Currently invested in M3GAN and Knights of Guinevere || still melting over the Re8 ladies on ao3 || Supercorp lives in my heart || I'm old enough 🇲🇽🏳️🌈
synopsis - Abby initially came into the tent for a dislocated shoulder, but once it's healed, she begins asking you to disinfect insignificant scrapes. Turns out, she's got ulterior motives.
cw - plot for porn, pining, slow burn, drinking, making out, suggestive thoughts, descriptions of wounds/injuries but not in depth
wc - 8.6k
You had seen Abby around base, knew of her—of course you did, who didn't? Always admiring from a distance, across the showers before slipping into a cold stall, or the gym at dusk while you both did your respective workouts; the soft grunts that came from her as she would lift a weight leaving you much more flushed than you wished to admit.
You never approached, only observed. Her eyes had met yours on occasion, but the gaze would never be held for longer than a couple moments. Sure Abby was friends with Nora, and you so were you, you often ate with her in the mess hall after a long shift or early in the morning. Your path and Abby's would only ever brush; with you needing to rush down to the medical tent in order to start your night shift as soon as she had come back from a long patrol, or vice-versa.
So when Abby stumbled down the dried dirt path into the medical tent one afternoon in late August with a bone bulging under the taught muscle of her shoulder, you almost let yourself believe it's a fateful push—the universe finally tired of watching lingering eye contact and polite smiles that carried a bit more flush in the cheeks than would be considered normal.
You had just finished a minor wound stitch-up, and were the only medic available, some ambush had happened that morning so most of the beds were occupied by soldiers—their cries carrying through the thin teal curtains protecting the rest of their dignity. You heard heavy footsteps before turning around in your chair.
When you did, Abby's blue eyes, almost squeezed together with pain, met yours as you sat up from where you were organizing supplies. Your pace is urgent as you walk to the mouth of the tent, your steady steps meeting her teetering ones. Your hand hovers behind her back out of instinct, and it felt like something was buzzing against your palm as you guide her through the wall of curtains towards an empty cot.
"Lay down. I'll be over in a second." You tell her, voice soft, and concern etched in your brow as you focus back on her shoulder. Abby uses one arm to adjust herself as she settles onto the cot, paper crinkling and folding easily around her body. You rush over to the nearest box of gloves, the blue latex snaps against skin as you tug them on while walking back over to where she is, taking your spot next to her.
Abby hisses when your hand meets her arm, latex against skin. Clinical, routine. But for some reason you feel more distressed at the sight in front of you. You have seen worse by a long shot, but can't help the concern forming in your stomach.
"What did you do exactly?" You ask as you begin assessing, wiping an alcohol swab along the scrapes littered down her arm—focusing mostly on the larger scratch which found itself on the tight skin overtop of her dislodged bone, the scrape was probably from impact. Her nostrils flare and her jaw clenches as the cold chemical brushes against her skin, but she speaks:
"I landed on a rock when I jumped out of the truck and fell over." Abby's voice is strained, her breathing shallow. You almost laugh at the thought of her, of all people, falling.
"Oh wow. Aren't you supposed to be the best of the best?" You tease as you finish cleaning her up. Abby's cheeks get rosy and she juts her jaw to the right, side eyeing you for a moment. The pause is short, just a second or two so she can come up with a rebuttal. "Shut up. I can make mistakes," is all she answers with.
You smile to yourself, a low laugh leaving as you stand up from the chair.
"Well it's definitely dislocated." You state, placing your hands on her bicep and getting a good grip on the tense muscles. Abby shifts uncomfortably, brows knit together as she frowns, lips parted.
For a moment, your faces are much too close for your liking. Far enough to still be professional, but close enough for you to feel the faintest flutter of your heart. Her breath brushes against your cheek while you position yourself. You notice how her nose has a small bump, right on the bridge. It's cute. Abby's eyes fall to your lips before flicking up to look at the stretched fabric you could call a ceiling.
"Just relax for me okay?" You tell her, your heart pounding harder than it should be. She looks far too vulnerable: eyes glossy, lashes damp, and freckled cheeks pink. Not like a someone who's known to be the top soldier. "It's gonna hurt. Just breathe." You pull the arm out and twist, the deep pop accompanied by a groan tells you the bone is back where it needs to be. Abby's discomfort is soon overtaken by relief, her face relaxing as a small smile grows.
"Thanks," she rolls her shoulder a couple of times while she sits up, her eyes trailing over you for a split second before she looks away. You pretend not to notice as your shoes squeak against concrete to grab a large bandage from the cabinet behind the cot. "You're going to have to be in a sling."
"Absolutely not, I feel fine. I can go back out." Her protest falls flat, you raise your eyebrows in response, "No, you need to keep it immobilized for at least three weeks if not six—"
"SIX weeks? I'm not doing that." She laughs in disbelief, and points to the mouth of the tent, "I need to be out there."
"You're doing it. Do you want it to get worse?" You ask as you begin folding the bandage in half, feeling the roughness of the fabric against the bottom of your chin as you hold it in place.
"No."
"Then you're keeping it in the sling, Anderson."
Abby's expression is less than reluctant, but she complies. You get her to sit on the side of the cot and reach around her neck to tie the bandage. Though not on purpose, your movements linger. A thumb brushing too slow along her neck, a hand resting a moment too long against her shoulder. Abby's eyes meet yours, again not the expression you would expect from someone like her. It looks almost… desperate. Her throat bobs as your tongue brushes your bottom lip, Abby's eyes follow the movement before she blinks rapidly and glances at your eyes.
