You Are In Love

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: canon-typical medical descriptions, a dad joke, VERY FLUFFY

Description: Jack needs the reader to help him with a VIP patient, but she soon learns about his chosen family.

——

Jack Abbot was the reason you wanted to go into emergency medicine. Watching him under pressure was like watching an Olympian in their medal-winning sport. He handled every case with control and diligence, and that lured you into the specialty even more. It only took one medical school rotation with him to know that you wanted to play the game.

So now, in your third month of your internship, you spent nearly every moment with Jack Abbot on the night shift. You rarely had a different attending. The scheduling gods seemed to be in your favor. Of course, you had gotten to know everyone else on staff. You had made friends with the other residents and attendings. Dana had become your favorite charge nurse. Even the social workers were happy to see you walk through the doors.

You arrived an hour early for your night shift, hoping to practice some more suturing in the skills lab before shift change. Just as you were about to escape the doctors lounge and head to the lab, a voice called out behind you.

“Hey, kid, I could use your help.”

You turned to see Jack pulling a pair of gloves off and tossing them in the trash. “Oh, hi.” You replied as you walked toward him. “What are you doing here this early?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, that smug asshole smile on his face. “I could ask you the same.”

You shrugged. “I was gonna go to the skills lab and suture. But not if you need me.”

He nodded and pressed a hand on your back as he lead you to one of the Central rooms. “We have a VIP.” He explained.

He swung the curtain open to reveal a little girl with long, dark hair and big brown eyes. You’d seen those eyes before…

“Uncle Jack!” The five year old exclaimed at the sight of your attending.

It was like magic, the way Jack’s usual stoic demeanor turned into one that would rival a Disney hero. “Hey, princess!” He returned her enthusiasm, a wide grin on his face. He dropped to his knees in front of the child and grabbed her tiny hands in his. “What are you doing here, huh?” He took a quick glance at the mother, who was holding a small blue bundle in her arms.

“I’m hurt.” The child replied, albeit vaguely.

The young woman let out a strained sigh. “We were at the park, and Eliza jumped out of the swing when she saw some older kids do it. Landed on her arm.” She explained.

Jack nodded, giving a don’t-blame-yourself look to her. Then his eyes flicked back to Eliza. “Can I see your arm, please?” He asked, a voice so gentle that it had to have been someone else’s. A moment of hesitation from the child. Then a head-tilt from the silver-haired man. “Uncle Jack is gonna make it all better.” He promised.

That seemed to convince her because she slowly, feebly presented her swollen arm. Jack delicately held the arm in his hands and examined it.

“Bump her up to next in line on X-ray. We’ll get her some IV morphine to help her relax. Could need realignment and screws.” He said to you.

Just as you were about to walk out of the room, you bumped into someone rushing into the room. A mumbled apology was the only thing you heard before a shrill “Daddy!”

You turned to see Michael Robinavitch kneeling to the ground in front of the little girl. “Hey, sweetheart!” He greeted.

Oooh. VIP. This was Robby’s family. The patient was Robby’s daughter. You left while the family reunited to order the X-Ray. When you turned to enter the room again, Dana was leading Robby’s wife, who held a tiny baby, to the cafeteria.

“X-Ray order is in. Next in line.” You announced to the attendings.

Jack gave you a thumbs up. He was sorting out the materials needed for IV morphine. He pulled the butterfly needle out of the packaging, and like clockwork, Eliza began to cry. Robby knelt to meet his daughter’s eyes, the ones that were a perfect mirror of his. “Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me.” He whispered. “We have to get you the medicine so your arm will stop hurting, okay? Just a quick poke.”

Eliza shook her head, more tears streaming down her face. “Daddy, please, don’t do it.” She begged. “Don’t hurt me.”

And if you’d never seen a man’s heart break in real time, the look on Robby’s face would be ingrained in your memory forever. His body seemed to go limp at his daughter’s words, unable to insert the needle if he tried. Jack quickly intervened, kneeling next to Robby. “Daddy isn’t gonna hurt you.” He assured the child. “He’s gonna hold you while Uncle Jack gives you the medicine. Does that sound okay?”

Eliza still continued to cry. You remember being her age and having a paralyzing fear of needles. So, you stepped forward to distract from the two pathetic men on the ground. “Hey, baby. I’m gonna show you how it works, okay?” You said.

You grabbed the blue elastic tie from the tray and wrapped it around your forearm. “First, Uncle Jack is gonna wrap this around your arm. It’s gonna give you a big hug for a few minutes!”

You picked up the alcohol swab package and opened it. “Then, he is just going to give your hand a little bath to get it all clean. Like this.” You said, swiping the wipe across the back of your hand. “See? All clean!”

You tossed the wipe and grabbed the J-tip, pressing it on the cleaned part of your hand. “Then, he’s going to give you a stamp that makes your hand tingle. What’s your favorite soda?” You continued.

Eliza followed your every move with an intense curiosity. “Sprite.” She sniffled.

You smiled. “When Uncle Jack gives you the stamp, it’s going to sound like you’re opening a Sprite can. It’s just air.” You explained.

Eliza nodded, rubbing chubby fingers across her wet eyes. You reached for the butterfly needle after placing the J-tip back on the tray. “Last, he’s going to let this little butterfly give you a kiss where the stamp was.” You finished, inserting the needle into one of your own veins. “See? It doesn’t hurt!” You lied through your teeth. It always hurt more to get an IV on the back of your hand, but that was Eliza’s best bet.

You yanked the blue tie off your arm, then removed the butterfly needle. “Think you can let Uncle Jack try now?” You asked.

Eliza didn’t answer, but she didn’t protest either. You smiled, motivated mostly by pride, and looked to your senior attendings. Both men stared back at you. Robby with a look of relief, mostly because you got his daughter to calm down. But Jack…you couldn’t read the look on his face. He broke your gaze to pat Robby on the back, standing up with him.

“Alright, princess, let’s get you that medicine.” He said, grabbing a fresh butterfly needle.

Robby sat on the bed, crossing his legs, and pulled Eliza carefully into his lap. He cradled the little girl in his arms, using his free hand to smooth her dark hair as she whimpered. “Shh…Daddy’s got you.” He soothed.

Eliza melted into her father’s embrace, blinking slowly when he brushed stray tears from her reddened cheeks. Jack tenderly grabbed her uninjured arm and wrapped the blue tie around her forearm still loose. “Alright, Eliza. You’re about to feel that big hug, okay?” He explained, then pulled the blue tie snug.

A small sound of discomfort escaped the child, but she remained docile in her father’s arms. Jack traced the tiny veins on the back of her hand and found his target. When he turned around to reach for an alcohol swab, you already had it ready for him with an outstretched hand. For a brief moment, Jack was caught off guard, but he took the swab from your palm, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin for a beat longer than normal.

“Now, let’s give your hand that cold bath.” He said.

Jack rubbed the wipe across his tiny workspace, and Eliza let out the smallest, softest giggle. Robby smiled, probably for the first time since he stepped foot into the room. “That tickle? Yeah?” He teased. Eliza nodded, just a little bit.

“You ready for that Sprite can sound?” Jack asked, once again reaching, and you already met him halfway with the J-tip.

“Yeah.” Eliza whispered, her face half nuzzled into Robby’s chest, but still enough to keep an eye on Jack’s movements.

Jack placed the J-tip over the vein he wanted, and just like you said, it sounded like a can of Sprite opening, minus the sugary fizz that followed. Eliza jerked her hand pack at the odd sensation of carbon dioxide shooting across her skin. Robby reached his finger under her palm for her to grasp, and she did, just like she always had since she was born.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” He said softly.

Jack rubbed the spot on the back of her hand. “Once it starts working, we’re gonna let that butterfly land on it, okay?” He explained.

“And it will give me a kiss?” Eliza asked, looking to you, her source of information.

Jack and Robby both chuckled, and the latter pressed a kiss to her hair. “Yeah, just like that.” He replied.

Eliza giggled, but in her joy, she shifted and moved her broken arm. The laughs quickly turned to screams of pain again, and Jack winced.

“Oh, you gotta be still, princess. We’re almost ready for the medicine.” He said. Then, he leaned in, like he was trying to keep his voice from Robby’s earshot. “You know, if you keep being a brave girl, once you’re all healed up, you can come to my house and go swimming.” His voice was playfully sly.

The cries reduced, just a little. “I can?” She blubbered.

Jack nodded. “Sure. As long as your mommy and daddy say it’s okay.” He replied, glancing up at Robby, hoping he didn’t just make a promise outside of his power.

Robby smiled and nodded. “Of course. You need to show Uncle Jack how you can swim without floaties now.” He said.

Jack’s eyes blew comically wide. “Without floaties? Only big girls can swim without floaties.”

Eliza nodded, her bottom lip still quivering, but a glint of pride was in her eyes. The same one you’d seen in Robby’s eyes many times. “Can Abby come, too?” She asked.

Jack nodded, a smile playing at his lips. “Absolutely. We’ll have a pool party.” He reached back for the butterfly needle, and once again, the brush of your fingers against his. He kept it out of Eliza’s view, continuing to hold her hand. “Your daddy and I will grill some hamburgers and hot dogs. You can teach Abby how to swim. We’ll invite Nana, too.”

Eliza didn’t even flinch when Jack inserted the butterfly needle. You carefully concealed your morphine syringe and connected it to the line. But just as you could see her entire body relax in Robby’s arms from the push of meds, she looked to you with those big brown eyes. “Are you gonna come to the pool party?” She asked.

You froze, unsure of how to answer. Does an invitation from a five-year-old have enough warrant to show up at your boss’ house? Jack placed a hand on your back, lower than he probably meant to. “Yes, she’ll be there, too.” He confirmed for you.

You snapped your head to his direction. Those hazel eyes bore into you, and you couldn’t find the words to respond. In that silence, he winked at you, a smug smile on his face.

“Uncle Jack, she’s pretty.” The little voice broke your small moment.

Your eyes widened, heat crawling up your neck. Robby let out an involuntary sound, a mixture of a laugh and a choke. But Jack never looked away from you. In fact, he doubled down with, “I know.”

Before you could melt away in a puddle of embarrassment and giddiness, the curtain swung open, revealing Dana and Robby’s wife, still cradling a tiny bundle.

“Nana!” Eliza sluggishly squealed.

Dana leaned over and gently tickled Eliza’s shoulders. “There’s my girl!” She exclaimed.

You tilted your head, confused by the connection. “Nana?” You questioned.

Robby chuckled. “Eliza couldn’t say ‘Dana’ when she was little, so she kept calling her Nana.” He explained.

Dana gave you a stern but playful look. “Keep in mind that I am not old enough to be a real Nana.” She stated.

Jack raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I know plenty of people your age who are grandmothers.” He said.

Dana pointed a finger at him and jabbed his chest. “How would you like to lose another foot?” She threatened.

Your jaw dropped at the comment. That wasn’t allowed, right? Surely, that crossed some kind of line. But Jack just chuckled and swiped her hand away.

“I’d love to. I’ll be one step closer to becoming a robot.” He replied. “Literally.”

Robby’s wife groaned at the unfortunate pun. “Please, stop. I already have to listen to Robby and his dad jokes.” She begged.

Robby grinned proudly. “Yeah, leave it to the professionals.” He teased, but his eyes moved to the bundle his wife was holding. “How’s my little man doing?” He asked.

She smiled and moved to sit on the bed next to Robby and Eliza. “He’s been a sleepy boy all day. Better than testing out his lungs though.” She leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder as she spoke. “How’s my big girl?”

Eliza grinned sheepishly when her mom reached to gently pinch her rosy cheeks. “Uncle Jack said we can have a pool party at his house.” She stated, beginning to slur her words in sleepiness. “He said Nana can come. And he said Abby can come.”

Dana chuckled. “Still calling him Abby, huh?” She asked.

Robby smiled, shifting so that Eliza could rest horizontally as she began to doze off. “We’re working on it.” He answered. “Somewhere she learned that nickname. Can’t imagine from who.” He joked.

Jack huffed and moved to where Robby’s wife sat, offering his pinky to the baby boy’s tiny hand, activating his palmar grasp reflex. “Have they been desecrating our name, buddy?” He asked, a lilt in his voice. “Us Abbots are fighters. We don’t take shit from anybody.”

Dana’s swat at Jack’s shoulder for cursing in front of Eliza and his following defense of “She’s asleep!” didn’t distract you from your new piece of information.

“He’s an Abbot?” You questioned, a feeling of warmth in your chest.

Robby’s wife smiled. “Michael Abbot Robinavitch. We stuck with Michael for about a week, but…” She trailed off, looking to her husband.

Robby’s shoulders hunched a bit. “She calls me Michael when I’m in trouble. I got a little scared every time she said his name.” He admitted, but his smile remained. “So we settled on Abbot.”

Jack carefully cradled Abbot as Robby’s wife passed him over. His tanned biceps that strained against the sleeves of his scrub top made the baby look incredibly small. He slowly walked over to you, his right foot stepping heavier as usual, his eyes focused on the baby. A deep smile graced his lips. And just on the edges framing the smile were huge dimples. You wanted to save that image forever. You brushed a finger against the baby’s tiny hand, smiling when he moved in response.

Meanwhile, Robby was elbowed by his wife, who exchanged an excited but knowing glance with Dana at the sight of you and Jack sharing that unintentionally tender moment. All he did was nod in response, eyebrows raised in a silent confirmation.

“Why Abbot? Is Jack that important?” You teased.

Dana threw her hands up in exasperation. “Thank you!” She said. “That’s what I said. I’m still waiting for a little Dana.”

“Working on it.” Robby said with a wink, quickly receiving an elbow in the ribs from his wife.

“Michael!” His wife hissed.

Robby cowered slightly at his birth name. Jack nodded his head towards them. “See? That’s why this is Abbot.” He said.

You giggled and gently ran a hand over the baby’s soft hair near his forehead, afraid to venture too far back towards the fontanelle. “Well, Abbot is very cute.” You complimented.

A simultaneous “Thank you” filled the room. One genuine, from Robby’s wife. The other facetious, from Jack. Laughter filled the room, and you felt oddly a part of a family. Their family.

Perlah entered the room with a pediatric wheelchair. “X-ray is ready for Eliza.” She said, smiling at the sight before her.

Robby stood carefully, holding his daughter snug against his chest. “I’ll go with her. We can walk.” He said and followed Perlah out of the room.

As if it were a snap back to reality, Jack walked back over to Robby’s wife and carefully transferred Abbot back to her arms. “I’m gonna go check on that DUI kid in Central Four.” He said before looking over to you. “Go ahead and get the cast materials ready. She’s gonna want pink.”

Jack left the room, holding onto the ends of his stethoscope as he walked. You found yourself frozen for a moment, processing everything that had happened in the last thirty minutes or so. Someone cleared their throat, and you snapped your head in that direction, embarrassment coursing through your veins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You said, moving to the drawers of the room quickly to grab the liner and plaster.

Robby’s wife looked to Dana with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Dana nodded, intercepting her question in the air.

“So, what do you think of Abbot?” She asked.

You smiled, bringing the supplies back to the tray near the bed. “He looks just like Robby.” You answered.

Dana rolled her eyes. “No, not Dana Jr.” She deadpanned, then nodded her head toward the Pitt. “The Lieutenant Colonel.”

Your hands froze where they were, sorting out the supplies. Slowly you looked up, and you were met with both women staring intently at you. “Oh, Doctor Abbot…” You corrected yourself. “He’s nice.”

“Do you think he’s cute?” Robby’s wife immediately responded.

Dana gave her a look of way-to-blow-our-cover. You let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, yeah. But he’s way older than me. And we work together.” You answered, using your answers to ground yourself as to why your crush was a dead end.

Robby’s wife shrugged. “So? Robby is almost 20 years older than me. And we work together.” She countered.

You tilted your head. “Wait, you work here? In emergency?” You asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been on maternity leave.” She explained.

“Ohhhh.” You drew out, finally connecting the dots.

Dana smiled. “See? So what are your other excuses?” She pried.

You laughed slightly and shrugged. “I guess I don’t know if he’s interested.” You replied.

The two women shared another glance, debating on revealing any other information. “But you are?” Robby’s wife asked.

You smiled slightly, looking down at your hands. “Who wouldn’t be?”

The conversation ended there when Robby reentered the room with a slightly awake Eliza. “Distal radius fracture. No surgery.” He announced.

His wife let out a sigh of relief and smiled when her husband sat next to her again, still cradling the little girl. “That means we can all go home tonight.” She said, pressing her forehead to Robby’s shoulder.

—

After you followed Jack’s careful instruction while shaping the cast on Eliza’s arm, the little girl begged everyone to sign it. By the time she left with her family, there was a “Mommy”, “Daddy”, “Nana”, and your name with a smiley face on the hot pink wrapping. And as soon as you finished writing your name, Jack had snatched the sharpie from your hand, scrawling “Uncle Jack” right next to your signature.

As you watched the Robinavitches leave the Pitt, you found yourself smiling. You wanted that. The devoted parents, the precious children, the caring friends who became family.

You knew Jack was approaching by the uneven foot pattern, but you didn’t turn around. “You think I’m pretty?” You asked.

He stood by your side, brushing his thick shoulder against your frame, looking down at you with a trace of a smile. “I’d be a fool to think otherwise.” He answered honestly.

You looked up to meet his gaze. Those bourbon eyes were intoxicating, but you fought to maintain eye contact. “You’re really great with kids.” You complimented. “Eliza loves you.”

His smile deepened to a sincere one you weren’t used to seeing. “Thank you.”

The stare off continued. “Do you want kids?” You blurted out, and you nearly clamped your hand over your mouth at the word vomit.

Jack tilted his head, smile unfaltering. “If I find the right person to have them with.” He replied, leaning down closer to you just slightly. “Before I turn to dust.”

You laughed and nudged him with your shoulder. He laughed with you and crossed his arms, the muscles rippling across his skin. You didn’t notice when he leaned down, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“What you did in there with Eliza. Walking her through the process. Got her to stop crying. Good job.” He whispered lowly.

The hair on your neck stood at attention at the praise, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin. You tried to brush off the feeling. “Thanks, Doctor Abbot.” You replied.

His face twitched when you called him by his last name, like he forgot you were his intern and not his. “Jack.” He corrected you.

You looked up to him again, taking in another drink of his eyes. There was vulnerability this time. “Jack.” You repeated in a whisper. “I didn’t know you had dimples.”

It was Jack’s turn to get flustered. “What do you mean?” He asked, and you could see the red creeping up his freckled neck.

You gently poked at his cheeks where the divots had appeared earlier. “You have dimples when you smile. It’s really cute.” You teased.

You could see the muscles in his face actively working to hold back a smile. He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t smile.” He answered as seriously as he could.

You wrapped your hands around his bicep and rested your head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.”

And the smile Jack held back flooded onto his face. Dimples and all. He placed a hand over yours and pressed a gentle kiss to your hair. Nobody said another word. You didn’t have to. You could hear it in the silence.

——

A/N: this is probably gonna get a Part 2 featuring the pool party because I can’t help myself. Also this can technically be a Robby x Reader fic because I intentionally didn’t give his wife a name so you can have the best of both worlds here 💙

you're a superhero | jack abbot x reader

summary: part 2 to 'you're gonna be a dad, congrats'. snippets of reader's and jack's relationship, reader's pregnancy and birth

pairing: dr. jack abbot x f!resident!reader

tw: no use of y/n (still don't like her in this house), attending/resident relationship, age gap, pregnancy, talks of birth, birth, blood, medical inaccuracies (emergency med), medical accuracies (ob/gyn), whitaker (i love him your honor), twilight is mentioned. not proof read

wc: 10k

author's note: i loved loved loved writing this!! i hope i did the pregnancy and birth scenes justice, cause it's heavily inspired by my own clinical experience in the ob/gyn field (in eu tho)... nvm, i couldn't leave out the pregnancy and just write the birth. hope you like it! feedback is always appreciated and thanks for all the love on the previous fics!

gif not mine

You're A Superhero | Jack Abbot X Reader

you always knew that jack abbot was careful and protective. from the very start of your relationship, he always made sure you ate well after your shifts, slept well before them and everything in between. on the rare occasions that you found yourself on the same shift as him, he made sure to almost never leave your side, always ready to protect you from a patient or their family if they became aggressive. how you managed to keep the relationship secret through all this, was a mystery.

but now that you were pregnant, it became a little too much. at first jack wanted you to take leave immediately, to not put any pressure on yourself or your developing baby. you laughed it off, but then saw his serious face. you two argued almost the whole night about it.

“you cannot be serious jack,” you scoffed. it was early morning and you were preparing for yet another day shift. jack had a night off so it was a perfect opportunity for him to talk you out of going to work.

“i don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest.

“anything can happen even if i’m at home. i could slip down the stairs and bang my head,” you say with disbelief, packing your stuff into a backpack.

“you’re right. i’m moving the bedroom downstairs. the second floor is off limits.”

you looked at him completely deadpan. but jack’s face did not move. at all. was he actually serious. he can’t be, can he?

“okay, you’re overreacting. and i’m not in the mood to fight, so now i’m gonna leave for work and when you decide to become rational again, we can have a conversation about this,” you say, lean over to give him a quick kiss, before you’re out the door and then the house.

you come in, saying hi to all the nurses that are gathering around central and quickly leave your things in your locker, before coming back so you don’t miss hand off. the night shift seemed to have gone by smoothly, only leaving you with a few patients that were waiting for a room upstairs.

as you’re doing rounds with the night shift residents, your stomach starts acting up. the morning sickness was a bitch. sometimes you threw up before you came to work, sometimes she let you have a whole day without showing up and on some days, like right now, you had to excuse yourself in the middle of rounds only to run to the restroom and throw your guts up. luckily no one seemed to care enough to follow you or ask you afterwards, either too busy with leaving their shift or getting settled in for another 12 hours of the madness that the ER brought.

your shift started off strong. a mvc with four seriously injured patients. there was no time for you to be sick again. you listened for robby’s instructions as him, you, langdon and collins each took over one of the patients. whitaker, the year 4 med student, follows you to help you with the patient. the fact that he brought you the pregnancy tests was a real bonding moment for the both of you, and you decided you needed to keep an eye on him, so he wouldn’t just blab around about you being pregnant with jack’s baby. no one knew about your relationship still. the baby would be just another bomb and it was the last thing you needed right now.

you rolled the patient into the trauma bay with the help of the emt’s. you and whitaker started with your assessments. the patient’s had broken both his legs, caused by the impact when his car drove into the back of the other car. the legs got stuck under the dashboard and the bones just couldn’t withstand the pressure of the crash.

just as you were assessing the patient for any hidden injuries, the door opened and robby stepped in, already putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

“what do we have here?” he asks and the nurse helps him into the white protective gown.

