Ow??? 😭😭😭

Ow??? 😭😭😭

This City Holds My Heart | J. Abbot

summary: He hears you are coming back to Pittsburgh for the weekend. Maybe the reunion will wash away the pain that’s left inside him after your paths divided.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, right people wrong time kind of thing, p in v, exes reunion, mentions of suicidal thoughts, ex!fem!reader, neurologist!reader, Jack’s prosthetic leg, reader is nondescript except that she has hair (long enough to frame her face), reader has a nickname, mentions of PTSD & trauma, widowed!Jack, sad people in love, alcohol consumption (a few drinks), protected sex, lots of tears, JACK’S POV!!! English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 10.3k+ (BEAR WITH ME OKAY)

an: HI this is my piece for A Doctor A Day challenge hosted by these amazing people [ @clubsoft @ananonymousaffair & @letsgobarbs ]! I’m so excited to know your thoughts on this piece🥹 I poured everything I could into this fic, smut, fluff, angst etc and I really want to know what you guys think!

Prompt: "I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?" + Orange

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate something; was it the banana Shen forced him to take a bite from, or the granola bar Dana shoved into his hands when she came to take the shift? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  Jack pushes his fists into the pockets of his cargo pants, his tired gaze moving from the edge of the rooftop to the building in front of him, watching as sunrise hits the streets of Pittsburgh slowly, crawling its way between the cars and the old bricks of the walls.

  He replays the shift in his head, trying to figure out what he missed that led to three code blues. Each case had its own story, each patient had a unique experience, and families begged him to save their loved ones, but he couldn’t. 

  He brings his fists out of his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the peachy sky, watching how another day starts. Some people don’t get to see this anymore, he thinks bitterly, some people don’t get to start a new day. They are stuck in yesterday while he moves forward as if nothing’s happened.

  He looks back at the edge, he takes a step closer, gazing down at the people who move around, getting ready to battle through another twenty-four hours. He wishes he was this free, to walk down a street without the responsibility of the Emergency department, without the little limp in his leg and reminder of how long it took for the soft tissue of his leg to heal.

  He has been tempted before to jump, but nowadays he does not even have the motivation to do that. He is numb and has been like this for a good six years, worse after the Pitfest casualties. That was a year ago, how time passes in the blink of an eye, like the sunrise he watches daily.

  He throws his head back, listening to the birds chirping. They made a nest a few weeks back, usually coming to their home around the time he walks to the rooftop. They have a life based on instinct, just as he does; he eats, sleeps, goes to work, and then repeats.

  Robby calls him a soulless soldier— he is just as bad as Jack, if not worse — because most of the time, there is no smile on his lips, and his tone drips with sarcasm. 

  Pittfest changed everyone, including the ER cowboys more than others. Robby broke apart with Jake’s withdrawal, and Jack… Jack tries to survive, day by day, and shift after shift. He still finds joy in little things; when he saves someone’s life by his sharp mind, when a procedure is successful, when he argues with Walsh.

  There is still an ache inside him from years ago when his wife died, and it only got worse six years ago, and now? All he is a great doctor and nothing more.

  He says nothing when he hears the familiar footsteps on the tiny rocks of the rooftop, his stethoscope moving against his chest as he shifts his weight on his good leg, sighing in relief when the tension is halfway gone from his knee.

  “Haven’t jumped off yet?” Robby leans on the railing behind Jack, looking as the sun rises slowly from behind the buildings, “Thought you’d done this time.”

  “Why? I don’t think I’ve managed to get more depressed since yesterday,” Jack replies, resting his elbows on the metal railing behind him, looking from his peripheral vision at Robby who smiles and shakes his head.

  “A trauma came in just a few minutes ago, an attempt or pushed, we don’t know but he was the same age as you. Nearly sent me to cardiac arrest,” Robby drops his head on the back of his hands, “You better not jump, you didn’t do it last year, don’t do it ever.”

  “It’s exhausting, brother,” Jack sighs, tilting his head back as the sunlight hits his face finally, the warmth of it spreading on his skin deliberately, “Coming back here, watching people lose someone they care about, calling us names because they don’t know medicine has its limits. And yet, we come back, for what? I don’t fucking know.”

  “You have me, I’m here, I’ll never leave you hanging all by yourself,” Robby nudges his forearm, looking at his face with a pleading look, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “You’re not lonely,” Jack shrugs, “You have Collins. Who do I have? Fucking Shen? I’m living in a loop, man. Every day is the same old same old. I miss my wife, I miss her, there is not a day that I wish I got the help I needed sooner, but even my therapist can’t do shit nowadays.”

  “You are being too hard on yourself, brother,” Robby straightens his back, resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder as they both look up to the sky, “Besides, I might have… some news about—“

  “Who?” Jack’s ears perk up, his posture growing rigid as he turns his head to look at Robby, “Who?”

  “Her,” Robby says with a small smile, “Your Clementine.”

  “Don’t say that stupid nickname,” Jack groans, shaking his head as he takes a step back, resting his waist against the cold metal bars, “She hated it.”

  “I think she liked it,” Robby shrugs, looking down at his shoes before he starts talking again, “There is a neurology congress tonight, and apparently a follow-up gala on Saturday night with the Head departments PTMC invited.”

  “So?” Jack tilts his head at the older doctor, scoffing when Robby raises his eyebrows at him, “You’re telling me you’re invited to a stupid gala that has nothing to do with me?”

  “For a medical genius you sure as hell are dumb,” Robby watches as Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m saying she’s coming back to the city.

  Jack’s heart drops to the bottom of his ribcage. This has to be a cruel joke, it must be. He doesn’t know how to react; be happy? Why? The last time you saw each other was to say goodbye. Be sad? He already is for ten thousand different reasons. 