"I'll keep it on for five days." She says as she tears her gaze away from yours, her face up to the ceiling, voice wavering the slightest bit.
"No. You're keeping it on for six weeks." Abby's brows knit together as she makes eye contact with you once more. "Two weeks," she insists, almost scrutinizing your decision with just a facial expression.
"Four."
"Three."
"Fine." You roll your eyes at her persistence, "but you come back to get cleared and I can change my mind at any time."
Her blonde braid swings over her shoulder as she starts sitting up again, she nods at the instruction, "Yeah, yeah. I got it, don't worry doc, I'll be responsible."
"And if you need anything I'm here most of the time. Or ask someone else if I'm not."
"You're awfully worried about me, aren't you." Abby's voice lowers. The accusation hangs in the air and makes your cheeks warm up.
"I'm just doing my job."
~~~
As the next several weeks pass, Abby ends up in the medical tent daily—whether it be from boredom or simply wanting to be around you—she never tells you why, she just trails behind you like a lost puppy. Sometimes she makes you check her shoulder, practically begging to be cleared as you assess her range of motion but when you inevitably do not, you almost want to because of the way she looks at you: eyes pleading and lips pouted ever so slightly.
"Come on, I've got people depending on me." Her complaints had been endless, she was too bored or needed to do something with her time. Today her choice in argument was her responsibilities.
"People are depending on you, yes, and if you fuck the arm up more then you let them down and then what? You sit around for the rest of your life?" You bite back, trying your best to give her a reality check without being too unprofessional, but her insistence was frustrating to say the least.
"Can you at least give me something to do in here?" She trails behind as you walk away, her complaints not stopping.
"Go organize the supply closet or something. I don't know Anderson."
Her face scrunches up when you call her by her last name, "No one really calls me that y'know."
"I'm calling you that. Go." You point to the supply closet, the door cracked open showing the mess of bandages and salves strewn about. She finished that in about forty-five minutes, then bugged you for another task.
When the three weeks are up, it's almost as though the life comes back to her eyes. You sit her down to do a final check on the shoulder, and as soon as you utter the words 'good to go' her face lights up. Abby's eyes are still heavy lidded, as usual, but you can see the blue better now. A sloppy grin adorns her face as she awkwardly assesses whether or not she should hug you. She opts for profuse thanks instead.
~~~
1 week later
Your alarm blares, breaking the peaceful silence that occupied the cool dim space you call your apartment. With a groan, you swing your legs out of bed, feet cold on the concrete as you grab your caddy and flip-flops to make your way to the showers. Your mind wanders as you walk down the vacant halls, the only sounds at this hour being the occasional squeak from a boot or hushed voices.
It had been a week since you cleared Abby for active duty, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss having her around. You hadn't even seen her around the stadium, which is odd since usually you would have.
With your eyes stuck on the floor analyzing the way the concrete had various stains from age, you make your way to the showers. Was she hiding from you? You begin overthinking every interaction you had while she was healing, maybe you were too mean to her. You hadn't meant to… you just get like that sometimes. It had been annoying, Abby's persistence, but you did enjoy having her around so often, you had grown used to the routine. You already found her attractive before she came in, and three weeks of close proximity had feelings beginning to creep in. You tell yourself it was mostly concern, but even then you don't tend get that way unless you have some underlying relation or feelings towards the person.
You were almost convinced she may have felt similarly, there were those lingering glances even before she came in for her shoulder. Plus, you are almost certain you caught her checking you out, quite a few times, subtly before tearing her eyes off you and quickly going back to whatever she was doing with red ears. Your mind stops its spiral the moment you walk into someone, face meeting muscle. Your caddy, along with theirs, fall to the ground, shampoo and soaps strewn across the concrete.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." You sigh, squatting down to begin picking the items off the floor, not even caring who it is you bumped into, it's far too early to pay it any mind.
"You should watch where you're going, doc." Abby's voice is teasing once it finds you, and your heart stutters against your sternum. You look up to see that lazy grin on her face, your cheek finds itself between your teeth without a thought behind the motion. And of course she looks awake and chipper at this hour, so you can't help the soft laugh that leaves you. "You have way too much energy. It's 5am."
"Can't I just be happy to see you?" She asks, raising her brows, joining you to pick up the fallen items. Suddenly, every doubt in your mind was gone. She wouldn't have said something like that had she not felt similarly, right? You contemplate for a moment, mind going back to her absence you noticed this past week. Have you been avoiding me? That was much too desperate, so you settled for something casual:
"Where have you been?"
Abby's eyebrows pinch together, eyes flitting down your face. "I got assigned to the TV station for a week. I just got back last night, actually. But when I went to the med tent and you weren't there I had to get someone else to check my shoulder. They said it was fine though."
It's embarrassing honestly, the relief you feel at her admission. And it's embarrassing how fluttery your stomach is when she looks back up to your eyes. You feel your cheeks heat up, praying it doesn't show. "Yeah, I have Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays off usually. But that's good, the shoulder's probably doing well then."
Once the two of you have everything cleaned up, you walk side by side to the showers, it's moderately awkward, the silence bouncing off the walls and settling in your ears with a quiet ring. There's not much to talk about and you're far too tired to engage in any flirty conversation that requires more than two brain cells to rub together. You find your mind wandering again, this time more of a concern in regards to Abby's assignments. You probably could have mentioned something to Isaac, as you often did with severe injuries, but it was just a dislocated shoulder, it's not like she got stabbed in the gut. Plus, if word got around that a medic was trying to give someone special treatment rumours would fly. And Abby would probably kill you for limiting her. Right before the two of you are about to split and find a stall, you stop.