“male, late twenties, driver of the second car. unconciouss, head lacs from hitting the wheel, his airbag didn’t open. have to rule out brain contusion. possible tib-fib fractures on both legs, won’t know exactly without an x-ray. the abdomen is bruised, from the impact with the steering wheel. already called surgery.”

whitaker takes the ultrasound probe and robby helps him examine the patient’s abdomen.

“there you see,” robby points to the screen and you and whitaker take a look. the patient’s spleen has ruptured and is now bleeding heavily into the abdomen. just as you’re about to say something, the door to the bay opens again and dr. garcia steps in.

“what do you got for me?” she looks at you and puts on gloves. at first she lifts the cover on the patient’s leg to look at them. you then show her the ultrasound.

“spleen rupture.”

“send him up to surgery, through CT stat. i’ll have an OR waiting for him,” she says without hesitation and then promptly leaves the room to look at the other patients involved in the car crash.

you leave the patient in the care of nurses and whitaker and you exit the trauma bay. you find yourself standing next to dr. langdon, leaning on the table at the nurse’s station, when the adrenaline rush from earlier catches up to you at the same time as your morning sickness and your head spins. you can feel your heartbeat in your head and ears. you close your eyes and try to take a deep breath but everything seems to be going darker by the second.

langdon notices and calls out your name, but you’re going down. you’re expecting some sort of impact, but instead fall into a strong pair of arms and then everything becomes dark.

when you wake up again there’s a strong white light beaming straight into your eyes and a finger holding up one of your eyelid. you turn your head away and blink a few times.

“she’s waking up,” you recognize the voice as robby’s. just then you take a good look around you. robby and dana are standing next to you, laid in a bed in one of the exam rooms. robby is putting his pen light away, worry written all over his and dana’s face.

“what happened?” you ask and sit up slowly.

“you fainted. would probably hit the table if langdon didn’t catch you,” robby explains and dana just nods to emphasize how lucky you were.

“are you okay?” dana asks and you nod frantically.

“yeah, it’s just…” you try to explain, but robby steps in.

“can you leave us for a minute, please,” he gives dana a smile and she nods and then leaves the exam room.

“is there something wrong?” he asks and sits himself at the end of the bed and looking straight at you.

“why would there be something wrong? it was probably just a drop in my blood pressure, i’ve always been in the lower numbers. also i didn’t have a breakfast. i’ll just grab a juice box and go back to work.”

“okay. now try to be honest with me, and yourself. i can’t have my residents going around throwing up and fainting after every case,” he says. it hits you. he knew, he saw you. but it only happened a few times, the throwing up, you want to reply, but you are silent. under his gaze you feel like a small child, being reprimanded for something.

there’s a moment of silence between you and robby. he just looks at you, with those sad brown eyes that hold so much pain. and honestly, you don’t want to cause him any more stress so you just decide to tell him. also, he’s jack’s friend, he would definitely understand, right? oh, how you wish jack was there to tell him himself and you didn’t have to do it alone.

“i’m pregnant…” you say and smile shyly.

robby doesn’t seem to be surprised. he probably puts two and two together. finding you in the restroom, throwing up. seeing you sick again and then fainting.

“well, congratulations. i didn’t know you were in a relationship.”

“with jack’s baby,” you add quickly.

now he’s surprised and his eyes almost fall out. he starts opening and closing his mouth like a fish, and you’re afraid you’re gonna have to pick him up from the floor after he collapses from the information you just dropped.

“before you say anything else. we know it’s not the best situation. the relationship and now the baby, so we kept it a secret. but we’re on different shifts, he’s not my mentor anymore…”

a smile takes over robby’s face and he leans in, to trap you in a hug. his hands curl around your shoulders and he says: “i’m not mad. i’m happy for you both. i just wish you told me sooner. jack’s my friend. hell, you’re my friend.”

“sorry,” you laugh a little when he lets go of you. “but can you…”

“sure. it’s your business, not mine,” he gives you a wink and stands up from the bed.

“rest for a minute, grab something to eat, not just juice and then you can come back,” he instructs and you smile.

jack isn’t mad when you tell him that robby knows. he’s excited. he doesn’t have to pretend in front of his friend anymore and can talk to him if anything bothers him. he can also tell him to look after you in the day shifts as it seems you are not quitting anytime soon, though he’d want that. he just wants you to focus on yourself and the baby, not having you running around the ER with another life at stake. he’d always blame himself if anything happened to either of you.

it’s hard maintaining it a secret though. much harder when you start showing. first mckay and dana find out. you’re changing in the locker room, both women doing the same. you try to hide behind the locker as you put on the scrub top, when you hear a loud sharp sigh. you quickly pull the top over your head and turn to the noise and meet mckay’s big green eyes.

“oh my god, are you pregnant?” she asks rather loudly, which only attracts dana’s attention. both women are now looking you up and down. there is no point in lying. okay, maybe you could talk mckay out of thinking you were pregnant, but not dana. that woman knows everything. you don’t even know how you managed to keep it a secret from her that long.

“you are aren’t you?” dana adds.

“okay. maybe i am,” you just let out a sigh, but smile a little. their eyes beam with happiness as they shower you with questions and congratulations. a second after you reveal the father of your child and your boyfriend and you’re sure mckay must’ve dislocated her jaw with how low it dropped.

so it becomes more of a public secret. you decide to only tell your dayshift co-workers but you’re sure the whole hospital (including gloria) knows too. and at the twenty four week mark, when the scrubs become a little too tight, you can just start wearing a shirt that says “yes i fucked my attending (multiple times). yes i’m having his child. stop with the questions.”

and as if that wasn’t enough, robby and langdon become protective of you the same way jack is. you’re sure he has something to do with that, because he’s still working nights. you can assure them all you want that you feel fine and are more than capable of working the big trauma cases. but robby is firm in his tone when he says that until further notice, you’re working triage together with mckay.

“you could get hurt. or worse. the baby could get hurt,” he explains when you start having one of your hormonal fits and try to talk him out of it.

“i’m sure the idea is all yours,” you say with a touch or irony in your voice. robby just looks at you apologetically and leaves to take care of his patients.

you don’t mind working triage. if it was for a few hours. you needed the adrenaline. needed to feel the rush in your veins when you know someone’s on the verge of death and you help them come back. dealing with the headaches, colds and hypochondriacs wasn’t on your 2025 bingo card. but at the same time, getting pregnant also wasn’t.

…

“i’m so big,” you pout.

you’re laying in the bath, jack’s big, strong chest behind you, your head resting on his shoulder. his hands are around you, holding onto your pregnant belly asi if it was just gonna float away. your’re resting your hands on top of his when the realisation hits you.

“no you’re not,” he objects and moves his hands around, caressing the skin of your belly.

“you should’ve seen me in the black scrubs. i looked like straight out of the ‘free willy’. they could do another sequel with me as the main character,” you say and huff.

jack’s chest shake with a laugh. his head then dips down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“you'd be the hottest orca i know,” he says in a low tone and when you turn back, to poke him in the shoulder for calling you ‘an orca’ you can see the biggest smirk on his face.

“you don’t wanna anger this orca even more,” you warn him but jack is still smirking. and before you turn back around, he gives you a proper kiss. you lean into him, and when he deepens the kiss, you let out a silent moan. his hands are moving upward, thumb swiping gently over your sensitive nipples. you let out another moan and jack takes it as an invite.

you’d love for things to go further, but the baby has its plans and kicks you straight in the bladder. you wince and jack moves away, worry in his eyes.

“are you okay? did i do something?” he asks.

“no, everything’s fine. the baby is just dancing around and got me in the bladder,” you explain. jack smiles and gives you one last peck, before you both settle in the bath again.

…

“i see in your papers that you don’t know the gender yet. do you want to find out now?” the OB who’s on shift asks. you decided to have all the check-ups at the hospital, well, since you’re basically living there.

“no.”

“yes.”

you and jack look at each other in an instant.

“i thought we were gonna keep it a surprise,” you scowled at him.

“what? i told you i wanted to know,” says jack.

“you know what, why don’t you talk about it and then call me when you’re ready,” the OB says, lets go of the ultrasound probe and leaves the exam room.

you sit up and jack hands you a bunch of paper towels so you don’t get the gel all over your fresh scrubs. he was leaving the night shift when you came in and informed him of the OB check up you arranged for the morning.

“i really wanted it to be a surprise,” you pout and tears started to build up in the corner of your eyes. you were getting more and more emotional by the day. jack thought he could keep up with your mood swings, for his sake and yours, but sometimes it was too unpredictable even for him.

“i’m sorry baby, if i knew you felt so strongly about that i’d have kept my mouth shut,” jack tries to save the situation before you have a complete breakdown. but it’s a little too late. few of the tears escape and run down your cheeks. his hand is quick to dry them and he reaches for more paper towels. you sob quietly and rub your eyes.

“no, i’m sorry. i’m a mess. it’s the hormones,” you say between sobs, trying to stop yourself. jack stands up from the chair he’s been sat in and hugs your sitting figure. your belly is half covered, the scrub top getting stuck in the middle of you trying to pull it down.

jack’s hand touches the skin of your stomach and caresses it gently.

“don’t ever apologize for that baby. i love you, let’s wait to find out okay?” he assures and you just nod, wiping the tears away.

jack makes sure you leave safely and returns to the emergency department just in time for hand offs. the start to their shift is slow, they move some of the patients upwards and clear some beds for the night crazies that are sure to come.

and they don’t wait for too long. it’s a little after 10pm when the ambulances bring some people from a birthday party. apparently choosing a sushi restaurant is as important as choosing a life partner. you have to make sure they don’t poison you. jack lets the residents handle it as he’s checking on a patient from the day shift who’s still waiting for an icu bed.

but it’s after midnight when the real crazies start coming in. ambulance along with police bring in a man who tried to burgle a store and then decided to leave through the glass window. yes, straight through it. the other ambulances come in with patients from pedestrians vs. vehicle.

it takes them two hours to sort through everyone and when jack finally sits down, the door open once again, but this time there’s no rush, no shouting, no red and blue lights from the ambulance bay. it’s you.

he stands up straight, almost running your way. you stand in the main door, tears running down your face and hands shaking. he quickly asses you with his eyes, worry settling in his face. he cannot see anything being wrong, apart from the tears that are streaming down your face. but there could be something going on inside. the baby. worry is eating him alive but he tries to keep a straight face, he cannot crumble. not in front of you.

“baby what are you doing here? what’s wrong?” he asks, grabbing your hands in his and finding your crying eyes.

“i-i…” you sob, unable to form any words.

“come,” he instructs and take you by your hands into an empty exam room. once you’re in, he helps you to sit on the bed and then automatically starts the ultrasound machine.

“is everything okay with the baby? are you in any pain? are you bleeding?” he showers you in questions. you dry your eyes in the sleeve of his hoodie, because that’s the only thing you can wear over your growing bump. then your hands fall down to your growing belly and jack stops in his movements and stands in front of you.

“i’m sorry if that was too much, you just scared me,” he explains and with a small smile and holds your hands in his, gently moving his thumbs over your knuckles, to ease whatever you were feeling right now.

“i ju-just, couldn’t sleep,” you start and jack stops himself from saying that you could’ve just called instead of making the drive to the ER in the middle of night, not to upset you even more.

“i was thinking about our fight. and i just don’t want you to be upset. it’s your baby too. if you want to know the gender you should be able to,” you manage to say in between sobs. you wipe your nose in the sleeve and look up at jack. your eyes are red and tired, because it’s 2am in the morning. you expect to find jack’s always serious face, but instead, relief takes over. he gives you a smile and takes a seat right next to you, on the bed.

“god, baby. i thought something happened to you. i’m not upset with you, i could never. i was just worried,” he says, hand coming up to cup your face. his thumb wipes away the remains of tears that were still there.

“i don’t want you to be worried,” you say and new tears start pooling in your eyes. jack grabs a tissue from a nearby cart and hands it to you. you wipe your tears and blow your nose. you feel like a little kid, being comforted by a parent after doing something stupid.

“i’ll always be worried, baby. i love you. and i’m perfectly fine to wait to find out if you want,” he reassures you and leans in to kiss you on the forehead. you calm down at the touch of his lips to your skin and close your eyes for a second.

“i kind of want to know now though,” you say and look down into your lap, embarrassed by the sudden change of mind. jack doesn’t show it, but he’s smirking inside, throwing hands up in a winning gesture. he knew you’d wanna wait, but something inside was telling him that eventually you’d cave in. you were too curious to wait for the actual birth.

“want me to do it?” he asks with a raised brow.

“well i didn’t come here to chit chat.”

now he’s smirking. you’re back to your good old pregnant sassy yourself. you’re pulling up the hoodie as jack takes the always cold ultrasound gel and puts it all over your bump. you wiggle excitedly and jack laughs a little before grabbing the probe and angling the screen your way also, so you can look at the baby together.

“okay, let’s find out,” he says in a low voice, moving the probe around.

“wait!” you say suddenly and jack jerks his hand away from your abdomen, afraid he’s done something wrong.

“what do you think it’s gonna be? wanna bet?” you smirk his way and he has to take a deep breath to get over the small adrenaline rush you just gave him.

“i don’t know. i was thinking a girl, but i’m fine with whatever as long as the baby is healthy,” he says, returning the probe to your belly, the baby’s spine appearing on the screen again.

“oh my god. i was thinking boy. we gotta bet!”

“okay, okay, it’s a bet,” jack laughs at your sudden excitement to find out the baby’s gender. “let me make a few measurements thought, to make sure everything is fine.”

“jack, we were at the OB in the morning, just focus on the important part.”

“you can never be too careful,” he objects, but gives you a smirk. “okay, pay attention,” he instructs and you can see on the screen that he’s moving down to the baby’s parts.

you both squint at the screen, silent race between the two of you, of who’s gonna be the first to see it. jack’s steady hand continues to move, but the baby’s movement are making it a little hard until…

“there!” you yell out, almost sitting up, and point at the screen. jack almost flinches again, but keeps his hand on your abdomen, trying to focus the picture better by pressing all the different buttons on the ultrasound.

“that’s just the cord,” jack smirks when taking a better look at the screen.

“fuck,” you breathe out, settling back on the bed. you rub your eyes with your hand. it’s 2am, you’re heavily pregnant and tired. no one would expect you to see everything clearly at the ultrasound. well, you would, because you’re always expecting 110% of yourself. jack always tells you to cut yourself a little slack. right after telling you to just take the damn maternity leave and not go to work.

“but this. this is it,” jack says, freezing the picture. you turn your head to the screen and look at it closely, before a wide smile settles on your face. tears are starting to pool at your eyes again, and you cannot stop them.

“i win,” you say triumphantly. “i was right.”

“you’re always right,” jack’s smile is just as wide as your, not a hint of disappointment or sadness at the results of the bet.

“true,” you give him a wink and sit up at the bed, hanging your legs down. jack turns off the ultrasound machine, but not before printing out the picture of your son’s genitals. you don’t question that choice, too busy with smiling and wiggling your legs.

jack stands between your legs, as close as the bump allows him and cups your face in his hands. he looks into your eyes, intensely, with all the emotion that he’s feeling. happiness, joy, bliss. everything.

“we are going to have a son,” he accentuates every word.

his thumb swipes across your bottom lip and he dips his head down to kiss you. it surprises you, how deep the kiss is, but you don’t complain. one of jack’s hand moves from your face down to the bump. you are both too invested in the kiss to realise there’s still a whole lot of gel on your abdomen. you’re the first to break the kiss, after a moment.

“fuck, your hoodie is gonna be ruined,” you exhale, looking down at your bump. the gel is a bitch. it seems to find its way everywhere it’s not supposed to be. and it ruined a few of your tops already, because you just couldn’t get it washed out properly.

“i don’t care, i have others,” he says and leans in for another kiss, but then his pager goes off. he stops midway, taking a look at it, and then gives you one last kiss.

“sorry baby they’re bringing in more patients. are you okay to go home by yourself? should i send someone with you? call you an uber?”

“jack, go. i’ll be fine.”

“drive safely. text me when you’re home.”

…

jack is unable to convince you to stay home even after the 36 week mark. there’s only one month to go, until your baby boy’s here, but you’re stubborn as ever. you’re waddling around the ER, staying on top of triage, where robby put you. him and langdon and dana and well, almost everyone on the day shift, including whitaker, is keeping an eye on you. jack isn’t texting just you, but he’s bombarding robby with messages when you don’t respond or pick up your phone and robby has to reassure him that you’re fine, you’re wearing your compression socks, eating and drinking water and taking breaks regularly.

now you’re 38 weeks, feeling like a balloon that’s about to blow. and the braxton hicks you’ve been experiencing for the past week or so certainly aren’t helping. you’re in for another day shift, clutching an apple juice box in your hands as you go around listening to the hand offs, though frank told you, you could sit down and he’ll update you on everything afterwards. the last thing you wanted to do was sit. standing up, you felt like a balloon, but sitting down, you felt like that weird sea animal called blobfish. its sad, pink, shiny face embedded in your mind from high school biology.

you’re lucky to get a slow start into the shift. you sit in the nurses station, feet propped up on a chair that is currently not occupied by anyone, a labour and parenthood book in your hand. you’re currently reading up on the labour chapters and sigh suddenly.

“i can’t believe how much i’ve forgotten about this stuff,” you say and dana laughs from behind you.

“the only thing you wanna know is get all the pain relief you can get and don’t listen to anyone. your body is gonna tell you everything,” she says and you see langdon’s confused face. he’s standing in front of a computer, putting some patient information in.

“don’t listen to anyone? what kind of advice is that,” he scoffs.

“oh, just another man all up in a women’s business,” dana replies annoyingly, which makes langdon shut up and not say another word. you just laugh at their interaction and go back to your book. then whitaker shows up out of nowhere.

“doc, could you help me with a case?”

you look up at him. it doesn’t seem that serious, so you let go of the book and beckon to him.

“sure, but help me stand up, these chairs are madly low.” he jumps forward, catching your hands in his and pulling you up from the chair. you exhale when you’re up, having to adjust to the change of positions.

to say you’d made whitaker kind of your servant would be an understatement. but you didn’t really consider it a bad thing. and he didn’t mind too, or so you believed. if he did, he never said a thing. so yeah, maybe you took a little advantage of that.

“i have a young male, complaining of chest pains since this morning. the pain is worse when he’s laying down, no recent trauma or illness, no fever, cough, shortness of breath. i did a cardiopulmonary exam, found decreased breath sounds on the right side,” whitaker presents while you’re walking to the exam room.

“what test did you order?” you ask and rub your back while walking. you were sore from the night, not getting enough sleep, because the baby decided to have a dance party at midnight.

“basic labs and chest x-ray, should we do an ecg?” he asks and you enter the room. you both disinfect your hands and grab gloves from the cart. you introduce yourself to the patient and almost instantly, you can tell what is going to be wrong with him. nevertheless, you repeat whitaker’s exam, to make sure for yourself. grabbing your stethoscope, you listen to the patients lungs and heart.

“let’s do an ecg, just to be sure it’s not something heart related. are the x-rays back?” you ask. whitaker goes to the computer, sound of clicking filling the room.

“yes, they’re here.”

“bring them up, let’s look at them,” you say and stand next to him.

“oh my god. a pneumothorax? how’s that possible, there’s no injury.”

“do you know what a primary spontaneous pneumothorax is?” you ask. whitaker nods and start babbling away all the fact he knows about psp.

“it can occur in young males, with a tall and thin build. often caused by the rupture of bullae.”

“right, how do you treat them?”

“100% oxygen to let it resorb on itself and observe. if it gets worse… chest tube?”

“very right. you do that and i’ll just be back there if you need me. if he gets worse, call me right away.”

with that you leave the room. in the hall, you have to stop for a minute, taking a deep breat in. the baby boy is really enjoying torturing you, kicking you in the ribs and punching your bladder every opportunity he gets. now it’s not any different and you go to the restroom, as the urgency builds up. shouldn’t have down that apple juice in one sitting.

you feel like you barely make it and sit down at the toilet as quickly as you can without breaking your back. you really don’t want to have that bella swan bathroom moment. surely not in the workplace, that would be embarrassing. and you don’t know if whitaker alone would be capable of getting you up from the floor. your mind starts going in spirals imagining the mortification if you had fallen down in the restroom with your pants down. just when you think you’re done, you feel a light ‘pop’. you feel a warm fluid streaming down into the toilet and you freeze. was that just what you think it was?

right after that, a quite strong braxton-hicks hits you and you have to keep sitting on the toilet to breathe through it. after, you exit the stall washing your hands in the sink, looking at the clock. it seems that what you’ve now had was two contractions in an hour. that’s not labour yet, but could be turning into it soon. you also needed to make sure that what you just felt streaming down your leg was or was not amniotic fluid.

coming out of the restroom, you find whitaker in the crowd. yes, you could go to robby or dana or langdon but they would probably freak out, call jack and make you lie down until you gave birth. you didn’t exactly want that. so whitaker it is.

he’s standing in front of a computer, looking at some patient stuff when you approach him.

