at-this-point-i-dont-even-know

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain Crossing out the good years And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

Taylor Swift - My tears ricochet

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Always and Forever (3/?)Jack Abbott x Reader

About: Jack Abbott lost his wife in the war, and her memory haunts him for six years, three months and twenty four days.

Warnings: don't know anything medical or anything military so everything is just a guess - Angst

A/N: I hadn't forgotten about this story, I got sick and then work got busy and then I went on holidays. Also I don't know where this is going because preplanning is for the weak

tag list: princessjayll, @sabrinaselina55

part two/part four

“We should get married!” Your voice was high as you smiled down at Jack, who was knelt down on the pavement tying his shoelaces.

You both were on leave, two weeks stateside before you had to return for another tour. For both of you it would be your last, one more rotation and then you would both return to the States and live out your days in a small town somewhere in a house with a verandah and a huge backyard for many, many dogs.

You had now been together for three years, three years- three tours and in those years there had been ups and downs that could rival any great literacy novel. You had arguments that lasted for days, ignoring each other the moment you had finished with patients, and make ups that had other soldiers begging to have your tents placed further away.

“I think traditionally I’m meant to ask you-” he started while rummaging through the backpack he had on, and you huff a little as he doesn’t pay attention.

“Jack! I’m serious! We should get married today! Or tomorrow, sometime before we go back, I think we are all a little old for me to keep calling you my boyfriend.”

“You could call me your partner?”

“Do we own a business together?”

“No-”

“Then I’m not calling you my partner! I want to call you my husband!”

The street you were on was quiet but not empty and a handful of strangers turned to listen to your conversation, your voice carrying as you got more excited.

“Seriously Jack! We live and work together, if I have to explain to another pimply-faced private that you and I are ‘serious’ and not just ‘fooling around’ I might shoot myself… or them- probably them!”

You are pacing now, walking in front of Jack who's gone weirdly quiet, you turn ready to tell him more reasons on why you two should get married when the words are snatched from your tongue.

Jack, looking up at you, his knee bent and his back straight as he holds out a small blue ring box open to show a gorgeous opal and silver ring. He is just smirking at you, not asking any question as you stutter for a word, any word.

“...” you can’t even get the word yes out before you fling your arms around his neck and pull him up to you. 

“I’ll take that as a yes!” he laughs into your neck, as you both cling to each other.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack came too on a hospital chair in a corridor of the emergency room. Dana is holding his wrist as she checks his vitals while another nurse is sticking a bandage on his forehead.

“Dana-” 

“You idiot man, falling over and hitting your head like an intern!” she chirps at him, giving him a swat over the head which he winces at, a headache blooming behind his eyes.

“Dana?” His head was foggy, but he could remember the children's ward and the woman who laid on the only occupied bed.

“Yeah hun, she’s back there.”

How- he didn’t know if he asked the questions out loud or in his head, because he couldn’t stop the roaring of blood screaming in his head as he tried to stand up.

Dana grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back down.

“Jack- I am going to say this once, you need to stay out here for a moment, gather yourself and then when Robby gives the all clear then you can go in there.”

“Dana?”

“Jack?”

“My wife is alive?” The question hung between them, almost visible as his shoulders sat hunched at his neck and his foot tapped against the linoleum floor.

“Yes, she is alive.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay in a foreign hospital bed and stare at childish animal paintings on the walls, a literal bear smiling at you as you stared back.

You’re alone and the feeling starts to eat at you. You know you’re in America, you remember saying goodbye to the nice young soldier who had been by your side for days and you remember greeting some ambulance drivers but after switching from one uncomfortable gurney to another you truly had no idea where you were.

You hit the nursing call button on your bed repeatedly, you were done being left in the dark.

You had every intention of demanding answers as someone ran into the room, but instead of a nurse, dressed in jeans and a ridiculous jacket stands your sister.

Your beautiful older sister, with haunting eyes and her lips curled up in something you don’t think you had ever seen her wearing- a smile.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” You ask, unable to drag your eyes from the awful fluffy jumper.

“It's cute!” She's immediately defensive and any tension that was in the room fades away as you laugh at her tugging down the offensive item.

“It's yellow! And fluffy! You look like a weird duck!”

“You're a weird duck!” She retorts back before settling in the stool beside you.

Her hands hover above the bed, inches from your hands but she can't seem to breach the gap so you help her out, grabbing at your hands and holding them close to your chest.

You know your crying while laughing, and you can't stop it because Emery's hand is warm in yours, soft and warm, like it had been years before and you clingy to it and you bring it up to your lips and gently kiss it which has her immediately pulling away and glaring at you, as she too cries through her emotions.

“Just because you're home doesn't mean you can be all clingy! We are Walsh's, we don't do clingy!” she's quoting your mother there and you stop laughing.

“I was just rescued from being held hostage for - god knows how long - I can be clingy.”

“I’ve missed you!” you say and you expect Emery to roll her eyes, to pull away from the emotion like she would have done before, but she just cries heavier before climbing into the bed with you, her head on your shoulder as she holds you close.

You try not to flinch at the touch, as your body roars against the kindness after years of nothing but pain, but she feels it and holds you tighter, compressing you into her body.

“You’re alive-” she says, over and over again, as if telling herself more than you.

“Yeah- I’m alive.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You got married?!”

“Yes!” you reconfirm, again, as you wave your left hand in front of the mobile phone Jack is holding, the gold band sparkling in the afternoon sunshine.

“To Abbott?”

“Yes to Jack! Who else would I marry?”

“Literally anyone else!” 

You know your sister is teasing you, she and Jack had never really gotten along, butting heads over anything from medical techniques to what was the better craft beer at the small town bar you had introduced them in. They spent half their time together either bickering about something or ganging up on you, about how you need to take better care of yourself. Which then ended up with them bickering about that with each other, while you wandered off to play darts with someone else or take a long bath, depending on the location. 

You had long given up the hope of a civilised dinner with you, your sister and your boyfriend… Husband!

“You got married in Vegas? Are you a cliche?”

“Are you going to tell me you're happy for me?”

“I’m happy you’re happy, you know that. Have you told mother?”

Jack looks at you over the phone, one eyebrow raised. You and Emery’s mother was a drunken socialite who didn’t even know you had enlisted, you highly doubted she would have cared that you were married.

“Of course not! I don’t even think I have her number saved.”

“I have it, want me to tell her?”

