synopsis : you and cassie know it’s wrong — not only the twenty year age gap, but the fact you’re both in relationships. what was supposed to be a casual affair, now turns into something with the stakes higher and problems more troubling.
wc : 10.3k | playlist.
tags : adult language. age gap (24 & 43). excessive mentions and acts of infidelity, unhealthy relationships / dynamics, reader has lots of guilt, aubrey and cassie nearly get into it. strong adult content; mat pressing, oral (r! receiving, c! receiving), f!ngering, overstim, it's done in the car lol, 50/50 of praise & degradation, strap usage + cassie thinking her strap is rlly attached to her.
author’s note : hi im sorry this is so late, life was really testing me !! anyways, here’s the final part <3 i also don’t condone cheating whatsoever
“we don’t have to do anything,” cassie breathed out in between kisses, and you pulled back for a moment to look at her. “we don’t, i promise.”
“i want to,” you pleaded. “please, cassie.”
cassie kissed you like she was starved, showing you had long she had been deprived of you, her tongue slipping into your mouth. she brushed off her button up top, leaving her exposed in her lace bra and jeans.
she hitched up the bottom half of your dress up to around your torso, keeping it there to have you exposed before her as she sneakily cupped your cunt, gently teasing it.
“fuck, you’re soaking,” she moaned, and you whined, mumbling an apology. “i love it, sweetheart. it’s okay, it’s all for me.”
"it'll always be for you," you whispered, nodding, and she gave your waist a chaste squeeze.
the risks and consequences played themselves in a sequence in the back of your head, but the pure pleasure and need for cassie kept you focused, kept you grinding on her lap.
"what do you need me to do, baby?" cassie asked, simply curious and worried about your own pleasure than her own, her voice almost edging with a plead. "i'll do anything you want, anything for my girl."
the kiss continued and went on, being sure your lipstick was faintly smeared around her own lips. you inched away only by a few, feeling her warm, panting breath hit against your face as you slightly pouted.
"do what you've been dreaming of," you stated, and there was a shift in cassie's eyes, the beautiful diamond blue of them shadowing into a deep marine blue. it should've scared you, made you want to crawl into your own skin, but instead, it drove you in more.
she was immediate to picking you up, having your legs wrap around her waist as your arms loosely hung around her neck.
the moment you got to her bedroom, she laid you down on her bed, kissing down from your exposed stomach, to your cunt, pressing gentle kisses onto it. you whimpered, pleading for more — for about anything — and she gave in, her mouth latching onto your sweet cunt, devouring you as her hands gripped at your hips, nails clawing into your skin.
you had never felt this ecstasy, this pure euphoric bliss that made your body feel as if it was on fire. you weren't denying how aubrey has made you feel good, but god, it was never like this.
aubrey was soft with you, like if you were easy to break; cassie wanted to break you, for her own satisfaction and to get an endless high out of you.
maybe you were deprived of sex and your libido had been decreased because you were about ready to cum all over cassie’s mouth, yet you decided to hold onto it a little longer.
“you’re doing s’fucking good, cassie,” you moaned, letting words and moans slip out in between each other as your hands found placement on her head, fingers curling into her dark hair.
she only hummed against your cunt, the vibrations rolling around it, and your back arched, eyes rolling back to the point that stars were sparkling in your vision.
she was eating you in pure desire and lust, not wasting a drop of your taste as her nails made an indent into your soft skin.
any ounce of guilt or shame you had felt, simply faded away in this moment; the way cassie physically yearned for you, even as her mouth was glued to your cunt and it seemingly was still not enough for her.
the heat in your abdomen only intensified, threatening to let go of itself entirely before you could even warn cassie.
“i need to— i need to cum, please,” you panted, and cassie hummed in response, giving your plush thighs a chaste squeeze as a signal that you could do so.
you began to ride your cunt against her mouth, practically forcing herself to stay latched to you as your body shivered and began to run out your climax, your back arching.
“fuck, cassie! cass, oh my god!” you cried, the orgasm deepening in your bones as tidal waves of pure bliss electrocuted you.
you hadn’t been pleased in what felt like a decade, and the older woman stayed in between your thighs as she gathered up every last drop and taste of you on her tongue.
she stayed down on you for about a few moments before leaning up, her mouth and chin glistening with your sweet juices.
her pupils were shot and dilated, like she just got a fresh taste of a new addiction. “are you okay, baby?” she breathlessly asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and you nodded, humming.
she pulled herself forward to kiss you as she moaned against your mouth, and was grinding herself against your own crotch, earning a desperate whine out of you.
“not finished just yet, sweetheart,” she stated, kissing your forehead. “i’ll make sure this is all worth it, and i want to prove it to you.”
you wanted to ask what she meant, but the primal need for you was shining in her eyes, and you only nodded.
cassie momentarily got off of you, opening up the drawer to her nightstand as you tried to take a peek at what she was trying to grab, and she got up from off the bed, stripping off her clothes from her bottom half and her top.
you shyly looked away, deciding to sit up to take off your own dress and the second you got the slightest glimpse of a nude cassie, you saw a strap harness being tugged perfectly around her hips.
she turned back around to face you, and your eyes caught the sight of the thick silicone dick before looking back up at you.
“how do you want to do this, baby?” she wondered, squatting down to your level as you mindlessly stared at her, your brain shaking with numerous thoughts.
“i’ve— well, when i’ve had sex with aubrey,” you began, swallowing thickly. “i was never in control, and we never used a strap. i mean i’ve used a dildo before but—”
“but nothing like this?” cassie wondered, and you shook your head. “we don’t have to do this, honey.”
“i want it, i want you,” you rambled, pouting. “i was the one who did most of the giving, and it’s been so long.”
cassie gently grasped your jaw, softly sighing at the mere sight of you — glowing and delicate before her, begging to unravel and entirely claim you.
“i’ll make you feel s’good, sweet girl,” she kissed your lips, smiling against them. “you deserve every inch of me and of pleasure.”
she let go of your face, guiding you to lay back down on the bed, and propped your head up with an extra pillow. her hands grasped onto the back of your knees, hoisting your legs up to dangle over her shoulders as you could feel the thick silicone being brushed up against your cunt.
“are you sure about this, baby?” cassie wondered, a hint of worry and desperation knotted into her tone. “i don’t want you to regret anything.”
“this is the only thing i’ve ever been sure about in my life,” you stated, eyes glued to hers and gave her a reassuring smile. “deprave me, ruin me — i’m yours.”
the moment cassie pushed her cock into your cunt, slowly and carefully, there was a shared moan as her eyes were heavily fixated on the sight of you swallowing her in.
“you’re fucking perfect,” she mumbled under her breath, towering over you before her eyes flickered back in yours, and she gently thrusted. “been dreaming about this for months, baby. you have no idea.”
“i want you to go faster, please,” you begged, eyebrows drawing together in visible need. “i need you to, i can’t wait.”
cassie honored your wishes, groaning to herself as she fastened her pace, her eyes momentarily looking at your cunt coating her cock. “this is all my girl needed, huh?” she breathily asked, her eyes shifting back into yours. “just needed to be fucked nice and good, jesus fuck— i need you to cum on my cock.”
“i will, promise!” you whined, cassie placing a kiss to your leg. “s’fucking good, i can feel you in me.”
“i know, sweetheart, i know. it’s just too good and too much for you, isn’t it?” cassie mockingly cooed, frowning. “but you won’t let me down, you never do.”
there was pure lust that circulated throughout the bedroom, the sound of skin collision bouncing off the walls, and you were you’d woken up her neighbors from how loud you were being.
her hands had grabbed at your waist, the plush of your skin seeping in between her fingers as she lifted you up from your bottom, roughly and mindlessly pounding into your cunt.
you could feel yourself being ripped open around her cock, letting her use and unravel you all before her, and you could see stars playing in your vision. you felt like her personal fuck doll from the way she had you dangling, your lower half continuing to be held up by her as she persisted on eagerly fucking you.
you could cry purely from how good it felt, and how you hadn’t been pleasured this well or perfectly in forever.
“i think ‘m gonna cum,” you mumbled, simply cock drunk and your eyes were droopy yet still remained looking into hers. “please let me cum, please.”
“how much do you need it?” cassie wondered, a grin playing on her lips. “tell me how much you need it, and maybe i will let you cum.”
“please, please,” you cried, the high hitting against your stomach, and pleading to be free. “will let you cum in me, anything you want.”
cassie dropped your legs to the bed, instead bringing your knees up to your chest and forced you to hold them there, groaning and panting while the sounds of your sopping cunt squelched and further coated her strap.
“cum for me, sweetheart, c’mon,” she said, the colliding of her skin against yours being rough enough to leave minor bruises later on. “i’ll cum in your sweet cunt.”
you hummed, your body complying immediately and your high ran up and out of you, squirming around which only led to cassie’s hands holding your body down into the mattress.
“such a good girl — fuck i’m cumming in you — you’re soaking my cock,” cassie groaned, a tremble in the bass of her voice, and you could see stars and the room spinning in your vision. “s’fucking perfect for me, oh my god.”
she thrusted out yours and hers shared climax as your brain clouded with haze and pure euphoria, a dumb smile playing on your face. you were sure you looked like a fucked out idiot, cassie’s eye shimmering with affection for you.
“oh, you’re my girl,” she mumbled as she kissed your neck and collarbones. “are you okay, did i hurt you?”
you shook your head, frowning. “i know you’d never hurt me.”
cassie grinned, trying to control her breathing and carefully let herself out of you before taking off the entire harness. “let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, and you groaned. “you don’t have to walk, i’ll carry you, baby.”
you only hummed, letting your body entirely relax as she easily picked you up and you rested your head on your chest, able to hear her rapid heartbeat.
cassie gently sat you down on top of the toilet cover, hurrying to run a bath for the two of you. you were in constant daze, soreness beginning to ache your lower half, and you hadn't entirely registered what had happened, what you had just signed up for.
you were waiting for pure nauseous and shame to hit you all at once, and you'd start crying. yet, the second cassie turned around and came back up to you, asking you again if you were okay and checking for any signs of hurt, all of that vanished.
she carried you and settled you down into the warm bathtub, herself kneeling at the side of the bath as she got a loofah wet and lathered with a sage-citrus body wash.
"you won't join me?" you frowned, bringing you knees up to your chest.
"don't worry about me, baby. let me keep taking care of you," she said, almost as if she begging to, as if this was her only pure purpose to exist. "i'm just scared i won't be able to do this again."
would there be an again? would this happen one more time, and then that's when the guilt would hit you suddenly?
"i'm a horrible person for this, aren't i?" you asked, the loofah being washed over your back first. "this surely violates some rules at work, too."
cassie chuckled. "you're not horrible. if anything, i am."
you shot her a saddened look, shaking your head. "you could never be horrible, cass," you mumbled, not realizing tears were welling up in your eyes. "you are the only good, beautiful thing in this world."
she only smiled small, continuing to bathe you in silence and closed your eyes as she did so, letting yourself enjoy this one moment of peace and care.
you didn't text or call cassie after that night, not for a few days. you switched your schedule, where you worked on different days then her — whether that was the day or night shift.
anything just to avoid her.
to see her was to remember how you cheated, how you let yourself be vulnerable in front of her, and let her unravel all parts of you that desired her.
in the process of it all, you didn't make conversations with santos — even when she had a punching joke to make — or whitaker, who kept giving you this look of regret.
"what's going on with you?" robby asked the second you walked into the emergency department, not awake enough to even deal with him. "you've been off your game."
"personal stuff," you muttered, walking to the lockers as he trailed behind. "seriously, i'm good."
"well, samira and langdon are out for the day so," he began, exhaling heavily. "i called in mckay to help you out in triage."
you immediately looked at him, knowing he could tell your heart sunk to your stomach. "why her? i can handle triage by myself."
"you can't," he shrugged. "is there something i should know?"
"no, dr. robby," you sighed, shoving your bag into your locker, and slamming it shut.
the second you stepped out of lockers, cassie saw you and dead stopped in her tracks. her under eyes looked darkened and almost swollen, like she had been crying and hadn't been sleeping.
"hurry up, please," is all you managed to saw, going to grab a tablet to start looking at patients. you could feel her eyes on you with each step you made, and could hear a heavy sigh exhale from her as you rummaged with mere regret.
“why are you ignoring me?” cassie asked, forcing the tablet out of your hand, and you looked at her. “i knew not to come by in case of aubrey but, you could learn to send me a message.”
“i’ve been busy,” you mumbled, shrugging. “i wasn’t ignoring you.”
“you forgot how to turn off your read receipts,” she bluntly stated, and you groaned under your breath. “did i do something wrong? do you regret what happened?”
the night came fluttering back to your mind, the memory making a warm feeling bloom in your chest, and you inhaled sharply. you remembered how dilated cassie’s eyes had been from just tasting you, and how she hungered for you, how even a drop from your sweet cunt was addicting enough.
you didn’t regret sleeping with her, you never could. you regret going behind aubrey’s back, and not understanding how it got to this point.
“chairs are filling up more, let’s go,” you said, gesturing to her to follow you to the waiting area. you could hear a exasperated sigh come from cassie as you were only a few feet in front of her, yet followed you anyways.
the first few hours of the shift went by slow, mostly working in triage with cassie the entire time until robby handed it over to victoria and santos to handle the second he overheard at you and her bumping heads with a patient in the room.
“finish your sets of patients from this morning separately,” robby demanded, clearly frustrated and overwhelmed. “the two of you usually work the best together, so please just get it fixed before i make you both a human resources problem.”
you nodded, and he sighed, walking away to go treat an incoming trauma. you were about to do the same until cassie’s hand grasped at your hand, dragging you into the break room.
anyone hardly ever came into it, given the fact that the emergency department was always chaotic, which made it entirely free.
“i can’t keep doing this with you,” cassie said, a tremble at the edge of her voice. “i don’t like getting angry or frustrated with you, it breaks my heart.”
you stood there, fidgeting with your badge and wanting to cry. you didn’t mean to get upset, but being in close proximity to her made you want to melt into a puddle, and forget all of your morals all over again.
“baby, you have to speak to me,” she stated, dropping your wrist and taking an inch closer to you. “whether that means you say you don’t want this or do want it — i just need something to work with.”
“i don’t know, cassie,” you shrugged. “aubrey was waiting up for me the morning i went back home, and it just made me realize i’m a bad person.”
“you’re not a bad person,” cassie assured, shaking her head. “i pursued you — not the other way around.”
“but i still gave into it because when it comes to you, i just,” you trailed off, lowering your head as tears crept to your eyes. “i just bare my whole soul to you, and you somehow find devotion in it.”
“i find devotion in all of you, sweetheart,” cassie said. “you’re worth it all, i promise that. but am i worth it to you?”
the question hung in the air because it was one that you had been conflicted with since the first day, since the time she carried you to her bed and made sure you were comfortable, since the first kiss and touch.
you had mulled over the question the first night you and her had sex, and you were straddled on her lap.
you could hear it in her voice, the plea to assure her that she was worth something to you as you were everything to her.
you could feel cassie’s eyes burning into you, her impatience wrapping up as you took your time to answer the simplest question that she had the answer to if anyone were to ask her the same.
“do you think i’m a horrible person?” she asked, in the same manner and tone as that night.
“you could never be horrible,” you softly told her, finally gathering courage to look at her. you wanted to continue on, say how she was the only good and beautiful thing in this world once more, but instead, you let your words linger around as you walked out of the break room, and back to your set of patients.
by the end of your shift, you stood outside of the hospital, waiting for your lyft driver to pick you up. the weather was beginning to get a bit colder, shivering in your jacket, and you heard footsteps padding behind you, stopping on a few centimeters away with your name being called.
"what are you doing out here?" cassie asked, and you refused to turn around, looking down at your phone. "where's your car?"
"getting fixed up," you responded, seeing how the driver was still about ten minutes away.
"what about aubrey?"
"her car is also in the shop," you said, shrugging to yourself. "it's fine, i can wait and it just needs another day or two."
"let me give you a ride," cassie offered, and that caused to turn around to look at her. "it's really late out here, and it's cold. we don't even need to speak."
you only stared at her, weighing your options and tried to find any reason not to get in her car.
"sweetheart, i know you're freezing and i know you don't want to be in some strangers car," she stated, and you hummed under your breath, before nodding and cancelling the trip. "i won't even speak, not a bit."
you didn't argue with her, only trailing right behind her as you both made your way to her car.
the walk was brief and followed with silence, and you swore your heartbeat picked up each second and step when you were getting closer to her car.
she unlocked the vehicle, both of you getting in at the same time. she started the car, eyeing you for a second to make sure you had your seatbelt on. you kept your eyes forward as she began to drive out of the hospital's parking lot, the music on the road playing at a low volume.
you fidgeted with your fingers, picking at your cuticles and felt like you had to hold your breath the entire time. this was the worse silence between you and cassie, and you know she could pick up on your nerves, how you were trembling due to every exhale you let go of.
you took a slight look at her hands, how they were harshly grasping at the steering wheel and there was a clear white in her knuckles.
thoughts flooded your brain, questions you wanted to ask her, anything to break this silence that she vowed to because you were not used to this — every car ride she had given you before, there was never a moment of quiet.
this was new. everything felt rushed and new to you, and it made you feel like you were on the brink of a panic attack.
"why are you okay with this?" you blurted out, you and cassie both taking a quick look at one another. "you know i'm cheating and... and i don't know if you are still seeing that guy."
"i'm not seeing him anymore. i called it quits when you left that morning," she answered, sighing heavily. "and i didn't really like him that much, he was boring."
"you didn't answer my other question."
"because there's something special about you, always has been," she said, shrugging. "and i don't know, maybe i have this idiotic hope you will choose me eventually."
you were too focused on how she was possessing you, that you hadn't considered all the ways you were ruining her — either in all the ways she wanted, or didn't know was even possible.
the way cassie made you feel — electric and alive — you had never felt an inch of when you met aubrey, when you had kissed her for the first time. you remember being told you will feel love and the wanting for someone so deep in your bones, it basically becomes your only way of living and breathing.
maybe it would have been better to had break up with aubrey the moment you had a faster heartbeat for cassie, and you didn't have to grapple and tackle with your guilt and multitude of questions that made your situation with cassie all more complex.
"cassie," you shuddered, not realizing how your nerves made you tremble. you looked at her, and she took a second to look back at you, your face and the way you nearly moaned her name make it enough to not ask anything else.
her hand started on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze and sat there for a minute or two, but her fingers were close to your clothed cunt. you could tell she was taking a longer route to your apartment as she gave a tap to your thigh, a signal to spread your legs slightly wider and you happily obliged.
"you need to ask nicely, baby," cassie stated.
"please touch me, cass," you pleaded, frowning. "touch what you know is yours."
she only hummed, slipping her hands in under your leggings and panties, teasingly running her fingers in between your sopping folds. "my girl just needed me, isn't that right?" she asked, and you whimpered, rutting against her hand. "i'll stop if you're not patient."
"please, cassie."
"maybe i'll deny you like you've been denying me," cassie stated, grinning to herself before she curled two fingers into your cunt. “what a fucking desperate cunt; i wonder how you’d even survive without my touch for months.”
"cassie, just please," you continued to plead, tugging at her wrist. "i need you so much."
"you always need me, baby," she stated, slowly thrusting her fingers. "you'd just die without me, isn't that right?"
you hummed, nodding and stifled whines under your breath. your hand stayed on her wrist, trying to keep your legs apart and eyes fixated on your lap.
"you're fucking dripping," cassie cursed under her breath, knowing her own arousal was growing by the second as she paced her fingers, pumping in three fingers that slowly stretched you out.
your mind was everywhere and you were trying to focus — the music on the radio felt like a sign from god, cassie fucking you open with her fingers alone, and how your heartbeat was thumping against your chest.
your head lulled back, and warmth crept up into your abdomen, your legs pulling together in response to it.
"feel like 'm gonna cum," you whined, your grip around cassie's wrist slightly tightening. "i need to, please please."
"you think you deserve it, sweetheart?," cassie asked, pulling over to a random curbside that was private. "going to cum all over my fingers like a whore, hm?"
"mhm, i'm your whore, i promise i am," you babbled, not giving a second thought to what was eliciting from you, whines and moans sewn between everything you said. "i want to be your whore forever."
"you already are, sweet girl," she stated, so sure and promising of it as she took off her seatbelt and inched closer to you. "look at me — c’mon, you need to or i'll stop."
your eyes flickered open and stared directly into hers, your eyebrows furrowed together as you could feel your high about to entirely tip over.
"give me a kiss, sweetheart, come here," cassie said, bringing you in for a kiss and fastened her fingers once more before you felt as if you were going to burst, your climax being freed. you moaned into her mouth, your arms immediately wrapping around her neck to hold her closer to you while she helped you ride out your high.
she slowly broke apart the kiss, her hand coming out from under your pants and your eyes widened to how you perfectly coated her fingers. she hummed in amusement, looking at you.