“oh, hey. just so you know, our patient responded well to the oxygen, i think the pneumothorax will go away on its own.”

“yeah great, i need you to do something for me.”

whitaker’s eyes grow even bigger, if that’s even possible and he opens his mouth in question.

“you’ll now go up to the third floor, subtly, labour & delivery is there and grab one of the amnisure kits. subtly. do you get what the keyword is? no one can know.”

you’re almost sure whitaker’s eyes are gonna pop out when you drop your request.

“did your water break?” he squeals and you hit him in the shoulder, trying to shut him up.

“well, we won’t know without the test will we? so go, please,” you plead and after a moment whitaker nods and strides away towards the elevators.

“everything okay?” a voice appears behind you. you turn around at the surprise and see robby standing behind you, his hands in the pockets of the signature blue hoodie, the stethoscope hanging around his neck. you instinctively touch yours and swing on your feet.

“sure, why wouldn’t it be?” you ask, hoping to sound as innocent as you can.

“just checking in,” robby replies, following you into the nurses station.

“did jack tell you to check in on me again?”

“no, this one is purely on me,” robby laughs. “so why is whitaker running around the whole hospital?”

“taking care of a patient, i reckon,” you answer and sit down on the chair, sighing with relief, when you can finally rest your back.

“and you? did you eat something? drink water?” robby swarms you with the questions and you just rolled your eyes.

“yes, boss, don’t worry. i’m fine. you can let jack know when he asks,” you reply and robby just gives you a tired smile.

you didn’t mind the attention at first. but now it was becoming more and more annoying. you’re not a little kid. you can ask for help when you need it. hell, you just asked. yes, you asked whitaker and in secret, but you did anyways. and that counts for something.

everytime the elevator dings, you turn your head around. dana is asking if you’re expecting someone soon, but you hit her with the ‘yes a beautiful baby boy’ and she just shakes her head, but you can see her smile. it takes like seven elevator rides, for the doors to finally open and reveal whitaker, who looks like he just ran a marathon.

“doc, i hope this was worth it,” he says silently, when you meet him halfway on the way from the elevator. “i had to flirt and lie to some L&D nurse to get the kit.”

“perfect. now let’s go, you need to do it for me,” you say and grab him by his shoulder to take him into an empty exam room.

“what?” he stops abruptly and looks at you with wide eyes. they might pop out any moment, the second time in under an hour. “i-i-i don’t think… i-i’m not the right person. shouldn’t we ask dr. robby for help?”

“no way. you can do it. it’s just like sticking a long q-tip up someone’s… well you know what. i’d do it myself, but you can see i’m kind of indisposed right now,” you rub your belly to accentuate what you’re trying to say.

whitaker cringes visibly, but you don’t allow him to protest any more and you go inside the empty room. before anything happens, you both read through the instructions.

“seems pretty easy,” you say and close the brochure that was inside the kit. “you just swab it around, then we put it in the solvent and then test it. just like with covid tests.”

your joke doesn’t exactly land, because when you look at whitaker, his hands are shaking. you place a hand on his shoulder, trying to sound reassuring, but your own voice shakes. you’re not sure if you want to know. maybe it would be better to wait for the contractions and forget all about the possible membranes rupture.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you say for both of you. then you take a blanket that’s on the bed and wrap it around you, discarding of your scrub pants and underwear. whitaker, like a gentleman he is, turns around and puts on a clean pair of gloves.

“okay, let’s get this over with,” you say as you position yourself on the bed, with your knees bent. whitaker takes a deep breath in but complies. it’s over in a minute. you then put your pants back on and help whitaker with the other steps of the test.

“okay, now we wait for 5 to 10 minutes and we’ll know,” you say, putting your hands on your hips looking at the vial, where the test is submerged.

“i don’t think we have to wait that long,” whitaker points out to the obvious two lines forming on the test stripe. these damn two lines, they’re gonna ruin your life. guess it starts with two lines and ends with two lines, you think to yourself.

“you’re in labour,” he says plainly and you think he’s gonna faint, from the way he’s looking at you. his skin was fair to begin with, but now whitaker looks like a ghost.

“labour starts with regular contractions, whitaker. not with membranes rupture. and i don’t got th-...” you have to stop, because another strong cramp hits your lower back. grabbing the edge of the bed, you have to breathe through it for a few seconds, before being to able finish your sentence. “as you can see, i don’t have regular contractions yet.”

you look at the clock in the exam room. how far apart were they. 30 maybe 40 minutes? they hit hard, but you still had some time before the active stage of labour started.

“you sure?” whitaker asks, worry in his voice.

“100%. let’s get back to work.”

robby needs your help with an end-of-life care patient who the ambulance brought in from a senior care facility. taking care of them and talking to the family can be emotionally draining, but at least you aren’t risking getting hurt in the midst of a serious trauma case.

those damn braxton-hicks are catching up to you as you go back and forth between the nurses station, the patient’s room and family room and when you finally have a moment for yourself, you ground yourself on the table where the computer sits, and breathe through one of the stronger ones. they’re starting to get a bit more regular and strong, and you don’t think you can call them braxton-hicks anymore. fuck, you cannot be labouring in the middle of your shift. jack’s at home, fast asleep after a rough night shift, but you know he’s only a phone call away. still, you don’t wanna disturb anyone, since the pain is still quite bearable.

but those little stops and you breathing a little too deeply, cannot hide from robby’s eyes. he’s seen you walk around with one hand either on your back or front, having to stop occasionally and focus on your breathing. he knew something was up, but he wanted you to admit it first. he couldn’t pressure you into saying anything. he can ask though.

“what’s up with you,” he rolls forward on the chair in the nurses station to face you. “should i be calling jack?”

you’re in the middle of trying to breathe through another contraction subtly, when his voice interrupts. you look up at him. “what?”

“are you having contractions?” he asks blatantly.

“no.”

“don’t… i’ve seen you needed to take breaks more often. you’ve been breathing as if you’re practicing for a deep dive. how far apart they are?”

you take a look at your watch. “like fifteen minutes? they’re still pretty irregular. some i can just ignore, some i need to breathe through. it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing,” robby scoffs. “i’m calling jack. and getting you a fetal heartbeat monitor for now.”

“no, robby. don’t call him just yet, he’ll freak out. i’ll call him myself, when i’m actually in labour.”

robby rubs his face with his hands in desperation. “why are you so stubborn?”

“i’m not. i’m asserting my autonomy,” you smile innocently, batting your eyelashes. robby just laughs at your actions.

“okay, but if the contractions are closer together or your water breaks, tell me immediately,” he instructs. you’re taken aback by his words, staring at him wide eyed and he instantly catches on. you wish you could control your face better.

“oh, god. don’t tell me…” he rubs his face again. “you’re unbelievable. how long? was it clear?”

“i don’t know, maybe two hours ago. we did an amnisure.”

“we?” robby looks at you with a surprise.

“well, whitaker might’ve helped.”

“poor kid,” robby laughs. “but that changes the situation. i’m getting you up to L&D now.”

“noooo,” you protest. “i wanna be here.”

“what’s going on?” dana intercepts your conversation.

“she’s in labour,” robby says.

“what?” dana asks with a surprise.

“god, robby, does the whole floor need to know?” you ask, but you’re interrupted by a contraction.

“that was not fifteen minutes,” he points out.

“i told you they’re irregular,” you say in between breaths, clutching at your lower back. maybe you are gonna have a bella swan moment with how the pain is stabbing you in the back.

“i don’t believe you, frankly. you’ve been lying the whole morning. we’re taking you up and calling jack. i’m revoking your autonomy,” robby says and you know he means it as a joke but the way he says it, makes you only wanna fight him more. you’re not going anywhere.

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“i’m your attending, you gotta listen.”

“honey, he’s got a point. let’s just go upstairs to get you checked out and then we’ll see what we can do next. don’t you wanna know if the baby is okay?” dana tries to mediate the whole situation. “donnie, a wheelchair please?”

“how dare you use my own child against me. and i can walk just fine,” you say. another contractions comes and everybody knows that what you just said is bullshit.

so you let them sit you in a wheelchair and before they can roll you into the elevator, you manage to yell at whitaker to follow you. nor dana neither robby question your choice of company, so all four of you just ride silently to the third floor.

robby wheels you into one of the exam rooms, your OB taking in the escort that came with you. you just brush it off, when they leave you alone in the room, for your check up. but before they can leave, you give whitaker your phone and tell him to text jack.

the OB does both an ultrasound and a vaginal exam. the verdict is, yes, your water broke, yes, you’re having contractions like ten minutes apart and you’re 3 centimeters dilated.

“perfect, i can go back to work right?”

“you were serious about that?” your OB asks with a surprised tone. you start nodding your head.

“i’d strongly suggest against that. we can give you a room in our department, your co-workers can come visit if they want, but unless you plan on delivering the baby in the ER…”

“shit,” you sigh, one of the stronger contractions hits you. the doctor is kind enough to wait while you breathe through it.

suddenly the door opens and whitaker is standing with your phone to his ear. double shit, you think.

“i’m sorry. i texted him, he started calling so i picked up and now he’s mad at me, and possibly you and-...” you don’t have to think twice to know who’s he talking about.

“just give me the fucking phone, dennis.”

you put the phone to your ear and before you can say anything, jack does.

“why didn’t you call me sooner. and why does whitaker have your phone?” you can hear him packing stuff, probably getting ready to come to the hospital.

“i didn’t wanna worry you. it was nothing.”

“water breaking is not nothing. how was the check up?”

“everything is fine. i’m at 3 centimeters, you don’t have to rush. still a long way to go.”

“well i’m on my way anyway. hold on. i love you both,” he says and with that he hangs up.

you let the nice OB convince you to stay in L&D and you convince robby to let whitaker stay with you until jack arrives. robby asks the student if it’s okay with him and to your surprise he just nods, rubbing your back when a contraction comes.

“how was the pneumothorax patient?” you ask whitaker as you’re walking around the room, already dressed in one of the pale blue hospital gowns, fetal heartbeat monitor strapped to your belly.

“good, good. he got a bed upstairs, for observation,” whitaker says and holds your phone, where you showed him an app for timing your contractions. he takes the job very seriously.

“so, you know what you are naming your son yet?” he asks, to take your attention off the pain as much as he can. you shake your head, inhaling and exhaling deeply, but not too deeply to send yourself into hyperventilation. the room is filled by the sound of your breathing and the soft beats of your baby’s heart.

“we haven’t thought about it yet. we’ll just decide on the spot.”

minutes pass, you feel like the contractions are coming more and more frequently and each time more and more intense than the last ones. breathing isn’t enough, you have to groan and moan to feel some sort of relief. whitaker is still clutching your phone, timing them patiently.

“how far apart are they?”

“three minutes.”

“fuck. where is jack?” you cry, the pain sending a few tears down your face. you’re standing by the bed, bent over, holding onto the edge and moving your hips, to ease at least some of it. it is becoming more and more unbearable. and you refuse to let the midwife check you. you don’t want to know how close you are to pushing a watermelon out of your lady parts. you like your lady parts. jack likes them. or at least you hope. and you don’t want to know, in case jack wasn’t gonna make it. where the hell was he anyway?

“should i call him?” whitaker asks.

“get him here. now. or i’m gonna kill someone.”

whitaker’s eyes are threatening to pop out once again, as he excuses himself and leaves the room to call jack. it takes a moment and he’s back.

“could you put pressure on my lower back?” you ask, gritting your teeth. whitakers is by you in a second, but doesn’t know exactly what to do.

“just place your hands on my lower back. and put a lot of pressure. what’s there to not understand?”

whitaker does as you instruct and you sigh. the pressure feels so good. it’s like someone’s fighting the contractions with you.

there’s a knock on the door and without really waiting for the answer, the person knocking enters. it’s jack. just seeing him makes you feel 100% better. his calm but serious presence making itself known.

“what the fuck, whitaker?” is the first thing he says. the med student jumps away from you, putting his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

“i asked him, jack, let him go,” you say on whitaker’s behalf. he doesn’t need much persuading. jack raises an eyebrow at him and he leaves the room.

“finally, you’re here,” you sigh happily, when jack approaches you.

“yes, i’m here baby,” he says and you lean into him, head resting on his chest, still bent over slightly. his hands are rubbing your back and hips, helping you breathe through the contractions.

a minute later the midwife knocks, asking you if you hadn’t changed your mind about the vaginal exam. you agree to one, now that jack’s here. the midwife greets him and they both help you up on bed for the exam.

“well isn’t it wonderful? you’re about 8 centimeters and looking at the fetal monitor, baby is doing just fine. just hold on a little more while, and you’ll have him here with you.”

“what? more? please no,” you cry and jack bends down to kiss your head.

“don’t kiss me. you did this to me. now i have to push a fucking watermelon out of my vagina,” you scowl at jack and he cannot help himself but smile at your actions.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he says as he’s helping you down from the bed in between contractions, because you cannot bear laying down in this state.

you feel like your abdomen is contracting all the time, giving you no breaks. you walk around the room, jack following you like a puppy, holding your hands or the whole lot of you when you need him, handing you the water bottle when you’re thirsty and popping the green apple bears in your mouth when you’re in need of some quick energy. apparently the others taste like vomit, but not the green bears. he doesn’t comment on that and just hands you more gummies when you ask, like the gentleman he is.

there’s a stage at which you start pleading and protesting, thinking it would get you out of this mess, but it’s too late. you know it, he knows it, but you do it nevertheless. the pain is becoming unbearable, no amount of breathing and moving around helping to ease it.

“fucking kill me. i cannot do it.”

“don’t talk like that, of course you can. look how far you’ve gotten, a little bit more and the baby’s here,” jack tells you reassuringly.

“it’s always ‘a little more’ and never ‘you’re ready to push’ or ‘we can see the head’,” you say with a lot of sarcasm and jack just wanna laugh, but stops himself, when he sees your glare.

a contractions hits you, this one even more intense than the last ones, if it’s even possible and you feel pressure down there. the need to put yourself into it and push a little is surprising, but your body does what it needs without you really controlling it anymore. you feel like your whole body is contracting and helping push out this baby. you lean into the bed, still standing up.

“jack…” you breathe out. “i think i need to push.”

he’s quick in his actions, pressing the call button to alert the midwife who’s taking care of you.

“do you want to go up on the bed?”

“no,” you reply at the same time as the midwife enters the room. you don’t really recognise her presence in the room as you turn more and more inwards, focusing on you and getting this baby out. another contraction washes over you like a ocean wave.

“oh god, it’s coming,” you cry out and you can feel the midwife putting a sheet under you and kneeling down to see what’s going on.

“you’re doing great, doctor, i can already see a bit of the baby’s head. on the next contraction, give me your biggest push.”

you push as hard as you can, jack whispering in your hair how you’re the strongest woman he’s ever met. one of his hands never leaves your lower back and the other is caressing your hair, getting the short ones out of your sweaty face.

“perfect. one more big push and the baby’s here,” the midwife says and you can feel her hands on your lady parts, though you don’t care. it actually gives you a nice sense of where to concentrate all the strength you have left.

and on the next contraction, with jack still whispering encouraging words into your ear, you push so hard, your vision almost goes black. you feel like you’re on fire and are about to blow up. with a loud cry, you give the last push everything you can and somewhere from under you, you can hear the midwife telling you to breathe.

“baby, his head is out, just breathe, you’re doing amazing,” jack repeats her words and when you look at him, you can see tears in his eyes. you don’t ever recall seeing jack crying. you give him a weak smile.

“now we wait for the shoulders. on the next contractions, push just a little and your baby will be here,” the midwife gives you instructions and you can already feel the next contraction building up.

“oh god,” you give into the sensation one last time and suddenly all the pain is away. you feel like every organ in your body dropped back into its original place and relief washes over you. you take in a sharp breath, the euphoria taking over your body.

“congratulations, doctor. your baby boy is here,” the midwife exclaims from underneath you and you feel a sudden urge to hold him. you need to hold your baby now.

“where is he?” you ask with a weak voice. the midwife instructs you to turn around carefully and sit on the bed, as she’s holding the baby boy, because he’s still connected to you by the cord. at the same time jack is helping you undress the hospital gown and before you know it, a warm, little, pink bundle with surprisingly lot of curls, is laid down on your chest, squirming under every touch. you fall in love. hard.

“why is he not crying?” you ask, worry lacing your voice.

“he’s still on the cord, he might not cry until we cut it. it’s perfectly normal,” the midwife says.

“god. baby. he’s perfect, you’re perfect,” jack says from beside you and you finally turn your head to look at him properly. a wide smile is on his face and he’s rubbing his eyes, to stop himself from crying. he’s looking at you wit love in his eyes. like you hung the moon and stars and even more.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude before,” you apologise, raising your hand to touch his face, recalling the things you said. you wipe away a tear that’s streaming down his cheek with your thumb.

“what? i didn’t even notice,” jack brushes you off, his hand caressing your face, before lightly touching the baby’s back. he squirms once again under jack’s touch and for the first time, opens his eyes just a bit.

“he looks just like you,” jack almost whispers.

“what do you mean,” you laugh. “he’s just like you. look at his hair. look how much there is.”

jack looks lovingly at the little bundle in your arms. it’s almost unbelievable. you’ve never seen him so… vulnerable, emotional. yes, he’s been vulnerable with you many times during your relationship, though never like this. something has changed.

“do you want to cut the cord? it’s collapsed,” the midwife says and you want to protest, because you don’t want jack anywhere near your destroyed lady parts, but when you see the excitement in his eyes, you don’t say anything.

she hands jack the scissors and instructs him on where to cut. with a doctor’s precision he cuts through it and immediately after, your son starts to get fussy and lets out his first cry. you feel relief, though you knew he was okay, because you could feel him moving and breathing on you, but the moment you hear his cry, you’re certain.

you feel a slight pressure down there and the midwife says, it’s probably the placenta. when she checks, and is right, she instructs you to give a little push to deliver it. it’s nothing like delivering the baby, but your lady parts have had enough for one day. or so you thought.

“okay, perfect. i’m just gonna do a quick check now and then leave you all three to enjoy each other,” she says. you grimace. are you ever gonna catch a break? jack holds your hand through the whole check up and when the midwife tells you everything is fine and you didn’t even tear, you smile widely.

“you’re a superhero,” jack says with a smile, giving you a quick kiss.

“have you thought of a name for him? or do you need more time?” she asks before leaving the room.

…

all the name choosing was giving him a headache, even after all this time passed. you just couldn’t find a common ground on any of the options.

“jack is a nice name,” he says as a joke, though you take it seriously and glare at his back.

jack is standing by the stove, preparing dinner for the both of you, while you just sit at the table, munching on the green gummy bears you love so much.

“yeah so your ego can go through the roof? i don’t think so,” you say with a drop of sarcasm.

“you don’t like my name?”

“i like your name. but it’s yours. i’m not naming our son the same.”

“why not? i’d name our daughter after you,” he opposes and you laugh at the absurdity of the conversation.

“even i wouldn’t name our daughter after me,” you reply and laugh, chewing off a head of the gummy bear. jack smirks back at you, grabbing two plates from the cupboard, putting the food on them and walking over to the table.

“let’s eat some real food,” he says and puts the plate in front of you. there’s a piece of chicken tender, potatoes and a salad, because jack insists eating green stuff is good for you. duh, why does he think you’re always snacking on the green gummy bears?

“i like aaron. or spencer,” you say.

“you might not name our kid after me. but i’m certainly not naming him after a criminal minds character.”

“why not though?” you pout and poke the chicken with your fork.

“no, way,” jack says with a serious face and you know you’re not getting this idea past him.

“not even derek? you liked derek.”

jack just rolls his eyes and tells you to eat. you stuff your cheeks full of the delicious food he prepared for you.

“what about william?”

“can you stop with the criminal minds characters?”

“what do you mean? i certainly meant prince william.”

“certainly,” jack scoffs with disbelief and laughs at your ideas.

…

“we haven-...”

“yes.” you say at the same time as jack. he looks at you with a surprise in his eyes. he didn’t realise you had decided on a name. even if you did, it was definitely without him knowing. he just hoped it was not a criminal minds character’s name.

“dennis…” jack’s eyes widen at your answer.

“i hope you’re kidding. i’m not gonna name my child after-...” he wants to protest, but you interrupt him, looking him straight in the eyes, deadly serious.

“dennis michael abbot.”

and there it is again. jack’s face soften. he sighs and then nods. “dennis michael abbot it is.”

789 notes View Post

m14mags

8 months ago

Story 12: Chibs/Juice

Summary: Summary: Part of the Three: The Magic Number Series. Reader/OC x 2 of the Sons/Mayans. Purely smut with occasional plot/humor. 18+. Smut below the cut!

Chibs sat sipping whiskey with his eyes closed as he stroked his cock. The sounds of your whines and moans teasing him through the gag in your mouth. He smiled as he heard the sharp sound of a smack and a strangled sob come from you. Opening one eye he took in the sight on the bed. Your expression was one of cock drunkness as drool pooled around the gag and dripped down your chin and neck. Glistening in the light as your head was pulled back farther making you moan. Tears mixed with your makeup running down your face.

You were bound in an intricate display of ropes. Tits bouncing with each powerful thrust of the man behind you. Skin littered with love bites. Ass bouncing back and turning red and blue from Juices hand. Juices breathing was ragged and his thrust were getting sloppy as his release built up. “Chibs” he grunted as the men made eye contact.

“Aye Laddie. I’m ready for my next go” replied Chibs as he stood up and moved towards the bed. Juice came with another deep thrust and smack to your ass that triggered your own release.

“Kitten is soaked” laughed Chibs as he watched a mix of your arousal and their cum flow down your thighs as Juice pulled out of you. Juice planted a kiss to your forehead as he moved to sit in the chair that Chibs had just vacated.

You squirmed trying to get away as you let out desperate please as Chibs slid the tip of his cock through your messy folds. It was too much. Your body couldn’t take anymore.