“No thanks.”

“Sis-”

“Emery, I got married today! Let me celebrate!” You fake a smile and look behind the phone to Jack, who is now leaning further into your orbit, his smile warm but cautious as you know he is ready to turn the phone around and put your sister in her place.

“Congratulations! Both of you! We can celebrate when I see you next week on base!”

“Love you!”

“Love you too, bye Jack!” The phone call ends and you look at your husband.

Dressed still in the black suit trousers and a white button down, he crawls up the bed and over your body, smiling as you feel a blush creep onto your cheeks.

“Hello wife.” he purred.

“Hello husband.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So where are we?”

Emery raises a brow and smiles coyly at you, which makes you want to throw something at her but with nothing to throw you opt to raise your middle finger as she smartly says, “A hospital.”

“No shit sherlock! But seriously, they didn't tell me where we were heading when we took off from Germany.”

“You are currently in the paediatric room of the emergency department-”

“Emery, I’m serious! I have had no idea where I’ve been for- wait-” you pause and a question pummels into you as you suddenly feel bile rise up in your stomach, “How long was I missing?”

“Six years and three months, give or take a day.”

Your sister looks devastated and you can’t help but let out a cry- you lost six years in the desert! Six years when your sister and husband were out living their lives, meeting people.

“Did you look for me?”

Emery dropped further back into the chair, her body hunched over and her voice quiet.

“Yes, but we were told your chopper went down over a no-fly zone and there were no survivors.”

“But I was alive! I was there and I waited for you! I waited for you and Jack and no one came!”

“We would have come! If we had known-”

“You should have known! You should have known I was alive!” You’re crying now and you can’t stop, the tears are heavy and your body is convulsing against the feelings in your stomach.

You were alive! You have been alive this whole time and they have just been here.

Living their lives.

Going out for dinners.

Having drinks.

Meeting people.

Meeting people- new people, oh gods you want to scream at Emery who is now crying and begging you to look at her but you can’t, how can you when you have lost six years of your life.

Six whole years.

“Where is Jack?”

Emery swallows and looks away.

“Emery, where is Jack?”

“He-”

“Did he remarry?” Your voice is quiet, low and fear laced every word.

While you were fighting for your life, staying alive and dreaming of returning to Jack, was he meeting someone else, falling in love, marrying them, moving them into the Arizona house with the wrap around verandah and adopting a million dogs.

Was someone else living out your dream?

The hospital door slams open and your sister leaves the room and you barely register it, the panic building in your chest as you picture it.

Some leggy blonde (because of course she would be blonde), with a 1000 watt smile and probably good cooking skills, marrying Jack in a big wedding with all your friends and family in attendance, the two of them planning a honeymoon somewhere exotic then moving into the lavender themed kitchen, making plans to update it to something white and sterile. 

“He moved on.” you say to yourself, over and over again.

“How dare you!” A voice cuts through your mania and you look up.

Dressed in scrubs, splattered with blood, and with hair a little greyer than before, you take in Jack Abbott. 

He stands shorter somehow now, his shoulders hunched a little and his eyes- his eyes had once sparkled at every blink, they looked duller, laced red around the edges like he had been crying. His hands rest in the pockets of his scrubs but even froma  distance you could see them shaking as he stepped further into the room, you notice a slight limp but you can’t say anything as he was now within touching distance.

“How dare you think I would move on from you!” his words while sounding calm, were laced with anger and you just blink at him. Anything you were going to say was lost on your tongue. 

“How dare you think that I haven’t spent the last six years, three months, and twenty four days thinking about you. I never forgot you, and I never moved on from you. Your sister moved me to this godforsaken city because I couldn’t forget you even if I tried!”

“Where are we?” You whisper, each word paining you as you fear to blink and lose the sight of your husband before you.

“What?”

“Emery won’t tell me where we are- where are we?”

“Six years, three months and twenty four days and that's what you ask me?”

“Jack- I have a million things to say to you but first, where are we?”

“Pittsburgh.”

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Kleya Marki and Vel Sartha in ANDOR | 2.01

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Live reactions to one of the worst sentences ever uttered on television.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

SAS: Rogue Heroes 1.05

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Always and Forever (2/?)Jack Abbott x Reader

About: Jack Abbott lost his wife in the war, and her memory haunts him for six years, three months and twenty four days.

Warnings: MDNI- smut and angst ahead - I don't know anything medical or anything military so everything is just a guess

A/N: I have split this in half because this chapter was getting away from me, this half is already 8 pages long.....

tag list: princessjayll

part one/part three

It was so noisy when you awoke, the sound of blades banging over head, richocing through your pounding head. You tried to sit up and grab your aching skull, as if you could calm it with your touch. 

Ice fills your veins as you pull against the soft restraints that hold you in place.

God please not again you cry out, either internally or vocally, you no longer knew the difference. 

Please just let me go, you sobbed over and over again.

So time passed and your grief came in waves.

The first few weeks (you guessed), you were calm, saying only what you had been told to in training. You told them your name, your rank as a Field Doctor and your ID number. You repeated it over and over again, as they tried to get anything further out of you.

After that came the rage, you swore at your captors, screaming, calling them all the worst words you knew under the sun. And since you knew three languages fluently, and all the swear words of two others, it kept you entertained as the beatings finally stopped.

You skipped over bargaining, there was nothing you knew that would give you your freedom, and depression, well that stage stayed from day one until now.

You had no idea how long you had been a captive for, there were no calendars to tell you the passage of time, and all the movies that show prisoners scratching out days on the walls lied. No captor would give a captee anything strong enough to mark up a wall. Then they had let you out, freedom as long as you didn’t run. You stayed, helping the women and the children. You think the war may have ended in the time you were there but you didn’t know. You didn’t speak their language and they didn’t speak yours. So you nursed the sick and helped the injured, then curled up in the tiny bed you were given and mourned the life you had known.

The only thing that kept you sane, was the memory of him.

Doctor Jack Abbott, your best friend and husband.

It was his memory that kept everything at bay when the pain came too much or the darkness too dark. 

--------------------------------------------------

You hated him at first, he was arrogant and talkative from the moment he walked into your medi-tent. You were hands deep in a civilian, who happened to be on the wrong side of the road when an IED went off, when he sauntered in, flashing you a cocky grin before one of the nurses strapped a mask over it. 