"Anderson, do you have an assignment today?"
"Yeah, 'course I do." She answers, the confusion evident in the way her forehead wrinkles.
"Which route are you taking?" You cross your arms, leaning against the old metal of an empty stall, which complains against your back.
"I dunno, I haven't really checked I just do what they tell me when I get there." Her voice is mellow, head tilted as she gives you a once over, "Why are you asking me this exactly?"
"I just don't want to have to fix your shoulder again." Hardly believable, but partially true. You kind of loved the proximity of her coming in, though you hated that it came with an injury. You cringe internally for even asking her about it in the first place, bracing yourself for her to tell you to mind your own business or something similar. Instead, a laugh fills the room.
"I make no promises, doc. I'll see ya later, I'm gonna be late." Abby lifts an arm, giving a small wave and disappears into the nearest stall.
~~~
The day goes by incredibly slowly, only stitches and minor injuries. Nothing exciting, a couple sprained ankles and one shattered femur would be all to note. Soldiers filter in and out as the sun makes its journey across the sky, and as it begins to set you find yourself organizing bandages in a cabinet, knees whining as they support your weight in a crouch. Your shift is finally almost finished, thank God. You would kill for anything exciting to come in right now. Your silent organizing is broken when Nora finds you,
"Hey, Abby's looking for you." She informs you before heading over to a basin, you frown. Abby shouldn't be needing medical attention unless something happened out there.
"Why? Is she good?" You stand up from the uncomfortable position, knees tight so you wobble slightly.
"I think so? She said she just needs you to check something I don't know what. Probably her shoulder." Nora shrugs and starts to wash her hands. "She's in the first bed on the left."
You make your way down to where she's sat, pulling the teal curtain back to find her looking the exact same as this morning, except a few cuts here and there. You notice the shift in her expression from bored to almost giddy when she sees you enter the confines of the curtain.
"Is it your shoulder?" You ask with a sigh, if it is you'll be a bit peeved, she kind of freaked you out for a moment. You pull on a pair of gloves, getting deja vu at the similarities of the current moment compared to the day you two had met officially.
"Oh so happy to see me, rough day?" Abby grins, sarcasm flowing easily. She holds her arm out, the one with the most cuts. Not a single one of them is more than a couple inches deep, nothing needs stitching. You ignore the comment, mild irritation making you forget about your crush for the moment being.
"What am I looking at exactly?" You squint, trying to see if there's something you're missing. Maybe some glass shards? Rocks lodged a bit deeper than what you can see standing? You take a seat on the stool beside the bed, scooting closer and see nothing inside the cuts.
"I just don't want them to get infected." Abby states simply, like it was completely normal for someone like her to be concerned about minor scrapes.
"You came in asking for me so I could check a couple scratches…" You raise your brows, fighting back a smile. It's a bit pathetic of her, but it's also cute in a way. Maybe she's a hypochondriac and you never noticed.
"Are you refusing a patient?" She juts her arm at you, "I'm pretty beat up, doc."
Is this her way of flirting with you? It can't be, maybe you're just wanting to confirm your own feelings. You reluctantly take her arm in your hands.
"These are only a couple inches deep, Anderson." You open an alcohol pad and wipe everything down, the chemical leaving a thin sheen on the skin.
"Yeah but you know, I just want to be safe."
You nod, fair enough. Some people do come in for the same reason, though they're often younger soldiers who have just started out and aren't used to what comes with the job. It only takes about ten minutes, but once you get her fully disinfected you send her on her way. You finish your shift thinking that it was a one off. Maybe she was a bit anxious that day. You brush it off as your feet carry you back to your apartment. It had to have been a one time thing.
But she comes in again the next day. Just as your shift starts. You're stood right by the sinks, and see her talking with another medic, Holly, an older redhead you're somewhat close with, who looks at her watch and then points your way before pointing to an empty bed. You start rinsing your hands under warm water, and Holly approaches the basin.
"Abby's in for you? She's in the third bed on the left. Not urgent. Something about her shoulder."
You thank her, warm suds on your hands as you scrub away the morning. Once you finish cleaning up you head over to the cot.
"Holly said your shoulder's bugging you?" You ask Abby, noticing the way she sits. Legs slightly apart. Confident, but not like the people who sit with their legs spread and take up half the seating space.
"Yeah I dunno it's just really tense. I woke up and it was killing me." She sighs, rubbing her trapezius.
"That makes sense, the tissues are still healing and the muscles around it were stretched past what they can support." You stay standing, and make your way across the cot, behind her to see her shoulder better. "Take your shirt off."
"What?" Abby's eyes widen in surprise, and she wets her bottom lip.
"I need your shirt off to see how the shoulder's looking."
"Oh right." She pulls off the fabric, placing it next to her. You immediately notice her back, appreciating the way it's not exactly ripped per se, but still sculpted and incredibly attractive. You suck in a breath to keep it together. Abby's shoulder looks perfectly normal, no deep purple or yellow decorating her skin. You prod at the muscles around the shoulder to see if there's a tear, to which again, you find completely normal: no gaps where they shouldn't be, and she doesn't wince at all, so no pain to the touch.
"It's not incredibly painful? Just tight?" You confirm, otherwise you might need to do more tests.
Abby nods. "Yeah it's just sore as fuck."
"Okay." You walk back in front of her and try to keep your mind professional as she sits in front of you in just a sports bra, "You can put your shirt back on."