"open," is all she quipped, and you obliged, her fingers sliding into your mouth as you gently sucked to clean them. "you're perfect, i can't get enough of you."
cassie's fingers came out of your mouth with a soft pop before grabbing a napkin and wiped them freshly clean. "now let's get you home to that sweet girlfriend of yours, yeah?" she said, almost as if she was taunting you, and giving you a harsh reminder of everything.
you gathered your breathing on the rest of the drive, you and cassie not talking any further, and your stomach turned into knots with every last turn she made heading towards your apartment.
this affair would suffocate you, but it utterly bloomed parts of you that went long suppressed — and you were terrified of what the end results would be to it all.
cassie parked and before you could even get out, she stopped you. she fumbled for something in the pocket of her coat, bringing out a key as she handed it to you.
"what's this?" you wondered, slowly accepting it.
"a spare," cassie responded, shrugging. "in case you ever change your mind."
you nodded and put the key in your purse, getting out of her car. you rushed to your apartment, still able to feel cassie's eyes locked onto you until you entirely disappeared out of her vision.
the second you got to your apartment, you hurriedly unlocked the front door and got inside. you found aubrey sitting at the kitchen island, eating a late dinner as she smiled at the sight of you.
"hey babe," she greeted, and you took off your shoes, dropping your purse on top of them. you noticed a fresh set of flowers on top of the island, which caught you off guard because she rarely bought you flowers unless you reminded her to. "those are for you. i just... i wanted us to talk."
"you did?" you asked, trying not to sound nervous and sat down across from her. a million thoughts came to your head, almost sure that she had found out about the affair and you were about ready to break into tears. "what's going on?"
"i know we've been going through a lot recently," she started, both of you sharing mutual eye contact. "and i haven't been the greatest, letting my insecurities get the best of me when it even came to cassie. i need to learn to trust you more."
you shook your head. "it's honestly okay, honey. don't even worry about it."
"it's not okay. i've shut you out and left you alone," she stated, and you inhaled sharply. "i want us to work, i do. i only see you in my future, and i want to be a better person for you. you make me want to be a better person."
you were about to bend over and throw up on the floor because you were a horrible person, and you went months having feelings for someone else — and here was aubrey, trying to amend things when you had cassie's fingers deep in you not even twenty minutes ago.
"you have supported my career, and i should be equally supporting you, being there for you," she pointed out as you realized she genuinely seemed guilty and upset, making your stomach turn in all weird ways. "i only want you and this — i know we can make it work."
"of course we can," you immediately agreed, nodding — yet, you were trying to convince yourself rather than her, but she didn't seem to notice.
"i'm so sorry i've neglected you. i love you so much," aubrey assured, frowning and came to your side to embrace you into a hug, which you easily reciprocated.
"i love you more. i... i want us to work out too," you said, looking at your purse that had a key to cassie's place. "i hope we can fix everything."
and fixing everything meant cutting off cassie, for good.
only a few hours later, you were staring at the ceiling and aubrey was asleep next to you. there was a heavy weight on your chest, and you needed to end things immediately before waiting until you could see cassie at work.
you gently shook aubrey, sitting up. "babe, they called me in," you whispered, and she groaned. "i guess ellis called out and they're overloaded right now."
"are you serious?" aubrey mumbled, stuffing her face into her pillow.
"it's only for a few hours, and maybe i can get another day off for it," you said, getting out of the bed and stripping off your pajamas. “i think they even called in victoria so i won’t be entirely alone.”
she hummed, nodding. “just come back home as soon as you can,” she muttered, and you changed into a hoodie and sweatpants. “are you okay taking a ride share this late?”
“yeah, i’ll call up the shop later to get the update about our cars,” you said, coming to her side of the bed to give her a kiss on top of her head. “see you later, babe.”
you put on your shoes that were by the front door, grabbing your purse, and rushed out of the apartment. you paid for a lyft the second you stepped outside into the cold pittsburgh weather, knowing the ride would be short due to cassie’s place not being so far.
the second you got into the car, you sat in your thoughts and mulling over how you were going to officially cut things off — you knew you had to do it gently and explain a reasoning, even willing to tell cassie you can try to work at a different hospital.
you didn’t realize the time to be a little after midnight, feeling bad that you’d wake up cassie this late but you need some weight off your mind, and to know this affair would be over.
she surely wouldn’t get mad at you for it, to end it and that you could both try to go back to normal lives that were happening before everything had started.
you were too far into your mind, you didn’t realize how fast time had past as the car came to the halt, and you were right outside cassie’s apartment building. you thanked the driver before getting out, and heading onwards to her apartment, almost hurrying as if it someone would catch you in a second.
you reached her front door, softly knocking on it loud enough to alert her, but not enough to disturb her neighbors.
few seconds had past by, leading you to reach for the spare key she had given you, and before you could put it to the door, it opened widely with a merely exhausted cassie.
“sweetheart? what’re you doing here?” she asked, yawning, and you saw how she was wearing a loose tank top and boxers for sleep. her eyes adjusted to how you were shaky and how you seemed easily shameful. “what’s wrong? come inside.”
you walked into her apartment, putting your purse near her coat rack as you awkwardly stood in her living room, watching how she kept her distance. she turned on the lamp to expose enough light for the two of you to see each other, her arms crossed over her chest.
“aubrey wants to fix things with me,” you started off, inhaling sharply. “i’m willing to do it, too. maybe things could change for the better.”
“so what you’re telling me is you want to end this?” cassie wondered, and you nodded. “i mean, is that really what you want?”
“she seemed sincere, cass. she even bought me flowers—”
“you told me she rarely buys you flowers unless you begged for it,” she cut you off, confused and slightly taken aback. “will you tell her about this?”
“are you insane? nobody can ever know,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “if aubrey knew, i’m sure she’d find a way to ruin my life.”
“i doubt that’d happen. besides, you can come right back to me,” cassie assured, and you rolled your eyes. “you know you’ll always come right back to me — you can’t help it.”
“this was meant to be casual, a one time thing,” you said, shrugging in thought. “it was never meant to happen again and again.”
“it’s an affair, sweetheart. it’ll never be casual,” she stated, slowly walking up closer to you. “if you really want this to be done, look me straight in the eye and mean it.”
“i do mean it.”
“no you don’t,” cassie denied, now only a few inches away from you. “you don’t even sound sure about it.”
she purposely came closer, her hand grasping onto your chin to force you to look at her before you dared to try to look in the other direction.
“i doubt she could even make you cum properly, sweetheart,” cassie said, and you could nearly smack yourself from how you felt the need to drop to your knees in front of her. “who else will take care of you? you think you’ll feel good with her?”
you tried to get your face out of her grip, but she wouldn’t budge a bit.
“tell me you don’t want me anymore. tell me you’ll be just fine without me,” she coaxed, bringing her hand down and let it rest on your waist, tucked under your sweater.
“cassie,” you exhaled, as if her name had been strangling inside of your throat and got caught. “i want to be good.”
“you are good,” she reassured, mocking a frown. “you’re such a good, sweet girl — an honest one, at that. so, i’ll ask you again—”
“i have to fix this with aubrey.”
cassie paused, slightly tilting her head in thought as she grinned. “you could’ve texted me all of this — you could’ve even waited until work — but you insisted on coming here instead because you need something.”
“that’s not true,” you protested.
“tell me you’re not wet right now,” she pried, her hand sneaking in lower and barely brushed over your covered cunt. “because i know you are, and i know you don’t want this over.”
you mentally cursed at yourself, not even wanting to push her away because you needed her. it made you nearly sick how easy you were for her, how she had this much control, and she probably knew that too.
"do you want me to stop?" cassie asked if she needed the final confirmation and assurance that you were endlessly hers, and she could do as pleased.
your body easily adjusted to her touch, to how close her face was to yours to the point you could smell fresh spearmint from her, and your lips were in dire need of hers against yours.
you were already too far into this situation with cassie, so why end it now? what's wrong with just one more night, one more moment of cassie fucking you?
"don't stop," you breathed, like your chest had been holding onto your words. "never stop, cassie."
there was a light that flickered behind her eyes as she desperately pulled you into a kiss, the crushing weight of both mouths pressing together surely able to create a bruise in a few hours.
she carefully led you both to her bedroom, one of her hands holding the back of your head to make sure it wouldn't bump into anything, only for her to throw your legs around her waist as her hands gripped to the back of your thighs to hold you up.
you moaned, her lips finding way to the cusp of your neck and a plethora of kisses and gentle bites were marked into it. she laid you down on her bed, not wasting a second of taking off each other's clothes.
you remained bare in her bed, her eyes fixated on how beautiful were, how she thought of all the ways she could break you again. she hovered over, kissing you once more and her hand cupped your cunt, a single finger teasing between your slick folds.
"hear that, baby? your cunt needs me," she muttered in between the kiss, and you nodded, whimpering. "say you're pathetic for me — say it."
"i'm pathetic for only you, cass," you elicited, so sharply clear with each syllable, almost a plea of desperation tied in your tone. "i'll always be pathetic for you."
"oh, i know, sweetheart," cassie smiled, almost pleased with how obedient you were. "get on your knees and maybe then i'll consider fucking you."
you nearly sprang off the bed, coming down to the carpet as you watched her put on her harness in a hasty manner. it only took her barely a minute, turning around while you looked up at her.
"you're a smart girl, you know what to do," she said, and you opened your mouth, her cock perfectly slipping into it. she grabbed the top of your head with both hands, controlling how you paced yourself yet you maintained sharp eye contact with her.
you were glad your gag reflex was minimal and made sure to breathe out of your nose as she didn't wait another minute to start fucking her cock down your throat, tears welling your eyes.
"maybe i should send aubrey a picture of you like this to her," cassie casually threatened, seemingly amused with herself. "let her know that her girlfriend will do anything for me to fuck her. you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
you gurgled a response, one that you knew she chose to ignore, and drool began to form around your mouth, slowly dripping down your chin down to your breasts.
your cheeks were beautifully hallowed in, and cassie could nearly cum from this sight of you — perfectly sucking her dick, letting her use you and get her all wet.
her strength on top of your head had toughened, forcing your head down deeper onto her cock, stiffled coughs eliciting from you, and she pulled back, letting you gather air.
"you think you had enough, honey?" she asked, and you inhaled sharply, your eyes red and glossy. "you gotta speak to me."
"not fucking done," you mumbled, and cassie got soaked, getting your mouth back around her dick, fucking your throat again.
you knew sucking her off got her off, how her face was flustered and her eyes fixated on how you took every inch of her like you were made for it.
cassie gave your head a final push, keeping her in your mouth for a few seconds, holding barely any room for you to properly breathe. your hands sat on her thighs, nails digging into her skin as she slipped her cock out of your mouth, and you coughed.
"you did such a good job, baby," cassie cooed, frowning and came down to your level, wiping your tears. "don't cry, it's okay. do you want to stop?"
you shook your head. "no, please."
"you squeeze my arm two times if you want to stop," she said, and you nodded while she gave your cheek a chaste kiss. she instantly grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you up with her, and put you on the bed, bending you over.
the bed's weight shifted as she knelt behind you, her hand placed on your back. you perfectly arched, your ass faced up and your face into the mattress, feeling the tip of her cock pressing against your swollen hole.
without any warning, cassie slowly pushed herself into your cunt, a stifled whimper eliciting from you, and a hungry groan coming out of her.
she grabbed both your hands, forcing them behind your back and used them as leverage to hold herself as she began to pound into you. the sound of skin colliding against one another prodded off the bedroom walls, your mixture of wanton noises being suppressed into the mattress while cassie's eyes stayed focused on her cock fucking into you.
"you know how fucking easy you are, baby?" cassie breathed, her nails digging into your skin. "coming over here just to get me to fuck you. i was right earlier — you would die without me."
"all for you, cassie," you muttered, your head floating with daze and euphoria, your eyes rolling back as she perfectly hit against your spot. "only you can make me feel this good."
"i know i can, you're fuckin' soaking my cock like a whore," she groaned, cursing something under her breath in the process. "maybe if your girlfriend came over, i could show her how good i make you feel and why she isn't enough."
somehow the idea of that turned you on further, and it was enough to make you reach the peak of an orgasm, the heat rising and spreading throughout your lower half.
"jesus fuck, you liked hearing that," she pointed out, and you mumbled in response, whines and whimpers knitted into your words. "you're about to cum all over me because i know you liked to be fucked; so filthy and perverted."
"i—i need to cum, need to s'much," you prattled, and cassie's hold on your arms got tighter, giving you to the permission to do so.
cassie had made you cum numerous times, being the only person to successfully to do so, but this time, everything rushed over you and entirely claimed you.
you felt a firestorm of lust raise on your skin and burn in the room, your orgasm electrifying your body as you collapsed down onto the bed, only allowing cassie to continue to thrust into you to help you ride out every moment of your high.
she didn't pull out of you, only letting go of your wrists and turning you over onto your back, staying inside of you with every movement. she didn't say anything else, only bringing your knees up to your chest and had you hold them close to you, kissing your forehead.
she worked with the same pace, gently rubbing your bud as it made your flinch from how sensitive you were, only earning an amused, breathy chuckle from her.
her bangs stuck to her forehead, her chain dangling over you with every thrust, and she continued to eye your body, taking in every inch and piece of you.
cassie wanted to bite your delicate skin, leave any mark she could so you could remember her for days. she slightly leaned over, grabbing you by your jaw, and only examined you -- you were free use only to her, willing to let her stretch out your cunt as you were overwhelmed with pleasure and satisfaction, it being visibly clear on your face.
her hand shifted from your face to your stomach, pressing down onto it and further drilled herself into you, becoming perfectly too much for you. you cried out her name in a plead of symphonies, your moans filling up her entire home, and her other hand continued to play with your cunt.
your body squirmed and trembled, ecstasy possessing you with each thrust cassie made, with each harder press she made on your stomach — it was like nothing you had experienced before, and something only she could do to you.
you were at her power, at her captivation, and nothing nor nobody could be good enough as her.
maybe it was cruel to think that way because of aubrey, but her desires came before yours — and cassie made sure yours were taken care of without ever considering herself.
"you gonna cum, baby?" she asked, and you hummed, mindlessly nodding. you were easily cock drunk, getting more wet at how you could feel how she filled you up and you wanted her to keep using you for the rest of the night. "tell me how much you love me, then."
you tried to keep your droopy eyes open, tilting your head in curiosity.
"only get to cum if you tell me you love me, sweet girl," she insisted, and you sat up on your elbows, letting your legs lazily drop. "you love me, don't you?"
you didn't know if you were truly desperate to come, but the words came out like word vomit as you clearly told her, "i love you s'much, cassie. you're the only one i love."
"i love you more, i love you so much, you'll never know," cassie confessed, and you whimpered, her hand coming up to the side of your face, cupping it. "i knew you were my girl since that first day."
"i love you, i love you," you jabbered, brows knitting together as you looked up at you, and your climax washed over you before you could warn her, a choked cry bouncing out from you. "i love you s'fucking much, cass."
cassie held herself up and over you, coming down to press a soft kiss to your lips and the side of your neck. she slowly gathered her breathing, trying to adjust it back into a normal pattern, and you carefully analyzed, making sure she was okay.
she slowly got herself out of you, taking off the harness, and reality rushed back to you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. you sat up, panic slowly starting to settle in, and you locked eyes with cassie.
"i did it again," you muttered, feeling like you were about to hyperventilate. "how long am i going to keep doing this?"
"i'm confused," cassie stood in front of you, hands on her hips. "i thought you wanted to do this."
"i did, i did! but i've said i love you to you!" you panicked, and cassie sat next to you, practically manhandling as she put you down on your lap, making you look at her. "and aubrey wanted to fix everything with me, and she felt bad—"
"baby, breathe," cassie said, softly shushing you. "i love you, and it's okay if you didn't mean it. but i do love you — it fucking aches my soul sometimes."
you swallowed thickly, collapsing against her body as she wrapped her arms around you, holding you. "i did mean it," you muttered, not sure if she heard you. "i'm terrible, i'm awful for cheating."
"you'll never be terrible," cassie said, kissing the side of your head. "i love you, and you're not terrible. i want to show and teach you that you're not."
"i have to go back soon," you said, looking at the small digital clock on her nightstand, reading 3:57AM on it. "i said i got called in."
"just stay with me for an hour," cassie told you, and you nodded, the two of you holding one another. you don't know how long you stayed like that with her, but you didn't mind nor care — she was there, and that's all that mattered.
it was nearly six in the morning when you opened your apartment door, slipping off your shoes and dropping your purse after you had shut it closed.
you needed to sleep entirely, maybe for a whole twelve hours and then maybe you would find all the correct words to tell aubrey that the relationship was at its end.
you dragged yourself over to the bedroom, yawning and your eyes were slowly closing, thinking about just sleeping on the couch since it was the closest.
you rubbed your eyes before you opened the bedroom door, just to find aubrey sleeping next to another figure that was in your spot. you were sure you were hallucinating from how exhausted you had become, and your brain was playing some joke on you so you rubbed your eyes again — but the same person remained next to aubrey.
and they were both nude.
"are you fucking kidding me!" you yelled, jolting them both awake and to sit up. you stood by the door frame, and you knew for a moment you were a bit hypocritical for getting angry — you did just come back from having another night of sex with your coworker. "who is that!"
the random girl looked at aubrey, at you, and then down at her lap while aubrey tried to find what to say to you, to make up any excuse or justification.
"don't bother to lie," you started, holding up a hand. "i just need to know when it started."
aubrey and her refused to answer, and you looked directly at the stranger. silence filled up the room, the outside traffic of pittsburgh being the only distant noise to come creeping in.
"what's your name?" you asked her, causing her to look at you. "first of all, i'm not mad at you."
"my name is lindsay," she answered, and you knew that name sounded familiar.
"is this the lindsay you mentioned when we first moved here, and you started your job?" you directly asked aubrey, and your partner slowly nodded. "so how long has this been going on for?"
"before you even started at the hospital," aubrey confessed, and you inhaled sharply. "lindsay comes when you work night and... and when i go out of town for work."
"so you've been doing her for what? like a year?" you asked, needing clarification and they both nodded. "this is insane. you're fucking insane."
aubrey hurriedly threw on a baggy shirt as she followed you out of the bedroom when you were going right back to putting on your shoes and grabbing your purse, profusely apologizing and asking for forgiveness.
all the guilt and regret you were feeling had gone out the window — you weren't exactly justifying your own doing, but it did seem like an eye for an eye situation.
and she was cheating on you before you had even met cassie.
"get the fuck out of this apartment by tomorrow," you told her, pointing a finger in her face. "i pay majority of the rent, my name is on the lease — so get the fuck out of my place."
you rushed out of the apartment and you entirely blacked out, you honestly did, because you couldn't recall running down multiple blocks to cassie's apartment. you weren't even sure if you had looked both ways when crossing the streets or if you had accidentally bumped into people — all you knew is that you had to get to cassie's or you were going to faint.
you only knew you had been running when you almost ran into cassie's door before heavily knocking on it, and you were trying to catch your breath.
cassie opened it only a few seconds later, and her face softened into worry as you didn't also realize you were sobbing.
she pulled you right inside, slamming the door and brought you over to her couch, sitting you down. "baby, what's wrong?" she asked, squatting down in front of you and held your hands. "did you run all the way here?"
"i... i had to," you cried out, sniffling. "she cheated on me... she did it before i even worked at the pitt."
"wait, what?" cassie confusingly wondered, eyebrows furrowed together. "what do you mean she cheated?"
"i walked into the apartment and," you inhaled sharply, trying to find a way to catch your breath, "there was a girl there next to her. her name is lindsay, and aubrey admitted the affair between them started before i even met you."
"what the fuck," cassie muttered, and you sobbed more, bringing your head into your hands. "oh baby, i'm so, so sorry."
"i mean, i can't be mad," you cried, wiping your tears. "i cheated on her too so maybe i'm being stupid."
"sweetheart," cassie called, bringing your hands down to your lap and held them gently, kissing the back of them before lifting up your head so you could look at her. "she banned you from seeing me — she didn't even want you to babysit harrison. she was merely projecting before you even did anything. she's been in the wrong."
"i forgot she forbad me," you sniffled, chuckling. "can i stay here?"
"you don't ever need to ask," cassie reassured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "how about you lay down for a bit, okay? i know you've barely slept."
"will you stay with me?" you asked, and she nodded, sitting down on the couch before you could lay down. you put your head down on her lap as she brought a blanket over your body, soothingly rubbing your back with one hand, the other giving your head gentle strokes.
you passed out due to exhaustion and for a moment, you could easily breathe.
you woke up to some arguing, some bickering between two distinct voices as your eyes slowly fluttered open and there was a minor headache pounding at your skull.
you yawned before sitting up, finding a way to adjust to the sunset that cracked through cassie’s living room windows.
you read the clock that was on her wall, realizing you had been asleep for about nearly twelve hours.
