🐞

You sat on the edge of your bed and scrolled through the texts on your phone. You’d noticed their responses to your texts getting shorter if they weren’t being ignored completely. As you scrolled you realized you were always the one that initiated the conversation, always sent the first message. Maybe you were just annoying them.

All of you had your own rooms, but you were used to them climbing into bed with you or dragging you into their rooms to sleep with them. Jack hadn’t been getting home until midmorning and Robby was closer to midnight some nights. You were already at work in the home office by the time Jack arrived home but he hadn’t popped his head in to say hello once. Hadn’t found you to say goodbye. You’d tried to stay up for Robby one night and woke up on the couch shivering in the chill at the two in the morning, telling you he hadn’t even noticed. A quick glance in his room showed him passed out in his bed. You could have crawled in with him, with either of them, but you weren’t certain they wanted you to anymore.

The last time you’d seen them, Robby had just seemed irritated that you were in his space and Jack hadn’t listened to a word you said before saying “That’s nice, sweetheart. I’m gonna get some sleep.”

So, you decided to stop. Stop messaging them first, stop seeking them out at home, just stop. The days passed and they didn’t seem to notice. You continued taking care of them for a few days, leaving food to make sure they ate, washing their scrubs, etc. You knew these back to back shifts were hard on them but you were hurting mentally and physically and just so, so tired. You knew you should talk to them, make them see you, but you didn’t want to burden them with anything else.

So, you called your best friend and packed your things, biting back your tears as you walked out the door.

Jack was the first to notice that something was wrong.

He came home just after ten from an extended shift. The house was quiet but that wasn’t out of the norm as you shut yourself up in your office to work. He opened the microwave and frowned at finding it empty. You always left them something, worried they wouldn’t eat unless you fed them. He checked the fridge only to find it devoid of a meal as well. Maybe you were annoyed that he hadn’t eaten the meals the last couple of days, grabbing something at work to combat the hollow feeling in his stomach during his long shifts. He grabbed a protein shake, too tired to do anything else.

As he headed for his bedroom, he paused outside your office, hesitating, wanting to see you, wondering if perhaps you hadn’t been up to cooking today. When your condition flared, you didn’t feel like doing much of anything. But if that was the case, you were more likely to be curled up on the couch. He sighed and eventually moved on without knocking. He didn’t want to bother you just to say hello and goodnight. After a shower, he had just enough energy left to collapse into his bed and crash, far too exhausted to realize it was Saturday and you shouldn’t be working at all.

When he woke a few hours later, he went looking for you, wanting to apologize for not eating the meals you’d undoubtedly left him. Besides, he just missed you. These long shifts were killing him. You didn’t answer his gentle knock at your office or bedroom doors. A glance in the garage showed your car was gone. He looked in the kitchen to find no note. He frowned. None of this was like you. He glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t worry about it now. Half an hour later found him standing by the hub talking to Robby.

“I’m telling you man, something’s not right,” Jack said.

Robby huffed. “Why because she didn’t make you breakfast? Maybe she just forgot.”

“Okay, but she didn’t leave a note. She always leaves a note. She knows we worry.”

Dana looked between them as they talked wondering how two incredibly intelligent men could be so fucking stupid. You’d been in her guestroom for two days now and they were just noticing something was up? No wonder you left their asses. Idiots. She made a sound of disgust.

Both men’s heads snapped in her direction. “What?” they asked in unison.

She arched one brow and pursed her lips. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.”

Robby and Jack turned to look at one another and reassess. Dana was your best friend. If she was pissed off at them, that meant you were as well. Shit. “Okay, well what did she say the last time you talked to her?”

“I think she told me to have a good shift,” Jack said with a frown, pulling out his phone. That had been five days ago and he’d responded with a terse thanx. “Uh, Mike, when’s the last time she texted you?”

He pulled out his phone to find much the same scenario as Jack. You usually texted them multiple times a day just to let them know you were thinking of them. “Oh.”

Jack raked his hand through his hair. “Okay, okay. Did anything seem off when you saw her?”

Robby shook his head. “I’ve been too tired when I get home to do anything but shower and crawl in bed. My bed. Figured she’d come to my room if she wanted.”

Jack’s brain short circuited and he froze. “Michael, when is the last time you physically laid eyes on our girlfriend?”

Robby sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know. Earlier this week? I’ve just been so fried I haven’t been seeking her out. What about you? What’s she been like with you?”

“I haven’t seen her either.” His voice was quiet, worried.

Robby’s gaze sharpened. “Like since when?”

Jack bowed his head as he thought. “Jesus. It’s been a week. At least. She sat at the table with me while I ate but I was too tired to even process what she was saying. I didn’t stress about it because I figured she had you.”

“And I was the same way. Fuck.” Robby’s eyes went wide and he pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “Fuck!”

Dana hummed in acknowledgment of their idiocy.

Jack turned to her immediately. “She’s obviously said something to you. What did she say? How mad is she?”

She glanced over the top of her glasses, entirely unimpressed. “Since when has that ever worked with me, Jack Abbot? You want to know how mad she is, try talking to her. If she’ll listen. I’m going home. You two better get your shit together.”

Handoff with Lena complete, Dana grabbed her things and headed out the door without looking back, Robby and Jack’s eyes trailing her as she went.

“Oh, our girl must be furious,” Robby muttered.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Robby left his shift when he was supposed to for the first time in two weeks. This matter with you was more pressing. Your car was still gone. He knocked at your office out of habit as he opened the door. Everything you needed for work was gone. Shit. His footsteps carried him quickly down the hall. He threw open the door to your bedroom to find a neatly made bed. Your suitcase and a large amount of your clothes were missing.

Robby pulled out his phone, nearly dropping it in his haste. He called Jack who answered immediately. “Is she home?”

“She’s gone, Jack.” Robby’s voice broke on the words. “Her office is empty. Half of her clothes are gone.”

“Shit,” Jack said. “Trauma’s coming in. See if you can reach her.”

Robby tried to call first. You sent the call to voicemail three times before he gave up.

Next, he sent you a text. Baby please pick up the phone. I want to talk to you. I need to make sure you’re alright.

I’m fine, came not even a minute later.

He heaved a sigh of relief. At least you responded. I don’t think you are. Please talk to me.

You haven’t cared if you talked to me in weeks. Why should now be any different?

God, you always knew exactly what to say to make your point in the sharpest way possible. Please. He didn’t know what else to say.

I moved out two days ago. You didn’t even notice.

Two days? That can’t be true surely. Jesus. He knew you well enough to know that he and Jack had been horribly wrong. You weren’t pissed. You were hurt. That was so much worse. They’d hurt you. They were going to lose you and they’d deserve it.

I don’t know what I can say to that. There’s no excuse for it. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much.

Okay. Goodnight Michael.

No, no, no. That couldn’t be your response. This couldn’t be the end of everything. What the fuck had they done?

Baby please. Just meet us at least. Let us sit down and talk about this. Please.

The two of you will never have the time for that. I can say yes but it will never happen so why bother. I’m done talking.

Please talk to me.

Please don’t leave us.

I love you.

Just give us a chance

All four messages were left on read.

Jack tried next.

Robby hadn’t told him how things had gone until handoff, not wanting Jack to dwell on it all night. While part of him understood Robby’s reasoning, the rest of him was pissed off. If he’d known, maybe he could have gotten you to respond. It wasn’t logical, you weren’t any more likely to talk to him than Robby but Jack couldn’t just give up.

