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You and Jack Abbot break up on a Tuesday.
Which only feels significant because Tuesdays are your one proper day off, usually filled with naps, couch time, and a whole lot of nothing, preparing to dive right back into your arduous shift the next day.
This Tuesday in particular is the first time you and Jack have aligned your days off in a while, which, in retrospect, makes it all feel so much worse.
It’s late – technically already tomorrow – and for once, neither of you are rushing anywhere. That alone feels like a small miracle.
Your apartment is quiet, lamps dimmed low, the city outside muted to a distant hum. Jack’s jacket is slung over the chair, his prosthetic leaned carefully against the wall where he can reach it easily.
He’s stretched out on your couch, solid and warm beneath you as you sprawl half on top of him, your legs tangled with his, your head tucked into the curve of his neck, both of you flushed and breathing heavily after “catching up” for the first time in a while.
It’s easy like this. Easier than it’s been in weeks.
“This is nice.” You murmur, flattening your hand against his chest, and he pauses, cocking his head to look down at you.
“I should hope so.” He raises an eyebrow, hand sliding along your back and under the hem of your t-shirt, and you roll your eyes dramatically.
“Not– Ugh, you’re impossible. This. Having time off. Together.”
He hums, the sound vibrating under your palm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You say, a smirk lifting one corner of your mouth. “And the other stuff is nice too, I guess.”
You reach up to kiss him – slow, familiar. He meets you immediately, like he’d been waiting for it, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades, holding you close. The kiss deepens, unhurried, all warmth and breath and the quiet relief of being close.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes under the hem of your shirt. “Missed this.” He admits.
You smile, small, giddy, content. “Me too.”
You lean in to kiss him again–
Then his fucking police scanner crackles from his bag, and Jack goes still.
You feel the subtle shift immediately, his muscles tightening beneath you as he lifts his head, listening, already halfway somewhere else.
“Jack.” You murmur, pressing a kiss to his jawline, but he’s no longer paying attention.
“Hang on.” He says, gently disentangling himself from you. He swings his legs off the couch, moving with practiced care, reaching automatically for the prosthetic, the simple motion of him putting it back on already filling your stomach with dread.
He crosses to the counter and pulls the scanner out of his bag, but he doesn’t turn it off, just holds it up to his ear.
“Can you–” You stop, sitting up on the couch and curling around yourself before you try again. “Can you just turn it off?”
“Just a second.” His focus is elsewhere now.
Static. Voices. A clipped report that makes his jaw set.
“Jack.”
He exhales. “Multiple-vehicle collision. It’s bad.” He reports back to you, like it’s information you need, and you swallow thickly.
“It’s your night off,” you say, then, quieter, “Our night off.”
“I know.” He finally looks at you, guilt flickering across his face. “But I can help.”
“Or you can stay,” you say. “Here. With me.”
He hesitates, and that hesitation tells you everything you need to know. “I’ll come back,” he says, already pulling on his pants. “We can finish this later.”
“That’s what you always say,” you reply, sharper than you mean. “Later.”
“People are hurt,” he snaps, turning to face you, frustration creeping in across his features. “This isn’t about us.”
“It is to me,” you say, folding your arms over your chest, suddenly cold. “Because you’re never actually here, Jack.”
“That’s not fair.” His voice is low, quiet in a dangerous way.
“You’re right,” your voice is tight. “It’s not. But it’s how it feels.”
He barks a laugh, short and incredulous. “So what, I’m supposed to ignore it? Pretend I don’t hear it?”
“I’m asking you to let someone else handle it,” you defend, brows drawing together. “The people who are actually on shift tonight. Let them do their job. Just this once.”
His shoulders go rigid. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Your stomach drops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re making this about you,” he says, defensive now. “About what you want.”
“Fine, maybe I am – because I want you,” you shoot back, your voice taking on a pleading edge. “Here.”
“And I want to be able to live with myself,” he says, almost to himself, shaking his head as he turns away from you, shoving his things into his backpack. “You don’t get what it’s like to carry this.”
Something hot flares in your chest. “You don’t get what it’s like to be with someone who’s never off the clock.”
Jack stills, the broad expanse of his back tensing, and you regret your words immediately.
“That’s not fair.” He says quietly.
