#this was supposed to be fluffy. this was supposed to be a FLUFFY fic. i repeat. FLUFFY

[butyoudidthis4what]

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 got 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!

Taglist: @moonshooter @whiskeyhowlett-writes @smallcarbigwheels @hawkswildfireheart @blackwidownat2814 @yxtkiwiyxt @viridian-dagger @generalstarlightobject @andabuttonnose @beebeechaos @pear-1206 @starkgaryan @travelingmypassion @marvelcasey05 @daydreamingallthetime-world @millenialcatlady @iamcryingonceagain @loveyhoneydovey @a-stari-night @acn87 @moonpascal @lostfleurs @thelightnessofthebeing @beltzboys2015-blog @pouges-world @tinyharrypotterkpopfriend @roseanddaggerlarry @pearlofthepitt @niamhmbt @thefangirllife10 @star017 @marvelousmissmaggie @misartymis @clem9216 @distantsighs @rocker-chick-7 @mayabbot @taylorswifts-cardigan @sammiib444 @livinthevidaloca-ish @morallygreymaniac @woodxtock @shaydawgsblog @deadneverlander @imonlyhereformemes14-blog @sleepingalways @generalstarlightobject @dudewithastick @thatoneawesomechicka @rebeccasaurusrex

[rkiveinmarvel]

pixie dust - joaquin torres des. joaquin is your back seater; partner; friend; maybe lover? yes, lover. air force! reader notes. this is fluffy story about our pretty boy! major ca:bravenewworld spoilers! sam and bucky being older brother vibes, brief mention of injuries, just fluff, teasing, and funny moments falling for our falcon. also inaccurate bnw timeline!!

hi! this is supposed to be a crack fic but i can't help but more background; the roles i used for the characters are from top gun (yes, that's what i referenced) this is essentially you selling joaquin's suit after what happened during the brave new world --- he is so fun! (i <3 u danny ramirez)

w.c: 1.6k

Joaquin Torres, is a man with many words and has a lot of dreams. Being part of the Air Force, being a Falcon, being part of Avengers, and being useful to everyone — especially, you. Torres met you upon being part of the Air Force, he was your backseater and your second eyes. Essentially, he would show you respect, but it doubled when you introduced him to Sam Wilson. The thing is you knew Sam, hell, you knew the Avengers; therefore in Joaquin’s doctrine, you’re also an Avenger. That’s why he needs to be useful to you and to impress you.

He knew you were strict, you commanded the air with such power and control, so, he was more than thankful that you introduced him to Sam because that simply means you trusted him but nothing prepared him upon seeing you outside of air force uniform, how casual you talk and tease Sam and Bucky, nothing prepared him for it.

While a lot of cadets hoped to have a good shot with you, you were teasing Bucky like there’s no tomorrow, you’re textpals with the hawkeye, and Sam is simply not Captain America to you, to you, he’s just Sam. It surprised him—especially, the time where you laughed at his joke while Sam was discussing a mission about the flag smashers or the time where Bucky jumped out of the place to help Sam chase flag smashers causing him to crash.

“I bet your ass, Bucky would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for the serum.” You rolled your eyes in chuckle as you two saw Bucky screaming as he fell down the plane and Red Wing following him. “Loosen up, Torres. I’m not in a position to say something in order. You’re an equal, during this time, and by the way, your shoelace is untied.”

For a man with many words, he lost some that time. 

Honestly, being the Falcon is a lot harder than he expected to be, he asked Sam and he asked the internet how to fill the step the Sam’s falcon left — so, when Sam trained him, he can’t help but burn himself to be the best version; for someone, who commanded respect and build position as front seat, you were there to support your back seater. 

“Torres, take a break. No Falcon can have a flight with shit energy.” As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes your company—no, he likes you. His front seater, the pilot, and the Avenger* (he considers that you are one) in no defense or complaint he did take a break, as you gave him your assessment, he just stared at you and nodded absentmindedly.

He wanted to be yours and for someone who dreamt of becoming useful to everyone—his priority was you. He wanted to be seen, acknowledged by you. After two years of training to become the Falcon, he finally did—he hopes the Red Hulk issue would be the break he has and he will ask you out after him and Sam figure it out.

So, here you are now with him in Captain America’s base as you stitch the wound that Sam had gotten after his brief encounter with the sidewinder. As Sam shares his plan, Joaquin is already packing his stuff and ready to back him up. You didn't like that: not because you don’t trust the two capabilities but because you’re not gonna be able to help this time, due to the fact that you’re with Bucky’s campaign. So, when Sam got the stitches he needed, he packed as you talked to Torres.

“Hey, Torres.” He looked up at you. “Yeah?”

“You gonna back him up? You sure? Isaiah barely trained you, you sure you can han—”

“Okay, I know you said I’m barely getting used to the suit but Sam needs me, don’t worry too much, you should worry about your congressman, I saw his pictures, he looks stressed.” He yaps but he stopped when he saw the worry in your eyes. 

Here’s the thing, you know Torres likes you and you hoped that he knows that you feel the same way too, yet neither the two of you do something about it—for another, Torres saw you as his superior that he needs to prove something while you, on the other hand, don’t want to push Torres fast, wait for him to figure it out. But in moments like this, a conversation should be present some other time.

“What? You’re really that worried?” He asked softly.

“If I say yes would you still leave?” 

“...Depends.” You sighed at his response, you can’t blame him—he wants to prove Sam that he is ready, he wants to prove to you he can protect you too. That despite him being a back seater in a jet—he’s all front to you now. But all you replied: “You do know, Sam had faced this shit before and you don’t have the super serum like Walker or Bucky…”

Neither of you don’t confirm or deny the feelings you two have but moments like this, the verbal and nonverbal cues you two have—is something so bright and noticeable.

“I’ll come back. Okay?” There he said it—an assurance that he will come back, he will be okay, he will be fine; in that moment, you just nodded. “You better. It’s gonna suck if Lucas gonna replace you as my backseater.” No, it’s more like please be safe and come back, I want you back and no one else. It’s unnoticed but you both knew it. It’s more than the partners in jet, yes, it’s definitely more than that.

Bucky is taking a break upon shaking hands with people whom he will never remember their names, sooner or later—but nothing prepared him seeing you all panicked as you told him the situation that Sam and Torres faced. He knows something is up with you and Torres so, he knew he had to check on Sam too.

“Hey, we’re gonna check on them.” He simply offered a little comfort as you two entered the car. You just nodded as you recalled the news and information you received about what happened. “You can stay. Don’t worry about the campaign. I’ll call if I need something.”

“Buck, you barely call Sam.”

“....No, trust me. I’ll call if I need something.” He smiled awkwardly.

As you two enter the private room, Sam and Bucky share a hug and include you; after their little talk, you were left behind. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your boy safe.” You had chuckled at Sam’s words. 

“Well, if you didn’t. He wouldn’t be here, Cap.” Sam smiled and nodded as you two watched Joaquin get operated on. “You’re listening too much to Bucky's PR Team.” He added, as you scoff in laughter. “It’s kinda useful.”

After two weeks of Sam solving the Red Hulk case, you sit on the sofa of Captain America’s headquarters as you scroll the news release about Sam’s success and Bucky’s candidacy, as you were about to get water—the hospital called, that he is awake. You, Isaiah, and Sam drove to the hospital, as Isaiah gave flowers, Sam gave him some pep talk then finally, you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You both had said at the same time, the moment you entered his room. He had this look on his face where he looks in pain yet sometimes relief while yours is mixed with disappointment and relief. You walked closer to him, as you wanted to tell him a lot of things but all of them got burned as he simply said. “I am okay.”

In that you felt yourself so small, the rank and the stripes you had suddenly slipped away from you. Here, you’re just a person—being vulnerable, he was okay and he was alive. In a brief moment, Joaquin chuckled, as you sat on the chair and held his hand: it was warm.

“Couldn’t let Lucas have my seat behind you.” He said, in that you had chuckled, he’s back—Joaquin is back, he’s okay.

“I thought I lost you.” You had whispered. Joaquin nodded as he held your hand that was on his. “I wouldn’t let that happen, not when I know Lucas is waiting to get a seat behind you, not when I haven’t bought you my favorite empanadas, and not when I haven’t made you my girl and introduce you to my mama.”

The beeping of the machine that supported his recovery remained in silence as he said those words, he shot his chance as you smiled. “Figures.” You shortly replied, as he smiled. “I like you.” You see this happening but in a different setting, like a date, but here you are, he is recovering—admitting he likes you while you can’t help but worry more.

You both chuckle as you bring his hand to your lips as you kiss it. “Well, you better recover fast, take me out on a date to those empanadas you like and maybe introduce me to your mama.” In that Joaquin nodded. “Can we use my suit to carry you to the house? Or the restaurant? I bet we’ll look badass.”

“Yeah, about that.” He glanced at you. “I sold the suit. We need it for the hospital bills.”

“What do you mean?” Of course, you didn’t. You and Sam just agreed he’s not allowed to use it for a while. “Well, you need to recover first, Joaquin.”

“Yeah, but how will we help Sa–”

He was cutted off when you kissed him so, shortly—leaving a stupid smile on his lips and blushing ears. 

“Recover first and maybe if Sam needs some help from you. We can use Pixie Dust instead.” In the stillness of the vicinity of him and you, he had smiled. Finally, something real. 

For almost half a minute he spoke again: “You didn’t actually sell my suit, right?” You laughed. “Of course, I didn’t. Falcon shall rise again.” “You sound like Sam.” “Well, he has an amazing commentary, so, why not.” You two smiled at each other as he smiled—“I’m glad to be back, mi vida.” 

wow new post, i am rushing ⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3 ₊˚⊹♡ taglist: @yesiamthatwierd, @bitchimasnake-sss, @cjand10, @reemoony, @vibraniumqueen

[myceliumsunshine]

heyy can you write something fluffy/crack for castiel?? your writing is so funny i have to ask

Love is an Open Door - Castiel Novak

A/N - hope this is fluffy/crack-y enough for you anon! it's more fluff than crack, and i actually haven't gotten up to the part where cas is human so excuse me if i got it wrong (also it's my first cas fic as well so...) Word Count - 1291

The first time you meet Cas, you slam the door in his face.

“Sam! Dean! There’s a weird man in our bathroom!” You practically shout, scrambling back from the door towards your older half-brothers. They’re both up in a second, the door open wide and guns pointing in the angel’s face. They let out a collective sigh, lowering their weapons in sync (you love it when they do it, you always mentally giggle despite the situation).

“This is Cas.” Dean says gruffly. You stare past him at the man.

“Angel Cas?”

“The same one.”

“Oh.” You glance him up and down. “I thought he would be…”

You trail off, not quite sure what you thought would be different about him. All you know is he’s weird, and that he was in your bathroom, and that he hasn’t actually said anything yet. You offer him your name.

“I know.” You blink at him, waiting for him to say something, anything, but then he’s pushing past you, his attention focused on Dean.

The next time you meet him, you slam the door in his face again.

“I’m supposed to stay away from you!” You shout through the door. “Get lost!”

Sam and Dean aren’t in the crappy motel, out investigating whatever case they’d forced you to stay behind and research. They’d told you all about the angel that they’d kept away from you. You didn’t really know what he’d done, only that he wasn’t to be trusted.

The flutter of wings behind you has you turning and screaming, the stun gun you’d grabbed before answering the door sticking into his chest, electricity humming. His head tilts to the side as he looks down at the weapon. You exhale shakily, and then you’re outside, running.

The next flutter of wings has you running into him. You let out a shriek, turning and running back to the motel room, and locking yourself inside. You’re sure that he could get in, but you’re also digging through Dean’s bag for the demon knife after the next flutter of wings. You turn, throwing the weapon, your mark hitting its spot in his chest. He looks down at it, poking out of his chest.

“Dean did the same thing the first time we met, you know?” He’s smiling, it’s almost fond, but you know better.

“Yeah! And for good reason! Get lost, you winged- uh, winged ass!”

“What reason?”

“Huh?”

“What reason did Dean have to stab me?”

“Well, you… you aren’t to be trusted.”

“You don’t sound sure about that.” Cas seems to be… teasing you. What?

“Well, I don’t know the reason why. But you aren’t to be trusted, Sam and Dean told me to stay away from you.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong. They speak with me often, and I help them with their tasks. Sam and Dean also told me to stay away from you. I wished to know the reason why.”

“Oh. I don’t know. They like to keep me away from hunts, I guess. Maybe they think you’ll help me join in.” Cas tilts his head.

“Maybe.”

And then he was gone, the now familiar rustling of wings signalling his departure.

It’s months before you see him again. It feels like a pattern, slamming the door in Cas’ face, albeit, a long, strange and twisted one, but a pattern nonetheless.

The apocalypse is over, Lucifer and Micheal trapped in the cage in hell, Sam and Adam trapped with them. Dean was living with Lisa and Ben, and you were hunting. After all your older brother’s had done to protect you, you’d taken up the mantle, hunting solo since they’d stopped. The motel room is dingy, but it’s a room, rather than the ugly little car you’d stolen months ago when you’d gone off on your own.