She pulls it over her head, waiting for your solution. There's a bit of chaos outside the tent: voices yelling, cries and groans, metal clashing. It draws your attention away, you peek out of the curtain and see burnt soldiers being carried in. You look back at Abby,
"I would offer you a massage but they're gonna need my help out there." You tell her, and you see her freckled cheeks turn the slightest bit pink. You smile, she probably came in here hoping for one. "Other than that just apply heat, warm compresses, take a little extra time in the shower with warm water on the shoulder. That kind of thing."
"Yes sounds good to me," Abby nods, craning her neck to stretch out the muscle, letting out a sigh. She stands up, the two of you now very close together. You hadn't realized how tiny the space was between the curtain and the cot. Both you and Abby attempt to leave at the same time, awkwardly squeezed together. You end up staring at her lips for a bit longer than needed, and feel the tiniest bit of pressure between your legs. How unprofessional. You look up to her eyes to get rid of the feeling, but it gets worse under her intense gaze which roams between your eyes and lips.
"You go first, you're the doctor," she offers, resting a hand on your upper back, ushering you as you step out into the chaos of the medical tent. The screams leave you no time to decipher the interaction that just happened.
After a very eventful rest of your shift, you and Holly decide to go to the mess hall together and grab dinner. After you exchange the techniques you used on the soldiers, the conversation flows into talking about personal life. You ask about her kids, and she answers, telling you about how they're doing in classes and such. There's a comfortable silence for a few moments as you drink some water, the coolness against your lips much needed after today. Holly breaks the silence with a question you are not expecting:
"How long have you and Abby been a thing?"
You swallow the water quickly, before you get the chance to spit it out, "What are you talking about?" You ask, almost laughing in disbelief.
Holly shrugs, "I mean you guys kind of seemed like a couple today? She had her hand on your back after you saw her. And she sort of looked at your butt when you walked away."
"Oh. Well I didn't know that last part. The hand thing was probably just a friendly get to work type thing. And we're not seeing each other. She's just paranoid about her shoulder or something."
You spent the rest of your night replaying the entire interaction in your head on repeat, dissecting each moment and looking at it through a microscope. Maybe Abby did share some kind of feelings, it was obvious enough that she found you somewhat attractive.
A few days pass without incidents in the Abby department, so you figure she was probably just having a bit of a rough start to the week, that is until Thursday. You're in the middle of doing labs for a kid with strep throat, processing a swab in solution when Nora taps you on the shoulder.
"What's up?"
"It's Abby again, I can take over this for you." Nora offers, pointing to the one closed curtain, and you smile to yourself. Of course she's back. "Okay thanks, I'll go check her out."
You push the curtain to the side with a swish, "Is your shoulder still bugging you?" The metal hooks on the curtain scratch and whine as you close it back around you two.
"My shoulder's okay. I have a scratch I need you to look at." Abby pulls her grey shirt up ever so slightly, revealing a cut barely deeper than the other day, maybe 5 inches long. It's deep enough for butterfly bandages, but not stitches. Again, sort of within reason to come in, but out of character. Maybe she's lacking a medkit. There's a soft gleam of sweat along her abdomen, which is similar to her back in the sense that it's got muscle, but not the lean kind. And you love it. You lick your lips before you realize you've been staring at her stomach for a bit longer than you should.
"This really just needs a few butterfly bandages, Anderson." You state—trying to play off the staring as analysis with a frown of your brow— and you do the now solidified routine of pulling on a pair of gloves and grabbing supplies. Abby ignores your statement, only focusing on one thing:
"Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that?" She asks, tucking her shirt under her bra and leaning back on her forearms with her neck falling back. The movement so casual yet confident. It's almost like she knows what's getting a rise out of you.
"No, you told me nobody calls you that." You tell her as you begin disinfecting the cut. She just nods and grimaces as you swipe the swab along the angry red intrusion. You begin applying the bandages, pulling the skin together with the tabs. You notice the faded scars all along her stomach and your mind wanders, wondering what it would be like to trace them or even just touch them without gloves on.
"Did you not have a medkit with you or something?" You ask trying to distract yourself, a relevant question since realistically this is something she should be able to deal with herself. Abby feigns casualness, "Uh, yeah. I just didn't grab it before I went out today."
“Y'know, if you’re so concerned about these scrapes getting infected, I can send you home with a little bottle of disinfectant.” You offer, finishing up the bandaging. Abby frowns at the suggestion, “Don’t you guys need it?”
“It’s really no big deal, you're coming in for it anyways." You're not too sure why you're insisting—especially now that you've realized she's only coming in for the most minor injuries you've seen in your entire five years of practice—you really don't mind her coming in and 'needing' to see you.
She shakes her head, "Don't worry about it, sweetheart, I can do without." Your heart stutters, and you breathe out of your nose quick. Abby had to have noticed your reaction because she's sat back up, shirt still tucked up with a knowing glint in her eye. You try to redirect, keeping calm.
"If you ever change your mind about it let me know and I'll send you home with a bottle." Abby just nods at this, and heads out with a soft farewell. The rest of your day is slow again, recovery check-ins for the burn victims from a few days prior, which leaves you plenty of time to ruminate about everything.