He sent the first text as he walked to the truck.

Honey I am so sorry. Please talk to us.

He tossed his phone on the passenger seat. When he pulled in the drive, he was disappointed to find no response.

I love you. I miss you.

He took a shower to scrub the day away. When he got out, he found that you had responded to his texts with a link. He clicked on it and was taken to a local housekeeping service that did cleaning and laundry. His brows snapped together and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

What’s that?

Figured that’s what you were missing. You can probably find someone to make meals for you too. Or doordash.

Jack scowled. What the fuck? I don’t give a shit about any of that. I miss you. I want you. Not some fucking maid service. Why would you think that?

Are you telling me that you didn’t notice stuff wasn’t getting done before you noticed you hadn’t seen me? It’s been days Jack. Days.

Look I know things haven’t been ideal lately. Mike and I have both been working more than we should have. We just have to get through this and then things will go back to normal.

I don’t want normal.

What?

When was the last time either of you texted me first? Took me on a date? It was a long time before the flu.

Jack frantically scrolled through his texts knowing you had to be wrong. The two of you talked all the time. Another message from you came through.

You just got off shift. You should get some sleep. Goodbye Jack.

Jesus fucking Christ. Now he understood what Robby had been talking about. You were talking like this was over. He wasn’t ready for this to be done. Didn’t think he would ever be.

I’m fine Honey. I’m worried about you and hating myself for fucking this up.

I can’t do this anymore Jack. Not right now.

He tried to text you two more times before switching to phone calls. The third time he called he went straight to voicemail. He raked a hand through his hair and tossed his phone on the bed before dropping back to lay flat. He pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes. How the fuck were they going to fix this?

Two days passed of them trying to call or text and getting no further response from you. They’d managed to learn from Dana that you were staying with her and were ‘doing just fine. Now fuck off’. Jack and Robby stood at the hub just before seven going over the schedule, trying to figure out who would be willing to shift around so they could head over to Dana’s together to beg for forgiveness.

Dana hurried through the bay doors and made her way straight to them. Both of them turned at her unusual behavior. “What’s up with you?” Robby asked.

“I need you both to behave like fucking adults or I’ll get Gloria down here,” she snapped.

Jack’s brows shot up. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“Stow it, Abbot.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the department. “Whitaker, grab a chair. Patient being dropped off in the bay.”

Both men straightened at that. “Dana,” Robby said drawing out the word.

She pursed her lips and sighed. “She’s been in a flare for days. Meds triggered an intractable migraine. Neuro told her to come here.”

“Is she okay?” Robby asked then immediately said, “Don’t answer that. Stupid question.”

“How long?” Jack asked already heading for the doors.

She huffed out a breath knowing they weren’t going to like the answer. “Three days.”

Jack stopped and turned back. “Three fucking days? And she’s just now coming in?”

“I can’t imagine why she would be hesitant.” Dana rolled her eyes as she moved past him to meet Whitaker at the door.

“What’s open, Lena?” she called over her shoulder.

“Five is all yours.”

Robby and Jack froze as you were wheeled inside. You had an icepack pressed over your eyes, the elbow of the hand holding it resting on the arm of the chair. You were curled in on yourself and had an empty bucket in your lap. Dana shot them a look as she pushed you past them and into your room.

As much as they wanted to invade the room, to check on you themselves, they waited. Dana emerged nearly twenty minutes later. “I’ve got her in a gown and got an IV started for fluids. She’s checked in and waiting for a doctor. She said you can come in.”

They stepped forward and she held up a hand. “Don’t upset her or I’ll kick your ass.”

Entering the room quietly, their eyes immediately fell on you. You were curled on your side, icepack still laying on your head. They split, each one taking a different side of the bed. Jack sat on a stool and wheeled it to your side, clasping your hand in his. You sucked in a breath at the contact and immediately started to sob.

Robby had pulled a chair up on your other side, placing a heavy hand on your back. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”

Jack touched the icepack to find it warm. He moved it aside so he could see your eyes. He wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Why are you crying, honey?”

“It hurts.” You practically whimpered the words. “It hurts so bad. Nothing is helping.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

Before he could say anything else, Dana came back into the room hands full. She sat the tray full of medication aside and hung a bag of saline to run into your IV. “Doc Reynolds sent in the order for a cocktail.”

“What’s he giving her?” Robby asked as he put on his glasses and headed over to the computer.

Dana ignored him and started filling syringes with meds.

“Well?” Jack asked.

Robby glanced over with a frown. “Toradol, Reglan, Zomig, and Decadron.”

“Jesus.” Jack watched Dana inject the drugs into your IV. “Must be particularly stubborn, huh?”

Another tear ran down your face in answer.

Dana glanced at Robby. “You working or calling someone in?”

Robby ran a hand down his face. “Shit. Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded and moved to the computer to make her notes.

Robby went back to your side and kissed your temple. “I’ll be back, sweetheart. Just let me get things settled out there.”

“I need to do handoff,” Jack said, looking between you and Robby.

You turned away from him, careful not to tangle your IV. “I’m fine. Just go.”

The pain in your voice pierced through him. “Honey—”

“Go!” you yelled then winced.

Dana’s gaze snapped over to Jack. “You heard her. Out.”

When he hesitated, she said, “Now.”

“We’ll be back,” he said at the door, turning back to look at you. Dana had her hand resting on the side of your face, talking to you in a low tone. He sighed and left the room, sliding the door shut behind him.

“I feel like we just failed a test,” Robby said, voice tired.

“Yeah.”

You didn’t want to be a bitch, to be unreasonable. You knew your temper was shorter because of your migraine, because of the pain that you had been drowning in for days. The truth was you’d been in a flare for two weeks at this point. You’d been careful with your meds but eventually they’d caused the headache you’d had since you left their house. Stress undoubtedly playing a large part in both the flare and the migraine. You’d only admitted to it three days ago. If Dana knew you were going on five days, she’d beat your ass.

But you’d told the neuro the truth. He’d told you if the cocktail didn’t work, they’d have to admit you for stronger meds. You knew that of course, this wasn’t your first trip to the hospital for a stubborn migraine, but you hated it. All you’d wanted from the beginning was to curl up with one of your men and let them take care of you.

You missed them and they always seemed to make everything better. Well, they used to. It’s why you’d told Dana they could come into the room. You’d hoped they’d choose you. Take care of you. Prioritize you. But once again the Pitt won.

It wasn’t rational. They needed to do their jobs. They were attending physicians. Lives literally hung in the balance. But you didn’t want to be rational. You were tired of always being understanding. Of always letting yourself take a back seat. You were tired of always being the second choice.

Your heart ached when you thought about how long it took for them to even notice you were gone. They didn’t need you. Didn’t want you. Not really. You’d been crippled with pain for days and they hadn’t known, hadn’t cared. Had never once asked how you were doing. Dana had told you that you could stay as long as you wanted but you knew you were wearing out your welcome. No one wants a permanent houseguest.

You wondered how much money was in your savings. You didn’t check the balance often as you were afraid you’d spend it, so you left it and just added to it when you could. You’d need enough for a deposit and first and last month’s rent. Jesus, you hated apartment hunting. Hated apartments. You’d gotten used to the quiet neighborhood where you lived now. You didn’t want to think about it right now, it certainly wasn’t helping your headache.

