to do anything.
You shook your head, walking from the last patient you had spoken to when you saw him. He glanced up from his iPad, staring at you.
âI need to talk to you.â You mouthed.
He put down the iPad, pulled off his glasses and walked towards you at the end of the hallway. The two of you hadnât talked about what happened yesterday and he had hoped that you would, just maybe not at that moment.
âWhatâs going on?â
You leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.
âSantos came to me earlier and made a troubling accusationââ
Robby sarcastically smiled, thinking that it would be nonsense.
âI canât wait to hear this.â
âShe accused Langdon of stealing drugs from the hospital.â
His smile dropped, âwhat the fuck are you talking about?â
âShe said that on two occasions there have been clear and obvious discrepancies with benzos.â
âAnd sheâs sure?â He questioned, gritting his teethâ his hands on his head.
âAbout as sure as she can be.â
Robbyâs hand smacked the wall as he walked away from you and didnât say anything else.
âRobby!â You yelled, calling after him to no avail.
Robby disappeared around the corner and you let him, you were just too tired to chase after him and try talking to him. It wasnât worth the fight.
You made your way back over to the desk, rummaging through one of the drawers to find a report to fill out. Your task was interrupted as they always were, Whittaker asking for a hand.
The thoughts in your mind came and went at such a rampant speed that you couldnât keep track. If you werenât thinking or worried about your husband, you were thinking about how you felt inadequate and wanted to give up.
It was tiring.
You made quick work of helping Whittaker and returned to filling out the report. The report was tedious and exhaustingly long, you had finished most of it when you saw Robby again..
âI filled out the report, most of it anyway. Iâll just need your signature and get it sent to HR.â You mentioned, now walking beside Robby.
He rubbed hand sanitizer into his hands, âthat wonât be necessary.â
You tilted your head in confusion, âwhat wonât be necessary?â
âThe report, I handled it. Langdon is gone and itâs unnecessary.â
You stopped in your tracks, your feet squeaking slightly against the floor.
âYouâre joking, right?â
He glanced at you, ânope.â
You grabbed his hand and forced him into the newly empty room that was closest to you. The smell of disinfectant lingering in the air.
âWhat Langdon did was a crime, it should be reported.â
He folded his arms in front of him.
âSantos reported it to you, you told me, and I handled it. Thereâs nothing more to it.â
You scoffed, shaking your head.
âHe stole drugs and youâre trying to salvage his fucking career? Trying to help him out?â
Robby took a deep breath, holding his eyes shut for a moment.
âI am the senior attending, I donât have to explain shit to you! I said it was handled and I meant that.â
You bit the inside of your lip, stepping closer to him and closing the gap between the two of you.
âYou once again cut slack for Langdon, but youâd never do the same for me, or McKay, or Mohanâ why is that?â
âWe move just a little slower or become a step behind, take a small break, or make the wrong decision and youâre immediately riding our ass. Your precious pupil is a drug addict and you still spare him!â
Tears welled in your eyes, your lip beginning to quiver.
âI am doing my job and I donât appreciate you taking me away from it, because you want to be emotionalâ because you canât leave your self esteem issues at the door.â He hissed.
Your mouth was agape and it felt like your heart stilled in your chest for a moment.
âWow.. just when I thought that you couldnât get any lower.â You mumbled.
You stormed out of the room, Robby called your name and sounded remorsefulâ but you didnât even bother.
The shift was the shift that kept on giving, no break in sight for you or anyone that dayâ especially after the pittfest nightmare.
You were so tired after that shift that you could barely keep your eyes open, you even fell asleep in the shower.
It was one of the hardest shifts that you had worked in a while, but nothing was harder than dealing with your husbandâ accepting how he was now.
After everything, you realized that you needed a breakâ you took off a week and simultaneously put in a transfer to another hospital. You couldnât work with Robby anymore or just at that hospital in general.
You needed space and a lot of it.
Are you not coming in today?
Nevermind, I heard that you took time off. Take care of yourself.
Did you really put in a transfer request? Youâre leaving the hospital, because of me?
I am sorry, baby.
Please, talk to me. I want to talk.
You ignored every text that Robby sent and reading them was like a knife twisting in your stomach. Things could have been so different.
All he had to do was accept your help, but even that was an unreasonable ask.
During your time off, you spent a lot of time lounging around your houseâsorting things and watching a bit of some tv show.
It was odd being completely alone at home, Robbyâs things being goneâ his scent still lingering. You had been with Robby for years, made your life around him and now you were preparing for a life without him. A life without the man that you spent years loving and accepting.
You sat on the couch in your pajamas, scrolling through the options on Netflixâ hoping to find something that would distract you.
Your phone dinged with a text from Jack.
Are you doing okay?
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, because that was the million dollar questionâ were you okay?
You: Iâm okay, as okay as I can possibly be lol. Thanks for checking in on me though!
He started typing, then stopped, and then started again.
I came in to fill in for you and Robby came to me shortly after our shift started.
You: Why? Was he okay?
He brought up what happened between the two of you, mentioned that heâd really fucked up.
You: Iâm not sure what to say.
I didnât know what to say either, I just hope this means that heâll get the help he needs.
You: I hope so too, but weâll see.
He misses you, I think more than heâs letting on.
You read Jackâs last text and didnât respond, you werenât sure what to sayâ not really.
It'd been two months since you left the Pitt, two months since youâd separated from Robby.
You had gotten used to the silence that lingered in your life now, used to not waking up beside Robby, used to the new hospital that you worked at.
At this hospital things were different, the unit wasnât much of a âfamilyâ like you were at the Pitt. Each of you did your job and went home, that was it. Surprisingly, you didnât mind itâ not at much as you thought you would.
You sat in the lounge, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when a text came through from Robby.
I just want to warn you, I will be stopping by the house to grab something from the garage. I wonât be there long.
You: Thatâs fine, Iâm not sure Iâll be there though. Do you still have your key?
Yes.
Things between you and Robby were stuck in limbo, they werenât inherently improving nor were they getting worse.
It had been two months and you had cancelled three divorce consultations, unable to go through with it. The two of you barely talked and had been living separately, you couldnât understand why you were hesitant.
Heâd text you every now and then, checking in on you and letting you know that he missed you. Each text made your skin warm and made your stomach flutter, you still were in love with himâ even when you shouldnât have been.
You missed himâ you missed seeing his face, feeling his arms around you, missed hearing his voice, and his snores in the bed beside you.
A text came through, this one from McKay.
Are you still coming over tonight? Thereâs so much that I have to tell you.
You: Can we do it tomorrow night, instead? I donât feel well and thereâs something that I need to handle.
Sure! No problem.
Thankfully, the work day didnât drag on and was finished before you could even begin to complain. You wanted to go home, pour yourself a glass of wine, and fall asleep watching some shitty reality show.
When you got home, Robby wasnât thereâ you had missed him. You did however find a bouquet of roses on the counter with a note attached.
These are for you, your favorite flowerâ but still nowhere as beautiful as you. I am sorry for how I treated you, what I ruined between us. I do hope that one day youâre able to forgive me. I love you more than anything. â Michael
You sat the card back onto the table, tears welling in your eyes. You picked up your phone, your finger hovering over the text thread between the two of you.
You: Thank you for the flowers.
Youâre welcome, do you like them?
You: Yes.
You: Would you like to come over?
You held your breath after you sent that text, the feeling of regret already creeping into your stomach.
Everything okay? or do you want me over there for something else?
You: I just want to talk.
Iâll be there in thirty.
You liked his message and there was a lump in your throat, you were supposed to be keeping your distance from himâ not inviting him over.
You turned off the lights, leaving only the lamp near the front door onâ lighting the vanilla candle that also sat on the table.
While trying to process what you did, you took a hot showerâ hoping that maybe youâd change your mind afterwards. The water rinsed over your skin, the steam filling the bathroom as you stood there deep in thought.
Could your marriage truly recover? Was this a mistake?
Once you were out of the shower, you threw on one of your baggy t-shirts and made your way back downstairs. You were going to tell Robby nevermind, but as soon your foot touched the last stepâ the doorbell rang.
Your heart raced as you walked to the door, your fingers sweating when you unlocked it and opened it.
Robby stood there, his eyes raking over your appearanceâ wet hair, his baggy college t-shirt, and no pants on.
âYou wanted me to come over?â He asked, walking past you and down the hall.
You locked the door, your words hung in your throat as you followed him into the kitchen.
âDid you mean itââ
âDo you mean what you wrote on the notecard?â You mumbled.
He leaned against the kitchen counter.
âEvery word of it.â
You held back the tears that threatened to leave your eyes.
âWhy now? Itâs been two months.â
âTwo months of agony, two months of feeling like I cannot breathe, two months of feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.â
You bit your lip and just stood there, somehow he felt like your husband againâ like the man that youâd fallen in love with years ago.
âYou need help, Michael.. professional help that I cannot give.â
He nodded, a pained look on his face.
âI know.â
Somehow in the midst of talking, the two of you ended up closer than you shouldâve beenâ his body against yours.
Robby titled his head, his eyes staring into yours while one his hands rested against your hip.
âIâm sorry for leaving you.â You muttered.
âYou had to, baby. I donât blame you one bit.â He replied softly.
His hand came up to your cheek, his thumb rubbing against it. You felt like you could melt into him, melt like you always did.
âI missed you.â He confessed.
âI missed you too.â
There was a silence, a heat between the two of your bodies.
He gently pressed his lips against yours, his hand cupping your face. He kissed you like he was scared heâd be punished for it, waiting for you to push him awayâ only you didnât.
You kissed him back and you welcomed it.
The kiss deepened, your tongue sliding into his mouth.
âI missed you so much, baby.â He breathed in between kissing.
You pulled your lips from his, grabbing his hand and bringing him to the bedroom. As soon as you were in the room, his lips were back on yours.
He pulled off your t-shirt, leaving you completely naked.
âYou look.. so beautiful.â
You pulled Robbyâs shirt off, your fingers raking over his hairy stomach as he placed open mouthed kisses against your skin.
âI want you.â You whined.
He pulled off his pants, a wet spot on his boxers from precum.
You pulled down his boxers, wrapping your hand around his thick cockâ slowly pumping it.
âHmm, that feels good honey.â
He kissed you fiercely, full of hunger and needâ guiding you back onto the bed.
You laid on your back, your legs spread openâ watching as he came between your legs.
âPlease, fuck me.â
He chuckled, his necklace dangling in your face.
He guided his cock to your entrance, his tub rubbing against your sensitive clit.
âYou ready for me?â
You nodded, bringing your mouth to his.
He pushed inside you, a gasp leaving your mouth and a groan leaving his.
His cock filled you, every inch of him stretching you as you got used to him again.
âThatâs it, baby.â He groaned, slowly thrusting in and out of you.
It felt good to feel him inside you again, to be close with him, and to feel love for him.
He was so deep inside you, it felt like he was in your stomachâ taking your breath with every thrust.
Robby pushed your leg up slightly, his cock going even deeper.
âFuck.â You whimpered.
Hearing you moan and watching you take every inch of him just about pushed him over the edge prematurely.
âThat feels so good, Robby."
âGood, baby. I want to make you feel so good.â He breathed.
The intense feeling in your stomach began to build, your pussy already clenching around his cock.
âIâm so close, Iâm so close.â You moaned.
He kissed you with a chuckle, his thrusts faster and messier.
âMe tooââ
âBe a good girl and cum for me, honey.â
You loved hearing him talk to you like that, hearing him coach you through your orgasm.
Your orgasm washed over you like a violent tidal wave, his name spilling from your lips over and over again.
âYeah, just like that, baby.â
Robbyâs orgasm followed yours within seconds, his cock slamming into you one last timeâ his warm cum coating your walls.
Both of you laid there for a moment, reeling from the high that you rodeâ also now more confused than ever.
Robby pulled out of you, handing you his shirt.
âDo you want me to go?â
You pulled the shirt over your head, getting off the bed.
âYou can stay, but youâll have to leave in the morning.â
Robby stayed and you slept in his arms like you used to, some of the best sleep that you had gotten in a while. You knew that once the morning came, things would go back to how they were.
That night was a weak moment and it made what you said no less true, Robby needed help and the two of you couldnât be together until he got it.
Weeks later..
Things between you and Robby had managed to somehow get worse, he hadnât gotten help like he needed to and he was continuing to spiral.
Youâd given up and just completely avoided him, even though it was painful. You really hoped that he wouldâve taken your advice, that the time apart would have opened his eyes.
You sat on the couch, eating popcorn and decided to open a bottle of wineâ a well needed drink.
This was your favorite wine, youâd often buy two bottles when you went to the store.
You glanced at the tv from the kitchen, watching the red wine pour into the glass.
The whiff of wine made your brows furrow, it smelled off. You brought the glass to your mouth, tasting it to be sure.
It tasted wrong and off like something had been done to it, you leaned over the sink spitting it out.
It wasnât old and it hadnât been opened, but it didnât taste right and you couldnât figure out why.
You stood at the sink, leaning against it and absentmindedly rinsing out the wineâ your mind elsewhere.
Thatâs when it hit you, it felt like a shove to the chest. You grabbed your phone from the couch and pulled up your period app.
You were probably panicking, being ridiculousâ there was no way that you were pregnant.
The app loaded and you were late, very fucking late.
âNo, no, no.â You mumbled, rushing up the stairs to your bathroom.
Youâd kept spare pregnancy tests in your bathroom and never got around to throwing them out once the two of you split.
The bathroom lights hummed as you stood there near the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror.
It was going to be negative, thereâs no way it would be positive.
The timer on your phone went off and you took a deep breath, completely preparing for there to be another explanation.