“Shh, its okay kitten.” Soothed Chibs as he pressed kisses to your back as his hands kneaded your bruised ass cheeks while his cock rested between them. “Been so good for me and Juice. Such a good girl” he cooed as he kept up his gentle kisses and kneading. Feeling your body relax underneath him. “Going to let her rest a bit yeah.” He stated as he rose back up and raised your hip slightly before spreading your ass cheeks open.

“You have another hole we can use” he murmured before spitting on your ass hole and using one of his thumbs to work it in. You whined and you’re back arched at the intrusion. After a few minutes of Chibs loosening you up you felt his cock head start to push in slowly. “Shits just as tight as her pussy” grunted Chibs to Juice who was watching intently as his cock bobbed up and down. He barely gave you a moment once he was completely in before he was fucking you with abandon. His hands keeping you pressed firmly down in the bed as he used you.

Later

“Did so good” whispered Juice as he sat behind you in the tub washing your hair as Chibs fed you pieces of cheese and grapes from the side of it. “Very good love. Just like always” agreed Chibs as you smiled at him.

Return to Masterlist

49 notes View Post

m14mags

3 weeks ago

Jack Abbott x ER paediatrician who is sunshine personified

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Heartbeats and Bombshells

352 notes View Post

m14mags

2 weeks ago

well…yes.

Quiet

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

19.9k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: sick baby; sick mom; mentions of needles; inaccurate medical knowledge/descriptions/tests etc.; reference to past pregnancy; reference to past miscarriages but no graphic descriptions, just a mention they occurred (reader does not actively experience one in the fic); Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of IVs and needle sticks; reader gets an IV and is not afraid of needles; mild description of IV insertion; shy reader; discussion of possible peanut allergy; mentions of covid, influenza a and b and RSV; mom guilt; discussions of loss of spouse; lots of grief and self hate for a bit; Jack is vaguely suicidal and ideating at the beginning; healing; reader and jack are human and not perfect and make mistakes; reader can't cook; baby is a boy but is not named; DOMESTIC JACK

Summary: Widower Jack and widowed single mom Reader meet in the Pitt when Reader's baby gets sick. What follows is healing, patience and becoming ready.

A.N.: Inspired by this ask. This was so inspiring and I went totally off the rails. There will for sure be a part two. I really wanted to do something with Jack being a widower but was unsure of how to. This ask came in and the idea came to me and I felt like it was a good way to work with that piece of him. The beginning is quite emotional, I'm not going to say angst, there's just a lot of emotions and sadness and grief as we define Jack and Reader's reality. I PROMISE that the end gets fluffy and happy and (I hope) funny! Part two will be more fluff with a dash of emotion sprinkled in as we watch their relationship develop and the two get their happily ever after together!

You make it to about ten before you decide to go in. It’s not a long drive and by 10:15 p.m. you’re parked and walking into the ED.

You bite your lip and bounce just a little to help keep him asleep in your arms while the woman behind the plexiglass processes your insurance and co-pay. She gives you a warm smile, says to take a seat and it’ll be just a few minutes and they’ll get you back.

Thanking her you grab your cards and do as she says. You’re surprised by how quiet it is. There’s a few people in the waiting room but it seems more like they’re waiting on people as opposed to be seen. Small mercies, you suppose. You’ll take what you can get.

You can only imagine what you must look like right now, how bad you must look. You wish your husband was here. Wish he had been here for it all. He’d reassure you. Tell you that you were doing the right thing by coming in. Better to be safe than sorry. You can hear him telling you it.

A call of your last name dissolves his voice playing in the back of your head. You follow a nurse back and get settled in a room. All the basics are done, everything you expected. And like you expected the second you set your son down so that his vitals can be taken he starts to cry. It makes you want to cry.

Bridget reassures you that it’s okay, is quick taking his vitals so you can get him back in your arms and calm him. You know you must look like a mess, hair messed up, eyes reflecting how exhausted you are and the lack of sleep, wrinkled clothes that have at least one stain somewhere, probably more. And you’re sure that your face reflects how you feel inside, how frazzled you are, how guilty, how scared, how upset, how sad, how out of control you feel.

Bridget dims the lights for you and leaves you to hold your son against you in the hospital bed. “I’ll have a doctor in as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, “and I’m sorry for being kind of a mess. Well, not kind of at this point.”

She just laughs. “I understand, but trust me, you’re doing just fine.”

You manage to give her a small smile back and nod. She walks out and then it’s just you and your son. Like it always is. Your husband isn’t here, he’s never going to be here. His absence is pronounced as you lay in a hospital bed in an emergency room with your sick nine-month old. You do your best to not think about it because if you do, you’ll lose it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s missing her tonight, more than usual. Maybe it’s not so much that he’s missing her more than usual but he’s more aware of how much he always misses her. It’s more acute. Like some flareup of a chronic illness. Thinking in medical terms helps.

He knows he shouldn’t do that, try to understand it like it’s some illness he can study and understand. It’s just grief. It’s just there more than others some days. Sometimes he can articulate why and others he can’t.

Tonight he can’t.

He bends his thumb inward and puts it on his wedding band, thumbs at it so it rolls around his finger. Nervous habit. That’s what he calls it now. When she was alive it helped ground him, reminded him she was there and he’d be going home to her, could make it through whatever was in front of him. And then she died. So now he tells himself it’s a nervous habit because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to call it.

To those who don’t know him he still looks like a husband subtly using his wedding band to ground himself or remind himself of his wife or because he’s thinking about her and so he’s subconsciously playing with his ring.

If only.

Jack inches a little further and looks down over the ledge of the roof. The ground looks so inviting from the roof sometimes. It would be so simple. He could be reunited with her, if such a thing was real.

Sometimes though he wants to be selfish and not care how she’d feel about it because she, unlike him, isn’t around anymore to feel fucking anything. Sometimes his grief comes out in anger because she got it fucking easy, she didn’t have to lose him, she doesn’t have to be here, doing all this feeling while alone. He always hates himself after that even though his therapist says it’s normal. But he’s stuck here and has to do the feeling because when he tried to bury the feelings he nearly self-destructed.

So Jack stands on the roof. Stands and feels. And Jack is tired. Tired of feeling. At least like this anyway.

He knows she’d hate it, hate him walking off the ledge of the roof so he doesn’t. Not tonight.

Instead he slips back under the guard rail and leans against it, lets his head fall back and the chill in the air bring him back down.

It’s too quiet, he realizes. Maybe that’s why his awareness of how much he misses her is so high right now. He likes noise. Keeps his mind quiet. The Pitt is too quiet. Even the City as he stands on the roof. And so his mind is loud.

It makes him uneasy. There’s always a reason for silence. For quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good.

Jack lets out a heavy sigh and then leaves the roof, heads back down to the Pitt hoping to find something to do. He’ll take anything at this point. “There you are,” Bridget greets him as he walks back in. “Sick nine-month old waiting for you,” she nods at your room, tells him your son’s name, a general overview. “Baby doesn’t seem too bad. Mom is stressed.”

Jack nods, says a quick “thanks,” as starts walking towards your room.

He looks in and sees you through the glass and stops. You are beautiful. Strikingly so. And Jack hasn’t even met you yet but feels like he’s known you forever, is drawn to you. It feels like he just understands you, or maybe more like he knows you’re going to understand him. It’s the strangest feeling.

You start to glance up from looking at your son and Jack quickly resumes moving, knocking slightly on the door since you’ve already seen him and walking in, shutting the door behind him. “Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he introduces himself.

And god, now that he’s in your space, in here with your energy it’s even more intense. It’s like he’s supposed to know you, supposed to have met you. Like some kind of palpable fate in his brain. He briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating because this is not shit he really believes in, not normally.

Quiet, Jack thinks. It always brings something. Or maybe someone.

“I hear we’re not feeling well.” He looks down at your son who is asleep in your arms, head on your chest. “Mom, right?”

You nod, tell him your name. Nearly trip over it because this man is so handsome it is unfair. Then you feel bad the second you have that thought. But then you start to feel pulled to him. He’s just comforting and you struggle to understand how because you don’t know him. It feels like you do, but you don’t. You’re drawn to him. You feel like you actually need to know him. Like he and you are here for a reason.

You immediately chastise yourself for having those thoughts. Your husband, you remind yourself, your husband. He’d have wanted you to move on, to grieve and then find someone. You don’t even have to assume that or just think it. You knew it. You knew it because of that fucking video he left you that you were never supposed to have to see.

You bring yourself back into the present.

“What’s been going on to bring you in?” Jack asks as he logs into the computer and pulls up your son’s chart. He glances over at you and catches a look in your eye. Jack thinks you feel it too. Whatever is between you and him, the connection. It feels like you know it’s there too. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

You tell him what’s been going on, symptoms your son is showing. Jack alternates between typing on the computer and looking at you. “I, um, I called the nurse hotline, you know, on the back of the insurance card before I came in, I really didn’t want to waste your time, I know you guys are so busy. She said that it’s probably okay to wait to get in with the pediatrician, but that if I was concerned I could go to the emergency room and I really tried to wait, I did, but I just, I don’t know. I felt like he sounded more wheezy.” You shrug at him, eyes round and showing how distressed you are, a hint of glass at them that suggests you’re close to tears. “It’s RSV season, you know? I mean I know you know. And god, I don’t want to be like, doctor WebMD or whatever, I trust you and your expertise, it’s just why I came in, they tell you about it so much at all the appointments and I, I don’t want anything to happen to him. But if you think this is too much you can just say and-”

“It’s not too much,” Jack cuts you off, nodding gently. “I promise. Better to be safe than sorry especially if you feel like he’s been a little more wheezy.” You nod at Jack who keeps looking at you intently. It makes you clear your throat and look away. But when he doesn’t say anything after a second you look back up at him. “You did the right thing,” he tells you when he catches your eye contact again. “Can I?” He gestures to your son.

“Oh! Yes, yes of course! Here, let me get out of bed and lay him down.” You give a breathy laugh that reveals how out of sorts you are. You’re clearly thrumming with nervous energy, frenetic and flustered.

“No, it’s okay. You can stay, I’ll take him and get him on the end of the bed if that’s okay?” He holds his hands out to take your son.

“Of course, yeah, whatever is easiest for you and best for him!” You gently pull your son from you and he starts to wake and fuss. “I’m sorry, he hates not being held right now and he hates being held by anyone but me it seems like sometimes, so he might not…” you trail your sentence off when Jack takes your son and he settles against Jack as they walk to the end of the bed. “Settle.” You sit up and cross your legs to give Jack more room. “I guess he likes you,” you laugh softly.

“Good taste in people already,” Jack quips absentmindedly as he lays your son down. You give a soft laugh and the corners of his lips pull up. You get his humor. He likes that. Not everyone does especially when he executes it so stoically sometimes. There really is a draw there.

Your son starts to fuss again and Jack can see you stiffen a little and start to look like you’re about to apologize. “It’s alright, little guy, I’ll have you back to mom soon.” He keeps a hand gently on your son’s tiny stomach and chest while putting his stethoscope on with one hand and rubbing the chest piece on the side of his scrub top for a few seconds to warm it up before putting it to your son’s skin. “I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs in between listens, gently pulling your son up into a sitting position to listen to the back of his chest. “I’m the worst, I know, you can tell me all about it, won’t be the first or the last.”

You sit there watching the whole interaction stunned. You don’t know why, you just never expected to get a doctor who would be so good with your son, with you. There’s something about him. Something you could never hope to articulate. You’re just drawn to him, he feels like some sort of kindred spirit which you tell yourself is crazy because you’ve known the man all of four minutes.

Jack takes his stethoscope out and finishes his exam. “You have his clothes?” He glances up at you as you ask.

“Hm?” You lean in a little towards him. Before he can repeat himself the words process. “Oh, yes!” You grab them from beside you. You’d taken them off earlier with Bridget so she and eventually the doctor could examine your son.

“Thanks.” Jack grabs them from you and gets your son dressed again.

“No, thank you. You… You didn’t have to do that.” The smile you give him almost reads embarrassed.

“Least I could do for upsetting him so much by laying him down.” Jack picks your son up and brings him the few steps back up to you as you stretch your legs out again. Your son has already started to settle in his arms again.

“So,” Jack reaches over for the rolling stool in the room and uses the pressure of his fingertips to slide it over to him before sitting down on it and rolling up to be closer to the midpoint of the bed so you can talk. “You’re right, he’s a little wheezy. Nothing terrible, but it’s there. His fever is still pretty low grade and I saw he’s about due for some acetaminophen, so we can recheck after we give him some more in a bit. Is RSV a possibility? Yes. So is a common cold. So is influenza A or B, so is Covid.” Jack can see you getting more panicky.

“I…” You shake your head and look at Jack. “This is my fault.” Jack furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head a little. “I, I’m a single mom. It’s just him and I and I have to send him to daycare so that I can work and I don’t have any family around to help and I can’t afford a nanny, daycare is expensive as it is and I don’t want to have to send him to day care, even though I know that’s a normal thing and lots of parents do it and are good parents, are great parents, it doesn’t define how good of a parent you are, but I just think in this case, it’s me. I let him get sick. I exposed him. And I never wanted that, I really didn’t I just don’t have other options and it’s so hard and I spent months researching and touring locations to try and find the best one I could afford, but at the end of the day it’s still a cesspool of germs and I don’t know. I know that it’s mom guilt and daycare guilt and I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do and you know, nothing can happen to him.” You hold your son a little closer to you. You know if something happened to him you’d be gone within minutes. “Nothing can happen to him,” you repeat, a murmur.

There’s a small silence and then you look up. “Oh my god,” you look at Jack horrified. “I just dumped that all on you and said all of that out loud. You’re a doctor. A busy doctor in an emergency room, you so do not have time for this, and god, fuck, it’s not even your job to listen anyway. I am so, so sorry.” You fight back tears because you are not doing this, you are not losing it here in an emergency room with your son in your arms. Because if one tear falls all of them will.

Jack can see how you’re trembling. He noticed you were a little when he came in the room, noticed how chapped your lips were.

“Hey, it’s all good.” Jack’s voice is soft and he tries to catch your eye to reassure you more but doesn’t force you when you avoid it. “I have time, you picked a good night, okay? And I know that nothing I can say will help with the guilt and I know you know but this stuff happens. They get sick. You did what you’re supposed to do, brought him in, called the hotline, monitored him closely.” You close your eyes for a second and take in a few breaths. He can tell you need to move on and not dwell here or something will open up that you can’t close and there is nobody who understands that better than Jack. “I don’t think anything is going to happen to him. I’m going to give you some choices, okay?”

You finally look back up at him and nod, give him an apologetic smile. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Jack nods. “First option is we give him some acetaminophen here and keep you guys here for a couple hours to monitor him and see how he does. That’s the least intensive option. Second option is the most intensive option. We test for RSV, rhinovirus, influenza A and B, Covid. That would be a swab test, one for all. We draw some blood and run a few tests just to check on everything. And then we do a chest x-ray to see if anything’s going on. Third option is a middleground. We start with the swab test. If it comes back positive for one we discuss more options. If it comes back negative then maybe we decide to do bloodwork. Choice is yours. None of them are wrong.”

You swallow hard. Your mind races as you try to decide. What if you make the wrong choice and something happens?

“What would you do if he was yours?” You ask Jack, voice so, so small, so scared. Jack barely knows you but his heart aches for you. It’s like he understands you somehow even though he’s not a parent, has no reason to feel such a pull or connection to you.

“Uh, wow, I… I don’t know,” Jack stutters a little because the question throws him so much.

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, you don’t have to answer. I thought maybe you and your wife had kids and maybe that’s inappropriate too, god.” You cringe at yourself. But yeah. You’d noticed the wedding ring when he took your son from you.

“No, no, it’s not inappropriate and we… I,” Jack looks almost pained. It’s familiar, the expression he wears. You feel like you know it well even if you can’t place it in the moment. “No kids,” he finally settles on, “I don’t have any kids. And I can’t say I’ve thought about… this, what I would do before.” He brings a hand up to his head and runs it through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest for a second before moving them back down to rest on his legs. “It’s hard,” he shrugs, and gives you an apologetic look. “The doctor in me who knows all of the possibilities says option two. But the doctor in me also knows that’s probably a bit overkill and that realistically option one is fine, and that option three is the best, that middleground.” He looks away from you and down at your son, studies your little boy whose small hand clings to your shirt. “I can’t say I’ve ever really tried to access the… paternal side of me,” Jack clears his throat, “not in a long time anyway. But I think I’d have to go option two, even though it’s overkill and involves a needle stick. I’d want the reassurance and to see the numbers and images.”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly and look down at your son. “Yeah, I think that’s what I want to do. I just needed, I don’t know. Not permission but… something.” You look back up at Jack and your eyes glaze over a bit. Something he recognizes, something he’s been told happens to him when he talks about his wife. His head tilts slightly at the thought. “Input.” You finally whisper. “I needed input.”

Jack watches your bottom lip tremble and you bite it to stop it from doing so.

Because you don’t have input. Your input is in the ground. Six feet in the ground. You never really go to have any input. Not from the one person whose input mattered most.

And you don’t miss how you feel this connection to Jack and now he’s your input. Guilt and sorrow and grief and some vague flicker of anticipation slam into you. Anticipation is a new feeling, you haven’t had it since you gave birth. Even the way you phrased the question. Not what would he do with his child or if it was his kid here what would he do. No, you’d asked what would he do if your son was his.

You have to stop thinking about it.

Jack leans back a little and runs his palms down his thighs. “Okay, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and put in the orders for the tests and acetaminophen. You can go to x-ray with him and wait behind the door, the rest we’ll do in here. I can swab,” he says with a small smile as he grabs one of the testing kits they have out of the cabinet in the room. He quickly types an order into the computer.“But I’m going to have one of our nurses come and grab some blood. I’d do it but nobody wants that. They’re the best sticks in the place, I promise.” He gives you a small but reassuring smile.

You can’t remember the last time you genuinely felt reassured by anyone’s smile. That’s a lie. You can. It was the last time your husband ever smiled at you. The thought makes the smile you give him in return falter a bit. Jack wonders if he did something. Said the wrong thing.

Your son fusses a bit for the swab, but you’re able to help hold him still so that Jack can get it done as quickly as possible. He settles back easy enough. Bridget walks in with some supplies while Jack continues typing.

Jack was right, Bridget is a fantastic stick and the needle is so small your son makes just a little whimper before resting on you again. You feel bad when you have to wake him a bit to give him the tylenol. His small hands rub at his eyes and he tries to move his head away but you coax him to it so easily, so naturally, Jack thinks to himself. “Thanks Bridget,” he says quietly as she walks out.

“Alright,” Jack says through an exhaled breath as he finishes on the computer. “I’m gonna be honest with you,” he starts as he grabs some hand sanitizer, “I’m more worried about you, mom, than I am about the baby.” He turns to look at you as he sits back down on the stool, tilts his head at you.

You blink at him, like what he said is still processing. “Me?” Jack nods. “I’m fine, I feel fine. I’m just maybe a bit tired because, you know, sick kid but… I’m fine.”

Jack pushes his bottom lip out a little and pulls down, nods just a little. He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. “When’s the last time you ate?”

You look at him again for a moment and for a minute Jack thinks he’s gone too far, overstepped, has been imagining everything he’s felt since he saw you. “Um,” you finally say. He realizes you’ve been trying to think when it was, not that he upset you or anything. “I, I don’t know, probably I had something for lunch, I’m sure.”

“You’re shaking.” Jack points out. You furrow your brows, unsure if he’s right and if he is how he could possibly know that. “Hold out a hand.” You do as he asks and sure enough, you can’t keep it still. “When’s the last time you drank some water?” He gives you a look as he says it and tilts his head at you. “Your lips are chapped. It’s been a bit, I’d guess. You’re dehydrated.”

You look away from him, can’t decide if you’re uncomfortable with his scrutiny or if you kind of like it. It feels wrong to like it.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, okay?” He goes to continue speaking and stops, what he just said hitting him. “I probably shouldn’t have said dick in front of a patient, so I apologize for that,” you laugh at that and shake your head telling him not to. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be doing this by yourself. But you have to take care of yourself for him, and again, I know you know that,” he holds his hands up, “I just wanted to say because I’m sure it’s easy to lose sight of, especially when he’s sick.”

You nod and let yourself look back at him. “Yeah,” you nod. “It is.”

“So, game plan for you is to get some food and water in your system. What do you like to eat?”

“Oh, wow,” you laugh a little. “Dr. Abbot, that is-”

“Jack,” he interrupts you to tell you, “call me Jack.”

“Uh, okay. Well, Jack, that is very kind of you but I’ll be okay, and I can grab something once we get home. I will grab something.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “Promise.”

Jack shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “No, you’re going to be here too long for that to be a deal. Between the x-ray and blood test results and monitoring him. Food and water or I’m going to create a chart for you and give you an IV.” He shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s something he would do for any patient.

You both know he wouldn’t.

In part because having this much time is a rarity, beyond a rarity even. In part because any patient isn’t you.

You open your mouth to speak a couple of times and then close it again. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Great,” Jack smiles at you. “What do you like to eat?”

You look at Jack and you look so overwhelmed he starts to feel bad. “Jack, I, honestly?” you laugh, “I have no fucking idea. Like none. I don’t remember, I don’t have the ability to even pick.” You’re still laughing because it’s so fucking ridiculous. A simple question. And yet you can’t answer it.

There’s a sorrow to your laugh that resonates with Jack. It sounds familiar. Sounds like his laugh sometimes.

“Alright, well,” Jack laughs a little with you, keeps it light, “I’d say I can work with that but I think it’s really more like I’m gonna have to work with that.”

You shake your head and cringe at yourself. “You must think I’m a disaster. God, I’m sure I look like one.”

Jack presses his lips together and squints a little, shakes his head. “I don’t think either, nor is either true.”