“I know,” you shake your head, feeling drained. “I didn’t mean it like–”
“I can’t just turn it off,” he says, slow and controlled as he turns to face you again. “And I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“Then don’t,” you reply, brittle, hurt and confused by his sudden defensiveness and anger. “Just don’t act like this is about me asking for too much.”
He grabs his jacket and slings his backpack on, hand on the door now, and you freeze as you realize that he’s really about to leave. He pauses there, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, not looking at you.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Even if I stayed tonight… Would it actually be enough for you?”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, a sudden swell of emotion rising in your throat.
Jack nods once at the silence, like that’s answer enough, and opens the door, and when it swings shut behind him, the apartment feels impossibly quiet.
You just sit there for a long time after, heart pounding and tears pressing thick against your waterline, thinking you asked too much of him and he chose the job over you.
Unbeknownst to you, Jack pauses in your hallway, pressing his knuckles and forehead into the cold concrete wall, filled with dreadful certainty that he was never going to be enough for you.
If you thought the breakup itself was tough, it turns out that working with your ex is its own special circle of hell.
The ER doesn’t care that you used to love Jack Abbot. It doesn’t care that you broke up barely a week ago, that neither of you knows how to say what you feel, or that every glance, every shift, now carries a weight you can’t shake.
You still have to pass him in the hallway forty times a shift. Still have to stand shoulder to shoulder at the trauma bay, hands moving in practiced choreography. Still have to say each other’s names out loud like they don’t carry weight.
There are still patients bleeding out in the waiting room, IVs that need starting, bones to reset, an entire night shift full of people that need your help.
Jack becomes… Professional. Detached. Polite. He doesn’t avoid you. He just never lingers, keeping things clipped, efficient. “You’ve got Bed Four?” “Labs are back.” “Nice catch on the pneumothorax.” Praise without warmth, eye contact without depth.
It hurts more than if he suddenly started screaming at you.
The overlap between day and night shift is always chaos — half-finished charts, handoffs shouted over monitors, people shrugging into coats while others clock in with coffee they haven’t touched yet.
You’re at the main desk when Jack steps in beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, not close enough to touch.
“Room Seven’s admitted,” he says, voice neutral. “Labs are pending, but she spiked a fever an hour ago.”
You nod, already typing. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”
A beat.
“She’s a hard stick.” He adds, like it’s an afterthought.
“I know,” you reply. “I was there.”
He glances at you – quick, unreadable – then nods once and steps back, attention already shifting elsewhere.
Dana watches the whole exchange from the other side of the desk, arms folded, expression carefully blank.
Robby, mid-coffee sip, squints between the two of you. “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “Did I miss a memo?”
Jack turns to Dana, all business. “Anything you guys need to know before I head out?”
She gives him a long look. “Nothing I don’t already know.”
Something flickers across his face – regret, maybe – but it’s gone as fast as it came.
“Alright,” he says. “Have a good shift.”
“Dr. Abbot.” You say with a tight smile as he passes. He nods at you once, professional, distant, and disappears down the hallway without looking back.
“Oh, honey.” Dana’s voice comes from behind you, and your eyes shutter closed. Fuck. Her sixth sense about people was what had tipped her off about you and Jack getting together in the first place, so it makes sense that she would realize about the breakup before anyone else.
Still, you really don’t feel like talking about it, so you already have your hands up as you spin to face her. “I don’t wanna talk about–”
She cuts you off by tugging you into a hug, and you sigh as she squeezes you against her, shocked by the sudden sting of tears at your waterline. She pats you on the back, pulling away with an affirming nod, and then she’s off, respecting your wish not to talk about it.
“What’s with the touchy feely stuff?” Robby frowns as he approaches you, glancing at Dana’s back as she retreats down the hallway.
At this point you should just move hospitals.
“Nothing.” You blink hard, hoping your face is void of emotion as you busy yourself with a stack of papers at the nurse’s station. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have a life to get back to?”
Your attempt at teasing banter is met with silence, and when you look back up, Robby’s eyes are narrowed, sliding from you to somewhere behind you, and you know without having to turn that he’s looking at Jack.
There’s a crease formed in the space between his eyebrows, and then it smooths, mouth parting as he looks back at you, eyes going soft. There it is.
“Yes, okay, fine, we broke up, now please don’t make a big deal about it–”
“Who broke up?” Princess asks, appearing seemingly out of thin air, and you resist the urge to run out of the ambulance bay and never look back.