You slowly turned over both pregnancy tests.
They were positive.
You held your head in defeat, tears falling from your eyes.
synopsis: Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differe.
warnings/notes: Hanahaki AU and everything that entails. mentions of Jack's late wife. I'm kind of in love with this. Flangst, my beloved.
wc: 5.9k
Jack Abbot knew a great many things.
He knew how to trach in the field under active fire. He knew how to run an emergency department efficiently and effectively. He knew how to make an omelet and fix a sink and change the oil in his car. He knew what it felt like to lose the greatest thing heâd ever held and he knew what it felt like to love. Or so he believed until a random Tuesday in June.
It was nearing the end of his shift when Jack felt it again. That hitch in his breathing that signaled the arrival of a deep, rattling cough that heâd been dealing with for weeks now. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Just a lingering cold, he told himself. Or allergies maybe. Nothing some water and cough drops wouldnât fix.
Except the tightness in his chest had gotten worse. And the cough drops werenât doing a damn thing. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, it felt like an invisible band was squeezing his lungs. His voice had taken on a rougher edge and heâd start wheezing if he tried to say more than few words at a time.
âYou look like shit,â said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned to find Robby standing there, coffee in hand, ready to start his shift. âGood morning to you, too. Some of us have been up all night.â
Robby hummed. âAnd some of us are clearly coming down with something. Seriously, Jack, you donât look good. Are you okay?â
Jack waved a hand through the air in dismissal. âFine. Just a little under the weather.â
âIs that why youâre breathing like you just ran a marathon?â Robby took a step closer. âYouâre wheezing and Iâm not the only one that noticed. I got three texts from night shift.â
âItâs just a cold.â Jack tried to take a deep breath to prove his point but it caught in his throat, triggering another coughing fit. This one was worse than the others and had him gripping the edge of the counter for support.
When the coughing subsided, Robbyâs gaze was stern. âThat doesnât sound like a cold to me.â
âItâs nothing,â Jack insisted, though the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. âProbably just moved to my chest is all.â
Robby sat his coffee down and crossed his arms. âThat is not nothing. I want labs and a chest x-ray.â
âChrist, Mike. Itâs not that big of a deal.â
âIâm not asking, Jack. Youâre a doctor. You know better than to ignore stuff like this.â His tone left no room for argument.
Jack recognized the look his friend was giving him. He wasnât getting out of this. He sighed. âFine. One x-ray. Then Iâm going home to sleep.â
âDeal,â Robby said, already putting in the order for the portable chest x-ray into the system. He glanced at Dana who hadnât even pretended she wasnât listening.
âEightâs open.â
âA room, man? Come on,â Jack complained but headed in that direction.
âQuit complaining,â Robby said as he trailed behind him, signaling the radiology tech with the machine to follow him. âShirt off, Abbot.â
âBuy me dinner first,â Jack snarked even as he did as told. He laid down and the machine was positioned over the top of him.
âTake a deep breath and hold it,â Marcia the tech instructed.
The first time he attempted to follow instructions, he devolved into a coughing fit. âSorry,â he apologized once he caught his breath.
âItâs fine. Just do the best you can.â The tech took three shots from different angles.
Robby slid on his glasses and stepped up to the machine while Jack put his t-shirt back on, forgoing the scrub top since his shift was over anyway.
âLet me guess. Nothing but a little inflammation. Can I go home now?â
âLeave us for a minute,â Robby said to Marcia, voice low.
Jackâs head snapped up, his gaze darting from his friend to the screen he was looking at and back again. âWhat is it?â
Robby turned the screen toward Jack so he could see for himself. Even from across the room, he could see the large white mass shadowing his right lung.
He swallowed hard. âThat could be pneumonia. Or an abscess or something.â
âIt could be,â Robby agreed but his tone suggested he didnât believe it. âIâve sent it up to pulmonary.â His phone rang before he could say anything else. He glanced at the screen. âThat was fast.â
Jack shifted his weight as he listened to Robbyâs one-sided conversation with pulmonary. When he hung up, he turned to look at Jack.
âDr. Tanaka wants to see you immediately.â He paused and looked at Jack as if the name should mean something to him. It didnât. After a moment, Robby took a breath. âHeâs sent an order to CT. Youâre to report there and then head to his office.â
âRight now?â Jackâs voice was little more than a whisper. The words having to be forced past the lump in his throat. This was all happening too fast. One moment heâd been dismissing his persistent cough and the next he was being scheduled for immediate appointments with pulmonary. âItâs probably nothing. Just a weird artefact in the imaging or something,â he said more to himself than Robby.
âIâm sure youâre right,â Robby agreed, but the worry in his eyes said something else entirely. âBut youâre going to get checked out thoroughly just to be sure.â
Within half an hour, Jack was laying on the table in a gown as the CT hummed around him. The contrast dye made him feel warm and vaguely nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the cold fear settling in his stomach.
The tech entered the room. âAll finished. By the time you get changed and to his office, Dr. Tanaka should have the images.â
Jack cleared his throat. âThatâs fast.â
âYouâre a VIP patient today, Dr. Abbot.â
There was nothing Jack wanted to be less. He didnât want to be here. Didnât want to be doing this. He wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened.
He made his way to the pulmonary floor trying to prepare himself for whatever Dr. Tanaka might say. Heâd delivered bad news to patients and their families plenty of times, but he hadnât been on the receiving end since Mari died.
The waiting room was empty when he arrived, the early hour meaning most patients hadnât arrived for the appointments yet. The receptionist smiled as he approached. âDr. Abbot? Dr. Tanaka is ready for you. Third door on the right.â
Jack took a deep breath, or tried to, and headed down the hall. Whatever was waiting for him, he would face it like he did everything else. Head on. Even if, for the first time in years, he was truly afraid.
When he entered the room, Jack was surprised to find himself in an office instead of an exam room. Tanaka rose to greet him. âDr. Abbot,â he held out a hand to shake Jackâs.
âJust Jack,â he said with a nod before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.
âVery well. Jack, then.â Tanaka stayed standing and pressed a couple of buttons on his computer and the large screen behind him lit up with an image of what Jack assumed were his lungs. He pointed at the mass that seemed to branch out from the right lung. âDo you know what youâre looking at here?â
Jack studied the image noting the abnormal density, the way it seemed to branch through his lung tissue like the roots of a plant. The mass was larger than it had appeared in the x-ray, more defined.
Jack swallowed. âA tumor. Probably malignant given the irregularities and the rapid growth.â Heâd seen the symptoms enough in his patients to recognize the pattern. The cough, the tight chest, the fatigue. Classic presentation for lung cancer.
Tanaka shook his head. âI had my suspicions from your x-ray but the CT confirms.â He used a finger to indicate several areas on the scan. âDo you see these fine lines extending from the main mass?â
Jack leaned forward. Now that the doctor pointed it out, he could see delicate lines spreading through his lung tissue. âVascularization?â he guessed.
âNot exactly.â Tanaka took a seat at his desk. âWhat youâre seeing is consistent with the presentation of Hanahaki disease.â
Jack physically jerked back in his seat. That wasnât⌠âThatâs impossible. I want a second opinion.â
âYou are certainly entitled to one, but I am the leading expert in Hanahaki in the state.â He wasnât bragging, just stating a fact.
The look Robby had given him when heâd said the name suddenly made so much sense. âIâve only ever loved my wife, and sheâs dead. Has been for years.â
Jack had seen Hanahaki before, of course he had. The condition was rare and still not well understood. Unrequited love manifesting physically with the growth of flowers in the lungs. But it was something that happened to young romantics or the occasional middle-age yearner, not to someone like him. Not to an old, broken ER attending whoâd buried his heart with his wife six years ago.
âIâm sorry, but the blood tests confirm.â He clicked on his screen and Jackâs results populated the screen.
Jack shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. âRun more tests. There has to be a mistake.â
âDr. Abbot, Jack, we can run additional tests, but given your symptoms and the findings, Hanahaki is our working diagnosis.â He paused, studying Jackâs face. âI suggest you do some soul searching. Youâre in love whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.â
Jack opened his mouth to argue but another coughing fit seized him, doubling him over. His lungs burned as he struggled to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he was surprised to find Tanaka standing in front of him holding a tissue. Only when he took it did he understand why. Delicate pink petals filled his palm.
âJesus Christ,â he whispered, staring at the evidence in his hand.
âThatâs confirmation enough for me,â Dr. Tanaka said quietly. âThe small petals are consistent with early stage Hanahaki. Theyâll become larger and more numerous as the disease progresses, until you are expelling full blooms.â
Jack couldnât tear his gaze away from the petals. Each one was perfect, like theyâd been plucked from some unseen garden growing inside him. And he supposed in a way they had. âHow long?â he managed to ask.
âHard to say without knowing how fast itâs progressing. Weâll do another scan in a week and go from there.â Tanaka paused then added, âI assume you are aware of your options.â
Jack nodded once. âSurgery orâŚdeath.â He had to force the last word past his lips. Heâd engaged in reckless behavior, volunteering for SWAT, standing on the edge of the roof while he thought about how easy it would be to just not have to deal with it all anymore. To not be alone every fucking day of his life. But now that the very real possibility of his death was looming in the shadows he suddenly found he didnât want it.
âAs you are aware, the surgery would remove any feelings for the person in question. You may forget them entirely though that is very rare. There is also always the possibility that the person you love will return your affections. Then no intervention would be needed,â Tanaka said, voice soft. âThe matter would resolve on its own. Itâs quite remarkable really.â
Jack looked down at the petals again. The idea that his body had somehow conjured flowers from a love he wasnât even aware of seemed impossible. Yet the evidence was literally in his hand.
âYou have a lot to think about,â Tanaka said, standing. âIâll schedule another scan for next week and we can talk about options.â
âThank you,â Jack said as he stood as well.
âYou should take it easy until then. The coughing may worsen, particularly if youâre stressed or physically exerted. Iâd recommend time off work.â
âIâll think about it,â Jack said, but the thought of sitting alone at home with his thoughts was not one he wanted to contemplate at the moment.
Dr. Tanaka seemed to sense his turmoil. âThis is a lot to process. Many patients find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist or a family member. And I suggest a discussion with the personââ
âThere is no person,â Jack cut him off sharply. âMy wife has been dead for six years. Thereâs been no one since.â
The other man didnât argue, but his expression made it clear he wasnât convinced. âIâll see you next week. Call if you have any questions or concerns before then.â
âThank you for seeing me on such short notice.â Jack turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall, he pressed his back against the wall. He took the deepest breath he had since entering the office. The tightness in his chest reminded him of the flowers blooming where they had no right to be.
Love.
The word echoed in his head. Heâd buried that part of himself when Mari died. The idea that his body had somehow betrayed him, had grown flowers for someone elseâŚIt was too much. He couldnât accept it. Wouldnât.
He pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator. One foot in front of the other. Thatâs how heâd gotten through the worst days after Mariâs death and thatâs how he would get through this.
Jack made it back to the ER on autopilot, his mind still reeling. Day shift was in full swing. Jack just stood for a minute, trying to orientate himself, feeling oddly disconnected from the familiar chaos.
âJack!â
He turned to find Robby hurrying toward him. His face was creased with worry, eyes scanning Jackâs features as if searching for visible changes.
âWell? What did he say?â
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. How did he possibly explain he was coughing up petals for someone he was supposedly in love with? It was stupid. Ridiculous. And just the sort of thing that would happen to him. Of course it was.
âItâs not possible,â he finally forced out. âItâs notâŚMike, IâŚâ His voice cracked, another cough building in his chest.
âOkay, okay,â Robby said, his tone shifting from urgent to soothing. âLetâs sit down, huh? You look like youâre about ready to fall over.â
Before Jack could protest, Robby led him through the department toward the breakroom. He deposited him in a chair at one of the tables, then turned to fill a cup with water. âHere, drink,â he instructed as he sat it in front of Jack.
Jack obeyed mechanically, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. The simple act centered him somewhat, anchoring him to the present moment.
Robby pulled out a chair and sat down. âNow, what did Tanaka say?â
Jack stared at the cup in his hands. âHanahaki,â he said finally.
âShit. I thought it might be when they said Tanaka wanted to see you.â Robby sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. âHeâs the best, so thereâs that at least.â
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât make any sense, man. I havenât been in love with anyone since Mari died.â
An expression he couldnât place flicked across Robbyâs face before shifting to disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
Jack frowned. âWhatâs with the tone? Why are you making it sound like Iâm stupid?â
âBecause you are,â Robby said without hesitation. When Jack just stared at him, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. âYou really donât know?â
âKnow what?â Jack demanded, irritation briefly overriding his confusion.
Your name was the only thing that left Robbyâs lips.
Jack blinked and repeated it like a question. Like your face hadnât just appeared in his brain. Like he didnât instantly think about your smile, hear your laugh.
âYes!â Robby threw his hands up in exasperation. âThe woman youâve been staring at with a besotted expression for the past eight months? The one you look for anytime you enter the department? The one whose coffee order you have memorized?â
No, no. That couldnât be right. âBut sheâsââ
âBrilliant,â Robby stated. âFunny. Kind. Beautiful. Should I continue to list off everything you said to me the last time we went out? You talked about her all night, man.â
âI meanâŚI respect her.â The words felt inadequate even as he said them. Images of you flashed through his mind. The way you laughed at your own jokes even if no one else did, how you always remembered small details about people, that furrow that appeared between your brows when you were concentrating.
âSheâs dedicated,â he continued. âCompassionate. She doesnât take shit from anyone, but sheâs never mean about it. And sheâsâŚâ He trailed off, suddenly realizing he could continue talking about you for the rest of the day.