He’s standing at the motel door. You slam it in his face. When you turn, he’s sitting on the bed.

“You’re alive.” You say, deadpan.

“I’m alive.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Sam’s alive.”

It makes you pause. You turn back to the angel. The winged ass, as you had called his last time. “If you’re joking, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not. He’s back. I don’t know how, but he is.” You swallow, looking at Cas intently.

“Why are you telling me this? Where’s Dean? Surely he’d want to know.”

“Dean’s happy. Telling him would only make him leave that.”

Your absentminded nodding confirms his thoughts. “Alright. Take me to him. He won’t be happy that I’m hunting but he’ll hopefully overlook it because he’s happy to see me.”

A flutter of wings. You’re outside another motel, in another state. It’s just as dingy as the one you’d been in previously. Your bag is packed and in Cas’ hand. He hands it to you, and then he’s gone before you can ask him which room your previously dead half-brother had decided to call home base.

It continued that way for years. You slamming the door in Cas’ face before you gave him the time of day. Sam and Dean were grateful for it, the reason they’d kept you and Cas apart years ago sticking in their minds.

“Your sister is pretty.” Cas had told them, once you’d left the motel room to go and stock up on snacks.

“You stay away from her, you hear?” Dean had said then, knife pointed in Castiel’s direction. He’d looked between the brother’s, both of them glaring at the angel like he’d threatened to kill their puppy. Cas nodded, swallowing. 

By the time you’d come back, he was gone.

A small fondness always washed over you when you thought about the angel. Through it all, he’d been there, standing behind the doors you’d slammed. He’d never complained that you did it. Instead he was always standing behind you when you turned, a small smile on his face.

It was sort of like a game. It was your thing. 

So when you slammed the door in his face, and he wasn’t behind you with that gorgeous little smile on his face, you opened the door.

He was standing there, with that little smile on his face. “I’m human.”

“Oh.” You looked him up and down. “I thought you would be…”

His smile widened across his face. “Can I come in?”

You let him in, a smile on your own face. “So. Human. You’re just like the rest of us then, huh?”

“Yeah.”

You both stood there for a bit, not quite sure what to do. Cas was human. The angel that you’d thought was too good for you, too heavenly to even try, was suddenly… human.

“Can I-” You both paused as you spoke in unison. You smiled, gesturing for him to go first.

“Can I just say something crazy?” He asked.

“I love crazy.” You said quickly.

“Life recently has been a series of doors in my face. And then suddenly, you’re there. I feel like I’ve begun looking forward to the door slamming.”

“Oh.” You smiled. “I’ve been searching my whole life to find my own place. Out of my brother’s shadows. And maybe it’s the wine I had earlier, or maybe it’s just you. But with you, I found my place. I feel like you see me. Not just as John Winchester’s bastard daughter, or the half-sister to the Winchesters. You really see me. For me. Not just for my family.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You nod eagerly, and then his lips are on yours.

Your brothers decide that moment to come back into the bunker.

You pull back, both of you looking at them. You turn back to Cas, then shrug, and go back to kissing him.

You can deal with that later.

taglist - @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[zephfair]

Pynch meet-cute as pet owners, rated G

This was inspired by the glorious art of @catbishonen and dedicated to their incredible talent. Thank you for sharing your gorgeous Pynch art! You are amazing!

Pynch meet-cute, pet owners fic, as in they both have pets, rated G except for swearing and Hennessy's jokes, nothing but FLUFFY FLUFF

And big thanks to @kidspawn for the encouragement! Thank you for supporting my fluff! 💖

Adam had never expected to be in a position like this, waking up groggy, struggling to breathe under the immense weight pinning him flat, a horrible hot reek wafting over his face, and—when he made the mistake of groaning and trying to turn his head away from the stench—a warm tongue licking up over his entire face—mouth to nose to forehead.

He made a gargling noise of horror that he didn’t know could come out of him. “Dammit, Baby, don’t!”

But the noise and reprimand only seemed to enliven Baby who squirmed on top of him, wheezing the remaining air out of Adam’s lungs, and set to licking Adam’s face in a flurry of slobbering love.

“Euurgh,” Adam’s response wasn’t any more fluent as he tried to push the adoring dog off him so he could breathe and enjoy a waking moment of non-stinking air.

“You aren’t supposed to be on the bed,” he chided, but it wasn’t very impressive since he was trying to crawl out of the bed while Baby draped over his back and licked his ear.

Adam finally won the battle and got to his feet, panting. Baby jumped off the bed and crowded up against him, also panting.

“You’ve got to stop waking me up like this. I can’t handle it,” Adam told the dog, one traitorous hand already rubbing the big pointy ears. Baby dropped to sit on his feet and pant up at him in adoration. “At least you waited until only five minutes before my alarm.” Adam reached over and turned it off then used both hands to ruffle Baby’s face and ears. “You need to go out? Go out?”

Baby let out one low woof and led the way downstairs to the back door, long legs twisting themselves in his hurry. Adam obligingly unlocked the dog flap and let Baby tumble down the deck steps to the small fenced-in back yard. He yawned as he leaned against the door frame and watched the dog attend to his business quickly then set off to sniff every single thing in the tiny yard as though it had all been changed in the eight hours since he’d last been ourside.

Baby was not what Adam had expected when he’d gone to the humane society to adopt a dog. Adam hadn’t actually ever planned for a pet. He had fulfilled one of his greatest desires by purchasing the small house in the suburbs that was a short drive from work. Although he had plans for moving to the city and a bigger job next, he’d bought the house as an investment, knowing he could always use it as a rental when he moved away.

But once he was moved in and all the painting and little home improvement projects he’d wanted to do were done, he found out his nights and weekends were a little bit lonely. He made himself have a semblance of a social life, but when he curled up on the couch after a long day, he realized it would be nice to have someone to curl up with.

And it seemed easiest to pick that someone with four legs and fur rather than go through the labor intensive dating process.

So, he found himself at the humane society on a weekend, the din of barking dogs ringing in his ear. Adam had thought that although a cat would be less work in the long run, he’d always had a soft spot for the mutts that lingered in the trailer park he’d grown up in, seemingly owned by no one but still looking for a friendly hand.

Plus, he had some notion that having a dog would be good for home security, someone to watch the house during the day and be alert at night, providing some extra reassurance.

As the volunteer led him down the rows of cages, Adam quickly decided he did not want a toy breed, or something smaller than his knees, or something that was as large as a pony. Neither did he want something that required loads of runs and energy nor something that would just lie around and nap all day.

There was quite a selection of medium-sized dogs and Adam quietly looked down at each while the volunteer happily rattled off their information. There was one that looked somewhat like a well-loved stuffed animal with tufts of brownish hair sticking out, and it looked back with large liquid brown eyes...and okay, maybe Adam was more interested in having a dog than he’d admitted even to himself.

Then they turned a corner and Adam first saw the ears. That was his first impression of the dog—big pointy ears that stood upright and pointed in his direction. As he came around the front of the cage, he saw the striking blue eyes, highly unusual in a brown and black dog, and the lolling pink tongue. When he stepped forward, the tail began a wag that shook the dog’s entire body.

It was bigger than Adam had initially wanted, and thin, lean but not starved, and seemed to be mostly long legs, ears, and those striking blue eyes.

When the dog let out a low boof and opened its mouth to pant and smile, Adam thought he might be in love.

He knelt down outside the cage, and the dog stuck its nose through the grate to bump into his hand.

“Ah, this boy, he was returned last month. He’d been raised here and finally adopted a month ago, but he, uh, wasn’t a good fit for that family.”

Warning bells went off in Adam’s brain, and he reluctantly pulled his hand away. “Why wasn’t he a good fit? Behavioral problems?”

The volunteer looked shifty as she looked over her clipboard, clearly buying for time. “Well, the parents claimed that he wasn’t as affectionate as they wanted.”

“Not affectionate, this guy?” Adam stood up and brushed off his jeans. The dog boofed again and followed his every movement.

“I’m going to be frank with you,” the volunteer said, finally meeting his eyes. “We warned the family that he might not be used to being around other dogs and we’ve never had him around cats so we recommended a situation where he was the only dog with only older children. They agreed, but then found out that he was … well, they said he sort of grew attached to the father but he didn’t take to the rest of the family.”

Adam stared down at the dog who was sitting, looking pointedly back at him, tail still swishing along the floor. “Was he aggressive? Unfriendly?”

The volunteer shrugged. “They said ‘indifferent.’ It obviously wasn’t a good match. We’ve had dogs before that we call ‘one-person’ dogs, that take a shine to one human only. But this dog has never shown aggression to humans. And he’s never had a reaction to another visitor like he has with you.”

Adam didn’t try hard to resist. “You said I could take a dog outside for a walk, to try out? Not like a test drive, but well—”

The volunteer came to his rescue. “Absolutely! Let me grab a lead and you can walk him in our yard!”

Then Adam realized the very important question he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “What’s his name?”

Again the volunteer stopped to consult her clipboard which was ridiculous until she looked back at Adam and said, “The family named him Babycakes, and unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get him to answer to anything other than Baby.”

“Baby,” Adam repeated, his tone incredulous, but Baby didn’t seem to care because he boofed again at Adam and began to wag/shake in ecstasy when the volunteer clipped the lead to his collar.

Adam was expecting to either be pulled around the yard like a cart or to have to pull the dog behind him, so he was amazed when Baby walked along beside him, stopping frequently to sniff at dandelions or look around at the wide open field, his big ears flapping in the slight breeze. Adam stopped once and said firmly, “Sit,” just to try it, and Baby sat immediately.

Adam rewarded him with a fuzzle of his ears, and the dog bopped his head up into the movement, his mouth opening again in a grin.

That was when Adam knew he’d been chosen. But, “The name Baby is ridiculous. We’re definitely changing that,” he informed the dog.

Like many of Adam’s plans, that was doomed to failure. So was his strict budget when he shopped at the pet store before picking up Baby on his adoption day. He’d never known there were so many products one could buy for a dog. It was crazy, it was ridiculous, it was … obvious that Baby might prefer a harness to collar and require three different types of toys for tug of war. And of course he had to buy a multitude of treats because he had no idea which flavor Baby would prefer.

Baby had settled into the house much easier than Adam had dared to hope. He followed Adam that whole first day, curling up periodically in a sunny corner in whatever room Adam just happened to be in. And then just so happening to move into the next room after Adam did.

Adam had read a few, well, quite a few, different articles on bringing a pet home and training. He introduced Baby to his food and water corner in the kitchen, walked him on the lead through a tour of the back yard even though it was fenced, and showed him how the dog flap worked.

He was maybe a little heavy handed on the treats, but Baby was being so good, no barking, no scratching and even standing by the back door until Adam let him out to pee in the yard. Adam knew he was blessed that Baby was house-trained but it would be even better when Baby could just let himself outside.

Baby sat at attention a few feet behind him while Adam cooked dinner, and then snuffled loudly under the table while Adam ate, slipping Baby a couple pieces of plain chicken that he ate delicately from Adam’s fingers.

Adam turned on TV for a little while and sat on the couch, waiting to see what Baby would do. He just curled up in a ball under the lamp, head turned in Adam’s direction, and napped.

When it was time for bed, in order to create a sustainable routine, Adam took him out in the yard. But again, Baby seemed to understand that the dark was time for sleep because he didn’t waste as much time peeing and followed Adam back inside.

Their first disagreement came over the bed. Baby had to investigate every nook and corner of the bedroom while Adam brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. Adam walked over to the huge dog bed he’d splurged on, hunkered down and patted it, calling for Baby.

Baby walked over, nose to the floor, sniffing as he went. He obligingly walked into the bed and circled and circled then circled again. Then stood there staring at Adam.

“Good boy,” Adam said, standing up and going to pull down his bedspread. Baby immediately appeared and leaned against his leg.

“Oh hi,” Adam said. “Your bed’s over there.”

Baby just leaned harder and Adam sighed. He had a feeling this was going to be a battle, and he wasn’t wrong.

Adam tried ignoring the dog and got into bed, plumping pillows behind him so he could read for a while. Baby, who obviously didn’t know what the word “ignore” meant, stood at the bed, head resting on the mattress by Adam’s hip and panted loudly, an occasional whine coming out when he exhaled.

Adam finally got up, rubbed his ears and took him back to the dog bed. He squatted and smoothed his hand over the special memory foam mattress, made encouraging noses, looked back to Baby … and got licked on the nose.

He sputtered and sat down hard on his ass. Baby took that as encouragement to crowd onto his lap, at least, as much of his head, legs and chest as he could, while Adam pleaded with him.

“You’re a good boy,” Adam gasped. “But you are not a lapdog.”

He pushed and wrestled with Baby who was in ecstasies of love at the attention. Adam knelt and patted the bed again. “C’mon boy, this is a better mattress than I’ve ever had. It’ll feel so much better than the floor.”

He smiled when Baby walked into the bed again and turned. Looked at Adam. Turned again. And finally plopped down with a sigh.

Adam rubbed his head and ears and praised him lavishly. Baby’s tail continued its metronome beat of loving devotion.