Jack leans back and it stretches his shirt against his chest, pulls it tauter. The outline of two familiar pieces of metal and rubber silencers becomes visible, just for a second. You’d been feeling a little better. Now you’re about to be sick. About to lose it.

Your smile falls, and Jack furrows his brows, goes to ask if you’re okay.

“Do you have dog tags in your pocket?” You glance down at his chest pocket.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I do.” If Jack had stopped right there you would have been fine. You would have been able to breathe through it, shut yourself down emotionally, and kept it all in. But he doesn’t. And you’re exhausted and your baby is sick and your husband is dead.

Jack pulls them out of his pocket and flashes them at you. Quickly, but long enough.

Jack knows something is wrong based on the look on your face and the way you stare at his dog tags and then his chest pocket when they’re back away. You start shaking your head, squeeze your eyes closed. “Hey,” Jack starts softly.

You shake your head faster, try to say something but all that comes out is a soundless sob as you devolve into tears. Quiet ones because your son is asleep in your arms but big wracking ones nonetheless.

It clicks into place. The draw to you. Feeling like he understood you and you him. Recognizing the way your eyes glazed over just slightly. The familiar sorrow to your laugh.

You’re a widow too.

And if Jack was a betting man he’d put a whole lot of money on your husband being deployed when you lost him.

Jack’s up quickly, grabbing the box of tissues and setting them on the bed near you while reaching for your son wordlessly, only a nod and gentle motion of his hands to offer. You’re torn between whether having your son out of your arms will help or hurt, but you know it’s not fair to him and that eventually he’ll wake up because of your sobs, no matter how quiet you are.

Jack takes him from you and sits back down in one of the chairs this time, pulling it over to be closer to the bed and kicking the stool out of the way. Your son stays asleep as Jack settles him on his chest. He feels a bit cooler too, Jack notes.

“I’m so, sorry,” you choke out quietly between sobs, “you can give him back and go, this is, this is not your problem to deal with.” Jack doesn’t reply, just nudges the tissues closer to you.

And so you keep crying. And Jack keeps holding your son.

Eventually you cry yourself out and are so numb you’re left with just shame and embarrassment for doing this here, in front of Jack and your son.

As the sniffles stop, you try to look at Jack but are too embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll take him back and you can go.”

Jack stands up and hands you your son back. A wave of relief and calm washes over you at having his familiar weight back in your arms and on your chest. But there’s a pang of sadness too, you really thought Jack might stay. You don’t know why you care.

But Jack surprises you, sits back down and pulls his phone out for a second, sends off a couple of messages. He turns his attention back to you. “I’m gonna stay for a bit. The uh,” he struggles to find a word that won’t jinx everything, “patient census,” he makes a face when he says it like he can’t believe he just said those words, “is low tonight. I have time.” He lets out a long breath through his nose. “And you have nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head slowly as he speaks.

You give him a slight smile at patient census and the look he pulls, a little nod and he doesn’t push for more. He gives you time.

But after a while he puts it out there so you know that you can. “You wanna talk about it?”

You look at him and see understanding, feel like you’re really being seen for the first time since your husband died and you don’t know why Jack is the one.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Shrug at him with a watery smile. “I don’t know how to.”

Jack nods slowly. Pauses for a moment and takes in a big breath he lets out, a little shaky. A shaky you feel like you recognize. “My wife died five years ago, so when I say I know what you mean, I promise I really do.”

You shut your eyes and grimace as it all falls into place. The connection you felt with him. The pull. Why he makes you feel seen.

“God I am so sorry, when I asked earlier, about kids and if you and your wife had any, I just thought with the ring, god I of all people should know better than that.” You shake your head at yourself.

“You had no way of knowing,” Jack shakes his head. He looks down at his ring. Then to your ring finger which is empty. That deep set confliction and need to explain starts to rise. “I still wear it because… I think… It’s-”

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. Not to anyone, and certainly not to me.”

Jack nods. You sit in the quiet for a few minutes.

“I would probably still have mine on, but,” you sigh, “I guess it requires more backstory.” You pause to collect yourself. “Long story short is he was in the army. Scheduled to be deployed. Really short one. He was done after it too. Would have been out.” You take in another shaky breath. “We’d been trying for a baby for a while. I kept miscarrying. Little under two weeks before he was leaving I found out I was five weeks pregnant. And this one felt different. I had morning sickness. There was so much cautious optimism and he hated that he had to leave but he was supposed to be back in time for birth as long as everything went as planned.” You shrug. “He died when I was ten weeks pregnant.”

Jack closes his eyes at that. His heart aches for you in the way only someone whose heart has been through that same loss can.

“Yeah, pretty fucking sick of the universe. The one time I keep the pregnancy I lose the husband.” You wipe at your eyes with the tissue in your hand. “Anyway, late pregnancy my hands swelled up. Rings didn’t fit. I had to take them off. And once I had him and knew they would fit again I couldn’t bring myself to slide them back on. He was supposed to be the one to do that, you know?” Jack nods. He gets it. “So I think that’s probably the only reason I’m not still wearing mine.”

“It’s not been five years though,” Jack points out.

“There’s no timeline on when to be ready and take them off. I’m the newbie to the widow game here, but even I know that.” You give him a lopsided smile and Jack lets out a little laugh.

“No timeline to any of it.” Jack offers. You raise your brows and lower them, nod as to wordlessly say true.

You’re interrupted by Bridget bringing in some water and food for you. It’s obvious something has happened between the two of you and that you’ve been crying. “There’s an incoming,” she says quietly to Jack. “ETA four. We need you.” He nods.

Bridget steps out and Jack stands up, puts the chair back and looks back at you, rolls his eyes. “Patient census comment coming back to bite me in the ass. Shoulda known better.”

You let out a small laugh. “I thought it was very Scottish Play of you.” Jack smiles at you. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” He walks over to the door and puts his hand on the door handle, pauses, thinking.

Jack turns back to look at you. “What’s done cannot be undone,” he says with a little smirk.

You laugh almost properly at that. It makes you feel, maybe not totally happy, but okay. It’s been a while since you’ve felt either.

“Oh wow, okay, well go get ‘em Lady Macbeth.” Jack laughs softly, more of just a smile with some air breathed out of his nose as he shakes his head a little at you.

He doesn’t say to eat and drink the water and that he’ll be back to check on you. He doesn’t need to. You know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks pass. Your son recovers without incident. You can’t stop thinking about Jack. Jack can’t stop thinking about you. He has to talk himself out of looking up your info in your son’s chart and going to stop by and make sure your son recovered okay.

You get sick. Really sick. You finally get your son down for a nap and stare at the piece of paper Jack had given you as you left.

“Here,” Jack hands you a slip of paper with his name and number written on it. “If you ever need anything, call me, okay? If you need help fixing something at home or someone to watch the baby for an hour so you can grab a shower, or for however long it takes you to get your hair done, or whatever. Don’t hesitate to call.” Jack swallows. He doesn’t know how this part is going to go. “Or, you know… just call me.”

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Oh, wow,” you laugh nervously, “wow Jack, I am so flattered, truly. But I just,” you look away from him, suddenly somehow even more shy, like the man hasn’t seen you sobbing and snotty and is still interested in you. “I’m not ready. I don’t know when-”

“That’s okay,” Jack nods, “I just wanted to put it out there. But still. I want you to call if you need something, okay? I respect your answer and so if you call I’m not going to expect anything or badger you about it or try and force it on you. I just want to help.” He looks to the side for a moment and then back at you. “One vet helping an active.”

You feel so bad about it, are so conflicted. But you could really, really use some help. So you text him, tell him it’s you.

You - Are you at work?

J - No.

J - Everything okay?

You - Did you just get off work?

J - No, string of off days.

You chew your lip as you pull up his contact and stare at the number. You just tap randomly at your phone and let the universe decide. If it calls him then it calls him, if it doesn’t then it wasn’t meant to be.

It calls him.

“Hey,” he picks up on the first ring, sounds concerned, “you okay? Baby okay?”

You clear your throat and he can already hear it, is already standing up to throw on some real clothes and grab supplies. “Baby’s great.” He cringes at how bad you sound. If you feel as bad as you sound he’s genuinely astounded by how you’re taking care of a now ten-month old while being so sick. “Me, not so much. You said to call and I… I didn’t want to and I know this is so unfair, but I don’t have anyone else and I could just really really use an hour to get a shower and tidy a few things up.”

You need more than an hour to shower and tidy up, you need to sleep for as long as you can, Jack thinks to himself. “Text me your address.”

There’s a beat of silence. “You sure?” You ask him, give him an out.

“Positive. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Within the hour.”

“Okay.” It’s so quiet he almost misses it. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Text me, okay?”

“Yeah.” You hang up and do so.

Jack stops by the hospital before he comes over, grabs a couple bags of saline, a couple of banana bags, and a few IV kits, tosses them in his backpack. Tells a raised eyebrows and confused Robby to tell Gloria to bill him for it and he’ll bill the hospital for the use of his supplies and tech during Pitt Fest before walking out.

Then he stops by a grocery store, picks up some food and over the counter meds and then he’s on his way to you.

The knock on your door startles you even though you know it’s just Jack. You open it and his eyebrows raise as he takes you in. You look like death warmed up. Maybe not quite that bad but Jack’s judgment of that is skewed because it’s you and he doesn’t like seeing you sick he has decided.

“Hi,” you whisper as he walks in. “He’s down in his room, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the monitor while I shower and then I’d really love to just tidy up a bit.” You move your hand to reference your living room and kitchen, both visible with the open floor plan. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry about that too, it’s normally not this bad.”

Jack takes the space in. It’s not even that bad. It’s very sick single mom with a baby. Not dirty, just cluttered. He notes the sparse decoration, wonders if you moved after your husband died. “It’s really not that bad,” he tells you softly and takes the baby monitor from you. “Come here.”

He steps towards you and you freeze, not sure of what to do. He just raises his hand and puts the back of it to your forehead. Jack flashes you a concerned look. “You’re burning up. Easily 102.”

You try to laugh it off but it just triggers a coughing fit. “I’m fine, it’s okay-”

“No,” Jack says firmly. “It’s really not.” He walks over to your couch and sets his bag down, slides the baby monitor into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a forehead thermometer and nods at the couch, asking you to sit down.

You hesitate for a second, feel like this is too much and he’s doing too much and you should say he can leave, that he should go. But instead you go and sit on the couch.

Jack scans your forehead and frowns when he looks at it. “102.8.” His eyes flick to yours and he can see you going to say something, and he knows it’ll be something like you’re fine or it’ll come down. “Look,” he turns the thermometer around so you can see the reading. “The light is red. There’s a frowning face. So please don’t say it’s okay and you’re okay.” His words are firm but compassionate and he isn’t condescending at all.

“Well, once you leave if he’s still asleep, I’ll try to grab some rest.” You give him a weak smile. “Promise.”

“Oh no,” Jack shakes his head. “No way. If I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t have supplies with me, you’d be going to the ED.” He starts looking through his bag.

“Jack, this is really nice of you but unnecessary.” His eyes snap back to yours when he hears his name come off your tongue. He likes it. Too much. You said no, that you weren’t ready. But Jack can’t help how he feels, only on how he acts on those feelings.

He ignores your protests. “Plan of care is to have you shower if you’d like. Cool, please. And then I’m going to give you some meds, get an IV in you and a banana bag going and you’re going to go sleep.”

“I, I really think just a shower and some tidying will help me feel much better.” Another half hearted protest. It feels good to have someone want to take care of you. To have a man want to take care of you. To have Jack want to take care of you. Those are all feelings you haven’t felt in a while, and they’re from Jack Abbot. And a piece of you hates yourself for that, especially when your eyes wander to the folded American flag displayed on a shelf.

Jack tracks your eyes to it. “I’m not trying to overstep,” he starts to explain, “just, you’re a lot sicker than you think.”

“No, no, I know that, and you’re not, I’m just not used to it.” You try to find the word but it’s hard. “The attention, I guess. Or maybe the help. Pregnancy and labor and birth and coming home with a newborn while recovering were all alone, so it’s just… strange.”

Jack shuts his eyes and lets out a breath. His heart hurts because he knows what that kind of alone feels like. He knows how hard it can be to survive and live with. And he’s never had to experience alone everything that you have. He hates that you were alone. He’s even more in awe of you, honestly, that you were able to. There’s a sense of pride too, one he knows he has no business having.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I really don’t-”

“I know that, Jack, I promise and you’re not, I’m just.” You shake your head and look away for a second. “A mess,” you laugh softly, manage to not trigger a coughing fit.

Jack shakes his head a little. “You’re sick.”

You shrug, take in as deep a breath as you can. “Okay,” you nod. He knows you’re acquiescing in his treatment plan.

“Good.” Jack pulls his stethoscope out of his bag. “You mind if I listen to your lungs before you shower? Just to have a before and try to get a read on what it might be.”

You nod at him. Jack places his stethoscope on your chest, is careful to hold it so that his hand doesn’t come into contact with you because he knows he already expressed interest and that you’re not ready and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s using this as some weird chance to touch you or make you uncomfortable. “Deep breath.”

Jack walks you through all the deep breaths he needs, frowning to himself a bit and not pressuring you when the deep breaths trigger your cough and he has to wait a minute to continue. The first time it happens his other hand automatically raises to go and rub your back but he catches it in time.

You don’t acknowledge it, don’t want to draw attention to it and in part don’t know how to react to it but you appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. He’s a gentleman. It’s nice and you really try to let yourself have that and let it feel nice without berating yourself over it feeling nice. But something feeling nice is so foreign and somehow feels so wrong. Like nothing should ever feel nice again because your husband isn’t here.

“Yeah, those are junky,” he mutters as he puts his stethoscope back in his bag. “Wish I had brought a breathing treatment for you.” He looks like he’s thinking about how he could get one here. He pulls his focus back. “Shower?”

You nod, stand up and start walking towards your room. “Hey Jack?” Jack looks up at you with raised eyebrows, body tensing just slightly like he’s ready to run towards you. “Thank you. And um, make yourself at home and help yourself to anything. I don’t know how much there is, but what’s there is yours.” You give a little nod and turn and walk off before he can say anything.

Once he hears the shower running Jack takes a better look at the place. He finds it strange how certain parts feel like you but the overall place doesn’t in a way. It feels like someone scared to settle in, scared to make this space their own. It feels like his first apartment after his wife died did for a long time.

He starts to tidy up, it’s really nothing major. He puts toys in the little toy bin you have, places the baby books on the floor on the bottom storage space of the table. He picks up the baby blankets and onesies laying around that he’s guessing need washed, sets them in a pile on a counter. He does the same kind of stuff in the kitchen, just picks up, wipes down. Again, nothing is dirty. It’s lived in. It’s a sick single mom with a baby who sets down an empty water bottle or paper plate and forgets to throw it away. He loads the dishwasher with the bottles and few plates and utensils in the sink. He’s not sure if what’s in there is clean or dirty but it’s fine, if it’s clean it can just get washed again. He waits to start it though, makes a note to do so later once you’re out of the shower and the hot water has had time to build back up just in case your water heater isn’t great.

You let yourself stand under the water for longer than you probably should. You try to keep it cool like Jack said, but at some point right before you get out you let it get really, hot, just need to feel it, feel a little sterilized almost. You think about how Jack is here and doing all of this for you and what would your husband think and does this make you a bad wife. You try to get yourself to believe that your husband would be happy you’re getting help, would be happy Jack is a veteran and that you’re not a bad wife because your husband told you he wanted you to move on and find someone and it’s not like it happened yesterday. It’s been over a year.

Once you’re out you slip on some modest pajamas, deal with your hair and put some lotion on your face, brush your teeth. You feel a little better, only because you feel clean, but still.

Jack gives you some time once he hears the shower turn off. After a bit he knocks on your door and clears his throat. “Hey, um, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to start the IV out here in the living room or in your room.”

Your chest clenches for a moment. You hadn’t even really thought about what it would mean for him to start it in here, just kind of assumed he’d come in and do it. But it means there would be another man in your bedroom. A man who is not your husband.

He gives you a moment to decide because he knows the magnitude of the question he asked.

You’re at war with yourself, but you know it’ll be better to have him do it here and have him figure out a way to get the bag to hang. “Um, you can do it in here, I guess. Unless you’d prefer to do it out there.”

“Wherever is best for you.” There’s a pause as Jack waits for you to come over and open the door. You’re so zoned out sitting on the edge of your bed you don’t even realize. “Should I come in?” He finally asks gently.

“Oh! Oh yes!” The way you breathe in at surprise and almost startle at having your zoned out thoughts interrupted makes you start coughing, so Jack slowly opens the door, trying to give you time to change your mind, walks in and over to you with his supplies just as slowly.

He sets some stuff out next to you. “Shower help?” He cringes internally the moment he says it, hopes it doesn’t make it seem like he was thinking about you in the shower.

“Yeah. Feeling clean has helped I think.” You watch as he gets everything ready. He has big hands, long and thick fingers that should make working with small pieces of medical equipment a bit difficult but they’re so dexterous and he has so much control over them that it’s not. Once you catch yourself daydreaming about his hands you look away, shame and guilt washing over you.

“Take these, please,” Jack says softly, handing you a few pills and holding an open bottle of water. You nod and do as he asks. “Good gi-” He stops before he can finish, some pink flooding his cheeks. It’s adorable, you think. He’s adorable and he’s trying so hard to respect you and just be here as a friend helping you out. You also think about the reaction you know you’d have had if he finished the sentence. More shame and guilt.

“How do you sleep?” Jack asks as he finishes setting the supplies for an IV up and kneels in front of you. You furrow your brows at him. “So I can put the IV in a good spot!” He rushes to explain. “Like if you sleep on your side I’ll put it on the top arm.”

“Oh.” You think about it and tell him.

“Hand please.” He points to the correct one and you offer him it. “Hands hurt more but it’ll be the best for sleeping. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me doing it.” He pulls a pair of gloves on. They fit nice and tight. Once he gets a tourniquet in a slip knot nice and tight around your arm he has you make a fist.

You shake your head at him as you watch those long and dexterous fingers run over and feel the back of your hand a veins beneath your skin. Satisfied he found a good one he opens the alcohol swab and wipes the back of your hand, lets it dry for ten or so seconds while he grabs the needle introducer. He feels for the vein again and looks up at you. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You nod at him.

He’s quick with it. You like the expression of intense focus he gets as he does it. “Okay,” he draws the word out a little, slips off the tourniquet. “Needle is out,” he places a tegaderm dressing over it, “and we’re good.” He looks up at you. “You okay?”

“Barley felt it,” you murmur.

Jack gives a little laugh. “It’s okay, you can be honest. My pride can take it.” You just give him a look. “I’m gonna flush it. Some burning and maybe a weird taste.” He doesn’t explain much, knows you almost certainly had one when you gave birth.

He does and then stands up, looks around near the head of your bed. “I think I still have a really old coat rack in the spare room,” you volunteer, knowing he’s looking for a way to hang the bag.

“That would be perfect,” he nods at you.

“Second door on the left when you walk out.”

Jack steps out. He already knew that through process of elimination but he doesn’t tell you that. He went to the bathroom while you were in the shower, placing his ear by each door to figure out which room was the nursery. Left one room to be the spare room.

He brings it in and gets it set up. You offer him a hanger to place the bag on and he smiles at you. You give him a little one back.

Jack puts on a different pair of gloves and sanitizes everything before spiking the bag and priming the line. He hooks it up to your IV and sets the drip rate, keeps it fast enough to get what you need into you but slow enough so that you hopefully won’t have to wake up to go to the bathroom for a while because he knows you’ll likely fight going back to sleep.

“You need something to help you sleep?” He asks, a touch of concern in his tone.

“I think I’ll manage.” You give him another weak smile.

“Figured,” he nods. He grabs everything off the bed making sure to keep track of where the used needle is and then walks to your door. “Rest well.” He nods at you again and then steps out, closes the door behind him quietly.

You let yourself settle into bed, feel your heart slam against your chest with every beat as emotions whirl through you. Guilt, for having some kind of feelings towards Jack, for asking Jack to do this, for not being there with your son, shame, grief, embarrassment, anger at yourself for quite literally everything, and the faintest glimmers of hope, happiness, contentedness and a kind of longing which are all new and in turn fill you with fear.

You’re right though, you do manage to fall asleep. And fast. There are a few times you think you hear your son crying but it stops quickly so you don’t fully wake up. Another few times where you swear you hear someone in the room with you and them whisper “it’s just me, go back to sleep,” when they notice you stirring. If they’re real you let yourself listen to them and drift back asleep.

Jack is surprised at how long you sleep. He thought for sure with all the fluids he has been giving you that you’d wake up to go to the bathroom, but that must be how tired you are. He lets you sleep. You need it. And for whatever reason he really, really cares about you and doesn’t like seeing you sick. It worries him, if he’s honest with himself. Seeing you sick. He worries about you.

When you do wake up it is because you have to pee. You turn the lamp on to get there and close your eyes and flinch away from it until they adjust more. It starts to come back. The IV. Jack. Jack watching your son. You grab the bag of saline and go to the bathroom before walking out of your room. You have to stop at the doorway because it’s so fucking bright, let your eyes adjust.

It makes you realize how fucked up your sense of time is. You have no idea how long you were out and you hope you hadn’t been keeping Jack a prisoner in your place for too long.

When you walk into the living room Jack is on the floor with your son, some soft blocks knocked over the floor, your son on his back and cooing up at Jack, giggling like babies do at Jack every time Jack leans down over him and tickles his belly with one of Jack’s large hands and makes a funny noise at him. There’s a dirty diaper on the floor next to Jack, empty bottle on the table.

“You slept well, didn’t you little man?” Jack sits him up and keeps a hand on him, your son pretty good at sitting up by himself but still getting the full hang of it. Small hands reach out for Jack, trying to pull him close. “Oh yeah, and now you’ve had a bottle and have even more energy to burn, huh?” Your son giggles again as Jack takes him into his lap as he straightens his legs and rests your son’s feet on one of his thighs so that he can bounce as Jack supports him to keep him standing.