âSheâs what?â Robby prompted, a knowing look on his face.
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât matter. I donât love her. I canât.â
âWhy not? Because you loved Mari? Loving someone else doesnât erase what you had with her.â
âItâs not that simple,â Jack argued, though he couldnât have explained why if someone pressed.
âIt actually is,â Robby replied, not unkindly. âYou loved your wife. She died and it broke you. For a long time, I wasnât certain youâd ever put yourself back together. But you have. And against all odds you found someone who makes you feel something again. Instead of being grateful, instead of grasping it with both hands, youâre literally making yourself sick denying it.â
âItâs notâŚI havenâtââ
âYou have,â Robby interrupted. âEveryone knows youâre in love with her except you and her, apparently.â He sighed and ran a hand down his face. âJust think about it, okay? Really think about it.â
As if on cue, another coughing fit seized Jack, this one stronger than the last. He doubled over, hand braced against the table as his chest contracted painfully. When it finally subsided, he found his palm filled with more petals, the edges tinged with blood.
âHoly shit.â Robby stared at the evidence in front of him.
Jack closed his hand around the petals, as if hiding them from view would make them cease to exist. âI need to get out of here. I need to go home.â He pushed himself to his feet. The room titled slightly, his vision blurring at the edges.
âYouâre in no condition to drive,â Robby said standing as well, typing on his phone. âLet me have someone run you home.â
âIâm fine,â Jack insisted though the wheeze in his voice undermined his claim. âI just need some sleep. I need to rest.â He needed to get you out of his brain.
âYou need to figure this out, Jack. Finding out you have Hanahaki would throw anyone for a loop, especially when you didnât even realize you were in love. But this isnât something you can ignore. It wonât just go away, it will only get worse.
Robby was right, Jack knew he was. Heâd been ignoring what was happening for weeks, dismissing symptoms, making excuses. And now he was paying the price.
âI know. Iâll think about what you said. I promise.â
âGood. Thatâs a start. Now get your things together. Your ride should be here in a minute.â
Now, when Robby said ride, Jack assumed he meant an intern. An uber perhaps. What he did not expect to see when he stepped through the doors was you. Youâd pulled your car to the side where it wouldnât impede any ambulances and you leaned against it. It took him longer than heâd admit to realize you were waiting for him.
Jack spun on his heel to glare at his former best friend. âWhat the fuck did you do?â he hissed.
Robby gave him a look of feigned innocence. âGot you a ride.â
âYou asked her?â
At that he grinned. âActually, I sent a message to the group chat. She volunteered.â
âOh.â He looked over to find you in the same position, your gaze moving between the two attendings. He lifted a hand in greeting and to let you know heâd be right there.
You nodded, waved at Robby and got behind the wheel.
âWhat do I do?â Jack asked, suddenly at a loss.
Robby rested a heavy hand on Jackâs shoulder. âYou donât have to do anything, brother. Just let her take you home. Think about how you really feel about her. Thatâs all.â
âYeah, yeah, I can do that,â Jack agreed with a nod of his head. âIâll see you later.â
âNot tonight you wonât,â Robby corrected. âYouâre off until Friday at the earliest. Doctorâs orders.â
Jack didnât bother to argue. Knew there would be no point. And honestly, he could use a few days to get his head straight. He held up a hand in goodbye as he made his way to your car, his mind churning. What if Robby was right? What if heâd fallen in love without realizing it, what then? You had never given any indication you felt the same. The idea of confessing feelings that might not be returnedâŚ
Another cough built in his chest as if his body was responding to the thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. One problem at a time. First, he needed to get home. Then he needed to figure out if Robby was right.
As if sensing Jack was lost his head, you didnât attempt to make conversation after your initial greeting once he got in the car. When you arrived at his house, he finally turned to look at you. âThanks for the ride. I would have been fine driving but Robby insisted.â
âI didnât mind, Jack. However, Iâm afraid you canât be rid of me just yet.â
His brows shot up into his hairline. âExcuse me?â
âBossman said, and I quote, âget his ass inside and into bed with a glass of water and trashcan nearby.â So thatâs what Iâm going to do. Letâs go.â You climbed out of the car and waited for him to exit before locking the doors.
âI assure you that his is not necessary,â Jack argued. More than that, it could be catastrophic. Having you in his house, where heâd now be able to picture you clearly instead of relying solely on his imagination? That sounded like a horrible idea. Not that heâd ever pictured you in his house. Sitting across from him at the table, nestled into his side as you watched TV. That would be absurd.
You took his bag from his loose hold and ignored his protests as you carried it up to the door. Jack stared at you hopeless for another moment before sighing and following after you. âKeys are in the front pocket.â
You pulled them out and handed them over. He unlocked the door, leaving it open for you to follow after. He gestured at the hooks just inside the door. âYou can hang the bag there.â
You did and kicked off your shoes, nudging them to line up against the wall. âRobby didnât exactly say what was wrong with you.â You paused, but Jack didnât offer any clarification. No, that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. You cleared your throat. âAre you hungry? I could make you something.â
âNo, sweetheart, Iâm fine.â The endearment slipped out without thought. He suddenly wondered when the first time was he had called you that. And when had that become the norm instead of your name? Christ. He wiped a hand down his face. âIâm fucking exhausted. I just want to go to bed.â
You nodded. âSure. Let me get you that water at least.â
Jack just nodded and headed down the hall toward his bedroom to fish out something to change into after his shower. You stepped into the doorway just as he finished taking off his leg. He froze and swallowed. âSorry. Forgot youâd be coming back here.â
You smiled and Jack had to glance away. âItâs your home, Jack, and Iâve seen you without the leg before. Itâs not like you were nude. Here.â You sat the glass on the nightstand. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
âNo. Iâve got it. Thank you.â You had seen him without the leg precisely once when it started rubbing wrong on a shift and youâd made him sit down and get an exam. Youâd also bullied him into supervising from a wheelchair for the rest of the night when you saw his red, raw flesh by threatening to call Robby and tattle on him.
Your gaze ran over him, assessing. He could feel it. âAre you sure youâre okay?â
His eyes found yours again but he said nothing.
âYou just seem off.â Worry shone in your eyes and he forced himself to look away once more.
âIâm fine. Just tired.â
After a moment, you stepped toward the door. âCall me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.â When he only nodded, you added, âPromise?â
âYeah.â He cleared his throat when he heard the gravel in his voice. âPromise.â
âOkay. Bye, Jack.â And with that, you left without waiting for a response.
Tension immediately flowed from Jackâs entire body. Jesus, Robby couldnât have found literally anyone else to bring him home? He pushed thoughts of you from his head as he finished stripping. Using his crutches, he moved into the shower, ready to rinse the night off so he could get some sleep.
Not thinking of you lasted approximately two and a half minutes after he turned the water on. Heâd turned the temp up on the water hoping it would help clear his lungs. His chest ached with each breath, a constant reminder of the flowers blooming in his lungs.
Flowers.
For you.
It was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed working with you. You were competent, smart, quick to smile and to make others laugh. You had a way with patients that made even the most difficult cases manageable. And so what if heâd noticed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, or that you tapped your fingers when you were thinking?
But that didnât mean he was in love with you. Love was what heâd had with Mari. All consuming, life-altering, the kind that left you devastated and broken when it was no longer yours. What he felt for you wasâŚappreciation. Admiration, perhaps. Friendship. That was it. He loved you like a very dear friend.
Except friends didnât keep mental lists of your favorite foods, or notice when you changed your shampoo, or come in on their nights off because you were working. Friends didnât feel their mood lift the moment you walked into a room or find themselves replaying conversations long after theyâd ended.
Jack groaned, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair. This was insane. He was a grown man, not some teenager with a crush. Heâd been married, for fuckâs sake. He knew what love felt like.
Or he had once. Before Mari died, leaving him hollowed out and certain he would never feel that way again. Heâd adjusted to his solitude. To the bed being too big and the house too quiet.
But latelyâŚ
He sucked in a shaky breath as he finally admitted to himself that heâd been pursuing you without even realizing it. No wonder Robby had looked at him like he was an idiot. He was.
âIâm fond of her,â he said aloud, testing the words. âThatâs all it is. A fondness.â It couldnât be love, because if it was that meantâ
His chest contracted sharply, another cough building. This one came on faster than the others, stealing his breath before he could prepare. He curled forward, one hand pressed to his sternum as his lungs spasmed. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, each breath harder than the last, until finally, blessedly, it subsided.
When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see dozens of petals swirling toward the drain. Proof, if heâd needed it that Tanaka was right. That Robby was right.
He was in love with you. For far longer than he cared to admit.
Tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks as his shoulders shook in a silent sob. Heâd fallen in love with you and hadnât even realized because it was so subtle, so quiet, compared to what heâd had with his wife. Heâd lost out on so much time with you because he was too afraid to examine his feelings. To admit to himself what everyone else had known all along.
But what difference did it make really? Because even if he loved you, what then? Youâd never given any indication you felt the same. No lingering looks or soft touches. Nothing to suggest you saw him as anything more than a colleague.
And why would you? He was damaged goods. A widower with a missing leg and more baggage than most people would want to deal with. You were vibrant, fully engaged with life in a way he had long forgotten. You deserved someone whole, someone who could love you without reservation or complication. Someone who didnât still wake reaching for a wife that would never be there again.
Jack closed his eyes and took another shaky breath as he turned off the water. As he dried off and headed for bed, he considered his options. Heâd meet with Tanaka and schedule the surgery. But he should talk to you first. He knew he should. But he was so fucking scared.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. Youâd told him to call if he needed anything, but what if he only needed you? He could hear your voice, ask you to come back. He could tell you everything and hope maybe you felt the same.
He moved to the call button, then stopped. He needed to sleep first. Needed to be fully about himself before he decided how to approach this. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally found rest, but even that was fitful.
He glanced at the clock when he woke to find it nearing seven. At least heâd managed a few hours. You were working, so his grand confession would have to wait. Maybe he could meet you after shift and take you to breakfast.
He was so lost in his head when he opened the bedroom door that he almost disregarded the rich aroma filling the air and the soft sounds from his kitchen. He frowned and moved into the other room, calling a soft âHello?â as he went.
As he stepped into the doorway, you glanced at him over your shoulder and he sucked in a breath. You were here. In his home. Making dinner.
âYou stayed?â he asked, voice rougher than intended.
You shrugged and turned back to the stove. âYou didnât look okay. I wanted to be close, crashed on the couch. I hope I didnât overstep.â
He swallowed down the words that rose in his throat. No. Never. Stay the night. Stay forever. âDonât you have to work?â
âBossman gave me the night off. Told me to take care of you if I was that worried. I wasnât going to argue with him. Thought Iâd make you some soup.â You didnât look at him, but he could hear the concern in your tone, the worry that he would be upset with you for taking care of him.
He just watched you move in his space like you belonged there.
Finally, you glanced at him again and gave him a small smile when you found him watching. âWhereâs your bowls?â
âIâll get them,â he said, suddenly desperate to do something.
It was a simple task but before he could even open the cabinet, he was seized by another violent coughing fit. He bent over the sink, bracing against the edge for support. His chest burned and his vision blurred at the edge. He vaguely registered you saying his name and a hand landing on his back, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
When the fit finally subsided, he was horrified to see the petals that littered the sink.
You went completely still beside him. âJack, are thoseâŚâ
âItâs notâŚâ he started then trailed off. There was no explanation he could give you beside the truth.
âOh,â you said softly, your fingers curling in as you removed your touch from his back. You took a step away. âWho is it?â You sounded resigned, maybe even a little hurt.
The question hung between you. Jack remained braced against the sink, unable to look at you. âWhen my wife died, I thought I would never love anyone again. That it would be impossible. So, when it happened, I didnât even realize it. Or I suppose itâs more like I ignored it.â He risked a glance at your reflection in the window above the sink. âI guess my body didnât like that. Itâs making me face it.â
âThat wasnât my question, Jack.â Your voice was smaller than heâd ever heard it.
He turned to face you then, his hip leaning against the counter to take his weight. âDonât you know, sweetheart? According to Robby, itâs obvious to everyone in the department that Iâm crazy about you.â
Jack watched your face for your reaction. Anything. But your expression remained carefully blank aside from a slight widening of your eyes.
âMe?â you finally said, the word barely audible.
âYeah.â Jack pushed off from the counter, using his crutches to move over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. He kept his gaze on anything but you. âBut I donât expect anything. You donât owe me anything. I have options. Iâll be fine. I see the doctor again next week and I can get the surgery scheduled.â
 âJack Abbot, if you have that surgery, I will never forgive you.â Your sharp tone had his head immediately snapping over to follow you as you stepped toward him.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause it is completely unnecessary, you idiot. I have been in love with you for ages.â
Time seemed to stop. Jack stared at you, certain heâd misheard. âWhat?â
You came to a stop in front of him. âIâve loved you for months, probably longer. I just didnât think that you would everâŚthat you could everâŚâ
The rest of your sentence was lost as Jack pulled you forward into his arms, one hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb traced your lips as your eyes searched his. He leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His lips found yours hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty as you responded. He laughed against your mouth as you turned and sat sideways in his lap. When he finally pulled back completely, the first thing he noticed was your wide smile and the joy in your eyes.
The second was, that for the first time in weeksâin six years reallyâhe could finally, simply, breathe.
synopsis: Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differe.
warnings/notes: Hanahaki AU and everything that entails. mentions of Jack's late wife. I'm kind of in love with this. Flangst, my beloved.
wc: 5.9k
Jack Abbot knew a great many things.