Adam hurried back to bed, turned out the light and lay down before Baby could change his mind. Although he’d worried about whether the noise of a dog would keep him awake, Adam was pleased that his lifetime of exhaustion allowed his usual deep sleep to continue, and although he had a weird dream about dating a woman wearing a fur coat and felt extra warm all night, he slept just fine.

Until he stretched the next morning and froze, wondering just who the hell was spooning him. It only took one deep breath and the smell gave it away.

Adam groaned out, “Baby,” which woke the dog and started the day’s wriggles of delight.

No matter how he tried, Adam just couldn’t break Baby of the habit of sleeping in his bed, no matter how they started the night.

It was only one of the challenges of having a dog that Adam was soon to learn. Baby followed him throughout the house, but once Adam moved the unused bad to the living room, Baby did agree to use it to rest while Adam puttered throughout the downstairs.

Adam had already decided to allow him on his couch, so when he settled in to watch TV, Baby happily joined him. But Adam did eventually win the war and insist that Baby snuggled against him, not on him.

Baby finally took to the door flap Adam had installed so he could let himself in and out throughout the day. However, Adam started locking it at night when Baby showed no need for it, and Adam watched enough YouTube videos showing unexpected wildlife visits.

Baby wasn’t fussy at all about eating, and would eat anything, including any food Adam dropped on the floor that wasn’t retrieved within one split second. And Adam was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t dig or destroy his belongings inside. While Baby would sniff every square inch of the back yard and bark at squirrel and bird invasions, he didn’t damage anything in Adam’s sparse yard either.

Adam knew that Baby would require more exercise than his own sole leisurely investigations of the back yard. As soon as he pulled out one of the leashes he’d bought—Adam had examined each type and finally settled on three—Baby went into paroxysms of joy.

Adam could barely get the new harness on him because Baby insisted on dancing and licking any part of Adam he could reach.

But once outside, he settled happily at Adam’s side and walked along, head and tail erect, looking from side to side in the neighborhood. Adam felt his shoulders begin to relax at the amazingly good behavior.

He tightened again when a woman walking a floofy white dog came into view, and shortened the lead on Baby. But Baby had already seen them, and charged for an instant with the loudest bark Adam had yet heard from him. Adam hauled him back and Baby obliged, crowding into Adam’s legs and growling lowly, a ridge of fur on his spine starting to rise.

By that time, the lady and dog were drawing near and Adam tried to smile at her, but it definitely felt inadequate. The little dog would’ve come closer, despite Baby’s now constant growl, but the owner said sharply, “Control your dog.”

“Yes ma’am,” was all Adam could say because what did she think he was trying to do, one hand tight on Baby’s harness and the other snugged up on the leash.

But he didn’t think he’d have to worry about Baby leaping away because he was wedged as close as he could get to Adam. That continued every time they so much as glimpsed another dog.

At first Adam worried that Baby was territorial around everyone, but he breezed right past human strangers walking or jogging without a care. It seemed like he was experiencing something Adam had read about called resource guarding, only it was Adam that was the resource and Baby was attempting to guard him against all other canines.

That nixed Adam’s plans to drive them to a fenced-in dog park for the moment until he could get some professional training. Baby didn’t seem to mind and loved walking the neighborhood sidewalks pressed close against Adam.

They spent the day finding out that Baby also loved playing with a ball and frisbee even though he hadn’t learned fetch, but he loved chasing them then running around with them in his mouth until Adam all but tackled him.

Adam figured they’d both sleep well that night, and he certainly did, although he woke up Monday morning spooning Baby and cursed under his breath when Baby’s giant head craned back in joy and hit his chin.

Then came the moment he’d been most dreading—leaving for work. Baby didn’t know what was to come, but Adam lavished him with praise and watched him snarf down his morning bowl of food while he sipped his own coffee. He even gave him a handful of treats then walked Baby into the living room.

“I’ll be back, I promise,” Adam vowed. Baby panted and tried to kiss his face. “I can’t stop in at lunch, but I’ll be home on time. Please be good. Ah, Baby, I know you’ll be good,” he crooned.

Baby followed him to the front door, still wriggling in excitement, but Adam had to stop him. “I can’t take you with me, sweet thing. But I’ll be home soon. You take a nap. Go outside and chase those robins.”

Baby’s head tilted and he wagged his tail again, but he still tried to squeeze out the door with Adam. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be back,” Adam babbled as he turned himself to get outside and shut the door behind him.

He could hear Baby start to whine the saddest, most mournful sound he’d ever heard. Adam had his key back in the lock when he caught himself. He had to be strong. Baby would have to get used to being home alone. Adam couldn’t afford doggy daycare and after their experience the day before, he didn’t think it would suit Baby anyway.

He had to tough it out. He had to go to work. He could not take time off just because he’d adopted a dog. He could not stay home.

But he could rearrange his schedule to go home at lunch.

As soon as he slotted the key in the lock, he heard a thump and the skitter of toenails across the hardwood then Baby leaped at him when he finally opened the door.

There as a millisecond of fear that Baby was attacking him, thinking him an intruder, but instead of going for his throat, Baby was whining and kissing him.

Adam laughed gratefully. “I guess you’re not going to make much of a watchdog, eh Baby?”

He tried to pet him and move him so Adam could get the rest of his body inside. They spent a blissful half hour together, Baby looking up at him adoringly while Adam ate a quick sandwich.

He could do this temporarily. It would save money eating at home. It was only twenty minutes round-trip. Just until Baby settled in.

The whining began when Adam headed back to the door, and he hardened his heart and made his promises that he’d be straight home after work.

Thankfully, Baby started to adapt and while Adam still came home once in a while for lunch, Baby seemed okay alone all day. Adam researched dog boredom and bought some more toys that Baby could work at for puzzles and treats while he was gone.

However, Baby usually left them until Adam was home, seeming to crave Adam’s attention and praise more than the treats.

Adam soon found he loved coming home to someone who worshiped him, who looked at him like he hung the moon and stars—although in Baby’s case it was more like doled out treats and walks. They’d eat dinner, go for a brisk walk, then home to play some ball before settling in to watch TV or read.

Adam hadn’t made the time to get out socially and make friends except for talking to a few co-workers. One of them, an assistant named Blue, was quick to zoom in on his nerves that first week and his unexpected lunch trips home.

“You hiding a new girlfriend or boyfriend?” she asked bluntly.

“No,” he said quickly then he sighed and relented when she showed no sign of removing herself. “Here,” he offered his phone gallery. And accepted all the cooing and compliments Blue made over Baby.

But he balked at first when she invited herself over to meet him in person. “Pshaw,” she said, joining him on Friday afternoon. “I walked dogs for half the town in high school. Dogs love me.”

Adam tried to explain how Baby acted on walks and admitted he’d never had anyone over the house to see how Baby would react. “You’re going to have to seek out professional training,” she advised. “Definitely sounds like he has some issue with letting other dogs around you. And you know that could be dangerous.”

It didn’t dissuade Blue. She had Adam enter the house first and was witness to the raptures of love Baby showed him.

When she stepped in, Baby got behind Adam’s legs, and he laughed. “He’s so confident outside.”

Blue squatted down, not that it made much difference, Adam thought, and regarded Baby calmly. He growled a little nervously, so she sat down on the floor. “Hey, Baby, I have some treats here. If you’re a brave boy, can you come get it? It’s the good cheese.”

She held her palm out and Baby warily poked his head out from behind Adam then his body slowly followed.

“I love cheese too,” Blue confided in her sweet, soft voice. “If you want it, just come over here.”

Adam felt Baby’s tail wag cautiously then he tried to ooze over to Blue and carefully took the cheese cube from her hand. She didn’t move, and he swallowed the cheese and sniffed her hand. Then he glanced up at Adam who reassured with, “C’mon Baby, Blue’s a friend.”

Although Baby kept looking back at Adam, he did allow Blue to pet him and ruffle his ears, and he graciously accepted more cheese. They slowly made friends, Adam was pleased to say, although any time Adam sat down, Baby was quick to jump up and crowd into him, always pressing between him and Blue on the couch.

“Someone’s definitely jealous,” Blue teased, but then she offered another piece of chicken or cheese and Baby eventually rested his head on her lap.

Adam secretly thought Baby put up with her because he thought she was some kind of squeaky toy, small and capable of high-pitched noises.

One evening when Adam was busy in the kitchen, Blue sat alone on the couch until Baby joined her and climbed on her lap, efficiently smothering Blue, pretending his damnedest to be a lapdog, and Blue sank deeper into the couch thrilled at the love Baby was showing for once.

Adam made sure he took a lot of pictures.

************************************

Ronan snaked out an arm and batted at his phone alarm to make it shut up. Then he spit out the fur on his lip and reached up to sink his fingertips into the soft fluffy ball curled on his head.

“Dammit, you’re going to give me fucking furballs too. You shed like a rug,” he mumbled.

A muted grumble responsed then a rough tongue rasped on his shaved scalp as if in apology. Only after a few licks, the throat connected to the tongue coughed alarmingly.

“Oh no you little shit, no more yacking furballs on my damn pillow!” Only the threat of that indignity could get Ronan out of bed so quickly.

The cat that usually slept as his nightcap horked once but didn’t spit up. She did get stand partway up and then stretch, long and slinky, in a way that Ronan envied because he was sure it’d cure his spine pain if he could stretch like that.

“God, you have me trained too well,” he said and scratched her around the ears. She tolerated that for a moment, tiny head pushing up into his big hand, then she began to ooze away so his hand petted strongly down her back the entire way to her tail. He scratched right above her tail and she raised her butt appreciatively.

Then she jumped off the bed and sashayed out of the room.

“Why did I have to fall in love with such a diva?” Ronan called after her. He showered and went back to his room to get dressed when he heard the distinctive noise of her food bowl being rolled across the kitchen.

“What are you even doing up, anyway?” he asked when he followed her into the kitchen. “We’re usually asleep for another good three-four hours, you know. You shouldn’t be hungry yet.”

Opal just sat beside the cupboard where he kept her food, sitting straight upright, tail curled primly around her feet.

“I know you can’t read a clock, but you’re a cat. You should have some internal clock shit that tells you we work afternoons and evenings. We’re not used to getting up at the asscrack of,” Ronan glanced at the microwave clock. “Eight-thirty a.m.”

Opal opened her mouth and let out a deceptively polite meow.

“We only get up this early for Mass,” Ronan reminded her. “This experiment of Hennessy’s to open at nine in the fuckin’ morning is ridiculous. And going to fail.”

Opal meowed again, a little louder.

“I don’t like it, so you shouldn’t be all bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and hungry at this godawful hour,” Ronan finished his lecture to his thoroughly unimpressed audience.

The audience who suddenly jumped up on the counter and sauntered toward Ronan’s favorite coffee mug that sat ready beside his Keurig.

“Oh no no no, you don’t, you little fucker,” Ronan raced over and grabbed the mug right as a furry paw reached out to bat at it.

“You’ve broken enough of my glasses, you don’t get to destroy my mug too.” He set it on top the microwave and waggled a finger at her.

As he expected, her paw shot out and hit his finger and they engaged in a brief yet fearsome battle.

Then he laughed and picked her up, sneaking a kiss to the top of her little head as she struggled against all the indignities of her life and tried to escape from his embrace. Ronan kissed her again then dropped her beside where the food bowl should be.

He retrieved it from across the kitchen and got out one of her cans of food. Opal twined between his calves and began to purr when she saw he was obeying her wishes. She then appeared to forget all about him when she began to eat.

“Spoiled rotten,” Ronan told her as he filled her water bowl then prepared his own Pop-Tart and coffee quickly.

With one last look at the clock, he grabbed his wallet and phone. “Gotta go. Be good today, for once. Don’t do anything I would do.”

Opal continued to ignore his existence so he left for the tattoo shop. He was a little disgruntled about the new hours he’d have to work for a few weeks, although he did understand the reasoning behind it. Hennessy’s newest girlfriend was apparently helping her actually create a business plan, and thought they were losing business by not offering longer hours.

He and Hennessy had tried to explain that there wasn’t a lot of demand for tattoos and piercings at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday, but Hennessy was still trying to impress so she’d agreed to try it for two weeks and see if walk-in business did improve. Of course, she wasn’t the one who had to get out of their comfortable bed in the middle of the damn night. No, she left that pleasure for Ronan who she pointed out had no one in his bed, and of course, he would still be responsible for his booked clients which were spread across evenings.

Ronan didn’t like it, but Hennessy had also ignored his empty threats of quitting, so he figured he’d suck it up for two weeks, show that their numbers didn’t improve at all, then take a couple weeks off to make up for it and let the two lovebirds fight in peace.

“You’re just jealous,” Hennessy informed him. “The only pussy you have in your life doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“Wait, did Ronan get a cat?” Noah turned from his client.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “You know that. I adopted her a couple months ago.”

“Aw, you never invited me over to meet her!” Noah pouted.

“Lynch’s pussy is the best thing about him,” Hennessy said. “And I’m not talking about his damn cat.”

“Disgusting,” Ronan said and Hennessy smirked.

That exchange was probably why she made him open the shop all alone.