“Who do we have here?” he asked, looking at the patient instead of you. Your hackles were up, besides you and your sister there was only one other female surgeon in the area, so you were prepared for him to treat you like a nurse besides the fact you were the one running the operation and the one with blood up to your elbows. The last doctor who had worked alongside you had done that, and the one before, you were sick of the arrogance of male doctors.

“Female, late forties, shrapnel in chest and upper thigh, uncontrollable bleeding in the gut, unknown origin.” you call out the situation without looking at him, your fingers expertly running the intestine looking for any nicks or damage.

“Have you checked no man's land?” His question has you rolling your eyes and you can’t help but pause your work to look at him through your eyelashes.

“No- I just thought I would run the bowel for no fucking reason.” you hissed and he laughed.

He fucking laughed and you curses.

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“Doctor Jack Abbott, it's nice to meet you.” Even with the mask on you could see him smile through the material, and it makes you want to throw something at his face. This was no place for smiling.

---------------------------------------------------

You feel yourself dozing off again, energy gone from your bones as the sound you hear finally connects with your long forgotten memories.

Helicopter. 

You were in a helicopter. You hadn’t been in one of these since your captor, so either those who had you had finally advanced their situation beyond anything they had had before, or you were rescued.

You were not dumb enough to fall for the idea of a rescue. 

That would be idiotic. 

And childish.

-------------------------------------------------

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“What?”

“Your favourite colour, what is it?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I think we are going to be together for a while, and I want to know your favourite colour.”

“No offense Dr Abbott, but fuck off.” You turn away from him mid scrub and finish up at a different basin, feeling his eyes on you.

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

You scoff and he laughs. The sound isn’t as jarring as it should be. You ignore that.

“I don’t need to get to know you Dr Abbott, I know your type. You signed up for the army so they could do what? Pay off your school fees? Get you away from your wife? You look like you have one tour in you, then you’ll go to the reserves and then once you’re Stateside in a cushy job in a private hospital you can tell tales of your time in the Army over drinks with your friends who will all think you're hot shit for being so brave.”

Your words stopped him in his tracks and he turned to look you straight on.

“You’re wrong, on all fronts, I’m here because I want to help, and as for a cushy job stateside, I did my internship and residency in Emergency Medicine at John Hopskins. I’ve seen my fair share of bloodied and bruised bodies. I have spent days in an OR stitching back woman and children that have been attacked in their homes by ICE, or gangs, or their own fucking flesh and blood, long before you even finished your senior year of high school. I came to this god forsaken place to find a reason for it all. And as for tours, I’m on my third and I’m here as long as they will have me. Is that good enough for you, sunshine?”

You nod, taking it all in, this man before you with his salt and pepper hair aging before his time and his eyes that lit up with fire behind them with every word.

“And-” he said, with that shit eating grin back on his face, “I’m not married.”

You nod again and run your hands under the limited water you have.

“My favourite colour is Lavender, it's also my favourite smell and flower.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You awake again, still strapped with the soft restraints but this time as you throw your head back to take in your surroundings you don’t hit rock or cement but a pillow.

A fucking pillow.

That's all it takes for a sob to rip through you and for you to finally register where you are.

It is a helicopter, now on the ground, with english signs above the door and american voices coming from the cockpit.

“Fuck-” you breathe out and then flinch as the voices become louder, a body coming towards you, bending to not hit their head on the roof.

“It's good to see you Doc!”

You look up at the young face of the soldier before you, he has freckles over his nose and a boyish look that you can’t help but smile at.

“Is this real?” your voice is crackly and exhausted from only three words.

“As real as it can be.” the young soldier promised, “We are heading to Germany for a quick check up with a doctor there and then hopefully by the end of the week we will have you back on American soil!”

Home.

To your sister.

To Jack.

You can’t stop the laugh that breaks through.

It's over.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“I was wrong about you.” you laugh as the afternoon finally settles.

You and Jack have been juggling patients for over three hours, what started out as a simple clinic day had ended with two amputations and one soldier heading home early without his spleen. 

So as you scrubbed out, you can’t help but enjoy the sight of Dr Abbott losing a fight with his mask, the knot not breaking against his strength and his fingers too exhausted to complete the simple action he finally just dragged it over his face, a crinkle forming between his brow.

“Really?”

“Yeah- I was awful when you joined, I’m sorry.”

You might be a bitch, taking after your oldest sister, but you knew when to admit when you were wrong and your first impression of the cocky doctor before you was very wrong.

He was still cocky, but he was smart, quick thinking and kind. So much kinder to all, you had forgotten what kindness was after your own two tours.

He was a breath of fresh air in the warm desert climate, and you couldn’t help but enjoy every moment with him.

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

You raise a brow.

“Did a new bar open up in downtown Nowheresville that I didn’t know about?”

“I have two warm American Cokes in my bag that I think have our names on.”

You laugh and he smiles, and god you want to see him smile more. It was like someone turned on a light after you had spent years in the dark.

You stop suddenly, your heart beating in your throat.

Oh.

Oh.

You have a crush!

Fuck!

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Physically other than dehydration, she’s fine. She has a few broken bones that have healed at angles that are not fantastic but as long as she is okay with not running some marathons in the next few months, I can’t see any reason for keeping her here.”

The heavily German accented doctor was talking to someone on the phone when you awoke, the soft restraints gone and now your hands are free and you're laying back down on a mattress, a hospital mattress that feels too soft against your exhausted body.

“Doctor-” 

“I have to go Doctor Walsh, your sister will be on the next plane out of here to Pittsburgh tonight.”

Your sister! You hold your hand out, trying to grab at the phone before the doctor hangs up but he turns away from you and leaves the room without a word or even a glance at your outstretched hand. 

Emery! You wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack kissed like he performed surgery, with a passion that had your knees buckling and your body falling into his.

He pulled her closer, and they fell backwards into the thankfully empty med tent.

The whole camp had cleared out earlier that day, except for  you two and a handful of soldiers who were too busy losing all their money to each other in poker to notice as you and Jack slipped away.

You two had been skirting around each other for months, stealing glances or touches like you had stepped out of one of your Victorian Mills and Boon novels. 

Tonight was meant to be a quiet night, where you would pack up your kits and be ready to leave the next morning, but after you beat Jack in poker and then made one or two meaner comments on his manhood, the tension between you both was tangible.

“Lets get some air.” he had growled into your ear, sending a cold shiver down your spine. 