He knew how to trach in the field under active fire. He knew how to run an emergency department efficiently and effectively. He knew how to make an omelet and fix a sink and change the oil in his car. He knew what it felt like to lose the greatest thing heâd ever held and he knew what it felt like to love. Or so he believed until a random Tuesday in June.
It was nearing the end of his shift when Jack felt it again. That hitch in his breathing that signaled the arrival of a deep, rattling cough that heâd been dealing with for weeks now. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Just a lingering cold, he told himself. Or allergies maybe. Nothing some water and cough drops wouldnât fix.
Except the tightness in his chest had gotten worse. And the cough drops werenât doing a damn thing. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, it felt like an invisible band was squeezing his lungs. His voice had taken on a rougher edge and heâd start wheezing if he tried to say more than few words at a time.
âYou look like shit,â said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned to find Robby standing there, coffee in hand, ready to start his shift. âGood morning to you, too. Some of us have been up all night.â
Robby hummed. âAnd some of us are clearly coming down with something. Seriously, Jack, you donât look good. Are you okay?â
Jack waved a hand through the air in dismissal. âFine. Just a little under the weather.â
âIs that why youâre breathing like you just ran a marathon?â Robby took a step closer. âYouâre wheezing and Iâm not the only one that noticed. I got three texts from night shift.â
âItâs just a cold.â Jack tried to take a deep breath to prove his point but it caught in his throat, triggering another coughing fit. This one was worse than the others and had him gripping the edge of the counter for support.
When the coughing subsided, Robbyâs gaze was stern. âThat doesnât sound like a cold to me.â
âItâs nothing,â Jack insisted, though the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. âProbably just moved to my chest is all.â
Robby sat his coffee down and crossed his arms. âThat is not nothing. I want labs and a chest x-ray.â
âChrist, Mike. Itâs not that big of a deal.â
âIâm not asking, Jack. Youâre a doctor. You know better than to ignore stuff like this.â His tone left no room for argument.
Jack recognized the look his friend was giving him. He wasnât getting out of this. He sighed. âFine. One x-ray. Then Iâm going home to sleep.â
âDeal,â Robby said, already putting in the order for the portable chest x-ray into the system. He glanced at Dana who hadnât even pretended she wasnât listening.
âEightâs open.â
âA room, man? Come on,â Jack complained but headed in that direction.
âQuit complaining,â Robby said as he trailed behind him, signaling the radiology tech with the machine to follow him. âShirt off, Abbot.â
âBuy me dinner first,â Jack snarked even as he did as told. He laid down and the machine was positioned over the top of him.
âTake a deep breath and hold it,â Marcia the tech instructed.
The first time he attempted to follow instructions, he devolved into a coughing fit. âSorry,â he apologized once he caught his breath.
âItâs fine. Just do the best you can.â The tech took three shots from different angles.
Robby slid on his glasses and stepped up to the machine while Jack put his t-shirt back on, forgoing the scrub top since his shift was over anyway.
âLet me guess. Nothing but a little inflammation. Can I go home now?â
âLeave us for a minute,â Robby said to Marcia, voice low.
Jackâs head snapped up, his gaze darting from his friend to the screen he was looking at and back again. âWhat is it?â
Robby turned the screen toward Jack so he could see for himself. Even from across the room, he could see the large white mass shadowing his right lung.
He swallowed hard. âThat could be pneumonia. Or an abscess or something.â
âIt could be,â Robby agreed but his tone suggested he didnât believe it. âIâve sent it up to pulmonary.â His phone rang before he could say anything else. He glanced at the screen. âThat was fast.â
Jack shifted his weight as he listened to Robbyâs one-sided conversation with pulmonary. When he hung up, he turned to look at Jack.
âDr. Tanaka wants to see you immediately.â He paused and looked at Jack as if the name should mean something to him. It didnât. After a moment, Robby took a breath. âHeâs sent an order to CT. Youâre to report there and then head to his office.â
âRight now?â Jackâs voice was little more than a whisper. The words having to be forced past the lump in his throat. This was all happening too fast. One moment heâd been dismissing his persistent cough and the next he was being scheduled for immediate appointments with pulmonary. âItâs probably nothing. Just a weird artefact in the imaging or something,â he said more to himself than Robby.
âIâm sure youâre right,â Robby agreed, but the worry in his eyes said something else entirely. âBut youâre going to get checked out thoroughly just to be sure.â
Within half an hour, Jack was laying on the table in a gown as the CT hummed around him. The contrast dye made him feel warm and vaguely nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the cold fear settling in his stomach.
The tech entered the room. âAll finished. By the time you get changed and to his office, Dr. Tanaka should have the images.â
Jack cleared his throat. âThatâs fast.â
âYouâre a VIP patient today, Dr. Abbot.â
There was nothing Jack wanted to be less. He didnât want to be here. Didnât want to be doing this. He wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened.
He made his way to the pulmonary floor trying to prepare himself for whatever Dr. Tanaka might say. Heâd delivered bad news to patients and their families plenty of times, but he hadnât been on the receiving end since Mari died.
The waiting room was empty when he arrived, the early hour meaning most patients hadnât arrived for the appointments yet. The receptionist smiled as he approached. âDr. Abbot? Dr. Tanaka is ready for you. Third door on the right.â
Jack took a deep breath, or tried to, and headed down the hall. Whatever was waiting for him, he would face it like he did everything else. Head on. Even if, for the first time in years, he was truly afraid.
When he entered the room, Jack was surprised to find himself in an office instead of an exam room. Tanaka rose to greet him. âDr. Abbot,â he held out a hand to shake Jackâs.
âJust Jack,â he said with a nod before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.
âVery well. Jack, then.â Tanaka stayed standing and pressed a couple of buttons on his computer and the large screen behind him lit up with an image of what Jack assumed were his lungs. He pointed at the mass that seemed to branch out from the right lung. âDo you know what youâre looking at here?â
Jack studied the image noting the abnormal density, the way it seemed to branch through his lung tissue like the roots of a plant. The mass was larger than it had appeared in the x-ray, more defined.
Jack swallowed. âA tumor. Probably malignant given the irregularities and the rapid growth.â Heâd seen the symptoms enough in his patients to recognize the pattern. The cough, the tight chest, the fatigue. Classic presentation for lung cancer.
Tanaka shook his head. âI had my suspicions from your x-ray but the CT confirms.â He used a finger to indicate several areas on the scan. âDo you see these fine lines extending from the main mass?â
Jack leaned forward. Now that the doctor pointed it out, he could see delicate lines spreading through his lung tissue. âVascularization?â he guessed.
âNot exactly.â Tanaka took a seat at his desk. âWhat youâre seeing is consistent with the presentation of Hanahaki disease.â
Jack physically jerked back in his seat. That wasnât⌠âThatâs impossible. I want a second opinion.â
âYou are certainly entitled to one, but I am the leading expert in Hanahaki in the state.â He wasnât bragging, just stating a fact.
The look Robby had given him when heâd said the name suddenly made so much sense. âIâve only ever loved my wife, and sheâs dead. Has been for years.â
Jack had seen Hanahaki before, of course he had. The condition was rare and still not well understood. Unrequited love manifesting physically with the growth of flowers in the lungs. But it was something that happened to young romantics or the occasional middle-age yearner, not to someone like him. Not to an old, broken ER attending whoâd buried his heart with his wife six years ago.
âIâm sorry, but the blood tests confirm.â He clicked on his screen and Jackâs results populated the screen.
Jack shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. âRun more tests. There has to be a mistake.â
âDr. Abbot, Jack, we can run additional tests, but given your symptoms and the findings, Hanahaki is our working diagnosis.â He paused, studying Jackâs face. âI suggest you do some soul searching. Youâre in love whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.â
Jack opened his mouth to argue but another coughing fit seized him, doubling him over. His lungs burned as he struggled to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he was surprised to find Tanaka standing in front of him holding a tissue. Only when he took it did he understand why. Delicate pink petals filled his palm.
âJesus Christ,â he whispered, staring at the evidence in his hand.
âThatâs confirmation enough for me,â Dr. Tanaka said quietly. âThe small petals are consistent with early stage Hanahaki. Theyâll become larger and more numerous as the disease progresses, until you are expelling full blooms.â
Jack couldnât tear his gaze away from the petals. Each one was perfect, like theyâd been plucked from some unseen garden growing inside him. And he supposed in a way they had. âHow long?â he managed to ask.
âHard to say without knowing how fast itâs progressing. Weâll do another scan in a week and go from there.â Tanaka paused then added, âI assume you are aware of your options.â
Jack nodded once. âSurgery orâŚdeath.â He had to force the last word past his lips. Heâd engaged in reckless behavior, volunteering for SWAT, standing on the edge of the roof while he thought about how easy it would be to just not have to deal with it all anymore. To not be alone every fucking day of his life. But now that the very real possibility of his death was looming in the shadows he suddenly found he didnât want it.
âAs you are aware, the surgery would remove any feelings for the person in question. You may forget them entirely though that is very rare. There is also always the possibility that the person you love will return your affections. Then no intervention would be needed,â Tanaka said, voice soft. âThe matter would resolve on its own. Itâs quite remarkable really.â
Jack looked down at the petals again. The idea that his body had somehow conjured flowers from a love he wasnât even aware of seemed impossible. Yet the evidence was literally in his hand.
âYou have a lot to think about,â Tanaka said, standing. âIâll schedule another scan for next week and we can talk about options.â
âThank you,â Jack said as he stood as well.
âYou should take it easy until then. The coughing may worsen, particularly if youâre stressed or physically exerted. Iâd recommend time off work.â
âIâll think about it,â Jack said, but the thought of sitting alone at home with his thoughts was not one he wanted to contemplate at the moment.
Dr. Tanaka seemed to sense his turmoil. âThis is a lot to process. Many patients find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist or a family member. And I suggest a discussion with the personââ
âThere is no person,â Jack cut him off sharply. âMy wife has been dead for six years. Thereâs been no one since.â
The other man didnât argue, but his expression made it clear he wasnât convinced. âIâll see you next week. Call if you have any questions or concerns before then.â
âThank you for seeing me on such short notice.â Jack turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall, he pressed his back against the wall. He took the deepest breath he had since entering the office. The tightness in his chest reminded him of the flowers blooming where they had no right to be.
Love.
The word echoed in his head. Heâd buried that part of himself when Mari died. The idea that his body had somehow betrayed him, had grown flowers for someone elseâŚIt was too much. He couldnât accept it. Wouldnât.
He pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator. One foot in front of the other. Thatâs how heâd gotten through the worst days after Mariâs death and thatâs how he would get through this.
Jack made it back to the ER on autopilot, his mind still reeling. Day shift was in full swing. Jack just stood for a minute, trying to orientate himself, feeling oddly disconnected from the familiar chaos.
âJack!â
He turned to find Robby hurrying toward him. His face was creased with worry, eyes scanning Jackâs features as if searching for visible changes.
âWell? What did he say?â
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. How did he possibly explain he was coughing up petals for someone he was supposedly in love with? It was stupid. Ridiculous. And just the sort of thing that would happen to him. Of course it was.
âItâs not possible,â he finally forced out. âItâs notâŚMike, IâŚâ His voice cracked, another cough building in his chest.
âOkay, okay,â Robby said, his tone shifting from urgent to soothing. âLetâs sit down, huh? You look like youâre about ready to fall over.â
Before Jack could protest, Robby led him through the department toward the breakroom. He deposited him in a chair at one of the tables, then turned to fill a cup with water. âHere, drink,â he instructed as he sat it in front of Jack.
Jack obeyed mechanically, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. The simple act centered him somewhat, anchoring him to the present moment.
Robby pulled out a chair and sat down. âNow, what did Tanaka say?â
Jack stared at the cup in his hands. âHanahaki,â he said finally.
âShit. I thought it might be when they said Tanaka wanted to see you.â Robby sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. âHeâs the best, so thereâs that at least.â
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât make any sense, man. I havenât been in love with anyone since Mari died.â
An expression he couldnât place flicked across Robbyâs face before shifting to disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
Jack frowned. âWhatâs with the tone? Why are you making it sound like Iâm stupid?â
âBecause you are,â Robby said without hesitation. When Jack just stared at him, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. âYou really donât know?â
âKnow what?â Jack demanded, irritation briefly overriding his confusion.
Your name was the only thing that left Robbyâs lips.
Jack blinked and repeated it like a question. Like your face hadnât just appeared in his brain. Like he didnât instantly think about your smile, hear your laugh.
âYes!â Robby threw his hands up in exasperation. âThe woman youâve been staring at with a besotted expression for the past eight months? The one you look for anytime you enter the department? The one whose coffee order you have memorized?â
No, no. That couldnât be right. âBut sheâsââ
âBrilliant,â Robby stated. âFunny. Kind. Beautiful. Should I continue to list off everything you said to me the last time we went out? You talked about her all night, man.â
âI meanâŚI respect her.â The words felt inadequate even as he said them. Images of you flashed through his mind. The way you laughed at your own jokes even if no one else did, how you always remembered small details about people, that furrow that appeared between your brows when you were concentrating.
âSheâs dedicated,â he continued. âCompassionate. She doesnât take shit from anyone, but sheâs never mean about it. And sheâsâŚâ He trailed off, suddenly realizing he could continue talking about you for the rest of the day.
âSheâs what?â Robby prompted, a knowing look on his face.
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât matter. I donât love her. I canât.â
âWhy not? Because you loved Mari? Loving someone else doesnât erase what you had with her.â
âItâs not that simple,â Jack argued, though he couldnât have explained why if someone pressed.