Your head had that floaty feeling that told you the meds were working. Your thoughts were a little slow and time passed in weird increments but you were still aware.

Dana popped back in after almost an hour had passed. “How you doing, doll?”

“It’s definitely better, but it still hurts.”

She pulled you up on the computer. “Instructions here for another round. After that…”

“Yeah, I know.”

She patted your leg. “I’m going to get you some more fluids and something to drink. Need anything else?”

“Another icepack?”

“Sure. I can do that.” Her gaze ran over you as she crossed her arms over her chest. “They’ve stationed themselves in the hallway, you know.”

You frowned at her. You’d assumed they were working. Hell, Jack might have gone home for all you knew. “What?”

“I told them they couldn’t come back in, not after they made you cry.”

“They didn’t. I was crying because it hurt.”

She hummed in agreement. “And then you were crying because they told you they had to go back to work.”

“That’s not their fault.”

“It is. If they didn’t keep picking this place over you, you would be more understanding when they didn’t have a choice. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset. They fucked up.” She sighed. “But they love you. And you miss them. That’s okay too.”

Another tear ran down your cheek.

“Do you want me to send them in?” Her voice had taken on that mom tone of hers that always made you feel comforted.

“Yes, please.”

She nodded once and patted your leg again. She stepped past the curtain and out the door. You heard her say, “I’m getting another bag of fluids. She needs water and an icepack. I’ll let you deliver them. Don’t upset her.” Then she shut the door.

Jack appeared first, cup of water with a straw in hand. “Just chilled. Don’t want to shock your system.”

“Thanks.” You licked your lips before leaning forward to take a sip. You hadn’t realized how dry your mouth was until then.

He sat it on the table when you finished, his hazel eyes running over you. His hands gripped the railing. “How are you feeling? You look better.”

“Still hurts but it’s better. Dana’s bringing me more drugs in a bit.”

Before he could respond, Robby came into the room. “Hey, sweetheart. One icepack as requested.” He snapped it to activate it and kneaded it before handing it over. You pressed it to the back of your neck with a sigh.

“Here,” he said and folded your pillow so it would keep the icepack pressed where you wanted without you having to hold it. Your eyes closed in relief.

“Where are you at on the pain scale?” Robby asked as his fingers found your pulse on your wrist.

You huffed out a breath without opening your eyes. “Already have a doctor, Robinavitch. If you’re going to stay, you can’t doctor me.”

You could feel him wanting to argue without looking at him. Could practically feel it vibrating under his skin.

“Okay,” he said instead, hand shifting to lay on yours instead.

You opened one eye to look at him in disbelief.

A small laugh fell from his lips and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Honey, I would do about anything you asked to keep you talking to me.”

You hummed and closed your eye. They settled to either side of you, each of them holding one of your hands. Jack kissed the back of the one he held, then Robby kissed the inside of your wrist on the other. Your lips twitched in amusement.

“You can talk. I meant it when I said I was feeling better. Another dose should kill it completely.”

“I’m going to lecture about one thing, then I’ll shut up,” Jack said.

You cracked your eyes to look at him.

“I don’t care how upset you are with us, you don’t wait three days to come to the hospital when you’re hurting like this.”

Your nose wrinkled before you could stop it. Damn it.

Robby’s gaze immediately narrowed. “How long?”

“It started before I even left the house.”

“What?” Jack snapped, the sharpness in his tone making you wince. “Sorry, sorry,” he immediately apologized, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“Your doctor know that?” Robby asked.

“Yes.”

You could tell there was so much he wanted to say but he simply nodded once and said, “Okay.”

“I kinda like the you that’s trying to stay in my good graces,” you said. Guilt flashed through his eyes but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for your words. They’d earned them.

Dana came in and hung another bag of saline. Jack slid out of the way so she could give you the next dose of meds. She looked between the men when neither of them said anything before looking to you in question.

You grinned. “I told them they couldn’t doctor if they wanted to stay.”

She laughed. “Good for you,” she said before putting them out of their misery. “Same meds as last time. If it works, she can go home under supervision. If not, she’s heading upstairs.”

“Thanks, Dana,” Jack said, voice rough with worry.

She gave you a nod and left.

“Don’t you guys need to go back to work?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

“Nope.” Robby leaned back in his chair, hand still on yours. “We put in for some of our PTO.”

“And Gloria’s just going to let you do that?”

“She doesn’t have a choice. Told her to get some temps in if she needed,” Robby said. “Neither one of us uses our time. Plus, we’re way over the hours we were supposed to be working the last two weeks.”

Your eyelids began to feel heavy as the new meds swamped your system.

“Hey, open your eyes, baby,” Jack said.

You blinked at him.

“This round working? Can we take you home?”

“Yeah, Jack. Take me home.”

You weren’t certain how much time passed before you became aware of your surroundings again. As you blinked away the slumber, you realized you were in Robby’s bed. Huh. At least you weren’t in the hospital. Seeing a glass of water waiting for you on the nightstand, you pushed yourself up on your elbow. You were halfway done downing it when the door opened slightly, Robby’s head popping into the gap. His concerned expression melted into a relieved smile. “Hey, you’re awake.”

You didn’t answer as you finished your water. You felt so dehydrated which was stupid considering how much fluid they’d given you at the hospital. Robby stepped into the room tapping on his phone which he slid back into his pocket when he saw you’d finished the water. He took the cup from you and set it aside. His fingers instantly found your wrist but he paused, “Can I doctor you for a second?”

“Sure,” you said, a smile teasing your lips.

He’d just finished checking your pulse when Jack stepped into the room. His gaze ran over you, assessing before giving you a bright smile. “Hey, baby. How you feeling?”

“Better. Much better.”

“Good.” He held a fresh glass of water out to you. “Mike said you were thirsty.”

“Thank you.” You took a drink then set the glass on the table. Your attention shifted to Robby who sat on the edge of the bed, fingers still on your wrist. “Will I live, doc?”

He nodded his head but didn’t look at you.

You tilted your head with a frown. “Michael, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, broken. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your brow furrowed as Jack sighed. “I thought we were going to give her a chance to get her bearings before we got into this.”

Robby sniffed, finally releasing his hold on you only to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Let me go to the bathroom,” you said and Robby hopped up, offering you a hand to help you out. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

You took your time in the other room, taking the chance to wash your face and feel a bit more human. Despite the obvious pain fatigue, you looked better than you had in days. Finally, you took a breath and stepped back into the bedroom. Both men stopped talking as you opened the door and stood from where they’d been sitting on the edge of the bed.

Robby cleared his throat after Jack nudged him. “I’m, uh, sorry about before. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “I’d rather get the conversation out of the way if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh, thank god,” Jack said, shoulders dropping as tension flowed from him.

You pressed your lips together to keep from snorting a laugh at the incredulous look Robby gave him. He muttered under his breath while he shook his head. He took your hand and led you over to the chair that sat in the corner of the room. “Sit. We have a couple of questions and then several things to say.”

Your gaze moved between the two of them. “Did you practice this or something?”

“Well, you were asleep for almost twenty-two hours,” Jack said.

You were only slightly surprised by that information. The meds always knocked you out. Usually not quite that long but you’d expected it. Jack sat on the edge of the bed in front of you while Robby stayed standing.

“First, Dana said you were in a flare before the headache. How long?” Jack asked.

You sighed, knowing they weren’t going to like the answer. “A couple of weeks.”

