I just wanted to write a thing where mob Jack saves pregnant detective Rhys from a burning building, thats all this is

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Jack was about ready to go home.

He hadn’t even bothered to dress up in his usual duds for this job, merely slinging one of his blazers on over a shirt. After all, a little evidence-burning wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Even if said “evidence” was an entire warehouse down at the harbor.

Whatever. Jack had the dockworkers union paid off anyway. No one would suspect a thing until the cops came to investigate the smoking, burnt-out ruin.

Jack watched idly as his men moved in and out of the warehouse’s entrance, laying explosives and salvaging anything of value left inside before they blew the whole thing sky-high. The damp, night air kissed his skin, making him crave a cigar to warm himself up, but he hadn’t brought any with him. This was supposed to be a quick job. Torch the warehouse and anything left inside so Jack could curl up in bed for the rest of the night.

It’d been a little harder to get proper sleep lately, and Jack had always slept decently enough for someone with countless murders on his conscience. Didn’t help that the new detectives nipping at his heels were a hell of a lot less fun than their forebear. Jack pursed his lips at the memory of the last time he’d seen his sorely-missed Detective Somerset, who’d just had to go and get himself knocked up and thus ruin Jack’s fun by taking leave of his job. Jeez. Total buzzkill. Jack was really gonna let him have it as soon as he came back.

If he came back.

Jack hissed into the night air, feeling a little antsy. He watched as one of his underlings moved the last crate of explosives in through the door, before turning to his guard. Wilhelm grunted in response and cocked his eyebrow.

“Gonna take a walk. Keep an eye on these doofuses and make sure they don’t blow themselves up, huh?” Jack opened his jacket to show off the golden handle of a pistol shoved into his coat pocket when Wilhelm looked at him skeptically.

“I don’t need a frikkin’ babysitter, I can handle myself for a couple minutes,” Jack growled as he turned on his heels away from his guard and the rest of his scrambling men, walking down one side of the warehouse. He kept a respectable distance from the walls, just in case someone screwed up and detonated the explosives a little too early. Considering Jack only really trusted himself to do anything right, it seemed a valid concern.

He stuck his hands in his pants pockets, slouching into his stride as he walked through the misty night, the streetlights above him foggy and casting less light than they might usually. He tried to keep his mind clear of any unpleasant or annoying thoughts, idling casting his gaze about the deserted docks in front of him. There wasn’t much in this particularly spot apart from the warehouses, and the only noises he could make out were the distant sound of sirens and the hum of the freeways.

Jack was about ready to turn around and walk back to properly wrap this night up, when something near the end of the warehouse glinted in the faded moonlight. Jack stopped, recognizing the gleam of a car fender, then the short length of a grey-blue hood. He slid his hand into his jacket, fingering the handle of his gun as he started to approach once more. As he grew closer, got a better look at the car it became more and more familiar, sending a prickle of apprehension into his gut.

It was definitely Detective Somerse—Rhys’ car. Jack knew the license plate well, from pictures his men had snagged of the omega’s personal life. But Rhys wasn’t inside. In fact, as Jack looked around, he couldn’t see him anywhere. What the hell? Had something happened to him?

Jack peered through the dim window, eyes landing upon a sheaf of papers clipped onto a manila envelope. Was Rhys on a job?

No. That couldn’t be. Rhys was supposed to be on maternity leave. Jack hadn’t seen him out in the field in weeks now, for good reason. He was supposed to be away, tucked in his home nice and safe and getting chubby on ice cream pickles.

Jack’s heart plummeted as he turned away from the car, a sick suspicion rising up from his stomach as he raced back down the length of the warehouse back to where his men were gathered. He waved his arms and shouted, trying to grab their attention.

“Hey, assholes, wait! Don’t set it off yet, don’t—“

Jack couldn’t get any more words out as the building besides him suddenly detonated. The sounds of shredded metal and shattering ground blasted into his ears, nearly knocking him off of his feet. He stumbled forward, his stomach twisting itself in half as he watched flames explode out through the windows, littering the ground with shards of glass. Jack’s heart leapt up from the pit of his stomach into his throat, choking him as he watched the warehouse go up in flames.

“Damn it…damn it!” Jack snarled, deaf to the shouts of his men as they raced towards him. He wasn’t about to give up now, not when Rhys could still be inside that frikkin’ place. If Jack didn’t go and check if he was still alive, he would never forgive himself.