“Myrna and I. I’m heartbroken.” Robby deadpans without missing a beat, giving you a gentle pat on the arm as he walks away, but then he pauses, spinning around to face you. “Oh, and be nice to Mohan tonight, alright?”
You frown at him in confusion, but then the nurses fill you in on Samira being moved to the night shift for a little bit while Ellis is away. At first, you’re genuinely excited. It feels like a small mercy – a familiar face, someone who hasn’t been treading around you and Jack on tiptoes for the last week, just a friend you can lean on for a little while.
“You’re going to love it,” you tell her when she arrives, grinning as you hand her a cup of coffee at 7pm. “It’s the worst.”
She laughs, taking a sip. “Put me in, coach.”
Jack’s nearby, charting, posture loose in that way that means he’s listening without looking like it. He glances up when Samira says something about the chaos of nights, offers a dry, “You’ll adjust,” and you feel something like relief flicker in your chest.
Normal. This is normal. Work is work. For a while, it stays that way.
Then the conversations start to change. Not openly – nothing you could point to if someone asked. Just… quieter. Jack and Samira stepping a little closer together at the desk. Their heads dipping in, voices low enough that you can’t hear over the ambient noise of the ER.
You tell yourself it’s about cases. About schedules. Still, it needles at you. And then you walk in on them in the med room.
You push the door open and the sound hits you first – hushed voices, close together. Jack’s back is half to you, Samira leaning against the counter, arms folded, expression serious in a way you haven’t seen directed at him before.
They both look up at once and go quiet at the sight of you. Jack straightens, and Samira pushes off the counter, expression going slack. They both look… Caught.
Oh. Your mind reels at the sight, confusion morphing into hurt as you take it in. Jealousy grips you by the throat so hard you can’t breathe.
“I’ll– I’ll come back.” You manage to say, turning heel and practically fleeing.
Samira calls your name, but you don’t stop, don’t even hear her. Jack doesn’t say anything. Just watches you leave, jaw tight, like he wants to say something and doesn’t know how.
You only stop when you get to the bathroom and lock the door, gripping the sink with shaking hands.
It hits you all at once – the hushed voices, the cut-off conversations, the way Jack won’t look at you the way he used to. The way Samira is suddenly everywhere he is.
He’s moving on, your brain supplies cruelly. And he didn’t even tell you.
With someone smarter. Easier. Someone who understands throwing themselves into their work. With Samira, of all people. But of course, with Samira. She’s impossible to dislike – kind without being soft, sharp without being cruel. Everyone trusts her instincts. Everyone trusts her. And now Jack does too.
Time moves on. You watch them from the periphery, chest tight, jealousy blooming ugly and hot.
You tell yourself you have no right to feel this way. You broke up. But the thought of him choosing someone else – who also works with him, who happens to be your friend – makes something feral twist in your ribs.
To top off your already spectacularly shitty week, you get assigned a patient who’s been agitated since he arrived – admitted for alcohol withdrawal, he’s already drenched in sweat and his hands are shaking hard enough that his pulse ox won’t stay on.
“Hi, sir,” you say carefully, introducing yourself with a small smile as you move into the cubicle. “I’m just here to check your vitals.”
“I can’t keep sitting here,” he snaps, expression tight and angry as his eyes dart past you toward the hallway. “How long is this gonna take?”
“Just a few more minutes,” you promise, keeping your voice level and pleasant as you reach for the blood pressure cuff. “Once we have your vitals we can get you something to help with the shaking.”
You catch movement in your peripheral and glance up to find Jack pausing there, posture loose but eyes sharp as he takes in the man’s agitation, the tachycardia flashing on the monitor, your guarded posture.
“All good in here?” He asks quietly, casually, but you can see the tightness in his shoulders.
“Yep.” You nod, irritated at the idea that he’s checking in on your cases. “Do you need something?”
“I just wanted to…” Jack studies the scene for another beat, jaw tightening, then nods and moves on. “Nevermind.”
You don’t realize how much steadier you felt with him there until he’s gone, but you push the feeling away, focusing on your patient as he jerks his arm away from you when you reach forward with the cuff.
“Sir,” you try again, keeping your voice low and placating. “I need to get your blood pressure before I can give you anything to help, alright?”
“Don’t touch me.” He snaps and flinches away the moment you approach him again.