“Jesus, sweetheart. Why didn’t you say anything?” Robby said.

“What was I supposed to say? Hey, I know you’re incredibly busy at the hospital right now and barely have time to sleep but could you take care of me?”

“Yes,” Jack said without hesitation. He slid forward on the bed a bit. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”

You rolled your eyes. “Be serious, Jack.”

“I am.”

His tone was so sincere you could do nothing but look at him.

“I don’t know when you started believing that you were less important than us or our jobs, but you are not. And we’re so incredibly sorry for anything we’ve done that made you feel that way,” Robby said.

Hot tears rolled down your face before you could stop them. He swooped in immediately making hushing sounds as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll get another headache.”

You sucked in a breath and tried to regulate your emotions. “I know.”

“Listen,” Jack said. “Mike and I have talked about this. We don’t want to start over. We all have to much history for that. But we do want to prove to you that you’re still our priority if you’ll let us.”

You thought about it for a moment. You loved these men. Yes, they’d hurt you, but there was reason you’d fallen in love with them in the first place. Maybe you all just needed a reminder of what that was. Finally, you nodded. “I’d like that very much.”

And prove themselves they did. They cut their hours, focused on making your relationship a priority. As Robby said, the three of you were hopefully going to be together long after they retired. It wasn’t long before your relationship was stronger than it ever had been. To the point that, though you maintained your own rooms on the off chance you needed the space, you all slept in Robby’s king-sized bed most of the time, whether he was home or not.

And the next time you had a flare that lasted for longer than a couple of days, they took turns taking care of you the way you always did for them. They loved you, and they never let you doubt that again.

“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.

Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.

“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.

Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”

“ Your address. ”

“How do you have my address?”

He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”

Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.

“Right, yes. You should delete that.”

“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”

There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.

Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.

It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.

He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.

You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.

There was nothing wrong with his affection.

You just didn't know what to do with it.

The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.

Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.

You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).

His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.

“Hi,” you greeted.

You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.

Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”

You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”

“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”

There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.

“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”

Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”

Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.

“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.

“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”

“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.

Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”

It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.

“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.

“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”

Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.

Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”

“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.

“It's on my way,” he shrugged.

“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.

You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.

“Just take the lift.”

“Thank you.”

“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.

You groaned.

There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.

Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.

“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”

She smirked. “Nice of him.”

“I've told him not to do it again.”

“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”

He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.

“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.

“That he is.”

“You deserve someone like him.”

You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.

And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.

You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”

“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.

“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.

“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”

He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”

“I listen to your advice-”

He levelled his gaze onto yours.

“- I try to.”

His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”

You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.

Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”

He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.

Your silence was an answer.

“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”

He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.

“Will we?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”

You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.

You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.

“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.

This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.

“No, I guess I didn't.”

“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”

“I'm sure I'll manage.”

Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Helping you.”

“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”

Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”

His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.

Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.

You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.

Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.

“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.

Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”

You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.

Though you hadn't technically asked.

“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.

“Nothing more important right now.”

Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.

Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.

“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.

Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”

His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”

You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.

Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.

He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.

“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.

The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.

The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.

“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.

“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.

“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.

You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”

“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”

The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.

“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.

That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.

There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.

Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.

Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.

But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.

“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.

“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.

“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”

Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”

“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.

“I like running fast,” she said.

Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.

You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”

You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.

So you supposed there was a double meaning.

Jack's gaze was heavy.

“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.

“Rude,” Jack mumbled.

It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.

The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.

“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.

You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.

“Why not singing?” asked the girl.

“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked

You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”

Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.

Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.

A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.

Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”

“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.

“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”

The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”

Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.

Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.

You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.

“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.

“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.

“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.

You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”

Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”

“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”

Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.

You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.

It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.

“You cooking for me now?”

Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”

You took a careful spoon.

Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.

“You like it?”

“It tastes... kind of...”

“Healthy?”

You looked at him, feigned aghast.

Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”

“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.

“I like to take care of you.”

He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.

“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.

“Why what?” he asked.

Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.

You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.

Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.

“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”

At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”

You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.

Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”

“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”

You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”

“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”

Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.

So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.

“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.

Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”

His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.

You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.

“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”

“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”

Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”

“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.

“But-”

“- a minute!”

You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”

“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”

You waited.

There was nothing.

Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.

One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.

“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”

Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.

The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.

You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.

There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.

“I need you, GSW to the chest!”

The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.

It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.

“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”

The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.

“Three... two... one- move!”

All together you lifted her over.

There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.

You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.

Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.

“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.

Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.

Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.

“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.

Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.

“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.

“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.

“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”

You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.

“Clear!”

The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.

You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.

“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.

“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.

Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”

Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”

Two units were hooked up.

“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”

It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.

“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”

“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.

Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”

Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”

You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.

Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.

“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.

“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”

“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”

Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”

It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.

Five minutes later she was stable.

Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.

But there was life.

And that was the most rewarding part of the job.

“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”

“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.

Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.

Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”

You stared at him.

It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.

Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.

Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.

You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.

Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.

As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.

“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”

You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.

“Can you tell me your name?”

You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.

The doors to the trauma room pushed open.

A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.

“Is she alive?” she asked.

Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.

“Do you know her?” you asked.

“She's my sister.”

“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”

You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.

Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.

“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.

Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.

Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.

“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”

“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”

Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.

Everyone ducked.

People screamed.

Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.

Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.

They came from behind him.

From the room he'd just left.

“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.

Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”

You.

“No!”

The two of them took off toward the room.

A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.

She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.

“Gun!” someone screamed.

Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.

There were three shots.

He knew three shots were enough to kill.

Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”

The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”

“Oh god-”

“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.

You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?

It was already gone.

“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.

The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.

Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.

The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.

“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.

There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.

Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”

Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.

“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”

“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.

There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.

When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.

Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”

You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.

He heard retching as the door closed.

Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”

He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.

The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.

One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.

Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.

Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.

Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.

What kind of doctor did that?

The cowardly type- you.

“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.

Jack.

His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.

“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.

“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”

You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.

He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”

If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.

You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”

You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.

Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”

You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”

“Yeah.... it always does.”

You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.

This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.

“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”

“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”

“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”

You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”

“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”

Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.

“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”

It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.

“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”

He sniffed.

“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?

He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”

His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.

Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.

Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.

“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”

I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.

“I'm sorry.”

His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”

“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”

“- you weren't horrible, no-”

“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”

“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”

“- I don't know why you put up with me-”

“- well, it helps that I love you-”

If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.

You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.

“What?” you asked.

Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”

Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.

“Oh.”

“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”

It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.

“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.

Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.

You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”

He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”

You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”

Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”

Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.

You were crouched down by the gurney, eye level with a six year old boy who looked ready to bolt. He had a nasty laceration on his forearm and eyes brimming with tears. Jack watched as you pulled a small colored bottle with a glittery silicone holder from your pocket. You clicked it open, rubbed your hands together, and then held them out playfully toward the kid.

"Does this smell like doctors?" you whispered loudly.

The boy sniffed the air, his lip stopping its tremble. "No. Smells like fruit."

"Exactly," you winked, already reaching for the gauze. "No boring hospital smells allowed at this station."

Jack waited until the patient had been stitched, pampered with a dinosaur sticker, and wheeled up to observation before he leaned against the supply cart, crossing his arms.

"Strawberry hand gel?" he asked, a faint and amused quirk to his brow. "I’m fairly certain the hospital spends a fortune on those wall mounted industrial grade dispensers for a reason."