~~~
Over the next month the two fo you began flirting much more, each day things got more evident than the last. Touches lingered for longer from both of you, laughs were shared more often, teasing exchanged. It was fun even if nothing was coming from it. She still came in more often than any other soldier, to the point where other medics began to notice, whispering among themselves. Most of them figured she was just having a hard time recovering from the shoulder injury, which wasn't unheard of. There's a Thursday which was quite gloomy, rain cascading down the sides of the stadium and pattering against concrete. Days like this were often your favourites. Not only does the earth smell fresh again, revitalizing you after a period of extreme sun, but tons of people end up coming in for cuts, having fallen or slipped, plus people get sloppy and come in with arrows or bullets embedded in them. You’re almost finished stitching an older fellow up when you feel a tap on your shoulder and a familiar voice:
“I need you to check something for me,”
“Anderson?” You stop your stitches for a split second, twisting your neck to see Abby stood behind you.
“Yeah.”
"Please tell me you didn't fall again." You gripe and go back to stitching.
She scoffs at this, "That was a one time thing. I have a cut."
“Yeah I can see that, find an empty cot and keep the curtain open. I’ll be over in a minute.” You can hear the heavy step of her boots and a curtain opening accompanied by the groan of a cot. Once you finish up the stitching, you walk over to where she’s sat.
“You really like being in this tent, huh babe." You inquire, the pet name spills out of your mouth without a second thought as you close the thin teal curtain around you. You notice Abby's cheeks heat up, "Do you call all of your patients babe, or just me?"
"I call everyone that" —a lie — "force of habit." You take a seat, Abby purses her lips. "Damn, had me thinking I was special." With a soft smile, you change the subject.
"What brought you in this time? Is it your jaw?" You've started to notice where each scar on her body has a home, the cut on her jaw—the most minor cut you've seen in your entire career—is the only new intrusion on her skin.
She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, "Yeah, I got a knife to it. I think it was rusty. And well this one's…” She lifts her top, revealing a nasty gash on her lower ribs, pretty deep, still not enough to be stitched up, it could probably just be glued shut. Your eyes light up at the sight, "Finally you bring me something decent."
Abby snorts, "Love to see that my suffering brings you pleasure, sadist."
You roll your eyes, and rip open a pack of alcohol wipes "You're not suffering. if you were suffering you wouldn't be talking to me, you'd be all whiny like you were with your shoulder."
"I was not whiny." She winces while you disinfect the cut. That's another thing you have noticed, some days she winces when you clean the wounds, other days she has little to no reaction.
"You were totally whiny, I'm not complaining though." You bite your lip and she meets your eyes, lips parted for a moment as her ears turn pink. She changes the subject.
"It's pretty bad right?" She asks you, brows furrowed together with that same look in her eyes as the day she came in for her shoulder.
“This one’s still not deep enough for stitches, Anderson.” You grab a tube of adhesive, fingers dancing along her ribs. You place a dab of the glue in the cleaned cut, gently pinching the skin together, repeating this a few times, and ignoring how her abs twitch under your touch.
“There we go, you're done.” You say softly. You're still looking at her abdomen, noticing all the small scars littered over her skin, you have a rush of blood to your face as you think of running your tongue along them.
“Thanks and my jaw too, don't forget. The knife was rusty, I could get tetanus."
You shake your head. "When did you last get a tetanus shot?"
"I dunno a while back. I think I was sixteen."
“Tetanus shots last ten years. You should be okay.” You pull on a fresh pair of gloves and a grab a swab. You hold her neck, nudging her chin upwards with your thumb. Abby's breathing staggers and she looks from your lips to your eyes while your brow furrows in concentration. Your eyes flick up and meet hers; she winces when the swab meets her skin, breaking the intensity of the eye contact. Her jaw clenches.
“Just relax, Anderson.”
“Kinda hard to do that with such a pretty doctor above me.” The comment makes your stomach flip. She thinks you're pretty. You look up to the ceiling and take a breath before pulling yourself together, and when you look back down, you find her with a small smile as she looks at you. Your hand has stayed holding her neck this whole time, which you now peel away slowly. "How bad is it?" Abby asks, her breathing leveling out.
“It’s a surface level cut, so it should scab over in the next day or so, I wouldn't worry about it.”
You hold your hand out, helping her up from the cot and you lead her out to the mouth of the tent, where she thanks you as she always does and lets the rainwater and mist overtake her. It's not until Holly gives you a knowing look that you realize you held Abby's hand until she left the tent. The rest of your day is more boring than you had expected, only minor stitches like those you had done this morning.
~~~
The following day was your day off. Your body relishes the extra few hours of sleep you get in the morning, and you can tell by the way you wake up without your eyes screeching at you. At 9am, you head down to the mess hall for a bite to it. It's pretty packed for the hour, the crowd's individual conversations melding into one loud cacophony as you line up. A few of the people around you make pleasant conversation, talking about weather patterns or what they saw out on patrol the night before. Once you have your tray in hand, you scan the tables, finding Nora at your usual spot, by herself, presumably having just finished a night shift based on the circles cradling her eyes. She looks up as you approach, smiling.
"Hey,"
“Hey, just got off an overnight?” You ask sliding your tray onto the table. Nora nods, taking a spoonful of her wilted fruit. You look down at your own tray, prodding the oxidized apples in your porridge.
“Did you get anything good?”
“Oh I had to take an arrow out of an abdomen, that was fun.” Nora smiles, you love your conversations with her. You can be enthralled by injury without her acting like you were crazy for it. You can't even help the jealousy bubbling since you haven't had to take a weapon out of a body in ages.
“Ugh lucky. Maybe I should switch to nights, it's when all the good stuff happens. Y'know, all I've had of note the past week is a broken foot and Anderson coming in for tiny ass scratches.” Nora looks up from her food, cocking an eyebrow,
“Abby’s getting you to check her for scratches?” She scoffs, as if she didn't believe you. The reaction makes you bite back a smile. Abby must have been coming in specifically to see you if someone this close to her was shocked.