True to his fears, Ronan spent the entire morning scrolling through social media and downloading stupid games. He didn’t have a single walk-in until Noah joined him for an appointment at 2.

“You look tired, dude,” he said.

Ronan flipped him off.

His finger was still up when Hennessy breezed in. “That for me? Thanks, but no thanks Lynch.”

Ronan answered with his other middle finger.

“Was business brisk?”

“Business was non-existent.”

“Well, wait until we get the word out,” Hennessy said vaguely as her first appointment arrived.

It definitely made the afternoon go a lot faster when they were busy, Ronan realized. The little shop filled up by the end of the night with clients as well as Hennessy’s friends, her twin Jordan, her girlfriend Carmen, and various other hangers-on who liked to hang out there and go for drinks after.

Ronan cashed out his last client and stretched, thinking of Opal’s flexibility and getting jealous again.

“Ready to go home to your princess?” Noah asked.

“Ready for bed. Early mornings suck.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Hennessy said. “Got you a little something for volunteering to work our morning shift.”

“Volunteering my ass,” Ronan sneered, but he unrolled the black T-shirt she handed him. Then he swore.

The shirt had a white profile of a cat’s body and the words “I love pussy.” The entire group burst out laughing. Ronan swatted at Hennessy, but she and her wide grin got out of the way in time.

“I do think we’ll adjust the schedule for next week,” she said as Ronan was getting ready to leave. “If you open at nine, you can leave at five. And don’t worry if you have an appointment scheduled for later. We’ll call them and change it. You shouldn’t be here twelve hours a day.”

Ronan was glad, but he bitched about it anyway because he got irritated when Hennessy ran a joke into the ground. When he got home, his princess actually met him at the door, first threading around his ankles, making it difficult to walk without tripping, then jumping up onto the couch and watching him while he stumbled around.

“Is your majesty ready to dine?” he asked sarcastically from the kitchen. Then swore when Opal turned up right beside him. “I still think I should make you wear a bell, you fucking furry ninja.”

He shook out her dry food and she went through the nightly tradition of turning up her nose at it and watching him get ready for bed.

“I don’t know why you continue this farce. We all know how it’s going to end,” he called down the hall. Opal was silent in response.

Ronan finally fell into bed then cursed, got back up to find his phone, and set the alarm for eight fuckin’ a.m. again. He turned off the light, dropped onto the bed and tried to smother himself in his pillow.

Just as he dozed off, he heard the undeniable crunch-crunch-crunch of Opal eating her dinner.

He hated the new schedule, but Gansey hated it even more. “When can I stop over and show you these artifacts? They are quite simply fantastic.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Ronan mumbled as he half-listened while brushing his teeth. It was entirely too early for his best friend’s eager scholarly interests.

“What about Saturday night? Do you have plans for after work?”

“Yeah. Go to bed. Like I’ve been doing all week.”

Gansey sighed. “I forgot about Mass. What about Sunday afternoon? Or are you going out with Matty?”

“I got no plans except maybe to curl up with my best girl and nap.”

“Then I’ll be over Sunday and I’ll bring lunch. If you can stay awake.”

Ronan had to laugh because Gansey had conveniently not acknowledged the comment about Opal. Their entire relationship was the most constant source of amusement in Ronan’s life.

When Gansey visited, Opal ignored Gansey thoroughly in the way that only cats could. Gansey didn’t love cats, but he’d tried to win Opal’s affections out of loyalty to Ronan. So of course Opal was completely apathetic to him regardless of treats, fluffy feathers on strings, or jingly balls. She would stay in the room in sphinx mode, somewhere, just so when Gansey walked past, she could snake out an arm and paw at his leg or swipe at his head.

When he sat down, she just happened to appear nearby, watching. And waiting. It unnerved Gansey which amused Ronan to no end.

“You know, Lynch, cats are very closely linked to witches and demons in folk lore,” Gansey told him once after Opal had perched on her cat tree then batted his glasses nearly off when he walked past. “There are also numerous tales of cats sucking the breath out of infants.”

“Old wives’ tales,” Ronan scoffed. “She only tries to suffocate me when she sleeps with her ass on my face, but she knows if she murders me that I’ve got the thumbs to open the food cans, don’t I?”

He made a kissy face at Opal, who yawned with a nearly demonic fervor of unhinged jaw and toothy opened mouth, and Gansey shuddered.

“Anyway, it’s all transactional with this one,” Ronan said.

The only time Opal purposefully went near Gansey was when he appeared in impeccably tailored black slacks and she decided right then was the time she absolutely had to rub hard against his legs, twining in and out, purring loudly as she happily deposited her light-colored hair all over his slacks. When he sat, she even jumped up on his lap to his great and frozen shock, kneaded his leg, shook herself out thoroughly, and jumped back off, purring like a happy motor the entire time.

Gansey looked down at the coating of fur he’d been gifted and said, “Why did you get a cat with dust-colored hair when all you wear is black?”

Ronan picked Opal up and rubbed her against his cheek which she accepted for a moment. “She’s not dusty, she’s fawn. Aren’t you, lovely?”

When he tried to kiss her, she stuck out a strong paw and held his lips at bay. It was the usual response to his caresses, but Ronan didn’t give up.

Opal came to him when she wanted, sneaking next to him when he stretched out on the couch. She would start at the end of the couch by his feet then gradually slide closer until she was snuggled against his chest. Then she’d start to purr with such a loud rumble that Ronan’s chest vibrated. That was when she’d allow him to gently stroke her and mutter compliments.

The Sunday visit with Gansey was duly accomplished. Ronan showed the appropriate snark over Gansey’s finds, Gansey and Opal exchanged stiff and formal greetings then watched each other suspiciously, and Gansey left with Ronan’s promise to get together as soon as his other week in hell mornings was over.

Monday was Ronan’s day off so he lazed around, did some laundry, wiped some counters and watched some TV. Opal slept in various sunbeams until Ronan settled on the couch and she began her slow creep into his warmth.

Then things started to get weird.

When he got home Tuesday hours earlier than usual, there was no sign of Opal. He called her name and went to the kitchen to put down the takeout he’d gotten. It was nice but strange to be home so much earlier than usual. Once he prepared a plate, he turned around carefully, expecting to see Opal at his feet, but she wasn’t there.

He called her again and walked through the downstairs but still didn’t see her. He didn’t worry because sometimes she didn’t meet him immediately upon arriving home. He was chewing his way through his meal when he heard a little mrrrp-mrrrp noise coming down the stairs and getting ever closer.

“Hey you, where’ve you been? Too good to come see me? Gimme a kiss.” Opal ignored his request, as usual, but deigned to brush against his legs as she passed between the couch and the coffee table.

He reached down to let her run against his fingertips then pulled them up with a swear. There was fresh cut grass trimmings in her fur. He swore again, put down his plate and followed her to her water bowl in the kitchen. Once she finished drinking thirstily, he picked her up, against her twisting struggles, and brushed more grass out of her fur.

“How the fuck did you get grass all over you?” He looked her in the stormy blue eyes as he asked then cursed himself because she couldn’t answer. “Did you get outside? How the fuck?”

He put her down and went upstairs. He went from room to room looking at the windows. He knew everything was secure on the first floor because he did have some sense of safety and he’d worried about Opal getting free and running off.

But the house was old, and some of the upstairs windows didn’t fit the best, letting in drafts in the winter and hot air in the summer. The one in the spare bathroom especially… Ronan glared at the window which had indeed been pulled open just far enough for a body the size of Opal to slip through.

He sighed then closed the window with a definite slam. It didn’t shut completely, but the sill was more warped than he’d realized.

That was the problem with buying an old fixer-upper then running out of patience and energy before everything was fixed up. It’d probably worked itself open over time, and it would only take once for Opal’s curiosity and skillful paws to work it open enough for her to escape.

Fuck Ronan’s life, though. He came home the next evening in the middle of a spring thunderstorm and called plaintively for Opal. When she didn’t appear, and she wasn’t visible in the living room, he headed up the stairs two at a time.

Opal sat on the bathroom floor, head twisted around, licking her back.

“Oh God, you’re soaked. How the fuck did you get out again?” Ronan grabbed a handtowel and tried to help dry her off. She hissed and swatted at him, but he dodged her claws as best he could. When he was done, her fur stuck up like a punk rocker’s and she spit irritably as she started grooming herself again.

Ronan slammed his hand against the window, closing it as tightly as he could against the swollen frame. “And I’m nailing this closed so you don’t get out again.”

Opal just licked her back harder and pretended she couldn’t hear him.

“I can’t believe the little fucker got out. Twice. At least. She could’ve gotten hurt,” Ronan grumbled the next day.

“But she always came back. That means she loves you,” Noah said.

“Fuck. That means she loves her food. And treats.”

“And that catnip mouse I gave you for her? Does she like it?”

Ronan sighed. “Yeah, she does love that mouse.”

“I ordered some organic high-grade stuff for her,” Noah waggled his eyebrows. “I think she’ll really like it.”

“You can’t keep buying drugs for my cat. You’re the reason she’s spoiled and acting out.”

Noah laughed. As Hennessy went past with her next client, she said “What’s this I hear about you being upset about a wet pussy? Don’t know what to do with one, Lynch?”

Ronan rolled his eyes as her client chuckled at his expense. Noah just shoved at him affectionately.

Noah insisted on coming home with him to finally meet Opal. Ronan was relieved that she was asleep on the couch and not out wandering somewhere.

Noah knelt beside the couch immediately and whispered compliments to her until she raised her head and flicked her ears.

“I think she likes you,” Ronan said.

“How do you know?”

“Because she hasn’t tried to claw your eyes out.”

Noah frowned at him then rooted in his pockets. He presented another catnip mouse to her, on both palms, like a suitor presenting an engagement ring.

Opal finally sat up and sniffed the gift. She meowed and pawed at the mouse until Noah lay it on the couch. He also put a baggie of green herb on the coffeetable and whispered loudly, “Don’t tell your Dad.”

Opal petted at his face without extending her claws, which was practically a declaration of undying affection. Then she rolled over, holding the mouse in her front paws.

“I have to do it,” Noah gasped.

“Don’t. It’s a trap.”

“I have to, Ronan,” Noah murmured. He reached out and gently petted her belly. “Oh, it’s the softest thing ever.”

Opal dropped the mouse and held Noah’s arms in her paws. She let the petting continue for a long moment. Then she brought up her back paws with a series of vicious kicks as her teeth descended on Noah’s hand.

“Aw, look at her! She’s trying to kill me!” Noah was way too thrilled about the abuse, but Ronan stepped in to break it up.

Opal was strangely attached to Noah, though, and watched him flit through the house. Noah promised he’d return soon and keep up her supply of whatever herbs she wanted.

Ronan sat down with her later and petted her while she sat in a loaf on the couch. “I’m proud of you, not escaping today,” he said.

Opal did not deign to respond. It was common for most of their conversations. Ronan talked, and Opal pretended not to listen. But Ronan knew that deep down, she did care about him. And seek him out for ear fuzzles and butt scratches.

That’s why he couldn’t stand seeing her mope about not getting out the window. But neither was he going to risk it and let her roam out in the big world where there were cars and dogs and God only knew what other dangers. He vowed to start work the next weekend on a catio so she could sit in the sun and grass while safely screened in.

“Gonna make you a little paradise,” he promised. She looked up at him and mrowed morosely.

She was still sulking Saturday night when he got home, and he lay awake for a long time waiting for the crunch of her food. But when he woke in the morning, the tiny uneaten pellets were scattered wide and far across the kitchen floor.

And his mug lay in pieces along with it.

Ronan swore and went to find sandals to protect his feet while he cleaned up the mess. Opal took the opportunity to start knocking the kibble around the floor, skittering after it, chasing it under the fridge and the stove and …

“Dammit, Opal! Quit it! Let me get the sharp shit up—ouch!” Ronan dropped the piece of mug that had cut his finger and hurried to pick up the rest before Opal could get hurt. But she managed to get around it while spreading the mess from the food.

“I give up,” Ronan groaned and dumped her food into the bowl that had mysteriously made it to the foot of the stairs. Opal sat in its rightful place and sneered; if cats could show disdain, she had it perfected.

“You little shit,” Ronan said, bowing sarcastically as he placed the food before her. He had just enough time to finish cleaning up the kitchen and eat his Pop-Tart cold before rushing out to church.

He stopped for groceries after church, so he was distracted as he opened the front door while carrying way too many bags at once. He saw a flash of fur, felt a light brush against his leg, and as he turned cursing, Opal was out the front door.

Ronan dropped the bags and dashed after her. But she was wily and ornery and faster than he realized.

She streaked down the sidewalk to the end of block then cut across the street. Ronan ran after her, praying that no traffic was coming as they both darted across the road.

He lost her for a second when he had to dodge between parked cars while she went underneath, but he glimpsed her tail disappearing around the side of a house. Praying now that no one would call the cops on him, he cut through a front yard, hurried through the side yard then through two back yards with the sight of Opal trotting happily along.

She crossed another street with Ronan grinding his teeth, but, thank Christ, there was still no traffic. He followed her around another block, huffing a little, breathing hard, regretting that he’d ever given up going to the gym.