You didn't even look up as you charted, still radiating a faint aura of artificial berries. "The industrial ones smell horrible, Jack. It’s intimidating for the kids."

"It’s sanitary," he corrected gently. "The concentration in those commercial ones is sometimes lower than—"

"Kids hate that smell," you interrupted, finally looking up at him. Your expression was soft but completely certain. "When they’re scared and everything hurts, the last thing they want is a doctor who smells like a chemistry lab coming at them with a needle. This? This makes them think of ice cream and summer. It lowers the heart rate faster than a sedative."

Jack went quiet, watching you tuck the tiny bottle back into your scrub pocket. He looked at the sterile dispensing unit on the wall, then back at you.

He was a man of logic and protocol, but he was also a man who appreciated the way you navigated the chaos of the ER with heart.

"Strawberry?" he asked.

"Sweet Strawberry. And another one of Watermelon Lemonade. The lemonade one is new, bought it yesterday" you corrected, holding your wrist up to his nose. "Want a hit? You look like you’ve had a long shift."

Jack chuckled. He took your hand, leaning in to catch the scent. It was sugary, bright and utterly ridiculous in the middle of a trauma center.

"It’s distracting," he murmured, his thumb grazing your palm before he let go.

"Is it working?"

He looked at you, really looked at you, and felt the tension of the last twelve hours finally start to bleed out of his shoulders.

"Regrettably," he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I think I might prefer the lemonade."

-

The trail of strawberry, lemonade or vanilla that followed you through the halls had become a quiet constant. Jack’d be mid charting and catch a whiff of sweet vanilla, and he’d know without looking that you’d just finished a consult in Peds.

This shift was a heavy one. The waiting room was at capacity, and the air in the ER felt thick with humidity.

Jack was in Exam 3, trying to calm a frantic toddler who was refusing to let anyone near her.

"I heard we have a tough customer," you said, sliding into the room with a calm energy that always seemed to settle the air around you.

Jack sighed, his shoulders tight. "She’s not a fan of the stethoscope. Or me, apparently."

The toddler peeked over, eyeing your blue scrub top. You didn't move toward her immediately. Instead, you caught Jack’s eye. You reached for your pocket, your fingers brushing the familiar plastic clip of your latest scent.

Before you could even pop the cap, Jack surprised himself.

He stopped arguing for the industrial sanitizer.

He didn't offer a lecture on alcohol percentages.

He simply went quiet and held out his hand, palm up.

It was a silent surrender. He didn't say a word, but the gesture spoke volumes. He was choosing your scent logic over his own rigid protocols.

A smile broke across your face. You squeezed a dollop of the antibacterial hand gel into his hand as the toddler watched closely. "Cozy vanilla almond, it's new" you whispered.

Jack rubbed his hands together, the scent immediately cutting through the exam room.

He held his hands out toward the little girl.

"Look, my hands smell funny" he asked, his voice dropping into a gentle tone.

The girl leaned forward, took his hand with a hard grip and sniffed tentatively. Her grip loosened instantly.

"Muffins," she whispered.

"Muffins it is," Jack agreed, catching your gaze.

You were wearing a look of pure I told you so.

"Don't say it," Jack warned, though there was no bite in it.

"I didn't say a word," you replied, your smile widening. "You're definitely a vanilla guy. Smells good on you."

You stayed with him until the toddler was discharged. You felt something on the air, something that made the vanilla scent feel like the best thing he’d smelled all day.

For the rest of the shift, the sweetness stayed on his skin and you caught him several times smelling his hand or asking for more even though there wasn't any sick child around.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

You loved being Frank’s wife—loved knowing that at the end of the day, he was the one coming home with you. But there was one small issue: you both worked together.

Even though you’d started working in the same hospital back when you were just dating, and there was nothing that explicitly prohibited coworkers from being in a relationship as long as it didn’t interfere with their work in the ER, you and Frank had decided to keep your relationship quiet.

Not a secret exactly—more like something you simply didn’t mention at work. The moment the two of you stepped into the ER, you both slipped into your “professional mode,” only interacting with each other in ways that could be seen as two coworkers who happened to be friendly.

People knew you were married. Frank wore his ring on his finger every day, and you always had yours hanging on a chain around your neck—so yes, people knew you were married. They just didn’t know it was to each other.

It was kind of funny, actually. You and Frank had turned it into a sort of game. He would talk about his wife, always praising her, knowing you were close enough to hear. His eyes would find yours, giving you that knowing look that never failed to make you smile. And you did the same—talking about how amazing your husband was, your eyes often catching the soft smirk that would grace Frank’s features as you did. 

It was the way the two of you had found to still give each other love during your shifts without alerting the rest of the people at work that you were actually talking about each other.

But that wasn’t the only thing people didn’t know.

Frank turned off the car engine, the silence in the interior taking over for a moment. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath—this would be the last moment of peace and quiet you’d have until another twelve hours had passed, and you wanted to savor it.

Frank grabbed your hand, causing your eyes to open as you turned to look at him. You gave him a soft smile as he gazed back at you.

“Ready to march into battle?”

You nodded, giving his hand one last squeeze before reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something.”

You gave Frank a confused look, which made him pucker his lips, exaggeratingly tilting toward you.

“My goodbye kiss.”

You knew what he’d said, but with his puckered lips it sounded more like, “Mu gubye kisth.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before leaning over the center console and giving Frank a quick kiss.

“Come on, Langdon. We’ll be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As always, you and Frank walked in together. Nobody questioned the fact that you always arrived with each other—you’d given the bullshit excuse that you lived close by, and that it was easier for Frank to give you a ride than for both of you to drive to work. Plus, it was better for the environment. One less car on the streets.

Of course, people believed you. You gave them no reason not to.

When you made your way over to check the board, Robby caught sight of you. He smiled and made his way over with ease. You let him tug you into a quick side hug, your arm wrapping briefly around his waist.

“Hey, Honey. How you doing today?”

You pulled back so you could look him in the eyes.

“I’m doing good. How about you, Robby?”

Your eyes caught the bags under his eyes, and you immediately knew he hadn’t slept well the night before. But Robby hated people worrying about him, so when he said he was fine, you pretended to believe it.

“You searching for a target?”

At Robby’s question, your gaze flicked back to the board, briefly catching Frank disappearing into one of the rooms with Mel before settling on the writing on the screen.

“Gonna start easy, I think. A kid with a nosebleed might be ready for discharge. I’ll go check on him.”

“Alright then. The kid’s in good hands. See you around, Honey.”

You smiled as Robby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze before heading off, leaving you to make your way toward your first patient. You didn’t even notice the glances, didn’t hear the whispers as you moved through the ER. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

See, here’s the thing—people in the ER love to gossip. It keeps them entertained, helps keep the pain and sadness at bay as you all try to make it through your shifts. And when people don’t have all the information, they can come up with some pretty wild rumors.

The most recent one was that you and Robby were secretly married to each other. Which was absurd—not only because of the age difference, but because Robby was family. Literally family. He was your uncle. Biologically. As in, your father’s brother.

But people didn’t know that. Only a select few did—people who mattered, like Dana and Jack and the higher-ups. They knew either because they’d seen you grow up, in Dana and Jack’s case, or because they’d been responsible for hiring you and were aware of your family ties to Robby.

But everybody else?

Oh yeah. They had no clue.

Which ended up causing some… issues.

Because the Robby rumor was bad—but the Frank one was so much worse.