“Yeah, is she like a hypochondriac or something?” You ask, testing your first theory,
“Are you kidding? She's the furthest from it. Manny practically begged her to come in for that shoulder.”
You hum, nodding and thirsty for more details. “So why the hell is she coming in so much?”
“Well she told me you were making her come in because of the shoulder. To check and make sure everything was okay since she’s out of the sling earlier than most. That's why I always get you when she comes in. She asks for you.” Nora's eyes narrow as she ponders.
“I mean, I double check with her when she comes in, but she’s coming in out of her own volition for the most part.”
Nora shakes her head, "I know for a fact she has a medkit with her at all times. I drilled that into her years back. So she definitely shouldn't need a medic tending to cuts."
You finish eating quite quick, spending the rest of your day reading and drawing. The only thing that conversation with Nora does is confirm the growing suspicion you have that Abby keeps coming in to see you simply to spend time with you, or maybe she even liked it when you touched her. That wouldn't be an unreasonable assumption, you have been noticing the way she tenses or relaxes when you touch certain parts of her, even if it's clinical.
~~~
It had been a fair amount of time since you popped into the gym, so that night you decide to swing by. You pull your hair up and rustle through a bin to find shorts and a t-shirt. After a quick snack down in the mess hall, you head out to the gym. As usual, when you walk around the stadium, you find yourself praying to see Abby in some setting other than the medical tent. You crank open the heavy steel doors of the gym, which was completely barren since most people were busy eating. The dim white lights flicker and buzz, quiet music drifts out from the busted up CD player in the corner. You can feel yourself already sweating upon entry, so you decide to pull your t-shirt off, the fabric smacking against the wall when it's thrown to the side. After setting down your water bottle with the crumpled fabric, you make your way over to a squat rack.
The air in the gym is muggy while being cold in the same way most of the rooms with concrete were, and there's a lingering smell of vinegar. The rough texture of the barbell digs into your neck as you take a step back and start your set, knees bending and chest up. You try your best to regulate your breathing as your glutes and quads begin burning. While you're in the middle of your last set, the door gets opened with ease. You hear her before you see her.
“Looks good, don't let your chin dip though, sweetheart." Abby's voice echoes off the cement walls, her tone relaxed. Your knees wobble, even if the name wasn't new, she'd been calling you this for weeks now. You can hear her footsteps coming closer, and then she's in front of you. She stands there, in a muscle shirt and a simple pair of sweatpants, biceps showing off as she places a hand on her hip. You pause your movements.
"Don't stop," she tells you, "make sure you're engaging your core." She takes a step closer as you continue squatting, fighting back the hurge to make noise.
"Can I help? With the form?" You just nod, teeth gritted as your muscles complain under the weight resting on your back. Abby makes her way behind you, close enough that you can feel her breath fanning across your neck. Her calloused hands are warm when they slide up your sides, changing your positioning with ease.
"Like this, and keep your belly pulled back." She corrects, still spotting you as you continue with the improved form, "That's better, atta girl."
The praise shoots straight down to your core, the pressure that had already been growing since her hands touched you was almost impossible to ignore now. Has it seriously been that long since you had sex that something as simple as this could get you going? Or was it just because it's Abby?
"Don't do that while I'm squatting!" You laugh and re-rack the bar, not even having finished your set fully, too unfocused but the growing need between your legs. Abby takes a step forward, cocking her head. "Do what? Give you pointers?"
You sigh, shaking your head and waving her off, "No. Never mind. Do your set."
You take a step back from the rack to go grab a couple dumbbells, and Abby begins to walk away.
“Where are you going? Don't you need to do your set?" You ask her, confused.
"Oh I'm not hitting legs, I need a bench." She says as she drags one over with ease and sets it down, the peeling leather dull from years of use makes a stiff sound as she sits down on it. You just hum in acknowledgement and head over to grab a couple dumbbells.
The two of you spent the better half of an hour making eye contact with the other's lips as you quipped, the rest of the time spent less-than subtly admiring the other's body. Abby pushed you quite hard, insisting you could add 10 more pounds for each set, then inevitably helping you finish the last few reps once you could barely lift. As soon as the barbells are empty and set on the rack, you both grab your belongings and head out of the gym. Abby holds the door open for you, and you both walk down the corridor heading to the apartments. Your footsteps are lazy, legs already sore from being pushed so hard. Your apartment is closer and on the way to hers, so she drops you off at your door. Your key turns with a gentle pop, and you're just about to close the door behind you when Abby speaks:
"Hey are you coming to Manny's party tomorrow night?" She rests her forearm against the doorframe and leans against it. Her top rides up exposing her abs, which have the tiniest pump from her workout. Your eyes trail down her torso, and you pause, shaking your head as you tear your eyes away, "I haven't been invited, so no I don't plan on it."
Abby smiles, head bobbing to the side, "This is me inviting you."
"Okay then," you chuckle, "where is it exactly?"
"Manny managed to talk his way into blocking off a section of the mess hall, somewhere along the east side." She gestures vaguely behind her, "it starts around 8:30 but I'll be there around 9:45 if you want to swing by."
"Great, I'll see you tomorrow then."