  So when he looks at Robby with his eyes widened in shock, he knows that he is still deeply into something he has tried to bury for years, ever since he watched you board that plane.

  “What?” He sounds so small, like a kid lost in a playground; everything feels natural yet so off, like a distant dream turning into a nightmare in the back of his mind.

  “She has kept in touch with Dana,” Robby sighs and tightens the grip he has on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing the muscles gently to make sure Jack doesn’t get lost in his head again, “Dana told me her plane would land around… yeah, seven-thirty, eight at most. Which is now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Jack asks, pressing his lips into a flat line, his hands shaking as his chest begins to rise and fall faster. He rests his sweaty palms on the railings behind him, closing his fists around the cold metal.

  “I don’t know,” Robby shakes his head, staring into the distance as the sun finally rises into the blue sky, “I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks, brother, now I won’t be able to get a lick of sleep knowing my ex is in the town,” Jack snaps, running a hand down his face as he grits his teeth, all to stop himself from tearing up.

  “I didn’t say it to—“ Robby cuts himself off with a deep breath before he pats Jack’s shoulder and takes a step back, “Take it easy, man. I’m gonna go.”

  Jack listens to Robby’s footsteps; it takes ten large steps to reach the door, and he stops Robby by the eighth one, shocking both him and his friend to his dismay.

  “Is her number still the same?”

  Jack’s voice is shaky like he doesn’t trust himself to say it loud enough for Robby to hear, but his friend does, stopping in his steps to glance back at Jack with a small smile.

  “Yeah.”

  One, two, and Robby is out of the door, leaving Jack heaving with each breath. Jack dodges the railing and steps on the safe side just to lean over the metal bars, his lips parting as he gasps for air.

  You are back to Pittsburgh, you are in the city he watched you leave, the same city you made so many memories with him in the streets and bars. The same city that he broke your heart in, the very same one you told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

  He lets out a shaky breath, reaching for his phone absentmindedly. One call wouldn’t hurt, right? It wouldn’t tear his heart and break his bones surely. People call their ex-lovers every day, why shouldn’t he?

  He opens the list of his contacts, scrolling until he sees your name with a red heart next to it; he didn’t have it in him to change the name, nor could he delete your number. 

  That is why his fingers are trembling over your phone number, trying to make up his mind before he does anything stupid. But luck is not on his side today it seems — not like it ever was — and his finger slips accidentally and presses the call button.

  “Fuck, fuck—“ he yells, putting the phone against his ear quickly, his hand going to his hip as he starts pacing the rooftop, his heartbeat racing with each beep of the line, “What am I doing?”

  He doesn’t know if he wants you to pick up the phone or not, he probably does but the thought of talking to you again after the farewell you had makes him anxious. What would he say? Hello? How are you doing? Aren’t these too cliche when you are calling your ex?

  The beeping finally stops, and he can feel his heart stopping for a second before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hi! Thank you for reaching out, please leave your message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” 

  Your voice… fuck, your voice is still as sweet as he remembers. He calms down instantly, a tired smile covering his face as he listens to the voicemail repeating itself. You sound so beautiful, so free as if you didn’t cry hours in his arms as he pushed you away once more, as if he never happened to you.

  After the third repeat, he remembers he can leave you a message, hoping you still have his number and he isn’t just an unknown caller.

  “Hey,” he clears his throat, running his free hand through his unruly curls, “Hey, um, this is Jack! Y’know, Jack Abbot? Yeah well urm… I heard you are back in town, yeah, Robby said something about a congress you’re attending. I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?"

  Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck—

  He hangs up immediately, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly he thinks it might break. What did he fucking mean he’d love to see you? He is a fucking idiot, a total moron, a dumb piece of scum, but when his phone dings a few minutes as he is near going into a full panic attack, he stops.

  “Jack, hi! I’m exhausted now, but I’d love to meet with you before my congress! Our usual cafè near The Pitt?”

  He nearly drops the phone, opening the text in the blink of an eye, rereading the message over ten thousand times to make sure it is really you. And when he opens the contact, he sees that it is true, you have texted him, accepting to meet up with him, at the cafè you usually went to after the night shifts.

  “Yes, of course. See you at 6?” 

  He presses send and starts pacing again. Waiting for a reply after six years makes him nervous to the point he thinks he might drop dead on sight.

  “See you, Jack!”

  He sighs in relief when he reads your reply, chuckling dryly as he rereads the conversation, not truly believing how he is going to meet with you again.

  He walks downstairs with flushed cheeks and a heart beating in anticipation. When Robby and Dana see him walking inside The Pitt, he rolls his eyes at them and nods when Dana raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

  It is going to be a crazy day for sure.

  He dresses up as best as he can; a navy blue button-up with worn-out jeans and his black sneakers. Which is so… not Jack. He feels like he has put on a persona he didn’t know he had, his walls slowly building up with each step he takes toward the location.

  He thought walking would be a good idea because now his nerves are making him sweat, his palms growing more clammy with every step he takes. 

  What will he say? Will he ask about how you have been doing? How you are doing? Do you have anyone waiting for you at home—

  The thought makes him shiver, stopping him midway to open the door of the coffee shop. He hates the idea of you with someone, he despises it, he fucking loathes it. Even the image of someone holding your hand makes his eyes tick, and his fingers shake over the glass door, but he has to pull through.

  The bell over the door dings when he steps inside, memories flooding his mind as he looks around, remembering all the exhausted morning dates after the shifts, all the cries and hushed arguments you two had here.

  Bittersweet yet wholesome. He misses the days he could hold your hand, but he gave up as soon as everything got serious.

  He rounds the corner to the spot you would always sit, and when he does, his eyes fall on you. He freezes, hands dangling on his sides as he stares at your silhouette.