Jack stripped his blazer off his body as he raced into the warehouse’s side entrance, the heat emanating from the burning walls already too much to bear with the additional layer. He wrenched open the door and stumbled his way inside, coughing at the smoke that billowed out.

“Rhys!” He called, his voice scratching against his throat. The interior smelled awful, of burning raw materials and blast residue. He prayed that he was crazy, that maybe Rhys had never entered the warehouse at all—or that if he had, he’d been far enough away from the blast as to not render Jack’s rescue futile from the start.

The alpha dodged some broken glass and rounded a pile of wooden crates knocked askew in the explosion, only to find a pallet stacked high with reinforced concrete slabs standing in his way. Some pieces had already fell and cracked onto the floor, covering it in scattered rubble. Flames licked around on the other side, quickly eating at the structure holding them in place—yet even the smoke pouring in from all around couldn’t mask the figure lying limp and prone on the floor besides the stack.

“Shit, Rhys,” Jack scrambled forward, voice muffled by the hand clamped over his mouth. His leather shoes squeaked as he skidded to his knees besides the body, knocking away the bits of debris laying over the detective’s legs. For a moment Jack’s eyes swam too much to see whether he was breathing, but a press of fingers beneath Rhys’ jaw thankfully confirmed a fluttering pulse. Moments later the detective’s eyelids twitched, revealing bleary eyes that looked up at Jack without full understanding.

“Wh…what happened…” Rhys moaned before a rough cough cut across his words. His stomach, noticeably rounded beneath his uniform, shook with each gasp. Jack’s heart clenched with worry—smoke and blunt-force wounds weren’t exactly good for unborn pups—as he stripped off his shirt and pressed the balled material loosely over Rhys’ mouth and nose.

“Easy…easy cupcake, just breathe, I’m getting you out of here, ‘kay?” Jack assured as he slid his hands underneath Rhys’ legs and back, supporting him the best he could while remaining mindful of his belly and any potential injuries. Jack’s muscles strained as he heaved, swaying to his feet with Rhys cradled in his arms. The omega moaned into the shirt as he tried his best to hold it to his face. Jack turned his head and coughed, his lungs starting to hurt now from the heat and oily smoke as he rushed back towards the entrance, desperate to get back out into the cool night air.

“Boss!” Wilhelm grunted as Jack shouldered his way back out of the warehouse, his hands grabbing onto Jack’s shoulders and pulling him away just as a second, earth-shattering explosion burst behind him. Rhys cried out and flinched in the alpha’s arms as the building’s door nearly blew off its hinges, sending debris and busted glass scattering out over the ground.

“H-holy shit,” Jack gasped, casting a look behind him at the burning warehouse, before returning his attention to the omega in his arms. Rhys curled into Jack’s chest, cheek pressed up against one tattooed pec as he took deep breaths of the damp air. He held Jack’s shirt balled up in his hand like a teddy bear, something for his trembling fingers to cling onto.

“Rhys? Rhysie, you okay?” Jack crouched, laying the omega carefully down on the ground while keeping his back supported. Without thinking, Jack rested his hand atop the omega’s stomach, cupping the ample swell beneath his clothes.

“I…I think so…” Rhys gasped, his hand too coming to touch his belly, not bothering to push away Jack’s palm. “The…the baby…”

Jack ground his teeth together, his neck prickling with instinct. God. Rhys and his pup could’ve died in there. If Jack hadn’t been in just the right place at just the right time, the kid would’ve been frikkin’ toast. The thought made him want to cling on to Rhys and never let go, even if he was supposed to be on leave. Even if they sat clear on two opposite sides of the law.  

But he decided instead to do the next best thing. He looked up at Wilhelm who hovered above them, awaiting a command.

“Bring the car. We’re going back to my place. With him.” Jack slid his arm back underneath Rhys’ legs, managing to pull him up into his arms again even with the adrenaline starting to drain from his body. He could hear sirens off in the distance, steadily growing louder as the flames consuming the warehouse licked higher.

Jack moved in the direction of the car as Wilhelm raced on ahead to start it. He really wanted nothing less than to tangle with the cops tonight—especially as the only one he really cared about needed his help.

Whether Rhys wanted it or not.