He was closing in when Opal stopped at a nice white vinyl fence that enclosed a yard. He panted for a second and got ready to pounce, just as her butt wiggled and she leaped, landing softly on the top of the fence.

She took a moment to look down at him then disappeared down on the other side.

“There’d better not be some crazy ass gun lover living here,” Ronan hoped, swore, and swung himself up and over the fence.

************************************

The first time Adam dusted some soft, tawny fur off the coffeetable, he didn’t think much of it. It was nearly the color of Baby’s belly hair, and although Baby was short-haired, Adam was learning that pet hair got everywhere.

Looking back, the first clue was actually the evening Adam got home and Baby was slow to greet him. His mood was a little off and he refused to go out the dog flap until Adam opened the door and accompanied him into the yard. When Baby ran around then bounded back to Adam, tongue flapping and more himself, Adam rubbed his face and looked closer. There were three tiny lines on his nose beaded with dried blood.

“Sweet boy, what happened? How’d you hurt yourself?” Baby only winced a little bit when Adam softly ran his thumb over his nose.

Baby just butted his head into his belly and leaned heavily into him. Adam kissed his head. “Let’s get that cleaned up.”

Once Adam took a soapy washcloth to the quivering nose, after holding the scrabbling Baby in a tight grip, the lines practically disappeared. “I’m no doctor, but I think you’ll make it, Baby.” Baby showed his appreciation with lavish kisses to Adam’s own nose before he could push him away.

Adam started to clue in when the amount of hair continued, especially noticeable on his dark throw pillows and all over his dark green fleece he left over the back of the couch one day.

“Are you shedding, buddy? Or are you— oh God, you’re not bringing bunnies or something in here, are you?” Now that he thought about it, Adam began to fear there was another creature coming in the house, even as he rigorously checked Baby’s belly to make sure there wasn’t a bald spot.

But search as he might, there wasn’t any other sign of animal infestation. Baby acted normally although he began to show a different relationship with food. Adam was surprised that instead of inhaling his breakfast and sucking up all his pre-work treats, Baby left a few kibble in his bowl and Adam caught him carrying a couple biscuits every morning to hide them in his bed.

He made a mental note to ask the trainer about it, just as soon as he had the spare cash and the time to schedule a training session.

“There’s something going on,” he fretted to Blue one day in the break room.

“What’s wrong? Baby’s not sick, is he?”

Adam shook his head. “No, he seems fine. But some days when I get home, he’s out back roaming around the yard. He used to always greet me right at the front door.”

“In other words, he’s settling in and getting used to you.”

“But that doesn’t explain the stray hairs.”

“Do you think another dog’s coming in? Because it can’t be a squirrel or rabbit. You know Baby would tear the house apart if that was the case.”

“I know,” Adam said. “I just can’t figure out what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you set up a camera? Like a nanny cam? Then you’d be able to know exactly what he gets up to when you’re gone,” Blue said. “You can put it in the living room corner facing his bed and still catch the dog flap in the back door.”

“Blue,” Adam said, “you are a genius.”

“I know,” she replied.

Adam ordered a camera immediately and set it up on a Tuesday night. Baby sniffed everything but lost interest when it didn’t squeak or smell like food.

“I’m sorry to be spying on you,” Adam said when he stepped off the step stool. “I just have to find out what’s going on. If it’s something that’s a danger to you, well, then it’s gotta stop. It’s just so weird that nothing happens on the weekends when I’m home.”

Baby just wagged his tail and grinned up at him.

“Thanks for being so forgiving,” Adam said wryly and gave him a treat that Baby swallowed happily in one gulp.

Adam began to check the app footage as soon as he got to work. Baby was curled up in his bed in the living room, looking like the perfect angel that never did anything wrong, just like Adam knew he would.

When he got up for a coffee refill, he took the phone with him, wanting to show Blue. They stood in the break room, watching Baby nap in peace.

“Keep me updated,” Blue ordered as she went back to her desk.

Adam assured her then his words dried up when he glanced down at his phone. There was no advanced warning when a cat pushed right through the dog flap, strutting in, tail up, like it owned the place.

“Oh my god,” Adam breathed, riveted by the drama he could only observe. “Get outta there.”

When Baby lifted his head and sniffed, Adam yelped. “No! Oh god, Baby, leave it alone!”

Then Baby began to stir as the cat sauntered into the living room. Adam gurgled, throat tight from anxiety.

“What is going on with you?” Blue stuck her head back in the break room. “I can hear you from—”

“There’s a cat in the house and Baby’s going to eat it!” Adam hissed in horror.

Blue hurried to his side and they watched the brief stand-off as cat and dog stared at each other. Then Baby got to his feet and the cat turned and ran out the flap, Baby scurrying right behind.

“Oh shit, I gotta get home!”

“Just calm down a minute,” Blue said. “Didn’t you upgrade to the camera with sound?”

“Don’t judge me right now!”

They watched the bare interior of Adam’s house for a few moments while Adam argued he needed to leave for home and Blue pointed out that whatever was going to happen would already have happened before he got there.

She elbowed him sharply. “Look!”

Baby entered through the dog flap, and Adam was relieved to not see any obvious signs of carnage on him. But then the cat walked in.

“Holy shit!” Adam said.

Both animals disappeared from view into the kitchen and Adam groaned. Baby reappeared as he licked his lips and chin in the way he always did after he’d taken a big, thirsty drink of water. He stood in the middle of the living room until the cat joined him, also licking its lips with a tiny tongue.

Adam watched horrified as the cat went straight to Baby’s bed and jumped in, nosing around the edges.

Even Blue squealed when Baby stuck his big head in and poked his snout beside the cat. Blue sighed in relief when the cat pulled out one of the treats that Baby had started stashing there.

“Aw, do you think he’s been saving them for the cat? Maybe they’re friends!”

Adam swore softly. “I’ve gotta get home and get that cat out! We don’t know how Baby will react!”

“Adam, I don’t think you have to worry,” Blue said.

Sure enough, Baby watched while the cat ate the treat then jumped back out of the bed. Baby nuzzled it once, and the cat just kept walking. It jumped up onto Adam’s couch, and Baby immediately joined it, curling up close. Once Baby had settled, the cat climbed onto Baby’s back and lay down.

Adam held his breath, but slowly exhaled once Baby didn’t react. It looked like they were both ready for a nap.

“This is better than any TV special,” Blue said. “It looks like Baby does have a friend.”

Adam shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. But Blue was right about the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it in real time. He’d just be powerless and watch then come up with a plan to keep any other animals out of his house, away from Baby.

Adam went back to his desk after Blue forced him to promise to get her if there was more action. So they watched together when he saw the animals wake up, both stretching fully and sniffing each other. Baby pulled out one of his stuffed toys and placed it before the cat. The cat pawed at it while Baby wriggled and dropped into play mode, his hind end up, front feet spread. He panted and Adam could clearly imagine the eager heavy breathing he did when they were ready to play.

The cat batted the toy around and Baby pounced. Then the cat pounced on Baby and Baby rolled over, belly up, letting the cat roam on his belly.

“I can’t handle this,” Adam said shakily, just sure that one instant of rough horseplay would end in disaster for the cat.

“I know! They’re so cute together!” Blue said.

“Not what I meant,” Adam muttered.

Eventually the two got to their feet, and Baby led the way out the flap again, and out of their view.

“I’m going home for lunch.”

“No, you’re not,” Blue insisted. “Don’t be a helicopter parent. Let your son spend time having fun with his friends.”

If Blue hadn’t known him, the look he gave her would have been withering.

Adam’s fears abated just a little when the two spent the afternoon back in the living room, taking turns napping in the bed and on the couch. When the cat rubbed the side of its face all over Baby’s snout and head and there was no teeth or trouble, Adam breathed a sigh of relief. And when the cat licked at Baby’s ear like it was trying to bathe him, Adam thought that maybe, just maybe, Blue was right.

He walked to his car still glued to his phone. “They still loving on each other?” Blue asked.

“They’re moving again,” he said.

Sure enough, the cat got up from Baby’s head and stretched. It jumped down from the couch lightly and looked back up at Baby. He stood up, shook vigorously, and jumped to the floor. They walked to the door flap and exited.

Adam and Blue stood beside Blue’s car, still transfixed until Baby re-entered the house, all alone.

“Bless them, leaving in time so Dad doesn’t catch them,” Blue said.

“Well, my son is going to get an earful when I get home,” Adam said sarcastically. “And I’ve got to figure out how to secure that damn flap.”

Baby greeted him at the door with all the love and affection he normally did. Adam looked all around the downstairs and couldn’t see anything out of place. The cat hadn’t left any obvious clues except for the light hair on the couch.

Adam squatted down to be eye level with Baby. “You’re not exactly in trouble, but we are going to have a talk about this, young man,” he said sternly.

Baby tilted his head, wagged his tail, and licked Adam’s chin.

Adam started researching automatic electronic doggy doors that night. He debated whether he should keep the flap locked all day, but worried that would confuse Baby and he might have accidents in the house.

But watch as they might, neither he or Blue saw anything on the camera Thursday or Friday. Baby seemed lost and restless as he paced around the house and went in and out numerous times.

“Looking for his buddy,” Blue said sadly. “I hope nothing bad happened to it.”

Adam couldn’t help but feel relieved even though Baby acted sad and less energetic than usual when Adam was home. He took Baby for a longer walk on Saturday to try and tire him out.

Baby followed Adam through the house on Sunday morning as he did some general cleaning. Adam knew that Baby seemed to cling to him on the weekends whenever he was home, and he wondered if he also got lonely while Adam was at work. Was that why he’d made friends with the stray cat somehow? Was it keeping Baby from being lonely and sad?

He was scrubbing the kitchen sink when he glanced out the window and saw it. The cat. Sitting on the top of his fence.

“Oh shit,” he said. As if he read Adam’s mind, Baby’s head jerked up.

The cat jumped down into the yard. Adam was torn between watching it, seeing Baby move toward the back door, and then staring in horror as a large man swung himself up and over the fence.

“Oh hell no,” he said, pushing Baby out of the way so he could open the door. But Baby squirmed past him and bolted across the deck and down the steps as Adam shouted for him.

The cat was strutting toward them when the stranger lunged at her, yelling, “Fuck no!”

Then everything happened at once. Baby jumped, Adam screamed, the man grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and swung it up into the air. He was swearing, Adam was swearing, and the cat was squawling in a way that—although he’d never owned a cat—Adam was sure was also swearing. Baby was jumping up into the man’s broad chest, paws scrabbling on his chest as he whined.

Just as the man pushed Baby down, Adam caught at his arm. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch my dog!”

“Don’t let your fuckin’ dog touch my cat!” the stranger yelled, still holding the cat in the air above his head, out of the reach of Baby.

Adam grabbed Baby’s collar and used all his strength to pull him back. “Sit, Baby. Sit!” Baby sat, reluctantly, and his hind quarters quivered with the effort of obedience.

“Now what the hell are you doing?!” Adam turned on the stranger.

The man eyed them both angrily but he’d brought the cat down to his chest and was trying to cradle it. The cat was angrily insisting to be put down, and Adam almost winced in sympathy at the bloody scratches appearing on the arms of the man’s shirt.

“Get your damn dog away from my cat,” the man said.

“Your damn cat is trespassing,” Adam said and later on winced at how ridiculous he sounded. “Baby, sit,” he warned the dog who was still wriggling and whining at the cat.

The man snorted. “Call the police on her,” he said. “Can you let us out a gate or something? I can’t climb over holding her.”

“There’s no gate out here,” Adam sighed. “You’ll have to come through.”

“That’s a shitty ass design,” the man said.

“Then climb, asshole.”

The man sighed and swore as the cat renewed its struggles to get free. “Look, I’m—”

With a surge of strength, the cat squirmed free and launched itself from the man’s arms. He swore, reaching for it, but the cat landed lightly then was a tawny streak shooting across the lawn, up the steps, across the deck and through the dog flap. Baby followed close behind.

The man’s swearing redoubled and he shook off Adam’s hand when he grabbed at him. But Adam caught him again on the steps. “I think it’s OK,” Adam said hurriedly.

“Fuck you! Your dog’s going to rip her to shreds!” The man threw off his hand and savagely tore the door open.

“She’s been here before,” he called out and it froze the man for a second.

“What the actual fuck?”

By that time, they were both in the kitchen. Baby was placidly taking a drink at his bowl; the cat was nowhere in sight.

“Opal!” the stranger yelled. “Opal, get your furry little ass out here right now!”

“Look,” Adam said and pointed. The cat was in Baby’s bed, going through the same motions it had before. As the man stalked over, the cat found a treat and pulled it out to eat.

Baby followed them and squeezed past the man to join the cat in the bed. Adam said, “Just give it a second.”

The man hovered nervously, but the animals ignored him. The cat continued to sniff for treats while Baby turned in a circle then plopped down with an audible sigh. The cat arranged itself on top of him and began to purr, its paws starting to flex.

“Holy shit,” the man said. Then he turned to Adam, “How the fuck did you know this?”