You nod, not trusting your own voice at this point. 

“Do you have something you need to tell me?” He asked as soon as you were out of earshot of the others.

You only smirk, and push him lightly on the shoulder, the words you want to say are lost on your tongue as his eyes reflect the full moon above you.

You didn’t have the words to explain what you had to tell him, how do you tell someone that he walked into your life when you were at your lowest, when you were so disillusioned by the entire concept of life and while you were not looking for an escape you were also not looking for a saviour. How his incentent chatter during clinic hours, surgeries or even dinner had turned from irritating to a calming balm against your own demons. How he was your favourite reason to get out of your bunk every day.

You stare at him, and stop walking, stopping just before your tent door and grab the lapels of his shirt.

“I like you.” you admit, the words heavy between you and he just stares so long at you that your stomach drops and you let go, stepping away. 

He doesn’t think the same as you immediately think and you start to turn away, your face flushed with embarrassment before he grabs you, pulling you back to him.

“Thank god-” he breathed out, “I thought it was just me!”

The taste of him was like coming home, you moaned against his lips, unable to stop yourself.

The sound was Jack's undoing and his hands, now entwined in your hair, dug into your scalp and he pulled your head up slightly.

He was taller than you, so with this new angle you look up at him, and he bites gently at your lips.

Your hands don’t stop roving over his body, ripping away his jacket and undershirt, you are desperate for skin, to feel his warm soft skin against your calloused hands.

He kisses you again, his tongue fighting yours as you both burned for each other. Jack lets go of our hair and his hands now snake around your body, grabbing your ass and lifting you into the air. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and you can't stop the moan as the friction of your pants tightening around your heat.

“Fuck- Jack.” you say against his ear as he kisses down your neck.

“That’s the plan, babe.”

“Ew! I hate babe!” you laugh as he nips at your collar bone.

He grounds into you, and you cling tighter as he moves you both to the cot, with one hand holding you in place he throws all his packing onto the dust covered floor.

You laugh as he tosses you onto the now empty bed and steps back, looking at you like you are prey and he is a hungry predator.

You were not a virgin, not even close, but you had never had anyone look at you like that. 

He moves slowly, his fingers trailing over your body as he unbuttons your simple uniform shirt, you help him shrug it off before he grasps your trouser button and rips it off. The moment is almost cinematic until you both realise you had forgotten to remove your boots.

Suddenly the magic of the moment is gone and you are both laughing as Jack struggles to remove them.

“Seriously! How do these even fit you!” he hisses as the boots refuse to move.

You push him out of the way before getting up to kick them off. Jack leans against a crate of boxes, his eyes tracking the movement as you dance around the tent trying to get the boots off.

“I should sell tickets to this show.” he muses out loud and you stop, cocking your brow and putting your hands on your hips. It would be a formidable look if you were not topless, with your trousers around your ankles with only one boot on.

“You want others to see me like this?” 

“God no!” he growled before pulling you to him, your lips colliding as he kissed away any further protest.

You both fall back into the cot, your body wrapped around each other as you grind against the length of him, still wrapped in army issued trousers you whine against the friction.

You needed him in that moment, in every moment, your body ached for more.

Your tongues tangle, and you could feel his heartbeat against yours, before he broke the kiss, causing another whine form your lips. You blush at how vocal you are with him, but he only smirks and nips at your bottom lip.

“I could listen to you all day.” he purred before shifting down the cot, his face now level with your crotch.    

As your eyes locked, he slid a finger into you, pumping it in and out agonisingly slowly as you pushed up into his touch.

More you begged, internally or externally you were not even sure any more as Jack took his time, laughing as you tried to take his finger deeper.

“Patience.” he purred again, this time his breath against your inner thigh, you flinched at the contact of cool air against your now vey sweaty skin, and he licked your leg, before returning to his minstations, adding another finger.

You rode his hand, grinding into him as he cursed your name, your mind scattering into oblivion as your body bowed off the cot as you succumbed to the climax screaming his name.

He didn’t stop to give you a moment, his tongue now joining his fingers he pulled you immediately into another earth shattering ending, your body now screaming for a release from the enjoyable torture.

“Gods-” you said as he finally let you go, your body already missing his attention as he crawled into the cot next to you, pulling you to his chest as you felt sleep overtaking you.

“You didn’t-” you tried to say, to argue that he didn’t get his own happy ending, but he just kissed your temple and told you to get some sleep.

“There is plenty of time for me." he promised.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The flight from Germany to America was somehow both long and short at the same time.

You were given a shot of something in your now always present IV bag that had you falling asleep before the young soldier who had now been with you for multiple days could even get your gurney wheeled onto the carrier. 

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean you had awoken from your drug induced sleep with a start, screaming from a nightmare that you couldn’t quite remember as you tried to readjust to reality.

The young soldier, who once again told you his name and then you promptly forgot it again, had handed you an ipad with a newspaper app open.

“It might be good- to see what's been happening.” he said, his accent twanging on each vowel.

“Where are you from?” you asked, quietly, your voice still not really back.

“Arizona, Madame.” he said before turning back to the magazine he had been reading.

You smiled weakly, “I bought a house in Arizona with my husband,” the boy turned and looked at you, “It has a wrap-around porch and big windows that look out over the Tucson Mountains.”

“Did you love the sunsets? I miss the sunsets when I’m away.”

You sigh and look up at the roof of the plane, “I never got there, we bought it when we were shipped out. I was about two weeks away from going home when I was-” you can’t bring yourself to say the rest, “But I hope to see it soon.”

“I hope you see it too Madame.”

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (2003), dir. Donald Petrie

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

The second chapter of 'Always and Forever ' is already six pages long and I'm not even half way through...... I might have to split the chapter into two 🤦‍♂️

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Always and Forever

Jack Abbot x Reader

About: Jack Abbot lost his wife in the war, and her memory haunts him for six years, three months and twenty four days.

Warnings: I don't know anything medical or anything military so everything is just a guess , this also might get angsty

part two

Six years, three months and twenty four days.

That was how long Jack had been considered a widower.

Six Years, three months and twenty four days since he kissed his wife goodbye and put you on a helicopter never to see you again.

And every night, for those six years, three months and twenty four days, he has woken from the same nightmare.