“i see her right there!” a voice called, and your head instantly turned around to it, noticing aubrey.
aubrey was at cassie’s door, and cassie was arguing with her to leave and get out while you felt your two worlds clashing together.
you stood up from the couch, remaining near it and not wanting aubrey to come inside at all. “what are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“if cassie would let me in, i want to explain,” she stated, and cassie’s glared at her, having her arm up against the doorframe to make a barricade. “i was going to tell you, i swear i was.”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes.
“you need to get out of here,” cassie said, and aubrey looked annoyed, only angering both parties. “you’re on private property, and i can tell the police you’re threatening us.”
you hastily walked over to them before they could both throw a spew of threats and fighting at one another, swearing you would need a cigarette after everything was over with.
“if i let you come in,” you started, and cassie’s head snapped in your direction, seemingly confused, “you will only be telling me the whole truth.”
“i swear, only the truth,” aubrey promised, and you hummed, nodding for her to follow you. cassie stayed close behind, almost ready to pounce behind aubrey and get into altercation — but she did consider how she wouldn’t get an ankle monitor this time, she’d get jail time instead.
you sat down on the couch, bringing the blanket over your lap and cassie sat on the arm of it, her eyes following aubrey’s every move.
“why did you come here out of all places?” aubrey wondered, and you didn’t respond, only giving a flicker look to cassie.
“how did you know i’d even be here?” you asked, fidgeting with the blanket.
“i went to santos’ apartment and whitaker said you’d be here,” aubrey answered, and you sighed. “are you always here?”
“aren’t you here to explain to me why you’ve been cheating since the day we moved here?” you questioned, and she immediately nodded, just standing awkwardly a few feet away from you.
“i got lonely. you had also been so busy during college, and we grew easily distant,” she began, and cassie scoffed, detecting nonsense. “can she not be here for this?”
“you’re in my fucking house. you can keep talking or get out,” cassie insisted, and aubrey looked agitated, almost as if she wanted to fight her too.
“and every time i wanted to have sex, you were too busy studying or doing labs,” she said, and the headache intensified itself as you wanted to nearly burst into laughter.
what a load of bullshit.
“when we moved here and i got the job, lindsay was the first person to welcome me and,” she trailed off, and you wondered if she thought you were actually buying into what was she saying. “and it just started from there.”
“did you cheat on me during our time in college? when i did school at hopkins?” you asked, and aubrey not answering you — not even with a nod — gave you all the final answers. “i can’t fucking believe you.”
“it just happened,” aubrey said. “but it’s not like you haven’t been cheating either.”
“what?” you and cassie both said in a unison.
“why else would cassie be picking you up or drop you? babysit for her kid?” aubrey questioned, looking at you and cassie back and forth.
“because i’m her friend who likes to help her out,” you told her, which wasn’t a complete lie — aubrey had hers even before you even met cassie or moved to pittsburgh. “don’t try to turn this against me. you started cheating when we barely started dating.”
“i still want to fix this,” aubrey said, and you looked her dead in the eye, wondering if she was being serious. “we can fix this together.”
“get the fuck out,” cassie got up from the couch, prepared to physically escort her out. “you cheated, you lied — you never deserved her.”
“and you do?” aubrey wondered, and you stood up from the couch, having to separate them again.
“you know i do, she does too,” cassie stated, and aubrey shoved her, not aggressively but enough to make her stumble a few steps back.
“okay, you’re both pissing me off,” you said, and sat back down. “aubrey, i expect you out of the apartment by tomorrow.”
“baby, come on,” aubrey pleaded, and you nearly broke into tears all over again. you had spent so much of your time feeling guilty, pushing cassie away and rejecting her because you were filled with this shame that you nearly succumbed.
you were about to leave her behind for good, and try to mend things. maybe it was a twisted sign and luck that you found out, that you stumbled upon aubrey when you did.
“i never want to see you again, i never want to hear from you,” you said, voice cracking, and cassie knelt in front of you, holding your hands.
aubrey looked in awe, her stomach sinking to her stomach. cassie was incredibly gentle with you, speaking to you as if you were the purest thing in the room, and she knew from that alone, she’d never compare and that some of her own intuition had been right.
aubrey had grow envious, how you visibly bared your vulnerability to cassie, and cassie welcomed it, taking it into all her consideration. she hated her — she wished you had loved her in the ways you did for cassie.
“i won’t contact you again,” aubrey began, “but i also knew i wasn’t wrong.”
she walked herself out, and you were left alone with cassie — no shame or guilty settled in you, only a warmth prevailing and blossoming in your soul to cover it all up.
"All because my head is full of poison
And my heart is full of doubt
I got toxins in my bloodstream
You tried so hard to suck out
—the cure, Olivia Rodrigo
summary: you’re the ray of sunshine and overly dependable smiling intern the night shift crew has been needing. But a certain attending begins noticing you might need more help than you let on.
wc: 11.7k (a short one sorry guys)
warnings: crippling perfectionism, high-key people pleasing, reader is bright and bubbly to compensate for how awful she feels day to day, one vomiting scene, service dom jack, santos is on nightshift bc i love her and i wanted her in this fic. trinity and dennis and reader r basically siblings, jack’s characterization in this is DEF andrew pope cody-esque panic attacks, mental health struggles, reader is an intern again but i swear it’s just cause i watch a lot of greys and interns r the only stage of medical career i know enough about to write semi-well T-T
acknowledgments: once again a round of applause for @wesandresons for the lovely gif, and @uzmacchiato and @cursed-carmine for the dividers!
a/n: i’m not rlly sure i like how this turned out but oh well @leeknowpegger i hope this keeps you company
masterlist
When you first get to the PTMC, Jack can’t decide what he thinks about you.
He vaguely remembers you— you’d done a rotation here, some time ago. One of the unfortunate ones who’d drawn the short stick and been stuck on the night shift. He has a hazy recollection of your face during an MVC, your jaw hard set and a permanent smile to your face. He vaguely remembers, at the time, the only thing he’d really though was:
Jesus, this kid needs to dial it back.
The sentiment, of course, remains the same when it’s handoff time, and Robby is telling him all about what an awful fucking day it’s been, and of course now he says “Oh, remember that med student you got stuck with awhile back? Smiley-face? You must’ve done something right, because she matched into the ED for her residency. She starts today.”
Not exactly the news an attending wants to hear right after the horror show the day has been so far. Especially when intern/baby resident in question is… charismatic.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ellis says, her eyes trained on you as you soothe a crying teenager who just got wheeled in. “If you ask me, we could use someone who actually smiles. Bit too dark and dreary in here for my taste.”
“You like dark and dreary.”
She gives him an unimpressed raised eyebrow. “So? We can’t all be doing it. Like, we’ve got Shen, but his is more iced-coffee induced than actual smiling charm.”
“I can be charming when I want to be.”
“No, you can be flirty or suggestive. There’s a difference.”
Jack does not justify her response with one of his own, instead choosing to look down at his tablet and pretend to chart while he listens to how you’re interacting with the patient. The teenager seems to be calmed down, and the parents don't sound frantic or worried.
Maybe Ellis is right. Unfortunately, this tends to be the case fairly often.
He sighs and focuses on the chart he’s supposed to be doing and attempts to wipe his mind of bright smiles and glittering eyes.
—
The PTMC and Emergency Medicine in general was not, actually, your first choice. It wasn’t even your second, or your third.
First was surgical. Everybody wants to be surgical. You wanted surgical. It’s flashy, it pays well, and it’s cool as fuck. Plus, unlike some of your classmates, you actually have the stomach for it (one of the many things that eventually translated well to emergency medicine.)
Second was Ortho. Because bones are cool. Ortho surgeries are fun too, when they’re not arthroscopy after arthroscopy.
Third was any kind of unit like Burn or ICU. A high stress program that wouldn’t let you think, let you run on adrenaline all day.
But then you did your rotation in general surgery and absolutely fucking hated it.
Surgeons are assholes. Surgeons are uptight nerds who like to subject anyone they consider beneath them to cruel and unusual punishment.
Even in during the short duration of your rotation through surgery, it almost killed you. You could practically feel the light in your soul dimming at every pointed comment, every sharp correction, every barked insult and something or other cruel word.
And then there was the PTMC. The stupid ED that wasn’t supposed to fun, was supposed to be grueling and exhausting (especially since you’d gotten assigned to the night shift.) But instead of awful you got amazing, which sucked.
Seems counterintuitive, but it’s true.
You wanted to like surgery enough to power though. But not a single rotation after the ED even came close to measuring up. The speed, the action, the gore, and the kind but firm guiding direction from the attending’s and residents.
Matching into the PTMC was an event actually worth celebrating. As in, you decided to un-tense minutely and splurge on actual champagne that you drank in your apartment while dancing to your favorite music.
And now, you’re here. Determined to not fuck this up. To keep moving, keep going, and be a fucking excellent ED doctor.
Except your attending, Dr. Jack Abbot, one of the reasons you joined the ED in the first place, keeps giving you funny looks when he thinks you’re not looking.
You’re not sure if he’s aware that you know that he’s staring at you. You do have a wider than normal field of peripheral vision, so maybe he doesn’t know that you can still see him out of the corner of your eye?
Regardless of if he knows or not, it’s unnerving. Because he’s your boss. And you know he’s capable of being an incredible doctor and mentor, because you see it every single day.
Just not directed at you.
He’s not really mean, or standoffish, or anything like that, he’s just… not necessarily kind. Not in the way that you see him with the other residents on his service or even with you, during your rotation as a med student.
Hell, he’s nicer to Santos than he is to you.
“Did I like, say something to offend him and I don’t know?”
Trinity makes a face at you from over the edge of the monitor. “Isn’t that more my area of expertise?”
“No. You offend people on purpose.”
“True.”
You prop your head on your hands, resting your elbows on the counter above her. Your keycard, attached to your breast pocket via a red, heart-shaped badge reel is lovingly adorned with pink rhinestones and cute stickers. The pocket itself is filled with several glitter gel pens (and regular pens, just in case.)
“I just don’t get it. I’m nice, right?”
“Disturbingly so.”
“Exactly. The only thing I can think of is that I’ve messed up or something, but it’s Dr. Abbot. He’d tell me if I did. He doesn’t exactly hold back.”
“Do you really need me for this conversation?”
You level her with a look, but she just groans.
“Why do you even care? So what, one guy doesn’t like you, boohoo.”
“He’s not just some guy. He’s my attending. And you might’ve secured your spot here, but i’m all shiny and new. I can’t exactly earn people’s respect if our boss doesn’t like me.”
Trinity doesn’t immediately respond with a scathing remark, which usually means that you’ve made a valid point.
“Should I talk to him?”
She sighs. “I think you’re overreacting. You’ve only been here for like, two weeks? Three? He’ll probably calm down the more you work together.”
“Did he stare at you all weirdly when you first started?”
“Well, no, but that’s because I don’t suck at my job.”
Now it’s your turn to glare.
“Sorry. I guess you’re not completely hopeless.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Trin.”
She scrunches her nose up at the nickname like you knew she would, because she hates it, which makes it one of the only weapons you have against her.
Trinity wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped, and night shift means no Dana to ask for advice. There’s Dr. Ellis, but she’s pretty close to Dr. Abbot, which means there’s a high chance that whatever you ask her will make it back to him. You aren’t really close enough to Dr. Shen to ask him “Hey, how come Dr. Abbot stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking and isn’t as nice to me as he is to you guys?”
The question is stupid and kind of pathetic, so really, you shouldn’t be asking anybody, but you’ve always been crippled by an intense need to be well-liked. It feels like winning, and it feels good and safe. Safe is good. Safe is great.
Wanting the guy who's essentially your boss to like you is completely rational, right?
You just wish he’d tell you what you’re doing wrong, so you can fix it.
Also, it’s just driving you crazy.
Even if he just legitimately didn’t like you, and made that apparent, it’d be something. You could work with that. You could figure out what it was he didn't like via intense pattern recognitin and fix it. Problem solved!
But he isn't obvious about it. He behaves indifferent and detatched- like you could die tomorrow and he wouldn't care.
It’s the not knowing. If you could just ask him, if he could just give you an answer, then you’d know where you stood, and everything could be fine.
What changed? You want to beg, What happened after my med student rotation? Do you even remember that? What did I do? Where did I go wrong?
It eats away at you over the course of the week. It has been since you noticed, which was pretty much on day one. You don’t show this outwardly of course, because you’re pretty sure you can get through to him and level out the wrong-footedness you feel around him through stubborn determination. Surely, at some point your unwavering nature will win out and he’ll finally see there isn’t anything he needs to hate about you. This is an incredibly healthy mindset to move through life with.
The week closes with an MCI around 5pm, which is just everyone’s favorite thing in the world. The night shift gets called in, minus Trinity, who was already there working a double, and everyone sets in for the long haul. You do your best to focus on the patients and do not at all think about the ease and camaraderie between Mohan and Abbot, because that would be a very fucked up progression of priorities.
Eventually it’s all over— patients are stabilized, some aren’t. Overtime ends with phantom blood on your hands and being strong-armed into drinks in the park afterwards.
You feel awkward, because you don’t work with the day shift people that often, so you’re not really sure how best to be yourself and not come across as weird. Neither of your “safe” people (Trinity and Dennis) are present, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to be capable of relaxing.
You take the beer that’s tossed to you, even though you think beer is gross (why does it taste like that? Why do people enjoy it?) and sip on it excruciatingly slowly, trying to hide a grimace and occasionally chiming in with mentally rehearsed and carefully crafted jokes and comments.
It’s exhausting, and not at all how you wanted to spend your night after an MCI. In a dream world, you don’t have the social backbone of a wet paper bag, and you say no, and you go home to your house and shower, then watch one, maybe two episodes of a tv show, scroll through Pinterest, and then go the fuck to bed.
But for the low low price of much needed rest, you get to drink one of the most disgusting alcoholic beverages known to man and worry if everyone thinks you’re being weird! Yay!
Also. Side note. Minor comment. Little issue.
Jack Abbot is sitting next to you. Like, right next to you on the bench. Because he came late and it was the last spot open. So he’s just right there. Posture loose and open and not at all like he didn’t just help you try to save a girl your age who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like two hours ago your elbows weren’t brushing, elbow deep in a man’s organs, saving his life.
Jack, unlike you, looks comfortable to be at the park with everyone. He doesn’t look like he’s analyzing conversation to determine the best thing to say next.
Jack isn’t looking at everyone. He’s not looking at anyone. He’s looking at you.
You turn, give him a little smile.
Again.
Maybe he doesn’t know you can still see him out of the corner of your eye. (No, he’s a vet, he’d definitely also have wide peripheral vision. But maybe he thinks that you don’t have it, because you’re not a vet.)
(You’re probably thinking too much about the peripheral vision.)
Jack doesn’t stop staring at you. Instead, he reaches over to where your barely-drunk beer is in your hands, and says:
“Here, give me that.”
And then he just. Takes your beer. Straight out of your hands.
Jesus fucking fuck he so hates you.
—
“He took your beer?”
“Yes,” You groan from the kitchen island in Trinity’s apartment, “He said ‘here, give me that’ and then just took it. He didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the night.”
She lets out a low whistle. “Maybe he doesn’t like you. What could you have possibly done to make him not like you?”
“I don’t know!”
“Well, you better fix it. Having your attending hate your guts will like, majorly suck.”
“I don’t know how to fix it. That’s what i’m over here for. To brainstorm.”
“I thought you were here to steal the cookies Huckleberry made?”
Dennis peeks his head up from the couch. “Wait, what?”
You wave a hand. “Semantics. Focus.”
“Okay,” Trinity taps a pencil on a notepad, “Have you tried sleeping with him?”
“He’s like, probably over twenty years older than me.”
“So? I know your type.”
You roll your eyes. “As if he’d go after me, Trin. He doesn’t like me.”
“Hate sex is a thing.”
“Name one time hate sex solved the hate part.”
She purses her lips. “Touché. What about like, baking him shit, like Huckleberry does for—“
“Shut up Trinity!”
You both snicker.
“No dice,” You sigh, “I can’t bake for shit. Recipes never have enough context. They’re never specific enough.”
“Two tablespoons of sugar isn’t specific enough for you?”
“You’re not helping.”
Trinity holds up her hands in mock surrender. “To be fair, I never agreed to help. I just said we’d both be here if you wanted to come over.”
“I think you should just ask him.” Dennis pipes up.
He shuffles off the couch and slides into the second chair at the kitchen island adjacent to you. “Dr. Abbot is a straightforward guy. He appreciates honesty. Doesn’t beat around the bush. I can’t imagine him being truly upset that you tried to fix a problem.”
“I want to, but that’s like. Too straightforward. What if—“
“Oh my god,” Trinity moans, “Just ask him. Or fuck him. Do something so I don’t have to hear about it anymore.”
You frown, opening your mouth to object, then close it with a sigh.
She’s right.
You have to just move on. Either deal with it or deal with it by… not dealing with it. Talk to him or don’t.
Easier said than done.
—
It takes two more shifts of unrequited awkwardness for you to finally reach your limit. At a certain point, probably when you almost snapped at him for hovering (doing his job) while you were trying to intubate a patient, you realize that you cannot, actually, just get through to him via stubborn determination.
Damn.
So when you have a second, you corner him in one of the quieter hallways. The conversation has the potential to be horrifically embarrassing and mortifying, so it’s best if there’s no audience.
“Do you have a minute, Dr. Abbot?”
He glances down at his watch, then crosses his arms and leans against the opposite wall.
He doesn’t talk (unnerving, annoying) and his sharp, ever analyzing gaze makes your skin prickle as you cross your hands behind your back and mirror his position, leaning against the wall.
He’s so irritating. He won’t even give you a fucking inch. There’s nothing to go on.
“Did I do something wrong?”
For the first time since you became a resident in the ED, he makes an expression: surprise.
“Why do you think you did something wrong?”
“Because you won’t fucking talk to me!” You hiss, absolutely fed up with Dr. Jack Abbot, “Half the time you only look at me when you think I won’t notice. You don’t talk to me unless it’s required for teaching, and even then, it’s short and stilted. I’ve seen how you interact with literally every other person who works here. I know you can be nice. You’re just not nice to me, and I’d like to know why.”
You pause. “And you took my beer!”
There’s a moment of silence, and then there’s a breathy, almost wheezing sound that takes you a minute to place.
He’s laughing.
Jack fucking Abbot starts laughing.
You honest to God want to kill him.
“Sorry,” He says, eyes sparkling with mirth and shoulders loose, “I can see how all of that can be taken negatively—“
“How else was I supposed to take that.”
Jack levels you with a look, and you shut your mouth. “But it was not my intention.”
He just stops speaking there, like that’s a perfectly adequate explanation and not at all vague and almost more disconcerting.
“So…,” You drawl, “What was your intention?”
Something interesting, a little more heated than just analytical sparks in his gaze, and he tilts his head, eyes flicking up and down your body.
Under the silence and scrutiny, you resist the urge to squirm in place, hands squeezing themselves in an effort to subdue the itch.
“You hate confrontation.”
Your chest feels like a cinder block just slammed onto it. “What?”
“You,” He levels a finger at your chest, “Hate confrontation. You hate it so much that you lie about yourself to people instead of saying things they might not like.”
You laugh nervously, voice high and reedy. “A lot of people do that. I don’t think that’s a crime.”
“It’s not. But it doesn’t exactly make me want to trust you with my residents. With my team.”
“You’re worried I’ll what? Get somebody in trouble? Do something shitty?”
“I’m worried that something is going to happen to you, and you won’t tell anyone about it.”
The hallway grows silent. In this distance there’s beeping, someone shouting orders, a child crying. But not in the five feet of space you, Jack, and the conversion currently occupies.
“Why do all of this?” You gesture vaguely to the space between you two, unwilling to be more specific. He does not deserve the itemized list you assembled in your head.
“I wanted to see if you’d confront me about it or not. Confirm my suspicions.”
“That’s—“ You wrinkle your nose, “Actually kind of shitty of you.”
Jack just hums.
“So what now? Did I prove myself to you?” Your tone is mocking.
He scoffs, “God, you really hate confrontation, don’t you?”
Your skin prickles again. “No.”
“Lying again.”
“Shut up.”
He knows how uncomfortable he’s making you. He’s doing it on purpose. And right then and there, you decide you don’t care what Jack Abbot thinks, because if Jack Abbot is going to be a self-assured asshole, Jack Abbot can go fuck himself.
Your pager going off saves you from verbalizing any of this, and with one last glare, you’re gone.
—
If Jack was an obnoxious lurker before, it doesn’t hold a damn candle to how he behaves now.
He’s just. Everywhere. Around every corner. Driving you crazy.
When you bring this up to Trinity, she looks at you like you’ve finally lost it.