âIt actually is,â Robby replied, not unkindly. âYou loved your wife. She died and it broke you. For a long time, I wasnât certain youâd ever put yourself back together. But you have. And against all odds you found someone who makes you feel something again. Instead of being grateful, instead of grasping it with both hands, youâre literally making yourself sick denying it.â
âItâs notâŚI havenâtââ
âYou have,â Robby interrupted. âEveryone knows youâre in love with her except you and her, apparently.â He sighed and ran a hand down his face. âJust think about it, okay? Really think about it.â
As if on cue, another coughing fit seized Jack, this one stronger than the last. He doubled over, hand braced against the table as his chest contracted painfully. When it finally subsided, he found his palm filled with more petals, the edges tinged with blood.
âHoly shit.â Robby stared at the evidence in front of him.
Jack closed his hand around the petals, as if hiding them from view would make them cease to exist. âI need to get out of here. I need to go home.â He pushed himself to his feet. The room titled slightly, his vision blurring at the edges.
âYouâre in no condition to drive,â Robby said standing as well, typing on his phone. âLet me have someone run you home.â
âIâm fine,â Jack insisted though the wheeze in his voice undermined his claim. âI just need some sleep. I need to rest.â He needed to get you out of his brain.
âYou need to figure this out, Jack. Finding out you have Hanahaki would throw anyone for a loop, especially when you didnât even realize you were in love. But this isnât something you can ignore. It wonât just go away, it will only get worse.
Robby was right, Jack knew he was. Heâd been ignoring what was happening for weeks, dismissing symptoms, making excuses. And now he was paying the price.
âI know. Iâll think about what you said. I promise.â
âGood. Thatâs a start. Now get your things together. Your ride should be here in a minute.â
Now, when Robby said ride, Jack assumed he meant an intern. An uber perhaps. What he did not expect to see when he stepped through the doors was you. Youâd pulled your car to the side where it wouldnât impede any ambulances and you leaned against it. It took him longer than heâd admit to realize you were waiting for him.
Jack spun on his heel to glare at his former best friend. âWhat the fuck did you do?â he hissed.
Robby gave him a look of feigned innocence. âGot you a ride.â
âYou asked her?â
At that he grinned. âActually, I sent a message to the group chat. She volunteered.â
âOh.â He looked over to find you in the same position, your gaze moving between the two attendings. He lifted a hand in greeting and to let you know heâd be right there.
You nodded, waved at Robby and got behind the wheel.
âWhat do I do?â Jack asked, suddenly at a loss.
Robby rested a heavy hand on Jackâs shoulder. âYou donât have to do anything, brother. Just let her take you home. Think about how you really feel about her. Thatâs all.â
âYeah, yeah, I can do that,â Jack agreed with a nod of his head. âIâll see you later.â
âNot tonight you wonât,â Robby corrected. âYouâre off until Friday at the earliest. Doctorâs orders.â
Jack didnât bother to argue. Knew there would be no point. And honestly, he could use a few days to get his head straight. He held up a hand in goodbye as he made his way to your car, his mind churning. What if Robby was right? What if heâd fallen in love without realizing it, what then? You had never given any indication you felt the same. The idea of confessing feelings that might not be returnedâŚ
Another cough built in his chest as if his body was responding to the thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. One problem at a time. First, he needed to get home. Then he needed to figure out if Robby was right.
As if sensing Jack was lost his head, you didnât attempt to make conversation after your initial greeting once he got in the car. When you arrived at his house, he finally turned to look at you. âThanks for the ride. I would have been fine driving but Robby insisted.â
âI didnât mind, Jack. However, Iâm afraid you canât be rid of me just yet.â
His brows shot up into his hairline. âExcuse me?â
âBossman said, and I quote, âget his ass inside and into bed with a glass of water and trashcan nearby.â So thatâs what Iâm going to do. Letâs go.â You climbed out of the car and waited for him to exit before locking the doors.
âI assure you that his is not necessary,â Jack argued. More than that, it could be catastrophic. Having you in his house, where heâd now be able to picture you clearly instead of relying solely on his imagination? That sounded like a horrible idea. Not that heâd ever pictured you in his house. Sitting across from him at the table, nestled into his side as you watched TV. That would be absurd.
You took his bag from his loose hold and ignored his protests as you carried it up to the door. Jack stared at you hopeless for another moment before sighing and following after you. âKeys are in the front pocket.â
You pulled them out and handed them over. He unlocked the door, leaving it open for you to follow after. He gestured at the hooks just inside the door. âYou can hang the bag there.â
You did and kicked off your shoes, nudging them to line up against the wall. âRobby didnât exactly say what was wrong with you.â You paused, but Jack didnât offer any clarification. No, that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. You cleared your throat. âAre you hungry? I could make you something.â
âNo, sweetheart, Iâm fine.â The endearment slipped out without thought. He suddenly wondered when the first time was he had called you that. And when had that become the norm instead of your name? Christ. He wiped a hand down his face. âIâm fucking exhausted. I just want to go to bed.â
You nodded. âSure. Let me get you that water at least.â
Jack just nodded and headed down the hall toward his bedroom to fish out something to change into after his shower. You stepped into the doorway just as he finished taking off his leg. He froze and swallowed. âSorry. Forgot youâd be coming back here.â
You smiled and Jack had to glance away. âItâs your home, Jack, and Iâve seen you without the leg before. Itâs not like you were nude. Here.â You sat the glass on the nightstand. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
âNo. Iâve got it. Thank you.â You had seen him without the leg precisely once when it started rubbing wrong on a shift and youâd made him sit down and get an exam. Youâd also bullied him into supervising from a wheelchair for the rest of the night when you saw his red, raw flesh by threatening to call Robby and tattle on him.
Your gaze ran over him, assessing. He could feel it. âAre you sure youâre okay?â
His eyes found yours again but he said nothing.
âYou just seem off.â Worry shone in your eyes and he forced himself to look away once more.
âIâm fine. Just tired.â
After a moment, you stepped toward the door. âCall me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.â When he only nodded, you added, âPromise?â
âYeah.â He cleared his throat when he heard the gravel in his voice. âPromise.â
âOkay. Bye, Jack.â And with that, you left without waiting for a response.
Tension immediately flowed from Jackâs entire body. Jesus, Robby couldnât have found literally anyone else to bring him home? He pushed thoughts of you from his head as he finished stripping. Using his crutches, he moved into the shower, ready to rinse the night off so he could get some sleep.
Not thinking of you lasted approximately two and a half minutes after he turned the water on. Heâd turned the temp up on the water hoping it would help clear his lungs. His chest ached with each breath, a constant reminder of the flowers blooming in his lungs.
Flowers.
For you.
It was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed working with you. You were competent, smart, quick to smile and to make others laugh. You had a way with patients that made even the most difficult cases manageable. And so what if heâd noticed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, or that you tapped your fingers when you were thinking?
But that didnât mean he was in love with you. Love was what heâd had with Mari. All consuming, life-altering, the kind that left you devastated and broken when it was no longer yours. What he felt for you wasâŚappreciation. Admiration, perhaps. Friendship. That was it. He loved you like a very dear friend.
Except friends didnât keep mental lists of your favorite foods, or notice when you changed your shampoo, or come in on their nights off because you were working. Friends didnât feel their mood lift the moment you walked into a room or find themselves replaying conversations long after theyâd ended.
Jack groaned, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair. This was insane. He was a grown man, not some teenager with a crush. Heâd been married, for fuckâs sake. He knew what love felt like.
Or he had once. Before Mari died, leaving him hollowed out and certain he would never feel that way again. Heâd adjusted to his solitude. To the bed being too big and the house too quiet.
But latelyâŚ
He sucked in a shaky breath as he finally admitted to himself that heâd been pursuing you without even realizing it. No wonder Robby had looked at him like he was an idiot. He was.
âIâm fond of her,â he said aloud, testing the words. âThatâs all it is. A fondness.â It couldnât be love, because if it was that meantâ
His chest contracted sharply, another cough building. This one came on faster than the others, stealing his breath before he could prepare. He curled forward, one hand pressed to his sternum as his lungs spasmed. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, each breath harder than the last, until finally, blessedly, it subsided.
When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see dozens of petals swirling toward the drain. Proof, if heâd needed it that Tanaka was right. That Robby was right.
He was in love with you. For far longer than he cared to admit.
Tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks as his shoulders shook in a silent sob. Heâd fallen in love with you and hadnât even realized because it was so subtle, so quiet, compared to what heâd had with his wife. Heâd lost out on so much time with you because he was too afraid to examine his feelings. To admit to himself what everyone else had known all along.
But what difference did it make really? Because even if he loved you, what then? Youâd never given any indication you felt the same. No lingering looks or soft touches. Nothing to suggest you saw him as anything more than a colleague.
And why would you? He was damaged goods. A widower with a missing leg and more baggage than most people would want to deal with. You were vibrant, fully engaged with life in a way he had long forgotten. You deserved someone whole, someone who could love you without reservation or complication. Someone who didnât still wake reaching for a wife that would never be there again.
Jack closed his eyes and took another shaky breath as he turned off the water. As he dried off and headed for bed, he considered his options. Heâd meet with Tanaka and schedule the surgery. But he should talk to you first. He knew he should. But he was so fucking scared.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. Youâd told him to call if he needed anything, but what if he only needed you? He could hear your voice, ask you to come back. He could tell you everything and hope maybe you felt the same.
He moved to the call button, then stopped. He needed to sleep first. Needed to be fully about himself before he decided how to approach this. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally found rest, but even that was fitful.
He glanced at the clock when he woke to find it nearing seven. At least heâd managed a few hours. You were working, so his grand confession would have to wait. Maybe he could meet you after shift and take you to breakfast.
He was so lost in his head when he opened the bedroom door that he almost disregarded the rich aroma filling the air and the soft sounds from his kitchen. He frowned and moved into the other room, calling a soft âHello?â as he went.
As he stepped into the doorway, you glanced at him over your shoulder and he sucked in a breath. You were here. In his home. Making dinner.
âYou stayed?â he asked, voice rougher than intended.
You shrugged and turned back to the stove. âYou didnât look okay. I wanted to be close, crashed on the couch. I hope I didnât overstep.â
He swallowed down the words that rose in his throat. No. Never. Stay the night. Stay forever. âDonât you have to work?â
âBossman gave me the night off. Told me to take care of you if I was that worried. I wasnât going to argue with him. Thought Iâd make you some soup.â You didnât look at him, but he could hear the concern in your tone, the worry that he would be upset with you for taking care of him.
He just watched you move in his space like you belonged there.
Finally, you glanced at him again and gave him a small smile when you found him watching. âWhereâs your bowls?â
âIâll get them,â he said, suddenly desperate to do something.
It was a simple task but before he could even open the cabinet, he was seized by another violent coughing fit. He bent over the sink, bracing against the edge for support. His chest burned and his vision blurred at the edge. He vaguely registered you saying his name and a hand landing on his back, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
When the fit finally subsided, he was horrified to see the petals that littered the sink.
You went completely still beside him. âJack, are thoseâŚâ
âItâs notâŚâ he started then trailed off. There was no explanation he could give you beside the truth.
âOh,â you said softly, your fingers curling in as you removed your touch from his back. You took a step away. âWho is it?â You sounded resigned, maybe even a little hurt.
The question hung between you. Jack remained braced against the sink, unable to look at you. âWhen my wife died, I thought I would never love anyone again. That it would be impossible. So, when it happened, I didnât even realize it. Or I suppose itâs more like I ignored it.â He risked a glance at your reflection in the window above the sink. âI guess my body didnât like that. Itâs making me face it.â
âThat wasnât my question, Jack.â Your voice was smaller than heâd ever heard it.
He turned to face you then, his hip leaning against the counter to take his weight. âDonât you know, sweetheart? According to Robby, itâs obvious to everyone in the department that Iâm crazy about you.â
Jack watched your face for your reaction. Anything. But your expression remained carefully blank aside from a slight widening of your eyes.
âMe?â you finally said, the word barely audible.
âYeah.â Jack pushed off from the counter, using his crutches to move over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. He kept his gaze on anything but you. âBut I donât expect anything. You donât owe me anything. I have options. Iâll be fine. I see the doctor again next week and I can get the surgery scheduled.â
 âJack Abbot, if you have that surgery, I will never forgive you.â Your sharp tone had his head immediately snapping over to follow you as you stepped toward him.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause it is completely unnecessary, you idiot. I have been in love with you for ages.â
Time seemed to stop. Jack stared at you, certain heâd misheard. âWhat?â
You came to a stop in front of him. âIâve loved you for months, probably longer. I just didnât think that you would everâŚthat you could everâŚâ
The rest of your sentence was lost as Jack pulled you forward into his arms, one hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb traced your lips as your eyes searched his. He leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His lips found yours hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty as you responded. He laughed against your mouth as you turned and sat sideways in his lap. When he finally pulled back completely, the first thing he noticed was your wide smile and the joy in your eyes.
The second was, that for the first time in weeksâin six years reallyâhe could finally, simply, breathe.
synopsis: Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differ.
warnings/notes: Hanahaki AU and everything that entails. mentions of Jack's late wife. I'm kind of in love with this. Flangst, my beloved.
wc: 5.9k
Jack Abbot knew a great many things.
He knew how to trach in the field under active fire. He knew how to run an emergency department efficiently and effectively. He knew how to make an omelet and fix a sink and change the oil in his car. He knew what it felt like to lose the greatest thing heâd ever held and he knew what it felt like to love. Or so he believed until a random Tuesday in June.