He’s standing in the desert, the camp behind him as he waves his wife off, your face smiling down at him from the open door as you yell out something he can’t quite hear. He smiles up at you and then turns his back, just slightly, for a half a moment to talk to someone whose face he no longer remembers, and then the blast forces him onto his back, his face burning from the explosion and the helicopter he had just put you on is alight in the air. Your screams cut through the ringing in his ears as he tries to crawl to the rubble falling from the sky. Trying to get to you as you fall, gracefully and lightly to the ground. A dead weight against the world as he finally gets to you, your face and body burnt beyond any recognition.

Every night he would wake screaming from the dream, his hands clutching the sheets and his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself back to reality.

A reality that didn’t have you in it.

He hadn’t been there the moment you died, no one had, your helicopter had gone down over enemy territory after a routine day. There were no survivors and no opportunity to retrieve your body. 

So every day Jack got out of bed, poured a strong cup of coffee with equal amounts of coffee, sugar and milk, before turning on his police scanner and doing the work outs given to him by his physical therapist. Every day he goes through the motions, eating, drinking, chatting to friends, talking to his therapist, helping in the ER and every single day he is reminded that you are gone.

He moved to Pittsburg once he had been honourably discharged a year after your death and after his reckless actions had cost him his foot. Before Pittsburgh, your home had been an army issued backpack and whatever tent you both collapsed in after performing surgery for 23 hours straight in a makeshift hospital. Your address in the States had been a house in Arizona that you both had put all your life savings into, bought without seeing and sold before either of you had moved in a single box. You were gone before the ink had dried and Jack couldn’t go there without you, so it had gone back on the market and he had moved to Pittsburgh at the insistence of your sister, a woman so much your polar opposite he could not believe you were related let alone see you in her.

Emery Walsh was a force to be reckoned with, and while she may never forgive Jack for talking you into another tour (in her opinion, you were going to go no matter what your husband decided), she had taken one look at him at your gravesite, an empty coffin below his feet, an empty wine bottle in his hands and moved him to her city. Got him a job in the Emergency Room, where she could keep an eye on him without hovering. 

And the days went by.

Six years, three months and twenty four days to be exact.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a better day than most when everything changed.

Jack had been rostered on the day shift, which he was starting to think wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. His friend Dr Michael Robinavitch had brought him a coffee and the Nurse Dana manning the ship it was easy to fall into a comfortable banter with his colleagues. 

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff!” Dana quipped, as she scrunched her nose at Jack's coffee order, and sipped her own black coffee.

“It brings me joy- which is a good thing i’ve been told.” he laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“If you keep seeking joy, people are going to think you’re more than a grump.”

“Who called me a grump? I am a pocket full of freaking sunshine!” he said, as dryly as possible.

“Sure-” Dana said before her next words were swallowed up by an incoming emergency. 

And the day continued on, Jack was working on a teenager with too many bullet holes in his chest to survive, when Walsh slammed her way into the Emergency Room, it was her day off so instead of the surgery scrubs she normally wore she was in jeans and a fluffy jumper.

A joke about her outfit was on Jack's tongue when it faded away the moment he caught her face.

Emery Walsh was a stone cold bitch, with a face that normally gives nothing away as she deals with life's challenges. 

Jack keenly remembered her face on the day of your funeral, dressed in Military garb she had remained stoic beside your parents, she had made an emotionless speech about your character with no stories of your shared youth and when your empty coffin had been put in the ground she had simply walked away. 

Jack had never quite forgiven her for that, but on the other side of that argument, who was he to judge, you died, he drank and then marched head first into a firefight with no backup and no worries for his own safety. It was Walsh’s unit that had pulled him out, screamed at him and then Walsh had taken leave of her own tour to stay by his bedside, not for emotional support but by some kind of twisted familiar duty for her sister.

But today, her face is white, and her eyes bloodshot red as she scanned the ER, her hands wringing as she fidgeted on the spot.

Jack moved towards her, ripping off his bloodied gloves and apron and yelling at someone else to help the kid, and grabbed her by the shoulder pulling her attention to him.

“What's wrong?” His voice is commanding, military, which pulls Walsh a little bit back to herself.

“I need Robby, now.” She says, each word an effort.

“Emery-”

“I need Robby- not you!” she hissed before turning on her heels and marching to another end of the ER.

“Dana?” Jack called out as the Charge Nurse rounded a corner.

“Yes?”

“Where’s Sad Boy?” The nickname had stuck months after the Pittfest Shooting much to Robby’s disgust. 

“Ambulance Bay- I think he’s trying to get some second hand smoke.” she laughed as she wandered away. 

It was a running joke, Robby trying to quit smoking, every couple of months he goes a few weeks before giving into the temptation. Jack always thought it was the biggest joke in the medical world, the fact that so many doctors, who all know the risks, still smoke so much. But who was he to judge, he ends most of his shifts at the edge of the roof. 

“Marsh!” the brunette turned to him, her eyes wide and her hands still shaking, “Ambulance bay!”

He wanted to follow her, to find out what had made the woman so shaken up but as he stepped forward he was bowled over by Dana who called him over to the incoming trauma.

--------------------------

It was almost an hour before he was finally back into the bullpen and away from any patients. 

Jack couldn't get the picture of Emery’s pale face and shaking hands out of his mind the whole time he coded his last patient, he didn’t even celebrate the small moment when they came back to the world of the living, instead briskly walking away leaving one of the residents to tell the family the good news. 

As he walked past Dana’s desk, he couldn't locate the charge nurse, Robby or Walsh. 

Where is everyone he thought to himself as he looked subtly behind curtains.

He wandered through the ER, nodding to people and stopping to ask some where Robby or Dana was but everyone was none the wiser.

He was starting to get frustrated, it was unusual for both leaders of the ER to disappear at the same time, normally they take turns having little meltdowns. 

As he headed towards the peds room he finally stopped the Charge Nurse. Dana was leaning against the door and typing quickly on her mobile.

“Hey! Have you seen Robby or Walsh?” 

The nurse looked up, like a deer in headlights, she went immediately ridged and stood between him and the door.

“He’s busy, can you man the front?” she asks, gently trying to push him back but he pushes his heels in.

“Dana? Where is Robby?”

She flicked her eyes between him and the shut door behind her.

“Please Jack- Go back out the front.”

“Why?”

“Jack-”

“What's going on Dana?”

“Sweetheart, I need you to go back out there.”