“I just found out Wednesday,” Adam admitted. “I think your cat’s been visiting my dog during the day for a few weeks.”

“No fucking way,” the man ran a hand over his face and sighed. “That does make sense though. I just found out my cat’s been getting out of the house. I don’t know for how long.”

“It didn’t show up Thursday or Friday.”

“No, I finally fixed the window the little shit’s been using.”

Adam looked down at the two animals already drifting off to sleep, the cat’s purrs still rumbling. Then he looked at the man and his bloody arms. Although he was tall and big and had a shaved head, the man was dressed in tailored navy slacks and a white button down, its sleeves getting ruined by blood.

“Do you want to wash your wounds?” Adam offered. “And some peroxide would be a good idea.”

The man side-eyed him. “I still don’t trust leaving them alone.”

“It looks like your cat can take care of itself. But you, on the other hand…”

“Bullshit,” the man said but he followed Adam to the kitchen, with a long look back at the pet bed.

Adam gestured to the kitchen sink then hurried up to the bathroom to get his first aid kit. When he returned, the man had his shirt sleeves rolled up and was using dish detergent to wash his forearms as he swore.

Adam handed over the peroxide and some cotton gauze, but the man just grabbed the bottle and squirted it all over his arms, making him hiss and swear again. “That’s one way of doing it,” Adam said as he privately admired the green snakescale tattoo that covered one of the man’s arms.

“Saves time,” he grunted. He took the box of bandaids that Adam handed over.

“Peroxide’ll get blood out of your shirt too,” Adam said.

“If the little shit didn’t actually rip the shirt along with my skin.”

“Your cat is something else.”

“Yeah, she is,” the man said, fond pride tinging his voice.

“I’m Adam. Parrish.”

The man turned then and looked him over. “Ronan Lynch. And Opal. The cat from hell.”

“My dog is Baby, no I didn’t name him,” Adam always said the last clause in a rush every time he had to introduce the dog by name.

Ronan snorted. “He’s big, but he’s friendly?”

Adam nodded. “To me and my friend. He doesn’t like other dogs. I didn’t see him around cats before I adopted him.”

“You said this little illicit relationship has been going on for a while?”

“Apparently,” Adam got out his phone and found the app footage he’d saved. He started it and handed it to Ronan.

Ronan watched, lips quirking occasionally as if he wanted to smile. Adam took the opportunity to admire his sharp cheekbones, his piercing light eyes and his strong lips. His body was nice to look at too.

“So this is where she’s been coming? She’s been sulking and grumpy since I nailed the window shut. I thought I just stopped her random wanderings, or maybe she had a second family somewhere feeding her, but I never thought she had a friend that she was hanging out with.”

“I think she’s been helping Baby adjust to being alone all day. He’s much more settled now when I have to leave for work,” Adam said.

“Let me guess: you get home around five?”

“Usually around twenty after,” Adam agreed.

Ronan nodded. “I was getting home this week a little after five and that’s the only reason I caught her. I’m usually not home until ten or so.”

“Oh. What do you do?”

Ronan talked about his tattooing, and Adam said a little about his job. That led to some talk about the neighborhood and where the best Chinese takeout was. Adam noticed that Ronan’s looks at him were longer and his glances moved from Adam’s mouth to chest to hands.

“Shit, my groceries,” Ronan groaned. “Fuck, my front door is still open.”

He told Adam how they’d come to be in his back yard, and Adam laughed out loud imagining the chase. Even Ronan grinned wryly.

“Now my ice cream is melting and my TV is probably getting stolen.”

“Hope not,” Adam said. He glanced in at the sleeping pets. “Do you want to let Opal here while you go take care of things?”

Ronan peeked around him. “I guess I could, if you don’t care. But I don’t want her roaming home alone. I couldn’t handle it if she got hit by a car.”

Adam nodded. “I understand.” He locked the pet flap. “I’ll keep them inside.”

“Did you eat lunch yet?” Ronan blurted.

“No, I just kind of graze on Sundays,” Adam admitted.

“I could bring something over, when I take Opal home.”

Adam didn’t want to appear too eager, but, why not. “Sure, okay. I guess maybe we could talk about some kind of play dates for those two, as well. Seems like they make each other happy.”

Now Ronan’s look was definitely hotter and heavier. “Maybe we should see about that.”

*************************************

“My cat’s a fuckin’ cheater,” Ronan complained from the doorway.

“Your cat is a pleasure and a delight,” Adam murmured.

“Just like her owner.”

“In spite of, I was going to say.” He turned another page of his book and leaned his head into the purring ball of fur perched on his shoulder. Opal nuzzled above his ear and purred louder as she peered down at his book.

“Well, your doggo and I have had a very good time too, building that catio, and I hope that makes you jealous,” Ronan taunted.

Adam shrugged. “Your cat likes me because I’m quiet when I read. My dog apparently likes loud and boisterous, coming from the ruckus that was going on outside.”

“Yeah, well, he keeps interrupting my building for wrestling and tug of war. Who am I to argue with that?”

In the weeks since they’d met, as parents of the kids as Blue liked to say, Adam had let Opal—and Ronan by extension—into their lives. Baby certainly approved of the changes. He took to Ronan right away and constantly brought him toys and ropes and the leash, wanting exercise and play and attention. Ronan wrestled and ran and rubbed him roughly which Baby loved right back.

Opal had surprised both of the men by expressing an appreciation for Adam. As soon as he sat down, she sat beside him or stepped delicately into his lap if he was settled. She sometimes followed him as if curious what he was doing, quietly observing.

After keeping them separated another week and seeing how destructive Opal became and how depressed and moping Baby was, they tried a compromise. Adam would drop off Baby at Ronan’s house on Mondays and Tuesdays. Ronan would take Opal to Adam’s the other three days, with the understanding that the pet flap only opened now for the electronic gizmo on Baby’s collar.

Opal learned to cooperate and get in her crate without a fight for the short drive to Adam’s. They were working on getting her used to a harness and leash so she could join them for the neighborhood walks that Baby adored.

Ronan’s catio was growing more elaborate so they’d be able to let both of the pets in the screened-in enclosure safely, without worrying about escape.

And Adam was learning a lot more about Ronan Lynch, especially what Adam had to do to get him to purr just as smugly as his cat.

“You know,” Adam said, “when I was looking for a pet, I thought I’d find one just like me, so we’d get along. Instead—”

“Instead, you ended up with my cat who actually does share a lot of your personality,” Ronan leaned down to growl in his ear and kiss his cheek. Opal grumbled and swatted a paw at him. They laughed until Baby pushed past Ronan, laid down beside Adam and messily kissed his other cheek.

“Whereas, my dog and my boyfriend resemble each other,” Adam laughed then harder when Ronan threw himself onto Adam as well and they all had to wrestle for breathing space.

Maybe he didn’t get exactly what he’d expected but this was definitely something even better.

[starlight-archer]

Hi, I saw you were taking DBDA requests. If you’re feeling up for it, could you do a little fluffy, domestic payneland fic where they’re cuddling on their couch and “sleeping” (since ghosts can’t really sleep). Thank you so much!

Sorry this took so long!! Life and some other stuff got in the way, but here you go! I hope you like it!

Sleep was a funny sort of concept for a ghost. It was sometimes possible to remember what it had felt like to fall asleep, or to dream, but the older one became, the more those fragile memories faded away into the past. It was a distant remnant of mortality.

Edwin hadn't dreamed of anything in a very, very long time. Not since the night that he had been sacrificed to a demon by his classmates and had been sent headlong into the depths of hell. Sleep was a memory further still from his mind than the dreaming. To curl up in the place where he was supposed to feel the safest of all, the place where he was supposed to be able to let his guard down completely and fade off into slumber. He had not put his guard down so completely - even for a single moment - since his admittance to St Hilarion's.

His sleep within the confines of those stone walls had been light, drifting along the edge of consciousness, enough that he had woken the moment a hand was laid on him. He had been jolted so unkindly into wakefulness that night that he doubted he would know how to sleep again even if he had somehow managed to survive the ordeal.

It was unfair. It was unfair beyond any measure.

Which was why Edwin was so sceptical when Charles had come to him one evening with the proposal that they should attempt to rest together. He hadn't known how exactly to respond to the suggestion. It had been well over a hundred and twenty years since he had last rested and longer still since he had rested peacefully. He wasn't sure that he knew where to begin.

Still, he had not wanted to disappoint his best friend with any sort of outright refusal or dismissal of the prospect. Thus, he had agreed. As soon as they had worked through their current case load, Crystal and Niko would venture back to their shared apartment while Charles and Edwin would retire for the evening in the office.

When the night came, it was safe to say that Edwin was experiencing some jitters. He didn't want to let Charles down if he couldn't do it. However, a larger part of him knew that Charles would not judge him for not being capable of following through. He would try, though. He would always try for Charles.

"You ready mate?" Charles asked when the night came.

The pair of them hadn't been quite so nocturnal as nice the girls had joined them, so on occasion they would end up with the night off. Seemingly, the stars had aligned just well enough for them to be able to finish their cases just in time for one of said nights.

"I suppose... Though I must confess, I am not entirely confident that I will be able to rest as I once did when I was alive. I am not certain that we even can, as ghosts." Edwin replied, fidgeting with his hands as he circled the desk.

"Might as well give it a go, though, yeah?" Charles grinned over at Edwin.

He was currently in the middle of fluffing the cushions and folding a throw over the back of the seat. It wouldn't do either of them much good of course, being unable to feel it and all, but it was the thought that counted. It made Edwin's heart tingle in that all too familiar way, to look at Charles as he made a space for the two of them where they could feel safe and comfortable.

Safety and comfort were two things that Edwin Payne did not take for granted.

Feeling a burst of bravery well upon his chest, Edwin took the initiative to sit on one side of the couch, swinging his legs up so that his feet and ankles hung over the other side of it as he sank down a bit farther. The cushion behind him thankfully prevented the odd angle from becoming unpleasant.

Charles looked down at him, mildly perplexed. "Mate... You're taking up the whole couch like that. What about me?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

"Whatever do you mean? There is plenty of room for you to join me." Edwin gestured to his own chest and lap with a sweeping movement of his hand, as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

Charles felt his face warm at the implication; at the invitation.

He had known Edwin for going on forty years and yet he never failed to surprise him. He was always revealing new parts of himself, always so brave in taking the first steps to close the gap between them, to move closer even when Charles was sure that there was no space between them at all.

It had taken Charles longer than he liked - in retrospect - to figure out how he felt about Edwin. Looking back, it probably should have been obvious. He had always been incredibly fond of Edwin, more so than of anyone he had known before him. It wasn't just that he had stayed with him as he died, and had made what should have been one of the coldest and scariest nights of his life into something warm. He hadn't even noticed that he was dead at first, but when he had, it had only made sense for him to follow Edwin wherever he wanted to lead him. It was also something intrinsic, something that became inherent the moment he had scene Edwin approach him with that lantern.

Carefully, Charles settled on top of Edwin on the small sofa, the confined space feeling cozy rather than cramped once he had settled into it. He rested his head on Edwin's chest and the latter's arms came up to wrap around him, one hand gently cradling the back of his head. Edwin's presence was like a warm blanket. Sure, ghosts couldn't feel warm in a physical sense, but the warmth that started in his heart travelled through each of his limbs and poured out of him, seeping into Edwin as well. He was sure he could feel it flowing back into him as well.

Perhaps it hadn't been sleeping, but it had been restful nonetheless. The ache from bones long buried slowly melted away, leaving only comfort and an encompassing feeling of safety.

[fatuismooches]

Now I realized we're always comforting the segments since the time of their life is depressing, but we never comfort Prime himself. The one who experienced everything. Reading the Zeta fic honestly broke me, I just want to go up to Prime and hug him and pamper him and everything.

The segments are from one point in Dottore's life. One phase. They don't usually stray from the personality or actions they've had during that time. Perhaps that's why you found it easier to comfort them, as they never left that state, and you could read them better. But Prime, he is a culmination of all of them, he is them and yet he is not at the same time. He has a bit of all of them ingrained in him and yet he's not the same as them.

The more you get to know about the segments, the more you indirectly get to know about Prime as well. On the very rare occasions you get to see the segments being vulnerable, your heart aches not only for them but for Prime as well. At least the segments now have you for comfort and reassurance, but who did Dottore have back then? He had no one, only faced with the reality of your sleeping body daily. When the realization hits you, it just hurts you... really bad. Prime never shows any weakness - he's always cunning. Intimidating. Manipulative. Around you he was confident. Teasing. Bold. One could never guess how he felt all those years ago. You could have never guessed, and you know him better than anyone.

You don't even know how to bring up the topic, you imagine that even if you try he'll brush it off and change the subject. That was simply the man he was - he'd never admit to such things, at least not without a lot of nudging, (and you meant a lot.) Instead, you settle with making sure that he knows you're here now, and that you're always going to be with him. You randomly hug him throughout the day (even if he does get a bit annoyed at times.) Nuzzling your cheek on the top of his head, into the soft fluff of his hair, arms gently but firmly wrapped around him as he questions your sudden presence, shuffling through paperwork, but you remain silent as your grip tightens.