  The orange hue of sunset shines through the windows on your face, your hair framing your face just as beautifully as he remembers if not more. Your hand is tucked under your chin, looking down at the marble table, tracing the shapes mindlessly.

  You are ethereal.

  Jack feels his lungs are about to collapse when you turn your head and find him standing there, and he watches how your lips stretch into a soft smile, steading yourself with your palm on the edge of the table as you stand up.

  He licks his lips and glances down for a brief moment to catch the breath you are stealing from his lungs from a few meters away. He looks up quickly, crossing the remaining distance slowly before he stands in front of you, his eyes swimming with various emotions unknown to him — is it love? Longing? Sadness? He doesn’t know.

  “Hey,” he greets you quietly, hazel eyes locking into yours as he waits with bated breath for you to say something, anything. Instead of talking, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you mumble a ‘Hi, Jack!’ Into his shirt.

  Hugging. You are hugging him after years of no contact. He can’t think even if he wants to. He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you close by muscle memory, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your hair, trying his best to not cry right here and then.

  He lets go of your waist when he feels you lose your grip on him, slowly pulling back to look at his face, and he takes his time memorizing every up and down, every corner of your face.

  He thinks of the days he used to kiss every single inch of your face when you were on rotation and he was getting ready to go to the hospital. He remembers how he used to caress your cheek when you fell asleep on his chest on his old couch during movie nights.

  He also remembers the days you tried to not let your sadness show on your face when brought up his wife again, putting the bricks of the protective wall on top of each other to shut you out.

  “Shit, sorry,” you chuckle awkwardly, pulling away and he misses the weight of you in his embrace, the warmth you provide by just existing and breathing the same air as him, “Please, sit! I know you’ll be back in The Pitt in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, urm, yeah…” he huffs a slight laugh and walks around you to pull your chair out for you, “Ladies first.”

  “Ever the gentleman,” you tease him, thanking him as he pushes your chair in when he knows you are secured and smiles at you before he walks towards his own chair and sits down, “What are you having?”

  “Well… something highly caffeinated,” he shrugs, looking down at the wedding band he is wearing—

  Fuck, he totally forgot to take it off. Did he though? Did he ever want to take it off or did he think about it but didn’t ponder over it, like a passing joke in his head?

  He looks up instantly, finding you already looking at the black ring before you tuck your hand under your chin again, meeting his eyes with a small smile before you look away and gesture for the waiter to come and take your orders.

  “Espresso it is then,” you try to break the ice he notices, but he has already started to fuck everything up again from the very first second. He covers his left hand, nodding at you with a ghost of a smile on his lips while he feels as if he is about to vomit his heart out with how insanely fast it is beating.

  “Welcome, what can I get you?”

  “A cup of tea with carrot cake and,” you look back at him, smiling before you glance back at the waiter, “A shot of espresso.”

  “Coming right up!” 

  He watches you closely — he is staring but that’s a creepy way to put it — and he nearly melts when you turn to look at him with the softest smile he has ever seen.

  “Carrot cake? Really?” Jack grins when he watches you grimace, hiding your face in your hands as you look at him from between your fingers, “Never thought I’d see the day that you will eat a carrot cake.”

  “You’re insufferable!” You chuckle, resting your chin on the heel of your palm, and he watches these micro movements with such an endearment it makes his heart clench, “It’s just a newly formed habit in the hospital. My assistant brings me tea and her very sweet orange carrot cake every evening. Who am I to say no to a home baked sweet treat?”

  “Understood,” he nods and smiles, taking a deep breath to calm himself without making a mess of himself. Your laugh is still the same, even more beautiful than he remembers and it feels so good to be there to witness it again, “How’s Boston?”

  “Oh, you know, colder than here but I enjoy it,” you explain, resting your elbows on the table as you look at him, “The bars are pretty amazing! Not that I have much time to explore them because of the hospital and applying for a fellowship. But… it’s okay, I guess.”

  “Wow, you’re thriving,” he grins, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Jack,” you reach across the table to hold his hand — a habit you had when you were nervous, and he quickly realized his touch grounded you when you needed it the most, “Enough about me, how have you been?”

  “Same old same old—“

  “Don’t do that!” You squeeze his hand, glaring at him before your eyes soften when you notice his defeated ones, “You know I hate this phrase, Jack. Come on, tell me about The Pitt!”

  He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, running a hand over his face as he notices the waiter coming with your orders to the table.

  You pull your hand back, letting the waiter put down your cups and plate, asking if you need anything which Jack replies with a quick ‘no, thank you’ before he looks back at you.

  “I’m sure Dana is keeping you updated—“

  “I want you to tell me,” you cut him off with a soft frown he knows so well, you always gave him this expression when you knew he was dodging the question poorly, “How’s Robby?”

  “He is great,” he shakes his head and chuckles, briefly thinking about how his friend has gotten his life together before he focuses on you again, “He is in a relationship with one of the new attendees, Heather Collins. I don’t know if you know her…”

  “Dana said something about Robby dating a resident after I left but that’s it,” you reply, taking a sip of your tea, “But please tell him I’m so happy for him. He went through a lot and deserves to have an amazing life.”

  “Will do,” he nods, drowning all the espresso shot in one move, kissing his teeth as he looks back at his ring again.

  “Take it easy, soldier,” you push the carrot cake plate towards him slowly, handing him a fork to eat something sweet, “How are you doing, Jack?”

  “Me?” He chuckles dryly, trying to come up with a sarcastic reply but when he sees how worried you look for him, “I’m fine.”

  “That’s it? Six years and you don’t have anything to tell me about?” You press the matter, giving him a teasing look but he has none of it.