It’s the cutest scene. It’s so adorable your heart aches. It’s all you ever wanted for your son. And that’s why your heart shatters at the same time. Because your son doesn’t have it. Not normally. Your son doesn’t have a father. You don’t have a husband, the person you should be doing this with. This scene is a total one-off, a byproduct of you being sick and needing help. You appreciate Jack and all he’s done and how he’s being with your son but that’s supposed to be your husband.

That’s supposed to be your fucking husband on the floor with your son and it’s not.

It’s Jack.

It’s Jack and you don’t hate it.

Quite the opposite. You like the sight. Would like to see it again. Would like to see Jack again. And that makes you feel a little sick and a lot guilty. But you don’t stop liking it or wanting to see it and Jack again. You tell yourself you don’t though, that you don’t want to see it again and don’t want to see Jack again. You lie to yourself. The turmoil threatens to tear you in two.

You wipe a few tears away silently and then sniffle to announce your presence. You can get away with it because you’re sick. “Hey,” you say softly, make a face and try to clear your throat. “I’m sorry I feel like I probably slept longer than I meant to.” Clearing your throat didn’t help. You still sound awful, your voice totally going.

Your son squeals when he sees you, arms reaching for you already. You smile down at him. “Hi baby,” you greet him in the best voice you can manage, grab him from Jack. “How’s my boy?” You tickle his tummy because you don’t want to kiss him and get him sick and it makes him squeal again and babble at you.

Jack stands up and you notice there’s something off about the way he does, just slightly. You wonder if he suffered a back or hip injury while serving. He clamps the saline bag all the way and removes it from your IV so that you’re free. “What time is it? I hope I haven’t kept you here too long.”

Jack looks at his watch. “9:17.”

You blink at him for a moment. The sun filtering in through the curtains assures you he means in the morning. You make a face like you’re trying to pour through past memories. “What time did I make you come over? It must have been so early, I, I didn’t even realize I’m so sorry.”

Jack smiles as he steps around you and goes to set the bag on the counter, throw the diaper away and the bottle in the sink. He turns back around and leans against the counter, holds onto the edge of it with his hands. He already knows you’re going to freak out.

“First, you didn’t make me come over yesterday. Pretty hard for anyone to make me do something anymore. Second, I got here sometime around 4.” Your confusion deepens. “P.m. Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You look at him, stricken. “Oh my god, Jack, I am so so sorry! You should have woken me! I genuinely never meant to steal this much time from you and keep you hostage here, I am so sorry, I-”

“Hey, hey,” he steps closer to you but doesn’t touch you. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be apologizing for. I know I could have woken you and I never felt hostage here. I was okay with it.” He gives you a reassuring smile.

You shake your head at him a little. “God, where did you even sleep? That awful couch? I know how bad it is, I’m so- I feel terrible.”

“Don’t,” Jack laughs softly. “I promise you I have slept on much, much worse. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t…” You trail off because you haven’t really stopped to evaluate that. “Better I guess. Still sick but not as bad, at all.”

“Good.” He takes another step closer and holds his hand up, gestures to your forehead. “Can I?”

You nod, still lost in thought and shocked about how you could have slept that long. “Good, fever’s still down. It broke during the night.” Your son reaches for Jack’s hand, one of his small hands wrapping around one of Jack’s large fingers. Jack lets him keep it and play with it, but steps back a little. “Shit, I promise I only went in there to change your bag and take your temperature with the thermometer.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. You hadn’t even thought to care about him coming into your room when you were asleep, hadn’t even realized that could be a line he might have crossed. “I just feel so bad.”

“Please try not to.”

“I have to, you have to let me at least make you breakfast or something! You just watched my baby overnight for me.” You nod. “Yeah, let me make you breakfast, please.”

“I’d like that,” Jack nods slowly, face pulling into a knowing look with a little smile because you’re adorable and going to be upset. “But I don’t think that’s going to work,” he shakes his head and then gently nods at the refrigerator. You know there must be nothing in it.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You turn your head and rest your cheek on the top of your son’s head as you try and think. He continues to coo and babble away, at Jack now, whose finger he still holds on tight to. Jack makes a little face of surprise and noise at him and your son laughs.

“Let me order something then, yeah?” You offer. You watch as Jack argues with himself in his head. Part of him wants to say no, he should get it for you, for no real reason other than he wants to take care of you, and part of him wants to say yes because he knows it’ll make you feel better. “Please.”

“Alright,” he finally nods.

“Okay, great!” You start looking around for your phone and find it plugged in and charging. It hits you then. How clean and tidy the place is. “Oh my god,” you mumble.

“What?” The alarm in his voice is clear.

“You cleaned.” You look around more. A laundry basket of folded onesies and blankets and other baby clothes on the loveseat. “You did laundry.”

The realization sends you over some ledge you didn’t realize you were standing on. Your heart races. Your feelings are too conflicted. There’s too much turmoil. You know this is normal, have read about it, spoken to other widows who described what it was like to start dating again, start falling for someone. And you’re really starting to personally get it now.

You don’t know what to do with it. And you know you’re not ready for it. But you can’t lie about it to yourself anymore and pretend that Jack doesn’t give you new feelings that you haven’t had in a long time and that you don’t want to let yourself feel them or at least try. Can’t lie to yourself that you don’t want to try and be ready for it.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Jack says quietly, unsure of what exactly your reaction means. While he’s also a widow it’s a bit harder for him to put himself in your shoes. He didn’t have a baby to need help with while trying to grieve and find a new normal.

“No, it’s not that.” Tears hit your eyes and you close them, hate that they’re happening. It’s the emotional overwhelm you tell yourself. The having someone do something nice for you. The having to accept help. The new feelings. So many new feelings from one man.

But you know yourself well enough to know that it’s also the wanting, despite how much you try to bury it and lie to yourself. The wanting to let yourself give in to those new feelings. Wanting to let yourself enjoy the new feelings. Enjoy Jack.

“Let me,” you hear Jack whisper, feel his hands get closer to you to grab your son who laughs in excitement at the prospect of being in Jack’s arms.

You keep your eyes closed and then turn before you open them, walk over to get a tissue and dab at them. “It wasn’t too much.” You’re speaking to Jack but keep your back to him because you’re not sure how you’ll react if you turn around and look at him. “It’s just really hard. Everything is so fucking hard. Every second of every day is an emotion, every second requires feeling.” Jack understands that one too well. “And you get used to that. The emotions, the feelings become familiar. Because they’re constant. You know what they are, what to expect. You know the feelings. They hurt so, so bad, but eventually you realize that not having them would hurt more. Would be scarier. Because they’re your normal, they fill that void in your heart. What would you be without them almost controlling your life? And then one day a new emotion, a new feeling creeps in. And it’s paralyzing. You think it hurts worse in some way than not having the familiar feelings would, but you don’t know because you never get a second to not fucking feel. And it’s because it’s new and you don’t know what to do with this new feeling and it throws everything off and is another change and because it almost always feels so wrong, to let yourself feel something new, especially if it’s a good emotion. And I know you know this Jack, I know you know exactly how I feel, exactly what it’s like. I know you get me. I know you understand. And I like that. I think part of me needs that. To move on or whatever you want to call it.”

Jack’s heart rate ticks up. This is not at all where he thought this conversation was headed.

You take in a deep breath and squeeze the tissue in your hand before turning to look at the unfairly attractive and smart and funny and caring and playful and stoic and dry humored and witty and kind doctor holding your son.

“You make me feel so many new things Jack. So many things I never thought I’d feel again. So many things I swore to myself I would never feel again.” You swallow hard. “And I don’t know what to do with them. They paralyze me. Not for long because they send me straight back to guilt and shame and grief, right back to those familiar feelings. I don’t know how to have these new feelings you give me anymore. At some point I lost that. So I don’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Jack’s numb. Frozen. He’s not sure what this means. He understands you because the first time he started dating and was attracted to someone he’d gone through the same thing. It was hard at first. To not feel guilty. To not revert back to the emotions you know well. He’s not sure what to say. He goes to say that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to cause you distress and will go but you start talking again.

“But fuck Jack, I want to. I didn’t want to admit it to myself because it feels so wrong and because it’s scary and hard and makes me feel like a terrible wife sometimes. But I do. I want to know how to handle you and all the new feelings you give me, Jack.” His eyebrows raise slowly, his focus staying on you as your son starts to mouth on his finger getting saliva all over it, not phased in the slightest. “It’s just going to take time. I don’t know how much time. And I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask to wait for some unknown period of time.”

“You’re not asking,” Jack says quickly before you can get out another sentence. “You’re not asking me to. I want to. But only if you want me to. You said that you weren’t ready, and I respect that. And you have to know that I didn’t come over here to help, or do laundry or tidy up because I was trying to pressure you or make you feel something or make you be ready or for anything other than just to help as a kind-of friend. You have to promise me that you know that.”

“I do,” you tell him softly. “I promise.” You give a small laugh and little smile. “I think that’s actually the part that made me realize I couldn’t keep lying to myself that you didn’t give me new feelings and that I didn’t want to feel them. That I know you came here just because you wanted to help, help me, my son and my husband. And I know you did the laundry and tidied and stayed overnight to watch my baby so I could sleep just because you’re kind, and you saw it needed done so you did it, which is so army of you by the way, and not because you wanted it to mean something or make me feel bad for not being ready or pressure me or any other possible reason. You just… wanted to help.”

Jack smiles at that. Really, fully smiles and fuck if it isn’t one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. You smile back at him. It’s clear that nothing more needs to be said. You both know that you’ll work on being ready and learn how to feel and how to handle it all and Jack will wait.

“I never said I was army.” He smirks at you.

“Didn’t have to.” You give him a small smile. Even after this you’re still so shy.

You go and grab your phone. “What does that mean?” He asks, tracking you with his eyes.

“What would you like to eat?” You ignore him. You know already that it’ll wind him up.

“No, what does that mean? I have a tell?” You shrug at him. He narrows his eyes at you playfully.

“No,” you say as you hand him your phone so he can pick something and order and take your son from him. “It means you have a recognizable backpack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time goes on. You get better. You and Jack grow closer. You keep going to therapy, keep working on processing and figuring out how to handle the new feelings, how to stop feeling so guilty. Jack waits. Patiently. Never an ounce of pressure on you. He’s always so respectful, goes to great lengths to be so, immediately apologizes if he oversteps. And he does a couple of times because he’s human and nobody is perfect. But it’s okay.

Jack’s injury comes out over breakfast that morning when he apologizes for having his shoes on in the house. You hadn’t even really noticed, too sick for it to register. He doesn’t tell you much about it which you respect and he’s grateful when you don’t push for more. That’s something he guesses he’s not ready for with you. Isn’t sure why though. He brings it up with his therapist.

Jack is over more and more often. At first it’s to check on you and make sure you’re getting better because your cough lingers. And then somewhere along the lines it just became a thing. Normal. Normal for you to see him more days than not during the week. Normal for him to put your son down for the night. Normal for him to sleep in the spare room. Normal for him to cook for you and help feed your son. Normal for him to keep spare bottles of toiletries in a bin under the guest bathroom sink. Normal for black scrubs that didn’t get god knows what on them to be washed with onesies and blankets.

Normal for him to bring five epi pens, multiple vials of epi, syringes with needles, an infant intubation kit and a cric kit to your house when you decide to introduce peanuts to your son.

That one had gotten him an attempted, and skillfully dodged, third degree interrogation from Dana and Robby.

You don’t touch. Not at all, save when your fingers brush if you hand each other something or when you take your son from him or vice versa. You’ll sit on the couch and Jack on the loveseat. There’s no flirting. It’s not that the attraction and draw to each other has faded, because it hasn’t. Not at all. It’s that you both know you need time and you both respect that. Jack perhaps more so than yourself, because you get mad at yourself about it sometimes.

You do talk. A lot. About anything and everything because talking to each other is easy. It’s not work. Neither of you have to think of things to talk about or try and come up with something to keep the conversation going. It just does. And when it dies down the lull is comfortable. Then someone thinks of something or sees something on TV and it’s back.

Eventually Jack is able to tell you a bit more about his injury, how it happened. The aftermath. He’s able to take his prosthetic off in front of you and leave a pair of crutches at your place for when he doesn’t want to put it back on.

You talk about your spouses. Your therapist suggested it, thought it may help, to acknowledge both of your spouses and know about them. You approach Jack about it and tell him you don’t want an answer right away, you want him to really think about it and if he’s ready for that and willing to do that, and that he doesn’t have to say yes and that if he says no nothing will change. Both of you are aware it’s in a sense one of the most intimate things you’ll ever do with each other.

Jack says yes though. And means it. He’s okay with it, comfortable with it. So one night after you get your son down you take the baby monitor, a bottle of wine and sit out on your apartment balcony and talk about them. You tell each other about them, what they were like, things they liked and disliked, funny stories. Jack tells you how he proposed and you tell him how your husband proposed. You talk about your weddings.

You share photos you have on your phone, of your spouses alone and of the two of you together. You tell Jack his wife was beautiful, seems like an amazing woman who kept him on his toes and mean it. Jack tells you that your husband was handsome and knew how lucky he was to have you, that it’s obvious by the way he looks at you in the photos. You smile wistfully and get misty eyed together. But it’s nice, getting to know the other’s spouse, more about your past lives. It tells you a lot about each other too, as much as it does about your spouses.

You talk about how you each learned your spouse had died. There’s proper tears during that part, from both of you. It’s one time you do touch, and it’s brief, and you’re the one to initiate it, tentatively taking Jack’s hand and giving it a little squeeze when he gets a bit choked up. He squeezes back to let you know he’s okay with it. When you get choked up talking about your husband he holds his hand out over the armrest of his chair, just a little, just enough for you to know it’s there. You move yours over and let him squeeze your hand.

You talk about moving after your spouses died. Jack tells you he just couldn’t do it. He needed space that was his own, where he couldn’t picture her in it and so he couldn’t expect to walk around a corner and see her. You tell Jack that you had to keep the curtain of the living room window closed all the time because the last time you looked out the window you saw that car pull up and two uniformed officers step out of the car, and just knew. And it made the place so dark it was bad for you so you sold the house and found this place. You admit that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to really unpack completely or decorate but aren’t sure why. The nursery being the only exception. Jack tells you that it actually reminds him a lot of how his apartment he moved into right after his wife died looked for a long time because he was scared to settle in and make a space without her because that wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to have to do that.

As more weeks pass you start asking Jack to help you hang things. At first it sends you flying backwards in your healing because you just asked another man to help you decorate your apartment. Jack doesn’t say anything for the couple of days you’re off with him because he knows and he knows you’ll work through it. He gives you the space you need without you asking for it. You work through it with your therapist and apologize to Jack who tells you not to, that healing isn’t linear, trust him, he knows.

Jack watches your son for you sometimes during a string of off days so that he can spend a bit less time at daycare, especially if another kid is sick. Your son loves Jack, is enamored with him. And Jack is just as enamored with him. Is so incredibly good with him. It’s a place where you struggle a lot and that you and you and your therapist discuss frequently, how to cope with seeing Jack in that kind of fatherly role and acknowledge all the feelings it stirs up for you.

One Monday, a holiday that you were supposed to have off, something comes up and you need to go into the office, but daycare is closed. You hesitate calling Jack because you feel bad asking him to do this, especially knowing he’ll be getting off shift and you’re asking him to stay awake even longer. You don’t even know if he’ll be able to, he might not get off on time, or he might have plans. But you call him much quicker and more decisively than you did when you were sick.

Jack’s talking to Robby when he feels his phone vibrate. He thinks it’s weird to be getting called at 6:45 a.m. so he pulls it out to check. His heart drops when he sees it’s you and he walks away from Robby mid sentence.

“Hey,” he answers on the second ring, “what’s up? Everyone okay?”

“Yeah, yeah we’re fine. It’s just, work needs me to come in, not for too long, just a couple of hours, but I can’t bring him and daycare is closed with the holiday and I know this is such a huge ask because you’re getting off shift and will be so tired and I don’t even know if you’re getting off on time-”

“Woah, woah,” Jack stops you. “Take a breath.” He can hear you do as he says. “I can watch him, okay? I’ll make sure I get off on time. And I often stay late so being up a few hours after my shift before he goes down is not going to be anything new.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” You let out a breath. “You still have to let me cook or something for you.”

“You don’t have to repay me.”

“No I know, but still.”

“Can I be honest with you?” Jack asks.

“Of course.” Your heart races because you have no idea what he’s about to say.

“You can buy me takeout. But you can’t cook.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You make a noise of offence. “I can’t believe you just said that! I’m offended. Genuinely offended.” But Jack can hear the smile you’re trying to hide in your voice and it just makes him smile harder to himself.

“That I said it or that it’s true?” He’s smirking now.

You huff and then there’s a pause. “That it’s true,” you admit begrudgingly, making Jack laugh.

Robby has blindly swatted at Dana’s arm to get her to pay attention so that he doesn’t have to stop watching and so now both of them are staring and watching Jack go from extreme concern to laughing and smiling. It’s almost disconcerting.

“I’m going to have to drop him off at the hospital to make it on time. Is that okay?” You’ve gotten quiet again.

“Yeah.” Jack sounds a little unsure but not because of you, because of the two he can feel staring at him. “I’ll need a key. And I’ll give it back, I promise.”

“Oh! Yes. You will need that, okay I’ll have to find the spare. And yeah, that’s fine, whatever is fine, I know you’re not going to use it randomly.” You breathe a laugh. “You’ll be okay with holding him on the subway? I wasn’t going to lug around the stroller, if that’s okay.”

“We will be more than okay,” Jack assures you.

“Okay.” You let out another breath in that way you do when you’re stressed but coming down Jack has learned. “Thank you Jack.”

“Not a problem, you know that.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“Text me when you’re here and come wait by the doors, I’ll open them for you, okay?” You’re thankful he doesn’t dwell.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jack hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket then turns and walks back over to Robby and Dana.

“Everything okay?” Dana asks.

Jack looks between the both of them. “Yeah. I’m leaving on time though.”

“Ohhh,” Robby laughs. “Are you now? You just decided?”

“Yeah. Did you notice how it wasn’t a question Michael?” Jack deadpans. “Just a statement of fact. I know these are big distinctions for you to make before you’ve had enough coffee.”

“Deflection,” Robby hums, leaning forward a bit and still smiling like he can’t believe any of this even when he doesn’t know what this really is.

Jack rolls his eyes at him and walks to a different computer to finish charting. Dana and Robby share a look but don’t push him. For now.

Jack’s phone vibrates fifteen minutes later. You, saying you’re here. He walks over to the doors and pushes the button to open them, walks in with you a few steps, your son already happily squealing and babbling at Jack, reaching for him. Jack makes a surprised happy face at your son like he’s shocked to see him and takes him from you.

Back at the desk Robby slowly removes his glasses as he watches the scene unfold, Dana peering over the top of hers like she does, everyone else slowly freezing once they follow Dana and Robby’s eyes to you and Jack.

“God, thank you so much Jack, I’m so so sorry.” You look stressed, frenetic and full of nervous energy that makes you even more unsure of yourself, not unlike the last time he saw you in here. He finds it adorable, so endearing.

“It’s okay. Truly. You’re going to have to believe me one day.” Jack gives you a small but reassuring smile.

“No I know,” you breathe out. “I just… This is your work, I know. And I know you’re going to get a million questions based on the entire desk of people staring at us.” You shake your head a little as you try to find words. “And I know it’s hard to explain.”

“Good job I don’t feel the need to explain it to any of them, then.”

You laugh a little at that. “Yeah. Um, here.” You slide the backpack baby bag you have off and help put it on one of Jack’s shoulders. “There’s a key in the front pocket. He went down late last night and then I had to get him up early to get him ready to come here. Seeing you is the first time he’s smiled all morning. So he should probably nap earlier for you if I’m not home before then, and probably be pretty chill until he does.”

“He’s always chill,” Jack smirks at you. “You know that.”

“Let me make myself feel better, please,” you huff at him, clearly still flooded with nervous energy.

“Alright,” he nods for you to continue but doesn’t lose his smirk.

“He’s had a bottle, but that’s it, so he might be hungry when you get home, if he’s a little fussy.” You reach out and run your fingers through his soft baby fine hair to push it out of his eyes. “God he needs a haircut doesn’t he?”

“Probably,” Jack nods. “But I’m sure-”

“That the thought of my baby needing his first haircut makes me want to sob because he’s growing up way too fast?”

“Something like that,” he nods.

“Yeah.” You run your hands through it and sweep it out of his eyes one last time, trying to calm some of the nervous energy that’s making you feel like you’re shaking. “Alright, I should go.”

You lean up and kiss Jack on the cheek. By the time your feet return to the floor you’ve realized what you just did.

Jack freezes, stunned, but not upset, not by any means.

“Oh my god,” you gasp quietly, holding your hands up in front of you to the side. “I just did that. Right here.” You close your hands into fists decisively, incredulous at yourself. “Okay, well,” you titter, “I’ve gotta go now, so thank you again so much, and let me know you guys make it home okay, and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.” You nod at a still stunned Jack, who then finally starts to relax a bit and lets a smile start to pull up. “Great. Okay.” You lean in and kiss your son’s face. “Bye baby, be good for Jack okay?” You give your son another kiss and pull back, immediately back to your nervous and incredulous demeanor. You pat Jack on the side of the arm holding your son and then cringe at the action. “Right,” you let out a breathy nervous laugh. “Bye.” You spin and walk to the doors and hit the button to be let out.

“Bye,” Jack calls back, still sounding a bit dazed. He takes a second and then looks down at your son who’s looking around the busy room and then looks up at him and smiles, grabs at his face. Jack laughs. “Yeah, bud,” Jack sighs, leans down and kisses the top of his head quickly, doesn’t even really realize he’s doing it, “you’re about to be the talk of the Pitt. We both are. And your mom.” He takes a deep breath in and looks down at your son and makes eye contact. “God help us all.”