It started harmlessly. Frank bringing you coffee during a lull. Leaning against the counter beside you while you charted, shoulders brushing. A hand resting briefly at the small of your back as he passed behind you in a crowded hallway.

Normal things. Small things.

Things that meant everything to the wrong people.

They started noticing it one by one. Santos clocked the way Frank’s voice softened when he spoke to you. Javadi caught the way Frank’s eyes followed you across the ER when you laughed at something a patient said. Whitaker saw Frank step a little too close when you were visibly shaken after a bad case.

And then, to make matters so much worse, someone saw you and Frank in a very private moment.

You hadn’t thought anything of it—ducking into an empty break room, adrenaline still buzzing through you after a rough trauma. Frank followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, hands already finding your waist. “You did good in there.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, fingers fisting in his scrub top as he kissed you—slow at first, then deeper. Familiar. Safe. His hand slid up your back, grounding you.

You were so caught up in Frank that you didn’t hear the door hinges open slightly. Didn’t hear the soft gasp, or the door shutting a little too quickly.

Someone had seen you with Frank. And because they thought you were married to Robby—and didn’t know Frank was married to you—the speculation took a sharp turn, fast.

An affair. A scandal. A nurse cheating with a married attending.

And somehow—somehow—people thought they’d finally figured out the truth.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

And because you had no idea these rumors even existed, you ended up unintentionally feeding into them.

When a tough case got to you, Robby had pulled you to the side, giving you a bear hug as tears swelled in your eyes. And when he left the room to keep working, and you started to take a breather, Frank had slipped in, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke comforting words.

And people saw it. They saw these small, soft moments—and twisted them into something they weren’t.

But like everything in life, there was a final straw.

It came as an accusation.

You were hunched over the chart, scribbling notes after checking on your patient, when a voice from the nurses’ station broke the quiet.

“You know… you should really own up to it.”

You froze, pen in midair. “Excuse me?”

They leaned a little closer, a smirk playing at the corner of their lips.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be coy. We all know you’re… you’re cheating on Robby.”

Your hand dropped to the counter. “What?!”

Someone else, leaning over nearby, snickered. You blinked, utterly confused.

“Cheating? On… Robby?”

The first person shrugged, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah. I mean… it’s obvious. You and Frank, right? We see it all the time.”

You held up a hand. “Okay, whoa. You need to relax. You’ve got this all wrong. Completely wrong.”

By that point, movement in the hallway caught your attention. Robby and Frank had both emerged from different rooms, strolling in the general direction of the nurses’ station. Their heads tilted slightly, noticing you animatedly talking to someone, lips moving, hands gesturing.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

As they approached, you straightened, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay,” you said, raising your voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear, “let’s get something straight. For everyone.”

The staff fell quiet, leaning in curiously.

“I am married—to Frank,” you said slowly, letting it sink in. “Robby is my uncle. I am not cheating on anyone. And yes, we all work together, but none of what you’re imagining is actually happening.”

A pause. Some eyes widened. Some shifted awkwardly.

And then there was Dana.

Dana had appeared quietly, arms crossed, a grin spreading across her face.

“Oh my god,” she said, barely holding back laughter. “This is gold. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Robby calls you ‘Honey’ nonstop. What’s the deal with that?” the accuser jabbed.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. God, people really liked grasping at straws.

“‘Honey’ is my middle name. Robby’s been calling me that since I was a kid.”

The accuser froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, go back to work.” You turned to glance around at the people still gawking at you. “Everyone, back to work.”

The staff reluctantly returned to their tasks, whispers and smirks lingering just a little longer than usual. And Dana? Dana lingered a little longer too, clearly planning to tease you about this for weeks.

That’s when Frank appeared beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, smirk fully in place. 

“Well,” he said, glancing around at the still-whispering staff, “guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling. “I guess so.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone.

“So… what’s stopping me from kissing you right here? In the middle of everybody?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Decency? Since when have I ever been decent?”

Before you could answer, he tugged you gently toward him. Lips met yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You laughed against his mouth, and he grinned against yours before pulling back just enough to whisper:

“See? We should have told them about us ages ago.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours, “but you love me anyway.”

And you did.

You and Frank exchanged a look—quiet, silly, and utterly yours.

“Get back to work, Dr. Langdon.”

Frank gave you a mock salute. “Yes, Mrs. Langdon.”

You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head as he walked away. When he was finally out of view, you turned and stared at Dana.

“I hate you.”

She gave you a smile and pulled you into a hug.

“No, you don’t.”

Jack threw the covers off in an instant. He didn't need to check the app twice to know how fast a six year old’s blood sugar could plummet when it was crashing in the middle of the night.

He grabbed a juice box from the bottom shelf of the fridge, tearing the plastic wrap off the straw as he hurried down the hallway to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Under a pile of cartoon blankets, a tiny mess of brown curly hair was sleeping.

"Hey, sweet girl," Jack murmured. He knelt by the side of the bed and set the juice on the nightstand, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Wake up for Daddy, please?"

She let out a tiny groan, pulling the blanket higher. When he gently pulled it back, he could feel the faint dampness on her forehead. She was clammy, her skin pale, and her little breaths were coming a bit too fast.

"Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me," Jack coaxed, slipping his arm under her back to help her sit up.

She felt like a ragdoll, her head rolling heavily against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with heavy sleep and low-sugar fog. "Daddy..." she mumbled. "'leepy."

"I know you are, baby. I know " Jack said. He grabbed the juice box, guiding the straw to her lips. "I need you to take some big sips of this, okay? Just a few big sips, and then you can go right back to sleep."

She shook her head weakly, whining and trying to turn her face into his chest to hide from the straw. "No. 'leepy."

"I know, I know, but you have to," Jack insisted gently but firmly. He kept his arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her upright against him while his other hand held the juice. "Just a little bit, sweetheart. For Daddy. Right now."

He nudged the straw against her lips again. Feeling the urgency in his voice, she finally relented, taking a few small sips.

But the fog of hypoglycemia combined with the sheer exhaustion of being woken up at one in the morning was too much for a six year old to handle.

As she swallowed the third sip, a huge tear spilled over her lashes, followed by a quiet sob.

"Don't want to," she cried softly, her little shoulders shaking as she buried her face into his neck, her hands clutching at his t-shirt.

The sound of her crying always tore him. Hearing his own daughter sob because her body was failing her in the middle of the night broke through every piece of armor he had.

He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest, rocking her back and forth in the quiet room. He pressed a warm kiss into her hair, his hand smoothing down her back.

"I've got you," he whispered. "I know it's hard, baby. I know you're tired but you're being so brave. I need you to be strong for just one more minute, okay? Just finish the juice so your tummy feels better."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He offered the straw again.

Sniffling and hiccuping, she looked at him with watery eyes. She nodded miserably, wrapped her small hands over his big ones around the juice box, and sucked down the rest of it until the straw rattled against the bottom.

"Good girl," Jack breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. "That's it. All done."

Instead of laying her back down against the pillows, Jack couldn't bring himself to let go just yet. Hearing her cry had left his own chest feeling thight.

He shifted his weight on the edge of the mattress and gently pulled her completely into his chest.

She didn't protest, too exhausted to do anything but collapse against him. She tucked her head right beneath his chin, her small face burying into the crook of his neck, while her little arms wrapped weakly around his torso. Jack bundled the cartoon blanket tightly around her small frame, sealing out the chill of the night, and held her close against his chest.