  “We had a mass casualty last year, Robby lost his stepson because he couldn’t save Jake’s girlfriend—“

  “That’s Robby’s story to tell, I’m interested to know—“

  “Know about me?” He looks at you as if you have hung the stars, as if every moment he spends looking at your face illuminated by the dark fading orange light of sunset doesn’t make his heart stop, “Well, I go to the rooftop every day thinking I might jump this time, and when I look down I feel numb, maybe the therapy is working because I can’t do it. I see my wife in my sleep, I imagine the life I could have had with her.”

  You take a deep breath at the mention of his late wife — or wife as he always calls her — you take two large sips of your hot tea and he mentally face palms himself at rambling all these shitty thoughts to you. 

  “You still go up?” You ask, your voice small and trembling, thinking of all the kisses and fights you shared on that damned rooftop.

  “Yeah,” he looks out of the window, his eyes filling with tears before he wipes them quickly, enjoying the cold sensation of his ring over his heated eyelids, “It’s the only place that isn’t corrupted by death.”

  “Cut it some slack, our first kiss was on that rooftop,” you reach for his hands again, and he hates how easily he calms down from such a soft touch, “I don’t think I can ever forget it.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an easy trauma, the patient died before we could get our hands on him,” he squeezes your hands, “And you were so mad at me for not letting you go for the fourth round of epi.”

  “You had to shut me up somehow,” you laugh, looking down at your joined hands, “Fuck, I was so immature back then.”

  “No, you weren’t,” he caresses the soft skin of your wrist, his hazel eyes locking into yours with sincerity, “You were hopeful.”

  “Which was horrible for emergency medicine,” you shrug, “I still am, though. That’s why neurology was a great choice. It has death, I still feel the panic sometimes, but they don’t die while I’m operating on them. It’s such a dick thing to say but… I’m glad I’m not there to witness it.”

  “I get it,” he takes a deep breath, his eyes moving slowly from your hands up to your neck and face, falling over your lips, “That’s why the rooftop visits exist.”

  He looks down at his watch before he finds the courage to look into your eyes again, seeing how it is time to go back home and put his scrubs on. 

  Jack doesn’t wanna go, he doesn’t wanna leave. He wishes he could stay in this very moment, just in this picture pretending everything is fine and you are back, that he can delude himself into believing he has you back in his arms for an eternity.

  “I totally forgot, my congress starts at eight,” you pull your hands away from him, leaving his palms cold and itchy without yours in them, and he slowly drags his forearms back to his side, standing up to say the word he hates so much again.

  “Are you… are you leaving?” 

  “Yeah, I have to…” you pout, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and kiss you until the pout is turned into a grin, “But there is a gala tomorrow night. Fundraising and everything, I’d be in town.”

  “Yeah, cool,” he nods, forcing out a smile, standing up after you and waiting for you to say something, anything…

  “Will I see you there?”

  Yes. Yes. He can make it work. Say yes—

  “No, I don’t think so,” he curses himself in his head, fisting his hands, nails digging into his palms, “I’m not invited.”

  “Oh,” you say, eyes widening as if you have heard the most devastating news ever, fingers rolling the band of your purse as you gaze into his eyes, “Well then… this is goodbye I guess.”

  “Yeah, yeah—“ he gasps when you wrap your arms around his shoulders for the second time in six years again, holding him close for one last time before he wraps his large arms around your back as well, “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Me too, Jack,” he nearly drops on his knees when he hears you say his name with tears stinging your eyes, “Me too.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He watches you with red eyes as you try to hold back a sob before you reach for your purse to pull out your wallet and pay for the drinks, but he stops you with a hand on your cheek.

  “I’ve got it,” it pains him that he cannot lean down and kiss you when you nod and scrunch up your nose in order to keep the tears from streaming down your face, “You’ll be late.”

  You move forward, pecking his cheek slowly, and he marvels at how soft your lips feel against his stubble, and he hopes whoever gets to feel your lips back in Boston worships you the way you deserve — the way he wanted to do but fucked it all up.

  He watches you leave, for the second time, and it ruins him, making a tornado inside him that wrecks the remaining parts of his sanity. You are okay, you are happy, and that is all that matters.

  He inhales sharply before he reaches for his phone, opening his text messages with Robby before he sends a quick text.

  “Will you go to tomorrow's gala?”

  It has been years since anyone had seen Jack in a fucking tuxedo. He thinks the last time he tried one was for his wedding, and after that, he dropped the thousand dollar fabric in the trash.

  But now? He is wearing one, with a white shirt under his black coat and a simple black tie he is trying so hard to fix. He looks in the mirror one last time, running a hand in his hair before he moves out of the bathroom, following the sound of music until he reaches the entrance of the hall.

  He feels out of place immediately. It’s not him who is supposed to be here, it’s Robby, but he can’t lose his last chance of seeing you again. So here he is, grabbing a glass of champagne as the waiter walks past him, drowning the sparkling liquor like water.

  He scans the hall, not finding you anywhere as he moves between people until he reaches the bar, ordering a Double Black Label neat while his eyes wander from one woman to another in hopes of finding you somewhere among them.

  He sips on his whiskey, leaning on his elbows on the barstool as he watches the doctors and CEOs get together in various groups. It is a ridiculous shit show, some people go to the podium to give their speech, some linger and chat, and it seems the only person he is interested in is nowhere in sight.

  He shifts his weight off his prosthetic leg, sitting on the barstool only to stare into the glass he has in hand, swirling the liquid with gentle moves of his wrist.

  It is still too far from him, but he can hear your laughter from a mile away. His ears perk up, and he almost breaks his neck when he turns around abruptly to catch you walking with a couple next to you, conversing casually before you spot him through the crowd.

  He stands up instantly, nearly losing his balance when he sees you are coming towards him, hearing a soft ‘I would like to introduce you to someone’ before you lead the couple to where he is standing.

  “This is Dr. Jack Abbot from PTMC,” he nods, smiling politely at the couple who introduce themselves as well, shaking his hand before the three of them look back at you, “I used to be his resident before I changed to Neurology.”