Which. Okay. You probably have. But that’s beside the point! The point is…
…The point is that Jack Abbot is getting on your last nerve and you really don’t have any to spare. Life has been stomping all over the other ones, so the singular nerve Jack is stabbing with his annoying pointed looks and almost lingering touches and stupid little questions (“Hey, that was a rough one, are you alright?”) is just worn out. It doesn’t have anything left to give. You don’t have anything left to give.
But, like you were brought up to do, you keep right on giving. And working. And smiling.
Because it goes a little something like this: There’s no one to pick you up if you fall. You pick yourself up when you fall, and you’ve gotten pretty fucking good at it. All of your friends (read: Trinity and Dennis and maybe Mel) are doctors, which means you all have shitty work/life balance and no one would even be available if you called and said “Hey, every morning I lie awake and stare at the ceiling and convince myself to get up while listening to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley, after which I will inevitably cry on the bus to work. Would you mind helping me with my laundry?”
Okay. Well. Trinity would probably show up if you asked because once she decides that you’re her friend she’s really intense about it (she’s a bit like a Doberman or some other dog like that, not that you would ever tell her) and Dennis probably would too, but only because he never says no when someone asks for help so it kind of just feels like you’re taking advantage of him. Mel is far too busy juggling being an ED doctor and caring for Becca for you to even think about asking her without feeling intense, soul crushing guilt.
So yeah. You don’t really have a best friend, unless one would count the singular romance book you’ve read so much the spine is completely fucked and the pages are yellow from years of travel and rereading. Counting any book as a best friend is probably very pathetic. But hey, don’t fix what isn’t broken.
So you have a system and a method and crying before and after work every single day is totally, completely normal, healthy, and sustainable. Probably even more so in the medical field, and especially since you’re a PGY1. Interns gotta suffer and all that jazz.
Jack Abbot does not need to make the suffering worse by existing near you constantly. Things are really honestly bad enough.
“Hey,” Trinity grabs your arm as you’re going by during a mellow shift, grip not tight enough to hurt but enough to be a bit past uncomfortable, especially for a girl not used to physical contact, “You good?”
‘No,’ You want to shout, collapsing on the floor in a heap of bones and tears, ‘I haven’t done laundry in so long that I’ve started wearing my cleanest dirty socks instead of washing more. I don’t have the energy to spend my days off doing anything productive, but every time I sleep instead of doing chores the anxiety eats me alive. I can’t sleep at night because the guilt makes me so nervous sometimes I throw up. Sometimes I don’t wash myself in the shower and I just stand in the water until it gets cold. Every day I wake up with the same headache, and then I take medicine for it, but by the time it’s gone I’m going to bed and then I wake up with it all over again. I think my liver is shot from over-the-counter medication usage. Everything hurts. I’m so tired.’
Trinity needs you to be okay. Trinity is too busy and under too much stress to worry about you. She needs you to be okay. Everyone needs you be okay.
“Mhm!” You nod, lips spread wide, “Pretty good day actually, all things considered.”
It’s not a total lie. The headache relief you’ve been taking religiously is kicking in faster than it usually does today.
Trinity scans your face, looking for signs of a lie, and she must find something (not shocking, it’s very hard to pretend that everything isn’t awful when Everything Is Really Awful) because her grip tightens minutely and she does that pursed lip thing she does when she’s worried and about to express it through anger or bitchiness.
“Don’t fuck with me. I don’t want to find out you’re like, doing drugs or something stupid like that. If you’re having a hard time—“
“Trin,” You interrupt, skin prickling uncomfortably as she implies that you’re not capable of handling things on your own, “If I need help, I know I can ask for it. And look,”
You tap your unbroken collection of glitter gel pens still intact in the front pocket of your scrubs. “It’s gotta be a good day. I still got my glitter.”
She wrinkles her nose, but drops your arm. “I don’t even know why you keep those. You can’t use them on like, anything. It’s against hospital policy.”
You shrug. “Glitter is a great motivator and mood elevator. Plus, kids love ‘em.”
You manage to feign something important coming up and duck out of the conversation and then, when the coast is clear, dart into one of the lesser used bathrooms and tuck yourself in the darkest stall.
Even in a hospital, toilet seats are disgusting, but you can’t quite summon any actual disgust as you plop down on the white porcelain, only lightly cracked, and cradle your exhausted head in your hands.
You have to keep going. There is no alternative. There is no other option.
Your chest feels tight and loose at the same time, and your skin feels clammy and wrong. Everything feels wrong. The lights are too bright and the material of your scrubs is scratchy and awful, and the longer you sit in the stall the more you want to throw up.
Someone knocks on the door before you get the chance to move down to your knees and start worshipping the porcelain altar. Assuming it to be Mel, who sometimes has a habit of showing up at the wrong time, you open the stall door to reveal none other than Jack Fucking Abbot.
You stare at him blankly for a few beats, too bewildered to feel sick. “You’re not allowed to be in here.”
“In the men’s bathroom?”
“This isn’t the men’s bathroom.”
“The sign on the door would say otherwise.”
Embarrassment brings the nausea back tenfold. You hold the stall door in a white knuckle grip to keep yourself upright and from hurling onto your boss.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t do this on purpose—“
Jack raises an eyebrow, his hands folded behind his back. Military man, right.
“Clearly.”
You stumble forward. “I need to go—“
“Woah, down girl. I didn’t knock because I cared which toilet you use. You work here. Use whatever toilet you want. Preferably not the one in the attending’s lounge.”
“There’s an attending’s lounge?”
“No.” He grins, a devilish upturn to just the corner of his lips.
“Oh,” You pause, then catch up to the rest of what he said, “Then why’d you knock?”
“Cause it kind of sounded like you were dying in there, and I’d rather if you didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“The paperwork, for one. Two, Santos would probably shank me.”
“Ah.”
“Also,” He shrugs, “I’d miss you.”
You scoff. “No you wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You don’t like me. You don’t even trust me.”
Jack gets this pinched look on his face; his lips pull down, his brows furrow and he narrows his eyes, just a bit.
He opens his mouth to respond when the door bangs open.
Jack doesn’t even look up before he’s barking:
“Find another bathroom.”
“But I have to—“
“Find another bathroom or I’ll cut your dick off.”
The guy grumbles away, but Jack never takes his eyes off you. It’s unnerving— to be the sole focus of his attention.
You’re the first to break the now tense silence of the bathroom.
“That seemed a bit extreme.”
“I’m not a man who does things by halves.”
“No,” You sigh, “I suppose you’re not.”
Jack cocks his head to side, almost predatory. More methodical than anything. He looks at you— really looks at you. Shamelessly drags his eyes up your body, likely cataloguing every mystery bruise, frown line, eye bag, freckle, and all the million lines of exhaustion that seem etched on your very being, right down through the bones and marrow.
He sighs, crossing his arms before leaning back on the opposite wall of the bathroom.
“What am I going to do with you?”
His words instantly have you on edge, bristling at all the unsaid things behind his tone.
“I’m not something to be dealt with. I’m a person, not some fucking—“
“You’re like a stray cat,” He interrupts, “Always hissing. Do I need to win you over with treats? Should I start bringing canned tuna?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re drowning.”
Just like that, all the humor gets sucked from the room, replaced with the cold, sharp grip of reality. Suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all, you drop back down onto the toilet seat.
Jack gives you a few moments to respond, get angry, or defend yourself, but you don’t. He’s too good at reading you, it seems. What is there to say?
When you don’t speak, he does.
“Did you think no one would notice?”
“No one has.”
“Am I no one?”
You lean back, closing your eyes and awkwardly resting the back of your head against the wall and the back of the toilet.
“You’re nosy.”
If this were any other moment, any other scenario with any other person, you would never ever act so contrary. But you’re tired and Jack seems to bring out the worst in you.
He makes an amused huffing noise. “You’re good at what you do, I’ll give you that.”
“What, exactly, am I doing?”
“Pretending.”
You scoff. “Fuck off.”
“Come on, sweetheart. How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?”
You lift your head off the back of the toilet. “You act like I’m killing myself:”
“You are,” His inclined his head, “Just really slowly.”
You scrub a hand down your face.
“Look. I understand why you think you have to care, but you don’t. I’m just going through a rough patch. I’ll get through them like I always do. I’m not gonna crash and burn or endanger myself or do whatever it is you’re worried I’m going to do, okay? So you can leave me alone. I’m fine.”
Jack doesn’t get to respond, because the second the words are out of your mouth the nausea that’s been churning in your stomach since you made it to the bathroom rises all at once, and you barely have time to slide off the toilet and turn before you’re throwing up hard enough to almost choke.
The worst part is that you forgot to eat lunch so your stomach is woefully, painfully empty. You’re throwing up nothing but bile, throat burning and tears streaming down your face.
“Alright, come on,” A warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back, and if you weren’t busy hurling your guts out, you’d marvel at the feeling and juxtaposition between the Jack you know, who’s all cold indifference, and the Jack currently holding your hair out of your face while you vomit.
“Let it out,” He soothes, hand still rubbing, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be over soon.”
“I hate throwing up.” You choke, coughing and gasping.
“No one does. But you’ll feel better when it’s over.”
Over feels like it’s never going to come. But eventually your stomach stops clenching, you manage to stop heaving, and you’re slumped over the toilet, sucking down gulps of air, sweat beading on your forehead and the back of your neck.
“This,” You mumble in between gasps, “Means nothing.”
You can’t see Jack’s expression, but his response is so quiet you almost miss it.
“Okay.”
You can’t see his face, but you know this isn’t over.
—
Jack sends you home once you’re capable of standing on your own two feet without shaking like a newborn fawn.
(“You can’t send me home.”
“Yes I can. You’re not allowed to come back to work after throwing up in the bathroom.”
“We both know I’m not the only person to do it.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t caught the other people in the wrong bathroom and held their hair back while they vomited.”
“…”
“You only have two hours left anyway. Go home.”)
The problem lies in the fact that the buses aren’t running yet, which means that you can’t, actually, get home. Your house is an hour away on foot. An hour you’d normally be capable of walking, but your phone is almost dead, you’re exhausted, and you still feel a little weak because of the vomiting.
So after retrieving your things from your locker, you find yourself sitting on the little bench outside the PTMC, waiting for the minutes to tick by. If you didn’t bring at least one book with you everywhere you go in case of emergencies (like this one) you probably would have just walked into oncoming traffic.
It’s cold out and your jacket is cheap so you have to burrow into it, hood up to retain any semblance of warmth. It would be almost cozy —huddled in your jacket, watching the city go by, tucked into your favorite romance book— if the shift hadn’t gone the way it had and if a grueling bus ride and half mile walk didn’t await you once the buses finally start running. Waiting for you beyond that is just chores and an empty apartment.
Your fingers tighten on the edges of your book.
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
You jolt in place, cracking your neck over to the side and blinking blearily.
Jack. Again.
He makes an expectant face at you as if to say ‘Well?’ when you don’t answer immediately.
Your eyes dart back and forth nervously, even though you know you haven’t done anything wrong. “The buses aren’t running yet. It’s an hour walk to my house.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face and curses under his breath.
“How long until your bus gets here?”
You check your phone. Shit. Only four percent left.
“And hour and a half. Maybe a little longer if it’s running behind more than usual.”
He seems put out by your answer, as if the bus’s heavily fluctuating schedule is of personal consequence and offense to him.
“Um,” You start, both uncomfortable at having been caught reading a romance book in public and at the general air of frustration Jack seems to be venting at the moment, “I’m fine. I have my book. I don’t mind waiting.”
Jack just sighs.
“Do you really think I’m just going to leave you out here, in the cold, after you threw up in the bathroom, to wait for the bus, for nearly two more hours?”
You wince. “Well, it doesn’t sound great when you put it like that.”
He works his jaw. “Have you eaten?”
“No…?”
He shakes his head.
“Come on. You’re coming with me.”
—
“I have to admit, this isn’t where I thought we were going.
Thirty minutes later finds you seated on the cracked vinyl seat of a booth in a cheap diner, staring at a menu and rationalizing spending your last $15 on what will probably be mediocre pancakes.
Jack is seated across from you, already two mugs of coffee —black, but oddly enough, decaf— and not even bothering to pretend to look at his menu. He either comes here often or doesn’t care to act like he isn’t staring at you.
Probably both.
“Where did you think we were going?”
Steam curls out of your own untouched mug of coffee —ordered for you by Jack, also unfortunately decaf— and you debate just getting up and running out of here.
Too bad you’re too exhausted to run anywhere. Jack’s probably banking on that.
“I don’t know,” You shrug, setting the menu down, “Maybe to Gloria’s office to write me up or something.”
“What would I even be writing you up for?”
“Disobeying direction? I’m sure you could come up with something.”
The waitress chooses that moment to appear, notepad in hand. “Are we ready to order?”
Jack rattles off his order, and then two sets of eyes turn to you expectantly. Before you can order the single fruit bowl you were planning on getting (the cheapest thing on the menu) Jack pipes up:
“Order whatever you actually want. Not whatever you think is cheapest or easiest.”
The waitress, a middle aged woman who has probably seen much worse than whatever the two of you have going on, just chuckles lightly under her breath.
You hesitantly list the item you’d been eyeing and thank the waitress.
It isn’t until after the menus have been taken and Jack’s coffee re-upped for the third time that you manage to courage to speak.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean,” your fingers curl on the edge of the table, desperate for something to hold onto, “I can’t— It’ll be awhile until I can pay you back. I barely made rent this month.”
“Do you think I would take you to breakfast and then make you pay?”
“Yes…?”
“You’re not touching the bill, kid. I’m a gentleman.”
“Oh,” You didn’t really see that coming, “Okay.”
Jack gets a funny expression on his face, then resumes his drinking coffee and glancing out the window routine.
“So,” You say after a beat, “Was there something you wanted to talk about…?”
The silence just feels so awkward. It’s killing you.
He raises a brow. “Do you want to talk?”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m asking you what you want to do. What do you usually do when you come out to eat?”
“I don’t? Eating out is expensive, so. But when I do it’s usually by myself, so I end up just reading.”
Jack gestures to your bag beside you. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“What?”
“Read your book.”
“But that’s— isn’t that boring for you?”
He sets his mug down. “I didn’t bring you here because I wanted something from you. I brought you here because you had a shitty day and it seemed like you could use some cheering up. If reading makes you feel better, then do it.”
You have to look out the window to avoid his gaze. You don’t understand how your perfectly crafted facade just crumbles into fucking dust around him. How he manages to see right through you at every turn, how he manages to uncover every lie and every half truth.
“How did you even know I like diner food?”
“Because I pay attention to you.”
You finally look back over at him, arms folded across your chest; not really defensively, more like you’re trying to hold your entire body together by sheer force of will.
Jack’s lips twitch. Not really a smile, but almost. “You bring it up every time Santos wants to get food after a shift. She always says no, because she hates it, but it never stops you from suggesting it.”
It’s just one detail. One tiny, inconsequential detail that he’s apparently memorized and held onto because to him, it’s important. For some impossible to understand reason, he seems to care.
"Also," He shrugs, "I'd miss you."
You scoff. "No you wouldn't."
"I would."
“Do you hate me?”
Jack looks back at you, seemingly startled by the abrupt question.
“No.”
You take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Okay.”
—
“You did what?”
You wince from your spot lying face-down on Trinity’s couch.
“Not so loud, Trin. I have a headache.”
She ignores you, seated on the floor almost directly in front of you. “So you’ve gone from hating each other to going on a date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” You groan, “We spent almost the entire time in silence. I read my book and he stared out the window and did… whatever it is men like him do when they stare out the window.”
“Brooding,” Trinity says, “He paid. That means it’s a date.”
“No it doesn’t!”
It doesn't. It totally doesn't. Just because Jack said he doesn't hate you doesn't mean he likes you either. There are a lot of emotions in between hate and love. Like toleration, for example. Mild amusement. Exasperation. An appropriate amount of annoyance.
Trinity pokes you on the back of your head, having none of it.
"He likes you. Why else would he willingly hang out with one of us after work?"
"He goes out for drinks in the park sometimes." You mumble.
"Yeah, after an MCI."
What Trinity doesn't know is the events leading up to breakfast at the diner, because that would involve telling her about the whole throwing up from anxiety in the men's bathroom directly after a mini-panic attack because she confronted you about your unhealthy lifestyle (which all just sounds a lot worse than it is), so there isn't really a way to give her the kind of context necessary to get her off your back and dissuade her from her (insanely insane) belief that Jack likes you. Romantically.
"Trust me Trin, he was just being nice. Nothing romantic about it."
It was kind of romantic. Just eating surprisingly good food in the company of someone you don't need to pretend around, enjoying being in the company of another human being without worry or expectation.
Not that she needs to know that.
"Jack doesn't do nice. Have you seen him? What happened to the hating?"
You shrug. "You'll just have to ask him, because I don't know."
You do know. He told you. Explained it.
It doesn't make sense.
Trinity throws her hands in the air dramatically.
"Whatever. You two are impossible."
She finally withdraws, leaving you to wallow in your headache-induced misery by yourself on her couch.
Your phone vibrates on the floor next to you, and you groan, rolling further over to hide yourself in the crack of the couch, shunning the light like the reclusive vampire you are.
Your phone vibrates again.
“Dennis,” your voice is muffled by the couch cushion so it ends up sounding more like ‘denim’, “Can you please see who’s texting me and tell them to fuck off?”
Dennis, who was eating cereal at the tiny table near the kitchen when you first showed up fifteen minutes ago and has pointedly stayed silent throughout the entire exchange between you and Trinity, finally speaks.
“Your phone is two inches away from your hand.”
“I have a headache I don’t wanna look at the screen.”
You feel rather than actually see him roll his eyes, but then there’s the clink of a spoon against a bowl and the faint sound of socked —you’ve genuinely never seen him ever be barefoot under any circumstances, no matter what, he’s always wearing socks— feet as they make their way over to your temporary pit (couch) of despair.
There’s a quiet rustle as he picks up your phone off the floor.
“Oh.”
You whine, dramatic and upset. “What?”
“Um,” He grabs your shoulder, slowly rolling you over and away from the back of the couch, “It’s Jack?”
“What!?” You screech.
You throw yourself up, wincing as you immediately regret it when the pain in your head doubles, take a steadying breath to ignore it, and then grab the phone from Dennis’s outstretched hand.
You turn on the phone and— yep. Sure enough. A text from Jack, complete with the stupid picture of a dinosaur you made his profile picture. Because he’s old.
(It was funnier at the time.)
Somewhere behind you there’s a crash, and then the thump thump thump that can only mean a person running towards you at dangerous speeds for sock covered feet on cheap linoleum.
“Incoming,” Dennis mutters.
“Did I just hear that right?” Trinity gasps, nearly giving herself blunt force trauma via the back of the couch, “Did Jack just text you?”
“I don’t know!” You cry.
“How do you not know! Your phone is right in your fucking hands!”
“I’m tired! Stop yelling at me!”
“Guys!” Dennis shouts, holding up his hands, “I refuse to spend my day off listening to you two argue over the validity of romance with our attending. Give me the phone.”
He snatches the phone without waiting for a response, quickly typing in your password (if there was ever a moment you regret telling him in case of emergency…) and opening the text.
He makes an incredulous face at the phone before saying:
“He asked what you’re doing today.”
Trinity claps once. “Fucking called it!”
“Trinity!” Dennis snaps, before sighing and tapping at your keyboard, “I’m telling him that you have a headache and you’re at our place and to please not text again—“
“No!” You squeal, launching yourself off the couch, arms outstretched, but your legs tangle over each other and you fall and slam, gloriously and beautifully, face first into the coffee table.
“Oo!” Trinity winces, covering her mouth.
“Oh my god!” Dennis balks, “Are you okay?”
“Just give me the fucking phone.”
Peeling your face off, you grab the phone, squinting at the screen and ignoring the black spots in the corner of your vision.
hi, you type, I’m at Trinity and Dennis’s. Did you need something?
You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.
“We,” You haul yourself to your feet and stagger over to the kitchen table, “Will never speak of this.”
“I definitely am. When I’m the maid of honor at your guys wedding, I’m gonna give a speech and be all ‘you guys, she gave herself a concussion the first time he texted—‘“
“There will be no wedding!”
“That’s just what you think.”
Your phone vibrates again, signaling a response.
Just wondering how you were doing. Surprised to hear you’re not holed up in your apartment reading something.
Ah, sexy old men and their correct grammar and punctuation when texting. Shouldn’t be endearing.
“What’s he saying?”
“Go away!”
You tap out a quick response.
Not today unfortunately lol I have a headache so no reading for me
Isn’t this the sixth day in a row you’ve had a headache? Should I give neuro a call?
You stomach flips.
nooo I’m fine i get them all the time
That’s not exactly reassuring.
I went to the doctor for them awhile ago apparently they’re normal
Who?
if I tell you, are you going to call him and make him send over my chart?
Yes.