"I've got you," he murmured again against her hair. "Daddy’s got you."

He could feel the slight tremor in her small body from the low sugar, but as the juice began to hit her system, her breathing gradually started to slow down, losing its frantic edge.

Every few minutes, Jack glanced down at his phone screen resting on the nightstand. The app glowed in the dark, showing the red line finally starting to curve upward.

72 mg/dL.

He let out a long breath he felt like he’d been holding since the alarm first woke him.

She was fast asleep now, the tears entirely forgotten. Jack closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of her head. He knew he’d be exhausted when his day shift started in a few hours, but right now, there was nowhere else in the world he was going to be.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

For hours, a chaotic agony was ripping through your lower back and abdomen.

Frank laced his fingers lightly through yours. He had explicitly stepped away from the charts today to just be your partner. Yet, you could feel the slight tremor in his hand, see the rigid set of his shoulders, and read the quiet dread masking his handsome features.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," he murmured. He used his free hand to brush a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

"Frank, something... something feels wrong," you gasped, your voice breaking as another contraction peaked. It wasn’t just the blinding pain of childbirth; a deep sickness was blooming in the pit of your stomach. A wave of intense nausea hit you, making your head spin violently. "I feel really sick. Like... I'm going to vo-vomit or pass out."

Frank’s eyes flicked briefly to the monitors, his medical brain instantly calculating, but he consciously forced it down. He was on boyfriend duty today. He had to trust his colleagues. "It’s the transition phase, baby. Nausea, feeling overwhelmed, thinking you can't do it, remember? Completely normal."

The attending nurse entered, checking the monitors and offering a comforting nod. "Dr. Langdon is right. It's totally normal to feel sick at this stage. You're doing great, mom."

But it didn't feel normal. It felt like your body was collapsing in on itself.

When the time came to push, the room was filled with sharp commands and agonizing effort. You cried out as the final wave of pressure took over. And then, the sharp cry of your baby cut through the room.

Frank let out a breath that sounded like a sob, leaning down to press a kiss to your sweating temple. "It's a boy, baby."

They placed the crying newborn on your chest, but instead of the overwhelming rush of warmth you had expected, a violent chill swept through your veins.

Your teeth began to chatter. Not a mild shiver, but an uncontrollable rattling.

"F- Frank..." you wheezed, your arms trembling so violently you could barely hold your son. The nurse quickly and gently took the baby from your chest, sensing the sudden shift in the room's energy.

"I've got him, it's okay," the nurse said, her voice losing its casual warmth.

"I'm... I'm cold," you whispered, your jaw locking as a severe tremor racked your entire upper body. Sweat was pouring down your face, but you were freezing from the inside out. Your vision began to vignette. "I, I don't feel well."

Frank’s hand went to your forehead. The instant his palm touched your skin, his expression shattered. You were burning up.

As a doctor, he knew exactly what the combination of severe tremors, a sudden fever, and your fading color meant. But as your boyfriend, as a new father, he was completely paralyzed by the sheer terror of it. He forced himself to step back physically, refusing to interfere with the attending medical team, knowing he was too emotionally compromised to touch a single instrument.

The attending doctor moved quickly, lifting the sheets. The moment they did, the atmosphere in the room turned to ice.

"We have a postpartum hemorrhage," the doctor announced sharply. "Get a new line open, hang oxytocin, and get me two units of packed red cells on standby. Now! Move!"

Your eyes fluttered, heavy and uncooperative. Through the fog, you saw Frank. Right now, he was a man staring down his worst nightmare, completely at the mercy of the doctors swarming around you.

"Frank? What is happening?" you whimpered, your body violently jerking from the tremors. You felt a terrifying emptiness spreading inside you, a numbness creeping up your legs.

"It's okay, I'm here," he said, his voice cracking as he leaned over you. He poured all of his energy into you.

"I'm scared."

"Hey, hey, they're taking care," he said but he squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, swallowing down the medical terminology screaming in his head, choosing instead to just hold you. "Let them do their jobs. Look at me. You're okay."

It was a nightmare: the clatter of medical instruments, the frantic shouting of orders from the medical team, the alarm of the vitals monitor as your blood pressure plummeted.

The chaos in the room escalated. Frank knew the meaning of the rapid shallow breaths you were taking. He knew what it meant when the monitor's alarm shifted from a warning beep to a continuous whine.

"Blood pressure is dropping!" the attending doctor called out, his voice tense. "We need to move. Call the OR, tell them we’re coming down right now. Postpartum hemorrhage, secondary to uterine atony, suspected shock."

The words floated over Frank, each one hitting him like a physical blow. He didn't argue. He just gripped your hand tighter, his knuckles stark white, his chest heaving as he tried to swallow down a sob.

"F-Frank..." your voice was barely a breath now. The violent tremors were starting to exhaust your muscles, leaving you weak and dangerously still. The fever burned against his palms. "Babyboy?"

"He's safe, sweetheart. He's right here in the nursery, he's perfect," Frank lied smoothly. He hadn't even looked at the bassinet; his eyes hadn't left your face for a single second. "He's okay but I need you to stay with me, okay? He's waiting for you."

The bed brakes clicked and made you flinch.

"Dr. Langdon, we have to move her now," a nurse said gently.

"I'm staying until the double doors," Frank said.

During the sprint down the hallway, Frank walked briskly alongside you, practically running backward, his body hunched over yours to stay in your line of sight.

"Hey, we'll be waiting for you," he said.

You tried to hold onto his gaze, but your eyelids felt like lead. And the fever made everything spin. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out just as the world began to completely fade.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Then came the sound of the double doors of the surgical suite. The doors swung shut, the small square windows offering a brief glimpse of the blue surgical scrubs before you were wheeled around the corner, completely out of sight.

The heavy double doors of the surgical suite remained firmly shut.

For a long moment, Frank stayed collapsed against the corridor wall.

Then, a distant cry echoed from down the hall, snapping him out of his trance.

Frank forced himself to his feet. He sanitized his hands automatically with the hand sanitizer outside the neonatal unit before stepping into the quiet lit of the nursery.

A nurse looked up, her eyes filled with deep sympathy. "Dr. Langdon... she’s in good hands down there. Do you want to hold him?"

Frank couldn't speak. He just nodded, numbed by the sheer weight of everything happening at once. The nurse gently lifted the small baby from the incubator and transferred him into Frank’s arms.

The moment the baby's weight settled against his chest, Frank’s breath hitched. He sat down in a nearby chair, his eyes locked onto the tiny pink face peering up at him.

The baby had stopped crying, settling instantly against his father's warmth, his tiny hands tucked up near his chin.

Frank looked at the baby’s features, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over him.

"Hey there," Frank whispered. He brought his shaking hand up, using the side of his index finger to gently stroke the baby’s impossibly soft cheek. "You're really beautiful... you know that?"

Frank let out a watery breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked closer.

"You got your mom's nose," he murmured, his voice cracking. He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against the baby’s tiny head, inhaling the sweet new scent of him. "The exact same nose. You look so much like her already."

The baby made a snuffling sound, shifting slightly in his grip. Frank tightened his arms around him, holding him close.

"Mom is in surgery right now," Frank whispered. "She... she got really sick, really fast. But she’s fighting. She’s so strong. And we're just gonna wait for her up here, okay? Just you and me. We’re gonna wait right here."