It was nearing the end of his shift when Jack felt it again. That hitch in his breathing that signaled the arrival of a deep, rattling cough that heâd been dealing with for weeks now. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Just a lingering cold, he told himself. Or allergies maybe. Nothing some water and cough drops wouldnât fix.
Except the tightness in his chest had gotten worse. And the cough drops werenât doing a damn thing. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, it felt like an invisible band was squeezing his lungs. His voice had taken on a rougher edge and heâd start wheezing if he tried to say more than few words at a time.
âYou look like shit,â said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned to find Robby standing there, coffee in hand, ready to start his shift. âGood morning to you, too. Some of us have been up all night.â
Robby hummed. âAnd some of us are clearly coming down with something. Seriously, Jack, you donât look good. Are you okay?â
Jack waved a hand through the air in dismissal. âFine. Just a little under the weather.â
âIs that why youâre breathing like you just ran a marathon?â Robby took a step closer. âYouâre wheezing and Iâm not the only one that noticed. I got three texts from night shift.â
âItâs just a cold.â Jack tried to take a deep breath to prove his point but it caught in his throat, triggering another coughing fit. This one was worse than the others and had him gripping the edge of the counter for support.
When the coughing subsided, Robbyâs gaze was stern. âThat doesnât sound like a cold to me.â
âItâs nothing,â Jack insisted, though the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. âProbably just moved to my chest is all.â
Robby sat his coffee down and crossed his arms. âThat is not nothing. I want labs and a chest x-ray.â
âChrist, Mike. Itâs not that big of a deal.â
âIâm not asking, Jack. Youâre a doctor. You know better than to ignore stuff like this.â His tone left no room for argument.
Jack recognized the look his friend was giving him. He wasnât getting out of this. He sighed. âFine. One x-ray. Then Iâm going home to sleep.â
âDeal,â Robby said, already putting in the order for the portable chest x-ray into the system. He glanced at Dana who hadnât even pretended she wasnât listening.
âEightâs open.â
âA room, man? Come on,â Jack complained but headed in that direction.
âQuit complaining,â Robby said as he trailed behind him, signaling the radiology tech with the machine to follow him. âShirt off, Abbot.â
âBuy me dinner first,â Jack snarked even as he did as told. He laid down and the machine was positioned over the top of him.
âTake a deep breath and hold it,â Marcia the tech instructed.
The first time he attempted to follow instructions, he devolved into a coughing fit. âSorry,â he apologized once he caught his breath.
âItâs fine. Just do the best you can.â The tech took three shots from different angles.
Robby slid on his glasses and stepped up to the machine while Jack put his t-shirt back on, forgoing the scrub top since his shift was over anyway.
âLet me guess. Nothing but a little inflammation. Can I go home now?â
âLeave us for a minute,â Robby said to Marcia, voice low.
Jackâs head snapped up, his gaze darting from his friend to the screen he was looking at and back again. âWhat is it?â
Robby turned the screen toward Jack so he could see for himself. Even from across the room, he could see the large white mass shadowing his right lung.
He swallowed hard. âThat could be pneumonia. Or an abscess or something.â
âIt could be,â Robby agreed but his tone suggested he didnât believe it. âIâve sent it up to pulmonary.â His phone rang before he could say anything else. He glanced at the screen. âThat was fast.â
Jack shifted his weight as he listened to Robbyâs one-sided conversation with pulmonary. When he hung up, he turned to look at Jack.
âDr. Tanaka wants to see you immediately.â He paused and looked at Jack as if the name should mean something to him. It didnât. After a moment, Robby took a breath. âHeâs sent an order to CT. Youâre to report there and then head to his office.â
âRight now?â Jackâs voice was little more than a whisper. The words having to be forced past the lump in his throat. This was all happening too fast. One moment heâd been dismissing his persistent cough and the next he was being scheduled for immediate appointments with pulmonary. âItâs probably nothing. Just a weird artefact in the imaging or something,â he said more to himself than Robby.
âIâm sure youâre right,â Robby agreed, but the worry in his eyes said something else entirely. âBut youâre going to get checked out thoroughly just to be sure.â
Within half an hour, Jack was laying on the table in a gown as the CT hummed around him. The contrast dye made him feel warm and vaguely nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the cold fear settling in his stomach.
The tech entered the room. âAll finished. By the time you get changed and to his office, Dr. Tanaka should have the images.â
Jack cleared his throat. âThatâs fast.â
âYouâre a VIP patient today, Dr. Abbot.â
There was nothing Jack wanted to be less. He didnât want to be here. Didnât want to be doing this. He wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened.
He made his way to the pulmonary floor trying to prepare himself for whatever Dr. Tanaka might say. Heâd delivered bad news to patients and their families plenty of times, but he hadnât been on the receiving end since Mari died.
The waiting room was empty when he arrived, the early hour meaning most patients hadnât arrived for the appointments yet. The receptionist smiled as he approached. âDr. Abbot? Dr. Tanaka is ready for you. Third door on the right.â
Jack took a deep breath, or tried to, and headed down the hall. Whatever was waiting for him, he would face it like he did everything else. Head on. Even if, for the first time in years, he was truly afraid.
When he entered the room, Jack was surprised to find himself in an office instead of an exam room. Tanaka rose to greet him. âDr. Abbot,â he held out a hand to shake Jackâs.
âJust Jack,â he said with a nod before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.
âVery well. Jack, then.â Tanaka stayed standing and pressed a couple of buttons on his computer and the large screen behind him lit up with an image of what Jack assumed were his lungs. He pointed at the mass that seemed to branch out from the right lung. âDo you know what youâre looking at here?â
Jack studied the image noting the abnormal density, the way it seemed to branch through his lung tissue like the roots of a plant. The mass was larger than it had appeared in the x-ray, more defined.
Jack swallowed. âA tumor. Probably malignant given the irregularities and the rapid growth.â Heâd seen the symptoms enough in his patients to recognize the pattern. The cough, the tight chest, the fatigue. Classic presentation for lung cancer.
Tanaka shook his head. âI had my suspicions from your x-ray but the CT confirms.â He used a finger to indicate several areas on the scan. âDo you see these fine lines extending from the main mass?â
Jack leaned forward. Now that the doctor pointed it out, he could see delicate lines spreading through his lung tissue. âVascularization?â he guessed.
âNot exactly.â Tanaka took a seat at his desk. âWhat youâre seeing is consistent with the presentation of Hanahaki disease.â
Jack physically jerked back in his seat. That wasnât⌠âThatâs impossible. I want a second opinion.â
âYou are certainly entitled to one, but I am the leading expert in Hanahaki in the state.â He wasnât bragging, just stating a fact.
The look Robby had given him when heâd said the name suddenly made so much sense. âIâve only ever loved my wife, and sheâs dead. Has been for years.â
Jack had seen Hanahaki before, of course he had. The condition was rare and still not well understood. Unrequited love manifesting physically with the growth of flowers in the lungs. But it was something that happened to young romantics or the occasional middle-age yearner, not to someone like him. Not to an old, broken ER attending whoâd buried his heart with his wife six years ago.
âIâm sorry, but the blood tests confirm.â He clicked on his screen and Jackâs results populated the screen.
Jack shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. âRun more tests. There has to be a mistake.â
âDr. Abbot, Jack, we can run additional tests, but given your symptoms and the findings, Hanahaki is our working diagnosis.â He paused, studying Jackâs face. âI suggest you do some soul searching. Youâre in love whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.â
Jack opened his mouth to argue but another coughing fit seized him, doubling him over. His lungs burned as he struggled to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he was surprised to find Tanaka standing in front of him holding a tissue. Only when he took it did he understand why. Delicate pink petals filled his palm.
âJesus Christ,â he whispered, staring at the evidence in his hand.
âThatâs confirmation enough for me,â Dr. Tanaka said quietly. âThe small petals are consistent with early stage Hanahaki. Theyâll become larger and more numerous as the disease progresses, until you are expelling full blooms.â
Jack couldnât tear his gaze away from the petals. Each one was perfect, like theyâd been plucked from some unseen garden growing inside him. And he supposed in a way they had. âHow long?â he managed to ask.
âHard to say without knowing how fast itâs progressing. Weâll do another scan in a week and go from there.â Tanaka paused then added, âI assume you are aware of your options.â
Jack nodded once. âSurgery orâŚdeath.â He had to force the last word past his lips. Heâd engaged in reckless behavior, volunteering for SWAT, standing on the edge of the roof while he thought about how easy it would be to just not have to deal with it all anymore. To not be alone every fucking day of his life. But now that the very real possibility of his death was looming in the shadows he suddenly found he didnât want it.
âAs you are aware, the surgery would remove any feelings for the person in question. You may forget them entirely though that is very rare. There is also always the possibility that the person you love will return your affections. Then no intervention would be needed,â Tanaka said, voice soft. âThe matter would resolve on its own. Itâs quite remarkable really.â
Jack looked down at the petals again. The idea that his body had somehow conjured flowers from a love he wasnât even aware of seemed impossible. Yet the evidence was literally in his hand.
âYou have a lot to think about,â Tanaka said, standing. âIâll schedule another scan for next week and we can talk about options.â
âThank you,â Jack said as he stood as well.
âYou should take it easy until then. The coughing may worsen, particularly if youâre stressed or physically exerted. Iâd recommend time off work.â
âIâll think about it,â Jack said, but the thought of sitting alone at home with his thoughts was not one he wanted to contemplate at the moment.
Dr. Tanaka seemed to sense his turmoil. âThis is a lot to process. Many patients find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist or a family member. And I suggest a discussion with the personââ
âThere is no person,â Jack cut him off sharply. âMy wife has been dead for six years. Thereâs been no one since.â
The other man didnât argue, but his expression made it clear he wasnât convinced. âIâll see you next week. Call if you have any questions or concerns before then.â
âThank you for seeing me on such short notice.â Jack turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall, he pressed his back against the wall. He took the deepest breath he had since entering the office. The tightness in his chest reminded him of the flowers blooming where they had no right to be.
Love.
The word echoed in his head. Heâd buried that part of himself when Mari died. The idea that his body had somehow betrayed him, had grown flowers for someone elseâŚIt was too much. He couldnât accept it. Wouldnât.
He pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator. One foot in front of the other. Thatâs how heâd gotten through the worst days after Mariâs death and thatâs how he would get through this.
Jack made it back to the ER on autopilot, his mind still reeling. Day shift was in full swing. Jack just stood for a minute, trying to orientate himself, feeling oddly disconnected from the familiar chaos.
âJack!â
He turned to find Robby hurrying toward him. His face was creased with worry, eyes scanning Jackâs features as if searching for visible changes.
âWell? What did he say?â
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. How did he possibly explain he was coughing up petals for someone he was supposedly in love with? It was stupid. Ridiculous. And just the sort of thing that would happen to him. Of course it was.
âItâs not possible,â he finally forced out. âItâs notâŚMike, IâŚâ His voice cracked, another cough building in his chest.
âOkay, okay,â Robby said, his tone shifting from urgent to soothing. âLetâs sit down, huh? You look like youâre about ready to fall over.â
Before Jack could protest, Robby led him through the department toward the breakroom. He deposited him in a chair at one of the tables, then turned to fill a cup with water. âHere, drink,â he instructed as he sat it in front of Jack.
Jack obeyed mechanically, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. The simple act centered him somewhat, anchoring him to the present moment.
Robby pulled out a chair and sat down. âNow, what did Tanaka say?â
Jack stared at the cup in his hands. âHanahaki,â he said finally.
âShit. I thought it might be when they said Tanaka wanted to see you.â Robby sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. âHeâs the best, so thereâs that at least.â
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât make any sense, man. I havenât been in love with anyone since Mari died.â
An expression he couldnât place flicked across Robbyâs face before shifting to disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
Jack frowned. âWhatâs with the tone? Why are you making it sound like Iâm stupid?â
âBecause you are,â Robby said without hesitation. When Jack just stared at him, Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. âYou really donât know?â
âKnow what?â Jack demanded, irritation briefly overriding his confusion.
Your name was the only thing that left Robbyâs lips.
Jack blinked and repeated it like a question. Like your face hadnât just appeared in his brain. Like he didnât instantly think about your smile, hear your laugh.
âYes!â Robby threw his hands up in exasperation. âThe woman youâve been staring at with a besotted expression for the past eight months? The one you look for anytime you enter the department? The one whose coffee order you have memorized?â
No, no. That couldnât be right. âBut sheâsââ
âBrilliant,â Robby stated. âFunny. Kind. Beautiful. Should I continue to list off everything you said to me the last time we went out? You talked about her all night, man.â
âI meanâŚI respect her.â The words felt inadequate even as he said them. Images of you flashed through his mind. The way you laughed at your own jokes even if no one else did, how you always remembered small details about people, that furrow that appeared between your brows when you were concentrating.
âSheâs dedicated,â he continued. âCompassionate. She doesnât take shit from anyone, but sheâs never mean about it. And sheâsâŚâ He trailed off, suddenly realizing he could continue talking about you for the rest of the day.
âSheâs what?â Robby prompted, a knowing look on his face.
Jack shook his head. âIt doesnât matter. I donât love her. I canât.â
âWhy not? Because you loved Mari? Loving someone else doesnât erase what you had with her.â
âItâs not that simple,â Jack argued, though he couldnât have explained why if someone pressed.
âIt actually is,â Robby replied, not unkindly. âYou loved your wife. She died and it broke you. For a long time, I wasnât certain youâd ever put yourself back together. But you have. And against all odds you found someone who makes you feel something again. Instead of being grateful, instead of grasping it with both hands, youâre literally making yourself sick denying it.â
âItâs notâŚI havenâtââ
âYou have,â Robby interrupted. âEveryone knows youâre in love with her except you and her, apparently.â He sighed and ran a hand down his face. âJust think about it, okay? Really think about it.â
As if on cue, another coughing fit seized Jack, this one stronger than the last. He doubled over, hand braced against the table as his chest contracted painfully. When it finally subsided, he found his palm filled with more petals, the edges tinged with blood.