Your heart is starting to pound a fluttering beat in your chest, and you hunch over your phone.
then i’m not telling you. it’s fine, really
they usually go away when i take over the counter stuff
So your plan is just to destroy your liver?
pretty much
We need to work on your planning skills.
we?
I’m not doing all the work.
Now stop looking at your phone. Drink some Gatorade and take a nap.
this is a resident apartment there’s no gatorade here just redbulls
Have either of them buy you one. I’ll pay whichever one it is later. Go to sleep. You need it.
You turn off your phone, shuffling back over to the couch and flopping down onto it.
“I’m taking a nap. Jack wants one of you to go buy me a Gatorade. He said he’d pay you back later.”
“He said what?”
—
You end up sleeping the entire day away, which should have screwed up your sleep schedule, but thankfully you live in a state of perpetual exhaustion and are fully capable of falling asleep anytime, anywhere, no matter how much you last sleep. It’s a gift.
Shockingly, the shift you work the next day is actually much easier to survive and your smiles aren’t nearly as forced. Go figure. Who knew that getting an appropriate amount of sleep would be so helpful?
“Somebody’s in a better mood today.” Jack mutters as you sidle up next to him under the board.
“I’m pretty sure I slept for like, fourteen straight hours. Thanks for the Gatorade, by the way. I woke up around hour three, chugged it, and then went back to sleep. No headache when I woke up!”
“Wonderful,” He drawls, “It’s almost like taking care of yourself is actually beneficial.”
“I take care of myself plenty.”
He casts you a sidelong glance, expression pinched.
“When was the last time you drank water without being prompted?”
“That’s different.”
“Okay,” He dips his head, “When was the last time you ever felt truly relaxed?”
You give him a beaming smile, so wide it hurts. “We’re not going to talk about this right now!”
“You started this conversation. I’m trying to do my job.”
You snort. “You’re waiting to see if someone else is going to take the sunburn guy.”
“Are you accusing an attending of cherry picking?”
“Of course not. Just observing, sir.”
Jack’s turned to look at you now, head tilted up, hands folded behind his back.
When you say sir, his eyes flick down to your lips, and then his jaw tightens.
The air suddenly becomes charged, the space between you two filled with something too electric to be air.
It smells like aftershave, hospital antiseptic, wanting, and something that’s distinctly masculine.
You look away first, swallowing hard past the sudden dryness of your mouth.
“You know,” You say, crossing your arms and looking up at the board, “Trinity thinks you like me. Romantically.”
“Mm.”
“I told her that was dumb,” You babble, “Obviously it’s not true, but. She won’t let it go, so if she says something, just ignore her. Or not. Whatever you want.”
“Why wouldn’t it be true?”
You whip your head around so fast you’re pretty sure something cracks. “What?”
“I mean,” Jack’s voice is gruff as he shrugs once, “Is that really so unrealistic?”
“Of course it is,” You sputter, “You don’t like me.”
“I’ve actually never said that. That was a conclusion you came to on your own. I distinctly recall telling you that I don’t hate you.”
“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean that you like me, let alone— like that.”
Jack tilts his head, almost predatory, and all that sharp tension rushes straight back in.
“Like what?”
Something hot and dangerous is starting to unfurl in your chest, untethering from where it was previously lodged deep behind your ribs, out of sight, out of feeling.
“Code Blue en route, ETA two minutes.”
Jack jerks his head in the direction of the ambulance bay. “You gonna go get that?”
“Uh,” You’re pretty sure you’re stroking out, having a seizure, or something, because the only thing you’re capable of comprehending is the fact that Jack just not-so-subtly implied to actually liking you. Romantically.
“Get going then.”
You scurry away, hot all over and absolutely done with emotions in their entirety.
—
The rest of the week is hell on Earth. Perks of being in your twenties.
Things could be worse though!
Kind of.
It’s just that it’s been several days since Jack basically confirmed Trinity’s suspicions on romance and you can’t stop thinking about it. Obsessively.
It’s bad.
Bad enough that when Mel asked if there was any way you could cover her shift, you said yes.
“Okay,” Dennis stage-whispers as you’re downing your third coffee of the day, miserably charting at the nurses station, “I feel the need to ask how bad things can possibly be if you’re covering a day shift.”
“Mel asked.”
Dennis blinks incredulously. “You love Mel, but not enough to work a day shift voluntarily.”
“What exactly are you asking me here?”
“Did you and Jack hit a rough patch or something?”
“Keep your voice down!” You hiss, ducking your head as if you can hide from Princess and Perlah, “And for your information, no. We didn’t. I just wanted to do something nice for Mel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t need you to believe me.”
Day-shift crawls on in a whirlwind of chaos and a level of dumb-fuckery that can only be achieved from the hours of 8 a.m to 8 p.m. As usual, the place is understaffed, overcrowded, and filled with a lingering sense of impending doom.
By the time night-shift starts filtering in, you’re ready to completely give up and start a new life a sheep rancher in New Zealand. It’s always been the plan if being a doctor didn’t work out.
Jack finds you in the locker room once the handoff is over, sitting on the little bench in the same position Dennis found you in earlier. Face in your hands, heels in your eyes, methodically counting breaths and wondering if that fluttering feeling in your chest is from caffeine consumption or sleep deprivation.
It’s fine. Your fine. Everything is fine.
“You don’t look too good.”
“I’m—“
“Don’t say you’re fine.”
“But I am,” You grit, “I just need a minute.”
“Okay.”
There’s the distinct sound of Jack’s slightly uneven footsteps, and then there’s a warm weight pressed against your side.
You take another shuddering breath that feels less like breathing and more like placing a single brick in a wobbly foundation.
“Shouldn’t you be out on the floor?”
“I don’t work tonight.”
You raise your head just enough to look at him. “You don’t? I thought I saw you on the schedule. Why are you here if you don’t work?”
Now that you’re looking at him and not starburst patterns on the back of your eyelids, you can see that he’s wearing casual clothes, not scrubs, and he doesn’t have his usual army-issue backpack with him.
“I got Shen to cover me. I came here for you.”
Your next breath in almost gets stuck in your chest, air struggling to move past that alive and wriggling thing that keeps moving every time Jack is around.
“What’d you do that for?”
The barest hints of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Dennis called me. He said you’d need picking up after your shift.”
Shame, guilt, and embarrassment flood your veins, turning your blood into sickly-sweet poison that makes your stomach roll and twist.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I have no idea why he did that. You really didn’t have to drive all the way over here, I swear I didn’t tell him to call you or something like that—“
“I know you didn’t,” Jack soothes, voice a rumbly, smooth timber that washes over your permanently-frazzled nerves like a balm, “Which is why I came.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jack stands, pulling your bag and change of clothes out of your locker.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me, so you don’t have to answer it again. Can you do that for me?”
You nod once.
“Words.”
“Uh— yeah. Yes.”
“Good.”
Thank god the locker room is empty— everyone’s either on the floor or already left for their homes.
He closes your locker down, shoulders your bag, and hands you your clothes.
“Is it easier for you to accept help when you don’t have to ask and don’t get the chance to say no?”
It sounds so pathetic, hearing it laid out like that. The ugly guts of you; cut open, laid bare, and marked for research. Exhibit A, the inside of the girl no one ever needed to worry about.
You don’t want to agree. You want to laugh it off, maybe run away from it. Sit up straight, wipe your face, take the bag from Jack and explain that this is all a big misunderstanding and you’re perfectly fine and he can stop worrying about you now.
“Yes.”
Jack doesn’t verbally acknowledge your response besides a single dip of his head, like he knows that if he does anything more it’ll turn your response into a confession and that’s just too vulnerable for the hospital locker room.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I don’t mean to be this way, you know.”
The passenger seat of Jack’s car isn’t somewhere you’d ever imagined yourself being. Not even late at night or on the bus when you’re pretending to be someone else who’s better at chasing what they want.
“It stopped being intentional a long time ago,” your hands are fisted into the material of your sweatpants, nails digging into the fabric, “It was just the natural progression of things. I like being liked.”
What you don’t say, what becomes an unspoken truth that lingers in the air despite not being verbalized, is the survival aspect of it. Why and how a person fuses this kind of thing to their personality; to their life. The circumstances that makes the natural progression of things end it being better for everyone if you just don’t have needs.
“I know.”
“I know you know, I just… needed to tell you. Myself.”
It’s odd seeing Jack illuminated by streetlights instead of fluorescent overheads. It’s odd being able to watch his hand flex on the steering wheel, watching his forearm tense as he shifts gears in his old stick-shift.
“You like being told what to do.”
Your face heats, but you’re determined not to lose face now. Especially after managing to survive being emotionally flayed open, willingly, by him.
“It feels safe. If I know what yo— someone wants, then I can’t mess it up, and I can relax.”
You can practically see the gears turning in Jack’s mind.
“Makes sense.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, the silence only filled by the sounds of Pittsburgh around you and the gentle crackle of something from the radio turned down too low to hear.
And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you begin feeling something that approaches calm.
Jack doesn’t have any expectations. There isn’t any one particular way he wants you to act or expects you to behave like. There’s nothing he wants you to do.
So you do what you want to do.
You relax.
—
In the weeks following Jack driving you home, there is a quantifiable shift in behavior between the two of you.
He starts pulling back.
It strikes you as odd first, and your natural inclination is to pull back too— to guard the soft, vulnerable bits you’ve showed him in case he throws them back at you.
But then you realize what he’s doing.
Instead of telling you how to proceed on a case when you come to him for advice, he asks you questions and steers you to the answer. He holds back when he’s evaluating a case with you, patiently following your lead and only interjecting when necessary.
He’s making space for you try new things and learn without fear of rejection. Building your confidence bit by bit.
It feels more intimate than sex.
After much deliberation, screaming into your pillow, and Reddit forum searching for HR violations, you decide to get him a card. Because he’s actually been really kind and helpful and he makes you feel like you can actually survive residency.
“What’s this?”
“A thank you card.”
You’re staring at your shoes, eyes flicking up and down between Jack’s face and the floor.
“What for?”
“It says it in the card.”
You scurry away, attaching yourself to the closest patient to avoid seeing Jack’s face when he does finally open it.
But when you look back, he’s just staring at it, a small smile on his face.
—
It’s the card that does him in.
Jack hasn’t made his feelings for you a secret, despite your unwillingness to see him as anything other than standoffish in the beginning.
He came on too strong at first— that was his fault. He didn’t yet understand how imbedded your need ran and how long it’d been since anyone bothered to look deeper.
He’d hoped, at least, that you were letting Whitaker and Santos help, and though you let them closer than most, it was clear you still seemed intent on holding up yourself and everyone around you on your own.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you oozed kindness— like it was a byproduct of your existence. He watched you get so wrapped up in being the perfect resident, perfect friend, perfect person, that no one ever stopped to let you know how good you were just by being.
He hadn’t planned on developing feelings or anything of the sort. At first, you’d just been one of his residents. Smart and capable but lacking confidence in yourself to fully commit. Then there was that MCI, and drinks in the park afterwards where he’d painfully watched you sip a beer you clearly hated, and everything just clicked right into place.
He never intends to flirt with you. It just happens. He can’t help himself. He’s a weak fucking man when it comes to you.
And then you bring him a card. A fucking card. To thank him for doing his job as an attending, a job he should’ve been doing better from the start. It has an illustration of bananas on it and says “Thanks a bunch!”.
He knows he’s completely gone, then. He was capable of being in denial before, could delude himself into thinking that what he felt was casual, but the sight of you before him, hands nervously wringing, your glitter gel pens sparkling as they caught the light was just the final nail in the coffin.
He allows himself a modicum of flirting on a day to day basis, mostly because if he couldn’t tease that real smile out of you at least once per day, he’d lose his mind.
Sometimes he takes you back to the diner, especially on longer days where none of your smiles reach your eyes and you start obsessively uncapping and capping your gel pens.
Even though you think it “looks dumb” you’ve also taken to sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the booth, and he pretends he can’t see you sneaking fries off his plate because he knows how much effort it takes you to ask him if you can sit with him instead of on the opposite side.
Then he starts driving you home during a string of bad weather after you start sneezing from walking in the rain everyday, but even after the storm passes and the weather clears up he still finds you at the lockers, every day, car keys in hand. No matter how many times he does it, you always look so happily surprised that he’s still offering.
As if he’s not wrapped around your finger.
One day, after things have been mellow for awhile, Whitaker calls him and says that neither he nor Trinity have seen you in three days and you called out of work.
So naturally, as a calm and collected man, he showed up to your house.
You’d answered the door after the third time he knocked (which was great, because he was gearing up to force the door open) and you just looked miserable. Your hair was a mess, you head blanket wrinkles imprinted onto your face, and your eyes were puffy.
“Jack?” You’d mumbled, squinting your eyes against the not very bright light in the hallway, “Why are you at my apartment?”
“No one’s heard from you in three days.”
You wince. “I swear I meant to text Trinity. I just have a bad headache.”
His fingers twitch towards a penlight he doesn’t have. “How bad?”
“I don’t know. Like a seven on the pain scale?”
“Jesus— I’m coming in.”
“Nooo,” You cry, but shuffle back from the door and put up very little fight as he ushers you to the couch.
Your apartment is….. exactly as messy as he’d imagined a resident who lives alone would be. For someone who doesn’t drink enough water, there are an incredible amount of beverage bottles and cans littered about.
“Do you have headache relief?”
You gesture to the kitchen. “Cabinet furthest to the left.”
While rifling through your very disorganized medicine cabinet, he spies an orange prescription bottle with your name on it, dated for the previous year.
“Why do you have a prescription for a high level antihistamine?”
“Stop snooping. It’s for my migraines.”
“You’ve had a prescription this entire time and you’ve been taking all that over the counter shit?”
“Stop being mad,” You mumble into the couch cushion, “My migraine meds put me to sleep, so I can’t take them when I’m working. Plus I don’t have any refills left so I save them for when it’s really bad.”
“You called out of work and haven’t left your apartment in three days and you don’t consider this bad?”
“Could be worse. Could be throwing up.”
He sighs. Sets the bottle on the counter, breathes in once, then lets it out slowly. Imagines all the ways he could murder whoever made you think suffering alone for three days is preferable to asking for help.
“I’m going to help you back to bed,” He starts, voice low as he rounds the couch, “And then you’re going to drink some electrolytes, have a snack, and take your meds. Okay?”
The migraine has clearly taken it out of you, because you put up zero fight as he manhandles you to your feet and helps you drag yourself back to your bed.
“M’ sorry my apartment is a mess. I was supposed to clean it.”
“I’m not judging, sweetheart,” He says, tucking the blankets up around you, lips twitching as you make grabby hands for a giant triceratops plushie that looks to be the size of your upper body. “I’m gonna make you a snack, so try to stay awake until I come back. Can you do that?”
“Mhm. I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
He manages to find a cucumber in your fridge, cuts it into slices and then adds a few pieces of lunch meat for protein. Last but not least, he snags a bottle of blue Gatorade from your pantry.
(He only knows they were there because he bought them for you a few weeks ago.)
He doesn’t make you sit up to eat, but instead scoots you a little ways away from the edge of your bed so there’s space for the plate.
You slowly nibble your way through, taking little sips of Gatorade when he nudges the bottle into your hands.
You finish the cucumbers, eat most of the lunch meat, and drink half the Gatorade before burrowing back into the blankets and declaring yourself done.
“Can I have my sleep mask please? I think it’s on the floor under my nightstand?”
“Of course you can.”
After your face mask is on and the curtains closed, he gives you the correct dose of your meds and gently shuts the door to your bedroom.
He fires off a quick text to Whitaker (he doesn’t have Santos’s number) that says you’re fine, stuck in bed with a migraine, and that he’s handling it.
And then he gets to work.
Two hours later your apartment is clean, your laundry is started, and Jack’s relaxing on your couch, aimlessly watching the news.
He hears the door creak open but knows you hate feeling on the spot, so he keeps his gaze trained on the tv even as he hears the sound of you shuffling over to the couch.
And then you pause.
“Jack.”
“Yes?”
“Did you clean my apartment?”
He finally looks over to you, and when his gaze reaches your face his stomach drops.
You’re crying.
He hauls himself off the couch (he’s thankful that he put his leg back on a few minutes prior) and stops in front of you, arms twitching at his sides with the need to fix, help, to stop whatever it is that’s making you cry.
“What’s wrong? Did I overstep?”
“No,” You warble, voice wet, “I just haven’t had the time or energy to clean in here for so long, and it’s been stressing me out so bad I avoid staying here during my off days. It’s just really, really nice of you.”
You look at him, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide with worry, “I— I’m not sure how to repay you for all of this. I know you said going to the diner was fine, but this is— a lot.”
“Sweetheart,” He starts, bracing one hand on the side of your face, thumb deftly sweeping across your cheek and wiping away the quickly drying tears, “I’m not doing any of this because I expect you to repay me. I’m doing it because I care about you and I want to see you happy.”
You sniff hard. “This is a lot of work, though.”
“I like doing it. I like taking care of you.”
Another sniff. “It doesn’t seem very fun.”
“I told you. You’re like a cat. Had to coax you over and now look at you,” he thumb rubs circles over your cheekbone, “Practically purring.”
You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know if I like this metaphor.”
“Get used to it.”
You sigh, dramatic and long.
“I suppose I’ll allow it.”
“Oh, you’ll allow it, huh.”
You fold your hands behind your back, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Yes. I’ll allow it.”
“Well, aren’t I lucky.”
Later, when you’re lying on the couch, two movies into what Jack thinks is an unofficial early 2000s rom-com marathon (your favorite genre) you turn to look up at him from your spot tucked into his side.
“This is romantic, right?”
He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead, because he knows how much you like physical affirmations as well as verbal ones.
“Yes.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“You need confirmation?”
“I’d rather have it in writing, but this will do for now.”
He huffs a breathy laugh, tucks you closer to his chest.
“I’ll put it in writing for you later.”
You hum, pleased, and snuggle back into him, letting out a content sigh.
♥ additional tags/warnings: no crash, ex-wife!nat, mom!nat, divorce, mentions of abortion, slow burn, tattoo artist!nat, mentions of parental abuse
♥ word count: 13.2k
♥ summary: you and nat got divorced 2 years ago after repeating the same mistakes from the past, and you've been holding out... relatively well. the only problem is your son, luke, and his tireless insistence on celebrating his birthday on a camping trip with both of his moms. (based on a request based on a jackie fic)
part 2 (soon)
Pick up Luke. Drive home, have him take a shower. Chicken for dinner. Fuck, I didn't defrost the chicken. Scratch that, pasta for dinner. No, Luke hates pasta. Takeout, then. The healthy place with the good veggie options. Get the drycleaning. Put in the order for those boots online. Finish charting after Luke’s asleep.
You sighed, finally pulling into the parking lot, lightheaded after a long day at work and an even longer forty-five-minute drive.
Fucking pileup. How was it conceivable for eight cars to crash into each other and bring a light pole down with them? And why did it have to put a hold on your whole day?
Sure, it was just as gratifying as it was exhausting to be called into the ER as a helping hand — and it was even better when all twenty-three victims ended up living to see another day —, but did the fire department really have to keep the busiest intersection in the neighborhood blocked for that long? Well — you didn't really know that much about electric circuits, and you surely weren't educated on the potential harm caused by a fallen light pole, but for fuck's sake. The accident happened this morning. Did it really take a whole business day to free up the avenue?
You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes once you were parked, taking a nice, deep breath. Relax. You're here. He's not alone, Nat's got him. Nat's good. He's okay.
One of the downsides of being summoned into the ER, all the kids you saw there. Little boys and girls about Luke's age, breathing out of tubes, fighting to survive. It was stressful enough to be a hospitalist — trickier cases, complex diseases, patients you got to know and inevitably got attached to —, but those rare ER days always took the cake. You had one rule since med school, one you’d promised to take to your grave: no children. Absolutely no getting involved when it came to kids. But in the ER, you couldn't really afford the luxury to choose.
That's out there, you reminded yourself. That kid's gonna be fine, he's got his own mom to take care of him now. Go take care of yours.
You opened your eyes, checking the rearview mirror for a second to make sure everything was in place, and Jesus Christ.
“Have I looked like this all day?”
You reached for the worn hair tie that kept that poor excuse for a ponytail together, pulling it off, figuring you'd have a better chance with a quick shake and a good old smoothing out than with whatever that was. God. What a mess. And no one thought to give you a hint. You ran your fingers through your hair, doing your best to make it look at least presentable, frustrated when it only half-worked.
It doesn't matter, you told yourself, trying hard to believe it. Nat had seen you worse. She'd seen you up till 4 AM, high on too much caffeine while you studied for the boards. She'd seen you bawling first thing after getting home on the night you lost your first real patient. She'd seen you passed out on the kitchen floor, holding Luke's bottle in one hand and his faithful blanket in the other, completely unaware of the milk that overflowed from the pan onto the stove.