Icy filled his veins and suddenly he felt like he was back in the desert, having the worst news delivered to him by a patchy radio and uncaring radio operator who didn’t know who they were talking to on the other end. Whatever was behind that door was enough to have Dana calling him a pet name, and her eyes almost brimming with tears. 

He gently moved her to the side and slammed the door open to peds. 

The sight before him stopped him in his tracks. 

Robby and Emery stood over a bed, Robby putting in an IV line while Emery sat on a stool holding the hand tight of the person in the bed. 

“Who-” he whispered before taking one further step into the room and Robby turned to look at him. The attending eyes are wide and filled with emotion as he realises who walked into the door but Jack couldn’t look at him further. 

Jack felt his knees buckle as he took in the patient in the bed.

Pale and sleeping with a ragged breathing pattern, covered in black and blue bruises and a scar now running from brow to lip but he would know that face anywhere.

Jack Abbot had been a widower for six years, three months and twenty four days.

But it was you.

You were there, in the bed.

Alive.

“What the fuck-” he whispered before his knees gave out and darkness took over.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

On my AO3 account I have finished a d unfinished Harry potter fanfiction, I have been writing HP fanfiction since I was a child on Wattpad, live journal and ff.net. I'm in my 30s now, so when I say hp has been a huge part of my life I mean it with all my heart and soul i truly mean it.

I wasn't a popular kid in primary school, I was weird and somehow both quiet and loud at the same time, and I found it really hard to make friends. So I lost myself in books, fantasy books to be exact and my copies of book 1 to 4 were so well read they are now held together with tape and a prayer.

Harry potter got me through primary school, I made friends in high school because of those books. I found like-minded weirdos who loved fantasy books and magic and it's been twenty years since my first day of high school and I still see those friends weekly.

Harry potter has given me so much, I think in a way it's given me my whole life.

But with all that said and done, I can't continue writing harry potter fanfiction, I don't think I can read it, and I can't give that woman anymore internet hits then I already have.

Jk Rowling seemed to have created a safe space for people who needed it and then when they needed the most, when the world told people they were not enough or they were too much, jk Rowling blew up that safe space. And to see people still support her makes me sick.

Because you can't just like the art and not the artists, they are one in the same and you can't have one without the other.

So this is my very long post (written while on a combo on different cold and flu meds) explaining that I will not be writing HP fanfiction anymore, I won't be writing HPAUs for different fandoms and I really hope other people do the same.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

New Jack x Reader story in the works

Six years, three months and twenty four days.

That was how long Jack had been considered a widower.

Six Years, three months and twenty four days since he kissed his wife goodbye and put you on a helicopter never to see you again.

And every night, for those six years, three months and twenty four days, he has woken from the same nightmare.

He’s standing in the desert, the camp behind him as he waves his wife off, your face smiling down at him from the open door as you yell out something he can’t quite hear. He smiles up at you and then turns his back, just slightly, for a half a moment to talk to someone whose face he no longer remembers, and then the blast forces him onto his back, his face burning from the explosion and the helicopter he had just put you on is alight in the air. Your screams cut through the ringing in his ears as he tries to crawl to the rubble falling from the sky. Trying to get to you as you fall, gracefully and lightly to the ground. A dead weight against the world as he finally gets to you, your face and body burnt beyond any recognition.

Every night he would wake screaming from the dream, his hands clutching the sheets and his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself back to reality.

A reality that didn’t have you in it.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

I do not know you! And I can never know you, I—

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Bruises Pt 1 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, addiction, alcohol, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), blood, pining, angst, eventual smut. Not beta read.

If this flops I’m not writing part 2. Also if it flops I may cry so lie and tell me it’s good.

Word Count: 1.9k

There was no point in trying to cover the massive bruise on your face, it would only make things more suspicious. You dont exactly remember what make your boyfriend Charlie snap, but before you knew it, you were on the floor of the kitchen, his fist making contact with your face. The air escaped your lungs as you felt a blunt force against your abdomen, your fingers sprawled out on the floor, trying to hold onto anything you could as you gasped for breath. You didnt move from the cold tile for a while, it bringing comfort to your burning flesh.

As you strode into The Pitt the next evening, you did so hesitantly, keeping your head down. It was shift change, Dana was still at the nurses station, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and Robby was stuck in a trauma. Jack was at the computer, reading over the shift change reports.

"Evening." you said casually, setting your water bottle down on the desk. Dana was the first to glance up.

"Eve- what the fuck?"

Jacks head shot up, and without hesitation he rounded the desk, taking your face into his hands, inspecting the damage.

"What the fuck happened?" you avoided his gaze as he gently cupped your cheeks, brushing his thumb across the black and blue skin.

"I'm fine. I was playing baseball with my nephew, and he has a really good swing." you tried to chuckle through your lie. He studied your face, his jaw clenched and brow serious.

"Did you get an X-ray?"

"I'm fine. Really." you shook your head, but when he delicately pressed his fingers on your nose you jerked your head backwards with a wince.

"Bullshit you're fine, you're next for X-ray." he grabbed your wrist and started leading you towards radiology as you protested.

"I know we have other patients, but you cant treat them with a broken face. If its broken, you're going home."

"No!" you called out too eagerly, almost in a panic. Jack stopped in his tracks with a screeching halt, twisting around to look at you. His demeanor instantly changed, his gaze burned into your flesh as he studied you: your eyes, your shallow breathing, and your posture that seemed to be recoiling with each passing second. His jaw was clenched, but the grip on your wrist began to loosen, and he slowly let go. You looked down as his fingerprints began to fade away.

"I'm ordering a CT" he deadpanned with a quick turn, continuing your walk to X-ray. His pace speeding up over so slightly and you struggled to keep up. The air was heavy; the silence hung high in the air- only the hum of the hospital’s harsh artificial lights filled the uncomfortable void.

"For a broken nose?" you called out, confused.

"Just a precaution."

"We don't order CTs for a broken nose, Jack. I dont ne-"

"Will you just fucking listen for once?" he hissed through clenched teeth as you jerked backwards. Jack was known for his tough exterior, but he wasn't short, not with his patients, and especially not with you. You knew there was a soft side to him, one he rarely showed. You’ve seen him sit bedside with a young girl explaining to process of a medical abortion, you’ve watched him show his prosthetic leg to a terrified little boy with a broken arm, and you’ve watched him talk a fellow vet through a PTSD episode.