âHoly shit.â Robby stared at the evidence in front of him.
Jack closed his hand around the petals, as if hiding them from view would make them cease to exist. âI need to get out of here. I need to go home.â He pushed himself to his feet. The room titled slightly, his vision blurring at the edges.
âYouâre in no condition to drive,â Robby said standing as well, typing on his phone. âLet me have someone run you home.â
âIâm fine,â Jack insisted though the wheeze in his voice undermined his claim. âI just need some sleep. I need to rest.â He needed to get you out of his brain.
âYou need to figure this out, Jack. Finding out you have Hanahaki would throw anyone for a loop, especially when you didnât even realize you were in love. But this isnât something you can ignore. It wonât just go away, it will only get worse.
Robby was right, Jack knew he was. Heâd been ignoring what was happening for weeks, dismissing symptoms, making excuses. And now he was paying the price.
âI know. Iâll think about what you said. I promise.â
âGood. Thatâs a start. Now get your things together. Your ride should be here in a minute.â
Now, when Robby said ride, Jack assumed he meant an intern. An uber perhaps. What he did not expect to see when he stepped through the doors was you. Youâd pulled your car to the side where it wouldnât impede any ambulances and you leaned against it. It took him longer than heâd admit to realize you were waiting for him.
Jack spun on his heel to glare at his former best friend. âWhat the fuck did you do?â he hissed.
Robby gave him a look of feigned innocence. âGot you a ride.â
âYou asked her?â
At that he grinned. âActually, I sent a message to the group chat. She volunteered.â
âOh.â He looked over to find you in the same position, your gaze moving between the two attendings. He lifted a hand in greeting and to let you know heâd be right there.
You nodded, waved at Robby and got behind the wheel.
âWhat do I do?â Jack asked, suddenly at a loss.
Robby rested a heavy hand on Jackâs shoulder. âYou donât have to do anything, brother. Just let her take you home. Think about how you really feel about her. Thatâs all.â
âYeah, yeah, I can do that,â Jack agreed with a nod of his head. âIâll see you later.â
âNot tonight you wonât,â Robby corrected. âYouâre off until Friday at the earliest. Doctorâs orders.â
Jack didnât bother to argue. Knew there would be no point. And honestly, he could use a few days to get his head straight. He held up a hand in goodbye as he made his way to your car, his mind churning. What if Robby was right? What if heâd fallen in love without realizing it, what then? You had never given any indication you felt the same. The idea of confessing feelings that might not be returnedâŚ
Another cough built in his chest as if his body was responding to the thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. One problem at a time. First, he needed to get home. Then he needed to figure out if Robby was right.
As if sensing Jack was lost his head, you didnât attempt to make conversation after your initial greeting once he got in the car. When you arrived at his house, he finally turned to look at you. âThanks for the ride. I would have been fine driving but Robby insisted.â
âI didnât mind, Jack. However, Iâm afraid you canât be rid of me just yet.â
His brows shot up into his hairline. âExcuse me?â
âBossman said, and I quote, âget his ass inside and into bed with a glass of water and trashcan nearby.â So thatâs what Iâm going to do. Letâs go.â You climbed out of the car and waited for him to exit before locking the doors.
âI assure you that his is not necessary,â Jack argued. More than that, it could be catastrophic. Having you in his house, where heâd now be able to picture you clearly instead of relying solely on his imagination? That sounded like a horrible idea. Not that heâd ever pictured you in his house. Sitting across from him at the table, nestled into his side as you watched TV. That would be absurd.
You took his bag from his loose hold and ignored his protests as you carried it up to the door. Jack stared at you hopeless for another moment before sighing and following after you. âKeys are in the front pocket.â
You pulled them out and handed them over. He unlocked the door, leaving it open for you to follow after. He gestured at the hooks just inside the door. âYou can hang the bag there.â
You did and kicked off your shoes, nudging them to line up against the wall. âRobby didnât exactly say what was wrong with you.â You paused, but Jack didnât offer any clarification. No, that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. You cleared your throat. âAre you hungry? I could make you something.â
âNo, sweetheart, Iâm fine.â The endearment slipped out without thought. He suddenly wondered when the first time was he had called you that. And when had that become the norm instead of your name? Christ. He wiped a hand down his face. âIâm fucking exhausted. I just want to go to bed.â
You nodded. âSure. Let me get you that water at least.â
Jack just nodded and headed down the hall toward his bedroom to fish out something to change into after his shower. You stepped into the doorway just as he finished taking off his leg. He froze and swallowed. âSorry. Forgot youâd be coming back here.â
You smiled and Jack had to glance away. âItâs your home, Jack, and Iâve seen you without the leg before. Itâs not like you were nude. Here.â You sat the glass on the nightstand. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
âNo. Iâve got it. Thank you.â You had seen him without the leg precisely once when it started rubbing wrong on a shift and youâd made him sit down and get an exam. Youâd also bullied him into supervising from a wheelchair for the rest of the night when you saw his red, raw flesh by threatening to call Robby and tattle on him.
Your gaze ran over him, assessing. He could feel it. âAre you sure youâre okay?â
His eyes found yours again but he said nothing.
âYou just seem off.â Worry shone in your eyes and he forced himself to look away once more.
âIâm fine. Just tired.â
After a moment, you stepped toward the door. âCall me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.â When he only nodded, you added, âPromise?â
âYeah.â He cleared his throat when he heard the gravel in his voice. âPromise.â
âOkay. Bye, Jack.â And with that, you left without waiting for a response.
Tension immediately flowed from Jackâs entire body. Jesus, Robby couldnât have found literally anyone else to bring him home? He pushed thoughts of you from his head as he finished stripping. Using his crutches, he moved into the shower, ready to rinse the night off so he could get some sleep.
Not thinking of you lasted approximately two and a half minutes after he turned the water on. Heâd turned the temp up on the water hoping it would help clear his lungs. His chest ached with each breath, a constant reminder of the flowers blooming in his lungs.
Flowers.
For you.
It was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed working with you. You were competent, smart, quick to smile and to make others laugh. You had a way with patients that made even the most difficult cases manageable. And so what if heâd noticed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, or that you tapped your fingers when you were thinking?
But that didnât mean he was in love with you. Love was what heâd had with Mari. All consuming, life-altering, the kind that left you devastated and broken when it was no longer yours. What he felt for you wasâŚappreciation. Admiration, perhaps. Friendship. That was it. He loved you like a very dear friend.
Except friends didnât keep mental lists of your favorite foods, or notice when you changed your shampoo, or come in on their nights off because you were working. Friends didnât feel their mood lift the moment you walked into a room or find themselves replaying conversations long after theyâd ended.
Jack groaned, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair. This was insane. He was a grown man, not some teenager with a crush. Heâd been married, for fuckâs sake. He knew what love felt like.
Or he had once. Before Mari died, leaving him hollowed out and certain he would never feel that way again. Heâd adjusted to his solitude. To the bed being too big and the house too quiet.
But latelyâŚ
He sucked in a shaky breath as he finally admitted to himself that heâd been pursuing you without even realizing it. No wonder Robby had looked at him like he was an idiot. He was.
âIâm fond of her,â he said aloud, testing the words. âThatâs all it is. A fondness.â It couldnât be love, because if it was that meantâ
His chest contracted sharply, another cough building. This one came on faster than the others, stealing his breath before he could prepare. He curled forward, one hand pressed to his sternum as his lungs spasmed. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, each breath harder than the last, until finally, blessedly, it subsided.
When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see dozens of petals swirling toward the drain. Proof, if heâd needed it that Tanaka was right. That Robby was right.
He was in love with you. For far longer than he cared to admit.
Tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks as his shoulders shook in a silent sob. Heâd fallen in love with you and hadnât even realized because it was so subtle, so quiet, compared to what heâd had with his wife. Heâd lost out on so much time with you because he was too afraid to examine his feelings. To admit to himself what everyone else had known all along.
But what difference did it make really? Because even if he loved you, what then? Youâd never given any indication you felt the same. No lingering looks or soft touches. Nothing to suggest you saw him as anything more than a colleague.
And why would you? He was damaged goods. A widower with a missing leg and more baggage than most people would want to deal with. You were vibrant, fully engaged with life in a way he had long forgotten. You deserved someone whole, someone who could love you without reservation or complication. Someone who didnât still wake reaching for a wife that would never be there again.
Jack closed his eyes and took another shaky breath as he turned off the water. As he dried off and headed for bed, he considered his options. Heâd meet with Tanaka and schedule the surgery. But he should talk to you first. He knew he should. But he was so fucking scared.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. Youâd told him to call if he needed anything, but what if he only needed you? He could hear your voice, ask you to come back. He could tell you everything and hope maybe you felt the same.
He moved to the call button, then stopped. He needed to sleep first. Needed to be fully about himself before he decided how to approach this. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally found rest, but even that was fitful.
He glanced at the clock when he woke to find it nearing seven. At least heâd managed a few hours. You were working, so his grand confession would have to wait. Maybe he could meet you after shift and take you to breakfast.
He was so lost in his head when he opened the bedroom door that he almost disregarded the rich aroma filling the air and the soft sounds from his kitchen. He frowned and moved into the other room, calling a soft âHello?â as he went.
As he stepped into the doorway, you glanced at him over your shoulder and he sucked in a breath. You were here. In his home. Making dinner.
âYou stayed?â he asked, voice rougher than intended.
You shrugged and turned back to the stove. âYou didnât look okay. I wanted to be close, crashed on the couch. I hope I didnât overstep.â
He swallowed down the words that rose in his throat. No. Never. Stay the night. Stay forever. âDonât you have to work?â
âBossman gave me the night off. Told me to take care of you if I was that worried. I wasnât going to argue with him. Thought Iâd make you some soup.â You didnât look at him, but he could hear the concern in your tone, the worry that he would be upset with you for taking care of him.
He just watched you move in his space like you belonged there.
Finally, you glanced at him again and gave him a small smile when you found him watching. âWhereâs your bowls?â
âIâll get them,â he said, suddenly desperate to do something.
It was a simple task but before he could even open the cabinet, he was seized by another violent coughing fit. He bent over the sink, bracing against the edge for support. His chest burned and his vision blurred at the edge. He vaguely registered you saying his name and a hand landing on his back, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
When the fit finally subsided, he was horrified to see the petals that littered the sink.
You went completely still beside him. âJack, are thoseâŚâ
âItâs notâŚâ he started then trailed off. There was no explanation he could give you beside the truth.
âOh,â you said softly, your fingers curling in as you removed your touch from his back. You took a step away. âWho is it?â You sounded resigned, maybe even a little hurt.
The question hung between you. Jack remained braced against the sink, unable to look at you. âWhen my wife died, I thought I would never love anyone again. That it would be impossible. So, when it happened, I didnât even realize it. Or I suppose itâs more like I ignored it.â He risked a glance at your reflection in the window above the sink. âI guess my body didnât like that. Itâs making me face it.â
âThat wasnât my question, Jack.â Your voice was smaller than heâd ever heard it.
He turned to face you then, his hip leaning against the counter to take his weight. âDonât you know, sweetheart? According to Robby, itâs obvious to everyone in the department that Iâm crazy about you.â
Jack watched your face for your reaction. Anything. But your expression remained carefully blank aside from a slight widening of your eyes.
âMe?â you finally said, the word barely audible.
âYeah.â Jack pushed off from the counter, using his crutches to move over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. He kept his gaze on anything but you. âBut I donât expect anything. You donât owe me anything. I have options. Iâll be fine. I see the doctor again next week and I can get the surgery scheduled.â
 âJack Abbot, if you have that surgery, I will never forgive you.â Your sharp tone had his head immediately snapping over to follow you as you stepped toward him.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause it is completely unnecessary, you idiot. I have been in love with you for ages.â
Time seemed to stop. Jack stared at you, certain heâd misheard. âWhat?â
You came to a stop in front of him. âIâve loved you for months, probably longer. I just didnât think that you would everâŚthat you could everâŚâ
The rest of your sentence was lost as Jack pulled you forward into his arms, one hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb traced your lips as your eyes searched his. He leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His lips found yours hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty as you responded. He laughed against your mouth as you turned and sat sideways in his lap. When he finally pulled back completely, the first thing he noticed was your wide smile and the joy in your eyes.
The second was, that for the first time in weeksâin six years, reallyâhe could finally, simply, breathe.
synopsis: you have a horrible day and Jack just makes it worse.
warnings/notes: written to fulfill a request from @orphanbird95. was not intending to write this yet, but here we are. Flangst, my favorite. My language in this one is worse than usual. Sorry.
wc: 3.1k
It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
You could blame the heat you supposed. The fact you were working days for the week when you were used to nights. Or perhaps, it was just the simple fact you seemed to encounter every asshole in the city of Pittsburgh throughout the day.
You hadnât even made it through chairs before someone grabbed your ass. One âare you fucking kidding me?â later, and heâd been escorted out by security. Every patient you dealt with was short tempered, half of your co-workers as well. You thought some of the snappy words sent your way had been teasing, but you couldnât be sure. You werenât used to these people that lived in the daytime. They were weird. By the time noon came around, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Jack and forget about the rest of the world.