“Okay,” you say immediately, hands lifting. “We’ll go slow.”
He stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor and tipping back with a thud. “I’ve been here for hours,” he snaps. “You people aren’t doing anything.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” you say. “We’re doing the best we can, we just–”
He scoffs, stepping closer to you. “That’s what you all keep saying.”
You straighten, flinching slightly and stepping back to put space between you like protocol dictates, hands raised placatingly. “Sir, I’m just trying to help.”
“No,” he says, stepping even closer instead of backing off, lip curled in a sneer. “You’re not. You’re not even listening to me–”
You step back again as he suddenly looms over you, but he follows, stepping into your space. Too fast. Too close.
“Sir, I need you to sit back down–”
His fist tightens, his jaw working like he’s grinding his teeth, and then his arm is raising–
A body suddenly slots in between you and the patient, and it takes you a second to register that it’s Jack.
“Back up.” His voice is a low warning, and you watch the disgruntled patient falter a bit at the sudden shift in tone, arm loosening by his side.
His eyes dart between you and Jack, jaw clenching, before he focuses on you again, nostrils flaring in anger. “You can’t just–”
Jack shifts without missing a beat, cutting off the guy’s line of sight to you. “Nuh uh, you’re talking to me now. And I told you to back up.”
There’s no shouting, no escalation, just Jack’s stern tone and calm presence. The patient scoffs, but he does take a step back, gaze dropping to the floor as he clenches and then releases his fists. “I just want someone to listen.”
“I hear you,” Jack says, steady and even. “But getting aggressive with your doctor is not how this goes. You’re going to sit back down, or we’re going to have security escort you out. Your call.”
The man hesitates, anger warring with common sense. Jack stays between the two of you, steadfast, shifting on his feet to keep blocking you from the patient’s view.
Finally, the patient throws his hands up and scoffs, chest heaving. “This is bullshit.”
“Okay.” Jack nods once, eyes never leaving the patient, and turns his head slightly to call for security.
One of the guards appears almost immediately, calm but firm, guiding the patient away as he continues to mutter under his breath. And then the cubicle is quiet, your adrenaline hanging in the air as you exhale slowly, heading tipping forward.
Jack waits until they disappear down the corridor before he turns around. “Hey,” he says, softer now as he ducks his head to catch your eye. “You okay?”
You nod automatically, too fast. “Yeah. I just–”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jack reassures you before you even get the chance to second guess yourself, his gaze sweeping over you, quick and assessing, like he’s checking for injuries he already knows aren’t there. “He crossed the line.”
You swallow. The come-down hits all at once, hands starting to shake now that the threat is gone. “I had it,” you defend, even though you didn’t. Not really. “And it was just the withdrawal making him paranoid.”
“I know you did.” He replies, nodding, his sureness in your abilities making your heart stutter slightly. “Still. He was escalating.”
His hand hovers for half a second, like he wants to touch your arm and thinks better of it. He lets it drop, stepping back, professionalism snapping into place like armor.
“If you need a minute,” he adds quietly. “Take it.”
You nod again, throat tight. “Thanks.” You manage.
He meets your eyes, something unreadable passing between you. Care. Concern. Everything you’re trying not to feel.
As he steps away, you realize your chest feels too tight, your breathing just a little too fast. You don’t go back to your assignment. You head for the stairs instead, heart pounding, needing air before you completely fall apart.
You don’t even realize you’re heading for the roof until the door is slamming shut behind you, a cold wind biting into your skin, grounding you, forcing you to be present. You brace your hands on the railing, breathing hard, knuckles turning white.
You don’t know how long you’re even out there, taking deep, manual breaths, your argument with Jack replaying in your mind no matter how hard you try to focus on anything else.
“You’re in my spot.”
The voice comes from behind you, and you curse, hanging your head low and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t turn around.
“Of course you’re here.” You mutter under your breath, opening your eyes and staring out over the city as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. You can feel him as he gets closer, stopping a few feet behind you – solid, careful, too familiar.
There’s a pause, where you can feel him watching you, assessing. “You okay?”
“What do you care, Jack?” Your voice is tired, and you’re revealing too much of yourself, but you can’t find it in you to try and mask it, to act stoic, not after today, not after everything.
Jack doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter, grittier – you can hear his frown. “Of course I care.”
“You don’t get to do this,” you say, finally turning to face him. “You don’t get to check in now like we’re fine.”