~~~
The first thing you noticed when you walked into the party is the sheer amount of people, the second thing? Abby was nowhere in sight. And you're good at finding her in a crowd. You feel so awkward, this entire party was just soldiers—plus Nora and Mel—but they have their whole friend group consisting of soldiers. You make your way further inside, dancing for a bit, and then you end up pouring someone's nasty homemade beer in your cup, it's got some lingering taste that's too similar to bread soaked in rubbing alcohol for your liking, but you still drink it. At least you're relaxed now, socializing as you dance with a light buzz after having downed the beer quickly. You see Manny in the corner of your eye, with some girl dancing on him. Of course. You decide to approach, giving him a tap on his shoulder. When he turns around to see it's you he greets you with a big grin—definitely drunk already, you two hardly interact.
"Hey! You lookin' for Abs?" He was right, but why was that his first association when you'd know Nora for longer? Manny must have seen the perplexed expression on your face;
"She told me she invited you. I think she's around here somewhere." Manny starts scanning the room. The girl that was dancing on him whispers something in his ear that makes his ears turn pink and walks off. He quickly points over to one of the pool tables, "There."
You see her now, laughing with a few others around the table, giving a clap when someone got a ball in. You thank him before pushing your way through the sea of people while the bass vibrates the ground. You observe Abby for a minute, as you stand by another table covered in drinks. Your heart pounds, for whatever reason your nerves are acting up as if the girl wasn't essentially feeling you up in the gym last night. You decide to take a shot of some mystery liquor, probably moonshine whipped up in someone's kitchen. It's harsh, scraping against your tongue and burning your throat before making its way down to your stomach. You sputter, almost gagging, and crack open a can of pop to wash it down.
Abby sees you first, while you're wiping your chin in a manner several levels below graceful. You feel embarrassment flood your cheeks as her eyes almost burn through you. She excuses herself from the game without even giving the other players a second look. Hot yes, but did she have to stare at you while your eyes watered from the shot? You're far from being composed when she reaches you.
"Glad you could make it, sweetheart." She drawls, resting her hip against the table and grabbing a beer for herself. Abby had to have been drunk to some degree, as she checked you out in the least subtle manner to date. You bite your lip, cocking your head sideways. "Real subtle with that one, Abby."
Abby's brows raise, and you could swear you see her cheeks flush. "You're using my name."
You give her a shrug, "I feel like it. I'm not in a professional setting."
"You've called me babe in a professional setting."
"I already told you I call everyone that." You insist, feeling a bit of a buzz from the shot you had taken moments before. "And I've seen you around enough people to know that you're lying out of your ass." She counters, taking a small step to close the distance between you. You lick your bottom lip, unsure of what to say to that, so you just laugh quietly. You could feel the alcohol more now, your confidence growing. You decide to take a risk.
"Come with me. I want to talk to you." You loop a finger in her belt loop, tugging her forward as you wind out of the area. Abby follows you willingly until you two are in a short corridor leading out to old stadium seats.
You sit on the stairs, the coolness quelling your buzzing nerves even if Abby was still standing above you. She leans against the wall and looks out to the rest of the stadium. The night had settled peacefully over everything; the fields below quiet, the farm animals asleep as the stars shone down. The only noise was the thumping music and overlapping conversations that came from behind you. You reach into your back pocket, grabbing the lighter and cigarette holder you had shoved into it before leaving your apartment.
"You smoke?" Abby's brows raise in surprise as she watches you pull a cigarette out, and light it.
"Only when I'm drunk," You defend the habit, taking a drag before offering it to her. Your fingers brushed as she took it, and you almost cough out the smoke as she finds her place in the spot next to you. You were close enough to have your knees brushing. Abby took a couple drags, then rested her freckled arms against her knees, handing the cigarette back to you, letting you finish the rest.
"These things can kill you, ya know," she smirks at you, and you can tell she was a bit nervous because she pursed her lips before speaking. You let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah Abby, I know."
She turns to you fully, freckles illuminated by the pale light of the moon. "What exactly needs to be said out here that can't be said inside?" Abby's voice was softer now, almost treading cautiously. There's a small amount of hope in her tone. You take a moment to finish your cigarette before answering.
"I know you like me, Abby." Your voice bordering on accusation as you blow the smoke out, flicking the ashes off the butt before stomping it out. You're not quite sure what had just taken over you, making you say something with no build up—probably the liquor—but you're not displeased with where it could lead you tonight. She flashes you a knowing smile, and an awkward laugh leaves her. "Oh wow. Just getting straight to the point aren't we?"
"Well you haven't left much up for me to interpret, have you? Checking me out while I'm working…" You shift your weight to face her fully, leaning forward as a smirk made it's way on your face.
She leans in as well, eyes tracing down your body, then your face. "You noticed that, huh?"
"I'd be stupid not to." You look at her eyes, then her lips, then her eyes again. Her pupils are blown wide. She looks hungry, desperate even.
"Don't act like you haven't been flirting for months either." Abby's nose brushes yours as she speaks in a low tone. You trace a finger along her forearm before letting your palm rest by her elbow. "Well, are we going to keep dancing around it or are we going to do something about it?"
Abby's lips part, a shaky breath leaving her as she makes the decision. You both pause, lips barely making contact. She closes the distance first, her hands finding your waist immediately, yours holding her biceps and pulling her closer. Her lips are soft against yours, and the kiss is hungry even without introducing tongue. You pull back for a moment, just to look at her face, which is already blissed out. Abby's hand flies up to the nape of your neck and pulls you in again, this time her kisses are more hungry. She licks the seam of your lips, and you part them for her, letting your tongues dance together. And good lord, if this is what she kisses like, you'll get exorcised when she goes down on you. You feel heat pooling between your thighs and you whine into her mouth. She pulls back ever so slightly, murmuring against you:
"Straddle me," so you climb on top of her, pushing your hair to the side and kiss her again.