You were more than aware that part of the problem came from the fact youâd barely seen your boyfriend all week. You were used to working with him, spending your time outside of the hospital with him. For the last five days youâd only gotten to see him for a few minutes at work during shift change. You were never agreeing to cover days again no matter how much Dana and Robby both begged.
You headed to the hub to check on some lab results Langdon had asked you to keep an eye out for. Youâd checked half an hour ago then got pulled into taking care of patients.
âHey!â someone called out as you walked past a room. You stopped and stepped backward. âFinally,â the man in the bed said when you met his eye. âGet me some water.â
âIâll have someone get right back to you, sir,â you said. He wasnât your patient and you didnât have time to look up if he was NPO or not.
âNo, you get it, you fucking bitch!â he practically screamed.
Your brows rose as you just stared at him. âOkay.â You walked off, leaving him shouting behind you.
Dana stood a short distance away looking between you and the room youâd never entered. She stepped into the doorway. âSir, you need to stop right now or I will have you escorted out of the hospital. Do you understand?â
âYou canât just fuckingââ
âHey,â she snapped, cutting him off. âShut it. Youâre NPO anyway. No water, no food.â
With that she left the room, her eyes searching for you. She knew youâd been having a horrible day and that you were missing Jack on top of it. She found you talking to Emma and smiled softly. The young nurse had taken a liking to you. Emma smiled at whatever youâd said and nodded before hurrying off. Dana headed toward you but before she could reach you, Langdon suddenly appeared, a scowl on his face. âI thought I told you to keep an eye out for the labs on Reynolds. This says theyâve been back for twenty minutes.â
You sighed and turned to face the resident. âI was just going to check. I do have other tasks to see to, Dr. Langdon.â
Frank stepped closer, trying to make himself look taller. âWhen I tell you to do something, you do it.â
Dana was ready to intervene but realized she didnât need to. Not with you.
You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. âWho do you think you are? Iâm a nurse and a damn good one. I am not your lackey or your slave. You want something done? You ask. Nicely. If thatâs all, Iâve got shit to do.â
Her gaze trailed you as you walked over to the hub. Jesse walked by and Dana reached out and grasped his wrist to halt his steps. âLangdonâs on the list.â
Jesseâs brows shot up in surprise. âHow long?â
Dana shrugged. âRest of the day at least. Weâll see if he learns his lesson.â
He turned to eye the doctor in question then followed Danaâs gaze to you. âWhatâd he do?â
âWhen I tell you to do something, you do it,â she said mimicking Frank.
Jesse blew out a breath. âGod, heâs an idiot. Iâll spread the word. You gonna tell Robby?â
She hummed in agreement and nodded. âAbbot, too. Kid will be on triage for a week.â
Knowing things would be taken care of, Dana finally got the chance to make her way to you. She rubbed your shoulder. âHow you doing, sweetheart?â
You glanced at her and leaned back in your chair. âThis has been the absolute worst day, Dana.â
She smiled. âYeah. It has. Why donât you take a break and call Jack?â
You shook your head. âNo. He hasnât been sleeping well with us on opposite shifts.â You shrugged. âHe manages just fine when we sleep at our own places so I donât know what the problem is.â
âUh huh. And before this week when was the last time you did that?â
The longer it took you to answer, the bigger Danaâs smile got.
âOh, shut up,â you finally said before heading to check on a patient.
Robby appeared at the hub, grabbing a tablet. âIâm gonna be sorry to see her go back to nights, but I will be thrilled to not have to listen to Jack bitch about it anymore.â
Dana chuckled as she slipped on her glasses to look at something on the computer. âOh, by the way,â she said casually. âLangdonâs on the list.â
Robby blinked several times. âWho did he piss off?â
She looked pointedly in the direction where you had just disappeared.
âHe didnât.â
Dana nodded.
Robby ran a hand down his face and sighed. âJesus Christ, I didnât think he was that stupid.â
Hours passed and with them came more bitchy patients and cranky coworkers. Frank was half losing his mind as none of the nurses would do anything for him that he was fully capable of doing himself. Patient care was never compromised, but if he wanted labs checked on or a sandwich fetched, all the nurses were suddenly otherwise occupied. It made you chuckle every time you saw it. Idiot.
When heâd tried to complain to Robby, he found himself redirected to triage to âconsider his life choicesâ. He kept walking through the department to see if there were any cases he could jump on, which turned out to be fortunate for you.
âWhen am I going to get something else for my pain?â Leonard Smith grumbled from the bed. He was in for abdominal pain and waiting on test results.
You checked his chart then the time. âYouâre not due for another dose quite yet. Iâll check with the doctor and see if thereâs something else we can give you.â
He huffed and rolled his eyes. You frowned as his blood pressure displayed then you realized the cuff was out of place. You moved over to fix it so you could get an accurate reading. As soon as youâd finished, a hand wrapped around your wrist. His hold wasnât tight. Not yet.
âLet go of me.â
âGet me some more pain meds. This fucking hurts.â
You tried to pull your hand from his grip but he only tightened it.
âHulââ was all you managed to get out before he jerked you forward with all of his considerable strength and your side collided with the bed rail, forcing all the air from your lungs with a grunt.
Pain flared through you and before you could suck in a good breath, Frank ran into the room shouting, âHula hoop in fiveâ over his shoulder.
âRelease her. Right now,â he demanded as he grabbed both of the manâs wrists, but the patient only seemed to hold onto you more tightly. People poured into the room as your eyes flooded with tears. You jerked your arm just as Langdon got Smith to let go and your elbow flew back and hit the asshole in the nose. His howl of pain cut through the air but you ignored it.
Hands found your arms and steered you from the room. It took a moment for you to realize Dana and Robby were talking to you as they led you into a different room. You sucked in a breath and willed yourself to focus, to calm down.
âYouâre okay,â Robby said as he helped you sit on the edge of the bed. âBreathe for me, sweetheart.â
You followed the breathing pattern he was doing, shaky but better than you had been. Seeing youâd calmed somewhat, Robby looked at Dana. âCall Jack.â
âNo,â you said instantly.
Both of them looked at you with lifted brows and wide eyes.
You shook your head. âHeâs slept like shit all week, Robby. Iâm not bleeding. No head injury. It can wait.â
Robby huffed as he pressed his lips together. âHe would want to know about this.â
âAnd Iâll tell him. Later.â
Robby shook his head and you could tell he wanted to argue but thankfully he didnât. âWhat exactly happened?â
You went through the story as quickly and precisely as you could. When you finished he looked first at your already bruising wrist then at your ribs. He pressed gently and you hissed as pain flared. âGet the portable x-ray in here for these ribs. Might as well do the wrist just to be sure,â he instructed.
âThatâs not necessary, Robby. My wrist is fine and even if the ribs are broken, itâs minor. The treatment will be the same.â
He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. âIf theyâre broken, youâre going to need more than the three days Iâm already making you take.â
âRobbyââ
âYou can get the scans or I can call Jack. Your choice.â
You said nothing, just gave him a disgruntled expression which you supposed was answer enough. He left after telling Dana to let him know when the x-rays were done. Dana shook her head as she typed on the computer. âYouâre as stubborn as that man of yours. You know heâs gonna be pissed you didnât call.â
âIâll handle it. Iâm just ready for this day to be over.â
âWell, youâre in luck because once your workup is finished youâre going home,â Dana said turning to you.
âNo, Dana,â you pleaded. âIf Robbyâs making me take three days off, I need the money. Iâll work on admin stuff or something. Please.â
She sighed. âLetâs see what the scans say first.â
Jack was in a mood when he arrived three hours early for his shift. He knew it, but there didnât seem much he could do about it. He hadnât seen you for more than a few minutes at a time all week and it was driving him insane. On top of that, he was only catching a couple hours of sleep at a time. Heâd come in early just to get a chance to spend some time with you, even if you were working.
He didnât even have the opportunity to find you before he was pulled into a trauma, passing his bag off to a nurse. His gaze kept finding the door as he worked to save a middle schooler that had been hit by a car. He was used to working with you, to the rhythm the two of you had when you worked together. As everything he tried failed, he couldnât help but think maybe, just maybe, things would have been different if you were there with him.
They spent forty-five minutes working on the boy before they called it. Jack stripped his PPE and tossed it in the bin before walking out of the room. His ear immediately picked up the sound of your quiet laughter as you sat at a computer at the hub, Perlah leaning on the counter in front of you telling you something.
Heâd been trying to save the life of a child and youâd been here justâŚwhat? Gossiping? Irritation slithered up Jackâs spine and as soon as Perlah stepped away, he strode straight to you. He ignored the way your eyes lit up when you saw him as he took in the granola bar in your hand and the juice box at your elbow. Were you fucking serious?
âJackââ
He cut you off with a scowl. âIâm glad you have time to sit on your fucking ass and have a snack while patients are fucking dying. We could have used your help in there. I could have used your help in there, but donât let me fucking interrupt.â
As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to take them back. When he saw the tears in your eyes and the tremble in your bottom lip, he wanted to fall at your feet and beg forgiveness. âHoneyââ
âDonât you honey her, you asshole. Fuck off, Abbot,â Dana snapped, resting a hand on your shoulder. When he hesitated, she pointed down the hallway. âYou heard me. Go.â
He did as ordered, shoulders slumped and head bowed. God, he was a fucking idiot.
He waited for an hour before circling back to the hub, hoping he could find you or Dana would at least not bite his head off for looking for you. Robby arrived at the same time, glancing around before looking at Dana and asking where you were. Jack grabbed a tablet and pretended he wasnât listening. âDid you finally get her to go home?â
At that, Jackâs head snapped up. âWhy would she need to go home?â
Robbyâs brow furrowed as he frowned. âShe didnât tell you?â
âWell, he didnât exactly give her the chance, did you, Jack?â Dana said, turning to face him.
Robby looked between the two of them. âWhat did I miss?â
âAbbot here decided to yell at her for taking a break as soon as he saw her.â Danaâs voice was flat and distinctly unimpressed.
Robby ran a hand down his face. âOf all the daysâŚâ
âOkay, I fucked up. I get it. Now can someone please tell me what the hell is going on with my girlfriend?â
So, Dana filled him in on your day, starting with the asshole groping you in chairs, to the bitchy patients, to Frank, Robby adding in his two cents occasionally.
And Jack hated that youâd had such an awful day, more that heâd added to it, but it still didnât answer his question. âThat doesnât explain why she went home.â
Robby and Dana exchanged a look before Robby sighed. âThere was an incident with a patient. He grabbed her, pulled her into the bedrail.â Jack froze. âShe sprained her wrist and bruised three, maybe four, ribs on her right side.â
âWhy the fuck didnât someone call me?â he asked, feeling nauseous as he pulled out his phone to text Shen.
Dana stared at him with an arched brow. âBecause she begged us not to. Said you needed your sleep.â
Jesus, he was an asshole.
You laid on your side on your couch, stretched out due to your ribs when normally youâd curl into a ball. One of your softest blankets was wrapped around your shoulders as you cried. You wiped at your cheeks and sniffed into your tissue. Youâd cry for a while then think you were finished, only to start up all over again. And the sobbing hurt your sore ribs. Which only made you cry more.
You didnât hear your front door opening though it must have because the next thing you knew, Jack was kneeling on the floor in front of you. âOh, baby.â His hand rested on your cheek and you jerked backward, biting back a wince.
Your hands hastily wiped at your cheeks as you pushed yourself upright. You cleared your throat but didnât look at him. âArenât you supposed to be at work?â
âShenâs covering for me.â He moved closer, only for you to press yourself into the corner of the couch. He stopped and sighed. âBaby, I am so sorry. I came to work early so I could see you. Instead, I got pulled into a trauma and the whole time I just kept thinking if you were there maybe we could save him. Then we lost him and I heard you laughing with Perlah andâŚIâm a dickâ
âWhy are you here, Jack?â You were so done with this day and didnât have the emotional bandwidth to reassure your boyfriend that you didnât hate him.
âBecause I love you and Iâm sorry. I went to find you to apologize and found out youâd gone home. Dana and Robby filled me in on everything that happened today.â
âAre you actually sorry or do you just feel guilty?â
He pushed himself up to sit on the couch beside you, leaving just enough space between you that he wasnât touching you. âI am so fucking sorry. I was in a foul mood and took it out on you, the absolute last person I should be doing that to. Please forgive me?â
You could see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his tone. And frankly, you just wanted to cuddle with your boyfriend and forget this day ever happened. âHow are you going to make it up to me?â
Tension visibly flowed from him as he scooted closer taking your hands in his. He kissed the back of each one before kissing the bruises ringing your wrist. âFirst, weâre going to get changed into more comfortable clothing and while we do that, Iâm going to look at those ribs.â
âTheyâre fine, Jack. Robby cleared me,â you insisted.
âYeah, well, Robbyâs not me.â He leaned forward to kiss first one cheek, then the other before kissing your forehead and taking a deep breath. He pulled back to look at you again. âIâm going to check your ribs, then weâll order food and curl up on the couch together while we watch whatever you want. Sound good?â
âThat sounds kind of perfect actually.â
âI really am sorry, baby. It kills me that I made you cry.â
You cupped the side of his face with your hand, tracing your thumb across his skin. âIt wasnât just you. It was the whole day. All I wanted was you and thenâŚâ You sucked in a breath as a sob threatened. You did not want to cry anymore than you already had.
Jack shushed you and shifted the two of you so he could wrap an arm around you. âItâs okay, baby. Iâm here. I wonât be an asshole anymore.â
You huffed a laugh. âI find that hard to believe.â
âIf you werenât hurt, I would pinch your side for that one. I wonât be an asshole anymore today. Howâs that?â
âThat Iâll believe.â You nuzzled into his side. âI love you, Jack.â