“I was just–”
“You were just being professional,” you cut in. “Same as you’ve been all week.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is watching you replace me at work and act like I’m imagining it.”
He blinks. “Replace you?”
“You don’t even look at me anymore, Jack. You barely talk to me unless you have to.” You say, heat rising fast.
His shoulders tense, posture going rigid in that way that means he feels cornered. “I was trying to give you space.”
“I didn’t ask for space,” you snap. “I asked to matter.”
Silence stretches, sharp and buzzing.
“You stopped talking to me,” he says finally, shaking his head. “You stopped looking at me. What was I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know, Jack,” you shoot back. “I just didn’t think you would just… move on.”
His head snaps up. “Move on?”
“You and Samira,” you say. “Don’t insult me by pretending I don’t see it.”
“...Samira?” Jack’s eyes narrow, then something in his expression fractures – confusion first, then dawning horror, his eyes going wide. “Fuck, no, not like–” He drags a hand down his face. “Is that what you think this is?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” You demand. “You’re always with her, these days. You ask for her. You trust her with everything you used to trust me with.”
“Jesus, no. I just wanted to know– I was asking her how you were doing. How I could fix things without making it worse.” His voice is rough now.
The explanation hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind and bitter jealousy clean out of you.
Fuck. Fuck. You owe Samira a massive apology, but your priorities lie here, with the man in front of you. The man you love.
“Oh,” you say dumbly after a significant pause, the anger draining out of you all at once, leaving something hollow and aching behind. “You… Fuck.”
“Did you really think–?” His expression twists into disbelief, shaking his head. “No, baby, of course not.” The name slips out almost involuntarily, and you watch him pause, wondering if he shouldn’t have said that.
“I just–” You start, hands gesturing helplessly. “You– The– The med room. You both stopped when I came in, I thought–”
Jack huffs a laugh almost despite himself, shaking his head and grimacing. “No, that was, uh, that was when she told me to quit being a manchild, as she put it, and go talk to you.”
You stare at him.
The wind cuts across the roof again, sharp and cold, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of everything – how close he is, the familiar set of his shoulders, the way his hands keep flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know where to put them.
“Oh,” you say again, uselessly, and then, “Samira called you a manchild?”
“I asked her for full honesty – even told her not to hold back.” He shrugs, scratching at the nape of his neck.
Silence settles, thick and loaded now instead of sharp. The fight has burned itself out of the both of you, leaving behind glowing embers that still ache.
You frown. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
Jack meets your eyes then, and there’s no armor there, just regret. “I didn’t want to make it worse,” he says quietly. “Every time I thought about talking to you, I kept hearing that night in my head. Asking myself if I was just… forcing you to stay with something you already knew you couldn’t live with.”
Your chest tightens, already shaking your head. “That’s not what that was.”
“I know that now,” he says. “But… I didn’t then.”
You nod, swallowing hard. The railing digs into your back as you lean against it, grounding yourself. “I’m really sorry, what I said– I didn’t mean it, I just… I wanted you to want me.”
His voice breaks, just slightly. “I never stopped.”
“I thought you were already gone,” you admit. “I thought you’d decided it was easier to find someone who didn’t ask you to choose.”
Jack’s breath leaves him in a slow exhale. “I could never find anyone else.” He hesitates, then adds, softer, “I just didn’t know how to prove that without… Losing the other part of me.”
That lands harder than any argument, and you turn back toward the city, blinking fast. “I shouldn’t have assumed. About Samira and you.”
He steps up to the railing beside you – not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your side, the steady presence you’ve missed so badly it aches.
“She was worried about you,” he says. “She came to me, to ask what was wrong. To ask why you and I kept looking at each other like sad puppies – her words, not mine.”
A humorless laugh slips out of you. “Apparently we’re not subtle.”
“Apparently not.” He murmurs, leaning against the railing.
Another pause passes, longer this time, where the two of you just bask in each other’s presence, in the moment of calm after the whirlwind of emotion.
“Do you still think I don’t care?” He asks, suddenly.
The question is quiet and bare, and you turn slowly to find him watching you like the answer matters more than anything else in the world.
“No,” you say. Your voice wobbles, but you don’t stop. “And I never thought you didn’t fully care, not really. I just… I thought you didn’t care enough to fight for us.”