Plus, what were you doing caring about what you looked like in front of Nat, anyway? It wasn't your place anymore. The divorce had been mutual, which meant you'd both been to blame, which meant you shouldn't be freaking out about how your fucking hair looked right now. Nat wasn't the one you were here to see. You were here for Luke, your son, who you were pretty sure couldn't care less if you showed up with a mohawk as long as you brought along a new pack of Pokémon cards. That's why you’d left the hospital without even changing out of your scrubs. That's why you hadn't bothered to check the mirror before getting in the car. To get to Luke faster, to be his mom, to be there for the kid who needed you.
So, very much aware that there was nothing you could do to help your case anymore, you stepped out of the car and walked up to the big concrete building you'd been in a thousand times before.
Scatorccio Tattoo, the door on the second floor read, room 207, right across the hall from the elevator.
You didn't have to knock, you knew it'd be open. Nat only locked up once the day was done, which, when she wasn't supposed to have Luke, meant everyone would be there until about 7 or 8 — whenever the last client left with new ink on their skin and a smile on their face. Said and done, you walked through the black door with the blue neon sign on it, taking in everything, the smell of antiseptic and sandalwood just as you remembered, even though the space looked infinitely bigger now. You knew Nat had upsized, she'd made an offhand comment about contractors and the endless bureaucracy of taking down a wall a few months back, but you had to hand it to her — the studio looked fantastic. Two new stations aside from the couple already set, padded chairs in the lobby, a new reception desk that came with a new receptionist — a pink-haired girl with a nose ring who offered you a polite smile as she said something over the phone. The AC didn't make the obnoxious rattling sound it used to back when Nat first rented the room, and the only thing you could hear aside from the casual chattering of artists and clients and the distant humming of tattoo guns was the music, low and ambient, some Elliott Smith track you'd heard about a million times before in Nat's car.
Nat's station was still where it used to be — far left, past the water cooler, by the big window that offered the great view of the downtown lights at night. The same place you'd come running to after class, tired out of your mind, excited about the prospect of pepperoni pizza and the sound of her laugh. You're gonna make it big, you used to tell her, staring at the skyline as you lay next to her on the floorboards — back before diapers and binkies and passing out cold on the kitchen floor. Someday, this place is gonna be crawling with people begging you to get those hands on them.
Prophecy fulfilled: for what you'd heard and seen, Nat's studio had become one of the biggest in town. Always getting the best reviews. Always filled with people. So much so that, well, you saw it — the two new stations, two new artists to lend a helping hand to her and Van, the one she'd hired long before the big changes.
“Heeey, there she is,” Van smiled as she saw you, wide and friendly, leaning an elbow on the receptionist's desk with that ease she always seemed to carry around. “Our friendly neighborhood Dr. House.”
You couldn't help but grin, tired but honest, though maybe not as big as it would've been a couple of years ago.
“Van,” you took a step closer, hand in one pocket. “How've you been?”
“If you're asking as my doctor, I'm doing alright,” she leaned forward, placing a hand beside her lips as if she was about to tell a secret. “But if you're asking as my friend, hungover out of my mind. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”
You chuckled.
“That's the spirit,” you nodded, amused by the fact that, even with all the years, Van never seemed to lose her essence. “Have you seen my kid anywhere around here?”
“Nat's station,” she pointed at the hall you knew well, the same one that led to the water cooler, far left of the room. “Talking everybody's ears off. Being a menace. Making every client fall in love with him. You know, the usual.”
You smiled, chest warming at her words. That sounded right. Luke had always been a force of nature, a hurricane with dark brown hair and eyes as blue as his mom's, melting every heart that ever crossed his path with a quick sense of humor and a crooked smile. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, the same kind that always got stuck between your throat and your lungs on ER days. He was here, he was okay, he was with Nat. That was all that mattered.
“Right, thanks. I should go get him,” you made a motion to leave, lingering long enough just to properly wrap up the conversation. “It was nice seeing you, Van. And congrats, by the way, the place looks amazing.”
“Thanks, yeah. Good to see you too,” she nodded, that shit-eating grin softening into something earnest, quieter. “Hey, stop by more often. I'll give you half off if you ever decide to let me ink you up.”
You let out a little laugh.
“I'll think about it.”
“You go ahead and do that.”
And so you walked toward Natalie's station, determined, deliberately doing what you were there to do.
Luke sat on Nat's chair, bouncing his legs, tongue poking out as he drew something on her tablet — a dragon, a tiger, you weren't sure from this angle. He was focused, determined, that same wrinkle between his eyes that used to pop on Natalie's forehead whenever she worked on a client. He occasionally stopped, assessed his work, mouthed the words to the song that played in the background like a seven-year-old had any business knowing the lyrics to Elliott Smith's discography.
Nat sat on the table, right next to the tablet, leaned on her hand as she watched her son with a proud smile on her lips. It was that face she made the first time Luke kicked a soccer ball, the same from when he sighed and rolled his eyes and told you he didn't want to wear a button up to your brother's wedding at the ripe age of four. The that kid's just like me look. Like she knew he was a carbon copy, except male and a bit shorter, but still scary similar in all the ways that mattered.
“Good trace, bud,” she muttered, free hand running through his hair affectionately. “You've already got your own style. That's not for everybody, you know.”
Luke nodded, unfazed, brow still furrowed — like all the praise in the world wouldn't pull his focus from the task at hand.
“I like to do the mouth like this,” he said, sharp, as serious as a lifelong painter explaining his work. “Makes it look like he's breathing fire.”
You let out a chuckle, soft, just loud enough for them to realize you were there. Your presence, as it turned out, was in fact enough to make Luke raise his head from his very important masterpiece.
“Mom!” He smiled widely. “You're back from the hospital!”
“I am,” you walked up to him, muscles finally relaxing after the day you'd had, cupping his cheek in one hand just to make sure he was real. “Hey, baby. Sorry I couldn't pick you up from school.”
“That's okay! Mama said you saved a lot of people from dying today!”
Nat let out a snort, shooting her eyes up in your direction, shaking her head slightly with amusement.
“I didn't say it like that,” she clarified, raspy, melting visibly in the way she always did whenever Luke said something unhinged. “I said you were saving lives. The whole death thing was implied.”
“He's a smart kid. Good at reading between the lines,” you smiled, tame, the only kind you'd offered Nat since the divorce two years ago. Friendly. Safe. In regards to anything Luke-related. “And a talented one too. Let me take a look at that drawing, sweetheart.”
“It's not a drawing,” he corrected, turning the tablet around — and there it was, a dragon. Wobbly. Just as accurate as a seven-year-old could do from memory. Still, Nat was right, it did have personality. “It's a stencil. For a tattoo.”
You chuckled, Natalie's proud grin not going unnoticed.
“Ooh, a stencil? Is that right?”
He nodded eagerly.
“Mama said she's gonna let me print it so I can put it on my arm. Pretend it's real like the ones she has.”
“What can I say,” Nat smirked, as enamored about it as she was smug. “Kid wants to be just like his mama.”
You shook your head, letting out a content yet tired breath. The exhaustion of the day was starting to catch up to you faster than you'd anticipated now that you saw Luke was alive and well, sitting on his mom's chair right in front of your eyes. This was what you'd been waiting for all day — coming to see him, touching his rosy cheek, listening to his baby voice after a long day of taking care of injuries on other people's kids. And now you needed rest, even if you weren't going to get it anytime soon. You needed to get your boy in the car, drive him home, hear all about his day at school over a balanced meal that would probably be too expensive, but not enough to make cooking worth it tonight. You needed his presence. His youthful innocence brightening up the house while you had him for the week. To trip on his scattered toys and hear his loud cartoons and let the liveliness make you forget all the despair and fear you’d been surrounded by all day.
“Well, that sounds like fun, Mr. Tattoo Artist. Go print out your stencil so we can go home, yeah?”
“But mom,” he whined, pouting, shoulders dropping. “I'm not finished yet.”
“That's enough, buddy. You can wrap it up next week when you're with mama again.”
“Please,” Luke brought his hands together, because apparently it was a life or death situation. “I wanted to bring it for show and tell tomorrow.”
You sighed. The pleading look on his face was something you’d already learned not to fall for — even though it still had an unsurprisingly high success rate —, but right now all you saw when you looked at it was that other little boy, the one who almost didn't make it, the one whose mom held onto so tightly as she cried I will do anything you want. Come back to me and you'll have everything you ask for, honey, whatever it is.
Fuck it. You'd been stuck in the ER all day, you'd been trapped in your car for forty-five minutes on the way here. You could spare your son a few more minutes doing what he liked.
“You can grab a seat,” Nat smiled, gesturing at the tattoo chair, looking at you like she could somehow still read your mind after all this time. “There's no rush.”
You nodded, making your way to the chair, knowing it was all for a greater good.
“Thanks.”
Nat got up, slow, walking closer to where you stood while Luke went back to his stencil — now muttering some Nirvana track he apparently knew by heart.
“He's almost done,” she said, holding onto the edge of the chair as you sat on the other end, feet dangling off. “Finishing touches and all. Turns out he's kind of a perfectionist.”
You let out a weak snort.
“Sure. I'll… let him do his thing a little longer,” you looked at Luke, smiling softly, still half-high on the relief to see him happy and healthy after a hard day. “Thanks, by the way. For picking him up today. I would've had my brother do it, but—”
“No. No way,” she shook her head. “He's my kid too, only fair that I go. Plus, it's good to see him outside of my days. Helps me miss him a little less.”
You offered Nat a small smile.
“I know what you mean. Uh, thanks anyway. Sorry it was such short notice.”
“Don't apologize. I saw the pileup thing on the news. Oof.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled absently, looking down, “oof.”
Natalie licked her lips, turning her head away from you, staring at Luke's focused expression for a second. And then she looked at you again.
“You want an espresso?”
You narrowed your eyes, a confused smirk taking over your lips.
“Espresso?”
She let out a breathy laugh.
“We have this fancy machine now. With all the buttons and shit,” she shrugged, so casual, so Natalie it made your heart flutter amidst all the exhaustion. “Makes hot chocolates too. Luke's already had, like, three so far.”
You laughed too, for once not concerned about the amount of sugar your kid had ingested — not today.
“Thanks. But I'm trying to go easy on the caffeine.”
“That's… new,” she chuckled, and you couldn't blame her. You used to drink coffee like it was water — a habit you'd been cutting back on since the divorce. As it turned out, heartbreak and palpitations from five cups a day weren't the best combo if you wanted to get an okay night's sleep. “Alright, then. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Sure,” you nodded. The jingling of the bell above the front door called your attention, indicating someone had just arrived or left. Your eyes fell on the new tattoo gun by the chair. “Uh, congratulations, by the way. The studio looks… It looks really good, Nat. Fancy espresso machine and everything.”
Natalie smiled, looking away, doing that thing with her face she used to do when you complimented her.
“Yeah. It’s, uh, really taken off.”
“I can see that.”
She paused for a moment.
“And how are you—”
“There, I’m finished!” Luke interrupted whatever Natalie was going to say, turning the tablet around with a proud grin on his face, showing his masterpiece to both of his moms. “Ta-da!”
Nat’s eyes sparkled.
“Whoa, bud,” she said, widening her eyes for flare, stepping closer to him so she could have a better look. “That’s gonna make a sick tat.”
Luke smiled big, taking the praise better than his mama ever did, used to being seen, to being celebrated. It was a point Nat made from birth, showering him with compliments whenever he reached even the smallest accomplishments — there you go, buddy, good burp. Strong as a lion. Great job sleeping through the night. Hey, look at that latch, that's how it's done. You're the best baby in the world.
“Can we print it now?! Please, please, please?”
“Of course, give it here,” Nat grabbed the tablet, tapping the screen a few times until the thermal printer began to buzz.
Luke squealed, getting up from the chair like the excitement was simply too much to bear, bouncing on his heels with the utmost glee. When the stencil finally came out ready, blueish-purple lines on white paper, Nat picked it up and cut around the art with her scissors.
“There you go,” she held the piece of paper by the edges, extra careful not to wrinkle it. “If you wanna wear it to show and tell, ask mommy to help you put it on before school, okay?” When he nodded eagerly, Nat looked up at you with a chuckle on her lips. “It comes off with soap and water.”
“I know,” and you did, you'd been through this before, you'd been her lab rat a billion times when she wanted to test out new styles and designs. “He's gonna be the coolest kid in Ms. Lee's class.”
“Emma's gonna freak when she sees it!” Luke jumped up and down, launching himself into Nat without warning, arms wrapping around her waist like she'd just given him the entire world. “Thank you, mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm gonna go show aunt Van!”
And he was off into the hallway, disappearing on the way to Van's station like he knew it by heart after all the time he’d spent in the studio. Natalie stood there a few seconds, red cheeks and ears, smiling to herself as if she didn’t know what to do with all the love in her chest. Then, because she was Nat, she shrugged it off. Let out a snort. Looked at you like her heart hadn't just visibly melted right in front of your eyes.
“It's been Emma this, Emma that all the time,” she offered, casual, an attempt to recompose herself. “Joined at the hip just like I was with Van at that age.”
You let out a laugh, deciding to let Nat off the hook for always masking her emotions. It wasn't your place to meddle anymore.
“I don't think that's possible,” you tilted your head. Van and Nat had been inseparable all through the years you'd known them — and from the stories you'd heard, they’d been that way practically out the womb. “But yeah. Emma's been a popular name lately. I think that's a good friendship for him to have.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded.
“She has two moms,” you commented, leaving off the part you'd heard through the grapevine about their divorce, about their time apart, about their reconciliation less than a year ago. It all just hit a little too close to home. “One’s a nurse at the hospital, actually. Sweet woman. It's good for him to be around other families like—”
Like ours, you almost said before cutting yourself off mid-sentence. You didn't live in the same house anymore. You didn't wake up next to Nat, you didn't force her to sit down and eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich in the morning so she wouldn't leave on an empty stomach. You didn't tuck Luke in together at night, a kiss on the forehead each, a five-step monster check just to be sure — you behind the curtains, Nat under the bed.
You weren't a family, not anymore.
So you cleared your throat, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed there.
“—like that. Uh, two moms.”
Nat looked down, bringing a hand to the nape of her neck like she’d also made the conscious choice to let you off the hook this time.
“Yeah. That’s good.”
Luke’s laugh echoed from the lobby like a light at the end of the tunnel, saving you from the familiar awkward moment you could feel coming before the silence had a chance to stretch.
“Well, it's getting dark soon,” you said, looking at Nat. “I should take him home.”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” she nodded, bringing her hand down to the waistband of her skirt, playing absently with a belt loop as she drifted her eyes toward the hall. “Let me walk you.”
You both found Luke in the reception area, sitting on Van's knee on one of the new padded chairs, eyes shooting up with excitement as he saw his moms come in his direction.
“Mom! Mama!” He squealed. “Aunt Van said she can give me a dragon tattoo when I'm old enough! A real one! Isn't that cool?”
You laughed.
“We'll talk about it,” you looked at Van, who just smirked like she'd been caught red-handed making promises she shouldn't. “Come on, Lukey. It's time to go. Say goodbye to mama and aunt Van.”
He nodded obediently, wrapping an arm around Van's neck, sinking his head into her shoulder for just a second.
“Bye, aunt Van. Don't forget the Pokémon cards next time so we can trade!”
“Got it. Charizard, I’ll bring it over next week.”
He smiled, hopping off Van's lap with the stencil tucked in his hand like a trophy, making his way to Nat with familiarity. The goodbye. The thing he'd been getting better and better at over the past two years. She crouched down to get on his level, not quite as resilient even though she nearly did enough to hide it well, wrapping those tattooed arms around him with eyes closed so tightly they gave her away.
“Bye, little man. Be good to your mom. And don't forget to take pictures of the stencil before you go to school tomorrow.”
“Okay, mama,” he pressed a kiss to Nat's cheek, caring and gentle, ever the cuddlebug when it came to his moms. “I love you.”
“Love you more.”
“No take backs.”
“No take backs.”
You stood back, watching them silently, not getting in the way of the moment. Their little ritual. The hug, the love you more, the no take backs. Nat's way of letting him know he could do anything in the world and she would still love him no matter what, she would still be his mama at the end of every day.
She let out a breath, giving him one final squeeze before letting go.
“Alright, off you go.”
He ran in your direction, stepping into his role, grabbing your hand like he already knew his way around your and Nat's arrangement at this point. You smiled at him. Looked at Van again, then at Nat.
“Bye, you guys,” you said, standing at the door. “And thanks again, Nat. You saved my butt today.”
She chuckled, always amused to hear you censor your curses around Luke.
“Of course, Y/N, anytime. Hit me up if you need to, yeah?”
You nodded, small, genuine. You knew she meant it — even with the distance, even with the divorce, even with the mutual decision that had been undeniably stronger on her end, she meant it. She knew your routine, knew your work, knew shit happened sometimes. She'd always made it clear she'd be there to pull her weight with Luke for those moments.
“Thanks. You too.”
“Will do.”
In the car, with the takeout bag already safely tucked behind the seatbelt on the passenger seat and finally on your way home, Luke filled you in on the details of his day.
“And after PE we went back to class and Ms. Lee let us sing happy birthday to Jake!” He said, the stencil still in his hand, looking out of the back window. “His mom brought everyone cake but Parker had to have a different kind because she’s allergic to frosting. But that sucks. The frosting was the best part!”
You chuckled, grateful to hear his incessant blabbering, gladly letting the kid fill your ears with the hottest gossip of his second grade class.
“That sounds nice, buddy,” you offered, eyes on the road. “You know, speaking of birthdays… Somebody’s going to be turning eight very soon.”
“Meee!” He giggled. “Just a month left!”
You nodded, a smile taking over your lips as you let yourself take a peek at his eager expression through the rear view mirror for just a moment.
“That’s right,” you overplayed it, emphasizing every word with a few more teeth for the sake of his excitement. “You know how you wanna celebrate yet? Should we do a soccer tournament like last year?”
Luke shook his head.
“Nah. I wanna do something different this year.”
“Different?” You asked, amused. “Got anything on your mind?”
He nodded proudly, as if he'd been waiting for you to ask.
“I wanna go camping.”
You took a turn right, swerving into your street, the house you’d been living in for a little over two years now already noticeable in the distance. It took you a second to register Luke’s words, and, once you did, you pouted in confusion.
“Camping?” You asked. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Callie said she went with her dad last week. They roasted marshmallows by the fire and stayed in a trailer and everything. Like in the movies!”
You narrowed your eyes, slowing the car down, pulling into the driveway like you always did — only this time, once you came to a full stop and unbuckled the seatbelt, you turned around to look at your son.
You’d been completely blindsided. Your survival abilities in the woods were basically limited to knowing how to work a bottle of bug spray. The things you most cherished in life, after the kid in the backseat, were as simple as a hot meal and a comfy bed. And plumbing. Piped water that fell from a shower head at the mere twist of a knob.
“Camping, Luke?” You double checked, making sure all the hard work of the day hadn’t somehow caused you to start hearing things. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, mom. Camping. It’s gonna be fun!”
“No soccer tournament?” You pushed a bit, realizing he was serious, not having a clue how you were going to make that happen. “Maybe a party with a bouncy house?”
But Luke shook his head with determination, as if his mind had already been made for a long time now.
“Camping.”
You sighed. The smile on his face didn’t fade, and you watched him for a second. Once again, you saw it in your head — that other boy from earlier today, the tube down his throat, the desperate mom with her hands on his face like maybe he’d wake up if she held him long enough. And Luke was there, alive, healthy, full of hope, proudly clutching onto his stencil like the caring little boy he was.
He was a good kid. He deserved to have everything he wanted.
“We can arrange that, then.”
“Yes!” He bounced eagerly in the backseat, movements a bit restrained by the seatbelt. “It’s gonna be so fun!”
You let out a chuckle, not exactly excited, but figuring you’d give it a shot when he was the one asking for it. You could take him to a campground, somewhere safe, rent an RV so you wouldn’t have to figure out how to work a tent. Somewhere you’d have access to food you didn’t have to roast in a fire. Somewhere you wouldn’t have to pee behind a bush in the middle of nowhere.
You could do it.
“I have to remind mama to bring a coat! Callie says it gets really chilly at night.”
Your eyes narrowed at his statement.
“Wait,” you said, confused. “You want mama to take you?”
Thank God, you thought, figuring Nat might have a better shot at the whole nature thing. If Luke wanted her to take him camping, maybe you could do something else when he got back — the bouncy house, the pizza, the guys in the superhero costumes. No bugspray. Something in your powerhouse.
“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, eyes on yours, that undying smile still on his lips, “both of you!”
Both of you.
You and Natalie. His moms. The ones who'd barely been in the same room for more than a few hours at best over the past two years. The ones who'd only talk when it meant working out a schedule or discussing whatever had been said at the latest parent-teacher conference, not looking directly at each other's faces. The ones who sat a very confused five-year-old Luke down and told him he'd have two different houses from then on.