Jack turns and starts walking to the breakroom. He’d go to the lockers but he already knows what’s about to happen. “Not a word,” he says to Dana and Robby as he walks by.

“Oh be for fuckin’ real Jack,” Dana laughs under her breath, already starting to follow him.

“No, he’s right Dana, not a word,” Robby says as he starts to follow, “so, so many words.”

Bridget walks up to the desk and looks at everyone quizzically.

“A woman just came and dropped off a baby to Jack,” Princess tells her.

After the words process a large smirk grows on Bridget’s face. “Oh did she now?”

Jack sighs to himself as Robby and Dana follow him into the breakroom. He doesn’t want to do this but it’s borderline inescapable now and he’d rather it be here than out by the lockers. He slides the baby bag onto a chair.

“First,” Dana says as she walks in, “let me see him!” She walks over holding her arms out to take your son from Jack. He leans into Jack for a couple of seconds, unsure, but then lets Dana take him. “Hello cutie! What’s your name?” Robby walks over to her and says a soft hi, gives your son his finger to hold onto while Robby looks him over, smiling at him as your son babbles some.

Jack tells her his name. “God, Jack, he is gorgeous. Look at that hair and those eyes!”

She turns back to the baby in her arms. “Yeah, you’re handsome and you know it, don’t you? I bet you use it to get out of trouble sometimes, huh?” She winks at him. It makes him smile and giggle a little, as he drops Robby’s finger and brings a hand up to chew on. “Gettin’ more teeth in, are we?” Dana smiles at Jack as she rocks your son a little.

“Yeah, I think so, he’s been real chewy and drooly the last two days,” Jack nods.

“He yours?” Robby asks.

Jack’s head snaps to him. “What the fuck man?”

“Oh come on Jack, a random woman just showed up, gave you a baby, kissed your cheek and left. It’s not a far stretch. Nor is it a bad thing.” Dana looks at your son. “No it isn’t at all,” she says in a bit of a baby voice.

“And you’ve been different the last couple of months. I think you’ve only been up on the roof twice and even then you didn’t look like you were seriously considering jumping.” Robby points out.

“Oh my god,” Jack mutters under his breath. “No, he’s not mine.”

They both accept that. But it doesn’t quell their curiosity in the slightest. There’s a longer pause though, your son really the only one making noise as all three adults watch him.

“Who is she?” Robby finally asks, looking up at Jack.

“Does it matter?” Jack shoots back quickly.

“I mean…” Robby laughs a little incredulously, “yeah, a little.”

“Why?”

“Oh come on, Jack,” Robby draws out as he takes your son from Dana. “You’re telling me if a woman showed up and handed me a baby and kissed my cheek before walking out you wouldn’t have questions and want to know who she is? Or feel like who she is doesn’t matter?”

“Of course I would want to know, but who she was wouldn’t matter and if you didn’t want to say anything yet to keep things private I would respect that.” Jack raises his eyebrows at Robby and gives him a pointed look.

“Jack, it doesn’t matter who she is really, if she’s in your life we’d just like to know. We want to support you and see you happy. And you clearly know and spend time with the kid, enough for mom to feel comfortable leaving him with you and to know he’s been teething for the last couple of days. You spending time at her house?”

Jack doesn’t answer for a moment but then finally gives in. “Yeah.” Dana’s eyebrows raise in an invitation for more. “Yes, I spend time at her house. I help her out. I sleep in her guest room sometimes, watch him some days. So what?”

“So she matters,” Dana smirks at him a little. “She matters and she kissed your cheek so clearly there’s something.” Jack grows a little more serious and Dana and Robby both know she just hit some sort of nerve there. “Who is she? Please. Let us be happy for you.”

Jack takes in a big breath and looks at them for a second before resting his hands on his hips, slightly cocking one and looking down at the ground like he’s about to admit something. “My therapist.” He says it deadly serious and just loudly enough for them to hear.

He doesn’t need to look up to know the expressions they’re wearing, but he does anyway because Robby’s face of incredulity and concern is too funny to miss. “Really?” Dana asks.

“No!” Jack emphasizes the word with his head and a little brow furrow as he moves from his position to pace a little. “Of fucking course not! But thank you for this little exposé into what you think of me.”

“Hey, that’s why I asked,” Dana puts her hands up in defense. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t,” Jack looks over at Robby, “but he sure the fuck could. And he knows my therapist is a man, we go to the same god damn one!”

“Well I didn’t know if you found a new one!” Robby says in his own defense. Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna tell us? Anything? Or are we really wasting our time here?”

Jack stops pacing and sighs, looks at the baby boy in Robby’s arms. “It’s complicated,” he offers.

“We deal with a lotta complicated here.” Dana reminds him.

“Yeah well you’re not going to believe the truth,” he mutters.

“Try us.” Robby looks at Jack with a little knowing smile and tilts his head before looking back down at your son and making faces at him to keep him entertained.

Jack shakes his head a little and looks away as he tries to think about how to explain without giving away too much because he doesn’t want to totally destroy your privacy. “She’s a friend. Seriously. Just a friend who I help out because she’s a single mom with nobody in the area and she needs help sometimes. Her…” Jack debates on whether this reveals too much but it would explain to them why he’s so reticent to talk about you. “Her husband died while deployed. So, we have the widower widow thing in common and there was a kind of connection there, and yeah maybe it leads to more one day and maybe it doesn’t.” He shrugs at them. That’s all he’s going to say.

There’s another moment of silence as everybody takes in what Jack just said, himself included.

“So this is what the five epi pens and vials of epi and infant intubation and cric kit were about. He’s who they were about.” Robby looks down at your son. “Yes. They were about you, weren’t they?”

“Oh, peanuts,” Dana nods, looking from your son to Jack, “you introduced peanuts after you brought it all home.”

Jack just looks at the two of them and shakes his head. Some part of him wants to laugh at the way they went from pushing for information, to getting a little bit, to leaving it and not pushing for more and instead bringing up the supplies he took and fucking peanuts. He’s grateful for it.

“Yeah, we did.” Robby and Dana’s eyes flash up at him and they both have little smirks. It hits him. “She did. She did, she introduced peanuts. To her son.”

“With you there.” Robby’s smirk grows a little bit. “Ready to intubate.”

“I think it’s very sweet,” Dana says, smiling at him.

“I think we need to get home before his mom calls in a panic. I said I’d leave on time and text her when we’re home, so.” He walks over to Robby and opens his arms, your son all but launching himself at Jack, making all three laugh.

“He’s certainly a big fan,” Robby smirks.

“Of course he is, he has excellent taste already. Though he liked you, so we might have to have a chat when we get home about why our standards are falling.” He says it in his typical deadpan demeanor.

“I was being nice and then you ruined it.” Robby throws a hand up at him.

Jack picks up the baby bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I didn’t ruin it, I spoke the truth.”

“You’re so mean to me.” Robby looks over at Dana as they all move towards the door. “He’s so mean to me.”

“I am not mean to you.” Jack replies, stepping out of the door.

“A little bit,” Dana agrees with Robby.

“Thank you!”

“But he’s a little bit mean to you too, so it all evens out.”

Robby scoffs. “I’m not mean to him!”

“Just like I’m not mean to you.” Jack walks towards the lockers with your son. Robby and Dana stop at the desk, giving looks to everyone to tell them to go back to work.

Jack swings by his locker and grabs his backpack. He pins it against the lockers with one hip so he can open it enough to shove the baby bag in it and zip it back up. “Alright bud, you ready?” He glances down to check on your son. Your son gives a little smile and then lets his head fall against the front of Jack’s shoulder, almost like he’s shy. Jack has to laugh a little as he walks back by the desk.

“We’re out,” he announces to everyone, finding the way they all glance up and try not to look shocked or stare funny. “Say bye!” He says to your son, picks his little hand up and waves it. Your son smiles for a second before turning his head away, shying away from the attention.

Jack looks at Robby and Dana. “Thank you.” He doesn’t have to elaborate. They know what he’s thanking them for.

The two make it home easily and without incident. Jack texts you to let you know.

J - Made it home and are having breakfast.

He includes a picture of your son in his highchair eating some pancakes Jack made for him. When you get it the photo makes your heart squeeze, your boys.

The world stops for a second and you get a little dizzy when you realize what you just thought. Your boys.

Jack is not your boy. He’s not yours in any capacity. And that thought is one you know you would have had about your husband and son. That panic comes back, the intense shame and guilt. You try to think back on all you and your therapist have talked about, try to convince yourself that it’s okay. That it’s okay to have that thought.

That it’s okay to like the thought and even to want the thought.

You’re able to handle it much better than you were before and you know that means something. That you’re closer to being ready.

Once you’re not so lightheaded from all the emotions you reply.

You - Thank you.

It’s odd, Jack thinks as he reads it. Almost clipped. Three dots appear.

You - I’m sorry about this morning and the cheek thing. I know we haven’t discussed anything like that and I don’t really know what happened for me there in the moment, so I’m sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.

He’s quick to respond.

J - You have nothing to apologize for, so there’s nothing to forgive. I didn’t mind it at all

He smiles to himself a little, especially once three dots appear. But then they go away only to reappear a couple of seconds later to disappear again. Shit, he thinks to himself, was that wrong? Did it cross a line? Fuck, was it suggestive?

He tries to think of what he can say to apologize and let you know that he really didn’t mean for it to be suggestive or pressuring or weird. But then a message from you.

You - Well good. I didn’t either

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of nights later you sit on the couch next to Jack. It’s the first time you’ve sat next to each other like this. Jack was not the one to instigate it of course.

You decided to watch a movie together. It’s not the first time you’ve done that. Not the first time you’ve made popcorn without asking if he wanted any. It’s the first time you don’t split it into two bowls, though. Instead you pour it all in one and come sit next to him on the couch. Not touching. But close enough to share the popcorn between you.

He almost expects you to move once the bowl is empty and you set it on the table but you don’t. You just stay there, curled up in your blanket next to him as you watch, commenting to each other at times. He notices you comment less and less, are less responsive to his and are leaning closer and closer to him.

He can see you falling asleep and when you blink back awake he points it out. “You wanna go to bed? We can finish later.”

“No, no, I’m good.” You look at him and give him a smile so he knows you know how close you are to him.

He nods and you keep watching. But twenty or so minutes later you slide a bit and your head rests against his tricep.

Jack freezes. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he let you sleep? Does he wake you? Is it wrong if he doesn’t wake you? When he knows you might not be ready? But then the sleepiest, “s’okay,” comes from you like you knew what he was thinking. You’re out again so fast he wonders if he made it up.

He knows you have trouble sleeping sometimes. Trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. So he’s hesitant to wake you from it when you’re getting it. You’d been so in and out of it with the movie he decides to just wait a bit, see if you wake up.

But then Jack falls asleep on the couch with you resting on his arm. He wakes when he feels you stirring. “Shit,” you whisper, sit up and off him. “We fell asleep.”

“Yeah,” he yawns. “I meant to wake you but must have fallen asleep before I could,” Jack says slowly as he wakes back up. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with…”

“Oh.” You blink at him like the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “Yeah. No, yeah, it was okay, I’m okay. I, I hope you were. You definitely could have woken me if you weren’t!”

Jack nods. “I know.”

You nod back, the magnitude of falling asleep on him hitting you even though you’re not sure it should really hold any particular magnitude. “Okay. Good.” You look around and check the monitor, chuckle a little and show it to Jack. He chuckles with you at the silly position your son is sleeping in. “Probably best to get to bed.” You give him a small smile.

“Yeah, probably.” You stand up off the couch and toss the blanket onto it, grab the bowl and put it in the sink to deal with tomorrow. Jack stands too and stretches a little. “Are you going?” You ask, almost sound a little sad at the thought. You are a little sad at the thought.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shakes his head. “I was just going to head to the spare, but I can if you’d prefer.”

“No! No.” You shake your head. “No, I was going to say it’s late and so you should stay and not try and get home at this hour. It’s not safe.”

Jack gives you a little smirk and you have to look away. “After you,” Jack calls your attention back, sweeps his hand at the entry to the hallway leading to the rooms. “You want me to take him in the morning?” Jack asks as he follows you. You know he’s talking about the monitor.

“Oh, no. You have to work tomorrow so you should sleep as much as you can.” You’ve learned his schedule. The reality of that hits you both at the same time. You clear your throat. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night,” Jack replies, smiling to himself as he walks into your spare room. You know his schedule. Jack realizes he knows yours too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week or so later you ask Jack if he has a certain day off, as if you don’t already know that he does. And he knows you know.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking up from the floor where he’s playing with your son.

You nod. “Well, so.” You try to start but stumble. You’re nervous. Flustered in that way you get. Like both times you were at the hospital. “That’s his birthday,” you look at your son with a smile, “and I was wondering if you’d um, if you’d like to, you know, spend the day with us?”

Jack doesn’t realize he’s doing it but he stares at you for a few seconds. You just asked him to spend the day with you and your son on your son’s first birthday.

He nods. “Yeah.” He nods a little faster. “I would love that. If you’re sure. I know it’s a special day and-”

“No, I’m sure. And I know he’ll love it.” You look at your son fondly and then back at Jack. The fondness in your eyes doesn’t go away. “He loves you.”

Jack flushes a little at that and it makes you get butterflies. Jack Abbot is blushing in front of you. Doesn’t matter why or what you said. He’s blushing and you’re swooning like you’re a teenager. And, you realize, you don’t hate yourself or feel guilty about it. You just feel it.

“Well,” Jack laughs a little, looks down at your son and brushes some hair out of his face. You still haven’t brought yourself to get it cut but you really are going to have to here soon. “I lo-” Jack stops himself. You can see him trying to think of what to say instead.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, understandingly. “You can say it, Jack.”

Jack nods and swallows. “I love him too,” he says just as softly as he looks back down at your son.

When Jack finally builds up the courage to look at you he’s greeted by your smile. The one that really meets your eyes and makes them sparkle a bit. The one that he’s seen more and more recently. The one that gives him butterflies.

Jack Abbot blushes again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you spend all day together. Your son is one, so the day is more for you than anything.

You decide on the zoo. Your son loves animals, it’s a weekday so it’s not super busy, the weather is perfect. And you can take it at your own pace.

Lots of pictures get taken. Of your son. Of you and your son. Of your son and Jack. Of you, your son and Jack. That one threw him a little when you first brought it up and asked a stranger to take a photo of the three of you.

Jack is patient and would never pressure you and very deliberately does not ask where you’re at in healing or if you’re feeling like you’re closer to ready or anything of the sort. He lets you lead, lets you set the tone and the pace. He knows if and when you’re ready you’ll communicate that.

You and Jack sit in the aquarium when your son needs a nap and falls asleep in his stroller. You talk about your upcoming weeks and Jack tells you stories of patients he’s had recently that he hasn’t had the chance to tell you about.

“Have you… had to explain anything about him and I? At work.”

Jack’s eyebrows lift slightly and he shakes his head. “No. I’m sure they’re all dying to know but like I said, I don’t feel the need to explain anything to them.” He shrugs. “Well, actually,” he lets out a little breath. “The day you came in I told Robby and Dana. Not a lot. Just that you’re a friend I’m helping out because you’re a single mom and don’t have anyone here.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “I told them that you lost your husband while he was deployed, so we had the widower widow connection. I’m sorry if that was too much.”

You laugh a little and shake your head. Jack has talked to you enough about Dana and Robby to know that Robby is his best friend and effective brother and Dana is his second best friend and like the Pitt mom. “It’s not.”

“Dana said he’s gorgeous.” Jack doesn’t know why all of this didn’t come out once you got home that day but he was asleep when you did and then life was just busy and moved on. And now you’re talking about it. “He actually liked Robby, so he and I had a little conversation when we got home about bringing his standards back up.”

That makes you laugh, properly. Jack thinks he could get lost in the sound forever. Spend the rest of his life chasing it. He tells himself to get a grip. You’re just friends. Nothing more.

“Well,” you smile at him before looking away and shrugging. “Maybe one day I can meet them. Judge for myself.”

Jack pauses for a second only because he wasn’t expecting it. “Uh, I mean yeah. Of course. Dana will lose it if she gets to see him again.”

“He is the cutest and best if I do say so myself.” You smile down at your sleeping one year old. “God, I can’t believe it’s been a year.” It’s been over a year and a half now since your husband. “He’s so big,” you whisper. “He was so tiny, fit on my chest so nicely. And I love watching him grow up and see him do new things and learn and thrive, but damn it’s hard.”

Jack gives you a little hum of empathy, not entirely sure what to say. He notices how big your son has gotten and he’s only been in your lives for three months.

“Will you come with us when I get his hair cut finally?”

Jack looks over at you, a little confused. “Yeah, course.” He presses his lips together and shakes his head once. “Any particular reason why?”

“To be my shoulder to cry on.” You say it so simply, like it means nothing when you both know it means something. You both know you’re inviting him to another thing your husband and your son’s dad would probably go to with you.

And Jack gets stuck on it a little. To be my, you had said, you want him to be your something, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on right now. “I suppose I can manage that.”

You share a little laugh about it. “Thanks, Jack,” you murmur.

“Any time.”

Once your son wakes back up you finish walking around the zoo. Jack buys him too many toys at the gift shop, all the stuffed animals he so much as glances at, much to his delight. You make your way back home together in Jack’s truck. Jack’s truck that now has a carseat in it.

But you don’t go inside, instead you decide to leave the stroller and walk around the City. You find a place to eat and it’s weird to think about. To all the people walking by and seeing the three of you, you probably look like a family. And even though you feel some guilt, especially on your son’s birthday, you don’t completely hate yourself or let that guilt consume you. You like the idea. A lot. So you let yourself feel it.

After dinner at dusk you decide to take your son to the park for some swinging before heading back and getting him to bed. He loves to swing. You take photos of him and Jack and Jack takes them of the two of you.

You’re so involved with your son and swinging and making him laugh that you don’t notice Jack slip away for just a second. Your son yawns. “Aw,” you give him a little sad laugh. “Tired baby? You’ve had a big day.” He reaches up for you and you pull him out of the swing, hug him close to you and kiss his head.

When you turn around Jack is back and standing where you assumed he would be but he’s holding a single rose. You stay where you’re at, almost frozen but not in a tense way. And Jack is just as nervous that this is crossing a line when he doesn’t mean for it to be.

“Day’s about you as much as it’s about him,” he calls to you. He starts walking towards you and you meet him halfway. “You did all the work a year ago today, mom.” He offers you the rose. “We should acknowledge that.”

You look at the rose and then back up at him again, a bit stunned still. It’s so incredibly sweet and kind. It’s so incredibly Jack. And you know for sure then.

You take the rose from him and give him a sappy smile. “Thank you, Jack. For everything. The rose and today and the last three months.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gives you a small smile.

“Accept the thanks.” You give him a pointed one in return.

“Alright, alright.” Your son has started to fall asleep in your arms. “Want me to take him?”

You nod. “Sure, yeah. You only need one arm to carry him still. I need two now.” You bring the rose up to your nose and smell it, smile to yourself about it. Let you and the butterflies in your stomach swoon.

The three of you start walking home, your son fully out on Jack’s shoulder within a couple minutes. You walk back in silence. It’s a comfortable silence, a comfortable quiet. And while quiet hasn’t been as foreboding to Jack since he’s met you sometimes it still is. Like now.

This quiet, while comfortable, is thick. There’s something about it that feels anticipatory. Last time the quiet felt like this, made him feel like this, this uneasy, it brought Jack you.

Something about that makes him even more uneasy. Because Jack knows there’s always a reason for quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good. And he got good last time and Jack doesn’t trust the world or lightning to strike twice.

He worries this time the quiet will bring something else. Something worse, like it always does.

But before he can completely spiral and become even more hypervigilant than he always is, Jack feels your fingers brush against his for a second before they disappear and then come back, your fingers playing with his like it’s nothing, and then, in the quiet as you walk back to your place, you lace your fingers together and you’re holding hands and you give him a little squeeze that tells him you mean it. That you’re ready.

Quiet. It always means something. Always brings something.

This time it meant you were working up the courage. Is bringing the start of something more than just friends.

Lightning strikes twice.

Jack stops walking when you squeeze his hand and you stop with him, looking up concerned and a bit panicked, ready to draw your hand back.

“You ready for this?” Jack asks, genuine concern in his voice as his eyes dart around your face, looking for the slightest sign of hesitation. But you can see it there too, the excitement, the happiness. The hope. “And by this I mean this,” he squeezes your hand. “Nothing more. Not until you’re ready for more. Not until you tell me you’re ready for more.”

You bite your lip as he talks because he’s so cute when he’s concerned and he’s such a good man, wanting to make sure you’re ready and know he doesn’t expect more. And the smile that’s slowly pulling up on his face as you look at him and nod is so adorable you could scream. “Yeah. I’m ready for this.” You squeeze his hand back. “And maybe a little more.” You pull on his hand and start walking again, lean into him a little. “But only with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you made it this far thank you so much for reading and I hope it was okay and got fluffy and funny!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are open!

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m14mags

3 weeks ago

Jealous (jack abbott x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbott x f!reader Word Count: 2.3K Rating: E

Summary: You’re jealous of Dr. Walsh.

Warning: newly established relationship, a sir mention, insecurity, jealousy, pet names, love confessions, commanding jack? dirty talk (he’s filthy your honor), sexual touching, some nipple play, 1 pussy slap, praise, oral sex (f receiving), description and mentions of p in v sex and creampie

A/N: I'm really nervous to be writing for a new man, but y’all have convinced me to write some Jack. I need him. Competency kink activated. Also there are so many spellings for his last name. Maybe I fucked up the tagging. Don’t yell at me, this is a world where he’s not working overnight shifts. I need him on the same schedule as me lol. And I know the title isn’t creative at all, but I hope you guys like it and that the characterization feels right. Ok, I'm going to run away now!