He pulled a gown down from the shelf in the waiting room and pressed it firmly against your chest. "Get dressed, when you're all done I'll come get you." Before you could respond he walked away, his fists balled by his sides. You had never seen Jack like this, what happened? It's like a flip switched. His body was tense, his eyes full of anger.

You look at your bruised face in the changing room as you took off your engagement ring and other jewelry. You did your best to cover your bruised body despite the gown being open all the way down the back. The radiology tech was the seasoned Maxine, having worked at PTMC for almost 40 years, and having pet names for everyone at the hospital.

“I’m not sure why he’s making such a fuss over a broke nose. He’s not my dad.” You kept the conversation going as she positioned you on the bed.

“What about your daddy?.” Maxine winked.

“Jesus Christ Maxine!” You blushed.

“I’m just teasing honey, he just cares about you that’s all. Some may say smitten.” the smell of cigarettes emanating from her Snoopy scrubs.

“You said you were gonna quit.” You tried to change the subject as you began to blush even harder.

“They haven’t killed me yet. Besides, talk to me when you’ve been working here as long as I have. How long have you been working here?”

“5 years.”

“See, you’re just a baby, baby.” She patted you shoulder and left the room to start the scan. “Just stay still for me doll and it’ll be done soon.” After CT you hurried to change out of your gown and back into your black scrubs. You were seething with anger and shock by how Jack had spoken to you earlier. You waltzed back down to the ER despite his orders and looked up at the patient board. 10 more in the waiting room since you went down to radiology? What the fuck?

“When you’re all done I’ll come and get you…” you began speaking to yourself in a mocking tone as your scanned your badge to pick up a new case, “who the fuck does he think he’s talking to?”

“What are you doing?” You spun to find Jack barreling toward the nurses station from curtain 3. “I told you I’d come get you when the CT was over.”

“And I’m not a child Jack. I’m a big girl, I can walk myself back to work. I don’t need you to hold my hand the whole way in case I get lost. Now if you’ll excusing me, I have a vomiting toddler in 12.” You tried to push past but he stepped in front of you, blocking your direction.

“Not until I see your scan results.” You were livid at how infantilizing he was being at the moment. You always thought he viewed you at incredibly capable. You searched his eyes, looking for at least something that would explain this sudden strange behavior. What did he know? What did he suspect?

“Step aside Dr. Abbot.” You squared up to him. Arms resting on your hips. He took a step forward, his chest almost pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat emanating from his body and your breath hitched in your throat.

“Uh Abbot,” Nurse Lena uncomfortably walked into whatever the hell this was. “CT and X-ray results are back.”

Jack backed up slowly, not taking his eye off you as he opened the files on his computer. He began to read, his hands resting on the desk in front of him.

“Why don’t we go over these somewhere a little bit quieter.” He asked, faking a smile and trying to find a private room. You followed in suit.

“You don’t have to take me aside to tell me I have a broken nose, Dr. Abbot.” You were almost 2 hours into your shift and hadn’t touched a patient yet. This was ridiculous.

“You’re right,” he answered back, closing the curtain behind you as you both ducked into Room 7. “I’d like you to tell me where these rib fractures came from”. He didn’t looked at you, just typed away at the computer pulling up your CT results.

“What are you talking about, Jack?” Your mouth instantly began to water as you were hit a wave of nausea. He turned the computer to face you, pulling up your imaging.

“Non displaced rib fracture of the left T6 and hairline fracture of your T7.” He pointed to each rib on the screen, as if it weren’t clear as day to you as well. Your hands tangled in your lap as you tried to come up with some sort of explanation. “Or did your nephew do that too?” Your eyes shot up at his sarcastic remark. Jack regretted those words the second they left his lips. Looking down at his shoes, he inched his way towards the edge of the bed where you were sitting, hands in his scrub pockets.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, putting his hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. You winced slightly as he hit a particularly tender spot and his face fell. "Whats wrong with your shoulder?"

"I'm fine." you just shook your head, fiddling with your engagement ring like you were unintentionally trying to tell him something. He took a seat next to you, looking down at the floor.

"How long has he been hurting you." he finally asked, nervously rubbing the scruff on his face, trying to calm the pit in his stomach. You shook your head again and stood, turning towards the door. He grabbed your hand, stopping you from leaving, unknowingly tracing his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand. Avoiding his gaze, you struggled to hold back the tears that were burning your eyes. You felt a gentle tug on your arm, Jack pulling you closer to him, grabbing on to your other free hand.

There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to tell him. About all the nights you spent locked in the bathroom, hiding from your fiancés hurling words and fists. About the bruises that covered your body. About the control. The isolation. The terror.

"I dont know." was all you could muster, however. You felt his body stiffen, his grip tighten on your wrists. A sob caught in your chest, the lump growing larger and larger in your throat. You couldn’t look up, you couldn’t face him, though you felt his hazel eyes burning into your flesh. Before you either of you could speak again, you were saved by a trauma.

It wasn’t until hours later, as the Pittsburgh sun because to poke out from under the horizon, did you hear the door creak and the sound of his uneven gate coming up behind you. Without a word, he handed you your usual, a cup of vanilla chai tea. The both of you would meet up here on occasion, after a particularly tough shift, just to talk. It was a chilly morning, the tip of your nose rosy as another cold Pittsburgh fall and winter began to creep in. You caught chill as the wind whipped through the buildings beside you. As you shivered, Jack instinctively stepped towards you, letting his radiating body head warm yours.

“It wasn’t always this bad,” you finally admitted. “The first time he hit me… he said he’d never do it again. I was stupid enough to believe him. But then his drinking got worse and, you get the rest of the story.” You motion to your face, the cold air stinging your eyes. He stared at you without a word, you could tell he was thinking. You saw the gears moving in his head. Jack Abbot, thinking? That was never good sign.

“You drive or take The T?” He asked, pushing off the railing. “The T…?” You were confused as he started walking toward the door, motioning you to follow suit. “Grab your stuff, I’ll take you home.” “Jack, that’s kind of you, but if Charlie saw some strange man dropping me o-“

“I know,” Jack cut you off, “I’m taking you to my place.”

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Where Has the Time Gone?

Show: ER

pairing: John Carter x Abby Lockhart

Warnings: Character death (not in the pairing)

About: What if after all these years Abby and John are reunited with no partners and no baggage keeping them down

a/n: this is purely self indulgent because I am never going to be over the ending John and Abby got, and while in my high school years I was team Luka.... I have learnt enough about men to change that fact.