Frank looked back down into his son's eyes, his expression softening into some intensely fierce, fierce with a father's protective love.

"You're gonna be good to her, hm?" Frank said, his thumb gently caressing the baby's tiny hand. "When she gets back, we are gonna protect mama. No matter what. We're gonna take care of her, yeah?"

The baby let out a tiny sigh, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep, completely safe in his father's arms.

Frank kept rocking him, staring at the door, holding onto his son and praying with everything he had for the heavy double doors downstairs to open.

_

You slowly blinked your eyes open, the heavy fog of the anesthesia finally lifting. You still felt incredibly weak, your muscles sore and your body entirely exhausted from the trauma, but the burning fever and the chills were completely gone.

The first thing you felt was the warm of Frank’s hand holding yours.

He was sitting in the chair right beside your bed, hunched forward, his eyes fixed entirely on your face. He looked exhausted, but the moment he saw your eyes flutter open and focus on him, the crushing tension in his shoulders completely vanished.

"Hey," he whispered. "Welcome back, baby."

You looked up at him, then searched for your baby. He was beside your bed. Your eyes met Frank’s again. The relief on his face was palpable, but beneath it, you could still see the lingering shadows of the terror he had carried for hours.

"Hi, love," you whispered, your voice a little raspy. "What... what happened?"

"You had a postpartum hemorrhage," he explained. "Your uterus didn't contract down the way it was supposed to. It’s called uterine atony. Because of that, you started bleeding very heavily, very quickly."

You nodded slowly. "The shaking..."

"That was your body going into shock from the blood loss," Frank murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "It’s a systemic response. They moved you to the OR to stabilize you. The surgeons did an incredible job. They stopped the bleed, got your vitals back up, and made sure you were safe."

"Is... Is he...?"

"Our boy is perfect," Frank said quickly. He stood up and moved over to the clear bassinet beside the bed. With gentle hands, he lifted the swaddled bundle, supporting the baby's head as he brought him over to you. "Look at him. He’s just been waiting for his mama."

Frank carefully adjusted your pillows, helping you shift into a comfortable position, making sure not to strain your abdomen. He placed the baby gently into your arms, guiding your hand to hold him securely against your chest.

Meeting your son for the first time, a tear slipped down your cheek. He was so tiny, so perfect, completely unaware of the storm you had all just weathered.

He looked so much like Frank, but with the tiny features Frank had whispered about in the nursery.

A soft knock on the door broke the quiet and a nurse stepped into the room. "Knock, knock. I see mom is awake. How are we feeling?"

"Tired," you admitted weakly, looking down at the baby, who was starting to root around against your hospital gown. "Can I feed him? Although I'm.. weak."

"That is completely understandable given what your body went through," the nurse said gently, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. "And yes, you can."

Frank immediately moved to give the nurse room. He didn't step in with medical instructions; he just watched you with pure adoration, completely content to let the nurse guide you.

The nurse deftly used a few extra pillows to prop up your elbows, taking the weight of the baby off your exhausted muscles. "Let's try a cross cradle hold since you're resting," she murmured, gently showing you how to guide the baby's head. She helped you get your son positioned, showing you how to wait for him to open his mouth.

"There you go," the nurse encouraged softly as the baby latched on perfectly. A sucking sound filled the room. "He’s got a great latch. You're doing wonderful."

The nurse gave your leg a reassuring pat, smiled at Frank and quietly slipped out of the room to give you three some privacy.

You looked down at the tiny miracle cradled against you. Slowly, you raised your hand, your fingertips tracing the soft curve of his cheek.

"Hi, beautiful boy," you whispered, your voice laced with awe. "Hi... I'm your mama. I'm so sorry I scared you."

The baby made a tiny grunting noise, adjusting his latch, his little fist pressing firmly against your chest.

"You are so strong, aren't you?" you murmured softly, a tear of pure happiness escaping your eye and tracking down your face. "You waited for me. Thank you for waiting for me, sweet boy. We're gonna be okay now. I promise. Mama's right here."

Frank watched the two of you, his chest heaving as a wave of intense emotion hit him. Hearing your voice wrap around your son for the first time broke him. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away the tear that had traced down your cheek, before leaving his hand to rest against your face, his palm warm and steady.

"You''re so beautiful," Frank whispered, his eyes glassy as he looked between you and your son.

"I'm okay. We're okay," you whispered back, looking up into his eyes, seeing the dad and the partner who had held onto you through the worst of it.

"Yeah," Frank breathed, a smile finally breaking across his face as he looked down at his son nursing. "We've got her, buddy. We're gonna take care of mama."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

you sit on the edge of the crinkling paper of the examination table in exam room 4, a dull, throbbing ache radiating down the left side of your neck. every time you try to tilt your head, a sharp reminder of the sudden impact flashes through your muscles. a minor fender-bender on the way home from your daughter's hockey practice left you with a stiff, aching neck, but thankfully, nothing more. next to you, your twelve-year-old daughter is swinging her legs off a plastic chair, her hockey gear bag resting by her feet. she’s still wearing her team jersey and, next to her, your five-year-old son is entirely unbothered by the clinical surroundings, happily coloring on a piece of scrap paper. the minor accident had sent your heart into your throat, but as you look at your children, the overwhelming wave of maternal relief keeps you grounded.

"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."

"thank goodness," you sigh, reaching down to ruffle your son's hair. "i just wanted to be absolutely sure they were okay."

outside the glass doors of the exam room, jack is walking fast, clipboard in hand, listening to an intern rattle off a patient's vitals. 

“send for dr. fitz, he’ll know what to do. and call me when you get the results. what’s the state of the girl in bay one?”

jack turns then towards the intern as she starts listing the latest lab results on the young patient that just arrived a few minutes ago. he is in full doctor mode. focused, distant, and professional. 

that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail.

the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.

jack looks through the pale curtain, eyes widening. the clipboard in his hand feels suddenly too heavy. and it only gets worse once he notices a second head poking though the curtain, this time his baby boy. his entire world is sitting right now in exam room 4. 

he abandons the intern mid-sentence, pulling the curtain aside, his usual collected demeanor completely evaporating.

"jack?" shen looks up, surprised by his sudden entrance.

but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?"

"hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."

your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."

"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.

jack immediately drops to one knee, wrapping his strong arms around your son, burying his face in the boy's hair for a brief, fiercely protective second. he looks up at your daughter, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "you're sure you're both okay? nothing hurts?"

"we're totally fine, dad," she reassures him, giving him a warm smile.

only then does jack stand back up, turning his attention fully to you, eyes glowing with adoration and relief. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone.  "and you? your neck?"

"just a little stiff," you murmur, leaning into his touch, completely accustomed to how deeply he cares for his family, even if he keeps it hidden from the rest of the world. "dr. shen was just checking me out. he says we’re good to go."

speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor.

you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.

the great private dr. abbot is currently looking at you with a softness none of them knew he possessed, his hand resting tenderly on your waist while a local little league hockey player calls him dad.

jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague.

"john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."

shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”

“i do,” he says, smiling softly.

“and you didn’t think of sharing that information with the group.”

"i like my privacy," jack defends himself. he looks down at his kids, then back to you, the sheer relief of knowing you are all safe overtaking any awkwardness about his secret being out. he leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips right in front of the entire observation window. " i'm glad you're all safe."

"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home."

"consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.