You nearly choked, chest tightening at the thought of breaking that little boy's heart again.
“Well, baby…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I'm not— I'm not sure both mamas can take you…”
Luke's face fell immediately, his smile giving space to a pout, his eyes looking bigger than usual.
“But we always spend my birthday together,” he argued. “Even after you moved.”
You let out an exhale, watching his expression — taking in the frown, the quivering lip, all the tells that showed that wasn't just an occasional tantrum after a long day.
He was right. You did always spend his birthday together. That was the rule. You'd alternate Thanksgiving and Christmas, you'd do separate halves on Mother's day, but Luke's birthday was the one date you and Nat had both agreed to spend completely together, start to finish. There had been two since the divorce so far, and it’d actually been working out well — Nat would knock on your door before Luke woke up, you'd make his favorite breakfast while she worked on setting up the sign and the balloons, he'd come downstairs and you'd all eat together as a family. You'd both give him presents. Set up his party. Avoid being alone together longer than necessary in the most obvious attempts to act like everything was normal. Nat would laugh at something a parent said and it wouldn't reach her eyes, you'd step inside to get more napkins you knew wouldn't be used. Luke would smile all day long. Run around full of life, full of joy, grab your hand for a moment in passing. Nat would help you clean up after everyone left and Luke was fast asleep in his room, purposely turning up the music so the silence wasn't too weird, which never really worked. She'd mutter something safe — he had a lot of fun, the cake was really good, did you see Riley's dad's weird mustache? You'd chuckle lightly. She'd nod. You'd say goodbye with words and awkward smiles.
And then she would leave.
It was a good arrangement. Something Luke looked forward to. Something you could manage if you set your mind to it, if you distanced yourself, if all the other moms were around to distract you from those dark locks and those blue eyes.
But camping? A whole weekend cramped up in an RV, nowhere to hide, bumping into Nat every five minutes?
That might be a little more than you could handle.
“I know,” you tried again. “But it's just one day, Lukey. Camping is… it's complicated, we both have work and—”
“Mom, please!” He whined, chin beginning to tremble in that heartbreaking way it did right before he started crying. “It's— it's gonna be fun! I'm gonna be so good! I'm— I'm gonna eat my veggies and I'll clean my room and I'll do homework without complaining and—”
Luke rambled on, slurred and rushed, talking over himself like he depended on your mercy to save his life.
He popped up into your head again. The kid from the ER, tattooed on your brain at this point. Too weak to even breathe on his own, a near miss, so close you must have thought about leaving the room to call your son over a thousand times.
“Okay,” you gave in with a sigh before the first tear could drop from your son's eye. If that other little boy could basically rise from the dead upon his mother's desperate plea, you could give Luke this. You could suck up whatever unresolved feelings you still had for Nat and swallow them. Your kid deserved it, he deserved everything you could give him and more, and this you could do. For him. “Okay. If mama's on board. If you do everything you said. I'll call her tomorrow and ask, alright?”
Luke unbuckled himself clumsily, too eager for his hands to work right, launching himself in your direction like the clingy little boy he'd always been. You couldn't help but melt. Your arms found their way around him, back hurting from how you had to twist it — but it didn't matter. Nothing else did. Not when he held onto you so tightly, squealing into your shoulder, pressing wet kisses to your cheek as a token of his gratitude.
You were doing this for him. For Luke. For your son.
And that's how, a few weeks later, you found yourself in your driveway, loading a suitcase into the trunk of Natalie Scatorccio's car.
Of course Nat said yes. She didn't even think about it when you told her how eager he was.
“If the kid's asking…” You could practically hear the shrug through the phone, the pressed lips and tight chin as clear as day in your mind. “We've gotta do it, right?”
Pushover. A complete sucker for him, just like you were.
It didn't surprise you.
Nat wasn't one to profess love through big gestures. She wasn't the kind of parent who bragged obnoxiously about her kid to the other moms at soccer practice or bought him a monthly paycheck's worth of toys in one trip to the store. Her love was about showing up. Being there for the big things and the small ones with the same level of excitement. Cheering at the very front whether Luke scored a goal in a crowded game or did a cartwheel in the living room. Letting him know through words and gestures that she was there for him — no matter what, no matter where, no matter when. No take backs. Every single day till the rest of her life.
Nat never had a problem loving, she was as loyal as a guard dog, her love was gentle and honest and so whole you'd occasionally just burst into tears when you thought about it over those first few years. Happy tears. Tears that seeped through cracking walls, that came from finally being free from a lifetime of walking on eggshells, from feeling so seen and so known and so cared for you couldn't help but overflow. A love that was so selfless, so genuine, so safe you'd never understand how she couldn't simply accept it back.
That had always been the problem with Nat. She was good at loving. Not so much at letting herself be loved.
You'd met her in your senior year of college, wide-eyed, thinking you knew everything until Tai's girlfriend brought along a platinum-haired friend with a cute smile to a party and you realized you still had a lot to learn.
Nat had silver rings on all ten fingers, tattoos on her arms and legs, a joint behind her ear that didn’t stay in place for too long before finding its way between pale fingertips. Her eyes were blue, grayish when you first saw her outside under the moonlight, darker after a while, in the kitchen, as she poured herself another drink and talked to Van about something you pretended not to listen to. The smile never left her lips — sure, steady, the kind that said I know exactly who I am even though she was clearly an outsider. It didn’t seem to bother her, she welcomed it. Laughed whenever some college kid said something ridiculous like she and Van were in on a secret you and Tai weren’t aware of. She was never rude, never once entitled, just so incredibly herself it undid you a little.
She undid you a lot.
Pulling you in without trying to, taking up space without an apology, existing in that way you’d never seen anybody do before. Introducing herself to you with a crooked smile and a rasp in her voice and those fucking eyes as if she had any right to look like that, to talk like that, to be like that.
“I’m Nat,” she’d said, leaning in for you to hear her over the music, close enough that you could smell her perfume — something earthy and mature and just a little sweet. “Nice to meet you.”
Nat caught you alone a few hours into the party, drinking warm beer as you stared across the makeshift dance floor with a heavy heart. She’d chuckled, friendly, making an offhand comment about having lost Van at some point during the night, a joke on how she’d probably disappeared into one of the bedrooms with Tai. That tracks, you remembered saying, a little too bitter after a few drinks — inhibitions low enough that you didn’t bother hiding your disdain for the happy couple that danced a few feet away from where you stood anymore. Your ex. Her new boyfriend. Picture perfect, happy, not two weeks after she’d left you because she needed to find herself. Apparently all she needed was to search in the arms of a brain dead frat guy with frosted tips and beer breath.
“Alright, I wasn't gonna meddle or anything, but…” Natalie crossed her arms, eyes finding the spot where yours had been set like she had no intention of leaving. “That an ex or something?”
You narrowed your eyes, letting them fall on her face.
“How did you know?”
She chuckled.
“Maybe I'm psychic. Or maybe I just have enough experience with shitty exes to know one when I see it,” that permanent smirk stayed tattooed on her lips as she analyzed the dancing couple across the room. “Though I wouldn't have pegged you as the frosted-tips type.”
You took a sip of your beer, snorting halfway through it, looking at Nat in amused disbelief.
“So you're not psychic," you said. “Try again, I'll give you one more chance.”
She raised a brow, rising to the challenge like she'd been waiting for you to push her. She looked at the couple again, eyes drifting from the guy to the girl, the smirk widening on her lips.
“Her?”
You nodded lightly, tightening your jaw, staring at the side of your ex's face while that guy shamelessly went to town on her neck.
“Yeah,” you muttered, face contorting in disgust. “Her.”
She let out a snort.
“Guess I got two out of three right, then,” Nat shrugged, amused. “Pretty good for a psychic.”
“A psychic would have gotten it right the first time,” you offered back, half-teasing, half-stuck in a puddle of self pity as you kept looking at that man's hands on your ex's waist. “But I'll give you an A for effort.”
Nat laughed, raspy and low, shoulder touching yours briefly as she shifted on her feet.
“Fair,” she took a sip of her drink. “Though maybe I did get it right the first time, but I didn't say it because I didn't want to assume anything.”
You pursed your lips, intrigued, drifting your eyes to Nat's face only to realize hers were already glued to you.
“You did assume, though,” you countered. “That I'd go for someone like that. Like him.”
She chuckled.
“I'm sorry about that,” she licked her lips, a habit you'd later come to realize surfaced whenever she was nervous or excited or curious about something. “You know what they say. Expect the worst while hoping for the best or whatever.”
It was your turn to laugh, tipsy, unsure of the meaning behind her words.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Your smile made hers grow, automatic, breathtaking.
“Maybe I'm just curious about your preferences.”
That brought chills to your spine, making your heart race in your chest as you suddenly realized just how close she stood. Her eyes were even darker now, hair catching the LED lights as they switched colors, a mix of unshakable confidence and drunken ease radiating through her pores. Everything seemed to revolve around her, like the party was just an excuse around the real main attraction — that smile on her face, those ring-clad fingers running through her hair. She was beautiful, even more so from up close, especially with her gaze set on you like you were the only person in the room, quiet and intense like a forest right before a thunderstorm — as if she knew all she could do in that moment was sit back and brace for impact, like the damage was already done.
For some reason, you just knew she was going to be trouble.
“My preferences?”
She nodded, grinning like she noticed the shift in your attention.
“Yeah. What you like. What you don't like. What I need to say to get you alone.”
You chuckled at that, eyes widening slightly at her forwardness. She didn't back down, didn't apologize, didn't pull away — instead, she leaned closer, watching you meticulously as if she had you exactly where she wanted.
“A little bold to say that to a girl who's been complaining about her ex to you,” you teased, testing her, pushing just enough to see how hard she'd pull.
“Like I said, I'm no stranger to shitty exes,” she shrugged, unfazed. “Though I have to say, you're better off. Always smart to cut stupid people off your life.”
You chuckled.
“What makes you think she’s stupid?”
Natalie smiled victoriously, nodding her head.
“Well, she’s over there while you're right here,” she licked her lips again, the smell of her perfume now mixed with the joint she'd smoked earlier, intoxicating. “Which has to be the dumbest thing I've ever seen.”
You laughed.
“You know, that's a good start.”
“A good start?” Nat raised a brow, tilting her chin down, watching your face.
“Yeah,” it was you who leaned closer this time, drawn to her like a magnet, inexplicable and powerful and already forgetting about the girl who danced with the guy across the room like whatever came before Nat suddenly didn't matter anymore. “If you’re serious about wanting to get me alone.”
Needless to say she didn't even have to try from then on.
You finished the night in Nat's bed, clothes scattered across the floor in a tiny two-bedroom downtown, her name on your lips and her hair in your fists and red marks all over your skin you'd be tracing with your fingertips long after she was gone. She wasn't like anyone you'd met before. Her hands mapped out your body, exploring with the eagerness of a treasure-hunter yet the accuracy of someone who'd been there before, like she was somehow remembering your nuances instead of getting to know you. That's how it always felt with Nat — not new, never new. Familiar. Exciting, sure, but not in the way you'd feel around someone you'd just met — it was like running into an old friend you hadn't seen in forever. Like coming across a lover from a different lifetime, like reclaiming what was once yours, overwhelming and exhilarating and intense, addictive, so much so that it took you no time at all to reach out again after that first time.
And just like that, Nat was a part of your life, growing around every aspect of it like tree branches you couldn't help but feed. The passion was electric, the draw was strong, the impact so hard you could practically split your life in two — the one before Nat and the one after her. Lonely nights in your dorm turned into laughter and takeout and lovemaking in her apartment when Van wasn't around. Meaningless flings turned into something real, something stronger, the only sure thing you'd ever known. Deep breaths and unshed tears turned into soft fingers on your hair, a shoulder to lie your head on and sweet lips on your cheek as Nat whispered you don't have to hold it all in — and, for once, you believed it.
The first crack in the glass came around two and a half years after you’d met, a stupid fight that turned into raised voices and slamming doors and you standing confused in the living room as Nat stormed off in the middle of the night. You weren't sure what happened. You'd been going through the motions, tired, dedicating every last hour of your day to med school as she struggled to get her new studio up and running — a rough patch, you thought, something you'd eventually work through, after all, every couple had their adversities. But things escalated. You complained about something unimportant, something that wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't been so exhausted, a forgotten dish on the sink or an unpaid bill she was supposed to take care of, you didn't even remember. But Nat was tired too. So she deflected. Sighed a bit too bitterly, rolled her eyes, turned her back to you while you talked just like you'd seen your father do a million times to your mother, and it all just hit a bit too close to home. You were projecting, it was a stretch, but you weren't thinking straight. And then one thing led to another until Nat walked out with tears rolling down her face, claiming it was best to end things before it was too late, making clarity hit you as soon as she stepped out into the hallway.
You'd seen it before, you'd noticed it in the small things — the way she never seemed to know how to take a compliment, the way she'd shrink into herself after telling a childhood story. Nat had a hard time letting herself be loved. She didn't know how to. She'd been taught to brace for failure, to expect to be walked out on, to let go before she got hurt, and that was what she was doing.
Tensions were still high, you were both stretched thin, she wasn't thinking clearly — so you let her go, at least for the meanwhile, knowing the risk of losing her forever was too high if you didn't give her the space she needed. Nat was impulsive, you'd come to know, and sometimes it was best to just offer her some time to clear her head before trying to reason. You deemed it best to wait, for the sake of your relationship, for the sake of making things better down the road.
What you hoped would be a few days turned into four months apart.
You came home to Nat sitting by your door, exhausted after a late night study session, letting out a breath you'd been holding in for months once you finally caught her eyes — blue, almost green in the hallway light, full of love and guilt and regret as they fell on you.
“I'm sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed, stepping to her feet as soon as she saw you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
“I know,” you answered, because you did. “Come on, let's get inside. We’ll talk about it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
Nat poured her heart out to you, stumbling over words as if she'd just spent however long she'd been waiting at your door going over what she would say, but never quite finding the right way to do it. She talked fast, like she needed to hold her breath if she wanted to get it all out, and you listened patiently, taking her hand as the tears started rolling down her cheeks, telling her to take her time, that you'd be there for as long as she needed. She told you all about her childhood — the trailer park, the abusive father, the negligent mother. The harsh words she had to hear since she was a little girl, the ones that made her believe she would never amount to anything, that she wasn't worthy of love. You knew she didn't talk to her mother much, and you knew her father had died when she was a teenager, but that was it. You didn't know how he'd walked in on her with a friend, how he'd accused her of things you wouldn't dare repeat — your heart breaking in your chest as she choked on the words whore and slut like she'd carried that cross around her whole life. You didn’t know how he’d become aggressive, how her mother somehow got caught in the middle of it, how Nat didn't even think before grabbing the shotgun her father didn't bother to keep hidden. How he'd taken it from her hands, how he’d threatened to shoot, how he'd tripped over the steps and fallen and, boom, suddenly he was gone right before her eyes.
Your heart ached with revolt, with anger, with disbelief over how anybody could ever do something like that to Natalie. You held her — it was all you could do, keeping her close and stroking her hair and trying to offer the same reassurance she always used to offer you before everything went down.
“I’m right here, I'm not going anywhere,” you repeated again and again, trying to make her believe it. “I'm not going anywhere, Nat, I'm always going to be here.”
After that night, no words were needed. You'd both decided to try again, to pick up where you'd left off, to not keep any more secrets.
Until about a month later, when Nat called you, asking you if you'd be home for dinner because she had something she needed to say. You caught the distress in her tone, the way she'd called instead of texting like she always did, the careful way she'd phrased it. Are you— are you coming home for dinner? I'd— uh, I'd really like you to be. If you can. I, um, I need to talk to you about something. Please, just— let me know, okay? If you can. I really just— fuck, I just really need to talk to you.
You jumped to every conclusion in the book — something had happened with the studio, a client had done something to her, maybe her mother had resurfaced and somehow hurt her all over again, you couldn't know for sure. All you knew was that, whatever it was, it was serious.
Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what came next.
“Pregnant?” You asked, confused, narrowing your eyes as you tried to make sense of the words that came out of a terrified Natalie's lips. “...How?”
She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, clutching onto the positive test in her hand like she couldn't believe it was real.
“While we were broken up,” she sobbed, avoiding your eyes, breathless. “I— it was stupid, it was a one time thing, Travis just— he showed up, I was drunk, I was stupid, I shouldn't have…”
Travis.
You'd seen the guy once before — at a party, right before you and Nat became official, staring daggers as she wrapped her arms around your neck while angrily sipping his beer in the corner of the room. The shitty ex Nat had offhandedly mentioned the night the two of you met. The guy who kept showing up when she was vulnerable, when she was heartbroken, when she wasn't thinking clearly enough not to make any stupid decisions.
You couldn't deny it, the thought of Nat in his bed made your blood boil in your veins, your hands closing into fists at your sides just for a moment before you loosened up. Natalie cried copiously, desperate, gasping for air like her whole life had just ended right before her eyes. Like she'd done the stupidest thing in the world and she was about to lose everything that mattered. Like you already had one foot out of the door, and she'd been the one responsible for ruining everything.
So you held back the jealousy, it didn't matter now. She was within her right. You were broken up, she could do what she wanted, it wasn't like you had a say.
Nat was here now, and she needed you. And you’d never deny her.
“Nat,” you let out a breath, placing a hand on her shoulder, the other one finding her chin. “Hey. Look at me. That's okay, we'll figure it out.”
And so Nat sank into your arms, apologizing profusely into your shoulder, breaking down while you held her tightly and assured her everything was going to be fine. That you'd find a way. That you'd stand beside her no matter what.
After Nat calmed down, her initial plan was to terminate. To set an appointment at a clinic and pretend like the whole thing never happened. You said you'd support her through it, you'd be there to hold her hand, you’d do whatever was in your power to make her comfortable — it was her choice after all, and you'd never do anything to undermine that. You'd keep your promise and stick by her for whatever she needed, for whatever she chose.
But days passed and she never made the call. You gave her space for about a week or so before asking, voice careful, hand on her hair as she lay her head on your lap in the living room couch.
“Nat,” you said, soft, gentle. “Are you still sure you want the abortion?”
She sighed, as if she'd been waiting for you to ask.
“I…” She shook her head. “I just— I’ve never really… I never thought about it, you know? I just… I’ve always been irregular, I've— I didn't even think I could, and…” She cleared her throat. “I don't know, Y/N. Maybe if Travis wasn't such a deadbeat it’d all be different.”
Your hand stilled in her hair.
“Is that what this is about? Travis?”
Nat bit her bottom lip, swallowing audibly.
“He obviously wouldn't want any part in it,” she said hesitantly, not meeting your eyes. “And I just— I don't want to put a kid in the world for that. To be unwanted. And it's not like I could do it alone anyway.”
“Nat,” you looked at her, sure, careful. “Hypothetically, if a deadbeat dad is the only reason why you're thinking about terminating, if— if it's something you would've otherwise wanted… you know you wouldn't be alone, right?”
She blinked. Looked up at you. Licked her lips.
“I’d never ask something like that of you.”
“You're not. I'm just saying. It's your choice, I'll be here for whatever you decide.”
Nat looked at you for a few seconds, face unreadable.
“Even if I wanted to keep it? Hypothetically?”
You nodded.
“Hypothetically, yes.”
She stayed quiet for a moment before sitting up abruptly, lips pressed together in a straight line, watching you like a million thoughts went through her head as she looked at your face.
“I…” She let out an exhale. “I can't explain why, but I just… I've been having some thoughts and I just… I think I might wanna keep it. I— I could do things differently and— I know it doesn’t make sense, but—”
“It doesn’t have to make sense,” you grabbed her hand. “As long as it’s what you want.”
“I'm… not sure. I don't know what to do.”
“You've still got a few weeks to figure it out,” you offered, calm. “I just want you to know you won't be alone. Whatever you choose.”
Nat let out an incredulous chuckle, staring at your face as if she struggled believing you were real in that moment.
“You'd seriously raise Travis Martinez's kid? Are you— are you even thinking about what you're telling me right now?”
You nodded.
“It wouldn't be Travis’ kid. It'd be mine. Yours and mine,” you squeezed her hand. “If that's what you decide to do.”
“So if I wanted to terminate…?”
“You know you'd have my full support.”
She shuddered.
“And if I wanted to keep it…?”
“I'd be all in,” you took her other hand, looking at her face, knowing Nat needed the reassurance. “You wouldn't do it alone, Nat. I'd be here.”
She smiled, small, tame.
“You'd be all in? Even if it meant taking care of— of a baby?”
You nodded again, certain, knowing you'd do anything she asked, you'd be there for whatever she needed. You loved Nat. The only thing you were sure of was that you wanted her in your life forever, whatever it took.
“I'd be all in. It'd be my baby. Our baby.”
Natalie's smile grew, and she unexpectedly grabbed your face, cupping your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss.