You don't even care if the position is uncomfortable, you just hold him and hope to transfer your feelings to Dottore somehow. You don't care how weak you are, if you can do something to make him less stressed you'll do it. Cooking his favorites to pampering him in the bath (the lazy way he lays on you while you wash his hair, it's almost as if he's going to crush you) to even organizing his office just the way he likes it without him knowing. You mumble sweet things into his ear while he gives you that look at the almost nauseating cheesiness, you kiss his scars and rub your hands over his calloused areas.

You don't care about anything. You just want to provide some comfort to him. It's the least you can do, after everything you've caused in the last few centuries.

[scurvgirl]

The Milkovich house is a disaster. Actually, disaster is an understatement. Ian always knew how the Milkoviches lived, shit he'd lived that that too for a bit. But it hits different when you're one of two people now tasked with sorting through everything.

Most of it is trash. Some of it, though, is meaningful. An even smaller portion of it is pure treasure.

Ian pulls out a picture, clearly taken years and years ago. It shows two young children, more like toddlers really, dressed up in matching costumes. A Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

"Holy shit," Ian breathes as he stares at the picture. He knows it's his husband but he has to be sure. He flips the picture over and in neat, blue ink reads "Mickey and Mandy, Halloween 1997". He can barely process it. Little Mickey. Little Mickey dressed as Mickey Mouse. He flips the picture over again to stare at how adorable his best friend and husband were when they were little. Mickey is smiling in the photo, a big open mouthed smile, maybe even mid laugh. Adorable. Precious.

"Hey, whatcha got there?" Mickey's voice cuts through Ian's thoughts. Oh no, Mickey shouldn't see this. But also....

"Just a picture of you and Mandy." He tries to deflect, but Mickey's quick. He darts to Ian's side and snags a peak of the picture before Ian can hide it.

He expects curses, eye rolls, maybe a hand to snatch it from Ian. What he did not expect is how Mickey goes still then looks away.

"Throw it away."

"Mick-

"Throw it away! My...my mom took that. Before she...look, just throw that shit away." Mickey picks up a beyond-repair shirt and stuffs it into a 'throw away' trash bag. He stomps off into the house, leaving Ian alone with the picture.

He looks down at little smiling Mickey and Mandy. He can't throw this away, he can't just toss whatever evidence that some parts of Mickey's childhood weren't all bad. He tucks the picture into his coat and continues to sort through the mess.

__

Much, much later, they're home. They shower together for quickness and it really is quick (okay, there is some groping) before falling into bed together. Fuck clothes, they're married and at this point, everyone in the house has seen them.

Ian turns to Mickey and tentatively places his hand over his husband's. Mickey accepts it, a finger worries at Ian's wedding band.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Shit, Ian, when do I ever want to talk about it?"

There's a long pause before Mickey presses his free hand to his eyes. "I dunno, man, it's just...I'm a fucking orphan. Terry was fucked up and terrible and I wanted to kill him, should have killed him, but he was...fuck. I dunno. I dunno all this feeling shit is just fucked."

Ian doesn't respond verbally right away, instead he scoots over and gently coaxes Mickey into his arms. Mickey allows it, his head coming to rest on Ian's pec while Ian holds his hand.

"I fucking hate him. He taught me how to shoot, how to hotwire a car. I hate him and he's gone. He...he hurt you."

"This isn't about me," Ian whispers, giving Mickey a squeeze.

"It is cuz I'd be...I'd be in jail right now because I'd have killed that stupid fucking nun by now if it wasn't because of your stupid ginger ass."

Ian pauses, listens to Mickey's breath hitch, feels wetness not from their shower on his chest.

"Do you want to kill her?" Ian asks softly after a while.

"No."

Oh so gently, Ian cups Mickey's jaw and tilts his reddened, tear streaked face up.

"I'm sorry you're hurting, baby, and I am not sorry he's gone. He hurt you and he can't do that anymore." Ian presses a kiss to Mickey's forehead.

Mickey doesn't say much more, either from exhaustion or not wanting to talk about it anymore. Either way, Ian holds him and he doesn't pull away.

"That picture you found was the best day of my life before you. Mom dressed Mandy and I up, we went trick'or'treating, ate so much fucking candy. Then she had to fucking die." Mickey sniffles and Ian holds him closer.

"So stupid, dressed up as that damn mouse."

"You were cute," Ian cuts in because he can't help himself, "you're still cute."

"Sap." Mickey pushes Ian without any real force, making them both smile.

"Yeah, I...have a confession, Mick."

"Fuck, what?"

"I didn't throw the pic away."

Mickey doesn't respond right away, just runs a finger along Ian's chest, fidgeting with some of his chest hair.

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

__

They're back at the house the next day. More trash. More hateful messages and books and shit that Ian would like to forget.

In the end, it's Mickey who finds it. He walks out of one of the smaller bedrooms holding a short, black book. He's staring at it like it's some foreign object or a bomb about to go off. Ian is by his side in a moment.

The book's label is written in that same neat script as the picture - "Mickey and Mandy Growing Up".

"It's a photo album," Ian whispers.

"Yep." Mickey's eyes don't move away from it. His body is still.

Ian places a hand on Mickey's shoulder, "You don't have to open it here, or even today or tomorrow. Let's pack it and when you're ready, we can look at it. Together." Finally Mickey moves. He nods his head and gives the album to Ian.

"Keep it with the picture."

Ian takes the album then leans forward to press a kiss to his brave, emotional, incredible husband. His husband who has the chance to be as happy as the little boy in the picture.

[skyyguy]

Last Line/WIP Thursday

Tagged by @onyxsboxes @wayrad and @thegrandpineapple It's from the current winter fic I'm working on and I'm so mad at this fic okay

“You need a damn muzzle,” Gale huffed back, but he knew John could hear the silent plea in his voice, feel it in the way he pressed back against his fingers, the groan that vibrated through his spine, pressed against John’s chest. “And you called me the dog,” John growled, ignoring the snide remark to comment on the way Gale's cunt flexed around his fingers, pulling him in, eager and soaked. He nipped along the ridges of Gale’s spine, sliding his legs down the bed till he could sink his teeth into the plushness of Gale’s ass. Gale yelped at the pain that shot through him from John’s unusually sharp canines, his cunt squeezing around John’s fingers, a groan passing his lips before he could stop it. “Shut up and fuck me, John,” Gale ordered, voice rough and feral, and John hummed as he lavished his tongue over the bite mark, pumping his fingers, scissoring them to help stretch an already-well-fucked stretched Gale out.

Tagging @swifty-fox @sleepr-agent420 @air-exec

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday🎄

tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

i wasn't gonna post anything but i wrote quite a lot today and need validation lmao (I think I might be about halfway done but who knows, it always gets away from me haha) today some buckley siblings feels, and hopefully soon ill get to the fluffy christmas part haha

prev snippet

___

"(...) I used to make stuff for Maddie, and then when I was older I would save money to buy her something small and mostly symbolic.” he glances at Eddie. There’s a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and sadness on his face. “She made all my Christmases bearable, and after she left-” he stops abruptly and quietly clears his throat. When he speaks again, he doesn’t finish the sentence. Eddie wants to ask, but he figures Buck will share what he’s comfortable sharing, he doesn’t want to push. “But that was the one thing I wanted so badly, more than anything, more than any cool toys or- or anything,” he chuckles again, “and Maddie tried to give it to me, and she got in trouble for it. So after that, I just never asked again.”

“Buck.” Eddie says softly, wishing he could do anything to make it better, to fucking go back in time and give Buck all the Christmases he ever dreamt about.

“But I always wished-” Buck continues, then glances at Eddie nervously. 

“Wished what?” Eddie’s thumb softly swipes along Buck’s neck and jawline, as far as he can reach. He just wants to comfort him somehow, and at the moment this is the only way he knows how, just a comforting touch, being there, listening.

“That one day, when I grew up,” Buck looks down at his lap again, his voice getting even quieter, “I’d have my own family and I’m gonna do matching Christmas sweaters every single year, and take tons of pictures of us all together, and-” he pauses again, and, with a teary laugh, raises his hand to wipe at his eyes. Eddie wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him. (...) “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t-” Buck shakes his head, and leans away from Eddie’s touch. Eddie aches to keep touching him, to reach out and follow, but he respects that clearly that’s not what Buck wants anymore, that’s fine. “I don’t have my own family yet, so it doesn't matter. Let’s just drop it.” he says, tone decisive, face red, eyes glued to the screen again. 

Eddie frowns. What the hell is Buck talking about? He has a family, right here.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990

[beanghostprincess]

"Jealousy and other pathetic feelings"

(Zolu/Sanuso fanfic)

Luffy’s like the sun. So bright and hot that it burns if you approach him enough. Everybody wants to stare at him, but only Zoro is brave enough to get blinded and melt in his rays. Usopp, on the other hand, is so domestic and fragile Sanji fears he might slip in between his fingers like sand. It’s delicate. Both things are. - Zoro and Sanji pining over their boyfriends and moping around with jealousy because Luffy and Usopp are acting closer than usual.

This is a silly fluffy prompt that @leiatroublecat gave me and I turned it into a bittersweet, character analysis, angsty fic because I am a menace to society! That being said, I hope you all enjoy it!! <3

[citrine-elephant]

hey who wants dilf leon tied up and squirming again

[headfullof-ideas]

took a break to stop screaming at the ONE PART of the chapter I’m working on (which is the VERY last scene and a half of the entire thing, btw, which makes it all the more frustrating that words refuse to come) to do some doodles that I told myself to wait to do until i finished the chapter. And by doodles i mean out of context storyboard scenes. I have a few different sets to post

Most of these are actually from the next few chapters in a row, or the chapter i’m working on, save for two. I will not say which two. That’s the whole point of ‘out of context’

[heyimkana]

HI Kana! 🍀 Anon here! How have you been? Have you taken care of yourself? Are you good? 🫂💞

I can't believe that husband Jinwoo is losing the poll! 🥲 I voted for him... I read the sneak peak of the yandere one... I'm not a fan of yanderes... But, god...

Your writing is amazing as always and I love reading your works! Have a great day and please take care of yourself! 💞

Hellooooooo, 🍀 Anon, welcome back!!! ❤️

I've been doing well! Just got a little busy this week so I haven't been able to sleep much hehe how are youuuuuu i hope you're doing well 🫂

BRO I KNOWWWWWWW i was hoping husband jinwoo would win the poll cause it's easier for me to write about him LMFAOOO (and he's the love of my life 😌) but yandere jinwoo is winning 51% so I gotta finish that one first ig

don't read it if you don't like yandere it's a little bit triggering so 😭 save yourself baby 😭😭😭

thank you so much for the compliments, darling, you're so sweet 😭😭🥺 have a greattttt weekend and please take care of yourself too ❤️

[dacialogansuperfan]

hi hello here's a megarod drabble

rated g

rodimus yanks open the door to his favourite supply-closet-turned-hiding-spot and promptly falls face first into chest armour like a brick wall. the door is swiftly tugged shut again, a broad servo brushing against his lower back for an astrosecond before fingers close around the handle and pull, plunging the small space into near darkness. their optics, fixed on each other, provide just enough light for rodimus to make out the slight downward curve to megatron’s mouth. not a frown, more of a wince.

“so,” rodimus starts, leaning back against the door to put what distance he can between them. a frame as large as megatron’s, built for hard labour and cobbled together half from spare parts, runs hotter than the average mech. so does rodimus, for obvious and significantly cooler reasons, and the two of them stuffed into a space that can charitably be called tailgate-sized are beginning to throw off uncomfortable levels of heat, even for him. “come here often?”

megatron sighs. just that small movement of his chest, a quick breath in and released, knocks their plating together, megatron’s armour scraping lightly against his cheek. it already feels a little hot to the touch. when he speaks, rodimus can feel that too, the soft rumble of it passing through him, almost shaking the tips of his helm. 

“no,” and somehow, there’s no reproach in that tone. just a faint, lingering amusement that could be about the existence of rodimus’ secret hiding place, in general, or their present situation, specifically. “but i’m guessing you do.”

rodimus grins. for once, megatron doesn’t have a leg to stand on, vis-à-vis being the more competent captain, if he’s been holed up in the secret hideout longer than rodimus has. which he has. right now, at least, rodimus is totally kicking his aft at being professional, and captainly, and pretty much everything else regarding heading up the lost light, if only because he hasn’t spent the majority of his duty shift in a closet.

never mind that he was planning to spend the rest of his shift in said closet. still is, tentatively, provided megatron’s bizarrely good – as good as it gets with megatron, which pretty much means he’s not actively annoyed at something –  mood lasts, and he doesn’t decide to haul the both of them back to the bridge.

speaking of –

“why are you in here, anyway?” this close, he has to crane his neck to get a good look at megatron’s face, and even then, he’s mostly staring at scuffed chest armour, swooping engravings to either side of an autobot symbol mostly obscured in the dark, and the curve of megatron’s lip plates. he watches them curl into a slight grimace, deepened by the shadows thrown from rodimus’ own optics.