  Jack’s hand finds the small of your back as he talks with the couple, finding out about their specialty and where they work, how they know you, and how proud they are to be represented by you in this gala.

  “Well, we will take our leave for now,” The male doctor says, shaking Jack’s hand before he shakes yours, his wife doing the same before she pulls you in for a quick hug, and the two of you watch as they walk away.

  “Hey, stranger,” you turn to him, beaming at him when he smiles back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I had to see you again,” he mumbles, his hands caressing a path from your wrist to your shoulders, feeling the bare skin of your arms and skimping down to your sides, resting over your hips with a gentle squeeze, “It didn’t settle right when we said goodbye yesterday.”

  “It will never settle right, Jack,” you look away from his intense gaze, chuckling when you notice his crooked tie, “You still haven’t learned how to do your tie, or you left it like this on purpose?”

  “Little bit of both,” he shrugs innocently, his eyes taking in your face; you are so close he can smell the champagne mixing with your perfume, your soft lashes kissing your undereye when you blink, your lips painted in a nude shade of pink, and your hair falls around your face like a curtain leading to the hanging Gardens of Babylon — you look like a goddess compared to him.

  “Good thing you have the right person to take care of you,” you whisper, eyes glinting playfully as you pull on his tie to redo it correctly. 

  Jack relishes the feeling of your touch on his collar. He feels as if his senses have heightened somehow because he swears he can literally feel every movement of your fingers on his skin through his clothes.

  He looks down at your dress, watching as the classy design clings to your body just the right way, showing off your curves and shoulders in the most perfect way.

  “You look so beautiful,” he breathes out, letting his hands wander over your back, knowing quite well that he is crossing an invisible line, but he doesn’t care now, you are here, back in his arms, exes or not he has the chance to have you all to himself tonight if you take him back for just a few hours.

  “Thank you,” he leans down to kiss your forehead when he notices how flustered you get, but his demeanor grows closed off when he notices a man making his way towards you, stepping next to you before he extends his hand.

  “Would you do me the honor and dance with me?” 

  You pull back from Jack a little, mouth agape as you look between the man and Jack, but with a little squeeze of his hand on your waist, you give him an apologetic smile before taking up the man’s offer and resting your hand in his palm.

  “Of course.”

  Jack watches from his spot how the man leads you to the dance floor as other people pair up and join you there, the band starts playing the music and to his dismay, he has to be subjected to the sight of another man twirling you around the hall.

  Even if he is seething in his seat, he can’t deny how elegant you look with your dress flowing behind you and that smile you give your partner… this smile makes his pulse quicken, a warm blush covering the tip of his nose and cheeks. 

  He watches as the man lies his hand on your waist, pulling you a bit closer, and it makes his blood boil even though he knows he has no claim over you. You are not his lover, not his girlfriend, hell you are not even his resident anymore.

  He can’t take it anymore, so as soon as the song ends he drowns the rest of his whiskey and strides towards you, clearing his throat to catch your attention.

  “May I have your next dance?” Jack asks, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waits for you to accept his offer, and you do, with a bright smile that lights up his world.

  “Yes, you may,” you turn around to the man you danced with earlier, “Excuse me, please.”

  Jack tucks you close to him when a new song starts, his hand moving from your shoulders to your hip, the other one holding your smaller hand in his as he sways both of you gently to the rhythm of the music.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” He leans down to whisper in your ear, smirking when your hand wanders up to his shoulder, cupping the side of his neck gently.

  “Once or twice,” you chuckle, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he leans down to breathe in your scent, holding you close until the thoughts of you ever leaving again fade away for a few hours at least, “Aren’t you supposed to be at The Pitt?”

  “They don’t need me there,” he says, putting a distance between the two of you to hold your joined hands up so you can twirl before he pulls you in a bit roughly, keeping your chest pressed into his.

  “And you thought you were needed here?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him as his smirk widens, his band on your waist moving to your hip to squeeze you in response.

  “Am I not?” He feigns innocence, his tone matching yours playfully, “I could leave now if that’s what you want—“

  “I never said you weren’t needed,” you don’t break eye contact, and it thrills him as if it was six years ago when you danced for the first time at Dana’s wedding anniversary, “But I know a place if you wanna leave…?”

  “Tempting, very tempting,” he brings your hand to his lips, pressing feather light kisses all over your knuckles, “Are you suggesting?”

  “It might be the few champagne glasses I had but,” you break away from his grip, interweaving your fingers with his as you tug on his hand gently, “My room is on the twentieth floor if you are interested…”

  “Lead the way.”

  Your journey to your room is uneventful; you don’t have a chance to do anything because you are never alone. Not in the hallway he wanted to press you against the wall, not in the elevator bunch of people jumped into when the doors were about to close, not even as you walked on the floor because one of the doctors’ rooms was also on the same fucking lane.

  He is trying to act unbothered as you fumble with the key card, trying to open the door while Jack has his hands roaming your back absentmindedly, his touch trembling slightly in excitement.

  He is going to have you again, after all this time, he is going to hold you as if you are his again.

  You push the door open and tug Jack in by his tie, crashing your mouth into his as you press him against the closed door. He gasps into your mouth before he closes his eyes and kisses you back, one of his hands coming up to grab the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there is no space between you.

  You taste like Moet and cherry lip gloss with a hint of Vanilla in your perfume, and your hands feel warm and welcoming, anchoring him to reality because his life had no purpose before this very moment.

  You ground him, just as you have always done, with subtle kisses and tugs and a hidden hunger slowly pouring into your touch. He feels it all; the small skip of your fingers over his tux as they reach to undo the tie, the quiver of your bottom lip as they chase his chapped ones.

  Jack’s entire world has faded, and all he can see is you.