His laugh is quiet and wrecked. “I’ve been fighting myself every day not to show up at your door like a creep.” He scrubs a hand over his face, dragging it down like he’s trying to pull himself together. “And I hate that I made you feel like you were asking for too much. You weren’t.”
Your chest aches. “I shouldn’t have said what I said,” you admit, words coming easier now that you’ve started. “About you hiding in the job. I was angry, and hurt, and– And it wasn’t fair.”
Jack turns fully toward you then. “You’re right about one thing,” he says quietly. “I am scared. And I do use the job because it’s… Easy. Well, easier. I know what to do there. I know how to be useful.” His jaw tightens. “I don’t always know how to do that with… With someone I love.”
“I just wanted you, Jack. I just wanted you to be around. I missed you.” The wind tugs at your scrubs, cold and sharp, but the space between you feels unbearably warm now – charged, fragile. “I don’t need you to– To turn it off. I just need to know there’s room for me in all of it.”
Jack’s throat works. “There is. There always has been.”
You step closer before you can overthink it. “We both messed this up.”
A corner of his mouth lifts, sad and fond. “Yeah. We really did.”
“I’m so sorry,” you say again, fully this time, still wracked with guilt. “For assuming. For pulling away. For not telling you I was scared instead of angry.”
He exhales, shoulders loosening like he’s been holding himself tight for weeks. “I’m sorry for leaving you in that apartment without knowing if you mattered. You do. You always have.”
Silence settles again – not sharp, not heavy. Just full.
“I never stopped loving you.” You whisper.
Jack’s answer is immediate. Certain. “Neither did I.”
“Fuck, Jack,” you breathe, and then he’s kissing you, the stubble of his beard scratching at your face, his hands coming up to hold you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t. It’s not frantic. It’s grounding. Like coming home after being lost too long.
When you pull back, you’re both breathing hard, and you laugh softly as Jack smooths your scrubs with a small smirk.
“We should probably go back down.” You murmur. “We are still on shift for another…”
“Thirty-two minutes.” Jack confirms, glancing at his watch, and you nod. “Okay. Let’s get it over with.”
You send Jack downstairs and then follow a couple minutes later, trying not to be too obvious, but your efforts are immediately thwarted by Dana arriving early for her shift.
Her eyes flicking from Jack, who is very intently staring at the board, to you – the softened shoulders, the faint flush still lingering in your cheeks, the lack of the scowl that’s been etched into your face for a week.
Her lips spread into a slow, satisfied smirk.
“Well,” she says lightly, leaning against the counter. “That was fast.”
Your face heats instantly. “Dana–”
Jack clears his throat as he approaches, rubbing at the back of his neck. “We, uh. Talked.”
“Mmhmm.” She nods, already turning back to her chart.
Robby appears like he’s been summoned by gossip alone, and his gaze darts between the two of you, then lands squarely on the way Jack is hovering a little too close to you.
He squints. “Oh, come on,” he groans. “Already?”
You wince. “Robby–”
“Nope,” he holds up a hand. “Don’t explain, I don’t want the details. I just want to know if I get to stop tiptoeing around you both or if I need to emotionally prepare for round two.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh, patting Robby on the back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, brother.”
Samira comes up a second later, fresh gloves tucked into her pocket. She takes one look at your face and then glances at Jack. Her eyebrows lift.
“Oh.” A beat. Then, warmer, softer. “Okay. Good.”
You open your mouth, guilt flaring. “Samira, I’m really sorry about–”
She waves it off immediately, hands up as she backs away. “Don’t even. None of this ever even happened – if HR asks I need to have plausible deniability."
“I’m with her on this one. If Gloria asks, I had no clue.” Robby raises his hands, mirroring Samira, and then jogs slightly to catch up with her.
You shake your head with a small smile, something in your chest finally settling.
Dana claps her hands once, brisk. “Alright, lovebirds. Shift’s almost over. Save the emotional breakthroughs for after handoff.”
Jack watches Dana until she’s turned her back and then turns back to you, mouth tilting into a familiar, fond smile as he leans close to your ear, hand settling warmly against your lower back in a way that makes you shiver. “Wanna grab breakfast later?”
You nod, smirk teasing at your lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
He lingers a second longer than necessary before heading off, and as you watch him go, the ache you’ve been carrying for weeks finally easing, replaced by something steadier. Solid. Earned.