This time, she's the one who makes noise when your tongue rolls against hers, hands flying down to grab your ass and grind you down on her. Your hands are everywhere; running up her stomach, down her arms, holding her neck. The neck is what makes her lose it, hungry sounds falling from her when you tilt her head up. You keep rolling your hips against her, and you're not sure how long the two of you stay out there, but it's long enough for you to begin feeling like ripping her clothes off and fucking her on the stairs sounds like a good idea. You pull back, "We should go back inside."
Package containing three reusable silicone lids for preserving supermarket hummus, which cost very little and which I honestly don’t give a fig about: we’ve posted your parcel. (we’ve posted your parcel.) your parcel is posted. Your parcel is posted. Your parcel is moving. Tracking number for your parcel. Your parcel is being hand-carried to the depot by a courier named GREG. Your parcel is nestled gently at the DEPOT. Your parcel has been fed and watered and given a comfort break. Your parcel’s overnight nurse is named DILYS. She has twelve years of experience and a qualification. She reports YOUR PARCEL is DOING WELL. YOUR PARCEL HAS LEFT THE BUILDING. YOUR PARCEL HAS LEFT THE BUILDING. Your courier is named MERVYN and he is an AQUARIUS. your parcel is due at 12:13. We apologise. Your parcel is due at 12:17. This is due to MERVYN encountering ROADWORKS. Your parcel is circling. MERVYN is on your street. MERVYN IS HERE. Here is a photo of your feet with the parcel. Your parcel ARRIVED. how did you like MERVYN. Was he okay. Would you use him again. Would you trust Dilys to safeguard the following: a glass case containing a crystal gem / a balloon / a bucket of water. Your parcel was four minutes late. We’ll email you forever now. Do you like this
Package containing fragile and valuable birthday present to myself, anxiously awaited: due date of FUCKOFF Posted NEVER 💅
imagine being abby in santa barbara. you think you've finally left your life from seattle behind, you've got this kid and he's nice enough, you're all each other have but you think you make a pretty good team. the fireflies and your new start are close, they're actually on a nearby island, sweet ! then you get kidnapped and enslaved by these fucking assholes, your kid has a crazy concussion and now all that's in front of you is picking fruit until you die of exhaustion. you try to escape, and when they catch you, they tie you both on pillars covered in skeletons. you lose an additional bit of hope you didn't even know you had as you're trapped on a pole on the beach, baking in the heat, starving, thirsty, and you know that all that's left for you is a slow death when you were so close to the life you so desperately wanted. you failed. failed owen, your dad, all your friends that died, lev, who's only 13 and has suffered so much because of your pipe dream.
and one night you hear gunshots, fire, screaming where there usually isn't any. you're not really awake enough to process any of it, you're gonna die anyway. somebody comes stumbling around the beach, sand shuffling under their uneven steps, whispering and muttering almost incoherently. they stop under you, and you beg with parched throat and heavy tongue for help, maybe they've come to save you. your eyes crack open, lids feeling like they're tied to stones, and the sight before you takes a long moment to even register. there's a girl, drenched in blood and sunburnt and a little skinnier than someone should be. maybe she's another victim of the rattlers that escaped. but she glares up at you with hatred, so much that it almost physically hurts to look at. even in the dark, her eyes are familiar. scathing. you've seen those eyes before, twice, once while you took everything from her, and again after she took everything from you. why is she here? you spared her twice. you told her to go home. did she track you all the way here? what the fuck ...
A lot of companies that make things have two separate lines: consumer and enterprise. Consumer is for us poors that the company doesn't need to respect. You can buy more expensive, higher tier consumer items but it's just as fragile. You're paying for more bells and whistles. Enterprise grade is stuff that will actually last because it is often sold in a lot as part of a contract and the contract won't be renewed if the items suck. These things are often just not sold to consumers because why would you ever buy consumer-grade garbage if you could buy this?
For something like computers, this looks like how pricey "gAmiNG" laptops look all fancy but fall apart in about the same timeframe as the lower end laptops for students. But if you've ever handled the sort of laptops for banks or businesses, you'd wonder why laptops can't all be like this. People swear by Lenovo Thinkpads for a reason. Dell's Latitude (general productivity) and Precision (has the power of a gaming laptop but far less bs) lines, HP's probooks, all feel really nice and last for-fucking-ever. But you can't buy them in a store even if you wanted one.
So the trick is to buy what big organizations are buying, but you likely gotta get 'em secondhand when the orgs are done with them. For basic clothes, mil surplus might be a good port of call, for technology see an e-waste recycler or sometimes government auction (you just gotta know what to ask for; ThinkPads, Dell Latitude/Precision, HP Probook/Zbook). Otherwise try to thrift old, pre-enshitification items. The blanket I had as a kid is still going strong and has lived to bury multiple sets of newer bedding (which have worn thin and torn). Kitchen items, see if you can shop at a restaurant supplier.
TL;DR: if you need an item, think "which business needs these to function" and see where they 1) buy theirs (suppliers) or 2) sell their old ones (surplus) and buy that. If you can't do that, look at older, pre-enshitification things.
rebel who's had her fingers stuck in the mouth of the mech pilot she's captured for hours, because the hound is conditioned to bite down on the cyanide capsule in its tooth but not on a handler. so now it's just mumbling softly around the impromptu gag, while they both wait for someone to come sedate it.
art is not my strong suit but this is my best recreation of what i saw when i opened the window. i have to emphasize that she was supermodel levels of gorgeous