  He guides you further inside the room with slow deliberate steps, careful not to hit something and hurt you in the process. You break the kiss when you reach the edge of the bed, gasping for air before you push him down on the mattress gently.

  He sits without a fuss, his pupils blown out as he watches you take off your heels and slowly straddle his lap, pushing his coat and tie off slowly. Jack doesn’t blink, he is afraid of even missing one second of tonight. He wants to remember this forever in case…

  No. He shouldn’t go there now, he has you and that is all that matters.

  Jack’s hand comes up to your face, gently caressing your cheek, his thumb going over to your lips as he traces the edge of them while you work on his buttons, finally taking in the sight of his chest.

  He is so mesmerized by the look of pure affection you have that he doesn’t notice you have got him half naked already until you grab his hands and move them to the zipper of your dress.

  “What are we doing?” He bumps his nose into you as he asks, leaning forward to unzip your dress. Your hands roam his naked torso, fingers tracing the soft grey hair on his chest before slowly moving down to his soft belly.

  “Reliving our best memories.”

  Your answer is simple yet effective, and it awakens a deep ache inside him. He understands, he truly does. Your best memories were the ones where you were tangled under his sheets, limbs resting against each other while your mouths left soft traces of love on each other’s skins.

  It might not be the best thing to do with your ex, after six years of no contact, but Jack takes what he can because if he doesn’t, he will lose himself forever.

  You are the last string that attaches him to this life.

  His lips find your shoulders as soon as he pushes the straps of the dress down, kissing the hallow part of your shoulder above your collarbone, sucking in a red mark on the thin skin before he moves upward to your neck, licking your pulse point as he drags his tongue to your jaw.

  You whimper, you fucking whimper, and it makes his head spin with an intensity he had no idea he possessed.  He kisses a path to your lips, breathing your soft breaths while he pushes down the neckline of your dress, pulling back from your mouth only for his gaze to drop down to your chest, breasts covered with a thin strapless bra.

  His brain short circuits when you roll your hips down, grinding against the very painful bulge in his dress pants. His lips part as he huffs out in shock, totally forgetting about his not-so-little problem while he was tasting you.

  “I need you,” he whines, cupping your face in his large palms as he stares into your eyes, “I need you so bad. Please let me have you, please let me pretend I didn’t lose you just for a few hours.”

  “You have me, Jack,” you raise your hands to rest them on top of his, leaning your forehead against, “I need you too.”

  He nods immediately and takes his shirt off completely, watching as you stand up to drop your dress next to your shoes, and for the first time in years, his jaw nearly hits the floor when he finally takes in the sight of your body.

  “Fuck,” it’s a slow gasp, but you hear it perfectly, grinning before you dart toward the hotel’s bathroom, coming out with the pack of condoms in hand. He barks out a laugh when he sees what you are holding, “I’m not that young, we certainly don’t need a whole pack—“

  “Have some faith in yourself, old man,” you grin and watch as he raises his hips and takes his pants and briefs off, his prosthetic leg catching the light of the room. You move to stand in front of his greedy eyes, glancing at his leg before he guides you back onto his lap, “Does it hurt?”

  “No, not right now,” he mutters but it soon turns out into a deep throaty groan when you wrap your fingers around his cock, gently stroking him while you bring the condom to your mouth, tearing it open with your teeth, “That has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ready?” You peck his lips, rolling the condom on his cock until it reaches the base, “Cause I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Me neither,” he pushes your panties to the side, swiping his fingers through your folds, dropping his head on your chest when he feels how wet you are, “You are soaked, baby.”

  “All for you,” you whisper as you line his tip with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself as the fat tip breaches your walls, both of you moaning at the contact. 

  He forgot how warm you were, how world-consuming your body felt, but now that he is feeling it all again, he remembers the nights he lost himself in the sensation of your cunt wrapped around him.

  “You’re so big,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into his back as you finally take all of him inside you, “Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”

  He can’t form a coherent word without looking like he is having a stroke, because fucking hell he might be having one just now. Your cunt is stretched around his cock, and he can feel your pulse around his girth even through the condom.

  “Jack,” you whimper his name, grabbing his jaw so you can look into his eyes as you slowly move your hips in circles. He is pretty sure he already looks so fucked out with his lips ajar and eyes glassy with desire while he has to focus on your face so he doesn’t come too fast and embarrass himself.

  He reaches around you to unclasp your bra without looking away, short breaths falling from his lips as you begin to move up and down, and he successfully manages to get that thing off you before latching his lips to your nipples.

  He closes his eyes and groans when he feels your walls clenching around him as soon as he swirls his tongue around the tightened bud, his hands moving to grab the back of your thighs to help you move faster.

  He is so close, embarrassingly so, because he has been imagining this for so long. Jack clings to you as you ride him faster, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in his head, leaving him panting and dizzy.

  He opens his eyes and finds your head thrown back as you fasten your pace, damp hair sticking to your forehead as you chase your release.

  He is hypnotized by how beautiful you look; his body glistening with sweat and thighs shaking around his hips. He watches closely how you moan loudly when his cock nudges your sweet spot deep inside your core.

  “Fuck, fuck— I’m gonna come,” he groans out the words, and you nod absentmindedly, leaning down to press your lips to his, kissing him as you grind down harder, urging him to let go.

  “Me too, baby,” you gasp against his lips, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightens and in a blink, it breaks, waves of euphoria rushing through your veins as you release around him.

  He hugs you close, snapping his hips up one, two, and three times before he buries his face into your neck, groaning from the depths of his throat as he empties his cum into the condom.

  He holds you as he comes, wanting to carve the memory of tonight into his head so he can remember it until his last breath.