“i’m avoiding minimus.” straight to the point, with only the tiniest bit of shame. rodimus is starting to feel a weird kind of deja vu, but for an experience he’s only ever been on the other side of. it’s both deeply strange, and a little thrilling stepping into megatron’s role, seeing that chastised look in his optics. rodimus takes a step forward, forcing megatron to take one back to keep their plating from colliding.

megatron looks down at him, still wearing that almost-frown, but with a tilt to his helm that suggests confusion, rather than anger. rodimus just smiles at him, brings one hand up to rest over the patterns on his chest.

“i thought you two got along?” at rodimus’ questioning look, one massive shoulder shrugs, scraping against the side of the closet with a muffled shriek. megatron winces, optics shuttering against the noise, and tries to shift his weight away from the wall. he only succeeds in knocking over a cluster of mops leaned against the other side of the supply closet, and his optics stay closed throughout the ensuing clatter that creates. rodimus muffles a laugh into the crook of his free arm, the one not resting against megatron’s heated plating.

when megatron’s optics finally flicker back on, rodimus pokes him in the chest. “so?”

megatron sighs, jostling rodimus’ servo. “you’re right, we usually get along… surprisingly.” that last word softer than the rest, like it wasn’t entirely intentional. rodimus gets that. megatron liking any of them, them liking megatron, was possibly the most surprising thing to happen on this ship – and that was a difficult, if dubious honor to earn. it wasn’t bad, just – hard to wrap a processor around. the relationship between all the autobots on this ship and their co-captain was still tentative, delicate.

rodimus is not entirely sure he’s including himself in that, though.

something else thunks heavily to the floor as megatron brings his arms up behind him to rest, at a somewhat awkward angle, on a low shelf. they’re doing sort of a terrible job at hiding, if that’s what this is. his mouth is a wry smile when he says, “he loses me at alphabetizing.”

rodimus laughs again, a quick burst that is mostly muffled into megatron’s chest. he seems to be doing that often in megatron’s presence, since the universe jump. it’s another one of those tentative, delicate things that he mostly avoids thinking about.

the light of their optics, blue and red overlapping each other in the diminishing space between their faces as rodimus leans up to do something stupid, if only because he hasn’t in a while and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to not think about those delicate things in this tight, hot space with megatron smiling at him like they’re sharing a secret. it reminds him of those flimsy little glasses he’d once picked up on earth, red and blue, held up to his optic and watched the world split into two. this feels sort of like that, between one blink and the next megatron’s smile disappears and is replaced with that same, oddly charming looking of confusion from earlier. rodimus is practically on the tips on his pedes, his arms coming up to wrap around megatron’s neck. holding him in place, or holding himself up.

likely a bit of both.

“well, since we’re here, and we’ve got time to kill,” he says by way of explanation, before brushing his lip plates against megatron’s. quickly, before he can lose his nerve.  

megatron makes a small sound of surprise against his mouth, the soft derma cracked in a half-dozen places of gentle friction against his own, but doesn’t push him away. instead, two rough, large hands come up to rest at his waist, grip paradoxically light. he shivers anyway, pushes himself more firmly against megatron, who finally starts kissing him back.   

rodimus’ back hits the door behind him with a dull thump. he feels himself being pushed, gently, back to the ground, until megatron is bent over him, above and all around him, rodimus’ pedes planted firmly on the floor.

it’s nice. really nice. rodimus can feel the beginnings of charge building lazily between them, the temperature in the already muggy closet climbing by degrees, but for now just this is enough.

when they finally pull away from each other, rodimus slaps a hand to megatron’s mouth.

“we can talk about it later,” and yeah, maybe he makes a face at that, but he does mean it. “okay?”

the look on megatron’s face, what’s visible of it, is almost comically relieved. rodimus snorts, keeping his hand over megatron’s mouth until he gets an eager nod. for a guy who made a name for himself by talking, he avoids the personal kind with an efficiency bordering on pathological. rung might have something to say about it, at least, but rodimus is all for it.

they have time, to deal with whatever this is properly. for now, megatron’s lips over his, warm and yielding, moments after he pulls his hand away – like he can’t wait – is good enough.

[valeriele3]

Donald Na x GN! Reader

A short fic to commemorate Weak Hero's 5 year run

Warnings: Ooc, angst, implied s*icide attempt and !!!MAJOR END SPOILERS!!!

"I had a dream.."

"The usual prophetic dreams again?"

"̵̯̒Y̵̻̏e̷͖͐s̷̮̄,̵̳̾ ̴̙̇y̴̬̆o̴̻͆ų̵̃ ̵͈͌w̸͇̄e̴̤̽r̵͔͋e̴͖̔ ̵͍̈ö̸̙n̵̰͗ ̷̻̾à̴̙ ̴̧͒r̶̙͆õ̶͍ă̷͓d̴̜͑ ̶̛̫a̵̺͝n̷̲͘d̸̙͌ ̵͔̈́t̶̰͌h̷͚͌e̸͎̚ṙ̸͇e̵̞̿ ̷̰͠ẘ̷͔a̶̱̐s̸̙͝ ̷̧͋a̵͎̽ ̷̢̇p̵̤̓e̷̼͛r̵̆ͅs̵̉ͅo̸̝͠ṋ̴̽ ̷̪̄w̴͚͝i̶̹͋t̵͔͠h̸̾ͅ ̸̘̇g̶͔̕r̴͈̓ä̷̡́ý̵̲ ̸̲̏h̷̙̏ã̵̲ĩ̶͚r̵͍̄ ̸̰̇s̵̝͆c̸͈̆r̵̻͘ȅ̵̮a̷͔̾m̵͕̍ỉ̵̞ń̷͍ĝ̸̼ ̴͓͂o̷̖͊n̸̳̈́ ̵̟̑ä̸̧́n̵̤͝ ̸̥͗o̴̢͒ṽ̵̮e̸̮̋ŕ̶̤p̶̣͗a̴͠ͅṡ̴̞s̶̳̎.̵̛̦ ̷̯̅I̴̦͠ ̴͗ͅt̶̝̄h̶̰́î̷̥ṇ̵͐k̶̖͗ ̷̻̓h̶̪̓ḙ̴̈ ̸͔̄w̴͙̕ǎ̴̙s̵̭̍ ̵͙͋y̷̦̔ẹ̷͊l̵̟̔l̶̘̒i̷̫͝n̵̼̅g̸̛̼ ̷̖͠ŝ̵ͅȯ̷͉m̴̩͒e̴͚͆t̶̖̿h̸̖̀i̸̮̊n̶̳̕g̸͕̎ ̴̟͐ä̶̳́ṫ̷̪ ̵̟̀y̴̠̓ō̶͈u̸̡̚.̵̘͗"̵̼̈́

"When do you think it'll happen?"

"Maybe in a few years. You had multiple tattoos and definitely looked much older than you do right now."

Friday, November ?? 20XX

The D-Day

A̷̬͉̹̖͙̫̟͌̈́̂h̶͇͙̲̲̮͕̹͇̜͈̳̭̒͊̌͋̍͐͛̃͛̓́̃̕͜ͅ,̶̢̯̞̖͓͇͆̾̓̊̎̌͋̿̍͝͝ ̶̛̦̠̬̫͉̮̻̳͈͈͂̒̏͋̈́̓͜ͅw̴̡̢̤̤͑͂h̷̛̰͕̬͙̄̿̄́͗̃̔̐͛̅͂͂͜ÿ̴͎̐̿ ̸̡̨̗̙͎̮̜̻̪̯̤͌̊̋̌̿̉̀́̄̓́̇̓̚ͅĩ̷̬̪̲̌̌̑̌s̵̝̭̲̗͛̔̏̅͂͝ͅ ̴̢̡̪̻̭͚̖̠̝͉̻͔͉͕̱͋͊̊̃̈́̿̈́̀̄̔͂͛į̴̯̘͕͎̼͋͗̇ͅͅt̴͎̳̰̮͎̟͇̰͎̦̜͎͎̦̭͌̒̈́͗̈͊̍̐͒̍̌͋̕ ̸̬͕̞̟̮͐̀͛͒̇̋͝ṫ̸̨̻̣͍̤̲̗̎̿̌̌́͂̽͋̕̚ḧ̴̘̪̰́̇́ã̵̡̧̫͙̼̼̖̖̳̊̓̉̈́̒͂̆̚͜ͅt̸̛̛̖͓̂̔̽̀́̂̕ ̸̛͚̙̩͈̽̀̀́̀̾̀̊o̷̧̢̨͇̱̦̣͎̮̹̝͈̭̐́͌͂͑̋̈́̉͐͆̏̓̏̆͜͠n̸̘̫̣̩̭̻̭̹̠̤̦͈̗̭̰̈́̐͌̑͝ļ̸̠̙̱̮̱̝̉̎̍̉̈̇͂̃͐͐̚y̶̮̲̭̩͉̫̗̭̹̞̲̲͖͐́͑̑̍͋͛̂͒̀͝͝ ̸̛̯̱̫̫̅̒̇̅͆̈́͆̑̾̂̿͑̚ń̷̡̛̹̫͇͍̖̼̥̰̆͊̑̅̍̚o̵̡͘ŵ̴̙̜͋ ̸̖̠̫̞̖̈́͒̒ḑ̵͈̲̿̓̉̑͒̒̉ͅõ̶̟̲̪̪̥̠͎̘̖̔̆́͗̀̈́̅̆͐̂͛͠ ̵̡̛̄̒̋͆́͜͠͠Ĭ̶̧͚̯̣͓͚̱̫̙͆̃̅̃̋ ̶̢͇̫̖͚͇̻̣̖͎͉̞̔͗̇͋̈́̍͂̀̉͆́́̔̕͜͜͝r̵̢͙̥͉̠̔́̔̂͂́̓̌̂̈̾̂̿̈e̷̡̧̟̦̲̬̤̙͍͕͙͖̍m̷̡̟̖͖̻̙͙̞̝̮̦͌̊̈́̍̔̊͆̄̊̀́̑e̸̪̠̙̅ḿ̵̡̢̛̰͚͍͇̯̘͈̙̮̺̱̭͂̾̀̽̏̽̊̎̕ͅḃ̴̧̲̱̳̭͖̤̆͒͂͆̀͑̇́̋̎͘̕͠e̶̢̘͋̈́r̵̙̩̖͈̝͇̈́̎̐̎̎͘͝͠ͅ ̸̙̈́́̽ṫ̷̝͚̬͔̻̜͓̤̎̂̔̄̂͛̀̐̃͒̈́ĥ̸̛̛̻̘̲̙͒̏̋́̅͌̇̒͐̅͘͜ȃ̵̧̫͓̪̰͕͔͔̪̣̹͇̯̹͗t̴̲̺̻̞̙̬̏͐̆̇̀̽͑̒̓̓͗̒ ̵̢̛͉̖̝̺̹̝̯̪̹̘̝͆́͐̈̒͗͊̂͂̉̕ḑ̸̡̢̼̮̹̠̘̪͖̤̦̜̗͐̀̿̈͐̓͗͒͐͑͘͘͝͝r̵̬̀̉͒̇̊̂͋ͅe̵̩̗͖͗̀̊̈́͋̈́͒̂̀̉͝ǻ̷̠̲̳̯̰̾́͆̇̽͋̐ͅͅm̶͇̥̻͎̝̳̰̬̞͎̺̬͔͕̅̇ ̵̡̧̯̲͚͚͎̩̻͉͍͖̹͉͋̽̓̔̊̋̄͐̅͂̚̕͘ͅa̷̯̮͂͌̌̈̄͑̓̅͘͝��̤̘͙̥̯̥g̶̼͈̈͛͐̀̿͌̎̾͒̄̒̕ȧ̸̧͖͕͚̤̩̰̗͉̥̩̪̘́̽͛́̇ḯ̵̢̢̲̖̰͚͇̄̇̈́͋͆ǹ̷͎̼͔̞̮͎̭̞̻̺̟̠̰̄̾̆̽́̇̐̂̕͘?̵̖̱̹̝̬̰̀͜͝ͅ

"Is..This really how it ends?"

"Hey..Wake up. Please. Wake up right now."

"This isn't funny. Get up."

"Donald!"

'Please..'

'Please, don't let this be the end.'

???

"Y/N-"

"Kingsley."

"Let go of me"

Kingsley hesitates, but soon lets go of your arm.

"He..You know that Donald wouldn't want you to do something like this."

You knew, no, you both knew the immense pain of losing Donald.

Whatever pain you may be feeling right now, you know that Kingsley is feeling the same amount of pain.

"I know that. I really do, but what else can I do if he isn't here anymore? What's the point in seeing the sun rise if I can't see him anymore?"

After what felt like a hundred years of silence, a single tear dropped to the floor, followed by a hundred more tears.

Kingsley was silent, and in a way, it was comforting. His silence said a thousand words that he couldn't say out loud, but you understood.

So you both stood there; not even a single word slipped from your guy's mouth. Only your cries and sobs can be heard in the ambience of the night.

[skyfumgus]

I am sadden by the lack of pizzahead fluff fics.

Like come on man, let me read fluff of the fucking clown. I feel like it would be very cool