“Your baby, huh?”
And that's how the agreement came to be — you were just as much of Luke's mom as Nat was, regardless of who'd birthed him, regardless of whose DNA he shared. You were the one who took care of Natalie all through her pregnancy, who held her hand during appointments, who drove late at night to get her scones from that 24-hour bakery two towns over when she woke up with cravings. You were the one who proposed about three months into the pregnancy, getting down on one knee not only because you loved her and wanted to be with her forever, but because getting married meant the adoption process would be infinitely easier and you'd do anything to get the parenting rights to your baby boy as fast as you could. You were the one who nearly had your fingers crushed while Nat gave birth, clutching your hand tightly in the delivery room, holding onto you like she needed to feel you there in order to go through with it.
You cut the cord, you held him first, you strapped him to the car seat so the three of you could drive home together for the first time. You painted the nursery, you put together that complicated crib Tai and Van got you and Nat as a gift. You bawled your eyes out the first time you saw him, so small, covered in blood and other fluids, knowing in that moment you’d never experienced a love as strong as this one. You were his mom. He was your son. Nothing would ever change that.
Sure, you felt scared sometimes — all the time, actually, but you never once regretted standing by Nat in her decision to keep him. Every parent felt scared. Every parent worried about being present enough, about teaching right from wrong, about working hard enough to put food on the table while still managing to spend quality time with their children. And you never thought you'd go through something like that — at least not unexpectedly, and definitely not until way further down the line. But how you saw it, Luke was always meant to be yours. The breakup, Travis, the four months apart while you lay awake wondering what Nat had been doing — it was all a necessary evil in order to make him get to you, in order to put that cute, smart, funny little boy in your life.
The three of you had about four good years before the beginning of the end.
There were some challenges — the boards, Nat's studio, spending most of your savings on a bigger house so Luke would grow up in a place with enough space for him to run around —, but nothing you couldn't manage. Until right after his fourth birthday. You were pushing thirty, right in the thick of residency, stretching yourself thin between eighty-hour weeks and a four-year-old and stepping up when Nat went to the studio because she needed to work too. Whatever little time you had to yourself was spent either studying or sleeping or taking care of the house, you were always tired, always running on empty no matter how hard you tried to be everywhere at once. There was always an edge you couldn't hold, a loose end you couldn't quite pull — with Nat getting the worst of it nearly every single time.
You were too busy to spend time alone with her, too tired to have sex, too stressed to think about things that weren't work or house or Luke-related. Little by little, you started to see her less. You started to talk about your obligations instead of everything. You did the one thing you promised you'd never do — you shrank, disappearing before Nat's eyes, not being the anchor you knew she needed. You didn't rise to the occasion, figuring you'd use whatever energy you had left to be the mom Luke deserved, forgetting your wife also needed someone on her corner.
Nat held out well at first. She gave you space, knowing you needed it. She worked extra hard to let you do your thing, to let you chase your dream, the one you were so close to finally getting. One more year, baby, you used to tell her, figuring it’d all go back to normal once you were done with your residency, but she was already starting to slip. You just hadn't caught it yet.
She was the one who brought up the word divorce for the first time, right before Luke turned five, after what was supposed to be an anniversary celebration turned into a screaming match when you didn't make it home by the time you promised you would. You'd stayed behind. Gone into the on-call room at the end of your shift just to wake the other resident so she'd pick up where you'd left off. So exhausted you somehow wound up passed out in one of the beds, phone dead, missing the first night in months you'd spend with your wife alone — Luke away in Van's house, table set with dinner Nat had left the studio early to make. The house spotless because she knew how much you appreciated coming home to everything clean. New lingerie underneath her clothes, a blue pair bought just for you, matching her eyes because you always told her how good she looked in that color.
You showed up at 2 AM, apologizing before you even finished closing the door, but the damage was done. Nat sat in the living room with a new dress on and a disappointed look on her face. You could tell she was trying to stay calm, to stay patient, but it didn't last. Soon, a complaint about your being late turned into you're never around anymore and you think I'm not here because I don't want to? and it's like you're not even fucking trying at this point. You were still tired, still not thinking straight, repeating the mistakes you'd once promised yourself you'd never make again. Speaking before even filtering what you were going to say. I just want some fucking support, you'd said, knowing how unfair it was when Nat had been such a good sport. And she didn't back down. She raised her voice in a way she never had, not even that first time, talking so fast you could barely make sense of any of the words spat out of her mouth.
You slept on the couch that night.
The divorce talk came the next morning, when you and Nat stood awkwardly in the kitchen, silent over the coffee you'd woken up extra early to make as a peace offering.
“I'm sorry I yelled,” she finally said after a long silence, quiet, low. “I shouldn't— I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have gotten so mad.”
“I fucked up, Nat. I should be the one apologizing.”
“No, Y/N, I just…” She took a deep breath. “There's no excuse. I shouldn't yell like that, I didn't even recognize myself, I was acting just like—” Natalie paused. She didn't have to say it, but you saw it in the way she lowered her head, in the way her eyes darkened. Like my father. “It's not right.”
“We're both tired. We're both under pressure,” you shook your head, still foolishly seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that you didn't know had begun to fade. “I know you didn't mean it.”
She swallowed.
“I did mean it,” she muttered, visibly embarrassed, staring at the table. “When I said it. I wanted to hurt you just like you hurt me. It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't… feel like this.”
You grabbed her hand and she let you, which you naively took as a good sign.
“You're human, Nat. You’re allowed to feel things. It's okay.”
Nat stayed quiet for a long moment, her coffee still untouched, the bags under her eyes deep after what you could only assume had been a sleepless night.
“This can't happen again,” she finally said. “Especially with Luke around, I can't— I can't let him see me like that.”
You nodded.
“It won't, baby. We'd never let it. Just…” You took a deep breath, thumb running gently over the back of her hand. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”
You should have known better. Nat was quick to forgive you, to forgive Van, to forgive everyone she loved. But she was never good at sparing herself the same grace.
“I don't ever want him to see something like that. To see me speak to you like that,” she swallowed again. Paused for a moment. Her hand stiffened under yours. “Even if we have to— I don’t know, spend some time apart or something.”
You hardened immediately. That was not the direction you expected the conversation to take.
“Time apart?” You asked, incredulous, suddenly feeling like the ground had been pulled from underneath you. “You mean like…?”
“I'm not talking about a divorce,” the word landed like a punch in your ears. “Not yet. Just… if it doesn't get better.”
“Not yet?” You repeated, blindsided, the talk escalating to places you'd never even thought of just a minute earlier. “You mean there's a chance?”
Nat sighed, licking her lips, nervously chewing on the bottom one.
“I can't let him see me like that, Y/N. I can’t.”
You let out a nervous laugh, humorless, head growing dizzy with panic.
“What about me, Nat? Don't you— I mean—” You let out an exhale, choking on your words, desperate.
“I love you,” she murmured, more resigned than you wished she would have sounded. “That's why I'm saying this.”
Things never went back to normal after that.
You felt Nat slip away exponentially, careful, quiet. Like she'd started policing herself after that horrible fucking night. Like she believed she deserved to get punished — if not by your hands, by her own.
You tried for a while — you really did, doing whatever you could to get home earlier, holding her longer, making an effort to be present even on the nights when you just wanted to lie down and forget about the day you'd had. Initiating sex even though it didn't last as long as it used to, even though it didn't make you feel as connected to your wife as you once had. Telling her you loved her every chance you got, even when she didn't sound like she meant it when she said it back.
The problem was you knew she did. She just wasn't letting herself feel it, not when she thought she'd ruin it all if she simply stopped being careful.
You signed the divorce papers a few months before Luke turned six. You couldn't do it anymore, not when Nat was always miles away, fading right before your eyes. It was unsustainable. With your son getting older, smarter every day that went by, you worried he'd start to notice. And Nat was the one who took the initiative anyway, so there wasn't much you could've done to help it.
“I just…” You'd said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, eyes hollow, set on the floor. “I want Luke. I mean, I— I want him to have us both. To share. I know I didn't birth him, but—”
“Y/N, you're his mom. Of course we’ll share. I'd never take him away from you.”
And now here Nat was, keeping her promise, smiling politely as you stepped into the passenger seat of her car. She'd made a point out of planning the whole trip, knowing how busy you were, telling you I've got it, leave it to me, I know a good place. As long as I don't have to sleep in a tent, you'd joked, so the fact that she was being so amazing about it wouldn't hurt as much.
“MOM!” Luke launched himself at your back, not intimidated by the headrest between his chest and the back of your head. “I missed you!”
Your heart broke a little like it did every time he said something like that.
“I missed you too, buddy,” you said, arms moving back to hold him back in the way you could. “You excited for this weekend?”
“SO EXCITED!” He squealed, bouncing back onto his seat. “I'm gonna sleep in a tent! We're gonna play explorer and I'll make a fire as big as a house and I'm gonna take pictures of all the bugs we find so I can show Emma—”
He rambled on, excited, stumbling over words like he was too hyper to finish his sentences. You simply chuckled, letting him get it all out, knowing the gentle rocking of the car would have him passed out in just a few minutes.
Said and done, he was out cold before Nat even swerved into the highway. She let out a chuckle, soft, looking at him through the rear view mirror for just a second before focusing back on the road.
“Every single time,” she muttered fondly.
You let the silence stretch for a second, staring out your window so you wouldn't have to think about how close Nat sat, how beautiful she looked while driving, how sweet she'd been to offer to pick you up at your house.
“So,” you talked, knowing you'd go crazy if you were alone with your thoughts for too long, “what's that Luke said about sleeping in a tent…?”
She chuckled.
“He saw me packing it this morning. Kept talking about how cool it's gonna be.”
“I thought we'd settled on no tents.”
Nat laughed, easy, calm, making you wonder how she managed to handle everything so well.
“Don't worry. You're gonna like it.”
“Nat,” you said, daring to look at her, serious. “Don’t tell me you didn't rent an RV.”
That fucking smile didn't leave her lips.
“Let's just say I took some creative liberties,” she teased. “It's Luke's birthday after all. He gets what he wants, right?”
“You didn't.”
She let out a snort, clearly amused.
“Just… hang on. You'll see it when we get there.”
“Natalie.”
“I’m serious,” she insisted again. “Don’t knock it yet. Not until you see it.”
“There better be an RV waiting when we get there.”
“…You’ll see, Y/N.”
You shook your head, resigned, not knowing what to expect when she acted this secretive. Of course, the prospect of sleeping in a tent was not appealing, but the cold or the hard floors or the lack of a real roof weren’t what fazed you. It was the fact that you hadn’t brought one. You didn’t think you had to. If what Luke said was right, if you were all going to sleep in a tent, you’d have to share. The idea of being in a cramped up RV with Nat for two days was already more than you thought you could handle, but if you had to share a fucking tent — no walls, not a drop of privacy, nowhere to hide — you actually might not survive the weekend at all.
“Hey,” she broke the silence again after a few minutes, “you mind turning on some music?”
You held back a relieved sigh, because yes, some music would actually be perfect to fill the loud silence that had settled itself in the car at this point — the one that always came when you spent too long with Nat.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Just— here,” Nat stuck her hand in her back pocket, pulling out her phone and handing it to you. “Passcode is Luke’s birthday. Pick whatever you wanna listen to.”
You would've known the passcode even if she hadn't told you, but you didn't mention it. It was the same from when you were still together, the same she'd used for nearly eight years now, the same you'd type every time she handed you the phone and let you take care of the music while she drove.
You also didn't say anything about the photo on her home screen — Luke, around four or five, blue gloves on as he sat on Nat's chair at the studio and pretended to give her a tattoo with a washable marker. You'd taken it. It was one of the rare occasions during that hellish year when the three of you had been together and you'd both been fully present — an innocent trip to the park that had ended in Nat having to swing by work on the way home, and one thing led to another. Luke kept wandering around, the shop still pretty much limited to a small reception area and two stations for Nat and Van, and he was in awe. Kept asking to do what mama did, to sit on mama's chair, for mama to let him give her a tattoo. Nat said yes, because that's what she did. And you took the picture when neither of them was looking.
You remembered foolishly thinking we're gonna make it through this when you went to bed that night, but it was all just a distant memory now. A picture on a phone. You weren't even sure Nat remembered the context behind it.
You scrolled through her music app, trying to find a safe playlist — no love or breakup songs, no songs you used to listen to on the floor of her shop back when the whole place consisted basically of a chair and a prayer, no songs you'd both sing along to in the car with the windows down in another lifetime. You ended up settling for an old 2000s collection with lyrics marketable enough for you to be able to breathe through.
When you were about to place Nat's phone on the center console, it buzzed with a notification. Your eyes drifted involuntarily to the top of the screen — a name, a woman's name, someone named Lucy who apparently really wanted to know how she was doing.
You swallowed it, locking the screen, not mentioning what you'd seen. For all you knew, it could be anybody — a friend whose name had somehow never come up, a client, a fucking real estate agent who still had her number saved or some other doctor following up on a consult or whatever, whoever, it didn't necessarily mean it was romantic. And even if it was, you'd agreed to the divorce. You'd been apart for two years. Nat was young, she was gorgeous, she had needs. She had a right to try and be happy. It wasn't your place to meddle anymore.
You cleared your throat, staring out the window. It was probably nothing anyway.
Thankfully, the drive to whatever place Nat was taking you and Luke wasn't much longer than an hour, and eventually she pulled by a dark wooden gate that led to a large dirt road surrounded by neatly trimmed grass. You couldn't see much further ahead, but it looked nice — well-kept, the sight of trees in the distance, the faint sound of running water coming from somewhere down behind the central pathway.
“We're here,” Nat said, a little smile on her face, eyes drifting to Luke still asleep in the rear view mirror again. “He's gonna lose his shit when he wakes up.”
You looked around, unable to get much of a sense of the place while Nat stepped out of the car to handle the gate.
“What is this place?” You asked, curious, still concerned about the rooming situation.
Nat simply chuckled as she hopped back in.
“Be patient. You'll see.”
Luke shifted slightly in his sleep, and Natalie tapped her fingers on the wheel eagerly, periodically glancing at him with that little dimple popping on her cheek like she might be more excited than the kid about the weekend ahead.
For his sake, of course. Always for his sake. She was nothing but a mother looking forward to giving her son a birthday to remember, it had nothing to do with you, it was all for Luke.
You took a deep breath, pretending not to notice the way she licked her lips or how the morning light snuck through the car window and caught her dark hair.
she is always in such random movies like why I convinced myself to pay to see a movie about big foot... (totally worth it because she looks sooooo beautiful prob my fav look from her filmssss)
me being inspired by my own fanart. is that narcissistic?
CW: mentions of sex, suggestive
-I think these two (primarily due to Baran’s influence) have routines after work they stick to based on how the day went and how they are feeling.
-before being with Baran, Trinity tried to keep up the schedule she had to recharge during med school, but the stress of a new city, new residency, and the insane hours of the ptmc led her to spend most of her evenings doomscrolling and eating whatever microwave meal she could afford that week
-Baran has had more experience in figuring out what her body needs after shifts and is eager to figure out what works for Trinity (bc she's lovely like that)
-After a normal shift, Baran likes to put on a yoga video, light some incense, and do gentle movement to process her day. Often followed by a hearty, healthy dinner, and reviews charts or reads until bed. If she is with her son, they will watch tv together or just parallel tasks in the same room together
-After a particular hard or stressful shift, she's started journaling, a suggestion from her new therapist. She also likes to jog
-Trinity is still learning what her body needs
-At first, Trinity felt bad about being allowed to stay and relax at Baran's after stressful shifts. Usually, she felt like she needed to make up for taking up space in other's apartments, and assumed Baran wanted her over for, primarily sex, even though she knows that Baran cares for her. But why would she want to be around her after a 12-hour shift? They usually have their dates on their day off. The first few times Trinity went home with Baran after a hard day, she immediately pulled Baran into the bedroom
-At first Baran assumed that this was how Trinity unwound after long periods of high stress, and was perfectly happy to take her girl apart in bed
-However, she notices that during these after shift hookups, there isn't a significant change in Trinity's relaxation. Baran notices that Trinity becomes so focused on the task and suspects that she is trying to forget the day by trying to make Baran feel good.
-This won't do. Baran knows that Trinity struggles with overthinking and anxiety after shifts, going over every decision she made in her head, even if she doesn't want to discuss it with Baran
-The next time Trinity drags Baran to the bedroom after a particularly hard shift, Baran rolls them over in bed, so she is laying on top of Trinity. She places Trinity's arms by her side, and whispers in her ear,
"Just relax, azizam. I want to try something. Let me know if the pressure is too much, okay, dokhtar khoshgol?"
-Baran had done some research and wanted to try deep pressure therapy to help quiet Trinity's mind. Trinity thrusts her hips up, thinking this was a kink thing, but Baran just rested her head on Trinity's chest and listened to her heart slow down
-Trinity lets herself relax. Whenever a thought would pop up in her head, she would rest her nose in Baran's hair and inhale the smell of her shampoo
-After about twenty minutes, Trinity speaks up,
"Baran. Can we sit on the bed now? This was...so nice. I think. Jury's still out"
Baran chuckles,
"Of course, sweetheart. I love you and your body but I think right now what we need to do is rest."
-They lay on the bed until they get hungry for dinner, Baran dozing against the headrest and Trinity tucked safely under her chin.
okay so sevika dynamic where in their lives she’s very dominant and gives punishments but in the bedroom the reader turns her into a putty crybaby sub what do we think
Summary: Trinity is a bit self-conscious of her body...more specifically her stomach...
word count: 664
Warnings: Pure fluff, body worship, R refers to Trinity as a Goddess
Authors note: I love tummies and I will die on this hill of Venus tummy supremacy!
The bedroom in your Pittsburgh apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the soft rustle of sheets. The bedside lamp casts a warm, golden light across the bed where you and Trinity are tangled together. She’s underneath you, breathing a little faster as she finally pulls her shirt off and tosses it toward the floor.
The second it’s gone, her arms instinctively cross over her soft stomach, shielding it from view. Her shoulders tense, eyes flicking away.
You catch her wrists, gentle but firm, and ease them down to the mattress on either side of her head.
“Trinity,” you murmur, voice low against her ear. “Don’t hide. Let me see you.”
She swallows hard. “I’ve never… not like this. Not with the lights on.”
You kiss the corner of her jaw, then shift lower, settling between her legs so you can look down at her properly. “Arms up for me, baby. Hands above your head. Keep them there.”
She hesitates, biting her lip, clearly fighting the urge to cover herself again. After a long, shaky breath, she obeys, lifting her arms and resting her hands on the pillow above her head. The position arches her back slightly and fully exposes the gentle curve of her belly.
You slide further down the bed, lying on your stomach between her thighs, your face level with her midsection. Your hands rest on her hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles.
Then you lean in and press a slow, lingering kiss just below her navel.
Her breath hitches.
You kiss her again, a little lower, then higher, worshipping every inch with your lips and warm breath. Between each kiss, you speak softly against her skin.
I love this,” you whisper, kissing the soft swell of her stomach. “The way it feels under my mouth… the way it moves when you breathe.”
Another kiss, slower, wetter, your tongue tracing a gentle line. “You know those ancient statues of goddesses?”
Trinity makes a small noise of acknowledgement, one you take as a meaning to keep going, “Venus… Aphrodite… all those fertility figures carved in marble? They didn’t have flat stomachs. They had bodies like yours. Soft. Full. Real.”
You feel her tremble beneath you as you continue kissing across her belly, paying special attention to every curve and stretch mark and scar.
“They called this a Venus tummy,” you murmur, pressing a reverent kiss right in the center. “They sculpted goddesses with stomachs exactly like this because it was beautiful. Powerful. Womanly. Something to worship.”
Trinity’s fingers twitch above her head. A tear slips from the corner of her eye, sliding down her temple into her hair.
You don’t stop. You keep kissing, slow and devoted, letting your words sink in.
“You’re not something to hide. This right here-” You drag your lips across her stomach, then press a firmer kiss just above her waistband. “-is what I want. This is the body I crave. My goddess. Strong, soft, perfect.”
By the time you look up at her, she’s crying quietly, chest rising and falling with emotion. Her eyes are glassy, lips parted in a silent sob of overwhelm and relief.
You crawl back up her body, careful not to crush her, and settle beside her so you can pull her into your arms. One hand stays on her stomach, stroking it lovingly.
“No one’s ever…” she whispers, voice cracking. A small hiccup coming up from her throat. “No one’s ever made me feel like this. Like I’m actually beautiful like this.”
“You are,” you say softly, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “You’re my goddess, Trinity Santos. And I’m going to keep reminding you until you believe it. I promise Trinity.”
She curls into you, bare stomach pressed warmly against your side, arms finally wrapping around you instead of hiding. For the first time, she doesn’t try to cover herself. She just lets you hold her. Letting her know she’s loved, seen, and completely wanted.
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