  “Jack,” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his curly grey hair, kissing the side of his face as he tries to regain his breath, “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you for giving me a chance,” he replies quietly, gently lowering you on the bed before he hovers over you, pulling his softened cock out of your swollen hole, “It’s been a long time…”

  “For me too,” you smile sheepishly, kissing his forehead before you sit up slowly so you can go and clean up, “I’ll go to the bathroom and order room service. What do you wanna have?”

  “Anything, I’m starving,” he smiles, flipping on his back as he watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks up at the ceiling, shuddering as it finally dawns on him what he has done. Sex. With you. After six years of radio silence. After all the arguments, after the farewell you shared at the airport, after him realizing how emotionally closed off he was — is.

  “Bathroom’s yours,” you walk back into the room, reaching for his white shirt on the floor, putting it on before you crawl on top of the bed, kissing him sweetly on the lips a few times before lying down and reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

  He turns on his side, kissing your bare thighs before he stands up and walks to the bathroom to get rid of the used condom. Jack splashes water on his face, shaking his head as he looks at his reflection in the mirror.

  Was it a mistake? Probably. But he doesn’t regret it, not now, not ever. He will forever cherish every moment he spent and will spend with you for a long time, perhaps forever.

  A deep unsettling sadness fills the pit of his stomach suddenly, and he runs a hand down his face when he remembers you will go back to Boston in a few hours. He wants to do something to keep you here, locked away from the world and its demands — just you and him.

  He cleans up quickly before the tears threaten to fill his eyes, washing his hands and wiping the sweat off his body with a damp towel while he walks to the bedroom, reaching for his briefs.

  “Greasy cheese Burger with extra fries, what do you say?” You ask, pulling back the covers on the other side so he can crawl in next to you, but before he has the chance the doorbell rings, “Let me go get it—“

  “Na uh,” he wraps an arm around your waist, pinning you to the bed before he plants a kiss on your nose, “I’ll get it, ain’t no way I’m gonna let anyone see you like this.”

  “Like what?” You sit up on your elbows, dragging your nose against his neck until you reach his lips, not kissing him just hovering while he breathes the warm air that you exhale.

  “All glowing and pretty,” your lips are practically pressed together, but still he doesn’t close the tiny remaining distance, “And in a white shirt only. No, this is mine to enjoy.”

  He smirks and pulls back, chuckling when you whine and drop back on the bed as he gets up to answer the door,  hiding his prosthetic leg as he pulls in the table before he shuts the door.

  “Oh my goodness it smells so good already!” You have moved to the edge of the bed, hands around your legs and head resting on your knees, waiting for him to bring the food to you.

  Jack’s stomach grumbles, making you giggle. He gives you a shy smile before he sits next to you, pushing the table closer to you. He watches as you dig in, taking a huge bite of your burger, moaning at the taste.

  “That good?” He asks, popping up a few fries into his mouth, nodding as the spices fill his tastebuds, “Fuck, yeah. It tastes delicious.”

  It doesn’t take long to finish your meal, but the time is filled with teasing and bantering, sharing bites, and saucy kisses while you eat. 

  What he doesn’t expect is to find himself on his side, with one arm under your head after you both finished your food. It feels… ordinary like he has done it every day, as if it is a routine. Domestic.

  “What happened to us?” He asks like a lost baby, his eyes exploring your face closely; from your lashes to your cheek, down to the soft small hairs on your jaw while he traces a path from your thumb up to your shoulder with his knuckles.

  “Many things,” you sigh, kissing his freckles on his shoulders gently, your hands on his chest as they wander, “You, me, your… your late wife.”

  You reach for his left hand that is touching your arm, pulling it to your face so you can look at the black ring he is still wearing. You twist the metal, and each circle twists his heart.

  He forgot to take it off again.

  “You were not over her back then,” you whisper, scooting closer to rest your head on the crook of his neck, “I don’t think you are now either. We just… became something so… good in a difficult time.”

  “I loved you,” he replies and hides his face in your hair, smelling your comforting scent before he resumes, “I still do. I fucked it all up. I… I wanted you for a lifetime but I wasn’t okay back then. I had lost my wife three years before we met and… and I tried, y’know? I tried to let you in, I tried to open up it just—“

  “I know, Jack, I know,” he lets the tears fall when you cradle his face, pulling him close until he is only a breath away, “I wanted to stay there and watch you heal, but you refused to seek any help, and I couldn’t watch you slip through my fingers any longer than I did.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined it all,” he sobs, tears streaming down his face. He reaches to mimic your position, cupping the side of your head, “I wish I listened, I w-wish I didn’t just… give up like a coward. It was not me, I never give up—“

  “You are not a coward, Jack, look at me,” he forces his eyes open, those bloodshot hazel orbs looking so devastatingly beautiful, “I gave up on you too. I pushed you too hard sometimes, I… I got jealous when you would bring up your wife. I was a fucking dick about it, so no, you didn’t ruin it alone. I had a hand in it too, a big one.”

  “You were in the right though,” he kisses the tears that fall on your cheeks, mumbling against your skin as another sob wrecks through his body, “We were happy together, fuck, how much of an idiot I was to bring up my dead wife when I had you. We could’ve had a future, we could’ve lived together and built a life, but I clawed on the past too hard that I was blinded.”

  “I loved you from a distance for the past six years,” you whisper, pecking his lips gently, “Boston… it felt lifeless without you in it. It’s not the city that holds my heart, it’s just a passing location in life. You made this city shine brighter in the mornings, made the coffee taste sweeter, but at the same time… nothing was truly okay here.”

  “It feels like a distant dream when you talk about it,” he shuffles downward a little until he can rest his head on your chest, “But we were in love, why didn’t it make a difference?”

  “Because love isn’t enough,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly as he cries softly into the shirt you are wearing, “Sleep, baby, you probably haven’t had more than a few hours to rest. I’ll wake you when I have to leave.”