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging thots.

The hospital was busy.

You were reviewing your messages with Jack to see if he had responded to your most recent text.

Jack: Lunch. 1200 hours. Hospital cafeteria. Confirm you’re en route.

You: Got it, Sir. On my way :)

Jack: Sounds good. See you soon.

You: Which cafeteria should I meet you at, handsome? Main or West wing?

To the average person, his texts would seem blunt—no emojis, no small talk, just clear instructions. But you were used to it. Jack’s communication style was efficient, to the point, and reassuring in its simplicity.

As you strolled down the hallway, you spotted him at the reception, engaged in a conversation with Dr. Walsh. You had met her recently at a gala event Jack had invited you to—an event that felt like a big deal, especially since Jack never explicitly defined your relationship.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend, never put a label on what you had, but the way he introduced you to his colleagues made it clear that you mattered to him. Still, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to Dr. Walsh. She was a surgeon like Jack. She was beautiful, confident, and clearly intelligent—someone who moved through her world with ease and authority. And you… well, you were just… you.

You worked for a dermatologist at a medical spa as an esthetician and were primarily trained in skincare treatments for facials, laser treatments, and other cosmetic procedures. As you watched Jack chatting with Dr. Walsh, a strange tightness settled in your chest. You felt a flicker of insecurity that you hadn't anticipated.

Your job at the medical spa was fulfilling, but it was different. You helped people feel beautiful and confident, while he and his colleagues worked tirelessly behind the scenes in surgeries to save lives. Sometimes, you wondered what Jack thought of your work when he was surrounded by women with 'real careers' as you sometimes called them in your mind—women with medical degrees, impressive resumes, and professional accomplishments that seemed to tower over your own. You caught yourself questioning if your job was enough, if it made you seem less serious or less worthy of his attention.

You watched as Jack laughed at something Dr. Walsh said, a genuine smile lighting up his face. It was easy and unguarded. Suddenly, a surge of jealousy washed over you.

Is this why he hadn’t answered you?

You looked away, feeling a flicker of discomfort.

Without thinking, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed out a message. Your fingers hesitated for a moment before you pressed send:

You: Something came up at work. I have to turn around. Sorry, I’ll catch up later.

A moment later, your phone buzzed with a reply from Jack.

Jack: I’ll see you later tonight?

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding. You didn’t respond. Instead, you slipped the phone into your pocket and turned around.

As the clock edged toward the end of your shift, you sighed softly, finally able to relax after a busy day. Slipping out of your professional attire, you changed into comfortable leggings and a tank top, the kind you loved to lounge in after a long day.

You moved around your apartment, tidying up casually, your mind still drifting back to the encounter earlier with Jack and Dr. Walsh. Just as you settled onto your sofa with a cup of tea, the faint sound of a knock at the door startled you. You sat up and lazily scratched your head, walked over, and opened the door to find Jack standing there.

He was holding a bag of takeout from your favorite Thai place—the one where you first met.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said softly, holding out the bag. "I thought you might be hungry."

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. You hadn’t responded to his text, and yet here he was at your door with your favorite food. For a moment, you remembered that night—accidentally grabbing his take-out order at the restaurant, and how he had tapped on your shoulder with that confident smile, saying, "Excuse me miss, I think that’s mine." You had been blown away by his handsome face and easy charm.

Without thinking too much, you leaned in and quickly pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek, murmuring, "Thanks, Jack."

His eyes, sharp and steady, studied you as you took the takeout bag from his hands and invited him inside. "So, you couldn’t make it to the hospital. What happened at work? Everything alright?"

You offered a small, somewhat evasive smile as you set the takeout on the table and began arranging the dishes. "Oh, you know, just some stuff that came up. Nothing serious."

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly. A subtle crease.

He stepped a little closer, his eyes narrowing just enough to suggest he wasn’t buying your quick brush-off. He reached out to gently cup your chin, turning your face towards his so he could assess your expression more closely. "Why are you lying?"

"I’m not—"

"I saw you leave the hospital. That means you weren’t in your car, turning around when you sent your text. Just to be clear, I saw you walk out and head back the way you came." His words were blunt, matter of fact, as if stating a simple observation rather than questioning. There was no anger in his voice.

You felt your cheeks burn slightly at his directness, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. Looking down slightly, you bit your lip nervously before murmuring, "It's stupid."

Jack’s hand lingered on your chin for a moment longer. Then, with a measured motion, he lowered his hand, his fingers sliding away from your face. Without hesitation, he reached around your waist, pulling you gently but firmly closer to him.

"Talk to me." His words were deliberate, each syllable carefully chosen, embodying his disciplined, no-nonsense demeanor. You knew you couldn't keep hiding your feelings from Jack, especially because he was so perceptive when it came to you. After only three months together, he had you memorized.

You hesitated for a moment, then muttered, "She's pretty."

He looked confused. "Who?"

"Dr. Walsh," you replied simply. "Emery." It felt weird saying her name.

There was a brief pause before he responded, "Some might find her attractive." His words were straightforward, devoid of unnecessary emotion.

"Do you?" you asked softly, searching his face for an answer.

Your hands flew to his shoulders in surprise when he grabbed you just below your ass and sat you on the edge of your dining table. "Where is this coming from?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face. He was waiting for you to explain.

"Listen, maybe I’ve watched too much Grey’s Anatomy or something, but don’t doctors like fucking other doctors? I mean, you and her, Emery—Dr. Walsh—you guys understand each other’s jobs, schedules, and lives. Sometimes, you talk to me about your work, and I feel like a dumbass. I barely passed biology in high school," you admitted with a nervous laugh, your eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I’m just an esthetician. I just think—"

You saw his eyes tighten slightly, and then he cut you off by leaning in and capturing your lips in a firm kiss. When he pulled back just enough, his jaw, usually set with a composed firmness, relaxed just a fraction. He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, his touch steady—every movement controlled, precise, almost methodical in its tenderness.

"You know," he began, voice smooth but firm, "I like that you’re not a doctor."

"You do?"

"Yes. I respect what you do. It’s honest, it’s real. I really love hearing about your work. It’s different from what I do, and honestly, I don’t always fully understand it. Sometimes, I’m not even sure I get all the skincare stuff or the procedures you do. But that doesn’t matter to me. Because I see how passionate you are, and how much you love what you do."

He paused briefly, his brow slightly furrowed in a gesture of thoughtfulness, the kind of measured, meticulous expression that signaled he was choosing his words carefully—like he was preparing for a precise incision. "And I want you to know—the only person I find pretty is you. I’m not looking at anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. I only want you. I love you."

I love you.

You blinked since you couldn’t quite believe what you’d just heard. "You love me?"

Jack’s expression remained calm, every line of his face composed and controlled. "You’re asking if I love you? Well, you’re the only thing I want to keep at the center of my life. You are my top priority. No extraneous variables. No distractions. Just you. So—yes. I love you. Because everything else in my world orbits around that truth."

You felt your heart pounding in your chest. His words left no room for doubt; they were full of certainty. You had never been with a man who made you feel so clearly that he was sure of you. Slowly, your voice broke through the silence. "Jack," you whispered. "I… I love you, too. I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?"

Jack’s military background and his disciplined exterior had always been his armor, a way to keep his feelings in check. But in this moment, as your eyes met and your declaration hung softly between you, you saw his armor waver. His breath hitched slightly, a fleeting hitch in his otherwise controlled breathing. He cleared his throat, a low, almost imperceptible sound, and with a final, measured breath, he pulled you gently into his arms to kiss you slowly.

Your mouth fell open the second his tongue probed softly at your lips. You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of his tongue, tasting his desperation, and your body reacted immediately, throwing your arms and legs around him. A soft groan slid through his lips when your fingers pulled through his hair, and he pressed himself against you, grinding his hard cock between your legs.

He shoved your tank top up above your breasts, teasing your nipples with his thumbs, causing you to moan loudly. You watched as he drank in your naked upper half, and then he took the swell of one of your breasts in his hand and dropped his mouth over one nipple, circling his tongue around it.

"Fuck, yes Jack!" the words spilled from you in a breathless wrecked moan when he began to suck on your breast and make a mess out of you before switching to the other one. Your clothed pussy was desperate for the friction of his cock through his scrub bottoms, and he groaned deliciously when he felt your hips roll upward, chasing his cock. Suddenly, he pushed you down so that you were lying on your back of the dining room table while he was on top of you. You weren’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly your leggings had been ripped off your body, and he had pulled off your tank top.

You observed him with hooded eyes as his large, warm hands trailed back up your legs, and then he gently pushed at your thighs, spreading them apart. He let out a low groan when his gaze devoured you pussy.

"I only want your pussy. Do you understand me?" he said, collecting some of your slick with his fingers and rubbing them against your clit.

"Jack—"

"Repeat after me: You only want my pussy," he commanded.

You were dripping on the table at his voice. At his words. You felt them in your skin. You couldn’t speak, and he took your silence as shyness. And well, that wasn’t going to fly with Jack.

"Don’t like repeating myself," he murmured and lifted his hand to give a stinging smack to your pussy, the impact making you let out a soft, breathy moan, your voice quivering with ecstasy as pleasure washed over you.

You kept your eyes on him, and your mind went fuzzy. "You only want my pussy."

He hummed his approval. “Good girl,” He kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, and you squirmed on the table, hips bucking slightly in anticipation.

"I think I need a little appetizer before dinner." He smirked, and licked a long wide stripe along your pussy, groaning at the taste of you, eyes closing and brows furrowing in concentration. He ate at you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue giving you so much pleasure, and you started to rock your hips against his mouth.

He was always so good at this. Just as competent and sure as he was in everything else.

Minutes later, you came so hard, your vision blurred.

And later that night when he fucked you after giving you another mind-numbing orgasm, you felt tears fill your eyes at the strangled "Oh fuck, I love you," that left his lips when his body erupted, and you felt his spend dripping down your thighs.

"I love you too, Jack,"

He lied on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck. Both of you were sticky hot and hot, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. A wave of dizziness washed over you, and you could feel the vibration of him saying something against your throat, but your brain was mush.

Tomorrow, you would surprise him and visit him during lunch. His smile would paralyze you. And he would tell everyone sitting at the cafeteria table with him: "you guys remember my girl?"

A/N: Should I do a version where Jack is jealous? Where are the jealous jack abbott fics!?

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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m14mags

2 weeks ago

have some sexy shawn scenes from reckless

187 notes View Post

m14mags

1 month ago

The Pink Rose, part 1

*GIF creator unknown

Part One- July 4th, 74 ADD Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Word Count: 2,462

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, nightmares, witnessed death, implication of death, alcoholism, unprotected sex, sex after drinking, age gap, heterosexual relationship

**** Almost all characters and parts of the storyline are not my original creation and are credited to Suzanne Collins. And please be nice… I’ve never written fanfic or spicy things before- we’re starting vanilla. I will mark where the 18+ part starts and ends.

The cold night air smelled like fire and salt. The arena for the 61st Hunger Games was set up like a quarry next to the sea. [Y/n] was the 15-year-old tribute from District 12. Taking advantage of the low light and tall grass, the only other tributes were in her line of sight and fighting to the death. Spruce Silentsong - District 7 - and Millie Forge - District 2, were engaged in battle and had no idea [Y/n] was watching. Spruce was armed with two hand axes, which served her well-being from the lumber district. Millie had a sword in one hand and a mace in the other. The sword had once been in [Y/n]’s possession, but when Millie and the other careers descended on the District 9, 11, and 12 alliance, [Y/n] was the only one who made it out; without her weapon.

The gurgle of someone choking on blood sounded, followed by the thud of a falling body. [Y/n] thought Spruce must have hesitated. She’d scored high in the assessment, but Millie thirsted for blood. The gong sounded, marking the death of another tribute. 22 down, 1 to go. [Y/n] was still about 12 yards from Millie, but she knew she needed to act while Millie caught her second wind. She looked down to double-check how many throwing knives she had. [Y/n] looked away for half a second and her face rose to lock eyes with a piercing blue set, inches from her face. [Y/n] screamed.

She thrashed for a moment before realizing she was in her bed. She’d left the arena 13 years ago, but the nightmares stuck around. [Y/n] breathed heavily as she sat up and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. Feeling the sheets next to her, she noticed they were cold and suddenly became aware of the early morning light streaming through the cracks in the curtains, highlighting the dust in the air.

Making her way downstairs, the familiar smell of hard liquor hit her nose. It’s too early for this- she thought as she scanned the room for her neighbor. Haymitch Abernathy was the only other living District 12 Victor. He’d won 11 years before her, and the last Victor from 12 was decades before him- it was just them to understand each other in their whole district. It was just them in Victor’s Village. Haymitch and [Y/n] had both lost their families due to their young defiance of President Snow and the Capitol. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to stay at the other’s house in the month leading up to the Reaping. The closer the games got, the more frequent their demons seemed to visit. It was easier to help if they were under the same roof. In the last 2 years, they had taken to sleeping next to each other for comfort. Despite Haymitch’s frequent drunken stupor, they had developed a friendship built on sarcasm, life experience, and a unique outlook on the world that only a Hunger Games Victor could have. About 6 years of friendship later, the relationship turned platonic. This would seem odd to someone outside the relationship, but it was no bother to them. In his moments of being nearly sober, Haymitch was quite charming and a kind man with a sense of humor.

In the last two years, [Y/n] noticed that of all the people she interacted with in District 12, Haymitch was the one who could make her feel happy. He irritated the hell out of her sometimes, but she couldn’t deny that she had fallen for him. She didn’t expect him to return the feelings; people might not like the age gap and think her former mentor had taken advantage of her. Haymitch might be a good friend, but he may also be disgusted at the thought of any romance with someone he’d known since she was a teenager.

She stopped in the living room and found Haymitch asleep in the armchair with a bottle in one hand and what looked to be his shirt in the other. [Y/n] knew better than to get too close when waking up someone who’d been drinking. She stood a few feet away and threw a small couch cushion at him. Haymitch jumped and yelled at the sudden contact. “Dammit [Y/n]- what the hell are you doing?” he shouted after realizing where he was.

“Demons paid me a visit- do you have enough to share?” she nodded to the bottle that was still in Haymitch’s hand.

“Oh,” he faltered, “Help yourself, sweetheart,” She took a long swig before Haymitch reacted, “That bad, huh?”

“Don’t act like we don’t have the same dreams,” she pointed before taking another gulp.

The liquid had a comforting warmth as it ran down her throat but it still burned and created the feeling of stinging in her nostrils. The bittersweet feeling of downing alcohol was enough to take her mind off the Hunger Games. The more she drank, the more she understood why Haymitch kept himself in this state.

After almost an hour, [Y/n] could feel the heat in her cheeks and the chaotic feelings from earlier were almost gone. The dullness of her senses and her subdued anxiety were a treat. She looked over and noticed Haymitch was starting to nod off.

“Hey! Don’t leave me alone,” She said loud enough to bring Haymitch back.

Haymitch sighed, “What do you need sweetheart? You know I’m not the best company after drinking,”

Neither am I, she thought, “Hold me?” she suggested.

Haymitch stared at her before nodding his head and waving her over. [Y/n] climbed into his lap- he was larger than she was; this allowed him to envelope her in his arms with ease. She nuzzled her face into his chest. She could feel the old scars across his abdomen and tried not to think about when he got them. She was almost 5 during his games, but she remembered the vivid sight. Haymitch could feel [Y/n]’s slow, quiet tears run down his chest and he gave her a slight squeeze. Within half an hour, the inebriated duo was asleep.

Haymitch woke up, still mildly intoxicated, but much closer to sobriety than he was normally comfortable with. It was the day of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. He heard the small woman in his lap begin to stir. She looked up at him with her deep [y/e/c] eyes and smiled. This girl- no- this woman was the closest thing he had to a family. He was the town drunk. He had business associates and people who tolerated him. Haymitch was a grown man, he never looked twice at the tributes or considered them family, much less friends. He’d hugged [Y/n] before, but this was different. For the first time in 24 years, Haymitch thought, What if she loved me?

He shook the thought from his head and felt disgusted with himself- she was so much younger than him and he didn’t want to ruin what they had spent the last 13 years building. When they met, he was already 27 and she was 15. The thought that they could be happy together would have been inappropriate then and it should be now. Right? Haymitch thought to himself that just because she was 28 and old enough to make her own decisions, that did not make a shift to intimacy okay. [Y/n] continued to smile at him; it had been a long time since anyone was happy to see him. He knew he irritated [Y/n], but she was never genuinely angry with him and still acknowledged him with kindness. They had developed some kind of relationship that was more than friends, but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

“Did you sleep alright this time, sweetheart?” he asked.

[Y/n] gave a soft chuckle, “I did- and it seems you did too,”

“What’s so funny?”

[Y/n] gave a little wiggle of her hips to emphasize that Haymitch had an erection and it was pressed right against her rear.

He gave a startled little jump and had a look of horror on his face, “I’m sorry-”

[Y/n] stopped him from getting up, “It’s okay, I don’t mind” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side “Are you still drunk?”

[Y/n] laughed and quickly swung one leg over him so she was straddling him and he was situated right in front of her. He was so erect that he pressed against her stomach.

“No,” she leaned in and tickled his ear with a whisper, “But I’m quite wet,”

He gulped and tried to control his breathing. She was trying to… seduce him? But he’d been her mentor. But she was suggesting it. But he’d known her since she was 15. But she started this exchange. Conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. [y/n] saw the look on his face that was a mixture of shock and confusion- not someone who was willing to continue.

She turned her face away from him, “I’m sorry- I get it if I overstepped the boundary… I didn’t even ask,” she moved to get off him, but Haymitch grabbed her waist and told her to wait.

“[Y/n]- sweetheart- you’re beautiful and I’m not calming down,” he nodded down towards his erection, “But I’m not a good person. You deserve someone better- someone who won’t make you look bad in public. Not some drunk who takes advantage of a younger woman,”

[Y/n] didn’t know he felt this way. She grabbed his chin and demanded he look into her eyes.

“Haymitch Abernathy- I don’t deserve anything less than the man who is my greatest source of comfort, my biggest ally, my closest friend, and the person who currently has his cock in my lap,”

Haymitch was startled at her direct statement- he didn’t know she felt that way. He cupped her face with one hand and slightly tightened his grip on her waist. [Y/n] was more developed than most women in District 12. Haymitch couldn’t deny that he’d noticed her defined hourglass figure before, but who hadn’t?

“Kiss me” [Y/n] demanded quietly.

Haymitch nodded slowly, hesitated, and pressed his lips to hers. They started slow, and then [Y/n] traced his lips with her tongue. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gradually became less gentle in how she kissed him. She felt herself getting more excited and began to move her hips back and forth. Haymitch let out a deep sigh at the feeling of her against him. He ran his rough hands up her torso and his thumbs over her hard nipples. Her soft breasts filled his hands perfectly and felt so good as he cupped them. [Y/n] pulled her face away and swiftly removed her nightshirt. She hadn’t worn pants to bed so she now sat on top of him in her panties. She pulled his face back to hers in the neediest way she could muster.

“Haymitch, I need you,”

“You have me,”

“I need you inside me,” she clarified.

Haymitch’s eyes widened as he paused, but he wasted no time lifting her off his lap to rip off his pants. [Y/n] used this moment to remove her underwear as she noticed he didn’t have any either. They stood there naked for less than a second before Haymitch guided her a few feet over to the sofa. She lay down and Haymitch crawled on top of her. He reached between her legs and ran his thumb in soft slow circles as he made eye contact and used his other hand to line up his aching length with her entrance.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked hesitantly

[Y/n] nodded.

“You have to say it,” he said seriously.

“Yes Haymitch, I want you- are you comfortable with this?” she asked.

“Yes,” he didn’t even hesitate; he hoped he wasn’t coming off as desperate- but that look she gave him was enough encouragement. Haymitch’s eyes turned dark as he slowly slipped into her. [Y/n] gasped as he pushed the rest of his length inside her soaking wet entrance. Haymitch was a little longer than average, but his girth filled her up as he thrust into her. He slowly picked up his pace- [Y/n] leaned her head back and moaned. Her plump lips made the perfect “O” shape before she said his name.

To see the way she reacted to his touch and hear how she moaned his name, Haymitch didn’t want this to stop- but he could feel the blood flowing and the heightened emotions. He didn’t want to be the first one to finish. He started to slow down and [Y/n] gave him a look of confusion. He cupped her cheek, removed himself from her body, and slid down making his face even with hips. [Y/n] looked down at Haymitch and smiled mischievously, biting her lip. Haymitch hooked his arms under her thighs so her knees were over his shoulders. He smiled up at her and then plunged his tongue into her folds. [Y/n] felt the jolt of electricity from the contact with her clit. Her hips bucked closer to his face and her head fell back.

“Oh my days, Haymitch,” she whined.

“How do you want it sweetheart?” he said with his mouth still against her.

[Y/n] smirked, turned around, and said, “Just fuck me, Haymitch,”

He quickly stood up and bent her over. She was so wet that it was much easier to dive his whole length inside her. Making her moan his name more, Haymitch gave it his all with quick hard thrusts. In the back of his mind, he prayed that this felt as good for her as it did for him.

Feeling her whole body tense up, [Y/n] groaned through gritted teeth, “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

Haymitch was almost there too, “Yes, beautiful, cum on this cock,”

Suddenly the door flew open, “Haymitch you better not - AHH!!” Effie Trinket covered her eyes and ran out of the room with an impressive speed for someone wearing heels that high.

Haymitch and [Y/n] froze how they were. Still inside her, Haymitch said, “Well that’s an experience I never thought I’d have,”

[Y/n] looked over her shoulder and asked, “What? Fucking me or getting caught doing it?”

Haymitch sighed, “Cumming at the moment I got caught by her,”

They both laughed as Haymitch stood up and walked over to the kitchen to get a towel. They needed to clean up and clear the air with Effie.

Masterlist

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m14mags

3 months ago