“Why are we here?” Joe whined as he pulled at his tie and rolled his eyes as his mother fussed over his jacket.

“Because it’s honouring your fathers legacy.” Abby chipped, repeating the same thing she had been saying for the last three years.

“Papa hated these things- he would hate that his legacy is stupid black tie events and people big noting his achievements.” 

Abby couldn’t help but agree with her son, after all her husband, his father, had been a proud and somewhat humble man who had done what he thought was the right thing to do, not for praise, but for his own internal right and wrong counter.

It had also been the thing that had gotten him killed, in the middle of a civil war on the other side of the country.

Luka had died a hero and Abby was going to spend the rest of her days honouring her son's father, even if at the time of his death they had been separated for four years.

“If we get through this, we can get noodles and eat on the roof.” she promised him and he looked a little happier. Joe was so much like his father it made her chest hurt sometimes, with his large brows that burrowed when frustrated and his 1000 watt smile that shone so brightly it lit up every room. He was also prone to dropping croatian words into conversation, sometimes to throw off unsuspecting strangers or to swear without his mother knowing (she knew, but she stopped chiding him years ago).

But the biggest similarity between Joe and his father is their height, at nineteen her son stood over her at six foot two. 

So for her to fuss over his tie and jacket had her on tip toes, which always made him laugh.

“Noodles and spring rolls?” He quipped back.

“I’m not a monster! Of course noodles and spring rolls!”

With their arms linked they walked side by side into the ballroom of an overpriced hotel in Chicago. 

The fact that the charity Luka had worked for decided to host their annual “Kovač Memorial Ball” in a city that Luka hadn’t lived in for years by the time he died, was frustrating as her and Joe had to travel yearly to a city she had never planned on returning to.

The irony isn't lost on Abby as she and Joe smiled at warm wishes. Chicago had been her home for years, it had been where she had become a doctor, where she had made lifelong friends, fallen in love (twice) and where she had hit rock bottom at the bottom of liquor bottles.

Luka had refused for either of them to return to the city once they had left, making it a condition of their marriage during one of their many counselling sessions and she had agreed, not wanting to come back either.

But now she's back, in a slinky black dress her girlfriends back home had talked her into buying and with a son who was already counting down the minutes before he could ghost his mother and find a dark corner to text his girlfriend. 

Abby chats to a few people whose names she can’t remember as she drinks her soda water and mingles, not staying with any one person for longer than a ‘hello- how are you - it’s been so long’ type of conversation.

Joe waves her off twenty minutes in, making a beeline for the hordevours. 

Abby can almost remember another party just like this, of her and an ex stuffing their faces with little quiches and laughing at the dull conversations happening around them.

She smiles at the thought and finds a wall to lean against, she had to wait for the speeches before she could hide away from this evening.

Leaning against the wall she watches the people around her, it was the only redeeming thing about these events. She had always been a sucker for people watching.

She glossed over the doctors who had spent more time in a field hospital and looked uncomfortable as they played at being civilised in their rented or oversized suits, they gave it all away as they white knuckled their glasses or flinched as someone bumped into them.

She could see Luka is every one of those guests, the way his shoulders had slumped the last time she had seen him, flinching as a car backfired outside the cafe they had caught up in, the day before he flew out again.

The other guests were the rich, the Chicago elite, who came to these things to mingle with their fellow peers and could go home feeling good about themselves as they forget to tip the doorman and yell at the server for spilling a drop of a drink they haven't paid for.

Abby wished for just a moment the soda water in her hand was something stronger as she felt her lip curl up as someone in the crowd tells a story about Luka. When this event was first held, there were many stories about Luka, about his heroic actions and his kindness to strangers, but as the years had ticked over they became less and less frequent.

She can’t hear it well from her spot on the wall.

“He was a hero, an IV needle hanging from his arm as he's pulling me out of the jungle!” the stranger says as Abby pushes off the wall and heads towards him.

He was taller than her, and skinny, in a suit that's made to fit him. She scoffs to herself, there is no way this rich asshole had ever even met Luka, let alone been in danger with him.

“So we are running through the jungle, me carrying the kid, Luka holding me up with one hand and the IV and a gun in the other, the whole time screaming at me in Croatian, and I know it wasn’t words of encouragement!” The crowd that was growing around the stranger laughed, all nodding together as if his work of fiction was the next best seller.

She tapped him on the shoulder, prepared to pick his story apart until he admitted he had either fabricated it or amended another person's story to insert himself into the narrative. It wasn’t the first time she had caught people doing so at events like these so her almost rehearsed insult was on the tip of her tongue as the man turned and anything she was going to say was lost.

He turned slowly, shoulders first then head, like he always had done from a young man, but as his face turned to her there was no longer the look of youthful joy or innocence, instead of a clean shaved boyish chin was a salt and pepper beard, trimmed and full, paired with wrinkled eyes that sparkled as they settled on her face. 

John Fucking Carter.

The boy she loved once.

Grown into a man.

A very fucking handsome man.

“Lockhart?”

“Carter?”

Suddenly the years fade away and he’s pulling her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her up and spun her around.

Abby can’t stop the joyful laughter from erupting as he spun her.

“Put me down you fool!” she said, without anger, just joy lacing each word.

John Carter!

All grown up and here!

He settled onto the ground but didn’t let go of her waist, holding her as she looked up at him, a shiver dancing up her spine as his thumbs gently rubbed against the fabric of her dress.

“I can’t believe you're here!” he whispered, but Abby didn't have to strain to hear him, all the noise of the ballroom around them was gone, it was her and John alone, like it had felt years ago.

“At my ex-husband memorial ball?” she quipped and laughed as a blush bloomed on his cheeks.

“In Chicago, I never thought you would come back.” 

His voice was raw, filled with something she couldn’t quite place. Was it regret?

“I come back once a year.” She admitted, “But never to the hospital- I couldn’t-” her words disappeared as she tried to find the right ones.

“Couldn’t what?”

“I couldn’t face the idea of going there and seeing you- like no time had passed, or worse, going there and not seeing you and realising the years that have gone by.” 

Her admission only brought a wider smile onto John’s lips.

“If you walked back into my ER, I swear Lockhart no time would have passed at all!”

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

🎵 smooth like butter 🎵

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

When the world that once had colour fades to white and grey and black. When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if you look back.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

It's not queerbaiting

It's just a same sex adult friendship