  He wakes up with dread even though you are kissing his head and cooing at him. You are leaving, again. He has to let go of you for the second time, and it fills him with so much agony that his leg begins to hurt.

  “Hey, honey,” you angle his head so you can plant a kiss on his lips, grinning down at him as he blinks sleepily, “You slept like a baby.”

  “How long?” He grumbles and hides his face into your stomach, “Don’t wanna get up…”

  “Me neither,” you reply, and he can hear the pure sadness in your voice, but he doesn’t make any move to get up, instead his hands go under your shirt — his technically — so he can grope your waist, “But my flight is in an hour and a half…”

  “I slept the whole night?” He ignores your last sentence, sitting up slightly, keeping his weight on his forearm next to your chest, “I’m sorry, I—“

  “Hey, don’t be sorry!” You pull him down so he hovers over you, playing with the tiny curly hair on the nape of his neck, “I loved it. It reminded me of the time when you’d fall asleep on top of me after a rough shift. It felt so good to sleep with you again.”

  “I haven’t had a good night's sleep until… until tonight,” he confesses quietly, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips, but when he wants to deepen it, you push him away gently with your hands on his chest. He looks down at you, confused and a bit hurt, “What?”

  “Jack…” he watches you swallow the words down as best as possible, but at the end of the day, you have to utter them somehow before it is too late, “I have to go now, I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  His eyes water as soon as the words fall from his lips. He truly doesn’t want you to go, he needs you here, with him, in his bed, in his clothes. He breathes better when you are with him, he can think, and he can live.

  “I don’t want to go either,” you wipe the tears that stream down your face, “But I can’t stay, not when I have a life in Boston. Maybe one day I’ll come back, hell, maybe I’ll come back for my fellowship, but… for now, I have to go.”

  “We can get you a position in PTMC, I can talk to Gloria myself—“

  “Jack,” the way you utter his name breaks his heart into a million pieces, because he knows, deep down he knows he has to let you go. He has been denying it for hours, but in the end, he knows there is no way he can keep you here.

  “I’ll drive you there then,” he moves to the edge of the bed, taking off his prosthetic as the tears fall down softly. He begins massaging his leg slowly as you get up and pack your things, still only in his white shirt and nothing more.

  You look strikingly gorgeous; hair unruly, bare thighs, puffy face from all the crying, and he thinks he has never seen something more surreal.

  “Wait,” you halt in your step when he reaches for his coat on the floor, pulling out his phone before he takes a quick photo of you.

  “What was that?” You chuckle, moving toward your luggage to drop everything you own in it while you see Jack staring at his screen, “Baby?”

  “I… I wanted to have something from you to look at later,” he explains, his voice barely above whispers, “For when I miss you.”

  You suck in a sharp breath, he hears it clearly. But you don’t turn around toward him after it, probably shocked to your core by how raw and emotional he sounds.

  After taking out the clothes you wanna wear for your departure, you walk to Jack, standing between his legs as you slowly unbutton his shirt, taking off the fabric before you hand it to him — the last thing you had touched from his belongings.

  He takes it without a word, wearing it before he puts his prosthetic leg back on, trying his best not to break apart at how his shirt now smells like you. He won’t wash this again, he would hang this behind his door so he can smell it daily before he goes to the hospital.

  You get ready in thick silence, an uncomfortable one that you both know will break ten times worse than before eventually, and that it will lead to something far too devastating than anything you have experienced.

  He grabs your luggage, hand reaching to hold yours as he guides you out of the hotel room after you check it multiple times in case you missed something. You walk together, shoulder to shoulder, ride the elevator down by your head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

  Jack watches as you check out, smiling and thanking the receptionist before coming back to him with a tired look on your face. He knows how you must be feeling, he feels even worse than you, because suddenly it is six years ago as he watches you pack your bags and ride to the airport together.

  He drives you there himself, muscle memory he thinks bitterly, with his hand on your thigh and your fingers caressing the freckled skin. He doesn’t wanna break the bubble you are in, he doesn’t wanna believe he is seeing you go again. He can turn the wheel and drive to his place, he thinks about it too, but he knows you are not ready yet, and he isn’t ready either.

  He looks down at his wedding band shining under the sunlight. The memories of your tears over this black ring rush into his mind, and he takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart — he isn’t ready for sure.

  He wants to say something, anything as he helps you through the airport, but he can’t, he doesn’t dare to utter a word and he hopes that his actions and eyes are showing what he hopes to say.

  “Don’t go,” these are the only two words he manages to let out as you look at him, hearing how your flight’s boarding has started through the speakers, “Please don’t go.”

  “I have to, Jack—“

  “No, no you don’t have to!” He presses his lips together tightly, his cheeks flushed and eyes red, “You just- just have to stay here, with me, be my Clementine again—“

  “You still use that stupid nickname?” You give him a watery laugh, cupping his face before you press your lips to his, muffling his sobs as best as you can, feeling how your tears mix together and fall on your chins.

  “Yeah, of course,” he kisses you back quickly, like he is in a rush to win a game, an endless competition with no victory, “I know you fucking hate it—“

  “I love it, I love you,” you peck his mouth again, “But this is where we need to part ways, Jack. It’s in our faith it seems.”

  “Curel fucking faith,” he bumps his nose into yours, hands clutching your hips so tightly as if you would vanish if he loses his grip, “I love you, too.”

  “Reach out to me when you forget to put your ring on,” you step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, “Find me when you don’t need to go to that rooftop, I’ll be waiting for you, even if it takes ten or twenty years.”

  And Jack watches you leave again, the same way you did six years ago, from the same spot. He watches you take his heart to another city, leaving him with an empty aching chest for an eternity.

  The next day, he walks toward the same staircase that leads toward the rooftop while twisting his ring, but it is not his late wife he is thinking about; it’s you.

  Today may not be the day, but someday he will find you, he is sure of it.